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1dmonthlyficroundup · 8 months ago

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— 1D Monthly Fic Roundup —

Hi, and welcome to the 1D Monthly Fic Roundup for May 2024! Below you’ll find 1D fics that were all published this month. We hope you’ll check out these new fics! If you would like to submit your own fic, please check this post on how to submit or visit our blog @1dmonthlyficroundup. You can find all our other posts here.

Happy reading!

＊ Ocean Wave Blues by babyhoneyhslt / @babyhoneyheslt [M, 49k, Louis/Harry]

After the gruesome death of his Alpha, Harry takes over as the Captain of the Rose Arrow. Trying his best to uphold her reputation as being the most dreadful pirate ship to sail the Seven Seas.

With the help of his alpha-quartermaster Niall, he manages to keep his secondary gender hidden from everyone except his most trusted crew, as he operates under his late Alpha’s name. Captain Payne.

Everything changes when his ship is taken hostage by Pirate Captain Louis.

To keep his crew, and himself, alive, Harry must play the part of dutiful Omega who’s waiting for his Alpha’s return.

＊ You Put the Boom Boom Into My Heart by @kingsofeverything [T, 5k, Harry/Louis]

Harry's been trying all summer to come up with a way to show Louis how much he means to him before he leaves for college.

Or five times Harry fails to win Wham! tickets and one time he succeeds.

＊ Into the Woods by @kingsofeverything [E, 2k, Louis/Harry]

Whenever he hikes, Harry keeps an eye out for trees with knots and scars that resemble buttholes. What started as fodder for his silly little Instagram account has become his favorite way to masturbate.

＊ A Book in the Ruins by magpielivingforglitter / @builtyouahousefromabrokenhome [M, 10k, Harry/Louis]

Harry randomly meets Louis, they eat food and read poetry, and it’s the zombie apocalypse.

＊ now i'm tracin' all my steps to you by @alwaysxlarrie [T, 5k, Louis/Harry]

Of all the things Harry was prepared for this summer, Louis Tomlinson and his wonderful, wonderful scent isn't one of them. It probably shouldn't be as shocking as it is that it makes Harry want to nest. There's only one slight problem -- Harry and nesting aren't exactly on familiar terms. At all.

This does not stop Harry from borrowing ("borrowing") Louis' things all throughout summer, though. Oops?

＊ just a couple of my cravings by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf [G, 3k, Harry/Louis]

Summer's just around the corner and Louis' battling his addictions... Cigarettes and Harry Styles.

＊ better latte than never by @disgruntledkittenface [M, 1k, Zayn/Harry]

Harry was looking forward to the coffee cart at work. Until the subject of the previous night's fantasies lined up next to him.

＊ I Like to Watch by larry_hiatus / @larry-hiatus [E, 9k, Louis/Harry, Louis/Zayn]

If there’s one thing Harry loves, it’s watching his husband Louis get fucked by other men. After picking up a lad called Zayn who is baffled by this concept, the three men are in for a wild night.

＊ Hope by @hellolovers13 [T, 2k, no pairing, Louis, Harry]

A father's desperate journey against time.

＊ On Love's Doorstep by @hellolovers13 [T, 1k, Harry/Louis]

Harry Styles: a day in the life

☑ Stuck in a dress ☑ Abandoned by his best friend ☑ Date with hot neighbour

All in all, not the worst day ever

＊ the very last drops of an ink pen by staybeautiful / @harruandlou [E, 47k, Louis/Harry]

The spoon made a hissing sound on the rim of his cup before he put it on his napkin. Sharp eyes met Harry’s over the table and Louis said, “So, we have a lot to talk about then.”

“How do you mean?” Harry blew on the foam at the top of his latte and let the heat of it warm his hands. Anxious energy curled down his arms as he waited for Louis to speak.

“Well, what are we doing about the business?” Louis picked up his mug and with his mouth against the lip of it, added, “Or are you going to leave that too?”

Against his will, his cheeks flushed in annoyance and Harry snapped, “Of course I fucking won’t.”

Or just after midnight on Harry's 30th birthday, he realizes he can't do another year without change. So, he forces it. Breaking up with Louis might have hurt less if they weren't co-owners of Studio 28, living within walking distance of each other, and if he wasn't the thing Harry was most afraid of losing. Secluding themselves on their shared estate in an attempt to save their working relationship may shed a light on where everything else started going wrong. And perhaps give them a chance to fix it.

＊ don't be afraid to love (and love again) by localopa / @voulezloux [E, 83k, Louis/Harry]

All Louis’ life, he’s known he’s been different. There’s always been something at odds about how he felt.

As the eldest daughter of seven kids, he knew something was wrong with his body. Something was off, he just couldn’t quite put his finger on it. His mum dressed him in dresses and tights, plaits in his hair as he wandered around with the local neighborhood boys. They called him a girl, called him she and Rosemary when his name is Louis. He had told the boys as such, but they would tell him Louis is a boy’s name, not a girl’s.

Louis is a boy. He knows he is.

or the one where louis is trans and afraid, harry is cis and brave, and being 100% yourself is easier said than done.

＊ Pacify Her by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright [E, 2k, Harry/Louis]

Harry's anxiety is acting up. Louis has the only thing that will soothe her.

OR Louis' pussy is the ultimate pacifier.

＊ this brokenness inside me might start healing by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove [T, 29k, Louis/Harry]

Louis grew up in a tiny town, where everyone knew everyone -- or at least, they think they do. Then he left, and became a successful singer-songwriter, a star that everyone in the country knows -- or at least, they think they do.

But when Louis returns home for the birth of his first nibling, he meets a librarian who doesn't know him at all. And that's all Louis could ask for.

“I remember when you were a teenager," Miss Susan says, "telling me all the things you wanted to accomplish, the places you wanted to go. And I’ve seen a lot of kids, with a lot of big dreams – but you were different. You had this… quiet energy, this determined certainty. When you told me all you were going to do, I believed you.” She smiles, spreading her arms. “And now here you are.”

Here he is indeed, Louis thinks bitterly. Back where he started. His dreams on pause, his future uncertain. His whole identity built out of secrets and half-truths, while everyone thinks they know exactly who he is.

He left to find himself, he came home to find himself, and yet – here he is, feeling more lost than ever before.

＊ Rewriting the Melody by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13 [T, 26k, Harry/Louis]

Louis doesn’t get put in One Direction. This time, the path to true love takes the long way round, including singing in toilet cubicles, fruit baskets, and long distance band counselling from someone who really doesn’t know what he’s doing, he just wants to keep talking to Harry.

＊ warmth within your arms by @hsburnr [M, 1k, Louis/Harry]

when it's get too much to bear and nothing makes sense, harry seeks comfort from louis.

one shot, hurt/comfort au.

- Fic Fests -

＊ 1D Dystopian Fic Fest / @1ddystopianfest / masterpost

“Telling a story in a futuristic world gives you this freedom to explore things that bother you in contemporary times.” ~ Suzanne Collins

- Podfics -

＊ [podfic] Season 3, Episode 4: Timeless [a fic by babyhoneyhslt] by podfic_pals / @podfic-pals [G, Louis/Harry]

After visiting an antiques shop, Harry gets transported through time, and discovers that he and Louis are Timeless.

Based on Taylor Swift's Timeless.

#may2024 #28th appreciation #1dsquad #trackinghome #hljournal #hlcreators #hltracks #1dficvillage

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queerwelsh · 6 months ago

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E. Prosser Rhys won the Crown in Pontypool National Eisteddfod with 'Atgof' in 1924.

Influential in his life as a poet, editor, journalist and publisher, Prosser Rhys is remembered today for winning the Crown in the National Eisteddfod of Wales in 1924. As influential as his winning poem, ‘Atgof’ was, and continues to be, Prosser even more profoundly affected Welsh-language writing in his life than is remembered today.

Edward Prosser Rees was born on the 4th of March 1901 in Trefenter, Mynydd Bach in Ceredigion, and christened on the 9th of March at Capel Bethel. His father was a blacksmith, David Rees, and his mother was Elizabeth Rees. Prosser came from a family of blacksmiths, and they later moved to Morfa Du in Trefenter (after Prosser had moved away, in March 1918). Previously, they had lived in Llainffwlbert until 1900, where they had their previous six children.

Prosser Rhys attended Cofadail Primary School in Trefenter then Ardwyn Grammar School in Aberystwyth in 1914. Other writers, academics and politicians were educated here, who were known as 'Old Ardwynians'. His early academic success was then marred by ill health - he was diagnosed with Tuberculosis at a young age, in 1915, which affected him for the rest of his life, but immediately kept him home for the next 3 years of his life.

Still, his name started appearing in Welsh writing as early as 1916, with the poem ‘Y Fam a’i Baban’ (The Mam and her Baby) in Baner ac Amserau Cymru, where he was published as E. Prosser Rees (under the pseudonym/ffugenw Eiddwenfab) from Trefenter, Llangwyryfon, Ceredigion. In 1917, he wrote eloquent letters to ‘Y Darian,’ a radical Welsh-language paper, where he first wrote briefly about joining a patriotic union, and the Eisteddfod. The latter was fitting as he next appeared in Y Darian in 1918 for his early Eisteddfod wins, then in local Eisteddfodau, listed within the winners from Ceredigion. He then appeared several times in Y Darian as a part of ‘Aelwyd y Beirdd,’ where he’s described as a young poet with great potential, at only 17, the brother of Reverend Wyre Rees.

Clearly, Prosser wrote, competed and performed his poetry quite a lot as a teenager. One of his early poems appears in ‘Cymru,’ a monthly Welsh-language journal founded by O.M. Edwards in 1891. It was in 1919 that ‘Canu’r Merched’ by E. Prosser Rhys appeared in the journal ‘Cymru’. This is the earliest (that I found) of his poetry appearing published under this name. Note that there are occasionally mentions of ‘Prosser Rees,’ his birth name, as well. As Prosser Rees, he also published a poem in 1917 in The Cambrian News and Merionethshire Standard in sympathy to Mr and Mrs Thomas Evans of Penbont, who lost their son, David Morgan, in France during the First World War.

Prosser worked as a clerk at Western Ocean Colliery in Nant-y-Moel, Ogmore Valley, before his community saw him coming back from the ‘sowth’ (south) as a journalist. He was at Nantymoel, apparently living with one of his brothers, John, who was a coal miner. He was still receiving treatment for tuberculosis and apparently then returned to this family in their new home in Morfa-Du. He then worked at the Liberal newspapers of the Welsh Gazette in Aberystwyth and Herald Cymraeg in Caernarfon in 1919 (where he worked with Morris T. Williams). He moved back to Aberystwyth in 1921 and became the editor of Baner ac Amserau Cymru in 1923, when they moved their offices from Denbigh to Aberystwyth.

In 1923, Prosser's poetry was first published in a book - Gwaed Ifanc with another poet J.T. Jones (John Tudor Jones). As the title suggests, they were proud of being the ‘new blood’ of Welsh poetry and writing, with Prosser then being 22 and J.T. Jones being 19 years old. There was certainly some backlash to that and the book was met with some controversy, also for their poetry being more sexual than older poets of the time. There was already a tradition of the new kind of Welsh writing, started by T H Parry-Williams’ win in the Eisteddfod in 1915 with ‘Y Ddinas,’ and Rhys was aware of these new ideas of challenging Welsh writing, the Eisteddfod and therefore Welsh-language society, which he was inspired by and sought to be a part of - and succeeded. This was an attempt to challenge the writing of older poets, as well as bring attention to the newer crop of younger writers, the men who’d survived the First World War and demanded attention.

He of course especially challenged the status quo of the Eisteddfod when he won the Crown in 1924 in the Pontypool National Eisteddfod with his poem ‘Atgof’ (Memory - or also sometimes translated as Reminiscence). This long ‘pryddest’ poem, follows a ‘llanc synhwyrus’/‘sensible lad’s journey into exploring his sexuality, from seeing ‘Sex’ ruin his parents’ relationship, to exploring his sexuality with women, and then with a man as well (who was likely Morris T. Williams), while struggling against the morals and virtues of Welsh society and religion. The judges of the Eisteddfod were at odds, one finding it to be immoral and the others praising it.

Of course, when Prosser won, the reactions were scandalized and ‘Atgof’ became quite controversial, for its explicit discussions of sex and of course the same-sex part of the poem. It has since been called ‘homoerotic’ by many writers, while today may be seen more as a bisexual poem, or queer one. Mihangel Morgan, writing in Queer Wales, finds this to be a negative depiction of homosexuality and downplays the significance of ‘Atgof’ as a gay poem.

A’n cael ein hunain yn cofleidio ‘dynn;

A Rhyw yn ein gorthrymu; a’i fwynhau; A phallu’n sydyn fel ar lan y llyn…

And finding ourselves in a tight embrace With Sex overwhelming us; and enjoying it;

And suddenly stopping as above the lake…

These lines describe the same-sex interaction and indeed it doesn’t take up a large amount of the poem, but Mihangel Morgan’s disappointment seems to come from the poem not being homosexual enough. And indeed it isn’t, but reads as a bisexual poem that takes us through Rhys’s whole journey of realising and battling with his sexuality at this age. It still resonates with much of the LGBTQ+ community, especially when realising how explicit it was for 1924 (or it wouldn't have been so controversial), 40 years before the decriminalization of homosexuality, and its win in the Eisteddfod was well, well ahead of its time.

On the other hand, later on in Prosser’s life, it was suggested that he was so shocked by sodomy in the writing of someone else to not publish them. There is the possibility of Prosser’s viewpoints and own sexuality changing in his life, though this is merely speculation that Prosser was ‘shocked’ by writing of homosexuality. There are many possibilities here when it comes to Prosser’s own feelings and sexuality, but it is certain that they have had a great influence on LGBTQ+ writing and the community in Wales and particularly in Welsh.

‘Atgof’ and Prosser were also mentioned in US Time Magazine in 1924, adding to evidence of the influence and legacy of this poem. Internationally, we see links in the poems to the sexology and psychiatry of the time - the psychoanalyst Ernest Jones (and possibly abusive husband of the composer Morfydd Llwyn Owen) mentioned the poem in a letter to Sigmund Freud, though it’s unclear that either actually read the poem.

Caradog Pritchard wrote in his autobiography that as a friend of Prosser’s and Morris T. Williams’ that he believed the man Prosser wrote about was Morris Williams, and this has been accepted as likely the truth since then (though there were always rumours about this). Morris T. Williams was close to Prosser, when they were roommates in Twthil near Caernarfon, while working at 'Herald Cymraeg,' and they exchanged letters after which show their close relationship - this was before Morris married Kate Roberts and they together bought Gwasg Gee. All three remained close, being friends and remaining in the same social circles as poets, as well as in Welsh publishing. More recently, it has been theorized that Kate Roberts also was queer, based on her own personal writing, as well as her short stories which are about romantic relationships between women (such as 'Christmas' and 'The Treasure'). Morris T. Williams died in 1946, a year after Prosser Rhys, after a long struggle with alcoholism.

‘Atgof’ was published as a booklet, with a translation ‘Memory’ by Hywel Davies also published as a booklet. The poem reads less explicitly than the Welsh version, though it was praised at the time. It can be read here - though a modern English translation is definitely needed. 'Atgof' can also be read here.

In 1928, Prosser married Mary Prudence Hughes in Aberystwyth, which was when both he and she took the surname ‘Rhys’. They had one daughter, Eiddwen Rhys. He founded Gwasg Aberystwyth also in 1928 and began publishing books, with Gwasg Aberystwyth growing significantly in years to come.

As editor of Baner ac Amserau Cymru, Prosser encouraged more poets to write and publish their work. Rhys founded Y Clwb Llyfrau Cymraeg/The Welsh Books Club in 1937. This was a subscription of Welsh books, where readers would receive 4 books a year for half a crown, and which published 45 volumes up until 1945. As successful as it was under Prosser, after his death, it was decided that there were not enough Welsh-language writers to continue it.

(Executive committee of 'Plaid Genedlaethol Cymru,' 1927- Lewis Valentine, Ambrose Bebb, D. J. Williams, Mai Roberts, Saunders Lewis, Kate Roberts, H. R. Jones, Prosser Rhys.) Prosser Rhys was a founding member of Plaid Cymru, founded in 1925. He was also the editor of ‘Y Ddraig Goch’ with Saunders Lewis and Iorwerth C. Peate, which Prosser also helped to form with H. R. Jones, though he was initially opposed to the idea due to lack of funds. However, Prosser became vocally opposed to Saunders Lewis’ right wing views. He wrote in Y Faner that many of Plaid Cymru’s members had come from the Labour party or Liberal party, or were radicals who came from no political party, where none were supportive of the views appearing in the Daily Mail, implying that Saunders Lewis’ views were too close to the matter, but that most Plaid Cymru supporters were personally too loyal to voice their concerns over this. The expulsion of Prosser from the party was discussed and suggested but Saunders Lewis opposed this.

Following his many successes, Prosser and his family moved to 33 North Parade, Aberystwyth, where he lived until his death.

After his health had deteriorated again from 1942, Prosser died in 1945 - at the age of 43, and less than a month before his 44th birthday. He is buried at Llanbadarn Fawr Cemetery, with his grave quoting T. Gwynn Jones: “Gwyrodd êfo î’r drugaredd fawr, Ni wyr namyn Duw ddirgelwch ei wên.” Here Mary Prudence Rhys, his wife, is also buried, who died in 1991, at the age of 87. They are also buried with William Dewi Morris Jones, who died in 1983, aged 56. Rhys’s death was certainly a loss to Welsh publishing and writing.

Gwasg Aberystwyth was bought by J. D. Lewis & Sons from Llandysul after Prosser’s death, the founder of Gwasg Gomer, who continued the Welsh Books Club and took over publishing of the club’s books until 1952. This, however, did follow a legal disagreement between Mary Prudence Rhys and Morris T. Williams, who was supposed to get the first offer and chance at refusal for Gwasg Aberystwyth, according to legal documents that Prosser and Morrisagreed upon, which Morris Williams did not feel like he had gotten.

Cerddi Prosser Rhys was published in 1950 by Gwasg Gee, Morris’s first collection entirely of his own poems - published 5 years after his death. Edited by J.M. Edwards, a fellow poet who competed in Eisteddfodau and was from a similar area to Rhys, Edwards also writes the introduction of the poetry collection. He notes that he decided that 4 years after Prosser’s death was enough time to finally publish a whole collection of Prosser’s best poems (the introduction was written in July, 1949, with the book published in February, 1950.) He writes that his previous poetry collection, in ‘Gwaed Ifanc’, was ‘a volume that attracted a lot of attention and also brought a new, daring note to the world of Welsh poetry of the period, something that was urgently needed.’ His memories of Prosser while growing up show he was a well-known poet even in his youth, who Edwards and others in his own school had heard of before meeting, who was known for competing and finding success in many local Eisteddfodau around Wales.

Of his poetry found in Cerddi Prosser Rhys, Edwards notes that ‘Y Gof’ (The Memory) is a tribute to his parents and his early life in rural Wales. His two sonnets he most praises are ‘Y Pechadur’ (The Sinner) and ‘Duw Mudan’ (Mute God). Of ‘Atgof,’ Edwards significantly notes that it was "a bold poem that created a lot of excitement and was praised by some but damned by others. The saddest feature of the whole event was that it reflects an attitude of thought in Wales which is too ready to judge the values of the world of the arts by the wrong standards." The introduction finishes by repeating what many others have said about the premature loss of Prosser to the world of Welsh writing and publishing. Edwards also hoped that there would also be a collection of Prosser’s prose, which unfortunately has not yet come to be.

‘Mab ei Fam’ (His Mother's Son) is to "M.T.W," likely Morris T. Williams - similarly to Strancio, which was translated by Mihangel Morgan as ‘Fooling About,’ which is to: ‘I gyfaill annwyl a fu’n cyd-letya â mi’ (To a dear friend who lodged with me)

Do, bûm yn flin. Ond weithian gwybydd di Fod Fflam yn llosgi ynof, ac aml dro Yn llamu ar draws fy nghorff materol i, A’m hysu hyd fy nghyrru i maes o’m co’,

A strancio a wnaf eto rhag fy ffawd Nes torro’r Fflam ei ffordd o’i charchar cnawd.

Yes, I was angry. But sometimes you must know That a Flame burned within me, and often Sprang from my material body Plaguing me until it drove me mad And I would taunt my fate Until the Flame broke free of its prison of flesh.

-Mostly translated by Mihangel Morgan.

As with ‘Atgof,’ Mihanel Morgan downplays Strancio by stating it to be cryptic and guarded - while I'd argue that the confession of his feelings towards a man in the 1920s is explicit for its time, especially following on from the Victorian poetry that was popular before the ‘New blood’. While Mihangel Morgan says it is ‘assumed’ to be about Morris T. Williams, the dedication at the start of the poem is clear enough, at least historically, to Morris T. Williams, especially when a previous poem also is dedicated to him.

It wasn’t until 1980 that Prosser Rhys was celebrated with a book about his life, by Rhisiart Hincks. T. Robin Chapman wrote in Y Traethodydd in 2006 that Hincks probably knew of the nature of Rhys’s relationship with Morris T. Williams yet it was omitted, from the only whole biography of Prosser Rhys. This is a sign of the times in which it was written and published but shows the need now to write biographies of Rhys that include what was previously excluded, his queer identity. Hincks mentions how Williams quickly became Prosser's best friend ('ei gyfaill pennaf') when they met in Caernarfon, that they moved together to 15 Eleanor Street and that it was Prosser who introduced Williams to literature. ‘Cyfeillgarwch clos’. He also mentions that such closeness led to spats, once when they fought all night, which does show the intensity of their relationship. Perhaps, this subtext Hincks hoped to be understood by the audience of the time. Of ‘Atgof,’ Hincks notes that Prosser had previously expressed that there was a lack of sex in Welsh in recent poetry, which he blamed on the chapel. This biography remains the most detailed on Prosser’s life.

A monument on Mynydd Bach, overlooking Llyn Eiddwen near to Trefenter, where Prosser was born and lived in his childhood, was unveiled in 1992, during the National Eisteddfod in Aberystwyth. Including Rhys, the monument, ‘Cofeb i Feirdd y Mynydd Bach’ celebrates 4 poets from the local area. J.M. Edwards from Llanrhystud also won the Crown in the National Eisteddfod, in 1937, 1941 and in 1944, and wrote the introduction to Cerddi Prosser Rhys. All 4 of the poets named on the plaque of the monument were successful in the Eisteddfod. B. T. Hopkins (Benjamin Thomas Hopkins) was a successful poet from Ceredigion, who lived and farmed on Mynydd Bach. T Hughes Jones (Thomas Hughes Jones) was a Welsh poet and writer from Ceredigion who won a medal in the National Eisteddfod of 1940 for a short story, ‘Sgweier Hafila,’ which was partly judged by Kate Roberts.

Interest in Prosser, his life and career, has been renewed by research into Welsh LGBTQ+ history and writing. Notably, in 1998, a historical docudrama called ‘Atgof’ aired on S4C, directed by Ceri Sherlock, which depicted Prosser writing the poem and his relationship with Morris T. Williams, which was represented as a sexual and romantic one. There was controversy around the film, similarly to 'Atgof' the poem, with some questioning how they depicted the relationship (with some speculated, fictional details) and some also questioning whether it should be depicted or speculated about at all. Despite the discourse, Prosser Rhys had already become an inspiration to the Welsh LGBTQ+ community.

In 2019, the show ‘Corn Gwlad’ was performed at the National Eisteddfod in Llanrwst, created by Seiriol Davies, which celebrated Prosser’s win at the Eisteddfod and depicted his feelings towards Morris T. Williams. It was then a work-in-progress show, with comedy and music, and part of the ‘Mas ar y Maes’ programme of events at the National Eisteddfod, which are especially for the LGBTQ+ community, or which may be relevant to the LGBTQ+ community. Prosser was also featured in ‘Mas ar y Maes’ events with ‘Cariad yw Cariad,’ and is of course heavily featured in the 2024 National Eisteddfod in Pontypridd, on the centenary of Prosser Rhys winning the Crown with 'Atgof.' 'Atgof' was also the theme of the poems submitted to the 'Coron' - which was won by Gwynfor Dafydd.

The lasting legacy of Prosser Rhys is to be a significant voice of this community from 20th century Wales, and an icon especially for Welsh language LGBTQ+ people, queer men and bisexual people. This is what has significantly brought Prosser Rhys back into the public eye in the 1990s, with the film Atgof, and in the 2010s with LGBTQ+ History Month, and in the 2020s around the 100th anniversary of his Eisteddfod Crown winning with ‘Atgof’. Prosser also had a significant impact in Welsh publishing, Welsh society, in his article writings, in politics. Prosser Rhys was a fascinating, complicated person, a passionate advocate for Welsh poetry, writing and publishing and is a hero of the communities to which he belonged, including the local community in Ceredigion and West Wales.

#edward prosser rhys #prosser rhys #e. prosser rhys #eisteddfod #national eisteddfod #lgbtqia #queer history #welsh history #history #wales #bisexual history #gay history #queer welsh history #this is a very long blog - this can't really be called a blog #Welsh version incoming soonish #posting this in the middle of the night bc I go to the Eisteddfod tomorrow

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rotzaprachim · 1 year ago

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Works written decades ago, often by female Jewish immigrants, were dismissed as insignificant or unmarketable. But in the past several years, translators devoted to the literature are making it available to a wider readership. -

By Joseph Berger

Feb. 6, 2022

In “Diary of a Lonely Girl, or the Battle Against Free Love,” a sendup of the socialists, anarchists and intellectuals who populated New York’s Lower East Side in the early 20th century, Miriam Karpilove writes from the perspective of a sardonic young woman frustrated by the men’s advocacy of unrestrained sexuality and their lack of concern about the consequences for her.

When one young radical tells the narrator that the role of a woman in his life is to “help me achieve happiness,” she observes in an aside to the reader: “I did not feel like helping him achieve happiness. I felt that I’d feel a lot better if he were on the other side of the door.”

In a review for Tablet magazine, Dara Horn compared the book to “Sex and the City,” “Friends” and “Pride and Prejudice.” Though it was published by Syracuse University Press in English in 2020, Karpilove, who immigrated to New York from Minsk in 1905, wrote it about a century ago, and it was published serially in a Yiddish newspaper starting in 1916.

Jessica Kirzane, an assistant instructional professor of Yiddish at the University of Chicago who translated the novel, said that her students are drawn to its contemporary echoes of men using their power for sexual advantage. “The students are often surprised that this is someone whose experiences are so relatable even though the writing was so long ago,” she said in an interview.

Yiddish novels written by women have remained largely unknown because they were never translated into English or never published as books. Unlike works translated from the language by such male writers as Sholem Aleichem, Isaac Bashevis Singer and Chaim Grade, Yiddish fiction by women was long dismissed by publishers as insignificant or unmarketable to a wider audience.

But in the past several years, there has been a surge of translations of female writers by Yiddish scholars devoted to keeping the literature alive.

Madeleine Cohen, the academic director of the Yiddish Book Center in Amherst, Mass., said that counting translations published or under contract, there will have been eight Yiddish titles by women — including novels and story collections — translated into English over seven years, more than the number of translations in the previous two decades.

Yiddish professors like Kirzane and Anita Norich, who translated “A Jewish Refugee in New York,” by Kadya Molodovsky, have discovered works by scrolling through microfilms of long-extinct Yiddish newspapers and periodicals that serialized the novels. They have combed through yellowed card catalogs at archives like the YIVO Institute for Jewish Research, searching for the names of women known for their poetry and diaries to see if they also wrote novels.

“This literature has been hiding in plain sight, but we all assumed it wasn’t there,” said Norich, a professor emeritus of English and Judaic Studies at the University of Michigan. “Novels were written by men while women wrote poetry or memoirs and diaries but didn’t have access to the broad worldview that men did. If you’ve always heard that women didn’t write novels in Yiddish, why go looking for it?”

But look for it Norich did. It has been painstaking, often tedious work but exciting as well, allowing Norich to feel, she said, “like a combination of sleuth, explorer, archaeologist and obsessive.”

“A Jewish Refugee in New York,” serialized in a Yiddish newspaper in 1941, centers on a 20-year-old from Nazi-occupied Poland, who escapes to America to live with her aunt and cousins on the Lower East Side. Instead of offering sympathy, the relatives mock her clothing and English malapropisms, pay scant attention to her fears about her European relatives’ fate and try to sabotage her budding romances.

Until Norich’s translation was published by Indiana University Press in 2019, there had been only one book of Yiddish fiction by an American woman — Blume Lempel — translated into English, Norich said. (Two non-American writers had been translated: Esther Singer Kreitman, the sister of Isaac Bashevis Singer, who settled in Britain, and Chava Rosenfarb, a Canadian who translated herself.)

The new translations are stirring a smidgen of optimism among Yiddish scholars and experts for a language whose extinction has long been fretted over but has never come to pass. Yiddish is the lingua franca of many Hasidic communities, but their adherents rarely read secular works. And it has faded away in everyday conversation among the descendants of the hundreds of thousands of East European immigrants who brought the language to the United States in the late 19th century.

The new translations are being read by people interested in everyday life in East European shtetls and immigrant ghettos in the United States as told from a woman’s perspective. They are also being read by students at the nation’s two dozen campuses with Yiddish programs. “Students were often surprised by how unsentimental these female novelists are, how wide-ranging are their themes, and how frank they are about female desire,” Norich said.

With a grant from the Yiddish Book Center, a 42-year-old nonprofit that seeks to revitalize Yiddish literature and culture, Norich is now translating a second novel: “Two Feelings,” by Celia Dropkin (1887-1956), a Russian immigrant who was admired for her erotically charged poems but never known as a novelist.

“Two Feelings” had been serialized in The Yiddish Forward in 1934 and then forgotten. It tells the story of a married woman who struggles to reconcile her feelings for, as Norich put it, a “husband she loves because he is a good man, and a lover she loves because he is a good lover though not a good man.”

One recent volume, “Oedipus in Brooklyn,” is a collection of stories by Blume Lempel (1907-99), the daughter of a Ukrainian kosher butcher. After spending a decade in Paris, she, her husband and their two children immigrated to New York in 1939, where she began writing for Yiddish newspapers.

In an introduction, her translators, Ellen Cassedy and Yermiyahu Ahron Taub, describe Lempel as “drawn to subjects seldom explored by other Yiddish writers in her time: abortion, prostitution, women’s erotic imaginings, incest.” Her sentences, they add, “often evoke an unsettling blend of splendor and menace.”

In promotional copy for the book, Cynthia Ozick called it “a splendid surprise” and asked: “Why should Isaac Bashevis Singer and Chaim Grade monopolize this rich literary lode?”

The recent books have mostly been published by academic presses in small runs, many of them financed by fellowships and stipends from the Yiddish Book Center. Despite the books’ contemporary themes, said Cohen, the center’s academic director, it has been an uphill battle to persuade mainstream trade publishers to acquire titles by women writers who are generally unknown and previously untranslated.

The scholars work independently, though they occasionally meet at conferences and panel discussions. Their life stories offer a window into the evolution of Yiddish.

Kirzane learned the language not in her childhood home but at the University of Virginia and in a doctoral program at Columbia University. Norich, the daughter of Yiddish-speaking Holocaust survivors from Poland, was born after the war in a displaced persons camp in Bavaria and was raised in the Bronx, continuing to speak Yiddish with her parents and brother.

When her daughter Sara was born, she made an effort to speak only Yiddish to her but gave up when Sara was 5. “You need a community to have a language grow,” she said.

These translators believe that the newly translated novels by women will enrich the teaching of Yiddish. Yiddish is, after all, called the mamaloshen — mother’s tongue — and a woman’s perspective, they said, has long been missing.

#yiddish #literature #women's literature #jewish culture #articles

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candyshin00 · 13 days ago

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Deceptive Beginnings - Ch. 6 Wednesday pt. 3 Progression?

A/N - I am finally back to writing after a break! Between being a retail manager during the holidays, getting burnt out from being so busy, and trying to come back to writing once I found the time, it was just all so much at once. I started to get scared to continue writing my story even though it was all I thought about, but I am glad that I willed myself to finish this chapter because I am more motivated now than ever!

p.s. My goal is once this is finished, I will be editing it to turn it into an actual published book! (changing the names of the characters and small details, of course)

Deceptive Beginnings Masterlist

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Word count - 4.2k

Warnings - angst, medical/fainting issue mention

I can’t wait any longer to tell her just how amazing she was. The performance still lingers in my veins, adrenaline mixing with pride as I weave through the thick crowd. My heart pounds—not from exertion but from anticipation—as I burst through the curtain to the backstage area.

My eyes sweep the room, searching for her. Where is she? I freeze when I spot Taehyung and Yoongi standing in a corner. Their heads are bowed, and their voices are hushed and solemn.

Taehyung looks up first. His face is unusually tense. He waves me over, his hand slow, as though reluctant to break whatever news hangs heavy between them.

Something’s wrong. I can feel it in the pit of my stomach, the excitement in my chest sinking like a stone. Jogging toward them, I blurt out, “What happened?” My voice comes out strained and tight with unease.

Taehyung glances at Yoongi before answering, his voice low. “She fainted. As soon as we got backstage.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, everything around me going silent as my heart slams in my chest. She fainted. My blood runs cold, and for a split second, nothing makes sense.

“What do you mean, fainted?” My chest tightens with every breath, I struggle. The rush of blood in my ears begins to drown out everything else. “Where is she? Is she okay?” I whirl around, my gaze darting, frantic, searching every corner of the room—Where is she?

Taehyung gives a small nod. “She’s fine, for now. It was just too much excitement for her—she’s in the back room, resting on the couch.”

Relief floods through me, only to be snatched away. The knot in my stomach tightens once more, gnawing relentlessly as panic licks at the edges of my mind. “Can I see her?” My voice cracks slightly, coming out higher than I expect, betraying the anxiety under my skin.

Yoongi’s scoff cuts through the room, sharp and bitter. “Why do you want to see her? You’re not her friend. And you sure as hell aren’t her actual boyfriend.”

His words slam into me, cold and unforgiving, sparking a fury that races through my veins. My jaw locks, the muscles in my neck tightening as frustration builds. “I care about her, Yoongi,” I say, stepping forward, close enough that I can feel the tension crackling between us. My voice drops to a low growl, a controlled calm masking the storm roiling underneath. “Contrary to what you might believe.”

Yoongi’s brows furrow, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. “Oh? And now you care?” His voice drips with disbelief. “You’ve been acting like this is some game from the start. What’s your angle, huh?”

He gives me a slow, scornful once-over, pausing long enough to make his contempt clear. “You didn’t even know her until a few days ago.” His eyes narrow, and the hardness in them feels like a blade—sharp, unforgiving. “And you think you’re the one she needs right now?”

The tension thickens around us, pressing down like a weight, suffocating everything in its path. Yoongi’s words slice through me, opening a wound I’m desperate not to show—especially to him. My fists clenched at my sides involuntarily, my knuckles white. “You don’t know a damn thing about this, Yoongi,” I growl, stepping closer, leaving almost no space between us. “I’m not playing her. I care about her. And if you can’t see that, then maybe you’re the one who doesn’t get it.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrow further. “If you care about her so much, then why—why make her your fake girlfriend? What kind of ‘caring’ is that, huh?” He raises his hands, mimicking air quotes.

Once again, his words sting. My chest tightens, a flicker of doubt worming its way into my thoughts. Why did I drag her into this? Is that fair?

I shake the thought away, grounding myself. I may have only known her for a few days, but that doesn’t matter. I felt something with her—something real. And I won’t let Yoongi question that.

My frustration bubbles over, spilling into my movements as I step forward, trying to shove past Yoongi. My voice drops to a low growl. “I don’t need your approval. I just need her to be okay.”

Yoongi stands his ground not letting me pass. “I’m not about to let some wannabe cool guy waltz in and steal the girl I love,” he spits, the words oozing with venom. “So when this whole fake dating thing is over, you need to fuck off. Understand?”

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat at Yoongi’s words, and for a moment, the world around me fades into a blur. I swallow hard, sickened by the realization that he loves her. The anger surges in me, hotter and sharper now, and I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms, leaving painful crescents.

“You say you love her?” My voice cracks with disbelief, but I push on my throat dry as the words come out gravelly. “And yet, she has no idea you feel that way! You’ve never even told her! So why don’t you get your head out of your ass and stop worrying about me ‘stealing the girl you love’ if you can’t even say the words to her yourself?”

Taehyung, who’s been standing off to the side, watching the scene unfold, lets out an exasperated sigh. He steps forward, placing a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder to hold him back.

“Yoongi, enough,” Taehyung says, his voice calm but firm. “You’re not helping her by fighting with Jungkook.”

Yoongi’s gaze shifts briefly to Taehyung, but the fire in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I’m not backing down, Taehyung. This is about her,” he growls, eyes snapping back to me.

Taehyung’s face softens, his eyes flicking between us before finally settling on me. His voice is quieter now, tinged with frustration and an edge of concern. “And you’re not helping her either by acting like this,” he says as if trying to make us both see reason. “She doesn’t need either of you fighting over her, okay?”

I exhale sharply, a tight, bitter laugh slipping from me. I take a step back, trying to collect myself. “I know,” I admit, running a hand through my hair. “She’d probably break my hand if she was hearing this right now.” A flicker of her anger surfaces in my mind—a furrowed brow, a glare sharp enough to kill—and, for a split second, it tugs a small, fleeting warmth through my chest.

Yoongi scoffs. “Taehyung, I’m not about to let some fuckboy use her and toss her aside like she’s nothing while we’re left picking up the pieces,” His jaw clenches, muscles tightening, as he shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “She’s been through enough, and I won’t let her go through another heartbreak on my watch.”

Yoongi steps closer, his chest almost brushing mine. Despite being shorter, his presence feels overwhelming and suffocating. "Maybe I will tell her," he says, voice low and edged with a quiet threat. "After all, Taehyung and I have been the only ones who've been there for her." His eyes scan me with cold, calculating precision, and a smug smirk curves his lips. "I’ve made sure she’s warm at night."

I scoff, my gaze shifting elsewhere, trying to fight the surge of anger and confusion coiling inside me. Warm at night? What the hell is he talking about? The thought gnaws at me, and I feel the ache of my clenched jaw, my teeth grinding together painfully.

Yoongi lets out a low, mocking laugh, and Taehyung shifts uncomfortably between us. Yoongi leans in, his voice sharp. “Let me be blunt. I’ve held her when she was falling apart, made sure she ate…” His voice dips lower, a dangerous, almost seductive edge creeping in. “I’ve helped her change, even bathe. I stayed at her place for weeks and kept her close while she slept—and that’s just scratching the surface. There are things I won’t even mention.” He straightens up, eyes locking with mine, a smirk curling at the corners of his lips. “I’ve been there when it mattered. So if I told her I loved her, we both know who she'd choose.”

My hands tremble as they ball into fists, my knuckles blanching white with the force of my grip. My heart pounds in my chest, jealousy searing through me like wildfire. “Oh, really?” I force the words out, each one coated in bitterness. “How can you be so sure she’d even want you in that way if she knew you had feelings for her?”

"Better than some fake boyfriend who’s using her. You’ll just toss her aside once she’s no longer useful to you." He pokes his tongue to his cheek, the muscle twitching in irritation as the heat of anger rises within him.

I shut my eyes, trying to steady the tightening in my chest as the fury coiling in my stomach threatens to consume me. My upper arms twitch, the fabric of my sleeves rubbing against my skin, grounding me in the midst of this storm. "You keep saying that. What makes you think I’m using her?" The taste of acid rises in the back of my throat, and my vision starts to tunnel as if everything around me is closing in, suffocating me.

Yoongi picks up on the barely contained fury in my tone. “Are you getting angry?” he taunts, a smirk curling on his lips. “Go ahead and hit me. See how she reacts when you hurt her precious friend.”

The challenge hangs in the air like static before a storm. My jaw tightens, and I can hear my teeth grinding together. My heartbeat thunders in my chest, the rhythm crashing in my veins, each beat like a countdown.

“You’re really asking for it, aren’t you?” I spit the words, my voice tight with barely restrained fury, each syllable seething like a fuse burning too close to its end. “You’re really fucking testing me?” My body feels like it’s wound too tight, every muscle trembling with the pressure, every nerve frayed and on edge, waiting for the explosion.

Yoongi doesn’t back down. His body is rigid, his eyes dark with defiance, and he matches the tension with his own. The space between us crackles with energy, dangerous, like the air before an explosion.

Before either one of us can move, Taehyung’s voice breaks through the simmering tension, his calm tone cutting through the suffocating heat like a bucket of cold water. “Okay, that's enough, you two,” he says firmly, stepping between us with an ease that contrasts the storm brewing around him. “We’re all worried about her, and if she could see you two fighting, she’d kick both of your asses, so chill out!”

My chest rises and falls rapidly as I try to steady my breathing, my muscles still twitching with the desire to hit Yoongi. But Taehyung’s solid and calming presence forces the tension to loosen just enough for me to take a deep breath, exhaling slowly as the adrenaline begins to ebb away.

It’s strange that Taehyung seems to instinctively know how to defuse the situation. We haven’t been close since middle school. After all these years, we’ve drifted apart—lives changing, priorities shifting. But Taehyung’s steady presence still has the ability to calm me, even when it feels like everything is falling apart.

“You can check on her. She’s in the room down the hall on the couch.” Taehyung points in that direction with a sharp gesture. His tone is calm but with an edge, and he is clearly irritated with Yoongi's behavior.

I nod, grateful but still a bit uneasy. "Thank you." The words feel heavier than usual like there’s more weight behind them than just gratitude. I give Taehyung a small, genuine smile—something we haven’t shared in a long time—and for a moment, it feels like maybe the distance between us is starting to close.

I glare at Yoongi once more, the tension still simmering beneath the surface, but I force myself to turn and head toward the room where you are.

***********

Taehyung smiles kindly at Jungkook as he watches him head into the room. The door clicks shut behind him, and that’s when Taehyung’s patience finally snaps. Without hesitation, he turns to Yoongi and punches him in the arm, his expression a mix of frustration and disbelief.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Taehyung’s voice is low but sharp, the kind of irritation that only comes from someone who’s seen Yoongi’s behavior go off the rails before.

Yoongi scowls, rubbing his arm with a growl of protest. "What? I’m just looking out for her."

"Yeah, well, you’re doing a damn good job of pushing everyone away while you're at it," Taehyung snaps, his patience fraying, voice sharp with frustration. "She can’t just have the two of us for the rest of her life, Yoongi."

Yoongi's gaze drops, and for a moment, his expression crumbles into something heavy—soul-deep and burdened. His voice is quieter when he speaks. "I don’t want to think about that. You know I love her..." His breath hitches, and he closes his eyes as if trying to steady himself. "I can’t just hand her off to some fuckboy who’s slept with half the campus."

Taehyung’s anger bubbles up again, but it’s not just anger now. There’s pain too, the kind that comes from seeing someone you care about lost in their own mess of emotions. He pinches the bridge of his nose, a soft groan escaping him. "You should know better than to believe rumors." His voice softens, but it still carries the weight of disappointment. "Jungkook is a good guy. You should know that by now, I wouldn’t let anyone get close to her if I thought they’d hurt her."

Yoongi rubs the back of his neck, guilt and frustration mingling in his eyes. "Yeah... I know," he admits, the words heavy with something more than just acknowledgment. There's regret buried in his tone, but it's barely visible.

Taehyung’s voice cuts through the silence that hangs between them. "If you really feel that strongly, then tell her how you feel, but you can’t lash out at Jungkook because you’re too much of a coward to face your own feelings." Taehyung’s words land with a sharp sting, and he doesn’t look away, making sure they cut deep.

Yoongi’s expression falters, and Taehyung’s harsh words land heavier than he expected. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he stares at the ground as if avoiding the truth that’s been laid bare for him. His pride and anger rise to the surface, but there's a flicker of something else—embarrassment and regret.

He scoffs. "Coward, huh?" He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every movement. "You think it’s that simple? Just go to her, say what I feel, and everything’s supposed to magically work out?" He laughs bitterly, but the sound is hollow, lacking its usual conviction.

Yoongi steps back, the weight of Taehyung’s words sinking in, and there’s a flicker of guilt in his eyes—something he doesn't want to acknowledge but can't ignore. He runs a hand over his face, his shoulders sagging slightly as if the walls he’s built around his emotions are starting to crack. "I don’t even know if she’d want me to say anything. Hell, I don't know if I'm even good enough to say anything."

He pauses for a long beat as if the words are still catching in his throat. "But fine. Maybe you're right. Maybe I've been hiding behind my own damn fear." His voice softens, almost reluctantly. He looks away, avoiding Taehyung's gaze, but there’s a subtle acknowledgment of the truth in his words.

Taehyung sighs, his expression softening as he steps closer. He places a hand on Yoongi's shoulder. "I’m here for both of you, no matter what happens," he says gently, his tone calm and sincere.

***********

I stand frozen at the doorway, my breath catching as I see her sleeping on the couch. The soft rise and fall of her chest is the only thing that reassures me. I step cautiously, careful not to shatter the fragile silence hanging in the air. The room carries her scent—a mix of perfume and the lingering stench of cigarette smoke from years of punk shows, the past echoing in every corner.

I move to the armrest of the couch, hovering there for a moment, my eyes drinking in the sight of her. There's a weight lifting from my chest, a sense of relief flooding me now that she’s okay, even if only for now.

As I watch her, my heart steadies, the knot of tension I’ve been holding since the fight with Yoongi loosening. It’s like the weight in my chest lifts, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I can breathe without the constant strain.

"Jungkook." Her soft and fragile voice is barely a whisper, but it’s enough to freeze me in place. I watch her stir, murmuring my name in her sleep, and the world slows around me, fading to nothing.

I crouch next to her. I raise my fingers and lightly graze them over her cheek, a quiet smile tugging at my lips as I watch the peacefulness settle over her. The warmth of her skin beneath mine soothes something inside me, the chaos of the past hours finally ebbing away as my heart finds its rhythm again.

She furrows her brows. “Jungkook... You pervert.”

I chuckle softly, the sound barely escaping me as my smile deepens. My fingers move to gently brush a stray lock of hair from her face, the simple touch sending a rush of warmth through me. I trace the soft curve of her cheek with my gaze, my eyes lingering on the delicate flutter of her lashes against her skin. Every small detail of her—every subtle movement—seems to draw me in, a magnetic pull I can’t ignore. Before I even realize it, my face is inching closer to hers, drawn by something I can’t quite name.

And then, she says it. “Yoongi,” she murmurs softly, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, blissfully lost in her dreams.

My smile vanishes, and the warmth drains from my chest as an unfamiliar wave of jealousy crashes over me. The air in the room suddenly feels thick and suffocating, and my stomach twists in tight knots. My gaze sharpens, and my heart sinks. Does she… like Yoongi?

The question stabs me, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. I struggle to control my breath, fighting off the tight frustration building in my chest.

Without thinking, I stand up quickly, retreating to lean against the armrest. My arms cross defensively as I try to swallow down the gnawing ache in my gut. I look at her, still sleeping peacefully, and wait for the flood of questions and doubt to subside—waiting for some answer I’m not sure I’ll want to hear.

***********

You begin to stir, the warmth of sleep still clinging to you, but as your mind sharpens, the confusion starts to clear. A soft groan escapes your lips as your eyes flutter open. Everything feels too bright and too loud. "What happened?" you murmur, your voice shaky and still heavy with sleep.

Jungkook jerks up from his seat on the armrest, his expression so raw with worry that it takes you off guard. His eyes are wide, searching you over as if he can't quite believe you're awake. "You're backstage," he says quickly, his voice rushed, a little panicked. "You passed out after the show." The way he says it makes your chest tighten. You’ve never seen him so concerned. It almost feels like he’s been holding his breath.

Your vision clears as you meet his gaze, and a strange warmth rises in your chest. “Jungkook?” You whisper his name, and it feels different—heavier like you realize something you’ve only just allowed yourself to admit. The way his eyes soften when you say it makes your stomach twist, and you remember.

You like Jungkook.

You try to sit up, the room spinning a little as you move, and he’s there instantly, steadying you with gentle hands at your back. His touch sends an electric shiver through you, making your breath catch in your throat. "Where are Yoongi and Tae?" you ask, needing something solid to focus on, even though your head is still cloudy with thoughts of Jungkook.

"Taehyung and Yoongi are still backstage," he says, his voice quieter now, like he's trying to calm himself just as much as you. He crouches down so that his face is level with yours, his gaze intense, like he's waiting for something from you. "They're in another room, talking." He keeps looking at you as if he's trying to read you, and for a moment, you wonder if he can see right through you.

The moment stretches between you. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and it's not from the fainting, not anymore. It's from the way Jungkook is looking at you like he’s searching for an answer to a question he didn't ask. Like he’s waiting for you to ask him.

"I bet they're pissed," you mutter, rubbing your temples, trying to shake off the fogginess.

Jungkook’s lips quirk into a small, almost amused smile. "Yoongi definitely is."

You roll your eyes, unable to stop the sarcastic groan that slips from you. "Oh boy, I’m gonna get an earful from him later."

Jungkook's expression falters for just a second, something darker flickering in his eyes. "Yoongi's pissed, yeah, but I don’t think it’s at you." He leans forward, his voice lowering with a mix of bitterness and frustration. "He’s been going on and on about how I’m ‘using you’... like he’s so fucking sure of it. He keeps talking about how you’d choose him over me." He scoffs, but there’s something odd in the way he says it, like it’s bothering him more than he’s trying to let on.

You blink, surprised, not quite sure what to make of what he’s said. Your gaze sharpens, and a small frown creases your forehead. "What do you mean I’d choose him over you?" You’re genuinely puzzled, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. The confusion is real, but beneath it, something else is stirring—anger?

He looks at you, his eyes flickering with something unreadable as he seems to choose his words carefully. "He said he's been taking care of you, helping you through all this." Jungkook pauses for a moment, his voice dipping lower, almost hesitant. "He also mentioned... helping you change your clothes."

You sigh and close your eyes, a pang of discomfort rising in your chest. "Yes, he helped me a lot with my panic attacks and nightmares, but so has Taehyung." You shake your head slightly, trying to brush away the awkwardness. "As for helping me change, that was once... when I passed out covered in my own vomit." You cringe at the memory, trying to make light of it, but the sting of the situation lingers.

You look up at him with a small, teasing smile, attempting to deflect the tension. "Are you jealous?"

Jungkook doesn’t show much reaction at first, his expression flat, but there’s something in his eyes that betrays him ever so slightly. "Why would I be jealous?" he responds a little too quickly. His tone is cold and hollow. It stings.

Your heart tightens, an ache settling deep in your chest. Maybe you’re the only one feeling anything between the two of you. The thought lingers, and you can’t shake it off. "Good," you say, forcing a smile that feels too thin, too fragile. "Because we agreed not to fall in love with each other."

Jungkook stands up, his posture stiff, and runs a hand through his hair. "Right. I know..." His voice drops to a low grumble. "I’m not falling in love with you. And you're not falling in love with me." He mumbles the last part under his breath, his gaze drifting somewhere far away.

It's okay if he doesn't feel the same—after all, he could have anyone he wanted. You quickly shove the thought down, reminding yourself that you're here to help him, to be there for him... not to expect anything but his money in return. You stand up and stretch, doing your best to shake the lingering tension from the room. "Well, I guess I had a good nap. I feel better now."

"That's good." Jungkook’s smile is there, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Something about the way he looks at you sends a tight knot to your chest. "I'm glad you feel better now."

You take a breath, trying to ease the weight in the room. "The three of us are having a party back at my place to celebrate if you wanna join." The words come out a little more casual than you feel as if you’re trying to break the unsettling tension that’s laid between you two.

Jungkook’s eyes flicker with a spark of interest, and he straightens up a little as if the thought of the change of pace lifts his spirits. "I would love to," he says, his voice light, though you can sense the walls he had lowered earlier have slowly risen again.

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©Candyshin00 '24

#jungkook fanfic #bts fanfiction #jungkook #jungkook ff #jungkook x reader

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asordinaryppl · 3 months ago

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A3! Main Story: Part 4 - Act 16: Crossing Paths - Episode 14: The Silent Picture Book Author

momo has entered the chat momo: WE HAVE FOUR MEMBERS!! Kar: grats Iv: finally shiki: congrats momo: u guys should come watch once we have a date for the performance! Kar: lol Iv: i’ll think bout it shiki: i’ll come if i’m free

Homare’s mother: You don’t often visit on such short notice.

Homare’s mother: Also, your uncle sent some of your favorite wine. Would you like to have some with dinner?

Homare: Yes.

Homare’s mother: Your grandmother will also be back later tonight.

Homare: By the by, there is something I am curious about. This picture book…

Homare’s mother: Oh my…

Homare: I saw it at a café, and decided to buy one of the same at a bookstore.

Homare: The book gently discusses the topic of animals being confronted with life and death. The author is “Faraway Alice”...

Homare: The name may differ, but is this not Father’s work?

Homare’s mother: Good eye.

Homare: Why did Father use a pen name for this book alone, despite usually using his real name?

Homare’s mother: Because he drew this right during the year you were born. It’s his first and last book as “Faraway Alice”.

Homare’s mother: Your father may have published many picture books, but the name Arisugawa often attracted attention.

Homare’s mother: He wrote this one because he wanted to challenge his own abilities without being carried by his family name.

Homare’s mother: He was so thorough that even the editor had to go through me. No one other than me knows that this book was written by your father.

Homare’s mother: In the end, even though the picture book was well-received and everyone awaited his next release, he chose to go back to publishing under the name Arisugawa.

Homare’s mother: Fufu, that takes me back.

Homare: Father is so stoic and quiet, he did not strike me as the type to take on such challenges…

Homare’s mother: I know, right? I believe that your birth was a catalyst for his change of heart.

Homare’s mother: But I didn’t think you’d find out after all this time.

Homare: When I first saw it, the art style seemed familiar, but it was the writing that truly convinced me this is Father’s work.

Homare: I’d been reading my father’s works since I was a child, so of course I knew.

Homare’s mother: Right, I’m sure he’d be happy to hear that.

Homare: Truth be told, I am supposed to do a dramatic reading of a picture book for children. Would it be alright if I used this book?

Homare’s mother: But of course.

Homare’s mother: However, this work has short sentences and many stops for introspection, so it’s more suited for adults than children.

Homare’s mother: If this dramatic reading is aimed towards children, I believe you should make it somewhat easier to understand.

Homare: Somewhat easier to understand, you say…

Homare’s mother: You should create a reading drama based on this picture book.

Homare: But I have never written such a thing before…

Homare’s mother: You’re good at creating sentences and you understand your father’s works well, don’t you? I’m certain you’ll be fine.

Homare’s mother: Moreover, your father often wondered what kind of writing you would come up with to accompany his drawings.

Homare’s mother: I think you two collaborating in this way would make him happy.

Homare: …

Homare: (So this was Father’s challenge…)

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#a3!#translation #a3! translation #homare arisugawa

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veevz-drawz · 4 months ago

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DoaHD | Entry 4: I Felt a Spark

A/N: Hi again, I've been gone for like… Almost two months now? Sorry about that lol, a lot has happened. I got a boyfriend! And turns out when you're in a relationship you don't have a lot of free time to do what you want… So I broke up with him! (jkjk I just wasn't as into him as I thought)

Anyways I started pharmacy school so updates will probably halt for the time being :/. I plan to slowly write portions of the next chapter (which will be 100% more interesting than this one I swear) throughout the semester, but I'm probably not going to publish it until the end of my first clinical rotation in the winter, so I apologize in advance for the wait.

Taglist: @minecraftninjerkid @ryctone @shipperlewaterkitty | Google Form to be added to taglist

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She didn’t come up with anything.

Strawberry Tea Cookie stared at her sketchbook in silent disappointment, the pages looking more like the aftermath of the Dark Flour War than the meticulous planning of a seasoned fashion designer. The rising sun’s cold rays swam across the pages, searching for any sort of golden lining in this mess, yet all it did was confirm that her glory days were long gone.

Crumbs, she’s hopeless.

The designer sighed and slammed her book shut, tucking it out of sight between two couch cushions. She reached for her cup in order to take another sip of tea, her frustration growing upon realizing her cup was empty. Tiredness dissolved each speck of flour in her dough, arms weighed down by thick molasses as she tried picking up the teapot, which was, disappointingly enough, also empty.

Strawberry Tea Cookie turned to watch the sun slowly climb its way up the sky, displacing the inky blue she got accustomed to with shades of periwinkle and orange, stinging her already hardened eyes. She let her head fall within the comforting darkness of her arms, hoping to get some rest before they land in the Crème Republic.

“Ohhhh, I’m so nervous,” a cookie whispered to her friend. “What if I don’t get an apprenticeship?”

Hundreds of cookies crowd around the small bulletin board that stood in the center of the academy’s lounge. On it was a long piece of paper printed with students’ names and their mentor for upcoming term.

Amongst the anxious chatter were loud cheers as students found they had a match, or quiet sobs from those who didn’t quite make it on the list. Yet all decrescendoed into curious whispers when a certain freshly baked designer, glazed in shades of scarlet, stepped into the atrium.

“Did you hear..?”

—Pierce the fabric, loop the thread.

The sea of students parted for her, stepping into line with every click of her tempered chocolate heels to form a straight path towards the bulletin board.

“What!? There’s no way!”

—Pierce the fabric, loop the thread.

She stopped in front of the board, quietly scanning through the long list of names. Despite her aloof demeanor, the uncertainty within kept rising like bread dough as the alphabetical list trickled closer and closer to where her name would be.

All these apprehensive whispers… That can’t be a good thing.

Sangria Cookie…

Sapodilla Cookie…

Sour Cherry Cookie…

Star Apple Cookie…

“Well, it’s a given…”

—Pierce the fabric, loop the thread.

Strawberry Tea Cookie…

She perked up at the sight of her name, eyes immediately darting across the dotted line to see…

…Blueberry Raisin Cookie.

A small smile cinched up her lips, that overwhelming nervousness washed away by excitement and pride. All those years working her dough off at this school— the countless all nighters, the constant stream of harsh critiques, the seemingly endless assignments— finally paid off.

“Wow Strawberry Tea Cookie, congrats…” her classmate whistled, standing beside her. “Bet you’re excited to get to work with Professor Blueberry Raisin Cookie…”

To apprentice under the Hollyberry Kingdom’s most renowned fashion designer—who hailed from the very family that first established oat couture—was an opportunity that not even the most esteemed alumni of the Royal Berry Institute of Design could imagine receiving.

And it had just been bestowed upon her.

“Yeah…” Strawberry Tea Cookie’s smile grew wider. “I am.”

Her classmate chuckled, which caught the young designer’s attention. She turned and shot them a quizzical expression.

“Sorry, sorry.” They looked away bashfully. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you smile like that.”

“This is an opportunity of a lifetime, it’s only natural that I would smile.” Strawberry Tea Cookie replied matter-of-fact-ly, still confused on what was so funny.

“No, no, I’m just saying…” They laughed. “Ah, nevermind…”

A gentle shake of her shoulder pulled Strawberry Tea Cookie from her dream—back into the world where she was sore and barely cognizant of her own existence.

“My lady, we’re almost at the Créme Republic,” Strawberry Butler Cookie whispered. “Everybody’s gone outside.”

The designer groaned, tiredly lifting herself from the table and standing up. She stumbled on her first few steps, dragging herself across the cabinet like one of those jellywalker creatures.

“Lady Strawberry Tea Cookie, did you stay up all night?” Strawberry Butler Cookie inquired worriedly, though his tone also held a dash of annoyance. “You know very well that’s not healthy for you!”

“I…” The former heiress sighed as she grasped the doorknob. Of all the things that have changed in her life recently, her butler nagging about her less-than-consistent sleep schedule had remained… well, consistent. “...Thought I could create something meaningful.”

She opened the door and stepped outside.

A gust of strong, cold wind practically slapped Strawberry Tea Cookie awake before subsiding into a light breeze. Crisp, fresh air reinvigorated her very dough like she had been sprinkled with more life powder. As she made her way across the airship’s deck, the gales combed free the sticky knots tangled within her hair, alleviating that gross feeling.

Strawberry Tea Cookie leaned against the metal guard rail, scarlet eyes widening in awe as she took in the sight before her.

Amidst the azure blue sky decorated with cotton candy clouds shone a brilliant city piped in white. Grand mansions bordered the Republic’s edge, away from the main landmass through long, jutted platforms that made the city look like it was built on a shattered plate; each shard was held up by pillars rising from the sparkling sea. Lining the pristinely polished roads were blocks of small, condensed homes with roofs the color of the vibrant sky. Square bushes edged the vast maze of waterways, like the border of royal frosting the Great Witches pipe on a freshly baked cookie before filling them in.

Strawberry Tea Cookie’s eyes followed the canals deeper towards the city center, trailing up a tall waterfall before meeting its source.

“Wow…” The designer breathed, her voice so quiet that no other cookie could hear, only manifesting as a puff of condensed air lost to the sky.

At the heart of the Republic stood a giant, colorless murex shell that floated above all else—unfeeling and apathetic—immune to crumble like a timeless icon. Much like a roll of fruit leather pulled from the center, the shell was voluminously layered at the top, showing off its immaculately creased grooves that tightly cinched to an eventual fine point at the bottom.

Imposing spikes of all shapes and sizes decorated the shell’s head like a monarch’s crown, reaching for any fragment of light to capture and reflect back as a beautiful halo of white. Arched windows carved around the shell’s spire poured out fresh water, collecting in streams around the structure’s many grooves before gradually falling down to the city below.

To Strawberry Tea Cookie, it was like a unique hybrid between a polonaise skirt and a mermaid tail dress, two styles from vastly different eras and with even more conflicting construction methods. It would be a challenge to combine the two together. However, it was similar enough to Chocolate Bonbon Cookie’s everyday dress, perhaps she could reference its pattern and then add an additional layer for that polonaise look.

She’ll definitely need to visit that place the moment her schedule clears up. Not only is it important to see one’s source material up close, but a true artist must understand its purpose so as to not misappropriate its symbolism.

“You seem to have an idea, my lady.” The designer was snapped from her thoughts by Strawberry Butler Cookie’s comment. She turned to face him, his expression glimmering with wise joy.

Strawberry Tea Cookie glanced back to the brilliant view of the Créme Republic. Her breath hitched, stuck in her inhale as she truly took in the sight before her. A long lost excitement bloomed within as the ship descended, and the designer couldn’t help but let that exhilaratingly nervous anticipation spread up her lips in the form of a wide, genuine smile.

For the first time in forever—as cliché as it sounded—she truly realized how vibrant and beautiful everything was.

“Yeah,” she finally let go of her held breath, turning to face Strawberry Butler Cookie. “I think I finally do.”

He only chuckled in response.

Strawberry Tea Cookie and her butler were the last to leave the airship and join the others on the airfield. As they approached Hollyberry Cookie and Wildberry Cookie, the figure they were talking to turned his attention to the pair.

“Ah, you must be the guest Hollyberry Cookie was talking about~,” the stranger, with a voice full of smooth—oddly practiced—cadence, said. “Miss Strawberry Tea Cookie, yes?”

“Lady Strawberry Tea Cookie,” she corrected before dipping into a curtsy. “This is my butler, Strawberry Butler Cookie.” He nodded at the cue of his name.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you both, Lady Strawberry Tea Cookie and Strawberry Butler Cookie.” The cookie before her gave a courteous bow. “My name is Clotted Cream Cookie, consul of this fair city.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Consul—” Strawberry Tea Cookie cut off when a strong arm looped around her neck, yanking the rest of her words out with a strangled high pitch.

“Strawberry Tea Cookie, you’re being far too modest!” Hollyberry Cookie pulled the designer closer with so much strength that the latter was lurched forward, almost losing her balance. “Consul, this fine lass here is the future leader of House Strawberry, one of the most renowned designers in the Hollyberry Kingdom, and my granddaughter’s personal stylist~.”

Strawberry Tea Cookie felt the jam within her crystalize at those claims��the majority of which were now false.

The Consul’s eyes perked up, seemingly impressed by her obsolete feats. “My, I’m honored to be in the presence of such an esteemed guest, then~.”

“You’re too kind, Consul.” Strawberry Tea Cookie let out a strained laugh while releasing herself from the former queen’s grip, wanting to do nothing but escape this situation.

Make a good impression.

She froze in her place, those subconscious words pulling and posing her to face Clotted Cream Cookie once again. “...I should be the one honored to be in your presence.” She pitched her words higher at the end, hoping to sound more sweet but instead coming off as if she were choking on durian fumes.

An awkward silence ensued, with Strawberry Tea Cookie unable to think of what to say next.

“Well, tonight we are celebrating the reconstruction of the Crème Republic,” the Consul mentioned with a polite, charming smile. “You and Strawberry Butler Cookie are more than welcome to attend.”

Would she have enough time to go? Getting settled into her new home will most likely take the entire day.

But she remembered the way her mother became the definitive head of House Strawberry. Through courting the eldest son of the Oolong Dynasty and conducting complex business negotiations, she was able to establish a strong tea trade agreement that worked in House Strawberry’s favor. These imported teas, combined with the refreshing selection of fruits found deep within the Cranberry Forest, quickly became a household staple throughout the kingdom. The economic prosperity that followed immediately convinced Goji Berry Cookie to select Strawberry Mousse Cookie as their next leader.

If Strawberry Tea Cookie could continue expanding House Strawberry’s trading network, it would surely increase her chances of taking back her heirship. As far as she knew, all her cousin did was paint and nothing else. He was not exposed to the business side of House Strawberry like she was, and perhaps she could use that to her advantage to expand her feats beyond fashion.

“We’ll be sure to attend,” Strawberry Tea Cookie gave another curtsy. As she dipped, the tiredness that was temporarily lifted instantly came crashing down. While she absolutely despised entertaining strangers, it was something she must do in order to prove herself. “Thank you so much for extending this invitation.”

“It’s only natural to invite friends of Hollyberry Cookie and Wildberry Cookie,” Clotted Cream Cookie chimed. “I’ll be looking forward to your appearance this evening~.”

“My lady, the carriage is ready to take us to our accommodations.” Strawberry Butler Cookie announced.

“Why don’t we come along and help you unpack?” Hollyberry Cookie offered, her retainer nodding in agreement. “You have at least twelve full juice barrels worth of stuff, it’s going to take you until the next morning to go through everything, haha!”

Strawberry Tea Cookie glanced at the wagon with all her packed belongings, which seemed even more comically small compared to the carriage from the day before.

“If you two wouldn’t mind,” Strawberry Tea Cookie turned back to answer them. “The help would be greatly appreciated.” Especially from two of the strongest cookies in the Hollyberry Kingdom.

“We would be more than happy to help,” Wildberry Cookie assured. “And I could give you all a tour of the Crème Republic afterwards.”

“Thank you, but we would like to decline,” Strawberry Butler Cookie cut in, interjecting before the designer could agree to Wildberry Cookie’s offer. “My lady had quite a… restless night, it would be best if she didn’t over exert herself before tonight’s party.” He shot her a finalizing glare, which Strawberry Tea Cookie matched with an annoyed one.

However another pulse of exhaustion struck her right after, and she found her initial irritation immediately transformed into gratitude for her butler’s intervention.

Perhaps she overdid it a little… But does she even have the luxury to take a break?

“Clotted Cream Cookie, why don’t you join us?” Hollyberry Cookie, who was in the process of boarding the wagon, asked. “The more hands, the merrier!”

“Thank you, but I’ll have to decline,” the Consul smiled as he took a step back. “I’m afraid there are other items that I must attend to before tonight’s celebration.”

“To the sharpest piping tip as usual, Consul,” the former queen teased. “Very well, that leaves more fun for us~!”

Strawberry Tea Cookie couldn’t help but feel amused at the fact that Hollyberry Cookie seemed more excited to go than she was. But perhaps it was another opportunity to spend time with cookies she deemed close.

The wagon, pulled by two cream coated cookie horses, slowly made its way down the azure streets of the Republic, gently rocking against the many bleached shells unevenly mixed into the pavement. Despite the wall of buildings blocking out most of the sun’s rays, a few slivers of brilliant light managed to weave its way through the thin alleyways, accentuating the road’s pearlescent shine that glimmered with prosperity and new beginnings.

As her friends chatted amongst themselves, Strawberry Tea Cookie settled into the ride by watching the cookies going about their daily lives. She observed as they greeted each other in passing, darting in and out of the many luxuriously decorated storefronts the street had to offer. Some stayed to chat, their conversations lost to the whims of the wind that lightly blew on hanged laundry and ruffled the newspapers cookies were reading. Others were more in a hurry, barreling past those who walked with leisure towards an unknown destination, their ambitious worry uncaring as the neatness of their clothes waned.

Each cookie here seemed to radiate an aura of nobility, both in the way they dressed and acted. Their clothes were timelessly dandy and darling, much unlike the more loose-fitting garments the Old Vanilla Kingdom was known for. Waffle cloaks and cotton robes were replaced with more form-fitting suits, its colors paled to the simple warmth of the past. Despite its origin, they were a perfect blend between the clothing upper and lower class cookies wore back in the Hollyberry Kingdom—which could serve to benefit Strawberry Tea Cookie when developing her new collection.

But for now, she should focus on studying Republic attire. She already pinpointed a few boutiques to visit once she had settled down, and tonight’s celebration should give her a better understanding of how cookies here dressed.

The wagon stopped in front of a house that was sandwiched between two storefronts. It was a double layered, rectangular building coated in white buttercream stucco; thick, flat white piping bordered the leveled roof and where the two layered floors met. The upper layer had a set of rectangular, blue double doors that opened to a balcony full of bougainvillea jelly cube flowers. Its vines crept down to the lower layer, surrounding the front door and the triple paned window adjacent to it, both of which were also framed in blue. Underneath the window was a stubby planter the same width as the sill, holding an assortment of lush green shrubbery.

This seemed to have been a shop converted into a residence.

Strawberry Tea Cookie was the first to hop off the wagon followed by Hollyberry Cookie and Wildberry Cookie, Strawberry Butler Cookie stayed behind to unload everything with the—albeit unwelcomed—help of the coachcookie.

“The owner said that the key should be here somewhere…” The designer mumbled as she sorted through the multitude of rocks found at the base of the planter. But with a bit of digging, she managed to find a bronze key taped to the underside of a medium-sized rock chocolate. She immediately dashed to unlock the door, just in time for Strawberry Butler Cookie to carry in the first bundle of luggage.

Upon entering the foyer, which was connected to another room, the four cookies were greeted with walls frosted in buttercream white and floors made of geometrically arranged brown sugar cubes. There was a set of stairs going to the second floor, and a corridor that led to the living room.

The living room was illuminated by a wide, arched window that opened into a quaint courtyard shared by other buildings. There was a tall lamp in the corner where two long, beige sofas met; marshmallow pillows dyed in various shades of red decorated each couch, matching the carpet’s color underneath. At the center was a short, ovalish coffee table with a few magazines neatly arranged across. There was a bathroom adjacent to the corridor’s entrance, right under the stairs.

The kitchen, only separated by a single counter from the living room, had wooden counters lacquered with melted sugar spanning the entire perimeter of the area; white cabinets connected the counters to the floor. In the middle of the kitchen was an island counter surrounded by four cracker stools. Above it was a crate-esque structure where various kitchenware hung from. There was another window above the sink that looked out to the courtyard, along with a door in the corner to exit.

“This isn’t as fancy as the kitchen back home,” Strawberry Butler Cookie commented as he inspected the stove and fridge. “But it’ll do,” he quickly glanced at the pots and pans provided, grimacing at their battered forms. “Good thing I brought my own supplies…”

Another small corridor, which doubled as a sort of pantry, connected the kitchen back to the seemingly empty room next to the foyer. Said room, as Strawberry Tea Cookie stepped into it, was completely flooded with natural light due to the curved windows that almost touched the ceiling. Maroon curtains, tied at the ends in a pretty bow, partitioned off each window panel. At one corner was a sugar lacquered desk and chair, and in the center was a long wooden table with a basket on it.

The basket had an assortment of dried fruit and chocolates, along with a note from the owner of the residence that read: “I cleared this room so you could have some space to work on your designs. I hope this and the new decor make you feel more at home!”

Strawberry Tea Cookie smiled, her host was so much nicer compared to her previous landlord, who kept raising the rent every month until her and Mont Blanc Cookie decided staying in that dingy shoebox wasn’t worth the coins.

Stepping up to the second floor led to a guarded landing made of hardwood, which curved in an L shape along the stairs. It had three rooms; a storage closet was at the backmost of the house, followed by two bedrooms.

The bedroom next to the storage closet had a curtained window overlooking the courtyard. It was quaint; unremarkable with only a simple twin bed, desk, and dresser. Strawberry Butler Cookie took that room.

Next to that room was what many would consider the master bedroom, given how it was the largest and in possession of the balcony. The room was furnished with a queen sized bed decorated in red pillows and blankets, it also had a small vanity that doubled as a desk, along with a walk-in closet. Given how her butler claimed the previous room, Strawberry Tea Cookie was left with this room—not that she was complaining.

“We should start unpacking,” Wildberry Cookie mentioned, watching the location of the sun from the balcony. “The celebration will start in a few hours.”

“I agree,” Strawberry Butler Cookie turned to exit the bedroom. “At the very least we should get the big ticket items set up, like my lady’s sewing machine.”

“Then let’s get to it!” Hollyberry Cookie exulted, raising her fist. “With the four of us, we’ll get everything settled in no time!”

#cookie run kingdom #cookie run oc #strawberry tea cookie #cookie run #oc #oc x canon #diary of a hollyberry designer #fanfic #strawberry tea and clotted cream finally meet omg

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moirindeclermont · 2 months ago

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Welcome, welcome Bridgerton folks!

It's time for the sixth and final episode of "The Captain and The Spy".

Let's see what happens to Captain Colin Bridgerton and Pen as we head over to the conclusion. Tomorrow I might come back with a meme and on Monday of course I'm going to be here. I might leave a post tomorrow because it will be more daily like the previous ones, so prompts are accepted.

But for now, let's see how this ends!

It's been some years since Pen saw her motherland. In the end, she and Colin decided to come back because soon she would be a mother and the sea was not the place to grow a baby (even though they plan on returning to the sea after some years). The old queen is gone, the new king has already granted them their freedom and they are free to return.

What happened was so crazy she could hardly believe it herself. After their first time, Colin told her about his suspect. Little did he know that his suspect would admit his crimes himself when he followed Pen advice to give a sum to he man if he would come out himself.

Pen didn't expect Colin actually listening to her - that convinced her once and for all to throw herself in their relationship.

Under his tutorage she learned to fence, shot and control the ship. She earned the respect of all the crew when Colin, bed sick with a bad case of fever, left her command during a storm. She held her own and she proved herself worthy. Nowadays their crew listen to both of them (sometimes more her than him).

They traveled the world, and she saw things she could not believe if she wasn't there. Like the terrible waters of the Atlantic, or the peace of the Caribbean.

Meanwhile, she worked on her book and her relationship with Colin.

Colin who always kissed her good morning and good night, Colin who could still not wait to go back to their apartment to tup her (so their crew learned to walk away without being discovered). Colin who loved her day after day.

Some of their crew decided to leave the sea for a while to follow them in their new adventure. Colin reached out to his family so they could support their new life while Pen got published under her own name (Colin did threat the editor who didn't want too... But she could not be too mad at him, it was hot)

Just a few months after that Elliot arrived. Colin never left her side as she gave birth. And he didn't want to call for servants unless it was necessary, even after the birth. He was the most caring and compassionate dad for their children.

Once a year they went on a brief vacation by the sea, with a smaller ship. Ireland, Scotland, France, somewhere that was possible to reach in a short amount of time. Still, Colin was in his element and her heart always skipped a beat in seen him so alive.

Their night, even after all that time, were still wild and passionate. Pen learn that love was messy and beautiful and passionate and even painful sometimes.

It was always worth it though. Always.

And while she started lady Whistledown out of spite, now she was grateful for that little endeavor as it lead her to him.

That was something that for all her wit, she could have not predict.

"Come to bed, wife! I'm cold!"

She smiled, entering the bed and kissing Colin, who snuggled against her.

"I love you," he said against her skin.

"I love you too" she replied.

In the end, it was all that mattered.

The end

#polin #bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 #bridgerton s3 #polin positivity #polin bridgerton #polin brainrot

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justforbooks · 1 month ago

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The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley

I received a special copy of this book from one of my very best friends. It was originally published in 1982 – not new, but an important classic. The Mists of Avalon is a ~900 page retelling of the legends of King Arthur, his Companion Knights, including Sir Lancelot, and the Round Table – but from the perspectives of the women involved, including Queen Guinevere (here Gwenhwyfar), Arthur’s mother the Queen Igraine and her sisters, Queen Morgause and Avalon’s Lady of the Lake Viviane… and most centrally, Arthur’s half-sister and lover, Morgaine, who we have also known as Morgan la Fay or Morgaine of the Fairies, and Viviane’s sometime successor as Lady of the Lake. Among others. (Sorry. These name changes are a bit to follow. Lancelot here is Lancelet, etc.)

I generally stay away from books of this length in recent years – I don’t know when I last read a book of 900 pages. It took some adjustment around paid reviews and deadlines, but I’m grateful I was able to find time for this one. It took a little over two weeks but was worth every minute. I enjoyed being able to sink into a story this sprawling, which does call for some in-depth engagement, as we follow generations and lifetimes, a quite convoluted family tree, and shifting allegiances (and names).

My own background with the Arthurian legends is weak, although I definitely loved T.H. White’s The Once and Future King when I was young (high school? earlier still? that one over 600 pages), and I remember an illustrated book of the tales of the knights of the Round Table at some point… I have a loose sense of the romance and idealism of Arthur, Guinevere, Lancelot, and Camelot, but brought no muddied plotlines to this reading. It seems The Mists of Avalon is understood partly as corrective to Morgaine’s reputation as evil sorceress from previous tellings.

There’s no question that Bradley’s is a big, complicated, engrossing story. Its prologue begins with a brief, italicized reminiscence of Morgaine’s from later in her very long life; these retrospective views will punctuate the book. Then we move (with book one, “Mistress of Magic”) to Igraine, who will be mother to both Morgaine and Arthur, when she is a teenaged bride to the much older and coarse Duke Gorlois of Cornwall. Igraine was raised on Avalon, that magical, misty island where an ancient, pagan, woman-centered religion has long been fostered. She has some priestess training and some of the Sight, but it’s been her duty to be a wife and a mother: her daughter Morgaine is Gorlois’s child, and she will later marry Britain’s High King Uther and have a second child who will become the fabled King Arthur. So we begin with Morgaine’s infancy and before Arthur’s birth. I will begin fast-forwarding here… much has been written about this book, and you don’t need my plot summary.

Morgaine will become a priestess of Avalon, and she will become very powerful indeed, but will have to serve the Goddess in ways that pain her deeply. In four parts – “Mistress of Magic,” “The High Queen,” “The King Stag,” and “The Prisoner in the Oak,” we see her play the role of the maiden, the mother, and the crone. She is fierce in her protection and promotion of the religion in which she is trained. It is central to the story of Arthur’s reign, in this telling, that (under Gwenhwyfar’s influence) he shepherds Britain toward a homogenous Christian faith, away from a diversity of indigenous traditions, including the goddess cult of Avalon, and Morgaine fights that transition mightily. Her story is, I think, a tragedy, and includes strong threads of that classic tragic element, hubris (a term Arthur invokes once).

Bradley has chosen to tell this story mostly in a series of close-third-person perspectives, so that the reader can see the thoughts and feelings of one character and then another (the exception being those italicized first-person moments with an older Morgaine), so that we understand that each is dealing with insecurities and ultimately, mostly, good intentions, which heightens the sense of tragedy: that both Arthur and Morgaine want the best for Britain, that Viviane knows she will hurt her beloved niece Morgaine but feels it necessary for the greater good. It is a very fine literary trick to set up no absolute villains or heroes, but rather to offer us flawed humans who try hard and fail. It is hard, though, not to sympathize with the side that wishes to preserve its tradition as one of several, rather than the one that wants to squash out all but one religion.

There are many plot threads, romances, love affairs, couples that produce children (all-important heirs) and those that don’t. There are many themes, a number of which involve women’s various roles in society: to bear children, to be chaste, to support their mates, to participate in political machinations (or not), to be involved in one religion or another. An important difference between the rites of Avalon and those of Christianity centers on sex, which is either a grievous sin in all contexts except strict (marital) reproduction, or a beautiful celebration of life, the natural world, the God and the Goddess coming together. [Same-sex encounters are not many, but also not absent. No surprise that Avalon and Christianity handle them in different ways.] Morgaine’s tradition is inherently feminist, and at odds with Christianity, in that it holds that women belong to no man and may take lovers as they choose and as serves their worship and their life’s work.

This is a work of fantasy (as in magic and sorcery), and a classic retold, as well as historical fiction, as Arthur’s legend offers a version of how the Great Britain we know today came to be. Bradley’s work offers another take, in which a brave woman undertakes to defend indigenous traditions in a time of political and religious upheaval. The outcome, I think, doesn’t change much, but the way we view the different players involved matters a great deal. It’s also, of course, about human relationships. Morgaine, Arthur, Gwenhwyfar and Lancelet go back to childhood together, and there is a refrain late in the book of recalling the few of them who had once been young together. There’s a pretty strong thread of sympathies between friends, lovers, enemies, and those who move between those categories, even when they wind up killing one another.

Bradley’s storytelling is absorbing. It was easy to fall into a world very different from my own here, in the details of women’s lives in royal castles – dark, monotonous, filled with gossip and spinning and sex that’s not entirely consensual, even for privileged women – and in the rapture of Avalon’s powerful priestesses. The mysticism of that religion, the spell of Goddess-blessed sex, and the strong feelings of characters willing to die for their beliefs are all evocatively told. The romance, intrigue and pathos of that famous love triangle between Arthur, Gwenhwyfar and Lancelet is powerful and discomfiting. Heavier scenes are as well written as the light-hearted and humorous ones; Bradley’s characters’ humanity is always present. It was a hell of a journey, and I’m glad to have made it.

Whew. Thanks, Liz.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #Marion Zimmer Bradley #The Mists of Avalon #book review

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sillycoffeewizard · 1 year ago

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Hi everyone, and this is my post with theories and headcanons about John Titor because I love her so much and she is my daughter!! <3

❗The theories and headcanons were created with the help of my bestie, who I told everything I know about this character so far (my knowledge may be incomplete). These are just our thoughts and guesses. We may be wrong on some points, sorry!!! But we have been doing a little research with John Titor's story and her voice lines in the game, and today I want to share it

John Titor's diary

In her diary entries, John Titor notes the weather on a particular day. e.g.: June 16, rain; January 29, snow, and so on. perhaps this helps her remember events better

She describes war and chaos in the world. There could be several possibilities here:

She has experienced violence in the past (abuse, abusive behavior, etc.), which traumatized her, and the war is a veiled description of her experience. This is how she conveys her feelings and perception of the world around her;

There was a war at the time (the diary does not give the year), she was a victim of warfare and violence (she was taken prisoner, sent to a concentration camp and had horrible things done to her). She kept a diary at the time or wrote about past events;

You probably know the story of John Titor, who called himself a time traveler. On a forum dedicated to creepypasta he wrote "predictions of the future", detailing events that he said might happen. Maybe John Titor (the character) was fascinated by this story and just made it all up, based on what the real John Titor predicted, because her personality was built on this mysterious person. Or...John Titor (the character) calls herself a time traveler for a reason. Maybe she really is one, and in diary she describes an event from her time (war, cancellation of the Olympics, chaos in the world) while predicting the future. These are the two reasons she has that name in the game

Fan fact: her badge looks a lot like the symbol of the existing "John Titor Foundation" that published a book about the "time traveler" that included his forum entries

1. Reverse: 1999 wiki, 2. Wikipedia

John Titor's voice lines

I was using other people's translation of her hexadecimal code phrases into words. I'm also making assumptions based on the theories i've previously described

Under "to the future" she says "crazy like me.". According to previous assumptions about her diary entries, it can be said that she is traumatized by her experiences of violence or war. she may have depression and PTSD, and this phrase is her idea of the future, which is typical of people with mental disorders;

Under "hobby" she says "Corvette 1966 black". According to Google, that's the make of the car. Why is she talking about it? Let's look at "bond: night", her phrase is "wanna go on a drive". I think these phrases are related. Maybe she doesn't sleep at night (she has bruises under her eyes) and it's at night that she can spend time doing her hobby: she's literally driving a car. Or it's in her imagination and she's just reflecting in this time;

In the "hat and hair" column she says "hey don't touch me". She may have experienced violence, it could have been bullying by someone or it could have happened during the war she wrote about in the diary. In any case, she is not tactile at all as a result of the traumatic events, she hates to be touched and doesn't let anyone touch her. You can also see that her hair is cut unevenly, which could also be due to the traumatic events;

Under "clothing and torso" she says "a soldier's physique". This description could mean that she witnessed or participated in warfare and/or, again, experienced violence. Either way, she notes her resilience. She was able to endure and survive horrific events as if she were a soldier. Or is this another reference to "time traveler" John Titor, who called himself a soldier

Why does John Titor only interact with everyone using hex code?

Given the theory that she is indeed a time traveler, we can make the assumption that code is the "language of the future," a way of interacting between people whose lives are entirely built on and dependent on technology;

Perhaps because of the traumatic events I wrote about earlier, John Titor no longer wants to associate herself with people in any way, to be like them, to speak human language. She decided to completely restructure her personality and become something like a mechanical machine

That's it for now! I hope this post is enjoyed by the likes of theory and headcanon fans in this fandom, I really tried hard to make it as good as possible. Again, I don't consider everything described above to be canon, it's just speculation and conjecture. I wanted to share my thoughts, and I'm proud of it because I love John Titor!! Also my knowledge may be incomplete and my views may differ. I welcome constructive criticism and reasoning <3

#fandom #characters #theory #theory about character #headcanon #research #reverse 1999 #r1999 #john titor #reverse 1999 john titor #r1999 john titor

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sysakiddo · 2 years ago

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5 times Lewis confronted Sebastian about his writing and one time he did not have to

“You're not even listening to me.” Lewis, for lack of a better word, whines. He has a deep crease between his eyebrows. Sebastian wants to tell him the wrinkle will stay there, just to see him panic. Though he manages to hide it, Lewis is really vain sometimes.

“I'm kind of busy at the moment.” No apology. “You were saying?”

The room is too hot and sticky for Sebastian to play mind games with Lewis. He wants to be alone and count down the minutes to when he can take a cold bath.

Suddenly, Lewis moves quickly, soundlessly. He likes to remind Sebastian he is a cheetah, with or without a car.

Sebastian does not manage to hide the tab he had opened. As a rule, these days, he is not fast enough.

“Seriously, Seb? The Times crossword is more important than what I'm telling you?”

“I would never dream of saying you're not the most important thing in the world.” the blond huffs, feeling mean now.

He is very obviously fishing for a reaction and Lewis knows it. From previous experiences, he also knows the fight would not bring him any gratification. He smiles tightly instead, sitting down on the couch.

Sebastian glares at him, hating how Lewis looks like he belongs there. Like there is no place where he belongs more than on the couch in Seb's driver's room.

“I finally read your book. The one about the spies, Burning Snow?” he clarifies as if Sebastian doesn't know the plot and names of his own books.

And look, Sebastian is still mad at whoever leaked his identity to the press. It is more than a month since the whole world discovered that he, Sebastian Vettel, four times world champion, is also an acclaimed author. He published all of his books under a pseudonym, which worked pretty well. Until now.

The people in the paddock took it in stride. Out of them, who looked like they could write a book that became a bestseller long before his identity had been revealed? The bee rescuer is the only one fit for the job.

Valterri was the first to go through the bulk of his publications, three novels and one book for kids.

Your writing is pretty good. Maybe you should try and publish it someday :)

The text from Valterri after he finished made him huff, but deep down, something in his chest had eased.

Lewis, however, was weirdly evasive on the topic. He was apprehensive about reading any of Seb's work and only got to it when Valterri left all of the books on his desk, with a post-it note on the top.

READ IT!!!

Immediately after finishing the first chapter of the first novel, he regretted not starting earlier. Uncovering the similarities between the side characters and the people in the paddock was a lot of fun. It felt like an intimate look into the story that Seb's readers wouldn't normally get. One of the characters, the one who actually holds the key to the climax of the story and is far more important than the reader would have thought at first, is based on him, he thinks. Lewis only puts it together at the end. It's the way the character's dialogues are written that gives it away. He thinks it fascinating to find out how Sebastian privately perceives him. He describes him with great detail, things that Lewis wouldn't think to notice about him even. The thought of being so closely watched makes the top of his ears heat up.

Now, Sebastian is watching him, unimpressed. “You can read?”

Lewis keeps ignoring him - it works most of the time. “My favourite was Thomas, naturally.”

The top of Seb's cheeks turns bright red. “N-narcissist.” He tries to keep his composure, shaking his head a little. The stutter exposes him and Lewis smirks like he has just won. And his trophy is sitting on a stool in front of him.

“Well, I gotta run now. I'll come back with a review of book number two!”

Seb is too overwhelmed to react before Lewis slips out of the door. He sighs, returning to his crossword.

The next time Seb sees Lewis, he curses the way his heart flutters in his chest when he sees his smile.

“I tried the recipe, you know,” Lewis lets his hand linger on Seb's forearm as he stops him in his stride. They are both rushing to get to the debrief on time. Lewis does not care.

At Seb's quizzical face, he puckers his lips a little in annoyance. “The one from Freedom to Pheasants; what Matilda used to offer her cousins when they came over. I, of course, used soya yoghurt and I still had a little bit of the honey you gave me-” Seb opens his mouth to interrupt him but does not succeed. “I used almond butter and cherries instead of raspberries and let it freeze for a few hours. Why didn't you tell me sooner? It is delicious.”

“We really have to go, guys.” the intern standing beside them looks like he regretted taking this job and would rather jump off the cliff than listen about frozen yoghurt treats for another minute.

“Did you like it? The book, I mean.” Seb asked, feeling like a kid asking for compliments on his drawing. He regrets it almost immediately. Lewis flashes him a big smile, open and sincere, the sight only a few people are graced with.

“Yeah, man. The dialogues were spectacular.”

When Seb opens the freezer in his motorhome a few hours later, he is taken aback by a small white box with a sharpie-drawn smiley on top. When he opens it, five perfectly symmetrical yoghurt bites punch the air out of his lungs, like he missed a stair. With shaky hands, he fishes out one and takes a bite. The aftertaste of honey in his mouth makes his eyes water.

“Seb! Seb! Sebastian!” the whispering grows louder with each call of his name and Sebastian feels himself getting pulled out of the slumber. He groans loud enough for the woman sitting next to him, someone from McLaren's marketing team, to glare at him.

“What?” he snaps at Lewis, the other man taken aback. He doesn't expect to see the dark circles under Seb's eyes, his ashen skin looking almost white.

He gulps, worry bubbling in his chest. “Care to join me for dinner?”

The German sighs, hunching in his chair even more. He jerks his shoulders, which Lewis takes as an affirmative response.

A few hours later, every corner of Lewis' apartment is filled with quiet music. Seb is watching his every move from the bar stool in his kitchen. Lewis feels weirdly exposed like that, chopping onions for their dinner, even though it isn't the first time he has made dinner for Sebastian. Not by a long shot.

“Daniel must have been thrilled,” he cuts the silence abruptly. Seb doesn't understand and makes a go-ahead gesture with his hand. “When he found out you based the main character on him, I mean.”

“Oh,” Sebastian smiles bashfully. “You've read This room can not be eaten?”

Lewis nods. The book for kids took him the shortest to read, naturally. To his bewilderment, he enjoyed it a lot. After he had finished, he immediately bought a copy for every kid in his family.

“I don't think Daniel had realised Rick is based on him, actually.” Seb chuckles, his eyes lighting up in joy.

Sebastian starfishes on the couch after they finish eating. Lewis pours them a second glass of wine and sits down next to him. Carefully, carefully.

The German looks better after eating, though he still very clearly lacks energy. Lewis turns on the television, mainly as the white noise.

He falls asleep in no time, and Lewis stands up to put the fluffiest blanket on him. He makes sure both his shoulders are covered, hesitating a bit before brushing the stray strands of hair out of his forehead.

When he sits down, Sebastian whines softly and puts his cold feet under Lewis' thighs.

Lewis lets himself hope.

The next time they see each other, Lewis is a few drinks in, talking a little louder than he usually would. Seb finds him laughing in a circle of a few of their friends. He is like a magnet, though he never fully realised how much power he holds in a crowd of people.

“Birthday boy!” Seb beams at Charles, hugging him firmly. He already congratulated him this morning with a gift and a proper speech. Now, it's time to clink his glass with him, which, he personally thinks, is too old to do properly.

Either way, he lets himself get lost in the conversation. Charles, Lewis and Daniel make it easy for the debate to flow without his input.

“Oh, Seb, I almost forgot! Arthur told me to tell you he loved When I Was Older! He wanted to know if it would be okay to ask you some questions later.”

The attention shifts to Seb after Charles' words. Stupidly, he can feel his cheeks flush. “Eh, thank you. I appreciate that. Sure, send him my way when you see him.”

“He kept talking about the plot twist for days. I still haven't finished the first one - I'm sorry, I'm such a slow reader - but yeah, Arthur thinks the sequel is even better.”

Lewis snorts. Charles whips his head towards him, surprised. The same goes for Sebastian. Sure, the reviews for the second book in the spies series were mixed. But he thought the bad reviews were biased - the book came out at the same time his alias got revealed.

“You did not like it?” Charles asks naively. He hasn't been sober for hours now.

The Brit looks affronted by the idea of liking the book. “I hated it.” he spits and, yeah. Sebastian is shocked at just how much those words hurt. He has no resources to hide it, so instead, he bares his teeth in a leering smile.

To his great surprise, Daniel joins in. “Well, of course, what Thomas did was questionable, but that made the plot twist even better.”

Lewis is not buying what Daniel is selling. “Nah, it was stupid and made no sense, man. Why would Thomas betray his lover if-” If he is based on me. He almost blurted it out, thankfully cutting himself off before he could do something he would regret.

Still, Sebastian averts his gaze, bashful. The tension in the air is tangible and Charles, not wired to understand bad vibes, as he calls it, asks him another question.

“Are you working on something now?”

Seb looks at Lewis when he lies through his teeth. “No. I think I'm quite done.”

That's the reason why, three weeks after the party, when Lewis sees a post on his insta feed with Seb's picture and BOOK ALERT in big red letters, he clicks on it. He is doubtful at first, but then it turns out that, yes, Sebastian really published a new book during the winter break. It is a poetry experiment, explains Seb himself in the interview Lewis reads through.

Unexplainably, his hands shake as he tries to google a page where he can buy the poetry collection. When he finally finds it, he curses. Seb wrote a poetry book in fucking German.

He has no shame and immediately calls him to ask about the translation.

“No, I do not think it will get translated.” Seb is wary. “Why?”

“I would like to read it, that's all.”

Seb snorts, can't help himself. Why would you want to read it if you hate my writing so much.

“Well,” he says instead. “I've told you a long time ago German could be useful.”

Lewis pays big bucks to the publishing house to make the translation happen in the shortest time possible. He makes sure Sebastian has no idea he is the one who pushes for the English translation and pays off everyone, so it stays that way.

Out of all places, they are in the aeroplane when it all falls apart.

Sebastian is returning from the bathroom when he notices what Lewis is holding.

“Jesus, don't read that around me.”

“Why?” Lewis asks. “You don't have to be weird about it. It's great.” Lewis wouldn't say he is a poetry guy by any means. But there is something about Sebastian's words that curl off pages, sticking like caramel and breezing through his chest like a breath of fresh air. Sebastian's poetry is shockingly emotional, exposing his feelings with a sort of bravery Lewis has never felt. Most of them are reflections, sweet or poignant. Lewis can clearly see the inspiration from the Swiss nature, and the relationship with his family. It's beautiful.

Yet the ones that cut through his heart like a burning knife are the heartbreaking stanzas of unrequited love. And even though Seb states that not all poems are inspired by a personal experience in the prologue, Lewis knows poems like these cannot be fabricated. The one he's stuck on at the moment, Absolution, makes Lewis a bit dizzy.

In the seat across from him, Sebastian shrugs. “If you say so.”

“I mean, these love poems, man. They must have broken your heart. How come you've never told me?”

The pronouns sit awkwardly on his tongue, and he watches Seb squirm a bit.

“It did not feel like there was something to talk about. It would - I don't think it could ever work between-” he pauses, hauling a slow breath through his nose. He rubs his eyes with his right hand like always when he is agitated. He also forgets to use the eyedrops for his dry eyes; Lewis usually has to remind him. “Between him and me, I guess. I could never be the one for him.” He trips over his words.

Lewis blinks, feeling all turned out. He tries to process the words that feel too much like a confession to him.

“I doubt that, Seb.” He says earnestly. “I doubt anyone would find you anything but-” Perfect.

Sebastian interrupts him, a painful grimace on his face. “Just - just stop.” Suddenly, he looks exhausted and resigned all at once. “You must know, Lewis.”

Seb is not looking at him and misses the look of utter shock on his face. “Me?” Lewis feels like there is cotton in the back of his mouth. “But- But I-”

“You what?” snaps Sebastian, his face closed off now. He managed to build his walls high enough that it took more than a little love confession to make them crumble.

Lewis' head spins. There is just no way, no way that Sebastian could wax poetic about him. It's hard to breathe, and his face turns splotchy red.

“But you've never told me. Or reacted when I tried -”

“Oh, trust me, Lewis, I would have noticed if you had tried.”

“Sebastian.” he says, his voice breaking with the possibilities flashing through his mind. Sebastian is brave and he can be, too. “I have loved you for years.”

Now it's Seb's turn to look shocked. “But- You always-” he stutters, unable to finish.

“Come here,” Lewis beacons him over and Seb sits down next to him without hesitation. Lewis leans in and caresses Seb's cheek with his right hand. “You are very silly,” he presses their lips together and the feeling of Seb relaxing completely under him makes Lewis' fingers tingly.

“Hurry up!” Sebastian is wearing an atrocious old flannel shirt. Lewis swears he has put it in the 'donate' cabinet twice already, yet it always finds its way back.

He walks to the table where Seb sits, a big red box in front of him. “Open it,” he instructs and Lewis opens the lid.

“I wanted you to be the first to hold it.”

Lewis takes out the brand-new book in awe. When he opens it, the pages smell so good he closes his eyes for a second. He flips the pages until he finds what he is looking for. The dedication says:

Love, I've seen it all. I've seen the sunrises in Africa, the sunsets in Asia. The sun shining on the Mediterranean, the snow melting in the Alps. I've seen fireworks meant just for me, the beauty of the never-ending road. Seeing you smile beats them all.

For Lewis.

#sebastian vettel #lewis hamilton #sewis #f1 fic #f1 rpf #the monaco photo made me crazy #i am manifesting seb as a writer #my ficlets #monaco gp 2023

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hebuiltfive · 1 year ago

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Tabloid Trash!

The Forgotten Fifth: Who is John Glenn Tracy?

In another attempt to use the Tracy name as clickbait, a celebrity editor at the Daily Celebs! tabloid magazine speaks to an old friend of John's about who the often forgotten fifth brother truly is. John isn't impressed, but he's more concerned about how the tabloid found out about another, smaller detail.

AO3 link here (I coded this so it should look like a news article. Hopefully it works and isn't glitchy!)

Previous TT works: Aliens!

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

by Madeleine Buchanan, Celebrity Editor

Like the Kardashians of old, the Tracys are the world’s most intriguing family. Whether we’re wondering what they’re wearing to their latest red carpet appearance, or whether we’re glued to our screens as we watch them head off on their next daring rescue with their philanthropic organisation, International Rescue, the Tracy family are firmly in our minds almost twenty-four seven.

The family (and their extended close circle) are never not working. This year alone has seen Virgil Tracy attend almost fifteen art gallery openings, Gordon Tracy visiting almost seven marine conservation centres, Scott Tracy organising no less than ten charity functions on behalf of the family’s two organisations and Alan Tracy beginning his college degree adventure. Add in all the work the family does under International Rescue and there doesn’t seem to be a lot of room left in the schedules for down-time.

Yet they somehow manage it.

Oft-forgotten brother, John Tracy, made the news this week with the publication of his new book, Times Trails Tells. It is his fifth book in as many years (find our review of the scientific breakthrough here).

Die-hard Tracy fans might recognise the name, but normies are probably wondering who John Tracy is and why his name isn’t as known as the rest of his brothers.

In fact, Daily Celebs! recently conducted a poll on the general public’s knowledge of the Tracy family as a whole. From hobbies to skills, names to numbers, our reporters asked one hundred people on Hollywood Boulevard what they knew about the elusively in-demand family. You can see a more detailed report on that here, but staggeringly, it showed that almost sixty per cent of those interviewed got one of the more simpler of questions completely wrong.

How many sons did Jeff Tracy have?

The answer, of course, is five (bonus points for those readers who can name them in order), but sixty people interviews claimed it was four.

So, why is this the case? Who is the elusive fifth brother that everyone seems to forget?

If we start at the beginning, we can paint a better picture of who this man is. Born John Glenn Tracy, he is the third son of Jefferson Tracy and his late with Lucille. Like his brothers both before and after him, John was born in Kansas and spent most, if not all, of his childhood in the state. He excelled at school and, for a while at least, was surprisingly popular with his peers. Rumours of troubles with bullies begin in the years after his eldest brother left to attend a separate High School in the area, though these reports could not be confirmed at the time of writing.

John graduated from Harvard University and has since gone on to receive multiple degrees in various subjects including, but not limited to, Advanced Telecommunications and Astronomy. Most of his published works are continuations of his previous research studies.

When it comes to International Rescue, John is one of the team’s most valuable members. Known to the world as The Guy In The Sky, John is the Tracy who filters, listens and responds to all the incoming emergency calls. If you’ve asked International Rescue for help, you were most likely talking to John Tracy.

Yet he’s the brother who is most often forgotten about. Is is because he spends so much time up in space? A former peer from John’s college days suggests that it might be.

“John was always such a party-pooper at college. He was never interested in doing anything fun. He always had his nose stuck in a book. No matter how hard we tried, the guy was never interested in any of the parties or any of the girls. Total waste of space, if you ask me. What is college if not an excuse to get absolutely wrecked? Basically, what I’m trying to say is, it’s no surprise to me that John’s the guy who’s based in space. Honestly? Best place for the loser.”

Clarence Hickory, a computer programmer for the Hickory Foundation, agreed to speak with Daily Celebs! about his former friendship with John Tracy. (At the time of writing, Tracy Industries have yet to respond to a request for a comment.)

“We met on orientation day. It was a chilly fall day. I remember it well. John stuck out like a sore thumb. You could tell he hated it. Everyone crowded round him when they saw his dad and his brother at his side. Everyone wanted a piece of him.”

Was Clarence one of these people?

“God, no! I knew to let the guy have some space. If I’m being honest, my father saw John’s as a kind of rival at the time. Both the Hickory Foundation and Tracy Industries were thinking of branching out into the same sector. Neither did in the end. My father ended up becoming good friends with Jeff Tracy.”

And you became friends with John?

“Wouldn’t exactly call us friends. We were more… colleagues. We shared a dorm along with a couple of other guys, but we didn’t get along. John didn’t fit the vibe of ‘typical college student’. He wasn’t popular with many students.”

He didn’t have friends?

“He did, just not many and our friendship circles certainly didn’t cross.”

But you studied in the same classes?

“Yeah. For Advanced Telecommunications. Bullshit lectures, let me tell you that, but it did give me a job, so I can’t complain.”

Your father gave you a position in his company, you mean?

“I like to think of my appointment as a reward for all my hard-work, rather than it being complete nepotism, Maddy.”

So, back to John. Have you seen much of him since leaving Harvard?

“I see him occasionally at conventions and conferences. He’s never interested in the talking or the mingling. I think I’ve spoken more with his brothers than John himself. I don’t think he’s changed all that much since college. In these situations, though, I can hardly blame him. I remember how terrified he looked on that orientation day, when the crowds swarmed him just because of his family name. I can’t imagine those events are much different. No wonder he doesn’t do them often.”

Our readers are going to want to know your opinion on why you think John Tracy isn’t often seen around, why he could be considered the forgotten fifth Tracy brother, but I think you’ve practically answered that.

“John is a recluse. I don’t know if he does it on purpose or whether it truly is just him, you know? But he’s definitely not an outgoing person. Never has been. Probably never will be.”

Were you surprised by the revelation of his involvement with International Rescue?

“One thing to know about the Tracys is they are probably some of the most sickeningly do-gooders the world has ever seen. Do you know how much is costs to be in their shadow as a business? A lot, okay? Did it surprise me? A little, maybe. We all had our suspicions around who IR were. Everyone did. All of us thought it was the Tracys. It doesn’t surprise me that John was involved in that, no. Not even as the comms guy.”

You described him as a recluse.

“John is a recluse, yes. He’s also a bloody enigma. There’s a reason no-one knows a lot about him, Maddy. He likes it that way. Hell, I bet half the people in his life don’t have the full story, with the exception of his brothers probably. Maybe. Who knows!”

But why would a recluse, as you put it, be the one who answers the calls?

“I think the better question isn’t why put the recluse on the calls, but rather about the work that they do. International Rescue are, annoyingly, a phenomenal organisation who do incredibly heroic and important work. Listen, I can sit here and talk to you about John all day. I’ve probably got plenty of anecdotes that could earn me a fortune, but I’m not going to share them. John and I… we didn’t get on but he’s a good man. If he doesn’t want the world to know more about him, I say respect that, Maddy, and leave him be.”

John attended three bookstores and his old university on a short tour for the launching of his new book. So far this year, that has been the entirety of his public engagements. Suspicious or, as Clarence suggested, private?

The Enigmatic Tracy will be in attendance at this year’s annual Tracy Christmas Ball, hosted by Tracy Industries LTD. Find out more here and check out previous year’s red carpet appearances here.

————————————————

John reclined back in his seat and switched the projector off. The glasses he’d been using to deflect some of the harshness of the screen were yanked off his face, and fingers pressed into the bridge of his nose as he repressed a sigh.

Time and time and time again did glossy magazine reporters (if they could even be called such a title) tried to ‘unpick’ him. Like this, most of the time it was nonsense news, though John was surprised they’d managed to track down someone who would actually speak to them about him. Normally it was all words and suspicions with no credible source to back it up. In fact, John would have been impressed if he wasn’t so exhausted by it all.

An enigma. The Enigmatic Tracy. Was that to be his new title? He’d lost count of all the others he’d been given over the years, not to mention the ones his brothers had been assigned.

He hadn’t meant to read the article. Most of the time, John actually prided himself on being able to skim past tabloid news stories about him or his family. Nothing good ever came from taking a read. In his opinion, one article like this was usually the equivalent to searching one’s name and then doom-scrolling through the feeds for hours on end, but he was in need of a break from all those numbers, and the words seemed unusually inviting to him.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been down here since breakfast, Johnny.”

Scott’s voice echoed from the glass doorway behind him. His usually immaculately styled hair was floppy and damp, suggesting he’d just come from a quick dip in the pool. John’s eyes skimmed the patio to find Gordon and Virgil still in the water, evidence enough to conclude his assumption had been correct.

He took out his ear-pods, still blasting his choice of music for concentration, and laid them on the table beside his empty mug. The sorry sight of the ceramic had him craving more coffee.

Whether it was brotherly intuition or the gleam in John’s eye, Scott took a few strides forward to confiscate the mug before the idea of a refill properly went through his mind.

“Absolutely not! You’re going to crash hard if you have any more of this.” His eldest brother chastised, breathing in once and then grimacing. “Jesus, John, how many cups have you had? You smell worse than Virgil’s studio after a long night of ‘creative pursuits’.”

Very much not impressed by the comparison — excuse him, he was not as bad as Virgil, thank you very much — John swatted Scott’s arm before trying, and failing, to reach for the mug.

“Scott…”

“No more coffee. It’s—”

“Unimportant.” John finished for him, disallowing his brother to finish that train of thought.

“I wouldn’t call twenty mugs of coffee—”

“It wasn’t twenty—”

“— unimportant, Johnny.”

“The tabloids know I’ll be at the Annual Tracy Christmas Ball this year.”

John’s bombshell had Scott take a pause.

“They… shouldn’t know. The guest list hasn’t been released yet. It’s only… what? October?” His blue eyes cast an unweary glance toward the holo-projector and then toward John. “How do you know the tabloids know?”

There was another brief pause before both brothers were scrambling for the holo-projector. The sight would have been amusing if Virgil or Gordon were paying attention to the riot that was happening indoors. Thankfully for the two battling it out for temporary custodianship of the projector, neither seemed to notice.

Scott won with ease and flicked the screen back on to reveal the article John had foolishly not completely disregarded before switching the projector off.

“John…”

“It wasn’t a bad one, Scott, I swear.”

“What have we said about reading these things? Besides, aren’t you supposed to be running the numbers for whatever it was Brains wanted you to check for him? Not exactly a productive use of your time, Johnny.”

“One, stop with the Johnny, Scooter. Two, I needed a break. Yes, even geniuses like us need breaks. And three… Are we going to pretend EOS didn’t catch you reading up on some article concerning your alleged morning Get Ready routine?”

Scott lifted a finger. “Hey, that was important! They got the hair preparation steps all wrong! I don’t want the world to think I use some crappy conditioner!”

John tried to stifle his laugh. “Yes, because correcting them was the most productive use of your time.”

His eldest brother ignored him. He sighed, scanning the article quickly and then shook his head. “I’ll check with Saf tomorrow morning, see if they know who leaked something. Of course, the journo could just be… postulating.”

He couldn’t help the raised brow. “Postulating?”

Scott nodded. “Mm-hm. Postulating.”

“That’s a big word for you, Scooter.”

The comment earned John a gentle whack of his arm, but it was worth it.

“If I can’t call you Johnny, you can’t call me Scooter.”

“I thought you liked Scooter.”

Again, Scott ignored him. “Are you going to come out and join us for a while?” He asked as he returned the projector to the table. When John reached for the mug, he held it out of reach. “No. More. Coffee.”

“If I come out and risk burning to a crisp in this stifling hot sun, will you let me have another cup?”

“It’s late October, John. It’s not stifling hot anymore.”

“Will you?”

“Absolutely not.” Scott began to trail off outside, with the cup still in his grasp, calling back to his brother as he left. “There is this thing called sunscreen, Johnny. If you’re so worried, use it.”

#fic: tabloid trash #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #five fics #john tracy #scott tracy

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from-a-legends-pov · 10 months ago

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Star Wars Legends Highlight of the Week: Honor Among Thieves by James S. A. Corey

This is a new feature where a fan will share one thing they love from Star Wars Legends – a book, a comic, an author, a character, an event, or anything else they want to highlight – and tell us more about it.

If you, too, love Legends, follow @from-a-legends-pov and check out our upcoming Star Wars Legends fanfiction event, From a Legends Point of View, HERE. Signups open April 28 - please encourage your favorite Star Wars writers to participate!

Today’s highlight is Honor Among Thieves by James S. A. Corey (actually the pen name of writing team Daniel Abraham and Ty Franck, whom you may recognize as the writers of The Expanse), a 2014 Legends novel, and we’re talking with Dessi (@otterandterrier).

Tell us about your Legends highlight. What is it? What’s it about?

Honor Among Thieves is the second novel in the Empire and Rebellion duology (the first one being Razor’s Edge, a previous Legends highlight), and one of the last books published in the Legends universe by Del Rey. This book is Han’s story, and is told entirely from his POV.

The story is set about a year after Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, and our heroes start off scattering through the galaxy in their respective missions. Han and Chewie are sent to the Core to retrieve Scarlet Hark, a high-level spy who is after a thief in possession of secret, deadly information stolen from under the Empire’s (and her) nose – and that the Empire is willing to do anything to get back. Han doesn’t want to get involved, as this is way above his paycheck. But then he realizes that Leia is at a gathering on Kiamurr, the very same planet their thief is headed to, which means the Empire will be hot on his heels. That makes up his mind about helping Scarlet get there first!

The plot is quite the wild goose chase, and you have to suspend your sense of disbelief many times and forget specialized bits of lore in order to buy it. Even so, it’s really fun and gripping, and I appreciate the way that the main conflict is used to give us excellent insight into our favourite smuggler’s mind.

What makes this a Legends highlight for you? What do you love about it?

This is one of my favourite Legends books, because I love Han Solo. I love the intensely caring, occasionally dorky, bad at flirting, barely concealing a soft interior Han Solo that somehow we were fortunate enough to get in the Original Trilogy and, somehow, so many people missed. And that’s the Han Solo we get here! I love getting to see the narrative peeling off his self-admitted layers, contemplating his involvement with the rebellion, his new relationships, and the man he could have been had circumstances not put him on the path of an old Jedi and an idealistic farmboy, by setting up a contrast with an old acquaintance that shows up. We also get to see how competent and clever he really is, something that is often neglected.

Favorite moment or scene?

There’s this scene where the group is walking through a jungle, and a character is about to shoot at a large mud creature that scared her—but Han stops her. He explains that the creature is harmless, then he pats its snout and tells it to look out for humans. Leia calls him an animal lover, to which Han replies: “If everyone got to kill anything that looked big and scary, Chewie would never be able to leave the ship.” I love this little moment because it shows that soft, caring, yet practical side of Han that not many people get to see, and it’s also a nice moment of connection between Han and Leia. Han’s concern over creatures that are “just trying to make it through another day” also gets called back towards the end, rounding off Han’s overall spot-on characterization—although that’s all I can say without spoiling the book.

Anything else you’d like to share about it?

A few other reasons I love this book:

It develops Han and Leia’s early relationship: as a shipper, the UST and the moments of deeper understanding between them here make me squeal. We see Leia through Han’s eyes and beyond his façade, and how he goes from “I can’t stand her” to “I will kill anyone who tries to hurt her.”

Scarlet Hark FTW: This OC is a bit of a perfect male fantasy, but I like her a lot. Intelligent, badass, take-no-shit female character? Yes please! I particularly love that she and Leia get along so well and it’s never a competition between them. She’s a really interesting character to explore, and I’d love to see the OT gang teaming up with her again.

Han and Luke’s relationship isn’t forgotten: I really appreciate that the authors gave this friendship the importance it deserves, with Han thinking several times that he’s sticking with the Rebellion mainly to look after Luke (which is a better motivation than him staying because he wants to sleep with Leia).

To learn more…

If you’d like to read more about Honor Among Thieves, you can check out its page on Wookieepedia or find the novel at your favorite library or used bookstore (like Razor’s Edge, it seems to be out of print for new copies, sadly).

And be sure to check out @from-a-legends-pov and our From a Legends Point of View fanfiction event; as another reminder, signups open April 28, 2024!

#star wars legends #star wars extended universe #star wars eu #sw legends #from a legends pov #legends highlight of the week #honor among thieves #james sa corey #han solo #leia organa #scarlet hark #han x leia #luke skywalker #otterandterrier #long post

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turtleations · 9 months ago

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Interview with SEIJI KIMURA (Ex-Zeppet Store vocals and guitar, currently active with solo-unit hurdy gurdy)

Published in the hide BIBLE (by Akemi Oshima) 2008

Note: Just like with INA's interview, I am keeping the honorifics on all names as Kimura used them (i.e. hide is referred to as hide-san throughout the interview).

Note 2: As with the two previous long interviews, this is very, very close to an actual translation. Many of the things I give you here are Kimura’s exact words, just moved from first to third person. The prompts and questions of the interviewer are actual translations.

Note 3: On the name "Seiji Kumura": Usually, when written in roman letters, I found the name transcribed as "Seizi Kimura". I am using "Seiji" because this is was the book uses. I also have it in the title in the order given name - family name, even though on all other interviews I keep the Japanese order of names, because, again, this is what the book does.

Note 4: The desciption in the title is from 2008. Zeppet Store did in fact reunite in 2011.

Kimura-san, after hide-san passed away, you were asked to speak in various places, weren’t you?

Immediately after hide-san’s death, Kimura wasn’t in a situation to talk about anything. He was doing a live radio-broadcast at the time, and about three days after the funeral, there was a broadcast from a satellite studio in Sendai. Numerous listeners gathered there at that time because everyone wanted to hear about hide-san, and it was very hard to speak in all that.

This is going back in time, but when how did you first meet hide-san?

A year earlier, the indies label UNDER FLOWER RECORDS had made 1000 copies of Zeppet’s album “Snap, Slide, Sandpit”, but since they did no lives and were overall unknown, those didn’t sell well. Among the acquaintances of their drummer Yanagida was a stylist who knew hide-san. According to tales from the office, that person passed the CD to a bunch of people, and one copy ended up at HEADWAX.

The CD just happened to end up in hide-san’s office?

Yes. Hide-san was living in LA at the time, but it seems that after he returned to Japan, he took a selection of the CDs scattered around the office home to listen to them. One of them was Zeppet’s, but since it was all sung in English, he didn’t think it was from a Japanese band at first. When he learned that it was from a band near Shimokita, he said “We have to do something with this” and contacted them. At the time, HEADWAX was associated with a band called DEEP, and it was at their one-man live that Zeppet Store met him for the first time. They knew they were to meet him that day, but the band members still questioned it, wondering if this was for real, when the elevator doors opened and hide-san was standing there.

Was he there by coincidence?

No, it was like he had been waiting for them. He was sitting there on his own, going, “Yo!” and they were very surprised.

While you knew X JAPAN, there was no similarity between their music and yours, was there?

None whatsoever. Zeppet Store couldn’t believe it when they heard that hide-san had taken an interest in them. Since their musical activities and their field were so different, it seemed very strange. Until they met him for real, they were sceptic and took that talk with a grain of salt when someone told them about it. It was only when they were drinking with hide-san after the live and he kept talking about their songs and their lyrics that they were thought, “Hey, this guy was really listening to us!”

What image did you have of hide-san after meeting him in person?

Before, Kimura did not know him at all. Even X JAPAN he only knew as far as “Kurenai” and such. They were on TV often, but the only impression he had of hide-san was that he had an existence completely separated from his own. When he heard about hide-san’s interest in them, he borrowed his solo CD from a co-worker, listening to his music properly for the first time.

Did you think it would be rude not to?

Yes, but frankly, in the beginning, he didn’t quite get it. It was completely divorced from X JAPAN, and while Kimura thought that hide-san was the kind of person to be doing appropriately interesting stuff, it was so different from what Kimura listened to that he didn’t know what to make of it.

What impression did you have when you met hide-san for the first time?

It was at the afterparty of a DEEP-live, when hide-san went directly to the members of Zeppet without even talking to those of DEEP, to chat with them on his own. They were drinking and Kimura was lacking confidence in it all, but seeing the earnest look in hide’s eyes, he ended up thinking, “This is a grown man I can trust completely.” It made him happy that hide-san cared about and spoke passionately with them, and he gave the impression of really loving music. At that time, they didn’t talk about business at all, and with hide-san endlessly asking about their lyrics and melodies, the impression changed to that of one single-minded about music. Until then, Kimura had thought him just a scary young man.

After that, did you sign up with hide-san’s label at once?

That fateful album came out in ‘94, they met in ‘95, but with hide-san living in LA, they couldn’t often talk directly. So, they started talking business with the representatives of HEADWAX. They talked about recording a demo tape with all their new songs of that time, but when that tape was done,　it was deemed so good that all those recordings ended up as the final version. Since the songs were all in English, the idea quickly changed to releasing it in the US, and they eventually did so with the album “716”. They met hide-san again when they went to LA.

For the second time?

The second time, yes.

Had it been hide-san’s idea to do a proper recording on the demo tape?

Yes. Since Zeppet were amateurs, they didn’t really understand the meaning of demo tapes. Since they were now in a studio much more splendid than what they had worked in before, they reworked their lyrics, fixed the arrangements, and recorded it all giving their best.

And suddenly, you debuted in the US.

Yes. Because they released the demo tape like it was a competition, three companies put their hands up for it. They picked the one with the most favorable conditions. Since they would come out specifically in the US, it was decided that they should do some promotion, and while they only gave three concerts, they stayed over there for about a month.

That’s amazing! (laughs)

It was mostly sightseeing. In LA they did serious promotion: Went on the radio, gave interviews, appeared on TV, had a live at the “Viper Room” run by Johnny Depp, and more. They were put in charge of an event by an organization like the Japanese JASRAC [Japanese Society for the Rights of Authors, Composers and Publishers]. Because there are a lot of Japanese people in San Francisco, they interviewed with the local newspaper and gave a concert, but next they went to Seattle and there was nothing (laughing). So they went to have fun at the club night after night.

What was meeting hide-san for the second time like?

Kimura’s got an entire mountain of memories of that second time in LA. One time, hide-san took them to a Japanese restaurant he often went to, and as they went back to the hotel in two cars, music by Zeppet was played on the radio of the car hide-san was in. The car suddenly stopped, and hide-san said, “It’s on!” while crying.

Crying?

Yes. They were drunk, but all the band members and hide-san sat in the car, motionless, for four minutes, and hide-san was crying. And then he fell asleep, with an extremely happy expression on his face. They delivered him home like this.

Did you talk a lot when you were in LA?

They did. Hide-san came to see them live in LA, and after the concert was over, he said, “If you ever win an award, you can say, “Thank you, hide”. That’s enough.” At just that time, hide-san was starting zilch, and Kimura thinks that releasing an album in the US had been his dream as well. It seemed like the fact that he got this small indies band in his employment to debut there first made him very proud and happy.

You said you had three lives; did hide-san come to see all of them?

No, just the one in LA. It seems like he wanted to come to the others, but his own schedule made that impossible. Since there had been no opportunity for him to see them in Japan, LA was the first time he got to watch them perform. Anyway, in Japan, they were a band with roughly fifteen people in the audience. Fifteen was the biggest crowd they had ever assembled. At their worst, it was three.

And then you suddenly gave concerts in the US.

It was like a dream. Until then, they had only had stages of around 20 minutes. Now there were 40 minutes, and that they came out for encores also started in LA.

Did hide-san say anything about his thoughts on your live?

There was only one negative thing Kimura got: That he did not convey enough strong emotions with his eyes. “You have to put a bit more power into your eyes,” he was told. “Don’t make eyes like Mogutan,” hide said and called him Mogutan [Character from “Manga Hajimete Monagatari”, an educational program for children that ran from 1978 until 1984] for a while. Aside from that, he didn’t say anything. He liked Zeppet as it was and didn’t feel the need to interfere with Kimura’s handling of it. He said he was not a producer, just a collector who liked Zeppet, so as long as he could get their work out into the world, he was satisfied. Hide-san didn’t say anything about their musicianship or their visuals. In fact, it was a bit anti-climatic.

Weren’t there any songs he didn’t like?

There weren’t. Their first two albums – the one that got them to meet hide-san and the one after that – were in English, but their debut was made in Japanese. Since he had been singing exclusively in English until then, Kimura was very anxious about that and wondered what hide-san thought about it, but hide-san only said, “It made me cry.” Afterwards, Kimura was called alone to the Sendai concert of the PSYENCE-tour to perform there on his own. He took the Shinkansen to Sendai and performed their single “Koe” before the encore. Since he came alone and didn’t bring anything, hide-san said, “Use my guitar”, and let him borrow it.

Your impressions of that time

It had been just before hide debut, and Kimura realized what it meant to give music his own color. hide-san’s thought process was unpredictable. Kimura thinks his way of thinking must have changed somewhere along the way to keep up with hide-san’s. When they they had someone from the audience come up on stage and dance during the song called “Beauty & Stupid”, Kimura asked hide-san, “Please let me dance as well” and was allowed on stage. Since he didn’t have a personality like that, something must have changed. The tour was stimulating like that. While he was dancing in female clothes wearing a wig, it was pointed out during the MC that “Kimura, who was singing yesterday, is dancing over there.” Later, during the afterparty, DIE-san sang and played “Koe” on the keyboard and the members of hide-san’s band were crying. Inada-san (INA) was wailing. At that moment, Kimura thought, “I’m lucky to debut among people like these.” In the end, Kimura couldn’t keep going with them due to some sudden developments, but it was fun, that year, shocking as it had been.

Zeppet’s activities then?

They also went on tour. When they did their tour starting with their second single, they were also in a place where hide-san was scheduled to be. They saw his live in Sapporo.

Did your impression regarding hide-san change?

Kimura thought that if you know him better, hide-san is a pretty kind person. Even if he raged when drunk, he would always say, “I’m sorry” the next day. While irrational things made him angry, he was never angry at the members of Zeppet. No matter how drunk he was, he always supported them. He took them to a lot of bars, and later they heard from the staff that he paid for everything with his own money. He was like the embodiment of kindness. To Kimura, he was a music-loving, mischievous older brother.

You were taught many things.

Drinking until morning was one of them, that was something Kimura did not know before being dragged around. He liked alcohol, but wasn’t tough enough to keep going all night. He was taught to go through two or three places and finish it off by eating ramen. Then, when moving on, the walked with a skip to their steps (laughing).

What do you mean?

It was a silly thing, but he liked silly things, and he enjoyed being in that circle. It seemed unbelievable to him, a plain guy who had just debuted, should be friends with these flashy people and be on good terms with them.

Were you ever given advice?

Hide-san never told them to do things in a specific way, but at the time of their major debut, he said, “If you’re active in Japan, wouldn’t it be better to do so in Japanese?” Also, they were often told that bands that do not have a concert at the end of the year are not bands at all.

At the end of the ear? On New Year’s Eve?

They were told to “do that, no matter what.”

What were things you consulted with him about?

When it came to writing lyrics, they consulted hide-san on how to put them down in Japanese. Kimura asked, for example, if it was okay to write the song in Japanese and have only the hook in English. hide told him to just write it the way he likes it and see what happens. They were talking about their second single, “TO BE FREE”, and Kimura was told that it wouldn’t be any problem at all. Then, Inada-san taught them various recording techniques. Like how to make the core sound of the guitar stronger. When hide-san was drunk, he talked a lot, but those were just trivial stories. There was talk about music for about the first 30 minutes, after that it’s all silly but fun stories. He did get passionate talking to guitarist Gomi about effectors, though. Gomi-kun was using a guitar called “Jaguar” at the time, and hide-san ordered a guitar with the exact same shape from Fernandez, which had been, again, extremely cool. The song he used it for, saying he was influenced by Zeppet in this, was “Flame”. That hide-san had been so open about having being influenced by them made them extremely happy. At the time of recording “Flame”, hide-san said, “Please lend me your drums”, and so Zeppet Store’s Yanagida beat the drums for that song on the album. There had been plans for a Zeppet Store concert around that time, but then Yanagida went to LA, and Kimura gave a concert on his own for maybe the second time in his life. Now he does that all the time, though (laughing). Then, however, he was like, “Curse you!” towards Yanagida.

He just had to go to LA on his own. (laughs)

The finished song was amazing again. It had a melody Kimura had not heard before, and it was interesting that hide-san said, “I was influenced by Zeppet and this is the result.” Also, Zeppet had a song called “Flake”, and it made Kimura happy that even the title was similar to one of theirs.

Did you watch an X JAPAN live at that time?

They bothered them at the 1996 end-of-year concert. Hide-san wore a green costume and gave off the kind of fashionable, cool air that had led to PSYENCE. After that, they went to the afterparty, and there was a year-end party from the office as well, it was magnificent. The following year, Zeppet, as per hide-san’s advice, also gave an end-of-year concert.

Did you also hang out with hide-san in Japan?

Yes. At that time, hide often went to a bar called “Rally” in Nishiabazu, and since he also took Kimura along, Kimura also ended up going there on his own.

Huh? Until then, you weren’t the type for that, were you?

Not at all. That, too, is clearly hide-san’s influence. One day, Kimura was drinking on his own when hide-san happened to come into the bar. Except, he was walking on crutches. Kimura had heard rumors that hide had broken his foot in Atami, but the people from the office didn’t tell them anything so they wouldn’t worry. Due to his injury, hide-san was not allowed to drink alcohol. It was not often that you saw him not drinking in a place like that, but having a strong sense of service towards those around him, he still stayed with Kimura for two hours and kept him company without drinking. During this time, he was regaling Kimura with wild, hilarious stories from the past until Kimura was rolling with laughter. “I want to meet Kimura’s girlfriend. Let’s call her, so you can introduce us!” So Kimura called his girlfriend of the time and the three of them kept drinking together. When hide-san got drunk, he would always talk about how useless he was. He liked to make fun of himself. It surprised Kimura how a rockstar like hide-san would look down on himself like that. The truth is, Kimura took after that trait and starts by talking shit about himself when drunk.

Hide-san could tell funny stories, couldn’t he?

No matter what kind of story, if hide-san was telling it, you ended up roaring with laughter. He had mastered the art of conversation. In any case, it was extremely funny. The next time they were drinking together, Kimura passed hide-san a cassette with hurdy gurdy [Kimura’s solo unit] music and asked him to listen to it. Then, it was used, without anyone telling him, in LEMONed’s catalogue video (laughing). About forty seconds of it, and the sound was bad, because it was from a cassette. Just letting it flow at its own convenience. Kimura was happy.

Was it rare for people to drink with hide-san?

It was more like a general trend, they were never alone at the time. The moment hide-san aimed for the counter, Kimura was at his side. Since they couldn’t really talk among all those people, those moments were his chance. They requested their favorite music and talked about bands like KISS, POLICE, or QUEEN. It was a wonderful time.

Kimura-san, what did hide-san mean to you?

Even though the things they did and their music were different, he is somehow still a mark Kimura is aiming for. He would probably get angry if he said that, though. As a human being, Kimura loved him, as a man he respected him, and even now he has yet to meet another person with this passion towards the music they are doing. When Kimura lost his way in regard to music during some part of his life, it was hide-san who helped him find it again. If he hadn’t met hide-san, he would probably be doing some other work now. If you think about it like that, hide-san was his benefactor. Although Kimura can’t surpass him, a small ambition to try still exists somewhere.

What did hide-san do as your benefactor?

Kimura loved music and had always wanted to do it, but he didn’t think he could make a living out of it. When he met hide-san, he was twenty-eight years old and pretty late to making his debut as a newbie. As he reached that age, he had given up on a lot of things in his life. He was facing the decision of whether to continue making music while working part-time, or find full employment and become a self-sufficient member of society. It was a time of great worries. Then he met hide-san and his way of thinking changed: He decided that he could trust this person and that he would follow him as far as possible. At that time, Kimura was jobbing at a pachinko parlor, and if he did not become a full employee, he would have to give that up. If he did become one, he could make it to manager. Also, it came with a nice salary – more than double than what he would make as an office worker. Since he was living at the pachinko mansion, quitting that job would also mean giving up his room. His life would change drastically, he’d have to move out, and while he wondered if he could really do this, he was also aware that a chance like the one hide-san offered him would not come again, and so he decided to follow him.

That decision required courage.

So it did. If Kimura remembers it now, he wonders how that was even something to think twice about, but back then, he agonized about it a lot.

He was someone who changed your life, wasn’t he?

If Kimura hadn’t met hide-san, he wouldn’t be the person he is today. He wouldn’t have stood in the Ajinomoto-Stadium. He would probably have continued to do music but would have performed in front of an audience of maybe fifteen to twenty people. Through meeting hide-san and being recognized by him, Kimura became an adult. Hide-san was his patron.

What would you want to tell young fans about hide-san?

They can learn about his music from CDs and DVDs, but the plain, unadorned part of hide-san is not talked about much, so Kimura would like to tell them about him as just a guy. He was made of kindness, extremely thoughtful. Even though he was the main act, he never lost sight of those around him. He showed great consideration for the staff and even gave attention to people like Kimura, who had a completely different view on things. “Kimura-san looks bored, so let’s entertain him” he’d say to the staff. Kimura thinks he was massively tolerant of other people’s faults. He could be troublesome when drunk, but everyone understood that that was just the flipside of all the affection, and no one around Kimura ever said a single bad word about him. Of the people who had even a little bit to do with hide-san, no one really said anything bad. Kimura got the strong impression that he was someone who was loved by those around him no matter what. There is no one else like that. The impression he left was that of a person who wasn’t perfect, but good.

That no one got angry with him even when he was acting irrationally is amazing. Simply put, it speaks of virtue.

Really. When Zeppet was DJing at the LEMONed Club Event, hide-san unexpectedly came to visit. Since there would have been an uproar if he had been discovered, they went drinking together in the back, and because Zeppet Store’s second single had just come out, talk inevitably turned to the band. At this point, hide-san asked a staff member, “Are you promoting it properly?”, showing a glimpse of being the head of their company in a business context. When the staff member said, “I have no idea,” he lost it. So he hit the wall hard enough for it to break and for blood to flow.

……

Of course he couldn’t hit his own staff member at his own event. Instead, he raged wihtou involving other people and chased a taxi, that’s all. Hide-san liked chasing taxis, it seems. He liked running, too.

Did you see him run a lot?

He did. Running, rolling… He never failed to do something funny. On hide-san’s birthday, Sugizo-san and J-san of Luna Sea came by. J-san had brought a 1-sho [1,8 litres] bottle of Japanese sake that hide-san liked, putting it on the table with a “Happy Birthday!” And hide-san just said, “I appreciate it, J, but I quit drinking Japanese sake. When I drink it, I flip out.” That got him the admiration of his close friends. Hide-san introduced Kimura to Sugizo-kun and J-kun and really, a lot of other people. Even though hide-san is already gone, Kimura still meets people through him. While it’s not just people hide-san introduced him to directly, he became friends with kyo-chan through hide-san, who came to stay the night at Kimura’s just the other day.

He had a gift for connecting people with each other, didn’t he?

At the time of Kimura’s debut, most of his fans knew him through hide-san, and even now, it’s thanks to hide that he can connect with his fans. Kimura Seiji is someone living his life in hide-san’s protection and is thus inseparable from him. Even now, the memorial portrait of hide-san in the room where Kimura makes his music is properly decorated. For a while, it was right in the center, but he eventually moved it back some because it was awkward like that. Even now there are probably people who mistake hide-san for LEMONed’s producer. But that is far from the truth. Hide-san always said that he was just a simple collector who wanted to release the things that were good. He approached it with the basic mindset that good things didn’t need to be tampered with, Kimura and the others had complete freedom. They only got four singles and one album delivered through hide-san. For the last single, they had to overcome the fact that their guitarist Gomi-kun, whom hide-san had loved, had quit, but they still got extremely high praise for it. Hide-san called them specifically to tell them that he had cried about a hundred times. It’s because of memories like this that Kimura is still taking singing seriously. Because even until today, there’s been no one else to say such things to him.

Hide-san was also gifted at giving praise.

Hide-san’s praise really became Kimura’s stepping stone. That he could just go for it, thinking, “Next, I’ll write another good song” was also hide-san’s power. That single became the last song of his that hide-san listened to. Even though that is what it is, Kimura wanted him to listen to many more songs.

Is there anything you would like to say to hide-san today?

Even now, Kimura still asks hide-san how to deal with it when he has a problem. But now, he has to find the answer himself. He received that strength, and now, by asking, he feels that he is growing up a little. To speak plainly, hide-san’s meaning to him exceeds family. He is so important that inside Kimura, he has the status of a god, even if it seems strange to say it like that. Kimura is truly grateful that he got to meet hide-san, because of that one CD that happened to end up in his hands.

#hide #hide bible #interview #summary #translation #zeppet store #seizi kimura #seiji kimura #using both because japanese names #this was both very hard and very easy #there's a lot of affection in it and it contains so much stuff I did not know before #it's also the last long interview from this book for now #there are several more shorts coming #then I'll put this book aside for a while for another project #I'll come back to it for the rest though

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