#to have to shoot irishmen

[denimbex1986]

Cillian Murphy is one of the most beloved actors in contemporary cinema. After starring in indie favourites 28 Days Later and Intermission in the early 2000s, Murphy secured his place in Hollywood by forging a long-standing relationship with director Christopher Nolan. The two worked together on Batman Begins and have since collaborated on five more films, most recently, Oppenheimer.

While he was breaking America, Murphy also honed his acting reputation closer to home as Tommy Shelby in Peaky Blinders. But before he became one of the most recognisable and respected names in film, Murphy very nearly pursued a music career.

In his youth, Murphy was particularly passionate about music. The budding actor was in a band with his brother named The Sons of Mr. Green Genes, who even received an offer to do five albums with Acid Jazz Records. They declined the offer, but Murphy’s love for music persisted and he still enjoys engaging with music. He even told the Sunday Independent Life Magazine that the only extravagances in his lifestyle are his “stereo system, buying music and going to gigs”.

His love of music has also bled into his professional life. Between shooting with Nolan and collecting Bafta nominations for his work on Peaky Blinders, Murphy has presented a show on the beloved alternative radio station, BBC Radio 6. He once told the BBC, “One of my favourite things in the world is playing music on my favourite radio station in the world”.

As well as providing Murphy with an outlet for his love of music, the show has also given fans insight into his music taste, which is both wide-spanning and characteristically Radio 6. During his time with the BBC, he shared his love for a number of artists and tracks, including fellow Irishmen Fontaines D.C., stating, “There is a great explosion of new Irish music… Every single tune, they’re relentlessly themselves”.

He once shouted out Radiohead’s ‘Daydreaming’, stating, “When Radiohead released ‘Daydreaming’, I listened to it five times in a row. I think it’s a remarkable piece of music”. He’s also given nods to Low, Elbow, and Kendrick Lamar, who he notes is a favourite of his son’s.

Throughout his appearances on the radio station, Murphy has played over 400 songs ranging from trip-hoppers Massive Attack to indie folk favourites Big Thief to jazz composer Alice Coltrane. The show acted as a platform for Murphy’s expansive music taste and a great place to pick up recommendations for Murphy fans and casual radio listeners alike...'

#Cillian Murphy #Radiohead #“Daydreaming” #Low #Elbow #Kendrick Lamar #Big Thief #Alice Coltrane #Massive Attack #28 Days Later #Intermission #Christopher Nolan #Batman Begins #Oppenheimer #The Sons of Mr. Green Genes #Tommy Shelby #Peaky Blinders #BBC Radio 6 #Fontaines D.C.

[werewolfetone]

It's so funny how half of the clergy in 18th century Ireland was like "these allegations of radicalism/dissatisfaction are completely false, we are actually inherently LOYALIST because TRUE CATHOLICS LOVE THE GOVERNMENT 🙏 we will NOT be tolerating republicans here 👎" and the other half was like. "my child for your penance today you must join the Whiteboys and United Irishmen and behead 4 landlords and shoot 3 yeomen before I see you again. right that's all the time we have for confessions today, as I have to go and chase the local magistrates around with a flintlock pistol now"

#this doesn't deserve an irish history tag #religion #jory.txt

[ichoosechoasandbeingqueer]

Under New Management, Ch 1

This started as a silly horny one shot, and now I have at least five chapters planed, and I entirely blame @laurfilijames​ for my obsession with this awful man.

Ryder Harrison x reader

Warnings: Guns, non graphic death,

Words: 3185

Ryder is in hot trouble, and find and even hotter solution.

The echo of gunfire rung in Ryders ears as he twisted his wrist and revved his bike into the next gear. His breaths were quick and he struggled to keep his bike straight as more shots rang out, his head ducking in an attempt to keep himself alive. 

It worked some, most of the white cars on his tail backing off or coming to a screeching crash, but one was much more persistent and as he took a sharp right, his tires sliding out from underneath him at the speed he was travelling, one of the bullets hit his gas tank, the bike slipping out from between his legs and bursting into a fiery inferno.  

It worked some, most of the white cars on his tail backing off or coming to a screeching crash, but one was much more persistent and as he took a sharp right, his tires sliding out from underneath him at the speed he was travelling, one of the bullets hit his gas tank, the bike slipping out from between his legs and bursting into a fiery inferno.  

He hit the ground with a grunt of pain, rolling through the dirt and tearing up his skin. Dazed and hurting he took off on foot, his limp apparent after the shot to the foot he received a few weeks back.

Chuck’s men were quick to catch up behind him and he weaved through fences and factories to shake them off. Finally coming up to the gate that would lead him out of the maze, he skittered to a stop as a smooth black car pulled up to his left.

Unarmed and trapped he put his hands out in surrender, one last plea for his life.

The front door of the car swung open and a man stepped out, his demeaner casual and calm as he sent Ryder a grin. He didn’t look Asian, which ruled him out as one of Chuck’s men, but he wasn’t Māori either and he wore no To Toki vest. In fact, he wore a uniform he didn’t recognize. His long, dark red hair was pulled back in a low pony tail and shades covered his eyes. As casual as his entrance, he pulled a gun out from his vest and in three shots the men that were on Ryders tail lay dead.  

The stranger sent another grin and opened the back door.

“The boss wants to have a chat with you Ryder Harrison. I would advise not making them wait,” a thick Irish accent called out to him, gesturing to the back seat.

His blue eyes glanced between the door and the now clear way back into the maze in panic.

“I would also advise not running,” the Irishmen called out again, “The boss wants to talk but I have not problem with simply shooting you,”

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” he shot back knowing he didn’t stand a chance against the armed man if he did try something and limped towards the car with his hands still up. He slipped into the car with a pounding heart, the door closing behind him with a quiet click. They were moving before he realized there was someone in the back seat with him.

His panic doubled and he pushed himself as far into the door as he could as he watched the new stranger.

A woman, a very pretty woman, sat beside him in a short black skirt and blouse, her fingers shuffling threw paperwork until she pulled out a file with his picture on it.

“Ryder Harrison,” she spoke in a soft voice not bothering to tear her eyes from the files, a small smirk on her plump pink lips, “Head of the Assassins, arrested once when you were nineteen and again in your twenties. Dabbles in weed, booze and other party drugs, owns a garage on the west side of Vegas and until recently ran an underground fighting ring,”

“Who the fuck are you?” he growled, “any how the fuck do you know so much about me?”

She raised a bow at him and sent him an amused look. She gathered the paperwork into a neat stack and handed it to him, turning to watch him intently, “I simply like to know who I’m working with. You see, I want to make you an offer,”

Ryder tilted his head at her, his curiosity outweighing his fear at this point, “Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Do you know who I am Ryder?”

“Not a clue,”

“Then let’s just say I’m an eccentric business woman who has a high-stake interest in getting her foot into Vegas,”

“Aw yeah,” he grinned, leaning forwards and sizing her up in his head, “and why do you need me for that?”

“Because…” she played along much to his delight, also leaning towards him and tapping him on the nose, “you have contacts, resources, knowledge. You know this town better than any and I want a local on my side. I have big plans and a very heavy pocket. All I need now is a friend on my payroll that can get things done,”

He sneered at her pretty words, “Oh, I see. You need a lap dog that knows how things run around here,”

“Precisely,” she nodded and frowned at his sudden displeasure, “but… if you’re not the man for the job I can always offer the spot to the To Toki…”

“Easy up love,” Ryder quickly cut in with a shake of his head, “no need to bring those dickheads into this, we had a nice thing going here didn’t we? Let’s not ruin it. How much are we talking here? A couple grand? More?”

“Oh darling, I don’t play with petty cash like that. Vegas is just under the radar enough to make some very pleasing deals without much of a cover. I’m talking half a million, rich business men with spare time on their hands, overseas deals that spend wealth like it’s going out of fashion,”

It took all Ryders concentration to keep his jaw from hitting the ground. A deal like that could keep him living pretty for the rest of his life, not to mention he would be taking orders from a very pretty dame who seemed to enjoyed a flirt almost as much as he did.

He leaned back and gave her another once over, weighing out his options in his head. He could use a friend on his side right now, but he still had no idea who this woman was. She could be a cop for all he knew, but the way her sharp eyes flashed as she spoke gave him the impression she enjoyed the taste of danger a little to much to be a bitch in blue. That she walked on the darker side of the law.

“I wouldn’t mind playing lap dog for that kind of payroll I suppose,”

“Good,” she grinned again, “because you would look so good in a collar,”

“Kinky, definitely my kind of deal,” he snickered, leaning into the soft leather seats of the car and resting his hands behind his head, “but pretty words don’t show shit I’m afraid. How do I know your legit? And what do I get out of it?”

“Bold words coming from someone who has nothing but a gun to his head,” she scoffed, “but I’ll bite. I’ll give you your name back,”

“My name?”

“Yes Ryder, your name. The Assassin’s name. Back in all it’s glory because let’s be honest. You’re a joke,”

He gave a growl low in the back of his throat, his ego dinted and his confidence shattered. Chuck’s right-hand girl had said the same thing to him while she kept him on his knees. That he was weak. That he scared no one. That the rest of the town walked over him because they thought him a joke.

The reason it hit so hard however, was because it was true.

When people looked upon the To Toki, they cowered, they walked the other way, they held their hands out in surrender. You didn’t fuck up a deal with those guys because you knew there would be consequences. But the Assassins? How many times had they been screwed over or double crossed? How many times had he backed down or got caught with his pants around his ankles? How many times had people laughed at his face?

Ignoring his shattered demeanor, the woman continued to speak, tilting his head up with one finger and forcing his eyes to meet hers, “but I want to change that. To make them fear you, to make them respect you, once again. I see what you can become Ryder. Great. Powerful. The king of these miserable streets. I can help you become that, if you’ll let me,”

There it was again, the flame in her eyes as she looked at him, as she stroked his ego back to life with promises of power and respect.

“Anything you want. Anything you need, would be all yours,”

“Yeah?” he whispered back with a shaky breath, her stare and words making his head spin, “And what do you get out of it? Something about you tells me you don’t do charity work,”

She gave him an amused look that made her nose scrunch and slid herself closer to him, sitting only inches away from his lap. A teasing hand was placed on the side of his thigh, “Like I said, I need a local on my side to get things done. I want to take Vegas by storm and I want to do that through you. We’d split profits, share connections, run the underworld. You can own Vegas, so long as I own you,”

His breath hitched in his throat as her hand traveled ever so slowly up his leg, and he licked his lips and he watched.

“What- what exactly do you mean by profits?” he croaked, trying to keep his composure and settle the deal before he lost himself, “My cash came from weed and my ring fights, and Chuck fucked both of those up on me…”

Ryder felt the car slow down and rumble to a stop around him and he risked a quick glance out the window.

“Recognize the place?” she asked sweetly.

“Yeah, used to be an old sawmill. Hasn’t been operating in years, not since the interior got burnt out. Pretty sure it got bought a few months ago by some big shot from the city?”

She gave a chuckle and held out a set of keys before his face, “Well the big shot from the city wants you to have a look,”

He looked between her and the keys with growing excitement, snatching them from her hand and waltzing his way to the front door. She made her way behind him, the clicking of her heels against the pavement rhythmic. He waisted no time getting inside, stopping short at what he found.

The inside had been completely decked out with a bar and dance floor. A large stage sat to the right of the area and neon lights lined the walls hiding smoke machines and strobe lights. A staircase had been fitted close to the back that led up to a balcony looking over the open area of the stage and dance floor and a sign hung from the rafters reading ‘Welcome to the Wolves Den’.

“A nightclub?” he questioned, “Sweet as, but not really my area of expertise,”

“That’s because we haven’t finished our tour yet Ryder, head to the bar and use the second key on the black door hidden behind the curtains,”

He gave a nod and followed her instructions. It took him a moment to find the door, it being very well hidden against the array of signs, mirrors and lights, but he turned the handle and was led into a dim boxy room where another red hair fellow sat waiting.

He made a move to grasp his gun but the woman waved her hand and he immediately backed off.

“Can’t have too much protection in this part of the den,” she grinned and taking the lead she headed down the stairs and through another curtain.

He continued with her, his blue eyes widening at the cage that sat in the center of the room. It was nothing like the makeshift dog cage he used for his fights, it had been ornamented with mats and padded bars. Spikes lined the tops in a grungy look that suited the rest of the room and seating, making it look rough and lawless despite the safety features. It made him feel more feral even standing in here.

There was a smaller bar in here, with less decisive bottles and no labels and as he ducked his head over the counter he noticed the cigarettes, joints and other colored pills that were less that legal tucked away. A mirror ran along the back wall making the room look bigger than it was, and a mural of wolf heads, all with their teeth bared and bloody, stretched along the side.  

“More to your standers Ryder?” she asked with satisfaction.

“Oh fuck yeah. Definitely the best naughty corner I’ve been in,”

“Bar’s decked out with all the best goodies, legal and otherwise,” she nodded, pointing out different places as she showed him around, “cage is permanent, completely matted, and lights can be moved or coloured from the control panel over there. Seats for the spectators along the walls, space to stand against the cage for the more eager, and that box up there is a privet room for the more… how would you say… big spenders. Bets are done through the bar, and the scores are shown on the screens up there. What do you think?”

“I think you and I are gonna be very rich and very happy,”

So enthralled with it all, he missed her slink towards him until she had pinned him to the wall of the cage. She was a far bit shorter than him but far more intimidating, especially with the way she causally played with the butterfly knife she had pulled from her top. He made a move to slip away, but she brought the blade down level to his throat, a clash of metal against the steel cage echoing around the room.

She gave him a knowing grin and he swallowed harshly, staring her down despite his fear as she pushed herself against him, her body warm against his stomach and her breasts heavy against his chest.

She battered her long lashes and trailed her spare hand under his leather vest, “Ryder? Darling? I’m not fucking around here. You take this deal and I need competence, ok? Not the dickhead that gets lead into an ambush with a promise of a quick fuck. Not the ass that makes empty threats and cowers when push comes to shove. I need the Ryder that makes people afraid when he drives by, the Ryder that takes care of defiant Ukrainian fighters, quickly and neatly, with no loose ends. I need Ryder Harrison, king of Vegas,”

He blinked, putting her words together in his head, “How do know- how long have you been watching me?”

“Not just you Ryder, I’ve had my sights on this town long before Chuck got his grubby fingers into To Toki’s ‘kiwifruit’ business, long before that bar break in and long before Kingi took over the To Toki. I have eyes and ears everywhere and I have spent way too much time and money on this for you to fuck it up, understand?”

“Yeah I get it,”

“Do you Ryder? Do you? Because the last guy didn’t, and I had to make a very bloody example of him. Don’t make me have to do the same to you, okay?”

“Look, I won’t fuck this up ok? I am sick of being walked over by every asshole out there and them laughing at my name!” he snarled down at her before giving a sigh and dropping his voice into a whisper, pulling her closer by her waist and murmuring into her ear, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, “I won’t fuck this up, you and I? Were gonna rule this place, I promise. Give me a few days and I’ll have fighters ready, bets organized. I’ll keep you satisfied, in every way you need me too,”

He could feel her heart speed up at his words, the double meaning apparent to both of them, and her breath was hot against the skin of his neck. He pressed his hips against hers, a promise of what he was offering growing and hardening against her.

“Then I think you and I are going to get along quiet well,” she whispered back, pulling her head back to ghost her lips against his, “What do you need to make it happen hmm?”

“I’ll need a new bike,” he huffed, grinding himself against her slowly.

She let out a little gasp that kept him going, “I’ll have it delivered to your garage, what else?”

“Protection, Chucks men aren’t gonna stop coming after us without a reason to back off,”

“I’ll make a few calls, calm him down, load the Assassins up with some proper firearms,”

His hands traveled down her sides to cup at her ass, hitching one leg over his hip and reeling her skirt up to play with her skin, “There’s a bar, a local hang out. Free drinks whenever we show? Don’t want them trailing us back to here after all,” he grinned knowing he was pushing his luck at this point but more focused on the way she felt in his hands.

“Careful Ryder, you’re not the king yet,” she warned with a quick nip to his jaw, “but I’ll see what I can do, anything else?”

“Hmm, nothing that I can think on the top of my head,” he grinned leaning forwards to swallow her lips.

She saw it coming, bringing the butterfly knife to her lips, the bladed edges keeping him hitting home. She smiled behind the blade and gave a quick squeeze to his ass before slipping out of his grip, giggling at his frustrated pout.

“Business before pleasure I’m afraid darling. Prove I chose the right man for the job and I’ll make sure you enjoy your reward personally, but until then…” she flicked the knife around in her hand concealing it in its handle and tossing it to him, “till we meet again Ryder,”

He gaped as she walked away with a deliberate sway in her hips, letting out a long moan as she disappeared into the curtains. Hard and worked, up he decided to check out the bathroom before he called someone to pick him up.

...

Next Chapter

...

Tags: @feeweeeee @deanobingo

#deanobingo2023 #deanobingo #ryder harrison #ryder harrison x female reader #Ryder #my writing #vegasnz #vegas nz tv series #ryder harrison smut

[borisyvain]

(Detail from plate 3 of William Hogarth's The Rake's Progress... which is set a bit earlier than this work is but ah well)

Wip intro: Red and Riotous Light

Genre: historical fiction, horror, black comedy

Progress: 3rd or so draft

Content warnings: gore/death/a variety of place-and-time typical forms of bigotry/cannibalism/etc

One dark night in 1794 the linen boss William Rearden shoots an English magistrate in Ireland in the head. This relatively simple action, so quick in the moment, soon begins a chain reaction that threatens to overwhelm everyone around him. A government informer, a boy detective, a French agent, a petty criminal, and a loyalist inn owner are all drawn into the fray, and as their lives go progressively downhill, they find themselves making decisions their former selves never could have imagined.

First, there is William Rearden, competing with his fellow United Irishmen Iain and Dorothy Hoyle for the position of delegate, ignoring the advice of his friend Anthony Franklin, and trying to stay loyal to his beloved commanding officer, Thomas Wilson. Into this comes Robert Bird, a mysterious Scotsman with a missing eye, endorsed by local libertine Jenny Curran but recognised by no one. All that anyone knows is that whenever he appears things take a decisive turn for the worse.

Down the road from the public house where the United Irishmen congregate is an inn, the Essex Arms, run by Edward "Lazarus" McClure, Steelboy and Boyne Society member extraordinaire, who has recently struck up a relationship with the contentious Brendan Breen. Not helping their already rocky start is the fact that Brendan's odd ten year old nephew, Seamy, has become convinced that Lazarus has committed a string of heinous crimes -- including the murder of the magistrate. As time marches on, Lazarus' pride leads him down darker and darker paths, while Seamy's obsession with death leaves him vulnerable to manipulation by another boy, whose motivations may not be as pure as they seem.

Lastly, Seamy's cousin, Dolours, whose family was killed in a fire, though she has always had a rather fast and loose approach to the law, has only just begun courting treason. With the ultimate goal of obtaining enough cash to move to the country with her girlfriend, Lucy Gifford, she agrees to work for the French agent Maria Whittaker in smuggling soap past the British blockade of France. However, suspiciously placed money and violent debt collectors make the plan turn dangerous, and so Dolours and Lucy are forced to work with the priest Father John Prendergast to patch things up before Whittaker and her American associates make good on their threat to disembowel them.

Main Characters

William Rearden -- (he/him) a linen boss of some repute. A republican, family man, and supporter of freedom worldwide. Also a notorious gunman.

Robert Bird -- (he/him) a Scottish former soldier who has turned to the intelligence business. Deeply unremarkable as a person. Being deceived beyond his wildest dreams.

Edward "Lazarus" McClure -- (he/him) a resentment-filled, Derry-born, oak branch-wearing, sham-fighting inn owner. Loves his current fling and Winstanley; hates his father and the law.

Seamus "Seamy" Breen -- (he/him) one ten-year-old out of fourteen children, who has a fascination with murder and death. Convinced of his ability to solve any problem.

Dolours Breen -- (she/her) a loving girlfriend, terrible niece, avowed atheist, and smuggler. Disgusted by her surroundings, seeks an escape in subsistence farming with her girlfriend.

Lady Maria Anne Whittaker -- (she/her) a Jacobite-descended Englishwoman whose job it is to get supplies to France, no matter who has to die for it. Loves, apart from herself, her sister.

#🥩 #wip: rrl #writblr #wip intro #jory.txt

[the-august-one]

A discussion was being had on my friend's FB post about the Orcas who are currently engaging in direct action against rich, captialist assholes by attacking their yachts in the Strait of Gibraltar. Now, that is one of *the* most metal sentences of all time, but thats not important. What is important is that someone in the comments shared this absolutely stellar review of the 1977 film, Orca, which I need all of you to stop and read immediately.

Orca (1977) 10/10 - Greatest movie of all time - Reviewer: DroogAlexK, 8/7/03

Warning: Spoilers

Orca is the greatest movie of all time. I'm sure most people say that their favorite movie is the greatest of all time, but they are all wrong.

Orca brings together some of the finest actors. Richard Harris, who unfortunately will be remembered for some trivial movie about a boy wizard and a throwaway musical about King Arthur, does his finest work in Orca. His portrayal of Captain Nolan, an emotionally torn fisherman coming to terms with the fact the marine animals have feelings, deserved the Oscar. Did he win? No, that is not a strike against this fine film. Charlotte Rampling brings texture to the marine biologist in love with a whale baby killer. The romance between the two is subtle. While most modern Hollywood movies would just throw in a gratuitous sex scene, Rampling accomplishes just as much with confused looks and having her shirt zipped down in one scene. Will Sampson, who is sadly better known for some movie about flying over a cuckoo's nest, also does a fantastic job of playing the Native American guy who says cryptic things and has ice fall on him. Robert Carradine, famous for Revenge of the Nerds, shows great range in not being around much and then being eaten by the whale. Bo Derek never equaled her success in this film elsewhere. I really believed her leg was bit off. She sold me.

The effects were great for the time. Many forget what special effects were like in those days, myself included because I was not born yet, but the point remains. The strange fisheye lens used to represent the whales point of view was genius. And I challenge everyone to find a more realistic looking whale fetus in a movie. You can't, you just can't. The dramatic fight between Captain Nolan and the whale could have easily become silly, but it doesn't. The Arctic Circle is accurately represented as a cold place with many iceberg, some of which whales can thwack themselves upon catapulting middle-aged Irishmen forty feet in the air. Keep in mind, also, this was done without the use of computer graphics. Steven Spielberg did not even put the shark in Jaws until over halfway through the film. Why? To hide a machine so fake that I can only assume one of his children made it at camp. The mechanical killer whale in Orca is almost indistinguishable from the stock footage of killer whales continually played throughout the movie.

In 1977, how many directors were brave enough to shoot a killer whale jumping from one side of the boat, eating actor Robert Carradine, and landing on the other side? Just one, Michael Anderson. His bold choices along with screenwriters Luciano Vincenzoni and Sergio Donati (who both show an above average command of the English languages for native-born Italian speakers) make the film a statement not only about whale hunting and whale forgiveness seeking, but also about humanity. Charlotte Rampling's appeal to Nolan not to go fight the whale just because the whale wants revenge is not just about social protocols of how to make it up to the father of a whale baby you accidentally killed but also an argument against the death penalty. Will Sampson's pointless death is an indictment of the senseless slaughter of tens of millions of Native Americans. When the whale knocks down Captain Nolan's house without any explanation of this whale became such a genius that he can not only knows to knock down structural supports but also can look up addresses in the phone book, it directly shows how our incursion into the world of nature is two-fold. Robert Carradine's tragic death in the film is social commentary on the probability of being eaten if you stand around on a boat being followed by a crazed killer whale. And probably also something about Vietnam, I assume.

And while most in Hollywood choose not to admit it, many have ripped off Orca. The dead baby scene in Trainspotting is suspiciously reminiscent of the dead whale fetus scene in Orca. The creepy quasi-romance between an intelligent female and a somewhat crazy violent child murderer is directly stolen by George Lucas for Star Wars: Episode II. The use of icebergs is blatantly co-opted by Titanic, and I have never heard James Cameron so much as thank Michael Anderson. And don't even get me started on Free Willy. Orca is a complicated story. If you only enjoy movies with obvious heroes and villains, this is not for you. The characters are conflicted. Very conflicted. Take for instance how the killer whale jumps for joy after biting off Bo Derek's leg. The whale shows both glee in his jumps, but also the pain of having lost his family and never being able to bring them back no matter how hard he fights those who took them from him. Like Batman. You see, the only thing black and white in this movie is the killer whale itself. While Orca does not now get the respect it deserves, in time people will realize its genius. Just as people did not understand gravity or continental drift, in time they will come to recognize Orca as the greatest cinematic achievement of all time.

#orcas #direct action #movie review #news 2023 #funny reviews

[lossantosdaily]

RAPPER 420KUWAP FACES MORE LEGAL TROUBLE

It seems as though the 22-year-old rising artist has negativity all around him. Just last week, Cultural News for SA reported that Kuwap's uncle was killed at a gas station, and the week before that, Kuwap was bailed out of jail only for him and his friend to get caught allegedly sexually harassing a female officer. This week sadly isn't any different.

Kuwap's stepfather Terran Bennet was reportedly killed after a song lyric by Kuwap in his latest song with the incarnated PK Rolla called "Be On Business" went viral which sparked minor controversy within the urban area of Los Santos.

"N***as Be Crying Bout They Papi Tho (Slow it for four) ya'll gone be shedding tears when ya momma gone (just stop it bro) I got tied with big M that's the afia (Fuck the Mafia) Irishmen in my cup that's who I'm smoking on (ya know he wrong)"

Carlton Tate, a former member of the known Mafia Organization 'Ferro' said that Kuwap made a big mistake and that people aren't too happy about it. 9 hours after the song was released, Kuwap's house was shot up whilst Kuwap was inside with his mother, baby sister, and grandfather. Nobody was injured, but Kuwap's car was damaged in the shooting.

2 days later, Kuwap responded back saying:

"Ay, look for all ya'll pussy boys wanting attention. Just know what heat ya'll coming with cause 420 ave 420 on dolph and 420 on my momma ya'll the mafia pussy as shit and it's just a lil play fire ya'll calm ya'll ass down for someone die up in this bitch for real, send they ass to heaven on God."

Two days later, after posting this, Kuwap's stepfather would be killed near a Sunday church service with 3 other people getting shot and killed along with him. Kuwap was not at the scene. Kuwap was not at the scene. A day after the shooting, LCPD found 2 suspects and one of them was a mafia associate and surprisingly one of Kuwap's closest friends "420XxAiver".

On the night before the shooting, Kuwap posted on his Snapmatic story a picture of him and XXaiver and the caption read "gave $20k 2 tha bro 2 handle the job...shits finna get wicked ong"

Fans started to suspect that Kuwap may have had something to do with his stepfather's murder, but Kuwap denied it and lashed out on his fans who accused him of doing it. But, it gets even weirder after Kuwap's mother said that after the news broke out about her new husband's murder, Kuwap just started to smile and "laugh like a maniac"

She also said that he went to the club after the news broke, and didn't show any remorse at Terran's funeral. LCPD announced that they will be investigating Kuwap to see if he had anything to do with it. Kuwap already faces charges from earlier this year after a failed robbery of his rival gang "BrickHouseMafia" You can read the article on this here.

We will keep you updated.

#crime #420kuwap

[fracolliastray611]

Surestea

Surestea, a country in Southeast Asia. Populated by Spaniards, Portuguese, Poles and Criollos with others being Filipinos, Slavs, East Asians, Irishmen, Afrikaners. Like Velestinia, Norway and Finland. It has the best education in the world, schools don’t pressure students to work and are focused on helping them have a career in the future. They have uniform, nor hair and shoe policies. The country’s wealth came from their resources. The island was founded by Spain in the 1521. It is known for it’s large diamonds and golds which made the country prosper, sooner it declared independence from Spain when the liberal monarch tookover. Carlist veterans began moving to Surestea, where they formed the dominion of Surestea. After the French revolution, many French Catholics began moving to the island alongside the Lebanese. One of their priorities is to build a formidable army in order to fought off anti-independence liberals who began the first Surestean Civil war in 1645-1647. It’s military have 7 branches. These are Army, Marines, Air force, Navy, Coast Guard, and the Tercios and lastly, the Elite guard which are tasked on defending not only the Prime Minister but also the residents of the nation. The current Prime Minister is Francisco Salazar, who is known for promoting the Catholic Social teaching in the nation. The country is very traditional, known for their clean air, clean streets and clearest rivers. A rainforest in San Felipe can also be visited with an enchanting river that glows blue in the morning where many tourists are visiting. It’s capital, Nuevo Madrid is the second most beautiful cities in the country known for being the center of the nation with cleanest rivers in Southeast Asia, 1st being Nuevo Salamanca, known for their white beaches, tourist attractions, high quality malls and the other being San Angel, known for it’s sanitary parks and a carnival can also be found. Santa Fatima is also known for being the most religious town in Southeast Asia, where 5 churches can be found. The most commercialize city is Wurtem, founded by Bavarians and Spaniard-Italian Jews who led the country to prosper. Jews in Surestea are not the same as Israel and America, here they tend be more traditional, and peaceful towards Catholics and even contributed to the success of the nation. Owning Firearms is also legal, at the age of 17, one can acquire a gun, soldiers who have completed their service are allowed to take their rifles home. Permitless carry is constitutional in Surestea, and like America, they have gun culture. But, every high school are required to teach firearms ed to prevent school shootings, which never happened in the country. Suresteans are ranked #1 for being the most disciplined and happiest people in Southeast Asia. Governor Juan Alcaraz, the founder of the nation is always commemorated in June 11. Last thing, Surestea is the only nation where Jews and Christians treats each other as one of their own. It has made trades with Finland, Japan, Denmark, Norway and Iceland alongside Spain and Brazil.

[finnlessshark]

i can't enjoy youtube gamers anymore, they've all done some fucked up shit and i'm just waiting for the last 2 i actually like to follow that trend and turn out to be cunts

#i stopped watching accurize recently because he said something fucked up about shooting someone who was having a mental health crisis #stopped watching p*wdiepie and cry years ago before the anti-Semitism and grooming happened #don't watch the mcyt lot because half of them are assholes #is callmekevin okay still? I haven't kept up with his videos #or rtgamer? #i like the chaotic Irishmen but idk #be a bummer if they turned out to be toxic

[ravewood]

Russian Mafia: pt1

Juice Ortiz Imagine

pt2

masterlist

The club had to make rash decision sometimes and tonight was one of them. It was the middle of the night and the club was hundreds of miles away from Charming. Quit literally in the middle of no where.

They all knew the risks they where getting themselves into tonight. They where going in blind into an Irish IRA gun supplier warehouse. Juice found out this where they where holding majority of stock before selling. The only issue was they didn’t know who the Irish been selling to and where the guns where coming from. Finding out who was selling the guns to the IRA was priority.

The sons took it upon themselves to find out. They needed a better grasp over the gun pipeline to get back to business. They sat back a little too long and the Irishmen got a little too greedy.

The warehouse almost seemed abounded from the outside. But Juice knew better. He can easily tell the high tech security system was out in to blend in.

“Juice and Tig through the back. There’s way too many guys here for just a gun warehouse. 

“I think the Irish are hiding something more. Jax you will lead inside from the roof. Bobby please get those guards from the front distracted. Maybe lead them on a wild goose chase.” Clay explained as they huddled in the van.

Juice and Tig moved their way behind the warehouse. Getting the guns was up to the rest of the guys. They had to figure out the supply chain or what else the Irish might be hiding here.

“Where’s that security room?” Tig asked the younger son and Juice held his laptop in one arm trying to read the blueprints.

“I don’t know, but if I had to have a server room it’s be this office.” Juice whispered as the made their way down the hall.

“What the fuck is that?” Tig asked as they halted hiding around the corner watching down the hall.

“How am I suppose to know.” Juice sassed back. He didn’t understand how him and TIg always ended up working together. 

“Must be important if there’s 4 guards.” Tig said pulling out his gun.

“Blue prints is showing it’s a mechanical room” Juice said before closing his laptop and slipping into his backpack. He got out his gun with the silencer as the crested down the hall.

“Shhhh” Tig whispered grabbing the hairs from the back and shooting him. Juice ducked down slipping to the door letting Tig take care of the rest.

“Shit it’s locked.” Juice mumbled before and he grabbed the guards head and slammed it against the wall.

“Well we have company, hurry up.” Tig warned and he grabbed the final guard checking his pockets for any key cards.

“This would be a good time to hurry up.” Tig warned as he caught off the new guards.

“I’m try I’m not a lock smith or shit.” Juice yelled as he messed with the door keypad.

“Fuck it.”he mumbled taking out his gun and shorting the handle off.

“Fuck man!” Tig yelled back.

“Get in!” Juice yelled slipping in. The room was dark. Juice slowly walked through noticing a huge glass like cage in the middle.

“What kind of shit is this.” He mumbled as Tig got in closing the door.

“Must be the bedroom. Some real kinky shit.” Tig said walking closer to the glass box.

“I think it’s a safe or vault.” Juice said walking closer to try and see what’s inside.

“Oh shit!” Juice yelled as a chair was thrown against the glass he was looking at.

“What the fuck is that?!” Tig yelled pointing his gun at the glass safe.

“It’s a girl?” Juice said confused as small figure walked out the shadow looking pissed. You hair was hanging low a little messy from being stuck here. There was a sheer layer of sweat over you and dried blood. 

“Told you some real kinky shit.” Tig said smiling seeing you in the box. You where missing your clothes, just stripping in box short Calvin Klein panties with a matching sports bra.

You been stuck with the stupid Irishmen for 2 weeks would be your guess. They took you the last gun deal. Your gun deal. They wanted more guns then you where willing to provided for them. You started yelling at the men that just came in the room in Russian.

“That’s not Irish.” Juice mumbled still looking at you puzzled. He was still trying to figure out why the Irish had you looked up under guard at the guns wear house.

“She’s Russian.” Tig said tapping at the glass pissing you off even more. You weren’t who these idiots where but they may be your way out. You put up with the Irish to torture too long. They kept you feed enough to survive. They tortured you just enough to scream but you still didn’t break. You where too high of the food chain list to be stuck in here. 

“Clay we have some Russian locked up here…she was guarded and in a cage thing…yeah women maybe 25…” Tig said over the phone.

“We’ll take her, use her for negotiation.” Clay said over the phone.

“Clay said we got to take her.” Tig told Juice as they studied the glass cage.

“You think it’s bullet proof?” Juice asked knocking on the glass.

“Well.” Tig mumbled pulling out his gun and shorting the glass only making it bounce out.

“Guess it is.” Juice mumbled as she studied the door. He took out his knife placing it at the key pad lock.

“The fuck you doing Juice?” Tig asked looking at him. He didn’t say anything before using the back of his gun and full force slamming it on the knife. The electrical grid let out a few sparkles before the door opened.

You panic you didn’t really think they’d open this stupid glass cage. You backed up slightly grabbed the metal bowl that was left for your dinner. You still weren’t sure if they’d be worse then the Irish. This is why you never left Europe. 

“Come here doll” the taller one said as he stepped forward. Before you gave him a chance to grab you you swung the bowl full force at him.

“Shit!” He yelled stumbling back a little. You jumped past him running to the door. Juice quickly stepped in front eyeing you with a raised eyebrows. With his large body there was no way you could slip by him. 

Out of know where you felt a large hand trap around your neck pulling you into a head lock. You looked tattooed man with a Mohawk with pleading eyes as you felt yourself slipping away. Your body fell limp to the ground.

“Shit Tig you kill her?” Juice asked rushing to your side on the floor.

“No Russian bitch needs a nap before she knocked both of us out. These little Russian are sneaky juicy boy.” Tig said before picking you up from the floor and throwing you over his shoulder.

The son bikers quickly made their way down the halls and out the exit. The van was already waiting for them.

“What’s this?” Chibs asked eyeing the half naked women.

“They had her locked up. I think it has something to die with the Russian gun pipeline. Don’t know what that got to do with the Irish.” Tig said as he threw her into the back of vans towards Juice. He quickly sat up slightly catching you so your head wouldn’t hit the floor. 

“Good work brothers, now let’s go back to charming before They realize we where here.” Clay said as he went into another SUV.

“Make sure she stays sleep. She wakes up you knock her out.” Chibs told Juice before shutting the doors. Juice looked down at you not sure why everyone was so nervous. To him you looked so harmless. Another part of him tried to control his stupid male hormones from checkout your half naked body.

To him you looked so small and fragile. Your plumped body had bruises and dried blood but he could still she how beautiful you where. You didn’t look like a threat to him. A part of him wanted to wrap you up and protect you but he quickly pushed that aside for the club. 

But then again he never had to face the Russian mafia.

#juice ortiz imagine #juice ortiz fanfiction #juice #juice Ortiz series #juice ortiz #juice ortiz x reader #juice soa #Sodapop Curtis #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy #sons #sons of anatchy fandom #theo rossi imagine #theo rossi #juan carlos ortiz #juan ortiz #juan carlos imagine #jaun carlos ortiz fanfic #jax teller fanfiction #jax teller imagine #jax teller

[readbythestarlight]

how about 4 - with a promise, and 10 - for luck for charthur???

(no pressure, of course!!)

Alsjfhdjsk I didn’t think I’d actually get anyone asking for Charthur! Thank you Erin! 🥰🤩

Disclaimer because I’ve actually never written them before oops 🙈 and then I wrote this in like two hours. I hope you enjoy it! If anyone sees typos plz let me know I read over it like 30 times I’m typo-blind

—

“This is the last time I let that noisy Irish bastard come anywhere,” Arthur swears, not for the first time.

It’s a valid complaint, he would argue. Off to the left the Irishman sits in the wagon they’ve left on the tracks, singing another bawdy song at the top of his lungs and, as usual, being an obnoxiously cheerful bastard through every second of the long, boring wait for the train. He is earning every single one of the glares and cranky mutterings Arthur sends his way.

And if Arthur has to hear one more verse of Ring-Dang-Do he’s going to shoot him.

Which he tells him, hollering across the gap. To which Sean replies “oh, lighten up, Arthur! I’m the distraction, an’t I now?” and goes right back to it.

“Oh, you’re a distraction alright,” Arthur growls back. “Distractin’ me right outa my goddamn mind!”

“Ignore him,” Charles, who waits beside him, advises. Arthur scoffs at the advice, shifting and muttering under his breath. In the moonlight he can see Charles look over at him, catches the slight arch of his brow and tilt of his head. It makes Arthur a little ashamed of his irritability, albeit only a little.

“Just don’t see why he’s always got to be so damn loud is all,” he mutters, and Charles hums his agreement to that.

“Things have been especially loud lately,” Charles says, and Arthur huffs at the understatement. Between Sean’s good cheer, Dutch arguing with Molly (or Hosea, or Arthur himself), and Micah and his whole… personality. Camp’s been just shy of hell.

Charles knows it, and maybe it’s been eating at him, or else he can just see how it’s been eating at Arthur, because he follows up with, “Once this job is done we should ride out and spend a few days hunting, just you and me. No noisy Irishmen.”

“Hmph. Sounds too good to be true,” Arthur grumbles.

A soft laugh, closer to his ear than he had anticipated, followed by a shoulder bumping against his own.

“Cross my heart,” Charles answers. “Besides, I could use a little peace and quiet myself.”

“Couldn’t we all,” Arthur agrees. There’s a warmth settling inside him, easing some of the tension from his shoulders, lessening the looming threat of the headache that always seems to form whenever they bring Sean on a job.

But if Sean is a headache (and he is, make no mistake) then Charles must be the health tonic that cures it.

It’s been too long since they got off by themselves anyway. Much as he hates to admit it, Arthur could use the break.

From off over the hill a whistle echoes loud. The shrill voice of steam-driven progress which stops for no one. Except, of course, for tonight, when it’ll stop for them; or at least for the wagon stretched across the tracks.

“Sounds like it’s time to get to work.” Satisfaction and relief slip into Arthur’s tone. He never has much liked the sitting and waiting part of robbing trains; he prefers the action. With a grunt he pushes up off the ground and pulls his rifle from his back.

“Best get on across ‘fore they round the bend,” he tells Charles, who accepts the directions with a nod. But rather than move away instantly as expected Charles shifts into his space. It catches him by surprise when a kiss brushes against his cheek, there and gone like a feather.

His face heats up.

“Wha’ was that for?” he asks, voice a low, embarrassed rumble. Charles’ laughter is warm against his ear.

“For luck. Be careful, Arthur.”

“Psch…” Arthur dips his head and scratches at the back of his neck, where heat prickles at his skin. “I will. You too.”

“Always.”

Arthur watches him in the moonlight until he disappears, and belatedly wishes he’d thought to return the ‘luck’ with a quick kiss of his own. Damn. Always just a bit too slow.

Down at his feet pebbles skitter under boots and a figure moves into view just as the train rounds the distant bend.

“Hey, lovebird! Think you can bring your head down out of the clouds, or should we ask this train to give us a few minutes?” John’s voice coming up out of the darkness, and it has the usual effect of making Arthur growl.

“Shut up, Marston, an’ get your ass where you’re supposed to be.”

“Fuck you, Morgan.”

With a sigh Arthur can feel the headache that mysteriously shows up whenever John’s around creeping in, and now Charles isn’t here to relieve it.

He can’t wait to get this job done and over with.

#my fic #rdr2 #charthur #charles smith #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #I love Sean Arthur is just Cranky™️ #it’s also only like KINDA charthur I’d guess aksjdkssj now I’m having The Doubts

[mormorproposal]

Of Magpies and Cabins in the Woods

Fandom: sherlock (bbc)

Ship: james moriarty x sebastian moran

Word count: 654

Summary: In which the tiger tries to explain the origins of the nickname to his magpie.

A/N: I wrote this in like half an hour to practice dialouge. Enjoy!

“Y’know why I’m calling you magpie, boss?”

Jim’s head perks up from the book he’s reading and looks at the tiger currently laying in his lap. 

“I am sure you’ll tell me right now”, he laughs and runs his hand through Seb’s hair. The taller one wiggles his feet and starts playing with the hem of Jim’s shirt, before finally raising his voice.

“When I was a kid, I used to go to this cabin in the wood-” His words get interrupted by the other man starting to giggle. “Why are you laughing? I swear to God, stop laughing!”

“I am sorry, tiger, but a cabin in the woods does explain your brutal tendencies. Oh, this is gold! Was it a hunting cabin, Sebby? Did you see dead moose?” James teases, having completely abandoned his book and poking his ring finger into Seb’s chest.

“No, I did not see any dead moose? Seriously, love, I am trying my best to be cute and all and you ruin everything”

“Bet the cabin in the woods ruined your childhood”, the Irishmen retorts. 

“That is besides the point.”, the sniper huffs. 

“I think that’s a really interesting point you’re making there and definitely the conversation we are supposed to be having!”

“For fuck’s sake, James! Shut up or I’ll shoot you!”, Seb groans.

“You’d be unemployed then, dearest tiger. Besides, it is freezing outside and I don’t think you’d like to run from the police in this weather. Quite chill out there.”, Moriarty laughs. “But if it means so much to you, I’ll listen.” 

Seb shakes his head and ignores the smug smile that is still drawn all over his magpie’s face.

“Anyhow, in this… residence -- fuck you for making me change the word --” “Oh, Sebastian, it’s my pleasure”, Moriarty hints at the movement of a bow, before letting himself fall back into the cushions of the couch again, locking eyes with the sniper. 

“In this residence”, the blond starts anew through gritted teeth, still a smile in the corner of his lips, “I used to hide from the bad stuff in the world.”

“That worked quite well, you definitely aren’t in the big bad world. Hide and Seek game officially won.”, James interrupts once again.

“I’ll throw a pillow at you, magpie. I’m dead serious! Let. Me. Finish.”

“That’s what he said”, the brunet smirked. 

Seb shoots his lover another annoyed look. Of all the idiots in the world, why did it have to be this one?

“If you won’t actually let me speak, he will not be saying that for quite the time.”

“Fine. Stage is yours.”

“I hid from the world and there weren’t many people around, y’know. In fact, actually just my brother but eventually he stopped coming with me.”, Moran stops playing with his lover’s shirt and instead settles for hand movements. “And well, there were magpies. Occasionally paying a visit. They kinda were what gave me… I don’t know. Watching them made me feel less alone. Kind of at ease with myself. When I am with you, it’s kinda like being back there-”, his voice trails off, hands having been dropped onto his stomach. 

“Fuck you for making me feel bad about the teasing, tiger” is the first thing that leaves Moriarty’s mouth. Then - “That’s really sweet of you. Glad to be having that effect on you, love”. The Irishman bows over Seb’s face and traces his lips with his finger, before kissing him. 

“You aren’t alone anymore. I am here. I’ll be there. Forever.” Jim whispers in-between kissing breaks.

“And ever”, the tiger replies, leaning into Jim’s touch. 

Thanks for sending me this idiot out of all the idiots in the world.

“Good to know that you’re thinking of a cabin in the woods, whenever I am near you though”, Jim smirks and Sebastian actually smacks him lightly. 

“Idiot.”, he mutters.

“But I am your favorite one”, the magpie sing-songs.

#mormor #sebastian moran #jim moriarty #james moriarty #fic writing #fluff

[werewolfetone]

im begging you to tell me about Edward John Newell & his time as an informer & his disappearance. this will be your only warning.

*Rubs my hands together* right. Edward John Newell.

Firstly, this is him (from a sketch he did of himself, which was first published in his autobiography & was later reproduced by my good friend RR Madden for his The Life and Times of the United Irishmen)

And Mr. Newell was born in Downpatrick in 1771 to Scottish parents. He was noted to be a pathological liar even when he was a child, which. tbh. almost foreshadowed his future activities. Anyway, he had a bit of a falling out with his mother in 1788, which led him to seek work as a seaman. He gave up on that because it was too uncomfortable and eventually moved to Dublin to try and find a job, but couldn't hold one down for long, and when he asked for help his parents denied it to him due to the general animosity between them and due to his support for the United Irishmen. So, he moved to Belfast in 1796, became a portrait painter (despite apparently having little experience in art), and everything swiftly took a turn.

It's not... clear when he became an informer, exactly. It's probable that it was immediately, given that he later admitted to going around dressed like a British soldier with his face painted, pointing out United Irishmen to Lord Carhampton and a group of actual soldiers. Apparently he did this a lot, because Newell claimed to have put 227 people in prison this way, and to have forced upwards of 300 people to flee from their homes for fear of being arrested. Newell wasn't necessarily very good at being a spy, because instantly his superiors in the United Irishmen noticed that he was... overzealous in a weird way... but he did manage to stay under the radar for long enough that he wasn't killed at that point.

Also important: Newell had a friend called George Murdock (or Murdoch, I've seen it spelled both ways). Murdock was the opposite of him politically and also worked for the government and I.... remember reading somewhere that he was in the Orange Order, too, but I can't recall where so I can't provide a source for it. Anyway, the United Irishmen weren't keen on Newell's friendship with Murdock, leading to Murdock's house having to be placed under armed guard lest they try to kill him, but they stayed friends.

Eventually, Edward Cooke (the spymaster for the British government in Ireland at the time, basically. horrible man) brought Newell to Dublin Castle, where he questioned Newell for nine hours. Newell was more than happy to tell him everything, and in return he was rewarded with money and the opportunity to stay in Dublin Castle to learn more about being a spy. While there, he made an absolute nuisance of himself, including shooting at a guard because the guard was slightly too slow in opening the gate for him when he returned past midnight. He also testified before the government's incredibly creatively named (/s) Secret Committee, where he talked for a long time and later admitted that he had made much of his testimony up specifically to scare the people on the Secret Committee.

Eventually, Newell... I don't know, felt bad about what he was doing, maybe? Decided that it was time to change sides again? I don't know. Either way, he asked Cooke if he could stop being a spy, and Cooke agreed to put him into what was basically witness protection, which would allow him to live in England and resume his painting career. Newell could have just taken the offer and gone, but decided, I guess, that that was not enough, and so he wrote and published a book that detailed 1. how very sorry he was for being an informer; 2. everything about his time as an informer; and 3. every single thing he had told the government about the United Irishmen.

You may be thinking "wait that sounds incredibly stupid, why would he do that," which. yeah. I'm not sure why he decided that he needed to do that either. But he did, and predictably, both the government and the United Irishmen were livid. Also, so were the Defenders, who were the Catholic sectarian murder group, because Newell had talked a lot in his book about how they were cooperating with the United Irishmen. So Newell had pissed off not one, not two, but three groups that were all completely willing to kill people to get what they wanted.

But even this was not enough for him! Because it came out with this autobiography that Newell had been having a long-standing affair with Murdock's wife. This pissed off Murdock's people, and it made Murdock so angry that he broke into Newell's room in Dublin Castle to shoot at him multiple times (no one was injured and Murdock even went to jail for a day or two). Newell was evidently very attached to Murdock's wife, which is. kind of sweet I guess. but anyway. At this point, Newell's horrified friends started trying to get him to leave Ireland by any means possible. Remember, there were now four angry groups that wanted him dead, so if he stayed it was pretty much inevitable that he would get a bullet in the head. Newell would not, however, consent to leave without Murdock's wife, who Murdock did not want to let go because y'know... they were married. Since he would not leave immediately as he probably should have done, Newell's friends convinced him to come as far as Bangor, where he stayed in an inn while they tried to convince him to leave for America.

Before I go any further, I feel like I should clarify for people who may not know--there's an important difference between killing someone and disappearing someone. If you were killed by the United Irishmen, maybe they ambush you as you're walking along the road, shoot you and leave your body in the ditch, but your body's still there, and it will be found, and returned to your family, and they know what happened to you, etc etc. But if you were disappeared by the United Irishmen, they might grab you while you're walking along the road, or show up at your house and drag you away, or ambush you at a pub--either way they take you away, and no trace of you is ever seen again. Nobody knows what happened to you, where you are, if you're dead or alive, etc etc--it's almost like you've vanished off the face of the earth. This is often considered worse than killing someone because of the lack of closure, and it's also specifically a human rights violation apart from just normal murder according to the UN.

Having said that, you've probably guessed what happened to Newell. He was at his inn one night, drinking with his friends, and he walked away arm in arm with "two professed friends" who none of my sources name, and he was never seen again. There are conflicting accounts of what exactly happened to him. One says that he was shot to death on the road and his body was buried on the beach. One says that he was thrown off of a ship that was meant to take him to America. One says that they just drowned him. Madden kind of implies that he may have been put into what was basically a saw trap and fallen down a trap door with an axe murderer under it. I've even seen it kind of suggested that hey, maybe he did make it to America after all (unlikely tbh). Whatever happened, no trace of him was ever seen or heard from again. They did later find two separate skeletons that were both theorised to have possibly been him--one under the beach in Bangor in the 1820s, another under the foundation of the house with the axe murderer hole in the 1810s. The other thing all of these accounts agree on is that the United Irishmen were the ones who did it, and that those who did it specifically were probably Newell's own former colleagues.

#thank you for the ask i needed to get all of this out #insane story. insane time period. newell what the fuck #edward john newell #edward cooke #george murdoch #lord carhampton #rr madden #tw violence #tw death #tw sectarianism #united irishmen #irish history #jory.txt

[aztecbrujeria]

James Bonde (Moriarty the Patriot) x OC Intro

*Introducing my MTP OC: Magdalena Caballero-Calixto, Mexican American Bandida on the run from both countries; having been in Poncho Villa’s band of outlaws. A true Outlaw who landed in London as a haven, who stays with the Gypsie's and works in the underground canals for them. Sharpshooter with any gun, gives Sebastian Moran a run for his money when she’s faster than Billy the Kid, excellent skills in hand-to-hand combat, and excellent in using her sexuality for intel. James has run into her many times and worked once before the Moriarty brother’s. Pansexual, polyamorous, independent, woman. *

Characters: James Bonde

SFW/NSFW Warning: M/F, Shooting, Violence, mentions of death, some implied racism against OC, Kissing...I think that’s it 

 Word Count: 1.2K

Chapter One: Across the Pond

She was crouched behind a drum of whiskey, she could feel the cold fog against her copper skin from the canals, “Mierda! This was supposed to be an easy exchange, pinché cabróns!” Magdalena screamed at the Irishmen and Scotsman that were shooting back at the assailant. They could only keep the return fire at bay, “Cover me!” Magdalena stood up and ran towards the firing shots. She felt the bullets whiz by her, bobbing and weaving behind crates and drums, she was close enough to see an opening finally. As the return fire stalled, from reloads she thought to herself, she brushed her hat off letting it hang around her throat as she stood and walked into the open, “Oye! Okay, okay, you got me...Soló soy una mujer...I am, but a woman, I can’t possibly be that good of a shot.” Feigning innocence she waited until two men popped out from their cover, she smiled wickedly at them, “Gotcha!” Faster than Billy the Kid she drew her two pistols on her hips and hit them square in the head. When she heard the heavy bodies drop like flies, she reholstered her pistols and began to walk toward the assailants.

The only sound echoing off the cobblestone and mortar from the canal was her spurs and rubbing of the leather chaps she wore. When she saw the victims of her wicked accuracy, she signaled for the two gypsies it was clear, “Oi! Get the goods, hurry before La Doña notices we’ve been gone too long and comes for us!” Once the boat was loaded and she bid the boys adieu she took her earned pocket and walked toward the seedier part of the city so she could get a drink. When she reached the pub, she entered and immediately got looks from the men, “Oi! Who let this feather in!” Magdalena tipped her hat up, she stood at five feet, wearing a duster, a vest over her white cotton shirt hugged her exactly right, bound breasts, pants held up with a large belt with leather chaps, and hip holsters. She realized she stood out in London, especially underground, but she didn’t care she was on the run from the American and Mexican governments. She gave the room a deadly glare and moved her duster behind her pistols so they could see she was serious, “I’m here to drink, puto, I’m not here to start trouble.” She walked, spurs echoing off the room, towards the bar, “I’ll take a whiskey and some of your bread.” She reached into her vest and pulled out the money, making sure to leave extra, “I canna give ya a clean glass lass, we dinna do that fer feathers.” She smiled sweetly at the barkeep, “Fine...Give me a damned glass of whiskey, double then, and bread.” The room stayed silent as the barkeep poured her whiskey in a dirty glass and gave her a chunk of dried bread. Once she received her glass and meal, she headed to the secluded seat in the back away from the crowd. 

She took her duster and hat off, men eyed her exotic looks, as her thick braids fell forward and framed her high cheekbones, “A feather huh?” She just ignored the man trying to make conversation, “You’re a long way from home I’d say.” If only you knew...to damned wet here...not enough space... “Yo soy Mexicana...Debría estar de vuelta en mi país, pero...I’m here now...Qué quieres?” She constantly went back and forth between the two languages so she could avoid unwanted attention. The man behind her got up to stand in front of her when she saw who it was. She looked at him in a perfectly tailored suit and slicked back hair knowing she’d see him again. She immediately smiled wide, continuing to drink her whiskey, “Ay, Jaime, I haven’t seen you in sometime...What are you doing here?” Magdalena set her glass down and motioned for the blonde-haired man to sit across from her. “Malena, it’s so nice to see you, still know how to enter an establishment I see...Ever the true outlaw.” She smiled and looked at the man with hungry chocolate eyes, “Yo recuerdo la última vez que te vi, te fuiste primero.” She knew James understood her and didn’t want to switch and only thought of how the man before her had made her cry his name, “But, I digress, what do you need Jaime?” He reached across the table and took her small hand, “Malena, my current boss, Mr. Moriarty would like to bring you on to the team.” Her eyes widened, she knew that name, “Jaime, did you forget last time, I have the bullet scar to prove I paid my way en sangre.” He brought her hand up and kissed the back of her hand, rubbing circles into her dark skin, “You know, they don’t like to see a white man with a feather, though I am not one, es muy peligroso.” This didn’t stop Magdalena from reaching for her whiskey glass and letting him continue with touching her, “James...what’s the pay? You know my price, now that I know who it is... When do I meet with Mr. Moriarty?” James smiled against her skin and inhaled the scent of leather and gunpowder before chuckling softly.

“I knew you wouldn’t say no... Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?” Magdalena thought hard for a moment, finishing her whiskey, “No I don’t just with my usual, the gypsies have talked about getting me a caravan of my own, but until then... No, I usually find a warm space.” James looked up into her eyes knowing full well it was with another woman or man, “You’ll come with me then, you can get a hot bath, and sleep in my bed, maybe some clean clothes.” Magdalena sat back into her chair while popping the last bit of stale bread into her mouth, “You got comida?” Earning a laugh from the man in front of her, “Yeah, I’ve got plenty...We’re actually staying with the Moriarty’s, so you’ll see them in the morning...they’ve been expecting you.” Magdalena sat forward as she reached for her duster and hat, standing in front of the man, “What are you waiting for? Vamos.” She took James’ chin in her hand to take his lips with her own, sliding her tongue across the softness of him, earning entrance into his mouth letting him taste the whiskey on her tongue. She opened her deadly eyes towards the patrons of the pub, tongues and teeth still mashing together, and smiled against his lips seeing the disdain from the men in the seedy place. She broke the kiss, still holding onto his chin, “We’ve got an audience.” She put her hat on and walked toward the door into the alley with James following behind. 

#moriarty the patriot #sebastian moran #james bonde #james bonde x OC #bandita #anime fanfic #moriarty the patriot fanfic #james bonde smut #sebastian moran smut #Writing OC

[dfffhgfgh]

You recently wrote about a 45 year old woman with back pain

Gott: You recently wrote about a 45 year old woman with back pain. If the memory has nike air max 102 essential white been properly installed and you have the correct memory but it is still not being detected, you should make sure you have the most up to date BIOS from your computer manufacturer's website.. Her passion for the broadcast industry was fostered at CKOC. Over the past 20 years, state retiree health benefit (OPEB) costs ballooned 981 percent while pension costs grew 583 percent. Josiah Priest, A.M., and published by Rev. Johann Sebastian Bach work, the festival is an opus to the legendary composer influence on the Baroque movement and impact his work has had on music as we know it since his death 263 years ago. His skin was pale leather, his beard cropped so short that it might adidas eqt rose gold have been painted on. By law or custom, they are excluded from the advantages of education; and, by consequence, from the reading of the word of God; and this immense mass of immortal beings is thrown, for religious instruction, nike papuci de casa din pasla jean jacket upon oral communications entirely. It was Muhlenberg faculty member and set designer Tim Averill who brought Vogel and Wilde to Muhlenberg. Gaunt men with sunken eyes squatted amidst sand and stones, shitting out their lives biciclete rusesti vechi in stinking streams of brown and red. “He must,” he replied. Downtown secretaries scrimp to swing a Kate Spade handbag and a Tiffany charm bracelet, while loft dwelling guys stock their haibike e mtb 2020 bathroom shelves with pampering and pricey products. No blades were allowed in the presence of the king save those of his protectors. Together, according to Disney, "they embark on a danger filled mission to unearth the secrets of an enigmatic place somewhere in time and space known only as Tomorrowland." With critics evenly split on Rotten Tomatoes, citing both its great visuals and uneven storytelling, we leave you, as Tomorrowland itself does, with an optimistic vision (of the movie). For Aleksandra Lason (Media Arts, 11) and Chris Grubisa (Media Arts, 11), the best part of being partners in life, and in business, is the time they spend together during late nights at the office, or on planes when they jet off to film shoots around the globe. After a while my father’s owner moved off and took my father with him, which broke up the marriage. “I am more agile when I’m drunk.” He turned to the proprietor. And such a chance was not to be lost. Hot on the heels of the world premiere for the new Mercedes Benz E Class at the North American International Auto Show this January, the first high performance variant of the new E Class is already on the way from Mercedes AMG. During the Spanish American War he organized a company of soldiers and then entered the Army as a private. Nor did he relish the prospect of splashing through the shallows to climb some muddy riverbank. Said by folks like Autoweek and Autoblog to be a 2019 model, the plastic draped car was caught during secret testing in Michigan, and more clearly shows a body shape designed for a mid engine vs. They'd move elections to folie samsung j6 2018 pt tot telegonil the fall, require a fall sitting of the legislature, register voters starting at age 16 to prepare them for voting zattini promoção de botas at 18, and take political promotion out of government ads.. Delicious, he thought, and deadly.. Given time, they could carve out a toehold for themselves up there, throwing up ramparts of their own and dropping ropes and ladders for thousands more to clamber over after them. 14 at Highland: After a rough opening night against Basha, bokacsizma bakancs Corona has a chance to make a move with Westwood, Dobson and Highland before the schedule turns even uglier again. Uncle knew he had to take someone from my home. Tyrion knew eunuchs when he saw them. Some of those users will be in Dallas, as well as Boston, Atlanta, Houston, Seattle and other markets.. Shall . Courts?general reluctance to order divestiture in Sherman Act cases is exemplified by the Supreme Court decision in National Lead, a case the government neglects to discuss. This keeps the computer protected and the and with lovable fashionable and be comfortable at the same time. You may be affected by a class action lawsuit alleging fraud based, warranty, contract, and unjust enrichment claims against The Scotts Miracle Gro Company, Inc. Activities will include the world premier play of "Pearlie the Amazing Oyster" by Storytree Theatre, a Touch Tank of Lowcountry water animals, a meet and greet with the Charleston Waterkeepers Organization, entertainment with Miss Irene Rose on the Pluff a Pallooza stage, the Pluff Mud Craft Tent, the Sweet Grass Palace, Pluff Muddy Buddies balloon animals, Pluff Mud Cookie Decorating, Corey the Stilt Guy, limbo with local mascots, photo opportunities, an interactive noise play area, an air dancer, a jump castle, and much more.. I served with Irishmen from all evro kalkulator over Ireland, all were aware of how they were continuing the long history of the Irish in military service. I haven't seen a complete match involving Big Daddy LaFonce Latham, the star of 'Wrestling With Death' with whom I spoke this week, so I will not pass judgment on the quality of his Mid Southern Championship Wrestling promotion. Edd was back by the time that he had dressed, pressing a steaming cup into his hands. As for Anna Andreyevna, I was completely at a loss as to how I should excuse myself to her next day. When I fought Vonda Ward she had everything to lose and I had everything to gain. Ramsay was Reek then, standing at his side, whispering that he should flay a few of his captives to make them tell him where the boys had gone. The blown up mini van has been brought back to the lab. Despotism has established and sustained much more efficient systems of police than ever a republic did. If you watch TV with any regularity, you probably already familiar with this peculiar product. And the gig, right, was absolutely, fucking, marvellous.. The pleasant, sunny weather will stick around for much of next week. Said boy is black, about 22 years old, very stout and active, weighs about 165 or 170 pounds. The Air Jordan 1 Mid GS "Lola Bunny" is outfitted in a blend of Wheat, Pink Glaze, and Shimmer also featuring a Dark Tan overlay. The screaming caves, his men call them. You are invited to bring your transistor radios to the beach with you to listen as we give local insight to the air show, interview various noted people in attendance and those involved with putting on the show, including the pilots flying the planes. For example, around the world, people often don't like to adopt black dogs, because they see them as bad luck, or they don't want older dogs.". From the context menu of an alias (hold down the Control key and click the alias icon), there are two extremely useful options for working with aliases. 17, 2000, shooting death of her husband, Air Force Capt. Some of the younger negroes sing and dance, but the evenings and holidays are usually occupied in working, in visiting, and in praying and singing hymns. The fiscal cost benefit analysis model has been used for more than a decade when the state offers major discretionary tax breaks to attract jobs.

[warsofasoiaf]

The Celtic Tiger - A Kaiserreich Ireland AAR Chapter 5: The Red Hand and the White Dove

A good general never let his successes linger too long. The key to winning a war was never stopping until the final objective was secured, which meant that no soldier could afford to celebrate his success.

2 October 1939 - Home of Michael Collins, County Cork, Ireland

The Irish had successfully repulsed multiple combined invasions from two great powers, and had successfully maintained the territorial integrity of their island. Britain had shifted their attention to the Low Countries and France had placed most of their forces along the German border or along the south of France in Marseilles. It had been days since a single Union plane or ship had come anywhere close to Irish territory. The unity that such a feat had engendered had been nothing short of exceptional. Some foreign workers had evacuated, but plenty had stayed behind to continue to help provide much needed manpower for Ireland in the face of invasion. Wealthy Irishmen bought war bonds by the armful, older men volunteered to help man civil defense spotting towers to supplement the radar stations, and workers had seamlessly integrated a full three-shift rotation to speed production along. Yet this unity had not been total, and one faction began to cause more problems.

It had been no secret that the Orangeists in Ulster had been agitating for a return to the British in Canada. To hear the rhetoric, Ulsterites needed to do everything they could to allow the exiled Windsors to return to their throne. Ireland was an ideal staging ground for the Entente, an unsinkable aircraft carrier capable of sending the entirety of the Entente’s aerial forces against the Union and the Communards. G2 had done wonders in infiltrating the Union, and the Irish Republican Army was one of the most experienced forces in the world, certainly when it came to fighting Mosley. All of that value, they argued, must have been put to use in the service King Edward. Once the United Kingdom had been restored, Ulster could be returned to the Crown, and all would be well, if you asked the Orangeists. The Unionists were seeing attendance at their rallies steadily grow and grow, before long the entirety of the Six Counties would be UUP.

The notion of joining both the Entente and the Reichspakt had been floated in the Dail. It made practical sense to join one of them, and gain the support of large and powerful armies and economies at the Irish back. Collins had exhausted plenty of political capital to shoot down those proposals, reading the refusals of the Kaiserreich and the exiled British government when the Mosley first declared war. Collins didn’t like it, it gave too much red meat to the na hAiséirghe crowd and could embolden their efforts against his immigration reforms, but it gained him a reprieve from those demanding that Ireland join one of the two European factions. Joining one would invite the Union to continue bombing and invading to prevent exactly the scenario that the Ulsterites hoped to come to pass. 

With the war on, it was the perfect time to move. If it wasn’t such a threat, Collins would appreciate the irony, since the Weltkrieg was what had enabled Irish independence in the first place. He now sat in the same position as the British Empire did twenty years ago. The moment had made his mouth taste like metal, almost an involuntary moment of revulsion. The promises of 1921 seemed to be coming true at the worst possible time. The confirmation of Ulster would have to take place, one way or the other. 

Now that the bombings were over, and life was attempting to return to normal, agitation against the Irish government had returned. James Craig had viciously denounced the Collins government, declaring that Collins had hoped to hobble Belfast, and that the Northern Irish would be kept out of the riches of Collins’s economic policies. The Saorstat Brewery, the Open for Business Initiative, the agricultural reforms in Connacht, the zinc mines in the center of the country, it was economic prosperity for Catholics only, Craig had made a grand show to a roaring crowd of Unionists and Ulster Volunteers. Collins’s ultimate goal, so Craig spelled out, was the economic subservience of the Northern Irish, to let them wither until they surrender who they are.

“Everything I’ve done for Belfast and it’s still not enough. The steelworks, the Short Brothers, none of it will ever be enough for James Craig.” Collins grumbled to an empty room. 

---

16 November 1939 - Belfast, Ireland

The latest news wasn’t good. The Unionists, citing unequal treatment by Catholic employers, had planned to stage a large-scale sympathetic strike, which threatened everything from small restaurants all the way to Harland and Wolff. The Ulster Shipwright and Marine Workers Association, by far the largest labor union in Belfast and de facto head of any large-scale labor activity, had misgivings about striking in the middle of a war, and had strongly pushed a compromise plan. Smaller businesses unrelated to the war effort like restaurants and other service industries would institute a general strike, while shipyards, airfields, and other critical war industries would stress work-to-rule behavior and malicious compliance. As a token of good faith in their statement of grievances, the workers promised that they would maintain all repair facilities for the An tSeirbhís Chabhlaigh and the An tAerchór at full functionality; they would do nothing that would critically endanger Ireland’s defense in the wake of Union aggression. Despite this, the plan ultimately was for naught. A fight broke out between the Unionists and a large group of unknown men shouting that they were betraying the war effort. No one had been seriously injured, merely cuts, broken bones, and a bunch of filled beds at Belfast Medical. 

Rumors had abounded at what exactly happened and who was involved. Collins received his share of the blame, plenty believed that he had ordered the strikebreaking action to intimidate the Ulster Volunteers under the veneer of plausible deniability. Even more outlandish conspiracy theorists suggested that Collins had organized the labor action itself, to give his strikebreakers the reason they needed to kick a couple of teeth in without actually causing significant damage to the war effort and delegitimize the Ulster Volunteers and the labor unions in one fell swoop to prevent reaching out to the Dominion or the Union. The Catholics loudly protested that it must have been the Ulster Unionists who struck the first blow, hypocritically demanding the right to protest but denying it to the Irish nationalists in a rehash of the old Irish Penal Law system. Most however, thought it was just strikebreaking, squads hired by business owners to break up the labor action. Either way, it wasn’t good for the Collins government.

This had come not long after the bank of Ireland had been robbed in Belfast, gaining plenty of money to continue to fund dissident activity within the Six Counties. The Gardai had been unable to find where the money had gone, it had almost certainly been laundered through businesses in the North. No one could prove that it was the Unionists who had robbed it, but everyone was convinced that it was the case. With the Irish budgets already stretched thin, the loss of the cash reserves in Belfast had stung deeply. Angry Irish citizens had demanded that the government guarantee their account holdings and punish those responsible. Collins sympathized, but inflation was a dangerous beast to wrestle with already, he couldn’t imagine the headache he would have to deal with if he started securing private holdings during the war.

No matter the truth of everything that had happened in Ulster, it was bad for Collins. This sort of thing could only hurt the war effort. The last thing he needed was James Craig hoping to secure himself by latching on to the Union, or declaring war on Ireland and inviting in the British crown. “Tighten restrictions, offer the usual sympathies, promise an investigation. Let’s make nice before this gets any worse.” Collins ordered, hoping to stave off catastrophe.

---

20 December 1939 - County Antrim, Ireland

It was starting to look as if it would be an armed conflict after all. 

Derry had seen the first problems. A prominent Unionist activist had been stabbed in the night and left to bleed in a gutter, dying in the pre-dawn hours of a cold December morning and undiscovered until a morning street-cleaning crew found him during their shift. The Gardai had no leads, which had only mobilized the Unionists further. There had been no leads because there had been no investigation. The Gardai fully supported the murder of prominent Unionists; it allowed them to subjugate the population without fear of uprising or uproar. No doubt, had a Irish Republican loyalist been murdered, the perpetrator would have been found, arrested, and sentenced to death under wartime emergency measures. 

Orangeists had been seeing a steady increase in support from Protestants in the North. Intelligence reports from police units had noted steady increases in recruiting and donations. Hardliners were urging the police to crack down on the movement, but absent evidence of a specific crime, Northern Irish advocacy groups had been a right guaranteed in the 1925 Constitution. The Gardai had to contend themselves with attempting to trace the money from the Bank of Ireland robbery and seeing if they could identify the specific groups that were causing trouble. If the perpetrators could be discovered, the Ulster Volunteers would have to disavow them and perhaps cause distress within their own movement. 

The Irish nationalists despised Collins’s plans. It was war and the Ulster Volunteers were committing treason against the state. If the Ulster unions took the strikebreaking as a means to invite Mosley in, he’d have a secure beachhead, or James Craig might reach out to King Edward and slowly invite a peacekeeping force in. Neither idea seemed particularly feasible to Collins, but the fear of such possibilities was creating a lot of doomsaying, and that was enough. His success against Mosley had taught a valuable lesson: impression could mean far more than reality.

A concert hall in County Antrim saw the next bloody episode. Masked men shouting pro-Ulster slogans opened fire, killing members of a Dublin band and concert-goers alike who had been playing a Christmas benefit. No one from that crime was caught, as sympathetic Ulsterites had been able to smuggle the men underground. Investigators hadn’t yet been able to discover who the gunmen actually were. The pictures reminded Collins uncomfortably of what he saw in Galway and Sligo, how long would be before Irish would be doing the same to Irish? Rounding up and executing them in a field like they were sheep or cattle, it sickened Collins to his core. Craig had remained silent on the matter, but the Irish Catholics in the North were incredibly frightened. Even the foreigners were frightened of being caught in the crossfire, and that led Collins to one inescapable conclusion: he was losing control.

“Institute a stronger curfew, devote more money to investigations. Also let’s see if we can’t do something to undercut the Volunteer’s support among the Northerners, make them focus their efforts on fighting the Union. Take out loans if you have to; this needs to end now.”

---

17 January 1940 - Belfast Ireland

It was a grim day, and the dark clouds had seemed to be a herald for bad omens. 

After the concert hall massacre, the Ulster Unionist Party had quieted down, but only for a short time. No progress had been made, and rumors had circulated that the UUP weren’t going to send any sacrificial lamb even if they disagreed with the action. The Unionists had sought to organize a large-scale march in Belfast. Plenty within Collins’s government urged him to quash it entirely under emergency war powers, a large assembly could be considered too great a risk from aerial bombardment. Yet with the threat of British bombardment being reduced, Collins had opted not to give the Ulsterites more reason to call him an unconstitutional tyrant.

When the news of it reached the Catholic minority in Belfast, they predictably demanded an extra defensive precaution. The sporadic outbreaks of violence meant that the Catholics feared that the march would become a riot, and the Ulster Unionists, while not proven to be connected to the murders in Antrim, were almost certainly guilty of abetting it. The Gardai hadn’t been able to stop the violence, and with the march they would be woefully outnumbered and unable to protect anyone if anything got out of hand. Collins had ordered the 3rd Limerick Rifles to strategic points, with Eoin O’Duffy at the command center. The 3rd Limerick was a mix of O’Duffy’s old guard, men that had served him since 1917 which now comfortably resided in senior leadership and NCO positions, and young recruits that had signed on near the beginning of the Internationale War, out of training and dispersed to different combat units so that they might benefit from the veterans that had been fighting in the war from the outset and absorbed the new techniques and methods of waging war.

The latter category was populated by Dean MacCabe, a fresh recruit among many. He was greener than his uniform, and had been nervous about fighting the war. Rather than wait to be drafted, Dean had signed up for the infantry to serve his homeland. In truth, he’d rather have been in a coastal fort on Clew Bay, but his country needed him here, making sure that nothing happened during the protest march. Fortunately so far, the worst that seemed to happen was a bit of name-calling. Dean himself would have been happy to have given as good as he got, but he needed to keep his cool. Level heads were needed, and he needed to prove himself worthy of the uniform. 

The rain had already hampered visibility greatly, and with everyone wearing long coats it was almost maddening to tell who, if anyone, was concealing a weapon under their raincoat. With so many people on the street, it was next-to-impossible to pick out faces of known Ulster Volunteers or militant UUP’ers in the crowd. Sometimes people spoke to each other and pointed at the 3rd Limerick. Were they pointing them out in signal for an attack, or just commenting on the fact that they were there? A woman walking by with a baby carriage stopped to play with the infant inside. Was that genuine, or was it a signal pointing out the best angle of attack? Dean started to sweat out of fear, mixing with the rainwater that was snaking its way inside his own raincoat. Everything could be a signal for a waiting attack, everyone could be an enemy. He had orders to fire if fired upon, but felt so exposed that he wouldn’t get a chance to fire second.

Periodic glances to his pocketwatch gave him grounding but seconds ticked on agonizingly slowly as he kept watch. His fellows were just as worried as he was, he could see in their faces. The old NCO’s seemed to be surer, but that could just be the experience in their eyes. This was not so much war as it was psychological torture, young men signing up to placed in the rain to fear when the next sudden outbreak of death could come, and it could come from anywhere. It had only been six minutes since he last looked at his watch.

Bottles and rocks started to be thrown at the 3rd Limerick’s position now, but was it testing their readiness, or merely rowdy Unionists too deep in their cups? And how quickly could the latter turn into a full-blown attack. All it took was one man to draw, and Dean MacCabe could be dead on the ground. Every time he saw something suspicious, he debated looking to his comrades for guidance, but if he had, would that mean that he would leave himself exposed, and he, or one of his brothers in the unit, could be killed? Even a moment’s lapse of concentration could be lethal, and so Dean MacCabe needed to maintain focus. Finally, the drunks had either run out of bottles or found something else interesting to do, the bottles gradually tapered off from two in the air, to one, to none. MacCabe looked at his watch. Nine minutes.

“Eyes front, we’ve got something,” came the gruff voice of the sergeant, and Dean snapped out of his reverie. There was movement in the crowd, a group of toughs approaching square to the Limerick Rifles position. Dean’s nerves were fraying, and Dean did not plead for what was before him to be something genuine or a false alarm. All he wanted was this wretched duty to be over, to go back to the barracks, drink himself into a stupor, and forget that this day had ever happened. The toughs began to chant, and MacCabe stole a second to look at his watch.

Two minutes. 

---

18 January 1940 -  Áras an Uachtaráin, Dublin, Ireland

Bloody Wednesday. That’s what the papers were calling what had happened at Belfast. Only a handful dead, more wounded, but it didn’t matter if no one was hurt: the Irish Republican Army had fired on Ulstermen. Weapons were found on the bodies, but eyewitnesses swore they saw mutually contradicting versions of events as they unfolded. 

Collins made a public speech expressing sorrow for the loss of life, and vowed to discover what had happened. Only one man, above all else, could be trusted to treat the matter with the integrity that such a matter required. Richard Mulcahy, Ceann Foirne na bhFórsaí Cosanta, temporarily ceded his command position as Marshal of the Defense of Ireland to Liam Lynch, to take up a commission to investigate the matter. James Craig had wanted nothing to do with it and refused to offer any official support. Luckily for Collins, the Lord Mayor of Belfast had offered his full support for the commission provided Belfast police could participate, almost certainly committing political suicide in the process. One mayor seemed to stand between the country and civil war, and that mayor was a damn welcome sight to Collins eyes. The UUP depended on local support in Belfast, a mayor supporting the Commission would mean that until he was inevitably ousted in a no-confidence vote, Collins could act to head off any potential war.

It wouldn’t be long coming if he didn’t act quickly. G2 had intercepted comminiques to the Dominion of Canada that were almost certainly conducted on Craig’s behalf. Nothing sinister on its own, mere expressions of concern for Irish Unionists in the wake of the events of Bloody Wednesday. More concerning were the trade unions reaching out to the Union across the Irish Sea. Only the fringe socialists campaigned for syndicalism after Mosley’s invasion, but that crowd started to gain more support among the trade unions after the strikebreaking action, and it would only get worse if the common man in the North figured that Mosley was the lesser evil.

“Go on, and come back with what you can. Spend whatever money you need, do whatever you can to make peace. We aren’t going to survive any more invasions if we’re fighting in the Six Counties.”

---

1 Feburary, 1940 - Special Session of the Dail, Dublin, Ireland

The Mulcahy Commission had returned surprising, and utterly damning results.

O’Duffy had asserted in his after-action reports that the Unionists had initiated violence, taking advantage of a minor street altercation to ambush a stationed unit. After receiving fire, O’Duffy had reinforced his men. Once the Ulsterites had started to take fire, they fled into the crowds, which quickly had become chaotic. The entire mess had taken less than 30 seconds, but they were 30 seconds of absolute madness.

Mulcahy’s findings concluded the opposite. He had stated that it had appeared that one of O’Duffy’s men fired the first shots, the Ulsterites had responded, and had placed weapons among the dead to minimize the risk that any could have been identified as an unarmed civilian. No one in the IRA detachment that had been fired upon would come forward to support Mulcahy’s findings, and most credible witnesses were unable to determine whether one or the other was true; most were paying attention to the parade and saw the firefight only after the first shots were fired. 

The implications for the Irish Republican Army was huge. If O’Duffy was guilty, it would mean that a high-ranking member of the IRA had conspired to attack Protestant Irishmen. Before now, the government had not been involved in violence against citizens in the North in ten years, since the Northern Campaign. Now, it could have confirmed that there would be no regularization of their status, that they would always be second-class citizens in the Republic, and their only choices were rebellion or slow destruction.

“We respect the Commission and its findings. The Republic of Ireland owes a debt of gratitude to Richard Mulcahy, the Right Honorable Lord Mayor of Belfast Crawford McCullagh, and the investigators who have worked many hours to discover the truth.” Collins announced on the steps of the Dail. “There is nothing that can bring back those poor men and women who died that fateful day. All we can do is labor on in their stead. The Republic of Ireland will compensate the families of those lost, hold trials of the perpetrators, and hold them in our prayers. We cannot undo this, but we can endeavor to build something from this.”

The Bloody Wednesday trials, as they came to be known, were largely simple affairs. Testimony was mercifully brief; there was no need to be lurid or voyeuristic in  The young men in the division, who had followed the orders of their superiors, were convicted of manslaughter. The officers and NCO’s on scene, who were of higher rank and ordered the shooting, had higher sentences. That only left Eoin O’Duffy himself, who adamantly maintained his innocence and dismissed the evidence against him arranging any sort of conspiracy as spurious. The prosecution had attempted to cite him for command responsibility, but the Hague Conventions had been rather vague on the notion, and the Peace With Honor had looked to avoid punishing soldiers for their actions near the end of the Weltkrieg. No one could argue that opening fire on civilians and placing weapons on them to cover up the crime wasn’t beyond the scope of normal command duties. If there wasn’t ironclad proof, the IRA would see it as Collins betraying his own for the sake of making nice with Ulster, the corruption of Collins the soldier to Collins the politician who threw his soldiers under the bus.

“They were your soldiers too, Eoin! You trained them! You’re the one betraying them. The Ulsterites are Irish too.”

Ultimately, O’Duffy was sentenced to life imprisonment, after being cashiered from the Irish Republican Army. Collins didn’t see it as a victory. If he had sent Mulcahy instead of O’Duffy, how many more lives would have been saved? What could he do, to build a united Ireland in the wake of such bloodshed.

“Call Mr. McCullagh. This is my last shot to avoid losing Ireland.”

---

14 September 1940 - Belfast, Ireland

“With the establishment of the Parliament of Ulster and the transformation of the Republic into the Federal Republic of Ireland, all Irish people can truly be thought of as being weavers of the grand Irish tapestry. We thank the government of Michael Collins for establishing this institution to ensure that the Northern Irish and Protestant peoples of this great country can show and share their ways of life, and the distinct traditions that have become part of our life can become part of Ireland’s. The Cultural Unity Commission represents a tangible step on the path to the vision of our great flag. One nation, Catholic and Protestant, with the eternal flag of peace between them.” -Gerald McCullagh, First Minister of the Ulster Parliament

It was a pretty speech, but McCullagh had quieted down the UUP protests. There had almost been a complete schism between McCullagh and Craig, and Craig’s advanced age had not helped him maintain control of the party. A younger generation had been able to portray McCullagh as out of touch, wanting to reunite with a land that had fled to Canada to escape the syndicalists. Worse, they hadn’t come to support Ireland when she called for support, but Michael Collins had fought, and fought well. 

Collins had established the Ulster-Scots as its own language along with English and Irish Gaelic. It had been a nightmare to organize during wartime, at one point he had joked that he spent more time trying to figure out how to translate official government manuals than he had in pursuing the fight against the Union of Britain in the past month. The gesture had surprised the moderates in the UUP, and got them to the negotiating table when the timetable for phasing in the new language was given to them. Economic gestures hadn’t worked, but Collins saw more success with political measures meant to promote Ulsterites in Ireland, first with the establishment of their own language and then with the establishment of the Cultural Unity Commission. The resolution of their status, the question that had been on the table since 1925, was being sorted. Ireland would not simply tolerate her Protestant citizens, but celebrate them. This had enraged the Irish Catholic League and other populist Catholic movements, but Collins hadn’t been worried; they had been fringe groups to begin with and banned from the Irish Republican Army.

The last step had been to federalize Ireland into four regional areas with four Parliaments, Connacht, Leinster, Munster, and Ulster. Dublin would still be the centralized seat of the national government, responsible for matters of national interest such as the military, foreign policy, and inter-province commerce, but more domestic matters would be ceded to the local Parliaments. The full resumption of federal duties would be brought into effect when the war was over, but as a gesture of support, Collins had reshuffled the War Cabinet to include ministers from each of the four provinces. Oddly, this development had been celebrated with greater fanfare within Connacht and Munster than in Ulster itself, the two provinces had seen themselves receive less in terms of investment than Dublin or Belfast, and they welcomed the added jobs and local autonomy. The success of the IEAA and the war industries had made the country bloom, and if a little autonomy was lost for maximum unity, so much the better. For the first time since this war had begun, Collins began to feel optimism. 

The same couldn’t be said for the world situation. The Russian Vozhd had begun to push deep into White Ruthenia and the Kingdom of the Ukraine. Japan and Germany had turned the Southeastern Asian peninsula into a massive stretch of small battles and the Pacific into a warzone, and Japan had offered its support to the Princely Federation to attack the British Dominion of India, putting the Co-Prosperity Sphere at war with the Entente. The Zhii Clique and the Fengtian government had also gone to war in support of their respective Great Power patrons to turn northern China into a proxy war between Germany and Japan, and Cheng Jiongming had taken the opportunity to take over Hunan and Siuchan mostly peacefully, espousing Chinese democratic federalism. The war in China had prevented Japanese land reinforcements, forcing them to rely heavily on their Siamese allies. Savinkov, sensing weakness, had declared war to seize Transamur, and had invaded Japanese Siberia to take back the tiny province. Entente naval invasions hadn’t made much progress in mainland France, and the Low Countries were struggling with a British seaborne invasion and French attacks along the border.

“This is the final struggle.” Collins addressed the nation in a radio speech. “Ireland cannot know peace until the menace that has been the Union of Britain is defeated. We have maintained our borders, but it is not enough to simply seek détente with those who sought to enslave us. The Union of Britain is a threat to the entire world, and there will not be peace until we have taken it in our hands and shown it to the world. The Irish Republican Army will go across the sea, and we will rid ourselves of those who seek to deny us our own country.” 

It was a pretty speech, and it brought the country together, but that’s all that it was. Collins needed to find a way to provide a unified front against the Internationale. For all that Deat and Mosley loathed each other, they had coordinated exceptionally well and presented a unified front against the Reichspakt. The Entente and the Reichspakt had offered non-aggression pacts between each other, but coordination had gone no further. If Collins wanted to win the war, he would have to solve that problem. If he couldn’t, then he would face annihilation.

An impossible problem? The risk of death? Every problem seemed to have such unimaginable stakes, and each time one was solved another rose in it’s place. But that was necessary. These were the times that they were in.

---

Images

Unionists Hold Massive Rally

Unionists Mobilize

Unionists Planning an Uprising?

Clash at Unionist Worker Strike

Bank of Ireland Robbery

Murder in Derry

Antrim Concert Hall Attacked

Ulster March Begins

The Mulcahy Commission

Eoin O’Duffy’s Trial

Ulster at Peace

The New Ireland

The Final Struggle

Alright everyone, this is the latest chapter. I’m not in love with this one as much as I am with some of the others, but I was happy to be able to present some of the deployed grunt experience with Dean MacCabe; there’s a little bit of my friends who went to Iraq in it, and I wanted to relay the intensity and paranoia that they felt, even if it was just for a few paragraphs. 

Did what I could to ensure that these antagonists (in terms of a character that provides an obstacle to our protagonist, not a ‘villain’) came across as reasonable; one of my many faults when I write is that I have a tendency to focus more upon protagonists, so I wanted to ensure that the Ulster Unionists came across as mostly reasonable with extreme elements. I think I pulled it off well enough, but let me know what you think of it.

I’m not a fan that peace was so easy to achieve, because I think that cheapens the very real long-term efforts that these sorts of efforts entail. That’s a function of the game mechanics in HOI4, the same thing is present in the base game in Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia. Even the ideas in those foci would take a long time to implement, but it’s an AAR, so I have to reflect the mechanics of the game in the writing and make some vague allusions that it’s going to be a long process. Such as it is, I’m afraid.

The Second Weltkrieg continues on, the next chapter will be much different, as rather than taking place in one year over a series of events, it will take place over a few days at the Halifax Conference, and it will be a dialogue-driven chapter. We will have several bigwigs making their appearance, like Kaiser Wilhelm II and King Albert I (our King George VI), and some callbacks to earlier chapters. Hope you’ll enjoy it.

-SLAL

#kaiserreich #creative #celtic tiger