Irish Name Novels & Stories

Liana couldn't believe her ears. She felt a wave of nostalgia washing over her as memories she almost forgot about began flooding back in her mind. The more she looked, the more she heard, she couldn't help but believe this was far too much of a coincidence. He's Irish, he looks older which stands to reason but for the most part their features are the same, I'm almost certain his name was Collen.

“What if that really was my first kiss? You could’ve ruined me. I might never trust a guy again.” The worker opened the metal bar and shouted, “Time’s up. Everybody out.” The stranger brushed my hair away from my face. “You’ll be fine,” he said in a rough voice. “Don’t be too sure.” “Don’t doubt me. I know a lot about people. And I already told you, my name is Monster.” “That might just be your nickname—” I started. “Nicknames say more than real names.” I agreed because my father called my older brother, Aiden, Mo Orga. It means “my golden” in Irish. He called my middle brother, Henry, Ceann Beag. That means “little one.”

I kissed Laia's forehead, overwhelmed with gratitude for the love and life we now held in our arms. We chose to name her Iris, a name carrying profound symbolism for us. It represented the hope, faith, and new beginnings that had gracefully woven themselves into the tapestry of our love story. With the arrival of Iris, our family expanded, and our hearts were forever intertwined with the sweet, innocent presence of our precious daughter. She brought a new chapter into our lives, symbolizing the love and commitment that had led us to this joyful moment.

My little wolf. "Faolan," I said slowly. "It's Irish. My grandfather was from Cork — he used to tell me all these old stories, teach me bits of Gaelic when I was little." I looked at him. "It means 'little wolf.' Which is kind of a joke, because you're massive, but..." Something shifted in his expression. He straightened slightly against the doorframe, testing the word silently, his lips moving. "Fao-lan," I said again, slower. "Fao for short."

she mimicked an Irish accent, making me laugh. “Legally, you’re American. You have lived there for twenty years. Bloodline? Nope, but when you say Americans, everyone in America is mixed of all races.” “Doreen and Cillian MacLynch. And my real name is still Danielle.” She beamed. “What about my grandparents?” I shook my head. “They passed away a couple of years ago.” “Let’s go to Ireland, but let me first watch The Irishman.” “Let me make some calls.” I grabbed my phone, and it buzzed in my hand.

She continued and she wiped my tears and hugged me again. “What happened to your past is already a past… please don’t live with it” She begged but I couldn't promise her about it. The pain still lingers as I remember everything now and it is more painful than before. “Irish,” My mom called me by a name that is not my name. That makes me suddenly irritated “I am not Irish,” I said in an irritated voice. She looked at me without a clue because I am Irish now.

"I liked the idea of something that honoured him. My father. His name was Idris. I thought, maybe, something that sounded like an echo of that, without being quite so obvious." "Idris," Christopher repeated softly, testing the shape of it. "What about Iris? Close enough to carry him with her, different enough to be entirely her own." Starr turned the name over in her mind, picturing it, a small girl with her father's laugh and her mother's stubbornness, growing up surrounded by people who loved her without condition, and felt something settle deep and certain in her chest. "Iris," she said. "I like that. I like that a lot."

My request bounces back to me, leaving me empty handed and I begin to look for other alternatives. “Is it Irish or Iris?” I squint my eyes as my fingers search for something I can defend myself with, in the darkness. “It’s Irish. That’s what she was called.” She argues back and I hum, moving to the side slowly, my back still on the wall. “Or it’s what your father told you because I have never heard a name like Irish.” I say, trying to hide my glee as my fingers touch a rod. I hold it tightly when she comes closer with her eyes looking strange in the dark.

"No. Donal. No 'd' at the end." "Ah. Donal. Nice to meet you too." Donal? What were the chances? That was what she'd named the one gargoyle in Ireland. She dismissed the coincidence. There were probably a thousand men named Donal in the Emerald Isles. She shook his hand. It was larger than hers, but the same level of paleness. In fact, his hand engulfed hers, but she wasn't intimidated by him. Instead, he had a warmth to him that she was drawn to. If nothing else, she'd have someone to talk to on her ride to work.

, he stated easily. Jasmine hummed, "If it were an Indian name, 'Vani' means the Goddess Saraswati's sound or muse", she stated walking towards Ash and Zen, and "I've no idea what it means in Ireland though", she answered honestly. "Maybe she can explain it", Zen muttered tiredly. Hikaru turned to him, "What do you mean when you say 'red' suits as a name?" she asked curiously not capitalizing the word.