northeast tower

“Dunluce Castle & Mermaid’s Cave”
Bushmills, Antrim Coast, Northern Ireland
Gareth Wray Photography


Dunluce Castle stands proud on the end of White Rocks cliffs to the east of Portrush. It is one of the finest medieval castles in Ireland. Parts of the castle date back to the 14th century, the first record of it is from 1513 when it belonged to the MacQuillans. Dunluce Castle’s sheer magnificence actually inspired the “Royal Castle” in C.S Lewis’s “The Chronicles of Narnia” & recently it has been featured as "House of Greyjoy” in the TV series “Game of Thrones”

However under the beauty, hidden in its dark depths lies a cave of enormous proportions that is every bit as grand as the castle sitting above it. Measuring 300ft long myth has it that the Lord McQuillan’s daughter “Maeve” had fallen in love with an officer in her fathers army, her father was furious when he found out about this! Maeve & her lover tried to flee the castle via this underlayer cave. Suddenly a terrible storm struck & smashed their wooden row boat off the caves sharp walls! Sadly both of them were crushed on the rocks that evening. It is said that on stormy nights you can still hear the broken hearted “Banshee of Maeve” wailing in the northeast tower to this very day….

A Pirates Life for Me

Pairing: Pirate Ivar x Gwen (Reader)
Word Count: 7269
Warnings: None for this chapter
Authors Note: Oh boy…be gentle! Also…holy shit I’m sorry the chapter’s are so long. Do you guys want me to break them up a little? All feedback is welcome and please remember this is SLOW BURN…it’ll take a bit to get them together and when they do, well, Ivar is Ivar in any universe.

Originally posted by whenimaunicorn

The tempest had tossed the battered pirate ship Gullhjarta far off course, but this was the least of the crew’s worries. After five hours of mayhem, the storm suddenly seemed to be gaining new life and intensity. Torn sails and bits of rigging flapped helplessly in the unforgiving gale. Earlier, a bolt of lightning had shot straight from Valhalla, illuminating the sky moments before it demolished the mainmast, sending thousands of flaming splinters into the air. The crashing waves and the howling wind drowned out the shouts of the crew.


The sailors of this pirate vessel, many of whom were still half-drunk from the prior evening’s festivities, were now suddenly sober and fighting for their lives. Everyone aboard the ship was a professional seaman and knew his place, but this storm has left its mark, as man after man had been washed overboard to a watery grave. The last command from the boatswain had been his fevered scream of, “Rocks ahoy, hard to port!”


Then a wave that seemed as immense as the sky itself engulfed the bow of the ship, and the boatswain was gone.

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time.com
Slavery on America's College Campuses Went Beyond Buying and Selling
The relationship between early academia in the U.S. and the institution of slavery was extensive

Slavery was critical to the economy, north and south, of much of the early republic. It’s challenging to appreciate just how many things – including institutions like schools and churches, which today we would like to view as benevolent – were involved with this exploitative economic system.

Rebellious slaves and abolitionists were not just speaking up for individual liberty, they were advocating taking apart a large part of the economy.

in the moonlight

Crawling out of my self-imposed hiatus (life’s been real busy eek) to dust the cobwebs off this tumblr/my brain. This little ZelGan ficlet was inspired by @figmentforms aMAZing comic A Tale of Two Rulers, which has stunning art and a captivating story. I swear I never even shipped these two before but ever since my friend @olliemiku unknowingly got me hooked (thanks Olivia) on this fabulous comic it’s been hard to get out of mind. This imagined scene pretty much wrote itself.


“Your kingdom will still be there in the morning, princess,” he called with some amusement, attempting to goad her with the incorrect title.  Besides, some habits died hard.

Our kingdom,” Zelda corrected.  She did not turn away from the window, and continued to gaze out at the sweeping view offered by the castle’s northwest tower; her private quarters were far too cramped for the both of them.  “I have been thinking about what…our union… truly means for us.  For our people.  No more wars…no more violence…no more bloodshed.”  Her voice was as soft as though she was reassuring the moon of her intentions.

And she was radiant in the moonlight: it spilled in through the open arch, setting a silver fire to the embroidered threads on her otherwise simple wedding gown, framing her in an unearthly glow.  It unspun the gold from her hair, elegantly braided and tapered down to the small of her back, adorned not with gaudy jewels or metals but an array of delicate pearls, gleaming like star-tears.  In the moonlight, she looked both young and ancient–as ancient as their cursed bloodlines–and both vulnerable and untouchable.  Ganon realized she was beautiful, far more beautiful than all the gems and armor buried in his personal vaults, more beautiful than any sacred object harbored in the Gerudo temples.  A beauty he could never–would never–possess.  It unsettled him.

“Come to bed,” he invited, stretching luxuriously and scrunching his toes in the silky sheets.  He had abandoned his ceremonial attire as soon as it was appropriate; it had always made him feel like an overstuffed aristocrat, an image insulting to any desert warrior.  But here, half-naked amongst the cloudsoft blankets, he privately admitted that there were some Hylian comforts he could get used to.  “I don’t bite.  Unless you ask me to,” he added generously.

He thought he heard her sigh, and he grinned wolfishly.  “No sharp retort?  One day of marriage and already you’re losing your edge–”

Zelda turned, and her loveliness in the moonlight struck him into uncharacteristic silence.  He witnessed every detail: the small crease of her eyebrows, the silent parting of her lips, her hand burning with the mark of the Triforce as she raised it to her neck–and the black tuft of feathers bristling between her fingers at her throat.  She crumpled to the floor.

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