#dearg-due

[cryptidmoodboards]

Dearg-due moodboard for an anon.

[rachaelsmartart]

Finished this piece a good month or so ago but sometimes it takes me a while to post stuff - it’s like I have to warm to it and let it sit for a bit.

“Dearg-Due” whiskey - meaning “red-blood sucker” in gaelic. This was just some typography practice, as it’s something I’ve always struggled with! I hope to do more typography in the future to keep improving. Any typography tips please do send them my way.

[technogeist1890]

Another Heromachine monster, this one is the Irish vampire Dearg-Due.

[lacrossepapi]

Don't Hide

This is my @stiles-rares-exchange for @shebaren ! Since Tumblr won't let me post the fic on here completely I can only post a snippet :/

Anyways! You asked for Stisaac + stealth courting+ clothes sharing and I tried to deliver! I went a different route than you typically see in both stealth and regular courting fics. I hope you like it! ❤️

Ao3 link 

At the beginning of senior year, Stiles and Isaac agreed that keeping their feelings for each other from the pack was a good idea considering the life and death circumstances that had befallen them. Now, their senior year was coming to a close, yet the boys still hadn’t found the right moment to actually tell their friends what was between them. Beacon Hills had cock blocked them every time they tried to share their happiness with the people they loved.

Hopefully the pack would just eventually catch on and take the pressure off of an increasingly stressful event.

-

“Dad and Parrish are on the scene right now,” Stiles said as he entered the loft, still sweaty from his knife throwing session with Chris Argent.

Lydia had screamed and the pack had come running.

Unfortunately not fast enough this time, because shortly after they’d split up to search Stiles’ father was calling him.

“What does he think happened?” Derek asked, crossing his arms and furrowing his eyebrows as always.

“He said officially it was a hiking accident,” Stiles paused to grab one of the blueberry bagels from the counter, “When I asked what he thought unofficially he said that the wounds were too clean to be made from anything natural.” Stiles handed Isaac the bagel and plopped down beside him with a weary sigh.

“What does that mean?” Scott asked with a frown.

“That means that apparently the body was drained of its blood via gashes which the coroner will say were jagged from a fall, not clean from a knife or a very sharp claw.” Stiles explained.

Isaac leaned over and whispered, “That kind of rhymed.”

Despite the grave situation Stiles found himself laughing with delight.

“Oh ha-ha. That only happened once you little shit.” Stiles snarked back.

Isaac smirked as he watched the embarrassed flush disappear from Stiles’ face, only to be replaced by the usual heat and sarcasm that Isaac had fallen for.

“I got you something.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, dick. I like to get you things.” Stiles grumbled as he lightly punched Isaac.

“I’m sure if it could my desk would cry every time you saw something I would like.” The werewolf smiled despite his teasing tone.

“This is different. More important. We’ve uh been together for about four months and I wanted something to show how much you mean to me.” Stiles started digging through his numerous pockets as Isaac watched fondly.

“I spent a long time researching and I think I finally found something that shows how serious I am when I say you’re the best thing that could’ve happened to me.” Stiles handed Isaac a small velvet box.

Isaac opened the box to discover a pretty silver ring. The ring wasn’t a simple band like one would expect, this one depicted two hands holding a crowned heart.

“This is the ring Angel gave Buffy right? That’s awesome.” Isaac genuinely liked the gift, especially because it reminded him of last summer when Isaac had made Stiles finally watch every episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer inbetween the human’s training sessions with Chris, but he was confused as to why the ring had carried so much meaning to Stiles since Angel and Buffy weren’t even endgame.

“What? No!” Flailing hands and demonstrative  facial expressions were very dramatic as Stiles stared open mouthed at Isaac, “Well technically yes, but this one’s silver! Buffy’s was gold.”

“Well yeah, but you know I can’t wear gold. Silver is definitely the better metal. Thank you Stiles.” Isaac smiled, sliding the ring onto his right ring finger.

“I’m happy you like it and all that, but I didn’t get it because it’s a symbol of your favorite ship in one of your favorite shows. I got it because it’s Irish tradition!” Stiles was getting embarrassed and flustered, which only made Isaac smirk at his boyfriend.

“Okay? What do the Irish have to do with your feelings about me?” Isaac asked, genuinely confused.

Stiles groaned loudly, drawing the attention of Lydia and Allison, and walked out of the loft with his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Isaac shrugged at the girls’ questioning looks and pulled out his phone to look up the ring’s meaning.

Stiles.

I liked the ring.

I didn’t know its meaning.

It’s very sweet.

I love you too.

Isaac tried to act normal during the late dinner Derek had made for him and Peter, but he kept glancing at his phone, desperate to prove to Stiles how much he had enjoyed his gift.

I’m glad you liked it.

I just assumed you would already know what it meant. I should’ve known not everyone is in touch with their history like mom was.

Isaac breathed a deep relieved breath at Stiles’ response, but was still confused.

Wait.

What do you mean history?

Isaac laughed a sharp startling sound at the quiet dinner table when Stiles replied, reminding Isaac that his boyfriend was smarter than him by a mile.

Isaac.

Honey, Darling, Sweet child.

You are Irish.

I gave you an Irish ring for love, loyalty, and friendship.

Because you are Irish.

[lpbestiary]

The Dearg-due is a type of vampire from Irish folklore. The name means "red blood sucker" in Gaelic.

Always depicted as a beautiful young woman, the Dearg-due is said to have committed suicide after being forced into an unhappy marriage. She then rises from the grave as an undead, blood-drinking monster to take revenge on her father and husband.

Image source.

Monster master list.

Suggest a spook.

[themonsterguys]

Irish Ghost Stories: Dearg-Due The Monster Guys

New Post has been published on http://themonsterguys.com/irish-ghost-stories-the-dearg-due/

Irish Ghost Stories: The Dearg-Due

  IRISH GHOST STORIES: The Dearg-Due

IT’S THAT TIME OF YEAR! Time for bangers and mash (the homemade dish we prepare each St. Patrick’s Day as a family tradition), green drinks, green hair-dye, and for pinching people who don’t wear green. (An interesting tradition all to itself started by faerie folk, particularly our favored clurichaun.)

Green rules the day!

However … monsters still rule the night, and as @TheMonsterGuys, St. Patrick’s Day wouldn’t be complete without a good ol’ Irish ghost story.

Bit o’ trivia for ye before we dig up any ghosts: Did you know that Abraham (Bram) Stoker, an Irishman himself, blended the Slavic vampire myth with lore from his own country to create the now-classic Count Dracula?

There are a number of vampiric faeries in Celtic folklore, like the leanansidhe [leananshee], sister to the bansidhe [banshee], but today we’re considering a legend that many consider NOT to be a faerie. We, however, consider her to be quite similar to the sluagh [sloo-ah]—SO. MANY. FUN. WORDS!—who are an undeadly class of the fae folk all to themselves.

Meet the DEARG-DUE [dar-ruhg du-ih].

This tragic figure - a pale-haired, red-lipped seductress, whose name literally means ‘red-blood sucker’ - shares some universal traits with other vampires, but unlike the rotting corpses of Eastern Europe’s bloodsuckers, this Irish spirit is both beautiful and seductive.

As the old story goes:

There was a young girl who loved a simple peasant boy. To their dismay, her parents arranged for her to marry a chieftain in exchange for money and influence. As so many arranged fairytale marriages turn out, the rich chieftain was a lecherous and evil man who locked her away as a trophy, abusing her and feeding her on occasion. She wasted away over time, slowly giving way to a painful death of self-starvation.

The only one who noticed her disappearance was the simple peasant boy, and it was his sorrow that brought her back.

The spirit of the girl became vengeful and hungry in her own way. She rose again, an image of beauty, but a spirit of fury. She butchered the chief, drinking his blood – and her bloodthirst continued: when some go missing, or when children become mysteriously ill, or die unexpectedly, it is often attributed to the cursed and blood-thirsty Dearg-Due.

She steals the blood of children, of the innocent, and of young men. It is believed that she haunts their dreams with a siren’s song, luring them into the darkness, and beckoning them to follow her to her grave.  It is there that she punishes the innocent as she was punished in life.

To keep her spirit at bay, people began the annual ritual of placing stones over her grave, a long-standing tradition in Irish lore for preventing the dead from rising again. The weight of the stone pile kept her asleep in her death, similar in the way that the Slavics would place stones on the head and chest, or in the mouth, of their dead.

Side thought: The Slavics would also nail the well-preserved bodies of their dead to their coffins to prevent them from rising again.

Perhaps it was this legend that inspired Stoker to blend mythologies, drawing as well from other inherited regional stories.

So be merry this fine St. Paddy’s Day! Wear a bit of green, and have a boxty for us. Most of all, though, be careful of any seductive spirits, lest you get more than a simple pinch during this beloved Irish celebration.

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You may also like:

Dullahan: The Headless Horseman

Leprechaun: The Faerie Cobbler

Clurichaun: The Drunken Faerie

[vampireadamooc]

Another telling of the Dearg-Due

Dearg-Due: The Legend of The Irish Vampire and The Birth of a Deadly Blood Sucker

http://gabrielwilson.hubpages.com/hub/Dearg-due-the-legend-of-the-Irish-vampire by Gabriel Wilson

There are many tales of Irish demons sucking the life blood from the living. Ugly bat like creatures lurking in the dead of the night. Pale faced with long yellow nails and gaping purple mouths. Sour breath and bloodied hollow eye sockets. Stories that date back to pre celtic times. Perhaps these tales of demons were simply told to entertain during long winter nights. Perhaps parents told stories to scare their children so they wouldn't wonder too far from their camp. Or perhaps these tales were far more than just stories. Do blood sucking demons exist? Is there really such a thing as vampires? Of course we may never know...

Unless we are one...

Dearg-Due

An old Irish legend tells the story of a beautiful Irish maiden who was deeply in love with a common peasant boy. Their love was pure and true. The maiden, we will call her Órga and the peasant boy, we will call him Grian had promised to love each other till their death. They talked of when they'd marry and the children they would bare.

Órga's father had very different ideas. He had promised the hand of his beautiful daughter to a rich Clan Chieftain. Her father was promised wealth and lands for himself and his other children in exchange for his daughter's hand in marriage.

It is said that Órga's beauty shone like a ray of sunshine; her eyes sparkled like midnight stars and her lips were redder than the reddest rose. Throughout the lands people talked of her exquisite beauty. Men were besotted with her every move and women would try to steal a strand of her golden hair.

To Órga's and Grian's dismay the marriage was planned and the day was set. Poor Órga's pleas feel on deaf ears. The wedding day arrived. Órga dressed in an array of gold and red, met and married her future husband. Everyone partied till nightfall. Órga looked on, cursing her father and promising vengeance.

Órga's husband was a horrible, mean and conceited man. He treated her like an object. Her days of playing in the meadows and fishing in the rivers were over. He locked her away so only he could feast on her magnificent beauty. The evil man relished in keeping her all to himself. Órga despaired at being locked away in the dark. Hidden from everything she loved. She couldn't eat, she couldn't drink. Distraught, she wondered of her faith!

Stories say, she poisoned herself no longer able to live the life her father had put upon her. Other stories say she died of a broken heart.

Órga's burial was a simple affair. Her husband took another wife, while her body was still warm in her earthy bed. Her father and siblings were so busy with their new wealthy lives to cast her a passing thought.

One person however, morned her and cried a river of tears over her grave. The young lover, she had hopped to love for a life time, Grian. He visited her grave and spoke to her of his desire to see her again and prayed for her to come to him.

Legend says she rose from her grave the following year on the very date she died. Riddled with vengeance, she visited her fathers house. Finding him sleeping, she leaned over him and placing her lips gently over his, she sucked every breath of life from him.

Órga then visited her husband. He was engaged in exotic sexual exploits with young women and never noticed his deceased wife enter the room. Órga went into a frenzied attack. Descending on her husband with such angry force, she not only drew is breath but also his blood. The surge of blood through her dead body made her feel alive again. She needed more...

Órga used her beauty to prey on lustful young men. Luring them away to a quiet place with the promise of her beautiful body, only to sink her teeth into their soft throats and drink their delicious blood. Her hunger for blood was all she knew.

So eager was she to quench her thirst that she forgot all about her young love Grian. She never saw him again, and if she had he would only have satisfied her thirst for blood. Órga was consumed with thoughts of the warm red liquid that gave her dead body living strength. With only one night a year to enjoy her lust, Órga feasted like a wild beast. Returning to her grave a bloody corpse.

And so, the legend of The Dearg-Due was born.

A Little More to The Story

Dearg-Due (red blood sucker) was the name given to Órga's wondering remains. Her passion for blood, stripping her of her birth name. In her death as in the last of her living days it seems she was destined to be alone. The story goes, that the remains of Órga are buried at Strongbow's Tree in Co. Waterford in the southeast of Ireland. It is said: the locals pile stones on her grave every year on the eve of her death, thus preventing her from rising and sucking the life blood from their fleshy bones, but... sometimes... lives are busy and sometimes they forget...

© 2010 Gabriel Wilson

[stutterdrunklaconic]

This month has been so hectic I haven't really had time to think about Halloween but I think I'm going to try and put together a DIY Cernunnos costume and maybe Liz will be Dearg-Due.