Right. Let's get the obvious out of the way.
Yes, I look like I'm about to curse someone's bloodline. No, I'm not angry. That's just my face. Take it up with my ancestors. I've been compared to Wednesday Addams since Christina Ricci was still terrorising summer camps, and frankly, I've stopped considering it an insult. At this point, it's a hereditary condition.
Anyway. I'm Morrígan. 38, currently dividing my existence between Porto and Dublin. Mother to a small human, servant to a dog. Both outrank me in this household, although only one pays absolutely no attention to what I say. I'll let you guess which.
I have ADHD, which means a perfectly normal conversation about the weather can end with me explaining medieval Irish funerary practices, the political implications of a particularly unfortunate royal marriage, or why some ancient god was an absolute bastard. I won't remember how we got there. Neither will you. That's half the fun.
I grew up in Geneva, so my accent is an international incident. Portuguese, French and English are fine. Spanish is passable, German is an ongoing embarrassment, and I'm currently attempting to learn Gaeilge, which is going about as well as you'd expect from a language where half the letters appear to have been invited purely for moral support.
My dog gets most of the practice. She's yet to complain. Excellent teacher. Terrible conversationalist.
A few things about me, since apparently we need to establish that I'm a functioning member of society. Debatable.
I write. Poetry, fantasy, horror, dark romance, and whatever other literary atrocities my brain decides to produce at three in the morning. My characters rarely have a pleasant time. Neither do my readers, presumably. Nobody has filed a formal complaint yet.
I also play flute, bass and guitar, and I sing. Eight years of classical training, only to end up making music that sounds like someone summoned a woodland deity and forgot to read the terms and conditions.
There are now over 750 physical books in my house. Seven hundred and fifty. I don't have a book-buying problem. I have a shelving problem. Completely different medical condition. At this stage, if there's a fire, I'm saving the first editions and letting natural selection sort out the rest.
I'm a practising pagan, too. Altars, rituals, the occasional conversation with deities who have significantly worse reputations than I do. No, I don't sacrifice people. Have I considered making exceptions? Legally, I'm advised not to answer that.
Photography is another obsession. Digital, analogue, landscapes, ruins, abandoned places, peculiar little details most people walk straight past. Give me an old cemetery, a ruined abbey or a suspicious-looking forest and I'll be entertained for hours. Ireland is particularly accommodating in that department. Apparently the country looked at several thousand years of history and decided demolition was too much effort.
I love cooking, proper coffee, medieval fairs, mythology, history, science fiction, horror films, true crime documentaries and morally questionable fictional men. The fictional part is important. Real-life red flags are considerably less entertaining when they have your phone number.
I also have a deeply unreasonable attachment to my books. If you borrow one, I expect it returned in the same condition, preferably accompanied by a written apology for having deprived me of its company.
As for my personality?
Flawless, obviously.
But in the interest of transparency, here's what previous witnesses might tell you:
- I can disappear into a special interest for six hours to two weeks, forget food exists, then return to civilisation with seventeen new facts nobody requested.
- I usually side with the villain. The hero has plot armour, divine intervention and a suspiciously convenient prophecy. The villain had to develop an actual strategy. Respect the work ethic.
- My sense of humour is dark, dry and occasionally so inappropriate that even I have to consider whether the joke should've stayed inside my head. It rarely does.
- My resting face has convinced strangers that I'm either furious, depressed or plotting a murder. Sometimes I'm just thinking about soup.
- I'm an introvert, not a hermit. There is a difference. Hermits don't spend this much money on coffee.
- I have very little patience for performative politeness, intellectual dishonesty or people who confuse being loud with being interesting.
- I can discuss literature, history and mythology for hours, but ask me what I had for lunch yesterday and suddenly we're dealing with classified information.
Who am I looking for?
Bookworms. Nerds. History enthusiasts. Mythology obsessives. Neurodivergent chaos goblins. People with niche interests, questionable humour and enough curiosity to make a conversation genuinely interesting.
The sort of people who'd happily spend an afternoon wandering through a bookshop, exploring a medieval ruin, discussing whether a particular historical figure was misunderstood or simply a colossal prick, then end up in a pub arguing about something that happened in 1172.
Bonus points if your TBR pile constitutes a genuine structural threat, you've ever been described as intimidating when you were literally just standing there, or you also feel more at home among old books and dead people than at a networking event.
You don't need to share all my interests. In fact, please don't. I want new rabbit holes to fall into. I've already exhausted several of mine and the others are getting expensive.
A few ground rules, because apparently civilisation was a temporary experiment.
Please don't open with "hi", "hey" or "wyd". I'm not expecting a medieval manuscript illuminated in gold leaf, but a complete sentence would be a promising start.
No burner accounts, unsolicited anatomy lessons, sexual propositions or men who interpret "platonic" as an elaborate challenge. I'm not playing hard to get. I'm not playing at all. This is a friendship post, not an audition for the role of my next regrettable life decision.
Europe preferred because I'd genuinely like to meet people eventually. Ireland, particularly gets priority processing. Porto is also very much on the table.
And if you're elsewhere, that's fine too. World domination is technically a remote-friendly position.
So. Tell me something interesting.
A historical conspiracy you could defend in court. A book that permanently altered your brain chemistry. A mythological figure you'd defend despite overwhelming evidence that they're an absolute menace.
Or just tell me what you're currently obsessing over.
I don't particularly care if it's obscure, morbid or completely ridiculous.
Actually, that's probably preferable.
Platonic only. Friendship, books, questionable decisions and eventual world domination.
The usual wholesome stuff.