faerie-stories

Lullaby to the Changeling Child

The day may come some day, my love
That finds you far from home
Recall your mother’s words, my love
To protect you as you roam

Eat nothing offered you, my love
In lands of summer fair
Though hunger gnaws your bones, my love
Their food will trap you there

Beautiful are they, my love
The fair and fickle folk
Hungry too are they, my love
And would eat you in a gulp

No lies may cross their lips, my love
Though truth is e’er their bane
But trust nothing that they say, my love
Trickery runs in their veins

So where you go, keep safe, my love
For dangers lie ahead
But now, this night, you’re here, my love
Safe in your own little bed

Inspired by @charminglyantiquated ‘s Elsewhere University (@elsewhereuniversity) work….

 People called her a Changeling, and she didn’t argue with them. But they were wrong. She was Blessed. She woke up to flower crowns left in her room, little gifts here and there. She didn’t wear protections and she ignored all the warnings from her fellow pupils.

After her third roommate in two months the university had decided maybe it would be best for Arriane to be on her own. It was just less stressful for everyone if she decided to continue to tempt fate.

What they didn’t know or understand was that she had grown up in Meadow. A village you would find on no maps. A faery village inhabited by humans. Humans who lived alongside the fae with no fear or backlash. It was a peaceful kind of life. The humans were free to do as they wish, and the faeries didn’t treat them like pets, animals, prisoners. People weren’t stolen away for entertainment. They were hired and treat as they should be. It was incredibly civilised and nothing like the system that Elsewhere had formed, but Arriane was still fearless of the fae. They knew she was favoured by others and she was off limits.

In Meadow humans joined the faeries in celebrations, dancing (sometimes naked) through the night. Drinking Faerie wine and eating fae foods with no repercussions. And the fae, the cunning and cruel creatures of Elsewhere nightmares, celebrated the human holidays with them. They particularly loved Christmas, dressing up as Elves and entertaining the younger children.

It was their wish that Arriane attend Elsewhere, of course it was her choice and she was free to attend any university she saw fit. But why would she? Elsewhere was perfect for her.

So she wore the flower crowns they left, and when she visited Meadow during the holidays she brought gifts back for the Elsewhere fae. Little crafted trinkets and uncommon faerie foods and drink. Little bits here and there. Little acts of kindness. She didn’t wear protection. Didn’t carry iron, or salt or anything that would hurt the Faeries. And they didn’t take her.

She wasn’t a Changeling. She was just Blessed. The other students just didn’t understand.

At midnight in the area near the Geology office where the lights never turn on correctly you will find her sitting patiently her ‘hair’ dripping and pooling on the floor. Her silver hair is not quite silver, most people theories that is actual quicksilver. It would not be surprising, they call her the Crystal Maiden for a reason. Her eyes are like polished Labradorite there is no pupil or white to them. Her lips are polished rose quarts and the hollow of her back is like a geode of amethyst not flowing or rotting wood. She has three horns of crystal that spike out of her head like parts of a crown though these colours change depending on variables that no one has been able to fully decipher.

Sweet words and music will not get you far with her. If you want her favour bring her beautiful crystals tumbled or raw. They say that she helps the Geology professor in exchange for his famous rock candy too. It is hard to tell if that is what she is actually eating some of the time since she has been known to eat raw crystals as well. Green fluorite crystals seems to be her favourite when it comes to these earthy snacks.

No one has ever reported being Taken by her and she is one of the most peaceful of the gentry on campus as long as you do not anger her. A feat that is hard to accomplish. She uses no glamour and allows people to see her directly.

She never speaks and people say that it is because her tongue, like so much of her, is made of crystal. Even her hoof like feet are like raw hematite. You can tell if you have won her favour or not based on her tails and crystal crown. If she wraps her long forked tail around your body that is a clear indication that you have won her favour. This can be dangerous as her tails tips are tipped with a quicksilver that changes rapidly from liquid to solid easily. Her tails also weave through three different hallways they are so long and you have to be careful not to step on them. She has been known to forgive those who do by accident. Her crown will always be blue in colour if she is fond of someone and red if she is angry.

No one knows what to make of the soft pink and purple tones her crown turns whenever the geology professor is nearby but everyone knows that if you are kind to one of them then they will both be kind to you.

There are three ways to make her angry

  1. Trying to touch her or any of her crystals without consent.
  2. Bringing iron or salt near her at all.
  3. Speaking of anything related to her and the professors relationship. She hates gossip.

Keep in mind that she tends to poison those who make her angry and won’t even bother to Take you to do so.

[x]

So what happens if two people who have promised their firstborn to separate witches have a child together? Do they both just pop up in the nursery and have a custody battle?

I need a book about a little girl whose parents had promised their firstborn to different witches and the only way that both ends of the deal were fulfilled was for them to have joint custody of the child.

Elidyr’s Sojourn
9x12, watercolor and pencil

The tradition of fairies in the Vale of Neath goes a long way back. In his Journey Through Wales (ca. 1191), Gerald of Wales tells the following story, set around Neath and Swansea:

‘The priest Elidyr always maintained that it was he who was the person concerned. When he was a young innocent only twelve years old and learning to read, he ran away one day and hid under the hollow bank of some river or other, for he had had more than enough of the harsh discipline… meted out by his teacher… Two days passed and there he still lay hidden, with nothing at all to eat. Then two tiny men appeared, no bigger than pigmies. “If you will come away with us,” they said,“we will take you to a land where all is playtime and pleasure.”’

So, they led him through an underground tunnel to a beautiful land of meadows and rivers, where the days were dark because the sun did not shine, and the nights pitch-black, for there was neither moon nor stars.

The people there were very tiny, but perfectly formed, fair in complexion, the men with flowing hair. They had horses about as big as greyhounds, and never ate meat nor fish, but lived on junkets. More than anything in the world they hated lies. Elidyr was brought before their king, who handed him over to his son, a child like himself, and they would play together with a golden ball. Elidyr would often return to the upper world to visit his mother, and was never hindered. But one day she asked him to bring back some of the fairies’ gold, and he stole the golden ball. He ran home with it to his mother by his usual route, hotly pursued by the fairies. He tripped over the threshhold, and and as he fell the ball slipped from his hand. The little men at his heels snatched it up, and as they passed Elidyr they spat at him and shouted, “Thief, traitor, false mortal!” The boy was red with shame for what he had done, but was ultimately unable to relocate the entrance to the underground passage. He searched for a year along the overhanging banks of the river, he never found it again.

The boy later became a priest, and whenever the Bishop asked him about the tale, Elidyr would burst into tears. He could still remember the language of the fairies, and when the Bishop related it to Gerald of Wales, he responded that it reminded him of Greek.

If Elidyr was lying to cover his truancy, he was spinning a traditional yarn which he knew could be believed. The underground land of the fairies is found in other early fairytales in Britain as well as Ireland, where the fairies inhabit the sidh or barrow - suggesting that fairies owe at least part of their origin to a cult of the dead.

A word on gambling

Hey all, I found the Elsewhere University page like two days ago but man, I was so inspired right away. Please allow me to add to this marvellous universe. 

Some words in advance: 

This story ties into a few others. Nothing but quick mentions, though; @fruedtrollism and @comerunwildwithme you two may catch brief glances of you characters :) It also features the weird humanoid/horseoid skeleton beast from this post

For those who haven’t seen the EU blog yet: Al you need to know is that the setting is a prestigious university set on top of a fairy hill. Have fun reading!


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Seafoam's Story

He was a freshman when we met, So foolish and fresh. He never carried around salt or Iron and thought it a good idea to think allowed when he wrote poetry, the fool. That boy so foolish and fresh, even wrote and spoke it next to the pool.

So fragilely human yet so unafraid. I may have a few drops of human blood but I am still a seal maid. Iron burns and salt repels. It matters not that my great grandma was human. My grandma was born of the sea like her father. It is rare but it happens.

When he asked me why I was staring at him that day I could not lie and said, “Your poetry is so beautiful and the sweetest of sweets. Will you write a poem for me, John Keats?”

My ability to speak poetically probably made him think I was human, but no it is just one of the few gifts being born of the sea and a small amount of human blood does. Many don’t like me for that and I know that they do not see me as one of their own completely which is why I attend no court or revelry.

He wrote me a poem, I gave him a shell. He wrote me another and I gave him that old silver bell. We exchanged gift after gift and spent hour upon hour by the pool. Oh how I missed him over the summer, I waited and waited for my fool.

That is the thing about Selkie especially those who are females. We fall for humans and mix with them much more than the males.

We become human easily if we find true love which we find in many ways. It is rare to find a selkie with no drop of human blood these days.

When he came back for his second year her worn a necklace of iron but always took it off when I was near.

 That year he struggled with his exam so I made a deal with the man. I would ensure he would pass, but the last lie he spoke to me was forever his last.

 He did not go home that winter or that summer. Many students began to wonder.

 You see I have never tried to Take him. I refused to let him be hurt because of my impulsive whim.

Maybe I am more human than I thought. Everyone said so but they forgot.

He said he would love me forever. I said the same and I knew then the bond I had to sever.

On the night of his graduation we stand in front of a flame. My pelt burns forever and I feel no shame.

We Selkie fall in love with humans more than others of our like. Now I cross the river just as human as my beloved Mike.

The Legend of the Faerie Wife

This is a ditty that came to mind as I was reading @takemeawaytocamelot ’s wonderful Red Jamie and the White Lady story. I’m honored that she’s let me in on some of the development of RJWL and that I get to share this companion piece with all of you!

You can find RJWL HERE.

***

An excerpt from “History of Clan Fraser”

The Legend of the Faerie Wife

This story begins over two hundred years ago, with a Fraser of Lovat. He was traveling alone, away from his home and kin. He came upon a faerie hill and stopped to rest amongst the large stones that circled its crest.

It is said that suddenly the wind rose and howled; the stones cracked as if the world opened up around him. Terrible things tried to escape the mouth of the earth as it opened. Then, silence fell and there before him, lying asleep in the smooth grass, was a beautiful woman; a faerie from the hill.

He gathered the woman in his arms, carrying her away from the hill in fear that it would swallow her again. She awoke then, lost and confused, unable to say where she had come from. He brought her home to heal, not knowing that this choice would forever alter the future of his line. Time passed and the pair became friends.

She became a healer, performing miracles to the awe and disdain of those around her. A village girl, who was jealous and wanted the Fraser man for herself, spread hateful lies about the new healer, declaring her a witch in whispers behind her hand. While other folk began to fear the woman, the Fraser man grew to love her; his faerie from the hill.

One night, under a rowan tree, he confessed his love, offering her his beloved mother’s ring as a symbol of his loyalty. It is said that she warned him of the danger in loving a woman such as she, but his heart was already hers. Confessing her own love for him, she gave the only gift she possessed; a kiss. They were hand-fast there, under the moon and stars, and the man and his fairie were one.

More time passed and the love between them only grew stronger but, while their hearts were full, their arms were empty. Months passed, and still they were not blessed with a child. Despite this trial, their passion for each other never dwindled. The man continued to care for his home and tenants and his wife continued her healing.

One day, the jealous village girl saw the Fraser wife dancing in the forest, calling upon nature to bless her with a child. Angry and spiteful, the village girl spread new rumors about the strange healer and her witchcraft. The villagers, fearful of evil demons coming upon them, began to shut their doors at the woman’s arrival. Shunned, she returned home, seeking solace from her husband.

It is said that the Fraser wife received messages, warning her to flee before her day of judgement. It was believed that she had cursed her husband, deceiving his heart and mind so that he would take her to wife. Unless she released him, they would kill him to fully rid the world of her dark influence.

Fear for her beloved husband gripped her heart and she made preparations to return to the stone circle. Although her mind was set, her heart and soul cried out for him; her lover and friend. She sought him out, aching for one last moment. Her husband, unaware of her machinations, guided her to the rowan tree and they were home in each other once more.

The Fraser man woke, cold and alone. Fear gripped his heart, for his wife was gone. Mounting his horse, he searched high and low, finding the villagers doing the same. Realizing where she had gone, he rode for the faerie hill with all due haste, praying that he would be in time. His wife foremost in his mind, he did not see the village girl watch him ride away.

He reached the hill, crying out as he saw his wife approaching the tallest stone, prepared to disappear back into the earth. Seizing her hand, the man pulled her away and into his arms, shaking with fear. Their lips met, their tears mingling as they professed their love again, at the place of their first meeting.

Then, angry cries rose up as the village men with the fastest horses arrived, dismounting and drawing arms to take the witch they sought. The Fraser man drew his sword, gladly willing to give his life to see her safely away. She turned, trying to reach the stone, but the way was blocked.

Then, a great stramash erupted. Her husband guarded her, twisting and parrying, taking down each man who tried to harm his wife. Unarmed, the woman could only watch. Suddenly, the three remaining village men attacked at once, and her husband cried out. He stood again, taking down another. Then another. Then, after felling the last of the attackers, the Fraser man reached for her as he fell to the ground.

The woman held him as his life’s blood left him, crying out as words of love and tenderness left her lips. He kissed her ring, the symbol of his loyalty, promising to find her again. He smiled, the knowledge of her love and safety enough for him as he passed from this world into the next. It is said that the place the Fraser man fell, high up on the fairy hill, is covered with blue flowers; the color of his eyes.

News of the man’s death spread quickly and the truth of the jealous village girl’s lies became known. Many mourned him, for he had been a brave and kind man. Despite this, the healer was still looked upon with judgement and mistrust.

The Fraser wife had her husband buried under their rowan tree before she disappeared. Legend has it that the woman roamed the world for a time, living in solitude until she should also pass from this earth and join her husband in the world beyond.

Then, just as heartache and despair became too much, the touch of her husband’s life resounded within her womb. It is said that the woman and the Fraser man’s love was so perfect that the child was gifted with the magic and knowledge of the faeries. As winter turned to spring, the Fraser wife gave birth to a son with eyes the color of the flowers on his mother’s faerie hill.

The Price 2/?

Summary: Killian Jones has no desire to return to Misthaven, but his captain and his crew are tied to the kingdom in a way he has never understood, and they consider it a duty to be there for the Choosing. Once every fifteen years, the witch in her high tower chooses a man or woman among them and whisks them away, in payment for all she has done to save this kingdom, and to most it is considered a blessing to be chosen. All Killian wants is for the Choosing to be finished and The Jewel to return to sea, and to forget once again all that Misthaven has taken from him. 

tagging @kmomof4

Chapter One


Chapter Two

When Killian had been a young boy, he’d found himself often at odds with the world around him. Or at least, that was how Liam told it.

He was too young to remember it all, or even most of it, really, but to Killian Jones, the world had been the tavern, and the town surrounding them, the sea before them, but it had been more. His mother had called him fantastical, whimsical, when he brought home strange flowers she’d never seen before, and told her stories of faeries and goblins and beasts with kind eyes.

The rest of the village hadn’t been quite as kind.

He’d been so young he could barely remember their faces, but the taunts, the jeers, the whispers of the mad Jones boy they never bothered to keep silent when he wandered by, those memories remained.

He remembered only one instance of true danger, in all that time. The beasties and ghouls he’d weaved stories of were long gone to his memory, but this one moment in time stayed etched in his mind.

The flowers he’d returned from the woods at the edge of the forest sat neatly in the cup his mother had put them in, sunlight drifting in from the window, bathing them in warm light on the ledge on which they sat, and Killian was quiet as he leafed through the book father had brought back from this fair or that cart. He’d only just begun to make sense of the symbols upon the page, and he’d whispered them quietly, hoping father wouldn’t hear his jumpy mutterings from where he sat beside the kitchen.

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anonymous asked:

Now I am seeing a natural redhead who goes to great pains to make sure to keep her hair completely dyed a bright unnatural red, but dyes her eyebrows brown. And everything else shaved smooth or waxed off so be 100% sure no one thinks for a second she actually has red hair. To hide the sight. Because she grew up with real faery stories and knows darn well getting caught seeing what shouldn't be seen is a tragically bad idea. I may have to write something now.

Write The Thing!

soapieturner  asked:

Jonsa + 7

accidental baby acquisition.

it’s magic and stuff!~

They find the baby in the godswood.

It is, truth be told, kind of creepy. Not the baby. Well – okay, if Sansa is being honest, the baby is a little creepy, if only because the baby is perfect. Bright green eyes, a head of a soft golden curls, and plump rosy cheeks and chubby little arms and legs and toes.

No, the creepy factor is that they found the baby in a weirwood-woven basket, sleeping peacefully on a bed of fresh moss under the watchful, weeping eyes of the heart tree.

“And it was wearing a crown,” Arya says, arms crossed fitfully over her chest. “You need to stop forgetting to mention the damned crown.

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Faerie Food

Stories speak of faerie food and delights that are undeniably delectable, but bring strong consequences to humans. Faerie food is said to taste like Wheaten-bread, mixed with wine and honey.

Some (supposed) examples of faerie food include:

  • Flower petals.
  • Dogwood fruit.
  • (Fae) cheese.
  • Small cakes and other pastries. 

If one is in the realm of the faeries and is offered food and drink - it would be wise to kindly decline. Tales tell of numerous outcomes that can occur: 

  • Trapped - The person who eats or drinks something will be either trapped in the faerie world forever, or temporarily. If one is trapped temporarily, when they come back to the human world, time may have fast forwarded quickly (it could be a few hours, days, or centuries).
  • Appetite corruption - Faerie food is more appealing than human food, and thus whenever the person tries human food again, it will taste like dust or otherwise unsavoury. It is also said that the human will be forever hungry and never satisfied after meals.
  • Control - Eating the food could allow an entity (reputed to be a ruler of some sort), to take control of the human. This could be dangerous if the entity is tyrannical or malevolent. 
  • Shapeshifting - Eating the food could result in a permanent change of form (animals, humanoids, etc) or an uncontrollable state of continuous shapeshifting over time.

When faeries eat their food, they do not do so physically. Rather, they consume the toradh (spiritual essence of the food). However, it is said that when they eat physical food, it may include:

  • Barley meal.
  • Poisonous mushrooms.
  • Goat milk.
  • Silver weed roots.
  • Heather stalks.
  • Toadstools.
Hogmanay pt.3 - Sian.

Part 3 sees Jamie and Bree collecting water for the Sian - a blessing that is carried out in the morning of Hogmanay with water, traditionally from the river. The story Jamie tells Bree is of my own creating so any inaccuracies about folklore are my own fault, but the premise of the tale is rooted in Celtic faerie stories. This chapter was a bit rushed as I really wanted to get it up before I go on holiday - maybe it could use a little polishing but I hope you will like it for what it is. Thank you for reading as ever, let me know what you think or any questions you have :) Han xx

Brianna was always eager for any chance to ride one of the Lallybroch horses so when her father had requested her company fetching some sort of special water, she had been only too pleased to go with him. Especially as she had heard him laughing with Mama in their room and knew that if he was in a particularly good mood he would almost certainly let her urge Aoileann to a gallop across the meadow which led to the river.

However as the horses made their way into the woods Bree felt a calm descend over her and no longer wanted to gallop furiously toward their destination. She was happy listening to her father point out which birds made which call and asking him questions about the woods. The air was cold and crisp and everything seems to be tinged with a faint blue light as the afternoon bowed gracefully toward evening and their shadows began to lengthen across the frosty ground.

“What makes the water we’re fetching so special, Da?”

“It is the source we are collecting it from. Your Aunty will have told ye of the ‘saining’ or Sian, aye?”

Jamie gave her a sidelong smile and Bree could tell that there was more to come. She hoped it would be one of his stories, about the Auld Ones or mythical creatures or ghosts that roamed the Celtic isles. Sometimes his stories would absorb her so much that when they were over it would take Bree a while to remember where she was and the best ones made Da’s eyes light up with the telling and his voice would get that deep far away quality as if he was travelling the tale with her for the first time.

“Yes, the blessing of the house and the animals and people to ward off spirits and bring good luck.”

“Aye, and the place we gather the water for the blessing is an ancient river crossing. It is what ye call a living and a dead ford. Have ye heard of such a thing mo chridhe?”

Bree shook her head and grinned at the flash of excitement on her father’s face.

“Ach weel let me tell ye of it.”

Jamie shifted himself in the saddle as if settling in for a long journey and Bree copied his movements faithfully, making sure that she held her head as high as he did.

“Ye’ll maybe no ken this but rivers are the dwelling places of the goddesses of the Auld ones. The waters are their kingdoms and any human that enters their depths must accept the rule of the Auld ones. That is why ye must no’ fight the current should ye ever get too deep, ye must show respect to the goddess by swimming wi’ the pull of the water, allowing her to court ye and release ye at her will.”

Jamie’s voice was softer than usual, his accent broadening as he spoke and his eyes rested on the path ahead of them as Bree watched him intently.

“The old folk of believed the goddess is the one who decides what the river will do, where it will bend and where it will flood and where the creatures of the land may cross safely to the other side. Before men built bridges to satisfy their own impatience they relied upon the kindness of the river goddess’s to provide them safe passage for whilst the deer was given strong legs to spring across and squirrels given agility that they might leap from branches, man needed to ken humility and so he waited on the river’s pleasure.”

Jamie paused to take a drink from his water pouch and watched out of the corner of his eye as Bree squirmed impatiently. Fighting back a smile, Jamie offered the flask to her but she shook her head

“No thank you, carry on Da … please.”

Jamie nodded and thought for a moment before reigning in and swinging down from his saddle.

“The path ahead is too narrow for both horses. We’ll tether Aoileann here and ride together.”

Bree would normally have pestered to be allowed to ride on but she was far too invested in the story to waste time bartering with her Da. Aoileann was tethered to a nearby oak and Bree settled in the saddle between Jamie’s legs within a couple of minutes and they set off again.

“Where was I?”

“Man had to learn humility…”

Bree prompted and he nodded slowly as if to himself.

“Och, that’s right. Weel, twas not only the living who needed a place to cross. Spirits needed to cross from this world into the next and though they could have chosen a passage between the trees or cliffs or over the sea had they wished it, they chose the rivers for they are the most beautiful of crossings in the Highlands and so the goddess of each river made a special ford, a ford where both living and dead might cross in harmony and go on their way in peace.”

“Wouldn’t the spirits mind sharing their crossing?”

Bree asked curiously and Jamie grinned

“No, their journey in this world is at an end and as they cross into the next, it pleases them to walk alongside a living soul one last time. The spirits who cross at such fords are not the same as the likes of the Wild Hunt.”

Bree shivered at the mention of that particular ghost story. The tale of the Wild Hunt had given her the creeps and made her reluctant to blow out the candle at bedtime for several days after the telling of it. She huddled closer into her Da’s chest now, surreptitiously putting her hand on his sleeve, feeling better for having a grip on him, certain that if anyone could protect her from the less friendly spirits of the woods, it was her Da.

“So where we’re going now, to the living and dead ford, it is a spirit crossing?”

“Aye.”

“How will we know if … well if someone is trying to cross it while we’re there?”

Bree bit her lip; the last thing she wanted was to get in the way of a spirit crossing.

“I doubt ye would feel a thing unless they wanted ye to, but we willna be there long. We will fill up our flasks and be on our way.”

Jamie reassured her as the ford came into view between the sparse trees.

*

Jamie lifted Bree down and handed her a flask, she edged toward the water but kept a tight grip on his hand, blue eyes wide with trepidation. Jamie had seen her look so when she was about to try a food that was new to her or confess to some wee foolishness to her Mam that she wasn’t sure would earn her a scolding or not.

Jamie watched her with a curious mix of pride and awe that he so often felt when his daughter was alone with him and his attention could be devoted solely to her. He had spent many hours; countless hours really, imagining the child he and Claire had created. He had usually, to his shame, imagined a boy sometimes with Claire’s dark curls and other times with his flaming hair. He had imagined the detail of his son’s face, small dimples when he smiled and the high arch of his feet. He had brought to life in his mind the crease of skin at the laddie’s elbows and the high giddy sound of his laugh and yet for all his imagining and dreaming nothing had prepared him for the reality of Brianna.

Jamie found himself enthralled by everything she did, her wee quirks and the thoughts she cared to share with him were treasures that he hoarded greedily and stored against the burden of the years he had lost with her.

In the stories he told her he wove the culture of their people and tried to impart the wisdom that he had received from his own father’s tales. Jamie wanted Brianna to have the world laid at her feet and he would do all he could to place it there, but he also wanted her to understand the soil on which she stood. To know the history of her country, to feel that Scotland was in her bones not just in her heritage and so he told her tall tales of kelpies, faeries and maidens in lochs and he brought her to the places that she might feel the connection most strongly, hiking in the hills and riding through the forests of their home so that whatever the future held, she would always ken that she had a place here at Lallybroch, a door that would never close and a welcome that would never expire.

“Should I just … you know … take it or do I have to say something?”

Bree whispered. Jamie considered her for a moment and then dropped to a crouch, the shallow water lapping over the toes of his boots. He closed his eyes and turned his face up to the sun

“Ar n-Athair a tha air nèamh, Gu naomhaichear d'ainm. Thigeadh do rìoghachd. Dèanar do thoil air an talamh mar a nìthear air nèamh.”

He wasn’t sure why the Lord ’s Prayer came to his head but he saw no reason why it was any less valid than another offering of respect and the Gaelic seemed to please Brianna, who with a sigh of relief that he seemed to know the right words to appease the river goddess and spirits alike, let go of his hand and dipped her flask into the babbling water, murmuring a shorter verse of prayer that Ian had taught her, eyes tightly closed, claiming what she needed before carefully tightening the lid and handing it over to him.

“Was that alright, Da?”

“Perfect Bree, utterly perfect.”

Maas Withdrawal Book Recommendations #16: “The Chronicles of Faerie” by O. R. Melling

Search the tag “Book Recommendations” to see previous recommendations!

Overview

  Canadian Gwen and her Irish cousin, Findabhair, have long planned a summer of backpacking around Ireland, visiting sites out of the old legends of fairy folk. 

Little do they know that it is the summer of the Hunter’s Moon, a dangerous time for mortals who meddle with the kingdom of Faerie. 

One night, camping out on old ruins, Finn is kidnapped by the Faerie king, who wants her for a bride and possible sacrifice. 

It is up to Gwen, the more indecisive of the two, to rescue her cousin.

Basically, if Maas is Queen of the Fae, O.R. Melling is the Queen of classic Faerie stories. These chronicles are INCREDIBLE!!!

Anonymous asked:

Hello!:3 Do you know any classic stories/folklore/myths that involve dragons taking on a human form? I know I should be leaning towards Asian rather than Western mythology for this kind of thing but I can’t find any actual stories (I’m absolutely dreadful at finding the things I look for) and I’d love to base some elements of my story on legends like that. Your blog is a blessing, btw. More than a blessing. A Divine, heavenly blessing, and you are brilliant. ❤️


Try looking up the moʻo of Hawaiian mythology. I seem to recall that these can sometimes be women who shapeshift into dragons. Griselda and the Dragon Prince is another one, possibly–though I can’t remember if that’s a modern tale or an actual faerie tale. The story of Jilocasin is another one, though that one I’m pretty sure is an older tale.

I hope that helps! Keep an eye on the comments in case anyone else has some suggestions. :) <3

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Have a writing question? Please be sure to read my ask rules and master list or your question may not be answered. Rude people will be blocked. :)

anonymous asked:

Hi! I love your blog! I just saw this in other fandom, and I would like to see one of those with eldarya's guys: how would be their reaction if they knew Gardienne writes fanfiction about them?

Ooh, I like this! Thanks for sending it in, Anon! Apologies if I went a little overboard with this ask, I really couldn’t help myself. >.<


Nevra:

  • He’s completely and utterly unsurprised.
  • Let’s be honest here. Nevra’s basically the Harry Styles of the guard; there’s no way he hasn’t had fanfiction written about him before.
  • Couple that with his natural nosiness, there’s no way he didn’t know about the ever-growing amount of fanfiction about him. So the fact one more person writes about him isn’t really that surprising for him.
  • He does take an uncharacteristic interest in your fanfiction though.
  • The way you write him is an insight on how you see him, something Nevra’s really interested in.
  • If it’s a really unfavourable depiction of him (i.e. an exaggeration of his womanizing qualities and a complete disregard for his actual character), Nevra’s honestly disappointed. He hoped you saw him as something more than just a gigolo and has to distance himself from you for a while.
  • If it’s a more favourable depiction (i.e. something that’s not a hideous caricature of his character), he actually takes the time to read it, purposely pointing out any ooc-ness and whining bitterly when you’ve written his unflattering qualities perfectly.


Ezarel:

  • You do what now?
  • You write stories about him?
  • Honestly? Truly? A-are you being serious?
  • He just can’t comprehend it. Why on Earth would you write fanfiction about him? Why?
  • It’s not like he has a problem with the actual content(assuming it’s all wholesome stuff, otherwise…), just the idea of somebody writing about him.
  • He’s a constant in your life, somebody you’ll see even if you’re not in his guard, so why do you feel the need to write about him?
  • It’s both embarrassing and confusing for Ez and he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do with this new knowledge.
  • He’s a tad curious though, and reads though your fanfiction, at least once, pointing out grammar errors, character ooc-ness (not just his own), overall judging the quality of your work.
  • He finds that enjoys it a bit more than he thought he would, but the fact he’s in the fanfiction makes it difficult for him to fully enjoy it and in the end he asks you to stop, or, at least, keep your fanfiction to yourself(i.e make sure no-one finds out) and him out of the loop.

Valkyon:

  • You write stories… about him?
  • Um… what?
  • Similar to Ezarel, Val is confused and embarrassed to hear you’ve been writing fanfiction about him.
  • Like, why????
  • He knows Nevra’s got fanfiction, but he figured it was only Nevra, so to find you’ve been writing fanfics about has him really flustered and flattered.
  • Surprisingly, it doesn’t take him long at all to accept you write about him, figuring it’s similar to the old faery stories, where certain faeries are used again and again, but in different situations.
  • At least he hopes it is, because he’s certainly not reading it to find out.
  • Books have never been that interesting to him, and the fact he stars in this particular piece of fiction doesn’t make him any more inclined to pick it up.
  • In fact, it makes him even less likely to read it since he still finds the idea of him being written about strange.
  • But other than that, Valkyon just shrugs it off. As long as you don’t try to slander his good name, or throw your fanfic around for the world to see, Valkyon doesn’t really care.
9

So, around in November 2016, I had the pleasure of submitting this comic, titled No Man’s Land, to the “Creators for Creators” contest! We didn’t win but we worked pretty hard on it! I can’t thank my writers enough for their hard work and encouragement!

The comic is about two British officers from WW1 who get spirited away to a faerie land.

The characters were based on JRR Tolkien and CS Lewis so it was right up my alley. I hope to get back to it someday especially since I feel like I’ve improved since last year!

昨年このコミックを作りました。"No Man’s Land" ていう話。ストーリーは2人のイギリス人が変な国に行ってフエリーランドに入ります。JRR Tolkein と CS Lewis はこの2人パーソナリティーです。私はファンタシーのことが好きだから喜びにやっと出来きました。昨年からよく進歩ができたと思っています!