#deadly hallows

[beep-beep-im-a-geek]

Harry potter with starkid subtitles part 7/?

[oh-star-how-the-mighty-fall]

I finished all 5 ACOTAR books, then Fourth Wing, and now my friend and I are buddy reading Throne of Glass for the first time. I’ll eventually get to Iron Flame, maybe the other TOG books, and then when the 6th ACOTAR book comes out I want to read that one, and then I have a few that I bought on Stuff Your Kindle Day on Wednesday that looked good, like The Cord Between Us, A Deadly Education, Hallowed Games, and Queen of Roses. I forgot how much I liked to read. The last series I got super into was The Maze Runner, then after finished all of those books I took a break for a while and then read some one-off books but felt meh about them. It feels so good to get back into reading with books I really love.

Any other suggestions of similar series/books?

[the-kipsabian]

[mask131]

Deadly fall: The “other” Halloweens

THE “OTHER” HALLOWEENS

Category: Anglo-Saxon and American cultures (plus Christianity)

I talked about Halloween. I talked about its ancestor, Samhain. I talked about All Hallows Day and its “cousin” El Dia de los Muertos.

But there are much more other variations of Halloween and All Saints Day that I haven’t talked about, and that yet are needed to understand the evolution and existence of those holiday: a whole constellation of “other Halloweens” and even “other Samhains”. I’ll try to briefly list them all through this post.

1) All Saints Eve

Everybody knows that “Halloween” stands for “All Hallows’ Eve”. But originally this title went to the Christian celebration of the Eve of All Saints Day. And Halloween, despite its name, has barely anything Christian in it, mostly being a survival of Samhain. So, what is the “actual” All Saints Eve, from a Christian point of view?

All Hallows Eve, or All Saints Eve, is mostly a preparation for the upcoming All Saints Day (All Hallows Day), and thus doesn’t have many “traditions” in itself. The church service is called the Vigil of All Hallows, and is usually coupled with visits to the graveyard (to place candles and flowers, in preparation for All Saints Day). It is a time of praying for the dead, and also a time of fasting to prepare yourself for All Hallows: All Saints Eve is a non-meat day. This custom actually influenced a lot modern Halloween – it was because of the ban on meat imposed by All Hallows Eve that people consumed mostly fruits and vegetables, which led to the prominence of these same fruits and vegetables in Halloween. Most All Saints Eve traditions tend to be local. In Spain, priests have to toll the bell of their churches to remind people of thinking and praying for the dead. In Finland, people speak of the “valomeri” or the “sea of light” because everybody goes lighting up candles in cemeteries. And in Poland the tradition had the living Christians walk through the forest while loudly praying, in order to comfort the unrested or tormented dead.

If we leave Europe and go to America, the land of Halloween, All Saints Eve is… a bit different. Mostly because Christianity in America is mostly Protestant – and for Protestants, All Saints Eve is before all “Reformation Day”, the celebration of the start of the Protestant Reformation by Martin Luther – for a long time it was the habit for Protestant families to dress their kids as biblical characters or important figures of the Reform. Now, Christianity does not often meddle well with Halloween celebrations – especially in America where people are prone to be a more… “extremism” (plus there’s the fact Halloween became such a part of American culture). Some defend the idea that Halloween is just harmless fun for children and that it does not hurt in any way Christian belief ; while others are much more disdainful of this “occultism” and “mysticism” and are usually prone to handing out tracts on Halloween night about the wonders of Christianity. But a VERY American creation born of an attempt at uniting Christianity and Halloween – a “tradition” created by none other than the fundamentalist and evangelical churches (because who else would do such a thing?), is the “Hell Houses”. Imagine a “haunted house attraction”, but done by religious people using, instead of ghosts and monsters, the “horrors” of sin and vice, with the ultimate goal of “scaring into redemption”… It is a really weird and bizarre and VERY American thing, and while some of those houses can be quite ridiculous, others are known to be VERY disturbing, leading to yet again another Halloween scandal (they all come from America) about those Hell Houses that go “too far”. But I’ll let you search these lovely things by yourself.

2) Calan Gaeaf

I talked about Samhain in a previous post, and I tried to insist that while it was a Celtic holiday, indeed, it was mostly focused, localized and practiced by Scotsmen and Irishmen (plus the Isle of Man), not all of the British Isles. And yet there is this idea today that Samhain was practiced in the entirety of the Isles… This is because there is a slight confusion between Samhain and its “siblings”, the “other Samhains”. If Samhain proper was only for the Scots and the Irish, the other part of the Isles had their own festivals equivalent to Samhain. And Calan Gaeaf was “Samhain” for Wales.

Calan Gaeaf was the celebration of the first day of winter, on the 1st of November (in the bi-seasonal system of the Celtic year, autumn was just the first part of winter). It was a harvest festival, that allowed for grand feasts (as both the harvest was gathered, and the livestock was slaughtered for the winter) cooked by the women of the village, and for all sorts of games – usually also tied to the harvest. For example there was the “harvest mare” game: some of the last stalks of corn reaped would be twisted together in the shape of a mare, and the “player” would hide the mare under his clothes, before trying to sneak it back to his home in the village. If he could get the harvest mare to his home without being noticed by any of the women (preparing the feast in the village), he would be rewarded with beer and a place of honor at the feast’s table, while the mare was hung other the hearth. If he failed, he would become the laughingstock of the community.

And just like with “Hallowe’en”, the eve of Calan Gaeaf was known as “Nos Galan Gaeaf” – and was considered a “spirit night” (a Ysbrydnos in Welsh), one of the times of the year when spirits roam the country (and given the Welsh shared the Celtic concept of the Otherworld, we are talking about both the spirits of the dead and supernatural inhuman spirits). On this night, people avoided the places where spirits liked to hang out: crossroads, churchyards, stiles… A bonfire was lit around which children and women danced, and when the flames started to die out they all ran home: for it was said that when the bonfire of Nos Galan Gaeaf was extinguished, a supernatural creature would appear – sometimes simply a bad omen announcing disaster and death, other times an actual threat seeking the devour the souls of the wanderers, or the flesh of the last child to go home. For some this creature was “Hwch Ddu Gwta”, a black sow without tail but with the head of a woman, while for others it was “Y Ladi Wen”, “the white lady”, a female headless ghost. Before leaving, children and women had to place a ring of stones around the fire, with their names written on each stone: in the morning, the stones were checked. If a name-stone was burned by the fire, it meant good luck for the person “owning” the stone, but if a stone was missing it meant the person associated would die within the year.

Similarly to Samhain and Halloween, all sorts of divination games were practiced on Nos Galan Gaeaf. The apple-peel game I described previously was a common practice of the holiday, and so was the “mirror-gazing”: unmarried women had to look into a mirror in a darkened room to see the face of their future husband ; but if a skull appeared, it meant the woman would die within the year. A more traditional Welsh “divination game” was gender-divided: girls had to grow throughout the year a rose in the shape of a hoop, and go through the circle three times before cutting the rose – on Galan Gaeaf’s Eve, they had to place the rose under their pillow to dream of the future. Boys, meanwhile, had to cut ten leaves of ivy during the night, before leaving one behind them and placing the nine remaining under their pillow: not only would they dream of the future, if they touched the ivy they could also have visions of the witches living in the area.

3) Allantide

The “other Samhain” of Cornwall was known as “Kalan Gwav”, which literally meant “the first day of winter”, coupled with “Nos Kalan Gwav”, the Eve of the First Day of Winter, the 31st of October. It later evolved, under Christian influence, into “Allantide”, more well-known as Saint Allan’s Day. Due to overlapping with Allhallowtide, Saint Allan’s Day was also a day of remembering and praying for the dead, with churches of Cornwall ringing their bells to comfort Christian souls that had not yet entered Heaven (purgatory, hauntings, and other “intermediary states”). And just like with the other “Samhains”, divination games were common on this night: throwing walnuts in the fire to predict the fidelity of your partner (see the hazelnut roasting of Samhain), or pouring molten lead into cold water, to see form a shape that would indicate you the profession of your future husband.

Unique to Allantide however, is the tradition of the “Allan apples”. Allan apples are very large and glossy red apples, specially polished for the occasion. Before the day of the saint’s feast, entire markets selling only Allan apples were organized, because the tradition was to offer them to your friends and family, as they were symbols of good luck. Young girls would place these apples under their pillows to dream of their future husbands, while the children who went to bed without obtaining even one Allan apple would only know misfortune. There was even a local game of “catch-the-apple” that went as such: two pieces of wood are nailed together in a cross, the cross is suspended to the ceiling and candles placed at its four ends, and an Allan apple is tied up under the cross. The goal of the game was to catch the apple with your bare teeth – and if you were too slow or not agile enough, the hot wax of the candles would be poured on you.

4) Punkie Night

A last “British” variation of the Samhain/Halloween tradition – this time coming from the “West Country” (a name for a region of South-West England). Punkie Night was held on the last Thursday of October, and during this night children marched around the region with jack-o-lanterns in their hands (Punkie was an Old English word for “lantern”), while singing a song that went! “It’s Punkie Night tonight (X2) / Adam and Eve would not believe / It’s Punkie Night tonight!”. Other times, the children would rather go door to door asking and begging for candles, threatening those who did not gave them anything (a variation of the trick-or-treating). This begging had its own rhymes: “Give me a candle, give me a light / If you don’t, you’ll get a fright!” ; or “Give me a candle, give me a light / If you haven’t a candle, a penny’s all right!”. We also know that people usually placed “punkies” (jack-o-lanterns) in front of their farms, to ward off evil spirits, and that the processions of children would be led by two characters known as the “Punkie King” and “Punkie Queen”.

5) Mischief Night

Originally, Halloween was just the eve of All Hallows Day. But as Halloween became a proper holiday, not just the eve of a feast, it got its own eve. And Halloween Eve is known by different names across America: one of which is Mischief Night. It was called as such because on the 30th of October, people took the habit of doing all sorts of jokes and pranks, even going up to vandalism – not just children, but adults too! It is quite interesting to see that the tradition actually started in old England, but was not immediately associated with Halloween: originally “Mischief Night” was linked to the May Day and to the Green Man. However, as the celebration left the rural areas and reached the cities, Mischief Night was moved to the opposite end of the year: 4th of November, the eve of the Gunpowder Plot celebrations (5th of November). It then slightly shifted to the night before Halloween – and it is at this last date that it reached the USA and Canada.

In England, Mischief Night went by many different names: Micky Night, Trick Night, Corn Night, Tick-Tack Night, Chievous Night, Mischievous Night, Miggy Night, Mizzy Night… And in some areas of Yorkshire, it was even seen as a coming-of-age ceremony for thirteen years old boys. In Northern America, the celebration got several other names, such as “Goosey Night” or “Mat Night”. In Maryland, it became known as “Moving Night” due to the common prank being to steal or switch various furniture and items found on house porches ; it was tied to another common name of the Night in rural areas, “Door Night”, due to rural pranksters often stealing the “doors” of the fences surrounding fields, or the small wooden doors of courtyards. In Northern and Western states of the USA, as well as in Ontario (Canada), the name “Cabbage Night” (or in French “Nuit de Chou”) is also common, due to the vandals usually raiding gardens and farms for cabbages (preferably leftover cabbages or rotting ones), before using them for all sort of mischiefs.

Today, the pranks of Mischief Night mostly include “toilet pappering” yards and buildings (wrapping them in toilet papers), throwing powders or eggs at cars and houses, writing on windows with soap, smashing pumpkins and jack-o-lanterns, spray-painting buildings, or setting up small fireworks – even though the tradition of throwing rotting cabbages or rotting fruits at people still survives in some area. Mischief Night also has a nasty history of arsons, that started in the 80s when people started setting garbage ablaze or creating big fires in cemeteries ; while in the 2010 New-Orleans saw a new form of Mischief Night appear as carnival/Mardi-Gras like parades ending up in vandalism-filled riots.

6) Devil’s Night

Devil’s Night is another American name for “Mischief Night” – one coming originally from Detroit, in Michigan. Mischief Night arrived to Detroit between the 1930s and the 1940s, and began with simple pranks and “mild vandalism”. Egging and soaping, waxing windows and doors, toilet-papering trees and shrubs, throwing rotten vegetables at people, leaving flaming bags of dog poop on doorsteps)… “Mischievous crimes” and “petty crimes”, so to speak. But throughout the 60s and up to the 70s, the violence and danger of these pranks escalated. We were talking about serious vandalism and arsons. And as the decades went by, the destruction and frenzy of the night worsened: 800 fires in the city in 1984, and just as much if not more in the following years. “Mischief Night” became “Devil Night”. By the 1990s, it got so big that the authority and people of the city decided it had to be put to a stop: this was the creation of “Angel Night” in 1995. Angel Night was the gathering of several thousands of volunteers (up to 50 000 in the first Angel Nights) to patrol the neighborhoods at night to keep order, communicating with the authorities via radios or cellular phones, and attaching amber beacons to their vehicles to make the vandals known what their purpose was. Angel Night was such a big mobilization that by the 2000s a significant drop was noticed in arsons and vandalisms. At the beginning of the 2010s, there were 169 fires (which already was a drop compared to previous years). By the mid-2010s, only fifty or so fires were counted. By the end of the 2010s, only four or five fires. It is widely believed that soon, “Devil’s Night” will be truly dead, and just a cultural memory.

[unicornblossom13]

[When Pitch Tried To Take Over Halloween]

Pitch: You called me a whore and stabbed me with your heels.

Eve: I was in a bad mood.

[graphicpolicy]

Marvel Variant Covers Pay Homage to Famous Art Movements

Marvel Variant Covers Pay Homage to Famous Art Movements #comics #comicbooks #marvel #marvelcomics

 Marvel’s Stormbreakers Class of 2023 are here and bringing their incredible talents to your favorite comic series and characters! This year’s class features a diverse line-up of illustrators who are constantly breaking the mold, and each month they’ll have a chance to flex their skills with an exciting themed variant cover collection. For March’s Stormbreakers Variant Covers, fans can see their…

[eastsidemags]

Erica Schultz / Rat City #1 Signing

Erica Schultz has been our favorite champion of indie comics with amazing titles like M3, Deadliest Bouquet and Bylines in Blood.

She’s rocked franchise books like Xena, Charmed and Swords of Sorrow.

And then 2023 hit and she EXPLODED into the Big 2 with Marvel’s Hallow’s Eve! Then she tackled X-23 with X-23 Deadly Regenesis! Then the books just started flowing out like a dam had been broken with Amazing Spider-Man Annual #1, What If?..Dark Moon Knight #1 and Daredevil Gang War - not to mention her appearance in Women of Marvel #1!

NOW - Erica takes the leap into Rat City - Image’s Spawn 2099 - about an ex-soldier/amputee that gains the powers of Spawn due to Al’s actions in the past that unknowingly set Peter Cairn (our future Spawn) on a whole new path as a Hellspawn of his own!

Erica will be here on 4/13 from 2pm-5pm. We’ll have copies of Rat City #1 on hand for customers to purchase as well as a boatload of other comics she’s worked on too!

[lexotanmerlin]

Lex # 5032

♥Hair: Wasabi  // Agatha FLF Ed. Hair – Absolute Pack by MissAllSunday Lemon + Rouge Darcy @ FLF ♥Head: LeLUTKA Avalon Head 3.1 by jaden.nova ♥Body: eBODY – REBORN – by eBODY ♥Skin: [7DS] – BODY 2020 UNIVERSE bom skin PEACH def by Izara Zuta ♥Body skin: VELOUR x VENUS for EBODY REBORN (SUNKISS) ♥Tattoo: Fewness – Your Sign – Cancer by Fewn Daddy ♥Tattoo: Puddles. Zodiac Tattoos by Veronica…

[apixellife]

Halloween @ [7DS]

Group Notice From: SEVEN – [7DS], Tigerlily Ember MANDALA @ Hallow Manor  Oct 13th – Nov 1sthttps://gyazo.com/085d369e0c051ee1011d2893e4536484 PAGAN @ Nightshade  Oct 13th – Oct 23rdhttps://gyazo.com/e56cc455dab4f8633981a0d3420d5d0e SALEM @ Spookzilla   Oct 20th – Nov 3rdhttps://gyazo.com/cdc35e4bc97f7746f8959bea0fb198a9 STORE HALLOWEEN HUNT!Pick up the info at the…

[sakuravulpes]

✎ ( sponsor ღ Hallow Manor ) ՞₊˚๑

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 ★⸝⸝ 7 Deadly s[K]ins - HALLOWEEN CLOUD skins 

★⸝⸝ Schadenfreude Still Life with Skull 

★⸝⸝ Pink Moon - Excorsism 

★⸝⸝ {Rosier} / Strangle Spirit V2 / (FAT) 

★⸝⸝ INCOMUM - STOP TATTOO

Bespoke and Silly Llama Productions present Hallow Manor 2022! This event runs from October 14 - November 1. It's gonna be amazing! We invite you to participate in the spooky hunt. Each designer has created an event exclusive/s and a hunt prize for you! 

 Halloween Cloud skins is the new release by 7 Deadly s[K]ins. This skin looks incredible and spooky! with a delicate colored cloud in face and chest I'm totally using it for another outfit, I loved it! It's BOM for Lelutka EvoX and includes body. The color I'm wearing is a exclusive, but you can get the green one at the hunt!

Schadenfreude's exclusive is just perfect for any Halloween decoration, the full pack comes with 4 skulls with unique designs and all of them with their own hud to change the colors of the details. 

 By Pink Moon, this hunt prize is awesome! It's a set of 4 poses to get the perfect exorcism scene. You can be the vitcim or the exorcist, it's your choice.~ 

 Another amazing prize by Rosier, Strangle Spirit V2 comes with transparent and solid version, and it's unrigged! It also comes with a hud to change the colors of the bones. 

 And by Incomum, Stop Tattoo looks spookily gorgeous! The box comes with face tattoo for Lelutka EvoX and also body tattoo in BOM and it's tintable, also unisex. 

 ✤ ʟᴀɴᴅᴍᴀʀᴋ

✤ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ's ɢᴜɪᴅᴇ

✤ sʜᴏᴘᴘɪɴɢ ɢᴀʟʟᴇʀʏ

✤ ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴄɪᴘᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴅᴇsɪɢɴᴇʀs

✤ ғʟɪᴄᴋʀ

✎ ( sponsor ღ Panic of Pumpkin in Okinawa ) ՞₊˚๑

 · · • • • ✤ • • • · · 

 ★⸝⸝ Wixla Sari Set Fatpack Sari Set by Wixla comes with two stunning items, the crown is just perfection, and it comes with 6 colors in the hud, including bloody ones. The lipstick looks precious, there are 2 packs available! 

 ✤ ʟᴀɴᴅᴍᴀʀᴋ

✤ ғʟɪᴄᴋʀ

✎ ( sponsor ღ ERSCH ) ՞₊˚๑ · · • • • ✤ • • • · · 

 ★⸝⸝ ERSCH - Skully Eyepatch 

 This new release by ERSCH for @The Mancave is unisex, it looks awesome on male or female avatars! This eyepatch is unrigged, left and right versions included and comes with a big hud to mix and match colors. I love it! 

 ✤ ᴍᴀɴᴄᴀᴠᴇ

✤ ᴍᴀɪɴsᴛᴏʀᴇ

✤ ғʟɪᴄᴋʀ

✎ ( sponsor ღ Cherry Bunny ) ՞₊˚๑ 

· · • • • ✤ • • • · · 

 ★⸝⸝ Cherry Bunny~ PunkR0 Shorts & Garters FATPACK 

 This fantastic piece is available at @Hongdae, at the booth you will find the shorts and the garters and they are sold separately in individual packs or everything as fatpack, they're rigged for Legacy, Maitreya and Reborn and they look incredible and sexy! 

 ✤ ʜᴏɴɢᴅᴀᴇ

✤ ᴍᴀɪɴsᴛᴏʀᴇ

✤ ғʟɪᴄᴋʀ

✎ ( sponsor ღ Sintiklia ) ՞₊˚๑

 · · • • • ✤ • • • · · 

 ★⸝⸝ RAMA.SALONxSintiklia - Sofia Hair 'EXCLUSIVE Pack' @Equal10 

 This collaboration is out of this world! Amazing Rama Salon and Sintiklia stores bring us this totally gorgeous style. Sofia Hair is a long style available in three color packs, styler is sold separately. The pack comes with four sizes with different body sizes. Find it at @Equal10! 

 ✤ ᴇᴏ̨ᴜᴀʟ10

✤ ᴍᴀɪɴsᴛᴏʀᴇ

✤ ғʟɪᴄᴋʀ

Lyanna ღ

✎ ( outfit ) ՞₊˚๑

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

★⸝⸝ friday - Eloise Socks (Grayscale Pack) - Legacy

✎ ( extras ) ՞₊˚๑

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★⸝⸝ Rekt Royalty - Rough Scene

★⸝⸝ Malina - Sins eyeliners / Lelutka EVO X / BOM

★⸝⸝ Malina - Eyes blood / Nosebleed / Lelutka EVO X / BOM

★⸝⸝ LeLUTKA Avalon Head 3.1

★⸝⸝ [LEGACY] Meshbody (f) Perky Edition [+] Petite (1.4)

✎ ( backdrop ) ՞₊˚๑

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

★⸝⸝ Spooky Forest Backdrop - The Bearded Guy

[greenwitchcrafts]

October 2023 witch guide

Full moon: October 28th

New moon: October 14th

Sabbats: Samhain

October Hunter's Moon

Known as: Blood moon, drying rice moon, falling leaf moon, freezing moon, migrating moon, moon of the changing seasons, shedding moon, ten colds moon, winterfelleth & windermanoth

Element: Air

Zodiac: Libra & Scorpio

Nature spirits: Frost faeries & Plant faeries

Deities: Apollo, Astarte, Belili, Cernunnos, Demeter, Hathor, Herne, Horned God, Ishtar, Kore, Lakshmi & Mercury

Animals: Elephant, jackal, ram, scorpion & stag

Birds: Crow, heron & robin

Trees: Acacia, apple, cypress & yew

Herbs/Plants: Angelica, apple blossom, burdock, catnip, pennyroyal, sweet Annie, thyme & Uva ursi

Flowers: Calendula, cosmos & marigold

Scents: Apple blossom, cherry & strawberry

Stones: Amethyst, beryl, obsidian, opal, tourmaline & turquoise

Colors: Black, dark blue, Dark greens & purples

Energy: Artistic works, balance, creativity, harmony, inner cleansing, justice, karma, legal matters, mental stimulation, partnerships, reincarnation & uncovering mysteries or secrets

It is believed that this name originates from the fact that it was a signal for hunters to prepare for the upcoming cold winter by going hunting. This is because animals were beginning to fatten up in preparation for the winter season. Moreover, since fields had recently been cleared out under the Harvest Moon, hunters could easily spot deer and other animals that had come out to search for remaining scraps. Additionally, foxes and wolves would also come out to prey on these animals.

The earliest use of the term “Hunter’s Moon,” cited in the Oxford English Dictionary, is from 1710. Some sources suggest that other names for the Hunter’s Moon are the Sanguine or Blood Moon, either associated with the blood from hunting or the color of the changing autumn leaves. 

Samhain

Also known as: All Hallow's Eve,  Ancestor Night, Feast of Apples, Feast of Sam-fuim, Feast of Souls, Feast of the Dead, Geimhreadh, Hallowmass, Martinmass, Old Hallowmas, Pagan New Year, Samana, Samhuinn, Samonios, Shadowfest & Third Harvest

Season: Fall

Symbols: Apples, bats, besom(brooms), black cats, cauldrons, ghosts, gourds, jack-o-lanterns, pumpkins, scarecrows & witches

Colors: Black, gold, orange, silver & white

Oils/incense: Basil, cloves, copal, frankincense, gum mastic, heather, heliotrope, mint, myrrh & nutmeg

Animals: Bat, boar, cat cattle & dogs

Stones: Amber, anatase, black calcite, black obsidian, black tourmaline, brass, carnelian, clear quartz diamond, garnet, gold, granite, hematite, iron, jet, marble, pearl, pyrite, ruby, sandstone, sardonyx, smokey quartz, steel & tektite

Foods: Apples, ale, beef, cider, corm, fruits, garlic, gourds, grains, hazelnuts, herbal teas, mushroom, nettle, nuts, pears, pomegranates, pork, poultry, pumpkin pie, sunflower seeds, thistle, turnips & wine (mulled)

Herbs/plants: Acorn, Allspice, catnip, corn, dittany of Crete, hazel, mandrake, mugwort, mullien, oak leaves, pine, rosemary, sage, straw, tarragon, thistle, wormwood & yellow cedar

Flowers: Calendula, chrysanthemum, deadly nightshade, rue & fumitory

Goddesses: Al-lat, Baba Yaga, Badb, Banba, Bast, Bebhionn, Bronach, Brunhilde, Cailleach, Carlin, Cassandra, Cerridwen, Copper Woman, Crobh Dearg, Devanyani, Dolya, Edda, Elli, Eris, Erishkigal, Fortuna, Frau Holde, Hecate, Hel, Ishtar, Kali, Macha Mania, Morrigan, Nemesis, Nephthys, Nicneven & Rhiannon

Gods: Arawan, Baron Samede, Belenus, Coyote, Cronus, Dagda, Dis, Hades, Loki, Nefertum, Odin, Osiris, Pluto, Woden & Xocatl

Issues Intentions & Powers: Crossroads, darkness, death, divination, honoring ancestors, introspection, the otherworld/underworld, release, visions & wisdom (of the crone)

Spellwork: Divination, fire magick, night magick, shape-shifting, spirit calling & water magick

Related festivals:

• Day of the Dead- (Spanish: Día de Muertos or Día de los Muertos) is a holiday traditionally celebrated on November 1st and 2nd, though other days, such as October 31 or November 6, may be included depending on the locality. It is widely observed in Mexico, where it largely developed & is also observed in other places, especially by people of Mexican heritage. Although related to the simultaneous Christian remembrances for Hallowtide, it has a much less solemn tone and is portrayed as a holiday of joyful celebration rather than mourning. The multi-day holiday involves family and friends gathering to pay respects and to remember friends and family members who have died. These celebrations can take a humorous tone, as celebrants remember funny events and anecdotes about the departed.

• All Saints Day- is a Christian solemnity celebrated in honor of all the saints & martyrs of the Church, whether they are known or unknown

Activities:

• Dedicate an altar to loved ones who have passed

• Boil a simmer pot to cleanse your space

• Have a silent dinner

• Light a candle for your loved ones & yourself

• Decorate your house and/or altar

• Release negative energy & cleanse your with a ritual bath

• Pull tarot cards to see what may be in store for you ahead

• Cleanse, clean & de-clutter your space

• Leave offerings to the Fae

• Journal & reflect on your accomplishments, challenges & everything you did this year

•Go on a nature walk

• Learn a new form of divination

• Have a bonfire with your friends and/or family

• Carve pumpkins

• Express yourself creatively through art, music, ect

• Visit a cemetery & help clean off areas that need it or to visit a family member/ ancestor & leave an offering

• Hold a seance

• Bake spooky treats & bread as offerings

• Refresh your protection magicks, sigils & rituals

Samhain is a Gaelic festival on 1 November marking the end of the harvest season and beginning of winter or "darker half" of the year. Celebrations begin on the evening of 31 October, since the Celtic day began and ended at sunset.

This fire festival is celebrated on October 31st & is considered the Pagan New Year. It is the first Sabbat on the Wheel of the Year, a cross-quarter festival & the third (final) harvest festival of the mundane year. This is the time when the veil between the worlds of the living & those who have passed is the thinnest, which allows greater communication between the two

Some believe this is the time of the Goddess's mourning of the death of the God until his rebirth at Yule. The Goddess's sadness can be seen in the shortening, darkening days & the arrival of cold weather

Sources:

Farmersalmanac .com

Llewellyn's 2023 magical almanac: practical magic for everyday living

Wikipedia

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

[milksuu]

❝ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ❞ ─── ☾⏺☽

pairing: yandere!aphelios x solari!priestess!reader (LoL)

warning: non/con, fem!reader, possessive/obsessive behavior, mentions of blood/violence, religious/fanatical behavior, unhealthy coping mechanisms, minor drug use, implied kidnapping, implied forced relationship, semi-public sex, unbalanced power dynamic, runeterra au

notes: sorry besties, he's a 10 but he's bat shit insane. (so an 11) also any mention of 'her' is the moon goddess, not alune. (we're leaving that sweet summer child out of this.) and for those who aren't aware, phel can speak when not under the influence of noctum, but unable to communicate with alune, which is uh...great in this case. (also not me wanting to write a second part like how why help?)

You never thought you’d stare into the pale visage of the Lunari man the village whispered about.

The one with a vacant face but deadly occupation. Your naïve belief in your own safe keeping was nothing more than an illusion. The sun always faded below the misted cliffs, only for the moon to take its place above the mountain’s highest peak. An endless cycle of hierarchical dominance that rinsed itself in blood and repeated in constant turmoil. Tonight would be no different.

“Don’t come any closer.”

A failed attempt to embolden your voice beyond a meek plea. You stiffened at the thunderous closing of the temple door. A clambering echo vibrated through the marble floor and pillars, past the rows of worship, up to where you stood at the crest of the ceremonial altar. The remaining resonance rattled and sang up your spine, shaking the candle light pinched between your fingertips. 

The figure sauntered forward, stepping into the drapes of moonshine filtering from the glass atrium above. Before you stood a deadly beauty; a handsome face rapt with enticing secrets. With a painted crescent that mocked your own solar marking of gold. His lips were a perfect horizontal line, and it was difficult to imagine the ability they possessed beyond lethal silence. His hallowed expression screamed danger—but there was no running away—not when the black abyss of his eyes invited you to stay.

 Not as a guest, but as his permanent resident.

“I’m warning you. Take one more step, and I’ll scream. The guards will come and they won’t hesitate to kill you—”

Your voice went taut inside your throat. Your breath sewn shut against your lungs. The weapon he carried listless at his side drenched itself in various hues of red. Fresh enough to steam in wisps around the sharpest point of the blade.

He stalked forward. The clack of his predetermined steps quickening the pace of your heart. When he stood at arms length, you felt the coldest touch of night. The veins layered beneath your skin pounded, flooding every inch of you with mortal dread. It was sickening to think the flush of your flesh would only make the spill of it all the better. The ‘Weapon of The Faithful’—titled by his own blasphemous people—spoke true. His name…you wished you could cleanse it from existence.

“Aphelios.” You damned the name like a plague upon all of Mount Targon. “Murderer. Blight. Heretic!” 

You jabbed and swung your candlelight in a pitiful attempt to create distance. His free hand quipped against it, sending it clambering to the ground, banishing the flame to the surrounding night. Creating a hazier veil of darkness where there was only one true light—his moon.

Out of sheer disdain, you attempted to slap his face in recoil. His unarmed hand caught you by the wrist, remaining still as you struggled to free yourself from his trained grasp. With force, he pried your hand open, palm exposed. He brought the skin of it to his stiff lips. Unmoving, he lingered there. His lashes fluttered closed; taking a moment of peace, a moment of prayer. 

A moment for sanctum. 

His eyes then winged opened, boring into you, through you. Body, bone and soul. And all you could do was tremble within them. Sinking without escape into those black depths of…nothing. 

In one swift motion, he brought the blade upwards, slicing through the thin linen of your garments. In a precise vertical line, your gown split into two equal halves. The insignificant barrier between you and him slipped to the ground, splaying like rags at your feet. Your head pounded for you to scream, but your own voice felt lost to you. Knowing it was all meaningless. 

No one would hear you. 

No one would save you.

Weakened by the surmounting despair of it all, if he hadn’t already had a hold on you, your legs would have given to the earth.

“No—“ you choked out, eyes brimming with tears. It must’ve looked pathetic; the way you placed your only free arm across your exposed breasts. As if any decorum of modesty would spare you. “Please—just kill me. Do nothing else but that. I beg of you.”

Your final sob for mercy reached ears that may as well have been carved of stone. He stalked closer, forcing your lower back to meet the mantled altar behind you. He’d sheathed his weapon, and took both of your hands within one tight grasp, in case you had half a mind to oppose him. You dipped your chin, heaving through a prayer with mournful hics and sniffled utterances. His advancing weight forced your trembling legs to part, and slotting himself between, created a space where your faith could never exist. 

You didn’t want to look at him, or rather, you couldn’t. Tears scorched your vision and seared down the round of your cheeks. You flinched when he took your chin, raising your blurry gaze to meet his. In those darkest of pools, something gave. An insignificant speck of light gleaming into a faint existence. His lips moved, but there was no sound. Instead, you traced the words from the bow of his mouth.

‘Forgive me.’

Your heart clenched. Diluted blood spiked with fear drowned your consciousness. It left no room for thoughts to linger; whether or not you imagined even an ounce of sympathy reflected in those sedated eyes. Whether or not you imagined he said anything at all. 

The entire world scattered away when he brought your face closer, and kissed away the tears staining the corners of your eyes. You fought to pull away, but he held firm, both your chin and hands locked in the cage of his fingers. From your cheeks, he skimmed his ghostly lips to your mouth. He muffled your protestive moans by filling up your mouth with all of his tongue. 

He gave you the salt taste of your own tears. That, and the taste of something else. A saccharine flavor with notes of floral and bitter earth. 

A reaction flourished; a slight tingle of your lips at first. It made his tongue feel hotter against yours, as parts of your upper mouth went numb. A stream of lukewarm paralysis seeped past your soft palate, filling every nook and cranny of your mindscape. Yet, the secondary symptoms didn’t stop there. An opposite wave traversed down your throat to your stomach, spilling fire throughout every layer of nerves. You clenched your lashes tight, shuddering a gasp into his open mouth.

When the pain settled into a dull simmer, you wondered briefly, had he felt it too? Had he consumed such a substance by choice? If that was a taste, what pain did he endure if he drank it like an offering of wine?

You didn’t want to imagine the terrible effects it might’ve had on his person. Not if it gave you even a single drop of sympathy. It was revolting enough his saliva was poisoning your pure sense of self. The fog of it sullying your inhibitions, stripping away your layers of moral preservation. To the absolute vitriolic parts of yourself, it made you consider…

What would it be like to be touched?

It was too sick and cruel of a thing to do to you. Since birth, you’d devoted your body and soul to your divine Goddess; The Golden Sister. You wanted to be disgusted by allowing the gift of yourself to become tainted by some awful man. No—he was worse than that. Or any word you could craft and cut the corners of your mouth with. He was, by biblical history, a Lunari man born from the cataclysmic eclipse of two moons. A day that marked the day of reckoning of the Solari faith and your people.

Your clouded senses and busied mouth made you unaware that his hand left your face to trail the mounds and curves of your body. A light touch drifting to your inner thighs. You jolted when a finger graced the sensitive hood of your exposed clit. Your thighs squirmed at his side as you attempted to jerk your knees. It did nothing and stirred nothing from him. Except bolster his conviction, tempting a finger lower, teasing your folds already glistening.

Although light-headed, you ripped your mouth away and nipped at his lip. It sprang forth droplets of blood, enough to taste his iron on your tongue. A trivial satisfaction. 

“May you burn at dawn,” you condemned and spat at his lips.

Unflinching, he withdrew his hand and brushed over the blood mark you left. Sweeping it across his bottom lip, along with your saliva, he rolled the consistency between his fingers in private contemplation. Before he looked you dead in the eyes and stuck his fingers inside his mouth. Sucking and licking till his fingers dripped. Watching sent a lightning strike coiling down your spine.

He loomed his weight forward until your back met the altar mantle. With your palms pinned above your head, and legs coaxed wider. His coated hand repositioned down to your entrance, and you writhed with any strength your body could lend. His hold wrapped around your wrists squeezed, gentle in its reprimand. He leaned down to brush his face at the side of your cheek.

“Please…for your own sake.” 

Your eyes widened at his frayed whispers stringing together. Breathing life into what seemed like an empty shell of a person. The frigid space between his mouth and your ear kindling with the slightest bit of warmth. It was what you feared the most. Forced to accept he was every bit human, with a horrid courtesy to use polite words and a pleasant, sickening tone. More insult to your injury. You wished he hadn’t spoken at all. Letting you believe in your mind that he was more aberration or phantom. Or anything else that carried not a single hint of a beating heart.

“I don’t want to hurt you…not anyone, really.” Again, comforting yet noxious. And it made whatever was inside you throb so terribly. As if he could sense it, he reached for it. His salivated finger split through your folds, sliding into the heat of your cunt. It elicited a drawn out whimper as you felt the sensual brush of it against a bed of tingling nerves. Gradually revealing a hidden desire you hadn’t wanted to gratify him with.

“But you…and your people…need to accept what can’t be denied any longer.” He punctuated his words with each thrust of his finger as it curved into that crescent shape you despised so much. Yet, you couldn’t deny the way it made your most feminine parts unravel at the seams. ”No matter how high your sun rises, my heavenly moon will always eclipse it. And fill the sun with Her beauty for all to see.“

A hitched whine fluttered past your lips as he easily slipped a second finger. While the heel of his palm pressed in circles, spreading your arousal and stimulating your plumping clit. Your cunt unashamedly sucked on his long fingers, encouraging him to mold and form you into what he needed you to be—a conduit for the undying affections of his faith.

“You might not see it, but the divine path has been shown to me. The one that’s led me to you. You can feel it at least, can’t you?” He flexed his digits and plunged a third finger. Deeper than the last, fuller than before. Your hips rolled forward on their own accord, craving every bit of attention from his touch.

With deliverance, you answered the question with a wail and arch of your back. Your whole body washed its nerves in a blinding heat. His fingers curled and flexed at your hungry walls clenching around him. It pushed a gush of sticky fluid from your twitching hole into his circling palm. Coming down from the spasms, you sobbed at the humiliating response of your body. 

“So you do feel it.” There was a hidden sentiment of relief in his otherwise placid delivery. As if he’d purged the last blot of doubt that restrained him. You swallowed a mouthful of whines as his probing fingers continued undulating inside you. “Your body…it’s begging to devour me in all its warmth. And mine, yearning to take all your bright stars and bathe you by moon glow alone. Wanting us—and only us—to become one.” 

Without warning, he emptied you of his fingers, a filthy squelch following with it. You sucked in a gasp at the crippling cold he left you with. But he wouldn’t abandon you for long. Shifting in the dark haze above you, he unsheathed his length from his garments and pressed himself against your sopping cunt. He dragged his fullness against your swollen and slicked folds. He wasn’t even inside you, yet you felt an agonizing cramp fisting in your stomach. 

“By Her orders, by Her design…” he spoke through tight whispers, strained by his own anticipation. Pressing his full weight down, he hovered mere inches above you, panting bouts of aroused breaths against your lips. “Let us Converge.”

You squirmed and bucked underneath him. “Nn…not with you…anyone but—!”

You broke off into a high-pitched cry as he stretched you open, filling you up till he bottomed out, and pressed up to the hilt of his hips. He silenced both of your newly coupled hymns with his mouth, and each lap of his tongue matched the tempo of his generous thrusts. The sharp, intrusive pinch died as quickly as it came—the insignificant remnants of toxin dulling bits and pieces of certain pain receptive nerves. A gift, perhaps, in this instance. He had also prepped you well enough to accept all of his adoration, as intended. Another gift, as someone of his ‘giving’ nature may phrase it.

Pulling away slowly, the tip of his head rubbed graciously against every ridge of your swelling walls, before languidly pushing back, going past where you seemed to end. Beyond your farthest points you hadn’t thought existed. Pressing and rubbing all your soft spots and cervix with careful deliberation.

Then again, and again, and again.

“Can you feel it…my devotion…” he groaned into your open-mouthed kisses, continuing to work himself inside you. You weren’t even sure if he was speaking to you, or through you to his false Goddess. 

His free hand found the round flesh of your breast, rolling your budded nipple delicately between the pad of his thumb and index. The other hand, squeezing at your captured wrists, but never tight enough to bruise. He had you lulling in a spellbinding rhythm underneath him, your hands fastened above your head, and hair spilling over the opposite side of the altar. When his mouth left your full lips, he possessed the nape of your neck, sucking the delicate skin above your life line. Your mewls, laced with the chasteless sounds of his base squelching at your entrance, leapt your pulse to an unreturnable pace.

“So warm,” he moaned low, staving off a growing need to revel in his own whines of ecstasy. “This pure sunlight of yours…I’m blessed to be the one who takes it. And you should be too. What an honor it is to be of service to my moon.”

You wanted to hate everything about it. The way he kissed you, the way he moved inside you—but you couldn’t. Every stiff and engorged part of him pressed almost lovingly against your most vulnerable parts; but that wasn’t the proper word for it. His affectionate caresses were zealous in origin. Not even for you. And boderlined a hedonistic doctrine you couldn’t describe. It would’ve been better if he were a man of barbaric qualities; rough and brutal. Not purposeful and diligent and—dared you admit it—tender. If he were the former, then your disgust could be justified, and your body would refuse him in its own rightful way. But it defied you, the lecherous thing. Insisting you melted beneath him and reduce to nothing but a drenched mess. Completely at the mercy of this Lunari man’s act of worship.

“Are you finally realizing it now? How generous my Goddess is compared to yours.” He abandoned the curve of your throat. Within the flush of his face, his eyes were suppled in absolute vindication at your shameless image. “How willing you are to accept me—to accept Her.”   

“N-No…I’m…not…I won’t,” you pried your tongue for words.

He drawled out a quivering whine from your mouth. His body picking up to an impassioned pace, rutting into your sweltering heat. Tethering on his own abandoned pleasure. Your legs pushed themselves wider, opening yourself up more for him, drawing him deeper to pound against the tender knot growing in your belly. 

Choked moans tightened in his throat. Your radiance gripped him with conviction, burning him so divinely from tip to base. Dragging him closer to your complete consummation. His fingers caught the contour of your face, tilting your head back. Your already swimming eyes rolled to follow, and watered at the sight of your Solari Goddess. Carved out from the temple wall, her sacred marbled gaze met your disgraceful expressions. 

“That’s…hn…alright. You can lie to me. I’ll—we’ll always forgive you. But can you say the same for your deity? As she watches her little sunlight being pleasured by the moon’s devoted weapon. I—ha…doubt it very much.” An airy laugh cut through his thick moans intertwined with yours. He continued, inhaling and exhaling his words, raspy and down right broken. “It’s—almost our time…as reverence…your insides…with all of my…”

You couldn’t refuse the vile implication of his words. Not when his thickened, throbbing cock lapped achingly against your muddled core. Your blood boiled, draining out from your collapsing bodily veins to well up inside your stomach. Applying a pressure that made you want to burst into unmendable fractals of yourself. And you did—that tight knot broke in an instant, dilating your insides in a blaze of heat. Flooding you so wholly, you almost forgot to breathe through your delirious sobs of release. 

When the smooth ridges of your walls clamped down, you heard it first as a moan of afflicted surrender on his part. Then, the cock buried inside you pulsed. A stream of white-hot fluid poured into you, shooting well past your cervix, bathing your womb with his warmth. But he didn’t stop there, continuing to indulge. He pumped and pushed the concoction of unified fluids till it poured past his base, and dripped in milky heaps from your hole. His pelvic and abdominal muscles shuddered as his hips rolled slowly but needingly, nursing himself through his over-stimulating climax.

From your tearful, half-lidded gaze, you witnessed a wet glisten in his own eyes. Whether induced by overwhelming pleasure or pained remorse, you would never know. You didn’t want to know.

It didn't matter.

They evaporated the moment he blinked again.

When the heaves and pants subsided, only the echoes of your whimpers remained. Unfastening his grasp from your wrists, his icy hands cupped your sulking face, idly running his thumbs across your soaked cheeks.

“I understand your pain. Believe me, I do. But no amount of tears will keep the celestial cycle from shifting in the moon’s favor. Like any phase, there will be a moment when you won’t hate me as you do now. You might even come to...love me.”

The way he paused made it seem he had no sense for the word. Or what the difference was between what was love and obsession. The look he possessed didn’t instill solace, either; his eyes mere slits of black against his porcelain face. Promising the moment you dared turn away from him, the back of your neck would bleed.

”I swear to you. From this night on, you’ll burn brightest by my reflection. And only my reflection. So long as there's breath and blood in this body, I’ll protect your sunlight from ever fading in the hands of anyone less deserving than mine. By cosmic fate, you’re my entire purpose, my entire existence...” he bent and kissed the solar marking painted on your forehead. “My orbit.” 

[lee-the-yeen]

Ok this may be me being pedantic BUT

Something's always bugged me about the Triumphant Skins. They're supposedly the survivors if they had the opportunity to rule the Constant (minus Maxwell) or something along those lines. And for those most part, they do a good job of it.

But you cannot tell me that Wilson would run it like Maxwell did and dress in a fancy suit that (if you go by his Guest of Honor skin and quote) he'd likely hate.

If Wilson was in charge of the Constant, there's no way he wouldn't treat the place like his own personal science experiment. Studying the behavior of humans under stressful conditions and deadly situations? That would be a goldmine of data for any aspiring scientist of the era.

TLDR Wilson's Hallowed Nights skin is a better fit for a Triumphant skin instead of him cosplaying as Maxwell.

[granddaughterogg]

You Let Me Complicate You - Part 1

This is a love story about Simon "Ghost" Riley and you, starting with a random hookup and later navigating your increasingly complex feelings and desires towards each other.

~~Reblogs are always Greatly Appreciated!~~

PART 2 HERE

SUMMARY: You're all alone in London because of Reasons. On a particularly dreadful, windy, rainy Halloween evening you venture outside for a quick pint - but find Simon "Ghost" Riley instead. He's a consummate fuckboy who uses fleeting trysts to blow off steam collected at his deadly job, and you're a cynical, world weary girl who nonetheless very much enjoys no-string-attached sex. None of you are prepared for the horror of Actually Falling In Love. Also - the mask stays on for ridiculously long. What, oh what will become of this fateful encounter?

Chapter 1: SKULLFACE

As with many other adventures in your life - this one started only because you wouldn’t quench your curiosity.

It was an insatiable force, one that has driven you into a lot of shit over the years. On the other hand, you could call your life path - that collection of irregular zigs and zags off the beaten trajectory - anything but dull. And you owed it to that ever-present itch at the back of your head.

Let’s go back to the very start, shall we?

The start was unpromising. For one, it was Halloween evening, but you were on your own and it was pissing it down outside.

You sat in a tiny squalid apartment, its walls painted a nauseating shade of green and stared at the darkness behind your windows. Cold water splashed against the glass. Technically speaking, those windows weren’t yours. Nothing here was. You’ve just Airbnb’ed this hovel for a few weeks. The thing is, you’ve been awaiting news about a job.

They haven’t contacted you yet. You’ve been paying through the nose for this musty abode, bristling at the prices of groceries – at the prices of anything, really. London’s famous charms were lost on you. You hated this city. To you, it felt as if someone had squashed a dozen smaller towns into an amorphous heap. You didn’t know a single soul in those streets and you weren’t sure if you wanted to change that.

But how long can a lonely girl sit on her ass, browse youtube and marinate herself in misery?

And it was All Hallow’s Eve after all.

You always loved Halloween.

The weather discouraged kids from trick-and-treating. Yet you could still hear multiple footsteps going every which way on the wet pavement below, snippets of conversations and muffled laughter. Londoners decided to enjoy themselves tonight, weather be damned. 

You paused the video (it was about a groomer, tending to a particularly matted, hissy cat). You stood up with a sigh, slammed your laptop shut and went to the suitcase lying in the corner.

It’s been a week here and apart from your sensible job interview clothes, (which have been hanging on the door, properly steamed) you still haven’t found it in yourself to unpack.

Never mind that now. You unceremoniously threw the suitcase’s contents on the wooden floor and fished one particular object out of the pile; a little velvet dress, as black as the night.

You stood in front of the dusty mirror and pulled the garment on. It was one of those strappy numbers which start late but end pretty early. Hugged all your curves, not leaving much to the imagination. Your dear mother would’ve described this dress as „slutty”.

Just the way you liked it.

You’ve learned before that excessive preparations only dull your enthusiasm for the unknown. So you’ve slid your feet inside your trusted combat boots, smudged some black eyeliner here and there, put your hair up in a French twist with a simple metal pin, and threw on a jacket - and you were good to go.

Wherever those streets would take you.

***

It turned out that the streets wouldn’t take you far. Because it was raining fucking hard. 

It's one thing to merely observe the skies opening, and another to withstand their fury. You were trudging the pavement under your flimsy foldable umbrella, almost bent in half because of the gusty wind. You walked turned to the side, trying to avoid getting ballistic rainwater in your eyes, one half of your face damp and cold already. The light jacket offered little protection; soon you were soaked to the bone, and furious.

Screw it, you thought. I’m just gonna get inside any old place, have a pint and then go home.

You turned the corner and came upon a narrow crooked staircase leading below the street level, as was usually the case with pubs in this area. Some people were just leaving the premises, laughing and talking as they went. You caught a glimpse of bluish light, pouring from the inside along with some muffled bass beats.

Good enough.

You descended down the staircase; concrete steps crumbled under your tractor soles, threatening to throw you off balance. You passed by some folks on your way, squeezing yourself past them on a narrow path cutting through an overgrown courtyard. You pulled the handle of a heavy iron door. It was covered in graffiti and layers upon layers of old stickers. 

You stepped inside.

Your first thought was: This is not a pub.

You weren’t a local – hell, you weren’t even British – but after some time spent in this country, you’ve more or less become acquainted with the trappings of this cornerstone of any local community, what with its cosy nooks, mandatory fireplace and dark polished woodwork. Those kinds of places you knew. The beer wasn’t half bad, the tunes were usually tolerable and bartenders had this well-practiced cordiality to them. You liked the atmosphere of an English pub.

This, however, was different. Like, much noisier.

Your ears got filled with the metallic beats of dark industrial music. You couldn’t name the song that was playing. Deep inside there was a small dancefloor, where bodies swayed along with the slow, reverberating rhythm. 

This place was so dimly lit, that you had to squint just to adjust. The walls were raw concrete, with exposed brass piping running up and down in complicated patterns. It reminded you of a bunker. All the furniture seemed to be worn down and mismatched as if someone scavenged it from various vacant buildings. The bar counter was one giant slab of concrete too, its greyness punctuated by rows of tiny lights hanging from the iron truss under the low ceiling. 

The patrons all wore black. Not just your basic, nondescript black, oh no. You looked around (as much as you could while drifting in this neon blue semi-darkness, which revealed so little) and noticed some people in gothic finery. Velvet, lace, the works. Others chose leather or elaborate corsetry.

Ah, it’s one of those places.

You got your shit together, folded the damn umbrella, shook your damp hair to get at least some of the water out of it, and beelined to the concrete bar. At this point of the evening, you’d kill for a hot beverage.

The bar area was not too crowded, thank fuck. You clambered gracelessly onto one of the free barstools and smiled at the bartender. He was completely bald, with a ginormous nose ring and a thin face, eternally crumpled into an expression of faint disgust.

"Hello! One hot tea, please", you said breathlessly.

Dude looked at you as if you’d just spat on his mother’s grave.

"Tea? You sure 'bout that?"

"Well yeah", you answered. "It’s bucketing down out there, and I got chilled to the bone..."

The bartender wasn’t moved by your plight. 

"This is a club, not your Granny’s living room, see? We serve adults here..."

"Give ‘er a damn tea, Geoffrey. Don’t be a cunt."

A man’s voice rang out from your left. It was low and throaty, but also perfectly even in tone. It cut through the music and the bustle like a knife wielded by a steady hand. Your ears twitched pleasantly at this sound.

Geoffrey blinked at whoever it was that scolded him. Then he made a face and turned away to fulfil your order.

"I’m just saying, we’re trying to run a business here…" he muttered, putting the kettle on.

"I see that”, you assured. "Make that a tea and a glass of Scotch then. I could use both."

"Right." The bartender was seemingly placated by your offer.

When he put the drinks in front of you and turned towards other customers, you emptied the sugar packet inside the cup, stirred your tea for a while, finally sipped it - and sighed with delight. It all took a while. When the life-restoring elixir started to course through your veins, you stole a glance at the man who spoke earlier.

"Thanks for putting in the word for me", you said with a slight smile.

"Geoff's not a bad bloke. Just overworked." 

The stranger was tall and dressed in a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head. He was looking straight ahead, away from you, cradling his whisky glass in two large, strikingly pale hands.

"I can imagine, with the place being so busy on Halloween and all...Anyway, I’m feeling better by the minute." 

"Drink up then, and that whisky too. You look like a half-drowned cat."

That voice was something to behold. So deep and guttural, with a thick accent that made short work of most of the consonants. As your ears helpfully suggested, it was probably Mancunian. One doesn’t simply grow such a voice. One earns it through incessant smoking and other recurring bad life decisions, no doubt. It was kinda hot.

...Wait a moment, did this perfect stranger just smack-talk you?

Your head darted upwards. 

"Did you just say that I look like shit?" 

Your tone was still playful - if underlined by a suggestion that you’re always ready to drop the playfulness.

The hooded man must’ve heard that undertone because he chuckled. That rumbling sound reverberated somewhere deep within you. Probably in your bones.

"Don’t be so hard on yourself, love. You're just a little worse for wear, is all."

That impassive tone of his stabbed you in the solar plexus. You've straightened up as if pulled by a string. The teaspoon fell into your tea, making a soft clatter, while you spun around on your stool to look this insolent git straight in the face.

"How do you know?" you bit out. "You weren't even looking -"

The following words got stuck in your throat.

Not only was the man hooded, but he also wore a mask. A tight black one, covering his head and the lower part of his face. A balaclava, your brain hinted helpfully. It looked like a part of the regulation equipment of the armed forces, and that's where the similarities came to an end. For the mask has been printed over – or painted, maybe? - with the image of a skull. Mainly its lower jaw. White paint glimmered in the bluish light, forming a wide, ghastly smile which grinned at you.

But even more striking were his eyes, large and protruding. Your stunned stare met two opaque irises, as dark and dense as a black hole. You weren't able to decipher their expression. That cryptic intensity of his gaze seemed to bend space-time. 

His eyelids and skin around the eyes have also been blackened, but his long lashes remained pale as frost.

You stared at this vision with your mouth ajar, like a dead fish.

"What?" He asked calmly and quietly. "Do I have something on me fuckin' face?"

You were always quite outspoken, but at that moment words eluded you.

"Cool mask,” you said finally because something needed to be said. „Cool...disguise. Is it for Halloween?"

He didn't blink. It was unnerving.

"I don't do 'alloween, love."

"So you wear this thing 'cause it makes you more interesting and mysterious and shit?"

The tall man leaned towards you, his eyes creasing in a smile.

"Look at you, sweetheart. It's clearly workin'."

"That's because of that stare of yours. It could pin a person to a wall...", you murmured.

"I could pin you to a wall. Just ask nicely.”

You felt suddenly weightless. Out of breath. 

"For how long?" you quipped, trying your damnedest to sound flippant. 

The nerve of this fucking guy!

"For as long as you'll need me to. I'm a dedicated man.”

There was no bravado ringing in his gritty voice. Just a calm statement of fact.

You cut a look at his arms. The black cotton of the hoodie did little to conceal their immense size. 

He could probably deliver on his promise.

You took a long breath, trying to regain your lost composure. It wasn't easy when this hulking freak stared you down, but you'd been in tighter spots before.

Goths, amirite, you thought. Ever the contrarians, regardless of their age. They tended to be good in the sack though.

You studied this new specimen very thoroughly - and there was plenty to stare at. The man was built like an industrial-sized fridge. Ridiculously tall even while sitting down and broad-shouldered, with a firm chest stretching the plain black cotton of his sweatshirt. Which, by the way, he wore zipped up almost to his very chin, like a layer of protective gear. Weird.

Those dim little lights over the bar made it hard for you to discern the details, but you also noticed the width of his torso and his powerful thighs, clad in simple blue denim. He was by far the plainest dressed patron of this edgelord cellar joint. Apart from the mask you didn't notice anything even remotely Gothic about his style or bearings. Although he sat motionless, cradling a glass of whisky in his long, strong fingers – he still exuded that kind of primal strength which you've learned to associate with the outdoorsy hiker type or the avid sportsman.

"Like what you're seein', love?”

You winced, a bit perplexed that he had caught you taking stock of his impressive physique. But you weren't about to let him know that.

"Yep”, you blurted out instead, staring boldly into those eyes, as dark and impenetrable as a shark's. "Do you?"

"I do, yeah."

Aaand here we go, you thought, relaxing immediately. For now, you were on a beaten path.

"You've said that I looked like -", you chuckled accusingly, leaning back on your stool. His stare was gliding all over you without any shame, probably filing the best finds away for later.

"I know what I said," he cut you off calmly, leaning closer. The height difference between you two was striking.

"Your mascara got smudged and ran off...to there."

You stilled as this complete stranger traced a pale finger across your eye socket. You drew in a deep breath as he touched your zygomatic bone, where nothing possibly could've smudged. His fingertip travelled even further, brushing over your sensitive skin and freeing a lone strand of hair from behind your ear. It was still damp from the rain.

He did it very slowly. Very gently.

You let him. As if you were hypnotized. Attempted a smile, but the corners of your mouth felt strangely numb.

"See? Now that's perfection", he stated in the same hushed, impassive tone of voice before turning back to his drink. The whisky glass disappeared in his hand.

You were silent. Your head was buzzing as if someone had set the radio inside to a non-existent channel.

The thing is, you knew perfectly well who you were dealing with. When it comes to seasoned fuckboys like Skullface here, it's all very simple; they're nothing to be afraid of. Such men are what a high wave is for the swimmer. An opportunity for a fun ride.

Back when you were a teenage girl, you liked to spend hours on end in the sea. At the time you'd like to imagine that this cool, salty, malachite green vastness was your lover. You drifted in the water, letting the wave carry you, surrendering yourself to its tender ruthlessness, allowing the element to hold you for a moment without dealing any harm, to guide you like a dance partner, and then to pass by and disappear into the distance.

It is just like dancing. As long as you know the steps, something beautiful can come out of it.

And you haven't had the chance to let loose on the dancefloor for so long.

You calmed your body by taking a few deep breaths. You couldn't calm your heart. What you could do, though - was to let your audacious spirit take the wheel.

You grabbed at your glass and emptied it in one sweep. Vile whisky did as it always would; it burned your gullet only to flare into a ball of pleasant warmth once it reached your insides. It was not a connoisseur-worthy beverage, but its aggressive sweetness suited your current mood.

You threw your head back and exhaled slowly.

He was watching, you could tell. He tilted his head slightly. Amusement emanated from behind the black mask.

"Say..." you drawled, leaning towards him with your eyes sparkling, for you felt a surge of vigour and boldness along with a freshly bloomed, alcohol-induced blush. 

"Does your mum know that you being a goth is not a phase?"

Skullface snorted softly.

"I am not a goth, love."

"Then why are you in this den for kinky weirdos?" You gestured around the dark interior, including the bare walls, the blue neon light and the throbbing, metallic, dark rhythms pulsing around you.

"I like goth chicks”, he admitted. Cheeky git.

"Why?" you prodded.

"Tattoos in fun places."

"Animal”, you chided him, setting your empty glass down with a bang.

"Excuse me, sir!" you called out to the bartender. "I shall have another."

"Like you came here for some lofty purpose. Wanna discuss the works of Kierkegaard...dressed like that?” The masked man snorted, summing up your entire scantily clad person with one tilt of his chin.

You chuckled quietly, taking no offence.

"I'm surprised that you even know how to pronounce his name."

He remained silent, so you fired away again, buoyed by the alcohol in your veins: 

"Weren't you supposed to add something scathing after the 'dressed like that' part? I'm still waiting for that burn to sting."

"If I did, I'd be a fuckin' hypocrite", he muttered. "Cause I very much enjoy it."

That solemn note of appreciation in his voice made you smile and nod. What an earnest freak.

The bartender came over and took away both of your empty glasses.

"What can I get you?" he asked, his gaze moving from his face to yours.

"Two glasses of bourbon, Geoffrey", the masked man said.

He noticed that you were opening your mouth and nipped those objections in the bud by raising a finger.

"Hey. Bear with me here. If you don't like it, you might drink whatever you want next. Even more of that fuckin' coal sludge you've been having."

"Excuse you, Scotch is hardly a sludge".

"That's what the bloody Scots would tell you. In much more...colourful terms, I s'ppose. I have a Scottish coworker and every time that we go drinkin', he gives me a bloody earful about the superiority (he pronounced this word rolling his r's) of the local distilleries over that Kentucky brew."

"You're friends with a highlander?" you asked. "Does he curse at you in Scots whenever he gets agitated?"

"All the fuckin' time. He's a twonk." A smile laced his words.

"You sure are passionate about your liquor choices." 

You propped your chin up with your hand, smiling at him.

"If I wanted to taste a fuckin' fireplace, I'd chew on a burnt log. Bourbon is the way to go. Much sweeter."

You couldn't help but laugh at his sudden fervour.

"You don't seem like the kind of lad who pursues sweetness," you quipped, trying to look into those impossible eyes of his and not blink. So far, it was a downhill battle. 

The bartender came back. Two glasses full of amber liquid landed on the counter with a dull clink. You didn't have the time to focus on them, because Skullface leaned towards you, shading you with his powerful torso and obscuring the source of the blue light. Your nostrils were suddenly filled with his pleasant manly scent, mixed with the fragrance of fresh laundry, some kind of a woody-citrusy aftershave, and a hint of something you couldn't decipher even though you knew that smell. Its memory, devoid of a name, tickled at the tip of your tongue. Fireworks?

"Sweet and rough things should go hand in hand in life. That's how you make it all bearable somehow."

"Somehow?..” you asked absentmindedly, mesmerised by his deep voice. By the promise tilting at the edge of those slowly, intently enunciated words.

"Hey, true balance is hard to find, 'cause life's a fuckin' mess. It's chaos, it's cruel. No point to it at all."

Holy mackerel, you thought. A goth girl admirer, an apparent powerhouse of a man and a homegrown nihilist in one. With eyes like two abysses and a voice like grit. This was going to be an enchanting evening.

Don't go crazy just yet, you admonished yourself. Don't let this stranger in a mask get the upper hand on you. Keep your calm so that he doesn't sweep you off your feet prematurely.

"So," you murmured, your tone casual, "What did Kierkegaard have to say, exactly?"

Dark eyes twinkled. 

"Many things. Like that our whole existence is absurd. It doesn't really matter what we do, so we might as well do whatever the fuck we want. And right now, I want to do...this."

He dipped a finger into his glass of bourbon and glided it across your lower lip.

You parted your mouth without protest, giving in to the shamelessness of this gesture.

"Just taste it."

[mask131]

Deadly fall: All Hallows Day

ALL HALLOWS DAY

Category: Christian belief

Everybody knows about All Hallows Eve, what would later became Halloween… But who knows about All Hallows Day?

All Hallows’ Day is the ancient name of the holiday known as today as All Saints Day, also called the Feast of All Saints/Feast of All Hallows/Hallowmass, a Christian celebration of the saints. ALL of the saints, as the name indicates: living or dead, known or unknown, this day is their day. [Note: I will only here talk about Western Christianity, aka Catholic Christianity + Protestants, as the Orthodox Church does things quite differently].

The roots of All Saints Day can be traced back to the 4th century, when several national churches started to organize a day in which the martyrs (saints that died for their belief) were honored – but there was not a set date and everyone had a different celebration. But as the centuries passed by, the date of the 13th of May was chosen, and the celebration extended to all saints, not just the martyrs – until it was made official in Rome in 609-610 by Pope Boniface IV, when he consecrated the Roman Pantheon to the Virgin Mary and all the saints on the 13th of May, resulting in the anniversary of this consecration becoming a day of celebration for the Virgin Mary and all the saints. But by the 9th century, churches of England, Ireland and Germany started celebrating all the saints on the 1st of November, a tradition that slowly entered the Frankish kingdom (basically a large kingdom covering most of Western Europe, from France to Germany and later became the Holy Roman Empire) – in fact it was the Frankish Emperor “Louis the Pious” who, with the help of Pope Gregory IV, made All Saints Day the official celebration of the 1st of November. The holiday became so popular that people started to forget about the 13th of May, but we had to wait until the 12th century for the 13th to be officially “deleted”, and replaced by November 1st.

Now while the Catholic Church had a fixed date, the Protestants decided to mix things up and have their own date. At first it was quite complicated: for example some Lutheran churches, such as the Church of Sweden, said that All Saint’s Day would be the Saturday between October 31st and November 6th, while the Anglican Church of England rather went for either the 1st of November, or the Sunday between October 30th and November 5th ; and other Lutheran churches rather went for the first Sunday of November. But the common idea spread around ultimately was that All Saints Day should be celebrated the Sunday following the anniversary of the Reformation (which took place on October 31st – resulting in All Saints Day being the Sunday following October 31st, or October 31st if it is a Sunday).

It should be noted that, due to the Protestants not having the same relationship to saints as Catholics, their conception of All Saints Day is not the one implied by the name: Protestant Hallowmass is rather of celebration of all the Christians, living or dead: the saints are still remembered, but so are remembered other famous Christians, and the deceased members of a local congregation. This led to it becoming a general commemoration of the dead, with a special care given to the dead members of the local congregation, for which candles will be lit, bells tolled, and names read – with an emphasis on the victory of Christ over death through his resurrection.

And Catholic Christianity, while keeping All Saints’ Day as a day for the saints, also started through time to make Hallowmass a general celebration of the dead, and a commemoration of the deceased. Why? Because of a popular confusion around the Hallowtide.

In Catholic belief, All Hallows Day is part of a “season” called Allhallowtide, Hallowmass season or Hallowtide (Allsaintstide if you want to modernize it). This season begins on the 31st of October, called All Hallows’ Eve (which would later evolve into Halloween). Follows the 1st of November, All Hallows Day/All Saints Day. And the season is closed by the 2nd of November, All Souls’ Day. All Souls’ Day is the “commemoration of all faithful departed”, aka what the Protestants made of All Hallows Day: All Souls’ Day is the day where you honor all faithful Christians who died. It was a celebration of the dead when families would visit their ancestor’s graves to place flowers and candle. BUT… due to the closeness of All Saints Day and All Souls Day, and the fact the latter was less known to the general public, slowly the two celebration began to fuse together – resulting in most people nowadays treating All Saints Day as the “Christian day of the dead”, and celebrating there all the deceased (even though the Church still tries to separate the two holidays).

In modern days, each European country has its own traditional celebrations for the 1st of November. In Austria and Germany for example, godparents are supposed to give their godchildren something called “Allerheiligenstriezel” (All Saints’ Braid), a special type of pastry – in Germany All Saints Day (Allerheiligen) is also considered a “silent day” (stiller Tag) when public entertainments are only allowed if they are just as serious as the holiday. In many countries, from Spain to Poland, families visit their graves to place candles and flowers on them, and the family gathers together for meals. In France, All Saints’ Day (Toussaint) is honored by putting crowns and wreaths of chrysanthemums in cemeteries, and by eating a dish called “crêpes”. In ancient times, French tradition also had the local priests leading processions around the graveyards to bless the tombs around All Souls’ Day.

- - - - - - -

An interesting thing to talk about is the “souling” tradition. It is a tradition that started in England for All Souls Day: souling is the practice of having children or poor men gather in bands, to go door-to-door begging for money, apples, ale or cakes, usually through lamenting song. This tradition notably lead to the creation of “soul-cakes”, special cakes baked for the souling beggars of All Souls’ Day. Due to the confusion of the Hallowtide, the souling tradition also extended to All Hallows Day, and All Hallows Eve, and it was the ancestor of the modern trick-or-treating: for example, some “soulers” carried around a lantern made of an hollowed-out turnip, but the candle was supposed to represent their souls trapped in an earthly purgatory of which the generosity of people would free them ; and sometimes children would go souling with a disguise, but only disguising themselves as famous saints, or to represent the spirit of deceased Christians.

And it might surprise you to learn that the “souling” tradition is still alive in several countries of Europe, one of which being Portugal! Their form of souling is called “Pão-por-Deus” (Bread for God), when children and youth gather on All Saints Day to knock on doors and visit stores, so that adults would give them chocolate, candy, nuts, fruits or money. These begging youth also tend to receive special cakes, “caspiada” shaped like skulls, or broas (bread-like cake with anise and nuts in it).

Another very interesting thing to note is that All Saints Day, like many Christian holidays, was created to “block” and “replace” pagan holidays: the original day of the celebration, the 13th of May, was the one of the Roman Lemuria, a time when Ancient Romans appeased the malevolent spirits of the dead ; while the new date imposed by Irish/English/German churches, 1st of November, fits with the ancient Celtic celebration of Samhain (which later survived by taking over All Hallows’ Eve as Halloween).

[zetadraconis11]

When Ominis asks (why are you still alive) I think to myself how Mc takes a lot of things out of his pockets and sleeves because where else does MC get the stuff from. a whole army of biting cabbage

The fact that the Harry Potter world might be the only world that can make the classic video game trope of "bunch of stuff in inventory bag" make sense. Since there are such things as Extension Charms, like what Hermione uses in Deathly Hallows.

I mean, technically d&d (and pathfinder) have the Bag of Holding, but other than that! It makes logical sense that MC could have a bunch of stuff in their bag. The fact the contents are not school supplies like everyone else...

*during a homework session in the Room of Requirement*

Sebastian: Hey, MC, can I borrow a quill?

MC: Yeah, go ahead. It's in my bag.

Sebastian: *reaches in* Er...why do you have this? *pulls out a Thunderbrew potion*

MC: It's really helpful in sticky situations with enemies.

Garreth: I approve! Do you also have invisibility potions?

MC: Oh yeah, about 19 of them!

Sebastian: *pulls out dittany plants* ...why do you just have these in your bag?

MC: Where else am I supposed to store them?

Sebastian: *yelps and pulls his hand out of the bag* YOU HAVE CHINESE CHOMPING CABBAGES IN THERE?

MC, confused: You don't?

Ominis: ...WHY do you have those cabbages in there?!

MC: I don't have JUST the cabbages in there. I also have the Venomous Tentaculas and Mandrakes.

Amit: For...what?

Poppy: Also for sticky situations? I've used a few plants myself.

MC: Indeed! Leander gave me the idea to use plants against some bad guys, and it's been really helpful.

Natty: I...suppose that's really resourceful.

Ominis: MC, just how much trouble do you come across?

MC: Don't worry! I've handled it just fine! No harm done. Well, okay, harm for the other guys, not me. I've brewed over thirty Wiggenwelds.

Garreth: That's...even more than I've ever brewed.

Sebastian: You know what? Forget I asked for a quill. I'm not putting my hand in there again.

MC: I'll just get it for you. *reaches into bag* You just...need to rearrange things. *Pulls out a stack of random letters* Oh, yeah, found those during my wanderings. *Takes out scrolls of spellcrafts* Still need those to decorate my room here... *Pulls out nab-sack* Oh, don't open that. The Lord of the Shore likes to nap in there.

Poppy: Lord of the Shore-? The rumored GRAPHORN?

MC: Yeah, I had to tame him. Now, he and I travel the highlands every now and then.

Sebastian: So not only do you have deadly plants in your bag, but you also have a bag of dangerous animals?

MC: This is my first year at Hogwarts, I don't know what to keep with me at all times at this school. *pulls out a couple brooms* Oh, bought those from a few merchants.

Amit: ...That is quite the Extensive Charm on the bag. I'm actually very impressed!

MC, taking out a feather quill: Aha! Here you go!

Sebastian, slowly accepting it: ...thank you.

Natty: At this point, I don't think we should be surprised.

Ominis: I'm not surprised, I'm WORRIED.