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#I love when they speak welsh

ingravinoveritas · 1 year

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A couple of other thoughts in regard to today’s big news about Staged 3 (following up on this post):

1) David was asked back in August during Fan Expo Boston whether there would be a third season of Staged, and he ever-so-smoothly and deftly played coy/side-stepped the question. He damn well knew a season 3 was happening and teased us with it. And as the Anon who messaged me mentioned, this little comment of David’s might have been more literal than we realized:

...Especially given that the promo photos from today appear to have been taken at David’s house. This cheeky little Scottish slag fully knew that Michael was spending all that time at his house and in his bed and still answered the question like he wasn’t sure if a third season could happen. Oh, David...

2) The announcement of Staged 3 and knowing that Michael and David spent a bunch of time in person together filming it opens up sooo many opportunities for potential fanfic. (As will, undoubtedly, all the interactions Michael and David will have in the flesh in the episodes themselves.) Absolutely delightful...

#michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #staged #or 'Brokeback Mount Him' which is what I am referring to Staged as from here on out #fanfic ideas a-brewin'#that fucking liar David Tennant #it's just lovely to think of the little smile on his face when he talked about S3 #and then this #david is definitely more subtle than michael #but he knows how to speak volumes without saying a word #tell me again that they're not a couple #amazing #ineffable lovers #discourse

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skyburger · 2 months

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sometimes i am seized with the hyperspecific urge to think about my faves if they lived in england for like no reason. i dont mean historic england or some shit i mean what if they just went to some normal fucking secondary school in buttfuck nowhere sussex. what if they went for kebabs sometimes. what if they just hung out at a pub. what if they went up the high street and bought a shitty 50p chocolate bar. what if they talked about the shit weather all the time. does anyone else understand this. british oomfs im begging you please draw your faves like doing mundane but very stereotypically british shit that you do. i want to see my blorbo-in-laws at the chip shop. Please

#cheeky nandos is too much for me to take seriously but rest assured. im thinking about that too #i love a cheeky nandos </3 miss having a nandos near me #also. I MISS BEING ABLE TO BUY A 50P CHOCOLATE BAR DUDE #in the us it's at least $1.25 for something half the size. PLUS TAX #also also. Sorry to the irish and the scots and the welsh i was mostly thinking about england when i wrote this #cause thats where ive lived and visited the most LOL #but if anyone does actually want to draw their sillies in the uk first of all obviously it doesnt have to just be england #LIKE YOU DONT NEED MY PERMISSION DUH BUT I WANTED TO LIKE MAKE IT CLEAR #that when i say this? i absolutely want to learn where in scotland you think your fave would live.#like does your fave speak welsh? gaelic? i GOTTA know #anyway my other point here was if you draw this shit or find someone else who does. PLEASE TAGME I LOVE THAT SHIT #muffin mumbles

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moodymoony103 · 2 years

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anyone got any welsh remus lupin fic recs? i’m in dyer need

bonus points for if he speaks welsh too

#welsh remus #remus lupin #remus speaking welsh #fanfic #marauders era #marauders #welsh remus lupin #i just love it sm #like ahhh remus speaking welsh #especially speaking it #and speaking it when angry

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celestial-kestrel · 4 months

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It's that time of year again where Mari Lwyd starts to be talked about and shared around and an INCREDIBLY misleading post gets shared a lot. As someone who grew up with Mari Lwyd I wanted to clear some things up.

Also hello, if you are unaware who Mari Lwyd is. This is about the Welsh tradition of the horse skull who visits houses during the Christmas to New Years period in Wales asking for alcohol.

First off and probably the most important one:

Mari Lwyd is not a cryptid!

I can not emphasise this enough. She. Is. Not. A. Cryptid. There is no story or mystery about a ghost or zombie horse roaming the Welsh valleys. She's not even supposed to be a ghost or a zombie. It's just a horse skull on a stick with a guy under a sheet. She's a hobbyhorse and a folk character used to tell Welsh stories and keep songs alive. When people spread the misinformation that she's a cryptid, it's the equivalent of saying Kermit the Frog is a cryptid.

She is actually only one character in a wider cast of characters who go door to door or, in more modern times, pub to pub. The cast of characters can change town to town and village to village but there are some common ones I see time and time again. The Leader, the Merryman, The Jester and The Lady are just some I see regularly. Punch and Judy used to be more popular a few years ago but I haven't seen them in a while as their tradition has mostly fallen out of popularity. In most cases, almost the whole cast will be played by men. Even the characters are considered and referred to as female. Though this again depends and varies by which group is partaking in the Mari Lwyd tradition.

This point also goes onto my second point,

Mari Lwyd does not rap.

I think this comes from a very common misunderstanding of what rap is vs spoken word. Rap is a very specific style of music originating from the African American communities of the USA and has it's own structure and motifs unique to it. It's a lot more complex than people give it credit for as a style of music and just flippantly assign anything similar to it as being rap. If someone is talking fast or reciting poetry, it is not rap. Or anything that is an exchange of words between two people is not a rap battle. Mari Lwyd does not do rap, actually something that gets left out of these posts is the fact Mari Lwyd does not even speak. It's actually the Leader, who does all the speaking and song based banter between the house/pub owner for entry. Mari Lwyd just clicks her mouth, bites people and bobs her head around.

I think Mari Lwyd is a really beautiful and unique part of Welsh culture. She's not actually as wildly celebrated as a lot of the posts make her out to be. Actually, I think most Welsh people themselves learn about Mari Lwyd through the internet as well. Her popularity is increasing thanks to the drive of local groups wanting to keep the traditions alive and a renewed desire to document Welsh traditions before they're gone. Which is why it's such a shame that she's turned into something she's not to earn horror points on the internet. I think this is why it bothers me so much to see the misunderstandings of the culture and the folk tradition. Mari Lwyd's origin is very hot debated as well as how long it's been going on for. But I think it's thanks to a lot of traditions like this that the Welsh language and our stories weren't lost forever. Welsh culture is recovering as is the language. But it's still in a very fragile place. I think it's why it's important to document and correct information when it's spread.

Anyway, if you want to see the tradition in action, here's a lovely video from the Cwmafan RFC going to one of the pubs for charity. It includes the song exchange with the pub owner for entry and the whole pub singing and joining in once Mari Lwyd and the rest are inside.

youtube

As well with another video from St Fagan's showcasing the more traditional and door to door form with the larger cast.

youtube

#Mari Lwyd #Wales #Welsh #Welsh culture #Youtube

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lovelessbachelor · 10 months

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notes are like waving at someone across the street and calling out 'crack on,butt!!' to them and like giving them a thumbs up. also I'm doing it in my actual accent and not my autism accent.

#the valleys accent i mean #yeah #insane #love when i can speak in that one. makes me feel like i'm an actual person with a cultural background. makes me FEEL welsh and at home and

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comicaurora · 2 months

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So based on that last ask with King Arthur is he choosing to fall in love with Gwen even if she has a high chance of falling for Lancealot? If so, it's tragic. Doomed to love another that won't fully love you back.

Does Arthur even just tell Lancenalot to get the hell put of the kingdom some loops?

I think it's more like-

You become aware of your existence somewhere around the age of 3. You were born under mysterious circumstances you don't know the details of. The first time through, you were growing up in a castle. Lately you find you are growing up among peasantry.

Maybe you have brothers. Maybe you have a sister. Maybe you're an only child. Your family is distant either way. They speak welsh. They speak latin. They speak french. They speak english with american attempts at british accents.

The first few times through, there wasn't a sword. Now it's a consistent presence - a shimmering blade stuck in a plain anvil or a large boulder, haunting your hometown or a nearby forest glade. It looks different every time, feels different in your hands. It was made for you.

There are more trials every time. In the first stories the crown was yours from birth. Lately it's been further and further away, behind more tribulations and tournaments and beasts to slay. More guidance from the ageless old man you remember from the earliest days, the welsh days. He's different every time. Everything's different every time. And still nothing changes.

The crown is yours. It's inevitable. And when the crown passes into your hands, it carries the kingdom with it. It's yours now. And it's going to thrive! You hardly need to do anything. Heroes flock to you and pledge themselves as knights, then spend the decades tearing off on wild quests and adventures, getting into the kind of trouble that serendipitously always keeps the kingdom safe. The adventures feel familiar, but never quite play out the same way. Chalices, black knights, fairy women, questing beasts. You rarely see them for yourself. You're too important, after all. You're the kingdom's beating heart.

You have a queen. You don't spend much time with her. It's jarring how much she changes every time. You hate how much it surprises you the times she genuinely loves you; you never really get to enjoy it. The kingdom doesn't run itself, even if just having you around seems to make the forests grow thick and the rivers run clear. Mostly you spend time with her when you're rescuing her from abduction. You very rarely have children together. You miss them.

It didn't used to end in fire, but lately it never ends in anything but, and you never know when it's going to start. You're never home when it starts, but you spend so much time out tending the kingdom or questing anyway. But you always learn too late - treachery. Your knight, your vassal, your bastard child, your lady love. Camelot is burning. You watch your life's work precede you into the grave.

You die. You sleep under the mountain. You dream. It's quiet.

Somewhere in the world, a writer picks up a pen, and you become aware of existence somewhere around the age of 3.

#asks #not aurora

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kinsey3furry300 · 1 year

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I love how in the wake of disappointing midterms, Pro-Trump evangelicals have accused Biden of being the antichrist when it’s Trump who Literally requires his followers to wear a mark of allegiance to him on their foreheads.

This, you see this right here, you nutters? Mark of the beast if there ever was one.

Speaking as someone who survived a lot of religious schooling before loosing my faith and running away to something more fun, it’s like these evangelicals don’t even know the Bible. Or anything else, for that matter.

God, if you’re up there: fuck this one guy in particular.

#While I’m no longer religious I do know enough about Jesus to know that being a good socialist is a pre-requisite for being a good Christian #seriously I made it a good way thought seminary before I realised it was a shitshow and quit #I lost my faith when our minister mistook my friend speaking Welsh for speaking in tongues and declared it a miracle #And a camel shall pass thought the eye of a needle before a rich man shall enter the kingdom of heaven #drive the moneylenders out of the temple #you cannot hold both love of god and love of money in your heart #Trump = Mammon #Did anyone else have their first homosexual encounter at bible camp I feel like I can’t be the only one?#Content warning: cheeto jesus #content warning: trump

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becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 1 month

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Hello I am going on a holiday to Eryri next month & I like to read up about an area before going there... do u have any reading or documentary or podcast recs? I'm particularly interested in the ecology & minority language activism & like. Peoples history & rural lives! I know this is stuff u know about in Wales but idk if north Wales is ur region! Míle buiochas ón Eireann!

Fáilte go dtí an Bhreatain Bheag! Or croeso i Gymru. Exciting! Keep an eye on the notes for others chiming in with good recs for documentaries and the like, I'm going to just give a super quick guide

Okay, pronunciation guide for place names and that is here in written form and here in video form. I cannot recommend strongly enough that you try to use the Welsh place names rather than the English translations. Duolingo is flawed but serviceable if you want to hear and learn some basic phrases. If you can at least throw out a 'bore da' to people you pass/shopkeepers, you'll be very well liked. You don't need to be fluent by any means, but Making An Effort is seen as, like, the nicest and politest and most wonderful thing in Wales, and particularly in regions like Eryri.

Because! It's one of the biggest remaining Welsh language strongholds. If you look at language maps over time in Wales, a pattern emerges:

And the current (2021) figures show this:

And you are going to this bit:

So you're heading into the Welshest bit in all of Wales! And the bit with the strongest and longest history of Welsh, too.

Which also means there's a lot of activism-related stuff in that area. It's probably worth you reading up on the history of Tryweryn (which was a bit further east, but sets the scene well); there was also a BIG thing a couple of decades ago where activists would burn down English-owned holiday homes (while they were empty in winter, not, like, with the English in them). This is because, in addition to the usual issues with the social impacts of holiday homes (driving up prices meaning locals can't live there, eroding communities, etc), holiday homes in Welsh language heartlands are a significant and tangible threat to the language. Even today, the issue of holiday homes is an extremely touchy subject, as is the issue of (mostly-English) people moving into the area because "It's so pretty!!!" and then not learning the language.

(Yet another reason they will love you if you Make An Effort)

Historically speaking, you'll be in a chunk of the country that was the ancestral seat of the last kings of Wales (Gwynedd). The final one, Llywelyn ein Llyw Olaf, was ambushed and murdered in 1282, which was the beginning of the end for fighting off English rule. In fact, Owain Glyndŵr later crowned himself king of Wales for about two years, but weirdly, no one acknowledges this as real kingship for some reason - if you google his name, he's always listed as a soldier or military commander, which really opens up a whole "Who gets to say when someone is royalty" debate, but he did actually claim descent from the House of Aberffraw anyway, so ultimately it still links back to Llywelyn.

Ecology! Temperate alpine. There actually isn't a global scientific distinction between hill and mountain, but most countries set an arbitrary height standard. This means it varies from country to country depending on how tall their topology is. Wales, however, bucks this trend, and instead decides based on what is formally referred to as 'land use' and colloquially referred to as 'Vibes'. If it's a hill, it's tamed - if it's a mountain, it's wild. This means Eryri is fairly short by the standards of tedious foreigners who regard mountains as a sort of geological dick waving competition, but it's in fact a whole mountain range; it's also older than Saturn's rings. And, crucially, it's very much sufficiently above sea level to have an alpine ecosystem.

There are three endemic (i.e. not occurring anywhere else in the world) species in Eryri, to whit:

The Snowdon lily. A small and delicate flower growing in protected and inaccessible spots on yr Wyddfa (formally known as Snowdon). Excessively vulnerable to trampling, so the national park keeps sections where it grows fenced off.

The Snowdon beetle. RAINBOW BEETLE.

The gwyniad. A sub-species of whitefish until recently exclusively found in Llyn Tegid (Bala Lake), trapped there after the ice age and now developing its own genetic profile distinct from other whitefish. Some dickhead in the 80s introduced the ruffe to the lake for fishing, and the ruffe eats the gwyniad's eggs, so they've now transplanted eggs to Llyn Arenig Fawr nearby as a conservation measure.

There's also feral goats. And Welsh mountain ponies. Ooh, and, red kites - in the UK red kites were so heavily persecuted they eventually fell to just 7 breeding pairs in Wales. We established a protected zone and hired Nepalese Gurkhas to guard the nests and thus saved it from extirpation so successfully they later translocated Welsh birds to other spots in the UK. It's a big conservation success story, and now red kites are considered to be the national bird of Wales. They have a very distinctive silhouette, too, look for the forked tail.

Oh, and, we have a unique habitat type called ffridd, which you see a lot of in Eryri.

Final wildlife pictures to close:

Anyway - have a great time! Enjoy muchly.

#asks #wales!#closed for cleaning on mondays #long post

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greeneyed-thestral · 1 month

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I MET MICHAEL SHEEN. 16/03/24, National Theatre

So, if you've read my post about booking tickets to see Michael, you know all about my what-ifs. But the day was finally here.

I arrived at the National Theatre, followed all the Nye signs and here's the Olivier Theatre. I made my sister buy me the show's programme, hoping I would be able to get it signed.

I find my seat, I'm not in the centre but the stage still feels very close and you can see everything (amphitheatres are always the best).

Lights out. The audience is in religious silence. Can't believe I'm actually here, this is happening.

[skip this part in smaller font, if you want to avoid spoilers] In the words of Staged, he really loses himself in his roles. First of all, it's great to hear him speak in a Welsh accent.

But then we also see him turning back into a child, and you can totally believe he's young and innocent again. His stutter feels so real, his struggle and sadness too. The entire ensamble is great during the classroom scene, where they all help Nye against their bullying teacher (using those big canes to make him look scary really works). Hearing young Nye confessing that at times he thinks he 'shouldn't exist' because of who he is was a gut punch; Michael's delivery of that whole part is incredible, in that moment he really becomes a little boy that allows himself to feel vulnerable and says something dark to a friend. The way he jumps while saying "I can visualise and enunciate!" made me wanna jump too, he was ready to give up and then he found the solution through books, it's the joy and relief you feel when you realise that there is another way and your life is not over.

Now, I've watched musicals all my life and let me tell you that man is meant to be in one. He opened his mouth and all I could see was someone that had been waiting a long time for the occasion to show his talent, truly showstopping. He was so free and happy and confident, singing and dancing spectacularly. I couldn't stop smiling and giggling, we all clapped.

It's clear he means every word he says, and when he points and shouts his political arguments at the audience, those who feel called out must be shaking; I thought 'This is how people in Ancient Greece must have felt everytime they went to the theatre'. His Nye is inspiring, passionate, someone you'd want to follow, he stands up for what he believes in and lets nothing get in his way.

We get to watch him flirt, on all fours, waggling his 'tail'; everytime we think we've seen all he's capable of, he does something like this and surprises us.

But most of all, we see him being scared, first of having to do something, and then of not being able to do enough for all of us. At one point everyone has requests for Nye and I was expecting him to shout "Heal yourselves!" like Jesus in JCS, it totally conveyed what it must have been like to be in his role at the time, overwhelmed with daunting responsibilities.

In general, I appreciated the fact that it wasn't a linear biography, they chose life moments that have universal situations everyone can relate too, like they do in bio-musicals. I loved the staging. The colour palette is so recognisable; the curtains and the beds are used in many different ways so everything is explored at its full potential.

He is on stage basically all the time for more than two hours (sometimes twice a day, can you imagine?). Also barefoot and in his pajamas from start to finish, he looks like a teddy bear you just want to hug and protect.

He bows, looks at Nye's achievements, then leaves the stage.

Standing ovation, applause. I go back to the theatre lobby, I was supposed to wait for my sister, but she's late. Meanwhile, a fan asks me how to get to the Stage Door. I start too fear that I'm going to miss my chance if I keep waiting inside, so I decide to go on my own. After no more than 5 minutes, he's outside with us. Forget Nye, I am living my fever dream. He has just finished his second show of the day and yet he's smiling and listening to each and every one, signing and taking pictures. I know many have said this, but he really is an angel.

My sister arrives, and as soon as I'm sure she has the camera ready, I make my way to him. The two girls next to me who were speaking to him needed a pen and I lent them my sharpie, so I got my chance to look generous in front of him.

And suddently it was my turn. This is as much as my scrambled mind allows me to remember: I tell him I'm Francesca and I'm from Italy, he asks me how long I am going to stay, I confess that I had arrived that morning and just to see him, that I would be leaving already the following morning. I can't even focus while he's signing my programme, I just want to find the right words. I manage to say how I enjoyed seeing his passion, all these different sides of him and how watching him sing and dance has been the highlight of my evening. We take a picture together, I feel his hand on my shoulder and I realise my arm is around the waist of this person I love. I had to thank him again, telling him that he only deserves good things and that we are so lucky to have him. He wishes me a safe trip home, and I melt. I leave and I can't stop trembling. On my way back to the hotel I hold on tight to my signed programme and the sharpie that was in his hands just moments earlier. Only later I will realise that he's also written 'Ciao!', 'love' and 'X', without me asking for it or anything! Seeing him act live was a big gift already, but what followed outside was beyond my dreams. I can't look at the photos without blushing, the way he looks at me in the video and then also strokes my arm for a moment, I mean pinch me now.

The more I think about it, the more I can't believe it happened.

I want to thank everyone that under my first post pushed me and encouraged me to see the pros of doing this, I share this beautiful moment of my life with all of you. <3

#michael sheen #nye #national theatre #london #btw I was also wearing one of david's headbands

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hotvintagepoll · 9 days

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Propaganda

Glynis Johns (Mary Poppins, The Court Jester)—LISTEN, I'd let that woman's voice with all its gravely hoarseness (positive) wash over me all goddamn day, but if that's not enough she managed to play the straight woman to Danny Kaye's jester, all with her cleavage so plunging it might as well have been catapulted into the ocean right after Basil Rathbone

Eartha Kitt (Anna Lucasta, St. Louis Blues)—My friend and I have a saying: NOBODY is Eartha Kitt. A thousand have tried, and they've all come up empty and will continue to do so. Everyone knows her for something: from "Santa Baby" to Yzma in Emperor's New Groove to Catwoman to making Lady Bird Johnson cry for the Vietnam War. She was a master of comedy and sex, an extremely vocal activist, and she aged like fine wine... I honestly don't know what I can say about her that hasn't already been said, so I'll stick to linking all my propaganda. Like what else do you want from me. She was iconic at everything she ever did. Literally name another. How can anyone even think of her and not want to absolutely drown?

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Glynis Johns:

She walks the line between sexy and cute. Her best role for me is in "The Court Jester as Maid Jean. She's fantastic as the soft but tough captain of the outlaw band and she looks stunning in every gown she wears throughout the film. And of course we can't forget her iconic turn as the suffragette mother, Mrs. Banks, in Mary Poppins! Also shoutout to her distinctive and beautiful voice, kind of smoky and husky. Extremely hot and set her apart from many of her peers."

"She was amazing in Mary Poppins (the Suffragette song is severely underrated) and apparently she was Welsh? National pride! And she advocated for arts funding in Wales, which is very cool. Also, she died recently (RIP) making her one of the last survivors of the Golden Age of Hollywood, according to Wikipedia. Also also, she just has a cheeky energy I like? And her eyes are beautiful!"

"She had this wonderful wit and charm to her no matter the role and the most distinctive, striking voice!"

"I mean, incredibly beautiful and talented, can do drama can do comedy. And she was a mermaid."

"Like Bette Davis she has eyes to die for. Unlike Bette Davis you felt comforted by them, even when she was batting her eyelashes at you. Would glady go to Downing Street with her and throw things at the Prime minister"

"Listen, listen. I was raised on Mary Poppins and "Votes for women! (step in time)" single-handedly taught me how to be a feminist. Also The Court Jester is one of my favourite movies of all time and she is UNBELIEVABLY gorgeous, charismatic, funny, and clever in it. She knocks several men out. Absolute icon."

"I love Glynis Johns. Most of the reason is The Court Jester where she's a sensible and capable foil to whatever what going on with Danny Kaye at the time. She was also the first star I based an OC on. An OC that I still have to this day! Anyway here have some YouTube links love u bye"

Mermaid clip:

Court Jester (sharing a bed trope):

youtube

Court Jester (seducing the king):

youtube

"VOTES FOR WOMEN! Well, votes for this woman. Please."

youtube

Eartha Kitt:

"A hot vintage woman who was not just known for her voice, beauty, poise, and presence, but also her unapologetic ways of speaking about how she was mistreated in the show business as a girl who grew up on cotton fields in South Carolina in the 1930s through the 1940s coming to Broadway first and then Hollywood."

"Have you watched her sing?? Have you seen her face?? Have you heard her talk?? How could you not fall instantly in love. She makes me incoherent with how hot she is."

"She can ACT she can SING she can speak FOUR LANGUAGES she is a GODDESS!!! Although she is (rightfully) remembered for her singing, TV appearances (Catwoman my beloved), and later film roles, her early appearances in film are no less impressive or noteworthy!! She’s an amazing actress with so much charisma in every role. She was also blacklisted from Hollywood for 10 years for criticizing the Johnson administration/Vietnam War, so. Iconic. Also Orson Welles apparently called her “the most exciting woman in the world.”

"She had such a stunning, remarkable appearance, like she could tear you to shreds with just a glance- but the most undeniable part of her hotness was her voice, and it makes sense that it's what most people nowadays know her for. Nothing encapsulates the sheer magnetism of her singing better than this clip of her and Nat King Cole in St. Louis Blues, she pops in at 2:49. Also I know it's post-1970 but her song that was cut from Emperor's New Groove is likely to make you feel Feelings."

Even with as racist as Hollywood was in the 1950s and 60s, Eartha Kitt STILL managed to have a thriving career. She also once had a threesome with Paul Newman and James Dean, and called out LBJ over the Vietnam War so hard that it made First Lady Johnson cry. Eartha Kitt was talented, sexy, and a total badass activist.

#eartha kitt #glynis johns #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 4

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olderthannetfic · 3 months

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i'm dumb and its actual hard to guess

Haha.

Okay, so... the big issue in minority languages, reviving dying languages, etc. has to do with their draw.

To keep a language vital, you generally need:

monolingual speakers

economic advantage

cultural power

Pick two.

Any language that has its own territory where it is the majority language that is used for business and entertainment and daily life outside of the home does not tend to become endangered. There are plenty of people who only speak that language or who at least preferentially use it and are far more competent in it. They can't and won't run off for other languages at the drop of a hat.

But when you don't have that... boy, you better have a lot going for your language or it's fucked.

People go where the jobs are. If you need English in order to eat, you learn English. Or Mandarin. Or Russian.

Grandma cares deeply about our ethnic heritage and the traditions tied to our ancestral language? Too bad. I'm hungry, the jobs are in a factory in the city, and I need a roof over my head.

My kids want to watch TV. They want pop music and movies and comics. They want to feel cool, not like losers in some dying backwater.

Why the fuck would they care what grandma thinks?

...

Until they hit 40 and they realize their entire heritage just got stolen by the big boys. Who even are they because they're not this majority they tried to join, but they're not the old thing either? Gosh, it might be nice to reclaim their own history, but grandma is gone and so is her language and it's far, far too late.

If you don't have the territory and the economic power, your only other option is coolness.

If you've got some hot culture people love, they'll want to learn your language. Native speakers will take pride in that language and keep using it routinely instead of relegating it to the kitchen and living most of their life in another language. Their kids will grow up wanting to speak it instead of beating a hasty retreat for the nearest source of jobs and blockbuster movies.

This is why you get initiatives to make entertainment media in languages like Irish and Welsh.

When the sheer might of English is right next door, you're not going to beat that in usefulness or economic opportunity, but you just might be able to strike back by making people care.

It is very, very hard to make people care.

So on AO3, which is largely in English, if you want your ASL fic to matter, the last fucking thing you should do is make it available in English. Other languages, even super globally powerful ones, just aren't so common on AO3, so those translations don't really make a difference in this context.

The ASL translation of an English-language AO3 fic is a curiosity.

An ASL original that English speakers cannot access is a middle finger up to language hegemony.

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ddejavvu · 11 months

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oh friend,, i have so many headcanons,,,

> james potter who is the biggest football/soccer fan, after figuring out what the hell the muggle rules to this silly little ball game are

> sirius black absolutely had a mullet era. i will not be convinced otherwise.

> remus lupin, aka, youtube deep dive video addict. i don’t know why, but that man gives off such “i watch 3hr videos for fun” vibes

> james potter who loves to cook (especially to podcasts? idk, it just makes sense)

> sirius black who can speak five languages fluently, but only these skills when necessary (e.g. helping a confused stranger or flirting)

> remus lupin with a thick welsh accent.

> james potter who never had to wear braces, but had to have his teeth magically fixed at some point (because the boy didn’t always have perfect teeth!)

> sirius black who loves perusing different lipsticks with you, and sometimes wearing them

> remus lupin has a dimple!!!

ugh, i have more absolutely useless and random headcanons that no one needs, so please let me know if you need more 😮‍💨

send me your headcanons!

soccer boy james!! mhm, he likes the game but in all honesty he started looking into it just because he thought the ball was pretty <3

men with mullets are my weakness for some fucking reason so yeah i second that <3

remus watches video essays but consider: remus makes video essays. he has such a loyal fanbase and he reports on only the topics most dear to his heart <3 sirius always pops into frame when he's recording

effie taught james how to cook for sure!!!

the rest of the boys don't even know sirius can speak most of those languages until one day he's flirting with someone and he breaks out a different language like it's no problem and they're ????

yes remus who comes back from every summer absolutely unintelligible and sirius and james who can't understand ANYTHING

man james has bad eyesight, bad teeth, WHAT'S NEXT (bad life support !)

omg you two go cosmetics shopping together eeee and he helps you try them on, swatches them on you, kisses your cheek with it on <33

and i kiss remus lupin's dimple every day <3

#remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #james potter x reader #james potter fanfiction #james potter imagine #james potter fluff #james potter headcanon #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black imagine #sirius black fluff #sirius black headcanon #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin headcanon #remus lupin fluff #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders fluff #poly!marauders headcanons #poly!marauders imagine

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whitedarkmoonflower · 19 days

Text

Yield to me

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: a request from lovely @wildchild2707 Thank you for trusting me to write you a story. I hope you'll like it. It fit perfectly with my mood as I'm giffing S3 now. @thenameswinter99 thank you so much for helping to overcome the sudden block in the middle of writing 💖

Warnings: SMUT 18+

Summary: you and Sihtric are sent to Bloodhair's camp to spy, and apparently there is more to discover than the secret plans of the Danes

Word Count: 5,9 K

You could almost feel it – that piercing, even furious look burning holes in the back of your neck, lips pressed tightly together in a thin line, spitting words with a taste of acid. Yet, you chose to ignore him.

Your fingers continued to toy with the knife, your eyes discreetly scanning the warriors gathered around the different bonfires, the play of light and shadow dancing across their faces, the fire's crackling annoyingly loud. Amidst the clamour, numerous voices speaking in various dialects and tongues wafted through the air, mingling with the smoke. You had no patience for Sihtric's trivialities; your head spun from the cacophony around you.

Distinct dialects of Gaelic, Norse, Gutnish, and Welsh were discernible in the midst of the crowd. This was likely how it had felt at the Tower of Babel, you mused to yourself. Bloodhair had succeeded in assembling Danes and other fortune-seeking scum from all corners of the islands and even beyond the seas.

"Careful now, don't cut yourself," a rough hand suddenly landed on your thigh, a thick, booming voice abruptly wrenching you from your thoughts. It was a reflex, beyond your control, your fingers wrapping around the unfamiliar palm, grabbing the thumb and wrenching it to the side. A short cry and a loud thud, the body crushing against the hard ground, were the only sounds as you found yourself sitting atop a bewildered man, your eyes wide, teeth bared, and with your knife at his throat.

"The only thing I'll cut is your throat," you hissed, eyes scanning your catch. He was not unattractive, you observed, and he smelled good, unlike the majority in this cursed camp. Surely an Earl, you had seen him before, at the main fire with Bloodhair, Cnut, and Haesten.

A valuable take, this is your chance, don't squander it, you cautioned yourself.

"Hey, easy! I didn't mean any harm," the Dane raised his hands, surrendering.

"Give me one good reason not to cut your balls off," you scoffed, studying the stranger carefully.

"I know a much better use for them," there was no anxiety in his voice, but neither was there anger, and you slowly relaxed your muscles, still scanning his face.

“I want to know everything, every smallest detail,” you had never seen Uhtred so agitated before. Your big brother, though not bound by blood, your anchor, your stronghold, your grounding force in every tempest. You had seen him everything but scared and yet his voice quivered, betraying the angst he tried to conceal, eating him from within like a worm gnawing at an apple.

“I can handle it without a babysitter,” you sneered at him, disdain evident in your voice.

It was not merely chance, but destiny that had brought you together - you, Uhtred and Brida. Three children abandoned by fate, bound by love and friendship forged in the crucible of shared pain and suffering. You all had lost everything in that fateful night when the Danes had set their foot on the lands of Bebbanburg, yet you had found each other – an unbreakable bond, a thread to navigate through life and beyond.

"I want you both to work together. Sihtric is not going there to look after you. Four eyes can see more than two. You speak all the tongues across the islands and beyond. He's considered my closest friend, my right hand, along with Finan. They'll be eager to welcome him and extract all my secrets. It's a perfect combination. I want you to trust him the way I trust him. Can you do that for me?" Uhtred's hands grasped yours, his scrutinising gaze searching for reassurance.

Could you? At the beginning you couldn’t bring yourself to trust him. He was Kjartan’s bastard, the blood and flesh of the man who had shattered your fragile lives for the second time, and he had attempted to kill Uhtred.

You could still recall his feverish gaze, darting from you to Uhtred, his bound hands slightly quivering as he held the blade at Halig’s throat. Just a boy on the brink of manhood, grappling for his chance to survive, yet so determined not to surrender.

You didn’t question Uhtred’s decision, but you couldn’t shake off the doubts that nagged at you. There was something about the quiet and reserved young warrior, something elusive, something you couldn’t quite grasp, simultaneously intriguing and unsettling you.

You had observed him in Dunholm, still half-expecting him to betray you all, to switch sides in the blink of an eye.

The clang of weapons thundered through your ears, nostrils flaring as you inhaled the sour air, thick with the stench of blood and angst. The shouts of the warriors mingled with Kjartan's piercing cry, Ragnar’s sword severing his wrist, denying him entrance to Valhalla. Wild howls echoed through the yard as the same sword swung in the air repeatedly—a cacophony of sounds and images melded into pure chaos, assaulting your senses like ocean waves threatening to engulf you. Yet, amidst the chaos, your gaze remained fixed on one face in the crowd: Sihtric’s.

His expression, contorted by anxiety and anticipation since the first clash of swords, transformed into gleeful triumph and contentment at Kjartan’s defeat, only to sour into disgust and revulsion the next moment. It was then and there that you realized the depth of the shallow and distant gaze with which he often stared into the fire, seemingly detached from the laughter and banter around him. It was as though you had been granted a glimpse into his soul, witnessing all the hidden pain, shame, and guilt reflected in his large, mismatched eyes, unable to look away.

Although Kjartan lay dead, the sword continued its relentless swing, chopping and slicing as if attempting to wrench life from his body anew with each stroke. The large, deep eyes of the boy turned warrior flinched in rhythm with the moving weapon, embracing the liberating truth, while scruple and doubt glistened within them as he struggled to believe, to comprehend that it was over. Finally over. For all of you.

"It should have been me," the words sliced through the silence of the night like a blade, as you found him sitting alone, far removed from the cheerful chatter around the bonfires. His back leaned against the mighty fortress wall, arms resting on his knees. The distant flicker of firelight danced in his large eyes, his gaze sweeping over the buildings with a feverish gleam, as if searching for something, as if seeing something beyond your perception.

“Sihtric, I…” Your attempt to comfort him with a gentle touch on his shoulder was met with a fury, as he shrugged off your hand. He jumped to his feet, feverishly rubbing his eyes with his sleeves. In a momentary blink, the gleam in his eyes revealed itself to be tears, before he stormed away, pushing you aside roughly.

Since that evening, a silent distance hung between the two of you, not by your choice. If anything had shifted on your end, it was the sense of him— the same unquenchable thirst for revenge tightening your heart in the dark of the long, cold nights. Even though you couldn’t see the ghosts of Dunholm’s lost souls, you knew he could. Your suspicion and mistrust had finally dissipated, morphing into something else, something warm and soothing that you couldn’t quite put a name to.

It was Sihtric who apparently didn’t want neither your company, nor your comfort, avoiding you as much as possible. And so, you remained silent, giving him the space he seemed to need.

So, could you trust him as Uhtred was asking? Yes, you could. You were just unsure if Sihtric could reciprocate that trust. But there was nothing you wouldn't do for your brother. The tender kiss Uhtred had placed on your wrists still burned in your memory.

“Nobody knows about it. Not even Finan, not Osferth. Nobody. You’ll leave like traitors. Both of you,” Uhtred's voice dropped to a silent whisper, and you nodded, accepting the weight of the task placed upon you. You would fulfil it at any cost. You would free your brother from the curse the witch had cast upon him.

You slowly withdrew your knife from the stranger’s throat and stepped back, extending your hand to help him to his feet, an offer he accepted.

“Are you alone? Where’s your clan?” the Dane inquired, studying you with a scrutinising gaze.

“I don’t have a clan. I came with him,” you nodded toward Sihtric, seated at another fire, and returned the knife to its scabbard on your back. Once more, you could feel the weight of Sihtric's angry gaze boring into your flesh from a distance. He still hadn't grasped it, hadn't accepted that you were here on your own mission, that you neither needed nor wanted his protection.

He had choked on his ale, coughing furiously, when Uhtred had informed him you would be accompanying him.

“Lord, it’s too dangerous,” was the first thing he had said. “You can’t send her there.”

You snorted in disdain, stepping forward with fury burning in your eyes. He had witnessed your prowess in battle, seen you take down men much larger than yourself, and yet he doubted you, considering you weak. You were a warrior, your small and fragile appearance deceiving, both a curse and a blessing, concealing the steel beneath the softness of your velvety skin.

“I need neither your approval nor permission,” you hissed through gritted teeth, fixing him with a steely gaze. “Whether you come with me or not, that's your decision.”

And, predictably, he came. He could not refuse his lord’s order. You both departed under cover of night after a heated dispute with Uhtred, freeing the imprisoned Danes beforehand, but the silence between you grew even heavier. You felt like a burden to him, and you didn’t need words to confirm it. The heavy sighs, the silent shakes of his head, his gaze lingering on you before turning away the moment you met it—they spoke volumes. But you didn’t care, or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

“Husband of yours?” the Dane inquired, slight disappointment evident in his voice.

“No, just a travel companion. We both served under the Dane Slayer, but the witch has stolen his mind, and now we are here,” you spat with disdain at the mention of her, your anger and scorn genuine and unfeigned.

Sihtric drew a deep breath, attempting to calm his racing heartbeat. It felt insane. What were you even doing here? What had Uhtred been thinking, sending you into such danger? How could he be so blind, so reckless with your life?

The anger with which he had hurled insults at Uhtred that night before departure had been genuine—the fury that Uhtred, in his bid to save his own skin, was willing to sacrifice everything, even you—his sister, his unwavering companion through all the tumultuous twists and turns of his unruly life, and in Sihtric’s eyes – certainly the most beautiful woman to ever walk the earth.

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he had fallen in love with you; it seemed as if he had always felt this way, from the very first moment he laid eyes on you next to Uhtred. Your hand steady and poised on the hilt of your sword, your eyes—beautiful, deep, dark, and somewhat sorrowful—following his every move, every breath, while his own fingers quivered, his knuckles turning white from the force of gripping the hilt of Halig’s sword pressed against its owner’s throat.

As he finally dropped the sword, his fingers wrapping around Thor's hammer on his neck to swear his oath to his new lord, the resounding echo of his own words thundered in his ears and his gaze never left yours, pleading and promising.

He knew you harboured no fondness for him, no trust either, and he couldn’t blame you for it. Yet, he had hoped that with time, things would evolve, that he could earn your trust as he had Uhtred’s. Instead, he had only exposed his vulnerability, revealing himself as just a boy haunted by the ghosts of his past, far from the man or warrior he aspired to be for you.

Returning to Dunholm—the graveyard of his dreams and hopes—filled him with dread. Yet, the desire to prove himself to you, to demonstrate that he was more than a frightened boy bargaining for his life, coupled with the ambition to exhibit his courage, loyalty, and perhaps earn an approving smile from the most beautiful eyes on this side of the world, had been overpowering. Only to have those hopes shattered by your pitying gaze when you encountered him that evening after the battle. With nothing left but to retreat and await another opportunity.

The journey to Bloodhair’s camp had become a nightmare of its own. He struggled to conceal his emotions, hoping that the occasional sighs he couldn’t suppress or the furtive glances he stole in your direction—quickly averting his eyes when caught—wouldn’t betray him.

Now, you were trapped here, deep within enemy territory, each day fraught with the risk of discovery and capture. While Uhtred had kept his promise to keep Brida away from the camp, the fear of her sudden appearance loomed like a raised axe; she couldn’t be deceived. She knew you better than anyone, and consumed by grief over Ragnar's loss, she was unpredictable.

Sihtric adamantly refused to let you out of his sight. It was too perilous, and the thought of you disregarding the danger drove him to the edge of madness. He kept a vigilant watch over you, growing increasingly frustrated by the day as you dismissed his concerns. How could he protect you if you refused to acknowledge the peril, insisting instead on separating to gather more information?

You hadn’t expected it to be so easy. A satisfied smile threatened to curl on your lips as the Dane, whom you had nearly beheaded, invited you to join him at the larger fire. He settled beside you, and as the night progressed and the laughter grew louder, you didn’t push away his large palm as it found its way back to your thigh.

“I’ll be straight with you - I like you, wildcat,” he chuckled in your ear as the flames started to dwindle. “You're welcome at this fire anytime, and if you're interested, you're welcome in my tent too.”

You smiled, tilting your head to the side as you eyed the broad-shouldered man. You knew this game all too well. It was a hunt, and like every hunt, timing was everything. Let your arrow fly too soon, and you miss your prey; linger too long, and it'll slip away. It was too early for the perfect strike, but your prey was taking the bait, thinking himself the hunter. You stifled the laughter bubbling in your chest, turning it into a muffled chuckle.

“I’ll consider it,” you replied, not making any promises, just teasing, baiting. Your fingers traced a path from the Dane's shoulder over the fur cloak covering his broad chest, and you saw the trap you had laid out snap in his dark, smirking eyes. He was a worthy adversary, quite handsome even, and above all, you appreciated when men were straightforward.

If playing this game brought you closer to the talks and whispers you were so eager to hear, you were more than willing to participate.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" an angry hiss stung your ear just as you were about to slip into your tent, your hand instinctively reaching for the dagger behind your back.

“Damn,” you swore loudly, spotting the silhouette emerging from the shadows. “You're lucky you're still breathing.”

“I saw you with that brute. You need to be more careful. I’ve told you so many times…” If looks could kill, Sihtric would have dropped dead on the spot.

“You're not my father, you're not my brother, you're not my husband. You're nobody to me, and you have nothing to tell me,” you spat out your words at him, as if hurling daggers. Not that there was anyone in your life who could actually tell you what to do. You were your own master, and it was time for Sihtric to grasp that.

"We both have tasks here, so you'd better start with yours. Besides, I’m enjoying the company of that warrior," you hissed, throwing open the flaps of your tent, eager to vanish from Sihtric’s view as soon as possible. However, you were abruptly halted by an iron grip around your wrist.

“So, I'm a nobody,” a strange metallic tone tinged Sihtric’s voice, a quality you had never detected before, momentarily seizing your attention. You turned your head, and your surprised gaze was met by two deep pools of pure fury. “I get it. You're right, I am. I’ve been a nobody all my damn life. And who are you?”

You attempted to retrieve your hand, but Sihtric’s grip only tightened, and anger slowly churned in your stomach as your other hand stealthily slid behind your back to grasp the dagger.

"A smug and heedless badger digging deeper into its burrow, oblivious to everything happening outside. What have I done to deserve being treated like a dog? Ignored, dismissed at every turn, forced to watch you fawning over that filthy boar."

“A badger?” you snorted, your tone a mix of anger and amusement at Sihtric’s sudden outburst. Somewhere in the recesses of your mind, your common sense whispered for you to cease, recognizing you had clearly crossed a line and needlessly wounded him. However, retreat and admission of fault were not traits you readily embraced. You silenced your inner voice with a smug grin, a challenge glinting in your eyes as you met Sihtric’s gaze. “That filthy boar smelled better than you ever did,” you shot back.

Your fingers instinctively wrapped around the hilt of your dagger, swiftly drawing it forth, but your attempt lacked the element of surprise; Sihtric had anticipated your move. Through countless sparring sessions, he had grown familiar with your tricks.

Releasing your wrist, Sihtric deftly parried your armed hand, swiftly yanking it back and leveraging the motion to flip you over, simultaneously seizing the dagger from your grasp and positioning it threateningly against your throat, while pressing your back firmly against his chest.

With a furious stomp on his foot, you exploited the moment of distraction to drive your elbow into Sihtric’s abdomen. He grimaced in pain, doubling over and gasping for breath, giving you the opportunity to sidestep and confront him face-to-face. But before you could act further, Sihtric’s arms encircled your waist, using his weight to shove you backwards, sending both of you tumbling through the tent entrance.

You grunted as your back collided with the fur-laid ground. Before you could formulate your next move, Sihtric landed atop you, straddling your waist and pinning your arms above your head. A primal growl escaped you as you squirmed and struggled against his restraint.

“That’s enough. Cease this. Surrender. I don’t wish to harm you,” Sihtric attempted a conciliatory tone, but the smug smirk on his lips was impossible to conceal.

“Never,” you hissed through gritted teeth, persisting in your furious struggle against Sihtric’s grasp.

With your breath coming in panting gasps and your mind racing, seeking any possible escape route, you initially even failed to register what was happening. The sensation of Sihtric’s lips against yours was scorching, his hands still restraining you, refusing to release their hold. Your eyes widened in astonishment as you momentarily ceased your futile resistance, the anger pulsating within you fading like a dying ember in a gentle breeze.

Though your muscles relaxed and the frantic struggle abated, Sihtric gave no indication of noticing, his grip still firm, his weight pressing you down as his lips fervently explored yours, kissing you with rough, bruising intensity.

You could swear your heart leapt into your throat, its rapid thudding almost deafening, as you struggled to suppress the burgeoning excitement. Yet, your own body betrayed you, a fiery heat igniting in your belly, matching the rhythm of Sihtric’s lips moving against yours.

Your cheeks flushed with heat as a soft whine escaped you, but Sihtric suddenly pulled away, releasing your arms and sitting back on his heels. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of your dagger lying on the ground nearby, just out of reach.

“I’m sorry. I... I didn’t mean to…” Sihtric stammered, confusion evident on his handsome face as he scratched the back of his head. In that moment, you saw your opportunity. With a swift motion, you toppled him over toward the dagger, and in the blink of an eye, you were straddling him, the blade at his throat and a triumphant smirk on your lips.

"Gotcha," you laughed, intoxicated by the feeling of regaining control, not even pausing to consider that the victory might have been too easy.

Leaning in closer until your noses nearly touched, you watched him intently, breathing in his scent — leather, fire smoke, and ale mingled with the sweet aroma of his skin, both warming and exhilarating. A subdued chuckle escaped your lips as you noticed the mischievous sparks dancing in Sihtric’s large, expressive, two-toned eyes, a hint of suspicion creeping in that perhaps your agility alone wasn’t solely responsible for this small triumph.

Sihtric’s wide-eyed pupils tracked your every move, and in the sudden silence, you felt as if you could hear both your hearts beating frantically, breaths hitching in your chests. You pressed the dagger just a fraction tighter against his skin, enough to draw a few red drops trickling down the blade. Despite the slight pierce, not a single flinch touched Sihtric’s face as he slowly tilted his head backward, fully exposing his throat to you, his gaze still locked with yours.

The air crackled with anticipation, both your breaths quickening. Had you paused to consider, you might have chosen differently, but in that moment, your mind was suddenly empty. All that remained was the memory of the warm, thrilling sensation that had filled your core just a moment before. With a trembling exhale, you crushed your lips against Sihtric’s. The muted growl that tore through him sent shivers down your spine as you released the dagger and cupped his face, pulling him closer.

Sihtric’s strong arms enveloped your shoulders, and you gasped as you were flipped over effortlessly, like a feather. Once again beneath Sihtric’s towering frame, pressed against the fur with the weight of his body, you didn’t resist. Your fingers tangled in Sihtric’s hair as you dared not let go, your lips seeking his, parting with a hushed moan to welcome his greedy, heated tongue.

“Do you surrender?” A mischievous smile danced on Sihtric’s lips as he finally pulled away from your red, kiss-swollen lips.

“Never,” you smirked, reaching out to pull him into another passionate kiss.

With a soft whimper, you arched your back against the hard ground, covered only by a thin fur, as Sihtric’s hands began to roam over your clothes. He deftly tugged at the laces, liberating you from the leathers that concealed your skin from his touch.

Your hands were just as eager, but he was quicker. You had barely managed to pull off his leather jerkin, revealing his incredibly well built upper body to your bewildered gaze, as he freed you from the last piece of cloth, a sharp gasp leaving his chest as his ravenous gaze slid over your naked frame.

“We’ll see,” Sihtric chuckled while his lips trailed a hot path down your neck, making you gasp for air each time he sucked on your exposed skin, leaving teasing stings on his way to your chest. His skin against yours was warm and pleasantly soft and you found yourself unable to fight against the deep moan swaying through you, as his mouth closed around your hardening nipples.

“My beautiful unyielding warrior,” Sihtric’s lips continued their travel down your naked body, his low, husky voice sending shivers down your spine, “I’m going to make you feel so good as you have never felt before, I’ll show you the stars, and you will yield to me, willingly.”

“Oh gods,” was all you could murmur as his hands took hold of your hips, keeping you in place, and his tongue swept through your core. He knew exactly what he was doing, as his lips wrapped around your pearl, sucking gently, a satisfied hum leaving him as you choked on your own breath each time the lap of his hot tongue sent a new wave of shudders through your body, building up the pleasure, that slowly overtook all your senses.

Eyes rolling back into your head, you buried your teeth in your lower lip, in a futile attempt to keep quiet, but you couldn’t. Wild moans rolled over your lips as Sihtric was bringing you closer to the edge. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined the silent and hesitant young warrior being able to bring you to the brink of madness so masterly and so quickly.

Another deep moan swayed through you as he forced two fingers inside you.

Sihtric grinned in satisfaction, loving the lewd sounds, rolling over your parted lips, drinking in the sight of you - hair wild and dishevelled, eyes half lid and rolling back in your head, breath heavy and panting, hips moving up and down against his fingers - the most beautiful sight he could ever imagine. He had always dreamed of having you buried beneath him like this, yet he had never dared to believe it could actually come true.

You whined loudly as he suddenly pulled away.

“Sihtric, please, I need more,” you mewled in a desperate need to have him back.

“You need more of what?” he smirked, placing a tender kiss on your inner thigh. You shuddered, feeling his breath so close to where you wanted him.

“I need you,” you whimpered through panting breaths.

“So beautiful, so wild and unruly,” Sihtric hummed as his mouth travelled to your other thigh, “So fucking perfect for me.”

“Gods, Sihtric, please, I need you,” you whined, your voice cracking.

“Are you yielding, my fiercest warrior?” Sihtric asked, delving his tongue in your dripping heat, just to retrieve again.

“I am, fuck, I am,” you moaned breathlessly, forgetting everything – your pride, your ego, your anger – there was no room for any other emotion as the overwhelming yearning for Sihtric’s touch. With a satisfied hum, Sihtric thrusted his fingers back in your tight channel, starting to pump them in and out, and you were swept away by the new wave of pleasure.

You were already so close to the edge, feeling the warmth, cursing through your body pooling into one large flame. Your fingers dug in the fur beneath you in an attempt to hold on to something, to ground yourself, as your head snapped back, your body went taut and your walls started to clench around Sihtric’s fingers.

“Yes, that’s good. I can feel you, come for me, beautiful,” Sihtric murmured softly, his tongue starting to circle around and lap over your sensitive nub, and there was no way of holding it back any longer. You felt like a tightly drawn bow suddenly released, the tension snapping and transforming into pure energy, as you came on Sihtric’s fingers and tongue, your climax washing over you in waves of pure bliss, your body trembling and shuddering from the intensity of it.

Sihtric kept fucking you through your orgasm with his fingers, letting you savour the moment and the sinfull sensation, pulsing through your vanes like an inferno, sweeping away everything in it’s way. You were blank, like an empty parchment. Carried away in the current of pleasure you floated somewhere between this world and the other.

“You are mine now, my sweet wildflower,” Sihtric’s voice reached through your hazy mind, grounding you back to earth. “You yielded, and now you are mine.”

You wanted to protest, to reject his claim, but the words forming on your tongue dissolved in the tenderness of Sihtric’s kiss, his fingers delicately tracing your cheek.

“Say it again,” you whispered, locking eyes with his mismatched gaze.

“You are mine,” Sihtric affirmed, his voice low and soft yet resolute, causing your heart to quicken. Whom were you trying to fool here? Wasn’t this what you had secretly dreamed of since that night in Dunholm, though too afraid to acknowledge it fully?

Silence hung between you until you mustered the courage to break it. “I am yours, Sihtric,” you murmured, savouring the weight of your own words. They felt unfamiliar yet strangely satisfying, even liberating. The groan that escaped Sihtric made you grin, as his lips found yours again, stealing your breath away.

You yelped as Sihtric’s strong arms wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground in one swift motion, carrying you to the pile of furs serving as your bed and placing you carefully on top of it. You propped yourself up on your elbows and sat upright, watching Sihtric hastily getting rid of his breeches, a sharp exhale vibrating through your chest at the sight of his hard cock. He was big, and you were not a novice in that matter. The thought alone of him inside you, made your core pulse in pleasant anticipation.

“You are a big boy,” you mused, as he approached, wrapping your fingers around his shaft and giving it a teasing lick from tip to root, feeling it throb in your hand. You wrapped your lips around it and let your tongue slide over the sensitive tip. Sihtric moaned, shuddering at your touch.

“Do you think you can handle me?”

You just smirked at him in response, as Sihtric pushed you firmly back on the furs, crawling on top of you, crowding you like a wild beast. There was something wolfish in his demeanour, his tense, perfectly chiselled muscles rippling beneath his skin, his eyes darkening as if fixated on prey.

“I'm not gonna go easy on you,” his husky voice dripped into your ears like sweet poison, thrilling and intoxicating. It made every hair on your body stand on end and wetness pool between your legs, leaving you to wonder whether it was a warning or a promise. You had never seen him like this, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t excite you. There was evidently much more to discover beneath the reserved and bashful exterior of the young warrior, and you weren't just curious—you were burning with desire to explore.

“Sihtric, just fuck me,” you exclaimed, pulling him in for a heated kiss, and Sihtric groaned against your mouth, aligning himself with your cunt. He pushed into you, and you moaned loudly, digging your nails into his shoulders, savouring the delicious stretch as your walls took him in, pulsing around him.

There was nothing gentle in the way he fucked you, and now you understood why he had cared to place you on the big, soft keep of furs. His hips thrusted against you with a crushing power, showing you ever higher up the keep, skin snapping against skin, relentlessly pushing himself into you until the very end of his length.

His groans and hisses mingled with your moans and you were sure the half of the camp had by now definitely heard you, the fabric of the tent not an obstacle for the sounds, but you couldn’t care less. You enjoyed every single deep thrust, every single brush of his cock against that sweet swollen spot deep inside you, that made your back arch and your eyes roll back in your head, the familiar heat pooling into your belly and turning into hot, searing flame.

“Gods, how good you feel around me,” Sihtric hissed between panting breaths and you just mewled something incomprehensible in response too lost in your pleasure for any words or even coherent thoughts.

Having you here, writhing beneath him, taking his cock and moaning in pleasure, your nails leaving marks on his skin, exceeded Sihtric's wildest hopes. He had aimed to earn your trust, perhaps your friendship, but this was something else, something he didn’t dare to put a name to, not yet.

You had so unexpectedly gotten under his sway, and he desired nothing more than to please you, to immerse you in the most breathtaking sensations he could offer. For despite his longing for your surrender, there was something he craved even more.

“You are nobody to me,” you had spat in anger, and those words cut deeper than any blade ever could. He would have accepted anything from you—hate, anger—but not indifference, not from you.

Sihtric felt your walls start to clench around him, telling him that you were close to the edge.

“Common, my beautiful warrior, you can give me more,” he growled, fastening his pace, eyes getting glassy and breath rugged, as he was chasing his own release now.

“Fuck, Sihtric, I … I can’t anymore,” you hissed and after few more thrusts you were there, the pooling heat exploded within you, rolling over you, engulfing you and you let yourself fell into that blissful state where nothing else mattered apart from the indescribable, otherworldly pleasure washing over you in hot waves.

Sihtric kept fucking you through your orgasm, savouring the feeling of your walls shuddering and clenching around him, squeezing him, until he couldn’t hold back anymore and he came, spilling his seed deep inside you with a throbbing groan.

Sihtric collapsed beside you, pulling you into his embrace, his panting breath hot against your sweaty skin as he buried his nose in the crook of your neck. He wanted to prolong this moment, to stretch it into infinity, as somewhere deep inside him, he dreaded what would come after, unconsciously fearing that there actually might be no after.

Your head still hazy and spinning from the intensity of your climax, you turned slowly to face him. Your eyes roamed his handsome face, pausing at the scars on his forehead and right cheek. His embrace was firm, somewhat possessive, yet simultaneously tender, attuned to your every move, every breath. Like a young wolf resting after a good hunt—relaxed but alert—your wolf, your wild beast, ready to be tamed.

"You okay?" Sihtric asked, gently tucking your hair behind your ear, his thumb hovering over your cheek.

You simply nodded, unable to find your voice, enchanted by the soothing calmness radiating from Sihtric, having no idea about the tempest raging behind that shell. He smiled and leaned in, brushing his lips over yours.

"I might be nobody to you, but you are everything to me," Sihtric's gaze locked with yours, his heart racing in his chest with maddening speed. It was the moment of truth he had always dreaded. He surrendered his heart to you, knowing there were only two possibilities: acceptance or rejection.

"You are not nobody, you never have been. You are mine. I drew your blood, and I claimed you," you stated boldly, meeting his gaze with determination. "You are mine, Sihtric Kjartansson," you repeated firmly, "and I am yours."

A deep sigh of relief escaped Sihtric as he pulled you back into his embrace, his lips affirming your claim with a passionate kiss.

"A badger!" you suddenly laughed, recalling how it all began, leading to this moment of firm embrace you never wanted to end. "You called me a badger!" you snorted, playfully punching him in the stomach.

“My wild, ignorant, beautiful badger,” Sihtric chuckled in response, gently nuzzling your dishevelled hair.

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Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie @gemini-mama @verenahx @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @willowbrookesblog @thenameswinter99 @ellabellabus07 @mcbuckyyyy @kirtseinw @siimonesvensson @sigtryggrswifey

#sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric #the last kingdom #sihtric fic #the last kingdom fic

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elen-benfelen · 3 months

Text

welsh remus guide pt.1

As a casual marauders fan (if such a thing exists lmao), I’ve noticed a growing love/interest towards Remus being Welsh and exploring what this means regarding accent, mannerisms and language. Seeing Welsh being butchered by the use of google translate, whilst understandable that people would turn to it, is actually physically painful at times. And so!! I’ve decided to start collecting some language tips and bits of info to help anyone who wants to Welshify their Remus. The source? My upbringing as a first language Welsh speaker in South-West Wales.

The most popular head canons I’ve seen, some based on scraps of info from canon, is that Remus is either South Walian (specifically South-East Wales - aka the Cardiff area) or North Walian. I’ve only lived in North Wales for just under a month so I have a rough idea of NW slang but I’m no expert. I have lived in Cardiff for about 3 years so I have a stronger grasp on broad South Walian slang.

This is to say - I will try and give words and bits of info I think would be useful to know but my ask box is always open to more specific questions. I’m also a nerd towards the Welsh language so this is going to be an unnecessarily deep dive into it.

First Lesson

Gogs - North Walians

Hwntws - South Walians

Gogs (short for Gogledd meaning North) and Hwntws have an age old rivalry. Our accents are very different and even our Welsh can have a huge variety of slang and accents.

Examples:

Milk - Llaeth (Hwntw) Llefrith (Gog)

Now - Nawr (H) Rwan (G)

Whilst plenty of Welsh folks have very English sounding accents, if someone has a distinctly Welsh accent you can usually tell pretty quickly where they’re from. Accents within the Welsh language itself tend to be rather strong and distinctive for most people. It is extremely common for someone to ask you where you’re from once they find out you speak Welsh. Probably cause Wales isn’t that big and only like 20% ish of us speak Welsh??? Idk. It just is a thing. So like:

“O, da chi’n siarad Cymraeg?” (Oh, you speak Welsh?)

“Ydw! Wyt ti o’r Gogledd?” (I do! Are you from the North?)

“Yndw, dwi o Gaernarfon. Ble yda chi’n byw?” (I do, I’m from Caernarfon. Where do you live?)

“Fi o Rhydaman.” (I’m from Ammanford.)

Hopefully that dialogue feels human and not like two robots talking but you get the gist of it lmao. So, for those of you who want to make another of the characters, such as Lily, Welsh as well, it wouldn’t be out of place for them to try and establish where the other is from when first meeting. But also be aware that their slang and language would be different if they’re not from the same area (as with any language or country).

Conclusion: You cannot slap the blanket label of Welsh on Remus and then have him speak any old welsh and use any slang and such. So either choose somewhere specific or throw a dart and stick with where it lands.

Note: I am not the collective consciousness of every Welsh person. My experience is not universal - especially when it comes to North Walian things. This is just meant to serve as a general guide. Hope this helps and good luck with your writing!

pt.2

#welsh #marauders #welsh remus #remus lupin #lily evans #sirius black #remus x sirius #james potter #harry potter #cymraeg #wales #welsh language #welsh remus lupin #marauders era #the marauders #wolfstar #i have so many thoughts on this topic so buckle up lads

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