#irish slang

[cillianmurphysdimples]

I couldn't give 2 fucks about the photo, I'm more impressed with the sign that says "Langer" 🤣

[a--a---a]

how come all the irish actors get those stupid "pronounce these irish names" segments but Nicola doesn't? i want to watch her do that. i love her voice lmao. pronounce Saoirse for me. 😍

[trashyswitch]

When Opposites Attract

Henrik and Shawn are placed at a table, so they can meet each other and get to know each other. But the person that brought them together, decides to leave the room to go play games. So, Shawn and Henrik decide to team up.

Guess who got their 4th covid shot yesterday, and is now achy and exhausted? This girl...Fucking hooray.

This fanfic was suggested by Shannon. I hope you enjoy!! <3

Henrik looked at Shawn, unsure what to think of the person across from him. Shawn bit his lip, not used to being out of his room. Chase was currently trying to introduce the two of them, and get them to learn about each other. 

“So…This is Henrik. Henrik, this is Shawn.” Chase told them. 

“Hallo.” Henrik said to Shawn. 

“Hi…” Shawn said quietly. 

“Come on, Shawn. You can do this.” Chase encouraged him. 

Shawn was fiddling with his fingers, not sure what to say. “......Okay.” Shawn replied, sitting up a bit and looking over at Henrik. 

“Alright. Now converse.” Chase said, before getting up and walking away. 

“Vait, VHAT?!” Henrik reacted, looking at Chase with shock. 

“Seriously?!” Shawn reacted, throwing hands. 

“What? Am- Am I expected to stay?” Chase asked. 

“YEAH!” Henrik and Shawn replied at the same time. “YOU ARE.” 

“To hell with that! This is gonna be awkward as hell. I’d rather not.” Chase told them before walking off. 

Henrik looked at Shawn with shock on his face. Shawn was looking at Henrik with the same shock. 

“Vell damn…” Henrik muttered. 

“Wanna kill him when he comes back?” Shawn asked. 

“Kill him? Nein. Slap him? Ja.” Henrik replied. 

Shawn chuckled. “Slap him till he realizes how much of a dick he’s being.” Shawn added. 

Henrik chuckled as well. “Maybe later.” Henrik decided. 

“Yeah, yeah. I wasn’t saying right now…” Shawn told him. 

Henrik nodded and took a sip of his drink. “So…Your name is Shawn?” Henrik asked. 

Shawn nodded. “And you’re Henry?” Shawn replied. 

“Henrik.” Henrik clarified. 

“Henrik.” Shawn repeated. 

“Ja.” Henrik replied. 

Shawn nodded and thought for a moment. “So…What do you do?” Shawn asked. 

“I’m a doctor.” Henrik told him. 

Shawn nodded. “Cool! Much cooler than my gig.” Shawn reacted. 

“Vhat’s your ‘gig’?” Henrik asked. 

I’m a toy-maker at Joey Drew Studios.” Shawn replied, waving off his job like it was nothing. 

“Yoey Drew Studios? You mean…Bendy zhe devil and Alice zhe angel?” Henrik asked. 

Shawn nodded. “Right on the money.” Shawn replied. “I painted some of the dolls and the different merchandise that came out of the company.” Shawn told him. 

Henrik tilted his head and opened his lab coat. He pulled out a doll from his lab coat, and smirked. “Did you make zhis mini bendy doll?” Henrik asked. 

Shawn dropped his jaw and smiled brightly as he gently took the doll. “Oh my god- no way!” Shawn reacted. 

He looked at all angles of the doll and smirked as he saw something on the inside of the bowtie. He flipped the left bow around to show Henrik. “My signature. I write it on every bendy doll made by me, so Joey knew how many I was contributing to the business.” Shawn told him. 

Henrik adjusted his glasses to get a better look at the small signature on the inner bowtie. “It is chicken scratch, but I can see an S…I zhink.” Henrik said. 

Shawn narrowed his eyes. “Says the doctor.” Shawn said back. 

Henrik laughed. “You have a point.” Henrik added. “My writing is terrible.” Henrik admitted. 

Shawn pulled out a notepad and handed it to Henrik. “Show me.” Shawn told him. 

Henrik smirked and did his signature before handing it back to Shawn. Shawn took one look at the notepad and bursted out laughing. It looked like a whole bunch of italic vertical lines stitched together. It looked awful, to say the least. 

“The handwriting of a true doctor.” Shawn said with a smug grin. 

“He! Vatch it, herr artist.” Henrik reacted. 

“Herr artist? What’s that?” Shawn asked, half joking, half being serious. 

“Herr means Mister.” Henrik replied. “I vould be Herr Schneeplestein. You vould be Herr…Herr…” Henrik trailed off, unsure what his last name was. 

“Flynn. Shawn Flynn.” Shawn replied. 

“Herr Flynn.” Henrik finished. 

Shawn nodded. “Fair play!” Shawn replied. 

Henrik smirked. “So, You are irish?” Henrik asked. 

Shawn nodded. “Bang on.” Shawn replied. “Born and raised.” 

“Hm…German, born and raised.” Henrik replied. 

“Cool!” Shawn replied. 

Henrik bit his lip and looked around. “So…” 

Shawn smirked. “Wanna get Chase and make him regret leaving us alone like this?” Shawn asked. 

“Auf jeden fall.” Henrik replied. He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck.  “Definitely.” He translated for Shawn. 

Shawn and Henrik headed to Chase’s room and dropped their jaws when they saw what Chase was doing: 

Chase was sitting in a chair, playing Forza Horizon 4 on his laptop. He had his headphones on, so he wasn’t able to hear Shawn and Henrik coming in. Shawn and Henrik both scoffed and shook their heads in disapproval. Of course Chase would leave them alone to go have fun by himself. 

Shawn walked up to Chase’s right side and waited for Henrik’s signal. Henrik stood on the other side of Chase, and waited for a couple seconds. 

As soon as Chase won the game, Shawn grabbed Chase’s arms and put them above his head. 

Chase hummed. “What the- HEY!” Chase looked around, and saw Shawn and Henrik on both sides of him. ‘Oh! Hi guys. How did things go?” Chase asked. 

Henrik smirked. “Let’s yust say you are going to regret leaving us alone together.” Henrik told him. 

Chase looked at Henrik in confusion. “What are you two planning?” 

Henrik looked at Shawn and smirked. “Ich werde ihn kitzeln.” Henrik said. 

Shawn nodded and fixed his footing. “Gehen Sie.” Shawn replied, slightly off in his pronunciation. 

Henrik smiled. That was his cue to go. Henrik started skittering his fingers on Chase’s belly and sides. Chase widened his eyes and squealed as a big smile grew onto his lips. “eeeEEEHEHEhehehehe!” Chase laughed. “Ihihi knehehew ihit, your eehehevil shihihits!” Chase said through his newfound giggle fits. 

“Oooooh! Acting the maggot now, are ya?” Shawn teased. 

“Bang on, Shawn.” Henrik replied, using Irish slang as well. 

“He who keeps his tongue keeps his friends, Chase. You of all people should know that.” Shawn told Chase. 

“Shuhuhut uhuhup!” Chase argued. 

“Hey! What did I just say?” Shawn reacted. 

“Remember, Shawn. A good laugh und a good sleep are zhe two best cures for anyzhing.” Henrik added. 

Shawn dropped his jaw with a smirk. “You know that one?” Shawn asked. 

“Chase has told me zhat saying too many times. My turn!” Henrik replied. 

Shawn laughed. “Indeed it is.” Shawn replied. 

Henrik smiled as he looked down at Chase’s stomach. “I also know a certain tickle spot on Chase that he does not vant people to know about.” Henrik added. 

“Oooh! Do tell, Doctor.” Shawn replied. 

Henrik poked Chase’s left side. “Chase’s left side is a leetle bit ticklish.” Henrik said. 

Chase giggled and covered his face in embarrassment. 

“But…” Henrik moved all 10 of his fingers over to Chase’s right side. “His worst spot is…”

Chase mumbled something that sounded like ‘No, don’t’. It was his version of a desperate attempt to stop them. But of course, it didn’t work. 

Henrik skittered all 10 of his fingers on his right side. “Zhe right side of his tummy!” Henrik declared. 

Chase practically screamed and threw his head back with loud, strong laughter. “OHOHOHO MYHYHY GAHAHAHAHAHAHA! YOHOHOHOU BAHAHAHAHASTAHAHAHAHA-” Chase shouted. Despite the words he was letting out, his laughter was so harmonic! Such fresh laughter. So grand to hear. If depression could be cured, then his laughter would be the medicine. It was that beautiful to hear. 

“Listen to this ol’ guy, trying to call us bastards.” Shawn reacted. 

“A reminder zhat zhis bastard left us alone for zhirty minutes to play games.” Henrik added. 

“Yeah! By the way, what’s up with that?! Are we really that boring? That cringey to you?” Shawn added. 

“IHIHI WAHAHAS SCAHAHAHARED!” Chase admitted. 

“Zhen vhy vould you introduce me to Shawn, if you cannot handle zhe cringe?” Henrik asked, stopping his tickle attack. 

Chase took a few moments to breathe and recuperate. “Because…” He shrugged his shoulders. “You two seemed like you’d hit it off.” Chase said. He bit his lip. “And I feel like I would just…make things even more awkward if I were there…” Chase admitted. 

Shawn chuckled. “You’d actually make things better, mate.” Shawn told him. “You know that, don’tcha?” 

Chase looked at the ground in slight sadness. “I’m sorry…” Chase said. 

Henrik chuckled a bit. “Entschuldigung will not cut it, Chase. You need to laugh.” Henrik decided before going for Chase’s hips next. “Und for a man, you have some rather groß hips.” Henrik added. 

Chase wheezed and giggled, wiggling around to get out of Shawn’s surprisingly strong grip. But Shawn was not budging. He was actually giggling as well as he watched Chase get tickled. “Klitzeln, kitzeln, kitzeln!” Shawn teased. 

Henrik hung his head and laughed at bit. “Zhe vay to say it is ‘kitzel kitzel kitzel’.” Henrik told him. 

“Oh…Sorry. Kitzel, kitzel, kitzel!” Shawn teased. 

Henrik chuckled and hung his head again. “Oh Gott nein…” Henrik muttered, covering his mouth with a smile. Henrik could feel his own face starting to flush from hearing the word ‘tickle’ in his own native language. It was starting to remind him of his mother when he was a child.

“Kitzel, kitzel, Kitzel…Kitzel, kitzel. That’s fun to say. Kitzel!” Shawn kept repeating. 

“Shawn, your vords-” 

“Kitzel, kitzel, kitzel, kitzel, kitzel, kitzel-” 

“SHAWN!” Henrik yelled with a big smile. 

Shawn shut his mouth immediately, with both his eyes wide. “...Sorry.” 

Henrik sighed and stopped tickling Chase. He looked up at Shawn with a flustered smile. “You sound like my mozher.” Henrik told him. 

Shawn raised an eyebrow. “Really?” He asked. “In what way?” 

Henrik nodded. “You are repeating zhe vord in my language...I vould like to ask you to please speak english.” Henrik told him. 

Shawn raised an eyebrow, confused. He started repeating ‘kitzel’ in his head, before repeating the word ‘tickle’ to himself multiple times…Then, Shawn gasped and smiled brightly as it finally clicked in his head. “Oh my Go- Am I making you bluuuush?” Shawn asked. 

Henrik grumbled. “Nein…….Shut up.” Henrik muttered. 

Chase and Shawn both bursted out laughing at Henrik’s embarrassment. “Poor Henrik. All flustered because of a single word.” Shawn teased. 

Henrik rolled his eyes and put his hands on his hips. “Tickle tickle. Tickle tickle tickle.” Henrik replied. 

Shawn rolled his eyes with a slight blush growing on his face. 

“God dammit-” 

“Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle-” Henrik repeated over and over again.

“I am going to kill you.” Shawn told him, a blush visible on his face as he smiled with annoyance. 

Chase looked at Shawn. “That’s affecting you?” Chase asked. 

“It’s not effecting you?!” Shawn asked. 

Chase chuckled. “No. I’m more the person to tickle others, than to get tickled myself.” Chase told him. 

“Quatsch.” Henrik reacted. 

Chase looked at Henrik with curiousity. “Is that bullshit in German?” Chase asked. 

“It’s zhe vord ‘Nonsense’, actually.” Henrik replied. “And what you yust said, vas Quatsch.” Henrik added. 

Chase was growing visibly nervous. So, he started poking and tickling Shawn. “I’m a tickler! See?” 

Shawn squealed and started trying to tickle Chase back. “Quahahahahatsch!” Shawn yelled. 

“Dohon’t you mean Gobshite, little leprechaun?” Chase asked. 

Shawn pushed Chase down and started tickling his right side as quickly as he could, while repeating the word ‘tickle’ over and over again. Chase bursted out laughing almost immediately, and struggled to cover up his super ticklish spot. Not long after, Henrik ended up joining in on the tickle attack, repeating the word ‘tickle’ over and over again as well. And would you believe, a bright blush eventually showed up on Chase’s cheeks, and darkened to a scarlet color overtime. 

It was right about now that Chase had started to regret introducing the two boys to each other.

[ivebeenmade]

He fucked off again without buying his round. Ah, shtap. Sure that lad could peel an orange in his pocket.

Src:

[that-one-adult-in-the-back]

are you writing a character that's Irish?

do you want the character to be kind of an asshole? well look no further than

gives you different categories like food, drinking, rude/insults, greetings...

and also different county from Antrim to Wicklow

have fun with it

[heartz4shauna]

okay

bird or my bird - girlfriend

eejit - idiot

spanner/ye bleedin spanner - you stupid cunt

mug/muggy - mugshot or bad picture of someone

young one/oul one - young girl, old woman

young fle/oul fle - young boy, old man

craic/what’s the craic - what’s up

gas - hilarious

yoke - thing

shift/meet - kiss or make out

knackered - extremely tired

gaff - house

deadly - super cool

banjaxed - broken

delira and excira - delighted and excited

geebag - whore

dope - idiot

leppin/lepping - starving

do u wanna learn some irish slang

[dykedvonte]

Do you have anything you've been thinking on but just haven't made a post about it yet? Also I'm really enjoying your fic!

I have a few things but it's likely mostly headcanons that I consider somewhat disconnected from my analysis.

Curly's parents had him old, only child, died shortly after he graduated and got the pony express position. It was the last big thing they saw him do which is a reason he stayed for so long.

Doesn't admit how much their death affected him

Jimmy has a largish family. One of the cases of too many kids to keep tract of, parent never really noticed any of them nor their behaviors

Anya lived in a lot of houses growing up, regular supportive family that just struggled to support themselves.

Became a nurse largely to avoid their financial struggles but mostly because she felt too many people weren't being cared for and advocated for in the world properly

Swansea likes high top sneakers most. Likes how snug they fit and how they shield his ankles at work

Curly has a bit of a caffeine problem since he can’t sleep. Can occasionally be found wandering the ship at “night” when he had some too late or just couldn’t sleep.

Daisuke knows a little about a lot of things. Starts conversations with “did you know” a lot but please don’t ask him deeper questions

Curly has known Jimmy longer but has worked with Anya and Swansea longer, met them during his middle years, met Jimmy shortly before college.

Swansea rents a house, Daisuke’s family lives in a big nice apartment, Curly has a condo, Anya live in a small one bedroom apartment and Jimmy has a studio.

Curly's home is very disconcerting. It's too normal to a like uncanny degree.

Anya is ambidextrous but prefers her left.

Anya and Curly are both not native English speakers so occasionally they forget words and bond over the mutual mocking they get from the rest of the crew. Daisuke knows some Japanese but is still learning, never picked it up as a kid

Only Swansea and Daisuke know how to drive, Earth in my mind is very post capitalist so only older people and like the extremely wealthy can afford cars.

It's also like walkable just due to how many businesses are in your face. Probably strict living vs shopping districts

I have more but the way that I headcanon about them is like too long.

[lesbianslovenamari]

I was reading DunMeshi and was so confused by this phrase that I decided to look it up

(Do correct me if you think this isn’t accurate cuz I just used google)

But I find it frankly hilarious that Chilchuck is using slang from various parts of the British Isles out of nowhere in the last volume??

(I’ve now had someone explain to me that apparently it’s not uncommon for certain uncommon types of informal Japanese to be translated as slang from specific areas, typically around Britain, in English)

First of all I’d alr seen people jokingly headcanoning him as Irish on here (which was an idea I absolutely love)

ALSO I come from a part of the UK where I’m very familiar with the term ‘git’ but had never heard of a version with an e and I also had no idea it meant the same as ‘bastard’

(I have considered that this could just be the regular meaning of the word ‘get’ but I thought it wouldn’t grammatically make sense here so I assumed it was slang esp cuz he would totally call someone a git)

Anyways I’ve checked other translations and it’s not the same so I find it so funny that this one (which I’m pretty sure is the official English translation) included it

(^ another version I found online)

Anyways this is the translation I have and used as an example for this post, which I’m pretty sure is the official English translation:

Edit: Btw also check tags I kinda wrote this when I was drunk on sleep deprivation

[thatonebirdwrites]

Heroic

Lena Kieran Walsh knew her plan was perhaps the most ridiculous and ludicrous plan of all time. Yet her mother's last wish before her death had been, "become a menace to our enemies."

Lena, in tears, holding her mother's hands, vowed, "I will. Be at peace, Mammy." Her mother exhaled few ragged breaths with a faint smile before she slipped away. As if she'd only needed Lena's vow to finally let herself go.

The funeral had been a quiet affair, mostly due to her mother's instructions. Lena invited those on her mother's list, but she also added Sam Arias and her daughter, Jack Spheer, and Andrea Rojas -- her friend group to help support her.

They stood on the Cliffs of Moher that day, and as requested by her mother, she spread her ashes amongst the dirt by that trail and planted the oak. It had taken a week to get permission for the planting due to the area being a park, but the week had given Lena time to secure the ingredients for one last spell.

Lena herself didn't believe in magic per se. She was a scientist to her core, preferring to study biology and physics at the university, her thesis on the use of nanotechnology to target and destroy cancer cells. A project she shared with Jack and Sam. As much as university had set her apart from her mother’s lessons, she still remembered the old ways.

Traditions taught from mother to daughter, magic and stories that mustn’t be forgotten. Her Mammy was a self-professed druid within a larger druidic coven. She'd been highly regarded in the community as the caretaker of Ireland's history and myths, and Lena had been expected to take her place until she’d flounced off to uni.

But that day, she asked Sam to hold her brolly, it being a soft day, the mists from the heavy clouds like pinpricks against her cheeks. She knelt in the dirt and unstoppered the growing potion, one she’d carefully made per her Mammy’s instructions. Sung the magical words and focused all her mind and heart on imbuing it with her love for her Mammy.

That day, on the Cliffs of Moher, Lena poured the potion into the roots of the oak and sung the activation song. Her voice clear and precise, the melody soothing with little runs, and her eyes closed to keep herself from weeping. Tears would shatter her voice, and she needed to this perfect.

She could do no less for her Mammy.

Later Jack, Andrea, and Sam would swear the tree had grown during that moment, but Lena had her eyes closed and missed it. Lena expected the coven’s agreements that growth occurred, but Jack, Sam, and Andrea? They’re the pragmatics and realists of the group.

In the following months, she’d think of that day often, while she quietly worked through her mother's grimoire. Partly to better understand but also to continue her legacy in a way, and that was what gave her the idea.

Her mother referenced several artifacts that had been stolen from Haitian tribes, who had contacted her out of concern the magic within them was being misused. Her mother's cancer had prevented her from doing much more than attempt wards on the exhibits in London to prevent misuse.

But Lena had a better idea.

Why not steal from the colonizers who ransacked countries, starved populations into submission or outright killed them? Lena knew the stories of her people well. Her mother had taught her of the potato famine, which had been caused by the British literally poisoning the fields. The trauma of that colonization never left her people, and she let the rage from those injustices fuel her plan.

The Haitian tribes would see their lost artifacts returned, and Lena would wear the color of blood as a symbol of the dead left in the wake of the colonizers. Yes, if she planned well, she could leave her mark, and live up to her promise to her Mammy.

"Lena," Sam argued, "You can't do this alone. Let me help."

"I don't want to risk you," Lena protested. "You have a daughter."

"And the risk to you?" Sam crossed her arms and frowned. "You're family, Lena. And we help family always. So if you're going to do this stunt, then let me be your getaway driver."

“She has a point.” Andrea sipped her scotch from where she sat next to Lena’s bar. She leaned against it, both elbows on the counter, while her hand swirled the scotch. “This is a grave risk. Besides, it’ll be way more fun with friends, Lena.” She smirked. “I am an excellent—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” Lena pointed her finger at Andrea in warning. Her ex-girlfriend smirked in response and leaned against Sam’s side. The two had become nearly inseparable since meeting, and Lena didn’t mind if it meant less jokes about her own sex life.

Jack, who had stayed silent up to that point, chuckled. "Luv, they’re right. Doing this alone? It's a bit much. You need a team. I'll see if I can rig up a program to keep the cameras off your movements."

Lena already had done some preliminary hacking to see the extent of the security, but now that Jack had mentioned it, having someone to control the cameras would be immensely helpful. And Sam was an excellent driver and had a pilot's license, mostly because Lena had needed a buddy to get through the lessons.

"Fine. You all can help." She made a show of rolling her eyes and sounding put out, but secretly she was thrilled that her closest friends had her back.

Sam turned onto Mare Street in London, and slowed to a stop near 11 Mare Street. She parked with a frown. "Lena, are you sure this is it?"

Lena stared at the rather small storefront. Victor Wynd Museum of Curiosities was emblazoned above the more stately letters of The Last Tuesday Society. The window overflowed with a grotesque display of shrunken heads, skeletons, and voodoo dolls. No wonder Mammy's Voodoo friends contacted her for help. This place stank of exploitation of their craft.

"Yup. It's smaller than expected."

"Are you kidding me?" Sam leaned over her steering wheel. "There's a cocktail menu posted on the door."

“What? Are they drinking out of the skulls?” Andrea quipped, a hint of disgust in her voice.

Anger seared through Lena's veins. "Of course. Typical British."

"Hey!" Jack protested from the back seat, where he sat with a laptop. His fingers danced across the keys. "I am mildly offended, Luv."

"Jack, you're more Scottish-Indian than British-Indian," Lena drawled.

“Still. Till the Scots gain our independence, we do not drink from skulls.” He sniffed dramatically, but she knew he wasn't really bothered. "Their security is a load of tosh."

"Considering how tiny this storefront is, I'm not surprised," Sam said. "So, uh, what's the best way to do this?"

“Too distracted to hear Lena’s hours long presentation?” Andrea teased, which elicited a glare from her girlfriend.

“The placement of your hands is the villain here,” Sam shot back, her cheeks reddening.

Andrea raised her hands and wiggled her fingers. “We all need exercise sometimes.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “Stop acting the maggot you two.” She nods toward the museum-cocktail lounge. “Three am is the goal since they close around midnight. Jack, focus on taking over their security feeds. I'll have a program ready. It'll erase itself within twenty minutes. If I'm not out by then, all of you leg it. If I’m caught, I’m caught, but I won’t have you three joining me."

"That's kind of tight," Sam said, uneasy. "And we can’t just leave you, Lena."

Lena sighed. "I mean it, Sam. This isn’t some grand heroic moment. It’s breaking and entering.”

“I beg to differ,” Jack said. “Heroic is indeed what this is. Lost artifacts returned to their homes? A modern day Robin Hood.”

Lena smiled and shook her head. “Look, I get in, procure the stolen artifacts, and get out. No sight-seeing or distractions. Twenty is plenty.” She turned to glare at Andrea. “Can’t trust you not to lob the gob with Sam, so you’re the lookout.”

Andrea smirked. “Fine. I’ll wear all black.”

“Good. Do that ridiculous whistle if you see any Garda.” In reply, Andrea gave Lena fingerguns. “Sam, use your electric car. The idling’s as silent as a grave.”

Sam nodded. “Can do.”

“Now remember,” Lena narrowed her eyes at Andrea but glanced at the other two in the car for good measure. “We’re scouting now. No getting banjaxed. I need you all as sprightly as a wagtail.”

“Being a craic vacuum today?” Andrea quipped.

“No more dossing around, Andi,” Lena said exasperated. She used that saying once about Sam being too uptight, and Andrea adopted i almost immediately to Lena's annoyance. “Or you’re sitting the rest out.”

“Wait, there’s more planned?” Andrea grinned. “Mina, you’re holding back.”

“Shut it. We have a job to do. Now let’s get cracking.” Lena opened the door and wished she wasn’t about to sully herself in the most exploitive, macabre cocktail lounge she'd ever seen.

The moment she stepped inside, she wished she hadn’t, as the jampacked walls full of macabre exhibits and the strange musky scent almost had her walking right back out.

But no, she needed reconnaissance. Locate exactly where to enter, nab the target, and exit. Surely her ancestors and the ancestors of her mother's friends will forgive her for having a short drink next to a taxidermy lion on a table made from a sarcophagus.

She needed the ancestors protection for this, not their fury. Besides, the cocktails turned out to be manky as hell.

Dressed in a red cloak, wide-brimmed hat, gloves, and boots, Lena felt a trifle ridiculous but also proud of herself. Time to finally live up to her vow, to do what her mother could not, and bring home what was stolen.

From their reconnaissance, she marked several windows large enough for her to slip through. All required a climb. It hadn’t taken her long to make a device to shoot the rope into the wood of the window. Climbing had been a bit stressful, but she’d made it. Below she could see Andi, leaning against a wall as she watched the road. Jack was still in the car with Sam, the program churning through the security.

It took three tries with her tools to unlock the window and push it open. The stench hit her first. She pulled up her scarf to wrap around her face. For feck’s sake, did the owner store poop here? She dropped into the attic and to her horror there was indeed poop here. Several glass jars labeled with celebrity names and dates sat in a container to her right.

It gave her an idea however. She gathered a few and carefully made her way down the rickety ladder to the main floor. In the bar area, she set up each of the jars and uncapped them. Two she dumped their contents in front of the main office.

She tiptoed out of the bar and gingerly entered some of the exhibits. She couldn’t take it all — her bag couldn’t carry it for one nor would the rope hold that much weight — but the staggering amount of human remains on display twisted her stomach with rage.

Maybe she could come back and steal it all, but for now she focused on the Voodoo poppets. They were arranged in rows three exhibits down the hall in front of a macabre set of shrunken heads, African Masks — the designs reminding her of the Igbo people actually — and several skulls.

She bowed her head and murmured the words she’d heard her mother say many a time, “Tagaim chun tú a thabhairt abhaile. Bí ar a suaimhneas.” Irish for ‘I come to bring you home, be at peace.’ Then one by one she wrapped them in the silk the Haitians had sent her mother for this, and tucked them in her bag.

A quick sweep of the other exhibits found her three more poppets, and a search of the attic another six. Her twenty minutes neared completion, so she scurried through the window, slid down the rope, and tapped the button on her belt. The bolt blew apart in a rain of metal, the rope dropping like a flying a snake.

She whistled to Andrea, and the two legged it to Sam’s car. As soon as they tumbled into the backseat, Sam slid out of park and the car silently pulled away from the curb.

"Five minutes to spare," Jack said with a wink. "Nicely done."

"I'll do better next time," Lena leaned back and patted her bag. "Mam's friends will be relieved to have these home again."

"Here you are, being the hero of our time," Andi said with a grin and poke of her elbow in Lena's side. "You need a name though." She looked over Lena's outfit. "Why red?"

"Carmen is the hue actually." Lena laid her hand on her bag and thought of her Mammy, how the cancer had slowly eaten away her life. How hard she'd worked toward causes of liberation. "I promised Mam I'd become a menace to my enemies. I wear the color of anger and blood."

"Right, and whose gonna know that?" Jack pointed out.

Lena smiled. "Oh, the world will know soon enough."

Three hundred Euros later and two days of searching flights, Lena was on her way to the Haiti, her prize carefully hidden in her carry-on luggage. As she watched Ireland fade from view, she took a deep breath and released it slowly. She’d done it.

She’d rescued priceless artifacts, and now they were going home. Smiling, she leaned back and closed her eyes. Already plans formed of improved methods of infiltration. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it well.

[theeborealowl]

Ooooh! Like a "Hey listen!"

Autistic as I am... I too would have awkwardly inched closer... 😅😅

One of the irish phrases ive found hardest to kick when speaking to non irish people is “come here to me”. Which doesnt mean come here to me at all. I said it to an american at work and when he physically inched closer i got scared

[mysterious-mr-crow]

my Irish Morella agenda!!! she literally drinks Guinness as part of her last meal at the banquet, AND shepherd's pie???? quintissential Irish meal. literally every household here has made it at least once (might also be a British thing too?? not sure but the Guinness is steering straight into Irish territory for me). Also the CELTIC KNOT MOTIFS IN HER SPECTRE DESIGN!!! I love her sm it's so rare to find well rounded Irish characters in media let alone the very specific niche that nevermore fills of being a queer gothic romance thriller (?) so she makes me incredibly happy!!

[spotsupstuff]

wouldn't it be funny if pretty much everyone in Euros' city heard Sparrows talk using regional slangs and going "what the FUCK is she saying"

it Would, but unfortunately that got beaten out of her pretty hard back in the Desaevio school, so at this point Sparrows knows how to watch her language around high circles. it actually makes her kind of weird back home! her siblings got a good shock when she came back home and spoke to them for the first time in six years and it was with northern accent and very High Circle Like gjksljlcdskl

However Euros himself is NOT spared

[dullahandyke]

Films good movies good banshees of inisherin was good

[mrkeatingsblazer]

I hate American marauders stans

[stephenlangdaily]

[kemetic-dreams]

By the 1760s the English, both at home and in colonial America, were applying the term to Scots-Irish settlers of the southern backcountry, as in this passage from a letter to the earl of Dartmouth: “I should explain to your Lordship what is meant by Crackers; a name they have got from being great boasters; they are a lawless set of rascalls on the frontiers of Virginia, Maryland, the Carolinas, and Georgia, who often change their places of abode.” The word then came to be associated with the cowboys of Georgia and Florida, many of them descendants of those early frontiersmen.

Among African Americans cracker became a contemptuous term for a white southerner; among some southern whites it has become a label of ethnic and regional pride, boosted by the election of south Georgian Jimmy Carter to the presidency in 1976. This led to the coining of the word crackertude as a not entirely serious answer to negritude.