#how eoin would have felt

[bobparkhurst]

who are they, anyway?

#eoin mcgonigal #he really goes through some stuff in this scene #fear that paddy is going to leave him #curiosity about this life of paddy's from before and these people who know him well #like imagine for a second #how eoin would have felt #reading the words 'three musketeers' #about his paddy #and two men he doesn't know at all #and then there's sadness #that paddy makes such a decision without talking to him first #(does he not mean as much to paddy as he thought?) #and through it all #that love for listening to paddy talk #and the longing #oh boy #the longing #derry: gifs #sas rogue heroes #sas: rogue heroes

[thelongforgottenrealm]

LADY FIONA CALLEARY / DAISY RIDLEY

♛ Age: 25 ♛ Relationships: Eabha Calleary, Aine Lorcan (sisters), Cormac Calleary (brother), Finn Calleary (twin brother/fellow resistance member), Padraig Lorcan (brother-in-law), Ciara Varmont (cousin/fellow resistance member), Eoin Varmont (cousin), Bartholomew Varmont (uncle), Rian Stafford (enemy), Aria Stafford, Brigit Malconaire, Aisling Lorcan (best friends), Saoirse Frost (friend/fellow resistance member), Ronan Frost, Cillian Frost, Percy Reaves, Kale Brennan, Isolda Vane (fellow resistance members), Cassimir Malconaire (former interest), Percy Reaves (interest)

fuck the patriarchy!!

fiona challenges anyone to take her sister eabha and her brother cormac and look her in the eye and tell her that cormac would do a better job at managing an estate because he's a man

fiona: cormac is an idiot (derogatory) and so is finn (affectionate)

known to say whatever is on her mind and very rarely filters it, which gets in her trouble quite often! (in fact, it is a miracle that she was not put to death besides her father, who was executed when he refused to bend the knee to roderick)

it doesn't always make her the best resistance member ...

extremely frustrated by the lack of justice she sees!!!

which is how she came to join the resistance in the first place

she noticed saoirse coming and going at odd hours and suspected that she was up to something

so she dragged her half-drunk brother finn literally out of bed and followed her one night

which is how they stumbled across a meeting

fiona demanded that she and her brother be able to help in whatever way they could and -- to her delight -- ronan (albeit reluctantly) agreed

unfortunately, fiona has found that she doesn't have too much information that she can pass onto them -- besides whatever they manage to sneak out of rian's office -- but since lorcan fared so well in the war, they do have a good amount of resources and the resistance has found that they are happy to have their help in this regard

once had a thing for cassimir when he first came to malconaire when fiona was much younger! she swooned over him when she first saw him and told everyone that one day she was going to marry him but then promptly changed her mind the next day and is mortified that she ever felt this way

if you ever bring this up to her, you do so at your own risk

since the calleary family seat has been given to godfrey upon his engaged to her cousin, fiona and her siblings currently reside with her sister at lorcan, until such time as the estate that has been promised to her brother, cormac, can be renovated after the damages it received after the war ...

TAKEN BY KATE.

#characters #female #taken #taken female #kate

[reyenii]

as a friend of the mcgonigal brothers from their rugby-playing days with QUB and the RUR in ballymena, and eoin's senior by some years, blair clearly felt a sense of responsibility towards the young man, still only twenty. the operation had taken place just a couple of weeks before his 21st on 5 december. having visited the house on malone road, blair the mcgonigal family well and knew how this news would be received; he agonized over eoin's disappearance, vowing to take his revenge on the enemy.

#always a d*mn piano #at the first viewing it seemed to me that I would invent something that wasn't there #but then I read the book and everything fell into place #sas rogue heroes #eoin mcgonigal #donal finn #paddy mayne #paddon #dónal finn #jack o’connell

[acolyterose]

@aristonsilvester location: Base Camp notes: idk few nights in, appreciate the Usher quote and love me ty

The thing about cats was they could do more than see in the dark, they could lengthen their spines for short bursts of speed up to thirty miles an hour. They could narrow their shoulders and chests to squeeze into tiny spaces. They could jump nine times their height from a standing position and land on their feet almost every time they fell. Cats at their prey because their bodies didn't produce enough taurine, an essential amino acid: they were predators because they were deficient.

A knife drove into the armrest of Atlas' chair, chips carved into the wood grain one after the other. Eoin was taken. Optimism wasn't something that the druid fucked with so he was probably dead or worse, Death didn't seem to be taking people no matter how much they begged. In the field Atlas had seen a symbiote twist a man's spine so violently without severing any nerves that the guy would have been better off. Esme went into the mud on the first day, Evy was gone too, taken alongside Eoin. Octavian... Atlas could still feel him in the way that he always felt him, but he was further away now. Distant, like instead of a scream he'd been reduced to a whisper. The addition of phoenix fire to his daughter's arsenal was telling.

With every removal of the knife from the grain, Atlas turned it over in his hand, slid across the back of his thumb before he gripped it again and pushed it hard into the armrest once more. His deadpan stare looked off into the dark of the woods, he could hear them out there, they could all hear them. Inside Atlas' mind there was the instinct of the avis ready to take flight, it conflicted with the urge of the viper ready to striker, and last of all was the felidae desperately trying to survive. His last words to Eoin had been- they hadn't been his shiniest moment.

"Any words of advice from an almost-archdruid?"

#ariston #aristonstarter #senatus.theend

[dukesoakedoats]

He’s (not) made of sugar-2

Info: Part 1 : https://at.tumblr.com/dukesoakedoats/hes-not-made-of-sugar-1/19m17jybff0c . The urge to drop this fic and just leave it to rot is really winning right now mates.

Eoin had wasted no time to running to the patrol group and the others, potentially tripping into the sand on his way there. On his arrival he felt his beating heart get ripped out from his chest and crushed into oblivion. All the shouts and clamouring from his fellow comrades had dwindled down to a background white noise. How could he focus on anything else when Paddy was on Jocks back being carried like a small child. Body limp as a rag doll and paler than the moon. The most noticeable feature of Paddy was how his head lolled  and his eyes rolled back, as if he was possessed by the devil himself.

Eoin was not afraid of war, of death, of loss but one thing he was scared of was losing Paddy and only being able to watch and standby, now that, that drove a stake thorough Eoins heart.

“Give.him.to.me” Eoin mumbled at Jock , advancing towards the blonde much to the dismay of Stirling or the rest of the crew.

“Eoin, he’s hurt , I should carry him” Shame, all Jock wanted to do was help his comrades,and yet all he did was cause a prickling feeling under the Belfast boys skin. People always made decisions for Paddy, treating him like scum, disregarding him , that’s why Paddy was the way he was , a hurt and wild animal who’s only goal was to be back at home. And god , Eoin needed that animal home. He needed Paddy, he knew him best, better then Jock, it should be him protecting Paddy, it will only be him.

Eoin advances further to Jock

“GIVE HIM TO ME!” He bellows, and the whole camp went silent. Eoin was the camps writer, the young boy, the kind and sweet boy, violent outbursts were for Paddy not Eoin. Not Eoin.

Jock knew it was pointless trying to fight and so with gritted teeth managed to cough up a begrudging “fine” before removing Paddy from his shoulders and transferring him onto Eoins arms who was insistent on carrying him bridal style. Upon being placed into Eoins arms Paddy let out a high whimpered squeal with his facial expressions mirroring his emotions. Eoin felt guilty , of course he did, but he knew what was best, no one else did. 

He started to walk back to his and his loves tent, leaving behind a mob of people gawking behind him as he walked wondering what had just occurred in a matter of a few mere minutes. 

Eoin entered his tent knowing full well soon  Stirling would come in demanding an explanation but now wasn’t the time for that, now was the time to direct all his focus and care onto the weak bundle of joy nestled into his chest.

“Paddy.” Eoin whispered quietly to his lovebird “imma have to put ya down okay?”

No response. 

The only way Eoin could know that his love was alive was due to the faint wheezes he would make occasionally, no doubt for air and while Paddy would claim it to be an annoyin god forsaken sound, Eoin for once was relived he was met with the sound of wheezes rather than the sounds of nothing. Eoin gingerly placed Paddy down on the bed earning him the pleasure of hearing those whimpers once again, Paddy’s lip scrunched up to a trembling line and his eyes that were now wide open were brimming with tears. Whatever was wrong with Paddy it had made him mute, even when Eoin was adorning him with kisses and praise while Paddy was silent , was it due to an injury or just pure exhaustion. Eoin did not know but prayed for it to be the latter , that can be fixed , injuries here, cannot.

“Paddy…please love come on now help me get ya on the bed..please” the last begging that could be wrangled out of Eoins throat miraculously stirred Paddy’s consciousness as the man let out a whine before moving his body up to the top of the bed so he had some support. Eoin let go off his prize and carefully placed the poor excuse of a blanket over the madman’s body. Paddy looked so fragile, his veins were visible under his stretched skin , his eyes had sunken in on himself and his hair was wild, but not in the wild that Eoin could always seek comfort in, no this was not that.The body in front of Eoin was not one that belonged to his lover , it was just a vessel, a cocoon of Paddy’s vibrant soul , his laughter , his mind. Now all that say in front was empty. It was still his Paddy, His to look after and only his. Eoins fingers twitched they yearned to brush and cradle Paddy’s cheek. Soon enough that’s what they did with the sicker man subconsciously leaning into the touch. It went on for around 10 minutes before Eoin decided he also needed some rest. His eyes made a beeline for the chair Paddy had nicked from a hotel they were staying at a couple of moons ago, god paddy was a romantic wasnt  he? So that’s where Eoin slept , close to paddy to know he was there and yet distant to allow  the Protestant to breath. 

The world became dark 

Darkness had started to creep into the corners of Eoins eyes.

Sleep was a cruel mistress , beckoning him into her domain and Eoin obliged.

He fucking wish he hadn’t.

He’s back home.

In Ireland.

He’s back home , is the war over?

No it can’t be? Or can it?

Where’s Paddy? 

Where is Paddy Mayne, the pair had both sworn an oath to each other how after the war they’ll buy a cottage just for the two of them, them against the world forever. So where was his other part 

And why was he wearing black and crutching a rosemary?!

Oh

Why was he clutching a rosemary, why was he reciting prayers that he had made to remember off by heart by the priest when he was a wee little lad.Black.

You only wear that to a funeral , who’s fucking funeral was this?

Where’s Paddy?!

He hears the church bells ringing but he pays no mind to then.

Where is Paddy Mayne?

Where is Paddy?!

WHERE WAS HE!!!!

-Gasp- Eoin was awake , it was all a bad dream , he really did look pathetic gasping for air as if he hadn’t had lungs for all his life.

It was just a bad dream , a work of fiction.

Through Eoins state of panic it could be forgiven that he had failed to notice Paddy’s eyes fixated on the lanky man and interested on his irregular shaky breaths.

#wtf is happening #wtf am i doing #sas rogue heroes #paddy mayne #eoin mcgonigal #eoin x paddy #paddy x eoin #paddon #my writing #my fic #fanfic writer #Eoin being a bit possessive here #don’t recall that happening in the show #Yet again I have a shit memory #Paddy had the plague omg imagine #like wtf is his Illness? #angry man syndrome?

[butternuggets-blog]

Man Flu

Paddy gets sick, and Reg makes him feel better.

Fluff/Comfort, Body Horror (Common Cold)

Winters in Jalo were cold. The desert was always cool at night, but during winter the temperature could be as low as eight degrees.

The SAS had scrounged, begged and stolen winter gear before Dudley had supplied them with uniform equipment. Now, each man spent the winter months bundled in tan jackets and trousers, with handknitted gloves and scarves from home.

This behaviour had been drilled into them from the start, so much so that catching flu during winter was almost unheard of.

Almost.

'Has anyone seen Paddy?'

Reg looked up at the question. Stirling was about to start a debriefing in the mess hall but everyone was still settling in.

Stirling sighed at the sea of shaking heads. 'He's still in his tent? Someone go check on him please, make sure that he hasn't gone and died in his sleep.'

Reg got to his feet and made his way through the crowd. Paddy had headed off to take a nap, but that was hours ago. He felt a knot forming in his stomach.

'Paddy' Reg called softly, waiting outside the tent flap for any signs of life. 'We're getting worried, you alright?'

He heard the creak of a camp bed and something tried unsuccessfully to push aside the canvas. Reg moved it himself and looked in to see a bleary-eyed Paddy squinting up at him, a large handkerchief in one hand and a large bottle clutched in the other.

'Oh.'

Reg let the flap swing shut behind him as he stepped into the tent. He pressed a palm to Paddy's forehead, and it was a mark of just how unwell the man was that he leant into it rather than slapping him away.

'What's in the bottle?'

Paddy looked down at it as if seeing it for the first time.

'...Sherbert powder, cordite, chilli flakes and rum.'

'Jesus Christ Paddy!'

Paddy shrugged.

'Have some water' Reg offered him his canteen; when Paddy stared at it but didn't take it, he held it to his mouth and forced Paddy to take a few sips.

He helped Paddy lie on the floor, then he stripped and re-made his bed. He fetched an empty bucket from outside in case Paddy felt nauseous, refilled Paddy's canteen, and threw the bottle of makeshift "medicine" away before sponging Paddy down, and putting him to bed in clean clothes.

________________________________________________________________ 

After a thorough examination, Dr Gamal pronounced that, with proper medicine and rest, Paddy would be back on his feet in no time.

Since Eoin was away, Reg took it upon himself to be Paddy's nurse.

God help him.

'Fucking swallow it!' Reg had Paddy pinned like a recalcitrant cat, legs around his and a hand forcing his jaw open. Paddy had been an excellent patient when he had been too sick to fight back, but now that he was strong enough to refuse the bottle of cough syrup he had been prescribed, he had opinions.

Reg risked being bitten and pried two fingers in to add leverage. Paddy's mouth opened just wide enough for the lip of the medicine bottle to slip in, and Reg clamped his mouth shut so he had no choice but to scull the last dose in the bottle or choke.

'Every fucking time-'

'Trasna ort féin!'

Reg leant across the tent to fetch the kettle he had set on to boil. Paddy grimaced and swallowed the first cup of herbal tea Reg offered him without tasting it, and sipped the second cup slowly.

________________________________________________________________ 

Reg was not a squeamish man, but even he had limits.

Paddy had woken him up in the middle of the night, spluttering and wheezing into his handkerchief. His nose had been streaming all morning, and showed no sign of stopping.

'And that's the last one' Reg gagged as he picked up the crumpled up handkerchief Paddy had dropped on the floor. He had refused to touch any with his bare hands; instead, Reg had "aquired" a set of tongs from the kitchen.

Reg dropped the handkerchief into a steaming bucket of soapy water and pushed it under the surface. He put down the tongs and picked up the handle of the bucket.

'I'm going to go hang this lot up to dry.'

'Eeeeeuuurrrffgghhh' Paddy wheezed, looking miserable.

________________________________________________________________ 

'Your patient is escaping' said Sterling, mildly.

Reg sighed deeply and kept stirring the pot of soup.

Paddy, ever restless, had been frothing at the mouth to go wandering around. But doctor's orders were that he rest, so Reg had been forced to bribe, cajol, threaten and finally, cuff him to the bed.

'He's heading for the trucks.'

There was a rustle as Sterling put down his newspaper to observe.

'Never mind, he's changed direction. It's too windy that way; he ate sand.'

'Fan-fucking-tactic' Reg muttered. He added a pinch of salt to the soup, tasted it, and nodded. Perfect.

'He's veering off towards the wall. It appears that he's trying to cross the border into No Man's Land.'

Reg ladled the last bit of soup into the clean canteen he was holding, twisted the cap on, and walked out to feed his wandering Irishman.

Paddy's legs had given out just as he reached the camp wall; he was face down in the sand, muttering expletives. Reg rolled him over and dragged him onto a flat rock, propping him up in the shade.

'Here's your lunch'

Paddy tried to lift his arm to grab the canteen, but his muscles wobbled and refused to cooperate. He growled in frustration and begrudgingly allowed Rev to help him drink.

'What's all this now?'

'Eoin! Thank fucking Christ!' Paddy clawed his way past Reg and half jumped, half fell into Eoin's arms.

'Cheers Paddy' Reg spat, sarcastically. Paddy ignored him.

Author's Notes

Paddy got better quickly, but then he pushed himself too much and he went backwards a little.

Apparently "Trasna ort féin" means "Go across yourself/go fuck yourself".

I despise cold medicine.

The herbal tea was a gift from Jock.

Paddy bought Reg a bottle of alcohol next time he was in Cairo as a thank you.

#paddy mayne #reg seekings #david stirling #eoin mcgonigal #sas rogue heroes

[gale-dekarios]

⚠️ NEW WHITE BOY ALERT ⚠️

This is Alastor Hhune, who was my Descent into Avernus character!

Backstory Under Cut

He had a rough start to life, the tiefling (yes, tiefling!) son of Percival Hhune, who had made a deal with an erinyes previously. Unbeknownst to him, the next child he accidentally bore with a secret Mistress would turn out as a tiefling due to his brush with the Hells, clearly marked a bastard child from birth.

He wasn't allowed to associate with the family, being kept as a servant to his older half-brother, Eoin, until one fateful evening during a formal dinner among the other patriars it was revealed by Nysene Eomane, Gods knows how she knew, and in blistering shame, to restore his family's honour, Eoin challenged Alastor to a duel.

It was a bloodbath. The boys ripped ceremonial rapiers from the walls and turned them on each other. Chic wallpaper curled under the weight of splattered viscera, golden finery seeped with red, pooling into the grooves like veins, and it ends with a final stand in the front garden.

It was a cool night, or maybe Alastor was just dying, but with a final surge forward, he caught his brother, his tormentor, his master, right in the stomach, and it was too much for him to bare. He felt the rush of victory, the satisfaction of survival, but with gritted teeth, and the determination to destroy, with his last breath Eoin thrust his blade high, hitting Alastor's lung, and they both fell, their blood black under the sliver of the moon high above their heads.

In that moment, a dark shape stood above him.

"I can save you," It said. "If you devote yourself to me."

"Who are you?" He gurgled, the words barely understandable as his lung filled with blood.

"Pledge yourself, Alastor, or die."

And with his final breath, garbled, he pledges.

When he awakes, he's different. Changed. Gone are his horns, his ashen grey skin, the weight of a tail balancing him.

He stands next to a devil, her head high, her brow aloof.

"You died. I brought you back. Your allegience has been given freely."

"What did you do to me?"

"You were too far gone. Your body had already passed. Your soul, however, remained. If I hadn't caught it and remade you anew from the Styx itself, who knows where you might have ended up?"

"Who... who are you?"

"I'm your Mother, Alastor. Or the closest thing to it."

For indeed the devil who had come to his aid in his last moments was the erinyes his father had made a deal with all those years ago, and she came baring a gift: that of life. What else is a mother than that?

And so Alastor, among a group of others, ventured through the Hells, pushing back to Baldur's Gate, although she -- his Mother -- remained at the back of his head, guiding his hand. He, a once sweeter man, broken by the City and those who lived within it, grew crueller and crueller, unquestioning in his submission to her authority.

Pulling himself and Elturel from the Hells was no easy task, but he had no time to bask in the glory of his heroics, no matter how selfish and self-serving they may be. He had just landed in Baldur's Gate when, once again, he found himself back in Avernus, the sulfur welcoming him back like a glob of spit to the face. Like a Groundhog Day, he despaired his misfortune, and even worse, he finds out not so long after touching back down in Faerûn that he once again will be undergoing a transformation against his will...

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 oc #bg3 tav #the tomes #my ocs #oc: alastor

[legioneoin]

closed starter for @acolyterose​ location: that random property elevator note: wow nice fingies

It had felt like a long, grueling battle that would simply never end. Normally, people would have just given up by now. If he had been in the druid’s position, he was sure he would have just learned what the problem was and worked on getting the jump on the next property. Eoin always knew when he was going to lose, but not everyone was like him. Not everyone was going to have that experience that he had dealing with this kind of thing. It wasn’t to say that he didn’t admire how determined Atlas had been though. He hated to admit it, but it was...no, he couldn’t think that, not when he had someone waiting for him at home. She had never really meant anything to him other than them just having an arranged situationship. Whatever she did in her spare time didn’t matter much to him. He still wasn’t sure what they were thinking setting him up with some woman. They had been friends, but that always felt like the extent of it. Eoin wasn’t the kind of guy to put his interests out in the open though. However, he always felt like he was supposed to end up with...well, a guy. That was probably why he was always so annoyed by this situation he was in. Maybe, if he had met Atlas before, something else would’ve happened between them instead of whatever the hell this was now. Then again, he was sure his brother would have ribbed him about it for years if he so much as glanced in the druid’s direction in any sort of wistful manner. 

Anyway, that was besides the point. The point now was that he had gotten what he wanted and Atlas didn’t. He should’ve been happy about it considering he had said several times that they wouldn’t be friends. Instead, he just felt bad about taking something away from the other that was more important to the druid than it would ever be to Eoin. There were always properties though. Maybe he would help Atlas with the next one. As they stood waiting for the elevator, he tried his best to not look in the other man’s direction. “There’s always next time. If I’m not there.” As much as he felt bad about this, he couldn’t let it be known. They weren’t friends. They couldn’t be if Eoin kept thinking about the druid the way he was. That was easier said than done though.

#d. acolyterose #dialogue. #all. atlas rose

[glitterymemesatretro-blog]

"Intertwined Souls"

Cast/Aesthetics

AN/ Hey guys I've decided to make my OC an Medici because I didn't feel like making a whole new noble line and since I'm pretty Camelot would be no where near Florence this probably won't be all that historically actuate but I'll try my best to have the mannerisms correct for this time period if you have any positive feedback about how I can improve I'd appreciate it. _________________________________________*Amddiffynwr means protector in Welsh

"Being a woman is no easy feat. We are meant to stand the test of time but we have one fatal flaw. We often forget our worth."

Kat Graham as Lady Victoria Isabel Marie de'Medici

Interactions with characters

"MERLIN I CANNOT BELIEVE WE'VE BEEN IN CAMELOT LESS THAN A DAY AND YOU ALREADY MANAGED TO GET YOURSELF INTO THE STOCKS WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!"

"That when you're angry your eyebrows furrow and eyes become squinted you look like a goddess on a war path and it makes me love you even more?"

"..."

"..."

"....are you blushing‐" "Shut up Merlin!"

Colin Morgan as Merlin

"I don't think I've ever loved someone as much as I love you"

"While I appreciate that statement I'm still not doing the Prince's laundry"

"Oh c'mon, please?"

"No."

Katie McGarth as Morgana

"You do know that he worships the very ground you walk upon Isa?"

"That seems to be a recurring statement these days, my lady"

"Because it's true even Arthur sees how you care for each other and he's as oblivious as they come!"

Eoin Macken as Gwaine

"Do you know just how enchanting you are, your Grace?"

"I could gather that from the way your jaw dropped when I walked in, Sir Gwaine."

Kilgharrah

"What is the reason you have come here young sorceress?"

"I felt suffocated with all of the sounds and it would seem that this is the one place in the castle that I find the comfort and tranquility that I seek. You don't mind, do you Great Dragon?"

"...well I suppose not young witch."

Anthony Head as King Uther

"You and the servant boy?! No I won't allow it!! If you want a groom how about my son instead I believe you get along quite well"

Santiago Cabera as Lancelot

"So Merlin, how long have you and her Grace been courting?"

"It's bee– wait courting?! Where did you get that idea?!"

"You ARE aware that you're currently picking flowers for her right now?"

"W-well it's just- she's been having a stressful time lately and I- it doesn't matter the reason because we're just friends!!"

"Whatever you say Merlin."

"Stop smirking!"

Angel Coulby as Guinevere

"Do you care for him, truly?"

"I-"

"And don't say 'of course I do we're friends' because you know that's not what I mean."

Ben Barnes as Daniel Bennett

"You are as beautiful as the day I lost you, Isa"

#merlin bbc #merlin x reader #arthur pendragon #morgana pendragon #magic #black main character

[homeahoy]

Sometimes

Warnings:Swearing, pining, friends to lovers. Maybe eventual smut (we will see)

Pairings: Eoin McGonigal & Paddy Mayne. ( University AU, Present Day )

Chapter 1

“It's not the way you lead me by the hand into the bedroom

It's not the way you throw your clothes upon the bathroom floor”

“It's not the way you lead me by the hand into the bedroom

It's not the way you throw your clothes upon the bathroom floor”

The sound of the heating kicking in clanged through the room and Professor Robert Mayne better known as Paddy cursed the Universities maintenance department.  You would have thought after numerous complaints they would have cleared the air so obviously trapped within the radiator in his office but alas that had proven too difficult.  Giving the radiator a firm bang with his fist he hoped it would help it to stop rattling but it only seemed to make it worse.   Muttering “Useless Cunts” he grabbed the stack of essays he was trying to grade and left the room.  Stalking across the corridor he pushed open the door of the office directly opposite his.  The occupant of the office looked up and gave a bright smile before asking “ Let me guess, the radiator is still clanging and you can’t concentrate?”.  Closing the door behind him Paddy answered with a glare that turned into a smile almost instantly.  “You know me Eoin can think when there isn’t silence” Paddy replied, or company i want to keep, he thought. Keeping the thought to himself Paddy swung out the chair that sat at the opposite side of the desk of the man known as Eoin.  

Eoin McGonigal was an English professor like Paddy, a good few years younger and from a background similar in the fact they were both Irish,loved poetry and rugby but different in the fact they came from different religious background, an issue that never bothered them, Eoin was a wind up merchant but level headed and Paddy was a hot head who tended to throw hands on occasion.  Eoin had started at the University the year before and the two had become fast friends. Paddy had never said it and would never had said it even under torture but there had been an instant attraction on his part.  Eoin was tall, handsome with deep curly locks and an air of ease about him. HIs smile alone seemed to cause Paddy’s heart to flutter, not that it meant anything anyway.  He would never act on how he had felt, Paddy had never told anyone he was gay.  He knew that it wouldn’t be a big deal in this day and age but he had been brought up by a family who kept their lips firmly shut about that kind of thing.  He also didn't know if Eoin himself was even gay so it was best to keep his mouth shut and focus on the friendship that had built between them. 

Settling down to grade the papers Paddy kept stealing glances and Eoin, who to his surprise was staring directly at him. “Is there a reason you're staring? “ Paddy asked, eventually downing his pen and leaning back in his chair.  Eoin sat there grinning with his familiar grin, “ Well now you mention it. I was looking to ask you a favour” He replied.  Paddy sat there with a small grin playing on his lips before asking “ and what would that favour be?”.  He sat there wondering what kind of favour could the young man be looking for?  He had a feeling it would be to cover some classes or maybe mentoring some student who had a keen interest in T.S Elliot.  What Eoin asked was something Paddy never saw coming.  “ I was hoping you would let me crash on your couch for a while. My flat was flooded by my upstairs neighbour and the place is ruined and it's going to take a while to fix or at least that’s what I've been told” Eoin Stated. Paddy swallowed hard. The thought of Eoin in his personal space was something that both thrilled and terrified him.  He wasn’t sure if he would be able to cope and heaven forbid if he ever brought someone over, not that Paddy had even heard Eoin mention that he had a love interest of any kind.  

Turning the thought over in his mind, a small age seemed to pass between them, while Eoin looked at Paddy with what could only be described as a pleading eyed puppy dog face with a hint of mischief behind it. Finally Paddy answered, “I suppose I could do that for you. Just how soon are you looking to encroach on my space?” HIs mind firmly on if his two bedroom apartment was in any shape to host a guess. He had in fact turned what was the spare bedroom into a study which was strewn with books and various other items he had collected along the way.  “Hopefully today? “ The other man beamed and with that reply Paddy knew he was doomed to a hell he knew he would enjoy more than regret. 

#sas rogue heroes #sas: rogue heroes #paddy mayne #eoin mcgonigal #university au #modern day au #fanfaction #based on tv series

[cigarettesandinevitablebetrayal]

Raine Callaghan doesn’t know what to make of Rebecca Sinclair most days. They had a good relationship once, but that was a long time ago. A death in the family will do that, he supposes.

Rated M for mature themes such as parental death, dysfunctional families, child neglect, implied violence, and minor mentions to the North Irish Troubles.

Other Tags: Kid Fic, Growing Up, Time Skips, Canon Divergence (Alternate Backstory), Tragedy, and Hopeful Ending.

Masterpost | AO3

Chapter 2: That Thunder in Your Lungs

Callaghan Family Home, Belfast - 1983

Ciaran isn’t sure about this whole little brother business. For one thing, he’d thought babies were supposed to be more fun. Cuter, by far, than the wrinkly thing named Eoin that his father and Rebecca had brought home after days in the hospital. For another, he had underestimated just how much screaming a baby could do. Nothing that small, in his opinion, should be able to make that much noise. Rebecca and Aunt Bishop called it crying, but Ciaran knew better. If he were to do the same thing, aside from being scolded, he would be told not to stop crying, but to stop screaming. Perhaps one could get away with more when they were a baby.

Usually, Rebecca or Rook would go fetch Eoin at this point in his tantrums. It only ever took about ten minutes for him to be soothed back into inaction, but they’d said they needed a night out and Aunt Bishop could sleep through thunderstorms without so much as turning over. Ciaran wasn't sure anything short of a bombing could get her to her feet in the night, but there hadn't been one of those in a little bit. So when Eoin started up screaming, crying in the dark of the night, he’d woken Ciaran up easily.

Ciaran waits, trying desperately to block out the pitchy cries with his pillow as he buries his head beneath it. Minutes pass like hours and the screaming doesn’t stop. Ciaran throws the pillow off his head with a long groan and slips out of his bed. He pads across the hardwood floor and down the hall to his parent’s bedroom.

Eoin lies in his crib, little fists shaking and face red as a beet as he wails into the uncaring dark. Ciaran leans closer to the crib, peering through the bars. “Come on, Eoin, what’s wrong?”

As expected, Eoin doesn’t answer with anything other than more yelling. Did he make this much noise when he’d been this young? Ciaran hopes not. No wonder his mother hadn't stuck around. Rebecca has more patience, it seems. 

“What do you even have to cry about?” Ciaran demands, rolling his eyes. “All you do is sleep and eat and shout.”

He looks back at his little brother. Eoin is lighter skinned than him, his hair a medium brown instead of black like Ciaran and their father. His eyes are dark, though, like Aunt Bishop’s. Rebecca says he looks like her, but mostly Ciaran thinks Eoin looks like most babies do - like a shrunken old man with just a little more than wisps of hair across the top of his head. Right now, his eyes are screwed shut and his mouth is open as wide as he can manage.

With a sigh, Ciaran clicks the side of the crib unlocked and slides the bars out of his way. He sits down on the thin mattress of the crib, careful not to squish any part of Eoin. “How am I supposed to know what you want if you can't speak?" Ciaran sighs, wiggling his fingers over Eoin's face.

Eoin pauses in his wailing, the cries turning into more of a lamenting hiccuping sound as his dark brown eyes focus on Ciaran's fingers. Ciaran moves his hand and slips one hand under Eoin. How had his father shown him how to pick up a baby? Hand gently under the head for support, the other under his bottom, right? That felt right. Babies are too fragile, he thinks as he shifts Eoin close against his chest. Eoin steadily stops crying, quicker than he has in either Rook or Rebecca's arms. He burbles, eyes focused intently up at Ciaran.

Ciaran smiles down at his little brother in something like wonder. He shifts Eoin in his arms so that he can tap Eoin gently on the nose. "See, it's not so hard not to cry." He bounces Eoin lightly in his arms. "I've got you. You don't need to cry anymore."

Eoin grasps one of his fingers, his grip tighter than Ciaran expects. Ciaran laughs at the gesture and Eoin offers a wobbly smile in return. "Yeah, you know you're not so bad when you're not shouting your wee head off."

Ciaran moves his finger in Eoin's grasp as though Eoin is shaking his fist at the sky. A little pride burns in his chest as Eoin keeps smiling in his arms. It takes Rebecca and his father twice as long to get Eoin to settle on a good day. "I knew I'm your favorite," Ciaran says smugly, rocking Eoin gently. He rubs his thumb across Eoin's wrist. His skin is so soft. "Just wait until you get older. I'm going to teach you how to ride a bike and climb trees and how to tell all the constellations and how to look after yourself."

As Eoin begins to close his eyes, Ciaran lays him back down in his cot, further in so that he can squeeze in, too. He's halfway off the little mattress, but he ignores the discomfort as he brushes his hand across the fine silken hairs on Eoin's head. He wonders if they'll darken as he grows older. Aunt Bishop says that can happen sometimes.

"I think I get it now," Ciaran whispers. "The crying, I mean. Aunt Bishop does her best, but I get lonely, too." Ciaran closes his eyes, curled around his baby brother, and smiles. "You'll never be alone, not while I'm here. I promise."

Ciaran drifts to sleep, listening to the soft breaths of his brother. It isn't long before the hushed voices of his parents slip into the ephemeral darkness and amorphous shapes of his dreams. The words slip through his understanding like sand through his fingertips. He is vaguely aware of being moved, of being scooped up gently into arms bigger than his, the sound of steady breathing against his ear. There is warmth and a familiar scent of jasmine that he's come to associate with Rebecca.

When he's set back down, Ciaran begins to stir, and reaches out to grab her. Half-awake but groggy, he's aware of how she stops when he manages to catch hold of her hand. His eyes flutter open as she turns around. She slips her fingers from his, pulls his blanket up around him, and leans down to press a light kiss against his forehead. "Go back to sleep, Ciaran." It's more a breath than a whisper, but he hears it all the same.

"G'night, Mum," he mumbles back.

He slips back to sleep, clinging to the feeling of her hand on his cheek and the last words he hears before she steps out. "I love you." He doesn't have the energy to say it back. He hopes she knows it anyway.

#scarlet welly boots #twc fic #twc detective #twc rebecca #fic: raine callaghan

[reyenii]

eoin: 'a huge character of a guy' a thread:

eoin did well academically and excelled at sports - he was the archetypal all- rounders and popular leaders at school

rugby was eoin's real passion and as captain of the school team, the 1936 school annual noted that 'his keenness both in practice and in matches did much to encourage and inspire the rest of the team […] he has two invaluable qualities - steadiness, and the patience to wait for the bad balls. he has a quick eye, good hands and an abundance of courage.'

eoin was one of the few who actually looked forward to jumping. as he commented in a letter to ambrose on 8 october 1941: 'by the way, how do you like my new rank-parachute-lieutenant? the jumping is damn good fun, nice and soft on the sand.'

eoin ('a first-class weapons instructor', as the jock lewes biography notes), as in 11 commando, was given responsibility for weapons training. In a later letter blair wrote, 'eoin worked very hard here and was entirely responsible for all the weapon training and much of the night training.'

eoin revelled in the physical challenges - in letters to ambrose, he was clearly proud of his developing fitness. he had always felt stronger than most and as an officer he was determined to lead by example. having been used to (and proud of) standing out at school as 'our deputy from belfast', and now being one of only two officer representatives from an irish regiment in arran (the other being the almost superhuman mayne), eoin was determined to succeed. and as a junior officer of just nineteen (albeit that the average age of pedder's officers was only twenty-one), he was resolute in wanting to justify his place in this elite force on merit. he recognized the responsibility that would soon come in leading his men in battle and did not take it lightly. he loved the feeling of independence, of doing something important.

for eoin in particular, this was a huge achievement - at just twenty he was one of the first and youngest of stirling's original officers. it must have been quite a challenge for somebody so young to lead men selected as much for their independence as for their determination and bravery in volunteering to take on such uncertain and 'hazardous' challenges. bear in mind also that many of the ORs would have been pre-war regulars with more military experience than their officers. eoin would train with them and have to work to gain their respect. the leadership skills that had marked him out for selection at such a young age had always been there: captaining sports and debating teams at all levels at school, as well as working with and training 11 commando on arran - all put into sharp focus when leading his troop into battle at litani river.

for eoin's other role at kabrit was that of the camp's chief letter writer - many of the men were not well-educated, or may have been injured or feeling down generally and so sometimes needed his help when writing home to wives, girlfriends and family. eoin's love of writing was well-known - he would spend long hours with his notebooks working on his short stories (most of them romantic) - and given his age and as blair used to say, his 'irish gift of the gab', he may have been seen as the most approachable of those likely to be interested in helping the men out. only twenty years old and exercising his creativity in helping to give voice to the men's feelings for their loves back home - the possibilities were endless. the man who recounted this said that he never used eoin's services himself because his wife would have spotted it a mile away - the letters were far too romantic to have come from him!

#sas rogue heroes #eoin mcgonigal #at least some of this could be shown in the series but…;( #this is my last post related to this book thanks to everyone who supported!

[senatushq]

NAME. Virgil Moretti AGE & BIRTH DATE. March 11th, 1987 & 36 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Witch COVEN. Ivy OCCUPATION. Sovereign & CEO of Ivy Enterprises FACE CLAIM. Tyler Lepley

biography

No matter how comfortable Virgil’s ticket might have been, at five years old a three hour plane ride might as well have been a week. It wasn’t as if his mother sent him alone, his nanny that doubled as security sat in the aisle across from him, but as she snoozed Virgil rang the bell again and again. The stewardess would come, tell the young witch that they’d be landing in two hours and thirty minutes, then two hours and fifteen minds, then two hours. Impatience was obvious but if Virgil was meant to remember the man that his mother had kicked out before he was even a year old, he didn’t. The Moretti family and the Ivy coven weren’t people that anyone just got to walk away from, Giacomo Barone was divorced from the sovereign but his mark remained and he was relocated to the desert. The city of lights and sin, Vegas. 

It wasn’t really the place for a kid, when Virgil got older he came to understand that on his mother’s part that had been wholly intentional. Boys need their father, she’d say, but in the same breath she’d call Giacomo a layabout and a cheater. Sarcasm was a tool she was fond of, and Giacomo had embarrassed her - a detail that Virgil wouldn’t come to realise until much later. At five years old he might as well have been meeting his father for the first time, already remarried, Vanessa Barone gave birth to Giacomo’s second child and was carrying his third before Virgil and him ever really got to meet. 

The nanny wouldn’t stay, she escorted Virgil through the airport. A walk that felt at least as long as the first class flight they’d taken from Cali. A shock of black hair and a wide grin waited for Virgil as they rounded the corner. The young witch hadn’t really known what to do or how to act, his mom told him to be polite and even at his age he held some of the grit that the Moretti line was known for. Giacomo embraced him immediately though, and somehow everything else fell into place. Virgil’s mother wasn’t without her affections, she was a busy woman, but she’d made time for him: time for his training and for his lessons, time to watch him take his first steps and sit by his bedside when he was sick. This was different though, with her there came an expectation, Giacomo knew long before Virgil did just how heavy his future was going to be. 

Giacomo was nice, funny, really funny. Classic Italian that talked incessantly with his hands, had more cousins and siblings than Virgil thought possible, and a big dinner every Sunday with more food than anyone could eat. Vanessa wasn’t a witch and Giacomo’s magic was rudimentary, it was easy to see that the sort of power that he had wasn’t in the spells that he could conjure. The room lit up when he entered, and even when he was telling his stupid, corny jokes, everyone always seemed to laugh. In his youth Virgil never got to see them interact, but maybe there had been a time when the Moretti matriarch had married for love, only to be betrayed by it. 

Holidays were for Virgil’s mother, the rest of the year was too. In this he knew to rise to her expectations, to study, to practise, and to excel. But for a month in the summer, every year, Virgil got to goof off with his old man. She was smart enough to send him with homework, but it was light enough to come with her understanding. His mother also remarried, though not so quickly, and whatever urgency Giacomo had possessed was absent. This time the match was better, at least that’s what she’d told Virgil: he’s an equal, and Virgil didn’t question why Giacomo wasn’t. His step father didn’t ask Virgil to call him dad, but he did have him accompany him to the office. At too young of an age he sat in on meetings that were too boring for him to understand, but he did it, because someday he’d have no choice. 

Eoin was the baby brother that had been promised, not the spare to his heir but the product of whatever love their mother had felt for her second husband. Eoin didn’t have the privilege of getting a summer month with Giacomo and the extended family, he didn’t have the lightness of the man’s humour so Virgil tried to give it to him. Corny jokes and constant ribbing, Eoin was talented and he would grow up to be strong but the older brother’s urge to protect the younger of the two never wavered. 

“No mom, I’m not tired.” 

At eight he’d learned that even if his mom was calling him at the crack of dawn, Virgil should be alert. Awake. She wanted to hear the awareness in his voice, and a smile to welcome her greeting. Up at daybreak, their fortune hadn’t come overnight, but with the endless practice of repetition and growth. The coven changed with the times, but any power worth seizing came with a cost, rituals under the full moon, blood sacrifices spilled over a boardroom table. Virgil’s disposition grew alongside him, he’d inherited his father’s sense of humour, but his mother’s power and ruthlessness. When it came to importance, nothing would ever beat his family and their legacy.

Blood spilled over cobbled floors as the last few ragged remnants of witches’ dying breaths filtered through the air between them. At eighteen Virgil’s mark had come into maturity, but someday he’d be a sovereign which meant he needed to be blooded. To see and feel firsthand the dark purpose that the Ivy had vowed itself to, the deaths of any supernatural were a waste, and nothing but them in greater danger than exposure. The coven had adapted over the years, but so had the rest of humanity. While Rome remained under the rule of the senate, much of the rest of the world was lawless. Blood magic, black market trading, the Ivy kept other witches in check while taking on the odd but necessary contract.

The spell that came from his mother’s lips next wasn’t one that the future sovereign would forget, her mark etched its way over the bodies of the witches she laid hands on, taking with it as it receded the magic that had once been abused within them. Their lives were their own, but they’d never cast again, and their power was added to the Ivy’s reserves. 

By thirty-three Virgil was a fixture in the boardroom, a leader in their occult practices, and a visionary when it came to their various enterprises. They had their roots in land development and investment banking, but the world was growing and they needed to as well. Investments into private research, pharmaceuticals, medical technologies, and space expeditions. The edge they held over the rest of the world was the supernatural, awareness of the Otherworld and its immense vastness. Natural progression saw his mother step back into retirement, a proud matriarchal figure that remained to advise but was content to reap the benefits of a fruitful empire. Rumblings from Rome had come and gone over the years, though their problems were self-contained, managed by The Eye, and otherwise dealt with by the Amaranthus. As the issues escalated, the Amaranthus extinguished, The Eye stepped into the light, and the Ivy took root in Rome. 

personality

+ jolly, ambitious, reliable – unforgiving, cutthroat, dogmatic

played by shane. est. he/him.

#takenm #takenc #takenwitch #the ivy

[dukesoakedoats]

Home.

My first and probably last Paddon fic, I have no clue how it got so sad , it was suppose to start off as happy but yk , angst is a constant in one’s life.

A car crash.

A fucking car crash. That was how Paddy was going to die. Not in a war besides his comrades, not at home with his family , not even peacefully. He was going to die here. 

 There was no escaping death, especially since  death was a constant companion with the Irishman all his life. Watching him and those he loved by the sidelines, hunting them like prey. As if they were rabbits and death a bloodhound who sought nothing but to quench its undeniable thirst for blood.

So when the lights of another car were coming straight towards him,he let go off the steering wheel and closed his eyes. He embraced his constant friend, he embraced death.

.

.

.

.

Paddy knew he was dead, he knew, and yet he didn’t truly know.

If there was something the Irishman hated it was not knowing.

A groggy whisper that sounded like“The fuck?” left his lips. 

His ma and pa had always warned him about heaven and hell. About the paradise and the ever lasting fire and anguish , he always believed he would go to the ladder. After all ,his hands carried the blood of many sons. 

This place however, was none of the two. 

It was…….empty.

A void.

It was ethereal in a way , peaceful and yet unnerving. 

White was all that could be seen all around , a room painted white with nothing more.

“Jesus fuckin Christ!” Paddy roared. Even in death he could not rest. He could not rest when he was in the Ulster Riffles, he could not rest in Cairo and he sure as fuck couldn’t rest when-

When eion died….

Oh, 

Eoin

The Irishman from Belfast, with his brown baby deer eyes and sun kissed face. A mop of hair and a smile that could cure any broken heart.

Eoin who was Paddy’s only haven.

Eoin who saw paddy for who he really was, not a dog but rather a tortured poet, a talented one at that.

Eoin who gave him peace , who loved him , cherished him.

His Eoin

His love

His home.

In the camp , everyone wanted “the madman”, the Paddy who was wild and ruthless , the Paddy who defined all odds. So when his love, his purpose, his Eoin was violently grabbed by death and forced to leave this mortal realm, there was no more need for the poet Paddy. That was for Eoin only, not the others . So he wore the mask of the madman , for that is what everyone wanted him to be.

He didn’t want to be him though.

Something wet was running down Paddy’s face.  He gingerly raised his hands to his cheeks to see what it was.

Tears. 

They were tears. 

Mayne hadn’t cried for a good period of a year, maybe more but the thought of his lover stirred something in his subconscious, pulled at his heart strings and left him a wreck. Not long after the revelation Paddy was on the floor with bone shattering sobs escaping his lips , his hands clawing at his scalp and hair and his body trembling. He stayed like that for what almost seemed as an eternity, because what was the rush. He was dead and all alone now.

He didn’t know when he had passed out, he had hoped that if he did pass out maybe it would allow him a chance to escape this game of cat and mouse and grant him the mercy of hell or heaven , he wasn’t really picky. He was awoken by something warm, something that radiated the suns glow just  the right amount so it was pleasant. Then he felt familiar calloused hands running through his unruly hair, curling his front lock in their fingers.

Eoin…

At the mere thought of him , Paddy’s body reacted violently going into a fit of hysteria with his whole body shakin and sobs rattling at his rib cage threatening to be released. He really was pathetic, like a stray mutt whimpering , waiting for love.

“Pathetic Paddy,you really are a dog, and now you’re going to die like one”

“Pathetic Paddy,you really are a dog, and now you’re going to die like one”

“Pathetic Paddy,you really are a dog, and now you’re going to die like one”

Like a broken record , that’s was the only thing Paddy’s mind was saying. It was its new found mantra, the only thing Paddy needed to hear. He was so consumed wallowing in his self hate that he has forgotten the hands who were combing his hair not mere minutes ago, until his mantra was interrupted with too slender hands cradling his face and sweet , angelic whispers being fed to him.

“Shhh, don’t cry , I’m here”

One stroke at Paddy’s cheek

“It’s okay now, your safe here”

Another stroke 

“Shhhhh, you’re home”

A kiss placed on the Irish man’s forehead bought him back to reality , with that , he found the courage to unscrew his eyes shut and take in the being in front of him.

“Eoin…?” Paddy’s voice was weak and coarse from all the crying so the name only escaped in the form of a whisper.

“Hello Paddy” Eoin beamed as he said those words joyfully , he really was a angel,“been waiting for you , dear. I heard they left you in charge of the-“

The poor fool couldn’t even finish his sentence before paddy had thrown himself on the catholic and buried his face in his neck, inhaling him , feeling his pulse and heart beat again .

The sobbing soon resumed again

“Shh shhh oh now come on paddy, it’s okay , we’re here together now.” Eoin spoke trying to reassure the Protestant.

Paddy had draped his left arm around Eoins shoulder and moved closer towards the youngers neck.

“Paddy”

“Mhm” 

“ I love you” Eoin declared while marvelling at the wonder that was Paddy before he carefully brought his lovers face towards his own to face him.

“And I “ Paddy declared “ have never stopped loving you” 

A smile had made itself home on Paddy’s face ,  the two lovers cradled the others head in their hands as if them letting go would spell the end of the world and brought their lips together for a tender and   loving  kiss, feeling Eoins toothy grin against Paddy’s lips.

“Your home now Paddy, your home” Eoin reaffirmed to the older Irish man, and they both smiled. 

Because they were home.

Paddy was dead.

Eoin was dead. 

But together? Together, they were alive and in love.

Together , they were a home.

#paddy x eoin #newbie #fanfic writer #paddon #havemercyonme #blahahblah #doesanyonevenreadthese #imasharkdisguisedasaoat

[a-la-rascasse]

Dan, Jim and Graham // British GP 🇬🇧, 1963.

While John Cooper supervised the job list, Bruce, as was his style, took his new E-Type Jag down the infield runway to the apex of Club Corner, there to watch his peers. At this point I can do no better than to record the words he later gave to Eoin Young for Bruce’s wonderful, regular, Autosport column, From the Cockpit:

“Dan Gurney had got down to a time equaling Jim’s best, and Jim was out to see if he could do better. Graham was in danger of being knocked off the front row so he was out too, and for 15 minutes, while Jim, Graham and Dan pounded round, I was graphically reminded of the reason why people go to see motor racing.

When you’re out in an F1 car you haven’t got time to think about the fact that you’re moving fast: you’re concentrating on keeping the movement of the car as smooth and as graceful as possible, getting the throttle opened just that fraction quicker than last time and keeping it open all the way when you’ve got it there.

At Silverstone you concentrate on shaving the brick walls on the inside, just an inch or two away, and you hold the car in a drift that, if it were any faster, would take you into a bank or onto the grass. If you are any slower you know you are not going to be up with those first three or four. You know perfectly well you are trying just as hard as you possibly can, and I know when I’ve done a few laps like this I come in and think to myself, well, if anyone tries harder than that, good luck to them.

But you haven’t thought about the people who are watching. At least I haven’t, anyway, but there at Club Corner the role was reversed and I was watching…

Jim came in so fast and left his braking so late that I leapt back four feet, convinced that he wouldn’t make the corner, but when he went through, working and concentrating hard, I’m sure his front wheel just rubbed the wall. I barely dared to watch him come out the other end.

It struck me that Clark and Gurney’s experience at Indy this year may have had something to do with their first and second places on the grid. Silverstone is just one fast corner after another, taken with all the power turned right on and the whole car in a pretty fair slide but, nevertheless, in the groove for that corner. Something like Indy, I should imagine.

I’ve seen a lot of motor racing and if I could get excited over this I can imagine how the crowd of 115,000 on Saturday must have felt.”

source: peterwindsor.com – “Jim Clark, rhythmically poised...”

#bruce as usual writing interesting stuff <333 #bruce mclaren #jim clark #dan gurney #graham hill #classic f1 #f1 #formula 1 #retro f1 #f1 1960s

[library-of-crow]

It was an average day in Firnmel and Rhys had just returned from a week long hunt with some of the other folks in the village. The hunting party had spent the greater part of the day skinning rabbits, deer, and a couple wild hogs that they'd managed to slay to feed the village. He had shrugged off his massive fur cloak and hung it near the door after rinsing his hands in a bucket of water outside. His wife, Eles, would scold him endlessly if he came in smelling like blood and gore.

He wasted no time clambering into their home on a direct route to the fireplace, plopping down in a chair nearby to start unlacing his boots. Once he was satisfied with the number of removed layers, Rhys heaved a long exhale and sunk back into the chair, his eyes instantly falling shut.

A week long hunt was exhausting.

A week long hunt was especially exhausting when you were never trained a bow and were, therefore, awful with one.

Sure, he'd been in Firnmel long enough to train with some of the other townspeople but he hadn't quite mastered it yet. Something about a sword just felt better in his hands. It was more comfortable, like he was always meant to wield one. Granted, most prey he'd encountered on the sea didn't have very far to run before the boat came to an end and they were forced into the ocean below.

Ah, but Rhys Ethel, now Ethel-Umbar, was a reformed man. No more did he long for the seas or worry himself about the potential for other pirates that may steal his bounty. He was a proper village man now, with a lovely wife, a cottage, and a child on the way. Rhys Ethel-Umbar had been domesticated.

"Ah, you're back." At the sound of his wife's voice, Rhys popped an eye open in her direction. He didn't move to sit up as he heard her shuffle in his direction. Eles had stopped at the side of his chair, resting a hand over his head that immediately started raking through his matted curls. She'd remind him to wash up more before dinner. "I just spoke with Misty."

"Did you? Her Eoin is a good shot." Rhys replied, his eyes falling back shut as he settled into her touch. Her fingers against his scalp were a comfort after the week of tough living conditions and itchy bed rolls.

"Aye, he is, best in town." She hummed her agreement before stopping her hand and moving to stand in front of her husband. Rhys opened his eyes instinctively, sitting up a little straighter at the sight of Eles’s intense stare, her hands firmly planted on her hips. He was in trouble. "Why did you teach their Cormac how to craft a shiv?"

"That's what this is about?"

"Aye."

"Misty's always been a bit of a prig."

"Rhys." She smacked his shoulder while he chuckled, apparently it wasn't as funny to her. "Be serious. Why did you teach him that? He showed his mum and she immediately came to find me!" Rhys fully straightened at Eles's frustration.

"Eoin brought the boy today when we were skinning our kills. He was bored." He reached his hands out to pull his wife closer. She only resisted for a moment before allowing him to pull her in, resting her knee on the chair between his legs for balance. Rhys wrapped his arms around her back, placing his chin against her stomach to look up at her.

"He's eight, Rhys." Eles retorted, holding her hands on either side of his face.

"That's a perfect age to learn."

But he doesn't need to." Rhys twisted his face a bit in immediate response. "Not like that, I just mean he doesn't need to. He's got other things to keep him busy, like books or drawings or anything but a shiv." She corrected before he could make a remark. She knew that look. It usually meant he had interpreted her words as a reminder that he was an outsider and she wanted to clarify before his insecurities got the better of him.

Technically, he was. No matter how many years he spent in Firnmel, he still felt ever so slightly out of place. His rough childhood in Lyvir, his time at sea, all of it added up to create constant reminders of his otherness. He crafted his first shiv at age eight. Rhys moved to bury his face in Eles's stomach.

"Well, did she tell you that I taught him it wasn't a weapon? That it was only used for skinning rabbits?" His reply was muffled by the cloth of her dress but she heard it none the less. Eles sighed, it was ultimately a harmless and helpful skill.

"She neglected to mention that."

"Or how about how many rabbits he helped us skin after that? Cormac is a rabbit skinning expert, or at least will be when he stops accidentally cutting into the meat."

"I suppose that's a useful skill. He'll be a fine hunter when he's older." Rhys lifted his head as she spoke, tilting back to look up at her with a slightly confused expression. Wasn't she just mad at him over this?

"I thought you disapproved?" He questioned, his eyes narrowing as he scanned his lover's face for any sign of joking. A small chuckle escaped her lips as they formed a soft smile.

"Misty disapproved. I may have at first but I said I'd speak with you, now I understand why you did it." Her hands moved to rest on his head and again mess with his hair. "Maybe avoid it in the future. I'll tell her you're sorry- No, I'll tell her I spoke with you and leave the response ambiguous."

"You're an odd woman." Rhys teased, melting into her touch before turning his head so his ear rested against her body. His arms pulled her in closer, snuggling up to her body by the firelight. "Scheming about how you'll tell Misty to just get over it and stop being such a-"

"I said no such thing!" Eles cut him off with a soft whack on the top if his head. Rhys only laughed in response and she couldn't help but laugh along with him. He wasn't always perfect, Labelas knows he wasn't, but Eles could never stay upset with him. Every mistake he made, he made with good intentions. It was his way of trying to fit in with Firnmel. To understand the locals and the culture, to truly adopt every tradition and unspoken rule.

To be like her.

By the gods, Rhys did everything for her. If she said jump, he'd ask how high. He was hopelessly devoted to her and would go to great lengths to protect her and their unborn child.

"You know, we should teach our kid to shoot a bow from a young age." Rhys finally said once the silence had settled again. "That way they will be some sort of archery prodigy by their teen years. Best hunter in all of Firnmel." Eles shook her head with a laugh at his grand dreams for their child but she couldn't help but agree. She already knew Rhys would do anything for that kid, just as he did for her.

"Sounds like a fine plan," she paused momentarily to cup his face in her hands and force him to look at her, "but you will be in charge of making sure they do not shoot their neighbors. Purposefully or accidentally." She punctuated her demands by squishing his face slightly, giggling at the silly way his cheeks looked.

"Deal." He mimicked a salute before breaking free of her hands to plant a kiss on her stomach. Eles's giggles didn't cease as he pulled her down into his lap and scattered sloppy kisses over her cheeks. He ignored her complaints of how dirty he was, instead taking them as a sign to pull her in closer. Her continuous laughter only fueled his attack.

As their shared laughter finally died down, Eles couldn't help but nestle into his lap, her face landing in the crook of his neck. For a moment, they sat in silence, trying to catch their breath.

"I think we'll be alright." Eles finally muttered as the room grew quiet.

"Alright? How do you mean?"

"Alright parents."

"Oh by far. You'll be excellent and I'll be okay. Together, we're alright." Eles smacked Rhys's chest as he elicited another laugh from her. He was right, they'd certainly be alright together.

"Aye, aye. Now go wash up before dinner, you stink like meat and blood." She began pushing herself out of his grasp before she was suddenly pulled back in. Rhys took advantage of her surprise to steal a quick kiss before letting her go free. As she pushed herself up, she again smacked his shoulder and rolled her eyes.

Yeah, they'd be alright together.

#rhys ethel-umbar #eles umbar #arly umbar #the grand ghost