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marshmallow-phd · 4 years

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Scarlet Moon

Genre: Scarlet Heart Ryeo!AU, Time Travel!AU, Alternate History, Royalty!AU

Pairing: OC x EXO OT9

Summary: This isn’t Gwen’s time. She was from the modern era, with technology and electricity. But during a solar eclipse, she’s transported back into a previous life in a time and place she does not know. Now, as the foreign daughter of a merchant living in a prince’s household, she must tread carefully, watch her back, and guard her heart. But with the princes locked in a battle over the throne, the chances of her making it out alive might disappear.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3

********

The paper sliced across the skin before any action could be taken to avoid it. A high pitched hiss followed by a short whine. The flap of skin that had been separated was being dyed red.

Gwen stuck her index finger in her mouth to sooth the stinging. It helped a little bit. Still sucking on the appendage, Gwen stumbled over to the supply closet and opened the thin metal doors with the other hand. She kept this feat up as she opened the first aid kit and pushed around the different types of bandages, trying to decide which one to use. The cut was right on the tip, right where you never want it to be. It was hard to get a band aid on that kind of cut. Eventually, she found a smaller version of a standard design and ripped the paper covering opening. She wrapped the band aid around her index finger before heading for her desk. It was back to the files that had injured her in the first place.

The pile was tall; by her standards, at least. Gwen had been dealing with it for the past hour. The dates on the files needed sorting, separating the ones could be sent to long-term storage. She almost gave out another whine, but she didn’t want the others to hear and start the relentless teasing. Her coworkers were quick and very witty.

It was a friendly floor. Everyone joked and played around without the fear of feelings being hurt. If Gwen didn’t have to do the actual work that came with the office space, she wouldn’t mind staying here forever. But dealing with these files and demanding customers and meeting quotas was not what she wanted to do for the rest of her life. Not that Gwen knew exactly what it was that she did want to do. She’d tried a lot of things over the last few years in her slow going college years. Marketing, history, education - hell, she even took several makeup courses and skincare lessons that focused on natural resources. None of it stuck, none of it held her interest, though the information could be recalled if needed.

“You alright there, Gwen?”

Drudging up from the bowels of her thoughts, Gwen looked up at Kimberly, who had stopped at her desk on the way back from the printer.

“Yeah,” Gwen nodded with a sigh. “Just… ready for the week to be over.”

“Ain’t that the consensus,” Kimberly laughed.

“How are the dogs?” Gwen was seizing the opportunity to distract herself from work. Kimberly owned two dogs with opposite personalities. One was the well-mannered older brother, the other was the skittish, hyper younger brother. She loved to talk about them and there was never a shortage of entertaining stories.

Kimberly rolled her eyes. “Kurt is back to back to demanding his breakfast at five a.m. Oh, but Kent now does this thing where he walks backwards. Whenever he starts doing that, we’ll beep at him. You know, like the garbage trucks? Then he gets all shy and hides his head.”

Gwen couldn’t stop giggling at the thought. “Oh, the poor thing!”

“You’ll have to see it next time you come over.”

“I can’t wait.”

As Kimberly walked away, Gwen sighed. She didn’t get out too much and the humor that most of her socializing outside of work was with one of her coworkers wasn’t lost on her. Just another dart to throw at the board that was Gwen Sinclair.

It wasn’t like her life was a complete disaster. Really, it could have been worse. She could imagine a thousand different scenarios that she could be living right now that were worse off then her current situation. Truthfully, if glanced at from the outside, Gwen’s life was simply... mediocre. She was blessed with tolerable roommates, an okay job that provided a nice paycheck for a twenty-three-year-old who had yet to finish college. But… the loneliness was killing her and overall, she was craving for something more.

She was exhausted from obligation and responsibility. She wished to go back to the days where she read about adventure and intrigue and imagined some day living that out herself. After having those words in her hands, she felt empty in her reality. Somehow, each day felt even more draining.

With the end of another workday, Gwen packed up the files that still needed to be sorted, locked up her cabinets and tugged on her coat as she waved goodbye to Kimberly and the others. A few other coworkers were chatting excitedly about the solar eclipse happening in a few minutes. Gwen, however, was annoyed. Annoyed at the fact that all anyone - online or in person - could talk about was the solar eclipse, as if it was the only one that had ever been seen in this generation. When one person mentioned the eclipse, it was fine. When it was every post and every comment and every conversation, it felt a little ridiculous. Gwen couldn’t care less about the event. Getting home was her current priority. But escaping wasn’t that easy.

For the millionth time, Gwen rolled her eyes as she scrolled through the newsfeed, waiting for her car to warm up in the parking garage. The weather was cold and dreary, slowing down her progress on getting home. Puffs of steam escaped her lips in the below freezing temperature. Other employees hurried past the back of her car to get to their own tiny sanctuaries. An alert for a new email popped up at the top of the phone screen. From the quick scan of the notification, she saw that it was from her eastern history professor. He wanted to go over the latest paper from class. Oh, no. That was never a good sign.

Gwen huffed, threw her car into reverse, and pulled out of the parking space. First the papercut, now this.

Since all her classes were online, Gwen had the minor luxury to not be forced to talk to her professor face to face, which surely would have been humiliating. But it couldn’t be avoided completely. She’d email him back once she arrived home. Or maybe she’d put it off until tomorrow. Dealing with this was the last thing she wanted to do. Stress was already causing her skin to revert back to puberty, she didn’t need this as well.

Her phone rang and she struggled to answer it while carefully winding down the levels of the garage. It was Jaynie, the favorite of the roommates.

“Hey, Janie, what’s up?”

“Oh, nothing, I was just wondering if you were coming straight home today.”

Gwen smirked, knowing exactly where this was going.

Over the past several months, a bit of an obsession had developed with Korean dramas. The shows the two of them consumed were different from the same old, boring American television and there were years worth of stories to choose from. Currently, they were in the middle of another romantic comedy. While Gwen loved the storyline and was in a constant state of swoon, as soon as the credits started rolling, she was reminded how pathetically uninteresting her life was. But those sixty plus minutes of pure escapism made it all worth the crash that came afterwards.

Gwen tried to wait patiently in the line to leave the parking garage, but her frustration was getting the better of her. It was stop and go, stop and go, stop and go.

“I’m planning on it. That is, if people decide any day now to not drive idiotically.”

“Ugh, I had the same problem on my way home.”

Curious. Both of them worked in the downtown area. “How did you get home so fast?” Gwen asked.

“I got off a little early today.”

“Lucky.” Her accounting job often led to flexible hours. Gwen was jealous of that level of freedom.

The road was slick from the freezing rain. Weather like this brought out all the stupid drivers as if this wasn’t a yearly occurrence. She was careful to look both ways before exiting the garage and inching into the street. What she didn’t account for was the other emptying lot across the street. A large black SUV pulled out right at the same time, but went too fast, hitting the water that was slowly turning to ice on the asphalt.

With no time to react, the SUV slammed into the side of Gwen’s compact car. Glass from the driver’s side window shattered and sprayed her face. Her phone flew out of her hand. The crunch of metal hit her ears before she could fully process what had happened. With the force of the collision, her forehead slammed against the steering wheel before the airbag deployed. The sound of screams echoed around her, but the words were unintelligible. Slumped over in her seat, a shadow creeped over the scene. Through the slits of her barely open eyes, Gwen watched as the sun disappeared behind the moon. Then all went black.

********

The water was what brought her back. It filled her lungs and surrounded her on all sides. She flailed her limbs, desperate for traction that couldn’t be found. Her clothing weighed her down, the hems being pulled as if hands had gripped tight on them. She needed a miracle. And a miracle she got. Two hands held onto one of her wrists and pulled her to the surface.

She gasped for air as her rescuer struggled to bring her to shore. The cloth that covered her felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds, making it nearly impossible to move. Water made its way up her throat, spilling over her lips. Her lungs were finally clear. They took in as much oxygen as they were allowed, burning with each brath.

“Lady Gwen! Lady Gwen!”

A young girl blocked out the bright sun. She shook Gwen’s shoulders desperately.

Gwen’s brain processed that the girl was not speaking English, but… she could understand her. The girl’s damp, dark hair was pulled into halves on either side of her face held in place by wide red straps. She looked at Gwen with deep concern, like a lifelong friend. But Gwen was sure she had never seen this girl before in her life.

“My Lady, can you hear me?” she asked frantically.

“Who are you?” Gwen finally choked out.

That made the girl pause in her panic. “What?”

Slowly regaining her strength, Gwen pushed herself up to her knees. As her eyesight cleared, she took in her surroundings. Gone were the tall metal and glass buildings, traffic lights, and speeding cars of her modern home. Now all that surrounded her were trees and a sandy beach of a large, calm lake. In the distance, wooden houses with curved rooftops, painted in bright reds and greens dotted the horizon. The heaviness that weighed her down was a dress made of too many layers and of no western fashion that she’d ever experienced before.

Whispers bounced around the rocky shore. All the faces that were looking on with concern around were unfamiliar. Gwen grabbed the hair cascading down her back, but it was still the red she knew, darker from the dampness of being pulled out of the water but still her hair.

“Where am I?” she asked in a quiet, gasping voice.

“My Lady, don’t you remember?” The girl panicked. “You’re in Songak. Goryeo.”

“Goryeo?” Gwen screeched. All the minor details she could summon up of the country came rushing to the forefront of her mind. It was information overload and her brain couldn’t handle it. Her lungs tried desperately to keep up, breathing in as much air as they could, but her throat was closing up from the panic. The landscape blurred and she fell to the ground.

********

She was in a bed this time when she regained consciousness. The room was cold and dimly lit with soft, orange candlelight. A man, Caucasian unlike the others, sat beside the bed on a stool, worry etched into every facet of his face.

“Gwen, sweet, are you all right?”

English. He was speaking English. But that was a footnote of comfort to the bigger problem. She still didn’t know what had happened to her or how she got here or who these people were that seemed to know her. The man, who was about in his mid-forties with salt and pepper hair, smiled down at her, though his eyes were confused. “Gwen, does it hurt anywhere? Can you tell me if you hit your head?”

Gwen took a moment, to calm down and to evaluate what she was feeling physically. Her head didn’t hurt, nor did any other part of her body. Wordlessly, she shook her head. The man seemed relieved.

“Are you all right?” He asked again, a different meaning under the question this time. “Chae Ryung said you couldn’t remember her or that we were in Goryeo? Do you at least remember your papa?”

Gwen weighed the choices in her mind. There wasn’t a mirror around, but she started to wonder if she had taken the place of someone else. Someone who knew these strangers. She could say that she didn’t know any of them - the truth - but would they think her mad if she spilled too much? Perhaps she could say she remembered a few things. Like him, if he is this poor girl’s father. Why am I here? In this time?

Choosing to comprise with herself, she gave the smallest of nods. “Papa.” Sitting up, she pulled him into a hug and there was something comforting about his embrace. This body remembered him, at least.

“What happened?” she asked after she let go.

“Chae Ryung said that you’d wandered off again and she found you, you’d been the water a long time.” The man, Papa, sucked in a breath, his eyes beginning to water. His genuine concern over her wellbeing made Gwen choke up as well. “The doctor said you stopped breathing. That could explain your lost memories.”

Good. The excuse was already in her hands. That should make it easy enough to play along while being forgiven for any missteps. But they shouldn’t be in Goryeo. That didn’t make any sense, historically. If anything, they might have been in Joseon – late Joseon. Was this some sort of alternate timeline? Or maybe she hit her head really hard in the car crash and this is really all a dream from the stress of her paper and too much K-drama.

Yes. Too much K-drama.

That had to be the explanation. This was all a strange dream. Which meant, she could play along and not be afraid. She could ask questions and live out the day until she woke back up in her own time, most likely in a hospital with a bandage on her head and her mother fretting over her.

She glanced around the room, taking in the architecture that she had only ever seen in pictures. In person, it was even more stunning and intricate. This wasn’t an ordinary citizen’s home. Interesting. What else could her brain come up with? “Why are we in Goryeo?”

“Your father’s a merchant, remember?” He spoke slowly. Each word was deliberate, giving Gwen time to process. Good filler for her mind. “I made a large fortune here and planned on taking you back home, but… your mother is buried here. We couldn’t leave her behind.”

A wave of emotion hit out of nowhere. Though her mother was alive and well, it didn’t stop a tear from escaping. “Mama.”

Papa wiped it away with a coarse finger. Gwen gasped back, surprised by the realness of the touch. Her dreams were never this intricate. The blanket strone across her lap scrunched in her fingers. It was cold and soft… and very real.

She wasn't dreaming, was she?

Confused by her reaction, Papa paused for a moment before continuing his explanation. “The eighth prince is graciously letting us stay with him while we wait on the construction of our home to be complete.”

The eighth prince?

Panic grew tenfold. If this wasn’t a dream, then she was in very big trouble. If history told her one thing, it was that proximity to royalty was the most dangerous place to be. Gwen might possibly have been able to skate by if they were simply staying in some unknown village far from the capital, but they were in a prince’s home. Which meant they were in… Songak, the capital city, just like that girl – Chae Ryung – had said. Right under the King’s nose. Breathing became difficult again. Each one was shallow, barely letting in any oxygen. Gwen could feel her chest tighten and her vision blurred.

“Gwen!” Papa jumped up and tried to keep her straight to give her lungs as much room as possible. He switched to Korean as he called out over his shoulder, “Someone, get the doctor! Now!” Shuffling sounds echoed off the floor on the other side of the sliding door and then faded away.

A minute later, breathing no better, two men and a woman rushed inside along with Chae Ryung. The older man stepped in front of Papa and took his place. He pushed Gwen’s shoulders gently until she was lying down. Two cold fingers against her wrist checked her pulse. The other, much younger man stepped up to Papa.

“What happened?”

Papa frowned. “It seems she’s lost some of her memories. I was explaining why we were here when suddenly she had trouble breathing.” He stopped, struggling with his own breath. “I’m sorry we’ve become a burden to you, Your Highness.”

Gwen’s breathing was regaining strength and she was able to concentrate on the conversation. So that was the eighth prince. He was younger than she would have guessed, handsome even, if she had to focus on something other than her lack of breath.

“Do not think such a thing,” the Eighth Prince replied. “Your presence has greatly improved the household. Lady Gwen will get better with time.”

Papa bowed, obviously grateful at the response. He turned to the woman. “Lady Hae, may I enquire after your own health?”

“Today is a better day,” she smiled, though her pale, drained complexion said otherwise. “Please, don’t worry about me. Keep your thoughts for your daughter.”

The doctor released Gwen’s wrist, satisfied with the improvement of her pulse and breathing. He stood up.

“It was a mild panic attack,” the doctor said calmly to Papa. “If it happens again, she should lie down and focus on her breathing. The incident at the lake seems to have taken a toll on her body. She simply needs rest. In time, her memories and her body will recover.”

Gwen didn’t agree with that statement fully. This body might get better in time, but there was no way memories that didn’t exist would ever return. One by one, the occupants left the room until it was only Gwen and Papa remaining behind. Silence hung in the air. After a moment, Papa sat down on the stool and took Gwen’s hand.

“I was worried I had lost you,” he whispered.

Gwen’s eyes fell down to the blanket covering her legs. Things were becoming clearer to her now. This was not a dream and she was no longer Gwen Sinclair from the twenty-first century. Something must have happened. She didn’t know what exactly had occurred or what would happen now, but she was here. And little did this man – known only to her as “Papa” – know that he had indeed lost his daughter. The face may be the same, but the Gwen inside was different. She would try her best to be good to him, at least until she found a way to get back to her own family. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

********

The next morning, the doctor, along with the Eighth Prince, came back to check on Gwen. The doctor commented that her pulse was stronger and that she seemed well on the road to full health. However, he still insisted on keeping her on bedrest.

Bored with these same walls and too curious about her temporary home, Gwen sat up. If she was going to be here for a while, she might as well get to know it. “I’m fine. Please, don’t make me stay in here all day. The sun and air is good for you, isn’t it?”

The sudden rebelliousness against the doctor’s suggestion did not seem to sit well with any of them. Gwen gave Papa a pleading look. A father couldn’t resist those eyes. He sighed, turning to the doctor. “Perhaps, a little exercise in walking around the grounds would be all right?”

The doctor looked reluctant, but he agreed. “But she shouldn’t overexert herself.”

“Chae Ryung will stay with her,” the Eighth prince ordered. “If you’ll please excuse me, I must meet with my brothers.” He bowed and left, followed by the doctor.

Having heard her name from the hallway, Chae Ryung shuffled quickly inside and over to Gwen, holding out her arms for the latter to balance on as she slid off of the bed. “Are you sure you want to go outside?”

Gwen nodded. “Yes. Perhaps seeing more of this place will help jog my memory.”

Chae Ryung tilted her head. “How can your memory jog?”

Gwen snorted, both at Chae Ryung’s confusion and at herself for the slip of the modern phrase. “Sorry, I just meant, maybe my memories will come back.”

“Oh.” The look on her face was enough to make Gwen laugh again.

Gwen scolded herself internally. She had to be more careful with her words. Every step was one on thin ice. She couldn’t change who she was, not completely, but she would have to pull back. Chae Ryung, however, felt safe, like a shelter from the rain. With her, Gwen could find answers that might be dangerous to seek elsewhere. Straightening her shoulders, Gwen smiled broadly and took her newest friend’s hand. Chase Ryung grinned brightly at her and guided her out of the room.

#exo royalty au #exo royalty!au #scarlet heart au #scarlet heart ryeo #exo time travel au #exo time travel!au #exo angst #exo series #exo x oc #exo x original character #exo ot9 #Scarlet Moon

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autodiscothings · 3 years

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Hello! I am quite new to your page and I love how you draw Kolyat. ♥️ Also, would you care to share some details about your characters?

I’d love to, thanks for asking! Funnily enough, I did a personality quiz for them recently, so I can just copy/paste the results here. Most of my content for Mass Effect is centred around Kolyat Krios and Oriana Lawson:

I write them here: [AO3] I draw them here: [ART TAG]

Everything I do with them is post-war, and them as adults in their 20s navigating the shit heap that is a broken, post-destroy galaxy, and how they cope with their own traumas. They both want to help rebuild, but do it different ways.

KOLYAT KRIOS

Kolyat Krios has a lot to live up to and change, but prefers to do it on his terms.

Kolyat is a methodical man, and gentle and patient with the people who need it most. He possesses an unexpected depth of emotional intelligence, and becomes a protector of the small and the strays, from a galaxy that often forgets about them.

While Kolyat can be even-keeled, if he is left to stew in his feelings, his anger will get the better of him, and he will react. He has a reputation for salt, and for his surliness; he also has a tendency to hide himself from others as a defence mechanism, and is slow to trust.

ORIANA ‘ORI’ LEE

You might know her as Oriana Lawson, but she’ll introduce herself as Ori Lee.

Ori is a warm, compassionate soul who loves to be around other people and enjoys her work as a colony developer/civil engineer for Kellam Industries. She is quick-witted and smart, and funny with it; her taste in fashion and makeup is impeccable, as is her comic timing.

She is very good at getting to know you, but you don’t get to know her. Ori keeps her cards to her chest, and only lets her guard down around people she trusts completely, and has a tendency to care too much about what others think about her.

FISH (the cat)

Queen of everything, ruler of them all- well, maybe just Kolyat’s apartment for now.

Fish is a foul-tempered gremlin of a tabby cat, with white socks and a white belly. Her iron paw rules the roost of her home; she graciously lets others share it. Fish loves her food, her nap spots, and her soft piles of things to sleep on. She likes listening to music, and watching the traffic outside of her window.

She is a former stray with both PTSD and trust issues, and for this reason she lashes out without thinking, and needs her own space. When she trusts though, she really trusts. It will take her forever to do it, but once you win her heart, she’ll love you forever.

BATESEDA ‘Bats’ T’LORI

The man, the myth, and the almost legend- at least, in his mind.

Bats was always told he had potential, and rather than stay with the Huntress squad who trained him, Bats left for the Citadel. He is a firecracker of a man who makes everything he does seem fun, always ready to crack something- a joke, his glass, a skull. Pour another one out, he has stories to tell, and they’re mostly true- if he remembers them right.

He has a tendency to go through frequent bed partners, and never keeps anyone around for long. Despite the crooked smile and easy living, there is an air of melancholy around Bats he is reluctant to explain, but something shows through the cracks every now and then. He will take things too far -the jokes, his drinking, his anger- and fall down the holes he put himself in. One day he will struggle to get back out of it.

ARJUN PATEL

A man who borders the line between squad dad and gross uncle, Patel is a treasure for any crew to have.

Patel is content to stay in the background, and is more savvy than he lets on, willing to play the bumbling, easy-going fool if it’ll get him what he wants. He is essentially Columbo with a cooking habit, but is willing to share his snacks- if he likes you, and that doesn’t take much. He is a man with quiet passions, and they shine brightly when he gets talking; his food, his wife and daughter, his interest in history… ask him about them, and his enthusiasm will be boundless- much like his appetite.

He has a tendency to be lazy, if he can get away with it. Patel can also overspill the TMI details of his life even if you’ve heard them before, without a clue he’s crossed a line.

SISO VITACUS

Like most of the squad, Vitacus came to the Citadel for a new life, and another shot of something. He recently split from his bootcamp boyfriend, and is really not looking for anything serious- at least, not at the moment. Vitacus is neither as funny as Bats, as serious as Kolyat or as happy as Patel, but he fits right in as the jack of all trades of the squad, content to play everyone’s middle man and all rounder.

He has a reputation for awful, neon suits, a love of dancing and shitty action movies, as well as a fondness for lurid drinks, despite looking like the kind of man who likes none of these things from first glance. Vitacus is a tall, stocky bruiser of a man, even for a turian.

Vitacus can also be a pushover and too laidback for his own good, and can drift along with the crowd than go against it. He’s unsure why he’s like this, but as far as he’s concerned, ending up in law enforcement is already an oddity- all his family are engineers and scientists.

BRATHAN ‘Brath’ SEKET

If ever there was a man you were unsure of -even after knowing him for years- it’s Brath. The usual rags to riches story, heavy on the rags; Brath fled the grasp of his abusive family as soon as he was able to, taking on jobs across the Terminus until he built up enough of a reputation as a gun for hire.

He got his money from less than savoury sources to begin with, but absolutely no slavery. He has a personal honor code he will hold the rest of the galaxy to, even if you don’t know the rules. Brath might give off the appearance of loving luxuries and living well, but to him it’s just greasepaint and stage costumes; he’s learning that on the Citadel, a Terminus boy like him will never fit in, anyway- the four eyes see to that.

He will hold a grudge for decades, and it will smoulder, too. Brath can be incredibly petty and keep receipts, and if things don’t go his way, he will make them- for better or for worse.

LAETITIA PHALIA

A woman with a firm grip of the ins and outs of both her work and her neighbourhood, Phalia is the person to know when you need something, and if you don’t she’ll soon tell you, anyway.

She looks strict, but only when she needs to be. Phalia is just busy! There’s always some charity, pot luck, clawball practise, afterschool homework club, Galactic Scout cookie drive, donation pickup and volunteer work activity happening in her life. Phalia is always doing something, despite a full-time job and being a single parent. She gives and gives, because that’s what she expects people to do, the kind of person who will give you her coat and freeze.

There is only so much of herself she can give away. Phalia has had the very worst happen to her in her life, and she survives by constantly moving, not looking back. She just needs to remind herself from time to time she deserves to be taken care of too, and can rest every now and then. Sometimes Phalia also has a tendency to hold people to the same standards she has, but is getting better at learning the difference.

DEREK

It's Derek, innit? Just Derek. Not his real name of course, but he thought it sounded fancy. He has a full salarian name, but his clan mostly ignore his existence - except when they want money.

The eponymous Derek has a fairly sweet soul, but it’s one slowly corrupting under a mantle of the music industry and celebrity. He has an addict’s personality, and bounces from fixation from fixation- but music will always remain a constant. He is good at what he does too; his production skills are perceptively complicated, and he is an absolute master at looping and finding rich, interesting samples; there is a reason he is in demand both as a DJ and as a producer.

Derek doesn’t have the best social skills, despite befriending people easily. He’ll pick them up and drop them, and will often self-medicate his mistakes. His ego can get him into trouble too, but finding real friends -and not hangers on- will help him realise he’s not the centre of the universe.

***

(The quiz is [HERE] f you want to see which one you got.)

#oriana lawson #kolyat krios #salarian oc #turian oc #mass effect #asari oc #batarian oc #fish the cat #bats #patel #derek #asks and prompts #Anonymous

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scotianostra · 4 years

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Happy 42nd Birthday to the Gaelic Folk sing Julie Fowlis.

Julie Fowlis is a multi-award winning Gaelic singer who is deeply influenced by her early upbringing in the Outer Hebridean island of North Uist. With a career spanning five studio albums and numerous high profile collaborations, her ‘crystalline’ and ‘intoxicating’ vocals have enchanted audiences around the world.

Nominated as ‘Folk Singer of the Year’ at the 2018 BBC Radio 2 Folk Awards, and ‘Best Artist’ at the Songlines World Music Awards, Julie is a warm and engaging live performer who has graced stages around the world, from village halls in the Highlands to stages in New York, The Philharmonie de Paris and Shakespeare’s Globe in London. Recent invitations to perform have included a return to world-class Festival of Voice in Cardiff, the World Festival of Sacred Music in Fez, Morocco, to collaborate with the BBC Concert Orchestra in the Royal Albert Hall for the Proms and to support Scottish icons ‘Runrig’ to an audience of 50,000 during their farewell concert weekend in August 2018. She sang live at the closing ceremony of the Ryder Cup in Chicago in 2012 to a TV audience of 500 million, an event that was only eclipsed by singing live at the opening ceremony of the Glasgow XX Commonwealth Games in 2014, to a TV audience of over 1 billion people.

Since of the release of her otherworldy album ‘alterum’ in 2017, she has been in demand – touring with the world-class Transatlantic Sessions, sell-out shows in London and throughout the UK, and is currently working on a major new 14-18 commission with celebrated Highland musician Duncan Chisholm, commemorating 100 years since the ‘Iolaire’ tragedy.

She will forever be recognised for singing the theme songs to ‘Brave’, Disney Pixar’s Oscar, Golden Globe and BAFTA winning animated film, set in the ancient highlands of Scotland. The track was recorded when Julie was eight months pregnant with her second child, and has since been a worldwide smash hit, and the song ‘Touch the Sky’ was indeed long listed for an Oscar nomination in 2013.

Julie’s most recent studio album received glowing reviews, and over the years she has been nominated and won several BBC Radio 2 Folk Awards and Scottish Traditional Music Awards. She also made history as the first Gaelic solo artist to win a Scottish Music Award in December 2014.

Julies voice sends shivers up your spine, I have chosen this spine tingling rendition of her at Thiepval Memorial in France singing "An Eala Bhàn" ("The White Swan) , written in the trenches during WWI by Dòmhnall Ruadh Chorùna of North Uist.

I think it only fitting I post the lyric for the song, first in Gaelic then the translation....

Gur duilich leam mar tha mi 'S mo chridhe 'n sas aig bron Bhon an uair a dh'fhag mi Beanntan ard a' cheo Gleanntannan a'mhanrain Nan loch, nam bagh 's nan srom 'S an eala bhan tha tamh ann Gach la air 'm bheil mi 'n toir A Mhagaidh na bi tursach A ruin, ged gheibhinn bas- Co am fear am measg an t-sluaigh A mhaireas buan gu brath? Chan eil sinn uile ach air chuairt Mar dhithein buaile fas Bheir siantannan na blianna sios 'S nach tog a' ghrian an aird Tha 'n talamh leir mun cuairt dhiom 'Na mheallan suas 's na neoil; Aig na 'shells a' bualadh - Cha leir dhomh bhuam le ceo: Gun chlaisneachd aig mo chluasan Le fuaim a' ghunna mhoir; Ach ged tha 'n uair seo cruaidh orm Tha mo smuaintean air NicLeoid Air m' uilinn anns na truinnsichean Tha m' inntinn ort, a ghraidh; Nam chadal bidh mi a' bruadar ort Cha dualach dhomh bhith slan; Tha m' aigne air a lionadh Le cianalas cho lan 'S a'ghruag a dh'fhas cho ruadh orm A nis air thuar bhith ban Oidhche mhath leat fhein, a ruin Nad leabaidh chubhraidh bhlath; Cadal samhach air a chul Do dhusgadh sunndach slan Tha mise 'n seo 's an truinnsidh fhuar 'S nam chluasan fuaim bhais Gun duil ri faighinn as le buaidh - Tha 'n cuan cho buan ri shnamh.

The white swan.

Sad I consider my condition With my heart engaged with sorrow From the very time that I left The high bens of the mist The little glens of dallaince Of the lochans, the bays and the forelands And the white swan dwelling there Whom I daily pursue.

Maggie, don't be sad Love, if I should die - Who among men Endures eternally? We are all only on a journey Like flowers in the deserted cattle fold That the year's wind and rain will bring down And that the sun cannot raise.

All the ground around me Is like hail in the heavens; With the shells exploding - I am blinded by smoke: My ears are deafened By the roar of the cannon; But despite the savagery of the moment My thoughts are on the girl called MacLeod

.Crouched in the trenches My mind is fixed on you, love; In sleep I dream of you I am not fated to survive; My spirit is filled With a surfeit of longing And my hair once so auburn Is now almost white.

Goodnight to you, love In your warm, sweet-smelling bed; May you have peaceful sleep and afterwards May you waken healthy and in good spirits I am here in the cold trench With the clamour of death in my ears With no hope of returning victorious- The ocean is too wide to swim.

#Scotland #scottish #Gaelic #Gael.#singer #folk singer #birthday

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mintyfrosty · 4 years

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Ideas:

1. Merfolk that were born as merfolk can't brathe air (let's ignore how they can talk without lungs) but humans turned into merfolk have lungs and can still brathe air, at least for a short while.

2. Maybe when the crystals glow in that cove you mentioned, Reg's tail would glow as well? idk it just sounds pretty

I'd give more ideas but too much galetrov brainrotttt

FEHWHD VALID Also a huge Galetrov Simp FEOH

1) Unless I’m wrong, what fish do is take the oxygen out of water through their gills, and that’s how they breathe. But since air has got a mix of carbon dioxide in it, it’s less efficient for fish and can’t process it well (at least as far as I know don’t quote me on this).

Instead, merpeople have voice boxes and lungs for specifically for that purpose; to talk. Lungs are practically useless in terms of breathing however OIEFH 2)Yee!! You’re on point, my friend!!

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thedeitychildren · 4 years

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Breath of the Sea (Short Story, Prompt Response)

Prompt: “I’ve died here before.” They stared at the sunset casting a warm orange glow over the sea’s horizon. By @givethispromptatry

The cave was hidden on the side of the cliff. He had spotted it one day while out on the sea fishing, but before he’d had the chance to explore, his mother had called him home. Now he returned to the cliff, and carefully rowed towards it.

It was his day off, Their stores were full so Mama needed time to prepare the fish. Father had gone off to the bar to spend some time with friends, and hadn’t bothered to give him a task before leaving. With his new freedom, he snuck out of the house and ran all the way down to the bay.

He tied his boat to one of the rocks, his fingers expertly forming the knots. He stepped back and admired his handiwork, giving his fingers a little wiggle as he did so. Then, with more trepidation, he began to climb the few feet up the cliff.

His arms ached as they hauled his body up, but it wasn’t that much harder than a day of rowing. He winced each time the rock crumbled before him, and his breath came out in short gasps. He could hear the splashes of water each time another rock fell, and his brain imagined the splash his body would make.

Finally, he managed to pull his body up into the cave, and he collapsed onto the ground. His eyes fluttered closed as he breathed. The burn in his chest slowly retreated, and he opened his eyes. Standing up, he looked down at where he had come from, and smiled. He cupped his hands around his mouth and wordlessly hollered out into the sea. He had made it! He was in this cave that surely no one else had explored before! He was here!

Then he turned around and faced the dark maw of the cave. He took the flashlight out of his pocket and flicked it on, its dim light piercing into the cave. Forward he went, the call of adventure driving his feet forwards.

The floor of the cave was wet and slippery, probably from waves crashing into it. The whole place smelled of salt and dust, and he had to blink some tears out of his eyes and cough some dust out of his lungs.

He continued through the cave carefully, roaming his eyes across the walls as he walked. The markings on the walls were almost hypnotic, and he traced their spiraling patterns with his fingers. They were cool underneath his fingertips, and smooth in a way he forgot rocks weren’t supposed to be. Entranced, he followed the pattern, his fingers twisting and turning as he continued on its path.

“What are you doing here?” A voice snaps him out of his… whatever it was, and he turns to see a young girl glaring at him. She looks maybe two years younger than him, and holds a sharpened stone threateningly in his direction. Her ripped, white dress trails behind her on the ground.

“What are you doing here?” He echoes her, backing away instinctively and hitting the wall. He bares his teeth at her and raises his arms to defend himself.

“This isn’t your cave,” the girl states, and her eyes flash with warning.

“So what, it's yours?” He spits back, for of course someone else will have claimed his discovery. Of course he couldn’t have this thing to himself. Mama would shake her head at his useless endeavors when he returned home and the kids in the town would laugh at his stories.

“No, no it’s not,” the girl whispers, and shivers travel up his spine. “Leave.”

But his fingers have touched the carving again, and isn’t it wonderful. It continues on and on and on and he must find the end. In the end he will finally understand every swirl and twist of it. His feet begin to move and his fingers lightly trace the lines.

Is that chanting he hears, those whispers in the wind? His own mouth is moving, is he the one saying those words?

The girl screams and yells and she is interrupting the beautiful song.

No matter, he can drown her out.

And another voice joins his own. There are no words, only sounds.

And then the girl slaps him across the face. He stumbles, and falls to the ground. She stands over him, breathing heavily and eyes wide with terror. And looming over her are two beady eyes and a mouth full of silver knives.

“Run!” The girl heaves, and this time he does not hesitate. He scrambles to his feet and sprints away. He reaches his hand back and he feels the girl grasp it desperately. Behind them, the thing lets out a horrible screech that rattles the cave, dust and tiny rocks fall down onto their heads.

He cannot see in the darkness, he had dropped his flashlight a while ago. He does not know which way to go, and his feet slip on the wet rock. The girl quickly steadies him, and he latches onto their joined grip. She passes him and pulls him along, and he allows himself to trust her, she knows the way out.

Sunlight breaks through the darkness as the exit appears up ahead. If he had any brathe to spare, he would have shouted his relief. But as he was, he could barely stumble to the opening. It was only then he realized he was still trapped.

Behind him, he could hear the monster banging against the walls, shaking them, as it grew closer. He could almost feel the snapping of its jaws as it crunched his bones.

“Jump!” The girl orders him, and before he can protest because that will kill him, she is pulling him along.

He cannot hear the sound his body makes when it hits the water. Liquid fills his mouth and his screams bubble out.

He is sinking.

He can remember as a child Mama bringing him down to the beach. She had set him in the sand and told him to stay. He had fidgeted restlessly as he wished to go play, but did as she said. The waves had lapped at his feet over and over again, in a rhythm that had lulled him to sleep. He could still remember the lullaby of the sea.

He opened his eyes and floated up to the surface. He breathed in and out the water. Next to him, he could see the little girl sinking deeper and deeper, so he grabbed her arm and pulled her up with him.

They broke through the water and the girl gasped for air next to him. She grabbed hold of the boat and pulled herself up into it, with his help. She reached down and pulled him up after her.

Even when he left the sea he could still feel it, rolling in his gut and humming in his fingers. Every breath he took tasted of fresh, salty air.

In the cave, the monster roared, and burst out into the light.

It was made of dust. He could see the way the light shined through it. It’s mouth was sharpened rocks, and it looked like a tornado, spinning and spinning and spinning.

Grabbing an oar, he began to roar.

The girl remained on the ground, in shock, looking up at the best with wide eyes. It lunged towards them and he felt the sea respond to his resolve, pushing them out of the way.

That seemed to snap the girl out of her trance, and she gripped her rock tighter in her hands. “Not again, not again,” she whispered over and over. Tears streamed down her face, which was twisted in rage.

The monster let out another howl and snapped its jaws at them, but this time the girl responded. She slashed at the monster with her stone, screaming as she did so, a primal sound that resonated through the air. And the wind responded.

Wind so strong that he could feel it from here slashed at the monster, sending the dust flying. The monster roared in pain, slowly pulling the dust back to its makeshift body.

The girl slashed again and again, tearing her rock through the universe to get what she wanted. She was a figure of rage and revenge, and nothing would stop her. Nothing, except perhaps the monster that reformed after every strike.

They still had a ways to go before they reached land, and he slowly realized he could not lead the monster back to the shore. It would hurt his family, his town. His town wasn’t going to suddenly be safe, he would just be putting more people in danger because he had decided to go on this stupid adventure.

He looked at the girl in front of him, fighting with every last piece of power in her body, and joined her.

With a thought, the water rose.

Protect, he thought, and the water obeyed, crashing into the monster. It swirled into a whirlpool, faster and faster, separating the dust before it had time to reform. The girl joined him, swirling her arms to create a mini tornado, sending the dust flying.

“What is that thing?” He yells his question towards the girl. He has never seen anything quite like it.

“A monster, made from magic,” the girl huffs out, then she gestures at the sea rolling beneath them. “At the bottom there will be a ship, on there is a talisman that binds this monster to life. I’ll hold it here, you go destroy it!”

And he does not hesitate to leap back into the water and let it embrace him.

Before he had ever been allowed on a boat his parents had forced him to learn to swim. Hours and hours he’d practice in the bay, coming home soaked every day. Yet that practice paid off, for now his feet kicked through the water with grace, and he tunneled down to the bottom.

He breathed in and out, water filling his lungs. Despite how salty the water was, his eyes didn’t sting. And in this sea, he felt powerful, he felt warm, he felt like he was home, he felt right.

Wreckage of a ship littered the seafloor. Pieces of wood flowed in the current, and he looked at them sadly as he imagined how many people must have been on the boat. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a silver-gray thing buried in the sand, and he turned away, trying not to heave. Now was not the time to dig up skeletons.

The body of the ship was huge, as the trail of it would suggest. Pieces of the walls had broken off, forming dozens of holes for him to enter through. The mast had broken off the ship and laid half-covered in sand and rocks.

He swam in and looked around. Despite how broken this ship was, everything in it felt sacred, preserved. Like, if this ship was destroyed, an important monument would be. He did not belong here, the ship did not want him here. His skin itched with the need to leave, to leave this place to wallow in its misery.

But up above the surface, the girl was fighting with every last bit of strength she had to keep the monster from destroying him home.

In and out he breathed the water, and he swam deeper.

The talisman was far too easy to find. There it floated in the center of the ship, the water parting around it. It cast an eerie glow on the wood around it, bathing the entire room in red.

It looked like a gemstone, the type his mom would look at longingly in the market.

He forced his hand to move, and curled his fingers around the gem.

The water in his lungs had changed to dust. He was sinking, he was far too heavy. He couldn’t move his limbs, couldn’t swim.

It was far too much.

He couldn’t change, he was just stuck in this misery, in this final moment before he died.

He didn’t want to die.

Blood was trickling down his hand and water forced its way into his lungs. Through blurry vision, he could pieces of the broken gem sink to the sea floor.

And then he saw nothing.

His chest burned with the need to cough as air burned his lungs. He turned on his side, coughing and spitting as he tried to breath. Opening his heavy eyes, he saw mud trickling out of his mouth. He couldn’t get enough air in his lungs.

“Slow down, breathe with me.” Hands maneuvered him upright and pressed one of his palms to a chest. Desperately, he tried to match the rising and falling.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In front of him sat the girl. They were in his boat, drifting on the sea. In the distance, he could see his town.

And there was no monster.

She rowed them home, he was still focused on his breathing. Together, they stumbled out of the boat and back to his house.

Mama hadn’t understood what was going on, but quickly scolded him while wrapping him in a warm blanket. She placed pieces of bread and lukewarm soup in front of them both, and they dug in.

The girl snuck out of the house as he tried, again, to explain to Mama what had happened. He could see her move out of the corner of his eye, and a minute later, he went after her.

She led him all the way to the top of the cliff. There, she sat, her legs dangling off the end. He joined her, and it was silent for a while.

“I’ve died here before.” She stared at the sunset casting a warm glow over the sea’s horizon.

“You were on the boat,” he doesn’t really ask, but she answers regardless.

“Yes.”

He thinks about the heavy stone of misery that had nearly sunk him on that ship, and he knew that’s what the girl had felt as she died.

“But you’re here now.”

“Yes.”

He wraps an arm around her shoulder and does not ask the hundreds of other questions he has. Because right now, he doesn’t need answers. They both just need this.

And the sunset is beautiful.

#creative writing #my writing #writing #original writing #short story #fantasy #action #adventure #writeblr #prompt response #breath of the sea

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halliewriteshockey · 4 years

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Tha mi a ’cur seo ann an Gàidhlig na h-Alba airson a bhith na bhrat. Chan eil dad a dh ’fhios agam cò th’ ann an Pierre Hockey Man, bha mi dìreach airson brath a ghabhail air teicnigeach 😝 (you can probably guess who sent this lmao)

I know exactly who sent this and I’m losing my shit at “Pierre Hockey Man”

#hockey #love yooouuuuu #Hey nonny no

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deathstroyed-a · 5 years

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𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐀𝐌 : @unsteaqy

𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙼𝙾𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝚂𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂𝙽'𝚃 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝙰𝙽𝚈𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙴𝙻𝚂𝙴. 𝐑𝐔𝐍. 𝐑𝐔𝐍. 𝐑𝐔𝐍. don’t let the cops catch you. 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘤𝘩. walls are scaled in order to escape - she’s done this before, run from real cops and gotten away. she’s sure she could outrun a few douchebags in fast cars. feet hit the ground with a loud 𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐃. she stumbles a little before letting out a soft brath of air. the end of the alley doesn’t seem so far away. at the end of the alley is the church, light gleaming over the courtyard, welcoming her, 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 her. she running, 𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗. trying to reach her goal. until she’s stopped by flood lights, stopping her in her tracks. arm comes up to shield eyes from such blinding lights. there’s a split decision : either give up, or turn around.

#ʹ the society. if we bend too far we might break.#unsteaqy #idk what this is but here you go

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celiarmedias · 6 years

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Dearcadh na hÉascoilte

(Uncleftish Beholding as Gaeilge)

Murar léigh tú "Uncleftish Beholding" le Poul Anderson, Seo é an bunsaothar agus má tá suim agat leis, féach ar r/anglish ar reddit. Ní haistriúcháin direach é, ach lean mé na rialacha céanna. Níor úsáid mé ach focail dúchais gaeilge (gan iasachtaí Béarla, Laidin, Gréigis, etc.) Bhí craic air dóigh agam leis an smaointurgnamh seo.

If you haven't read "Uncleftish Beholding" le Poul Anderson, here is the original and if you're interested, check out r/anglish. This isn't a direct translation but I followed the same rules; I only used words of native, Irish origin (no English, Latin, Greek etc.) I had alot of fun with this as a thought experiment)

~~~~~

Cuid is mó a n-aoise, ní raibh a fhios ag na daoine na bunaonad dar déantar gach rud; Ní fhéadfadh siad ach a shamhlú. Thosaíomar a fhoghlaim, de bharr an fás na n-eolaíochtaí, agus tá dearcadh¹ ábhair agus fuinnimh againn a fhulaingíonn ár bhfairísí, sa dhomhan na hoibre agus sa dhomhan an bhaile.

Is é na dúile a nascann ar a lán bealaí le tionscnamh an chuid eile. Bhí a fhios againn faoi dhá dhúile is nócha, idir {Uisceghin}, an dúil is éadroime, agus {Nuadha-ábhar}, an dúil is troime. Rinneamar níos mó anois, Mar {Léarábhar} agus {Donnábhar}.

Tá na dúile ann mar cáithníní darb ainm {éascoilteanna}.

Tá siad an-bheag go deo; Tá an ríomh éascoilteanna i ngrán uisceghine amháin thart ar a dó os comhair dhá neamhnithe is fiche. Cónaisceann formhór éascoilteanna chun {troimíní} a dhéanamh. Mar sin,

tá dhá éascoilteanna Uisceghine i dtroimín Uisceghine, dhá éascoilteanna i dtroimín {Géarghine}, agus araile. (Cloíonn cineálacha áirithe leo féin, amhail {Grianábhar}; Comhghreamaíonn cuid eile mar oighreacha an tan² a bhfuil siad ina seasamh daingean³, amhail Iarann; agus tá níos mó cuingbhealaí ann fós.) An tan a nascann dhá éascoilteanna éagsúla i dtroimín, déanann siad

{comhdhúile}. Mar sin, is uisce é an chomhdhúil dhá éascoilt uisceghine

le héascoilt géarghine, agus is féidir a bheith na céadta céad céad éascoilteanna i dtroimín amháin feola; uisceghin, géarábar, {gualábhar} agus {neamhábhar} den chuid is mó.

Ar dtús, creideadh gur liathróid crua é an éascoilt nach bhféadfadh a scoilteadh níos faide, agus sin fáth an ainm. Tá a fhios againn anois go bhfuil cáithníní níos lú isteach. Tá {eithne} throim ann a bhfuil lucht tintrí deimhneach aici, agus timpeall uirthi, tá cáithnín amháin nó níos mó a bhfuil lucht diúltach air. Is é uisceghin an éascoilt is lú. Is cáithnín deimhneach amháin é a eithne, darb ainm {céadachán}. Tá cáithnín diúltach amuigh, darb ainm {tintreachán}. Tá troime ar an gcéadachán a 1840-oiread níos mó ná mar atá ag an tintreachán. Chreid na heolaithe san am fadó go bhfithisíonn trintreacháin thart ar an eithne, amhail an Domhain thart ar an Ghrian, ach tuigimid faoi láthair go bhfuil siad mar a bheadh tonnta nó scamaill ann.

Faightear cáithnín eile leis an gcéadachán i ngach éascoilt eile, chomh trom leis an gcéadachán ach gan lucht atá air, darb ainm {díbheochán}.

Tá fhios againn faoi chineál uisceghine ina bhfuil díbheochán amháin san eithne; agus tá dhá dhíbheocháin i gcineál eile. ach tá an dá chineál gann go deo.

Grianábhar is ea an gcéad dúil eile, a bhfuil dhá chéadachán agus dhá thintreacháin inti. Tá dhá dhíbheochán ag an ghnáthchineál. Má tá níos mó ná níos lú ann, beidh sé ag réab as a chéile go luath. Beidh níos mó sonraí faoi seo níos déanaí.

{Clochábhar} is ea an tríú dúil, trí chéadachán atá inti, agus a cuid féin díbheocháin. Agus mar sin de,

thar gnáthábhar mar gualach (sé chéadachán) nó iarann (sé is fiche)

go dúile a fhuarthas níos déanaí. Ba Nuadha-ábhar í an deireadh, gur thosaíomar ag déanamh cuid níos airde fós.

Is iad na tintreacháin a neascann éascoilteanna le chéile, mar sin socraíonn a n-ionnas cad é iompar na dúile agus cé na troimíní is féidir léi a dhéanamh. {Measceolaíocht} is ea an eolaíocht faoin iompar seo, dá ilchineál ar bith. Chonaic measceolaithe, fad a leanann an scéal na dúile ar aghaidh, go bhfuil tréithe ag formhór na ndúl cosúil le cinn atá rompu, in aiste athfhillteach.

Mar dheismireacht⁴, ní féidir le clochábhar (3), salannábhar (11),

Feamainnluaithábhar (19), deargábhar (37), ná seallghlasábhar (55) a nascadh ach le haon éascoilt uisceghine amháin, cé gur féidir le gualábhar (6), dragartábhar (14), uiledhuineábhar (22), stán (50), agus luaidhe (82) a nascadh le ceithre chinn. Feictear é seo go soiléir, má chuirtear gach dúil sa {chlár athfhillteach na ndúl}.

An tan a fhaigheann éascoilt tintreachán os cionn a cuid féin, tagann lucht diúltach uirthi. Tan a chailleann sí tintreacháin, tagann lucht deimhneach uirthi. {Fánaí} a thugtar ar a leithéid de cháithnín, mar cuirtear comhlúth air ag na luchtanna éagsúla. Tan a chomhlúthaíonn tintreacháin asaibh féin, is féidir leis a beith ann mar saighead gealáin, drithle de roinnt ábhair dhaingin, nó an gnáthshreabhadh tintreachán trí shuaithní⁵.

Maidir leis an éascoilt féin; tá níos mó céadacháin agus díbheocháin ag eithne níos troime. Agus tá na díbheocháin ina bhformhór go luath. {Comhaghaidheanna} a thugtar ar na héascoilteanna a bhfuil líon céanna céadachán ach líon éagsúil díbheochán uirthi. Mar sin, tá ocht ndíbheochán agus ocht gcéadachán ag gnáth-ghéarghin, ach tá cineálacha eile ann le cuig, sé, seacht, naoi, deich agus aon chéadachán déag. Cuirtear síos ar chomhaghaidheanna mar óghas⁶ an dá cháithnín eithne, mar sin tá géarghin-13, géarghin-14 agus mar sin de; ach tá géarghin-16 is gnáthúla go mór agus go fada. Ó tharla go bhfuil an líon céanna tintreachán agus céadachán acu, gníomhaíonn na comhaghaidheanna dúile ar an gcaoi chéanna ó thaobh measceolaíochta. Ach tá éagsúlachtaí beag eatarthu i ndáiríre, na dúil throime go háirithe, agus is féidir leas a bhaint astu, chun comhaghaidheanna a scagadh as a cheile.

Is gearr a mhaireann an cuid is mó de na comhaghaidheanna. Briseann a n-eithní as a cheile. Agus briseann gach ceann ar a luas féin, darb ainm {leathré}, eadh ón⁷, an t-am ina bhfuil leath de na héascoilteanna in athriocht.

{Meath gaghníomhach} a thugtar ar an athrú seo. Is féidir leis seo a tharlú go mall nó go tapa, agus i meathbhealach ar bith as na céadta dubha acu, ag brath ar airionna na heithne. Is féidir le heithne dhá chéadachán agus dhá dhibheochán a chur amach, eadh ón, eithne grianábhair, agus mar sin léimfidh sí síos dhá chéim ar an Chlár, agus ceithre throimí éascoilteacha. Is féidir leis tintreachán a chaith as díbheocháin, agus ar an gcaoi sin déanann céadachán den dhibheochán. Mar sin, ardaítear an éascoilt céim amháin ar an chlár, ach coinníonn sí a troime féin. Caitheann eithní áirithe {fritintreachán}, cáithnín chomh troime leis an dtintreachán is ea, ach tá lucht deimhneach air. Teilgtear í céim amháin síos ar a chlár mar sin, agus coinníonn sí a troime féin freisin.

Is chomh minic a chuirtear cáithnín amach atá gan lucht ná troime, darb ainm an {díbheochtáinín}. Agus cáithnín gile⁸ ina tonnfhad anghearr a thugtar le formhór de mheath gaghníomhach.

Cé go n-oibríonn gile mar tonn, formhór an ama, Is féidir a fheiceáil air mar cáithnín, an {gileagán}. Dúramar cheana féin, gur féidir le cáithnín ábhair a oibriú mar cloch ach mar tonn chomh maith. I measc na n-éascoilteanna, ní tharlaíonn eachtraí go leanúnach, ach titeann siad in éineacht, ag léimneach transa seasúna atá faoi chosc. Leagtar an smaoineamh seo amach ag {Dearcadh Léime}.

Agus murar leor sin, níl éagsúlacht ann idir ábhar agus fuinneamh. Ba chirte a rá gur ionann iad, agus is féidir ceachtar acu a bhaint as an ceann eile. Is ea an cothromú eatarthu gurb é fuinneamh an t-iolrach ábhair faoin ceathrú cumhacht luais na gile.

Chlaochlaigh eolaithe comhaghaidheanna dúile go dúil eile trí cáithníní a scaoileadh chun eithní. Mar sin, rinneadar learábhar agus donnábhar de nuadha-ábhar, agus chuadar tharstu seo. Is an-ghaghníomhach iad na dúil antroime agus ní fhaightear iad lastall de na ceartaibh na ndaoine.

Tá ard-chomhaidheanna áirithe {éagobhsaí}. Eadh ón, tan a bhuaileann díbheochán ar an eithne nuadha-ábhar-235, mar dheismireacht, briseann sí ina heithní níos lú agus saor-dhíbheocháin; agus is féidir leis an dara ceann níos mó nuadha-ábhar-235 a scoilt. Tan a tharlaíonn sé seo, déantar fuinneamh as troime. Ní a lán den céad troime, ach mar sin féin tá sé uafásach.

Má tá neart go leor ann, is féidir éascoilteanna éadroime a chomhleá. Sa ghrian, agus trí sraith bualtí, déantar éascoilt grianábhair de ceithre éascoilteanna uisceghine. Cialltear roinnt troime mar fuinneamh, agus arís, tá an fuinneamh go mór mór le taobh an fuinneamh a fhaightear ó imoibriú measceolaíocht mar tine.

Sa lá atá inniu ann, beartimid an dá ghnímh éascoiltí againn, le cogadh a fhógairt; agus tugann scoilteadh eithní teas agus tintríocht duinn. Tá súil againn déanamh mar an gcéanna le comhleá, agus is féidir leis coire ainsic⁹ a thabhairt le leas don chine daonna.

Is dócha go bhfuil na blianta mochta orainn!

¹ Dearcadh = Teoiric

² Seasamh Daingean = Pas Soladach

³ Tan (a bhfuil) = Nuair (a bhfuil)

⁴ Mar dheismireacht = Mar shampla

⁵ Suaithne = Sreang

⁶ Den Sean-ghaeilge "Ógus" = Lánsuim

⁷ (Gan ghá de réir na rialacha) Den Sean-ghaeilge "Éd ón" = Is é sin le rá... ("i.e.")

⁸ D'fhéadfadh "solas" a bheith ó Shean-Ioruais

⁹ Coire Ainsic, coire dofholmhaithe an Daghdha

#gaeilge #anglish

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