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the-blind-assassin-12 · 9 months ago

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This reblog is long overdue and for that I am SO SORRY, Hazel! I binged this beautiful romance folktale all in one sitting WEEKS AGO, and it has been on my mind ever since. This was truly such a fun, sweet, adventurous read and I absolutely loved getting completely lost in it. This has been on my TBR list for ages and I am so happy that I finally indulged because I have clearly been missing out and meeting Selkie Ezra has brought me so much joy. If anyone else has been missing out, I STRONGLY suggest that you change that NOW. Need a good bedtime story? This is it, friends! This is the one! Get cozy (Ezra really likes to get cozy) and crack this one open because you will not regret it.

I loved everything about this story from the set up to the end. Seriously. I am enamored by Reader's family and their little town and the ins and outs of their daily life. I can feel the bitter ache of Reader's loneliness. Ezra's canon traits mixing with the selkie traits (so protective!!!!) and the way you included Cee and their relationship was perfect. There were moments of suspense and moments where I was legitimately afraid for these characters (when Reader's big dumb husband was being big and dumb, mainly) and then there were moments when I was kicking my feet and giggling (Ezra being such a snuggle bug with all the nuzzling and securing himself to Reader like velcro) and then there were times when I wanted to unleash my rage on the small thinking people in town. BUT MOSTLY I just wanted to protect these babes with my entire life. And Tilda. Tilda is the MVP.

I truly loved the inclusion of Gaeilge in this story, too. The words and phrases you chose to use are beautiful. Ezra calling her his treasure is so fitting - like aurelac!

Something that I always feel when I read your stories, Hazel, is how apparent it is that you love the characters you're writing about. There is a kind of happiness and joy that seems both inherent and intentional in your work and it always makes for a really warm and pleasant experience - even when we're being plunged into the cold sea. This story, and your writing in general, feel like a warm hug.

I somewhat selfishly hope that you never stop adding moments to their story, because I would happily devour them forever. I know I'll be returning to this world whenever I need some extra comfort. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for creating and sharing this stunner! <3

Seven Tears

(complete series)

Like The Merling fics, Selkie Ezra scratches the faerie tale itch. I love writing them! And Ezra, while a challenge to write is incredibly fun too, and him as a selkie?! He is a delightful menace to my heart.

After your fisherman husband disappears and months of heartache, you give in to a moment of despair... and let seven tears drop into the sea. Calling a selkie man is nothing to trifle with, and Ezra is not just any selkie.

Enjoy and thanks for reading. Please consider leaving a comment and/or reblogging, that is how fics stay alive! If you are shy, that's what the anon asks are for, I really would love to hear from you.

💚H

Selkie!Ezra x F!Reader

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7 and epilogue

Little ficlets, drabbles, and one-shots listed in order of writing them. I've noted when in the main story they take place, if it's important:

Scents of the Season (ficlet inspired by a Christmas prompt)

Swept Away (comfort drabble. Set between part 3 and 4)

Tea and Toast (for Writer Wednesday)

At Sea 18+ (just a little ocean sex, as a treat. Set before Swept Away somewhere between part 2 and 4. No need to read to enjoy the main story)

Closer (a little moment before the Seven Tears begins)

Can't Sleep (prompt request drabble)

Untitled (microfic challenge request) a little competency kink with Ezra

Budding Moon (for the Wheel of the Year/Year of Creation series, set after part 5)

Ezra's Becoming (ask drabble) set long before Seven Tears. The terrible story of Ezra's transformation into a selkie

#seven tears #ezra x female reader #selkie!ezra #ezra (prospect)#selkie!ezra x f!reader #you're never too old for a fairytale #and this one was PERFECT #grogusmum #fic rec fic rec fic rec!!!

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pebblysand · 3 years ago

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Hiya, there’s a tiny typo/spelling mistake in your bio.

*Baile Átha Cliath rather than Baile Atha Cliath

Nothing serious obviously. Just thought you might want to know.

I LOVE CASTLES SO MUCH! I WANT TO PRINT IT OUT, BIND IT AND PUT IT ON MY SHELF. I read it in one sitting just yesterday! If I ever make one of those Ao3 collections that go like “Best of:” or “ Greatest Hits”… it’ll be there.

I didn’t check the date when I read it and for whatever reason (I was recommended it rather than finding it myself), I thought it was finished! I had downloaded it on iBooks because I like how book-like the format is and when it finished with Harry being like “that was the best thing I’ve done since May” and that epic “Dolores Umbridge’d barbaric resumé” line, I was like THAT’S IT???? So then I checked the Ao3 page and you’d updated the fic since I’d started reading it! I can’t remember being so thrilled. AND THERE’S ANOTHER CHAPTER EXPECTED AUGUST 3rd? TOMORROW? AGGGHHHHH! Your chapters are gorgeously long too!

Anyway, many thanks for this lovely fic from a girl in Galway.

in one setting??? are you okay anon?? thank you sooo much, that’s so sweet ❤️. glad you’re enjoying so far. there is a chapter coming up tomorrow, if work allows 🤞.

and, alright, i will the fada. i feel the need to say this as i’m assuming you’re new: i’m an immigrant to dublin but i do live here, i’m not just some dumb bitch claiming to be “1/4 irish”. i just… didn’t bother pressing the á a few seconds longer when typing my bio four years ago lol. i did receive hate as gaeilge a couple months ago though, does that restore my street cred? 🤣

lots of love ❤️. thanks again for your super kind words, i really appreciate it! welcome to this trainwreck of a fic 🤗

also, love galway! such a lovely place 🥰. it’s my fave!

#fic #writing #castles #as gaeilge

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margridarnauds · 4 years ago

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a@fallenidol-453 and @any59

YOU ASKED FOR IT.

So, first off: Let’s start off with a story. I’m in my flat in Ireland, doing....Celtic Studies things. Namely, looking at Quinn’s workbook, flipping between it and Strachan’s paradigms, crying. Okay, not really crying, more “knitting my brows and scribbling furiously, because WHY is this language like this?”

My housemate comes in with a friend of hers. We have the usual smalltalk, you know “What do you do here?” “Oh, Celtic Studies.” “Celtic Studies!” *I tense as I prepare for the inevitable “So, do you have any family.........” question* “Well, we just so happen to be fluent in Irish!”

Now, this is much rarer than a lot of people would think in Ireland, because the Irish education system is.........shit when it comes to teaching Irish. I literally never had someone in Ireland tell me, “Oh, I LOVED studying Irish! It was my favorite class!” And the more someone loves the Irish language, the more that they generally hate how it’s taught. So, I’m like “Oh, cool! Here’s what it looked like a thousand years ago!” and I show off my paradigms, going to the first page, which is the section on definite articles.

There’s this moment of silence as she looks at it, HER eyebrows knitting just like mine were a few minutes ago. “Is that....Latin? It looks like Latin.”

Now, there are two options with this story: One is that she was lying through her teeth about knowing Irish fluently in order to impress the naive American. Problem with that is that, of course, you risk being called on it. BUT the second is what I’m going with, namely that the language has changed a lot more than people generally think it has. (There’s about the same period of time between Old Irish and Modern Irish as there is between the creation of Beowulf and the present day. Imagine trying to read Beowulf without knowing ANY Old English and you’ll see the problem straight away.) This is actually a problem, because a lot of the time, people will see foreign-born Celticists writing in Old Irish/Middle Welsh/etc. and instead of thinking of us as professional scholars who are taking advantage of a dead language in order to send what are essentially very niche memes (not necessarily even “meme” in the sense of joke), they think “Oh! The dumb foreigner’s mangling the language! So funny!”

...and yes. This has happened to multiple people I know, including myself. It’s annoying.

So, how much has the language changed? There are essentially five stages of the language that we are able to trace: Primitive Irish, Old Irish, Middle Irish, Early Modern Irish, and Gaeilge/Modern Irish + Proto-Celtic which is the sort of shared ancestor between all the Celtic languages and the reason why some of these words are confusingly familiar and my brain needs about twenty minutes to reboot when I’m going in-between Middle Welsh and Old Irish.

Going back to our friend, the definite article: In the modern language, there are two forms of the definite article, as you’ll learn in your very first lesson on Duolingo: An (singular) and Na (plural). You can see this reflected all over the place, probably most obviously in the names for instutions like “An Post” (the post office) and An Garda Síochána (The Guard of the Peace, the police force).

In Old Irish? There were multiple forms of the definite article, and they had to agree with the gender, person, and case. In the Middle Irish period, those distinctions gradually fall away, becoming even pronouned in the Early Modern Irish period, leading to the language as we have it in the modern day.

Some other changes:

- Loss of deponents. Old Irish used to have a system that was like the deponent verbs of Latin, where you had words that LOOKED passive, but were active in meaning. As time went on, they totally dropped those, taking different approaches to how to deal with the old deponent verbs. (Sometimes they’d use, say, the verbal noun form AS the verb, sometimes they’d apply deponent endings to verbs that hadn’t been deponents before.....it’s a mess.)

-Loss of the neuter gender. Gone entirely, save for a few fossilized examples, though with some efforts to bring it back in some form in the interest of non-binary people. In the time of Old Irish, however, there was a full neuter gender, complete with a neuter article.

- The loss of declensions. “BUT,” you might say, if you’ve studied Modern Irish, “Modern Irish HAS declensions!” And you’d be right! It does! Five, in fact. .......Old Irish had thirteen.

What happens over time is that people look at all those declensions and are like “That is an ASSLOAD of declensions, let’s simplify!” And so they start treating some declensions like they’re another declension, so the number of declensions goes down over time as the others all get sorted into new categories.

Also, the categorization is different. In the modern language, you just hear that the declensions are decided by the endings, which.....is probably one of the reasons why so many people hate learning Irish, because it seems arbitrary, when, in reality, it isn’t. In Old Irish, we actually go back even FURTHER in time, to Primitive Irish (which ended around the 7th century) and, even further back in time, Proto-Celtic, because that is where the declensions actually come from. Irish used to look quite like Gaulish or Latin, with similar endings - “Fer” was “viros”, which became “viras”, “ingen” was “enigenā”, which became “inigena”, “rígain” was “rígainí” in the Proto-Celtic, “athair” was “ɸatīr” in the PC, “túath” was “toutā”, “Día” was “Dewos”........etc.

That’s why “fer” and “Día” are both o-stems, despite looking almost nothing alike, it’s why they behave the same way - They shared the same endings back in the day. That’s why we call them o-stems in the first place, it isn’t because of what’s IN them, it’s what used to be in them.

“Ingen” is an a-stem for the same reason.

“Rígain” is an i-stem.

“Athair” is a r-stem.

There’s METHOD to the madness, I promise.

- There’s a loss of distinction of sounds - Old Irish was very strict on “This is spelled with an A and THIS is spelled with an O and those are TWO DIFFERENT SOUNDS.” Middle Irish was like “Eh? Let’s make it a general “schwa” sound.” So the spellings vary a lot starting in that period, Early Modern Irish only adds to the confusion (a favorite Celticist Hobby is pointing out the sometimes flat-out *weird* Early Modern Irish spellings of Old Irish names because *oh, boy*), and by the time you get to the modern language, a lot of things are spelled quite differently from what you’d think. Some consonants also soften in their sounds - the preposition “Co”, for example, becomes “Go”, “ocus” becomes “agus”, etc.

- Univerbation. Essentially, Old Irish had a LOT of compound verbs like do-beir, do-gni, at-tá, ad-cí, ro-cluineathar etc. And, in the modern language, “do-beir” becomes “tabhair”, “do´gní” becomes -“á dhéanamh”, etc. Essentially, they took what’s known as the protonic form of the verb, which is the version we would use following a conjunct particle like “ní”, which expresses a negative form of an action, and they made that the regular form of the verb. They were like “Nope, don’t want to handle it, not today, Satan.” And sometimes, those forms would evolve as well, so I could be looking at a verb in Early Modern Irish, go “that looks vaguely familiar” and then realize that it’s a VERY mutated form of an Old Irish word.

- The ~copula~. So, the copula is....an alternative to the substantive verb used in certain circumstances, indicating a state of being. Which seems really....grammar-y, but all that really means is that it translates out to “is, am, are” in English. If you ever read any medieval Irish texts, you’ll notice a lot of syntax that’s like “Cold is the wind from Norway”, “It is not a good thing you have done”, etc. The reason is because, in the actual Irish, all this would have begun with a form of the copula. It was a VERY popular way of starting off a sentence, instead of the usual Verb-Subject-Object form. In the Old Irish period, the copula was inflected, meaning that, like the definite article, it changed depending on certain factors, namely person, number, and tense. “Am” would be “I am” (”Am rí” - “I am a king”) “At” would be you (sing.) are (“At gataige” - “You are a thief), “Is” would be “he/she/it is” (”Is lóech” - “He/She/It is a warrior”), “ammi” would be “we are” (”Ammi druíd” - “We are druids/magicians”).....etc. Now, once again, starting in the Middle Irish period, you have people going “............that is an ass-load of work, let’s just use the third singular and call it a day.” This is why, in Duolingo, you have to say “Is cailín mé” a thousand times. In the Old Irish period, you would just say “Am ingen”, but, with that loss of distinction of the copula, pronouns become increasingly important to the Irish language. Some of this was already present in Old Irish, with the 3rd sing. copula being used for the sake of emphasis, “It is I who takes Bres to the trash fire, where he belongs”, sometimes with an emphasizing pronoun for added drama, but it eventually gets to the point where the others are consumed entirely.

- Independent pronouns also come into their own, being uniformly used after the copula, with the infixed pronouns that had been uniform going away. So, for example, if I wanted to say “I kill him” in Modern Irish, I would say “Maráim é” - if I wanted to say it in Old Irish, I would say “Nan-Marbu”, with the no being what’s known as a meaningless conjunct particle (it’s there to say “LOOK! AN INFIXED PARTICLE!”).

- A lot of the verb forms, like the nouns, get smushed together - There were at least three different forms of the preterite (in Modern Irish, known as the “Simple Past”) in Old Irish, in Middle Irish, the S-preterite gradually grows to dominate, to the point where now, there is only the simple past, with endings varying depending on if you’re talking first or second conjugation verbs. Likewise, the future tense goes from having five different categories of future tenses to being divided into first or second conjugation verbs in the present day.

Overall, there’s more, there’s a lot more, but I think that you can get the gist. When I see primitive Irish, I’m like “Okay, it’s Old Irish - The Latin edition”. It looks WEIRD, but it looks OLD and, for the most part, fairly recognizable. We don’t see it that often, outside of an ogham stone, that’s why we make such a big deal when we do. Old Irish, I’m like “FRIEND....who sometimes scares me”, Middle Irish, I’m like “Okay, this is a bit weird, but I can understand most of it, especially if I’m reading an edition where the editor explains things”, Early Modern Irish looks, to me, like everything’s been tossed into a blender. I KNOW that some of the words look familiar, but it’s HARD and it kind of hurts my brain to stare at it for too long. Modern Irish actually looks better, because it’s streamlined, the spellings are consistent, etc., but it still looks......almost eerie, actually. It also shows in how these things are taught - If you’re in an Old Irish program, you’re taught Old Irish and Middle Irish; if you’re in a Modern Irish program, you’re taught Early Modern Irish and Gaeilge (or you’re expected to know Gaeilge off the bat.) And what should probably be mentioned is that, actually, there was likely only ever a brief period where “Old Irish” was actually spoken or written - Kim McCone pointed out in an article that, actually, in some of our oldest, most sanctified sources for Old Irish, the Wurtzburg Gospels, we’re already seeing traces of Middle Irishicisms. It’s likely that, among the general populace, they were already simplifying their speech, but that the scribes who wrote this stuff down, that literary elite, took a conservative approach to the language, essentially a medieval Irish Academie Francaise, and they tried to preserve the “pure” form, only to lose the battle as time went on and even they started using these forms of the language. It’s also why we put SUCH a massive emphasis on dating....(besides the fact that it’s the closest thing we can come to dating anything, *badum tss*): Scribes, along with copying old texts, would actually sometimes put older forms of the words in newer texts in the hopes of it looking older or more authoritative. There are some bardic poems in the 16th century that are actually EERILY good. Likewise, you have some scribes looking at an older text and being like “Oh, that doesn’t look how it should! I should fix it!”, only to drop a Middle Irishicism on an Old Irish verb. And sometimes a scribe will try to correct the correction and makes it even worse. We have to analyze the whole text, weighing all of it together to see when a text might have actually been composed.

We talk a lot about how Irish has survived over the years in spite of everything, and that’s IMPORTANT, but I feel like it’s also important to say that it’s changed, it’s reinvented itself. It isn’t static and it’s never really BEEN static, and I think, my ongoing confusion aside, that that’s really important. I can’t translate an 18th century Irish text, at least not EASILY (even though I want to do my PhD on an Early Modern text so RIP me), but someone who got their PhD in 19th century Gaelic Literature also can’t translate Old Irish (and yes.....it has happened where people act like studying Irish literature = being able to “explain” Old Irish materials to me. Because, again, Dumb Foreigners Can’t Know What We’re Talking About) We’ve got to work together to get the fullest possible picture. The language had a past, it has a future.

#long post #celtic studies #also why we DO need to study modern Irish as well #because we can only get so much from the older materials and it's important to remember there's more outside the medieval world #my new program is Very Big on me learning modern Celtic languages along with older languages and honestly I'm thrilled #because I view it as a matter of respect as much as anything else

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punkscowardschampions · 6 years ago

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Ro & Ali

Ro: …---… Ro: Mayday mayday Ali: This is AlleyCat, roger your mayday, position is our bedroom, how can I be of assistance? Ro: That was a very efficient response Ro: What would your ETA be for reaching the fantasy section of the library? Ali: Constant vigilance, Rosaline Ali: 15 minutes ish providing the hairy-footed hobbits aren't too thick a crowd to cut through Ali: What's the danger? Ro: Let me preface by saying that I could burn a forest of cedar and do not believe I'd be adequately protected Ro: Now that you're forewarned, I'll explain Ro: Kayne is here because his dear sister is having a party at which he is unwelcome Ro: As if her birthday wasn't already cause for lack of celebration enough, I can now not escape his attentions Ali: Yikes! Not to mention the environmental damage too, and if it's not gonna work, we're defs best to avoid Ali: Also the Librarian would probably think you were blazing up back there and using pages of an old Jilly Cooper as roaches and who wants to be tarred with the same brush as Donovan O'Reilly? Ali: Gross, skip the protection spells and the like and go straight for a swift kick in the balls Ali: How is it he's ALMOST as delusional as his sister? Not in this galaxy or one far, far away, honey, c'mon Ro: Precisely Ro: Not to mention of all days today I chose not to wear black and I don't need the ash blow back to ruin this outfit Ro: He's in no way worth that damage either Ro: Hm! I couldn't possibly do that, though I have pondered long and hard enough to suggest telling him that we'd (providing you and Carly would be willing to tag along, that is) crash the party, only to leave him there and make our escape Ro: Perhaps I'm being delusional myself to create a narrative whereby Laoise isn't hyper alert to our presence upon all occasions Ali: That's what it is, you've let your cover down and he's taken it as an invite! Ali: Though sure, you could probably wear a potato sack and he'd still be mooning Ali: Ha, that would be hilarious though! Rock up with a card and a bottle like, hey babes Ali: Least we could leg it, only a few doors to safety, after-all Ro: Oh Ali! I don't know what he sees in me and frankly do not wish to know Ro: What would be proper attire for a soiree at your nemesis' house? Ro: I'm certain she'd love to see me a potato sack even more so than her brother would, so I'll assume not that Ro: Exactly, why would she ever be hesitate to drink anything we offered or read anything we'd scribbled on a piece of paper which may or may not be a curse?! Ro: Very amusing. Unlike the conversational loop I am currently stuck in Ro: To use the term conversation very loosely, of course Ali: DUH, you're beautiful AND smart, not like other girls! Gag Ali: [Sends multiple options with are a lot of black silk, lace, fake fur and leather moments] Ali: Right? We're the perfect party guests Ali: Been ages since we tried anything dark sided, don't let the chic looks fool ya Ali: Oh Lord, what is he even? Last time I got stopped by him on my way to the post office he was prattling on about some online game and I should join and Ali: I'd feel bad for him but he's also intensely dislikeable and entitled with it all so Ro: Oh god, you're not actually considering putting my pretend party crashing into action, are you? Ro: I'm as tempted right now as I've ever been to dabble in dark arts, but that's solely for his benefit, and my own in ending this interaction, not hers Ro: He's offering to tutor me right now, which I neither need nor believe to be his real intentions in asking Ro: I know I'm not as scholarly as you, but that's why I'd turn to you if I needed assistance, not someone whose scores are not even on a par with my lesser subjects Ali: Of course I am Ali: She knows she misses us, you know I know that you need saving Ali: Win win on many different levels Ali: 😂 Nice try, bud Ali: How cliche, taking too many lessons from bad porn and worse romcoms himself, like Ro: Please no Ro: If you bring an invisibility cloak I may consider it, but otherwise Ro: As for Kayne, I almost miss the days he used to put slugs in my hair Ro: He had the excuse of childhood to blame his cliches on and we had some new pets into the bargain Ali: It all comes down to who you'd rather be fighting off, him or her Ali: Pets, or INGREDIENTS, eh, Leesh? Ro: I just snorted, so score one for appearing unattractive, thank you Ro: If I take off my glasses will that likely add or deduct a point? Ro: But to answer your query, the way I see it, Carly's owed a rematch so maybe we should go to the party Ro: Birthday beatings are a time honored tradition, no? Ali: Welcome, if he gives us room to pull of an anti-makeover I bet I can get that score in the minuses Ali: He's defs into the glasses vibe, makes him think he gives a shit about what's on the inside and your brain, as if you aren't the epitome of beauty still Ali: Ooh, true, true, many scores to settle, rights to wrong...I'll see if she's down or wants her own training montage to counteract yours Ali: Now you're sounding like a McKenna! Ro: But even if I switched to contacts, dyed my sister's hair and went shopping for an entirely new wardrobe, he'd still take my personality as an invitation Ro: As though I crafted any of this to appeal to him, or indeed to repel his sister Ro: Just trying not to lose my own voice here as he mansplains the plot of the novel I was faux browsing Ro: I may take a swing for him if this continues for much longer however, and thank Fearghal later for the lessons Ali: You mean its not him, him its all for him? Shocker Ali: You got two options way I see it (still on the peace path, your soul can thank ME later) Ali: Either outwit him and pick a book he so won't understand and show him up with your superior intellect, easy or hard mode, act infuriatingly dumb 'cos that would dead put him off his ideal of you Ali: like Shakespeare who? Is that the Leo movie? Ro: Both excellent suggestions Ro: And I could indeed wax lyrical about how gorgeous Leo was in that movie until the library closes so Ali: Honestly, proof of angels Ro: Thank you, yes! Ro: Not that it's needed, but if people insist upon being ignorant, there you are everyone Ro: He'd never talk down to me about Trolls and Orcs Ali: Seriously Ali: If our teachers ever got creative with the assignments, then I could too, dissertation READY on how this dirty world of ours has tainted him Ali: not quite fallen angel level of dark deeds but he's certainly aging into a Nicholson and not a Caravaggio Ro: If you keep discussing his visual decline I'll have no need for an escape route because I'll simply burst into loud and dramatic tears Ali: Oh God, don't Ali: He'll want to comfort you Ro: Oh Ro: I never thought of that and I hope the mental image never crosses my mind again Ali: Yeah, that's his shit, worst type Ali: as bad as the boys making you cry, that's right Kayne, I said it Ro: I don't understand why he likes me when you exist Ro: Surely you're his type, as you are the bad boys around here, as well Ro: Sorry Tess Ali: Nah, I'm not as nice as you Ali: thus not worthy of his lurve Ali: Devastated, of course Ro: You're nicer than me, as Carly can attest Ali: Only to those who deserve it Ali: He gotta know that Ro: He believes he is one of the chosen though Ali: As far as I know he's neither Jewish nor Harry Potter so Ali: not that those are MY parameters 😂 Ro: He's proud of not having read any of the Harry Potter books as far as I know Ro: And to think we could ever be together! No no Ali: 'Course he is Ali: HATING POPULAR THINGS ISN'T A PERSONALITY TRAIT, NOR IS IT INTERESTING OR ENDEARING TO PEOPLE Ali: Shouting so he can hopefully hear Ro: I would tell him but I'm so embarrassed by everything he's already spoken aloud that I can barely speak Ro: I have to get out of here Ali: Run baby run Ali: I can do a stellar Ma impression Ali: out of the realm you'd be in trouble but I can ring you with drama like Ali: FUCKING HELL, GET HOME NOW, ROCKY'S ON THE ROOF AND THE CHICKEN'S BURNING AND ALI IS NO HELP AT ALL AHH Ro: Please do Ro: I didn't expect to be asking for an invocation of your mother to get me out of trouble but I gladly shall Ro: And owe you one too Ro: I've been on and off my phone so he can't appear as if it'd be out of the blue Ro: Oh and now I'm rhyming... Ali: Find yourself in times of trouble, Mother Tessie comes to thee, speaking words of wisdom, let it be Ali: On it Ali: Scouse don't fail me now Ro: If you keep making me laugh this plan is going to fall apart Ro: If in doubt, speak angry Gaeilge, he doesn't so he'll never know what you're talking about Ali: Into it

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imagineclaireandjamie · 8 years ago

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Flood my Mornings: Samhain

@abreathofsnowandashes said: There would have been A LOT of Irish emigrants in Boston in the 1950s, particularly Irish speakers. There would have been Scots too, but in much smaller numbers and Gàidhlig would have been much less likely to have been spoken for obvious reasons. I’d love to see Jamie overhear Gaelic (Irish Gaeilge or Scottish Gàidhlig, he’d understand both) being spoken, or maybe come across a hurling/shinty game and make a connection

Notes from Mod Bonnie:

This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

See all past installments via Bonnie’s Master List

Previous installment: Twentieth of October (Claire’s birthday dinner)

October 31, 1950

“Happy Halloween,” chirruped the pimple-strewn lad pumping the Gasoline.

Jamie gave the boy a smile and a nod. “Aye, many thanks, and the same to—Bree, no!” He lunged across the wide seat of the Ford and grabbed her round the middle. She protested and scrabbled vainly for the door latch she had very nearly gotten open. “My apologies,” he said out the open window as he righted himself, holding the lass firmly on his lap, “she’s quite the handful.”

The boy gave Brianna a little wave. “Got big trick-or-treating plans tonight?”

“Ach, no, not this year. Just a bonfire with some friends.”

Burgers, marshmallows, candy, and beer! Nothing fancy! Tom had assured him. Just bring you, the family, and maybe some ice?

Jamie had left work an hour early to drive home, shower, change into clean clothes, and pick up Brianna to drive the two of them back to Fernacre for Tom and Marian’s gathering. Claire was working overnight, this evening, and Jamie was feeling just that wee bit awkward about the prospect of a social gathering without her at his side. Granted, he would know nearly everyone present; and they were his work comrades, after all; hardly strangers.

Still, when the convenient topics and tasks of work were removed from his social scenarios, there would always come the odd moment where his ignorance of modern times or American tastes or both would be thrust into the spotlight (“What did you think of the game?” or “What’s your favorite John Wayne film?”) and it was Claire who so adeptly diverted attention so he might collect himself, even as he wracked his brain to recall where he had heard the name of Mr. Wayne before.

Still, Claire had her duties, and a festive night shared among good folk (for whom he had genuine affection) certainly outweighed the other available option: being obliged to bide by the door all evening, passing out sweeties to any costumed child that cared to ring the bell. Would that strangers had been so generous when I was wandering Boston looking for Claire. Baffling, the lot of them, these Americans.

“Whoops, I’m sorry, mister, I don’t have enough change,” the boy said apologetically. “Can you hold on a minute while I run inside?”

“Aye, dinna fash, lad.”

The boy blinked and made a face of incomprehension. “Dinner what?” Then, realizing how rude he sounded, he raised his hand, looking distraught and about to start babbling.

“I only said,” Jamie interjected, “‘Take your time.’”

He said it patiently, wanting to be kind, but as soon as the boy was out of sight, Jamie closed his eyes and felt himself sighing, wearily practicing the proper phrases in his mind for the next such time. ‘No problem, man.’ ‘Don’t worry about it, Sport.’ Flatter “R”s. Shove sound to the back of the tongue. Quieter. Less.

“We c’n go-to play th’game, too, Da?” Brianna asked suddenly in Gaelic.

“Game?” He blinked his eyes open and studied her face, looking up from his lap excitedly. “What game d’ye wish to—”?

But then he, too, heard the voices drifting across the lot.

“Oh, definitely: Dan’s crew don’t have a chance.”

“I don’t know, they’ve been training hard—and they’re giving Michael and the boys a run for their money, so far!”

He craned his neck out the window. They were men of about his own age or a little older, their arms loaded with sweeties and Soda Pop bottles from the wee store. And they were speaking GAELIC.

Irish, from the sound of it, the Gaeilge; but the cadence and syllables were so like his own mother tongue that he actually was gasping from the rush of shock and euphoria.

He was just about to call after them, but at that moment, the young attendant reappeared. Jamie hastily completed the transaction, tipping a bit too heavily as he watched the men out of the corner of his eye, feeling a pang of dismay as they disappeared down over the hill beside the filling station. Jamie thought he could hear the sounds of a small crowd not far off.

“Beg your pardon,” Jamie blurted, as the attendant was walking away. “What’s going on over the hill, there?”

“Just a bunch of Irish playing—it’s kind of like football, but with sticks and they’re loud as all get out!” he laughed confidentially.

“Game, Da!” Bree whispered in Gaelic.

“They’re harmless, though, I promise,” the boy said hastily, leaving Jamie to wonder what exactly might be feared from a bunch of Irishmen. The boy blanched. “Oh but you’re–you’re Irish youself. I didn’t mean any–” He didn’t bother to correct the boy as to his heritage, simply thanked him once more and sent him on his way.

He checked his Watch, and finding that they were still ahead of schedule, he set Bree on the seat next to him, saying in Gaelic, “Aye, a leannan, let’s DO go see the game.”

It was a group of about thirty men on the field, playing a fast-paced game that Jamie wagered was very close indeed to shinty. The players’ wives and families (and a fair number more, it seemed) were congregated on the sidelines, tending wee coal-grills, drinking, chatting, and calling after the swarms of children running about hither and thither. And all of it was in Gaelic. Jamie wanted to cry, just hearing and seeing this slice of something so like home, the drink-fueled joy of a Gathering, something he hadn’t experienced in many, many years. He could feel the warmth of it all surrounding him with every step he took closer, like the arms of a long-lost friend slowly coming around him.

As he and Bree drew within a few dozen yards, a whistle sounded and the match broke. The players jogged to their wives and comrades to drink and chat. One man on the nearest edge of the crowd, dark-haired and wiry, caught sight of Jamie and did a double-take, turning sharply to face him in the first pink rays of nearing-sunset. “Can I help you?” he called in English, strongly accented; not unkindly, but definitely on guard.

Jamie called back a greeting in as close to Gaeilge as he could recall, though he wasn’t at all confident in his pronunciation.

It must have been close enough, though, for the man’s face brightened at once. “HEY, NOW!” he roared, walking forward with his arms raised in welcome. “A new kinsman! What county?”

“County *Scotland,* I’m afraid,” Jamie replied, slipping into the Gàidhlig without thinking as he returned the man’s warm handshake. “James Fraser, and my daughter Brianna. Do forgive me for intruding; it’s only that it’s been so verra long since I heard anything like my own tongue. I just couldna resist seeing what was what.”

“And we’re glad you did! It’s grand to get to meet a new cousin from the old places.”

The Irish tongue did have its differences, certainly, but Michael Riley seemed to have no trouble understanding Jamie, nor he, him, with only the occasional What was that word? or confidential laugh over differences in emphasis or tone.

Bree had been staring at Michael intently, apparently astonished at hearing Gaelic spoken at close range by someone other than her Da. When Jamie nudged her, she gave a tiny, startled ‘Hi’ in English, then grinned and buried her face in his shoulder, making both men laugh.

“D’ye live in these parts yourself, Fraser?” Michael asked eagerly.

“Not far, but no—I was just stopping for Gasoline on my way out to the countryside. Do all of ye live nearby, then?” Jamie asked, astonished, surveying the huge, lively crowd of players and onlookers.

“Sure do—the station owner turns a blind eye to us using the field, thank the saints, else we’d all likely be arrested.”

“Arrested? For playing a wee game?”

“Well, technically, it *could* be considered trespassing—have a drink?” Jamie politely refused and Michael shrugged, wiping his sweaty brow and taking a deep swig from his own bottle. “There’s a long history of bad blood between Irish and the other folk in Boston. I’m sure there’s plenty of arseholes that would love to see us get comeuppance for whichever dumb mick offended great-great-uncle so and so.”

Perhaps that went some way toward explaining the odd looks Jamie tended to get when speaking to strangers about Boston. He’d always tacitly assumed something in his manner was out of place in some indeterminate way—some eighteenth-century way, that is—but perhaps it was that he was being assumed Irish in a place where that wasn’t altogether a pretty thing to be. He would have to ask Claire.

Christ, he chuckled to himself, an Outlander thrice over, he was, in Boston. At least he wasn’t the only one.

Michael introduced him to the members of his team, one and all bringing Jamie and Bree further into the crowd, offering drinks, and asking about their history and family. He felt as if he’d walked into a clan gathering, even after only ten minutes among the Irish. “And what about you, then?” he asked of Michael, after giving his (presumed) backstory for the half-dozenth time, “From whence in Ireland do you folk hail?”

“Well, we’re mostly Corkmen here—” Michael said, which elicited cheers from the Cork contingent. “Some like me, born here stateside, but plenty of folk fresh off the boat, like Barny, there, except he’s from Tipperary. Then there’s Fergal whose folk are from Sligo,” he said, scanning the crowd and methodically cataloging. “Then Vance and Peter and the other Michael, of Galway. And then over there, there’s Charlie, but he’s not—OY!” He gave a sudden whoop of excitement and cupped his hands around his mouth to yell, “EY, CHARLIE!! COME OVER HERE!! FOUND YE A WEE CLANSMAN!!”

A stocky blonde man jogged over eagerly and Michael clapped him on the shoulder. “Charlie, here, plays for those bastards on Dan’s team, but we won’t hold it against him just at present. Charlie, this is James—James, right? Aye, good—James Fraser. He’s from your precious highlands!”

Charlie was an open, eager sort, ruddy-faced and jovial, quick with a joke and an easy word. Jamie quickly learned from rapid conversation in the Gàidhlig that the man was a Highlander-born, a MacAlister whose family had come to America when he was nearly sixteen. He’d hated the new place, and had planned to return to Scotland the moment as he was of age; but then war had broken out just days before his eighteenth birthday, and he’d been compelled to go fight. He worked as a builder, now, feeding the demand for suburban homes from families in the growing prosperity of the post-war times. Jamie decided he truly liked the man, and knew without asking that he must have children himself, when he grinned at Bree and said, “And hello there, a leannan,” with a little bow.

“Hi, how-wer you?” she responded, to Jamie’s astonishment, in almost-perfect Gàidhlig.

“I’m verra well, thank ye verra much for asking, sweet lass,” the blonde man laughed, straightening and looking impressed. “Does she speak it at home, then?”

“No, not often,” Jamie said, rather apologetically. “I do try to speak it around her when I think of it, but her mam is English, so we—”

“American, you mean?”

“Nay,” Jamie laughed, with a mock-sneer, “an honest-to-goodness Sassenach.”

Charlie matched Jamie’s manner with groan of false-disgust. “Christ, but ye must have balls of steel, Jamie, to — oh!” he said abruptly, looking a bit embarrassed, “Sorry—is it alright that I call ye Jamie?”

Jamie could feel the warmth of kinship flood through him like water. “Of *course,* friend,” he said with feeling.

Charlie introduced his Irish wife Saoirse and their two small boys, to whom Bree took at once, sharing their toys on the grass.

They talked about Scotland, about America, about Boston. About Gaelic. About talk of a free and independent Scotland. About the Celtic traditions that had crossed the ocean, and those that had not. Of gatherings that apparently took place all around the country, in hill-and-mountain places, for folk to remember the old clan ways, even if in naught but a faint imitation. Even of bannocks, whiskey, and wool; the simple things of highland home, even two hundred years hence, it seemed. It was more a balm to Jamie’s heart than he could comprehend: that the Scotland he knew hadn’t vanished entirely.

A whistle blew and Charlie brandished his stick deftly as the crowd began to shift. “Ever played a game of hurling?”

“It’s like shinty, no?”

“Not too far off, not at all. Here,” he said, beginning to walk backward toward the pitch, “come wi’ me and I’ll give ye the rundown.”

With a jolt, Jamie noted the position of the sun and remembered the ice in the back of the Car. “Sadly, we must be going, Charlie.”

“Oh, come on!” Charlie wheedled, taking one last deep swig of beer and kissing Saoirse exuberantly. “Wee Brianna seems to be having a fine time wi’ Nolan and Will. And I’ve got some extra gear if —”

“it isna that at all,” Jamie said, turning an apologetic smile toward his new companion, “it’s only that we’ve got a Halloween gathering to attend, and we’re expected shortly.”

“Och, that’s too bad. First one since you arrived? Weel, it isna nearly so ghostly as Samhain, let me tell ye. All the spooks you’re like to encounter look as if they came out from a children’s book or a Walt Disney film. I tell wee Nolan when he’s scairt in the night that all the ghosts are back in Scotland. No doorways to the otherworlds in America, so no Old Folk to be afraid of."

(Oh, aye? Ye have one right in front of ye, man.)

Charlie held out the stick once more, inviting. "Sure ye canna be persuaded to celebrate wi’ us instead, Jamie?”

“I truly canna stay, but thank ye, Charlie, I should verra much have liked to.” Jamie knelt to break up the play-circle. “Can ye say ‘farewell’ to your new friends, Bree?”

“Farewell,” she chirped, waving her chubby hand enthusiastically.

“That’s not’th’right way,” chided Nolan, who was a year or two older. “You say it funny.”

Bree looked crestfallen, but Charlie ruffled his son’s hair, laughing as he gently scolded. “Nay, a chuisle, you’ve just grown up wi’ Gaeilge—YOU’RE the one who ‘says it funny.’”

Jamie scooped Bree into his arms, whispering in her ear about how proud he was of her before turning back to Charlie. “Do ye play every week, then? I’d truly be honored to come back another time.”

“Oh aye. The winter snows will start falling soon, but we’re here most every chance we can get, when the ground’s clear.” Charlie sized him up frankly, nodding with approval. “You’re a braw-looking fucker, alright. Dinna let Michael steal ye for his lousy crew, aye? They’re naught but loud bastards. The *real* talent’s wi’ us.”

Jamie made a general farewell to the crowd and received a hearty chorus of well-wishes and toasts in return.

“At the risk of seeming too eager, Jamie…” He turned to see that Charlie was looking sheepish, “might the wife and I have ye and the family over for dinner, sometime?”

When Jamie didn’t immediately respond, the man shrugged, but didn’t falter. “Mebbe it’s daft, but as much as I love my Irish folk, it’s grand having someone to talk to in the old ways again; who’s truly my countryman. D’ye ken what I mean?”

Jamie swallowed down the lump in his throat as he clasped the man’s hand. “Aye, a caraidh, I ken it more than ye can possibly know.”

[Next chapter: The First Step]

#;mod bonnie #flood my mornings

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