#I hope you trip and die on those broken cobblestones

[thedebutstaninyourwalls]

Stfu James no one cares that you’re only 17 and we all know damn well you don’t know anything so suck my big fat juicy balls

#taylor swift #Betty #James #august #Betty James and Augustine #Betty x Augustine 4 life #James go die in a hole #James no one likes you #I hope you trip and die on those broken cobblestones

[flywolfwriting]

Mercy or Murder

Crowley had been discorporated before, but never like this.

Those times had all been fast – hanged for witchcraft, drowned, neck broken in battle – unfortunate accidents, but quick. He’d been killed by an angel exactly once, and they’d decided never to do it again; Aziraphale had pushed Crowley off a cliff (because Falling once hadn’t been traumatizing enough, apparently) to prevent another angel from smiting him, which would have destroyed Crowley as completely as a bath in a church.

Yes, he’d experienced death before, but never slowly.

Unlike humans, Crowley knew what was coming next and that he’d be back in a few years, so really he had no reason to be afraid. Then again, he knew what was coming next and Hell’s punishments for losing a corporation were… severe.

So okay. Fear was rational.

The day had started off so well, too. He and Aziraphale met for breakfast and were walking to the park when the angel suddenly half-tossed him into an alley and told him to run. Crowley hesitated just long enough to smell ozone as another angel materialized before scrambling away. He sprinted through narrow cobblestone streets, trying to put as much distance as he could between him and the holy beings. He glanced over his shoulder to see if he was being followed as he rounded a corner and tripped. He tumbled down a set of steps, bounced off a stone wall and flew down a second set toward a tunnel being dug under the river-

And he was impaled on a pair of metal spikes jutting from the wall at an angle. The tunnel was still under construction so he could only assume they were meant to become torch holders.

The bars entered his back and poked through the front of his shirt, just beneath his ribs and the other a bit lower, suspending him at an angle. The only noise Crowley made was a gurgling noise, as the air was forced from his lungs from the impact with the first wall.

Crowley knew such an injury would discorporate him so he didn’t make an effort to free himself; it would only hurt more. So he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Darkness fell. Fear began to set in, now that he had the time to think. Crowley understood why humans fought so hard to live. He didn’t want to die. More than that, he didn’t want to die alone. He wished Aziraphale were here; maybe the angel could even help him, patch him up and nurse him back to health so he didn’t discorporate at all. It would be a slow, human recovery, but it beat what he faced the next few years while waiting for Hell to construct him a new body and finish the paperwork.

It was a nice fantasy.

Crowley swallowed, throat dry. He needed to go find the angel; at least make sure he knew where he was and he’d be back, that the other angel that had appeared didn’t find him. He took as deep a breath as he could muster, braced his hands against the wall behind him, and tried to lift himself off the metal beams impaling him.

His scream echoed off the cobblestone and his arms gave out, settling Crowley back down on the bars. He panted and trembled, trying to catch his breath around the sobs shaking him. Crying only made it hurt so much worse.

No angel, then.

Black tinged the edges of Crowley’s vision, though if it was from pain or blood loss he did not know. A small pool had already formed under him. It couldn’t be long now, right?

“Hello?” a voice called from the bridge above. He was out of sight, but Crowley would know that voice anywhere.

“Aziraphale?” he croaked, hoping the angel would be able to hear him.

Footsteps started down the stairs. “Crowley?”

The angel appeared around the corner on the stairs and froze when he saw him. “Crowley!” he rushed to his side. “Whatever happened?”

“Tripped,” Crowley groaned as Aziraphale examined him. “Can’t get off. Tried.”

Worried blue eyes flicked up to his. “I heard a scream. Was-”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah.”

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale looked down. “You’ve lost a lot of blood,” he said quietly.

“Been here a while,” Crowley said. “Gonna die, probably soon.”

“How long?” Aziraphale asked, face twisting.

“All day.”

The angel paled. “I’m so sorry, I would have looked sooner, but-”

“’ss okay, angel,” Crowley sighed. Cold was creeping into his limbs now. “’m jussst glad you’re here.” His eyelids drooped. Not long now.

“Crowley, hold on. You’re not going to die, okay?” Aziraphale said, tapping his cheek.

“I’ve been here too long,” Crowley mumbled, then squinted as the angel moved. “What’re you… Wait! Wait-”

Aziraphale grasped him by the shoulder and hip and lifted him. Crowley shrieked as the metal bars tore free of his body. Aziraphale lowered him gently to the cold cobblestone ground, where the demon sucked in great shuddering breaths; he didn’t have the strength to sob – not now.

“Sh, sh, I’m sorry,” the angel whispered, cupping Crowley’s face and wiping tears from his cheeks.

“Just- just make it fast, please. Don’t- don’t let me linger,” Crowley pleaded. “It hurtsss.”

A pained look crossed Aziraphale’s face. “I don’t like killing you.”

“I don’t like dying. But drawing it out… isss worssse.”

A look of determination came into Aziraphale’s eyes. “I told you you’re not going to die,” he said with a sharp inhale. “Take a deep breath.” He placed a hand over each of the gaping holes in the demon’s abdomen.

“What-” Crowley’s eyes widened as he realized what Aziraphale was about to do. He started hyperventilating. “No no no, angel, angel please, pleasssse don’t, no-”

Holy power surged from Aziraphale’s glowing hands and searing pain comparable to the Fall poured into Crowley.

He wailed.

AO3

#Good Omens #Crowley #Aziraphale #gore #slow death #discorporation #reference to falling #reference to past discorporation #Good Omens 1800s #ineffable husbands #best friends #ao3 #flywolf33 #flywolfwriting #fear #blood

[let-love-run-red]

Never Shall we Die - 1

Ok loves, I’ve had this in my WIP folder for awhile. I wanted to do this one right, IE actually have a story planned before I published the first chapter lol. This is a first for me, and I hope you like it! Let me know if you’d like to be tagged loves.

Before we start, this story was inspired by the lovely @beskarbabs​ Pirate!kylo story Thieves and Beggars. It is absolutely wonderful, and I recommend checking it out and giving her some love!

AO3 link

Masterlist

Another government meeting in the largest house in Port Royal. You sighed, sitting in the chair at your father's side. Ever since Mama had died, you'd been attending the meetings she would have, sitting in her place, tracing the grain on the ornate table top and wishing for something else to do.

Today it was something else about the boats. About the pirates, about the merchandise being moved. More boring things. You were ten! you wanted to be out playing in the gardens and chasing your father's hunting dogs around the grounds, finding flowers that your mother would then braid into your hair while she sang to you.

The thought of it made you miss her all the more. The Scarlatina had struck her hard, taking her energy and your unborn sibling. She had been too tired to play, to sing to you, to love you. And you supposed that wasn't her fault, but you had been angry with her. Thought she didn't love you. You wished for her to be taken away, considered running away so she would realize how much she missed you. You were so angry that when the doctors said she didn't have much time, you refused to see her. What did they know?

You always regretted that, you thought. What if seeing her had made her want to stay? You supposed you'd never know. 

You looked up and realized your father was on his feet, shouting with another man in a fancy coat. He wouldn't notice your absence. You stood and walked towards the door, hiking up the skirt of your dress as you walked past the guards. They likely assumed you were headed to the chamber pot. Rather than taking a left down that hall, you continued straight, ducking out into the garden and sneaking out of the cracked wall, to the marketplace, where you did your most interesting people watching.

                                                 ***

"Blow high, Blow low, and so sailed we, the quarter that we gave them was to sink them in the sea, Sailing down 'long the coast of High Barbaree."  He sang quietly to himself as he walked down the streets of the markets. He tried to keep the drool in his mouth as he smelled the cooking meats and fresh fruits. He looked in all the stalls, thinking of how even one of those fish could feed him for a week. He stopped when he saw an unmanned stall, peeking over the edge to see what it contained. 

Corn, bushel upon bushel of fresh green corn, just lying there, unattended, begging him to take them. He felt his stomach rumble as he imagined what his mum could do with even one ear of corn. He thought of cornbread, and boiled kernels, corn pudding, and without thinking of the repercussions he snatched two ears and tucked them under his vest. 

He tried to hide the smile on his face as he walked down the street, trying to keep hold of the large vegetables. He hadn't realized the tops of the corn peeking out of the vest, and didn't notice until someone planted a large hand on his shoulder and spun him around.

"What have ye got there boy?" The man snarled, reaching into his jacket and pulling the ears of corn out.

"N-nothing." He stuttered, trying to squirm from the man's grip and reach for the corn.

"It sure don't look like nothing." The words were spat in his face as the man grabbed his arm and dragged him towards a pair of guards walking down the street towards him. He started trying to pull his arm away, kicking at the man and trying to go dead weight, but nothing worked. He couldn't be arrested, what would mum do? He grabbed the man's arm, pulling himself forward and sinking his teeth into his forearm.

The man shouted, dropping his arm and turning to smack him. He ducked under the fist, scrambling to his feet and running towards the only empty alleyway he could see. He wove through feet and dodged skirts and shoes, trying to put as much distance as possible between him and the guards. 

He finally ducked behind a stack of barrels in an alleyway, smacking his head into someone else's face.

"Hey!" She cried, standing up and glaring down at him. She couldn't have been much younger than him, maybe only a year or two. She was wearing a fancy pale blue dress with a shiny gold necklace on. A castle rat. He sneered, ready to snap at her when he heard the guards.

"Where'd he go?" They snapped to one another. He watched the girl turn, her (h/c) curled hair bouncing around her face. She opened her mouth and Kylo pulled her down by her arm. She landed in his lap and he wrapped an arm around her middle to pin her arms down, using his other hand to cover her mouth.

"Shh!" He hissed in her ear while she struggled against him. It wasn't until the guards had walked past, and she was trying to bite his hand, that he released her. She scrambled away from him, turning to fix him with a bewildered stare.

"What do you think you're doing!?" She snapped. Kylo pushed himself up to his feet, looking down at her.

"Running." He said.

"But it's hard when a castle rat is in your hiding spot." He snapped at her. She seemed taken aback at that.

"Were you running from the guards?" He was silent in response, looking around to make sure the coast was clear before walking out from behind the barrels. She followed him, pulling the skirts of her long dress up and trying not to trip over the cobblestone in her fancy heels.

"Are you a thief?" She snapped, running ahead of him. He pushed past her to walk down the street, weaving between people and hoping she would leave him alone.

He had no such luck.

"What did you steal?" She pestered him. He continued to ignore her as he walked, hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers while he tried to avoid stares from people.

"If you don't tell me, I'll get the guards." She said, catching up with him. He growled low in his throat, wishing she would go away.

"They're right there, they'll listen to me over you, I know it." She said. He finally snapped, grabbing her arm and pulling her into another alleyway.

"Corn! I tried to steal corn. I'm hungry. Now will you fuck off?" He asked. For the first time since he'd met her she was silent. He tried to walk past her when she gently reached out and tugged on his sleeve.

"I'm sorry you're hungry. Would you like me to get you something?" She asked. He looked back at her with furrowed brows.

"I'm the governor's daughter, I can take whatever I'd like, and the guards can't do anything." She said. He shook his head, trying to push past her again.

"Wait, please!" She called, following after him.

"What do you want?" He snapped. 

"I don't know." She said. He let out another sigh. He should have gone with the guards.

"You seem interesting." She said, looping her arm through his and leaning against him, the way his mother did with his father. Was it a lady thing? He wouldn't know. He resisted the urge to push her off as he walked through the streets towards the docks.

The two walked in silence. Well, he walked in silence, she rambled on and on about her father and what he did, how her mother had died, how she was important to the government, how she would grow up to marry the Commodore or some such nonsense. He was only half paying attention as they approached the docks. He admired the ships, both the small ones docked and the larger ones in the port that were too deep in the draft to come close.

"Did you hear me?" She asked, poking him harshly in the side. He winced and looked down at her.

"Have you ever been on a ship?" She repeated.

"No. I haven't." In truth, he wanted to be. He wanted to be sailing on a ship away from this wretched place. He wanted to take his mother and father and give them a better life somewhere else. Maybe to America, his father had taken them here, to Port Royal, in hopes of a better life. But they lived as peasants, scraping and begging for every last scrap of food. Maybe, if he had a ship, he could take them to the motherland. To Europe, or France even. But he was stuck here, on the docks, watching the ships come and go.

"I can get you on a ship." She said suddenly. He looked down to her with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows.

"What?" 

"I said I can get you on a ship. Do your ears work?" She asked, tilting her head.

"Yes my ears work just fine." He snapped. "What's in it for you?" He'd learned, nothing came for free in life. Especially not in Port Royal. 

She shrugged as she stepped forward. Her arm was still linked with his, so he followed her as she walked through the docks towards where the East India Trading Company ships were docked.

"I just want to know your name." She said. "And I'm bored, the ships always have interesting things going on." She said, walking towards the largest ship docked. It was named The Hyperion, and it was gorgeous. It was one he figured was to sail soon, it had been docked for a few weeks. 

The hull had been painted a rich navy blue, with the posts and rails a royal gold. The sails were a pristine white, every rope was in the proper place, and the men swarming about it had not a hair out of place. It was perfect in every way, the perfect ship.

He hadn't realized he'd broken into a smile until she commented on it.

"Wow, you're more excited by a ship than a pretty girl." She lamented, unlinking their arms. He hadn't moved as he inspected the ship.

"Want to go?" She asked, poking him in the side again. His jaw dropped as he turned to look at her.

"Can, can we?" He asked in disbelief.

"I told you, I'm the governor's daughter. I can do whatever I want to." She said with a grin. He rolled his eyes again.

"But!" She suddenly shouted, startling him.

"You have to tell me your name!" She finished. He let out a heavy sigh. He didn't care for her to know him, to be able to track him down and bother him further, but oh how he wanted to board that ship.

"Name, or no ship." She said, folding her arms like a petulant child.

"What are you, eight?" He snapped.

"I'm ten actually." She huffed indignantly.

"Fine. My name is Kylo." He said walking towards the ship. She grabbed the sleeve of his shirt and pulled him back.

"Last name too Kylo." She said. He kind of liked the way his name rolled off her tongue. It sounded smooth and elegant.

"Ren." He huffed. She grinned.

"Kylo Ren is a lovely name." She said, before turning to the ship.

"Wait a minute," Kylo called. She turned back to look at him.

"What's your name?" He asked. She laughed.

"You don't know my name already?" She poked him in the stomach. Why did she keep poking him?

"It's (y/n) (l/n). Now come on Kylo, we haven't got all day to sit around talking." She flounced off towards the ship, and Kylo tried his best to follow her closely without being noticed. 

She paused by the gangplank, waiting for the traffic up and down it to cease, before she dashed up it with surprising speed. Kylo had to actually run after her before she dragged him down behind a stack of crates near the railing.

"I thought you said you could do what you wanted?" Kylo hissed. She shushed him and nodded.

"Then why are we cowering behind crates?" He asked. She grinned sheepishly.

"Well, technically I'm supposed to be in a meeting with my father now. And they've likely noticed my absence." She said, glancing around. So she was running too? That intrigued him.

"Come on." She said, grabbing his shirt sleeve and dashing across the deck to the open hold and scurrying down the ladder. They were on the gun deck now, and she dragged him behind a cannon as a pair of the royal navy walked past. He turned, examining the cannon next to him. It was a demi cannon, it could probably fire a 15 kilogram solid shot straight through a pirate ship!

As he moved closer to it, (y/n) hissed at him to stop moving. He hadn't realized why until there was a sickening snap, and the demi cannon started rolling backwards into the walkway. He looked down to see he'd knocked the block from behind the wheel of the cannon. He ducked as it swiveled and almost smacked him in the face.

"Kylo!" (y/n) snapped as he scrambled backwards, bumping into the canon on the other side of her and sending that one rolling back too. There was a commotion on the upper deck as people flooded down to the gun deck, catching the cannons as the ship rocked lightly. They hadn't caused any damage, but Kylo knew that they could have, and that was enough to execute someone.

Strong hands grabbed him by the upper arms and dragged him to his feet. (y/n) stood, rushing towards the guards.

"Wait! Stop! Don't hurt him please!" She begged, trying to catch his shirt sleeve. The soldiers paused momentarily, before dragging him to the main deck. He heard the soldiers addressing (y/n) gently while they pulled him up the steps.

He was thrown, quite unceremoniously, before the captain of the ship. He looked up to see a face he recognized, Commodore Whiteford. He lowered his head, trying not to cry. He knew the punishment for stowaways, and it wasn't pretty.

"A stowaway Commodore, he tried to loose the cannons on the gun deck." The soldiers said. Kylo focused on the grain of the wood under his palms, willing it to be a fast execution.

"No! He's not a stowaway!" He heard (y/n) shout.

"Miss (l/n), what are you doing here? Everyone under your father's command is looking for you!" Commodore Whiteford snapped.

"I was exploring! He followed me onto the ship, it's not his fault, don't hurt him." She growled. Well, growled as much as she could. Commodore Whiteford looked at her with pity.

"Miss (l/n), you mustn't run off. Your father is worried sick over you. Come, my son will escort you back." Commodore Whiteford said, whistling shrilly. A lanky boy, older than Kylo, jogged over.

"Jackson, please make sure Miss (l/n) makes it safely back to her father." He said. The boy nodded, stepping forward and grabbing (y/n)'s arm harshly. She winced and let out a whimper. Something about the sound made Kylo's blood boil as he moved to stand up.

"Hey!" He shouted. No sooner than the word left his mouth did Commodore Whiteford have his rapier drawn with the blade pointed at Kylo.

"You will not address my son, street rat!" Whiteford snapped. Kylo cowered slightly before hearing (y/n) shout in pain. He looked over to see Jackson dragging her down the gangplank. She'd tripped and lost a shoe, allowing the splinters from the wooden plank to dig into the sole of her foot.

"You're hurting her!" He shouted. Before he could move he felt a searing pain across his face. He stumbled backwards, landing on his back on the deck. Blood dripped into his right eye, it stung. He lifted a hand to his face, brushing against the shred of fabric from the collar of his shirt. There was blood running down his face and soaking into his shirt from his chest. He couldn't breathe as it smeared across his hands.

"The mark of a stowaway, and treason." Commodore Whiteford snapped. He turned to the rest of the soldiers.

"Bind him, and drag him to the gallows. He is charged with attempting to pirate a ship of the royal navy." He growled. Kylo was too shocked to protest as the soldiers pulled him to his feet, shackling his arms behind his back with heavy iron cuffs.

                                                 ***

"Father!" You shouted, tears streaming down your face as the nurse wrapped your foot with wet linens. Your father was pacing in front of you, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Mum always said he'd get wrinkles if he kept making that face. But she wasn't there to tell him that anymore. He turned to look at you, kneeling down next to you and taking your hands in his own.

"(y/n), my sweet, he's been charged with attempted piracy, there is nothing I can do for him." He said, looking at you sadly. 

"He bears the mark of treason. Even if I could pardon him, there would be no life for him." He finished. You pouted and turned away from him.

"It was my fault." You whispered.

"What?" 

"It was my fault we were on the Hyperion in the first place!" You shouted in his face.

"Young lady, do not lie to spare the life of a peasant." He snapped at you. You looked at him, your own thin brows furrowed this time.

"I'm not lying! It was my idea, he was trying to leave, but I asked him if he wanted to see the ship! I didn't think there would be any harm, we weren't going to steal it, just look!" You tried to explain frantically. 

"Even if that's true darling, he's on the gallows march now. There is nothing to be done." He said softly.

"I will never speak to you again if he dies." You seethed. He let out a hefty sigh, rising to his feet and pacing again.

"You'll get over him my love." He said.

"No I won't! He's my friend!" You shouted again. Despite only spending a few hours with Kylo, he was one of your closest friends, well, friend that wasn't your cousin anyway. You thought of his crooked smile, his lips that looked so soft, and the long dark hair that had whipped around his face in the sea breeze. 

"I love him." You pouted. That stopped him dead in his tracks, and you knew you'd found your in.

"You what?" 

"I love him father! And if you let him die I shall never speak to you again! I'll follow mama to my grave and never speak another word to you!" You cried, willing the tears to fall again. You didn't realize it, but as the tears fell, your true feelings for the scrappy boy you'd lured onto the ship were spoken aloud.

Your father seemed taken aback as he watched you cry. The nurse had long since left the room, and he hissed lowly.

"My daughter will not fall in love with a peasant boy." You hoped you hadn't pushed him too far, this was Kylo's only chance.

"If I pardon him, you will never see him again, do you understand?" He snapped. You nodded frantically and he crossed the room, grabbing you by your arms and hauling you to your feet. You yelped as you put weight on your injured foot.

"Do you understand!" He yelled.

"Yes! Yes father, I understand." You cried in fear. He let you sit back in the chair, sweeping out of the room towards the stables. You followed him as quickly as you could on your injured foot.

When you caught up with the gallows march you easily spotted Kylo. He was the only child in the mix of adults. His shirt was ragged and his wrists bled from the iron cuffs. You had to resist the urge to gasp as you followed your father's white stallion on your small dappled gelding. 

"General, wait." Your father called as he pulled his horse to a halt. You kept your gaze trained on Kylo as he looked up, and your heart sank.

His beautiful face was now split by a long red scar that started above his eyebrow, and ended below his collarbone. There was blood smeared across his face and chest, soaking into his shirt. There were tracks streaked into the blood where his tears had cut a path through the redness. You resisted the urge to leap from your horse and run to him.

The general approached Kylo with the ring of keys, unlatching the shackles from around his wrists and ankles. Kylo hesitated, shaking slightly before your father rode towards him. Kylo balked slightly as the stallion stopped just short of running him down.

"You are never to see my daughter again. Do you understand me?" He hissed. Kylo nodded frantically, stepping backwards. Your father kicked his horse harshly, causing the stallion to rear slightly as it screamed.

"Go!" He yelled. Kylo scrambled backwards, falling onto his back and pushing himself away from the horses hooves as it landed again. He rolled over, pushing himself to his feet and running away from the gallows march, through the crowd, and out of your sight.

#empressrenwrites #Never shall we die #Pirate!kylo #pirate #kylo #ren #kyloren #kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kyloren x reader #kylo x reader #ren x reader #reader insert #x reader #kylo ren x reader insert #kylo ren reader insert #fanfiction #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren fan fiction #fan fiction #fan #fiction #adam #driver #adam driver #adamdriver #adam driver character #adam driver character fanfiction #adam driver character x reader #kylo ren fluff

[vulturhythm]

i’m what’s left when children go to war - one

Pain and panic alike clog Jaskier's throat, welling until he can scarcely breathe for the fear overwhelming his every sense. He has never felt this dread, this terror before - he stumbles, foot catching on a loose brick in the pavement, and nearly collapses, crying out when he catches himself just in time to keep running, running, running...

The streets of Athens are black as pitch, torches and great vases of fire doing little to illuminate the spaces through which he flees - black as pitch and silent, too, their quiet broken only by his screams and sobs and pleas for help. They all go unanswered... have been unanswered from the start, for who would spare a second's thought of mercy for a simple slave? He's nothing more than filth to the people safe in their houses, safe away from the monster chasing short at his heels. Of course he'd ran toward the wealthier part of the city, of course he'd ran straight into the realm of the very people who despise his kind above all else -

He trips again, and this time he doesn't quite manage to catch himself in time. Jaskier collapses to the cobbled pavement with another cry, the impact on his knees and palms sending spikes of discomfort up through his frame, and before he can drag himself upright once more, the monster is atop him, grabbing him by the shoulder, the waist, the hips, pushing and pulling and turning, and Jaskier yells out another plea for help as those vicious hands flip him to his back again, as those violating hands grab for his arms, and Jaskier curses aloud and kicks out blindly, and he takes only fleeting relief in the grunt of pain he gets when his foot connects - only fleeting, for it is dashed away in a heartbeat -

for the monster is pinning him by the throat to the road, is leering down at him with a face twisted with cruel victory, and Jaskier grabs for the monster's wrist and tries to pry his hand away, but it is too strong, has always been too strong, and as Jaskier screams out again, the monster reaches into the folds of its chiton, draws a dagger that glints bright in the distant firelight, and -

Pain worse than that of before explodes from the epicenter of Jaskier's torso, and his scream echoes high and cracked and afraid as his hands fly to grab for the base of the dagger plunged deep into his flesh. The monster above him merely smiles, holding him firm for another eternity until the world is fading into gray, his lungs heaving for air that he can't quite draw, his grip going weak... and then, just as Jaskier is certain he will die here, pinned beneath his rapist, the monster lets go, ripping the dagger free with a savage twist that tears another scream from Jaskier's aching throat.

As the cry dies off, the monster turns to leave.

He has the strength to do little more than lay there limp at first, sucking in air even though the very act of breathing sends unthinkable pain through his bleeding torso. Staring up at the star-flecked sky, he feels his blood flowing hot and wet and free through his fingers, pressed as tightly as he can manage to the uneven hole. He wants nothing more than to die... and yet - and yet he knows that he cannot.

Jaskier is certain he has never before been so broken, so afraid, as when he forces his body back into motion, turning onto his knees and steadying himself with a single hand on the cobblestone. He coughs, hardly even taken aback by his own blood when it splatters from his lips onto the pavement beneath him. Though his head is spinning, he pushes himself up, first to both knees, then one, then upright; here he staggers, the world swaying around him, or is he swaying in the world? It's difficult to tell - difficult to tell much of anything when colors are going pale and lines are going blurry... but he cannot die. He lurches into motion, both hands clasped together against the wound in an attempt to stop the flow.

Even now, he knows his efforts are in vain.

He grits his teeth until they ache as he stumbles forward along the path, every stride uneven, every stride unbelievably agonizing. It feels as though his innards have been torn and ground to bits, as though they're leaking out between his shaking fingers along with his life force, and it feels as though his hips and thighs will splinter apart with the weight of each step, as though they'll simply crumble to dust under the abuse... but he cannot die. Jaskier calls out again, high and broken, begging for somebody, anybody to take mercy, and he feels a hint of vengeance twist its way into his heart when only the quiet of the Athens aristocracy answers him. He should not - cannot - be surprised. Of course they would turn a blind eye to anything that does not involve themselves.

For all that he was frantic and running blind before, Jaskier knows where he runs toward now - has known it since the moment he pushed himself to shaking feet. If he can only make it there, if he can only last long enough to claim sanctuary and beg for help, maybe he stands a fighting chance. Maybe his life can be spared... maybe it is not quite too late.

Jaskier feels as though he's already dead by the time he turns the corner onto another wide avenue, by the time he lifts his head and looks forward to the massive structure at its end. Torches are lit on the outer walls, and warm light falls onto the steps from the interior. For the first time, a glimmer of hope lights itself in Jaskier's chest; he stumbles once again in his efforts to move faster, nearly doubling over with another coughing fit that sprays his blood onto the pavement. Someone will be displeased with that, he thinks, brief and wild, able to imagine the disgruntled face of a wealthy man when he must walk around a splash of servant's blood come dawn. I'll have to clean it up...

He pushes these thoughts aside when he comes up to the steps, drawing in what little air his burning lungs can hold to cry out once more - a plea for sanctuary, for help, for someone to hear him -

and as he takes the first step, he sees a shadow cast on the walls inside move, take interest, and he dares to hope, and he begs aloud again -

and as he takes the second step, he hears a startled voice, and the embers of maybe flash brighter -

and as he takes the third step -

as he takes the third step, he doubles forward again, another fit of coughing spraying his blood onto the marble, and as he tries to recover, as he tries to lift his head and press on forward, he overbalances, and he slips, and he falls.

Pain shoots through his skull, and brightness flares across his vision in the instant before his world goes black.

A vulture perched upon the temple's roof watches, head cocked in its usual sardonic way, as the slave's skull cracks and bleeds on the edge of the next step - as Jaskier goes still, scarcely breathing, upon the threshold of the temple of Ares.

- - -

The realm of Ares is much the same as that of all the rest, albeit grimmer for its context. A sprawling Athenian estate dominates its bulk, but where the homes of Aphrodite or even Apollo are bright in palette, Ares' is dimmer, every color seeming duller, and where theirs are built of marble, Ares' is built of whitewashed stone. Where gold adorns the corners and detailing of the other gods' dwellings, simple silver plates Ares'. The gardens and wandering stream throughout the courtyard are less vibrant than those that can be found elsewhere, almost as if the somber nature of Ares' dominion has reached the plants themselves, stunting their growth with shared sorrow and mourning. Even the land upon which the aristocratic home rests is duller than the rest, trees less impressive, grass less green.

No matter. It is, for better or for worse, a house - Ares hesitates to call it a home.

He hesitates, in fact, to even call himself Ares, for the deity that first held the name has been among Elysium for many centuries now. Not that the mortals know any better, of course... he didn't, either, not when he was alive. How many decades has it been? Four, five, since he was blessed to take over the godly throne? Enough that he no longer remembers the name of the woman from whom he took the mantle. Blessed. He scoffs at the thought. No... no one who knew the truth would ever call godhood a blessing.

He is so accustomed to the sound of the veil being rent apart that he gives it little thought when the dull hiss and rush of air signifies the arrival of the keres. It is an almost daily occurrence, for the androktasiai do not rest, their cruel wiles unending; but, he thinks, as he sets his book aside and makes to stand from his chair, he does not recall sensing a current war...

"My liege," comes a familiar voice, and he turns, forcing only the barest smile for the spirit he considers a friend before he's fully facing the keres. "We bring an unusual soul before you today."

It is on the tip of his tongue to say something nonchalant and bitter - I have seen every possible manner of death thus far, Renfri, I doubt you can surprise me - but as his eyes drop to the body cradled in the ker's arms, he stalls, freezing in place.

He has seen much, yes - has seen heads crushed under horse's hooves, has seen throats torn and gaping, has seen torsos riddled with arrows and pierced through with spears and swords - and he has grown... not accustomed to, but acquainted with the hideous cruelty of war. Many soldiers are young, many cut down before they're truly given the chance to live; he is no stranger to the sight of ruined armor and frightened eyes overflowing with tears. He is, after all, the god of war. Soldiers' deaths are everyday to him.

This... this boy held close to Renfri's chest... he wears no armor. He scarcely wears even his tunic, the swath of fabric torn in such a way that looks as if a wild thing set its claws to the cloth; what remains is soaked through with blood. His head is resting limp on Renfri's shoulder, dark hair tousled and matted with blood that runs steadily from a fissure in his skin and skull.

He is not a soldier.

"What is this?" the god of war asks sharply, stepping forward. At Renfri's back and flanks, the other keres edge backward, respectful of the anger they no doubt sense building in his chest. "This isn't a soldier, you've brought me a boy, for how old he looks - I haven't laid a claim on anyone, why are you wasting his dying seconds here?"

Renfri cuts him off before he can launch into another tirade, sounding impossibly patient, a little condescending; just as always, he subsides. "He fell upon your temple stairs."

With that, he goes still, golden eyes going wide as they rest on the youth's face, pallid with the grave. Dread overpowers anger, and in an instant, he feels nothing more than fear. He had hoped - had prayed, as idiotic as that was - that he would never be faced with this instance. Who would seek out Ares for sanctuary? Who would trust the god of war with their lives? "No," he says aloud. "No. I won't - I won't claim him."

"You have no choice," Renfri reminds him. "If it's revealed that he sought sanctuary before the judges, he will be sent back to you regardless."

He grits his jaw, sparing the briefest of glares for the russet-haired woman as his fingers knot into fists at his sides. It is easy, now, to turn away dying soldiers, to promise them rest in Elysium - even when he can sense the evil rolling off their skin, even when he knows it to be a lie. Standing here, a gods-damned youth presented before him, soul ripe for the taking, he struggles to find within himself the strength to resist. He knows he will never pass on the mantle of war, knows he will never subject another soul to the horrors to which he's adjusted... knows there will be no point in accepting the young thing.

No point, and yet... and yet he can at least offer a place of comfort, the solace of company, for the boy's eternal rest.

"Give him to me," he grits out at last, his tone as neutral as he can make it. "Let me hold him."

Renfri complies immediately, as she always does, stepping forward to meet him with outstretched arms. He takes the boy from her protective cradle with practiced care, sinking to his knees that he might hold the boy closer still. He is not surprised when the young thing stirs, a whimper of protest rising in his throat; he is, however, surprised when that bleeding head tips sideways to rest against his chest. He is afraid.

"Can you hear me, young one?" the god of war whispers, grimacing at the feel of blood-drenched fabric on his hands. He readjusts his grip to be as delicate as possible, knowing that the boy's pain will soon cease forever - he can sense no aura of hatred, although... although there is something else, something unique, new. "You are safe now."

As weak as the little thing is, trembling and limp in his embrace, it startles him when heavy eyelashes begin to flutter open, and startles him even further when the shade of blue revealed beneath seems brighter, purer, than even the clearest of skies, for all that they are hazy with death's fog. "Can you speak? I would like your name, if you feel it fit to tell."

He expects no response, but one comes regardless, after a pause that hangs heavy in the air with confusion and pain. "Jaskier," murmurs the boy, and his voice is so subdued, so broken... so afraid, and yet so different to the fear of all the soldiers the god rejects day by day, so different to the terror of death... so beautiful. "My... my name is Jaskier."

The boy's voice cracks there, and the god steadies him as best he can, freeing a hand to brush those matted locks of deep brown aside. Something in his chest goes tight when the boy - Jaskier - tips his head into the touch and lets his eyes drift shut again, so clearly dazed, desperate for kindness. Jaw firm, he lifts his head, meeting Renfri's gaze. "Who killed him?" The question is simple, direct. This was a murder... and part of his steel heart rages at the thought of anyone or anything slaughtering a creature this beautiful, this fragile.

Here, Renfri's own face shutters, and she reaches up to remove the hound's head helmet she wears, balancing it in her arms. There is something new in her eyes, something tense and vicious... a memory. "One of my women saw him fleeing after he was stabbed," she says, her eyes dropping to Jaskier. "She said that the man turned and ran before she could properly see, but he had been chasing the boy for quite some time, she guesses."

"He was nearly inside your temple, my liege," another ker speaks up from Renfri's side; the god's gaze flicks sideways to her. "He was coughing his blood onto the stairs when he slipped and fell... lost his balance, no doubt. His skull... I do believe he is to die immediately."

The war god's face is impassive, though his spirit aches. So close to sanctuary... so close to salvation... and yet, cursed now... your pain will cease, but your suffering will not...

Another weak sound from the boy in his arms draws him back to the present, and he brushes his fingers through those locks again, holding bright blue eyes as they open again. "What happened to you?" he asks him, running his fingertips along the edges of the split in Jaskier's skin. The boy flinches, then stills, no doubt too overwhelmed to feel any specific source of agony. "What do you remember?"

Jaskier is quiet, those eyes fading with every labored breath he draws. Conflict is plain in his gaze, in the way he looks away, up to the ceiling overhead. Another broken noise catches halfway up his throat when he shifts in the god's embrace, pressing his hand more firmly to the wound in his torso. "He chased me," he murmurs at last, "once he was done... threatened to kill me if - if I told a soul... I ran, I didn't - I thought I could make it somewhere safe i - in time..."

Confusion must flicker in the god's eyes, for Jaskier's face pinks with shame even through the pallor of death. The boy says nothing more, and the god lifts his eyes once more. "He was assaulted otherwise, my liege," Renfri explains before he can open his mouth to ask, and the edge in her tone - sorrow, empathy, memory - sends yet another arrow through his heart. "... Taken, and not for the first time, either."

Her meaning dawns at the same time Jaskier all but recoils from the words, drawing closer into the god's chest with a wounded noise. At once, the unfamiliar aura he felt makes sense - it is the brush of evil against purity, the effects of cruelty upon the innocence of youth. Something vicious snarls to life deep within his chest, something feral and full of hate for the mortals whose lives he is meant to end. Never before has he more sincerely wished to send war across the lands, that he might get some gods-damned rest. Not for the first time... what have they done to you, little thing?

"You're alright now," he murmurs aloud, his hand coming to cup Jaskier's face; when the boy noses into the hollow of his wrist, steady trembling abating some, his heart aches properly. It's a strange feeling. "You're alright, beautiful one, you're safe here... you will be safe here."

He senses, more than sees, the keres stir, interest piqued. He spares them not a glance.

"Where?" Jaskier is asking, his voice weaker than before. It is easy to tell he will not last much longer. "Where... am I...?"

The god softens then, and he brushes a thumb across the boy's cheekbone, across that smooth, perfect skin. Those brilliant blue eyes flutter, resting at half-mast as Jaskier relaxes into the repetitive motion. "You're in the realm of a god," he murmurs. "You are dying, young one. You've got but a heartbeat left, I believe..."

Fear flickers through those eyes, and he is quick to speak on, keeping his touch just as delicate as before, unfamiliar though it is. "You've nothing to fear. The judges will find you pure, and they will send you back here to live with me - back here for me to protect you."

"You - who are you?" Jaskier asks, and though the fear has faded back into confusion, he sounds... tranquil. It is easy enough to imagine that even the thought of death is better than that of returning to his prior life.

It is that tranquility that convinces the god to shift his touch lower, to press the pad of his thumb into the hollow of the boy's sternum, exposed through the tears in his tunic. Jaskier winces, but protests not, relaxing again nearly immediately; he is too weak to fight. The god of war watches as a simple black design twines itself onto bare skin, bold at first, then fading to nothing: a hound's skull, Ares' claim. "You know me as Ares," he says aloud, "but my name is Geralt."

"Geralt," he murmurs, soft and low. The name sounds enchanting upon his lips, strained though his voice may be. "I'll come back to you...?"

Geralt nods, returning his grip to Jaskier's jaw; he cannot help but smile, faint and barely-there, when the little thing tilts his head back into the touch immediately. So starved for kindness... so starved for help. "You will come back to me," he replies quietly. "You've nothing to fear."

Standing above them, the keres are growing restless; Geralt can sense their anticipation rising. He glances up to Renfri, poised and waiting; when he looks back down, those blue eyes have nearly faded entirely. "You can let go," he tells the boy, as gently as he knows how. "I will be here waiting."

Jaskier says nothing more, too weak to muster words, but something almost like... like peace glints in his eyes. Just as Geralt grows used to the sight, those eyes gloss over entirely, that slender frame going still. The god heaves a sigh, and looks up to Renfri. She is reaching out already, hand open for the wisps of golden smoke that are rising from the boy's parted lips. Geralt watches in silence as the wisps twine themselves about her forearm, the image of dandelions printing brightly upon her skin before disappearing from view.

"You've chosen well," Renfri murmurs, backing off a stride as Geralt lowers Jaskier's corpse and stands. In mere minutes, it will fade, too. "It does you no good, dwelling here alone."

"I don't need your words of pity," he tells her quietly, already turning away. "Go, now. I trust we'll meet again soon."

He does not have to look to know that Renfri rolls her eyes, nor to know that the keres' bodies shift, women morphing into carrion hounds and vultures alike. The veil is torn once more, and the keres slip through; only a moment later, the room goes still.

Geralt is alone.

#when children go to war #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #greek god au #greek mythology au #my fics

[thestoryofustaylorsversion]

Folklore perspectives ✨

As Taylor said, each folklore tale is told from either her perspective, her friends’s perspective or perspectives of those she has never met before.

Here’s who’s perspective I believe each tale is told✨

The 1- taylor’s perspective looking back at a past friendship (most likely in her 20’s) she may have thought would be more OR betty’s perspective on how she wished things worked out different with james (during the roaring 1920s?)

‘If you really wanted me then you really should’ve shown’

‘Roaring twenties, throwing pennies in the pool. And if my wishes came true, it would have been you”

‘It could have been sweet, if it could have been me’

‘In my defense, I have none. For digging up the grave another time’

‘It could have been fun, if you would have been the one’

cardigan- betty’s perspective on her & james relationship when she’s older (reflecting on what she was told she knew vs what she knew)

‘When you are young they assume you know nothing’

‘But I new you...’

‘When I felt like an old cardigan, under someone’s bed. You put me on and said I was your favorite.’

‘Chase two girls, lose the one’

‘Tried to change the ending, Peter losing Wendy.’

‘I knew everything when I was young’

‘I knew you’d haunt all of my what-ifs’

‘I knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired. And you’d be standing in my front porch light. And you’d come back to me’

the last great american dynasty - rebekah & taylor’s perspective on similar circumstances of being perceived as loud, mad and shamless

‘there goes the loudest/ maddest/ shameless woman this town has ever seen’

‘And then it was bought by me’

‘She/ I had a marvelous time ruining everything’

exile- james & betty’s perspective when they are a bit older on how they fell apart; how they refuse to listen to each other

‘I can see you standing honey, with his arms around your body’

‘I can see you staring honey, like he’s just your understudy’

‘I think I’ve seen this film before, and I didn’t like the ending’

‘We always walked a very thin line’

‘Took you five whole minutes to pack us up and leave me with it’

‘Second, third and hundredth chances.’

‘You didn’t even hear me out’

‘You never/ I gave so many signs’

my tears ricochet- taylor’s perspective on the story of her masters being stolen from under her

‘Even on my worst day. Did I deserve, babe, all the hell you gave me?’

‘Cause I loved you, swear I loved you.’

‘I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace.’

‘And if I’m dead why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed, look at how my tears ricochet.’

‘You wear the same jewels that I gave you, as you bury me’

‘I can anywhere just not home’

‘I still talk to you, as I’m screaming at the sky’

‘And when you can’t sleep at night. You hear my stollen lullabies’

mirrorball - taylor‘s perspective of her career

‘I’ll show you every version of yourself tonight’

‘I can change everything about me to fit in’

‘But I’m still on my tallest tip toes. Spinning in my highest heels, love. Shining just for you’

‘I know they said the end is near’

‘I’ve never been a natural, all I do is try try try’

‘I’m still trying everything to keep you looking at me’

seven- taylor‘s perspective as a child, before she is forced to grow up and become a woman

‘Picture me in the tree’

‘I peaked at seven”

‘We can be pirates’

‘Please picture me in the weeds’

‘Before I learn civility’

‘I used to scream ferociously’

august- james’ summer fling’s perspective on their summer romance

‘Are you sure? Never have I ever before’

‘I can see us lost in the memory’

‘August slipped away to a moment in time’

‘Cause you were never mine’

‘I remember thinking I had you’

‘For me it was enough’

‘So much for summer love and saying us’

‘Back when I was living for the hope of it all’

this is me trying- told from the perspective of James when he’s a little older, who feels he lost his way and is trying to find his way back after losing betty

‘I have a lot of regrets about that’

‘They told me all my cages were mental. So I got wasted like all my potential’

‘Fell behind all my classmates now I’ve ended up here’

‘But I’m here in your doorway’

‘It’s hard to be at a party when you feel like an open wound’

‘It’s hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you’

‘You’re a flashback on a film reel on the one screen in my town’

illicit affairs- a young woman’s perspective on having an affair with someone older

‘I tell my friends I’m out for a run, you’ll be flushed when you return’ (makes me think she’s in college, living with friends)

‘What started in beautiful rooms ends with meetings in parking lots’

‘That’s the thing about illicit affairs and clandestine meetings and longing stares’

‘Take the words for what they are. A dwindling mercurial high’

‘They show their truth just one single time but they lie and they lie and they lie a million little times.’

‘Don’t call me kid, don’t call me baby’

‘Look at this idiotic fool that you made me’

invisible string- taylor’s perspective on fate bringing her to her lover, joe; time heals all things

‘isn’t it just so pretty to think, all along there was some invisible string, tying you to me’

‘a single thread of gold tied me to you.’

‘green was color of the grass where I used to read at Centennial park, I used to think I’d meet somebody there ’

‘Teal was the color of your shirt when you were 16 at the yogurt shop’

‘Bad was the blood of the song in the can on your first trip to LA’

‘Bold was the waitress on our three-year-trio getting lunch down by the lakes. She said I looked like an American singer’

‘Cold was the steel of my axe to grind for the boys who broke my heart, but now I sent their babies presents’

‘Time, mystical, time, cutting me open and healing me fine’

‘Gave me the blues then purple pink skies (lover)’

‘Gold was the color of the leaves when I showed you around Centennial park’

‘Hell was a journey but it brought me heaven’

‘A string that pulled me out of all the wrong arms and to that dive bar’

mad woman- taylor‘s perspective of how she (and other female artists) has been persecuted by the media, celebrities and her former record label

‘What did they think I’d say to that?’

‘They strike to kill and you know I will’

‘Does she smile? Or does she mouth “fuck you forever”’

‘Every time you call me crazy, I get more crazy’

‘Women like hunting witches too’

‘I breathe fire each time I talk’

‘It’s obvious wanting me dead has really brought you two together’

‘Cause you took everything from me. Watching you climb, watching you climb. Over people like me’

‘No one likes a mad woman, you made her like that’

epiphany- a soldier’s (her grandfather’s) perspective, a medial worker’s perspective, a hero’s battle story

‘crawling up the beaches now, I think he’s bleeding out’

‘some things you just can’t speak about’

‘hold your hands through plastic’

‘keep your helmet, keep your life son’

‘Something med school did not cover’

‘with you I serve, with you I fall down’

‘watch you breathin in, watch you breathin out’

‘doc, I think she’s crashing out’

‘only 20 minutes to sleep, but you dream of some epiphany’

betty- james’ perspective when he was seventeen, after he came back from his summer with ‘august’. He chased two girls and now he wants betty back.

‘would you tell me to go fuck myself or lead me to the garden’

‘you heard the rumors from Inez, you can’t believe a word she says, most times but this time it was true’

‘it was only a summer thing’

‘plus I saw you dance with him’

‘the worst thing I ever did was what I did to you’

‘I’m only seventeen I don’t know anything but I know I miss you’

‘I was walking home on broken cobblestones’

‘i slept next to her but I dreamed of you all summer long’

‘I’m here on your doorstep’

‘will you have me? will you love me?’

‘will this fix your broken wings?’

peace- taylor telling joe she knows she can’t give him everything he may need (peace) and is asking if that is still enough? Also a promise to do everything that she can do for him.

‘Would it be enough if I never bring you peace?’

‘You paint dream scapes on the wall, I talk shit with my friends. It’s like I’m wasting you honor’

‘People think love is for show, but I’d die for you in secret’

‘Give you my wild, give you a child’

‘The rain is always gonna come when you’re standing with me’

‘I’m a fire and I’ll keep your brittle heart warm’

‘You got a friend in me’

hoax- taylor making promise to joe that no matter what happens she will always be there for him; also makes references to how he’s the only one who understands her and her pain just like she understands his

‘Don’t want no other shade of blue but you’

‘No other sadness in the world would do’

‘I left a part of me back in new york’

‘You know it still hurts underneath my scars from when they pulled me apart’

‘Stood on the cliffside screaming “give me a reason”’

‘Your faithless love is the hoax I believe in’

‘My broken drum, you have beaten my heart’

Although so many songs are written from many character’s perspective, I absolutely adore how certain lines in most songs are clearly about taylor. She’s such a magical author to weave her life into her character’s lives in her folklore stories ✨🖤🧚‍♂️

I WILL NEVER GET OVER THIS ALBUM 🖤🖤🖤

@taylorswift @taylornation 🖤✨🧚‍♂️

#folklore #taylorswift #folklore theories #folklore era #folklore album #taylornation #folklore perspectives #taylor swift #the 1 #cardiagn #the last great american dynasty #exile #my tears ricochet #mirrorball #seven #august #this is me trying #illicit affairs #invisible string #mad woman #epiphany #betty #peace #hoax #taylurking #swiftie #folklore always streaming #teenage love triangle #folklore taylor swift #folklore lyrics

[childrenoflight-darkness-nothing]

When Castor Met Aislin...

——

Castor waited patiently for the guards to come. He didn’t pace anxiously around the cell. Nor did he struggle against the iron cuffs keeping him chains against the wall. He did nothing but sit, perfectly at ease, with his back resting against the wall on the bed of hay; ignoring the painful burning caused by the iron around his wrists... his ankles.

Anyone would say he was perfectly compliant. That he had subjected himself to his fate (whatever his fate might be). And maybe perhaps he was. Maybe in the three days spent down in the castle dungeons he had made peace with whatever was to come.

He had tried at first, to find some spark of guilt for the things he had done. The crimes he had committed. But no such spark existed. Truly, in his heart, he knew that what he had done was right and no part of himself could be found to regret his actions.

Saving that girl—that very human, very powerless girl—had been the right thing to do. Even if he had had to attack three of his own cousins to do so. Even if he could still feel their blood against his hands as he’d protected her. Had fought for her. Someone had to. Someone in this world had to stand up against the wrongs committed by those who used their power, their position, to hurt those weaker than them.

Treason.

He’d committed treason. The weight of the word was not lost on him. And maybe he should regret it. Maybe saving one girl was not worth everything he could lose. Everything he had worked for. All the pain and the late nights and the swallowing of his own tongue when it was his own skin that took on the injustices of the world. Everything he had hoped to change...

Gone.

But no. What he had done was right. Castor was sure of it. Nothing was worth letting an innocent suffer the hands of his cousins.

A commotion sounded on the other end of the dungeon, capturing Castor’s attention. He turned an emotionless gaze towards the far corner of his cell trying to catch sight of what was happening. He heard shouting. And he caught sight of a guard as they came to open his cell door—one he didn’t recognize though only four days ago he knew the faces and names of every guard stationed at the capital. For a brief moment he wonders if maybe it’s time for his trial, but no that couldn’t be right. And it wouldn’t explain the commotion, would it? They weren’t likely to come for him, while whatever chaos had started at the other ends of the dungeon was going on. It wouldn’t be smart. Too many distractions.

The sounds moved closer, and it was then that Castor realized they were struggling with a prisoner. The noises coming from the end of the room sounded almost feral, and if they hadn’t sounded so strangely feminine he would’ve assumed they were struggling with a wild animal.

Castor rose to his feet as another guard let out a loud curse, before calling for a vial of monkshood. It was a poison they often used for the more unruly prisoners. Though the main ingredient of the mixture was in fact monkshood, Castor knee it was also mixed with something else. A rare berry that would fasten the effects of the flower, causing the prisoners to drop almost instantly. Though he wasn’t entirely sure what the other ingredient was. Only that the mixture itself burned as it entered your system, like fire in your veins as it worked it’s way throughout your body. Castor learned the exact effects himself after they’d used it on him just three days ago. It was an experience he didn’t wish on anyone.

He could still feel the memory of it. How he’d clawed at his skin trying to get the burning to stop. A fire inside him that had been eating him from the inside out. It was a pain like nothing he’d felt before, and he’d writhed on the cell floor a pathetic whimpering mess convinced that he would die slowly and alone until his old second had slipped him the antidote.

A scream echoed through the stone walls, only for everything to fall silent a moment later. The fight gone completely from the other prisoner. Castor heard a grunt as the guards heaved the prisoner from the floor. Not a minute later his own cell door was being pulled open, and a young girl thrown inside. Her body crumpled to the floor and Castor struggled to his feet.

The guard tossed a vial in his direction, uncaring as to whether Castor caught it or it crashed and broke on the cobblestone. “Give that to her, or let her die,” he said as Castor caught they vial between his cuffed hands. “I really don’t care which.”

Castor uncorked the vial before he even spared the girl a glance. With a sniff of the contents his suspicions were confirmed. The antidote to the pain she’d just been subjected to. Without it, she would die, and judging by the state of her she wouldn’t last long.

He took in the state of her as he pulled her head into his lap, his touch gentle. Her brown skin was covered in more blood and grime than anything else. And her clothing was in tatters, barely covering her. She whimpered as he moved her, a broken barely there sound.

“There you go,” he said as he tilted the contents slowly into her mouth. There wasn’t much in the vial... He hoped it would be enough. “Not long now.”

Castor placed a hand on her forehead unsticking the curls that had found a home there, dried and held in place by a good deal of sweat and the blood that was still seeping from a wound along her hair line. His hand burned against her fevered skin.

“Make it stop,” she said, her voice weak and dry as she found a small moment of clarity. Her eyes fluttered open for a second, only to fall back closed as she shuddered. Her throat released a strangled sound as she writhed. “Please.”

“Just a few more minutes,” he assured. Though he wasn’t sure how long the antidote would take to work. The only thing he could remember from when Jacelyn had given it to him was their hand in his hair as they’d say with him through the pain. In his state the time it took hadn’t even registered to him. Only that it seemed to slowly fade away until nothing was left but a stinging in his veins. “That’s the worst of it now.”

When the worst of her shuddering had stopped Castor gently slid her back on to the floor, he didn’t notice the white of his shirt now stained with her blood as he examined her. He realized she couldn’t be less a few years younger the he was. Seventeen or eighteen summers at the most with as small and frail as she was. Her skin was little more than a loose sack around her bones, ribs and joints protruding.

Castor frowned as he took in her injuries, he quickly came to realize that the gash on her forehead and the monkshood poison were minor compared to the rest of the damage her body had taken. Bruising covered nearly every inch of her, and she had several broken ribs. Where there was no bruising she had multiple cuts and lacerations and where her skin wasn’t broken she was littered with dozens of scars. Wounds he quickly recognized from similar ones that had marred his own skin. This girl hadn’t gotten hurt in defense from the guards... No. She’d been tortured. Whipped and cut open.

The girl whimpered as he moved her to examine each wound. And hating himself because there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t even clean them.

“Goddesses above,” he exclaimed as he took in her back. Swallowing hard as he pulled the stripped remains of her shirt away from her skin so he could see better. Jagged lines of still bleeding skin crossed nearly every inch of her back from where she’d been beaten. “What did they do to you?”

Castor shook his head, biting back on his rage as he schooled his expression. No one deserves this. And he couldn’t help himself from thinking that maybe it would have been merciful to let the monkshood take her, at least that would have been quicker.

The girl didn’t stir again for the rest of the night, not when he set her broken bones or did his best to clean her cuts with what little water he’d been given. Her fever only worsened as the night progressed, and Castor sent a silent prayer that the Goddesses might spare her any more torment. A quick death, or a miracle.

——

“I can help her.”

Castor glanced behind him, towards the bars of a neighboring cell, when he heard the raspy voice. He’d barely even heard it, quiet as it was. His eyes met the eyes of a woman, old and wrinkled. Her brown skin deathly pale in the early morning light.

He hadn’t slept, not for the entire night. Keeping a silent watch over the girl and her worsening condition.

The woman’s hand shook as she reached through the bars. “I can help her,” she repeated. “I’m gifted.”

He shook his head, taking a glance back at the girl before him before looking to the woman again. “You’re in no condition. The strain...” He bit back the words before he could say them, it could kill you.

“I’ll die anyways,” her words were covered by a violent cough as she pulled her hand back to cover her mouth. “Let me do this. I’d rather save her than have my life wasted with execution or sickness.”

Castor’s chains rattled as he moved the girl to other side of the cell. She was light in his arms, too light. The woman reached her hands through the bars, her fingertips stained with her own fresh blood as she placed a hand on the girls stomach.

“Oh Aislin,” she sighed, her voice taking on a mournful tone.

Castor’s believe he might have seen a tear trail it’s way down the woman’s cheek, but he isn’t sure. “You know her?” he finally asks.

She merely nods while she pulls the rest of Aislin’s shirt away, wincing as the fabric sticks to the wounds. But Aislin doesn’t stir, mercifully obvious to any pain. She lays a hand over the worst of the angry flesh on the girl’s back, and a faint light pulses from her palms. The woman murmurs in a language Castor only recognizes from his trip to Mirrior forest, the faeries tongue. Even knowing it was forbidden. Using it, and the power behind it could get them both killed.

Though he supposed they wasn’t much sense in being worried about that now. He was likely facing death for his own crimes.

It doesn’t take long for Aislin’s wounds to knit themselves together, her skin glowing like the sun wherever the woman focused her magic. Castor let out a breath as Aislin side, the first sound of life the girl had made since being thrown into his cell that wasn’t filled with pain and suffering. He thought about stopping the woman as her hands began to shake. As sweat dripped from her brow and she painted with the effort. She would burn herself out if she kept on much longer. But she pressed on, not stopping until even the worst of Aislin’s wounds were nothing more than scars. Nothing but memories left behind.

“You should rest,” he told the woman as she pulled her hands away. She had a ghostly look about her now. Like death herself had swapped places with the woman in her cell.

——

“Time to leave this hell-hole forever,” Jacelyn called from the cell door. Keys rattled as they pulled it open. “King’s finally decided what to do with both of you.”

Aislin didn’t look up from her spot against the opposite wall of the cell she only pulled herself into a tighter ball as the cell door creaked open.

Jacelyn cast Castor a grim smile as they came inside the small room. And he knew whatever news they brought wouldn’t be pleasant. He said nothing as they sat down in front of the newly closed door, perfectly at ease with the criminals inside. If he was going to escape now would be the perfect time, but Jacelyn knew as well as Castor did he would never even make the attempt. He would face whatever news Jacelyn brought with them.

“How bad is it, Jace?” He looked over to his former second. Their expression betrayed the cheery tone they’d entered the cell with, and their shoulders were tense beneath their tunic.

They shrugged, forcing nonchalantness as they faced their captain. Castor might have lost his position as captain of the guard, but Jacelyn would always recognize them with the title. If anyone had brought honour to the position it had been Castor, always leading his people with respect and compassion.

Many called him a stone cold bastard, and perhaps he deserved the title. But he took his position seriously, and he was just and patient with his people. Something Jacelyn would always respect him for.

“Execution for you, you know the usual.” They forced a grin before nodding over to Aislin. “Your friend here gets a choice.”

“What choice?” Aislin demanded, finally looking up. Her voice was barely anything more than a whisper though, her body healed but her strength was not. It would take more than magic to get her healthy.

“Well,” Jace sighed, biting their lip, “you can submit to banishment and everything that entails. Or you can go to one of the chapels, further your education, devote yourself to the Gods. You can die alongside him, or go back to your.... master.” Jace’s features twisted with the word, like it tasted foul in her mouth.

Castor’s brow furrowed in confusion as Jacelyn spoke. If Aislin was a criminal like he’d assumed there was no way they’d let her anywhere near the chapels. Master? A runaway then... Perhaps a serving girl... but that wouldn’t explain the obvious signs of torture...

“I’m not going back,” she said, her voice taking on a stronger more forceful tone. “I’m never going back.”

“Good choice.” Jace nodded. “So, the meadows or one of the chapels?”

“The meadows, I have no desire to be a slave.”

“You wouldn’t be a slave, the chapels are for learning. Following the ways of the Gods, not for slave labor,” Castor cut in.

Aislin shook her head lightly, meeting Castor’s eye for the first time since she’d woken up. Which had been right before they had taken the other woman from her cell. “If you say so, your highness.”

“I’m not a prince, not anymore.” He ground out the words, his hand nearly reaching for the line now burned through his chest. It had been one of the first things they’d stripped of him burning the royal crest from his skin, right before they’d burned through the marks that signifies his place as captain of the royal guard.

“None of that matters.” Jace sighed again. “Your former title, what the chapels are for... None of it. You chose banishment.” They glanced towards Aislin. “So I have one prisoner I have to get ready for the Meadows, and another I have to prepare for death. They’ve refused you last rights, Castor I’m sorry...”

Castor said nothing in response, as Jacelyn moved to crouch in front of Aislin. “I hate to do this, and I’m sorry but I’m going to have to cuff you,” they said pulling the girls wrists away from around her knees. “Wait... what even is your name?”

“It doesn’t matter, Melody is the only one who will bother to remember it.” Aislin’s tone was bitter as she looked to the empty cell beside them. Where the woman who had healed her had been. “What’s going to happen to her anyways?” she questioned. She lifted her arms, wincing as the cuffs snapped around her wrists. Jacelyn had left them lose, but the feeling of them was something Aislin never wanted to experience again.

“I’m not at liberty to say, unfortunately.”

——

“How did someone so... human ever be appointed as captain of the royal guard?” Aislin questioned as Jacelyn led her prisoners through the dungeon.

The captain had linked them both together, a chain weighing down their wrists as they walked side beside.

Jacelyn tilted their head and turned around. They continued to walk backwards as they spoke. “Easy,” they grinned. “Be second-in-command when your superior goes and commits treason. I never thanked you for that, by the way. Your office is so much nicer than my old one.” They nodded in Castor’s direction.

Castor cracked half a smile at them, and Aislin looked at him, realization dawned in her eyes.

“So you’re that prince,” she mused. “Castor Fane Adonis, future ruler of Oclia and the highly esteemed Captain of the Royal Guard. Betrothed to the Bloodstone Heir... though you’re no one now. What did you do anyways?”

“He can tell you his story later,” Jace said. “We’re here.”

——

“Not this one,” a voice cut in as the three of them entered the room. Castor recognized one of his cousins instantly. He still had a smattering of bruises on his face from his fight with the former captain. He grinned as he took Aislin’s face into his hands. “This one goes back.”

She shrinked away from him, but the prince’s grip was firm. Jacelyn shook their head stepping between them both and forcing the prince back. “No, my orders were clear. This one gets to go.”

“Change of orders.” He tossed his shoulders, ignoring his cousin completely. A group of four other guards, all bearing the mark of a neighboring kingdom enter the room behind them. “This one goes back.”

“Just let her go,” Castor growled. “She’s of no use to you.”

“Afraid I can’t do that cousin. Now back off or your precious second dies with you.”

They carted Aislin back to the dungeons, the girl kicking and screaming as she was pulled away from the first bit of freedom she ever had a chance at getting. Castor powerless to do anything. If he’d been a free man, he could have taken them all. Gotten Jacelyn and Aislin at least out of the castle with their lives. But as it was, he knew he only had a chance at protecting one of them. And as much as it pained him he chose his former second. He didn’t know the girl. But he did know Jacelyn. He knew Jacelyn could do what he was unable to do with the guard, Castor weighed down by his title and responsibilities to the crown. But Jacelyn could make a difference.

Though only if she was alive.

He had to believe Aislin would be given another chance. Though it wasn’t likely at the hands of his cousin, or the guards behind him.

He ground his teeth as Jacelyn prepared him for the execution. He pretended he could still hear Aislin’s screams echoing down the hallway outside, though they’d long since faded.

Jacelyn stepped behind him, muttering apologies as she did so. Castor was just about to ask what for when she brought a syringe to his neck, a moment later his vision fell black and he collapsed to the floor. “Sorry, Cas, but you’re getting out of here. I never was too good at following orders.” Their words were the last thing he heard before the world was lost to him.

#a little whump #a little comfort #tw blood #tw injuries #tw drugs #tw poison #tw violence #tw torture #castor adonis #aislin o’conner #child of light #child of light excerpts

[midwinter-fox]

Son

While travelling through Velen, a place Dettlaff detested for its gassy swamps and excess necrophages, what he expected least of all was how many children were without families. War came with many horrid aftermaths, but so see how many homes had been torn apart brought him only aching.

"Liefje, why are we here? This place is filled with only misery and broken homes." They traveled by horseback only for the fact that Leonore was incapable of handling the speed with which he could travel while carrying her. It always brought about dizzying bouts of illness, so he had purchased a deep chestnut steed to ride alongside her beloved mare, Lola. Now, though, he wished he could make short work of their trip so he didn't have to bear witness to all of the destitution.

"To visit my family, love. They live in Novigrad, but they don't have the funds to come see me instead. Besides, I'd like to introduce you to each other. My grandmother might not approve of you immediately, but I know my sister and her children will adore you when we visit them after Gramma."

"Why would your grandmother disapprove..?"

"She's simply distrusting of men. Just call her 'grandma' and let her talk your ear off. It's the quickest way to her heart."

"Odd," he muttered, but she did not hear him over the clattering of hooves on cobblestone.

It was late when they approached the city, so there weren't so many people out in the streets, but Novigrad was a large city, and thus would always be busy. While there were no crowds, the occasional drunkard would stumble in front of either of their horses, making them have to maneuver around them, much to his irritation. He was decent when it came to riding, but he did it so infrequently that he had to try to relearn before setting off on their journey. Leonore, however, could very well be the Goddess of Equines with how skillfully she wove her steed through groups of people without bumping into a one. Admiration for his lover blossomed inside him, or it would if he could only keep up without having to tug the reins every few feet.

They entered the city through the Portside Gate, but had to travel all the way through the city to get to The Bits. Why they were given such unappealing names when there was also Glory Gate or even St. Gregory's Square was beyond the vampire's comprehension. Upon seeing the district in which Leonore's family resided, he immediately understood; the buildings were decrepit, the streets were filthy, and the homeless were everywhere. They couldn't ride more than a few paces without someone begging them for coin. As kind as he was despite appearance, Dettlaff only had so much to give and needed it for the journey back to Leonore's home in Brugge.

She rode on, not paying the misfortuned any mind whilst simultaneously managing to practically remain unnoticed. Yet, they asked him for his money when his mate was the first to stride past them. When he finally managed to catch up (though not before reluctantly parting with more crowns than he wished to), he inquired as to why this was.

"It's because you're a foreigner," she explained, "and usually foreigners mean plenty of money. Just politely decline and tell them you've not nearly as much money as they seem to think. I've gone through this before, too - they'll understand."

With that, she was off again, riding ahead as she searched for the derelict house her family called home. Left alone again, he sighed and watched her as she focused on trying to remember where her grandmother lived. There wasn't much else to look at other than her retreating form until something caught his attention. It was laughter, then a shrill cry, like someone was hurt and others watched in amusement. As loathe as he was to be there any longer than he needed to be, something in him brought him to a screeching halt. With a firm tug of the reins, he brought his horse to a stop and dismounted.

The chestnut stallion was secured to a post, and he inwardly hoped no one would steal his steed whilst his back was turned. His ears were tuned to the sound of the faint cries and notably childish laughter, but he did his best to also keep some of his focus on his unattended horse.

Down an alley, he found three dirty children standing around a crate - one crouched over it while the other two were blocking its contents from Dettlaff's view. As soon as he got too close, the children took notice of him and ran, no doubt leery of strangers thanks to living for so long on the streets. Part of him wanted to stop them, maybe even inquire after their parents and why they played in dark alleys unsupervised, but the soft cries brought his attention to the crate.

His heart stopped when he saw the tiny, dark-blue hands waving angrily from inside the wooden box, face red and voice raw from screaming. The infant laid in its own filth, a rag haphazardly draped across its malnourished body - perhaps a sign of remorse moreso than an attempt to keep it warm. Impulse took him, leading him to kneel beside the crate and lift the weak babe from the makeshift bed. It was barely big enough for him to need both hands to hold it. There were no clothes on its body, not even a cloth for its waste; the vampire felt the utmost pity and despair at seeing the baby boy discarded like this.

With the rag being the only thing to use, Dettlaff at the very least wrapped it around the child's lower half to prevent him from making even more of a mess of himself then proceeded to swaddle him in the trailing tail of his overcoat. Anger and distress welled up in him as he watched the baby go from starved and desperate screams to pained whimpers, the comfort of finally having something to warm him being the first sign of relief in who knew how long.

There was no time to try to find who dared leave an infant to die of hunger and cold in a filthy alley - Dettlaff ran back to his horse and mounted carefully. The jostling further upset the babe cradled protectively in his arms, but he couldn't do much to appease him when he was trying to ride with such precious cargo. Leonore had ridden so far ahead of him, he had to use his keen senses to try to find her. Her scent was very specific - rose, sugar, and lavender; it wasn't long before he'd caught up to her, this time in too much of a rush to care about whether his horse knocked into anyone along the way.

Her grandmother's home was, though barely, one of the nicer homes in the district. Lola was tied up outside with a pail of water set beside her as a makeshift trough. Before his horse could even make a full stop, he was dismounting and striding purposefully to the door, baby boy still trying to scream with a hoarse and weak voice. Whatever conversation was happening inside, it stopped abruptly as soon as he pushed open the door with his shoulder.

"Dettlaff?? Where have you been? Why the hell do you have a baby?!"

Leonore was on her feet and rushing to his side, but he refused to let her take the child from him, no matter that she was his mate.

"I am keeping him warm. He needs food and a bath - please, I will explain when he is cared for."

An elderly woman who was once sitting on a wooden chair off to one side of the room was standing and quickly hobbling to an adjacent room without a word. Leonore urged him to follow, so he did, but he did not expect for the old lady to be so speedy about fetching a rag and a jug of goat's milk. The cloth, though not the cleanest, was soaked in the milk then the corner pressed lightly to the babe's lips. Immediately, it latched on and began suckling. Relief flooded everyone in the room.

"Thank you," Dettlaff sighed, content now that he was able to feed the poor child. "I found him in a crate. A group of children appeared to have been attempting to play with him, but they fled when I arrived. He was barely covered in this and completely bare beneath it. I.. I could not leave him to die."

The two women exchanged a look, both cracking smiles that he was ignorant to - his focus was on the infant and ensuring it fed well.

"Gramma, do you still have the baby clothes my nieces wore?"

"Mhm, gimme a moment," the wizened woman uttered, and though she appeared feeble, she had a spring in her step that said she didn't feel nearly as old as she looked. Before too long, she had a box of clothes set before them.

While the women sifted through the children's clothing, Dettlaff couldn't seem to keep his eyes off of the baby he held. Dark, feathery soft hair covered his head in a thin layer, though whether it was black or a dark brown, it was too short to tell. His eyes never opened long enough for the vampire to tell what color they might be. The child was small, thin, and pale, all a direct result of malnourishment, but Dettlaff was pleased to see that holding him so close was making the blue in his small fingers and toes recede.

"Dettlaff? We're going to heat up some water to bathe it--"

"Him."

"Right, I'm sorry. We're going to draw him a bath. Will you be alright waiting?"

"Yes, but please, be quick. He is covered in filth." Though there was concern in his tone, Dettlaff was so preoccupied with feeding that he hadn't noticed the elderly woman approaching him from the side.

"Ya've got some nasty-lookin' claws on ya. Make sure t'keep those clean. Babies like clingin' n' suckin' on fingers." She reached forward and gently pressed a frail finger to the child's hand, and Dettlaff watched in silent awe as it closed around her finger as though on instinct.

"I will keep that in mind. Thank you." Granted, it was something he already knew, but the old lady was just trying to help. "I've never held an infant before today, but I will do my utmost to be careful."

"Never held a babe? Well, ya seem t'be doin' just fine. I've held plenty, so gimme a holler if ya need help."

"I will. Thank you, oma." His speech gave the woman pause, but she seemed to think twice about saying anything in favor of leaving to assist with making up a bath.

The baby continued to suckle on the milk-soaked rag for nearly half an hour, but when he was finally finished, he opened his mouth to begin crying anew. This time his screams were piercing, agitating the vampire's sensitive hearing and making him flinch. Now, he was at a loss of what to do. He only panicked for but a moment before Leonore came rushing in.

"Here, please allow me," she said over the harsh wails, and this time he let her take the child with no resistance. Carefully, she situated the baby at her shoulder and began patting his cloth-covered rear and humming softly; it was like she'd done this a hundred times before. Soon, there was an audible belch from the tiny body, then silence once again.

"You need to burp him after being fed or he'll get a tummy ache." Leonore handed him the baby once again, but now he was suddenly unsure of himself.

"How did you do that..?"

"You just put him up on your shoulder like this," she helped by rearranging the now fussing infant so that he was in the proper position in Dettlaff's hands, "then just firmly pat his back. Sometimes it helps to pat the rear, too. I've done this for my nieces, so I sort of know what I'm doing."

"This is the first time I've so much as touched an infant. I will need help," Dettlaff admitted.

"It's fine. Just be patient. I've found that if you pay close enough attention, you'll begin to hear a difference in cries. His hungry cry will sound very different compared to his hurt cry or his sleepy cry."

"I did not know this, thank you. Is the bath ready, liefje?"

"It is. It's why I came in here, that and to help get him calmed back down." She then led him into the adjacent room, a kitchen, and guided him to the bath.

Her grandmother stood with a handful of rags of varying degrees of cleanliness.

"Take your pick. Whatever ya don't use can be for diapering."

"Thank you, oma," he responded politely as he took one of the cloths and dipped it into the warm water.

While Dettlaff busied himself with tenderly cleaning away the dirt and refuse from the baby's body, Leonore left to grab something with which to clothe him. In the meantime, Leonore's grandmother stood and watched.

"I ain't well-versed in anything but Common, son. You'll have t'tell me what 'oma' means."

"It is Nazairi for grandma. I will call you something else if it bothers you." He only looked up when the old woman laughed, her aged eyes turned up in a wrinkled smile.

"Son, if it bugged me, ya'd know. I'm pleased t'see my grandbaby found someone with a good head on 'is shoulders. And a natural-born father t'boot."

The old woman's words made his heart soar. There were many times he'd let himself imagine having a family with his beloved, but the prospect of a vampiric child being born to a human woman wasn't a promising one. Such a pregnancy could kill her more surely than one with a mortal child, and that was if it was even possible. It was no secret that he yearned for his own children, but he'd much rather protect his mate than put her in such imminent danger, even if it meant she bore him no children.

"I've entertained the thought of having offspring," he stated simply.

"Well then get on it. Ya ain't gonna be young forever, and I'd like t'see some handsome great-grandbabies from my favorite 'fore I finally kick the bucket." Her crass way of speaking was a bit abrasive to him, but his stomach still twisted into knots just thinking about his lover's tummy swollen with his babe.

For a moment, he let himself imagine the now cleaned infant in his hands having Leonore's hazel eyes or even his own striking blue ones. It was a poor idea on his part, for it only left him getting even more attached to the small child. He was so small, so much so that the vampire feared he may slip between his fingers, though the very idea was absurd. The more he gazed at the weak little thing, the more his chest began to ache.

"What.. What will become of him..?" asked the vampire apprehensively, his voice low and full of concern.

"That," the crone replied, "is up t’you. Now, if you're done bathin' 'im, get some clothes on the poor thing. He'll freeze otherwise."

Dettlaff nodded briefly before returning to the other room, a dry rag in his hand now to properly clothe the baby. Leonore had laid out a number of little linen gowns to keep him warm, but she had to wait for her lover to return so she could see what size would fit the best. Nothing they had would fit very well with how tiny he was, but they made do with the smallest one they had. More fussing from the infant ensued, but once finally bundled up, the older woman instructed them both on how to properly swaddle him in a blanket. As soon as he was wrapped up, arms and legs secured in a cotton cocoon, the baby fell asleep. Pleased that he was finally resting, Dettlaff gently cradled and rocked the infant.

"Will you name him..?" Leonore asked tentatively, unsure if the man was even contemplating keeping the child or if he was going to try finding him a suitable home.

"Should I..?" It seemed even Dettlaff was unsure of what he'd planned to do. It was purely instinct and the desire to protect that drove him to bring the babe with him. He didn't think he'd actually be keeping him, but who else would he go to? "Are we to raise him..? I admit, I did not think this through."

"Well, I see no harm in doing so, though it’ll be a huge responsibility. If he was abandoned, I'd like nothing more than to ensure he has a good home. He’ll probably die otherwise. Besides, you've told me time and again how you want kids." There was only kindness and warmth in her gaze, and Dettlaff could not love this woman more than he did in that moment.

"And you would have me name him?" When she nodded, he paused in thought. It was another minute or so before he came to a decision. "Ezra."

"Ezra? You're certain?"

"I am. His name is Ezra."

"Any surname? I'm unsure of how the Nazairi go about that, but I know you go by 'van der Eretein.'"

"It signifies my place of origin. The Eretein valley in Nazair is where I once made my home. If I gave him a surname, it would best be 'van der Steeg' or 'van der Stad.'"

"What do they mean?"

"Steeg is alley. Stad is city."

"I'd rather call him Ezra of the city rather than of the alley."

"Ezra van der Stad," Dettlaff uttered to himself, then again with more confidence to test the sound of it. "Is this alright by you, liefje?"

"I like it," she smiled, then looked back at her grandmother for approval. The elder, standing silently to the side as she watched the unfolding scene, nodded. "It's settled. I'll see about gathering some extra clothing and the like to take home with us for him."

Mindlessly, Dettlaff nodded. He was in a state of euphoria. Though it was not how he'd intended for it to be, he now had a son, and he would do all in his power to give him all of the love and care he deserved.

"Ik hou van jou, mijn zoon," he whispered as he pressed his lips to the infant's forehead. The babe slept peacefully, blissfully unaware that he was now held and coddled by the man who would be his father.

#My Tales #Dettlaff #dettlaff van der eretein #fluff #I love you my son #my heart hurt thinking about this #betemorne posted a headcanon that gave me this idea #Ezra also means helper #ugh i might post more baby stuff

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

71- and what was ur fave thing about each of them? and for the us, can you do states??

71: Countries you’ve visited?

United States

PennsylvaniaI love the fact that in PA, you just can’t escape the trees. The forest is everywhere. Deal with it.

New YorkI’ve only been to New York a couple of times, and each of those times was to the Big Apple. My favorite thing about NYC I think is how no one bats an eye your way. No one asks questions, and it’s kind of great. (That’s the image I got anyway).

New JerseyNew Jersey is kind of one of those layover states for me- a place that I’m only passing through to get somewhere else. But I did have the chance to stay at my roommate’s house when we were getting ready to head to Newark to fly to London. She’s the granddaughter of some really rich dude- Her house is big enough to fit my entire village in, no lie. She took us to her local mall, and I was faced with the blooming reality that there are actually people out there that can spend $3785 on a single pair of shoes and not bat an eye. She is among those. But she also now knows how to thrift shop like a boss, and I think we really balanced each other out in that end.

MarylandI’ve only driven through Maryland, sadly. But as it stands now, my favorite part is probably that it’s the state where one of my homies lives. Oh! And the Baltimore Barnes and Noble! They had a kickass train set in their children’s section, and I spent a good portion of my afternoon there. Got a full set of Shakespeare there~

VirginiaI’ve been to Virginia once in my life, and that was for my high school senior class trip. We hit up Busch Gardens (where I rode my first upside down roller coaster ever), Virginia Beach (my first time seeing the ocean, where I decided to run as far in as physically possible while wearing jeans and all my outer layers), and Norfolk (where I and my best friend hopped aboard a wedding cruise, were mistaken as wedding guests, and basically completely avoided our classmates as we danced with the wedding party and shared stories under the stars with the bridesmaids.) For Virginia- it was the memories. Good, good memories. But mostly Busch Gardens. I love the way that park is set up; each section is based off another country. Highly recommend the pretzels in their Germany, by the way. And check out the Loch Ness Monster- it goes into a tower and- Yes. Terrifying. Love it.

United Kingdom

EnglandMy beautiful, precious England. Lived in the centre of Westminster for about six months, and I had never been happier. I did get to visit a few places outside of London- Rochester, Nottingham, Sherwood, Bath, Dover, Canterbury, Stonehenge- but not as many as I would have liked. For England as a whole, I adored how easy it was to travel around the country- the public transportation there is leagues beyond anything the US could hope to find within the next decade. As for London- I feel I’m a bit more of an expert on this from living there. London- Despite being one of the bigger cities in the world, it never felt crowded? I only was overwhelmed by the size in my first week (then I explored a bit and realised it’s honestly one of the easiest cities I’ve ever had to navigate), My favorite part about England was that, no matter where I was in the country, despite being completely different soil (sometimes brick red, sometimes white chalk), it always felt like I was home. I’ve never fallen in love with a human, but the emotions I feel in regards to London- I find it’s comparible. I didn’t want to leave. I’ve been stateside for over 2 years now, and every day my heart still pangs in longing for the Belgian waffles outside Baker Street station, the roasted chestnuts that are floating around between Tate Modern and the Millenium Bridge, the annoying voice of the lady at Charing Cross always reminding you to “mind the gap,” the houseboats of the Romani in Regent’s canal, Little Venice, the way the hot cocoa from Pret a Manger is so rich that it just melts in your mouth, the peppercorn sauce from Garfunkle’s, the secret gardens in Regent’s Park, the divine massages that come with every new hair style, the salt in the air, the brilliant colours alligning the Queen’s Walk (whether you’re heading towards Southwark or Victoria), and the constant, spontaneous hailstorms that go totally vertical if you’re on Westiminster Bridge.London- London was honestly a dream come true, and as the real world creeps ever closer, I’m becoming more resigned to never having the opportunity to go there again.

ScotlandI only got to spend a couple of days in Aberdeen. We three (my roommate, her boyfriend, and myself) were going to visit Edinborough, but after comparing costs, we realised it was way cheaper to rent an apartment in the coastal city than it was to rent individual beds in the latter. We explored the coast, found a mall, saw a film, I flirted with a cop, befriended a couple of cats, discovered an abandoned castle- Scotland was the most peaceful place I have ever been. I would be entirely content with a small flat somewhere in Aberdeen- The library was very much like one in one of our coal towns, the theatre is active, the shopping district is lively, Primark of course has wonderful selections, and there is a lovely deli/cafe hidden away that makes the best homemade lollis I have ever tasted.

France

I think I would have enjoyed France a lot more if I hadn’t gone in the spring. As it was, I visited Paris (and Versailles!) during my Easter Break, and for the first two days, I was extremely disappointed. Paris itself is amazing; the food at any pop-up stand is to die for (totally recommend the Croque Monsieur served at the open-air stands in Jardins de Tuileries!), you can buy really fucking good wine at any grocery store for less than 10 quid, and there are little secret nooks and crannies you would never expect. However, the city itself smells like shit, and the homeless population is almost overwhelming. It was by far not the cleanest city I toured while in Europe, but it was definitely the… There is gold in most of the buildings, and a certain romanticism that is purely French in itself. My third day, the sun was out, and I did most of my exploration then. If you abandon the Metro, you’ll find gold (literally). You just have to… Learn to ignore the negatives and appreciate the positives. Perhaps one day I’ll return, and give her another chance. When that happens, I’ll take someone with me.

Belgium

Belgium was quiet, there were swans everywhere, I met at least four cats in each of the three cities I explored, and it’s the perfect blend of Germanic architecture and French linguistics to make my heart skip a beat. In Ypres, I found some really cool looking in-ground huts, and a giant wooden cat sculpture in the town square (all cobblestones, by the way). My afternoon was complete when I saw a tractor just roll on through the main streets like it was a normal thing. In Oostende, I was nearly blown into the sea by a squall and found the most romantic little park I’ve ever come across. In Brugge, I danced with an older gentleman playing an accordian, sampled more chocolate than should be tolerated, threw a bottle of beer at a party I wasn’t even invited to, and accidentally found a thrift store and befriended the elderly couple who managed it. I also purchased a watercolor from a local artist and his fiance, both of whom I’m still penpals with to this day. Belgium was quiet, peaceful, and perhaps the most genuinely friendly of countries I’ve wandered.

Netherlands

Another in which I went with my roomie and her boyfriend. We stayed in Amsterdam, and oooh boy there were some moments. At one store, I was mistaken for a local and had a gentleman start talking to me in Dutch. We toured the Jewish Historical Museum; it was the first time I had seen my roomie brought to tears simply by being in a room. There was a carnival in the Red Light District, and we bought a cotton candy that was bigger than our three heads combined. I loved Amsterdam because it was probably one of the most laid-back, cleanest places I have ever seen.

Italy

Spent my birthday in Rome, took a train to Venice. Rome is easily walkable, but be warned that it’s mostly cobblestones and there are a lot of hilly spots; don’t wear shoes you haven’t broken in yet, no matter how cute they are. Don’t take pictures with the guys dressed up; they’ll try to charge you about 5 quid per photo. If you’re craving pizza, there is a tiny, almost invisible pizzeria just across the road from the Spanish Steps. Buy yourself a whole pie; it’s worth the 8 quid. I liked Rome for the mere fact that it felt like a foreign city. It had distinctly contemporary aspects to it, but the orange trees, the heat, the dry air- that was all a new experience for me. I honestly wish I had been there for more than a day. As for Venice- we (my roomie’s bf and me- We scored a deal on Groupon for flights, hotes, train ride for Rome and Venice for two, and we met up with my roomie in Venice with her folks, who had taken her to Florence and Naples) splurged on 1 euro gelato, the best damn apples I have ever found, really bad films- That was just the first night. Our train ride had us sitting across two glorious lads from Brighton- I don’t think they actually had any luggage; their sacks were filled with at least five bottles of wine and half the breakfast buffet. The second day in Venice, we toured the city, moved from our hotel to a private apartment that my roomie’s parents rented, and I discovered the joys of premade toast with nutella, Italian bridal showers, and befriending the local fishermen. The food, the culture, the drinks- well, the wine. I will never do limoncello again in this lifetime. The absynthe in Paris was leagues better, and that’s saying something.- Venice is- There’s something almost mystical about the place. The water trickles all around you, and the wind whispers in old dusty walls. It’s a complete maze, and some corners you turn into have no ending, no life. And’s almost completely walking, which only adds to the whimsy. I- Venice was magical, and I hope I can return to explore on my own before she succumbs to the sea.

Vatican City

Stopped by while in Rome, and I was super disappointed by the hellishly long queue waiting to go into the Chapel. My traveling buddy and I instead opted to explore the mini city within the tiny nation. We found the ATM that has Latin as an option, and played a small round of catch with a young Swiss boy who was there with his grandparents. I feel bad as I don’t really have much feedback on Vatican City, but I can say at least the exterior architecture is ace.

Spain

Oh Spain. Where to begin? Barcelona houses the best gelato out of all the cities I toured (with a small exception to the Gelati Leche I found in Rome, but it still dominates in Vanilla and Chocolate.) The beach is wonderful, the waters were so blue it was almost like looking at the sky again. Our Irish buddy was with us, and it was the first time someone taunted me enough to swim out into the sea deep enough that I could no longer touch the bottom. Again, I always underestimate how much I like being in water, so I didn’t pack a change of clothes that first day. We did do some exploring and some shopping, but the best part after the hours spent on the beach was finding an Italian restaurant that was playing Spice Girls’ music videos in the background, while the owners spoke in French. Spain was the last trip I did while abroad, and the flight home was to Finals Week, and my last week in London. Our flight home brought with it the sunrise over France, knowledge that I was coming to a new chapter of my life, one I still haven’t written yet. But the greatest and most transformative moment came after we had returned.Traffic was fucking shite man. I didn’t get back to school until about halfway through my one history final, so late that I didn’t even go to my room. I hauled ass in with my big backpack, my notes in my free hand, panic written on my face, desperation in my words. Unofrtunately, the professor could not by contract allow me to take the exam. However, in a private meeting later, he asked me to confide what grade I needed to earn full credits back in the States. On account of my earlier performance, he gave me the grade, assured me that I “would have gotten an A anyway; I know you know your history,” and only gave me a brief chiding on poorly timed scheduling.Somehow though, I didn’t mind. I should have been more upset about missing an exam- a Final, no less!- but in comparison to everything I had done that weekend-Spain taught me that sometimes in life, there will be conflicting paths. Both will give you an opportunity, but it’s up to you to decide which one to take. I chose the path that gave me more stories to tell, gave me memories of soft sand and amazing french fries and complimenting strangers over breakfast, gave me a hat and a hand-painted fan that I couldn’t have found anywhere else. I chose to follow my heart, and while I may not have gained the A I wanted for that module, I earned something that can never be replaced.Spain taught me that life is short, and while there are goals you will want to reach, don’t push aside those chances to live a little.In The EndI miss traveling. I want to see more of the US, I want to visit friends and family in Ukraine, Phillipines, Louisiana, Madagascar, Russia, Germany, and Brazil. But for now, I’m here. For now, I’m bettering myself in the small ways. The world is so much bigger and far more wonderful than you could even begin to imagine. I may never see Nepal or Alaska, I might never get a chance to explore the Amazon or wander Kenya. But what I can do is keep collecting each memory, every moment, keep it all close to my heart. Because those little moments?

Those are what make the adventure truly amazing.

[aquaticsmoresblocksaboutmcsm]

Of Kings and TNT

Day Two: Assembly Required Jesse Used: Vague Pairing: None Words: 3,682 Notes: WOW, this was longer than I was aiming for. If I wasn’t careful, I could have hit the five thousand word count easily. I feel like I rushed through a few things, but oh well. :P

Axel was beyond bummed.

He had wanted to go to Boom Town. He had really, really, REALLY wanted to go to Boom Town. He could have gone with one of his best friends in the whole wide world. But Jesse decided that it would be better to go get Ellegaard of all people to help them take down the Witherstorm. Axel grumbled at the very thought that Jesse and Olivia would go get a famous nerd over the greatest person of all time. Magnus was a million, no, a BILLION times better than Ellegaard in Axel’s honest opinion and would be a lot more helpful fighting an ever-growing storm.

“Hey, are you going to work on that wall or are you just going to stare at it day?”

Axel heard an annoying voice above him and he looked up towards the balcony above the front door to the Temple of the Order of the Stone and sent a glare to the blonde jerky Ocelot called Lukas that was glaring back at him.

“For your information, I was admiring my hard work,” Axel said as he gestured toward the fixed-up wall that was made from various blocks that he had dug up from his inventory.

“Axel, it looks like you just threw a bunch of random blocks at the wall and called it a day,” The blonde jerk said in a tone that sounded like disdain to Axel. Lukas leaned on the balcony as he tried to get a better look at the blocks that made up the wall before he turned back to Axel and raised his eyebrow. “Did you seriously use a melon to help rebuild the wall?”

“Hey, I was supposed to fix up the hole in the wall and I did,” Axel said with a shrug before he turned back to his masterpiece. “Besides, I think it looks great!”

“Uh…” Lukas glanced down at the mess of mossy cobblestone, melons, and a jack-o-lantern that now made up the wall before he sighed as if he was resigned. “You know what? It’s fine. I just asked for help with prepping this place before nightfall and that’s what I got.”

Axel narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “You don’t like the hard work I did, do you?”

“What? No, that’s not what I said.”

Axel gestured to his brilliantly built patch-up job. “You think what I did is stupid, don’t you?”

“Axel, seriously? I just said it was fine. You’re not even listening to me, are-.”

“Well, I’ve had it!” Axel raised his arms in the air before he began to storm off. “I’m out of here.”

The Ocelot watched Axel, slightly confused with what had just happened. “Wait, where are you going?”

“I’m going to go get Magnus by myself!” Axel stopped his angry jog and looked back at the blonde jerk. “Anything’s better than sticking around here with you!”

“You’re going to Boom Town? By yourself?” Lukas asked, his eyes widened in surprise.

“Yeah, by myself! It’s the town of my people! I can handle dealing with a bunch of my fellow griefers,” Axel said confidently before he began to storm away again.

“Wait, Ax-” Before Lukas could finish calling out to the angry griefer, he was already gone. “-el…”

Sighing to himself, Lukas glanced back down at the wall and frowned. “We could’ve used that melon as food, you know…”

After a quick and uneventful trip through the Nether to Axel’s surprise and slight relief, he soon found himself in front of the portal that would take him straight into Boom Town and one step closer to his idol.

“Okay, I got this. I’m going to go straight to Magnus, tell him what’s up, and be back before Jesse and Olivia even come back with Ellegaard. Yeah… yeah, this is going to be easy!” Axel said, fist pumping the air as soon as he finished giving himself the pep-talk of the century.

With him practically radiating confidence and giddiness, Axel took a step through the portal and prepared himself with whatever was on the other side.

What he didn’t expect, however, was the sudden feeling of falling…

… And the next thing Axel knew, his face and entire body was on the sandy ground and he couldn’t help but groan in pain.

Finally getting the energy to peel himself off the ground, Axel looked up and his eyes widened in awe as he saw the sights before him.

All around him was several types of building that had all had holes blown into them by TNT if Axel had to make an educated guess. Almost everything was practically on fire and there were several holes in the sandy ground. In the distance, he could hear the never ending sound of things exploding and Axel could have sworn he heard someone screaming in agony.

Everything was chaos. Utter, utter chaos.

It… was… perfect!

Boom Town was everything Axel had pictured it and more! The people living in this crazy town had just as much love for destruction as he did, if not greater! Just looking at the blown-up buildings made Axel feel right at home and he could imagine himself living there one day!

Wait, why did he feel like he was forgetting something important…?

OH! RIGHT! Magnus!

“I gotta find Magnus!” Axel said as looked around in a panic, but he had no idea where to look! He didn’t have the amulet Gabriel gave to Jesse, so how was he going to track down the greatest member of the Order of the Stone?

“You and everyone else in this town, new person.”

Hearing a sudden voice, Axel turned and saw a griefer girl with blue hair in pigtails, a pink shirt, and a black mask lazily tossing an egg up in the air. She looked at Axel with a look of annoyance before she smirked to herself.

“Uh, what do you mean?” Axel asked unsurely.

“I mean what I mean, you big noob!” the girl snapped angrily at Axel before she shrugged. “Everyone here is looking for Magnus to steal the title of ‘King of Boom Town.’ But try as we might, we haven’t even been able to see where he’s hold himself up. So unless you have a death wish, I suggest you go back where you came from, if you know what’s good for you.” She paused before she began to chuckle to herself. “Though, if you came to this town, you probably already do.”

“Hey, I can probably find him. It’ll be easy!” Axel said before he smirked to himself. “And maybe I’ll become King while I’m at it!”

“HA!” The griefer girl let out a loud laugh before she glared at the newcomer. “I’ve been looking for him for YEARS, noob! What makes you think you can find him just like that?”

“Hey, it’s probably not that hard! Hmm…” Axel hummed to himself as he looked around the town before he pointed at a broken down spire in the distance and smiled confidently. “That looks like an awesome place to be a King of Boom Town at!”

The griefer girl stared at tall building the newcomer had pointed out before she put a hand up to her chin in thought. “Hmm, don’t think I’ve checked there yet,” she said before she smirked evilly as she placed her egg back into her inventory and pulled a block of TNT out. “Thanks for the tip! Shame I can’t let you leave here in one piece now.” She shrugged. “Consider it a ‘Welcome to Boom Town’ gift.”

The smile dropped from Axel’s face as he stared at the TNT.

“Uh, hold that thought,” Axel said before he slowly turned away…

… And ran towards the spire as fast as his legs could take him.

“HEY!” The griefer girl called after him angrily, running after him with the block of TNT high above her head. “Get back here!”

Axel ignored the girl as he screamed loudly, trying his best not to get killed by any traps and other griefers as he began to make his way toward the spire.

Axel wasn’t entirely sure how, but he had made it to the doors of the spire all in one piece and lost all those griefers.

… Well, mostly. He had an arrow sticking out from his leg that kind of hurt, but once he pulled it out he’d be fine.

Axel stared up at the grey doors and hoped that Magnus was behind them. Maybe once he’d knock, Magnus would invite him in, they could talk, they would then throw TNT at buildings and laugh at the destruction, Magnus would then make him the new King of Boom Town, and THEN they’d go stop the Witherstorm.

Yeah, that sounded like a good plan.

As soon as Axel knocked on the important looking doors, he waited for a moment to see if anyone would open the doors.

… But nobody answered.

“Um… hello? Magnus? It’s me! Your biggest fan!” Axel yelled out before he frowned when he realized what he said. “And by that I mean that I really think you’re the greatest hero ever and not just because I’m bigger than most people!”

There was a long pause…

… And then the door opened.

“And that’s more like it! And here I thought something bad was going to happen,” Axel said happily before he stepped through…

… Then promptly fell through a trap door that had appeared underneath him.

Having not gotten used to falling down on his adventure, Axel screamed until he landed hard on the ground. Then, with a groan, he picked himself up and rubbed the back of his head and began to walk forward. “Okay, that’s kind of what I expected… minus all the cool explosions.”

“I suggest you don’t walk any further unless you want to die by hundreds upon hundreds of death traps. You might feel a slight booming sensation if you do.”

Stepping out from behind a waterfall of lava, Magnus gave Axel a once over before pulling a lever on the wall close to him, causing a few TNT to be pulled up in front of Axel.

While any sane normal person would be begging for their lives, Axel stared at Magnus in awe and was practically bouncing in his steps. “Yes! I just caught in a trap by Magnus! This really is the best day of my life!” Axel paused for a moment as he looked down at the TNT before him and his smile fell. “Well, I’m probably gonna die now, but it’s still the best day of my life.”

“You’re not a very good griefer if you were trying to sneak up on me,” Magnus said before letting out a laugh. “I have no idea how you found me, but I’m beginning to think it was all dumb luck.” His hand then rested on a lever. “Unless you’re a distraction while a bunch of other griefers try to pull a sneak attack on me!”

“Wait, no, Magnus!” Axel held out his hand in an attempt to stop his hero from pulling another level. “I totally wasn’t trying to sneak up on you! I came because there’s terrifying Witherstorm on the loose and you’re the only one who can stop it!”

Magnus just rolled his eyes and scoffed. “That is the dumbest made-up story I’ve ever heard. “You’re going to have to try better than that, punk.”

“No, really! It’s true! There’s this massive three-headed thing with tentacles that totally destroyed the town! It was made by this guy named Ivor who was apparently-”

“Ivor, you say?” Magnus asked, slightly surprised some noob griefer knew that name in the first place. “Okay, you now have my attention.” He swiftly pulled down a lever and the TNT that was blocking Axel flew out and landed in the lava, exploding upon contact.

Axel slowly began walking forward before he was stopped by another barricade of TNT. “Uh, yeah. Apparently you and he used to be a part of the Order of the Stone a long time ago. Though it’s a little weird because nobody has ever heard of him and-”

“… And now I’m losing it!” Magnus declared as he reached out to pull another lever.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Axel called out as he tried to think about what else he should say. “Um, uh, Ivor made the Witherstorm out of a thing called a command block! Ever heard of it?”

“Ivor did what?” Magnus snapped, almost sounding alarmed. “What in the Nether was he thinking?”

“I know, right?” Axel said, glad that he was able to get his hero’s full attention again. “And that’s why I’m here to take you to the Temple of the Order of the Stone! I came because you’re the greatest hero in the world and you’re the only one who can stop that thing! Who else but Magnus – the greatest griefer ever – could stop it?”

Magnus put a hand to his chin as if he was considering Axel’s words. Then, with a swift pull of a lever, all of the TNT from his traps on the bridge were released into the lava. “Okay, I’m in. There’s just one slight problem…”

“Nothing that can’t be handled by the great Magnus the Rouge, right?” Axel said with a grin as he walked up to his hero.

“Hmm, flattery might get you almost everywhere, kid, but not this time,” Magnus said with a grumble. “I can’t leave this tower without getting bombarded by a bunch of griefers trying to claim my crown. I’m pretty much stuck here until someone beats me.”

“But… you’re Magnus! No one can beat you!”

“And that’s the problem!” Magnus walked past Axel before stopping and letting out a huff. “No one can beat me! And until someone can beat me, I can’t leave this place.”

“Aw man…” Axel grumbled and crossed his arms. “That’s pretty much impossible. There’s no way we can find someone to defeat you and take your crown.”

Magnus looked at Axel for a long time before he put a hand to his chin in thought. “Well, maybe we do.”

“We do?” Axel asked in confusion.

“Yep. You’ll beat me and take my crown in a round of Death Bowl.”

“Wait, WHAT?” Axel screamed out in surprise. “I can’t beat you! You’re Magnus!”

“And that’s why I’m going to let you win. We fight in the Death Bowl, we make it look good, I take the fall, and you take the crown,” Magnus said before he shrugged again. “Easy peasy, piece of cake.”

“Uh… won’t that mean I get trapped in this tower instead?” Axel asked, looking around the room they were in. “I mean, this place is great and all, but my friends kind of need me.”

“Eh, nah. You’re just some no-name noob. The least they can do is try and kill you,” Magnus said nonchalantly. “You can either give the title up or run away with it. Don’t care what you do with it, to be honest.”

“Hmm…” Axel put a hand to his chin as he was seriously considering the offer. “So, all I have to do is defeat you in a thing called the ‘Death Bowl’?”

“Yep.”

“And you’ll let me win?”

“Yep.”

“And then I’ll be King and I can do whatever I want?”

“Eh… probably.”

“And then you’ll come with me back to the temple?”

“Yep.”

Axel paused for a few moments before he let a wide grin spread across his face. “Alright, I’m in! Just the thought of becoming King is practically a dream come true!” Axel said before he frowned. “Although, my dreams usually have more TNT and potions talking to me and telling me to take them.”

“Right…” Magnus took a few steps away from Axel before he headed toward the door. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road and on the go!”

“Yeah!” Axel cheered as he followed Magnus. “There’s no way something will go wrong with this!”

“AHHH! Something went wrong with this!”

The Death Bowl had begun so well. Both Axel and Magnus had made their structures, they threw some eggs, they heckled each other, and maybe one or two TNT got thrown in the process.

The moment the audience started to mock Magnus was when things started to go horribly wrong.

Magnus had completely lost it! He had reworked his structure to start throwing TNT by the tons and the only thing Axel could do was hide behind a wall he had made in the panic.

Axel was beginning to think going alone to Boom Town might not have the greatest idea he ever had.

Maybe.

“Okay, come on, there’s gotta be something in here!” Axel said in a panic, opening the chest he had on his stone build and dug into, hoping for some miracle would save him.

Let’s see… an enchanted bow, some more stone, some arrows, and some eggs…

… Yep, he was done for.

“Ahahahaha! There’s nothing you can do against the one and only King of Boom Town!” Axel heard Magnus laugh manically to himself. Axel’s idol had gone completely off the deep end and Axel was pretty sure he was about to die.

Oh well, at least he’d die doing what he loved; getting blown up by TNT.

… Wait a minute!

He liked THROWING TNT! He didn’t want to get blown up by them!

It was at that moment, Axel knew what to do.

… And that was to figure out to shoot an enchanted bow in the next ten seconds as Magnus prepared another onslaught of TNT.

“Okay, so the arrow goes here and the bow points in that direction… right?” Axel mumbled to himself as he tried to fumble with the bow and arrow in his large hands before he held it up and tried to aim it at Magnus’ machine.

“Oh, what are you gonna do with that? Shoot me with your wittle arrow?” Magnus mocked Axel before he began laughing insanely. “You don’t even look like a crack shot, kid!”

“I totally am! Just you watch this,” Axel said confidently as he released the arrow.

The arrow from the bow flew through the air…

… And missed completely Magnus’ machine as the arrow hit the arm of some griefer in audience.

“AH! I’M ON FIRE!” The griefer screamed in panic as the arrow lit him ablaze. The poor griefer ran around in circles for a bit before someone pulled out a bucket of water and poured it on the poor fool.

“Oops… that was my bad!” Axel called out apologetically.

“You shoot worse than my grandma! Nobody shoots arrows at my subjects except for me!” Magnus yelled out before he started pulling the levers of his machine up and down like mad. “Kiss your butt goodbye, noob!”

Magnus’ machine released what seemed like thousands upon thousands of TNT at Axel’s poor little structure. Axel tried his best to avoid the onslaught and he had no choice but to watch his build get destroyed until there was only one block to stand on.

Axel could nothing but watch as one final TNT get released from the explosive machine and aim directly at him.

The TNT grew closer…

… Closer…

… AND CLOSER…

“AHHHHH!” Axel screamed out in panic as he held out his hands to grab onto the TNT that was about to hit him, spun his body around as he was holding onto the explosive block, and then threw it back at the machine as hard as he could.

“W-what?” Magnus stuttered in surprise as he watched the lit TNT that was thrown land in the mouth of his machine. “Aw crud…”

The TNT that Axel had thrown back exploded in the machine causing all the TNT inside to blow up in all directions. Magnus got thrown from the explosion and landed on the ground with a thud.

The audience grew silent.

Axel stared at the fallen Magnus in shock.

The announcer finally pulled himself out of the pit, looked at both Axel and Magnus before he grinned and gestured to the new King of Boom Town. “We have a WINNER!”

The audience was silent for a moment as they digested what had happened.

Then, all at once, they cheered for the new King.

They cheered for Axel.

They cheered for him!

“Awwww, yeah!” Axel cheered as he jumped off the last block from his structure and landed on the ground. “WHO DA’ MAN?!”

“Say, you gonna give a spee-” The announcer began to say, but Axel ignored him as he turned to the audience and waved his arms victoriously.

“I defeated Magnus all by myself! ME! I can’t believe I actually did it!” Axel said before he smirked to himself. “Or maybe I can! BOW BEFORE YOUR NEW KING!”

“Annnd it’s already completely gone to his head,” The announcer mumbled as he shook his head.

“Welp, you guys ready then?” One of the grifers said as he and several others began to walk toward Axel threateningly, holding TNT and eggs as they aimed at their new king.

The smirk dropped from Axel’s face.

Why were they...?

Oh… oh right… they all want the crown.

“Oooh, yeah! This’ll be a way easier target than Magnus!” Another griefer said, chuckling to himself.

Axel stared at the several griefers eyeing him down before he held up a hand. “Uh, hold that thought,” He said as he walked over to Magnus, grabbed his idol by the arm…

… And made a run for it.

“HEY! GET BACK HERE!” Several griefers yelled out as they chased after their new king.

“Hey, let go!” Magnus said, struggling against Axel’s strong pull.

“Maybe later!” Axel said in a panic as he made a mad dash to the portal to the Nether.

Despite all the chases, near death experiences, and eggs to the face, it really was Axel’s best day ever.

Besides, he was named King of Boom Town! It couldn’t get much better than that!

#mcsmcountdown #mcsmc day 2 #mcsm #minecraft story mode

[pussymagicuniverse]

Time Travel, Remembrance, and Wearing the Word ‘Witch’

“Can you tell me what this says?”

She’s grinning, her eyes shine with impish mischief, and I look at the badge she’s waving in my face from the shadows – it’s her name, so I say it out loud.

“AN EDUCATED WOMAN!” she booms, a theatrical roar. “She’s a witch! She’s a witch! Get up here.”

And this was how I came to be put on trial as a witch on a cold January night in Edinburgh. It wasn’t just me of course – a young lad who could speak two languages fluently and who, according to his friends, likes to talk to his cat was also pulled up onto the steps in front of Parliament Square. We were to stand and listen to the details of our various tortures. This was part of a well-known ghost tour – there are dozens that run throughout the city – and even though I knew there would be scares and gore in store (why else would I have signed up for this?) the witch trial was unexpected. 

Her choosing me – a modern magical practitioner – left me with adrenalin rising in my chest. All in good fun. A gruesome history lesson, right? For most, yes, I can see that – one relic of our brutal British past, something we should remember with horror. But for me it brought the cruelty home in a previously unexplored way. Even though I’ve read dozens of books, plus countless articles and essays about the history of witchcraft, about practicing witchcraft, witch hunts and trials, this was a new perspective. Even though I’d imagined many times before what it must have been like to be tortured in these ways, having the details applied directly to you – needles pushed under fingernails, being dropped repeatedly onto the cobblestones from the Mercat Cross, broken body thrown into a miserable prison cell, dunked in filthy water over and over again – as you stand in front of a waiting crowd was a brand new experience.

The history of witches, witch hunts, and witch trials around the world and over millennia is varied and long – and in some places it’s still in progress. Britain and the USA are the ones closest to me, of course, because those are the countries of my ancestors, and thankfully, things have moved on in those countries. I’m not here to consider definitive reasons why witches have historically been a source of dread and hatred; there is simply not enough space when entire books are devoted to single aspects of this horrid legacy. Everything I’ve read and everyone I’ve spoken to has a different explanation that they are familiar with, or that they have learned about, and really, that’s the closest thing to the truth – multiple truths. Not all accused witches were women, some were men; not all accused witches were poor, some were nobility; not all accused witches were old and frail, some were young and strong. And so on. Not all witches were innocent and falsely accused either, which we tend to believe is always the case – some of the Pendle witches, and Isobel Gowdie (a famous Scottish witch who proclaimed her guilt proudly, and gave details of her magic and rituals in her confessions) come to mind as examples of those who went to the gallows after openly confessing their craft, and sometimes their intent to harm – though it is true a great many of those famously executed for witchcraft never hurt anyone, and never cast a spell in their lives. 

The point I take from it all and what I spend time contemplating is this: ‘witch’ was a label you really didn’t want in previous centuries, but now more than ever, many of us claim it willingly. And sometimes having a moment to remember this is worthwhile – it adds depth to our practice, honours people who usually very unwillingly sacrificed their lives as part of this story, and it works towards a collective healing.

During the mock witch trial in Edinburgh, I tried to confess immediately, in the spirit of Isobel Gowdie – but I was instructed to say no at each turn. You know, for entertainment purposes. Every torture had to be explained to the tour guests, each point of the typical process from accusation to arrest, from torture to trial to execution (for there was almost always an execution) had to be put in front of an audience. At last we could plead how we wished, at the end of all the tortures. Were we witches? she wanted to know. The young man on trial with me blurted out an indignant, incredulous “No!”, while I looked around at seven pairs of eyes and said “Yes.” The boy was to be strangled, then burned alive. My sentence was execution by hanging, followed by burning my corpse.

“You’re lucky!” the boy turned and said to me, wide-eyed. 

Lucky indeed, to die a quick death, all because I confessed.

We both got a little caught up in it, our nervous laughter covering something more. For his part considering all this for the first time; for my part living this ten-minute mock trial as if I was really accused, as if I would shortly make the trip to the gallows on the Edinburgh Castle esplanade to breathe my last, for the final alchemy of my flesh becoming ash, the air in my lungs transforming to smoke.

Most of us are lucky these days. The witches among us who live at a time in history and a place in the world where at worst, we will be harassed or told we’re going to hell. At best, people will accept us. And somewhere in the middle, we get side-eye or laughed at by people who think we’re ridiculous. I’ve experienced all of the above, which is why even now I’ve been careful with whom I speak at length, one-to-one, about my beliefs and practices. 

Several men in my past have been reminiscent of a witchfinder, of the superstitious or superior misogynists of old who pale at the thought of a woman with power – threatening or denying or fetishising, or maybe all three: “don’t you dare do tarot readings when I’m in the house, it’s evil”; “there’s no such things as witches, and if you tell anyone you are one you’ll be sorry”; “I hope I’m not in love with you because you cast a spell on me” (don’t flatter yourself); “ooh if you’re a witch where can I find you dancing naked around a bonfire?” (nowhere, my dude). There are those I haven’t spoken to in many years, who are fixated on the fact that I’m more public about my path now, some of whom have sent me hateful messages out of nowhere about this very thing. 

None of this is public torture, or trial, or execution. It’s important to remember when we are wearing this word, this very weighted word, that people died for it. People who didn’t want any part of spell-casting or charms. People who were singled out for myriad reasons. People who did practice magic, healing, divination, but didn’t want to harm anyone, who just wanted to get on with things. 

I am not the first person to say it and won’t be the last. I’m simply adding my voice in their memory, in gratitude, and in grief for each person who has ever worn the word ‘witch’ and suffered for it.

Born in Southern Ohio, but settled in the UK since 1999, Kate is a writer, witch, editor and mother of five. She is the author of several poetry pamphlets, and the founding editor of four web journals and a micropress.

Her witchcraft is a blend of her great-grandmother's Appalachian ways and the Anglo-Celtic craft of the country she now calls home – though she incorporates tarot, astrology, and her ancestors, plus music, film, books, and many other things into her practice. Her spiritual life is best described as queer Christopagan with emphasis on the feminine and the natural world. She believes magic is everywhere.

Find Kate on twitter and IG - @mskateybelle - and at her website.