maintain the pain.

ciara ▎banshee ▎irish perfectly imperfect hail to the mother. tell your brother, your friends. can't lock your doors 'cause she's already in. dressed all in black with a staff in her fist, she wails to her hounds; sink their fangs with a kiss.

[daseoseul-blog]

Running slightly behind schedule, Jaclyn hurried into the crowded compartment of the monorail, gloved fingers wrapping around the metal pole to keep herself steady as she shot a worried glance toward the rectangular window overlooking a city renown for its vibrant nightlife. She’d promised her neighbor, Diane, that she’d be home in fifteen minutes - but she doubted she’d make it in time. Pressing her forehead against the pole, she closed her eyes, a sigh of resignation leaving her. But then her eyes popped open when she heard the unmistakable sound of someone sneezing nearby. “Illness will always find a way to spread,” she muttered to herself, her voice just loud enough for the person closest to her to hear it. “If you ask me, germs are little, evil monsters in disguise.” 

Could she even get sick? God, she hoped not. She couldn’t afford to get sick now.

[beanxchaointe-blog]

She should have called a taxi - or walked home. But, exhaustion weighing pretty heavily on her, after a split second decision to take the monorail to her designated stop, she had no choice but to see the ride all the way through. Hopefully this time, she’d make it home before death - that cold, merciless presence, one which had a tendency to destroy all who stumbled into its path - decided to drop in, unannounced, for a visit. “Illnesses, car accidents, old age, home invasions, robberies,” she ticked off each item with a sad shake of her head, charcoal gray eyes fixated, unseeingly, on the window. “All monstrous in their own right.” And deadly ... but for vastly different reasons. “But I suppose illnesses can be counted as one of the more dangerous, prolific instigators of death.” If only because they were difficult, if not impossible, to see coming.

[benxwilliams-blog]

Mortals. Weak. Pathetic. Almost saddening, as they live their pitiful, short life rushing from one meaningless event to another. Holding their humanity oh so high. Wanting to live what short amount of time they had the fullest. Often, he’d catch himself watching them in silence. Even now, after centuries. They intrigued him. What drove them. The way their hearts beat, their souls screamed. He was the face they’d see last as death claimed the burning fire within them. Heavy boots, barely audible in the crowd of people roaming the streets of L.A., left the smallest of stones crunching beneath his weight. Amber eyes scanning the busy mess of mortals and immortals alike. Beings that, for centuries, people worshiped. Feared. Some, never truly believed in until their worst nightmares came true one day. Creatures feeding on their flesh, claiming their souls, deciding their fate with powers unfathomable to human nature. The back of his neck crackled as Ben rested a large, cool hand on his nape for the cervical vertebra to find their place once more. Long night. Rough couple of days. Although he was trying his best to stay long, out of the chaos that erupted within their kinds - inevitably - it was still affecting his life. The one he had reluctantly accepted to lead, within mortals, stripped of his authority and power. The meaning that his life once had. Instead of bearing the souls of parted to guide them to their final destination, he was finding them instead. Private investigation. Working in the shadows by himself. At least that was something he was fairly familiar with. 

Flecks of gold shimmered in the tall mans eyes as a heavy breath of air escaped his lungs, long fingers buried in the pockets of a pair of dark jeans. He could feel them. Sense the upcoming dread of souls ready to leave, to start a new chapter of their journey. These days, it was almost overwhelming. Bennett could take them, give them some sort of peace, but after Project Stratax, there was little he could do for them in the sense of sending them to their destination. Couldn’t carry them over to the underworld anymore. So instead, he’d store them. Screaming and bashing, relentless beings that had no place nor home. He stopped in his tracks, eyes tightly shut as he inhaled deeply. Calmed his nerves, blended out his surroundings. Sometimes he damned fate, for choosing him to be the bringer of death. His brother’s had it easier. Pity that they couldn’t switch positions. As Bennett opened his eyes again, he found himself leaning against a wall, a single droplet of blood trickling down his philtrum, spreading on his lips. Every day the same damn ordeal. “Ah, Fuck.” The man cursed under his breath, eyes landing on the first person that walked past him. “Hey, got a tissue?”

[beanxchaointe-blog]

Las Vegas, the city in which one was encouraged to partake of one sin or another. Fondly labeled Sin City by its inhabitants, the streets and businesses were liveliest at night, throngs of people overtaking the streets and sidewalks as they strode to and from various, popular tourist haunts, paying little heed to those who simply wished to make it home in one piece - before the crushing weight of despair could bear down on her tensed shoulders, determined to have its way. Death was like that, impatient and selfish, caring only about the end result and not the consequences that generally followed ... in the form of devastated families. But she couldn’t put the entirety of the blame at its feet, for the very presence of death, both important and necessary, helped to maintain balance in a world that was forever on the verge of spiraling into chaos. 

                 Without death, life could not thrive. 

            Such was the never-ending cycle of growth and evolution. 

        But that didn’t mean she had to like it.

Shoving her way through the crowd, mindful of the pointy elbows and deliberate foot jabs, Ciara muttered apology after apology until she had finally - safely - reached the other side of the street. Thankfully, it was a little quieter on this side, but that was most likely due to the lack of bars and clubs lining the streets. She should thank her lucky stars she managed to navigate the insanity of that crowd without suffering too much damage - save for the dull ache in the back of her head, a pounding crescendo she’d learned to live with. At least it was manageable, which was more than she could say on most days. Just as she was about to walk past a lone man with his back pressed against the wall, his sudden inquiry caught her by surprise, and she abruptly came to a stop mere feet from him. “Tissue, tissue,” she muttered under her breath - her accent not as thick today - as she absently rummaged through her purse for a few stray scraps of tissue she always kept stashed in there - for emergency purposes. “Ah! Found one.” Handing him the aforementioned crumpled piece of tissue, Ciara accompanied her offering with a solemn nod. “Don’t worry. It’s clean ... I think.” As far as she knew, at any rate. “Well, at least you’re not dying.” A mumble, glum in nature. Because if anyone would know, a bean sidhe would.

[clairelizabethfraser]

B A N S H E E S   //  {21st century}

The banshee is a female spirit in Irish mythology, usually seen as an omen of death and a messenger from the underworld.  In legend, a banshee is a fairy woman who begins to wail if someone is about to die. In Scottish mythology, she is known as the bean sìth or bean nighe and is seen washing the bloodstained clothes or armour of those who are about to die. In Welsh folklore, a similar creature is known as the Hag of the mist. The banshee can appear in a variety of guises. Most often she appears as an ugly, frightening hag, but she can also appear as a stunningly beautiful woman of any age that suits her. In some tales, the figure who first appears to be a banshee or other cailleach is later revealed to be the Irish battle goddess, the Morrígan.

[nadiea]

creatures of myth: banshees

In legend, a banshee is a fairy woman who begins to wail if someone is about to die. There are Irish families who are believed to have banshees attached to them, and whose cries herald the death of a member of that family.

[beanxchaointe-blog]

@ helincarnate

Some days just weren’t worth getting out of bed for.

Pressing the soft pads of her finger and thumb against the bridge of her nose in a futile attempt to curtail the ache that had already begun to bloom behind her left eye, but seconds away from evolving into a sharp, throbbing pain that would, in the long run, prove impossible to suppress, Ciara Murray braced her other hand against the wall, the brick biting into her palm as she struggled to concentrate through the steady, harsh stream of discomfort, her heart heavy with despair - a familiar but unwelcome sensation, damnably evasive and unavoidable but devastating all the same, for this uncomfortable sensation marked the propinquity of death. 

For a bean sidhe, it was common - an obligatory part of the job description at any rate, considerably significant in her line of work - to sense the presence of death and the merciless, powerful sway it held over all creatures. And despite their determination and technological advances, the humans hadn’t succeeded in completely purging her of any connection to the Morrigan and her past life - and they’d tried. For years, they’d worked hard and tirelessly to pilfer powers they’d considered useful and intriguing, aiming to affix them to individuals of their choosing in order to gain full mastery over them. But sensing death, and thus responding to it ... They couldn’t take that from her - although at times, she wished they had. If not for this unignorable skill, she might have found another, no less meaningful, way of life. Being one of several omens of death simply didn’t carry the weight of reverence it once had. 

But the burden of responsibility that continuously and unfailingly fell to her and her fellow banshees was about the same. 

Given the nature of the inexorable, demoniac experiments Project Stratox had conducted in the name of science and some misguided attempt at human self-preservation, however, not every banshee felt compelled to perform the duties attached to her former life. Some simply didn’t possess any sort of inclination or power to do as the Morrigan had once demanded. Even so, Ciara would have gladly traded this power for any other if it meant evading the lure of death and its cold, merciless presence, one which sent a chill crawling down her spine. A chill that refused to abate until her stubbornness finally relented and she slowly, cautiously trudged in the direction her wailing instincts were presently, inexorably urging her toward, using the wall as support as the pain intensified, a substitute for the wail the humans’ cruel, greedy actions had managed to appropriate. 

No relief, just a crushing need to act before it became unbearable.

And then -

- Taking the corner at a staggering, sluggish pace, squinting charcoal gray eyes at the slender, notable - and striking - silhouette of the only woman within the vicinity, all thoughts and movements came to a screeching halt as soon as she realized that the invisible trail she’d been instinctively following ended with her, this bombshell of a woman with a powerful presence.

“Why?” Ciara whispered hoarsely, her voice thick with confusion and anxiety. “Why do I sense death all around you?”

[dragonfiretwisted-deactivated20]

MYTHOLOGY MEME ~ [3/8] Legendary Creatures ~ Banshee

The banshee (from Irish: bean sí “woman of the sídhe” or “woman of the fairy mounds”) is a female spirit in Irish mythology, usually seen as an omen of death and a messenger from the Otherworld.

In legend, a banshee is a fairy woman who begins to wail if someone is about to die. In Scottish Gaelic mythology, she is known as the bean sìth or bean-nighe and is seen washing the blood stained clothes or armour of those who are about to die. (x)

[facinaoris]

MYTHOLOGY MEME - [5/8] LEGENDARY CREATURES: THE BANSHEE

“The Banshee mournful wails

In the midst of the silent, lonely, lonely night,

Plaining, she sings the song of death.”