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soda bread
My love 🩷
But see above re: the whiskey coming out to play. Oh boy, does it wanna play.
They have a heart buried in the walls. Loch went Edgar Allan Poe on this place and that’s sacrilege because Poe isn’t even one of his precious Irish authors.
I am going to hate myself tomorrow. Seems to be a reoccurring pattern in Ireland.
He touched my knees earlier, and that meant nothing, so this, this means— His finger moves. Hooks with mine.
Id die/pos
A celebration of their survival in the face of political and religious instability. In the face of starvation and oppression and the fucking English’s attempts at genocide.
I get to that realization I’ve been fighting and I stand face to face with it. I want him. God, do I want him.
the way he works his lips across my jaw, laving, sucking, drawing an abstract curve with his mouth the way he paints them with his fingers. Those fingers. Those fingers—they’re
