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choco-mark · 4 years

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A Marriage of Inconvenience (Epilogue)

overall pairing: mafia!jeno x mafia!oc

overall genre: angst | smut | fluff

warnings: mentions of violence + death, mentions of drugs + drugging + drugging someone else, mentions of sex

summary: when two mafia gangs decide to end their family feud after decades, your mother decides to give your hand away to marriage of their son, lee jeno. he seemed to hate you from the moment he laid his eyes on you, but could the resolution lead to something much more than a bride and groom?

words: 3k

masterlist

requested by 🤡 anon

1 December

Seven months. That was how long it had been since Jeno had slipped a band onto your finger and kissed you into a marriage that was once so...inconvenient to you. It was funny even thinking back to how the two of you treated each other with so much hostility only a month ago, acting as if a difference of family was so disgusting. It was funny, thinking back to when you tried to kill him with the very nice blades that the Lees polished every other day.

Your back hit the soft mattress and you laid yourself down against the material of the pillow that was now cushioning your head. But your brain didn’t seem to remember the exact moment your hatred for him changed into something else, and even as much as you traveled back into your memories, you never could really find the minute you had looked at him without thinking ‘oh, Lee.’ It made you wonder what changed, but the more you wondered, the more you understood. From all that you had witnessed for the past while, the one thing that hit you the hardest was that: Lee Jeno was just like you. As much as you wouldn’t had dared admit it before, you knew it now; you knew exactly how much the two of you had in common.

Your entire life you had been raised like bred puppy not to ever trust anyone with your life except for yourself, which often caused you to shun people immediately for the moment you saw this. If it wasn’t in battle, you had never found yourself the kind of person to make friends or casually talk, and when it was, well, you always just did the job that you were told to do. Your personality was an original cold person, the kind of person that wouldn’t want anyone near them that would cause their own emotional attachment. The only exception being family.

You could tell how close Jeno was with his family, and lately having confided in you very minutely about his feeling, how close he was with Donghyuck. It hadn’t occurred to him that his brother had been going through depressive episodes, which had caused him to have outbreaks of different emotions at different times because of the drugs that he had been abused with, not at least until the Lee doctor had diagnosed him in the dungeon that he had been locked up in. And according to him, it had hit him hard. Harder than he had expected himself to be affected by it. His relationship with Taeyong wasn’t necessarily the same, considering he had always had a certain hate for his younger brothers, but Mark? He had said that even if he wasn’t his brother, he would’ve still considered him as one.

You had told him that you—were somewhat similar, though, he didn’t need you to tell him because he had already seen that attachment towards Jisung the entire time that he was recovering. You had always seen it as a weakness, the way that family always was the soft spot in your heart, but the more you talked about it with him, the more you realized it was a strength. Your love for your brother was out of the roof, and he knew that as much as you showed it, and he assured you that it most definitely did not make you weak because you loved.

In the past few days, it had almost felt like you and Jeno had just passed a stage from strangers to friends, from the way you two were actually able to talk and train together. Well, counting out the fact that you had insisted you go to the training room and Jeno had sheepishly told you that his father had specifically asked you not to leave the bedroom for the rest of the month. It ended with you threatening to punch your—father-in-law in the face, and a few very angry knives being thrown at targets.

But Jeno was nice to train with, because he was like you in the fact that your training time was your therapeutic relaxation time. You didn’t want to be disturbed, and neither did he, and that made the perfect pairing. It only lasted till sparring, where you knew he lacked it, and you gave him a few techniques that would help him in the hopeful future. And Jeno, well, he had helped you with your rifle skills.

The two of you were—well—kind of forced to share a room, which allowed for eventful breakfasts and lunches and dinners that would consist of long, unusual, and unnecessary discussions. They were forever ongoing, and they varied from topics such as old comics to your lecture on feminism, but, it allowed for some kind of bonding between the two of you.

Jeno had eventually understood the reason why you were always so defiant against his father, and it did hit him that the Lees were always so discriminatory towards women in their household. He had said with a small voice and a slight smile that ‘one day, when I take over the clan, I’ll abolish the patriarchy.’ But, you both knew that day wouldn’t come for a while, at least, so you had to deal with it for the time being.

You had also learned that Jeno had a very high sex drive. Well, higher than you had expected. You already knew that he really liked taking that cock of his and stuffing you full, but what you didn’t expect was his easy submission. There had been one day where you had taken you chance and sat on his chest, and to your surprise, he had looked up at you with pleading eyes that made you want to sin. And the best part was when he asked for your validation, the constant ‘am I doing good?’ or ‘does that feel good?’ that would make your heart warm up in different ways.

Jeno was sensitive, too, and you hadn’t even noticed it until you woke up one morning to find him crying silently into his hands after hearing the news that one of his sisters were getting married. You were—expecting him to say that someone died, but the fact that his tears were for a happy beginning made you realize how much pent up emotion he had inside of him. You were almost glad to have witnessed him crying for something so...soft.

Jeno was understanding, way more understanding that it made you want to be more accepting of him as well. He had read your mind one night and had snuck you out to visit your home just for few hours, to reunite you with the rest of your family for just the result of your smile in the end. At least, Jeno knew what it felt like being kept away from his family.

You knew he visited Donghyuck everyday, who was now in the hospital wing being treated indefinitely. Though you couldn’t necessarily bring yourself to see the man who had abducted you again without feeling the flashes from before, you knew that it meant a lot to him that he go see him. Even if he didn’t tell you, Mark did, and he always gave you a little toothy smile and told you not to worry about him.

It was on the seventeenth of May when you had woken up with severe cramps and nausea that had caused you to vomit at the break of dawn. It was on that same day that Jeno had insisted that he carry you to the hospital wing with the belief that you were ‘dying from side effects of the oxygen depreciating drug.’ And it was on the same day that the doctor had widened his eyes and told the two of you that, no, you were not dying, but you were pregnant.

The first thing that had come to your mind was: I’m not ready for this. And the truth was that, no, you were one hundred percent not ready to become a mother and bring a child into the world. Jeno had stood there for what felt like an eternity with his jaw dropped until you had given him a slap on the thigh. Well, you shouldn’t had expected yourself to not be pregnant with all that sex and all that non-protection. Yet that was the outcome. But Jeno seemed to have expected it, and the funniest part to you was, he was ten times more excited than you were. Sure, having kids was definitely something you wanted, but having kids when you were nineteen and just married? Not really your cup of tea.

You had finally gotten enough of his anticipating words by the end of the next night, yelling at him with no rationale on the fact that you didn’t even want kids in the first place. That wasn’t completely true, no, but in the heat of the moment, you couldn’t take seeing him so happy about something that he didn’t even see as a burden.

But another thing about Jeno that you had learned was that, he was so selfless. He had sat down with you with his hands grasping yours the entire time as he let you pour your heart out about everything. You ended up crying, almost embarrassingly, but he assured you that it was okay. It was okay to cry when things don’t go the way you wanted.

Jeno was comforting, that was for sure. All he ever did was offer you comfort when you needed it, and gave you everything he could even when you didn’t need it. It was almost like he was sacrificing himself for you, and you didn’t even know why. Not until he told you.

You still remembered the day he did, he had let you sit on his lap in the empty training mats in mid-August, rubbing your thighs softly. You had missed training with him, and that was something he had forbid ever since you had started showing. The least he could do was take you to the scene, and enjoy it with you.

He had pressed his lips down your neck, trailing back up to whisper into your ears words that you truly, never would’ve expected him to say before. You had turned to stare at him for so long, and you had watched the anticipating shine of his eyes as he waited for your response. But, you felt the same way, of course, how could you not?

And everytime since that first time, you would feel like little butterflies in your stomach that would flutter around when he kissed you with those rose lips of his. Kissed you with all the love that he said and gave. And so you had told him back, so quietly, ‘I love you.’

What didn’t strike you was that Lee Jeno was a romantic. A romantic that he would never take credit for. You knew he wouldn’t, but he still woke you up to warm baths and feathered kisses, and he took you outside without his father’s permission to let you view the pretty gardens that were always locked to public view. He kissed you under the covers, and in front of his older brother. He did what he wanted, because he loved you, and he didn’t have to hide it any longer.

Donghyuck had recovered by early September, though having been warned caution by the doctor, Jeno still hadn’t allowed you near him. He had insisted that no, he didn’t have the same liking towards you that he might’ve had before, but he didn’t want to take any chances and put you in danger. You and your unborn child, as well.

But you visited Donghyuck in his room on a crisp afternoon later that month, having avoided Jeno as he had gone on an outing with Mark. It was funny, you thought, seeing him so unflirty and polite from the way that contrasted when he had his episodes before. He had even cried seeing your baby bump, and you could’ve sworn that was the cutest reaction you had gotten from anyone about your child. He was so different, but this was the Donghyuck that Jeno had told you was real, unlike the one that possessed him into taking another name.

Jeno had yelled at you after he came back, having known that you had left that room. And you, well, you yelled back. He had said that you shouldn’t have left. And you had said that he couldn’t stop you. It was heated, and at the end, you had realized: it was your first ever fight. And it was about Donghyuck.

You learned that night that Donghyuck was his half-brother, born from the same father but a different mother. It had been rumored, apparently, that his mother was a Park, at least that was what Jeno had told you. It almost made you laugh, thinking about that, because that man did have qualities that would stick him as a Park. He felt guilt, something apparently, that Lees didn’t feel. Well, it had been just a rumor anyway.

The next day you had awoken to Jeno pulling a bullet out of his arm in the lavish bathroom, and he had to lull you back to sleep with the promise that he was okay. You had learned later that he had gone out on a mission, and had failed to retrieve the said item that was needed, and his father had taken it out on him by shooting a metal ball into his skin. It wasn’t a bullet, per say, and it wasn’t nearly as painful, but it still caused an infection that made you want to barge up to that man and kill him right then and there.

Mark had told you that day that his father always had—unusual punishments when things didn’t go his way, though it seemed more like cruel to you. You hadn’t understood why your husband’s father treated his children as if they weren’t even his children, but a pack of dogs at his bidding to do whatever he wanted with them. It was disgusting.

In mid-October, that was when you realized that Jeno was infatuated with your voice. He had been concentrating on the move of your lips and the sounds falling from them so much that his listening wasn’t even listening, he had just been admiring your voice like it was something beautiful on its own. Even when you had gotten slightly frustrated with him constantly zoning out on your lips, he had just given you that cute eye-smile and kissed you, telling you that you’re gorgeous. That you’re gorgeous, and he loves you.

Jeno was—beautiful in his own sense, with a sense of absolute love and adoration for you that you noticed had grown so unbearable over time that you knew—the two of you couldn’t see a life without each other. You even laughed on that day he told you that, remembering back when the two of you were constantly at each other’s throats for almost zero to no reason. Now? You couldn’t even imagine what your life would’ve been if you weren’t forced to marry him.

Though at the same time, you could. You would’ve been living the same life as you always were, throwing blades and killing for victory. You would’ve been spending time with your younger brother the way you did before, training him and advising him about everything and nothing he needed to know. As much as you had grown to love Jeno, you didn’t think that anything to take over the meaning of Jisung in your life, and it made you tired to think that you couldn’t see him every day as you wished. But Jeno made it happen.

Jeno made—almost everything you wanted—happen. He treated you like a princess, not even, a queen like he sometimes said. He had never wanted to see you upset when you were with him, and if you did, there was always his constant strive to make you smile again. Even if it wasn’t easy. He had snuck Jisung out of the Park mansion on a Saturday night in November, and had woken you up to a brother you hadn’t seen in months.

And over all that time that you had gotten to know and fall for the man that you were formally married to, you had thought back to the day of your wedding and remembered how reluctant you were to marry him. Even back then, you were so weary of how Jeno had managed to make you feel in the time that he had saved you from your abductors, and you didn’t want to feel so weak around a man that had always seemed strong. You didn’t want to let him know that you were already falling for him, because you thought he was so different, but he—really wasn’t.

It had been seven months since you and Jeno had gotten married, and in another two months, you would be welcoming your baby daughter into the world. You had never imagined your life to take such a huge turn when you had entered the Lee palace all that time ago, with only the determination to find the people that had taken their liking for you, but...it had. Jeno hadn’t imagined it either, most definitely not when he found out he was marrying a Park, but he knew that his past self would scold him now if he knew that he was in love with a Park—and married to one too.

But that was where life had taken you, and you could only really hope for a increasingly better future. Both for you, and your husband. It might’ve been forbidden at first, maybe even so inconvenient, but you weren’t about to let it stop you. You would continue to throw knives at a flimsy dart, and you would continue to spar like the high ranked fighter you were. The two of you had made it work, with the best interest in mind as you started, and it had ended up with emotions much stronger than that.

Maybe, just maybe, life wasn’t such a burden all the time.

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i hope that cleared some things up!! and once again, thank you soo much for supporting my first real series on this blog. i hope you guys enjoyed the outcome of the story, and i gotta say that it took some twists that even i didn’t expect (haha), but here we are at the end! thank you!! ♡

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wolfgrowlwrites · 3 years

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Tribe of Rushing Water Analysis

Since people were curious both on my thoughts about the Tribe of Rushing Water in Canon and how I’ve rewritten them in my fic Ties that Bind, here’s the massive post on it. If you read this entire thing, thank you.

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Alright so I’m not much of an internet funnyman but I was an English Major and someone with a hyperfixation on the Warrior Cats series so it’s time to analyze the Tribe! The following post will include Spoilers for Watership Down (yeah the rabbit book, I’ll come back to this) and I will speak openly about the Warriors Series as a whole with the assumption that the people reading have already read the books in question. The goal of this is to discuss the Tribe’s narrative placement in the story, and what I’m doing with them in my rewrite.

Now Warriors was originally just going to be one book, and then six, and then first three books of the second arc. The weird effects this has on the narrative and tone is best explored elsewhere, but I bring this up because Midnight, Moonrise and Dawn were meant to be a trilogy ending the series. And this trilogy was based on nothing other than Watership Down, all of which is important to consider when we talk about the Tribe. The Tribe was meant to only appear briefly, which means there was no need for fleshing them out, and they are the Warriors parallel of Cowslip’s Warren.

For those of us who haven’t read Watership Down, it is a story about a bunch of rabbits who have a prediction of the destruction of their home and set out on a quest to find a new one. (Sounds familiar right?) One of the dangers they run into along the way is what originally appears to be a friendly warren run by a rabbit named Cowslip. The rabbits immediately find themselves on edge, as while this warren is exceptionally friendly there is the underlying evidence that something is wrong. When they ask questions the natives to the burrow deflect and dance around answering, and while their customs seem similar, they’re different enough to be unsettling. Behold, I’ve described the Tribe in Moonrise. And like the Tribe, the fact that Cowslip’s Warren is hiding is that there’s something extremely dangerous hunting them. Cowslip’s warren is being maintained by humans who are actively snaring the rabbits, and the Tribe has Sharptooth who is also hunting them. In fact, the snares almost kill one of the traveling rabbits, while Feathertail does end up dying to Sharptooth.

(Thank god I’m doing this on Tumblr not Twitter, god this thread would be unbearable.)

(For those who have read Watership Down, Brook is probably supposed to be Strawberry.)

So narratively, the Tribe are there to be a hinderance to the traveling cats who seem friendly and similar to them but have a danger to them that will put the traveling cats at risk. That is the role they’re meant to play, and as the series was meant to end after Dawn, the Erins didn’t need to flesh the Tribe out really beyond that.

But then money and the publishers spoke and the series continued and we returned to the Tribe except uh… huh. Honestly I kinda don’t want to get into this because it’s the same thing every time. The Tribe, who when we first meet them are described as huge and able to fight eagles, and are well adapted for life on the mountains, have encountered some problem and only the Clan cats can save them. Rinse and repeat. And as someone who has attempted to figure out the Tribe’s Allegiances, if you thought they were bad about remembering details for the Clans oh boy. For specific citations of the Tribe needs the Clans help, oh no, please see Moonrise, Outcast, Sign of the Moon, and Tawnypelt’s Clan. Sign of the Moon in particular because a Clan cat straight up choses the Tribe’s new leader. Can you imagine how the Clans would react if a Tribe cat tried that?

But it’s okay right because of the whole time-travel thing which means that Jayfeather actually founded the Tribe and named the first Stoneteller. I could write an entire essay on how much I hate this plot point, but that’s not the point here. The more important part is that some how the Tribe went from names like Stone Song, Half Moon, Lion’s Roar, Clear Sky, Gray Wing, etc. to names like Brook where Small Fish swim. I, as a white guy, don’t want to touch the racism there, I’m pretty sure other people have explained it better than I can, but the short version is that a group named the Tribe with names like Jagged Rock where Heron Nest comes off like a stereotype for Native Americans, at least from my white American experience. So, uh, solid yikes on that one, especially when those aren’t even the names they use (because of course not they’re a fucking mouthful) which gets to the world building point I’m gonna touch on instead.

The Ancients become the Tribe but somehow the names grow so long that they all have to go by nicknames that… almost resemble what Ancient names were to begin with? I understand this is because the Tribe’s naming convention got established before the time loop thing, but honestly, there is no reason they should’ve been named like that and in fact more reasons why they shouldn’t have. Between the racism and then from a writing perspective, what is the point, of having names like that if they’re never used? Like narratively it makes no sense from the start, and the Time Travel plot only makes that more obvious.

All that said, I actually super adore the Tribe! I wish they’d been handled differently in a lot of places but they had so much potential to be cool that got lost along the way. So thus, we come to my rewrite. If you’re just here for Tribe Analysis you’re free to go, but if you’re here for how I’m rewriting the Tribe than settle in.

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In my rewrite the Tribe has Ancient names from the get go, because it makes more sense and allows for the Tribe to serve its original narrative function, that is, a place similar to what the Clan Cats are used enough to be comfortable, but different enough to be unsettling. The Tribe has ancestors not unlike StarClan but I have the Tribe’s worship working very differently. Stone Tellers are raised from birth to serve as a guiding force for the Tribe because they are the ones that can speak to the ancestors, and every full moon, when the Cave of Pointed Stones glows, they lead their tribe to speak with their ancestors, in something not unlike a gathering, but it is meant to be a form of remembrance, as they are sharing news with their ancestors instead.

The Tribe has very extreme views of their ancestors, refusing to take the Tribe of Endless Hunting’s name in vain. It is also believed that a Tribe cat that has passed cannot move on to the Tribe of Endless Hunting until a final task has been completed. This task is something the cat would’ve wanted to do while alive, but didn’t get to, so now one of their family, or a close friend, does it in their place. (To a reasonable extent, for example telling someone that the cat who died was in love with them, not settling down with them to raise a family because that’s what the dead cat wanted to do.) Those who have not moved on linger as ghosts. They don’t have stars in their pelts, and they don’t have the ability to see the future to warn their Tribemates the way StarClan or the Tribe of Endless Hunting do. They are capable of speaking to those who can see them, usually Stone Teller, but otherwise they tend to simply watch and wait for someone to help them move on.

The Tribe believes that the future is chosen by the Tribe of Endless Hunting, to challenge their omens is the most heretical thing a cat can do. The current Stone Teller decides a cat’s future when they are born, Cave-guard, Prey-Hunter, or rarely, the next Stone Teller. Those kits are taken by the current Stone Teller once they’re old enough to be weaned and raised in the Cave of Pointed Stones. Their name is chosen by the current Stone Teller and stripped from them when they become the next Stone Teller. Stone Teller is meant to be the ancestor’s conduit to the living and an impartial leader to the Tribe. However, not every leader can live up to those expectations, and should the Tribe begin to doubt the current Stone Teller’s capability to guide them, they can make a new cat leader. This cat would do the job of leading the Tribe, while Stone Teller continues to serve as the medicinal and spiritual leader. This rarely happens, and when it does it is rarely so clean cut, as no one particularly enjoys admitting they’ve made a mistake and need to be replaced as leader.

The Stone Teller is assisted in leading the Tribe by the head of the Cave-Guards and the head of the Prey-Hunters, these are seen as the cats that are best at that job and capable of quick decision making and good judgement calls. They often work together to organize hunting patrols and discuss issues in the territory, often presenting Stone Teller with their solutions alongside problems.

Honestly the Tribe won’t be playing a very large role in my rewrite as a whole, but since they have an entire arc dedicated to them, I wanted to make sure I had them well fleshed out. There’s a few details I’ve left out because this is long enough, but if you’re curious about anything I’ve said either about the Tribe or my rewrite, hit me up.

#Warrior Cats #tribe of rushing water #I'm not sorry but this is a lot tm

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spiritionary · 7 years

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Fae Facts - Refactored

So I caught wind of a discussion of “Fae facts” that were listed on the web, and what was true and what was not on it, and I’ve decided to write an article about it from the fae perspective…

‘Fae’ range from anything like goblins and imps to the little pixies with the wings that everyone associated with fairies to the seven-foot tall members of the royal courts. some even consider the banshee to be fae. (also trolls, gnomes, elves, djinn, dwarves, leprechauns, will-o-wisps, etc.)

Partially true. There are actually many more fae than mortals can imagine. There are fae unicorns (though not all unicorns are fae), merfolk are fae, there are some mortal species that can become partially fae (like changelings) and there are fae that no mortal has ever even heard of. Additionally other cultures have fae under other names and courts, such as yokai, spirits (tho not all spirits are fae), and others. Fae exist all over the world, in different cultures, with different names, and often their own Courts.

Some think the fae are evil, some think they are fallen angels, but most are considered to be a chaotic neutral force. some might call this ‘whimsically evil.’

False. Angels/Demons and fae are not related. We generally come from nature or Faerie, and the angels and demons are created directly by a divine being for a purpose. Also our ‘alignments’ are all over the map, just like mortals.

Honey makes them drunk.

Mostly False. Honey is the base for honey mead. Honey mead is the base for Faerie wine. Honey has more of an ‘effect on us’, but it doesn’t generally make us drunk. We however do make the Best Wine fron it.

Iron poisons them, as it does many magical beings.

True. Almost all the fae I know have some reaction to iron.

Some were-creatures were probably just fae in disguise, since fae can assume any form.

Somewhat true. Not all fae can shapeshift, but some were-creatures are fae. Not all fae that can shapeshift can take any form, but some can. I can’t take the form of a human (at least as fae), and the number of animals I can turn into… well that’s not unlimited either, but it is alot. Also fae shapeshifters usually have a base form that they prefer. Sometimes that is called their ‘sleeping form’ because some can’t maintain it when they sleep.

They sometimes lure humans with music that makes them want to follow and dance. They have to dance for what feels like a year and a day but it’s actually only seconds.

False. This is the other way around, please see my article on faerie rings. If you enter a faerie ring, and dance for a day, when you exit (on average) a year will have passed. If you have danced with the fae in one of these rings for a year and a day, don’t return to Earth as you’re already dead there.

True names of the fae have power over them. they often use aliases when dealing with non-fae.

True.

Some people are gifted with fae sight, which allows them to see the fae and also sometimes peeks into the future through their dreams.

Partially true. Except that those people who have ‘fae sight’ are usually partially fae themselves. Also it gives no insight into the future. However they are easily able to travel to Faerie in their dreams.

Cats hate the fae, and the fae hate them back.

False. Some fae ride cats around. Some fae become cats, particularly when they want to become a witches’ familiar. Pixies have the most trouble with cats, because cats think they are moths and chase them around. But in general, the cats just want to play, and are not hated by pixies for this.

Iron horseshoes over the door can act as a fae deterrent.

Partially true. Also other things can deter fae, like salt. Why would you want to do this?

They sometimes kidnap human children and leave their own children or elderly behind. these are called changelings.

True. It still happens today. Additionally some fae end up incarnated into mortal bodies, by choice, obligation or force. These are also considered changelings. In a society that denies fae exist for the most part, those changelings may not know about their true nature right away. Changelings and faekin are functionally similar.

Fae are generous with gifts, especially for polite people, but prefer gifts in return.

True. But should this be considered unusual?

That being said, better to avoid accepting gifts. You probably don’t have enough to pay them back. By saying ‘thank you,’ you acknowledge that a gift was given and that you now owe something in return. Being indebted to the fae = bad time.

Partially true. Often mortals do not understand the value of what is given. It will help, if you are going to ask a fae for something, to have the payment already in hand. Then we will know how much of it you want in advance.

Fae can’t lie, but truth and honesty aren’t always the same.

Partially false. Fae can lie, we usually won’t. Not only are lies draining to maintain, but why would we bother? I don’t lie.

Asking for a favor will cause offense. Make it seem like it’s their idea to help you.

Partially true. Don’t just come to us to ask for favors all the time, what would you think about another mortal that did this?

Most things offend them, actually.

Mostly untrue, although the idea that mortals think everything offends us, is offensive…

Some fae can smell a lie. there’s no way of knowing which ones unless they tell you.

True. Actually most of us can tell when we’re being lied to. But again is this unusual?

Fae use ‘glamour’ to hide their appearance or habitations around humans. ‘Glamour’ can be gifted for use by humans.

True. Also you all can learn glamour on your own if you put some effort into it.

It’s better for fae to have half-breed children than no children at all, so relationships with humans are fine. It just rarely works out fine for the human.

Partially true. There are plenty of fae changelings in the mortal realm, even today. But there is very little reason it can’t work out fine for mortals to have these children.

Iron, salt, and bread (any kind) will ward fae away. so will rowan and hazel.

Partially true. Iron, yes; Salt, conditionally yes; Bread, no; Rowan, yes; Hazel, no.

Rowan and iron will ward most bad things away, actually.

And I guess good things too. I don’t like where some of these facts are going.

Ringing church bells at dawn and dusk will drive fae and/or changelings from your village.

Mostly false. Though most of us aren’t a big fan of churches.

Alternately, cream and butter and cakes (not bread!!) will attract them.

? … Well I like cream and butter and cakes. There’s nothing wrong with bread. What were people putting in their bread back in the old days?

They have many names. fair folk, the good people, the gentry, the wee folk. my favorite is the good neighbors.

True. And even more names than that. Humans have 1100 distinct languages and a word for us in most of them.

There are places where the veil between worlds is thinner, and these places see more fae. Ireland is said to be one. transient places (crossroads and bus stops etc.) are said to be another.

True. Also see ‘liminal spaces’.

Musicians are often taken to their world. they may come back but they won’t be the same.

Partially true. Sometimes mortals wander into our world, attracted to what we’re doing. Sometimes musicians hear the music and come. If you come to Faerie long enough, you’ll become fae. It can’t be helped. But there’s really no discrimination.

Adder stones (also called hag stones, witch stones, snake eggs, adderstanes) can reveal fairy or witch traps if seen through the hole in the stone. You can’t trick an adder stone.

Probably true. Though this presumes the fae and witches set traps for humans in the first place…

The fae are highly sexed. Orgies are common.

Mostly true. There are exceptions as always. The fae tend to love first and ask questions later. We can fall in love immediately with someone with a spirit that attracts us. We don’t need your ‘spin-up’ time.

Random body pains were attributed to the fae. this was called elf shot.

Mostly false. Random body pains can be attributed to any type of magick, energetic or psionic attack. Check your shields.

Tangled hair in the morning was also considered their fault. this was called elf locks.

Usually false. Though pixies playing in your hair at night is not unheard of.

Consumption (tuberculosis) was attributed to the fae as well, for forcing young men and women to dance all night.

False. I think this goes without saying.

Basically if you were sick and there was no cure, blame the fae.

LOL. Mortals blame everything on everything but themselves…

Alchemists sometimes called on certain fae to assist them. No word on how well this worked out for them.

True. So do witches. So do other types of magick practitioners. Sometimes we even teach things. It worked out well for most. It depends on whether you want to learn our arts or just depend on us to do our arts for you. Don’t be lazy.

Millers were thought to be ‘no canny,’ which means in league with the fae, owing to their ability to control elements. (fire in the kiln, water for the burn, wind for the mill, general control of machinery)

Mostly true. Except any practitioner of any trade can have a relationship with the fae in their work. The closer to nature you work, however, the more you can expect the fae to be involved.

If you know a fae’s true name, you can summon them at any time to do your bidding. But this is a double edged sword. If they learn your true name, they enslave you right back, and the things they do would be far worse than anything you could think of.

Partially true. No right-minded fae is going to give you their true name. If you find it out, however, and never abuse that power, no harm no foul. If you begin to abuse it, though, then it’s only prudent to learn yours and get you to stop. Most of the people who have formed the foundation of this ‘fact’ abused a fae’s name.

Some myths have lesser fae paying a tithe (a tiende) to their royals. Some myths have them paying this tithe directly to hell.

Partially true. Some Courts have taxes. I mean, castles don’t defend themselves and if courts don’t have reasonable resources to solve the Big Problems then the Court doesn’t really work. This being said, we bear no association with the mortal concept of Heaven or Hell and we certainly do not send energy or mammon to their leadership.

Mortal midwives were sometimes summoned to the fae realm to assist in the birth of another kidnapped mortal woman. They sometimes offer an ointment for use on the baby. if the midwife uses it herself, she will gain fae sight.

Partially true. She will become partially fae. Hopefully that’s what she was going for. If you’re going to do this, at least split it between you and the baby. Why would you want to hurt the baby?

Lesser fae can die or be killed. To witness one of these funerals is bad omen.

Partially true. Its pretty hard to truly kill a ‘lesser fae’. Even changelings spirits will return to Faerie. It’s not impossible though. If you’re witnessing one of these funerals, you’re probably already fae. Take that as you will.

Credit and references are given to the following sites for being the source of this list:

https://faerielore.tumblr.com/post/162470095402/starbiter-some-fae-facts-from-lore-pt-2-pt-1

http://starbiter.tumblr.com/post/157281741328/some-fae-facts-from-lore-fae-range-from-anything

~ @alynnafoxie

---> Have questions? Send them to us at SpiritFAQ!

#faefolk #fae #faeries #neutral #faefacts #factchecking #nature #spirits #submission #alynnafoxie #primcon

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forestbathing-studies-blog · 7 years

Text

The Art of Forest Bathing VI

In order to write I decided to live in Chamonix, France, next to the Mont Blanc, highest mountain in Western Europe. get the cross-country skis out. Without snow in Lappland yet I have not skied through the forest every evening and some mornings too. My body misses the excercise and movement. And these short sojourns in nature go far beyond keeping fit. ‘If you want to solve a problem, take a walk,’ the saying goes.

We all remember our favourite hike, or trek. I remember my favourite cross country ski journey. It was in the Alps, in France, and I’d skied up the Chamonix valley to give blood at the village of Argentière. I’d settled into the comfortable couch and let the pretty nurse slide her fingers up my arm to find a vein and drifted into pleasant flirtateous dreams.

When finished in Britain one is lucky to get a cup of lukewarm tea and stale biscuit. But I was in France. At tables laden with salamis and red wine the locals found out I was Scottish, who are great friends of the French.

It was dark when I staggered out, bottles and blood empty, laughter and hearts full. Of course I had quite forgotten the effects of copious red wine on a relatively empty stomach after a blood donation, and when put on skis skied straight down a bank into a small river, where I stood chuckling for a few minutes.

Unbeaten and undaunted after this mild setback, I struggled downriver, cracking through the ice, until I pulled myself up onto a wooden bridge, from where I set off on my journey again straight off into the mountains, lost for a full two hours in the moonlit dark.

Back in time, just, for a conference on organ donation, where I unfortunately fell asleep and was escorted out.

But I had donated blood from my heart infused with love-at-first-sight for the prettiest nurse this side of sunrise. I found the most illogical way home on the postcard mountainside. Through snow sprinkled with moonlight I plunged, like falling into a warm desert dune with a nurse’s whispered words on my lips, skipole firm and snow crystals still soft and plentiful, like Saharan sand.

My pilgrimage home had taken me further than the longest route I could find, to thoughts of far places. And I had done more than enough for the haiku, composed while clattering in a river bed, remembered and thus rendered below.

I took a job as a mountain refuge warden there for a while, at some 2,000 metres altitude, but soon enjoyed reading the mountains more than a reader would have reading my never-appearing novel, so I moved down to the centre of town as winter set in. I loved Chamonix.

In the town I enjoyed a friendship with the PGHM, the mountain rescue team, a friendship I struck when working at the refuge, and particularly when one night a hammering at the door woke me; a man in a terrible state, having stumbled and jumped down the steep mountain side to the refuge after watching his wife fall over a cliff. The rescue helicopter went up to look with searchlight and found her, but radioed back they could not get near her in the cliffs at night, and that anyway, she had not survived the fall, that much they could see. I had gone up anyway to find her, especially after the helicopter team told me in no uncertain terms not to tell the man his wife had been killed in the fall until morning, as he might very well just step straight over a cliff himself at the news. So I went up the mountain in order to not have to answer his questions, and after a few hours saw she was not in a state of survival, and I waited till morning, standing at the door of the téléphérique, the cable car, to tell him, at which he crumpled onto the floor of the cabin, and the big moustached cabin operator later remarked:

‘’you know Hamish, I would have expected him to fly at you in a rage and hit, beat you.’’

‘’Yeah, great. Thanks.’’

The PGHM had recovered her body and then got into an argument with the local police, who wanted to take the man back to the scene for ‘questioning’.

‘’I’ve seen it before,’’ the station head of the PGHM had remarked: ‘’we’ll have two bodies over cliffs. He’ll jump.’’

There were other solid friendships; with the ski instructor, a woman who had skied down the very difficult Bossons glacier, after walking up with her skis for over eight hours, and who giggled at my British reserve when she and her friend had thrown their tops off to sunbathe at a mountain lake only hours after meeting me; and there was Catherine D’Estivelle, the climber, who that summer had climbed the Aiguille Verte — the Green Needle, alone, over eleven days, bivouacking on the rock face, and the woman who owned the bar that let me keep a tab running all winter, the bakery owning couple who made the freshest bread on the spot, which I ate where it was cooked, and the other mountain people, who regarded the tourists with mild indulgence; the tourists who had a penchant for acting like tourists — you know what I mean, of which perhaps the most touristy were the Swedes, who drank copious amounts of booze but would not touch the water, for fear of it not being pure, who boasted of a clean Sweden while uprooting all the Christmas trees in Viking exuberance and drinking coffee slowly each morning, wearing heavy mountain gear that clinked and jangled and jarred on their nerves.

And I decided to leave. To leave the town I loved. The blue/green late afternoons in the shade of the pine tree slopes of the mountains, the cream mornings of snow-capped mountains between open shutters, the newsagent who gave me my morning newspaper and coffee every morning when I walked through the door, and the mountains, again, and my mountain climbing partners and the seasons.

My last season in Chamonix was late summer, in the Saami definition of eight seasons. I was living my last few weeks in a tent at the bottom of the Mer de Glace glacier, and my morning plunge into the water rushing off the bottom of the glacier brought a new definition to the word cold, as well as embarrassment, when one morning I had jumped in, lay down briefly in the current and clambered out quickly, and heard a ‘’coooeeee!’’, looked left, looked right, looked behind, looked in front, my skin growing red, my vital parts shivered to mere millimetres, and then heard the ‘’coooeee!!’’ again, looked left right front back sideways and finally..upwards, to see a woman on delta wing, circling before landing, and laughing at my lack of restraint.

And the morning I left I met a silver-haired solitary Czech climber, who was hammering nails in his boots and knotting old ropes — his dream happening at last: climbing Mont Blanc, his food with him in cans, his home a tarpaulin over a wire, his happiness complete.

I was going to Oymyakon, the coldest town in the world (lowest temp recorded -71.2ºC/ -96.16ºF) , in Yakutia, Siberia, and chosen because I was sure that sitting in a hut in the coldest town in the world was a sure-fire way of writing, and importantly, completing a book. Immediately I set about planning an expedition through Yakutia, until I remembered it was to write I was going, and to attempt to ensure I was getting myself stuck into a small cabin, with a pile of logs, tea pot and long lost love deep in fur. The last one was not actually a requirement, though it was true that having someone to cook always means a necessary routine can be installed into a writer’s drab existence at the table, which is in reality a window of course. Yakutia, and in particular Oymyakon, fits some requirement’s of a writer’s retreat, but not all: it was exotic, not pricey — the cash flow is going in 1 direction after all, if the book is to be scribed — and the fish can be caught and cooked, a welcomed way to meditate. Oymyakon is a small town, the nature is beguilingly beautiful, but it forces you back to the writing table quickly, and the natives are not too restless. The town is found on the infamous Road of Bones. It does get a sprinkling of tourists, which is nice, and not all are similar to the Norwegians who got stuck and needed rescuing, claiming to be broken down, or the Germans who also got stuck and chose not to leave their vehicle when being rescued to thank the rescuers. (They would have been charged in another country of course, in places like Vancouver, but then would have probably found ways to sue for being charged for stupidity, as some do.) The fact that conditions were harsh, and risky, like the mountains of Chamonix, is something of a bonus for a writer. But it is also a pleasure when the little luxuries are available — bananas were prevalent, which was comforting, because at -55ºC ( -67ºF) they are more useful to hammer nails into wood than a badly made hammer, and don’t stick to the tongue like the head of a hammer does — something I can personally vouch is true, and if you don’t think you look absolutely stupid walking around town, even in Oymyakon, with a hammer stuck to your tongue, then think again. The wolves do hunt at night, and it if true that if the cold mist descends with the plummeting temperature in the deep snow and you are lost, then you have about 15 minutes to unlose yourself and find your way. After that your chances get pretty slim pretty quick, except your chances of being found next morning when the day is clear, a mere few metres to your cabin. But this provides the tension for your novel, so is worth the risk. Did I write the book? Yes. Did I find a cook deep in the fur, in a cabin down the road? The culture in Yakutia is captivating. And for those against fur, I can honestly tell you from experience that artificial fur just shreds; falls apart at those temperatures, and not keeping warm is not a question of fashion. Everything is different in summer though, when they welcome dawn on the longest day of the year at the summer solstice. Travel narrows our horizons — the more we learn about other cultures, the more sure we are about universal truths. And in Yakutia a universal truth is hugging cooks keeps you warm, as long as you compliment the mammoth steaks — tens of thousands of mammoth bones or even frozen mammoths have been found throughout history, so there’s a chance…

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