#fear dearg

[thegothicalice]

Sketchbook’s been neglected, here’s a fear dearg in brush pen 🖊️

[briefbestiary]

With dark-hearted pranks and sour dispositions, the far darrig are a particularly nasty sort of fae. They are garbed in red like other, similar, solitary fae. Of course, it would do you well not to confuse them with anything else.

[sheydmade]

the Aos Sí: Figures of Celtic Fae Lore

by Keziah

‘Aos sí’ is a term used to encompass a complex and powerful array of figures within Irish pagan theology and Celtic mythology, figures I sometimes refer to as the Otherworld Folk and Otherkin. You’ll hear them more commonly called the Sídhe, fairies/faeries/the fae, the Good Neighbors, the Folk, the Good Folk, daoine sídhe/daoine sìthe. There are no doubt countless terms and names used to mean the aos sí, and just as many theories as to who these figures are, where they come from, and what they do.

One of the most prevalent beliefs, which is mentioned in many Irish legends, is that the aos sí are (or are related to) the Tuatha dé Danann. Others have likened the aos sí to elves and faeries. In my opinion, it’s impossible to sum up who/what the aos sí are as the term could be applied to every kind of Otherworldly spirit and figure within the Celtic realm. I won’t be able to go over all of them within this piece (just for the sake of time), but I’ll do my best to go over a fair few of them.

What Does Aos Sí Mean?

The Irish term ‘aos sí’ (which is pronounced as aes [the ae sounding like a somewhat softer version of the ay in ‘way’] shee) means ‘the people from/of the mounds.’ These figures are more commonly referred to as sídhe nowadays, though sídhe/sí (sìth in Scots Gaelic) was once exclusively used to mean the burial mounds, tombs, and other such areas linked to the Otherworld that these figures were believed to reside beneath or within. The word has now come to bear two meanings, and its far better-known use is in reference to the figures themselves rather than the mounds with which they’re associated.

What Figures Are Classified as Aos Sí?

Bean Sídhe - Banshee

The term bean-sídhe (bean-sìth or ban-sìth in Scots Gaelic) means ‘faerie woman’ or ‘sídhe woman’ and therefore could (and once did) refer to any woman that hailed from the Otherworld. However, it’s now applied specifically to a spirit who heralds a forthcoming death, traditionally by way of blood-chilling wailing and moaning.

The banshee is usually described as having the appearance of either a withered hag or young woman of incomparable beauty. The former depiction has become the most recognized nowadays. The banshee is said to dress in either a white, gray, or black flowing robe or cloak and has a very pale white complexion with redness around the eyes from weeping so much. They’re usually described as having either heaps of black or fiery red hair. Some depictions tell of the banshee standing at an ‘inhumanly’ or ‘unnaturally’ tall height, others describe them as being of average human height, and still others portray the banshee as being short. On that, the Lady Wilde says in ‘Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms, and Superstitions of Ireland’ –

‘Though some accounts of her standing unnaturally tall are recorded, the majority of tales that describe her height state the banshee’s stature as short, anywhere between one foot and four feet. Her exceptional shortness often goes alongside the description of her as an old woman, though it may also be intended to emphasize her state as a fairy creature.’

In ‘the Memoirs of Ann, Lady Fanshawe’ an encounter that Lady Fanshawe had with a banshee is described –

‘There we stayed three nights, the first of which I was surprised at being laid in a chamber where, about one o’clock, I heard a voice that awaked me. I drew the curtain, and in the casement of the window I saw by the light of the moon a woman leaning into the window through the casement, in white, with red hair and ghastly complexion. She spake loud, and in a tone I never heard, thrice, “Ahone”; and then with a sigh more like wind than breath she vanishes, and to me her body looked more like a thick cloud than substance.’

Bean-Nighe - Washer at the Ford

'Les Lavandières de la Nuit' by Yan' Dargent; 1861

Bean-nighe is Scots Gaelic for ‘washerwoman’ and is used to describe a female wraith spirit or figure, often seen as a type of ban-sìth. In French lore, they’re known as les Lavandières (‘the Midnight Washerwomen’). She is another oracle of death, said to appear at the waterside of streams, rivers, or lakes to wash the bloodstained clothes of those soon to meet life’s end.

She is often described as being thin and frail-looking, dressed in green. Some lore states that she has webbed toes and red feet. Many believe the Washerwoman also has the power to impart great wisdom and secret knowledge to people, as well as the power to grant wishes if one dares to approach her and does so cautiously. However, others believe that approaching the Washerwoman and interrupting her work will result in her cursing you or injuring you by hitting you with her washing, which is said to strike so hard it can even break one’s bones. Some Irish and Scottish lore states that if you saw the Washerwoman before she saw you, you could ask her to foretell your future, as they have the gift of prophecy.

Though the bean-nighe are usually accepted as spirits and members of the Fae Folk, there are some other beliefs as to the origin of the Washerwomen. One such belief is that this is what becomes of the spirit of women who die prematurely during childbirth. Others say that to avoid becoming a bean-nighe after death, a woman must make sure that all her clothes have been washed and there was no dirty laundry left behind.

Most commonly the bean-nighe is associated with foretelling the deaths of warriors before battle, as she is apparently most often sighted at such times and with heaps of washing to do.

Dúlachán

The Irish dúlachán, dubhlachan, or dullahan, meaning 'the dark man,' is a male figure within the Fae Folk, a headless horseman whose steed is black as night. Some tales say he carries his head, face fixed with a horrifying grin, in his hand and some stories depict both the dúlachán and his steed as being headless. Other stories say he does not ride on horseback but drives the Death Coach – a black coach drawn by black horses (sometimes said to be headless themselves) that would go to collect the dead and take them from this realm to the Otherworld.

from Thomas Mayne Reid's 'the Headless Horseman;' 1865.

The dúlachán is said to use a whip made of bone, often described to be of human spine, and his clothes or cloak (or the covering of his coach bench in the version in which he drives the Death Coach) is allegedly made from human flesh.

It is said that the dúlachán riding by was a portend of one’s impending end; and sightings of the Death Coach are believed to foretell death. It is also believed that if the dúlachán utters someone’s name, they instantly die.

Ghillie Dubh

Ghillie Dubh or Ghillie Du is a figure from Scottish Highlands folklore, a faerie man believed to live (or to have lived) in a birch wood in the Northwest Highlands of Scotland, within the area of Gairloch and Loch a Druing, where he is said to have been spotted in the latter part of the 18th century.

He is described as being of small stature, having messy dark hair, and wearing clothes of moss, leaves and grass. It’s generally said that he was quiet, good-natured, and gentle. One tale states that he rescued a local child that had wandered into the woods and gotten lost, took care of the child for the night, and escorted her safely home the next morning. Many who lived in the area claimed to have seen Ghillie Dubh.

Unfortunately, Ghillie Dubh has not been spotted since shortly after he rescued the local child, when the laird, Sir Hector Mackenzie of Gairloch, invited a group of hunters to track and shoot kind-hearted Ghillie Dubh. As the tale goes, though the group searched all night, they never found Ghillie Dubh, and Ghillie Dubh was never seen in the area again.

Clúrachán

A relative of the leprechaun, the clurichaun (or clúrachán) is a solitary member of the Fae Folk known for his love of the drink. He’s said to steal from wine cellars, taverns, pubs, and breweries and is particularly hard to rid from such establishments. Even if the owner of such a place moved locations, the clurichaun could simply hide away in a barrel cask and go along for the ride.

They’re said to wear red clothes and fine shoes, and to carry a magical purse or pouch. Some tales say that the purse never runs out of money and will always be full. Other stories say that the purse contains a single shilling that will always return to the purse no matter how or where it was spent. They’re also said to be guardians of hidden treasure.

from T.C. Croker's 'Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland;' 1825-1828

Such a figure has many names – the Cluricaune in County Cork, the Lugirgadaune in Tipperary, the Loughery Man in Ulster, and the Lurichaun or Luricaune in County Kerry.

Fear Dearg

The fear/fir dearg or far darrig (meaning ‘Red Man’ in Irish) is another faerie figure. These characters, sometimes called Rat Boys are most commonly described as being portly and hairy-skinned and having skinny tails and long snouts, like those of rats. Their preferred pastime is making mischief and pranking, though their idea of pranking is what mankind would see as horribly cruel, such as stealing babies and leaving changelings in their place.

Alp-Luachra - the Joint-Eater

The alp-luachra is a type of water sprite. Some lore describes it as being difficult to see or invisible, while other tales say that it could transform itself into a small newt and could be consumed when drinking water from a stream or spring. They would also wait for one to fall asleep beside such a water source, turn themselves into a newt, and then crawl stealthily into the mouth of the sleeping person.

If the alp-luachra was ingested one would suffer terrible stomach aches, hunger, and intestinal ailments, and they cannot put on weight.

To rid oneself of an alp-luachra, it is said one must eat an abundance of very salty food and take no water to wash it down or quench the thirst it will deliver. Some lore says that the alp-luachra will then fling itself from the sufferer’s body via the mouth. Other tales say that you must first lay down to sleep by a spring or stream. The alp-luachra will then crawl free from your mouth whilst you slumber. Otherwise, it will die of thirst in your body.

Cait-Sìth – the Faerie Cat

The Scottish cait-sìth or cat-sìth means ‘faerie cat’ and refers to a spectral figure that haunts the Scottish Highlands. It’s said to resemble a very large black cat with a white spot on its chest. Their size is said to be so big that they can be mistaken as being a large breed of dog.

It’s believed that when you spot a cait-sìth, it will arch its back and its hair will stand upright. It may also hiss or let out a low yowl. If that behavior isn’t enough to tell you to keep your distance, let this be – it is said that the cait-sìth has the power to take one’s soul. In fact, the belief that it is unlucky for a cat to pass over a corpse or recently filled grave is linked to the cait-sìth. In the Highlands, it was thought said cat may have been a cait-sìth in disguise, come to try and steal the soul of the deceased before any god could lay their claim.

It is also believed that the cait-sìth has the power to curse you and will do so if on Samhuinn night you do not leave a saucer of milk out for them as an offering. If you do, they’re said to bestow blessings upon the household.

While the name leads one to include this figure as being of the Fae Folk, there is some lore that states otherwise, saying that this spirit is actually a witch transfigured into the form of a cat.

Cù-Sìth – the Faerie Hound

The cù-sìth (Scots-Gaelic) or cú sídhe (Irish) is a faerie hound or Otherworldly hound. In Ireland, it’s said to dwell in cliffy, mountainous areas, where it can be found having made a den in the clefts of the rocks. In Scotland, they can be spotted in the Highland moors.

They’re described as being able to move in absolute silence, which aids them in hunting, something they’re said to be quite good at. When they do bark, they bark three times and the barks are exceptionally loud, so loud that they can be heard from miles and miles away. Those who hear the barks must reach safety by the third bark, else they will die of fear.

The cù-sìth is said to have a shaggy coat of fur, which is often described as being dark green in color, and they, like the cait-sìth, are much larger than their counterparts of our own realm. The cù-sìth has been described as being as big as a cow.

Ci Annwn

The above mentioned cù-sìth is not unlike the Welsh Ci Annwn (‘Hound of Annwn’). Annwn is the Welsh Otherworld, ruled over first by Arawn and later by Gwyn ap Nudd, the King of the Fair Folk.

The Ci Annwn (Cŵn Annwn when pluralized) is a huge, white spectral hound with red ears and is believed to be a portend of death. It’s said to see one, especially to see one headed your way, means that death is to come.

These dogs are said to hunt near and on the mountain Cader Idris/Cadair Idris in County Meirionnydd. If you’re in that area and you hear the howling of Annwn’s hounds, your death has been foretold.

the Tuatha dé Danann

Many people count the Tuatha dé Danann as a whole among the aos sí, some see specific members of the Tuatha dé Danann as befitting of the modern understanding and use of the term the Sídhe, and others would describe the Tuatha dé Danann as the forefathers of the aos sí, seeing the aos sí as descendants of this mighty tribe. There is so very much that we could explore with the Tuatha dé Danann, their ascendancy to power and their reign over Ireland, their rivals, their many deeds and adventures, but I promise I will write a separate piece dedicated to a more thorough look at the Tuath Dé. For this blog, I’m going to try and keep it short and sweet and give a general explanation and idea of who they are.

Tuatha dé Danann means ‘the People of Danu’ or ‘the Tribe of the Goddess Danu’ – Danu being an Irish ancestral goddess sometimes depicted as an earth goddess and sometimes associated with the goddess Anu. The Tuatha dé Danann are an incredibly powerful Irish tribe of deities. They’re also called the Tuath Dé, meaning ‘the Tribe of Gods’. Most commonly, they’re seen as gods and goddesses. Some, though, think them spirits, and others see them as mythological representations of ancient kings and queens of Ireland.

According to the Lebor Gabála Érenn, the Tuatha dé Danann came to Ireland in dark clouds that moved over the land and descended upon Sliabh an Iarainn in Connacht. The ‘dark clouds’ are interpreted as describing the clouds of smoke that billowed up from the ships that the Tuatha dé Danann traveled to Ireland in, ships which, according to legend, the tribe set aflame in order to prevent themselves from being tempted to leave this land they had newly come to. Eventually they ascended to rule over Ireland, a reign that met its end after a lengthy conflict with the Milesians (who are often interpreted to represent the Celts, the Irish people, and the Christianization of Ireland or the establishment of a ‘post-pagan’ idea of Ireland).

The Tuatha dé Danann are said to now reside within and rule over the Otherworld, their agreed upon place of dwelling in the terms laid out in a treaty with the Milesians. The Tuath Dé are still known, however, to walk among the living and influence the lives and affairs of those within our own realm.

While I would love to describe and explore the individual members of the Tuatha dé Danann, I don’t want this section to become incredibly long and painfully out of balance with the rest of this piece. I’ll instead touch on a few figures perhaps most heavily associated with the Fae Folk or with the more modern understanding of the Sídhe.

Clíodhna

Heroine, goddess, and faerie queen.

Said to be the most beautiful woman in the world.

Goddess of beauty and love; patron goddess of County Cork.

Goddess of sovereignty in Munster.

Reigns as queen over all the faerie women of South Munster.

Has three birds whose magical songs have healing powers.

Served as banshee (foretelling the deaths of the members of the house and clan) to the MacCarthys.

Was the faerie lover of Ciabhán, John Fitzjames, Earl Gerald Fitzgerald, and Caomh.

Also called Clídna the Fair, Queen of the Banshees, the Faerie Queen, the Faerie Queen of Munster.

Badb

Ancient shape-shifting goddess, death-bringer, and war fury.

Goddess of war, battle, madness, death, and prophecy.

Associated with banshees.

Associated with the cry and song of crows.

Also called Badb Catha (‘the Battle Crow’).

Macha

Goddess of sovereignty of Ireland (particularly within Ulster), thus associated with the land, fertility, guardianship, and the selecting of kings.

Associated with horses.

Sometimes described as a goddess of war and battle.

Associated with warriors on horse-back or warriors who used chariots.

Considered a ‘faerie lover’ or ‘faerie wife’ in her tale with the farmer Cruinniuc.

Mór-Ríoghain or the Morrígan

One of the best-known and most revered (and feared) Irish goddesses.

A shape-shifting goddess of war, battle, death, victory, and fate.

She’s also seen as a goddess of magic and an oracle, and many magical practitioners devote themselves to the Morrígan or seek her matronage in their work.

Also called the Phantom Queen, the Death Queen, and the Great Queen.

Note: There is some debate surrounding the figures of Badb, Macha, and Mór-Ríoghain, which have been called as a collective trio the Three Mórrígna. Some see each as an individual goddess on her own, though related to one another as sisters. Then there are those who see the goddesses as being three sides of one goddess, an idea that has been popularized especially within Celtic Neopagan, Wiccan, and Neo-Druidic schools of thought.

Sources and Further Reading: ‘Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms, and Superstitions of Ireland’ – Wilde, Lady Jane ‘Beside the Fire: A Collection of Irish Gaelic Folk Stories’ – Hyde, Douglas ‘Encyclopedia of Celtic Mythology and Folklore’ – Monaghan, Patricia ‘the Great Queens: Irish Goddesses from the Morrígan to Cathleen Ní Houlihan’ – Clark, Rosalind ‘Gods and Fighting Men: the Story of the Tuatha De Danann and of  the Fianna of Ireland’ – Gregory, Lady Augusta the Irish Pagan School – www.irishpaganschool.com ‘Lebor Gabála Érenn: the Book of the Taking of Ireland’ -MacAlister, R.A. Stewart Lora O’Brien – www.loraobrien.ie ‘the Memoirs of Ann, Lady Fanshawe’ – Fanshawe, Herbert Charles

[michaeladrianwright]

Aos Sí - The mischievous fairies or 'wee folk' of Celtic folklore and mythology.

The Alp-Luachra (Joint Eater), Fear Dearg (Red Man), Leprechaun and Púca.

[crooked-sketches]

Oíche Shamhna Shona duit! Happy Halloween!

Ireland joins the Hetalia Halloween party! He's dressed as a Fear Dearg, a traditional Irish fairy of mischief. Amongst other things, he's said to be responsible for switching babies with Changelings.

Fear Dearg translates to Red Man.

Here's a link to read more about the Fear Dearg! https://www.irishfolklorecentre.com/an-fear-dearg-the-red-man/

[tomwambsgans]

succession characters as fae of gaelic folklore:

logan - the dullahan (headless horseman)

kendall - dobhar-chu (half-dog, half-fish)

shiv - dearg due (vampire)

roman - fear dearg (extra mischevious leprechaun)

connor - gille dubh (nice, solitary male fairy)

greg - selkie

tom - leannan sidhe (usually female, essentially exist to be lovers and muses and will do the bidding of those who refuse their love)

[irishslenderman]

Nuair a chailleann fear deas a mheon.. bíonn an diabhal ag crith.. 👿👿

Heh... sure... nuair a chaillim mo mheon féin feicim DEARG👿😤🔥 ná déan faoi meas fear deas...🚫🐺‼️

[kiwii-k1138]

An early St Patrick’s day comic!! Shire and PJ like to tell each other jokes, and as usual, Shire tells better ones than, PJ. She knows how to make everyone smile, it’s just her luck! In Ireland werewolves are actually seen as guardians, than monsters. So I made, Shire a St Patrick’s day werewolf. https://filmmakerbyheart.medium.com/unleashing-the-faoladh-encounter-the-legendary-irish-werewolf-e4089e7a7376#:~:text=Unlike%20other%20werewolves%20from%20folklore,as%20protectors%20of%20their%20communities.

[willowwere]

Whispers of Springtime - Chapter 3

Spring has become a fallen Court. Monsters roam the forests, greedy Lords vie for control of the land, and magic everywhere is dying. Refugees are flooding the other Courts, Night most of all. One day, Elain Archeron is kidnapped from Velaris and wakes in Spring. She is the last prayer of a desperate people- if she can find the missing Tamlin and make him fall in love with her by Calanmai, there is a chance to reverse the decay and save the Court. If she fails, Elain will die along with Spring itself.

This story holds all canon up through ACOWAR, with the alteration of Tamlin being Elain's mate.

Archive of Our Own

Chapter 3

Elain

Wandering the grounds of Roancrest Lodge, my mind struggled to reconcile Feyre’s stories with the reality of what I was seeing.

The beautiful estate she had described was long abandoned and decaying, with large swaths reduced to rubble. Haddin said that was done mainly by Hybern’s soldiers as they fled, but also the denizens of Spring in protest of Tamlin, and even the High Lord himself before vanishing. Most of the second floor windows were shattered, and whole chunks of the house were nothing but open air and crumbling stone.

I knew from the stories that there were expansive gardens- especially a grand rose garden planted by Tamlin’s father. At some point, weeds choked the life out of the flowers before they, too, succumbed to the dampness and rot. Nothing could survive in this Springtime. Nothing was budding or blooming, everything was blackened and shriveled.

Something lurked in the distant treeline, watching us. Hadden kept close beside me, occasionally stilling to stare down a shadow out of place. It would vanish with an echoing cackle that made my blood cold and my heart race, but within minutes my stomach would lurch as another shadow detached and began to track us.

“What is a dearg?” I asked him finally, for that was what Dillie had called the creature in the forest. 

“A nightmare with a physical body. Probably something leftover from Amarantha’s rule. She bred them as a hobby.”

He was forthcoming with the information. At least, if I asked certain questions he was. Ones that implied curiosity with Spring or the situation in the Court. Anything he deemed frivolous earned me a snarl. 

If his words could be trusted, Haddin was a few centuries old, close in age to Lucien Vanserra. He was indeed a Calanmai child, after a disguised Amarantha bribed the daughter of some vassal Lord in order to take her place in the Rite. 

Again delighting in how uncomfortable it made me, Haddin explained how the High Lord would be overwhelmed with the magic and directive of the Cauldron. His blood boiling and hormones surging to the point where he would be blind with aching lust. All Amarantha had to do was don the ceremonial mask representing the Mother and make sure she was the one in the cave when he came, possessed, to do the deed. 

As for Haddin himself… Tamlin had no idea. Amarantha kept her son’s identity a strategic secret, and dragged him to Prythian during her invasion. She intended to reveal him to Tamlin once the High Lord bent his knee and became her willing slave…

 Since Tamlin never knew, naturally Feyre didn’t either, and he never appeared in her stories.

During her reign, Haddin had established himself in a corner of Spring as a minor lord- after the real one was killed by an attor. It didn’t take the denizens of Spring long to realize that his manor was so remote and so inconsequential that Amarantha’s minions seemed to avoid it entirely. 

He became a respected member of the community, and watched over the fae who fled to his lands for sanctuary. In Hybern it was all military camps and the brutal lessons his mother taught him about power and domination. In Spring, he wasn’t feared. He wasn’t a soldier. He wasn’t Amarantha’s son. 

And then he found his mate, and could only offer prayers to the Mother than the High Lords would find a way to shatter her control and execute her. If she knew who his mate was, she’d likely force Haddin to kill the male himself.

“If Tamlin never knows I’m his, I will be thankful,” Haddin had said to me, the request clear. “He has the same opinion of lesser-fae as Amarantha did. Daenny and I have no interest in being part of his family, nor including him in ours.”

Dillie was apparently Daenny’s younger sister, though she’d spent Amarantha’s reign as a simple gardener. She hadn’t known her brother’s fate during those 49 years, let alone how to begin looking for him after the curse was lifted. But he’d found her in the chaos after Feyre destroyed Tamlin’s hold on Spring, and brought her to Haddin for safekeeping. 

My head swam with it all. Something at the heart of me writhed at the thought that this wild male beside me was the child of my mate and another female. It was precisely why I needed to cut the fae out of my blood and bones and go back to being human. The mating bond revolted me whenever I thought about it in Night, but being in Spring…it was louder. I was aware of it in a way I’d never been before.

Was it all this talk of Tamlin? Some kind of territorial anger of Hadreddin’s very existence? The power of Spring? Or, if Tamlin were still somewhere within the boundaries of his Court, could it be that we were closer than we had been in years?

I didn’t want to know. I just wanted a way to make it stop.

Maybe there was a silver lining to all of this. I was in Spring, after all. The distance between this place and the human lands was infinitely smaller than it had been in Velaris. The only time I was closer to home was in the final battle against Hybern.

Not that it mattered.

Even if Haddin allowed me to wander off as I pleased, I’d never survive the journey to where the Wall once stood, or the days-long trek into human territory.

And even if I did, what then? My sisters or the Inner Circle would be on the lookout, and surely they’d reach out to Lucien, Jurian, and Vassa. That Band of Exiles was camped in the ruins of my estate, I’d practically be walking into their nets if I were anywhere near our village. Not to mention that I was still fae. Prythian was much more likely to have a solution to my problem than the human lands were.

I suddenly felt that I’d been wrong- I was no closer to the human lands than I’d been all the way north in Velaris.

“I want to be human again,” I said gently. I don’t know why I said it, but I’d carried the words in my soul for so long that I simply had to let them out.

It was my greatest dream, so why did it sound so hollow?

I expected Haddin to snap at me, or say something condescending in return. He sighed heavily, then caught my elbow to stop me from walking.

“As much as I hated life in Hybern- and you cannot imagine how much I hate that place- coming to Spring was another kind of hell for me. My mother spent my entire life calling me the crown prince of Prythian, and being hauled here- I hated it more than I hated Hybern. But I made a new home here. Found a single thing I loved, then more over time. Now it’s my home, and I would do anything to protect it.”

“I’ve tried,” I whispered. My chest felt too tight, and a tear slipped down my cheek. I had more that I wanted to say, but instead I pulled free of Haddin’s grip and resumed my walk, head low.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think fixing Spring will help you. Whenever Daenny’s angry or upset, I feel it too. The mating bond has a way of twisting your emotions around. I’m not empathizing with that irresponsible asshole, but if the High Lord is feeling the same disconnect as you… You both might be doing this to each other.”

All the more reason to be unhelpful, I thought.

What would it be like if my mate were someone kind and brave? If he were respected like Rhysand, beloved of his people? Would I feel less disgusted by the bond between us? Would I be more resigned to this fate? 

My mate was someone who abused my own sister- neglected her and left her to mentally decay until Rhysand saved her. He manipulated her to lure her into Prythian and then didn’t have the decency to protect her as both human and fae. He was weak, he was a coward, and in the end, he was a traitor. 

It was Hybern’s men who took me from my home. Even in my own terror, I saw the disgust and horror on Tamlin’s face as I was dragged out in Hybern’s castle. I know he didn’t play any role in what happened to me… but I still hated him for it. Hated him for standing there while it happened, for focusing on Feyre through it all. She wasn’t the one in pain. She wasn’t the one who drowned in that endless abyss.

Nesta and I had our lives wholly destroyed, and he only cared about whether or not Feyre liked him anymore. 

I whirled on Haddin, “I can’t-”

“You will,” he cut me off, his words flat and hard. “It’s eight months to Calanmai. Even if you stomp your feet and whine the whole time, you’ll do this.”

“I don’t want to.”

“DO YOU THINK ANY OF THOSE REFUGEES IN NIGHT WANT TO BE IN THAT POSITION?” Dillie had said we had to be quiet and careful of the daerg in the woods, so it terrified me when Haddin shouted at me.

My hands flew up to cover my mouth as my knees buckled. I whimpered, suddenly very small and very afraid. Nesta and Feyre were the ones who stood up to others. Not me. I felt myself swoon, but my arm was caught roughly by Haddin. A sharp squeeze sent a flair of pain up my arm and snapped me to my senses.

“Those fae gave up their homes and everything they ever knew. And they’re the lucky ones. There are plenty who died on the journey, who have died at the claws of beasts and fae alike here in Spring.” Haddin shook me slightly, forcing me to look at him, “You have a way to stop it. Spring never got the chance to recover from Amarantha. It was already on the brink before Tamlin let the whole thing collapse. All you have to do is find one male.”

“I don’t know how,” I whimpered.

Haddin had gone from empathetic to hateful in seconds. Once my feet were steady beneath me, he removed his hand. That hate though, it remained blazing in his dark eyes.

“You don’t get to give up until this Court is dead. Save the tears,” he snapped as one slipped down my cheek. “

I swatted it away hastily, my face burning. I couldn’t raise my head. Shame made me feel sick and small and weak. More tears threatened to spill from my eyes. I don’t remember the last time anyone shouted at me. People never shouted at me. I was nice .

And now this horrible male- he was a kidnapper! And the son of an equally horrible female. What did he know? How dare someone like him make me feel like this?

“I don’t care if you’re a coward,” Haddin’s voice softened somewhat. I could hear the effort it was taking for him to pretend to care about my discomfort. “I don’t care if you want to do this or not. You’re doing it. You are mate to the High Lord of Spring. This is your duty too.”

Unbidden, a murmur escaped from my lips, “No. I have nothing to do with Spring.”

“Turn around, then say that again.” Haddin snapped, stalking off.

I did turn- weary of the daerg watching from the treeline. 

A dead, ruined land. Flowers choked to death by weeds, which in turn were overrun by rot. An ever-present fog that cloaked the world in shades of gray. 

No birds, no bugs, no sign of life or light or warmth in this cold, broken world.

I looked down at my feet. The slippers were caked in mud and flecks of brown.

But my skin was flecked with green. Small slivers of bright green.

I crouched down and inspected my foot, brushing dead grass aside.

Where my fingers touched, only the barest hint of color appeared. I started, then quickly ripped up a single blade of grass to stare at the subtle change in color.

The green spot grew. Over the next few minutes, the grass dried somewhat, and grew warm and shiny. The green brighter and more verdant. 

My eyes lifted, now that I knew what to look for. Something pounded in my chest as I saw more green- not as bright, but undeniable here and there in the brush.

Anywhere my skin had touched, a hint of life crept back into Spring.

[hardcase-ct-yolo]

Fear Dearg, Undine, and Brownie for the ask game :) - Molly from @starstofillmydream

Hello Molly, cyar'ika! I did Brownie already, but let's take a stab at the other things.

My worst nightmare? My vode being in danger and I'm not able to do anything about it. I'm helpless, or my equipment is busted, or I'm just froze.

Singing in the shower? Yes I do! So do some of my vode.

[deoraxde]

Headcanon; Aileen The Bibliophile

“I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of any thing than of a book! -- When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library.” ― Jane Austen

A Brief History of Aileen's Literacy

Word of mouth is how stories have traveled for centuries. Some stories die along the way.

One of the most well documented mythologies, if not the It was her stories, her memories, but they weren't the same as they had been so long ago. It was then, that she learned, that only history is written by those in power. However inaccessible writing was to her, she vowed to find good people that were powerful enough to keep writing her history and stories as they were, even if she had to be the one to do it herself.

Reading became the most important tool for Aileen to use, even during a time when it was extremely uncommon to read and even less uncommon for women to read. Her endeavors were both personal and business as usual. If she could out read her enemies, she could somehow be one step ahead. If she could read, she could call out the things she knew were wrong. Reading wasn't a form of pleasure for her just yet; rather, it was a took for war. The sharper her mind, the sharper her tongue. Suddenly, those royals across the sea didn't seem as intimidating to her with their fancy way of speaking. From the 12th century up until the 18th century, reading was part of how she waged war. As a result, the bible became the book she has read hundreds of times over to both soldiers and children alike. For better or for worse, she could recite that book without ever looking at a page.

Yes, she was considered a witch at one point for teaching people how to read, among other things. This was one of the many times she was almost burnt at the stake. But those are stories better suited for another time.

She had mastered reading in English, Gaelic (both Irish and Scottish), Old Irish, Welsh, and even French to some degree. Again, reading and writing were tools for war. It wasn't until the late 18th century that reading went from being a way she stayed ahead of her enemies to learning about the human condition, among other things. As literacy became more common over time, the novelty of out reading people didn't matter as much if more and more people could read just like she. Yet, Aileen continued reading. Philosophy novels were interesting, but she didn't much care for how pretentious most authors seemed. She found Voltaire to be exceedingly annoying and nearly gave up on reading as a whole.

And then came Jonathan Swift.

To say A Tale Of The Tub was controversial is an understatement. And that is why it captivated Aileen so. Such a novel, though in her opinion not structured well and riddled with profanity that could make a brothel woman blush, was not a novel she liked at first. Though satirical, Aileen didn't much care of it. Yet, she came back to it again. And again. And again. The concept of personifying each branch of Christianity made her question her own existence.

What followed was at least two centuries of nonstop reading any book she could get her hand on. Many great authors soon followed. Jane Austen captivated her, thrusting her into a world of romance and scandal while making fun of the upper class. Bram Stoker, someone that eventually became a close friend of Aileen, tapped into her own deep fears of The Dearg Due with his book Dracula. Oscar Wilde, beloved son of her very own Jane Wilde (Aileen will always cherish that woman as well as Notes on Men, Women, and Books) gave her the ever controversial The Picture of Dorian Gray. The subtext on that one was not lost on her and she coveted that book despite the laws and prejudice against queer folk. Even Mary Shelley grabbed Aileen's attention with Frakenstein, a book that horrified Aileen while also making her question her own relationship with her creator, or if there even was a creator.

Thus, her love for reading for her own personal pleasure came to be.

Her Favorite and Least Favorite Genres

Her true love, her one true love, will always be horror. Gothic Horror more than any other genre has taken hold of her soul. In spite of her Catholic roots, horror books leave her captivated. Yes, the horror elements of a novel will captured her and leave her on the edge of her seat; however, there's an extra layer to her obsession. One of darker desires that helps alleviate some of her guilt. The more romantic and borderline erotic nature of the Gothic Horror genre is the real reason Aileen reads them. Books with forbidden romance, romance with the dead, a daunting soul sucking romance that leaves both parties in ruin and completely unrecognizable to the people they were before: these are all the tropes that Aileen loves and, perhaps, even desires for herself in some twisted way.

But, again, that's a headcanon for another day.

Aileen's least favorite genre, surprisingly, is fantasy. High Fantasy is a genre she's just not interested in Though she'll never turn down reading a fantasy novel, she struggles to find herself relating to such fantastical elements. She's spent plenty of time reading Tolkein, but prefers The Hobbit to The Return Of The King. Brandon Sanderson bores her beyond belief, but she admires the way he writes his fighting scenes.

The state of the romance genre leaves Aileen conflicted. That isn't to say there aren't contemporary romances that she enjoys. Despite her opinion on historical inaccuracies, Bridgerton sits on her shelf with the nicest hardcover editions she could find. Casey McQuiston's Red, White, and Royal Blue is a book Aileen revisits a lot and finds the antics of these fictional royals to be amusing with any political implications mostly taking a back seat (she finds it quite refreshing but very fiction.) More so, Emily Henry is on her list of favorite romance novels with such heartbreaking pieces as Happy Place and Funny Story. Despite her claims that romance is dead, Aileen comes back to these romance books time and time again for their mostly light hearted nature.

That being said, 'Dark Romance' and books adjacent to that are perhaps too dark for her. Yes, yes, her love for Gothic Horror suddenly seems ironic doesn't it? The extremely graphic nature of 'Dark Romance' turns her away. Love can be tainted. It can be imperfect. It can be borderline toxic, but there are just some subjects that don't lend well to romance. There are some subjects that she fears a little too much to entertain reading for very long.

Her Own Personal Library

Aileen's library is nestled in the upper most part of her home. The interior of her roof is very visible. While small and perhaps a little bit claustrophobic to some, every single shelf in her library is full of old books. They are books she has spent centuries collecting; first editions of books that are no longer in print or have lost their translations to time, history books that no longer exist, and encyclopedias that are out of date. She has fought tooth and nail for every book she's ever owned and she takes pride in her library. It is in a state where she is running out of space. She refuses to rid herself of her old editions, but does opt to donate any books that she's not fond of.

Due to the lack of space, she takes advantage of her local library as much as possible. She only buys the books that she falls in love with. She has a healthy relationship with her local librarians and uses monthly donations to help them as much as possible. Most nights after her long shifts at the hospital, she will go to her library rather than her own bed. She'll crawl into her chase lounge, grab a book that sits in a cluttered pile on her table, and read until she finally passes out.

It's the place where she feels the most safe; surrounded by knowledge that no one was able to steal from her.

[spacecapybara]

The Starters...Part 3: Grass

Continuing my nonsense posting of ireland inspired pokemon, let's finish off the starter lines with the grass line inspired by leprechauns (and its relatives), deer, and movement in their names. Which in time will make sense. (Leaprefawn -> Falldeerig -> Churastagger) First up is Leaprefawn, a small fawn with a fur coating made of mixed leaves with the spots a fawn normally has being done by autumnal orange leaves amongst the mainly green coat. It would have a gold coin hanging from either ear like tags and orange markings around its mouth forming the shape of where a beard might grow. The shiny variant switching the orange to blue and the green on its coat to a lighter shade. It would have the hidden ability "Harvest." Second we have Falldeerig based off the name of the mischievous relative of the leprechaun, the Fear Dearg (or far darrig). It would be based on an adolescent red deer (the species not the colour) wearing a old fashioned, three-legged, black metal kettle on its head as a helmet with the nub legs of the kettle being replaced with holes for its snout and small antler nubs. Much of its green coat would be fading to orange and browns making the spots far less noticeable. It's shiny turning the kettle on its head a bright red (like the hats of Fear Dearg) and the leaves would be fading to blue instead of orange. Faldeerig's hidden ability would be "Prankster" but its main ability would be one called "Ferment" which means contact moves cause it to eat any berry the opponent is holding, destroying the berry and granting Falldeerig an increase by two steps to its attack but also making it confused. Finally, Cluristagger which is a Grass/Fighting type based off the Clúrachán (or Clurichaun) the rather drunken cousin of the leprechaun. It would be a large orange stag with trims of fresh green, a collar around its neck made from the ruins of the kettle, a pair of large branch-like antlers with fermented apples dangling from them and a golden celtic torc being used as a nose ring. In its animations it would often sway like its slightly intoxicated from eating its fermented apples. It's shiny variant would replace the orange in its coat with blue and the fresh green with gold colours, as well as the antlers turning gold, to represent the munster stag while having the kettle collar turning red like the munster rugby jersey. It's main ability would be "Bad Apple" which makes its contact moves have a chance to cause confusion.

[moths-and-crows]

my personal favorite creatures from folklore are far darrig/fear dearg

they are irish faeries described as "most sluttish, slouching, jeering, mischievous phantoms", who are also known as "Rat Boys" because they're fat, hairy, and have long snouts and tails. pastimes include: stealing children

(all of this info is from wikipedia so if I'm incorrect on anything pls lmk)

I love folklore so much because depending on the location and era it comes from it's either the most terrifying concept or the dumbest thing you've ever heard

[swynlake-rp]

Be the queen of your own story! If a magical town in England sounds like the kingdom just for you, dust off your crown and join us here in Swynlake...

Claudette La Croix (The Bimbettes, Beauty and The Beast) - Sequined costumes, a coy smile, and ginger hair adorn you as you perform nightly at Swynlake’s Court of Miracles. Oh, but what complicated feelings are hiding behind your set! A longing for a homeland you didn’t want or need to leave, a fear of being separated from your sisters so you went with them anyway, perhaps a resentment of the reason your family had to relocate? What’s really going on inside your head?

Mertle van der Westhuizen (Mertle, Lilo and Stitch) - Dance shoes, red lipstick, and a Gucci bag, three things you're never without. Just like your three best friends! Lately, there's been trouble in paradise. Hello? Are you the problem, is it you?

Bonnie Rockwaller (Bonnie, Kim Possible)- Some people would kill for your gift and to that you say, go ahead! Take it! You won’t lie, it’s pretty cool…a little…sometimes. But the sudden appearance of it cost you your cheerleading scholarships and you doubt you’ll ever recover. You want this “gift” gone and you’re here to make that happen!

Granmamare (Granmamare, Ponyo) - You come to Swynlake off the heels of a succesful forray into politics in Japan with the aim to broaden your network. Magicks and sympathetic mundus alike! The issues facing merfolk in Japan are the same issues merfolk around the world face, after all. The more allies the merrier!

Chancellor Rhiannon Dearg Croi (Queen of Hearts, Alice In Wonderland) - Centuries of wisdom, a hunger for knowledge, and an uncontrollable bloodlust— what could go wrong for you as the University chancellor?

Queen Clarion (Queen Clarion, Tinkerbell) - You love your Hollow and your pixies more than anything and would do anything to secure their safety. Some of your pixies think you should take your leadership to the Big Leagues – running for town Board – but you’re apprehensive. Will you make a decision in time for next election cycle?

[thedisposablevillain]

I'm so happy to announce over 110 pride flag variations are now available! All of the listings will be updated to include all of these, but let me know if you think of one that I've missed! I want to make sure that everyone can get cute jewellery or accessories with their pride flags.

You can get your own set in any pride flag on etsy or shopify

https://feardeargcrafts.myshopify.com/products/copy-of-gone-batty-lgbt-pride-earrings-1

[fadogame]

Dermatologists hate him! This one weird old goblin knows the secret to eternal youth! …and he’s also going to be showing up in the upcoming game Fadó!