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eirgachuair · 7 months

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"but there's no point in learning Irish is a dead lang-" sHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.

there IS a point. there IS a reason. Irish might be a dead language TO YOU but im gonna pull that motherfucker screaming and crying out of its "grave" by the ankles. if Irish is a dead language then i'm a necromancer (or necrophiliac depending on your outlook on life and opinions.)

there IS a point. im learning Irish because no one in my family, barr from like one of my cousins, and a few distant relatives even have their cúpla focail. (whether they were given the award or they gen only know a few words). my mum and dad barely know any irish. my dad wasnt even really ALLOWED to learn irish. (more it was geniunely discouraged by my granny bc 1970s/80s and early 90s northern ireland was not a fun place).

im learning irish because its my CULTURE. its MY language, ITS MINE, not to rip off my big man Ruairí Ó Báille (granted is leatsa í means its yours but who cares about details) back on topic, it connects me to MY history. everyone calls my granda the irish version of his name, we use anglisized irish words ALL THE TIME. even if you arent learning irish. its still alive in place names. (e.g Belfast, Béal Feirste, Derry, Doire)

irish isnt even dead. it still exists whether you want to acknowledge it or not, we wouldnt have so much protection thingymabobbers trying to preserve it if it was completely dead, yeah its on life support and a long way from getting off it but pROGRESS IS PROGRESS! theres more irish speakers now than a good few years ago

pLUS ITS ONLY GOT LIKE 11 IRREGULARS. ENGLISH HARDLY EVEN, IF EVEN HAS REGULAR VERBS. IT HAS SIMPLISH PRONOUNCIATION (if you actually sit down and learn the spelling/grammar rules. something i need to do more of bc i sound like a dying donkey speaking irish😋) aND ITS REALLY PRETTY OKAY? ITS GOT A COOL EMPHATIC FORM IN ENGLISH YOU JUST USE YOUR TONE TO PUT EMPHASIS ON STUFF.

plus plus. silver and gold fáinnes. what other language in the world has cool little badge pin thingies when you can speak a good enough level of it?

in conclusion; irish is based. Is maith liom bheith ag amharc dónal dána. Ceapaim go bhfuil asal thusa. focáil leat.(was previously 'téigh fuck tú féin, but thats not the best way to say it), Chuaigh mé ar scoil ar a naoi a chlog. Tá mo scoil iontach leadránach.

slán, sláinte, suck my dick you mouldy egg sandwich.

^me when someone asks me a question in irish that i havent spent weeks preparing for on a set list for orals

#this is my motivation post; bc if i cant do it via discipline i'll do it via spite #inspired by my sister being a meanie a few days ago when i was talking abt gcses w my ma😔✊#also gcse irish is both mind numbingly simple and kinda complex #it is doing my fucking head in #also idk how to insult people in irish i thought up téígh fuck tú féin when i got bored in maths bc i have the attention span of a goldfish #ailillgachuair #irish #gaeilgeblr #gaeilge #languages #irish language #linguistics #dead languages

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just-j-really · 3 months

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Unsoulmates AU, part two!

Part one is here.

Hob isn't exactly expecting to run into his not-soulmate again. The man doesn't text him after Will's engagement party, not even to provide his name, and after a week of valiantly staring at his phone and willing it to buzz Hob is forced to admit that maybe he hadn't been serious.

It stings. For once it would have been nice to have someone realize he means it when he says that soulmates are bullshit.

But he's too busy to dwell on it, much. He has sets to build and an anxiety-inducing new job to get used to and about seventeen different hobbies he's accidentally abandoning.

He's at a party with some of Will's Strange Art Friends, digging through the top shelf of Will's absurdly tall cabinets, when a deep, familiar voice asks, "What are you doing?"

"Banditry," Hob says cheerfully, once he's finished not concussing himself on the cabinet door in shock. "Will promised me he'd bought some of 'those gross licorice things only I like' but he was really unclear about where they are." The cabinet he'd been rummaging in is clearly not the place, being full of expired soda and electrical tape, so Hob closes the door and leans over to the next one. "Did you come in here for snacks, too?" he asks, when there's no response from behind him.

"No," his not-soulmate replies, blandly. "I was hoping for a moment alone." His tone clearly implies that Hob's presence is ruining his evening, and Hob should either leave the room or cease to exist immediately.

"Ah," Hob replies. It stings, again, even though that's utterly absurd and he barely even knows this man. "I'll be gone in a sec," he adds, because he'll be damned if some asshole sabotages his Snack Quest, "just let me find my licorice."

The man- Hob should really get his name if they're going to keep running into each other like this- sighs loudly, but doesn't make any sort of verbal objection to Hob's continued presence. Hob ignores him, and resumes his Quest.

It takes three minutes of stony silence, but Hob eventually uncovers the licorice in a bowl on top of the fridge, which is not even close to being 'in one of the cabinets', Will. He's about to retreat from the kitchen with his prize, when the man says, "You actually do know Will," in a tone of utter confusion.

"Yeah," Hob says, slowly turning to face him. The man is sitting sprawled on the counter, his bearing almost regal except for the part where he's staring at Hob like Hob is a dog who unexpectedly started doing calculus.

"How???" the man finally asks. Hob can hear the extra question marks in his voice, even if his tone stays even.

"Used to date his archenemy," Hob says, with a shrug. "We stayed friends after Kit moved."

If anything, this seems to confuse the man further. "Or we became friends after Kit moved, anyway," Hob adds, possessed by a desperate need not so much to fill the silence as to keep voicing his thoughts. "Up until that point I'd wanted to support my boyfriend and all, but then he left and I wanted to keep building sets so I started to work with Will instead."

"You. What?"

"I volunteered to help build sets at that little theater Will used to work at," Hob says. "That was how I met both of them, actually. But then Kit and I started dating and that doesn't actually matter to what you were asking, does it?"

To Hob's utter bafflement, his not-soulmate nods at him to continue. Again, 'regal' is the only word for the gesture, even though he's sitting on a grimy counter in the nasty, yellowish lighting of Will's kitchen.

So Hob makes himself comfortable against the fridge and starts again, detailing the entire stupid saga of Kit-and-Will-and-Hob-making-the-whole-thing-much-worse-in-an-attempt-to-be-a-supportive-boyfriend. And at some point he swerves off into just talking about Kit-and-Hob, which is nice, because most of his friends were there for Kit-and-Hob, and don't find his sappy reminiscing terribly interesting.

And somehow that loops all the way around to how he was technically working for the government at that point, which, of all things, was the root cause of him getting on speaking terms with Will again. That and Kit moving, although it is really weird talking to Kit now because he can't avoid talking about the fact that he's accidentally befriended Kit's mortal enemy-

"You're still in touch with him?" Hob's not-soulmate asks softly.

Hob turns to fully look at him and regrets it immediately. Over the course of his ramblings, he'd moved from the fridge to the counter next to his not-soulmate, so that he could sit down and also easily share his licorice.

This means that his face is much closer to his not-soulmate's than he'd expected it to be, and for a moment he's lost in the blue of the man's eyes, the open intensity of his gaze.

"Oh. Uh, yeah," he says, when he's managed to remember the question. "The breakup was..." he trails off, looking for a word, and finally settles on, "amicable?"

His not-soulmate gives him that little 'go on' nod again. And Hob knows- he knows- that he should get some higher standards, but the quickest way to his heart is, and always has been, prompting him to keep talking, and he can feel himself falling as surely as he can feel the blush overtaking his face.

So he tips his head toward his not-soulmate, so that he can keep his voice low and still be heard above the crowd in the next room, and says, "Faustus got picked up. And like half of the filming was going to be overseas, but I couldn't leave London, at least not right then." His not-soulmate gives a look that isn't so much 'confused' as 'entirely uncomprehending,' so Hob adds, "I'd messed up my knee real bad." He gives the offending kneecap a hard tap and immediately regrets it. "Long story. I spent most of that summer in doctor's offices. And hospitals. So. 'Quit your job to travel with your boyfriend for a few months' was not really an option, for me. And he didn't want to do long-distance. So we broke up."

"Your soulmate left you alone, in pain, because he 'didn't want to do long-distance'?" Hob's not-soulmate asks. There’s something raw, close to pity but more tender, in his face, which makes Hob feel unbelievably guilty for laughing at the question.

"Oh, god, no," he says, with an expressive wave of his hand. "Kit wasn't my- No. Met his soulmate while he was filming Faustus, actually, otherwise we might have-" And then Hob shuts that sentence down, hard, because the breakup itself doesn't hurt as much as that part.

"Anyway," he says, and is about to ask if his not-soulmate wants to hear the story of how he busted his knee, it's pretty funny, actually-

"But if he wasn't your soulmate-" his not-soulmate asks, leaning toward Hob.

There hadn't been much space between them in the first place, is the thing. And now Hob's not-soulmate is leaning even closer, staring at him like an entomologist studying a particularly fascinating insect, and leaving Hob with exactly two options: tilt his head up, just a bit, and kiss him, or succumb to gravity and fall backwards into the sink.

"Hey, Hobs, I just realized-" Will says, walking into the room. He proceeds to choke on his own tongue, while Hob's not-soulmate jerks away from Hob like he's on fire, and Hob gracefully avoids the sink by falling off the counter entirely.

Will is the first to regain his composure. "Oh. Morpheus," he says, nervously, "I thought you left."

Hob looks sharply up at- at Morpheus, apparently, biting back a litany of questions. It makes sense that his aloof, mysterious stranger is the same aloof, mysterious stranger that Will credits for editing his first successful play to the point that it was a success. But with the way Will talks about Morpheus he'd been half-expecting a deity.

"I did not," Morpheus says. He's back to looking bored and regal, not a hair out of its artfully disheveled place, which is just rude given that Hob is still in a heap on the floor.

"Well if you're planning to stick around," Will says, "I'd been meaning to ask you about Midsummer-"

Morpheus' eyes light up, and he slides off the counter and sweeps out of the room, Hob clutching his candy in both hands to stop himself from physically reaching out to say, No, wait.

Will, at least, lingers for long enough to mouth, "Sorry," and shrug, before following him.

"What the fuck was that?" Hob asks aloud, when he's left alone with his bruised dignity.

The cabinets have no response.

He's not sure what he's expecting after that, but it certainly isn't for Morpheus to text him, Would you like to meet for coffee? the next day.

Of course Hob says yes.

He's smarter about it, this time. Makes sure he's seated in the café, with a double espresso and a plan, by the time Morpheus comes in. He doesn't even ask so what the fuck was that when Morpheus sits down next to him, no matter how much he wants to.

Instead, he says, "Why did you ask me to come here?" with all the frustration he'd felt the exact moment he'd hauled himself off of Will's kitchen floor, knee protesting viciously, trying to make sense of Morpheus, who'd willingly listened to him talk for close to an hour and then left without bothering to say goodbye. It's a step above what the fuck was that, but not by much.

"Because I'm interested," Morpheus says, his voice low.

"In. Me?" Hob asks.

"In your experience," Morpheus says, with more exasperation than Hob thinks is really fair for someone who just said he was 'interested' while staring at Hob's lips. "I want to know what it's like. Dating without looking for your soulmate."

Ah, Hob thinks. At least that makes sense. He's aware that avoiding his soulmate makes him an anomaly- sure, actually Waiting For Your Soulmate is less common these days than it used to be; plenty enough people are willing to have casual relationships in the meantime, but even then in the meantime is an implicit part of the equation.

He can accept it, if Morpheus' 'interest' in him is purely curiosity, as long as he knows where they stand.

And, to be honest, the fact that Morpheus is curious at all is... gratifying. Most people aren't even that.

So Hob downs his drink, grins at Morpheus, and proclaims, "It's fucking brilliant."

[Part Three]

#dreamling #unsoulmates au #my fic #I am renaming this universe because i feel like 'anti-soulmates' gives the impression that i think soulmate aus are bad or something #I do plan to write more of this #I have like. an outline and shit #but I cannot make any promises about when i will do that #i've got 17 WIPs and 0 attention spans

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