#Ireland's Comfort Food

[tkhuluq]

Irish Boxty: Crafting Authentic Potato Pancakes for a Taste of Tradition

Start a cooking trip to the heart of Ireland with the classic as well as precious recipe, Irish Boxty. In this assist, we will look into the art of developing standard potato pancakes, using you a preference of Irish heritage that's both hearty as well as gratifying. Sign up with us as we unwind the keys to crafting the best Boxty that pays homage to this valued Irish cooking practice.

Area 1: A Look right into Irish Cooking Heritage

Submerse on your own in the abundant cooking heritage of Ireland as we discover the beginnings of Boxty. This famous recipe, renowned for its simpleness as well as heartiness, is a staple in Irish cooking areas for generations, personifying the significance of convenience food.

Area 2: Crucial Active ingredients

Uncover the crucial active ingredients that bring credibility in your Irish Boxty. From floury potatoes to all-round flour as well as buttermilk, each part plays an important duty in attaining the best stabilize of appearance as well as taste. Reveal the magic that changes modest active ingredients right into a mouthwatering Irish joy.

Area 3: Grating Strategies for Perfect Appearance

Understand the art of grating potatoes to attain the perfect Boxty appearance. Discover the value of harmonizing the starch content, as well as find out the best ways to mix grated potatoes effortlessly with flour as well as buttermilk. This careful procedure makes sure a pancake that's both crunchy outside as well as tender on the in.

Area 4: Delicious Variants

Boost your Boxty experience by discovering delicious variants. From timeless dishes to those including natural herbs, onions, or also cheese, uncover the best ways to instill your potato pancakes with a ruptured of added preference while keeping the dish's genuine beauty.

Area 5: Food preparation Strategies

Reveal the keys to improving the food preparation strategies that generate gold, crunchy Boxty. Whether you like pan-frying or cooking, we will assist you via the actions to attain that ultimate Irish pancake that sets well with a selection of toppings.

Area 6: Offering Ideas

Indulge in the adaptability of Irish Boxty with imaginative offering ideas. From a passionate morning meal accompaniment to a side recipe for stews as well as soups, this standard potato pancake could be took pleasure in in numerous cooking contexts. Release your creative thinking in offering this Irish timeless.

Verdict:

Finally, understanding the art of crafting Irish Boxty permits you to bring the heat of Ireland's cooking heritage in your table. With its modest yet delicious active ingredients as well as functional applications, Boxty isn't simply a pancake; it is a party of practice as well as preference. Dive right into the heart of Irish food preparation with our detailed assist as well as relish the happiness of developing this precious recipe in your personal cooking area.

Tags : Irish Boxty, Traditional Potato Pancakes, Irish Culinary Heritage

[irishmeadows]

Spiced Irish Oatmeal With Cream and Crunchy Sugar

[techdriveplay]

Irish Food You Shouldn't Miss When You Visit

Ireland might not be famous for its cuisine, but that’s a big mistake! If you love comfort food, you’ll love Irish food. The island’s traditional dishes are packed with flavor, history, and family love. Irish food has evolved over centuries, blending local ingredients like fresh fish, seafood, and hearty crops with influences from Britain and Europe. Thanks to its rich farming traditions,…

[sakizm]

i just bought myself some cookbooks and i can’t wait to try some recipes!

[nevergonnaloveagain-hey]

Hozier Dating Headcannons

He would definitely love to date someone who is more of an old soul, someone who loves older literature or music 

Expect regular serenades after he writes songs about you and personal concerts when you ask to hear a certain song. These moments would probably be very intimate and would just happen in the comfort of your home together.

You would be the first to hear any new ideas he has for his music and would read you his lyrics, asking you what you think he should change. And of course, you can’t think of anything that could make it any better since it is already so beautiful which infuriates him to no end (he loves you tho)

He seems like the kind of partner to go all out for anniversaries or birthdays and would set up really special dates and surprise outings, always making sure that you are comfortable and having fun. He would probably take you to secluded places surrounded by nature where you can just enjoy each other's company with no one else around.

He would hand write you beautiful letters especially when he is going away on tour or if he is going to be having a late night in the studio and won’t see you for a while

He values his privacy and would most likely keep your relationship lowkey and private. He wouldn’t hide you and wouldn’t hesitate to talk about you a little every now and then but he also wouldn’t tell everyone too much about your relationship, he likes to keep certain things to himself.

He would support you in everything that you do, whether it’s just a project that you have taken up or if it is something for work, he would be right behind you at all times cheering you on. If you start to doubt yourself, he would be the one to tell you how well you are doing and would motivate you 

He has a lot of appreciation for you especially since he knows it can be difficult to be with him when he is really focused on his music or if he is touring. So he would always express how thankful he is that you are there for him, even during tough times.

Considering his love for art and literature, he would love to take you on little museum or gallery dates and would definitely tell you the backstory of certain pieces if you seemed interested. He would also take note of the kind of books, poems or art you like and would give you unique gifts inspired by this.

Despite his fame, he is very grounded and values his private time and time with family, so he would love a partner who listens and values your opinions and alone time together. He would love to see you with his family and is in love with how much his parents and friends adore you.

If you’re not Irish, he would love to introduce you to certain foods or traditions from Ireland. He is always really excited to see your reaction to trying Irish snacks/drinks and remembers what you like or dislike

He is a big ‘I remember you said you like this, so i got it for you’ partner. He remembers everything about you, from your favourite food to your favourite songs or movies and even your favourite piece of jewelry

He is a very emotional guy and at first he struggles to open up to you but as your relationship grows, he becomes more comfortable being himself around you and knows you would never judge him just like how he would never judge you. Once he becomes fully comfortable with you, there is not one thing he wouldn't tell you and never hides anything from you. He trusts you with everything.

As I said he is a very private guy, so he wouldn’t be a big fan of PDA but as your relationship goes on, he will start to be more open about it and will show you off whenever he can. He loves hand holding and will periodically kiss your temple and or the back of your hand when you are out

Part 2!!

[woso-dreamzzz]

Treat You Better III

Laia Codina x Reader

Summary: You visit Spain

The language barrier posed a bit of a problem but you could get past that.

The food posed a bit of a problem but you could get past that too.

What you couldn't get past was the topless sunbathing.

You weren't prudish by any means. But you were Irish and the beaches you usually went to in Ireland were full of pebbles. You didn't sunbathe in Ireland. You just hoped that you didn't get taken out by a wave.

Spanish beaches were different though. They were sandy and the sea was calm and all of Laia's friends were stripping off their bikini tops and lying out in the sun.

Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline at how easily everyone did it. You hadn't experienced much cultural issues moving from Ireland to England but now you were getting the experience that Laia did.

Moving from Spain to England was a big thing, full of cultural differences that she had to adapt too. Now you're doing the same.

You didn't know the rules surrounding this so you just decided to avert your eyes and pretend that it wasn't happening.

You sat under an umbrella and contemplated whether it was rude to just duck into a shop and stay there until everyone was ready to go.

"You aren't sunbathing?"

"I'm Irish, luv," You say," I don't tan well. I burn."

"Katie tans."

"Yeah, she got lucky. I didn't."

Laia wiggles under the umbrella with you. She's shirtless just like her friends but you don't feel awkward looking at her. You've seen her naked countless times. Seeing her topless seems a little tame in comparison.

Seeing her friends and other world class footballers shirtless was a little different.

"You don't tan at all?" She pouts at you," I could have sworn you did in Australia."

"You were watching me back then?" You laugh," You little stalker."

Her cheeks turn pink. "I thought you were very pretty. It is a shame you won't try to tan here."

"I'll burn," You insist," And we'll go back to London and Katie will tease me. I'm not attempting it."

"But you tan! I know you do! I've seen it!"

"It's too much effort," You say nonchalantly," I'm happy here. I might go and buy an ice cream. I'm fine, luv."

She looks at you suspiciously, her pout getting bigger and bigger the more you attempt to get away.

"Leave her alone, Codi!" You hear someone yell, Mariona you think.

"I'm just wearing her down!" Laia yells back with a teasing smile," Don't ruin this for me!"

"Ruin this for you?" You echo," I see how it is. You want to see me topless."

She tries to deny it but her stuttered words betray her true attention.

"You're cute, luv, but no, I'm not stripping in front of your friends."

"Why not? You're not insecure are you?" Her words come out in a stream, interspersed with random kisses pressed to your face. "Because you're so beautiful and you're stunning and I think you're so much prettier than all of my friends and you shouldn't feel insecure about something like this."

"Laia-"

"Because you have nothing to feel insecure about. And I love you and-"

"Laia-"

"You should never feel bad about your body and-"

"Laia! Luv, shut up. I'm not insecure. I know I have a good body but...These are your friends and they're topless."

Laia frowns. "I don't understand."

You laugh. "It'd be like if we went to the beach with Katie and Caitlin and they whipped their tops off. You would feel a little awkward, wouldn't you?"

You can see Laia think it over for a moment. She turns it over in her mind. You can see the moment she imagines Katie topless because her eyes suddenly squeeze shut.

"I see," She admits," But you promise you do not feel insecure?"

"I promise," You say, laying a kiss on her lips," Just feeling a little awkward. I'm sure after a few more trips I'll feel more comfortable."

She beams. "You want to come back?"

You roll your eyes. "Yes, Laia. This is your home. These are your friends. Of course, I want to come back."

She attacks you with kisses, pinning you against your beach towel.

"Codi!" One of her friends call," Stop kissing your girlfriend! I want to go paddle boarding!"

"Go, luv," You laugh, pushing her away," We have lots of time later."

[petermorwood]

Food on St Patrick's Day (in the USA)...

...is usually Corned Beef & Cabbage, which is the Irish-American version of the original Irish boiled bacon & cabbage, but while the celebratory Irishness is still going strong, try something a bit more authentic.

A nice warm coddle. Not cuddle, coddle, though just as comforting in its own way. (Some sources suggest it's a hangover cure, not that such a thing would ever be necessary at this time of year, oh dear me no.)

Coddle is a stew using potatoes, onions, bacon, sausages, stout-if-desired / stock-if-not, pepper, sage, thyme and Time.

You'll often see it called "Dublin Coddle", but my Mum made Lisburn Coddle lots of times, I've made West Wicklow Coddle more than once, and on one occasion in a Belgian holiday apartment I made Brugsekoddel, which is an OK spelling for something that doesn't exist in any cookbook.

*****

I do remember one amendment I made to Mum's recipe, which met with slight resistance at the time and great appreciation thereafter.

Her coddle was originally cooked on the stove-top, not in the oven, and nothing was pre-cooked. Potatoes were quartered, onions were sliced, bacon was cut into chunks and then everything went into the big iron casserole, then onto the slow back ring, and there it simmered Until Done.

However, the bacon was thick-cut back rashers, and the sausages were pork chipolatas.

Raw, they looked like this:

...and the bacon looked like this:

Cooked in the way Mum initially did, they looked pretty much the same afterwards. The sausages didn't change colour. Nor did the bacon.

While everything tasted fine, the meat parts always looked - to me, anyway - somewhat ... less than appealing. "Surgical appliance pink" is the kindest way to put it, and that's all I'm saying. This is apparently "white coddle" and Dubs can get quite defensive about This Is The Way It SHOULD Look.

I'm not a Dub, so I persuaded Mum to fry both the bacon and sausages first, just enough to get a bit of brown on, and wow! Improvement! I remember my Dad nodding in approval but - because he was Wise - not saying anything aloud until Mum gave it the green light as well.

Doing the coddle in the oven, first with lid on then with lid off, came later and met with equal approval. So did using only half of the onion raw and frying the other half lightly golden in the bacon fat.

Nobody quoted from a movie that wouldn't be made for another decade, but there was a definite feeling of...

*****

There are coddle recipes all over the Net: I've made sure that these are from Ireland to avoid the corned-beef-not-boiled-bacon "adjustment" versions which are definitely out there. I've already seen one with Bratwurst. Just wait, it'll be chorizo next.

Oh, hell's teeth, I was right. And from RTE...

Returning to relative normality, here's Donal Skehan's white coddle and his browned coddle with barley (I'm going to try that one).

Here's Dairina Allen's Frenchified with US measurements version. (I feel considerably less heretical now.)

And finally (OK, not Irish, but it references a couple of the previous ones and is a VERY comprehensive write-up, so gets a pass) Felicity Cloake's Perfect Dublin Coddle (perfect according to who, exactly...?) in The Guardian.

*****

Returning to the beginning, and how boiled bacon became corned beef (a question which prompted @dduane to start an entire website...!)

The traditional Irish meat animal for those who could afford it was the pig, but when Irish immigrants (even before the Great Famine) arrived in the USA, they often lived in the same urban districts as Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe.

For fairly obvious reasons pork, bacon and other piggy products were unavailable in those districts, but salt beef was right there and far cheaper than any meat Irish immigrants had ever seen before.

Insist on tradition or eat what was easy to find? There'd have been contest - and do I sometimes wonder a bit if sauerkraut ever came close to replacing cabbage for the same reason.

The pre-Famine Irish palate liked sour tastes: a German (?) visitor to Ireland in the mid-1600s wrote about about what were called "the best-favoured peasantry in Europe", and mentioned that they had "seventy-several sour milks and creams*, and the sourer they be, the better they like them."

* Yogurt? Kefir? Skyr? Gosh...

Corned beef and Kraut as the immigrants' celebratory "Irish" meal for St Patrick's Day? Maybe, maybe not.

Time for "Immigrant Song" (with kittens).

*****

Corned beef got its name from the size of the salt grains with which the beef was prepared. They were usually bigger than kosher salt, like pinhead oats or even as large as grains of wheat, and their name derived originally from "corned (gun)powder", the large coarse grains used in cannon.

BTW, "corn" has been a generic English term for "grain" for centuries, and "but Europe didn't have corn" is an American mistake assuming the word refers to sweetcorn / maize, which it doesn't.

Lindsey Davis, author of the "Falco" series, had a couple of rants about it and other US-requested "corrections". As she points out, mistakes need corrected but "corn" is not a mistake, just a difference in vocabulary.

*****

In Ancient and Medieval Ireland pig would have included wild boar, the hunting of which was a suitable pastime for warriors and heroes, because Mr Boar took a very dim view of the whole proceeding and wasn't shy about showing it (see "wild boar" in my tags and learn more).

Cattle were for milk, butter, cream and little cattle; also wealth, status, and heroic displays in their theft, defence or recovery. It's no accident that THE great Irish epic is "The Cattle-Raid of Cooley" / Táin Bó Cúailnge (tawn / toyn boh cool-nyah).

Killing a cow for meat was ostentation on a level of lighting cigars with 100-, or even 500-, currency-unit notes. Once it had been cooked and eaten there'd be no more milk, butter, cream or little cattle from that source, so eating beef was showing off And Then Some.

Also, loaning a prize bull to run with someone else's heifers was a sign of great friendship or alliance, while refusing it might be an excuse for enmity or even war. IMO that's what Maeve of Connaught intended all along, picking undiplomatic envoys who would get drunk and shoot their mouths off so the loan was refused and she, insulted, would have an excuse to...

But I digress, as usual. Or again. Or still... :->

*****

For the most part, "pig" mean "domestic porker", and in later periods right up to the Famine, these animals were seldom eaten.

Instead, known as "the gentleman who pays the rent", the family pig ate kitchen scraps and rooted about for other foods, none of which the tenant had to grow or buy for them. These fattened pigs would go to market twice a year, and the money from their sale would literally pay that half-year's rent.

For wealthier (less poor?) farmers, pigs had another advantage. Calves arrived singly, lambs might be a pair, but piglets popped out by the dozen. A sow with (some of) her farrow was even commemorated on the old ha'penny coin...

What with bulls, chickens, hares, horses, hounds, pigs, salmon and stags, the pre-decimal Irish coinage is a good inspiration for some sort of fantasy currency.

But that's another post, for another day.

[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

@leclercloml @butterfly-skinnylegend @rockerchick05 @agustdpeach @celesteblack08 @probablypossesedbysatan @kittyrumbl3r @electrobutterfly @knpgituloh @butlersluvbot @captainwans @bellstwd @theekyliepage @marti-su @multifans-things @ceruleanrainblues @litterallnobody @jackierose902109 @sinarainbows @cosniffee @thatgirlthatreadswattpad

[pitchsidestories]

Dublin Girls II Katie McCabe x Reader

masterlist I word count: 2250

a/n: we combined two requests here which were Katie McCabe fluff and the Reader having dyslexia. Enjoy ! ❤️

Dublin, 2015

“Katie, your teammates have arrived.”, Fiona, Katie McCabe’s coworker at Nando’s yelled at her. It turned out that her statement was not even necessary as Denise O’Sullivan rushed in to hug her Irish teammate excitedly:”Katie!” “Hey, girls!”, the midfielder beamed as she looked into the faces of the other young female football players. Amused you noticed out loud, being one of her teammates at club and country:” My girl looking like a glaced donut, we really need to get her out of here mates.”

“Wait. I have two minutes left. My boss is going to kill me if he hears I left earlier again.”, your girlfriend quickly replied.  Hopefully Denise glanced at the brunette:” Can we at least get some Nando’s before we go back to our hotel.” “Do we look like the church? Is this a charity restaurant?”, Fiona scoffed. She reacted with a defeated sigh as the older woman noticed all the players were doing puppy eyes on her:” Okay, fine, what do you hungry girls want?” Those girls were one of Fionas soft spot which was an open secret by now even though she pretended to be annoyed by them whenever they came in.  Slowly Katie shook her “Just give them whatever’s left over.” “Hey, she asked us whatever we want.”, Ruesha Littlejohn protested laughing. Unimpressed she stated:“We’re not making fresh food for you at the end of our shift.”

“With alcohol everything tastes delicious anyway. Also, Katie, I need to introduce you to someone later.”, you winked secretive at your girlfriend. “Who? Can’t believe you all had drinks without me.”, the midfielder pouted. Immediately Denise added: “Not much.” “Yeah, sure.”, Katie snorted in disbelief.  With a look on the clock Fiona confirmed:” You can go now Katie.” “Thanks. See you next week.”, she waved at her co-worker before joining her Ireland team.

When they reached their hotel Ruesha closed her eyes, devouring the food she was holding in her hand:” Oh my god, this is so good.” “Only drunk people would say that about cold chips.”, Katie commented chuckling. Eyerolling the blonde told the brunette:“Oh shut up and start drinking!” “I wasn’t offered anything yet.”, Katie pointed out. A cheeky smile was on Denise’s face as she was handing her a beer bottle:”Here.”

Impatiently you guided your girlfriend to the hotel room you two were sharing:“Now let me introduce you to her.” “To whom ?!”, expectantly she was looking around the area, there was no one in sight. “Can’t tell you who because she has not got a name yet.”, you answered, picking up a small kitten who seemed surprisingly comfortable in your arms, as if she knew she was in save hands.

Katies jaw dropped at the little fur ball you were holding and reached out a hand to pet her; “Oh my god. Who are you? What are you doing here?“ “This is a little girl with no home so I thought maybe we could take her with us… I’ll just get more shifts at the coffee shop.���, you explained, having everything planned and calculated already. But Katie just raised her eyebrow at you; “Seriously? You found her and took her with you?“ “No, I asked the hotel manager and he said she was homeless.“, you defended yourself with a laugh. “Poor girl.“, Katie grinned, scratching the kitten behind her eyes. Looking around the hotel room, she added; “Are you trying to keep her in here?“ “Yes, until we go home.“ You pointed over at a blanket and a bunch of hotel towels rolled into a cat bed and a makeshift litter box. “You’re really a lucky kitty.“, Katie laughed, stilling petting the little cat. “She’s.“, you agreed.

A forceful knock on the door and Rueshas voice interrupted you; ��Girls, let’s go!“ You sat the cat down while your girlfriend opened the door just wide enough for your teammates face to appear in the gap. “What are you up to, Rue?“, Katie asked excitedly. Ruesha grimaced at her as if Katie said something particularly stupid, so Denise explained; “We’re sneaking out on to the mens pitch!“ You didn’t even have to see your girlfriends face to know that her eyes got big at the thought of the much nicer pitch. “The one with the perfectly cut grass?“, she asked. You grabbed Katies jacket and shoved it into her hands; “Yes. So what are we waiting for?“

“I’m in.“, Katie smiled brightly as you let the door fall close behind you. “Who’s got a ball?“, you asked. Denise held one up with a wink; “I came prepared, don’t worry.“ You gave her a mischievous smile before the four of you snuck out of the back entrance as quietly as possible. The mens training pitch was not far from your hotel but it was locked and surrounded by a fence. One by one, you climbed over it, landing on the soft artificial grass.

The moon was bright enough to light up the field. With a sigh, Katie let herself drop to the ground and felt the grass with her hands; “They are living the life, huh?“ With her arms crossed in front of her chest, Ruesha stated; “I think we should play here. They can have the muddy dirt pitch we usually play on.“ “That sounds like a fair deal.“, you laughed, helping your girlfriend off the ground to finally play some football. Denise shrugged; “But only for us. They’d kick us out immediately if they saw us here.“

As if the blonde knew what was about to come a man shouted at them:” What are you girls doing? Get off the pitch!” “Oh shit.”, you mumbled under your breath. “Hurry, girls!”, Katie cheered her teammates on. With a glance back Ruesha observed cheerfully: “We’re faster.”  “Shit. My ball.”, Denise cursed. Because you knew how much the football meant to her you patted your friend’s shoulder before running back:” Wait, I’ll get your ball.” “No, fuck the ball. We need to go.”, your girlfriend shook her head.

Triumphantly you picked the football up from the grass while walking back to your teammates:” Got the ball!” “Run. He’s coming.”, Ruesha warned you.  The tension got too much for Denise who dramatically turned her back to not see what was happening in front of her: “Oh, no, he’s running faster.” “Come on, you almost made it!”, the brunette clapped her hands for you. Amused Ruesha caught you, so you did not fell over your feet:” We got you.” “Thanks for saving my ball.”, Denise threw a grateful smile at you. With a huge grin on your face, you replied: “You’re welcome.” “That was close though.”, Katie remarked while putting an arm around your hip as you were walking back to your hotel.

London, 2023

It was a grey and rainy autumn day in London when you returned to Katie and yours home, you could not help but to beam at what you were seeing, your cat being asleep on the defender’s upper body, that peaceful moment between them was definitely a little light on such a day: “Katie, what are you watching?”  “Just a video.”, the captain of the Ireland women’s national team tried to wave it off. Still your curiosity was awakened by her reaction, which is why you took her phone to see for yourself:” Wait, someone filmed that moment?”

 “Hey! That’s mine.”, Katie protested. Lovingly you nodded into the direction of your cat:” Look how small the little missus was.” “She literally fits into the palm of your hand when you found her.”, the defender cooed over your little furry roommate. The pet being one of her soft spots since the day she joined your household. Winking you commented:” And now look at her majesty laying here in all her grace and length.” “Acting like she owns the place.”, Katie noticed smiling. “Oh yes.”, you giggled. More serious your girlfriend continued, reminiscing about the time eight years ago: “But I do miss this time.” “Oh, you miss your shifts at Nando’s and not earning enough money with just playing football.”, you teased her. The defender looked up to you: “That’s not what I said.”

You rolled you eyes with a fond smile; “Yeah, I know what you actually mean.” “Our shenanigans?”, Katie replied, making sure that you were both talking about the same thing. “You‘re still doing shenanigans in club and country.”, you interjected, laughing. Now it was your girlfriends turn to roll her eyes; “Yes, but not like that.” But she couldn‘t suppress a smile either. You sat down at the edge of the sofa and tilted your head; “True though.” “Those were some good times.”, Katie reminisced. Softly, you patted her thigh; “Yes, but we also came a long way since then.” Laughing, your girlfriend agreed; “We did.” You let out a shriek as Katie pulled you towards her all of a sudden.

Your cat had abandoned her spot on top of Katie and lazily watched you two from her scratching tree. “Excuse me?”, you protested, your head pressed to your girlfriends chest. Katie let out a laugh and shrugged; “She doesn’t want to snuggle with me anymore, so you have two.” “You‘re such a softie when you’re not receiving yellow cards.”, you remarked while you reluctantly moved to find the most comfortable spot on top of your girlfriend. “Hey!”, she frowned but a smile tugged on the corners of her mouth. You lifted your hands in defense; “Just saying.” Playfully, the brunette narrowed her eyes at you; “I‘ll show you how tough I am.” “Should I be scared?”, you answered, more of a challenge than a question. “Of course you should be.” “I‘m not.”, you stated plainly. “Why not?” “Because you’re not scary, love.” “I‘ll show you how scary I can be on the pitch then.”

You laughed; “Will you score another banger at our next game?” ”Do you want me to?” ”Yes.” Your girlfriend acknowledged your answer with a nod; “I‘ll score one for you.” She winked at you. “How do you make clear that the goal is dedicated to me?”, you wanted to know while thoughtfully drawing small patterns on your girlfriends sweater with your fingertip. Confident, like she was waiting for you to ask that, she suggested; “How about I steal the ball out of the goal and run away with it?” “I like that one.”, you grinned. “As a tribute to our adventures at the national team.”

Your eyes met and you were reminded of the moment on the mens football pitch in Dublin eight years ago. ”Did you know that Denise still owns the ball I saved for her?”, you asked. Your girlfriend grimaced at the sentimentality of it; “Sounds like something Denise would do.” ”It‘s cute!”, you defended her. Katie shook her head; ”We really were some troublemakers. And sometimes we still are.”

At the next Arsenal game, you jumped into the open arms of your girlfriend: “That was a stunning goal, Katie!” “Hope you liked the celebration as well.”, Katie smirked. Excited you nodded: “I did.” “Me too.”, she admitted.

After the match Vivianne wanted to know from both of you:” What was the story behind Katie’s goal celebration?” “Long story, Viv.”, the defender replied nonchalantly. The forward kept pressing:” Will you tell it at your wedding?” “Maybe I’ll.”, your girlfriend answered. Curiously Steph intervened: “Who said wedding?”  “Of course, they’ll get married. They’ve been together forever.”, Beth laughed. Her girlfriend shared her opinion:” Exactly.” “Guys.”, Katie rolled her eyes at your teammates even though they all were very dear to her heart as you knew.  Still giggly Beth shot back: “It’s legal in Ireland.” “I’m aware of that.”, the defender said.

Later in your bed, the cat between the two of you, you turned to look in your girlfriend’s eyes:” Katie, you’re so quiet?” “Hm?” “Are you okay?”, you asked her a bit worried. Quickly she reassured you: “Of course.” “Good, I’m glad our teammates did not scare you.” “Why would they scare me?”, Katie glanced confused at you. Taking a deep breath, you added: “With the wedding talk?”  “Beth and Viv are just so in love.”, the defender scoffed but her love for them shine threw anyway.  Winking you reminded her:” That’s young love, sweetheart.” “Unlike us. Maybe it’s time to get married. I mean I’d love to call you, my wife. It also has some other benefits.” , your girlfriend grinned. Automatically an eyebrow of yours went up: “Like?” “Tax benefits?”, Katie snorted. You fell into that:” And your mum stop asking when we’re getting married?” “Good joke.”, the defender exhaled deeply. You thought out loud: “Oh right, she’d move on from that straight to children.”

“She’s so annoying. I didn’t know I’d be held to the same hetero-normative standards when I came out to her.”, your girlfriend sighed dramatically. Calmly you took her hand in yours: “Honestly, we already have a found family in London. But I’d like to marry you on our own terms.” “I’d like to marry you too.”, Katie said in an honest tone. You began to blush:” But you’ll have to proofread the invitations because you know with my dyslexia.”  “Don’t worry about it. We’ll let them get done somewhere.”, the defender kissed your cheek which turned even more red.

Grateful you thanked her, enjoying the company of her and the cat and the thought to celebrate your upcoming wedding with the friends you made along the way at Arsenal aswell as in the national team.

[louthesawgirl]

What each Saw character would get as a Tesco meal deal (scientifically accurate)

Hello everyone, I decided as my debut long Saw shitpost, I thought I would decide what meal deals different Saw characters would opt for if they stumbled into a Tesco and were a bit peckish after setting up a few traps.

If you’re not from the U.K. or Ireland and are not familiar with the British & Irish institutions of a meal deal, it’s basically a packaged sandwich, pasta pot, salad, bit of sushi maybe alongside a snack item and a drink for a fixed price (it used to be around £3/ €4 but the shops are taking the piss now). Meal deals are considered a treasured institution here and are an indication of your personality. People judge your character based on what you get between two slices of cheap bread.

Here’s what different Saw characters would get for a Tesco meal deal:

Adam (Faulkner) Stanheight

1. Southern fried chicken chipotle mayo sub

2. Doritos cheese flavour

3. Vimto still drink

Judging on how we know Adam is quite an unorganised adult struggling to adult most days, I would assume he opts for high energy foods to keep his tastebuds happy. Cheese, spiced chicken and fruity drinks seem up his street. Plus, Vimto is a very Mancunian thing and if Saw was set in the U.K., there’s no way Adam would not be from Manchester.

Dr Lawrence (Larry) Gordon

1. Eat Your Greens Feta Salad

2. Apple & Grape snack pot

3. Chilled Iced Latte

I feel like because Larry is a doctor, he prioritises convenience but also eats healthily. I also imagine him to be meat free/ vegetarian so that explains the feta & greens salad (I don’t think he’d be vegan though, he seems like he loves proper cheese too much). Larry seems like he’d always be carrying breath mints or tictacs to minimise the cheese or coffee breath- nobody needs a waft of that when being told they’ve got 6 months left to live.

Amanda Young

1. BLT sandwich

2. Walkers Thai Sweet Chilli Sensations Crisps

3. Monster Energy drink (chosen based on packaging colours to match mood)

Amanda is a busy lady planning traps and building contraptions designed to almost certainly kill people. She seems like she enjoys a bit of spice along with classic comfort combinations.

John Kramer

- Chicken & bacon sandwich

- Egg snack pot

- Green smoothie

John seems like he’s mindful of what he puts into his body considering he’s consistently a salt & vinegar crisp away from death with the cancer and all. He’s also a very smart man so he would know the best value for money combination with a meal deal is getting an overpriced fruit smoothie for a drink.

Mark Hoffman

- All Day Breakfast sandwich (triple)

- Walkers Max Salt & Vinegar crisps

- Red Bull

Mark seems like he can’t get enough of bacon & sausage, even though it’s cold and not exactly very fresh. Maybe he’d even have a bit of HP brown sauce with it. Mark would also probably make immature jibes towards vegans and vegetarians because he’s that kind of man. Considering Mark works overtime setting up traps and evading capture, all he’d be drinking by the events of Saw 7 would be energy drinks.

Jill Tuck

- Egg & Cress sandwich

- Arla strawberry protein yogurt

- Bottle of water

Jill is a bit… bland. I’m sorry but I just have to say it. Egg & cress perfectly summarises Jill’s personality as seen in movies 4-7 between two pieces of bread.

Peter Strahm

- Deli style cheese & pickle sandwich

- Smoked salmon sushi pack

- Pepsi Max

Strahm made some good decisions, some regrettable ones and one very very dumb decision during his time in the Saw universe. Just like his track record with making poor decisions, I’d guess Peter would get some supermarket sushi as a snack with his meal deal- not very fresh nor authentic and will leave you wondering why you couldn’t have got a pack of reliable crisps or a chocolate bar instead.

Lindsey Perez

- Feta & sundried tomato pasta

- Propercorn sweet & salty popcorn

- Fanta orange

Perez is a great character and so she would get a meal deal to reflect that. Why do I also imagine Lindsey being veggie?

Eric Matthews

- Meatball marinara sub

- Walkers Monster Munch Pickled Onion crisps

- Red Bull

I feel like this choice accurately reflects Eric. It’s a combination that’s maybe reflective of an immature palette, maybe even a sort of guilty pleasure combination. I wonder if he’d put the monster munch hands (or feet) on his fingers and eat them like that.

Hope you enjoyed my incredibly British saw shitpost x

[wizardfrog69]

Can you do Dazai in love with Fyodor’s sister?

Another one with this sister thing. Thanks for the request!

'•.¸♡ my enemy is my love ♡¸.•'

Dazai x gn!reader

Fluff

Bsd masterlist

Enjoy!

When Dazai first met you there was not a doubt in his mind you were Fyodor's sibling or related to Fyodor in some other way, I mean name me a Russian from bsd who isn't involved with Fyodor, that's right, there is none.

So naturally Dazai couldn't help but think you would betray him in some way or another and spill all of his secrets to Fyodor.

After warming up to the idea that you weren't going to betray him he started court you.

When you two start going out it's more secretly but once you get more comfortable in the relationship you can start dating and going out more openly, you might even get introduced to the agency but that is unlikely.

When Fyodor finds out about the relationship he is furious and demands you to never see Dazai again in a calm yet deadly manner.

When you refuse to go against your brothers wishes and still go out with Dazai, Fyodor might threaten Dazai's life but when he realises you are truly happy he will start acting more civil and not threaten Dazai with a certain and painful death.

Fyodor wants you to be happy and if that means having to bare seeing Dazai he will do his best not to try and kill the bastard.

Whenever at a gathering of you three Fyodor will talk to you mostly in Russian hoping Dazai hasn't cracked the language yet. If you two know another language (preferably slavic so it doesn't sound like you are talking in two different languages) he will use a mix of both, either to confus Dazai or- no, only to confus him.

Also Dazai will probably make out with you - or try to atleast- to annoy Fyodor, which works well if he may say so himself.

༺♡༻ 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 ⋆ 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 ༺♡༻

Random food for thought: do y'all think Bram will get an Irish accent? And if so which part of Ireland? Or will he get a different accent or just no accent at all?

Have a wonderful day/night! Sweet dreams to anyone who is going to sleep :)

-with love, Az

[werezmastarbucks]

saw in half

masterlist

Chibs observes first red flags

music: romeo and juliet by dire straits

word count: 1350

You felt the exhaustion wash over you like an avalanche as you left the bar. The street was swaying comfortably, and yet, you still weren't sleepy. At least, Chibs. aka Filip, knew what he was talking about. Looking at him, he probably always does. You were watching him, the only source of light in your tunnel vision, as he was hiding the orange flash from his lighter.

"Whatcha wanna do next?" he asked.

'Go home', you thought automatically, and immediately, the home had a picture of Ned's bleeding body in the yard. Wow! Nightmares will surely follow. You tried really quickly to remember, as you held yourself on the lamp post, if ghosts exist. Rattling your brains, you were feeling for the facts and came to the conclusion, that no, in this dimension, ghosts didn't exist. The lamp post shifted, and you, with it. A warm hand laid over your palm. It was Chibs that you leaned onto.

"You know what, after a good stabbing, I only wanna one thing", you mumbled. He hummed to show he's listening.

She was blushing with heat from the inside of her body, her leather jacket relaxed on her shoulders, the necklace slightly tilted, her hair soft, with liquid sparks in the streetlight. Her lips slightly open, and it was so easy at that moment to imagine those lips doing anything, anything he wanted. He was ready to take her anywhere she'd ask tonight, even if it was the freaking Grand Canyon.

Now you two were on the way to the club with live music, because only good band, only good band that would play old music, could heal you tonight.

It was weirdly reminiscent of the night you just had told him about; because it was loud, dark, and you both forgot to drink because of how much you talked. The band was playing on and on, with hits from old-school worlds like Dire Straits, Journey, Starship, and then even further, and more nostalgic. And Chibs was smoking, laid back against the chair and the wall of mist, his eyes glistening at you. At first, he listened more, as you spoke about music, and your job, and the house, but then had to assume a more secure position with his elbows on the table, as the topic slid onto his homeland. You then spoke about the accents and history, and nature, and how you traveled to Ireland nine years ago, and on, and on, and on, and then he mentioned killing mice in his house when they sneaked into the kitchen to eat the food and wiring, and you went absolutely lexically berserk on him. The heated debate was so eloquent, so level-headed for a drinking night like this, that in the middle of it you already sobered up.

"Yer telling me lassie", Chibs pointed his new cigarette at you, "that you feel worse for killing that fruit fly than that Ned boy".

"The fruit fly has no consciousness, the fruit fly HAS NO UNDERSTANDING of where it was", you were trying to scream over the loud riffs of Who'll Stop The Rain, but it also made it just a little funny.

"I get it, I get your deep ecological sentience argument, and I am all ready to believe that you could actually choose to live amongst fruit flies and weasels if such an opportunity presents itself..."

"Deep ecological sentience? Is that, like, a term?"

He nodded.

"Yeah, it's on the verge of misanthropy, which I wouldn't put past ya. Ever heard of Anti-Anthropocentric school of rhetoric?"

You shook your head: "I am surprised you do not consider yourself a misanthrope, I thought a person of your intelligence would have an inherent embarrassment of their species..."

He smiled and rubbed his face in a half-amused way, flicking the butt of the cigarette into the ashtray. You noticed he had a habit of showing teeth when he was having fun.

"Anti-Anthropocentric rhetoric", you repeated musingly, "that's quite a mouthful".

"You can take it", he murmured in good nature.

"I have a very small mouth", you said, before you could think. Something twinkled in his eye, but without skipping a beat, he replied,

"We'll think of something".

That was the moment you understood that Chibs is stupid hot. That was the small detail you couldn't put your finger to the whole day; the face with scars, the animalistic quietness harbouring some kind of warning, the low, rumbling voice and the unapologetic accent he flauntered like peacock, a tail. And how you felt uneasy, not knowing what exactly you should say, it was the appeal. It was the stupid, basic, horny. You had a desire to call him sir. He was a good-looking, slim, mature man who looked you directly in the eye. You wondered about the vigor in his muscles, completely busking in the comfort of not having to set the scene. He was continuing to take care of it.

After some time and another debate that had no business being that enlightening in Scottish English, you felt your bladder tugging you from the inside in a polite request, so you stood up to go to the toilet.

"You want me to walk you?" he asked. You grinned,

"I am not that helpless, thanks".

"It's the hour of the night when all the idiots completely lose it", he warned soberly.

"Well, I do have the scary dog privilege", you said, and he winced.

"That's a little degrading, don't you think?"

There must have still been some alcohol in you, because of how bravely you stepped up to him and allowed your fingers to snake up to the zip of his jacket.

"I did say 'privilege', didn't I?"

As he was driving Y/N to her light green house, Chibs was thinking about the annoying feeling of appreciation. No one has spoken to him about his Glaswegian tongue in all of the years since he left home. He knew how it was with them specialists, but getting so deep into her character took the edge off his chase. He now, unfortunately, saw her as a distinguishable human, something he tried not to bother with, with women, so that they both could just have good time.

He thought of Jackie and how he tried to protect her when he got so much as a whiff of something funny coming her way. Understandable. This girl could spit twenty word sentences even with half a liter vodka inside of her. And stay blushing.

He nudged you gently into the shoulder, upset with himself.

"Home delivery".

"Mm", you totally dozed off, lulled by the soft movement of the car. Your mouth felt dry. The car smelt like your perfume now, and smoke. The smoke! It's like it was everywhere, even in your pants.

"What are you delivering?" you mumbled, trying to gather yourself to sucessfully leave the car.

"Yerself", he responded, kicking the door open.

As you walked towards the door, you turned and said,

"Come in".

And Chibs did what he always did, because he was a professional.

"Y/N, I don't think..."

You giggled,

"Don't be silly. I have something for you. For helping me".

He entered the house after you, a little puzzled, and you trotted towards the kitchen. Something flickered in your mind when you woke up, like some connections in brain fried up at the right moment. His face lit up as he saw you with a box of Ferrero Rocher in your hand.

"I suddenly remembered I have them".

"Don't wanna rob you of the treasure", he weighed the box in his hand, unable to stop smiling.

"No, I have another one. I love them too", you reassured him. "Thank you for sticking with me and listening... to all this".

"Go on, have some rest", Chibs tipped his chin instead of answering, "and careful not to step on fucking silverfishes in yer bathroom".

"Why, you saw them? Did YOU KILL ANY SILVERFISHES TODAY?" you started screaming. Moving back towards the entrance, hair back, eyes open wide, like a victorian ghost, so Chibs hopped away as quickly as he could, shutting the door behind him.

[hostdoozy]

Chosen Name: Faolán [last name redacted] (pronunciation: fway-lawn)

Alias: "Brewster", "B.S", "BrewsterWorks"

Age bracket: middle-aged

Gender: (trans)Male

sexuality: unknown/questioning (likely on the Ace spectrum)

Occupation: Professional Painter, Art Critic & Ghostwriter

personality summary: Foalán is a secretive hermit that is passionate about Art. He's highly critical regarding most things and isn't exactly the most trusting when it comes to people. Foalán likes his privacy, preferring to keep as much anonymity as possible in most situations. While he's a heavily guarded person, Foalán can be a mischievous playful lil' fella- masking his distrust for others and attempting to mirror people's energy. He tends to miss social cues, so his attempts are- err... "A- for effort"

Backstory!

Yokai live in all corners of the world, sometimes going by different terms depending on the country, varying cultures, etc... Just like... You know- people.

Unlike humanity, all creatures of magic and whimsy are forced to hide away from the world. Foalán is no exception to this.

In Ireland, the Yokai- otherwise known as the "Aos sí", struggle to maintain their land and secrecy. Their habitat slowly dwindling away due to human settlements expanding. This was the kind of environment that he grew up in, constantly hiding away in fear.

The world he knew was small and his only escape was art.

Long before his claim to fame, Faolán would publish his works under the Alias "Brewster" or "B.s". He felt the need to share his work but due to his wariness of People and 'yokai' alike, wanted to keep his anonymity.

It was until he moved to America, that the name "Brewster" became renowned within the Hidden City. word spread around of a fantastic artist, whose true identity is shrouded in mystery and his artistic insight on things is deeply profound but ultimately harsh.

He met Rupert when he freshly immigrant to America, settling within the hidden city.

It wasn't everyday that human causally hung around in Yokai dominated spaces- and it wasn't everyday, that Rupert would see an Aos si in America. Typical of most Irish and British people, he did not hit it off straight away.

Their 'friendship' started as a mutual dealing. Faolán would gather mystical items for Rupert's cooking while Rupert would help Foalán established connections (whilst letting the Puca keep his anonymity)

It was simply met to be a begrudging deal. Nothing more.

However, overtime. They became genuine friends.

Often meeting up at late-night pubs, small food stands or each others homes. They would talk the night aware, endlessly bantering with one another.

They develop romantic feelings for each other.

Yet they never acted on it, staying as friends for years to come. Needless to say, there was some romantic tension between the two.

Foalán would watch Rupert from the sidelines, staying within the shadows while Rupert shines in the spotlight. It was simpler that way.

There were too many things they thought to themselves why things couldn't work.

Suddenly one day, Rupert mutated live on TV. Faolán witnessed his best friend be transformed into a giant monster pig... And from the comfort of his own home. Foalán was beyond worried for him.

He wouldn't answer his calls, he struggled to find him but Foalán didnt give up on Rupert. He wasn't willing to throw all their years of friendship aware.

When they reunited. Rupert was terrified about taking out his newly found 'cannibalistic' tendencies.

Yet Foalán choose to stay by his side... As always... Because of this, they finally had the courage to tell each other how tell feel. Finally becoming boyfriends.

[followingtheladyofthesacredflame]

Hi I’m a new follower of Brigid, what things are sacred to her - animals, crystals, plants ect

Wikipedia came up with the birch tree being sacred to her but other sources have the oak

If you also have any books/info sources where I can learn more about her I’d love to hear your reccomendations

Hello, welcome to the hearth! So, what I know about Brigid, I've learned from books, blogs, videos, and historical sources. I'll list some of those first so you can do some deep diving yourself:

Brigid: History, Mystery, and Magick of the Celtic Goddess by Courtney Weber (available through Hoopla via the public library system if you're in the US, available through her Etsy shop as well) - this was written by a self-appointed priestess of Brigid practicing in Ireland and the US.

The House Witch by Arin Hiscock-Murphy and The Kitchen Witch by Skye Alexander (both also available through Hoopla I believe and most places books are sold) both have brief bios of Brigid and some tips for working with her as a hearth goddess - take these with a slight grain of salt as they have some Wiccan influence.

Lots of books of Irish folklore include some stories of the Tuatha de Danann, which are the gods of Ireland. There's also some great stories in Scottish and Welsh folklore that you can look into - try The Mabinogion for more information about her Welsh pantheon.

Brigid's Wiki has some great sources at the bottom to jump to.

A profile of the Lady from Druidry.org - take this with a mild grain of salt.

History Cooperative's entry on Brigid - this focuses a lot on her Spring goddess aspect.

Encyclopedia Britannica's entry about Brigid (using the Scottish spelling, Brigit) has some solid base info.

A quick and easy video overview

A look at the Welsh pantheon of which Brigid (in Cymru, Braid) is a part

I don't have a specific source for this, but you might also look into St. Brigid of Kildare, an Irish saint who led a convent centered on a site holy to the goddess Brigid and is popularly interpreted as either a priestess of Brigid who carried her practice in secret through the conversion of Ireland or a version of the goddess herself accepted as a folk saint by practitioners who "converted" to save themselves from Christian "missionaries."

Obviously this isn't everything I've read/looked at, but it's a pretty good starter set of information if you're just starting working with her and not sure what aspects of Brigid you'd like to work with. So now, I'll share what I interpret as her symbols and associations, then what working with her looks like for me. Your experience will probably be different, and that's good! Deity relationships are personal and up to what you need them to be. Hope this helps!

My interpretation of Brigid's symbology:

Basic domain/"Goddess of":

Fire, inspiration, creative works (poetry especially)

Healing, wells, flowing/healing water

The forge, handicrafts (weaving, knitting, crochet, etc.)

Springtime, fertility, rebirth

Associated holidays:

Imbolc (February 1-2)

Associated colors:

Yellow

Orange

Gold

White

Associated animals:

Cows

Sheep

Domesticated animals/livestock generally

Associated herbs/gems:

Marigolds

Sunflowers

Oaks/acorns

Citrine

Red Jasper

Associated food/drinks:

Bread

Wheat

Water

Mead

Milk

Honey

Spiced things - apple cider, cinnamon rolls, etc.

What working with Brigid looks like for me:

Brigid is a motherly figure to work with, but in a more "tough love" sense than some other mother figures. She's willing to work with you and help you grow, but boy will she tell you when you fuck up! I've found working with her to be comforting and encouraging; she makes me feel confident in myself and my abilities and she pushes me to be a better witch, a better mother, and a better person generally.

You don't have to worship Brigid as the only deity in your work, either. In my practice, I've found she gets along well with the Virgin Mary and is cordial with Lady Minerva. She also seems to get on well with Jesus and the Abrahamic God, though she doesn't really get involved with those outside her pantheon.

I've found that the best ways of communicating with Brigid are through tarot, ogham, and astragalomancy (dice). She likes offerings of things you've made - bread you baked, spice mixes you put together, things you've crocheted or knitted or woven or sewn. She also loves tea - making a cup and sharing it with her is a great way to venerate her! I feel her presence as a warmth, like a fire in my chest and a warm blanket over my shoulders. She likes working with me in kitchen witchery and workings related to creativity, inspiration, luck, and healing. I keep space for her in my main altar and my kitchen altar, though I think if she had to choose, she'd prefer to be venerated in a kitchen altar.

[thatssomuchlove]

Fic-O-Ween Day 10

Characters by the lovely @lumosinlove and fest organized by @noots-fic-fests!!

Prologue for a Stardust AU (a sort of hodge-podge of book and movie) featuring the one and only Ramsey O'Hara:

Ramsey’s scrap of sanity was getting pretty threadbare. He loved his son dearly; he loved his wailing and crying son so dearly, but he was going crazy. He knew that losing his wife in childbirth was just as tough on his baby as it was on him (he hadn’t loved her like the storybooks say, but it was a practical match and they really were very good friends), but god he just hadn’t had a break in over a year. That’s why Ramsey had written to his sister to come stay with him for a little bit. He needed the company, he needed the help, and he desperately needed the pot of tea she was making for them in the kitchen. Alex had quieted down by the time Shannon brought their teacups to the sitting room where Ramsey was bouncing him in his arms. He breathed a quiet word of thanks to his sister before sitting down in his armchair with one arm around Alex where the baby was now sleeping on his chest and the other raising the tea to his lips.

“Ramsey, darling, you look exhausted,” Shannon started.

“Ah, well I can’t imagine why,” Ramsey responded before taking a sip from his teacup. She just gave him a look over the rim of hers.

“How about I take him for a bit? You need some fresh air,” his sister suggested.

Ramsey clutched Alexander a little tighter. The boy may wear him out, but he needed Alex as much as Alex needed him, if not more. His child was the last piece of his wife that he had left, and sometimes letting him go felt impossible.

“I am perfectly capable of putting him down,” Shannon added with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, all right.” But Ramsey was slow to get up and hand Alex over. He really was such a sweet baby. Those huge brown eyes framed by dark red lashes could bend Ramsey’s will on anything, and he felt their pull even while they were closed peacefully. He grabbed his coat then bid them goodbye with a kiss to his sister’s cheek and his baby’s soft, sweet-smelling head. Right before he was out the door, he turned back to the people that mattered most in his life. “Thank you, Shannon.”

She just smiled and waved him off, and Ramsey stepped out into the cool autumn night air and shut the door softly behind him. He looked up at the stars, fainter in the glow of his porch lamps, and chose a direction. After passing the last house on the lane, he almost stopped dead in his tracks when he felt an urge—the first in a long time—to whistle a tune. Ramsey also felt himself being inexplicably drawn to the wall that inspired the name of his town. It was one of the rare Market Days at the beginning of November. He had rented out one of the rooms in his house to a curious man in a black silk top hat because the inn always filled up very fast, and it was considered rude if the townsfolk did not offer up their homes to the visitors—for acceptable payment of course (though what was considered acceptable varied greatly with this strange lot; Ramsey was currently being paid both in coin and the promise of his and his progenies’ Heart’s Desire). He was only comfortable leaving Shannon alone in the house because he knew that his mysterious tenant always stayed out in the Faerie Market all night. Ramsey had never been to the Market, as he had moved from Ireland less than three years ago. Escaping the growing food scarcity, he started working for sheep farmers in Wall to send money back to his family. He became good friends with the farmer’s eldest daughter; and very quickly, he and Daisy were expected to marry, so they did. They had Alex a year into their marriage, and just like that, she was gone. His in-laws generally took care of Alex while he was working, but he still hadn’t expected to have the time nor the energy to see the Market. However, something about this opportunity that would end tonight and not come again for nine years was suddenly irresistible.

When Ramsey emerged from the tree line to see the wall guarded by none other than Mad-Eye Moody himself, he was surprised to find no one passing through either way. Still, he nodded to Moody and attempted to go through the crumbling gap in the wall before his chest bumped into the cane that Moody had thrust out in front of him.

“You can’t pass through the wall, O’Hara,” Moody said in his rough, gravelly voice.

“Why but it is a Market Day,” Ramsey responded with his eyebrows pinched together.

Moody stared at him hard, “yes, but I only let people through midday to dusk. It is not safe over there after nightfall.”

“Oh,” Ramsey knew that Moody was not someone who could be bargained with. “Well… that sounds rather final. Better just go home then, I suppose.” Ramsey turned around to make it appear that he was heeding Moody’s warning, but that last strand of sanity had finally snapped.

“Good,” Moody started walking back to his seat off to the side of the gap. He wasn’t fast enough to stop Ramsey when the young man suddenly turned back around and sprinted towards the wall, leaping through the gap and not stopping to the shouts of “wait!” and “O’HARA!” that followed him into the forest on the other side of the wall. Ramsey knew that Moody would not leave his post, but he didn’t stop running to catch his breath until he was well into the trees.

The Faerie Market lay outside the town that served as a magical counterpart to Wall. He could hear the hawking of wares and music from instruments he could not identify as he moved closer to the orange glow filtering through the forest. Ramsey did not want to look like a tourist, but he felt like his eyes held the same naïve wonderment as his son’s when he finally entered the Market. Some of the stalls were already closed up as it was past normal hours, but there were still plenty of people selling wild things like parts from animals he had never heard of and bottles of swirling clouds and sweet-smelling food (that he knew very well not to take thanks to his Maimeó). He felt almost in a trance as he wandered the winding rows of stalls until sharp awareness flooded back as he beheld the most beautiful woman he had ever seen standing behind a table of small glass flowers that chimed delicately. She had long curly auburn hair hanging loose over bare shoulders and past the neckline of her blue dress with ruffled skirts. Her violet eyes and pointed ears alerted his brain that she could be dangerous, but his heart told him that it didn’t matter.

She caught him staring, “See anything you like?”

It was then that the man with the black silk top hat passed by, though Ramsey did not notice his presence or whisper of a debt being paid in full.

“Definitely,” Ramsey breathed. He could not stop looking at the woman, and when she smiled in response, he lost all higher brain function. He averted his eyes to the flowers and stammered, “they- they are very lovely,” and he picked up a violet that seemed to sing as he held it, “how much?”

“We don’t take money at this stall.”

Ramsey cocked his head, “what do you take?”

“I could take the pattern of freckles on your cheeks… or your memories of the rain. I could even take your ability to smell fresh baked bread or the spice of autumnal air.”

Ramsey put down the flower, feeling a little out of his depth, but he would give up quite a bit just to keep talking to her.

“What is your name?”

She smiled sadly, “I no longer have a name,” and she held up her skirts just enough to show a silver chain tied around her ankle, “I am a slave, and the name I had was taken from me by the witch-woman who owns this stall.”

Ramsey tried not to let too much of his horror show on his face, “And you are her slave forever?”

“No, not forever. But the conditions in which I gain my freedom are not so easily met. My mistress lured me out of my father’s lands and caught me many years ago. I dream of the day that I can return to them as a free woman.” The young woman, who had been looking out unseeing into the middle distance, returned her gaze to Ramsey, “Will you buy a flower from me, young master?”

“My name is Ramsey,” he told her, having been enraptured by her sad tale and forgetting that one must be careful with names in the land of Faerie. He gave the table another look and picked up a white snowdrop that he knew Alex would like. “And what would this cost me?”

“That one would cost a kiss, just here on my cheek,” and she tapped it coyly.

Ramsey grinned at her, “oh that I will pay gladly,” and he kissed the soft skin of her cheek. He felt the overwhelming desire to linger and continue breathing in the inviting, magical scent of the woman, but he pulled away and searched her unusual violet eyes.

“Will you stay awhile? My mistress will not be back for some time,” she asked.

The quickness with which Ramsey started nodding made him pause, “I feel as if I am under some sort of spell.”

Her laugh was even more wondrous than her smile. “You are under no spell, pretty boy,” and she led him to sit in the grass between the painted caravan and her table of wares.

They both looked up at the stars in the clearing between the trees, and Ramsey could not help but remark on the unidentifiable difference to the ones he saw mere hours ago on his side of the wall, “these stars, they seem like… more.”

The woman beside him (she was so close, but he could feel the inches between them so distinctly) hummed melodically and asked, “What are your stars like?”

She looked at him as he struggled to name the difference, “They are beautiful.” He met her gaze and his breath caught, “But everything feels so much more alive here.”

“What about you? Do you feel more alive?”

He didn’t tell her about the challenges he was facing back home—grief, loneliness, homesickness—but he had a feeling she knew anyway. “I think I do,” he whispered and brought a hand to the cheek that he had kissed. He leaned in, and she brought her mouth to his. The desire that Ramsey had felt from that first kiss on her cheek multiplied tenfold, and it felt only natural when she led him through the small door of the yellow caravan.

~

When Shannon scolded him and told him she was this close to forming a search party at the late hour that he finally returned to his home, Ramsey made up some story to placate her and quickly fell into bed (but not before placing the snowdrop carefully on his bedside table), utterly exhausted and strangely content.

~

Nine months later, Ramsey received a surprise in a basket delivered by Moody to his doorstep after hearing a knock at dinner time. The surprise had a little bit of fuzzy red hair and startlingly familiar chocolate brown eyes when he opened them to peer up at Ramsey curiously.

Moody stated gruffly, “This was left at the wall for you. It says his name is Finn.”

All Ramsey could do was stare at the man, and then at the baby.

“Dada! More, peas,” Ramsey heard from where Alex was seated in his highchair at the dinner table.

“One second, a leanbh,” Ramsey called back to Alex before taking the basket from Moody. He told the man thank you and received a grunt in response before closing the door and heading back into the dining room. He set the baby and basket onto the table and picked up the piece of paper that had “Finn Callahan O’Hara” written in looping cursive. There was also a letter and a small package addressed to Finn tucked into the side of the basket that he did not touch.

“What dat?” Alex asked, trying to peer over the edge of the basket, and while there was no written confirmation, Ramsey knew. He knew that he was going to do this again. But he didn’t feel as alone this time. He had Alex, he had his sister, and he had the people in his community, like Iva and Marius, who were always willing to help.

Ramsey gently lifted Finn into his arms and held him so that Alex could get a good look. “This is your little brother Finn,” Ramsey said to Alex and watched his eyes go wide. He then turned to the baby, who had reached out his hand at the sight of the toddler. “Finn, this is your big brother Alexander.”

At least it was going to be easier to get Alex to believe the stork story now.

[olderthannetfic]

I'm a run of the mill White American, and I've been doing a lot of geneological research recently and can't help but feel a deep sense of loss. It's not my own loss, but it''s something my ancestors lost and thus were unable to pass down to me.

One of my great great grandfathers, for example, emigrated from Ireland as a child. From what I hear, he spoke English with a mild Irish accent and faced all the anti-Irish discrimination that was common in his time. His daughter, my great grandmother, had an American accent and there was nothing Irish about her aside from her surname. She had no stories or recipes or songs or festivals from Ireland to pass down toher own children, and by the time we got to me the fact that that side of the family was Irish at all had even been forgotten. Word of mouth in my parent's generation was that that brand of the family was Scottish (it was a common Mc/Mac surname, spelled variously in different records), and it wasn't until I traced my great grandmother's census records back to her birth that I learned that my great great grandfather's name was Patrick and he was born in Ireland. Anything Irish, even the very fact that he was Irish, that this man brought with him from his home was entirely lost within the space of a single generation. That loss of culture and identity is tragic, even if it's not my own loss.

The same thing happens on nearly every branch of my family.

Another great great grandfather emigrated from Italy as an adult; records from 1890 described him as a naturalised citizen who looks and sounds Italian. His son, my great grandfather, had am American accent, did not speak any Italian, and had no Italian culture to pass down to his children. Aside from the name and the basic fact that the surname is Italian, all Italian culture and identity was lost, again within the space of a single generation. All the Italian food my parents cooked when I was growing up were things they learned from recipe books simply because they liked it, and had nothing to do with my father's Italian heritage.

Another branch of my family is Swiss, it took one generation to lose Swiss accents, language, and culture there, too.

Another is Danish. it seems to have taken two generations for all Danishness to have disapeared.

The Dutch and German branches of the family both came to the US earlier than these, so it's harder to track down information about who came from where and when, but there was no Dutchness or Germanness in those respective branches by 1900, they spoke English and were considered Americans, and if they had any specifically Dutch-American or German-American culture or traditions, they did not pass them down to my great grandparents' generation.

All these cultures are things I could have had, but that my ancestors lost or hid or had taken from them before we got to me. I'm comfortable in my cultural identity as a white American, I don't feel any need to go out and claim to be Italian or Irish or Danish or Swiss or anything, and I especailly don't want to talk over anyone actually from those parts of the world, but for my American identity to exist, countless people lost their own European cultural identites. Some were more marginalised than others (a recent reblog posted some newspaper ads that demonstrated how German Americans were prefered over Irish Americans, and I can't help but think about that in context of my own German and Irish ancestors who were in the US at that time), and some are more at risk than others. The Italian language isn't going anywhere any time soon, but every person who learns to speak Irish is one more drop in the bucket against that language going extinct.

I think it's important for White Americans to remember where we came from and to know what our ancestors lost to create the identity we have today. Even if I have no Italian-American culture, it's good to be able to say "my surname is from Italy and I know what the world was like for my great great grandfather". It's also important to realise that our ancestors' identities are not our own, and what they lost cannot be regained simply by claiming their identities for ourselves. I can try to learn about and participate in their cultures, I can learn to speak Italian and cook Danish food and sing Irish songs, and in doing so I can even help keep at-risk cultures or languages or traditions alive, and this is good, but we also have to keep in mind that having an Irish great great grandfather does not mean that we are Irish the same way he was.

--

The loss of culture is sad, though one thing I will say is that immigrants between anywhere and anywhere tend to lose their old language by the third generation unless they're going back and forth or there are a lot of monolingual speakers in the new country. That probably wouldn't ever have stuck around, but the food and the festivals could have.