#same sorcha same

[meetmeafftcrdark]

☽. sorcha macfusty said: “AAAAAHHHHH!”

La exclamación ajena la puso en modo pelear o huir ( y ella, probablemente, huiría si era necesario, muy a su pesar ), dejando caer lo que tenía en las manos con un sobresalto– ¿Qué? ¿Qué pasó? ¿Estás bien? –preguntó alarmada, mirando a la joven. / @euphememoon

[forgotteneilionora]

OOC | Astairan Wedding Traditions

ok so this is inspired by [ this ] post and these tags:

#ooo.... is handfasting a tradition in astairan weddings?#bc i could see#valentina malconaire objecting to this!#and then astairans not considering the eithne/cassimir union#as valid since it didn't happen#also its just a pretty tradition i love!

i loooove this!!!! both for the tradition and for the ~general vibes for astaira andddd for the plot point it could play!!!!! and i thought we might take this opportunity to talk about weddings in general -- i was literally reading up on traditional irish wedding vows just last night bc we were talking about domhnall's wedding etc!

i can also 100% see @forgottenvalentina specifically objecting to a tradition the astairans hold dear on ~roderick grounds or vice versa specificially w the hope itd invalidate the wedding too smdh so this verrrrrry much fits!

also the wedding vows:

[ “Ye are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone. I give ye my Body, that we Two might be One. I give ye my Spirit, `til our Life shall be Done. You cannot possess me for I belong to myself. But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give You cannot command me, for I am a free person. But I shall serve you in those ways you require and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand." ] “I vow you the first cut of my meat, the first sip of my wine, from this day it shall only your name I cry out in the night and into your eyes that I smile each morning; I shall be a shield for your back as you are for mine, never shall a grievous word be spoken about us, for our marriage is sacred between us and no stranger shall hear my grievance. Above and beyond this, I will cherish and honor you through this life and into the next." “I, (name), in the name of the spirit of God that resides within us all, by the life that courses within my blood and the love that resides within my heart, take thee (name) to my hand, my heart, and my spirit, to be my chosen one. To desire thee and be desired by thee, to possess thee, and be possessed by thee, without sin or shame, for naught can exist in the purity of my love for thee. I promise to love thee wholly and completely without restraint, in sickness and in health, in plenty and in poverty, in life and beyond, where we shall meet, remember, and love again. I shall not seek to change thee in any way. I shall respect thee, thy beliefs, thy people, and thy ways as I respect myself. By the power that Christ brought from heaven, mayst thou love me. As the sun follows its course, mayst thou follow me. As light to the eye, as bread to the hungry, as joy to the heart, May thy presence be with me, Oh one that I love, `til death comes to part us asunder. “We swear by peace and love to stand, Heart to heart and hand to hand. Mark, O Spirit, and hear us now, Confirming this our Sacred Vow.” “You are the star of each night, You are the brightness of every morning, You are the story of each guest, You are the report of every land. No evil shall befall you, on hill nor bank, In field or valley, on mountain or in glen. Neither above, nor below, neither in sea, Nor on shore, in skies above, Nor in the depths. You are the kernel of my heart, You are the face of my sun, You are the harp of my music, You are the crown of my company.” “Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow. Don't walk behind me, I may not lead. Walk beside me and just be my friend.” “May the gentle breeze bear witness to this ritual, and carry its message to all lands. May the sun warm their hearts, and its ever burning fire fuel their desire for each other. May the water provide for them from its bounty, and comfort their souls with their sounds. May the land lend its strength and reveal its mysteries."

and like literally swearing by the breeze and the sun and water and land like????? if that aint so astairan!!!!!! there's def tons of other stuff but yeah

also apparently irish brides traditionally wore blue, back in the day, that were long and flowy w intricate embroidery, celtic knots, and a big sash or belt! often including a hooded cloak in weather!

she also traditionally has a handkerchief embroidered w like a motto or the couple's initials or an emblem or smth of significance to them, and then that's used as the bonnet for the firstborn child at their christening, and handed down to them to potentially use at their own wedding etc generation after generation

also the handfasting probs means that 'tying the knot' is an expression in astaira (that would baffle the varmonts too btw!) which is fun <3

[ Ever heard the phrase “your goose is cooked”? ] Traditionally, the night before the wedding, a goose would be cooked in the bride’s house for the groom’s wedding meal. When the meal was fully prepared, it would be seen as bad luck for life to back out of the wedding. So, the phrase, “your goose is cooked” pretty much means there’s no backing out now!

there's this thing w the child of progue that might be done w statues of the guardians?

[ This is a funny Irish wedding tradition. The child of Prague is a statue popularly known to ward off bad weather, which can rue the day. The figure is placed in different ways but performs the same function. ] Some parents leave their children in their hallway the night before a wedding. Others abandon their children outside, while some put the child out under a bush. In addition, people tend to behead the statue before placing it at the selected spot. The rationale is that the figures are not of the best quality. Their head usually fell off by themselves when left out overnight; hence, it was better off already beheaded. Some people even reattach it afterward.

guests have bells to ring ward off evil spirits and discord! they set to ringing them as the couple walks down the aisle and bells are sometimes included in the bride's bouquet

Weddings were civil, not religious, affairs. While some involved a vow of lifelong fidelity, that wasn’t universal. The ancient Celts recognized several types of marriage. And they also had very liberal divorce laws. They knew not all marriages would last, and they planned for it. In ancient Celtic traditions, one could opt for a one-year trial marriage. If all went well, they could take more permanent vows. If it didn’t work out, they each went their way, free to try again. Men and women enjoyed equal rights in the 1100s. Irish brides owned their property; if the marriage ended, they took it with them. They would also take a portion of any wealth the couple acquired together.

so yeah obv there's lots more these were just some things that jumped out at me after a cursory review that felt astairan for one reason or another <3

[readychilledwine]

Howl at the Moon

Summary - Your daughter's way of exploring the world and expressing herself is a bit unorthodox

Warning - Motherhood and children

A/N - I wanted to give you all a glimpse into where I've been with life using our favorite girl dad. I really should take the time to make a GirlDad!Cassian Masterlist

✨️Master Masterlist ✨️Cassian Masterlist ✨️

“Sorcha! No,” Rhysand's voice was distressed, even if he was laughing. “Baby, Uncle Rhys said- Ow!” Your eyes shut, knowing what probably had happened. Your 16-month-old was a lot the past month. Her world was currently being explored with her mouth, and unfortunately, that meant her people, too. 

Her cry started a few moments later. Cassian seemed to sense the stress your daughter was going through and ran into the house, ready to be daddy. You followed him into the living room where Rhysand was trying to comfort your daughter. Her little wings were slumped, his hand in her curly dark hair. She was yelling more than sobbing. 

“I'm sorry. She bit my knee,” Rhys started. “I yelled-”

“Yelped,” you corrected. 

Rhysand shot you a dirty look, one that had you not been his sister would have scared you. “I gave a manly yelp,” he looked down at Sorcha. “I think it scared her.”

"No. She is upset because she was told no," Cassian got down to her level, taking her into his arms, “Hey, it's okay. You're okay. Being told no is normal, baby. It's okay."

You only stared at Rhysand as her howling began, your brother caught very off guard by the sad little “ah-woos” now coming from your daughter. “She does this lately,” Cassian explained to Rhys. “My little wolf.” 

Rhys was looking between you and Cassian, slightly confused. Nyx, your lovely nephew, had never gone through this feral phase. He had always been refined whereas Sorcha in all her spoiling was, well, sometimes just wild.

The problem was Cassian encouraging her. 

She howled, he howled with her. She bit, he gently nibbled her back. She yelled or screeched, well, he did the same. He matched her energy like it had become his own purpose in life. As if she was his very soul turned into this beautiful creature of playfulness and joy. 

He gave her a soft ah-woo back, making her begin to giggle and howl even more. “That's my happy happy girl,” Cassian picked her up, hugging her as he walked her outside. “Let's go run off some energy, baby.”

You moved to your brother, checking his knee for injury. “Last week, she bit my cheek when we were cuddling and made an almost growling noise,” you stated. Your eyes met his, your brother's dark brow was cocked. “I know. I know it's inappropriate. I am battling Cassian's enabling and he doesn't tell her no like I do. It's why he's the favorite."

"I don't think he's her favorite. She still watches for you like a hawk and screams in excitement anytime you walk into a room," Rhysand chuckled as he made you stand with him and then walked with you toward the patio door.

“You know what I see,” his eyes were now where Cassian was slightly chasing Sorcha, her loud belly laughter so innocent and unapologetically loud. “I see a father who loves his daughter and is playing with her. I see my niece, getting to explore the world most naturally to her. I see parents working to ensure their only child is raised with confidence. Even if she is a bit spoiled. She's frankly too damn cute not to spoil with those dark eyes and hair and that little food belly.”

Cassian had playfully caught Sorcha, tossing her in the air just high enough to make your stomach twist with worry. Your voice held a vulnerability that Rhysand had grown used to you using lately, “Do you think we're failing her?”

“Because she likes to chew? Cauldron, no. It's her instinct, sister,” Rhysand laughed. “She can't help it. It's soothing for her, it's how she's learning. Has the biting others slowed down?”

You nodded, “Its mainly Cass and I now. And evidently you.”

Rhysand hummed, “So the fae she feels safest with. I should be honored then, being loved so much by her she wants to be herself with me.” Soft blue eyes looked at you, the coloring almost violet. “You're doing great.”

Cassian was lying in the grass with Sorcha now, her little body on top of his. He had a wing up enough to block the sun from her eyes, his shut as his baby girl got comfy and let out a content and dramatic sigh. Her energy seemed to be burned out for now. She bit into Cassian's shirt, almost using it as a pacifier. Cassian gave her another soft howl, and Sophia dropped his shirt to echo him.

“You're doing great,” Rhysand repeated, his voice tight and eyes watering.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

I've always, always, always, argued that SJM's racism is intentional. People undermine the conversation about racism in SJM by arguing that her racism is just a little, fickle mistake. I really aggressively need to push back against this point - I don't think SJM is an idiot blonde woman who does not recognize the racism in her writing. If anything the reason why I've persisted this long talking about the problems in her story is because I was initially taken aback by just how intentional the racism is.

For example, the Illyrians. We talk about how ambiguous they are, but I think its one of the biggest examples of intentionality in the texts. The Illyrians purposely operate in this realm of uncertainty. Whether or not they are actually men of color has always been a moot point - it's about the intentionality of creating this race of men that embody these very weird, intentional traits. SJM knew that she wanted these men to be dark, violent, and warrior-like, but she also don't want them to be specifically categorized as men of color because the story simply doesn't see these men of color as desirable (see: Tarquin, Helion, Thesan - think about how they are characterized). It's also why I've argued that the story purposely doesn't associate the Illyrians as lesser fae, even though for all intent and purposes they are. The Illyrians are simultaneously the best (leathers, weapons, fighting) and the worst (culture, misogyny, hyperviolent). The story is also very intentional about how it characterizes the Illyrians concerning Rhys. Emerie just so happens to be the only one of her entire friend group that's not drop-dead gorgeous; notice how Amren is also described similarly when she is introduced initially. Everyone in the IC is gorgeous, beautiful, the most beautiful, but Amren the only explicit person of color, is described as being just plain.

The point is that these are very intentional writing choices - eerily specific, in my opinion. SJM is very intentional about the ways in which she chooses to 'represent' people of color in her series (see: Nehemia, Sorcha, Nesryn, Nuala, Cerridwen, Emerie, Fury, etc). Even think about the ways in which characters like Alis border on minstrelsy in their depiction. It's not just the representation, its the way certain traits are aligned with certain people, specifically people of color. I remember I made a post on my last blog about the ways in which SJM has her characters of color operate in this permanent semi-disposable position. There is always a way in which their white (white-passing) peers are always explicitly better (see: Hunt/Baxian, Helion/Nesta, Tarquin/Feyre, Yrene/Aelin - I have words for this one too).

In short, I don't think SJM is ignorant - not in the way people think. I actually think she is much smarter than even her own fans give her credit for and its why both her own stories and booktok/tube/gram have honestly gotten worse. I feel like oft times the pro and anti sides are just observing the same things (literally - the arguments are identical), but the difference is the pro sides don't think its a big deal partially because they believe that SJM is a whimsy white women who just can't understand she's wrong. Its why the argue that SJM is 'working to get better' even though she's written, at this point, over fifteen books.

[theladyofbloodshed]

I’m going to be a little controversial under the cut

Sjm meeting her husband on her first day of college and only loving one man since she was 18 is very evident in her writing. I don’t meant to say it’s a bad thing to only have one relationship, but she writes all previous relationships of her characters as meaningless compared to the current one.

Any previous crushes/relationships of her characters were shallow. Whilst they may have felt like something at the time, in hindsight they pale in comparison to the Great Love. Or she writes them as being wrong, wrong, wrong and has to tarnish it in some way to make the Great Love seem better.

Rowan wanted to marry Lyria and was expecting a child with her then sjm retconned it to be a false bond to manipulate him and has Aelin be the much greater love, disregarding the past. He loved her so much he was going to have a baby with her.

Sam becomes just a memory of a teenage crush because he can’t compare to Rowan for Aelin as they’re mates.

Sorcha is just a servant who Dorian had fleeting feelings for despite her losing her head for getting close to the prince when he was lonely.

Isaac Hale is just a boring tumble in the hay - and not the boy who Feyre shared her worries with and he cared enough to buy the contraceptive tea because she couldn’t afford it.

Tamlin was a walking red flag and Rhys can love her so much better despite the months they spent together happy and falling in love.

Graysen and his father swap roles so the former can bash Elain and treat her cruelly while even his father looks shocked.

Jesminda is murdered but she was just a lesser fae and clearly will matter less to Lucien than his mate.

Shahar gave Hunt an opportunity to be something great then its revealed she just used him for his power and didn’t love him to the same depth - not in the way Bryce can.

It is so odd that she cannot write a couple who realise that they’re not each other’s endgame. She could have written that Feyre and Tamlin struggled greatly after the war and realised that the curse had forced them together but their romance dried up, no hard feelings.

Rowan could have been Lyria’s mate and still loved Aelin just as much 200 years later. Graysen could have said to Elain that he loved her still but could not be a fae rather than insult her.

People can love many times in their life. Just because they don’t end up together forever, it doesn’t mean a relationship didn’t matter.

[lady-o-ren]

H O W L A T T H E M O O N

Read on AO3 (HERE)

Claire paces her bedroom in nothing but her shift, threadbare and falling off her shoulder. Her hands, pale and trembling, grasp her belly, round with child.

Her uncle is outside in the small courtyard. She can see him from her window, pacing the same anxious step as she, leaving a trail of smoke from his pipe in his wake.

There's an unexpected knock at her door. It makes her jump and her belly stretch with a fierce kick. She bites her bottom lip red as she groans from the sharp pain.

Who could that be? She wonders angrily, breathing through her nose.

They ordered the servants away. No one can bear witness to this birth.

Another round of knocking. Louder. Urgent.

Claire leans one hand against the stone frame of the fireplace, the other on the arch of her aching lower back. The heat of the fire makes her skin slick with sweat.

"Go away, Suzette. You were told to go home."

She hates the harshness in her voice.

Suzette has been nothing but wonderful since coming into their employ. And the one woman who may just be the one to finally capture her dear uncle Lamb's heart.

"It's not Suzette. It's me . . ."

That voice!

She can feel the memory of it brush against her lips. That brokenhearted sound when they parted, before the crushing blaze of his kiss.

The door then creaks open and there he stands. A feral beast of a man in size and manner, his appearance rough and sunburnt, hair wild as ever, clothed in a patched up coat and muddy breeks, shirt opened wide at the throat to where his chest heaves.

She's mildly pleased he looks like hell.

"Claire . . ." Jamie's near breathless when he speaks her name as his eyes drop to her belly in awed disbelief. "Oh, God. Claire."

He reaches for her, blue eyes bright as the moonlight shining through the window, blinking away tears of unbridled joy.

"No!" Claire swings her hand between them before he can touch her. " I haven't heard from you for months. Months! You had me thinking you were dead, you bastard! Fucking dead -" Her voice cracks, seething with anger that claws at her throat.

But it's the tears falling down her cheeks, the agonizing pain of love bursting within her chest that breaks her resolve to punish him. And she sways on her feet, feeling her knees give way.

Jamie wraps his arms around her best he can, holding her tightly as if she were to slip away.

She's too exhausted to fight back. Too scared of what's to come next to hate him and grabs fistfuls of his shirt. Buries her face in his chest, sobbing. Feels the warmth of him sink and smolder into her bones.

"I'm here now, Sorcha" he rasps into her curls, breath shaky. "And nothing will ever keep me from you again . I promise, I promise . . ."

They cling to each other before Claire pulls away, lovingly tracing his features she memorized long ago with her fingertips, brushing his red curls away.

"Oh, my love. What happened to you?"

A shuddering sound leaves his lips as he grasps her wrists that cradle his face.

"I'm sorry, I'm sae sorry. I meant to come back to ye right away but it wasn't to be. And then I couldn't find ye, went into a rage thinking someone had taken ye, was hurting ye. But it was only that ye left and changed yer name, ye wicked wee thing."

It breaks her heart to see the pain on his face as he gives her shoulders a little shake.

"Lamb thought it best. Especially when I found out I was with child."

Jamie's throat bobs, overwhelmed, feeling the breathless thrill of impending fatherhood fill his heart.

"It's soon, aye? The birth."

She nods, feeling terribly giddy.

He sees this and rubs circles into her back, his voice gentle against her freckled cheek.

"There's nothing for ye to be afraid of now, I'm here wi ye."

" I'm more than afraid. I've had nightmares where I give birth to a litter of your feral children."

" If you were a she-wolf, aye. We'd have six if we we're lucky," he says , with a gold twinkle of mirth in his eyes.

Claire slaps his chest and he laughs then takes this moment to finally kiss her, tenderly, with all the earth shattering love that swells from his heart to hers.

Both breathless, Jamie leads her to the chair by the window and kneels in front of her to nuzzle her belly while she strokes his head, twining his hair around her fingertips.

But then he suddenly lifts his face.

"There's two ye carry."

Claire smiles, but with a line between her brows.

" I thought so too but how the hell can you know that?"

"I can scent it," he says simply, voice full of wonder and presses his ear against her, rubbing her sides. "And I can hear their heartbeats. Braw wee things. Just like their mam."

He beams with pride then asks with a questioning cock of his head -

"Why are ye alone, a nighean?"

" Poor Lamb only smokes his pipe when he's nervous but the reek of it makes me sick so I sent him outside until I knew for sure these two were coming. And ," she pauses, dropping her hands to grip to his shoulders, "and I was afraid to call a midwife. "

He can see on her face the fear she won't speak. He raises himself and cups his hand to the side of her neck, the other splayed protectively over their children she carries.

"They'll be like you and me as I am now."

" Are you sure?"

He arches a brow.

"I was a man when we made love, Sorcha."

"Were you? Because no man has ever done what you did to me."

A hot blush suffuses both their faces, remembering that startling moment beneath the summer sun and swaying trees when he was knotted deep inside her, heart and soul forever linked.

"Weel," he begins, unsure of what to say and scratches his nose, straight as a knife. "I dinna remember ye complaining at the time," he shrugs.

Just as Claire hits him again, and Jamie peppers her with kisses, assuring her over and over that nothing will be amiss, she's struck with a wave of pain.

When she can breathe again, Jamie dips his hand beneath her shift and cups the swollen flesh between her legs.

"Too late to call for a midwife."

He presses his brow to hers, a crooked smile on his face.

"Between us we'll manage. We always have."

//

There's two of them, nestled against their mother's breasts.

One with dark hair like the water in a burn kissed by sunlight, the same as their mother. The other the rich red mane of their father, shimmering with strands of gold.

Jamie kisses the chubby curve of their peach soft cheeks as they suckle hungrily from their mother, tired but glowing. They both grunt, hating their father's attention, his suffocating affection when they're just trying to eat and take it out on their poor mother who winces in pain.

But then all is calm again and both Jamie and Claire each cradle a child in their arms as they sleep, sitting close together in bed.

"Are you happy?"

Claire has her head on Jamie's shoulder, her eyes growing heavy, but the need to know every detail of her daughter's faces keeps her awake.

Jamie carefully maneuvers his arm to gather his loves even closer and presses his mouth to the top of her crown.

"Aye. Three lasses I have. And all three of ye breathe, thank the god above. No man could ask for more. I could howl at the moon, I'm so damn happy," he grins wolfishly.

She laughs into his chest so as not to wake their girls, sleeping sweet as angels. And she wants to keep it that way.

But then a frown darkens her face with a thought she can hardly utter.

"Will you stay with us then?"

Her voice is a small, hollow whisper.

"Look at me, mo ghràdh."

She does, hesitantly, and it tears at his chest that she does so.

"I told you I would never leave ye again and I meant it. And it's not just because ye gave me the gift of our bairns - though for that alone I owe ye my soul. I love ye, Claire, with all that I am, and I will live as a man with ye. Be yer husband, yer mate, serve ye for the rest of my days . . . if ye'll have me . . ."

The sun itself could shine no brighter than the love that beams from Claire's heart as she gives her answer in the loving press of her lips to his.

[elrielffs]

Let's look at why SJM couple's have ended:

CelaenaxDorian - I put Celaena instead of Aelin cause at this time, we know that Celeana had no plans to restore her kingdom and reveal herself as Aelin. Celaena decided that she wanted to free to travel the world and make her own choices instead of being stuck as Dorian's queen with limits. Internal factor, her choice.

CelaenaxChaol - Celaena could not fully forgive/trust Chaol after he hid the plot against Nehemia from her that contributed in her death. Internal factor, her choice.

DorianxSorcha - Sorcha sans head. Death.

TamlinxFeyre - Tamlin's abuse and lack of ability to give Feyre freedom contributed to the break down of their relationship. Internal factor, her choice.

NesrynxChaol - Deteriorated from Chaol pushing her away due to his disability and both falling in love with different people. The split is pretty mutual but the one who actually ends it is Nesryn. Internal, her choice.

BrycexConnor - Connor in pieces. Death.

What didn't happen in any of these couples to end their relationship? Nobody told them they couldn't be together ie an external factor. Nothing kept these couples apart. They were allowed to be together and explore a relationship that ultimately ended due to themselves as people. This let them move on to new relationships without baggage and a big what if hanging over their heads and new relationship. None of these couples had something-- be it a force, a spell, an order keeping them away from each other that didn't allow them to act on their feelings.

Azriel and Elain operate in the same circle. They have to be around each other at some point no matter if they try to avoid each other. There's no way it would never be discussed or brought up again. There's also no way narratively that Elain could move on without knowing that the choice had been made for her via Rhysand. It's counter to her arc and it would be so unsatisfying and from a story telling point would leave the door wide open for what if Rhysand didn't stop them that night? What if Elain found out about Rhysand's order? What if Azriel decided not to obey? Too many questions and what ifs to carry into a new romance for it to be believable and satisfying imo and hang over the couple like a proverbial axe waiting to drop.

It's why no matter who people ship Azriel with, you know the Mor thing has to be addressed. And now it's the same for Elain.

So in a potential Gwynriel book you would have Az dealing with the Mor situation, then dealing with the Elain situation, then FINALLY having a romance with Gwyn? That's too much for one book for it to be believable or romantic.

Dealing with the fallout of romantic entanglement while building the blocks for another? Okay but dealing with the fallout of TWO romantic entanglements? Makes your MC seem flakey and is not what you want to read in a romance heavy series/book that is stated to focus on one couple per book with a HEA.

It should also be noted in books that have romance for women by a woman that all relationships ending in not death, was the woman's choice.

[ellynneversweet]

On to Son of the Shadows (why not) which I remember moderately well, the theme of which is Sorcha’s generation making bad decisions out of good intent and historical knowledge they, with only somewhat good reason, choose not to share with their collective teenage heirs.

To wit:

Conor: let’s not mention to Ciarán that he’s the son of a powerful and dangerous sorceress (our awful stepmother) and the seventh son of a seventh son and also our half brother. We’ll just raise him as a foundling druid and teach him magic, which he should have a natural talent for. Bonus, he’ll take easily to celibacy if we train him young and that will stop him producing a rival family line of malicious sorcerers. It’ll be fine. Probably. He is our baby brother, we have an obligation to take care of him. What could go wrong?

Ciarán (19, never learned how to read) laying eyes on his beautiful, almost-same-age niece (neither has been told they’re related): wow, fuck being a druid and celibacy and shit. I’ll just use a bit of magic to make sure no one notices I’m courting when I’m supposed to be celibate, but, being a mere novice, I am still allowed to leave the brotherhood. The only possible objection to us settling down together is my total lack of land holdings but I’m sure I can make something of myself…wait, why are you all so upset?

All the adults, pissing their pants at the memory of what was, to be fair, a really terrible curse laid on them by Ciarán’s mother: this is obviously a sign that Ciarán is naturally evil at best and a witting tool of his mother at worst. Quick, send him away and arrange a marriage for her to literally anyone else (the selected husband is not properly vetted and turns out to be the worst man in the world behind closed doors).

(The kicker here is that three youngest members of the now-adult generation who probably would have resolved things sensibly by sitting the teens down and telling them the family history are busy, respectively, being a half-swan hermit in the woods, ducking vikings at sea, or developing cancer.)

[forgottenaoife]

ooc || little aoife and... birds??

okay i had literally no idea what to title this but...!!!

okay per the chatering kate and i did re: my candle carousel inspiring the idea that papa frost had made something similar for the girls i ended up down a rabbit hole thinking about things little aoife would like! so i do think she's always loved music but maybe that the age this would've been a gift (assuming it was when they were younger!) she was probably much too young to have started playing instruments QUITE yet-- plus i love the idea that these were inspired by nature!

i'd had this idea for awhile that aoife had... i feel like connection isn't the right word, but maybe affinity for birds? (i feel like i randomly mentioned she and sebastian even walking and naming birds or something similar early on, haha!) and while clearly there is a bird connection w/ both bran and his ravens and sorcha and the lorcan swans, i feel like this was more like an interest/hobby sort of thing? and it was probably an affinity for the birds she might see around malconaire in the gardens or hear in the trees when they're near the woods! i imagine she could identify their songs from a young age and probably was in charge of filling bird feeders in the garden or something along those lines. also just knowing aoife is quieter and, i think, more still that her sisters, probably even as a youngster, she can probably observe birds without spooking them??? (probably something she inherited from bran!!!) just out here having her own snow white moments, hahah ;)

ok so idek where this came from but i came across this irish lullaby "Eíníní" (which apparently a version of was in the Secret of Roan Inish... a movie i forgot existed and now want to watch again!) and i found a translation of the lyrics on this website but the first part of the song is:

Éiníní, éiníní, codalaígí, codalaígí

Little birds, little birds, sleep, sleep

anyway after hearing that i was thinking 'oh of COURSE this was a lullaby in the malconaire house + possibly a favorite song of aoife's (can we retcon that THIS song was what the music box Sebastian secretly left for her played?! -sob-)

so then THAT now lead to some more wild HC creating that possibly similar to how Macdara had the nickname 'Bran' because of his connection with the ravens, maybe Aoife was sometimes (possibly just by her parents?!) was called "Einin" which, as you might have guessed, translate to 'little bird.' I feel like she maybe doesn't go by in it the same way Bran ended up being kinda well known by that name, but its a think her family would know about?

ANYWAY all this to say that whatever little charms papa frost or ronan or a combo of the pair made for Aoife, THEY WERE BIRDS. XD

ALSO if you want to hear the song I found a couple versions! this first version is just part of the song (with a little rhyme at the beginning that is a little creepy upon first listening to it but its cute!!) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qoXplwr7xc8 This version is (i think!?) the full song PLUS the video has english translation, too! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wI5sH-5jgec

[distant--shadow]

author notes for chapters 6 & 7 of The Witch and the Widow

For the sake of getting this going with some images, lets start off with the fossil! (Pentacrinites crinoid/sea lily). Ok so I know I wanted something that would remind Imogen of her scars and get her a little spooked. I was researching fossils likely found on the coast because that just feels genuine to another hobby Laudna would have (how practical is its application? stay tuned!), and this one came up and I was like, ah, that works. (I enjoyed the film ‘ammonite’ personally, okay.)

These little weird guys worked so well, especially along with the theming of the other species discussed, and when I saw the current day relatives of them and how alien they are I was like yeap. Perfect fit.

Can’t remember if I said in a previous notes that I intend to draw a little diagram of how I see Imogen’s scars being in this au, but I think the fossil photos do a pretty good job of getting it across. I see the structure as still being lightning/root like, but a lot more dense, her skin a lot more gnarled from it, so there isn’t really any skin in between the scarring, it’s just slowly encasing her from the fingertips up.

'The waves break and their sound could be wind through tree canopies. She is no longer outside to know otherwise, no longer in the presence of the Lady, and Sorcha is asleep.

She removes her gloves, places them on the table-top beside the fossil, taking it into her hands.

Something she can do.

What she can do, she thinks, as her bare fingertip traces along the spine of the long-passed sea lily suspended in rock and time, is how if she wished she could, she could hold this fossil in front of herself without use of her hands, could rotate it and look at it from every angle without their obstruction.

But under her touch the ridges are skeletal, delicate vertebrae surfaced from an arched back, silver marble pale in the moonlight glow, embossed, statuesque, tooled with as much intent as a blade hammered into leather

Similar in how those flowers that decorate the Lady’s saddle are not quite floral, because they are rendered in what was once flesh. Same as for the sea lily that is not a flower but is named as such, whose body turned to stone.

Imogen was wrong to think of its patterns as kin to her scars, even if the swell of them satisfyingly slots into the gouges of her contorted tissue.

No. She will die and her body will most likely become compost; no different to the hay she forks into large heaps, or her mother and her pinewood headstone left exposed to the elements.

She doesn’t really understand how something soft and organic can become stone, but she does understand care and attention, can see a saddle passed down through centuries and generations and time would be the stone that encases it, what makes it indelible, floral patterns in flesh that doesn’t decompose.

And to feel it is to marvel.

And she does.'

Having more fun with vegetarianism and the flesh and sacrifice and being a predator or prey - thanks to the recent episodes for that being particularly satisfying and validated - it’s a theme of this story that I personally find very enjoyable, and I think it plays in a fun way with the canon, Imogen as a vessel, her powers derived from a god-eater, Imogen abstaining from flesh but innately drawn to these women who butcher that are arguably above her in the foodchain, the powers she has over them but is too scared to utilise against or around Laudna, and recently newer powers that she cannot display in a world seemingly without magic. She had her first bit of seafood. Is it flesh? Depends who you ask.  

What title or name Imogen refers to Laudna in her head as… she’s acclimatising to calling her by her first name as she had been asked, but she can’t quite shake the formalities of class and hierarchy. we got some mistresses, her Lady’s, and even a few Laudna’s without the Ms during that saddle scene.  What a breakthrough, huh? If you want more of my process on these sorta writing choices feel free to message me I guess, same if you wanna see photos of locations that inspired me. I’m not confident if anyones gonna read this so idk how much of my own time I should waste on exposing my wanky chat.

So! These two chapters are my lust-letter to the british seaside. A lot of the environmental descriptions are inspired by memories and photographs I’ve taken over my years on visits to old seaside towns and villages, or hikes along the coast line. Pansies growing between cobblestones in a back alley leading to the seafront, crab shells dotted about the place that must have been dropped from birds out of the sky, smokehouses and their chimneys, nights spent looking out of an old cottage skylight at all of the roofs covered in sea mist and only being able to hear the waves despite being right by the water, old piers that act like walkways into the sea so you can almost pretend you’re standing in the middle of it. my dad’s side of the family is heavily intertwined with maritime history, he never really saw much of his old man and the same of his grandfather caus they was always away all around the world on huge ships for months and years at a time, and most of his other family members were fisherman and lifeboatmen in a couple of small coastal towns. I don’t know if having those stories to boot made my feelings on the environment any different than they would have been or if it’s something innate, but I’ve always felt this sort of astounding fear and wonder and respect when I’m by the water on the coast, it’s a place that by its nature makes you feel really humbled and reflective, and I guess it felt fitting for a lot of the feelings Imogen has towards Laudna as of the moment (and maybe you've picked up that water is a bit of a focus in this story too)

Similarly I’ve seen a lot of castles and castle ruins in my time, and many of these are still balancing on cliffs along the coast. It felt a good opportunity for Imogen to encounter a place from one of her dreams, seeing as she’s not really leaving the estate grounds too often, so I took that narrative opportunity to have that dream be made a reality to her, but bring in the questions of why did the lady tell her to go there, is it by chance or does she know yet another thing that Imogen doesn’t? is this a place she can try to tie a name to now she knows its heraldry? When will Imogen get into the starpoint conservatory!!! (lol, Laudna's library)

as always, a bit silly of me sharing authors notes on a story thats very much got a lot of mystery going on, but i hope at least the visual notes on the scars add to some enrichment, idk. thanks for reading either way. looking forward to red stringing this all down the line and making a powerpoint presentation loljk (i would)

[tc-lp]

Comment Bingo: Old Fic Edition

Original Bingo Card by @feedthefandomfest

This card is to encourage commenting on older fics.

*

I realize this doesn't have to be all for the same fandom or pairing. But I'm gonna count only kylux fics.

I'm also aiming to comment on fics I've never read before. Some of them are in my ever growing reading queue, others I found while searching for a square's exact criteria.

List of fics under cut.

*

1. Posted First Year of its Fandom's Existence

Stopwatch Hearts, by Clarice Chiara Sorcha (claricechiarasorcha) ⎢ 3k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 6 February 2016

The general is just doing his job. Kylo Ren isn't sure why that's so fascinating to him. (It's because he's naked. Isn't it.)

2. 6+ Years Old & Under 30 Kudos

For Those That Follow, by jediluke ⎢ 8k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 9 September 2018

No one understood what it was. They called it "the shimmer". The walls of the otherworldly substance had the appearance of oil on black pavement, of bubbles shimmering in the summer sunlight after being blown out of a yellow bubble wand by a small child. Except, this wasn't explainable. Hux, a botanist is sent into The Shimmer along with a group of ex-military memebers to conduct research and try to figure out the cause of the mystery.

3. Posted 10+ Years Ago Since the pairing is younger than 10 years I'm going for: Posted Within the 1st Month After TFA's Release

once I could see (now I am blind), by cracktheglasses (cormallen) ⎢ 4k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 16 January 2016

If Ren dies, they’ll all be joining him, Hux thinks, because he’s going to have to scuttle the ship. Pick a camp on D’Qar, or whatever other pathetic hell-hole in the Outer Rim the Resistance calls home, and smash all three kilometres of the Finalizer right into the gooey center. (Or, the map is lost, Starkiller is lost, and Kylo Ren is seriously injured. Hux doesn't deal with it very well)

4. Rec Fic (1+ Year Old) on Tumblr and/or Discord & Tell the Author So

sensory memory, by Lost_In_Mind_Palace ⎢ 4k ⎢ WIP, but can be read as a stand-alone ⎢ Rated M ⎢ posted 13 July 2023

Rec post can be found here!

And Ren's back here, by Hux's side, invading his personal space, probably with his personal interests which Hux can't quite figure out yet. 'Who are you?' Hux mumbles, pushing his face into the warm chest so he doesn't have to see this odd, foreign face anymore. Ren laughs madly, not paying much attention to the ravings of the madman Hux became. 'Someone who's gonna take you away from here.' As if that was enough of an answer. Before Hux blacks out again, he's sure of one thing--the only place where Ren is able to take him is hell. * After losing everything, the last thing Hux needs is his long-gone home. Ren disagrees. Alas, Ren is also the pilot here.

5. Posted in the Past 2-6 Months

Expedition Unsolved, by A_Poison_Tree ⎢ 8k ⎢ Rated M ⎢ completed 30 July 2024

When Armitage Hux is disowned, he's left scrambling for everything from rent money to purpose. A spur-of-the-moment application to an on-site research position ends up with him joining the cast of a schlocky documentary series as its host, Ben Solo, """"investigates"""" far-flung corners of the world. At least the horrors of camping take his mind off how attractive his boss looks while covered in mud. (An entry to #KyluxShortShorts that Evolved!)

6. Sort by Date Updated: Fic Listed in Final 10 Pages

lover of the devil, by selenedaydreams ⎢ 2k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 4 January 2016

“I worry about you.” His fingers tighten around the blanket until his knuckles turn bone white. “That’s not your job.” “Was it my job to find you almost dead with snow clinging to your wounds?”

7. 1-2 Years Old & Under 5 Comments

bittersweet wishes, by WhitRewritesCanon ⎢ 6k ⎢ Rated G ⎢ posted 31 July 2023

When Han Solo died suddenly, he left behind a fractured family. Armitage picks up the pieces of his husband.

8. Comment on an Author's Oldest Fic

Love, Your Crooked Neighbor, by imperialhuxness ⎢ 11k ⎢ Rated T ⎢ posted 17 February 2018

When Snoke assigned Hux to bring in his newest asset, Hux was expecting some everyday Coruscanti underworlder on a low-profile Core World. Predictable. Routine. What he gets is a burning compound on a nameless hunk of rock, a confused young pseudo-Sith, and oh, yeah. Feelings.

9. 3-5 Years Old & Under 20 Kudos

10. Sort by Dates Updated: Fic Listed on LAST PAGE

broken wishbones under your bed, by Anonymous ⎢ 2.5k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 27 November 2015

“Just,” and Kylo stops short, closing his eyes. He takes a deep breath. “Pretend.” He turns his head, and Hux knows that he's facing in the direction of Dameron's cell. His throat is long and pale, and Hux leans forward and brings his hand to it. Through his gloves, he can feel Kylo's pulse jump. This, this is what Hux likes. Control. Kylo is never more lovely than when he gives in to his desires, when he comes to Hux to get what he needs. He presses his thumb against Kylo's thudding heartbeat, and nods.

11. Posted 6-9 Years Ago

fever to tell, by IrisParry ⎢ 8k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 1 January 2017

Hux was waving the thought like an obscene placard, and when Kylo latched onto it he made a low sound, half surprise and half pleasure, grip tightening around Kylo's wrist. It was crude, but appealing nonetheless, and it rose up on a seething mass of images and emotions that Hux hadn't a hope of concealing now. Kylo took a deep breath, centring himself, resisting the temptation to just take and take. Hux thinks he understands what Kylo Ren wants from him. So does Kylo Ren.

12. WIP Last Updated 3-5 Years Ago

Days Under Different Suns, by GingersSailboat ⎢ 18k ⎢ WIP ⎢ Rated M ⎢ last updated 20 Feb. 2020

Armitage Hux wakes up on a shuttle he doesn't recognise, drifting through dead space with two open wounds and an air supply that's running out fast. He has no idea who put him there, and remembers nothing beyond being shot by General Pryde. Ben Solo is slowly integrating with the Resistance, who are now intent on restoring peace to the galaxy and ending the cycle of hatred and wars that has plagued them for so long. Although every effort is being made to accept him and put him to use, there is a part of him that can't stop thinking about Hux, who he believes to be dead and continues to mourn despite the conflict it brings to his new relationships among the Resistance. (A.K.A - a much-needed fix-it fic wherein Hux survives his execution, with the help of some loyal First Order officers, and sets about attempting to find Ben so they can continue the relationship that had been developing between them before the events of RoS. Please read notes for more information!)

13. Free

14. Sort by Date Updated: Fic Listed on Random Page

15. Comment on Every Chapter of Long-Running WIP

16. WIP Last Updated 1-2 Years Ago

To Take The Sun, by phylonoe ⎢ 30k ⎢ WIP ⎢ Rated M ⎢ last updated 7 Aug. 2023

As a professor, you really shouldn't fall in love with your students. That's gotta be the number one uh-oh. Unfortunately, he's beautiful, and Armitage can't do much but let it happen. or Ben Solo wakes up with a panic attack for the third time in as many days. He's tired. So is Hux. The term is just about over, and neither of them have anything they can do except finish finals and figure out how to avoid the other one. With two people trying, you'd really think that would be easier.

17. Posted Completed in Your Birthday Month at Least a Year Ago

strange days (no colors or shapes), by technorat ⎢ 28k ⎢ Rated M ⎢ completed on 25 April 2020

(Major TROS spoilers in chapter 1) Hux chose to leave with Finn and Poe, deserting to the enemy, with the knowledge that he would never have to see Kylo Ren again. He was wrong.

18. 6+ Years Old & Under 15 Comments

19. Posted 3-5 Years Ago

20. WIP Last Updated 6+ Years Ago

21. 3-5 Years Old & Under 10 Comments

Just This Once, by StarCrossedRebel ⎢ 4k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 20 December 2019

I know that this idea is kinda outdated, but I just really wanted to do a quick one chapter story of Ren and Hux's first and last time together intimately after the destruction of Starkiller.

22. Posted 1-2 Years Ago

My Bark, Your Bite, by JayneSilver ⎢ 16k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 31 May 2023

Kylo Ren hasn't left his room since Starkiller was destroyed, and General Hux will no longer tolerate his dereliction of duties. After he goes to Ren's room, and discovers that that Ren is an omega caught in an unexpected heat, Hux struggles to determine where his loyalties lie – as a General, to his Order, or as an alpha, to an omega in need?

23. Sort by Date Updated: Fic Listed in Middle Pages

That Which Survives, by trill_gutterbug ⎢ 6k ⎢ Rated T ⎢ posted 9 January 2018

Stranded in a broken-down shuttle with Kylo Ren after the destruction of Starkiller Base, Hux is forced to confront some unpleasant realities.

24. Comment, Kudos, & Bookmark Fic Completed 1+ Year Ago

Powerless, by Kyluxtrashpit (ApostateRevolutionary) ⎢ 6k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 19 April 2017

Kylo has always found his sexual trysts disappointing, has always been left wanting more. An idea born partially of desperation leads him to Hux in the hopes of changing that.

25. 1-2 Years Old & Under 10 Kudos

Throw Away After Writing, by bunnybinnie ⎢ 1.5k ⎢ Rated T ⎢ posted 22 May 2023

The teenage years come with a lot of first times. Being in love is one of them, and Ben would be okay with it, if it wasn't also the first time he's in love with his best friend. He writes what he can't say.

[shandoratheexplorer]

Monday snippet game of tag

I wasn't tagged but I haven't shared a WIP snippet in a while so Imma grab it off @strixamans and @dramatiquechipmunk

I've recently worked on the next chapter of Symphony of Nature

Context: Alok and Ilyrana are Aodhán's adoptive parents.

“Aodhán”, Ilyrana calls out to him, smiling, “Halsin tells us you’ve been asked to become First Druid of a new circle?” Within an instant, Aodhán’s cheeks flush again as he rubs the back of his neck with an awkward, lopsided smile. “I guess I was…” “And?”, Alok asks, grinning at his adoptive son, “You’ll say yes, won’t you?” “I… I don’t know yet”, he shrugs gently, “I’m not so sure I’m fit for the job.” “Oh, of course you are!”, Ilyrana affirms, “You’ve been the one that settled most of the tensions within your age group, don’t you remember?” “Being a mediator isn’t the same as being a leader”, Aodhán chuckles. “It is part of a great leader’s skill set though”, Alok winks at him. Halsin laughs heartily, pulling Aodhán into his hold once more. “I keep telling him he’d be a great leader but he just won’t believe me.” “Even I can see that you’d be great at it”, Sorcha pipes up from the couch, hiding her sly smile behind her glass of juice. “I would totally join your circle too”, Eithne grins openly, mischief dancing in her eyes. Aodhán chuckles gently, leaning closer into Halsin’s embrace as though hiding himself away from the attention. “You all can prod and poke at me to do it but I will not be pressured into this role, you know?” “Of course not, mo chroí”, Halsin smiles and nuzzles his hair, pressing a lingering kiss to his temple, “But I do think you’ll have an easier time believing their words over mine.” Once again, Aodhán feels an awkward smile twist his lips. “You might have caught me there. It’s not that I don’t believe you”, he softly says, “It’s more that you and I are so close, of course we’d lift each other up in all parts of our lives.”

Tagging @nw39 @dramatiquechipmunk @roguishcat @fartasticdurge @dramatiquechipmunk @sawickibalisong @arachnomancer @strixamans and here's a free-for-all tag for anyone who sees this and wants to continue~

[sgiandubh]

What makes a very mature and educated woman confuse the charisma of Jamie and Claire and fall behind the illusion of Sam and Cait?

Look at this picture and many others, look at Cait's smile and the happiness in her eyes

Look at the color of Tony's lips, I don't need to continue

Below this picture are many pictures of them from many years ago

This man has been a reality since 2015, so let us accept reality even if we do not like it

Note: I would love to read everything you write aside from Outlander and S&C

Dear (b)Itchy Anon,

Ah, yes. You folks are definitely a very predictable bunch, because you simply cannot help yourself and just have to do it. Every. Single. Christmas. Eve. For reasons transparent enough to make you & your kin instantly unlikeable.

I was just thinking, the other day, believe it or not. I was thinking of the disingenuous way you - or someone like you - engaged with @cb4tb on another Christmas Eve and told myself: 'I bet the farm this year it's going to be me'. And here we are, with a rather long - and also, rather curious- comment. What am I going to do with you, Anon? Just write a rather long and ironic answer to your delirious rant, what else?

Calling me 'very mature' made me spit my Pepsi - always better in Romania than the eternal Coca-Cola - and I have to dubiously and cheaply congratulate myself, too. In about six months, you were forced to transition from 'Christ, shippers are stupid' to 'Golly, some -if not most - of them really are educated people'. An apparent paradox that never made you question your surroundings.

For instance, I do not need to wear a turban, sport a cigarette holder, rent a garish tent and call myself Miss Cleo, in order to tell with eerie precision English is not your mother tongue, either. You still do have a big problem with phrasal verbs, because you couldn't have possibly meant I 'fell behind the S&C illusion', but rather that 'I fell for that illusion'. You see, falling behind is 'failing to do something in time' or 'being late with a due payment' or 'being unable to make the same progress as one's peers'. We, shippers, naturally have this kind of superpowers. And seasoned bullshit-o-meters, too.

For your information, I haven't. I explained it at length. There is no possible way to do it if one uses common sense and street smarts only. What I did see, along with thousands of other people, mind you, had absolutely -forgive me, Father, for I am about to sin again - fucking nothing to do with Seamus and Sorcha. I mean, d'oh - is this your best argument, Anon? That sad, wilted talking point? Wow. Just wow.

Then, you totally lose control and take The Scarecrow out of the closet (yes, pun totally intended), in the hope you'll make me screech with dread & horror, I suppose. Exactly which one of the five to ten max Tait pics am I supposed to look at? The one at the marathon, where he checks her pulse? The one in Australia, when he pitifully dangles that stick on a beach? The one with the flute? The fist-in-hand one? The one at this year's IFTA, where she looks through him and he begs for a smile? I shall never know, because you do not add any picture and since I am not Miss Cleo, there's no way I could ever guess. Instead, you describe Neverland in Technicolor, lips included (so help me God, I never looked at McIdiot's lips: I take pride in being mentally sound). Indeed, there is no need to continue, Anon, lest you would insist to ridicule yourself.

This man has been a (questionably) useful prop since 2016, in order to give credence to a narrative. You all know it. You all deny it. You live in a parallel reality, currently embraced by PR. Amen. That does not give you the right to police this fandom and no, your derailed zeal will not get you any Brownie points from C.

Speaking only for myself, I will tell you one last time: I will never blindly accept a convenient compromise fiction just because TPTB and/or PR tell me so.

Note: I doubt my writing interests you. I really do, because I don't deal in fanfic. And even if I am an Oriental, know flattery never worked with me. In fact, I can't stand it.

It's Christmas. Take a break from all this pathetic hatred, Anon: if you have but a cell left of humanity in yourself, you can't possibly be proud of this message and there are far more interesting and meaningful ways to spend this special day. He came for you, too. And that is the most important thing in the world, right now.

[loverrofmineee]

The Parting Glass - Robert "Rosie" Rosenthal x OC

AO3 | Summary | Previous Chapter

Chapter 9- Bring Him Home

Cormack Dáithi Devlin came into the world at 9:57 AM, December 13, 1922. Born to Aodhán and Fidelma Devlin as their second child and first boy, Cormack was well-loved. The boy had been cradled carefully since birth, and his mother and father constantly doted on him. In typical cultural fashion, sons were treated differently than daughters, Cormack being no exception. His mother and father tread carefully with him, taking all the measures possible to ensure he was protected and fostered to become a great man. As he grew, Cormack found one person in the family who didn’t treat him as special or fragile. According to the family, the young boy's first word was ‘sissy’, in reference to his beloved older sister. Since he could talk and walk, Cormack was stitched to his sister's side, following her wherever she went. Nothing was off limits for the two, if Sorcha jumped, Cormack would jump higher. Whatever she was playing, studying, watching, or reading, he’d be tucked beside her trying to comprehend. Their parents and neighbors took note of the bond, often joking that the two were meant to be twins, but God spared their mother from the chaos that would have ensued. 

Cormack Dáithi Devlin died on October 7th, 1943 at 6:43 am. 

“- I’m sorry, Sorcha. According to interrogation, he went down while escorting one of the earlier squadrons. They said he was defending a B-17 from the Luftwaffe, and saved the fort before…” Jack ran a pale hand over his face as he sighed, “I’m sorry.”

Pain spread through Sorcha’s chest, somehow sharp and slow at the same time. Almost as if her heart had been speared by a knife or an arrow, the blood spreading around the wound little by little, finding new areas to stain. Her lips trod a fine line between gaping and closed, taking its time to decide whether wails would escape or not. Time seemed to stop around her, Jack’s wary movements appeared in slow motion, his mouth moving, and yet Sorcha heard nothing. She saw the pained faces of her friends, contorting into a mixture of deepening lips and wrinkles among their brow lines. Sorcha knew they were speaking as well- but their words fell on deaf ears. An ongoing battle between her body and mind emerged, half begging her to let out some form of emotion, whether that be falling to the floor or letting out a small tear. She could feel her body unconsciously trembling in preparation to let out any form of grief. Though it was her mind that reigned victorious, too lost in the whiplash and overwhelming anguish. Sorcha felt trapped in the moment, too scared to break from her position and unwilling to face reality. 

A hand belonging to Lilibet wrapped itself around Sorcha’s shoulder, causing the girl to face her. Lil’s face was one of a mother, seeping comfort and sympathy. 

Sorcha wanted to be sick. 

A singular thought broke through the swirling gates in Sorcha’s mind, in what world would Cormack be dead? If the God she prayed to every morning and evening could hear her, why would he let something so terrible, so merciless, happen to her baby brother?

Breaking eye contact with Lil, she felt a small twinge in her arm, comparable to an itch, a need to escape. Sorcha looked around the room at all the distressed faces, their silence deafening as they waited for her next move. Without a word to anyone, Sorcha burst free from Lil’s grip and rushed out of the office. While there may have been cries of protest to her reaction, she couldn’t hear anything over the sound of her heartbeat pounding. 

Once she got outside, she surveyed the grounds around her. Passersby gave her apprehensive looks as they walked, and others continued with their work. Men passed her on their bikes, voicing a short hello and a smile as they rode. Red Cross women were weaving between crates filled with coffee and doughnut mix, simple chatter passing between them. Everything on the base appeared normal, surging Sorcha’s newfound anger. The bile in her stomach continued to swirl as her thoughts raced, conflating together to create a storm inside. One of the Red Cross women, Helen, approached Sorcha timidly. Before she could even formulate what was happening, Helen appeared in front of her. The sympathetic smile plastered on her face was a clear signal to Sorcha, already knowing what she was about to ask. Another twitch panged in Sorcha’s arm, prompting her to flex her fingers in an attempt to control the feeling. As Helen spoke, asking if she was ok, Sorcha’s eyes darted toward the fields and empty pathways. Feeling the need to escape, Sorcha began to run, not knowing nor caring where her destination was. 

Leaving Helen and the population of Thorpe Abbotts in the dust, Sorcha sprinted across the base, ignoring any pain she felt inside or out. The wind thrashed against her face, the feelings of pins and needles stabbing her cheeks. Her legs felt like thorns were wrapped around them, spreading immense pain to her feet. Though her body was screaming in pain and anguish, Sorcha continued to run. Eventually, her adrenaline faded out, placing her on the empty hardstands. A bitter laugh escaped her lips, the first sound she had made since speaking to Jack. 

Looking up to the sky, Sorcha felt prompted to speak, “Of fucking course you’d lead me here. Why not rub it in more? Hmm? What part of your seemingly perfect all-knowing plan would do this?” 

Per usual, the sky didn’t answer back. Clouds continued to pass by, the sun shining bright as ever down upon her bitter face. Another strained laugh came from Sorcha as she stared at the ground. Looking around she saw no one in sight, only a mixture of empty slots and forts that had survived a past mission, but needed work. 

A twisted thought popped into her mind, feeling the need to voice it, “Why do they get to come back? These big, stupid planes that are supposed to kill people can survive, but not the boys protecting them? Cormack’s been risking his life to save these men and- and these inane scraps of metal, and this is what he gets in return?” 

Tears began to slip from Sorcha’s eyes, each one burning more than the last. Wiping them away, she looked at her hands. A new surge of grief crashed upon her. Staring at her fingers, Sorcha realized they were the first tears she shed for her now-dead brother. 

“No- no” Sorcha shook her head while she wiped her hands along her skirt, “He’s still out there. Cormack wouldn’t leave me this way. I just know he wouldn’t. You wouldn’t allow this to happen. Not to me, mom, dad, and Caoimhe. You know we don’t deserve that. After all we’ve sacrificed for one another- He’ll come back. I know he’ll come back.”

The rumblings of an arriving Jeep brought Sorcha back to earth. Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted a group of mechanics coming back to work. Hands flew to her face as she tried to wipe the remaining tears away. Trying to avoid conversation, Sorcha kept her head down as she walked, ignoring any noise around her. Screw coming off as standoffish, there were larger issues at hand. 

Beyond her comprehension, Sorcha’s aching feet managed to carry her back to the Nissen hut. She made quick work of opening the door, letting out an involuntary sigh at the sight of its emptiness. Surveying her surroundings, Sorcha decided she needed a shower. The light patter of her steps echoed against the metal, creating a sense of eeriness that made Sorcha mildly uncomfortable. Shaking her head, Sorcha gathered her things as she headed towards the shower. The door creaked open as she set her things down. Sunlight flashed off the mirror, almost taunting Sorcha to face herself. Knowing she couldn’t, Sorcha busied herself with turning the water on. While the sound of running water often calmed the girl, it couldn’t fend off the anger she felt. Sorcha made quick work of taking her uniform off, haphazardly throwing each piece of clothing with unneeded force. Deciding the temperature was enough to her liking, Sorcha stepped into the shower, letting the water pelt her face. The heat did little to soothe her as tears mixed with the water. A choked sob escaped from her lips, her throat beginning to feel hoarse from previous attempts to block any noise. 

Sorcha couldn’t tell how long she had been in the shower, the only marker being her pruny fingers. Wrapping a towel around herself, Sorcha glanced at herself in the mirror. She ran a hand over her face as she examined herself. The image made her want to shatter the glass, seeing that she looked the same as earlier in the day. All of her features appeared to be the same, with no monumental changes that revealed the pain she felt in her heart. As torturous as it sounded, Sorcha wished there were cuts and bruises lining her body. Something to show for the anguish inside. Would that change anything though? If her body was marked with the scars of grief, would that bring Cormack back?

A new set of tears emerged, struggling to form due to the girl's dehydration. Sorcha grabbed the nearest glass, filling it up, and throwing the cool water back. Another hoarse laugh came from her, finding great irony in having to fill oneself up to show a form of grief. 

Once she was satisfied with herself, Sorcha threw on her pajamas from last night and crawling into bed. She dared to take a quick glance at the photos hung over her bed, focusing on one of her and Cormack. The two of them were posed outside of the boy's high school, Cormack clad in a graduation cap and gown, whilst Sorcha was in her Sunday best. Cormack towered over her, arms wrapped around each other in a side hug, both beaming at the camera. She slowly unpinned the photo from its place on the wall and hugged it against her chest. Feeling a need to be surrounded by darkness on all sides she grabbed the blankets off her friend’s beds, creating a cocoon. As pathetic as she felt, Sorcha allowed herself to sob unabashedly, not caring who could come in and witness her pain. She was sure everyone on base knew by now. 

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

Sorcha wasn’t sure what time it was when she awoke. She wasn’t sure she would have woken up if it weren't for the soft creak and dip at the end of her bed, signaling that someone had sat down. The girl was caught between a rock and a hard place, wondering who was sitting with her, and also wishing to stay under her blankets and wait them out. About a half hour went by, curiosity finally getting the best of her. Sorcha slowly emerged from her cocoon, not expecting her visitor to be Bucky. 

Neither made a move to speak. Both of their faces carried a tone of pain, Bucky’s eyes softening as he took in the sight of his friend. For a lack of better words, Sorcha looked a mess. Frizzy curls stuck up from every part of her head, her face and frame looking paler and smaller than they used to. A pit formed in the man's chest as his thoughts flurried in his brain, not knowing what to do. 

“You’re not supposed to be in the women’s huts.”

“Devs-”

“You’re not even supposed to be here. You need to be in London, like Buck and I said.”

Bucky ran a hand over his face, ignoring Sorcha’s undeterred questioning. “Devs-”

“Why are you here?” 

It was her question that caused Bucky to falter, not sure how to answer without causing the girl more pain. He already knew of her condition, Jack and the others telling him upon his arrival. What he wouldn’t tell Sorcha is that he came back looking for her, trying to find the one person who would understand his pain. No, this was no time for her to comfort him. He felt guilty enough upon learning her news from others. 

“I came back early because- well because there’s another mission tomorrow. One that I need to lead.”

“No.” Sorcha shook her head, “Buck is doing that.”

Another pit formed in Bucky’s stomach at her stoic resolve. Her gaze was unwavering, looking at him as if he was speaking gibberish. Wracking his brain for an explanation became more strenuous as the seconds ticked by. Sorcha’s eyes were practically burning holes in the side of his head, waiting for a real explanation. 

Sorcha hesitantly reached out and placed a hand on Bucky’s arm, “John-” 

“I don’t know what to tell ya Devs.” Bucky’s tone was harsh as he whipped to face Sorcha. Immediate regret washed over his face as she retracted her hand, subconsciously leaning away from him. “Sorry- it's just, the game didn’t go so well today.”

“What do you mean?”

“Buck went down swinging.”

Sorcha’s lips parted at his statement, a barely audible gasp following. She had never seen Bucky so emotional. Unbridled anger seeped from him with small bouts of despondency creeping through the gaps. The man in front of her was broken. Reaching her hands out once again, she slowly wrapped her fingers around his enclosed fists. Bucky looked up at her touch, a silent understanding passing between the two. 

“Devs, I didn’t mean to-” Sorcha cut off his apology with a shake of her head, not wanting to hear any more sympathies. 

“It's fine. I understand. Is there any way I can help?”

Bucky stared at the girl, gobsmacked by her insistence to aid his pain. “No, it’s me who should be asking you that question.” Trepidation was evident in his voice, worried he had crossed a line. 

To his relief, Sorcha let out a small laugh, “I don’t think the two of us are qualified enough to help each other.”

“I might haveta agree with you on that one.” 

The two fell into a comfortable silence, giving Bucky time to look around the space. His eyes scanned the walls full of photos, taking in each detail. Ones of Sorcha with various friends and family lined the space above her bed alongside postcards and letters. Fixing his gaze on one particular photo, Bucky raised a hand and pointed at it, “That you as a baby?”

Sorcha turned towards the wall, a small smile on her face as she untacked the photo. She held it carefully in between the two of them, letting Bucky hold half. “Yeah. It’s one of the only nice photos I have of me as a kid.”

“Is that-”

“Cormack.” Sorcha cut Bucky off, sensing the question he wanted to ask.

“Devs, I hate to say this,” Bucky started, teasing evident in his voice, “but you two were  pretty chubby babies.” 

“I can’t believe this-” Sorcha feigned mock offence, only deepening Bucky’s grin, “You’re being mean to babies now?”

The sound of laughter echoed off the walls as the two took in the absurdity of their previous statements. To any onlooker, it would seem that their grief caused them to go temporarily insane. But in reality, they knew the amount of unspoken words passed, each finding a welcome distraction in the other. 

“Only to you Devs. Only to you.”

[adobongsiopao]

Sorcha Cusack as Jane from "Jane Eyre" 1973 version.

According to the latest interview regarding "Jane Eyre", Sorcha was suppose to change her English name "Sarah" at the start of her acting career but Michael Jayston the actor of Mr. Rochester in that same version was the one who encouraged her to keep her Irish name and she used it ever since.

[wow-thisismylifeiguess]

nonmilitary soapghost where Soap’s sister passes and he’s left as the guardian of his newborn niece. His parents are too old and sick to take care of her and his other siblings take care of them.

Sorcha is a small little thing, underweight but otherwise healthy. Soap absolutely adores her the second he lays eyes on her. He mourns his sister, but she lives on in the tiny bundle in his arms.

He starts attending ‘first time mom’ classes (where he’s very much a hit w the ladies) at a close by recreational center which is where he meets Ghost who volunteers and works w teens. Teaches them life skills, organizes trips for them, fun events, etc.

Soap’s classes always end at the same time Ghost is dismissing his teens, so they run into each other often.

Ghost assumes Soap’s accompanying his wife to these classes and commends him for it only for Soap to eventually explain that he’s single and Sorcha’s mom was his sister. Ghost gets flustered and apologizes, but Soap waves it off, understanding how weird it must look to see some guy in what’s usually an all women class.

The two get closer, Ghost eventually asks Soap on a date once he realizes Soap’s into men (he’s most definitely bullied into asking by his teens), and Soap of course says yes

Fluff, fluff, more fluff. Brief drama of Sorcha’s bio dad making an appearance and trying to claim her, but then fluff again