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foundtherightwords · 1 year ago

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All Our Yesterdays - Chapter 9

Pairing: Ralph (Timewasters) x OFC

Summary: Thu, a museum archivist, only wants to escape her dull life in 21st-century Hanoi. The last thing she expects is to end up in 1929 Indochina via a time-traveling elevator and cross paths with Ralph, an Englishman on the run from the French Foreign Legion. Romance blossoms between them, but in a colonized country, unrest is always looming on the horizon, and Thu must decide if she wants to stay with Ralph in the past or return to the safety of the future.

Warnings: outdated/period-typical attitudes about women, mentions of war, mentions of pregnancy and abortion (involving a supporting character), some angst, some smut (non-explicit)

Chapter word count: 3.7k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Winter had finally arrived in Hanoi. For a few short, glorious weeks in November, the sky was a blue dome, the sun was a gentle glaze over the landscape, and everything was crisp and crystal clear. Then December came, and the Northeastern monsoon swept through Tonkin, changing the entire city in a single night. A merciless wind stripped the trees bare, leaving them to raise their skeletal frames toward a sky the color of tarnished silver. The traditional houses, not built for retaining heat, seemed to huddle closer together for warmth, as did the people on the streets. Vendors selling grilled corn on the cob and roasted sweet potatoes popped up on every street corner, and crowds flocked to them, for the fire from their stoves as much as the snacks. In the Western area of town, around Rue Paul Bert, Christmas decorations started appearing in shop windows and around doorways. For the locals, however, the real celebration—the Lunar New Year—was still about two months away.

The weather wasn't the only thing that changed. Thu sensed that something had changed between her and Ralph as well, in the days following his birthday and their outing at the dance hall.

On the outside, everything was the same. They still hung out (Thu tried not to think of their outings as dates)—eating at this or that vendor that they hadn't tried, going to the theater or the movies, even venturing to the Botanic Garden, though Thu was always careful to keep them away from the area around Robin Park. However, the easy friendliness between them was gone, replaced by a sense of tension, not just mental but physical as well, as both seemed to hold their bodies alert like a string, taut with wanting, waiting for the other to say something, do something, to break this terrible suspense, but neither dared to make the first move. It wasn't entirely unpleasant—it was like having a low dose of adrenaline constantly pumping through her veins—but it left her frustrated at the end of the day, when he walked her home, mumbled "Good night" and stalked off down the street, without even looking at her, without even shaking her hand, as if one touch would make them both spontaneously combust.

OK, so she liked him. She could admit that, at least to herself. He was cute and sweet and fun and she liked hanging out with him and taking care of him, and she even liked letting him take care of her once in a while. But it was no use entertaining the idea. This wasn't like meeting someone on vacation, because then at least there was always a chance they could see each other again. No, this was simply impossible.

It would be so much better if she could just sit him down and rip the Band-Aid off. "Listen, Ralph, I think you're great and all (what's that goofy 1920s slang word he uses? "Wizard"?), but I can't stay here forever, so how about we just kiss and get it out of our system and then go back to being friends?" But it was never that simple, was it? It wouldn't stop at just a kiss, would it? And there was always a chance that she had completely misread his signals, that he wasn't interested and was just being nice, and how humiliating would that be? And so she said nothing, and he said nothing, and they kept circling around each other in that limbo, taking both comfort and dissatisfaction from each other's company.

Christmas came without much fanfare. None of the staff at the newspaper was Christian, and Thu didn't celebrate it either—though it had become an unofficial secular holiday in modern-day Vietnam, she didn't see any point in celebrating as a non-Christian. Ralph did though, so she made an effort to give him a nice time, knowing it would be the one day when he felt the most homesick. They didn't go to church—it was far too crowded and the risk of Ralph getting recognized would be greater. Instead, they stayed home for a Christmas dinner, French-Indochinese style. Ralph bought a bottle of champagne, a cake, and some sweets from Godard's, and she bought a Peking duck and side dishes from a Chinese restaurant.

"This is so good! Beats a roast goose any day," Ralph said, stuffing himself with the duck and pickles wrapped in crispy pancakes, while Thu watched him, smiling indulgently.

For presents, she gave him a dozen cotton handkerchiefs embroidered with his monogrammed initials, R.P. It was the most practical and least romantic present she could think of—she kept forgetting to buy some for herself, and Ralph was always having to give her one of his.

"I have something for you too," Ralph said, blushing a little, and handed her a long, rectangular package.

It was a photo album. "To Autumn, from Ralph" was written on the front page. The photos were all of her, carefully captioned in Ralph's own handwriting. Here she was, standing with the kids in front of the toy shop at the Mid-Autumn Festival. Here she was, leaning over a basket of flowers and smiling up at the camera. Here she was, standing at the balcony and looking over the street, deep in thought. There was even one of them together, reflected in a shop window like two ghosts floating over the busy pavement.

Thu looked from the album to Ralph, lost for words.

"A little memento for when you go home," he said. "I know you have all those pictures on your clever telephone already, but—"

"I love it," she interrupted, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. "Thank you."

He beamed at her.

Later that night, back in her own room, as she looked over the photos again, tracing the captions with her fingers, Thu thought to herself, After the Lunar New Year. She would stay for the Lunar New Year. And after that, maybe she'd find the strength to say goodbye.

***

As the New Year—the "Western" New Year, as it was still called in modern day, as opposed to the Lunar New Year—approached, the office of Women's Weekly was abuzz with excitement. To thank the staff and to celebrate the paper's three-month anniversary, Madame Phuong was going to throw a party at her house on New Year's Eve. Thu realized that then, as it is in modern times, the Lunar New Year is for families, while the Western New Year is reserved for social gatherings.

It was Lien who came up with the idea of putting on a pantomime play, both to entertain themselves and the guests at the party, and to help the staff bond. Madame Phuong gave her approval, and the women had been rehearsing all through Christmas. Thu was glad to see that it didn't seem much different from the amateur shows she and her co-workers often performed at the museum on special occasions, except they were all going to be cross-dressing for maximum hilarity.

They decided to perform Thach Sanh, or the story of the woodcutter who braved monsters and won the hand of a princess, since it had more male characters than other fairy tales, thus more cross-dressing roles for the all-female staff. Lien even roped her henpecked husband into playing the evil adoptive mother, which left the role of the Princess. The other staff members were asked if they had husbands or brothers or male friends that could step in, but the women all laughed behind their hands and said, "Playing a princess? They'd rather die!" It was then that Lien suggested that Thu asked her "photographer friend".

"I'll ask him, but I can't promise anything," Thu said. She turned to Mai and lowered her voice. "Maybe you can ask Louis too?" she asked with a teasing grin. Louis with his mustache playing a princess, now that would be a laugh.

"I—I don't know if he can," Mai mumbled, looking uncomfortable, and Thu's grin immediately disappeared. The girl had been rather subdued and distracted lately. Perhaps her relationship with the dashing Louis wasn't going well. Thu felt sorry for her, and again wondered if she'd done the right thing, keeping quiet about Louis's lechery.

To her pleasant surprise, Ralph agreed to help right away.

"We used to put on a panto for Christmas all the time at home," he said enthusiastically. "It'll be a laugh!"

And so on New Year's Eve, laden with costumes and props and musical instruments, they all made their way to Madame Phuong's villa on the quiet lane of Chân Cầm Street. Thu was astonished to recognize the place—in her time, it was converted into a couple of boutiques on the first floor and a coffee shop on the second floor, but the interior was more or less the same, down to the floor tiles, the tall French windows that opened onto the balcony, the carved columns on either side of the door, and the painted moldings on the ceiling. So many times she and her friends had been there drinking egg coffee, wondering who the previous owner was. Never had she dreamed that one day she would be there when it was all fresh and new... The feeling of derealization, which she hadn't felt in months, was back, and it was only when Ralph touched her shoulder that Thu realized she was gaping at the house like an idiot.

"Everything all right?" Ralph asked.

"Yeah, yeah, just—you know. I know this place." She shook her head. "Sometimes this whole thing feels like the longest bout of déjà-vu ever."

"Come on, we have to get into costumes." He pulled her toward the back of the house. The "actors" had congregated in a guest room, which had been set up as the changing room, and were putting on their costumes with much laughter and teasing. The play was to be very informal. It would be easy to hire a theater troupe, but Lien insisted on impressing Madame Phuong with their enthusiasm and homemade skills, hence the amateurish preparations.

Soon, Thu found herself clad in a men's robe of navy brocade, borrowed from Lien's husband, with a crown constructed out of paper and gold foil. She was playing the king, but as Vietnam still had an Emperor then and the royal color of yellow was forbidden for the common folk, they had to settle for blue instead. Mai, who was in charge of make-up, whipped out a cooking pot, its bottom blackened with soot.

"What the hell is that?" Thu asked.

"It's for your beard and eyebrows," Mai said, dragging a finger through the soot and smearing it on Thu's face.

Ralph took one look at her and bust out laughing.

"I don't see what you're laughing at," Thu scoffed. "Look at yourself!"

Lien had lent him her wedding robe of red brocade, and a crown, similar to Thu's, was on his head. Even though the robe was loose-fitting, Ralph was still too tall and broad-shouldered for it, so he had to wear it open like a smoking jacket, and his wrists poking out from the sleeves struck Thu as adorably awkward. At least he was allowed to wear his own trousers underneath.

Mai was smiling along with them, but then she suddenly went pale, winced, and clamped a hand on her stomach, dropping the pot of rouge she was going to use on Ralph.

"You OK?" Thu asked, looking at the girl with concern.

"Um, yeah, just cramps."

"Why don't you get some air?" Thu said, picking up the rouge. "I'll take care of this. The King and the Princess aren't on until the third scene anyway."

Mai gave her a grateful look and slipped out the door. Thu sat Ralph down in front of her, dipped her finger into the rouge, and rubbed a circle on each of his cheeks.

"You're worried about her," he said.

"She hasn't been herself. No doubt that dick Louis has something to do with it."

"Maybe they've broken up."

"That would be for the best, honestly."

Then she glanced at his face and tried to suppress a giggle.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "What?"

"Nothing. You look like one of those Russian nesting dolls. "

"And you look like a chimney sweep," he said, grinning at her.

"Don't talk, or I'll get lipstick on your teeth."

As she touched his lips, however, all thoughts of Mai went out of Thu's head. She was all too aware that they were alone in the room, and she was tracing his lips with her finger, how full and soft and warm they were, and he was looking at her almost expectantly, and if she just leaned down, she could kiss him—

"Ready?" Lien bustled in. She wasn't going on stage, preferring to be the director instead.

Thu looked up, hoping the soot was enough to cover her blush. "Um, yeah," she said.

"Good. You're up next!"

***

Peeking through a gap in the door, Thu saw that the drawing room was full of people, both French and Vietnamese. They were a rather Bohemian-looking lot, some dressed up, others looking like they just came off of their easels or writing desks. Madame Phuong's own children wove in and out amongst the guests. The atmosphere was casual and relaxed, and Thu's nervousness about her performance dissipated a great deal.

It helped her, also, to see that Ralph seemed to be enjoying himself. Her own role consisted of nothing else but sitting on a wingback chair, lifting her hand, and pointing a couple of times, so she spent most of her time on stage watching Ralph. He took to the stage like a duck to water. It being a pantomime, there was no line, but his gestures and looks earned a great deal of laughter and cheers from the audience. The princess's heartbreaking sighs at being separated from her brave woodcutter were especially convincing, even if she tended to look over at her father the king quite often during that scene. Thu was only glad that she was not a good enough actor to play the lead role, or else she would've melted into a puddle when the princess was finally reunited with the woodcutter.

Afterward, the actors took to the stage amidst enthusiastic applause, bowed, and rushed back into the changing room, laughing and congratulating each other. The women crowded around Lien's husband and Ralph, heaping them with praises, and telling Lien and Thu how lucky they were that their men were so supportive. It hit Thu then, that not only the staff took it for granted that Ralph was her partner, but they were also jealous of her. Her heart swelled with something akin to proprietorial pride, as she watched Ralph taking in the compliments, looking a bit overwhelmed but pleased.

They got out of their costumes, wiped their faces clean of make-up, and joined the other guests for hors d'oeuvres and champagne. The children had been sent to bed, and the party became more boisterous. At one point, Thu overheard Madame Phuong and a few other people getting into quite a heated discussion in French, of which she only caught a few familiar words like parti and révolutionnaire. Then they noticed her looking in their direction and quickly changed the subject.

Thu knew the August Revolution, which led to Vietnam gaining independence from France, was still fifteen years away, but the nationalist movements that gave birth to it must have started around this time. She looked at the happy, amicable faces around her, wondering if any of them would be involved in the war to come. Her stomach twinged with the slight embarrassment of being too wrapped up in her own personal affair, while there were much bigger things going on around her.

Then she caught Ralph's eyes across the room, and that embarrassment vanished. She realized she hadn't talked to him since the play was over, and suddenly she missed him. It was ridiculous to miss someone who was literally five meters away, but she did. As she made her way to him, one of Madame Phuong's friends started asking her about her hair, where she'd had it cut. By the time Thu got rid of her and turned back, Ralph himself was locked in conversation with a French gentleman. Before she could try to reach Ralph again, there was a tinkling of glass, and conversations paused as people turned to Madame Phuong. "It's almost midnight!" she announced, first in Vietnamese, then in French, pointing to the big grandfather clock behind her. "Let's ring in the New Year!"

A countdown began, in both Vietnamese and French. The clock struck twelve, a loud cheer of "Bonne année!" went up, and then, to Thu's great surprise, the guests started giving each other hearty kisses on the cheeks. She had heard of the tradition of kissing at midnight on New Year's Eve, of course, but it was a purely Western custom, never practiced in Vietnam, and certainly not in 1930, when the country was only on the brink of modernization. This must be a very liberal, very Westernized crowd if they took to it so naturally.

She saw Ralph making his way toward her and panicked. True, she had fantasized about kissing him just a few hours ago, but ever since their accidental kiss on his birthday, she had gone back and forth between yearning for his lips and dreading them. What if he was to kiss her now and she didn't know how to behave? What if it was just a friendly peck on the cheek and she didn't know how to deal with the crushing disappointment? No, better not risk it. She spun around and dashed through the other guests, escaping to the back of the house.

Walking down the dimly lit corridor, Thu found her way to the toilet, intending to take refuge in it until the moment for midnight kisses had passed. But as she reached the door, she heard a sound coming from within—quiet, whimpering sobs, like those of a child trying to hide her crying. She paused, not knowing if she should knock or retreat in discretion. Before she could decide, the door opened and Mai emerged, her eyes red and puffy. Thu realized she hadn't seen the girl since the play began.

"What's the matter?" she asked, but Mai only sniffed, shook her head, and disappeared down the hallway.

***

Her mind was still on Mai when she said her goodbye to Madame Phuong and met Ralph at the front door. Belatedly, Thu realized that he was waiting to walk her home. Ah well. He had done so over the past two months and nothing had happened; there was no need to make things more awkward now.

If Ralph had noticed her running away from him at midnight and was hurt or offended, he made no mention of it. He only saw her shiver in her quilted jacket, so he took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. She tried to protest, but he shrugged. "It's only a short walk, I won't freeze."

"Thank you." She clutched the coat closer around her, breathing in his warmth and the familiar soapy scent, while Ralph walked in long, leisurely strides next to her, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Some of their easy silence had returned, and Thu felt herself relaxing slightly. Perhaps they could go back to being friends after all.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

She sighed and told him about catching Mai crying in the bathroom. "I really should've warned her about Louis."

"What happened to not getting involved?"

She gave him a sharp glance. "It's a bit late for that, isn't it? I've been involved in all sorts of things now."

"So if you return to your time and the robots have taken over, you're not going to blame me?" he said, grinning.

She couldn't help grinning back. "No, you're off the hook. Great party tonight, wasn't it?" she said, changing the subject. She didn't like talking about going back to her time.

"It was. You did a great job with the play."

"Me?" She waved her hand dismissively. "Pfft. Trying to look kingly isn't that hard. You, though. If this photography thing doesn't work out, you should think about going on stage."

"I wasn't acting," Ralph said quietly.

"But when the princess was leaning against the window frame? All that sad longing? That was so convincing!"

"Like I said, I wasn't acting."

He had slowed his steps and was looking at her rather wistfully, but Thu strode on, pretending not to see, pretending not to notice the throbbing of her heart. He was probably just thinking of Lauren during that scene. Yes, definitely...

She walked so fast that Ralph had to scramble to catch up with her, but they had arrived at her boarding house. She turned to him. "Well, good night."

Ralph looked down, deflated. "Happy New Year," he mumbled.

"In Vietnam, we say 'Chúc mừng năm mới.'"

"Chuc mung nam moi?" he repeated, trying to form his mouth around the unfamiliar words.

"Close enough." Thu smiled. "See you then."

He gave her a brief nod, turned to leave, then seemed to have come to a decision and turned back, stepping closer to her, crossing the gap between them with just one stride. "Do you know that if you don't get a kiss on New Year's Eve, you'll be doomed to a year of loneliness?" he whispered.

The string inside her snapped. Why did he say that? Why did he keep saying and doing these things that made it so hard to resist him? Didn't he know how painful it was for her?

"Damn it, Ralph." She grabbed him by his shirt, pulled him to her, and clasped her mouth to his.

Chapter 10

A/N: Finally, things are happening! Smut is coming next chapter! Although slow burn is my jam, this is the slowest burn I've written so far, and even I was getting a little antsy with these two, so thank you for your patience :))

#ralph penbury #ralph timewasters #ralph penbury fic #ralph x ofc #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic

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missmusicmary · 8 months ago

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The Salty Cod in Athens, AL

A classic that took me back to being in London in 2014

This experience spoke to me. I was greeted by a male with stretched ears with nude plugs, in nice business casual clothing, and he showed me around with a smile. Did I mentioned I walked in at 11am, right at opening? He showed me the front bar and seating area, then the butcher shop, an additional eating area, outside eating, as well as a Gelato store, and my FAVORITE part, high top seats where you can watch the chefs prep, cook, and communicate!

This restaurant has everything! Which is probably why I ordered so much food and had such an amazing experience.

The music in the restaurant included Fall Out Boy, Blink-182, Imagine Dragons: a total alternative music heaven. I may or may not have been caught singing a few times.

FRENCH BRIE, PROSCUITTO & CRANBERRY BRUSCHETTA:

savory, sweet, crunchy, creamy, and smoky

- piled onto a crostini. The perfect balance down to flakey salt lightly sprinkled onto to the top of the prosciutto.

TRADITIONAL ENGLISH FISH & CHIPS:

crunchy, light, moist, flaky, huge, and a surprise.

I may not have a photo or video to prove it but The Salty Cob offered an experience with this order! The meal was wrapped in custom news paper and the server instructed me on how to open in. It was simple fun.

Look at the moist!

I opted for the mushy peas opposed to the curry to keep with the London memories. It was genuinely sweet peas slightly mushed. I thought they would be special, unique, or something I had not had before. However, they were simple peas.

The second container is their house made tarter sauce. Let me just say, this is GOOD tarter. I have had many tarter sauces, and this, this is my favorite and perfect for my taste buds.

STRAWBERRY GELATO:

memories, memories, memories.

Lastly, the Italian imported gelato. I had gelato in Italy in 2023 and may I say this teleported me back. Pistachio gelato is my stepmother's favorite, hence why I tried it. The strawberry though, was light and bright and exactly what I needed to round off my meal. The pistachio was abit grainy, but I assume it is meant to. To combo of the two seemed perfect.

10/10 will eat again!

#food #foodie #fish n chips #gelato #pub #classic #travel

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hometoursandotherstuff · 5 years ago

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Cob houses are usually kind of rustic or look like little pueblo’s, but it takes the French to make an elegant one, like Elvensong. First, they made it a pale green and added a swirled design to the exterior.

They also gave it French doors and beautiful pane glass windows.

The walls are white with antiqued appliques.

This is elegant.

Even the bath is light, bright and as cheery as the rest of the home.

I have to say, the French can really build a pretty cob house.

https://www.canopyandstars.co.uk/

#french cob house #cob house france #cob houses

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archaeologicalnews · 4 years ago

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Uncovering the lost Indigenous settlement of Sarabay in Florida

The University of North Florida archaeology team is now fairly confident they have located the lost Indigenous northeast Florida community of Sarabay, a settlement mentioned in both French and Spanish documents dating to the 1560s but had not been discovered until now.

The type and amounts of Indigenous pottery the team is finding combined with the type and dates for European artifacts as well as cartographic map evidence strongly supports this location as the late 16th/early 17th century Mocama settlement.

The researchers have opened large excavation blocks with many exciting new artifact finds and are currently searching for evidence of houses and public architecture. The students, led by Dr. Keith Ashley, UNF Archaeology Lab director and assistant professor, have recently recovered more than 50 pieces of early Spanish pottery as well as Indigenous pottery that dates to the late 1500s or early 1600s. They have also recovered bone, stone and shell artifacts as well as burned corn cob fragments. Read more.

#archaeology #florida #archeology #sarabay #mocama settlement

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justforbooks · 3 years ago

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This house, called “Maison de Jeanne” (“Jeanne’s House”), located at 10, rue de la rue Belvezet, Sévérac-le-Château, is one of the oldest houses in Aveyron, France. The house was built some time in the 14th century.

According to Le Figaro, “some people are surprised by the corbelled structure which is getting wider and wider until it was explained to them that at the time, the French already wanted to pay as little tax as possible and that they were relying on the floor surface of the building... Moviegoers see it as a set from the Game of Thrones series or the home of the Weasley family in Harry Potter. Finally, many dream of discovering the interior or even spending a night there...”

The “Maison de Jeanne”, named after its last owner, a painter, is a two-storey house, with half-timbered walls, partly made of cob, with its kitchen or “cantou” that has remained intact and its superb vaulted cellar that has preserved its wooden feed troughs, proving that in the Middle Ages, the inhabitants of the towns fed their animals in the heart of the houses before letting them wander through the town’s alleyways.

In July and August, it hosts medieval events and opens its doors on this occasion. The place, with a capacity of twenty people, is open to the public for free or guided visits.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS #Maison de Jeanne #Sévérac-le-Château #Aveyron #message from the editor

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deja-you · 4 years ago

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domestic tranquility

m. de lafayette x reader

summary: a collection of intimate scenes from the L/n Administration, or the ‘what if’ ending to foreign affairs.

word count: 4.3k

author’s note: i hope this makes up for the ending of foreign affairs :) also a special thank you to @astralaffairs because she is my inspiration and she took the time to help edit this and i just love her in general

masterlist | foreign affairs

“Lafayette, will you marry me?”

The other line was silent, and you almost thought he had hung up on you.

“Hello?”

“I’m sorry, I must’ve heard you wrong. I could have sworn you just asked me to marry you.”

“I did.”

You could hear him suck in a deep breath. “Chèrie, I don’t understand.”

“Lafayette, I know this is a lot to ask. I’m going to run for president. I’m the perfect candidate, I really am. I’m what America needs right now.”

“Of course you are. Where do I come into this?”

“My staff has run some numbers. I do a lot better in the polls if I’m in a committed relationship. But the problem is, I’m not in a committed relationship.”

“You want to lie to the press and tell them we’re married?”

“I don’t want to lie to them. I’m asking you to marry me. It wouldn’t be a lie.”

“Huh.”

“You can say no. I know this is a lot to ask. It’s crazy, reall—”

“Okay.”

“What?”

“Let’s get married.”

Your jaw hung open. “Just like that, you’re on board?”

“You should be president, chèrie. I want to help you any way I can.”

“Are you sure about this? This isn’t something to be taken lightly.”

“Believe me, I’m taking this very seriously. I’m going to get on the next plane to New York. We’ll talk about this in person.”

You opened your mouth to say something else, but you found yourself at a loss for words. “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon,” he repeated. “Let’s get married.”

You were in Iowa.

For some reason you had to come to godforsaken Iowa to become president. You didn’t think about how stupid corn was. You couldn’t think about it, just in case it somehow slipped out and you then alienated all the voters in Iowa. But you really didn’t care.

What you did care about was the sight of your French husband (it still felt strange to call him that) contentedly eating away at a cob of corn. A strange contrast to the sight of him smoking cigarettes and drinking a diabolo menthe at a Parisian café, but he looked just at home at the Iowa State Fair as he did in France.

His eyes lit up when he saw you, and he gestured for you to join him. Pasting on a smile, you made your way over to him and a series of photographers followed after you.

“Chèrie, have you tried this? It is amazing. This is the best corn I have ever had,” he said, waving around the corn on the cob animatedly while he spoke. The photographers were eating it up, and the corn on the cob vendor was smiling proudly.

You were absolutely bewildered by just how magnetizing he was. People loved him just for eating corn. You couldn’t even blame them, because you knew just how infectious his smile was when he was genuinely happy.

This marked your first official outing as a couple on the campaign trail since you had married Lafayette. If you were honest, you had been nervous about the whole ordeal, but the second Lafayette sent you that easygoing look, you relaxed.

When you were close enough, his hand found yours and he was quick to intertwine your fingers together. This was where the real and unreal collided. His genuine smile and unharnessed affection met your faltering remembrance that this wasn’t the loving marriage it looked like. It was serving its purpose at this exact moment.

You counted each time the camera flashed to take a picture of you and Lafayette walking hand in hand. You could see the headlines on tomorrow’s papers, and you could see Lafayette’s grinning face. A political marriage certainly wasn’t traditional or morally acceptable, but there were real issues that needed to be tackled. You had plans to reform the health care system and the economy. If Lafayette helped you achieve a platform where you could really make a difference, who cared if you bent a few social constructs?

Besides, it gave you the opportunity to reconnect with an old… friend.

“You really like corn?” You asked him quietly.

Lafayette sent a disarming smile to the photographers, and leaned in very closer to whisper in your ear, “I can’t stand corn. Get me out of Iowa.”

You didn’t hide your laugh, and the photographers quickly shot a few more photos of the two of you being a cute couple. Lafayette really didn’t like the corn? You had been so convinced his smile was real. You were beginning to think you couldn’t tell the difference between what was fake and what was real.

There was some kind of external force that wanted you and Lafayette to end up together.

You were sure of this, because you had expelled him from your life multiple times by now. The memory of him leaving you on the sidewalk in D.C. felt like it was just yesterday, but now you were back in his arms. And it felt so natural.

So yes, there was something pulling the two of you together. You didn’t want to call it fate. You didn’t really believe in that. It had to be something stronger. There was something tugging at your heart telling you it was choice, but you didn’t want to believe that, either. Your fingers gripped his suit a little tighter in an attempt to ground yourself.

This was good. This was nice, you thought as you swayed back and forth. There were thousands of eyes trained on you, and millions watching you from home on their TVs. The thought that so many people were watching you right now was daunting, but it was nothing that you weren’t used to at this point. You were the Leader of the Free World. The President of the United States.

You could hear a few cameras click, and you flashed a disarming smile in their direction. A well-known singer was crooning out the words to a slow, melodic version of Stand by Me. Your husband squeezed your hip lightly, causing you to look up at him while he absently swayed with you.

He grinned when you met his gaze and softly whispered, “relax a little. This is your moment. Enjoy it. You’ve earned it.”

Your stiff smile melted into a genuine one and you gave him a small nod. He was right, you did deserve this. The road to the White House had been one paved with blood, sweat, and tears, and you still hadn’t stepped foot in the building yet. A few more balls, and then you could finally move into your new home for the next four to eight years. But you had earned it.

The last year and a half had been the craziest 18 months of your life, and you knew it wasn’t about to get easier anytime soon. But this was good. This was nice. You didn’t have to worry about any political opponents or Supreme Court appointments right now. All you had to do was dance leisurely with your attractive husband.

“What are your thoughts on my seeking out a second term?” you asked quietly on the ride back to the White House.

There were a few more balls that you and Lafayette had attended, staying only long enough to share a dance or two with the press before heading to the next event. It had been a non-stop day; the inaugural address in the morning and the inaugural balls in the evening, and everything in between had successfully worn you thin. Lafayette had been at your side all day, and you could tell that he was exhausted as well.

“Ma chèrie, you were just sworn in. How can you already be thinking about re-election?” Lafayette yawned, slumping back against the seat with his bowtie undone and hanging lazily around his neck.

You laughed softly and shook your head from side to side. “It’s you I’m concerned about.”

“Hm?”

You shifted in your seat to look him in the eye. “You agreed to marry me so I could win the Presidency. I told you that we would only have to stay married while I was in the White House. So what are your thoughts on eight years instead of four?”

“Are you kidding me, Y/n?” Lafayette asked incredulously.

You pursed your lips and raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“You’re running for a second term. And I’m going to be by your side through it all. That is, if you still want to be President after dealing with Congress for four years.”

This solicited a laugh from you. He paused before he continued. The pause was the space between you and him, between the Earth and the Sun and everything in between. A hesitancy for the desperation of being wanted and the interval for not knowing if that was what he wanted.

“And of course, if you still want me by your side in four years.”

You tilted your head to the side and smiled at him. “Of course I’ll still want you by my side. We made a promise. For better or for worse.”

Lafayette took your hand in his and raised it to his lips. “For better or for worse.”

Somehow you found the time to sit down and watch a movie in the White House movie theater.

Lafayette chooses some sort of action movie, you can’t even remember the title of the film and you decide that it’s not important.

You’ve invited some close friends to join you for the night. The Hamiltons (of course), your chief of staff, Nathan Hale, and his partner, and a few other White House senior staffers. All people you would trust with your life and your secrets.

You know Alex’s suspected for a while that you and Lafayette got married for political reasons. He’s a real politician, so he’s one of the few who have actually considered that marriage could be an ambitious political move. A heartless speculation, yes, but he isn’t exactly wrong. You consider that he’s mentioned the idea to Eliza, but you’ve given them no confirmation on the subject.

Nathan knows you better than you know yourself after working for you for all these years. And he knows about your history with Lafayette. He may have been the one to plant the idea in your head of calling Lafayette up before you ran for office, but you’ve never officially explained to him the truth about your relationship. You don’t need to.

The point is, most people in this room know both you and Lafayette completely. And you trust everyone in this room completely. Even if they did find out the truth, it wouldn’t matter. You know your secret would be safe. Knowing all this, you begin to wonder who you’re trying to convince that your marriage is real.

It has to be someone. You’re not throwing your arms around his shoulders and pulling him close for your own benefit. Lafayette isn’t getting you a bag of popcorn and placing a kiss to your cheek for any other reason than because he really wants to sell this marriage.

You have to be putting on this performance for someone, because if not, that would mean you’re shooting Lafayette loving looks for no other reason except for the fact that you want to. And that can’t be right. Quid est veritas?

You’re given relief from the thoughts turning around and around and around in your head when the lights turn down low. You take your seat beside Lafayette (something in you tells you that your place has always been beside him). The movie starts playing and you relax for the first time since before you were sworn in as president (was that nearly a year ago?).

You don’t know if it’s because there’s something therapeutic about watching a fictional President having to deal with fictional problems, or if it’s relaxing because Lafayette has pulled you to his side and his hand absently runs through your hair. You decide it’s both.

“Are you tired?” Lafayette whispers in your ear quietly about halfway through the movie.

You are tired, but you insist on whispering back a no. He doesn’t believe you. Lafayette turns his head and presses his forehead against yours. The movie is forgotten in the background, you have his complete attention.

“Close your eyes,” he says softly. “Get some rest. I’ve got you.”

You want to kiss him. You’re so close to him now, all you would have to do is tilt your head just slightly to the right. If you kiss him now, you can say you were just trying to sell the relationship. To the maybe five people in the (dark) room who weren’t even paying attention to you, and even if they were none of them were about to report to the press that they thought your marriage was a sham. It’s not a good excuse, but you’re still considering it.

You don’t consider it any further; you don’t get to. A bit of light comes flooding into the movie theater, and you hear some hushed voices at the entrance.

“Madam President?”

Regretfully, you untangle your limbs from Lafayette’s and sit up. A White House staffer gives you an apologetic look and explains that there’s been a situation. You don’t look back at Lafayette because you know you’d be met with a look of disappointment. Instead, you make a light joke to the audience about never getting a break and they all laugh politely and urge you to go take care of the matter at hand.

You recall the 25th amendment while you’re leaving the theater, and you try to recall what the succession of the presidency really means. What is the Vice President doing tonight? You’re too busy thinking about what it would feel like to have your husband’s arms wrapped around you once more to think about whatever situation had arisen, did that make you unfit for office? Could someone else just take over for one night so you could spend the evening with Lafayette?

“You stayed up?”

You didn’t know what time it was – didn’t need to – but it was late. You had spent the entire day flying back from meetings in Germany, and then more meetings on the plane. You were exhausted, your staff was exhausted, so by the time you got back to the residency you were certain that you were the only one on the planet who was still awake.

“Didn’t want you to be alone.” Lafayette is still awake.

He looks tired, and you know he’s beyond tired. No doubt his schedule has been filled all day, and the both of you have to be up – four hours? That’s hardly enough sleep to function properly. And yet Lafayette has sacrificed his sleep because he didn’t want you to be alone.

Not that you would have been alone. You had planned on entering the residency quietly and sliding into bed beside him after you changed into sweats. You would let his rhythmic breathing lull you to sleep, and you’d hardly feel alone. But you’d be lying if you said his consciousness wasn’t a comforting presence to you.

“How was Germany?” He yawns.

You’re in a hurry to change out of your suit because the soft comforter of the bed is calling your name. You hardly process his words, murmuring some practiced, diplomatic response. He says he wishes he could’ve come with you, and you tell him you understand why he couldn’t this time. Next time, you say.

“You shouldn’t have stayed up for me,” you tell him once you’re comfortably situated in your favorite pair of sweats.

“For you? I was waiting up for the Vice President. Jay and I had a little rendez-vous planned for tonight, you just got back early.” His grin is tired, but there’s still a playful twinkle in his eye.

You sit beside him on the bed, giving him a little shove and rolling your eyes. “If you had said Secretary Hamilton, I might’ve believed you.”

He leans on you slightly, his head resting on top of yours. “Secretary Hamilton?”

“Mmhmm,” you say quietly. “The two of you have far too much chemistry.”

“Ma chèrie.” He lifts his head off yours just enough to turn to face you, and two of his fingers move your head so you’re facing each other. There’s only one bedside lamp turned on right now, and he’s taking this moment to memorize the lines of your face and the exact shade of your eyes. “You know you’re the only one for me.”

You realize you don’t love him in the way you used to. Not in a bad way, you haven’t stopped loving him. It’s just different this time. It’s honest and real, which is a bit ironic, because the foundations of your marriage were anything but truthful.

You’re polite, so your smile often is fake. He’s real. Right in front of you, right beside you. Every night. There’s something about his mercy and selflessness that you are in love with. He’s teaching you what it really means to be human. Even if you didn’t love him for that, you are so covered in him you wouldn’t know what else to be.

Whatever bravery you had stored up for debating political adversaries or promoting your most radical ideas suddenly possessed you, and you felt yourself leaning forward and pressing your lips against his. In the privacy of your shared residency. With no one around to see.

It’s almost like something breaks in him, if just for a moment. Maybe it’s the sleeplessness that’s slowing eroding away at his brain. Maybe he’s like you, and he’s also been wanting this for longer than he’s willing to admit, but he doesn’t hesitate, he just melts into you.

Your head feels foggy, you can’t really think, all you know is that this feels good. It’s the kind of intoxicating feeling that reminds you of the first time you kissed him, but you remind yourself that nothing is like the first time. You don’t love him in the way you used to. It’s different. Better.

“Don’t run for re-election.”

He doesn’t look at you when he speaks. Well, usually he would, but right now he isn’t looking at you. His eyes are memorizing the stitches on your coat, refusing to look at your eyes or your lips or your hands. You recognized the emotions swirling from his heart up to his lips. Shame.

Lafayette had never been anything but supportive when it came to your political career, so hearing him ask you not to run for re-election was a shocker. He loves supporting you. You know it’s out of a place of deep regret and desperation that Lafayette would ever even broach the subject. But he’s desperate now. You can tell.

You take his face in your hands – reaching out for anything good. You’d like to take the moment to just be here with him, but you’ve never been given enough time for that. It hurts him to look at you, but eventually he does.

“What?” You ask him softly. You know you heard him correctly, but you feel the need to prompt him into an explanation.

“I know it’s not my decision. And if you decide that you are going to run for re-election, we’ll put the matter to rest. We can pretend this conversation never happened,” he says sincerely. Lafayette takes a deep breath as if the next part will be difficult for him to articulate. You know that is. “Don’t run for re-election.”

He’s firmer in his request this time. Yes, the shame is still there, but it’s an underlying tone beneath his pure tenderness.

Lafayette’s never asked much from you. When you asked him to marry you, he hardly asked any questions. You know he would do whatever it is you asked of him at any time, so when he asks you not to run for re-election, you already know your answer without him having to explain himself. If this is what he wants, you’ll do it for him.

But you are still the president of the United States. You have a responsibility to your party, the government, and Americans as a whole. After accomplishing all you have in the last four years, it won’t be easy to walk away from the presidency without a reason. No, you don’t deserve a reason from Lafayette – you don’t even need one, if you are being honest – but you can at least pretend to be hesitant when it comes to leaving the Nation’s highest office.

“Why don’t you want me running for re-election?” you ask.

“Because I love you.” He says it like it’s the most simple and straightforward answer he can think of.

You can’t help but smile. “And I love you. But what does that have to do with me not running for re-election?”

“I know you love me. But there’s some part of me that will always think – as long as we’re in the public eye – that you only love me for appearances. That this is only love for the cameras—”

“Laf, it’s not. I promise I love you.”

“I know you do. But I’m always going to wonder. If it’s fake. If it just feels like love because of the atmosphere. For the past four years I’ve had to live with the gnawing fear that you wouldn’t love me outside of the White House. It would kill me if I had to live like this for another four years.”

Your voice is softer when you speak again. “You once told me you’d stay with me if I wanted to run for re-election. You said for better or for worse.”

“I know. That was years ago. That was when I thought you would only stay married to me while we were in the White House. That was when I thought a fake marriage would be enough for me.”

“Laf—”

“Ma chèrie, I want a life with you. One that isn’t just for show. I want to love you because I love you, not because it will help with your polling numbers.” There’s a deliberate determination between his words. He’s nervous. “I love you so much, and I can’t stand the idea of anyone having reason to think it’s anything less than love.”

The Oval Office is golden.

Well, technically, it’s more of a beige with a vibrant blue carpet in the middle of the room displaying the presidential seal. But in the low light of the December afternoon, the room is filled with a golden glow.

You’ve always known you were going to make history, but to actually be history is something altogether new for you. In another month, the drapes in the Oval Office and the furniture would all be replaced with whatever furniture the next president saw fit. It would be too easy for the white house staff to clean out the White House of any trace of you, but maybe if you were lucky you’d be mentioned in a footnote in a textbook somewhere.

It’s not like you are one to make rash choices. The decision of stepping down from office came after long and meticulous thought on the subject. You are more certain that you made the right decision more and more each day, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have your doubts every now and then.

“Am I interrupting anything?” Lafayette knows you better than you know yourself. He can tell by the blank look on your face while you read through a thick file that no, he’s not interrupting anything.

“It’s strange that I can say no,” you sigh softly. “I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t busy. But apparently people don’t care about a lame duck when there’s a shiny new President-Elect.”

He crosses the room and leans against the desk. Lafayette gently tugs your hand up to his lips and presses a delicate kiss against your knuckles. It’s gentle and timid, as if everything about this relationship depends on this small act of affection. You’ve noticed that Lafayette has been more reserved lately, almost like he feels guilty for asking such a heavy favor of you.

“Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite president?” It’s hardly a question and mostly an answer.

You smile, and he can’t help but think about how beautiful you are. He thinks you get more beautiful every day, although he can’t figure out how that’s possible.

“Your favorite? You like me better than President Washington?”

Lafayette hums softly and pulls you out of your seat, lifting you up onto the desk. He stands between your legs, hands resting gently on your hips. His gaze falls from your eyes to your lips, then back up to your eyes, and finally says, “you’re easier on the eyes.”

You laugh – Lafayette swears it’s lyrical – and press a kiss to his cheek. “That’s good to hear. How has the house hunting been going?”

His eyes visibly brighten. “I think I’ve found the place.”

“Is that right?”

“Mmhmm. It’s this piece of property in upstate New York. The drive to the city isn’t so far, and the estate. I just know you’re going to love it.”

You could sense the excitement emanating off of him. “Am I?”

Lafayette nods. “Chèrie, you have to see this place. It has a beautiful kitchen for me to cook in. A balcony – I know you love balconies. A few acres so one day our kids—”

“Our kids?”

His eyes widen as he quickly realizes his mistake. “I—well… yeah? I know we haven’t talked about this. I always pictured us with kids, but if that’s not what you want, I can respect that. We don’t need to have kids, I promise that you are already more than enough for me.”

You bring a hand to cup his face, your thumb softly moving across his cheek as you just hold him. “Lafayette, I want a family with you. I want a future with you. I want forever with you. I love you.”

He brings your lips to his, and for the first time, you’re not worried about it being the last time.

I’m just going to add foreign affairs taglist here :)

@fanfic-addict-98 @wordvomit-foryourmind @farihafangirls @actuallyanita @cubedtriangle @katierpblogg @ballerinafairyprincess @dannighost @ateliefloresdaprimavera @lexylovesfandoms @dovesgrangers @a-hopeless-fan @biafbunny @hermionie-is-my-queen @zeelmol @oi-itsemily @itsjube @someinsanefangirl @awkward-walking-potato @lu123sworld @exorcisms-with-elmo @ohsoverykeri-blog @lizzzaaaaaaaaaaa @poetnstuff @nyxie75 @roxanne2020 @luckyfriesss

#marquis de Lafayette #lafayette #lafayette fic #lafayette imagine #lafayette x reader #hamilton imagine #hamilton fanfic #foreign affairs sequel #foreign affairs #domestic tranquility #hamilton fanfiction #president au #modern au #Daveed Diggs #daveed diggs fanfic #daveed diggs x reader #lafayette fanfic #lafayette fanfiction

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deobienthusiast · 4 years ago

Text

forever have my heart

• pairing: lee jaehyun (the boyz) x reader ft. Jacob, Kevin, Sunwoo, and Juyeon + slight mentions of Sangyeon

• word count: 3,545 words

• genre: ex to lovers!au, angst, fluff

• rating: PG

• warnings: sad hyunjae, sad reader, crying hyunjae, basically all about hyunjae

• notes: if the warnings didn’t give it away i don’t know what will🤷🏾‍♀️

• requested: yes | no by anon

You remember that day like it was yesterday. You remember that entire year, and the year before that. It wasn’t hard to distinguish the day you met Lee Jaehyun, or Hyunjae as he liked to be called. Hyunjae was loud, bold, and out there. He loved having the attention on him, and he befriended people wherever he went. The day you met him was nothing short of a mere coincidence.

Valentine’s day, and you had been stood up. Lucky for you (or so you thought), so did Hyunjae. You both ended up at the same McDonald’s and ordered an oreo mcflurry. Low and behold, their ice cream machine was down. To say you were pissed was an understatement. All you wanted was to drown your sorrows in a large oreo flavored ice cream cup. Was that too much to ask? The boy sitting next to you seemed to sense your anger as he spoke.

“I know an ice cream place just up the way from here. If you want, I’ll take you.” The boy had offered.

Blonde hair covered his head and a grin made its way to his lips. You gave him a confused look as you spoke.

“Do they have french fries?” You asked him.

The boy nodded before holding out his hand. “I’m Hyunjae.”

That day, you shared a large oreo milkshake and some french fries. Hyunjae made you laugh until your stomach hurt and no more tears could come out of your eyes. You both learned that the other was stood up, and Hyunjae couldn’t have been happier. He used the time to cheer you up, and get to know you. That day you got Hyunjae’s number, and you two became inseparable.

Hyunjae became your everything. He exceeded your expectations on love. Making you smile and laugh was his daily mission. You were never alone, until you were.

It seemed as though things were going swimmingly with Hyunjae. You both told each other you loved each other, you had met each other’s parents and families. Everything seemed okay. You were madly in love with Hyunjae, and you were convinced he was the same with you. That was until he stopped showing up.

It started with dates that he’d start showing up late too. Hyunjae would never stand you up, until he did. You never got upset at first. Hyunjae was a busy man. His job required a lot of his attention almost every single day, and you were prepared for that. The time away from you that it took, however, wasn’t something you were prepared for. You pushed through it, though. You did it for love. You did it for Hyunjae, and you thought he would do it for you.

The day you two broke up was burned into the back of your mind. It was a day you would never forget.

It was your one year anniversary. Hyunjae had taken the day off, and he had told you that he prepared a day of excellency and he couldn’t wait to spend it with you. It was a day you were so looking forward to. Except when you woke up, everything went downhill. You tried to look past the silly mistakes that were made, and eventually you did. The day, however, just got worse. Arrangements had fallen through, Hyunjae had gotten called into work. Nothing was going the way Hyunjae had planned it. He did continue to mention a dinner that you two would have when he got off work. Things were starting to look up. You had gotten all dressed up in a new outfit with which Hyunjae had insisted you wear to dinner. Getting all dressed up wasn’t exactly anything you really cared for, but you did it for him. All for him to do the one thing he promised you he wouldn’t do, stand you up. For someone else, at that.

You had sat at the highly expensive restaurant for almost two hours, waiting, hoping that he would show up. Only for you to sit and eat a meal by yourself. You didn’t do much eating that night. The sight of other couples loving and doting on each other just made you sick to your stomach. Unfortunately for you, it only got worse. You had taken a ride to the restaurant that Hyunjae had set up for you, leaving you with no way to get home. Almost every car service was booked up for the night. This left you to call a mutual friend of yours and Hyunjae’s. A sweet boy named Jacob. Jacob was one of Hyunjae’s closest friends, and was the first person to meet you when you and Hyunjae got together.

“Thank you for this Cobie.” You had told the boy softly.

Jacob gave you a small, sympathetic smile. “No problem.”

You let out a sigh as Jacob spoke again. “So where is the man of the hour?”

You let out a laugh. “You tell me. Hyunjae had gotten called into work. I guess time just got the best of him.”

Giving Jacob a look, you noticed the confused expression he was wearing. “Cob, what is it?”

“Hyunjae never came into work today. He specifically asked for the day off, and Sangyeon isn’t the type of boss to call someone in on a day they requested off.” Jacob explained.

The car came to a slight stop before you recognized the front yard you were pulling into.

“What do you mean he never came in? Hyunjae told me he got called into work.” You exclaimed.

The quiet boy shook his head. “I had to work today. I had just gotten off when I got your text message. He wasn’t in the office at all. Come to think of it, neither was Juyeon. I remember them talking a few days prior about a guy named Sunwoo. Apparently he was supposed to be in town. Juyeon was trying to convince Hyunjae to come hang out with him and the guy.”

You hummed in response. You had heard about Sunwoo. An absolute party animal who was spoiled to no end. He never had to worry about a job because he had his parents inheritance to fall back on. Hyunjae always claimed Sunwoo brought out the worst in him. Whenever Sunwoo was in town, Hyunjae was off his rocker in an attempt to keep up with the younger counterpart.

“He stood me up, on our anniversary, to spend time with a boy that can’t even keep himself in a committed relationship for longer than a week. Everytime Sunwoo gets into a relationship, he’s convinced that this one is the one. Sunwoo still acts like a child. I’ll never understand why Hyunjae hangs out with him.” You yelled the last part as you hopped out of Jacob’s car, trudging towards your front door.

Jacob had followed you out before a car came barrelling into the driveway. As if on cue, Sunwoo, Juyeon, and Hyunjae got out. All three of them were laughing like there was no tomorrow. The sight of them made you want to scream. Hyunjae’s eyes were focused on his younger friend before they met your cold, desolate stare. He stopped in the yard, the two boys with him not realizing as they bumped into him.

“Yo, what did you stop for? I know we haven’t drank that much.” Sunwoo said with a laugh before he, too, met your gaze.

“You never told me Sunwoo was in town.” You called out across the yard.

It was at this moment that you were glad you and Hyunjae didn’t have any neighbors. The home you two shared lay at the end of a dirt road that only harboured one other house that was all the way at the entry of the road.

Hyunjae’s eyes left yours momentarily as he took cautious steps towards you, eyeing the boy next to you. “What’s Jacob doing here?”

Jacob looked between the two of you. “I provided transportation. That’s all.”

“Yeah. You know our anniversary dinner at the crazy expensive restaurant you booked? The one where you sent a car to drive me there? The dinner that you never showed up to because of him.” You pointed your finger at Sunwoo as Hyunjae gulped. “Jacob told me you never went into work today. The moment he mentioned Sunwoo, I started to wonder. Just how many days did you really put off for?”

Hyunjae shuddered at your tone. “I took my vacation time off. I had accumulated about a month of vacation time.”

You nodded at his words. Not bothering to say anything else, you had headed into your home, slamming the door behind you. You locked it as you heard Hyunjae run up the stairs. His fists slamming hard on the door. No listening to his pleas, you packed two suitcases before coming back downstairs. Laying them on the ground, you walked towards the door, opening it as Hyunjae fell inside. He lay eye level with the suitcases as he scrambled to his feet.

“What is this? What are those?” Hyunjae asked quietly.

He closed the door behind him as you spoke. “I can’t do this anymore.”

You kept your head down. “It has nothing to do with Sunwoo or work. It’s just you. I think we’ve grown apart.”

Hyunjae’s eyes widened as he was starting to pick up what you were saying. “No. No, I don’t think that. We haven’t grown apart. Look at me. You’re my everything. You mean the world to me.”

His voice cracked slightly as he continued. “Please don’t leave me.”

Tears welled up in your eyes at his words. “I’m sorry, Hyunjae.”

You remember picking up the suitcases, and having Jacob take you to a hotel across town. You made sure he didn’t tell Hyunjae where you were staying. That was the last day you and Hyunjae had seen each other. You didn’t feel like going back for any of your things. Everything you had, you shared with Hyunjae. That was almost two years ago.

You still remember that day, but you had managed to pick your life back up and move on. You had your own friends along with the ones you shared with Hyunjae. The only one you really kept in touch with was Jacob. He had helped you pick yourself back up. You eventually got a new place with a roommate. A funny, artistic boy named Kevin. Kevin, Jacob, and you became the three musketeers. Jacob even got engaged to the sweetest girl you had ever met. She was like a female version of Jacob, and he seemed so smitten over her.

“Hey! What are you wearing to Jacob’s engagement party?” Kevin asked you from outside your bedroom.

Opening the bedroom door, you were met with Kevin holding up different shirts. You laughed.

“Those are both absolutely horrible, Kevin.” You told him.

Kevin dropped both the shirts to his side as he whined. “Well help me then. I’m supposed to be one of his groomsmen and I can’t even dress myself for a proper engagement party.”

Letting out a chuckle, you followed Kevin into his room as you walked straight to his wardrobe. He fell back on his bed as you searched through his clothing. You pulled through each pair of pants and nice button up shirts he had before settling on a nice suit. Pulling it out, you laid it on top of Kevin’s body nicely as he lifted his head.

“See? This is why we’re friends. This is why I like you. Who else would help me get dressed for an engagement party?” Kevin said with a smile.

Shaking your head, you headed towards the door as you yelled. “Nobody! Now get dressed.”

You were excited for tonight. Jacob was over the moon in love with this girl, and he couldn’t wait for the chance to have everyone that loves him in the same room supporting him. Plus, Kevin and Jacob thought it would be a good opportunity for you to quote on quote “get back in the dating scene”. You never agreed, but you weren’t going to argue with the two of them because there was never any winning.

You got changed into your outfit of choice, fixing up your hair, and everything else that needed a touch up. When you were finished, you headed to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water. You scrolled through your social media before hearing Kevin yell from the top of the staircase.

“You should’ve just become a fashion designer.” Kevin said as he made his way down the stairs.

His hands were fiddling with the bow tie around his neck as he finished tying it. You looked over his outfit before focusing back on his hands.

“Kevin, enough with the bowtie.” You told him as you headed his way, pulling his hands away from the garment.

You untied and retied the bowtie for him, straightening it out before dropping your hands. “Now, stop messing with it. Don’t touch it. Or I’ll let you walk around the party with a crooked bowtie until someone points it out, and you know someone will point it out.”

Kevin smiled at your words before you both heard a beep from outside the door. “That’s our ride. Time to go congratulate the bride and groom-to-be.”

Smiling, you kept a grip on the water bottle you had opened as you headed for the door. Kevin quickly ran back up the stairs and came back down with a bouquet of flowers as you laughed.

“Awe, Kev. How sweet!” You said before he pulled his hand back.

“Haha, very funny! They aren’t for you. They are for Jacob and Mina.” Kevin said with a smirk, making you roll your eyes.

The car ride to the venue Jacob had booked wasn’t very long as you and Kevin made small talk. He mentioned this funny girl he had met at work, and it made you smile like no other.

“I’m so glad that you like this girl. Did you get her number?” You asked as the car came to a stop.

Kevin shook his head. “I was too nervous.”

You laughed as Kevin helped you out of the car. He clutched the bouquet of flowers in his hand as he headed towards the entrance. Your arm was looped with Kevin’s as you both scoured the building, taking in all the people that were there. You were quick to point out Jacob’s family. His parents and brother were seated at the head table where the wedding party was to sit. You allowed Kevin to take you towards the table as Jacob noticed you two.

He came up to the both of you with a huge smile. “There you two are! I was wondering when the most important pair of my wedding party would show up.”

You and Kevin both smiled as Jacob pulled you both into a hug. He pulled back from Kevin as he walked off to hand Mina the flowers he brought.

“I’m about to go steal your fiancé.” Kevin said jokingly.

Jacob rolled his eyes at his friend as he turned back to you. You gave Jacob a smile as he pulled you in for another hug.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Jacob said softly.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world Cobie. This is your second big day because the wedding is obviously going to be the true big day.” You replied.

Just as you said that, you saw him. Your smile faltered slightly as Jacob let his eyes follow your gaze. There, standing in the middle of the ballroom, was none other than Lee Jaehyun. He let out a sigh before looking at you.

“I know you still have your reservations about him, but I couldn’t not invite him. He’s my friend.” Jacob reasoned.

You shook your head. “I’m not mad at you. I can’t tell you who you can and can’t invite to your engagement party.”

Jacob smiled before stopping. “You should talk to him.”

Shaking your head, Jacob laughed. “Probably not.”

He went to speak again before someone yelled out to him. He gave you a smile before walking off. You took the opportunity to get yourself a glass of champagne as you looked over the decorations that were hung up. Pictures of every moment that had been captured in Jacob and Mina’s relationship hung up all around the room. Each picture with a date and sweet caption written on each photo. The captions written by both Jacob and Mina. You smiled as you heard someone speak from behind you.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it? Their relationship? I think it’s incredible.” Hyunjae’s voice said quietly.

You kept your back to him as he chuckled softly, taking the initiative to step forward so that he was beside you and visible in your peripheral vision.

Hyunjae spoke again. “You look amazing tonight. I mean, you look amazing all the time, but especially tonight. Of course, you’ve always stood out to me.”

You gave him a side eye look that made Hyunjae crack a smile. “What? Are you trying to woo me now?”

The boy shrugged. “I don’t know? Is it working?”

You shook your head, turning your attention back to the pictures hung up on the wall. Reading the sweet captions to yourself, you were pulled out of the moment you had created for yourself by the same boy.

“How have you been?” Hyunjae asked.

Shrugging, you caught the boy’s attention. “I’ve been okay. Found a job that I really like. I met Kevin, and he keeps me pretty busy.”

You turned to point at the boy who you had mentioned as he saw you and gave a friendly wave and a smile. Hyunjae watched the way your face lit up as he looked back at the same boy.

“That’s Kevin? He seems nice.” Hyunjae said.

You chuckled. “He’s incredible, in more ways than one. Should’ve given that girl his number.”

“Wait, he’s not your boyfriend?” Hyunjae asked.

The laugh you let out made Hyunjae laugh himself as you covered your mouth.

“Kevin? My boyfriend? Absolutely not. He’s great, but not my type. I’d much rather keep him as my roommate.” You told him.

Hyunjae felt his heart pick up as he spoke again. “Hey, can we talk outside? Just the two of us.”

You finally turned to look at him fully making Hyunjae lose his breath. You looked absolutely stunning. You just happened to get even more amazing as time went on. You kept your gaze on him and went to answer before being interrupted. The devil, himself, threw an arm around Hyunjae’s shoulders, throwing off the boy.

“Hyunjae! Man it’s been so long. I’ve missed you, bro.” Sunwoo said.

Not wanting to be in his presence any longer, you headed outside to get some fresh air. Sitting outside on your own, you let yourself get lost in the night sky before being interrupted, again.

“There you are. I’m sorry about that.” Hyunjae apologized.

Shrugging, you looked at him. “Still hang out with Sunwoo?”

Hyunjae shook his head, catching you off guard. “No, actually I haven’t hung out with him since you left.”

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Oh. I didn’t know that. You know, you didn’t need to cut off a close friendship of yours because of me.”

“Yes I did,” Hyunjae started as he sat down next to you. “You are the love of my life whether you’re with me or you’re not. I know my crazy friendship with Sunwoo was a part of the reason you left. I was hoping that distancing myself from him would bring you back to me. Jacob rarely gave me updates, and you never really gave anything away on your social media. I just tried to do everything I could to get you back.”

His statement made you scoot closer. “Sunwoo’s your best friend.”

“And you’re my everything. No matter what, you forever have my heart.” Hyunjae told you softly, looking you in the eyes this time.

Your breath got caught in your throat. “I love you, too.”

“Y-you do? Even after everything?” Hyunjae asked softly.

You nodded. “I never stopped. I think that's why I never bothered to get back out on the dating scene. Despite how hard Jacob and Kevin tried, I didn’t want to be with someone else. I guess I was just always holding on to this hope that we’d be able to try again. Truth be told, Jacob invited a lot of his single friends because he wanted me to mingle with them.”

Hyunjae laughed. “Glad I got to you first then.”

You laughed alongside Hyunjae as he leaned closer to you, his hand now placed lightly above yours, both your pinkies interlocked.

“I missed you.” Hyunjae said softly.

You smiled to yourself as you turned to look at the boy. He leaned his forehead against yours as you took the first step, moving your head just enough to peck his lips.

“Does this mean you’re going to come home with me?” Hyunjae asked.

You pulled away as a mischievous smile made its way to your face. “You’ll have to go, and fight Kevin for me first.”

Hyunjae grinned. “Name the time and the place, my love.”

#kwritersworldnet #tbznetwork #deobiwritersnet #kafenetwork #kdiarynet #kpopficsnetwork #kpopscape #lovesicknet #the boyz #tbz #the boyz hyunjae #tbz hyunjae #lee jaehyun #lee hyunjae #the boyz sangyeon #the boyz juyeon #the boyz jacob #the boyz kevin

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obeymeshallwedate-latinplayer · 4 years ago

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Tamales. Gn!Mc

Happy Hollydays!!!

Well let´s have a feedback of what are tamales, maybe a lot of you have heard about it!! From the nahuatl word: Tamallis, that means: wrapped, since the colony the tamal started to make a big evolution and taste even better! with cooked corn dough wrapped in leaves of the cob or of the same corn plant, banana, bijao, maguey, avocado or even aluminum foil or plastic. And all of them are in the same pot so they can steam (We do not recomend the foil or plastic one.) It can be sweet or salty, it depends on you and how you like it, maybe with veggies, meat or even pastry cream! A lot of latin families in every part of the world usually have a tamal for christmas! After a good back story Shall we start?

[All the brothers are caught out to help for the dinner]

Lucifer:

Again with Vicente Fernández? Mc, I already told you that if you want my attention you just need to ask for it.

Cook with you? Sure let´s do it... Wait is for the christmas eve and christmas? You are so werid. Isn´t that pot quite big? Did you asked Lord Diavolo and Barbatos to search for it?

He does not like to have his hands sticky with the corn dough, he even tried to run away when you asked him to help you out.

He is in duty of wrapping them, after all he has expirience wrapping Mammon into the celling.

Mammon.

At first he refuses to help you out, but after warching your beautiful puppy eyes he helped you, he was actually the very first to help you.

In secret he is fan of Vicente Fernández, so after a few songs he started to feel that he was home.

He is in duty of knead the dough, even if he doesn´t like it, he is happy to help you out if you paraise him constantly.

He might even start a tamal business in the Devildom.

Leviathan

He does not like christmas, well maybe he only likes it for the events in his games, and the presents and discounts in the things he want.

After actually begging him to help out, and giving him a Ruri chan appron he will gladdly help you out.

He laughs at Asmo while he is being yelled. He is in dough coloring, the sweet ones are pink?! And they can have raisins or cream?! You humans are so werid.

What is a guajolota?!

Satan.

Like in the novela of *Beeeeeeep* (Sorry Satan, you can´t say it, it´s a spoiler for the next headcannon) He is so into, He even read a book on “How to make tamales if you are a demon?” and “Tamales 101″

Those books were burnt by Mc, when they saw all the fallacies.

He is in duty of the Arroz con leche and the champurrado. He is a happy demon after you explain everything to him!

He is making the best drinks for you, he even undertsood the cornstarch would help him out.

Asmo.

Just like Lucifer he doesn´t like to have sticky hands, or even hands full of oil not today Mc, but maybe tomorrow.

He saw them in Devilgram and he screamed, you obviously yelled at him that those were not tamales, how does that demon even dare to present it? Someone that grabs you because you are on fire, and ready to kick some demon ass.

He is in duty of puting the tamales in the pot, they are like babies, MC!!! Let´s make more of them pleasee!!!

He takes tons of photos for his fans, and he even made his fans cursed the demon that made you mad.

Beel.

Are you doing tamales?! Happy baby boi. He is the one that smelled at first, he needs to taste them.

Search for banana leaves? No problem he will find them! Searching for corn leaves? No worries he knows a guy that knows a guy that will give them to him.

He is the muscle in the opperation tamales for tomorrow, One thousand tamales in three large pots? He can lift them without problems.

He eats and eats, and he does not even have a bite of the dough or fillings, he is a good boi.

Belphie.

He tries to help you with Beel but after watching that he is not even eating the dough or the fillings he is helping you to make the Tortas and bolillos.

Just for Beel he is helping, as twins he can feel when Beel is so hungry or he have some food cravings.

He needs his twin to help him knead the dough, Beel broke the table. But it was worth it.

He sleeps while the tortas and bolillos are ready, after that and after the tamales are ready he feels sick, Beel ate too much.

Diavolo:

I´ll find the pot even if is the last thing I do. Mood.

He is over the roof of happines, he even helps you with the flavours, and the things you need.

Barbatos Mc! Needs human food and their grandmother, please go for them!!!

He will eat every type of tamal and he will make a festive day for them.

Barbatos.

My lord I can´t bring Mc grandma, she is with their family and her house seems to me like a war filled.

He will go for all the ingredients, and will help Satan with the atole and arroz con leche.

Yes my lord, we will have a festive day for this, no my lord you may not eat tamales your whole life.

He liked the mole ones.

Luke.

Move aside demons! I Luke, and Barbatos will make the pastry cream for the sweet ones.

Baby angel tried to help Beel kneald the dough, fails in the action.

Mc, is scolding everyone in the room for not watching Luke, they got their mood from their mother.

He is shocked from Mc´s hability to using a flip flop like a mortal weapon (If someones now how to draw please draw this scene and tag me on pleasseee!!!)

Simeon.

He is helping with the wrapping, and he is happy!

Not even him could ran away from Mc´s furious and he got a chanclazo. Not even the celestial war punches hurted him as that flip flop did.

He takes the bolillos and tortas out of the oven and have an splendind dinner with the demons, his grandson and even you.

He will write about this expirience in his new book “How to survive with a Latin Mc!”

Solomon.

GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN IN THIS INSTANT!

He can´t touch the food nor breath near them, he is with Asmo making a curse into the demon and theri miserably idea of tamales.

He eats along with all of you, but after this he will make some by his own.

He likes the idea, he will make potions with the form of a tamal.

New Character?! Or is this de MC?! it´s the MC.

They had a crisis every single minute of the day.

Let´s learn some Spanish:

Tortas: Bread

Bolillos: Bolillo, white bread, loaf or French bread is, in Mexico and Central America, an inexpensive and quite popular type of bread made with wheat flour, which is not considered sweet. It is about six inches long and has an oval shape with a longitudinal cut at the top, on the outside it is golden and crisp, on the inside it is white and soft, this part is known as a migajón. Bolillo is similar to French bread. With it, the molletes and Mexican cakes are prepared

Arroz con leche: Rice with milk, it may be a dessert or a drink.

Champurrado: Champurrado is a typical Mexican preparation of atole, made from crushed corn dough, dark chocolate and water with cinnamon, boiled until thick. It is usually served with another typical Mexican dish, tamales.

Guajolota: Is a torta or bolillo with the insides of a tamal and you might find them in tamales carts, if you come to Mexico, I recommend you eating them in the CDMX or in the capital of the country.

Mole: The term mole refers to various types of highly seasoned Mexican sauces made mainly from chili peppers and spices, and which are thickened with corn dough, tortilla or bread; it also refers to the same meat or vegetable stews that are often made with these thick sauces.

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achliegh · 3 years ago

Text

Golden

Yeehaw Leo… it's all because this song came on one day (I don’t even really listen to country anymore so it really is fate). Leo is based off that song, each chapter is going to be based off a yeehaw song too.

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Beta: @the-most-slyterin-hufflepuff & @punkkkboi

TW/CW: Smut, terrible yeehaw sayings and jokes, injuries, mentions of past death/suicide, minor character death, underage drinking, mentions of past arrests, cringe

Chapter Songs (listening in order is recommended):

Chapter 14:

Holiday Playlist

Sold (Dance)

Leo was freezing, shivering in the car with the heated seat under his ass and heat blowing on him. He changed his pants from the ice soaked ones earlier and his ankles were sore from his skates but he was happy. He made a good impression on Logan’s sisters, his mom texted him to let him know the sale went through, and he watched Clay face plant on the ice.

All was well in the world.

He was smiling to himself as he leaned back into the heat of the seat with his arms hugging himself, teeth only chattering a little bit. He is listening to Logan chat with his sisters in the back in fairly fast French-Canadian French, he knows Finn is confused. But Leo is listening to him tap on the steering wheel to whatever song was playing in his head. The radio is off because Leo doesn’t want to overwhelm Finn with too much noise in a small confined place. He would be miserable the rest of the night.

They pull up to Pascal's house and the Trembly siblings are the first out of the vehicle, leaving Leo and Finn in the dust. Finn kisses Leo’s temple after shutting off the car.

“Ready?” Leo smiles and nods, he is honestly a little tired but he’s excited to get a little drunk and just relax with the team plus the team’s families.

Leo grabs onto the handle to push open the door when it is suddenly flung open and he topples out face first first into the ground. Hearing someone gasp from above him he rolls over to his back and blinks a few times.

“I think… I broke my teeth again.” Leo runs his tongue over his two front teeth and feels the chip in his tooth is suddenly much larger, but still less than half his tooth so he doesn’t really care.He has broken his teeth way worse before. Ma will get a kick out of it. “That's fun.”

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Aubry is helping him sit up and is grabbing his still dazed face and looking it over to make sure he’s okay. She looks over to her left and sees Logan looking at her and she can feel the anger rolling off of him. His arms are crossed and his hands are gripping his arms, Sydney takes one look at Logan and steps back a couple of feet.

“Can you let go of my face?” Leo mumbles, causing her to look back at him and smile a little at his squished cheeks. “Also I break my teeth all the time, 90% of my front two teeth are fake so…” He shrugs and smiles at her. She lets go of his face and Finn helps Leo up.

“Again I’m sorry Leo!”

“I feel like I look like Jason Derulo after he tried eating corn off the cob with a power drill.” He laughs at himself as he looks in the side mirror of the car. Rolling his bottom jaw a bit, popping his neck from side to side, then rolling his shoulders. He notices a scrape on his chin and his cheek. “Not gonna lie, I kinda look rugged.”

“Let’s go inside, get you a drink and an ice pack, yeah?” Logan takes his hand and smiles up at him, taking note of his scrapes and his chipped tooth when he smiles back.

“Yes please!” They all make their way inside to find families just chatting on the couches in the living room, people drinking wine and eating little horderves that Celeste and Adele put together. Leo is led to the kitchen where the two chefs were.

“Oh Leo, did you fall on the ice after we left?” Celeste looks at him as she hands him an ice pack wrapped in a paper towel.

“Non, Aubry opened my door with me attached to it and I landed face first on the concrete. Broke my teeth some more but.” He shrugs and his nose scrunches as Logan dabs at his scrapes with a wet paper towel. “Okay! Okay! I’m Okay! OW!” Logan sighs at Leo’s dramatics and goes to throw the paper towel away.

“So you’re the man with the terrible singing.” Adele looks up at Leo from where she is cutting pinwheels. “I wondered if you were ever going to appear.”

“You don’t like my singing?” Leo smiles at her and she smiles back. “Wait, when have you heard my singing?” He absentmindedly starts helping her put pickles on sticks. He remembers catching a glance of her the first time he visited Pascals’ but he doesn’t remember singing when she was around.

“When Logan was really sad after Louisiana, he would only fall asleep to these videos of you singing in front of a fire pit. It was really annoying for a while.” Leo is silent for a moment, Adele looks up at him and notices how he is trying to keep his face blank but the frown lines are still ghosting. “He is better than ever now that you are with him and Finn though, he blabs about you two all the time.” That makes him smile a bit.

“No! Alex! Let go!” Leo and Adele turn around to see an older version of Finn keeping Logan in a headlock. Leo hides his smile by sucking in his lips and holding them between his teeth. “Ah!” Logan is suddenly on the ground with Alex laughing from above him, asshole kicked his feet out from under him. Glaring Logan takes his hand and gets helped up. “Jerk.”

“Hey! You can’t be mean to me or I’ll tell Finn.”

“He would be on my side!”

“He would laugh at you and give me a high five and you know it.” Logan thinks for a moment and then signs knowing Alex is right.

“Why do my boyfriend's siblings bully me?”

“Because we are family, shortstack.” Alex gets punched in the stomach for that nickname everytime. Yet he still calls Logan that any time he gets the chance. After a moment of catching his breath, Alex looks up to see Logan’s face buried into another man’s chest. He was tall and had a couple scrapes on his face but he looked young. Maybe in his early twenties. His hair was barely sticking out from under his.. Cowboy hat… he was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt… with cowboy boots. Who was this guy!? Does Finn know about him and Logan?

“Leooooo, I got some people I want you to meeeet!” Finn walks into the kitchen with his mother and Father trailing behind and bumps into Alex who is just staring at Leo like he's a ghost. “I promise he doesn’t always dress like that.” Taking a few steps towards his boys he gives Adele a fist bump and then leans his head on Leo’s shoulder. “Mom, Dad, this is Leo. The cowboy I have been talking about for…. A good year now. He is Logan and I’s boyfriend.” He smiles.

Leo feels his heart pick up a bit as the nerves of meeting parents that have authority makes him feel like he shouldn’t be there. He shakes the fathers hand after Logan goes to help Adele take out more tiny foods. He goes to shake Finn’s mother’s hand but is pulled into an aggressively tight hug that reminds him of his Mama’s hugs. He smiles and hugs her back. Already starting to feel at ease.

“I’m Alex.” Alex pats Leo on the shoulder.

“Leo, Finn talks a lot about you. He has your pictures up all around the apartment. I was convinced you two were twins for a while.” Leo smiles and continues to relax as Alex bursts out laughing.

“I’m not surprised, when we were younger people swore we were twins, and I think Finn would let people believe it when he was in elementary.” Alex ruffles Finn’s hair.

“So, Finn tells us you’re a Professional Bullrider. Correct?” Finn's dad looks to have the exact same face as his boys, same eyes as well. But he is much more tan and doesn’t have a single freckle that Leo can see, his hair is dark brown and curly, his eyebrows were so thick that Eliose would have the time of her life shaping them, his nose is also quite large and protrudes from his face with a little crook in the bridge making him subtly look like a bird.

“Yes, I do ride professionally. I actually leave in a couple of months to go travel the country to do it all again. My best friend Clayton ropes calves as well and my Mother was crowned Miss Rodeo when she was younger. So, it’s interesting when Finn tries to talk about rodeo stuff with us and he just has no idea. He’s getting better though.”

“I always had a dream of riding bulls or just being a cowboy in general but I’m from upstate New York! Not many cowboys there.” He laughs in the loud way most older fathers do and pats him on the shoulder just like Alex did. His smile was large and inviting, it reminded him of Finn.

“Country is Country wide, Sir. I have rode with people from New Hampshire and Massechusets. If you want I could teach you some things! I do train children in the two weeks before I leave to compete.”

“Don’t give him any ideas, he may be young at heart but his body is becoming old and crepid.” Finn’s parents share a kiss and it gives Leo’s heart a small painful yank. He can’t help but wonder if his parents would look that happy if his dad was still alive. He takes a sip of the Jack and Coke that Finn made him and swallows it along with his own self pity.

Now is not the time to mope.

He chats with Finn’s family some more until the doorbell rings. That would be his mother.

“Hello, who are you?” Pascal is looking directly into the sharp blue eyes of a woman who is either the same height as him… or taller. SHe is holding two milk crates, both filled with jars full of clear liquid. Odd. She is dressed in a tight red long sleeve shirt with a pair of dark wash jeans that flare at the bottom with matching red boots poking out from the jeans. Something flashes light into his eye and he notices the giant buckle on her belt.

“Oh excuse my manners! I’m Eloise Knut! My son Leo should be behaving here. This is Pascal’s house, yes?” She smiles and her teeth are so blindingly bright that Pascal has to look away.

“Oh yes of course come in.” He opens the door all the way and she struts in. Clayton was the first person to run up to her, Marc is on his back laughing loudly as they were just pretending Clay was a horse.

“Ma! It’s about time you show up! I’ll take this.” Clay has Marc hop off his back and takes the crates from Eloise, walking away lifting them over all the peoples heads who are sitting down or children.

“Ma! I want you to meet my brother. Sirius, this is Eloise. Eloise, this is Sirius.” Reg is looking between them with this excited glint in his eye, his two favorite adult figures in his life are meeting.

“Ravi de vous rencontrer.” Sirius shakes her hand and kisses her hand. Eloise smiles and pats his cheek.

“Si gentil de ta part.” Sirius smiles, cheeks turning a bit pink as she pinches them a bit. “You are just adorable! You and your brother have the most beautiful hair. I would love to just sit down and play with it all day.”

“Mama, stop hitting on Reg’s brother. Hit on his boyfriend instead.” Remus laughs from his spot next to Leo as they walk up with plates piled high with food. Leo’s vegetarian, Remus’ not. “I mean look at him, he is exactly your type! Short brownish hair, giant brown eyes, probably a bottom- Hey!” Remus swats at his plate of food to try and knock it over, making Leo barely have time to balance it out again.

“Leo, you’re gay. I thought you would have been better at seeing who is top, bottom, or a switch in relationships. It’s pretty obvious if you ask me.” Eloise smiles at Remus. “Since you have your hands full I will just give you a wave, Deary.” She waves at him. “I’m Eloise, Leo’s mother. I hope you haven’t heard anything bad about me, Leo likes to tell stories of when I was younger.”

“I can’t help it Mama, you were just so interesting!” Leo speaks with his mouth full and Reg, Remus and Elosie all give him a look.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full!” They all manage to say at the same time, catching Leo off guard. He laughs and swallows the food in his mouth.

“There are so many mothers around me. I’m going to see who Clay has rounded up to try the shine.” He stands up and leaves his plate on the little table in the middle of them, Reg grabs a few pieces of his food and eats them as he listens to Sirius and Remus talk about how they will be celebrating the holidays.

“I’ll go with you, I should probably meet the rest of the boys.” Eloise follows him into the kitchen to find Clay behind the kitchen island with two jars of moonshine in front of him, explaining to the team what it is. Leo walks over beside him and takes the lid off one and smells it.

“I think this one is watermelon.”

“Thanks for interrupting me. Anyway, moonshine is technically illegal because… honestly I don’t remember but we have been drinking it since we were like 13 I think.” Eloise walks up behind the two, reaching over them to grab the other jar, Clay and Leo move out of the way to let her in the middle.

“You two make me look like a terrible person, you know that? Letting my child drink moonshine at 13. I could get arrested.” She is examining the jar as the boys back track their statements about drinking so young even when they are still under the drinking age. She has a little half smile on her face when she looks through the clear liquid straight into a set of eyes that are staring right back.

Dark hazel eyes surrounded by the longest eyelashes she has ever seen. Dark smooth skin wrinkling around the eyes as this person smiles. Her mouth was very dry all the sudden, her stomach had a pit in it as well.

“Leo why don’t you let me have that, Y’all can keep all the rest.” She puts the jar she is holding down and takes the open one from Leo who was about to take a sip. She leaves the kitchen without another word. Clay and Leo share a confused look as they watch her leave.

Timmy follows a few minutes later.

The music played in the house after all these kids left to go spend the night at other houses, leaving the Dumias house open for adult activities like swearing. Leo, Reg and Clay had all moved the furniture around, with permission from Dumo and Celeste. There was just enough room for people to dance.

No one was really drunk persay but a couple swings of moonshine definitely got people tipsy. Elosie was talking with Ollie, Andrew, and Timmy. Who leo was keeping an extra close eye on, because he just felt like he should. He knows a lot of people find his mother attractive, that's why Eloise always wore her ring, to get people to back off, but she was almost… flirting back with Timmy.

It made Leo feel weird. Clay too.

Leo was staring at Eloise and Timmy when Sold (Grundy County Auction) came on over the bluetooth. He hears a gasp from behind him and sees Remus trying to get Sirius to dance with him.

“Re, I don’t know the dance.”

“It’s easy I promise!” Sirius gives his boyfriend a look and Remus sighs, giving up on trying to yank Sirius up off his chair . Leo walks over because he would also like to dance but his mom is flirting, Reg gets dizzy, his boys don’t know the dance, and Clay is laying across Thomas and Noelle on the couch a bit too drunk to really do anything but smile at them and twist Noelles hair around his finger.

“I know it, and all my dance partners are busy if you’d like to dance.” He smiles and nods his head when Sirius mouths ‘thank you’ in his direction. Remus hesitates for a moment.

“I only know how to follow really.”

“And you wanted me to dance!” Sirius tsks sarcastically and shakes his head leaning back in his chair so the two front legs were off the ground. Making sure there was something soft behind him, Re puts his foot under one of the chair legs and lifts up so Sirius falls backwards onto the pile of blankets that were thrown off the couch. “Re!”

“Well, I only know how to lead so that works out perfectly.” Leo takes Remus’ hand and leads him towards the group of dancing people on the wood floor of the living room. “Think there is enough space?”

“I think so, here.” Remus grabs his hands and they swing in a circle so people give them room. Leo just about trips over his own feet. Remus catches him while laughing, putting a hand on Leo’s shoulder and holding his other while Leo rests his free hand on Remus’ waist.

Spinning each other they are lost in the dance, not noticing the two or three people filming them. Sirius is just watching Remus move so smoothly, without a care in the world. His hair was long enough it swished with him, his laugh was loud and sweet. He didn't know how he didn’t get dizzy from dancing.

Finn was also watching them dance, as well as Logan. Finn was just enjoying his friend and Boyfriend dancing, Logan was too but a bit more… possessive. They all trust one another but Logan can’t help the little voice in the back of his head telling him to make sure Re knows Leo is theirs.

They finish the dance and just straight up sit on the floor to catch their breath, laughing a bit as people return to the dance floor. Eloise walks over to them and holds out a hand to each to help them up.

“Last Song! I want to go to bed!” Dumo announces as he turns the music down for a moment, he turns it back up before people can complain. Celeste was starting to put food away in to go containers and in tupperware to go in the fridge. Dumo walks over to help her but gets distracted when he hears someone drop a glass. He sighs and goes to help them, James, clean up.

“I am going to stay and help Celeste tonight and tomorrow morning. I will see you at the apartment and then we can go out for lunch.” Eloise smiles as Leo nods and lets her kiss his cheek. Leo and Remus make their way back over to their lovers.

“You were amazing!” Sirius hugs Remus, lifting him off the ground and smooching all over his slightly red face. “Where did you learn to dance like that?”

“My dad and mom used to go to swing classes when I was younger and my dad would always secretly practice with me so he could wow my mom.” He smiles, pushing Sirius’ hair out of his face and sighing happily. “Let’s go home, I’m tired.” Sirius and Reg follow Re out of the house a few minutes later, waving goodbye to the team.

The drive home in the uber was interesting, Leo and Logan were both sliding their hands up Finn’s thighs making his tispy brain only think about one thing. He watched those two whisper to each other before they left the house, Finn didn’t pay much attention, busy watching for the uber to pull up.

Once they enter the house Finn finds himself pinned against the door as soon as it is closed, Leo is kissing and nipping at his neck while Logan is reaching his hands under Finn’s shirt as he kisses him with maybe too much tongue. Finn lets himself be dragged into the feeling of their hands and lips on him.

“Tonight is all about you, sweetheart.” Leo whispers in his ear, Logan pulls away and tugs on Finn’s shirt towards the bedroom. Leo pats his butt to get him moving and follows the other two, stripping off his many layers and stretching his jaw a bit from his fall earlier.

“Hi, how are you?” Finn is pulled on top of Logan who has lost his clothes sometime in between the door of the room and the bed. He was beautiful; basically glowing from the yellow light of the lamp near the bed. Shadows and light contrasting on his tan skin make him look like a work of art. He can’t help but run his fingertips lightly over Logan’s chest and stomach. Smiling as the muscles move under his fingers, he feels a hand on his hand and two hands cupping his face making him look back up at Logan.

“I love you.” Logan pulls him down for a kiss as Finn feels Leo’s rough hands slide his shirt up, he pulls away just long enough to take his shirt off and then dives right back in for more kisses. Logan is very addictive, he lets Finn take over the kiss when he wants and other times he will take over the kiss just to annoy Finn into fucking him. Logan is giggling slightly as they kiss just because all this happiness is bubbling in his chest.

“I love you too, Lo.” He mumbles on Logan’s lips, feeling the bed dip behind him, Finn pulls away from Logan. Only after he is pulled into one last heated kiss that he can barely pull away from. Sitting up on his knees he turns his head to the side and has his lips met with another set of lips he loves.

Leo is almost always soft, besides his calloused hands, his skin is just perfect and makes Finn want to touch him always. He lightly nips at Leo’s lips, drawing a smile from the younger man. They pull away after a moment and Leo wraps his arms fully around Finn’s bare waist, resting his chin on Finn’s shoulder, humming a bit.

“I want to eat you out, is that okay? I mean your ass is so pale it looks like two marshmallows.” Logan snorts at Leo’s comment and flexes his legs from where they are resting on either side of Finn’s thighs, squishing Finn between them. Finn thinks about it for a moment, running his hand up and down Logan’s calf while Leo's hands run all over his torso.

“I don't know. Are you sure you want to? I mean, I just don’t want to find out I’m dirty or something… I also like never shave so… I don’t know.” He absent mindedly twirls a couple of Logan’s leg hairs together between his forefinger and thumb. Trying to ignore the feeling of an embarrassed blush that is creeping from his ears to his chest.

“Finn, you have eaten both of us out. Did you ever care if we were perfectly smooth or whatever else you are worried about?” Logan sits up, Looking him in the eyes. “We want to make you feel good, but if you don’t want to, that's okay too.” After a couple minutes of the three of them just existing together on the bed Finn starts nodding his head.

“Yeah, I want to try it. I think maybe once I get past feeling all jittery I will like it.” He kisses Leo and smiles at Logan. “I want to feel good like how I make you two feel.” He pushes Logan back onto his back and leans over him.

Leo helps Finn out of his shorts and, “Are these… my boxers?” Laughing as Finn nods, Leo also helps him slide off his boxers with fish on them. “You know Fish is a good nickname for you.” Leo starts kissing down his back.

“You named a fish after us and now you are naming me after a fish?” Finn starts to snicker but is cut off by the feeling of Leo licking over his entrance. His brows pinches together, his eyes close and he feels himself turn bright red.

“Hey” Logan kisses his cheek and nudges his cheek a bit with his nose, “Kiss me.” Finn doesn’t waste a second moving to have one hand holding him up by Logan's head and the other is gripping the back of his head with his fingers threaded into the long hair on Logan's neck. “Leo, you’re making him so red.” Logan mumbles on Finn’s lips.

Finn is losing himself in the feeling of Leo slowly opening himself up with his tongue, he knew this made his boys feel good but he didn’t expect it to make his legs shake. He has lost the ability to kiss Logan back because he is breathing so hard, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Every once in a while Finn feels Logan twitch and move under him.

Leo starts using his fingers alongside his tongue, Finn can’t help but rotate his hips in circles as the pleasure keeps flowing through his body. He feels like a soda bottle that hasn’t been opened, but has been shook. Everything was bubbling up and he felt like he was about to explode.

Leo pulls away when he feels Finn is ready. Looking at his boys, they both look blissed out. Leo notices one of Logan’s hands isn’t in sight, Finn is a complete mess. His hair is wild, his face is red, he is panting and looking more out of it than Leo has ever seen him.

“What do you want next?” Leo kisses up his back, nuzzling into the back of his neck and breathing in the smell that is strictly Finn.

“Leo, fuck me.”

“Yeah?”

“Can I get fucked too?” Logan is staring into Leo’s eyes with his pupils basically taking over his green eyes. Leo nods and leans over Finn’s shoulder to give Logan a quick kiss. Sitting back up, Finn follows his lead and sits up a few moments later. He gets handed the lube from where it is sitting next to Logan and covers his fingers. Logan grabs his hand and shakes his head.

“I already did it.” He smiles shyly at Finn who just blinks a few times.

“Loooogannnn! You know that’s like my favorite part!” Finn is pouting as he uses the lube on his hand to cover his cock. He is still mumbling his complaints as he starts to press in. He is already feeling everything more than normal, so his jaw goes slack and he pauses halfway. “Fucking Christ.” He leans down and presses his forehead to Logan’s as he pushes the rest of the way in. Their heavy breathing syncs up until Finn starts to pull out and push back in, just barely moving.

Leo is watching the whole thing, giving himself a few strokes to ease some pressure. He whispers the question to Finn who slows his thrusts to a stop. Leo slowly starts to press in and feels Finn suddenly tense up, Leo pauses and Finn lets out a noise that he knows like the back of his hand.

Finn just came. Logan moans loudly at the feeling of Finn cuming in him.

“Fuck! Finn~” Leo sees Logans hands grip Finn’s bareback digging his nails in.

“Leo- Please keep going.” Leo takes a deep breath to calm himself from just going to town on Finn. He pulls out and groans as Finn clenches around him. He presses his forehead to Finn’s sweaty back and listens to his plea to go deeper.

“Leo!” Logan calls out to him as his eyes start to roll back and his back arches, following Finn’s example from earlier and cumming between the two of them. Leo continues to fuck them as they moan his name, each others names, and grip one another as if they would lose them if they didn’t.

After finding the perfect rhythm, they all fall into a void of pleasure. Their bodies moving on their own, their voices becoming hoarse from moaning, lips raw from stolen kisses. Everything was perfectly balanced.

Logan suddenly breaks the atmosphere by falling off the edge again. He jerks himself through his orgasm and loses his voice as his vocal cords become taunt. Once the fog in his head dissipates he looks up at his boys.

“Can I watch you two?” The raspiness of his own voice catches him off guard, he clears his throat before Leo pulls out of Finn and Finn pulls out of Logan. Leo is holding Finn up as he has slumped back into Leo’s chest. They rearrange, Logan is laying on his side next to Finn who is lying on his back. Leo is between Finn’s legs and moves them so one is wrapped around his hip and the other is out to the side. With Logan wanting to still do something, he holds the leg that is out to the side and sits up to watch as Leo pushes back into Finn. His eyes wanted to watch where they met and Finn’s face at the same time.

Logan knows that Leo’s eyes when he is fucking is one of the most intense things he has ever seen, Finn tries to look Leo in the eyes but ends up turning his head to meet Logan’s.

Logan's eyes are soft and blown out, beautiful green, calming yet wild. Logan is just a walking oxymoron. He was everything. Finn looks back at Leo who is watching them look at each other. He hits Finn’s prostate just right and Finn cums again as he cups Leo’s face and stares into his eyes.

Leo swallows as he starts to slow down. Finn is still looking into his eyes, Leo kisses him passionately. Teeth and tongue are the main part of the kiss. Finn wraps his arms around Leo’s neck and his legs around his waist, pulling Leo in deeper to him. Leo gets the hint and keeps fucking him.

Finn holds on for dear life as he is fucked into the mattress. He is sensitive from earlier so it doesn’t take long to get him over the edge again. Leo is just about to cum when he pulls out as Finn’s limbs flop to the sides of him, hitting Logan on accident, Leo pulls out. Remembering that Finn doesn’t like the feeling of cum in him. So he jerks himself a few times before he cums all over Finn’s chest and stomach. Mixing with his own mess.

Logan being the impatient boy he is… Fully shoves Leo out of the way, placing two hands on his chest and shoving Leo out of the way. Not meaning to fully knock him off the bed but he does. Logan is between Finn’s legs and licks up his stomach and chest, right through the mess. Taking Finn by surprise he shoves his tongue down his throat.

Leo stands up, watching them making out with the mess and feeling himself start to get turned on again. They pull away and look at him, the softest and sleepiest smiles on their faces.

He loves them.

#leo knut #logan tremblay #finn o'hara #james potter #thomas walker #Clayton Bruss #o'knutzy #o’knutzy #lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast

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mishinashen · 3 years ago

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In the Old House by Childe Hassam, 1914

Arguably America’s best regarded Impressionist painter, Childe Hassam sought to portray an artistic vision related to the work of his European peers but befitting of the nation that served as his inspiration. While many of his works concentrate on the busy streets of New York, Hassam would spend his summers away from the bustle of the city in New England, seeking not only personal respite but also new subject matter in the quieter local communities. On the rocky shores of the island of Appledore he concentrated on the craggy coastline and beautiful flower gardens, while in the Connecticut artist colonies of Old Lyme and Cos Cob he focused on the buildings and landscape. Painted at Holley House, a favorite site for Hassam in Cos Cob, In the Old House is a masterful example of the artist’s New England oeuvre. This large-scale work encapsulates into one balanced composition several of the best elements of his paintings from this period, from the stunning traditional architecture and floral arrangements to the beautiful introspective figure and boldly brilliant brushwork. Hassam began making summer trips to Cos Cob in 1894 and continued to do so until 1918, staying at the Holley Boarding House, which acted as the intellectual center for the local art community. Other frequent artist visitors included John Henry Twachtman, J. Alden Weir and Theodore Robinson. Erica Hirschler writes on the appeal of painting in such towns, “In their interpretations of New England sites, Hassam and his fellow artists were not only appealing to the new interest in the region’s history; they were also responding to the well-established local predilection for the rural and vernacular subjects of the French Barbizon painters.” (“Hassam and American Architecture,” Childe Hassam: American Impressionist, New York, 2004, p. 297) Indeed, Hassam was fascinated by the unique local architecture, and his temporary home often became the source for subject as well as shelter. “Not surprisingly, the Holley House itself was one of Hassam’s favorite subjects; he rendered it no fewer than seventeen times, in oil, watercolor, pastel, and etching,” Susan Larken writes. “As if to emphasize its age—and to present it as a paradigm of American tradition—he used its popular name, 'The Old House,' in most of his titles.” (Childe Hassam: American Impressionist, p. 251) In the Old House is an especially unique and desirable work from this period due to its level of completion and finely rendered detail. In addition to the architecture of the area, Hassam also employed his time in Cos Cob to complete studies of figures and interiors. However, unlike many of his other scenes from this time, which placed a central focus upon a window, the present work remains completely interior, dedicating attention to the intricate details of design centered around a traditional molded fireplace. Atop the mantelpiece, Hassam arranges several beautiful still-life scenes, fully immersing the viewer in the environment of the formal home and demonstrating his exceptional finesse in depicting decorative china, glinting gold candlesticks and vibrant flower blossoms. He includes another floral element through the paintings within the painting, adding a further nod to nature even within this strictly interior composition. These elements create a sumptuous atmosphere for the standing female figure, posed for by Helen Burke, the daughter of the local tavern keeper who served as barmaid to the artist residents of Holley House. Youthful, yet tall with an elegant figure, Burke was an ideal model for this painting, which harkens to a modesty and fragility of the feminine that had not yet been interrupted by the encroaching narrative of Modernity. Her white gown almost blends with the mantle as they become one continuous symbol for the comforts of a grounded home life. As Larkin writes on In the Old House’s nostalgic bent, “In 1914 Hassam hired [Helen Burke] to pose again, this time for In the Old House, painted in a first-floor chamber of the Holley House. The mood is more subdued…America would soon enter World War I, and Hassam’s comfortable world faced challenges from all sides. A rising tide of immigrants threatened Anglo-Saxon hegemony, the Armory Show of 1913 made Impressionism look retardataire, and the career-oriented New Woman of the day undermined conventions of feminine demeanor. In this unsettled climate, the image of a demure woman at the hearth of an old house offered reassurance of enduring values.” (“Hassam in New England,” Childe Hassam: American Impressionist, p. 153) Yet, while overall a comforting, nostalgic scene, the figure’s back is turned to the viewer in In the Old House, and thus we feel as if we are catching her in a private moment of introspective contemplation. Leaning against the mantle, one arm clasping a piece of cloth, she appears utterly still and consumed by her thoughts. Hassam seemed to be especially interested in this contemplative pose against the hearth, as it recurs in an etching he created a year later, The White Kimono, which appears to also feature Burke, or perhaps the artist’s wife Maude, this time wearing a kimono—a favored article of clothing for Hassam’s models. Kathleen M. Burnside writes of the present work, “Hassam’s most important painting of this type is In the Old House…Hassam painted the elegant lines of this mantle several times in the mid-teens. This version was his largest and most formally rendered; its mantle, graced with a precisely organized display of decorative objects, recalls the arrangement of James A.M. Whistler, an artist whom Hassam considered ‘one of the big men’ in art.” (Childe Hassam in Connecticut, exhibition catalogue, Old Lyme, Connecticut, 1987, p. 18) Indeed, the pensive moment at the hearth, the detailed mantle setting and the nod to Japonisme in the present work may take their cue from earlier paintings by Whistler, such as Symphony in White, No. 2: The Little White Girl (1864, Tate, London). Just as Whistler would use his paintings to meditate on shades of a hue, so too does Hassam employ a pervasion of blues in In the Old House to imbue it with a striking ethereality. The inside of the hearth is a prismatic explosion of indigos, violets, rusts and buff—a flurry of brushwork that seems to contrast the still precision of the figure, furniture, architecture and decor of the scene. The blue undertones allow the stark white of Burke’s gown to resonate and conjure a palpable sense of light. Hassam once commented on his often-unconventional use of color, “I am often asked why I paint with a low-toned, delicate palette. Again, I cannot tell. Subjects suggest to me a color scheme and I just paint.” (as quoted in U. Hiesinger, Childe Hassam: American Impressionist, New York, 1994, p. 10) While In the Old House is a composition that is reminiscent of interior scenes from Impressionism and its forbearers, Hassam brings a robust and lively perspective that instills upon the work a personal narrative, which elevates it beyond mere representation into a realm of both historical documentation and individual artistic exploration. “Although Mr. Hassam is the American representative of French Impressionism, his works reflect the strong personality of their creator. It is true that he studied his technique in France, where his personal vision was much enlarged, but he remains himself always.” (A. Saton-Shmidt, as quoted in Childe Hassam: American Impressionist, 1994, p. 9)

#american art #impressionism

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46ten · 4 years ago

Text

Anne Willing Bingham corrects Thomas Jefferson

At eleven o’clock it is day chez Madame. The curtains are drawn. Propped on bolsters and pillows, and her head scratched into a little order, the bulletins of the sick are read, and the billets of the well. She writes to some of her acquaintance and receives the visits of others. If the morning is not very thronged, she is able to get out and hobble round the cage of the Palais royal: but she must hobble quickly, for the Coeffeur’s turn is come; and a tremendous turn it is! Happy, if he does not make her arrive when dinner is half over! The torpitude of digestion a little passed, she flutters half an hour thro’ the streets by way of paying visits, and then to the Spectacles. These finished, another half hour is devoted to dodging in and out of the doors of her very sincere friends, and away to supper. After supper cards; and after cards bed, to rise at noon the next day, and to tread, like a mill-horse, the same trodden circle over again. Thus the days of life are consumed, one by one, without an object beyond the present moment: ever flying from the ennui of that, yet carrying it with us; eternally in pursuit of happiness which keeps eternally before us. If death or a bankruptcy happen to trip us out of the circle, it is matter for the buz of the evening, and is completely forgotten by the next morning.

In America, on the other hand, the society of your husband, the fond cares for the children, the arrangements of the house, the improvements of the grounds fill every moment with a healthy and an useful activity. Every exertion is encouraging, because to present amusement it joins the promise of some future good. The intervals of leisure are filled by the society of real friends, whose affections are not thinned to cob-web by being spread over a thousand objects.—This is the picture in the light it is presented to my mind; now let me have it in yours. If we do not concur this year, we shall the next: or if not then, in a year or two more. You see I am determined not to suppose myself mistaken. 7Feb1787, TJ to Bingham

Anne responds:

I agree with you that many of the fashionable pursuits of the Parisian Ladies are rather frivolous, and become uninteresting to a reflective Mind; but the Picture you have exhibited, is rather overcharged. You have thrown a strong light upon all that is ridiculous in their Characters, and you have buried their good Qualities in the Shade. It shall be my Task to bring them forward, or at least to attempt it. The state of Society in different Countries requires corresponding Manners and Qualifications; those of the french Women are by no means calculated for the Meridian of America, neither are they adapted to render the Sex so amiable or agreable in the English acceptation, of those words. But you must confess, that they are more accomplished, and understand the Intercourse of society better than in any other Country. We are irresistibly pleased with them, because they possess the happy Art of making us pleased with ourselves; their education is of a higher Cast, and by great cultivation they procure a happy variety of Genius, which forms their Conversation, to please either the Fop, or the Philosopher.

In what other Country can be found a Marquise de Coigny, who, young and handsome, takes a lead in all the fashionable Dissipation of Life, and at more serious moments collects at her House an assembly of the Literati, whom she charms with her Knowledge and her bel Esprit. The Women of France interfere in the politics of the Country, and often give a decided Turn to the Fate of Empires. Either by the gentle Arts of persuasion, or by the commanding force of superior Attractions and Address, they have obtained that Rank and Consideration in society, which the Sex are intitled to, and which they in vain contend for in other Countries. We are therefore bound in Gratitude to admire and revere them, for asserting our Privileges, as much as the Friends of the Liberties of Mankind reverence the successfull Struggles of the American Patriots.

The agreable resources of Paris must certainly please and instruct every Class of Characters. The Arts of Elegance are there considered essential, and are carried to a state of Perfection; the Mind is continually gratified with the admiration of Works of Taste. I have the pleasure of knowing you too well, to doubt of your subscribing to this opinion. With respect to my native Country, I assure you that I am fervently attached to it, as well as to my Friends and Connections in it; there is possibly more sincerity in Professions and a stronger desire of rendering real services, and when the Mouth expresses, the Heart speaks. 1June1787, Bingham to TJ,

But of course, TJ continued to be an ass:

But our good ladies, I trust, have been too wise to wrinkle their foreheads with politics. They are contented to soothe & calm the minds of their husbands returning ruffled from political debate. They have the good sense to value domestic happiness above all other, and the art to cultivate it beyond all others. There is no part of the earth where so much of this is enjoyed as in America. You agree with me in this; but you think that the pleasures of Paris more than supply its wants; in other words that a Parisian is happier than an American. You will change your opinion, my dear Madam, and come over to mine in the end. Recollect the women of this capital, some on foot, some on horses, & some in carriages hunting pleasure in the streets, in routs & assemblies, and forgetting that they have left it behind them in their nurseries; compare them with our own countrywomen occupied in the tender and tranquil amusements of domestic life, and confess that it is a comparison of Amazons and Angels. 11May1788, TJ to Anne Willing Bingham

Let me state here that to view the role of white upper-class women of this time as occupied in “tender and tranquil amusements of domestic life” is the same misogyny that still characterizes discourse in our own time about domestic women’s work. Over two hundred years have passed, and household management and child rearing are still not seen as “work;” largely, because they are performed by women.

By the way, TJ also insulted her husband to Madison (TJ to Madison, 30Jan1787)

Tho’ Bingham is not in diplomatic office yet as he wishes to be so I will mention such circumstances of him as you might otherwise be deceived in. He will make you believe he was on the most intimate footing with the first characters in Europe and versed in the secrets of every cabinet. Not a word of this is true. He had a rage for being presented to great men and had no modesty in the methods by which he could effect it. If he obtained access afterwards, it was with such as who were susceptible of impression from the beauty of his wife.

#Anne Willing Bingham #Thomas Jefferson #18th century letters

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beerandpresentdanger · 5 years ago

Text

Something in the Water

These fragments are all culled from a larger piece of work about beer, family, place and memory that is still fermenting somewhere in my head. I was inspired to finally put out a flight of snippets in response to Boak & Bailey’s #BeeryLongReads2020 challenge

* * *

Say, for what were hop-yards meant, Or why was Burton built on Trent? Oh many a peer of England brews Livelier liquor than the Muse, And malt does more than Milton can To justify God’s ways to man.

A.E. Housman, A Shropshire Lad

* * *

The first sip of a pint of ale made in Burton upon Trent can be off-putting to a newcomer. There’s something intangibly difficult about it, a shrugging note of unpleasantness that many find unsettling - a mineral toned, brackish kind of scent, that most immediately brings to mind sulphur; that distinct, diffuse, almost rotten egg character that you find in the water of towns that marketed themselves as spas, and once sold their healing properties to gullible Victorians with chronic nerve conditions.

Connoisseurs have a name for it, likening it to the fleeting sensory overload of an old-fashioned match being struck in a dark, draughty room.

They call it “The Burton Snatch”.

* * *

My father’s family have always lived in Burton and its surrounding villages, nestled among the hills and valleys between Staffordshire and Derbyshire. My great-grandfather was a farmer and a money-lender, who kept a cast iron safe in the living room with a lace doily and a bowl of fruit on top. He would open it up on Sunday evenings to take stock, counting out the large paper notes on his scrubbed wooden table while the rest of the family looked on.

My grandfather, Jimmy, was a promising football player who did a stint with Burton Albion, before going into business in the town, setting up Farrington’s Furnishers in two large units on the Horninglow Road. It was the kind of traditional, rambling shop that doesn’t exist much anymore - a haphazardly laid-out assembly of sofas, beds, dressers and wardrobes, tables, chairs, footstools and chests of drawers. At the back, there was a room full of rolls of carpet, piled high to the ceiling. My father and his brothers were playing there when the news came over the radio that JFK had been shot.

* * *

Brewing has happened in Burton for centuries, but the process really began millennia ago, when the substrata of the Trent valley settled with deep deposits of sand and gravel, a unique and serendipitous combination of minerals that built the foundations for everything that was to follow. An unusually high concentration of sulphates from the gypsum, coupled with healthy reserves of calcium and magnesium and low levels of sodium and bicarbonates, meant that when springs eventually burbled forth from the land around the river, the water had its own particular and unique character, a distinct presentation that the French might call “terroir”.

Beer-making started in earnest when an abbey named Byrtune was raised on the banks of the Trent, and the brothers did as all good monastic orders did, growing their own crops, raising their own livestock, and brewing their own beer. Over the centuries, the reputation for the region’s fine ale grew and spread, until the secret could no longer be kept.

When the canals came to Burton they made it into a city of industry and empire. Tentacle-like, capitalism stretched and unfurled its penetrating waterways across, through and over Albion’s gentle hills, bypassing the wild weirs of the Trent’s natural descent, domesticating the landscape and bringing uniformity, neatness, and standardisation to what was a tangle of disparate places and processes. By the middle of the 18th century, the Trent Navigation had been connected to the Humber, to the mighty Mersey, and down through Birmingham to the Grand Union, and suddenly, Burton was now a central hub functioning as part of a single network that ran throughout the country and onward, through its bustling ports, to Europe, Russia, and all points beyond.

* * *

Once their children grew up, my grandparents also left for the continent. Nearly every summer holiday of my childhood was spent visiting them in Portugal. Their home, known only as “The Villa”, was an idyllic place, where my brothers and I learnt to swim, where the smell of barbecue smoke lingered over every evening, where the coarse Mediterranean grass hurt our feet when we tried to play football on it. When I was young, I only really knew my grandparents in this sunlit, bright blue light - tanned, shortsleeved, wearing hats. Their accents may have been rounded and roughened in the heart of England, but their very essence to me was more exotic, more glamorous, more European.

Some of my first memories of drinking come from those summer holidays. Sips of pungent sea-dark wine, acidic and overwhelming; a sample of gin and tonic, bitter and medicinal with a gasping clarity; and of course, beer - not ale, nothing my grandfather would touch - but lager, cold and crisp and gassy, a fleeting glimpse of adulthood.

* * *

Beer, like everything else in a free market of money and ideas, has been subject to fashion and changing tastes, and it was a fashion for pale ales that truly put Burton on the map. With the proliferation of the waterways, hops from Kent and barley from East Anglia could make their way to Burton where, combined with the local water, they were turned into a revelatory, and wildly popular beverage.

Breweries proliferated throughout the town. At its peak, more than 30 rival businesses competed for space, ingredients, and workers to keep the kettles boiling and grain mashing. Burton became the brewing capital of the world, home to emblematic firms like Bass, which by 1877 was the world’s largest brewery. Its famed pale ale was so acclaimed and copied that the distinctive red triangle that adorned its labels became the UK’s first registered trademark, a mark of its singular quality.

* * *

Even when my grandparents lived abroad, Burton still pulled my family to it. Christmas called us back year after year, or Boxing Day at least, catching up with uncles and aunts and first and second cousins, some removed, to sit in sitting rooms in front of three-bar fires, eating ham cobs, drinking flat Schweppes lemonade, watching World’s Strongest Man on the television. The arresting vision of a large man pulling a tractor down a runway or throwing a washing machine over a wall would be accompanied by the sound of adult chatter, long-delayed catch-ups on weddings, births, and especially deaths - distant relatives and long-lost school mates, old girlfriends with cancer scares, run-ins with the police.

One uncle, who worked in a brewery like a true Burtonian, kept terrapins. I would gingerly feed them sunflower seeds, holding my hand above the dark waterline of the cramped tank, waiting for the vicious snap to emerge from the depths. “Pedigree doesn’t travel well,” he once told me, referring to a renowned local bitter. Some things cannot leave Burton behind.

* * *

Burton’s skyline doesn’t have church towers, it has fermentation vessels. Over the decades, as companies have merged, collapsed, consolidated or been taken over with some hostility, the name on the side of the largest set has changed, so that what drivers on the bypass see reflects whatever corporate overlord assumes feudal control in that particular age.

In the middle years of the twentieth century, brewing, like many industries, saw the white hot intensity of competition eliminate all but the largest of breweries. Experts will tell you that the beer suffered along with it, accompanied by punitive taxation from the government and a nannying attitude to pubs and drinking, the hangover of Victorian prudishness being enacted by the grandchildren of those who first envisaged it. Tastes changed under the weight of global pressures, and ultimately, Burton lurched along with them, becoming, through a complex web of corporate exchanges, the brewing site of Canadian brand Carling Black Label.

In the ensuing decades, Carling would become the UK’s best-selling beer, a “domestic” rival to the traditional European lager brands that dominated in Germany, France and Denmark. The attritional battles left their marks on Burton though, as closures and collisions shuttered various facilities and churned through generations of workers, leaving tracts of vacant space even in the centre of town. Coming off the train now, you overlook the whole of Burton, and get the sensation of standing in the middle of a vast and scattered industrial facility, where smokestacks and grain towers overpeer gritted-teeth terraced houses, pockmarked shopping streets and vacant lots.

The make-up of the town shifted too. In the middle of the Midlands (Burton is linguistically and administratively part of the East Midlands, but geographically in the West Midlands) the town received its fair share of immigration. A town my grandparents knew as almost entirely white and Christian is now almost 10% Pakistani Muslim - a thriving community of teetotallers, in a town famous for its beer.

* * *

My grandparents celebrated their diamond wedding anniversary in 2014, flying back from Portugal to hold a party at the National Brewery Centre in the middle of Burton. It was a lovely evening, with a large cake and lots of happy stories, relatives and friends I’d never seen before and would never see again. After an early finish, my cousins and I went to a pub, drinking pints of milk-smooth ale, before ending up in a small, loud, nightclub playing cheesy pop hits. The next morning, hungover, I walked with my parents to Stapenhill Cemetery to stare at the headstones of ancestors I had never met.

* * *

There is a popular documentary series on the BBC which sees celebrity costermonger Gregg Wallace visit various sterile facilities around the UK to witness firsthand how automation and mechanisation has changed food production. Each episode has him walking through eerily empty factories, vast and cavernous spaces where robotic production lines operate 24 hours a day, speaking to the remaining human operators who exist now as mere caretakers, there to tend and nurse the machines like temple virgins, dressed in hairnets instead of togas. It is an uncanny sight. Every installment inevitably begins with drone shots, hovering silently above the landscape, showing the immense scale of these conurbations, raised in places where land is invariably cheap and generations of people have been bred into cycles of tireless shift work. But the workers are not needed any more. Efficiency has eradicated the need for fleshy points of failure.

Now, Gregg can skip through the barren hallways, silent save for the harmonic hum of perpetual machinery, flashing his blinding white overalls and quoting mind-boggling statistics about the weight of crisps the average British child eats in a year. Various natural products are ushered in off the backs of lorries and railway carriages, fed along whirring conveyor belts and pumped through pneumatic tubes, before being baked, frozen, cut, dried, soaked, dessicated, rehydrated and reformulated into whatever bland final product can now be ejected out into the world, via shipping containers and along motorways, all to sit on a supermarket shelf before making an appearance in your cupboard, a moment on your table, and a lifetime rotting away in some far-off landfill.

It was inevitable that Burton’s MolsonCoors brewery, the home of Carling, would get its chance in the spotlight. The programme highlighted the noble history of brewing, from its pre-modern farmhouse days, when fermentation was practically a shamanic ritual, to its domestication and commodification, where each step in the process was refined and perfected, to where we are now, when every aspect has been exactingly costed and painstakingly budgeted to ensure maximum productivity, and maximum profit, with minimal ingredients, energy, or intervention. There has been a backlash to this macro-attitude, of course - “craft beer”, an ill-defined, equally co-optable movement that alludes to provenance, quality, care, and a confused sense of heritage, has become a big business in its own right, backed by venture capital and crowdfunding campaigns - but industrial brewing is still the fixture in the firmament, the thing that keeps the lights on.

When one of the few remaining humans showed Gregg the tiny, almost homeopathic quantity of hops that would add a semblance of bitterness and aromatic flavour to a lake-sized vat of Carling, it felt almost like a knowing wink - look at what we can get away with - one made safe in the knowledge that their beer will still pour in nearly every pub and take up the most shelf space in corner shops and petrol stations across the country. Of course they’ll get away with it. They’ve always got away with it. They will sell us beer with barely a sense memory of taste in it, and we will literally lap it up.

* * *

My grandfather died in hospital, in Portugal, after an indeterminate period of undramatic but gradually worsening health. His four children took turns flying out to spend time with him and their mother in the hospital, sitting by his bed, holding his hand, finishing the crosswords he was no longer able to complete.

He was cremated there, but a memorial service to remember his life was held in Burton on a crisp, February day a few weeks later. Alighting at the railway station, I watched steam from the breweries crowd the startlingly cold air, while waiting for my parents to arrive and drive us the ten minutes to Rolleston Cricket Club where the small gathering would take place. On the way, we drove up Horninglow Road, past what was once Farrington’s Furnishers, now Zielona Żabkal, a Polish supermarket. We got there early and spent some time setting up, arranging the folding tables and stackable chairs, hanging up photos, and laying out some mementos of my grandfather’s happy life - a table tennis bat, some puzzle books, a golf club, his familiar white hat.

I was tasked with approving the beer for the day. There were two casks of Bass on the bar - one which had been there a few days, the other tapped that morning. “I’m a lager man,” the bartender told me, so I tried both to see which was in form. The first had the faintest tang of vinegar that suggested oxidation, a beer that was at the end of its life, drowning in the air around it. The second was lively, enthusiastic, a little overly keen and overripe, but would settle down through the afternoon as the long goose-necked pump poured pint after pint for the guests who shuffled in, in suits and raincoats, shiny shoes and walking sticks, to pay their respects. Everyone told stories. I read a letter on behalf of my cousin, working on the other side of the world. We drank many, many pints of Bass in good nick, then when we were finished, we went to a pub, and drank many more.

When I had to catch my train back to London, I staggered back through the freezing night, to find that the town was mashing in - somewhere in the vast floodlit breweries, a switch had been thrown and malted barley was being soaked in that famous hot water, and the streets were being filled with the scent of porridge and healthy, earthy grains; a warming, nostalgic tide that overflowed down the road and spilled through the centuries; riding, falling, on the biting cold air.

#beer #writing #beer writing #food writing #ale #hops #barley #burton on trent #burton #family #memoir #beerylongreads2020 #craft beer #bass #cask ale #real ale

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soup-for-breakfast-99 · 5 years ago

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So my friend and I have this inside joke. We realised one day (while baking disastorous cake) that all Jocelyn Fray does in the mortal Instruments is tell clary to live at Luke’s. In CoB, she calls clary and says to go find Luke. In CoG, when she shows up she demands clary does not leave Luke/amatis’ house. In CoFA, she won’t let clary stay at the institute and insists she stays at Luke’s. In CoLS, she demands clary stay at the police station with Luke despite it not being safe. In heavenly fire, she makes clary stay at Luke’s (amatis’) despite her being more useful elsewhere. And then we joked that in CoA she used magic telepathy to tell EVERYONE to live at Luke’s. And then we joked that when clary is thirty and married to Jace, her mother still says she should live at Luke’s. Then we started ( in a sugar fuelled delirium) to say in this weird voice “LIVEATLUKES!!!!!” Now it is our thing to say that means shut up or you’re being ridiculous, or just to be randomly inserted into any conversation so that we can laugh about it and confuse bystanders.

The point I’m making is, in all of its own weird ways, tsc weaves its way into the lives of everyone who reads it, it becomes a part of you, it teaches you things, and even when you least expect it, your French teacher will say “I’m not sure what to do..” and you’ll look at your friend with a chaotic grin and simultaneously say “liveatlukes!”

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lunawings · 6 years ago

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The Day Before the School Festival, in the Home Economics Room... (a King of Prism short story)

A legend from ancient times. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think this may be the first King of Prism story ever published?

So, a little history: This short script was first printed in 2D Star Vol 2 back in October 2015, when King of Prism was just barely a thing. It was then directly referenced in the first King of Prism movie (screenshot at the end). Following this it was re-worked into an audio drama released on the movie soundtrack. (Then finally it was re-printed in the Music Ready Sparking fanbook, which is the version my translation was based on...)

(More notes and story under cut)

Translator’s notes: So the text below is based on the original script, not the audio drama. So if you listen to the audio drama you may find small differences such as lines missing/added or spoken by different characters. (I caught a few while editing, but there may be more I didn’t notice.) The biggest difference between the written and audio versions is the introduction to the audio drama was significantly abridged and I don’t blame them. The original Japanese text is really confusing for the first couple paragraphs and I had to re-write it over and over again. (They phrase it like Lu Seriana is a dance school but it’s... not?) Here it is, so if want to have a look. Let me know if you find any discrepancies.

This story takes place a year after Over the Rainbow was formed, in May. So about a year after the Rainbow Live anime but before King of Prism. In other words, the boys haven’t met Shin yet. Since you were kind enough to read my notes, you can find a link to the audio drama in the period of this sentence. The timing of this story’s release would mean the game Hiro is playing is more likely the now defunct Pretty Rhythm Shake, if anything haha. (Prism Rush was a twinkle in some game designer’s eye when this was written.)

And now without further ado....

The Day Before the School Festival, in the Home Economics Room...

It was the beginning of May when the cherry blossom petals had already fallen and new buds were beginning to sprout. This is when Kakyoin Academy holds their annual school festival, the “Kakyou Fest”. Kakyoin Academy is an all-boys junior and senior high school managed by Edel Rose, a organization founded by the late Kou Norizuki, which is known all over for being the best of the best.

The elite beginner prism training school “Edel Rose”, and the combined junior and senior high all-girls school “Lu Seriana Girls Academy” are just two examples of the many institutions all over the country under the large umbrella of dance schools which educate strongly through prism show activities. The male students of Edel Rose attend Kakyoin Academy for their basic education.

Due to the extreme popularity which comes with Kakyoin Academy having a student body of promising future stars, as soon as the annual school festival arrives fans from all over the country come running. The main target of said female fans is the prism show unit Over the Rainbow, formed about one year prior. Top solo idol Hiro Hayami had joined together with genius songwriter Kouji Mihama and charismatic street star Kazuki Nishina to form this same age, three member group.

The previous year a concert had been planned at the festival, but due to the large crowd it was cancelled at the last minute. This year it was announced in advance that Over the Rainbow would not be performing, which left many fans in disappointment.

It was those three popular stars who had secretly gathered the night before the Kakyo Fest in an empty home economics classroom...

Kazuki: Hey, is it really okay for us take the stage tomorrow?

Kouji: Yup! I got proper permission from the school and everything.

Hiro: Gah! Huah! ... But if we announce that we’re going to take the stage it will just be cancelled again like last year. Hiyah! This year have to take care to make sure it’s a surprise. Woah!

Kazuki: Well that’s all well and good but... Hiro, what are you doing there anyway?

Hiro: It’s a rhythm game. It’s a prism show game about us. You know, one of those smartphone apps. It’s pretty difficult. Auah! But my song “pride” is in it... Hah!

Kazuki: I see.... Well, what are we actually going to do on stage tomorrow, anyway? Well, I’m assuming a prism show, but...

Kouji: Well, about that. Actually...

Kazuki: Oh yeah, you wrote it about in the email didn’t you? ...Hey, wait. Hold on a sec. I guess I left my phone in the classroom. I’ll be right back!

Kouji: Okay.

*click, click*

Kazuki: Huh? I can’t open the door!

Kouji: What!?

Hiro: Is it locked?

Kazuki: Yeah.

Hiro: I’ll go check the other door. I wonder if someone could have locked it without noticing we were in here?*

(*In the audio drama the second line is spoken by Kouji.)

Kazuki: But the lights are on, so I’d think they would notice...

Kouji: Kakyouin Academy has an auto-lock system. So it’s possible the doors just lock automatically after a certain time.

Hiro: It’s no good. This door is locked too.

Kazuki: So does that mean we’re just stuck here now?

Kouji: I’ll try and contact the janitor... huh? Where’s my phone? Ah! I left all my stuff back in the classroom too.

Kauzki: Hiro, could you call someone? You’re the only one of us who has a phone.

Hiro: Okay! No prob!

*beep*

Hiro: Huh?

Kazuki: What’s wrong? Did something happen?

Hiro: The battery is dead...

Kazuki: WHAT! Hiro, it’s because spend day to night playing too many games! Now what do we do?

*click click* *click click* *bang bang bang*

Kazuki: What is with this door! It won’t budge an inch!

Hiro: That’s Kakyoin Academy for you. You sure can feel safe and secure here!

Kazuki: What are you so excited about!?

Kouji: If we go about making a big racket we’re just going to end up causing trouble for the school. So simmer down a bit, okay?

Kazuki: ...Kouji, you’re so calm... Well, I guess you’re right. Panicking isn’t going to get us anywhere.

Kouji: Oh yeah! I’m starting to get hungry, shall I make us something?

Hiro: Good idea! I’m starving!

Kazuki: And how are you expecting to make something here!?

Kouji: Easy! This is a home economics classroom so there’s bound to be some food in here somewhere.

Kazuki: Well... I’m sure you’re right, but there probably isn’t going to be much to work with.

Kouji: Look, look! There’s meat, fish, vegetables, and even seasoning!

Hiro: They are probably using this space to store ingredients for the festival food stalls.

Kazuki: But is it really okay for us to use this stuff?

Kouji: This is an emergency situation! We’ve got no choice. Hang on everyone.

Hiro: Suddenly this got exciting!

Kazuki: Good grief. What did we even come in here for anyway? ...Oh yeah! We’re doing a prism show tomorrow, right?

Hiro: Actually, no. We’ve been told we can’t perform a prism show because it will cause a big commotion again.

Kazuki: Oh. Well then what are we gonna--

Kouji: Sorry to keep you waiting!

Kazuki: That was fast! Finished already?

Kouji: Yeah! I wanted to make sure to get it to you while it’s still hot.

Hiro: Woah! What’s all this?

Kouji: Well, first up is amuse-bouche.

Kazuki: W-What did you say? A music bush!?

Kouji: It’s a French appetizer. Something to cleanse your palette with.

Hiro: Oooh! Today you’ve made us a French full course?

Kazuki: K-Kouji! Don’t tell me you’re making a full course meal in a home economics classroom!?

Kouji: Why not? After all, it’s even more important to build up your strength when you find yourself in a pinch, right?

Kazuki: Well... I guess so but...

Hiro: I agree with Kouji! Well. And what do we have here?

Kouji: “In a fateful encounter between the octopus conveniently laying around in the home economics room for takoyaki and the dice cut tomatoes for tacos, cold marinade Napoleon Bonaparte's Campaign in Egypt assortment”!

Kazuki: What a name! What kind of a dish is it!? Napoleon did what now?

Hiro: I’m sure we’ll find out when we try it. *gulp* *chew* Amazing! The refreshing sensation of Napoleon’s arrival in Egypt is spreading through my mouth!

Kazuki: Woaah! This is great! I don’t really know what it has to do with Egypt, but you’ve really outdone yourself, Kouji! To think even in a tight spot like this you still bring your A game to the table...

Kouji: Eheh, thank you! Next is the hors d'oeuvre. “With a fresh egg taken this morning from ‘Hana-chan’ in the school hen house and the spring cabbage raised in the back garden by the principal, all conveniently found in the home economics classroom, in the style of Vasco da Gama’s Arrival the Cape of Good Hope!”

Kazuki: First Napoleon and now Vasco da Gama!? What is all of this supposed to represent?

Kouji: Just try it and you’ll see!

Kazuki: You’ve sure got a lot of confidence in us...

Hiro: E-Exquisite! Aaah... I’m filled with the joy of seeing the Cape of Good Hope after such a long journey. All the deliciousness spreads far across the horizon!

Kazuki: Y.. Yeah... I guess it tastes something like that. But anyway, this really is good. Unbelievable...

Kouji: Next is “With potage of barbecued corn on the cob conveniently found in the home economics room, Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address assortment”!

Kazuki: Now we’re going American...? I don’t know what the theme is anymore...

Hiro: Oooh! Amazing! This is truly a potage of the people, by the people, for the people!

Kazuki: Y... Yeah.. it’s good... I’m not quite sure what part of it has to do with Abraham Lincoln, but the flavor accent thanks to the barbecued corn is superb. ..Wait, is that a reference to southern America? Because you can grow corn there?

Kouji: Eheh. And now the main poisson, “Meunière with red sea bream caught in Akashi and conveniently left in the home economics classroom, in the style of Sakanoue no Tamuramaro shogun’s inauguration celebration with the white radish sprouts raised with love and care on a windowsill by Tamachi-sensei.” Bon appetite!

Kazuki: I don’t even know where to begin with this one... This looks like a meal from a five-star restaurant... What about Tamuramaro shogun.....

Hiro: Delicious! I feel like I could conquer the entire world at this rate!

Kazuki: It’s good... it’s so good I think I’m gonna cry....

Hiro: Eheh I’ll wipe your tears for you.

Kazuki: Thank you, Hiro... To think I’d eat something so good it would bring me to tears... Thank you, Kouji. Thank you, Hiro...

Hiro: Eheh.

Kouji: And last but not least, dessert! “Fondant au chocolat using the chocolate dipped bananas conveniently left in the home economics classroom with cotton candy and caramelized strawberry crepes. All with love... from the home economics classroom”!

(In the audio drama Hiro has an extra line about how sweet it smells.)

Kazuki: This one doesn’t have a historical figure attached to it... But we can’t escape the “conveniently left in the home economics classroom” ....

Kouji: Oh, I forgot! “To be eaten while Marcus Aurelius Antoninus of the Five Good Emperors of the Roman Empire reminisces of the other four!”

Kazuki: Of course!

Kouji: I’ve only just began to dive into the art of French cuisine, so I’m still working on the naming part...

Kazuki: Amazing... It sure doesn’t seem like you’ve only just began... It doesn’t matter what you call it if it tastes like this....

Hiro: Aaah, I’m so full! Thanks for the feast! It was truly delicious!

Kazuki: Thanks for the meal! I can’t believe how good that was. It was my first time eating such delicious French food like that. Thank you, Kouji.

Kouji: You’re welcome! It makes me happy to see the two of you smile!

Kazuki: Huh..? You know what, all of a sudden I’m not so stressed out anymore.

Hiro: You’re right! Every inch of me is ready and rearing to go!

Kouji: Eheh I’m glad! Stress can be built up easily by throwing off your body rhythm by skipping meals and missing sleep. So Hiro, make sure you’re always getting three good meals every day, okay?

Hiro: I know, I know!

Kazuki: Huh? All this time I thought being stuck in this home economics classroom was the source of my stress, but... All of a sudden I feel much better.

Kouji: Well then, shall we discuss what to do on stage tomorrow?

Hiro: Sure!

Kazuki: Oh yeah! That’s right! I almost forgot! You said we’re not allowed to perform a prism show? So what the heck are we going to do then?

Kouji: Well, about that....

*fwip*

Kazuki: ?

Kouji: Ta-daa! Look what I made!

Kazuki: Huh?

Hiro: Oooh! That’s our Kouji! You really outdid yourself!

Kouji: Thanks!

Kazuki: Huuh?

Hiro: Which one are you going to take, Kouji?

Kouji: I think I’ll go with purple.

Kazuki: Wait...

Hiro: Ah, so you made them according to our theme colors, huh? In that case the light blue one is mine!

Kazuki: Hold on a minute!

Hiro: And green is for you, Kazuki.

Kazuki: No, stop!

Kouji/Hiro: ..? What’s eating you?

Kazuki: This is women’s clothing!

Kouji/Hiro: ...Exactly.

Kazuki: ...”Exactly”?! Why are you acting so weird?

Kouji: We aren’t “acting”...

Hiro: This is what we are going to wear on stage.

Kazuki: WHHAAAaaaAAAT!?

Kouji: We’re going to be in the Kakyo Fest Beauty Contest! It’s a surprise!

Hiro: Since Kakyoin Academy is an all-boys school, the crown is always held by a girl from another school. But this year we’re going to bring it back home no matter that!

Kazuki: ... *twitch* Sorry guys, I’m not feeling so good. I think I’ll go on home...

*click click*

Kazuki: Oh that’s right! We’re locked in here!

Hiro: Well then, let’s start working on our makeup.

Kazuki: EEK!

Kouji: I got Ito to teach me about how to put on makeup just for today!

*click click click* *clickclickclickclickclick*

Kazuki: SOMEONE HELP ME! SOMEONE GET ME OUT OF HERE!

*thump thump thump thump*

Hiro: What are you doing over there, Kazuki? Come join us! We’re stuck in here until morning anyway. Let’s all just relax and take our time getting ready for tomorrow!

Kazuki: AHH! EEK! NO! W... WAIT...!

Kouji: Come on over! What are you waiting for!

Hiro: We’ll start with your foundation... ♡

Kouji: Just close your eyes! It will only take a sec... ♡

Kazuki: N-NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

#king of prism #kinpri #so this is the surprise translation i was hinting about #i actually stared working on it months ago #i had a draft scribbled into a notebook because i was working on it on my lunch breaks at work #i just needed to research the names of kouji's dishes #which took like.... twice as long as everything else #i kept typing random katakana into google expecting to get french recipes and being led to historical wikipedia articles #kouji mihama #kazuki nishina #hiro hayami #over the rainbow #otr #pretty rhythm rainbow live #prrl #pretty rhythm #so what inspired me to finally finish this before the king of prism sss tv premiere?#.......................hm....................................

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