Saoirse Ní Chiaragáin
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miseryvulture.bsky.social
Saoirse Ní Chiaragáin
@miseryvulture.bsky.social
6.5K followers 950 following 16K posts
Irish dilettante and horror writer in Berlin.
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miseryvulture.bsky.social
I think because they make good coffee table books and because both were gifts, which says something about the givers and, in turn, me.
Alan Moore's Lost Girls Secret Identity The Fetish Art of Superman's Co-Creator Joe Shuster
November 14, 2025 at 7:27 PM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
Me in 2005, I'm not joking around.
A very cringe poor quality selfie of 15-year-old Saoirse posing in front of an Aladdin Sane poster.
November 14, 2025 at 4:31 PM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
Tag yourself
Saoirse's good friend Bee: ooooooh what a great thought Bowl or coffee cup I think I gotta go coffee cup tho Saoirse: I gotta be a coffee cup Snap Bee: So intimate, actually touch to mouth Bowl? Stp banging around my insides with ya spoon Saoirse: Like who are you? My gynaecologist? Who inexplicably uses spoons instead of medical instruments?
November 13, 2025 at 3:39 PM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
Without downloading any new pics, describe your gender:
Joaquin Phoenix in 8mm
November 13, 2025 at 12:00 PM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
At first I was like "Oh, poor lonely mushroom growing from the cobbles :(" but then I noticed there was another mushroom growing about a foot away :) it's OK, you guys, they have each other.
A little pale mushroom growing between cobblestones.
November 12, 2025 at 8:45 AM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
We have Betty Boop horror at home.
That one character in American Mary who has had extensive plastic surgery to look like Betty Boop.
November 11, 2025 at 6:14 PM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
Demi Lovato commenting "GET A JOB STAY AWAY FROM HER"
November 11, 2025 at 6:13 PM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
Fleischerei begins with hemorrhoids.

Convincing you to read my novel(la) by the first sentence. Share yours if you want!
Ante-Mortem It hurts to sit, the product of days of straining fruitlessly, blood vessels pink and puckered as flower buds, ring around a rosie.
November 11, 2025 at 5:14 PM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
New Bond: Only the Gay Shit
Le Chiffre is about to perform CBT on Bond, oh nooo Javier Bardem is toying menacingly with Bond, oh nooo
November 11, 2025 at 3:34 PM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
I was supposed to have a meeting today but plans changed and I no longer needed to attend. Anyway, someone who DID attend set up an AI service to take minutes, which were then automatically sent to everyone invited. I am losing it.
Topics 1. Brief Interaction [REDACTED] joined the meeting and asked "What's going on?" Another participant identified as [REDACTED] joined the metting [REDACTED] left the meeting after approximately two minutes without any substantive discussion taking place.
November 11, 2025 at 10:23 AM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
Hi I'm
A sow nursing many piglets Reese's peanut butter cups
November 10, 2025 at 3:18 PM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
Every day on this stupid app someone responds to something I've posted telling me something I already know.
Patti Harrison in I Think You Should Leave saying "I know that. I'm not stupid. I'm smarter than you!"
November 10, 2025 at 12:49 PM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
*the Monster Ball
November 10, 2025 at 11:31 AM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
Tapping the sign AGAIN
Filth darling, John Waters, sits behind piles of books. Above him is the quote "We need to make books cool again. If you go home with somebody and they don't have books, don't fuck them."
November 10, 2025 at 11:19 AM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
My hair is doing a different kind of retro today, I'm feeling very Baader-Meinhof.
Saoirse wears black and her hair actually looks too 1960s to be Baader-Meinhof but shh
November 9, 2025 at 5:03 PM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
Thank you! And likewise, I am always thinking about the people who lived here before us. I wrote this when we were living in a much older building, but the story itself was prompted by this image I saw online haha
A "For Sale" sign at a roadside. Above the sign is another sign which reads "Not Haunted".
November 8, 2025 at 11:36 AM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
It's a beautiful day to squint disapprovingly at the phallic embellishments on this school building.
An old, red-roofed school building. Above one window are some ornamental curlicues, which unfortunately provide the base for a stout spire. Regrettably, it looks like a cock and balls.
November 8, 2025 at 9:26 AM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
Post you from a different era.

2004
November 7, 2025 at 2:53 PM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
They're gonna have such a bad time hahaha
"I assume we're sleeping in here?" Jo asks, hating that it sounds as though she is seeking permission. Grace shrugs. "Good a place as any, I suppose." But it isn't as good a place as any, Jo thinks. Every other room is uninhabitable. This house, The House, is uninhabitable. She feels a knot in her throat and sits on the floor. Grace sits beside her and leans her head on Jo's shoulder. "I'm so happy," she sighs. Jo wraps an arm around her, pulls her closer, tighter. Grace thinks of it as affection, Jo thinks of it as a drowning person seeking something buoyant. "Yeah," Jo says. "So am I."
November 6, 2025 at 1:30 PM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
It's a real piece of shit house, they really shoulda just broken up.
This room has no ceiling at all. Jo tilts back her head to take in the sky above, peekaboo-ing from splintered wood. The breeze, running a sigh over The House, carries the scent of silage. Here, the carpet is fouled with bird shit and guano. Rainwater puddles beneath the filth, darkened by earth and excrement. The far wall is freckled with black mold. Belatedly, Jo pulls the cuff of her sleeve over her nose and mouth. "It must have been some storm," says Grace, peeking past her. "Yeah." Grace, unconcerned, pushes her way into the kitchen, and Jo follows. Jo wants to ask where they will sleep, but knows that Grace will interpret this as criticism, as reluctance, as an absence of faith. Instead, her eyes scan the kitchen, size it up. The walls are a sickly mint, but blessedly free of mold, as far as Jo can tell. The white ceiling, barring a rusty water stain, appears sound. The countertops are formica, the flooring linoleum, and glowering from the corner sits a sunburst wood stove, burnt umber at the edges and bearing coagulated stains of past meals like battle scars. Grace laughs.
November 6, 2025 at 1:17 PM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
What if you and your girlfriend bought a nightmare fixer-upper in the Irish midlands when really you should have broken up years ago instead?
You pass one hundred of these houses on any Irish backroad, greening and groaning, with only its ghosts for company. But this one is theirs. A foot placed on a property ladder that has but one rung. Success is measured in homeownership and this is their prize, The House. The House is a compromise. The House is a promise. The House is an apology. The House is Jo's penance. This is what Jo is thinking when Grace says, "Carry me." and slings an arm about her neck. Jo knows that to refuse her is to invite a row, so she bends her knees and scoops Grace into her arms, nudges the unlocked front door open with the toe of her boot, chipped paint flaking onto leather. Part of her wants to say that only brides are carried over thresholds, but she knows that will spark a row too. Braced against the weight, she steps inside. This is, of course, not their first time in The House. Many visits and deliberations preceded the purchase. A house is a big commitment; The House especially so. In its current state of dilapidation, with so much having been stripped bare, it needs so much. Jo thinks that, perhaps, the weight of all that need didn't really register until she puffed into the narrow entryway, brow clammy, Grace slipping from her grip. It looks different now. Worse, somehow. And the dreams they'd shared so recently of how they would restore it, taking Jo's long Summer break to turn it from The House into The Home, seem like the wishes of children, lullabying themselves at a slumber party with talk of the mansion they'll own one day, populated with their friends and all the animals their hearts can stretch to envelop in tender, infantile love. If Grace feels the same as Jo, she does not show it, instead sliding to her feet with a dull thump and stretching like a housecat. "Do you think that's load-bearing?" she asks, nodding to the wall before them, from which a sun-bleached Christ regards them, all cyan and yellow.
November 5, 2025 at 12:21 PM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
I took some very low res photos at the time lol
A grave from which a pomegranate tree grows, heavy with fruit. A different grave, also bearing a fruiting pomegranate tree.
November 5, 2025 at 8:11 AM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
Things are really tough for them right now, any donation helps
Text conversation between Kazem and Saoirse featuring photos of a wound/blister on his foot. Kazem: Here is is (crying emoji) Saoirse: Oh no, that looks very painful! Does it hurt to walk? Kazem: I can only walk with great difficulty. It hurts me a lot. He needs treatments and antibiotics. I don't have any money haha and we also need tents to protect ourselves from the winter cold.
November 4, 2025 at 6:39 PM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
Thought I could smell something weird on the bus but it was just a friend.
A sweet little brown dog underneath a seat on a bus.
November 4, 2025 at 10:06 AM
miseryvulture.bsky.social
It's been three years since I had the pleasure of talking about vampires in German and Irish cinema and I so want to do more stuff like this. Let me talk about stuff!!
Programme for the 2022 German Irish Vampire Festival which featured a talk by yours truly.
November 3, 2025 at 8:48 AM