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Laura (she/her), 30s, here to babble and drabble about folklore and fairy tales~ Always open to asks/requests! My Podcast | My Website | Ko-fi | AO3 | FAQ Icon by @deboracabral!

[laurasimonsdaughter]

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General:

#laura babbles - my rambles (and answers to asks) about folklore

#laura tumbles - original content in typical tumblr format

#laura drabbles - my short pieces of (urban fantasy) writing

#laura retells - posts where I tell a fairy tale or legend I didn’t write

#please be my muse - posts inspired by someone else’s content

#let me dabble in other arts - anything I make that isn’t writing

reblogs go on my sideblog @laurasimonsreblogs

all creatures, subjects and types of folklore are tagged as much as possible so you can search according to your interests

all drabbles and stories are (eventually) archived on my AO3

Collection tags:

#urban fantasy professionals - my ficlets about modern professionals mixing with fantasy or folklore.

#magisowo - all the answers from the Magically Informed Social Work team to the supernatural society questions sent in by wonderful people.

#the domestic dragon trust - all the answers from the Domestic Dragon Trust for lovely people asking about service- and pocket dragons.

The answers to my prompt games can be found under #shapeshifter prompts and #first sentence prompts and #emotional magic prompts.

#patchwork fairy tales - the posts linking to my original fairy tales, that you can listen to as a podcast @patchworkfairytales.

#fix-it fairy tales - my full rewrites of existing fairy tales in the interest of more Kindness, more Consent and more Inclusivity.

#the fisherman’s favour - all posts to do with the webcomic (@thefishermansfavour) that I’ve made with @deboracabral!

#hotel olympus (completed) - The adventures of a tired front of house manager in a very divine hotel.

#and they were flatmates (completed) - The misadventures of a crushing werewolf and vampire and their exasperated human friend.

Relationship & Character tags:

#friends | #roommates

#family | #siblings

#mlm romance

#wlw romance

#wlm romance

#nblw romance | #nblm romance | #nblnb romance

#poly romance 

#trans representation | #nonbinary representation

#bi representation

#ace representation

#aro representation

To be revised and updated, hopefully~

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Thinking about Harper and Lydander 🥺

So am I anon 🥰🥰🥰. Here's part 4! [Part 1, Part 2, Part 3]

Even in their most level-headed moments Harper could not understand why Lysander would have gone through all that trouble to introduce himself only to completely disappear afterwards. Perhaps he felt he had gone too far, following them home. Well, he had, but Harper would have preferred an apology to this sudden disappearance. Or, this sudden withdrawal, rather. Because the blood samples were still being taken, so clearly Lysander wasn't gone. But he had apparently decided to no longer show himself.

Which was what had reduced them to pacing across a graveyard in the dead of night. It was an objectively stupid thing to do, tramping around with a torch, but they were in a hurry. Something had to be done now.

“Well, if it isn’t my very own Florence Nightingale, with a light in the dark and everything.”

Harper turned abruptly towards the sound, immediately shutting off their torch, and there was Lysander, standing with his hands in the pockets of his coat.

“Lysander,” they sighed in relief, taking a quick step towards him.

The vampire raised a mocking eyebrow. “Oh, so you are capable of—”

“I need your help.”

He faltered, his voice trailing off at the interruption and his expression almost shocked. “What?”

Harper couldn’t exactly blame him, if they had had other options they wouldn’t be here, but needs must. “It’s the slayers,” they explained, their voice low but urgent. “They slashed Mrs. Lupus’ tires. I want them out of this town.”

Lysander was still staring at them and while his expression had changed to one more guarded and unreadable, he didn’t say a word.

“You know where they are, right?” they urged him.

“...yes.”

Harper deliberately met his gaze. “Then take me to them.”

“Take you to them?” This time the whites all around his eyes showed. “To do what?”

“To tell them they’ve gone too far and that they’re no longer welcome here. I can do the talking and you can be...backup.”

There was a moment of absolutely stunned silence before Lysander, moving with his uncanny speed, was suddenly right in front of them and hissing into their face. “Are you out of your mind? You can’t let them see you with me!” There was a strange glitter to his ruby eyes that seemed almost scared. “You think they are mean to your little old wolfish neighbour, wait until you see what they do to humans who help vampires,” he spat, and Harper nearly took a step back.

Instead they braced themselves and stood firm. “They’ve got to go.”

There was that fearful glitter again, but it was instantly replaced by a fanged grin. “I couldn’t agree more! And seeing as our goals align for once, why don’t you let me take care of it. You won’t have to get your healing hands dirty and none of them will ever bother your wolf friend again, cross my heart.”

“No,” they snapped. “Absolutely not.”

Lysander made a frantic, frustrated movement and his voice briefly turned to a snarl. “Don’t be so bloody stubborn for once, you’ll get yourself killed.”

Harper clenched their teeth, feeling their heart thump in their chest. “That is not my intention,” they said, once they were sure they had full control of their voice. “I don’t want anyone killed.”

He looked at them for a long moment, before forcing a smile. “I will not kill them.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Lysander turned away from them, swearing in a language or dialect they did not know “And what,” he snapped, turning abruptly back to face them, “am I supposed to do about that, hm?”

“Take me with you. If you want to do the talking, fine, but I’m coming.”

Granted, they had not met many vampires, but they had never seen one look so near clawing their own face off.

“Fine. But if you don’t like what you see, that’s on you, Florence.”

[laurasimonsdaughter]

A female kelpie story?

I don't think I've ever come across a folktale with a female kelpie, so it immediately piqued my interest when J.F. Campbell casually throws out the sentence "he would seize the kelpie of Moulin na Fouah and bring her bound to the inn at Inveran" on a page that seemed to discuss another kind of creature entirely.

It seems he collected—some first-hand, some second-hand—several stories that feature a creature named a "Vough" or "Fouah", which he thinks is the Gaelic word "fuath" (hate) spelled phonetically. He theorises:

"From all these it appears that the Fuath in Sutherland is a water-spirit; that there are males and females; that they have web-feet, Yellow hair, green dresses, tails, manes, and no noses; that they marry men, and are killed by light, and hurt with steel weapons that in crossing a stream they become restless. From the following stories it appears that they are hairy, have bare skin on their faces, and have two large round eyes." (Campbell, 1890, Vol. II, p. 205)

But to reach that conclusion, I think he did do a lot of extrapolating.

The stories include one Vough that only shows herself once her son, the Brollachan (a Gaelic expression for a shapeless deformed creature according to Campbell), has been hurt. She then rushes to his aid, with laments that rather reminded my of Grendl's mother from Beowulf. But the Vough is not described beyond her being fierce, able to speak, and capable of chasing a woman and tearing her heel off.

The line that initially caught my eye is from the second tale, "told in Gaelic to D. M., gamekeeper, and written by him in English":

One of John Bethune's forebears, who lived in Tubernan, laid a bet that he would seize the kelpie of Moulin na Fouah and bring her bound to the inn at Inveran. He procured a brown, right-sided, maned horse, and a brown black-muzzled dog; and, by the help of the latter, having secured the Vough, he tied her on the horse behind him, and galloped away. She was very fierce, but he kept her quiet by pinning her down with an awl and a needle. Crossing the burn at the further side of Loch Midgal, she became so restless that he stuck the shoemaker's and the tailor's weapons into her with great violence. She cried out, "Pierce me with the awl, but keep that slender hair-like slave (the needle) out of me. When he reached the clachan of Inveran, where his companions were anxiously waiting for him, he called to them to come out and see the Vough. Then they came out with lights, but as the light fell upon her she dropt off, and fell to earth like the remains of a fallen star--a small lump of jelly. (These jellies are often seen on the moors; dropt stars resembling the medusie on the shore--COLLECTOR. They are white, do not seem to be attached to the ground, and are always attributed to the stars. They are common on moors, and I do not know what they are.--J. F. C.)

The third simply states that "the same creature, or one of her kind" called out to someone. The next is almost at anecdote:

And it is said, that a family of Munroes had, many generations ago, married with the Vougha of Beann na Caltuinn. Their descendants had manes and tails till within the last four generations.

But this does at least confirm that there are manes and tails involved, which the next two examples do not, because they are both about a "banshee" (in this case just meaning a female fairy), one of which is beautifully clothed but has no nose, and one who looks like an old woman but has webbed feet.

So while I am inclined to accuse Campbell of the same lumping together as his Irish colleague Croker did, it is very interesting to see a female water-spirit with at least some equine attributes!

The whole section of the book (Campbell, Popular Tales of the West Highlands, 1890, Vol. II, XXXVII) can be read online.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

specialised relationship advice needed - how do I discuss commitment with someone more-than-mortal?

My partner is around 200 (she lost count during the "Great Binge" in the early 1900s) and we've been together for 5 years.

Things have plateaued in the last 18 months because whenever I try to talk about our future she uses her dark and inevitable fate as an excuse to end the conversation.

She claims that she's cursed to wander the world forever, because of a broken geas. In fact I'm pretty sure she's as long lived as she is because her grandma is a Trow. Terrible row when I brought that up.

How do I talk to someone who thinks I, a mere mortal, could never understand them, and is there any way of proving the whole "fate" thing is horseshit and a defense mechanism?

Hello,

Thank you for reaching out, that sounds like a very difficult situation to be in. It's clear you care a lot about your partner, but it's very natural that the behaviour you describe frustrates you.

Whatever the cause or causes for the difference, relationships of all kinds between individuals with wildly varying lifespans always come with special challenges. But then, so it is with all relationships. The way we see it, whether your partner is subject to a geas or not is less important within your relationship than the fact that you have a desire for commitment she seems to reject. And while that is something we see a lot within couples where one partner is much longer lived than the other, because a (near-)immortal life comes with a lot of loss and grief, it is something mortal couples struggle with just as often.

There is a peer support group called (Im)mortally Founded that meets on various of our locations at different times. If you'd like to find people (in the broad sense of the word) that might have struggled with similar challenges as yourself, this could be the place to find them. But our online resources also includes a registry of verified professionals who provide (couples) counseling, and for whom we can vouch that they have shown the necessary experience with the occult and commitment to the welfare of the supernatural community.

Whatever you decide, please don't hesitate to drop by, with or without your partner!

~ the MagiSoWo Team

[apilgrimpassingby]

Yesterday, I made two significant advances in my understanding of English folklore. Tagging @laurasimonsdaughter, the folklore blogger I know here, to see if she's interested and/or has thoughts on these topics.

The story of George Hodgson, a farmer who died in 1715 at the age of 94 in the village of Dent in the Lake District, and came back in the form of a black hare preying on sheep. A farmer shot him, and followed him back to his old house. Hence, they dug up his body, drove a brass pole through it, and reburied him in the local church, in which his grave and the pole (actually part of a door hinge, because the stone in question is reused from a house) are still visible [1].

For a long time, I was sceptical of the authenticity of this story, because with the exception of the Gorbals Vampire and the Highgate Vampire, who both postdate gothic literature and its reinvention of the vampire, I haven't heard of any post-medieval vampire stories in Britain. But I've realised the story does make sense within British folklore.

One of the stock powers of witches in Britain was turning into hares, and in a story from Yorkshire, the witch does so in order to drain milk from cattle [2]. Additionally, there are a couple of cases of witches having stakes driven through their heart after death, and in one of them, a male witch from Lincolnshire called Jimmy C-, the purpose was because he remained active after death [3]. And odd features in churches were common origins of folktales, such as the Mordiford Wyvern, a Herefordshire dragon legend based on a now-lost picture in the local church [4]. Hence, Hodgson's story seems like a mix of common folklore motifs, so I'm convinced of its authenticity.

2. The Lyke-Wake Dirge is a Yorkshire funeral song describing the soul's journey after death - first they cross Whinny-Muir (Gorse Bush Moor), then Brig o' Dread (Bridge of Dread), and finally they arrive in Purgatory, with each stage of the journey being dependent on giving food and clothes to the poor during life to cross [5]. The poem's often been speculated to be a Christianised version of pre-Christian Norse afterlife, with Brig o' Dread in particular compared to the Bridge of Gjöll in the Prose Edda [6].

For a long time, I thought this was an overreading of the evidence - after all, "bridge to the land of the dead" is hardly so specific an idea it's impossible for two cultures to independently come up with it. However, in researching this poem I found two medieval Scandinavian texts similar to it - the Icelandic Leizla Rannveiger (Rannvig's Vision) and the Norwegian Draumkvedet (Dream Poem), which both describe Hell as a field of thorns [7]. After that, I looked up the text of the Draumkvedet, and found it has both the field of thorns and the bridge (here called the Gjallar Bridge), and in the ending we're told that crossing them will be easy if in life we give food and clothes to the poor. The strong parallels between two cultures (Yorkshire and Norway) that didn't communicate much after the Viking era as far as I'm aware and the name similarity (Gjallar Bridge - Bridge of Gjöll) have brought me round to believing that the Lyke-Wake Dirge probably does reflect a pagan Norse idea of the afterlife.

Sources

David Castleton, 2021, Church Curiosities: Strange Objects and Bizarre Legends, Shire Publications: Oxford, pp.37-38

Neil Philip, 2022, The Watkins Book of English Folktales, Watkins Media Ltd., pp.266-267

Ethel Rudkin, 1934, “Lincolnshire Folklore, Witches and Devils”, Folklore, volume 45, number 3, pp.249-267

Jacqueline Simpson, 1976, The Folklore of the Welsh Border, Batsford: London, pp.48-49

Vic Gammon, 1988, “Singing and Popular Funeral Practices in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries”, Folk Music Journal, pp.412-447

F. Sidgwick and Lucy E. Broadwood, 1906, “Note on: Our Saviour Tarried out or the Bitter Withy”, Journal of the Folk-Song Society, pp.300-304

Carolyne Larrington, 1995, “Leizla Rannveiger: Gender and Politics in the Otherworld Vision”, Medium Ævum, volume 64 issue 2, pp.232-249

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Fascinating! The first one especially... I was going to say that calling it a vampire story is stretching the definition a bit (though no more than it has always been stretched), but apparently it's part of the legend that Hodgson drank blood as "tonic" while alive too. (Consuming blood for one's health is not unheard of as actual medical practice, but it wasn't common in England around that time as far I know.) At least it says so on the website of the Dent Village Heritage Centre, though they sadly do not give a written source from the period of origin. Then again, maybe there is none. Local legends are often passed down orally and never written down until someone wants to make a cool publication in the modern day.

I do not think it sounds implausible as proper oral tradition from the time, or maybe a little later. Especially since the story actively includes people remembering extra spooky details after the man's death. It's certainly a very good story.

I usually do not concern myself so much with finding out if something is "true folklore", much less "true history". I do like trying to hunt down the earliest known written source and to see where that person claimed they heard/collected it. But mostly because I dislike it when people say a story is older than it actually is. Stories don't have to be ancient to be folklore, but misinformation is still no good.

That being said, looking at the gravestone in question:

It seems very likely that this reused stone with a sawn off rod stuck in it that was turned into a gravestone gave rise to a vampire story some time after Hodgson's death. It is an excellent legend either way, but unless there are mentions of this story around 1715 (in travels, diaries, or sermons for instance) I'd put my money on the legend originating quite a bit later than that, inspired by preexisting spooky folktales and that unusual gravestone, and becoming oral tradition around the village.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

I’ve found a jackalope in my backyard and I need help. What do these things need?

Hello!

Thank you for contacting the Magically Informed Social Work! Finding a lone jackalope is certainly an odd occurance, they live in herds out in the wild and generally do not strike out on their own for too long.

Jackalopes are wild creatures, but they are sometimes bred in captivity and if you have a tame jackalope in your yard it might be a lost runaway. If it actively tries to approach you, that's probably the case. In that case you can offer it water, hay, and leafy greens and call your local animal welfare organisation to check in if someone reported a missing pet jackalope.

If it is a wild jackalope and it does not seem sick or injured you had better leave it alone, it will probably go back to its herd at some point.

One thing we do need to mention, if the antlered, rabbit-like creature you found has wings and a long tail, it is not a jackalope. It is most likely a wolpertinger and we advise you to stay away from it and contact Occult Animal Welfare at once.

Best of luck!

~ the MagiSoWo Team

Visit Original Link

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Visit Original Link

As a special episode for my podcast @patchworkfairytales I recorded some of my favourite #magisowo questions! Including:

What to feed jackalopes

What to feed human children having a play date with your werewolf cub

How to deal with werebear transformations

How to handle a haunting

Where to turn to when you turn out to be a witch

Thank you to everyone who sent in questions and double to the lovely friends who recorded them for me so I could play an urban fantasy social worker 💜

A full transcript can be found on my website.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

This seems like your type of thing

...it looks like tumblr ate a link or image here

[laurasimonsdaughter]

What about a mother/son dilemma with a teenage werehyena from Ethiopian folklore? It could be a metaphor for him/her actually being a trans girl?

I am always here for any kind of shapeshifter and I'm always down for queering some urban fantasy folklore, but I have to say that I really don't have the information or the experience to play with any of these elements.

I don't know enough about the folklore of such shapeshifters in Ethiopia to know whether I could or even should write an urban fantasy version of them. It would take more research than I can commit to for a short snippet.

And while I absolutely want (and certainly try) to populate my stories with trans people of all kinds, I do feel like exploring transness via themes of the monstrous and the othered isn't something I as a cis person should be doing. I'm sure it could be done beautifully, though.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Texting my one horse girl friend increasingly specific questions until she responds with: what are you writing now??

[laurasimonsdaughter]

They were rattled, more than they wanted to admit. They did not draw their own blood again, even when there were barely any samples to throw away. But it still bothered them. They didn't want him to go hungry. They didn't want a hungry vampire roaming their town. That could only end badly. Because it would begin with some poor unexpected person wandering home in the dark and—

"Hello, Harper."

They nearly flung themself backwards, barely managing to stay on their feet. The vampire’s expression was amused, but not quite easy. There was an edge to his expression that he was trying to hide. Perhaps he was hungry, but asking about it would do no good.

“How do you know my name” they demanded instead.

“I pick things up,” he replied casually.

“Yeah?” they glared. “You just happen to pick things up, perhaps while you just happen to do things like stalking me home?”

“Oh come on,” he protested, pulling a face. “You known I can’t actually follow you inside.”

They hesitated, momentarily distracted. “That’s real?”

He snorted. “Obviously, or we’d be a lot harder to catch.”

Harper halfway expected him to reveal some hidden purpose now, to ask some question or make some kind of demand, but nothing came.

“I am not showing you to my front door,” they remarked dryly.

His expression changed for just a moment, but instead of answering he replied: “I have a name too, you know, but you never bothered to introduce yourself.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” they sneered, taking a few impulsive, combative steps towards him. “I should have made time for etiquette in between testing a string of people for sudden anaemia and diagnosing the actual goddamn problem.”

“Ouch,” he drawled, but he suddenly wrinkled his nose slightly, sniffing involuntarily. “You’re wearing juniper berries?” he asked incredulously. “Who teaches you this stuff?”

Harper crossed their arms. “I pick things up.”

A wry smile touched the vampire’s lips. “No trouble believing that was real, hm.”

“Better to err on the side of caution,” they returned snidely.

“Right. I will take that as my cue to leave.”

“Wait,” they started as soon as he turned away. “Are you alright? Did you come here to ask about blood?”

He stood still for a long moment, his back still towards them, before whirling abruptly around. “Do you enjoy this, Florence Nightingale?” “Do I— what?”

“This push and pull you do. Do you enjoy it, or can you genuinely not help yourself?” Once again they stood staring at him, uncertain whether to be insulted or merely at a loss.

“You can’t, can you,” he said with a breathy laugh. “You think you need stuff like this”—gesturing to the little pouch of berries worn round their neck—“to keep me from harming you, and somehow you can’t stand even the possibility

“Just because I don’t want you to hurt people, doesn’t mean I want you to go hungry.”

“I am never not hungry,” he replied abruptly. “And I wasn’t hurting people.”

“You—” They took a breath. “You and I have different definitions of harm.”

“And different definitions of ‘fine’, probably,” he replied with studied indifference. “But I am, fine.” He turned away again and rapidly disappeared into the dark, until only his voice reached them one last time: “And it’s Lysander, by the way.”

[Part 1] [Part 2]

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Very important question:

What flippant nickname that will inevitably drift into a term of endearment should my vampire call the person (a phlebotomist/former nurse) who has been reluctantly helping him survive?

My problem is that while "nurse" and "doctor" both work great as annoying nicknames, I don't think they make for very good terms of endearment. But I'm willing to be persuaded!

The best I can come up with is "lifeline". That has potential... But I'm very curious to know if you have other suggestions!

[mysunfreckle]

Literal years ago @badassindistress asked for a red panda for her birthday and after many failed attempts I finally found a sleeping cat pattern by typingwithtea on Etsy that was perfect for adapting into a floofy tailed beast ✨

This is the first time I made a full practice creature and I fussed over the face and ears for ages:

[badassindistress]

The forest of dreams felt all seasons at once and time did not flow in only one direction as it should. Nonetheless, Sir Kaye’s stomach was certain it was dinnertime.

In a way, this was comforting. Her mind might not know if they'd been walking for five minutes of five days, but her stomach knew it was time to head to the barracks for some hearty stew.

She turned to Lady Elissa.

“Shall we make camp in that clearing up ahead?”

Lady Elissa shook her head.

“I am not in need of rest yet. I may not be a knight, but I’m not that fragile.”

She quickened her pace. Sir Kaye was sure she’d only barely refrained from tossing her hair.

“Well, maybe I’m hungry, did you think about that?” Sir Kaye grumbled under her breath.

She lengthened her strides to overtake Lady Elissa. The next convenient root or rock, she was going to sit herself down and— she faltered. In the clearing ahead of them stood a banquet table, fully laid and entirely deserted.  The wind carried the delicious scents of roasted meats and fresh fruits to them. They shared a look.

“Did I summon this by being hungry?” Sir Kaye asked in a whisper.

“It is possible,” Lady Elissa said dubiously, taking  cautions step closer. “This is the forest of dreams after all, it would make sense if it was shaped by desire.”

“Does that mean we can eat it?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Read the full story on AO3

[patchworkfairytales]

Hotel Olympus (full story)

A Patchwork Fantasy Tale about the trials of working in hospitality.

The worship of Greek Gods is going through a bit of a renaissance of late, but since temples are in short supply, Hotel Olympus is here to provide. 

Read the transcript for this episode here.

Or read just the story on AO3.

Find everything about this podcast and my other projects on laurasimons.com.

Follow the Patchwork Fairy Tales podcast on Tumblr!

The music used in this episode is from purple-planet.com. 

Penny for a tale? You can tip your storyteller on Ko-fi!

Click here to stream or download this story on LibSyn.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

"Charlie is the new front of house manager. She has excellent training and experience. What she doesn't have is the faintest interest in or knowledge of Greek Mythology. But a job’s a job and guests are guests and by all means, if sir and madam want a bowl of fresh pomegranates brought up to the bridal suite she’ll see to it that it happens immediately. She’s dealt with way worse."

[patchworkfairytales]

Hotel Olympus #8

A Patchwork Fantasy Tale in eight parts.

Our eighth visit to Hotel Olympus, during which a new normal is established.

Read the transcript for this episode here.

Find everything about this podcast and my other projects on laurasimons.com.

Follow this podcast on Tumblr!

The music used in this episode is from purple-planet.com. 

Penny for a tale? You can tip your storyteller on Ko-fi!

Click here to go to the new episode.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

In honour of Pride, here is an entry from Jon F. White's Folklore Database, giving an example of Motif I92 - The rainbow changes gender.

“The rainbow, or zuna, contains a ‘second power’, the power of God. It can turn a man into a woman and a woman into a man. This happens as follows: if someone wants to change their gender, they must go to the river during rain and drink from the same place where the rainbow 'drinks' water, and then they will turn from a man into a woman and from a woman into a man" (village of Zheravina, Kyustendil region, village of Turnovo near the village of Seimen, Chorlen region, Thrace, as well as Gabrovo and Kazanlak regions – Marinov, 1914, p. 16) - Source: Tolstoy (1997), 206-207 Publication: Selected Works. Moscow: Languages ​​of Russian Culture. T. I. Slavic Lexicology and Semasiology. 520 p. Information sourced from: Ю.Е. Березкин, Е.Н. Дувакин. Тематическая классификация и распределение фольклорно-мифологических мотивов Аналитический каталог, trans. Jonathan Fielder-White, Folklore Database

This is the most detailed example given on the motif's page (free account required), but similar folk beliefs about rainbows are noted for in 41 traditions.