#ithaca is faeries

[rachelillustrates]

My fellow Ithacans!! (And people who are within driving distance): I will be at Ithaca Artist Market one week from tomorrow 🧚💗🧚

Come visit me and over 80 other local/regional artisans – including food vendors, live music, spirits (though not the kind I draw, to my knowledge), access to an evening boat tour AND a raffle!!

Information here, and register here to be entered into the raffle (and give helpful information to the powers that be!).

🍃💚 Learn more about the Community Arts Partnership’s Ithaca Artist Market at ArtsPartner.org 💚🍃

~

Bonus art and stories ~ Prints, comics and more!

[bloodtwin]

Puck is such a fun character and I can't help but smile and even chuckle when I read what you write with her --- doubly so when it's shenanigans with Iago. It's obvious you put a lot of love into him. Truly I just enjoy Puck as a character; an absolute favorite. You and Puck are a joy to write with. ♡

SOURCE: TELL ME WHAT YOU HONESTLY LIKE ABOUT MY OC ！

HEHEHE >:3c thank u sm ... i really do love to write shenanigans with puck & her siblings. family is such an important part of his story, so it's def my favorite part. and of course i love to get sillay :P

[technicolor-rhapsody]

The woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet colour And decked with gold and precious stones and pearls Having a golden cup in her hand Full of abominations and filthiness of her fornication

THE QUEEN ATOP THE BEAST

[demonwebs]

overall I just love vhaal as a character. it's obvious you've put a lot of thought into him. I think it's neat too that you delve into Szarkai, and have weaved the lore into something more just by using the small scraps of information that given about them. reading your writing and replies is truly a treat.

Anonymously send me your favorite detail about how I play my character.

crying real life tears that u actually put yourself through the pain of reading all of those paragraphs to interact with this moron . that was such a fever dream to write, it means everything to me u can validate my insanity and appreciate my nonsense, u have no idea, love u sm buddy <3

[faebhaal]

It came out of nowhere. But that's how death usually works. Most people don't plan to die. And she had been careless enough to let a gnoll get the better of her while she was already weakened.

She's not sure how long she had floated in the void with only the whispers. But apparently not long enough to drift too far towards a more permanent end.

Then air fills her lungs. Eyes open but what she sees is still just the darkness. Yet despite being back on the plane of the living, she feels trapped, encased within something. Ithaca starts to panic, clawing at what feels like shriveled skin. When she finally is free, what she sees is looks of varying horror and disgust.

"Oh gods..." she hears Gale mutter, a hand flying up to cover his mouth.

But Ithaca isn't sure why their reactions are such. What her companions had just observed was her getting revivified. It's not unusual to have to revive a fallen companion here or there. This was the first time it had to be done for her, and what an impression it left.

Not long after the spell was cast was she brought back to life, her traveling party bared witness to watching her rip through her own husk of a carcass, listening at the crunching of dried skin and cracking of brittle bone. Then she emerged like a cicada that's shed it's exoskeleton, iridescent wings unfurling. From head to toe to wings she was covered in splatters of crimson and viscera. That wasn't as odd of an occurrence. Perhaps what's unsettling about it is how the gore belonged to her.

Brows furrow as she stretches, wings flittering rapidly. "What? What's wrong with you guys?" Ithaca asks as she stands up, knees wobbling like a newborn fawn. Wings once more are glamoured away with a flick of her wrist. "You all look like you've seen a gnoll or something."

No one says a word. But then again what would one even utter in such a circumstance?

"Anyway, we should move along. It's a long way to Moonrise. And we still have the creche to go check out." The faerie winces when she takes a couple of steps. "I feel like shit. Could I bum a healing potion from someone?"

[starlixir]

◤❀Cнαrαcтer'ѕ Sтυdy: ✿◢

➤ Mᴀɢɪᴄ.

Aɴ ᴜᴍʙʀᴇʟʟᴀ ᴛᴇʀᴍ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴜsᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴠᴀʀɪᴏᴜs ᴛʏᴘᴇs ᴏғ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʙʀᴀɴᴄʜ ᴏғ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ɪɴᴛᴏ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴅɪғғᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ɴᴀᴍᴇs. Tʜᴇsᴇ ɴᴀᴍᴇs ʀᴀɴɢᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴄᴜʟᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴜʟᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅs ᴛᴏ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ, ᴛʜᴏ��ɢʜ, ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ, ɪᴛ ғᴀʟʟs ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛᴏ ʙᴀsɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ.

Sᴏᴍᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅs ᴡɪʟʟ ᴄᴏɴsɪᴅᴇʀ ɪᴛ ᴀs ᴀ ᴍᴇʀᴇ sᴛᴏʀʏ. A ғᴀɪʀʏ ᴛᴀʟᴇ. Oᴛʜᴇʀs ʜᴀs ғᴜsᴇᴅ ɪᴛ ʜᴇᴀᴠɪʟʏ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴄᴜʟᴛᴜʀᴇ. Sᴏᴍᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴏғ ɪᴛ ᴀs ʙᴀᴅ.

❲Further information❳:

Magic comes in different forms as stated before.

Now, magic is restricted, depending on the frequency of the world. All worlds has some sort of frequency, ranging from low to high. Some worlds are low, which means the magic is either nonexistent or restricted to one kind of magic. Others are pretty high, which can mean they can have various of magic. Even deities, themselves, can be restricted on using their magic all the time.

Nobody is sure why this is happening at all. Many will theorize it, but in the end, it's the way of the universe.

Obviously, some magic will have severe consequences. Such as time magic (time manipulation or even time traveling) where, depending on what the person did, it could lead to something nobody wants. Or perhaps they want it. For example, the whole situation with Ithaca and Earth caused some kind of consequences where the dead from both worlds has gotten another chance at life. While this can be seen as a good thing, nobody is sure what will happen to those who has another chance at life.

❲Types of magic❳:

As stated before, the word, magic, is an umbrella term used to describe the general magic. Many will correct you exactly on not to use magic as it groups up everything under one place.

Magic can and will come in different forms. Another umbrella term to categories these things is separating them into spiritual, worship, scientific, and nature. All can actually coexist at the same time, going hand-in-hand, depending on the culture you are looking into. Such as spiritual and worship being almost the same yet different at the same time. Likewise to scientific being paired with any other. Sometimes nature and spiritual can coexist. Again, it depends on what you are looking into.

There are arcane, necromancing, divination, elemental, cosmic, the list goes on and go.

Some worlds will be restricted to one set. Such as one world only being limited to cosmic and can only use anything that deals with cosmic related magic. Manipulating time and reality itself or even dipping your toes into eldritch-like magic. Another world can be only based on elemental and nature magic, which means magic-users can only cast spells that deals with both the elements and nature itself. Like talking to animals, manipulating the earth, controlling water (but can be restricted on controlling actual rivers, oceans, and the likes), etc.

Ithaca isn't restricted at all. In fact, this world is capable of hosting a lot of magic that can range from eldritch-like magic to cosmic to even using spiritual magic. It's one of the few worlds that are capable of doing this.

On the other hand, Earth is restricted heavily in terms of magic. In other words, the low frequency Earth has is based on deities' magic, which is still restricted in many ways. What I mean is that if a deity wants to use their magic, it will take time to set everything in motion. It's like watering plants and watching it grow. Depending on the type of plant, it can grow quickly or it can take its sweet time.

Certain cultures will rely heavily on certain sets of magic.

In Ithaca, faeries relies heavily on nature. Newer faeries - ones that tangles with civilizations more - relies on iron and steel like magic (or something along those lines). The others relies on nature and elements, depending on where they are located.

Another example is sirens. Swamp sirens don't rely on magic as their fellow other sirens. Their magic is rare to see and is actually quite limited. Not because they don't have magic themselves, but because in their culture, magic is seen as a tool, only to be used when necessary and not something like breathing air. Deep sea sirens rely heavily on their magic.

[starcunin]

@faebhaal | cont’d from here.

Astarion can’t help but be captivated, his crimson eyes drinking in every detail of the scene before him: Ithaca’s lips slick with blood, the rich, intoxicating scent of iron filling the air between them. Her orchid-toned skin gleams with the viscera of the unfortunate soul now lying limp and forgotten on the cobblestones.

She is feral, unbound, and he marvels at it. At her.

He’s drawn closer as if by instinct, his fingers reaching out with a deliberate slowness, brushing against the scarlet smear staining her lips. The warmth of it lingers on his skin, and he brings those same fingers to his own mouth, savoring the taste like a connoisseur with fine wine. It’s sweet—sweeter than he remembers, more than it has any right to be. He smirks, a dangerous curve of his lips, and his voice drops to a purr as he leans in, the words sliding between them like velvet.

❛ You’re too good to me, ❜ he murmurs, each word laced with a seductive tease, but the affection beneath it is unmistakable. The distance between their bodies vanishes, his cool breath mingling with hers. He dips forward, not quite kissing her yet, but instead running his tongue over the slick surface of her mouth, savoring the mingled flavors of blood. It’s a reverent sort of worship, as if she’s become his personal altar to devotion and desire. It all feels less tainted now—now that he’s truly free—now that he knows she won’t become another one of Cazador’s meals or endless spawn.

But even as he revels in the taste of her, he catches the flicker in her eyes, that faraway glaze that tells him she’s not truly present. Not yet. It’s the Urge—her hunger made manifest, an all-too-familiar companion to his own. A memory of his own leash tightens in the back of his mind, a phantom echo of what he once was: trapped and ravenous, ever at the mercy of darker needs. A shudder ghosts along his spine, a mix of fear and excitement as he realizes how close he is to her when she’s like this—wild and untamed, a storm in human ( or faerie ) form.

Her hands rise, slowly, deliberately, winding around his shoulders. He doesn’t flinch. He opens his arms to her. He feels her press into him, and his tension melts away. He embraces her, opening himself to the closeness, the warmth of her body against his. It’s almost instinctive now, his need to feel her heartbeat against his own still chest.

She kisses him then, her mouth hot and stained, and he falls into it without hesitation, a soft, desperate sound escaping against her lips. It’s a sound he would have been mortified to make before, a sound that betrays how deeply he wants this, how much he wants her. He drinks in the taste like a man starved, letting his tongue slip past her lips to seek more, to claim whatever she’s willing to give. Blood coats his tongue, rich and metallic, and slightly sweet. And then, almost as quickly as she’d offered it, she pulls away, her breath ghosting against his mouth as she murmurs an apology. The word barely registers—he hears the hollow note beneath it, the lack of any true contrition. But oh, he finds that lack delightful. His lips curve into a slow smile, blood still painting the sharp lines of his mouth. He holds her gaze, the desire in his eyes softening into something almost tender as his thumb traces the edge of her jaw.

❛ Don’t be, ❜ he breathes, his voice like silk and shadow, teasing, affectionate. ❛ You know how I like it when you’re naughty. ❜ He leans in, pressing another kiss to her lips, this one softer, lingering. His free hand winds through the rose-petal waves of her hair, the strands slipping like silk between his fingers. For a moment, he lets himself bask in the closeness, in the strange, exhilarating intimacy that only she can offer him.

But practicality soon rears its head, tugging him back to the present, to the reality of where they are—standing over a corpse in the middle of the city, the night yet young but far too exposed. He pulls back slightly, just enough to murmur against her mouth, the edge of a smirk still curling his lips. ❛ But we should probably get out of here before someone finds us making out and bloodied over a corpse. ❜

[amatistafey-archive]

❗❗��� / faerie kisses!! @faebhaal uwu

Send " ❗❗❗ " for your muse to suddenly and unexpectedly kiss mine. // @faebhaal

There's a look of shock on her face as the other fey kisses her and she doesn't know how to react when Ithaca pulls away just as quickly as she kissed her. Her mind is reeling and she's got a million questions but the one that slips out is -

" I-I don't think that was long enough to process... Can you try again? "

[aikoiya]

Mythology Masterlist

Regarding IRL Myth:

Portrayals of Deities in Fanfiction

Portrayals of War Gods & Other Such Nonesense

Yōkai vs Kami

Werewolf Weaknesses

Redoing Disney's Hercules - A Compromise Between Myth & Revision

My Personal Interpretations:

DnD Subclasses & Profession Ideas

Dragon Forms

Draconic Crystomagic Infusion Magic

Fae Dragons

Dragon HCs

Wyrmlings & Dragon Pediatrics

Monster Diets

Not Mine:

Scientific Hypotheses About Fairies

The Dangers of Fairy Food

Faery Wine

Faery Food

Fairy Ring Fungi

Onmyoji

Werewolves & Water

Epic:

Penelope's Into Mpreg?? (Not Mine; also calculated how long it'd take to travel from Ithaca to The Spring & back.)

Other Important Masterlists:

DP Ghost Zone Masterlist

Aikoiya's Writing Tips Masterlist - Has a list of links to all my other masterlists.

Aikoiya's Language Masterlist

[rachelillustrates]

Gallery Show!!

"If we shadows have offended / Think but this, and all is mended!!"

That is, my work will be on display from mid-October into November, at Angelhearts Diner here in Ithaca NY!! ✨ New start date due to unexpected delay. ✨

Though the month of the Orcs is upon us, I will be sharing pieces featuring all sorts of denizens of Faerie, so borrowed some wordage from The Bard for the theme this time. Ending reception will be November 1st, 5pm-8pm for Gallery Night - please come visit then or during the month, and talk fae with me that Friday if you're local and free (PLUS, delicious vegan food, HULLO) 💗

And thanks so much to everyone at Angelhearts for having me back! So grateful to get to show again in a space I appreciate SO much 🥰

~

Bonus art and stories ~ Prints, comics and more!

[faebhaal]

Her grin, now genuine, reaches her eyes, which gleam with excitement. In the deepest, darkest bowels of her being for once she feels the barest ounce of true joy; of being accepted. "Thanks, Puck." Ithaca murmurs.

Before things could get too mushy, too saccharine, the fae turns her attention back to the promised show of magical prowess. First though, her coveted pouch is sealed up once more, lest she lose any treasures by accident. Then with still a few teeth in her palm, she closes her hand. The air fizzles with the spell she breathes to life in the blink of an eye.

"Ta-da~!" Hand is opened and held toward him, revealing gold coins. The oldest trick in the book. Not the most exciting thing she has up her sleeve, but still a fun, solid classic in her opinion.

"Faerie gold or fools gold. They'll turn back in a couple of hours." Just long enough to pass it off to a merchant and hightail it away before the consequences should arise. Fingers run along the smooth surface of the altered, illusioned objects before offering them to him. "Learned this when I was just a nymph...a little larva. Teeth by themselves were a currency. I use to trade them all the time to this one hag for sweets." There's a wave of nostalgia, coupled with the feeling of how long ago such memories were — so much so they almost feel like a fever dream. It brings about a minute prickling of sadness.

"Can use them for other things of course. Like fooling mortals. And jewelry, obviously."

Blue & orange. Puck's head tilts at the description. The meaning of it is admittedly lost on him, which frustrates him. He would like to understand what it means. He probably does, though. More than he realizes.

Truthfully, he does have the tendency to see things in a more black & white fashion. it is not something he's particularly proud of, which is why he always tries to listen. Except when it comes to himself, of course. Oh, never himself. He is endlessly harsh with himself but always gentle & patient towards others. He does not realize he has this double standard regarding morality.

For the good of myself, she says. He suppresses the urge to wrinkle his nose. That is an attitude he struggles the most with, one he will likely never fully understand, but it's not as if he had many qualities much better than that. His own sense of selflessness veers dangerously close to self-destructive, which is a kind of selfishness in its own way. Another flaw of his he is oblivious to. He is primarily blinded by his hatred for his own drive to do harm. So blinded by it that he wishes he felt nothing at all.

Again, he finds that he cannot judge so he does not. It takes more to disgust him than that. Namely, have a name that starts with a ❛ P ❜ & rhymes with ❛ Fuck. ❜

❝ No need to apologize. It is tiring to have to explain yourself over & over, ❞ he replies because, at the very least, he understands that part.

Curiously, he peers at the pouch of teeth. His eyebrows raise, not with disgust or alarm, but with interest. He seems impressed more than anything else. He doesn't collect teeth specifically, at least not in such a concentrated manner, but he does have a bone collection of his own. He can always recognize the species, but sometimes he forgets the individual he got it from. Sometimes he dug them up or found them on the road rather than taking them from kills, too.

❝ I would love to, ❞ he replies, already preparing himself for a magic trick that had an equally chilling lack of morals to the one showing it to him. That's what makes it fun, he supposes.

[technicolor-rhapsody]

Ithaca --- The Dark Urge, Bhaal's Chosen & most favored child.

[demonwebs]

"Here." In his palm Ithaca places a handful of gold. Nothing odd or unusual out of place. That is until just barely a couple of minutes later it's not gold he's holding but a variety of teeth. The oldest faerie trick in the book. / @faebhaal

Give the muse an object and see how they react.

for a second , just a second , he looks positively delighted ! there is even a small smile on the edges of his lips , but just as quickly as it came , it went . his expression turns sour : dark brows arched downward , peeved .

teeth . his gift turned into teeth in his hands . again . ❝ ... i can't believe you've done this . ❞ again !

[faebhaal]

@venushorned

With all the fighting they do on a near daily basis, one would think none of them would even want to spar. But Ithaca had grown restless at camp. Too awake to nap, too lively to sit and sketch. And it had seemed she wasn't the only one.

She held no doubts that Gossamer could be a force to be reckoned with, even while some of the others had reservations. Ithaca knows all too well the sentiment of how sometimes the most beautiful flowers are the deadliest; after all, she too falls into that category along with the tiefling.

And her assumption was not wrong. The fey does end up breaking a sweat. She's opted not to use magic, as in all fairness that her grimoire was not made for play fighting. So of course instead, she sticks with her sickles while her partner is unarmed. At first the choice intrigues her, excites her even.

The way Gossamer moves is hypnotic. The combination of both graceful and lethal --- like a displacer beast. No wonder she's such a skilled dancer. She's managed to land a few hits on the faerie, much to the chagrin of Ithaca's pride. Though her flesh will be equally as bruised as her ego.

Their waltz comes to a halt when the curve of her blade lightly rests atop the other woman's wrist. If Ithaca were to pull down, Gossamer could say adieu to her pretty little hand. Her other blade hovers above a shoulder.

"You're really good, you know?" Ithaca states, grin tugging at her lips. Her breathing is a tad heavy while her hearts hammers against her sore ribs. "Shall we go again?"

[faebhaal]

The newest addition to their motley crew has had Ithaca scratching her head endlessly. Elven the woman looks, yet the air about her was different. Strange. But not in an eerie or creepy way; no, there's a feeling of familiarity. Dappling sunlight upon crystalline water ripples. The scent of moss and dew. Pure unfiltered natural magic — the kind that hangs in the breeze like pollen.

Hand comes up to cover her mouth, muffling a chuckle what Arwen asks for the definition of asshole. "Ah, it's hard to explain. I would Shadowheart. Or maybe Wyll....hells, Gale might give you the best explanation." There's a glint of excitement in her eye, of mischief. It's perhaps a bit cruel to direct her inquiry to someone else. But it works in both their favors; Ith gets a laugh and Arwen gets her explanation.

It doesn't offend Ithaca when Arwen makes note of the unsettling ambience surrounding her. Well, not much anyways. She's grown use to the idea that there's something WRONG with her. Very wrong.

No, what catches her by surprise is the mention of a druid clan that spoke only Sylvan. Odd. Extremely odd. Now granted, the thing druids shared with Fey was the reverence for nature. But for a whole group of MORTAL beings to know ONLY the language of the faire folk? Unlikely. It doesn't escape her gaze how the elf fidgets, how her expression holds unease.

Then Ithaca just hears it — hears the tinkling syllables light and melodious like a wind chimes or a flute; like a pixie's laugh. Sylvan. Which wouldn't be an issue considering the story that's been told. Hearing the language of her kind makes her heart weep. It brings about a disgusting feeling of homesickness.

"Cén fáth bheadh leat bréag chun liom?" < Why would you lie to me? > The faerie replies back in the same tongue. Her head is tilted, blazing eyes unwavering as she stares at the other as if the rest of camp doesn't exist.

@faebhaal sent: ❛ i’m definitely the nicest asshole you could ever hope to meet ❜

The nymph has seated herself a short distance from Ithaca, close enough to converse, but with a slight wariness—like a deer testing the air before stepping fully into a meadow.   The fey aura clings to Ithaca like mist, a scent that Arwen cannot place but instinctively understands, as if each breath she takes fills her with the memory of far-off woods, of unearthly flowers blooming under a pale, unnatural moon.    But there is also a darkness, coiled and subtle, threaded into the shimmer of Ithaca’s beauty.    It’s a darkness Arwen can’t ignore, even as her heart flutters at the prospect of meeting someone who feels like . . .   like home.   

There is a warmth to Ithaca’s words, but also a layer she can’t quite decipher, and that single, strange term—asshole—gnaws at her like a tiny stone caught in her shoe.     She tries to reach for the meaning, to pull it from the edges of the context like threads unraveling from a seam, but the word remains elusive, slippery, without roots in her understanding of Common.    Still, she can sense something beneath it, a contrast between sweetness and danger that mirrors Ithaca’s entire presence.

❛ I do think you’re very nice—even though you have this . . .   kind of terrifying aura about you that I can’t quite explain. ❜    Her voice is gentle, lilting, as though tasting each word before releasing it.    She pauses, a soft pink blush blooming across her pale cheeks as she adds, almost shyly,    ❛ One question, though . . .    what does asshole mean? ❜    She hopes the question doesn’t sound foolish—there is so much about this realm she still doesn’t know, so many corners of language and culture that remain shadows to her, half-understood. ❛ The druid village where I’m from— ❜    she begins, the lie slipping out before she can stop herself.    Her voice catches on it, her gaze dropping as she forces herself to complete the sentence.    ❛ They only ever spoke Sylvan, so I’m still learning Common. ❜

But the lie clings to her, uncomfortable, like a nettle caught in her throat.    She has spent so long trying to avoid deception, to tread lightly and honestly in a world that sometimes feels as fragile as a spider’s web.    Lying to Ithaca—even in something so small—feels wrong, a bitter taste that spoils the sweetness of her curiosity.

The words slip from her in Sylvan, a whispered confession barely louder than the crackling fire.    ❛ Fan, níl, go bhí a bréag. Mé díreach chun leat. ❜    ( Wait, no, that was a lie.    I just lied to you. )    The language of the Feywild tumbles from her lips, a melody of soft, musical syllables that seem to dance in the night air.    There’s something almost childlike in her expression, a gentle rawness that hints at just how difficult it is for her to conceal anything, to build walls around herself the way others seem to.

[catilinas]

Oooo shit…. I’m thinking about Nemo’s self-exile now and like… the self-exile in my faerie theory… like by choosing exile to the sun-world you are in fact choosing to literally die to go through the passage of time… that in comparison to Nemo’s social death and ghost status… the way the sea exerts pressure versus gravity after an eternity of weightlessness….. and on top of all that I ate his Name too…

idk much abt fairy myths but YEEEAAAAAA the vibes of it all...... he literally ate his name too. u know how literally the entire second half of the odyssey is odysseus' nostos and he goes through a whole bunch of deliberate False identities just So That the people who matter can be like. no actually i know you and you are odysseus. the cretan lie and all that. like his most famous false identity IS nobody and that IS in the unmoored unworldly fantasy timeless space of the apologoi...... BUT when he leaves polyphemus' island he names himself again! and when he returns to ithaca it's All About him getting his name and also social Aliveness As Odysseus back...... and then nemo's like. no ❤️