#reminiscing about Ireland

[nicoscheer]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Dennis Halfhide-Smith (@denno_photography_)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Miles Kane (@mileskane)

Happy Sunday folks love MK n Maxie X

Oh god the size difference I’m sobbing, Maxie looks so unbelievably peaceful and comfortable with his dad, the song choice 😭😭😭😭🥺🥹🥹 not Miles singing “if I have children I want them all to be happy in life” in 2011 in the responsible and now in 2023 having adopted a son with the lyrics “your daddy’s here beautiful boy”

I can’t with the song choices today also (also Nathan the fuck you doing posting pics of an either high as a kite or really tired Maxie at 2:30 am) ngl max looks kinda like a disappointed/annoyed parent when the kid won’t go to bed

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Miles Kane (@mileskane)

What a year I’ve absolutely loved it Musically, mentally, it's been one of my favourites. This song means the world to me, and I'm so buzzing that we're nominated for record of the year, so let's MAKE IT HAPPEN 12 go to globalplayer.com to v-v-v-voooote, you know what to do x LOVE YA X MK x

So so proud of him for being nominated

Come let’s vote him to the win

PARIS mhm I wonder who could potentially live in Paris 🐒 and make them eyes glint that much

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Miles Kane (@mileskane)

05/12/2023

The right wake up music for 7am 🫶🏽😴

[supportgaza]

Traumatized in Ireland While my Family is Facing Death and Starvation in Gaza

Note: Vetted by:

1. @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi # 151 on the spreadsheet of Vetted Gaza Fundraisers List]

2. @riding-with-the-wild-hunt Here .

I contemplate the happy faces of people around me here in Ireland and reminisce about the happy normal life my family and I had before the war. A life that turned into a distant memory for us and was replaced by an unending series of horrible nightmares.

Unlike my family in Gaza, people here have access to drinking water, all types of food, electricity, and a roof over their heads. Above all, they are safe, and I cannot help but wonder if they genuinely do appreciate these blessings in their lives enough.

People seem relaxed and laughing wholeheartedly around me in Ireland. I wish I could laugh too, but I am crushed way beyond recovery on the inside. I was evacuated by my Irish college after five months of living the horrors of war in Gaza. I hope you will never know what it feels like to live in constant fear and worry and be horrified by the most sickening and scary nightmares every single night while you are far away from your family in such circumstances.

When did my people in Gaza cease to be human beings worthy and deserving of a normal life? Has it become normal now for my family in Gaza to be starved and killed while the whole world is watching the genocide? If that is the case, then you will have to excuse me if I seek every avenue to bring them to Ireland and start a new normal life like all people here around me.

I was assured by the Irish Reugee Council (IRC) and lawyers in Ireland that there is hope I can reunite with my family in Ireland. In difficult times, it is hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel. For me and my family, you are literally our light and hope for a better life.

SOS!

Please donate, reblog and share.

Tagging for reach <3

Please consider boosting my campaign.

@fancysmudges @brokenbackmountain  @mothblossoms

@aleciosun @fluoresensitive @khizuo @lesbiandardevil

@transmutationisms @schoolhater @timogsilangan @appsa

@buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @palestinegenocide

@sar-soor @akajustmerry @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @feluka

@tortiefrancis @flower-tea-fairies @tsaricides @visenyasdragon

@belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @kordeliiius @brutaliakhoa

@raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish @theropoda @tamarrud

@4ft10tvlandfangirl @queerstudiesnatural @northgazaupdates2

@skatezophrenic @awetistic-things @camgirlpanopticon @baby-girl-aaron-dessner

@nabulsi @sygol @junglejim4322  @chososhairbuns

@palistani @dlxxv-vetted-donations @illuminated-runas

@imjustheretotrytohelp @stil-lindigo @soon-palestine

@communistchilchuck @irhabiya  @sar-soor @ibtisams

@rebecca-levin-art @ana-bananya @vakarians-babe

@mangocheesecakes @rednines @elderling

@sour-soda @stiltonbasket @hello-kitty-milkshake @butchmartyr

@laurellament @saltyfinalboss @dirtangeldean @lesbianslasherfilm

@teethands @miwtual @beserkerjewel @el-shab-hussein

@thedragonagelesbian @the-eldritch-it-gay @mazzikah

@mahoushojoe @deepspaceboytoy  @rhubarbspring @pcktknife

@heritageposts @gazavetters @neechees @butchniqabi @khanger

@autisticmudkip @beserkerjewel @furiousfinnstan @xinakwans

@stopmotionguy @willgrahamscock @strangeauthor @bryoria

@shesnake @legallybrunettedotcom @lautakwah @sovietunion

@7bitter @toiletpotato @fromjannah @omegaversereloaded

[possibly-a-table-or-just-gay]

Honestly I think it's a crime that when religious services were online for lockdown no one thought to make mass asmr.

*whispering as i tap my long acrylic nails against the communion wafer* this is the body of christ

*swirling the chalice really close to the microphone* this is the blood of christ

*holding the wafer up to the camera like im feeding you* *whispering very quietly into the microphone* eurgh you're one of those tongue people

[yourdearestlover]

Dearest, lovers

Hello Tumblr World! I am that creator who has been working on Nicola & Luke Press Documentary for the past few weeks.

To tell you the truth, those weeks have been quite exhausting. I had to combine my job and private life to be able to work on, as how my followers had called it, N&L Press Doc. BUT! Enough about me, let's talk about the project.

For the whole plan to make sense, I had to collect material; starting from London and ending it on Ireland, that included over seventeen Google Doc pages of interviews from various social media platforms. In the meantime, I was posting surveys on X regarding certain details, because I wanted people to have a chance to choose. The most time-consuming task was searching for a good quality videos and photos, downloading needed files, neatening them into correct order, to then montaging into 4 parts. Several interviews were edited by me, splitted, resized, which only made the steps to finish line take longer than I had initially expected. Entire process from making decision to actually starting "new project", to rendering each part took about a month. With that being said, I was happy to finally announce the release date.

So here they are! PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

From here, I'd like to say BIG thank you for those who were with me the entire time, for those who helped me out with gathering the materials on X / TikTok, for those close to my heart that cheered me up, when things weren't going my way. And most importantly, but not least, thank you for each comment, each like and each viewing. I've spend days on this project, I've put my heart into it. And I'd love you guys to enjoy it, as much as I did, while making it.

I'd want to clarify one more thing. This documentary was put together to express my love towards both Nicola and Luke, to be able to give the fandom a space to reminisce the tour, to fill up the small puzzle of missing them. Absolutely NO negativity will be allowed. Yours truly,

Em <3

[breitzbachbea]

My Ireland OC, who I made ten years ago and use mainly in Human AUs these days, is called Harry :)

USA: Aren't you going to come out from under the umbrella, aunt Molly?

Ireland: Alfred, pet, i'm Irish. I take one step into the Florida sun and I'll burst into flames like a sinner in church.

[sierrawitch]

Celtic Customs: Death

by autumn sierra

In honor of my friend who just recently lost a loved one, and my sister who witnessed a tragic death that she was helpless to prevent, I thought it the proper moment to reflect and write on some Celtic death customs and traditions of remembering passed loved ones.

Scotland

Before burial, the body of recently passed relatives were kept in the home, dressed and in their own beds. Family and friends would throw a celebration in honor of their lives. The Scots view death as an opportunity to both mourn the loss of a soul, but to laugh and be merry in their memory to find balance in contrary. All the furniture in the departed’s home—especially mirrors—would be covered with white linens and everyone would play music, dance, sing, and share stories around the hearth to keep memories alive.

A traditional custom practiced by the older members of the family and community include a plate of salt and a plate of soil laid on the chest of the deceased person. The soil represents the body as a physical vessel, and the salt represent the purity of the soul. It was thought that without this ritual, the ghost would not be able to rest, and would haunt their family.

Another custom was to stay up at night and watch the body, also known as a lykewake. This is now seen as a sign of respect for the deceased, but in olden times people believed that the devil would steal the body of their loved one unless they kept safe watch over it. The youth of the family were given whiskey at the beginning of the night and some tea or beer with bread at some point in the middle of the night, and would take on this responsibility for the family. The watchers would tell stories, reminisce, and sometimes recite verses from the Bible.

It was also considered bad luck to see the body of the recently deceased without touching it. A week of bad dreams would follow unless this superstition was taken seriously.

Our perception of death in the modern world is one of detachment and taboo. Many people are squeamish about even seeing a dead body, much less watching or touching one in the night. But to the Celtic people, death was not a taboo thing which had to be hidden, as it is a natural, inevitable part of being alive.

The pivotal connecting moments of birth and death link the physical and metaphysical worlds to each other. Similar to the thinning of the veil during Samhain, we each witness a thinning of the veil when we are born, and when we die. In death, the spirit of the deceased moves across the veil and into the Otherworld, the lands of gods, sìth (spirits), and the deceased.

Ireland

The Irish are no strangers to pain and loss, having experienced famine, colonization, and poverty over its long history. There are many customs that have been cultivated over generations to venerate and remember the dead which are unique to their culture, but the Irish Wake is one of the most well known funeral traditions around the world.

Most likely giving root to Scottish customs, the tone of an Irish Wake is a time of mourning and celebration. It’s an opportunity to grieve and and honor life as a treasured miracle. Those attending an Irish Wake will participate and music making, singing, and drinking, especially if the deceased was an elderly member of the community, or ill long term. However, in the instance of a young person’s or child’s death, the wakes are much more solemn and respectful of the tragedy. Family and friends meet in the home of the deceased to recount memories together, grieve, and celebrate the life lost.

The exact origins of the Irish Wake are unknown, but it’s believed that it was heavily influenced by elements of Paganism and may have originated with the Ancient Celts. The Celts believed in life after death and thought that when a person died, they then moved onto a better life in the Otherworld. The Ancient Celts saw death only as a means for a new beginning, which is where the festivities come into play.

The Irish Wake incorporates the tradition of watching over the bodies of the deceased, and some say that the term ‘wake’ originates from the Irish tradition. Lit candles were placed closely around the body and tobacco was smoked by male attendees as they stood guard against the potential of the devil seizing the deceased. It was believed that the smoke would help keep malicious spirits at bay and stop the devil from stealing the soul. Clocks were also often stopped at the time of death and mirrors covered to further protect the body, as mirrors can act as portals to other—maybe not so friendly—worlds.

The Afterlife

In ancient Celtic religion, there was a belief in an afterlife in the Otherworld (as mentioned earlier), which is considered almost like a mirror of life on Earth but without disease, pain, and sorrow. This eliminated the aspect of fear when it came to passing on since the soul continues to live following its leaving the head (where it was believed to reside). Prayers were made to the Celtic gods, and sacrifices—both animal and human—food, weapons, and precious items were ritually offered to them to bless and allow safe passage of the deceased to the Otherworld.

The gods played a fairly significant role in the lives of the Ancient Celts as evidenced by their religious practices and the existence of protective amulets and talismans within their tombs. Alongside these, Celtic tombs and burial sites contained a wide range of objects, from tools to jewellery, which prepared the soul for the journey to the Otherworld (similarly to how the Egyptians prepared their deceased for the journey in the Duat).

Cremations & Burials

The Ancient Celts buried the deceased in tombs, and alternatively cremated their bodies, a practice beginning in the early second century. Excarnation was also not uncommon, during which the body was left exposed to the elements for a period and the bones were then either buried or kept for religious ceremony.

Burials of warriors and rulers were often rife with personal belongings and other treasures including weapons, armour, gold jewellery, and even large objects like chariots and waggons. Other common items included tools, extra clothing, grooming equipment, oil lamps, food, drink, eating utensils, and gaming counters, again, in preparation for their journey through the veil.

How do these customs compare to the ones of your culture, and your family?

What is your perception of death in relation to life, and how does it mentally or emotionally affect you?

Are you afraid of death? Why?

If you could personify who or what death is, what would that look like?

I urge everyone to challenge their instilled views of what death is and what it means not only for the people witnessing it, but also for those who go through its process. Many people fear that unknown reality, but it’s something we all share and experience eventually in life. You’re never truly alone. And isn’t that thought a bit comforting?

[sgiandubh]

@outlanderskin :"For those who have doubts: just research a little about Caitríona's dating history. See how she treated Dave and James and how she talked about them in interviews. See how she wrote about the Irish boyfriend she had in Paris in that article. Compare all of this to the impersonal way she treats or talks about Tony. Bingo🙃"

Good point 👌

Dear Good Point Anon,

You know, it's really serendipitous, as I have just finished a weeklong deep dive in very, very old press articles on (or at least mentioning) S and C, who clearly had a life before OL, thinking it would be nice to put some of my archive work skills to good service.

I think @outlanderskin was referring to C's New York Times article I reviewed and analyzed last summer, but I just found way better: a very long report in the Irish Independent's Sunday issue of July 11, 2004, focused on the next generation of Irish supermodels. Of which there could be only one, at that time: C, who dominates Roxanne Parker's 'Through Thick and Thin".

I am sorry, there is no link available to my knowledge, so we'll have to work with these very poor xerox scans:

I took the liberty of generously using my dreaded highlighter and, for the people who need to translate this post with Google, I am now taking my time to type what I find damn interesting in this almost twenty-year old article:

'If Ireland ever has a hope of having its own supermodel, then Caitriona Balfe is it. Sitting in the Pink Pony Café on Ludlow Street in New York, Caitriona swirls a wad of bread into her carrot and coriander soup while informing me that her musician boyfriend just brought her a breakfast-in-bed of cream eclairs and coffee a little over an hour ago. But that doesn't stop Caitriona from finishing her lunch and chasing it with a large cocoa-dusted cappuccino. Ebony-tressed and ivory-skinned, Caitriona clip-clops down the cobbled street after we leave the cafe, heading towards her apartment in Chinatown with Dave Mailone (sic!), the boyfriend, in tow.'

This reads, in 2024, like an interview with a more benevolent C clone from a totally different planet, indeed. A young, carefree, in love and hysterically funny C, who apparently had no problem heavily dishing out happy tidbits of her private life to her home country's press. A C also very much reminiscing anyone with a brain of the 2013-2018 bantering C, as this quote shows:

Again, you'll have to indulge me retyping it, Anon (tedious, I know - but helpful). She is remembering her real breakthrough, in November 2002, at the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show, in New York:

That was the most I've ever been paid for a show. I've got 18,000 euros for one day's work! They made me get a spray tan before the show, and I was still the whitest and the least well-endowed girl in the entire show! So what did she have to wear on the big day? `Not a whole lot! I think I described my outfit on the day as something Wilma Flintstone would wear on her honeymoon night. There wasn't a whole lot to it and it had bits of fur hanging off it.'

And, for good measure, we even have a (admittedly, awful) picture with the season's fiancé, with whom things did not end well:

I know, it looks like a Pravda pic, circa 1957 and I am honestly sorry. But it's still very clear. And, which is more important, very eloquent.

Anon and reader, you draw your own conclusions on this. I know where I stand. The only guy C has similar pics taken with and released in the press or on social media is the peasant some love to bash every single day in here. Their problem, not mine.

Yes, of course Mordor will yell and hiss. Of course they will throw rotten tomatoes at the blunt knife and scream THIS IS OLD. But hey, do you have any better than this poor (but oh, so endearingly authentic) picture or than any given S&C pic before the fucking EFH and IFH, when she gradually started to turn into today's Reclusive, Restrained and Rarefied Greta Garbo wannabe?

Oh, and please: don't give me the 'he's shy' or the paperwork crap again. Her public persona has drastically changed, and not for the better. It's plain to see and there are reasons for this.

Who's to blame? This question is so wrong, in so many ways.

The question should be 'what's to blame?'

I'll stop here, Anon and I hope it was somewhat useful. Thank you for dropping by.

[slightlyhozy]

“Through the Cold, I’ll Find my Way Back to You” || Chapter One - “Honey, Don’t Feed it, it Will Come Back.”

Characters - Púca! Andrew Hozier-Byrne x Original Female Character

Summary - Maisie Quinn, after inheriting a home in Ireland from her late grandmother, slowly learns a dark past about the land in which it was built on.

Word Count - 2,184

Warnings - Nothing for this chapter other than light animal death!

A/N - SO EXCITED FOR THIS!! I will try to be consistent and write interesting chapters, we will get a real introduction to Andrew in the next chapter, I just wanted to introduce Maisie first and the setting. Please leave thoughts!

If you don’t know, a púca is a monster across European mythology that tends to be a shapeshifter, commonly taking form as a horse, goat, dog, cat, ect. They also take forms of humans which tend to have animalistic traits. They are known to play tricks on humans but never truly harm them. There’s a lot on them, so if you’re interested, I recommend looking into it. I am pretty consistent with the traditional idea of them but I will add my own elements as well. I will also explain any important information or facts if I feel is needed, feel free to ask as well!

“What’re you doing now?” I can hear Elsie snacking on carrots through the phone.

I sigh, hauling another box off of another, using my earbuds, we had been able to call all day despite the time difference. “Right now,” I grunt, setting the box on the ground, moving to search for my box cutter. “I am unpacking everything for the studio…” The room in question was a beautiful conservatory with beautiful glass windows curving upward. Outside, bushes with thorns and small berries could be seen, desperately in need of a trim.

“How different is it over there? I mean, you must’ve noticed something by now.”

“Well,” I huff, stepping back to appreciate the natural light coming into the room. “I live 40 minutes from Wicklow, which is nice…But I do miss the city already; it feels all so stretched out now.” It was terribly ironic of me to complain about Europe being big in comparison to America, but after being raised in downtown Seattle all my life, to be thrown into a village where I have to drive to get my groceries was different.

“We miss you.” Elsie pouted. “Who’s going to bring disgusting vegan dishes to every game night?”

I let out a laugh straight from my chest. “Sorry, babe, you just need to find another pretentious vegetarian then.”

Carefully, I pulled out my easels and canvases I hadn’t used yet. The room was mostly boxes, with only two work benches being built and a random spinny chair thrown out. Making this house look like the ones on Pinterest was going to be a process.

“Say, are you and Lydia going to be able to make up here for Christmas?" I ask, fighting the wooden easel to unfold.

I can hear her hiss, disappointment sinking in. “I… I don’t know, May…It’s just…busy right now. You know, if we can’t this time, we just will come up for our anniversary! We’ve always wanted to go to Ireland.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” My voice came out a bit more upset than I hoped, and I could feel the burning in my eyes, a small sniffle escaping me.

“Maisie..” Elsie said sweetly, making me butt in immediately.

“No! No, it’s ok. I get it. You two are working…married, busy, have all your friends there, it’s fine.” I hated how I reacted—so reminiscent of a child, I didn’t even notice the tears on my face.

“Maisie, I…” She paused, seemingly looking for the right words. “It’s going to be hard for a while, ok? But you’ll make lots of friends! And we will still talk every day, ok? Don't feel bad because you’re upset; it’s okay to be upset.”

“I know, thank you.”

I had moved from Seattle to New Castle, County Wicklow, a few weeks ago. A year before that, my grandma had died, who, other than Elsie, had been my best friend. The loss still hurt, but hopefully something good was coming out of it. In her will, I was left to this beautiful property near Greystones. The house itself was pretty humble but charming and well kept. The garden was very large yet outgrown. After living in the hustle and bustle of a city like Seattle, I needed this, something different, it was like she knew.

My grandma inherited the house from her grandmother, who’s grandmother owned the home before the "famine." My Irish family had left Ireland some time in the 1840s to New York, where we eventually found ourselves in Washington. Thinking back on how hard it had to have been to just be Irish in either country made me a bit proud to find myself back at this house, just like how the women before me wanted.

While modest, the home was well built and was a good distance from the beach, which I had been utilizing for walking Lenny. Since the 80s, our richer part of the family had used it for a vacation home, but as my grandmother got older, the only thing she made sure of the home was keeping it clean, despite the fact it was empty now.

——————————————————————

A while later, still unpacking, now in the kitchen, Lenny began doing circles around the kitchen, licking at my leg. “Shit, you’re out of dog food.” I whispered to myself, leaning down to pat his head. Now that I had actual utensils, pots, and dishes, I could finally move on from adapting to their version of Chinese takeout and cook myself a proper meal.

At the grocery store, I spent a lengthy time deciding which shape of pasta was the most appealing.

In my pasta-induced haze, a voice broke me out of it. “Gosh, you look just like her, all grown up.” I turn my head to see an older woman, around 70 or so, smiling up at me.

“Oh, did you…”

“Know Evelyn? Of course, I met you when you were just a wain.” Heat rose to my cheeks, It was always embarrassing to meet someone who knew you from your family in public. All I could think about was getting out of it. “I saw your…pictures on Facebook, and I mean, it was identical until…”

My hand instinctively went up to my head. “Oh? My hair? Yeah, uh, I mean, at least it’s going to a good place.” A few months ago, I had completely cut off the long hair I had growing down near my waist into a pixie cut; liking how it’s growing out, I plan to keep it.

“Such a shame what happened.” The older woman shook her head. “She was a good woman, ye grandmother.”

Awkwardly, I nodded along.

“Nice to see the property put to use, I hope the stories don’t get to you though.” That caught my attention.

“Stories?”

“Oh? You don’t know? There’s a saying that hundreds of years ago, when your family bought the land, it belonged to a monster…called a púca…Something about it torments the humans who lived on the land in an attempt to scare them off.” A small giggle escaped me; I was no stranger to legends and myths.

“It’s all coincidences though; lots of dead animals are found near the property; I’ve never heard of any real trouble happening.” She smiled sweetly. “God is on your side.” Obviously, being a devote atheist for over 10 years, I had no real fear of any monsters.

“Oh!” The woman beamed, reaching into her purse for a pen and notepad. “Here’s my number if you need anything, love, just a call away.” I watched as her shaky hands scribbled down her home phone, pressing it into my hands. Mary.

“Thank you, Mary; I’ll be sure to get in touch.” I smile as we part, my mind drifting back to the word. Púca… It sounded like puta. I stifled back a laugh.

——————————————————————

Later that night, while Lenny was eating out of his dog bowl in the kitchen, I guarded my large bowl of pasta on the makeshift pillow-blanket couch I had crafted for myself. I sighed softly, checking my phone every minute in case someone wanted to ask me how I was or send me a funny video. Instead, I sat alone in the room, rewatching episodes of Gilmore Girls until there was nothing left in my bowl.

As I washed out my bowl, laying it on the rack, Lenny ran around my legs with a toy, eagerly waiting for me to throw it across the house for him. I smiled fondly down at my boy, the only thing keeping me from losing my mind. “Hey boy, want me to throw it?” I cooed at him, kneeling down to his level, excited by my tone. He wagged his tail and did circles, coming back to me with the small rope. Taking it, I tossed it across the floor, enjoying his nails scraping the tiles as he ran towards it, prompting returning it.

After a few rounds of this, a scratch on the door caught my attention, causing my brow to raise and my anxiety to heighten. It’s fine. I thought to myself, tossing the toy again, watching him retrieve it. It could be anything. Anything? Like a…no. Stop. Wiping my face, I waited for Lenny to come back. As he trotted to me, the scratching was louder, more aggressive.

Setting him off, the small retriever began to bark at the door, his little body jumping back each time. Shushing him, I walked to the window, looking out; there was nothing I could see. Púca. I scoffed, shaking my head; it was just my brain. I took a deep breath, opening the door slowly, unreasonably anxious about what I might see.

As I did, my leg instinctively went to barricade the door, Lenny barking at the small creature in front of me. I didn’t know how to react to the fox in front of me; it stepped back slowly, looking at me, making sad chirp-like sounds. My brows furrowed at the sight. “Ok…” I drifted off; my initial thought was that the animal was hurt, but the way it walked around my patio indicated otherwise. Perhaps whoever took care of the house before fed it, but it hadn’t come before.

Being a natural animal lover and suck up, I close only the glass door, letting me see him still. The fox pranced around still before sitting down in front of the door, clearly with no intention of leaving. Lenny stood, his tail high on alert. “Lenny!” I called out disapprovingly as I heard his familiar low growls. In a small bowl, I scooped some of his food with a few pieces of left-over pasta on top.

Laying the bowl down, I went back inside; even if it wasn’t aggressive, I didn’t want to invade its space, even if I was guilty of interfering with nature in the first place. My eyes drifted over the animal’s fur; it was a warm brown all around, and the ears and feet were black. Under the jaw and belly of the fox, the fur was white, as was the tip of its tail. Mostly, I was looking for signs of mange—anything to indicate it was sick. On cue, it looked up; the way its green eyes flashed at me caused my face to stiffen as I saw the reflection of light in it’s eyes. I looked back; there was no light to cause the eye to shine, and as I looked back, it was gone. The house was silent except for the low growling of my dog and the crunching of the fox’s feast.

——————————————————————

“It was so weird!” I complained to Elsie over the phone, clutching my colorful robe, tea in the other hand.

“Maisie, usually you make amazing choices, but this was dumb.” She said it matter-of-factly.

I shake my head, pacing around the cold floor. “How? It was hungry, Elsie; what was I supposed to do? Let it starve.”

“No, you’re supposed to call the Irish Animal Control, obviously. It could have had rabies.”

“Rabies? I don’t think so.” I chuckled, so sure of myself. “It wasn’t like…foaming at the mouth or aggressive.”

“Maisie, when animals have like…early rabies or something, they act oddly tolerant to humans, was there mange? Was it dehydrated or anything?”

“No… It looked really healthy, actually. It just wanted food; no one got bit, no one got hurt. Elsie, It isn’t that big of a deal; it’s a one-time thing.”

I heard a deep, disappointed sigh escape her. “Maybe you should’ve been raised in the mountains…Look, when you feed animals, they expect that you will give them food; they’ll come back. When I was little, growing in Bend, I accidentally fed a raccoon once, and she brought generations of baby raccoons for years.”

Walking to my porch, wanting to enjoy my tea with the cool air, I open the door. “If it comes back, I just won’t feed it; I learned my lesson, ok.” My eyes immediately drifted down in front of me.

“Maisie?”

“Uh, sorry…” Carefully, I set my tea on the railing. On the concrete, I stared at a small rodent in front of me, absolutely gutted. “There is a mutilated mouse on my porch.” I said breathlessly, always hurt by any dead animals.

“Oh, see! Now it’s rewarding you!” She complained over the phone as I stayed silent.

“Do you think they’re like cats? Like, they’ll bring you dead stuff because they think you stink at hunting or something…” I wasn’t too sure what to do with the body.

“I don’t know,” Elsie said flatly. “What I do know is that you should stop feeding it; just for your and Lenny’s sake, I don’t want you calling me at 3 am because you have to get rabie shots in your ass, ok?” On my side of the phone, I nodded, immediately looking for a reason to hang up. “Oh shit, it’s already so late, ok, Maisie, I love you; I’ll call you later, ok?” Thank god. Is all I could think.

After using a poop bag to toss the animal into the outside bins, I went to pull out my laptop, pulling up my laptop and searching: What is a Púca?

[werezmastarbucks]

saw in half

masterlist

Chibs observes first red flags

music: romeo and juliet by dire straits

word count: 1350

You felt the exhaustion wash over you like an avalanche as you left the bar. The street was swaying comfortably, and yet, you still weren't sleepy. At least, Chibs. aka Filip, knew what he was talking about. Looking at him, he probably always does. You were watching him, the only source of light in your tunnel vision, as he was hiding the orange flash from his lighter.

"Whatcha wanna do next?" he asked.

'Go home', you thought automatically, and immediately, the home had a picture of Ned's bleeding body in the yard. Wow! Nightmares will surely follow. You tried really quickly to remember, as you held yourself on the lamp post, if ghosts exist. Rattling your brains, you were feeling for the facts and came to the conclusion, that no, in this dimension, ghosts didn't exist. The lamp post shifted, and you, with it. A warm hand laid over your palm. It was Chibs that you leaned onto.

"You know what, after a good stabbing, I only wanna one thing", you mumbled. He hummed to show he's listening.

She was blushing with heat from the inside of her body, her leather jacket relaxed on her shoulders, the necklace slightly tilted, her hair soft, with liquid sparks in the streetlight. Her lips slightly open, and it was so easy at that moment to imagine those lips doing anything, anything he wanted. He was ready to take her anywhere she'd ask tonight, even if it was the freaking Grand Canyon.

Now you two were on the way to the club with live music, because only good band, only good band that would play old music, could heal you tonight.

It was weirdly reminiscent of the night you just had told him about; because it was loud, dark, and you both forgot to drink because of how much you talked. The band was playing on and on, with hits from old-school worlds like Dire Straits, Journey, Starship, and then even further, and more nostalgic. And Chibs was smoking, laid back against the chair and the wall of mist, his eyes glistening at you. At first, he listened more, as you spoke about music, and your job, and the house, but then had to assume a more secure position with his elbows on the table, as the topic slid onto his homeland. You then spoke about the accents and history, and nature, and how you traveled to Ireland nine years ago, and on, and on, and on, and then he mentioned killing mice in his house when they sneaked into the kitchen to eat the food and wiring, and you went absolutely lexically berserk on him. The heated debate was so eloquent, so level-headed for a drinking night like this, that in the middle of it you already sobered up.

"Yer telling me lassie", Chibs pointed his new cigarette at you, "that you feel worse for killing that fruit fly than that Ned boy".

"The fruit fly has no consciousness, the fruit fly HAS NO UNDERSTANDING of where it was", you were trying to scream over the loud riffs of Who'll Stop The Rain, but it also made it just a little funny.

"I get it, I get your deep ecological sentience argument, and I am all ready to believe that you could actually choose to live amongst fruit flies and weasels if such an opportunity presents itself..."

"Deep ecological sentience? Is that, like, a term?"

He nodded.

"Yeah, it's on the verge of misanthropy, which I wouldn't put past ya. Ever heard of Anti-Anthropocentric school of rhetoric?"

You shook your head: "I am surprised you do not consider yourself a misanthrope, I thought a person of your intelligence would have an inherent embarrassment of their species..."

He smiled and rubbed his face in a half-amused way, flicking the butt of the cigarette into the ashtray. You noticed he had a habit of showing teeth when he was having fun.

"Anti-Anthropocentric rhetoric", you repeated musingly, "that's quite a mouthful".

"You can take it", he murmured in good nature.

"I have a very small mouth", you said, before you could think. Something twinkled in his eye, but without skipping a beat, he replied,

"We'll think of something".

That was the moment you understood that Chibs is stupid hot. That was the small detail you couldn't put your finger to the whole day; the face with scars, the animalistic quietness harbouring some kind of warning, the low, rumbling voice and the unapologetic accent he flauntered like peacock, a tail. And how you felt uneasy, not knowing what exactly you should say, it was the appeal. It was the stupid, basic, horny. You had a desire to call him sir. He was a good-looking, slim, mature man who looked you directly in the eye. You wondered about the vigor in his muscles, completely busking in the comfort of not having to set the scene. He was continuing to take care of it.

After some time and another debate that had no business being that enlightening in Scottish English, you felt your bladder tugging you from the inside in a polite request, so you stood up to go to the toilet.

"You want me to walk you?" he asked. You grinned,

"I am not that helpless, thanks".

"It's the hour of the night when all the idiots completely lose it", he warned soberly.

"Well, I do have the scary dog privilege", you said, and he winced.

"That's a little degrading, don't you think?"

There must have still been some alcohol in you, because of how bravely you stepped up to him and allowed your fingers to snake up to the zip of his jacket.

"I did say 'privilege', didn't I?"

As he was driving Y/N to her light green house, Chibs was thinking about the annoying feeling of appreciation. No one has spoken to him about his Glaswegian tongue in all of the years since he left home. He knew how it was with them specialists, but getting so deep into her character took the edge off his chase. He now, unfortunately, saw her as a distinguishable human, something he tried not to bother with, with women, so that they both could just have good time.

He thought of Jackie and how he tried to protect her when he got so much as a whiff of something funny coming her way. Understandable. This girl could spit twenty word sentences even with half a liter vodka inside of her. And stay blushing.

He nudged you gently into the shoulder, upset with himself.

"Home delivery".

"Mm", you totally dozed off, lulled by the soft movement of the car. Your mouth felt dry. The car smelt like your perfume now, and smoke. The smoke! It's like it was everywhere, even in your pants.

"What are you delivering?" you mumbled, trying to gather yourself to sucessfully leave the car.

"Yerself", he responded, kicking the door open.

As you walked towards the door, you turned and said,

"Come in".

And Chibs did what he always did, because he was a professional.

"Y/N, I don't think..."

You giggled,

"Don't be silly. I have something for you. For helping me".

He entered the house after you, a little puzzled, and you trotted towards the kitchen. Something flickered in your mind when you woke up, like some connections in brain fried up at the right moment. His face lit up as he saw you with a box of Ferrero Rocher in your hand.

"I suddenly remembered I have them".

"Don't wanna rob you of the treasure", he weighed the box in his hand, unable to stop smiling.

"No, I have another one. I love them too", you reassured him. "Thank you for sticking with me and listening... to all this".

"Go on, have some rest", Chibs tipped his chin instead of answering, "and careful not to step on fucking silverfishes in yer bathroom".

"Why, you saw them? Did YOU KILL ANY SILVERFISHES TODAY?" you started screaming. Moving back towards the entrance, hair back, eyes open wide, like a victorian ghost, so Chibs hopped away as quickly as he could, shutting the door behind him.

[danielgold-16]

A Golden Christmas Carol- Part 4

A collaborative story among Golden Army management for @goldenherc9! Hope you like it bro! We really appreciate everything you do and wanted to show you in the way we know how.

For part 3:

https://www.tumblr.com/polo-drone-001/770730791459291136/the-golden-carol-part-3

Scott was turning in his bed, deep asleep.

In the quiet darkness of his dreams, Scott found himself standing in an unfamiliar landscape. Mist curled around ancient stones that glowed faintly with an emerald hue, their shapes reminiscent of Ireland’s rolling hills. A figure loomed in the center—a giant of a man, clad in a flowing kilt, with a massive club resting lightly on his shoulder. His piercing gaze burned like embers.

“I am Dagda,” the figure declared, his voice resonating through Scott like a distant drumbeat. “The All­Father of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Yet I am also a reflection of you, Scott.”

Scott hesitated, unsure if he should speak. Dagda’s face softened slightly, as though sensing his inner turmoil. “You doubt yourself. You question your strength and decisions. Tonight, we shall test your mettle. By the end, you may find the trust in yourself that you lack.”

Scott wanted to argue, but the landscape around him shifted abruptly, the mist dissipating to reveal a stone circle surrounded by shadows that writhed and whispered. Dagda gestured toward the circle. “Face your first trial. Step forward and confront your fears.”

As Scott stepped into the circle, the shadows coalesced into a mirror image of himself, but this doppelgänger wore a mocking sneer. “You’re not good enough,” it hissed, echoing the self-doubt Scott had carried for years. “You’ll always fall short.”

Dagda’s voice rumbled from outside the circle. “Challenge the lies within. Overcome them.”

Summoning courage he didn’t realize he had, Scott stood firm. “I may doubt myself, but that doesn’t mean I’m weak.” With each word, the doppelgänger shrank, until it dissolved entirely. The mist thickened again, carrying Scott to a new trial.

This time, he stood before a chasm spanned by a narrow, shaky bridge. Dagda appeared beside him, now inspecting the bridge with a raised eyebrow. “This is your trust. It seems fragile, doesn’t it?”

Scott nodded, unsure whether to cross.

Dagda placed a hand on Scott’s shoulder, surprisingly gentle for one so imposing. “You must trust in yourself to make it across. Do not look down.”

Taking a deep breath, Scott placed one foot on the bridge, then another. The wind howled, and the wood creaked ominously, but he pressed on, focusing on the end rather than his fears. With a final leap, he landed safely on the other side.

Dagda’s hearty laugh filled the air as he joined Scott. “You are braver than you know, Scott. But one challenge remains.”

The mist swirled once more, and Scott found himself standing in a great hall adorned with tapestries depicting Irish legends. Dagda strode to the center, where a simple wooden table held a pair of garments: his kilt and shiny black rubber trousers. He picked up the trousers, their surface gleaming in the dim light.

“For the final trial, you must accept transformation,” Dagda declared. “Exchange my heritage for a modern symbol of your strength.”

Scott blinked in confusion. “You want me to take your kilt?”

Dagda nodded solemnly. “The kilt represents tradition and comfort, but these”—he gestured to the rubber trousers—“symbolize adaptability and resilience in the face of change. Choose wisely.”

Scott hesitated, feeling the weight of the moment. But then he understood: this was about embracing who he could become, rather than clinging to what was familiar. With reverence, he reached for the trousers, exchanging the kilt in return.

As he donned the gleaming rubber trousers, they seemed to fuse with his body, becoming a part of him. Confidence surged through him, and when he looked back at Dagda, the god was smiling with approval.

“Well done, Scott,” Dagda said, his voice filled with pride. “You have learned to trust yourself, to face fears, and to embrace transformation. Carry this strength with you into your waking life.”

The hall dissolved, and Scott awoke in his bed, heart racing but filled with an unfamiliar calm. Though it had been a dream, the lessons lingered, and he found himself standing taller, facing the day with newfound purpose.

Somewhere, faint laughter echoed, as if Dagda himself was watching over him, a reminder that Scott was no longer alone—he carried the strength of a god within.

On the chair, a pair of shiny black rubber trousers gleamed under the light of the moon.

We hope you are enjoying this story for Captain Scott, the next part will be on https://www.tumblr.com/polo-drone-070's page.

[eretzyisrael]

by Simon Sebag Montefiore

There is a myth that the last antisemitic pogrom in the British Isles was in medieval York. It was far more recent than that: The long-forgotten Limerick pogrom happened in 1904. It began with a sermon given by a priest and gathered momentum because it was backed by Arthur Griffith, the founder of the original Sinn Féin and friend of Michael Collins.

The story of the Limerick pogrom (or “boycott,” as it is also known) has a special resonance for me because my grandfather and his family, the Jaffes, lived in Limerick then—though they never mentioned it. Indeed, Irish Jewry, including its most famous son, Chaim Herzog, late president of Israel, had protested that Ireland was the most tolerant land in Europe. Now it appears that they protested too much. The strangest thing of all is that the Jews of today’s Ireland are still frightened of telling this story. When I made a television film about the pogrom, most Irish Jews were too scared of “making trouble, attracting attention” to take part in it.

I had always been proud of my Irish roots. My late grandfather, Henry Jaffe, who lost his Irish accent but kept his debonair Irish charm, used to say that he had seen mermaids at Ballybunion, and Aunt Rose used to reminisce in an Irish brogue about the Limerick Races. While talking to a distinguished Irish political writer, I mentioned that I was descended from Limerick Jews. He told me the story that became the basis of my film about the origins of Sinn Féin.

Virtually the whole Jewish community in Limerick, numbering about 170, were from the village of Akmenė in the Tsar’s Baltic territories, which are now Lithuania—part of the Pale of Settlement, the only area where Jews were allowed to live. When in the 1880s Nicholas II stepped up his anti-Jewish legislation, my great-great-grandfather Benjamin Jaffe and most of Akmenė decided to leave before the Cossacks returned. Benjamin bought a ticket for New York, but when he arrived at the picturesque imperial British port of Queenstown in southern Ireland (now called Cobh, whence the Titanic departed on its final voyage), he was told that he had arrived in the New World. “But that doesn’t look like New York,” the Jews protested as they disembarked. “New York’s the next parish,” they were told. When they discovered this was not the case, they settled in Limerick.

They lived together in considerable poverty on Colooney Street, which soon became known as Little Jerusalem. In the 1901 census, four years before the pogrom, my maternal family were registered as peddlers. The patriarch, Benjamin, a magnificent man with a long white beard, was a peddler, though really he was the chazan (singer) and mohel (circumciser) of the little community. He lived at 64 Colooney Street and his son Max, aged 26, lived at Number 31 with his own family, which included my grandfather Henry, aged 3, and my great-aunt Rose, aged 1.

The family has always been proud that Max was a dentist, but I soon discovered that he was not technically qualified; the census called him, alarmingly, “dental mechanic.” It comments dryly that the family could read and write. They must have been the most erudite peddlers who ever existed, for they were as scholarly as they were poor. My grandfather’s bar mitzvah speech is written in both English and in fluent ancient Hebrew, and filled with biblical references.

However hard it was to do business in Limerick, it seemed a safer sanctuary than Russia. But three years after the census, when my grandfather was 6, hatred of this tiny Jewish community reached fever pitch among the very poor Irish to whom they sold their wares. They often sold on credit, and this caused savage resentment. Sometimes when a Jew went to the surrounding countryside to collect a debt, peasant women would pull out their breasts, shout “Rape!,” and then the men would beat up the Jew. An ostentatious Jewish wedding apparently caused jealousy. The pogrom was the result of the increasingly vicious agitation of the spiritual director of Limerick’s Redemptorist Order, Father John Creagh, whose church overshadowed Little Jerusalem. The climax came when Creagh, “a speaker of fervid eloquence,” gave his sermon entitled “How the Israelites trade,” on Monday, January 11, 1904. It reads like a grotesque parody of antisemitism:

The Jews rejected Jesus, they crucified Him and called down the curse of His precious blood on their own heads. . . they did not hesitate to shed Christian blood. Nowadays they dare not kidnap and slay Christian children, but they will not hesitate to expose them to a longer and more cruel martyrdom by taking the clothes off their backs and the bit out of their mouths.

Then Creagh came to the Jews of Limerick:

Twenty years ago and less, Jews were known only by name and evil repute in Limerick. They were sucking the blood of other nations, but those nations turned them out. And they come to our land to fasten themselves like leeches. Their rags have been exchanged for silk. They have wormed themselves into every business. . . the furniture trade, the milk trade, the drapery trade—and they have even traded under Irish names. . . . The victims of the Jews are mostly women. . . .The Jew has a sweet tongue when he wishes. . . . If you want an example, look to France. What is at present going on in that land?

The reference to the Dreyfus scandal is significant.

The injustice of it was little consolation to the Jews of Colooney Street when the thousand or so worshippers of Creagh’s church poured out, as they were to do daily for a month. A huge drunken mob gathered, wielding burning torches. They worked their way down Colooney Street smashing windows and front doors, and forcing their way into the houses which they then looted. For more than a month the Jews of Limerick waited, terrified in their own homes, almost starving, for Creagh had urged the people not to pay their debts. No one would do business with them. If they walked in the streets, they were beaten. The only miracle was that no one lost his life, but for the Jews who had just escaped the Cossacks, it was terrifying.

[ninyard]

i have to ask, do you have any kevin hcs from his childhood in ireland?

yes :) yes I do :) depending on how long he grew up there some of these might be irrelevant but here’s some baby kev in Ireland (these are kind of stupid but regardless here they are)

- While Kayleigh had him playing no-contact kid safe Exy, he also played hurling. It’s an Irish team sport that is played using a stick and a small hard ball and a lot of Irish kids play it. It’s a pretty big sport in Ireland, it’s really fast paced, and the only protection players wear is a helmet with a grate/face guard thing. You can “check” other player with your shoulder so long as the other person has the ball and you have one foot on the ground and tbh if you read the rules it wouldn’t surprise me if it inspired Kayleigh to invent Exy in some manner

- he went to a gaelscoil (Irish speaking school) for his first two years or so in school. This means they only speak in Irish and learn all of their subjects through Irish. Because of this Kevin can count and knows colours in Irish but doesn’t really know a whole lot else

- Kevin is naturally unbothered by cold weather because he spent those early years of his life in Ireland. He’ll wear shorts when the sun is barely peeking out of the sky and it’s only like 15 degrees Celsius outside because that’s just what Irish people do. We savour the sun in the tiny bits we see of it.

- Irish people love famous Irish people, so I bet Kayleigh would’ve been on local TV quite a lot. There’s a couple of interviews and videos of Kevin as a tiny Kevin playing baby Exy out there that he keeps hidden from the foxes. NOBODY knows they exist. Also as a tween he probably did some more interviews from the US for Irish TV. If somebody found them he would die on the spot.

- Kayleigh lived in Dublin before she had Kevin, and her family were from much more rural areas on the other side of the country, so Kevin doesn’t remember meeting her family at all. He would’ve met his grandparents a handful of times, but because he was so young, he doesn’t remember it. They were fluent Irish speakers, though, so Kayleigh always spoke in Irish around her family.

- Kayleigh’s funeral was in Ireland, and that was the first time Kevin had been back in Ireland since they moved to the US full time. It was really overwhelming for him, because so many memories kept coming back to him, memories he’d forgotten because he’d been so young.

- his grandparents call him by his Irish name, not Kevin. He doesn’t like it, but it’s their native language so he just accepts it. If any one of the foxes thought of calling him Caoimhín he’d kill them.

- (Kayleigh’s family make fun of his American accent. Irish people love making fun of Americans)

Kevin doesn’t remember a lot about living in Ireland but what he does remember is a lot of fond memories of his mom, and if he wants to feel close to her, he reminisces on it a lot. He has as many old interviews of her as he could possibly find, videos of her in university, and as much as it pains him to watch his mother beside Tetsuji as business partners, he watches those too. One interview is his favourite, one that Kayleigh did for the Irish language news, and it’s an interview where she’s talking about Exy as gaeilge/in Irish. She doesn’t falter, or trip over her words, or have to think at all about what she’s saying. It’s her first language, and she falls into it so easily. It makes him sad to think of how different his life would be if they’d stayed, but he would never go back in time and ask her to. She achieved her dream, she represented Ireland at their first Olympics, and the USA once she’d gotten her citizenship. He would do anything to have her back, but he wouldn’t change that.

[the-insouciant-scientist]

5 for everyone??

5. How did you choose their name and why? Was it simply based on vibes or is there any specific meaning behind the name? Are the reasons behind their name different in- and out of universe?

Oh wow, hope you're ready for a very long explanation because I have a Lot to say about this and a lot of characters dhfgdjafdgj. Including some ~secret never before seen middle name lore~ just for fun! Under a cut because this got very, very long.

(Most of these were chosen by scouring lists of Victorian era names, so I probably don't have to mention that every time. Just take it as a given!)

Harper (Middlename/Theory/Marten/Russula/Twillbert/etc.) Faraday

Since Harper was made as a slightly different character before getting Flondon'd, I don't actually remember the details of their first name specifically! I think I was just angling for something reasonably gender neutral and around the right era, and Harper just stuck. Faraday came when I realized I needed a last name for them and just panic googled Victorian-or-earlier-era scientists and realized that Harper Faraday sounds absolutely delightful to the ear. So, named after Michael Faraday! Which is, ironically enough, about what happened in character too. They do not have a defined middle name because they (and I) forgot they needed one for way too long, so now if asked they usually just say the first thing that comes to mind, which is not usually a name that normal humans have. They will never live "Twillbert" down for the rest of their days.

Phileas Emrys Clarke

Phileas was a combination of Jules Verne reference, it being slightly reminiscent of a recurring family name, and just being objectively fun to me. Clarke fit the vibes more than anything else, plus I liked the idea of it being a name picked up from his time working in Irving's shop! It was initially a job related surname, after all. Emrys came way later and definitely reads to me as one he would have chosen himself (as opposed to his first name, picked up as an urchin, and his surname, received as an older teen), and means immortal, which really loops into his whole "I will never die there's too much cool stuff to do and trouble to get into while I'm alive" very nicely.

Irving Basil Merritt

Hers was extremely vibes based/just names that sounded nice with each other I'll admit! I was going for the sense of like, this is the name of a very stereotypically proper Victorian Englishman, except no this is a very gender-nonconforming tailor/dressmaker who is so very gentle and friendly to literally anyone who comes into her shop and not that at all. Basil, however, is a loose reference to the character of the same name in The Picture of Dorian Gray. Not in a way that means you should be concerned for her own safety! Just. That artistic touch and devotion and queerness really resonates I think.

Caoimhe Ann Coledoc

I knew from the get-go that I wanted her to have a Very Irish Name, and I wanted something that could sound nice alongside her twin (who also needed a Very Irish Name), and who I was naming at the same time. Caoimhe was the one that caught my eye the most, and I especially liked the softer sound of it compared to the rough and tumble butch I was sticking it on. Cian suited her brother pretty well, so together it just worked. Fun fact, Coledoc is not their real last name! It's a derivative of their mother's maiden name, Colloc, or rather the word that was derived from. It's an old Breton word that means beloved, at least according to the sources I've seen. Idk, I'm running with it. Either way, it was a bit of a secret password between the twins, so when Caoimhe descended to the Neath alone and needed a new surname, she kept that close as a reminder of why she had gone. Ann was honestly a bit of an afterthought, just needed a one-syllable name to bridge the gap and it was relatively popular in her region of Ireland around when she was born, so!

Agnes Maria Day

Her entire name has so many layers to it. Baseline it's a play off "Agnus Dei", but it's also a reference to St. Agnes of Rome, who has a very sad story even by saints' standards. Maria is technically her confirmation name, not a middle name, the Italian version of Mary. So her entire name is uhhh extremely Catholic, which makes sense based on how she was raised on the surface! But really that pun kinda took on a life of its own.

Geneviève Blackwell

Another vibes-based name! I knew I wanted something incredibly dramatic sounding, and just kind of picked though name lists until I found some that fit! Still haven't decided on a middle name for her yet, hard to get something to fit alongside the others sdlkghfgklhd.

Hyakinthos Athanasiou

I put waaaaay too much effort into this guy's name I'll be honest. Hyakinthos (also known as Hyacinthus) was the name of a Spartan prince, beloved by both Apollo and Zephyrus, and in some stories killed out of godly jealousy and others by accident. Turned into a hyacinth flower after that. I really loved the contrast between the softness of the floral name vs the whole "was murdered" thing, drawing a line of death through his entire character, and then additionally some victorian floriography assigns the meaning of "sincere care" to hyacinths, which! Yeah!! And then Athanasiou is a really fun one, because given the time period he's from it literally means "son of Athanasios" rather than being like. A family name? But the kicker is that Athanasios means immortal. He's the son of immortal and he can't die. Running around in circles and kicking my feet up about this guy I had a Blast figuring out a name for him that was both thematic and actually historically accurate! This literally could have been a name back then!! Sorry I'm just so excited about that.

[couchez-vous]

Supercorp "The Wedding Planner" AU!!

Lena as the wedding planner who gave up on love- those who can't wed, plan, and she's the best at what she does. She wears power suits and controls every aspect of a wedding down to the best man's speech. She's still carrying the hurt of being cheated on, and that betrayal is echoed in Andrea bursting into her life and trying to cheat/leave her fiancee for Lena. When she meets Kara she pushes her away because she doesn't believe that her love is genuine. They haven't known each other long enough to get married, why would Kara want to? Lena doesn't offer the option to date because she's so thrown off, Kara's gorgeous and kind she can't really mean that she wants to be with Lena Luthor, right?

Kara as the hopeless romantic sweetheart who wants to marry Lena immediately upon their first meeting since they were children. Earnest, sweet, good with her hands (makes a replica bird nest as a gift!). A Kara who thinks Lena is the most beautiful woman she's ever seen and is accustomed to Kryptonian arranged marriages, so she assumes Lena wants her too because the Luthors arranged it. Kara fries up potstickers for their friend-date and gives her good advice and reminisces with her about Lena's birth mom. Lena realizes she's developed a crush on Kara but keeps it to herself. Then Kara makes a big romantic gesture to propose and promises to take care of her "you will make me the happiest woman on earth" Lena accepts, but still has her doubts

Andrea as Lena's charming unfaithful soon-to-be-wed What If? Lena is drawn to her because she's a sweet-talking doctor who saved her life, but they constantly bicker. Their push and pull rollercoaster interactions feel normal because that's how Lena's relationship with Siobhan was, but she doesn't want that kind of love anymore. She needs someone stable and understanding

Lucy Lane as Andrea's fiancee

Jess as Lena's wingwoman

Siobhan as Lena's happily married cheating ex

Andrea leaves Lucy in a mutual breakup and runs to Lena before she gets married. She wants to run away together. Lena sees the situation for what it is: Andrea trying to hop from one serious relationship to another. She tells Andrea a firm no and marries Kara in the courthouse

Kara dips and kisses her softly and Lena's heart is warmed. they honeymoon in Ireland <3

I want Lena to have the self-awareness to recognize her pattern of wanting unavailable people, the self-respect to say no to the toxicity, and enough hope in her heart to take a leap of faith with Kara and then being more in love than she ever thought possible

[stevenblueniverse]

Finally after you voted for it chapter 14 of the selkie au is here!

Warning!: NSFW

Chapter 14: love

"So....", blue said, looking at the very embarrassed yellow, "what are you doing here?", she repeated. "Oh nothing! Nothing", yellow said, moving away from the icons and to the door blue was standing in front of. "You sure?" She asked, raising an eyebrow, "I thought it would be something about bats", yellow's eyes widened and she took some steps back, trembling, "I-I said those things...out loud? And you, you heard them!?", she yelped, blue looked at her clulessly. "Huh? I was talking about this!", blue said, taking a wet piece of paper from her coat, it was a photo of two bats yellow had drew, blue had found them the day she left.

"I thought you'd be praying to get your art recognised you're very good", blue said, giving her the drawing, yellow took a deep breath and relaxed, she was terrfied she has said all that out loud and blue had heard every bit of it. "Thanks", yellow said, still a bit nervous, "it was just a little doodle of some flying foxes, I saw a lot of them back when i was traveling near Oceania", the drawing was of two flying foxes hanging upside down and kissing, just as yellow had mentioned in her prayer, one fox was drawn exclusively with yellow pens, the other only in blue.

Blue walked over to the holy icons, yellow watched her closely, wondering if blue even knew what they where. Blue stuck out her right hand and pointed to one icon, she laughed, "weird seeing him so far away from home!", yellow looked over and saw blue was pointing to an icon of Saint Patrick of Ireland. "Oh, you know him?", yellow asked, blue laughed some more, "I'm suprised you do!", she told her, pointing the icons again, and looking at the other ones to see who else she could recognise. "Eventhough I'm not from Ireland I know about him quite a lot, I had to do some weird study about him and saints from there for some project back in school, the priests loved it!", yellow reminisced, her mother was very proud of her then, the proudest she had ever been.

"Now, it's best we get out of here, the walls are very thin and people can probably hear us", yellow said, approaching blue and guiding her away from the icons, blue smirked, "you want me to take you off this ship? To escape?", she asked, yellow shook her head, "N-NO!", she loudly shut her down, "I thought you said be quiet", blue laughed, making yellow embarrassed, "Ugh, sorry", yellow huffed "let's just get away from here before people hear us".

Yellow blew out the single small candle lighting up the entire prayer room and slowly opened the door, it creaked loudly, her room wasn't far, and the ship was in complete darkness so no one would be able to spot them. Yellow took blue to her room and closed the door behind, her room was just a bed with a desk in the corner, yellow lay down and looked up to blue who was trying to make out the place but couldn't as it was so dark and had to be guided by yellow to the bed. "Do selkies come from Ireland? You sound Irish and since you where familar with Irish saints I think you are", yellow asked her, blue nodded, "I am but not all selkies, as long as they are seals, there is selkies, and they're everywhere!".

Blue sat on the bed and looked down to yellow, they both could barely fit on it, it was much smaller than the bed they shared at the small hotel. "I thought people all stayed in one room on ships like these", blue said, still trying to look around in the dark, "I'm one of the few people with a room of their own, most do share rooms, I used to share this with someone else but he got kicked off here a while back, I used to have a bunk bed with him but some idiot named eleazer stole it from me", she huffed, her old bunk bed was much better too, this single bed had no space at all. "If I still had that bed I couldve let you stay with me", yellow rolled over, facing the wall, blue looked at the bed and tried her best to analyse the remaining space, "why can't I just share this one with you?", she asked, trying to lay down, barely fitting, "see! I'm able to fit!"

Yellow turned around and looked at blue, she blushed heavily, "a-are you sure!?", she studdered, "there is absolutely no space now! You can't move without touching me!", blue hugged yellow, catching her off guard "that's fine by me", blue said, resting her head on yellows chest, definitely being able to feel how quick her heart was beating right now, "you're very soft yellow", she wrapped her arms around her, if felt like she was basically laying on top of yellow now, she couldn't move at all, she was starting to panic, she couldn't tell if this was the best of most awkward experience of her entire life.

The door next to the one leading to yellow's room opened and out stepped melchizedek, he yawned and stretched, then froze, he could hear talking coming from yellow's room, and it didn't sound like her. Her approached the room, the wooden floor squeaking as he moved, and put his ear to the door, someone was definitely in there with her, but he couldn't tell who. Before he could open the door, a voice asked him, "what are you doing up so early?", it was jasper, the only other woman on the ship.

Jasper was tall and very muscular, she was a well decorated army veteran and her body was covered in scars, her skin was originally very pale but from her years of exploring she was always very tan, she looked down to melchizedek who was half her height and very skinny, he was pale and sickly looking compared to her, she could probably crush him with her bare hands. "I heard someone talking to yellow in her room", he squeaked, jasper raised an eyebrow, "and how does that concern you?", she asked, making him take some steps back from the room. "B-because we don't know who that is! It could be anyone!", he told her, "still, it doesn't involve you so why do you care", her voice became more menacing and melchizedek finally gave up. "....I guess you're right", he admitted, "good, you finally grew a brain, now get back to bed, no one cares enough to hunt you down anymore", she told him, before walking away and leaving him awkwardly standing outside his room.

Melchizedek was the son of a Italian diplomat and a high ranking member of the Thai Royal Court, as soon as he was born the Thai king himself exiled his mother and threatened his diplomat father. Throughout his childhood he was told the Thai army was after him and wanted him dead, it was one of the reasons he stayed in the sea, barely touching land. He had become very paranoid over the years and suspected spies where all around him, even kicking off suspected spies off the ship or trying to Kill them. To him, hearing blue's voice meant yellow had been speaking with a spy out to kill him and he needed to act fast before it was too late.

"Yellow?", blue asked, looking up to her, "y-yeah?", she awkwardly replied, "are you okay? You seem very nervous", she sat up and looked at her very flustered face, the moon was shining in through the small window, finally giving the room some light. "It's just I...", yellow looked away from her, she knew it was Impossible to hide it from her anymore, if she kept lying to herself it would be torture, "i- I need to tell you something", she started studdering, struggling to get the proper words out that she needed to say, instead dragging it out and making it even more torturous. Blue leaned in closer, making it worse, "what is it? You can tell me anything", she smiled, her soft voice was like heaven to yellow's ears and slightly calming her, "I...I am...", yellow took a deep breath, "I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU BLUE!", she finally spat it out, blue didnt seem to react much, she just stared.

"Oh..." was all blue said, she didn't move, she stayed right next to yellow, holding her even tighter. "Do you want to escape from this place?", blue asked her, lowering her face, nearly touching yellow's, "it seems like an awful place here", she whispered, before lightly kissing yellow on the lips. "No I can't leave here", yellow said, trying to process what was happening and praying she wasn't dreaming, "where would I go?", she looked over to blue who was taking off her coat, unsurprisingly she was wearing nothing underneath. "I can take you somewhere no would be able to find you", blue told her, neatly folding the coat and putting it on the ground next to the bed, she crawled on top of yellow, yellow still wasn't really prepared for this and started breathing very heavily and squirming.

"Would you take me to some selkie place underwater? I'd drown!", yellow laughed, trying to keep her composure as blue unbuttoned her shirt, "we'll see", blue told her, taking of yellows shirt and looking down at her body, she was very muscular compared to blue and had much smaller breasts but what caught blue's attention the most was the large scar in the middle of her chest. "What's this?", blue asked, running her finger over the scar, "i-its nothing", yellow studdered, feeling shivers run down her body as blue touched it, blue looked back at her, "you sure?", she asked, before continuing and grabbing yellow's shoulders and kissing her, this time a much longer and passionate one than last time.

"Hey melkie! You forgot your boots!", a man named eleazer yelled from outside the room next to yellow. He stepped outside and looked for melchizedek, his roommate. "where could that idiot be now!", he thought to himself, "Hey! Melchizedek! I know you don't like my nickname but where are ya?", he called one more time, walking past yellows room and to the stairs, when he walked past her room her could hear something, he listened in and giggled, "melchizedek can't be in there right?", he joked, "with that weirdo? No one would want to go near her!", he laughed to himself, probably looking quite insane.

Eleazer went to the top of the ship, it was still night but the sun would be rising soon, there was melchizedek he was talking to another man named methuselah, he was much older than the two and had been on the ship for much longer than them, the three of them had become very close. "Jasper is just like that with everyone, I don't think she was targeting you", methuselah told the very paranoid melchizedek, "shes not like that with that diamond girl! I suspect she's paying her, yellow diamond is the daughter of that designer white diamond!", melchizedek told him. "Hey you two!", eleazer ran to them, giggling, "you're awake?", Melchizedek asked, "I heard your snoring not too long ago!".

"That doesn't matter! Guess what I heard!", eleazer laughed, "what?", methuselah asked, looking behind him to make sure it wasn't involving jasper and she wasn't about to kill them all. "I heard yellow diamond...", he laughed, melchizedek's eyes widened, he was right, she was doing something ,"....GETTING FUCKED!", he laughed, methuselah refused to believe this, "no way, she thinks she's better than us all! Shed never do that with one of us", eleazer laughed some more, "come with me! You'll be able to hear it all!", he lead them to just outside her room and they listened in all night.

[starry-nights-17]

Thank you @bawlbrayker for the tag. Let's give this a go!

rules: post the first lines of your last 10 fics/chapters posted on AO3 (if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics) and try to draw some conclusions.

1: It wasn’t that Mickey was still in the closest, he wasn’t. While it might have taken some time, he was now in a place in his life where he had fully accepted his sexuality. It’s just that he didn’t see the point of shouting it from the rooftops, of dressing up in rainbow coloured shit or painting glitter all over yourself or waving flags like a kid on St. Patrick’s  Day. The drunken assholes he had to deal with on that day were bad enough but today the streets were even louder and more colourful and unreasonably fucking happy. (Lost....or found?)

2:

“You can’t stop me from going dad,” Ian shouted, as he tossed clothes and toiletries into a large back pack.

“I’m about to be announced as the candidate Ian, you need to be here, where I…”

His father, Governor Clayton Gallagher, trailed off and his eyes darted away. Ian snorted because he knew why, “Where you can keep an eye on me, huh”

His father sighed wearily and stepped closer, “It’s not like that Ian, that’s not fair. I worry about you, we all do and this is a crucial time for me, for the whole family. Vice President, you know how much it means to me Ian and how long I’ve wanted this”. (The Secret of Art)

3:

“Jesus Mandy, you look poured into that shit,” Mickey teased, as he took in his younger sister’s outfit for the evening, a skin tight black leather jumpsuit. Unsurprisingly she had left the zip opened, daringly low, exposing her cleavage.

“Least I’m wearing an actual costume shithead; you look pretty much like you do every day”.

He snorted and finished styling his hair before adding the final part of his outfit (he refused to call it a costume).

“Huh, not bad right,” Mickey suggested confidently, as he cocked an eyebrow at her.

Mandy begrudgingly smiled and nodded, “Fine, looks better, least it’s more obvious now”.

“Fuck you bitch, I look badass and you know it. Told you I wasn’t gonna wear fucking gay ass tights or a cape or whatever” (Not All Heroes Were Capes)

4:

“TJ, c’mon, you’re gonna be late for school”

He groaned into his pillow, upon hearing his Dad’s voice grow even louder, as he shouted down the hallway for a second time. TJ knew he was pissed by his tone but his Dad didn’t get it, no one did. School was like his own living hell. His Dad had probably been popular and had fit in, not like TJ. He was the school outcast apparently which made him a prime target for the resident bullies. Not only was he the only kid he knew with a single gay Dad for a parent but he didn’t belong to any of the cliques at school. (Circles)

5:

“Listen up!”

Mickey raised his voice to his students, who had started to pack up upon hearing the bell to indicate the end of class. “Your latest assignment, which is due by the end of next week, is to outline three themes found in Pride & Prejudice and describe how they apply today, if they still do”.

He chuckled as the entire room erupted into a loud groan before they started exiting one by one. “Yeah yeah, I’m an asshole for giving you homework on a Friday, tell someone who cares”. (Parachutes)

6:

Ian gripped the phone tightly in his hand as he sat on the edge of his temporary bed in the dingy roadside motel.

“Mam died, thought you should know” the text read simply. No emotion, no greeting, nothing but the bare minimum, six basic words.

He sniffed back a few tears as he reminisced about the only person he ever truly missed back home in Ireland, his grandmother Margaret or Mags as she preferred to be called. His own mother or at least the woman who had given birth to him had sent him a message for the first time in about a year to inform him of his grandmother’s passing and he supposed it was better than nothing. He felt helpless and paralysed in his grief, however, knowing that he couldn’t do anything about the situation. He couldn’t return home, he couldn’t attend her funeral, if her ungrateful children even bothered to organise one of course. (Growing On Me)

7: Ian marveled as it occurred to him that this was about to be their second Valentine’s Day spent together as husbands. The first one occurred only weeks after they had moved into their first real home together, a place free of Gallagher siblings and run away Milkovich cousins. It was the first place which offered complete privacy and a sense of pride considering it was a real nice apartment on the West Side which they paid for with legally earned wages. They had struggled for a few months upon moving in as their security business was only taking off and they had to spend whatever extra cash they had on furniture and essentials but now they felt stable and so Ian wanted to do something extra special this year for Mickey. (These Little Things)

8:

“Assholes” Mickey muttered to himself as he slammed his front door shut and tossed his jacket on the couch.

He grabbed a cold beer from the fridge and gulped down half of its contents immediately. He shook his head knowing that his sister Mandy was going to give him yet another irritating and unwelcome earful. But she had just struck it lucky, she actually liked her job, whereas Mickey wasn’t sure he could ever like any job enough to stick it out. Mostly he figured he just hated people, most people anyway so that instantly ruled out an awful lot of jobs. Customer service, cashier, retail, hospitality, you name it, Mickey had tried it. (Footprints In The Snow)

9:

Ian was giving serious thought to murdering his younger brother Carl and dumping his body in Lake Michigan but he had sworn never to set foot inside a prison cell ever again, luckily for Carl.

For Christmas he had gifted Ian and Mickey a couple’s card game, whereby you could pull out a card at any given moment to use against your partner. Ironically Mickey wasn’t even interested at first, said card games were only worthwhile if there was money involved. But as soon as he opened the packet and started reading through the descriptions on the cards his face had lit up with that typical mischievous smirk of his. (You've Been Served!)

10:

“Jesus Christ Mick” Ian moaned as he pounded into Mickey relentlessly from behind.

His husband was on all fours in front of him on their bed, as Ian dragged his perfectly round and ample ass back towards his hips, over and over. They didn’t always fuck hard and fast but when they did Ian sometimes got completely lost in the act, lost in his husband’s glorious body, almost to a level where he became feral and animalistic. It was as though he couldn’t get enough of him, could never get deep enough, he wanted to consume the man entirely from the inside out. (12 Days of Sexmas)

Conclusion: So I still cringe hard at my grammar, especially on my earlier fics, but given I literally never wrote anything until about a year and half ago I wont sweat it too much. I prefer the dual pov style but that doesn't mean I'm restricted to that format either. And as the last one shows, I clearly love writing smut lol. I honestly find it hard (no pun intended) to write completely smut free works because to me sex is such a big part of their relationship and I particularly enjoy writing flirtatious banter. If I was to be very critical I worry that my style wont evolve much and I really do want to try and push myself out of my comfort zone. Becoming predictable or boring is my worst nightmare!

Just want to end with saying I'm so eternally grateful to anyone who has read my stuff or sent kudos or left comments. It means the world. X