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theherdofturtles · 1 year

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Fandom: Hetalia Prompt: Kidnapped Rating: G Word Count: 2532 Decided to make a thing that could fit into When Men Weren't Present between chapters 1 & 2 but isn't plot important. I tried to make this fic complimentary to On Pol and the Eng also just for fun. England gets mixed up in Fae shenanigans. @badthingshappenbingo

In a turn of events England should've seen, England got picked up from the earth in the arms of his brother in the aftermath of their first victory against the Norman foes.

Alba had yanked him up from the earth and immediately went to work dropping his fresh-won ego into the dirt. England kicked and squirmed until letting loose, giving up. The hug forced on him was inescapable.

The words, though, he was determined to offset. Alba accused him of the most offensive shortcomings with his smile and stupid tease.

"Wha- no!" England said, offended, "I can use magic just fine!"

"Kinye?" Alba challenged him. "I don't think you ken a simple pixie summoning spell since thu a' gabhail Éire's fancy new religion."

"Yes I do! I can prove it! I could do one here and now!"

Alba tilted his head in mock thought, pretending to think hard about his claim. England impatiently wriggled. He knew his brother would let up and make him try for his own entertainment--and England would show him wrong!

"Ye'll try?" Alba finally said.

"I will!"

Alba let him drop back to his feet and England popped back up like a daisy.

"Here, Cymru, our wee brother's gaun to put on a show for us!" He shouted and waved over another pair of eyes to add to England's pressure. Several humans looked up from their business looting fallen men, but dropped their interest once they realised it concerned the oddest of them.

His other sibling came wandering, and he came wandering while still wearing the blood of their enemies on his clothes. England wrinkled his nose with distaste. Cymru was still Druid... fully, as the past had decreed it. No other brother prayed to the earth anymore as Éire had brought a new faith to their land, and as eldest, led them alongside him. Cymru held out. Alba skirt the edges. It showed how Cymru refused to scrub his clothes, and blood was sacred, life, it was to be respected. A black, dried smear of gore was left stained on his brother's sleeves even though the rest of his armor and cloths and all his fellows had scrubbed themselves clean. 'The battle isn't over, William is on his way,' Cymru had said right after they won. It was a 'trophy and a promise for the next batch.' Alba conceded that it was profane. England agreed, because England wanted to bask in the feeling of having won without thinking about the next battle.

"A show? What's he going to do in his show?" Cymru immediately picked up on Alba's game, albeit with a lighter laugh and encouraging tone.

It almost annoyed him, but he knew he'd prove to them how well-practiced he'd became. He'd lived alone for a while after the Romans and Danes, he'd had much time to sharpen his magic on his own.

"He's gaun to summon some fairy."

"I hope he remembers what they look like? He never goes with me to Calan Mai celebrations anymore," Cymru said.

"Of course I recall them!" England had seen many and they knew it!

"Aye but you've never been to the Otherworld."

His brothers grinned. England stiffened.

Deus vous guarde. Fireplaces that hissed and sparked like fireflies, red pelted fangs with glittering stag-eyes, deep, cold, wormed earth.

Some intuition stopped him from claiming his adventures had, indeed, brought him to the Otherworld.

Fireglow, damp soil and the grin of fangs, deep Otherworld, stumbling through a mushroom ring further than he had ever intended. The mist gates he had missed... England hadn't entered the way he ought to have entered. Snared in Fae traps.

Memory of that fae lord came sneaking back into his mind.

That Fox... England had his weaved gift safely looped onto a thick cord of a necklace.

He'd nearly forgotten.

His fingers subconsciously reached to his waist-pouch where he believed he'd put the coarse cord...

"Sasann?"

His reverie broke.

"It's England," he complained. He'd worked hard for the name, his brothers still refused it.

"Oh? And you haven't any second thoughts about showing us how rusty your magic's gotten?" Came the immediate tease.

"No! I was just thinking to myself!"

England took his stick of a wand from his cloak. No brother ever went anywhere without mum's last gift, a piece of her fading magic which had rested in her people's sacred yew tree, cut neatly into a concise point. Never a mother ever died who had a family.

Bracing himself, he angled his foot forward, raised his wand-hand back, and pulled his own magic to curl warmly along the wand.

A pixie summoning spell took barely any focus at all.

He almost paid too little attention-- it flicked with a whizz-zip and a little dust-like gold-snow shooting from the star of the end.

It hit the dirt in a snuffed plume of smoke.

Visually, the display hadn't been pretty or controlled by any means, but luckily that didn't negate the workings of magic. England felt something had changed. There was a heavier static in the air.

"Hahah! Ah, that daedna go a snip!" Scotland bellowed. Cymru merely shook his head with a small smile.

His brows furrowed.

Laughter?

But... the air--he felt it, it was magic full, he'd summoned something? Surely? A fae--a brownie or a pixie--he knew he'd done something!

His brothers didn't seem to feel it. England frantically turned a circle to look for what he'd summoned. His brothers renewed their laughter.

"I swear I summoned something I..."

His sight met a glittering dark gaze.

England's breath caught.

A paw-digit, slowly, lifted to its lips to shush him. Its eyes were granite, its head tilt uneven, its smile balanced on the verge of fangs.

Behind his brothers.

"Salute," it said low and delighted, "I see you've painted yourself in blood. Red suits you well." He spoke lowly.

England had scrubbed himself of battle. There was no blood, he didn't know what the fae was talking about. He started to speak to correct the Fox, but he never made a sound. The fox hushed him again.

"This is between us, us good friends. Did you forget your brothers are here to hear you? They do not have the sight for me. They wouldn't understand, no, no if you give your friend up you might have to explain your stumble in the woods. How embarrassing to fall into a mushroom ring."

England shut up.

His brothers had quieted as well.

"It's okay, we'll practice your magic and you'll get better again." Cymru mistook his paleness for humiliation.

No, no, that wasn't true--

"Let them believe what they will." Reynard circled around his brothers, coming closer before turning off to walk to the woods. "Follow. You should run, make it fast. Then we will talk, for I know enemies well. When you leave your brothers, they will think your flight their own fault. They might even shower you with their attentions and apologies later... wouldn't you like that?"

His tail circled a beckoning.

England wrung his hands around his wand. Dare he trust a fox of a Fae... the even if the Fae hadn't harmed him before, the Fae wasn't in obligation to leave him untouched again. But the Fae had favoured him, some Fae gave men secrets and tips, Reynard seemed to sympathise with his struggle against the Normans?

Yet Reynard was a Fae, something mysterious and twisting. Something powerful.

How well did this Fae know his enemies?

"Your choice. Run."

England let his conflict continue to war even as he began to move. He didn't think about running. His foot rolled to his toes, he leaned, falling quick into a dash that he barely registered.

A string tugged him gently as he moved to run, but, Reynard, strolling ahead, remained always ahead.

Then, in a blink, England was under the thick forest shade.

He couldn't hear his brothers anymore. The forest arms wrapped silent around him, all else stagnated. Not a bird, not a fly. Reynard was the only movement he saw out of the corner of his eye--for even the sky had taken a break for Reynard.

Not a single gust of wind.

"Good choice," the fox praised with dark eyes, "I understood you to be fox-clever, which you have not failed."

"When will I go back to my brothers?" He asked to cut the fox from speaking further. Praise was warm, it was a fluffing of his feathers he liked, especially so soon after his accompanying victory, but he wanted praise most from another set of mouths. The words of a Fae were less than the words of a brother.

"Soon, do not fret." Its body stood stretched on twos, pulling itself into his own child-sized hight range. Its feet enjoyed a stage of a log which put it higher than him. The stage seemed to make Reynard particularly imposing with straight held shoulders and narrow nose. "I came to offer my fair hand to council, for I'd hate for such a clever kit to fall dead before his worth is known."

Its paw held out as a human hand, a royal hand to be kissed.

"Why? What importance am I to you? Why did you of all fae answer me?"

"I offered a valuable possession unto you, my name, one I lent for wise use. Do not mock my gift! Did you not expect loyalty? And here you aimlessly beckoned, je écoutait. To gift words is my only desire... for one like you so..." it rolled its paw, flexing each toe before settling.

"Close," Reynard said wistfully.

His tone became fond once more. England shifted where he stood.

"Close...?"

"Indeed. Return your mind, let us learn of the legion which tramples English way."

Legion reminded him of Rome. Rome who had given him much--roads and architecture and words and walls--but the rebellions buried in his earth had been savage and the years degrading. His land had always been barren of rare resources, the Romans had concluded that humans were the only resource worth exploiting.

He'd lost much in exchange for his gains.

Normans could be less than Romans, Rome had been the greatest to ever live. And England had driven out the greatest, he could drive out the Normans.

"I don't need your help, my brothers standing with me are enough."

The fox hummed a tone of soft demean.

"I see," the Fae sighed. "I see. Yes." He shook his head and his ears folded backwards. "Waste, I will let you discover this yourself. Little will to realign or alter your allies and foes." The fox paw raised and tapped two thorn-claws together.

It took England a moment to notice that the forest had suddenly resumed moving. It took him moments longer to see it was moving wrong, not how forests aught to move.

The leaves began to crawl, faster, colours taking on the texture of wax, a grim, melting forest of greens and browns and blacks. The smudging fire orange of Reynard's visage dripped, dripped, dripped dizzy into the muddy mix till all merged into muddy black.

The forest died as a candle did, drooping, dripping, melting.

England lost control of his arms and legs. To his silent horror, his hands began to drip, too. He couldn't move, his heart pounded a heavy thump of fear as he was swallowed into nothing.

And for a moment everything washed away...

England half-woke to soft, gentle, swaying trees.

He groggily wondered if he still dreamt.

Where...?

Had he woken?

England drifted on the edge of his dreams. The trees were navy in the night, visible as he swam between sleep and awareness. Imagining his body crawling off for the tree-line fooled his head, but never moving, he remained.

Between sleep he fell as his mind grew tired.

England woke.

He was warm.

Lulls of heat were in the air.... England found his body mobile and curled into soft pelts and blankets. Crackling pops of wood drying in a fire bloomed near, washing shadows and a glow on the unrealised shapes around him. The forest was gone, the sky was still dark. He shifted, rolling to reorient his confusion.

"Sasann?"

Home. Where was mother?

A hand came to his shoulder. England let himself be guided to lift from his nest. He clutched the blankets close to keep their warmth.

Stars glittered navy overhead.

Seeing the open stars... there, no shelter overhead. No roof. There was no mother to wonder about. No... she was a memory.

England pulled the blankets closer.

Alba... his brother was next to him, carefully and silently checking him.

His brothers were camped in a cove of rocks, he saw. Éire was missing, Cymru and Alba were the only ones left by his side.

England barely remembered his dream... fae-like. It should've been real. It had been midday when he'd... left, right? Or after? Had he gone at all? The fae might've warped time, slowing their meeting had lasted longer than it had seemed. The memory of it was slipping unnaturally... replacing the memory was a cotton-stuffed spiderweb that reeked of fairy magic.

That made him frightened.

"What happened?" England leaned against Alba. Scotland's face was shrouded by the glow of the fire.

"... Ah dinnae ken. You ran aa we dinnae find you 'til late... you were sleeping ablow a Hawthorn."

England took a deep breath.

Hawthorn, the wood home of fae. Those who slept below would rarely wake again.

"What were you doin' ablo a Hawthorn?" His brother spoke in such a resigned, pained voice.

"I don't know I... I-I didn't go to the Otherworld."

The fox had taken him into the forest, the place that had melted. But? Had he? Had the forest been made of otherworld tree?

England wrung his hands.

It had been odd tree-kind, mute and dead. No bug, no bird, no living he had heard. The forest had been wrong... warped as otherword things were. It could have been fae forest, for even the sky had been unmoving. Only the Fox had been alive as living things should be.

But how could Reynard have taken him to the Otherworld without permission?

England got colder than he was already cold as he realised.

He had inadvertently agreed to go with a fae. To go anywhere. The fae had offered to take him somewhere away from his brothers, it had asked him to follow, England had taken the offer. He had given himself up fully to the fae's will and Otherworld realm.

"I made a mistake," England whispered.

"Tell me you hivna' made a promise..." His brother's brows drew together. "Tell me it wisna' longer than a day?"

"I don't think... I think-I think I turned something down. I can't remember.... I know it was short, so short, I was just... I was just with you and...then..." England couldn't say anything else.

"That's good," Scotland said. He embraced England in a tight hug, one hand carding into his tangled hair guiding his head to rest on his shoulder. "I think you'd've remembered it if you'd've made a promise."

"M' sorry..."

"No apologies, you're nae gone."

England realised his wand was no longer with him.

#aph england #aph scotland #aph wales #hetalia fanfiction #reynard the fox #fae folk

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gwydionmisha · 5 years

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#Glitter Cymru #Cardiff #BAME Pride #Wales #News

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clydesgod · 3 years

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Mothering Sunday

A small drabble for Mothers day (UK) featuring Richard and Krista Clydesgod. Featuring some other characters.

It was a cool, crisp spring morning at the Clydesgod manor. Krista had spent most of the morning making all of the kids breakfast and opening gifts from them all. Well, mostly all of them. Richard was actually yet to give her a gift, insisting he was still ‘working on it’. Krista knew he probably was planning something creative. She didn’t really mind, she couldn’t wait to see it.

She was washing the plants from breakfast. They had a washing machine, sure, but she never trusted those machines. She preferred washing them by hand, it was almost relaxing when she got into a rhythm. She placed the last plate onto a rack, and looked around to look at the window outside. Where was little Dewi?

“Mabon? Dear?” She asked, turning her head to look directly at Mabon. He was lounging in his big chair, taking a much needed day off from working at the local council. He worked himself almost to death sometimes, he was really keen on getting a possible position at the Senedd Cymru. He looked over at her, placing his newspaper onto his lap as he began to move his hands around, trying to think of where he could be.

“I do not know,” He signed, thinking Krista knew. Mabon couldn’t speak English, though he did speak fluent Welsh. However, people do find his accent to be rather difficult to understand, so he did take lessons in British sign language in order for people to understand him much better. He didn’t really need to do it around Krista though, he was more or less just practicing. “I think he said he was going to work on something upstairs, no?”

Krista sighed, drying her hands on a teatowel nearby. She moved over towards Mabon, placing a little smooch on the top of his forehead.

“Thank you dear, keep up the good work!” She mused, patting his cheek as she left Mabon with a pink flush on his cheeks. She moved on, heading upstairs through the big manor. Rhys was outside, messing about on the swing. Gwyneth was in her room as usual, probably drawing in her own time at her new desk.

Richard never stayed in one place. Often moving from playing outside to watching TV at his whim. He had a bit of an active imagination, and did tire out easily after playtime. Once she got to his room, she was rather shocked to find it closed shut. Richard would’ve never usually done this, what was he planning?

She knocked on the door, not wanting to burst inside in case he was still working on something.

“Dewi?” She asked, “May I come in?”

A pause.

“Er. Ooooooooooooooooooooone second. I'm still finishing up a little thingy.” He replied, the sound of something falling over being present during his reply.

Suffice to say, Krista got a bit worried. She stayed patient however, waiting outside of his room. Waiting, and waiting.

She knocked again, a bit more concerned now.

“Richard? Are you okay? It’s been 10 minutes now.” She asked, almost tempted to open the door.

“One more second pleaaaaaaase.” This time, the sound of glitter falling around being present.

More time passed, and she knocked again.

“R-richard. It’s been half an hour. I hope you’re not making me a huge mess I’ll have to clean up?” She half-joked.

“Mmmmmm lemmie just add this ooooooooone thing and…” He paused, Krista’s hand was now inches away from the doorknob.

“...Yeah! It’s done now-”

The door swung open, Krista stumbled into Richard’s bedroom by accident. Maybe the wait got her a bit too nervous. She wasn’t too sure what he was planning, the last thing she’d want to do was find her son all covered in glitter and glue...again.

However, she’d open her eyes wide as she saw what Richard had got her. His arms were outstretched, and he held in his hand what looked like a hairband with 2 fake unicorn horns on it. They had been painted pink, and had glitter all over it. Glue was dotted all around as well.

Richard was beaming, holding it up towards her like it was an offering for some kind of god.

“I know people always look at you because you don’t have horns and we all do so I made you something so people won’t look at you anymore!!! I made the horns pink like your hair and, and the glitter is like...erm...like it’s very cool and stylish.” He said, his voice somewhat shaky as he moved the make-shift headband around to show her all the little details.

“I got most of the stuff to make this from Gwyneth’s room and I...mom? What’s wrong?”

Krista, not saying a word, took the makeshift horns from Richard, slowly examining them. It was a child’s work, sure, but something about it felt...special. She’d try to put it on, struggling a bit as she didn’t want to accidentally snap it in her hands. It sure didn’t help that her hair was much different than everyone else's. She turned her head, looking at a little mirror that Richard kept in his room. She looked, well, ridiculous...but she didn’t seem to care whatsoever.

“I hope you don’t mind but I sort of used all the glue so can we get some more tomorrow?” He asked, as Krista looked down at him. She slowly knelt down, wrapping her arms around his head and bringing him into a comforting , gentle hug.

“Oh Dewi...it’s so...it’s so wonderful. Thank you so much dear,” she replied, her voice sounding genuine as something got caught in her eye. “I can’t thank you enough, dear. You’ve made my day...just don’t tell Rhys and Gwyneth that, okay?”

She giggled, pulling away from the hug but keeping knelt down. She looked over at Richard’s ‘work space’, seeing a mess of paint and glitter all over the floor. He at least knew to have something covering the carpet...but it didn’t help that it was his bedsheets. Oh well, she could easily throw that in the washing machine.

“Thank you mama.” Richard replied, hugging her back as he wrapped his arms around her legs. Krista only chuckled, patting his head as she looked back at herself in the mirror. She was pretty sure people didn’t stare at her because of a lack of horns...but she honestly didn’t mind.

“Say, where did you even get these things from? I don’t remember your father taking you to the clothes store. I didn’t even know you had unicorn toys.” She asked, poking the fake horns as she pondered.

“Oh! I took them from Gwyneth’s room! She had those big unicorn things so I just took the horns off them! I even borrowed one of her hairbands!”

Krista fell silent, and looked down at Richard. He was smiling, still hugging into her leg. She let out a sigh, he had good intentions...but he really needed to ask for permission first.

Around 20 years later...

“Mom.” Richard sternly said, entering the living room as he held a small wrapped up present in his hand.

“Yes dear?” Krista replied, wearing the same horns on her head as she acted confused to what was wrong. She kept them all this time, maintaining them and wearing them every mother’s day. She thought it was cute. Richard did as well, until he turned into a teenager and started despising her for keeping it all this time.

“You can’t keep doing this to me,” he replied, sitting down next to her on the couch as he handed her his present. “If Vitalis was here he’d mock me for the rest of my days.”

“Doesn’t he do that already?” She asked, taking the present from him and looking at it. It was a little small, but she didn’t mind. “Anyway, let me see what’s inside here then.”

As she unwrapped the gift, Richard turned on the TV in an attempt to distract himself from her reaction. He didn’t really get her anything special this year, just a nice necklace he saw on sale. He never really knew what she wanted so he just settled for jewelry.

Despite Richard’s thoughts, Krista’s eyes shone like the stars, taking the necklace out and promptly putting it around her neck. It was a silver chain necklace, with a little octopus design below it. She looked over at Richard, making sure he saw how grateful she was.

“Thank you little Dewi!” She exclaimed, suddenly wrapping her arms around his head and pulling him into a hug.

“M-mOM!” He replied, struggling to get out of her grip. She knew he always acted annoyed but, deep down, he loved it.

It was just another mothers day for Krista Clydesgod.

#{lore}#{writing}#{dyn gafr🐐 : Richard Clydesgod}#{the unnameable🐙 : Krista Clydesgod}#// sorry if this feels rushed gfdshfd #// i had fun writing it!#// or typing rather

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overlord-off-record · 6 years

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I'm just posting this directly from my phone because read mores haven't been working for me lately anyway. It's not that long, at least? Also, I am utterly failing at the concept of a pay wall, but more fiction is available for $1 on my patreon.

Anyway, happy Father's Day or something.

---

Uther and Merlin sat together in a dusty alcove, their heads bent together over maps and papers. Sunlight filtered through the narrow window, shadowing the worry on their faces.

"I understand Cyngen's position," Uther said, kicking one foot against the stone wall. "The tariffs are unpleasant, but we could live with that. It's the stubborn insistence that Mercia rules Cymru that rankles."

"But Burgred does no such thing. Not in any meaningful sense. It's just words."

Uther nodded. A foreign king who refused even to acknowledge the separate kingdoms that comprised the land called Cymru could never hope to rule them all. What Burgred did, what Mercia had only ever succeeded at, was bullying the border states. This war was nothing new.

"We need archers," Merlin said, probably for the twentieth time.

Frowning in thought, Uther tapped his chin. "What if," he said slowly, "we persuaded Burgred to recognize Camelot's sovereignty?"

Merlin's eyes glittered in the morning light. "How, my daring young Pendragon, do you propose to win him over? Would you betray your countrymen?"

"I would sell Cyngen out for five fully caparisoned horses," Uther said with a heartfelt groan, and Merlin laughed.

"How, then? Will you offer yourself in marriage to Burgred's sister? I promise you, he won't think it prize match."

Uther recoiled in horror at the idea, to Merlin's continued delight.

"I agree with Rhodri of Gwynedd." Uther shook a letter beneath the sorcerer's nose. "He thinks diplomacy will win the day."

Merlin gave one of his cold, sharp smiles. "Keep that one close. He's as clever as they come."

Uther nodded.

At the sound of feet running down the corridor, Merlin held up his hand. In hasty silence, Uther collected the maps and papers. They looked at each other, wondering whether to raise the alarm, when Ector burst around the corner.

"Uther!" he yelled, decorum forgotten. He waved both hands over his head as he ran toward them. "Uther!"

"Heavens, already?" Merlin muttered. Uther hid a grin. Merlin was so seldom surprised by anything.

Uther met Ector in the corridor, but he could not resist teasing him a bit. "My friend, why this haste?" He gripped Ector by the forearms. "Are we under attack?"

"Uther! My prince! It's—it's time! My friend, you have to—Oh, just come and meet my son!"

With a whoop, Uther embraced his friend. Then, stepping back, he made a show of frowning and counting the months since the wedding.

"You stop that!" Grinning, Ector took Uther by the elbow and marched him down the corridor.

"Ector," Uther said after two turns and a staircase, "you know you can't drag me into the birthing chamber. The midwife will flay us both." The midwife's pretty apprentice, on the other hand, would hopefully have a smile for him.

"Stop fretting." Ector pulled Uther along right to the door of the birthing chamber. "Just wait right here." He disappeared through the door, and Uther stood waiting, wondering at the sudden commotion that arose from within. It sounded like Ector tripped over all the furniture, someone was exasperated, and someone laughed at him.

Uther had just enough time to begin feeling a bit foolish when the door opened again. "Here." Ector thrust a bundle into Uther's hands before he could protest. It squirmed. Uther panicked.

"Ector, I don't know how to hold a baby!"

"It's easy. You just keep his head supported, and…" As he spoke, Ector guided Uther's hands into position. "Like this. Perfect. Look at him!" Ector beamed, and Uther found himself smiling as well.

"He's… Is he supposed to be all red?"

Ector laughed, which Uther took to mean yes. He stared down at the infant in his arms, all soft and surprisingly wrinkly and scalded-looking. Tentatively, he touched the fine hair on the child's head. The little head turned toward his hand.

"What are you going to call him?" Uther breathed, mesmerized. He felt oddly warmed from within, and when the tiny baby yawned a tiny yawn, he knew he would do anything to protect this child.

"Kay."

"Kay," Uther repeated softly. "You're right. He's perfect."

The two of them grinned at each other across the drowsy infant, and for just a moment, neither Powys nor Mercia mattered at all.

#fiction #arthurian #uther pendragon

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dpfagency · 4 years

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New little pouches going out with orders this week #resin #resinjewelry #love #…

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pontiobangor · 4 years

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Pum munud gyda... Seiriol Davies

Beth yw’r cynhyrchiad a gafodd yr argraff fwyaf arnoch erioed?

Dwi’n useless yn pigo petha fel hyn, so dwi’m yn mynd i drio pigo un! Oedd y sioeau cerdd oedd Mam a Dad (Eleri Cwyfan a Gareth Glyn) yn neud i blant pan oeddwn i’n fach fach, fel Seren Newydd, yn ddylanwad anferth, wedyn Magdalen nath Dad efo Glanaethwy. A dwi’n cofio llwythi o bits o sioeau o Theatr Fach a Theatr Gwynedd a’r Steddfod pan oeddwn i’n hogyn - dwi’n cofio rhwbath efo Cefin Roberts in drag, efo wal yn cael ei adeiladu dros ganol y llwyfan yn ystod y sioe, a’r gynulleidfa wedi ei rhannu yn ddau, a bob hannar yn gwylio’r hannar arall yn diflannu - i gyd oedd yn ymestyn be oeddwn i’n feddwl oeddat ti’n ‘cael’ neud ar lwyfan.

Wedyn hynna di’r thema wedyn efo y petha sy’n cal yr argraff fwya: petha sy’n ymestyn. O dop ym mhen: Mr Burns gan Anne Washburn yn yr Almeida ma gael y strwythyr mwya anghredadwy o cwl, Eraritjaritjaka gan Heiner Goebbels yn yr EIF (oedd yn dechra efo ty dol ar y llwyfan, ac yn raddol allan ohono fo ddoth, ymysg pethau eraill, dyn, llond llaw o robots, criw camera, mwy o robots, cerddorfa, a thy llawn faint); fersiwn Sam Mendes o Cabaret yn Efrog Newydd (cefn y llwyfan yn dymchwel ar ddiwedd y sioe a mae o’n torri dy galon di) ayyb ayyb. Yn fwy diweddar nesh i weld un chunk o 24-Decade History of Popular Music gan Taylor Mac yn y Barbican, ac os gewch chi gyfle i weld hwnnw, blimey, mae o’n ysgubol: drag angerddol, doniol, gwyllt; sort of deud hanes America o berspectif is-ddiwylliannau a rebals, ar ffurf cyfuniad o ddarlith, sioe gerdd, sioe drag, noson lawen a game show. Flipping gwych.

Eniwe, un o rheina, mwn.

Pan yn ysgrifennu/creu cynnyrch neu sioe newydd, beth sy’n eich ysbrydoli?

Unrhywbeth yn gallu. Sioeau fel yr uchod. Stori gre. Dwi’n mwynhau delio mewn eironi a’r abswrd, a’r amseroedd pan ma’ be da ni’n ddeud yn glir wrthwyneb i be da ni’n feddwl. Felly mae unrhyw newyddion neu stori sy’n amlygu hynny i fi fatha stec amrwd i gi.

Dwi’n licio cyplysu y byd cyffredin efo lefeloedd uchel ffantasi llwyr hefyd, so dwi’n wrth fy modd yn chwara gemau fideo. Mae chwedloniaeth yn ddyfais nathon ni greu i drio neud synnwyr o’r byd banal, so pam ddim dod â’r ddwy lefel at ei gilydd eto.

Plys ti’n cael y costiwms gorau pan ti’n neud hynny.

Pan dwi’n sgwennu rwbath ma rhaid i fi ffindio rhywbeth yn ei graidd o sy’n fy ngwneud i’n anghyffyrddus rywsut: rhyw gwlwm i fi ymladd efo fo drwy’r cymeriada. Gosa dwi’n gneud hynny fedrai’m cysylltu efo unrhyw gymeriad na thema: dwi’m yn credu fod o’n bosib; mae o gyd yn aros yn abstract ac yn ddi-enaid.

Fatha, efo fy sioe nesa i, Milky Peaks, fydd yn agor ar ol y Gofid Mawr, nesh i gychwyn efo cwestiwn o Gymreictod. Gesh i’n magu yn Genedlaetholwr Eisteddfotol “Gormes a Brad” Cymreig, yn sôn am amddiffyn ein ffyrdd ni be bynnag a ddel, mewn termau hollol ddigymleth. Ond wedyn wnes i ffindio fod Nick Griffin, y gwadwr Holocaust ac arweinydd y BNP ar y pryd, wedi symud i fyw i galon Cymru ac yn magu ei blant i siarad Cymraeg, er mwyn osgoi “Prydain Aml-Ddiwylliannol”, gan fod o’n uniaethu efo’n brwydyr ni o “ni versus yr allanwr”. Awtsh roedd hynna’n brifo. Felly roedd sgwennu Milky Peaks yn broses mewn ffordd o drio gweithio’r gwenwyn yna allan o’r sustem, drwy ddelio efo fo.

Ddylswn i ddeud hefyd fod o yn sioe sy’n dunnell o hwyl! All-singing-all-dancing, glitter-yn-ffrwydro-allan-o-doilet, noson allan hwyl. Ma gweithio’r gwenwyn allan yn gallu bod yn reiat!

A oes unrhywbeth cyffrous ar y gweill gennych? Boed yn y dyfodol agos neu pan fydd ein theatrau wedi ailagor?

Ah, so y rhagddywededig Milky Peaks fydd yn agor yn Theatr Clwyd ac yn teithio Cymru cyn gynted gallwn ni ac sydd yn ffab (oeddan ni ar fin agor pan ddaeth lockdown!).

Wedyn amryw i beth arall cyffroes iawn i ddeud gwir, o leia i mi!

Dwi newydd orffan sioe fer hollol wirion yn ystod lockdown i’w gael ei ryddhau arlein gan HOME yn Manceinion a Lime Pictures, o’r enw ActualQuest, sydd yn gêm-rôl ffantasi ti’n chwarae ar dy ffôn, wedi ysbrydoli gan gemau ffantasi fatha Knightmare ar ITV yn y 90au, a gemau bwrdd VHS brilliantly naff fatha Atmosfear.

Dwi’n gweithio ar fersiwn secsi, ffyrnig, angerddol o Branwen fel sioe gerdd efo Cwmni’r Frân Wen, Hanna Jarman ac Elgan Rhys sydd yn mynd i fod yn ês, a pharhau i ddatblygu sioe ddrag am yr Orsedd, yr Eisteddfod a Iolo Morgannwg, Corn Gwlad efo Elgan a Gethin Evans a’r Eisteddfod Genedlaethol, a naethon ni fersiwn ohoni efo cast styning yn Steddfod Llanrwst flywddyn dwytha.

Dwi hefyd yn sgwennu sioe gerdd efo yr actores a dramodydd Maxine Peake ar gyfer y Royal Exchange yn Manceinion, sydd yn lwythi o hwyl.

Beth fyddai eich cyngor i bobl ifanc sy’n dymuno gweithio yn y diwydiant?

Triwch fod yn hyblyg, a thrio pethau. Hyd yn oed os i jyst ddarganfod, drwy brofiad, fod o ddim yn siwtio. Crëwch, hyd yn oed os da chi’n meddwl fod o’n crap, a rhannwch: newch chi ddysgu rwbath amdano chi eich hun. Mae mwy o gyfleoedd yn y byd os allwch chi greu eich cyfleoedd eich hun, a gora po leia da chi’n ista wrth y ffôn (neu be bynnag di’r fersiwn fodern… ista wrth yr internet?) yn disgwyl i rywun ddewis chi.

Mae o’n gyngor blydi frustrating, dwi’n gwbod, ond peidiwch a disgwyl am ganiatâd - ddeith o’n hwyr os ddeith o fyth - ffindiwch allan be da chi isio ddeud a sut i gal o ar draws. Dysgwch o bob profiad. Nesh i lwythi o cabaret cyn gneud fy sioe gynta: ma goroesi ar lwyfan am noson pan ti ddim wedi paratoi ddigon, a ma’r gynulleidfa’n pissed ac isio adloniant, so ma jyst raid ti dynnu rwbath allan o rwla; mae o’n dysgu rwbath i ti, prun ai ti’n llwyddo neu’n bomio!

Yn yr un ffordd ma llenwi ffurflen grant, neu sgwennu copi marchnata ar gyfer dy sioe, yn dysgu ti sut i ddiffinio dy hun a dy lais. Dy nhw byth yn hwyl, ond mae nhw’n werthfawr. A ma gwerth enfawr mewn cal peint efo rhywun sydd efo arbennigedd sgynoch chi ddim o fewn y diwydiant; dylunudd, dramodydd, cerddor, marchnatydd... newch chi weld pethau o agwedd welsoch chi’m o’r blaen.

Aroswch yn agored i’r byd; mae ymateb gonest, gloyw rhywun i’r byd yn lot mwy diddorol na thybiannau o dy fewn eu pen.

Helpwch eich gilydd; mae na rymoedd o fewn cymdeithas sydd yn gneud bywyd yn anoddach i rai nac eraill, ac mae’n bwysig neud be bynnag bosib i wrth-neud hynny.

O, a, lle’n bosib, triwch peidio cytuno i weithio i rywun am ddim os oes pres ganddyn nhw. Ddylsa nhw ddim cael get awê.

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queerwelsh · 1 year

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Pride in Wales! Balchder yng Nghymru!

Here’s a list of the Pride events happening in Wales this year, in 2023. (click the links for more information)

Dyma rhestr o ddigwyddiadau Balchder yng Nghymru blwyddyn yma, yn 2023.

22 April/Ebrill - Aberystwyth Pride / Balchder yn Aberystwyth

29 April/Ebrill - Swansea Pride / Balchder Abertawe

30 April/Ebrill - Mini Pride and Swansea Anti-Capitalist Pride (1pm Singleton Park) / Balchder Bach a Balchder Gwrthgyfalafol Abertawe (1yp Parc Singleton)

14 May/Mai - Colwyn Bay Pride / Balchder Bae Colwyn

17 June/Mehefin - Hay Pride

17 June/Mehefin - The Big Queer Picnic

17-18 June/Mehefin - Cardiff Pride / Balchder Caerdydd (Pride Cymru)

19 June/Mehefin - Cowbridge Pride / Balchder y Bontfaen

24 June/Mehefin - Caerphilly Pride / Balchder Caerffili

24 June/Mehefin - Abergavenny Pride

24 June/Mefefin - Balchder Gogledd Cymru / North Wales Pride Caernarfon

29 June/Mehefin - 2 July/Gorffennaf - Balchder Neath Port Talbot Pride

8 July/Gorffennaf - Llandeilo Pride / Balchder Llandeilo

15 July/Gorffennaf - Llanelli Pride / Balchder Llaneilli

29 July/Gorffennaf - Llandovery Pride / Balchder Llanymddyfri

12 August/Awst - Barry Pride / Balchder y Barri

12 August/Awst - Balchder Glitter Pride Cardiff

26 August/Awst - Merthyr Tydfil Pride / Balchder Merthyr Tudful

2 September/Medi - Pride in the Port Newport / Balchder Casnewydd

9-10 September/Medi - RCT Pride

15-17 September/Medi - Trans Pride Cardiff

16 September/Medi - Carmarthen Pride/Balchder Caerfyrddin

#pride #wales #cymru #lgbt #lgbt pride #lgbtq #lgbtqia #queer wales #cymraeg #lgbtqia pride #links #resource list #will add more details on some when there are more details on them

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horizons-gorwelion · 7 years

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FESTIVAL NO 6 - PART ONE: Lost in the Woods Stage, Friday 8 September 2017

Horizons is back at Festival No 6 this year with a bespoke mix of new Welsh talent from all around Wales. You’ll also recognise some of the returning Horizons acts like Candelas, Roughion, Castles, and Climbing Trees alongside new acts nominated for the festival through our partnerships with BBC Radio Wales and BBC Radio Cymru.

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Campfire Social, 12-12.30pm

Hailing from Llangollen / Chester and celebrating the forthcoming release of their first collection of studio tracks ‘Wellbeing EP’, indie-pop 5 piece Campfire Social are a refuge from the wild woods all around. Their incandescent, melodic songs take the intimate heartbreak of Elliott Smith and embellish with golden harmonies borrowed from The Beach Boys. At times getting you up off your chairs in a passionate rage, at others just to dance but always filled with hope.

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Griff Lynch, 12.45 - 1.15pm

As a member of influential Welsh psych pop band ‘Yr Ods’, Griff Lynch has done most of what an exclusively Welsh language artist can do. Headlined 'Maes B’ 3 or 4 times and played every Welsh festival from Swn festival to Green Man. Yr Ods whirled through the cliches, on a minority language scale.

Griff’s first attempt at 'the solo project’ comes from a very different place. It’s DIY. It’s a bit dark, a bit depressing, a bit bilingual, but essentially, a bit Poppy. Pop from the left. It seems that boredom, despair, deaths and breakups can sometimes be quite sweet on the ear. Even in Welsh.

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Adwaith, 1.30-2.00pm

Adwaith have always existed. They have been there since the sixties, through Roxy Music’s filthy glitter, and within the glorious chaos of punk and its post-punk offspring. Now the relevant stars have aligned, Adwaith have been made physical in the form of Gwenllian Anthony (Bass, Mandolin), Hollie Singer (Vocals, Guitar) and Heledd Owen (Drums).

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Kidsmoke, 2.15-2.45pm

Formed in 2013 in Wrexham, North Wales, Kidsmoke consists of: Lance Williams (Vocals/Guitar), James Stickels on (Bass/Vocals), Sophie Ballamy on (Guitar/Vocals) and Ash Turner (Drums). Singles from their 3rd EP 'Save Your Sorrow’ have made it onto the airwaves nationwide, including BBC Radio 6 Music, Amazing Radio, Radio X and a live session on BBC Radio Wales with Janice Long.

The four-piece note The Smiths, The Beatles, Wild Nothing and Real Estate among their influences and have garnered a reputation for producing well-crafted, harmony-filled indie-pop nuggets with a dynamic, well polished live-presence to boot.

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Palomino Party, 3-3.30pm

Palomino Party are an electrifying art-rock band who reminisce in old-world glamour. Front man Linford Hydes is a rare performer who has the ability to create entire worlds which listeners can retreat and seek refuge. Hydes possess a charisma and theatricality akin to his celebrated Pop/Rock predecessors David Bowie, Kate Bush and Boy George. Recognised in their home-town as the go-to live band for escapism and pure pleasure, Palomino Party deliver theatre, romance and songs that need to be danced to.

#festivalNo6 #festival no 6 #horizons #gorwelion #Palominoparty #kidsmoke #campfiresocial #grifflynch #adwaith #lostinthewoods

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