alainn_aislinn: (Broken Smile)
Write a fic about the best gift you ever received for the holidays.

She’d never leave him, she promised herself, but right now Aislinn was sick to death of him. Not him, she corrected herself. Never him…well. Sometimes him. But not him, not now. She was, however, sick of Africa.

It was hot. People kept shooting beautiful wild animals, making her cry. There was a lot of desert. The British consulate and tourists and other expatriates were all bores, with no sense of a soul. The piece Byron was slaving over was going to be beautiful, she knew. She could feel it, resonating inside of both of them, delving down deep into the mysteries of this Dark Continent. But since he insisted on writing it back in their rooms in a brown house on a brown street in a brown city where the sun never seemed to stop beating down and trying to burn itself through her skin, she found herself languishing.

The market had held an allure for the first few months, but now it seemed too loud, too clamoring. Smells that had once intoxicated her now seemed to linger, pressed down into her skin and she ached for a cleansing, cooling rain with the scent of ozone filling the air and eliminating the stink of too many humans living too close together. If he’d take her back to the jungle, back to the villages, or even to the savannah, she thought, if he’d just do that, she could survive, pulling at the strings of nature and wrapping them around herself like a protective barrier. Here there was only desert, sand upon sand upon sand and it got into everything, no matter how hard the servants scrubbed. Most days, all she wanted to cry.

The calendar told her Yule was fast approaching, but there was nothing like that here. Some of them celebrated the Christ child’s birth, and the exiles tried to keep their customs, but greenery and candles were too incongruous under the harsh sun to do more than make the ache inside her grow.

Perching herself on the window sill, Aislinn stared out across the desert city and fought back the urge to cry, trying to keep it from him, how unhappy she was here. The spirits were strange, unfriendly, and even stepping through the Veil brought no relief here, as the world there was as terrifying as this one was soul-leeching to her forest grown heart.

Warm, too warm, everything was too warm, hands closed over her shoulders and she looked up, startled into smiling green eyes. His lips brushed over hers and then he tugged her out of the window.

“Pack your things.”

She felt a flutter of hope that they were going back to the jungle. “How much of it?”

“All of it,” Byron told her, with a soft, secret smile.

“Why?” Though she was already moving. Anything to get out of this city. “Where are we going?”

He paused, falling quiet, until she looked back at him, ready to repeat the question. He grinned then.

alainn_aislinn: (Bright as the sun)
Thank you to the anonymous gifter who gave me paid time and icons!!! I was getting so bored with just 15 and my mun was being a horrid creature, so I'm so very, very grateful!
alainn_aislinn: (Nibbling on finger)
And Byron is FAR too perky over my shoulder about it.

LiveJournal Username
How many people on your flist have you slept with?
Your dirty little secret...magneticpickup
Wants you right here, right now...prometheusrise
Thinks about you, while touching themselves ;)masterwordsmith
The best sex you ever had...kings_companion
The one you'd rather not talk about...ambitious_woman
Wants to tie you up and spank you...ibringlife
Wants to be dominated by you...shaman_x
Will make you scream...no_bedof_roses
This Fun Quiz created by Georgie at BlogQuiz.Net
Car Videos at Car-Videos.Biz

alainn_aislinn: (Spirit has to fly)

You are The Star

Hope, expectation, Bright promises.

The Star is one of the great cards of faith, dreams realised

The Star is a card that looks to the future. It does not predict any immediate or powerful change, but it does predict hope and healing. This card suggests clarity of vision, spiritual insight. And, most importantly, that unexpected help will be coming, with water to quench your thirst, with a guiding light to the future. They might say you're a dreamer, but you're not the only one.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

alainn_aislinn: (Muse)
The object of art is to crystallize emotion into thought and then give it form. Delsarte

I could not think of a better description if I tried for a thousand years. How strange that a human can encapsulate such a truth into such a few words. The emotion is theirs, though I can heighten it, then there I stand, the crystallization, the focus, the prism it shines through, molding it and them. The form is what comes from our merger, and what lasts. A moment in time captured for eternity. You will never know all that went into it. You will never see me, see our toil, see the magic. But you will see what stands there, and you will gasp in amazement, and praise his genius for calling it into being. And I will smile, and I will agree.

Genius is rare, and I will not waste my time with anything less. Because I could heighten the mediocre to goodness, and goodness to greatness, but only genius can be crafted into timelessness, and the cost is worth nothing less than immortality in return.
alainn_aislinn: (Distraught dreaming)
Name of Muse: Aislinn
Fandom/Type of Muse: Original Character - Mythology
Link to muse profile page:
Mun name, nickname or handle: Bria
Best way to get a message to the mun: email bria.ferguson at gmail dot com
Do you use AIM or any other IM? AIM -- ladyofbrileith
One hundred words about the muse that everyone should know:

Aislinn is a Leanan Sidhe. The Leanan Sidhe are the fairy muses of Ireland. Some see them as benign, but most link them to the legend of the artist who dies young, burned up, and that's what we've gone with. She provides inspiration that spurs talent into genius, often beyond imagining, but she feeds on the creative energy the artist expends on their enterprise. Slowly, the artist is drained, eventually dying as the creative energy of a lifetime that would have eked out, possibly just in mediocrity, flares and flashes and then is gone. The payoff, of course, is that the work is generally work that will last forever. It is legend that most "great" artists were possessed of a Leanan Sidhe, especially those that died mad and young. (i.e. Byron. *g*)

She can draw energy from sex as well, as it is the ultimate creative act, capable of producing life, and as such, she is very sensual and very sexual, though her preferred method of feeding is through creative works and she only uses sex for food when starving or when asked by her partner (which they sometimes do, as it is a very intense, linked, physical and emotional experience when she chooses to indulge).

Part of her is very proud of what she is, fiercely so. She sees herself as nature's balance--fostering genius, but making sure it doesn't overwhelm the world. But another part of her hates that she is a killer at heart, and wants something softer, something just hers. To love without knowing that her love will kill her lover, and to be loved despite everything she has done.

She doesn't make friends easily, but once she does, she is very loyal and very protective.

Prompt only, or available to roleplay? VERY open to RP -- in fact, she really could use some more frieds. :-)
Posting tag: aislinn
Link to memories or tag page showing RotM posts: Tags
Memories (Very incomplete. Tags are a better way to find)


Oct. 21st, 2007 08:14 pm
alainn_aislinn: (Doctor -- Old Souls)

I think I've died and gone to heaven....


Oct. 7th, 2007 11:04 pm
alainn_aislinn: (Not that sort of fairytale)

"What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger - and crazier"
'What is your personal life motto?' at
alainn_aislinn: (Spirit has to fly)
There's a land
That gave me life
That made me free
That made proud
And someday I will return
Home to the land of the long white cloud
Where is home
I hear you say
So far away
So far away
I hear your voice from afar
It haunts me where ever I stay
But I must follow a star so far away so far away
In the song
Upon the breeze
And in the roar
Of rolling waves
like the roots of ancient trees
That run so deep
In the earth I crave
Where is home
I hear you say
So far away
So far away
I hear your voice in my heart
I miss you much more than I can say
But I must follow a star
So far away
So far away
Where is home
I hear you say
So far away
So far away
Where is home
I hear you say
So far away
So far away
alainn_aislinn: (Distraught dreaming)
She started it up again when I came home with Devin. It was "too bad" I'd birthed a half-mortal whelp, but at least it showed I could breed. I swear to Danu, that was the term she used. I'd proven myself as a Leanan Sidhe, crafting several masterful artists who spanned five decades, and now it was time. All would be forgiven, she told me, as if I had committed a mortal sin in bonding with him, though I think she might have meant Devin, not Byron.

Jewels were woven through my hair, and she went so far as to paint my lips. She dared not use a crown, but a diadem pressed into my forehead with an emerald I swear she spent half a day making sure matched my eyes. My dress was emerald green as well, silk and shadows, and it showed as much as it hid.

Dinner came and she paraded me through the room to the dais like a prize calf at a country fair. Midir was not amused, though his eyes softened when he gazed on me. Pity I am sure, and I could not meet his eyes. He gave leave for me to take my place at Aurelia's side, conveniently, for my mother, next to Ionatan. She drifted away with a warning look.

He looked. He had always looked, from the time I was a child. I would rather have been safe by Fergus' side, but he was on Midir's right and far from me. There were touches, as always, sliding through the silk with only the public place saving me from more, and through it all, her approving smile and hard eyes that said not to misstep.

Dinner ended, finally, and I paid my dues and the next morning I took my son and I left Bri Leith. I didn't go back for fifty more years, until I had found a way to tell them--her and him--no, and make sure they listened forevermore.
alainn_aislinn: (apple?)
What person in your muse's life, either by canon or in roleplay, has most affected their personality in your writing of them?

Byron. Without a doubt, Byron. In her own canon, she met him at 16 and stayed with him for twenty years until he died. By Sidhe standards, she was a baby then, not even a teenager, and still a child when he was gone, but those were the most formative years of her life. He was her first love, and her first kill, and that shaped her indelibly for the rest of her life.

While the work I'm doing with her spans two centuries, first with Byron, then later with her son, and even with her popping up in Midir and Keelia's novel, the fact is she never recovers fully from Byron's death. She never expected him to die by her hand, as it were. Her mother warned her about it, told her fully what she was, but she, with that firm belief of youth, was sure that he would live. That they would be different and their story would go another way.

When he died, she couldn't believe it, and the guilt nearly destroyed her. It changed her, hardened her, left her much colder, more sardonic, and very much more reserved in how truly she is capable of loving.

In RP, as well, he has shaped her, though in a different way. In their RP world, she has been his muse all her life, tied to him in his Immortal state. While there is far less guilt there, his madness has twisted her up and made her just about as crazy as he is. They're too close and too dependent and she doesn't know how else to form a relationship. It is not an exaggeration to say that he has been her entire world, and only now with the Doctor--either of them--is she finally learning to take a stand and become an autonomous being separate from Byron, which is both interesting and terrifying to both muse and mun.
alainn_aislinn: (Turn around again)
Tried to fly; ended up trapped.
alainn_aislinn: (Not that sort of fairytale)
It had taken some convincing, but Melissa had always been a persuasive girl. Aislinn liked her, wished Devin hadn't been stupid enough to break up with one the Morrigan had taken an interest in. It could have done him good to reconnect with those in Faerie. But he'd been frightened, and he had left, and she had maintained a quasi-friendship with the girl for her own purposes. The gift. The mark. The way her brown eyes saw things.

And now there was this request, and here she was, lingering in a coffee house, sipping a cup of tea and listening to poetry not even a muse could fix, waiting for an alien who didn't believe in fairies. Well, she didn't believe in aliens, but she was willing to trust the girl's judgment, at least as far as being willing to meet this Doctor she was traveling with.

She'd been amused enough to dress for the occasion in the most fairylike garb she could get away with in a human public. Her auburn curls were pulled half back, tumbling down her back and over her shoulders. She let just enough of the glamour slip so that her skin was whiter, eyes greener and tilted just a bit. She left her ears human-looking, but the hint of a point was there. Her dress was dark green and black, velvet and something silk-like. It was a sundress of a sort, clinging to her skin here and there where it should, and flowing free in other places. Her earrings and necklace were delicate jade leaves, carved by the finest dwarven craftsmen.

Sighing, Aislinn tucked a stray strand of hair back and added more cream to her tea, then glanced around, watching the door for someone who looked like an alien. Hopefully the evening wouldn't be boring, at the very least. And if he really was an alien...A calculating look flashed in her eyes.

Well, that could be very interesting, indeed.
alainn_aislinn: (Nibbling on finger)
I need a pet.
alainn_aislinn: (Distraught dreaming)
Never ever discount the idea of marriage. Sure, someone might tell you that marriage is just a piece of paper. Well, so is money, and what's more life-affirming than cold, hard cash? Dennis Miller

It isn't something meant for me, for all my mother's goals and machinations. A moment, a prince, a kiss, a time of love, a ring of eternity binding two hearts...Though she, of course, meant the prince literally and the hearts were a sideshow she never intended me to care about or need. But what I am...the thing I am, and the things I isn't a dream they make available to me easily.

I could marry a mortal, only then they would die, young and mad and aching for my touch, for an eternal glimpse I could never have. I could marry an Immortal, I could have twisted him to it long ago, but what would that bring but madness and despair. Loss, in its own way, just as bitter and sharp, and always with the knowledge between us of what I am and what he is and how they never can separate, and never be free. What sort of life would we have, if we twined them closer together than already they are?

There is no one so foolish as to bind themselves to me that way, and none I would curse so. To love...I would mean it, you see. I always do. I love. I feel. I grieve. I want...but I poison everything I love, and drive it away. I twist it all up and turn it 'round on itself, and I could bind him to me that way, with promises and pleadings, but he would hate me in the end, and promises mean so little in the vast stretch of eternity.

I could not bear to trap him so, tied to me by honor and vow and chains of gold. I love him too much to condemn him to the rest of his lifetimes with me. So there are promises, and perhaps, sometimes, I beg for them softly in the night, the assurance that now, here, I have not done so much to drive him away. Not yet. Now, still, he can say things like “never” and “always” and mean them with everything that is good and pure in him. When it changes, when it turns, when it sears itself through me and the hatred echoes back where once there was love, or worse, when indifference chills the air between us...I would have him free to go, hearkening only to whispered words in the dark, in the heat of passion, with no formality to be broken.

A lover is so much easier to send away let go than a wife, and that is how it should be.

I am content that it is so. Most days.
alainn_aislinn: (Muse)
Based on this picture.

Byron stared at the building, head tilted back. His mouth was open like a fish, and Aislinn fidgeted, wanting to poke him. She fidgeted while he stared, sighing a little in relief when he finally turned his eyes back to her.

"Well?" she asked with a hopeful smile.

"What were you on?" he demanded.

"What do you mean?" She gave him a troubled look, the smile fading.

"Did you get into my stash?"

"No!" Aislinn made a face. "You know I can't abide those poisons."

"Aislinn, think carefully. What exactly did you do to the architect?"

She thought, and shrugged. "I don't know. He was having trouble coming up with ideas, so we watched movies."

"What movie?"

She felt heat flood her cheeks. "The Wizard of Oz..."

Byron closed his eyes with a pained look on his face.

"What?" Now it was her turn to be demanding.

"Do me a favor, my love?"

She gave him a suspicious look. "What favor?"

"Confine yourself to writers and musicians from now on." He looked at her, outright pleading. "Stay away from architects."
alainn_aislinn: (I can't do this alone)
Treat your mind like a bad neighborhood - don't go there alone. -- Anonymous

Things get twisted and tangled up sometimes. She wonders, then, if it is hers or his, or some conglomeration of them all. If it is true that she drives men mad, then surely the opposite side of the coin cashes in on the deal, and she takes herself along with them. She cannot tie herself so closely, strapping her body and mind up against Icarus as he flies without the searing heat burning her as well. There are no wings to spread and carry her back up as she spirals down, and no matter what she was before, she knows that he has made her his in psyche, in soul, in the crumbling walls of sanity that do not hold up against the winds and rages of time.

She hides it better than he, usually. She smiles brighter, she finds delight in the simple things like sunshine on flowers that call to the part of her nature that wants to dance through fields and worship in the Goddess' grace. She laughs. She teases. She twirls her net of seduction, simple and sure, around those who wander close enough to be caught. She loves without the reservations, feeling too much without the filters he has erected.

They are not the same, and yet, they are in the way that heads are the same as tails--two parts of a whole and neither can fulfill its purpose without the other.

But she will not look too closely at what it has made her. She cannot bring herself to walk the twisted paths, swirling through mist and moonlight and cobwebs and ending in a plummeting abyss. She is expert at self-denial and ignorance, dancing in shadows and calling more to her, until there is a brighter mind, clearer, sharper, with paths of strict order that she finds she wants to walk, and it is two in one, because when he lets her in, she must do the same, and through his eyes, she sees the shadows in hers, the mist that hides and that even his light cannot fully penetrate.

She sees enough to frighten her, in places she never dared go before, but nothing there, and nothing in his shining order can help her in answering the question of what comes next.
alainn_aislinn: (Piece of magic)
Isn't it? Or unlucky, but I think that's a human concept, for I never heard it back at home.

It's a number a power. A number of change. A number of strength and of magic.

My journal is exactly 13 months old today.

In addition? I've made 133 posts--13 and the power number 3.

There should be some significance to that, but I'm not sure what it is.

I just thought I'd make a note of that.

Thank you

Aug. 17th, 2007 08:56 am
alainn_aislinn: (Doctor -- Old Souls)
To my Doctors for the beautiful roses, and the beautiful words.
Page generated Oct. 24th, 2017 05:50 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios