#Bansidhe

[ka-go-me]

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE SMELL LIKE ? She tends to smell like strawberries and lilies. Though her mate thinks she smells like something different as her core scent-though not entirely certain what that is now. 

WHAT DO YOUR MUSE’S HANDS FEEL LIKE ? Rough and yet soft at the same time. Working with a bow for most of her adult life has calloused her hands, however they are soft and gentle because she is at heart a healer.

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY EAT IN A DAY ? Not a lot She has an everlasting residual effect from a time when she had anorexia, and tends to not eat much of anything due to it. Inuyasha will generally have to step in and remind her and also make her eat more often than not. However-she generally makes grilled fish, rice, pickled vegetables and miso soup for breakfasts, and bentos for lunches-and whatever she can figure out to make for dinners.

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE A GOOD SINGING VOICE ?   She can sing~ She often doesn’t, and will play her flute instead, but she can sing.

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE ANY BAD HABITS OR NERVOUS TICKS? She chews on her lower lip a lot. And she gets super defensive really easily. Also, probably due to living with Inuyasha for more than half her life, she’s also quick to getting her fuse lit when things annoy her. 

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY LOOK LIKE / WEAR ?  Kagome usually wears the miko’s kosode no hakama now a days, at least while home, though she also wears a variety of kimono, yukata and furisode as well. When in the modern era she’ll wear leather a lot more often then not, but she’ll also wear blue or yellow dresses. Her hair is more often then not loose, and free-flowing. She dioesn’t really put it up at all, except on occasions of course. Jewelry wise-she has a single ruby pendant earring hanging from her left ear always. And she has a tattoo of small bat-like wings with crimson tips on her shoulder blades. 

IS YOUR MUSE AFFECTIONATE  ? HOW SO ?  She’s very open and caring, and very affectionate with her immediate family-physically and verbally. She’ll go as far as to hug friends, and comfort anyone, stranger or no when they’re in a time of stressful duress with a hug too.

WHAT POSITION DOES YOUR MUSE SLEEP IN ? When sleeping alone, which is rare now, she sleeps curled in a ball on her sides. When sleeping with her mate-curled up in his arms with her frame partially wrapped around his. .

COULD YOU HEAR YOUR MUSE IN THE HALLWAY FROM ANOTHER ROOM ? Depends. Sometimes even when she’s annoyed she can be silent as a wraith, but of course she also can be as loud as a bansidhe too. She talks semi-soft on a normal basis-so she may be able to be heard--but you’d have to be pressed up against the door of the room and listening hard. lol 

tagged by: @adversitybloomed (thanks sweetheart~! 💙💜💖) tagging: @priestcess, @whorunthewcrld (pick someone~! ), @chxmpionofjustice, @gxldeyes, @nzcko, @dualfated, @sparesovereign​. and you!

#tag games #about the muse #Kagome #outoftomorrow

[obscurefox]

husky, inktober day 6

#my art #cryptids dogs #bigfoot #chupacabra #mothman #bansidhe #blackdog

[jamiesama]

"Lucca, the Enchanted Bansidhe" Alcohol markers, stadtler pens, gelly roll #fantasy #fantasyart #banshee #bansidhe #blue #illustration #illustrationartists #drawing #artist #art #artistsoninstagram #artofinstagram #animeart #anime #originalcharacter #originalart #roleplay #roleplayers #roleplayer #pathfinder #pathfinderrpg #necromancer #tabletopgames #tabletop #darksouls (at Highlands Ranch, Colorado) https://www.instagram.com/p/B8-zYIrHaWd/?igshid=u24mdbf6rzvb

#fantasy #fantasyart #banshee #bansidhe #blue #illustration #illustrationartists #drawing #artist #art #artistsoninstagram #artofinstagram #animeart #anime #originalcharacter #originalart #roleplay #roleplayers #roleplayer #pathfinder #pathfinderrpg #necromancer #tabletopgames #tabletop #darksouls

[uailogenos]

Altar update.

I realized that quite a few of the items were made by people I know and I really like that.

The Sucellos and Nantosu̯eltâ delu̯âs (idols) were made by ThevHelvetian Hands (Artocatos Taranicnos/Carl Grimm).

The Carnonos/Cernunnos delu̯â was made by Selgowiros Caranticnos.

The rûnâs were made by The Carnutian Workshop (Branos Carnutodrûidon).

The incense holder was made by Kim Hughston Vasil.

And the Ogmios delu̯â is a printed out image drawn by Cyril Martin.

Then of course, nearby, are the Bansidh CDs.

#gaulpol #gaulish polytheism #galatibessus #celtic polytheism #helvetian hands #carnutian workshop #cyril martin #bansidh #sucellos #sucellus #nantosuelta #nantosueltâ #carnonos #cernunnos #sirona #sironâ #đironâ #ogmios #rosmerta #rosmertâ #taranis #taranus

[aeterniis]

Bansidhe was going home today. She felt the need to go at least once a month, if not more often, to keep her own sanity and remind herself that there was a world outside House Naethri’s blackstone walls. Time, as Magnus always bid it to, seemed to stop in the house. It was hard to remember there was a world outside that aged and laughed and felt sunlight.

The youngest Godfrey girl wanted to come with her. Bansidhe was happy to take her along to see another part of of Thol. She was cloaked in her House silks today, in a deep sage green with gold accents. 

She went alone down the halls to where the Godfreys were housed, and knocked on the door. A slave who’d been cleaning (Ma’at, if she remembered his name correctly), let her in and went to find Nicol. 

#ladygodfrey #c; bansidhe #I should make a house Tyrconnell blog #it's kind of a crime that they don't have one but w/e

[xfirstbcrn]

They were meant to meet the entire family for dinner. Once Seamus had told Enya and Turlough he was dating, and that he had been dating, and that, well, his date was Murdoch Grace’s not-quite-ex-wife, and that they’d been having an affair, and were in fact now quite serious and thinking about marriage, Enya had wanted to launch into a barrage of questions. Turlough had held her back from it, and only asked a few. Mostly, he said he’d like to meet Sinead.

The rest of the family did, too, of course. There was no way that Bansidhe and Rory were going to let this slide by without them getting a measure of Seamus’ new date themselves. Even Uisdean was curious enough to come.

It was an informal thing: Seamus had dressed in a sweater and picked Sinead up at one-thirty. It was a decently long drive out to the Tyrconnell estate and he wanted to factor in traffic and breaks. 

He held her hand in his as they took the country roads up to Donegal. He was just as nervous about this as he had been about Sinead’s parents...just in a different fashion. Here there were no unknown quantities, but there was the fear of what they’d think of Sinead, and what they’d think of him for dating her. 

“--So, I’ll be honest,” he said after they had driven in silence for a good stretch. “It turns out it’s not going to be just Enya and Turlough tonight.” 

#theselfproclaimedprince #v; misery loves company #v; no you're absolutely correct this IS an interrogation!

[syraisgay]

I will be your revenge

Bansidh to the people

#Bansidh

[robertsheehanownsmyass]

The Mists of Culloden -- Part 2

AU!Robert Sheehan x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2099 Warnings: frightening images involving a fire

Welcome to my spooky little four-part story to coincide with my Sheehanoween event! I hope you stick around and check it out, and reblog if you enjoy! :)

Part One

Part Two

The next day, Rob was back at work and you spent a chunk of the afternoon reading a book on the sofa in the sitting room.  The sunshine streamed through the windows, and it was such a lovely autumn day that you couldn’t help but reflect for a moment on how relaxed you felt, and how lucky you were to be cozied up on the couch, just enjoying life. After a while your eyelids started to droop, and you set the book down and stretched, feeling all tension leave your limbs, yawning contentedly. In the light of day, the spooky events of the previous evening seemed distant, and when you reflected on them, they seemed almost silly.  You were still turning the thoughts over in your mind when you dozed off.

It was hot. Blazing hot.  The air was thick with billowing smoke.  The screams of dying men pierced your ears.  It was pitch black and you could see nothing; no source of the heat or smoke, nor the source of the screams. You were running away, but from what? You ran until you reached a stone wall and you felt for a door or a window.  Nothing. You followed the wall until you reached the end, and turned left to follow the perpendicular wall.    You coughed and retched, barely able to breathe.  You followed the wall until your feet bumped some stairs.  You slowly ascended, stumbling blindly, the heat and the smoke worsening as you climbed.  You reached a heavy wooden door that was not fully closed, and you pushed it open.  You gaped in horror at the scene before you. The house was fully engulfed in flames, and you were literally frozen with panic.  There was nowhere to go.  Suddenly, a hand clamped down on your arm from behind you.  You turned, and saw that a woman had grabbed you, and she was shrieking.  "Help me! Heeelp meeee…“  Her hair was on fire and her skin was bubbling in some places and blackening in others.  As you stared at her in terror, one of her eyeballs burst and oozed from a black socket.  You began to scream, and scream and scream….

"Babe! Wake up! Hey!” Rob was shaking you, yelling your name.  You snapped awake, and fell off the couch in a tumble of throw pillows and blankets. You stared up at him for a moment as reality slowly took the place of the terror from your dream.  You were shaking. Rob was kneeling beside you on the ground, alarm painting his beautiful face. He brushed the hair away from your face. “Darlin’, are you okay?”

“Oh god.  Robbie I-- I had the most horrible dream!”

“Jesus darlin’.” He breathed, and sat back on his heels, running a hand through his curls anxiously. “When I walked in you were sound asleep, but then you started thrashing about and-- babe, you started screaming.  It took me a minute to wake you. It scared the shit outta me.“

"It was horrible. I was in some sort of cellar, and it was dark and people were crying and shouting.  I made it upstairs and the whole house was in flames.  Then a woman grabbed me and she was on fire, and I had nowhere to go…and god, she was burning...” You broke off, trembling.

Rob gathered you into his arms. “Oh luv, that sounds awful. It’s over now. It was just a dream. It’s alright.”

“It seemed so real!” you cried, the remnants of the nightmare still at the forefront of your mind.

He peppered your face with kisses and smoothed your hair.  "I’m here now. Everything is okay..“

Rob’s calming effect on you was working, and you began to relax. "I can’t say for sure, but I’m pretty sure it was this house.”

“Oh darlin’, you had that scare last night, so your mind is probably just thinking nasty thoughts. It doesn’t look like there’s been a fire here.”

“I don’t know.” You stood up and scrubbed your face with your hands in an attempt to shake off the dream. “But I really want to find someone who can tell us a bit about this house.”

Rob nodded in agreement.  "We will. We’ll go find someone on my next day off.“

***********************

You spent the evening burying yourself under a protective cover of normalcy, but the dream stayed with you.  You couldn’t stop seeing the burning woman’s face, and you couldn’t keep those screams out of your head.  You sat at the dinner table and began to rub your temples.  Rob had finished clearing the supper dishes and came around to hug you. 

"You’re thinking so loudly I can almost hear you,” he said into your hair.  "You shouldn’t dwell on it too much.  Old houses have a way of getting under your skin.  Shit– Scotland can get under your skin.“

That surprised you.  "I thought you loved Scotland.”

“I do,” he said.  "But there is so much tragic history here, especially here at Culloden. Plus the weather can be moody and the landscape can seem pretty bleak.  It’s like there is a veil of melancholy that is barely perceptible, but it’s everywhere.“

You nodded, understanding.  You recalled your stop in Edinburgh before continuing north to the highlands, and your visit to Mary King’s Close; the underground passageway where plague victims were left to die like rats, and you shuddered at the memory.  But that was only one example; Scotland had been a place of persecution and sadness for over a millennia.

"When I was a kid,” Rob continued, “I would come to Scotland to visit some cousins from time to time. There were always ghost stories, and the subject wasn’t considered very taboo like it is in other places.  It was generally accepted.”

“Is Ireland very different, though?” you smiled.  You loved hearing Robbie reminisce, and when he spoke of his memories the present seemed to fall away as he reinhabited those old thoughts.

“Believe it or not, yes.  We all hear the stories about the bansidhe or banshees, or of faeries that would steal babies.  And yeah, Ireland has its sprawling manors and castles that have ghosts of their own.  But there’s something different about Scotland.”

“Yeah, I think I see what you mean now,” you said.

Rob studied you for a moment before commenting.  "I don’t like the idea of you being here alone so much.  Maybe tomorrow you should get out a bit.  Go to Inverness and do some shopping.  Have lunch on Loch Ness and look for the monster.“

You laughed.  "That’ll be great for my mental state.  Flee a haunted house to look for a legendary lake monster.”

Rob smirked.  "Hey, do what you have to do.  They’re both nearby.  You liked those Outlander novels so much, go look for standing stone circles.“

"Alright, alright,” you chuckled.  "I’ll try to get out tomorrow.“

*****************************

That night you slept rather uneasily.  Despite Rob’s efforts to wear you out (you joked to him afterward that you suspected he had fractured your pelvis), you tossed and turned.  You continued to torture yourself with horrifying images from your dream, and your mind seemed to be afraid of shutting down for fear of revisiting the gruesome past.  

Despite the fact that you were groggy and out of sorts the following day, you took Rob’s advice and hired a car to take you to Inverness.  You walked the cobblestone streets, poked into shops and bookstores, and enjoyed a delicious cafe lunch. It was a  lovely city.  On the way home, you asked the driver to detour south to Loch Ness.  You walked down to a section of the rocky shore and sat for a while.  While you didn’t see a monster, it was a beautiful place and the water calmed you.

On the way back, you stopped at Clava Cairn, a standing stone circle and cairn a bit southeast of Culloden, and probably served as the inspiration for the stone circle in the books you enjoyed.  The site was deserted, and you were free to stroll among the 4000 year-old stones, gently touching them, relishing in the connection between the present and the distant past.  Despite the fact that the central cairn was a burial site, you felt no sadness there, only peace.

You returned home feeling refreshed and rejuvenated.  Rob came home shortly afterward, and you told him all about your day.  He was thrilled that you had taken his advice and had such a nice time.  Your lightened mood lasted the rest of the evening, and that night you slept soundly.

The next two days passed without incident.  Rob promised to take you to Culloden moor on his next day off, and the two of you set off after breakfast.  The battlefield was a short 20 minute walk away, and you strolled hand-in-hand, enjoying the crisp air.  The battlefield itself was a sobering place, and when you first laid eyes on it you felt a pang of sadness.

"I know,” Rob said, reading your expression.  “This ground is seeped with loss and grief.”

He led you to the Visitor’s Centre, where a friendly middle-aged woman looked up over a pair of reading glasses as you entered.

“Hallo there,” she said and smiled kindly.

“Hello,” said Rob.  "We were hoping you could give us some information about a house we’re staying in, just up the road.“

"Ah, you’ll be here for the film then. I’m Peggy.”

"It’s lovely to meet you Peggy,” you said.  "We’re the Sheehans. We’re staying at the house just up the road; number 129.“

"Och aye, I know that place,” she said. “Quite a bit of history there.”

“Really? Is there anything you can tell us about it?” Rob asked.

Peggy nodded.  "I believe the current structure was built around 1780.“

"The current structure?” Rob replied. “There was a house there before?”

“Aye,” she said.  "There was an older house there before, but it burned.  The newer house was built upon the foundation of the previous dwelling.“

You blanched and Rob glanced at you, shocked.  Peggy smiled.

"I take it the old ghosts are acting up?” she asked.

“Ghosts?” you replied.

“Aye, everyone knows the place is haunted.  You wouldna be the first people to come round here asking about it.”

“What happened there?” asked Rob.

She shook her head sadly. “Terrible things.  After the battle here in 1746, the house was where a number of surviving Jacobite rebels sought refuge.  It didna take long for the English to hunt them down.  They actually promised the rebels safe-haven if they surrendered, only to line them up and shoot them after they exited the house.  Many were too badly wounded to exit on their own, and some just didna trust the soldiers, so they hid in the cellar.  The English barred the doors and set fire to the house, where everyone inside either burned alive or died from the smoke. The woman who owned the house and was aiding the rebels perished with the rest.”

You gasped, and Rob covered his mouth with his hands. “That’s horrifying,” you said.  "Those poor people.“

"Aye,” Peg said.  "Such was life for the Scots after the defeat. It continued for many years. The English punished them severely for the uprising, even people who had nothing to do wi’ it. The English werna interested in blame– they were making a point. They wanted to show all of Scotland what happened to people who dared challenge their authority.“ 

“I hope you don’t think I’m crazy,” you said. “But on our first night there, I saw a figure on the front lawn. It scared me half to death.”

“Aye, that must have been a shock,” she said sympathetically. “I canna say one way or another that you saw a spirit, but it doesna seem unlikely. Strange things have happened round here for as long as I can remember.”

You exchanged a look with your husband.  What were you supposed to do with that?

You thanked Peggy for the information with as much composure you could muster, and left the visitor center numb with shock. You grabbed Rob’s arm the moment you were out of earshot. “What the fuck?” you hissed. “My dream. All the weird shit. What is going on?”

“I dunno,” he said. “But I do know that I don’t want you staying there alone.” He hugged you close, and you could feel that his body was tense with worry. “We’re in this together; filming be damned. We’ll figure this out.”

(gif source) Part Three Tag list. Ask me to be added! @thisisarobertsheehanblog​ @joz-stankovich​ @robert-sheehan​

#robert sheehan character fic #sheehanoween #mists of culloden #robert sheehan x reader #robert sheehan fanfic #halloween #spooky story

[ka-go-me]

Folklore Protector.

╰☆╮Bansidhe (Banshee)

"Far, far away something made a single ghostly howl, like a banshee in the dark." -Lucy Christopher The banshee, is a creature from Irish Folklore. Though not inherently malevolent, it is said to be a dark omen. The ghostly cries of a weeping woman drift in the air, warning any unfortunate soul who hears of impending death. Following her like the train of a morbidly beautiful wedding dress, a thick fog envelops her skin as she croons a sorrowful, haunting song which is filled with concern and love for her family. This song can be heard a few days before the death of a family member and in most cases the song can only be heard by the person for whom it is intended. Some even go to argue that it is the banshee's unwitting song which kills the person. You care very strongly about your family and friends. Your loyalty towards those whom you care for is unconditional. You are an excellent and reliable friend, trustworthy enough to bear even the darkest of secrets. Secrets which you would gladly carry to the grave unless of course, they harm your loved ones. You will fight tooth and nail to protect the ones you care for, restraint left abandoned. The banshee admires your reslience and passion. It desires to aid you in protecting those you love and to help you navigate a harsh reality just be warned and keep a close eye on the people you love, 

                            Your undying loyalty may just become their undoing...

tagged by: @senpujin​​  (thanks luv~ ♡♡ ) tagging: @adversitybloomed​​, @theunknownmasks​​ (for Inu~ ♡), @dxmxnpriiincxss​​, @kaigashi​​, @slayerled​​, @mcuntainbcrn​​ and anyone else.

#Tag games #about the muse #Kagome #folklore #{Nifty #outoftomorrow

[dinkydruid]

Lmao I don't have the mental state to be on Twitter much, but I like to cross-check my news there, and it's sometimes fun. I usually have to log off due to some particular vitriol or ignorance, someone saying someone else deserves to be subjugated, you know the typical Twitter hellshit. Today I had to log off, and this is pathetic, because of a thread I was talking in, in which a discourse between two otherwise literate-seeming individuals happened about the word—and I shit you not—"banchy." It took me about four tweets to realize that "Banchy" is not some new (or very old) slur that I'd never heard of, but indeed a gruesome misspelling of the anglicized version of Bansidhe. They meant "Banshee." Words are hard and I don't look down at anyone for not being able to spell a word, or trying to spell phonetically. Grammar and spelling policing is ABLEIST and I am NOT INTO THAT AT ALL. Here's where my issue comes from.

Person A: *argues about ((shitty)) political stance*

Person B: you're a fucking banchy, shrieking at the rest of us about (x)

A: that's a slur how dare you reported for hate speech

B: it's literally not a slur so ok

A: yes it is! Banchy is a derogatory term white American men gave to Irish immigrant women when they came here during the potato famine... *Continues in this fashion of explaining this very incorrect etymology*

If you're gonna tell someone the etymology of a word, you should know about the word. It's totally okay to not know how to spell, but if you're gonna teach someone how to cook, you should know how, or at least do some research on cooking first.

I googled Banchy and Banchie to make sure I wasn't wrong. I VERY POLITELY said, "hey it's not nice to call people names, but that really is not a slur, it's a spirit from Irish lore and they're not malevolent or bad," and listed the Wikipedia page to Bansidhe for them, and person A called me a racist. I'm Black. I have my face as my pfp. I got called racist by a white person on Twitter today (nothing new) because Bansidhe isn't a slur. (Lolwat)

#bansidhe #banshee #white nonsense #white foolishness #racism #twitter sucks #hellsite #slurs #bad faith #reverse racism isnt real

[uailogenos]

#gaulish polytheist #gaulish polytheism #gaulpol #gaulish pagan #gaulish paganism #cernunnos #carnonos #bansidh #ancient fire #taranis #taranis wheel #galatis #galatîs #folk metal #celtic metal #runas #rûnâs #rûnoṷelîtiâ #runouelitia