#or perhaps someone who speaks irish

[saurons-pr-department]

“Hector!” says Brad Pitt.

“Very Fingolfin,” says I.

[astronicht]

Hi I hope this isn't presumptuous, but so, that post you made about Tolkien making the lads leave their weapons outside the hall and CS Lewis thinking the hall was gonna get burned down by a lady who also wanted to kill herself... what's the historical precedent for that? Is there a trope in medieval lit where people like... do that? I ask because uh. I am obsessed with Children of Hurin and there's a scene where that like, happens. And I'm obsessed with that scene, and would love to know if there's like, cultural/mythic context that would enrich my knowledge!

OH BOY, sorry I'm getting to this late, it's been uhhh a summer, but one, this is a very good question!! And two, yes there is absolutely precedent, particularly in early medieval literature, and high medieval literature set in the early medieval (circa 500-1100 AD) past. I'll let someone else debate how often people actually historically locked their enemies into a hall and burned them, but especially in Old Norse literature (and if Fellowship felt like it leaned a little more on Old English literature, Two Towers, where Eowyn appears, felt a little more Old Norse) this is common. Off the top of my head, you've got many Icelandic family feuds ending in burning the whole family in their hall, like Njal's Saga (Old Norse), Attila the Hun dramas (yeah he's a big guy in the burning halls circuit, but actually not in the way you might expect) like his cameos in Volsung Saga (Old Norse) and Nibelungelied (Middle High German), and my vague recollection of a few Irish and Welsh versions that no search engine is giving up for me right now.

This, predictably, got long and slightly off topic.

Disclaimer: As usual, I should say I come from an Old English-centric background, and Old English literature is actually notable among all its neighbors for not burning down too many halls. Second disclaimer, all links are not proper citations, they just go to wiki.

Hall-burning in literature is, to my understanding, part of the concerns of a few early medieval cultures in which revenge is not only expected but in many cases legally reinforced and codified, and one in which conflicts could spiral to engulf -- figuratively, or literally and in flames -- entire families. Many medieval Icelandic sagas are focused on this exact type of destruction of whole families or friendship/community units. Most relevant of these to Eowyn, Two Towers, and the vibes of Edoras (since alas I am only partway into RotK and can't speak to Children of Hurin yet!) is Volsung Saga, which is set on the Continent, not Iceland, and actually has to do with Attila the Hun. As mentioned before, an incredible amount of stuff turns out to have to do with Attila. We will come back to him!

So, on the particular post you're talking about, a few people iirc have replied pointing out that the hall in TT is clearly supposed to be based on a hall from Old English literature, namely the hall in Beowulf, which famously did not actually get burnt down. And that's all true! I was not posting with much nuance; I was mostly having a joke at the expense of CS Lewis. However, I was also referencing a very very common trope in Old Norse/early medieval stories, and I personally think JRR was as well (AND I think Beowulf was also very consciously referencing the exact same motif anyway) (no one has to agree with me, a tumblr blog, on any of these points).

The thing about the hall when our heroes approach is that the scariest damn thing in that hall is Eowyn. Certainly not every hall-burning story requires a woman with no other recourse to set the fire (in fact, the "warrior band approaches unknown hall which might have a grudge against them" is a trope that can get you killed in a pretty homosocial environment, as I guess Aragorn at least was aware, being a big reader). Still, the presence of a woman who is swiftly running out of options does fit what I'd consider one of the or perhaps The best known version of the early medieval burning hall trope: Gudrun, who shows up in at least a dozen different texts in both the Scandinavian and the German language traditions, including Volsung Saga, a text which itself often gets paraded around as the basis of lotr (which I'm sure it is, in that JRR appears to have simply and very fairly based lotr on every piece of early medieval vernacular literature I can think of).

In a portion of Gudrun's story (which of course changes a bit in each retelling), after her first marriage she is unhappily married to Atli, who is none other than our main man Attila the Hun. After Attila kills her brothers for reasons (in one version, her father), seeing no other way to take the necessary revenge and no other way out, she kills the two sons she had by him, serves them to Attila for dinner, has Attila killed, and then sets fire to the hall with everyone in it. After this, she attempts to drown herself.

The self-destruction of this act is a really important beat, and has only gotten more-so as a comparison to Eowyn the further I've read into RotK (currently, I'm at the houses of healing after merry and eowyn take on the witch king). It's a lot clearer in the book than the films, for me, that Eowyn going off to battle was not so a straightforward empowering and/or freeing move, despite allowing her some agency, but more the one path she saw as available to her with which to die with honor (which was pretty much exactly what Gudrun was facing as well). Like Gudrun, whose first husband was a great hero but has died, Eowyn's romantic choice is a hero who is presumed dead (sorry Aragorn they did Not believe in your ghost skills). In fact, in some versions Gudrun does put on armor and fight with her brothers before they're killed. She kills Attila with her own hand, with the help of another man who needs to avenge a blood feud against Attila.

So while Eowyn didn't get forced into marriage to Attila Wormtongue (with apologies to both historical Attila and that one historical skald also called Wormtongue who was reportedly hot) and burn the whole place down, she's still trapped, and like Gudrun chooses destruction alongside her household.

Reading her arc feels so much like watching Tolkien write a fix-it for Gudrun. What if she got this one little chance, and this one other little chance, and this one more -- tiny little shifts in the narrative that allow her to get out, and not through fire, and not through death.

Anyway, this got away from me. I hope it added some context to the Children of Hurin arson case! Thanks for the ask

[ellecdc]

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSFMbHSqg/

I talk like this and people like to make fun of it because of it

Can I request for marauders to defend me and pampering me afterwards. Please, thanks

okay, first of all: people make fun of you? - what are their names? where do they live? tell them I wanna talk..... secondly: thank you for your quick requests after my post! you're my hero <3

poly!wolfstar x reader who has a distinct accent (reader's gender not specified)

CW: bullying, making fun of someone's dialect/speech, swearing, pet names.

You knew there was a chance that the laughter was not at your expense at all. Perhaps they were actually laughing at what you said, not how you said it. Or, perhaps they hadn't even been listening to you at all. But your throat still constricted painfully when you heard the girls a few seats down the table in the Great Hall from you start laughing after you interjected in your boyfriends' conversation.

The girls had been particularly catty with you before, though you weren't entirely sure why; perhaps it was because you were dating two of the most popular boys in school, perhaps it was because you were different, or perhaps it was because that's just the kind of people they were.

You'd heard them make comments about your accent before, and though it was a bit of an insecurity of yours, you tried to let it slide off of your back.

You just didn't understand what the big deal was - especially considering you were attending school in the United Kingdom for heaven's sake; if you drive 30 minutes in any direction, the accent of that region is going to be different!

People in England speak English with a variation of a British accent; people in North America speak English with a variation of an American accent; people in Ireland speak English with an Irish accent; and people from your mother country speak English with their own accent too!

So why was it you who was teased for your inflection?

"You okay, Y/N?" Peter asked you quietly from his place across from you. He may as well have shouted it, however, as the sound of your name with the company of any concern acted like a siren call for your two boyfriends, both of whom immediately dropped their conversation with Marlene and James to turn to you.

"What is it, dolly?" Sirius asked immediately, noticing the slight shine of your eyes. You tried to smile at him and shake your head; you did not want to make a big deal out of this.

"Dovey," Remus chided as he gently nudged you with his elbow. "What's the matter?"

Your eyes inadvertently flit to the girls down the table before you turned back to your boyfriends and Sirius' eyes darkened.

"Did they say something to you?" He asked gruffly.

"No! No, please, I'm fine." You begged.

The sound of voices mimicking your pronunciation permeated the air as they repeated your words.

"Oi!" Remus called harshly - so completely unlike his usual calm demeanour.

"What the hell is your problem?" Sirius added.

The girls, not showing any signs of shame waved the boys off "oh come on, it was just a joke! Y/N knows that."

"You're right, you are a fucking joke." Sirius spat as he stood from the table and gathered his book bag. "Come on dollface, we're leaving."

Remus stood as well and helped you from your place at the table. Your face was so hot from embarrassment and the blood rushing to your head left a ringing in your ears. As you left the hall, you failed to notice the shouting from James, Marlene and the others in your defence.

The first few tears fell as you were ushered to Gryffindor tower. Neither boy said anything as you walked - Sirius clearly trying to shake off his rage for your benefit, and Remus keeping a steadying hand on the small of your back the whole way there.

By the time you got to the boys dorm, Sirius let out a shuddering breath as he dropped his bag and turned to you as he opened his arms.

"Come 'ere sweets." he called to you, and you immediately fell into his waiting embrace.

Remus followed up behind you and soon, you were in the middle of a Sirius-Remus sandwich as they rubbed soothingly at your sides and peppered kisses on your head.

"You know they're wankers, right?" Remus finally asked.

You snorted at him before nodding against Sirius' chest.

"We love your voice, and your accent, and your jokes. We can't get enough of it, baby." Sirius added.

"Stop." You moaned.

"It's true!" Remus interjected, before Sirius continued.

"Honest, I almost told James to shut his fucking mouth 'cause I couldn't hear my sweet lovie over all of his yapping. You're always on me about being rude, though, so I bit my tongue. You're welcome."

You chuckled at that, and you swore could feel both boys smile above you.

"There you are; I missed that sound." Remus said, punctuated by a kiss to your temple.

"I have some studying to do, but I was wondering if you could read my textbook to me while I took notes?" Sirius asked you. You looked up expecting to see a smirk on his face but were surprised to see a faint blush dusting his cheeks and a shy smile on his mouth.

"Wait, really?" You asked incredulously.

He huffed a laugh but held strong. "Yes, really! I wasn't kidding; I love the sound of your voice."

"Maybe later you can read my novel to me too?" Remus asked shyly from behind you.

You couldn't help but laugh at the two of them. Whether they were just appeasing you or not, you couldn't help but admit the sound of you reading to them for the rest of the afternoon sounded really nice.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Your recent post mentioning the merits of country-wide bilingualism reminded me of something: One of my friends in secondary school (in mid 00s NL) was involved in something like a model European Parliament or European debate programme, where once a year representative students from EU countries would meet up somewhere and debate stuff.

Everyone at this event could speak English + their own language, and perhaps some German or French. That is, except for the UK delegation*. So what invariably happened is that on Day 1 everyone would talk shit (during free time) in their own language about the other countries, except the UK delegation could not, because everyone understood them.** On Day 2, countries with similar languages, (e.g. Benelux/Germany/Denmark/Sweden, Portugal/Spain/Italy/France) would band together and talk shit with each other, still in their own languages but they'd be mutually intelligible. And finally on Day 3 these groups built bridges between each other using their limited knowledge of French/German/Latin/Ancient Greek to make one supergroup just to talk shit about the UKers because they were the only ones who didn't understand any other language (and Day 2 attempts at inclusion were met with demands that English would be easier for everyone).

My friend qualified for this thing 3 years in a row and it happened every time without fail. It made us all wonder if this is what happens in the actual EU parliament as well.

*afaik there were only English people in the UK delegations.

** The Irish delegation was able to talk shit about the English by speaking Irish or English with extra thick accents that were impenetrable to others, allowing them into the European alliance. One year someone from Ireland was caught passing info to the UK and Ireland was booted, a huge scandal that no one expected and the word "ierlandverrader" (portmanteau of ireland and land traitor) became a meme among my friends for a while.

This is HILARIOUS

[schemmentis]

La Cosa Nostra - Pt. 10

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9

Cowritten w/ @janeyseymour

Summary: Barbara learns the truth and you spy someone unexpected talking with the Feds...

WC: 3.4k

Barbara Howard is still thinking about the fact she has this ledger, and Melissa does not want it back. The woman knows that she shouldn’t open it- not with the explicit instruction from her friend to not open it, but she feels the need to. Perhaps she could help to balance the checkbook and find where the issues are in the ledger.

So, with Gerald in the office and the girls nowhere around, the woman of God opens up the ledger. And when she sets her eyes upon it, she can’t help but gasp.

It isn’t what she expects to see- not in the slightest. No, instead there are a bunch of names that she’s heard were rumored to be connected to the Irish mob, and others that she knows she's heard her husband mentioned before in his work. Lo and behold- there is the Schemmenti name.

Barbara slams it shut. She should turn this over to the police immediately, and she nearly does. She’s actually in her car and about to pull out before she stops to think what this would mean for your family.

Turning this over means that you would end up in prison, potentially Melissa too if she has any ties to this side of the illegal business. It means that the girls would grow up without a mother figure, perhaps two- ending with those two sweet girls who Barbara absolutely adores in foster care and away from her. It means ripping a family apart that she absolutely adores, even if they do have a hand in what her husband actively roots against. She cannot do this to the Schemmenti family, she decides.

Without a second thought, she hides the ledger that she now knows the truth of in her glovebox. And then she pulls off out of the driveway and heads for church.

When she gets there, she slides into the back pew silently. Barbara is the only one there, no sermon taking place. But she needs the strength that God can give her, so she prays to God by herself.

“Dear Lord,” she whispers softly, head bowed down. “Please... please grant me the strength to carry what I am holding with me now. Please keep those beautiful little ones safe and out of harm’s way. Please... please keep those two, who you know I am speaking of, safe. Please... if not for the two of their sake, for their little girls. Lord, please. I am begging. I am here begging...  because even though they are wrapped up in shady business, they are good people. They are two wonderful women who would do anything for their little girls. And God, please... if something does happen to them, please do see to it that those two little ones are spared of the understanding and disparity of the world. Gerald and I will take them in if we have to. Just please, keep them safe, and keep them from this dark and depraved world that we live in- because they don’t deserve to grow up in this world without somebody, anybody who loves them for who they are.”

She slips out of the church with her eyes down, as if she doesn’t have something that could quite literally get her killed. The woman of God speeds back to her house and hides the ledger back where it once was. There is no way she can let anyone find out she has this- especially not her girls.

By the time you leave Mickey, you feel that you know what you have to do. You have to continue to fight for this- if not for yourself, than for your family- the family that is real and true. You feel the slightest bit better having been able to speak to Melissa’s brother, and as you drive through the countryside, you allow yourself to hum along to the music that plays softly through the speakers. You’re more at ease than you’ve been in the past few days.

When you pick up Melissa, you park the car in the lot and head in through the back. She looks so at ease now, in her element. She’s humming softly to herself as she and Val continue to prep for the dinner rush, and you can’t help but let your eyes go soft as you take in the beautiful sight and sounds.

You snake your arms around her waist and kiss her cheek and then behind her ear in that one spot that almost always makes her shiver. “Hi, my love.”

“Ciao, mi amore,” she whispers back to you as she craned her neck to kiss you gently. “How was your day?”

“Actually…” You start before pausing long enough to kiss her lips again before letting her return most of her focus to her prepwork. Your arms stay around her waist. “It was good.” 

“A quiet day around the house did you good, huh hun? I knew you'd relax eventually.”

You prop your chin on your wife's shoulder. “I went to see Mickey,” You admit softly. You watch your wife's hands as she works. You notice the small pause in their process when she hears what you've said before they keep moving.

“What'd you go all the way up there for?” She mutters as she chops a pepper with a bit more force than before. “‘S a long drive.”

“A drive I needed. It helped clear my head, I think. I'll make it up to you by staying home bored out of my skull tomorrow?” You say, attempting to joke as you squeeze her waist lightly.

Melissa is quiet for a long moment. You don't push her to speak her mind. Instead you let her think as she works, just enjoying being in the presence of your favorite person. You're about to pull away from being so in her space when she sets her knife down.

She turns in your arms, hands on your wrists to keep you from stepping away when she moves. “You coulda talked to me and helped clear your head. Instead you went all the way to the pen.” She sighs, lightly brushing stray hair away from your face. “It was that bad, hey? You needed my goofy ass brother's advice?”

“C'mon, you know it ain't like that, babe.”

“Then what's it like? Tell me.”

“We've both been stressed to hell ‘bout this. How was I gonna just…talk to you ‘bout it? Wring us both through it for the hundredth time?”

The fingers caressing your cheek slide down in order to grip your jaw. “I'm your wife.” Melissa reminds softly. “That's kind of my job, amore. Go through the wringer with you as many times as we need to. I meant it when I told you ‘for better or for worse’.” 

You smile at that, just a bit. You remember when you had first started seeing each other- how you both had your doubts and fears. You remember the day that the two of you decided to lay everything out on the table, weighing the pros and cons of intermingling your businesses and how it would affect both your personal and professional life. She had told you that day that she was in it if you were. You answered her with a passionate kiss. You also remember the day that the two of you were wed and your families were officially tied together- the way that as you both spoke those words in front of your families to witness, Melissa let go of her tough act, her voice wavering and eyes shining with tears, as she told you that the two of you would be together for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, til death did the two of you apart.

And you have seen each other through better and worse. You’ve seen her on the happiest of days- the day you found out you were pregnant, the day the girls were born, when they took their first steps, when she opened her restaurant. And you’ve seen her through the lowest of lows- the day her Nonna died, the day she finally cracked under all the pressure with opening Twelve Tables, how she’s had quite a few moments of doubt when it comes to raising the twins. You’ve seen each other through moments of wealth, as well through moments where you were living paycheck to paycheck and doing everything you could to make ends meet. You’ve both seen one another in sickness and in health- whether that be while you were suffering from terrible morning sickness during your pregnancy with Cat and Rosie, or when the two of you were taken down by the flu that the girls brought home from daycare. You’ve held each other through it all, loving and cherishing every waking and sleeping moment that you share together, and you fully plan on it until death does the two of you apart. 

Now though, the two of you aren’t sure when it will be that death parts you. For all you know, it could be tonight. And that… terrifies you beyond belief. Even before, when things in the business got rocky, it’s never been as bad as it is now. You’ve never been in as much danger. But now? Now you’re on the forefront of this operation, and you have the feds tailing you and presumably tracing your every move.

You sigh, Melissa's eyes on yours softening you as they always do- especially now with how relaxed you can see they are. She's not upset or angry, just trying to understand your choices and remind you she's here. 

She uses the fingers gripping your jaw to pull your face to her own so her lips can kiss yours. “Sono con te amore mio. Sempre.” Melissa whispers the reminder against your lips, her hand sliding away from your jaw to the back of your neck as she kisses you deeper this time.

The sound of someone clearing their throat loudly behind you in the room makes you pull back after a moment. You gently press your forehead to your wife's, not moving away further.

“Hey, Val.” You greet your wife's manager without looking.

“How many times am I gonna have to remind you the restaurant is off limits to foolin’ around?” She teases with a smile as she moves past both of you.

“That depends.” You say as you slowly pull away from Melissa, though not completely. Your hands are still on her hips, hers are still at the side of your neck and gently threading the fingers of her other hand through your hair. “How long you plannin’ on workin’ here?”

“As long as your wife lets me, Y/N. You know that.” Val tosses back easily.

“Then I guess you got at least a hundred or so more reminders that might happen.”

Melissa lightly hits your shoulder for that. “Stop.” She murmurs. It doesn't sound that much like she means it when she kisses you again. “Lemme finish what I'm doin’ then I'll be ready to get the girls.”

You continue to hold the redhead by her waist as she finishes chopping the cilantro used for garnish before she sighs softly. “Okay, let’s go get our little tornadoes, and then… Val, I’ll be back for the dinner shift.”

“Melissa, you know I have it handled if you want to spend time with your family,” the manager reminds her.

“I think I need to be here,” the owner states. “But I might just have to bring my circus with me.”

“We’ll see you later, Val,” you nod in the woman’s direction as you guide your wife out the back door.

The second that you’re out of the restaurant though, your wife has you pinned up against the stone wall. It catches you off guard, but it’s not unwelcome. 

“Honey,” you mutter against her lips after a few minutes- your wife’s hands and lips wandering. “Baby, as much as I would love to… you do have security cameras out here, and we do have to pick up the girls.”

She groans but does pull away. “We need a night where we aren’t both so exhausted, and we can actually have time to ourselves where we aren’t just sleeping.”

“I’ll see if I can take the girls to one of our parents this weekend,” you promise her. You lead your beautiful wife down to the car, and you pull off in the direction of the girls.

Once you’ve collected them, you take them back to the restaurant, and they are all too thrilled to jump on Valentina with hugs and kisses.

“Can you keep an eye on them?” Melissa asks her manager. “Just for like… twenty minutes?”

Val eyes the two of you, who are still very much undressing each other with your eyes. “No.”

“You still want a job?” your wife threatens, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Let me remind you that I do own this place.”

“You wouldn’t fire me,” Valentina rolls her eyes. “Fine. Just… don’t… anywhere where I’ll be able to see it on the security cameras.”

By the time the two of you reenter the restaurant, you’re both much more at ease. The girls are sitting at their designated table in the back with their coloring books and crayons with Val, giggling as she too doodles with them.

“We really need to give her a raise,” you sigh softly as you watch with a soft fondness in your eyes.

“Oi, remember who you're married to.” Melissa says with a small jab of her elbow to your ribs when she sees your look at the twins with Val.

You roll your eyes but kiss your wife again just to make sure she knows you definitely didn't forget. “Like I could forget being the luckiest woman in the world, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah, just watch our girls, sweet talker.” Melissa answers despite her smile and a tint to her cheeks.

You take over coloring duty to let Valentina follow your wife back to the kitchen for the dinner rush that's starting to come in. The twins chatter with you about their days over their crayons and pages. You manage to keep them quiet and contained to your table until Val is bringing out little plates for them for dinner. You smile knowing well that it's your wife's work and nothing at all that's actually on the menu. The best and solely Melissa made things were reserved for your tiny twin terrors.

“Mommy!” Both your girls are saying excitedly, with mouths full a few minutes later.

“Stay here.” You say softly at them starting to scramble for your wife despite her making her way over.

Melissa sets a plate in front of you and one next to you for herself. Quickly kissing the heads of your girls and murmuring to them softly as she wipes their faces. It's only then that she takes her spot next to you for her dinner break. 

“You comin’ home with us for bedtime or are you stayin’ to close with Val?” You ask as you work on stabbing another forkful of pasta.

“I don't wanna make ya come back.” Melissa answers. “It'll be late and I don't want to—”

“No fuckin’ way.” You cut your wife off when you glanced back up from your plate, your eyes catching a table across the restaurant floor.

“Mam! That's a bad word!” Rosie says loudly from her spot standing on her chair next to you instead of sitting. You wince as most of the sentence is said directly into your ear.

“Mam you gotta pay the jar a dollar!” Cat exclaims from next to her sister, referencing the swear jar on the entertainment center in your living room.

“What is it?” Melissa asks, seeing your face. “Rosie, sweetheart, sit down before you fall.” She adds without even looking at your youngest.

“Sit down completely.” You add when you see Rosie merely crouch on her chair instead in the corner of your eye. You lean a bit more into your wife, gesturing as subtly with your fork as you can. “Look at who's sittin’ at the table ‘cross the floor.”

Melissa glances about the room, looking like she's merely checking on the restaurant and that her staff is working even though she's on break. You know when she sees it though because a half second after her head is turning back to face you, her eyes wide.

“I know that is not Uncle Dom sittin’ with the Feds in my restaurant.” She hisses out at you.

“‘Cept it is. It definitely is.” You retort, forcing most of your attention back to your meal and your daughters. 

“You think he's talkin’?”

You scoff at your wife's question. “Dom? Flipping? I don't think so, babe. I think he'd sooner have a heart attack at your restaurant for the dramatics of it than do that.”

“Then they're pressin’ him.” Melissa guesses, doing her best to not seem as if she's noticed that particular table at all.

“Or tryin’ to.” You cede. “Maybe finally gettin’ closer on the Bobby business. Realized it ain't somebody like us they should be worried about.”

“God, if only. I ain't gonna put my guard down yet though.”

“I wouldn't.” You agree.

You're nearly finished eating when Val comes to your table, leaning close to your wife's side. “Dom is askin’ for you. I told him he'd have to wait.” She relays, glancing between the two of you for reactions. 

Valentina doesn't know about the salon and it's extra business. She doesn't have to, though. She lives in the neighborhood and she knows plenty well who people like Dom are. If you guessed, you'd imagine she has an idea of who you and your wife are, too. 

“Thanks, Val. I'll take care of it, huh? You mind bringin’ the girls a couple cannolis?”

You groan as your daughters cheer and Val walks away. “Baby, why?” 

Melissa leans to kiss your cheeks. “‘Cause they've been little girls on their best behavior for their moms tonight.” She says loud enough for the twins, shooting them a smile. “And to keep them occupied just a little longer.” She adds in a whisper to you.

You reach and grasp your wife's wrist as she gets up to leave the table, watching Agent Shaw and Danik rise from Dom's table and shake his hand before they leave. You look back to Melissa who looks down at you. “Be careful, yeah?” You whisper before you kiss her knuckles. 

She smiles, her fingertips brushing your cheek in affection when you pull away. “I'll be fine.” She promises before stepping away to weave through the tables on her dinner floor.

Valentina comes over and brings your girls dessert, and they grin the entire time that they eat, the chocolate sauce and raspberry sauce finding its way more to their cheeks than their mouths. You silently curse your wife as you usher them into the bathroom to clean their sticky faces and fingers- but you have to admit that they’re absolutely precious.

“Why’re you here?” Melissa asks the older man- the one who took your salon out from under you. “And why the hell were you talkin’ to the feds?”

Dom shrugs. “I wanted dinner.”

“You know you can always get dinner over at Ma’s. You have no business bein’ in here during our rush, and you know that,” your wife says pointedly.

“They were askin’ me questions,” he tells her. “Asking about you and the restaurant- if this place had anything to do with Bobby’s murder.”

“What the hell could they be askin’ ‘bout?” the redhead grumbles. “They already searched the damn place and tore it up. I’m sure you heard about it.”

“I told ‘em that the restaurant is legit,” Dom says quietly. “I told ‘em that you put your whole heart into this place, just as you do with the salon… that they need to stop harassin’ you, or there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

“We already told them that,” Melissa mutters. “They have no right showin’ up here like that.”

“Well, they did,” the man shrugs. “And it seems like you should be in the clear with the way that they saw how business is conducted- that you brought your girls here. Which is why, I have a proposition for you.”

“And that would be?”

“We start using Twelve Tables as the front.”

[knickynoo]

Back to the Future Part III, The Novel by Craig Shaw Gardner: Thoughts, commentary, and general ramblings

Part 3: Maggie and Seamus experience the most confusing evening of their entire lives

previous posts here

• So, last we left dear Martin, he had just tumbled down the cliffside, bonked his head, and was fantasizing about closing his eyes and never having to walk around in the Old West ever again. Very concerning stuff. But no worries! Not even his third serious concussion of the series can keep Marty down for long.

• He wakes up at the McFly Farm with Maggie speaking to him, and there’s this really sweet moment where it says, “Marty let out a sigh of relief. His mother’s voice made everything seem safe and sound.” He is a little confused about the Irish accent, though, but decides, “It probably had something to do with his fever.”

• That’s another thing. There are two mentions in the opening paragraphs noting Marty has a fever, which isn’t something I ever got a sense of in the movie. I always just assumed the cold cloth was because he’d hit his head and it was all she could think to do to try to help him and wake him up. This is an interesting revelation.

• Maggie hands him a steaming cup of some concoction she says will perk him up and bring down his apparent fever. Marty’s happy to accept what he thinks is an old fashioned herbal tea and takes a sip. “It wasn’t tea. He almost gagged. He felt like his eyes were going to leap out of his head. This stuff must be a hundred proof!” As soon as Maggie leaves the room to tend to William, Marty decides he doesn’t have time to get drunk and abandons the drink.

• Maggie hands William to Marty, and Marty is concerned because he doesn’t know how to hold a baby. Which is another interesting tidbit because we know Marty’s got a big family, at least on Lorraine’s side. I’m sure he's got lots of cousins who are much younger, so it's surprising that he wouldn’t be familiar with handling babies. Curious…

• During dinner, Seamus asks Marty what his “trade” is, and Marty has no clue what that word means. I’m going to blame the head injury for this. Seamus goes on to say, “By the condition of your hands, it’s clear that you ain’t a farmer or a lumberman or a miner. I’ve only seen hands like that on a gambler or a baby, and sure’n you ain’t no baby.”

Obsessed with that entire statement. Marty’s got dainty, delicate little hands and Seamus wants ANSWERS. Has he unknowingly taken a gambler into his home??

• Marty replies by saying he’s still in school, which is not the right thing to say since it was super weird back then for someone as old as Marty to still be getting an education (unless you were very wealthy and could afford college). Maggie and Seamus continue to be baffled.

• Marty changes the topic to asking them about Ireland, and Seamus says they’re from “Ballybowhill,” which I cannot find any evidence of being a real place. I found a Ballyhahill and a Ballyboghil and a Ballyboughal. So, I assume this was a typo? Anyone know? It’s cool to have that detail of exactly where they came from, though.

• Marty desperately has to use the bathroom, and he has SUCH A TIME trying to figure out how to ask where it is. Seamus and Maggie just have no clue what this “bathroom” is that this strange young man is talking about, and Marty doesn’t know any of the terms used at the time. (He doesn’t know the word outhouse?? Has this kid never seen an episode of “Little House on the Prairie??”)

• After some difficulty, they get it sorted and Marty scurries outside. The following text sums up how Seamus and Maggie are feeling nicely.

“Oh, dear. This was troublesome. They were good Christian folk and all, but perhaps, this time, their generosity had gone too far.”

• Maggie then says that it’s obvious Marty is “feeble-minded,” which is the old timey term for someone with an intellectual disability. She’s very concerned about the whole situation and how they’re going to handle it.

Seamus—kind, sweet Seamus—agrees that, yes, Marty is a bit off, but he’s got a feeling about the boy. They have to look after and take care of him, and his words put Maggie at ease. She decides that even though Marty is “simple”, he doesn’t seem like the type to cause any harm to them.

• Meanwhile, Marty runs from the outhouse in a state of horror and returns to the farmhouse to ask for directions into town. After some more confusion and blank stares from Seamus and Maggie, who are very concerned that Marty doesn’t seem to understand the concept of nighttime or danger, they convince him to wait until the morning. Seamus tells him it’s only FOURTEEN MILES to town.

Seamus takes him to the railroad tracks, and Marty has 6 miles to walk from there. Average walking speed is 3-4 miles, but keep in mind this is unpaved, gravelly terrain and under the hot sun, so let’s say Marty managed 2 mph. That’d be a 3 hour walk into town. Which is ridiculous and makes me all the more upset that Marty can’t get his ice water when he arrives at the saloon. Kid needs a Gatorade. That’s it for now. Hope things get better for Marty soon!! (They won’t!!)

[werewolfetone]

2nd try—

did the british have a big role regarding tensions between the catholics and protestants in Ireland (as in making them) as opposed to taking advantage/exacerbating them? the speech im reading uses Ireland as a similar situation to caste in india (hence the ‘ireland jumpscare’ lmao) . a common argument used to dismiss/ignore the latter is that it is an imperialist import (so we don’t really do anything bad, we don’t really have any privilege/advantage cause of it, etc etc)

does the same hold true for ireland? said speech (annihilation of caste, dr ambedkar) was written in 1930s iirc, so maybe late 19th cen-20th cen? (i am very ill versed in irish history, school had one page for the whole uk)

Ok so short answer, the way I look at it is that while we do have a responsibility to try and lessen protestant/catholic tensions and break down barriers for the benefit of everyone &c &c today, yes, Britain did play a role in creating protestant/catholic tensions in Ireland. Longer answer:

It's important to remember in discussions of Britain + Ireland + sectarianism, that, to quote the book Scripture Politics by Ian McBride, "there was nothing peculiarly Irish about the eighteenth century obsession with popery." Nor was there with the seventeenth century, or the sixteenth century, or the any century since the Reformation -- since the categories of protestant and catholic have existed, with the possible exception of the 21st century,* Britain and British people have been fighting for one and against the other, often as violently if not more violently than Irish people have. The reasons for this were complex -- questions of freedom, religious doctrine, and national identity too complicated for this post and which I need to do more reading on before I can speak at length about. What matters is that any actions involving Britain and sectarianism must be put into the context of Britain being a very sectarian state itself for as long as that was possible, rather than a state which just exacerbated sectarianism elsewhere. Admittedly most of what I know about caste in India comes from my Indian friends irl talking about it, so this comparison is almost certainly not perfect, but imo it's a little less like the British exacerbating caste in India and a little more like if the British had been butchering one another over caste independently and then come over to India, realised that the same caste system existed there, and immediately decided to bring the conflict over with them. Essentially it can't really be said to have been something Britain just "exacerbated" because, well, Britain was playing an active role in it.

Secondly, & perhaps more crucially, it's important when it comes to Irish history that "protestant" and "catholic" don't just mean what church one attends. In a similar way to how the Israeli occupation of Palestine is not "Jews VS Muslims" but a case of settler colonialism, "catholic" in the context of Irish history usually means one considers oneself Irish, while "protestant" usually indicates a connection to Britishness. There are many exceptions, of course! There are lots of protestant republicans and catholic loyalists, especially historically, but if, like, someone from Derry were talking about "prods" in the modern day they would almost certainly be referring to ethnoreligious conflict between people who are considered Irish and people who are considered British, rather than genuine disapproval over doctrinal disputes (there are exceptions to this, too, though. some of the stuff my mother says...). Both of these labels also often denote a whole other set of cultural behaviours apart from religion (pronunciation of certain letters, what school one attends, so on and so forth). Mentioning this mostly just because I think it's interesting, but wrt this issue I often think about how when modern sectarian violence in the north of Ireland really emerged in 1780s Co. Armagh, rather than "catholic" "anglican" and "presbyterian," those involved would distinguish the three groups by referring to them as "Irish," "English," and "Scotch**," respectively, indicating that the understanding that sectarian violence has been just as much about questions of identity and nationalism as religion for a really, really long time.

So. Do I think that, had British colonisation not happened, Ireland would never have gotten involved in any religious conflict? No. Getting into religious wars was really just what European powers did for a very long time, so a hypothetical free Kingdom of Ireland or whatever in an alternate 17th century probably would have been just as eager to butcher the protestant dogs as other catholic countries like France or Spain were. However, as real history stands, the fact that Britain's crusade against Irish catholics in the real life 17th century was part of Britain's own protestant/catholic religious war, and the fact that 'protestant/catholic conflict' in Irish history is nearly always just settler-colonial violence (perpetrated by Britain) with fancy dressing, mean that yes, I would say that Britain must take at least some responsibility for the existence of protestant/catholic tensions in modern day Ireland.

*personally I wouldn't include the 20th century in this due to the continuation of sectarian tensions in scotland

**historical term for "scottish" I am using as I am quoting historical documents where it was used. if u start discourse over the use of this word on this post I will block u

Sources under the cut

Farrell, Sean. Rituals and Riots: Sectarian Violence and Political Culture in Ulster, 1784-1886. University Press of Kentucky, 2000.

McBride, Ian. Scripture politics : Ulster Presbyterians and Irish radicalism in the late eighteenth century. Clarendon Press, 1998.

Cone, Carl. The English Jacobins: Reformers in Late 18th Century England. Taylor & Francis Group, 1968.

Coward, Barry. Oliver Cromwell. Longman, 2000.

Rees, John. The Leveller Revolution: Radical Political Organisation in England, 1640-1650. Verso Books, 2017.

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

Meghan's Prostitution Resurfaces amid her Links to Prince Andrew

I think everyone on tumblr knows that when Dorito told Joshua Silverstein that Meghan was "traveling the world as a MODEL" (5'2 ordinary looks and political ambitions) she was doing more to earn money than take photos in tacky clothes.

I'm a big fan of TRGs work. In a video, she addressed the recent article that connects the transactional relationships that put Meghan Markle into Harry's orbit.

What surprised me most was the large number of comments from people who really had no idea that Meghan's past most likely put her in Jeffrey Epstein's orbit. Even Lady C has spoken about rumors that Meghan allegedly met Prince Andrew before she actually met Harry. Lady C also said she knows things about Meghan that are encased in cement: "the press knows, everyone knows."

While I'm glad TRG finally told her audience that both Harry and Meghan were in Istanbul Turkey in April 2015 she did get several other details wrong. It's important to connect the dots but the people in her comments section aren't doing their own research like what we do here on Tumblr which is the reason I get concerned when misinformation is spead on YouTube etc because it makes people question the validity of the entire thesis.

Here are my notes to TRG:

1-According to Bower, Fitzpatrick---- MM met via golfer Rory McIlroy. MM pursued Rory like everyone else, via her social media & she used the ice bucket challenge to meet him. He sent her the challenge and she told him to come over and do it himself. Rory was staying at John Fitzpatrick's nyc hotel. Rory helps John with good PR for Ireland.

I think you actually spoke about this mtg bc I recall you speaking about the notorious late night parties at Chiprioni's. Perhaps you forgot. Use the Revenge index to read the full story. Mm pursued Rory. Fitzpatrick seems to tag along with Rory for the celebrity social scene. Back then, Mm was desperately searching for an athlete (or prince) boyfriend bc Chef Cory wasn't good enough to be the future father of her kids (clearly she didn't consider harry's low IQ). Whatever she has been trained to do in bed, it ruined Rory's golf game and yet he still went back for more the next day. Mm also documented their mtg on her social media & featured Rory on the blog something she wouldn't do for cory.

2-Fitzpatrick & Sarah Rafferty are also close. He may have known Rafferty b4 markle. He works to unite Irish celebrities & to back ($) globalists like the Clintons on behalf of Ireland. I consider him to be a lobbyist. He's rumored to be gay but perhaps like mm he's fluid. He has met Charles on multiple occasions in his "lobbyist" role and he knew charles b4 he met mm. He invited her to meet Obama at the WH. Allegedly they flew or met up with her buddy Ron Burkle (Soho House owner) whose plane she frequented as did Bill Clinton. BTW-When Clinton staffers were asked why they allowed Clinton to hang out with slimy Ron Burkle they said, "let us know when you figure it out." Check the daily mail for a pending sexual assault law suit against bill clinton filed by 3 or 4 females who were teenagers when bill was flying around with burkle on air*uck1. The law suit resurfaced about 3 or 4 years ago. Of course our American media didn't cover it. The Daily Mail helped the girls reach out to Burkle & Clinton for hush money.

3-Fitzpatrick is responsible for hillary obtaining that ridiculous "chancellor" position in Ireland after she lost the 2016 election & after the UK approved Brexit.

4-mm wasn't the 1st girl "sent" to date harry. Several years ago, the brf was warned that their participation was expected & if not, "they" could put someone in their inner circle.

Enter the Obamas. They invited Harry to Chicago & filled up his head with woke nonsense. He decided he wanted to find his own "michelle obama." He specifically was interested in a left wing, black woman.

A very brown skin black woman (who lived in Texas) was asked to date harry. We know this bc after mm popped up, the very sweet, pretty young woman revealed that she had been asked to date harry but she turned (the backers) them down. She said, "I couldn't do THAT to harry. This explains Barack Obama's hot mic-ish convo w/harry during an invictus basketball game. Instead of watching the game, Obama had made a special trip to Toronto to check-in with harry on how things were going w/mm.

This also explains the reason mm thought she could gatecrash Michelle's London book event to meet her. Mm really thinks of herself as that vip who infiltrated the brf on behalf of the world's globalists. She feels like they owe her and she's one of them. She thinks she became a first lady who deserves billions of dollars bc she slept w/harry. She's delusional.

Remember when she cleared the stands at Wimbledon? Watch the video and you'll see her friend Lindsay Roth Jordan telling her "smile. look happy." The other friend said "put your hat on." That hat is a message, a symbol to her clients & in this case those backers. Shortly after the Wimbledon fiasco Hillary Clinton went on the record to say the press was racist. You can watch both of Hillary's statements- one recorded w/Chelsea & the other for a uk radio program.

5-Allegedly mm was involved with Jean Luc Brunel's MC2 model management which was financed by JEpstein. There is an infamous photo of Mm with Epstein's Rachel "Ray" Chandler.

6-we know mm was traveling the world "modeling" bc Dorito told Joshua Silverstein those exact words. We've seen many of the hideous photographs & a few videos🤢 Remember she also knows Harvey Weinstein who labeled her hopeless as an actress but told her she should use her long legs.😂

7-there is evidence to indicate that she attended NXIVM training---the clintons (& soros) used nxivm to blackmail the majority of new york state. It's possible that mm even recruited for nxivm nyc or toronto. NXIVM was also THRIVING on Vancouver island.

Fun fact: Trump had no idea that mm had made ugly comments about him during the campaign. So why did he go on the record and say I'm not a fan of hers & Harry's gonna need a lot of luck? He said that BEFORE he was told about the things she said during the campaign.

I believe he had classified info on her. He probably also knew about her nyc reputation w/business men like those at cantor fitzgerald. And we all know she allegedly slept with Trump's former treasury secretary who attended the UK state dinner (steve Mnuchin)

8-we also know that mm is desperate for security. Harry's job was to clean up her past which included IPP status. She wants to wear blood diamonds, but she wants to be protected from the men who gave them to her. She's afraid of her past. The rumors are that Tyler Perry is her next mark. The irony is that she would have invited him to the wedding had he been white. But back then, she was too good for Madea. Now she's desperate. Perhaps she will seduce Tyler Perry into a marriage for his billions, his island & for SECURITY. He's revealed himself as a thirsty liar who can be bought. (btw-he's trying to purchase BET).

No one else cares about her. She & noprah had no idea how those manipulated headlines and the lies out of their mouths would cause even the LA paparazzi to despise her. She went from being a wanna be covergirl whose covers didn't sell magazines to a lying "royal" that the paparazzi don't want to photograph.

9-no one seems to know what issue the Queen was told (or Charles) "they" (the world's globalists) or rather threatened over. I think it was Brexit but it also could have been global warming??? But Hillary and Obama were so bold in their UK appearances & threats over Brexit that I tend to think they wanted QE to persuade the people to go against it. Good for her letting the people decide. Too bad Charles seems to be so wishy washy.

Allegedly Mm went to Tony Blair and requested his help. She wants an ambassadorship or something similar. Why did she think Tony Blair would help her??? IMO Tony might have been the person who shared the "your participation is expected" message, meaning he's in on this mess & most likely some UK judges & church bishops as well.

10-Harry wasn't allowed to marry Meghan because of her "proximity" to Prince Andrew. It was the RACE card. Meghan did however play the Prince Andrew card during MEGXIT negotiations and we've watch her deranged squad bring up Andrew everytime there is a criticism about Meghan.

Even now, Meghan allegedly demanded HRH for the invisibles because Beatrice & Eugenie still use their dad's HRH. I've always thought that the Sussex attorneys have been using Prince Andrew as their benchmark in negotiations with the BRF.

Edit: it is important to note that mm made anti-brexit posts on her ig the same week she "officially" persuaded violet to become their public matchmaker. She also fed the writers of the lifetime movie script a racist narrative that stemmed from brexit. I dont think any of this was a coincidence.

The world is upside down. Maranatha!

[meowmeowriley]

@27potatochips have a lil snackie. I'll post more when I'm not at work.

Small snippet of Outlaw Outta Time

***

"Ah'm gonna kill you. Nice and slow, ah'm gonna stab ye in the stomach and split ye open. Gut ye like an animal!" Is what he would've said if he hadn't been bound and gagged, then tossed on the back of a horse.

This was perhaps the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to Soap, and he'd been through resistance training. There was just something so intensely upsetting about being caught unawares by a man with a fucking lasso. Then to be hog tied of all fucking things. Soap was seeing red. Both because of his temper and the red cloth tied around his eyes. the gag had been introduced when Soap refused to stop hurling insults at the man. It didn't stop him, just made it even harder to understand than his accent normally did. Every bump or jump from the horse jostled him, further rising him up. He'd been backhanded three times already for his racket, and he aimed to have a concussion by the end of this. Maybe if he were lucky he'd forget it even happened.

"Charles? That you? The hell you got there?" A southern American drawled. He couldn't place where the other was from, but definitely also American.

"Arthur. Caught him snooping around. I'm bringing him back to Dutch." Charles, Arthur, Dutch. Soap mentally cataloged the names. These guys weren't professionals, if they were so happy to sling their own names around so easily. That made his capture all the more maddening.

"Hold on." The southerner spoke again. Soap could hear him urging his horse closer. "Native hairstyle? What're the chances he's Scottish?"

"Thought he was Irish. Belligerent. Like Sean." Soap was abso-fuckin-lutely fuming.

"Can you keep a secret?" There was no verbal response, Soap assumed Charles had nodded, Arthur continued. "Think he belongs to my friend. Toss him on my horse or follow me." These guys were in for a rude awakening the second Soap got away. He didn't belong to anybody. He was going to make sure that they were aware of that.

He did his best to count the turns in the road, the minutes as they passed by, the ways he could potentially murder these two for his humiliation. He listened intently to the conversation between the two men, trying to pick out more information.

He could hear a man laughing and speaking animatedly. His accent was... fucking weird. Soap had only heard someone speak like that in old timey black and white movies. Arthur whistled and then called out "This yours?" Soaps temper flared and he began thrashing about, spewing insults as he writhed. If they were gonna man handle him off this horse he was going to make it as difficult as humanly possible.

His blindfold was removed and he blinked. Thankfully they were in relatively dense forest and his eyes didn't have to readjust to see his cap- his husband? That was absolutely his husband. In his anger he'd forgotten he technically did belong to someone. Simon. He stopped yelling into his gag, stopped thrashing about as he took in the sight of the love of his life. Simon had gone native, it seemed, dressing like the man who'd captured Soap, though it being Simon, he was in all black. A skull print bandana covered his lower jaw, but his eyes sparkled with mirth as he smiled down at Soap from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat.

"How'd you do that? He stopped?" Charles was bewildered.

Simon removed the gag from Johnny's mouth and leaned in, planting a kiss on his lips. The angle was awkward, with Soap having to lean his head back as far as it would go, but damn he'd missed him. It was worth a crick in his neck. When Simon eventually leaned back to get some air, Soap's mouth caught up with him before his brain was really back online. "Those chaps assless?" He knew his smile was dopey, but he couldn't care less.

"All chaps are assless, Johnny." Right. He knew that. Totally. Shit Simon looked good. Who knew Soap was gonna develop a cowboy kink?

[obsidianpen]

Ma’am with all do respect why should you move to Draco? Lil feret can just stay in the background FOREVER. I’m kidding write whatever you want (pls write volmione). Do you know lovelyvillian? She wrote this fanfic called the thrall about vampire Tom and if you wanted to write about werewolves perhaps you would consider vampires😏😏 what’s hotter than vampire sex? Stephanie Meyer sure as shit wouldn’t know. Anyways I’m drunk and Irish goodbyed the fucking pregame so I just wanted to let you know I am multiple ppl on this thread and Covid anon is also poet anon and submitted multiple post responding to someone asking abt chatgbtb and many more (I prioritize fanfiction over going out) (reading this back im a loser) oh also I’m the one who promised to write u a theme song if u updated b and g tomorrow and now I’m afraid of my own actions. Anyways live laugh love vodka and speaking of there should be a moment where Harry gets rlly drunk with Draco and then goes back to Voldemort and makes a bunch of drunk confessions to a super disgusted dark lord I think that would be funny.

omg of COURSE those particular anons are the same anon, be still my heart. I did not update today but I’ve seen your other submission where you indeed wrote the theme song but with instructions to only post if I followed through and updated. Which I did not. But I want to share it because it is art and I have the power so now what do I do vodka poet anon????? Also Harry and Draco get wasted together in hauntingly so I feel like I can’t do it any better in NG but like. Maybe….. maybe

[aeolianblues]

Thinking about Fontaines D.C. again. They’re quite different from any other band of the 2020s that I can think of, somehow they’re simultaneously both completely of this decade in their themes, context and sound, and still have something almost old-fashioned, maybe even timeless about them.

Like they’ve got that sound, depth and emotional complexity that makes people believe there’s something more to them, they’re no flash in the pan, they aren’t chasing any trends or whatever. And still, their post punk sound was so placeably 2018-2022 that you’d listen to it and you have to say yep, these lads came up in the wake of bands like IDLES at the same time as bands like Shame, very 2019.

And you never think, ‘oh I wonder what happened to them, I haven’t heard from them in a while,’ despite the fact that they are basically not active at all on social media. They have the band IG and each member too, but half of them last posted in like 2022 once. They aren’t doing any ‘trends’ or challenges or too many behind the scenes stuff— nothing. It feels almost like a classic band, like someone from the 90s or for the last time, the 00s.

And yet they feel modern, maybe it’s just that they speak to pretty modern fears and anxieties. I don’t know. But then, they’re also still doing the band grind. They’re not famous for anything except their music. No gimmicks, no collabs, they’ve never had a viral hit. People buy their whole albums because nothing they do misses. They sell more on vinyl than some of artists who are much bigger than them and monopolise the record pressing plants (coughs and dies).

Their best known songs are widely known because of fantastic televised festival performances in 2019 and 2022 (Boys In The Better Land, R+L 2019, R+L 2022 when they had that 18 y/o fan join them on guitar; Big Shot with the strings and piano and I Love You, Glasto 2022). Nothing about that is modern, and yet here they are. I couldn’t really see them coming up in another age, not because of the music but the context and themes.

I know, some of their songs sound like they could’ve been observational poems by Keats, Yeats, modern ones like MacGowan. Grian has said he’s still drawn to nature poetry despite being a city boy, but you listen to something like Oh Such A Spring and tell me he couldn’t write an ode to a landscape. Songs like I Love You, the album Skinty Fia in it’s whole. I personally nearly cried hearing it the first time, because as much as musicians have often written about being misfits, about not fitting in, it wasn’t very often that you’d hear someone explicitly framing that from the theme of an immigrant, of someone away from home, neither any longer a part of their home place but noticeably a stranger in the new. About having his Irishness almost heightened by not being in Ireland anymore. All of that. Oddly for the times, and very relevant. Songs like Bloomsday as well. Going back home and realising why you left in the first place. In some ways, Fontaines could only be a band of the now. And yet, there’s been something so traditional about their ascent.

Got big off the back of solid songwriting, they come off as clear-eyed romantics, still with a bit of the mystery and distance afforded to a rockstar of the past, yet not rockstars because they’re such ordinary people. The everyday poets, with a bit of mysticism about them. Amongst many of the bands that have got big in the last four years, they’re the only ones who are still truly independent, all the rest are on Island (UMG subsidiary). They have, if anything, gone more independent now: they’ve moved from Partisan to XL Recordings, both independent labels, and XL is part of the Beggars Group, perhaps one of the largest to still remain completely independent. At this stage in their career: chart topping albums, huge physical sales, a Grammy nomination, Irish Choice Prize nom and a BRIT win, surely if they wanted to, they could easily get on any of the majors. They could bypass the subs and go directly to like, Warner. They’d definitely get signed if they wanted. They’ve chosen to remain independent, admirably.

In some way, it adds to the appeal of the band. There’s a bit of the old band charm to them. I want to be careful not to over-romanticise or turn to folklore a group of very real human beings who have indicated at times that they are perhaps not very comfortable being put up on a pedestal (they are right), and I respect and honour that notion. But there’s certainly something special about this band. And perhaps Starburster has only reignited my admiration for this band, man they’re good.

[irelandseyeonmythology]

I have been trying to find an answer online but I can't quite find what I'm looking for, if you don't mind can you help provide some insight?

Basically my question is did the medival people of Ireland honest to god believe in pseudo historical texts like the Book of invasions and related traditions. Like they believed in 6 waves of people coming to ireland under Christian cosmology.

Or was this more of a literary tradition for generally understood to be fictional or not quite accurate stories?

So it's been. Months. But if it's any consolation, this DID thoroughly haunt me!

I also cleared it with a colleague of mine who does work on like. Medieval Irish conceptions of history, so it's been vetted by Someone Who Is Not Me, at least the rough outline (I am NOT showing them my Tumblr, god forbid.)

And...for the most part? Yeah. They did. They sometimes argued FIERCELY over little details, like the Tuatha Dé coming in a cloud of mist or whether or not they burned their ships, or whether they were doing it to get away from Lugh. They cited texts that they thought were particularly authoritative, like the Holiest of the Holies, the now-lost Cín Domma Snechtai, they refuted other scribe's suggestions, sometimes very aggressively. I mean, you have scholars into the 20th century believing in this, at least to some extent or another, like Eoin MacNeill in his Phases of Irish History (1919) or T.F. O'Rahilly in his Early Irish History and Mythology (1946). Obviously not in terms of like. The Tuatha Dé as a supernatural race of people, but in the sense of what might best be described as extreme euhemerization, using these medieval texts as a way of trying to unveil a lost Irish pre-history. (It goes without saying this is NOT my approach and not how most of us approach the field, but it was quite common decades ago.)

Geoffrey Keating, in the 17th century, would write his History of Ireland, which used LGE as one of its key pieces of evidence in his attempt to hit back against less than savory accounts by anglophone scholars, of Irish history. "LOOK at our history, LOOK at our glorious past, LOOK at what we can do." It's imminently sympathetic, honestly. (Though Geoffrey shouldn't be taken to be credulous -- he explicitly says that Cath Fínntragha, for example, was not to be taken as a true historical account.) There's a bit, perhaps slightly amusing by modern standards, in his prologue where he says, "Cambrensis [Gerald of Wales], who undertook to give a correct account of everything, appears to have received a medley of fables from some dunce or blind man, for he has said nothing of the conquest of the Tuatha-De-Dananns, who possessed Ireland one hundred and ninety-seven years, during which time nine kings of their nation rules the island."

This is a man who does, firmly, believe in what he's saying and in the veracity of the sources that he has. We also see LGE and the pseudohistorical scheme in general being adopted by Keating's contemporaries, such as Dubhaltach mac Fhirbhisigh (Leabhar na nGenealach) and Roderic O'Flaherty (Ogygia), some of the best scholars of their day and men who...this is my bias speaking, but I trust them. Especially Dubhaltach. I don't have my copy to hand, but the way he speaks about his sources, the way that he's willing to argue with them even as he includes them in his work...I believe him. Or. Let me rephrase that. I believe that HE believed in what he was saying, and I believe in his integrity as a scholar. They're men who absolutely have an angle! But they're men who are using the sources that they have to defend their country from some truly awful slander using the best materials they have at the time, as methodically as possible.

Charles O'Conor, one of the, in my opinion, crucially overlooked scholars of the 18th century, a man who the field owes a massive debt to for his activism and his large collection of manuscripts (some of which, through a story I'll tell sometime if anyone's interested, become the Stowe Collection), was skeptical, saying that Keating's work, "Is a most injudicious Collection; the historical part is degraded by the fabulous, with which it abounds. Keating was one of those laborious Readers, who, in making Extracts, do it without Selection or Discernment; and suchWorks (as the judicious Mac-Firbis observes -- ought never to be published." Personally, while I appreciate boosting Dubhaltach and his work, I think he's too harsh on Keating. It's very easy to judge someone's scholarship when you're living a century ahead of them. He is much more skeptical than Keating, trying to compare native sources up against other contemporary histories of Europe, but he DOES still use LGE as a vital source -- he doesn't discount it or its invasion scheme entirely. He is still very much treating it as a historical document, albeit one that he doesn't fully believe in. (Especially since he's kind of fighting with James MacPherson, of Ossian fame. Because apparently getting into massive public debates with people whose work is enjoying a lot of popularity and that we think involves shoddy research is a time honored tradition in the field.)

But there is a reason why it gets picked up, even into the 20th century, because when you've had your history continually belittled and marginalized, when your language has been driven to the point of near extinction, when you are constantly told that you don't HAVE anything worth being proud of, not compared to the Grand History of England or the classical tradition, that you're a nation of barbarians and beggars...of course you want to believe in it. Of course you want to believe that you can salvage SOMETHING. Especially since these are your ancestors saying it. Your ancestors, reaching across this seemingly insurmountable chasm of time, telling you "look, this is your history." Do I think everyone in medieval Ireland agreed with it? Probably not. There was probably at least one person who was like "well...do we KNOW, though?" In the same way as there were very likely people who thought "King Arthur...did he exist?" Or those oddballs in the modern day who claim the Roman Empire didn't exist. There are always going to be people who are a little skeptical, even of what are the generally accepted truths of a certain time period, but I would say that in general? The trend we see is broad belief, because this is the best historical source that people had for centuries -- they had no reason to strongly doubt it, even if they argued over the details.

[breitzbachbea]

Whole hog michele

YES, finally giving my boy the attention he deserves! (A heads up for CW Child Abuse)

Look at this beautiful creation by @pyromaniacqueen ! Prettiest man in town!

Ask Game for someone's OCs

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name?

Already not answered here. I can't speak to any questions about his conception, since he was originally the OC of a friend and I got to 'keep' him when they moved on from the Hetalia fandom.

🌼 - How old are they? (Or approximate age range)

Born on 15th July, 1987 and 26 in the first book of the main series. His twenties is what he hovers around in age in most stories.

🌺- Do they have any love interest(s)?

Has he ever! Of course, the one I'm most well-known for is perhaps SicIre, aka him and Harry O'Connel. The definition of OTP for me and it has been the greatest honour to rewrite Irish Problems to tell their meet-ugly that launched a thousand posts. Saluting emoji.

But Michele is simply too shipable to me. Love GreSic, aka him and his childhood friend Herakles who bond over the shared secret of their horrible childhoods. Michele is also just weak to a man with big arms and big legs ... plus they can talk all throughout the night. I love GreSic, man.

TurSic is great for "The one that got away". I love these two being flirtsy and Michele being into being adored, but also clearly saying "Ah ah ah! Not your toy!". And Sadık can't help it, he loves to run after beautiful people to cherish. This ship is also very-well suited to femme fatale, ever-devouring Sicily Michele ...

I ship FraSic but only as horribly, messily divorced ship. These two only saw each other as shiny, shiny trophies for two weeks and then all they could think about was sexily murdering the other. I love FraSic as bitter exes so much man.

Sicgypt has also been on my radar, simply because I love the Sicily & Egypt connections throughout history and they're both very laidback together, I think. Would both love to adore the other.

Michele is also one of two men that Arielle has any romantic respect for and they make an absolute dream marriage in my res publica AU. They're only friends in LFLS (<main AU) and most other universes I come up with, though. Also because I'm too busy ruining Arielle's life by her finally being engaged to Tahir and then that DIPSHIT still chooses Robert. But that's neither here nor there.

🍕 - What is their favorite food?

Pasta Norma and good, fresh seafood. He loves an eggplant so much. Also pistachios, everything sweet that comes in pistachio, he'll get in pistachio. Hell, he has pistachio-flavoured condoms, which are one of the main reasons Harry seriously wanted to stage an intervention at some point.

💼 - What do they do for a living?

Gangster - again. In this case, he's the biggest shark in Sicily's already dangerous shark tank.

🎹 - Do they have any hobbies?

He loves gardening and cooking, both things he inherited from his mother. It was Maria Vento, who turned the useless, landscaped garden of that hell-mansion into a vegetable and fruit patch. After his father died, Michele expanded on it. He also taught both of the twins how to cook, and especially Lorenzo was an eager student.

🎯 -What do they do best?

He is an excellent cook and an excellent host. The latter is also connected to how he's a great leader. This man will keep a group together! He'll stand his ground, but he'll make concerns feel heard. He'll put everyone at ease and rally them to a cause, just because he makes them feel like a family. Certainly, he does choose to whom to extend his empathy - He wouldn't be a mafioso, couldn't be, if he did to everyone. But when he does extend his empathy, he does make it feel heartfelt.

🥊 -What do they love to do? What do they hate to do?

Loves to cook! Loves to garden! Hates to have to catch Angelo's chicken and drive it back to his farmer neighbour! (Seriously, how do these chickens keep escaping and make it all the way over to his fenced in garden?).

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories?

When his mother first let him help cook in the kitchen ...

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories?

Probably most of his childhood, as far as his father is concerned. To be beaten and then told that if he told his mother (again), he'd earn twice the beating again is probably seared into his memory.

🧊 - Is their current design the first one?

Already not answered here!

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?

Already not answered here!

🌂 - What genre do they belong in?

He should be in an upbeat yet whistful regional romantic family comedy ... instead he's in this gangster drama.

💚 - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality?

He's a pansexual cis man.

🙌 - How many sibling does your OC have?

None! But Marco and Lorenzo Bontade, the twins he took under his wing when they were 12 and he just 18, refer to him as their "big brother".

🍎 - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like?

He loves and adores his mother Maria above all else. She's his everything, the person he loves the most in the entire world. Her love is the reason he's even alive.

Because his father Salvatore is one of the main reasons this AU is called "Like Father Like Son". Jealous that someone else got attention by his beloved Maria, he quickly grew to hate his son and physically abused Michele for most of his childhood. Michele has never told anyone but Herakles about the abuse and he's haunted by everyone associating him with his father's brutal political legacy.

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?

He's such a tragic figure and I love that. He's so motivated by 'fixing' himself, eradicating any trace of the hurt he received in everyone's mind, that he doesn't notice how he hurts those he loves the most and wants to protect the most in this quest. You understand why he's so desperate to achieve his goal and you can also blame him for his actions, still. He's a posterchild for how most of the characters in LFLS have been failed, deserved support and help and didn't get it, so now they keep the cycle of trauma and abuse going.

✏️ - How often do you draw/write about the OC?

Currently in a writer's block when it comes to Irish Problems, but I've been consistently writing him for the past few years. Even more so because most of the time when I want to write, it ends up being a SicIre drabble. When in doubt, make Michele and Harry be in love.

💎 - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?

No, not Michele, dearest. Again, whether he grows old or not is none of my business, but I wouldn't kill my Miché.

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias?

No phobias, as far as I'm aware of, no. He does have a deepseated distrust of father figures and hates being called 'son' or someone acting like he does with his own kids. Unadoptable by men, this man.

🍩 -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival?

The Vargas brothers, but more specifically Lovino Vargas. Cousins thrice removed, Lovino believes that he's entitled to Sicily as part of his territory, especially since his family has all of Italy and is so much more successful than Michele's. Michele is going to give up his power and control over his cold, dead body. They also both hate how much they see themselves in the other - either all they could never be but should OR they see their most glaring faults reflected back at them.

🎓 - How long have you had the OC?

That is a good question, because I don't know when Michele stopped being my friend's OC and became my OC instead ... I'd guess somewhere in 2014, 2015. When my friend moved on to other places and I was still obsessed with both Hetalia and this little AU world I created.

🍥 - What age were you when you created the OC?

I met him for the first time when I was 14!

[skylermadness]

Constitution (Jawbone O'Shaughnessey TF/TG/PMC/AP)

(Original Date of Upload: June 22, 2022)

Yeah, I'm dedicating some uploads this week to the hot dads out there. I shall preface this by saying I love Jawbone very much and no amount of words can express how intense that love is. He's a werewolf, he's a dad, he's a school counselor, he's a dad, he's got a sick Irish accent, I can go on and on but if I did I'd hit the word limit of this description (if there even is a word limit, anyway). The general summarization of things is hot werewolf dad. Three words that I absolutely wish could be said more nowadays... This is also my first FtM TF in a while! I tried something a little new to this one too, based on a few personal headcanons and the fact that I want to try some new stuff in these TFs of mine! Also I hope someone gets the joke I made in the story title. If not, then I guess I'll just give ya the answer if you choose to ask-

   Ashleigh had never been the most hard on herself when it came to grades, but something about getting a C- on her most recent Introduction to Psychology test struck a nerve. There were perhaps a lot of reasons as to why she got such a low score. The trouble she was having focusing on classes these past few weeks, the sheer amount of information overload she seems to get when she does focus, the fact that cramming the night before had resulted in frustrated confusion over the material. She was trying her best, but it felt like her best wasn’t good enough.

   And that was only one brick in the wall that was her many problems.

   The past few weeks have been the arrival of many issues and hardships in her life. Finances were becoming harder to manage, mainly due to the fact that even one month’s rent at the dormitory was enough to slash a hole in her budget with very little hope of getting it back on just minimum wage alone. The balance between working at a nearby retail store and trying to keep up with college also wasn’t helping in that matter, with her focus being challenged even there.

   Her own identity was becoming something that was harder to understand. Especially when it comes to her own gender, as she’s been trying to grasp onto whether or not she was trans. Trying to test the waters on that was also impossible in her current situation, which was reinforcing a budding feeling of gender dysphoria.

  Many of her friends were already busy with their own lives. She was in no place for a relationship. Her mind was effectively a vortex of confusion and information that she felt unable to piece together.

   To say college was getting a little overwhelming to Ashleigh at this point would be an understatement.

   What was funny was, she thought she was ready. At first college wasn’t in the cards for her when she had first graduated high school with her being in a low income home, and the fact that applying to scholarships felt impossible to her due to their high standards. It took a little more than ten years for her to get in a spot of perceived readiness.

    Belief that she finally had the income to do so, a feeling that now was the time to move out of her parent’s home and into someplace else, a full grasp on who and what she was.

   That view of herself and the world was shattered in weeks.

   She probably could have caught onto that when she first applied. First seeing the amount rent cost at her college. The amount of time it took for her to even decide on a major she had wanted. Choosing a Psychology major had made her feel worse as the weeks went on, since she would find herself thinking on how she thought she could help people if she couldn’t even solve her own problems.

   It got to a point that after seeing that her grades had been falling, one of her professors had recommended she speak with the college’s guidance counselor. Although he seemed to have trouble remembering the counselor’s name. It resulted in her having trouble finding their office, except it seemed that no staff in the college could recall who the counselor was. Only the fact that there was one.

   Except there wasn’t???

   Just an empty office with a scrubbed name placard. 

   That was effectively Ashleigh’s breaking point.

   The next logical stop for her was to head to a bar nearest to her college and pour her woes to the bartender. Which is where Ashleigh finds herself now, downing a small pint of alcohol at a bar that was also within a nightclub. It was her fourth one and she was already tipsy. She had also just finished retelling her life’s story to the bartender, a bear of a man named Maurice.

   Ashleigh let out a little hiccup, then tipsily giggled. “Usually I wouldn’t turn to alcohol to run from all my problems, but damn is this some good booze…” 

   Maurice just hummed. “Migh’ have to cut ya’ off at sum poin’. Can’t have ya’ dyin’ of alc’hol poisonin’.”

   “It’s fine! My family’s been known for having good livers…” She drunkenly laughed again. 

   “Uh-huh.” Maurice said, unphased. He was used to that kind of response from the more… sadder patrons to his bar. It took a few moments of thought, but he found himself picking up another pint glass from beneath the counter. “Ah can safely say none of yer problems’ll be solved ‘ike this.”

   Ashleigh shook her head. “It still makes my head all fuzzy though… makes me forget how shit my life is.”

   “Ah wouldn’ say that,” Maurice tried to reassure her as he headed to the back of the bar. The back was lined with multiple kegs, most of which Ashleigh had assumed was filled with liquor. “This could jus’ be a ruff patch.”

   “It doesn’t feel like it…” Ashleigh said, folding her hands onto the table and placing her head in them. Everything felt like one hell of a trainwreck. Problem after problem, piling up and causing a storm in her head. The fact she didn’t really have any to talk to about it made it all the more worse. At least Maurice was willing to listen, although he didn’t provide much help besides the provision of booze. He’s probably paid to just sit around and listen, she thought to herself.

   Her eyes drifted over to the man himself, and Ashleigh watched as the man walked around the bar pouring various liquids from the kegs into the pint glass. She could hear him mumble something, but the music of the night club coupled with the low register of his voice made it incomprehensible to her. She did take note that the drink looked particularly… sparkly. 

   “Ah’ve been in th’s line of w’rk fer a while, bud. It nev’r lasts like that fer long. No matt’r how much ya think it does.”

   Ashleigh looked away for a moment. She couldn’t tell if it was the booze, or just her recently budding cynicism, but she found herself having a hard time believing that.

   She was pulled out her thoughts by Maurice walking up to her, sliding the drink he just made beside her arm. “Here, on th’ house.”

   Ashleigh lifted her head and looked around the bar skeptically. Come to think of it, she’s the only person here at the moment… Eh, whatever.

   She then took a look down at the pint. It wasn’t beer, liquor, wine, or any mixture that she could recall, although memory recall was a little muddled due to her current buzz. The drink was actually a soft, but sparkly, beige. It smelled kind of fruity too…

   “Ah call it th’ Reliever! It may help ya’ find what yer lookin’ fer.”

   Ashleigh raised a brow and smiled. “Are you sure you ain’t trying to roofie me?” she joked. Judging by the grimace on Maurice’s face, it wasn’t very funny. 

   “I happ’n to want to keep mah job.”

   “Right, sorry.”

   Ashleigh stared back down at the drink and shrugged. Taking hold of the glass, she downed the uncreatively named drink in one fell swoop. 

   “Hm. Tastes peachy. What’s in this?”

   Maurice only smirked. “Nothin’ ya’ could und’rstand, boy.”

   Something about being called ‘boy’ made Ashleigh feel something… warm.

   “Now ah’m afraid I gotta have to cut ya’ off.”

   Ashleigh slumped in her seat. “Alright, fine. Thanks for the new drink, I guess…”

   “On’y the best fer my cust’mers. Hope it does help ya’ in what yer lookin’ fer.”

   “I have a little trouble believing one fruit flavored drink is going to give me the answer to my problems, but I… appreciate it.”

   Maurice nodded and watched as Ashleigh got up from her seat and walked out the bar. He took note of her slightly disoriented walking and wondered if he should have offered to drive her home.

                                        ----------------------------------------------------------

   The door to Ashleigh’s dorm creaked open, with the woman clumsily walking in after. Walking home while drunk is apparently not the best thing to do. Perhaps she should’ve taken that bartender’s offer to take her back here, but she felt perfectly content walking home by herself. It even allowed her to take a good look at the Moon, which she had found herself feeling oddly pulled towards during those ten minutes of walking.

   Ashleigh took a seat on the small, singular sofa that was on the side of her little apartment. It was nestled in the corner, beside her work area and window. The seat had given her the perfect look at the moon again, the celestial object now currently in waxing crescent phase. How she knew that she wasn’t sure.

   Ashleigh let out another hiccup. “Houh, still a little drunk…”

   She pressed her back up against the chair and closed her eyes, her only thoughts now being of that weird fruity drink, that bar, and that bartender. It did feel nice to vent all of her feelings out to him, even if he wasn’t very professionally trained. And admittedly he might be right about all of this bad stuff just being a ‘for the time being’ thing. Plus, now that she was relaxed and had the time to think about it, Maurice did look kind of hot. Well, in a scruffy middle-aged man kind of way. 

   Okay, weird to think about… she thought to herself. She did kind of envy him, though. Big, hairy guy; deep voice; slightly confusing accent. She… wanted all of that. Especially that hairiness. God, that man is quite the bear…

   She let out a small sigh. What time was it? It was probably pretty late. She should probably head to sleep.

   …although for some reason she felt really itchy now…

   It was miniscule at first with it being a slight discomfort in her hands, arms, and chest. It was something she would try and scratch, the woman shifting her body around the couch uncomfortably as she tried to reach every spot she could to relieve herself of this ordeal. It wasn't until she started feeling something coarse that she started to notice something was off.

   Taking a hand out from beneath her shirt, she found that it was hairier. Brown hairs were growing out of it at a rapid pace and quickly overtaking it in a thick, fluffy pelt. Curious, Ashleigh turned her hand around to see if a similar change was occurring on her palms. While fur was growing around her palms, the skin was also swelling; roughening and darkening into a paw pad. Alongside this came changes to her nails, the keratin lengthening and sharpening into pointed claws. She could even swear that her hand was subtly growing larger.

   Ashleigh raised a brow, a mix of intrigue and confusion forming on her face. She lifted up her other hand to check if it was any different, finding the exact same changes have come across it too. A large, wolfish paw instead of a small, human hand.

   "...cccool…" she slurred out drunkenly. Perhaps it was the fact the alcohol was still working through her system, but she didn't feel particularly worried about this. She rubbed a paw on her cheek, feeling the fluffy fur and rough pads brush up against her skin. It was great. Her body was still kind of itchy though…

   Placing her paw down, she rolled up a sleeve of her hoodie, along with the sleeve of the shirt beneath it, to try and scratch her arm again. This time she was being a little lighter so as to not scratch herself with her new claws. Her skin looked to already be growing out more hair, but it appeared that irritating it was causing the changes to pick up the pace.

   The patches of fur grew denser with each passing second, her skin now fading beneath the brown pelage. A feeling of power coursed through her muscles causing her arms to gain a little more muscle tone than they had before. It wasn’t an impressive amount, plus it was shrouded beneath all of her fur, but it was there. This was then accompanied by a brief lengthening of her arms.

   There was a feeling of contentment filling her as she watched everything unfold; a feeling that, for once, wasn't influenced by the booze from earlier. It was like something deep inside her was coming out, something that she so deeply wanted. 

   The fur growth eventually ran up her arms and beneath her rolled up sleeves, but judging by the slight tightness she felt in her shoulders (a byproduct of her thickening delts), alongside the feeling of warmth layering upon them, she knew where the changes were heading.

   She leaned forward and placed a paw beneath her shirt, proceeding to scratch away at her chest while feeling the brown fluff growing out of it. With her shoulders becoming larger, her frame had widened to match. While the fur trickled down her chest like a rushing waterfall, her torso flattened and her breasts shrunk away, and all that remained were some pectorals with a small layer of fat covering them. For a moment a horizontal scar visibly formed beneath each pec, but both got shrouded beneath the sea of fur just moments later.

   The intense itching began to dissipate as the pelt washed over her belly. Beneath it grew more small muscles, but those muscles quickly got drowned out by a medium sized gut. She found her hand slipping down towards it, unconsciously giving it a little rub and causing her tongue to fall out of her mouth for a moment.

   “This is… oddly appealing…” she whispered to herself. It took her a moment for her brain to register that her voice shifted at the end of that sentence, her voice now a little deeper and huskier. 

   The fur eventually flowed down to the lower half of her body. Her hips widened before a feeling of pressure started to fill at the base of her spine. Scooting up in the chair a little, something about her reaction felt almost instinctual. So much so that she lowered the back of her pants a little.

   “Forgot to wear the tail safe ones, huh…” she offhandedly mumbled to herself. Her voice was just getting deeper and deeper. Plus she could swear there was an accent getting in there…

   Slinking out from her rear came a tail; one that was big and fluffy with rich brown fur that had a lighter shade of it on the bottom. As her tail grew, her spine grew with it making her taller than she was before.

   Somehow knowing exactly how to maneuver it, she moved the tail to her lap before scooting back up to the back of the chair. Smiling, she softly stroked the long, furry extension of herself. It was already becoming evident that she was transforming into some sort of wolf creature. Fur, paws, weird enjoyment of having her tummy rubbed. The tail was just another addition to this experience, and Ashleigh was all for it. 

   She had to take into consideration other changes though. Her now flat chest, her deepening and clearly masculine voice, even in her mind she didn’t feel like a ‘her’. It was clear that this was some kind of sign, some kind of fulfillment of an internal wish.

   It’s about time he starts referring to himself as something he was comfortable with. 

   As revelations came to his mind, his legs and feet underwent their changes. Mirroring his arms, his legs got thicker in both fur and muscle while concurrently growing longer. He didn’t really shave them much before, but that would be a null thought now that they were completely covered in a pelt of wolf fur. The same happened to his feet, the two now becoming large paws like his hands. Claws, paw pads, everything. Although unlike the rest of his clothing, his shoes were getting particularly uncomfortable…

   He leaned his head back up against the sofa and closed his eyes. “Yer really gettin’ everything ya wanted…” An ear twitched as he instantly noticed that an accent had crept into his already deep voice. It was a little hard to tell, with it being deep in the guttural huskiness that werewolves had, but it was definitely an Irish accent. “I’m even gettin’ an accent too!”

   He smiled, although now his face was now starting to feel different. This was caused by a lengthening muzzle, his face now pushing out into a more animalistic shape. Nose melding with his snout; the skin of it becoming rough, black, and wet. Shorter brown hairs pricked out of his skin and ran all the way across his face, his eyebrows getting bushier in the process. Within his mouth his teeth sharpened and two of his canines poked out from beneath his upper lip. His ears twitched again as they lengthened to a point, soft fur rolling across the outside while even softer fur poked out from the inside. 

   Then came the changes in his hair. Previously a rusty auburn color; long, wavy locks shortened on scalp while longer bits of fur protruded from the edges of his head and the bottom of his neck. Growing out of his head from all sides was a long, fluffy mane, the red coloration of the hair fading beneath it to become a dark, chocolatey brown as it did so.

   The wolfman closed his eyes and drew in a breath, his vocal cords rumbling with a content growl. He felt at peace for the first time in weeks. That bartender was right, that drink did help him find what he was looking for. At least in one aspect, anyway.

   He eventually drifted off to sleep, smiling and unafraid of what would happen on the morrow. And in his sleep the world would shift around him…

   The small dorm room expanded; twisting and warping into a small, comfy home. The overall location switched to someplace near the edge of the campus.

   His clothes had also shifted. The hem of his hoodie lengthened, sleeves unfurling and settling over his arms. The material shifted from cotton to wool, the color dulling to a comforting gray as it did so. Buttons lined one of the ends of the split while the hood retracted and flattened into a nice shawl collar. Gone was a hoodie, now warped into a comfortable wool cardigan.

   The undershirt he wore beneath the hoodie altered alongside it. The sleeves shortened to make it a t-shirt, the color darkened to black. Emblazoning on the shirt was a simple hexagon with triangular eyes, four rectangles beneath it that emulated teeth, and a line that floated around the top four sides of the hexagon; triangles poking out of it to replicate ears.

   His pants were next with the portions below the knees magically tearing apart before stopping a little above his knee. The edges remained frayed, and the material shifted into a blue denim. A hole formed beneath the belt loop on the back, and the jeans appeared to phase through his tail in order to comfortably fit it in there. Once his tail was in, the changes to his pants were complete.

   His shoes underwent more subtle shifts, having only grown in size to alleviate the discomfort while the leather deepened in color to a dark red lined with white around the sides, soles, and straps.

   Deep in his sleep, the wolfman dreamed. Dreamed of a new life for himself, all of his goals fulfilled and him now helping others do the same. Dreamed of the perfect identity for himself. And dreamed of the happiest thoughts he could. With these dreams came a new name for himself…

   He was now Jawbone O’Shaughnessey, and these dreams would soon be revealed to be more than just mental conjurings…

                                        ----------------------------------------------------------

   Jawbone woke up with a start, in part thanks to the alarm clock he didn’t remember setting. He walked over to it to shut it off, quickly finding out that his vision was a lot blurrier than he recalled. He instinctively pawed the top of the dresser his alarm clock was on for a few moments, then grasped onto something. 

   His glasses.

    “Heh, that’s new…”

   Placing his glasses on his muzzle, he began to think. Come to think of it, a lot was new…

   As he got up from the sofa he took a nice glance of the room he was in. Instead of a small dormitory room, it was a medium sized bedroom. It retained a fairly similar layout to his old dorm room, but with the new space came bookshelves lining the shelves (containing the many books he’s read over the years) and a few picture frames hanging from the walls (all of which had assorted images of him with students he remembered counseling).

   A warmth filled his chest while he stared at the various images. All of these were of him, and they were all of the people he’s… helped… 

   Faces, names, voices, memories, so much flashing in his head at the sight of these pictures. It filled Jawbone with a euphoria that feels like it’s been felt a thousand times before.

   “I guess those weren’t just dreams, then...”

   The rest of the morning was spent preparing himself for the day and checking out what else seemed to change. Jawbone was a little surprised to find that he wasn’t in his dorms anymore, and was instead in a fully paid for house! Along with that, all of his credentials seemed to have changed to fit his new reality, and judging by his new memories he was now employed as the guidance counselor at his old college. Things had truly changed for the better!

   However, he was truly able to settle into his identity at college. The students smiled as he walked past them, greeting him and giving him high-fives. He was seen as one of the most chill, kindest, helpful people in the college by-far. People entered his office to ask for help in both academic, social, and personal matters, and Jawbone seemed to have the right answer for everything.

   There were times he was alone in his office waiting for a student to walk in, the man given a small moment's time to look around and think about the life he was now in. He’d pull up foreign memories, strange and crazy tales from his past, sifting through his mind to better grasp who he was now. This is his life after all, he’d like to know everything it had to offer. 

   The day would go on as all days would go. Helping students; chilling in his office; doing some miscellaneous paperwork. Every so often he’d stare at the nameplate on his desk and drift into happy thoughts, a feeling of reassurance of who he is settling further within him. He even started to feel like this had always been his life even if that wasn’t exactly the case. But semantics were pointless in the end because this is his life!

   Eventually everything for the day would be said and done, and Jawbone would get off work with a smile. Another day fulfilled for the carewolf! 

   At first he had thought about driving back home and finishing up what paperwork he had left, but a thought had entered his mind while he turned the ignition.

   After a minute of driving through the city streets, Jawbone’s ears perked up as he heard the music of his destination. The Oreum Sirius Nightclub: the exact place he had been the day before.

   He winced as he stepped into the doors of the place. The music was a little too loud for his werewolf ears, but he would get used to it like he did back at the Black Pit. Plus his real goal was far enough from the club portion that it wouldn’t be too much of a nuisance.

   His eyes drifted to the man tending to the bar. The burly guy cleaning a shot glass while looking out at the club’s crowd, awaiting a customer. The one and only Maurice.

   Jawbone walked up to the bar, a coy smile on his muzzle, and let out a low growl to grab the bartender’s attention. “Yer quite the bear of a man, aren’t’cha?”

   Maurice seemed a little startled about the appearance of a werewolf (something was telling Jawbone that lycanthropy wasn’t very common around these parts), but quickly regained composure in order to respond. “Flatt’ry ain’t gonna get ya’ anything free.”

   “I think I already got somethin’ free yesterday…”

   The sight of the bartender’s eyes was enough to prove to Jawbone that he got the guy. 

   “Wait- yer- woah…”

   Jawbone’s smile widened even more at that reaction. The wolfman stared into Maurice’s eyes, causing the bartender to blush a little.

   “I don’t know what you gave me, but it did exactly what you said it would!”

   Maurice just nodded, although Jawbone could hear the man mutter something along the lines of ‘usually they never stay in this world’ under his breath. Jawbone chose not to question it though.

   Jawbone placed an arm on the table and leaned over to Maurice. “How ‘bout I buy us both a drink, and we can get to know each other a little bit more…”

   Maurice’s enter face flushed, the man beginning to stammer. “R-right! Ah-Ah’ll get us a menu soo we can… ord’r somethin’.”

   This was going to be one hell of a night!

[niuniente]

I found from online flea market an oracle deck which I got myself as it looked nice, was reasonably priced and out of print, too. The seller was an old man, who was getting rid of his spiritual books and oracle decks. We stroke a little chat and he said that he didn’t feel like needing any of them anymore. However, he had saved his Irish nature tarot deck (he speaks Irish) and asked would it be OK if he pulled me two cards from the deck?

I was like “Of course! I would love it!” I got Laoch na clocha (Hero of Stones) and VII of Stones. I’m assuming these are pentacles and Hero of Stones would be Knight of Pentacles (correct me if you know this deck and I’m wrong)

His message to me was “I get the idea that you do a lot of work and good for many people. Such an inexhaustible resource for others around her. However, it feels like there may be more forces around you that take a lot without giving much, if any, in return. Beware of excessive outpouring of your own strength. You are important.”

Oh gosh...! That’s the same message I keep getting myself. Something or someone (or people generally) are draining me and I’m giving a way too much for peanuts I receive back, if anything. I must say I don’t know the exact source for this but perhaps it is the general energy.

That’s one reason why I love your comments and asks after each comic update because it makes me feel that I’m getting at least something in return of the hard work I put into comics.

[x-manson-annotated]

X-Manson Annotated - Chapter Three - Part 2 - DOUG RAMSEY, ANGELICA JONES, AND VANCE ASTROVIK.

In this chapter we'll talk briefly about Doug Ramsey, known to comics readers as the beloved husband of Bei the Blood Moon. As usual, if you're here, you'll find the usual warnings in the pinned post.

I've thought about how weird this comment was for a while. But then when i posted it to r/menwritingwomen, a user pointed this out to me:

This actually makes so much sense and recontextualizes the entire fic for me. It makes me read these bracketed asides as the narration of Kitty watching it.

Marie-Ange Ramsey is Marie-Ange Colbert. Also known as Tarot. She's a member of the Hellions and has the mutant power to make things on tarot cards come to life. Feels real weird in this au, but whatever

we now transition to the Astroviks. Here we get a few more details of worldbuilding. The Avengers exist and have Firestar and "Vance Astro/Justice/Whatever his alias is" as members.

The Avengers existing is really bothering me for some reason about this fic. It seems to really drive the "The Avengers don't do mutant things" angle in a different way.

That's not a cult thing, Scott's just incredibly autistic, Vance, you prick.

Oh dougie.

I think McCoy being here contradicts Hank's testimony at the beginning. I think around this time was a period where he wouldn't have been present at the school (according to him).

Xavier's preoccupation is curious. What is he thinking about in this moment to draw away his attention? Perhaps who is he thinking about? Maybe who he's controlling? All of these things?

I don't think it was Xavier trying to get into his mind, I think it was David Haller.

I'm not sure what to make of these innate psychic defenses. I don't think Doug has that, usually.

Because there isn't anything in the house, the whole goddamn thing has been hollowed out.

Staff:

Jean Grey

Scott Summers

Logan

Hank McCoy

"The Irish Guy" (Sean Cassidy)

"The Russian Guy" (Piotr Rasputin)

Students:

(Piotr's Sister) Illyana Rasputina (this is unconfirmed if she is his actual sister)

Sam Guthrie

"Psyche" (Dani Moonstar)

Visitors:

Doug

Vance

Angelica

David.

Poor Gabrielle.

Gabby and Doug: The horror and the tragedy is immense, we don't know how we're going to cope with what's happened to us.

Vance and Angie: Golly gee, this is just super! That autistic fella let Vance drive a Rolls!

He was trying to communicate to her.

Dani just repeating that she's happy to be there sounds incredibly upsetting. How much of that was coerced through the usual means of abuse and how much of it was her brain being cooked by psychic powers?

Is Vance jealous of a guy he knew when they were teens?

Is the throne the equivalent of CEREBRO?

I don't know why, but this whole setup is reminding me of how the tables are arranged in the Harry Potter movies. Especially the first one.

The arrangement is odd. Xavier feels like he would be at the dead center large seat, but he isn't?

You're a fucking idiot, Angie.

That isn't vegetarian, Vance. You goddamn moron. It's people. It's people, Vance.

Angie continues to be the dumbest motherfucker in the room. This is after the fact and she hasn't put together that the voice speaking to her was David Lehnsherr and not the voice of the virgin mary.

See. David figured out what kind of fucked shit was happening and was trying to warn them.

I think...I think at this point, Bobby is dead. I think this would have been right around the time and this is before they recruited more people. So, I think that at the most we're seeing David catch a glace at someone's thoughts and he knows that they killed bobby and dumped his body in the lake.