#Welsh terms

[llyfrenfys]

Welsh Gender Neutral Family Terms

We've come up with some gender neutral Welsh family terms in the LGBTQIA+ Welsh discord I run (dm for link) lately and so far people seem to like the terms. So, this is an introduction to some of the terms we've come up with so far.

I plan to make polls eventually with these terms and any other suggestions you might have and run a little tournament to see which terms are favoured most by Welsh speaking LGBTQIA+ people.

Without further ado, here are the terms:

(f. = feminine grammatical gender, m. = masculine grammatical gender)

Chwaed(ion) f. - Sibling(s)

[‘chwaer’ (sister) + ‘brawd’ (brother). Rhymes with ‘gwaed’ (blood), reminiscent of family ties]

Chwaerydd m. - Sibling

['chwaer' + '-ydd' (masculine suffix) ]

Chwaed fy mam / fy nhad - Aunt/Uncle (Literally, my mother’s/father’s sibling)

 [Literal translation (my mother’s / father’s sibling) ]

Naith f. - Niece/Nephew

[‘nith’ (niece) + ‘nai’ (nephew) ]

Dain (Deiniau) f. - Grandparent(s)

[‘taid’ (grandfather)+ t > d + ‘nain’ (grandmother) ]

Nam-gu f.- (Grandparent)

['fy nhad-cu' + 'fy mam-gu']

Of course, these are only suggestions. So far, chwaed has been very popular and dain has been preferred over nam-gu because it's less South Walian. But I'm interested to hear what you think or hear if you have any suggestions of your own!

Please share this post so we can get a larger sample size. Diolch!

NB:

These terms have come from multiple users, so bear that in mind with feedback. I can pass on suggestions to the users who coined them.

Grammatical gender is unavoidable in Welsh, but grammatical gender does not necessarily equal gender gender. E.g. the German word for girl 'maedchen' is grammatically neutral. In addition to this, certain suffixes in Welsh are gendered, which affects how words behave in certain sentences.

#Welsh #gender neutral #neutral terms #nonbinary #anneuaidd #LHDT #cwiar #langblr #Welsh terms #Cymraeg #Gymraeg #hoyw #trawsryweddol #deurywiol #lesbiaidd #lhdt #cymru

[iceman-soup]

amab masc!reader x top!soap

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#i loovveee writing scots dialect its so fun to research all the different terms #especially when i can make soap mutter them during sex #also one of the websites referenced welsh dialect and that made me happy #john soap mactavish #cw smut #cod men x male reader #x male reader #soap x male reader #john soap mctavish x reader #x amab reader #soap x amab reader #soap x reader #soap mw2

[ingravinoveritas]

susanwhynow replied to your post:

how they lean into each others space … like they're drawn to one another … 😩

@susanwhynow

Always.

It's one of the things I have loved the most about Michael and David for the last five years. You could see that pull between them and how drawn they were to each other even in 2019...

There's a sort of tentativeness to the leaning in 2019, that hesitation that comes with a newfound and unexpectedly powerful connection, trying to feel each other out ("Is this okay?" "Do you feel the same way I do?"). Then when lockdown happened, Michael and David were still leaning toward each other even over Zoom, as if they'd never realized how much they enjoyed being together until they couldn't.

But four years later, it just seems like that pull has only gotten stronger, as their friendship/relationship has deepened. Now they are completely open with each other. Michael and David know exactly how they feel, and what is between them has blossomed so beautifully, to where we can see it even when they are in the middle of a film set, or a theater full of people...

And what is between them is so powerful that it makes you ache. Someplace deep inside where you wondered if it was possible for two people to be this connected--consciously and unconsciously--and to find each other at just the right moment in their lives. And to then look back and see that there was a thread, however invisible, tying them together long before now.

I love that Michael and David have seemingly always been comfortable in each other's spaces, and how that's led to them creating a space that is just theirs...

#susanwhynow #reply post #michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #and now it's like they've let us into their little world #by the tiniest measures #and i love that it's on their terms and their choice #so tangible that you could even see it in that blurry photo of them #they are perfect together your honor #a friendship that's become something more #i don't know if i believe in fate but i believe in them #ineffable lovers #discourse #gif by me

[majorshatterandhare]

Maybe the demonym for New Texas shouldn’t be “New Texan” but “New Texaser.”

#this is a joke based on the fact that the demonym for new england is ‘new englander’ #the mechanisms #jonny dville #idk what they have actually used. i have a bad memory. i assume that if a demonym is ever used that its ‘new texan’ #a demonym is the term for someone regarding the place they are from/live in #are people from new south wales ‘new south welsh?’ #i looked it up and according to wiki the adjective form is ‘new south welsh’ but the demonym is ‘new south welshman’ #i looked up a bunch. im not gonna share that info its probably not particularly interesting

[schar-aac]

"cariad"

Image: A simple Welsh love spoon in front of a light mauve heart.

#custom emoji #aac image #aac emoji #communication symbol #aac symbol #communication image #endearment #terms of endearment #cariad #welsh

[historyartthings]

This just filled me with such rage. Like 2011??!! 2011?

Anyone who wasn’t English was just an uncouth, uncultured munter apparently. The people were more ‘shaggy looking’? what do you even base that on? What research has resulted in that conclusion?

And then “Celtic peoples”, “Celtic neighbours”, as if that makes those three countries uniform and inherently the same

#fuck you pal honestly #both of my parents are Scottish so I am biased #but even so id say this is… Not Great #however you spin it #genuinely floored this is such a late publishing date for that kinda perspective #but it comes up a lot not just for #ordinary people but see also #Henry VII #also brings up the question of the ‘Celticness’ of England #would how much it theoretically is or isn’t even be consistent? #the Anglo-Saxon separatism and exceptionalism is tiring and I want it obliterated #how do you classify these things. what do those terms even really mean #English history #Scottish history #Welsh history #Irish history #history #medieval #early modern #Scotland #Ireland #Wales #england

[worldsfromhoney]

My Dear Thief

Masterlist

cw: obsession

Valpjorf hated going to sleep. Hate was a strong word but what else could capture this burning feeling tormenting him in the darkness he’d grown to hate? Darkness, too, was a strong word to use. He liked to think he didn’t dream. That there was nothing when he slept and everything when he woke.

…Valpjorf dreamt and he hated how he loved every minute of it. There was only ever just the one thing that ruled him in sleep just as it threatened to rule him in his waking hours.

Bones. He would always dream of bones. Of its unblemished white colour which the brightest of gems or the purest of ivory could never rival. Valpjorf dreamt of touching it, his fingers wrapping around this precious treasure and shivering with delight. He dreamt of how his body would shake in the moments before the touch and how it would sag in bliss—in relief once he has it in his grasp.

Then Valpjorf wakes up and Rhun is there beside him, full of bones beneath that flesh, those precious treasures just waiting to be taken—

These days, when Rhun wakes up, it’s to Valpjorf curled up at a far corner of the room, crying. He didn’t want his partner (his love, life, saviour) to keep waking up to an empty bed. He didn’t want Rhun to have to take him in his arms first thing in the morning and comfort him from something he could never understand. Not ever.

Rhun didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve a partner who would like nothing more than dig their fingers in the witch’s flesh till it penetrated skin and muscle and finally reach that glorious trove of bones—

“I won’t,” Valpjorf would say, again and again. “I won’t. I won’t. I wouldn’t, elskan. You know I wouldn’t.”

Not to you. Not to anyone else ever again.

And Rhun wouldn’t understand, not really, what had been going on in Valpjorf’s head. He wouldn’t understand just how close his ‘reformed’ partner had been to breaking the promise he made himself. No. Rhun wouldn’t understand but he would stay. He would gather Valpjorf as close as they could possibly be as if that would be enough.

“You won’t,” Rhun would answer, all the same as always. “You won’t, annwyl. I know you won’t. You promised, so you won’t.”

Valpjorf did promise. The day he burned all the bones he’d stolen into ash and watched the wind carry away his life’s work (his sins) away, he had promised never to come back onto that path. Rhun was the path he’d chosen and he would never stray from that.

Never.

Never.

Never.

…never?

He would never again cast that spell? The one he’d honed for decades before he even met Rhun? The one which made it all so easy to wrench out bones from others with them being none the wiser?

Never?

Valpjorf would never experience the never-ending wonder of feeling someone’s soul thrum in this stolen treasure? He’d never know the forbidden taste of souls which made him shiver and his eyes roll back as he clutched the reward of his thievery?

Never?

He… hadn’t known what never meant.

The dreams didn’t stop coming and Valpjorf doesn’t know how long he can take them. He doesn’t know when but knew his days were numbered. He began counting them.

Day One was the night after he burned all the bones he’d stolen and woke up a screaming, sobbing mess in Rhun’s arms. That’d been before Valpjorf proposed to tie their souls together.

Day Thirty was one of the worst ones. The threads holding his skin together had snapped and he had watched, unmoving, as his own bones tore from its fleshy confines. The memory joined his dreams soon enough till the line between it and reality blurred and Rhun had a tight grip on him.

He’d prevented Valpjorf from tearing apart his skin to see more and more of those bones—of that precious treasure that’d been in him all along and it was his body dammit!

Rhun had a look Valpjorf hadn’t understood. He didn’t understand how such fury which threatened to burn his very soul was quenched by quiet, whispered words against the scratches he’d made on his skin. Of lips repeating the words till it overturned everything—even Valpjorf’s want for bones.

And your soul is mine.

It was a long time before the dreams came and shattered the blissful calm that’d settled over them. The war was over. Valpjorf had stopped stealing. He was no longer leaving suffering and an aching sense of loss in his wake. He’d found his soulmate and partner in Rhun who’d coaxed him from anything unsavoury and bad.

Then it was Day 300 and Valpjorf woke to Rhun’s strangled cry of his name. He thought he was still dreaming. Everything felt… right. In dreams he could feed into desires his partner had never snuffed from him. Nothing could. Not even himself.

It was a dream because he was over Rhun, a hand squeezing his partner’s throat and the other in the middle of casting his oh so favourite spell. Rhun was calling for him and Valpjorf shushed him back oh so gently. He wanted to do this right. If not in reality, then in dreams where he could do anything.

Then Rhun was crying and he knew this wasn’t a dream.

The pleasant haze that’d been over him snapped, pulled as it was from one end of reality and the other of dreams. The sinews of muscle and skin under his hold crackled with magic, more pleading than it was attempting to fight back. Rhun wouldn’t. Not even now even when tears had unwittingly fallen and his partner’s eyes were glazing over.

Rhun wouldn’t because that had been the promise between them, wasn’t it? To love as I hold. Your health and heart I shall never break. Our souls now of the same mould. These vows I make under the gaze of Fate.

A promise Valpjorf just broke. A strangled sound cracked like a whip against the stragglers—the thoughts that no, this is a dream and he can keep going. His fingers spasmed around that throat he’d worshiped with kisses from night to day and wondered if the sound had come from Rhun again. It came again, softer, and… from him. It was from him. The strangled whine, cries, and sobs were from him and so was the burning scratches on his face and the pull on his hair.

It was from him and not Rhun and he wished to the gods it’d been Rhun. Maybe it would stick more. Maybe it would truly stop the ache he still had—that urge to reach out and finish what he’d started.

Valpjorf gets away with sleeping on the couch, magic bindings wrapped around him as he sleeps, till Day 366. It’s one of the rare days when he’s home first before Rhun is, it being a slow day at the occult shop. He had wanted to stay longer so he could go home late but his boss had taken one look at him, sighed, and kicked his sorry arse out.

Go home and hug your partner before I find you wanting to go back to the grave had been her parting words before shutting the door on him. Valpjorf would feel offended at the jab at his will to live if he wasn’t so tired.

He didn’t even notice it’s been a year and a day since these dreams started haunting him. He just shuffled off to the couch and began redoing the bindings; knots here and punishing spells there if he ever resisted or broke free. It’s in the middle of doing his castings that Rhun came home.

“No,” He said, slapping Valpjorf’s hands and dispersing his hours’ worth of spellwork just like that. “No, annwyl. You hear me? No. Not this time. Not tonight.”

Not ever again went unspoken but it was there, hanging over Valpjorf like a mockery of all his efforts at restraint and normality. It was the ghost of a saving anchor, looking too real to be true for him to hold onto.

It was Day 366 when he snapped.

“What do you know? What would you know?” Valpjorf hissed, hands fisting at his sides. “What would you fucking know, Rhun, the oh so great and venerable witch?”

He looked up at that pitying gaze full of so much hurt it shouldn’t have. His eyes traced the planes of this man—no, this witch’s face and wondered how much of it was real. How much hid behind permanent glamours as all of their kind tended to do?

And Valpjorf didn’t want to think about it but he had to because these dreams couldn’t’ve all been him, could it? He couldn’t be the only broken one between them, could he?

Could he? Was he?

“Oh, annwyl,” Rhun said, sinking to his knees and cupping Valpjorf’s face. “Oh, annwyl, why don’t you just ask?”

Valpjorf would’ve reeled back from his partner’s touch. He would’ve retreated further into the couch, far, far away from this tempting collection of bones he’s been obsessed with for longer than a year and a day. He would’ve gone back to his grave if Rhun hadn’t grabbed his hands and placed them around his throat.

Valpjorf froze. Rhun smiled at him.

“Annwyl, annwyl,” He murmured like a soothing lullaby. It did nothing to ease the tension drawing Valpjorf tight like a string about to snap again. “You know you only need ask, don’t you?”

No. He didn’t. Rhun still had his hands around his throat. He felt the vibration of every word, how sound travelled through sinews of muscle and skin, right to his hands.

This was his. This throat was being offered and it was his. It was his and so was the man on his knees, telling him his dreams were right and okay.

Valpjorf let out a shaky breath and squeezed. Rhun’s eyes fluttered. He smiled and let out a breathy exhale of annwyl.

Valpjorf choked out a sob, called Rhun elskan, and shuddered as he cast the bone stealing spell.

#bee writes some stuff #writeblr #writing #mlm #gay #undead x witch #annywl and elskan are welsh and icelandic terms of endearment btw #witch as a gender neutral term #because it is folks

[medb-like-grave]

not sure how i feel for people writing transcripts of scottish people speaking for the reason of 'i don't understand them'

#obvs fine in terms of like. deaf or hard of hearing people or as a video description #but like... #for videos of irish or scottish or welsh people just because of their accents...

[movedagain-unbearablyindifferent]

do all your muses like each other or are there a few who are like "ugh, i can't stand that one specifically"?

"Jeff. We all wanna kill Jeff."

#( ANSWERED. ) #dvarapala #other than hIM??? yeah!!! they're all on great terms with each other!!!! #sarah calls ianto Her Welsh Older Brother <33333

[thecringefailintherye]

jokingly borrowed a book from my welsh school library and now i am emotionally INVESTED in twm and math oh my fucking god

#in case anyone can speak welsh the book i borrowed is prism by manon steffan ross #its actually really good #its about a two boys who run away from home when theyre supposed to be with their ableist father over half term #manom steffan ross #manon steffan ros #welsh literature #bookblr #welsh #manon steffan ross

[allinllachuteruteru]

Duolingo is NOT what it used to be.

“Duolingo is ‘sunsetting the development of the Welsh course’ (and many others)”.

I’ve used Duolingo since 2013. It used to be about genuinely learning languages and preserving endangered ones. It used to have a vibrant community and forum where users were listened to. It used to have volunteers that dedicated countless hours and even years to making the best courses they could while also trying to explain extremely nuanced and complex grammar in simple terms.

In the past two years it feels like Von Ahn let the money talk instead of focusing on the original goal.

No one truly had a humongous problem with the subscription tier for SuperDuolingo. We understood it: if you can afford to pay, help keep Duolingo free for those who couldn’t.

It started when the company went public. Volunteers were leaving courses they created because they warned of differing longterm goals compared to Duolingo’s as a company; not long after it was announced that the incubator (how volunteers were able to make courses in the first place) would be shut down. A year goes by and the forums—the voice of the users and the way people were able to share tips and explanations—is discontinued. A year or two later, Duolingo gets a completely new makeover—the Tree is gone and you don’t control what lesson you start with. With the disappearance of the Tree, all grammar notes and explanations for courses not in the Big 8 (consisting of the courses made before the incubator like Spanish/French/German/etc. and of the most popular courses like Japanese/Korean/Chinese/etc.) are removed with it. Were you learning Vietnamese and have no idea how honorifics work without the grammar notes? Shit outta luck bud. Were you learning Polish and have absolutely no clue how one of the declensions newly thrown at you functions? Suck it up. In a Reddit AMA, Von Ahn claims that the new design resulted in more users utilizing the app/site. How he claims that statistic? By counting how many people log into their Duolingo account, as if an entire app renovation wouldn’t cause an uptick in numbers to even see what the fuck just happened to the courses.

Von Ahn announces next in a Reddit AMA that no more language courses will be added from what there already is available. His reasoning? No one uses the unpopular language courses — along with how Duolingo will now be doing upkeep with the courses already in place. And here I am, currently looking on the Duolingo website how there are 1.8 million active learners for Irish, 284 thousand active learners for Navajo, and even 934 thousand active learners for fucking High Valyrian. But yea, no one uses them. Not like the entire Navajo Nation population is 399k members or anything, or like 1.8 million people isn’t 36% of the entire population of Ireland or anything.

And now this. What happened to the upkeep of current courses? Oh, Von Ahn only meant the popular ones that already have infinite resources. Got it. Duolingo used to be a serious foundational resource for languages with little resources while also adding the relief of gamification.

It pisses me off. It really does. This was not what Duolingo started out as. And yea, maybe I shouldn’t get invested in a dingy little app. But as someone who spent most of her adolescence immersed in language learning to the point where it was literally keeping me alive at one point, to the point where languages felt like my only friend as a tween, and to the point where friendships on the Duolingo forums with likeminded individuals my age and other enthusiasts who even sent me books in other languages for free because they wanted people to learn it, the evolution of Duolingo hits a bitter nerve within me.

~End rant.

#duolingo #langblr #huge language rant feel free to skip #evolution of duolingo #luis von ahn #duolingo welsh course #language learning

[llyfrenfys]

On Cadi as the Welsh equivalent of Queer

(image: screenshot of the entry for Cadi in Geiriadur Prifysgol Cymru)

Some of you may already know this, but for those who don't, Cadi is a Welsh word which is analogous to the word Queer in English. I say analogous, since their meanings aren't quite a 1:1 match. But for shorthand, Welsh equivalent of Queer sums 90% of it up.

It has been suggested tentatively by some to use Cadi as the Welsh translation of Queer. I'm going to explore arguments for and against, but ultimately the choice to use/not use Cadi as a 1:1 with Queer is entirely up to you. Warning that this post is quite long, but I do hope you'll stick with it- please let me know what you think in the notes!

Without further ado, let's get into it:

Definition of Cadi:

Cadi is a term which has existed in Welsh since the 17th Century (roughly) and generally refers to effeminacy in men (real or perceived). Over time, the meaning of the term has expanded to refer to other (Queer) things as well. But the term itself largely has been applied to Queer men and queer masculinities through time.

The term itself derives from the girl's name Catrin and you will come across women who call themselves Cadi as a shortening of their name (like Liz from Elizabeth and so on). In this way, there is a strong point of comparison to be had with the English queer pejorative Nancy, which also derives from a girl's name.

Can Cadi be considered the Welsh equivalent of Queer?

So now to the real meat of the post. Can Cadi be considered the Welsh equivalent of Queer? The answer to that is, unsurprisingly, complicated.

As described above, Cadi is a term which has had strong associations with male effeminacy (real or perceived) and has close parallels to the English term Nancy, which is also nearly exclusively applied to Queer men and masculinities. What this presents is a quandary and I'll explain what I mean by that. But first, we need to outline the history of LGBTQIA+ terminology in general (in the West).

LGBTQIA+ Terminology and the inclination towards cis gay language:

This is a huge huge topic which I cannot possibly do justice to here alone, so I'd highly recommend reading up on these topics when you have time, but for the sake of brevity, here is a tldr on the history of LGBTQIA+ terminology (slightly UK-centric but similar events also happened in the US and Canada, as well as other parts of Europe).

Campaign for Homosexual Equality (CHE) is a British Lesbian and Gay rights organisation founded in the 1960s, during a time of great social and political change. The organisation's membership grew and grew well into the 70s before declining in the 80s. It was during this time that some lesbian members of the organisation left citing erasure of lesbian issues and misogyny in the movement. CHE and similar gay and lesbian rights movements in this period had been inclined to centre gay men's issues in their activism, which understandably led to many lesbians feeling alienated. Some lesbians left in the late 70s and early 80s and began to form their own advocacy groups. This indirectly fed into a wider feminist upheaval at the time and led to the rise of lesbian feminism, which aimed to centre lesbian issues within feminism, but unfortunately (for complex historical reasons) did then contribute to the proliferation of rad\ical femi\nism within the Queer community, which then unfortunately contributed to the rise of tra\ns exclu\sionary rad\ical fem\inism. Regardless of the unfortunate rise of transphobia within the lesbian feminist movement, the original catalyst for the formation of these groups was a sense of alienation from the rest of the Queer community because gay men's issues had been prioritised over lesbian issues, when both could have been tackled together, with each other. This alienation was echoed in the names of organisations and events- many early homosexual rights groups only had homosexual or gay in their group names. It took many years before advocacy groups started adding 'and lesbian' to their names and events.

(For further reading, I would suggest watching this video by Verilybitchie about the history of lesbian erasure in homosexual advocacy and how that led to (some) lesbian groups excluding bi and trans people in the same way they were excluded by gay men)

What does that history mean for Cadi?:

Because of a history of lesbian (and by extension, women's) exclusion from homosexual advocacy groups, is Cadi the best term to use as a catch-all given its strong associations with men's expressions of Queerness? (namely, that as a pejorative it is largely aimed at femininity in men and subsequent assumed homosexuality). It is important to consider if using Cadi as an equivalent of Queer would centre a (typically cis) gay experience/expression of Queerness and if that would alienate other members of the LGBTQIA+ community.

However, a counterpoint to this would be that there are variations of the term Cadi which do include other experiences of Queerness:

Cadi ffan (similar to just 'Cadi')- typically used to describe femininity in men and boys [N. Wales]

Cadi genod/ Cadi merched (similar to above) - effeminate man/boy [N. Wales]

Cadi bechgyn - Romping girl, tomboy [N. Wales]

Cati fachgen - (similar to above)- Romping girl, tomboy [S. Wales]

Cadi Haf - Male maypole dancer dressed as a girl

They are, however, somewhat limited for use in reclamation and have to be qualified by another noun to indicate diversion from the original term's meaning.

But when talking about the term Cadi, we often speak in the abstract- without the context in which the term is used. So here are a few extracts from texts which use the term Cadi (or variants). Since this is a mostly spoken slang term, it doesn't turn up in print often, but there are a few examples to draw on.

Examples of Cadi in texts:

Page 164- Cwm Eithin by Hugh Evans (1931):

"DAWNSIO HAF Ceir darnodiad o'r ddefod hynafol dawnsio haf yn Y Gwyl- fedydd, 1823, tudal. 306, gan un a'i geilw ei hun “ Callestrwr,” fel yr arferid hi yn Callestr (Fflint, mae'n debyg). Ym mis Ebrill arferai o ddwsin i ugain o bobl ieuainc ymuno i baratoi ar gyfer y ddawns. Gwisgai'r dawnswyr eu crysau yn uchaf wedi eu haddurno ag ysnodennau a blodau. Cariai'r arweinydd fforch bren ar lun y llythyren Y. Gwnïid lliain o'r naill fraich i'r llall, ac addurnid y fforch ag amryw lestri arian, tebotiau, llwyau, cigweiniau, efc. Byddai gyda hwy grythor yn ei ddillad ei hun, “cadi” mewn gwisg merch, ac ynfytyn mewn gwisg ryfedd â phlu yn ei ben"

[emphasis mine]

This extract is the author's account of Dawnsio Haf- a Summer dance held on May Day and his investigations into it. At his time of writing (1931) the practice has died out, but later in this chapter he interviews an old woman from the Conwy Valley who participated in the dances as a child. Evans draws upon a source from 1823 for his description of Dawnsio Haf. In it, he mentions that 20 young dancers meet up for the dance wearing shirts decorated with ribbons and flowers. A leader carries a fork in the shape of the letter "Y"- between each point on the "Y" a cloth was strung with silverware dangling from it to make noise. With the 20 dancers would be a crwth-player (crythor), a Cadi in women's clothes and a fool with a feather on his cap and odd clothes.

This usage is quite archaic and refers to a folk dance- much like mumming or morris-dancing. There is however, a picture in the People's Collection Wales titled 'Cadi'r Big' taken by the prolific photographer John Tomas c. 1875, near Y Ro-wen:

Which is very interesting as Cadi'r Big has dried flowers and ribbons attached to their clothes, much like in the description in Cwm Eithin. This is very likely a picture of a "Cadi" from a Dawnsio Haf.

Page 4- Y Ddraig Binc Issue 4 (1994):

Y Ddraig Binc was a Welsh-language Queer magazine published by CYLCH, a gay and lesbian rights organisation based in Aberystwyth. The term Cadi-ffan is included in an article about the commercialisation of Queer identity in the magazine's fourth edition.

"...Nawr te, medd wrtho’i hun, be’ gymera’ i’r mis hwn, copi o GQ ynte Arena neu ydw i, efallai, yn teimlo’n ddigon ifanc a trendi am Sky? Ond aros funud, beth yw hyn? Dau gylchgrawn steil newydd a gwynt digamsyniol cadi-ffan arnyn nhw?

Ydy, mae’r hyn a oedd y tu hwnt i ddychymyg wedi digwydd. Mae grymoedd y farchnad rydd a chystadleuaeth wedi cyrraedd y byd cyhoeddi hoyw - rhaid bod Lêdi T wrth ei bodd. Nawr fe gaiff llanc hoyw ddewis o ddeunydd darllen sgleiniog, llawn erthyglau a hysbysebion yn arbennig ar ei gyfer ef a’i rywioldeb. Hwrê! Fedr hynny ddim bod yn beth drwg. Neu a fedr o?..."

[emphasis mine]

This humorous article (dealing with an important topic, mind) pokes fun at the arrival of Queer commercialisation. The article opens by explaining that there's a ruckus in the gay world (and not two old queens getting into fisticuffs)- but that this ruckus is taking place at WHSmith (UK stationery shop and newsagents)- apparent winner of this year's most vulgar uniform award. The author goes on to describe a hypothetical situation in which a gay man walks into a WHSmith to buy a magazine. He wonders whether to get a copy of GQ or Arena (men's style magazines- remember this was published in Section 28 Era so explicitly gay magazines were not common) or is he trendy enough to read Sky? (film and tv magazine). But wait- what's this? Two new style magazines with a whiff of Cadi-ffan about them? The author explains that yes, the unimaginable has happened. The forces of the free market and competition have reached the world of gay publishing.

Now a gay youth has the choice of glossy reading material, full of articles and advertisements especially for him and his sexuality. Hooray! That can't be a bad thing. Or can it? Writes the author. The article is very witty and I recommend a read (find a pdf copy here). But the usage of Cadi-ffan here is very much in a reclaimed sense. Though it must be noted that the story is told through a stereotypical cis gay lens.

Conclusions:

As I said at the start of this post, you are free to claim or not claim Cadi as you wish. However, as awareness of Welsh LGBTQIA+ terminology increases, I wanted to raise important questions and start a conversation about the words we have, what we want them to be and how they have been used against us. I hope in any case that this post has been interesting to you. If it has, please reblog this or add any comments/thoughts in the notes, tags or in my asks.

Beth yw eich barn chi? I'd love to hear other's thoughts on this and start a conversation about it! Diolch am ddarllen

#cymraeg #cwiar #cadi #cadi ffan #Welsh #Gymraeg #yr iaith gymraeg #term reclaiming #hoyw #lhdt #deurywiol #lesbiaidd #cymru #long post

[scims-stuff]

I think it’s just kinda ironic that Hozier released a song dedicated to the destruction of native culture and language, and most of you seem to be allergic to referring to the Irish language as Irish.

Gaelic is an umbrella term that describes many languages, mainly Irish, Welsh, and Scots Gaelic. Gaelic is not an actual language (or at least not anymore). All three are distinct languages with their own spellings and grammar. In the De Selby bts video Hozier himself refers to it as Irish.

You would not refer to Spanish as romantic when it could also mean French and Italian. Show some respect.

#hozier #unreal unearth #de selby #irish #gaelic

[ingravinoveritas]

I think you are one who can truly understand this.

When that fuzzy, shite picture came out, for the first time since October 30th, I exhaled. ♥️

Oh, I very much get what you mean...

I think we knew, or at least hoped, that Michael was okay, despite taking such a long Twitter hiatus. I think we also knew, deep down, that Michael and David were still seeing each other--what with it being so much easier and more possible with Michael still in London--even if it wasn't something we got to witness. And while I continue to have mixed feelings about this picture (because I am still fairly certain Michael and David were not expecting it to be taken and likely did not want it to be taken), when I saw it, I felt that sense of exhalation that you described. Like, "Yes, everything is okay. Michael is okay. They're together and love each other and they're okay."

It also affirmed the feeling that whatever is between them is not and does not need to be for public consumption. That Michael can be there for David to support him and bolster his confidence in the face of all the trans/homophobic discourse that's kicked up following the first DW special, and David can be there for Michael to comfort him and make him feel loved in the aftermath of what happened last month, all without any of us knowing about it.

So yes, I do understand what you are saying, though I'm sure others do as well. Every fandom has its rough patches, but seeing that blurry picture was a small, hopeful reminder that we will get through it...

#amagnificentobsession #reply post #michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #love is always something to be thankful for #platonic or romantic #does it really matter which one #and now it's like they've let us into their little world #by the tiniest measures #and i love that it's on their terms and their choice #or at least it should be #as i side eye AL from over here #we're going to be okay #ineffable lovers #discourse

[prokopetz]

What the whole "walrus vs. fairy" thing really illustrates is the importance of defining your terms. What some folks are clearly taking "a fairy" to mean – including, based on their subsequent remarks, the original poster – is "you open the door and see something which by its very existence utterly refutes the validity of human reason as a means of gaining knowledge about the world, and you are instantly, intuitively and irresistibly aware of this fact", but what the overwhelming majority of people interpreted it to mean is "you open the door and see Tinkerbell", and those are two very different propositions!

(Well, unless you're the sort of person for whom seeing Tinkerbell would instantly provoke a full on H-P-Lovecraft-finding-out-he's-part-Welsh existential crisis, in which case they are in fact the same proposition, but this does not seem to be the majority opinion.)

#tumblr #walrus vs. fairy #philosophy #semantics #arrant pedantry

[moreaugriffins]

The Uneventful life of Silas

part 1

part 2

part 3

Bet y'all weren't expecting to see this pop up again (and neither did I tbh) but here is an update over a year later

---

18 years ago (7 years), Silas started helping out with the farm. Eliana begrudgingly allowed Silas to help out with picking out the weeds, and watering the plants. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy having an extra pair of hands to help around the place, but Silas had the tendency to get distracted, and be a major distraction. This time was no different. “Mum.” Silas chirped, as he ran towards her. She ignored him, as she dropped the logs in her arms, with the rest of them. In her defence, she was concentrating on the chores, and he had pestered her several times that day. “Mummmmm.” He continued,”mum mum mum mum mum-” “What is it now, Silas?” She sighed, looking at her son, bouncing on the balls on his feet. Gods save her, he was covered head to toe in mud, and had grass stains all over his clothes, and - was those some bruises? How on earth did that happen? He was meant to be simply picking weeds and watering plants, for crying out loud,”silas, why are you so dirty?” He shrugs,”it doesn't matter. Here!” Silas handed her a collection of flowers. No, not a collection, an arrangement. It was a small bouquet (big for a tiny child like him, of course). He grinned wildly, proud of his work, so sure that his mum would love it - and to be fair, she did. Daffodils were her favourite flowers, and mixed with some pink roses, and some flowers she couldn’t identify, it was certainly a good attempt at a bouquet. She didn’t have the heart to tell him, however, that the flowers were half crumpled, at least a third of the petals were gone, and that they clearly came from Theron’s garden.. Those flowers weren’t meant to be plucked. Oh well, she’ll talk to her partner later. Eliana smiled softly, and bent down to kiss his forehead. “Thank you, fy mach i.” She said,”You’ve certainly got an eye for flowers. The bouquet is beautiful.” “I read it from one of ren’s books.” “Oh?” “Well, ren read it to me. There were lots of big words, so I just looked at the pictures. Knew you’d like it!” And before she could say anything else, he sprinted back to the house. She shook her head to herself, and laid the flowers on the ground, before continuing with the chores.

17 years ago (8 years), Silas came home from school, with a skip in his step. It wasn’t that Eliana and Theron weren’t happy that their child was happy, but it was certainly an odd sight to see, when Silas is most often known for rushing home, relieved to finally be free from boring old school. He walked through the door, and Theron noticed that Silas was humming a small tune to himself, as he took off shoes, so as to not bring any muck inside. “What tune are you humming, buddy?” They asked, curious as to what the unknown tune was. “Hm? Oh, some song the teacher sang today. Catchy tune.” “How fun! Maybe you could teach it to me sometime.” 

Silas smiled, somewhat nervously, at the idea,”yeah, maybe.” Theron and Eliana shared a look, but didn’t press on the hesitancy. He was allowed to say ‘no’ if he wanted, but the village had some.. Odd stories they’d like to tell the children, which they weren’t a big fan of. They had seen the effects of these stories, on their son, how restless he was at night, and his nervousness when he believed he forgot to be polite. 

“So.. How was school?” Eliana asked, changing subject. He brightened at that. “I got top of the class in the maths test!”

17 years ago, Silas was visibly shaking, his breaths short and shallow, and quick, as Eliana examined the injuries on his left arm and leg. Theron, in the meantime, rubbed their son’s back, telling him reassurances,  though they doubted he could hear, since he was muttering  ‘no no no’ over and over. Silas was always a clumsy child. He would bump into any object, or knock over a number of breakable items - he even tripped over thin air, several times - so he was no stranger to getting injured. However, he had been growing steadily more worried about getting injured, for reasons unknown to his parents. It broke their heart to see their son get into such a panicked state over simple scrapes and scratches, and, honestly, they felt guilty for not noticing this change sooner, for not helping sooner. If they had, then maybe Silas wouldn’t be in this state. Eliana watched as Theron coached their son through some breathing exercises, calming him down enough to focus on his surroundings. “fy ngwas i?” Silas looked at her, with tired, and tearful eyes,”It’s but a few scratches. You’ll be ok, nothing you can’t heal from.” He seemed to relax slightly at that, but gave a look of uncertainty. “Will.. Will it leave a scar?” He asked. “As long as we clean the wounds, keep them covered, and don’t pick at the scabs, they shouldn’t leave a scar.”

 Silas let out a sigh of relief, finally leaning onto his ren. 

“Was that what you were worried about?”

He nodded. “Can’t have scars.” Theron looked at their wife, confused, as if she wouldn’t understand what Silas meant. She just shrugged back, equally confused. “What do you mean by that, buddy?” Theron asked. “Scars mean you’re bad.”They frowned,”Who's been saying that?” “Others.” “That’s utter poppycock. Your ma has lots of scars from all the farming, and repairs she does. I have a few even, though, admittedly, they came from rather silly accidents.. Do you reckon we’re bad people?” Silas shook his head, even seemed a little offended by the question. “Well there you go littlun. Some proof that scars don’t come from being bad people.” Eliana and Theron could see that Silas seemed conflicted, an argument on the tip of his tongue, but decided not to voice it out loud.

#the uneventful life of silas #silas #oxfalconmail #writing #fy ngwas i means 'my boy' tis a term on endearment #fy mach i means 'my little one' #i dont know welsh very well so i used google im sorry