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nnight-dances · 2 years ago

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...BABY ONE MORE TIME.

pairings: kwon soonyoung x fem!reader tropes: established relationship, drunk soonyoung!!!, teasing, banter, jealousy but it's lighthearted, skinship, some sexual content but not too explicit, idiots in love :] what to expect: There's only one thing you love more than your boyfriend, Kwon Soonyoung. And that was teasing him until you got on his nerves when he's drunk out of his mind. You can't be blamed though, can you? The result is always priceless.

“Baby, is that you?” you call out, stepping outside the bathroom and squint as you struggle to see in the darkness of the bedroom. “Soonyoung?” you ask again.

You’re a second away from freaking yourself out into thinking you’d imagined the voice calling out your name, when a squeak surprises you. There’s rustling and slowly a tall figure rises in the dark. Well, it would’ve been a tall figure if your idiot-shaped boyfriend hadn’t instantly tripped over the carpet in front of the bed where he’d been calling out your name in agony.

You laugh out just as soon as you reach out to switch the lights back on, to finally set your eyes on Soonyoung’s writhing body on the beige carpet. “Babe, they’re attacking me!” he sniffles, tears shining in his eyes.

Instantly, you’re on your knees and cooing, “Oh, my baby, what happened?” You capture his face in your palms, thumbing away the slight sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. “Who attacked you, huh? Tell me and I’ll bring out the guns!”

For a moment, your boyfriend’s taken aback at your declaration, genuinely sputtering, “You- You have guns?”

You grin cheekily, pulling away to flex your biceps, not caring how stupid you must look posing in the oversized jumper Soonyoung had thrown over you as soon as you’d let slip that it was getting a little too chilly for your liking. “Yeah, ‘m talking about these bad boys.”

Soonyoung looks away with an entertained laugh, propping himself up as he throws you his best heart eyes, “Ahhh, you’re so good to me :( I really don’t deserve you!”

“But you do,” you stop him, palms reclaiming their place on his cheeks and his lips are gathered into a pout in no time. “Anyways, tell me which one of those rascals bothered you this time?”

And by those ‘rascals’ you were referring to the crowd of friends you’d accompanied on a beach trip to celebrate Wonwoo’s birthday, enjoying what felt like the last days of your summer break getting wasted together. So far, it’d been everything you’d needed: light-hearted teasing, lots of drinks, good music and shameless dancing, and now, a clingy Soonyoung.

Although you probably wouldn’t admit it to him out loud (fearing what he’d do with the information), you love your boyfriend when he’s drunk. Contrary to what Mingyu tells Soonyoung the next morning, you love taking care of him and indulging in his drunken antics. As if a sober Soonyoung wasn’t silly enough for you, the sight of him perched on his knees, diligently confiding in you every single hurtful thing he’s been the victim of– it just made you all soft inside.

“Gosh, that’s terrible, Soonyoung,” you mumble, brushing a hand through his strands with a hum. He stops mid sentence, mouth twitching and you can almost see the inner conflict he goes through.

Fine, you’ll admit it, it wasn’t just the taking-care-of-him part that you enjoyed so much. It was also… the teasing. You couldn’t help yourself, honestly, because the sober Soonyoung would probably find a way to up the stakes and get your own ego involved but this inebriated version of him? He was trying so hard to not fall right into trap.

“Babe, what the fuck.”

You: 1. Soonyoung: 0.

“Hmm? What the fuck what?” you question innocently, swallowing a giggle.

“You’re being mean. Again,” his voice cracks a little as he mumbles out the last word and you have to sturdy yourself against the sight of his eyes falling down to his hands.

But you know better. You’ve been dating Soonyoung for long enough to know he’s been working on mastering the games you play with him. And for a moment, you’re lightheaded, realizing you’re not very sober yourself either but as the sounds of your friends partying outside seeps into the privacy of your shared bedroom, you smirk.

“Soonyoung, you’re gonna have to do better than that. Explain yourself for me.” In stark contrast to the cold way you’re calling out his full first name is the soft comfort of your tone, all mellow and honeyed.

His pout is back as he whines, “I’m not that. I’m,” his voice is clipped as he breaks eye contact again, cheeks flushing, “I don’t like it when you call me Soonyoung. At all.”

You breathe out, almost giddy because goddamnit, this man is precious. “Oh, really? And why is that?”

Soonyoung looks back up at you, finally showing you those eyes of his, ears now turning pink. And it’s like the talking stage of your relationship all over again, when Soonyoung would freeze up adorably when you’d peck him on the cheek out of the blue or when he’d sneakily reached out to hold your hand under the covers. Even now, he’s that same shy guy as his fingers find your hand, intertwining them and watching as you let him carefully.

“Because. I love you. And if we’re dating, the rule is to use nicknames,” when Soonyoung shifts closer to you, you have a moment to wonder if he’s really as drunk as he’s letting on because the spark in his eyes is so intense, “Right, my love?”

Fuck, now you’re flustered. You bite your lip and rack your brain to think of what you could say to that, only to be rudely interrupted by Soonyoung’s arms around you, pulling you into a hug.

“Soonie?” The name leaves your tongue out of pure habit and you don’t even comprehend you’ve said it until Soonyoung vibrates with a delighted chuckle against you. You feel his lips against your ear, “I love you so much, babe.”

Okay, so maybe he was that drunk, because you’d been half-expecting him to declare that he’d won this self-imagined battle of the wits. But he simply melts into yours arms, pressing loving kisses against your side with you growing redder every passing moment. Helplessly, you press your hands into his back, relishing his warmth.

You’re about to bring up cuddling as your next plan of action when you see a head pop up behind the door to your room. Seungcheol lets out a loud groan when he spots you tangled around Soonyoung’s limbs, his lips still moving against you despite the intrusion.

“Fuck you guys for real! Here I was, worrying after you! I thought one of you had slipped and drowned in the ocean while the other was here grieving.”

“Please tell me you at least suspected Soonie as the one who would be drunk enough to drown?”

Soonyoung pulls away from you with a gasp, “Y/N!!!!! HOW COULD YOU SAY THAT? I’M YOUR ONLY BOYFRIEND?!!”

His shock only greatens when you join Seungcheol in his amused laughter and soon, he’s standing up (albeit not before he bumps his head against the bed above you). You follow suit quickly, arm around him to steady him, “Soonie, you know I was just–”

“Get your hands off me :( I don’t want to talk to you! Ever!” Your heart lurches a little because he sounds genuinely upset but then you catch a glimpse of the playful pout on his face and you meet Seungcheol’s gaze with a knowing grin.

“I fear you’ve gone too far this time, comrade,” he remarks with an inappropriate amount of gravity.

“What punishment do you reckon awaits me?” you cross your arms. Seungcheol hums as if deep in thought and then, “You’re lucky if he lets you talk him into going to bed with you tonight.”

You roll your eyes as you approach the door, fingers brushing the lights back off with a click.

“You underestimate me.”

The two you trudge through the sand, with you facing some difficulty thanks to your flimsy sandals and shaky vision. “You’re drunk too, aren’t you?”

You hate that you can hear the fatherly disappointment in Seungcheol’s voice so you protest, “That’s an unreasonable accusation.”

“...That’s not what I was asking you.” The rest of your friend group comes into sight now and you’re surprised how fast Soonyoung managed to get away from you.

“I’m fine,” And then when your eyes land on your boyfriend, you’re quick to add, “At least I’m nowhere as drunk as him.” Seungcheol chuckles and if he makes any further comments, you don’t hear him because your eyes are fixed on the figure of Soonyoung wrapped around Dokyeom like his life depended on it.

He’d been happily swinging around to the music, a pleased grin plastered to his face until he notices you approaching. Immediately he’s pulling Dokyeom closer, who lets out a terrified groan but protectively steadies the man with a hand on his back. There’s a few other people dancing, with Mingyu pulling an unwilling Wonwoo into an embrace, and a giggly Jeonghan who screams at Seungcheol to hurry up and join them. Sakura is dancing alone while a very red Yunjin watches with a tired smile. You can vaguely make out Jun and Chan crouched near the speakers, possibly fiddling with the playlist that was on.

Quietly, you join Joshua on the hammock facing the gathered dancing. He shifts to give you some space as he lets out a chuckle, “You have a fight with Soonie? He came in here all pouting and then started clinging to Dokyeom like that. We had to make sure he hadn’t confused Dokyeom with you.”

You laugh, “Not a fight. But I may have teased him a little.”

Joshua lets out a grunt, “God, you’re incorrigible. You never learn, do you?”

Your smile only widens as an idea pops into your head, all while you’re watching your boyfriend lovingly dote on Dokyeom, who he’s feeding a slice of pizza. “How can I, when he’s this fun to mess with? Plus, I don’t get the same reactions out of him when he’s sober.”

“You’re a scary one, man.” Joshua prepares to zone out, probably thinking that’d be the end of your conversation but he frowns when he feels your hand at his elbow. He looks up at you, only to find a spine-chilling evil grin on your face (one that is reminiscent of Soonyoung himself, particularly when he’s accusing Mingyu of being the mafia).

“C’mon, Shua, let’s go dance.”

Joshua groans, “No way! I don’t want to be on Soonyoung’s hit list because I laid a hand on you.”

“Don’t worry, think of this as doing a favor to him,” you reassure him as you pull him toward the music, bringing his hand to your waist, “And I laid your hand on me.”

He mutters out one last string of complaints that gets drowned out in the night and you simply chuckle, finally letting the alcohol catch up to your head a little, senses overwhelmed by the loud music.

It's only been over a minute when Joshua goes, “Oh dear, he’s coming this way.”

You only have a moment’s notice before you feel a warm hand at your wrist, forcing you to rip away from Joshua’s hold. “I’m going to kill you,” Soonyoung trains a scowl on the man, a sight that would be more intimidating if he wasn’t slurring half his words. “And you,” his eyes are back on you, hand on wrist tightening.

You raise an eyebrow, “Hm? What’s that, sweet?” As expected, the term of endearment throws Soonyoung who was clearly expecting more of a fight from you. And to make things worse, just as he opens his mouth to speak again, you hear the opening notes of a familiar song playing in the background.

Both of your faces perk up in recognition, slightly comical from a third person perspective. But between the two of you, there’s pure joy when the song starts playing– a song you’d listened to together on repeat for days before. A song you used to mildly like before Soonyoung came around and added to one of your playlists as a recommendation. One day, it’d started playing as the two of you were attempting to bake tiny cupcakes and massively fucking it up. The tensions had been high and you were starting to feel annoyed but when the bluetooth speaker sitting on the kitchen counter played the song, Soonyoung’s frown dissolved into a toothy smile.

You still have this song, he’d exclaimed and looked at you with eyes full of so much emotion that you could only nod, not having the heart to explain that you hadn’t really had a chance to listen to it fully yet. But it didn’t matter then: you’d found yourself following Soonyoung when he started dancing around, limbs loose and lame, but grin intact. Soon, you had the lyrics memorized better than your own phone number.

So yeah, when you hear that song now, you can’t help but throw your arms around Soonyoung, wanting nothing more than to feel his heart beat against yours. His strong arms pull you impossibly closer with a satisfied laugh and your heart soars when you feel him singing the song for you in your ear.

When he slightly goes off-note on one of the high notes though, you pull away with a giggle, “Babe, I’ve told you to lay off the high notes. You’re gonna hurt your throat.” You place a hand on his neck gently. He swallows against your hold.

“Oh? So now you care if I hurt my throat?”

You scoff, “You’re mad at me? You’re the one who was slow-dancing with Seokmin like you were a kiss away from marrying each other.”

“Hey, that’s unfair,” Soonyoung’s fingers creep up your back and under the fabric of his pullover, “I just wanted to make you pay for what you said earlier about… Well, I can’t remember what you said but it wasn’t very nice.”

You laugh into his chest, finding his face in your hands for the second time that night. Delicately you place a kiss on each of his cheeks, murmuring, “I’m sorry, my tiger, I was just having some fun.”

You sense a change in Soonyoung’s shoulders at your words, the nickname working wonders when his lips crash into yours clumsily. Your laugh’s lost in the first kiss of many and you can’t find it in you to complain. At one point, you almost topple over because of how much of his weight Soonyoung’s leaning over you.

“Why don’t we go have some fun back in the room, babe?” Soonyoung’s gaze has long darkened with a small smile. Before you can respond, his arms are around your torso, pulling you into another open-mouthed kiss. This time you hear a disgusted sound by your side.

It’s Hansol: “Can you guys please go use a room that has a door that has a lock? Please? I’m begging you.”

If it wasn’t for you pulling away with an apologetic grunt, Soonyoung would’ve kept at it. Now, he throws Hansol a confusing wink and a, “See you tomorrow,” before he’s suddenly pulling you away with him, no doubt in the direction of your room.

When you pass by a group seated at the hammock, you throw them a rushed wave, “G’night, guys! We’re gonna get some sleep.” Soonyoung’s pulling you too fast for you to hear their responses too well, but distantly you hear a scoff from Seungkwan, “Ten bucks says you’re doing everything but sleeping.”

A few minutes later, you’re caged against the mattress, a flushed Soonyoung leaving a trail of wet kisses down your body. You mewl against his lips when he returns, “Fuck.”

“Fuck is right,” Soonyoung mumbles into your neck where you’re awaken with a few hickeys tomorrow. When he presses you into his lap, in efforts to mitigate the distance between you, you let out a string of curses when you feel his hard-on press against your shorts. “Shit, Soonie, you’re so hard for me,” you groan, hands helping him get rid of his shirt.

“I am,” his voice is small and you chuckle as you push down against the pillows. The last thing Soonyoung sees is you straddling, fingers expertly undoing his pants and boxers in a go. “Let me do something about it, baby.”

–

The next morning, Soonyoung wakes up with a headache of a lifetime, eyelids heavier than rocks when he hauls them open groggily. Even before he’s properly conscious, he’s reaching out for you with an arm to inspect the bed beside him. Much to his displeasure, he feels nothing but the fabric of the sheets surrounding him.

With a pout, he blinks his eyes open, groaning against the sunlight in the room. As he looks around with a yawn, he calls out for you, “Y/N, my love? Where are you?”

Thankfully, he hears your voice responding from the bathroom, the door to which was half-open. So, Soonyoung drags his hungover ass out of bed, knocking on the door and entering when he hears you say, “Soonie? You awake?”

It looks like you’re freshly showered, running your fingers through your damp hair and a bunch of your skincare and make-up covering the surface of the sink. “Why’re you awake so early?” he whines, instantly wrapping his arms around your waist, chin coming to sit at your shoulder.

You giggle when he takes a sniff of you with a pleased, “You smell so good, love. You should’ve woken me up earlier. Could’ve showered with you.”

“As much as I would’ve loved to, you were dead asleep,” You meet his eyes in the mirror, “Also, you and I both know that showering with you is impossible. You either end up slipping and hitting your head on the wall or find a way to fuck me.”

He gasps at your accusations but does nothing to deny them, “Okay, well, not my fault you’re hot.” He squeezes your sides as if in emphasis, effectively tickling you. You push him away through the laughter.

“Stop fooling around, babe,” you scold him with a half-serious scowl and hand him his toothbrush, “Go brush and stuff. I’ll go call the others and let them know you’re coming with me to brunch now.”

“Excuse me???” he screams after you when you quickly disappear out of sight, “Were you seriously going to let me sleep through brunch????”

He chuckles under his breath when he hears your loud laughs across the room, “No!!! I’d have to resort to starving myself to death until you woke up.”

“You’re such a liar,” Soonyoung tells you, a while later when the two of you are getting ready in comfortable silence. “You know I remember you dancing with Shua last night?”

You simply beam up at him, slipping your hands around him and he welcomes the scent of you. “Really? You remember trying to get into Seokmin’s pants? And then making out with me in front of all our friends? And then pulling me to our bedroom because you could not wait to–”

“All right, all right!! I remember!” Soonyoung exclaims with an embarrassed chuckle, looking away with a blush dusting his cheeks and you think, maybe he’s not so different sober. Then, he distracts you with those eyes of his when he leans in for a kiss. “I love you, by the way,” he reminds you like it might slip your mind.

You kiss his nose for good measure, “I love you too, Soonyoung. So much.”

You’re pulling him out the room with a quick yank before he can complain about your use of his government name and he shakes his head knowingly, promising to get you back later. For now, he just kisses your knuckles because when all’s said and done, he’d do anything for you.

Even if it meant being cast as the character who’d drown themselves accidentally in a drunken stupor.

ʚ ═══･୨ ꕤ ୧･═══ ɞ ʚ ═══･୨ ʚ ═══･୨ ꕤ

author's note:

OKAY SORRY what if i do love drunk hoshi????!!!!!!??? i am unapologetic about how insane i am for him <3 ... anyways, consider this an official declaration that kwon soonyoung is up there in my bias list, rocking it up with jeonghan and mingyu

speaking of which, someone has got to force me to write a jeonghan fic because i wake up everyday itching to write one but idk what possesses me and i simply cannot :((((( yeah, that's the life update. anyway,,,,

see you, friends and foes

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dwellordream · 4 years ago

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“Antifeminist jest and satire against alewives, shrews, and gossip soften grouped together as gossips' literature-provides a rich site for this sort of excavation. The word gossip itself requires more careful treatment than it is usually given. Respectable for centuries, gossip (from godsip) referred primarily to a godparent of either gender. By the sixteenth century the word was being applied to any close female friend, though it was sometimes used for male friends as well. In the late sixteenth century "gossiping" described a "merry meeting" of women to drink, laugh, and talk; it was not until a century later that Johnson's Dictionary equated gossip with the obnoxious woman "who runs about tattling like women at a lying in." Early modern speakers drew important distinctions between scold and gossip. The words were by no means equivalents.

Unlike talking about one's neighbors, scolding was a chronic, legally actionable offense; and the connotations of shrew varied from mild to damning. In Brathwait's Essaies upon the five senses (1619), a scold "goes weekly a catter-wauling, where shee spoiles their spice-cup'd gossiping with her tart-tongued calletting." Whatever those gossips are up to, the scold is wrong to spoil it. Such a distinction suggests that women had certain rights of assembly-despite all the injunctions that women should stay indoors, avoid all gadding, and strive for silence. Traveler Emmanuel Van Meteren marveled that Englishwomen spent so much time visiting their friends and keeping company, conversing with their equals (whom they term gossips) and their neighbours, and making merry with them at child-births, christenings, churchings and funerals; and all this with the permission and knowledge of their husbands, as such was the custom.

Daniel Rogers warned husbands that they would be foolish to forbid their wives to attend gossipings and even advised them to give wives money "to bestow upon the meetings and lawfull merriments of their kind, which it were a poore thing for a husband curiously to enquire after." Robert Cawdrey urged moderation rather than abstinence: gossips should meet only as often as "the law of good neighbourhood doth require." John Stephens's character "A Gossip" predictably conflates a woman's volubility and mobility with sexual and bodily incontinence.

Her knowledge is her speech; the motive, her tongue; and the reason is her tongue also: but the subject of her eloquence is her neighbours wife, and her husband, or the neighbours wife and husband both. Shee is the mirth of marriages, and publicke meetings .... Shee carries her bladder in her braine, that is full; her braine in her tongues end, that shee empties .... Shee emulates a Lawyer in riding the circuite, and therefore she keeps a circuit in, or out of her own liberties: striving to be both one of the judges, Jury, and false witnesses: that is her freedom only, to censure .... Her truth is, to make truths and tales convertibles: tales be her substance, her conceit, her vengeance, reconcilements, and discourse .... If she railes against whoredom it savours not of devotion; for she is only married to escape the like scandall; from the doore outward.

The irony, of course, is that the author rails in the catty tones of a censorious neighbor. Despite the formulaic hostility in this character, one may glimpse a shadow portrait of a neighbor and a neighborhood. Like neighbor, the term gossip implies a relationship between peers. Always on hand for disputes and interventions, she also serves as a chief relayer of news and knowledge within the community. As the sarcastic phrase "one of the judges" indicates, she operates as an informal social arbiter. Ironically, it is precisely her narrative skill that qualifies her for this role. No matter how caustically "tittle tattle" was scorned, gossip "gave women a particular standing in neighbourhood social relations," as Gowing puts it. "Telling stories and judging morals made women the brokers of moral reputation."

While Stephens derides his gossip for gadding and tattling, he fails to suppress an uncomfortable social fact: such women can never be excluded from the crucial labor of maintaining social order. Pamphleteers and playwrights devoted much energy to trivializing women's talk at gossipings, betraying their fear that the effects on men's reputations could be far from trivial. In a merry meeting in Thomas Deloney's Thomas of Reading, some gossips "talkt of their husbands' frowardnes, some shewed their maids sluttishnes, othersome deciphered the costliness of their garments, some told many tales of their neighbors." Some jest gossips are two-faced, greedy, and leaky, such as those in Middleton's Chaste Maid in Cheapside. Others are almost witchlike.

The author of The Gossips Greeting (1620) rants against "the proud, peevish, paultry, pernicious shee-pot companions, those curious, careless, crafty, carping curtizanicall Gossips ... dangerous as hell, / None of you beare a modest womans mind / You do infect even with your smell." These representations must be read alongside gossips' texts that are more nuanced and altogether less bilious. Samuel Rowlands's best-selling Tis Merry When Gossips Meet (1602) and A Whole Crew of Kind Gossips (1609) painted alehouse meetings with a mix of humorous voyeurism, mild satire, and unusually candid social realism. In the first pamphlet a wife and widow give a maid fairly standard advice about men and marriage. The widow buys them rounds with an evident pride in her ability to pay, providing a strong contrast to the many jests in which drunken men cheat the hostess.

Satire is directed largely at the widow, who gets tipsy and garrulous. But for the most part, the pamphlet leaves the impression that it offered readers a glimpse of women indulging in a merry pastime that formed an important and familiar part of neighborhood socializing. To repeat Wrightson's argument, the ideal of "good neighborhood" required everyone to accept neighbors "as a reference group in matters of behavior and to promote harmonious relations among them." How could a woman fulfill this obligation without asking, "What news?" The surprising answer is that she couldn't. What we now call gossip was, in fact, essential to being a good neighbor, and talking about neighbors and strangers was not considered the prelude to scolding or near kin to slander. The obligation of neighborhood made constant comment not only normative but a prime regulating device.

To use Merry Wives as an example, the Windsor wives' censure of Falstaff and gossip about Ford initiates action that will eventually involve their neighbors in neutralizing the threats to the common peace posed by a sexual adventurer and a horn-mad husband. Their joint consultation and campaign of mockery lie firmly in the bounds of "good neighborhood." Censorious gossip "could be an effective informal method of control: it indicated community disapproval, and shamed its subject. If the subject of gossip did not stop the behavior, at least everyone else knew what to think about it." Gossip, defined this way, could maintain and reiterate social boundaries. Fueled by curiosity and pleasure in ridicule, gossip also primed audiences to recognize the more cutting forms of wit and the aesthetically engineered moral judgment known as satire.

Proficiency at this narrative form, so often salted with jests and proverbs, promoted rhetorical efficacy in life and art, while skill at telling believable stories about one's life and neighbors held much weight in the courtroom and on the streets. Gossip was not always conservative in effect. By asking "What news?" women also had a chance to learn about and talk over events in the larger world, out of the hearing of husbands, fathers, and masters. According to historian Steve Hindle, gossip is both a "female subculture" and a "formative stage in the development of 'public opinion' over a whole range of issues, local and national, private and public, personal and political. To ignore gossip is to ignore one of the few channels of participation in this 'public sphere' that was open to women."

Gatherings during working time or in leisure moments, such as christenings, may have given women a place in which to articulate opinions and to plan for common action, such as the many enclosure protests, grain riots, and religious disputes in which they participated. Some fictional gossips poach eagerly on male discourses supposedly closed to them, such as biblical interpretation, the worth of stage plays, and the fate of kings. In The gospelles of dystaves (c. 1510) a group of women meets secretly to hear a new kind of preaching by "apostles" named Dame Hengtyne and Dame Abunde, while a male scholar transcribes. Their chat mixes homely proverbs and bawdy laughter, interspersed with more serious challenges to religious teachings about women's subjection.

While the pamphlet obviously satirizes ignorant and unruly women, it also suggests that women did talk together about what they heard in church and that they were given to interpreting biblical passages in favor of women's interests. Female association could be dangerous to the state: the weird sisters of Macbeth carp about their neighbors, crack jokes, practice riddling prophecy, and rearrange Scottish history. Like gossips in their cups, they "scorn male power" while "their words and bodies mock rigorous boundaries and make sport of fixed positions. " In The Staple of News, Jonson attempts to silence and discipline unruly women in his audiences by presenting caricatures of neighborhood gossips.

Underlining the close association between the juries of the threshold and the theater, Tattle, Mirth, Censure, and Expectation boldly invade the stage with their stools, sitting down to cavil about the actors and the sweaty playwright, forming a jury of women who judge a play together as if they were judging gossip and scandal at home. Despite the satire, Jonson casts them as the prime producers and consumers of news and rumors; he cannot help but make them sharp-eyed judges of the staple, which commodifies word of mouth" by printing it. Occasionally gossips are painted as resourceful and clever. In Dekker and Webster's Westward Hal, citizen wives furnish themselves "a commodity of laughter" by leading their jealous husbands and eager suitors on a wild-goose chase up the Thames.

As in Merry Wives, this pleasure carries a risk. When they plot to scare their husbands with the prospect of horns and turn the tables on their arrogant suitors, one wife warns the others that they must deflect any resulting slanders using shrewd foresight: tho we are merry, let's not be mad: ... It were better we should laugh at these popin-Jayes, then live in feare of their prating tongues: tho we lie all night out of the Citty, they shall not finde country wenches of us: but since we ha[ve] brought em thus far into a fooles Paradice, leave em int: the Jest shall be a stock to maintain us and our pewfellowes in laughing at christning, cryings out, and upsittings the twelvemonth.

Similar scenes of female complicity are rooted in the social reality of women neighbors and gossips who rely heavily on each other's judgment in matters sexual and romantic. Such interdependence was especially important for unmarried women. Comedies featuring maids satirizing suitors (like Portia and Nerissa in The Merchant of Venice) or coolly ranking types of men (like Franck and Clora in Fletcher's The Captain and Celia and Rosalind in As You Like It) probably did stoke masculine anxieties about patriarchy's vulnerability to the desires of women. On the other hand, the very same scenes may have delighted women or taught them sophisticated new ways to squelch unwanted suitors.

The antimasculinist satire and complaint that fill gossips' literature function in a distinctive way in Margaret Cavendish's Convent of Pleasure, which virtually reproduces passages from gossips' literature and from women's tirades in controversy pamphlets. Poor women meet in the street to moan about the flaws of their husbands, which include wife beating, heavy drinking, and gambling away the household funds. Other scenes show the terrors of childbed and the persecution of a gentlewoman threatened with rape by a married man whose proposals she rejects. Neighbors and friends cannot stop rapine suitors or worthless husbands in this dystopia; so Cavendish creates a gender retreat that takes female complaint seriously, dedicating her earthly paradise to women's association, education, and delight: a high-toned gossips' feast.”

- Pamela Allen Brown, “Ale and Female: Gossips as Players, Alehouse as Theater.” in Better a Shrew than a Sheep: Women, Drama, and the Culture of Jest in Early Modern England

#better a shrew than a sheep #pamela allen brown #history #tudor #renaissance #elizabethan #jacobean

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donatello-writes · 6 years ago

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TMNT x Reader - His Favorite Thing

Spending time with your turtle bae couldn’t be more fun, and he is beyond excited to share the enjoyment of his favorite activity with you.

Donnie

-You go to a local Sci-Fi convention -It's his first time going to one...obviously -And he is beyond excited -Has the whole day planned out, knows each table and event that he wants to hit -He is pretending to be in costume -Elated that he is able to walk around amongst humans freely without causing a panic -‎Also, sooo much Sci-fi! -‎He is geeking out big time -Points and gasps at pretty much everything, eyes filled with pure joy -‎Holds your hand, squeezing it a little due to nerves -‎His enormous green hand swallows yours up -Draws A LOT of attention, he was expecting this -‎Gets stopped by everyone and their brother for pictures -Tries hard not to laugh when people compliment him on how realistic his "makeup" and "prosthetics" are -‎He's a terrible actor -‎His ruse would be transparent -‎If not for the impossibility of there actually being giant mutant turtle men -‎When asked what he is, he says that he's an OC -‎Came up with an elaborate backstory for his "character" -‎He's part of an alien turtle race from Voltron -‎Had Mikey draw a picture of him to show people as a reference -‎You're both exhausted by the time you get back to the Lair -‎But god do you look amazing in your Princess Allura costume -‎Pulls you into a kiss -‎It only escalates from there -‎You're the perfect Princess Allura -‎Costume stays ON

Leo -Sword fighting -Using bamboo swords...because safety first -‎Insists you wear padding as well -‎Gives you a quick overview of the history of sword fighting -‎Has a chalkboard with visuals depicting various stances -‎Mikey helped with drawing them...he did most if it -‎There's one drawing that looks especially wonky -‎That's the one Leo did -‎After a while you're feeling confident in your new sword fighting abilities -You tell him to show no mercy -Psssht, he's not doing that -‎Agrees, but is definitely holding back -‎He wants to teach you to do his art well, but not at the cost of hurting you -‎You call him "Sensei" -Hoo boy, does he ever like that -You pin him to the ground, he raises his hands in surrender -‎"I have been defeated, failing my master...Now there is nothing left for me to do, but end it all!" -‎He says, purposefully mismatching his words and lip movements -‎*Kill Bill siren goes off* -‎Proceeds to commit bamboo sword seppuku -‎You drop to your knees -‎WHYYY??? He was so young! -‎You cling to him -‎"Leonardo...you will never know this, but...I was never your enemy. The truth is...I've always loved you!" You exclaim, clutching him as tears roll down your cheeks. -‎You also commit bamboo sword seppuku -‎Collapsing dramatically on top of Leo -‎HYCCK BLARGH -‎Mikey and Raph were your audience -Erupt into uproarious applause -‎A single tear escapes Raph's eye -‎End scene -Raph and Mikey leave -‎But what's that?! It turns out that you faked your own deaths! Plot twist. -‎Time for some fun on the tatami mat

Raph -You take him on a midnight trip to your 24 hour gym -Lock all the doors, cover the windows, and put up a sign that reads: "Closed for Renovations" -Just in case -You also bring along a memory wiping device graciously provided by Donnie -To take care of those pesky security cameras -Raph is so pumped to get pumped -‎All he has at the Lair are free weights and a bench press -Sooo many new toys -‎Doesn't know where to start -Like a kid at Christmas -Loads up a machine with a ridiculous amount of weight and tells you to lift it -Doesn't understand why you can't do it, that's nothing...for him -Perhaps it's best you workout separately -‎You're doing squats -‎Houston, we have a problem -He was in the middle of doing heavy bicep curls -‎Almost dropped the barbell on his feet -‎He's too distracted, needs to wait until you're done before he continues -"Staph wit tha squats, I'm havin' a problem concentratin' ovah here!" -Fitspo selfie time -At first, he wants nothing to do with that -But after you take a few pictures -Suddenly he's mister Arnold Classic with the cheesy flexing poses -‎You ask him if he wants to do cardio, maybe the treadmill -‎He offers a different suggestion for cardio -‎You both adjourn to the shower room

Mikey -Initially wanted to teach you how to hoverboard -‎Took some convincing from Leo and Donnie to go with a safer option -‎Surfing it is -‎On a secluded beach -‎Because the whole giant mutant turtle man situation -‎For once, his terminology is appropriate to the activity -‎Offers to rub lotion on you -‎Less about sun safety, more of an excuse to grope you -‎Majorly beefs it on a big wave while trying to show off -‎Sea turtle encounter -‎"Sup, cuz!" -The animal does not know what to make of him, and swims away in fear -Wants to be buried in the sand -Aiming to recreate that "sand guardian" vine -You reenact is with perfect precision -Never actually taught you how to surf -You don't mind, you still had a great time -You sneak into a hotel on the beach -A friend of yours who works at the hotel scored you the keys to the deluxe suite -Pillow fort time -Just like in that Katy Perry song -‎He starts singing "Teenage Dream" completely out of key -Undeniably bad at singing, but still somehow manages to be utterly adorable while doing it -Time to raid the mini bar -"I feel like a giant with these tiny bottles of booze" -The mini bar has been cleaned out -Drunken revelry ensues, along with kisses -You both retire to the pillow fort for some amorous activities -Hangs "Do not Disturb" sign on it

#tmnt imagines #TMNT x reader #My writing #fan fiction #bayverse tmnt #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #i've been tinkering with this idea for a while and wanted to finally get it down #just a little fun thing in between writing my fics #hope you guys like it #turtle boyfriends #michelangelo #donatello #leonardo #raphael #don's quill pen

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nighttimepixels · 6 years ago

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So,,, would any of the ladies ever consider helping someone cut their hair/would they actually be decent at it? (I desperately need my undercut trimmed and hair dressers are expensive just for a shave and I'm a cheapskate so imma try and probably fail miserably to do it myself while asking you about the l a d i e s ❤️❤️❤️)

Ooo, this one’s actually all up in Crimson’s wheelhouse!

She’s got a total knack for hair cuts & styling of all kinds. Some of the other ladies would be reliable enough to do the job, especially straightforward upkeep with a little practice, but it’s Crimson all the way who just kills the game here.

You’d pose this question, and all the girls would just... as one, look towards Crimson. She’d roll her eyes but grin ‘n nod, then beckon you to follow after her - she’d set you up in the kitchen or, if it was a nice day, on the porch perhaps, and within a few minutes she’d be cleaning up your undercut. Only... you notice when she’s done that it is the best fade you’ve ever gotten. Not a spare loose long strand left behind, the cleanest lines, and the neckline is, frankly, almost scarily well faded.

In the end, it’s revealed that she had a mild hobby of giving the dog Guards in Snowdin haircuts when they were bored and wanted a new badass look - often with spirally designs in their fur. More than happy to slack on the job, she learned how to work with the clippers extremely well, and started a side hustle with it. She ended up learning how to cut hair too, for the monsters that had it, and now is just... super skilled with it, and could easily be the type of stylist that people would willingly pay hundreds of dollars to style/cut/color their hair, if she felt like pursuing it on a business front. XD

Pfff, alright, I’ll bite ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) weird anti-talents for the ladies:

Serif: cannot do any sport/activity that involves hitting a ball with a bat of some kind. She always misses. It’s lucky she’s not inclined towards that sort of thing, but even something like laidback badminton she just whiffs.

Vellum: weirdly specific, but as athletic as she is, cannot reliably move while bouncing a basketball. Specifically a basketball, but she struggles with walking and bouncing other balls too?? It drives her crazy, she vacillates between aggressively attempting to learn (and failing terribly) and avoiding any weird activities that would include doing those things at the same time.

Sapphire: abysmal at imitations. Literally cannot do it for the life of her, but it’s to the point where you wanna cry from laughing so hard she’s that bad. But she genuinely attempts it, and just... can’t. (note for Parks n Rec fans: remember Amy Poehler doing imitations literally ever? How hilariously bad they were? Like that. >v>)

Amber: Has a great sense of innate direction, but for the life of her, cannot tell her left from her right. I hesitate to include this on a talent list, but it felt appropriate. You just... will not catch her ever using left/right. She literally puts a duck on one side of the car she drives so her sister can tell her ‘turn duckward’ if needing to read out directions.

Crimson: Cannot at all draw - drunken two year old indeed. XD It drives her up a wall sometimes because she can actually draw super-accurate machine diagrams and the like, blueprints and so on - but creative art depictions? Nope, it’s sloppy stick figure o’clock with her.

Scarlet: the blackest of thumbs. She tries, and even has excellent taste in flowers, but unless they’re cut and in a vase, she cannot keep them alive. It bothers her X)

Pepper: is extremely, extremely bad at acting. Or, perhaps, phrasing it nicely, is only good at extreme overacting. There’s an irony to this, as she’s great at putting up a front; that’s just a lifeskill in her mind. But when it comes to... theater type acting? Somehow it just falls away. She’d be like.... Zuka club levels of overacting. One mode: Extreme. No subtlety; could only ever be the character purposely meant to overact. It is wild and, probably, slightly destructive to the surroundings because she tries her hardest and gets to into it anyways.

Cinnamon: can’t memorize anything of length/rote detail unless she puts a tune to it. Think how you teach the alphabet song to kids, and so on - whether it was math theorems, directions, anything that would recall specific detailed recall like that... she’s secretly had to make a song to it.

Blade: mental math. This one’s tinged in a lot of sadness, though;;; it comes from her head injury. Even mildly complicated math just slips between her digits like sand; she’s still got a knack for estimation and being able to look at something and know it’s right or it’s off, but it’s almost ‘muscle memory’, so to speak. It frustrates her.

Twist:... is blind, so there’s definitely an unfair disadvantage in some things, but! in general, is just the worst at remembering names, even prior to the famine. She’ll remember meeting people just fine, can even place the context of this person or their voice, but... wow, yup, goodbye name, nice not knowing you. She resorts to personally made nicknames a lot because of this.

Alpha: is an AI?? so... an unfair advantage, as she can just... learn anything she wants to, immediately? XD But if there had to be something, it’d probably be keeping things neat. She’s not a total slob, but there’s definitely a lot of chaos to her organized chaos.

Glyph: is a pretty damn well-rounded individual, so this one’s hard - she may not be a master of everything, but she’s definitely a jack of all trades type... the one exception is probably how terrible she is with pop culture, especially movies. And this is an ongoing thing - she travels so much she just... misses out on things, and never quite has the drive to keep up regardless. It’s not that she hates movies, they’re just fine she figures - albeit low on her list of priorities. It takes other people dragging her into the know to get em, and even then, she’s liable to forget. Godspeed with deep cut movie references around her. =v=b

#night answers #lilytale asks #skills and talents #or lack thereof for the latter #XD #long post #robindaspoopy

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thehubby · 5 years ago

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April Fools Pathfinder Session

Well, votes are being cast in the survey set up by my good friend Doc, and it looks like this Sunday we will be live streaming the April Fools Pathfinder session. I'm excited, and at least some of you are as well, so with that in mind, here are some things that you, the public, might want to know going in.

This is the point where I tell all my regular Pathfinder players to stop reading and do not pursue this post under the cut. You know who you are. Do not anger the unseen fates that govern your dice!

This session will be a continuation of sorts from our very first Pathfinder adventure two and a half years ago, "Don't Eat the Sewer Cheese." If you haven't watched that adventure, and you have four and a half hours of free time available, and are willing to overlook my gut and terrible shaggy hair, then you can view it here: https://youtu.be/5uQ5D8Ahq8s

For those unable to adhere to one or more of those conditions (I get it, the hair is really something), here's what you need to know: intrepid, uh, "heroes" Seth, Kitty and Petunia, along with carnies Eren and Calcedony, set off to rescue townspeople abducted by an unknown group. The search led them along the streets of the city, into the house (and underwear drawer) of a kidnapped-and-presumably-hot alchemist, through the sewers, and ultimately to a small military fort outside of the city which had been commandeered by goblins and other ruffians. Our heroes attempted to bluff their way in by posing as pest inspectors, unsuccessfully. And shortly after that... We ran out of time.

But there was much left to do in the adventure which it now seems unlikely we will ever return to properly. That has always bugged me. So, this Sunday, we will answer the question: how does that adventure end? And in the spirit of the bizarre and unpredictable nature of April Fools, we will answer it by finding out what happened when the first party failed, alternate universe "What If" style. Each game session is like a tree with many branches, only a few climbed. This time, we will climb a branch where the party of the first adventure gained access to the fort and lost horribly as a result. Where does the story go from there? I hope you'll join us to find out.

Of course, to answer this question we need new characters, and boy is this party a doozy. What started off as an off-comment from Jill became the backbone for a party that the Breakfast Club would be proud of.

To succeed where others have failed, the table will be fielding:

- An armless (and dickless!) wizard.

- A "showtunes" bard, who must reference/sing actual relevant showtunes whenever casting spells or using any bard singing abilities.

- A "drunken master" monk, whose player must take shots at the table to restore ki power.

- Finally, a "catwere" rogue. What's a catwere? Well, think of a wolfwere (look it up), except with a domesticated cat. This player will have to communicate with her teammates exclusively through cat noises and gestures.

All of these characters have been customized with house rules and original magical items and effects. The focus of this session will be fun, not necessarily balance. Our normal sessions are a blast, and I think is going to be a thing. If you only watch one adventure this year featuring an armless wizard and a lycanthropic street cat, make it this one.

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seeselfblack · 6 years ago

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When the Fourth of July Was a Black Holiday

After the Civil War, African Americans in the South transformed Independence Day into a celebration of their newly won freedom.

“What, to the American slave, is your 4th of July?” Famed black abolitionist and former slave Frederick Douglass posed this question before a large, mostly white crowd in Rochester, New York on July 5, 1852. It is “a day that reveals to him, more than all other days in the year, the gross injustice and cruelty to which he is the constant victim,” Douglass explained, adding that he felt much the same: “I am not included within the pale of this glorious anniversary! ... This Fourth [of] July is yours not mine.”

A little over a decade later, however, African Americans like Douglass began making the glorious anniversary their own. After the end of the Civil War in 1865, the nation’s four million newly emancipated citizens transformed Independence Day into a celebration of black freedom. The Fourth became an almost exclusively African American holiday in the states of the former Confederacy—until white Southerners, after violently reasserting their dominance of the region, snuffed these black commemorations out.

Before the Civil War, white Americans from every corner of the country had annually marked the Fourth with feasts, parades, and copious quantities of alcohol. A European visitor observed that it was “almost the only holy-day kept in America.” Black Americans demonstrated considerably less enthusiasm. And those who did observe the holiday preferred—like Douglass—to do so on July 5 to better accentuate the difference between the high promises of the Fourth and the low realities of life for African Americans, while also avoiding confrontations with drunken white revelers.

Yet the tables had turned by July 4, 1865, at least in the South. Having lost a bloody four-year war to break free from the United States and defend the institution of slavery, Confederate sympathizers had little desire to celebrate the Fourth now that they were back in the Union and slavery was no more. “The white people,” wrote a young woman in Columbia, South Carolina, “shut themselves within doors.”

African Americans, meanwhile, embraced the Fourth like never before. From Washington, D.C., to Mobile, Alabama, they gathered together to watch fireworks and listen to orators recite the Emancipation Proclamation, the Declaration of Independence, and the Thirteenth Amendment, which abolished slavery when it was ratified in late 1865...

... the most extraordinary festivities were held in Charleston, South Carolina, the majority-black city where Southern secession and the Civil War had begun...

...Each year, thousands of black South Carolinians lined up early to watch African American militia companies march through city streets. Led by mounted officers, some of whom were ex-slaves, these black companies were often named for abolitionists and other black heroes. The 1876 Fourth of July parade included the Lincoln Rifle Guard, the Attucks Light Infantry, the Douglass Light Infantry, and the Garrison Light Infantry.

The Charleston parades typically ended at White Point Garden, a beautiful park at the base of the city peninsula, where enormous crowds bought peanuts, cakes, fried fish, and sassafras beer from vendors camped out in shady spots. “The whole colored population seemed to have turned out into the open air,”...

...At Charleston’s White Point Garden, freedwomen joined freedmen in annual performances of songs and dances, including one called the “Too-la-loo” that had subversive meaning. About two dozen participants—evenly split between men and women—formed a ring, into which one of the female dancers would move while the others sang and clapped. “Go hunt your lover, Too-la-loo!/Go find your lover, Too-la-loo!” they urged the lady in the center, who eventually chose a suitor to join her. The Too-la-loo allowed ex-slaves to poke fun at the elite courtship rituals of their former masters while also engaging in a raucous celebration of their own emancipation... Too-la-loo eventually became shorthand for the Fourth of July there...

... In Charleston and elsewhere, whites deeply resented their former slaves turning the Fourth into a commemoration of black liberty. What “a dreadful day” it was, complained one Charleston planter in a letter to his daughter. A local merchant lamented in his journal that the nation’s holiday had become “a nigger day”: “Nigger procession[,] nigger dinner and balls and promenades,” and “scarcely a white person seen in the streets...”

...as white Southerners began implementing segregationist laws and customs, they quashed official black celebrations of the Fourth. Beginning in 1881, Charleston city leaders pushed Too-la-loo to parks further and further away from downtown until finally, in 1886, they succeeded in removing it from the peninsula altogether. African American families and friends continued to meet in more informal gatherings in the city, but by the early 1900s both Charleston and Atlanta had forbidden vendors from setting up food stalls along the streets where black residents had long congregated on the Fourth...

...As they removed black commemorations from public spaces, white Southerners deployed racist tropes to question black affection for the holiday. The Atlanta Constitution declared on July 4, 1901 that African Americans seemed “a little hazey” as to why they actually celebrated the Fourth: “One shiny black-faced old darky said he reckoned they celebrated ‘jest ‘cause hit was watermelon season!’ and to the average brother in black that is reason quite sufficient.”

Beneath the ridicule was something more serious: a concerted effort to delegitimize black claims to the holiday. African Americans did not observe the Fourth, white critics sneered, out of a sincere sense of patriotism or an accurate understanding of what the day meant. After all, they insisted, the Fourth of July did not apply to black Americans. It neither represented their freedom nor testified to their status as people worthy of equal citizenship...

In 1902, white Atlantans completed their commemorative coup with an elaborate Fourth of July program. A children’s chorus sang three “patriotic” songs: “Dixie,” “The Star-Spangled Banner,” and “America.” A parade of local dignitaries, among them both Confederate and Union veterans, wound through the city. The nation’s birthday was back where it belonged—in the hands of “true” Americans.

That this patriotic display honored men who had fought to destroy the United States did not bother local whites. On the contrary, erasing the contradiction was necessary. By the turn of the century, white Americans everywhere gave in to the lure of sectional reconciliation. Union and Confederate veterans, for instance, buried the hatchet in reunions that emphasized the bravery of all combatants and avoided any reference to slavery or the legacy of emancipation. Reframing who could rightfully celebrate Independence Day proved a critical part of this reconciliation process, helping paper over regional differences in the service of a unifying, national white supremacy.

In the Jim Crow South—where segregation, disfranchisement, and racial lynching were the order of the day—the message was clear: African Americans were as unfit for the fruits of freedom as they were for the Fourth of July. Once again, as Frederick Douglass had said a half-century earlier, black Americans were not included within the pale of their nation’s birthday.

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hyeahgaku · 2 years ago

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Compilation of Movie References in SAKAMOTO DAYS manga (pt.1)

(1) 🎬 Léon: The Professional

Boiled and Obiguro seem to have been inspired by the characters Léon and Mathilda from the film.

(2) 🎬 Drunken Master series

Lu Shaotang's drunken fist style pose in chapter 11 is paying homage to Jackie Chan's fighting stance in the Drunken Master II film. Lu drinking alcohol & activating her Drunken Fist mode is also inspired by Jackie's character in the film series.

(3) 🔫 Metal Gear Solid 3 (not a movie but video game)

Heisuke Mashimo's pet bird, Piisuke, acts as his spotter. This is most likely inspired by The End, a character in MGS3, who is also a sniper & even owns a pet bird which acts as his spotter too.

(4) 🎬 John Wick series

Sakamoto's retirement & how he's feared by those in the underworld is also similar to John Wick's story.

Sakamoto imagines killing the dude in chapter 1 using a pen/pencil, which is an actual scene from John Wick 2.

The JAA building shown in chapter 50 is a nod to the Continental Hotel in the John Wick movies.

The "Floaters" clean-up crew in Sakadays is the series' own version of John Wick's "Cleaners" unit.

Sakamoto VS Kanaguri in the library is probably inspired by John Wick: Chapter 3 library fight.

(5) 🎬 Casino / Grosse Pointe Blank / The Bourne Identity / Red Eye

Death by the pen/pencil is not only exclusive to John Wick series, in fact there are many other films in which somebody meets their demise via this formidable weapon. Therefore, in instances where Sakamoto uses a ballpoint pen as a weapon could also be a homage to some of the movies listed above, other than John Wick.

(6) 🎬 Funny Games

When Kanaguri appeared in chapter 59, he mentioned Funny Games movie as there was so much despair going on -just like the victims who were suffering in the film. It appears that Kanaguri's character design may, after all, have been inspired by Paul, the film's primary antagonist.

(7) 🎬 Stand by Me

(8) 🎬 Roman Holiday

In chapter 102, young Kanaguri was watching Roman Holiday and the scene portrayed on the television was an exact scene from the film.

(9) 🎬 Star Wars, Child's Play, Friday the 13th, Scream

Figurines of characters from these popular movies were seen among Kanaguri's collection on his display shelf in chapter 102.

(10) 🔫 Resident Evil 4 (not a movie but video game)

(11) 🎬 Johnny Mnemonic

Can't help but notice that Gaku's VR gear may just be inspired off Keanu Reeves' character from the Johnny Mnemonic film.

continue to pt.2 》

#so I made a sakaday movie references thread on X #why not share it here as well #サカモトデイズ #SAKAMOTO DAYS #sakadays #sakadays movie references

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klovenhooves · 8 years ago

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Do You Feel Like A Young God, a Benwash Fanfiction, Chapter One

George loved playing golf in when September turned to October, when the leaves turned red and orange around the country club, and when the breeze was enough to make you shiver in the early morning and late evening. There was a moment, about mid-afternoon, when the sun would shine, the sky would be blue, and the weather was perfect.

He had been a member of the Culper Country Club his whole life, a legacy with automatic admission, and though he had sneered at the idea of a country club when he was a teenager who only cared about playing lacrosse, he was now much older than that. And he happened to like playing golf and squash and having brunch on the terrace.

It was all very opulent, and unnecessary, but he was bored, so terribly bored, and this was one of the only things that helped his boredom.

“Mr. Washington, two p.m. tee time?” Philomena’s voice was soft in the quiet lobby, but she caught his attention all the same. He nodded at her, enough that she could turn on the toe of her pure white sneakers and flounce back to the counter, her plaid golf skirt just a little too high to be coincidental.

“I love the girls they have working here,” George didn’t have to turn to know Benedict Arnold was sitting beside him, his eyes on Philomena as she typed something into the computer. “They’re all leggy, blonde, beautiful.”

“Probably specifically for your reaction,” George pointed out, trying to breathe past the faint smell of bourbon on Arnold’s breath. “Are you ready? Our tee time is in five minutes.”

“Oh, I’m always ready,” Arnold said, puffing out his chest, clad in a slightly too tight green sweater vest. “Ready to lose again, George?”

“How many times do I have to tell you that this isn’t a competition?” George chuckled, waving one hand at Philomena, who perked up immediately. “It’s just for fun.” Philomena glided into his orbit, sliding him the key to a golf cart. “Thank you, ‘Mena,” he said kindly, sliding a twenty to her. “Put that toward your grad school applications, promise.”

“Of course, Mr. Washington,” she smiled a bright grin that told George she thought he’d forgotten that she mentioned going to graduate school. He loved those moments. Arnold narrowed his eyes at him.

“What the hell was that?” he asked under his breath as Philomena passed him another set of keys for his own golf cart, sans smile. “You trying to get with her?”

“Get with?” George repeated sardonically. “No. I was just…making conversation.”

“Well, when we get on the course, perhaps you can tell me what you know about her so I can also…make conversation,” Arnold nudged him with his elbow, the entendre crystal clear.

“I – I don’t mean to – I don’t think she’s interested in you,” George said gently as they pushed open the clubhouse door to the crisp fall air. “I mean…”

“What?” Arnold asked, casting his eyes about for his usual caddy. “Why wouldn’t she be interested in me?”

George ducked his head. “Well, she’s…she has a girlfriend.”

“Excuse me, sir, are you George Washington?”

A young man with an impressively enchanting pair of blue eyes was standing just behind him, squinting in the sun. He wore the same uniform as all employees of the country club, a pair of khakis and a pale blue polo shirt, brown shoes.

“I am,” George said, as Arnold continued to splutter in disbelief behind him. “And who might you be?”

“Benjamin Tallmadge sir, filling in for your usual caddy, Gilbert, if that’s okay,” he averted his gaze, but whether it was from the sun or he was waiting approval, George couldn’t tell. Either way, he found it much easier to think when Benjamin’s blue eyes weren’t fixed on him.

He extended his hand for the caddy to shake. “It is perfectly fine with me. Have you ever caddied before?” he asked, seeing the way the young man surveyed the bag of clubs with a cautious eye.

“You’re sure she’s a lesbian?” Arnold said behind him.

“Benedict, yes, I’m positive, please,” George waved him off as Ben’s eyes moved over to Arnold in alarm.

“I’ve actually never been…on a golf course before,” Ben said, his gaze coming back to George.

“Never seen…well, I guess I have a lot to teach you, don’t I?” George asked. Ben, who looked horrified at the beginning of George’s sentence, relaxed and released a smile that George returned.

***

“Benjamin, can you pass me the nine iron?” George asked. Ben, holding the golf bag, went wide-eyed for a moment before scrambling for the clubs. “It should be right beside the putter.”

“Come on, Tallmadge, it’s not like you’ve never touched a rod before,” Arnold’s caddy, a man known to George as only Bradford, sneered. Ben, in the act of pulling the nine iron out of the bag, flushed dark red. Arnold snickered.

George gently took the club from his caddy, searching his visage for any sign of distress. Aside from the blush, he looked unmoved. George suppressed an approving smirk.

“Do you know this…Bradford fellow?” he asked as Ben trudged after him, his nerves clearly ruining the experience. Ben glanced up at George for a moment, surprised to hear him speaking. He gave him a single nod. “From…school?”

“We went to college together,” Ben said quietly, trying not to be overheard.

“Oh? What did you study?”

“History.”

George took a moment to look the boy up and down. In his uniform, he didn’t look like a history student, but George could see it. A cardigan, a brown leather bag, and a cup of coffee in his other hand, and Benjamin was on his way to being a young Indiana Jones.

Indiana Jones didn’t study history, but that was irrelevant.

To give himself a moment to think, George turned away from Ben and lined up his next shot. Arnold had a killer slice that always knocked at least one drive out of bounds, but he had distance on George. But George was accurate, strategic.

He swung, satisfied that the ball was going the way he wanted. He turned back to Ben, and caught his eyes staring just a little too low to be looking at where the ball went. He smirked to himself and said nothing instead.

Let the boy stew.

By the time George and Arnold finished with their nine holes, George had shaved two strokes off his last score, and Arnold was satisfied that he won. George could hear him bragging about it in his cart to Bradford as they drove off to the club for lunch.

“Are you going to tell Mr. Arnold that you purposely knocked your ball into the little lake thing?” Ben asked sheepishly, scribbling the final scores on the little card with the tiny pencil.

George raised an eyebrow. “My dear boy, what makes you think I would endure a stoke penalty on purpose?”

“Because Mr. Arnold seems like a sore loser,” Ben said truthfully, shrugging.

“You are correct,” George replied. “But, unfortunately, he works with me, so I am forced to regularly endure his company.”

“I can see how that would be tiring,” Ben said ruefully. George had to turn away to hide his smirk. Once he relaxed, Benjamin was truly one of the wittiest and most entertaining caddies on the course. Most of them mumbled a lot and tripped when spoken to. Others, like Bradford, liked to take on the persona of the golfer they worked for.

George could see his opening now, as clearly as an easy put. He only needed to line up the shot –

“Speaking of tiring, I’m supposed to have lunch with him and his delightful caddy,” George began, leaning just slightly toward Benjamin as he spoke. “I’m sure I can’t convince you to join us, correct, Benjamin?”

“Of course,” Ben replied instantly. “Wait, no? You can convince me? Your question was posed in a very confusing manner, sir.”

“But you will come to lunch with us?” George pressed, holding his smile at bay for confirmation.

“Yes, sir,” Ben said, grinning when George finally smiled.

“You know you don’t have to call me sir all the time, right?” George asked as he turned on the golf cart.

“Of course, sir, but I like it,” Ben replied, studiously keeping his eyes on the path.

“Do you?” George asked, trying to keep his eyes on the road. “Well…duly noted.”

***

Approximately ten minutes into lunch (that was more like dinner at six in the afternoon), George was convinced he’d made a terrible mistake. Ben and Bradford didn’t just know each other from college, they hated each other. And Bradford was the type of man to make any snide comment whenever the opportunity presented itself.

And it was constantly presenting itself.

“So, Mr. Bradford –”

“Please, call me William –”

“William, rather,” George amended himself. “What did you say you studied in school?”

“Political science,” Bradford supplied helpfully. “I had no interest in the past, just the future, isn’t that right, Benny boy?”

“Do not call me that,” Ben said firmly from his side of the table. “Only my friends call me that.”

“Come on, Benny boy, we’re friends, right?” Bradford asked. “I mean, we’ve known each other for years, went to the same school, played on the same squash team. That would make us friends.”

“That would make us acquaintances, Braford. If anything, all of this prolonged contact has only given me more reason to dislike you.”

George turned, surprised to Ben, who was gripping his fork with white-knuckled fury. Arnold, sitting beside Braford, took a hearty swig of what George assumed was more bourbon, and chuckled.

“Bradford told me that you two got into a brawl in the middle of the front lawn at Yale,” he said, lifting his glass as if toasting what was probably a drunken disorderly arrest. “Boys will be boys, right George?”

“Certainly,” he replied flatly, his gaze still on Ben. “So, Benjamin –” he said his name sharply enough to pull the boy’s eyes back to him. “Are you going to graduate school for a master’s degree?”

“Yes, sir, that’s why I got a job here,” Ben admitted. “My classmate, Philomena, she was my reference.”

“Oh, Philomena,” Arnold said suddenly, with a lurching movement that told George that he was getting drunk. “Tell me, Benjamin, is your friend –”

“I’m sure now is not the time to discuss this, Arnold –”

“George, it’s just a question – now, Benjamin, can you tell me if Philomena is…you know…”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know,” George heard the omitted “sir” where it should have been said and had to hide his smirk behind his hand. “Could you explain?”

“You know what I mean, you little upstart,” Arnold was suddenly angry, as he usually was when he started drinking. “Is she a lesbo? A damn queer?”

George searched the younger man’s face for a sign that he was offended, but he gave away nothing in his face. If anything, he straightened up a little at the words.

“You mean, is Philomena gay?” he asked. “Yes, she is. Her girlfriend is actually a member here. You might know her…Margaret Shippen?”

“Peggy Shippen?” Arnold crowed, just loud enough to invite a hush over the room.

“Okay, I think that’s enough,” George said sternly, fixing his gaze on Arnold so sharply that the man lowered in his seat. “I have allowed too much without saying anything. Benjamin, I apologize for his behavior,” he turned to Ben, who was still staring at Arnold, his eyes occasionally darting to Bradford, daring him to say something. “Why don’t you allow me to take you home?”

“That’s not necessary,” Ben said, dropping his napkin onto his plate as he stood, the food completely untouched.

“I insist,” George said, following suit. Ben regarded him for a moment sternly before nodding. He allowed George to lead him to the front of the club restaurant, the onlookers finally going back to their meals. “Why don’t you go get your things, I need to speak with Philomena.”

“Of course, sir.”

Philomena had changed from her clubhouse outfit into a sensible black evening dress in her shift from clubhouse cashier to hostess. She grinned when she saw George approaching.

“Mr. Washington,” she said graciously. “What can I do for you?”

He was suddenly irrationally angry at Arnold’s behavior all over again now that he was seeing her kind face. “My caddy, Benjamin Tallmadge, said you were his friend.”

“We are friends, sir, yes,” she said.

“Well, he’s had a rather unsettling afternoon, so I’m going to drive him home,” George explained. “Is there any way you can get one of the chefs to make my usual and box it up for him?”

Philomena nodded. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem, sir.”

“Thank you, ‘Mena,” he replied.

By the time Ben returned, changed into his normal clothes and carrying a bag over his shoulder, George was holding a bag of food in his hand and his keys in the other. He was only slightly disappointed to find that his fantasy of Ben dressed like a young Harrison Ford was slightly incorrect. He did still carry the brown bag over his shoulder, but he was dressed in dark wash denim jeans and a faded and worn Antiques Roadshow shirt.

George passed him the bag of food wordlessly and led the way to his car, waiting for Ben to speak. Ben had to deal with the more trying night, so he deserved silence or conversation if he sought it.

Finally, when the doors closed, George could no longer help himself.

“Antiques Roadshow?” he asked.

“Did you buy me food?” Ben shot back, and George was, for a moment, hard pressed to identify his tone. Was he angry? Was he surprised? He couldn’t tell.

“Well, you were so upset you didn’t get to eat,” George explained. “It’s nothing special, just a grilled cheese with truffle oil and some fries. It’s what I eat when I’m upset.”

Ben peeked into the bag experimentally and stuck his hand in, pulling out a fry. He chewed pensively, George still waiting to see if he was upset or not. Finally, after a prolonged silence that made George feel increasingly insecure, he passed the bag over. “Want a fry?”

“Want to tell me about Antiques Roadshow?” George asked instead, pulling out a fry and chewing.

“My grandmother had tons of antiques,” Ben said as George put the car in drive and pulled out of the parking lot. “I liked to just go up into her attic and read where my brothers wouldn’t bother me, and so I kind of just got used to seeing them. Antiques Roadshow has some cool stuff on it.”

There was a challenging tone to his voice that George should have expected. He spent all day being teased by an old rival, and here he was, asking him questions about something he liked with a grin on his face like he was looking for an opening.

“Okay, since you’re telling me things about yourself, how about I tell you one about me?” he offered as Ben pointed to the right, indicating he needed to turn.

“I love reading James Patterson mystery novels,” he said in a rush. “I mean, not even just Patterson. Whichever trashy, cliché, predictable mystery novel there is, I read it. I have shelves full of them.”

Ben chuckled, another fry sticking halfway out of his mouth. “Not embarrassing enough.”

“Fine,” he said with a huff. “I have the bartenders pour apple juice into my glasses instead of scotch because I hate it but everyone I know drinks it,” he said. “How’s that?”

Ben was already laughing so hard he couldn’t answer the question. In his laughter, his free hand that wasn’t holding the bag of food landed on George’s arm, resting between them. He left it there, and George decided he was going to have to say far more embarrassing things if this was how he could get Benjamin to touch him.

“That is both embarrassing and kind of adorable,” Ben finally acknowledged. “Far more embarrassing than I asked for.”

“Looks like you’re going to have to make up the difference,” George pointed out. “Go ahead, embarrass yourself.”

They had pulled into the parking lot of an apartment complex near the university. Ben squinted out the window toward the second floor.

“How’s this,” he said, his hand on George’s arm tightening for just a moment. “How about I thank you for this food and your patience with my terrible caddy skills –”

“You weren’t terrible –”

“Yes I was,” Ben insisted. “And you stood up for me at dinner. Why don’t I repay you by inviting you upstairs?”

George was about to say no, about to tell Ben that he was an old man, far too old for spontaneous one night stands with young men he’d just met, far too old and traditional for something like this, but Ben’s hand was on his arm again, sliding up to his bicep, to his shoulder, to his neck, where he traced the smooth edge of George’s jaw, his eyes that perfect shade of blue that mesmerized George the moment he saw him.

“Now, are you doing this because you think I need to be repaid, or because you want to?” George asked, swallowing thickly around the tantalizing feel of Ben’s fingers as they traced the column of his throat.

“The repayment was just a ruse, sir,” Ben said like it was a secret. “Come upstairs and help me forget that disastrous dinner ever happened.”

“Your wish is my command, my dear boy.”

#benwash #philomena/peggy #golf au

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bodytachi · 8 years ago

Photo

This pose had no witty name, but I liked it all the same. This brings a close to our Drunken Master week!

#drunken master #drunken master poses #drunken master pose reference #pose references #sketch reference #action

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vivelamori · 8 years ago

Text

Donnie Yen Autobiography “All About Donnie (問丹心)” Translation Ch.1(pt 1-3)

Guess what... I have translated more of the content of Donnie’s autobiography. I’m planning to translate the first two chapters of his book, which are about his childhood and his experiences when he was early into the show business.

There are 5 parts in the first chapter “My Personal Development” and 4 parts in the second chapter “Into the Show Business”.

The previous post I made I had translated part 2 of chapter 2.

Once again, BIG THANK YOU to my dear beta Dream @evocating for her generosity and patience. My work looks legible because of you. Also thank my real life friend Asura for helping me to clear my mind and translating a few but important sentences for me.

Crappy photos of the original text taken by me are attached with this post below for reference. Baby Donnie is ADORABLE OKAY!???

Reminder: This post is so damn long with words and pictures.

Chapter 1: My Personal Development

Part 1: “The Mystery of Destiny”

In a life of a man, somehow what you do and face is destined and written by fate. For me to write a book published by Sing Tao News Corporation Limited seems to be heaven’s will as well. My father Klyster Yen had worked as an editor for the International Sing Tao Daily in Boston, USA for 30 years. With that in fact, it seems that my affinity with Sing Tao seems to have existed for a long time. Many people assume that since I grew up overseas, I would not be fluent in Chinese. Actually, when I was young, I would run over to my father’s workplace and read the Chinese newspaper published by the Sing Tao. In that way, I gradually acquired the language through such self-taught process. In recent years, I have a growing realization of the mystery of destiny. As if life has hidden the clue of who I am today, now the path unfolds and I must follow step-by-step to where destiny might lead.

“A Family Splitting Apart”

My father and mother met when they were both part of the Guangzhou Philharmonic Orchestra. My father was a violinist and my mother was a soprano. Life is however fickle. Later the family was forced to split apart during the turbulent times.

At that time, it was hard for a Mainlander to migrate to Hong Kong. At the age of two, I was approved but only one of my parents was allowed to accompany me to live in Hong Kong. Finally, my father brought me here. However, the family of three was divided: one in Guangzhou and the other two in Hong Kong. Only heaven knew the day of our reunion with my mother.

“My Favourite Show ‘Enjoy Yourself Tonight(EYT)’”

When we first arrived, my family condition was rather poor. I still remember that I lived in a squatter’s residence at King’s Park in Kowloon (a region in HK). My father and uncle shared a bunk bed. Grandmother also lived with us. And I would just sleep on the floor. I also remember that we had to share with the neighbours.

At that time, “EYT (1967-2002)”(a famous variety TV show in HK) just started broadcasting. Like many children of the time, I loved to crouch in front of the gate of my neighbour’s flats, peeking through the bars of the gate to watch the black-and-white television. Even though the signal of the TV was poor, it was the best entertainment for me as a kid. Later, my family condition was becoming better. After my uncle got married, together with my father and grandmother, we moved to a new flat in Yuet Wah Street in Kwuntong (a region in HK). Afterwards, when my father bought a flat near my uncle’s, we finally escaped the life of an over-crowded household.

“Mother Practicing Martial Arts to Combat Loneliness”

Very quickly, a few years passed. Although our living standards were improving, my mother was still staying in Guangzhou alone. I was too young to understand the bitterness of my separation from my mother. I could only remember I would receive a letter from her every few weeks. She wrote about how much she missed me, and she would use rhetoric words like “Ji Dan Chai (子丹仔)” and “Kiss you(吻您)”(*) to call me and express her love.

(*Translator’s notes: After a discussion between me and beta Dream at 3:30am, we concluded that “Ji Dan Chai (子丹仔)” was probably a Cantonese pun for “egglet/egg puff*(雞蛋仔)”, a famous traditional snack in HK. Furthermore, 吻 means “kiss” and 您 means “you” which is usually used as a polite form but his mom used it because she wanted to insert hearts to express her love towards her son.)

Can you imagine how a woman can withstand the loneliness of those long years separated from her husband and son? Due to this, she threw herself into practicing kung fu, strengthening her spirit through the movies to gain confidence and power, and also supporting herself and her mother’s family.

Later my mother told me that in those nine years, she would apply for coming to HK every now and then, only failing each time. My father knew that my mother missed me very much. When I was nine, he asked his brother-in-law(姨丈) to bring me back to Guangzhou to visit my mother. At last, I met her. As early as I can remember, that was the first time I met my mother.

My strongest memories of that one and a half weeks are of her hugging and kissing me every day. She also dragged me over to meet her master Fu Wing-fai (傳永輝) and her classmates. At that time, the mother of grand master Fu was a foot-bound lady (a cruel pedantic practice on women in old China). However, I could remember clearly that when she swung the spear, she looked very handsome and moved powerfully.

“First Experience of Real Martial Arts”

When I was young, my father loved to bring me to Yue-Man Square in Kwuntong to watch movies during weekends when I didn’t have to go to school. We watched the films produced by Shaw Brothers (HK) Limited like “The One-Armed Swordsman (獨臂刀)” (1967), “The Bloody Fists (蕩寇灘)” (1972) and “The Heroic Ones(十三太保)” (1970), etc. Though I watched them on the big screen, they really were the first time I witnessed real martial arts in action.

After those days of waiting and waiting, and then finally getting to meet my mother, everything seemed to fall back into normalcy again. My father was working behind the desk at a garment factory. Once, in the name of a business trip for the Chambers of Commerce and Industry, he went back to Guangzhou to visit his wife.

One day, the good news finally arrived after nine years of waiting. My father excitedly told us that mother’s approval of coming to HK was granted and there would be a new member of the family… It was because my father intentionally knocked my mother up during that trip, so that the first week my sister was born, she and our mother were permitted to enter and stay in Hong Kong. That’s also why my parents always regard my sister as the “lucky star”.

In life, there are times when we are together with our loved ones, and times when we are apart. During our separation, my mother became a master of Tai Chi. After the reunion, I followed her to practice martial arts. Everything seemed to be according to heaven’s will.

Part 2: “I am ‘Fong Sai-yuk’(方世玉)”

My mother had arrived in Hong Kong, so our family had reunited. During the time of waiting as she was waiting for her immigrant visa to the USA to be approved, she would go to the park located at the nearby Yuet Wah Street to teach students. In the beginning, she had only two to three students. Later, the number of students increased. At the age of ten, I was like the teaching assistant. Every early morning at 5 or 6, I would follow my mother and teach her students.

Some days before, Madame Helena Law Lan (羅蘭)(a famous actress in HK who was born in 1934) told me that her master Lee Yuen-king (李婉瓊), from whom she learned Tai Chi, was one of my mother’s students from that class. She joked that, in terms of hierarchy, I am kind of her grand master(師公/師伯)! Chinese kung fu came from China. The art belongs to everyone. It truly connects people around the world!

“The Heir of Kung Fu”

My mother Bow Sim Mak (麥寶嬋) practices martial arts. She values it highly and thus is determined to pass down her skill and techniques. Of course, she has great expectation on her son. She was like the “Miu Chui-fa” (苗翠花) and I was “Fong Sai-yuk” (方世玉)(*). Every morning before school, she would drag me off my bed at 5 and asked me to do splits, stretches and go through the forms. If I whinedo r complained or made any mistakes, she would scold me with her wooden sword immediately.

(*Translator’s note: Miu Chui-fa was a famous and highly skilled woman in martial arts in Qing Dynasty. Her son Fong Sai-yuk was also a talented kung fu master who was excelled in Shaolin boxing.)

My path to learning martial arts began after the reunion of my mother. My road towards the show business also began at that time.

My mother would teach Tai Chi in the morning and sing soprano at the Mira Hotel at night. Coincidently, people from the Yuen’s stunt team(袁家班) also performed Peking Opera there. Heroes are drawn to each other. Later, a few of them started taking lessons in kung fu from my mother. This had helped me to set the destiny of meeting my master Yuen Woo-ping in the future, getting into the show business through acting in his film “Drunken Tai Chi (笑太極)” (1984).

“Boycott by Other Schools of Martial Arts”

At the age of 11, our whole family migrated to Boston in USA. During the 60s and 70s, it was very common to open a school of martial arts in Chinatown. After settling down, my mother also opened one and named her school as “ Chinese Wushu Research Institute (中國功夫研究所)” because she took promoting Chinese martial arts to the world as her responsibility.

Nevertheless, there were a few people who were narrow-minded. They thought the name of the school was intended to include all the types of Chinese martial arts. Thus, my mother was boycotted by other schools. They even nitpicked her logo – a figure holding swords, posing and stepping on the Bagua Diagram. They said, “Bao Sim Mak, are you really that ‘good’? Able to step on the Bagua School? ” Even some meddlers came here and tried to make a fuss by throwing stones at my mother’s school.

However, it took some time, my mother’s hard work was not wasted. She proved her skills to other schools and earned their recognition. She was able to make the practice of martial arts become universal. Many Westerners came to her to learn. Her students included the undergraduates of the Universities of Boston and Harvard.

At that time, the largest and most popular martial arts school in Chinatown was opened by Master Kwong Tit-fu (鄺鐵夫) who taught Hung-styled boxing (洪拳). Every festival or celebration like the Chinese New Year, his most senior student, John Tsang (曾俊華), aka the current Financial Secretary of HKSAR, would carry a lion head and lead the kids from different martial arts schools to perform the lion dance on streets. I was about 12 or 13 at that time and I often followed the lion dancers led by this “big brother” around. I joined for fun and sometimes I would perform Chinese boxing to liven things up.

After many years, when I met the Financial Secretary again, he revealed to me that he already noticed me at that time. He said I was skilled in martial arts in a certain level with such a young age. To have received such high praise from someone like him, this Donnie really don’t deserve it!

Part 3: “Imitating Bruce Lee”

Overseas Chinese growing up in the foreign countries are often more aware of their racial and national identity than local Hong Kongers or Mainlanders. I, as a Chinese American citizen, was often belittled by others who called me names like “chink”. I thus strived to search for my identity of nationality.

“Learning Kung Fu through Watching Movies”

There were only two cinemas in Chinatown and they were smelly and filthy. There were always drunkards wandering around and they were stinky and dirty. Despite all that, I would still escape school and buy a ticket to watch the same movie again and again. After I finished watching the “Drunken Master (醉拳)”(1978) and “Snakes in the Eagle’s Shadow (蛇形刁手)” (1978), I would immediately rush back home to practice the drunken and snake moves. After watching “36th Chamber of Shaolin (少林三十六房)” (1978), I would practice the three-section cudgel immediately. I had watched the “Way of the Dragon (猛龍過江)” (1972) and “Enter the Dragon (龍爭虎鬥)” (1973) thousands of times. As a kid with some talent, my moves looked like those from the movies even though all I did was watch!

At around that time, I remember that my mother still had not found an official place for her school and so she rented the buildings of other martial arts schools to teach her classes. They had all kinds of tools and weapons. I loved to pick them up and practice.

Once, before my mother arrived, I naughtily picked up a nunchakus l to imitate the Bruce Lee’s moves. I was using it powerful enough that my every move made whirring sounds. Unexpectedly, the screw of the connecting joint of the nunchakus was loosened and one part of the pair flew across the room and hit one my mother’s female students. The girl wailed and a bruise appeared obviously on her head. I immediately knew that I was in huge trouble. Of course, my mother scolded and punished me so terribly.

“Carrying Nunchakus Everywhere”

In the 70s, Bruce Lee was very popular. I would wear his outfit – an orange sweatpants with sunglasses or black Chinese traditional clothes with kung fu shoes– to school every day. I would saw off the staff of a broomstick into two parts and connect the two with a rope to make my own nunchakus. I put it into my long socks along with me so that I could whip them out anytime, anywhere. At that time, no matter the Chinese or Western classmates, they loved to call me “Bruce”. I would sometimes perform nunchakus and show off footwork to entertain myself and others.

At that time, there was a black substitute teacher who got along with the students very well. He always asked me to show off, “Hey, Bruce, show me the kick!” Once, I joked that I could kick his face thrice and he would not be able to dodge. I hadn’t waited for the teacher’s reply, “Really?” and I kicked him. Ping! Ping! Ping! I had already left three footprints on his face. The black substitute teacher was tall and bulky. Having kicked on the face three times without warningmust have made him felt a little bit of embarrassment and anger. He threw and hanged me, who was small, onto a wall to warn me.

With regards to my relationships with the other students, I occasionally received letters daring to challenge me. Even though I was not the strongest, and both wins and losses were common in fighting, the swiftness of my body and movements meant that any opponents would have to endure my heavy punches and kicks.

My obsession towards kung fu grew to its peak as I worshipped and idolized Bruce Lee. I always focused on my footwork, wishing my movements to be as quick, fierce and precise. I would escape from school with my friends, hiding in the park practicing “sticking hands” of Wing Chun in the afternoon. Honestly, we were just messing around.

I was really obsessed with martial arts when I was younger. Looking back now, was I laughably naïve or cutely innocently?