#Reblog please for irish followers

[banrionceallach]

VOTE AGAINST THE BASTARDS

Voting is open in Ireland for the local and european elections.

There are a record number of far right candidates on the ballot.

Decisions are made by people who show up.

VOTE AGAINST THE BASTARDS!

[aussie-bookworm]

Shut the fuck up that's not The Duck Cake from Bluey, that's The Duck Cake From The Women's Weekly Children's Birthday Cake Book.

You will never be her. Have some fucking respect

[dynamiteghost]

Hi! hoping you dont find this ask strange, weird or whatever you call it :( Just wanted to ask a favor if you could possibly check the post I pinned for my cats? Its on this blog, please do check if you have a spare time and reblog/boost it. Im so sorry if I did bother you, just need some help. Please do send me a msg to reply or answer the ask privately, please 😭🙏🙏🐈 have a good day!

congratulations

[idksmtms]

The Comeback (Tommy Shelby x reader, Tommy Shelby x Grace Burgess)

Request 

A/N: I changed the request a little because the only person who comes back from the dead on Peaky Blinders is Alfie Solomons. He reserves the right. But I also felt like this could fit in so well with the end of S1/start of S2 story where Grace has gone and Tommy is on his own in Small Heath and she comes back out of the blue. 

Summary: After Grace left and he couldn’t follow, Tommy decides to get on with his life and agrees to marry the daughter of a local businessman who could help further the Peaky Blinders’ operation. When the line of his feelings begins to blur, Grace reappears. 

Word count: 6,862

Trigger Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, some show spoilers, angst, era typical attitudes on men, women, and marriage, marriage of convenience, (seeming) one-sided love, (seemingly) unrequited love, smoking/reader + characters smoking cigs, cheating, divorce, (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Peaky Blinders characters. I do not claim to own any of the Peaky Blinders characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

When Thomas Shelby agreed to the proposal your father had set forth, you were initially quite surprised. You had heard talk of an Irish barmaid at the Garrison, or maybe it was that one black-haired prostitute in Small Heath, you couldn’t quite remember, but you had heard that his heart had been intrigued if not settled upon a woman. 

Your father had mentioned a marriage between the two of you would be beneficial, which you took to mean that he would most certainly be proposing it, and had decided to do a little bit of snooping. Nothing major, you simply wanted to know a little more about the man you might be forced into marrying, and little whispers of his reputation reached you through the household staff. 

He was intimidating, never smiled, was always focused on business, and he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. With each word you felt a nail hammer into your coffin. But then it was also said he was loyal to his family, to his people, that he would do anything for them, and it made you feel a little better. It made him at least partially human, anyway. 

You didn’t know much, the name Peaky Blinders was thrown, speculation about him was always in the air, but you knew very little else. You had no idea what he looked like, what his voice sounded like, what he thought of Small Heath. What did he think of your father? Was a marriage to you a worthy consequence of business? Did he know what you looked like? Did he think you were pretty? 

So when your father had initially told you that he would be offering your hand to the notorious man, you had expected him to return with a furrowed brow and a gruff question as to why the hell the man wouldn’t want to secure a partnership in such a way. Instead, you found your father grinning in the living room, clapping his hands upon seeing you and telling you that the wedding date had been set for February 1st, 1921. 

You had taken everything in stride. You weren’t really in a position to complain about a marriage that would give you security and allow you to keep the lifestyle you had been accustomed to. Though you had once had girlish fantasies of marrying a man who loved you to the fullest, who got down on one knee and proposed in front of everyone because he couldn’t bare the thought of never calling you his wife, you had quickly abandoned them when the realities of the world were slowly revealed to you. 

You had seen friends get pregnant as young girls and thrown to the streets by disgraced families and left by men who couldn’t be bothered to care for them. You had seen women marry men they loved only to be beaten black and blue for the rest of their lives until they jumped into the river with their children to end their suffering. You had seen girls from well off families, who had fathers made rich off the war and mothers who spent their lives cajoling them, suddenly turned into prostitutes because the man they thought would marry them sullied their honour and left with nothing else to say. 

You were alright with this marriage, you only hoped that Tommy would treat you with respect, that he would never lay a hand on you in anger, and that if love did not blossom then you could at least be happy with each other regardless. It was simple, it was realistic. 

You met Thomas Shelby for the first time on the day of your wedding. He had sent you one letter before that time, brought to you in your father’s coat pocket after he announced that Mr. Shelby had accepted the proposal. His writing was clean if a little hurried, no random inkblots or crossed out words, and he addressed you as ‘Ms’. He expressed that you could do as you pleased for the wedding, he would show up on the day and say ‘I do’ and need not be involved any more than that. He told you about the new estate he had purchased, Arrow House, and how it would become your new place of residence after the wedding. He wished you well at the end, but signed only with his name. You had folded the letter again, pressed it back into the envelope, and then deposited it into your nightstand. 

On the day of the wedding, you were suddenly alight with the nerves that had not presented themselves at the time of his accepting your father’s proposal. Minutes before you were due to walk down the aisle you began to question the entire event, began to question if this was really the life you would choose for yourself and how difficult it would be for his men to track you down if you ran away right at that moment and hid yourself somewhere in Cornwall. Instead your father gripped your arm and threaded it through his and walked you through the doors of the church. 

When you saw him for the first time you were a little shocked that someone who was commonly described as a gangster looked so elegant. He wore a wool suit in navy blue with a matching bowtie and a little sprig of snowdrops in his breast pocket. They matched the flowers in your bouquet. He had the same haircut as his brothers, shaved on the sides and long on the top, and the blackness of his hair reminded you of coal. He was going a little grey on the sides, but you couldn’t tell how old he was and whether it made sense for grey hairs to already be appearing. He had very faint freckles all over his face and down his neck and a natural pout to his lips. On anyone else it would make them look endearing, on him it made him seem sullen and dangerous. 

Somehow you were unsurprised that his eyes were so blue. In the dim light of the church they were greyish, but piercing like the distant beam of a lighthouse on the blackest night. They fit him, you thought as you walked closer and closer. They were so open, yet they revealed nothing. They were the eyes of a dangerous person, of someone who didn’t smile often. They were rather terrifying. You wanted to know what he thought of you. 

Your father shook Tommy’s hand as he gave you over to him, smiling a proud smile as if he were marrying Tommy himself, and kissed you on the cheek quickly before finding his seat at the first pew. You glanced at his eyes once as he took your right hand, but then turned to look at the priest and kept your eyes there. 

You felt distant from yourself at the ceremony, like you were at the shop counter waiting for the grocer to hand you your items so you could pay and leave. You said ‘I do’ mechanically, pushed the ring over his finger like it had been rehearsed a hundred times, and let him press a soft, unfeeling, kiss to your lips. 

He kept your hand in his as you walked out of the church, and he helped you step up into his car. He waited until you had gathered your dress around you before closing the door and walking around, then waited for you to finish waving to your family before driving in the direction of Arrow House. You would see them all in a few hours for the celebration dinner at the estate, but it felt like such a final goodbye that a few tears slipped down your cheeks. 

He didn’t say anything as he drove, just casually rested an elbow on the door and kept his eyes trained on the road ahead. But you were impatient, and surprised to find that you had actually enjoyed the sound of his voice the few times he had used it in the church and wanted to hear it again. 

“Your brothers seem nice,” and you winced because how could those be the first words out of your mouth when you were alone with your husband for the first time. His lips twitched in amusement and you flushed with embarrassment. 

“Not one of my siblings could ever be described as ‘nice’.” You frowned but the way he said it wasn’t insulting, it was almost as if he was proud that they weren’t nice people and it made you turn to look at him for a long moment. 

“Hm, I’m not sure what that says about you, Mr. Shelby,” you hummed, pressing your lips together then releasing them then pressing them together again. 

“Must it say something about me?” He asked, one eyebrow raising as he glanced toward you. You smiled then, letting out a little laugh as you shook your head. 

“I suppose not,” you sighed, “I suppose not.” You turned to look at the road ahead and shrugged your shoulders. “I guess I’m just attempting to learn more about you Mr. Shelby, however roundabout my methods may seem.” His face looked a little calmer then, less severe, and you felt triumphant that you had somehow caused it. 

“Ask your questions, miss, and I will find a way to answer them,” he replied with a nod, but you smirked. 

“It’s Missus now, Mrs. Shelby,” and the way you said it made him huff out something you believed was a chuckle. Another success. 

“Ask your questions then, Mrs. Shelby.” 

“Why did you agree to this marriage?” He raised an eyebrow again, changing the hand he used on the steering wheel and turning a little in his seat to look at you. The road ahead was empty, but he still glanced back every few moments to ensure he was driving straight on it. 

“Your father’s business can process the money from mine and turn it into legitimate investments. It would have been stupid not to agree,” he said it simply, with slightly wide eyes and his head shaking a little, like it was an obvious answer. You hummed and nodded, but were left a little unsatisfied. The juvenile part of your brain hoped that he would say something about how he had seen a picture of you and felt in his heart of hearts that you were the one for him. Though now having met him you supposed he wouldn’t say something like that even to the true love of his life. 

“What do you think of me?” You asked. You had tried to sound confident but it came out small and apprehensive, as if you weren’t sure you actually wanted the answer to the question. “Be honest,” you added hastily, and he looked at you again. His eyes were so focused on your face that you turned away bashfully. 

“I believe,” he began slowly, thoughtfully, and paused to pull his cigarette case from his pocket. He pulled one out of it and rubbed it along his bottom lip once, then twice before settling it at the corner of his mouth. He began to reach down for the lighter in his outer pocket but you quickly slipped your hand into it and pulled it out. He looked at you with that raised eyebrow frown he seemed to enjoy using, but let you flick the flame into life and bring it to the tip of his cigarette. “You are someone intelligent enough to know that you have limited choices in the world,” he sucked another breath from the cigarette, “but strategic enough to accept only those that benefit you.” You smiled at that, a small conspiratorial smile that you aimed at your own lap. “That is why you allowed this engagement in the first place.” 

“You seem to think highly of me. How do you know I didn’t simply bend to my father’s will?” You asked, raising an eyebrow in return and looking at him as if you were daring him to answer. 

“You could be right,” he hummed, nodding in thought, “I may have completely misjudged you, but I don’t think so,” he shrugged and you just watched him as the car brought you both closer and closer to your new home. 

“Would you like to know what I think of you?” You asked, but regardless of his answer you would tell him anyway. 

“Go on then,” and he sounded a little exasperated but you ignored it. 

“I think you’ll be the death of me.” 

As the days, weeks, and months passed on your marriage, you and Tommy found an easy companionship with each other. You wouldn’t say the two of you ever found a routine, per se, you believed he would never not be all over the place running and expanding The Shelby Company Ltd. but the moments that the two of you did have together were enjoyable, pleasurable. 

The days he was on time for dinner, whether that be coming home on time or leaving his study, you would eat across from each other at the dining table and you would fill the silence with chatter. He didn’t often speak, but neither of you minded really, he was still a part of the conversation. He would huff out a laugh at anything humorous, offer a sarcastic comment or thoughtful observation when he felt it prudent, but otherwise sat there and took in all the details. 

Tommy found that he enjoyed listening to you, learning about your day or any little details about yourself you offered in your little speeches. Though he had never thought himself domestic, never imagined himself in a scenario such as this where he was sat eating a calm dinner with a wife, he found he secretly enjoyed it. 

He began looking forward to the evening time where he would breeze through the doors of the dining room to find you about to have a seat in your usual place at the far end of the table. His place was always set, and he wondered if you looked at it and imagined him on the days he wasn’t there. You would smile when you noticed him, grazing your eyes over him as if looking for something, then sit down carefully in your seat as Frances began bringing the dishes out from the kitchen. 

“How was your day?” You always asked it first, always looked at him with big open eyes as if you were genuinely interested and anything big or small he had to tell you would be appreciated. He would nod, pulling out his own chair and settling himself down quickly, offering you a distracted little smile. 

“Alright,” that was always the answer, whether it had actually been ‘alright’ you would never know, especially because you refused to question him further than that unless it had been a particularly boring day for you and poking and prodding at his stony facade would be your only fun activity. 

You always hummed and stayed quiet for a little while, smiling brightly at Frances and thanking her as she put down the last dish and began serving you both a first course of soup. You were all manners, waiting politely until both bowls had been filled and Frances had stepped away before taking a sip and humming in delight. Then you would dab the corners of your mouth and begin speaking without looking up from your bowl. 

“I went out for a ride today”, “I went to a little afternoon tea at Mavis Weatherby’s”, “My mother came for lunch”, “I’ve started reading a lovely little novel”, “I’m planning a little trip to London to see a milner’s and a tailor”. 

You always had something to tell him, no matter how mundane, and he always listened despite his stoic and almost disinterested face. He found your voice enjoyable, if nothing else. The hum of it in his ear was pleasant, and sometimes if he lost himself in his thoughts, it would be like a soft little kiss against the shell of his ear as he traversed the paths of his mind that needed tending to. 

You would tell him in extreme detail about whatever it is you did that was taking your fancy for the day, describing and explaining wherever you felt it prudent. You always looked him in the eyes when you spoke to him, and if you noticed him start to drift away, a mischievous little smirk would cross your mouth and you would suddenly go silent, waiting for him to refocus before continuing. Neither of you would say anything about the minor interruption, but he would often feel his own lips twitch in response to your little smile. 

Once dinner was finished, the two of you would walk out together and pause in the hallway. You would stand as close to him as you could get without actually touching him, the cloth of your dress brushing against him as you looked into his eyes with a warm little smile. At this point you would tell him that you were going to read until it was time for bed, either in the library or in the sitting room, and every single evening you offered him an invitation. “Would you like to join me?”, “You could join me if you wished”. And every single evening, he refused you politely, “it’s alright, sweetheart, you go ahead.”, “I’ve got some work to finish, you enjoy yourself, darling”. He knew you knew he would refuse the invitation, but the fact that you offered every single evening, without fail, made something warm bloom in his chest. Something that now seemed to slip over his eyes whenever he looked at you and made him see the world in a way he hadn’t seen before. 

You would nod simply, a smile on your face that said “I knew this was going to happen but I enjoy our little routine” before reaching up and pressing your lips to his cheek in a soft kiss that always made him stiffen up a little then unwind a little more than he had before. 

You both shared a bedroom, something he hadn’t expected but you had insisted upon. You took the left side of the bed, saying you preferred to sleep away from the door, and he obliged because he had never cared what side he was on anyway. You seemed to enjoy the view you got from the windows on that side of the bed and far be it from him to deny you something that gave you joy. 

Your respective nightstands were so clearly depictions of yourselves. Yours was covered in books and jewellery and little trinkets of yours and creams you forgot to put on before going to bed but kept there anyway. His often only had a single book on it, his cigarette case, his lighter, and an ashtray. Sometimes in the evenings, when he was lying in bed next to you, trying to read with tired eyes, you would lean over him, crushing the book to his chest and pressing the side of your torso to his face, as you reached for his cigarette case and lighter. 

This little moment, this little instance, endeared you to him the most, somehow. The little huff you would let out just before, placing your book on your cluttered nightstand before offering a quick ‘sorry’ and then just draping yourself over him with a disregard for his focus to haphazardly grab at his nightstand until the cigarette case and lighter were in your hand before falling back into your place. The reach over always managed to press your breasts to his face, and he supposed he would never complain about that regardless of who the woman was doing it. 

You always took out a cigarette for him first with a sheepish smile, as if knowing you had disturbed the fragile thread of attention he had been trying to stitch to the book, and brought it to his mouth, rubbing it across his lip before settling it into the corner of his mouth like he always did. You would light his cigarette as he smirked a little, turning away to blow the smoke so you couldn’t see the expression as you shook one out for yourself and lit it before handing both the case and the lighter back to Tommy so he could toss it onto his nightstand himself this time. 

You had an awful habit of forgetting your own cigarettes everywhere, and then stealing Tommy’s. The first time you had taken one of his, you had complained about the brand he smoked, said it was much too strong for you, but you kept stealing and smoking them regardless. He found himself refilling his case a lot more since you came into his life. Not only that, but he found himself filling half the case with the brand of cigarettes you liked so that you would have them whenever you misplaced your case or simply couldn’t be bothered to look for it. You had never mentioned it the first time he had done it, but he had seen your little smile when you opened his cigarette case for the first few weeks after and it had motivated him to continue his new little routine. 

Then, after you had placed the cigarette in your mouth and taken a gentle drag, you would look at him out of the corner of your eye with a little smile quirking at your lips despite your best efforts to try and hide it. He would smirk, the clearest smile he would ever give you, and with a little giggle you would take the cigarette from your mouth and stretch your arm out to hold it away from the two of you as you draped your body over his and pressed your lip to his. His mouth would already be parted slightly, his tongue leaping out to caress yours, and your giggles would muffle against his lips. He took the cigarette from your fingers and pressed it to his own before mashing the ends haphazardly into the ashtray on his sidetable and wrapping his arms around your torso. 

All you could say was that these evenings were long and… pleasurable. Subsequently, it came as no surprise that within three months of the wedding you were pregnant with your first child. 

You had mentioned to Tommy that you weren’t feeling your best for a few days when Polly decided to make a ‘surprise’ trip to Arrow House. Within one look at you she had smiled broadly and mischievously and congratulated you on your pregnancy. It had come as a shock, an undulating mix of fear and joy and elation churning in your chest and gut. 

When you had told Tommy, he had stood still for a few moments, gazing at your face as you smiled hesitantly. You had hoped he would be happy, and despite his status as your husband, you could never quite be sure of his reaction to anything. His face hadn’t changed at the news, but quick as a flash he was standing so close to you that you felt almost attacked. His hands gripped your face, almost squishing your mouth into a pucker, and he was kissing you like you were keeping air from him in the moments your mouths weren’t pressed together. Salty tears made the kiss briny and you almost sobbed against his lips but he didn’t let you go. 

Nine months later, and you were welcoming a beautiful little boy with Tommy’s eyes and your hair into the world. Eighteen months later, a little girl with your eyes and Tommy’s hair took her place in the nursery. Your little James and Margaret. 

In that time, slowly and carefully, you had somehow built the dream family you had once imagined for yourself. One evening in the sitting room, after the children had been put to sleep and you were curled up on one of the sofas with a book, you looked up to Tommy at his desk to the side of the room. He had taken to doing his work there in the evenings during your first pregnancy, and as if feeling your eyes on him, he had glanced up, a little smile at the corner of his lips. You simply smiled in return and brought your gaze back down to your book, but your heart was racing without your control and you had to clench your jaw to stop yourself from yelling ‘I love you!’ over and over again without a care. 

In the time Tommy had been married to you, everyone had noticed the change taking place in him, except him. Though no one other than Polly dared to say it to his face, they noticed the new threads of gentleness that appeared when you were near. They noticed how much easier his smiles came (despite the continuing rarity) and how he watched you without wavering when you took care of the children. 

Polly often teased him to shut his mouth lest he catch flies around you, and would whisper about him to you in front of him in a way that made his mouth set into an almost petulant frown (that only made the two of you giggle further). He wasn’t sure why Polly liked you so much when she had felt no fondness for Grace. If all her teasing was right, was he not just as distracted with you as he had been with ‘the Irish barmaid’? But she seemed to dote on you like she had done on Ada, and took time to come see you and the children every week. 

One evening, Tommy watched you from his place at the desk in the living room, and even the simple activity of laying his eyes on you made his chest feel a little calmer. He wasn’t quite sure when the tide had turned in his feelings, when he had so unforgivably lost control of his own heart, but here he was now, absentmindedly rubbing his cigarette against his lip, wondering if love might be real… 

Times of peace weren’t meant to last. The first thought that crossed your mind when you learnt the news. You stood frozen in front of Tommy’s desk, staring at the little card you had pulled out of the drawer while searching for his spare lighter. Your cigarette was already dangling from your lips, unknowing the turmoil it’s user was going through. 

You had only gone in search of the spare lighter. You knew Tommy kept one in there for you when he was out of the house and you couldn’t find your own. There were dozens of spares all around the house for you. He knew how absolutely lazy you could be when you wanted to and he left a lighter in every room to make sure he didn’t have to hear you moan and groan about getting up when you were already comfortable in your space. 

The children were busy with lessons in their playroom upstairs, and you had been doing some correspondence in the sitting room so you could be near the big radio. You had hummed along as you got up and moved to the desk, pulling open the first drawer, the one you had seen him pull the lighter out of countless times, and there, right at the centre, as if carefully placed lest the paper be ruined, was a card with the name ‘Grace Burgess’ written in pretty looping handwriting. The lighter sat right next to it. 

Everything seemed to tilt and for a moment you thought you would fall over. You picked up the card gently by the corner, depositing it onto the top of the desk before pulling out the lighter and hurriedly lighting your cigarette. If you didn’t have a drag of it within the next second you might collapse. 

You took at least three drags from the cigarette before you were ready to turn the card over and read whatever was written there. It was in the same loopy, feminine, handwriting in a bright blue ink that reminded you of Tommy’s eyes. You almost picked up the lighter again to burn the paper. 

It was short and simple, an invitation to meet at a hotel, dated about a week prior. You dropped it back onto the desk, watching the thick cardstock fall with a light thump, and closed your eyes. You took deep, heavy, breaths of the cigarette until your hands stopped shaking and your mind felt like it had settled again. You grabbed the lighter but left the card on top of Tommy’s desk, turned the volume of the radio as high as possible, and returned to your position on the sofa. Every time one cigarette finished, you lit another, but you didn’t move from your position on the sofa. 

At one point the children came tottering in and you haphazardly wiped at your eyes before smashing the cigarette into the ashtray and patting the spot on the sofa beside you so they could come in for a snuggle before dinner. You hadn’t even realised the sun had set long ago. You kissed them on the tops of their heads and tried not to cry into their hair. 

Frances came in to tell you that dinner could be served when the main door opened and Tommy came whirling in. The children scrambled off the sofa and ran down the hall to greet their father who was already reaching down, ready to pick them up, one in each arm. You weren’t sure you could face him yet, so you slinked through the side door and went straight for the dining room. 

Tommy went first in the direction of the sitting room, but as Frances came out of the door for the dining room to gather the children, she cleared her throat and informed him that Mrs. Shelby was already there. He nodded, turning around to get to you, realising how odd it felt that he had been in the house this long and you hadn’t come to greet him, hadn’t pecked him on the lips and beamed up at him as you usually did when you heard the door open. 

You were sitting in your usual seat but he could tell something was wrong. You were staring at the plate as if you had never seen one before, and your hands were tightly clasped in your lap. He could see how tense your forearms were, and after depositing the children in their seats, he went over to you and reached down to gently pry your hands apart. He watched your face for any sign, anything that would tell him why you were acting this way, but you just closed your eyes until he let you go and went to his seat. 

Could you perhaps be pregnant again? But that would be happy news, something to celebrate, not despair over. Was there something wrong with your father? A death in the family you had been phoned about during the day? He couldn’t tell. And he hated it. 

Dinner was an awkward affair. You spoke very little, and when you did speak it was only towards the children, asking them about their lessons and how they were enjoying their days thus far. You refused to look at him during the entirety of the meal, and anger and frustration were slowly beginning to rise inside of him. As soon as it was over, you were ushering the kids out and up the stairs so they could start readying for bed. You went with them, a clear attempt at avoiding Tommy’s company, and he stormed into his study, slamming the door behind him. 

You took as long as you could, kissing their little heads and pulling the sheets up to their chins before steeling yourself and heading downstairs. The door to his study opened just as you hopped off the last step but you continued into the sitting room. Tommy followed, and stood just inside the door with wary eyes. He watched you walk all the way over to his desk and pick up a piece of card sitting on the top. You held it up so he could see the sender but your face betrayed nothing. He had never seen you look so stoic. 

“Did you go?” Your voice was quiet, small, the kind of voice Margaret used when she had a nightmare and came knocking at your door. 

You had thought that despite the circumstances that began your marriage, the two of you had found love. You loved him, you were sure of that. But looking at the note, knowing who it had come from, you felt like the naive girl who had once wished for true love and hadn’t yet realised that wasn’t possible. 

Of course it was unrealistic for you to think he had grown to love you just because he was kind to you. Of course it was unrealistic to think he felt he needed to be faithful to you, he was a man after all. Of course it was unrealistic of you to think your beautiful family would last… 

You could feel tears press behind your eyes but you simply gulped again and again to push them away. Tommy’s face hadn’t changed, his usual stoic expression that you once found intriguing, then endearing, now only annoyed and enraged you. 

“Yes,” he answered, and he didn’t say anything else. You just stared at him, at the way he reached into his coat pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. At the way he opened his cigarette case and offered it in your direction before taking one. It meant walking over to him to take it. You stayed where you were and he slowly picked a cigarette out of it and rubbed it against his lip before lighting it and putting everything back where it usually resided in his coat pockets. You gulped again. The tears were getting more aggressive in their mission to escape your eyes.  

“Did you fuck her?” You whispered, hands shaking as they clenched on the edge of the desk. It was quiet for a moment, and you wondered if he had even heard you. “Did you fuck her?” You asked it louder and then cringed. The word felt so crass coming out of your mouth, so wrong. 

“Yes.” And that was all that needed to be said, wasn’t it? What else really mattered? Because in that one word lay everything you had wanted to know in the first place. Did he feel the need to be faithful to you? No. Did he care about you and your little family? No. Did he love you? No… 

You stood there for a few minutes, fingertips pressed as hard as possible into the top of the desk. Your eyes were closed, hoping to trap the tears inside. You didn’t move, and Tommy watched you the entire time. 

Then, like a radio being switched on, you took a deep breath in and opened your eyes. You straightened up a little and slowly took your hands off of the desktop. You looked at Tommy and nodded. 

“Ok,” and then you walked past him and out of the room without a second glance. 

By the time Tommy came up to bed close to midnight, only the lamp on your vanity was lighting the room and you were under the covers, turned onto your side to face the windows and breathing slowly as if you were asleep. 

The next few months were different in a way that Tommy despised. You had pulled away from him but in such a subtle way that no one else would recognise that everything had changed between the two of you. 

You still accompanied the children to the front door when he came home, but you no longer kissed him there. You still asked him about his day and engaged the children in conversation over dinner, but you barely spoke of yourself anymore, no longer telling him the stories of your mundane activities or unnecessary details about little things of no consequence. You still read next to him in the evenings, but you no longer leaned over him to grab for his cigarettes. In fact, you no longer took cigarettes from him ever. You were careful about taking your case and lighter with you everywhere, and if you didn’t have it around you, then you went out of your way to leave the room and get it rather than ask him for one. The cigarettes he kept for you in his own case were now left unused. 

Everything became so much worse when Grace revealed that she was pregnant. She had been so happy to tell him despite her own marriage, and he could never be sad knowing that a child of his was coming into existence. He loved James and Margaret with all the soul he possessed, he could never be sad about a child. But the news caused a turmoil inside of him that he didn’t know how to handle, because now came the time to decide, to look into himself and question if everything he felt for you was love, and not only love, but a stronger one than the one he had with Grace? 

You didn’t give him the time to decide. When he told you about Grace’s pregnancy, you had walked out and refused to speak to him. You had taken your things into Margaret’s room and slept curled up on the edge of her bed. 

When Tommy arrived home the next evening, there were no children to be greeted by, no smiling wife, just Frances holding an envelope with his name on it in your careful writing. 

Dear Thomas Shelby,

Please do not be alarmed at the absence of the children or myself, it was of my own volition that we have gone. Though I know it is cowardly of me to express all this in a letter, I could not bring myself to face you. 

The children and I have gone to my sister’s home for the time being while everything is finalised. Enclosed in a file on your desk, you will find the papers required for us to be divorced. You need only sign them, everything else can be handled by a lawyer. 

From my father, I understand that your business has become fully legitimised, but for extra safety I will ensure that it is understood by all that this divorce is my own fault and you were merely subject to it. 

In due time, I will begin looking for a place to live near Arrow House or Small Heath so you may visit the children as often as you please. I would not dream of keeping them from their father or vice versa. It is my assumption that you and Grace will take Arrow House as your residence when the child has arrived. 

Please be happy with her. If the love I hold for you is even half the strength of the love you two share, then I would rather deal with my own pain than keep you from it. 

Love, 

Y/n Shelby

Frances watched Mr. Shelby carefully place the letter back into its envelope and turn and walk into his study and close the door behind him. There was a crash and the smashing of glass and then some more crashes and smashes. A guttural scream that made her heart clench in fear and her eyes close. 

Frances had helped you pack your things earlier in the day. She had helped the children ready to leave, had listened as you phoned a lawyer in London and had the papers drafted and sent over to the house, had watched as you wrote the letter to Mr. Shelby. You had kissed her on the cheek and told her to come visit you as a friend, and she had promised she would with tears in her eyes. It felt as if the world was ending. 

But she knew that eventually you would find a nice house for you and the children, supported by your father’s money. You would send them to visit Tommy at Arrow House where Grace would pretend to care for them and they would slowly grow unhappy with their father and his wife. 

Or maybe Tommy would go over to you and you would tell the valet to only open the door for your former husband as you walked the grounds to avoid having to speak with him. And he would try all he could to speak with you, try and surprise you so you would be forced into speaking to him, but you were an intelligent woman, and Frances knew you were highly capable of avoiding someone you didn’t want to see. 

And eventually, despite your heartbreak, you would meet someone truly worthy of you, and he would be willing to become the father of your children and you would want to love him, and everything would feel right for you again. 

But what did Frances know?

Taglist: @4ria790 (I wasn't sure if you wanted to be tagged in only Cillian Murphy RPFs or his characters too so I added you here! Pls let me know if I should only tag you for the RPFs)

[triona-tribblescore]

I was just there a few hours ago for college and suddenly its all up in flames. Absolutely horrific, some people will use ANY excuse to be racist it's disgusting.

PLEASE LOOK UP WHATS HAPPENING IN DUBLIN RIGHT NOW

Riots have taken over Dublin City and far right groups are looting and burning buses and the Luas, as well as attacking people of colour and immigrants.

I heard they are headed to try and burn down a politicians home and headed to a hotel that houses a huge number of immigrants.

This is happening as we speak

[jaded-jezz]

Your American.

My first Formula One Driver story!

Obviously had to do Logan as he is my favourite. And I want to pretend that he is going to be here next year! (James better watch out).

Please do not repost, reblogs are appreciated.

Logan Sargeant X F!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (mdni 18+), kinda sub Logan I guess, annoying coworker at start, timeskip, 2.3k words. First time writing smut so don’t tell me if it’s bad!

Leah please don’t read this

Logan’s been away from you for this amount of time before but he’s not normally this clingy when he comes back. His hand has been either linked with yours or on your hip the entire night. He only let go when you had to make a speech thanking your company for another successful year.

You are finally making your way out of the ceremony hall after many awards, speeches and long goodbyes. The music from the dance floor had slowly started to drown out due to the distance you had walked and the whispers from Logan in your ear.

“Hey Y/N, I missed you all night!” Jack, your colleague shouts. You and Logan sigh in sync. Jack is that guy at work who nobody likes yet he seems to think he’s the company favourite. Since the day you started your job, he’s never left you alone. Even after you and Logan went public he would still sit next to you and talk about himself every lunch break.

You think about speeding up but it’s very obvious the couple can hear him as the entrance hall is completely empty.

“Hi Jack.” You grimace and turn to him as Logan grips your waist harder. “We were just leaving, it’s getting quite late.”

“Without saying goodbye to me?” He pouts. I feel Logan shake as he tries to suppress a laugh due to the fact that there is a grown man pouting like a two year old in front of us. “Irish goodbyes are the quickest.” I respond as politely as possible, turning into Logan’s grasp hoping to leave.

“Well I actually needed to talk to you about your final hand in for the year… and by that I mean you need to do more” he laughs, as if it’s going to make everything ok.

“More? Mrs Randall said my work was fully complete and the best of the company. I’m not doing more unless she tells me!” I snap back just wanting to leave and relax with Logan due to the fact that it’s his winter break too.

“Yes, exactly the boss says yours is the best. So I need you to do mine! I’ll email it all over- oh actually I’ll just come over tomor-“

“No mate it’s our time off now.” Logan steps in realising how tired you are of Jack and his antics. “Cmon Y/N/N let’s go home.”

“You don’t have to listen to the American, be the independent woman that I know you are” Jack pokes, as if he’s trying to anger your boyfriend.

Yet that last remark is the final straw for you, you’d had enough.

You reach up to your American, grab him by the face and pull him into you. Your lips don’t have to fight for dominance as Logan knows you want to make Jack as uncomfortable as possible. If his eyes weren’t closed, they’d be rolling to the back of his head due to the pleasure that your possessiveness gave him.

Logan knew how annoying Jack was for you, and how often that you’d turned him down or made it obvious you were not interested so he’s never thought he’d be grateful for Jack’s perseverance (if you could even call it that). And, weirdly, in this moment he’s never loved kissing you more.

Quiet, desperate whimpers arise from the couple and Jack finally takes the hint and moves away, occasionally looking back hoping that you’d follow him still.

“Babe your anger is turning me on so much right now, can we go?” Logan pulls away, whispering quickly before being drawn back into your taste. You break apart giggling and gently push his face away from yours before he reconnects his hand around your waist and walks with you to the car park.

During the car ride back, you calm down listening to the soft radio and hearing murmurs of Logan talk about your actual work friends.

“Y/N are you there sweetheart?” Logan’s inquiry brings you back. His hand on your thigh brings a redness to your face, you’ve missed his touch. How can someone be so hot by just driving with one hand?

“Yes sorry, I was just trying to get over Jack being a dick.” You roll your eyes at the memory. “I mean seriously who does he think he is? I’m gonna write an email and-“

You are cut off by Logan gently turning your face towards his. The car had been parked in front of your home for a while but you hadn’t noticed due to your ranting. “Baby, I know how much you love to write emails but let’s forget about him until January yeah? Tonight I just wanna be with you and hear only positive things please.” His eyes soften as you relax into his palm.

After a quick peck, the blonde rushes out of the car to open your door before holding your hand all the way into the house. Once inside he carefully drops to his knees to remove your shoes and puts your bag on the side before standing up again.

The silence is thick with tension as you stare at each other, only a mere metre away, waiting to see who breaks first.

You both give up as you violently embrace each other in a sloppy make out session. Walking backwards, you drag Logan by the tie into your bedroom and push him onto the bed.

Logan wraps his arms around your waist, bringing you in between his thighs. He looks up at you through his eyelashes “Have I ever told you how gorgeous you are?” You try to wiggle out of his grasp in a blushing mess but he pulls tighter. “Everyday I am grateful to wake up knowing I am yours.”

He slowly rises, kissing up your arms, across your collarbones and to your neck finding that one spot that makes you whine for him. His hands make quick work of undoing your dress and he lets it drop to your ankles. Logan’s eyes rake up and down your body in a surprisingly wholesome way. You have never felt more loved than now. Even being basically naked here makes you feel warm.

“Logan…Please” you try to say in a demanding tone but Logan doesn’t notice as this is all it takes for the blonde’s lips to be back on yours, it feels like he’s trying to slowly consume you and you are already so far gone you might let him.

You claw at his shirt trying to pull it up and unbutton it, until he eventually helps. Running your fingertips up and down his abs, Logan lets out a breathy whine as your nails catch every so often. He grabs your hands to stop you and gently lets them drop as he removes his tie, giving you a look.

Without a second thought, you’ve tied his wrists above him on the headboard and you are straddling him, mouths reconnecting with no intentions of breathing at all.

“Use me,” Logan whispers.

It startles you. He’s never acted like this before. Sure you’ve been on top before but he was still kind of in charge. “Fuck out your anger sweetheart.” He looks into your eyes with full trust, confidence and honesty.

A wave of confidence floods your system as you start to grind down lightly on his crotch. A light gasp comes from the man as he already forgets about the tie and tries to grab your hips. You ignore his struggle and nip at his neck like he did to you only a few moments ago. Marking him more and more as you move down his chest.

You carry on your trail nipping and marking, kissing and licking until you reach his belt. You haven’t stopped grinding against his lap until now, you reach for his face. This time, the kiss you share is filled with love and passion. As you pull away Logan tries to follow, not wanting to leave your orbit but you push him down. “I love you Logan.” You say.

You hastily reach for his belt before looking up to see an impatient look grow in his green eyes, not wanting to tease either of you for any longer you finally undo his trousers.

You were surprised that either of you lasted this long tonight due to how much Logan had teased you before leaving the house.

*Four Hours Earlier*

“Logan are you dressed?” You ask before walking out of your room trying to find the blonde man.

“Damn!” You hear the American whistle behind you as you spin to see him lounged out on the sofa. “Yeah I’m dressed, but I wish you weren’t” he winked at you as he got up and made his way towards you.

“Is it ok? I have time to change!” You start to panic as you overthink your outfit. “No Y/N” Logan lunges towards you with a worried look “I meant you look hot,” He cups your face with one hand and grabs your palm with the other. “You look more than hot but I’m not really smart enough to think of any more words. You’ve actually left me speechless!”

You laugh together, holding hands, looking into each others eyes. You want to stay here forever but you both know that this end of year ceremony is important for both your team and yourself as you have been selected to win an award and make a speech.

Logan sees the realisation set in but knows exactly what to do to take your mind off of it. With one hand around your waist and the other still holding yours, he starts to sway you and hum. Very badly.

You screw up your face as you try to work out the song he is attempting but it makes him laugh and the humming is lost to his chuckles. “Your speech is both on your phone and printed in your bag. I also have a spare in my pocket. Please breathe Y/N, I can’t have you passing out before we get there!” He places a kiss to your temple as he pulls the printed copy from his pocket, placing it back and patting it for safekeeping.

*Now*

You sit bare and start to move back and forth on his hard cock while Logan writhes and moans above you, wordlessly begging for you to put him out of his misery. Your nails trace his abdomen and thighs again in a soothing manner before you sit above him to run his tip from your clit downwards. You sink onto him slowly, quick breaths and moans leave the pair as you grab at his hips and the bed sheets. Anything to keep you steady.

“You feel so good, Logan” you look into his eyes, you can see the lust pouring out of the green irises. “Don’t stop Y/N, I’ll do anything- just don’t stop.”

You can feel him getting close. You cant take it anymore, and you can tell that if you wait any longer- Logan will snap the headboard. So you hastily reach up and remove the tie from his wrists. You go to stroke the red marks in an apologetic way but Logan is too fast. He grabs your face and pulls you in for a passionate kiss before running his hands across your body pulling shivers from you previously missing his absence.

He holds your waist as you place your hands on his face and shoulders, bracing yourself. He bucks up into you creating a consistent rhythm bringing you closer and closer to the high you’ve been chasing.

“Y/N, baby, I’m so close. Please.” He whines into your neck before biting down at you again to attempt to conceal the uncontrollable noises.

“Let me hear you, honey, you’re being so good for me” You gently pull the hairs at the nape of his neck.

A wet line of unshed tears lines his eyes as he is pulled back. Tears of both pleasure and frustration as he just wants to release into you.

“Come.” You whisper into the air, so quietly you don’t know if your boyfriend has heard. But his actions speak louder than words as his hold on you tightens and his strokes become harder.

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾༓･˚⁺‧͙

After a few moments of comforting silence, Logan moves you to lay on your back and he moves to hover over you. “Let me clean up the mess we made.” He says as he holds strong eye contact with you.

He lowers himself back down to your dripping pussy and gets to work. His tongue is pulling obscene noises from you as he slurps and strokes against your core, his nose occasionally bumping at your clit. Your hands reach for his hair and he knows you’re close once again.

His hand reaches up and two fingers are pushed into you, pumping as he continues to eat you out. Your breathing has quickend, your body is getting hotter and your ears are starting to ring as you get closer and closer to orgasming.

He desperately wants to taste you and his moans vibrate through you making you wetter at his begging.

With one final tug of his blonde strands, your back arches and you come with so much pleasure your vision only shows white.

Your eyes flutter shut from exhaustion and Logan slowly moves away and into the bathroom to retrieve a damp cloth to actually clean you. He pulls you in close under the covers of your bed and strokes your hair, whispering sweet nothings into your ears as you fall into deep sleep together.

My first F1 and smut wow

Requests are open as always and I will be making a list of who I write for being both drivers individually and different fandoms.

Please do not repost, reblogs are appreciated.

[sarah-ankh]

I am @ankoku-teion, this is my new main. I go by Ankh, or Sarah. Preferred pronouns are she/her but I am largely unbothered.

I am an autistic, socialist pansexual, transfemme, atheist/pagan mega-nerd, who writes poetry and sometimes short stories.

My special interests include, but are not limited to: Doctor Who, LOTR, D&D, Rimworld, and a handful of very specific Minecraft mods.

Other hobbies include 3D printing, painting miniatures, most kinds of sci-fi or fantasy. And my slowly growing collection of swords, strange rocks and general weird things.

I am endlessly fascinated by sociology, psychology, politics, religion, mythology and philosophy.

on discord i am AnkokuTeion, on Steam i am Ankoku_Teion. basically everywhere i am online i use some variation of this name.

On Tumblr I have several side blogs: @ankoku-teion is my original main acct, now turned accidental OC/gimmick.

@a-friendly-stray is my ginger tabby gimmick blog, and the place where I repost everything cat related.

@secretly-a-puca is a shapeshifting trickster fae from Irish mythology. Called a Púca, or a Pookah in English.

@the-m-e-a-t is a Slasher/body horror gimmick of my own divising that I use to practice my writing chops.

@ankokuteion-blog is my old account from when I was a teenager, that I cannot access now because I don't remember the email. Feel free to browse.

There is also @valas-illyn but that's where I post/reblog a lot of nsfw stuff. Minors who follow me, please block it.

[ihearhercalling]

Please like or reblog (ideally reblog so other people in your sphere can find the post) if you post content about any of the following. If you reblog, please say which, or if you just like please reply and say which! I want to be more active on this blog and need people to follow.

- Celtic polytheism (Irish, Welsh, Brythonic, Gaulic, any really)

- Celtic witchcraft and folk magic, particularly Welsh

- British folk traditions

- Druidry

- Proto Indo-European polytheism

- Venus, Aphrodite, Ishtar and Inanna worship

- Actual genuine Wicca as opposed to the random stuff that gets passed off as Wicca in mainstream book shops

- Feri tradition

- Goddess-centric paganism (Dianic tradition, Deanism, Filianism, Reclaiming, Avalonian) and female mysteries

- Arthuriana from a pagan or feminist perspective (or pagan/feminist friendly)

- Sacred sexuality and tantra

- Herbalism, particularly with herbs native to the UK

[malboraslihangifs]

*   ›   FREE CONTENT ! CHRISTINA NADIN GIF PACK

by clicking the source link you will be directed to total of 80 gifs of christina nadin available on my discord server. she’s filipino and irish, so make sure to have that in mind when building your muse. the gifs are all sized 268x150 and made from scratch by me. DO NOT redistribute, resize, repost or include any of the following gifs in another gif hunt. also PLEASE don’t use my gifs in any tab*o things, in smut threads, in krps, if you are blocked (either on this blog or yaziciyasemin) or if you use turkish fcs with non turkish names. please LIKE / REBLOG if you find these helpful!

[huramuna]

hi! i'm philomena! you can call me philo, phil, or phia. i am 24 and from florida, usa (est timezone) & i'm neurodivergent (autistic) i am irish & indigenous american! i am also non-binary, any pronouns are okay. i love dragons, moths, and the moon. my ao3 • my main is @eiralune, so follows & likes will come from there!

i don't do taglists any more unfortunately, its mostly because i never remember and then feel bad about it so i've made a second blog just for reblogging my fics! @huramuna-fics -- follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings!

requests are OPEN! request info & masterlist under the cut.

i am currently obsessed with HotD, more specifically, Aemond Targaryen. i also love Alicent Hightower and Helaena Targaryen and am always up to talk about them. i am a new aegon ii girlie, but i love that pathetic sopping wet cat! i have been writing most of my life but finally have the courage to actually publish some of my work, so enjoy!

my general fic recs are here! take a look at my golden grail fic recs here! these are fics i would take with me to a desert island, to the grave, adorned on a shrine, etc. they are the ones that i reread semi-regularly and are my absolute favorites. my work is 18+, so minors please DO NOT interact. i will smite you.

MASTERLIST

feel free to drop requests, but there is no guarantee i will actually do them -- my writing drive comes and goes and i usually hyper fixate on the one thing i am currently working on, but i will mark them for later and reply once the request is done! rest assured, i am looking at every request. 🤭

i will write for aemond, helaena, alicent and aegon II. i will only write wlw for alicent and helaena. i won't write requests the following themes: - non-con - incest - underage

[ask-hws-eire]

Dia duit! Hello! I'm The Republic of Ireland! Also known as Éire, but you can call me Sean!

I can't wait to hear from you all! Have a good one!

Ask Rules and OOC under the cut

About me

Hiya! Name's Lyre! 20 year old Irish/Italian and the owner of this blog. My other blogs are @lyresbird for reblogs and @crooked-sketches for Fandom art. Lyrebird is my main so all follows will come from there.

This blog will be multiship and Headcanon heavy. My art blog has a list of general rules abt me in the pinned post so please check those out bec the same rules apply here.

Other than on this post, all OOC talk will be in Purple.

Rules for asks

Please keep your ask to one or two topics!

Please don't ask about serious IRL events that have happened less than 10 years ago as I feel it's insensitive to engage with them in this format.

No NSFW but suggestive is ok

I will ignore any ask I don't feel comfortable answering

Historical asks are very much appreciated!

I will try my best to answer all asks with art so I may be a bit slow

Back and forth rp with other ask blogs may only be in text posts depending on the scenario

Tags

#EireAnswers - In character answers

#EireRP - RP responses

#LyreYaps - OOC posts

#LyreArt - reblogs from my art acc. This will only be for Ireland related art

Events/Collabs

-#RoundgoestheQ&A

[meichenxi]

Speakers of non-English languages of the UK and Ireland wanted!!

Since it’s World Mother Language Day today (February the 21st), I’m thinking of doing a series of posts on the native non-English languages of the United Kingdom and Ireland, with some information and short interviews. 

For this, I am looking for both native speakers/signers and learners (with or without parentage/heritage of the language in question) of the following languages:

- Scottish Gaelic

- Irish

- Welsh

- Any sign language of the United Kingdom or Ireland (e.g. BSL)

- Any other minority language indigenous to the United Kingdom or Ireland. By this I mean primarily spoken only within the UK or Ireland as a minority, or spoken very little elsewhere. For example: Cornish, Manx, Shelta, or Anglo-Romani, not languages like Polish or Bengali that are minority within the UK but have a significant speaker base elsewhere. (I am aware that I am fishing for some of these *cough* Cornish *cough*...but you never know!)

- Any language or variety that you speak that you feel is linguistically / culturally distinct from Standard English that you would like to inform more people about. For example: Shetlandic, Scots, Ulster Scots. 

I don’t have anything finalised yet, but if you would be wiling to speak to me about some text-based interviews for the sake of qualitative and informative tumblr posts, please send me a message!

(NB: if I have used any names of languages that are not preferred, tell me and I will change them. I don’t know a lot about the non-Celtic and non-Germanic languages here, which is part of my reason for wanting to make this series of posts in the first place.)

Please reblog so more people see this!

- meichenxi

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Sihtric, Finan and Osferth // The Last Kingdom S4E1

Today was officially pronounced as "International Gremlinssons day" by the one and only @sihtricfedaraaahvicius (reasons behind this see in the respective blogs 😂). In addition to that I have just reached 200 followers milestone which seems absolutely incredibly fucking amasing for me.

I'm wiping my tears of happiness with my two cats right now.

When I started to hang around here I could never imagine that someone will actually like my rambling, but you apparently do and I'm so thankful for that! 💖💖💖

To celebrate all this I've decided to open my requests for gifs - not only for Sihtric but for any TLK character.

The requests will be open until 8th November which is also my birthday and please reblog this post so more gremlinssons and ordinary people 😆 can see it.

Taglist: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @whumpappreciation @siimonesvensson @gloriouslyalivetoday @synindoodles @melissarose234 @crusader1997 @sivulele @gemini-mama @bathedinheat @vashole @losstboi @fox-bright @whumpybromance @umfood @elwegencyn @keenbagelsharkbanana @the-irish-girl @tinumiel @hb8301 @miss-sparkel-mr-hitch @simpforfictionalaisela25 @alexagirlie

[ducktoonsfanart]

Donald, Daisy and Huey, Dewey and Louie Duck celebrate St. Patrick's Day - Donald Duck, Gladstone Gander and Fethry Duck celebrate St. Patrick's Day - Duckverse

March 17th is celebrated as the National Day of Ireland since that day is also St. Patrick's Day which is celebrated by both Catholics and Orthodox and St. Patrick is the patron saint of Ireland. On that day, people in Ireland dress en masse in green and wear partly a Leprechaun suit (a lucky little elf) and carry four-leaf clovers as symbols of good luck. Admittedly, even though I'm late, I definitely drew something related to that day and to wish everyone a happy St. Patrick's Day and may luck follow you!

The first drawing shows Donald and Daisy Duck along with Donald's nephews, Huey, Dewey and Louie Duck wearing green clothes and a four leaf clover and I drew them in a classic version in my own way. And don't worry, it's not the three Louies, they just wore the same color of clothes. With the fact that Louie wears a backwards cap so you can distinguish a little better. And they are all in fields with four-leaf clovers.

Another drawing shows Donald Duck celebrating St. Patrick's Day with Gladstone and Fethry Duck also in green with Donald and Gladstone Gander wearing leprechaun hats and toasting with ale (Irish beer) and all wearing four leaf clovers. By the way, Gladstone is typical of this, since he is a lucky duck-goose and is constantly pestering Donald because Donald has bad luck. But not this time and so Donald and Gladstone are reconciled and celebrate the holiday together. And then there is Fethry Duck and I mostly drew in my own style combining comics and Ducktales style in 2017. Admittedly, this is an old drawing from two years ago, although I didn't finish it until now, so I haven't used that style in a long time, since I changed it a long time ago.

I hope you like these drawings and I wish everyone a belated Happy St. Patrick's Day and a Happy Ireland Day and good luck! Feel free to like and reblog this, but please don't use my same ideas without crediting me! Thank you!

[runeskald]

hi hi, and hello! this is an rp blog for caster cú chulainn from fate/grand order. i base my portrayal of him off of what i've learned from fgo (the game & the first order movie), cú chulainn's legends/irish mythology and have a ton of headcanons to suppliment said portrayal (though a lot have yet to be posted). it'd be great if y'all could pass this around with a reblog. if you're interested in interacting, give it a like and i'll check you out/potentially follow if i can see us meshing. (please note, this blog is 18+ only, meaning minors cannot and should not interact)

[aestheticpearl]

— 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢-𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨

[𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫] jake seresin

“you’re drunk”

“tipsy” you corrected.

jake opens the car door and reaches over you to unbuckle your seatbelt. you take this opportunity to kiss jake’s cheek and wrap your arms around his neck as he scoops you up to carry you inside. he smells like irish spring soap and an expensive cologne that you secretly love, even though you gave him shit for spending that much money on a cologne.

“let’s get you to bed yeah?”

“you smell amazing” you say as you bury your face into his neck to inhale his scent.

“where was this energy when i bought the cologne huh? made me feel guilty about it for like a week”

“i made you feel guilty?” you pull your face away from his neck to look up at him with the saddest eyes he has ever seen.

“a little, but now i see your true colors so don’t worry about it pumpkin.” he says placing a kiss on your head while setting you down on the bed.

“i need to change” you whine and jake laughs.

“i know, i’ll find something you can change into”

“can it be my favorite sleep shirt?”

“you mean my annual naval picnic shirt?”

“mhm” you nod proudly.

“you want pants with that sugarplum?” he says going through the drawers to find the shirt.

“no thank you” you beam as you swing your legs on the edge of the bed waiting.

“okay then, arms up” you happily obliged and lift your arms so jake can remove the current outfit you have on and replace it with the very comfortable sleep shirt you love dearly.

“i love you ya know”

“i know baby i love you too” he responds leaning in and planting a kiss on your lips. “you ready for bed now?”

“mhm, can we cuddle?”

“of course we can sweetie, now lay down” you move to your side of the bed and watch as jake moves into bed.

“alright c’mere” he says opening his arms for you to move into, you move into his hold and practically melt.

“i love being in your arms, there’s truly now place i would rather be”

“aw that’s sweet—”

“except the beach”

“heyyyy”

“goodnight honey i love you very very much” you declare before placing a final kiss on his cheek and falling asleep.

“i love you too, sleep well baby” jake says placing one last kiss on your forehead.

in the morning you woke up with the second worst hangover of your life and you were barely able to pull yourself out of the soft, warm and very comfortable bed. jake had gotten up maybe an hour ago to start on breakfast and you decided you needed to get up and follow him after thinking about it for that whole hour.

“well look who finally got up”

“shhhhhhh” you bring a finger up to your lips. “so loud”

“sorry” he says in a quieter voice. “how did you sleep?”

“amazing, i would’ve slept longer if someone hadn’t gotten up” you mumble.

“apologies darlin’ but i made you some breakfast for your troubles” you mutter something that jake can’t really make out as he places a plate in front of you, along with some tylenol.

“thank you”

“of course pumpkin” he says placing a kiss on your head.

please reblog to show support ✧·˚ ༘ * ༄

.love always <3 pearl

.masterlist

.midnights masterlist