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familyagrestefanblog · 4 years

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Ml analysis: Native American miracle box

While is it obvious that the new miracle box is of native American origin I still went to do some research on it to see if I can narrow it down to a certain tribe and find more connections hidden in the lore.

So not to waste any time, here is my result:

The native American miracle box is in possession of the Souix Lakota tribe. Just like with the Ml Tibetan guardian monks represent not only 1 but 4 groups, the native American Miraculous tribe is a combination of the Lakota, Dakota and Nakota and where we can safely say that the monks will primarily lean towards the Tibet representation, I would say here we will primarily lean towards the Lakota. Therefore, I will call the native America Miraculous tribe Lakota but know that the other two tribes are included in this as well.

So a dead giveaway for the identity of the ml Tribe is Jessicas Shirt. In general Jessica has the hairstyle, the physical features and the accessories typical for representing an “Indian” character and her shirt is a direct confirmation of that heritage.

On her shirt is an obvious reference to the Lakota flag which pretty much tells us that this is the Tribe we are dealing with. Nice, why cant it always be this easy?

Under the cut I cover three more points to go into more detail, read more if you’re interested ^^

1. The medicine wheel

I must give it to miraculous, using the medicine wheel for the upper layer of the miracle box is one genius move imo.

The Medicine Wheel is a sacred symbol and way of life used by the indigenous Plains tribes to represent all knowledge of the universe. Unfortunately, I don’t have enough time to really get into its teaching and living ways to be comfortable explaining its practice in more details, so in this part I want to cover only what has been directly acknowledged by Thomas Astruc. And that would be the animals (duh, obviously) and the elements.

The first thing I had to learn the hard way in this research is that there is not one "true" way for this symbol to be arranged. The way its used, what animal belongs to which color or element and even what KIND of animal is in it can vary STRONGLY from location to location.

So I accepted that the arrangement can not be pinpointed down to perfect accuracy through research. We were already given all the animals and colors, now all I can really do here is present to you a possible variation of the miraculous arrangement I put together after looking up and trying to understand the differences between the real life ones to continue from here on.

There are only two animals we know for sure the connected color of: The eagle, Jessicas miraculous of freedom and the Thunderbird. In his tweets Thomas mentioned the elements so I decided to include them in the arrangement, how or if they will be incorporated into the show I can not tell you though. But still I wanted the elements in here as well ^^

As already said, the eagle is red and the thunderbird is in the green center. As you can see I put the bear to black, the Wolf to yellow and the Buffalo to white. Those seemed to me the most likely combinations and even if they don’t end up right, it wont do harm to any of this.

Buffalo: white and air because the Lakota have a white Buffalo woman legend where air was one of the main elements she controled and used.

Wolf: yellow and fire. Fire because in Lakota legends the wolf/ coyote is a very unpredictable animal. He's both a trickster and a hero, not always moraly sound but always clever. It's a dangerous but strong and lively nature that I do think the show could represent with the fire element. Yellow is one of the two cases where I was left with this option by default.

Bear: I choose black and water because that's a combination I have seen the most

Eagle: I already know Red and choose earth in combination. At first I thought about putting fire in this place because of its normal association with red but in the end choose earth because I think it's the element that fits the best to Jessica.

But the reason why I decided to include the elements is because of the green thunderbird in the middle. Because where the other 4 animals are connected with the 4 elements, the thunderbird would here represent inner balance and harmony. Of course this isn't it's power, but the layout makes it quite obvious that the thunderbird is the equivalent of the ladybugs and cats yin-yang. My assumption right now is that this is how the show will cover the different types of "balance" although the world cultures it incorporates, but let me come back to this one another time.

2. more cultural references and meanings

The thunderbird represents the most powerful one of this miracle box because the thunderbird is the one animal that is present in every Souix Lakota tribe and holds an enormous cultural and spiritual significance. It is a mythological bird and is associated with several legends starting from controlling the storms, lightnings and thunder to being the protector of the humans and even being a helper of the creation of reality (Reality in Ml are the LB and Cat hence why its place in the middle of the box is well deserved) It only makes sense that it would be chosen for this and I know it may seem cliché but please hear me out, which is why im convinced this is the miraculous of the chiefs.

A couple of details do support this for me but please remember I'm not exposed to alot of native American cultures I'll do my best to get things right but if I do interpret something(s) wrong feel free to correct me.

For one, well, the symbol. While looking up the clothing for a later point I did see a symbol like this on some of the feather headdresses.

Definitely not on all of them, I couldn't figure out if there is a system behind the pattern usage or tied to a distinct area but I do know that it is THERE and not exactly rarely either. Noticeably it isn't a 1 to 1 fit but that is an all time returning thing in miraculous. Real life and historical things like this have to be slightly altered for the show to be able to incorporate them. A great example for this is the old English flag in "Darkblade".

So at this point I'm used to this pattern, so yeah, this could very likely be a symbol they took inspiration from.

The second reason why I think it it's the miraculous of the chiefs is because the piece with the symbol on it looks like one of these

In combination with the feather on it. The feather headdress is also called a war bonnet and was originally only worn in battles and only by the person who has truly earned that honor. Each feather represents a distinct honor earned in battle which is why we see feather headdresses in such different lengths. How this translates perfectly into a miraculous I think is obvious. The headdress is a symbol of true leadership and worthiness of such a status, hence why it were especially the chiefs to earn such impressive ones. Turning it into a miraculous wouldn't change too much about it since such a powerful miraculous is an honor and duty you have to be worthy of as well. Them being originally used only for battles is a perfect fit too, because so are the miraculous.

Then of course once again, the thunderbird.

The thunderbird being the great mythical protector animal of these tribes makes it naturally a perfect fit for the miraculous animal of the great chiefs. The chiefs were not only the leaders they also were the primary warrior in battles which is seen by the war bonnets. Having the Thunderbird be the miraculous of the chiefs highlights their status as the tribes protector in such a genuine way, I personally really really love it.

As the last point of 2. I want to bring up the outside top of the Miracle box and the way its designed. While looking through the clothing symbols and pattern I did notice some that looked similar to the ones on the box. I deliberately tried to find a more recent example of usage because in the end of the day Miraculous is a show for TODAY so if the show used patterns for example that may not have been used in the past but are now associated with the Lakota that’s still valid. So the possible matches for design inspiration I found stem from a picture of chief Arvol Lookinghorse who holds the responsibility of spiritual leader among the Lakota, Dakota and Nakota People to this day.

3. Their location and monuments

Researching the lakota made me think of where this guardian group has its roots, which made me remember something I found on my guardian mountain - mount kailash theory a while ago (I swear right now everything comes back to that theory). In it I showed you the monuments-line around the world always separated by a length of 6666km between each other (basically the height of Mount Kailash) and while I didn't mention it there, there is also one of those "mythical" monuments in the USA.

The bears lodge butte (in Wyoming)

I mean LOOK at this, that is out of this world and breath-taking in every sense of the word! That is a location of a miraculous guardianship if I had ever seen one. Also known under the (sadly) much more well known name of "Devils tower" but this will be the one and only time you will read of me calling it like that. The fact that this butte is still officially called by this disrespectful and bastardized white peoples name is a freaking insult. I'm calling it the bears lodge as this was its original english name.

The bears lodge is not just a monument in the USA it is the VERY FIRST official monument (1906) and the location of the butte also checks out perfectly with the areas the Lakota settled in real life. I couldn’t get the exact scale but I think you will still understand just fine.

Adding to the Bears Lodge butte I also wanna bring up the "other" medicine wheel. Which is, just like Bears lodge, located in Wyoming.

As we know the rest of the native American miracle box is made of the zodiac signs just like in our normal miracle box. Confirmed not only on Twitter but also in the very intro of the New York special.

But the same way the miracle box is similar to ours the Medicine wheel as monument reminded me of something as well. Of course I'm talking about the ritual circle in the Kwami "dimension" of the box seen in “Sandboy”.

And just like the native American monument it is also of "astronomical" nature. Taking a closer look at the Chinese Kwami circle one can see that the outer ring is made of specific places for each Kwami signified with a picture of their "animal".

And in the inner circle is obviously the moon circulation.

Meaning, put very simple, this is a design specifically meant to represent the Chinese calendar and culture this miracle box is based on. Therefor this should also exist for the native american one. My guess Is that for all the boxes/cultures Miraculous is gonna include they will also have an “ritual circle” equivalents for each based on all the different kinds of stone circle monuments around the world, including the medicine wheel of the Lakota.

But not only was the medicine wheel monument used for astronomical purposes, with it the people wanted to give things back to mother nature. They placed things right in the middle of the wheel under the stones so nature could take it back "spiritually" (for a lack of a better word on my part) through their rituals and chants. Which is something once again similar to what we see with the Kwamis.

First if all, when the Kwamis (who are the embodiments of the abstract concepts reality is made of) enter their "dimension" in the miracle box the guardian symbol opens right at the center point, letting them cross the layers of reality.

Second, the Kwamis are obviously able to take material objects with them to the in-between dimension. Supporting and verifying the Lakota’s ritual because at the very least in the ML world its actually true. And thirdly, when the Kwamis try to reach Nooroo they chant as well and once again the collected energy is combined in the middle to cross the layers of reality. Gabriel is transformed though so he, as Hawkmoth, is able to almost take over the connection and therefore the miracle box if the Kwamis hadn’t blocked him.

This shows that the spiritual dimension layers are interactive from both sides under certain circumstances. A normal human being wouldn’t be able to cross the layers and take control like this but the more a person is involved with/ powered up by the miraculous the more power they hold interdimensional. Which is the idea of a ritual to reach the spiritual side of nature brought to a new 11 as TV shows usually do.

4. The design of the guardian.

I'm definitely not the right person to properly judge this in depth therefore I will just showcase my opinion based on the research.

The way I see it for the guardians design they tried to combine the guardian "look" with the native American one.

The pants, staff and robe-like upper part are obviously influenced by the guardian we already saw through Fu's flashbacks, whereas the colors, the hairstyle and shoes (etc) are kept more Lakota-like. Though, as far as my opinion counts in this, the much darker skin and the eyebrows in comparison to Jessica does make me question if he is supposed to represent the same native American tribes as her. His bushy eyebrows are a physical characteristic I recognize in rarely any real life photos and neither did I notice such a noticeable difference in skin color.

Jessica and the guardian simply do not really look like they are of the same heritage to me, but again, who am I to say this isn't a legit representation? Besides that, it makes alot more sense that this guardian wasn't lost for almost 200 years like the ones in Tibet, so it is a fair option to consider that this black guardian may not be of "original Lakota heritage" but he is simply a worthy man born in this area of the USA (who knows in what year considering the guardians life spans) who was chosen and trained for the guardianship simply because he was the right fit for it just like Marinette.

I think it's only fair to consider that option as well, especially since we have NO official background on him. But that's just my opinion.

And as the last thing I want to bring up is the symbol on his robe because this is something I'm going to need help with.

We can hardly see it and I've tried my best to find something in my research but I just couldn't find anything fitting.

If anybody has the means and knows if this is a cultural reference as well, I would appreciate it if this knowledge could be shared here as well. I really would love to know ^^

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #ml spoilers #ml theory #ml new york special #ml new york spoilers #Native american miraculous #Lakota tribe in Ml #ml sugar #Miraculous world #Miracle box #ml sandboy #thomas astruc tweet #guardians of the miraculous #Jessica Keynes

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sleepdeprivedheretic · 4 years

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Lilium

Summary: Although a witch, you weren’t the one to really summon demons, but your friends had insisted that you could use an extra pair of helping hands to help you with your run-down hut. After fixing the mess of a first attempt fail, you were expecting to summon a lower gremlin. What or who you didn’t expect, was to summon the demon king of hell, keeper of souls, in searching for something that only you could do perfectly.

In explanation of the fic: Each powerful demon has his/her own hell, and in each hell has layers, like onions. So although reader didn’t summon Lucifer, she summoned a pretty powerful Japanese demon who’s element of hell follows close to that of Greek mythology because Rita liked the Persephone vibes. As for the soul thing, those are the souls who just...wind up at his place.

Title name: Lilies are a flower that represent not only unity, love, and devotion, but also the flowers are most often associated with funerals, they symbolize that the soul of the departed has received restored innocence after death. Persephone held lilies in her hands/arms as she was take away by Hades, the flowers turning white as they fell to the ground. Ancient(?) Romans would stuff pillows full of the flowers, the fragrance perfect for love-making ;)

Notes: @youtubequeens, or Rita, requested the beautiful idea of Tai-chan being a demon king in need of something that only the reader can do, and we brainstormed together on the setting and the plot, so the credit goes to her, go ahead and check her on Tumblr <3

Warnings not in order: Cursing, hand cutting for rituals (so blood), being void of a soul (cause, demons), summoning demons, minions, souls of the damned, smut, deals with the devil, having your soul taken and turning into a demon, and hellish stuff.

Tag: @youtubequeens

“I mean, look at this place, Sister! It’s a dump! C’mon, pleeeease!” Your friend begged. She, along a few others belonged to a nearby coven. Although good friends, they delved into the darker aspects of witchcraft, such as demon summoning, as you stuck to herbal remedies, readings, and a little bit of scrying. Although not against the art, you weren’t well acquainted, and a little nervous.

“You don’t even need a contract! Just bind whatever poor little goblin or gremlin to you, and...you know, have it help you collect your herbs! I know, binding seems a little much, and it’s difficult to get out of one, but they can’t hurt you when bound to you.” Another friend piped up, trying further to convince you. Your gaze fell onto the chalked-up pentagram within your home, surrounded by salt and melting red candles, looking innocently out of place, almost.

“Alright, fine.” You huffed, causing squeals of victorious joy from the gaggle of girls. It wouldn’t hurt, you thought. You lived in the outskirts of the village, within a rugged hut that you called a “store”. Although it was a popular little town, you weren’t doing to well. Your place was falling apart, herbs were harder to find, and although tolerated, your witchy status had alerted and unnerved everyone, except your little coven of friends, who had hidden themselves away deeper into the forest.

Your life sucked, and with your pet familiar, the two of you kept to yourselves as you brewed supper more than potions and remedies, your Sisters popping in from time to time, checking up on you.

Your little orange rabbit snuggled into your lap as you repeated the words in Latin, trying to spark hellfire into the pentagram. No such luck.

“Aw! Is it not working? I’m suuuure my aunt gave me the right spell!” Your main friend huffed into a pout, the two other girls following her example of disappointment.

“Perhaps another time? It’s getting late, girls.” You admitted. Truthfully, you didn’t want to have to deal with more pressure, and your familiar was getting unnerved by the whole thing.

“You’re right. It was fun hanging out with you, Sis! Wish we could do this more, but you know, coven stuff.” The sweet friend smiled softly as she hugged you tightly.

“We’ll be busy, you know, coven stuff. Auntie wants us to clean out the nasty pots, restock the potions, and go on a wild, exciting adventure of grabbing rare herbs, so we don’t know when that’s going to take. Ugh, I’m not leaving, yet, and I miss you, already!” The leader of the girls whined, dramatically throwing her arm over her eyes. You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Stay safe, okay? We’ll visit to check up on you. Give Lottie some extra treats for us!” The third one grinned, petting the rabbit. With further words, they left, leaving you warm, yet saddened and alone.

Many times, the fellow women of the coven had offered a place for you, so that you wouldn’t be so alone, and you appreciated that, but you knew that the coven wasn’t one for you. Although not evil, you didn’t want to join for a multitude of reasons. They had strict rules and regulations, following their leader without question as they sacrificed time and energy for reasons that the girls, although close, didn’t tell you what for.

You couldn’t help but feel that it was rather sketchy. Your eyes laid upon the pentagram as the thought crossed your mind. You weren’t fully against summoning things from the underworld, it was an aged old practice that was held with reverence from generation to generation. You held Charlotte close to you, the rabbit sniffing at the air, scenting out scents that your human nose could not deter.

“I smell nothing out of the ordinary. The salt is too strong.” Her voice echoed in your head, and you nodded your thanks. You were curious, you admitted. You didn’t really have much things to do, other than clean your stew pot, tend to the moon water, and pluck the petals off of the dried out roses.

“Something has to give, in order for you to receive.” You said aloud, the wheels turning in your head. A certain flower could help, you thought suddenly, looking at the container of dried out white lilies. You opened the jar spreading out the white funeral flowers among the edges of the Celtic symbol. The scent was almost too pure for such a deed, you couldn’t help but think.

Carving a fool-proof plan to mind, you placed Charlotte down, and grabbed a small blade used for cutting fruits from your kitchen. The little rabbit opted to say nothing, trusting you as her witch to do what you think was best.

You winced as you sliced a small cut into your palm, letting the little blood droplets to drip onto each flower, avoiding the salt as best as you could. Picking up a slip of paper in which had the summoning spell, you began reading the Latin out loud as you channeled your energy at the edge of the pentagram, instead of in between it.

Your breath hitched as bright orange hellfire sparked, not going past the salt as it crackled at the precious crystals and parts of the flowers. You continued speaking the verses, watching in awe as the odd underworldly flames refused to consume, instead it burned brighter at each verse.

As you finished the last sentence with a final quip, you jumped in surprise as the flames reached almost as high as the ceiling, whirling dangerously as it let out smoke and sparks, fizzling as a tall figure behind the flames seemed to crawl from the little circle, you couldn’t see who or what it was, but you were coughing as the unnatural smoke outweighed the dying fire, floating heavily away as you looked up to see your first summon.

You were choked up, not knowing what to say as your eyes beheld the sight when the smoke finally cleared from the deadened flames.

A demon, and not just anything in the ordinary of what you knew about them. He was tall, as tall as the men in your village, and almost resembled a human. His pointed ears were adorned with little ringlets of gold, matching the glittering bracelets and bands that were worn upon his ankles, horns, wrists, arms, and a swishing pointed tail. His attire was something you’d never really seen within your village, but you knew what it was due to your books.

He wore dark orange attire that almost resembled a Doric chiton, except the one he wore, hardly left anything to the imagination, but you weren’t focused on that, right now. What you were focused on, was the demon’s scowl of frustration and annoyance, aimed at you as his tail swished and thumped angrily at the ground, reminding you of an angry cat.

“This fuckin’ circle’s too small! And the hell do you want? I’m a very busy man, ya know!” He growled out, taking in your smaller frame with displeasure. You were surprised by his accent, it was gruff, yes, but it was new, something that you’ve never heard, before.

“I was trying to summon something else.” You stammered, and he faltered in an angry shock, before narrowing his eyes at you.

“Tch! Who do you think you are, summonin’ a king of hell, tellin’ me that you were tryin’ to summon somethin’ else?” He bared his teeth, and you could see little tusks peeking out from underneath his bottom lip. You gave him your name as you found yourself blurting out who knows what.

“I need a um...helper. I needed somebody to look after my hut while I collected herbs...make sure that the villagers don’t torch down my shop.” The excuse slipped out as you stood your ground. It was partially true. His stance relaxed a bit at your words.

“A magic user, huh?” He asked slowly, behavior sharply and swiftly contrasting from his angry tone, as he rested his chin onto his hand in processing the thought. Then his eyes moved onto yours. He unnerved you.

“What about it?” You asked, and he indulged you.

“Normally, mortals such yerself can summon us with ease, only because ya need a contract. You, lil’ witch, were trying to find a binding partner, which uses magic. I may have use for you, yet.” His attitude shifted, and you couldn’t help but relax a little at the honeyed tone. What was with this demon?

“What are you talking about?” You bit out. He let out a victorious grin.

“Yer magic was so strong, it summoned me. A king of hell, a keeper of souls, n’ lord of demons. Bindin’ magic can only get ya so far, it’s pretty much unheard of a mortal summoning somethin’ greater than an ogre, or an oni.” Rolled off of his tongue, eyes now glinting with something that you couldn’t pinpoint. You were surprised. A king of hell? It did explain his jewelry and finery, you silently pinpointed. Despite the shock, you still needed to ask more questions while he was in the mood to be generous with his answers.

“So...you’re needing me to summon demons up for you from the surface?” You offered, and he looked at you with surprise.

“No….I need you to give up your soul, and live with me in hell.” He grinned at the tight atmosphere that he was causing, you froze.

“Tell me, why would I ever want to do that? What do you even want?” You grounded out the last bit, still confused, and getting weary. Your summon had taken a toll on your body, and now you were feeling the lull of sleep due to sapped magic.

“I have two main underlings who are like sons to me, but the three of us can only do so much in carin’ for the undead. Ya see, hell’s a very powerful place, in which it can supply a witch’s magic with ease. Ya know where I’m getting’ at?” He drawled out, and you nodded a little.

“I think somebody of yer stature could really hold the forte down. All you have to do, is just be there, n’ yer magic can calm down n’ soothe the restless dead, making this job a lot easier. Since yer magic is powerful, it’ll be extra helpful n’ dosing the souls an’ lesser devils, down. You give me what I need, an’ I can give you what you need.” He purred at the end.

The thought of being useful did appeal to you, it’s what you ever wanted. Yes, it was a terrible decision and you’ll probably end up being burned, anyway, but you remembered that a bound demon or devil cannot hurt you, no matter how powerful they were. If they hurt you, they hurt themselves.

“I’m not going to give up my soul to burn forever, to live with a demon that I’m not bound to.” You countered, and his eye twitched

“First of all, Sweetheart, my realm is in layers. Where you, I, an’ my boys live, is an environment that resembles your realm, but better. Secondly, you will be bound to me, but not as a servant or master, but as an equal. Somethin’ akin to…” He let the sentence hang as he smiled smugly at you, brows furrowed with cockiness, leering at you from his height.

“Akin to?” You egged him, and he let the rest rolled off of his tongue without hesitation.

“My queen.”

Your brain screeched to a halt.

He laughed at your stunned expression.

“What? Ya expected me to make ya my lil’ minion? No, no, Honey, somebody with yer power, and the sheer gall to stare into my face while arguin’ with me, has already earned my respect. Yeah, you’ll have to turn into a demon, but you’ll be immortal, n’ you can visit yer friends n’ family as long as you like, if you’re powerful as me. Which, you will be.” He threw in his own bait, trying to lure you in.

Understandably, you were stunned. You just summoned a devil. Who wanted you to rule hell with him. And to become an immortal mistress of the night who can help rule over the undead while living forever with him in his realm.

It was tempting, yes, but you were not one who really chased power. You told him, and his eyebrows furrowed, as if thinking further ways to lure you in, and to be honest? You found that you didn’t mind being swayed by a literal handsome devil.

“Well, think about it this way, Princess, I don’t know you well, but you live in a run-down hut, the peasants fear you to the point of possible violence, and you’ve turned your attention to demon summoning. We’re both desperate for somethin’.” He looked at you thoughtfully, tail swishing as you processed it. Hell.

“What about my familiar?” You were caving in, and his gazing expression broke out into a victorious grin as his eyes slide to your rabbit.

“Sure, the lil thing can come, too. Familiars exist in hell, too, but not the cute lil’ rabbit ones. Might be a nice change to have one. Wipe away the salt, n’ we can get started.” He acted as if he had already won, and to be honest, he did.

It was too good of an opportunity to really pass up, and you didn’t really have anybody, and good decisions in your tired state were lacking. You wiped away the salt, and he sighed with relief as he stepped out.

“Man, that tiny circle was exhaustin’ to be in. Now, let’s take you home.” He tucked a fray hair behind your ear. Smiling a devil’s smile, he held you against him, and you tried to keep your cheeks from flushing as he began a mantra of a spell in his native tongue, leaving you awed that it wasn’t the usual Latin. You couldn’t keep your eyes open as a wave of exhaustion and tiredness wafted over you, and your eyes slid shut, darkness over-taking you, but not before hearing a dark chuckle.

…………..

Warm. You were so warm. You opened your eyes, only to be greeted by a bare chest. Your eyes widened as now you were fully conscious, furiously wondering on what the hell was going on.

“So, yer finally awake.” He hummed, and you jolted slightly, looking up at his face with pure surprise, he smiled at you as he held you close to his chest. It didn’t take you long to realize that this was his bedroom, and your mind whirled, vaguely remembering prior events. Sitting up, he whined at the loss of contact, but you paid no mind.

The room was lit up by the flickering familiar orange flames emitting from the white candles slowly melting on top of his dresser, creating a safe, sleepy, and an almost romantic atmosphere. The bed was huge, and took up a good portion of his room, but there was still enough space for some furniture such as the dresser, and a large cage. You sighed with relief, seeing the familiarity of Charlotte within, the little rabbit’s eyes now glowed with luminescence, as if she were something else. It would make sense, your familiar was no longer a normal familiar, since she was in hell, with you.

You looked down, feeling warmed metal against your skin, and that’s when you’ve noticed your new attire. It was a chiton, like his, although a little looser, and you wore the same amount of matching golden jewelry. Your ears stung a little at the newer piercings, but you didn’t pay that much mind as you couldn’t help but think that he went out of his way to undress you and doll you up to match him. You gave him a dirty look, and he grinned in retaliation, enjoying the flushed and guffawed expression that marred your face.

“If ya’re gonna be the part, might as well look like it. I didn’t undress you fully or touch you too inappropriately, if that makes ya feel better.” He shrugged. Although you admit that he sort of have a point, still!

“What happened to me?” You opted to say instead, and he sat up along with you, you jumping slightly as his tail curled around your waist, acting as a small comfort.

“You’re a demon. I took yer soul, and bound it to me. Wish ya could’ve seen it, ‘s so pretty an’ pure, an’ it fizzled nicely within me. Was the only way for ya to come down here, sorry.” He hummed, rubbing his cheek against yours in seemingly affection, eyes glittering as he let you process the words and his bizarre behavior.

Demon. Were you dead? You had no heartbeat, did you? You let your hand rest against your pulse point, surprised by the soft fluttering. You looked at him with question.

“Demon, not fully dead, but not fully alive, either, an’ yeah, you’ll look forever like a human, since ya weren’t born like us. I took yer soul, and gave you one of the multiple that belongs to me. ‘S how we tie our lives together fer eternity, as if exchangin’ rings. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Romantic, isn’t it?”

“I have so many questions.” You murmured, instead. He smiled.

“We have an eternity together, I’ll answer all of ‘em. For now, c’mon. Lemme show ya what yer magic is doing right now at this moment.” He stood up from the bed, offering you his hand, pulling you up to him as you accepted it. He opened the drapes to his balcony’s windowed doors, revealing an ashen gray sunlight that paled in comparison to the candles. Letting you take Charlotte out of her cage, he opened the doors as the two of you stepped outside.

You looked on in awe.

The balcony to your new home, an ashen gray-stoned castle, had a short amount of steps that led into a gigantic garden. You stared in amazement and joy at the flowering plants and trees that grew in your former realm. There were so many plants, you couldn’t name all of them, but you didn’t mind as you looked on in the neatly organized forage of a garden, enjoying the array of greens and different colors of flowering foliage. Your familiar squirmed, wanting to enjoy the plants and be free, and so you let her, knowing that she’ll be smart enough to stay within eyesight.

“Beautiful, ain’t it? It didn’t look like this ‘fore you were here. Sure, some plants such as pomegranates n’ ferns grew, but since it’s such a deadened place, nothin’ really grew. I tried for centuries, n’ no such luck. It’s so beautiful ‘cause of yer magic.” His voice broke out of your thoughts, and you listened carefully as a hint of sorrow passed over his features.

“Pomegranates…?” Your mind raced to the odd familiarity of the setting. Greek clothing, the underworld, and now pomegranates? He leaned down and smirked at you, bringing your hand to his lips.

“Heh, because, ya know…” He grinned, enjoying the way you stared up at him in disbelief.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Can’t say that I don’t have a sense of humor.” He chuckled, and you felt yourself relax, thinking of ways to steer the conversation into another turn.

“You really like this place, don’t you...um?” You wanted to curse yourself. You went through a psychological loop in becoming a queenly wife to a stranger, no less a king of demons, and you didn’t even know his name. How forgetful were you?

Ignoring your inner dread, he grinned as he held your hand within his, rubbing his thumb over your palm.

“Taishiro. Yeah, I rarely visit earth ‘cause all the shit I have to do, n’ so this is my favorite place to relax. Thanks to you, it’s blossoming quite well.” He admitted, pecking your cheek, tail flicking with delight at the prospect of your face pink with the affection. Oh, you were so cute, he crooned.

“What about the dead, Taishiro?” You wondered as you tried out, the foreign language rolling off of your tongue. He looked at you with interest, liking the way his name melded to your own dialect.

“I’ll take ya on a little tour, how about that? Show ya what’s happenin’ and yer new home. N’ later, we can relax in our garden, take a lil’ break to enjoy our Honeymoon.” He purred, and you felt butterflies flutter nicely within your stomach and chest as you nodded.

“Yer familiar can stay outside. It never rains here, an’ she’s not really...alive, anymore. She’ll be fine.” He looked at the little rabbit that was chewing on a blade of grass, absentmindedly paying attention as you agreed, knowing that she’ll be safe.

Without further ado, he took you back inside of the castle, beginning the day.

……...

It was obvious that you were still in shock, and that this wasn’t a dream. He opted to say nothing about your state, as he introduced you to the castle, and the many rooms within. Of course the first thing he had offered to show you, was the dining room, stating that you were probably hungry, and a nice breakfast had been made for you. You blushed furiously, not acquainted with such treatment, and he grinned, pinching your cheek and you huffed at him.

“C’mon, Sweetcheeks, the staff’s all here, n’ they’ve been waitin’ to see what’s been in my bedroom fer about two days.” The sentence had surprised you.

“Two days?” You looked at him owlishly, and he shrugged.

“Turnin’ a human into somethin’ else, takes a toll on the receiver. I’m surprised that it was that short, to be honest.”

You walked along side him as the interior looked unique and odd, nothing of it that you’ve seen before. Colors of orange, gold, and red melded into a comfortable, royal setting as the hallways twisted. Each one sported different types of framed pictures and paintings of animals, spirits, and demons of which were new to your eyes.

Taishiro smiled at your awed and innocent wondering as he began talking, introducing you further into his world, entrancing and entrapping you into the Greek and Japanese themes that he so loved, and you couldn’t help but feel fitted in comfortably within your new home as the two of you continued on-wards towards the dining room, your stomach feeling empty.

You talked along with him, trying to learn and get used to the idea that yes, this was your husband. Your demon husband who was oddly being affectionate with you, despite his earlier, snappish attitude. Although, you were not minding it, preferring the brushing of hands, eyes meeting yours, and little touches, rather than the first thoughts of possibly burning in hell for eternity. He intrigued you, leaving you to wonder on how were you this lucky and yet foolish. All too soon, however, he had guided you into his favorite place that was second to the garden.

The room was beautiful and spacious, with multiple dining ware, vases of freshly cut flowers, and cloths laid neatly upon the long table. The staff were well dressed in their own lesser version of Ionic chitons, small bands of gold littered their collars and wrists, but nothing too extravagant like you and your husband’s. He sat you down, the smell of bacon, eggs, and biscuits wafted deliciously to you from the silver plate sitting in front of you. You could feel your mouth all but water as your stomach grumbled with an awakening realization. Taishiro sat next to you, chuckling at your eagerness.

“I know that yer not human, anymore, but we demons can live on an’ indulge on such human foods. Thank our chefs fer goin’ out onto the earthen realm, n’ huntin’ down the stuff.”

“Thank you.” Came out, and who you guessed were the chefs, bowed with gratitude. You tried not to shovel the food greedily into your mouth, paying mind to try to eat with grace. You blanched, feeling a bit of the egg yolk dribble down your chin, and you jumped as Taishiro didn’t miss a beat in taking the opportunity to swipe it from your face with his forefinger, eyeing you with a dark look mixed in with a cocky smirk as he began suckling on said finger, rolling his tongue around it, and pulling it out of his mouth with a wet pop.

You felt as if your face, chest, and ears were burning as he then groaned.

“Delicious.”

You weren’t burning in hell with actual fire, so you guessed he had to come up with other ways, you guessed.

The two of you finished in silence, him grinning with knowing want at your expressions, liking the way how easy and fun it was to just tease you. After saying your formal thanks to the staff, the two of you continued onward.

Most of the rooms, other than the main bedroom, that he had led you, were guest rooms, and the others were sleeping headquarters for the staff and his underling sons. Speaking of which, it did not take you too long to be introduced to them. Cue in bright laughter, oddly mixed in with a rather gloomy aurora caught your attention, and lo and behold, down the hall is where they stood.

“Oooh! Is this her, Tai-chan?!” Noticing your presences, a red-haired young man turned his attention towards you. He nor the other young man were dressed as glamorous as the two of you, but they were unique. The red haired boy, along with the black haired one, both had pointed ears, but that’s where the line was drawn. Red had scaled, burgundy wings, furled neatly behind his back as his reptilian tail wagged slowly, he sported a sharp-toothed grin and radiated sunlight.

The gloomy man had a crystal ball within his clawed hands, cape and hood cloaking his figure as he stared at you.

“Who else would it be?” He muttered slowly, sarcasm lost on the other.

“Eijirou’s the dragon, an’ Tamaki’s the sorcerer. Boys, this is yer Queen.” Taishiro made a short introduction.

“Nice to meet you!” As well as “Hello.” Greeted you, and you mimicked their greetings, surprised by the welcome. You replied your own greetings, feeling a bit nervous.

“Tamaki, would ya show ‘er the souls? I’d like for her to know what’s on the lower layer.”

“Sure.” Without further question, the scryer demon began murmuring his own spell as you stared into the crystal ball, watching with amazement at the sheer focus that was being put into it as it began to reveal answers to your questioning mind.

“See what yer magic’s been doin? Told ya, Nightingale, yer magic’s one of a kind, an’ yer not focusing on it, right now, but see what it’s doin’?” Taishiro gestured towards the mass of ghostly shadows within the ball. They seemed still, as if time had stopped them.

“Rather than deafening screams, wailing, and clattering of chains, we have this. They’re calm, awaiting to be reincarnated. It’s the most quiet that we’ve heard in centuries. None of us has yet the need to intervene and waste our time.” Tamaki opted to explain for you, a small hint of a smile graced his features, while Eijirou smiled warmly.

“It eases their suffering, too! Your magic to them is like a lullaby! You can’t hear it, but others can! It’s why Tai-chan’s been so calm-

“Anyway! Let’s go to the garden, yer not too tired, right? We can continue this later.” Taishiro interrupted swiftly, ruffling each boy’s heads as he gripped your hand rather gently, tugging you along back towards the familiarity of the garden, as you swore you heard two chuckles behind you.

……..

“There is a teeny, tiny detail that I need to explain.” Taishiro dragged you further into the depths of the green foliage, slowly but surely darkening out the sunlight as you couldn’t help but shiver a little due to the anticipation. Where was he leading you? You guessed that he could see in the dark, but you couldn’t, feeling yourself stumble a little.

“Taishiro, I can’t see.” You offered, and you heard a chuckled huff.

“Guess I gotta carry you, hm?” The sentence was your only warning. You let out a shrill yelp, feeling him lift you up with little to no effort into his arms. You liked the way how he gripped you, and seeped into his warmth as he continued walking to who knows where, and oddly enough, you trusted him.

“In order to fully complete the bond,” He startled you, as he finally broke the silence in what had seemed minutes. Setting you down, he snapped his fingers. Orange floating, flickering lights that resembled candles appeared right after, dimly illuminating the area around them. Your eyes adjusted, taking in the scenery that the lights were willing to show. It was a spacious area of smoothed down grass, white lilies and red roses crowned around it, giving it a magical, romantic feeling.

“you need to finally receive part of my power. Sure there’s multiple ways of sharing a mate’s essence, I just thought that this would be more fun.” He gave you a wink, and you felt your heartbeat quicken with a little nervousness. Yet, you found yourself not really surprised. He was your husband, after all. The thoughts of you becoming a demon, him being your mate, and that you ruled souls along with your new family, had been whirling around your head silently. It was only natural to continue, right?

“Only if you take the lead.” You offered, and he smiled, leaning down to finally mesh his lips upon yours in a secured kiss, tail swishing wildly as if joyed. Although a little snappy, he was also sweet and devilish in a teasing, fun way. You guessed that he was probably stressed from working and worrying too hard, thus you didn’t really hold it against him.

“Alright.” He led you to the clearing, laying down as he pulled you down on top, you basically straddling him, heat creeping up to your neck and ears as his clothed hardness poked at your equally clothed entrance. Not bothering to take any clothes off, he rocked his hips, groaning with guttural want as you let out a whimper, feeling the silk cloth of your clothing stimulate your clit as he rutted lazily up against it. His eyes focused up at you as he held your waist tightly, helping you rock your hips in sync with his as his tail rubbed itself against your sensitive, itching to feel you.

“Can ya smell yer own arousal? Mixin’ in nicely with our flowers? Ya can cum anytime ya want too, okay?” He brought you down to kiss your clavicle and neck, your hands gripped his hair as your fingers threaded though the soft tresses and horns, keening as his own teeth latched onto the juncture of your throat as he suckled, minding his bottom tusks as he bit harshly, kissing the bruising skin with tenderness. You choked out a whimper as your hips bucked a little more roughly at his actions, causing him to groan.

You could feel yourself clench with want as his precum and your wetness soaked through your undergarments, creating a slicking friction as the wet squelching noises echo through the dimly lit darkness. You looked down at him through lidded eyes, eyebrows furrowing as you bit your bottom lip, noticing that he mimicked your expression, if it wasn’t for the gritting teeth, You liked this side of him, too, you thought through your itching need to cum.

He could tell that you were getting desperate, hell, he was, too. Yet, he wanted you to come before he did. Taking both hands away from your waist, he placed one underneath your ridden up clothing, and another cupped one of your bouncing breasts, thumb rubbing roughly over a nipple. Taking pleasure in the way that you were staring down at him, swallowing thickly, he let his hand slip into your soiled undergarments, making sure that every time your hips bucked forwards, you could feel his fingers brush against your clit.

“T-Taishiro~!” You gasped, and he moaned, slipping two fingers in as he continued bucking, envying the digits as they stretched your tight and wet heat. Your juices were now dribbling down, creating more of a mess as his now four fingers pumped in and out of you, crooking them and stretching your walls with a gentle fervor as his dick slid between the folds of your labia, continuing to rub against your clothed clit. He ate up your desperate expression, knowing that he was no better as the both of you were about to cum. He picked up his pace as your face was buried in his shoulder, panting loudly and letting out breaths of need.

“Y-ya know, I haven’t done this in centuries. ‘M gunna fuck you so good. Would ya like that?” He nipped at your ear, and you whined wantonly as you felt yourself tighten around his fingers, gripping them like a lifeline and he hissed as you came, cum soaking and dripping everywhere as you stilled, fingers grasped in his hair tightly, and damn if he loved that feeling. He stilled, awaiting for you to recover as you panted, lying against his chest as tears and a little bit of drool temporarily stained your flushed face. He kissed you softly, removing his soaked fingers from your fluttering heat, lust boiling within him as he imagined his cock in there.

“How do ya want this? Missionary and doggy are pretty good positions for first timers, either way, I’m going to claim you, Sweetheart.”

You looked at him through your wet lashes, as if contemplating on what you want.

“What do you want?” You asked instead, and the question caught him off guard, but he grinned.

“You.” He didn’t hesitate.

“Then have me.” You felt a blush at your own statement, but you really wanted to continue.

“Ya sure?”

“Anyway you can, Taishiro. I trust you, you’re not going to hurt me.” At this, his expression softened as he then kissed you with such a tenderness.

“I won’t, but my instincts are screamin’ at me to take ya right here on the ground.”

“Then do so. We have an eternity together, right?” You pondered, and he frowned a little.

“For your-

“I trust you.” You interrupted, looking at him dead in the eyes, as if challenging him. He couldn’t help but smile at your spitfire attitude.

“As my Queen commands.” He kissed your cheek.

It was the only warning you really had, but your blood was on fire with heat and want, and truthfully, if he wanted to hurt you, he had every opportunity to after you wiped away the salt from the pentagram.

Shedding off the both your clothing, the both of you stared unabashed at each other, a red flush tinted his face, and you were blushing furiously. You weren’t really acquainted with seeing an angry-looking cock, veins visible as a drool of precum leaked onto the ground, but here it was, twitching slightly at your intense gaze. The golden glints caught your eye, and your eyes widened with surprise.

“Y-you have piercings-!” You guffawed as he laughed.

“Oh! You’re so cute! Easy to reach’n stimulate, Babe.” He winked and you swallowed thickly as he then decided that enough time was spent staring, and now he wanted to touch you, more.

He placed both garbs neatly on the ground as he gently maneuvered you onto them, your stomach and breasts were cushioned as you gripped the clothing, knees on the cool grass as you basically laid out bare for him.

You jolted as you felt his hot, fat tongue lick a long stripe along your leaking sex and clit, his hands gripped your thighs, squeezing them gently as he decided to make a meal out of you, first. You could only lay there, whining and panting, trying to move your hips in his tight grasp as he licked you with fervor, taking extra time to suckle at your clit, chuckling as he also sopped up the extra slick running down your thighs, kissing them gently and you moaned.

“Taishiro!” You whined at him, silently pleading for him to get to the main event.

“Oh? Ya wanna be fully tainted by the devil?” He purred, and you nodded. You knew that he had to take care of his need, too, and he didn’t admit it, but he was getting a little impatient.

“Easy there, Hon. If anythin’ bothers you, say somethin’, and we’ll stop, m’kay?” He finished, getting an affirmative from you, as he then grabbed his dick, leading it to your sopping entrance, and pushing a little bit in. He was amazed on how the muscles to your opening were loose, letting the head of his dick catch the rim, slipping a little inside.

He froze when you froze at the sudden prodding, opting instead to move his hips rather gently, not going further as you got use to the feeling of what’s already inside you. He decided that rubbing your clit was a good idea, and was rewarded as he felt you loosen up a bit, knees spreading out further as you bit your lip, feeling the gentle rubbing of calloused fingers.

“C-continue.” You murmured, feeling the other piercings now slide past the muscle. It was a delicious feeling of being stretched and stimulated, feeling yourself loosen as you took more of him in.

“Almost in, Sweetheart.” He murmured gently, his other hand rubbing soothing circles between your shoulder blades. Finally, he moved the last couple of inches inside of your burning heat as he refused to move, letting the both of you take in the feeling of being joined together.

“Ya alright?” He grunted, silently pleading for you to give your affirmative for him to move. He was relieved when you nodded, amazed at himself for gently rocking his hips as you were basically sucking him in. You were in a daze, feeling every inch, vein, and piercing churn your inside walls as your breasts rubbed against the silken clothing, clit still being stimulated as he took care of you.

“Y-you can mo-ve fa-faster, T-Taishiro.” It sounded more needy than you liked to admit, but he didn’t seem to mind. He leaned down, resting his chin against your shoulder as he basically enveloped you from above, one hand rubbing your clit, and the other holding himself from fully crushing you as he let his hips buck with more fervor, both of you seeing each other’s needy expressions.

“Takin’ me in-oh! So well, Darlin’. Ya’re s-suckin’ me in so-damn! Nicely. Don’t know ya that well, but ‘m so fond an’ proud of ya.” He kissed your cheek tenderly, contrast to his hips positioning themselves in a new angle in a snapping motion. Your head spun with stars as you felt the piercing on his tip, hit something inside you, letting out a “do that again!”. He would chuckle, if that statement didn’t turn him on so much.

“Y-you’re doing such a g-good job, too! Ah! Like y-you a lo-ot!” You admitted, trying your best to return such actions of affections. He rested his cheek against your cheek, taking his free hand to interlace his fingers with yours as he felt you tighten when he rolled his hips, aiming for the spot that kept making you clench.

“’C’mon, cum fer me, Baby. Lemme feel ya milk a century’s worth dry.” He growled into your ear, eager at the prospect as much as you were as you suddenly stiffened, your walls tightening around him desperately as you let out a whine, chasing the fleeting feeling as you reached down and gripped his fingers onto your clit.

“T-Taishiro! O-overstim-ula-t-ed!” You cried out, tears pooling around your eyes in frustration as your body kept clenching around him and the electricity of your high was going haywire, consuming you into a mess.

“J-just a lil! More!” He tore his hand away, sitting up as he gripped one hand on your waist tightly, and the other pressed down on your back, snapping his hips, churning your sensitive walls with an animalisitc frenzy. You could only whine, laying there and taking it as your mind was in a blank state as you felt him get bigger, suddenly. To your relief, he gave one final thrust.

A hot warmth coated your raw insides, mixing in with your own cum as you felt him still. You whined softly as you felt full. Moments passed as the two of you huffed and panted, letting the cool air chill the two of your sweaty bodies down. He pulled out of you gingerly, you whimpered at the loss as you felt cum and slick leak out. He paid no mind, plopping down to the side of you, and pulling you back onto his stomach as the two of you took each other in, cooling down from intense highs.

He cupped your face, and began trailing soft kisses wherever he could reach, and you couldn’t help but rasp out giggles, the fog clearing from your head as you descended back towards your normal mental state of closure.

“Beautiful. Mmm, ya took me so well, an’ ya looked so pretty n’ debauched. Don’t care, I’m gunna say it, Princess. I love ya.” He admitted so softly, hands smoothing down your back as you felt your heart softened as you gazed down at him.

“I love you, too. I know for sure that I will love you more when time passes.” You kissed him tenderly, letting your own growing affections seep into the kiss, and he let out an odd guttural of purring, enjoying the fulfilling feeling of a partner doting on him. The lights flickered, as if trying to lull you to sleep, but you weren’t sleepy, yet.

“I want to talk. What’s your favorite color? Why do you purr? How did you meet your sons? I want to know every bit about you.” You murmured into his chest, peeking at him through lashes, enjoying the surprised and pleased look that you were receiving. You didn’t care about the time, letting him ramble at each question you had, enjoying the way his heartbeat quickened as his breathing chest fell up and down, him talking excitedly as he threw in his own questions, pleased to know about you, more.

“Ah~! I don’t think ya can’t get any cuter~.” He rubbed his nose against yours in affection, and you were surprised to hear the familiar purr echo through his chest.

“What about your purring?”

“Yeah, happens now an’ then when I’m truly happy.”

“That’s wholesome and cute.” You admitted truthfully, liking the way his eyes danced with light at your confession.

“I wanna go again.” He said suddenly, and you flushed, realizing that he was stirring to life, again. You didn’t mind. You told him, and he smiled, kissing you.

“We’ll take it a lil’ more slow, this time. Face to face. Preferably ya kissin’ me, more.” He smiled, pinching your cheek playfully. You kissed him in false retaliation.

“Yer still a lil’ wet, so ya wouldn’t mind if I just-?” He asked, and you nodded, feeling his member catch onto the rim of your used entrance, the both of you moaning as he slid in easier, this time. You were wet and loosened, and instead of focusing on chasing your highs, the two of you paid attention to each other.

Not many words were said as you did what you pleased, kissing, touching, and enjoying his softened expression at your inquisitive hands as he held onto you, returning your affectionate gestures as the atmosphere resonated with the flickering candles: soft and romantic as the two of your hips met in a slow, sensual pace, not racing against time as you felt him continue to purr, much to your satisfaction.

You were still satisfied from earlier, but he still managed to make you cum again, this time it wasn’t as intense, but it didn’t matter, for your head cleared a little more quicker, getting to enjoy his desperate look as he quickened his pace. He looked debauched and desperate, eyebrows furrowed downward, pools of wetness gathering at his eyes as he bit his lip, only to open his mouth and call out your name as once again, he came inside of you.

“Damn, I think that I can forever make love to ya.” He panted out, sweaty chest rising and falling as one of your hands soothed circles around his waist, the other bringing his own to your lips as you kissed the back tenderly.

“I feel the same.” You admitted truthfully, and he let out another set of purrs.

……….

“Oh my goooooood! Oh my god! Sister! Where have you beeeeeen?! It’s been like, a year since we’ve last seen you!” Your friend hugged you tightly, relieved tears threatened to spill. Taishiro and you had decided to take a visit on the earthen realm to collect the rest of your things, if the villagers hadn’t destroyed your hut, that is. Luckily, your place was left untouched, and you came across the wondering group of girls, fretting over you, your state of dress, and looking at Taishiro with concern.

“Sis, did you finally summon a hireling? He doesn’t look like a gremlin?” One asked. You had to keep in your laughter as your husband’s eye twitched with annoyance.

“Um, I used a different method on the summoning spell. This is my husband, Taishiro.”

“Whaaaaa-?”

“King of hell, keeper of souls, blah blah. Look, me an’ my Queen are going to go, now. Yer all annoyin’.” He griped, snapping his fingers as the portal to your home had opened, not giving your friends time to wave their goodbyes as he dragged you home, and oddly enough, you didn’t mind.

……..

�� Your eyes glinted in the moonlight as the juice from the pomegranate seeds stained your lips red as you eyed the stunned man. Centuries had passed, and you and your husband had lost track of time, not aging as your magic grew in power, melding perfectly with his. Your adopted sons had moved on, finding their own mates, bringing them to your realm to visit regularly, and your love for Taishiro grew immeasurably.

Unfortunately, since he was an ancient demon, he had to reincarnate once every one thousand years, letting his soul reset into a body although resembled his own, his memories were long gone, leading you onto a twenty-nine year old man-hunt for your reincarnated lover.

“I may have a use for you, yet.” You let the words soothe over the young magic user, his eyes widened in something akin to recognition, although confused.

“Alright, Dumplin, What’dya need?” His accent was the same, except it belonged to a young man, this time, and not a demon.

“I’m Queen of hell, lady of the lost souls, and I’m in need of a king.”

“So familiar…” He gripped his head, eyeing you with confusion, yet there was a hint of your husband’s glint within those eyes.

“It’s because you know me. Very well.” You hummed at his confused expression.

“Alright, I’m curious. Lead me.” He gave in.

You smiled. It wouldn’t take long for the two of you to be reunited, after all.

………..

End! Give Thanks and Credit to Rita, or youtubequeens on tumblr for the idea and us brainstorming! I tried to fix any plot holes, I fell in love with the setting and mythology and other things, so I’m pretty proud of this fic :3

#Taishiro Toyomitsu #Fatgum #fatgum x reader #mythology #demons #witchcraft #A lot of things really #I don't know why I added the familiar #I just like bunnies #Hades and Persephone vibes #This is for you Rita #I hope you like it #I tried #Plotholes but imagination #Ig #Sorry #Will I stop being a simp?#No

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dicapriho · 5 years

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Important quotes to take from this article, that sums up perfectly why Daenarys’ treatment in season 8 was so heartbreaking..(long post with bullet points for easy reading):

Game of Thrones is "a world where women are often treated as disposable objects, Daenerys outwitted and overpowered her male enemies. As the sole protagonist in her own storyline, far from the rest of the characters, she was set up to be one of the few unambiguously [female] heroic figures in the series."

"in just a few episodes, she quickly transformed from a woman who has prided herself on saving the downtrodden to one who burns the innocent."

"[Daenerys’] treatment this season from the makeup of the writers’ room: The writers and directors on the show have always been overwhelmingly male, and women were shut out of both writing and directing jobs for every episode in season 8."

"Throughout her life, Daenerys has shown a commitment to justice...She freed the slaves in Meereen... When Drogon burned one child, she chained up her other two dragons, leaving herself more vulnerable...She put her fight for the Iron Throne on pause to fight in Jon’s war against the White Walkers [in the North where she knew she would feel unwelcome]."

"She was called the “Breaker of Chains” for a reason. When she misstepped, we forgave her, as we forgave, say, Tyrion for strangling Shae." [And Jon for killing a child for betraying him!]

“Daenerys has certainly used “Dracarys” to punish plenty of people during her reign... she always gave some compelling reason for doing so.”

She first used her dragon’s fire to kill a warlock who tried to imprison her, and again against a slaver who tried to cheat her...she crucified all the masters in retaliation for them having killed slave children — but they had killed children...She burned all the Khals who were threatening to keep her as a slave or rape her, or both."

Dany’s advisors gave awful advice:

"Daenerys agreed to make Tyrion her hand because Tyrion said he “knew things”...specifically, he claimed to know how to make alliances in Westeros and exploit people’s hate of Cersei in order to put Daenerys on the throne. Except, Tyrion did…none of that."

"...when did Tyrion convince a single lord that if they joined their side, they could get a new title and nice castle and see the land’s most hated woman [Cersei] burned to a crisp? Never."

"...what Tyrion did do: Try to cut a deal with slavers that would have kept slavery legal for a longer period of time, until Daenerys decided to burn their ships instead; convince Dany not to fly to King’s Landing and burn the Red Keep, which would have resulted in far fewer Kings Landing deaths; come up with the horrible plan to capture a wight that almost got Jon killed and lost Daenerys a dragon and still didn’t earn Cersei’s allegiance; convince Daenerys to trust Cersei, who has never proven herself to be trustworthy; forget to remind Daenerys that Euron and the Iron Fleet would almost certainly be waiting near Dragonstone, thus losing Daenerys another dragon; free Jaime from captivity in an effort to help both his brother and Cersei escape death at Daenerys’ hands..."

"Don’t even get me started on Varys, who didn’t write a single letter to a single lord to gain intel against Cersei or an ally for Dany but did find time to spread the word about Jon’s true parentage...”

“Tyrion and Varys were supposed to be her helpers. They failed her. Instead of owning up to this and realizing the part they have both played, Tyrion and Varys begin to worry that Daenerys is a flawed ruler exactly because she’s losing faith in them over their terrible decisions."

On the Sansa v Dany struggle:

"...The writers of the show cited much more petty reasons for their [Sansa and Dany's] conflict: “[Daenerys is] also very pretty, and how much does that factor in? Sansa starts off this season very suspicious and not at all friendly with Dany.”"

Her Isolation:

"In the last few episodes, Daenerys finds herself envying the love that Jon’s people feel for him...it’s destabilizing for her to arrive in Westeros and find that people are not eager to see her. Why, exactly, the Northerners don’t appreciate her dragons — without which they could not have defeated the Army of the Dead...."

"Daenerys rightfully glowers at Jon as his countrymen celebrate the fact that he mounted a dragon a couple of times when Dany has been riding one for years [Not to mention she is the first Targaryen in hundreds of years to have successfully mothered & raised/trained dragons]...In a mission to make Dany feel as isolated as possible, the show killed off her closest advisors, Jorah and Missendei."

"Daario is controlling Slaver’s Bay in her absence. Yara Greyjoy is sworn to her. In theory, the new Prince of Dorne would be allied with her since Daenerys struck a pact with Ellaria Sand. Daenerys could have called on any of these allies when she faced Cersei’s army but didn’t — simply because the show needed her to be alone ."

On Missandei:

"Game of Thrones fridged Missandei. There’s no other way to put it. Her capture and death happens just so Daenerys would feel isolated. The fact that the writers turned the only major black female character on the show into a device to motivate Daenerys feels even more cringeworthy."

"The fairly quick transition from complicated hero to totally mad villain leaned heavily on an oft-repeated line: “every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin”. But should Daenerys’ Targaryen blood necessarily doom her? After all, Jon is half Targaryen, too. So why does he get to sit comfortably on the other side of the coin?...The show has long been obsessed with various characters’ struggles to shake their family’s legacies. Tyrion killed his own father and joined Team Daenerys, only to betray Daenerys in order to help his family again."

"Daenerys has long tried to differentiate herself from her father, the Mad King, only to become her father’s daughter."

"...the show’s most recent plotting flaws was Varys’ rushed decision that Daenerys was a terrible enough queen that he would endeavor to poison her — quite a stretch for a man who served under King Joffrey...Remember that Varys once wanted to put Dany’s brother Viserys, a demonstrable megalomaniac, on the Iron Throne."

"...when Varys found out Jon was a Targaryen, he began openly conspiring to undermine and overthrow Daenerys...He accused her of being paranoid while simultaneously conspiring against her, which means she had every right to be suspicious...Again, it’s a failure of the show that the man who was once revered as Master of Whispers walked up to Jon in the middle of a crowded beach and suggested he usurp Daenerys."

"Other rulers we think of as heroes in this story have executed men for less than attempted murder: Robb Stark executed Rickard Karstark for killing the Lannister hostages, against Robb’s orders...Ned Stark executed someone for abandoning the Night’s Watch...Jon Snow executed the men who succeeded in murdering him (before he was resurrected) including Olly, a young boy."

"...Jon betrayed Daenerys’ trust by telling his family, and Tyrion betrayed her — twice. Davos also betrayed her too for totally inexplicable reasons by helping Tyrion smuggle Jaime to Cersei...Her advisor’s lie to her and gaslit her, plain and simple. And yet the way that Daenerys’ destruction of King’s Landing is shot, we are supposed to see her as the irrational one and Tyrion as one of the victims of her terror."

"...either due to time restrictions or lack of source material or just plain lack of creativity, the show took shortcuts this season...And those shortcuts tended to rely on the laziest of sexist stereotypes about crazed, power-hungry women."

"Maureen Ryan at the Hollywood Reporter put it best: “Inescapably, infuriatingly, what we’re left with is apparently the central message of Game of Thrones: Bitches are crazy.” "

"...Had [Dany's] paranoia been seeded many episodes ago and grown over the course of several seasons, it would be an epic Shakespearean tragedy. Instead we must infer this descent based on her frizzy hair."

"Worse, the moment when she seemingly decides to rule with fear, not love, comes after she’s romantically rejected by Jon...” [Suggestible that the lack of requited love is a strong enough reason for a level-minded strong woman to fall into a pit of craziness, despite all the good she has ever done and vows to continue doing..]

"Varys suggested that Jon would be a better ruler exactly because he did not want to rule. Figures in mythology and history ranging from Moses to George Washington to Harry Potter have been heralded as heroes because they came to power reluctantly. Those figures also tend to be male. How do our stories cast women eager for power? As evil queens. And now Daenerys is a cliché."

"There have been a lot of problematic characterizations of women this season, as revealed by the writers’ own commentary surrounding the episodes...Sansa essentially parroted what the writers have been saying for years about her rape by Ramsay Bolton — that it made her stronger...and the showrunners called Cersei, one of the smartest, most vicious characters on Thrones, “just a girl who needs the comfort of a man..”

"...in the end, Daenerys cycled through several tired stereotypes: Another evil, power-hungry queen literally shot with a dragon’s wings behind her; the crazy lady that a noble man has to heroically overcome..."

Like Cersei, Dany was a character introduced in the first episode, who ws incredible meaningful in the narrative of Game of Thrones. Instead of going out with a bang, Daenerys’ death wasn’t a bang like she truly deserved, but a whimper and forgotten to emphasise the man’s conquer and victory.

#game of thrones spoilers #anti got #daenerys targaryen #got spoilers #long post #sexism #anti d&d

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cookiem1996 · 3 years

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The Scottish Stranger Chp2

AN: Ahoy there! I know it has been awhile since chapter one, but I have been very busy with work and life. Now that I am sick, unfortunately, I have had enough time to update and continue this story based off of Zelda’s recounts of her Academy days featuring a crossover of Supernatural’s Rowena Macelod. I hope you guys enjoy this second chapter and I am hoping to continue more on this installment and perhaps a reunion between a present Zelda and Rowena. This chapter does contain some actual Gaelic mythology. I thought it would please you all witches at heart. Enjoy.

The Scottish Stranger Chp 2

Another great storm thundered in Greendale.

This time it is in the present. The rain still intrigues Zelda. She finds herself curled up by the window as she marks last week’s exams in the comfort of her home.

Sure, she usually spent a lot more time at the Academy of the Unseen Arts, but she was done hearing her sister’s pleas to pry her out of the environment lest, ‘you start becoming a hermit in that office’.

Honestly, it relieved Zelda to be home; she found it to be a comfort. Her family home never always used to be this way, with its thunderous memories of decay and turmoil. Now, the only memories that went through her mind were times of happiness, times of family...times where she would hear Sabrina ramble on about menial means of her adolescence.

Oh how she missed her niece. A weak smile graced her aged features as she thought about the day when Sabrina got her green thumb.

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“Auntie! Auntie! Look what Aunt Hilda and I planted!”

Zelda neatly folded her newspaper and set it down. “Come now, let’s see it.”

A young Sabrina tugged her Aunt Zelda with no care to the garden where Hilda knelt feeding a plant with some plant food.

“My lilacs will grow right there, Auntie! You’ll see!”, Sabrina beams.

Zelda glanced down at her little niece with the softest grin. She knelt down and brought her into a hug.

Sabrina crinkles her nose, but hugs her back. “What’s this for?”

Zelda shuts her eyes to fight back a tear. “Don’t you ever change, Sabrina.”

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Zelda frowns then seeing a watermark over Michael Hanover’s test. Her fingers wander up to her cheekbone feeling wetness. With a soft sigh she grabs a tissue and dabs gently under her eyes.

“When will I be done with these accursed tears?”, she asks herself in defeat.

She was ready to take another sip from her cup, but made a face. “Hilda! This is empty!”

There was silence aside from the storm. She furrowed her brows not hearing any footsteps. It took her a moment to realize she was truly alone now. Hilda wasn’t here, of course. She was home with her new husband. Ambrose went away to ‘find himself’. All Zelda had was Vinegar Tom and Salem.

It surprised the witch that Salem continued on living even with his charge, Sabrina, being no longer of this world.

Zelda sighs and sets aside all of the graded papers. She gets up wandering to the kitchen. She grabbed the kettle to make more tea. She felt so lifeless, so out of place. She knew she had to get out of this funk soon-for her coven.

Zelda nearly jumps out of her skin feeling a slight brush against her legs. She glances down to see Salem curled up around her leg. Although she didn’t like the feline from the start, it seemed the cat warmed up to her and she warmed up to him.

“I know, Salem. I miss her too.”, She speaks softly.

Zelda gives herself an assured nod before proceeding to brew some tea. She turned on the TV for once to see more news. She read this morning’s paper at least three times bored out of her mind.

There was a news report about the President having been attacked and that the assailants were in custody. She raises a brow noticing they didn’t name the criminals, but were focused on the President’s accounts.

“Breaking News: seems the brothers in custody have escaped. Be on the lookout for Sam and Dean Winchester.”, an anchorman reported.

Zelda tilts her head. Those names sounded familiar-for sure. Vinegar Tom barks lightly and nudges at his food bowl catching his charge’s attention.

“Okay, okay, sir.”, Zelda coos toward her familiar. “Help yourself.”

Zelda fills his bowl and sets it in front of him before doing the same for Salem. She rolls her eyes turning off the TV when the stories went on about what hairstyles were in for the season. Nothing intrigued her much except for political world affairs and stories with meaning.

Zelda hears the whistle of the kettle and scuffles over to it to turn off the burner. She moves the kettle away from the still heated kettle and stares off.

That whistle...

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Academy of the Unseen Arts-Past

Zelda sighed in defeat hearing the lunch bell go off. She became so engrossed on today’s lesson: Demons and the Archeron. Demonology really piqued the young red-head's interest. She could spend all day reading spellwork and the ways of conjuring one of Satan’s helpers.

She gathered her books and bag as she watched everyone rush out of the classroom, clamoring about today’s newest gossip; it was all anyone could talk about now-the new girl. A roll of Zelda’s eyes didn’t go unnoticed by her professor.

Professor Ghastly arched an old withered brow as he cleared his desk. “Ms. Spellman, is everything alright?”, he asked.

Zelda’s blue eyes looked up toward her professor. She sighs before she answers, “Quite. I am just upset the lesson is over for today.”

Professor Ghastly scoffed lightly and smiled lightly. “You really are one who truly appreciates my lessons. Don’t worry, we’ll touch more tomorrow. Who knows, one day you’ll be the best spell-caster the Coven has ever seen.”

Zelda offered a faint grin and gave a curt nod. “Thank you, Professor. I shall see you tomorrow.”

With that, Zelda left the classroom beaming in pride. She knew she already was the best spell-caster. Faustus leaned against the wall ahead in the hall watching her like a hawk. He approached her with a sly grin.

“Done being the teacher’s pet?”, he sneered teasing her.

Zelda rolls her eyes and nudges him as she walks side by side with him. “Done drooling over every witch you encounter? I swear I should conjure up a spell to castrate you.”, she teases back.

This is what her and Faustus Blackwood did every day; they would taunt each other whilst casting a lustful stare. Zelda knew she couldn’t want him. Faustus would be fawning over the next new thing like nothing occurred between them. The only girl he ‘stuck with’ the most was Constance. Zelda didn’t understand why, the girl was petty. Constance was a jealous cow because she knew even though Faustus would stray, he would also go back to flirting his way with Zelda as well. Zelda figured Faustus didn’t know what he wanted. Constance’s family had been in good noble standing, whereas with the Spellman’s, they were known for their wit and they were quite the impeccable conjurers. She assumed he had the future in mind-the right Blackwood bride.

“My, my, Ms. Spellman. How naughty of you.”, Faustus feigned offense. “You may have some leverage yet.”

Zelda shrugs with a skip to her step. “I’d say so.”

Faustus nodded in greeting to his inner circle. The best of the best warlocks the Academy had to offer. “Perhaps I should meet you after your rehearsal this afternoon. What do you say, Spellman?

Zelda pursed her lips playfully and tilted her head. “Depends...”

Faustus raises a dark brow. “On?”

Zelda stops and leans to whisper in his ear. “If you bring the thing I mentioned.”

Faustus’s smirk grew. “Certainly.” He winked and then went off with his friends.

Zelda watched him go and sighed deeply. Quite the bad idea for sure. Unlike Faustus, she hadn’t been thinking of the future. Whatever she wanted to do, it would be for the moment-living in the now.

Before heading to the cafeteria, Zelda went on to switch out her books for her next class. She didn’t get herself a locker, thinking it was the worst idea to cram one’s books in such a cramped space. She walked down the hall to her dorms, which to her convenience, was right nearby.

She paused then, furrowing her light brows hearing this soft whistle. The whistle echoed lightly down the hall. It sounded so...enchanting, the melody she couldn’t place. This sound made her venture forward, passing the large wooden door to her dorm.

There, nestled by the window over-looking the outside of the Gehenna Station sat none other than that bloody Scot. A scowl rose on Zelda’s perfect upper lip having found the source of the light and strangely enchanting whistle.

Rowena’s features remained calm however, her pale fingers drumming against the window pane. She took notice of the presence behind her through the reflection of the window and started to sing that tune she whistled earlier.

Zelda did not recognize what seemed to be an old folk song, but she knew the girl sung in Gaelic. Zelda knew her languages very well. She knew how to pick up an old dialect when she heard one.

“Ya know what this song is about?”, Rowena broke the silence.

Zelda tilts her head in wonder. Although she recognized the language, she hadn’t been translating it in her mind word for word-instead having been enchanted by that voice of hers. This frustrating newcomer sang like the lark, her beauty matching her voice.

Zelda snaps out of it and huffs, placing a free hand on her hip. “I am sure you will enlighten me.”

Zelda could just feel that growing smirk on the other girl’s lips. She saw the way her shoulders rose up, mischief teeming in her body language. This girl...she was so animating.

“It’s about a man’s burning lust for a bonnie. How his pecker hurt because she is this image of perfection.”

Zelda’s face turned a bright red. Who would make such a disgusting...

Rowena laughs, throwing her head back in amusement. She turned to take a look at Zelda’s growing irritation. “Had ya going there, didn’t I?”

Zelda’s resting hand on her hip squeezed, eyebrows furrowed as she glared right at the Scot.

“Hilarious. Were you the jester in your podunk village?”, Zelda sneers.

Rowena’s red brows flew up, but the wry smile never went away. “Is that all ya can come up with?”, she retorts. “At least ya find me humorous.”

Zelda’s jaw set as she scrutinized the smaller girl. “You didn’t want me to forget that you were a poor simple girl the other night. You want people to pity you, don’t you? It’s pathetic.”

Rowena scoffed and snickered shaking her head. Satan, in Hell, she was irritating.

“Bold of ya to say, spoiled brat. It’s so easy to look down on those beneath ya, eh? Ya think I want pity? Why do ya even think I am here?”

Zelda shifted in place clearly not wanting to deal with her right now, toes turned back toward the door to her dorm.

“You’ve got nowhere to go...”, she began stepping closer so she towered over the seated girl. “You need a roof over your head, food in your belly, someplace to mooch off of. You may be a young witch, but you are standing in a great Academy for witches who want to learn, want to let the Dark Lord into one’s life. You don’t just come here to use this as your lounging spot.”, Zelda spat as she nudged toward Rowena’s seat.

Rowena narrows her green cat-shaped eyes. She slowly gets up, her nose nearly grazing Zelda’s chin. It miffed her that Zelda would take advantage of her height to be intimidating. Rowena sniffed as her eyes wandered up to gaze into those stormy blue eyes. She could smell that wonderful scent: fresh strawberries, lilies in the field. A part of Rowena wanted to be enveloped in that scent forever, wanted to test those beautiful red lips before her. Freak the girl out? No way. No one ever talked about the temptations of wanting the same sex. Rowena slowly discovered that the moment she saw the curious gaze of Zelda Spellman.

She wasn’t alone. Oh no, Zelda thought about gripping her red locks and giving into her temptation as well. The Dark Lord did say everyone had their own free will to take as they wanted, to sup and lap at every desire. No, she couldn’t desire the stranger. How dare she speak to her the way she did and still appeared as pretty as she did?

Zelda lifted her chin lightly appearing still to be mightier than the smaller girl. She couldn’t let herself give into those emerald eyes, those pouted pink lips, those amazing spackles of freckles on her porcelain skin. Her skin must have been soft, but her hands looked calloused and worn from what seemed to have been manual labor.

This temptation she would not submit to.

“Ya couldn’t be more wrong. In fact, I start classes tomorrow. I have just been trying to catch up on a few studies. You’ll be seeing me around a bit longer. I hope yer ready for that.”, Rowena spoke lowly and then gave her a smile like a crocodile. “I hope yer ready to see what I’m made of.”

Zelda scoffs trying to show her she didn’t fear her-not in the slightest. “Is that a threat?”, she asks quietly, eyes briefly glancing at those pink lips, mouth nearly watering to try them.

Rowena bit that cute lower lip as those deep green eyes seemed to glint brighter in mirth. “I assure ya it’s no threat. It’s a promise.”

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The next day, Zelda entered the earliest to her favorite class of the day: Spellwork and Conjuration. She polished off her workspace and organized her ink jar and quill to the right corner of her desk. She smiled as she pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, taking in the nice smell of new parchment paper. She loved to learn, loved to show off how much she absorbed being such an avid learner.

Zelda tried not to think about what Rowena said yesterday. So far, she didn’t have a class with her-how would she prove her ‘point’?

The rest of the class started to file in. They settled in their seats ready to learn. Zelda folded her hands in front of herself, sitting upright, but ready to pick up that quill when she needed to. All seemed to go well, until...she walked in.

Zelda’s blue eyes narrowed following the messy-haired petite witch as she made her way to the teacher’s desk. She bowed her head politely, which made Zelda roll her eyes. Of course she would do that. Being all proper-like, like she wasn’t raised in a barn.

“Oh look, better not catch the hay fever from Farm Girl.” Zelda sneered toward her friends as Rowena walked past her desk to find her spot.

The other girls snorted and eyed the smaller girl down, thinking they found their new harrowing target. Rowena ignored them, chin lifted and unamused as she sat down primly. She sets her textbook down and brings out a quill and ink jar. Unlike the rest, her quill was weathered and old, and her jar barely had a drop left.

“Okay, settle down, witches and warlocks. Now, if we can begin our lesson. Ahh...Rowena, I see you need a refill...”, Professor Ghastly began. He lifted a finger and her jar refilled.

Rowena gaped in surprise and smiled. “Thank you, Professor, sir.”, she replied sounding so refined as she sat upright ready to learn.

Zelda could not help but roll her eyes at this. There was no way her favorite teacher could take this peasant seriously. She didn’t even have her dress all the way buttoned at the front, the collar not propped up around her neck, rather it flopped down. Her messy curls were all astray and her fingers were already stained with ink from perhaps having used it in earlier classes. Yet, the way her green eyes lit up, eager to learn, eager to take in this lesson-the same enthusiasm Zelda had about learning made her wonder: would she take this class seriously? There had been no doubt that Rowena acted theatrically about everything, acting horribly to get her way-oh no. All that little teenaged girl had to do was bat those gorgeous eyes and she’d get her way. At least Zelda had her peers on her side, for now at least.

"Now for today’s lesson, we’re getting right back into trapping a demon into an archeron. You see, many warlocks of our time have created this contraption in efforts to seal away the most abhorrent or pesky demons that victimize a witch or warlock’s home. You see, the home of a spellcaster is the most vulnerable for what reason...Mr. Redburn.”, Professor Ghastly begins his lesson and calls on Bradley.

Bradley Redburn snaps out of his daze as some of the students turn to face him. Professor Ghastly loved to call on those who weren’t paying attention. If one had been asleep, he would place a simple ,harmless charm to jolt them awake. It amused him greatly as it had the students.

“Uhh...”, Bradley contemplates as he plays with his fingernails. He obviously had no idea what the answer was. It annoyed Zelda to bits that no one could be as passionate about these lessons as her.

“uhh...”, he drones on again and averts his gaze from his patient professor. “Because that’s where people sleep?”, he finally guesses.

Professor Ghastly sighs unsatisfied by that answer. “You’re on the right track. Ms. Spellman...”

Zelda perks up in her seat ready to answer.

“Why is a spellcaster’s home vulnerable?”, He asks again knowing very well Zelda could get them through the lesson.

Zelda knew people envied her for her attainable knowledge. If anything, it made Zelda feel special. It made her feel proud that she added nothing but respect to the Spellman name.

“It is vulnerable because a spellcaster’s home is known to be the heart of their power. You see, most spellcasters...”, she glances at Rowena wanting her to know she didn’t belong here. “have a long line to their name. They remain in the family home, where magic is built upon, where the ancestors remain to guide their successors to improve their bloodline. Destroying the heart would destroy the very thing that connects a spellcaster to their family, their honor. A demon may want to attack that to test us in the Dark Lord’s name. If we pass the test, the Dark Lord rewards us.”

Rowena tries not to scoff at the so obvious hit below-the-belt comment thrown from Zelda. Nonetheless, she takes notes on Zelda’s answer, finding that part very vital in learning the culture of this coven-family was important.

Professor Ghastly’s expression brightens as he pats Zelda’s shoulder and walks on through the aisle of desks. “Very good, Ms. Spellman. If you would all focus on your studies, you would understand the importance of defense. You should not let anything deceit your family name. The Dark Lord will smile upon future lines as long as you remain in good graces with him. You must understand he doesn’t mean to foil with us, make us feel small. We owe it to him to accept his tests and gladly do as he tells us. Now, I am going to show you diagrams of different archerons.”

Professor Ghastly made his way to the front of the classroom. He waves his hand over the chalkboard chanting under his breath. Before their eyes, an archeron was drawn on the board, filled with runes and sigils at every angle. The students watch in awe.

“This is an example of an archeron. A warlock and friend of mine created this trapping a demon who tried to snatch his children from his beds. Now sigils and runes make a spell, whether that be just specific to the demon or it be dependent on a warlock or witch’s background. Do any of you recognize these runes?”

Everyone in the room is silent as they observe the picture. Zelda redraws one of the runes on her parchment paper as if to help her decipher it. In all honesty, it had her stumped. She swore she never saw this before. She couldn’t have missed a lesson unless this was something they were yet to go over.

Suddenly everyone whips around in their seats seeing a fair, small hand raise up. Zelda follows their gazes and finds they’re observing Rowena herself. She knew? No way...

Professor Ghastly’s brows rose though he didn’t look so surprised. It’s like he felt like she would have known. Were they in cohoots?

“Yes, Ms. Macleod. What do you know about these runes?”, Professor Ghastly questions as he sits at the corner of his desk.

Rowena barely took notice at the eyes on her. She clears her throat and sits up more in her chair, legs uncrossing beneath her desk. “They’re Celtic.”, she responds. “I have seen those on some of the old monuments in my village. I studied them as they are a part of my culture and within my family line on my mum’s side. Those specifically translate to ‘The ‘napper of the furnace, ye shall not snatch the children of the Night. They are the future and are in the hands of the Dark Lord when they’re ready to give in’. It is clear that the warlock who created this has Celtic or Gaelic origins or...if we’re to be specfic...”

The students lean forward in their seats in innate curiosity. Zelda feigned disinterest, but she wanted to hear more, especially from that accent of hers. She licked her lower lip quickly and held onto her quill.

“It is the demon Fideal. It is known to inhabit a body of water-to drag down women and children to their deaths. Perhaps, the warlock’s children had been playing by the water and so he decided to trap the demon once and for all.”, Rowena finished and leaned back in her chair looking pleased with herself.

Fideal? Zelda never heard of that demon. How ironic, that the demon in this lesson was one from her homeland.

Professor Ghastly chuckled and nodded. “Very good, Ms. Macleod. It seems you could teach us a thing or two about your culture.”

Rowena flashed him this bright smile. “I would love that, Professor.”

Zelda nearly broke her quill, teeth gritting in irritation. She couldn’t get her favorite professor to like her too.

“Wonderful. Now, yes, it is not always the spellcaster’s origins that inspire a spell or trap although, using one’s family’s skill to outwit a demon is always helpful. You see, you also need to know your enemy. Not only should we take into account on what we know of ourselves, we must also be comfortable in learning to adapt-to use what we learn to expand our knowledge to perfect our powers.” Professor Ghastly went on and then turned his back to create a new picture.

Zelda looked at her trembling quill, her nerves and anger getting the better of her. She twisted her lips in thought, giving a quick glance toward the satisfied Rowena. She put two and two together forming a most delicious plan. Zelda formed a smirk reeling her attention to her ink jar. She lightly dabbed her quill as if attempting to write some more. She lifts the quill and yawns before flicking it in Rowena’s direction to splatter her with ink.

Zelda’s friends watched knowing very well what would happen in anticipating. They covered their mouths from an eruption of laugher.

What Zelda didn’t expect was Rowena’s attentiveness.

As the ink flew, making its way in Rowena’s direction, drops almost landing on her nose and the white drooped collar of her dress, her hand lifted halting the drops in place. Her green eyes changed, emitting this bright purple glow. The drops hovered in place, pulsating, awaiting for their permission to move again.

The room grew silent, jaws all agape in surprise. Zelda gasped inaudibly, the sound caught in her throat. Zelda paled and gulped wondering what Rowena’s next move could be. How did she do that? No witch she met could do that, could just freeze time without an utter of a chant or spell.

Professor Ghastly turned on his heels feeling this energy in the air. He himself stood there in shock. This witch was like no other witch-no, she was different. He marveled at how composed she made herself to be, her glowing eyes concentrated at even the tiniest drops missed barely by the human eye. It’s like she could even freeze the entire room with that magnitude of power in that petite body of hers.

Rowena held her breath before exhaling and pushing the droplets forward. Her eyes dimmed, hand lowering. The droplets fell right on the floor in front of her desk, nearly missing Lottie Scuzman’s hair, landing inches away from her chair leg.

Zelda did not move a muscle. Her throat dried. What was she? No witch can be that powerful, can she? Zelda turned in her seat quickly and set her quill down. Rowena did not back away from her promise. She did not expect this.

“...w-wow.”, Professor Ghastly stammered and fixed his composure. “I-where did you learn that?”

Rowena shrugged and tapped her ink-stained fingers on her desk. “As long as I can remember, I’ve been able to do that. My mum would tell me it’s because I am a natural witch.”, she explained. “Also, as long as I knew how to defend myself...I wouldn’t need a spellbook.” At this, she looked right at Zelda.

Zelda didn’t need to look at her to know her eyes bore on her. Rowena: 1, Zelda: 0.

Zelda hid her face of defeat.

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Spellman Home-the Holidays in the Past.

Being back home is what Zelda dreaded the most. She hated the holidays. This would mean she would have to face her father, Wilbur Reginald Spellman. Most would say Zelda resembled a lot of her father, with the strong chin, her blue eyes, and uptight demeanor. What her immediate family members would say is that they butted heads solely because they resembled each other in personality.

Vesta Gale Spellman, her mother, is the silent submissive type. She hung on to every word of her husband with little to no opinion on her own. Still, she was pretty to look at with her fair strawberry blonde hair and her hazel eyes. She serves the family dinner and then pushes in the youngest Spellman’s seat with a light brow raised.

“Sit up, Hildegarde, dear.”, she chided the youngest quietly.

Hilda. Sweet little innocent Hilda. Next year, Zelda’s little sister would attend the Academy of the Unseen Arts. Tomorrow night was her Dark Baptism. Zelda hid her enthusiasm that finally her little sister would be signing her name away to the Dark Lord’s book. She knew deep down her sister had her doubts. Every night, whenever Zelda was home away from school, she would taunt her sister, giving her fiendish nightmares so that should would finally give in and stop being afraid of that important night. She couldn’t squander the Spellman name. Zelda, in fact, was doing her a favor. If Hilda didn’t participate, she would find herself in one of Father’s fits of rage. Hilda knew going to the Academy meant she would never escape the terrorism of her older sister.

Zelda could not wait to harrow her little sister. She counted on it.

However, Edward had one more year in the Academy. Hilda would be safe in her first year. It made Zelda boil with anger that Edward always defended Hilda. Hilda’s growing of a backbone would simply be a necessity, a lesson granted by a loving older sister.

The children waited until their father joined the table so that they all may join in prayer to the Dark lord. Wilbur cleared his throat and set a napkin neatly on his lap.

“Good evening, children. Welcome back home, Zelda and Edward. Hildegarde, you will start next year. Your Dark Baptism starts tomorrow at midnight. Are you ready to take in the Dark Lord?”

Everyone turned their attention over to the youngest. Hilda’s eyes hardly met her father’s. She nearly trembled in his presence, always having feared him. She fixes a small strand of her blonde hair before answering sheepishly.

“Yes, Father.”

Wilbur accepts that response and nods. “Very well. Now, let us join in prayer. Dark Lord, may you continue to guide this family in your beautiful darkness and present even more wisdom into our lives so that we may continue to grow our line with the Spellman wit. We will present our last child to your grace tomorrow at the blood moon. We thank you for providing our sustenance, our power, and the shelter that covers our heads. Praise Satan.”

They all murmur ‘Praise Satan’ after him. In synchronicity, they pick up their forks to eat, Hilda being the only one who doesn’t dig right in and picks around to eat the vegetables, of course.

Zelda ponders on her father’s prayer. Not everyone had always had a roof over their heads. She thought about Rowena. She came so far and must have gone through so much to finally have a roof, to have warm food to eat, water to drink. It must have been because her name had not been written in the Book. Perhaps, Father Mephisto would organize a Dark Baptism for Rowena as well. As if the coven would accept her. Zelda pushed her thoughts away and shook her head. That girl thought she was so great with her...not-so-interesting powers. Still, a part of her begged to know more, begged to see more...longed to learn from this ‘natural’ witch.

“Father...”, Zelda piped up after a long uncomfortable silence. “What is a natural witch?”

Wilbur set his fork down and stared at his plate. His brows rose in surprise, blue eyes searching for his wife’s hazel ones. Vesta shared the same expression, but did not say a word as usual.

“Where have you heard of this? Have they been teaching of things outside of the Dark Lord’s realm?”, he interrogated.

Everything felt like an interrogation around Wilbur. He did not know how to make a room lively. His demeanor matched the darkness of the family home. Only Edward and Hilda’s rare smiles could lighten up a room when their father was away.

“What do you mean outside of the Dark Lord’s realm?”, Zelda asked eyes filled with piqued curiosity.

Edward wiped his lips with his napkin, head tilting in the same growing curiosity his sister had. Hilda chewed on a piece of squash, round green eyes filled with intrigue. Both of her siblings waited for their all-knowing father’s response.

Wilbur did not expect that question, but he knew better than to underestimate his daughter’s irritating yet brilliant mind.

“There are witches who have their source elsewhere and there are those who have powers unexplained. Powers bestowed to them by birth.”, Wilbur explained. “Those born with this are misguided, not having the Dark Lord in their lives. It is all heresy. That is why the Dark Lord does not protect them unless they give themselves over.”

Zelda furrows her brows, her calculating mind stewing. “If they are born with such abilities, where do they get it from?”, she pressed on, teeth ripping the mortal flesh from her fork.

Vesta shakes her head at Zelda’s curiosities. She taught Zelda better than to keep questioning what is outside of the Dark Lord’s reach. She hoped it wouldn’t give her these ideas.

“Why are you asking such horrendous questions? Do we need to speak to your Professors?”, Wilbur’s voice grew an octave.

Vesta places a hand on her husband’s shoulder as if to sate on an upcoming battle-the usual occurrence at the Spellman table between father and daughter. She didn’t want to have to deal with both disastrous tempers. Wilbur visibly calmed, shoulders slowly releasing their tension.

“My dear, remember what the physician said about your hypertension.”, Vesta murmured.

Wilbur sniffed and rolled his eyes. “Your daughter is asking the inquiries of a heretic.”

Zelda shut her eyes counting to ten before daring to defend herself. She hated that her father took things to the extreme.

“I am asking because the Academy took in this new witch. She has not signed her name in the Book. She was brought in from the storm and had nowhere to go.”, Zelda began to explain.

Wilbur scoffed beginning his retort, “Since when do we unquestionably take in a witch? How do we know she isn’t a spy?”

Edward cleared his throat before he spoke up on behalf of his sister. “Father Mephisto grant it so.”, he responded calmly. “He foresees the Dark Lord bringing her to us so that we may perhaps guide her on her way.”

Oh yes, perhaps if Zelda dissuaded the intruder from the Dark Lord, then she wouldn’t further invade their lives.

Wilbur lowered his gaze to the table. “If...”, he takes a sharp inhale. “Father Mephisto bade it so, then he is correct. The Dark Lord speaks to him. Perhaps, the Dark Lord should usher the child onto the Path of Night.”

Zelda stifled a scoff and played with her food this time. She still yearned to know more. “As I was saying, the girl had been taken in. In class yesterday, we discovered...something strange about her. She revealed glowing eyes as she froze an object.” Her blue eyes moved over to her father who paled in shock. “By your countenance, something tells me you know exactly what this is.”

Hilda’s eyes widened as she glanced between her sister and her father. “Her eyes glowed and froze something?”, she spoke up, voice pitched slightly higher.

Wilbur balled his fists and maintained his composure. “Yes, I have heard of this. What you witnessed was indeed that of a...natural witch.”, the last part subdued.

Zelda’s eyebrows quirked, brain marveling at the thought something more to their dark path existed-something she could use against the girl. “And where does a natural witch get their powers?”

Wilbur actually appeared stumped. “Natural witches are rare, Zelda.” He sat up straight before he continued. “In fact, not one of us know where they get it from. Most have died in the time of the Greendale Thirteen. Apparently, they weren’t wise enough to hide themselves in the shadows, thinking they could win over the mortals with their...mystique.”

He sounded almost rigid with his explanation as if he did not agree with the ways of a natural witch. Zelda took note of this.

“But perhaps if the Dark Lord commands it, we must welcome the new witch. He presents us with a test. If we change the ways of this young witch, then we may have more power on our side to the Path of Night. We mustn’t disobey the Dark Lord’s wishes, can we?”

Zelda sets her jaw as she holds contact with her father, the room being still and tense. She slowly nods in agreement with her father.

“Of course, Father. We shan’t.”, she replies with a small grin and fingers crossed behind her back.

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To be continued... ;)

#caos #spn #fanfic #zowena #zelda spellman #rowena macleod #spn rowena #romance #horror #Zelda #Rowena #witches #femslash

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nura-winderson · 4 years

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so for reasons I happen to have a Demonomicon lying around in my house, so I figured why not check on our lovely Obey me! boys to see what folklore says about them?

*possible spoilers ahead*

Lucifer

The translation of the name is “Lightbringer”. The name was to be used to point out the planet Venus, the brightest object on the sky that fights the Sun’s light - explaining how this got transferred to the rebellion against God.

Christan lore refers to the this name as the synonim for Satan, and soon became a forbidden word to be even said out loud.

Hebrew lore remembers Lucifer as the prideful cherub of Eden, the garden of God, his body covered in gold, diamonds, ruby, emerald and several other gems. After God has named him to be the guardian of all living beings, he intended to meet with God as equals and therefore was precipitated first to Earth and later to Seol.

In the 19th century a luciferian religion has risen implying that Lucifer was the positive figure showing through the pages of the Old Testament and has marked Jahve or Adonai the evil entity, even claiming the Lucifer and his followers are the real creators of Earth.

Mammon

The demon of richness, greediness.

His name translates to “money, wealth”, originating from the middle-eastern word mammon, which can be even found in the Bible: “ No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and mammon (money).” (Matthew 6,24). In some translations of the script not everyone has recognized the meaning of the word mammon, which resulted in some translations as a reference to an evil pagan entity, and the demon was born.

In Johannes Weyer’s Pseudomonarchia deamonum he’s remembered as the british embassador of Hell

Leviathan

Lord of the Seas, in Johannes Weyer’s Pseudomonarchia deamonum he’s mentioned as “Admiral of Hell” or “Minister of the Sea”.

His symbol of the most infamous of them all, even used as the emblem of the Church of Satan: a goat- or devilskull in the middle of a downwards pointing pentragram. The pentagram is surrounded by 2 rings and 5 hebrew letters: L V I T N, the hebrew name for Leviathan.

In ancient jewish folklore and also in the Bible he doesn’t appear as a demon but rather as the world’s greeatest aquatic monster. When God created the seas, he decided let Leviathan take the throne underwater and command the seas and all living beings in it. He feeds of aquatic dragons, and when he rages of hunger or thirst he causes water ripplings that take 77 years to calm.

In some folklore he’s mentioned and the gigantic entity that can only be seen in the horizon of the seas, his body so large noone has ever seen it entirely, and has been discribed as swimming in a circle around the oceans biting on his own tail (similar to Jormungand in Norse mythology).

In the Babilonian Talmud Rab Safra has once spotted an enormous being swimming in the ocean, his two horns had engraved inscription that read: “This tiny being which only lengths 300 miles is on it’s way to serve as food for Leviathan”

Satan

Does not have his own title, however the words “Satan” does come up in the chapters of Lucifer and Samael.

Asmodeus

Hebrew legends claim him as the serial killer demon birthed by Lilith and Adam. According to the apocryphal book of Tobit, Asmodeus, smitten with love for Sarah, killed six or her successive husbands on their wedding nights. Following instructions given to him by the angel Raphael, Tobias overcame Asmodeus and married Sarah. Later in the Testament of Abraham he again appears as preventer of spouses’ lovelife.

In other legends he’s not presented as evil as previously, rather as the demon of Ursa Maior he helps in different sorceries. For example in the Testament of Solomon he helped in buiding the Jerusalem Temple along with other enslaved demons. It is also said that when God punished Solomon for his overwhelming arrogance, Asmodeus was the one to claim the throne during his punishment in disguise.

Beelzebub

Lord of the Flies, one of the most infamous and powerful rulers of Hell. The first mention of him in the Bible is when Jesus performes exorcism and is accused of working together with Beelzebub, later even that he himself is the Lord of Flies.

The origin of the name has several theories, including Baal-zebub, God of Ekron, who’s messengers are represented as flies. Another theory points out that the ancient jew cultur had the “zabulus” expession which has a distorted verios of the greek “diabolos” which may has been combined with the phoenician Baal (god, lord), hence creating a “lord of devils”.

In both the Middle-East and Egypt several sacred artifacts have been discovered which gives an idea that some kind of fly-based cult may have existed. Plinius has also left records behind indicating that roman and syrian temples have presented sacrifies for flies and the Lord of Flies here names Achor.

In the Middle Ages Beelzebub was presented as the fallen monarch of the serafs, who stands just below Lucifer in the hierarchy of Hell. In other scripts however he is portrayed as standing just above Lucifer.

In Collin de Plancy’s Dictionnaire Infernal he’s illustrated as a fly who’s wings are covered in skulls and bones.

Belphegor

He also originates back to the Middle-East, his name probably comes from Baal-Peor, Baal meaning God or Lord and Peor being a mountain, he’s the Lord of Peor Mountain, possibly a regional pagan god.

In the Middle Ages he’s referenced as the wealth-bringing demon, later on additionally he’s the helper of those seeking technological or scientifical discoveries. In the Pseudomonarchia daemonum he’s mentioned as the french ambassador of Hell.

Machiavelli’s Belphegor is most likely to be thanked for his fame. In this comedy he’s sent to the human world to find out if spousal loyalty truely exists. He interviewes numerous married men and women only to claim that the rumors are false.

John Wilson’s comedy Belphegor of the Marriage of the Devil as the name implies even matches him up.

Italian and french tv series have also been created with him being the lead character, the latter became a movie later on.

Diavolo

Does not have his own title.

Barbatos

The 8th demon of Lemegeton, always surrounded by four demon kings and three demon legions. If made a pact with, he can provide excessive information on science and may lead to treasures locked away by magic. Knows all the secrets of past, present and future and can communicate with animals.

Simeon

Does not have his own title in the book, however he does appear in the Eastern Ortodox Church, claiming he is one of the 72 translators of the greek Old Testament.

Luke

Does not have his own title, but he might be the angelic verios of Luke the Evangelist who did become Saint Luke and is patron saint of artists, physicians, bachelors, surgeons, students and butcher.

Solomon

Does not have his own title, but King Solomon is referenced several times as the sorcerer enslaver of demons. The Testament of Solomon is not considered canonical in either jewish or christian lore however it does contain numerous theological and magical themes ranging from Christianity and Judaism to Greek mythology and astrology that possibly hint at a Christian writer with a Greek background. He posseses a ring with the Seal of God (a pentagram pointing upwards) which he received from the archangel Michael and which gives him the power to command demons.

He eventually gains power over Beelzebub who is considered pince of demons, hence Solomon is able to enslave any and all demons.

notes

i think it’s terribly interesting how Levi is a lot closer to gluttony as Beel. I have this headcanon that perhaps originally Levi and Belphie were supposed to be twins (they do look awful similar and think about the character design! they are the only ones with a tail instead of wings), but for some reason (that perhaps we can later learn from the continous story) the characters were swapped.

I also believe that Solomon will have a much bigger part of the story as he has right now.

#obey me #obey me!#obey me masters #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #i hate doing hastags #lucifer #mammon #levi #satan #asmo #beel #belphie

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wintersoldierland · 4 years

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not too broken to fix

part 3 of witch bucky au, which can be found here

also on ao3

For a long while, he doesn’t remember his name.

Not just because of the HYDRA but because of the many many memories, tangled together. Thousands of years all bound by his memory, different names, genders, religions, races. He remembers them all yet none of them.

He remembers being Veles, the Slavic god; Tezcatlipoca, an Aztec deity; Anulap, a god of magic in Truk Island mythology; Hecate of the Greeks; Baba Yaga of Russian folklore; a witch in eastern Europe, over and over again; a witch in Salem, burning bright with the flames of stakes.

He remembers it all.

Most of all, he remembers Tony. Not always named that, not always looking like he does now, but he remembers his soul, bright with creation. His wife, companion, husband, lover, forever love.

He remembers it all and none of it.

It’s confusing, so he runs. He gets on a plane, then a train, then a bus, and ends up in rural Azerbaijan, surrounded by mountains and old, abandoned villages. Something is tugging him there, so he sets a base in one building and goes off to explore.

It feels strangely familiar as if he walked those streets before, and when he stands on top of the mountain, with the sun slowly setting around him, he knows where did the memory come from. He looks down, takes a deep breath and throws himself off the ledge.

For a second, there’s only wind and quietness, but then his memories surge up and James takes a deep breath of the cold, mountain air, before calling his magic to him and changing shape.

A raven soars over the hills and James’s mind heals.

He lets out a happy sound and lets the wind take him, over the familiar mountains and long-abandoned villages. Over paths lit with magic and old stories, forgotten for generations. James soars and feels free.

It’s something he forgot about, but now it sings in his blood. A witch cannot be tamed, cannot be bound. A witch of Old Magic is always wild.

James relishes in his newfound freedom and his mind drifts to Tony. His Tony, who exists in this world, who is as brilliant as always, a creator to the bone.

There’s a reason why he was the deity of creation so many times, even without direct magic in his soul. They’re tied together and James knows he’ll come back to him. Sooner or later he’ll come back when he puts himself back together enough to protect his heart. His little genius.

He flies for miles, never tiring, magic surging in his small body, thousands of years of memories slowly starting to set in their place.

James remembers their last meeting, how small but fierce Tony was, how curious. How his soul recognized James’s, even amidst the magic and darkness of the All Soul’s Day. If he could smile, he would.

There’s something soothing in seeing the lands below him pass, in the cold air of the wind, of the Old Magic of the Earth. James can feel it calling to him, the skies rejoicing that he’s back. It feels like coming to the childhood home, not quite where his heart lies now but filled with good memories. He flies and flies and his magic trails behind him, a bright blue hoe on a black sky.

He thinks of Tony and his heart sings, anticipating their meeting, even as he lands and gets lost in the small, people-filled cities near the rivers. James soaks up the atmosphere, builds himself back, brick by brick, learns to smile again. There’s a lot that can’t be fixed so soon, even if his months of travels, but it’s a start. He’s not scared of himself anymore.

James starts to practice his magic again. Helps the villagers, makes flowers for the girls, makes butterflies from his hands, heals a pregnant woman. He heals others and by that, he heals himself.

It feels good to be useful again. He’s always been a helper, even as a god. Put on the Earth to aid humans, mortals, in their short lives. Make it a bit easier. He feels more like himself, more like Bucky Barnes, more like Veles and Anulap, like Evelyn of the Rhear village, helping her neighbours with her gentle magic; like a witch.

It’s good.

He comes back to Irland, where he traces back the steps of druids he once belonged to, visits Newgrange and spends the winter solstice there, laughing when the rays of Saturn and the Sun warm up his core. He revisits his many roots, takes from the Earth and gives back.

Eventually, James visits Peggy Carter who’s old and weak but her spirit is strong. She remembers him as the witch, not as Bucky Banes, but James just smiles and presses something into her shaking hands.

“You remembered,” she says softly, watching the small stone statue with gleaming emeralds emerge. James smiles bitterly.

“It’s a work in process.”

She just laughs. “You’re a good man. A good witch. It is my time, isn’t it?”

He sighs and squeezes her hand with his metal one, so reminiscent of the black one he always has. The price of his magic. “It’s close,” James admits.

Peggy just nods, content. “I had a good life,” she tells him. “I love my husband very much, and maybe I’ll meet him this time.”

James looks at the energy around her and chuckles when he notices the fierce pink hue around her heart. “He loves you too, very much. I don’t know the future, but you’re strong. Sometimes it takes a bit of waiting.”

“You know something about it,” Peggy snickers. For a second, his magic works and James sees her as young and beautiful as she was during the war, dressed in her uniform. It makes him warm.

“It’s worth it,” he replies.

“I know.”

They sit in silence some more before she stirs again. “It’s time for you to go,” she says. “Thank you for visiting.”

James laughs and kisses her forehead. “I had something to return to you.”

They don’t say goodbyes, they’ll meet again. Sometime.

He leaves, feeling lighter than he has in years, and then promptly escapes New York before Steve can find him. James remembers him, he really does, but he’s not ready to come back yet. There are things waiting for him still.

This time, he doesn’t take the plane, he just changes into a raven and flies, for miles and miles, watching as land turns to water and then back to land again before the Andes start towering over him. There, James finds his old path and lands on a ledge.

The old kingdom stretches below him, bright green and pulsing with life. James can feel the pollution of humans who have no idea just how old and powerful those lands are, so he sits down and breathes slowly.

His magic stretches over the jungle and the earth welcomes him, recognizing him even with centuries that have passed. James smiles and lets himself get lost in slowly healing what’s broken. Countless souls come to kneel before him, and then go home, where they belong.

It’s exhausting, but also rewarding, healing something so old and powerful, fixing the damage of years of abuse.

He gets a piece of himself there, a bloody and important one.

The piece of a fierce witch, drawing with blood on people’s faces, standing in the flames and laughing in the faces of gods. Someone bold and cruel, someone capable of anything. It’s not pretty, but James feels stronger, with his dark parts and bad memories.

There’s a weight on his shoulders when he leaves but he stands straighter.

It takes James a few months, and it feels simultaneously like seconds and forever. After all, what are months next to eternity? And what are months while waiting to be reunited with your heart?

He doesn’t hurry though, because he knows Tony will understand. It doesn’t matter if the man remembers because even if he does, he’ll understand. His love is incredibly forgiving and kind. It only makes James love him more.

James keeps tabs on the Avengers, smiles and huffs at Steve, stares at the image of Tony Stark on a shitty TV deep in Bulgarian mountains, smirks when he sees another HYDRA base destroyed. He does his fair share of destroying and dismantling, but it’s not a priority now.

All he wants to do is gather his pieces, glue himself back together and get back to his love.

It’s only right that the day he deems himself right enough is All Soul’s Day. Now called Halloween, he knows, it’s cliche and tacky and the power cracks in the air. Nature doesn’t forget, and neither does James.

He gets on a plane and lands in New York well into the night, and it’s only there that he realizes that something is wrong. Someone is using magic, Old Magic, and using it wrong. James growls when the Avengers appear on the screen fighting and old woman. A wannabe druid at that.

James rolls his eyes and then gets to work.

At the end of the day, he has Tony Stark in his arms, smiling into his neck and his heart feels whole. James doesn’t kiss him yet, because it’s not necessary. Their souls know each other, this meeting a mirror of their last one, and James just closes his eyes, rejoicing in the moment.

There will be time for explanations yet.

#winteriron #bucky barnes #tony stark #avengers #my writing #witch bucky #yes i still love this au with my whole heart #bamf bucky #i will make him op in every fic and you cannot stop me #i loved writing it but its weird idk

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alatismeni-theitsa · 4 years

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answering anti LO anon asks:

(1) Correct me if I’m wrong here, but aren’t the only nymphs who die in mythology connected to cut down trees? Because I’ve never once seen a myth about flower nymphs dying because of picked flowers. I don’t know, just seems like another case of LO making up mythology with no logic or backing and thinking its clever or original. Also didn’t Persephone say she hated the nymphs anyway in comic?? Why would she care if they died?? She said she was going to kill them anyway for not leaving her alone ...

(2) Went thru some lastest eps of LO and Persephone still looks like a baby-faced sex doll with awful hair and Hades deadass looking like a "sexy" redesign of the Disney version. Is that the best she can come up with lol. i thought she was a professional illustrator, isn't character design one of the first things they teach you in illustration courses?

(3) Apparently LO was a trending topic (thanks to the fastpassers flooding their own tag) so i went through it & does anyone have any deep thoughts? It's all the same exact basic reactions. And the panels they post! I know HxP is a popular ship, but the art is so bad & rushed now, it's actually sad. She put so much effort into an onscreen R*PE SCENE but the big romantic moments and "epic" twists are amateurish at best. The characters barely stand out from the backgrounds! There's not even line work!

(4) I feel like this "dark take" (god it's so badly drawn and so stupid because it makes her a villain to anyone NOT wanting to have sex with her) of LO Persephone would have been more impactful if we didn't already know she killed people. Smythe keeps putting in spoiling panels (Her killing people, her as Queen, etc) well before it happens that it just loses impact. Sometimes it's better to naturally build up to a shocking moment versus just getting a cool panel or cliffhanger.

(5) "Murderous Persephone" would be a fine of a take if it was used to comment on the cruelty of the gods and how even they can go too far (Like Zeus showing regret during the Trojan War) and even showing her as WRONG in her actions, because even at the end of the day the gods still had to look over humanity and she didn't. LO doesn't want that though, they'll butcher Persephone to be completely awful and unjustified just as a cheap "badass" moment instead of saying she's being downright evil.

____________________________________________________________

(1) Tbh I don’t know much about deaths of Nymphs. However Greeks were never against the practice of picking flowers. If picking flowers killed nymphs then I imagine we wouldn’t do it traditionally and we would have cautionary tales for that. I am not sure if cutting down trees killed them either. It doesn’t make sense when your culture relays on wood that you would make it a negative thing to cut trees. Now, if you cut down a sacred tree (where the nymph lives or if she is the embodiment of the tree) then yeah that would be bad. If you have found sources on that I would love to see them, since I don’t know much on the matter. But for the flower thing I am 99% certain Smythe took that out of her ass.

(2)+(3) I guess she keeps the style because it’s what brought her fame. Many people like it so it doesn’t make sense to change it. But I agree, the quality is low and I would love to see something better, especially now that she can afford helpers and taking breaks. Plus, don’t expect anything deep from this comic. It deals with serious issues but not in a serious way...

(4) I think she put those spoiling panels there as a teasing effect and, for me, it kinda worked. Maybe it makes people anticipate learning about the past and the future of Persephone. She kept that “dark secret“ for many episodes so the readers keep reading. Obviously, it didn’t work for everyone...

(5) True. It seems she can’t make up her mind about the morality of the gods. She wants them to be appealing to 21st century teenagers so the narrative adopted the human morality. So, Persephone did something really “evil“ according to human standards and the narrative should deal with it that way. If the narrative pushes the “look how badass Persephone is“ then... this morality doesn’t make sense. We are expected to judge Persephone but then... not judge her?

#anti lo #answered

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tipsycad147 · 5 years

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Wolf Gods and Goddesses

Where Did Wolf Gods and Goddesses Originate?

One of the most majestic and cunning of the animal kingdom is the wolf. Dating back thousands of years are stories of wolf gods and goddesses. All over the world, shamans of each culture have revered the wolf for its swiftness, but also for their instinctual abilities and wild freedom. Wolf medicine is strong medicine, or so they say. Unfortunately, in past years wolves were killed off because of superstition, so there aren’t nearly as many wolves as there once was. But wolves endure. And so do the myths of gods and wolves. The wolf gods detailed here are: Odin, Lycaon, and Mars. And the wolf goddesses: The Morrighan, Skadi, Artemis, Diana, and Leto.

Gods and goddesses of the ancient world often held a special connection with wolves. Some say this is because the beliefs of our ancestors were animistic – they believed everything in nature had consciousness including animals. Wildlife was thought of as sacred in ancient times, and there are scholars who believe ancient land guardian spirits were worshipped by ancient tribes and would eventually rise to become great gods and goddesses. To find an image of a god or goddess in the likeness of an animal was commonplace. Some of the more obvious animal-god connections can be seen on the ancient temple walls in Egypt. For example, the ibis-headed god Thoth. Or the hawk-headed god Horus. Wolf gods and goddesses were depicted with the heads of wolves, transformed into wolves, or were strongly associated with wolves.

Artemis and Diana have a close connection with Greek wolves.

Artemis & Diana: Wolf Goddesses of the Woods

Artemis is the Greek Goddess of the hunt, the forest, archery, chastity, and the moon. She was also a protector of women and children and was known to heal women’s injuries and disease. When depicted, Artemis was nearly always shown with animals of some kind – most often with dogs or deer. This is because her domain was the forest, and therefore all wildlife within the forest was under her guidance. This would have included wolves.

If you are to research Artemis, you will find mostly references to her link with hunting dogs. The Greek God Pan gave Artemis a pack of hunting dogs of which Artemis takes seven when she goes hunting. Her connection with the moon serves to tell us that any animal with a draw towards the moon would be favored in Artemis’ eyes. Therefore, wolves, the primal original canines who so love to howl at the moon are also Artemis’ animals.

Diana, the Roman Goddess of the Moon, was thought to be Artemis’ Roman equivalent. They had many of the same qualities and attributes including domain over the forest and wildlife therein. Diana was the Roman Goddess of the Moon, just as Artemis was the Greek Goddess of the Moon. She ruled over the woodland creatures, which would include wolves. She was also a protector of women and children. In recent times, wolves have come to be associated with the “primal” or “wild” woman, essentially taking us back to our primitive instincts and intuition. Diana’s inseparable link with women and the fact that she was a wild forest goddess makes her connection with wolves palpable.

Leto: The Original Greek Wolf Goddess

It’s no wonder Artemis is thought to have wolves in her compendium of animal guardians and helpers, as Artemis’ mother in Greek mythology was Leto. Leto was born on the island of Kos and her parents were Titans. Leto had relations with Zeus and gave birth to Artemis and Apollo. She was a goddess of womanhood and motherhood, and thus the birth of Apollo and Artemis are significant to the Leto myth. The legend says that Leto laboured for days to deliver the twins Artemis and Apollo – this is related to wolves’ difficult delivery of their young. The journey that Leto took from the Hyperboreoi to Delos took twelve days, which is the time it took for wolves to deliver their young in Greek mythology. This made her one of the Greek wolf goddesses. She might have been the original Greek wolf goddess!

Leto was also believed to have had the ability to shift into the form of a wolf. Sometimes she was said to have been a she-wolf and so is linked to Lycia a.k.a. wolf-country. Leto honoured and adored wolves because they were thought to have provided her assistance in her times of need.

Leto was always depicted and worshipped as an important Mother Goddess, and her cult stretched from Greece to Crete to Egypt. She is sometimes depicted with a golden spindle, which mirrors many of the other ancient goddesses across the continent of Europe. A spindle points to the idea of the goddess spinning our fate, as in the Greek myth of the Fates or the Norse Norns.

Skadi is a Norse Wolf Goddess of the Winter and a Giantess.

The Morrighan: Celtic Wolf Goddess

The Morrighan is an ancient Irish (Celtic) goddess of life and death, wisdom, magic, shapeshifting, and war and also one of the Celtic wolf goddesses. She might have originally been three separate goddesses that eventually were merged into a triple-goddess. The Morrighan in her three aspects include Badh, Macha, and Nemain. The Morrighan is almost always seen as a fierce, aggressive goddess with a yearning for blood on the battlefield. She takes no prisoners, and shows little mercy to those who are her enemies. For those she loves – she will do whatever it takes to help them, including shapeshifting into various forms. One of those forms is in the shape of a large grey-red wolf, making her an ancient wolf goddess.

In the Irish epic tale The Cattle Raid of Cooley, the Morrighan takes on many forms in the presence of Cu Chulainn. She trips him while in the form of an eel, then runs all over the cattle in the form of a great wolf. Because the Morrighan is seen as a wild, liberated and independent goddess, it only makes sense that the wolf is one of her animal associations.

Skadi: Goddess of Winter & Wolves

A favorite of the wolf goddesses in ancient Scandinavia was Skadi. Skadi is a Norse Goddess of the Winter and a Giantess. Her plight for revenge against the gods for her father’s death was met with a trick – Odin tricked her into marrying Njord, a god of the sea, instead of Odin’s son, Baldur, of whom Skadi was determined to marry. The two lived together for a short time but the marriage was doomed, as Skadi’s heart was in the mountains and Njord’s was in the sea. Eventually Skadi fell in love with Ulle and they lived in the snowy mountains together.

Skadi often has wolves at her sides, as the Poetic Edda shows. Njord, after returning to the sea from his stay in the mountains with Skadi, mentions how the howling of the wolves kept him awake at night. But Skadi doesn’t mind the howls, she welcomes them. She is one of the wolf pack, and she will forever guard the mountains as her sacred home.

Lycaon: Wolf-Man of Myth

Lycaon, also known as Arcadia, was a mythological king of Arcadia. There were many Greek myths surrounding Lycaon’s life, but the most popular tells of Zeus turning Lycaon into a wolf after Lycaon tried to trick Zeus. Here again we see the “trickster” archetype alive in the myth of Lycaon who is then turned into the trickster-creature – the wolf. The term lycanthropy is directly related to the name Lycaon, and is a disorder in which a person believes he or she is actually a wolf.

There are many versions of the Lycaon myth, but all tell of the king being transformed into a wolf.

Mars, the Wolf Brothers, and Lupercalia Festival

In ancient Rome, there was a wild fertility festival that happened every year on February 15th called Lupercalia. This festival involved a number of bawdy and lascivious acts, including men running around naked chasing women, beating women with sticks to ensure fertility throughout the year, and animal sacrifices of goats and a dog. The priesthood known as the Luperci (brothers of the wolf) were to perform these rites. This festival was put on every year until approximately the fifth century AD, when all pagan holidays and celebrations were outlawed by the Church. What does this have to do with a god and his association to wolves?

If we identify the term Lupercalia, we find that luper translates roughly to wolf. The ancient Romans and Greeks held wolves in high honour and regard, and so the war and agriculture god would come to be associated with the wolves. Romulus and Remus, twin brothers associated with the founding of Rome, were said to have been orphaned by Mars and their orphan mother then suckled by a large she-wolf in a cave known as Lupercal. Fun Harry Potter fact: there is a professor known as Remus Lupin who makes a debut appearance in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Where do you think JK Rowling thought up his name?

Odin and His Wolves

Often we see Odin, the all-father of Norse mythology, shown with two ravens; however, when Odin is not accompanied by his large corvid friends he is flanked by two great wolves named Geri and Freki. The mention of Odin’s wolves comes from the Prose and Poetic Edda. Their characters in the Poetic and Prose Edda demonstrate a warrior quality, in particular a greed for blood and corpses. The names Geri and Freki are translated to be “greedy” and “the ravenous one”. They are destruction that makes way for creation.

Odin has been associated with the Greek God Apollo, who also has an evident connection with wolves and ravens. The Ulfednar in Norse Mythology are wolf-warriors and are referred to as Odin’s fighters. They always wore the pelts of wolves when going into battle.

Odin can come through to his followers as a trickster god (though Loki is known specifically for being THE Norse trickster god) and therefore another connection with wolves is demonstrated. Wolves are thought to be tricksters in many ancient cultures, including in some Native American cultures. Not only are they tricksters, they run in packs, and are ferocious, all qualities shown through the Ulfednar and in Odin, the all-father.

https://otherworldlyoracle.com/wolf-gods-wolf-goddesses/

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Lore Episode 24: A Stranger Among Us (Transcript) - 28th December 2015

tw: death, gore, death of children, disease

Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

Folklore is a living thing. In many ways, the stories we tell and the lessons we pass on are like a tree - the branches reach out into generations and cultures, sometimes in obvious ways, and other times reaching surprising new places. One good example of this would be of the folklore surrounding small fairy people that we’ve discussed here before. Pukwudgies, trolls, goblins, puka and dozens of similar variations are scattered across the world with amazing consistency and reach. How or why is something we’ll probably never fully understand, but it shows us how folklore can spread, how it can migrate, and how it can build upon the past. At the same time, though, folklore has roots, and they run deeper than we might expect. Some stories that we still whisper about in the dark today have crossed the lips of people for centuries, and in some cases, millennia. When I hear a story for the first time or discover a new collection of tales that have been widely distributed, I often stop and ask myself the same questions: where did it come from? What lies at the bottom of the narrative? What are its roots? Outside of Halloween, there is no other time of the year (at least for European cultures, that is) where folklore rushes to the forefront of everyone’s lives with such significance, such power, and such ease as the Christmas season, and rightly so. There is so much there to unpack and explore: the tree, the gifts, the food, and the nocturnal visit from a stranger, one who has seemingly stalked our lives all year long, and yet we blindly welcome into our home. And if there’s one lesson that folklore has taught us over the centuries, it’s to beware of strangers – they aren’t always who they seem to be. I’m Aaron Mahnke and this is Lore.

When we think of coal in our stockings and food and drink left out for a visitor, we rarely pair those ideas with the image of a woman flying through the air on a broomstick, but in Italy there are those who still tell the story of La Befana. Befana’s story has been told since at least the 13th century, originally connected with the Christian feast of the Epiphany. But while many people have never heard of her, the details of her story are eerily familiar. During her visit, Befana was said to enter homes through the chimney. She’s typically depicted carrying a basket or bag full of gifts, but is also known to leave behind a lump of coal or a single stick for children who fail to behave during the year. Before leaving each home, Befana would sweep the floor with her broom, something scholars see as a metaphor for sweeping away the deeds of the previous year, and then she would eat the food left out for her – oftentimes sausage and broccoli. Side note: cookies and milk sound so much better, don’t they? Interestingly enough, Befana is not the only Christmas legend with a passing resemblance to a witch. In the German Alps, there have been stories of another female figure dating back to the 10th century. Some call her Perchta or Berchta, or later Bertha. Jacob Grimm, while researching his Deutsche Mythologie, theorised that she was one of the ancient Germanic mother goddesses. She and her sisters were said to have taught humanity the arts of agriculture, spinning wool and cooking. Over time, though, her legend began to integrate with parts of the Christmas season. Because of her role in teaching humanity the basics of home management, Perchta’s meaning began to shift over the centuries, turning her into the punisher of those who worked during the holidays, failed to feast properly and, much later, hunting down the lazy, and what better time for her to conduct an end of year review, so to speak, than Christmas? Just how did Perchta dish out her punishment on the people of Germany? Well, a hint can be found in her other popular title: the belly-slitter. During the 12 days of Christmas, she would travel through the towns and inspect the people’s behaviour. If they had followed the rules and done right in her eyes, they were rewarded. If they had not been good, though, she was known to have a very nasty side. Anyone disobedient enough to warrant punishment, adult or child alike, would have their stomachs ripped open. Perchta would scoop out whatever might still be inside, pull out the full length of their intestines, and then stuff the victim’s belly with garbage, straw and rocks. While a stomach full of refuse might seem… a little over the top, that distinction actually goes to another ancient female in folklore.

While stories of Grýla, the mythical giant goddess, are far outside the common narrative of Christmas for many of us, for the people of Iceland she is still a whispered source of dread among children. One of the earliest mentions of Grýla dates back to the 13th century collection of Icelandic mythology known as the Edda, written by Snorri Sturluson. According to the many stories told about her over the centuries, Grýla possesses the ability to locate disobedient children. She can do this year-round, so they say, and because of that she was often used as a parental tool to coerce children into doing what they were told. It was in the Christmas season, though, that Grýla became even more monstrous. That was when she was said to climb out of her home in the mountain and make her way toward the towns. She would hunt far and wide for all the naughty children and then take them back to her cave. Once there, she would cut them up, place them in her stew, and devour them. And, according to the legend, she never ran out of food.

There have been other stories of strangers told throughout the centuries, but not all have happy endings. In fact, there is often more loss than gain when it comes to the visits of some of those legends. In the northern Alps, stories have been told for generations about the travelling stranger known as Belsnickel. Considered to be one of the helpers of Saint Nicholas, Belsnickel travels ahead of the big, red man and dispenses his own form of Christmas cheer – with physical abuse. Descriptions of Belsnickel liken him to the wild men of old, with torn and dirty clothes fashioned from animal skins and furs, and a face that is covered in a snarled, filthy beard. Some stories report that he wears a mask with a long tongue protruding from the mouth. According to the legend, which spans centuries in both Germany and the American state of Pennsylvania, Belsnickel would enter the home of a family and scatter nuts and sweets on the floor for the children to collect. And then, with their backs to him, he would lash out with a switch made of hazel or birch, whipping their backs and leaving red marks. And Belsnickel isn’t alone – another travelling stranger from the same region, one who has seen a rise in popularity around the globe, is a creature known as Krampus. At first blush, Krampus sounds similar in many ways to the other strangers in European folklore, but what sets him apart is truly frightening. It is said that Krampus visits the homes of children during the Christmas season, but he doesn’t have a dual nature – there is no reward or special treat when he comes to town. No, his sole purpose and passion in life is to dole out punishment on children who have failed to obey and do their work. Like Belsnickel, he too carries a switch, but in most stories there are more than one. Apparently, he beats so many children that he needs a few spare branches, so he carries them in a bundle. In addition, he is often depicted wearing chains and some form of large sack or cart because ultimately, Krampus isn’t as interested in beating children as he is in taking them. When he arrives in each legend, we are greeted by the appearance of a wild, demonic creature with long horns, cloven feet and a twisted face. After beating the disobedient children, Krampus chains them up and tosses them into his sack before vanishing as quickly as he came, taking the children with him back to hell.

The origins of Krampus are still unclear, but some scholars think that the legend predates Christianity. Instead, they believe that the story has roots in an ancient alpine myth of a horned god of the witches. Even the switch, his weapon of choice, might have been a carry-over from the initiation rites of witches, where the novices were beaten. Far from forgotten, festivals are held throughout Europe to this day that feature many of these legends; events like Krampusnacht in Germany and the Befana festival in Urbania attract tens of thousands, who dress in masks and dance and celebrate. Like Halloween, these are instances where monsters and strangers have been embraced and elevated to something of a children’s story, which is ironic when you understand the roots. Stripping away the detail, Krampus has (from a 30-thousand-foot view) more than a passing resemblance to Pan, the Greek horned god of nature, shepherds, flocks, and mountains. Along with his musical flute, Pan is often known for robbing the innocence from people, usually through sexual means. In a culture that saw the threshold between childhood and adulthood as the loss of virginity, Pan figuratively stole people’s children, and when you think of it that way, it’s more than easy to see similarities, not only between Krampus and Pan, but also between Pan and a character that Disney has helped us all fall in love with: Peter Pan. While he might be able to fly, has no horns and is missing the cloven feet that Pan sports in every image and statue, Peter Pan fulfils the role perfectly. He arrives at night, he carries a flute and lures our children away to another place. It’s a modern story with a familiar ending, but it was far from the first of its kind. That honour, according to some, falls to a small German village in 1284. You might already know the story, but the truth beneath it is far worse than you’d ever expect. In 1284, the German village of Hamlin was struggling with an infestation of rats. Now, I’ve only seen a few rats myself over years, but I also don’t live in a densely populated urban area like New York City or London. But in medieval Europe, from what I can gather, rats were as abundant as squirrels, only bigger and more disease-ridden. It’s hard to imagine the impact that an infestation of rats could have on a town today. If we found a half-eaten bag of flour in the cupboard, there’s a grocery store down the street where we could get more, year-round. But in the Middle Ages, food was grown locally and used throughout the year. If rats ate and ruined the food supplies, there was little a town could do - rats meant death in many instances. According to the story that has been passed down through the centuries since then, a stranger entered Hamelin in the Spring of 1284. He was dressed in colourful clothing, possessed what we might call today as a “silver tongue”, and claimed to have a very unusual, although also very timely, skill – he was a rat catcher. As a profession, rat catching dates back centuries, but it’s rarely seen as a safe and sanitary job. The risk of being bitten or contracting some disease carried by the rats has always been a hazard of the job, and while the exact nature of their involvement has been up for debate for decades, most scholars agree that rats have been key players in the spread of plague - particularly the Black Death of the 14th century, and there were few truly effective tools at their disposal, which made the job that much more difficult. Some rat catchers used a special breed of terrier while others made use of traps, but the most effective tool for centuries was also the most minimal and inexpensive of them all, bare hands - and seeing as how most rats prefer to stay hidden inside dark places, this was a risky technique. The motivation for it all, though, was the meritocracy of it; the more you caught, the more you earned, and while there’s no documented proof of this rumour, it’s been whispered for centuries that rat catchers would sometimes raise their own rats in captivity and then turn them in as part of the job, inflating their numbers and then their pay. This allowed them to pad their pay checks when business was slow, and it also earned them a shady reputation. As a side note, one of the most famous rat catchers in London’s history was a man named Jack Black, who claimed that his black-tan terrier was the father of all the black-tan terriers in London, and who pioneered the art of breeding rats and keeping them as pets. He even wore an outfit made entirely of scarlet cloth, with a big, wide sash across his chest that had two cast iron rats on it. He was probably also a riot at parties, but I can’t confirm that – just a hunch.

The man who walked into Hamelin that June wasn’t any less of a character, if the legends are to be believed. He wore an outrageous outfit, although his was reportedly one of multicoloured fabric that was known back then as “pied” (which was typically a sort of blotchy pattern), and he carried a tool that no other rat catcher claimed to use - a flute - and the mayor of Hamelin trusted the man. Maybe it was the not-so-subtle allusion his appearance made to the ancient stories of the god Pan, a deity who tended flocks of animals and played a flute; maybe it was the man’s marketing ability, that silver tongue and outrageous outfit; perhaps he overpromised and won the mayor’s approval - whatever the reason, this stranger was said to have struck a deal. He would catch all the rats in town, he told the mayor. He would lead them out of the town and away from their lives and he would do this, he said, with his musical instrument, a pipe that he claimed would lure them away. Now, I don’t know about you, but I would have been sceptical. The mayor, though, was desperate. Sure, they haggled over the price, but in the end the stranger won. The exact amount of money differs from version to version of the story, but in all of them it’s an exorbitant sum, and that’s the point. Hamelin was so desperate that they were willing to overpay for a solution, and then he got to work. According to all the stories, and even the children’s tales we were raised on, the piper picked up his flute and began to play. As if driven by some magical force, all of the rats in Hamelin scuttled out of their hiding places and began to crowd around him; streams of them, thousands of them, all writhing in a mass at his feet. Then, when it seemed like they had all come out, he marched out of town and down to the Vesser river. The stories say that he was beyond successful. Most accounts say that all but one of the rats drowned in the river that day. Hamelin’s troubles were over, for a while. You see, the piper returned later to collect his money - he had done the job they had hired him to perform, the rats were gone, but for some unknown reason, the mayor refused to pay him. Now, the stories don’t say why, but we can speculate. Maybe it was because the stranger didn’t return with any bodies to show for his work, as was the custom for a rat catcher. How could the town pay him per head when there were no heads to count? At any rate, the mayor turned the stranger away and the man, clearly taken advantage of, stormed out of the village, but not before turning to face the people of Hamelin and proclaim a curse on them. He would return one day, he said, and when he did, he would have his revenge. Remember, this is a story that has been passed down for 800 years - most of what we know about the real events is pure legend, based loosely on scattered reports of a stained-glass window in the church there, in Hamelin. The window itself was lost in 1660, but there a drawings of it that predate the destruction as far back as the 14th century, and the earliest mention of these events is a 1384 entry in the Hamelin town records. The events were recorded, of course, because the stranger did return. According to the story, though, he changed clothing, trading in his colourful robes for the uniform of a hunter. Gone was the salesman; the stranger was returning for vengeance. While the adults were in church on June 26th, the stranger strode into town and began to play his flute again. This time, rather than crowds of writhing rats, it was the children who clambered out of the houses. They flooded the streets, gathering around the strange visitor, and then, when they were all present, he marched them out of town, never to be seen again. There are, of course, a number of morals to this story, but the one that has stuck with us for centuries remains ever-true: never trust a stranger.

Folklore is full of strangers. In many stories, it’s flat-out amazing just how much freedom we have given them in our lives. Even stories of someone as benign as Santa Claus have an element of danger when you view them from outside cultural fishbowl. Here’s the story of a strange man who stalks our children year-round, noting their behaviour and secret desires, who then breaks into our homes, eats our food, and leaves a few presents to prove that he was there. For the people of Hamelin, though, that stranger cost them far more than a plate of cookies. Their ill treatment of the man who came to town led to the loss of their children, and as difficult as it is to believe, the story of Hamelin is true – part of it, at least. Scholars are in agreement that the rats were a later addition to the tale, showing up about 300 years after the events were said to have taken place. But as far back as the records go, there has always been a stranger, a visitor from the outside, who leaves with the children, and although it’s taken a very long time to figure out why, some historians think they have the answer. To understand the truth, they say, we first have to understand the political culture that Hamelin found itself in. In 1227, about 50 years prior to the events of Hamelin, a battle took place on the border between what was then the Holy Roman Empire and Denmark, pushing the Danish border north of modern-day Germany. As a result, a whole new territory opened up that needed colonists. Men called “locators” were assigned to travel the land and find volunteers to populate this new territory, who often wore colourful clothing. They were eloquent speakers. They were, in a sense, a lot like today’s door-to-door salesmen. The empire needed farmers and craftsmen and soldiers to protect these new lands, but it was hard to find people willing to uproot their lives and travel north, especially when that new land was alongside a contested, military-heavy border. It was a hard sell, and so when the locators came knocking, rather than shipping off a handful of adult volunteers, townsfolk would sometimes get creative. Instead of paying with their own lives, they would sell their children to these men. The proof, it turns out, is in the phonebook, and on Google maps. Many town names along a line between Hamelin and Poland bear a striking resemblance to town names from medieval Germany, oftentimes even showing up more than once. Even more compelling, surnames from the 1284 Hamelin town records still show up in phonebooks in Pomerania, a region of Poland along the Baltic sea. The folklore, you see, tells a colourful story, one that’s as easy for children to swallow as a spoonful of honey, but the truth that the story hides turns out to be far less palatable. An entire town, desperate for a solution to their economic and social challenges, actually sold their children off to recruiters hoping to colonise new lands. It’s a plot reminiscent of M. Night Shyamalan’s The Village, in that these people constructed a fantasy around certain events, and then passed that lie on to later generations in order to justify their actions and avoid questions. In the end, an outsider did indeed come to Hamelin that day, but he wasn’t the one who took the children. No, it turns out that the true monsters were already there, living in the house next door, shopping in the market, farming the fields. The most dangerous stranger, it seems, isn’t the outsider – it’s the one that hides among us.

[Closing statements]

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