Swan maiden
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@thedeadracoon
Swan maiden

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ok what about swan maidens are they more in of a cursed situation like werewolves?
or are they actually swans wanting human partners?
sorry my understanding of this myth creature is more from an animated movie than actual folklores
oh sincere! sincerity! oh shit i was being funny! i could've been infodumping this whole time?? fuck
swan maidens come from a variety of fairy tales, the most famous (european) one probably being Swan Lake. in that case it was a curse situation, so a sorcerer had cast a spell on them to only be women when the light of the moon touched them. the rest of the times they were swans. this is cause they ran away from arranged marriages or cheated on their boyfriends or shit (the sorcerer was a sexist read The Black Swan by mercedes lackey for an amazing adaptation of swan lake). there's also stories of boy swans though! like The Six Swans (also bc of a curse). and there's leda and the swan where zeus turns into a bird to seduce* this woman, leda.
overall i know of instances of individual characters transforming into various birds as a power they have but i dont know of any staple myths about Swan People as like. a race. maybe cause we have angels for that niche? or maybe cause we have bird ladies in the form of harpies and stuff. most stories of bird people are about curses.
AND to answer your previous question about selkies: they are a different class of "underwater person" than mermaids. mermaids are permanently half fish half person, selkies are either 100% seal or 100% person; they have a magic seal skin they put on to transform. you could trap them as humans if you steal it. a lot of stories about them center around fishermen trapping them as their wives. 👎
*i am using this term delicately, how consensual the sex was is up to interpretation
Anon would probably be interested in Volsunga Saga and Volundarkvida.
i love this website so much bc an anon can be like "hey what's the difference between a pixie and a fairy?" and then the notes will be people recommending a 13th century germanic tome written in bone by an ascetic. as some light reading to get started.
I have heard of a swan maiden trope in some circles that’s similar to selkies but I don’t know its origins or how long it’s been around. It might just be a variation of selkie mythology considering how it’s basically the same, beat for beat.
Basically, the swan maidens had a cloak or cape of feathers that they wore to transform into a swan. Like selkies, they were normally 100% swan or 100% human. Humans would steal and hide their cloak in order to entrap them and force them to stay.
It’s been a long while since I read this one story based on this trope (which was admittedly a fanfic if I recall), but that was the basic gist of it.
“Are you the witch who turned eleven princes into swans?”
The old woman stared at the figure on the front step of her cottage and considered her options. It was the kind of question usually backed up by a mob with meaningful torches, and the kind of question she tried to avoid.
Coming from a single dusty, tired housewife, it should’ve held no terrors.
“You a cop?”
The housewife twisted the hem of her apron. “No,” she muttered. “I’m a swan.”
A raven croaked somewhere in the woods. Wind whispered in the autumn leaves.
Then: “I think I can guess,” the old woman said slowly. “Husband stole your swan skin and forced you to marry him?”
A nod.
“And you can’t turn back into a swan until you find your skin again.”
A nod.
“But I reckon he’s hidden it, or burned it, or keeps it locked up so you can’t touch it.”
A tiny, miserable nod.
“And then you hear that old Granny Rothbart who lives out in the woods is really a batty old witch whose father taught her how to turn princes into swans,” the old woman sighed. “And you think, ‘Hey, stuff the old skin, I can just turn into a swan again this way.’
“But even if that was true – which I haven’t said if it is or if it isn’t – I’d say that I can only do it to make people miserable. I’m an awful person. I can’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. I have no goodness. I can’t use magic to make you feel better. I only wish I could.”
Another pause. “If I was a witch,” she added.
The housewife chewed the inside of her cheek. Then she drew herself up and, for the first time, looked the old woman in the eyes.
“Can you do it to make my husband miserable?”
The old woman considered her options. Then she pulled the wand out from the umbrella stand by the door. It was long, and silver, and a tiny glass swan with open wings stood perched on the tip.
“I can work with that,” said the witch.
It's time to PONDER, fellas...
YEET ISILDUR!!!
okok i'll try to remember to include ^ when i write the english
Askbox is closed for new requests, I'm recording these old ones on the to-write document

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Rant
Ich möchte mich auch einmal beschweren... Meine Schwester lebt noch bei unserem Vater, und immer wieder kommen Beschwerden, wie schlimm das ist, dass er sie dauernd runter macht, ihr jegliche Träume ausreden will, dass er immer sie verantwortlich macht, wenn etwas nicht nach seinem Willen läuft, seine cholerischen Anfälle hat.... Und ich weiß, dass das stimmt. Ich weiß dass, weil ich diejenige war, die alles abbekommen hat, die anstelle meiner Schwester den Boxsack gespielt hat, und ich weiß, wie sehr mich das psychisch einfach kaputt gemacht hat - bis ich ausgezogen bin. Und natürlich bin ich an erster Stelle, wenn es darum geht, zu verstehen, wie schlecht es meiner Schwester jetzt in diesem Umfeld geht, und natürlich bin ich ihre Nummer eins, wenn sie Mitleid möchte, was ihr gutes Recht ist.
Mit fällt das mit dem Mitleid aber aus zwei Gründen sehr schwer.
1., als ich noch zu Hause gewohnt habe, musste ich nicht nur meinen Vater ertragen, sondern auch besagte Schwester, die Jahrelang ihr bestes gegeben hat, im übertragenen Sinne nochmal nachzutreten, wenn es mir eh schon mies ging, die mich manipuliert und aus meinem Zuhause raus gemobbt hat. Und das nehme ich ihr immer noch Übel.
2., und das ist der aktuelle Grund, warum ich mich wieder darüber aufrege: Sie _hatte mehrfach_ die Möglichkeit, selbst auszuziehen. In Reichweite ihrer Uni, das Geld ist ebenfalls vorhanden, und auch die Stadt hätte sie nicht wechseln müssen. Nicht einmal die Diskussionen wegen dem Unterhalt mit unserem Vater hätte sie führen müssen, die Grundsätzlichkeit, dass er uns den Schuldet, habe ich mit meinem Auszug bereits klar gemacht. Bequemer könnte sie es nicht haben. Und dennoch entscheidet sie sich immer wieder dazu, zu Hause zu bleiben, in ihrem Elend zu sitzen, und sich alle Nase lang zu beschweren, wie grausam ihr Leben mit ihrem furchtbaren Vater ist. Und kommt zu mir, als wären wir beste Freunde, als wäre ich nicht weg gezogen um ihr und ihm zu entkommen, und erwartet Mitleid. Erwartet, dass ich ihr den Kopf tätschle und ihr sage, wie schwer sie es hat und wie unfair das Leben zu ihr ist. Und ich kann das nicht mehr.
Und dann fühle ich mich mies, weil ich aus erster Hand weiß, wie schlecht es ihr mit unserem Vater geht, und ich kann kein Quäntchen Mitleid für sie aufbringen. Ich gönne es ihr. Ich gönne ihr, dass sie seit zwei Jahren die Hölle durchmachen muss, die ich zwanzig Jahre lang erduldet habe. Ich gönne ihr, dass sie verzweifelt. Und ich fühle mich wie der schlechteste Mensch der Welt, weil ich so denke. Warum ich nicht einfach den Kontakt zu ihr, zu dem ganzen verfluchten Haufen abbreche? Wir haben einen gemeinsamen Freundeskreis, und ich würde jeden zwingen, sich zwischen ihr und mir zu entscheiden. Und ich weiß, dass ich verlieren würde. Meine Schwester ist einfach viel zu geschickt darin, Menschen zu manipulieren. Also tue ich so, als wäre alles in Ordnung, als hätte ich Mitleid mit ihr, und komme mir vor wie der größte Heuchler der Welt.
My heart is full of holes that look like people
Everything‘s a blur. I can‘t remember yesterday, I can‘t remember last Year.
I can‘t remember anything at all.
At this point, I‘m praying that I‘m not real.
I can feel it. Feel, how reality shivers once more. Solid structures wobbling like paper, the rules of distance completely shattered as everything switches places once more.
Reality is just a lie. You, me, we aren‘t real. We‘re just bypassers in someone else‘s dream.
The few glimpses I caught of a different world, tearing this one apart like spider webs. Different laws of physics, twisting our simple mind into madness. The endless abyss, ever growing, ever devouring our World, only kept on bay by one single dreamer.
Let us pray he won‘t wake soon.
Do you ever feel it? That crushing sensation, that your reality will never be the same as the one of those who surround you? That they will never be able to understand you, no matter how hard they try? No matter how hard you try to explain yourself?
The realisation, that no one will ever be able to really help you?
That you‘re lost in these deep, dark shadows that creep upon you?
Because I do.
I have been there, crying, exhausted from hours of explaining, of hours of screaming through the shadows, just so you‘ll hear me. Understand me.
But you don‘t.
And I know, you never will.
But I can see it in your eyes, I hear it, when your voice trembles. The burning desire, to be told that you‘re getting it right this time, that you grasped a glimpse of what it‘s like in my head.
So I lie.

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I don‘t know wha I‘ve told you before, and you‘re calling me a liar.
And you‘re right.
I don‘t know anymore who I can trust, who is able to hear the truth. Because I know, I‘m not someone to be trusted.
So I just Lie.
Maybe, I just don‘t know what the truth is anymore. Everything is vanishing behind thick, black curtains.
Unsend letter
You see my arms full of scars. You see the pain, the hurt, the blood. And you pity me. How I’m not strong enough to stop, how I’m ruining my body. And you can’t understand. It’s unnaturral what I do, I know, and I can’t demand your understanding. You offer help, you offer your ear, your times, your arms to curl up in. And I’m grateful. You don’t understand that I destroyed other people like you before. People who only wanted to help - so I don’t have to harm myself. Because in the end, this is your problem. You can ignore my hurt, m pain, my longing for death, you can ignore my panic attacs, wehn I wake up at night, crying, screaming. But you can’t ignore my scars. They’re there, open, bold displays of my mental state, and you can’t ignore that I’m dying inside any longer. And it hurts you.
So you ask me to stop.
And I, foolishly, promise it.
And thus, you took away my last sanctury. My way of surviving this world. I am still screaming at night, I still stop at bridges, wondering, if they’re high enough. High enough to die. But you don’t have to see anymore. The scars are fading, and you can prettend that I’m alright. I’m getting better, at least I’m not cutting anymore, that must mean something, right? It doesn’t. And it breaks my heart, so I don’t tell you. I’m still hurting, more than ever. Because you took my outlet away. So I start harming myself again. I’m more carefull this time. This time, you won’t see the scars, I hide them well. Only the blood doesn’t set me free like it used too. Because of my Promise. Because of the promise you forced on my I can feel nothing but guilt and shame, when I get my Knives. I always see your face, hurt, disapointed. But I can’t stop.
Maybe something else will set me free. Something more drastical.
Maybe real freedom is only achieved in death.
I want to throw up at the thought of having to exist tomorrow.
Blades calling, tempting, luring me, I wanna use them, cut, spill blood on my floor, destroy, peel this cursed flesh of my bones, cut myself open, throw this beating heart against the wall, just so -
Just so that I can finally die.
Me: *cuts themselves on the Company toilet*
Blood: *doesn't stay in my veins
*Ruins Favorite piece of clothing*
Me: *surprised Pikatchu face*

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There’s comfort in the rushig life of a city... nobody cares. Nobody sees you. Nobody cares if you’re gone. You’re just... free to die, whenever you like.
Considering suicide over dropping out of College