#irish examiner

[robdtsmith]

The greening of Gillespie Road: When Arsenal’s Irish held football in the palm of their hands

[buglaur]

trying to rebuild the reshade preset after the gshade catastrophe 

i miss her

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1847 – Letter published in the Cork Examiner.

“SIR– On Friday last, the day for distributing a scanty ration, a large body of those who have been looked upon as “able-bodied,” but who are now in reality infirm from hunger, assembled around the issue-shop, in the vain hope that a few “crumbs” might remain for them. Their hope was vain. Even some of those who were legally entitled to relief, did not get it; owing to the parsimonious economy of…

[theageoftheunderstatement]

Irish Examiner: Evolution of the species: Alex Turner of Arctic Monkeys on new album, The Car

Written by Alex Green, 19/10/2022

In the two decades since they formed in Sheffield, Arctic Monkeys have evolved. The band have gone from indie upstarts to stylish retro-rockers with a penchant for vintage pianos and high concepts.

It’s been a gradual process, but one that has seen the clattering guitars of barnstorming hits such as I Bet You Look Good On The Dance Floor and 505 firmly dropped in favour of lush strings, smooth jazz and soul.

The Car, the band’s seventh album, completes their latest transformation, refining the template set by its predecessor, 2018’s Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino — a concept album about a luxury resort on the moon. The band’s charming, sometimes inscrutable, frontman Alex Turner says their last release helped lay the groundwork.

“I would imagine at some point there was an intention to not go anywhere near science fiction-sounding things with this record — in the lyrics or the music,” he says, picking up the phone amid studio sessions for a special recording destined for radio.

“We may have successfully evaded science fiction in the music side,” he adds with a laugh. “But there are actually a few instances where a bit of that language hangs over from the last one, probably more than I even realised.

“There’s plenty about it that feels different to me from the last one. There’s a progression in the dynamics of the whole thing. Perhaps it executes those ideas more effectively.”

Turner speaks slowly and thoughtfully, and his turn of phrase is pleasingly similar to his cryptic, often abstract song lyrics. I ask if The Car is a spiritual successor to Tranquility Base — the creative process began in the same room in Los Angeles before his move back to London.

“I wouldn’t put up that much of a fight against that,” he says before a pause. “I can’t emphatically subscribe to that idea but I can’t totally oppose it either.”

Work on the album began in earnest in summer 2021, when the band came together at Butley Priory, a 14th century monastery turned wedding venue in a remote part of Suffolk.

“That was the first time we had been back together all at once, for what felt like a really long time,” he explains. “There may have been time between the end of the tour in 2019 and the session in Suffolk when we were all together but it was really swift. It felt like we hadn’t had that energy that you get with the collective for a really long time. Definitely, the excitement was palpable.”

On The Car, Turner sings of jet skis, photoshoots and mirrorballs, a dusty and creaking vision of fame — and a more grown-up version of the adolescent angst of early Arctic Monkeys records.

One album it bears resemblance to, Turner suggests, is Nat King Cole's Where Did Everyone Go?, a sensational collection of ballads from 1963.

“There are important parts of this record that are instrumental and often in the writing process they preceded a lot of the lyrics certainly, or any of the vocal ideas,” he says. “The top of the record starts with one of them. There’s a few of them right throughout the thing. It sometimes feels like those bits have aspirations outside of a pop song — and the record is me dragging them back towards a pop song.”

He adds with a dry laugh: “That’s what I would put in my review anyway.”

The Car is also seeped in film and cinematography. In fact, Turner shot the There’d Better Be A Mirrorball video on 60mm camera during their Suffolk recording sessions. Back in 2019 he had read a book called In The Blink Of An Eye, by the Oscar-winning film editor and sound designer Walter Murch, who worked on Apocalypse Now and The Godfather trilogy.

“There’s definitely stuff when I think about things that he said in that book, and I think about this project. There was definitely a post-production phase that was elongated or prolonged … If I am thinking of that as the edit, we have this ‘shoot’ on location, if you like, in Suffolk last summer and then that was part of it.

“We went to another studio and did a bunch more overdubs. But then I felt like there was this period where we spent time putting all the sessions together. I’ve never edited a movie before but I imagine you could draw some parallels perhaps between it.”

Just a few months ago the band played confident headline sets at Reading and Leeds festivals, as well as Electric Picnic, prompting rave reviews.

At the UK gigs at least, the crowd was largely made up of teenagers too young to have experienced the band during its formative years — a new generation presumably converted by 2013’s chart-conquering AM.

Some tracks from their early days still feature in their sets, such as the mosh pit-prompting …Dance Floor.

“It really depends,” offers Turner, when asked how his relationship to those songs has changed. “I suppose that (Dance Floor) has never really been benched. It’s always been in there so it’s evolved incrementally over the last 15 years or whatever.

“The version of Dance Floor now, it almost feels like that one is a separate thing because it’s just always in there. Some of the other ones we rested for a while. This summer we were playing Ritz To The Rubble and it felt like that doesn’t come as naturally as it once did.

“There have been moments where it has felt like you are doing a cover, but I don’t think it feels like that any more. We have gone through that phase possibly. It’s something else now.

Turner is now regarded by many as one of most significant frontmen of the 21st century, and his album-to-album transformations have led to comparisons with David Bowie.

He says it’s rare that he ever looks back at the Arctic Monkeys’ catalogue as one cohesive whole.

“There was a time before this record where we were listening to some of the other ones to try and get an understanding,” he says. “But when you do that it doesn’t, to me anyway, seem that dramatic a shift between them all. Maybe if you look at the show, it would probably look really different over the years, but I’ve never done that. And even that, it’s happening over 200 nights. It changes into something else.

“I don’t think it’s a ‘sit down in the boardroom and this is what we are going to do now’ sort of thing. It’s all gradual. When you listen to the records back to back — like I said, it’s not something that I do quarterly, but I have given some attention to that twice maybe in the last 15 years — it all seems like it’s the same band to me. But you may disagree with that.”

Another mammoth tour and a likely number one, how does Turner motivate himself at the top, and where do Arctic Monkeys go from here?

“I suppose it depends on how you are looking at it. I don’t think I’ve thought about it like that — if I ever did — for a really long time. Because I don’t know if that is how it works in this band.

“To think about it like that is almost as if the big show is some sort of trophy, which it doesn’t feel like it is — or ought to be.

“To suggest there wouldn’t be anywhere to go after playing Glastonbury for the first time suggests it’s this trophy that you’re going to put up. I don’t think it feels like that from where I’m standing.”

[ndlslicences]

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[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"WANTED PLACE OF WOMAN SENTENCED TO A TERM IN JAIL," Toronto Star. June 10, 1912. Page 2. ---- But Magistrate Denison Would Not Allow Thomas Doyle to Make the Sacrifice ---- AS SHE IS NOT HIS WIFE ---- J. R. Kelly, Three and a Half; Terry Sheridan, Three, and Jas. Mulhall, Four Years. ---- "Listen, listen, Denison, convict me, don't convict her. I don't want that woman sent down. Let me take her place."

Thomas Doyle made a rush from where he stood at the defendant's railing up to the witness box, where Mrs. Mary Jane McKeagan had just been convicted of fraud, and very courageously suggested that he take the woman's place. However, it was the woman, not the man, who had been guilty of false pretences, so the sacrifice couldn't be accepted. Besides, it was stated the man had just lived with her, without the formality of a marriage.

The trouble was the old one where Mrs. McKeagan bought furniture from the Bedeil Company by instalment and resold it to Mary Douglas.

"Of course," the woman offered defence, "if anybody had asked me I would have told how it stood."

"You'll be convicted. Thirty days," was the magistrate's reply. Then Doyle made his plea. He had been charged jointly, but the woman had done all the dealing, so the charge against him was dismissed.

A house of ill-fame holding forth in Christopher street has been broken up by plainclothesmen from No. Division. Charles Marco, keeper, goes to the Central for six months: Annie Duggan, thirty days. and Dominic Marader, inmate, thirty days, in jail.

Drunk While Driving. John McIntosh was drunk yesterday while driving a horse and buggy. This morning he paid five dollars for so doing.

John Flanagan was also drunk yesterday in charge of a horse and rig. Five dollars and costs or fifteen days was the punishment meted out by Magistrate Ellis this morning. As the magistrate would not give him until to-morrow to get the money, he went downstairs.

Alex Burns is one of a gang of young men who frequent Allen Gardens, taking flasks and bottles with them. Saturday night he was drunk in the park. This morning he paid $2 and costs.

Antonio Bayard was indignant when he was called a vagrant. The police say he guides strangers to Centre avenue dives. He was given $20 and costs or sixty days, and went down.

Three Burglars Sent Down. The three burglars captured on Friday night by Detectives Taylor and Twigg two hours after they had broken into A. Fine's store at Queen and Simcoe streets and stolen several suits and odd clothing. came before Magistrate Denison for sentence. All had already pleaded guilty, but the remand was made to look up their records. The men were: John A. Kelly [pictured, top], James Mulhall [pictured, middle], and Terry Sheridan [pictured, bottom], and all had several prior convictions ranging from a few days to two years.

A fresh charge was laid against Mulhall, to which he pleaded guilty, the theft of four vests from the Alexander furnishing store at Queen and Brock avenue.

"I'll break you up a bit when you get out, anyway," the magistrate concluded, "Kelly, three and a half years in the penitentiary, Mulhall, four years; Sheridan, three years."

The charge of passing three bad checks, totaling $27.60, issued on the Crown Bank at College and Spadina, is being pressed against Wm. McNobb, the complainant being Stanley Ritter, meat dealer in St. Lawrence market. "McNabb was driving and collecting for him." Detective McConnell informed, "and the complaint is that he collected money, kept it, and turned in the bad checks instead."

Upon a plea of not guilty, the case waits a day to brink the bank's statement.

Morrison Acquitted. The complaint Mrs. Margaret Ogden, of 176 Christie street, was urging against Wm. Morrison was that when he came to the house to pack furniture for a storage company they found him in a wrong room.

"And twenty dollars was missing from a trunk. He had no right upstairs, and this happened after we had insisted upon an honest man being sent," Mrs. Ogden stated. Pressed as to how she got the money, complainant said she was a nurse and earned five of it as undertaker's commission.

"Never took a cent of it," declared Morrison very positively, and the employer added the recommendation that every day for some months Morrison had been afforded the chance of stealing, but never had. The charge was dismissed.

Woman Fell, Not Beaten. Charles Fuller, colored, came into the police court still wearing his stock-in-trade, a sign: "Please Help the Blind." The complainant was Annie Pancer, with her head still wrapped as a result of what happened a week ago.

"Knocked me over with his cane," the woman informed. Then she admitted that possibly she was too intoxicated to be sure. They had lived together.

"In the morning I gave her forty cents to get her shoes mended," Fuller stated. "She bought beer instead."

Under the circumstances Faller's statement was accepted, that Annie fell and cracked her head against the door. Dismissed.

Mrs. Elizabeth Archer. who attempted to take her own life by jumping into Coatsworth Cut, appeared in the morning Police Court, charged with attempted suicide.

As they Crown stated that they wished her mentality tested, a week's remand was arranged.

Fined For Selling Liquor. A police visit to the Occidental Hotel, Heintzman and Dundas streets resulted in the seizure of 478 Lottles of beer, and a conviction against Fred McKeown, proprietor, of having liquor for sale illegally. The fine was $20.

From Saturday till Monday Elsie Saint was domestic in the house of Mrs. Annie Cooper, at 145 Arthur street, and her labors much resembled house-cleaning. What she admitted stealing was: a gold watch chain, $18, a feather, gloves, and smaller articles. The sister, Emily Saint, who had visited her on Sunday, was also placed under arrest by Detective McConnel., but her plea in the Police Court was not guilty.

"At the time of arrest," the officer told the court, "Emily was wearing the ostrich plume and the gloves. They were taken in the street."

Following her request a remand was arranged for Monday.

Oscar Davidson's theft was a small one, but his record was proportionately large. He had stolen a bicycle from Bay street and was arrested by Detective Jarvis, when he tried to sell it on Queen west.

"Eight prior convictions," the officer stated, "from two to six months."

And the man is still young in appearance. Davidson now goes to the Central for one year.

[AL: Kelly was 26, born of Irish immigrant parents in the Toronto area, a common laborer, and a jailbird like the others. He was convict #F-406 at Kingston Penitentiary and worked in hard labour jobs like the stone pile. He was reported twice in 1913 - once in February and again in November, and both times lost remission and spent weeks in solitary confinement. Mulhall had been in penitentiary before and would come back again. He was 29, also born of Irish immigrant parents, and worked in a broom factory. He was convict #F-405 and worked in the carpentry shop at Kingston Penitentiary. He was reported once in March 1915 and lost 5 days remission. Sheridan was also a jail bird, 33, a baker by trade. He was convict #F-407 and worked in the kitchen. He was never reported for infractions. Kelly was released in very late 1915, Mulhall in 1916, and Sheridan was paroled in 1915.]

[eddisonpearson]

Mary Murphy's eagerly-awaited first novel is out now. A Sarah Odedina Book from Pushkin Children's designed by Jet Purdie, The Minute Minders is written and fully illustrated by Mary Murphy.

"The world that Murphy creates is captivating. The Minute Minders is a treat for all ages." ― Patricia Forde, Laureate na nÓg "A fresh take on the 'tiny person' theme with a beautiful empathetic message!" ― Harriet Muncaster, author of the Isadora Moon series “The Minute Minders by Mary Murphy is a funny, sweet fantasy adventure about fidders, tiny people who help humans. Illustrated by Murphy throughout, it’s perfect for age 8+. (Or to read aloud to 7+)” — Sarah Webb "A book with heart and humour and a bit of jeopardy, served up with a light touch and a wink." ― A.F. Harrold

"A timeless classic in the making and so full of heart." — NetGalley reviewer

"A delightful tale full of many messages and themes which would lend itself to being a class story time book. I can't wait to buy my own copy to share with my class as I'm certain they'll enjoy it as much as I did." — NetGalley reviewer

"Now that I have finished this book, I am not just going to leave it on the shelf but will keep reading it over and over again." — Books Up North review by Emaan, aged 7

"‘The Minute Minders’ is a completely captivating, thoroughly enjoyable read, full of warmth and humour ... Stevie is a wonderful character … Her relationship with her father is beautifully captured … Mary Murphy’s world building is brilliant." ― Through the Bookshelf

"Mary Murphy's first chapter book for older readers is a delightful story ... Readers will be transported into a magical world that closely resembles ours ... Highlighting the importance of friendship, this story shows how a little bit of kindness and care can go a long way and how the actions we take, even if just for a minute, can make a world of difference." — Inis Magazine (Children's Books Ireland) review by Elanur Eroglu Williams

"The Minute Minders is a wonderful middle-grade debut novel. A heartwarming and captivating story which is full of adventure, fantasy and empathy. I love the hidden messages throughout about never giving up which will not only support younger readers but educate them as well ... about checking in on people, supporting them and making small changes to improve our mental-wellbeing which is something we could all do with doing even from a young age. The illustrations are just stunning and really help to bring this fabulous story to life. ... The Minute Minders is a perfect book for upper primary libraries and classrooms and is a great match for fans of books by Cressida Cowell, RJ Palacio and Andy Shepherd." — Emma Suffield, blogger, Waterstones Senior Bookseller and SLA School Librarian of the Year 2018

"With soft pencil illustrations throughout, Murphy’s first longer book for older readers has the cosy feel of a new classic." ― The Irish Examiner

"The Minute Minders, a richly imaginative tale from Mary Murphy, takes the ‘little person’ framework and imbues it with new life. ... Some children’s books prove especially hard acts to follow. Any story about tiny people secretly interacting with human beings, for example, is fated to draw comparisons with Mary Norton’s beloved series The Borrowers (1952), which told the story of a family of such people who live clandestinely in the walls and floor of an old English house. ("Borrowers don’t steal… except from human beings.") The Minute Minders, an enchanting debut novel by Mary Murphy, is also about tiny people – and it is to Murphy’s great credit that it doesn’t feel borrowed at all." ― The Telegraph; review by Emily Bearn, 17th January 2024

"This is the first book in a series, told through Stevie's frank and funny voice." — The Week Junior; Book of the Week review, 27th January 2024

"In the tradition of Borrowers, Minpins and flits, fidders are tiny people who live alongside humans. But fidders are there expressly to help, putting thoughts into heads to nudge people in directions that will make them happy, fulfil their dreams, save their lives. They can also communicate with cats and dogs, and they have various jobs: some reveal truth, some inspire creativity, and “minute minders” have one minute to solve problems. Stevie is a ten-year-old fidder who lives with her dad, and gets him into trouble by breaking the rules of interactions with humans, which leads to tasks on which their livelihood and dream holiday depend. These include helping two lonely children to find each other and deal with a bully. This delightful book has empathy, sweet pictures, a virtuoso meta ending, and a good deal of wise advice." — The Sunday Times best books for children 2024; Children's Book of the Week review by Nicolette Jones, 28th January

[burnthybread]

im swat of the century currently

[hamliet]

Derry Girls: A Masterclass in Detailed, Thematic Writing

Several years after the end, I finally watched Derry Girls, and it's become one of my favorite shows. Not only for the way it captures the absolutely unhinged aspects of Irish families (askmehowiknow) but for the sheer writing skill.

The vast majority of the episodes are laugh-out-loud hilarious, while also offering insightful commentary on the Troubles and on humanity's foibles as a whole. The characters are allowed to be human and act in unlikable, unsanitized ways, and to still be human and come back from that. (Almost like a metaphor for the Troubles or something.)

The story is also incredibly detailed; for example, when the girls are accused of killing a nun and Erin points out the nun was like, 98 years old and askes "might that shed some light on the situation?" there's an hourglass behind Sister Michael--emphasizing the idea that her time was up. Even more than that... the window is behind the hourglass, literally shining a light on it.

But that's a micro level. On a macro level, I also appreciated the way the story discusses the political backdrop that is part of its premise. Even as Erin, Michelle, James, Clare, and Orla grow up in a place that's been in a state of low-level warfare for decades, they live full lives. In fact, that's kinda the point.

Case in point: episode 4 of the first season, wherein Erin gets an exchange student from Chernobyl. The way the Northern Irish in general treat the Ukrainians is hilariously awful and patronizing, believing that they are giving them a respite from the troubles "over there" while Northern Ireland isn't in a much better state. But, as Sister Michael assures the Ukrainian students, the Irish troubles don't matter because "we're the goodies."

This line gets to the heart of what the episode is saying about political divisions and the way people view an "other." Everyone sees themselves as the "goodies." Because of that, they don't self-examine and wind up hurting the people they see themselves as wanting to help/save with their ignorance. It's a paradoxical egotistical (and frankly teenage) worldview that is also unwilling to look critically at oneself. The focus on their own perceptions over focusing on the actual humanity of the other results in ruining gifts that could come with cross-culture interaction, as seen in how Erin's misunderstandings and petty jealousy of Katya leads to her literally ruining a surprise gift Katya had prepared.

And the end of the episode also comments thematically on the story. One of the Ukrainian boys turns out not to be Ukrainian after all--he's actually Irish and from just down the road. He just didn't know how to say that. The ironic message is clear: despite differences in culture and views, they are actually all human beings, and assumptions make it hard for people to speak. If they could actually talk openly and without presumptions about who is "good" and who is "bad," they could prevent and solve a lot of problems.

This kind of background, symbolic commentary on the Troubles continues in just about every episode of the series. For example, even after the ceasefire, season 3 has an episode where it's discussed how negotiations are stalling, and the entirely of the rest of the episode takes place on a train that stalls between two separate places.

The Troubles are always something affecting their lives, but the only time the Troubles ever become the main story is in the finale episode. Which is also an episode that makes everyone cry. Michelle's brother is finally mentioned for the first time the entire series, yet it doesn't feel like a retcon so much as a recontextualization, and again mirrors how a lot of society (and Michelle's own family) have treated those who murdered others during the conflict.

Erin and James' relationship also works as a metaphor for the Troubles--an Irish Catholic girl and an English boy. Earlier in season 3, after they finally kiss, they're told they can't be together, that it's wrong, and that it'll create problems for everyone around them. Michelle doesn't want things to change. And Erin agrees that it's not good to pursue something.

But, in the final scenes, as Erin prepares to vote in the Good Friday Agreement and talks to James, she directly states she thinks things can't stay the same forever--thereby countering what she said to reject James earlier:

There's a part of me that wishes everything could just stay the same. That we could all just stay like this forever. There's a part of me that doesn't really want to grow up. I'm not sure I'm ready for it. I'm not sure I'm ready for the world. But things can't stay the same, and they shouldn't. No matter how scary it is, we have to move on, and we have to grow up, because things... well, they might just change for the better. So we have to be brave. And if our dreams get broken along the way... we have to make new ones from the pieces.

Symbolically, also, given that we know the outcome of the Good Friday Agreement, I think it's pretty clear Erin and James end up together even if we're not directly shown it.

That the last shot of the episode (besides the funny epilogue) is Grandda Joe, one of the eldest characters, helping his youngest toddler granddaughter Anna leap over a threshold as they leave the voting station, is also incredibly clear in its symbolism.

Erin: People died. Innocent people died, Grandda. They were someone's mother, father, daughter, son. Nothing can ever make that okay. And the people who took those lives, they're just gonna walk free? What if we do it, and it's all for nothing? What if we vote yes and it doesn't even work? Grandda Joe: And what if it does? What if no one else has to die? What if this all becomes a--a ghost story you'll tell your wee-un's some day? A ghost story they'll hardly believe?

I dunno, I think this is a sentiment we need more of in the world. A peaceful future means taking risks and accepting that punitive justice will not be perfectly doled out; however, if you allow more people to be hurt, is that not also injustice? It's a paradox that the story leaves us without a dogmatic answer to (for example, we never find out if Michelle's brother gets released), but it's also hopeful--because we know that the Good Friday Agreement largely worked.

(For further analysis of the final scene, I recommend PillarofGarbage's analysis on YouTube!)

[baeksqt]

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 - aitana bonmatí

aitana bonmatí x fem!reader

(a/n: oooh guess who’s posting a 6 month old piece dedicated to her boo, yep me, hopefully this doesn’t feel so long winded -_-)

word count: 918

genre: fluff

The trumpets of soft jazz accompanied your hums whilst your face sat inches away from your bedroom wall. With a slight ache in your back and a steady hand, you meticulously painted, the paintbrush moving over the same spot repeatedly, while your glasses slowly slid down the bridge of your nose.

The task of painting a mural for your newborn niece's bedroom, as requested by your sister, was no small undertaking. Utilising your time after work to visit, despite the demands, and hopefully make some decent progress. A week had passed and now, once again, you were sitting hunched over adding details. With your loyal Irish terrier, Dulce, sleeping soundly in your lap, occasionally stirring whenever you shifted positions.

The tranquillity of the bedroom is interrupted by a gentle knock at the door. You look to your left and the corners of your lips upturn. Seeing your girlfriend Aitana standing at the door, her hair in her usual relaxed ponytail, dressed in comfortable grey sweats.

"I thought you might have snuck Dulce in here with you." She quipped with a soft chuckle, looking at her watch as the clock hit 8:30pm.

You start to shift in your seat, intending to get up and greet the Barcelona player, before realising that Dulce is nestled between your legs, letting out a low grumble of disapprovement. You quickly settle back down, opting to stay put.

Aitana stood quietly behind you, her gaze fixed on the mural taking shape before her, the adorable zoo scene slowly coming together as you filled in the giraffe's spots. Above your head, you heard an approving hum, and then Aitana's encouraging voice, "You're doing well, chica. It's looking good!" She leaned in to examine the baby elephant on the wall. You release a doubtful sigh as you painted but your girlfriend was having none of it. "Don't be like that, amor meu! You're almost done." Aitana patting your thigh as she was now sitting next to you, "You don't know it yet, but your sister is currently bragging to her friends about you on the phone." Throwing you a knowing glance before resting her head on your shoulder.

You pause for a moment, the paintbrush resting lightly in your hand, looking up at the colourful, vast wall. As your eyes roam the wall, they come to rest on your girlfriend, nestled on your shoulder, her eyes closed in a state of wakefulness and slumber.

"I can hear your thoughts from here," Aitana mumbles quietly as you carefully set down your paintbrush, lifting Dulce out of your lap and glancing over at her. She stirs slightly, still half-asleep, and then continues, "relax." Her voice is gentle but firm as you unintentionally wake her from her short slumber as you stand up.

As Aitana observed, you stretched and vigorously mixed paints together in an attempt to find the perfect shade of blue. She then turned to the bedside table and quickly retrieved a new paintbrush.

"What can I help you with?" Aitana asked with a slight smile. You look up at her bewildered, surprised at her sudden involvement, considering that she hadn't shown much interest in the mural in the last couple of days.

"Uh...well the butterflies in this corner still need to be completed," you used the end of your paintbrush to point at the lightly sketched butterflies that fluttered across the wall, "that is, if you can reach." you teased your girlfriend.

Aitana, now pouting, threw a miserable glance, not taking kindly to the playful jab. "There's a step stool by the crib." you motioned to the oak crib behind the two of you.

"...Or I do the butterflies and you can finish the tiger—" you began to offer.

"No, no. I'll do the butterflies! I can reach perfectly fine." a smug look appeared on Aitana's face, turning away from you to retrieve the step stool.

As you and your girlfriend focused intently on your respective sections of the mural, time seemed to slip away unnoticed. Idle conversations about work and football filled the air until you suddenly became aware of Aitana approaching. With a mischievous grin on her face, she swiftly swiped her paintbrush across your cheek, leaving a streak of pastel pink in its wake.

"Lighten up, chica!" she planted a gentle kiss on your forehead, having to stand on her tiptoes to reach you.

Surprised and amused, you quickly retaliated by dragging your own blue-coated paintbrush across Aitana's forehead, eliciting a playful squeal from her. Dipping your hand into your palette, preparing to imprint your handprint onto your girlfriend's sweatshirt, before being interrupted by the sudden sensation of paint being splattered across your shirt.

You both gasped, meeting each other's wide-eyed gaze, recalling the mural that overlook you. "Aitana!" you hissed, scanning the mural in a panic for any paint splashes. "Amor meu, it's completely fine!" Aitana pointed at the mural with a smile.

"Completely—" the Barca player's expression fell as she ran her index finger across the pastel blue background of the wall, leaving a harsh pink line across, almost touching the giraffe. "Fine." You finish her sentence, blinking twice, hoping the mark would magically disappear.

Before either of you could say anything more, the knock at the bedroom door caught your attention. You turn to see your heavily pregnant sister standing in the doorway, a hopeful smile sitting on her cheeks before catching the sight of you and your girlfriend from your shenanigans.

"The mural's not done isn't it?"

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1846 – Cork Examiner Reports on ‘An Gorta Mor’ Deaths.

“In the letter of an “Out-Door Pauper” from Macroom, will be found the recital of the death at Sleaven, from famine, of a poor woman, returning from the Workhouse, where she and her children had received their daily meal. The Tallow Relief Committee, in a resolution just forwarded to the Lord LIEUTENANT and which we give elsewhere, announce the death of another man, named KEEFFE, of Kilbeg, who…

[houseofripley]

Hotel Hell - Part Two

Rhea Ripley x Fem!Reader

Part One Pinterest

WARNINGS: SMUT, 18+, Fighting, Shoving, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, MAKEUP SEX

WORD COUNT: 3,812

A/N: omg i am sorry this took me years to finish, life has been busy but it should calm down soon. i got such a good request the other day and i haven't gotten it off my mind so i will start that tmrw if i have time. also i proofread this at 2am so please ignore any mistakes lol

“The Brutalization Chamber? You want to know what The Brutalization Chamber is?” The Irish man laughed out, his eyebrows raising once you turned your gaze towards him. 

An expression of curiosity displayed on your face as you repeated the name of the supposed ‘chamber’. It was obvious to the man that you wanted to know more.

The man began making his way down the stairs, “No offense sweetheart…but I don’t really think this is the place for a girl li-” He tried to speak before being cut off.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

“I don’t really care what you think sir, I want you to show me what's down there.” You chirped out, following the male down the flight of stairs, your hand hovering over your aching ribs.

“Well shit, if you insist,” The guy chuckled out, “Feisty, she’ll like you.” He muttered under his breath as he opened the door. 

She’ll like you…was he talking about the same ‘she’ you had spent your night with? The same woman who just got done unleashing pure cruelty onto you? The same woman who disappeared into this exact building moments ago?

“Name’s Finn by the way,” He mentioned, “It’s just us, the big boss is probably around here somewhere as well.” Finn spoke as you scanned the room looking for ‘the big boss’.

Grimy was the only way to portray the room. Rope lights scattered across the ceiling, some were dim while others flickered. There were freezing concrete walls with cracks littered all over. A red neon sign displaying the letters ‘TBC’. A blood stained ring sat taking up a quarter of the room. Various pieces of gym equipment and punching bags were compressed into a room off to the side. 

“So…just a gym?” You questioned the man, there was no sign of Rhea.

“Nah, it’s a little more than just a gym love…think of it as a fight club. A fight club with a fuck ton of money involved.” Finn stated leading into a room the size of a walk-in closet, the room seemingly being a pathetic excuse of a nurses office. 

You leaned against the door frame while Finn babbled on as he started unpacking his bag, “People come to us in desperate need for money. They’re entered into our roster, put in the ring and bet on. If they win their match they get fifty percent of all bets placed. Bunch of sick wealthy men love wasting their fortune on this shit.”

“Don’t you think this is just a tad bit illegal?” You chuckled, sending a small wave of pain to your ribs.

“Eh I don’t worry about that too often,” Finn shrugged, digging around his duffle. “Rhea’s not too worried about the legalities when there's this much money involved, she can pay her way out of damn near anything.”

Rhea.

Despite your pain you perked up at the mention of Rhea’s name although you stayed silent.

“Rhea would like you, you’re quiet but there's just something about you, like there’s a fire inside you.” Finn mentioned, pointing at you. “I would introduce you to her but earlier this afternoon one of her top guys lost her like seven thousand. She stormed off to god knows where. Another one of her main guys has a big match in about half an hour. Going up against some new kid we’ve never seen so I’m sure she’s busy worrying her ass off.”

You heard a scoff echo from the main room as footsteps approached. “Jesus fucking christ Finn! Do you ever shut your goddamn mouth?” You heard Rhea sarcastically laugh trying to cover her anger.

You slowly turned to face Rhea, examining her tensed jaw and narrowed eyes. Reality had finally washed over you. The weight of Rhea’s actions flooded into your brain. You couldn’t figure out if you felt more betrayal or anger in the moment.

“Ah! Rhea mate!” Finn exclaimed, trying to divert from Rhea’s critiques. “I was just telling this young lady how much you’d like her…I never caught her name though.” 

Your face turned to the ground as you tried to mutter out your name. “We’ve met.” Rhea butted in, her voice was fully flat-devoid of any sign of emotion. That’s when the regret hit you. 

You shouldn't have come here.

“I should leave…it seems you guys have a busy night.” You muttered quietly. Rhea took a firm grasp on your forearm, “That can wait, let’s go have a chat.” Rhea said as her head motioned towards what you assumed to be her office.

“No, I-I can come back another time, I really don’t want to be a bother.” You barely managed to stutter out while Rhea’s middle and pointer finger of her opposite hand guided your chin up, forcing you to look at her. “I said let’s go have a chat.” Rhea commanded, her grip on your arm tightening. 

You reluctantly followed the woman as she dragged you in the direction of her office. You knew you were in for it big time.

“You are a fucking insane bitch! What could have possibly made you think it was okay to fucking show up to this place?!” Rhea lashed out at you the moment the latches of her door clicked together. She dropped your arm before shoving you towards the other side of the room. You had been lucky enough to catch your balance as you were just inches away from barreling into the concrete walls.

“I just wanted to learn more! I wanted to figure you out Rhea! Can you blame me for wanting to figure out why you’re so angry and cruel every time I see you?” You said loudly, your voice filled with hurt.

“That doesn't give you the goddamn right to follow me to where I work! You don’t fucking get it, these people I work with are dangerous and I don’t want you getting caught up in this bullshit!” Rhea retorted out as her breaths began picking up speed.

“What makes you think I’m so incompetent that I’m incapable of being around danger?! You put me in danger nearly every fucking time I see you! ” Your hands flew around as you yelled at the woman, tears accumulating in your eyes. 

Rhea began inching towards you, a look of irritation covering her face. “I don’t fucking put you in danger!”

“Yes you fucking do! You have no idea how many bruises you’ve left me with. The other month you choked me till I passed out, yet you didn’t stop fucking me to check if I was okay! For fucks sake Rhea, an hour ago you left me bleeding and collapsed to the floor!!” All hell had broken loose between the two of you as your tears started escaping from you.

“You told me you could take it! I don’t get why you’re bitching and moaning all of the sudden.” Rhea continued arguing.

Your fist crashed down onto Rhea’s nearby desk, “I can take it rough, but you can’t keep disappearing after being borderline torturous! You’re so damn immature!!” Your screaming matched showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.

“I’m immature? You’re the one that followed me to my job and is throwing a tantrum right now!” Rhea’s voice thundered around the room. 

“You don’t get it Rhea! I’m a fucking person and you dont give a shit about me! Why don’t you fucking care?!” You yelled through broken sobs as you started unleashing your sadness and anger onto Rhea, pushing and beating on her chest. 

Rhea made no attempt to stop you. She made no moves, just allowing you to inflict your pain onto her. 

Once your hands had dropped to your sides in exhaustion and your breaths became heavier as you tried calming yourself down Rhea quietly mumbled, “I do care…”

“But you don’t…” You looked up at her with wide eyes, lifting your shirt. You exposed your aching torso displaying your cut up skin, dried blood pooled around your laceration and the letters of Rhea’s name carved into your skin. “Someone who cares doesn't do this and run away.” You quietly said, your voice strained from the screaming match.

The regret in her eyes was apparent as she darted her eyes away from you. The realization she had gone too far had hit her hard, feeling as if she was being crashed into by an eighteen-wheeler. 

Her vulnerability was short lived, Rhea quickly repressed her display of emotion, replacing it with her regular cold and emotionless stare. She had to put on her tough guy attitude. It was her only safety blanket. Emotions are for the weak, Rhea could never be weak.

“You get worse every time I see you, something has to change Rhea…” You breathed out, trying to articulate your speech as you lowered your shirt back down. “If you can’t fix this behavior I’m done.” 

“You know you don’t mean that.” Rhea sighed as she ran her hand through her black hair. She didn’t want to lose you but she could never admit that. “I need to think about…everything. Just give me a some t-” 

Rhea was cut off by a deep voice from outside the door. “Ten minutes till the bell Rhea.” Rhea rolled her eyes and made her way to the door, “Just give me some fucking time Damian! And go get a roll of gauze from Finn. Quickly.” Rhea demanded after opening the door just a sliver. 

You clenched your jaw as you sensed Rhea’s levels of anger were once again rising. The last thing you wanted was to end up back at square one with her. You couldn’t handle another argument with her. Not tonight at least. 

The pair of you stood in silence as you waited for the man to return. Once he had arrived he opened the door, handing Rhea the roll of fabric. His eyes curiously examining you through the crack in the door. 

“I’ll be out in a minute…” Rhea aggressively muttered before closing the door. She mumbled your name under her breath before walking to her desk.

 “You’re lucky Finn showed up early, only God knows what could have happened to you if one of the other guys showed up before him.” Rhea grunted as she unlocked a drawer and began rummaging through the mess inside. 

What is it about her?

“Why such a dark line of work? What made you choose this of all things?” You questioned, you were terrified to set her off but on the other hand you wanted to push for answers from her. It was the only way to get your foot into the door of her life.

Rhea stumbled her way towards you avoiding eye contact, a tube of antibacterial gel in her hand as she shrugged. “Not something you choose. You’re born into it and can’t escape it, you just have to accept it and make the best out of it.” She mumbled while she lifted your shirt up. 

Rhea applied a small glob of the antibacterial gel to her finger while she lowered herself to her knees, becoming face to face with your shredded skin. The woman began dabbing the gel onto your skin causing  you to let out a small hiss from the pain.

Once she finished applying all of the gel she wiped the residue from her fingers onto her pant leg and grabbed the roll of gauze. Rhea cleared her throat before speaking up, “Just stay in here for a while, I can take you home after this match.”

“I’m perfectly capable of walking home by myself, Rhea.” You stated, watching Rhea carefully wrap the gauze around your waist.

“I’m walking you home and that’s final.” Rhea stood her ground, “Seriously though, just stay in here. I’ll be back.”

You weren’t planning on fighting about this with her, deciding to keep your mouth shut you let her take the win. “Fine, whatever.” You gave in as Rhea tied a knot in the gauze to hold it in place. 

“Shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes.” Was all Rhea had said as she stood up. Nothing else left her lips as she exited the room. 

No apology?

You groaned as you sat down in Rhea’s large chair. You blankly stared at the wall for several minutes before your mind started to wander. Exploring anything that popped into your head. Places, things, people, Rhea. 

If you were being honest with yourself you were doubting the woman's ability to change her ways. You assumed she would most likely be this way her whole life, although you prayed she had it in herself to change. She had the potential to be great if she would put her pride aside.

It wasn't long until the cheers of the crowd on the opposite side of the door had started drowning out your thoughts. 

You wanted to catch a glimpse of the madness. You stood up from the large chair, your feet scuffing the ground as you strolled to the door

You cracked the door open, taking a peek of the ring surrounded by a flock of rowdy men that were yelling. The large man you made eye contact with earlier was in the ring brutalizing a much smaller guy who couldn’t even be older than twenty-five. He was putting on one hell of a fight but it was clear he stood no chance.

Rhea was the only woman there, she was stood right against the ring watching intensely. She had caught your image in the corner of her eyes. Her face turned in your direction, she tilted her head as if she was asking you what the hell you were doing.

You mouthed the word sorry to her before quickly closing the door. 

Fifteen excruciatingly boring minutes had passed, the cheers had dispersed into muffled conversations. Rhea had finally arrived back in her office. She seemed content which you enjoyed. 

“You ready to go?” Rhea asked, you answered with a simple nod.

As the two of you made your way out of the building Rhea exchanged goodbyes with some of the strange men.

The entire walk was silent, the both of you reflecting on the weird night you had been through together. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, it was almost peaceful. Having Rhea in your presence when she was somewhat calm was pleasant. You wanted to hold onto this peacefulness for the rest of your life.

It took you by surprise when Rhea insisted on taking you directly to your door instead of just dropping you off in the front of the large building and ditching. 

“You didn’t need to take me all the way up here.” You quietly mumbled as you unlocked the door to your apartment. “Lot’s of bad people around this time of night.” Rhea muttered as your door swung open. 

You turned around to face the woman, her eyes peering over your head, scanning the entry of your apartment. “There’s bad people around all times of the day. I’m used to it.” You said quietly, her eyes returning to you.

An awkward silence filled the air as the both of you gazed upon each other. Rhea began rubbing her neck, “Uh…I should go. I’m gonna go.” She feebly stated before turning away from you, quickly walking down the hall. She had stormed off before you could even speak up.

Still no apology?

—

Multiple days had passed. Rhea had made no contact yet. You spent a concerning amount of time just staring at Rhea’s contact in your phone, debating if you should press the call button. Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

She’d call if she cared enough.

It felt as if life had paused, your days seemed empty. The busy streets of New York City felt devoid of any livelihood. The live music that took place at work sounded muffled. The flavor of your favorite foods had been stripped away. Once colorful flowers sold down at the street market now sat dull.

Days just painfully repeated. 

Tonight you had the night off, your only plans were to stare out the window of your bedroom and pray for a text from Rhea. 

You sat criss-cross at the edge of your bed twiddling your thumbs, your mind seemingly empty as you stared into the windows of the skyscraper across the street when the sound of a knock echoed down your short hall.

Groaning in annoyance as you got up you began making your way to the door, chewing the inside of your cheek as your feet shuffled below you. 

You weren't sure who you were expecting to be in the hall but it completely caught you by surprise when you swung the door open to see the dark haired woman waiting for you.

Without a word Rhea launched herself onto your lips, the force causing you to be pushed back a few inches.

Jesus Christ.

This felt like more than just a kiss, it had an intense amount of passion intertwined into it. Rhea’s hands gripped onto your waist as you backed into the apartment, her foot kicking the door behind her closed.

She had never kissed you in this way before. Before tonight you had only received measly pecks while the two of you had sex. It was never emotional.

Rhea slowly pulled away from your lips, both of your breaths were heavy as she finally spoke, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Finally.

“God, I’ve treated you like shit and I have been such a dick. It’s been the only thing on my mind. You don’t deserve that, It’s not okay.” Rhea began rambling as you stared into each other's eyes. “I get it if you never want to see me again but please just give me a chance, I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll get my temperament under control, I’ll go to therapy, whatever you say I will do it.”

“Rhea-” You whispered, trying to calm her down but she continued her rant. 

“I want to know you, more than just your body. I wanna know everything, The good, the bad, the boring…I wanna know what pisses you off and what makes you cry. I don’t know why I kept you a stranger for so long and I’m sorry for that.”

You led Rhea into your small living room as you listened to her rambling. You took a seat in your chaiser lounge and ushered her to sit in front of you as her speech continued on. “I don’t know why I ran away…I think it's cause I didn't want to hurt you. But I did hurt you, so badly. I don’t want to run away anymore, I had no right to ever hurt you the way I did, just for me to leave you alone right after. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done and I’ll never forgive myself for it. It’s just that I-”

“Rhea!” You slightly raised your voice causing Rhea to finally close her mouth. You leaned closer to her, placing a quick and gentle kiss on her lips. “You’re okay, don’t worry.” You comforted the woman, softly chuckling.

“I didn’t interrupt your night did I?” Rhea asked, slightly nervous as she scootched up closer to you. You shook your head no as a smile creeped on your face.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to end up in a heated makeout session, your hands roaming over one another's clothing. Rhea groaned your name against your lips before pulling back just a few centimeters. 

“Please let me show you how sorry I am.” She practically pleaded, her eyes full of desperation, “Yes please” you quietly giggled, your eyes adoring the woman's face. The second Rhea heard the word yes echo from your mouth her lips went straight for your neck, causing a whimper to escape from you. 

Rhea took her time as she kissed upon your neck, carefully leaving soft love bites every so often, marking the skin a flushed pink shade. Her lips only leaving your skin as she pulled off your sweater before she began peckering kisses against your collarbones.

Her hands crept behind your back, unclasping your bra and pulling it from your chest. Your fingers grazed upon Rhea’s tense shoulders as she left a path of kisses down your torso.

As Rhea’s face reached the base of your stomach, her eyes fixated on your face as if she was asking for your blessing. You gave her a nod before lifting your hips into the air, allowing her to slide your sweatpants off your legs. 

 “Rhea, please,” You whined out while Rhea’s fingers toyed with the seam of your panties. Rhea grinned to herself as she slowly shed the final layer of clothing off your body. 

The woman wasted no time connecting her mouth to your heat, causing you to let out a breathy moan. “So fucking beautiful…” Rhea praised against your skin.

Truthfully, her tongue felt like heaven as it worked its way around your wetness. Rhea didn't want to rush you. This wasn't for her, she just wanted to make sure you knew she had the ability in her to change for the better.

Your breaths picked up their pace as Rhea’s hand inched its way closer to your core. Her ring and middle finger traced a circle around the perimeter of your entrance before slowly being pushed into you.

“Shit,” You whined out, your back arching as both Rhea’s tongue and digits worked their magic on you. Although you enjoyed roughhousing with the woman, you undoubtedly appreciated the amount of care Rhea was putting into you.

You were a whimpering mess under Rhea’s touch, and she loved every small sound that escaped from your mouth.

“More! Please, I can take it!” You begged for more of her. Rhea obliged, sliding her pointer finger into your tightness causing you to roll your eyes back as her fingers filled your insides.

“That’s it baby,” Rhea preached quietly when your hips began to rock against her fingers, your moans filling the room. “Such a good girl for me.” She added on before her tongue got back to sailing over your clit, her fingers picking up their pace.

Your legs tightened around Rhea’s head as your orgasm quickly approached. “C’mon sweet girl, let go.” Rhea’s encouraging words were muffled, your walls clenched around her curling fingers. 

“Fuck Rhea!” You squealed out as the knot that filled your stomach released onto Rhea’s fingers. Your hips twitched into the air as the fingers inside of you helped you ride out your climax. 

Rhea was grinning ear-to-ear as she slowly pulled her fingers out of your hole. She groaned in pleasure, licking her fingers clean. 

She soon brought her face to meet yours, her plumped lips giving your jaw a kiss before whispering in your ear.

“How’s that for an apology, hm?”

Chapter Taglist: @babybatlover @whiteleoqueen @luvvleah @lovingperson1

[milliesfishes]

Hii! Do u think u could write something about maybe how in the second episode in season 1 billy and reader r together and she accidentally gets herself in the middle of him and antrims feuds and billy becomes very protective?

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓫𝓲𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓶𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝓯𝓮𝓶 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝔁 𝓫𝓲𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓴𝓲𝓭

Billy Antrim came to you like a rainstorm soaking a flower field.

His family had moved into town less than a year ago, a lovely mother, adorable little brother, a tired looking man and Billy. Your attention was piqued immediately by them. Plenty of new families moved to Silver City all the time, but there was something about this one...well, something about their oldest son...that kept your eye on them.

You merely watched from afar at first, eyeing them from the marketplace or the general store. It wasn't that you set out to see them, but they happened to be in town often at the same times you were.

But it wasn't until you met Mrs. Antrim that you started to get closer to them.

You were looking at a bolt of fabric, running your fingers along the material and debating making a new dress out of it when she appeared beside you. She was looking at another fabric, pinching it between her fingers. Noticing you, she smiled. "That's a lovely color." A lilted Irish accent made her words all the more charming to you. "It'll look fetching with your hair."

"Thank you," you smiled, looking over at the blue color she was examining. "Is that for you?"

"My son, Billy," she explained, holding up a bit of it and considering. "He needs a new shirt. He's had the old one for a long while."

"I see," you nodded, measuring out a stretch and handing the shopkeeper the money for it. "Do you live in town?"

"Yes," she smiled sweetly. "Just moved here a few weeks ago."

"Do you like it so far?" you questioned, folding up your cut.

"It's a far sight from some of the towns we've lived in," she laughed. "In the best way."

"I'm glad to hear it," you said, watching as she paid for her own fabric. "It'll be wonderful to have you here."

"Kathleen," she introduced herself, holding out her hand. You shook it nicely, telling her your name. She eyed you with a smile. "You're a sweetheart. I'll be happy to come across you again."

Indeed, every time you did after that she was. Kathleen always had a kind word for you, and you looked forward to seeing her. She was the first of the Antrims you met.

The second was Joe, whom you quickly grew fond of. He was with his mother one day in the market, and after that you'd slip him a sweet in passing every time you saw him. He was a sweet little boy who clearly loved his mother dearly.

Mr. Antrim was next, although you didn't exactly meet him. He came often to the bar you worked at, and you served him whiskey after whiskey almost every time you had a shift.

And then there was Billy. You'd heard Kathleen speak of him several times, but never come across him.

Until one day when you were out walking on a cloudy day as you often did, in a meadow close to town. Musing to yourself as you wandered, you were surprised by a raindrop hitting your nose. Looking up, you noted the dark grey color of the sky. Hopefully it wouldn't be too bad during the walk back.

But quickly your hopes were put to death when it began to pour, the rain soaking your skin and dress. You laughed, spinning once and holding your hands up to the sky.

A voice startled you out of your bliss, and you spun to see a man standing behind you with a concerned expression on his face. "You alright miss?"

Nodding in a bit of a daze from the shock, you realized who it was. The only member of the Antrim family you hadn't met.

You couldn't help but study him up close. So many times he'd been observed from far away, and your curiosity had gotten ahold of you this time. Billy was tall, on the leaner side but with broad shoulders. There was a gun belt slung around his hips, and a hat on his head, with dark brown curls peeking out. His shirt, you noticed with a modicum of satisfaction, matched the fabric Kathleen had been looking at awhile back.

"I'm okay," you assured him, pushing some of your wet hair out of your face. "I was just taking a walk and now..." you looked up at the sky then back at him. "I don't mind the rain."

This brought a little smile to his face, but he still moved closer to you. Now you could see the color of his eyes. Pure, deep blue, like the sky on a cloudless day. He was less than a foot away from you. "Still, it's gonna be a rough storm, looks like. Would ya-?"

Thunder rumbled nearby, and you jumped, automatically moving toward Billy. His hand came to your back in a protective way that nearly made you swoon.

"Ain't safe to walk back now," Billy commented, looking down at you. "Here, we can go into the clearing 'n wait out the worst of it."

"Okay," you nodded, and he took your hand, leading you through the meadow and into the trees, hiding where it was dry. The both of you were soaking wet.

"I know a little spot nearby," Billy explained, still guiding you through the clearing. "Lightning hits trees, don't want ya to get struck."

"That wouldn't be great," you agreed, and he gave you a nod.

"It's just-ah!" Billy led you to a slot in the nearby mountain akin to a gaping mouth. "Here. We'll be safe in here."

"You've been here before?" you asked, shivering a bit as you stepped in. It was dark and cold and you folded your arms around yourself to try and maintain a little body heat.

"Come here sometimes," he explained, nodding at a little circle of stones near you. "I'll start a fire. Could be awhile." You noticed a stack of cut wood to the side. It was clear he was a frequent visitor.

"Sit," he nodded, stacking wood in the circle and pulling out matches. "Can't have ya freezin' to death."

You did so hesitantly, putting out your hands when the flames started to catch on the wood. Looking up at him, you tilted your head. "Do you often rescue strange girls from thunderstorms?"

A smile quirked his lips. "I know who you are. My momma's rather fond of ya. M' brother too."

That made you smile, and you looked down. "I see."

He was sitting with one leg propped up, an elbow resting on his knee. "My momma reckons you're a sweetheart."

"That's nice of her," you blushed, looking down. "She's lovely as well."

"She is," he agreed, studying you. There was a moment of silence as the fire crackled, and with the way he was looking at you, you shivered in a way that didn't have anything to do with the cold.

He held out his arm. "C'mere."

"Hm?" you furrowed your brow in confusion.

"You're still soakin' wet," he said, his arm still extended. "I've got plenty've heat to go around."

"You're wet too," you pointed out and Billy laughed.

"Yeah but I'm bigger than you. C'mere," he flexed his fingers. "Lemme warm you up."

Carefully you moved over, into the safe looking space of his arm. He pulled you against him, settling his hand on your midsection as he held you close. "This alright?" You nodded, letting yourself lean into him. His clothes were still damp, but he was warm. You liked his hand there, big and warm with fingers sprawled across you.

"I've seen you around town before," you said quietly, your cheek smushed against his shoulder.

"Have ya?" he sounded amused, his fingers twitching on your side. "'nd ya never said anything?"

"No," you said simply, and he chuckled.

"Think I woulda noticed such a pretty girl," he commented, and you saw him set his hat by the fire to dry off.

That made you blush more, and you couldn't help your smile. "I keep to myself."

"Ah," he nodded in an understanding way. Billy rubbed your side in a respectful way, trying to warm you up more. "Has your family lived here long?"

"Not too much longer than yours," you said, staring into the fire and watching it dance.

"What's the story?" he questioned, looking down at you. "If ya don't mind me asking?"

"My father married someone new," you explained, looking up at him with a soft smile. There was something about him that made you want to tell him everything in your mind. "He wanted a fresh start."

He was looking at you in a way you couldn't place, but it felt warm. Cautiously, he lifted a bent thumb to brush a strand of wet hair from your cheek. "D'ya like it here?"

"More and more," you said, looking up at him. Something changed in his eyes and you looked up at him with doe ones. "Why did your family move here?"

Billy chuckled lightly, brushing your cheek with his thumb. "Y'know, it was pretty much the same reason as you. 'cept it was my mother who got married a lotta years back."

You nodded in understanding, looking up at him. "It must've been hard."

"Was," he nodded. "I'm gettin' used to it though. The town, not my mother's husband."

"Don't like him much?" It slipped out before you could filter it. "Oh- I'm sorry-"

"It's okay," he assured you, giving you a fond look. "It's okay. No, I don't. He's...well, he's done things no man should be proud of."

You nodded sympathetically. "I'm sorry. It can't be easy living with him." Your hand moved to his on your stomach, interlacing the fingers and squeezing. It felt so natural that you barely remembered you'd only met him today.

Billy smiled softly. "Yeah. But it's okay." He squeezed back. "He ain't my whole life."

The storm turned out to be far more perilous and long than the two of you had originally thought, and when he suggested you spend the night in the cavern, you agreed straightaway. You were happy with your choice when he laid down by the fire and snuggled up to you from behind to keep you warm.

After the night in the cave, you found yourself drawn to him. He would come up to you in town and chat, leaning against a market stall or the railing of the porch to meet your eyes. You enjoyed spending time with him and found yourself missing him when he wasn't near you.

When he kissed you for the first time it was raining again, but this time you were in town, ducking under a roof in an alleyway. You were both laughing, and you'd accidentally fallen into him, holding onto his arms to steady yourself. He held onto you tight, looking into your eyes and the next thing you knew his lips were on yours, cool from the rainwater. You kissed him back, wrapping your arms around his neck and standing on your tiptoes to reach him.

From that point on, the two of you were inseparable. You fell hard and fast for him, jumping into his arms like he was a lake on a hot day. He adored you, was with you at every possible moment.

It was such a whirlwind, and you loved every second. You quickly learned what it meant to be Billy's girl, and it was a smooth river of flowing love and attention and time. He took you for walks in the clearing where you'd met and let you sit in his lap while you braided daisies together. He'd sneak you onto the rooftop of his house and show you his favorite stars, telling you all their names. Especially concerned with your safety, he escorted you everywhere, keeping an arm around you so everyone knew whose you were.

Billy would come wait for you at the bar in the tail ends of your shifts, drinking a whiskey and watching for wandering eyes. His stepfather was still a frequent visitor, and Billy didn't like you around him at all.

It was true that Antrim's eyes had a tendency to linger, as did his hands, but he seemed to keep to himself when Billy was around.

You didn't know much of what had happened between them, only that Antrim had done some horrible things in the city from which they'd come. You knew it was a sensitive topic, so you didn't ask many questions.

One night, when you were finishing cleaning up at the bar, you noticed Antrim still at the table he'd occupied all evening. Everyone else had cleared out, but he nursed a glass of whiskey, staring at the wood of the table.

You approached him, drying off another glass as you did. "We're just about closed, Mr. Antrim. Can I pour you one more?"

He looked up at you, eyes catching on parts of you that you'd rather they didn't. "That's alright darlin'. I'd best be headin' out." There was a look in his eyes that you didn't like, and you took one step back.

"Okay, I'll-"

Suddenly he stood up, grabbing your arm. You could smell the alcohol on his breath as you tried to wriggle away. He chuckled lowly. "You're real pretty, y'know that?"

"Mr. Antrim-" you tried, but he held firmer, and the glass slipped from your hand and shattered at your feet.

"Oh ya look even sweeter up close," he whispered, and your breathing quickened, your eyes wide with fear. One of his hands came to your waist, trailing upward to your chest. "Bet if I could touch-"

"Antrim."

Both of you looked up and saw Billy at the door, arms folded. Antrim didn't let go of you. "Kid."

Coming closer, Billy gave him a warning look. "Let go of 'er."

"Aw you're not gonna kick my ass over this little thing," Antrim scoffed. Billy got close to him, grabbing hold of his arm that was holding yours.

"I said let go." His words were glaringly threatening. When Antrim still didn't loosen his grip, Billy shoved his arm off you, sending the drunk man stumbling a few paces backward.

Billy's boots crunched over the broken glass on the floor as he brought you close to him, putting his hand on the back of your head and bringing your face to his shoulder. "Out."

You heard the sound of footsteps scurrying out, and Billy heaved a sigh of relief. He rubbed your back, his big hand on your head making you feel safe. "M' baby," he murmured, hugging you tight to him. "You okay? He didn't hurt ya?"

Shaking your head, you drew back to look at him. He rested his palms on your cheeks and you held his wrists. "I'm sorry, 'm so sorry this happened to you. He's rotten, ain't ever leavin' ya alone here 'gain."

"Billy," you were a little shaky from the experience and he recognized that, drawing you back into his arms and kissing your head, whispering sweet things into your hair.

He led you to his bed for the first time that night, not for anything sexual, but for protection, assuring you Antrim wouldn't come home. And even if he did, he'd have Billy to deal with. You snuck past Joe, reaching into your pocket for a piece of candy to leave on his pillow by his head.

Billy smiled at the gesture and reached out his hands for you, holding you like a teddy bear between his arms. You settled your head on his chest since he only had one pillow, and besides, you liked better here anyways.

It became a bit of a habit after that- coming to his bed after work for that feeling of safety that you had only ever found in his arms. You loved him for wanting you to feel that way. Kathleen never said a word about it when she saw you leave in the morning, only smiling at you in her sweet way.

Rarely did you come across Antrim in their home, and when you did you were always under Billy's arm, feeling like he was a shield. The nights you spent with him were always peaceful, and you treasured them dearly.

One night, after collapsing into him after a longer shift, you woke up in the still, eerie hours of the morning and Billy wasn't there. Looking up, you realized it was raining, the steady sound making you smile.

You waited a few minutes, but Billy didn't come back. Standing up and stretching, you smoothed your dress and made your way out to see if he was in the kitchen. No Billy.

Once you were there though, you could hear a distinct, violent sound coming from outside, easier to hear over the rain now that you were closer to it. Hesitantly curious, you opened the door, and immediately, you were frozen.

Billy was throwing a punch at Antrim, sending the man tumbling to the muddy ground. He shouted something and Billy did too, their words impossible to make out through the rain.

But before you could go back inside, Billy turned around and saw you, his face falling. He just stood there, in the pouring rain for a moment, staring at you and gaging your reaction.

Finally you willed yourself to move, and you came forward to him, not caring that your clothes were getting soaked. Reminded of the first time you met, you let the memory make this scene a little softer.

You reached for his knuckles and saw how bloody they were, the rainwater washing some of it off. Without saying a word, you led him by the hand back inside, and he followed.

Grabbing a rag from the sink, you pressed it to his hands, one at a time. The blood stained your hands, but you didn't care, your eyes never leaving him. He seemed ashamed, and he avoided your gaze the entire time you were cleaning him up.

Putting the rag down, you took both his hands in yours, squeezing them. "Billy," you started softly. "What happened?"

He exhaled softly, still not looking at you. "'S not for you to know, baby."

"Billy," you repeated, leaning in closer. Your words were unmoving, intentional in their purpose.

Squeezing your hands back, he closed his eyes as he spoke. "He was tryna come back in. Said some things I won't repeat."

"About what?" you pressed.

Billy met your eyes. "'bout you, sweetheart. He hit me where he knew it'd get me."

You inhaled sharply, searching his eyes. "You..."

"Hey," Billy squeezed your hands again, sensing your distress. "I get into it with Antrim all the time. Ain't no big deal."

Shaking your head, you found yourself on the verge of tears. "Your hands were bleeding..."

"Alright, alright," Billy removed his hands from yours and brought them to your waist instead, pulling you into his lap, your back against his chest. One of your legs was situated between his knees, and the tiny gesture comforted you. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his arms around your middle. The both of you were still wet from the rain but neither of you cared.

"Needed ya to be nice 'n close when I told ya this," he murmured, kissing your shoulder and lightly rocking you back and forth. "Angel...there ain't nothin' I wouldn't do to keep ya safe. You're my girl. That means you've got me no matter what. Understand?"

You nodded, leaning sideways so you could rest your head on his shoulder. Instantly you knew the gravity of what his love for you meant. Here was a man who loved you enough to protect you.

The realization only made you love him more, and you told him so when the two of you were cuddled back up in bed that morning, the sunrise starting to peek through the window.

"I love you," you breathed against his chest, your affection swelling from your heart and pouring out your mouth like sunshine.

He held your head to him and kissed your hair. "I love you, sweetheart. You're safe with me. I promise."

And as dawn stretched its rosy fingers into the sky, the way you loved him was smooth and soft like the rain that had brought you two together, only leaving joy in its wake. The steady flow of his love was something you could hold onto, something safe and solid, always found when you were nestled in his arms.

come talk about billy here!

[fanaticsnail]

I fell asleep with spotify on and woke up to sea shanties. And in that honor:

Roronoa Zoro loves to drink. Everyone knows this. His high alcohol tolerance means he can usually keep himself in a pleasantly fuzzy state.

Still, there are times where he gets properly drunk. Absolutely blackout sloshed. And this poses the question of what to do with him? How to care for him?

That is, until Sanji joins the crew. See, the rest of the strawhats may be new to this sailing business, but not Sanji. Sanji was raised by pirates on the sea. Rowdy, fun loving, drink loving pirates. And he knows exactly what to do with a drunken sailor.

Snhsiwbehei this is so stupid. Just a silly thing that crossed my mind.

-♡♡ lots of love

Anything for you, ♡♡ Anon. What shall we do with the drunken sailor, indeed? I saw your ask about still thinking on the lazy sleeping Zoro. Thought I'd add a little more lazy swordsman in there for you.

Until The World Stops Spinning

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,000+

Synopsis: You have just come off watch-shift, just as Sanji wanders onto the top deck of the Going Merry. Both of you discuss what to do about Zoro's current state of inebriation. What shall we do with the drunken swordsman...

Themes: Zoro x reader, subtle sanji x reader, drunkenness, smoking, drinking, sleeping, written with the sea shanty "What shall we do with the drunken sailor" in mind.

Notes: I listen to shanties all the time when I write. It's seriously such a vibe. This anon comes up with the best prompts, and I seriously can't. Edit to add: That version above by The Irish Rovers is what I used to dance to when I did Irish dancing as a child. One of the old tunes that made me want to play violin.

Tag List: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @sordidmusings @writingmysanity

Gulls singing their sweet song of the morning lingered in the air, the perch of several flocking members sat proudly atop the top mast of the Going Merry. The chef serving beneath the Straw-Hat captain wandered on the deck to enjoy his morning cigarette after setting aside the morning crepe batter to rise. What greeted him in the morning light was a sorry sight to behold.

The puddle of drool pooling from the corner of the sword wielding first mate’s mouth was indication enough that he was past the point of no return in his drunken stupor. His snore rattled and shook the top deck, the wood almost cracking beneath the intensity of the roar falling from his parted lips. 

Standing over the first mate, arms folded in twine, stood the Going Merry’s latest member: the ship's counselor. 

“Mornin’ chef,” you utter without turning away from the snoring first mate. Sanji pouted with a deep frown while placing the filter of his cigarette between his lips. 

“Good morning, counselor. Good watch shift?” Sanji uttered while striking his flint and lighting the end of his cigarette. You nod, both of you not tearing your eyes away from Zoro as the deep rise and fall of his chest indicated traces of life within his death-like slumber. 

“Not a single thing to report, aside from this thing here, of course,” you uttered, gently tapping your toes against Zoro’s thigh as he slept soundly. Sanji inhaled a lengthy breath of his morning nicotine, exhaling down at the swordsman with a soft scowl on his face. 

“How many'd he have?” Sanji asked tilting his head and examining Zoro as his shaky snore. 

“Around five or six, I think,” you bob your head before further clarifying, “Bottles, not short rounds.” Sanji clicked his tongue at the confirmation, gently shaking his head. 

You turn towards the blonde chef, furrowing your brows and looking at him inquisitively. 

“Chef?” you quirked up at him, prompting him to turn towards you in response, “You've probably had the most experience with inebriated sea-folk. Any quick remedies you can think of for this?”

“I can think of a few cures from the tales of old,” Sanji chuckled, his smile turning more playful with each passing moment. “Shave his belly with a rusty razor comes to mind.” You scoff at him, rolling your eyes with a soft chuckle. 

“Zoro's stomach is as smooth as a baby bird,” you laugh at him, “Not a hair to rid him of, rusty razor and all.” Sanji hummed, pressing his index finger to his chin and thinking further. 

“Put him in the longboat ‘til he's sober is the next classic suggestion,” Sanji took a moment to take a lengthy drag with a deep chuckle, “Or: stick him in the scupper with a hosepipe bottom, is another.”

“The Going Merry has no long boat,” you shrug, looking down at the snoring former pirate hunter and lulling your head to the side, “And I don't think he'd very much enjoy a swift spanking on the meat of his ass with a rubber pipe, in his current state.”

Sanji laughed in a loud and unbridled laugh, placing the cigarette on the ground and dulling it's light with the ball of his foot. 

“Put him in bed with the Captain's daughter, then?” Sanji chuckled in glee, softly nudging your shoulder with his, “That's the only other option in the tales and shanties.” You nudge him in return before nuzzling your head against his bicep. 

“While stringing him upside down by his ankles on the topmast is awfully tempting,” you remove your head from Sanji's arm, “We're better off just moving him and putting him to bed to sleep it off, aren't we? Wanna give me a hand, handsome?” 

“Not really,” Sanji shrugged with a soft chuckle before reaching down and grappling one of Zoro’s heavy legs, “But I will because you asked me so nicely.” You shake your head, reaching down and aiding Sanji in bearing the brunt of the swordsman’s weight to take him below deck where the others began to stir from their sleep. 

As Nami got up from the only bed, Usopp and Luffy rising from the hammocks, you gently aided Sanji in placing Zoro beneath the plush duvet and atop the mattress still warm from Nani's body heat. Shaking her head, Nami fishes a bucket from the side of the room and places it by Zoro’s head. 

Stirring briefly from his drunken stupor, Zoro’s blurred and swirling vision glared up at you all before his gaze softened into a lazy smile. 

“I… I love you guys,” Zoro’s soft, drunken drawl lazily called to you all before turning to gaze at you, “Ya’ done with the nigh’ sh-shift, ‘Selor? Gonna snooze?” 

You look over at the crew, gently giving Sanji's arm a squeeze before he turns to begin breakfast for the crew wandering atop the deck. He smiled in response, gently bobbing his chin up and wordlessly telling you to get some sleep. 

“Yeah, swordsman. I'm gonna 'snooze',” you confirm with him, turning to the hammocks and beginning to choose from the three suspended bed-spaces. Before you were able to move away from Zoro’s bedside, his muscular arms shoot out and snake around your midsection, tugging you into a warm embrace beside him. 

Nuzzling into your hair, he takes a lengthy inhale and groans in joy at the body heat radiating from you.

“S’ay w’th me?” he slurred in question, already beginning to fall into slumber with you tucked in his arms. “Only ‘til th’ room s’ops spinnin’?” Facing away from him, you shake your head with a light smile before moving the duvet up to cover the both of you. 

“Sure, Zoro,” you already feel the weight of your eyelids weighing you down the longer you linger in his embrace, “Only until the room stops spinning.” Both falling asleep almost immediately, a soft shutter of a Den-Den image conductor could be heard mixing with the harmonious snores reverberating within crew quarters.

Nami was going to hold those images over the both of you as ransom for more of a cut from your joint haul on this upcoming adventure. You both slept soundly enough to not care, dreaming of what new horizons lay waiting for you.

[awesomecooperlove]

America’s Buried History of White Slavery

The best way to forget history is to rewrite it. And in the rewriting, to carefully delete references to any historical events or circumstances we find uncomfortable.

Thus, American history books are totally silent on the matter of these white slaves, mostly of European stock with a great number of Irish, but also English and Scottish, who were kidnapped or otherwise forcibly deported to the US as slave labor.

In fact, an examination of available documentation indicates that white slavery in the Americas was a much more extensive operation than was black slavery, and the numbers may be severely under-estimated

Source

Join us: t.me/cruelhistory

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