#BECAUSE HERE IN GOOD OLD SIMPLE IRELAND

[look-at-the-soul]

The Photoshoot (Part 29)

Cillian Murphy

Series Master list

Photos credits for Weekend Magazine goes to Mark Nixon (2014) 📸

“Baby?” Cillian called her from the door as he made his way inside the new apartment. “Bab-” he was cut in the middle of his words when he found the beautiful sight in front of him; Yael was only wearing his oversized sweatshirt, her legs bare… moving her hips from side to side to a beat of music he couldn’t hear. She was unpacking her photograph collection.

The photograph that was at the Gallery now was resting against the wall, fully protected until he finished the play in London and could take it to Ireland. A lot of people didn’t know it was Yael posing for her own photograph and they couldn’t even imagine that it was his legs that made a small appearance at the shoot, he couldn’t wait until it was hanging in his home.

The new apartment she got in Manchester as well as the previous one, but in a different area already had some furniture but Yael made sure to make it look incredible, she had a good eye for vintage pieces of furniture that changed completely the look, she even found an old china cabinet and turned it into a coffee station while he was busy with the play.

Wrapping his arms around her, he hugged her from behind, his lips connected with her neck.

Yael screamed first scared, then burst in happiness as she realized it was him, Scout woke up from his nap to check what was happening, once he got close, he started sniffing Cillian’s shoes.

“Enda gave me something for you.” He kissed her lips before walking towards the door to open the small bag he took for the two day stay.

Cillian gave her the Weekend Magazine with the interview they did and that Yael was in charge of the photoshoot because Enda asked for the favor.

“Oh I love it!” Making a little jump of excitement, she hugged him and then walked to the lounge to watch the photographs. “How is it possible you make it a simple red stripes t-shirt you’ve had for over a decade look this good?”

It was so fun to shoot those two, plus she loved the location Enda picked.

Cillian chuckled still feeling awkward when she complimented him. He leaned on the back of the couch, his hands at each side of her shoulders, Yael rested her head against the top of it, looking at him.

“I’m lucky to have the best photographer around.” He whispered before looking at her lips, leaning in to kiss her from behind.

“Where do you want to have dinner?” He gave her that look that made her knees go weak.

Yael pulled him by the neck of his jacket to pull him over the couch. Cillian landed carefully on top of her body.

“Here, you’re my food.” She confessed and as Cillian attacked her neck with loud kisses, she giggled next to his ear. “Kayla brought your suit this morning.”

Cillian thanked her while resting between her legs, as Yael was telling him how Kayla brought the most gorgeous dress she had ever seen, his lips moved down from her cheek to her jawline, and then south, to the side of her neck.

“…And then… oh.” She moaned. “Can’t believe you’re not listening to me.”

Feeling his laugh against her skin, made her close her eyes momentarily.

“You just told me the dress fitted perfectly, and how it’s a miracle you didn’t need to take it to a tailor to fix the length.” He answered sure and proud of himself.

Yael looked at him suspiciously. Perhaps he had a prompter hidden.

“Can I kiss you now?” But he didn’t wait for an answer. It was a slow kiss, an inviting one, the same that seemed to stop the track of time around them.

After pulling apart, his lips resumed his previous spot in her neck.

“Don’t leave a mark.” She had a very important event to attend.

As her leg moved up and down against his, she placed both hands inside the back pockets of his jeans, to press his body down.

***

“I have a question.” She asked then in bed, the sheets tangled around their bodies.

“Shoot.” His arm was resting covering his eyes, but he was awake.

“You said I should be prepared for a sex scene in the opening episode.” Yael recalled while a blush covered her face and neck.

Cillian looked at her, wondering where this conversation was going. “Hmm Tommy fucks with Lizzie.”

“I don’t mean to be a jealous bitch, but do you… hmm actually fuck her? Not Lizzie, I mean Natasha.” Her eyes searched for him, but before he could answer, she spoke again. “Sorry, must be uncomfortable for you.”

“No, and… no.” Cillian cleared his throat at motioned for her to get closer. “I don’t fuck her and neither does Tommy… it’s… it’s like a choreography if that makes sense? We just talk about the moves, we have to simulate the thrusting and the lights and the camera men do the rest.”

“And you never get, you know… turned on?” She saw Cillian shook his head.

“No, it’s the most embarrassing and awkward thing, there are at least twenty people around, you’re listening to directions, focused on the lines, the next scene, where to walk… and there’s a barrier between us, it’s not like we get skin to skin, at least not in that scene…”

“It’s very similar to my photographs, I can have two people naked and it doesn’t mean they’re sleeping together, just portraying something.”

Her hand started to play with his chest hair.

“And what about the kisses? There’s no barrier there.”

Cillian looked at her playfully, she was really curious about that. “The kisses you see in movies and all of that, are the worst.” He assured her. “It’s not a real thing, again is a choreography, it’s a tasteless kiss, it’s empty.” He tried to explain. But judging by her confused look, he needed to explain better. “Sit down.” He ordered. “Now I’m going to kiss you for real.” Taking her face in his hands, he looked at her lips and tilting his head a little, his mouth kissed Yael gently, with passion, like he always did.

“Now pay attention.” He asked when he pulled away. “But don’t kiss me back, don’t move your lips.” As Yael closed her eyes, he moved awkwardly, opening his mouth but never fully transmitting the passion they shared. “Did you see the difference?”

“You just moved your head.” She frowned. “That was Tommy’s kiss?” Cillian nodded.

“That’s how the kiss you see in the big screen are made.”

Yael pulled him in again. “I prefer Cill’s kisses.” He chuckled against her lips.

“Another thing that’s very important… Tommy drinks… a lot.” Immediately she tensed.

“He has a cigarette and a glass of whiskey for breakfast. But it’s not real alcohol, it’s tea, like the tea you prepare from the can… that’s the whiskey we get on set.”

“I never thought of that…”

“Are you sure you will be okay watching me drinking on screen?” He was worried of her reaction.

Yael nodded and snuggled against his chest. “It’s okay, it’s not you, it’s Tommy… and the booze isn’t real.”

Smiling, Cillian nodded pleased that Yael understood his work and at the same time he knew this must be hard for her given her reject to alcohol.

“Did you get the tickets?” Yael nodded, a driver left them in the reception, she put them next to the phone. “I just need three for some of the camera crew, Justin wants to bring his fiancée and brother to the premier.”

A serious face shadowed Yael’s smile. “But I already gave all the tickets… I thought you gave me all of them.” But since she was a terrible liar, she started laughing immediately. “I’m only joking! You texted me how many tickets you needed.”

Cillian arched one of his eyebrows. “So you like to play, huh?” Yael let out a nervous laugh, right before Cillian took the pillow she had as protection over her torso to start tickling her ribs, earning the purest laugh, she was gasping for air, asking him to stop.

He finally stopped pinning her against the mattress, her arms up over her head.

“I’ve four left.” Yael admitted out of breath. Cillian kissed her neck. “How about we give those to someone who couldn’t make it to the premier?”

Yael loved those moments in bed with Cillian, those were her favorites. Her nails scratched slightly at his hair, it was longer now, especially at the top he wore it parted on the side, the fringe constantly getting on his eyes.

As he leaned in to kiss her, she could feel it tickling her face.

“It sounds good.” He answered before she started making other kind of sounds that spoke volumes that she was having a good time.

----

“Hey, you’ll be perfectly fine Cill.” Yael squeezed his hand.

He had been so quiet on the way to the premier, looking at the window or at the floor. He decided last minute he wouldn’t be wearing a tie to the event thinking the pattern looked too old fashioned.

“I really don’t want to leave you alone…”

Yael smiled at him. “Stop making excuses, walk the red carpet, smile for a little bit, and I will see you inside.”

As the car puller over in front of the red carpet, Cillian was grateful the windows had a special protection, so no one could see through.

Sighing, Cillian opened the door a little, Yael pulled him for a good luck kiss.

“Try to enjoy it, that will make it easier for you.”

Reluctantly, Cillian got out from the car and Yael was able to hear the crowd cheering and screaming his name.

Before pulling away, she saw him waving his hand to no one in particular before walking towards a couple of fans to sign them autographs, she would be driven around the building to the other door.

The all access pass around her neck earned Yael easy access to the room, some crew from the makeup and custom department that she met while Cillian was filming greeted her, most of them had a drink in their hands or the waitress constantly were offering one, so she decided to ask for a bottle of water to keep them at bay. Big posters decorated the room, she was shocked to see that some of the photographs she took of him were printed at a big scale.

He looked so different, its been months since the last time she saw Tommy Shelby that she almost forgot about his cold lifeless stare, the imposing presence he had, so far away from the lovely man Cillian was.

Where are youuuuu? -Was the text she got from Lee-Anne.

She had invited her friend to the premier, along with Dean but he was away on a photoshoot in Paris, Kayla and her cousin Violet, and her brothers Issac and Ivan the twins, who were on her way. They were so excited to be at the event.

Found you! -She replied her friend.

“Thought you would be at the red carpet.” Her cousin asked.

Yael gave each a hug and looked around, she had never been to a premier. Then, she explained that she wouldn’t walk with him, it was his moment and neither of them wanted to open that door to the press and public.

“I think I just saw Tom Hardy walking by.” Lee-Anne cheered excitedly.

Violet almost choked on her drink. “The man looks like a Greek God.”

“Oh, you even got all access! Does the meet and greet include a happy ending?” Lee-Anne teased Yael.

“Stop it!” She asked blushing, she wondered how Cillian was doing, she knew he struggled a lot with this part of his job.

As the theater went dark a man started to thank the people who attended the premier and did a little speech about the upcoming season, he also reminded the crowd they couldn’t share anything or record the episode.

The moment Yael saw Cillian with the other woman on screen, her heart stopped beating, it was something she couldn’t put into words, to hear his voice on the speakers, the look of his eyes, his posture, the accent, the clothes.

She didn’t even know she was holding her breath until Cillian placed his hand on her knee when a particular song started playing, it was the same song that had been on repeat before entering the room.

Yael looked at him excitedly, his eyes sparkling.

She knew he disliked adulation and praising his own work, but for an instant, she was able to see he was proud and excited to share this moment with her. Yael took his hand, linking her fingers with his, in the background the figures blurred in a cemetery, her eyes fixed in his features, not fully believing the man in the peaky cap was the same sitting next to her.

***

Cillian declined the drink he was offered and shook hands with someone he wouldn’t remember later, his eyes found Yael in the distance laughing at something one of her brothers was saying, Lee-Anne and Violet were chatting with Natasha. As Cillian waved someone goodbye, he saw Helen greeting Yael.

“Look at you!” Helen rubbed her arms and took Yael’s hands in hers. “Where is the boss? Well, he thinks he’s the boss.”

“Oh! Helen stop, you’re gorgeous!” Looking around, her eyes found Cillian’s. “Right behind you.”

“I’ll tell my friend you said that.” He joked. “What did you say at the red carpet? I couldn’t understand anything for the noise.”

Helen passed her arm around Yael. “So, you finally got to see the series! About time.”

Cillian shook his head. “Don’t start brainwashing her… Where’s Damian?”

Helen loved teasing Cillian, she made him smile genuinely and she looked excited as he was about this project.

“Are you coming to the after party? It’s at my place.” A man asked.

“Do you remember Steve, my love?” Cillian asked her as Steve offered his hand.

Yael nodded. “Sorry, we can’t go.” And he started to say one of those terrible excuses, when the real reason was that he wanted to take her to bed and make love until their bodies couldn’t take it anymore.

-----

“Hello?” He asked while pouring the coffee into two cups.

“I assume you haven’t seen your email yet, so I will make the long story short for you.” Steve announced on the phone as Yael appeared in the room wearing nothing but a towel around her frame, his eyes devoured her body. “We broke all records last night when they released the first episode of season two! They want us to start working on the next season as soon as possible and you’ll be executive producer.”

Yael planted a silent kiss on Cillian’s cheek and then took a sip of her coffee, his free hand started to undo the towel. “I see.” He answered to whoever was on the other side of the line. “Thank you, Steve, I’ll see you around.”

She started to walk away, but Cillian stopped her. Spinning her around, Yael wrapped her legs on his waist. “What are we celebrating?”

Scout barked at them, he wanted to be part of it too.

“We just got renewed for season three!” Yael hugged him tightly, he had been unsure at times. “And… I’m going to be producer of the show from now on.”

“I told you that you would get the recognition you deserve, my love, you’ve worked so hard for this moment.”

Yael kissed him savoring the moment, knowing how much it meant to him, she was genuinely happy because she knew all the work and love he put into this project.

“How do you want to celebrate?”

Linking his hands behind her back, Cillian seemed to think about it for a few seconds. “Let me just finish with the play, and then we go on a proper vacation, wherever you want, I don’t care about the place.” His smile lighting his whole face couldn’t even compare to how happy he actually was.

****

Did you like the premier part? Would you like to see more Cillian x Tommy parts? I always love reading your comments 💕

#That’s what Cill said #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x oc #cillianmurphy #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy fan fiction #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy smut #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby imagine #cillian murphy x tommy shelby

[alfedena]

Okay, but isn't the Hamas, too, then, as an islamic organization, a wannabe colonizer who has no claim to the land either? As the book says: "Indigenous people absorbed the religion of the islamic arabian invaders." Isn't the word 'absorbing' doing a lot of heavy lifting here when they were literally invaded? It sounds like the indigenous people where neither jewish, nor christian, nor muslim, and all of these religions were forced upon them by conquerors. (I don't think that citing the Ottoman government, who conquered that region as well, who was "never" antisemitic during their rule, speaking out against zionism, is making the point your trying to make. Anticolonialism isn't the wrong point, but it's the wrong group to cite as support against zionism... without an ulterior motive?)

wow this is a very simplistic view of this situation. never in that post did i mention hamas first of all… and second of all, palestinian liberation is not, at its heart, about religion – it is necessitated by the settler-colonial structure of israel towards the political, economic, & cultural domination over and genocide of the people who have been living in the region for generations. would you say that the IRA was just “wannabe colonizers” (whatever tf that means) because, outwardly, it seems to be a conflict between irish catholics and protestant anglo/scots-irish? no, because irrespective of the fact that catholicism is not the “original/indigenous” religion (also what a stupid term in this context which removes all ability for meaningful change and movement throughout history) of ireland, the irish people, who happen to be catholic, have been stripped of their means of actualizing community, culture, subsistence, and so on over the past 600 years. palestinians being muslim or christian or otherwise does not negate the fact that they are indigenous.

needless to say there are also movements throughout SWANA that are trying to reverse historical arabization and rejuvenate religions like zoroastrianism, amazigh religions, etc.

and ive already said this but yes ottomans were occupiers of palestine, perpetrators of genocide, and by no means “the good guys.” the ottoman empire is relevant because the creation of the modern israeli state was predicated on british interference in SWANA. and second the point im trying to highlight is that jewish people have had a continued presence in the levant after the destruction of the second temple and before the second aliyah. and while jewish connection to the ottoman empire in regards to national identity is certainly not as simple as "oh the ottomans released this statement therefore jewish people were entirely assimilated and accepted into the wider ottoman empire and palestine," but the ashkenazim and sephardim of old yeshuv did make up a significant portion of ottoman palestine with cultures distinct from european, african, or other asian jewish groups.

[nancypullen]

Tuesday

I don't know whether to keep posting pics and info from Ireland or just move on. You've probably had enough, right? I haven't talked about Galway, or Hill of Tara, or the many places in between. How about just a quick bit about Hill of Tara, because there was something kind of special there.

Alright, a bit of background -

The Hill of Tara has been important since the late Stone Age, when a passage tomb was built there. However, the site became truly significant in the Iron Age (600 BC to 400 AD) and into the Early Christian Period when it rose to supreme prominence – as the seat of the high kings of Ireland. All old Irish roads lead to this critical site.

St Patrick himself went there in the fifth century. As Christianity achieved dominance over the following centuries, Tara’s importance became symbolic. Its halls and palaces have now disappeared and only earthworks remain.

There are still remarkable sights to be seen, however. Just one example is the Lia Fáil – the great coronation stone and one of the four legendary treasures of the Tuatha Dé Danann – which stands proudly on the monument known as An Forradh.

Here's an aeriel view - you can see the two long parallel lines, the foundation of what was once a huge banqueting hall, and the ceremonial mounds are visible as well.

From up on the hill you can see for miles in every direction - emerald green, rolling hills dotted with cottages and sheep as far as the eye can see. I can imagine ancient Irish kings taking in that same view.

You can see the ring around the top of the hill, that's Ráith na Ríg or Fort of the Kings. Built during the Iron Age, it is 1 kilometer in circumference. Well, here's the blurb that I snapped from a sign.

And here's a bit more about why the Irish cherish this spot.

Pagan kings? I'm in! We walked where they walked thousands of years ago. It was fascinating. The Stone of Destiny! Used for royal inaugurations for thousands of years (and yes, it is a phallic symbol).

This burial mound is a Neolithic passage tomb that marks Tara’s beginnings as a prehistoric burial place in 3350 BC (holy cow!) , a practice that continued for three and a half thousand years. Inside you can see intricate carvings of early megalithic art on the passage walls.

If you're curious read about King Cormac, who ruled wisely and fairly from Tara for forty years until he choked to death on a salmon bone. At least that's the story, rumor has it there was a curse upon him and that perhaps he'd made the faeries unhappy. And that, my friends, is why I wanted to visit Tara. The Irish embrace superstition and the supernatural. They'll divert a road to avoid cutting down a fairy tree. A pragmatic banker or accountant will refuse to cut a limb from a fairy tree, "just in case". Fairy trees are usually Hawthorne trees and you'll often see them standing alone in a field with rows plowed around them, or undisturbed in a round-about or parking lot. No one messes with the wee folk. Having said that, there's a well known fairy tree on the Hill of Tara. See the ribbons fluttering from those branches on the right side of the photo?

There's a path that leads right to that Hawthorne tree because people climb the hill and visit that tree to tie a ribbon or string to a limb and make a wish, a request for the fairies.

That was my goal as well. Why yes, I am sixty years old. What's your point? I believe it was Roald Dahl who said, "Those who don't believe in magic will never find it." I'll go to my grave believing(and seeing it!). Obviously, I'm not alone. I'd meant to pack a pink ribbon for just this moment, and had forgotten it. Thank goodness I travel with a photographer who always has little cloths to clean his lens.

I tied that white cloth on a small limb and made my wish. Since I haven't read or heard anything about fairy wishes that suggests it won't come true if shared, here's what I wished. My wish was for my dear grandgirl, and it was simple. I wished that she'd be "okay" all of the days of her life. I didn't wish for happiness every day of her life, that's impossible. We all experience heartache and disappointment. I just want her to be okay even in her worst times, to know that it will pass and that she'll be fine. I suppose that's actually just emotional strength, or confidence in her worth, but it all boils down to just being okay no matter what plot twist comes her way. Being sad or mad or feeling betrayed is much easier to handle when at your core you know you'll be fine. I'm crossing my fingers that the fey folk understand and grant my wish. I'd die a happy woman.

And speaking of happy, the frame that I ordered for my Dingle purchase arrived today! I mentioned a blog or two ago about what a fun, artsy town Dingle is and that I'd picked up a little watercolor. That's what I usually bring home from our trips, something that can be framed and kept. I like to see our souvenirs every day, it makes me happy. This is the watercolor that I purchased,

and now it's ready for hanging!

It's titled "A Ray of Sunshine" and it feels like the perfect capture of the weather, colors, and attitude of Ireland. I love it! That's where I'll leave you, with fairies and sunshine. Can't think of a better place. I hope that every wish you make comes true. It helps if you believe in magic.

Stay safe, stay well, and make a wish! XOXO, Nancy

[shudderue]

ok. au thoughts that i'm putting on here because i'll either lose them in a google doc otherwise or just. never do anything with them and i need peer pressure to utilise them#

somewhere around the 1500s, the war begins. same premise as in canon: some cunts want he faceless ones back, some don't. it's messy.

china, having grown up in the church of the faceless, rises quickly to the head of the diablerie. bliss, after many failed attempts to get her away, leaves her be after deserting on his own.

mevolent is killed around 200 years into the action. china, as head of the diablerie, makes the controversial decision to step up as the leader of the faceless church. with serpine, known collector of magic, at her side, her own vast collection and family's relics, and the wealth of the faceless church at her hands, she quickly becomes unstoppable in a way mevolent could not.

the war effort switches: now, instead of trying to kill people, china is more than happy to let people die while she focuses on bringing the faceless ones into this world. so long as she has people - and she has many - as cannon fodder, she's happy.

meritorious' side realises that there's little they can do. ireland is a different place when china starts to near a century in power: the air is fraught with magic, crackling like electricity at your skin, blurring the edge of your vision. rifts crack open daily, spilling monsters on nobody's side but their own, horrifying creatures that you can't even imagine. the world is ready for the faceless ones: the people are not.

there's nothing for it,and with the impending arrival of the faceless ones, there is a final, last ditch effort - leave ireland. leave the cradles of magic, where sorcery is the foundation of everything, where the smell of witchcraft burns your nose if you pay too much attention to it. quarantine the magic of the world onto this little island, in australia, in a pocket in southern africa, and let them be. magic is no more, in the rest of the world, and that is a sacrifice that everyone who leaves must be willing to make.

few stay. few leave. many die. magic is no more, survived in only the near immortals who lived through the horrors of the war, their power locked away and unusable, their bodies kept strong and useful regardless, feeding on the remnants of magic never used. sorcery, for the most part, is no more, in the majority of the world.

two hundred years later, two men and a woman are arrested: a couple and their eldest child. black market smuggling is their crime - magical artefacts traded among thieves, crooks, assassins. these three are the latter, planning on using their wealth from the smuggled goods to buy their way into central london and kill the king - eachan meritorious, who stripped them of their "divine right", who stole away their children's right to magic, to long life, to a better world.

the youngest child, a baby of three weeks old, is raised by the state, trained to be the king's assassin in a cruel twist of fate. her parents and older brother spend the rest of their days in labour camps, toiling away to provide food and necessities for the population who toe the line, the former sorcerers and their descendants.

tanith, she calls herself when she is old enough to think about names and such. tanith low, raised among royalty and sent among rats, to kill any people who speak of bringing magic back to the world and to keep the peace, to keep the faceless ones from coming back.it is, almost, a happy existence.

there are rumours, however, to the west. the darklands, as they are called now, are their own little pockets of magic, uninterefered with. never did they quite manage to being back the faceless ones, but it's anyone's guess as to whether that was ever sorrows' actual intention. but there's something in the air, something coming, and sorrows needs to die.

tanith is sent to ireland, sneaking in and working her way closer to sorrows. her mission is simple - to kill sorrows - but unfathomably difficult, to kill the most powerful sorceress the world has ever seen, who can bring an army to their knees with a smile, will a man to cut off his own fingers with a smile, convince a mother to burn her child to ash without a word. but tanith, with no exposure to magic, is immune, and grows closer to her target every day, befriending china and, maybe, falling in love. because, of course, it's real, and she's the special one here, and, really, china would never hurt her, of course.

#anyway. sorry for the dump lol #lucy's shit #skulduggery pleasant #sp #tanith low #china sorrows

[stefankarlfanblog]

Article by Halldóra Friðjónsdóttir for Dagblaðið Visir - DV on the 2nd of January 2001: https://timarit.is/page/3010290?iabr=on#page/n12/mode/1up

A humorous sad story

The fairy tale world of movies has long been fascinating and there are a very countable number of people who have dreams of sharing in the fairy tale. But working on films is not at all as fascinating as what appears to us on the big screen, which the inhabitants of an unspecified village in Ireland get to try it on their own skin in Marie Jones's play, Stones in his Pockets. It's not just that good moods fade away through personal encounters, but this wonderful world of illusion becomes nothing compared to the drama of reality. It still does not mean that Charlie and Jake, who are the main characters of the play, turn away from movies, because when the play ends, they come up with an idea for a movie script based on the events they experience during filming. It is very unlikely that this idea will become a reality and come to fruition, because what is important is that this shared life experience has matured the partners and given them a sharper understanding of life.

The story we are told in the play is heartwarming and sad, and sometimes you can hardly remember that the nastiness gets the better of you. Fortunately, the author manages to stay on the right side of the line and is primarily grateful to the ironic humor. And what makes the play interesting is that it is written for two actors, each playing seven roles. Besides playing Jake and Charlie, actors have to portray women, old men and children, to name a few.

The extras take to Irish dancing at the wedding in the film Hilmir Snær Guðnason and Stefán Karl Stefánsson in two of their fourteen roles. Photo credited to Pjetur for DV.

Cast list

After watching Hilmi Snæ Guðnason and Stefán Karl Stefánsson interpret this diverse gallery of characters with rare genius, it's hard to imagine other actors in the roles. Hilmir Snær has long proven that he is one of our most versatile actors, and even though Stefán Karl is a relatively recent graduate, he has already shown that he is one of the more promising newcomers in the acting profession. His talent is at its best in comedy and his performance in Stones in his Pockets certainly did not disappoint. It would take a longer story than can be found here to describe the nuanced interpretation of all these characters by the partners, so let it suffice to say that they both shone in this successful production.

Elín Edda Árnadóttir is credited with the excellent execution of a set that is both simple and symbolic. Ian McElhinney directs the play and makes no secret of the fact that he knows it very well, having staged it in many places. He has chosen the successful way of minimizing all external equipment, which means that the actors get to enjoy themselves to the fullest. Hilmir Snær and Stefán Karl do not fail him; they have a great performance in this show, which will no doubt be on the National Theatre's stage for a long time.

Halldóra Friðjónsdóttir

The National Theater is showing at Smíðverksðir: Stones in his Pockets by Marie Jones. Translation: Guðni Kolbeinsson. Lighting: Ásmundur Karlsson. Production of set design and costumes: Elín Edda Árnadóttir. Assistant director: Björn Gunnlaugsson. Directed by: Ian McElhinney

#stefan karl #stefán karl #stefan karl stefansson #stefán karl stefánsson #robbie rotten #2001 #stones in his pockets

[spann-stann]

Let’s start with a point of agreement: our goal, as people who live in a civilized modern society, is a system of government which is responsible. Good government is responsible government. The equivalence is a tautology. The question is: how shall we secure for ourselves the blessings of responsible government? Or as Pope put it:

"For forms of government let fools contest;Whate’er is best administer’d is best:"

Unless you had quite an unusual education, you grew up believing that the problem is solved: constitutional democracy is the best mechanism for producing responsible government. It certainly produces something. Let’s call this something, whatever it is, moral responsibility.

Here at UR, we see constitutional democracy as a sort of large hydatid cyst,1 cuddled gently in the skull alongside one’s actual neural tissue. The intrepid reader, with the instruments this blog provides, can extract the creature in the comfort and privacy of her own shower stall. As the neurosurgeon, Dr. Ahmad, notes: “The space was filled with saline at the end of operation.”

Which is certainly one option. But it leaves the patient a bit of a nihilist. The obvious drop-in replacement is royalism, of course—royalism is really just reverting the changes, as we say in my line of work. So here at UR we give it up for all royalists. 

For example, I have no hesitation in calling for the King of Thailand to throw off the reins of the transnationalists, obey the wishes of the people, and return the country to full independence and royal government. I have also previously noted that any corporate descendant of the old Union of England, Scotland and Ireland, including but not limited to West Virginia, is entitled to restore the Stuarts through the Princes of Liechtenstein. If you wonder what this would mean for you, personally, try the simple exercise of reading your quality local fishrag for a month, noting the top headline, and asking: “How would Hereditary Prince Alois handle this?”

But royalism, even if you stick a “neo-” on the front, is just too old-fashioned to appeal to some. So we also offer an extra decorative touch, available for a mere $19.95, in which the customer can fill her cyst’s void with our own synthetic organ of government. We call it neocameralism, and it is very fresh.

Neocameralism informs the surrounding neural tissue that the best mechanism for producing responsibility in government is for governments to be administered as sovereign joint-stock corporations, controlled absolutely by their shareholders, who hold the master encryption keys for the government’s invincible robot armies. At some risk of oxymoronism, this could be even be described as private government. It creates quite a different form of responsibility—financial responsibility.

Of course, it’s entirely possible that our so-called “cyst” could be a healthy, normal lobe of your brain. That our sinister, unapproved product could in fact insert a strange translucent, globelike parasite, which will control your destiny and lead you to an awful end. Ha ha! Yes, young Jedi, we are asking you to choose. Wield the red saber for the first time! Then visit our Sith Library, and learn the truth about this so-called “Council.” You already know what they say about us.

In other words, the financial responsibility created by joint-stock sovereignty would be much more desirable, in terms of quality of life for most residents, than the moral responsibility which we presently enjoy thanks to constitutional democracy. Or so I assert.

But this is a dangerous assertion, because history teaches us very quickly that there are many worse things than constitutional democracy. I claim to be encouraging you to exchange the path of evil for the road of enlightenment, but I could be doing just the opposite. And even if I’m not, the surgery I recommend is traumatic by definition. The procedure has never been attempted, let alone tested, and the implant is something I whipped up in my garage out of spare helicopter parts. On the other hand, do you really want to go through life with a worm in your head?

So let’s get down to details, and compare the moral responsibility of constitutional democracy with the financial responsibility of the sovereign joint-stock company. I think we can all agree that these are both legitimate forms of responsibility, and that they are very different. After 2008, no one can possibly accuse constitutional democracy of being a financially responsible form of government. Likewise, the neocameralist state is amoral by definition.

I don’t think there is much contest on the financial side of the ledger. Let’s consider morality.

The constitutional democratic state is an apparently immortal, monotonically expanding, and nontrivially morbid mass of personnel which proclaims itself the instrument of a single purpose: to inflict good upon the world. For traditional countries this affliction was at least limited to specified borders, but in the case of USG since 1945 it knows no bound. Washington operates on the principle of universal benevolence. Its ultimate aim is to benefit all people, anywhere and for all time. Doubtless if aliens were found on Jupiter, concern for their welfare would soon be felt on the Potomac.

A joint-stock sovereign is a clean, lean and mean revenue-extracting machine. Its goal: loot. Any well-run Patchwork realm is congenitally dedicated to the good old Marxist ideal of exploitation. It has no intrinsic sympathy for the aged, the crippled, the deformed, the useless. Into the biodiesel vats with them! Gold coins literally wrung from the hides of the unfortunate will cascade into the piggybanks of our obese, cigar-chomping shareholders.

Obviously, whatever you think of democracy, this is unacceptable. To mollify the conscience of the increasingly appalled reader, let me explain the logic of philanthropy in the financially responsible city-state. We will return to the broader contest of morals in a moment.

Government is like a nuclear reactor or a stem cell: perfect when it works properly, and lethal when it doesn’t. Like both, any design for a sovereign institution must depend on multiple independent safety mechanisms. If all safeguards fail, something unacceptable will happen—by definition. If all but one fail, the result may not be desirable, but it will not be unacceptable.

-Mencius Moldbug, "Patchwork: A Political System For the 21st Century"

#toryblr #muh ideology (kind of) #mencius moldbug

[quoteablebooks]

Genre: Nonfiction, True Crime, History

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

Trigger Warning: Violence, Murder, Eating disorder, Alcoholism, Torture, Addiction, Child abuse, Pedophilia

Summary:

Patrick Radden Keefe writes an intricate narrative about a notorious killing in Northern Ireland and its devastating repercussions. In December 1972, Jean McConville, a thirty-eight-year-old mother of ten, was dragged from her Belfast home by masked intruders, her children clinging to her legs. They never saw her again. Her abduction was one of the most notorious episodes of the vicious conflict known as The Troubles. Everyone in the neighborhood knew the I.R.A. was responsible. But in a climate of fear and paranoia, no one would speak of it. In 2003, five years after an accord brought an uneasy peace to Northern Ireland, a set of human bones was discovered on a beach. McConville's children knew it was their mother when they were told a blue safety pin was attached to the dress--with so many kids, she had always kept it handy for diapers or ripped clothes. Patrick Radden Keefe's mesmerizing book on the bitter conflict in Northern Ireland and its aftermath uses the McConville case as a starting point for the tale of a society wracked by a violent guerrilla war, a war whose consequences have never been reckoned with. The brutal violence seared not only people like the McConville children, but also I.R.A. members embittered by a peace that fell far short of the goal of a united Ireland, and left them wondering whether the killings they committed were not justified acts of war, but simple murders.

*Opinions*

I picked this book up on a recommendation of one of the workers at White Whale Bookstore when I asked for help picking out a nonfiction title as it is a genre that I am getting into. It has been sitting on my TBR for a while and since I was going on vacation I figured it was a good read to take along since I wasn’t going to have internet. I devoured this book in under a week, which is an impressive pace for me, and I honestly had a hard time not reading it at every opportunity. It is a glimpse into The Troubles of Northern Ireland, something that most of us here in the United States were aware of something happening during these years, but have little insight into what was happening “over there”. While media like Belfast and Derry Girls are bringing these times in Northern Ireland to light, Say Nothing dives into some of the most recognizable names from the headlines and makes this big struggle very human to the reader. A lot of the one-star reviews complained that this was advertised as a true crime novel, but didn’t focus enough on the disappearance of Jean McConville in December of 1972. While I agree that this book doesn’t focus on a police investigation and the disappearance of Mrs. McConville is more of a framework for the entire story that Keefe is telling to be built on, I would say that it is a true-crime book. It is focused on the multiple bombings, shootings, and murders that happened in Northern Ireland during the Troubles, told sometimes in the words of those involved in the crimes. If that isn’t a true crime story, I don’t know what is. I can see why people felt as if they had been promised one story and given another, but the comments that it was falsely advertised I don’t completely agree with. Just because this doesn't follow one investigation like I'll Be Gone in the Dark and Green River, Running Red doesn't mean it was miscategorized. Keefe’s writing is compelling, easy to digest, and brings a layer of humanity to such a turbulent time. As some people stated in reviews, this is a rather one-sided look at the time in question, focused on the IRA and Catholic side of the violence. Keefe acknowledged this at the end of the book, pointing individuals to other resources if they wanted to read an account focused on the Protestant view of the conflict. Obviously, I am far removed from the pain this caused for Northern Ireland, but I felt as if Keefe was relatively neutral even if he was focused mostly on the Catholic struggle. That being said, if Irish Catholic and Irish Protestant individuals don’t see that being the truth, they would know better than I. Overall, I think this is the perfect book for someone who wants to get into nonfiction but is unsure about how to approach the genre. It reads almost like an action movie, with heists, bombings, and trials, but Keefe never loses sight of the fact that these are real people whose lives were forever changed by their decisions. While the disappearance of Jean McConville is the story's framing, it isn’t forgotten somewhere in the middle. The McConville family is an example of how no one was safe in Northern Ireland, everyone was suspected of helping the “enemy”, and it resulted in tragic consequences. Also, the culture of silence will probably not be breached again after the Belfast Project blunders, there is no clearing of anyone’s name or getting the entire truth. It is that thought that will keep me thinking about this book for a long time and looking into more information about this time in Northern Ireland. 5 out of 5 read for sure.

#Say Nothing #Say Nothing: A True Story of Murder and Memory in Northern Ireland #patrick radden keefe #booklr #book review #nonfiction #5 out of 5 stars

[coughrocket9]

Celebrate Retirement with a Custom Engraved Whiskey Bottle: This blog site will have to do with Whiskey and how it was used for retirement celebrations.

Since Whiskey has a long abundant history in Ireland, a Whiskey bottle is one of the finest gifts for a retirement. Custom-made inscribed Whiskey bottles bring a little bit of that authentic Irish history as a present for a retirement. Toss a retirement party with a Whiskey bottle from our business. Laser-engraving makes it simple to brand name your own celebration or event. We have actually stayed in business for several years, supplying quality personalized and custom etched bottles. Whiskey for Retirement. Consuming Whiskey is a common way to commemorate a retirement. Bourbon and retirement fit like peanut butter and jelly. Well, maybe not that much however still, if you're questioning what to consume to celebrate your retirement, Whiskey may be the response. I've operated in more than a couple of bars, and have been asked sometimes what drinks are best for a retirement celebration. When someone discussed Whiskey plays an essential function in this day, that's. Consuming Whiskey while celebrating a retirement is a popular choice among senior citizens since it is an enjoyable and significant way to mark the event. In the past, Whiskey was even put over the heads of seniors to commemorate their new status as non-workers. After drinking Whiskey for retirement, lots of retirees will keep a small cache of the liquor in their homes for later years. Engraved Whiskey Bottle. There are numerous methods you can have your bottle engraved and to make your celebration really special. The best thing about this bottle is that you can have it engraved with the info needed for your event. This could include names, date of retirement, and maybe a couple of words to the guest. One of the traditions that are typically consisted of in Retirement Celebrations is the discussion of a specially designed personalized bottle. Such a custom-made Engraved Whiskey bottle could be used both as an ornamental item and as an unique present for your liked ones. Nowadays, individuals have a fantastic love for tailored and personalized things, consisting of gifts. For that reason you will find that such special Engraved Whiskey bottle is extremely valued. Customized Engraved Whiskey Bottles. Customizing the engraved message is necessary due to the fact that it makes the celebration really distinct and special due to the fact that it is thoughtful and individual. A popular present option is a tailored engraved Whiskey bottle when it comes time to commemorate a retirement. This particular kind of custom engraved bottle is implied for this specific event and can truly make the retiring worker feel honored for their hard work. Since it has a manly aura that is not excessively promoted, men and women enjoy this present. Retirements are a time to commemorate and share memories with family and buddies, Whiskey is the perfect drink for these celebrations. Whiskey is a spirit that can be appreciated by all generations. This is because it has a distinct mix of taste and a high alcohol material that provides an enjoyable experience. For retirement celebrations, don't be amazed if you find your buddies reaching for the Whiskey bottle or shot glasses. Not exactly sure what to give that hard-working colleague? Fed up with the exact same old retirement gift? Never heard of a laser inscribed Whiskey bottle? Let us give you some concepts on how you can make retirement celebrations more remarkable for your colleagues. This blog site provides some good concepts on how receivers would enjoy a custom inscribed Whiskey bottle. The pictures will speak for themselves, but let me highlight the tourist attractions of these presents Here is what makes these gifts to stick out from the rest. A Whiskey bottle is one of the best presents for a retirement because Whiskey has a long rich history in Ireland. Custom engraved Whiskey bottles bring a little bit of that authentic Irish history as a present for a retirement. Throw a retirement party with a Whiskey bottle from our company. When it comes time to commemorate a retirement, a well-known present option is a personalized engraved Whiskey bottle. For retirement celebrations, don't be shocked if you find your good friends reaching for the Whiskey bottle or shot glasses. Custom Engraved Whiskey Bottles

#Custom Whiskey Bottles #Personalized Whiskey Bottles #Engrave Whiskey Bottle Near Me #Engrave Whiskey Bottles #Custom Engraved Whiskey Bottles

[loiswolf]

Day 2 May 17 Kells - Carrick on Shannon 118kms

Day 2 May 17 Kells - Carrick on Shannon 118kms

Ok, it should have only been 105kms but we’ll get to that later.

Despite my plan to leave early today I didn’t get away until 9am.

I wasn’t worried. I had the route carefully copied down from google maps and was determined to check any turns to avoid making navigating mistakes.

All went according to plan for most of the ride. Things didn’t fall apart until the end and it wasn’t entirely my fault….just a bit. The day was overcast and cool, but not raining. Again I thoroughly enjoyed the beautiful scenery on the back roads. There wasn’t a lot to take photos of but I snapped a couple so you can get an idea of what I’m talking about.

I did miss one turn I think. I have a new odometer from Decathlon and the kms don’t always seem to match up with the distances google maps indicates between turns. This is why I missed so many turns yesterday and I know I set the wheel circumference properly. I also can’t work out how to reset the trip meter which is very annoying. The worst thing about it is that you can’t put in previous kms from the old odometer. I’ll have to add them at the end of the trip or maybe buy another one.

Anyway, today’s missed turn resulted in a very big hill which I probably would rather have avoided. I don’t think it added any extra distance and I was soon back on route.

There wasn’t really anywhere to stop for a break so I was pretty hopeful to find something at Finnea at about 40kms. Nup! There was a general store which had instant coffee. The lady suggested the pub just down the road but it was shut because it was Tuesday. 🤔 I sat on a window ledge , ate a chocolate bar and checked my route. All clear from there so I rode about another 10km to Granard. I stopped at a servo that had machine coffee which wasn’t too bad. I was just happy to have coffee by then. It was accompanied by a dodgy looking thing resembling a chocolate crackle with marshmallows stuck on it. I sat on an outside seat and quite enjoyed my break.

Cycling on through Granard I thought I might see a proper cafe but the busiest place in town was the St Vincent de Paul. At the end of town was  this church.

Now I had about 55kms left to go ( supposedly) so I headed off expecting an easy afternoon. The quiet back roads were simple to following taking me straight over to Newton Forbes where I was joining the N4. Assuming I wouldn’t need the iPad to navigate, I left it in the backpack under the spray jacket I donned due to the onset of rain. I’m not going to complain about the rain because it is expected in Ireland.

The rain was steady as I rode the N4. It was a busier road than I was used to but I was happy to follow the last 30kms to my destination. All as good for about 8kms, then disaster! The road was closed!! I thought I was very clever skimming around the road blocks and enjoying the road to myself for the next 6 kms.

It all came unstuck at the next roundabout where a workman told me I had to get off. He assured me there were signs guiding around the detour. There were not!! As you all know, if there is a wrong way to go I will take it. Yes, I went the wrong way and added over 10kms. I was guided back when I tried to rejoin the N4….I don’t know where…I must have backtracked somehow.

By now I was very wet and very tired. Eventually I rejoined the N4 in the right place but still had another 16kms to ride. I had to stop for another chocolate bar because I was getting shaky.

The ride wasn’t too bad and I had the unexpected bonus of noticing my guest house 2kms before the town centre. This guest house is over budget but the hot shower was great and there are heaters everywhere to dry my clothes on. The lady here offered to drive me into town but I hopped out just a few hundred meters down the road at a Tesco’s. Charlotte ( the guest house lady) offered to heat up something in the microwave so I didn’t have to buy a take away. I also saved money by not finding any cafes today. I better go get that dinner heated up. It’s quite late!

Hopefully tomorrow will not be such a long day. The sun is actually shining right now so I’m counting on no rain.

[paynemichaelsen6]

To Buy Or Not To Buy Car Shopping Guide

Is it time to replace that old clunker? Are you in the mood for a change in your vehicle? It is important to know that buying a car can be a challenge, or it can be quite simple if you know what you are doing. The advice and tips you will find in this article can give you that education. Read on to find out how. If you are trading in an automobile, visit your local library and find out the value of your car. You can also look this information up online in several different locations. By having the trade-in value of your car and the retail value of your car you can negotiate better. Know your limits. Before you start shopping for your next car or truck, decide how much you can afford to pay, and stick to it. Don't forget to include interest in your calculations. You can expect to pay around 20 percent as a down payment as well, so be prepared. Do not buy a car just because it is a good deal. You have to live with this car after you take it home, so it needs to be something that you really like and that works for you and your family. You also need to make sure you can really afford it. Shop around before you even go to the dealership. If you spend some time on local dealer's websites, you can learn about incentives that are offered. If you know what one dealership is offering, you can use it as a negotiating point and may be able to get a better deal. Do your research before you even step foot on a car lot. Cars for sale Ireland want to have an educated position when it comes to such a large purchase. It is a good idea to know what models you are interested in, and what the fair price is for those specific cars. When shopping for a car, consider how the vehicles fuel economy will affect your budget. You may feel the need to buy a V-8 that can tow things. But, ask yourself whether your truly need that additional power. Research is the key to being a happy car owner. With a budget in mind and a list of cars you want, you can begin to delve into which vehicle is right for you. You should be aware of any negative reports on the vehicles you have in mind. Know its safety ratings and value to help you negotiate a good price. Make sure to take your time. Even if you are really excited about buying a car, don't run out and buy it on the same day. Make sure that you have taken the time to do research on safety, repairs and other factors before doing something you might end up regretting. Those of you who are in the market for a certified pre-owned vehicle would be wise to check the cars certification checklist. This will allow you to be sure that all components have been inspected and everything is in order allowing you to buy with a great deal of confidence. If you are looking to purchase a used car, it is of the utmost importance that you get a copy of the vehicle maintenance and repair history. This will allow you to see what has been done to the car, and if it has been in any serious accidents. When purchasing a car, be wary of the age and mileage warranty of the vehicle. In most cases, you are likely to hit the mileage first so make sure you understand exactly how long you are likely to be covered before making a decision on what vehicle you will purchase. Make it clear to a car dealer that you have a certain budget, and you want to stick to that. This can stop them from offering you vehicles that are far more than you can afford. Be firm on that and do not bend. This will make it more likely for you to get a car that is well within your budget. There are some tricks to know when buying a car; however, it does not have to be a nightmare. Find all the information you can on how to handle the purchase and tie it in with what you have learned here. You will find the car you really want, and drive much happier knowing you bought it well.

#Cars for sale

[radiosandrecordings]

Archives crew tea preference headcanons? I think all we know in canon is that Martin hates oolong, but after your tea post I’d be interested to hear your thoughts on the topic.

Ooh this is gonna be dreadful because I personally am the worst with tea

The Jon typical levels of projection are high here folks! If asked what kind of tea he wants Jon will just be like ‘Tea... Like tea tea’. He knows there’s specific names of other types of tea, but to him it’s just Normal Tea (Like, a bag of tetley or something) His was raised by his grandmother, dammit, It’s Just Tea. (Gently slides this in with my ‘his grandmother is Irish Spite HC’) 

Martin actually knows all the various types of tea and definitely has a mental map of ‘This one is best for this, this person likes this one, this one is best when you’re-’ etc etc, but he probably prefers just black tea as well, but maybe he puts something like honey in it? I think he’d like lavender tea though. No idea what it tastes like, the idea is just nice. 

Tim for some reason is really striking me as raspberry tea? Like he probably drinks a lot of coffee (Straight black or some overly sugary Starbucks thing, no in between) but for some reason I really like the idea of him having a bunch of different types of ‘red berry blend’ where the actual berries involved change from brand to brand but it all kind of tastes the same really. 

Green tea for Sasha! Not because she’s calm or anything, girl is off her shits c’mon, but I think she’d just like the idea of it. Something that’s a bit more precise to make than just tossing the teabag in a cup and throwing a kettle at it. She probably drinks coffee for the caffeine though, and also just convenience (She mentions buying it on the way to work every day in 26).

Melanie drinks exclusively black coffee. She started off just doing it for the aesthetic and the reaction saying so gets from people, and from there she just gradually learned to genuinely like it 

#My Post #Asks #literally im the worst with tea #when I went to london for DTTM #That morning I was meeting up with my group and me and my hotel sharing friends all got to the meeting location first so we were getting st #I wanna say a pret? #Anyway it's like 10 in the morning I'm losing my mind because mechs that day and I'm also five minutes from seeing a group of my best frien #and I ask the two nice baristas for tea and they say 'black or white?' #and I PANIC #BECAUSE HERE IN GOOD OLD SIMPLE IRELAND #IF YOU GO INTO COSTA OR STARBUCKS AND ASK FOR TEA THEY JUST SAY 'SURE' AND MAKE YOU TEA #And then you can add milk yourself if you want at a little station #so I had no idea that meant 'do you want it with or without milk' #and thought she meant like. black tea blend or white tea blend #and panicked and said black #and that's how I ended up scalding my mouth off because apparently london cafes #don't have the little milk and sugar table to DIY your drink! #it was south bank on a january morning though I drank the Burning Liquid so I didn't freeze though #Anonymous

[futurewriter2000]

Back Home

A/N: The fact that I spent 15 minutes looking for a gif and still didn't find the one that would be perfect, I gave up and just put a photo on. I love this fic however, one of my favorites and I hope you will too.

REQUEST:hiiiii! i hope you’re having a wonderful day, filled with sunshine & rainbows !! 💫✨ may i please request sirius x daughter! reader imagine where the reader is staying with sirius for the first time since he went to azkaban and when she goes to bed he tries to tuck her in but struggles because the last time he’d have done it, he probably would’ve read her a story but she’s presumably grown out of that by now and so he’s not really sure what to do ? 🥺🍄

XX

All those easy days finally led to now- today. He had prepared thousands of different speeches, conversations, scenes inside his head but when it came to those last moments of seeing you for the first time since he had been taken away from you, nothing could make his heart beat faster than the simple thought of that. His hands were clamming up, his fingers were snapping due to all the anxiety, his knuckles cracking, his golden family ring twisting on his middle finger...

Nothing could have prepared him for today. Not thousands of different speeches or comforting words of his best friend, who had been taking care of you for the last few years. Maybe that was a bit comforting; for Remus to keep his promise to him, even though he thought he was a murderer, he still took you in. Remus with his good wolf-like heart, despite all the things he believed.

He told Sirius you wouldn't care how he was dressed but Sirius had changed about seven times already. Tie or no tie? Bow or no bow? A jacket or a blazer? Jeans or pants? Hair combed or natural? Shaved or not shaved?

It all led him to here; him pacing up and down the living room, twisting his family ring on his finger as another mistake has caught his eye. "This probably should be put away?" he continued to look at the black family vase. "KREACHER!" he shouted and the small elf appeared from thin air.

"Yes, Master-"

"Put this vase away. Hide it, throw it- I don't care. Just get it out of my sight." he spoke nervously and the elf obeyed, cursing under his breath.

He heard the door open and a loud laughter echo through the hall. Your laughter- it wasn't as small and high as he remembered it to be but it was still yours- that he definitely knew.

"Oh this place hasn't changed at all, Moony." you said as you had looked around the hall, a nostalgic rush of memories running through your head. "Grandpa told me he always hated this portrait of him. Said his nose was too large."

Sirius chuckled. That was true. He always did hate the portrait of him in the hall but never said anything because of his wife.

"Never said anything because of my wretched grandmother." you repeated his thoughts.

"Your grandmother was more than just wretched, Paddy." Remus smiled and grabbed your luggage. "I'll take these upstairs. I think you remember where your room was."

"Up, left, three doors down." you finger gunned him and made your way through the hall.

When you entered the living room, you were alone. Nothing but the same old black leather sofa, the magnificent fireplace you used to warm up with your grandfather when you visited- though where is grandpa. You swore his jar was right on the fireplace. A dark ugly vase.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked around if somebody has placed it somewhere else. When you did, your eyes met his.

Your breath got caught in your throat and you felt yourself standing completely still. Something cut you in half, maybe the way he had watched you but when you came out of your shock, you realised it was still the same warm, fuzzy, homely feeling that washed over you.

"Wow." he smiled, looking at you from head to toe. Your hair was long and he was quite surprised because when you were a child, you always hated long hair. Too much brushing- you used to say. Your eyes were welcoming, bright and similar. He used to tell you that they reminded him a bit of his younger brother, Regulus. He used to have that same welcoming and bright look in his eyes when he was a little boy. It wasn't much in the shape or the colour but in they way they saw the world, which scared him and inspired him at the same way.

You were not a little girl anymore. You had grown. You had gotten curves and a womanly-like shape. Of course, jeans and a leather jacket. Reminds him of himself when he was your age. Your face was full of youth and you looked taken care for.

"You're definitely not a little girl anymore." he said as he tried to catch his breath.

"Yeah." you smiled, sitting down and looking a bit around. "Twenty. Even I'm starting hard to believe it." you smiled and patted the seat next to you.

"Twenty." he sighed under his breath. He felt his heart sink and his shoulders slump. He had missed everything. From your childhood, to your first day at Hogwarts, your first date, graduation,...

"You haven't changed much." you said and he looked at you, laughing a bit.

"You think so?"

"Yeah." you shook your head. "Your hair is still long, your eyes a bit tired."

He kept quiet. Yes, he was tired. He was exhausted from hiding all the time, from living in that prison, filled with revenge for that rat. "He calls you Paddy still." Sirius smiled, referring to the nickname Remus had given you. "He used to do that from the moment you were born. Little Padfoot, he called you."

"Oh, he had told me all about the day I was born. You fainting in the middle."

"I just had to lay down for a while, okay. He's over-exaggerating." he started to defend himself.

"Bet." you laughed and he joined you.

"He told me you're training to become an Auror."

"Yeah. Guess, I take after my old man." you smiled brightly at him, melting his heart into a puddle of love and pride. When you saw him melt in front of your eyes, you put your hand on his knee and gave him a comforting look. "I always believed you were innocent. I just could never prove it."

"Oh, darling." he couldn't help himself, pulling you into a hug and letting tears fall down his cheeks at the words you had said. "I don't think you know how much I needed to hear that."

---

The whole experience of being here felt nostalgic. You knew you had been here before, stepped on those same stairs, dug your toes in that same rug, put your watch on that same night stand,... even the sheets felt as light and silky as it did when you were only a child. You didn't mind spending your time here. Your grandmother was strict, more than you heard but your grandfather was soft, nothing like you had heard from Remus or your dad or Regulus... not that you remember your uncle much. You had some faint memories of him but he simply disappeared one day and neither of your grandparents wanted to mention his name ever again. A forbidden name but it was his room, you occupied and whenever you laid here, more connected you felt to him and your roots when your father was away.

You spent weekends here or week days here. Remus was always in search of jobs and some months he couldn't provide for the both of you so you had spent some years here. Your grandfather melted at your sight, he simply adored you and he reminded you so much of your own father. Your grandmother always told you that you had made him go soft but grandchildren tend to do that. You knew she was softer to you as well, more than she was with your father and your uncle. Your grandfather said that she wanted to do right by you, not drive you away like she did with her sons. He knew because he did just the same.

There was a knock on the door that took you far away from the old memories. "Come in." you said gently and a curly-head lad popped his head in.

He gave you the usual smile- just the one that had been filled till your 6th year of life.

"I came in here to wish you good night." he said as he entered the room, keeping something behind his back. "Oh wow." he looked around the room, feeling a little chill run down his spine as the memories of his brother ran through his mind. "It's just as I remember it. You didn't change it much."

"No. I didn't feel the need."

"I wonder where is he." Sirius said in a low whisper, barely audible to you. You decided to let go of this topic.

"I wanted to ask you something."

He turned back to you and sat down at the edge of your bed. "Shoot."

"What happened to grandpa?" you asked, causing Sirius' eyes to furrow. "His ashes? Did you spread them anywhere?"

"What are you talking about?"

"The urn. It used to sit up on the fireplace. It was a large black one. I know this place he used to take me just before he passed away. Only me and him knew about it. He never told grandmother about this place and he made me promise that it will be out little secret. It's a cave somewhere in Ireland. Cliffs of Moher, I believe."

"Wait..." he stopped you a bit. "That big ugly black vase was filled with his ashes?"

"Yes?" you raised an eyebrow at him.

"Oh..." he felt his cheeks flush and you could see his eyes bulk out.

"Have you done something to the urn?"

"No, no. Of course not. I just put it in a much safer place." he lied and you could see right through it. He definitely did something to the urn but you let it pass, since the object in his hand pulled more of your attention.

"Alright. What's that in your hand?" you pointed and he quickly looked down.

"Oh, this." he pulled it out and it was a big thick book- a book you had a clear memory of. "It's silly, you probably don't remember it anymore."

You let out a laugh. "You're joking, right?" you sat up gently took the book away from him. "The Tales of Beedle the Bard!" you let out another excited laugh. "How could I not remember this? You used to read it to me every night. I could not fall asleep without it."

Sirius felt his poor heart explode in his chest. God, you still had that little girl inside of you. The one he tucked in every night but always resister with your tiny little legs because it was always too hot.

"I thought you'd have outgrown it.." he said quietly.

"If my friends ask me, yes but between you and me-" you leaned forward and whispered. "This is a little secret."

He let out another laugh. "Would you like me to read it to you again?"

You smiled widely. "I'd love for you to read it but dad-" you said and is eyes snapped to you, wide in surprise as it was the first time you had called him that in so many year. "- wouldn't you rather... get the Urn back first before Kreacher throws it away?"

"Probably a good idea but I'll be back." he stood up and ran out of the room, causing you to laugh at the sight but when he did come back with his father in his arms, he already saw you asleep in your bed.

He gently put his father on the desk and made his way to you. The book was open in the middle, one of yours and his favorite tales. He scooped the book up and placed it beside the vase. Then he remembered just how much his father hated these fairytale based books, so he pushed it far away from him.

"Even when your dust, I can't trust you." he said, narrowing his eyes at the vase before going back to you and observing you for a moment.

If he really thought about it, he didn't really lose you. Maybe time did take a way some of the precious memories he wanted to share with you but you turned out beautiful. You turned out to be this amazing, forgiving and understanding angel that still loved to read fairytales and take care of people when they were already ash.

He grabbed the edge of the covers and pulled it up to your chin, tucking you neatly just as he would when you were a child. Then he could hear something happening at the foot of the bed and see your bare feet poking out. He let out a small laugh.

"Some habits stay the same." he said, pushing away the strands on your forehead and giving you a gentle kiss. He then quietly took the book and his father, smiling that he gets to spend the rest of his life, creating new memories with you.

#sirius black #sirius black imagine #harry potter #marauders #marauders imagine #marauders imagines #remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #james potter #james potter imagine #sirius black x reader

[obaewankenope]

So I want to learn about Tuatha de Danann. Are there any books, websites, or videos you’d recommend for someone who knows nothing about Irish lore but wants to learn?

Okay, sorry for taking so long nonnie! I fully intended on replying to this ask the morning after I got it but my ADHD and executive dysfunction happened so RIP me, I guess.

Anyway, I’m gonna do my best to list out the sources I know of and those I think might be useful for you. Obviously, I’ll begin with wikipedia just because it’s usually a decent starting point when you google something.

So. Links:

Wikipedia can give you a general run-down of the Tuatha de Danann (TdD) via this link here. It has a lot of information but not all of it is 100% relevant depending on what sort of history/mythology you’re looking for. If you’re interested in Insular Celtic Mythology (aka Irish Celts since they didn’t interact much or at all with other pagan religions, thus reducing the chance of osmosis of beliefs, gods, stories, etc for a good while), then the wikipedia link is a decent starting point but not perfect since it draws on a lot of Celtic sources from across the Continent as well (for example, Gaulish Celtic stories and beliefs about gods, as well as gods that originate from that region). So yeah, if you’re looking for specifically Insular Celtic knowledge regarding the TdD, you have to go looking elsewhere I’m afraid.

This link is to a blog article that gives plenty of information about the TdD but is pretty simple language-wise compared to wikipedia (isn’t everything except academic journals rip). It’s not Insular specific however, so again, may not be what you want but it’s decent enough and gives some nice stories/references/quotes about the TdD.

Transceltic is a good source for information about Celtic Mythology and History. It’s pan-Celtic however, so it draws and discusses a lot of continental Celtic material rather than just Irish/Insular Celticism. I’d recommend giving it a read regardless of whether it’s what you want just because it’s well-written and is also a good point for starting a seven-year google-fu research bender *side-eyes self awkwardly*

Moving on from links, I can now give you a list of books you can read online, possibly find at your local library, or just hunt down free PDF’s of (I certainly can’t give you direct links to them, oh no no). Some of these will be Insular Celtic specific and others will just be more comprehensive Celtic Mythology.

Ireland’s Immortals: A History of the Gods of Irish Myth by Mark Williams [google.books] - so this is a deent book and google.books gives a good enough chance to read a fair amount of it. The sections are broken up simply enough and it even goes into the specifics of the types of gods, their origins, and the Christian indoctrination and assimilation that occurred across Pan-Celtic culture. So pretty decent book all round. The book also gives a really good overview of pronounciations of Celtic and Gaelic terms, as well as a glossary, list of names and how to say them, and translations so like, it's a top-notch book imho.

Tales of the Tuatha de Danann: a dual language collection of Irish myth, volume 2 by Morgan Daimler [I have no source for this sorry] - so this one gives you stories about the TdD in both Gaelic/Irish and translated into English. That's pretty good for anyone studying mythology, Celtic mythology to be precise, btu also just Neat.

Celtic Mythology and Religion by Alexander Macbain [google.books] - So this one isn't bad, but it's not as good as Mark Williams book imho.

Myths and Legends of the Celtic Race by T. W. Rolleston [google.books] - The title sounds kinda... iffy but it's a decent enough book as well. Very Pan-Celtic however, so Insular Celticism is Not The Focus of the book. Unfortunately. The book, incidentally, was first published in 1911 so I guess that explains why it's title is a mess and also very heavy on the Non-Celtic Sources lol.

Journal Article: Irish Mythology by George Townshend [jstor] - another old, OLD book/article so still Not The Best, but a source is a source and I'm just providing you them to read and decide which you think is best for your interest.

Now for some videos!

There's a guy on YT called Tomas O hAodha who gives a decent introduction to the TdD in Ireland, which is great. I like him. *clicks subscribe* He also has videos on other stuff which is just 👌

We have the Irish Folklore & Mythology Podcast, also on YT, which is great too. It's interesting and definitely something I may listen to when needing to write because it's Good Noise Brent ah memes.

I think that's enough for you to start with nonnie. I hope the links help :)

#Irish history #Celtic mythology #Tuatha de Danann #information #knowledge #Paganism #Kat talks #Kat replies #nonnie talk

[to-many-towered-camelot]

From The myths of Avalon by Kari Sperring

“[T]here's that great sacred cow, the myth of the strong, equal, Celtic woman. Of all the arguments I've got into over the years about 'what everyone knows' about early mediaeval Ireland and Wales, this is the commonest. And the one that winds me up most. I tend to refer to it as Celtic Druidical Princess Crap. Because, frankly, it is.

[...] At about this point, most modern people say, 'Oh, but, what about Boudicca and Cartimandua, Mebh (Maeve) and Scathach, Rhiannon and Morgan? They were queens and warriors and druidesses.' If I'm really lucky, they'll go on to explain to me that all the things I've said are down to interference and reorganisation of 'proper' Celtic culture (always a monolith in this argument) by the church. 'It was St Patrick. He made the women unequal. But the old sources show that really they were equal to the men, before him.'

The 'old sources' are the same sources I'm talking about, read, usually, through the lens of Jean Markale and his successors. What Markale, and other promulgators of this myth did was this: they gathered together every source they could find mentioning women, from across several countries and cultures which they chose to call 'Celtic' and dating anywhere from the 5th century to the nineteenth, set them down side by side as all equally valid and reliable, and then picked out the examples of women that looked good, that gave this 'equal, powerful' image. Most things that contradicted it were thrown away as 'Christian-influenced' and thus inauthentic. As historical methodology goes, this leaves a lot to be desired.

For one thing, not all sources are equal. A late source - from the eighteenth century, say - cannot be expected to be as reliable and accurate as an early one. The later the source, the more chances there are of errors and reworkings and introduction of materials from elsewhere. Wales is not Ireland, nor is Brittany Wales, and southern France is none of them. Peoples who speak related languages, even mutually comprehensible ones, often differ quite noticeably from each other in culture. And then, most of these sources are written. Writing, in the Celtic countries, is an artefact of the introduction of Christianity. There are many people - few of them historians - who believe you can take an early text, the Mabinogi, say, and go through it and pick out the 'Christian' influences, leaving behind a 'pagan' core. Alas, it's not that simple. Certainly, some things are more overtly Christian than others - you can see this most clearly in law codes, where laws derived from Biblical precedent sit alongside laws that clearly reflect native practice. But this does not mean that one strand is necessarily older than the other, and even if one is, that strand is seldom the one you want it to be.”

#celticism #Celtic history #arthuriana #Arthurian legend #the mabinogion #Welsh Arthuriana #* #gender #religion #oh man the title is a pun love it #i feel like the author took as many chances to make fun of MZB as they could and GOOD honestly #medieval history #medievalism

[lassieposting]

💘💘💘💘 + ghasdug

send me 💘 + A SHIP and i’ll tell you—

where they first met and how

So Skug says they stowed away on the same ship, but this is...not exactly true.

He stowed away on that ship, because he was running away from home and he was a snobby little lordling who'd never had to fend for himself a day in his life, so the furthest ahead he'd actually thought to plan was "they won't want to turn around and drop me off once they're underway".

Ghastly was not stowed away at any point during that trip. Ghastly was signed on for the journey as a deckhand, because Ghastly's mother told him he needed to, and it had to be that particular ship. Ghastly gets seasick, and did not want to go to sea in the slightest. But Ghastly's mother has visions and so Ghastly does as he is told. Apparently there was something important waiting for him on that ship.

Anyway Skug pops out once he thinks they're far enough away from shore that they'll leave him be rather than take him back to port, and he is incredibly mistaken. The captain is in favour of turning him around right there and then, because he's clearly some rich lord's brat, and whoever his father is will probably pay handsomely for his safe return. Ghastly manages to talk the ship's crew into letting him stay on, provided he pulls his weight like the rest of them.

Needless to say, even before they're attacked by pirates, that voyage is a rude awakening for poor Skug, and good lord does Ghastly hear all about it. He has blisters. His feet hurt. This shirt was expensive and now it's all sweaty. His hair is in his eyes all the time. He's tired. The guy in the next bunk snores. Some of these people look like they have lice. He didn't realise he'd be doing manual labour, this is servant stuff, how dare they.

Ghastly does. Not realise at that point what he has let himself in for.

how long their ‘flirting’ phase was before feelings got involved

Poor Ghastly gets to pine for years. Baby Skug isn't a great boyfriend. He's less invested - he loves Ghastly, but they have two totally different outlooks.

Ghastly is ugly. He's always been ugly. He's got a face he believes only his mother could love. He's never believed he'd find someone who saw past that or loved him regardless. So as soon as he gets Skug into bed, he's over the moon and ready to commit. He's like 17, and would absolutely settle down there and then given half a chance.

Skug, on the other hand, was a weird-looking child who only recently grew into an attractive adolescent and he is loving it. For the first time in his life, girls are noticing him. He doesn't want to settle down, he wants to play the field and sow some wild oats and have fun. So there are periods of exclusivity with Ghastly, interspersed with periods where Skug basically drops him to chase after the latest pretty bit of skirt.

who fell for who first ( if applicable )

Ghastly's smitten by the time they make it back to Ireland - Skug is a bit soft and allergic to hard work and a pain in the arse, but he's flashy and charismatic and funny and pays attention to him without gawking at his face (past the initial "good god, what happened to you?") - but Skug is well and truly settled into living with Ghastly's family by the time he actually gives Ghas the come-on.

where their first date was and what it was like

They went to the local tavern and got drunk, and then rode home in the pouring rain once it kicked them out at closing time.

When they got home, Ghastly's parents had long since gone to bed, but that wasn't necessarily unusual - once Skug, who has a considerable allowance, is old enough to start drinking, Saoirse institutes a rule that if they're not home by the time she and her husband turn in for the night, she'll leave blankets in the barn and they can sleep there instead. She's not having them barging in, wasted, at all hours of the day and night, waking her up after a hard day's work.

So they put the horses away and give them a quick rub down, and Ghastly is trying to look anywhere but Skug because Skug's shirt has gone kind of see-through and poor Ghastly is an awkward, horny teenage boy, but he keeps shooting him these furtive glances over the horse's back and Skug notices because Skug notices everything and lowkey teases him about it. "Want me to sit for a portrait? It'll last longer," sort of teasing, and Ghastly tries to laugh along but he's also vibrant red because he's been caught staring, so obviously Skug realises something's up

And he's precisely as tactful about it as he ever is about anything, and jokes, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you wanted me," and Ghastly's ears burn and he doesn't deny it quick enough and now Skug's eyebrows are inching towards his hairline and Ghastly panics because like, he's ugly, Skug is going to be disgusted or laugh at him and he can't cope with either, so he just? Freezes?

But like. Skug was a weird-looking, unfortunate child who very recently grew into an attractive adolescent, so he fucking thrives on attention. So his response to this awkward not-quite-a-confession is actually a moment of silence while he mulls this new information over (this feels like an eternity to poor Ghastly) followed by an early attempt at using The Hot Voice and, "If you want me, have me."

So, they end up having sex in the hayloft on the blankets Ghastly's mom left out for them. Ghastly has never even been kissed and doesn't admit that he has no idea what he's doing until he realises Skug is expecting him to take the lead. He also blurts that he loves Skug when he nuts, so like. It's your typical painfully embarrassing virginity loss.

It can't be all bad though, because Skug's up for doing it again.

who asks who out and how ( with a sign? spelled out on a cake? just a simple ‘will you go out with me’? )

So in my endgame-ghasdug AU, they get back together post-TDOTL. Ghastly survives being stabbed, but the blade nicked his spinal cord, so he's in a wheelchair for quite a while, and then has to do A Lot of physical therapy to relearn how to walk. Skug shows up at the hospital/facility where he's recovering every day unless there's an emergency, because Ghastly is very depressed and struggling with survivor's guilt over Anton and doesn't see the point in doing his physio because it hurts and he's exhausted and he shouldn't be alive anyway. And Skug annoys him into doing it, mostly by heckling him from the other side of the room, because he's not great at the whole emotional support thing. Ghastly will mutter, "Christ, I want to hit you," and Skug will tell him, "Well, if you come over here to do it I won't even duck." And if Ghastly gets his ass up and uses the walking frame support thing to cross the room, well, then Skug will take a punch like a man and be happy about it because Ghastly walked.

They also talk a lot during this period. Ghastly feels like shit, and he reminisces a lot about the good old days and how he never saw Ravel's betrayal coming and memories he has of Anton, and sometimes that veers into memories they share from when they were young men. And Skug, at this point, is old enough and has been through enough to admit that he wasn't great to Ghastly when they were boys. He was flighty and selfish and high-maintenance, and he would've hated to be treated the way he treated Ghastly. And he tells him that, at one point - that he's sorry, and if he could go back and do it differently, he would, assuming Ghastly was daft enough to be willing to put up with him a second time.

And Ghastly laughs and tells him, "I'd still have you now, you stupid bastard."

who proposes first

Ghastly. They're 19/20. Skug thinks he's joking.

if they keep / kept their relationship secret or let everyone know right away

Neither - they don't announce it, but it's not exactly a secret either. Ghastly's parents notice pretty much straight away, but other than a few parental pointers on what is and isn't appropriate, it's not really a topic of conversation.

where the proposal happens and how ( kiss cam at a baseball game? on a hillside surrounded by ducks? at a disney park? )

Skug's sister Confelicity accepts the first proposal she gets at the age of 16, because she's desperate to get out of their parents' house and away from their toxic relationship and controlling behaviour. Their father disapproves and refuses to attend the wedding (and, of course, their mother is not allowed her own opinion), and Carver is out of the country, so Skug stands in to a) pay and b) give away the bride. He takes Ghastly for moral support, because he doesn't like most of his relatives and also doesn't like the groom (Thurid Guild - their relationship doesn't improve when Confelicity divorces him a few years later to marry a baronet). While they're watching the couple say their vows, Ghastly murmurs, "We should get married."

Skug is right in the middle of his hoe phase and does not realise Ghastly's serious.

who’s more dominant

Generally, Skug. He is one hell of a force of personality and Ghastly does get steamrollered quite a bit, although he does eventually learn how to say no. Skug always gets things his way, always does whatever he likes and be damned to the consequences, and Ghastly is always there with a handful of the back of his shirt, pulling his ass out of whatever fire he started.

In bed, though, it's Ghastly.

how into pda they are

As teenagers, Ghastly's mother has to reprimand them occasionally for being too all over each other, but teenagers be rabidly horny. As grown men, they're just sort of casually affectionate. Comfortable with each other. When they're relaxing in camp after a day of travelling, Skug will lean against Ghastly to read a book or put his head on Ghastly's leg while they chat. They can have a silent conversation just by reading each other's faces. They'll nudge each other when something reminds them of an in-joke. They have that easy intimacy that comes with having known each other forever.

where their usual ‘date spot’ is ( if applicable )

As boys, Ghastly has a particular flowery meadow he likes to take Skug to for picnics, because he's a romantic. Skug at that age is considerably less so, and more interested in whether they can screw there without getting caught.

In the modern day, they go to see old movies. Ghastly was very into the early films of the late 1910s and the 1920s, after the war finished. He associates them with a time where he finally got to just set up his shop and live the life he always wanted to live. Skug hasn't seen most of Ghastly's favourites, because he spent that period of history fighting the truce and then spiralling into a black hole of trauma and misery, but he got very into the noir detective era to the point that he's still clinging to the aesthetic like 80 years later, so they'll alternate who picks the movies and catch each other up on their favourites.

who’s more protective

They've both spent their fair share of time fretting in the chair beside a hospital bed. After Ravel's betrayal, though, it's Skug. Ghastly retires as soon as he's considered fit to make the decision, and decides he wants to go back to Dublin to reopen his shop and just sort of try and forget Roarhaven exists. And Skug is absolutely adamant that he gets to do it. There's a lot of interest in Ghastly for a while - groundbreaking healing magic was used to fix what should've been a permanent injury, people want to know if he suspected Ravel, they want his advice on how to rebuild after Devastation Day. He's more approachable than China, and a lot more popular. But he can't cope with it all, and anyone who tries to hassle him in Dublin will have Skug to deal with.

how long it is before they sleep together ( can be as in ‘had sex’ or as in ‘shared a bed’ )

The first night Skug stays at Ghastly's family home. Ghastly is an only child, and his family isn't wealthy - their house doesn't have a guest room. It's sleep with Ghastly or sleep on the floor, and Little Lord Priss isn't going to be sleeping on the floor.

Honestly, he's relieved there isn't a spare room for him. He's never really slept alone before. Like most children of very wealthy families back then, he grew up in a nursery with his four oldest brothers and sisters, and when he was too old to live with The Children, he shared a room, first with Carver and then with Francis. The thought of being on his own in a strange house is pretty intimidating.

He moves to his own bed as soon as they get him one, but he stays in Ghastly's room, and he's perfectly happy with that.

(Ghastly is less happy. He's very much crushing on Skug and he's terrified he'll say something incriminating in his sleep.)

who steals whose clothes and how often

Skug gets to steal Ghastly's clothes for a year or two after he moves in with Ghastly's family. After that, they're built too differently. Ghastly is built like a brick shithouse of muscle. Skug is lean and toned and tall. When they're younger, he can more or less wear Ghastly's clothes as a nightshirt, but after Skug's final growth spurt, Ghastly's clothes don't sit right on him at all, and he's gotten too vain and fashion-conscious by that point to just wear them anyway.

what their usual coffee / tea orders are

Ghastly is fussy about his tea. Plenty of milk, two and a half sugars, leave the teabag in.

Skug just inhales it black, which Ghastly thinks is an abomination.

if they ever have any children together

Ghastly thanks his lucky stars every day that they have a 0% chance of accidentally spawning a skuglet. One of him is plenty.

He's very involved with Skugbab when he comes along, though. He's godfather and a very present uncle.

if they have any special pet names for each other

Skug doesn't do nicknames, and would rather not be given them, either. Ghastly gets away with "Skul", primarily because he's the only one who's known Skug since he was all of 16, but also because "Skulduggery" is a mouthful when all your blood is rushing to your downstairs brain and it's his own damn fault that he didn't think of that before he picked it.

if they ever split up and / or get back together

So many times. They're on and off again more frequently than Saracen's clothes. Every time Skug spots someone new, he ends it with Ghastly to pursue them, and then comes back when he loses interest or it doesn't work out.

what their shared living space is like ( messy? clean? what kind of decor? )

Ghastly's family home is an old farmhouse on the outskirts of Dublin. It's simple, but cosy, and Ghastly's dad is incredibly houseproud, so it's very well-looked-after. Skug prefers it by miles to his own palacial, but cold and unwelcoming, family home, and he tries to replicate the vibe later on with Wifey. It's pretty small compared to what he's used to, so it sort of feels like they're all living on top of each other, and he has to get used to not having any servants and drawing his own water to heat his own bath etc, but he's loved there, and that makes all the difference.

what their names are in each other’s phones

They're both old-ass men about some things, and this is one of them. So no emojis or anything - they're "Ghastly Bespoke" and "Skul". How romantic.

who falls asleep first and who wakes up first

Ghastly wakes up first: he's used to rising early to get started on his chores. Skug is absolutely not a morning person at this point in his life and Ghastly frequently has to turf his ass out of bed by pulling his quilt off/dumping water on him/yelling in his ear.

Reversed with modern day ghasdug: Ghastly still wakes at a sensible time, but damn it he left the army a century ago and now he likes a lie in. Skug never really stopped being a soldier and still has most of his military habits, so he's up with the sun.

who’s the big spoon / little spoon

Ghastly is the big spoon. Skug likes to be Held.

who hogs the bathroom

Skug. The boy is vain as all fuck. There is a grand total of one cloudy looking-glass in Ghastly's family's home and Skug spends a good chunk of the morning hogging it to fuss with his hair and peacock at his reflection. Ghastly is under strict orders Never to mention this to Fletcher.

#skulduggery pleasant #ghasdug #sp headcanons #long post

[josiecarioca]

“Family...the real one.”

Summary: Emmet “Fin” Finnerty has found the love of his life in Doug Cleary. The next logical step is introducing him to his family...The real one.

Because “family” are those who take you in, when the ones who should love and protect you, fail.

Disclaimer: Fin and Doug are secondary characters of “Post War”, so while thechnically this story happens in the “Harry Potter” universe, it is not a fanfic as much as it is an original story, hence why it’s a tumblr publication alone. Evelyn is in this, but there will be no Snape, no magic and nothing of what my readers are used to see in my stories. I hope you still like it.

Warning: contains domestic violence, homophobia, homophobic slurs and emotions

Tagging, as usual:   @arabellafiggypudding @the-witches-son  @hummingbird-flying-in-the-rain @artisticreptilequeen @viper-official @be-zoar @violet-knox @mafagafobebum @marvelschriss @codename-thedoctor @zealouspickleeggdragon @green-oasis @drawnfromthedead @snapescapades @madshelily @serosvit  @snapecentric @hbprincealice @hayalee8 @lilythemadqueen @paracosim @oliverlandomens​ @sleepysnapesnake

“Family...the real one”

Dublin, Ireland

June 1998

“Full disclosure?” Fin was rambling. He knew he was. He usually did when he was nervous. Doug surely knew that by now. He even claimed he found it “adorable”. Only Doug could say something like that.

Three months. Three months and he was ready to make this official. He knew Doug felt the same. Unlike Fin, he had no problem showing his feeling, shouting them from the rooftops even. That didn't come so easy for Fin. It never did. But now, now he could do just that. Shout it from the rooftops. Make it official. And making it official started here. Introducing him to Lyn. It was a big step.

“Go ahead” Doug smiled, gazing at him with bright blue eyes full of endless patience.

Three months. Three months and Fin was starting to feel like this was it. He had found what he looked for in that handsome, sweet 6'ft tall dork of a man.

“You´re the first boyfriend I introduce to Evelyn since...God, I don't know...1995?”

“And why is that?” Doug asked, somewhat amused. After all, how much of a big deal could this possibly be? Sure, he was about to introduce his new boyfriend to his best friend, obviouly it was important, but how could he begin to explain it wasn´t just that simple?

“You know how it was...back then, I mean. I wasn't really being safe, and Lyn was just so worried about me and I never really thought she would approve of … Nevermind, now it's different. I want you to meet her. It's important.”

Fin looked around. He had picked a good place. The restaurant was nice enough that it felt like an occasion, but casual enough that it didn't seem like he was making a big fuss of it. But he was. It was a big deal. Fin wasn't the 'dating' type. But Doug was not like anybody he met before. Doug has this sort of tranquil aura about him, this kindness in his words and actions, such love in his eyes. Doug made him feel like he could just rest, breathe easy. This time he knew it was different. It just felt different. It felt like it could last.

Doug reached over the table to hold his hand, reassuringly.

“Her opinion means a lot to you, no?”

“Well, yes...this is my family we´re talking about. The real one, you know?”

Doug had been lucky. His parents loved him unconditionally, as parents should. He wasn´t kicked out of the house when he came out, he wasn´t told his entire being, his entire identity was an abomination before God. He wasn't made believe that no matter how good he was, how much of a good Christian he was, he would still go to hell for something he couldn't change. No, his parents loved him, protected him. Fin had also been lucky, but in a different, more complicated way. The family that loved and protected him wasn´t the one he was born into. It was Evelyn's.

“So, you told me you've known each other since you were kids...but, you never really said much more than that...”

That's right, Fin thought. He'd never told him. Not everything. He had to.

“I was friends with her brother growing up...Paul. We went to school together.”

There it was, that bittersweet ache in his heart. He hadn't felt it in a while

“I daresay I had a bit of a crush on him. Sometimes I wonder if he felt the same. But I guess I'll never know.”

“Why not?”

“Paul passed away. There was a fire in their house when he was just eleven. Lyn was there too. Their father pulled her out in time because she was closer to the door, but when he got to Paul it was too late. It happened too fast. ”

“I'm so sorry” Doug seemed stunned out of words. “I didn't know.”

“I didn't tell you. I should have. Specially today....we still have some time before she gets here, so....I think if we're serious about this, then you should meet Evelyn and her family...my family. That's why this is important to me. That you meet her and that you meet them.”

“Ok...So tell me. Tell me about your family, Fin.”

“I guess I should start from the beginning, then...Paul and I, we went to the same school. Catholic school...fun times.” he scoffed “Lyn was just a yar younger than us, and she went to an all girls school. Their father, Mr. Black was the headmaster, there. Paul took her everywhere with us when we weren't at school. Nothing could separate those two...Well, then...Paul passed away, and I was devastated, but her? I don't think there was a word in the entire dictionary that could have described how she was feeling, the poor girl. So I started going there to visit. They were all in such pain that I think Mr. Black let me spend as much time in their house as I wanted because he hoped it would help her. As it turns out it helped me. Being around her was a little like being with him. She looked so much like Paul it was eerie, nearly identical. I swear, if you could have seen them together, you'd swear they were twins. She was different though. Paul was like a hurricane in a boy's body. Lyn was much gentler. Anyway, the years went on and she just became...my sister, in a way. More than my own sister, to be honest. I'm pretty sure my parents expected us to date or something, but she knew, she was the first person I told. So she just came to my house, and smiled and nodded when my mother went on babbling about how we were perfect for each other and whatever nonsense. Then it happened...”

…

Doolin, Ireland

June, 1977

“What do you think?” Evelyn twirled, wrapped in meters of flowy, flowery fabric. The sun that came through the curtains filtered though the fabric, colouring the room.

“What am I looking at?” Emmet put down his magazine and watched her, trying to picture what she planned to do with the material she was showing him.

“My new dress, Fin!” she smiled, calling him by the nickname Paul had come up with years ago. Fin for 'Finnerty'. After Paul died, it was just the two of them. Fin and Lyn. “For my birthday. Since I'll be 15, mam said I can have it however I want.”

“Your birthday is in September!”

“It takes time to make a dress, and my grandma is going to have her hands full with Halloween costumes soon, so she's going to make my dress now. I want it long, with a bodice and medieval sleeves. Like Stevie Nicks in that magazine my dad brought from Dublin. He brought me the new Fleetwood Mac record too, here put it on.”

She set the fabric aside and fished the long play from the big canvas bag she had brought.

Whenever Lyn came over she always brought that huge bag, filled with clothes, magazines, records and books. She knew Fin couldn´t have any of that stuff at home. His mother didn't allow him to wear anything more colorful than a blue dress shirt for sunday mass, and his father was the one who decided which records, books or magazines were allowed in the house. Which meant no fashion or entertainment mags, no rock or pop music, and no books that seemed “suspicious”, which was pretty much anything that wasn't a school textbook. If not for Evelyn's father Emmet wouldn't even have read Oscar Wilde.

She handed him the record and he put it on, in the old record player Evelyn had snuck in for his last birthday. Her mother had got a new one, so she let Fin have the old 1967 Magnavox. His parents had no idea he had that thing in the bedroom, so he had to keep the volume low enough that his parents wouldn't hear it downstairs, or that they'd just think he had the radio on.

“We should ask my dad to take us next time he goes to Dublin. He promised me new shoes for my birthday. Red leather ones. With heels, I'm old enough for heels now. They only have those in Dublin.” Evelyn suggested, as both of them lay on the floor, staring at the reflection of the sun on the ceilling.

“You know my parents won't let me go.”

“They will if my dad is taking us. Or even better, if mam comes too. Your mother goes to church with her, of course she's going to let you go if she's with us. She's better to shop with anyway.”

“Maybe.” he trailed, knowing it wouldn't happen.

“We can buy some things for Halloween costumes. You should ask my grandma to make you one as well.Ooh, you know what? We can go as John Steed and Emma Peel! All you'll need is a suit, an umbrella and a hat, and grandma Liz can make me a jumpsuit. That purple one, with the chains! Or you want do do something spooky?”

“We´re not kids, anymore, Lyn.” he laughed

“And?”

“You really want to dress up for Halloween? We´re too old for that.”

��My grandparents still dress up for Halloween.” she scoffed

“It's different.”

“How?”

“They're...old-old. When you get to be their age you can do whatever you want.”

“They're not that old. I mean, if you...”

Evelyn's sentence was cut short by loud banging on the door. Emmet scrambled to his feet to turn off the music and toss a blanket over the record player. His father never banged on his door more than twice before yanking it open without waiting for an answer.

“You, downstairs now.” he barked at Emmet, before turning to Evelyn “And you can go back home, young lady. I need to talk to my son”

Emmet felt his stomach drop. His father never bothered to 'talk' to him, unless he was in trouble.

Evelyn picked up her things in a hurry and shoved it all back inside her bag, glancing over her shoulder at him all the while. She looked like she wanted to say something, but didn't know what.

“Now!” his father thundered from the stairs.

Emmet was frozen in place.

“Emmet is just helping me with my things, Mr. Finnerty. We'll be right there.” Evelyn answered, her voice slightly breaking.

“Come on...” she told him, holding his arm. “I'll go with you.”

“You have to go home.” he finally found his voice and his feet moved.

Emmet felt her hand grab his as they climbed down the stairs. His father was walking around the livingroom in circles, while his mother was talking to somebody. He heard her apologizing profusely. Then he realized why. She was talking to Connor Walsh's mother. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Mrs Walsh shot him a disgusted look on her way out.

“Evelyn, dear, you can go now.” Mrs. Finnerty said, and Emmet noticed she had a piece of  paper in her shaky hands. He knew that piece of paper. He looked at Evelyn, feeling like the world was a minute away from crashing down onto his head. She  looked back at him, knowingly. He had told her about Connor...about the letter. She knew. He felt her hand squeeze his again.

“I won't.” she whispered.

Emmet didn't want her to go. But he also didn't want her to stay. He didn't want her to see what he knew was about to happen.

Neither of them had the time to say anything else. His father snatched the letter from his mother's hand and grabbed Emmet by the collar, nearly shoving the paper into his face.

“Did you write this?” he roared

Emmet couldn't find his voice. He felt warm tears swelling in his eyes. He could hear his mother's voice, asking his father to let him go and telling Evelyn to just go already.

“Did you write this drivel, lad?! Answer!” his father insisted, pushing the letter into his chest.

“Answer, Emmet!” his mother was crying “This is just a prank isn't it?”

It was over.

There was no point in lying, he had the letter right there. His mother might try to lie to herself, to convince him it was nothing, but it was there, plain for anyone to see it. They read it. They knew. He was sure they had already heard the rumors, the talk, the othe boys calling him this and that.

They knew it. They couldn´t pretend they didn't

“I did.” he  barely whispered.

Next thing he knew he felt his body hit the wall in full force. It didn't even hurt. It didn´t feel real.

Evelyn screamed and, from the corner of his eye, he saw her run to him. His father stepped in front of her.

“You get out of my house now, before I drag you home to your father, so he can teach you to mind your own business, lass.”

“Fin, I'll be right back!” she cried, running out the front door.

“What the devil were you thinking writing this?!” his father pulled him to his feet by his shirt.

“Stephen, let the lad go. This was just a game, just stupid prank. Tell him, Emmet, tell him this isn't serious.”

This was it.

They knew it.

They read it.

There was no turning back now.

“I did it, mam. I did it, I wrote it. It wasn't a prank, I really wrote it.”

“You hear it, Edith?! Your son can't even have the decency to be ashamed!”

“Why?! Why would you do something like this?!”

“You know why!” Emmet nearly screamed, overwhelmed, dizzy “You read it, didn't you? You know why! Iwrote it because I love him!”

His parents stared at him as if they were looking at something alien, something they couldn´t comprehend.

“Mam...dad...” he felt the tears run down his cheeks, burning. But he refused to cry, to sob. He wouldn't do that. “I'm gay.”

Emmet had expected his father to hit him.

What he didn't expect was for his mother to slap him.

But she did. She slapped him hard across the face and left the room. Like it was nothing. Like he was nothing.

Anything after that didn't hurt. He didn't even feel it.

It was as if he had left his body. He could vaguely discern some broken words, something about “bringing filth into his house”, “shame” and “hell”...he could see the blows coming, and his body acted on instinct, raising his arms to protect his head, his face. But he didn't feel it. He didn't feel any of it.  He just cowered on the corner and closed his eyes, praying it would be over soon. Praying he would get tired eventually. Before he hurt him too bad. Before...

“Stephen, what the devil are you doing?!” Emmet knew that voice, that deep voice filling the air around them like thunder. “Have you lost your mind?!”

The blows stopped and he opened his eyes.

Mr. Black was standing right there, with both his arms around his father, draging him away.

“Let me go, Marius!” his father shouted, like a man possessed, while Mr. Black kept holding him back.

“Leave the boy alone, Stephen! You're trying to kill him?”

Emmet tried to get up but he was too dizzy.

“Fin, are you ok?” Evelyn was kneeling next to him, frantically pushing his hair away form his face.

“You called your dad?” he was terrified.

“Of course I did!” she helped him up.

He heard a loud thump and looked up. Mr. Black had flung his father onto the armchair, and was now standing, looming over him. He looked taller than Emmet remembered him, much taller. And his father, sitting on the chair looked so small by comparison.

“Enough!” Mr. Black boomed, and Emmet could had sworn the ground under his feet trembled.

“You don't get it, Marius! You don't know what this...what this boy did!”

“Whatever it was, it doesn't justify this!” Mr. Black took off his thick rimmed glasses and pinched the brigde of his nose, in evident frustration.

His father got back to his feet, standing right in front of Mr. Black and he still looked small.

“This none of your business!”

“You made it my business when you sent my daughter back home in tears, scared out of her wits that you were going to kill her friend!”

“Then take your daughter back home and let ME handle what happen in MY house!” He pushed past Mr. Black and barrelled towards Emmet.

Mr. Black tried to hold him back, but he took a swing at him. Emmet and Evelyn both screamed, but Mr. Black managed to dodge it. He reached for his father again, shoving him so he'd back off.

“Linnie, get Emmet out of here!” Mr. Black told his daughter, and Lyn tried to pull him by his arm, but Emmet couldn't move.

“Stephen, for the love of God, stop! You'll regret this!”Mr. Black pleaded, stepping between Emmet and his father.

“What do you know, Marius?! You don't have a fecking faggot living under your roof! Count your blessings, Marius, because I rather have a dead son than this!”

For a second, a long, agonising second, time seemed to stand still. Emmet could see it on his father's face that he had regretted those words the moment they left his mouth. Not because of what they meant to Emmet. No, he knew his father meant every bit of that. But because he knew, of all the things he could have said to Mr. Black, that was the wrong one.

Emmet had known Mr. Black his entire life. He never saw him raise his voice, he had never seen him angry. He was a gentle man. A man who took them birdwatching on weekends, who bought them magazines and records whenever he went to Ennis or Dublin, who told them about his favorite poets and painters. Emmet didn't think he was physically capable of being anything other than gentle and kind.

But in that moment, he changed.

Emmet never thougth he'd see Mr. Black punch somebody. But he did it. A single punch, right to the side of his father face, so strong, so sudden, he fell to the floor  like rotten fruit falls from a tree.

“Never” he growled in a voice that didn't sound like his voice at all “you hear me, NEVER talk about my son again! You heard me, Stephen!? NEVER! I promise you, you mention my boy ever again, and it will be the end of your sorry life upon this Earth, I promise you!”

“I didn't mean it like, that, you know I didn't...” Emmet watched with disgust as his father tried to get back on his feet, stumbling, humiliated.

“I know exactly what you meant! And you know what you meant, you dirty coward!”

He kept trying to make excuses, but Mr. Black would have none of it.

“You don't know, you have no idea, what it is to bury a child, and I hope to God you never find out.” his voice was calmer, but there was a frightening coolness to it “Are you out of your damned mind?! This is your son! Standing right there while you´re wishing him dead! What I wouldn't give to trade places with you! To have my boy here, alive, like him!”

Emmet was numb. He felt Evelyn rest her head against his shoulder and weep, softly. He wanted to hug her, to do something, anything. But all he could was stare. Stare at his father, trying and failing to stand up to her father, as Mr. Black towered over him, his face filled with righteous, godly, ice-cold anger. And he felt so embarrassed, so ashamed that this man, this petty, pathetic, bumbling excuse of a man was his father.

“Easy for you to say, Marius, but if Paul had been a...”

“I won't hear my son's name from your mouth again, Stephen. Paul is dead. And if I could have him back, I would have him however he was. Trust me, nothing can worse than a dead child. Nothing!”

“That's a pretty sentiment coming from somebody who doesn´t have to live with THAT under your roof! But I won't stand for this! I won't have this in my house!”

“Fine, I'll take him!”

“What?!”

“You don't want him under your roof? I'll solve that problem for you, then. I'll take him. However he is. I'll take him.”

…

“What on earth happened to you, dear?” Mrs. Black seemed horrified when she laid eyes on him, as Lyn walked him throught the front door. Emmet, still dazed, wondered how bad he must have looked for her react that way. She put her hand on his cheek, and her blue eyes were filled with something he couldn't describe. “What has he done to you?”

Only then did he cry. Only then did he allow himself to sob.

It was Evelyn's mother who held him in her arms as he had, so foolishly, hoped his mother would.

“I...I...told them I...I'm sorry, I...” he pulled back and wiped his tears, suddenly aware that...she didn't know. Mrs. Black went to church with his mother. She didn't know he was...  A rush of panic coursed through him. What would she say? He couldn't. He couldn't go through this twice.

“Take a breath, pet.” she told him, pulling him to sit on the couch. “Linnie, love, go get the first aid kit in the kitchen, we need to patch this lad up a bit. And try not to alarm your sister, if you will. And where is your father?”

“He's waiting for Mrs. Finnerty to get him all of Fin's...I mean, Emmet's stuff.”

Mrs. Black nodded, as if she knew something. As if she had been expecting to be told exactly that. Lyn looked at her mother with the same knowing expression in her eyes and went to the kitchen as intructed.

Emmet felt like runnning away, as far away as he could.

“Mr. Black he said...I'm sorry,I have to...I have to go back, I can't...”

“Emmet, calm down.”

“Mrs. Black, I know you don't want me here. I...I'm...I mean, I...told my parents...”

“I know, pet. I know.”

“No you don't...”

“Emmet, my darling, why do you think I allow you to be in Linnie's room for hours with the door closed? I'm not stupid.” she laughed softly.

“How?”

“A mother just knows...”

“Mine didn't.”

“If she let your father do this, then she's not that competent of a mother is she?” Mrs. Black scoffed. “But, trust me...a mother knows.”

Then it clicked. Then he knew.

“You mean...” he trailed, stunned “...Paul?”

“I carried him inside me 9 months, I birthed him, clothed, fed him, cared for him till the day he left this Earth. Nobody knew him better than I did, except God.”

“God...” he spat out “My mother thinks God will send me to hell. Because the Bible says...”

“Oh pish-posh...I pray on the Bible as well as any Christian, but Jesus knows where I would be if I took  everything it's written in there so seriously. Thou shall now lay with a man, and whatnot, fine, but you don't see anybody that eager to give up their breakfast bacon because the Bibles says it's forbidden, now do you? Your parents didn't stone your sister in the town square when she left the house married for two days and pregnant for 2 months, did they? Like we all didn't know.  Enough of this nonsense, now, we need to get you fixed up. God, you're bleeding.”

“So I really can stay?”

“Do you want to stay?”

…

“So I stayed.” Fin smiled. He looked up at Doug and took a deep breath, hoping he didn't think it was sillly that he had tears in his eyes over this. But all he saw in Doug's expression was understanding...and love. So much of it.

“I stayed until we both left for college, Lyn and I. She studied history and I went for journalism.Mrs. Black was the one who got me my first camera, then Mr Black gave me my first professional camera, and books about photography and journalism. They did everything for me that a mother and a father would do. I stilll go back with Lyn to spend the holidays with them. Well, with her...He passed away a few months ago. His heart. Funny that of all things, it was his heart that would kill him.”

Doug's hands closed over his.

“Thank you.” he said, quietly. “For telling me all this. I know it wasn't easy.”

“I...” he didn't finish. Over Doug's shoulder he saw the restaurant door open, and Evelyn walk in, wrapped in a long, flowy, flowery dress. “There she is.”

#Pride month #fanfic? #Original story #Evelyn Black #not taggng this snapedom because is not #but happens in the Post War universe #Post War #Emmet Fin Finnerty #Douglas Doug Cleary #coming out story