damhsagreine - Tumblr blog

[damhsagreine]

[damhsagreine]

[damhsagreine]

💤 - song i fall asleep to

True Colours || Marina and the Diamonds

You with the sad eyes Don't be discouraged, oh I realize It's hard to take courage In a world full of people You can lose sight of it all The darkness inside you Can make you feel so small

Show me a smile then Don't be unhappy Can't remember when I last saw you laughing This world makes you crazy And you've taken all you can bear Just call me up 'Cause I will always be there

And I see your true colors Shining through I see your true colors And that's why I love you

So don't be afraid to let them show Your true colors True colors are beautiful I see your true colors Shining through (true colors) I see your true colors And that's why I love you So don't be afraid to let them show Your true colors True colors are beautiful (they're beautiful) Like a rainbow Oh oh oh oh oh like a rainbow

Ooh can't remember when I last saw you laughing Ooh oh oh oh This world makes you crazy And you've taken all you can bear Just call me up 'Cause I will always be there

And I see your true colors Shining through I see your true colors And that's why I love you So don't be afraid (don't be afraid) To let them show your true colors True colors are beautiful (you're beautiful, oh) Like a rainbow Oh oh oh oh oh like a rainbow Mmm mmm

But I likes it best when Cethlinn sings t' me.

[damhsagreine]

☀️ - song for a sunny day

It Came From the Dead Meme Pile || ???

Sunshine on My Shoulder || John Denver

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry Sunshine on the water looks so lovely Sunshine almost always makes me high

If I had a day that I could give you I'd give to you the day just like today If I had a song that I could sing for you I'd sing a song to make you feel this way

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry Sunshine on the water looks so lovely Sunshine almost always makes me high

If I had a tale that I could tell you I'd tell a tale sure to make you smile If I had a wish that I could wish for you I'd make a wish for sunshine for all the while

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry Sunshine on the water looks so lovely Sunshine almost all the time makes me high Sunshine almost always...

Also, Feck ye. John Denver's a legend, a true bard.

[damhsagreine]

🌠 - song that’s special to me

It Came From the Dead Meme Pile || ???

Lugh || Kellianne

Lugh of the sun, Lugh of the sky Lugh of the summer days gone be Lugh of the Harvest, corn and wheat Lugh of the blazing heat King of the People, Friend of the Sidhe Father of Heroes, Son of the Sea Giver of Vitality, Lord of The Dance is he Lugh of the long arm, Lugh of skill Lugh of courage, unbending will Blacksmith forging the battle spear Warrior revered

King of the People, Friend of the Sidhe Father of Heroes, Son of the Sea Giver of Vitality, Lord of The Dance is he Lugh of lightning, Lugh of the storm Swift and steady with thunderous roar Lugh of blackened sky and rain Power of hurricane King of the People, Friend of the Sidhe Father of Heroes, Son of the Sea Giver of Vitality, Lord of The Dance is he Handsome champion, eternal youth Fearless leader of strength and truth Host of games, the field events, And feasts filled with merriment Masterful Bard, honey-tongued Musical Lugh the Shining One Plucking harp strains of sorcery Golden poetry

[damhsagreine]

For movie or TV muses, what is a scene with your muse that you hate? Why? Can you show a screenshot?

It Came From the Dead Meme Pile || ???

Look. I think Emily Browning is adorable. I think she's precious. I am a fan. But I hate Laura Fuckin' Moon. I hated her in the book. I hated her on the show. I cannot tell you HOW FURIOUS I was about season 3.

Again, I think Sweeney deserves far better than this bs... with Laura and Shadow, and clearly he has made bad romantic choices since he was cursed and left his family.

I am now going to cringe into the Forever.

[damhsagreine]

For book muses, what is your muse’s favorite scene? Why? Can you provide a short excerpt?

It Came from the Dead Meme Pile || ??

So the book is a lot different from the show, and currently my copy of the book is in storage, but here goes:

On 23 December {funny because my hc is that Sweeney's bday is 21 December aka Midwinter, Yule, the Winter Solstice which in Wiccan belief is the rebirth of the sun}, Mr Jacquel and Mr Ibis receive a call from the police and send Shadow to go get the body, discreetly. Shadow drives the hearse, thinking about how hearses are no longer driven in town now that Americans want to pretend that death does not happen. Shadow pulls up behind the cars and sees Mad Sweeney's frozen body next to a dumpster, with a bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey still in his lap. A police officer, registering Sweeney as a John Doe, writes out the instructions for an autopsy for Shadow to take back to Jacquel and Shadow loads Sweeney's body into the hearse. As he drives back to the funeral home, Sweeney reanimates his body long enough to ask Shadow to give him a proper wake, as it was Shadow's theft that caused his death in the first place.

On one hand, this part of the story illustrates that Americans still want to believe something about death, as shown by Ibis and Jacquel {Horus and Anubis} having a continued presence here, but that there is a taboo on speaking aloud about it. This is part of the reason Jacquel and Ibis's powers are waning, as they need people to accept death and the underworld in order to survive. Sweeney manages to drink himself to death in a thoughtless suicide, leaving his body to freeze in the cold, after begging Shadow for money to buy the booze. Neil Gaiman later hints that Sweeney would have simply been resurrected from this experience if enough people believed in him, but belief in leprechauns was so faint that he remained dead.

There's a bit more to it. During the wake, he revives while Mr Jacquel tells stories of his origin, and of Bessie McGowan, how he came to America, and the power of those whispers allows Sweeny to attend his one party, and make nasty little asides and quips about the old stories. He manages to try to teach Shadow the Coin Trick one more time, and honestly I think he deserved better. In that way, I think I like the reimagining of the show, in which Sweeney gets an opportunity to come to terms with his fate, to be given agency over himself, to go out on a powerful note rather than being a footnote for Shadow's story. But then again, I have a lot of issues with Shadow, so it could just be me.

[damhsagreine]

For book muses, what other character from a book or book series has a lot in common with your muse?

It Came From the Dead Meme Pile || ???

As I mentioned in my previous reply, I feel Marvel Loki's storyline offers a lot of connections between the two...from Sweeney's Godhood origins to being broken down, used, lied to, made into a trickster spirit. Someone who ultimately deserves better than he got, clearly.

Because AG is a novel about magical realism, old versus new faith and worship, the long con, and so many other creative elements {also let us not forget the sequel, Anansi Boys} there's a lot of potential cross over with fantasy/historical/and other magical realism material: Lucky, the racoon god of good fortune/luck, from A. Lee Martinez's "Divine Misfortune". Thomas Builds-a-Fire, storyteller and shaman from almost any of Sherman Alexie's novels. Jack Sparrow, Pirates of the Caribbean. The Doctor, from Dr Who. {particularly 9, 10, 11 and the War Doctor}.

Mister Mxyzptlk, from DC Comics. John Constantine, Vertigo Comics.

[damhsagreine]

What canon character do you really wish your muse could interact more with?

It Came From the Dead Meme Pile || ??? Of the American Gods fandom, I'll admit that I would love to play against a Mr Nancy {Anansi} who was always my favourite character from the original novel. From the television show, I'd also go as far as to say: Salim, Bilquis, or even Mr Wednesday {Odin}.

From other sources... if my canon is acceptable... technically Thor and Loki as Odin's sons...would be Lugh/Mad Sweeney's uncles, and I think he would get along well with Marvel or Mythological Loki. I would love to play with any "canon" Tuatha from Irish/Celtic mythology, which opens up Arthurian characters and other gods. Pretty much anyone from the Ancient As Fuck stories. The possibilities and the combo.

[damhsagreine]

She catches him later in the kitchen. Using a stool to span the height difference so that right at his ear she can leave "Big heart energy. Dunna worry though. Oi'm no goin' let ye secret slip." before she's hoping down and away to find her tea pot.

Big... Energy || Accepting

His wife is the softest of God's creatures. Far better than he deserved and he knows it. Which is maybe why he stood there, stock still, when originally he'd come looking for something she wouldn't miss from the icebox to tide over her appetite until supper. Whatever Mrs Ravenchenko was making smelled heavenly, from meat to bread to sweets after. The family deserved a raise. "Sure an' tis I'm grateful, Mistress Sweeney." Old form, the way Grandad used to speak to Gran. His ideal of romance, his most explicit example of it growing up. Even his death hadn't broken their bond. "Fair is it I fear, ye've tole yer bees, an' inveterate gossips they are to the last drone." He looms over her and smiles down, his entire face alight with tenderness, with adoration, with love. "Does m' heart old or young wonders to have it filled with you, and with the boys. But even so, I'm not lettin' ye out of our promise this mornin'."

[damhsagreine]

To her credit she **almost** manages "big dick energy" with a straight face before half bursting into an uncontrollable bout of laughter so hard no sound of note escapes.

Big... Energy || Accepting

"Dunna know f' I should be laughin with ye, or castin' my suspicions yer way that yer sayin' I don't quite ...ah... measure up. Mayhap ye forgot twixt an' tween this mornin' an' right now an' need a remindin' o' it."

It's a playful tease, a rumble deep in his throat, as he catches his bride within the circle of his arms and drags her close. But rather than instinctively going in for the kill, Lugh merely buries his face in the nape of her neck, breathing her as deep as the expanse of his lungs allows. There's no real offense, no fear, no single worry in his mind that she finds him anything less than perfect for her, as she is his ideal and that he is still as much in love with her now ~if not more so~ as he was the day he saw her the first time. As the day he'd married her. As the day she gave birth to each of their sons. When he is old and grey and bent, he will still love her and more. And on his deathbed, he will thank his maker for every day that has gone by, and make her the promise of seeing her again. He shifts just a shade so that his lips align with her ear, his breath hot against it. "The things I will do to ye, Caitlin Buckley-Sweeney. From the top of yer head, t' the tippy of yer toes. Unfortunately, I've got work for me, an' you know how tetchy Michaeline gets when I'm not at his beck an' call."

He gives her delicate earlobe a nip. "But I want ye thinkin' 'bout that t'rest of yer day, aye?"

[damhsagreine]

Do you have any hard nos? If so what are they?

"Off the top of my head? Jus' spittin' in the ball park...hard no...takin' anything up the arse, making deals sight unseen, mouthy lil bitches, Danu... your mum so you can tell her t' quit callin' me, dead things, relatives... talkin' to strangers. And whiskey."

[damhsagreine]

Do you have a type? Asking for a friend.

"Aye, I do, matter o' fact. Tall-ish. Say about five foot seven, t' five foot nine in her stockin' feet. Fire haired an' new cream skin, like a fox come winter, like sunrise on an icy sea, like blood on me hands. Eyes deeper an' infinitely wiser than the ocean itself an' greener than all the hills of home. Curves that would slaughter a man in his dreams and fit in his hands jus' perfect. One who can be a queen, a monster, a mother, a lover, confidant and complete all on her own. One who can stand up t' me and put me in my place with nary but a glance." He drains the rum and slams the glass down before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He'd had her and he'd lost her, and even his luck doesn't bear out ever finding her again. "Go on an' tell your friend that they's barkin' up the feckin' wrong tree."

[damhsagreine]

My Sunlight​:

Breakfast in bed. She should have been suspicious that the Mother’s Day moments wouldn’t end there. But she’d always been very unassuming in matters like this, so when she’d come down the stairs, shifted into the living room where she’d noticed she’d left her knitting on her sitting chair–green had gone wide and there’d been some kind of sound that escaped. Muffled almost instantly as it had been by the hand to her mouth.

The flowers breathed in before she reads the card. A little smile on her face at the still practicing their penmanship notes scrawled and wedged around each other. It’s sweet and set with care down upon the table as the other note is plucked from behind a rose. An easy blush of color to her cheeks, something under her breath that she’ll never tell what was. The cards placed back into their envelopes before them and the roses are taken with her to the kitchen. Set where she can enjoy them most on the island.

The card and note removed again from the envelopes and set up properly. Before she quickly takes a picture of it. To hold on too the sight for always. Have it to send to her auntie, her sisters and mother–though the latter ones perhaps won’t care so much. A thought that she hopes the delivery to her mother was prompt. They might not speak so much now but…well sentiment was sentiment and proper was proper all the same.

And from there–there really isn’t more she can do to put off stepping out into the back garden. Breath held in her chest as feet are slipped into gardening boots and she presses a hand to the screen door. Careful steps and… both hands to her mouth when she sees it. Because what she sees is….honestly perhaps the most amazing of gifts ever received. (Aside from her children and the love of her life of course). It’s beautiful and intricate and the gentle hum of bees. A tiny fuzzy creature landing at the door and disappearing inside.

 And there’s laughter on her breath as she crouches down to get a better look. Run her fingers against the edges. Brush against the tiny wee flowerings. The miniature lamps and windows. Though that is all she does. And she knows better than to lift the lid, already occupied as it is. No reason to upset another mother’s day after all.

So her hand is slowly withdrawn, as she stands back up at the same pace. A few steps back and there’s a moment where she simply appreciates it isn’t there? Watching the little bees come and go in the growing morning. And there’s something spectacular inside that moment isn’t there? Something peaceful, as green closes for a moment to truly enjoy it. As if one step to the left and she really could be standing in her auntie’s little garden on that quiet little street in Dublin. Mid-summer sun and all the little creatures bustling away beneath leaves and within flowers. The deepest of breaths in, sighed out a moment later with a hum. The kind that only the most blessedly content of souls can make.

An ambush in reverse, three pairs of near identical eyes peep around corners with an appropriate amount of jostling and elbowing and grins of pride as he and the boys watch every move Caity makes. The longest day to ever go by was the waiting for her to come down stairs and that had almost been the end of his tether of patience. It is, however, well worth it, and his hands come down to rest on Luka and Lorcan’s shoulders, and he gives a silent nod with his chin so they can witness her expression.

She takes the measure of the flowers as she had the boys’ heads when they were infants, and still does with good night kisses dropped on their foreheads. Even Lugh can’t make out her words but he knows his wife’s face well. It is his reason for waking, the last thing he falls asleep to, it’s etched into his dreams. But the colour to her alabaster cheeks speaks more eloquently than words, perhaps, so he allows himself to be pleased by the tell-tale hue. He then goads the boys to take the back route to continue their vigil. Caity is sporting, isn’t she? Mayhap doesn’t really notice their less than stealthy arrival, mayhap her mind is not as elsewhere and this is all a pretense to liven up their morning as well. Lugh knows there is still more tribute to come and not just from them. Nan had said something about fetching Caity something as well, though it might be delayed coming from the old country, when she was thanking him for their own offers, mostly due to Caity’s exquisite taste. It was one of the things the Duchess liked about her. There’s no missing it though when she arrives exactly where she ought, and Lugh lets go of a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in. Uncertainty is a stranger to a man like him, one who puts the right foot forward always, because he has that much confidence. And when it IS the wrong one? He makes certain to have it seem intentional, and watches lesser bred peers try and follow along. But his wife, sainted as she is, is not one of them. His shepherdess might not come from the same social circles and might not find that side of him all that appealing, and she certainly isn’t as covetous as the wives he knows.

She has a soft spot for soft and small things, though, his Caity. And she’d often in the past described her childhood dream house, aspects of it at least. Then she’d laugh and tell him it was silly things from girlhood and that she’s outgrown them. But he’d listened to every detail, committed as much as he could from memory. The way she’d insisted on telling the bees about weddings and births and deaths, the minutia of life’s details the way it had always been done. How she takes honey in her tea, keeps a little crock of it with the comb still in. And so he’d tried to give her that part of life he’s stolen her away from, give her back a missing puzzle piece no amount of anything inborn about him could quite replace. And it seems to have been the right move.  “Go on then, boys,”  he murmurs to their sons. “Get yerselves washed up now. Don’t want to put sticky fingers on yer mam.” And when reluctantly they do, racing off to make a competition about whose hands can be the cleanest, Lugh steps out into the morning light, halts only when his towering shadow falls on the wee beehive as he settles behind her, and wraps his arms around her waist. He leans down until his cheek rests atop her fiery hair and he closes his eyes. “Happy Mothair’s day, a chroí.”

[damhsagreine]

angstmemes​:

Reblog if your muse has had a near death experience.

[damhsagreine]

[damhsagreine]

The BDSM Quiz because a promise is a promise.