#Evening Dresses for Women in Ireland

[beecollectiblesprofile]

Evening Dresses for Women in Ireland

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[starkwlkr]

celebrity skin | cillian murphy

barbenheimer series

‘Is Hollywood done with Y/n?’

‘Y/n L/n, the girl failure’

That’s what the articles published on their front page. Recently, Y/n had refused to do a big budget film for a legendary director claiming that she wanted to take a break from the world of acting. Her and Cillian were looking to buy a house in Ireland so she was busy looking at listings and calling multiple real estate agents.

The director ended up calling her a bitch over the phone. He had insulted her over and over, stating that she would regret her decision.

After a source told multiple magazines about the situation only the ‘source’ didn’t tell the full story, the media started calling her annoying, selfish, dumb blonde, and the one that stuck the most, a bitch.

Cillian was not having it. Instead of going to his audition for a new series, he stayed home with her. He didn’t want her to be alone, especially at a time where the media and ‘fans’ were turning their backs on her.

“You don’t have to stay with me.” Y/n sighed as she snuggled up to Cillian. They were currently in London since Cillian had gotten an audition for a BBC series. He called the casting director and canceled, which made Y/n mad. Why wouldn’t she be? He had talked about the audition for months and now he canceled?!

“I want to.” He replied, giving her a kiss to the side of her head. “You haven’t eaten anything. I can make you pancakes, I know how much you love breakfast for dinner.”

“I’ll eat in a bit. I think I want to take a nap.” She said.

Cillian had noticed how she’s been taking naps all week. Sometimes she wouldn’t even come out of her room and all she ate was granola bars and orange juice.

“I want you to know that I’m with you every step of the way. Those articles? They’re wrong. Fuck those articles. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I love you so much.” Cillian admitted.

Y/n could feel a tear roll down her cheek. Sometimes all she wanted to do was run away with Cillian to whatever country and live their lives in a nice house.

“You’re a jerk, you know that. . I wasn’t planning on crying today. But I love you too.” Y/n laughed as Cillian pulled her in for a kiss. “I wish we could leave this place and go to one of those cottage houses in the countryside. That’s always been a dream of mine.”

“That sounds nice. Why don’t you pack your bag and I’ll buy our tickets and we can leave tomorrow.” Cillian said.

“What?” Y/n asked confused.

“I saw you looking at this cottage the other day on your laptop. I bought it two days ago and I payed my mum to buy us some nice furniture and food so by the time we get there it’ll be okay for us to stay there for a while. So go pack and I’ll arrange our flight. You and I are leaving all this behind for the next few days. No work, no fancy dresses or premieres to attend. Just us and our new home.” He explained.

“You’re full of surprises, my love.”

TIME SKIP

OCTOBER

It had been a few months since Y/n and Cillian left their life in London and stayed in their new cottage in the countryside. She loved it there. No paparazzi or pushy fans to bother her or Cillian. It was paradise for her. Eventually the casting director for Peaky Blinders offered the role of Tommy Shelby to Cillian since last time Cillian was going to audition he had called to cancel. The casting director desperately wanted him to portray the protagonist of the new BBC series.

Y/n encouraged Cillian to take the role. She was fine with staying in their cottage after all she had made new friends with the women that lived nearby. So Cillian flew back to London to film and Y/n stayed behind. She had picked up new hobbies, fixed some stuff that needed fixing like the guest room and even started working on her garden.

Soon, Cillian had finished filming and made it back home to Y/n just in time for her birthday. Even though it was her day, Y/n insisted on making dinner herself. She decided to cook a comfort food of hers, chicken alfredo.

Cillian watched as she set a plate full of pasta and chicken in front of him then placed hers on her placemat. “I should be cooking for you.” Cillian said, grabbing his fork and beginning to eat.

“If the birthday girl wants to cook then let her.” Y/n stated then began to eat. “How was filming? I saw some pictures on twitter of you on set and I have mixed feelings about the haircut.”

“You don’t like it? Be honest. I don’t like it.” Cillian admitted.

“Well it took some time to get used to it, but I kind of like it now. I don’t know, you look hot either way.” Y/n smirked.

“Then I guess I’ll have to thank the hair department.”

Soon, both plates of food were forgotten as the two lovers made their way to their bedroom, pieces of clothing scattered around. It had been months and both Cillian and Y/n were counting down the days until they say each other again. Months without a single kiss or the feeling of skin on skin. What a way to end your birthday . . .

TAGLIST

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[wileys-russo]

A halloween fic where Leah and her gf go to a Williamson family halloween party. Gf secretly dresses up as the always serious Lioness captain and everyone finds its hilarious except Leah (maybe she finds it kinda hot lol)…

narcissist II l.williamson

"oh she is going to hate this." laura laughed as you emerged from your room, the younger girl waiting patiently in the living room while you'd put the finishing touches to your halloween costume.

"thats the goal!" you grinned with a wink, giving yourself a once over in the hallway mirror, adjusting your hair a little. "you look so good lau!" you beamed at laura who was dressed up as cowgirl barbie, having somehow convinced kim to go as her counterpart western ken, who agreed to meet you there.

you'd all been invited to a halloween party thrown by leah's cousin holly, which was an annual tradition among the williamson family and their close friends. leah had been out all day having gone over there this morning, promising to help holly set everything up.

you'd gotten out of it given you had picked up a last minute shift this morning and promised a very nervous laura that she could come over and get ready with you.

with most of the girls away on international break the austrian had spent nearly everyday at yours and leahs shared home seeking out the company she missed when her house mates were away.

not that you or leah minded at all, both looking at laura like a younger sister. you'd always fit in well with leahs friends and team mates since the two of you started seeing one another a few years ago, though you'd become exceptionally close to the fellow members of her coveted infamous acl club.

you glanced down as your phone buzzed, alex texting that she was outside in an uber. "scottys here." you informed, grabbing your house keys and lauras hand, the two of you running to the car with a laugh after you'd locked up.

"jesus christ alex!" you jumped in shock as you opened the door and came face to face with the older woman, who grinned at you devilishly, dressed head to toe like a sexy pennywise the clown. "that is a nightmare." laura laughed, climbing into the car alongside you.

"you look gorgeous!" alex pointed toward laura as the driver pulled out from the curb. "you...well, you look bang on mate." alex nodded her approval as you grinned happily. "down to the very last detail." you pulled a very stern face, causing both women to laugh loudly.

you'd opted that out of all the options you had, the best and most top tier costume you could pull off was to dress up as your lovingly strict girlfriend in her natural element.

so you were clad out in her favourite england kit from the euros with williamson splashed across your back, having to roll the top of her shorts twice so they didn't hang down to your knees. you'd even pulled your socks up and stole an old pair of her boots which you had no doubt you'd hear about from the girl in question soon enough.

then there was the thin black headband which sat on your head pulling your fringe out of your face, leahs now having grown out beyond the need to use it but you'd still given her endless amounts of shit while she'd needed it so it seemed a perfect accessory.

the final cherry on top was the one love captains armband wrapped tightly around your bicep, loaned to you by katie before she'd flown off to ireland for national camp. having laughed till her stomach hurt when you'd explained what you needed it for she made you promise to send her lots of photos.

pulling up to hollys house the party was clearly in full swing as there was cars everywhere and people lounging around smoking on her front lawn, every single sort of weird and wonderful costume in sight.

thanking the driver the three of you slipped out and made your way inside, holly spotting you right away as she grinned and hurried over. she hugged alex who dipped with a wink, spotting some of her friends across the room.

laura was next to go, kim waving her over where she sat with amber, jen and a few others in the living room, the sight of the arsenal captain with a cow print tracksuit on making you let out a loud laugh as she winked and playfully rolled her eyes, dipping her hat at you as she stood to embrace laura.

"and you...babe you are a spitting image!" holly grinned after she'd hugged you tightly, holding you away from her at arms length and looking you up and down.

"god the world can barely handle one leah williamson, but two? good luck to us all!" her brother ben appeared beside her, hugging you tightly and spinning you around before darting away to mingle.

"where is she?" you asked, holly taking your hand and dragging you away to make you a drink. "outside with her mum i think, and i need to see her live reaction." holly handed you a drink and again pulled you away with her.

you spotted your girlfriend stood by the fire pit in the middle of the yard, surrounded by a few of her family members you'd met several times before, following holly over as amanda spotted you and the girl gestured for her not to alert leah.

"well hello sexy, is it hot today or is it just you?" you smacked your girlfriend on the bum as she so often greeted you, the older girl spinning around as you did, having been messaging all day how much she missed you.

though once she actually took you in you were unable to read the look on her face, her family members all exploding into a round of applause and whistles as you took a bow.

"leah williamson; england captain, european champion." you held your hand out toward her mum with a blank stare, and a near perfect impression of your girlfriends thick milton keynes accent, sending the older woman into a deeper bout of hysterics as you were showered with compliments.

"you are unbelievable." finally finishing making the rounds hugging her various family members leah was next as you returned in front of her, sending her a beaming smile and a wink.

"like it? think its pretty accurate." you again made fun of your girlfriends tendency to replace her th's with f's as even leah was unable to hold back her smile.

"you might be fucking annoying but i have to say i do love it baby girl, imitation is the best form of flattery." leah smirked, pecking your lips a few times as the two of you hugged tightly.

"you're looking proper fit babe." you grinned, your girlfriend dressed up like a sexy jack sparrow, the bandana and corset combination doing wonders for you. "are you going to speak like that all night?" leah grimanced at the thickly dramatised impression of her accent.

"sure am, welcome to my every day reality my love."

~

"leah where are we going!" you laughed as she dragged you through the house by your hand, both of you a little tipsy you stumbled on your feet as she pushed you into hollys room.

"you look so fucking good tonight babe its driving me crazy." leah breathed out, shutting the door and pressing you up against it, hands gripping your hips.

"are you seriously telling me you're finding me dressed as you a turn on right now?" you laughed quietly, arms wrapping around her shoulders and fiddling with the baby hairs on the nape of her neck as she gave you a toothy grin.

"what can i say baby? you're hot, i'm hot. put them together? i very much like what i see." leah whistled with a smirk making your eyes roll playfully. "such a narcissist." you teased, standing on your tippy toes to connect your lips to hers.

your head spun as her lips ravaged yours, the kiss desperate and messy and passionate, the older girl doing her very best to show you just how much she'd missed you today, and just how much she was enjoying your little get up tonight.

"leah." you released a breathy moan as she took your bottom lip between her teeth, tugging on it as her eyes locked with yours and winked, sucking your lip into her mouth and pressing you even harder into the door as her tongue slipped into your mouth now taking full control of the kiss.

but tonight, tonight you were determined to stay in character.

you pushed back against her taller form, walking her back until her legs hit the bed and she fell, the kiss breaking for a moment before her hands grabbed at you possessively, tagging you to straddle her lap.

"i think you should keep this on when i have you a whining mess underneath me later my girl. you know i love when you wear my name." leahs hands slipped under her jersey which adorned your top half, short nails scratching your abs before she tugged teasingly at the material.

"maybe i'll even let you wear my euros medal if you beg me nicely enough." leah smiled wickedly, hands gently sliding up higher on your torso until you hastily grabbed them and pinned them to her sides.

"mm tempting but not tonight lee baby, tonight i'm the captain." you breathed out against her lips, ducking your head back with a smug smile as she tried to dive back in to kiss you.

though before anything else could happen a fist was pounding at the door. "i swear to god the two of you better be out out of my room and fully clothed in 0.5 seconds or i'll kick this fucking door and your heads in!" holly yelled menacingly, hitting the door again as you and leah shared a grin.

"don't worry love, this isn't over yet-" you paused, leaning back to proudly tap the lionesses badge on your chest.

"the english are never done."

[thethirdromana]

LGBT+ Victorians

Since it's Pride Month and Dracula Daily is going to be pretty quiet for most of June, I thought it might be good timing for a little 1890s queer history. Plus I wanted to give a bit more fuel to everyone's queer headcanons for Dracula characters!

Popping this under a cut because it's long.

The start of queer identity This is a massive generalisation, but for most of British history, being queer was about action and not about identity. The idea that people who wanted to have gay sex belonged to a specific group that was different to other people didn't exist for the most part, at least not at a societal level. (This was also true - more generalisation - for much of the western world. It was very much not true for large swathes of the rest of the world who thought about this in entirely different and varied ways).

By the second half of the 19th century, that was starting to change. People like Karl Heinrich Ulrichs in Germany (on the left), and John Addington Symonds (middle) and Edward Carpenter (right) in the UK started to think of themselves as homosexuals - Ulrichs coined the term "Urning" which became "Uranian" in English. This period marked the beginning of organised campaigning for LGBT rights in the UK, though specific campaigning for lesbian and trans rights came later.

This means that in the 1890s setting of Dracula, any characters might think of themselves as "Uranian" or "Sapphic", or they might not yet have picked up that way of thinking. At a guess I'd expect Seward or van Helsing to be particularly aware of the new theory around homosexuality.

LGBT rights in law It was a mixed time for the legal position of LGBT people. The death penalty for sodomy was abolished in 1861 in England, Wales and Ireland (1889 in Scotland), and replaced with minimum 10 years hard labour. In 1871, two amab people, Boulton and Park, were tried for dressing as women, but the judge ruled that this was not an offence under English law (though he also said that he thought it should be).

On the left: Fanny Park and Stella Boulton; on the right, the Illustrated Police News' depiction of their arrest.

And in 1885, the Criminal Law Amendment Act reduced the minimum sentence for gross indecency from 10 years' hard labour to two.

That said, before that act was introduced, there had to be a witness to any sodomy or gross indecency for it to be prosecuted. The Criminal Law Amendment Act changed that, so all private acts, arguably even love letters, could be prosecuted. So despite the reduction in sentences, this change to the law made life harder for queer men in the 1880s and 1890s. From a Dracula perspective, this means that people would be much more careful about what they wrote down - significant for a novel made up of documents.

Lesbian sex has never been illegal in the UK. (The idea that this was because Queen Victoria didn't believe in lesbianism is a myth). But in the 18th century there were a series of prosecutions of afab people who lived as men and married women. They were prosecuted for fraud when their birth sex was discovered, because they were perceived as having defrauded their wives. There were far fewer such prosecutions in the 19th century, possibly because of the belief that it was better not to create the publicity of a trial.

Victorian WLW There are HEAPS of notable Victorian lesbians and bisexual women, including a lot in the suffragette movement. So I've chosen a few examples based on there being good images on Wikipedia.

From left to right:

Margaret Benson and Janet (Nettie) Gourlay were Egyptologists who met at the excavation of the Precinct of Mut. Almost all of Benson's family preferred same-sex relationships.

Louisa Baring, Lady Ashburton, was briefly married to a man, but when she was widowed, began a 25-year relationship with American sculptor Harriet Hosmer. Harriet described herself as Louisa's "hubby".

Matilda Hays was a mixed-race writer and actress who had a relationship with American actress Charlotte Cushman, with whom she's pictured. Hays aimed to use her writing to improve the condition of women.

Victorian MLM Again, I've chosen people to highlight through the very representative method of good photos.

From left to right:

Edward Carpenter was a socialist, poet, philosopher and early gay rights activist who met his partner George Merrill on a train. The two men came from very different backgrounds: Carpenter from privilege, and Merrill from the Sheffield slums. Their 40-year relationship inspired the ending of EM Forster's novel Maurice.

Charles Ricketts and Charles Haslewood Shannon were artists who met as teenagers and lived together for more than 50 years. In the Times' obituary for Ricketts in 1931, their relationship was described as being "as remarkable as any of the great historic friendships, or the finest Darby and Joan examples of wedded felicity".

Ned Warren and John Marshall were art collectors who together were largely responsible for the Roman and Greek Art Collection of the Boston Museum of Fine Arts and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Marshall married Warren's cousin, Mary Bliss, but only on the condition that the marriage would not be consummated. All three lived together until they died and were buried in the same tomb.

Trans Victorians I wrote last year about Dr James Barry, a Victorian trans man, in the context of whether Jack Seward could be trans. (The post is from October, but spoiler free).

Eliza Edwards was an actress who died in 1833 at the age of 24. Her body was autopsied, and discovered to be - in the words of the autopsy - "a perfect man", which had apparently not been known to any of her friends or colleagues.

Harry Stokes was a bricklayer in Manchester, who was outed as trans in newspaper articles during his divorce 1838 and again after his death in 1859. He became something of a figure of fun after being first outed, but met another woman who lived with him as his life, and was broadly accepted by the local community as a trans man.

It was only through chance that James, Eliza and Harry were outed (and in James Barry's case, despite considerable efforts on his part). There might well have been hundreds or thousands more people like them.

And Boulton and Park, who I mentioned above, have usually been treated as transvestite men by historians, but could equally - had they had the terms themselves - be identified as trans women. Some contemporary newspaper articles even used she/her pronouns for them.

Asexual Victorians Asexuality is tricky to spot in history, though even in 1896, German sexologist Magnus Hirschfeld was identifying it as a distinct phenomenon. What we do know is that more than 10% of women and a little under 10% of men in the 1890s never married, and in some cases that may well have been because they were asexual or aromantic.

From a Dracula perspective, family rumour held that Florence Stoker declined sex with her husband after the birth of their child. That may or may not have been true (and there's a ring of aphobia to some of the family's claims) but it shows how asexual people might also be found in apparently conventional marriages.

Sources British Library: A Short History of LGBT Rights in the UK British Library: A timeline of LGBT communities in the UK Girlfriends of Dorothy: A Timeline of Lesbian Rights UK 1601 - 2020s (note: the site intends to be trans-inclusive, but genders John Barry as female.) Open University: Lesbianism and the criminal law of England and Wales “Constant Companions” and “Intimate Friends”: The Lives and Careers of Maggie Benson and Nettie Gourlay Sapphic sexuality: lesbian myth and reality in art and sculpture British Library: Transgender identities in the past Warp and Weft: The extraordinary life of Harry Stokes British Academy: Happy Families? Coitus Interruptus: Sex, Bram Stoker, and Dracula 'Missing person' Florence Stoker added to DIB

[justmeinadaze]

Pushing the Barrier ( Eddie X Reader) 

A/N: So this one needs some explanation. Idk why it popped in my head but lol there's a movie I like with Cillian Murphy called Breakfast on Pluto. There's a scene in that movie where his character works at a strip club in Ireland but instead of being like a normal style strip club there are rooms that are cut in half. On one side is a glass case where she sits on a swing and talks to the men that come in. They can see her but she can't see them. That was my inspiration for where Eddie working in this one. There are other movies that have places like this but I love that one and Cillian Murphy is always a win lol I did set this in New York because I didn't think Hawkins would have a place like this.

Warnings: I am classifying this as Stripper Eddie even though he doesn't dance. Lol. Reader is unhappily married. A bit of angst here with much pining. Some smut for sure. I would like to make more parts to this and explore this a bit more but only if you guys like it. I definitely enjoyed writing it.

Word Count: 3196

You hugged your arms around you as you walked down the wet streets of New York. You and your husband had gotten into another fight when he came home late from work for the third time that week. 

“You said you would be home three hours ago! We were going to go out for dinner and finally spend some time together!”

“Y/N, I don’t know what you want from me. I work! Do you like this apartment and these fancy fucking clothes?! Someone has to work for them, babe.”

“Oh, fuck you and your self-righteous bullshit. I work and I buy my own clothes.”, you gesture at the dress you were wearing, “Just because you bought me this doesn’t mean you pay for my wardrobe!”

He stomped out of the apartment then and a few moments later so did you. You couldn’t stand to be there by yourself any longer. You roamed aimlessly for a while before the rain started coming down heavily. 

“Fuck!”, you exclaim, quickly dashing into the nearest building. 

“Whoa! It’s really coming down out there.” A tall, beautiful woman greets you with a beautiful smile as she hands you a towel from behind her counter. 

“Oh. Thank you. Yeah, it is.”

“Are you alright? You look like you’ve had a rough night.”

“I’m okay. Just…marital disputes.”

She chuckles to herself. “I understand that my dear. After my second divorce I said, ‘Never again!’. Then fate led me here.” She sweeps her hand around the building. “Maybe it’s just what you need as well.”

You finally take a good look around, squinting at the pictures of half-naked men and women on framed up on her walls. The signs on her desk had prices for set times of “shows” and thick binder of filled with people who were available to be viewed. 

“Um, I’m not really into this.”

She laughs again as she leans her back against the wall. “Now I know what you’re thinking. I’m not really into that kind of thing either but everyone is different. This isn’t a regular ‘stripper’ style joint I run. Yes, some people want them to get naked and dance sexily. Some people just want to sit and talk. Whether it’s dirty talk or regular conversation is completely up to the client.” She scans over your apprehensive face. 

“You know what? You’re first round is on me and I think I have the perfect gentleman for you.” The woman reaches for your arm and starts guiding you through the curtain behind her counter, down a long hallway. 

“Miss, I can’t—”

“Oh, come on. It is pouring and I’m not going to send you back out into that.” She stops outside of a door and turns to you. “Now here’s how it works. It will just be you and him. He will be behind the glass but it’s two way so you can see him but he can’t see you unless you want him to. I usually charge per hour but since this is free take all the time you need. When you’re done just exit and leave through that back door over there. We pride ourselves on privacy.”

She winks before opening the door and practically shoving you inside. 

“Fucking hell! No need to be so aggressive.”

“Mira can be a little rough, can’t she?” 

You turn around to the sound of a male voice chuckling behind you. The only light illuminating the room is the dim pink neon bulbs lining the ceiling and the massive stage style light in the glass cube in front of you. 

There’s a man behind its walls sitting in gigantic thrown style chair, strumming at a guitar. His long, wavy hair hung down to his shoulders and a gorgeous smile was currently stretched across his face. He tapped his bare foot against the floor as he played his instrument that was leaning on his shirtless chest. You could vaguely make out the tattoos along his body. His legs were still covered with his jeans, making you wonder if his ink on his skin trailed below his waist. 

“Whoa. I didn’t lose you now, did I?”

“Um, no. Hey. I mean hi.” You clear your throat, stammering over your words as you sit in the recliner style chair. “Can you…can you really not see me?”

His smile grows as he shakes his head. “Nope. I can just see myself. Thank God I’m so damn good looking.”

A genuine laugh escapes you as you cover your mouth to stifle it. It had been a while since anyone made you laugh like that. 

“Aw, no Sweetheart. Don’t cover up that giggle. It’s cute.” He leans back in his seat getting more comfortable. “Can I ask what your name is?”

“Y/N.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

“Mhmm. I bet you say that to everyone.” He playfully scoffs at your response. “Am I allowed to ask for your name?”

“You can ask me anything you want. I’m here for you. My name is Eddie.”

“Like Iron Maiden.” Eddie’s fingers freeze as he looks up at the glass in front of him. “That’s their mascot, right? The guy on all their tape covers. 

He set the guitar down to the side. “I have never met a woman who knew that.” Eddie’s head tilts to the side as his eyes continue to scan in front of him. “Wow. I’ve also never hated having this glass blocking me before either.”

“The lady said you couldn’t see me unless I wanted you to. There’s nothing you can do?”

He shakes his head again as he stands up, walking forward. His long, index finger points somewhere towards his left. “There’s a switch over there that can flip off the settings and allow me to see you. As you can imagine a lot of people prefer to remain hidden.”

“So, you do do other things besides just talking and playing guitar?”

A coy smile spreads across his lips as he sits back down in his chair. “I’m here for your pleasure.” Eddie takes note that you don’t continue by playing on his words like his other clients usually do. “Y/N? Can I ask something else?”

You nod before you realize he can’t see it. “Sure. You can ask me anything.”

“Why are you here? Not that I don’t like your company but this doesn’t feel like your usual scene.”

“It’s storming outside and I needed a place to hide so I ran into the nearest building. I had no idea what this place was.”

“Why were you walking around outside so late at night?”

“My husband and I got into a fight.” Eddie leans forward waiting for you to continue. “We were supposed to go out for dinner but he said he was working late. He’s always working late.” You get up from your seat and start pacing the tiny room. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N. That sounds lonely.”

“I just didn’t want to be in the apartment by myself right now.”

Eddie rises again crawling down on the floor towards the front of his chamber. He crosses his legs, staring at the void that is his reflection. “Do you really believe he’s at work?”

“Of course! He’s a businessman. Where else would he be?”

“Hey now, Princess. I’m just asking questions.” He holds up his palms in defense. “I only meant that even if I was president, if I had a dinner date with you, I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Yeah well, you’re a stripper or whatever the fuck this is so you wouldn’t understand, would you?”

Eddie’s eyes fell and you immediately regretted getting defensive. You walk toward him and lightly tap on the glass. His head comes up as his gaze meets the sound. You knock on it again as he crawls forward, pressing his hand up against it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t worry about it. This?”, he gestures towards the room. “I do this for the money and its good money. Yeah, sometimes I jack off for strangers or just take off my clothes while they say dirty shit but I’m not going to do this forever.”

You reach up pressing your palm against his outside the glass. At that moment, you wish you could touch him. You wished you could feel his arms wrap around you and taste those beautiful lips against yours. He seemed so vulnerable in that moment you wanted to do whatever you could to make him feel better. Whether that meant going to dinner or riding him until he came inside you, you weren’t sure. 

That’s when the guilt started taking over. You were married! You shouldn’t be thinking like this. This was wrong. 

“Eddie, I’m, um, I’m sorry I have to go.” You quickly began gathering your things. 

“Wait, Y/N, you don’t have to—”

The sound of the slammed door cut him off as you ran down the hallway and out the back door. 

##############

“Y/N!” Your husband’s aggressive tone snaps you back into reality. 

“For the love of God, yes?!”

“I’m talking to you here. Are you listening?” 

That following Saturday, you husband tried to apologize to you by taking you out to dinner. You were hoping for a more romantic setting but this in and out style place was fine. At least he was actually there with you and not at the office. 

“I’m listening, honey. I hear you.”

You glance around the restaurant as he goes on about some mundane office gossip. The door to the building dinged as it was opened and someone rushed inside, wiping his boots against the mat before walking further in. 

Eddie. 

Your brain froze as you watched him move. Your first instinct was to hide before you remembered he hadn’t seen your face that night. Seeing him outside of that glass case was so surreal. 

“Are you finished? I am. Why don’t you wait here while I go pay.”

“No! I mean, no. I’ll stand with you.” His eyebrows come together as you smile him. 

Your eyes drink him in as you and your husband wait behind Eddie to pay. His hair was down and slightly frizzy from the rain outside. His leather jacket and blue jean vest rested on his broad shoulders perfectly, making your mouth water. The blue jeans were more or less the same that he had on before except for the chain that hung below his pocket and the studded belt that wrapped around his waist. 

He turned around suddenly smacking chest first into you. 

“Whoa! Sweetheart, I am so sorry.” Hearing his voice so crystal clear reverberated through your body down to you core. His cologne hit your nostrils, making you wish you could lay your head against his chest all day. 

“Hey guy! Watch where you are going!” Your husband shouts, pulling you to the side. 

“Yeah, like I said. I’m really sorry. Just trying to get some food and get to work.” Eddie’s eyes flick to your own. “I’m sorry.” Before you can respond, he quickly shuffles out the door. 

##################

“Ahhhh Y/N! Good to see you again.” Mira smiles as you cautiously enter the building. “I must say, I didn’t think you’d be coming back.”

“I, um, is Eddie here?”

Her eyes playfully squint in your direction. “He was that good huh? Yup, Eddie is here and he is available but no free rides this time. I will have to charge you.” 

You hand her some cash before she beams over at you, grabbing your hand, and guiding you down that familiar hallway. This time you open the door and walk right in. 

You let out a thankful sigh when you see him sitting in his usual chair. Tonight, he was just wearing some blue boxers as he leaned back, heavy eyes staring ahead of him at the glass. 

“You look exhausted.”

You watch as his eyes light up at the sound of your voice. “Y/N? Hey. I thought I lost you.”

“Naw. I’m not going to lie; you scared me a little bit last time.”

Eddie’s eyes flashed concern. “Did I come on to strong?”

“No but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m attracted to you.”

He smiles as he stands up, walking towards the glass. “It’s probably even weirder for me to say I’m attracted to you to.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I’d like to.” He eyes scan the lower part of the glass where he assumes you are. “I’ve been thinking about your voice all week. Imagining the lips that voice belongs to.” His grin widens when he hears a pleasurable sigh leave you. “What made you come back to me, Princess?”

“I saw you today. Outside.”

Eddie looks up towards the ceiling, trying to remember everywhere he had been that day. “Where?”

“I can’t tell you. You were very close to me though. You looked really handsome even with your frizzy, wet hair.” You giggle at him and he can’t help but bite his bottom lip at the sound. “It was kind of odd hearing your voice outside of here. You being so close that I could smell you.”

He sauntered closer till he was almost pressed up against the glass in front of him. “And how did that make you feel?”

You tapped the barrier between you and he glanced in that direction getting down on his knees. He couldn’t see it but he was almost face to face with you. You knock on it again causing him to smile as he knocks back.

“Tell me, baby. Please. I want to hear it.”

“Your voice sounded so beautiful. I felt my panties get wet listening to you.”

Eddie licked his lips as he swallowed down a moan. His palm came down to graze the growing tent in his boxers. “Is this ok?”, he whispers.

“Yeah, it’s ok.”

“Are, are you wet right now?”

You could have faked it. You could have told him you were without checking but it felt wrong in some way. EVERYTHING about this was wrong but you didn’t care at that moment. 

Reaching your fingers into your pants and past the waistband of your panties, you dip your fingers between your folds against your clit. 

“I am really fucking wet.” You both chuckle. 

Eddie pulls his cock out, spitting on his hand before stroking it onto himself. You groan at the sight of him, pressing your forehead against the wall as you watch him. You start rubbing fast circles into your swollen nub. 

His palm presses into the glass as he throws his head back in ecstasy. “Fuck. I wish I could see you.”

Opening your legs a bit wider, you push two fingers into your entrance. Eddie whimpers when he hears you moan. “Jesus, please tell me what you’re doing over there.”

“I’m fingering myself.”

“Mmmm. How many fingers?” He moans when you answer him, pumping his cock faster with his fist. “Is that all you can fit? Fuck. Just imagining my dick in that tight pussy. You whispering filthy words to me with that beautiful fucking voice.”

“Eddie.” Your hand slams up towards the window, meeting his own as you thrust you fingers into you aggressively. 

“That’s right, baby. Make yourself cum. Fuck I bet you look so fucking gorgeous right now.” 

His name continues to fall from your lips as the coil snaps and you feel yourself tighten around your fingers. You look up at him just in time to see his body shiver before ropes of his seed come out of his cock onto the floor in front of him. 

Eddie lifts his head and for a moment you think he can actually see you. You’re not sure if it’s something in his eyes or the endorphins coursing through your body but you reach over with your right hand flicking the switch on the cube. 

He blinks for a second, letting his eyes adjust before his gorgeous chocolate eyes land on yours. You see the recognition cross through his mind, remembering how he accidently ran into you today. 

Suddenly the lights in the room flash twice signaling the end of your hour. Mira’s voice drifts through an intercom above your head. 

“Alright, mama. Time is up. Eddie, I’m giving you one more client in 30minutes so be ready.”

You back away from the glass, looking away as you reach for your things. 

“Wait! No, no, no. Don’t leave.” He stands up quickly, pleading with his face. 

“I have to. I—”

The door abruptly opens as Mira gestures towards you. “Come on, Honey. I’d offer another hour but someone else came in.”

Eddie smacks the barrier with his hand. “Fuck off, Mira! Can’t you give them to someone else?”

“Oh, someone is feisty tonight.” She gives him a look before lightly pushing you out the door. You can hear the string of expletives leaving his mouth as you exit and head down the hallway. “Alright, baby. Come back again, ok?”

Once you’re outside, you finally allow yourself to breathe. You lean your back against the building as the tears start to flow. I’m so stupid. This is wrong and even if it wasn’t… What did I think was going to happen?

“Y/N!” Your head shoots up to see shirtless Eddie with jeans and untied boots running down the alleyway. You turn to leave but he’s quicker as he appears in front of you. “Wait. Please!” He places his hands on his waist as he pants. “Fuck, I really need to quit smoking.”

Your exasperated giggle makes him smile. “Your husband was the asshole who scolded me?” 

You sigh as you nod. “I’m sorry.” A shaky sigh leaves his own mouth at the sound of your voice outside of the room. “He can be a bit uptight.”

“I, uh, hope I didn’t come off like a jerk or anything. When I saw you in there…I just… you’re so beautiful.” 

You reach your fingers towards him, caressing his cheek. “This isn’t right. I should go home.”

“To be alone?”

Eddie’s arms fly forward, pulling you to him as his lips crash to yours. Your other hand comes up to his face, holding him to you. The taste of him was better than you imagined. 

“Eddie Munson!” Mira’s voice carries down the alley. Your mouth chases his as he pulls away. “I swear to God, if you don’t get back in there I will fire you!”

“I’m coming! Give me a god damn second!” 

Your hands glide down his chest as he turns his attention back to you. “You should get back in there.”

“Can I see you again?”

“Eddie, I don’t know…”

“Look, no pressure.” He reaches into his jeans and pulls out a small yellow flyer, handing it to you. “My band is playing here on Wednesday. You can come, hang out, listen to us play, and then after we can talk.”

His lips find yours again before receiving an answer. As he pulls away, his thumb traces your lips as he smiles. “It feels so good just to be able to touch you.” With that he turns on his heels, running back towards the front of the building. 

[creativepawsworld]

Silence - Chapter 55

Pairing = Thomas Shelby x OC

Summary = Tommy and Ana's baby is born with the help of Polly and Esme. Will Tommy return to witness the birth?

Warnings = Language...Grammar...Child Birth... Breast Feeding...Bad words...Blood mentioned...FLUFF...Cuteness

Word Count = 1,671

Note = I was supposed to update over the weekend but any in the UK or Ireland will know we were hit with a storm and for me a pretty scary one. I never saw one like that before. Even were put on a tornado watch like what? In northern Ireland didn't even know we got them. Anyway, fluffy and light chapter for you all. I hope you enjoy💙

Holding my baby girl for the first time was surreal. Words couldn’t describe it. Polly had placed this tiny, little person on my chest. A person I was now responsible for. She has a perfect head of black hair and the brightest blue eyes I have ever seen. The same eyes as Tommy’s if not brighter.

I felt a tear sliding down my cheek as I held her, the pain I once felt – was gone. Replaced with nothing but hope and overwhelming love for this little life in my arms. I didn’t think it was possible to fall in love so quickly. But here I was.

“Hi my baby” I whispered stroking my daughter's little cheek. Her tiny mouth was opening and closing as if she was searching for something. Her little pink tongue darted out as if she had no control over it. It was the cutest thing I had ever seen.

“She wants some food Mama” Esme peered over my legs as she and Polly did whatever they could until the doctor arrived. The two of them cleaned me up as best they could with warm water and towels.

“What do I do?” I asked them cluelessly. I had seen Esme do it with her son when he was born but I didn’t know if there was some kind of technique or special way of doing it.

“Here let me show you” Esme came over moving my daughter slightly so she could lower my dress to expose my breasts. “Now we move her down here, putting her mouth near your nipple and if she is a good girl, she will latch” Esme smiled peering down at her niece, her smile growing at the sight.

“And if she doesn’t?” I asked nervously.

“Then we keep trying dear, don’t worry she will latch if she is hungry enough” Polly grinned stepping up and walking towards me to see her great niece. “She is beautiful..” She muttered as she watched her little mouth trying to find a food source.

“She’s not latching” I look up at the two more experienced women with an uncertain glance. Was I doing something wrong? Why wasn’t she latching? I couldn’t understand. Was I missing a trick to this?

“She can sense your worry, relax…breathe” Esme inhaled deeply with me before letting it out. “God she is Tommy’s double look at those eyes”

“She certainly is. Where is he?” Polly asked looking around at Esme. Pieces started to fall around her and into place when she realised he wasn’t there when she walked past the Shelby brothers on her way in.

“I have no idea. I left the races with you. Waited for him at the betting shop as we arranged, but only Arthur and John returned with a few men.” I explained looking up at Polly concerned. “They sent Scudboat and a few others out to find him, haven’t they returned?”

“Esme go check” Polly ordered, forcing a smile on her face. I knew it was so she didn’t worry me but I couldn’t help it. I felt my heart rate quicken while giving birth I was so focused on delivering my baby I didn’t factor in Tommy. As much as I loved him he was the furthest thing from my mind.

Until now.

“Why didn’t he return? Do you think something went wrong? You don’t think he’s dead do you?” I asked in a panic. I could feel my heart beating wildly in my chest, I wanted to try and move but was only too aware of the small life in my hands. He should be here. He had to be here. He should meet his daughter.

“Ana, Ana, breathe. It’s Tommy we are talking about” Polly tried to soothe, swiping away some loose hair from my face. “Focus on this little girl in your arms, he will be home soon. You wait and see. Now look, look” She smiled pointing down to my daughter.

During my worry and concern for Tommy, she had latched herself to my breast, guzzling down the milk as fast as her little mouth could take it. It was a truly mesmerising sight to behold.

“Where is she?” I heard a voice, a male voice. His voice. I didn’t have to wait long when I heard the heavy, thundering footsteps of his boots storming up the stairs towards his former bedroom, busting through the door.

The smile dropped from my face as I noticed his dishevelled look. The muddy stains all over his clothes. He was bleeding from the forehead, dirt covered his face as he approached the bed slowly.

“They're here?” He asked so quietly. It was like he believed they would disappear and spook them away if he spoke too loud.

“She is” I nodded with a small smile, my eyes still fixed on the blood on his head. “What happened to you?”

“Not important right now” Tommy shook his head, Polly had slipped from the room leaving the three of us alone together. “Look at that hair, did you say she?”

“Yes, it's a girl Tommy and she’s so small” I gushed dropping the conversation about his whereabouts almost instantly. Our daughter was here. We now had our family. We were parents. That's all that mattered.

"A girl…"Tommy whispered looking down at the baby in my arms, she was truly, tiny in comparison to us. “And she’s eating alright?” He asked sitting down next to me on the bed. Looking down at his daughter with a smile.

“Just latched before you came in” I nodded looking down at her once more. “It feels so weird, I…I can’t describe it” I tried to explain but words failed me. I didn’t know how to say what I wanted or how I felt as I wasn’t sure what it was, not completely.

“Has the doctor been yet?” Tommy asked, his index finger slowly coming over to touch her hand.

“Ah you wash those hands first Mr Shelby” I warned, with a hint of amusement but I was deadly serious. Thankfully Tommy just chuckled, leaving the room for a brief second to clean up.

Tommy returned to the bedroom moments later, he had gotten rid of his coat and jacket, and his shirt sleeves were now pushed up to his elbows. The dirt and blood that was around his face was gone, he had certainly cleaned himself up.

Retaking his position next to me on the bed, our daughter had stopped eating. Her blue eyes looked around her new surroundings as milk dripped down her chin and into her neck.

I lifted her slowly, careful of her fragile neck. She was still naked, apart from a small blanket. I hoped Polly or Esme would return with an outfit for her soon. I placed her carefully on my shoulder rubbing her back in case she had any wind.

Tommy reached out slowly caressing her back, an almost angelic look upon his face. It was the only way I could describe it. Once I felt she had brought up enough wind I smiled at Tommy.

“Do you want to hold her?” I asked softly taking her gently from my shoulder. Tommy at first seemed to be taken by surprise, his eyes widened and he looked unsure. Almost frightened.

Once he collected his thoughts and emotions, he held out his hands taking our little girl into his hands. She looked so tiny compared to his bulkier but muscular frame. In comparison to his hands, I felt like he could hold her with one. But if I ever saw him even attempt such a thing, I’d kill him.

Just as I handed her off to her father, the doctor knocked on the door quickly entering the room.

“Miss Alder, I’m Doctor Figure. You just had a baby yes?” Doctor Figure asked with a small as he looked at the newborn in Tommy’s hands. “May I, may I check the baby, Mr Shelby?”

Tommy instantly nodded handing her off to the doctor, standing next to him as he checked over his daughter. Doctor Figure rested her back on the bed as he went through all his checks. Checking her heartbeat, her movements, her vision, everything. Tommy watched him like a hawk, making sure he didn’t hurt her in any way. He was already so protective.

“Is she eating?” Doctor Figure asked trying to ignore the looming presence that was Thomas Shelby but I could tell he was struggling. A bead of sweat lingered on his right temple, next to his eyebrow.

“Yes, she has. I believe a good amount as well” I nodded covering my breasts that I had forgotten to cover after she finished eating.

“I’m happy with her, I’ll just check over yourself Miss Alder and allow you to get back to this celebration” Doctor Figure smiled giving the baby back to Tommy.

“Take her down to meet her uncles, I bet they can’t wait to meet her” I smiled at Tommy as I got comfortable on the bed. It was only now that my worry and fear for his safety and the unexpected birth of my daughter had started to settle, did I realise, I was exhausted.

“Are you sure?” Tommy asked eyeing the doctor once more.

“I’m sure Tommy, go introduce her and when I’m done here we can discuss some names for her. Maybe. If you wanted…” I trail off, biting my lip slightly waiting for his response.

“Absolutely” Tommy nodded, taking our daughter from the room to go and meet the rest of the family.

This was going to be a new start for us. Campbell was dead. We no longer had his threat looming over us. Yes, we still had the Italians to contend with but nothing more had come from it for months. I was starting to fall into a false sense of security but I couldn’t help it.

I had my own family now. I wanted to believe this was it. My happiness was finally starting.

Taglist

@shelbyteller @seleneshelby @forgottenpeakywriter @babayaga67 @sweetmilkshakeluminary @slutforcoffein @sydneyyyya @happysparklingshadows @margew76   @midnightmagpiemama  @pierre-gasssllyy  @duckybird101 @muhahaha303 @thenattitude  @dolllol2405

Anyone wanting on or off the tag list please just let me know💙

[theharrowing]

An Ghealach

Field Linguist Jimin Park travels to a remote island called An Ghealach off the coast of Ireland to research and document an endangered language, just in time for the community’s Beltane festivities. What he encounters is both horrifying and mesmerizing beyond his wildest dreams.

🌑 Jimin x Female Reader 🌒 word count: 9k 🌓 speculative horror, gore, major character death, dub con, smut, nsfw, 21+ 🌔 warnings: 🕊 dead dove! creepy folk horror themes (shapeshifting, human sacrifice), unable to tell dreams from reality, gore (mention of entrails, mention of bleeding someone dry, cutting palm and drinking/smearing blood), dubious consent (use of magic to put into a trance & coerce), angst, infidelity (mention of an engagement), smut (voyeurism & exhibitionism, oral & vaginal sex, a bit of ass eating, rough sex, holding of throat, blood licking, a little biting, forest sex, a need to be cum inside of), nickname "pet", major character cloning & off-screen death. 🌕 note: hello, and welcome to my fun little Beltane horror fic! appearance of reader in this fic shifts, and is therefore described. sometimes she has pale skin, other times dark, purposefully left vague aside from hair and occasionally eye detail. this story is a bit rushed because of yoongi concert week and final exams happening in the same month; i had a lot of ideas, but the time just kept creeping up and up and up, and here we are, at the end of May!

🌖 i also made a lot of shit up in terms of the magic, left a lot of shit vague, and did not worry much about whether things make any sense, so...go into this with a grain of salt; this is not meant to reflect any real Beltane rites or rituals, even if certain things (like the maypole) sound familiar. it is also not meant to depict a real place or a real dialect of a language. the Gaelic words are meant to feel wrong and strange because this place is wrong and strange. (a friend of mine who is Irish & a linguist helped me with the words; i promise you, the intent is to feel wrong.) enjoy!

🌗 mc goes by the name Rí; Jimin's pov appears in italic paragraphs

🌘 written for A Spring Offering Collab! check out the other works! 🌑 beta read by @neoneunnajimin 🌒posted may. 2023 | read on ao3

Cross his heart, hope to die Hang his entrails, bleed him dry

He is Here. He is here. Heard, have you? He is here.

The women of the island chirp and coo at one another, heads tilted inward, as if sharing a profound secret. Their voices are low but lilted with excitement, and the language in which they whisper is old – nearly extinct. 

Your footfalls crunch through grass that has hardly seen rain – unseasonably dry, despite the air holding onto a thick, shrouding dampness. Soon, the sun will stay risen for more than eight hours, and, if this summer is bountiful, the clouds will open up and shower your island with abundance. 

Seen the man, have you? They whisper, unused to men from outside the confines of the island; unused to skin darker than porcelain. No outsider has stepped foot permanently on this land since your father had, all those years ago; only mysterious strangers who last as long as the holiday allows. 

Strange, his name is. They whisper. And the sun, his skin shines with deep hints of its rays. 

"Girls," you call in a tongue that whisps through your lips, wind fluttering between delicate petals, ancient. "Our manners, let us not forget."

"Our manners, Rí," the women respond in a chorus, pulling their expressions straight, only to begin giggling the moment they think you are no longer listening. 

Bright orange hair falls in tight curls to your shoulders, which are exposed to the sunlight. You wear a white long-sleeve chemise that rests mid-bicep and is tied loosely in the front over perky cleavage. Your emerald green bodice sits under-breast and opens to a long emerald skirt that falls to your bare feet over a hoop skirt made of layers of cloth. 

Your girls are dressed much more simply in white chemise dresses and underpants. Some wear modest green or burgundy bodice dresses, and some wear plain white or black cloth shoes. 

The propellers on the white aquatic plane whirr as you approach, and you hear two male voices speaking loudly over its engine. One man, dressed head-to-toe in a white pilot uniform, docks with the help of four of your women, and he exits the small aircraft. 

After a pause, another man appears wearing a tan blazer over a white tee that is tucked into fitted blue jeans, with a black leather belt and black boots. Around his neck, a white kerchief is tied, and his hair is coiffed delicately off his forehead, casting a beautiful wave of silvery-blond that hardly blows in the winds coming from the sea. He looks as if he is dressed for a weekend getaway to somewhere far more exotic than here, and you find it absolutely adorable. He is more petit than you anticipated – average height and slender – but what stands out the most is the man's face. 

Even from this distance, the man is breathtaking. His full lips pout as he straightens himself out, and he seems surprised and apologetic when the girls begin to assist with his things, pulling suitcases from the plane. 

At his shocked expression and attempts to communicate with precious creatures who do not speak a common tongue, you make your way forward, holding your many skirts in hand so your feet do not trip. As soon as you approach and begin to shout to the girls to be careful, the man's eyes lift, lips part, and you watch the moment he notices you, deeply breathing in and holding it while you speak. 

"Girls, girls," you call in the ancient tongue, "handle gently."

As his things are brought to the pier, the man begins to organize them. Everything is on wheels, and he must deem a certain suitcase more important than the others, taking it by its extending handle and dragging it to dry land first. There is a short set of steps between the path and the pier, and you walk down and reach a hand out to offer help. 

"Thank you," the man mutters, seemingly uncertain whether you are one of the many who do not speak English. 

"You must be Jimin Park," you say, reaching for the handle and watching as recognition and relief paint his pretty features. 

Up close, Jimin is a thing out of fairytales. Wide, dark eyes glance curiously at the landscape, and each curve of his face is soft and delicate, despite his profile being sharp lines. An anomaly of beauty, carved with careful hands. 

Jimin guesses at your name and you nod, flashing a sweet, welcoming smile – you had been the one corresponding with him before his arrival. He must relax, because as you begin to tug for his suitcase to lift it up the three short wooden steps, his hold loosens, and he eventually allows you to take it, only letting his gaze linger a moment before he turns to grab more of his things. 

You help him with his belongings – four black cases in total – and each of you take two to wheel down the dirt path past the open field, along the edge of the woods that peeks out into the village, to the inn that sits ahead, to the left. Although your home is in the woods, you have prepared a room in the inn, sharing a wall with Jimin.

The village is quaint. There are a few homes at the far end of the walk, along a stretch of foothills. A town hall rests between the homes and the inn, and there is a small store room holding onto all imported wares, farmed goods, and hunted items. To the right is all forest until the cliffs open up to the vast ocean, and on the other side of the wood, village elders live out their days, never minding what you and girls do on this side, so long as their bellies stay full and hearths stay ablaze. 

"Have you lived here your entire life?" Jimin asks slowly, annunciating each word with precision. There is a hint of his own accent giving the English a very pretty lilt. 

"Nearly," you respond, eyes slowly wandering from the inn, sweeping the small hints of village that come into view, landing on the forest. "My parents arrived when I was little, but my mother was born here. The island is in my blood."

"And you are the only person here who speaks English?" Jimin asks, voice a bit shaky and hesitant.

As you turn to gauge his expression, you find hints of anxiety. You wonder if Jimin is not the kind of person who likes to seek the help of others; if, perhaps, you will have to be assertive in offering assistance with everything he may need. 

"I am," you respond with a smile, "which means you and I are going to become quite well acquainted, Jimin Park."

Over dinner on the first night, Jimin opens up about growing up in South Korea and attending university both at home, and in the United States. As girls come to fill your plates with more cured meats, he notices that they call you Rí. 

Jimin is an inquisitive fellow, whose pretty dark eyes are wide and curious – and somewhat glossy after two cups of honey wine – and you smile with feigned shyness, nodding your head demurely when he asks you about the nickname. 

"It means king," you tell him with a grin.

"Ah," Jimin responds with a growing smile of his own. "So are you their king?"

With a chuckle, you shrug and say, "I suppose I am. We have elders but they live on another part of the island. I'm the one who takes care of the girls."

"And the hunting and farming?" Jimin asks. 

"Much of our bounty is from the autumn equinox," you admit shyly, vaguely. "We had an abundant winter."

"Wow," Jimin responds curiously. "Good weather last year?"

It was luck that two cops came snooping around the island just before Samhain; their blood was the perfect offering to the old gods. With their entrails strung up, dangling from the trees, and slowly drip-draining into the grass below, the skies shined favorably through the cold season, and wild animals practically skittered and galloped happily into your traps. 

"Yes," you respond simply, smiling fondly at the memory of the two transmuted squirrels who were sent home in the men's stead with nothing to report on but normal goings-on, on the island. 

Magic of that caliber works best on the holidays, when the passages are open and the power from the other side covers your island like a rich fog, sparking it to life with intrinsic energy. A shame you used that power to create two men of the law, but the last thing your little homestead needs is more blue-capped guards snooping around for their missing men. 

With the perfect specimen for this year's festival sitting beside you, your excitement shimmers, vibrating under your skin and making the air around you feel charged. You had hoped that, being as young as he is, you would be sent someone without a spouse, making it easier to fall under your spell – buying you a little time before having to clone the poor guy and send him back. 

A shame that this season's sacrifice not only comes with a gold engagement band around his finger, but is so dreadfully pretty that you almost lament the thought of watching the light drain from his eyes. 

But the land is hungry, and feed, she must.

“Cross his heart, hope to die. Hang his entrails…will he have pretty entrails, do you think?” you sing-song, lifting a handsome red squirrel in both hands, holding it eye-level to inspect. It had come to your window at the stroke of midnight, cheery and pliant. 

An offering from the land. 

A host. 

“What a shame I can’t just keep him for myself,” you muse, considering the fact that you were able to transmute two men before. “Perhaps I will have to make a second clone, this time. Can you bring me a friend?”

The sound of thumping is what wakes Jimin up. At first, he thinks it may be a tree branch tap, tap, tapping against the window. But as sleep falls away to wakefulness, he realizes the sound must be coming from the other side of the wall. 

Your wall.

Falling asleep was difficult, in the first place. Something about the island, and especially the inn, feels incredibly ominous, like there is a presence looming just out of the peripheral, never fully seen. And the scent that you carry – spiced cloves and fresh bouquet of wildflowers – lingered in the air, filling his head with thoughts of you. 

Now, as he blinks through the darkness, he wonders if he had slept a wink, at all. 

Jimin rolls over, attempting to ignore the sounds in favor of getting more sleep, noticing in his brief moment of wakefulness that it is still pitch black outside. But then he hears it…humming…low and inviting, causing all the little hairs on his arms to stand at attention. 

Somewhat mindlessly, Jimin pushes the thick quilted blanket away and climbs out of bed, heavy-lidded and barely aware of his surroundings in the mostly-empty room. Golden lantern light glows in through the window, allowing him to see ahead of him just enough to make a clear path toward the sound.

In his dreamy haze, Jimin imagines voices whispering – beckoning him forward. Come to me, they say, tangling and slipping over one another, mostly incomprehensible flits of lips, teeth, and tongue, spoken too softly to truly be fully heard. 

Jimin places his hands against the wall, presses his ear against the wood, and listens. The humming continues, muffled delicately by the layers that separate it from him. Is it Rí, he wonders.

As he continues to listen, his eyelids flutter closed. The thumping sound is rhythmic and soft, and the humming has shifted into something more sensual. Moaning, perhaps? Whimpering, even? He feels entranced by it and presses harder against the wall, feeling the cool wood against his cheek gradually heat, until his breath huffs out sticky-warm against it.

Come to me, Jimin, he is certain he hears in a voice that can only be yours. Don't be shy.

He feels drunk and loose-limbed, rubbery and pliant, and he sways his hips to the inviting song, dragging his blunt fingernails over the wall. The humming – the moaning – it intensifies, drawing his breath ragged, forcing small sounds of his own to come falling past his lips. His body feels electric – charged with a current that runs ultraviolet through his bloodstream, desperate for more, picking up hints of spiced clove and musky floral notes.

With a crescendo of whimpers, the thumping quickens and abruptly ends, and Jimin gasps, waking from his stupor, stumbling listlessly from the wall and wiping drool from his face. His head feels hazy as he blinks and turns, taking in the dark room and wondering what kind of dream he was just having. 

In the quietude of the night, he stands still and listens. Had he imagined hearing something before? Was it all a dream? Only the scent of the trees below his cracked-open window fills the space, but he inhales deeply in search of something more. 

Silence settles, heavy but somehow light, and he sighs, runs a hand through his damp silver-blond hair, and returns to the bed, trying his best to ignore the ache in his pants – hard and neglected. 

"Not tonight," he whispers, scolding himself. Not over the thought of you. Not when he has someone waiting for him back home. 

"Sleep well?" you ask at the sight of Jimin exiting the inn. 

He wears a black tee tucked into black fitted jeans, with his black belt and shiny black leather boots, and you smile to yourself, both over the simplicity of it all, and from how much he stands out in a place like this. 

Although denim is not frowned upon in the village, and is worn often by the elders on the other side of the island, the girls love to dress up in renaissance-reminiscent clothing and make believe that every day is a fairytale. After all, on An Ghealach, it can be. 

You are modestly outfitted in a white chemise dress that is cinched at the waist, with an undershirt to hold your breasts in place, and simple cloth white shoes. Your straight, black hair falls waist-length, braided intricately away from your face, letting the sun hit your deep-golden skin. 

"I slept alright," he responds, voice rough from disuse. 

Jimin smiles softly, and you check for any glimmer that he has noticed the shifting of your appearance, of the outside of the inn, of the stone path that stretches around the forest edge. When Jimin smiles and asks if there is anything he can do to help set up for Beltane, seemingly unaware, you nod and lead the way. 

"All there is to do today is prepare the land, which the girls have under control," you inform. "We can discuss phonemes in the meantime, if you have your equipment handy.”

With a wide smile, Jimin pulls a small recording device and notebook from his back pocket and holds them up. "Always prepared."

You chuckle and mutter, "Perfect," continuing along the path to the field where the girls are cutting the grass with old, metal devices on wheels, and gathering all the prettiest weeds and wildflowers to fashion into crowns.

Jimin makes good company, curious and open-minded without asking too much. You can see in the way he watches the girls that there is so much he would like to know – can read each question that flits over his eyes, only to be blinked away. Where did they come from? Why do none of them speak English? Where are the men? These are questions that just hang for brief seconds at the tip of his tongue but that he never works up the courage to ask.

Perhaps he knows it is best not to know. Perhaps some part of him is aware of the horrors that might lurk behind the corner of posing one question too many. 

The two of you spend the day discussing vowels, consonants, and syntax. His grasp on modern dialects of Irish Gaelic is enough that he instantly begins to draw similarities between those and the older language spoken on the island.

And as the sun moves from burning hot overhead to sinking beneath the horizon, moving your studies into the inn's tavern, you find yourself scooting close on the bench while offering more honey wine to your eager, beautiful guest. 

Jimin has never sleepwalked before. In fact, he tends to lay so still that often, his neck and limbs are sore the next morning, popping as he stretches in an attempt to get the blood flowing adequately. 

So when he opens his eyes to find himself standing barefoot in the woods, hands outstretched toward the trunk of a tree, he yelps and jumps backward, nearly fumbling to his butt. 

“What the fuck,” Jimin mutters to himself as he glances around, eyes becoming more alert. 

The woods are nearly pitch dark, save for the bright glow of the waxing gibbous moon shining through the trees. What luck, he thinks, that the clouds are scarce tonight. 

Although there is no foreseeable path, the ground appears mostly clear of thick brush. Jimin turns and makes his way out, careful not to step too hard, gently shuffling his bare feet outward with each step, avoiding sticks and rocks as best as he can. 

Fear simmers just below Jimin’s skin. He attempts not to spiral, telling himself that he could not have possibly walked far. His blue flannel pajamas are warm, but thin enough that the chilly night air would likely have woken him quickly. And so, onward he presses. 

A flickering yellow flame glows through trees ahead, just to the left, and Jimin lets out a deep sigh of relief as he changes course. Although he is pleased to be making his way back to civilization, his new worry is being disruptive as he walks back through the old, creaky inn. He does not want to disturb Rí, who he imagines must be asleep at this hour. 

Despite the island being mostly covered in dense forest, the night is surprisingly quiet. Eerily so. Even in the daytime, insects and rodents are lively to the point of seeming cacophonous. How is it possible for everything to be so…still?

The sound of a particularly loud stick snapping – not underfoot but ahead – has Jimin tensing and freezing with fear. He holds his breath while his shoulders raise to his ears, trying his hardest not to be detected, until smoked clove hits his senses, and—

“Jimin!” you call softly, certain that his fear has spiked nearby, radiating like heavy, bright fumes between the birch trees. 

And then you hear it, a soft, delicate voice, calling a tentative, “Rí?”  

Ah, so the pretty thing is just ahead, and your plan to at least get him into the woods has worked without a hitch. You wonder what it was that snapped him out of his trance too soon. Next time, you think to yourself. You still have one more night to get him into the passage of his own volition. 

“What are you doing out here?” you ask, feigning worry and exasperation. 

“Ah—“ Jimin begins, voice sounding somewhat closer. “I don’t know. I must have been sleepwalking.”

“Is that something you do often?” you ask, holding the lamp higher. 

Jimin’s pretty face comes into view, peeking from between a thin birch that separates you, and you smile wide and welcome, taking in the blend of fear and affection that wafts from his pores and surrounds you. 

“No,” he responds softly, eyes wide and curious. “Never.”

“Strange,” you mutter, momentarily stuck in time and space from him standing so close to someone so dreadfully beautiful. 

“Yeah,” he says soft as a whisper, blinking heavily before standing straight and rounding the tree. 

You also straighten out and take two steps backward to give him room. When Jimin appears before you, your eyes drop to his bare feet, and you frown, making a mental note for the next time. 

With skin shades darker and hair shorter than earlier, you wonder if Jimin catches onto the new appearance. But his face gives nothing away. So the spell is just as strong, even if he broke the call of the other side just before entering the passage. Interesting. 

“How did you find me out here?” Jimin asks as you turn and lead the way back to the inn, searching the shifted dirt path for a believable excuse. 

You slowly lead the way toward the inn, and Jimin quickly falls into step beside you. When you walked outside to follow your guest just moments ago, you had left doors open and lights on intentionally, and you raise a hand to point in the general direction of the building. 

“I came out of my room and your bedroom door was wide open," you say. "The front door, as well. So I grabbed a lantern and ran outside; I figured you could not have gone too far.”

“Oh,” he responds, already sounding ashamed even from one syllable. “I’m so sorry.”

With an insistent shake of your head, you say, “Not at all. I am just glad I found you.”

“What if an animal, or—“ Jimin begins, but you cut him off. 

“There is nothing on this island that we fear. Closed doors are only such to keep the cool air out where it belongs. In the temperate months, doors and windows are left wide open.”

You are the witch of the wood, after all. Nothing that lives and breathes on this isle exhibits an ounce of free will if you wish it otherwise. Which reminds you… Slowly, you will the creatures of the night to stir – a scurry here and a dance of wings there – gentle enough to keep Jimin from noticing. 

Except he does notice. You can practically feel each hair on his body stand at attention the moment a squirrel is heard clawing up a tree, and you take a step just a little too far to the right, bumping into him softly with the hope of providing a bit of a distraction. 

"S-sorry," Jimin mutters, rubbing his hands on his blue pajamas. He seems nervous. Cute. 

"Lost my balance," you respond, shaking your head with a gentle chuckle. "It is past bedtime, I am afraid."

"Sorry again for the trouble," Jimin says as you reach the inn, passing through the threshold and stopping just at the foot of the stairs. 

You turn to Jimin and give a soft, sympathetic gaze. 

"It is no trouble at all," you mutter sweetly, smile saccharine. "I'm just glad I was able to find you."

Jimin hums, nods, and says, "It won't happen again," with a light bow of his head, then makes his way up the stairs, dirt-dusted feet falling quietly on each step until he is down the hallway, past your room, and closing his door softly behind him. 

The look of wonderment on Jimin's face really is something. As you walk through the small town, past the stretch of woods in which you found him last night, he keeps turning his gaze back to the trees. Is he wondering what it is he was doing there when he woke up from sleepwalking? Is he curious what drew him to that spot? 

You watch his micro-expressions as his brows knit and he wets his lower lip with just the tip of his tongue. He had been mid-sentence before, trailing off the moment you approached the spot through which he emerged. 

Jimin's gaze drifts to you, and he seems shy suddenly, cracking a soft smile while blush rises to his cheeks. Once you pass the wooded area and come up to the opening of the field, he seems a little more present. 

"Sorry," he mutters, and you continue to study him, noticing how his shyness seems to steadily build the more you watch him. 

"Has something caught your eye?" you ask, glancing over your shoulder toward the line of trees. 

A dark mist pulsates between the slender, white and brown trunks and branches, beckoning with tendrils that billow out and evaporate – yearning for the pretty man with the soft smile. Soon, you want to tell it. Be patient. 

"Ah," Jimin mutters, scratching the back of his head with his face scrunched as if searching for a memory. "I guess I feel a little strange about sleepwalking last night. How did I end up in the woods, of all places?"

You hum in understanding and say, "The wood calls to us all, I suppose."

Without giving Jimin much time to dwell on your words, you hold out your hand and point him to where, in the center of the open field, some of the girls are setting up a maypole, and others are building a tall triangle of logs in the center of a stone circle. 

Jimin takes out his small recording device and field notebook, and you begin to describe the scene before you in a mix of English and the ancient tongue, carrying your studies through the evening and into the early night.

In the woods again. 

Jimin stares down at his hands covered in dirt and wonders how he has managed to sleepwalk two nights in a row. He stands with his shoulders slumped forward, bent slightly at the knee with an arm outstretched as if he was reaching for something before waking up. In front of him is the u-shaped opening between two thick tree trunks. Or is it the same tree? Jimin cannot quite tell – too difficult to parse in the dark – and he tucks the information away to ask Rí about later.

He would be freaked out, only the smell of the wood – rich, earthy, and damp, with the sweet, musky smell of blooming flowers – feels calming now that he is confident that he can find his way back. He takes a deep breath and resists the urge to wipe his hands on his pajama pants.

The walk back to the inn is short, and although there is no path where he is, a golden lantern glow flickering past the thin birch trunks guides him. As twigs snap underfoot, he notes that he took the time to put his sneakers on before sleepwalking, relieved to not be barefoot again.

Jimin thinks he can hear faint sounds of voices – whispering, or, perhaps, chattering. Maybe singing. The island inhabitants certainly are an interesting bunch. He supposes that being far from modern civilization and with minimal technology would make people behave a little strangely. With Rí being the exception. 

Something about you seems…different. And not just because of your appearance. There is an aura about you that feels almost otherworldly. Perhaps in the way you carry yourself. Jimin finds himself intrigued by you...he wants to know more…

"Right there," you sigh in a tongue as rich and ancient as the soil, tilting your head back to reveal more of your neck, switching to English. "Feels so good, little pet. Don't stop." 

His kisses are tentative and shaky, but he grips onto your hips with purpose, pressing his chest firmly against your back to hold you steady. Golden lantern light flickers through the curtains, one long, bright glow of a lamp that hangs just below your window, signaling that your friend is awake and that he has not entered the passage. 

The woods are calm tonight, seeing Jimin swiftly return to tilled earth without interference. It is only a matter of time before he breaks through the forest edge, and you huff impatiently. Tomorrow is your last shot; you will need to beckon him with a blood ritual. 

You reach for the ties on your chemise and begin to pull them open, but your pet takes over, raising his hands to deftly do the work while his lips and teeth drag over your neck, sending a small but steady tingle of arousal through you as the sticky-sweet huffs of breath warm your skin. With the top undone, his hands freeze in place, and you yank the fabric open, exposing your breasts as they fall past the thin white material. 

"Touch me," you sigh, needy. "Touch me the way he desires to."

On your command, his hands cup your breasts eagerly, fondling your nipples until the skin is pebbled and sensitive, making you hiss with pleasure. Your dress falls down one shoulder and he sinks his teeth gently into the skin, sending a flow of electricity through your body, exiting in the form of a moan. 

You tremble and tilt your head further to the side, giving his mouth more room to explore while his hands fall lower, attempting to gently lift the cotton layers of skirt and farthingale hoops before impatiently taking handfuls of the garments and shoving them up, over your hips.

Clear of the woods, Jimin moseys along the path, in no rush to return to his room, enjoying the crisp but warm night air. Something about tonight feels ominous, and he tips his head toward the sky, noticing a bright moon shining back. Is it full, he wonders. It must be, given the way it glows past the thin sheets of cloud, illuminating his path even more so than the lantern light that hangs from the inn. 

As he approaches the inn, Jimin glances up, noticing light coming from one of the windows on the second floor. He wonders if it is the room you stay in, and what you might be doing awake at this hour.

Gravel and dirt crunch underfoot, quiet and calming as he walks down the path. Shadows seem to dance over the window above, and Jimin finds himself gazing upward. Briefly, he thinks he sees the appearance of palms pressing into the window, halting his steps. But the glass is frosted, and he cannot clearly see through. 

Shame travels up Jimin's neck as he gets his bearings, realizing he had been trying to peer through someone's window. He shakes his head and takes in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool night air as he presses forward. 

Voices continue to chatter and sing, but Jimin does not see where they are coming from. Rather, the sounds seem to be lifting and floating with the wind, settling around him on all sides only to slip away into the night. Despite feeling fully awake mere moments ago, shivering against a chilly gust that blows his hair into his eyes, there is a heavy sense of drowsiness that begins to tug at him, pulling him forward, as if willing his feet to take each new step, craving his bed. 

The man behind you grips your hips tightly, then sinks to his knees, sliding his hands down to your ass as he lowers. He grabs firmly and spreads you, causing you to fumble forward and place both hands against the glass. Below, Jimin glances upward, attention caught by the movement. You wonder what he would think if he saw you like this – breasts exposed and mouth parted with surprise. 

Perhaps it is the way eagerness and curiosity emit from Jimin, or how your own excitement from being touched has mewls and gasps falling from your lips, but the man digs his tongue eagerly into your ass, slurping and sucking over your hole, sending a steady wave pleasure and arousal coursing through you. 

"That's it, pet," you whimper, nails scraping down the glass as you get your bearings. "Don't stop."

The man attempts to bend you further, tongue trailing down to your cunt, in search of your clit, but bending more would be too precarious, especially with the layers of material gathered, making it tough to move. He shuffles back instead and takes you by the hips to spin you roughly, causing you to yelp as you attempt to get your bearings and not fall over. 

When you look down at the man – the imposter that was spawned from the flesh and blood of a mature red squirrel, crafted perfectly to look just like him – you gasp. 

His plump lips are slick, glistening, and soft, reddened by the dim lamplight, and his short, silver-blond hair is a mess as he stares up with an eagerness that has you burning with desire. Ordinarily, you keep the clone for a bit; play with them a little until you have to wash their memories of you and send them home. But staring down at an imitation of Jimin just makes you want him – the real deal. 

“Please,” you mutter, breathy and aroused. “Don’t hold back.”

The imposture rakes his blunt fingernails up your thighs, sending a shiver through you that escapes with a gasp, and he leans forward, eagerly lapping over your cunt with his tongue. It feels charged and galvanic – a hum that vibrates in your bloodstream on a low but steady frequency. 

As your head lolls back you hear a gentle footfall on the bottom step. 

Jimin finds it odd that your light is on at this hour. He hopes that somehow his absence from the inn has not awakened you again, and he does his best to tiptoe up to the landing. 

It is soft, but he hears what sounds like a moan coming from your room, and he freezes, foot suspended in air just before your doorway, which is cracked open two enticing inches. A sliver of golden light casts a streak against the otherwise dark hallway, and Jimin feels a pull to it, eager to have just a tiny peek.

A whimper of the words please don't stop has the hairs on his arms standing tall. 

Come to me, Jimin, he thinks he hears the voice say lowly, inside his head. Don't be shy.

Jimin wills his feet to move – exerts all the force he can muster into taking three more steps ahead. And then he stops in the light that shines from within, and he looks.

Surely, he must be dreaming. There is no other way to explain how he is standing in the doorway to your room, watching as a man who has his exact same hair and body type devours you. Your legs are spread, one ankle over his shoulder, toes outstretched as you hold him close, and your bare breasts heave as you pant softly and beg him not to stop. 

Since this must be a dream, he allows himself to watch. As your fingernails dig into the wooden edge of whatever the look-alike has you pressed against, you unravel from his mouth. His sounds are lewd and wet, slurping and humming in a low tenor that Jimin recognizes as his own, and arousal stirs between Jimin's legs. He grants himself permission to touch, just this once, gently grasping onto his erection and squeezing it over his pants. 

Since this must be a dream, he allows himself to whimper from the warmth of his palm, eyelids flitting from pleasure as he listens to the man who looks just like him eat you out. He wonders what you must taste like – wonders if you would let him crawl in there on his hands and knees and try for himself. 

The man stands, turns his head slightly to the side, and wipes his hand over his mouth, leaving a trail of slick behind. The jaw, the nose, the shape of the brow – he is a spitting image of Jimin. How Jimin is in two places at once, he does not know, but he keeps his eye on the man who undresses in a flash, displaying his own tattoos exactly where he remembers them, flexing familiar taut muscle that he has spent years building and maintaining. 

When you wrap your leg around his hip and pull him close, your eyes find Jimin, gazing over his look-alike's shoulder, and he gasps, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. You shift before his eyes, hair turning black and then orange and then blonde, and he begins to question how you are supposed to look; he cannot remember your hair, nor eyes, nor skin, but nothing he sees now feels incorrect. 

"That's it, Jimin," you moan, eyes trained on him, looking over the look-alike's shoulder, and causing his aching cock to twitch in his pants. "Don't stop."

Jimin squeezes his eyes closed tight, and when he wakes up suddenly in his bed, he gasps for air, covered in sweat. The heat from what he presumes had to be a dream covers him like a blanket, and he cannot stop himself from relieving the ache between his legs. 

Guilt and shame do nothing to stave off just how hard he cums thinking about you. 

"Just this once," he tells himself, whispered softly like a prayer. "Just this once."

Today, you have returned to the long, orange curls, with piercing green eyes. Shadow and light morph your skin tone with each passing step, as the full strength of the island's magic fills you from the crown of your head to the tips of your fingers and toes. When Whitman waxed poetic about the body electric, could this have been his meaning? Certainly not. 

Beltane begins today. 

Around the maypole, you and Jimin will dance, with a belly full of cured meats and a heady concoction of honey wine laced with blood and a generous dash of magic. But first, you must greet your sleepy guest, and you tiptoe to his bedroom door dressed only in a thin, white chemise dress with light blue embroidered hems, and rap your knuckles three times against the stained wood. 

"Just a moment," Jimin mutters from the other side, sounding sleep deprived. 

What must he have dreamt about after stumbling like a lust-sick zombie back to his bed to the sight and sound of his clone fucking you breathless? Did he come to in a cold sweat, gasping for air? Did he touch himself thinking of you?

When Jimin opens his door, he is dressed in a loose-fitting white cotton shirt hanging over matching cotton pants. Along each hem is an embroidered design of light blue rounded flourishes that match those on your dress, and on his feet are plain white shoes. You offered the clothing to him last night, to be worn for today's festivities, and you are pleased to find him outfitted in the attire. 

His silver-blond hair is somewhat disheveled, and he has a hint of bags under his pretty, deep brown eyes. As he takes in your appearance, his petal-soft lips part, and you watch as his eyes linger here and there, as if tracing the faint outline of a memory, for split, fleeting moments. 

"Good morning, sunshine," you tease, adding, "May the fires of Beltane light your path," with a gentle bow of your head. 

When you glance up once more, Jimin is still staring, curious eyes glowing with a new spark that seems entranced and somewhat foggy. Here but also not. You allow him to stare until he begins to blink and shake his head, and then he smiles softly and returns your greeting with a hint of blush darkening his cheeks. 

"Merry Beltane, Rí," he says with a slight bow to his head. "May the fires of Beltane light your path."

At the breakfast table, down in the decorated inn tavern, Jimin laments having no pockets for his recorder and field notebook. "What if there are things I want to make note of?" he pouts so cutely beside you. 

"Today is a day for celebration," you insist, dropping a generous serving of spiced honey into his tea and scraping the wooden spoon against the porcelain just enough to make Jimin stir where he sits. 

"For celebration," he responds in a tired, malleable haze.

Lust and curiosity pour from Jimin, covering him in a rich cloud. Each time you speak, his body shifts ever so slightly closer, gaze lingering on your lips and throat, flitting down to your breasts. Shameless, the way he does not seem to care that you take notice.

"My dear, did you sleep poorly last night?" you ask, trying not to tease, pretending not to notice the way his cheeks darken further and he heavy-blinks again and again.

"I had a dream I woke up in the woods again," Jimin responds, slowly reaching for his tea and raising it to his lips. His eyes flutter closed as he breathes in the sweetened chamomile and spice. "And then…you were there."

"In the woods?" you ask, tilting your head with feigned curiosity. 

Jimin shakes his head. "In the inn. Your door was cracked open and I walked by. I saw you—"

Pulled from his trance just enough to mind his tongue, Jimin cracks a soft smile and lets out a breathy chuckle. 

"My dreams have never quite been so lucid before," he continues after a quiet moment. 

You hum in response and mutter, "Perhaps the magic of the wood is calling to you."

Jimin nods, slow and shallow movements, brows knitting a hair before he concedes to the notion. "Perhaps."

Jimin certainly is an eager man. 

Eager to drink from the wineskins and learn all the steps to the harvest dance and dangle colorful ribbons from nearby trees. Eager to join the girls around the maypole and cast his wishes and fears and desires into the tall bonfire which licks at the stars above. 

At nightfall, under the glow of the full moon, you slice open the palm of your hand with a stone dagger and allow droplets of blood to fall into his cup of magic-imbued wine. Jimin sits unaware, eyes glazed over as he watches nude bodies jump over the dying fire. You lick over your wound, tasting brassy warmth, and pass him his cup, which he grabs automatically to sip from. 

"Enjoying yourself?" you ask, leaning close. 

Jimin hums in response, downs his cup, and turns to you with wide, ever-eager eyes, hair sticking out on the sides from beneath a daisy crown. 

"What have you done to me?" he mutters after a long moment, and you giggle in reply.

"What do you mean?" you ask, watching as his eyes travel to your lips and back up.

"I feel…" he begins, eyes widening as he gazes at the celebratory scene before him, then back at you again. "I don't know. High?" 

Jimin searches your features, which shift in the flickering flame light, and he shakes his head lightly. "How do I feel so high?"

"Blood ritual," you respond with a grin, noticing as Jimin's face and scent alternate between fear, acceptance, and confusion – unsure where to land. 

"Blood ritual?" he asks, tilting his head to the side like a confused puppy.

With a nod, you lift your hand and begin to stand from the wooden bench, beckoning Jimin to follow you with your index finger. Blood trickles down from your palm to your wrist, tickling the skin. 

"Your hand," Jimin mutters as he stands in a rush, stepping forward to inspect your wound. 

"Follow me," you sing-song, taking large strides into the wood as the dripping red begins to stain your sleeve. 

"Rí," Jimin mutters sadly, following dutifully with his eyes trained to your wrist, reaching out with limbs that are just slightly too slow to grasp. "you're hurt."

As your footfalls snap twigs and the world around you darkens under the cover of trees and long rainbow ribbons, you press yourself against a thick trunk and reach your uninjured hand out to grab onto Jimin's wrist and pull him close. 

"Rí," Jimin pouts, "I can't—"

With a whispered, "Shh," you reach up and smear your spilled blood over Jimin's lips and chin, pulling a surprised gasp from his lungs. 

"You're mine now," you say, and Jimin nods as he lunges forward, slotting a knee between your thighs as his hands lift to your chin to draw you close. 

Jimin's lips are pillow-soft and tangy-sweet with blood and wine mingling deliciously. He moans as you open your mouth for him, and he eagerly licks inside, tasting and taking like a man starved. 

Blood smears across his neck and into his hair as you pull him close, and he gasps and moans between your lips as his hands begin to untie your modest cloth dress and push it down past your arms, past your hips, to the forest floor. 

"Need you," Jimin growls as his fingertips press harshly into hips and, waist and he lifts one of your legs to rest over his hip. 

He shoves his pants down and in one swift movement, spears you on his hard cock, stretching you with a pleasure-pain that has you sobbing into the night. Jimin fucks you in a rough tangle of balanced limbs, skin slapping desperately against skin, and you clench around him, working yourself up as pleasure unfurls in rich tendrils through your bloodstream. 

Once he cums inside you, there will be no going back. He will belong to you – to the land – and the passage to the other side will open up and swallow him whole.

But his hips still before he reaches his orgasm, and he pulls out and drops to his knees, making you whimper in confusion before clawing at the tree for stability from pleasure the moment he tastes you. Your eager pet was good at mimicking just how greedy and talented Jimin's mouth is, but pales in comparison to the real thing. Jimin hums and moans as his tongue laps at your cunt, devouring you while his fingertips sink into your soft flesh. 

How can you sacrifice something so remarkable? Will the lands forgive you if you keep this one, just this once?

Pleasure builds and breaks suddenly, and you cum on Jimin's tongue, gasping and sobbing into the cool night air as the trees flutter and rejoice all around you. The air is effervescent, filled with power, engulfing and billowing around you, reaching its greedy fingers for your sacrifice as you ride your high, trembling on his soft, kiss-swollen lips.

When Jimin stands, covered in a pink smear of blood and your slick release, he yanks his borrowed white shirt over his head and throws it to the ground. You pull him into a kiss, sucking his tongue into your mouth until only faint traces of your essence remain.  

"Please," you whine as you spin and grip onto the tree, rubbing your ass against his throbbing cock. "Please, Jimin."

Never have you needed to be filled with the seed of a sacrifice so badly; never has the oxygen coursing through your bloodstream shimmered opalescent for someone like it does tonight.

Jimin lines himself up with your entrance and wraps one hand around your throat, sinking himself in slowly while manicured fingernails dig into your hip. The pleasure is white-hot intense, quaking through you as you tilt your hips backward, desperate to feel full.

"So tight," he groans as he pulls out and snaps his hips forward. "Been wanting you so bad."

You moan as Jimin slowly pulls out and roughly thrusts in, asking, "Yeah?" when you find that no other words are able to form.

"Feels like I'm going fucking crazy," Jimin groans, slowly pulling back and roughly snapping forward, back and forward, back and forward. "These woods…the blood…what are you doing to me?"

Before you can respond, Jimin's grip on your throat tightens, and he fucks you at a rough, quick pace, forcing air to punch from your lungs as arousal and pleasure ebb and ebb endlessly. 

You scratch at the tree, ripping away chunks of bark while you lean your head against your wrists and try not to collapse under the treacherous, horrifying weight of euphoria as Jimin thrusts hard and deep, filling the night with the sounds of skin against skin and feral, animalistic grunts. 

The hand on your hip reaches down between your legs, and as the pads of Jimin's fingers swirl deliciously over your clit, he growls, "Cum for me" into your ear. 

Your walls pulsate and squeeze, and you follow his command, building and building your pleasure until you can no longer hold back, allowing the floodgates to burst as you cum once more. 

"Fuck, that's it," Jimin moans with a drag of his lips and teeth over your shoulder and neck. "Feels so good. So fucking good. I'm so close."

"Cum inside me," you beg, desperate, squeezing around him with every last ounce of willpower you have.

As if having a sudden moment of clarity pulling him from your spell, Jimin quietly mutters, "Wait…I can't," against your shoulder, dropping his hand from around your throat. 

"You must," you beg, petulance rising as Jimin's hips begin to slow and his whimpers die. 

"What are we…" Jimin mutters softly, "I shouldn't be doing this."

With an exasperated huff, you pull away from Jimin, letting his cock slide out, then spin, resting your back against the tree once more. Jimin's eyes are wide and afraid as he takes you in, and he begins to glance around as if searching for a way out. 

You reach the hand that remains covered in blood and drag it over one of your shoulders, scraping tiny pieces of tree bark against your skin as you tilt your head and say, "Have a taste."

Drawn by the scent of your blood, still under its spell, Jimin leans in close and drags his lips over your skin, chest lightly grazing over your hard nipples, and he hums as it fully takes over his senses once more. Jimin's fingers grip roughly at your hips, and you lift your leg, wrapping it around his hips and pulling him forward as you reach for his hard, slick cock and guide it back inside you. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding him close while you adjust once more to the stretch – your pussy feeling used and sore. Jimin licks over your skin and begins to move his hips, and when he straightens out and fixes you with his dark gaze, he appears equal parts entranced with bliss, and afraid. 

Jimin's eyes are somewhat absent of their full glaze when he thrusts forward, and you watch as slivers of doubt cast over his features. Although your magic is strong, the will of a man can be difficult to break, even on a holiday such as this, when the ritual is strongest. 

But as you squeeze around him and let your scent of spiced clove and musky wildflowers fill the air, Jimin's pupils blow wide, and he leans forward, dragging his lips and teeth once more over your bloodstained skin.

As he sets a steady pace and chases his high, Jimin begins to suck and nip at your skin, huffing moans and groans while holding your ass firmly in two hands. Your body is tired and sore, back scratched, and hair matted from rough tree bark, but the pleasure overpowers, building like the clouds of an impending storm, thick and foreboding. 

Cross his heart…

"Close," Jimin whimpers, and you tighten your leg around him, keeping him from pulling out as his hips thrust and quake unevenly.

"Come for me, Jimin," you command, sinking your fingernails into his shoulder while your other hand tugs at his soft, silvery hair and holds him close. 

Hope to die…

Jimin mouths at your shoulder and neck, digging nails into your hips so hard you wonder if the skin might break. And then, with a desperate, almost pained groan, Jimin's hips still and then shake, and he fills you with his release. 

Tendrils of fog wrap around each of Jimin's limbs, dancing over his throat, as the passage opens up and begins to swallow the two of you whole. Once he is on the other side, he can be prepared for sacrifice, and in the light of the morning sun, this land can drink of his blood. 

Hang his entrails…

"Good boy," you mutter softly, as Jimin's teeth clamp down weakly, and he sobs through his orgasm, pressing his body into you as it convulses and quakes. "You've done so well."

"What—" Jimin mutters into your skin, then moans deeply as his cock continues to pulse and drain. "I can't s-s-stop."

"Shhh," you whisper softly, stroking blood-slicked silver-blond hair and pulling him close. 

Jimin shivers as the smoke dissipates, skin sweat-sheened and shining in the bright moonlight, and you run your palms up and down his back. His body begins to give out, and he leans his weight into you, dropping slowly to the ground. Around you, the voices of the others – the inhabitants of this side – whisper, sing, and chant. As you assist Jimin to lay on the forest floor, exhausted from his journey to the other side, you kneel and then drape yourself over his chest, playing softly with his hair as you fall fast asleep. 

Bleed him dry…

Dawn breaks as you stand tippy-toe, dangling dripping tissue and sinew from branch to low branch like a holiday garland. 

"Pretty entrails, indeed," you beam as you take a step back, covered in dripping blood, to admire your work. 

"Merry Beltane, Rí," Jimin's rich tenor greets you, just before two strong, warm arms wrap around your bare waist and pull you into a back-hug, skin against skin.

"Merry Beltane, pretty," you respond, turning your head to the side just enough to greet him with a soft, chaste kiss. 

Upstairs, in the inn, a copy of the man sleeps soundly. Today is his last day on the island before his research is concluded, and you pull your nude, love-struck Jimin past the edge of the forest, where you will leave him with one last kiss before shifting the wood to appear normal and free of bloodied guts. 

You bow your head to the land and thank it for the bountiful summer you will undoubtedly receive, then turn your head to the rising sun, and beg it with eyes closed to allow you to be greedy and keep a pet, just this once. At least until the long days shift to long nights, and, on the precipice of Lughnasadh or Samhain, a new eager stranger comes along. 

comments & reblogs are the lifeblood of this site! and likes are nice, too! thank you so much for reading!!!

tags: no tag list for dead dove oneshots.

An Ghealach is copyright 2023 theharrowing, all rights reserved.

[napoleonic-sexyman-tournament]

Jumping on the pro-Castlereagh propaganda bandwagon from earlier (apologies for the long post but gotta help my boy out): 

There are far too many contemporaries talking about how good-looking he was. Even his detractors agree he was pretty but here are some of my fave quotes: 

Mrs. Arbuthnot: “He was above six feet high and had a remarkably fine commanding figure, very fine dark eyes, rather a high nose and a mouth whose smile was sweeter than it is possible to describe. It was impossible to look at him & see the benevolent and amiable expression of his countenance without a disposition to like him, and over his whole person was spread an air or dignity & nobleness such as I have never seen in any other person… He was excessively agreeable, a great favourite amongst women & used occasionally to excite Ly Londonderry’s jealousy; but he was the kindest and most affectionate of husbands”

Lady Bughersh: “You never saw such a beauty as Lord Castlereagh has become. He is as brown as a berry, with a fine bronzed colour, and wears a fur cap with gold, and is really quite charming. There never was anybody so looked up to as he is here.”

John Wilson Croker: “Londonderry goes on as usual, and to continue my similes, like Mont Blanc continues to gather all the sunshine upon his icy head…. It is a splendid summit of bright and polished frost which, like the travellers in Switzerland, we all admire.”

During a state visit to Ireland, the unpopular Castlereagh joked the crowds cheered for him solely due to his personal beauty

I kid you not but he was the hottest person at George IV’s coronation! How attractive must you be to accidentally outshine the monarch at their own goddamn coronation with many other sexymen present - if you don’t believe me: 

Mrs. Arbuthnot: “his dress was beautiful, his hat bound round with the most splendid diamonds & he looked handsomer than I ever saw him; the people echoed his name from one to the other the whole length of the platform & received him with repeated cheers. It was unanimously voted that he was the handsomest man in the procession” 

Walter Scott: “If you ask me to distinguish who bore him best, and appeared most to sustain the character we annex to the assistants in such a solemnity, I have no hesitation to name Lord Londonderry, who, in the magnificent robes of the Garter… and by his fine face and majestic person formed an adequate representative of the order of Edward III, the costume of which was worn by his Lordship deserving the baton, which was never grasped by so worthy a hand.”

Apparently multiple folks commented he looked so regal in his Garter robes that one might mistake him for the sovereign

Also as reference - this is what he looked like on the day of the coronation (can you believe this man was 52??)

Was also hella competent - he was known for his work ethic and attention to detail but he literally helped establish the idea of the European balance of power (aka the thing that prevented conflict on the scale of the Napoleonic Wars from occurring for the next 100 years) 

Just some fun anecdotes: 

According to the Austrian police reports, while in Vienna he and his wife went to every shop, asked to be shown every item in the shop… and bought absolutely nothing

He fought a duel in 1809 because George Canning tried to kick him out of Cabinet and half of their colleagues (incl. Castlereagh’s own uncle) kept Canning’s insistent demands/threats a secret from Castlereagh for ~6 months. His opponent never had shot a pistol prior to this (his second had to help load the gun as he didn’t trust the guy to do it correctly) while Castlereagh was known as a good shot. Add in the fact that 3 Wellesleys were tangentially involved - this entire event was bonkers

After an author read aloud some of her novel to him, he was so impressed that he arranged a meeting with the publisher in his own study. The author recalls how Castlereagh was standing there while she signed the new agreement with the publisher 

He had a strange hobby - Castlereagh said he has "not thought of anything of late but of sheep farming” and his wife joked that he “shall soon bleat and be covered with wool.’’ He even won an award for his wool!

Despite being in a non-dangerous occupation, he was quite badass: 

At age 17, Castlereagh saved a classmate from drowning by keeping him afloat in a cold lake for more than an hour after their boat capsized

During a stormy voyage to Dublin, he jumped on the chains that supported the mast to rescue a man who fell overboard - especially daring when out of the 5 ships sailing out of the departing port, 3 sank (all onboard died) bc of the storm

3 men tried to rob him - I say tried bc he just shot one of them in the neck with a pistol, was able to subdue the second with the help of a bystander, and the last guy simply fled

He was just a nice person? Castlereagh contributed to various charities and there’s a story that the day following his death, one of his servants was asked if they observed any change in him. The response? “One day he spoke sharply to me!”

Even one of his greatest political rivals admitted if you “put all their other men together in one scale, and poor Castlereagh in the other—single, he plainly weighed them down... Also, he was a gentleman, and the only one amongst them.” 

Ngl, surprised that you didn’t use this lovely portrait of him: 

But also this bust and coin tho: 

Bonus: Good looks seem to run in the family (go check out the portrait of his brother Charles by Thomas Lawerence)

.

[verdemoun]

Hey, it's me again! Sorry for being mousey last time.

I know this is a bit recent but if I wait too long I'll either lose the idea or my nerve.

For some reason, I adore the Transfem "Kieran" Duffy HC. It's almost certainly projection, because while I was never held hostage by a roving band of psychotic Irishmen, I am shy, neurodivergent, and paranoid to the point of having escape plans I will never use.

I know you already did one for 1899 Kieran (which may or may not have cursed me with a love of an incredibly niche HC for an already very niche character) but could you maybe do one for Timewarp?

Alternatively, if you would like something different, Sean and his father learn about everything that happened in Ireland after their deaths. The 1916 Easter Rising, The Troubles, or Margaret Thatcher as a whole.

As another alternative, disregard this ask all together, and go get a snack. You probably need one.

A snack would be good rn I'll have a snack with one hand and reply with the other.

Transfem Kieran,,, beloved.

Bessie motherfucking Matthews can smell gender dysphoria like a bloodhound and would notice the second they brought the non-verbal smelly homeless former-O'Driscoll home.

Kieran's been sleeping rough for a month, just like when he was first let off the tree in Horseshoe he desperately needs a bath.

After a slight miscommunication about hot water (and the concept of not needing to share bath water), Kieran is sitting on the couch two hours later shivering in three layers of clean clothes and a blanket with Bessie very gently and patiently brushing the knots and mats out of his hair. The first thing Kieran makes close to a noise is a delighted squeak in the back of his throat as Bessie says what nice hair he has. Bessie immediately ties a little braid in Kieran's hair, to another overjoyed squeak.

Kieran absolutely latches onto Bessie as a safe person. When her husband assures her Kieran had always been around the women in camp and just seemed to prefer their company, Bessie takes note.

Innocently saying that they weren't expecting any more timewarpers for a while so Kieran has to go shopping in her wardrobe for a bit. While Hosea's clothes are in there too he picks out a v-neck and a chunky knitted cardigan and looks very content in women's clothing that still fits loose because of how scrawny he is.

Bessie also offers to help Kieran shave. Getting a close shave was still a fairly rare occasion thing in 1890s so she could easily say it was a treat to make timewarping seem less scary.

Instead Mair gets a moment of seeing herself with her hair perfectly washed and brushed and soft and clean shaven in femme-presenting clothes that didn't even exist in canon era and very quickly goes from 'yay men can be pretty in modern era' to the gender euphoria of 'wait am I a man? or am I a pretty lady? can i,, oh i can be a pretty lady!!'.

Bessie would also be euphoric because a) timewarp actually giving people a chance to explore gender identity in a way they couldn't in canon era and proving all the fear and learning to adapt to modern era is a good thing b) she finally gets a daughter because throughout all the children she has accidentally adopted over her lifetime (Arthur, John, Sean, Lenny) she is yet to actually have a daughter due to dying before the gang picked up Tilly.

Bessie would adore brushing Mair's hair and taking her shopping to get fancy nice smelling soaps and clothes. Mair would still be a hoodie gremlin but the classic oversized paired with a mini skirt but the hoodie's so long it just looks like she's not wearing anything under it.

Exception being first-time she sees a dress she absolutely must have. It very much looks like something from the early 20th century and only modern to the gang, with a bell skirt and petticoat to match.

Processing timewarp honestly takes up so much of the gang's time most would struggle to actually recognise Mair as Kieran except for the OG timewarpers who would respect times change I guess Mair is her name now. 'There's cars now and no one owns horses, and robbing banks and getting away with murder is almost impossible, you have to get an actual paying law-abiding job, also sometimes people change gender'.

Molly would absolutely fall in love with having another girl in the gang who doesn't actively hate her (her and Karen still have some beef to work out) and spend hours doing Mair's make-up with all her fancy products and Mair would adore it. Otherwise she is useless at doing make-up because that shit is hard.

She's somehow an even bigger horsegirl because she really identified with the being a girl part. People thought Kieran was obnoxious with his love of horses? Mair is worse, infinitely, infinitely worse. The few who make the connection Mair was once Kieran Duffy? The way she talks about horses.

My Little Pony backpack that goes everywhere with her.

She makes friendship bracelets for her favourite people, because she would never part with any of her precious horse figurines for any reason. She would still bite Sean for touching any one of them.

Bessie: precious darling daughter would you like to get our nails done together? Mair: yes please!! - after - Mair: yay pretty nails!! pretty!! Bessie: Bessie: it's okay if you want to take them off Mair: oh my god yes please

[brunette-barbie4562]

Uncharted (Duff McKagan X OC)

Summary: Unsure of her next steps in life, Carreen Joy "CJ" Thompson finds herself taking a job working under the Guns N' Roses bassist Duff McKagan during the Not in the Lifetime... Tour. She faces the fast-paced and foreign world of rock n' roll, touring, and groupies, as well as blossoming taboo feelings for her boss.

-

Trigger warnings: Mentions of alcoholism and sexual themes.

-

9

May 2017

Estadio San Mames / Bilbao, Spain

The day of the concert, CJ had mimicked her routine that she had during the day of the Ireland show. Duff had decided to hit the gym while she stayed behind in the room, making sure all of his things were packed. She coordinated with staff to load his trunks to head to the stadium and then went to change to head over herself. She had seen little of Duff, other than to bring him his coffee earlier that morning. She figured she’d catch up with him later that day. Unlike the venue in Ireland, the stadium was a five-minute drive from the hotel, and it was a quick and easy ride for CJ.

All of Duff’s things were in his room backstage when she arrived, ready to be sorted through. Instead of beginning to unpack everything, CJ was caught up looking at herself in her new outfit in the mirror. She had so many new choices that it had taken her some time to decide. She had settled on something comfy but cute; a pair of form fitting dark red suede long pants that flared at the bottom of each leg. On top, she wore a matching halter crop top that had a deep plunging neckline. She had even bought a matching pair of suede ballet flats decorated with gold studs. She had accessorized it with a simple gold necklace and gold hoop earrings. After fighting with her thick curls, she had styled her long hair up into a high ponytail. Surprisingly, she had enjoyed the process of dressing up more than she had anticipated. She could definitely get used to it. Looking good felt good.

CJ noticed the clock on the wall behind her in the mirror and saw that it was getting close to the time that Duff would arrive, and she needed to get moving. She turned away from her reflection and began to unpack.

-

Duff got into one of the SUVs to head over to the stadium. It had been a good morning. CJ had brought him coffee, he ordered breakfast through room service, and then he had hit the gym before showering, spending some time talking to Grace and Mae, and getting dressed to head to the stadium.

To his surprise, the door on the other side of the car opened and in slid Vanessa, a black bag slung over her shoulder. His posture immediately stiffened. He had largely been able to avoid her so far on this leg of the tour. She smiled at him, hoisting her bag into her lap and shutting the car door.

“I forgot a few things and had to come back for them,” she said, referring to the bag full of photography equipment. “Thought I’d catch a ride.” Duff just nodded, unsure how to respond to her. The car left the parking lot, heading towards the stadium.

“Where’s your little assistant?” she asked.

“Waiting for me at the stadium,” he said. Vanessa pushed the bag down to her feet

“You could send her on a little errand when we get there,” she said, scooting a little closer to him. Duff had to confront it sooner rather than later. Although he thought he already had back in March. Despite it being clear from the beginning that their involvement was only sexual and nothing more, Vanessa had wanted more from him and gotten clingy. He had ended any involvement with her just before the last leg of the tour ended. The entirety of their intimacy had been during the tour through Asia, from January 2017 to March 2017.

“It’s not happening Vanessa,” he said, “We talked about this in March.” Her face fell into a scowl.

Duff had lightly dated a few women on and off since his divorce, but it was hard with his schedule to keep a consistent relationship going. He wasn’t entirely proud of the fact that there were times he had found a groupie or two to sleep with to scratch an itch.

Duff had carefully curated his image for years. Even during his younger years prior to sobriety, he had been lucid enough to have some forethought about his actions and how they might be perceived. While Slash, Axl, Steven, Matt, and Izzy had vocally torn up the town, he had tried to keep his less than desirable activities quiet, despite being intoxicated the majority of the time. There were a few times he had screwed up that he preferred not to think about. But most of these shenanigans had also taken place prior to the internet, which had helped immensely. He still occasionally became nervous at the thought of some of the details about what had gone on in the early 90’s at the wild and massive (usually naked) parties at his old Los Angeles house coming out. By the time he had truly and completely stopped caring about anything, including his image or his future, he had not had the energy or desire to act out anymore due to his failing mental and physical health. He was also in his second marriage with a fellow addict, meaning he didn’t have to leave his house to go find drugs and get high.

Duff had always had a deep desire to be a family man and settle down. It was a dream he’d been chasing his whole life. He had achieved it to a point, at least for 16 years. Since his divorce, there was the slight but constant underlying feeling of being unsettled. He attributed this feeling to seeing his own parents’ marriage fall apart literally in front of his eyes as a child and his subconscious desire to “fix” it. He knew it was maladaptive and probably related to the trauma of walking in on his own father cheating on his mother. But that feeling had remained in the back of his mind.

The SUV pulled up to the entrance door of the backstage area of the stadium and he felt relief wash over him. Before he could get out, Vanessa made one last remark.

“You’re crazy to think there’s even a shred of a possibility that that little girl would be interested in you. If that’s what’s stopping you from doing this,” she gestured between the two of them, “then you’re wasting your time.” He glared back at her in anger.

“Don’t talk about CJ,” he said. Before she could respond, he got out and shut the door behind him.

A security guard led him into the backstage building and then brought him to his room. Aggravated by his conversation with Vanessa, he opened the door with some force, only to walk in to find CJ, bent over a black stage bag, moving things around inside. She stood up to face him, smiling.

“Hey,” she said, “What’s up? You look pissed.” The anger left his body, and he released his tight grip on the doorknob when he saw her standing there, looking at him. She wore what he assumed was a new dark red two-piece outfit that she had picked up the other day with Meegan. However, anything else about the outfit went unnoticed. He instantly zeroed in on her chest. The top she was wearing made her already massive tits look insane. He corrected himself immediately and looked back at her face, feeling flustered. He was not that guy. He was not a pervert. But he had always been a “boobs guy.” It almost felt like some big joke, cooked up by Axl or Slash to get a rise out of him. Put Mindy’s smoking hot niece dangling in front of him and see how long he could go without cracking. CJ did not appear to notice and was still looking at him questioningly, that soft smile on her face. She took a step towards him, and he resisted the urge to take a step back and press himself up against the door.

“Are you feeling ok?”she asked with concern. So fucking sweet and innocent.

“Ya,” he said, clearing his throat. “I just need a bit of down time before we do soundcheck.”

“If you need anything, I’ll be on stage setting up.” She picked up the stage bag before moving past him to the door. Once she had left, he let out a breath of air that he realized he had been holding since he walked into the room and saw her.

Duff sat down on the couch, trying to settle himself down. Before he had the chance, a knock on the door made him groan in frustration. The door opened and he turned to see who would come in uninvited. His defenses were lowered when Mark Lanegan walked in, and a smile broke out on his face.

“Hey Mark!” He stood up to give his friend a quick hug. He hadn’t seen him in some time. Another fellow-Washingtonite and musician, Duff had known Mark since the 1990’s. They had collaborated on work together and shared a stage in the past. Mark had also struggled with addiction. Duff had managed to get sober before him and when Mark left rehab in the late 90’s, Duff had enlisted him to watch his house to give him something to do and stay clean. Mark and his band would be opening for Guns N’ Roses that day and for a few future shows, and it had slipped Duff’s mind in the last hour.

“Hey man,” said Mark, “It’s so good to see you!” They stepped back out of their hug. “We just got here, I had to come find you. How’ve you been? How’s the new leg of the tour going?”

“It’s been interesting,” said Duff, sitting back down on the couch heavily. Mark joined him on the other side.

“Interesting?” asked Mark. They were interrupted when the door opened unexpectedly again. CJ re-appeared.

“Hey, sorry I forgot my phone.” She paused, seeing Mark sitting there. “Oh, sorry if I interrupted, I can come back.” She turned to leave.

“No, you’re good,” said Duff. “Mark this is my new assistant, CJ. CJ, this is my good friend Mark. He will be doing the opening act today.” Mark stood up and CJ moved forward to shake his hand.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said with a smile.

“Likewise,” said Mark, sitting back down. “How are you enjoying your time with all of the elderly?” CJ laughed at him.

“It’s been amazing so far,” she said. “I am very grateful to be here.”

“Duff and I were just catching up before I go get ready to play,” said Mark. “We’ve known each other a very long time. But he didn’t tell me he had a lovely new assistant.” CJ smiled and her face slightly reddened.

“Thank you,” said CJ. There was a moment of awkward silence and Duff wanted to tell CJ to stay, knowing Mark would harass him once they were alone again.

“Well, I’m gonna get back to it,” said CJ, breaking the silence. “I’ll see you both in a bit.” She grabbed her phone off the side table and left the room. As he expected, once CJ shut the door Mark instantly turned to him with a smirk.

“You’re an old tom cat,” he said.

“I know how it looks-” began Duff.

“Oh, it’s definitely how it looks,” said Mark, with a laugh.

“It’s not that way, I swear. I asked Axl to find me an assistant and he hired her on. She’s his old friend’s niece. It was not my choice to have a 20-something year old girl as my assistant Mark.” He didn’t respond but instead gave Duff a look, the smirk still plastered all over his face.

“You don’t think I know how this looks?” said Duff, gesturing towards himself in frustration and leaning over. “I’m just waiting to see something online about it. I didn’t know she was a woman until the day she arrived in Ireland, I assumed it was a man. I couldn’t turn her away.”

“Ok, ok I believe you,” said Mark, still amused.

“She does a good job and she’s so eager and happy to be here. I can’t be an asshole and send her back to California.” Duff did not want to admit he also greatly enjoyed CJ’s company beyond the parameters of her employment. Mark had pulled out his phone and appeared to be scrolling.

“What are you doing?” asked Duff, slightly annoyed.

“Hold on a sec,” said Mark, still scrolling. After a moment he looked back up at Duff.

“I don’t see anything online about it, at least on social media,” he said.

“I’ve been avoiding social media,” said Duff, “I’m waiting for one of my girls to send me some gross tweet or tabloid article about it.”

“Well, you are one of the few rockstars who isn’t married to a woman 20 to 30 years younger than him.” Duff detested being called a rockstar, but coming from Mark, he’d let it go.

“I don’t want to be that guy,” said Duff.

“Hey, no judgement from me man, either way,” said Mark. “If its consensual there’s nothing wrong with it. She’s an adult, she’s not underage.”  

“It’s not and won’t be like that,” said Duff, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees while holding his face in his hands, looking towards to the wall.

“Relax,” said Mark, “The people who matter know the truth. You also don’t have those scary, rabid-type fans like Axl does to worry about. You know, nobody that’ll try to bust her kneecap or anything.”

“I have a few,” said Duff, raising his eyebrows at the thought of Vanessa and a couple of the women he’d come into contact with over the past several years.

“Relax, man, it’ll be fine,” said Mark reassuringly. Duff didn’t feel reassured, the thoughts in his head still swirling.

-

CJ sat in her designated side position on the stage. Duff and the others were ready to go on in about 20 minutes and she had decided to spend her free time watching the end of Mark’s opening act. Unlike Slane Castle, the San Mamés Stadium was partially indoors, with the huge ceiling open to the air. The crowd had filled in, anticipating Guns N’ Roses’ arrival on the stage.

CJ felt the presence of someone behind her. She tiled her head to see Duff standing there, hidden from the crowd by a barrier. His face looked down at her, upside down from her position.

“He puts on a great show!” she said. Duff couldn’t hear her over the music and leaned down so he could hear her speak. “Great show!” she said, repeating herself for him.

“He’ll be with us for the next few shows,” said Duff. He stood back up straight and watched the show for a few more minutes before heading backstage.

Mark and his band wrapped up their show and exited the stage and the lights dimmed down. It wouldn’t be long now. She pulled out her phone to scroll mindlessly for a bit.

“Hey, are you looking for a gig buddy?” She looked up to see Meegan take a seat next to her, holding two glasses of wine.

“Always,” said CJ smiling. Meegan handed her one of the glasses of wine. “But aren’t you sitting on the other side?”

“Not tonight,” said Meegan, “I’m gonna come sit with you, Slash will survive one show without me over there.” CJ took a sip of the wine, noting that it was a white wine. “I remembered that you prefer white, I brought a bottle of it along.” said Meegan. “We don’t usually have alcohol around at shows, but I thought one bottle for you and me to share together as a little celebration to kick off the beginning of your first tour would be nice.”

“Is Duff ok with it? Do you think I should ask him?” said CJ nervously, not wanting to seem like she was drinking on the job.

“I already did,” said Meegan, “He’s said it was fine.”

“Thanks!” she said, feeling grateful for Meegan’s companionship.

CJ had had friends before. As a child, she had been a bit of a loner, feeling very alienated from the other children given her trauma. But going on to middle school, high school, and then college, she had learned to develop friends. She had had a solid group of friends in college. But after graduation, people had understandably moved away, become parents, gotten married, or become wrapped up in a new career. CJ had struggled to maintain adult friendships, especially being a natural introvert. It also didn’t help that she had attended California State in Sacramento, which was about 3 hours from Redding, making it difficult to physically see people that had lived close to the campus after she had moved back home. However, there was one friend she kept in frequent contact with. While most of her college friends had fallen off the radar, Jess Timmer had stayed. They spoke on the phone at least three times a month and texted weekly. CJ had gone to visit Jess in Portland, Oregon last year, where she lived.

Jess and CJ had met in their sophomore year of college and become fast friends, bonding over their love of The Office and hiking. They had a few classes together and made a group of mutual friends. During the day, on the weekends, they spent time outside in nature, away from the city. The nights were spent partying in dorm rooms or at local bars. CJ spent Freshman year shy and searching for a solid social connection. Sophomore year, she had finally found the social connection when she met Jess. Things took a turn downward in her junior year, when she met her most recent ex-boyfriend, which had led to a tumultuous relationship that had ended in her senior year. Through all of it, Jess had been a supportive friend. They could go weeks without speaking and still pick up right where they left off. CJ made a mental note to text Jess at some point later to catch up. Things had happened so quickly she hadn’t had time to reach out and let her know about her new employment.

“I love this outfit,” said Meegan, looking her up and down. “I remember you trying this on in the store.”

“Ya, it’s very comfy too,” said CJ, running her hands over the soft suede material of the pants. As ridiculous as it was, a weird part of her had wished Duff had said something to her about it, a small compliment or even acknowledgment.

The lights dimmed even further and the backdrop graphics lit up, similar to how they had back in Slane. The crowd began to cheer deafeningly as they waited for the band to appear. CJ’s heart pounded, feeling her adrenaline pump. She wondered if that feeling would go away with the more shows she worked.

Duff came out, strumming the opening of It’s So Easy. He quickly glanced at her and Meegan sitting side stage and then walked out to his mic on the right side of the stage. Meegan nudged her and handed her a setlist. CJ had glanced at it earlier, only to see when Duff would be changing his wardrobe, and she would be needed. Meegan pointed to a song title that was down the middle of the page. She leaned closely to CJ’s ear to speak over the music.

“Attitude, that’s the song Duff covers. He’s always covered it, even back in the 90’s.” CJ enjoyed Axl’s performance and vocals but was eager to hear more of Duff sing.

The band breezed through the first several songs before CJ got up to help Duff do a quick wardrobe change. Like before, she tried to stay focused when he tore his shirt off and she handed him the new one. It was one of the same shirts he had worn during the show in Slane. CJ looked back at the table and realized most of what she had set out for him to change into was the same clothing from the previous show.

“Do you only wear like the same five shirts?” she said playfully.

“Maybe,” he said with a smile, yanking the fresh shirt down over his head. He turned away and took his bass back from the tech. CJ looked at the setlist again and saw that Attitude would be next. She quickly took her seat again next to Meegan.

When she heard the first few moments of the song it sounded vaguely familiar. Perhaps, something Mindy may have played in the house when she was a kid. CJ pulled out her phone and recorded for about 30 seconds before sending the video to Jess, without typing an explanation. She wanted to see her reaction. Jess was a big music lover and CJ knew the video would excite her, especially since it was taken from stage level, behind the band. CJ slid her phone back in her pocket, watching the rest of Duff’s performance. It was a quick song, but CJ thoroughly enjoyed it, standing up to clap when Duff finished. He turned and met her gaze with a smile, before turning back to the cheering crowd.

-

The band had lingered for a bit, Duff taking more time to talk to Mark and the others spending time catching their breath before heading back to the hotel. With her need to be a responsible employee over, CJ had allowed Meegan to refill her glass along with her own. It had been awhile since she had had more than one drink of anything and she had always been a bit of a lightweight.

By the time it was time to go, CJ had finished the second glass, and she was a little tipsy.

She got into the SUV and noticed Duff laughing at her as he got in next to her.

“What’s so funny?” she said.

“You,” he said. “How many glasses did you have?”

“Two,” she said.

“Two?!”

“Yes two, why is that so funny?” she said.

“You, getting tipsy on two glasses of wine.”

“I am not tipsy,” she said.

“Yes, you are.”

“How do you know?” she said defensively.

“Because I know,” he said, “Trust me.”

“Well then, why don’t you join me.”

“Because I can’t drink, I was-, well I AM an alcoholic.” The seriousness of his statement suddenly sobered her up and she was horrified.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she said, “I didn’t know.”

“You’re fine,” he said, “It doesn’t bother me when other people are drinking around me. I’ve been sober from alcohol for 23 years, almost as long as you’ve been alive.” His reassurances didn’t make her feel any less like a piece of shit. She should have known. Meegan’s statement about alcohol not being around at shows suddenly made sense.

“Hey, you’re fine, I promise,” he said, more sternly, seeing her disturbed expression. “You couldn’t have known. You didn’t trigger me or anything.”

“Ya, but-” Suddenly the car took a hard right, their driver letting out a slew of angry words in Spanish. He had turned the car sharply to the right to avoid hitting a careless driver coming into their lane. Having forgotten to buckle herself in, CJ let out a yelp of surprise as she was thrown to the other side of the car, landing face down across Duff’s lap. Now ten times more mortified than before, she quickly sat back up and scooted back to her seat.

“Sorry,” was all she could muster, trying to smooth out her disheveled outfit and hair, all sense of intoxication having left her body to be replaced with embarrassment.

“Seatbelt,” he said, reaching across her and grabbing it, pulling it down across her and clicking it into place. “Remember, your aunt will kill me.”

They were silent for the rest of the short car ride. When they got back to the hotel, they quickly made their way upstairs, trying to avoid any after-show crowds waiting for him. The painful silence continued in the elevator and CJ needed to say something, anything.

“The song you sang tonight,” she said, “sounded familiar.”

“Oh, ya,” he said. Her statement appeared to bring him out of deep thought. “It’s one of my favorites, originally by The Misfits.” CJ recognized the band name as one that Mindy enjoyed.

“I’ve heard it before,” said CJ, “I’m pretty sure Mindy played it more than once when I was a kid.”

“You know, despite our differences, your aunt and I always had similar taste in music,” said Duff. The pair stepped out of the elevator and walked down the hallway towards their rooms. He walked her to her door, and she paused, wanting to say more to him, not wanting the night to end so awkwardly. But she couldn’t think of anything. Instead, she could only turn to him and say,

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

-

After dropping CJ off at her room, Duff had made his way down to the ground floor. He usually had room service bring him food after a show, not wanting to leave his room. But he needed to go on a walk to clear his head and try to get some energy out. He was always exhausted after shows. He’d eat, ice his legs, shower, and go to sleep. But tonight, he was very awake. His mind wouldn’t let him forget the feeling of CJ splaying across his lap in the car. Her exhale of surprise blowing on a small area of his bare skin, exposed between his shirt and pants, only a few inches from his cock. The way she looked when she sat back up, taking a moment to re-adjust those tits in her shirt. Her face had been flushed from the wine and her hair had been a wild mess, how he imagined it would look after a round of rough sex.

Duff approached an employee standing behind the bar. The employee must have recognized him, his eyes widening when he looked up and saw Duff standing there. The restaurants were typically closed by the time they got back to the hotel, but they always saved food for the band in the back.

“Hey, I’m here to pick up food,” he said, “I’m with Guns N’ Roses.”

The employee nodded and quickly disappeared into the kitchen. As Duff leaned against the bar, he heard someone approach him on his right side. He looked up to see a blonde woman, probably slightly younger than him. She was standing there, looking at him and he vaguely recognized her. She was one that followed the band around and was always on the rail. A groupie.

“Duff,” she said, looking up at him from underneath her eyelashes. “Great show tonight.” She was calm and collected, very different from other fans who approached him with excited energy.

“Thanks,” he said, “Glad you enjoyed it.”

He knew what she wanted. It felt wrong, but a part of him wanted it too. The other part of him knew it was a poor idea. Every time he had hooked up with a groupie on this tour he had regretted it. But tonight, his mind and body were so wound up from the incident with CJ in the car, it was clouding his judgement. Just go back to your room and jerk off. Walk away.

The employee came back and placed his boxed-up food on the counter. He grabbed it and turned to the woman. He got a better look at her, as she continued to look up at him from underneath her lashes. She was his type, and he needed a distraction. As much as a part of him was telling him to stop, fucking someone else might take his mind off CJ.

“Let’s go,” he said.

-

March 2018

Mindy’s House / Redding, California 

CJ pulled a knit sweater over her head and immediately turned to look at her side profile. It had been a week since her doctor’s appointment and every day she had checked for changes, feeling paranoid. Nothing yet. She was hoping to find a place to rent before the weather got warm and any bump she would develop would no longer be hide-able. There was a sharp knock at her bedroom door.

“Hey, you ready to go?” It was Mindy, waiting for her to head to work. They took the same vehicle, with no need to take two.

“Ya, coming!” She quickly grabbed her backpack. Going back to work, eating more, and re-joining society had had an immediate positive effect on her wellbeing. The color had returned to her skin, most of her bruising had faded, and she could think more clearly. It did suck to have to do work mostly one-handed. The cast would be off in a few weeks, and she’d be doing physical therapy and be good as new.

CJ opened the door and made her way into the kitchen. Mindy was waiting by the door, distracted and typing on her phone. CJ grabbed a breakfast bar off the counter and followed Mindy out the front door. The cold winter air woke her up a bit as she slid into the passenger seat of Mindy’s car. Michelle was already gone, having left for the veterinary clinic hours ago.

They made their usual morning Starbucks coffee run, something that CJ had been declining the past few days to avoid the caffeine.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” asked Mindy, pulling into the drive through lane.

“No, I’m good, I’ll stick with the water.” Mindy raised an eyebrow at her, perplexed with CJ’s rejection of coffee.

“Are you on a new health kick or something?” asked Mindy.

“I am actually,” said CJ, not meeting Mindy’s questioning gaze. “I’m trying to take care of myself and cut out caffeine.” Mindy let it go and didn’t press for a longer explanation, just happy her niece was out and about again.

-

CJ’s office area was in a small room attached to Mindy’s much larger office. There were other employees around that she interacted with during the day, but she spent most of her time in her office or running errands for Mindy.

Fridays were always slow and with not as much to do she found herself Googling, looking at different psychology graduate school programs. If she went back to school, she could work towards her goal of becoming a therapist and better herself for the baby. She had always had a dream of attending Stanford University, with its doctoral program being so highly regarded. However, she was unsure if going back to school with a newborn was a good idea. She’d give birth in August and have to go straight into classes when the semester started if she applied for fall of 2018. There were no graduate psychology programs anywhere near Redding. Online schools were hit or miss, and she preferred on ground learning. Moving somewhere for school would put her in a position where she would have no nearby support and have to search for a new job. Childcare was ridiculously expensive, more than she could afford.

Frustrated, CJ exited out of the browser, telling herself she’d return to the dilemma later. She went to open her work email inbox and accidentally clicked onto her personal inbox. There was one unread email and ironically, it was from her alma mater, advertising an alumni day. She quickly opened it to mark it as read and then exited out. But it made her mind drift to her college days and eventually, back to Jess.

She hadn’t spoken to Jess since the end of the tour, shutting her out with the rest of the world. She had received a few concerned texts and calls from Jess, but they had gone unanswered. She felt bad about it, having unintentionally cut out her longest standing friend.

CJ pulled out her phone and stared at it, wondering how Jess would respond if she texted her now. Would she be angry? Maybe not if CJ explained things. She opened her contacts list and clicked on Jess’ number. What could she say. She sat for a moment and then began to type.

Hey, we need to talk.

[transthadymacdermot]

can i hear more about mary. how does she get on as a trans woman in whenever. how did she even figure it out. also everything else about her she seems fascinating

Okay so the most important thing to remember about Mary's experience as a trans person is that she wouldn't call herself one because she doesn't know what being transgender is due to being born in the 1700s. her experience with gender, then, is in many ways based on real historical figures with similar experiences such as the Chevalière d'Éon and James Barry, and similar to both of them mostly involves pretending that she's cis around everyone who she doesn't really really really really trust and going to careful lengths to ensure that no one is ever able to out her -- and, tbh, this works pretty well a lot of the time because nobody expects her to be trans and therefore they just think oh well obviously dress and long hair = woman and go about their day.

As to how she figured it out, I don't think she ever had a big moment of suddenly realising per se, I think she just kind of always knew she wanted to be a girl but was never able to act on it until she (as a young teenager) started applying for a job at the local estate where she still works and was "forced" to apply while "pretending" to be a woman out of "necessity" and oops that's too bad mam it looks like I'll just have to be your daughter for the rest of my life ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ such is life so it is. when questioned about it by people who knew her before her transition (very few people as her family is somewhat geographically isolated from the others), she tells them she pretended to be a boy back then in order to help with farm work and is a woman now because she doesn't have to pretend to be a man anymore now that she's on her own (which. is kind of true). as for how she thinks of herself, she tends to take the very catholic route of believing that god just made her a special woman who's different from all the others the same way he gives some people stigmata. the lord can do whatever he wants and to demonstrate it he made a girl with a dick. who give a shit.

Uhhhh what else okay so the only people she's really fully honest with about everything gender-wise are Kathleen (very supportive and thinks it's cool as hell), Eoin (only kinda gets it but is also supportive), her brother Art (nineteenth century Northern Ireland's ONLY trans inclusive radical misogynist), Maguire (doesn't get it at all but vaguely thinks that more women are a good thing), and Sarah (is understanding, at least). her mother is confused and implicitly transphobic whenever they talk about it so Mary tries to interact with her as little as possible. her father HATES it but luckily he's gone most of the time. and her siblings mostly don't know she isn't cis because most of them are younger and don't remember a time when their big sister didn't refuse to bathe with everyone else and go off on her own to use the toilet when she was home. can't think of anything else rn but if I didn't answer any questions u had about this or about her in general just ask ^-^

[beecollectiblesprofile]

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[notsuch]

Wanna write Junkers but dont know Aussie shit?

Writing a Junker for non-Aussies, some shit that will make it hit just right instead of half-assing it by writing arvo and calling it done:

the outback is a conceptual area, not a physical place, you cannot put "outback" into a gps and find it, but you can drive two hours out of your city and hit it. the outback can be a green lush rainforest or the outback can be red sand deserts. the point is, it's further away from where you are now and there is fewer people. A park is not the outback, but you can go "out back" to a park to infer its distance from your house.

the most aussie thing about junker queen, junk rat and roadhog is that shirts are a suggestion, not a requirement. if we dont have to wear full tops, we don't. no, that's not just blizzard going "lets show off half naked ppl", in many towns, especially on the coast, they have to enforce a "no shirt, no shoes? no service." rule, it gets that bad.

we also constantly get skin cancer, all the time. everyone. the australian sun has more uv in it than anywhere else in the world AND I DOUBT THAT GOT BETTER WITH ALL THE FREAKING RADIATION EVERYWHERE NOW. It doesn't matter your heritage, black, white, asian, you live in australia? you're getting skin cancer.

no this still does not mean we put on shirts. you'd think that change it, but no. wrong. fuck shirts. fuck pants too. scratch shoes probably while you're at it. ow my feet are burning on the hot pavement? TOO BAD SUCK IT UP. Shorts and a tank top if you really have to push it, but a bikini top at all times is perfectly acceptable for women.

but put on a fucking hat and sunscreen, you complete buffon, what are you, a tourist, not putting on a HAT? always put on a hat. DYOU WANT TO GET SKIN CANCER, HONESTLY,,,,,, but also we suck at putting on hats, just your parents yelled at you to do it and you tell others to do it and always have a hat on hand.

shirt exceptions: if you're in sydney or melbourne. they like, have actual standards about business dress. they even wear three piece suits and shit. my soul died just thinking about it. but even then,,,,, ehhhhh, if its summer, people get /hand wobbles, vague about shirt requirements. ive watched foreign business people see what sydney calls business dress and go EVERYONE HERE IS INFORMAL so like, its more dressed up than the rest of australia, but still probably more dressed down than half the world lmao.

they're call "sydneysiders" and everywhere else takes any reason to trash talk them at every opportunity. we all hate sydney. people who have never been to sydney hate sydney. sydney hates sydney: north sydney hates west sydney, west sydney hates east sydney and so on. everyone who lives in sydney wishes they didn't. fuck sydney. if you cant think of anything to say that's neutral, you can always just slander sydney and it'll be a fairly positive-neutral conversation. i can garuntee Junkers will be sitting there shoving radiated dirt into their horrendous bullet wounds, missing fingers, barely scraping alive, living in the literal apocalypse, and especially be like MAN AT LEAST IM NOT IN SYDNEY.

we call the brits 'Poms' and americans 'Seppos'. If you are talking to a Sydneysider, you can mutually hate on both of these groups. Poms more so. We hate the English. It's not active, btw, we aren't the yanks out here having national pride about a war or something, no, its a passive, low grade, mocking tone at all times about them. Ireland, Scotland and Wales are ok tho, we like them just fine. Just the Brits.

you are not allowed to openly state something is wrong, if its actually seriously fucked up, you have to understate it. for real my own mother was in a small flight plane that had to make an emergency landing in a farmer's field and the farmer came out and said 'bit of trouble mate?' as literal smoke was spewing out of the engine block and the pilot went 'reckon she'll be right in a bit', and everyone sat around having a beer.

except for the weather, you are always, at all times, allowed to complain about the weather. its too hot. its too cold. why is it so humid, why is it so dry. "hows this weather we're having?" is a normal conversation starter to make small talk and also just kill five minutes in line at [sports venue of the choice]. I can physically hear the two fucking junkers in the line to the Scrapyard Arena being like 'man fuck this weather lately' as if it's not the 432432 day of burning hot dry desert irradiated heat that was exactly the same as the day before, and everyone will be 'no yeah bloody hell aye'

slab of beer is a defined currency once you are outside of cities. this is a 24xbeer cans. you can pay for services in beer.

when passing people, "hey" is only acceptable in busy settings, the rest of the time, we're so fucking talkative. people in cities can say 'hi', but outside its got to be the 'eyyy' 'g'day', 'hey bruz', it's always "hi, how ya going?" then a nod and response of "not bad, you?" if you have the time to answer, otherwise a nod with 'g'day gotta go' and an indication you're in a rush is perfectly acceptable. if there is time for it, this is when you go into complaining about the weather. not engaging in this process is ruder than swearing at each other.

a mad cunt and a sick cunt, are your best friends, or the dude at the party who brought the rum and you all cheer. a shit cunt is the worst person who ruined it for everyone by calling the cops because you shouldnt stick a ice box drink cooler on a lawnmower and ride it while drinking said rum. asshole.

the ice box drink is called an Esky, by the way. Not cooler. Esky.

NORTH IS HOT, ITS WHERE ALL THE CROCODILES N CASSOWARIES N SHIT ARE.

the south is cold and does actually get snow, aka the Snowy Mountains are in the south. Yes, we did name it that.

Tasmania (that one big island at the bottom lmao) is snowy and rainy and makes really good whiskey and is probably actually just fine b/c no one cares about it and is not connected to the mainland at all, they judge all "mainlanders".

THEY'RE NOT CALLED COWBOYS, THEY'RE CALLED STOCKMEN, OR JACKAROOS AND JILLAROOS.

Kangaroos are like asshole deer. You will not break them if you hit them, your car however is *completely* fucked.

WE DO NOT CALL THEM 'FARMS'. They are 'properties' or 'stations'. A 'cattle station' is an acceptable term. A sheep station. If you say 'a property' everyone knows you mean an agricultural piece of land, and that it's specifically many, many, MANY, thousands of kilometers long. If you call them farm, we instantly clock you as american or a rich city person who has a 'hobby farm'.

The person who OWNS many, many, many, many, MANY, thousands of miles of land and don't actually work it themselves, may call themselves Farmers, but the rest of us often clock them as rich fuckers because of that reason.

We are not afraid of spiders, snakes, kangaroos, jellyfish, whatever it is foreigners scream about this week, the way you think we are. We don't like them, (ok some of us do), but they just are, and we all got education lessons young about how to not be an idiot about them.

we are fucking with you, at all times, i'm an aussie and I am fucking with you right now. i can meet another aussie in a bar that i do not know, have never seen in my entire life, and make shit up on the spot to distress someone about some animal that does not exist, and the other australian without a fucking beat will IMMEDIATELY. JOIN IN. Junkrat will be tricking Brigette about the existence of Land Sharks and even if she wants to strangle him to death, Junker Queen will 100% back him on whatever the fuck he's saying.

[sailorgoon13]

Athena Knightly

The Basics:

Name: Athena Knightly

Gender: Female

Date of Birth: 13 January, 1873

Heritage: Irish and English

Blood Status: Half Blood

Wand: Hawthorne, Phoenix Feathers, 11 inches, Unyielding

Appearance:

Hair color: Black, often wears it in a bun to keep out of her face.

Eye color: Emerald Green

Height: 5'3" (Small but mighty)

Body Type: Skinny and frail when first joined Hogwarts, gained a bit more muscle from her adventures and doing Quidditch her sixth year

Style: Classic, Dark Academia. Prefers pants over skirts and dresses, too fem for her liking. Can normally find her clothes to be a bit more dirty than others

Features: Porcelain like skin, not a single freckle or mark. Has a scar across her left eye she got from the abuse she received from the women in the orphanage she grew up in.

Personality:

Traits: Ambitious, Reserved, Strategic, Analytical, Resourceful, Stoic

Likes: Flying, Solitude, Reading, Nature Walks, Autumn/ Early Winter, Freedom, Sebastian

Dislikes: Dishonesty, Arrogance, Laziness, Narrow-Mindedness, Injustice

Hobbies: Reading educational books, Quidditch, Spending time with friends, Fighting Dark Wizards/ Dueling Friends

Family and Friends:

Father: Corvius Knightly (Former Peverell)

Pure Blood

English

Killed when Athena was roughly six years old

Created the Threefold Alliance to protect the Deathly Hallows

Auror

Slytherin

Mother: Saoirse Doyle

Muggle-Born

Irish

Killed alongside Athena's dad

Auror

Hufflepuff

Friends: Poppy Sweeting, Natsai Onai, Garreth Weasley, Sebastian Sallow, Ominis Gaunt, Albus Dumbledore, Felix Bradford

Magic Aspects:

Boggart: It was the women in the orphanage who had abused her for so long but as she aged it became herself. She has done things she never thought imaginable and her cold heart made it easy to hurt others, including the use of the Unforgivable Curses.

Patronus: Thestral

Animagus: Black Snake

Polyjuice: A honey color and tastes like Butterbeer

Amortentia: Books, Wet Grass and Cinnamon Rolls

Backstory:

Athena was born just outside of Dublin, Ireland and grew up along the coast on Killiney Beach. Her parents were both exceptionally skilled Aurors and had also created The Threefold Alliance in order to protect the Deathly Hallows from the wrong people. Unfortunately, one of their colleagues who was a member of their alliance turned his back on them. In the attempt to retrieve the Elder Wand, they were both killed when Athena was only six years old.

Her father had no connection to his family since he had abandoned them so they never knew of Athena's existence, as well as her mothers. Since being a muggle born, her family did not agree nor like the use of magic and her mother did not speak to her family since the age of 11. There was no one willing to care and raise Athena in their area so she was sent to an orphanage over in London.

The orphanage was one for muggles and Athena was the only witch there. As her powers began to come in, the ladies who ran the facility began to abuse her and treat her poorly as they did not want to care for someone with "dirty blood". Seeing the treatment she was receiving from the women, the other children would join in and torment Athena even more, not letting her join in to play let alone talk with her at meal times.

Athena was usually locked away and they would purposely skip her at meal times, causing her to be frail and malnourished. One night at dinner, a young boy was teasing and tormenting Athena for looking so sickly. Her rage intensified, causing her magic within to boil over. Without a wand or mumbling a single incantation, the boy combusted into flames. The boy survived but had terrible scarring due to the flames.

She was carried away and beaten profusely by multiple women at once. She laid on the cold floor as they whipped at her, when one of them had gotten her good across the face, causing her blood to fall to the floor creating the scar she carries with her across her eye.

As her 15 birthday rolled around in the middle of January, they tossed her to the cold and unforgiving streets of London. She used what she could find in rubbish bins to shield her from the wind and snow. She would beg others on the street for money or food to eat when one day she was surprised to find a letter drop from the sky onto her lap with her name on it. She opened it cautiously to discover she had been accepted to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Academics:

Best Subject: Potions

Favorite Subject: DADA and Charms

Favorite Professor: Fig and Sharp

Worst Subject: History of Magic

Least Favorite Subject: Divination

Least Favorite Professor: Garelick

Quidditch: Seeker (Plays only in her sixth year)

Student Life:

Skips classes frequently but tries her best. Seventh year she was named Prefect so she stepped up to be her best.

Gets into physical fights with Imelda

Spends quite a bit of time in detention, even while a Prefect

Even though she did so much for the school and other within, people still look down on her (especially Imelda)

At Graduation after taking her N.E.W.T.s, she was met with the Minister of Magic, Faris Spavin, and congratulated for having the best test schools in the entire school.

Saves Anne from her curse in year six (Thicker Than Blood Volume One)

Career:

Becomes the youngest Head of Magical Law Enforcement, following in her parents footsteps as an Auror.

Meets Felix Bradford, her newest assistant working directly under her.

Takes on the responsibility of protecting the Deathly Hallows just as her father did before her and reformed The Threefold Alliance with Sebastian, Ominis and Felix.

Spouse: Sebastian Sallow

Children: Scorpius and Andromeda (Twins and kept the S and A initials)

Template: @hazyange1s

[laurasimonsdaughter]

How do you see leprechauns in an urban fantasy setting?

Hmmm.... I'm a little torn on that subject! I have very fond memories of a Dutch children's series where "leprechaun" is used instead of "fae" or "elf" for seemingly no reason whatsoever, but looking at it now I would have preferred if they just went for Aos Sí which would have fit better. But the truth is that if you stay completely true to leprechauns' folklore roots, there's not too much you can do with them:

They are a small, male, solitary fairy (or gnome) from Ireland

They may be capable of (begrudgingly) granting wishes

They usually have gold hidden somewhere or on their person, which they may be forced to give up when caught

Quite fancy dressers, with a nice hat and coat (exact dress varies, but in older stories their coats are more often red than green)

Not very malicious, but mischievous and sly, usually capable of outwitting humans even when caught

Capable of typical fairy magic such as disappearing when not observed directly, leading people astray, disembodied noises etc.

Sometimes depicted as grumpy cobblers (a slightly more recent interpretation)

Apart from a fun one-time encounter (which is the plot of most of their folktales) this doesn't immediately suggest particular urban fantasy possibilities to me. Unless you expand to answer questions like: why are there seemingly no leprechaun women or children and where do these leprechauns get their gold? Folklore is rarely concerned with logic or plot holes, so that's good fodder for literature. (Some folklorists do try to answer some of these questions, and question their sources of oral folklore on it, like McAnally in Irish Wonders, 1888).

Personally I think leprechauns fit best in an urban fantasy world that is populated with all sorts of fairies, making them one of many you can come across. They are probably more fun if they do not have to be expanded upon too much.

I am not fond of the modern depictions of leprechauns in bright green coats and buckled top hats with bright red beards, but the concept of hiding a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow is rather fun. I've never actually come across a folktale that has that detail, but just like werewolves and the full moon, leprechauns and rainbows just have a certain charm to it

[greencheekconure27]

Reading a 19th century British travel account on Carpathians so far:

*How very romantic! Also extremely incorrect historically.

*~smell of garlic~

*"the people here eat bears "

*extremely flattering description of folk costume and folk art why thank you

* "Eastern Europeans are very good at using colour.Because of the Turks "

*antisemitism

* complaining about roads

*ok this is completely wrong and you didn't even spell the name right but it's kind of hilarious

* "I ate sheep's cheese and lived to tell the tale!*

*more wonderfully poetic descriptions

* "women wearing male clothing is perfectly fine but only if they're slim 🙄"

* lots of comparisons with Scotland.

* "the dress of the peasants is the prettiest I've ever seen"

*those queer unexplained peoples on the west coast of Ireland*

*entire paragraph describing a peasant woman's well-developed bare feet*