faery child

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.

O I forbid you, maidens a’,
That wear gowd on your hair,
To come or gae by Carterhaugh,
For young Tam Lin is there.

There’s nane that gaes by Carterhaugh
But they leave him a wad,
Either their rings, or green mantles,
Or else their maidenhead.

Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little aboon her knee,
And she has broded her yellow hair
A little aboon her bree,
And she’s awa to Carterhaugh
As fast as she can hie.

When she came to Carterhaugh
Tam Lin was at the well,
And there she fand his steed standing,
But away was himsel.

She had na pu’d a double rose,
A rose but only twa,
Till upon then started young Tam Lin,
Says, Lady, thou’s pu nae mae.

Why pu’s thou the rose, Janet,
And why breaks thou the wand?
Or why comes thou to Carterhaugh
Withoutten my command?

“Carterhaugh, it is my own,
My daddy gave it me,
I’ll come and gang by Carterhaugh,
And ask nae leave at thee.”

Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little aboon her knee,
And she has broded her yellow hair
A little aboon her bree,
And she is to her father’s ha,
As fast as she can hie.

Four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the ba,
And out then came the fair Janet,
The flower among them a’.

Four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the chess,
And out then came the fair Janet,
As green as onie glass.

Out then spake an auld grey knight,
Lay oer the castle wa,
And says, Alas, fair Janet, for thee,
But we’ll be blamed a’.

“Haud your tongue, ye auld fac’d knight,
Some ill death may ye die!
Father my bairn on whom I will,
I’ll father none on thee.”

Out then spak her father dear,
And he spak meek and mild,
“And ever alas, sweet Janet,” he says,
“I think thou gaest wi child.”

“If that I gae wi child, father,
Mysel maun bear the blame,
There’s neer a laird about your ha,
Shall get the bairn’s name.

“If my love were an earthly knight,
As he’s an elfin grey,
I wad na gie my ain true-love
For nae lord that ye hae.

“The steed that my true love rides on
Is lighter than the wind,
Wi siller he is shod before,
Wi burning gowd behind.”

Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little aboon her knee,
And she has broded her yellow hair
A little aboon her bree,
And she’s awa to Carterhaugh
As fast as she can hie.

When she came to Carterhaugh,
Tam Lin was at the well,
And there she fand his steed standing,
But away was himsel.

She had na pu’d a double rose,
A rose but only twa,
Till up then started young Tam Lin,
Says, Lady, thou pu’s nae mae.

“Why pu’s thou the rose, Janet,
Amang the groves sae green,
And a’ to kill the bonny babe
That we gat us between?”

“O tell me, tell me, Tam Lin,” she says,
“For’s sake that died on tree,
If eer ye was in holy chapel,
Or christendom did see?”

“Roxbrugh he was my grandfather,
Took me with him to bide
And ance it fell upon a day
That wae did me betide.

“And ance it fell upon a day
A cauld day and a snell,
When we were frae the hunting come,
That frae my horse I fell,
The Queen o’ Fairies she caught me,
In yon green hill do dwell.

“And pleasant is the fairy land,
But, an eerie tale to tell,
Ay at the end of seven years,
We pay a tiend to hell,
I am sae fair and fu o flesh,
I’m feard it be mysel.

“But the night is Halloween, lady,
The morn is Hallowday,
Then win me, win me, an ye will,
For weel I wat ye may.

“Just at the mirk and midnight hour
The fairy folk will ride,
And they that wad their true-love win,
At Miles Cross they maun bide.”

“But how shall I thee ken, Tam Lin,
Or how my true-love know,
Amang sa mony unco knights,
The like I never saw?”

“O first let pass the black, lady,
And syne let pass the brown,
But quickly run to the milk-white steed,
Pu ye his rider down.

“For I’ll ride on the milk-white steed,
And ay nearest the town,
Because I was an earthly knight
They gie me that renown.

“My right hand will be gloved, lady,
My left hand will be bare,
Cockt up shall my bonnet be,
And kaimed down shall my hair,
And thae’s the takens I gie thee,
Nae doubt I will be there.

“They’ll turn me in your arms, lady,
Into an esk and adder,
But hold me fast, and fear me not,
I am your bairn’s father.

“They’ll turn me to a bear sae grim,
And then a lion bold,
But hold me fast, and fear me not,
And ye shall love your child.

“Again they’ll turn me in your arms
To a red het gand of airn,
But hold me fast, and fear me not,
I’ll do you nae harm.

“And last they’ll turn me in your arms
Into the burning gleed,
Then throw me into well water,
O throw me in with speed

“And then I’ll be your ain true-love,
I’ll turn a naked knight,
Then cover me wi your green mantle,
And hide me out o sight.”

Gloomy, gloomy was the night,
And eerie was the way,
As fair Jenny in her green mantle
To Miles Cross she did gae.

At the mirk and midnight hour
She heard the bridles sing,
She was as glad at that
As any earthly thing.

First she let the black pass by,
And syne she let the brown,
But quickly she ran to the milk-white steed,
And pu’d the rider down.

Sae weel she minded what he did say,
And young Tam Lin did win,
Syne covered him wi her green mantle,
As blythe’s a bird in spring

Out then spak the Queen o Fairies,
Out of a bush o broom,
“Them that has gotten young Tam Lin
Has gotten a stately-groom.”

Out then spak the Queen o Fairies,
And an angry woman was she,
“Shame betide her ill-far’d face,
And an ill death may she die,
For she’s taen awa the bonniest knight
In a’ my companie.

“But had I kend, Tam Lin,” said she,
“What now this night I see,
I wad hae taen out thy twa grey een,
And put in twa een o tree.”

—  Tam Lin, traditional Ballad as recorded by James Child (1729)
BNHA: “I see you have the courage, dear.”

Hey!!! So! In the wake of that somber note about Discombobulate’s discontinuation, I have a new fic! Sort of.

The first AU I ever conceived of for My Hero Academia was an urban fantasy world that, until now, I have done absolutely nothing with. So! Remedying that now, because it’s a fun idea to think about and I want to share it with you.

The main reason why I never did anything with it is that it’s really more worldbuilding than story, and if there is a full-length story to be had here, I don’t know what it is yet. Best I can judge, it’s better as a collection of connected but relatively self-contained mini-stories and vignettes. And I want to write them. Hopefully I’ll figure out a wider collective title for these at some point.

This is sort of a low-stress deal for me, so it should be pretty fun to write. Hope it’s fun for you guys to read, too.

Hope you guys like Fair Folk.

Story 1: “I see you have the courage, dear.”

Word count: 5481

Warnings: Kidnapping, mentions of child abuse, Faeries Have A Weird Sense Of Ethics

AO3

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According to legend, the fae will occasionally kidnap a human child, leaving a faerie child in its place. Sometimes the child will be replaced with a wrinkled old elf, or even a wooden carving. The human baby will then be raised by the faeries. ✖ I think that this is what happened here at the Beast Peddler homestead- Muffins and I went out for a morning mandrake harvest and found that there was one less root than we planted. This isn’t a big deal, sometimes mandrakes will uproot themselves and go their own way. However, there was something else in the garden. It looked like a crude wooden carving of a baby, and was cooing as the mandrakes doted over it. I was a little confused, but picked it up and brought it inside- weird creatures are always welcome here! ✖ In the shop this Saturday!

anonymous asked:

I read a thing and it's Probs not true just the internet being the internet /but/ somebody said that in welsh folklore corgis were the preferred method of transportation for fairies and I had a sudden imagine of Megatron straight-faced riding a corgi into battle and I can't breathe 😂

Megatron wants a battle corgi for the Aesthetic™ but they don’t really come in his size, so he gets Shockwave to help make him a Giant Corgi.  Her name is Morrigan.  

Another drawing of Kieran, this time I finally did it in color! :D

He’s much more beautiful in my imagination. I just don’t have the abilities to actually show it ;__; 

I love him so much it hurts ;__;

Kieran  © @cassandraclare

Art  © MakuTheSpaceArtist

Please do not repost and don’t delete credit!

OK BUT I HAD A THOUGHT AND MIGHT BE ONTO SOMETHING

CoHF & LoS Spoilers (kinda)

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Chapter 12 - When the Bough Breaks

The premise: What if Claire had conceived on her wedding night?

You can find previous chapters here.


October 8th, 1734; near Leoch

“What was that?”

Geillis paused a moment before responding, “It’s nothing but the wind, Claire.”

“No, listen,” I urged. In a moment, the sound came again. It was weaker this time, almost imperceptible, but my blood ran cold as I realized what it was.

It was a baby.

Dropping my basket, I plunged into the underbrush in the general direction of the infant’s cry.

“That’s a faerie hill!” Geillis hissed as she pulled me back towards the path, her eyes wide.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“That baby is no human child, it’s a changeling,” she impatiently explained, “When the faeries steal a human child away, they leave one of their own in it’s place. You know it’s a changeling because it doesna thrive and grow,”

I pried her fingers from my arm and turned away, “That’s just superstitious nonsense!”

“Claire!” she spun me back around to face her, “If you leave a changeling overnight in such a place, they’ll return the child they’ve stolen!”

“But they won’t because it’s not a changeling, it’s a sick child, and it might not very well survive a night out in the open,” I spat. “I have to go!”

“You go yourself, then, and good luck to you!” She dismissed me with a wave of her hand and disappeared into the fog.

The plaintive wail was closer now, pulling me ever onward and upward by my heart strings. It was a steep climb and the forest floor was slippery with wet leaves and mud. I struggled to find traction, grabbing onto branches and rocks in a desperate attempt to reach the abandoned child.

I burst into the clearing atop the hill and spotted the foundling nestled in the crook of large branch, laying completely still.

“Oh God,” I choked, my hands shaking as I gently lifted the tiny bundle from its resting place. The infant’s eyelids flickered and my heart soared as I realized it was still alive, then clattered to a stop as I took in its sunken eyes and deathly pallor.

The babe lay limp in my arms, making no effort to curl into my body for warmth or nourishment. It made a choking, wheezing sound as it fought to take another breath and I eased into an upright position against my chest, the crown of its downy head brushing my chin. I gently rubbed its back as I slowly bounced, swaying side to side. My tears mingled with the rain and an icy chill settled upon me. I clung to the baby, willing it to breathe, to fight to stay alive.

Oh, God.

There was nothing I could do. For all of my medical training, I was absolutely powerless to save this poor, helpless child. I couldn’t staunch the blood flow of a wound. I couldn’t give the relief of a salve or herbal tonic. I could do nothing but sit and wait as the baby’s life drained away.

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed as I slid to the ground, pulling my knees up as close as the baby in my arms and the growing swell of new life within me would allow, “I’m so sorry.”

Hunching over, I rocked back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until everything went numb. The forest around me faded away into a solid white fog. I couldn’t feel my hands, my feet; just the baby’s cold, clammy skin against mine. I couldn’t hear the sound of the rain on the leaves or the wind in the trees, the only sound that could reach me was the death rattle of the baby’s lungs.

Time stood still in the interminable silence between the baby’s breaths, each pause longer than the last.

Shifting the baby in my arms, I hummed the only lullaby I knew, my mother’s favorite song.

Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside.

My fingers memorized the curves of it’s tiny ear, the perfect arch of it’s brows.

Oh, I do like to be beside the sea.

I cupped the baby’s tiny head in my palm and placed a kiss on it’s button nose as it quietly slipped away to be forever held in the arms of the angels.

“Sassenach?”

Jamie’s voice floated thru the fog, a glowing beacon guiding me to a safe harbor. The mist surrounding me lifted for a moment, and I raised my head in time to watch him enter the clearing.

“I was too late,” I whispered as he sank to the ground before me.

“Aye, mo nighean donn,” he murmured, taking my face in his hands.

“I came up here… and the baby… was still alive, but… I couldn’t… I couldn't…” Understanding filled his eyes without my having to finish the sentence. His hands were warm as he brushed away my tears. “They just left it out here to die, Jamie!”

“Aye, I ken.”

He was silent for a time before bringing one hand to rest on the lifeless bundle in my arms. I could see the battle of emotions playing out in his eyes, echoing the war in my own heart. Sorrow, outrage, and terror fought to take control, but it was a quiet sort of resolve that won out in the end.

“You have a kind heart, but you’ve no idea what you’re dealing with.”

Jamie backed away slightly, offering out his arms.

I tore my eyes away from him to look down at the baby once more. I knew I would have to leave it here and, yet, I also knew I couldn’t bear to do so. The child had already been left alone in the forest once. How could I possibly abandon it for a second time?

Thig, mo ghràidh, come,” he coaxed, sliding his hands beneath the baby.

I resisted only for a moment before I caught sight of his face.

Tears welled in the fathomless blue depths of his eyes as he took the child into his arms, cradling it with a reverent tenderness. His lips formed a wordless supplication to the heavens as he stood, hesitating slightly before placing the baby back into its place in the shelter of the tree.

Crossing himself, he turned and knelt beside me.

“‘Tis dangerous to be out here alone, Sassenach.”

I pulled away from him, “Don’t tell me you believe in faeries and changelings and all that!”

“This is no’ about what I believe. These people… they’ve never been more than a day’s walk from where they were born, aye? They hear no more of the world than what Father Bain tells them in the kirk of a Sunday…” Jamie took my hands in his, brushing them against his lips as he continued, his voice breaking.  “Now for the parents of that child… it might comfort them a bit to think that ‘tis the changeling that died… and to think of their own child happy and well, living forever with the faeries.”

A strangled cry escaped my lips as I buried my face in the front of his coat, pleading, “Take me home?”

My body was shaking uncontrollably from cold and shock by the time we reached Leoch. I was wet to the skin, my thick outer garments were sodden with the frigid rain of a Scottish September. Jamie swung down from the horse, guiding my frozen limbs to do the same. I collapsed into him the moment my feet hit the ground and he lifted me into his arms with ease.

He moved thru the winding passageways and staircases that led to our chamber at remarkable speed, somehow unhindered by inquiring castle folk. Not only that, but he had us both devoid of wet clothing and wrapped in furs and blankets on the bed before I could even register what was going on.

“Your skin’s like ice, mo nighean donn!” Concern washed over Jamie’s face as I stared up at him, unable to form the words to describe the icy numbness I felt.

Jamie hovered above me, methodically messaging the life back into my limbs. My eyes shut of their own accord as his hands roamed my body, melting me with the heat of his devotion. The dense haze that had disappeared on the ride home was threatening to return once more. Fighting against it, I slowly lifted my hand, searching, reaching for him.

“Come… here…” I murmured, my lips feeling heavy and clumsy.

Ignoring my hand entirely, Jamie gathered me into his arms instead. He was so incredibly warm. I pressed my cheek against his chest, letting the reverberating echo of his heartbeat ground me.

All is well.

All is well.

All is well.

I blinked heavily once, twice as I tried to bring the room around me into focus.

“Do that again,” he breathlessly requested.

I was more than willing to oblige, but hadn’t the foggiest idea of what I’d done, “Do what?”

“Move your eyelashes slow like tha’,” he cupped the back of my head in his hand as he explained, his thumb absently stroking my hairline. “Ye feel like a wee butterfly spreading its wings.”

Smiling lazily, I did so.

“Is that what ye mean, mo chridhe? Does it feel like that when the bairns move inside ye?”

“A little,” I whispered as the memory of the sensation flooded me with a feeling of warm euphoria, “but it’s different somehow.”

He pulled my hips tighter against him, the now discernible swell of my womb pressing into his abdomen. I tilted my head back to see his face and he kissed me. The last vestiges of frozen terror melted away as I lay in my husbands embrace, our children safely nestled between us.

All is well.

anonymous asked:

Can we get more of Tales from the Past?? I really need to know if Claire will EVER actually meet Jamie.

Tales From the Past | Part I, Part II, Part III


Three long years of renovations done on the estate, followed by six long years off to war, and finally, it was finally home: Lallybroch. The fabled home of my dunbonnet and his faerie witch was now my own. I spun in a circle, giddy with excitement and bubbling nerves. I had a home, a place to relax, to live, to grow, and never worry if there will be somewhere for me at the end of the day.

The grounds were vast and gorgeous fields of flowing grass, wildflowers, and dense Scottish forest. The air clear from the smog of the city and decay of war. Each day was a new day to discover something from the past. I started familiarizing myself with my new home with daily walks into the woods. My journal close by to document any and every plant I came across.

Exploring the land gave me a sense of being home, and somehow closer to the Dun Bonnet tale that had fascinated me since I was teenager. It was his home and land, and with it came the most surreal experiences, especially the days I spent exploring his cave. The small cave about a fifteen minute hike from the house had given me chills. There was a small carving of initials in the stone deep into the cave, a jagged J, C & B. The letters tried to mimic the ornate style that was written in the mid-to-late 18th century.  I couldn’t help but finger the small letters, wondering what or who the letters represented.

“Claire,”

My head whipped toward the entrance of the cave. The wind must have been playing tricks on my mind.

“Mo nighean donn,”

I head the wind whisper words again just as my finger caressed the “J” in the sequence of letters. My skin had pebbled with gooseflesh, as though something were directly behind me. Each time I entered the cave this sensation occurred.

As the fall and winter months turned into the first brisk breezes of spring, the locals began creeping out of the woodwork to welcome me to the area as the seasons passed. Most were apprehensive and standoffish. I caught some of their hushed words on the rare occasion I went to town.

“What’s a young Sassenach lass doing living in the old Fraser-Murray estate?”

“Poor lass lost her only family in the war, wonder why she decided to move to the Highlands?”

“Scandalous! A woman of her age alone in a place like that! Why if her family knew they’d be rolling over in their graves.”

Sometimes, though, the words were of kindness and pity not malice and apprehension. I learned to take the good with the bad, ignoring the jibes at my upbringing and single status. I ignored them until one day the talk of a witch and folklores of old drifted from an open door. My interest piqued, I tentatively walked into the small shop. The shop was cloaked in a sickeningly sweet smell of floral perfume and baked goods. Postcards hung from a string in the window, while the interior was filled with the most delicate bits and baubles made from glass and ceramics.

“Och! Hello m’dear! And what brings ye to Madame Elsie’s today?”

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but I heard something about a white lady?”

The old woman, presumably Elsie’s eyebrows shot into the curls of her hairline.

“Aye, and that’s no something to be spouting off about. Though since ye heard us speaking of it, it wouldnae hurt to ask why ye’re interested in the matter?”

“Oh! I’m a folklorist, or well, I used to be…before the war. My uncle and I traveled the world documenting the folklores of different cultures.” I felt my cheeks heat, “I really am sorry for intruding, it’s a second nature for me to always be listening for a story.”

The old woman smiled, “Never fear dear, please have a seat and we’ll tell you what we know of the White Lady.”

I pulled up a plum colored plush armchair and my notebook before sitting down between the two women.

“Do you mind if I write this down?”

“Of course not dear! Write whatever you wish. This story is common knowledge and I’m surprised this is the first you’ve heard of it on this day.”

“Elsie…”  The second woman warned.

“Relax Miriam,” Elsie said with a wave of her hand. “You know that the Crooks, the Baird’s and the Murray’s all tell this tale today.”

Miriam scoffed and went back to her tea.

“So m’dear, the tale of the White Lady that’s going on aboot the town today is an interesting one. Today is the day that the White Lady is said to be seen on this day every year. It’s the day she meets her love for the first time.”

“Is the White Lady a ghost?”

“Och! Aye! She is indeed, from the ‘45 rebellion and all! Ye can hear her screams and cries for the love she lost and the life she knew from the faerie hill up yonder.”

“Faerie hill?”

“Child! Surely ye ken the Faerie hill, Craig na Dun?”

I shook my head slowly. “Could you tell me how to get there? I’d love to see it.”

The two women exchanged a glance then nodded as one. “Aye, go down the road aboot a mile or so and turn left. The Faerie Hill is five miles from the fork in the road. Ye’ll ken it from the stones that stand upon it. They seem to glow from the sun and their ancient dead power. If ye see the screaming White Lady, be wary child. She’ll no take kindly to intruders.”

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