#Massachusetts Bay Colony

[muttball]

Intersection

Above the Massachusetts Bay Colony original Old State House in the city of Boston.

[rabbitcruiser]

Puritans settled in Salem on September 6, 1628, which became part of Massachusetts Bay Colony.

[elgallinero]

Practice English

share.libbyapp.com/title/117990

[locallibrarylover]

soooooo .... dates .

[or-dhuilleag]

“These days, he lived in a tiny room above the St. Agnes rectory. The entire place had been built in the late seventeenth century and looked it."

ooohhh m*ggie why would you do this to me. not only is the oldest Catholic church in Virginia is from 1795, the late eighteenth century, but the colony of Virginia was founded by Anglicans with no0o0o0 interest in religious plurality until compelled by, like, the first amendment. idk about virginia but there's still cultural differences between catholic and protestant communities in MA (especially irish catholic and protestants!) which might have been really interesting to explore in lynch family mythology, assimilation, etc... but no.

Virginia has fewer than twenty extant pre-1700 structures, all in the eastern part of the state. Even if the structure were that old -- say, a first-period Protestant church later converted to a Catholic one; not common but not unthinkable, if not accurate to this setting -- any extant seventeenth-century structure would be listed as an historic property, probably as a national historic landmark, almost certainly maintained to a decent standard by a nonprofit trust and board. and not really on the market for a broke seventeen-year-old to rent out.

i truly love st. agnes as a setting but the only info she gives us about it RIPS me right out of there. move the setting for the whole series to massachusetts and we're good to go tho!

[neil-gaiman]

Hello, Neil. I did not think I’d ever try your lottery of an Ask box (despite having enjoyed reading your answers for a decade!) but I feel the need to, well, complain. Can this be a complaints box, too?

I ask in all politeness that you be more careful reblogging posts that make controversial statements of fact, because these are all too often wrong. I speak of the one about “It's a lie that the US Pilgrims were fleeing oppression”, which ten seconds on Wikipedia will show you is itself a lie. I know you know fact checking is important! tumblr isn’t a book, but when you have a zillion readers that implies a certain responsibility. Thanks for listening.

…also I love your books and was so happy at how the Sandman show came out and thanks for signing my copy of American Gods back in 2003 and who will play the archdemon Stolas in GO Season 2? ;)

With something like that I'm very happy to reblog contentious statements that make people think, because, as history professors will tell you, it's not as simple as that. I remember my son coming home from school once, aged about twelve, and saying "my teacher says you're a liar". And I said mildly "why?" And he explained it was because I had told him about people being transported to America for years as indentured servants for petty crimes, and he'd been told that wasn't true*, his teacher had explained people came to America seeking religious freedom. And that was the only reason people came here.

Did the Puritans leave Britain because they were being persecuted? Yup. Were they seeking the freedom to persecute others? Absolutely.

Here's a quote from a terrific article from the Smithsonian:

The much-ballyhooed arrival of the Pilgrims and Puritans in New England in the early 1600s was indeed a response to persecution that these religious dissenters had experienced in England. But the Puritan fathers of the Massachusetts Bay Colony did not countenance tolerance of opposing religious views. Their “city upon a hill” was a theocracy that brooked no dissent, religious or political.

Read the rest of it here:

*It is true. I shook my head, then wrote a chapter in American Gods to explain it to future potential history teachers.

[shadysadie]

Hot take: the Wittebanes were not Puritans

So since Hollow Mind came out there have been a lot of jokes about how the Belos is a crusty old Puritan. And while he is certainly crusty and old, I don’t think he was a Puritan.

I understand why everyone jumps there, when we think of Witch Hunts in Colonial America the very first thing that comes to mind is the Salem Witchcraft Trials. However, the Salem Witchcraft Trials began in 1692, that is 80 years after Masha says the Wittebros showed up in Gravesfield, and 30 years after the events of Elsewhere and Elsewhen.

If Masha’s information is correct, (which it might not be but we’ll get to that) then Caleb and Philip arrived in Gravesfield in 1613, which is closer in time to the settlement of Jamestown (1607) than the Salem Witchcraft Trials. 

The Pilgrims didn’t even land at pride rock until 1620, seven years after the Wittebros arrived in Gravesfield. The Mayflower Pilgrims were really the group responsible for creating the idea of religious charters. They specifically wanted to leave England to create their own religious society. Many other groups followed, (notably the Massachusetts Bay Colony, which later became the home of the aforementioned Salem Witchcraft Trials) but the Mayflower Pilgrims were the first group of religious extremists who came to America looking for their Zion. 

Prior to that, the motivation to settle the “New World” was mainly financial. Ships were chartered through the Virginia Company. Which as we all remember from our favorite wildly inaccurate and problematic 90s Disney movie, the Virginia Company was in it for the money. The New World had resources and Britian wanted them, damnit, Glory, God, and Gold and the Virginia Company.

That meant, if Caleb and Philip really did arrive in Gravesfield in 1613, their family likely made the trip for financial gain, not religion. If that’s the case they were less likely a member of an obscure group of religious extremists, and more likely to be either Protestant like King James and Queen Elizabeth. (They could have also been Roman Catholic, evidence for that comes later).

“But”, you say, “weren’t Puritans the ones persecuting witches at the time?”

Yes and no. 

In the Americas, Witch Hunts will forever be linked to Puritans, but in Witch Hunting long outdates the Puritans. King James himself, was a witch hunting fanatic, he personally oversaw hundreds of witchtrials. He wrote books about finding witches, and it was specifically the King James endorse translation of the Bible that features the infamous “thou shalt not suffer a witch to live” (in many prior translations the word witch is something more along the line of “sinner” or “evil doer”). By many estimates, upwards of 1500 people were executed for witchcraft as a result of his reign. If we are going with Masha’s 1613 timeline, the brothers would have left England smack dab in the middle of his reign, right after the King James Bible was published.

(^this GIF has nothing to do with the Owl House, I just love sassy Gay King James in his bird mask, look at this cocky ass bastard, you know him and Belos would have been genocide buddies)

However, I can’t pretend to be focused on some semblance of historical accuracy and take Masha’s information at face value, even in the context of the show it wouldn’t add up because according to the sign we see in Yesterday’s Lie, Gravesfield was established in 1635. 

(Granted there is a difference between a settlement and a town, it is possible that 1635 was when Gravesfield was officially acknowledged as a town and the boys just lived there pre-establishment). 

However, in the name of historical accuracy, I have to assume Masha got the date wrong, because the English didn’t even settle in Conneticut until the 1630s. The Conneticut Witch Trials began in the 1640s. By this timeline and demographic, the likelihood of Caleb and Philip being Puritans goes up by a lot. 

However, if we look at Philip’s clothes an his goals, there are still signs that don’t point to Puritanism. First look at the clothes Caleb and Philip wear as children:

Philip’s pants are red and Calebs are green. While it is a myth that Puritans could only wear black, the colors that they were allowed to incorporate into their wardrobe were typically still neutrals (dark yellows and beiges). Green would be pushing it, and red would be unbelievably bold.

Additionally, the ruffles on Philip’s shirt in the journal and Jacob’s book, would have been seen as incredibly vain.

 The blue/black coat that Caleb wore in the puppet show, and Philip later wears in Elsewhere and Elsewhen and King’s Tide has gold buttons and gold embroidery. Gold and Silver accessories of any kind would have been considered incredibly sinful and conceited. 

Which would also make it really weird for a Puritan to choose gold to represent himself. Infact his whole emperor authentic is much more reminiscent of the Catholic Pope. His own role as the messenger of the Titan’s will is also very papal in nature.

Finally there is the term he uses, “Witch Hunter General” is an illusion to “Witch Finder General” which was a rank made up and used by Protestant Matthew Hopkins and not really used by any Puritans. Such a title would also probably have seemed pretty vain.

Now you might say, “It’s a fictional story, why does any of this matter?”

The answer is: It does not, but I am high and have ADHD and this was the rabbit hole I fell down.

[poorlittleyaoyao]

European settlement in what is now the US state of New Hampshire was originally established by religious leaders who were banished from the Massachusetts Bay Colony for dissenting with the doctrine espoused by the colony’s Puritan leadership. Similarly, the Moling Su sect was founded by Su Minshan following his exile from the Gusu Lan sect, known for its rigid rules of conduct. In this essay I will—

[whencyclopedia]

Boston Massacre

The Boston Massacre, or the Incident on King Street, occurred in Boston, Massachusetts, on 5 March 1770, when nine British soldiers fired into a crowd of American colonists, ultimately killing five and wounding another six. The massacre was heavily propagandized by colonists such as Paul Revere and helped increase tensions in the early phase of the American Revolution (c. 1765-1789).

Background

In the mid-1760s, the Parliament of Great Britain attempted to directly tax the Thirteen Colonies of British North America to raise revenue in the aftermath of the expensive Seven Years' War (1756-1763). Although Parliament believed it was well within its authority, the American colonists disagreed; as subjects of the British Crown, the colonists believed they enjoyed the same rights as all Britons, including the right of self-taxation. Since the colonists were unrepresented in Parliament, they contended that Parliament had no power to directly tax them; prominent colonists like Samuel Adams (1722-1803) of Boston argued that the Americans would be resigning themselves to the status of 'tributary slaves' if they consented to pay the Parliamentary tax (Schiff, 73).

In April 1765, news reached the colonies that Parliament had issued the Stamp Act, a direct tax on all paper documents. The outraged colonists protested the Stamp Act in a variety of ways; the Virginia House of Burgesses passed a series of resolves denouncing the act as a violation of Americans' rights, while colonial merchants began boycotting British imports. However, the most dramatic opposition to the Stamp Act took place in Boston, the capital of the Province of Massachusetts Bay. On 14 August 1765, a mob of Bostonians hanged an effigy of Andrew Oliver, the stamp distributor for Massachusetts, from an elm tree before viciously ransacking his house that evening. Fearing for his life, Oliver resigned the next day, but the mob was unsatisfied; on 26 August, it attacked the home of Lieutenant Governor Thomas Hutchinson of Massachusetts, stealing all movable goods from the house. These riots were celebrated throughout the colonies; the Sons of Liberty, a loosely organized group of colonial political agitators, dated its founding from the riots, while the elm tree on which Oliver's effigy was hanged became known as Boston's 'Liberty Tree'.

Parliament repealed the Stamp Act in March 1766, but the colonists barely had time to celebrate before a new set of taxes and regulations, the Townshend Acts, were passed by Parliament between 1767 and 1768. These acts imposed new duties on goods such as glass, paint, and tea, and required a Board of Commissioners to set up headquarters in Boston to oversee the collection of the taxes. When the five commissioners arrived in Boston in November 1767, they were greeted by a hostile crowd carrying effigies and wearing labels that read, "Liberty & Property & no Commissioners" (Middlekauff, 163). Nor did the commissioners receive a much warmer welcome from Boston's leading citizens; John Hancock (1737-1793), one of the city's wealthiest merchants, refused to allow his Cadet Company, a military organization he operated, to participate in a parade held to welcome the commissioners. Eager to put men like Hancock in his place, the commissioners seized Hancock's sloop, the Liberty, on 10 June 1768, on the pretext that the Liberty had transported contraband goods and that its captain had threatened a tax collector.

When British sailors arrived to take possession of the Liberty, they were greeted by a mob, who were already angry that the British had been impressing Boston sailors into the Royal Navy. A brawl broke out along the docks that soon blossomed into a city-wide riot, as thousands of colonists roamed the streets beating up tax collectors and attacking the commissioners' homes. The royal officials had to flee to Castle Island, a fortified island in Boston Harbor, to escape the violence. To restore order, General Thomas Gage, commander-in-chief of all British forces in North America, decided to move troops into Boston. Roughly 2,000 British soldiers, mostly from the 29th and 14th regiments, were loaded into transports and carried from Halifax to Boston, arriving in the town on 1 October 1768. A manifestation of Britain's imperial power, the red-coated soldiers disembarked and marched to Boston Common, their fixed bayonets gleaming in the sunlight.

Continue reading...

[muttball]

Official Seal of the Massachusetts Bay Colony

In 1629, King Charles I granted a charter to the Massachusetts Bay Colony, which included the authority to use a seal. It featured an Indian holding an arrow pointed down in a gesture of peace, with the words "Come over and help us," emphasizing the missionary and commercial intentions of the original colonists.

[rabbitcruiser]

Puritans settled in Salem on September 6, 1628, which became part of Massachusetts Bay Colony.

[lionheartapothecaryx]

BIBLIOMANCY: THE PSALMS 📖🔮🕯️


During the many centuries of American history, Black African Americans had contact with various different religions and ethnic cultures ie; multiple Indigenous Tribes, Jews, Appalachians, Dutch, Swedes, Caribbeans, Haitian Kreyols and many more, through the Chattel Transatlantic Trade an land migration. These pivotal interactions are introduced the assimilation of many ritual practices. Hoodoo is a multiculturally mixed practice, with many nuances and intersections. It reflects the attitude and practices of many different generations, cultivated, passed down and preserved. While purists believe in keeping Hoodoo strictly traditional, the realist and preservationists, see Hoodoo as a constantly evolving and cunning art form, always adaptable to the times. Throughout the 1600 - 1900s, multiple different denominations of the Abrahamic faiths were wide spread through the United States influencing Black American folk magic and way of life. 
Bibliomancy was already a common folk practice at and slowly making into the consciousness of Black American folk Magick. 

The first book printed in North America to contain the psalms was The Bay Psalm Book, published in 1640 in Cambridge, Massachusetts by Minister an Planation Owner, Joseph Glover, who was well known for being the pioneer of printing in the English colonies and was one of the co-founders of Harvard University. Without sufficient historical evidence we can only speculate that this is the it’s one possible origins of the usage of the psalms in Black American Folk Magick. Glover was a Rector aka a parish priest for the Church of England and was decently educated. It is highly likely during his studies in England he had access to Jewish Psalm Prayer Books which inspired him to publish one of his own, when he came to America. There were also a small afro-jewish populations and various intersectional social connections with the black community, with the Jewish, Catholic and other various Christian religious denominations that were also clear influences.


The Church was a place of indoctrination but also social relief, community and emotional escapism for Black Americans during these times. Throughout the centuries the Indoctrination of the Church became the only source of solace and safety for Black American mental health & society during ever shifty and dangerous social climates. Deeply imbedding itself into consciousness of the black community, subconsciously and consciously, which we can still see in modern times. 
As the ability to read and write increased within the black community, in addition to the growth of printing more books access to reading the Bible and the Psalms became easier and easier. Now the Psalms were seen as a powerful book of spells in African American folk magick, with a multitude of different uses. Psalms could be scratched in the mud, written on doorways, or just simply spoken or prayed over folks, tools, plant allies, talismans, mojo bags, roots, other items, water, candles and more. The intent could be love, justice, abundance, peace and even hexing. Eventually, this belief trickled down to usage of other verses, from other Bible, an influenced African American communities, all over the country. Each community like their own little tribes, some with similar or different practices and rituals, regionally. 
In practice, The power of the psalms was unmatched, people swore by it by its success rate and still do to this day, which is why the practice has stuck in modern times.

The Psalms were a vehicle of rejuvenation and life, these scriptures were considered living words of power. I’ll go into the sacred mythos behind that, for members of my Patreon, later on this month.


For some Black Americans it’s easy to overlook and even discard the power of bibliomancy especially when they have deep religious trauma when it comes to any Abrahamic faith (Baptist, Catholic, Christian, Cogic etc) which is understandable. These feelings are valid & practicing Hoodoo, means understanding the many intricate nuances of the intersection and history of this folk culture. Others also see the value in Bibliomancy and continue this ancestral practice in modern times, knowing two things can be true at once. There is a great deal of duality in Hoodoo, which is something many of us have come to accept and honor at the same time. Respecting this balance demands a deep sense of self and cultural respect, a discerning eye and great deal of empathy, whether practitioners like it or not.

Using the Psalms is a powerfully easy way to reconnect and heal with ancestral Black American practices and medicine. It’s not a requirement of course, but it’s fun to encourage other black Americans to practice and discover all of its hidden powers. Many African folk practices, were hidden out of survival, requiring a level of covert cunning. Bibliomancy was a clever way hide in plain sight without attracting too much attention. Think of our ancestors as secret agents of truth, justice with a covert strategic mentality that still has important place in modern times. Some magick requires a keen mind, good sense, without calling any attention to itself, teaching us the practice of self control and discipline. This is why the practice of bibliomancy is important, allowing you to tap into this energy and honor your ancestors and yourself.

Examples of Bibliomancy


Psalms 54 - Help In Times Of Need. Mastering Negative Thoughts, Revenge Against Enemies. 
Psalms 60 - Put The Past Behind You. 
Psalms 41 - Help With Money Troubles 
Psalms 23 - Protection, Abundance, Stability & Healing

HAPPY HOODOO HERITAGE MONTH ✨

🕯️🕯️🕯️

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

The Witch and The Doctor Chapter 1

Bucky thought he could make a difference, getting a medical license and trying to change people’s minds.  But the 1600s New World is a harsh place with cruel people.  After being accused of witchcraft he makes a run for it, facing the dangers of the woods and the rumored witch that lives within them.

Warnings: violence; animal attack; mentions of death; smut; language

Next chapter

Bucky knew this would happen.  From the moment he had entered the town of Andover in the Massachusetts Bay Colony he had felt the trepidation of the residents.  He had his new medical license burning in his pocket and was naively excited about his prospects as he traveled along the eastern seaboard of the New World in search of an area that needed professional help. It was why he had gotten the license in the first place, to help people after watching his family and friends slowly die from a bout of scarlet fever that had progressed into something worse.  He had felt helpless as he somehow was saved from the illness while everyone else slipped into eternal sleep, so he learned all he could to make it so he could help others survive the constant illnesses that seemed to plague the people.  

Unfortunately, many Puritans were wary of doctors, science and medicines.  He hoped that he could come into new towns and teach them ways to use medicines from natural herbs and plants to help with sickness.  Andover at first seemed wary but grateful to have him, since their last few doctors had either left or died from disease themselves.  But as the months wore on and the first signs of Autumn set in, Bucky was working overtime on mixing batches of tinctures to give out to the residents to help ward off oncoming illnesses, and they grew suspicious.  

He was awoken in the middle of the night by shouts and hands hoisting him out of his bed.  Bucky was dragged out of his house and brought before the magistrate and reverend. 

“James Barnes, you have been accused of witchcraft,” Reverend Zemo announced dramatically.  “How do you plead?”

“Not guilty,” Bucky said defiantly.  “I’m a doctor, not a witch.”

“I saw him!” a woman, Mrs. Webb, screeched, pointing a finger at him.  “In the woods!”  That drew an audible gasp from the crowd.  “He was gathering bones and plants then threw them in a cauldron, chanting something strange!”

Bucky rolled his eyes.  “Uneducated swine,” he muttered.  “I was making medicine for all you ungrateful pricks.  It’s not my fault you don’t understand medical terminology.”

Another audible gasp rang through the crowd, a few people shouting insults at him.  “That settles it, you, James Barnes, are found guilty of witchcraft!” Magistrate Ross said loudly.  The crowd cheered.  Bucky hung his head in defeat.  He looked around, trying to plan an escape.  If he was going to die it wasn’t going to be like this.  He glanced at the woods not too far off and smirked.  The Andover residents were predictably afraid of what they did not know, and their religious zealousness made it a common practice not to enter the woods for fear of encountering the supposed witch of the woods and her wrath.  If he could just get deep enough, they wouldn’t follow him.

As they started to take him over to the gallows he waited until they were closest to the woods.  When the tree line was near he twisted his body suddenly, wrenching his arms out of their holds and pushing them away as he ran for it.

“Stop him!” Ross yelled as the people ran after him.  Bucky was faster and broke the tree line quickly, speed picking up as he used his knowledge of the area to dodge trees and fallen logs and dips in the earth that slowed the people chasing him.  He kept moving, not daring to slow down even as his legs burned and he could feel his feet tearing up along the harsh forest floor.  He could feel the pain of scrapes and scratches to his face, neck and arms as he careened through the woods, a particularly rough nick near the side of his mouth making him taste blood.  It wasn’t until he could only hear his own thudding feet and panting breaths that he finally slowed.  He jumped into a line of bushes and waited, trying to hear if anyone was nearby as he caught his breath.

He waited…and waited.  He heard nothing and finally sank to the ground, letting his legs rest and his heart relax.  Bucky wanted to scream, cry, curse, but instead he sat numbly in the dark.  He was lost, he knew that much, having never been this far into the woods before.  And in the heavy darkness there wasn’t much he could do to try and find his way out.  As he looked upwards he could only see glimpses of the starlit night sky through the trees.  He sighed heavily and decided to hunker down in the bushes until morning.

The snap of a twig nearby made him freeze.  He held his breath as he tried to listen, his thundering heart pounding in his ears making it difficult.  He tried to look towards the sound, only able to make out leaves and a tree about twenty feet away from him.  As he stared and waited he heard it…a deep sniff and huff from an animal.  He didn’t wait to find out what it was and sprinted out of the bushes in a different direction.  Bucky heard the animal growl then start chasing him.

He recognized the growl as a black bear and shook his head, baffled at the situation he found himself in.  He survived the fever just to almost die by the hand of Puritans, and now a fucking bear was out to kill him.  Bucky broke through another tree line into a clearing.  As he ran he saw a small cabin in the moonlight near one edge of the clearing.

“Help! Please help!” he screamed.  He heard the bear coming up behind him.  He tried running off to the side, tripping the bear up as he turned suddenly, but it also tripped him as his foot hit a dip in the ground, sending him sprawling in the grass.  As he tried to stand the bear ran up behind him and swiped his back with its claws, making him scream in pain as he hit the ground again.  He faced the bear, trying to crawl backwards on his hands and feet.  The bear was rearing back on its hind legs, growling and walking towards him.  This was it.  He was going to die.  Bucky closed his eyes, hoping it would be a quick death.

An unearthly scream ripped through the air and a ring of blue fire suddenly appeared along the dip in the ground he had fallen from, separating Bucky from the bear.  The bear backed up quickly, falling on its front two legs again and growling at the heat threatening to singe it.  Bucky crawled backwards again, away from the bear and the fire, then a figure stood in front of him, facing the bear.  The figure screamed again, raising their arms high, one hand looking like it was holding a torch of blue fire and waving it towards the bear.  The bear tried to approach again, but the figure stood near the fire and raised their hands again, a growl of their own aimed at the animal.  The bear finally gave up, huffing as it turned and ran back towards the woods, disappearing through the tree line.

Bucky stared at the figure, his panicked breathing only getting worse as he watched the blue fire lick the figure’s cloak but not set it ablaze.  The figure turned and looked at him.  He backed away again, hissing at the pain in his back as he tried to turn.  The figure walked slowly to him, holding up their hands in surrender.

“I won’t hurt you,” a female voice came out from under the hood.  Bucky gaped at her.  She pushed her hood back with one of her hands, keeping them up as she approached him. He still couldn’t quite see her in the dark, only glimpses of her face in the firelight. ��Let me help you,” she said, holding her hands out in front of her.  The pain in Bucky’s back was increasing rapidly as the adrenaline started to wear off, making his vision hazy.  He nodded as he reached for her hands.  She helped him stand, being careful not to touch his back, instead hooking an arm around his hips, putting his arm around her shoulders.  She led him into the small cabin and helped him lay on his front on a bed.  His vision was getting worse, dark spots blinding him as the searing pain made him delirious.

He could feel her leave him and heard her lock the door before returning to his side.  He heard the sound of ripping as she took a knife to his shirt so she could access his injuries.  Bucky wanted to stop her, but the pain was making him go into shock and he couldn’t move.  He heard her shuffle around until she came back to his side.  She knelt down to try to have him look her in the eye, though he still couldn’t see.

“I’m going to treat these slashes on your back,” she murmured.  “Drink this, it will help relax you.”  She held a cup up to his mouth.  She could be poisoning him for all he knew, but at that point it couldn’t be worse than what he was already feeling.  He opened his mouth slightly and she helped lean his head up so he could take some long gulps of the liquid.  It was cold and a little sweet.  He felt a warmth bloom in his stomach as he swallowed it, the pain already lessening slightly.  “Good…good man,” she rubbed his shoulder softly.  “Now, this will still hurt, but I will try to be careful.”  Bucky slightly nodded, his already hooded eyes fluttering closed.  His fingers gripped the blankets as he prepared himself for more pain.

He heard water being rung from a rag and then tender fingertips softly moving along the slashes in his back, washing them as best as she could.  He hissed and grunted when she applied more pressure, then as she was stitching up some parts of his skin he tensed, hiding his face in the blankets, even biting them at one point to try and not cry out.  She kept apologizing every time he made a sound and worked as quickly as she could.  He felt her applying some kind of paste to his back and then she stooped down to his eyeline again.  “I need you to sit up so I can wrap you,” she whispered.  “Can you do that for me?”  Bucky breathed deeply and nodded as he tried to push himself up.  

He felt her arms hook under his shoulders as she helped him sit up straight to face her.  She stood between his legs as she pushed him up.  She pulled away the last shreds of his shirt and grabbed some long strips of cloth and started wrapping his torso, her hands having to wrap around his back repeatedly, bringing her close to him.  Bucky took that moment of clarity to look at his savior.  She was short, making him eye level with her as she stood in front of him.  She had mid-back length hair flowing around her shoulders in waves, curls, straight pieces and shorter layers, some of it locked and braided, making it look wild.  She was wearing a long robe and nightgown that hung dangerously low on her chest, making Bucky blush.  Her brow was furrowed as she focused on the task at hand, and when he looked down saw that her long fingernails were painted a black color and her fingers were covered in black ink markings of symbols that he didn’t recognize.  As she finished she looked up at him and he was surprised by her eyes.  They were the color of moss with a golden sun pattern around the pupil and a ring around the iris that almost looked like it was glowing in the dark.  

His eyes widened as her gaze flicked up and she analyzed his face, her brow furrowing again.  “Hm, let’s fix that,” she said quietly, reaching for a rag in the bowl of water she had been using to clean his injuries.  She gripped his jaw with one hand to move his face to the side and wiped the gash near his mouth with the rag softly.  Bucky watched her, captivated but cautious.  She was one of the most beautiful but strange women he had ever seen.  She finished washing his face then reached for the paste that she had used on his back.  She swiped a finger through it then applied a small amount to his cheek, rubbing it in circles, her finger grazing his lip until she was happy with it.  She let go of his face and then looked him over for other injuries.

“Everything else is mostly benign,” she said as she stepped back from him and picked up the bowl and rags and walked towards a kitchen area of the cabin.  “You’ll have to try and stay still for a month or two so your back heals, and I’m assuming since you were running through the woods in the middle of the night, that you have nowhere else you can go,” she said, giving him a glance.  Bucky sighed and nodded, his head hanging down.  “You want to tell me why you were running from a bear in the woods in the middle of the night?  No one ever comes out this far.”

She approached him again with another cup and held it out to him.  He eyed it suspiciously but took it and drank, downing what turned out to be water in a few gulps.  She smirked at him then handed him a piece of bread and some berries.  He thanked her as she turned and sat on a rocking chair across from him near the fire.

“I was…” he started then cleared his throat.  “I was accused of witchcraft in the village,” he said and watched her reaction.  She smiled at that and rolled her eyes.  “I’m a doctor, and they thought me making medicine to help them with the upcoming winter and saying things in medical terms was witchcraft.  Idiots…” he huffed as he ate the bread she gave him.

“Hm, how predictable,” she scoffed.  “I guess now is the time I should tell you I’m the witch in the woods they warn their children about.”

Bucky stopped mid-chew and stared at her.  She waited for his reaction, giving off a nonchalant attitude.  He quickly swallowed.  “Are you a witch?”

“Witch, medicine woman, doctor, healer, it’s all the same,” she said.  “But magic,” she paused, her eyes seeming to glow a little brighter, “is completely different.”

“So you are a witch,” Bucky stated.

“Yes.  Does that scare you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

“No more than the bear so far,” Bucky said as he popped a berry in his mouth.  She huffed out a laugh at that, smiling widely at him.  “I figure if you wanted me dead you’d have let the bear have me, or done it yourself by now,” he explained.  She hummed as she looked away.  “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Y/N.  What’s your name?” she rallied back at him.

“James, but friends call me Bucky,” he gave her a lopsided smile.

“Are we friends?” Y/N asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Like I said, if you wanted me dead I would be by now.  So if you were willing to help save me from a bear and take care of me, I’m assuming you’re a friend,” he said as he finished the food she gave him.  

Y/N nodded.  “Alright, friend, well we are now at an impasse.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed.  “How?”

“Well, this is my home, and although you need the bed to recover, I need it to sleep.  So what do you propose we do?” she said wryly.

Bucky’s eyes widened as he looked down at the bed.  He suddenly became extremely aware of the fact that he was half naked in front of her, despite the bandaging, and she was in her nightgown that was still inching dangerously close to showing off her breasts.  “I…I don’t…”

“The bed is big enough for two people, Bucky.  Do you think you can handle sleeping next to a stranger?” Y/N asked with a slight hint of annoyance in her tone.  “I have no qualms about it.”

“Uh, no, it’s fine,” Bucky said, more as a reassurance to himself than her.  “I can…I can do that.”

“Good,” Y/N stood, putting some more wood on the fire then double checking that the door was locked before coming to stand next to the bed.  “Come on now, you’ll have to get under the blankets.”

Bucky shifted as best as he could to move towards the wall the bed was against, getting under the blankets and feeling the warmth of the fur lining she had underneath them.  He laid on his front, grabbing the extra pillow that she thankfully had and put one arm under it, the other tucked against his side.  Y/N shimmied into the bed next to him, getting comfortable under the blankets and laying on her side facing him.  She yawned as she settled herself, her arms tucked against her chest as she snuggled the blanket up to her chin.  “Goodnight Bucky,” she said sleepily, her eyes staying closed.

“Goodnight,” he said quietly, watching her.  He couldn’t seem to stop looking at her as her breathing became heavier and she started to fall asleep.  He had never been with a woman before, had never had the chance to court, had never kissed a woman, and here he was in a bed sleeping next to one.  He was so confused by her but also liked her already.  The night’s events exhausted him, and as his eyelids grew heavy he kept thinking of her mysterious eyes.

[twtd11]

So someone somewhere said something about Agatha and Rio being potentially put to death for having sex with each other in Puritan Massachusetts. That didn’t sound right to me, so I did a bit of research. Turns out, it would have been incredibly unusual for them to be charged with sodomy as only 2 women were accused of such in the entire time period, and one of those two women was exonerated. It also didn’t lead to a death sentence. (Attitudes Towards Homosexuality in the Seventeenth-Century New England Colonies by Roger Thompson).

Additionally, the Mass. code of capital offenses, those offenses that could be punished by death, only included sodomy by men. Men, in this case, wasn’t a catch all to mean all people. The code specifically distinguishes between “any person” and “any man.” (Sodomy Law: Massachusetts Bay, November, 1641. https://outhistory.org/exhibits/show/the-age-of-sodomitical-sin/1640s/sodomy-law-massachusetts-bay-n).

If someone happened to catch them and had a problem with it or them, it’s more likely they’d be accused of, you guessed it, witchcraft. (I don't remember the source I found that in).

They’re already guilty of that, so the sex thing probably wouldn’t have stressed them out. Some scholars believe that homosexuality was actually more accepted by lay people than clerical or judicial sources would have us believe. (Robert F. Oaks). So there’s every chance that a regular person in Puritan Salem would see two women who were friends and be like, eh, not my business unless they challenged gender roles in some way, ie, by trying to be preachers or being too assertive. That was the sort of problem that married women could also have. It would have been significantly less suspicious that two women were hanging out together than it would have been if a man and a woman who weren’t married were hanging out because life in Puritan New England was heavily sex-segregated. (Roger Thompson).

tl;dr: No one is killing Agatha and Rio for having sex. They’re killing them because they’re witches.

[man--eater]

WIP Wednesday 10/9/24 It Will Come Back

I’m working on an Alastor/Daphne oneshot for Halloween that I am super excited about—a spooky little New England folktale AU where Alastor has been cursed and thrown out of Hell and time, and spends centuries haunting the forests of New England as a monster, unable to change himself back. It’s set when Daphne lived on earth, in the mid-1600s in the Puritan society of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. And one cold winter night, something comes knocking on her door....I am working on art for it too, and weeping as I do my best to write what dialogue there is in Early Modern English (send help):

“Dost thou desire to shelter hither?” Daphne asked, holding her fear in check with an iron grip. The beast's red gaze was terrible to bear—its eyes were so unnaturally bright that the lantern looked dim in comparison. Its open maw slavered, dripping blood onto the threshold of her house. It took a step closer in an awkward movement; one of its forelimbs was curled around its breast. A spatter of blood fell from between its fingers, steaming as it melted through the deep snow. The creature made a sound—the soft bleat of a deer, not the terrible screams she had heard in the woods, and it looked past her to where the fire crackled on the hearth. Great clouds of vapour rose from its nose, so cold was the night. “Enter, if ye mean me nay harm,” Daphne said, stepping aside to clear the doorway. The creature whickered, flicking its ears back and forth, and tucked its head low and limbs close to squeeze inside after her. Her pulse pounded in her throat as it rose taller, its presence dominating the room. In the firelight, it cast long, eerie shadows on the walls, leaving her outnumbered and surrounded. But if it meant to attack her, or eat her, why would it wait on the step in such a strange mimicry of politeness? Why not simply snatch her when she opened the door? Why knock at all, when doubtless it was perfectly capable of tearing the door from its frame? Daphne had no more time to think, however, because the creature collapsed to the floor by the fire, curling in on itself. With its too-bright eyes closed and all its long, rawboned limbs tucked away, it looked far sorrier and much less alarming. It cautiously lifted its hand from its chest, and a fresh gout of blood poured onto the floorboards until it resumed placing pressure on the wound, groaning. Any man would die of such a wound—she did not know what the beast was, but she doubted it would survive.

tagging @sunsetofdoom @copaline @cuttletoon @castawayinhxll @verona2314 @oakishdelights and @cynical-kitten (no pressure! <3)

[onihcinimkcin]

But well before suburbs, even before the country was founded, the settler culture of European Americans cleaved to the story of invasion of the home by alien forces. It is, in many ways, the central founding narrative of what would become the United States. In 1676, the Massachusetts Bay Colony was attacked by combined forces from the Wampanoag, Nipmuc, and Narragansett peoples, who raided the town of Lancaster. During the attack, the village minister’s wife, Mary Rowlandson, was taken captive; she was held for three months before release. Her subsequent record of the ordeal, The Sovereignty and Goodness of God, Together with the Faithfulness of His Promises Displayed: Being a Narrative of the Captivity and Restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson, became a bestseller upon its publication in 1682. Rowlandson’s book spawned a genre—the captivity narrative—that became, as historian Richard Slotkin wrote in his 1973 book Regeneration Through Violence: The Mythology of the American Frontier, 1600–1800, “the first coherent myth-literature developed in America for American audiences.” Stories of the abduction and restoration of white settlers by Indigenous Americans, he noted, completely dominated “the list of frontier narratives published by Americans between 1680 and 1716, replacing narratives of soldierly exploits in the sermon-narrative literature.” They were stories in which homesteads were seen as under perpetual attack from outside, with only the mercy of God and the rifles of strong, masculine patriarchs could [sic] keep the family together. These narratives re-emerge in the popular American consciousness at various moments. If there is a single, enduring myth that keeps white American culture together, it is that the home is perpetually under siege, and defense of the home helps bind the family.

—Colin Dickey, The Long, Surprising Legacy of the Hopkinsville Goblins