I know most of those following me know this, but just to make it super clear. An Gorta Mór (The Great Hunger/the Great Famine) was a deliberate genocide of the Irish people. There was enough food grown in Ireland to make sure everyone was alive and healthy and survived. Instead it was exported, sent to England and elsewhere for profit while men, women, and children starved in the streets. While the English landlords fucked off and evicted starving families who couldn’t afford rent. While babies were too weak to cry and died at the side of the road.
They tried to kill us, but they did not succeed. And we owe so much thanks to the other oppressed peoples, in particular the Choctaw Nation and the Masai, who sent money and grain to us.
Let me repeat that. The Choctaw Nation who had just gone through the Trail of Tears sent us money to try save Irish lives. It’s led to an understanding between Irish people and Native American tribes, most recently when we donated to the Navajo and Hopi fundraisers for COVID-19 relief, because while it may be a different tribe, Irish people will never forget those who helped us and we’ll help back.
The entire population of the island is less than seven million people. We’re still a million less on this island than pre famine. And it’s not that long ago. My grandmother’s grandparents lived through it. We’ve told the stories, it literally changed the DNA of the country. We have a national fear of renting, because so many people were evicted. People joke about Irish people always offering loads of food, but it’s because there’s that cultural memory of not being able to.
They tried to kill us, but they did not succeed. We will not let them take our lives, we will not let them take our language. We lost so much, but we will not lose it all.
This is why I get so angry when people say “it was the potato famine, it was because of monoculture/microbes.”
Nope. The potatoes were the only thing Irish people were allowed to fucking eat, because as pointed out, the rest of the crops they were growing were for their landlords to ship to England. So when the one “worthless” crop they were allowed to eat rotted in the field, the English crown, empire, landlords, all shrugged and carried on. People starved to death lying next to productive fields.
no really, squeeze it. Does it feel like it’s got sand in it? is’s sharpening sand. Stab the tip of your needle into it back and forth and it’ll help put a sharp edge back on a pin or needle that’s been blunted by use, or has a little bit of rust on it. It can’t fix anything worse then a little of either, and won’t work on something REALLY blunted, but its a lifesaver.
would priestess darling be ashamed when osial finally gets her and is walking her to his palace and all of her former fellow dust maidens who are in his harem see her 👀
and how would they feel when he's obviously picking favorites
Osial used to have temporary favourites, especially those who had recently been added to the harem. Although they were all well treated, there was no doubt that there was a competition between them for the Overlord's attention.
Osial is charismatic and has a powerful and imposing character, possessing an intimidating aura that inspires terror and admiration simultaneously. And that also translates into... everything else.
Your arrival fills them with jealousy, since it meant that Osial had completely lost interest in them, but the limits he crossed to obtain you also make you an object of admiration, a character worthy of a myth.
They always watch you walk by his side, with lowered eyes and a serene but melancholic expression. Every once in a while he leans in to whisper something in your ear that makes you shiver and fluster, only for him to nibble your earlobe or savor your neck in a lascivious kiss.
You are a silent and mysterious creature, who sometimes looks at other ex-priestesses with a certain longing for past times.
tag game description: “kinda curious what my moots actually look like, so rb this, make a picrew of yourself, and tag your mutuals!”
picrew used: aloha sushicore
So! This is sort of the Sunnie reveal (?) ksajdnjakdnjkas
I'll tag my lovelies: @shumidehiro, @violeteyesofevergarden, my newer babies <3: @jessamine-rose, @sparrow-stunned and @paintingsofdragonspine!!! And, of course, whoever wants to join!
The Romance of Certain Old Clothes | Yan!Capitano x Reader
Content Warning: Slight NSFW, Mentions of Isolation, Mentions of Stalking, Mentions of Death, General Dark Themes.
The morning air was filled with mist from the forest that surrounded the estate, and the gargoyles and stone demons on the garden walls seemed blurred as if seen through a veil of tears.
It was as if nature itself knew he was back.
Sometimes he would come back from his travels in the middle of the night, and unless he explicitly ordered it, the servants never told you, as he liked to watch you go about your day when you thought he was not there.
He melted into the shadows for the whole morning, taking a certain pleasure to see you smile as you tended to your plants in the greenhouse, or singed to your cantankerous cat.
After you had returned to your chambers with your maidens, he had resolved to announce his return. As he approached your room, he overheard you talking with your handmaidens.
"How come you never wear this dress, my lady? It may be too light to wear outside, but it should be fine here. It's lovely."
The lord of the estate had installed fireplaces everywhere in the castle after your arrival. The servants were instructed to light all the rooms near where you were at all times, but even then, you sometimes had to wait a few minutes to change rooms if your clothing was too light.
You turn from your mirror to see one of your three handmaidens taking a beautiful dress of pale pink lace from your wardrobe, with tiny hopping bunnies discreetly embroidered on the hems. You feel a stab of pain go through your heart.
"It was a gift," you answer, "Made especially for a climate more generous than this, that of Mondstadt... I never got to wear it."
And he never got to see it.
It was supposed to be worn during your honeymoon. Such a childish garment. You would have worn it nonetheless, to make him happy and have a good laugh, but your betrothed died shortly after ordering it, and it had arrived a few days before your wedding to another man, if such a term could be used to refer to him.
"I'll wear it today."
Surrounded by the rosy-cheeked servants, you were as sweet and docile as a kitten. They are quick to unbutton the back of your dress, sliding the warm velvet fabric off your shoulders, revealing a silk shift that hugged every curve you had. The gold light of dawn sparkled on your skin as if all its softness were encased in a coat of glass. The neckline is tugged down just enough for him to see one of your nipples shyly peek out from the lace.
He imagines trailing one finger around the small bud and seeing it stiffen as a meek little moan escapes your lips. He knows that it is soft, delectable, and would drive a lesser man to the depths of insanity for the chance to savor it.
He shouldn't be there, it's not proper of him to watch your handmaidens undress you. But when one's mind has been deprived of paradise for so long, propriety becomes an unwanted visitor.
You adjust the neckline back in its place as if you had read his thoughts through some type of divination.
The pink dress was not very appropriate for a married woman, but it was indeed lovely on you. Although made from a cheaper material than you were now used to, it felt soft and light against your skin. It had a bit of a dusty smell, probably from being almost forgotten in the wardrobe, but you did not mind.
"I would like to wear my hair down," you say sweetly as you sit back down in front of the dark wooden vanity. One of the handmaidens brushes your hair away from your face in gentle strokes, allowing him to get a privileged view of your neck from where he stood.
He delights in it for a minute before turning back, thinking about letting you enjoy that peaceful morning on your own.
Once they finish, you stand and twirl in front of the mirror like a little girl. You even let a small laugh escape your lips as if this was an act of rebellion, an expression of nostalgia forbidden.
But as you look at the mirror, you can't find the same happy creature you once were. There stands the same lonely girl who is lost in an unknown place filled with ghosts and shadows. You tremble at the sight of your own reflection. You feel odd, as if wearing a costume that no longer fits you, that is now a tad bit too constricting and hard to breathe in.
"Are you feeling well, my lady?"
It's rather curious how well you have been able to resist tears ever since your dreaded wedding night. But then, when that girl who is nothing but a wolf in sheep's clothing comforts you with a single kind word... everything collapses.
Capitano stops on the stairs as he hears you scream.
"Take it off... I can't breathe..." you start to tug away at the seams, every time more desperately, "Take it off...! Take it off!"
I feel like capitano would absolutely be one of those yanderes who sniff your hair and stuff cause he is down bad (also I love you work so much aaaa)
He does obsess over every little-dove-related thing!
Sometimes he brushes his thumb on the embroidered flowers on the hem of your skirt as he kneels in front of you.
He loves looking at the inner of your wrist, and if your veins are visible, he traces them gently if you let him.
He is fascinated by how your breath condenses on his armor when it's cold.
But most of all, he loves when he is so close to you that he can listen to your heartbeat. It's such a rare occasion when you let him be that close, so he savors it, tapping his fingers on any surface to remind himself how it sounded days after.
Aaaaa everything you write is so exquisite, thank you for your contributions to the fatui agenda and greedy archons agenda 🙏
For SoW, what if Morax visits priestess dreams as well? like Osial!
When he appears in your dreams, you refuse to believe that it is a situation similar to when Osial does. Of course it is not the same, you say to yourself. He is not really there, it's not really him. You feel safe around him, you always have, that's why your mind calls upon his graceful image.
"Your grace, I'm so happy to see you."
But there is something off about him, something your imagination could not have made on its own. Darkness, a shadow on the golden eyes that fixed on you, as if not wanting to miss a single detail of your face. But once you blink, it's gone.
Sometimes he would like for you to say his name.
It's always "Your grace" and "Your excellency", with those beautiful eyes of yours hidden behind your downcast lashes, and the most gentle of smiles shining demurely on your face.
Once you were his, he would make sure you always looked up and called him by his name.
"Mo - rax" Your lips would have to purse in order to say it.
He offers his hand -just like Guizhong used to do-, and you take it by instinct, without thinking. You kiss the back of his hand, and his lungs inflate with insensate joy. The touch, as innocuous as it was, felt like fire through his veins.
As you turn back up, he lets his gaze linger on your face, traveling from your eyes to your lips, and only one thought repeated on his mind like a prayer.
Pretty darling who is every bit a proper lady: Cultured, soft-spoken and demure, never had to worry over anything in her life. Possessing all the traditional feminine graces of her class, she has a keen interest in poetry and theatre, she loves singing, dancing, drawing, etcétera.
Sheltered darling that would have never spared a single thought on him if he was still a struggling poor man.
How deliciously tempting it would be for him to corrupt such a fine lady.
