#Flòraidh

[commonpigeon]

we go to the same hairdresser

[adventuresofalgy]

Algy hopped up into a convenient Scots pine tree, well away from the cold, wet snow on the ground, and settled down to read his very own adventure tale The Magical Midwinter Star, which had just been reissued in paperback.

Algy turned page after page, excitedly going back in his mind to that past adventure from his very first winter in the wild west Highlands of Scotland, and he became so engrossed in his own story that he failed to notice that the magic pumpkin lantern, which he had balanced carefully on a branch between his feet, had once more transformed itself into a candle.

As the flame began to glow, Algy was in the middle of the chapter called Snow. Oh No! in which he decided that he would have to brave the dangers of the deep midwinter to search for a very special tree. Reaching the bottom of page 40 he read:

“When I was chatting with Wee Katie,” Algy said hesitantly, “she told me that, once upon a time, the creatures round here used to have a big party in the middle of the winter, to cheer everyone up when it was so cold and dark. She called it a hootenanny.” “A hootenanny!” echoed Mr Voles excitedly. “And when I asked Ruaridh if he knew what the silvery balls might be,” Algy continued, “young Flòraidh sang me some verses from an old song about a green tree and the Midwinter Star.” “The Midwinter Star,” Mr Voles murmured dreamily. “The Midwinter Star.” “The song mentioned dressing up the tree with pretty things,” said Algy, “but Ruaridh said that no one has done that for ages, because the old pine tree blew down.” “Quite so,” rasped Roni. “Quite so,” echoed Mr Voles regretfully. “Quite so.” Roni hopped over to the edge of the Singing Place and perched on the bare rock, staring intently at Algy. “Go on,” she rasped. “Go on!” echoed Mr Voles breathlessly. “Go on!” “Well, I was thinking” said Algy. “I thought that maybe, if I could find a suitable tree somewhere, I could use the silvery objects I found – I mean the baubles – to decorate it, and then we could all have a grand midwinter hootenanny like they did in the old days.” “A fine idea, in principle,” rasped Roni. “A fine idea!” agreed Mr Voles, jumping up and down beside Algy’s foot.

[Algy is reading his own illustrated children's chapter book The Magical Midwinter Star, which together with the other books in the series Tales from the Adventures of Algy is available from Amazon in most countries of the world.]

[commonpigeon]

i think my life is being threatened

[anarchotolkienist]

i’m sorry! i did mean gaelic since i believe that’s what your recent text posts have been in , but thank you for what you shared!!

Yes. My listening in Gaelic is more specific than it is in Swedish, being mostly limited to traditional singing recorded from unaccompanied traditional singers. But there is a lot of it.

Some of my favourites that are accessible in professionally or semi-professional recordings I'll list here. When it comes to na h-òrain mhòra, my absolute favourite, nothing compares of course, Uilleam a' Mhiseanaraidh's (Uilleam MacMhathain) corpus, especially the album Gaelic bards and minstrels. I strongly recommend Thèid mi le m' dheòin (the first traditional ballad I ever learned to sing in any language) and Thriall ur bunadh gu Pharao (the tune is without compare) especially.

The other singer that should never be forgotten is Flòraidh Sheumais Mhurchaidh (Flòraidh NicNìll), whos recordings of waulking songs especially are famously gorgeous. My own favourite is Seathan Mac rìgh Èireann, but the most famous or storied version would be A' bhean eudach, a Gaelic version of the Twa Sisters (which I like especially because there are more than a hundred records of this same traditional ballad in Sweden).

Getting to less professional recordings of traditional unaccompanied songs that I love now, I really enjoy the version of Òran eile air Là Chùl Lodair that Calum recorded from an Eòsag, the version of the love song Bràigh Loch Iall recorded from Ceiteag Fhionnlaigh Aonghais Ruaidh, Òran an Ròin from the above mentioned Uilleam a' Mhiseanaraidh, Chì mi cleatrabhal bhuam, Òran Mhanitoba, the lullaby Dèan cadalan sàmhach, 'S mise nochd tha tinn le gràdh, and etc etc.

I'm going to step outside the realm of recordings accessible on Spotify now because I would not forget about my absolute most beloved Gaelic singer of all, Nan Eachainn Fhionnlaigh of Bhatarsaigh, who has recorded hundreds upon hundreds of songs, all drom memory (she was illiterate). Especially her versions of Fhir a' bhàta, and tàladh Chrìosd are ones I return to again and again.

Lastly, and worth of the most attention really is traditional Gaelic Psalm singing, which I adore almost universally and could listen to for hours. My congregation sings in this style, and I could cry at every service. It is to me the most beautiful music that exists. I will limit myself to linking one example per recording from the albums that I listen to. The recording I know the best, because I'm slowly in the process of learning to present it, is Salm 16, rainn 6-8, Kilmarnock, and Gaelic Psalm Singers and their two records Sailm 1&2 is the go-to. Besides them, there is also an early ethnographic recording of a small prayer meeting in Stornoway singing on the tune Coleshill - I haven't been able to identify which Psalm they are actually singing. This is the only traditional recording with a female presenter I've ever found (and as far as I can tell, the others in the room are also all women). Last but not least, this recording of Murchadh Dhòmhnaill leading a congregation in the Rubha was my first exposure to the tradition, several years ago, and I fell in love with it.

[nightlightheartremade]

Flòraidh!

have you ever seen a girl so beautiful you cried?

[fanficfreekmcu]

A Gift Amongst Turmoil (57)

ᚳᚻᚫᛈᛏᛖᚱ ᛚᛁᛋᛏ, ᛋᚢᛗᛗᚫᚱᚣ, & ᚹᚫᚱᚾᛁᚾᚷᛋ

“Picture the image you want to manifest in your mind, but focus the energy in your hand,” Finna instructed Flòraidh as she sat in the courtyard. Alrekk sat between her legs, resting against his mother’s bump, as Ulfur sat at attention, guarding his family.

The young lady glared at her hand for a long while, her face reddening as she concentrated.

“Woah, don’t hurt yourself,” Thor eyed her as he approached them.

Alrekk gave an ornery grin before producing a white rabbit that jumped into Flòraidh’s lap.

“Ouch,” Thor tried not to smile.

“Stop picking on the poor girl,” Finna looked up at him. “It’s not her fault she hasn’t learned about her gifts yet.”

“Sorry,” he rolled his eyes before kneeling down to kiss her and lifted his son into his arms. “Father has tasked me with an errand in another realm. I shall accompany the Rotund One to Vanaheim and return tomorrow.”

She laughed at his description for Volstagg and nodded her head. “Fine, I’ll take supper with the family tonight.”

“Is there anything you need from the home planet while I’m there?”

“Candied Bell Flower, please,” she grinned. “I’ve been craving it.”

“Then it’s yours,” he kissed her while placing Alrekk into her lap. “Stay safe. I’ll be home before you know it.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Keep your mother safe for me?” he ran his fingers through Alrekk’s hair.

“Momma,” he grinned.

“Good boy!” he laughed.

“You’re leaving?” Frigga approached them and waited for an answer.

“Business with the Van,” Thor rose to his feet. “This Prince of the Nine Realms thing is heavy business.”

“Welcome to my world,” Finna mumbled as he laughed.

“Safe travels,” she kissed his cheek. “I’ll watch over your family until you return.”

“Thank you, Mother,” he bowed before taking his leave.

She waited a moment before joining the women on the ground and holding her arms out for her grandson. “How are you feeling, my dear?”

“I swear sometimes I think you can read my mind,” she smirked.

“Maybe I can,” she teased her.

“I’m going to the Midwife this afternoon to check on her. She’s… quite big.”

Frigga stared at Finna’s tummy and tilted her head. “How long have you known?”

“Seven moons. I don’t think Alrekk was even this big at birth.”

She nodded her head. “Perhaps you should visit the Soul Forge instead, have the healers take a look?”

“Perhaps,” she looked at Flòraidh who was still working on manifesting something in the palm of her hand. “Our lesson today is to conjure an image. Alrekk mastered it,” she grinned as the toddler giggled.

“We shall work until you return,” Frigga nodded.

“Thank you,” she struggled to her feet before walking off.

.

Finna lay back on the glowing slab as the healers went to work, scanning her womb and reading the information coming back to them. She looked up as an image of her daughter’s heartbeat appeared and smiled as the sound of it soothed her.

“Your daughter is measuring correctly, my Lady. You are only seven moons into your gestation.”

“How am I so big?” her eyes widened. “I fear she’ll run out of space.”

The healers continued to work until one of them popped a bright smile onto her face. “There’s the problem!”

“Problem?” Finna’s heart rate increased.

“Perhaps we need a better angle?” she turned the image toward Finna’s back and pointed out the presence of a second child.

“Wh…” she lost her voice. “Two?”

“It seems as though our Little Princess has a brother.”

“Oh my,” Finna covered her hand over her mouth.

“Why do I have to hear that you are here from Mother?!” Balder yelled while walking through the doorway. “Your husband leaves and you end up ill?”

“He’s not yet my husband, and I’m not ill,” Finna grinned before breaking into laughter. “Far from it!”

“Then why…” he trailed off as he caught a glimpse of the image of the Soul Forge. “Is that…”

“Two,” the healers answered.

“Thor is going to collapse,” his eyes widened.

“Has he left on the Bifrost yet?”

“Moments ago, aye. Are you well?” he placed his hand on her forehead and smiled.”

“I feel no more pregnant than I did yesterday. It does explain my strange cravings and appetite, though.”

“I’m sure soon you could challenge Volstagg to an eating contest,” he grinned.

“Wow,” her eyes widened.

[polarishq]

Meet FLÒRAIDH BLÀRACH. They are THREE HUNDRED and FIFTY-ONE years old and hail from NORTH BERWICK, SCOTLAND. TBD embodies the stars, PROCYONE and the moon, AMALTHEA. They use she/her pronouns. Their faceclaim is GINA BECK.

Procyone reminds me of the age-old shakespeare: though she be but little, she is fierce. the way the warmth of home envelops you as you step inside. the restorative properties of delicately scented candles. birdsong in the morning through an open window. being underappreciated and under-loved. smiling nonetheless.

BIOGRAPHY

When Berwick burned its women for witchcraft in 1597, it was widely considered to be the end of the matter of magic in Scotland. Except it wasn’t, and in the shadow of the monarchy’s restoration the girl then-named Cordelia – after Lear’s youngest; the fair and the truthful – grew freely and truly. She started messing around in nearby fields and singing to the daisies, and with that inevitably came injury.

And so it was instinctive, at first, like realising doc leaves heal the skin stinging nettles brushed up against; or that cold water and muslin helps reduce inflammation. These remedies were brushed off as something she could learn from her mother, or the wise women in the village. Patching herself and her friends up if anything went awry with their adventures, or cheering them up after an unpleasant day.

But natural remedies soon become a caring palm, pressed against a cut, or a bruise, or an ache, and Berwick is enveloped in hate again. Continued to be, as Flòraidh turned her back, her name, and her mark on the land of her birth and hasn’t been back since. She hopes it’s a happy place to live, and she wishes she could heal some of the scars of its history.

Perhaps she attended Polaris when she was too young, a few decades into life after her parents resettled ( for the umpteenth time ) among the locals in Oulu, Finland, and perhaps her real-life experiences were too narrow, with compassion and instinct getting her thus far. It was a reality check, though at least Polaris never burned like Berwick did. The singed ends of the tartan rag she’d appropriated into a ribbon for her hair was a testament to that.

So life wasn’t really something Flòraidh desired, or experienced, until she stepped ( read: fell face first, heavily misjudged, and maybe lied about pursuing it ) back into the world after finishing her training. Under normal circumstances, she’d recommend Paris in the late-19th century, with a city hell-bent on nurturing its elements previously lost in Revolution.

For a while, the only thing that burned was the fireplace in her apartment and the candles of the Palais Garnier. Most would brag about inspiring a novel, or a musical, but there was no phantom beyond her own past in its quest to linger on the edges of her memory, uninvited, and there was no romantic gesture atop the roof, or a life-saving Viscount with whom she’d get a happily ever after. All that remained after words were exchanged in the snow with a city beneath them was their broken heart. The one thing Flòraidh just couldn’t fix.

Few could blame her for doing what she does best: fleeing from flames, acutely aware of her limits and faults and the immeasurable pain left in her wake. Because if she couldn’t fix it, she needed to fix herself – it said as much on her TA application.

( She doesn’t talk about any of it & tries to keep herself to herself. She doesn’t sing anymore. )  

INCLINATION

Procyon is two stars, with one considered to be ‘dead’. It’s a characteristic one might compare to Romeo and Juliet, these star-crossed lovers so, but it never wishes to divulge this fact to its sponsors. Thus it’s a heavy-handed realisation when it eventually comes, and unsurprising that its witches and wizards often turn to healing as a means of coping. So damning is it that those Procyon sponsors are often lacking in defensive magical ability no matter how hard they study, leaving them vulnerable to both Earthly and supernatural ambushes. They can, in short, never win.

CONNECTIONS

Star-Crossed Lovers: The person whose heart was broken at Flòraidh’s hand, who she hasn’t quite managed to get over. They can fight, they can make up, but mostly they just need to talk. Because feelings can fester for a century and-a-bit. ( Can be slow-burn, angst, unhappy ending, or anything in between. )

Platonis Gal Pals: Someone Flòraidh can open up to with trust that it stays between them.Ideally with a large helping of platonic cuddles and shared ownership of a bunny. Flòraidh would drop everything to help this person.

Succulent Society: (open to multiple) Whilst she isn’t amazing at Herbalism, Flòraidh is a bloody good plant mum if she is provided with plants. She’s always willing to help someone who is wondering why their rubber plant is shrivelled up ( hint: plants need water ) or to repot a growing calathea white star.

Penned by Becky ★

[icarusdesign]

text | flòraidh & manon.

MANON: I do hope things at Polaris have settled down well for you after all the curse business?

[commonpigeon]

is it elder abuse to suck that man silly

[findlaynapier]

Flòraidh on Misty Law. (at Misty Law) https://www.instagram.com/p/CFr3bd_BnHR/?igshid=1er6a1t0wfhac

[commonpigeon]

FOR context flòraidhs dad has met Chris pine on a boat i didn't just pull this out of my arse

carlie jsut showrd this to me and went “was this your dad with chris pine”

[firewithxn]

Lyall: if you could have your own children, what would you name them?

I don’t think I ever thought of that on specific names. I know something older.  Flòraidh,  Sìne...I can go on, but something that shows Lorcan and I.

[anarchotolkienist]

Meme ga bhrosnachadh leis gum faca mi an documentary àlainn sin mu Fhlòraidh NicNìll agus ann gun tuirt cuideigin gun deach a dì-mhisneachadh is nach do sheinn i mòran an dèidh an dàrna cogaidh, leis gun robh "Miss Kennedy Frasier agus am Mòd ag innse dhuinn ciamar a bu chòir dhuinn seinn" agus nach robh "na h-òrain fhada" agus "an stoidhle" a bh' aig Flòraidh san fhàsan tuilleadh.

[ofromance-blog]

brvadaraiche a réagi à votre billet : [ �� • sms ] —— my cat said she missed you.

[text:] I know! Poor Flòraidh, she likes you so much as well :( [text:] How are you so busy anyways?? X

[text] Such a sweetheart, I am so glad the feeling is mutual [text] The time of the year is really picking up. [text] Sadly. [text] But it is also almost time for a vacation I think!

[nightlightheartremade]

=。:.ﾟ٩(๑>◊<๑)۶:.｡+ﾟ have some lesbians

[fanficfreekmcu]

Flòraidh, The Witch’s Apprentice (47)

ᚳᚻᚫᛈᛏᛖᚱ ᛚᛁᛋᛏ, ᛋᚢᛗᛗᚫᚱᚣ, & ᚹᚫᚱᚾᛁᚾᚷᛋ

“Finna!” Gita threw her weapons down and pulled her into her arms. “I’m so glad to see you again!”

“You too, Git!”

“Odin’s beard!” Nina followed. “I thought for sure we’d lost you! You’ve been gone so long!”

“I’m too tough to let an old crone get me!” she patted her back.

“Ladies! Please, we do have a purpose for this meeting!” Sif yelled over their joyful conversations.

Finna nodded and took her seat at the north end of the table as Sif took hers at the South. Their three captains sat at either side and the food and drink were promptly served.

“So… fill me in. Who has taken over for me while I was indisposed?” Finna threw an olive into her mouth.

“I have,” Sif looked down at her. “I took on the entire Regiment in your absence.”

“I expected no less,” she smiled and nodded in gratitude.

“We’ve continued on as you began, Princess, ridding each village of marauders and placing an Angel Stone in the center well,” Hilde informed her.

“The stone doesn’t work without the spell,” Finna informed them.

“There’s a witch in the ranks, one of my maidens. She’s performed the spell and it seems to have held,” Sif smirked.

“I’d like to meet her,” Finna grinned excitedly.

“I’ll send for her,” she pointed to one of the maidens who stood watch and sent her off.

The two commanders immediately went into the meeting, briefing their soldiers on their plan of attack for the morning, finishing up just as the young, blonde girl arrived at the table.

“You summoned me, Lady Sif?” she bowed.

“I did,” she wiped her hands on a cloth before rising. “Princess Finna would like to meet you.”

“Oh!” her eyes widened as she turned to bow before her Princess.

“Stop that,” Finna waved at her. “I hear you did a fine job in placing the Angel Stones in my absence?”

“Thank you, my Princess.”

“Flòraidh? Your name is Vanirian?” her eyes glittered green as she looked her over.

“Wh… My great-grandmother was Vanir, on my father’s side.”

“So you are not Vala,” she smiled.

“No,” she looked down.

“I won’t hold that against you,” she laughed. “You’ve not been trained properly as a witch, my dear. You only know what your instincts tell you.”

“My family hasn’t passed down the secrets, no.”

She turned to Sif.

“Take her!” she waved her hand. “As if I’d have a chance if I said no!”

“I’ve always wanted an apprentice,” Finna grinned excitedly. “I do need your permission, however,” she looked down at her young witch. “The magic won’t take if you’re not willing. The Laws of Magic are funny that way.”

“What do I need to do?”

“Repeat after me,” Finna placed her right hand on her head as her eyes glowed bright green and the blue tattooed swirls appeared on her skin. “Is mise Flòraidh. Tha geall air mo shon fhéin dhi’ ionnsaich Dýrfinna.”

“My name is Flora. I pledge myself to the teachings of Dýrfinna,” her eyes widened as she realized that she had understood the foreign language.

Finna stood still and looked up at the sky. Slowly, a blue swirl began to curl itself down Flòraidh’s cheek, but then stopped. “And so it is done,” she grinned before looking down at her student. “As you progress and learn in the old ways, the ancestors will gift you with more of our markings. It denotes rank within our own kind.”

“I’ve never seen yours for more than a few minutes, on the battlefield.”

“You can see them all now, all the time. Right now… no one else but you can.”

She turned to Sif.

“What?” she asked.

“Is your entire body covered?!” Floraidh’s eyes widened.

“Nearly,” she smirked. “I still have a few things myself to learn.”

“Will she have visions?” Sif asked.

“No, she is not Vala. Only the magic can be taught to her.”

“Thank you… my, er… Pr… what should I call you now?”

“Finna,” she nodded to her.

➵➵➵➵➵➵➵❂➵➵➵➵➵➵➵ 48