#irish badges

[letstalkbeautyuk]

☘️ 🧡 💚 Still time to order your badges for St Patrick's Day - we have a great selection in the shop

[thesixthduke]

[medicinemane]

90 days till I'm done with duolingo forever

Like... it sucks they decided to suck, but it's just... I'll get it to a 2000 streak just to show that it very much isn't that I just gave up, get myself to a nice round number, and then it can piss off and I can go try to learn on something that actually teaches me

[strixessabre]

Add some Bacon to your life.

( Strixes' Sabre )

[paulpingminho]

[ltwilliammowett]

Old naval slang

A small collection of terms from the 18th - early 20th century that were and probably still are known among sailors.

Admiralty Ham - Royal Navy canned fish Batten your hatch - shut up Beachcomber - a good-for-nothing Cape Horn Fever - feigned illness Cheeseparer - a cheat Claw off - to avoid an embarrassing question or argument Cockbilled - drunk Cumshaw - small craft - Chinese version of scrimshaw Dead Marine - empty liquor bottle Donkey's Breakfast - mattress filled with straw Dunnage - personal equipment of a sailor Flying Fish sailor - sailor stationed in Asian waters Galley yarn - rumour, story Hog yoke- sextant Holy Joe - ship's chaplain Irish hurricane- dead calm Irish pennant - frayed line or piece of clothing Jamaican discipline - unruly behaviour Knock galley west - to knock a person out Leatherneck - a marine Limey - a British sailor Liverpool pennant - a piece of string used to replace a lost button Loaded to the guards - drunk Old Man - captain of the ship One and only - the sailor's best girl On the beach - ashore without a berth Pale Ale - drinking water Quarterdeck voice - the voice of authority Railroad Pants - uniform trousers with braid on the outer leg seam Railway tracks - badge of a first lieutenant Round bottomed chest - sea bag Schooner on the rocks - roast beef and roast potatoes Show a leg - rise and shine Sling it over - pass it to me Slip his cable - die Sundowner - unreasonable tough officer Swallow the anchor - retire Sweat the glass - shake the hour glass to make the time on watch pass quickly - strictly forbidden ! Tops'l buster - strong gale Trim the dish - balance the ship so that it sails on an even keel Turnpike sailor - beggar ashore, a landlubber claiming to be an old sailor in distress Water bewitched - weak tea White rat - sailor who curries favor with the officers

Sailors' Language, by W. Clark Russell, 1883 Soldier and Sailor Words and Phrases. Edward Fraser and John Gibbons, 1925 Sea Slang, by Frank C. Bowen, 1929 Royal Navalese, by Commander John Irving, 1946 Sea Slang of the 20th century, by Wilfried Granville, 1949 The Sailor's Word Book, by Admiral W.H. Smyth, 1967

[wally-b-feed]

Anthony Fineran (B 1981), Irish Badge Wesley Long, 2022

[starsjulia]

spoilt rotten // leah williamson

masterlist

a/n : i flipping love writing leah x spoilt reader so here’s another one

warnings : fluff, playful teasing, kinda suggestive at the end

Leah Williamson was known for her unwavering focus on the pitch—sharp, commanding, and completely in control. As Arsenal’s vice captain, she knew how to lead, how to push her teammates to be the best, and how to give everything for the badge. But when it came to you? Well, Leah was nothing short of head over heels, and everyone knew it.

You were, simply put, breathtaking. A model with a body that could stop traffic, and a face so stunning it made people stare. Your presence was captivating, whether you were at a glamorous event or just lounging at home in one of Leah’s old hoodies. And Leah? She couldn’t help but spoil you rotten, constantly doting on you, treating you like a princess. It was something her teammates never let her forget.

The latest round of teasing came after a grueling win for Arsenal. The team was in high spirits, buzzing from the post-match high as they headed out for a team bonding dinner at one of London’s trendiest restaurants. The private room was filled with laughter and chatter, but all eyes turned when you walked in, your arm linked with Leah’s, her hand resting possessively on your lower back.

Dressed in a sleek outfit that hugged your curves perfectly, you looked every bit the model you were—effortlessly chic, and drop-dead gorgeous.

Leah, as always, couldn’t take her eyes off you. She was practically glued to your side, her thumb tracing gentle circles against the small of your back. Her teammates, well, they were all too used to it by now, but it didn’t stop them from throwing their usual jabs.

“Oh, here she is—our very own supermodel,” Katie called out, her Irish accent coming through as she grinned at you. “Come on then, Leah, what’s it gonna be tonight? More Chanel? Maybe a trip to Milan? She’s got you wrapped, mate.”

You laughed, used to the teasing by now, as you slid into the booth next to Leah. “I’m thinking diamonds, Katie. It’s been a while, hasn’t it, babe?” you teased, turning to Leah with a playful glint in your eye.

Leah groaned softly, rolling her eyes but smiling nonetheless. “Only the best for you,” she murmured, her arm slipping around your shoulders as she pulled you close. Her lips brushed the side of your temple, her voice low enough that only you could hear, “You deserve the world, love.”

Katie snorted from across the table, leaning back in her chair. “Jesus Christ, she’s got you good. You’d buy her the moon if she asked, wouldn’t you?”

Beth, who was sitting across from you, grinned and elbowed Caitlin. “Aye, I reckon she already has. I mean, look at ‘em.”

Caitlin chuckled, her Aussie accent thick as she nodded. “Mate, I think we’ve all accepted Leah’s never gonna say no to her. She’s gone.”

Leah just smiled, unbothered by the jabs, and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “They’re just jealous,” she whispered in your ear, her breath warm against your skin. You shivered lightly at the feeling, biting your lip as you leaned into her touch.

The team broke into laughter, but Leah didn’t care. Her attention was solely on you, her eyes filled with affection as she watched you chat easily with the girls. Even after a tough match, you were the most beautiful thing in the room, and Leah’s heart swelled every time she looked at you.

As the dinner went on, the teasing continued. Between sips of wine and mouthfuls of food, the team couldn’t resist throwing more playful jabs Leah’s way.

“So, Leah,” Beth started, her voice laced with amusement, “how many handbags have you bought her this week? We reckon it’s at least three.”

Leah smirked, her fingers idly playing with the ends of your hair. “Only two,” she responded nonchalantly. “Had to hold back a bit this time.”

Katie let out a loud laugh, nearly choking on her drink. “Hold back? Are you hearing yourself?”

You giggled, leaning into Leah’s side as her arm tightened around you. “She’s just generous,” you said with a grin, flashing Leah a look that made her stomach flip.

“Generous,” Lotte echoed from further down the table, shaking her head. “More like she’s whipped.”

Leah huffed playfully, pulling you even closer so your legs pressed against hers under the table. “You lot are just jealous you don’t have someone as gorgeous to spoil.”

Caitlin raised her drink. “Touché.”

Leah’s hand slid a little lower on your waist, her fingers brushing just under the hem of your shirt, her touch making your skin tingle. You turned your head to give her a knowing smile, your voice dropping to a whisper. “You really don’t mind, do you?”

Leah’s eyes darkened just slightly, her gaze flicking to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “Not one bit, princess.”

---

A few days later, Leah had invited some of the girls over for a chill night at her place—Beth, Katie, and Lotte were sprawled across the couch and chairs, beers in hand as they chatted casually about the latest matches, the conversation flowing easily. Leah was mid-sentence, explaining some tactical breakdown from the last game, when you suddenly strolled into the room, your voice lilting with that teasing tone you always used when you wanted something.

“Leahhhh…” you called sweetly, padding barefoot across the living room in one of her oversized hoodies. Leah immediately looked up, her heart fluttering at the sight of you. “There’s this new Victoria’s Secret collection that just dropped,” you continued, drawing out your words as you made your way over to where she sat. “And you know how much you love it on me.”

Leah barely blinked, already reaching for her wallet. Without even thinking twice, she pulled out her card and handed it to you, her mind clearly still half-absorbed in the football conversation. “Sure, princess. Get whatever you want,” she said casually, not missing a beat.

You grinned, taking the card with a cheeky kiss to her cheek. “Thanks, babe,” you purred, already planning your shopping spree as you turned and left the room, your hips swaying just a little more than usual as you walked away.

The second you were out of earshot, the room fell into a stunned silence before erupting into laughter.

“No way!” Katie gasped, her Irish accent thick as she clutched her side, barely able to contain herself. “Leah, you didn’t even blink! You just handed her the card like it was nothin’!”

Beth was wiping tears from her eyes as she shook her head. “Mate, you didn’t even ask what it was for. She’s got you wrapped, doesn’t she?”

Leah shrugged, leaning back on the sofa with a lazy grin. “What can I say? She looks incredible in everything she wears—especially Victoria’s Secret. It’s a win-win for me.”

Lotte leaned forward, her brows raised in mock disbelief. “You serious? You didn’t even think about it.”

Leah smirked, completely unbothered by their ribbing. “Don’t need to. She can have whatever she wants.”

Katie groaned, tossing a cushion at Leah. “You’re bloody hopeless. Whipped doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Leah caught the cushion and threw it back, shaking her head with a grin. “Yeah, well, if you had someone like her, you’d be the same.”

Beth grinned, leaning back in her chair. “Fair play. But seriously, Leah, you’re like a bloody ATM at this point.”

Leah just shrugged, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “It’s not about the money. I want her to feel special. She deserves it.”

Just then, you reappeared, walking back into the living room with a satisfied grin as you handed Leah her card. “You’re the best, babe.”

Leah smirked, sliding the card back into her wallet before grabbing your hand and pulling you down to sit on her lap. Her arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close as she nuzzled into your neck, teasingly repeatedly shifting yourself to ‘get comfortable’.

“Jesus Christ, can you two get a room?” Katie groaned, taking a long sip of her beer as she watched the two of you. “This is getting out of hand.”

Leah just chuckled, her lips brushing against your jaw. “We might just do that later,” she murmured lowly, her voice soft but with enough edge to make your skin tingle.

Beth groaned, throwing her hands up. “And here we go again.”

You laughed, pressing a quick kiss to Leah’s cheek before turning to Beth with a cheeky smile. “I told you—it’s the Victoria’s Secret effect.”

The girls erupted into laughter again, but Leah’s grip on you tightened slightly, her fingers brushing the hem of your hoodie. “Can’t say I mind,” she murmured into your ear, her voice low enough that only you could hear.

You turned, your breath warm against her skin as you whispered back, “I know you don’t, babe.”

Leah’s eyes darkened slightly, her thumb brushing against your bare skin under the hoodie. “I’ll show you just how much later.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you bit your lip, the playful glint in her eyes sending a shiver down your spine. But before you could respond, Lotte interrupted with a dramatic groan.

“Alright, alright, enough with the flirting,” Lotte said, rolling her eyes playfully. “Save it for when we’re not here.”

You and Leah exchanged a look, both of you grinning before turning your attention back to the group. The night continued, filled with laughter, teasing, and the easy banter that only comes from close friends. But even as the conversation flowed, Leah’s hand stayed glued to your waist, her fingers gently tracing patterns against your skin.

And though her teammates teased her relentlessly, Leah wouldn’t have it any other way. You were her princess, her everything, and she’d spoil you for the rest of her life if it meant keeping that smile on your face.

[letstalkbeautyuk]

☘️ 🇮🇪 St Patrick's Day Badges

[medicinemane]

Sigh... end of the month is up and that means time for me to be pissed off about duolingo

I need 400 more xp in 6 days for the stupid badge

I've done a lesson every single day this month, and... that's like 16 lessons I need to do in 6 days, like 10 lessons I fall short when keeping a perfect streak and doing the same lesson over and over cause it gives more xp than new lessons

Really fostering learning duolingo, nice job

[myownwholewildworld]

acta, non verba - i. a badge of honour

series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 2 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. synopsis: scotland, 83 AD after the battle of mons graupius. the romans have come up to the boundaries of their empire with a relentless desire to conquer the savages that inhabit the highlands. they won't rest until the Caledonian tribes are subjugated. Marcus Acacius is in charge of your clansmen's fate, but if such fate is similar to your family's, you know you need to do something about it. as the only living daughter of the tribe chief, your people look to you for leadership. power plays, treason, deception, rebellion, war, love, heartbreak, betrayal. and two souls, destined to despise each other, trying to navigate it all. a/n: well, here it is! the first chapter of my new series, set in what is now scotland, during the romans' conquest of the british isles in the 1st century. hope you guys like it! as always, all interactions welcome. thank you so much for reading! <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. death, aftermath of a battle, burial of family members. reader is an original character - female, has a name (callie) and a physical description, family history, etc. i'll try to keep the references to a minimum though. age gap (callie is 26, marcus is 48). mention of infidelity and becoming a widow. marcus’ and reader’s pov. i have taken some historical licenses for ease of writing (use of "clan" as synonym for "tribe", references to irish/celtic gods, the caledonian people speak modern scottish gaelic instead of a (proto-)brittonic language). w/c: ~4.2k. dividers by @saradika-graphics i'll be tagging some people at the end of the chapter who interacted with this post. dw, i won't tag you in the next chapters unless you ask me to! also, if you want to be removed from this post, please send me a dm.

A light breeze whistled through the nearby standing stones. The dying sun provided no heat, and the ethereal landscape was cold with hues of blue and grey. Despite the shimmering wildlife that came with the first hints of spring, the meadow was uncannily silent.

The crows cackling in the distance broke such tranquil peace and woke you from your slumber.

Slowly you blinked, something wet and warm covering your eyelids. You felt it slide down your skin, pooling in the dip of your collarbone. Your limbs felt so heavy, you couldn’t lift a hand to rub your eyes clean. In fact, you were so tired that even taking a deep breath hurt.

Your orbs fluttered shut, shattered and defeated.

Dhuosnos, God of the Dead, was calling you to His side. His presence was soothing, so inviting, the most melodic sounds guiding you to Him. With the eyes of your dying imagination, He extended a welcoming hand towards you, a soft smile on His mythical features.

“Come with me, sweet child of the tribes.” A guttural voice escaped His lips, so dark and sombre it enveloped you.

You nodded, gaze down, submitted to Him.

“You can’t just take her, Dhuosnos. Callie is yet to avenge them — her purpose must be fulfilled first before she can greet you as an equal.” A second voice, feminine, otherworldly and reassuring, interrupted your exchange.

Morrígan, Goddess of War, placed Her hand on Dhuosnos’ forearm as to stop Him from reaching you. A stone of relief, but also of disappointment, sat low in your stomach when He took a step back, head bowed towards Her.

Steadily you undid your curtsy, your green eyes locking on Hers. They were black as the night sky, Her pupils and irises indistinguishable from one another. You looked into the abyss of Her sight and felt a deep-rooted longing, one you never experienced before.

“You are not done yet, mo leanabh (my child). Your people await your return.” Morrígan palmed your trembling hand, escorting you back to the earthly plane.

“But…”, you turned around to look at Her, ask for Her advice.

But She had already vanished, a sweet scent of lavander left behind.

You gasped awake, your eyes so widened, the cloudy, sunset sky above felt like it was crashing down on you. You were laying down on a pool of mud. A deep, raspy grunt escaped your lungs as you tried to move your arms. When you couldn’t, you looked down, confused.

Aengus’ lifeless body was resting on top of yours. Your father’s henchman had made the ultimate sacrifice by hiding you underneath him, away from the prying eyes of the Romans. The dense liquid caressing the skin on your face was none other than his blood. A trickle of thick red dripped from the gnarly wound in his neck on to your cheek. His eyes were staring at you emptily, his soul had already left this world when you regained consciousness.

Your father, Murdoch of Inbhir Nis, the Caledonian Overlord, had come to the aid of the Taexalian Overlord, whose territory was succumbing to the legions of Gnaeus Julius Agricola, a Roman governor with a high desire to impress his Emperor, Titus Flavius Domitianus.

Your father had gathered as many fighers as the Caledonian lands could give him. Both men and women were called to arms when the tribes were threatened. Being the daughter of the Chieftain would not spare you. You would not have chosen differently anyway, had you been given the opportunity. Fighting for land, clan and honour was your duty as much as your brothers’ and sister’s.

The journey from Inbhir Nis (Inverness) to Cala na Creige (Stonehaven) had been unforgiving, with illness and evil lying in wait. But you all had been warmly welcomed by the Taexali tribe and were fed copiously, the uisge-beatha (whisky) being served like water.

Your combined armies, shy of fifteen thousand folk, had been ambushed at Raedykes during a repositioning exercise by the Roman troops led by Agricola’s most trusted man.

General Marcus Acacius.

His mere name made you sick, anger crawling under your skin.

Fighting off your own opponents, you had seen the Roman General charge against your father like a beast, wielding a gladius over his head. The metallic impact of their swords rang loud across the landscape. The men looked into each other’s souls, an exchange of words shared between them. You were too far to listen, too far to fully see what was really happening as warriors from both sides danced through the grass.

Then you foresaw it before it happened: the heavy Roman sword fell on your father, who was struck to his knees with the General’s blade lodged in his belly.

You tried to get to him, screaming “Athair (father)!” at the top of your lungs. His eyes locked on yours before he fell sideways. You lunged forward but didn’t get to him, Aengus stopping you in your tracks.

“No, Callie, it’s too late now”, he had sorrowfully whispered in your ear before throwing you off to one side to fend off an attacker.

And then blackness swallowed you, an enemy hit you in the head so hard you lost consciousness.

That was how you came to be where you were — with your back flat on the silt and Aengus’ body blanketing yours. The grey sky above you sensed your pain, and, at Taranis’ command, it parted in the middle. The God of Thunder released a downpour to clean the blood, soot and woad’s blue dye off your face and hair.

You cried your sadness away, rainy tears sliding off the corners of your eyes — your anger, your loss, your torment, you purged it all, sobbing until you were devoid of all emotion. Taking a deep breath, which caused a needling pain on your ribs, you pushed Aengus to one side to free yourself from his weight.

The thudding sound he made almost brought more tears to your eyes.

“Sorry, uncail (uncle)”, you muttered, hovering your fingertips over his eyelids to shut them for him. Now he could finally rest.

You stood up, your knees trembling like a newborn calf. A searing pain stabbed your skull, dried blood and dirt gathering on the wound on your scalp. With a straight back, you dared to look around you. The bodies of your own men and women were scattered around the hills of Raedykes. So many lives lost, you heard all your ancestors screaming from above, their cries falling upon you in the way of rain. The green, long grass was reddened with blood, but the weeping sky had started to wash away the atrocities committed by the Romans.

Then you saw him. Your athair.

“No, no, please, no...”, you whispered as your sight became blurry again, dragging your feet towards the fallen body of your dad.

Your soul tried to tear itself apart, become its own entity. You had to summon the last drop of the royal blood that ran through your veins to keep yourself in one piece. You knelt before him, craddling his bloody hand between yours. Unconciously your body rocked back and forth until you hugged him, laying flat on top of him.

Time stood still, like a thread on the expert hands of a wool weaver. It could have been minutes, hours or days, your pain too great to bear, to comprehend.

And then you felt a hand lightly tap your shoulder.

You startled, your mind and body jumping back into survival mode, gripping your sgian-dubh (small knife) close to your chest.

“It’s okay, mo phiuthar (my sister). It’s me, Torcall”, a raspy, masculine voice forced you to focus on the man in front of you.

He was your father’s most important tacksman and also husband to your older sister Mairead — your sweet Maisie, as you always called her. She was the eldest of the four siblings while you were the youngest. Always so witty and quick with a joke, Maisie kept up the spirits even when the circumstances were dire — in fact, before your paths had parted during the battle, she jested about your H-shaped shield being larger than you.

When you turned around, Torcall flattened his hands on your shoulders, slightly shaking you so you would come back to reality.

His blue eyes pierced through you, the situation becoming clearer in your mind. Thousands of your tribesmen were dead. Your father too.

“Maisie?”, you asked in a hush. Your heart clenched when your brother-in-law shook his head no. You were afraid to speak, but you did nonetheless. “Aodh and Somhairle?”

Torcall stared at you, his silence speaking loudly. “They are all dead.”

The air evacuated your lungs, feeling as if a spear had run through you. Learning about the death of Maisie and your twin brothers broke something within you, something fundamental and primal. They were your everything, your most trusted confidants. Despite being of different ages, you all were so tight-knit it was difficult to find one of you alone.

A heart-shattering wail escaped your lips as you bent over yourself, your chest snug against your knees.

Morrígan had unashamedly claimed most of your family that day, except for your beautiful mother. Now Her words made sense: you were yet to avenge them, to fulfil your purpose. She had spared you for a reason, not so you could pity yourself, knees deep in the mud.

To avenge them, you had to kill the hand who showered this tragedy upon you.

General Marcus Acacius.

A raven’s strident, gurgling croak forced you to look up to the skies — a subtle reminder that Morrígan was watching closely. The massive bird was circling above your heads, like a vulture waiting to feast on a carcass. With resolution, you wiped away your tears, your sobs now silent, and nodded at Torcall.

“I understand. How many…?”, your voice faltered before you could finish your question.

“A couple of thousands. We have found cover in the Dunnottar Woods while we regroup and… bury our dead.” Torcall replied, his eyes averted with the last sentence.

You had lost a sister, but he had lost a wife, the mother to his now half-orphaned children. “I’m sorry”, you muttered, your lips pouting once more.

“She died fighting, the death of a warrior.” His proud voice did not waver. “And your father?”

Your heart wept at his mention but managed to control the anxious fluttering.

“The General killed him.” Your teeth gritted with hatred.

“Mo bana-phrionnsa (my princess)”, one of your father’s retinue members bowed his head to you once you walked into the circle they had formed in a meadow between the trees.

A few dozen men were scattered around the area, fires lighting the dark night while shades of red and orange flickered, creating fiery, dancing shades. You held a torch and carefully waved it in front of you, looking at the faces who watched you back eagerly.

You saw in your men what was brewing inside you: despair, defeat, sorrow. All your souls grieving in unison — all of you had lost someone that day.

At six and twenty, you did not expect to be in this position. You were the youngest daughter of the Overlord — you were never meant to lead your people. The task ahead of you felt titanic, unachievable.

But you had no other option. General Marcus Acacius had forced your hand.

He came, he saw, he conquered.

And now you had to deal with the gut-wrenching outcome of his departure.

“We’ll go back home to Inbhir Nis. But before that, we must give burial to our people.” You had to make a herculean effort to infuse your tone with steadiness.

Torcall first, and then the rest, bowed their heads to you.

“As you command, mo bana-phrionnsa”, he replied, and quickly barked orders around in your stead.

Your chest felt heavy with responsibility and grief. What pained you the most was not being able to carry your brothers and sister with you back home. They would not be buried under the cairns near you family home with the rest of your ancestors.

And what was worst — thousands of lives now depended on you. The weight of your tribe's destiny heavily rested on your shoulders now, like Atlas carrying the heavens.

Maisie, Aodh and Somhairle had been lined up on a patch of wildflowers that you had picked yourself the night prior — their arms were threaded together with your sister in the middle. Your clansmen had also surrounded the makeshift burial pit with wood to aid the combustion.

As you placed the last stone on top of them, you also deposited a bright, bloomed thistle. The flower that blossomed in every nook and cranny of your beautiful motherland, despite the harsh winter or conditions it faced. Like the phoenix rising from the ashes, it would always come back, stronger and more brightful than ever.

Devotion, bravery, determination, and strength — the thistle was a badge of honour for the Caledonians.

With a renewed brawn unbeknownst to you, you threw the lighted torch and watched as the fire consumed the bodies underneath the stones.

There were no tears left within you. Only purpose and resolution.

The way back to Inbhir Nis was tiring and soul-crushing. Hiking through the Cairngorms had been a difficult task with so many people behind you, but luckily you all managed to make it through without any losses.

With each mile covered, you saw the devastation left behind by the Romans. If this was any indication of what awaited ahead, you should start bracing yourself for what you would see. It seemed that the Romans were set towards the northwest — Inbhir Nis was right in their path.

You quickly recognised the landscape as you walked towards Loch Moy. A thick, dark column of smoke towered above the pine trees. Your heart raced as you picked up your dark green skirt and ran towards the loch, ignoring the calls of your brother-in-law.

You could run through those woods blindly — this was the land where you were born, the land you were named after. Your name was an unusual one — Caledonia, in honour of the earth beneath your rushing feet. Just a few people called you Callie, mainly your family and closest friends. With your bright, fiery red hair, green almond eyes and a face dotted with freckles, you were the epitome of your people. That was probably why when someone new learned your name, they always said it suited you.

Dodging the last few trees, you made it to the edge of the loch. In the shallows, the crannog of Naimh, your community’s healer, was burning down to its foundation. You covered your mouth with a sombre expression, your eyes itchy because of the dense smoke and unspent tears.

The Romans had gotten to your settlement before you did.

“Callie, wait up”, said Torcall behind you, struggling to catch up with you.

He halted right behind you, the silence between you was almost tangible.

“The rangers have returned from their reconnaissance mission.” His voice was plain, contained. You turned your heard towards him, slowly, hardening yourself for his next words. “Your mother is dead.”

The last glimmer of hope within you vanished. A single tear skidded through your cheek — angrily, you wiped it off.

You were alone in this world. Everyone you cared for had been taken from you.

“Is everything to your liking, Dominus (Master)?”, the male roman servant asked in a low hush, head bowed, eyes fixed on the cobblestone.

“Yes, now leave”, Marcus dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

The General looked around him with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. He was accustomed to much more elegant surroundings. Although the barbarians did try, their architecture was nothing in comparison to Rome’s.

The castle he was in was small and it only had two floors. It was mainly made of sturdy, grey rocks and dark wood. The design was not very sophisticated, all square and rugged edges. It had two towers and a barbican. The decoration inside was bare, with just enough furniture and no luxuries.

The only warmth was brought by the colourful tapestries adorning the cold, thick walls — one had caught Marcus' attention at his arrival when he first entered the dais. It told a story he had not heard before.

A dragon-like figure lurked beneath the rippling surface of a lake, attracting the attention of the villagers. At dusk it would emerge, a guttural sound echoing in the dead of night, as if it was calling another. Any bìrlinns (wooden vessel) left on the shore would appear destroyed the next morning. Fishermen were worried and called upon the town's druids, afraid of the Loch Ness monster. To appease the beast, every full moon, the druids would whorship the creature, bringing oblations and sacrificies to quench its thirst.

Marcus made a mental note of keeping his distance from that Loch Ness. As a devoted Roman, he was wary of the mystic creatures that skulked in the depths of human fear.

Although he missed his home, he had several debts to pay. The Emperor would not accept no for an answer, so he had to be a reluctant participant in this incursion — in fact, neither Domitian nor Agricola had really asked him to tame the highlanders up in Caledonia. They knew his skills would be most needed in combat, having been praised by bards and poets alike after his many years in the battlefield.

At eight and forty, Marcus Acacius had had his good share of tragedy and death, both personal and in war. His life had not been easy, having to forge a name of his own since childbirth and then having been recently betrayed by his own spouse.

The thought of Livia still angered him — she had had the audacity of blaming him for her infidelity, accusing him of always being away, of loving Rome more than his own family. Her cheating had been going on for as many years as their arranged marriage, throwing a doubtful shade on his paternity to both his children.

His life had come crumbling down in the last few months, so maybe coming to Britannia had not been such a bad idea. Female adultery was a crime penalised with death and that was a decision that Marcus had yet to make — outing Livia’s unfaithfulness would condemn her to Pluto's realm. Did he really want that for who had been his wife for more than thirty years?

Pinching the bridge of his hooked nose, Marcus walked towards the only window in the room. The roman took a deep breath and exhaled steadily — he needed to think of something else.

His mind went back to the battle of Mons Graupius. The spilling of blood never became easier with time — if anything, it had become harder, splintering his soul further. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear the piercing, pained shriek of a woman as he imparted death on Murdoch of Inbhir Nis.

Her hair was dyed with black soot and tied back, her face covered in a blue paste and ash. He was too far to catch the colour of her eyes, but he thought them dark azure. The fierceness of her expression took him aback, her voice shouting a word he did not recognise. But his eyes did not have time to linger on the feral woman a few yards away, because a savage attacked him.

His hand stilled on the rocky window’s sill. The barbarians called this place Inbhir Nis. The stone castle was that of the chief’s family, atop of a hill with views to the scenery underneath. It was rudimentary and lacked many commodities — nothing comparable to his villa in Rome. The tribal settlement was formed of huts made of stone, timber and hay.

Agricola had decided to burn down the outskirts of the town and killed the wife of the clan chief making a macabre example of her, so the people would submit to the Roman’s yoke quickly, crushing any opportunity of rebellion. The message was clear: Rome would not tolerate being challenged. Anyone who did, would face the most painful of deaths. The governor left to go northward, leaving Marcus behind to rebuild the area to Rome’s standards. The emperor had deemed the location an important enclave for his empire, being the main town in the Moray Firth.

Marcus was standing in what he thought was the bedchamber of Murdoch. With the Overlord and his family alienated, the primitive people of the highlands needed educating and he had been given the task of doing so. Not a welcomed one, but he had a duty to Rome that had to be fulfilled.

With a heavy sigh, he undid the brooch at the base of his neck, relieving himself of the heavy, white sagum (cape) that was part of his attire. He threw it on the uncomfortable bed. He unfastened the golden, laurel-shaped bracelets around his wrists, and then proceeded to undo the tight knots that held his armour in place.

Then a knock on the thick, wooden door broke the silence of the room.

“Come in”, thinking it would be his male servant, he didn’t turn around.

“Dominus, dinner is ready”, a very soft voice with a very marked accent made him look over his shoulder.

A pair of very bright, almond-shaped, emerald-green eyes locked on his, framed by what he would describe as fire hair — so red it looked like a hellish aura crowning your head.

So bright were your eyes, he almost felt his soul being examined by your hypnotising gaze. Marcus had never seen eyes like those.

How dared he stand where your father did? Anger shimmered under your skin, but you kept it in check. When you realised you were holding his gaze for longer than what was appropriate for a servant girl, you averted your eyes, inspecting the stones under your feet.

Torcall called you mad for doing this, but you had made up your mind. If you really wanted to overthrow the Roman General and win back your family’s castle and land, you would need to sew yourself into his everyday life. Gain his trust, learn his secrets and use that information against him. Your people were counting on you for freedom, and you would not allow yourself to disappoint them. Even if it was the last thing you did.

“Who are you?”, his raspy voice filled the atmosphere as he resumed the task of undoing the ties on his armour.

Did he have no shame, undressing himself in front of a maid? Mind you, you were not an innocent servant, having been widowed recently. But still. The romans had no modesty, you assumed.

You had to think quickly. You had learnt that the governor and the general both thought the whole chief’s family dead, so you could not out yourself. A very few, selected people called you Callie, almost always in the intimacy of your home, when strangers were not around. Your nickname was precious to you because it was only used by those you loved.

“My name is Callie, Dominus”, you offered your nickname in a rusty Latin. It had been a while since you had to use a language that was not your native one.

“Callie.” The way your name rolled off his tongue gave you goosebumps. You didn’t like the way he pronounced it — it lingered in his mouth for too long, dragging each letter. You wished your words back, but you couldn't change it now.

Instead of clenching your jaw, you nodded. “Yes, my lord, I’m one of the servant girls who tended to the clan chief’s family before you.” You explained, your head still bowed.

You ventured your eyes up for a second, catching a glimpse of his naked torso. Unconsciously, you pursed your lips. The way your heart pounded loud for that one second made you furrow your brows in confusion.

He might be a gorgeous man, but he was a killer. And you had no taste for soulless murderers, that much you knew about yourself.

“Call my attendant, Atticus, to help me get ready for supper. I have no need of you. And ask the kitchen staff to heat some water and bring it up here.” His tone was emphatic, unwavering.

His rejection, in other circumstances, would have been most welcomed, but you needed him to trust you, to confide in you so you could plot his demise — to destroy him. This was not a good start to your plan, but you needed to play the long game.

“I could certainly help you with a bath now, Dominus, but your wish is my command.” You forced the words out, when in reality you wanted to spit them to his murderous face.

He just nodded in your direction, his movements stiff and measured. “Just my attendant will suffice, now go.”

With your fingers laced on your back, you curtsied, walking backwards towards the door of your father’s bedchamber. You could not seem too eager, or he would become suspicious.

When you were in the corridor with the door closed behind you, you took a deep breath and straightened your back.

You would not take no for an answer. Marcus Acacius would yield to you, whatever the cost.

@devilbat2 @subterralienpanda @lordofthundersstuff @just-mj-or-not

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[barnabyseyelashes]

RTÉ says Kneecap agreed not to wear pro-Palestine badges on The Late Late, but did anyway

RTÉ HAS RELEASED a statement clarifying that rap trio Kneecap had agreed not to wear pro-Palestine badges during their Late Late Show performance last night through their management, but then proceeded to wear them anyway live on air. 

On last night’s Late Late Show, Kneecap performed their new single ‘Better Way to Live’ and then chatted to host Patrick Kielty.

Kneecap’s Mo Chara and Móglaí Bap wore a watermelon badge – it’s become a pro-Palestine accessory because its colours match that of the Palestine flag.

However, during the chat with Kielty, DJ Próvaí removed his jacket to reveal a Palestine sports jersey.

Kneecap’s Móglaí Bap then said, to applause from the audience, that the group wants to “use our platform to highlight the genocide that’s happening in Palestine at the moment”.

He said that over 30,000 Palestinians have been killed “by American weapons” in the conflict so far, the majority of whom are women and children.

He added: “I think we have to use this platform and this opportunity to appeal to Irish people to attend rallies and protests and to support the BDS movement, and to show solidarity with Palestine and hopefully one day Palestine will be free.”

source

[in-class-daydreams]

Oh Yeah, Baby! (Sebastian Sallow x Reader)

Pairing: Auror!Sebastian Sallow x Pregnant!Fem!Reader Synopsis: You visit your husband at work, where you meet some of the new junior Aurors he's helping train. You're beyond pregnant by now, but some things never change. Alternatively: Just Because You’re Pregnant Doesn't Mean You Can't Throw Hands TW: On the spice scale, mayonnaise with a dash of paprika.

Hogwarts would always be the most beautiful piece of architecture you’ve ever witnessed, considering the hidden rooms you’ve become privy to and how the school brought you and your beloved husband together. That said, the Ministry of Magic was a close second with its tall, domelike structure with talented witches and wizards scurrying about making sure wizard society was on the up and up.

You tug at the waistband of your skirt. The bulk of your belly is at an angle where your skirt always rides up to accommodate and you are tired of it. You're due to pop any day now and no matter what anyone says, pregnancy is not a wonderland and you want this baby out now. You put a lot of thought into your coordinated work outfits with Sebastian, and Baby Sallow makes it impossible for you to wear half of them. Sure, you didn’t have to wear that particular skirt, but it’s easy to hitch up, and no matter what Sebastian says, it can’t hurt to be prepared.

On your way through the gates, you hear a voice call out to you. You turn to find a familiar face bouncing up to you. Venusia Crickerly is a tall, lithe woman with dark brown hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose. She has a thick Irish accent and is both a talented Auror and your husband’s boss, your own job making it easy for you and her to become fast friends. Though, you think, Venusia was the type of person who could make a friend out of a boggart, if she were so inclined.

“Look at you, you’re positively glowing!” she exclaims, pulling you into a big hug, conscious of your protruding stomach. “How are you?”

“I feel like a whale, but otherwise I’m quite well.”

She laughs. “Understood.”

The two of you proceed through the gate, chatting about work and the baby and Ve nusia’s new giant plant, Smashley.

“So, you’re bringing your doting husband lunch?” She points at the cloth wrapped parcel in your hands.

“Yes, but,” you wave your hand and a glass bottle of peach juice appears and floats over to her. “I had a feeling I’d see you today.”

Venusia squeals with delight and snatches the bottle out of the air to down half of it in one gulp. Peach juice was a bit hard to track down these days, but you’ve always been good at finding things, and your friend’s enthusiasm made it worth it.

“You’re a gem! I don’t know what Sallow did to make you fall for him, but it must’ve been magnificent!” she says.

Both of you flash your badges at the security checkpoint. The guard glances at them and lets you pass through the glamour-deactivating mist, which clears you without a hitch.

You smile at the memory. “The short of it is, we were at Hogwarts and I needed to get into the Restricted Section of the library. Sebastian helped me because he tended to do that kind of thing often.”

“Sounds like him.”

“Sebastian got caught first and instead of giving me up to secure himself a lesser punishment, he took the fall for me.” Even after all this time, you still feel giddy and shy thinking about it. How it felt to be protected by someone for a change. “Then all of a sudden I was head over heels.”

Venusia claps a hand over her heart. “How sweet! He’s been all in on you since the beginning, hasn’t he?”

You rest a hand on your bump. “He really has.”

Upon entry to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, you don’t see your husband anywhere in the bullpen. Venusia gestures for you to follow her down the leftmost hallway, which you remember from a tour with Sebastian leading towards the training arena.

As you pass the individual rooms with enchanted glass, you see various witches and wizards practicing spells on dummies or dueling with each other.

“State-of-the-art facilities, are they not?” Venusia says with pride.

“They really are,” you reply.

“You could have access to them, too, if you came to work for me.” She’s only half-teasing.

Admittedly, the thought had crossed your mind more than once. The Department of Mysteries gave you a substantial maternity leave considering your line of work was already hard on your own body. Exposing your unborn child to it could prove detrimental. That said, when you originally applied for the job, you were still the ‘live fast, die young’ type. You fought Ranrok and Victor Rookwood for three reasons: for Fig’s sake, for the greater good, and because you couldn’t just let them kill you because it’s the principle of the thing. If you were to fall, you’d want to fall in battle, but not to either of those two, because they were disgusting little mole men that needed to be put down. Suffice to say, starting a family didn’t really cross your mind.

Now, though, perhaps it was time to find an easier line of work so you could, you know, actually get to raise your child. The concept of Sebastian being a househusband was more than tempting. You’d come home from a long day, covered in soot and blood. Your husband would be home making dinner, a babe on his hip while a toddler clung to his legs.

Yes, the prodigal Auror, son of two professors, Master of the Dark Arts, doing housework for his beloved wife. You bite your lip at the delicious thought.

“-ello? Anyone home!” Venusia’s voice snaps you out of your daydream. When you come to, she’s eyeing you warily. “What’s gotten into you? Is it the babe?”

You shake your head. “It’s alright, I’m fine.”

She doesn’t seem to believe you, but doesn’t pry. There’s not much time, anyhow, since you come upon a larger gym where you know Sebastian and the other Aurors that go out in the field more often tend to train.

Venusia says her goodbyes and drops you off at the door. Your timing is impeccable, and you just manage to catch the unmistakable figure of your husband launching his opponent clear across the padded floor. You smile to yourself, thinking that if you weren’t viciously pregnant, you’d challenge Sebastian right now and thrash him soundly in front of his coworkers. One would think that would be a bit embarrassing as a husband, but the ever-surprising Sebastian quite enjoys getting schooled by you. After all, he originally fell for you while on his ass in Hecat’s classroom, your wand still hot and glowing.

Sebastian helps his coworker, whom you recognize, to his feet, another one sitting on the bench catches his attention and nods their head towards you. Your husband’s head snaps around like an owl and the goofiest grin spreads across his face. He drops his coworker on his ass and bounds up to you.

As he wraps you in a gentle hug, he doesn’t even bother to wipe the sweat off his brow and his forearms are glistening and peeking out of his rolled up sleeves. You inhale deeply, basking in your husband’s scent and thinking about how you’d love to make him sweat in a different capacity.

Sebastian pulls back. “Brought me lunch, did you? Can’t seem to keep away from me, can you?”

You hum contentedly and rest your hands on your baby bump (definitely more than a bump).

“If I could keep away from you, Sallow, I wouldn’t be here growing your child,” you reply.

Your husband smiles boyishly at you, his hands on your hips.

“Best learn to call me by my name. There’s about to be three of us living under one roof soon enough,” he counters.

From across the room, his sparring partner calls out to him. You recognize most of the group from a number of work functions you’ve accompanied Sebastian to, but not him.

“Oi, Bastian!” called his coworker with a thick Scottish accent. He and a few of the others - the ones you don’t recognize - jog over. “This your wife?”

“My favorite one, anyway,” Sebastian says and grins cheekily. You swat him in the shoulder. “Love, these are some of the rookies. They’re getting some hands-on learning from us today.”

You greet Sebastian’s juniors and shake all of their hands. Part of you feels old now that you’ve met new Aurors when yours and Sebastian’s N.E.W.T.s feel like yesterday, but you ignore it and decide to feel old once your child goes off to Hogwarts.

“You’re the Unspeakable, then?” A young woman in the back asks. She looks like she should still be in secondary school, but you have been noticing that the young people have begun to look younger.

“The one with Ancient Magic?” someone gasps in awe.

“Ancient Magic! I heard she can damn well chuck lightning at someone!” exclaims another.

You laugh and shake your head. “Something like that.”

“You should spar with Reilly!”

“Yeah!”

The junior Aurors clamor, eager to see your skills in action. You open your mouth to gently decline, but are interrupted by the entrance of the one junior who didn’t come running up to you.

The young man is tall, about Sebastian’s height with dark blond hair and blue eyes. He has a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. In fact, something about him reminds you of your husband when you first met him.

Oh. Now you remembered. Your husband had mentioned him more than a few times in passing. He stated that the boy was ‘quite good for a cheeky bastard,’ which meant that you were right on the money and the lad reminds Sebastian of himself.

“You called for me?” Reilly asks, hand in his pockets.

His peers clamor and urge him to spar with you. How it’s a great opportunity and not every new Auror gets to practice with an Unspeakable, much less one of your caliber.

“Now, really, I can’t,” Reilly insists. “Not against a witch with a record such as hers.”

Flatterer.

Reilly places his hands behind his back. “Not pregnant, anyway. I’ll wait to earn my victory fair and square when she’s at full power.”

Never fucking mind.

Sebastian lets out a tired sigh and rests a hand on your arm. “My love, you don’t have to–”

“Here are the terms, then, boy,” you say, smiling, hands clasped in front of you. “Obviously, you can’t attack me, but if you can evade me for thirty seconds, you win. Actually, that’s unreasonable. I’ll say twenty.”

Reilly scowls. “Thirty.”

You shrug and gesture for him to lead the way.

“Please don’t injure him too badly,” Sebastian implores you. “This could be a learning experience for him, but not if you slam him into the ground.”

You wave him off. “Experience is the best teacher!” you insist.

“Experiencing broken ribs and a shattered ego is not,” Sebastian sighs, but pulls out his watch to time you. "Remember what the doctor said!"

"That I'd be just fine performing magic?" you say dryly.

"That your powers make your body unpredictable. Just be careful." Sebastian goes to take his place.

You and Reilly draw your wands and stand on opposite sides of the padded floor. His peers watch eagerly from the sidelines and you even see some money change hands between them.

“Ready?” Sebastian asks from a platform overlooking the arena.

You remind yourself to honor Sebastian's wishes and not overdo it. The doctor said you were free to perform magic and the baby would be just fine, but you ought to keep in moderation.

You and Reilly nod and Sebastian starts the duel.

Feeling generous, you cast a few basic spells at the young Auror to test him out. He deflects them easily. A few times, he simply dodges instead of casting protego. When he dodges one of your other attacks, he takes a moment to wink at the group of his peers.

Just like Sebastian indeed. Extraordinarily gifted and all too aware of it. Your guess is that, like Sebastian, he learns best when he faces someone far better than himself.

You feel the familiar crackling of electricity coursing through your veins. You feint and telegraph the movement to ensure your opponent puts up a defensive shield. Thunder roars and you bring down a particularly gentle beam of lightning crashing into his shield, which holds, but the force of impact sends him slamming into the floor, where he lays winded.

Above you, Sebastian calls the match, then gazes down at you fondly. He bites his lip and you just know his heart is racing from your display of power. It never fails. You feel warmth pool between your legs.

Reilly has struggled to his feet and declined his peers’ attempts to help him walk. You frown at the slight bruise forming on his cheek but he gives you a weak smile. He holds his hand out for you to shake, which you do. Then you frown at the growing wet feeling between your legs. You’d only ever felt that way about your husband.

As the wetness grows, you look down and see the front of your skirt is wet and it’s seeping into your socks and shoes. Then it clicks. Who knew all it took was a bit of lightning?

“Ah. The baby’s coming,” you say.

Reilly looks horrified. "What? Are you sure?" he shouts.

You nod. "Quite sure. Seb!" You call up to your husband. "We need to go to the hospital!"

Sebastian quickly makes his way to you. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"Oh, no." You wave a hand. "The baby's coming, so we should head over before I get more fluids on the floor."

Sebastian pales. "The baby's coming??! Lead with that next time!"

You wrinkle your nose. "Next time? I'm not sure if I'm letting you do this to me again, this was not a fun experience."

"Just--!" Sebastian groans in frustration. "Let's go!" Sebastian ushers you to the nearest exit before you can say another word.

[konaiiro]

AU if Ian is in the military and Mickey is inevitably waiting for him. 

Started as a sketch then i got carried away. For A.U.gust (Hosted by @gallavichthings). Some accompanying drabble bc I fell in love when drawing them:

The last time Ian Gallagher was back home, he was doing time at Cook County for breaking parole. Only for a couple months, but Micky had missed the man by a week when he had left for another tour. A failed drug test had just costed him more than he was ready to pay. Ian had come to visit him anyways, wore his camouflage gear with badges and all; the security guards always loved a man in uniform. Still, it hadn’t been the same through the glass. So close he could see Ian’s chest rise and fall, his dimples sliding on to his face with amusement as Mickey had ranted on about his cellmate - so close to touch but all he could do was pretend until the fifteen minutes were up. 

This time, Ian hadn’t even told him he was in town - only finding out when he opened his front door with a beer in hand with a singlet and boxers on. “Hey, Mick.”

He knew his face must’ve looked stupid because Ian cracked up before going in for a hug. Micky let him, not giving a shit about his family inside and folded his own arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. He had never gotten changed so quickly, desperate to get Ian to himself, as the man lounged on his bed and pretended he wasn’t watching Mickey by fiddling around with the decade-old kunai knifes. They stopped for booze and a pack of smokes on the way. After a quick makeout against the alley wall, the two of them continued on, pushing and shoving to give each other a reason to touch. It didn’t really matter where they went, as long as it was just them where Mikey could do more than take glances at Ian’s army issued cargos. He looked good - ginger hair shaved on the sides, his shirt fit snug, skin tanned as much his pale Irish genes let it. There was the scar too - a slash across his cheek that won’t fade completely. Ian hadn’t mentioned it, so he wouldn’t either. 

They dumped their haul on a secluded bench and drank a disgusting whiskey-and-orange juice combo. Ian said it was good enough, but Mickey blamed that on the moonshine shit that he must’ve usually had on hand in the middle of trying not to get shot. They didn’t talk about his tours, in the same way they didn’t talk about court mandates or prison or deals gone wrong. The closest was if there was a stupid story to get a laugh out of each other. No point in talking about all the fucked-up stuff in their lives - they’ve only got until Ian has to leave again. The two of them drank some more, smoked a bit, kissed, jerked each other off until Ian turned around, placing the barely alive joint into Mickey’s mouth before bending him over the bench. They had a lot to catch up on. 

Before this last tour, Micky had been in prison. Two tours ago, they had first held each other in Ian’s childhood bedroom, knuckles split and bodies bruised from the brawl with Terry. He tried not to think about how his life was now segmented into pieces by the brief lapses of Gallagher being back in town - even if it was true. Micky thought about the inevitable homecoming party for Ian at the Alibi tonight and tried not to think about how two weeks was not a long time at all. 

[tero-ga]

Aaaaanother TGAA SwapAU stuff and it is my wonderful boy Albert as the prosecutor!!

I've changed some of the designs in this one like the jacket color to white to make a resemblance of a lab coat and reflecting of Kazuma white school uniform, as well trying to bring more Frankenstein's Monster vibe too hehe (aaand make him look more miserable too). He is also have a locket that have a painting of him and his two brothers, it was given by Andrew during his wedding!

I also made bunch of character that related to Swap!Albert's life from 10 years ago, like Andrew(Klint's roleswap) and his other brother Michael, university Barok and Albert, etc. more info about the are there down below 👇👇

First of I wanted to say I'm sorry I can't do full render of everyone here, do that with all of them would be death sentence for me so I couldn't do it 😭😭 Anyway without further ado, I'm going right into it! Start from left to right!

This first one Ryunosuke father replacing as Genshin Asogi. At first while brainstorming I was thinking of maybe do three switch around with Genshin, Jigoku, and Yujin but the it somehow felt weird for me. Then the thought of maybe involving Auchi in this too (like, imagine him being swap with Jigoku wouldn't that be funny and terrifying thought), but discarded that idea out because of Menimemo would have no one to swap with (i have to i'm sorry). Sooo I ended just design him from scratch, he is quite easy to figure out since Genshin doesn't really have much going on with him, but since we don't have any idea of original Ryunosuke's parents at all I have to take idea from something else, and that is his daruma doll for his eyes (he is half blind!! :D) and Phoenix DD/SOJ design (droopy hair and light vest) and everything else is from Genshin. His name is Ryuuki Naruhodo since Ryunosuke is another name for Ryuichi so I want to keep the train going!!

Andrew the screwdriver, oh I missed him- Anyway, I redesign his outfit because tbh his previous outfit is ridiculous 😭 it's funny and fun but I do want to take him seriously now. I'm tried to keep the A shape still but it's less subtle now, I think it turned out okay!! (Oh yeah, his cane is supposed to be a hidden sword but i forgot to put that in the drawing 😭). I was supposed to make his bowtie red like the hair tie but then I realized it will getting rid of the purpose of the hair tie (it referencing the blood on the tip of the screwdriver) so I ended up making it color silver.

The Lady Baskerville, I gave her similar design to Sunny(Herlock!Swap) with the bowtie, color palette to his mascot, and hair on her. I'm not really quite fond with her design, maybe I'll do redesign her again if I got a idea pop up like crazy but in the meantime this is her design.

Guess who is this?? Another one of Albert's tool is here finally!! Michael the crosshead screwdriver! Since we never see Michael anywhere and only mentioned once in the game he is, I'm just draw simple design for him (I wished I could put M shape in the design but I have no idea WHERE to put it 😭 so I tried used the bowtie for it). I also thought it would be nice to make him a defense attorney so I made the design for the badge too. Since he is sadly not going to be mentioned a lot in this AU since I'm trying to make the storyline same as the original, so I made a backstory of what happened in the fun fact tags. There was supposed to be more tool to be added but my god that would be taxing to design, so I have to make only Andrew and Michael as his only siblings.

The doggie Balmung replacement, Bolt, He is a Irish Setter! Beforehand he was supposed to be Borzoi but then research the background of the breed I don't how difficult it is to actually get one in that era so I have to changed breed :((

Albert and Barok in university days!! I just keep same as before like previous design!! There's a tiny change like the hair and the neckties.

There is going to be more content of them soon because I have a lot of ideas for them sooo stay tuned ;)

Here's the concept designs!!