#or we could go with Irish? folklore

[ghost-bxrd]

Is Fae Dick able to communicate with Damian's pets? Is Haley(Bitewing) also something other/not a normal dog?

Yes he is! Although not in the way humans communicate.

Dick can’t talk to plants/animals per se, but he’s adept at interpreting their body language and subtle social cues. Other beings aren’t human, so they do not communicate as we do. At least not with each other and the (magical) world around them.

So when we say Dick “talks” to animals/plants/etc. what we mean is: there’s a subtle bond between all things living, and animals still have that wild grace that most humans have lost centuries ago. They understand Dick without words, simply by listening to the magic surrounding him. And Dick communicates with them in kind. The reason that most animals and plants jump at the chance to aid and assist him is mostly thanks to his magic being of a very nurturing nature, helping them grow and stay healthy. Think of it as a sort of equivalent exchange!

And Haley? Well we could go with either! On one hand I think it would be very sweet if she was just a normal dog that Dick took a shine to (he’s fae, but for a fae he’s incredibly soft hearted). 💚

On the other hand Haley could very well be one of the more animalistic other beings that stalk the wilderness! And perhaps she was little and got injured and was about to die in a city with so much iron, without an anchor, and Dick found and took her in. ✨

#fae dick grayson #ghost talks #or we could go with Irish? folklore #and make her a cu sidhe #a fae dog #batfamily #dick grayson #bitewing #haley the dog

[ceo-draiochta]

Forgive me if this is a foolish question, but would you happen to know if there’s any sources out there on historical prayer behaviors? IE body position, gestures, etc. I don’t come from a religious background, so I struggle to know to go about praying even when I know what I want to say

Gestures and actions during Irish/Gaelic Pagan prayer.

This is not a foolish question at all! In fact it is a great one. Honestly finding the right words is the hardest part. There is little in the way of documented proof of how pre christian Gaels prayed so reconstruction is necessary. This makes it tricky to find authentic sources, thankfully there is a few practice's we can reconstruct with a lot of certainty. (Sources in bracketed links)

Clockwise/Deiseal movement The act of moving in a circle in a clockwise direction (deiseal) is frequently seen to be auspicious and is used in many Irish Christian rituals. Many of these practices are still done today, especially at holy wells or other pilgrimage sites such at the various stations on Croagh Patrick (link). The opposite of this is anti-clockwise or Tuathal is frequently used in curses. This is a recurring theme throughout Irish and Scottish folklore and has been argued to be partially of a pre Christian origin(Link to book containing a chapter on the topic specifically chapter 10)

This is usually done at Holy Wells while doing the rosary. The well itself or an object near it like a statue, rock or tree is encircled by the worshiper usually 3 or 7 times while reciting the rosary. (link)(link)(link). And is a still living practice.

This clockwise movement was also used in medieval rituals, with supposedly in the Book of Fenagh, an inauguration ritual is described where a bell shrine was walked around a king and his solders clockwise. (in book chapter 10).

The use of the word deiseal and its association with blessing led it in the past to be an equivalent to "bless you" after a sneeze. (link). The sunwise or clockwise direction is synonymous with blessings.

Head down, eyes up The Carmina Gadelica contains a number of prayers from gaelic scotland. Many of which follow a standard christian practice and just as many are situational in nature like to be said while washing ones hands, however certain ones stand out as being representative of a greater traditions of actions due to their unusualness.

References to raising ones eyes (link) and leaving the palms open and outstretched are mentioned (link page 290)

Both women and men were said to curtsey with men doing a bowing motion much like a curtsey in that it involved the bending of the left knee to the side and the right one straight as a show of respect (link)

To summarise with a quote:

"So the lifting of hands, raising of the eyes, and the bowing of the head are all actions that could be done during our prayers. In raising our hands we show a gesture of giving, just as we ‘give’ prayers of thanks, or blessing, or whatever other purpose we might be praying for, especially since there seems to be a since that we’re meant to raise the palms up to the sky (or moon, more to the point) instead of simply holding our hands out, palms up. It’s less a gesture that might suggest we’re asking for a handout than it gives a sense that we’re reaching out." -An Introduction To Gaelic Polytheism by Marissa Hegarty

Curse pose While not involved with worship, poets when preforming a satire, often magical in nature were said to stand on one foot, with one eye closed, holding up one hand, and sometimes speaking with one breath. This seems to specifically used for cursing however.

What to incorporate into your pagan practice I would then recommend that while praying, walking in a circle in a clockwise direction with a bowed head, eyes up, while holding out your hands with the palms skyward would be appropriate. I like to have one hand over the other. After the prayer has concluded a curtsey should be done.

If anyone else has anything to add please do so with what gestures and actions you take during prayers. I hope this answers your question and that it was at all helpful.

#mine #ceist #draíocht #gaelic paganism #celtic paganism #irish paganism #irish polytheism #gaelic polytheism #celtic polytheism #pagan #magic #prayer #paganism #witch #witchblr #research based paganism #please anyone share how you do it #sometimes a direction can be so important to someone that person is me #resources #gaelpol #also check out the two books ive linked #celtic #ireland #scotland #if anyone can source any examples from irish mythology or early lit that would be great #ive seen someone stuff but i can't source it so I did not include #especially deiseal related stuff

[greenishghostey]

Glass Gorgon

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: Eddie made sure to only wear his glasses at home and when he was in a quiet corner of the Hawkins public library. Hellfire campaign planning called for him to be on top form; therefore, his browline glasses were a necessity. You had taken notice of Eddie's weekly library visits and his new bespectacled look. It was a good look on him.

Word Count: 3,339

Warnings: None! This is a fun little fluffy one-shot because one man wearing some reading glasses. Also, the stories of Cu Chulainn are really cool bits of folklore, here's an overview if anyone is curious!

DO NOT REPOST OR EDIT MY WORK

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Eddie had needed to wear reading glasses since he was eight years old. After years of reading and drawing late at night, with only a shitty flashlight as a light source, his big eyes were more than a little bit messed up. 

After one too many comments from teachers about Eddie potentially being “dim” after he couldn’t read the board properly, Wayne took him for an eye test. Crappy eyesight was just another cross to bear for the Munson men, so Wayne knew he was going to be shelling out for some glasses. Eddie got to pick whichever frames he wanted, but damn, was the little boy annoyed about having to do it. He huffed and grumbled the entire trip to the opticians - so much so that Wayne bought Eddie some ice cream to cheer him up. Wayne didn’t like it when his nephew wasn’t his usual smiley little self. 

Since then, Eddie had tried out a few different styles of glasses. He tried to find a pair that didn’t make him look too dorky or take away from his metalhead exterior. Eddie had a reputation as the town freak, and as much as he disliked being labelled as that, he had to keep it up. 

Eight-year-old Eddie had thought wire-framed glasses were a good choice. But after getting that pair broken by an “accidental” football to the face, Wayne suggested a sturdier choice. Sturdier meant thicker, which meant Eddie was going to be getting more sports equipment aimed at his face. 

Bad eyesight just wasn’t metal. Eddie quickly learned that there was next to no chance of him pulling off reading glasses. They made his eyes look even bigger. Every pair did make him look like a dork. Plus, if he didn’t wear them consistently, then his eyes would only get worse. Eddie kind of hated that he had to sit in the back of every classroom to maintain his attempt at being a “cool, bad boy”. In reality, he was squinting enough to get a headache just so he could read Miss O’Donnell’s handwriting. 

Like hell was he wearing those glasses, though.

-

The Hawkins public library was always a bit of a ghost town. Eddie loved it for when he needed time away from the trailer but still needed some quiet. 

Not a lot of people knew that the fantasy section in the library was so varied. But Eddie did. He’d read almost all of the books in the section cover to cover. Wayne didn’t always have the means to get Eddie new books when he finished one, so a library card was the best option. The old librarian back then had been so excited to see such a young kid so eager to devour any book that he could. Wendy was her name. Eddie found himself missing Wendy during his library trips. 

The history section was tucked away in the back corner of the library. Far away from any prying eyes and close to a big window where the sun streamed in just right. This was the other area where Eddie could be found when he made his weekly visits. While the main American history books weren’t his speed, the range of dusty, heavy mythology anthologies that were crammed onto one shelf certainly were. Comparing mythology and fantasy books was a hobby of Eddie’s - it sparked a lot of D&D inspiration and helped him pin down the whirlwind of ideas already in his head. The day he noticed that Tolkien lifted much of his work from Irish Mythology, he almost lost his twelve-year-old mind. Wayne got his ear talked off about the stories of Cú Chulainn.

Black browline frame glasses were perched on the bridge of Eddie’s nose as he hunched over one of the three notebooks he’d brought with him. After forgetting his walkman and headphones last week - and suffering through the droning background noise of the library - he had made sure to bring at least one tape with him at all times. The first one his hand had come to was a new one he found in a bin at a music store in the next town over. The band was called Manilla Road, and they were pretty good - weird castle art as the album cover and heavy guitar solos. Eddie was easy to please. 

The weekly library visits were purely so that Eddie had time to plan for upcoming Hellfire sessions away from the distractions of his bedroom. But also so that no one would stumble upon him wearing his glasses. He wouldn’t be caught dead wearing them within a mile radius of school - his time there was bad enough, and the added taunt of having four eyes just wouldn’t be worth it. 

However, the bespectacled Eddie Munson had been seen by someone he knew somewhat. You had been working at the Hawkins library since graduating two years prior - the same year when Eddie was supposed to have paraded himself across the stage too. You had been working every time Eddie came in and took up his usual space at a desk by the history section. 

You never knew he had to wear glasses. He looked good with them. Really good.

-

Eddie had been digging the heels of his hands into his eyes for the last minute. You had been silently observing him as he appeared to be more stressed than usual. There was a Greek Mythology book open in front of him - you knew because he had been picking it up every visit for the past three weeks. Pieces of paper with numbers and drawings on them littered the desk. Pens and pencils sat beside his hand, bunched together with a rubber band. You had no idea what he was doing, it definitely wasn’t studying, but it seemed to be causing him a lot of trouble.

“Hey? You okay?” You hadn’t meant to startle him; you really hadn’t. Eddie could be jumpy and skittish at the best of times. He was often off in his own world when in the library. No one ever tried to talk to him - he even made sure to be absolutely silent so he wouldn’t risk being kicked out. 

Eddie almost jumped from his chair as he ripped his headphones off and turned to glare at whoever had scared him. The heated glower on his face faded quickly when he met your soft, concerned gaze. 

“Are you okay? You looked stressed, a little grumpy too.” You repeated, giving him a slightly awkward smile as a peace offering for spooking him. You, scaring the big scary town cult leader, no one was going to believe that story for a second. Hell, you didn’t believe it, Eddie was a little intimidating at times, but he was far from scary or capable of all the rumours that clung to him like a bad smell. 

Eddie cleared his throat and turned to you properly, “Uh yeah, ‘m fine. Just stressed, as you said.” He grumbled. So, he was grumpy about something. 

“You doing a project on mythology monsters or something?” You asked, gesturing to his book that was open to a page about Gorgons. “Didn’t think they’d cover that sort of stuff in school. Times’ve changed since I was there.” 

“God no, this isn’t for school. Nah, I should be reading up on the industrial revolution for that.” Eddie relaxed, letting his shoulders drop, and a small smile worm it's way across his face.

He remembered you from school. The two of you hadn’t really talked all that much, but when you did, you talked to him rather than at him. You didn’t speak about him in hushed whispers. Once, you had actually snapped at one of your friends, Vanessa or something, for saying “he might have rabies” when he was your chemistry lab partner. Eddie remembered you pretty well, in fact. You were the library girl now, but he knew you as that one nice girl. 

“I didn’t think you’d be coming in here to study, no offense.” You snorted.

“You been keeping tabs on me when I come in here?” Eddie asked, a mischievous lilt returned to his voice. He was genuinely curious if you had been watching him, but he also couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be slightly suggestive.

“I have, actually. You come in here and sit in the same spot. You’re the only person who even looks at these books. Colour me curious, I guess.” A similar glint could be heard in your voice. You remembered that Eddie was big on getting under the skin of others in any way he could. He didn’t always mean it in a bad way - part of you had wished a scene like this one had happened in school, maybe in the chemistry lab. 

Eddie hadn’t expected you, of all people, to match him beat for beat with the… flirting? “I, uh, I come here specifically for those books. Pretty much all of the myth and fantasy stuff. This is, like, my unofficial Hellfire planning office.” Eddie chirped, knocking his fists against the desk. Him stumbling over his words slightly didn’t go unnoticed. You had forgotten how much of a nerd he was. You were glad he hadn’t changed. 

“Ah, yeah, the D&D club. You know, a lot of middle schoolers come in here looking for those big game guidebooks.” You explained, watching Eddie’s eyes widen almost comically. The glasses made the sun bounce into his eyes quite nicely. “I know, right? You’d think their mommies and daddies would have told ‘em all about the scary Satan game.” 

Eddie surprised you when he pulled out the chair beside him with his foot, gesturing for you to join him. You couldn’t remember him being quite so open to chit-chat back in the day. Well, you also hadn’t ever mentioned D&D to him before - that probably would have helped. 

“Pull up a pew. I can tell you all about the Satan game and why I’m here.” Eddie smirked, huffing out a laugh. You also couldn’t remember him being this smooth. The addition of him looking up at you over his glasses just topped it all off. “I’m surprised you still remember Hellfire…” 

“You guys had cool club shirts, so that helped.” You grinned, sitting down beside Eddie and sneaking a peak at what he had been working on. There were three drawings of Gorgon-like women. Hissing hair and jagged teeth made them appear a lot more monsters than pretty ladies. Eddie had scribbled a note beside the drawings, “keep scary or make hot for distraction???” 

“Cool, huh?” Eddie was now the one coloured with curiosity - you were strange in the grand scheme of Hawkins. His shirts? Cool? Unheard of. “You know, I designed these bad boys myself. Jeff tried to make some creative suggestions, but he fucking sucks at art.” Eddie gloated, itching his nose under his glasses. Finally, he got to brag about the shirts. 

You noticed that he was wearing one of those Hellfire shirts. It was Wednesday, so it wasn’t a game day. Maybe the tee got him in the D&D headspace? 

“Between the little demon guy there,” you poked Eddie’s sternum. He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “And the gorgons. I’d say art is very much your thing. I like that you kept the gorgons a little more monster-y like they’re supposed to be.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows had disappeared under his bangs, molasses eyes still widened. “Thought I was the only person that looked at these books?” He chuckled. Eddie knew that you must have read anything and everything, but the Greek mythology knowledge was a nice little shock to his system. 

“Ah, yeah, um - only for cataloguing a few months ago.” Eddie was sharp, sharper than anyone gave him credit for. You had started browsing the mythology books after seeing his fascination with them. It was time for a subject change before he caught on more. “Are the gorgons going in your game?”

“That’s the plan anyway.” Eddie nodded. He quickly gathered together his pages of notes in order. You were getting the campaign rundown whether you wanted it or not. 

You did. Definitely. Eddie had to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose again. It was something so mundane but endearing to see on him in particular. 

“I wanted to keep the ladies as monsters since they’ll be in a swamp forest kinda place.” Eddie gestured to a small, rough map layout of the landscape. “But, but, buuuut Gareth and Wheeler’s characters are huge virgins, so hot girls that can kill them would just be fun.” 

“How about having them look hot when you first see them, then they go full monster mode and start turning people to stone?” The thought had tumbled from your mind to your mouth before you could stop it. “Sorry. I don’t know enough about this to make any comments. Ignore me-“

“No, no. That’s good. Repeat that.” Eddie interrupted. “Wait, I need my red pen.” His hands scrambled around for the pen that was resting against your forearm. You poked his bicep with the pen, and he itched his nose again. You were comfortable with touching him, and he actually enjoyed that. Enjoyed it because it was someone good - you. 

“Okay. So, they look hot initially, but then when the guys get close enough,” Eddie slapped his hand against the desk as quietly as he could, “then bam! Hair starts hissing, and they’ve gone full creature from the Black Lagoon style!” He said, full of excitement. It had been so long since he’d been able to brainstorm ideas with anyone. 

You couldn’t hold back a giggle at how happy he was. You were talking about something so niche and more than a little odd, but that was Eddie’s thing. He never seemed like the type for small talk - he probably hated when people tried to talk about the weather. You admired that about him. His quirks and the fact that he was upfront with them. 

“I’m glad I could help with torturing your friends’ characters.” You giggled, now trying to focus your attention on a spray pencil. You weren’t sure looking at bubbly, bespectacled Eddie would be a good idea. You were still on shift, after all. 

Eddie pulled off the aforementioned glasses and rubbed at his eyes. He had been sitting at the desk for close to three hours - barely moving an inch the entire time. “Wheeler’s probably gonna bite it, to be honest. Hope you’re okay with that on your conscience.” He laughed. The laugh was soft but still a touch loud, too loud for a library, but you weren’t going to tell him that. 

“It’ll be character-building for him. A learning experience with women.”

“Hmm, kid’s got a girlfriend already, somehow. Poor little lady.” 

You continued to chat about his campaign ideas and the goings-on of your lives. The last time you had talked that much was in the chemistry lab in senior year - well, your senior year and his first attempt. 

Eddie told you about the power scaling for the gorgons and how they were going to fit into his overarching story. You listened intently, nodding enthusiastically - his words were like they were taken straight from one of the fantasy books on the shelves in the library. 

Eddie had taken to fiddling with his glasses. Rubbing at the lenses with his sleeve, spinning them in his hands. He was doing everything to avoid putting them back on, it seemed. The lenses caught the sun, and you saw they were quite smudged. 

“You can put your glasses back on, by the way.” You offered, trying to make him feel a bit less nervous about the object. Browline frames were a bit more physics nerd rather than a metalhead. Eddie hummed at your comment. He was still hesitant. Once he’d realised that he had been wearing them for so long already, he was a bit mortified. 

“Hmm, nah, I’m good. I can’t get them clean anyway, so they won’t be any help.” Eddie rambled. You weren’t going to be able to sit by and let him feel insecure about something so outside of his control. Maybe that’s why he was so worried about wearing them. He didn’t really have an option about it. 

You started digging in your large cardigan pockets for your own reading glasses case. “Well, you’re in luck because I have a wipe in here.” You pulled the small, silky plum cloth from the case, along with your round tortoiseshell glasses. Eddie had taken to looking at you like you were insane, even though all you had done was put on glasses. He blinked a few times before taking the wipe and rubbing at the lenses - making sure to get rid of all old and new smudges. 

“The glasses look good on you. Not the usual metal vibe, but you make them work with the hair and the outfit.” You were grasping at straws for how to compliment Eddie. Of course, you wanted to make him feel better, but you didn’t want to make it painfully obvious that you thought he was cute with the glasses. 

No, he was hot with the glasses. 

“You’re bad at compliments; you know that?” Eddie laughed, allowing his smirk to spread across his face once again. Much better. 

“No, I do know. But take it or leave it.” 

Eddie laughed again, his face heating up in an unfamiliar way. He placed his glasses back on. Clean lenses now let you see his eyes in all their chestnut-like glory. 

“Thanks - um, for not laughing at ‘em. I know I look ridiculous wearing these,” Eddie started fidgeting with his rings again before he rested his gaze entirely on you. “But, never thought I’d be hearing; what was it? They look good on me?” No matter how flustered he was, he wasn’t letting you off the hook with that comment. 

“I’m still on my shift. I’ll leave right now.” You threatened as a blush crawled up the column of your throat. 

“Okay, okay, that was pushing it, I know,” Eddie yielded. You swore you heard him giggle. This man was insane. 

The laughter had drawn the attention of your colleagues, Janet and Vince. Janet was winking at you like a proud aunt. Vince was glaring at you and tapping his wrist. He always was a spoilsport, but he was right. You were still on the clock. 

You had been waving both of them off when Eddie spotted them too. His smile faltered slightly, “you need to get back to work?” 

God, he made it sound so sad. The emphasis on his big, molasses eyes just made everything worse. 

“Yeah, Vince is tapping his wrist at me. I’ve got some middle school study guides that need filing by tomorrow.” You said dejectedly. The clock above the desk read 3:03, and your mood immediately picked up. A new idea had formed in your head, it was a shot in the dark, but you were feeling brave. 

“Are you still gonna be here for like another hour? I finish at 4, so I can come back,” you asked. “If you want the company, totally understand if no-“ 

“I’ll be here,” Eddie stated, nodding and nearly staring a hole through your skull. There was that blush coming back again. 

You clapped happily - god, you were going to humiliate yourself very quickly. Eddie did the nose itch again. That had now become a staple for him. It was strangely adorable on him. In reality, it was a means of fidgeting because you made him a touch nervous. Good nervous. 

Eddie had worn glasses since he was eight years old. He hated almost every second when he wore the frames. He was convinced that he made him look ridiculous, more dorky or just plain dumb. 

But the nice girl in the library, you, said he looked good. He made the glasses work for himself. Maybe they weren’t so bad. 

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson #stranger things #my writing #fluff #fic #eddie

[jakeyt]

Bloodstream: Chapter 1

By: @jakeyt + (my lovely sis) @joshym

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader, f!OC x m!OC

Bloodstream Summary:

Folklore. Stories passed down through generations. Imaginations run rampant with their tales of sorcery and the supernatural. 

But for Tommie, it was different. Somehow it was more. She had become transfixed by a local legend — one that told of an unlawful love affair between a witch and a vampire. To Tommie, it was an alluring tapestry woven with threads of forbidden love and timeless secrets.  Yet something about it felt strangely familiar to her—but why? 

It was only a story…wasn’t it?

Word Count: 10.8k+

Warnings: witchcraft; vampirism; death; mentions of bodily harm; grief; mentions of lgbtq+ oppression (it's the 70's, people were assholes); Vampire!Jake; lots of eventual smut (minors DNI !! 18+ only !!)

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a/n: this baby has been brewing for a good while now. . . it all came to us after walking around an abandoned cemetery near our hometown.

truly, @joshym and i have worked tirelessly on the chapters, the (massive) plot, and the general outline of the story. so, after sitting on it for a bit, we decided its finally the perfect time to share it - during the spookiest month of the year. . . october!!

this chapter is more of an opening to the story than anything. . . there is so much to come, and this chapter barely even begins to scratch the surface ;)

enjoy, loves!!

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Chapter 1:

Harvard University

Cambridge, MA

PRESENT DAY

Friday, October 27th, 2045

｡˚☽˚ 𓃠 ˚☾˚｡ 

The wind whistled in dreary tones around her head as she hurriedly trekked down the bustling halls of campus. 

It was finally fall break on campus. And she was beyond ready for the much-anticipated break from the grueling work that came with being a college student at an extremely prestigious university. 

Even though it was only her first semester at Harvard University, the work had come incomparable to the work she knew was normal for your average college student. Her friends, whom she’d just parted from a few months ago, who were going to typical universities, weren’t feeling the torment she was feeling in this season of life.

There were certainly a few redeeming qualities of going to school at Harvard, though. 

The initial reason she’d decided to come here had been to live with her Granny M, who already lived right there in Cambridge, as she attended school. It had already been what dreams were made of. . . being that her Granny M was her favorite person on the entire earth. 

The second redeeming quality had been the boy she’d met during orientation, who she had instantly clicked with. The wonderfully down to earth, charismatic, and completely handsome Andrew Burnett. Andrew was a tall man, Irish as they come, with the warmest, most kind eyes she’d ever witnessed in real life. He was everything a woman could want in a man, and she had been smitten right off the bat. And, luckily, it seemed he had been, too. For they’d spent hours getting to know each other during the week of orientation, and had started dating the first week of classes. He was truly impeccable.

The third (and most) attractive part of being in Cambridge was being away from the stifling environment of her home in Plymouth. Her parents were the opposite of her in every way. They had been pros at squashing every curiosity she could possibly have, as well as dampening her individuality. 

Her father had come from a strong religious background, bringing it into the home. . .

making her mother follow his lead in making sure the home never had anything suspicious come through. 

And, of course, she regularly challenged that. 

With her clothing choices (black, black, and more black), makeup (always donning a particularly murky shade on her lips), and music (only ever music with deep themes and broody singers; Amy Lee, having been her biggest icon for years).

Then, the candle’s small light had become a blazing flame, when at thirteen years old, she had become completely and utterly transfixed by all things witchcraft and wizardry. It had occurred seemingly overnight. The heartiest addition to things outside of her parents’ perfectly crafted and regulated norm, one could say. 

It had come when she’d first witnessed Harry Potter at a slumber party in middle school. She’d been hooked right off the bat. Though, it wasn’t even Harry Potter that’d transfixed her—or any of the characters in that universe, for that matter. 

No, it had gone further—deeper.

The lore of witchcraft and studying the lifestyles of witches had become everything to her. So, from that point on, she’d wanted to constantly research the logistics and legend of it all. . .though, unfortunately, her parents would have none of it.  

And while her Granny M had never exactly encouraged it, she didn’t stop her from reading and spending countless hours at the library when she’d visit her in the summers growing up. The one rule her grandmother did have was to avoid delving into any local legend. 

Granny M always said it was “too risky.” And when she would ever question her Gran, she’d simply respond with, “That’s all I’ll say, love. Please, just avoid it, my sweet T.” 

So, she did avoid it. She would respect that one wish of her grandmother’s if it meant she could freely read to understand every aspect of it all. 

But, here on this cloudy, windy day, nearing All Hallows’ Eve, something was about to change. 

She’d practically skated to the front desk of Harvard’s library, asking for the latest additions to her favorite section. 

And little did she know: the fascination—the strange obsession—would become more than what it had always been. It would almost eat her alive in curiosity, enchantment, and imagination.

She had gone to the same section as always, plucking the most recent addition.

When she’d gotten to the counter again, new book in tow, she’d scrounged around in her messenger bag for her student ID to check out the book. . .but hadn’t had any luck in locating it. 

“Looking for your ID?” The student worker had asked with a sympathetic tone. 

She huffed, still searching through the mess to no avail. She blew her inky bangs out of her eyes, looking up with an apology plastered on her slim features. “Yeah,” she said, closing her bag and wrapping the strap around her shoulder once more. “I’m sorry; I’m a mess. I can’t seem to find it and I have no clue where in the hell it could be. Can I still check that out without it?”

The student looked apprehensive, letting out a slow breath through his pursed lips. “Name?”

“Thomasina Lowe,” Tommie said, her voice raising an octave in hopes that being positive may help her case. 

“Shit,” the student worker gasped. “You’ve got five books out right now, and almost all of them are overdue.” He shook his head, pushing his black-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Nope. There is no way I can let you check this out and still have a good conscience.”

Tommie’s chest pinched with irritation at the condescending way she was being spoken to. “Seriously? I can’t be the only student on this campus with late books.”

“No,” he said, as if talking to a child. “But you also don’t have your ID. Double whammy for you, Thomasina.”

Tommie’s blood pressure rose up to her ears. And just as she was about to interject again, she heard the wind harshly swoop the door closed behind a student. She and the worker both looked towards the doors, shocked at the sudden rush of wind. And to her relief, it was Andrew. He was covering his head with his book bag, sheltering him and his damp shoulders. 

Tommie glanced behind him at the doors he’d come through, seeing there were now raindrops falling steadily from the sky that was dry just moments ago. And as if on cue, the accompanying sound of thunder clapped and echoed throughout the old building.  

He made eye contact with Tommie almost immediately, his smile reassuring and sweet. Chances were, he had already deduced she was in trouble, as Tommie’s face rarely hid emotion well. 

And as soon as he’d arrived next to her, he was taking both thumbs and softly smoothing her eyebrows back down to normal. Tommie felt her own grin perk her lips the slightest bit. 

But, of course, keeping with his wonderfully sunshine-y personality was the student worker, who hastily broke up the moment with a chastising tone and the shove of the book towards Tommie and Andrew. “Please find the ID and the other books and come back another day.”

Tommie’s nostrils flared as she looked at the book. But just as soon, she felt Andrew’s hand on her back, rubbing circles. 

Towering over her, he spoke to the worker, who had to look up a healthy distance to make eye contact. “I’ll check it out,” he said, his voice, ever-calm and cool, thick with his charming Irish intonation. He slipped his ID from the wallet in his back pocket, sliding it across the counter to the student worker. 

The worker seemed hesitant, but Andrew raised a brow, and nodded his head toward the book. There was no way the worker could deny him, so within seconds, Tommie was walking over to the couches in the coffee area that sat at the back of the library, Andrew’s long legs keeping in line with her fast pace. 

And, when he was back from the counter with two warm coffee cups, he sat them down on the table. Then, taking the seat in the armchair opposite Tommie, he curiously asked, “What’s this book about?”

She was only staring at the back of the book, having just completely read the summary. Her shock was obviously apparent on her face, because when her boyfriend spoke again, he sounded concerned. “Love? You alright?”

Tommie blinked several times, then placed the book down on the table between them. She pushed it to him swiftly, and with a raised brow, he read the back of it as well. 

“Local legend,” he remarked, his interest peaking. “How interest—. Oh.”

“Yeah,” she replied, looking down at her coffee, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic to bring a sense of comfort. The nerves were wracking her. “One of the most famous. This is the third book I’ve come across this semester that’s had to do with it. It’s fucking tempting me, but I have to respect Gran’s rule. Right?” Tommie shook her head, tucking her short brown hair behind her ears. She took a swig of the sweet liquid, tongue burning a bit from the temperature. “But it must be a sign that it keeps coming back to me. . .right?”

He looked contemplative, studying Tommie’s face and exchanging glances at the book and her eyes. Andrew was usually one to be the voice of reason to Tommie’s impulsive ways of thinking, but never one to deny her curiosity as it’s one of the things he’s come to cherish most about her. 

He scanned her face, her amber eyes catching the light just right as they revealed her desire to crack open the book and dive headfirst into the forbidden tale. 

“What harm will skimming a few pages do?” he reassures, attempting to conceal his own fascination with the fable. He smiled as her face lit up instantly, her hands quickly moving from her warm mug back to the book. She looked at him in silent question as her hands stilled on the leather bind, waiting for one more seal of approval before turning a single page. “Go on, then. Open it up.”

He scooted his chair closer to her as she slowly opened the book. The tattered pages held a woodsy scent; earthly notes with subtle hints of sweet musk infiltrated their nostrils as she lifted the hardcover. 

Her fingers skated across the title page, the name written in faded golden ink. “A Dream in Gold: The Legend of The North Atlantic Forbidden Lovers.” 

“There’s no author. . .,” she uttered as she turned the first few pages, searching for some indication of who wrote the curious novel.

“That can’t be,” he said. “There must be mention of one somewhere, at the very least a scribe. How old is this thing, anyways?”

Andrew lifted the book, studying the cover, the first page, even the last page in hopes of finding anything that suggested who wrote it or when it was published. Perplexion clouded his features as his mission proved unsuccessful. 

He flipped through the worn pages that looked more like manuscripts. Intricate artwork detailed oceanic voyages and battles fought between ships navigating the harsh waters. Storm clouds with golden lightning bolts, and night skies littered with sparkling constellations. 

“Wait, I may have found something,” Andrew stumbled on a page almost entirely blank aside from what appeared to be two faint, obscured signatures. “It’s autographed?” He questioned. 

“Maybe they’re the mysterious authors,” Tommie noted. 

Andrew hummed in confirmation as he turned back to the first page of the novel, reading aloud the contents.

“Two creatures of sworn enemies, plummeting in the trenches of a love so dangerous and rare. A love that would move mountains and uproot the sturdiest trees, that would beckon storms with gales too fierce to be measured by humankind. Forbidden by the laws of nature, punishable by a sentence no less than death of the highest degree.” 

Tommie found herself entranced as Andrew read the words that garnished the pages, his voice adding a certain depth to them as she somehow felt she’d heard them all before. Maybe in a dream? Her skin prickled with goosebumps when she felt a strange sense of deja vu, an occurrence she’d felt all too often in her lifetime, but this time felt. . . different. 

He continued reading, oblivious to her state of mind when a sudden deafening clap of thunder boomed from the sky, shaking the foundation of the old library and effectively knocking out the power. 

They sat in silence for a moment, startled by the intensity of nature's call. The lights flickered back on, illuminating their faces once again as they stared at each other with a hundred questions. 

“Keep reading, Andrew,” she urged. 

He did as she asked and carried on.

“A woman of sorcery, a man of the undead. Bound together against all odds.”

Tommie closed her eyes, listening intently to the words he spoke. Vivid images of the story came to life in her head.

“A union against Mother Earth's decree over her land. She punishes all her children for such an act, raging her waters in remonstrance.”  

She suddenly saw a woman dressed in obsidian toned filigree lace, her feathered hair cascading down the delicate features of her face. By her side was a man. His slim, yet broad frame clothed in black, his chest embellished with ancient atocha coins attached to a chain made of burnished silver. His chestnut hair rested atop his sturdy shoulders.

The sound of something slapping against the floor abruptly broke her from her trance. She opened her eyes to see a thick, ragged card lying beneath the table, its design mimicked the artwork of the book. 

“What have we here?” Andrew said as he bent down to retrieve the peculiar card that was tucked away inside the novel.

Tommie leaned over a bit, squinting as she tucked her head in front of him to get a better look at the card. 

Holy shit, she instantly thought. 

The man pictured on the card was the exact same one Tommie had imagined as they’d been reading, just minutes-prior. 

How in the hell? 

She’d always been aware of her extremely vivid imagination, but it had never been so apparent as it was at that moment. Something about it felt different this time. . . it felt stronger. 

Andrew noticed a sudden shift in her expression, her eyes widened as she took in the image of the card.

“You’re a thousand miles away, Tom. Tell me what that mind of yours is conjuring up,” he implored. 

She decided to keep this to herself, afraid she would fail in trying to explain the phenomena to Andrew as she couldn’t make sense of it herself.

“Tarot,” she quickly blurted. “It’s a special sort of tarot card.” She dug through her bag filled with books until she found the one titled Holistic Tarot: An Integrative Approach to Using Tarot for Personal Growth.  “I just finished reading this book on them, they’re incredibly fascinating.” 

She carefully took the card from Andrew, brushing away some of the dust that had collected on it over the years.

Printed underneath the portrait of the man: The World.

She thumbed through her book until she found the section that detailed the symbolism of each card.

“This one of your overdue books, love?” He quipped, nudging her shoulder playfully. 

“Look,” She pointed to the image depicting a similar card as she read the meaning to him. “The World card symbolizes completion, fulfillment and wholeness. It often signifies achieving a long-term goal or fulfilling a dream, and indicates travel to foreign lands, connecting cultures as one.” 

Andrew nodded but had a confused look about him, “Why is this card so different from the ones in your book?” He asked.

Tommie couldn’t put it into words. She just had a sense that there was something much more significant about this card, something other tarot cards didn’t possess. This one was rare, one of a kind. 

All she could do was shake her head in response to his question. 

Andrew held it delicately in his hands, turning it around and investigating the pale card with dark etches of an almost-mystic male face. “It looks different for one,” he remarked, placing it down next to one in the book. “The ones in your book are full of color. . .and the faces—they lack the intricate detail this one possesses.”

He was right, the depiction didn’t even come close to the ones featured in the book. 

“I’m not sure,” she retorted, grabbing her coffee in a swift motion, leaning back in her seat to nurse it as Andrew continued to investigate, flipping the pages to find one similar. 

She took a break from the whirlwind of her thoughts and watched him move, his concentration endearing and lovely. He was always so willing to dive right into all of this with her, even if it wasn’t his own interest. Perfect man. He complimented her so incredibly well—encouraging her wonders of life when others only wanted to dampen it. 

Though she’d only known him for a couple of months, their meeting seemed destined. He brought comfort and peace to her otherwise jumbling, lurching train of a life. 

He peeked back, his eyebrow raised. “You’ve gotta see this.”

Tommie leaned forward, sitting her drink on the table. He had the tarot book laid open, next to A Dream in Gold, still spread wide to reveal yellowing pages.

The stark white card was laid between. . .and as soon as Tommie made the correlation Andrew was waiting for, her eyes nearly bulged out of her head. 

“Oh my god,” she breathed, in utter disbelief. 

⋆⁺₊⋆☾*ੈ☁︎🃁𓉸︎☽⋆⁺₊⋆ 

Plymouth, MA

October 30, 1971

It was the most serene and spooky Autumn night, the moon nearly full. An almost-white mist, overtaking the grounds of the old, abandoned cemetery. 

The winds flurried around your loose curls, enticing your coming enchantment. They resembled the voices of the dead, beckoning you nearer. 

“Not quite yet,” you hushed back, placing your open palm on the nameless cemented block of a grave you’d always felt a certain gravity pulling you towards, placed hidden at the back of the plots. “Soon, my friend.” 

The natural fog was alluring to you, drawing you nearer to other old, crumbling stones and markers. Mossy and forgotten, the graves that held loved ones, were treasures. The generations—the centuries— that had passed since most of these lovely souls had moved from one life to the next— it was daunting to most. 

But not to you. 

No, it was like finding precious gold. The remains of these people, being so near, still, even after their souls had departed to their respective realms, . . .it was taken for granted by many. 

Though, not by you.

You danced to their forgotten songs, answered their muffled cries beneath the cold soil. You cherished their abandoned stories, each one so vastly different from the other. You shared in their joy, you grieved in their sorrow. 

You wanted to help them, to ensure their restfulness in the forlorn afterlife. 

Tomorrow night, on All Hallow’s Eve, you would set forth your per annum spell of peace over the lonesome graves. The most sacred night of the year, the only one of which allowed this spell to be cast. 

Most witches strayed from performing this enchantment, the strength it required, being far too great for most to conjure.

But you were different. 

The dead gave you strength; your devotion to them, a driving force for your power. 

The other witches and warlocks in your coven were threatened by you and the sheer amount of power you possessed. You were never one to conform, never one to obey the stringent rules of your High Priestess. 

When you chose to repeatedly use your gift for the betterment of mankind, above the orders given to you by the High Priestess, you were shunned. Expelled from your coven, never to speak to your sisters or brothers again. 

“No witch or warlock must ever misuse their powers for the sake of anyone other than the coven from which they reside. Such misuse is considered an act of treason and will result in immediate banishment. As such, all those remaining in the coven are prohibited from communicating with the banished. Those who do are subject to banishment as well. ”

All of your sisters and brothers followed orders, cutting all ties with you, acting as though you’d never existed. 

All of them, except Sage and Daniel. Your dearest companions. 

Sage had momentarily desired to join you in your exile. She couldn’t bear residing in a coven that you were no longer part of, but you wouldn’t allow for it. You wanted her to stay, to grow in her magic alongside her sisters and brothers. Fellowship, dire for a witch—making banishment all the more harrowing.

She was a free spirit like you, like Danny. . .but she could flourish wherever she may be. 

You and Sage made a vow, a sacred covenant to remain in touch with each other in secret.

Daniel, though. . . 

After your banishment, he lost all respect for the High Priestess, rejecting her order and suffering his own banishment as ramification. 

It had also been murmured in shared spaces that witches and warlocks in your coven, who were attracted to the same sex would be mutilated—dismembered, even— if their true ideal for love were to be exposed. 

So, Danny knew, deep in his heart, that he already couldn’t stay around if that were to be the case. He would have lost his life, or been severely harmed if he were to have stayed. 

Things needed to change in the world. But, alas, you were stuck in a wretched time where who you loved was frowned upon unless it fit an acceptable societal norm.

Even though Daniel had never explicitly told you, you knew him. . . And his wandering eye, for other men, was not hidden from your protective watch. He’d watched your back, and you’d watched his for nearly two decades.

Danny was your closest confidant. He’d been a dear friend since the day you had both entered the coven, each of you, so young. Only eight years old, due for commencement to your trainings at Luminara Institute as a magic bearer.

The coven had been your home for more than half of your life when they’d dismissed you. It had been a gut punch to be exiled, but your best friend leaving with you had softened the blow.

Though, you’d still been nearly frozen in your banishment, not sure what to do next. 

For the past few years, the two of you had wandered the earth together as a pair, a sister and brother in search of anything to fulfill the heavy emptiness in your lives that you just couldn’t place. 

When you’d migrated back to Massachusetts, Sage welcomed you back with open arms. It was funny, as much as you’d enjoyed distancing yourself from the coven, and leaving that life behind, you treasured the fact that you still had a connection to other sorcerers—specifically Sage. 

Being distanced from the coven was good for you, as you struggled with the feeling of being confined when you only longed to be free—whole. . .a feeling you still hadn’t quite achieved, even after leaving Luminara.

But, being apart from it all left you completely out of the loop with several bits of news. Whether it have been new rules for witches and warlocks (some you still had to abide by, given your gift), or all of the whispers of general supernatural happenings. All that fluttered around the spacious halls of the Academy, unbeknownst to you.

If it weren’t for Sage.

Part of the precious vow you’d made with Sage had been to meet at least once a week to discuss things—keep you up on the latest. It was special that she’d been intent on doing so. If she were to ever be discovered doing so with an exiled sister, she would instantly meet her doom. 

So, you had a special place, on the outskirts of Plymouth, flush with the overbearing branches and leaves of towering trees. It was far from the Institute, never risking a prying sorcerer, overhearing any conversation.

A small eatery, only about ten tables total in the entire establishment. . .only ever regulars surrounding you in the multi-colored, creaking wooden seats. 

On this night, after a quick visit to the cemetery you religiously visited every October, you were sitting across from your sister. Her caramel skin, the most beautiful shade, complimenting her bright blue eyes. 

Her hair fell in thick, black waves: gold accented pieces held tiny braids throughout her hair. Her locks fell down to the middle of her bicep, where she wore a shiny gold cuff. Sage was always decked out in gold, warding off any vampires as she’d had a particularly scarring incident with one as a teen, before she’d joined the coven. 

You watched her lips, stained with dark lipstick, take a generous swig of her sweet red wine. Her lips left a perfect mark on the rim.

“Your lips leave the most gorgeous imprint,” you remarked, almost absentmindedly. Sage’s beauty had stricken you since the first time you’d met her. 

Her eyes sparkled and she winked at you, shaking her head. “You’re too much,” she smirked. But just as soon as her eyes glinted, they were growing wide. “Oh, shit, y/n. Speaking of imprinting. . . I’ve gotta tell you.”

“Fuck,” you rubbed your right brow, preparing for the latest gossip. “What is it?”

“Interspecies imprinting. . .completely against our written law. . .against Mother Nature’s law. All of that shit, y’know?”

You nodded slowly, a sort of gloomy feeling made your heart sink. This subject made you strangely sad. You’d never been able to pinpoint why. You’d equated it to just seeming wrong. It was wrong to shame the love one had for another, no matter the circumstance. Any law against love just felt. . . unnatural. 

“A vampire and a witch,” she took another sip of her wine. She gulped it down, eyes still wide as she divulged more. “One of our sisters, in fact. She’s currently in the dungeon awaiting execution.”

“Sage,” you gasped. “How in the hell are you being so calm about this? Our sister is awaiting her death and you’re shooting the fucking breeze about it.”

She blinked rapidly, seemingly taken aback by your sudden outburst. “You like hearing the latest, y/n. I’m giving you the latest.”

“I don’t like you sounding so nonchalant about death, Sage.”

She looked down, pursing her lips and crossing her arms over her thin frame. “She knew better, y/n. Vampires are terrifying and not to be messed with,” she reminded, moving her hair to flash you her jugular. The thick, white scar, sticking out above her smooth flesh. You inadvertently flinched at the sight. “Those fucking blood suckers are hideous, heinous creatures. And interspecies mating is fucking law. It’s in the bylaws. Mother Nature forbids it. You don’t do it. You know this.”

You grabbed your own glass, taking a sip of the red and licking the tart remnants off your lips as you placed it back on the table. “What is she going to do? Do you think they’ll really go through with her execution?” 

Sage shrugged, her dainty fingers going to mess with a Sweet N Low packet. “I don’t know. It’s not so simple,” she noted, stopping her movements to level you with a serious stare. “There’s more.”

“What is it?” You wondered aloud.

“The witch is a relative to our very own High Priestess,” she stated. “But from what I’ve heard, it doesn’t matter. It’s interspecies morherfucking mating— and breeding,” her icy eyes struck yours. “She was imprinted.”

Your blood ran cold under her stare, and with her words. “Oh my god,” you breathed. “She’s with child?!”

“I’d hardly call it that, such an innocent name for something so vile,” she tossed the Sweet N Low packet to the floor, leaning in so her face was mere inches from yours. The sweetness of the wine on her breath filled your every sense. “A vampire and a witch cannot conceive a child, y/n . . what they produce. . . more the likes of a demon. A barbaric creature possessing powers that go against the will of Mother Nature.”

The anger in her eyes turned to fear. “If it’s born, Mother Nature will unleash her wrath in ways we’ve never seen. And that’s not even the worst of it.” She leaned back and took her wine glass, downing the rest of the blood red liquid and wiping the remnants off her mouth, smearing her lipstick. “That thing they’ve created will put an end to all of us.”

You swallowed the massive lump in your throat as you struggled to make sense of it all. 

“Has this ever happened before?” You quietly asked, your voice trembling as the thought caused your throat to tighten. You took the last few drinks of your wine to ease your state.

“No,” she answered. “And for good fucking reason. It’s the law, y/n. They are set in place for our own safety.”

The feeling of the blood rising to your ears came before you even realized it was on its way. The chatter of the other patrons in the room sounded muffled, as though you were dunked below water. 

How could she be so cold about these laws and these rules when . . .?

You slammed your now empty wine glass on the polished wood of the table, causing Sage to jolt in her seat. 

“Those are the same laws that got your best friends banished, Sage. The same laws you were ready to break to join me, but I wouldn’t let you. Tell me, then. Was your safety, or anyone else’s safety at risk with us there—breaking the ‘law’?”

Her face contorted to one of remorse. She took your hand in hers, rubbing the backs of your knuckles with her thumb. “I’m sorry, y/n. . . you know that’s not what I meant. But after what they did to me. . . it’s hard for me to understand why anyone would want to sleep with one of those evil creatures, especially knowing what could come if it.” 

You felt your features soften as well. It honestly broke your heart that she’d experienced such terror from another supernatural being—any being, for that matter. All things had the ability to be evil. But the fact that she’s experienced it firsthand from the exact supernatural creature you’d been discussing made you feel empathy with her harshness. 

Shit, for all you knew, the news could have caused some severe trauma flashbacks for her. . . 

Your blood pressure settled back to normal and you wrapped your hand around hers, squeezing a bit in reassurance. “I understand, babe,” you said, your voice finding its normal calm tone again. “I’m sorry—you’ve possibly relived traumas because of it. . . And I . . . I didn’t think about that before I snapped.”

“I know why you did,” she soothed. “I get it. And I’m sorry, too, for not taking your situation into consideration before I went off.”

Your cheeks lifted a bit with a smile. Deciding to change the subject, pointing to your empty chalice. “I need more wine,” you giggled. 

Her own eyes lit up with yours. “Let’s.”

And as she waved a hand over to signal a waiter or waitress, you zoned out in contemplation, your smile fading. . .

Interspecies mating. . .

You’d always thought it a ridiculous law to forbid it, so you hadn’t ever gone so far as to think about a child coming of it. 

Could something conceived out of love truly cause so much harm to the earth? Could it really be what Sage said it was? A demon? Truly? You had never once thought that any of you could be capable of creating such a thing, especially out of something so pure.  

You had to physically shake yourself out of it, blinking a few times to rid the thought. You knew it would plague you endlessly if you gave it enough headspace. 

You would give yourself time to grieve the fate of your estranged sister another time. 

Tonight was simply about time with a dear friend, and you wouldn’t let yourself ruin such an occasion. 

⋆⁺₊⋆☾*ੈ☁︎🃁𓉸︎☽⋆⁺₊⋆

Plymouth, MA

October 31, 1971

When you arrived at your treasured cemetery on your most favorite, sacred night of the year, the evening was chilling in the best way. You’d worn your thickest black tights with your favorite long sleeved black dress, which stopped at your mid thigh. Your pointed black boots and black wide brimmed hat completing your outfit. 

You giggled in spite of yourself. Because, admittedly, right now, you looked like a stereotypical witch. On Halloween. 

Letting your snicker fade, a small grin stayed on your lips as you reacquainted yourself with the lovely souls that occupied this graveyard. You touched the stones you’d familiarized yourself with over the years, the precious souls that lived in each spot whispering haunting welcomes. 

Your favorite sound.

A thick blanket of fog hovered just above the headstones, illuminated by the moon that shone brighter than ever before in the cloudless sky. It suddenly all seemed much different than the night before. Something peculiar hung in the air that you couldn’t quite place but felt deep within your bones. 

Then, it happened.

You heard a rustle amongst the overgrown ivy leaves, like a rabbit quickly fleeing from its predator. But this was no animal. Especially not anything so innocent as a bunny.

You could feel its energy.

The presence from the being near you was unlike any you had ever felt before. Your spine grew a chill that made the cool air of the night feel warm as the hairs on your arms stood to attention. 

He was here. And he was hiding. . . from you. 

You could hear him quietly breathing, even from a distance, you interpreted the coldness of the stagnant blood beneath his flesh. 

A cold-blooded creature, hiding in the dark. . . A vampire.

Your sworn enemy. You’ve never once encountered one, only heard of the horrendous tales told by your sisters and brothers who had. 

Sage. . . dear, sweet Sage. 

You adjusted the gold necklaces that never left your neck, feeling a certain comfort and safety in the jewelry. Your thumb smoothed across the dainty moon pendant of the necklace that Danny had gifted you recently, the peaceful enchantment he’d put on it calming your nervous heart.

It was simply known that one must always wear gold as a means to ward off an attack from such a creature. So, you never took off your faithful chains. 

Instantly, you became angered; your blood boiled at the thought of him infiltrating your sacred place, of him disturbing your spell of rest over these dear souls. A fire burned behind your eyes as you prepared yourself to defend these grounds.

“You don’t belong here,” you asserted. “These souls are precious and you do not deserve to walk amongst them. Leave, now.”

Suddenly, there was a clap of thunder so great that the ground beneath your feet shook, nearly knocking you down as you braced yourself. Not a single cloud in the sky, yet a storm threatened to brew. His work, no doubt. 

You heard him running against the bushes and you tried to follow him with your eyes, but he was too quick. Reaching your hand out, you channeled his location the best you could. Your brows furrowed in concentration as you mustered up every bit of strength you had. 

Finally. . . you found him. 

Your eyes caught him, crouched beside a grave. . . but not just any grave. The grave of the soul you heard crying out to you the night before, the one from which you’d always felt so much sorrow and pain. 

Your mind became clouded with the need to protect this cherished soul as you stormed him, ready to fight him off when suddenly. . .

As you made your way to him, you watched his body unfold, slowly and gradually, broad shoulders and chest expanding to match a stern exterior. His face contorted into one of true valor and love for the grave at which he stood beside. 

It was strange. 

Vampires were, literally, cold and heartless beings. Not caring for anything or anyone. Their sole purpose on the earth, to cause suffering and death. . . or at least that was what you had been told.

“My brothers. . .they sleep here,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. His eyes swept down, casting the stone a watchful stare. His hands pressed firm to the cold cement, showing his protection over it. He pressed his hand even more firmly to the old stone. 

You stood in shock, but did your best to keep a confident front.

This must be a trick, you thought, trying to find a meaning in his behavior. There is no way he—a heartless vampire—would feel such a need to safeguard anything—much less a corpse. 

It could only be a ploy to distract you, and then cause the harm he’d originally intended.

A classic trait of a vampire—to plot a distractive ruse against their prey. 

He was simply luring you into a vulnerable state— only to strike just as you’ve earned his trust. 

You held firm as you would not let him deceive you. If it were truly his brother, wouldn’t that mean he was also a vampire? Was he naturally born? Or turned? If it were his naturally born, vampiric brother, he wouldn’t be buried. You knew that vampires were not buried after death, their bodies disintegrated to nothing once they perish. There would be nothing to bury. He was lying to you.

“You—you need to leave. You are not meant to walk these grounds. I know what you are,” the quiver in your voice revealed that you were not as gallant as you attempted to convey. You motioned to the graves he was now obviously guarding. “They are not what you are. I would sense it if they had been.” You quickly grabbed your golden moon pendant and rubbed it fiercely in search of calming your tattered nerves.

No matter what, you were not going to leave. You made a vow to protect this burial ground and that is what you intended to do. Any fear over this heinous creature would not stand in your way. You were prepared to die for these souls.

He turned, facing the two matching headstones, nameless and nearly crumbling from years of standing in one place, the earth shifting time and again. 

Then. . . 

He turned to face you, the light of the moon chased after him, illuminating him as a spotlight would. Over his face fell a scant shadow, from the overhanging trees and bright light from the full moon. He stood against the still black canvas of the night sky.

As he looked to you, you saw his eyes, more crestfallen than angry, cutting through your exterior. 

You had always been told that these creatures were revolting. Every image depicted in your books at Luminara showed them as ghastly, repulsive looking beasts. 

That was why you were utterly shocked as you finally caught a glimpse of his face, glowing against the moonlight. . .

His lips were pillowy and plush. His cheekbones, contoured beautifully as the gleam touched them, sat high in the midst of his stark features, his flawless skin not nearly as pale and lifeless as your textbooks had described it to be. 

The most intriguing part of his face, though, were his eyes. Once you looked into them, it felt as though you couldn’t bear to look away. They were cavernous; the color of dark coffee, positively enchanting as they seemed to look straight through to your soul. 

When you did finally pull yourself away, your eyes traced back to his mouth, his lips sitting so full underneath a. . .mustache? 

The swift line of hair above his upper lip complimented him extremely well. It added to his already sharp and alluring features. Though, it caught you off guard; you’d always been taught to believe that vampires couldn’t grow facial hair—whether they be naturally born or reborn. 

Admittedly, you’d been taught a lot of things about vampires that you weren’t sure you could believe as you stared at the one in front of you.

He was clothed in a suit of black, hugging his sturdy body in every way it should. The black button down underneath the opened jacket, unbuttoned just enough to show a smooth, toned chest. Silver medallions sat on the exposed skin that was lifting and falling with deep breaths. Not so often as humans do, but enough to catch your eye. This ‘man’ was an undead creature. How. . .? 

Your eyes followed his movements as he tucked the hand not holding tight to the stone in the pocket of his slacks. You watched as his firm pecs flexed beneath the thin material of his shirt. 

His long, mousy locks blew in the subtle wind. 

He was. . . beautiful. 

A far cry from any account you’d ever heard of these creatures. 

“I wasn’t always like this. . .,” His voice, low and velvety, just a hint of a woeful tone. The despair beneath the tough exterior came off of him in waves. You felt it from him, making your chest heavy with sadness. “This monster you see before you—this so-called life—I did not choose. It was forced upon me– the desolate existence of an alleged killer.” He called himself a monster, yet there was nothing monstrous about him in the least.

His eyes, no longer hard, but rather filled with unshed, glistening tears. They threatened to fall down his cheeks. But, as soon as they appeared, they were gone. 

It didn’t matter how quickly they’d evaporated, though, you had seen them. The raw emotion.

He was telling the truth. And these graves—they were his brothers. You felt especially solid in this belief as you now knew the briefest hint of his story—he hadn’t chosen this life. 

You believed him. 

His cold heart was broken. Shattered in a million pieces. And you could feel every bit of it.

“How are you—?” You gaped, shaking your head the slightest bit. You squinted at him, trying to dissect the creature in front of you. “I’ve always thought your kind to be cold and unfeeling. How are you able to hold even the slightest bit of grief over your resting brothers? And enough to visit them after their death?”

He straightened further, his brow rose with his next words. “They were all I had,” he sniffed. “They were my livelihood, stolen from me before their time by the clutches of hatred and the waves of the ocean.”

“But still. . .” You edged closer, your proximity to him causing him to tense the slightest bit. Trying the best you could, you activated every bit of calm to expel from you, showing him your true intention. You didn’t mean him any harm. He was different. You could tell. “How are you so attached?”

“For one, the man which was laid beneath here,” he placed his hand on the initial stone that had caught your eye. The same one that has drawn you in for all the years you’d come to this cemetery. “Was my twin. The other half of me. We shared a womb, making our bond worlds different from any other. We were tied tighter together than many people. He held me up, and I held him up. But not the way I should have,” his voice cracked as he spoke of this one. And your chest ached for him. What a terrible loss to face. “We came into this world together, and he left over a century before my time. It was a nasty break in our tie to each other. One I had foolishly never prepared for.” 

He skated his hand from one grave to the next. He snickered as he looked affectionately at this stone, a tear glittering against his chocolate orb as he spoke. “And this son of a bitch—was my younger brother. The biggest pain in my side, but on the same hand, the brightest light that I had in my life,” a tear fell to grace his unblemished skin. “His death pains me for many reasons as well—but mostly, I grieve him so deeply because I didn’t appreciate him enough when I had him. Not nearly enough,” he tapped against the stone with his fingers a few times, then removed them to curl into the unoccupied pocket. 

He continued, “It also doesn’t do one well to believe everything they read or hear. Oftentimes, you’re not getting the whole truth,” he peered down at you, your skin growing goosebumps under his piercing stare. “Do vampires share some characteristics? Yes, of course,” he took a step nearer to you, his chest mere inches from yours. You had to crane your neck to keep eye contact. “But are we all inherently different based on who we were as humans before? More so than anything else.”

“I understand,” you whispered, feeling utterly transfixed by every word that slipped from his pretty lips. “It makes sense.”

“But you,” he grew even closer to you, twisting a lock of your hair sitting on your stiff shoulder in his fingers. “A woman of magic. A sorceress. A dealer with the devil himself.” He dropped your hair as his sparkling eyes fixed on yours yet again, his mouth upturned in a faint, captivating grin. “a witch.”

You shuddered at hearing the name come from his lips. The way he said it. . . so chilling as it effortlessly rolled off his tongue. Almost hedonistic— he had been waiting to say it. 

He knew who you were, just as you did him.

“I’ve heard stories about your kind too, you know.” He turned from you as he looked up at scattered stars, tracing their patterns in the air with his finger. “How you prey on innocent children, feasting on their flesh with your gluttonous, carnivorous desire. . .” You found yourself staring at him with a curious gaze, watching as he strategically pointed to each constellation. It was alluring, charming, even. “. . .that your pallid skin is crumpled and decayed. Your nose hooked and your teeth jagged, your beady eyes like that of your feral feline companions.” 

He stopped and looked at you, his eyes following a trail up and down your figure. “You certainly don’t meet the physical clichè.” He smiled, displaying his beautiful, stark white teeth that lacked the pointed fangs you’d always been told about.

Everything he said about witches, it was all a product of a sinister stereotype. . . never once had any of it been true. Your kind has tried to put these horrid accusations to rest for centuries.  

And if that were the case, it must also mean— that everything you’ve been made to believe about his kind, is perhaps not true, as well, though you never truly believed any of it.

You somehow always knew that they couldn’t have been as diabolical as you had been taught, that it had all been wild embellishments on the truth to turn your species against one another. 

“Well, I can promise you I don’t feast on children. That rumor has plagued us for centuries and to be honest, I haven’t a clue where it came from.”

“There are plenty for my kind that I am oblivious to their beginnings as well,” he smirked.

Your mind was clouded with a billowing spiral of questions, most of which you just couldn’t ask. They would simply linger in the air, maybe to be answered someday— but right now you wanted to focus on him. 

Something you couldn’t quite shake, though, was why you hadn’t ever seen him before? In all the years you’d spent wandering through the blessed, abandoned grounds, never once had you encountered anyone. . . let alone him.

You couldn’t help but blurt, your thoughts a frenzy. “What’s your name?”

“Jacob.” He didn’t hesitate, nodding towards you a bit to signal your response. 

“Y/n,” you said, feeling silly to tell him. It felt as though he should have already known it. “It’s funny,” you started, the smallest grin curling your lip as you shook your head, studying him. 

“What is it?”

“It almost feels as though we’ve met. But on the same hand, I’ve never witnessed you walking down this garden of lost souls before,” you pondered aloud. “Why haven’t our paths crossed until now?”

He looked to the headstones of his brothers, longingly and with anguish filling his eyes. “I don’t come here often. It’s dangerous–for me, at least. I seldom come. And when I do, it’s out of desperation to speak with them again.” 

“How many times have you come?” You whispered, as though you were sharing a secret. 

He cleared his throat. “Well, counting tonight . . .,” he paused. “A total of three times since they've been buried.”

“And when were they buried?” You questioned, admittedly dying of curiosity. 

He eyed you for a few quiet moments. The crickets nearby, vyed for attention from the night with their tell-tale creaks. You stayed focused on him, not letting any other thing distract you from his contemplative stare into the black abyss of sky behind you.

With one last glance at his brothers’ graves, he locked eyes with you once more. It was as though he was challenging you. Questioning your intentions. You decided to step towards him. And, against your better judgment, you reached to touch the black of his suit sleeve.

Looking down, he breathed in a deep breath. It was still so strange to you that he breathed so deeply for someone who was, quite literally, undead. 

All of the rumors and legend didn’t add up to the man standing in front of you. 

“1830,” he finally stated. 

Your heart dropped to the pointed toes of your boots. 

Damn. You had not expected that. 

You gaped for several seconds, but found your voice to vocalize the time it had been since. “One hundred and—.”

“Forty-one years,” he finished.

Holy shit.

So not only were you meeting a vampire, you were meeting one who had been around for nearly 200 years. 

Swallowing, you felt the most intimidated you’d been since you first made contact with him. It was unbelievable you were speaking with a human who’d been around for an entire century, plus some. . . You had never been around someone so. . . What was the term? Ancient? 

“You’re in shock,” he said, his velvety tone bringing you back to Earth. 

Your eyes connected with his, blinking several times. 

“Yes,” you said, unashamedly. “I am in shock. You are correct.”

He quietly huffed, a small smile gleaming his features. You saw his perfectly white, straight teeth again. Without wanting to admit it, you were still looking for the legendary fangs that his kind were supposed to have. 

“No fangs,” you said absently, still glancing his teeth. 

“Yes, fangs,” he said, shaking his head at the idea. You raised your brow. “Not now,” he confirmed. “But when needed, they appear.”

“When needed?”

“So many questions.”

You scoffed, but didn’t stay on it. The night was becoming chillier. You couldn’t help crossing your arms, the smallest gust blowing your hair from around your face. 

And then you saw it, his eyes dilated and zoned in on your neck. But as soon as you saw it, he was shutting his eyes, silently mouthing words to himself and tucking his hands deeper into his pockets. 

Now, you were intimidated for new reasons. 

Starting to edge away, you watched as his desperate, sad eyes followed you. They stopped you from moving any further. It wasn’t right to immediately be fearful just because he had natural instincts. That was unfair and you knew it. 

He was lonely. He had to be.

“Do you have friends?” You questioned, channeling empathy into your tone. “It’s been so many years. . .”

“I’ve had a few. Here and there,” he nodded. Then, he shrugged, his thick brows creasing, forlorn. “But they come and go. When I am forced to stay.”

You hummed, not sure how to respond. It was very sad to contemplate. Him, never changing, and everyone around him aging. . .

“I’m sure watching the rest of your family age and leave was hard,” you said, soon realizing the callous way that must’ve sounded. You smacked a hand to your forehead. “I’m sorry. That was — I don’t know. . . I’m sorry.”

“No, trust me when I say I’ve heard worse in my lifetime,” he reassured. “But our other family—they were gone before my brothers and I left to fight in the naval forces. To begin, my father actually left my mother after she’d given birth to Samuel,” he motioned to the younger brother’s grave. He let out an angry breath, seeming to still be disappointed in his father’s decision. Even after all of these years. The genuine emotion in his heart perplexed you. “Then, my mother and sister were killed by ruthless villagers. Terrible, ungodly men who sought the blood of vulnerable women while my brothers and I were away. . .before we. . .switched paths.”

So much information. You weren’t sure how to digest what you were being told. Everything he was sharing, a new discovery that you couldn’t wrap your mortal brain around. Magic couldn’t help you when it came to this vampire. This enigmatic creature. 

You decided to get back to the point at hand. “So, only three times? When it’s been more than a century?”

“It’s too hard to visit often. When your brothers are dead in the ground, and you're eternally alive. . . It’s enough to make one unbearably sick with overwhelming grief. It’s best for me to stay away,” he replied. “I came once to bury them. Then another to visit after they’d been laid to rest,” he rubbed under his eye, flicking the tip of his nose with a finger. A tick. “And then tonight.”

“And why tonight?”

He looked thoughtful again. He didn’t want to divulge the information. You could tell. You reached a hand forward, this time touching his chest. Where a heart should be beating. . .but you couldn’t feel the dull thrum beneath your open palm. 

It was offputting . . .and strangely comforting.

He looked down at your hand, and his stare at your brave touch made you recoil and move to bring your hand back. You tucked it back where it had been, nestled in the crook of your warm elbow. 

“You don’t have to ans—.”

“I came tonight because I’ve heard before that if you come on All Hallows’ Eve to visit past loved ones, a sort of portal opens and you’re able to communicate with those you’ve lost,” he pushed it out quickly, seeming almost ashamed. “I never believed in it. I didn’t want to—didn’t want to get my hopes up. I never accepted it could actually be possible. I still don’t know if it is.”

You nodded, understanding. Your eyes smiled. “I see,” you uttered. You stepped nearer again. “I come for a similar reason. To use my power to send well wishes of peace in death. Talk to those who are forgotten, long gone, in the ways my abilities allow me to.”

“That’s beautiful,” he spoke, his dark eyes boring into yours. “Truly. I didn’t know a witch could be so . . . Full of love.”

“Really?” You scoffed. “You thought so poorly of witches that you assumed they couldn’t love?”

“I didn’t quite say that,” he winked. Leaves crunched under his boot as he, too, took a step. Towards you. You couldn’t help but shiver the slightest bit. And not from the October breeze. “But you are hardly one to talk. Immediately going into defense with me. Assuming the worst. Lies you’d heard.”

“Fair,” you nodded, ducking your head. Looking back up, you matched his gaze, which had unwaveringly stayed on you. You’d felt it burning into you. Tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, you straightened your hat. “I apologize for my assumptions.”

“And I, mine,” he softly responded. “And that’s why you’re here? To speak to them?”

“Yes,” you agreed, straightening and smoothing your dress against your thighs. “And what you heard was correct. Tonight of all nights is the only one with which you may communicate with those you’ve lost,” you paused, pursing your lips with a sad smile. “But only with certain power. And I’m afraid you lack that as a non-warlock.”

You didn’t tell him that not all souls responded when you’d cast the spell to seek the lost in their present realm. That sometimes, you encountered the precious few that did not want to be bothered, longing to stay quiet in their death. 

And especially, you didn’t want to mention the nagging thought in your mind. That, sometimes, if you couldn't reach them, it meant the worst. That they’d gone to a place unreachable. A place that was unreachable, even for one like you who garnered enchanted abilities. 

You ached for those souls, knowing that if you couldn’t reach them, they were in a place where peace would never be able to find them again. No magic could come to them to console them in the afterlife. It crushed your heart. 

Saying this to him was not an option, as you feared for his younger brother. You’d heard plenty from his twin’s resting place. Feeling so much energy from him it was though you’d talked to him as a living being. He wasn’t completely gone, in a place void of peace.    

But you’d never sensed anything from the other. The other headstone, where his younger brother laid, was only ever silent. It never showed signs of a present soul when you’d touch it or speak to it. 

You decided to offer what you could. Attempt seeking his twin. . .and even his other brother. . . If only for Jacob’s sake. 

If you ended up discovering he was in the unspeakable place, and completely gone. . .you would play it off. You could do that. Maybe even enchant Jacob to not know better. 

The flitting of your heart told you that you could at least reach his twin. You felt you had to offer this to him. You wanted to bring his heart a sense of comfort and ease. 

Help him in whatever way you could.

“I can help you. . .,” you said with a hushed tone. “. . . I can help you hear them again.”

He looked at you with silent bewilderment, questions haunting his eyes as he ran his fingers through his hair.

Without another word, you grabbed his hand and took him to the headstones. To your surprise, he didn’t hesitate in the slightest. With you, he knelt down to their level, and you placed his palm upon the one that belonged to his twin brother and set your own on top of his.

You had expected his skin to be cold and lifeless to the touch, but he felt warm. His skin was soft against your fingers, causing a slight hitch to your breath. 

“Close your eyes and clear your mind. Listen–hear.” 

He nodded as his eyes squeezed shut, you doing the same. 

You instantly felt his twin; you heard his unmistakable voice you’d come to treasure over the years of protecting his resting place. 

He was strong; he knew his brother was near. 

You filled Jacob’s hand with your energy, the wind whistling heavier around you, whipping your hair around as you felt it transfer through to him entirely, as you allowed it to reverberate through his soul.

His strong hand suddenly tensed under your touch, and you knew the voice of his beloved brother was echoing throughout his body. 

“Joshua. . .” The name whispered off of Jacob’s tongue so quietly that you nearly missed it.

The name– the name of his twin. The one he’d spent everyday of his mortal life with, from the very moment they were conceived. From the moment they were born. He’d been the one with which he shared his mother’s womb. A bond broken by a death so tragic and untimely. 

One doomed to walk the earth, alone, for the rest of eternity, cursed by the burden of an eternal life filled with isolation. The other, sleeping beneath the cold ground. Their fates, each designed much differently, yet their souls still tethered even in the midst of a tragic end. 

Two souls, forever sharing the other half.

You finally had a name to attach to this darling spirit, and you smiled upon hearing it for the first time. 

You tightened your hold on his hand, feeling his joy at hearing his brother speak for the first time in 141 years. But with his joy also came his sorrow. The immense sadness he had carried with him for more than a century, crashing down upon you as the two of you connected your souls in this most intimate way. You felt it with him. 

You turned your head when you felt his hand flinch a bit under yours. He was still focusing, his eyebrows bent in deep concentration. A few stray tears slipped down his cheeks.

The steady rhythm of your heart lapsed. Seeing him in such a state made your chest pinch. This was the most connected you’d ever felt to another—including Daniel.

It was shocking, to say the least. 

Then, suddenly, he hushed, sniffing tears back. “Samuel. . . Please, y/n. Help me to hear Samuel.” 

Your heart sank. 

The moment you’d been afraid of had come. You knew he would ask about his beloved Samuel, and the last thing you wanted to do was deny him. 

You were scared– scared of hearing the inevitable silence that you’ve come so accustomed to from his place of rest. Scared of him hearing nothing from his dear brother.

You were hesitant for a moment, an inner battle being fought within you. Would you break his heart by denying him? Or would it be by attempting to call out to his brother, only to be met with the stillness you’ve heard at his tomb for years?

He looked to you again, your heart aching as his eyes were much heavier than before. 

You knew that you had to try, if only for the sake of Jacob. You knew it would take every ounce of your strength to try and call out to his muted brother, but looking into his mournful eyes, you made up your mind that it would be worth it. 

Grasping his fingers tightly in your clutch, you moved his hand to Samuel’s stone. And once again, you settled your palm above the top of his hand. He held it firmly to the stone, more tears whisking down his cheeks at what he anticipated. 

You felt your own brewing at your ducts for the defeat you knew was bound to occur.

Drawing a deep breath, you prepared, mustering up the sheer power you knew it would take to reach out to Samuel and draw anything from his spirit in return. 

Repeating the share of energy you’d emitted to Jacob over Joshua’s stone, you tried your damndest to maximize the amount. And just as before, you felt the energy translate to him from you.

His hand tensed, waiting for what had transpired over his twin’s grave. But you knew this was already different than before. Your experience told you so. 

With Joshua and the other souls, you could hear them so clearly. Their spirits would stir as they would come to. . .as they would greet you. . . 

But here, there was nothing. 

Silence. 

You could feel the hope Jacob had conjured, seeping from his pores. Where it wasn’t visible to the normal, human eye, if you opened your eyes, you knew you’d be able to see it. The look of it, floating from him, drifting into the growing fog of the night.  

Pressing harder, you squeezed your eyes shut, so tight you saw stars. . . You needed something. 

Come on, Samuel, you chanted internally, willing him to respond. 

Suddenly, you felt the words to a familiar spell falling from your lips. They came of their own accord, lighting up the fires that were starting to extinguish in your heart. 

One last resort. 

You made another quick decision and placed double hands on Jacob. Where you had one on his hand, you placed another on his back, trying to get your power to work through him. 

Maybe the familial tie would bring this lost soul to you. . . 

But, alas, nothing. 

You sighed defeatedly, yet still kept your eyes closed and your hands on your counterpart. Beside you, there was a choked sob from Jacob, shaking you from your thoughts of despair. 

Feeling the immense sorrow with him, a few tears dripped down your cheeks. More welled in your throat, the longer you sat there, hearing him cry into the night. 

All of the crying stopped when you felt the earth shake at your knees. The sound of tree branches cracking around you roused you, alerted you.

And as the ground continued to rumble, you felt, underneath your hands, the stone crack.

⋆⁺₊⋆☾*ੈ☁︎🃁𓉸︎☽⋆⁺₊⋆｡˚☽˚ 𓃠 ˚☾˚｡⋆⁺₊⋆☾*ੈ☁︎🃁𓉸︎☽⋆⁺₊⋆

a/n:

we can’t wait to share more of this story! please let us know what you thought! this world we’ve created is intricate asf and it's going to have many twists and turns. . . sooo, we’d love to know if you have any thoughts on what’s possibly to come :)

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[erinsintra]

The wild world of Brazilian folklore

Been a while since I write anything with more than three lines for the five people who bother reading them. Well, I'm bored and too lazy to start looking a job today, so here you go.

I've seen a lot of people here talking about American folklore, Greek mythology, African mythology (and they always call it "African mythology" as if it's one country - seriously, imagine if we called Irish folklore "European mythology". it makes no sense), but I'm yet to see anyone talking about Brazilian folk myths. So here are some of the ones I like the most.

I encourage you to look for more on your own, because there's a shitton of them and I can't fit everything on a single post.

Saci Pererê

Perhaps the most famous mythological creature throughout the country, the Saci is a mischievous, fae-like being commonly depicted as a short black man with one leg wearing a red cap. He is famous for his pranks, which are usually mostly harmless, such as switching the contents of sugar and salt pots and tying knots on horses' hair. He's also said to control the winds and ride dustdevils, escaping faster than a regular person can run.

In some versions of the legend, the red cap on his head is the source of all his powers, and by stealing it, a person can control the Saci as they please. They can also be trapped inside a bottle with a cross drawn across it, and one can also make a deal with him by offering booze and tobacco.

Boitatá

An immortal eldritch being that roams the forests of the countryside, usually depicted as a giant flaming snake. Merely looking at it is enough to drive a man mad, and the only way to escape it is by standing completely still with one's eyes closed. It is said that once, when the world was plunged into darkness, the Boitatá feasted on the eyes of those who could not see.

Boiúna

Isn't it weird how every pantheon ever has an evil snake on it? The Boiúna is a giant sea serpent with shapeshifting powers that feeds on the vessels that try to approach it by mimicking the shape of a human ship.

In some versions, he's also said to shift into human form and once had an affair with a human woman. More on that later.

Bruxas (Witches)

Brazilian witches tend to be quite different from their European counterparts. For starters, they are not women who made a deal with the devil - a witch is born as a witch, and depending on the version, she's either the seventh child of a family or the offspring of a priest and a pagan (i.e, nonchristian) woman.

Witches don't fly on brooms, they don't need to. Most can turn into a moth at will, and they're also said to be able to pass through small spaces by stretching their bodies like a cartoon character. Have you ever seen a Brazilian moth? They're bigger than some birds.

Witches are also said to drink the blood of pagan children by landing on their bellybuttons while they sleep and drinking it up while in moth form. A big-ass moth inside your house is usually a bad omen, and you better not touch it with your bare hands. But witches also really love their booze, and you can make a deal with one by offering her some alcohol.

There's also the Cumacanga, a little known variation of witch with a detachable head and hair made of flames that scares of people during the night. In order to figure out her identity, one must gift her a needle, and she'll soon arrive at your doorstep in human form to return it to you when morning comes. I don't know why, but some of those creatures are very polite.

Mula sem Cabeça (Headless Mule)

If there's anything those myths have taught me, is that you shouldn't fuck a priest. At all.

The headless mule is - rather obviously - a large equine with a flaming bonfire for a head that roams around destroying everyone it sees. If a priest breaks his vows and marries a woman, she'll become a headless mule the next Friday night (the legend is very specific about the day for some reason). In order to protect yourself from one, you must lie down and cover your teeth and nails, for they're attracted by shiny things. You can turn a mule back into a human by stabbing it with an iron knife.

Lobisomem (Werewolf)

Brazilian werewolves, like witches, are very different from the Hollywood version. While it is common for a human to become a werewolf by being bitten by another one, most werewolves are born that way - either the seventh male child of a family or the offspring of a priest and a pagan woman, pretty much the boy version of a witch - and awake their powers during puberty. Moreover, they are rarely true wolves: most are a combination of various farm animals and a few do not resemble canines at all. As with the Hollywood variant, werewolves are weak against silver and holy water, and they can also be cured of their condition by - and I have to quote this - "being impaled by a thorn from an orange tree planted on a cemetery during a Friday". No idea how the fuck they figured that out.

It's oftentimes said that, in order to prevent a seventh son from becoming a werewolf, he must be given a female name - and the opposite is true for witches.

Labatut

The Labatut is a beastial figure with a boar-like face, prominent tusks and a single large eye that roams through the Northeastern countryside. He was apparently based on Pedro Labatut, a French mercenary who fought for the Empire during the independence war and gained a reputation for being quite ruthless against his opponents.

Corpo Seco (Dried Corpse or Dried Body)

The Corpo Seco was born as a human boy. Though his name varies from tale to tale, every version agree that he was an absolute asshole - if he were alive today, he would most likely be a moderator for an incel forum. He once tied his mother to a chair and beat her up after she yelled at him, and friends and family alike were terrified of him. It is said that, when he died, not a single person wept for him, and no one attended his funeral. More than that, the Earth itself spat out his corpse after they'd buried him, and neither Heaven nor Hell claimed his wretched soul. He still wanders the country, neither alive nor dead, occasionally weeping in the distance. Some versions also claim that, since he's technically not dead, his hair and nails never stopped growing, giving him a rather gruesome look.

Loira do Banheiro (Blonde girl of the bathroom)

Oh, that one used to scare me shitless as a kid. The blonde girl of the bathroom is a Hanako-esque ghost that haunts schools and public bathrooms alike. Most versions differ when talking about her past, but she was either a victim of bullying who committed suicide in her school's bathroom or a girl obsessed with her own appearance that got sucked inside the mirror whilst gazing at her own reflection. Either way, she's a spirit that can be summoned in a public bathroom.

Again, every version has a different way of summoning her - yelling curse words at the mirror, flushing all the toilets at once, turning on all the faucets, etc. Where I grew up in, they used to say you had to yell her birth name three times whilst looking at the mirror. If you managed to successfully summon her, she would either kill you, grant you a wish, or just scare your ass.

Apparently, her story was based on the life of Maria Augusta de Oliveira Borges, a real woman who died under mysterious circumstances back in imperial times. So, uh, if you want to summon her or something, there's her full name.

Cobra Norato and Maria Caninana

Remember when I said that the Boiúna once had an affair with a human mortal? These two are their kids.

Abandoned by their mother on the side of a river, the two giant snakes soon learned how to talk by mimicking human fishermen. Norato was a kind soul who helped those who came near the river, but Maria was a greedy bitch who saw humans as little more than food. At some point, they fought each other over their disagreements, and Norato ended up killing his sister.

Norato desperately wanted to be a human, but lifting his curse was no easy task: in order to turn him into a man, one would have to feed him three drops of breast milk and pat him with an iron stick while he slept. No, I am not making this up. Luckily, he found a hunter willing to do the job.

Boto Cor de Rosa (Pink Dolphin)

In case you didn't know, pink dolphins are real. They can be found in the Amazonas river and its surroundings, though they're in risk of extinction due to overhunting.

But this guy is no mere dolphin, he is THE pink dolphin. He can talk, he can shapeshift, and he wants to bone a hot lady.

The boto will often turn into an attractive man with a bald head and a fancy hat, which hides the breathing hole thing dolphins have. I personally like to imagine him as a tan-skinned Walter White. Any woman who meets him will soon be charmed by his looks, and he'll frequently involve himself romantically with the locals for quite some time. It never lasts for long, though: he will sudden disappear without a trace, presumably back to the water where he belongs, always right after the woman he's involved with finds out that she's pregnant. Sadly, none of the versions of the legend ever mention what happens to his child. Imagine if your dad was a talking dolphin.

So, uh, that's it. There's probably more creatures I forgot, so I again recommend you to search for more stuff on your own.

Also, if you want to use any of these in a fantasy setting or anything, feel free to do it! I am so fucking tired of works whose mythology is just a one-to-one ripoff of Greek or Norse myths. If anyone starts bitching at you about cultural appropriation or whatever, show them this post and tell them I gave you my permission. Now, back to our usual shitposting.

#mythology #myths #folklore #brazil #brasil #fantasy #story ideas #character idea #fyp #fypツ #memes #tumblr fyp #explorepage #explore #fypage #foryou #dumb shit #werewolves #werewolf #Tumblr

[breelandwalker]

basic witch question: how can i study and research folk magic and historical witchcraft?

I've been trying to search like this: "name of country/place +folk magic" on academic article sites but I haven't found much practical stuff and sometimes I don't find anything.

thank you for your attention

Good question!

The first thing you'll want to do is set aside the idea that you're going to find overt and accurate historical descriptions of witchcraft as we define it today. VERY few people who practiced some form of folk magic would have identified themselves as witches, because up until very recently, it was something you could be arrested, fined, and executed for doing. Even just the suspicion of such was enough to cause panics and widespread paranoia. What you're most likely to find is a collection of folk beliefs ABOUT witches and witchcraft, rather than actual witchcraft practices.

There are plenty of folk magic practices that resemble things we do in modern witchcraft, but they wouldn't have been called witchcraft by the people doing them back in the day. If you nailed a cluster of broomstraw over your door or scattered eggshells in your garden, it wasn't to cast a spell - it was just The Done Thing to keep trouble out of your home and help the crops grow.

Be prepared to find a lot of Christianity blended into the practices you do find. During the Christianization of Europe, new beliefs blended with older ones and created some very interesting regional amalgamations. So you'll often find invocations of saints or the Blessed Virgin, or particular psalms or prayers included as essential parts of certain charms. (It's also worth noting that the recitation of certain prayers was a method of short-term timekeeping, since they didn't exactly have clocks or timers.)

Be prepared also to find a lot of references to the Devil and devil-worship. For several centuries, the idea of witchcraft and demonolatry (consorting with and calling upon demons for power and supernatural aid) was synonymous across much of the Western world. It's very difficult to find a mention of witches in contemporary medieval or renaissance literature that is not immediately accompanied by some mention of devils or demons or familiars. This is a record of the superstitions of the day, NOT the practices of actual witches, no matter what Margaret Murray would have us believe.

To find the folk magic practices, if you can't find them by searching the term outright, study the regional folklore of the place you're interested in. Look particularly for anything to do with healers or spirits or fairies or ghosts or local superstitions. Where you find these, you will find whatever regional protection rituals the country people used to ward off trouble from ethereal beings, and possibly references to other related practices for love or luck.

Naturally, if you go back to classical antiquity (Greeks and Romans) or further, things will look very different. It all depends on the time and place.

It's important to note that most of the books we have which document these beliefs were written during the 19th-20th century spiritualism and occult fads, and while there is an earnest effort in most of them to record things academically from good sources, they should still be taken with a grain of salt.

Here are some titles I've found useful in my studies:

British Goblins: Welsh Folk-lore, Fairy Mythology, Legends and Traditions (Sikes, 1880)

Culpeper's Complete Herbal and English Physician (Culpeper, 1850 edition)

Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry (Yeats, 1888)

Magic and Husbandry: The Folk-Lore of Agriculture (Burdick, 1914)

Plant Lore, Legends, and Lyrics (Folkard, 1884)

The History of Witchcraft and Demonology (Summers, 1926)

The Superstitions of Witchcraft (Williams, 1865)

You can find these and many similar titles on Project Gutenberg or Global Grey Ebooks. (And since they're in the public domain, they're free and legal to download!)

One final note - If you run into anything that mentions "folkish" traditions, bloodlines, or theosophy, put it down and walk away. That direction lies the pipeline to racist hate groups.

Hope this helps!

#bacchus-charm #witchcraft #history of witchcraft #folklore #Bree answers your inquiries

[ask-lock-shock-and-barrel]

question for mod, what gave you the idea to make lock a vampire, shock a banshee, and barrel a werewolf/northern lights spirit?

((Great question!! I'll put this below the cut since its a lot of words!))

((In general, the decision was based on me liking the idea that the trio were truly the spirit of trick-or-treat in that their costumes were just that: Costumes. They hide behind masks, and they keep their true selves private. And back before I even had this blog conceptualozed, I had a funny gag in my head of Jack summoning Shock for witch services as a last resort and that she milks his desperation for hours, only to then reveal she isn't a witch and taunts Jack for thinking her costume was real.

For Lock, the base reasons I made him a vampire were there were some design features of his I associated with vampires like his enlongated face and widows peak and sharp teeth. I also had been bingewatching "What We Do in the Shadows", which has a plethora of vampire comedy. There are also a few things about Lock that I haven't revealed yet which also influenced this decision, but you'll find out soon. All I can say is...there are a lot of different vampires out there...

For Shock, I just kind of tried to think of spooky femme creatures that werent quite witches but still had the 'magic and curses' vibe but perhaps a little scarier, and the lore of weepy grieving banshees was quite alluring. Especially since Shock's mask carries such a sad frown. Also being of Irish descent myself, I think banshees are cool and decided Shock deserved to have a cool 'monster'.

Barrel was half were-puppy in my thoughts almost right from the start. There's something kind of dopey and sweet about Barrel, even at their most malicious, and it reminded me of a wobbly puppy that is still trying to get its coordination together. Even their upturned button nose felt kind of puppy-like. Initially I had them as half ghoul too (and also like #14 of 50+ kids all named Barrel, with neglectful parents who never noticed them leave, but oh how things have changed huh), but then wanted to go whole hog on making them something different, but I wasn't sure what. I kind of liked the idea of keeping Barrel's whole deal a mystery, that their origins were perhaps way more intense and unusual than Lock or Shock, and then had the idea 'what if Barrel wasn't 100% descending from Halloween' and then thought about Christmas Town 'monsters'. I almost considered a yeti, but then went a little more original with a northern light spirit, since I could implement an idea of astral projection and dream hopping, and make Barrel something of a starchild. I actually didn't know about set folklore on northern lights until @hyenasnake told me, and there's now bits and pieces I'm implementing. I think in terms of creature stuff, Barrel is the most fun for things to come up with. I always love the 'quiet third wheel is actually the Strongest and Empowered' trope.))

#tnbc #the nightmare before christmas #lock shock and barrel #blog lore #answered qs #ooc

[moiraimyths]

do you guys have any irish people on the team? i was wondering if theres any appropriation going on

Our voice acting team is majority Irish (4/7), since we wanted to prioritize Irish voice actors for these particular roles. Generally speaking, though, this is a fairly unhelpful question to direct towards our team. Cultural appropriation is described as "[...] the inappropriate or unacknowledged adoption of an element or elements of one culture or identity by members of another culture or identity.".

Given that The Good People (Na Daoine Maithe) is very clearly described as a game based on Irish mythology and Celtic folklore, and is thematically centred around historical matters particular to Ireland, we do not meet the "unacknowledged" angle of this definition. Likewise, we believe we are taking great care to interpret these myths and discuss these historical events respectfully and as faithfully as possible. As such, unless we receive a specific criticism regarding our depiction or conduct, we have no reason to believe our game is inappropriate from this standpoint.

That said, as a show of good faith: In the past, we have had a handful of folks question our decision to set the game in 1845, i.e. the year that the Famine began, since our game is a "dating sim". However, as we hope our demo and external materials have thus far demonstrated, our story is not exclusively or even primarily centred around the romances themselves, and the Famine's inclusion is not merely superfluous angst, but both textually and thematically relevant to our broader anti-colonial/anti-imperialist messaging. In truth, the romances are so supplementary to our overall goals that they could be removed entirely - and, thanks to our Kickstarter's success, it will indeed be entirely possible to play the game without "dating" anyone. But, the romances nevertheless remain as game-play options because we do not believe that moments of light-heartedess inherently negate the serious aspects of our story. If anything, it can make many of these subjects more palatable to audiences.

Nevertheless, the development team is open to any concerns or criticisms made in similar good faith.

#ask #fate answers #the good people #na daoine maithe

[azuresins]

You got this ask fair while back... someone seemed interested in your Irish connections and theories, but also seemed uncertain that Irish violations and their plight, would be showcased as a centrepiece when so much of Black Butler / Kuroshitsuji has paranormal fixations. I found that very odd? When so much of Indian, German, and to an extent Japanese and Anglo folklore / spirituality is also showcased in Kuroshitsuji...so I suppose my question is. When do you think we'll see it (if we see it) and what paranormal aspects pertaining to Irish Mythology do you think would fit into the story if you had to guess?

I don't think it's a matter of how Yana will weave/reference (more) Irish history and (more) Irish/Celtic Mythology into the story, or even how she's going to weave more of it, going forward. @apocalypticromantic666 , @seekers-who-are-lovers , @noirserviteur Have all found many general Celtic/Scottish/Irish connections and references in Kuro, I'm not the only person who has seen it. I'm particularly fond of this post (though the user deactivated) pointing out that the Phantomhive Graveyard has both protestant crosses (Church of England) and Celtic crosses (most likely Irish catholic) for gravestones. (here) It's not as necessary to me how much is included so long as more is included and considering the recent chapters I have no reason to think there wont be? Most of all, I wanted to point out, what already HAS been woven into it, and thematically that it makes logical sense, being the time period, and location and the repeated theme surrounding Indentured Servitude. In addition... I also believe some of the "paranormal" and "supernatural" elements connected to Irish mythology could already very much be there, even if it is/they are only referenced in name... 'hiding' in plain sight. The "Phantomhives" deal with England's "Underworld" do they not?

Do you know about the "Tuath Dé" or the "aes sídhe"...? If you don't, I highly recommend looking into the other "cycles"... starting with the Mythological Cycle.

(Source) It's widely believed and accepted... they are a part of a mythical race, that depending on the legend and translation, live in the Underworld and pass into it through burial grounds.

Almost like, a nest of ghosts, if you will... hmm. Or perhaps like... a hive full of phantoms... 🤔🤔🤔

#kuroshitsuji #black butler #phantomhives #Our!Ciel #finnian name theory #It's.... staring at you #In the face

[irelandseyeonmythology]

Ok so I’m getting into the Fenian cycle and just read the palace/hostel of the quicken/Rowan trees, and I love it but there are a couple things that i’ve been trying to research to better understand it and I’m just not getting results. Who is the King of the World? The Lochlanns are the Fomorians, right? And where is the isle of the torrent?

Thank you for the ask! It's coming at a very opportune time as I've been diving into the world of the Fianna myself. (If you sent this to me a couple of years ago, I'd have been a little stumped even if I'd have done my best.)

So you sent this to me...ages ago, and I was at the Gaeltacht at the time, so I was typing up my response in Irish to be translated and. I. Went out of the window. And it hadn't been saved. And I was so depressed that I didn't want to go back to it until I had sufficiently mourned.

...but you can breathe a sigh of relief since, now that I'm no longer in the Gaeltacht, we are not bound by the custom of "when I'm there, I write only in Irish."

So, first off...let's go with Lochlann: What is Lochlann, who are the men of Lochlann? In Cath Maige Tuired, you're right, they're absolutely associated with the Fomoire, BUT! The reason why they're associated with the Fomoire is because there were real-life invaders from Lochlann, that is to say, Scandinavian or Scandinavian occupied territory (in CMT, the Fomoire are actually in what is today Scotland, Balor being situated on the Hebrides, which means that....yes....it is entirely possible to do a How to Train Your Dragon/CMT crossover if you desired. And yes, I have put too much thought into the logistics of that crossover, including the dangers of giving Bres access to a dragon.) The decision to situate the Fomoire on Lochlann was a political move, as a way of highlighting Ireland's political situation at the time it was composed. ("Lochlann" is still the modern name for Norway.)

In other texts, especially later texts, we see Lochlann often associated with far away, exotic, supernatural, and/or dangerous places, in the same way that Greece is often used to indicate someplace far away or exotic. (It makes sense -- how many Irish people living in, say, the 14th-15th century would have imagined traveling to Norway in the time before Aer Lingus?)

You can see this in, for example, the little known Late Middle/Early Modern Irish-ish (the dating is weird on this one) prosymetric text, "Aithed Emere (le Tuir nGlesta mac Rig Lochlann)", where Emer elopes with...Tuir Glesta, son of the King of "Lochlann". (Translated as "Norway" most of the time in descriptions, but I prefer keeping the term "Lochlann", because it's always the question of...is this the Real World Country, Lochlann, or is this the Cool Folklore Lochlann where Zany Adventures Happen, you know? I don't feel like "Norway" captures all of the different possibilities that the word implies.)

Now, since this, according to Thurneysen at least, didn't go back to before the 12th century, it was created well after CMT, well after the Battle of Clontarf and the final assimilation/ousting of the Vikings from Ireland. The Vikings are...chill by now. They aren't an active threat. So we have to ask ourselves: Why is Emer eloping with Tuir Glesta? It could be the result of an earlier tradition, sure, but I think it's more likely that we're not meant to think of Lochlann as "Fomoire land" or "Viking land", but "exotic, far away place for Cú Chulainn to voyage to in order to get his wife back." In Cath Muighe Tuireadh Cunga, there's a figure called "Aengaba of Lochlann", and there's no sign that he's a Fomoire, rather it seems that we're meant to view him as a sort of foreign champion. (It's interesting that in the Early Modern CMT, meanwhile, the Fomoire don't come from Lochlann, but from Africa. White supremacists have obviously gone ham with this but I've had at least one prominent person in the field suggest to me that it could be a means of drawing a Carthage-Rome dichotomy between the TDD and the Fomoire. And, of course, as I love to point out, if the Fomoire come from Africa = the Fomoire are black, then by that logic, Bres, Lugh, Fionn mac Cumhaill, the Dagda, Ogma, Bríg, Lír, Manannán, Emer, Cú Chulainn, Cairbre, Óengus, Bodb Dearg, etc. etc. etc. are all mixed race, which is a change I for one would be happy with but I suspect they would not be. Not that logic matters all that much to that crowd, especially since the only figures to routinely be presented as brown are Balor, Bres, Cethlenn, and the Fir Bolg, funny how that works.) And of course, when I was talking to a local on Tory Island, he said that the old people "confused the English for the Fomorians" (paraphrased) -- I don't believe the old people were confused at all, though, I believe that it only made sense for the Fomoire to become English, since they're always the people Over There, and Over There can be Lochlann, it can be Africa, and it can be England. Balor goes from being a Viking warlord to an English landlord, because why wouldn't he?

NOW, off of my soap box about the racist clusterfuck that is most adaptations of the Fir Bolg/Tuatha Dé/Fomoire rivalry and back to your question, Bruidhean (an) chaorthainn, "Hostel of the Rowan Trees", is about 15th/16th century in date, so we're looking well after the time the Vikings were a threat, so "Lochlann" here is very much Fun Zany Lochlann, not Actual Country Norway.

And we see this in a lot of Fionn Cycle tales, men from Lochlann opposing the Fianna, Fionn courting women in Lochlann and facing a series of trials, men from Lochlann imprisoning the Fianna in bruidhean tales. It's very much a trope, and it has next to nothing to do with the historical location. It's a place Over There, it's a place that has something our heroes need to get, or it's a place that is threatening what they already have. The people who live there are invariable dangerous, often supernatural, and more than a match for our heroes, even though they are, inevitably, overcome, though sometimes at great cost. The Men of Lochlann in these tales and the Fomoire have a lot in common, you could even argue that the Fomoire of CMT are even the Men of Lochlanns' literary great grandfathers, in the sense that it is, at least partially, a 9th century anxiety over Scandinavia that's been fossilized into the folklore up to the present, but they aren't the same, except for the fact that they both often represent the dark side of the supernatural, which the Tuatha Dé can often represent as well. (And indeed, as John Carey's argued, the difference between the TDD and the Fomoire is often minimal.) The Tuatha Dé and the Fomoire in and of themselves appear little in modern folkloric stories, at least....how they appear in the Mythological Cycle (indeed, Óengus is often relegated to being a wizard instead of a member of the TDD in folkloric variants of Tóruigheacht Dhiarmada and Ghráinne.) Manannán survives better than most, as does Bodb Dearg, but the truth is that there was a certain...anxiety about it that you can detect in the folklore. The term "Fomor" develops three meanings from the Early Modern Irish period -- the guys that we know and love, a generic ogre or giant (which is how it's often used now), and a churl or servant, which further complicates things.

Besides Bruíon Chaorthainn, you can also see examples of Zany Folklore Lochlann showing up in Fenian folklore in Soraidh Fhinn go Tír Lochlainn ("Fionn's Wooing in Lochlann"), Laoi an Airghinn Mhóir ("The Lay of Airgheann the Great") (which, besides being very alive in the folklore, also goes back at least as far as Duanaire Finn, which was compiled in the 15th century), Laoi Chath Gabhra ("The Lay of the Battle of Gabhair") (which is interesting for having the son of the king of Lochlann on the Fianna's side for once), Duan na Cloinne ("The Lay of the Children"), Comhrag Fhinn agus Mhanuis ("The Combat Between Fionn and Magnus") (our boy Magnus, son of the King of Lochlann, also appears in Soraidh Fhinn go Tír Lochlainn), Laoidh Maodh-Chabir agus Chamagich ("The Lay of Maodh-Chabir and Camagich") (for SEXY Zany Folkloric Lochlann), An Cú Glas ("The Grey Dog"), which the Fionn Folklore Database actually did a reel about on their Facebook/Instagram if I'm not mistaken, Bratach Fhinn (Fionn’s Banner), and Duan nan Naonar (The Lay of the Nine). I'm *sure* there are other legends out there, these are just the ones I was able to immediately track down.

So, that's covered. Now, who is the King of the World? And the answer is that, like Magnus, he's a recurring antagonist we sometimes see pop up. In Bruíon Chaorthainn, he's the king of Lochlann who tries to invade Ireland. Meanwhile, in Cath Fionntrá, which has a lay form of it in the Book of the Dean of Lismore (a Scottish compilation, incidentally, from the 16th century, showing how bound up all these traditions are from an early date) and, besides that, has Irish manuscript attestations going back to at least the 15th century, the "King of the World" is a full-fledged antagonist named Dáire Donn, who forms an alliance with kings across Europe to invade Ireland. (Here's the older text here, and the info on it here.) We see a sort of sequel to it in the modern Irish tale “The romance of Mis and Dubh Ruis” where Dáire has a daughter, Mis, who becomes a madwoman in the woods after his death and is sexed back to sanity by Dubh Rois. (It is...surprisingly funny, honestly.) Which is in Celtic Heroic Age. But what you can gather by him being King of Lochlann is also that he's...the Guy Over There (Who Wants To Come Here.) Even beyond personalities, that's it. You can compare him to the King of Greece in Duan Gharbh Mhic Stairn ("The Lay of Garbh son of Stairn"). The difference between a king of Greece and a king of Lochlann isn't that great, what matters is that he's Over There and that he's trying to invade us.

The Isle of the Torrent (Inse Tuile) is another one of those otherworldly, supernatural places where Things Are Weird. You can compare it, for early examples, to the islands you see in the Immrama genre, but you can also compare it to the various weird islands you come across in other stories, like in Nighean Righ fo Thuinn ("The Daughter of the King Under the Waves"), which has "Magh an Iongnaidh" (the Plain of Wonder). And obviously, you could tie this into the world of the Otherworld being located beyond the sea (which is a later idea; the early material seems to indicate, firmly, that the Otherworld was *below*, not *beyond*), but I think it just goes from the idea that you need your heroes to travel on a quest to get something -- you can trace it as far back as the Epic of Gilgamesh, the Odyssey, Jason and the Golden Fleece, etc. People like a good adventure yarn. People like to have their heroes go to exotic lands filled with supernatural danger (where things There don't work the way they do Here), they like to face off against dangerous villains and arrive home just in time to save the day, you know? I will note that Goethe's "Der König in Thule" was translated, into Irish, as "Rí Inse Tuile" -- Thule was a magical island in classical times, it was well known to Irish monks as early as the ninth century; it appears in Beatha Bréandain, the Life of St. Brendan, so it's not inconceivable it could have been worked into the Irish tradition, especially since the variant of it that was translated is a literary composition, not necessarily the story 100% as it appears in oral literature. I'd like to explore that possible connection more down the line, but all I can say right now is that it's an interesting coincidence -- my suspicion for it being literary is further increased by the fact that this is not a name you generally see in the oral literature, but I won't go further than that. "Tuile" in Irish does mean "flood" or "flow", so it could just be a strange coincidence, of course, but...it's odd. It's odd.

Anyway, all that, and where are we?

A lot of Irish folklore and Irish lit are dealing with Us VS Them, the idea of the People Over There VS the People Over Here (which makes sense because of...centuries of People Over There sailing over, first the Vikings, then the Normans, then the Tudors, then Cromwell, etc. etc. etc. etc. Not to reduce an entire complex literary tradition that spans multiple continents to a Just So story, and there are a lot of stories that obviously DON'T feature this theme, but I don't think it hurts.) (And Scottish lit, of course, also gets into it, partially due to transmission, partially because of their own history of Guys Over There coming to take things from Guys Over Here, which also got transmitted to Canada via the diaspora.)

Who are the Lochlannaigh? The Guys Over There.

Who are the Fomoire? Also the Guys Over There, but not always overlapping. (Not all Fomoire at all stages of the literature are Lochlannaigh, not all Lochlannaigh are Fomoire.)

Who is Rí an Domhain? The Ruler Over There Who Wants To Come Over Here.

And where is Inse Tuile? Over There, but the name itself is strange.

I hope this makes sense in some way!

#irish mythology #irish folklore #béaloideas #fionn mac cumhaill #Fenian Cycle

[saintsenara]

Trick or treat! 🐈‍⬛

thank you, pal! happy halloween!

you definitely deserve a treat - so you can have an irish lesson, a halloween folklore fact, and a sneaky little peek at a bit of the next chapter of one year in every ten, which features the reunion nobody asked for: tom riddle vs ginny weasley...

ginny is, naturally, going to wreck him.

irish language treat: the irish for trick or treat is... tabhair féirín dom, nó buailfidh mé bob ort.

halloween folklore treat: tom riddle's favourite halloween food? soul cake. obviously.

sneak peek treat: here we go...

‘I have no intention of listening to you whining about settling scores,’ he hissed, still pacing back and forth like a particularly sinister tiger. ‘I have rather more important things to worry about.’

‘You brought it up.’

‘And will you shut that child up!’

‘He’s two. He’s going to cry sometimes. Deal with it.’

He let out a burst of humourless laughter. ‘God, you’re self-righteous. No wonder you couldn’t make your marriage work.’

‘How dare you bring up my marriage? When you’re the person who’s ruined -’

‘You ruined it by yourself, Ginny,’ he drawled, leaning against the wall, looking so delighted at her anger that she could have killed him on the spot. ‘I know it’s a comforting little fantasy to pretend you’re the injured party here, but you would have managed to drive Harry away without me. I have never devoted a second more attention to you than you deserve.’

‘Except for the fact that you spent a year trying to destroy my life.’

‘Your life wasn’t interesting enough to be destroyed. I caused you to incur a few minor inconveniences. All of which would have been perfectly irrelevant to you once you were dead.’

‘I was eleven. I was small and naive and so excited about coming to Hogwarts. I’d been waiting my whole life for it! And you ruined everything about it and I’ve had to spend half my life trying to make sense of that, and -’

‘What is there to make sense of? This happened because you were there. You were the person who opened the diary.’ He began to pace again. ‘I hope you weren’t labouring under the misapprehension that I thought you special in some way -’

‘Of course. That makes perfect sense. I’m not special. You changed the course of my entire life, but it doesn’t matter, because I’m not special.’

‘I had quite enough of you complaining that nobody realised how brilliant you were when you were a child. I have no intention of indulging it now.’

‘Harry’s special, though. Isn’t he? That’s the only reason why you “indulged” my complaining. Because I told you all about him. I led you straight to him. And it made him obsessed with you and it made Dumbledore and the Order and the whole fucking world obsessed with him too. And obsessed with him being obsessed with you. And I just had to be there. I was just the girl he had to keep safe, the girl who was going to wait at home for him to come back from fighting you.

‘Except it didn’t matter a fucking bit, because the fighting ended and he was still fucking obsessed with you. He’s spent ten years thinking about you - ten years when we were supposed to be free to live our lives! - and lying to me and pretending he wasn’t, and I’ve tried so fucking hard, but he was always yours, and now - now you’ve stolen him from me for good.’

Al was still howling. You and me both, kid, thought Ginny, as tears began to roll down her cheeks.

‘I want to be angry. But I can’t be. Because it’s my fault. Because I knew - I knew that we weren’t really happy, I knew that what Harry went through in the War changed him and what I went through changed me, and that even once it was over we could never be the way we had been before. And I didn’t say anything. Because I’d thought that our life - him - was what I really wanted, and I knew he felt the same. And when I realised it wasn’t, when I realised that he thought it wasn’t, it was impossible to say anything..

‘What the fuck am I going to do? We got engaged the second the battle was over. I’ve never lived on my own. I’m going to be a single mum and I’ve never even lived on my own. And there’s all these things that Harry does around the house and I’ve just never bothered learning how to do them. And I’ve got a date on Sunday, but I haven’t been on a date with someone who isn’t Harry since I was fifteen. What if it goes awfully? What if it goes well, but then it goes awfully? What if the kids end up really fucked up? What if they blame me? What -?’

‘Will you be quiet?’ Tom snarled.

Ginny braced herself. She knew very well what was coming; the words which had smashed her into pieces for that whole, horrible year - I loathe little girls who snivel like you do; it’s no wonder you don’t have any friends; how could you be the person behind these attacks, when you’re a talentless, worthless child? - and which would smash her into pieces again.

Lord Voldemort had played the long game, it seemed. It had taken him sixteen years, but he was about to succeed in destroying her.

‘God,’ he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

‘Sorry,’ she spat. ‘I know how much snivelling bothers you.’

‘Listen to me. Do you think that I was thrilled about being unceremoniously dumped in a toilet by you?’

‘What?’

‘Do you think that any of my other Horcruxes were ever treated in such a ridiculous manner?’

‘Yeah, I’m so fucking sorry that I didn’t show the bit of soul you were using to possess me enough respect for your liking. How dare you criticise me for that? I was a child! I didn’t know what else to do to get rid of you, so -’

‘Exactly. You were an eleven-year-old girl being possessed by the greatest wizard of all time -’ he punctuated this with a flounce of his robes, which Ginny was pretty certain was involuntary - ‘and you still managed to fight back in the best way available to you. Half the Ministry of Magic can’t say the same.’

‘Huh?’

‘Whatever else I may think of you, you aren’t a coward. You weren’t even then. You’ll be fine.’

‘Oh.’

Al had stopped screaming. He pointed a chubby fist in Tom’s direction and babbled. 

‘Which one is this?’ He looked intensely wary.

‘Albus’

‘What on earth possessed you to agree to that name?’

‘I didn’t agree to it. I picked it.’ He raised an eyebrow, Ginny put on her haughtiest expression. ‘I hope you don’t think so little of Harry that you reckon he’d deny me a say in the names of my own children?’

‘But Albus -’

‘Dumbledore was very kind to me after what you did to me. It was like I was sleepwalking. Nothing felt real, but everyone else was acting like everything was fine - Ginny’s back to normal with no lasting effects! - and I was just having to pretend that they were right. But then I was wandering around one afternoon - everyone else was out in the grounds, but I couldn’t face it - and I ran into Dumbledore, and he said “how are you?” and I said “oh, right as rain again” and he just looked at me, you know the way he used to look at you, like he could read your mind. And it just all came bursting out of me. That I wasn’t better, and I didn’t know if I ever would be, and I thought that a little bit of me had died in the Chamber, that my soul had been broken by what you did to me and it could never be fixed. And he looked at me and he said, “that may very well be true, Miss Weasley. But you must never forget that the parts of us that are broken -”’

‘- let the light in.’ He sneered. ‘I’ve heard that too. I should have known that it was a pre-rehearsed line.’

‘I remember thinking of it when he died. Because he was all broken. Mangled. I remember thinking, “where’s your light now?”. But it turned out that he knew what he was doing in the end.’

‘That’s one way of putting it.’

‘And then we picked Severus for his middle name because we thought it would annoy Snape and that would be funny. And it did and it was.’

‘He looks like Harry.’ He coloured slightly, and Ginny couldn’t help but suspect that he’d not meant to say that aloud. And she wondered…

‘I know. It’s -’

‘- the eyes.’

#trick or treat #asenora fics #tomarry #harrymort #harry potter #tom riddle #lord voldemort #one year in every ten #sneak peek #asks answered

[breitzbachbea]

I'm not going on anon, and also not telling anyone to continue a chain.

Top 3 fics of yours that you wish everyone would read—GO!

Thank you, Darling! I will copy the explanations for the fics from a similiar ask I did already, if possible.

1.Perché in Sicilia i morti dovrebbe morire I am aware that there is technically a typo in here, but I don’t have the book I quoted around, so I don’t know if the typo is already in the source material. Either way, do you like ghosts? Do you like folklore? Do you like places haunted by the terrible things they’ve seen, objects filled with the absentminded crooked intentions of their owner? Do you like childhood friends, who are the only friends to trust each other with their terrible childhoods, but it doesn’t solve anything? Perché is the story you want. Herakles and Michele are sneaking around Michele’s house during a power outage, talking about the recent past and ranting about the distant one, while the are some parts in between those that are unspeakable. It weaves the past of Sicily on a whole, especially Palermo’s and its hinterland, together with the fate of the Vento family and clothes the terrors of Michele’s own psyche into the familiar appearance of the collective Sicilian folklore. Also, if you like two mediterranean guys being way too coddly and touchy-feely, you can give this one a go as well.

2. No Rest For The Wicked Tu non fermami se capita! Lo sai che il mare mi agita! Ti canterò di quelle notti ad orienteeee, di quella luna che danzava tra i bazaaaaar! If you are a fan of self-indulgent fanfictions, this is the most unashamedly self-indulgent thing I ever wrote.* This story has everything: The Chaos Seven (Team Sicily and Team Ireland) go on a Turkey Vacay with the Greeks and Turks. Paddy hits his head. Harry and Soph are 100% on their bullshit as if no one else is around. Argueing. Cursing. Flirting. Hera and Sadık so deeply in love in their twisted and yet so mundane way. Italian Music and Sexy Dancing. Bridal Carrying. Please go and read it, 🌀 ohhh you want to read about TurGre and SicIre and the O'Connels soooo badly. 🌀 *All my other OC fics don’t count, because I avoid tagging them Hetalia as much as I can, so I don’t expect anyone to read it. Even if they are tagged hetalia, no one specifically looks for my OC ships, so while I am glad for every reader, I never write with any in mind.

3. On the King's mind Am I very proud of this fic? Not really, but it's grown on me ever since I wrote it. I really like the story-in-a-story, mostly because it hits a lot of beats of the LFLS mainstory: The Anglo-Irish Antagonism, Robert and Charlie's enmity in particular, Charlie and Harry's friendship and. well. there's. SicIre :]. If you don't mind very stereotypical High Fantasy stuff, with a less conventional King/Adviser constellation, you should definitely give this one a go. I also just enjoy Harry, (High) King of Ireland a lot. We love an underdog, but sometimes I just want my kids in the cool positions of power they could definitely fill.

#beareplies #yikes #storie nostre #hetalia #hetalia oc #miche #harry #hera #sadık #soph #charlie #the pen is mightier than the sword

[mstrickster]

What occult figures could you see the Ducks being? Like, who would be a witch/wizard or who would be a werewolf or vampire?

Thank you for the ask. I tried to match the Ducks with the occult figures they would be. I didn't think any of them fit into witch, werewolf, or vampire. However, I hope you aren't disappointed by my answers.

Luis is a Norse elf. In the original folklore elves are powerful and beautiful creatures. Normally they are uninterested in the affairs of men however they will occasionally interact with exceptional humans. Given that Luis is the pretty one of the group and has great speed, I’d say he fits the powerful and beautiful. Also, he isn’t introduced until D2 when he is put on a team with exceptional other people. So, I think this fits him well.

Russ was the easiest one to choose. He would be a pisky/pixie. Pixies are mischievous sprites who are not good or evil. They often meddle in the affairs of man. Their favorite was to steal horses and confuse travelers in the moor. Given his snarky personality and smart mouth I feel this fits Russ pretty well. He isn’t malicious but does know how to use what he’s got to fuck with people.

Julie was actually quite hard to pinpoint. She is powerful, but she’s not unkind. However, I think the creature that best fits her is a nymph. The book passage that solidified this for me was “As spirits of nature nymphs were wild, unpredictable, and very dangerous if crossed.” This is very Julie. She is cunning and plays her cards well. She will also retaliate if crossed. Like we see her do in the original script of D2 when she duck-tapes Goldberg to the bench.

Adam is an interesting one. I actually got help from @kaymardsa for him. I feel he best fits with the character of a golem. Golems are humanoid creatures created to help the person who created them. According to Kay a lot of Jewish stories are golems being created to help but causing a bunch of chaos for those who created them. As Adam is used in the first movie and only brought on to help the Ducks win the similarities are there. Kay also pointed out he may actually feel like the golem himself because the team only brought him on because they needed him not because they wanted him. He also is like a golem because he tries to help, but ends up getting hurt or targeted. Adam just wants to do well, but he is only used for his skills.

These next few were hard to place but I tried my best.

Guy was a hard one. He is kind, friendly and handsome. However, he is also protective and a good friend. I eventually settled on Havmand for him. In Danish folklore, Havmand is a merman that lives off the shore of the land. Unlike many other merman in folklore, Havmand is described as handsome and friendly to those he meets. There is one story of a Havmand kidnapping a maiden to be his wife, however there aren’t many creatures in myth who didn’t. However, despite them mostly being known to be good-natured creatures. I think it can still fit Guy.

Jesse strikes me the most as a fae. He is a very strong friend and his passion knows no bounds. However, like the fae if he is crossed he is a dangerous force. Jesse demands respect but he will also give respect if you earn it. This is very fae like to me. Lastly, Jesse is a firey person and it is best not to cross him, such as it is best not to cross a fae.

Goldberg reminds me most of the Cluricaune, a household fairy of Irish folklore. However, unlike some household fairies, The Cluricaune hangs out in basements and wine sellers. They are known to play tricks which is a very Goldberg thing to do. However, they aren’t malicious, just tricky.

Charlie is another one who could fall under the fae title however, I decided to go an different route. I focused on his leadership. Charlie is often trying to be the mediator. He is the one who offers reassuring words. Also for better or worse he brings the team together on tasks. Because of these traits I found him most like the lyre bird. In Australian aboriginal myth, when the animals had a falling out. It was the Lyre Bird would encouraged peace and reconciliation.

Averman is a gremlin. Gremlins came into being during the first world war, when the Royal Navy found that certain things kept going wrong with their equipment. Gremlin lore expanded in WW2 where they grew in their cunning. Often being described as annoying and doing everything they can to cause trouble. If that isn’t Averman I don’t know what is.

Connie is a mermaid. Mermaids are often seeing as beautiful women. However, like Connie they are not to be underestimated. Mermaid folklore is full of mermaids luring unsuspecting people into the water. Connie is a lovely person but she’s also a Duck and will fuck you up given the chance.

Kenny makes me think of a shapeshifter. This is mostly because he easily transfers from figure skating to hockey. He is also someone who is often underestimated due to his size. However, he can and will eff you up if you mess with his friends.

Dean seems to relate most to the Pooka/Puca. Pucas are mischievous half-animal sprites in Irish folklore. They are known to punish graverobbers but have been known to help rescue beasts that have fallen in the bog. They also have been known to help in households. They also curse fruit to be inedible. So, with this combination of sweetheart and menace, I think it fits Dean well.

Both of the creatures Fulton remind me of are technically mine sprites. They are Karzelek and Knockers. They are helpful in protecting the miners and finding ore. They are generally friendly but can be deadly and cave in tunnels if disrespected. Knockers were described by miners as imps or demons. However, they are not harmful creatures at heart. This makes me think a lot of Fulton.

Dwayne was one of the easier ones. I stuck to his general cheery disposition when finding a creature for him to relate to. I settled on a Dobie for him. A Dobie is a British house fairy. They are very helpful and like to join in with tasks taken on by laborers. However, the Dobie can be easily confused about tasks. I feel like this fits Dwayne pretty well.

#charlie conway #adam banks #jesse hall #guy germaine #dwayne robertson #russ tyler #luis mendoza #kenny wu #julie gaffney #dean portman #fulton reed #les averman #greg goldberg #anon answered #anon asks #tmd #Connie Moreau #I love my hockey idiots #mighty ducks asks

[gefdreamsofthesea]

On the Wheel of the Year being a mess

I thought I would elaborate on this outside of a single reply.

Obviously if you find meaning in the holidays (and many do) then continue to celebrate. I'm not trying to be like "no one observe the WotY anymore, I just think it's important to be honest about its history and implications.

The Wheel of the Year is neither ancient nor Celtic, of the eight festivals, most have Irish names, but at least three are Germanic (Ostara, Midsummer, Yule, and Lammas if referred to as such and not Lughnasad) no single culture celebrated all of them, and yet they are often presented as "ancient Celtic festivals".

In addition, despite claims that these festivals are ancient, the ways that Wiccans and other Pagans celebrate often bear no resemblance to how the same festivals are celebrated in their home countries. Beltaine is not a wild sex party, it's a fire festival concerned with protecting people and livestock. Ostara is probably made up, it's based on bad etymology (from Grimm) based on a single reference from a monk (Bede) who was like "this month is named for a goddess" and there's absolutely no evidence this goddess ever existed. The other holiday I'm suspicious of is Mabon, if only because we know the name for the festival came from Aidan Kelly. Individual holidays often get mashed together simply because they occur around the same time (Beltaine/May Day and Lughnasad/Lammas for instance) and treated as basically the same thing despite....being different holidays.

So my one issue with the Wheel is that it's taken festivals from multiple characters and run them through a blender, but there are lots of posts written on this already. I think it's also important to discuss the implications when we act as if the WotY is a universal "Pagan" calendar.

The Wheel of the Year really only makes sense if you're in certain parts of Europe (okay, the U.K.) and bits of North America with four distinct seasons. If you live in an area with two seasons, if you live in a desert climate, if you think I'm making stuff up when I talk about snow, heck, if you live in an area that doesn't herd sheep or grow wheat, parts of the Wheel of the Year will just not have any relevance to you. I complain every year that Imbolc is the most nonsensical holiday because where I live everything is still under five feet of snow and I am not thinking about spring or lambing season (as I do not own sheep). Yes I know "Oh it's anticipating spring!" Anticipate the snow I am throwing at you.

I also feel like there's such a focus on the Wheel that people think they *have* to observe it instead of whatever's going on in their local area, or traditions their ancestors might have observed. This is something I can understand because who wants to be alone celebrating Mârtişor when you could wait and celebrate Ostara with everyone?

I think where this becomes especially annoying is when you have folks who get pissed because they're celebrating Samhain and how dare you eat candy and have fun on my sacred holiday! Your ancestors are probably annoyed with you because you aren't giving them sweets. You might be celebrating a holiday that is actually quite old but how dare you do something different than they do on their frankenfestival!

Some food for thought on the subject is the book Walking the Tides by Nigel G. Pearson. It is a very British book talking specifically about the year in that part of the world, so while it might not be relevant to you, it does make some good points about observing nature, how folklore ties into celebrations, and the like. As I said, it's specific, but it's still interesting.

[enchanted--roses]

OC Halloween Challenge — Day 08 — The Harbinger

Alexandra D’amore

Alexandra would never have imagined that what she saw was the future and not just dreams. That these different images she was seeing were not just the path that could have been but what would be, that it all led back to the same moment. And that she was cursed to see the people she loved die without her being able to change it.

We hear about omens of death in every kind of mythology. Irish folklore warns you of hearing the wailing woman and German myth tells you to never find your doppelganger. Even Western Society in America will drift from their path if they see a black cat on the way. So which of your ocs stands outside of the haunted house and tells the redheaded twins “you’re going to die in there”?

Forever Tag: 💠@fiercefray​ 💠@foxesandmagic💠 @valdrinors​ 💠@ochub​ 💠@ocappreciationtag​💠@fanficanatic-tw​ 💠@robertdowneyhiddlesbatch   💠@chickensarentcheap​ (wanna be on any of my taglist? ask me!)

#ohc2023 #oc Halloween challenge #ocappreciation #fd: Doctor Who #Alexandra D'amore

[cunningrains777]

The Shining Folk.

You may have heard the term 'Shining Ones' or 'Shining Folk' in relation to fairies.

There are a number of reasons for this description, including the brightness of their appearance at times, as well as being a euphemism for their wisdom, and often their otherworldliness.

In fact, when we look at the folklore, as well as the older mythology, we can make an argument for all of the previous descriptions fitting both physical and non-physical traits.

In a previous post I wrote about the case of a boy who was visited by two beings dressed in white after he had taken bluebells from a fairy fort.

Another unusual, yet more recent interpretation, sees the brightness as being something that manifests because human beings are unable to perceive the true reality of these forms.

Instead, those who see them are culturally creating a shape, symbol, or experience which transcends known archetypes, thus manifesting as something brilliant and hard to define.

This is very much in the realm of the 'fairies as mytho-consciousness creations’, it might be said.

Many writers argue that fairies take the form of what is known by a person's folklore or worldly experiences.

Take this striking Irish example, for instance: The Shining Man.

"There was a man, “wan” night coming on a journey along a lonesome road. As he was coming along a man on a bicycle came "along-side" him. He was going to bid this man good night but he thought he looked very "peculiar." All at once the road was all lit up and the bicycle was all shining and his close (clothes) were all shining. He was so stunned at the sight that he could do nothing but bless himself; and the man disappeared. So he had to keep on praying to the end of his journey."

https://www.duchas.ie/en/cbes/4493804/4422399

Here we have an experience which researchers like Vallee and Keel might frame as a UFO encounter but with the experiencer being unable to match the UFO to anything he previously had known, thus seeing a bicycle instead of a craft.

This same argument has been made for those who see angels, fairies and otherworldly visitors.

The shining aspect is again to the forefront.

Another example is a shining or white lady who turns up in folklore around the world.

In more recent times, these have been categorised as religious experiences, but the function and, indeed, effects, fits with those who would have very different views on what religion even is, as well as a vague fit into our ideas of 'good' and 'evil.'

A lady in white is often documented to have appeared to children in European folklore, although post 10th century she tends to be associated with Marian apparitions and is usually benevolent.

That said, the White Lady who appeared to children at Massabielle in France was said to have gestured to the children to follow her over the edge of a rocky cliff as she floated, orb-like, above them.

Sites such as Fatima and Lourdes were also long associated with fairy women and bright ladies long before the apparitions were Christianised. There is also a strong link to caves, natural springs and trees held sacred in Pagan folklore, which we also find in Irish folklore.

Within Germanic folklore we find the White Lady as Die Weisse Frau, who wanders the countryside searching for her dead children.

Here we have an accepted lineage dating back to German Paganism and Elves but, perhaps, we have an even more important clue as to the identity and distortion of who these shining or white beings originally were.

The Ljósálfar (The Light Elves) were said to be as bright as the sun and to look upon them was almost impossible because of their shining nature.

(Just to add that many scholars see the distinction between light and dark elves as a Christian concept.)

Is this related to the ambiguity in which Irish interpretations of fairies are understood, I wonder?

This might suggest that there is no real separation, only how these beings are encountered.

Jacob Grimm wrote in his work, Teutonic Mythology, "The enchantment under which they suffer may be a symbol of the ban laid by Christianity on the divinities of the older faith."

This is important because the Dutch version of these beings are 'Wise Women' as opposed to 'White Ladies', which is attributed to a mistranslation of ‘wit’ in the folkloric record.

This would also correspond and support the idea put forward by some scholars that it was the Christian demonisation of these beings which created the evil nature of their later incarnations and which repressed their Goddess-like original nature.

Another example of shining folk literally burning brightly is recorded by Wentz in his work The Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries.

Wentz describes how a doctor and a companion were riding home from Limerick one night.

As they approached Listowel the doctor writes that he witnessed what he thought was the light of a house about a half mile ahead of him. On approach, though, the light began to behave in a very mysterious manner, “Moving up and down, to and fro, diminishing to a spark, then expanding into a yellow, luminous flame.”

As they rode on, the doctor and his companion then saw two further lights behaving in a similarly bizarre fashion.

The doctor tells us that the lights were six feet high and four feet wide and within each one was, “…a radiant being having human form.”

The two lights then glided towards each other until they touched and the beings inside were able to walk between each light as if it was one individual orb.

Whatever the doctor was thinking, he was able to describe what he witnessed in further detail. He tells us that, “The beings bodies were formed of a pure dazzling radiance, white like the radiance of the sun, and much brighter than the yellow light or aura surrounding them.”

Within Irish folklore, though, this sighting is nothing unusual at all.

It contains all of the customary and traditional motifs of meetings with the good people.

In fact, the detail of the doctor’s description ties the encounter to countless others throughout the entire island.

What is perhaps curious, or telling, depending upon how you see ‘fairies’, is the doctor calling these beings 'spirits.'

This may be, perhaps, an unconscious referral to the belief that in many cases the fairies were both the dead and another type of spirit, or it may be that there was more of an acceptance of this crossover than there sometimes is today.

Whatever the answer, this encounter is certainly one of more interesting and well described cases in the Irish folklore archives where a description of 'shining folk' clearly fits.

In many Irish fairy encounters we can notice a similar description. Sometimes it is an entire fairy mound itself which is seen to light up and spin, and at other times a parade of lights are seen to emanate from the rath or mound and take off across the sky. This aspect has been documented at the rath situated near Keadeen, Co. Wicklow and is recorded in the archives at Duchas.ie as well as being included in a previous post on this page.

In this further example, the lights seem to foretell of a death.

"One night about three years ago the Hartnetts who lived in Gardenfield were going to the fair in Drom and they saw a bright light shining over near Mrs. Dowling's house. They said to themselves that it was very early Mrs. Dowling was up. Mrs. Dowling saw the same light that night moving up around Harnett's house then it came down and it went into the fort and disappeared. That happened before Mr. Harnett's death."

https://www.duchas.ie/en/cbes/4921974/4914569/4938134

Finally, this account recorded in 1926 is also interesting. The writer tells us “I was learning to speak Irish at the time. A gang of us would be sent over beyond Lough Gara every week to be taught by the master there.

Some of us would go on bicycles and would often cycle home in the dark.

We were nervous when we’d cycle by the lake as we would often see three lights skimming across the water. Sometimes the lights would appear in the trees at the lake edge and other times they would submerge beneath the water.

Our parents put the lights down to the work of God.

‘Don’t worry about them, they’re only lost souls trying to get into heaven. They’re no harm.’ "

So, as you can see, although the description of fairies as the 'shining ones' or 'shining folk' can definitely have allusions to wisdom, secrets, and inner transcendence, there is plenty of scope to also include this as a literal physical description.

How we interpret that further is open to a wide variety of opinions, I feel.

(C.) David Halpin.

Image: Spring Scattering Stars by Edwin Blashfield.

#fairies #faery #fae #folklore #irish #ireland #elves #ghosts #johnkeel #jacquesvallee #druid #heathen #ufo #occult #goddess #witch #witchcraft #consciousness #carljung #pagan #paganism #archaeology #stonecircle #wicklow #wicklowmountains #magic #irelandsancienteast

#witchcraft #folk magic #traditional withcraft #witch community #witches #occult #folk magic art #folk witchcraft #shamanism