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solipseismic · 10 months

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128x128 transparent ibuprofen png for when u and the discord server want to take ibuprofen together

#croidhe

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catboydogma · 1 year

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hey don’t cry. 200,000 clone troopers with a million more on the way, okay?

#croidhe #aotc #clone troopers #tcw #has someone done this. doesnt matter. im doing it now

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trans-cuchulainn · 1 year

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What are your favorite quotes from the Táin or other UC texts? Asking for non-tattoo related purposes I swear.

big question! these are just going to be off the top of my head tbh (well, i will look up the exact wordings, but i am going by what quotes come to mind without me scouring the text)

one of my favourites from TBC is from the stowe manuscript specifically, so it's not in the early versions of the text (you can tell from the gross 15th century spellings), but it's from a poem that ferdia speaks before he fights cú chulainn:

"truagh a dhé teacht do mhnaoi eadrom agus é leth mo chroidhe in Cú cen col is leth croidhe na Con mé"

which loosely translates as "alas, o God, that a woman should come between me and him | the faultless Hound is half my heart, and I am half of his" (trans.... honestly i forgot, sorry)

#gay

tbh, there are a lot of good quotes in comrac fir diad, especially in cú chulainn's lament for fer diad -- e.g. i love the repeated "all play, all sport" motif ("Cluchi cách, gaíne cách") bc of all the symbolism there of lost youth and innocence in the moment of ferdia's death

i also really like the bit in oidheadh con culainn where cú chulainn is begging láeg to leave the battle and stay safe so he can take the news to emer and he says

‘Beirsi buaidh 7 bennachtain,’ ar Cú Chulainn, ‘óir ní fuair tigerna riam 7 ní fuighbe tigerna tarm ési gilla bus ferr ná tusa. 7 do-berimsi mo briathar co cluinfiter fo Erinn uile mar dígheóladsa aniu tú. 7 do-berim briathar óntís do chenglamar aráen re chéile in cétlá, nach tarrla ar n-imscarad ná ar n-imrisin re chéile do lá nó d-oidchi riam co háes na huairi so.'

“Take victory and blessing,” said Cú Chulainn, “because no lord ever found nor will any lord after me find a gilla who is better than you. And I give you my word that it will be heard throughout all of Ireland how I will avenge you today, and I give my word that since the first day we bound ourselves together, we never before separated or quarrelled, day or night, until this very moment." (trans. longman)

emph mine but oh my god. they're so married. that one's probably a bit long for a tattoo though lmao

also there are a lot of very excellently gay cu chulainn/laeg quotes in toruigheacht gruaidhe griansholus but we'll be here all night if i start pulling those out. the bit where laeg asks to be buried in his grave though... it's verse again, verse is good, it's

lodhlaicfior misi ionnat' fheart, Bu h-ionann leacht dhuit-si is dúinn I shall be buried in thy grave One tombstone shall we have (trans. o'rahilly)

there's a definite theme here of me just liking the gay declarations of affection which. yeah. i do. i only tend to remember things i get emotional about so even if i like other lines in the moment that i'm reading them, these are the ones that stick with me!

but i do also like really like the line in TBC where cu chulainn calls himself a "little creature":

"Acht dia festa-su, is andíaraid in míl bec fégai-siu .i. missi." "But if only you knew it, the little creature you are looking at, namely, myself, is wrathful." (trans. o'rahilly)

purely for the vibes of calling himself a míl bec, yunno. i feel like "is andíaraid in míl bec fégai-siu" would make quite a badass tattoo -- that fragment alone might be translated as "the little creature you are looking at is fierce". though this probably only works if you're short. if you're tall i'm not sure you can use that one hahaha (andíaraid is 'wrathful, fierce, angry; baleful, baneful' so basically if you're small and pissed off, that's a good one)

that's all that's coming to mind rn, not sure if those are of any use but if i think of anything else i'll add it on later (realistically that'll be next time i'm combing the text for a random detail and spot a line i enjoy haha)

#tain bo cuailnge #ulster cycle #toruigheacht gruaidhe griansholus #oidheadh con culainn #answered #anonymous

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breadedsinner · 2 years

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Would it be wild if I kept the idea that Malcolm taught his children the old Clayne language, an old language still spoken in the outskirts of Ferelden. If it represents a long buried feeling that Judy always carried with her. Even coming into Kirkwall, getting disrespected, she began to speak differently.

So when she calls Sebastian “cuisle mo croidhe”, beat/pulse of my heart, it shows how deeply and earnestly she says it.

#Judith Hawke #OTP: We Found Each Other in the Dark

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twostarsinonesphere · 4 years

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Not sure if you're aware of this but Seán MacDíarmada in the 1911 census filled it out fully in Irish with highlights including writing his age in the Roman numerals for 26 when in reality he was 28, for religion he wrote Irish nationalist, for Martial status he wrote single but not for long and in the space for infirmity he legit wrote "croidhe craidhte eadh ón aontach". Living under the union with Britain was causing him torment in his heart. I read it today and had to share.

i was absolutely not aware of that, i pretty much only know that seán macdíarmada was a heartthrob and in cahoots with tom clarke but that's it, and it adds so much depth and sadness to him to learn that. knowing how invested the republicans were in the irish language and freedom, i'm not surprised that he did that. thank you for dropping this fact into my inbox! i will go search out more information on macdíarmada because you have me intrigued.

(sidenote: what he wrote under infirmity got me like seriously emotional, so thank you. also interesting because he had an actual physical infirmity so he decided to forgo that to make a statement. really interesting.)

also!! "single but not for long" is absolutely a player move. what a lad

#asks #irish history #seán macdíarmada

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pokeasleepingsmaug · 5 years

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Vein of my Heart

Finally decided to write a Last Kingdom fic that isn’t about Sihtric, so without further ado...

AO3, if you prefer

Finan x OC

Words: 1517

Angst with a happy ending

TW: mild suicidal ideations, non-explicit death

Pronunciation/Translation Guide

Aoife: Ee-fa

Dia duit: God be with you

Cuisle mo croidh: Pulse of my heart

It was a great sword, longer and lighter than most, designed to be wielded by a man who danced around his foes like a whirlwind give human form. Its handle was made of deer antler and wrapped in leather, soft and smooth to the touch. Comfortable. The blade was double-edged, tapering to a wicked point that sliced through flesh as though it were warm butter. Blood, brown and flaking away with age, decorated the long, gleaming steel. She could not bring herself to wipe it away.

She carried the sword with her always, a constant, dragging weight at her left hip. She blamed the sword for her journey, although in truth it wasn’t the cause. But it was easier to keep going when she had something to remind her, something to push her on through the long years and smoky taverns, across the rolling seas and down the long hills. And keep going she did--through driving snows and waving wildflowers in the sun, on the back of a tall mare whose gray hide faded slowly to white as she trotted the years away. Belted at her hip, always, was the sword.

She slept with it beside her pillow on the rare days the inns had beds available, or with her arms clasped around it when she curled up by the hearth in the great common rooms among the snoring of men and the crackling of fire. On those nights, she polished the gleaming blade in the firelight, carefully avoiding the fragile old blood, and no man ever troubled her. It was the only time she took the sword from its black leather scabbard.

This would be another night she polished the sword before falling into a restless sleep, in some nameless, smoky tavern like the thousands of others she had slept in over the years. She wasn’t even sure why she kept traveling anymore, if not for the simple fact that she could never return home. She had left a beloved chieftain, traitorous bastard that he was, in a heap at her feet one cloudless starry night, so many years ago, for the crime of turning her heart to stone. It’s the clinking silver from his hoard that she’s used to fund her travels. It wasn’t won by his sword, anyway.

She’s fixed every detail of that night in her memory, in the increasingly vain hope that she’ll do its retelling justice someday. It was the sword and the gray mare that kept her going when she considered simply laying herself at the foot of a towering old oak and letting either Jesus or the fair folk take her. But there was no one else to care for the tall horse with her sweet brown eyes and arching neck and her name for an old goddess of war, and whoever stole the sword from her body would surely clean the blood from its blade.

And so on this night she finds a tavern in some nameless burgh in a kingdom of fertile valleys and grazing cattle. She’s halfway through her stew when she hears familiar laughter rising like a ghost from a grave on a moonless night, and her blood runs hot and cold all at once. It takes her desperate, searching eyes only a moment to find him. He looks like she imagined he would, the weight of years sitting light on his shoulders. He wears his hair now the same way he did then, and her chest is suddenly so full of wet wool she can barely draw a breath. She remembers the first time she saw him, how the handfuls of water he scrubbed through his black hair ran pink with blood as it streamed down his lean, muscled back. How her chest felt the same then as it does now.

The sword leaves its scabbard with a soft hiss, and although her knees shake as she crosses the tavern, her hands are steady when she reaches her target. The wicked point rests at the notch of his collarbone. Movement catches her eye as the man to his left--short black hair and snake tattoos curling above his ears; she registers him immediately as a Dane from her travels to that frozen land--brandishes a dagger. She ignores him, and a flake of the old blood drifts down to the breast of Finan’s leather jerkin.

“Dia duit.” It was the first thing he said to her that afternoon long ago, water sluicing down his broad shoulders and lean chest, the waist of his brown wool breeches blackened with moisture. His voice was smooth then, silky with confidence, like he knew from her wide, stricken eyes that he’d already won her. Now it’s low, rough with uncertainty and longing. He clears his throat. “Come to fulfill your marriage-vow, Aoife? Ye did promise to run me through with my own sword if I journeyed somewhere ye couldna follow.”

“And yet I have followed.”

The sharp-faced Dane stands so abruptly he knocks his ale over. He claps a hand on Finan’s shoulder, mutters something about a wife, and is gone with a graceful swirl of his black cloak. “People are starin’, cuisle mo chroidhe, so run me through or put the blade away.” She watches the ale spread across the table and drip onto the floor for a few moments before sliding the blade back into its scabbard.

“I killed him.” Her voice is matter-of-fact, blank as stone. “Cían.”

“It’s his blood on the sword, then?” He brushes the flake absently from his jerkin with a flick of his blunt finger.

“I saw him hit you from behind. Saw him laughing as the Norsemen dragged you to their dragon-ship.” She doesn’t mention the way his head lolled, chin on chest, body gone boneless, feet dragging through the coarse sand of the beach, through the breaking surf, and heaved carelessly into the belly of a waiting ship.

“I knew he was behind it. I just didn’t know he had the courage to attack me himself,” Finan muses, looking thoughtfully up at her. “So he staged the whole battle, then?”

“All of it a scheme to be rid of ye, so I dug up his hoard and killed him. There were no clouds that night, and his blood looked black as his heart when I left him there on the floor of our house.”

Finan raises his eyebrows, face suddenly stern. “What was that bastard doing in our house, Aoife?”

She hasn’t felt shame over this in many years now, although she burned with it at the time and she burns with it now. Over the years, this is a memory she’s glossed over--the way she smiled at the man who betrayed her husband, the way she whispered in his ear and trailed her fingers over his throat while she dreamed of strangling him. The way he came to her after the battle and grabbed her by the hair, shouted at all his assembled men that she was his now. That he had sent Finan away for the crime of marrying the woman that should have been left for his chieftain.

His eyes are fastened on her, pinning her beneath the weight of her long-forgotten shame. “I was not strong enough to kill him without him trusting me first.”

“Damn ye, woman! Did your promises to me mean nothing once I was out of sight?” She flinches as if his words leave bruises on her skin.

“I saw your face every time I looked at him, and every night when I close my eyes. I’ve kept my marriage vows, cuisle mo croidhe, but have ye?”

He holds himself stiff and sharp as steel under her questioning gaze. “I’ve never lain with another woman, if that’s what yer askin’. I remember my promises.” He reaches toward her, briefly, then lets his hand drop, and his voice breaks in a wracked half-sob as he continues. “I’ve dreamt of ye all these years, and now that you’re finally before me, I’m afraid I’ve finally lost my mind.”

“I thought I would never see you again,” she admits, finally letting herself feel something. It’s a giddy sort of terror, like if she reaches out to touch him her hands will pass right through. For the first time since that morning so long ago, her heart doesn’t feel like stone. It feels like flesh, like a pulsing ache so thick she can barely breathe, and it feels like coming alive, like clawing out from dark, crushing dirt. She can barely get his name out through the throbbing, writhing thing her heart has become. “Finan.”

The breathy sound of his name breaks some type of spell, or maybe casts it. He stumbles around the table, not even noticing when he blunders into a bench and causes the men sitting on it to shout. His arms come around her, crushing her, drowning her in the scents of smoke and ale, and it doesn’t matter that she’s been wandering for nearly a decade. Coming home, feeling the pulse of her heart, was worth every step.

#the last kingdom #the last kingdom fic #the last kingdom fanfic #let's be danes ⚔️#let's be danes #finan #finan the agile #finan fanfic #finan x oc #finan x aoife

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k0pfan-blog · 7 years

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In true love there is never loss and in true loss there is always love

Geronymous

#croidhe

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solipseismic · 5 months

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no button for other or see results bc ppl who don't have headaches right now don't deserve a button

#croidhe #polls #brought to u by: i woke up w a headache and am 3/4 of the way thru my headache cause checklist to try and fix it #ibuprofen has been ingested.

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solipseismic · 3 months

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autistic ppl in my phone were right. knitting fucks like hell

#croidhe #I Am Making a Dish Towel #fibercraft

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solipseismic · 6 days

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if im ever acting weird u must udnerstand it is bc i am fighting the debilitating urge to buy $90 worth of smoked salmon online. at any given moment

#there are a LOT of ppl who sell fish and will ship it to u FRESH (/freshly smoked). the only downside is that it costs MONEY.#the other downside is that there is VERY LITTLE. i would not do. for good smoked salmon.#croidhe

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catboydogma · 2 years

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also this confirms that cody makes a habit of, nay, ENJOYS testing obi-wan’s reflexes and fight or flight reactions. cody is that guy who will randomly hurl the nearest object at you and bellow THINK FAST! at any given moment. wow.

#commander cody #kenobi series #obi-wan kenobi #codywan #YES im tagging this as codywan because i am CORRECT at all times and #FELLAS. IS IT GAY TO PIN YOUR FORMER GENERAL AND SECRET DESERT BUDDY TO AN ALLEY WALL AND HOLD A KNIFE TO HIS THROAT #FELLAS?????#croidhe

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solipseismic · 3 months

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