#fae history

[rightwriter]

If you're writing fae, it's important to know the history! (yes even further back than ACOTAR lol)

[acourtofquestions]

No spoilers please (sorry in advance if this question makes that hard😅😂) for the record I’m new to this, and on Chapter 24 of Crown of Midnight.

My question/concern that I’m asking Yes/No (or I misread) is this: if Elena married a Havilliard, and is already a Galathynius, & started both lines; wouldn’t that make all Havilliard’s & Galathynius’s related? (Including Aelin & Dorian).

The reason I ask:

Without going into detail on what ACTUALLY is (I don’t want to know if Dorian is adopted, Aelin is actually someone else, etc.) I just have one question to understand a previous chapter properly and am going to phrase it in vague hypothetical ambiguity to help make non-spoiling easier.

When Dorian says: Brannon is Elena’s father, Elena marries the first King Havilliard, and that line leads to him. He also says Elena starts all Fae line’s including the Galathynius line.

He then says in another chapter if Aelin Galathynius had survived then he Dorian Havilliard may have married her.

… Perhaps this is a Percabeth “we’re all related” DON’T TALK ABOUT IT “84th cousins twice removed” situation?😂 … not to be THAT person but we do live in a post-Star Wars world😅😅

[yorksnapshots]

A Pack Horse Bridge.

Found in Thirsk, North Yorkshire, England. Built in Sandstone in 1672 with the aid of a £20 grant, which would barely by a brick nowadays!

[joelchaimholtzman]

A Faerie Knight I was commissioned to paint a few years ago! This is one of the more outlandish briefings I got back then, a very fun assignment to work on that expanded my visual library greatly.

Hope you like it!

All the best,

Joel

[peanut-with-wifi-access]

I've always liked the idea that the clans carve to preserve their history, while the tribe paints

So what about the kittypets?

They sing.

They see their twolegs going around the home, making rythmic noises while they work, so the cats copy.

Kittypets sing about their pasts, about life. They sing to each other and to strangers. They sing about everything. They sing about nothing. Some songs have words, others are just noise. Some songs are long, some are short. Some have been passed down for ages, others made up on the spot.

The clans hear them. They hear those songs, echoing from the twoleg place. Some are tempted to join in, but are prevented. Warned.

Do not follow the song of siren.

@skyclan-funny-name-squad (@.ing u cuz fae kp au stuff I think you'd like but is too long for an ask)

[robocop1906]

St Patrick's Day - a very very bizarre celebration indeed. A British and Roman priest who attempted to annihilate the Druids, conducted exorcisms to banish the great Irish faery deity Aine, who told lies about the faery, who claimed he threw Pagan women who would not convert into the ocean and they became mermaids, who "drove out the snakes" (the Pagan ways) and attempted to turn the great bright god Lugh into Lugh-chromain (Little stooping Lugh) which would become "lephrecaun". I adore the Irish. I revere Ireland. I have that old blood singing within my veins. But this day is a day to celebrate the survival of the Old Ways despite what this "Saint" represented and the cruel action he took. Today, I wear the green, for the fae, for the Old Ways, for the shining ones and the deep love of the land. Blessings to you all my friends. A blessing on the survival of the old ways, and of the Truth emerging from the distortions of history.

🇮🇪☘️🍀💚☘️🍀🇮🇪

[lunasapphire]

“Faerie lore claims that a stone with a natural hole through it, dry but found near water, would enable the wearer to enter the faerie realm and return from it unharmed.” - The Modern Witchcraft Guide to the Wheel of the Year, Judy Ann Nock.

[1unpunishable1]

Secret of kells

[matyas-ss]

Midsummer Eve, Edward Robert Hughes (1908). Private collection

[oliviaalexandraamores]

The Flowers Fairies - Violetta and Lilian from Queen Titania's Book of Fairytales, 1883

[acourtofquestions]

16.)

What decides how the Bone Carver appears to you & Why?

There are a lot of theories (many of yours which I love too) here’s my current thought:

It’s the thing you don’t see coming, the one to save you the one to end you (like the one you love most & the one you fear most). It’s the twist of fate, Life and Death. — (kinda like Amarantha’s riddle)

The reason being that creates fear, questions, and for the Carver control… Which fits the death lords & the dead trove while being unique to him (as each of his siblings power differ as well).

Reasons being:

Feyre sees a version of Nyx (twist of fate). When she is in denial over Rhys & confusion over life seeing Nyx (or as she believes “a young Rhys”) shocks her in ACOMAF (the one she doesn’t see coming). The idea of it saves her in ACOWAR because it feels like a promise that they will live long enough to have a child. In ACOFAS it is the thing she wants most, for the loves she loves most. And the thing she fears most (losing that love, & never having a chance to meet it; Nyx). The love & fear, wish & belief, for them (Nyx, Rhys, & her) becomes a twist of fate that makes her willing to meet/set on her “supposed” end (one only a death lord wielding the dead trove can save her from).

Rhys sees Jurian alive again (plot twist)… that even he doesn’t see coming; goes so far as to blind himself to, because of the absolute terror he holds in the memories of his loves end of his worst fears by Amarantha’s hand (that held Jurians soul). Jurian is the road from his past & to his future. As the latter twist to surprise makes Jurian the thing to save him through a secret alliance. One that leads him on the path to his own end for the one he loves (Feyre).

… Though we don’t know what Cassian sees the Carver as, it obviously strikes terror (one might assume it’s the same thing he sees Bryaxis as). Most likely meaning it is tied to death & loss, loss of love (the greatest fear), and twists of fate (the only things strong enough to bring the great warrior Cassian is even close to death… and even in that detail death would bring him closest to his love, Lady Death).

PT. 2 CONTINUATION

Read/Re-Reading questions, theories, fandoms & more!

1 & 2. What did the inner circle of Night Court do while Rhys was trapped under the mountain?

Did he trap them in Velaris to keep them safe/from trying to save him? — If not, how did he convince Azriel, Mor, & Cassian not to try & to rescue him?!?

Rhysand may be able to care for himself, he may command mad respect; it may have been a known death mission; but even if they didn't know the full extent of torture UTM, & even if 50 years of time is experienced differently/faster for 500+ aged immortals... I just can't imagine them leaving him there unquestionably (even if he told them to).

[seasidefae]

"Power did not lie in the tip of a pen. Power did not work against its own interests. Power could only be brought to heel by acts of defiance it could not ignore. With brute, unflinching force. With violence." Babel, or the Necessity of Violence by R.F. Kuang

[artthoufruity]

Americans can come up with the most idiotic and outright disrespectful things imaginable so effortlessly. I saw a post about an American "witch" claiming that she saw a "Celtic fae" in her back garden (in TEXAS) "picking flowers and eating berries" and the next day her husband told her she was "speaking gaelic in her sleep" (her words) first things first the Irish language is called Gaeilge NOT gaelic, gaelic is an adjective essentially we use it in things like gaelic football etc, secondly I can guarantee she did not see a fae in Texas??? Like that should be common sense??

Thirdly faes and fairies are VERY different things, if you're going to pretend to be knowledgeable on Celtic legends and lore at least know the bare minimum, faes are not friends, they are not a force to be reckoned with, if you somehow meet and annoy a fae it can and most probably will harm you and everything you love both physically and mentally.

And I know I can't be nitpicky but if you are going to use Irish words in your vocabulary please for the love of life at least try and pronounce it right, wtf is belt-tane (bhealtain) and Fawm-hair (fomhair)

Our language and culture is not you magical, fairy, witch aesthetic or lifestyle, it is genuinely disrespectful. We have such a rich, beautiful history and it's so easy to learn and talk about it in a respectful way, infact I think everyone should learn actually Irish/Scottish/Welsh history because it helped shape many things in our world e.g religion and fairytales.

If anyone who sees this wants to know more about Ireland or Celtic history/folklore or lore please ask me I'd love to share

[author-chan06]

Remrom Trick or Treat!!

Hello, anon! I’m so glad to have a trick or treater, so I spun the wheel I’m using and… Treat it is! And for you I have a fic, filled with pining, supernatural creatures, found out secrets, and a happy ending! Pairing: Remrom/ Roman Sanders/Remus Sanders Wordcount: 2,848 A/N: This was supposed to be short. O-o What happened??? I think I just really lovedddd writing Fae Roman and doing world building and so… this happened. I hope you guys like this too, since I had way too much fun with it ahah Tws: Possessiveness, Codependency, Worry about being Abandoned or Hated, Implied and or Referenced Supernatural Bigotry and Hatred

Hidden Underneath

Summary: Roman gets turned into a fae, and struggles with the way this has changed him while trying to keep it from his brother who he is in love with and who makes his fae instincts go feral.

“Okay,” Roman whispers to himself, staring at the mirror and taking a deep breath, “I’ve got this. Everything will be fine. Remus has always been fine with the strange and absurd, and I’m his brother, it is not as if he will think me some kind of monster.”

Roman’s reflection shimmers as if covered in water or as if the mirror is mesmerized, something otherworldly peeking out from behind his eyes as he runs a hand over his skin and notices how any blemishes or scars or roughness that were there before have simply vanished, leaving him soft and kind of warm, as if he’s never even set foot in danger or as if he effortlessly glided through life without so much as a scratch. He remembers enough ridiculous dares to counter that though, and it just makes him panic even more, wondering how he’s going to explain this to anyone. And— 

Oh Hera, how is he even supposed to ever look away from the mirror when he looks like this? 

Truly, staring at himself is almost hypnotic now. His skin shines and his eyes seem to glow a stunning red. And he can almost hear music rising in his head. If he just presses his hand against the mirror, it would go through, he knows, the other fae would be there, and they could dance for years, they could shimmer and shine and play so many tricks on the humans nearby, he could be everything for millennium—

“Ro! I know you’re vain, but you’ve been ‘getting ready’ for like two hours, and if you don’t hurry, I’m throwing a molotov cocktail at the church!” 

Roman jolts, curses falling from his lips as he stumbles backwards— he only barely registers that they aren’t English curses as he turns to the door and glares at it. He quickly turns his words to English again to yell back, “I’m almost done! Remus, you promised no more fires this year! Don’t dishonor yourself, keep to your word and wait a minute!”

He takes another glimpse of himself in the mirror, and swallows as the call of the otherworld swells into something almost too much to resist— a Siren song that promises everlasting desires and excitement abounds, anything and everything and nothing and he wants it, he wants— But he rips himself away, dropping his eyes to the ground and swinging the door open.

Remus is standing outside, hand already curled around a bottle— though, Roman does note with relief, it is not a molotov— as he looks Roman up and down and his lips twist into a grin, “Looking good, Ro! Guess all that time wasn’t a total waste.” 

A glamor covers all his less human extremities and aura, and though it itches, Roman leaves it on, only letting some of the more just uncanny valley vibes be felt, just enough that he feels a bit off.

That sure is one way to explain this transformation, and all of the ways that it has affected him.

Roman sighs, and cocks his hip out, letting his hand sit there as he looks pointedly at the bottle, “We weren’t supposed to be drinking tonight.” 

Remus doesn’t know that Roman made that rule because he thinks it’ll be hard to explain his new found ability to drink five entire glasses of hard whiskey without as much as becoming tipsy or gaining one wobbly leg. But Roman has really been hoping he wouldn’t question it, since Roman has never been much of a drinker anyway— he was always quite the lightweight— He should have known that was a foolish hope.

“C’mon, Ro,” Remus whines, throwing an arm around Roman’s shoulder, “Don’t be such a stick in the mud! It’s Halloween, don’t we deserve to let loose? It’s basically the supernatural’s holiday! Their fucking— their spooky type of fucking Christmas!” 

Roman tenses, but he doesn’t push him off, if anything he finds himself leaning into it, the scent of ocean and fire engulfing him at the same time that feelings of amusement excitement and something almost warm hot bubbling need want need slam into him, sliding under his skin and making him shiver.

He tries to ignore it, and to ignore the way that the touch feels different in a way that Roman cannot quite classify, in a way that’s hard to explain, in a way that’s inexplicably more.

Roman shakes himself and lets out a sigh, though it feels forced, “Even if that was true, that means nothing for you. You are not supernatural, Remus. And we still have school tomorrow. You will regret it when you are confused— yet again— about how you ended up face first in the forest with a pack of werewolves, and haven’t finished your homework.”

“Now I know you’re full of it,” Remus grins, “I don’t regret anything about that. Those guys— and the Enby one, oh fuck that one fucked fun— were my best lays of this decade, Ro-Bro!”

Roman swallows down the flash bang of anger that bursts across his skin, having to yank Remus closer— he starts walking to make up for it— to stop Remus from noticing the way his eyes flare, his teeth baring themselves as if to bite him into shutting up about them. The pull also has the added benefit of getting Remus closer to him— so everyone knows they’re together, he thinks sharply— though he didn’t do it with that in mind, and it’s ridiculous really. Roman has never been the jealous type; especially not with Remus. He didn’t have a need to be; ever.

But oh he feels it now, and he’s sure he’s projecting it as strong as the smell of Remus’ faux cologne.

If anyone nearby has a sense for supernatural elements then they definitely felt that sharp spike, and will probably still be able to sense the angry type of biting look away stay away mine mine mine that he can feel surrounding them as they make their way outside, and for once since the disaster that started this, Roman is glad that Remus hadn’t been involved; he isn’t sure how he would explain this strong urge to him without outing himself as having feelings that he knows he should not. Though he may have been drumming up the courage for that talk before, now… Now Roman is not quite so sure that is a good idea.

“Yes, they may have been good,” The growl in his throat is hard to talk around, and he suddenly has quite the admiration for other supernaturals who he knows from experience have learned to work around these limitations and use them to their advantage. “But it was not a good situation, do not kid yourself. One of their claws slashed through your sternum like tissue. I do not want to spend another after Halloween morning in the hospital, or urgent care.” It had been excruciating, terrifying, and of course the first thing that Remus had said when he’d woken up, cotton mouthed and stitched up:

“So, who cleaned me out? Cause I know there was a lot of cum, and I don’t feel it anymore, kinda a shame—” Roman’s pillow hit his face before he could say more and Remus laughed, coughing as doctors and nurses rushed in and glared at Roman.

He’d dropped the pillow, but he had never apologized. And Remus never asked him to either.

“Okay maybe it wasn’t a good night,” Remus finally concedes, his grin not faltering for a minute as he curls an arm around Roman’s waist and the night air hits their faces. The cold openness of the air tastes like salt and dry ice, and it’s strange, because he doesn’t exactly feel cold, nor does he start to shiver, or gain goosebumps, but he does feel the chill settle over his skin, forcing him to seek warmth in his brother's side, his skin a light warmth against Roman’s, his eyes a burning sensation against the chill. “But this is just some wine! No claws will be near my dick— or ribs— tonight!”

A vampire— one that looks kind of familiar but he finds that they’re too slippery to recognize, as if all of their colors and limbs are curling around themselves, their scent and look not distinguishable between the rest of the world, and that’s alarming, because he should know them, he should, the feeling of it is right on his tongue, but he cannot—  does a double take at them, and Roman narrows his eyes— panic and protective instincts surging in his chest and into his aura, until the supernatural ducks away, clearly deciding that whatever they want or need simply isn’t worth the risk of setting him off.

His breathing shutters, something terrifyingly satisfied rising in his chest that he tries to ignore as Remus continues to ramble at his side, “— If anything I’ll have some flippers around me if you know what I mean,” He wiggles his brows and Roman blinks, brows furrowing as he looks over at his brother.

“No, actually. I do not know what you mean.”

“Ro,” Remus practically deadpans, “That mermaid I’ve been flirting with for months now? You know the one that was in my Interpersonal Comm Class, and did that whole speech at the supernatural rights rally talking about how the school needed to have better ways for them to get around in water if they wanted or had some type of emergency; the one that you specifically called: A Cutiepie? You know, that one?”

Patton Hart, Roman remembers, his stomach twisting, because— yes, he had called him that, and he doesn’t even disagree now— Patton is objectively the sweetest creature on campus, and has light brown hair that matches his eyes, and a face that’s soft and round like mermaids often have, and he has seemingly never so much as had an argument with anyone about anything— but something about Patton is now unsettling, as if something underneath his skin is rebelling against the idea of Patton being just sweet without something wrong going on. As if he’s now inherently more suspicious than he was just a few days before.

The idea of Remus anywhere near Patton makes Roman’s blood boil, and he has to violently push away the urge that tells him to curl around Remus tight enough that he cannot move, that he cannot leave and go see a mermaid—

“Are you sure that is a good idea?” Roman chokes out instead, reeling from the intrusive, strange, out of character, borderline hateful bigoted thought that has jumped from his mind. “Don’t mermaids have a curfew? I thought they were supposed to be back in the water by twilight? Are you saying,” Don’t, don’t, don’t. “You’ll be going back into the water with a dro— Patton?” He stares wide eyed at the ground at that slip, because that’s something he would never say, not in a normal situation, not even if the mermaid was cruel, he would never be so cruel back himself, but oh he really cannot stand the idea of Remus with a mermaid, with another supernatural that is not himself— And it feels like ants under his skin; denying himself the ability to tell Remus as such and make sure he stays with him, to make sure that everyone knows he’s taken—

And surely, he would be better company, he can do so much more than Patton, he knows Remus so much more than Patton

He can give Remus so much more; the Earth, the Land, the Sky. He can show him the highest peaks of the world and shield him from all harm. He can immortalize him in the most beautiful of ways. He—

Remus pokes Roman in the arm and he jolts, eyes swinging over to catch his brothers, who looks vaguely concerned, hand looping around his elbow as he leans against him and asks, “Bro, are you okay? You’ve been kinda… spacey tonight.” He pauses, “And yesterday too, actually.”

“I—” He doesn’t know how to say it. How does one tell their twin brother that they were tricked into becoming a fae? A fae that has so little control over their powers and instincts that even a slight look in their direction makes his aura scream to look away from them. A supernatural that many of the world despises. A creature that is known for being immoral and tricking people into sinning for amusement or pure boredom. How can he say such a thing, to admit to such a thing, to such power. Will Remus think he’s horrible for having it? Will Remus be scared of him? It makes his hands shake.

Roman is, it seems, at a crossroads. Though this one is more complex than two different paths to take, and all of them seem to run right to Hell. 

Perhaps finding a crossroads demon would be easier than this. … Not that Roman believes in those— he knows the history of those myths and how stereotypical they are— but he now understands why so many, humans and supernaturals alike, have seeked them out.

Roman curls his fingers around his brother's arms, savoring the warmth as his resolve wavers and then hardens. This may be the last time they ever touch, after all, and so he wants to remember it, to imprint it in his skin, for as long and as well as he can.

“Something happened,” Roman starts with, both of the brothers stopping in the alley they had been cutting through to get to the house party, “A couple days ago. On Wednesday, I believe?” He shakes his head. “That doesn’t really matter, but yes, I was approached by a, by—” His face flushes in embarrassment, and he takes a breath to try again.

“A fae?” Remus offers, brow quirked in amusement.

“Yes, thank you,” Roman rolls his eyes, “I was approached by a fae and—” 

Roman freezes, stomach plummeting as his heart jumps, rounding on Remus and staring as his brother laughs, leaning into him. The flush of his face burns up his skin and he hisses when he asks, “How long have you known? Why didn’t you say anything! I’ve been fretting about talking about this for days, struggling with what to do daily and how, and if I would lose you, and you—” His voice cracks and Remus finally stops laughing slowly, sighing as he pulls Roman closer and they tumble to the ground of the alley way. Roman’s nose scrunches but he shifts closer to Remus, and clutches at him hard, almost desperate in the way he has to stamp down the urge to bite and press them so close their ribs knock together, to get the reassurance he wants and bind him in some way he cannot escape—

“Sorry, Ro,” Remus mumbles, “I didn’t really know how to bring it up either. Thought you would eventually, and hey you did!” Roman sends him a withering glare and he giggles awkwardly. “Right, but uh, yeah, I kinda was gonna drop some hints tonight at the party, and see how you reacted but uh,” He glances around the alleyway, “I don’t… think I’m gonna be doing that anymore.”

“And you’re not gonna be going home with Patton either.” Roman growls, finding that now that that secret is out, his lips feel loser, the glamor shimmering away just enough that Remus is hit with the overwhelming aura that now surrounds Roman. 

It also lets Roman smell him more thoroughly.

Excitement. Curiosity… Desire.

Remus curls his own hand around Roman’s neck and leans closer, his eyes shiny and dark at the same time. The smell of fire rises with the tide and Roman’s chest feels warm warm warm and his fingers itch to touch, and with the way Remus is looking at him, he knows he can. 

He scrambles to press his fingers to his brother's stomach and feel the way it moves underneath. Mortal and alive and right here with him. Not gone, not angry, because Remus knew the whole time, and still invited him out; he hadn’t treated him any differently, he hadn’t had any problem with it whatsoever. Roman falls a little more in love, and kisses Remus right on the lips, swallowing the surprised but excited noise he makes and threading their fingers together beside them, as he breaks out into a giddy grin, canines flashing.

This is going to be confusing and frustrating, surely. Roman still needs to learn how to control his powers and himself, and he still needs to actually get information about how Remus knew about him, to know if anyone else is privy to that information. But for now, Roman is more than happy to just let himself indulge in Remus, and just be fae.

Roman does end up binding Remus to him for eternity— he doesn’t even need to ask. 

Remus stays, and he comforts, and Roman… Roman presses kisses to his skin and thanks him for it for eternity, forever grateful to have someone so understanding and so very his.

@remrom-trickrtreat

[lunasapphire]

The Modern Witchcraft to Fairies - by Skye Alexander

Photographs of pages 9 and 16

*Photography done by Luna Sapphire on Iphone 11 Pro Max*