#Welsh Writing

[llyfrenfys]

I'd like to preface this with that this is a screenshot of a post I saw a few days ago in the #welsh tag and that the OP has since deleted this post, but the sentiment is something I'd like to address since I see a lot of parallels with this kind of thinking in other contexts, such as in LGBTQIA+ rights conversations.

So, the most obvious elephant in the room is the idea that Welsh is super widely spoken in Wales now and that it isn't in as much danger as other Celtic languages. This idea is wishful thinking at best and erases the very real danger that Welsh is in and that it could be lost just as easily as Irish or Scottish Gaelic. Cornish (which is related to Welsh) actually did die out and has had to be revived. To make a metaphor out of this, we classify languages on a scale of non-threatened to endangered in a similar way to how we classify species.

Here are the statuses of Welsh and Irish as of 2010 (above) and the statuses of Lions and Tigers (below).

On paper tigers are more 'in danger' than lions. But that does not mean that lions are suddenly not in danger at all. The little bracket above CR, EN and VU labels all of these classifications as threatened. It isn't (and definitely shouldn't) be a competition of 'who is most in danger' because you do not want the thing you care about (whether it be a species or a language) to be in danger.

To come back to the original screenshot "they* [Welsh speakers] have always had the means and the ways because the English didn't beat or slaughter them for speaking it"- on the most basic of levels, this is just incorrect. The Welsh Not was a wooden token hung around schoolchildren's necks if they spoke Welsh in school. If someone else spoke Welsh the Not would be hung around their neck. At the end of the school day, whoever was wearing the Not would be beaten and caned by their teachers. I needn't go into much detail but there have been concerted efforts to beat Welsh out of schoolchildren. With the lions vs tigers metaphor, making the claim Welsh speakers have never been beaten for speaking Welsh because they always had the means and ways, while Irish speakers were beaten and never had the means or ways is like claiming poachers have never shot lions, only tigers. Bottom line is, lions and tigers are both victim to poaching and both species have suffered as a result. Similarly, Welsh and Irish have both suffered language loss and both need conservation efforts in order to survive.

(*sidenote- the consistent use of 'them' and 'they' in the original post is definitely indicative of a 'us vs them' sentiment which is a deeply unhelpful attitude to have when it comes to endangered languages and the Celtic languages in particular)

I see parallels with LGBTQIA+ rights in this situation. When equal marriage came in for gay and lesbian couples in the UK in 2014, many allies began to act like gay rights had now been achieved and that gay issues had been done, they're solved. Except, they really weren't (and aren't). Progress has been made in Wales and undeniably Welsh is doing the best out of the living Celtic languages. But that doesn't mean Welsh has been saved or that full equality for Welsh speakers has been achieved. It very much hasn't. The sentiment of the post in the screenshot is not conducive to helping Irish or Scottish Gaelic. Putting down Welsh speakers and erasing Welsh-language history will not save Irish or Scottish Gaelic. Pretending Welsh has had it easy in some kind of lap of luxury is a deeply harmful and bogus claim.

I'll address the tags under the cut as this post is getting long.

To address the tags, personal feelings ≠ an accurate reading of a situation. Nor is it praxis, for that matter. Why is pride in Welsh different/less good than pride in Irish? Is it the assumed proximity to England? If so, that's a terrible claim to make. Not only that, but Scotland is also next to England- does that make pride in Scottish Gaelic the same as pride in Welsh according to this metric? It's a ludicrous thing to say and deeply insensitive to the needs of Scottish Gaelic and Welsh speakers, who cannot help any current or former proximity to England.

Additionally, proximity to England ≠ worse. I know it's a popular internet joke to hate on England because of English attempts to eradicate the Celtic languages, but when the joke becomes praxis, it does not help. England ≠ a place devoid of Celtic languages either. Many English counties near the Welsh border actually have communities of Welsh speakers, such as Oswestry (Croesoswallt) in Shropshire. Cornwall is also home to many speakers of revived Cornish. It does a disservice to Celtic speakers in England to insinuate that proximity to England taints or corrupts them somehow. This is how ethnonationalism starts and we ain't about that.

And "#it feels a little.... blehhhhh you were seen as sophisticated and english enough and you assimilated however the Irish and the Scots? #brutish animals that need to be culled". So, this is arguably one of the worst things to say about a Celtic language- or any threatened language in general. First of all, the 'you were seen as' - 'you' is very telling. The switch from 'them', 'they' to 'you' indicates that this sentiment is aimed at Welsh speakers directly. This was likely a subconscious thing that OP wasn't thinking about when they wrote this. But it does indicate unhealthy feelings of jealousy and bitterness unfairly directed at Welsh speakers, who are also struggling. This righteous anger at the decline of Irish and Scottish Gaelic would be better directed at efforts to help promote those languages- some useful things to get involved with are LearnGaelic, similar to DysguCymraeg but for Scottish Gaelic or supporting channels such as Irish channel TG4 by watching their programmes.

The idea that Welsh speakers were or are 'sophisticated and english enough' is insulting and carries with it a lot of baggage of how any of these assumptions came about. Welsh speakers were definitely not seen as sophisticated. Where Welsh was 'tolerated', it was treated as a curiosity, a relic of a bygone age. Classic museification which all Celtic languages and cultures suffer from as well. Welsh was not tolerated in any legal sense since 1535- with English becoming the only valid administrative language and the language of Welsh courts after England annexed Wales into its Kingdom. Monolingual Welsh speakers suddenly had no access to any legal representation, unless they learned English. This is no voluntary assimilation- it is an act of survival for many speakers of minoritised languages to 'assimilate' into the dominant culture, or else risk losing access to legal security and other kinds of infrastructure. You need only ask any non-native English speaker living in an Anglophone country what that process is like. Welsh people did not see English incursion as an opportunity to become 'sophisticated and english enough', they had to assimilate in order to survive.

The "Irish and the Scots? #brutish animals that need to be culled" is also painfully misrepresenting a very complex social and political process that unfolded over the span of hundreds of years. The phrasing itself of 'brutish animals that need to be culled' speaks to righteous anger at the damage done to these languages and cultures, but it reinforces negative stereotypes about the Irish and Scots themselves. It also is more complicated than a simple English hatred of anything non-Anglo, since the English conception of particularly the Irish changed a lot over the centuries. It was (and still is) rarely consistent with itself. See: the enemy is both strong and weak. The very earliest Celticists were by and large, Anglos or French.

Ernest Renan (1823-1892) for example, was an early French Celticist who published La Poésie des races celtiques (Poetry of the Celtic Races- English translation) in which he says:

"... we must search for the explanation of the chief features of the Celtic character. It has all the failings, and all the good qualities, of the solitary man; at once proud and timid, strong in feeling and feeble in action, at home free and unreserved, to the outside world awkward and embarrassed. It distrusts the foreigner, because it sees in him a being more refined than itself, who abuses its simplicity. Indifferent to the admiration of others, it asks only one thing, that it should be left to itself. It is before all else a domestic race, fitted for family life and fireside joys. In no other race has the bond of blood been stronger, or has it created more duties, or attached man to his fellow with so much breadth and depth"

Yeah. This guy (unsurprisingly) was a white supremacist. Note that this sentiment is being applied to all people considered Celtic by Renan- Irish, Welsh, Breton, Scottish, Cornish, Manx etc. None unscathed by the celtophobia of the day. In this period, Celticity was romanticised (yet disparaged at the same time). It is less 'brutish animals' and more 'archaic, time-frozen peoples' in this period. Of course, 'brutish animals' attitudes towards Celticity did still exist, but it is disingenuous to act as if it was this attitude alone which drove English celtophobia. Like many things, it is always more complicated and never clear cut as it might seem.

I'll bring this to a close shortly, but returning to OP's suggestion that the Welsh assimilated and the Scots and Irish did not, is also incorrect in that some Scots did have to assimilate to survive as well. The Statutes of Iona (1609) required Scottish Gaelic speaking Highland chiefs to send their sons away to be educated in Scots and/or English in Protestant schools. Many did as the statutes required, which led to further language loss in the Highlands of Scottish Gaelic. These are acts of survival- and not ones always taken willingly.

This has been a long post but it's one which I felt I wanted to address. There's no need for infighting between speakers of Celtic languages over who has it worse. There isn't any answer to that question, nor is it a good use of time or energy. All in all, the Celtic languages have suffered greatly over the years and its only just now that some of them are turning a corner. If you care about these languages, put your energy into something good. Only through active work will these languages be saved for generations to come.

[ingravinoveritas]

Earlier this year, a new blog was started here on Tumblr with the aim and intention of harassing a group of fans in the GO fandom. I previously made a post addressing this, as I was the initial target of this blog (whose original handle was a dupe of my own Tumblr handle).

I had hoped not to have a reason to revisit this particular subject, but given recent disturbing comments made by both this blog and its followers, and a post written by @nightgoodomens describing the situation from their perspective, I feel compelled to make a post of my own, to talk about what I have experienced and continue to experience at the hands of these individuals.

By now, some of you may be familiar with the blog in question. In my prior post, I did not mention this blog's name publicly, and I have no intention of doing so at this time, either. Yet I think it's important to be clear about what this blog's specific intentions were, which were made evident by its original creator on Twitter at the end of May:

It was only a few days after writing this tweet that the author did exactly this, and created this main blog. I feel that this has somehow become obscured over time, as given the negative response that this blog's initial posts engendered, the original creator apparently retired from the blog and gave the reins to someone else, and the blog's focus soon pivoted to defending Georgia and Anna. Prior to this, however, the blog began publishing Anons attacking me, including one that seemed to be threatening to doxx me:

What particularly perplexed me was seeing a gradual distortion of my own words and writing here on Tumblr, as well as people buying into it so readily. I also noticed one particular blog that became friendly with this main blog--they've changed handles a number of times, but at the time they were known as michaelsheendaily (then michaelsheensource, then thesheenantbergs). For months prior, they talked specifically about how awful the things I/others were saying about Georgia and Anna, and then seemingly joined forces with this main blog.

…Yet one year ago this very month, that same person (michaelsheendaily/thesheenantbergs) felt similarly to many of us and had sent me an Ask wanting to know if I thought Anna was being abusive to Michael. This Ask was sent from their (at the time, now deleted) main blog, but they helpfully DMed me from michaelsheendaily to make sure I had seen their question:

I answered this question (as I try to do with every Ask/Anon I get) straightforwardly and honestly, and firmly said "No" in response, as well as how serious it is to accuse someone of abuse, and that it is not up to any of us to try and break up a relationship, as Michael has people he can turn to if he needs to do so. I have also previously defended Georgia on my blog (and provided rationales and examples for why my perspective has gradually shifted over time), but it seems that the people harassing me have conveniently chosen to ignore all of this/have never looked at my blog beyond a cursory glance.

As this main blog continued its posting, and despite having Anons turned off, I began to receive a number of hateful Asks, which culminated with another blog suddenly coming into being about a month after these initial incidents. This blog claimed to be Michael Sheen (using a handle of his from Facebook), and published this despicably homophobic and noticeably un-Michael-like post:

The aforementioned main blog immediately drew attention to this post, and claimed that they had "proof" of this being the real Michael:

It soon became apparent that this blog was a fake, and despite its prior insistence that it could possibly be him, the main blog backtracked quickly as more people pointed out how obviously this was not Michael. Yet even the notion that someone would think this was acceptable--to pretend to be Michael, to (poorly) attempt an approximation of his writing style, all for the sake of attacking one person, and despite the fact that we know Michael already has a Tumblr that he hasn’t posted on in years--is just absurd beyond words.

But clearly this ill-conceived post inspired others, as only a week after this post appeared (and subsequently disappeared, along with the blog itself), I received an Ask from yet another recently-created blog of someone claiming to know Michael personally, saying that he would "destroy" me:

Which brings me to the present day, and how these themes have presented themselves yet again, in an even more unpleasant fashion.

Over the last four months, this main blog and its followers have continued to obsessively read my blog (despite how very easy it would be to simply block me) and screenshotted my posts in order to add their own vile commentary. I have not wanted to draw attention to any of this, but one particular instance has now made me change my mind.

I've recently talked on my blog about my upcoming trip to London, where I will be seeing David in Macbeth. A few days ago, it was brought to my attention that the main blog screenshotted one of my posts--which was a reblog of a video of David with Jodie Whittaker--along with my tags talking about the way David was sitting. One of the blog's followers commented this in response, and subsequently received a reply from the OP:

The "daggers" commenter currently runs several blogs dedicated to worshiping/defending Georgia and Anna (at least one of which is run in tandem with the original creator of the main blog). Numerous accusations have been levied at me and others from these blogs, one of the most outrageous of which is homophobia...yet this is their response to me simply saying David might not be 100% straight, and which eerily echoes the tone of the post from "Michael" three months ago. And while there are a lot of things about the last few months that have rankled me, nothing does so more than the hypocrisy I have witnessed, such as this.

The thing is, though, that when I saw these comments, all I could honestly think of was how sad I felt.

Because here I am, just days away from going on my trip--a trip I have been so anxiously awaiting, that is my first non-work trip in a very, very long time--and now the thought of, "Could someone try to attack me?" has crossed my mind. Yet my sadness is less for myself and more for the person who thinks it is acceptable to wish or even encourage violence against another human being. My sadness is that this person feels so unsafe or discontent in their own life--a feeling I know all too well--that their chosen course of action is to make someone else feel unsafe. To assuage their own sense of powerlessness by going after someone they perceive as having power.

My sadness is at these people being so sure that the celebrities they are a fan of would agree with them, yet needing/wanting those people to act in a way that aligns with who they want Michael and David to be, rather than who they actually are. I know that the Michael and David I became a fan of are two of the kindest, most intelligent, warmest men you could imagine, and that there is no part of me that wants or needs them to scream at or dislike the same people I do for the sake of my own self-serving purposes.

To that end, I have also been distressed by the apparent frenzy that was recently generated in the form of a "rallying cry" against myself and others in this group of fans facing ongoing harassment. But what I've tended to see as a response to said frenzy is some variation of, "People are saying these terrible things. I haven't actually seen any of these posts/comments, but it must be terrible, so I'll block this person/people." I am no stranger to fandom chatter/gossip, but every time I hear something, my first impulse is always to find the receipts. To learn more information what is being claimed so that I can make up my own mind. And that is the very same ethos I have espoused on my blog for years, because I would much rather people think for themselves than "fall in line" because they are being told to do so/threatened with being "cancelled" if they don't.

So if you want to find out something about my opinions or takes, it is all here on my blog. Everything going back five years since I joined the GO fandom, tagged and catalogued. I have not privated anything or deleted anything, nor do I have multiple blogs or side blogs--just this one. And if after reading what I actually have to say you still want to block me, you are certainly welcome to do so. I would just much rather you block me because of the truth, not because of someone else's personal vendetta and agenda.

To say that dealing with all of this for months on end has been surreal and stressful is a profound understatement. Especially because I have never once engaged with this blog, never replied to any posts of theirs, nor sent them an Anon or made threats of any kind (despite receiving numerous threats myself). Nor have I replied to the multiple incendiary Asks and DMs I have repeatedly received from the blog's original creator.

Again, I have not wanted to draw any further attention to these people, but the staggering awfulness of the most recent comments finally made me feel that enough is enough. I truly shudder to think what the response would be if someone made a similarly threatening comment toward these individuals...yet it's somehow completely fine to say these things about me. To make me and others into the "villain" that you need us to be to justify saying these heinous things in the first place. And while these individuals and anyone else are free to dislike me and to express their dislike in a public forum to their heart's content, that freedom of expression ends where my right to not feel that my personal safety is in jeopardy begins. A line that should never have been crossed has been crossed, and we as a fandom and as human beings are much the worse off for it.

No one should ever have to feel this way. Not even these people. And by talking about all of this and bringing these incidents into the light, my hope is that no one else ever will.

[sarafangirlart]

I don’t understand why romantasy, ya fantasy and literally 90% of booktok books so insistent on making their protagonists assassins, mercenaries and spies like do these writers know that other jobs exist? It’s even worse when they adapt Greek mythology like I saw a retelling with Ariadne as an assassin and another with Perseus as a thief like why?

I’ve been reading a fantasy manga where the protagonist who’s an archivists not a fighter (tho he fights when he needs to obv) and he’s documenting his ppl’s culture, heritage, magic and history, it’s especially more compelling since his ppl are going through a genocide so his work is extremely important, this story would be so much less interesting if he had a more stereotypically action-y role. It’s called Children of the Whales.

[iceman-soup]

amab masc!reader x top!soap

Getting fucked more intensely than you've been in years after a mission where you escaped death by a fraction of a centimetre, a close-range bullet with your name on missing by sheer luck alone - and it's all just too overwhelming for Soap, too scary and too real.

He drags you straight from medical to his barrack the second you both get the all-okay, pressing you against his wall once he's locked the door shut, his knee between your legs making you whine and grind against him. Your mouth is on his - desperate, messy kisses only broken to tear each other's clothes off, stumbling to the bed and letting him lie you down against it.

He's scrambling to find a halfway decent bottle of lube, one hand on your chest to keep you in place as he mutters about "m' pretty boy, almost gettin' hurt," not letting you reply, instead shushing you as he manages to undo the cap on a bottle.

"You're mine," his tone is insistent as he preps you as quickly as he can, far too much lube on his fingers making you whine at the cold, half-heartedly complaining that he's being too harsh. "Mine- my boy, mine," is all he repeats, stuttered between kisses whilst he works you open.

Once you're ready, Soap pushes his tip into you, breathing heavy as his head falls onto your chest. He presses open-mouthed kisses to the skin, one hand wrapping around your own cock and pumping at increasing speed as he moves his hips, groans falling from both your lips.

"Cannae have tha'- don't need you gettin' hurt-" rambling between pants and moans 'til you cum, then looking down at it on your stomach, "bonnie lad, m' hen.."

He slams into you, ignoring your whimpers as you start to become overstimulated, then grunting and resting his sweaty forehead on your collarbone, hips flush against yours and legs trembling as he cums, pulling out a few seconds later, slumping down next to you and pulling your tired body into a desperate embrace.

The room is quiet other than the sound of steadying breathing for a moment, before the Sergeant kisses your hair and squeezes you gently. "Bloody eejit, gettin' me all worked up."

[gingersnaptaff]

HI me again back with another Welsh law bonanza. For some reason I don't know, u guys really liked the Gwenhwyfar divorce post I did a few weeks back, so allow me to shed some light on how divorces worked as well as marriage payments, and the role of a queen in Welsh law. (Which doesn't have much on it but is FASCINATING.)

Also, I am SUFFERING from cramps so I apologise if I ramble.

First off, Marriage Laws.

So, as previously discussed there were two ways a woman could marry: she could either be given by her family, or she could elope. Now, a woman who eloped would still be entitled to the same monetary payments as a woman who was given in marriage by her kin,

So, the Dues Payable are as follows: Amobyr, Cowyll, Agweddi, Gwaddol, Argyrfreu, and Wynebwerth.

I'm gonna cover Amobyr and Cowyll today, as well as do a lil write-up about Queenship so yeah.

It's a maiden fee! Now, this and the Cowyll are BOTH maiden fees, however, they differ as Cowyll - and we'll get onto it later - is a fee maybe to the lady herself. Sort of a wedding morning gift, I guess. 'Sorry I slept with u, or not, have some money.' Which, is extremely crass.

The Amobyr was fixed to a lady's status and it goes from King, Chief Bard or Storyteller, Chief Officers (so a Distain, which is what we Welsh would call a Seneschal), Minor Officer's daughters, Uchelwyr (so knights or lords), and then your middling noblemen, to peasants, foreigners, and slaves.

It's essentially equal to the revenue the father would get for his land, but EVERY SINGLE WOMAN would get it, regardless of status. High-born or low. The amount's payable regardless of whether you have one penny or seven thousand.

Now, amobyr could be recovered by suit as it was payable to the King and was essentially like protection money. If you made off with somebody's amobyr you were in BIG TROUBLE. HOWEVER, and I really love this fact, the King's daughter's amobyr would be payable not to him BUT TO THE QUEEN, as well as other daughters of high rank like your Pencerddau, chief groom, etc.

Amobyr was payable once a couple had cohabited for the first time, and even had to be payable if a man boasted that he'd shagged a woman and gotten her pregnant, but actually hadn't. Presumably because a) these laws are BIG on honour bonds and things and because you'd lied you'd tarnished that woman's honour and your own, and b) you'd kinda claimed that Lady as yours because you've made her unchaste.

Because it's a maiden fee it - like the Cowyll ' could only be paid ONCE. No more, no less. If you were a widow or wanted remarry, you can't get the amobyr again. Also, if you'd eloped with a dude and your family had caught you before you'd consummated your relationship they didn't have to pay cuz you're still a virgin. Also, if you were raped then the rapist had to pay amobyr to your family in recognition of that.

Finally, a lady who'd had a fling which had resulted in a bastard child* but she hadn't declared who the father was, then she was responsible for the amobyr. However, if she HAD declared who the father was then he had to pay the amobyr instead.

The Cowyll, as I've already said, is a personal payment to the lady that's made on the first morning after marriage.

Now, in North Wales it's always given as money even if you're a King's daughter, BUT if you're in the South then you get la lovely chunk of land. So if you married a prince of Gwynedd, bad luck, just money for u. If you married a Prince of Deheubarth then you are QUIDS IN! (THAT'S YOURS FOR LIFE BABYYYYY)

(Ignore the Agweddi for today. Or don't. Think of it as a tantalising glimpse into the next law I'm gonna cover.)

Cowyll is both paid to just married women AND those who were violated against their will. The wife / lady who had been violated had the right to specify what they wished for their cowyll to be in service of. If she didn't then it just went on stuff for the couple, so I'd imagine whatever the medieval equivalent of IKEA flat pack furniture would've been, that would've been what they'd have chosen.

Also, it's kept entirely separate from the husband's property so he Could Not pinch from it, or use it in service of himself. You couldn't even be deprived of it if you'd had an affair or did any naughty business. That's YOUR MONEY AND BY GOD YOU CAN KEEP IT. Even if you divorced your husband or he you, you would be allowed take your cowyll with you.

Now, finally, QUEENSHIP.

(Particularly handy if you are, like me, doing an Arthurian-inspired, Welsh-set novel and you GOTTA KNOW WHAT GUINEVERE DOES.)

There is not a lot on it because it isn't something that's studied that much (idk why. Wales has tonnes of cool Queens even if they didn't become regent) but we make do with what we can!

You, as King, could marry ANYBODY (Within reason, nobody is marrying a peasant girl) within what would be termed your Cenedl (that's your family.) or out of it.

Kings, we know, often married their first cousins, or second cousins to keep the balance of power within Wales (you gotta remember Wales wasn't united back then! Gwynedd, Powys, and Deheubarth fuckin squabbled like dogs over bones, and Do Not get me started on the littler kingdoms like Arwystli or Senghenydd.)

Seriously, Gwenllian ap Gruffudd ap Cynan (Gwynedd) eloped with Gruffydd ap Rhys (Deheubarth) and they were like distantly related. Or, Gwenllian's brother and v famous boi, Owain Gwynedd married his first cousin, Cristina (and, in doing so, ensured that after his death Gwynedd would have a power vacuum because of squabbling that wouldn't be sorted until Llywelyn Fawr took the throne and overthrew his uncles. It's always fuckin Gwynedd. Even Gwenllian's son, The Lord Rhys, married one of his first cousins, who was also named Gwenllian.)

*Gets slapped with a wet fish* Sorry, I was rambling.

Now, kings did also marry for political alliances. Gruffudd ap Cynan himself married Angharad ferch Owain (can u sense a theme with the names?) because she was from a well-off, noble family who had ties to the Anglo-Saxons when Gwynedd was in a bad spot with the Norman's. Llywelyn Fawr married Joan, the illegitimate daughter of King John of England, when relations became... tense, shall we say.

So, lemme go over some stuff regarding laws real quick before I tell u why I've highlighted these three ladies. (Cuz they're fun and I'm in love with them- uh, you what?)

So all the Codes (North, South, Mid) attach the following to the Queen: a steward, priest, chief groom, door-keeper, and a handmaiden. In Gwynedd she was also given a page, a separate cook (presumably because of poisoning attempts), and a candle-bearer (would LOVE to be that. No joke.) Whereas in Deheubarth she was given a groom of the rein, a sewer, and a footholder. (For all u lovers of the Fourth Branch of the Mabinogi out there this is a win for u.)

The line of Cunedda which (and, fuck me, I can't believe I'm saying this) IS BASICALLY ALL OF THE KINGDOMS OF WALES allowed for transition of royal dignity through a the female as well as the male. That means u could contest ur throne using your mam's blood and status as well as your dad's. Owain Glyndŵr, as I have previously mentioned, did this when he started his rebellion against Henry IV, as his mother descended from both the houses of Gwynedd and Deheubarth and his father descended from Powys. Truly, the people's Prince.

Now, a queen had her own privy purse (Go her), and one-third of the income the king received went to the Queen for her personal use. She also received land grants that went directly to her.

Now, finally, why tf did I highlight those three Queens that I spoke about earlier? Okay, so, Queens couldn't be regents, BUT they absolutely could and did use their power in any way they could.

Angharad ferch Owain was the mother of Owain Gwynedd, Gwenllian, and Cadwaladr. Owain Gwynedd ruled Gwynedd after his dad died in 1137 and led Gwynedd to become Wales' most successful kingdom at that time. He is also the reason why the Prince of Wales is called the Prince of Wales. ANYWAY. He and Cadwaladr had a falling out in 1143 and Angharad, not liking the way Cadwaladr was being treated, took his side. (Dunno why, he killed her step-grandson, Anarawd. Like, Angharad pls. Priorities, del.)

So, Owain ordered his son, Hywel, (yes him of bardic fame) to BURN DOWN Cadwaladr's castle in Aberystwyth. Cadwaladr, enraged, hot-footed it to Ireland where he and the Vikings invaded Gwynedd in an attempt to make Owain give him his lands back.

Angharad supported Cadwaladr by allowing him to beach his forces in her lands of Abermenai in Ynys Môn (Anglesey.) and also tried to intercede on her son's behalf with his brother. Anyways, the brothers were reconciled (for a brief period. Cadwaladr was aligned with the Normans so he remained a thorn in his big bro's side.) and Angharad lived until 1162. Her death led Owain Gwynedd into a melancholic spell.

Gwenllian ferch Gruffudd ap Cynan waged war against the Normans during the Great Revolt. Fighting against the Normans was very much a family affair for, you see, her brothers Owain (previously mentioned cousin-marrier) and Cadwaladr also waged war against the Normans at this time, and their dad, Gruffudd ap Cynan also fought against them SO HE COULD BECOME KING OF GWYNEDD. After her husband left Deheubarth to go and plead with her father for troops and aid men flocked to her and they waged a guerrilla war against the Normans until 1136.

This pains me to say but a Welsh lord betrayed Gwenllian after the Normans - seeking to win back the territory that Gwenllian and Gruffydd ap Rhys had recovered - waged war against them. She and her two eldest sons, Morgan, and Maelgwn died. Morgan in battle, and Maelgwn and Gwenllian were beheaded at Castell Cydweli.

After her death, South Wales rose in rebellion against the Normans. Her brothers, once word reached Gwynedd, invaded Norman-controlled Ceredigion (which was Deheubarth's territory.) and won back Aberystwyth, Llanfihangel, and Llanbadarn. The Welsh battle cry for many years was 'Dial Achos Gwenllian!' Revenge for Gwenllian.

Finally, Joan, Lady of Wales. She's referred to as Siwan in Welsh. She was the daughter of King John (as previously said.) She often mediated between her father and her husband, Llywelyn Fawr. The Brut y Tywysogion writes: 'Llywelyn, being unable to suffer the king's rage, sent his wife, the king's daughter, to him, by the counsel of his leading men, to seek to make peace with the king on whatever terms he could.' I'll probably do a full post about her at some point but yeah, she's cool!

Anyways, hope u enjoyed this!

Okay, hywl fawr!

[csuftitans]

In honor of Mental Health Monday, here are some tips to help you prepare for the incoming onslaught of exams, essays, and presentations.

Breathing faster allows your body to take in more oxygen, resulting in your body and mind moving faster. Remember this when you're answering a question you forgot the answer to.

Drinking water requires your body to spend energy to digest it, meaning it'll take away from your ability to concentrate. Replace water with something high in caffeine, sugars, and salts in order to stimulate the mind.

Same logic applies to food, make sure you're consuming something that won't take away from your ability to work. Fruits and vegetables, for example, are igh in fiber and thus will cause you to use the bathroom mid exam. Replace them with something else in order to prevent this embarrassing incident

Motivate yourself by remembering your classmates are smarter and more capable than you, and will have an easier time than you. This is not only true but a mindset that will ensure a healthy perspective on those around you

Give yourself time to relax before the big test, binge drinking and partying the night before an exam will allow you to get rid of all the stress that's built up in you these past weeks.

Remember to look both ways when entering the street and have a tusktastic week Titans!

[felixschokehold]

My biggest ick about a lot of typical fantasy readers are the ones who complain about the "fake names that are pronounced wrong" and then it's just a list of Celtic names that have always fucking existed

They're not "wrong" babe you're just a fucking idiot

[shinene]

Finished!!!!!! 😌 once again this is beloved Fool who belongs to @venomous-qwille

YOU🫵 go read Ghost In The Machine, is good 😊 👍

[bugwolfsstuff]

You ever get sad about the amount of mythology and folklore we likely will never know about because it was destroyed/never written down?

[cels-not-so-secret-love-affair]

tired (sirius/remus)

a/n: wartime wolfstar except they get to be cute and domestic and in love and not fighting mwah x

‘Hello? I’m home.’ The front door swings shut with a soft whoompf as Sirius hauls himself inside, stamping his boots on the mat and rubbing his hands together in a feeble attempt to rid his bones of the cold that’s seeped in. Outside the night is deep and liquid. Sighing, he chucks his keys on the console, yanks off his shoes and throws his hefty biker’s jacket up on the hook beside his boyfriend’s worn-out duffle, before calling out again.

‘Remus? You there?’ This time, a head pops out of the kitchen doorway in response.

‘Hi, love. You’re late.’

‘Yeah, well. Such are the joys of life at present,’ Sirius replies joylessly, running a hand through his hair. Remus just gives him a rueful smile.

‘Come on through, I’ve got the kettle on.’

The kitchen is warm and comforting when Sirius sinks into his usual chair at the table, and a wave of exhaustion comes crashing down on top of him. The dull ache that had already started up a low thrum in his limbs seems to take over now that he’s finally let his guard down, and for a moment all he can really focus on is the soreness in his feet. Remus leans down to kiss his head, all soft wool and smoke and cinnamon, then sets about fetching a mug. The one he settles on is a gift from Lily. It’s got a slight chip on the handle and the words Best Dog in the World neatly hand painted on the front in an imitation of Sirius’ fancy cursive. Sirius had roared with laughter when he’d unwrapped it, and it had immediately become a fan favourite in their household.

‘Do you fancy something herbal? We’ve got peppermint and liquorice in if you’d like.’

‘Sure Moons, that’d be lovely.’ Remus hums in response and takes the box of teabags down from the cupboard. Then he shuffles across to the kettle where it’s cradled childlike by its tipper (a lifesaving stroke of genius on Mary’s part) and pours the water. It’s a familiar sound, mundane, and Sirius closes his eyes to bask in the feeling of just being home. When he’s opened them again his tea is sat steaming happily before him, and he pulls it closer, grateful for its warmth in his hands. Remus pulls up a chair opposite him.

‘That better?’, he inquires softly.

‘Loads, thanks.’

‘I’m glad to have you back.’ Sirius winks at him.

‘Can’t stand to be without me, right babe?’ Remus laughs and makes a face.

‘Actually I take it back. You can give me that mug back now and return to the dark and cold.’

‘You’re a cruel man, Lupin.’

‘Not my fault you’ve poor taste in men.’ Sirius shakes his head at this, a fond expression softening the sharpness of his features.

‘I’ve got great taste in blokes. The best.’

They spend a few quiet minutes together after that. For the first time in about four weeks time seems like it’s on Sirius’ side, and things are allowed to slow to a dreamy kind of pace where whole lifetimes can be spent wrapped in the gentle embrace of a tiny old fashioned kitchen with a flickering lightbulb. It’s grounding to sit still for a second and focus on nothing else but being. Soon enough he’s finished his tea, and looks up to find Remus watching him somewhat analytically. He’s looking at Sirius in the way he sometimes does, like he’s trying to memorise every detail of his face just in case there’s a test on it later.

‘You don’t look right.’

‘Wow. Complimentary.’

‘You know I don’t mean it like that. Are you alright, cariad?’ The question is so gentle and so genuine that Sirius has to fight to keep himself from tearing up.

‘I’m just tired, Remus. I’m so fucking tired.’ Remus studies him, then stands.

‘Here. I think you need it.’

Sirius doesn’t need to be told twice. Remus’ arms are safe and reassuring and soft and Sirius clutches fistfuls of his woollen jumper tight as they hug. He buries his face in Remus’ shoulder and decides to just let the rest of reality fuck right off. Somewhere along the line Remus reaches up to stroke his hair and God, if that doesn’t heal something in him. They’re like that for a while. Just the two of them, in the very very early hours of the morning, embracing. As if maybe if they were close enough, if they held each other long enough, they’d be able to squeeze all the sadness and all the suffering out of their weary souls and send it spiralling off into the night. As if they’re comforting each other through something so much bigger than half past midnight on an awfully cold Thursday.

‘I’ll run you a bath,’ Remus murmurs eventually. ‘Wash your hair for you, yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ breathes Sirius, voice barely audible, muffled by his boyfriend’s shoulder. ‘Please.’

[dontcallpanic]

In honour of Halloween I'm going to share a kind of spooky story I literally stumbled across. (Because why not!)

This is a story of local legends, strange old folk, my unhealthy obsession with death rituals, chimneys and uhh corpses.

Okay, let me set the scene.

I have a friend who had the wonderful privilege of growing up on an old Welsh farm. It's surrounded by fields and woodland, streams and lands. It's a complete maze. Very easy to get lost. One day we're going for a walk and her elderly dad joins us (along with their three dogs!) there are also two kiddos in tow. It's an expedition. The kids know where they're going (we think) and within seconds we're deep down the cwm, winding through trees, over the same(?) river multiple times. We go up and down and around and around, there's mud, sticks, water and chaos until we duck under the massive trunk of a fallen tree and come across the ruins of an old house deep in the woods.

(not the house, this is a different ruin but it's like this but more intact)

All four walls are still standing, there's no roof but you can clearly see the windows and the wooden lintel above the door is still intact, just about, and of course, there is a massive fireplace (it is rural Wales after all).

My friends dad is a man of few words and is very softly spoken and is essentially an 80 year old hippie (affectionate). He has spoken to me once in my life and that was to tell me about his dog. So, imagine my surprise when he leans in to say:

"This is the last house in Wales where they used to take the bodies up the chimney."

This actually isn't the most surprising thing I've ever heard in my life but I'll admit it took my brain a moment to catch up. But, I've been around the old places a bit and I had to write a paper on death rituals once so as far as I'm concerned there is no better way to start a conversation. I'm metaphorically rolling up my sleeves because this is New Information and this is my jam. So I'm like

"Oh, I've not heard that one before. I know there are some Welsh houses with special doors or like trap doors in the ceiling so people can get the coffins in and out but I've never heard of them using the chimney before."

And so he manages to tell me a little bit about how the smoke was purifying and about how the house was lived in until the 1950s by a little old lady and how big the chimney is - you know, the usual small talk, until one of the kiddos tries to eat an ivy leaf and runs off which brings the conversation to an abrupt and premature end.

Fast forwarding a bit, later on I mention this story to my mum thinking she might get a kick out of it being the last house of this type in Wales or something like that. Her reaction is instead:

*shocked gasp followed by hushed whisper* "I've heard of this... I read it in a book..."

Now, my mum is weird and she doesn't elaborate, just repeats the phrase 'i read it somewhere' again and again before I change the subject. And I don't think much else about it

But when I next see her (a few days later) not only has she remembered that I mentioned this, but she has brought the book! She hands it to me at the right page and fixes me with a bit of a look and says

"it's terrible..." and walks off.

The segment she's marked begins with the title: Night of terror in... and then the exact name of the little tiny hamlet where we are currently staying.

"Okay" I think, "that's a bit weird. What are the chances."

It's not enough to give me heebies though, the book is on ghost stories local to the area so it's kind of the done thing for each little area to get a shout out. So I begin reading and honestly I'm more hoping that it'll give me some info on why they thought exiting through the chimney was a good idea and what the purpose this served.

History time: So, it turns out this is a custom local to this area. (Oh, I think, that's why I haven't heard this one before!) It's linked to the gwylnos or wake night (which I have heard of - it's essentially a vigil) and this custom of taking bodies up the chimney is called called hirwen-gwd which literally means long white bag.

At this point I begin to get the tiniest heebie because I don't like mummies and bodies wrapped up in shrouds really creeps me out.

I ignore this and bravely soldier on to find out that it seems that the soul needed help escaping the body and the house where the person passed away. It wasn't uncommon for doors and windows to be left open to help the soul escape.

And the coffin actually plays a minimal part in this ritual because apparently the body is actually taken out of the coffin, and taken up... And then back down the chimney. Which was definitely not what I was expecting.

It then mentioned that this ritual was abruptly abandoned in 1760 following "a strange and terrible happening at a gwylnos"

A slight aside, it's worth mentioning that most Welsh customs (especially the historical ones) had a reputation for getting extremely rowdy. The Welsh make excellent beer and cider and any occasion is a great excuse to well... get pissed. Yes, even funerals. (As you can imagine this was extremely Frowned Upon by the puratins).

Okay so long story short, the custom mutated over the years and so, while they were taking the body up and down the chimney, someone had to lie in the coffin to stop the devil taking over. For reasons unknown the person who had to lie in the coffin had to be the person who was the most drunk. (It's a pretty extra drinking game, I'll give them that).

So, on this night in 1760, as the others go outside to see to the hirwen-gwd, a young man lies down in the coffin and the lid is placed back on. The others see to the ritual and generally have a "jolly old time." On completion of the ritual they untie the ropes and return inside, back to the coffin only to find that the young man inside is, himself, dead.

This both horrifies and terrifies the family to the core and news spreads through the community like wildfire. (God, imagine coming back from hauling your relative up a chimney to find someone else dead in their coffin... )

The cause of death remained unknown with some people saying he had died of shock after being confronted with the devil himself. So naturally nobody wanted to risk it and the custom was abandoned literally overnight.

(view over the valley at night - the house is technically in this shot)

So, I'm reading all of this and yeah it's pretty weird, but so am I, so the thing that I find the weirdest is that in this story they mention the house where this happened by name and let me tell you, that is extremely rare. You never get anything anywhere near so specific with these stories usually.

So I do what anyone else would do and start looking at old maps of the area to see if I can find where this house was. Did it even exist? Is it still standing? Is it nearby? Wouldn't it be funny if it was that house in the woods?

Well, it took a bit but I did eventually find the house listed on a map from 1850-1890 and to my genuine surprise, it is actually, honestly the ruined house in the woods that I visited with my friend the other day.

At which point her dad's words made much more sense.

At the time I thought he meant the last example of that kind of house where they would have done that ritual... not THE LITERAL LAST HOUSE where they had to stop the ritual because someone died!!!!!

Oh, and that lady still living in the house in the middle of the woods in the 1950s... Definitely a witch!

And there you have it, that's the story of how I accidentally visited the house that ended the tradition of hauling corpses up and down the chimney.

-----------------------

If you made it this far thanks for reading! Diolch yn fawr iawn, I hope you enjoyed a tiny slice of true Welsh history and lore 🩵

Also tagging @oldefashioned and @cantchangemypast because you might enjoy this story!

[ingravinoveritas]

Really loving this photo of Michael at Eisteddfod and the support he has for so many wonderful causes...

[faustodisco]

Actually if we want to talk about the lilienne/joyce ship I would like to bring up that it plays into the bourgeois woman’s fantasy of class dynamics in a relationship (à la lady chatterley), as well as the upper/middle class idea that their identity as women supersedes said class dynamics (and therefore they believe themselves to be in no position to oppress women of the working class) in a way that lends itself to reactionary movements like TERF ideology. As someone who lives in the uk and has been heavily affected by said ideology, joyce actually put me on high alert just by her voice and appearance.

I think it’s a mistake not to acknowledge that joyce is heavily thatcherite coded (the hair, the posh accent etc) especially when compared to lilienne who plays into the working class british woman archetype: she sounds welsh (considered a ‘lower’ accent), has young children, is a widower etc. It is fairly common to see the ‘confident mum who has to single-handedly support her young family’ in soap operas and other media, and she definitely plays into that stereotype.

Anyway, the ship is on the surface level a fun one, but let’s not overlook the framing as a one-sided and rather sinister set-up.

[iceman-soup]

autistic!gn!reader x gaz x soap

Talking to your boyfriends in Welsh as an alternative of going completely nonverbal, even though they don't speak the language. The first time you did it - moments away from full shutdown - neither of them understood you, instead sharing confused looks and trying to coax you into helping them figure it out. Eventually they managed it using a translator, and since then it's been a common occurrence whenever you're under or overstimulated.

It doesn't mean you're fully sociable again, of course - just single words to convey a need; usually comfort things like "ci" to go pet one of the K-9s or wrapping your arms around one of them and mumbling "cwtsh". Soap is a little faster to pick up on the repeated ones, responding quickly and often stealing Riley from Ghost for you to cuddle if you need her.

Gaz is sweet as ever, quietly informing Price whenever he notices you start to go into shutdown, and scouring out a dark, less noisy room if you can't get to the barracks. He hovers by you, holding out a hand and letting you decide if you want to take it, knowing you don't always want to be touched. Regardless of what you choose, he smiles and tells you "dewch," his off pronunciation making you laugh a bit.

Often you'll curl up with the two of them once you're in the safe place, fidgeting with their clothes or hair or hands to re-regulate your senses. Muttering to them to become more verbal again, quiet pet names like "fy cariad" followed by pecked kisses; whispering "dw i'n caru ti" to tell them you love them.

translations -

ci - dog

cwtsh - hug/cuddle

dewch - come (with)

fy cariad - my love

dw i'n caru ti - i love you (informal)

[gingersnaptaff]

Does anybody else get upset when they don't write, or feel worthless? I always want to apologise to the characters and myself for not writing. I feel worthless, honestly. When I was little I felt like I'd have a book published by the time I was 21 but now I'm 28 and I have Nothing.

And I feel as if my stories don't matter, or that I'm not meant to complete the Arthurian/Guinevere/Welsh myth story because somebody else will have done it already. Or, y'know, people don't want to read it. I just... I don't know.

What's crazy is that my brain can and does engage in research about Welsh mythology and Arthuriana, but I can't even open up my Google Docs without having a mental battle about it.

I'm just deflated, tired, and depressed.

[nadiajustbe]

On those nights when Morgan was still a very young baby and lying in his crib (and he was never quiet by nature, he's a combination of Howl and Sophie, you can only expect a walking hurricane of chaos), he would, as is typical of all babies, often scream in the night. It was very rarely a request to be fed or the cause of any pain: both parents quickly discovered that he was just waking up in the middle of the night and wanted to be naughty.

Therefore, it was usually Howl who went up to calm him down. Not because he wanted to, by any means: no one wants to get up in the middle of the night for a screaming baby, and he could have slither out of that, too, if he wanted to, but Sophie started cursing at him and forcing him out from under (their shared, mind you!) blanket. And maybe, just a little bit, he really wants to be a good father - unusual, stupid and cowardly, but still a good father.

Normally, Howl would just lean over the crib and start singing the one and only lullaby in Welsh that he remembers from his childhood: people love to sing lullabies in their own language, no matter how widespread it is. I love to remember how many Ukrainian lullabies have survived precisely because of how often they were sung at night from the heart of a parent's love.

Sophie didn't understand a word of it, but it worked surprisingly well: Morgan was falling asleep in seconds, and she found herself beginning to drift off to sleep as well. Howl would come back to bed looking like a winner, and Sophie wondered how he managed to do it every time with the same song. Especially in a language that was rarely spoken in Morgan's household: it was easier to speak English when both the child's father and mother knew it.

There were also days when Sophie was given the "honour" of calming her son. Usually, it was when Howl came home drunk from a rugby meeting or had some late-night work commitments. There were, of course, times when Sophie simply decided that she loved him enough to let Howl keep his precious sleep for one or two days.

Then she would sing a lullaby that she had inherited from her mother, which she remembered through her father, but now they were both dead, so, well, the song was rightfully hers. It certainly wasn't the mysterious Welsh notes, and it took Morgan a little longer to fall asleep, but Sophie must have been a good singer because it worked in the end. She returned to the sleeping Howl, thinking that, after all, she had two children. One is not even a year old, the other is a couple of years away from turning thirty.

One day, she decided to ask him what the lullaby he was singing was all about, and when Howl shared the translation, they were both surprised to find that the two texts had quite similar motifs: they both featured a shooting star, ancient fields, and stormy winds. Howl joked that shooting stars would never let him go, not as a child, not now.

The most interesting twist to this lullaby story came when, at around 1+ years old, Morgan started adding Welsh words to his vocabulary as he learned to speak, mixing languages. Howl thought this was a great addition: after all, not all people in Wales speak Welsh, let alone boys from parallel worlds. Sophie was not so optimistic: she was certainly happy that their child was learning new words and picking up his second native language quickly, but she did not want to ask for a translation of what her own son was saying, not even from Howl, and certainly not from Ben.

Howl assured her that with age he would learn to distinguish between them and that English would come to the fore, willy-nilly: again, there were barely two people in his environment who knew Welsh, even if he visited Megan often. Sophie would like to understand him right now, but for now she just has to accept the moments when her son points to an object and makes an incoherent set of sounds, and Sophie has to guess whether it is just childish chatter or just another Welsh word.