1. ADHARCÁILÍ (“ay-er-KOH-li”)
    The Irish verb adharcáil means “to gore”, the derivative adharcáilí is used to refer to an animal in heat—or, figuratively, to a lustful young man.
  2. ADUANTAS (“ah-dWON-tes”)
    The feeling of unease or anxiety caused by being somewhere new, or by being surrounded by people you don’t know.
  3. AIMLIÚ (“AM-lyu”)
    Aimliú is the spoiling or ruining of something by exposure to bad weather.
  4. AIRNEÁNACH (“ARR-nen-ech”)
    An airneánach is someone who takes part in just such an evening, but the word can also be used more loosely to refer to someone who likes working or staying up late into the night.
  5. AITEALL (“AT-ell”)
    The perfect word for the spring—an aiteall is a fine spell of weather between two showers of rain.
  6. AMAINIRIS (“ARM-an-erish”)
    The second day after tomorrow.
  7. ASCLÁN (“ash-KLAWN”)
    As well as being the Irish word for the gusset of a pair of trousers, an asclán is the amount of something that can be carried under one arm.
  8. BACHRAM (“BOCH-rum”)
    Bachram is boisterous, rambunctious behaviour, but it can also be used figuratively for a sudden or violent downpour of rain.
  9. BACACH (“BAH-cakh”)
    Means “lame” or “limping” — but it can also be used as a noun to describe a misery or beggarly person, or, idiomatically, someone who outstays their welcome or who drags their heels.
  10. BÉALÁISTE (“bay-al-ASH-tuh”)
    A drink or toast used to seal a deal.
  11. BEOCHAOINEADH (“bay-oh-keen-yu”)
    An “elegy for the living”—in other words, a sad lament for someone who has gone away, but who has not died.
  12. BOGÁN (“BOH-gawn”)
    A bogán is an egg without a shell, by extension, a spineless person.
    Describes the weather when it is neither particularly good nor particularly bad.
  14. BUNBHRÍSTE (“bunya-VREESH-ta”)
    Those jeans you’ve got that are nearly worn through but are still wearable? They’re a bunbhríste—namely, a pair of worn but still usable trousers.
  15. CLAGARNACH (“CLOY-ger-nach”)
    Literally meaning “clattering”, clagarnach is the sound of heavy rain on a rooftop.
  16. CODRAISC (“COD-reeshk”)
    As well as referring to a riff-raff or rabble of people, a codraisc is a random collection of worthless or useless objects.
  17. DÉLÁMHACH (“TEE-lay-wah”)
    Délámhach or dólámhach literally means “two-handed” in Irish, but it can be used idiomatically to mean “working all-out,” or “giving your best.”
  18. DROCHDHEOIR (“DROCK-ywee”)
    Literally a “bad drop”—is a negative or unflattering character trait that a child inherits from his or her parents.
  19. FOISEACH (“FAR-sha”)
    Grass that can’t easily be reached to be cut, so is often used of the longer grass around the edge of a field or lawn, or to the overgrown grass on a hillside or verge.
  20. IOMBHÁ (“OM-wah”)
    Either a sinking boat half submerged in the water, or any place where there is a danger of drowning.
  21. LADHAR (“LAY-yer”)
    The gap between your fingers or your toes is your ladhar. A ladhar bóthair is a fork in the road.
  22. MAOLÓG (“MAY-loag”)
    When you fill something up to the brim but then keep on adding more, the same word is also used for someone who sticks out from a crowd, or for a small knoll or hill in an otherwise flat expanse of land.
  23. PLOBAIREACHT (“PLOH-ber-acht”)
    When you’re crying and trying to speak at the same time but can’t make yourself clear, that’s plobaireacht.
  24. POCLÉIMNIGH (“POH-claim-nee”)
    “Frolicking” or “gambolling.” It literally means “buck-jumping,” and is a one-word name for an energetic, excitable leap into the air, or a jump for joy.
  25. RAGAIRE (“RA-gerra”)
    Ragaireacht means late-night wandering, or for sitting up talking long into the early hours. And a ragaire is someone who enjoys precisely that.
  26. SABHSAÍ (“SAWH-see”)
    Someone who works outside no matter how bad the weather.
    Literally means “scratcher” or “scraper” in Irish, but can be used figuratively to describe someone who works hard but is not particularly well-skilled.

ldynamitel asked:

kırk ton çimento on kamyon kum aslında sormak istedigim yaz kızım yazzz diye başlayan şairn gözlerinin rengi ne renktir .. NOT: şairin gözleri yok


Tam Lin version: 39J

Source: The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, 1882-1898 by Francis James Child
cites: ‘The Queen of the Fairies,’ Macmath MS., p. 57
Title: Young Tamlane

They turned him in this lady’s arms
Like two red gads of airn;
She held him fast; why should she not?
She knew they could do her no harm.’

They turned him in this lady’s arms
Like to all things that was vile;
> She held him fast; why should she not?
The father of her child.

They turned him in this lady’s arms
Like to a naked knight;
She ‘a taen him hame to her ain bower,
And clothed him in armour bright.

- Full Version

Few versions of Tam Lin include scenes beyond the rescue. One or two versions borrow a final verse from William O’ Winsbury, but I’ve never identified the source for this final verse, if it was borrowed from elsewhere. Regardless of where it comes from, it’s interesting that the story has the woman (who is never named) taking the man home to clothe him.

{tales} Defining Moments

It was when the first dark grey tentacle coiled up along the hull and gripped the rail that Airn regretted not pushing the issue with his captain while they were still on the other side of the Veil. Opening a gateway large enough for a ship to pass through was pure madness. But what had been acceptable risk for a crew of hardy fae was now shaping up to be a serious threat. 

There were beasts in the deep, even on the human side of things. And they often investigated disturbances so large. An explosion of magic and a ship full of new scents had been enough to wake the slumbering creature and now it was hungry. Or perhaps territorial. The building storm did not help matters. Nor did the captain’s order to cut the serpentine arm away from his ship. This time, Airn spoke up, having to shout over a sudden crack of thunder.

“My lord, hadn’t we better wait until we have a larger target?”

But a burly trollock had already slashed cutlass through the wiry appendage and the waters hummed with a shriek from beneath them. The tentacle jerked back under the water and all was still.

The captain smirked. “Get us out the way of this storm. All hands—”

It was six wet-slick feelers now that shot from the choppy waves and gripped the Killingbird’s hull. The whole vessel shook from one squeeze and the crew started a ruckus of confusion and nerves. They looked to their captain, who growled and gave the order again. Cut it loose.


Shut it!”

Again they slashed and again the arms retreated. The ship began to bank and turn, building speed to escape the area and go to her purpose. But she halted quick as though striking a sandbar and nearly every experienced sailor lost their footing.

This time it was not wiry whipping appendages but massive muscular arms that crested the Killingbird’s bow. They were folded and bent like a crustacean’s but huge. As thick around as the ship’s mainmast and thrice as armored. The two forefront pincers rose high above, before slamming down into her deck for a grip.

“It’s got us, cap’n, and it’s climbing aboard!”

The lookout’s cry was a bit unnecessary and the captain growled low, eyes flashing purple and slitted before he roared: “Abandon ship! Make for land, all hands!”

Airn’s eyes widened even as his entire expression flinched into incredulity. He spoke without thinking, words flashing up from a place of pure confusion. “Are you mad? It’s in the water—you’ll lose half your crew! We have to f—”

His adamant claims quickly became nothing more than a wordless breath, as if he’d suddenly been sucker-punched. When, in fact, he’d only realized the line he’d crossed with his captain’s dragon pearl rapier pressing under his chin.

“One. More. Word. And I’ll cut your throat, you insubordinate whelp.”

Airn tilted his head back on instinct, though he managed to keep fear out of his eyes when he swallowed hard, hands lifted out away from his body and the weaponry there—completely docile and unthreatening.

And then a whipping tentacle smacked the captain right off the deck and out into the ocean. Airn gasped, both because he’d been holding his breath and because the attack had been so abrupt. He ducked the next winding appendage, sliding along the rain-slicked deck and coming up under the stairwell where at least there was minimal cover.

To his dismay, much of the crew had followed their late captain’s order. There was no telling how many were already dead. A handful tried to attack what little of the beast had clambered over the prow, but seemed to be having little success.

The beast planted one tree trunk sized appendage on the bow of the ship, forcing it under almost too quick to believe. Crew slid and most bolted straight overboard to try their luck with the waves. Airn staggered forward several feet before he caught his balance against the aft-most mast.

The monster stepped it’s other forefoot aboard and the ship groaned. If her belly’d been full, she might’ve snapped in half, but once the full weight of the creature was squared on the deck, the poor girl simply sagged low, creaking with every movement. The ship was empty now but for a few sprites lingering high in the rigging, silent and terrified, and Airn standing before the behemoth.

“The captain seems to be unavailable, but perhaps we could negotiate?”

The beast roared, louder than thunder, and Airn backpedaled a few steps with a fencer’s grace, hand going to the sturdy cutlass at his hip. When his fingers closed on air, he finally took his eyes off the sea beast for the first time since it emerged from the waves, looking down on the empty scabbard.


A groaning curse cut off in a quick inhale as the thing took a thundering threatening step toward him, shaking the ship like she’d just come off a rogue wave, creaking and complaining. Airn stumbled to the side, but still stayed on both feet without too much trouble. The rain was torrential. The ship, fae-built or not, couldn’t take much more punishment, and the creature was fixated on him now. It was far too late to swim for it.

The sea beast took another slamming step, alpha posturing likely, and roared. A last warning. And it was then Airn’s frantic gaze caught on a shining pearl-silver hilt wedged behind crates that’d come loose. Without bothering to think about the possibility that it could be just the hilt, the thin blade snapped off in the chaos, Airn glanced back at the beastie, took a breath, and ran for it.

A rather spectacular flying dive took him under the first swing of the behemoth’s arm and he tucked into a roll, coming up in a half-crouch with his fingers around his captain’s rapier. The relief that washed over him when he yanked the full gleaming blade free was a palpable sensation dripping down over his shoulders with the rain.

The monster lowed and swung its great amorphous head around. Catching sight of the little faeling with his new shiny stick must’ve been why it suddenly released a noise that sounded alarmingly like laughter. It turned quickly enough into a shriek when Airn sank the blade a third of the way into the ligaments at what passed for an elbow.

It lashed out immediately and he nearly wasn’t fast enough to dodge the pillar of meat and bone and hard shell. One boot slipped on the sopping deck and he rolled the next blow, narrowly missing having his ribs smashed open. What followed was a rather tense several minutes of aiming stabbing blows when he could at what equated to a tree. But while the thing’s hide was too tough to be cut, the hard thrusts plunged between plating and soon it was bleeding enough that the seawater sloshing across the deck ran red.

It hadn’t been a one-sided fight, however, and Airn was not quite as steady on his feet as before. His midsection ached from a glancing blow that had smashed him into the mast hard enough to splinter the thick timber. He didn’t want to think about what it had done to his innards.

The sailor tossed his head, blinking hard, glad for the storm now as it washed the blood from the cut at his brow, keeping the majority of it out of his eyes. The beast hissed and tried to stand up on a wounded leg, stumbling down to a knee and cracking the deck open like a broken bone. The ship sank a little lower. Eventually she would give completely and Airn would be helpless as a fly in honey. Seeing his moment and desperate to end the fight there, he dove for the kill, sprinting up under the thing’s defenses and realizing far too late that he’d drastically underestimated the creature’s wounds.

His thrust never landed, stomped to the deck, blade pinned between wood and monster. He dropped to one knee along with it, unwilling to release his late captain’s rapier being as it was his only weapon. For his loyalty, he earned a backhand of sorts from a sinuous limb that threw him bodily across the deck to slam into the sealed door of the captain’s cabin.

Motherless coward.

He focused in time to see the beast growl and lift the beautiful rapier in its massive tentacles, coiling around and around and—snap.

Airn groaned where he lay half-propped against the ship and let his head fall back. His breaths hurt as they came through his lungs and he stared into the clouds, flinching against the rain, wondering how bad it would really be to die at sea in a storm. If he’d had to choose a way, this would’ve certainly made the list. It was just too bad there wasn’t anyone to see and tell the tale of his brave…

One of the sprites leaned out from behind the mast it clung to, peering down at him with wide, opaline eyes. Airn’s gaze tracked the loose lines and flapping sails around his remaining fellow crewman and his mind raced, a plan developing like a series of lightning strikes. Shouting above the storm was ludicrous, so he mimed it out easily enough with a few gestures. The sprites all looked reluctant, exchanging glances, but when the leviathan took another step and shook their perches, they began to move, stringing lines between them like they were leaving harbor. But these were not the simple knots made in keeping the sails taut and full or pinned and tight.

The beastie didn’t notice. Or if it did, it thought nothing of the small green things that buzzed too quickly to be caught by snapping tentacles. Its focus was still on Airn: the quick sharp thing that had made it hurt so much.

“That’s it,” Airn murmured, taking a step back, hands up to keep its focus. Much as he had with his captain mere moments ago. Oh, the hilarity. “Unarmed now. Free meal.”

The deck surged and swayed with the thing’s every lumbering step, but Airn stayed upright and shuffled backward with a duelist’s two-step, keeping the sprites in his peripheral. It wasn’t very Fomorian, relying on others for one’s own life, but he saw few options. Perhaps if the captain had made use of his crew instead of ordering flight, they wouldn’t have been in this mess in the first place.

The thing lashed out a tentacle and Airn jumped backward. The hooked barb at the tip sliced through his thin shirt and he felt the burn of pain that said it had landed a blow. His hand brushed the spot and found warmth seeping into his clothes against the cold rain, but nothing solid spilled out of the gash, so he continued moving backward. Patience lost, he caught the next snapping attack against his forearm with a growl of his own, immediately regretting it when the dexterous appendage coiled around his entire arm in a blink. At first he thought it might simply crumble his bones to chunks and powder, but it pulled instead. His shoulder joint strained and then his feet left the deck, lifted bodily and maneuvered toward the thing’s central mass. He kicked and fought on instinct, suddenly not quite as at peace with dying at sea during a storm as he’d thought he’d been.

Then the complex noose dropped from the rigging, landing square around the thing’s head.

Airn gave a shout of triumph and then roared above the cacophony like a proper Fomorian captain: “Heaaave!

The sprites had already wrapped the lines through pulleys and around the masts and crossbeams and heave they did. The artfully knotted web tightened around the beast’s skull, cinching the main tension of it around its throat.

The leviathan howled, thrashed, struggled to free itself. But its body was made for smashing and python-crushing, not cutting. Definitely not cutting wet rope, enchanted to withstand magical speeds and strong fingers.

Something cracked in Airn’s arm, but he hardly noticed because an instant later, he was free. On his back on the deck and at a loss for breath, but free. Rolling, cradling the limb that refused to move when he told it to, he watched with glee and pride as the sprites strained into their lines, throttling the weakened monster, calling out encouragement and insult in their own whistling dialect. They were slender things, though, and might tire before the job was done.

A single casting glance and he’d caught sight of the shattered rapier. It lay in three pieces, generally the same area, and the hilt had enough of a blade left to be called a dagger. With one last look to make sure the beast was occupied, Airn darted forward, scooped the blade, hopped onto a branch-like limb, and sprinted straight up it to the thing’s rope-laced head. It only took a moment to steady his balance and find the thing’s eye and then he stabbed. Hard.

Once, twice—and a third time with a harsh twist.

The behemoth’s fighting became more disjointed and sluggish with each stab until finally the tentacles and heavy limbs all dropped to the deck and it hung heavy in its modified noose. The sprites released the tension on their lines with identical gasps of exhaustion, clinging to sail and crossbeam to keep from tumbling down after the ends of the ropes.

And Airn stood atop the monster with his broken sword and broken arm and let the rain wash over him and he’d never felt more alive.

{tales} A Matter of Honor

The ship sank under the weight of the sea monster’s corpse, but that hardly mattered. It was the principle of the thing. They’d fought, they’d won, they had a tale to tell. Nothing could be wrong with the world. The ongoing storm, the still-healing arm, the salt licking into his wounds as he easily made the swim to shore despite it all—completely worth it. 

Still, he was a wee bit tired by the time he curled fingers in silt, and took a moment to kneel there, the surf crashing into his back, the rain pelting onto his head and shoulders. He laughed for the sheer joy of being able to laugh. The little squad of sprites who’d helped him alighted on the sand and two worked to haul him to his feet, despite their waifish builds.

Given the circumstances, he didn’t mind having a shoulder to lean on.

“Airn,” he said, grinning at his benefactors.

The eldest sprite studied him and, for a moment, mightn’t have said anything. But he nodded once. “Kiho. These are Mibi and Wiya and Zafi.”

The other three sprites looked a little jittery, but they all smiled and nodded and stood close. Occasionally long, long fingers would brush Airn’s soaked body, checking on injuries or keeping him standing or possibly just to touch. Airn appreciated all of the above. Especially since he’d heard somewhere that sprites only touched and allowed touch with those they considered supremely close or honored.

It was then the rest of the surviving crew reached them from across the beach and up on the cliffs above. Which were chalk-white and long. Exultation and congratulation were met with beaming smiles and Airn almost forgot about his injuries. Until the captain emerged through the sparse crowd. Subconsciously, they all straightened by a few degrees. 

Airn was only surprised at the man’s survival for an instant. After all, Fomoire captains were nothing to scoff at. He wasted no time on apologies or greetings.

“Captain, we should make inland. Try to find gateways—”

The captain’s voice was even and calm, but harsh enough to warrant silence from all. “Still telling me what to do?”

“I…” Airn shook his head, gaze averted to the sand. “No, sir.”

“You disobeyed, boy. You challenged my every order and then you disobeyed. Stayed aboard for glory’s sake.”

“You assume wrongly, captain. I would never—”

“And now I’m wrong yet again!” The captain spread his arms to the assembled, focusing back on Airn with a sharp grin. “Mutinous words.”

The crew ringing them took a few steps back. Either to avoid impending confrontation or to distance themselves from the accused. All except the four sprites, who might’ve even closed ranks a little. At least one of them was shaking—Airn could feel it. 

With a bit of effort, not wanting to shove Kiho away, he reached behind him to draw what remained of the captain’s rapier. He held the pieces out across both palms as an offering. He kept his mouth shut. The captain took a step closer and Airn focused on his boots. 

“Do you think me ill-fit to be your captain?”

Airn swallowed, licked his lips of salt and blood, and took a calming breath. “Captain—”

The blow was as sudden and harsh as a lightning strike and pain exploded in the younger fae’s cheekbone. His captain’s iron ring had torn a light gash that barely burned but still sent that nauseated acid feeling straight to his bones. His knees shook. Mibi’s fingers tightened against his abdomen.

“Answer the question.”

“I think you’re a fine captain who made a poor choice.”

He could’ve weaseled a less blunt version of the truth, but with all he’d been through, he ceased to care. He even dared to lift his gaze and stare down his elder, bracing for another backhanded reprimand. Instead, the captain smiled. Slowly. Dangerous. Like the Mer with which some whispered he shared his blood. Cold as the sea.

“Here’s the way it’s going to go, boy. We’ll make for the gateways. Your crew and mine. Whoever arrives first wins the honor of telling the king their version of the truth. Deal?”

“We are one crew, captain.”

With a move like fluid lightning, the captain withdrew a knife and slashed across hard. The very tip nicked Airn’s jaw on its arc, but its purpose was not to injure him. One of the sprites helping to support his weight—Kiho—began to choke and shake. His arm slipped from Airn’s shoulders as he shuddered to his knees, green fingers around his torn throat, confusion in his eyes. He slumped to his side, staining the wet sand with wet blood.

Ki!” one of the other sprites darted forward.

Airn stared, frozen, as though his entire mind had run flat into a wall.

“One mutineer down,” the captain murmured. “Four to go.”

They were frightened!” 

Airn’s voice was a commanding roar now, fueled by youthful rage, approaching the level it had reached on the ship. With the words, his focus snapped back on his grinning elder. He took a step forward to draw attention from the sprites, still holding the captain’s shattered blade. It dug into his palms in his tightening grip, but he barely noticed warmth seeping through his fingers. A Fomorian captain’s blade was a symbol of honor. He suddenly wanted to shove the pieces down his captain’s throat. Just as on the ship, the words came before he could think. 

“They stayed because they didn’t want to die, not because they disrespected you! None of us think you weak!”

The captain’s eyes flashed, grin gaining a feral edge. The pistol came out steady, smooth, and just slow enough that every hand could process what it meant before he pulled the trigger. Wiya’s head snapped back, golden eyes already gone dull by the time he dropped. Airn growled something low and foul and dug his boots into the sand as he tossed the rapier bits aside and lunged. It was an action born of madness so complete the captain did not expect it and could not hope to react in time. It earned a gasp from the crew and a communal leap back away from the sudden fight. 

Now resolutely a mutineer, Airn wasted no time on regrets. He’d dropped his captain to the sand though being weaker and younger and injured, and he did not let the advantage of surprise escape him. A wrenching grip on his captain’s wrist disarmed him. A knee to the inside of his hip kept him down. Momentarily.

“Go!” he screamed over his shoulder. “Fly! Get out of here!”

Zafi and Mibi were already airborne, snapping wings faltering in the continuing rain, but fleeing faster than anything land-bound could hope to move. It didn’t take more than a breath for the captain to find Airn’s still-tender wounds and render him a mess of pain. The younger Fomorian folded in on himself, expecting the worst and ready to defend against it, but the captain stood over him and screamed at the gawking crew.

“After them! First man to bring me their bloody wings gets a promotion!”

To a man, they darted off. And the captain looked down on Airn with a loud laugh.

“Is that it? You want to die like a dog?”

In the respite, Airn realized the answer was a resounding no and he uncurled to lash out with one foot, kicking hard enough to fracture his former captain’s shin. 

Airn staggered to his feet, broken arm held close to his body. The bone had been on its way to whole but the captain’s maneuver had it thrumming with pain again. The captain in question straightened slowly from his already-healed leg, like an uncoiling viper. And Airn gave him that level of attention, hardly blinking despite the rain that coursed down his face.

“You won’t make it far with that wound, boy.”

Airn tossed his head, finding a smirk. “It’s hardly fatal.”

“No. But this one is.”

The blade pierced his guts before he could react, but the pain did not fade. It blossomed. It caught fire and burned. His vision whited out. Everything inside him was screaming. Every muscle locked tight. Nothing would move. Nothing made sense. He barely felt the captain’s arm slide around his back, cradling the back of his head. Barely heard the man’s whispered words in his ear.

“Ever been stabbed with pure iron, lad?”

Airn could only whimper. He was shaking. Sweating. His mind was a complete blank. His body would not have responded to commands even if he’d have found it in him to give them. There was no more fight, no more storm—only agony.

“It’s not a pleasant experience, is it?”

The iron knife twisted slightly and Airn finally broke through shock enough to release a cry of pain, half masculine groan and half child’s whine. His knees had finally buckled, but the captain held him up. Held him still and skewered.

“Here’s the way it’s going to go, boy. I’m going to leave you here on this beach. You’re going to die here on this beach. Slow and painful. The way all traitors should. Then I’m going to go hunt down those fucking pixies and skin them. The crew will fall in line and everyone will forget your name in a year. So close your eyes, lad, and just try to picture Mag Mell. Because this dreary sky and these cold cliffs are the last sights your eyes will ever see.”

He yanked the dagger out and released his hold and Airn dropped immediately to his knees. He felt as though his entire body had turned to sand. Sand held in skin. And all of it afire. The captain reached out and dragged fingers through dark curled hair, pulling Airn’s head back until it sagged on his neck and the captain could grip his jaw.

“It’s a shame, really. With eyes like that, you’d have made a better whore than a sailor.”

And then he turned and walked away down the beach at a leisurely stroll. Airn watched him go. Watched him until he disappeared in fog and rain. Burning and dying and in more pain than he’d ever thought possible, he watched. And only when he was sure the fae was gone did he whimper and curl over on himself. His half-healed arm was hardly an ache when he pressed both hands to the bleeding wound in his stomach. It showed no signs of healing and it still hurt. Like dragonfire.

You’re going to die here.

He began to crawl.

On the Subject of Protection
  • Loren:airn's just smirking in my head tho bc fomoire don't wear armor
  • C is for Calamity:They also have a higher mortality rate :P
  • Loren:TRUE
  • Loren:adventure > safety
  • Loren:but at least none of those deaths were from fucking drowning in a tin can
  • C is for Calamity:XD
  • C is for Calamity:Anything that can’t be immediately removed or cut off will not be worn around fomoire
  • C is for Calamity:…that is not how I intended that sentence
  • C is for Calamity:but it still works

Don’t need my health
Got my name and got my wealth I
Stare at the sun
Just for kicks all by myself I
Lose track of time
So I might be past my prime
I’m feeling oh so good