Fairies You Can F*ck, Part I

Love & Offspring with Cryptids, Falling for Fairies, and Sleeping with Sarah J. Maas’s Fae

Spring is in full swing, and we’re all suffering under the bait-and-switch of its false hope. I’m currently in Seattle, juggling a few more deadlines (because there ain’t no rest for the wicked, or whatever Cage the Elephant said), and hoping to sneak away to the desert for a week to draft one more book before April comes to a close.

Family-Friendly Question:
Do you love my work and wish you could share it with your children, but alas, I curse like a sailor and gleefully discuss deeply unwholesome topics? Good news! I have an all-ages, folklore-based, cryptid-and-fae-filled, instant New York Times bestselling series called Fern’s School for Wayward Fae.

It’s gothic whimsy. It’s cozy mythology. It’s basically chicken soup for the witchy soul. The Graveyard Gift (book one) and The Grim Adventure (book two, out May 6th!) might just be the perfect gateway for your inner child, your actual child, your nieces, nephews, niblings, or any of the more wholesome loved ones in your life.

And if you let them know before 4/21, you can claim a free gift when you order The Grim Adventure! (Yes, I am bribing you. Bribery is an ancient fae tradition.)

As I prepare to binge-write the next Fern’s book, we circle one delicious question: Rosemary, our half-human, half-fae heroine, is out here navigating life, magic, and multiple realms... but who could her fae parent be? And while we’re at it—since humans are always falling for things we probably shouldn’t (hi, toxic exes)—what fae could we fall for?

Welcome to this month’s unhinged exploration: where desire meets mythology, and some of the creatures you were warned about turn out to be dangerously dateable.

Part II: Folklore

A Mermaid (1900) by John William Waterhouse

There is one question—one singular, unrelenting question—that haunts every single post I make about monsters, cryptids, and the various Things That Should Not Be:

“But can I f*ck it?”

And while I am not here to yuck anyone’s yum (except maybe Jeff from accounting, you know what you did), my answer is usually:
You can try, but you’re going to get eaten, trapped in the fae realm, and die a horrible, undignified death.

However.

Once in a blue moon, when the stars align and my brain is too fried from deadlines to argue with you, I say: fine. Fine! For the love of god, mom is tired, mom is taking the week off—go ahead and fall in love with the following cryptids and fae. I’m not saying it’s a good idea, but I am saying it’s possible.

(This month’s theme: water-based cryptids and fae. Next month, we take a frolic through the forest for the earthbound creatures you can seduce or be seduced by. Yes, this is now an accidental series. You’re welcome.)

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For the Mermaid F*ckers 🧜‍♀️

Hey, water lovers. You stubborn romantics who look at a dangerous body of water and think, "There could be a soulmate in there."

If you haven’t seen them yet, I’ve got a full collection of videos on murderous mermaids you can binge right now by clicking on their name, including:

• Iara (Brazilian warrior mermaids with a siren’s song and zero tolerance for nonsense)

• Nix (shape-shifting riverfolk, part seduction, part danger, 100% likely to drown you)

• Yawkyawk (Aboriginal water spirits with eel-like tails and appetite for humans)

• Abere (witchy mermaids of the South Pacific, gorgeous and deadly)

• Magindara (Philippine sea sirens who will absolutely drag you to your doom)

So. You’ve seen the videos, you know the risks, and you still want to get in the water?

I admire your commitment to poor choices.

Here are the few rare cryptids and fae who, according to certain strands of folklore, will not only permit humans to fall in love with them but might even mate and reproduce. Actual offspring! That’s right: interdimensional family planning is on the table.

Melusine 🐍💦

The Fair Melusine, oil on canvas painting by German artist Julius Hübner, 1844....

We begin with a classic: a cryptid who loves having children, and would be thrilled to invite you into her bed (and maybe her nightmare-inducing family tree). Introducing: Melusine, the dangerously seductive mermaid of 14th-century French lore, who is ready to carry your next monstrosity.

Unlike the salty sea sirens and murderous freshwater fae I usually can’t stop talking about, Melusine is a lady of fountains—yes, fountains. Elegant, gurgling, often man-made fountains, sprinkled all across Europe. Think less “stormy ocean" and more "Barbie Dreamhouse garden feature, but make it cursed."

One of the most famous Melusine tales involves a man named Raymondin, who falls head over heels for her, with one teensy little catch: he must never watch her during childbirth or bath time. (Red flag, but history has taught us that men will agree to anything if they think they’re getting laid.)

Spoiler: he absolutely does spy on her, and catches sight of her monstrous form—serpent from the waist down, woman from the waist up.

This duality was no accident: back in the day, physical beauty was often tied to spiritual purity, so her lovely upper half and monstrous lower half symbolized the lurking deception beneath surface beauty. (“She’s so pretty!” — you, moments before discovering she has a literal snake tail.)

But Melusine is more than just a metaphor for medieval men’s fear of women’s autonomy. She also birthed ten half-mortal sons (that we know of), each more terrifying and destiny-fated than the last. It’s actually some surprisingly nuanced lore about how external appearances are not the sole determinant of character or fate. (Go off, folklore feminist icon.)

And while many versions of her legend involve her having children with men and then murdering them (sometimes mid-relationship, sometimes post-baby shower), her lore is open-minded and, dare I say, a little pansexual. Melusine is an equal-opportunity lover and beheader, and anyone passing her way—regardless of gender—might just catch her serpentine eye.

Nøkken 🎻🌊

from Mythic World by Kerby Rosanes

This one goes out to the fantasy readers who like their supernatural suitors masculine—a little brooding, a little dangerous, a little wet (in the literal sense, behave yourself).

If you’re a Sarah J. Maas fan fuming that I chose water creatures for Part I instead of forest fae, take a breath. Picture Therion from Crescent City and come with me into the mist. You're going to like where this is headed.

Enter: The Nøkken.

This seductive, supernatural fiddle-player pops up across Scandinavia, Germany, and Eastern Europe, known by a variety of names (flip back to my Nix crash course for the full collection of his noms de plume). For your convenience, let’s picture him like this: bluish-skinned, human-looking, muscular freshwater spirit, hair damp, smirk devilish, fingers absolutely flying over the strings of his fiddle.

When he gets bored (or lonely), he might wander into town, casually drop by your local tavern, play a tune that absolutely obliterates everyone’s composure, and then track you down for some companionship. Congratulations! You’ve just become his love interest, provided you let him return to his watery home whenever he pleases.

But beware: if you go tromping off into the forest, marching straight up to his pond, lake, or waterfall, demanding affection like a knockoff Disney princess, he will absolutely drown you for your impertinence.

It’s a great metaphor for consent. Let him come to you. Don’t show up uninvited and make it weird.

As a shapeshifter, the Nøkken—also known as Nixie, Nixy, Nix, Näcken, Nicor, Nøkk, Näck, or Nekker —doesn’t always appear as the charming, fiddle-playing man. Sometimes he takes the form of:

• A partially submerged, stunningly beautiful woman (pro tip: she will not be giving you children, she will be giving you death).

• A horse. And listen—I beg of you—do not ask if you can sleep with the horse, you twisted f*cks.

Your best shot at love and legitimate folklore reproduction lies with the Nøkken in his masculine form. Handsome, mysterious, musically talented, and just aquatic enough to keep things interesting.

And hey, just between us (because I consider you a close personal friend by now): what an excellent scapegoat for an extramarital pregnancy.
"I would never cheat on you with another man, darling. It was the Nøkken."

Selkie 🦭💍

"The Selkie" by Rebekah Tisch

Finally, my all-time favorite cryptid, the absolute love of my folkloric life: the Selkie.

A benevolent shapeshifter from medieval Scottish, Welsh, and Scandinavian lore, the Selkie is the legendary seal-turned-woman (or man! we’ll get to that) who famously marries humans, bears children, and becomes mother (or father) to half-human offspring who belong to both sea and land.

Her tale goes like this:

There you are, a lonely sailor or windswept fisherman off the coasts of Scotland or the Scandinavian Isles, gazing out at the seals bobbing in the waves. Then suddenly—magically—one of those plump, blubbery creatures unzips her seal skin, and a breathtakingly beautiful woman steps out.

She hides her seal skin away, tucks it somewhere safe, and walks among humans for a while. Maybe for curiosity. Maybe for love. Maybe just for a much-needed break from all that damp fur. She mingles. She dances. She experiences human life, knowing she can return to the sea whenever she’s ready.

But here comes the fisherman, unlucky in love and all too opportunistic. He knows if he steals her seal skin and locks it away, she’ll be trapped on land with no way to return to the sea. And what follows is a classic case of folkloric entrapment.

He marries her. She has his children. They build a life together, happy or otherwise (folklore is rarely clear on this). But no matter how many years pass, no matter how many children she bears, her heart is always pulled back to the ocean.

And the second she finds her seal skin—whether it’s the next day or decades later—she bolts for the waves, abandoning her human life and sprinting headlong into the sea.

It’s not subtle. It’s not polite. It’s instinct. It’s Selkie.

Now, while the original lore focused on “seal women,” there’s also historical precedent for male selkies—which makes this tale delightfully inclusive. After all, men aren’t the only humans who can be sketchy. Why shouldn’t a woman steal a man’s seal skin and trap him into marriage? (Or sometimes fall in consensual love! Though that is rarer). Hostage folklore is, at its core, an equal-opportunity metaphor for unhappy marriages, commitment issues, and the primal urge to ditch your life and vanish into the horizon.

And as a little afterword:

There’s a chance you might be part selkie yourself.

Ask yourself:

• Do you have Scottish, Scandinavian, or Welsh coastal ancestry?

• Are you suspiciously excellent in the water?

• Do you have webbed toes?

• Do you struggle with commitment, or always feel an aching urge to run away to somewhere wild and free?

• Do you find yourself longing for “home,” even if you can’t quite explain where that is?

If so, pour one out for the seals, pay your respects to the fae, and give a nod to the restless part of your soul—because you just might have selkie blood in your veins.

Parting Folk Words 🌿

In the spirit of echoing myself like a folkloric refrain, please allow me to pitch you a book one more time.

If you enjoy stories of half-fae offspring (which, I suspect you do, given that you’ve made it this far into this deeply unhinged newsletter), consider this: folklore has always been told in its truest form through stories. Passed from lips to ears, from hearth to page.

My Fern’s School for Wayward Fae series is a cozy, all-ages adventure in that very tradition. Think: Narnia meets A Series of Unfortunate Events, with a sprinkle of fae mischief and a dash of cryptid chaos.

a signed bookplate is part of the free gift!

It follows Rosemary, a girl who thought she was just a regular human—aside from one pesky detail: she can see how people will die. Casual! (Not at all traumatizing!)

Book one is The Graveyard Gift, and book two, The Grim Adventure, is coming your way on May 6th. Even better: it comes with a free gift if you fill out the preorder form and let Penguin know you’d like the perks—just make sure you do it before 4/21.

Go on, claim your shiny fae treasure. We’ve all earned it.

Full Moon: April’s Pink Moon 🌸

Somerset, U.K. (Image credit: Josh Dury)

April’s Pink Moon—also called the Paschal Moon, of Easter fame, gets its name not from the color of the moon itself, but from the vibrant, moss-pink wildflowers that bloom across fields and forests this time of year. Specifically, it’s named after the wild ground phlox, one of the early risers of spring. Think of it as the moon giving a little nod to the season’s first blush of color.

You’ll catch this micro moon in all its glory on Saturday, April 12th, at 8:22 PM.

And listen, if this Substack lands in your inbox before or after the moon has hit its peak—don’t panic! You’re still in good shape. Full moons are like ocean tides: their power flows in, crests, and then flows back out. While the exact moment of fullness is ideal for things like moon water, simmer pots, and manifestation work, the energy lingers both before and after the peak.

Oh, and if you’re curious about Easter folklore or want to learn a thing or two about Ostara, I’ll be posting those videos over on Instagram at @piper_cj. (Pro tip: you don’t even need an account to watch! Folklore for all.)

I hope I see you back here next month for Part II of our slightly chaotic series on Fairies You Can F*ck (forest edition!). And of course, I’d love to see you at Fern’s School for Wayward Fae—book two, The Grim Adventure, arrives May 6th. (P.S. Don’t forget to grab your free gift before 4/21—because even the fae love a good deal.)

Until next time, may your moon water be potent, your fae lovers be enthusiastically consenting, and your folklore just the right amount of unhinged. 🌕✨🧚‍♀️