#why must everything be relatable why is everything taken as an indication of an authors personal story I DONT UNDERSTAND

[scionshtola]

there is something so annoying to me about people reading a poem and then deciding it’s bad because it doesn’t match their personal experience or because for some reason they think all poems are autobiographical

[secretshinigami]

Meet you under the sun

Author: @lightlessons For: @danthegeek Pairings/Characters: Light Yagami/L Lawliet, Misa Amane, Kiyomi Takada. Rating/Warnings: M. Mature language, Swear words, Alcohol consumption.  Prompt: AU Light is a popular Collage Student and invited to a beach party. He is having a lot of fun, is flirty and arrogant as we know him. He is dancing with Misa, who is not his girlfriend but has a crush on him. Then, L joins the party, somebody brought him along. He is chilling awkwardly by the buffet when Light takes notice of him and joins him at the buffet. He has seen him before a couple times on the campus, but never talked to him. What happens next is up to you…

Author’s notes: I bent the specifics a bit in that I had Light talk to L  just a bit after seeing him instead of immediately, because i felt it fit the pacing I had better. Hope it’s still okay though :-) 

—————————–

“Don’t tell me you’re a Beach Volleyball junior champion too,” Takada joked after Light obliterated (yet again) a team of what appeared to be sociology majors, or something equally pointless, she had that small, half-hearted smile that was so characteristic of hers but with the slight frown of someone who isn’t used to being impressed.

Light laughed humbly. 

“I’m not. Maybe my experience with tennis helps somewhat? But I’ve really never played it before.”

His classmate sighed, and Light thought that being constantly made aware of his numerous skills had to be tiring for her. “You must be just naturally talented then,” she supposed as she fixed her hair behind her ear in a strange bashful gesture that must mean she was finally surrendering over to Light’s natural charm, as one would expect. 

“Or those two are just awful,” Light smirked conspiratorially. 

The young bourgeois laughed, which was what Light was hoping to achieve. Takada always enjoyed laughing at other people’s expense.

Light wasn’t much of a fan of the beach. There was too much sand getting into bad places and too many people acting as if the transition from monkey to hominid had never been made. Too much noise and too much sun and too many girls asking him to slather them with sun blocker, as if he’d pop a boner over touching their skinny naked backs. But, if there was something he’d learned from a very young age was the importance of having good public relations, and so when Kiyomi Takada had invited him to an exclusive beach party, he knew he wouldn’t say no to the daughter of the Sankei Newspaper’s owner. He’d gone into To-Doh not just looking for a quality education after all but in the hope of forming good connections too. 

And this party, filled with Tokyo’s most important youth, was a perfect opportunity to start rubbing shoulders. Light was young and attractive and athletic, perfectly composed to be like a bug zapper for these kinds of things. 

Plus, the lively music and the three margaritas he’d already had were kinda getting to him. 

“LIIIIIIIIGHT!!!” A familiar voice suddenly screeched from somewhere behind him. 

Oh dear God. 

Five feet of blond supermodel darted towards him through the small crowd of spectators that had formed for the match. Misa Amane, bimbo extraordinaire, had finally shown up to the party in all her unbridled glory. 

“Oh, that was so cool! You’re always so cool, Light,” she proclaimed with shiny eyes while all the other men around and some of the women ogled her in her small two-piece red bikini with a blackthorns and vines pattern, as characteristic of the gothic style she favored. 

Now, Light didn’t dislike Misa. She was cute in a very whiny-cat kind of way. Sort of endearing at first but jarring as the volume increased and the minutes went on. The first time they met she’d claimed she felt a cosmological affinity towards him or some such bullshit and then proceeded to interrogate him for his zodiac, moon, and rising sign, whatever the hell that meant–he hadn’t been paying attention. She was useful, though, in that she was somewhat famous and happily willing to do him any favors, or connect him with any of her large contact lists, even when he’d already been clear about not being interested in any non-friendly relation with her (using the hardships that came to celebrities’ partners as an excuse), he was a gentleman, after all, and he wouldn’t toy with a woman’s feelings. 

“Hey Misa,” Light gave her an easy smile that would hopefully settle her for the rest of the day. 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere for the past week! Where have you been hiding? Not with Kiyomi, I hope!”

Takada at his side made an affronted sound that seemed to choke on the way up her throat. 

“Behave, Misa. I’ve told you I’m not your property,” Light belittled her with only mild sternness. 

Misa shook her head enthusiastically. 

“Misa is only teasing, Light! She promises! Besides, Kiyomi and I have started getting along since Spanish class. Haven’t we, Kiyomi?" 

Kiyomi seemed startled for a moment, as if she didn’t expect Misa to call her out like that, but recovered quickly to settle her face into her usual cold mask of indifference. 

“I suppose so.” 

“Aw, don’t be like that. We even planned a fake trip to Playa del Carmen together! Oh, Light, you should join us!” 

“I’m taking Korean.” 

“Not in class, silly, on the trip!” 

"Right… then I happen to be busy around that time of year,” he joked, throwing a smirk at Takada and earning the most formal of snorts he’d heard. 

"Miss Amane does have a fondness for fantasizing,” Takada replied instead, like a ready viper waiting for the perfect moment to strike at her victims. Oh, there’s no need to be mean with her, Kiyomi. 

The implications seemed to get lost on the blonde, however. 

“Pfft, you’re no fun. I’ll borrow him for a bit, Kiyomi. Clearly he needs a little loosening up, and you’re not exactly a party animal, are you?” 

Before Kiyomi could reply Misa had already taken Light’s arm and dragged him to the bar for more drinks. Light had to admit, the cocktails options were impressive, and he sort of wanted to try everything on the menu, but in the end, following the beach spirit, he and Misa both ordered a piña colada, and while usually, he wasn’t a fan of too much sweet in his alcohol, the fresh taste felt like a blessing under the hot summer sun, enough that soon he found himself chatting amicably with Misa and even had to catch himself from -dear God- giggling at something she said. 

Such was his mildly buzzed state when a sight at the corner of his eyes caught his attention. Turning around, he understood why. A black-haired man was standing under a palm tree and sipping at his own colada, with his back very badly curved in an awful posture and huge eyes fixed somewhere on the sand. Weirdly enough, he was wearing jeans to the beach with only a loose tank top to combat the scorching weather, and still, his wild mop of hair was the most recognizable part of him, which was in itself something, as Light had never in his life seen someone more particular. He’d seen the other boy around campus a handful of times before, but there had never been an opportunity for him to approach him, even though Light had always felt an inexplicably strong pull for him to ask him about his name. 

Misa loudly calling his name made him realize he’d been staring. 

“Misa, do you know who that is?”

Misa squinted in the direction of Light’s eyes, face lighting up with recognition. 

“Of course! That’s Ryuzaki! He’s actually the inheritor of Wammy’s Co. But not many people know about that,” the model smirked like she was telling the juiciest gossip. “People like Takada probably think he sticks out like a sore thumb around here. But the truth is, he’s got more money than any of us combined.” Light’s ears perked up at that. “He’s also one of the smartest people you’ll ever meet, and I’ve met you, Light. I don’t know who invited him, though. Let’s ask him! Hey, Ryuzaki!!" 

The odd student turned around towards the voice calling him and tilted his head to the side in silent interrogation. 

The boy’s assemblage of quirks brought a smile to his face. He hadn’t allowed himself to think it before, but he had always thought the student was rather cute even with how little he knew of him. 

“Who invited you?!” 

Light winced and glared at Misa for how carelessly she had posed such a question, but Ryuzaki didn’t seem the least bit faced and instead cupped a hand near his mouth like a mock-megaphone and shouted: “I just came for the desserts!” with a wide-eyed expression that gave no indication whatsoever of if he was teasing or not. 

Misa laughed like she’d heard the best joke ever and Light just blinked in the boy’s direction.

“Isn’t he a blast?” She hollered as Ryuzaki’s eyes met his.

It was hard for Light to describe those few seconds, but for one single moment, the strings holding his soul together seemed to vibrate at a different tune than they’d played previously. He was unsure if he shivered, but he had to break the eye contact like some damned school girl to pull himself back together. 

Why did his face feel warm all of a sudden? 

"Ooh, I love this song! Let’s dance, Light!” Misa interrupted his thoughts again with a squeal.

“Uhh, sure, yeah…" 

×~°~×~°~×~°~×~°~×

Dancing was decidedly not as fun unless you had a certain amount of alcohol in your body. Or at least, that was Light’s opinion on the matter. Who’d enjoy several hours of mindlessly moving your body unless somehow inebriated? That’s why Light had to drink another two mimosas to keep up with dancing with Misa for five songs straight, not because he was somewhat shaken up about the guy with the bird’s nest hair and the absent look –Ryuzaki, his brain provided– and certainly not because he was figuring out how to approach him. 

He separated from Misa when the sun was already setting, bathing the sea with a last warm goodbye. Everyone at the beach stopped for a moment to marvel at it, but Light only had eyes for Ryuzaki, who was… nowhere to be seen, sending Light into a momentary panic. 

He almost slapped himself when he found him below the parasol housing the buffet. It was what Ryuzaki had said before about the only reason for coming to the party. Normally, he would have remembered, which only meant Light’s brain wasn’t behaving as fast as it normally would. It couldn’t be that he’d have too much to drink, could it? 

Alright, be smooth, Yagami. 

“Hello!” Light chirped with a wide grin, planting himself beside the strange boy who was staring at the lines of sweets like they were study material. 

Ryuzaki turned to him with a blink. 

That had come higher than intended. 

"We, uh, are in the same faculty? I’ve seen you around 345.”

“Light Yagami. Second-year Criminal Justice major. You’re the son of detective-superintendent Soichiro Yagami of the NPA." 

"Um.”

“You respect and admire your father greatly and your intention is to become the deputy director of the NPA. You’re as ambitious as you are clever.”

“Why do you-”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’re aware of how popular you are around here, word goes around. You’re not the only one I have this sort of information on." 

Light wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be reassuring. 

At the very least, that introduction had sobered him up. 

The other student was appraising him with a curious gaze, as he was starting to learn he looked at pretty much everything. 

"Is that the way you introduce yourself to everyone?" 

"Hmm. Yes, usually. I told you. You’re not special in that regard.”

“In what regard am I special, then?” Light asked cheekily. 

“That’s not-”

But he didn’t let him finish before walking around him like a predator would its prey. He made a show of considering what pastry he’d take and settled for a star-shaped cookie. Ryuzaki watched the whole procedure closely and Light smirked at him as he took a bite. 

Yes, I made you think about my mouth now. How’s that, smart-ass? 

“I think we should get to know each other better, don’t you?”

“And what makes you come to that conclusion?” Ryuzaki supposed. 

“Well, I want to, for one.” Light sassed.

“Are you coming on to me?" 

Light’s confident semblance cracked. It suddenly dawned on him what he was doing and where. Fuck, what if he isn’t into guys? This was why he never flirted with men unless he was sure the other person was at least bisexual! Or just let the other guys come onto him, which he never had a lack of. Shit. 

Ryuzaki seemed to notice his momentary alarm because he placed a hand on his arm in reassurance. 

"No, I’m into it. I was just surprised,” he explained with an earnestness Light wasn’t expecting. 

“Surprised?”

“People like you don’t usually flirt with me." 

"What’s people like me?" 

"Now you’re just fishing for compliments." 

Light grinned, feeling like his assured (but not overly-presumptuous) self again. 

“Swear I’m not.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Your hand is still on my arm, by the way.” 

Ryuzaki blinked at the offender, which was indeed still curled around Light’s tricep like a possessive pale spider. He only let go of it slowly, finger by finger, and Light pretended he could see a faint blush on the other’s face with the last rays of sunlight. 

There was a conscious effort on his part to not brush those sharp cheeks tenderly with his knuckles, less the sudden contact spook his new sudden fascination away. 

“It appears you’re not the only intoxicated one of the two of us,” Ryuzaki admitted in a low voice.

The loud party music and noises of the crowd seemed so far away. 

Light took a step forward. 

“We should–” 

“Light!”

A group of people was coming their way, and Light recognized Takada, Okubo Chise, Kinoshita Hideo, and another fake-blond dude he’d never had any interest in talking to. Kinoshita was the son of a major tech company’s executive and was rotting in money from his million-dollar hair to the ugly fungus in his toenails. Light, sadly, had had a mild interest for him at first, but that went to shit when he came to see how much of an asshole he was. 

Kinoshita grabbed him by the shoulder, while Chise and the fake-blond planted themselves in front of Ryuzaki. Takada, for her part, just stood to Light’s side glaring in Ryuzaki’s direction. What the hell?

“Light, what is someone like you doing talking with a freakshow like Ryuzaki.” Kinoshita wondered, exposing his gums in a self-satisfied smile that quickly raised Light’s hackles. "Don’t you know nothing good ever comes from involving yourself with him?”

“Come again?” 

“It’s true, Light. He doesn’t have a good reputation,” Takada interjected, not bothering to hide the disgust in her face with a once-over to his new acquaintance. “I don’t know how he’d have the nerve to come in here, uninvited.”

Frowning, Light searched to see the face of the boy he’d just been so pleasantly flirting with and, outwardly, found him to appear relatively unbothered. He’d expected him to be angry, indignant, or even sad, but Ryuzaki only had his hands in his jean pockets and was yet again staring with wide eyes at some unknown fixed point as if no one were talking about him. 

“You’re going to have to be more specific about whatever offense Ryuzaki’s done. But whatever the case, I find it incredibly distasteful to round him up like you’re doing.”

“It’s alright, Light. Kinoshita is probably still just angry because I exposed a nasty little online scam of his, and attained information that could lose him the already crumbling favor of his father, and also the fact that he is nevertheless unable to cause me any significant harm,” Ryuzaki answered matter-of-factly without sparing a single glance at Kinoshita’s direction.

Everyone fell silent for a moment. 

Okay, that was… 

Extremely attractive. 

“You’re a lying little cunt!” Kinoshita snarled. 

“The naive teenagers being granted false scholarships would argue otherwise.”

“What? Hideo, you said–” Takada began. 

But the small elite group exploded in an argument about what Kinoshita had or hadn’t done, with the latter giving weaker and weaker arguments. Light was so engrossed in his rightful indignation and the opportunity to disgrace Kinoshita, that by the time he called for Ryuzaki’s own word in the matter the strange student had already left without saying a word.

×~°~×~°~×~°~×~°~×

“Ryuzaki!" 

The hunched figure paused in his lazy gait towards the beach boulevard, but the dark disheveled head didn’t turn around. Light was panting by the time he caught up to him and he could feel the beginning of a headache already forming. 

Night had already fallen and the breeze charged at them from within the sea. 

"You’re already going?" 

"I am indeed approximately 700 feet from the party." 

"Not what I was asking.” Light rolled his eyes. 

Ryuzaki turned around finally, all sharp angles and even darker eyes illuminated by the blue and purple artificial lights on the street. 

“Well, your question didn’t contain your true intentions either. You’re asking why I’m going. And I assume this means you’d like to talk more?" 

Fastidious asshole. 

L didn’t wait for Light to answer before taking his phone from his jean’s pocket and handing it to him with the contact app open. 

Light typed quickly and handed the phone back, which finally brought a blessed smile to Ryuzaki’s face.

"I’m looking forward to talking to you soon, Light Yagami. Oh and before I forget." 

Long, spidery fingers settled themselves in a careful hold below Light’s chin, and before he had time to process what was about to happen, soft lips gave a feathery kiss to his own, so quick it might have been fantasy if it weren’t for the ghost of a contact searing an imprint over Light’s heart. 

“I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you at the entrance ceremony.”

[vladdocs]

ENG Letter from the Voivode Vlad Draguli Tepes of March 14, 1457. *** By content: This letter finally clarifies the political situation between Wallachia and Transylvania, which became the cause of the conflict in 1457 and later. However, to understand the situation, it is worth reading first two other documents, the first, the agreement between the parties, the terms of assistance, the second, the document of the request for help from the voivode. This document follows in this chain the third, interesting from the point of view of the conflict. After the voivode did not receive an answer, according to the agreement, he goes to the lands where the applicants for the throne of Wallachia and their accomplices are hiding. According to the agreement, if you remember, the party on whose land the applicant and his people are hiding, preferably, betrays (meets the voivode as a friend) intruders, or does not interfere with their search. Probably, the governor did not meet any assistance in Transylvania, which is not surprising, given this attitude. Having crossed the Turnu-Rosu pass and arriving at the places where the aforementioned gentlemen were hiding, but faced with complete indifference, the voivode made an attempt to persuade Transylvania to reckon with itself. The result of this was the burned villages of Kasholts, Khosman and Nou Romyn near the very Sibiu. For decades, Transylvania, which had been shaking the nerves of the governors of Wallachia, was literally shocked by such an act, unprecedented in its kind, so that echoes of indignation reached us in the form of pamphlets, legends, stories, where from year to year, from decade to decade, the number of “innocents” increases, just like the number of "victims". In those stories, it comes to the point where the death toll during that period significantly exceeds even the number of all who lived at that time in one of the largest cities in Transylvania, Brasov. What exactly prompted the governor to take such a decisive, long-needed step? Was it the indirect participation of Transylvania in all the coups in Wallachia?, the murder of his family?, an attempt on his own murder?. It is unlikely that the voivode was so restrained and patient that, having come to power “without any help,” he concludes a strong peace with Transylvania and approaches it very responsibly. This letter is also very interesting, with a phrase that some historians even interpret as a threat: “If you don’t want even more, then immediately inform us so that we can rule and govern”. However, from the point of view of the choice of vocabulary, "quod nos regere et gubern {are p} ossemus" is completely neutral and, speaking figuratively in modern words, has the following content: the voivode, being a ruler, will be able to begin to regulate the current situation only when he finds out about the further political course of his neighbor, Transylvania, and does not want to be in the dark about that, therefore he asks to inform about his decision. There is nothing else in this phrase, "reign and govern", "herrschen und lenken", in any translation, that is, to be the ruler and therefore to control the situation. For all that, few people focus on the fact that they tried to kill the governor in Transylvania when he needed help. They also pay little attention to the fact that the voivode expresses, albeit tactfully within the framework of necessary diplomacy, about his attitude to the origin of the applicant: “his infringement on our right of the true (!) Heir”, “a monk from Wallachia who calls himself a son voivode ", the latter is twice specially indicated. Given these moments, I personally cannot understand why Vlad The Monk is definitely considered the illegitimate child of Dragul, when among his sons his father is not mentioned anywhere in the documents, not even once, and one of the sons frankly says that the Monk is an impostor. In my opinion, Vlad Monk is another Neagoe Bassarab, of which, as we remember, there were plenty of them. With only one commander Dragulya Tepes, duplicated Mirchi, Vlada and

forged documents suddenly appeared. Letter from the governor Vlad Draguli Tepes dated March 14, 1457. *** Noble, prudent and far-sighted men, advisers, fathers, brothers, our sincerely dear friends and neighbors, as you remember, and you should be well aware of that, there is a commitment between us, and vows backed by unshakable loyalty have been taken; and these obligations and vows must not be violated by anyone and never, while we are alive, at any time, which we personally specifically pointed out to you in a letter. From our side of evil, we did not do you and did not intend to start that. But today a rumor has reached us and we have learned about all that, that at a secret council you were with the people of a monk from Wallachia, who calls himself the son of a governor *, settled their affairs; Moreover, Peter Gereb * from Virishmort, and Peterman *, the son of the noble Peterman, who were neighboring with you, took part in this. You were personally promised to transfer all the fees to you in Rukar and Brail for a long time, promising that Wallachia's income. * Remember the time when I wandered and arrived in your lands *, you then did not let me into your council, but instead, out of loyalty to the noble lord, the governor of these lands, Vladislav entrusted the noble men John Gereb from Wingard and Nicholas from Salzburg to capture us in the city of Joaju and to end us. But by the will of God, we ourselves were able to return our lands without any help *, but with you, we made a strong peace and thus made your enemies ours. Today we fully understand that you support a monk from Wallachia, who calls himself the son of a governor, and his people in an encroachment on our right to be a true heir, and we also understand what bad consequences for us everything can lead, since you are already Advice with him, and he, having made his way to Amlash, remained there, and is there to this day by your own will. Therefore, with this letter we ask each and every one of you that in the name of the God and according to the commandments of the Catholic faith, as well as for the sake of maintaining fraternal peace and friendship between us, after reading our letter, you will certainly write to us or report back, whether you wish further observe the order established by us and you in writing and be loyal to it. If you do not wish that more, then immediately inform us, so that we can rule and govern. Given in Targoviste on the second day after the feast of Blessed Pope Gregory, in the year 1457. Vlad, Commander of the Transalpine lands, your faithful brother, son and friend in everything. Comments: * Identity of Vlad the monk is speculative only. * Peter Gereb * from Virishmort was a judge and head of Sibiu in 1467, later he was executed in the city square because of his participation in the uprising against Corwin considered bloodthirsty). Peterman was a wealthy Sibiu merchant from Wallachia, Kampulung; the city was located on the trade route from Rukar to Brasov. The German-speaking community living there maintained close relations with Sibiu. * Fees from you in Rukar were the most important source of income for Wallachia, therefore they were never the object of donation or lease. Braila Port, located on the Danube, was the country's most important port and was of exceptional importance for trade in the western Black Sea region. The decision of the self-appointed claimant to take away the income from the country and give it to Transylvania was also unprecedented, his desire to curry favor was painfully strong. * After an unsuccessful attempt to regain legal power in November 1448, the voivode fled to Moldavia. However, there is no evidence that he was present at the court of Bogdan II. Perhaps he found refuge among the Moldovan boyars who were supporters of his family. Later, the voivode is forced to move to Transylvania, after Vladislav finds himself in the same situation as many voivods before him and therefore loses the support of the Hungarians. * Joaju (Rom. Geoagiu, ung. Algyógy) is located in the Hunedoara

Sudce, where the Hunyadi family owned vast estates and were surrounded by numerous supporters. The authors of the book Corpus Draculianum contradict themselves, first they write that the Hungarians removed Vladislav because of his pro-Ottoman policy, and then that the murder of the governor could have been ordered by Hunyadi, so that, literally: “Hunyadi wanted to prevent Vlad's attack on Vladislav, so as not to violate the truce with by the Ottomans ". Several different statements. And why would Vlad even then be in Joaju, "where the Hunyadi family owned vast estates and were surrounded by numerous supporters." Honestly, I am alarmed by the attempt of the authors of the book to constantly challenge the words of the voivode in the documents (I often notice in the comments, they say, “the voivode is misleading,” or “in fact, the reason was something else, and not indicated by the voivode” (they apparently, instead of the governor, they know much better what was the cause of what was in the 15th century, in this case the same example, after all, everything is written in black and white, who attempted and why) and suppose “their own” version. I do not know the purpose of such comments. An example, one of the many about challenging, openly refuting the words of the voivode in his letter with his statement, is the commentary on the phrase “But by the will of the Lord we ourselves were able to return our lands without any help.” In the commentary to this phrase, the authors of the aforementioned publication, the governor is accused of lying, citing a completely empty formal oath to Postumus in March 1456 and arguing that (as it turns out, it was not Hunyadi who wanted to kill, as they had previously stated) with the help of Hun eadi. In support of the versions, documents are cited that are not evidence of the indicated facts, even indirectly. In some comments, the authors of the publication accuse the voivode of issuing an ultimatum without offering any negotiations, and this is for this phrase: “Therefore, with this letter we ask each and every one of you that in the name of the Lord and according to the commandments of the Catholic faith, and also for the sake of maintaining fraternal peace and friendship between us (!), after reading our letter, you certainly wrote or reported to us (!) whether you want to continue to observe the order established by us and you in writing (!) and be loyal to it. If you do not wish that more, then immediately inform us, so that we can rule and rule. " I don’t know how even softer it is possible to write after an attempted murder, after a betrayal and a secret conspiracy, the ruler who previously concluded an agreement with you asks you to inform us about your preference in actions. I cannot understand what the authors are pursuing with such comments. _____________________ RU Письмо воеводы Влада Драгули Цепеша от 14 марта 1457 года, перевод группы Воевода Валахии XV века Влад Цепеш Дракула. *** По содержанию: Данное письмо окончательно проясняет политическую ситуацию между Валахией и Трансильванией, ставшую причиной конфликта и в 1457 , и позже. Однако, для понимания ситуации стоит прочесть сначала два других документа, первый, договор между сторонами, условия содействия, второй, документ просьбы о помощи от воеводы. Данный документ следует в этой цепи третьим, интересным с точки зрения конфликта. После того, как воевода не получил ответа, согласно договору, он отправляется в земли, где укрываются претенденты на трон Валахии и их пособники. Согласно договору, если помните, сторона, на чьей земле скрывается претендент и его люди, предпочтительно, выдает (встречает воеводу , как приятеля) злоумышленников, либо не препятствует их поиску. Вероятно, воевода не встретил никакого содействия в Трансильвании, что и неудивительно, учитывая подобное отношение. Переправившись через перевал Турну-Рошу и прибыв в места укрывательства перечисленных господ, но столкнувшись с полным безразличием, воевода предпринял попытку убедить Трансильванию считаться с собой. Результатом этого стали сожженные

деревни Кашольц, Хосман и Ноу Ромын близ того самого Сибиу. Десятилетиями трепавшая нервы воеводам Валахии Трансильвания была в буквальном смысле шокирована таким поступком, беспрецедентны�� в своем роде настолько, что отголоски возмущения дошли до нас в виде памфлетов, сказаний, рассказов, где из года в год, из десятилетия в десятилетие, и число «невинно убиенных» становится все больше, и смерти все краше. В ряде рассказов доходит до того, что число погибших в тот период значительно превышает даже численность всех, живших на тот момент в одном из самых крупных городов Трансильвании, Брашове. Что же именно подвигло воеводу на такой решительный, давно нужный шаг? Было ли то косвенное участие Трансильвании во всех переворотах в Валахии, убийство его семьи, покушение на его собственное убийство. Вряд ли, воевода был настолько сдержан и терпелив, что, придя ко власти «без всякой помощи», заключает крепкий мир с Трансильванией и очень ответственно к тому подходит. Данное письмо очень интересно и фразой, которую некоторые историки даже трактуют как угрозу: «Ежели не желаете того более, то тотчас сообщите нам, дабы мы могли властвовать и править». Однако, с точки зрения выбора лексики, «quod nos regere et gubern{are p}ossemus» вполне нейтральна и , если говорить переносно современными словами, имеет следующее содержание: воевода, будучи правителем, сможет начать регулировать сложившуюся ситуацию , лишь тогда, когда узнает о дальнейшем политическом курсе своего соседа, Трансильвании, и не желает быть в неведении о том, потому просит сообщить о своем решении. Ничего другого в данной фразе нет, «reign and govern», «herrschen und lenken», в любом переводе, то есть, быть господарем и потому управлять ситуацией. При всем, мало кто акцентирует внимание на том, что воеводу пытались убить в Трансильвании, когда ему нужна была помощь. Также мало акцентируют внимание и на том, что воевода высказывает, пусть и тактично в рамках необходимой дипломатии, о своем отношении к происхождению претендента: «его в посягательстве на наше право истинного (!) наследника», «монаха из Валахии, кто величает себя сыном воеводы», последнее дважды особо указывается. Учитывая данные моменты, я лично не могу понять, почему Влада Монаха определенно считают внебрачным ребенком Драгула, когда среди сыновей его нигде не упоминается в документах самого отца, ни разу, а один из сыновей откровенного говорит, что Монах самозванец. На мой взгляд, Влад Монах очередной Нягое Бассараб, которых на деле, как помним, было полно. Только с одним воеводой Драгулей Цепешем внезапно появились и дублированные Мирчи, Влады и поддельные документы. Письмо воеводы Влада Драгули Цепеша от 14 марта 1457 года. *** Знатные, благоразумные и дальновидные мужи, советники, отцы, браться, наши искренне дорогие друзья и соседи, как вы помните, а о том должно вам быть хорошо известно, есть между нами обязательства , и даны клятвы, подкрепленные непоколебимой верностью; и сие обязательства и клятвы недолжно никому и никогда, пока мы живы, в любое время нарушать, на что мы вам лично особливо в письме указывали . С нашей стороны зла мы вам не творили и не намеревались то начинать. Но нынче дошел до нас слух и мы обо всем том узнали , что на тайном совете с вами были и дела свои улаживали люди монаха из Валахии, кто величает себя сыном воеводы*; пуще того, принимали в том участие и Петер Гереб *из Виришморта, и Петерман *, сын знатного Петермана, соседствующие с вами. Вам лично пообещали надолго передать все сборы с вам в Рукаре и Брэиле , посулив тем доходы Валахии.* Припомните же то время, когда скитался я и в ваши земли прибыл*, не пустили вы тогда меня в совет свой, но вместо этого вы из преданности знатному ��осподину ,воеводе тогда этих земель , Владиславу поручили знатным мужам Иоанну Геребу из Вингарда и Николаю из Зальцбурга нас в граде Джоаджу пленить и с нами покончить. Но по воле Господа смогли мы сами без всякой помощи земли свои вернуть*, а с вами же мы заключили крепкий мир и тем сделали ваших неприятелей нашими. Нынче мы всецело разумеем то, что вы поддерживаете монаха из

Валахии , кто сыном воеводы себя величает, и людей его в посягательстве на наше право истинного наследника, а также понимаем и то, к каким худым последствиям для нас все может привести, раз вы уж и совет с ним держите, и он , в Амлаш пробравшись , там и остался , и там доныне находится по вашей же собственной воле. Потому сим письмом просим мы всех и каждого из вас о том, чтобы во имя Господа и по заповедям веры католической, а также ради поддержания между нами братского мира и дружбы, вы, прочтя наше письмо , нам непременно ответ написали или доложили, желаете ли далее соблюдать письменно установленный нами и вами порядок и быть тому преданными . Ежели не желаете того более, то тотчас сообщите нам , дабы мы могли властвовать и править. Дано в Тырговиште на второй день после праздника блаженного папы Григория, в год 1457. Влад, воевода земель Трансальпийских , ваш верный брат, сын и слуга во всем. Знатным, благоразумным и дальновидным мужам, бургомистру Освальду, судье и советникам Сибиу, всем нашим мужам саксам из Семиградья, нашим искренне уважаемым друзьям и соседям. ___________________________________________________________________________ Комментарии: *Идентификация личности Влада монаха лишь предположительная. * Петер Гереб *из Виришморта был судьей и главой Сибиу в 1467 году, позже его казнят на городской площади из-за его участия в восстании против Корвина (последнему, выходит, отмечу от себя, можно так поступать с заговорщиками и претендентами на власть и не считаться кровожадным). Петерман же был богатым торговцем Сибиу родом из Валахии , Кымпулунг; город располагался на торговом пути от Рукара в Брашов. Проживавшее там немецкоязычное сообщество поддерживало тесные отношения с Сибиу. *Сборы с вам в Рукаре были самым важным источником дохода для Валахии , потому они никогда не выступали объектом пожертвования или аренды. Порт Брэйла, расположенный на Дунае, был самым важным портом страны и имел исключительное значение для торговли в западно-черноморском регионе. Решение самозваного претендента отнять доход у страны и подарить его Трансильвании также было беспрецедентным, больно сильным было его желание выслужиться. * После неудачной попытки вернуть законную власть в ноябре 1448 года , воевода бежал в Молдавию . Однако, нет никаких доказательств того, что он присутствовал при дворе Богдана II. Возможно, он нашел прибежище среди молдавских бояр, которые были сторонниками его семьи. Позже воевода вынужден перебраться в Трансильванию, после того, как Владислав оказывается в той же ситуации, что и многие воеводы до него и потому лишается поддержки венгров. *Джоаджу (рум. Geoagiu, ung. Algyógy) расположен в судце Хунедоара, где семья Хуньяди владела обширными владениями и была окружена многочисленными сторонниками. Авторы книги Corpus Draculianum противоречат себе , сначала пишут, что венгры убрали Владислава из-за его проосманской политики, а потом, что убийство воеводы мог заказать Хуньяди , чтобы, дословно: «Хуньяди хотел предотвратить нападение Влада воеводы на Владислава , чтобы не нарушать перемирие с османами». Несколько различные утверждения. Да и зачем бы Владу вообще тогда находиться именно в Джоаджу, «где семья Хуньяди владела обширными владениями и была окружена многочисленными сторонниками». Меня, честно, настораживает ко всему попытка авторов книги постоянно оспорить слова воеводы в документах (не раз то замечаю в комментариях, мол, «воевода вводит в заблуждение», или «на деле же причиной было иное, а не указанное воеводой» (они, видно, вместо воеводы куда лучше знают, что же причиной чего и было в 15 веке , в данном случае тот же пример, все ведь черным по белому писано, кто покушался и зачем) и предположить «свою» версию. Бессмысленно то. А вот какова цель подобных комментариев мне неизвестно. Примером, одним из многочисленных об оспаривании , откровенном опровержении слов воеводы в письме своим утверждением, является и комментарий к фразе «Но по воле Господа смогли мы сами без всякой помощи земли свои вернуть». В комментарии к данной фразе авторы вышеупомянутого издания обвиняют воеводу во

лжи, приводя основой совершенно пустую формальную присягу Постуму марта 1456 и утверждая, что (как оказывается, уже не Хуньяди убить хотел, как ранее ими было заявлено) с помощью Хуньяди. В поддержку версий приводятся документы, не являющиеся доказательствами указанных фактов даже косвенно. В некоторых комментариях авторы издания обвиняют воеводу в том, что он выставил ультиматум, не предлагая никаких переговоров, и это к данной фразе : «Потому сим письмом просим мы всех и каждого из вас о том, чтобы во имя Господа и по заповедям веры католической, а также ради поддержания между нами братского мира и дружбы (!), вы, прочтя наше письмо , нам непременно ответ написали или доложили, (!)желаете ли далее соблюдать письменно установленный (!)нами и вами порядок и быть тому преданными. Ежели не желаете того более, то тотчас сообщите нам , дабы мы могли властвовать и править». Уж не знаю, как еще мягче можно написать после покушения на свое убийство, после предательства и тайного заговора, правитель , заключивший ранее с вами договор, просит вас сообщить о вашем предпочтении в действиях. Не могу понять, какую цель преследуют авторы такими комментариями.

[dwellordream]

“Because informal camaraderie between the sexes was an unfamiliar phenomenon, figuring out how to relate to each other was a complicated matter for both men and women. As one young man noted in 1924, "Nowadays when a woman goes everywhere and does everything, it is very difficult for a man to figure out how to treat her." "How is a man to know how to treat a woman anymore?" asked another bewildered soul. Obviously, these and other young men were at a loss when it came to relating to women as friends and companions. Did female companionship mean, they wondered, that men had to be courteous and gentlemanly at all times? 

Would they have to refine their language and manners in order not to offend female sensibilities? Or should young women simply be treated as men would each other? Most often they found no clear answers to these questions, and they had a hard time imagining new ways of behaving. "No matter what I do," grumbled one young man, "I never seem to do the right [thing]." Young women seemed equally unsure about how to interact with the opposite sex. On the one hand, they longed for frank conversations and easy rapport. On the other, they did not need advice columnists and etiquette experts, or their mothers, to remind them that "nothing is as delicate as a woman's reputation."

As they well knew, simply seeming too anxious for male companionship or too careless in selecting one's company was sufficient to cast doubt on a woman's moral rectitude. Yet, showing too much reserve might mean missing out on having fun. Their concerns were therefore of a different kind than young men's. Was it really true, they wanted to know, that men found women who went out at night by themselves to be "cheap"? Did men approve of women who wore lipstick? And under which circumstances could a woman allow a young man to walk her home? "I don't want to be prudish, but I don't know what is appropriate," one nineteen-year-old woman wrote, summarizing the dilemma she and many other young women faced.

In public discourse, the uncertainty over new codes of behavior came to a head in discussions over the seemingly trivial issue of male chivalry. Throughout the 1920s, young men and women debated this matter with an astonishing passion, and for that reason alone it is worth examining. What were these discussions about? What caused them? What was it about this issue that triggered such intense feelings? And what does this tell us about the difficulties associated with establishing cross-gender camaraderie? On the surface, the lines of conflict were clear enough. Over and over again, young women complained about what they perceived as rudeness among men. "Why are Danish men so ill-mannered?" "Femme" wanted to know in 1923.

"Girlie" was convinced that "chivalry and courtesy disappeared along with the crinoline." Writing from Italy, another woman was sure that Scandinavian men would "die of embarrassment" if they saw the gallantry with which "even lowly dock workers on the Arno River treat a woman." Adding insult to injury, one of the few Langelinie girls to speak out in public claimed that her interest in the visiting sailors stemmed solely from the fact that the foreigners were "considerate," "gentlemanly," and "chivalrous" companions who did not try to take advantage of "a decent and well-behaved young girl" like herself.

"A Copenhagen Girl" agreed. Since "you can use a very strong magnifying glass and still not discover even the tiniest trace of chivalry" among Danish men, she didn't find it surprising that nice girls like herself preferred the company of men like "Pierre and Giovanni, Tom and Jack." In most cases, young men declared themselves guilty as charged, but, they argued, this was only because chivalry was an outdated form of conduct entirely incompatible with the kind of camaraderie women seemed to desire. "What is it that determines that a man must always be chivalrous toward a woman?" a self-described "nonattentive gentleman" thus asked.

Another young man who defiantly labeled himself "nongallant" wanted to know whether "a young woman has any right to be offended because I do not pick her up before a dance but ask her to meet me at a trolley stop?" "Mack and Jack" were equally annoyed by what they saw as unreasonable demands on the part of female companions. "We are two young men," they wrote to an advice columnist in 1923, "who would like to hear your opinion about the behavior of two young ladies. The other night after we had been out dancing together, the young ladies wanted us to escort them home, but we live at the opposite end of town and escorting them home would have taken more than an hour out of our night's sleep, so we refused. Now they don't want to see us again."

The unmistakable tone of anger, resentment, and indignation that runs through this discourse suggests that more than etiquette was at stake in the controversies over chivalry. When young people debated whether men ought to open doors, assist with overcoats, carry packages, offer cigarette lighters, give up their seats in trolley cars, and walk companions home, they were, of course, trying to determine what constituted proper behavior in an era when gender norms were being redefined. That in itself was fraught with difficulty, and the confusion they expressed was genuine. 

But because both men and women perceived chivalry as a source of power and control, their "conversations" are therefore best understood as part of a much larger struggle over the relative status of men and women in a changing cultural context. For that reason it became such an intensely contested issue. Certainly, women's insistence on male chivalry was not merely motivated by a desire to indulge in the pleasures that spring from a companion's service and attentiveness. In their eyes, chivalrous behavior indicated, among other things, a certain level of male regard. After all, it had in the past only been disreputable women who could not legitimately demand such treatment. 

Insufficient male chivalry was therefore seen, even among many self-proclaimed "modern" young women, as an insulting sign of disrespect. More importantly, young women also perceived chivalry as a sort of sexual safety mechanism. At the heart of the ideology of chivalry lay the notion that men were responsible for serving and protecting women. Therefore, as long as women could hold men to a code of behavior that emphasized courtesy and (sexual) self-control, their ability to protect themselves from physical and moral danger seemed all the greater. And if this potentially greater degree of safety came at the expense of what seemed more egalitarian companionship, that was a price worth paying for most women. 

Besides, despite their modernity, young women were not out to eradicate gender-differentiated forms of behavior. While they were eager to assert their independence from older patterns of social interaction and to develop new forms of camaraderie with men, they still insisted on their femininity and on having that femininity acknowledged by male companions. "It might well be," one women poignantly argued, "that women in this country have reached their goal in terms of equality with men, but that does not mean that they have stopped being women."

That sexual equality and continued male chivalry were demands not incongruous with each other was a claim many men found hard to accept. "We don't understand how young girls can demand to be equals and at the same time demand to be treated as ladies," two male friends explained. "Women have by now for many years sought equality with men," another man elaborated, "and it is therefore my infallible [sicl] opinion that the ladies must either be entirely independent in all matters and renounce gentlemanly gallantry, or they must relinquish their equality with men." With such comments, young men laid bare what was for them at the heart of this matter. 

Clearly, they expected women to reciprocate for the favors and attentions they received with a certain degree of modesty and deference. As Karen Dubinsky has pointed out, the flip side of chivalry and protection is power and control. When men no longer felt they had power and control over women, they were, as they repeatedly stressed, no longer willing to respect a code of conduct that endowed them with a specific set of duties and responsibilities. Underlying the controversies over the issue of chivalry were therefore much more profound conflicts, most of which derived from young men's resentment over losing a set of gendered privileges and an authority over women that older generations of men had been able to claim. 

Even though many young men were attracted, at least in principle, to the idea of having fun and enjoying themselves in the company of female peers, they were also deeply ambivalent about young women's entry into what had previously been male territory and their encroachment on what had traditionally been male prerogatives. As one newspaper columnist complained in 1921, "Women have forced their way through every door—into the labor market, into politics, and into entertainment. They are getting more and more rights—rights to this and rights to that—but what about us men? We don't seem to be getting any more rights."

Many young men also took offense at women's relative independence in public arenas. As long as young women had money of their own, they did not have to depend on male companions in order to partake in public entertainment. Although most men had greater earnings and more spending money than their female peers, even those women with the most limited funds were usually able to afford a movie ticket, the admission to an amusement park, or a cup of coffee in a restaurant, and unlike in the United States, for example, young Danish women typically paid their own way when they went out with male companions, at least as long as they were not engaged or going steady.

 "Of course, we paid for ourselves when we went out," insisted Stine Petersen. "Yes, naturally! Naturally, we paid for ourselves," exclaimed Netta Nielsen, seemingly surprised at the suggestion that men might pay for female companions. While hard on their pocket books, such financial self-reliance had several advantages for young women. First, it allowed them, as Michael Curtin has pointed out, to signal that "the relation between themselves and [male companions] were of a public and egalitarian nature, not romantic as between lovers." Perhaps more importantly, it released them from any obligation to male peers and from the moral suspicion that surrounded any woman who accepted gifts and treats from men who were relative strangers. 

Besides, paying one's own way also protected young women from ending up, as Nikoline Sorensen phrased it, in an "awkward position" where men "might expect things" in return for their generosity. But rather than appreciating the potential for egalitarian friendships that such practices produced, most young men resented the self-reliance of their female peers, perceiving it as a challenge to male initiative and a lessening of their power. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, much of young men's resentment grew from their sense that women were in fact not only becoming less dependent, but were also acquiring a whole new kind of power over men. 

"What are men to do? How can they protect themselves against these attractive, scantily dressed young girls? We are under their spell," a twenty-two-year old man complained in a statement that interwove two of the most common strands in male discourse on postwar gender relations. First, men of all classes and ages spoke of young women as increasingly bewitching and seductive. Whether it was their short skirts, deep necklines, freer body language, or seeming flirtatiousness that led men to this conclusion, they generally agreed that the new generation of women possessed an unprecedented degree of sexual allure. 

Second, they constantly complained that women were using their wiles, their charms and their bodies as unfair means to gain control over men, who were ill-equipped to withstand such an onslaught. "This is the last and final battle in the war between the sexes," one observer declared in 1924. "After suffrage and all the other rights women have obtained, they are now plotting their final assault. With their physical allure, they are striving to master men who are, after all, only men." In this light, young men's unwillingness to behave chivalrously begins to take on its deeper meaning. In a situation in which many young men believed that women were gaining the upper hand, they were less than eager to engage in behavior that smacked of servitude to women. 

In earlier generations, a man who fetched a woman's coat or carried her packages had discreetly underlined his own masculinity through a show of physical ability. By the 1920s, the very same gestures seemed to many young men simply to demonstrate service and subordination to a new generation of women who already possessed too much power over them. Quite understandably, they therefore resisted any involvement in such behavior. Although the debates over chivalry are revealing of the underlying conflicts that seriously circumscribed any effort to create more frank and egalitarian relationships between young men and young women, they may ultimately be read as fairly innocuous. 

After all, having to fetch one's own coat is at most an inconvenience, and while ungentlemanly behavior might offend a woman's sensibilities it hardly impairs her autonomy or her freedom of movement. But because (sexual) self-control was a central component of the ideology of chivalry, young men's increasing unwillingness to adhere to this long-standing code of conduct had more serious consequences. Predictably, although unfortunately, it led to an unprecedented level of physical and sexual danger for all women who ventured into public arena.”

- Birgitte Soland, “Beauties and Boyfriends, Bitches and Brutes.” in Becoming Modern: Young Women and the Reconstruction of Womanhood in the 1920s

[treasureswordsgirl55]

First Dance Since 1943

Character: James Bucky Barnes

Inspired by (song): I still don’t remember it, actually 😬

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/ Fem!StarkScientist Reader

Warnings: Fluff. Dancing at Work. Insecurities. Jokes. Memories.

Author's Note: Hello!!! I hope you're ok today ❤️.

First of all, thanks you for all the replies on my last Fics! Really that is very appreciated 😍

This fic was the first that I ve write with Bucky when the series came out, so... This was the first steps of my new (lost) love about Bucky (And Sebastian too)

I hope you like this one!!!

XOXO ❤️

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

- Leslie - He raised his head as soon as he heard Joaquín's voice and gave him a smile when he saw him poke his head through the door of my office, even though it is transparent - I bring Sam with me so you can take a look at Redwing.

- It will be my pleasure - I mutter as I type a quick reply to Agent Johnson about the malfunction of Agent Sousa's new pistol. Men who come from bygone ages have serious problems with modern technology - How can I help you?

He looked up from the laptop and my eyes meet that sad look that my dreams seemed to reflect conscientiously. The owner of those blue eyes and painful memories sees me with a hint of a smile while his partner holds Redwing as if I were going to touch him just to detonate him.

- I want it to be clear that I let you intervene with him only because Torres made it clear to me that you worked for Stark.

I give a laugh that reflects my nervousness as I turn to Bucky.

- Sergeant Barnes.

- Hey. How have you been, Leslie? - The way my name sounds in his voice, which is seductive without even looking for it makes him feel that my legs melt like jelly at those words.

- Busy with so much work - I reach out to Sam making a mental note of how good that blue shirt looks on Bucky and coming to the conclusion that men who come from 1940 like the color blue - What is it? What it's the problem?

- The laser was decalibrated. I wanted to repair it but it was impossible.

- If you let me examine it, at most I will have it ready in a couple of hours - The soldier nods somewhat suspiciously but takes a step back as soon as I take that small device. - The dream of any woman, to fix one of the many work items of the Avengers.

Sam laughs as he begins to explain that he is no longer part of the Avengers as many believe. To all this, Bucky, as I allow myself to call him in my thoughts, is in silence, leaning against one of the many glass walls of the room, looking out of the building and I do not doubt for a second when I believe that he was not paying attention in the least to our conversation.

Joaquín's voice interrupts my thoughts and from the smile he brings, I know that every time he meets these two men, he considers himself one of the luckiest beings in the universe.

- Excuse me, Sam - The two men turn around as I turn the little drone and see the typical signs that this prototype of Stark technology is very poorly maintained. I make a mental note not to say that to Sam and concentrate on fixing the laser as I hear them being called from "Higher Spheres" as I call high-ranking Air Force people - They need you, there's a new report on the mission in Libya.

- Take good care of him, Leslie - I nodded smiling without looking up and muttered a "Better than you, sure" that was only audible to me.

If there was one thing he hated about Stark technologies, it was that, in addition to having the F.R.I.D.A.Y tech matrix, and without it, he couldn't do much more than touch some cables and hope the little drone would work. And i prayed that would work, otherwise i would have to ask Pepper for permission to use her facilities, but Sam would flatly refuse to take Redwing to Stark Industries.

- He screwed it up, didn't he?

I jerked my head up when I heard Bucky's voice and when I looked at him, he was still in the same position as before, looking outside the building.

- I thought you had left with Sam ...

- Excuse me, I did not want to scare you - He approached the table where i was working and indicated the drone with his metal arm, which he no longer hid under layers of clothing, much less, leather gloves - He treats that drone very badly .

- Sorry?

- Do you think that murmur was imperceptible only for you? I assure you that Sam heard it too- I cursed as he dropped the tools i had in my hands and covered my face with both, wishing that the earth would open and swallow me, as a minimum option.

- Why didn't you go with Sam? and please do not get me wrong, I like the company and I like that you are here, but it is simple curiosity - I cursed myself internally as I listened over and over again to the words that I had said aloud and I wanted the earth to pity me again and swallow me. Definitely Joaquín's idea of ​​just nodding and not talking was an excellent idea to implement.

Had I told him out loud that I liked him being there? Oh my God…

- This is Sam's land, I don't fit in here.

- And yet, here you are - I take Redwing and walk to the testing room of the laboratory that is adjacent to my office, where the music begins to play as soon as I enter the small room and as much as I want to deactivate it, I can not do it. I resign myself as soon as I hear Bucky's footsteps behind me and as soon as he enters the room, it seems too small with him there. I put the drone on the long metal table that occupies a large part of it and I type the password in the auxiliary panel of one of the screens around me and the little drone turns on, taking flight a few meters above our heads - At least It leaves me happy that I still fly with all those blows.

- I'm surprised that it's still whole - Bucky's murmur makes me laugh as I calibrate the laser to shoot the target in front of him. I try to shoot but nothing happens. I curse silently as I see from the corner of my eye that the man cautiously observes the room, as he stops when the first melodies of “She's got a Way” by Billy Joel begin to play- Do you like the music of the 20th century?

- I'll tell you the truth: I don't like current music, I prefer the lyrics of 1980s artists where they say heartfelt things rather than the lyrics that speak about certain topics in a very direct way. 1980 was a very good time, maybe you would like it.

- I have a list of songs on Spotify that I listened to in the 40's. I thought I couldn't find them again - The hint of melancholy that invades his voice makes for a moment that I wanted to meet that 23-year-old young man who should be very different from the one in front of me, with a totally different way of being and without all the suffering that would happen later - What if, that was when I learned to use a computer.

- You know, you would get along with Agent Sousa from SWORD - He turned at the mention of the new agency with a frown, clearly annoyed at the idea of ​​interacting with another agency. - He's just like you, technically speaking.

- He went through psychological torture and became a Hydra assassin? -The sincerity and ease with which those words came out of his mouth made my eyes fill with tears. The pain in his voice made my words sound clearly wrong in that conversation.

- No ... He also comes from an ancient time, like you and Steve. Only Daniel was taken out of 1955 because of Agent Coulson and his feeling of not being able to let him die in front of his eyes - Bucky nodded as he stood next to me again and watched my movements on the screen trying to get Redwing to respond, something that did not happen - Perhaps it would do them good to chat between the two ... You are not from the same era, but I imagine that their feelings towards this century are similar, and both are adapting. You can get to understand each other more than they think.

- I will keep it in mind…. Thank you, Doll - I felt the heat begin to rise up my neck at that nickname and I assumed that my cheeks must be a scarlet red color, because, despite the fact that it was cold in that room, I felt that I was on fire - I all this is strange, even though I know this technology, it is difficult for me not to relate it to all this - Unconsciously, he touches his metal arm and I let out a sigh. I'd like to know how to help him get through that, but I don't know how to do it without bringing up bad memories.

- Is there something you like?

- What are you talking about? - I put aside the PADD I had in my hands and touched the "Stand By" button for Redwing to return to his original position in the center of the table.

- Sometimes, learning becomes easier when there is something you like - I lean on the table while he remains silent and I watch him waiting for his answer, but all I get is a smile about something he is thinking - What makes you smile?

- Dance. I haven't danced in a long time. Since 1943, to be exact - He leans on the other end of the table, facing me exactly and gives me a look with a flash of mischief - And I'm not going to those places that they call discos to dance with someone.

I laughed at his tone of indignation, when I could contain my laughter, I saw him watching me with what seemed like affection, but I tried not to give it too much importance, but when I felt that my heart was going to leave my chest so hard it hit my rib cage.

- Why that tone against the discos?

- The music is too loud and there are colored lights that I don't even know what they are called, plus you can't talk to anyone - I laughed again at his complaints that were very sincere and were very similar to mine - Don't make fun of me.

- I do not, I am funny the tone you use. You seem really annoyed with it - Bucky rolls his eyes and taps on the table - What do you miss most about 1940?

- Everything, my family, my friends, my life ... The way I could go to an amusement park and not have to worry about whoever saw me wanted to run out of fear, when I could take a girl on a date without I would worry about my past, dancing with someone, that closeness that made me so comfortable and so relaxing at the same time.

- Well, at least the dance thing can be fixed - I take my iPhone out of my pocket and search the playlist for Eric Clapton's song, Wonderful Tonight and once the notes start to play, I walk over to Bucky, holding out my hand towards him, in an attack of courage, the kind that I don't usually have, but all that was to get a smile from the owner of those beautiful sad eyes - Would you dance this song with me?

Although I notice that my actions catch him off guard, he smiles at me and takes my hand, nodding his head.

When the two of us are standing in front of each other, I realize that I don't know where to put my hands, much less stop to think if that could be uncomfortable for him. I wanted to back away, looking for a good enough excuse before falling into the misfortune of having to apologize to him, but Bucky, who will have simply seen my worried expression, took my free hand and brought it to his forearm, and laid it there gently, While with his right hand he held mine, and with his metal arm, he encircled my waist, drawing me close to him. We began to move slowly to the beat of the music, but he was definitely the one leading the way.

- How does it feel to dance decently again? - I was silent at the inappropriate comment and let out a sigh while I concentrated on trying not to step on it.

- It feels strange to do it after a long time - Bucky ignores my comment or downplays it, but when I look at him, I realize that he is concentrating on remembering the steps and trying to guide the inexperienced woman in front of him.

- To do it a long time ago, you do it very well - He shakes his head, trying not to smile, and before I even knew it, he released one of my hands and made me turn, taking my hand perfectly synchronized at the end of it.

- If Steve were here, I'd say it's innate ability.

- Well, if he makes you feel more comfortable, this is my first time dancing with someone, that is, I dance with a man. And I must admit that I never believed it would be in my workplace.

- Why's that? - I let out a sigh as I watch him at the same time that he looks towards the laboratory door. When he looks back at me, in his blue eyes I can see a flicker of doubt and curiosity.

Anyone could feel safe with my poor social and love life.

- It's weird to dance in your workplace. Everyone here is watching you from the other side of the glass and ...

- I meant because you never danced with anyone - Oh ... I drop my head until it almost touches his chest, but I feel that the pressure of his arm grows stronger around my waist, as if he knows that I am about to fall and I won't notice - I'm sorry if the question bothers you.

- No, no, he doesn't. What happens is that I'm not usually the type of girl who gets asked to dance. Besides, I don't like going to the disco or going out at night. In that respect I am similar to you - I admit while he gives me a smirk - I prefer to stay home and read. Or spend time with my cat.

- Intellectuals are the best - Bucky's voice sounds annoying and safe at the same time, as if something in his own words bothered him.

- But the less interesting for the men of this time apparently, more when they talk a lot about science and current affairs - Between the chords of the music, I get him to laugh. And I must admit, he has a beautiful smile, one of the prettiest I have ever seen, in fact. I start to laugh and in the midst of my laughter, he spins me around again at the same time the song ends.

- Not for me. Are you sure you didn't come out of the 40's like me? - We don't even part, and our hands are still joined as I shake my head.

I smile as I take a step away from him as I pick up my cell phone to stop the music and see him approach the window again.

- No, but I think I was born at the wrong time.

- Thanks for this - his murmur reaches me far away, but with a clear hint of satisfaction in his voice. I smile happy to have served my purpose.

- Thanks to you, at least I have experienced what it feels like to dance with someone.

- You will do it more often, trust me.

- I take the word.

Sam who had arrived at the scene a few minutes before with Torres, smiled as he watched the whole scene and remembered those days when he took advantage of Steve's innocence with women and smiled wistfully when he realized that Bucky was the clear image of his best friend. Seeing him for a moment concentrating on something other than work filled him with satisfaction, perhaps Joaquín's idea of ​​bringing him here hadn't been so bad after all.

Then he would take advantage of letting him know of his observations when the two of them were alone.

I turn towards the door as soon as I hear a series of light knocks and I meet Sam's mischievous smile, who sees me as if he had discovered gold or something much more valuable.

- I'm so sorry to interrupt, but we have work, Buck.

- Sure - Bucky turns to where I am and before he could even move me away, he takes one of my hands and leaves a kiss on it. I can barely contain the sigh that tries to escape from my lips and I simply remain silent, feeling how the color begins to invade my cheeks, in the company of the heat - Thanks for the dance.

- My pleasure, Sergeant Barnes.

Sam, who is behind us, rolls his eyes and leans against the door while Bucky approaches him with a heavy sigh - Don't even think about making jokes about this.

- Did I say something? - I let out a laugh at his comical and ironic tone as Bucky walks past him shaking his head. "See you later, Leslie." I need to make some arrangements on the suit.

- Yes Sir.

Sam glares at me as Torres chuckles at my horrified expression. I forgot he don't like me calling him sir.

- Sorry, Sam.

After a few minutes, I find myself alone again, so I return to the laboratory to work on Redwing and allow myself to release that sigh that I have been holding since Bucky appeared in that room.

That moment had been incredible ... Even if it was only that, a moment that will remain in my head.

I startle as soon as I hear a knock on the door, I take off the receiver and as soon as I turn around, I see that the one at the door is Bucky, who has his left hand hidden behind his back.

- You know, "Sergeant" is very formal - he leaves his left hand exposed and has a white flower on it. I doubt if I approach but I do it feeling that the colors begin to invade my face. No one had never given me flowers. That gesture was beautiful, I take it and I respond with a smile - Call me James.

[codedredalert]

Provocation [Golden Kamuy, Tsuki/Ogata] -- part 1/2

Tsuki/Ogata || could-be-canon pre-series || 3,254 words

Second Private Ogata is nothing but trouble, and no end to infuriating. Tsukishima is determined to treat him fairly nonetheless.

(GK fanworks exchange prompt 27: Ogata dealing with the "wildcat" jokes and consequential reputation in the army, Tsukishima somehow protecting him.)

Warnings: canon-typical violence

(On Ao3) (part 2 on tumblr)

===/\==

.

Tsukishima isn't meant to hear it, but he does. He pulls two men aside to warn them for being late, and as he is walking away, he hears one mutter, "that shitty wildcat, this is his fault".

"Wildcat?" Tsukishima asks, because predatory animals near the camp are a significant concern.

"It's nothing, sir," Second Private Nikaido (he's not sure which one) responds after a moment too long and a shared look with his brother. In hindsight, that look is why Tsukishima remembers.

.

.

He doesn't think much of it until he walks into the main tent just as a fight nearly breaks out. There's shouting that abruptly cuts off as the men catch sight of him and turn to salute instead of throwing punches. Still, the tension in the air is palpable, and almost everyone is throwing dirty sideways glances at one man in particular. He's not new, but somehow, Tsukishima has yet to speak with him. His face was both familiar and less familiar than it should be, with big, dark eyes and eyebrows that turn down at both ends. He's built on the smaller side, though still taller than Tsukishima himself.

Tsukishima sighs and gestures for the men to stand at ease.

"There will be no punishment, but I need to know what happened here," he says. Most of them bow slightly in acknowledgement, though the newer men look apprehensive. No one volunteers, of course, so Tsukishima is forced to single someone out. "The Second Private in the sheepskin vest, what's your name?"

The big, honest-looking man, one of the new reserves, steps forward.

"Tanigaki Genjirou, sir."

"Second Private Tanigaki." Tsukishima nods. "What happened here?"

"I'm afraid I was not following the conversation, sir. I can only say that it appears that Second Private Ogata and Superior Private Tamai have had some disagreement."

Tsukishima turns to Superior Private Tamai expectantly.

"Second Private Ogata is just being his usual offensive self, sir. His words are not worth repeating."

"Ahh," interrupts the man with the big, dark eyes. His voice is soft with a slight rasp, almost like a purring cat. "The Superior Private and Second Private Tanigaki are giving me too much credit. I only said that having more snipers might give us more tactical options, and it's a pity that no one else in our unit is suitable. Superior Private Tamai took that as a criticism of his leadership or marksman abilities."

A collective rustle of discontent goes through the men, but no one says anything further and Tsukishima dismisses them. Then all at once, noise and movement return and it seems the men can't contain themselves anymore, speaking in agitated whispers.

"He really is a wildcat, did you hear him?"

"What a liar!"

"Shhh, the Sergeant can hear you."

"Forget the Sergeant, that bastard Ogata might hear you."

… so that's what they meant. Tsukishima thought of one particular cat back in the fishing village he once called home. A cat with a hanging belly that belonged to no-one, meowing pitifully to beg for food. Tsukishima had fed it until one fisherman had laughed at him, and told him "that cat isn't pregnant— he's just fat, and a good fraud."

He finds himself staring, and Second Private Ogata looks up and smiles.

.

.

He soon learns that there's more to it than that.

The nickname catches on with unusual speed and enthusiasm. Outside of formal channels, Second Private Ogata is almost universally referred to as "wildcat Ogata", "that wildcat", or a mix of expletives. It's compromising the order and morale of the men. Tsukishima has more pressing things to think about, but there are enough rumours that it earns its place as an item on his mental checklist of problems to deal with.

One night, when intelligence indicates that an attack by the Russians is unlikely, an air of cautious optimism pervades the camp, and men and officers alike take full advantage of the respite.

"Sergeant Tsukishima, you're slow to the party!" Someone calls to him from a group seated around a fire. "Come drink with us, Second Lieutenant Hanazawa just donated his share of sake."

Tsukishima takes his seat with them, more than readily takes the sake passed to him—he's long learned not to refuse anything that might ease the weight and reality of war— and joins them in raising a toast.

"To Yuusaku-san! May you have a long life, so your generosity can continue to bless us!"

"Empty the glasses!" someone roars amongst the cheers and uproarious laughter. "Cheers!"

"Cheers!" Tsukishima echoes, raising his drink and nodding to Second Lieutenant Hanazawa. The handsome young officer laughs along with everyone, waving away the thanks modestly. That just gets him another round of cheers, and even some pats on the back.

"Yuusaku-san, you're really amazing! Brave and generous and virtuous. Your father, the Lieutenant General's blood really shows!"

A chorus of approval and agreement, indistinct. The atmosphere of relative safety and normalcy, the comfortable warmth of the fire, his accumulated fatigue, and the sake all softened the noise and going-ons around him until Tsukishima heard someone say: "Eh, no, no, that can't be right, otherwise that wildcat would also have some good qualities instead of fucking around all the time."

And then the conversation suddenly related to A Problem, and Tsukishima was too dutiful to ignore it. Holding back a sigh, he dredged up some willpower to pay attention.

"You're right, it must come from his mother's side. Or Yuusaku-san must have taken all the good parts from the Lieutenant General."

"It's true, how are they even related?"

"Simple! The child of a wildcat... must also be a wildcat!" The man who says this pronounces it with a dramatic sweep of his arm and a great deal of pride at his own cleverness, the others burst out in drunken laughter, all except Tsukishima and Second Lieutenant Hanazawa. This doesn't pass unnoticed. Not wanting to exclude their benefactor, Lance Corporal Takahashi slings his arm around the Second Lieutenant, and with all the social acumen of an injured bear, he helpfully explains.

"Ah, of course our dear flagbearer wouldn't know! Wildcat here means geisha, especially of the sort that… is willing to take some extra appointments, if you catch my meaning."

He leers so lecherously that his meaning is completely unmistakable. Second Lieutenant Hanazawa blushes, and then very rapidly goes pale. He looks like he wants to say something, but the flag-bearer's duty to camaraderie and harmony of the troops shackles him.

The same did not apply to Tsukishima.

"It does you no credit to speak ill of your fellow soldiers or their heritage," he says sharply, "—or to imply ill of your Lieutenant General."

Tsukishima speaks like the sergeant he is, so his voice carries, even if he's not trying to be particularly loud. Most of the noise in the group dies instantly, and the people at the fringes quickly quieten as well as the ones near them nudge them to lower their voices.

The Lance Corporal who was speaking does a double take, swaying slightly, drunk but not drunk enough to miss the sudden uncomfortable hush and Tsukishima's obvious disapproval.

"Ahh Sergeant, it was only a joke, a joke."

"A poor joke in bad taste," replies Tsukishima and the person's smile becomes visibly more strained, but Tsukishima doesn't care about popularity, he's a dead man returned to life by a man who outranks everyone present. Even if he were shot tomorrow, it was all borrowed time anyway, as far as he was concerned. The funny characteristic about people when they've already made their peace with death was that they cared very little about what the living think of them.

"—but—" Lance Corporal Takahashi starts to argue.

"It is also an insult to the Second Lieutenant, which is a poor way to repay him for his generosity," Tsukishima adds and as expected, that is what makes the Lance Corporal stop, glancing to the side where the Second Lieutenant is smiling uncomfortably.

"And in any case," Tsukishima continues, "it hardly matters when we're all here fighting and dying in the same war for the same country."

The mood instantly sobers, the temporary illusion of warmth and normalcy dropping away, the weight of the war they were on the front lines of returning tenfold

Tsukishima is suddenly more tired than when he first joined the group. So much for having a bit of respite this evening. He should have gone straight to the baths and stayed there.

"I've said everything I have to say and I'll stand by it, with all the authority I have. But it's late now. Excuse me, I'll take my leave." He turns to the Second Lieutenant, gives a shallow bow, probably more shallow than is polite but his body is too heavy for him to care overly much. "Thank you for the sake, sir."

He leaves. Behind him, he hears Second Lieutenant Hanazawa softly taking his leave from the table of now subdued officers. Footsteps follow him, and the young officer's voice calls out, "Wait!"

Tsukishima stops and turns, and Second Lieutenant Hanazawa jogs to meet him.

"It is good to see that the high praise I have heard about Sergeant Tsukishima is well-founded. Thank you for your defense of my elder brother."

"Second Lieutenant Hanazawa, you're being far too kind. Anything I said was merely for satisfaction of my own principles."

Tsukishima wants to turn and leave, but the Second Lieutenant looks like he has more to say, and the mix of decorum, rank, and actually not disliking the young man keeps Tsukishima standing there.

"I thought they might treat him better if they knew we were related," confesses Hanazawa, "but that provoked people's curiosity. In the end, I seem to have made more trouble for my elder brother."

From the little Tsukishima is aware of, he rather thinks that Second Private Ogata makes most of the trouble himself— there couldn't be that much smoke without even a spark of fire— but as with most situations where he doesn't know enough, he keeps his mouth shut.

Suddenly realising that he was keeping Tsukishima standing in the cold for a personal conversation, Second Lieutenant Hanazawa startles.

"I've said too much." Second Lieutenant Hanazawa bows again. "I beg for your discretion with this information."

"Of course, sir," Tsukishima replies. When Second Lieutenant Hanazawa smiles widely in relief, Tsukishima doesn't have the heart to tell him that he is just closing the doors after the horse has bolted.

.

.

That conversation haunts him, annoyingly mundane amongst the greater horrors he has to deal with. It invokes memories of his home being mocked as unclean, a murderer's dwelling-place, and the murder of a kind girl for no reason other than the appearance she was born with and the misfortune of his affection. Tsukishima takes the old nightmares in stride, as he takes everything, but every time he sees the cloaked figure of Second Private Ogata huddling near a fire or brazier, the thought returns to him, an incomplete task.

It doesn't sit well with him.

The gods give him his chance a few days later, when Second Private Ogata walks by and gives him the mandatory salute. Again, Tsukishima is struck by his big dark eyes, true black catching a small gleam of light, intelligent and strange. If all-seeing eyes existed, they must be like his. Ogata glances over Tsukishima, but his eyes don't settle, don't even linger, like he's seen all there is to see and has already dismissed it with a flick of dark eyelashes, already looking for something else.

He is a sniper. Tsukishima had looked at his records. An unnaturally good one too. It made a man wonder what those eyes could see.

"Second Private Ogata."

"Sir."

"It has come to my attention that these 'wildcat' references are an insult to your private matters and parentage. I don't stand such things. If they bring up that distasteful joke again, let me know."

A blink from those big dark eyes.

"I can deal with it," Second Private Ogata starts to say, but Tsukishima cuts him off before he can go on to make the obligatory polite refusals. He's in no mood for the song and dance of social niceties. The memory of dark hair in unusual curls and a murderer called father are too close to his thoughts today.

"This is a matter of principle. Insulting a person for their heritage has no place in this regiment." Tsukishima surprises himself with how forcefully the words come out, though that is probably not noticeable to someone who does not know him well.

"If it's not about me, then I wonder why the sergeant decided to talk to me?" Ogata's tone, normally flat with disinterest, curled ever so slightly with curiosity now. "Just make an order or punishment, as you please. Sir."

He makes a point, and somehow Tsukishima does not like the question. Still, he answers.

"An order might confirm the information and disservice you and Second Lieutenant Hanazawa more. But if that's what it takes, I will make the order and enforce it with my own two hands if I must."

Something changes. Ogata's eyes feel like they finally focus on him, even with the strange sensation that they are too big and taking everything at once, at least now that includes him. Ogata comes to some decision, lifting his chin.

"I can deal with it, sir. No need to trouble yourself."

His eyes are unreadable.

.

.

The atmosphere in the regiment becomes more vicious. As Tsukishima investigates, small misfortunes start making sense.

Superior Private Tamai's rifle sight rusts on a perfectly dry night. Second Private Tanigaki's uniform buttons go missing. Lance Corporal Takahashi's trigger finger is shot off.

No one knows for certain that it's Second Private Ogata, but everyone knows.

.

.

"You wanted to speak to me, sir?"

Ogata reports as he is required to, but from his carefully blank expression, it's clear he doesn't intend to cooperate. Tsukishima looks up from where he is writing a report and puts down his pen, sits back, more upright.

"I was under the impression we had an understanding," he says grimly, "that you'd come to me regarding those insults if necessary."

"It was not necessary," replied Ogata, just this side of insubordinate, and with a very neutral expression he goes on to say, "But I appreciate the Sergeant's special attention."

"Then it would befit Second Private Ogata to show his appreciation via his conduct."

"What conduct do you suggest?" he asks blithely with an innocently straight face and his too-big eyes and his purring voice. He's far too aware for that ignorance to be genuine.

How irritating.

"Report to me instead of acting on your own," Tsukishima says forcefully. "Or if you don't wish to bring the matter to me, you are free to go to the Second Lieutenant if you prefer. He is more than willing to help you." That gets the first involuntary reaction he sees from Ogata, a definitive rise in his shoulders, a slight lean away from Tsukishima, as if he could physically avoid the suggestion.

"If I don't go to the Sergeant, how could I go to the Second Lieutenant?" asks Ogata, insulting while somehow still staying just this side of appropriate enough to avoid penalty. "As I said, I can deal with it. There's no need to trouble yourself, sir."

.

.

Three more men trade their trigger fingers for a ticket out of the regiment.

There is no evidence that it is Second Private Ogata.

There is no evidence that it is not Second Private Ogata.

.

.

This time, Tsukishima does not send a missive, he pulls Second Private Ogata aside himself.

"I told you to come to me," Tsukishima starts without preamble.

"I don't know what you mean," says Ogata with a straight face.

It takes everything in Tsukishima not to react visibly to that.

"Antagonising our own unit members is bad for morale," replies Tsukishima flatly. "And some actions are outright sabotage, or treason."

"Is Sergeant Tsukishima suggesting I would do such things?" Ogata has the gall to look surprised, and even slightly offended. Tsukishima doesn't buy it for a second.

"I am trying to be fair to you. Stop putting me in a position where I have to punish the people you provoke."

"Mmm, Sergeant Tsukishima has been very patient and generous, all for me." The words in themselves are perfectly polite, but something in the way he says it twists it to mockery. It stops all sound but the blood rushing in Tsukishima's ears.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Tsukishima challenges. A spark lights in Ogata's eyes, and he tilts up his chin, looking down his nose at Tsukishima.

"Obviously the sergeant doesn't care that much about me. So the sergeant must be personally invested in this type of insult, right?"

The protest "I'm not" dies unsaid in Tsukishima's throat as patently untrue. He looks at Ogata, unable to find something to say in the varied mess of emotion struggling to resolve into something comprehensible. Disbelief, irritation, anger, sadness, profound regret, longing, something a little bit of all of these and yet none of them.

Ogata looks at him as Tsukishima's silent struggle grows, and at length, Ogata speaks.

"You already know how the unit talks about me," Ogata says. He is unbearably smug and insubordinate despite the formal address. "So this show of yours must be because you want to make sure they don't talk about you behind your back. Do you want to know what they say about you? Or is that too 'inappropriate'— it's true that I can take it better than you, just judging from your reaction."

Tsukishima's emotions resolve decidedly into fury, which he holds back for a moment before thinking — why not and swinging, landing a good hit right in the face. His fist crunches into Ogata's nose satisfyingly, makes contact with the hard socket and soft tissue of Ogata's eye. His knuckles sting slightly from the impact, tingling with the blood in his small capillaries, with the satisfaction of justified anger finding a deserving target.

Ogata's eyes have a victorious gleam of malicious amusement for a passing fraction of a second as Tsukishima swings, then he goes staggering into a tree.

"You really bring out the worst in people," Tsukishima mutters under his breath, not intending for Ogata to hear but Ogata's expression turns even more smug and even more infuriating. Tsukishima has met the worst of men, has the blood of one in his own veins even, but Ogata is something else— he thinks he's invincible and untouchable and the only real thing. He's vicious for sport and everything is a joke, even in the middle of a war. He wants to watch the world burn.

He's a liability.

With this realisation, Tsukishima knows what he must do. He looks down at Ogata where the man lays on the floor and doesn't even attempt to get up, and Tsukishima tells him, "Your attitude has become too big of an issue. I will have to bring your matter to my superior officer."

"A big issue," Ogata repeats slowly, smiling at the words as if Tsukishima had just cracked a joke instead of informing him that a disciplinary matter would be escalated. He sits up, and looks up to Tsukishima, blood dripping from his nose, the beginnings of a bruise already showing around his eye. It'll be swollen shut before tomorrow. "Please mention me favourably then, Sergeant Tsukishima."

.

===/end of part 1\===

(On Ao3) (part 2 on tumblr)  ( patreon ) ( kofi ) ( paypal )

[gloomverse-theories]

Who is Amaryllis?

The first magician in the history of Gloomverse, Amaryllis, is shrouded in mystery. A legend who opened the doors for humankind to a new era: one of magic, and freedom.

However, they have yet to make an appearance in the comic unlike the others, and they have been missing ever since that first accomplishment. In this post, we will try to figure out who could be Amaryllis.

Let’s start with the obvious one and get it out of the way:

Amaryllis is dead.

This one seems logical. It’s been 2000 years since that first feat of magic, and if the strain of parting the Storm didn’t sever them, then time took care of it.

But I have some objections to that.

Mancers seem unaffected by time, and are both ageless and hard to kill. Even Prisma is not completely gone after what the Dark Lord, another mancer, did to her. Unless the same happened to Amaryllis, they are likely still kicking as much as Amadeus, Malus and Hyacinth are.

What if the effort was too much? They were a young teen, a new magician who used magic for the first time in history! They wouldn’t have known about the rules and the risks, and severed themself.

As we have seen with Cakegirl, there’s still a body left after a severing. She’s also (probably) completely intact and not broken like a statue or with huge scars from the blast and the fall.

If Amaryllis had severed, the body would have been preserved! Sure, it could have been lost, but the myth would have more solidity to it if for a time there was a body to call Amaryllis. Oral traditions would pass the word around, and pilgrimage would have taken place, which is something that can be traced with archeology.

My conclusion? Amaryllis is still alive and actively avoided the spotlight. They went into hiding after that first act and remained a legend on purpose.

Amaryllis is Amadeus

:)

We already alluded to that theory in some posts.

In my last point I stated that Amaryllis purposefully remained in the shadows, and… so did the Dark Overlord. Absolutely nothing is mentioned about a fifth mancer in Purple’s book, no name, no deeds, nothing. Yet there was a fifth figure in the illustration of the mancers, and that’s the only proof we have that they exist. The rest of the evidence and records of their existence might have been erased, possibly on purpose, to keep themself out of the spotlight…

But as readers, we have access to more knowledge than Purple. We know that our resident mooching Hobo is also known as Amadeus the Dark Overlord, and that he is undeniably a mancer. In the dream, all of the known mancers were present: Prisma and a younger Amadeus (?) who were the stars of the show, but behind Yellow we also see (who we theorize to be) Malus and Hyacinth rushing towards the temple.

They’re all in the same room! Except one…. Have you ever seen Amaryllis and Amadeus together in the same room? No? Then I rest my case.

More seriously, Yellow calls out a name, but never finishes it. She says “AMA—” before being interrupted/before Rylie wakes up. Coincidentally, both Amadeus and Amaryllis start with “Ama” and we have no way of knowing which one she was saying. 

Our one eye witness of the scene didn’t seem to know whether the Dark Lord was a man or a woman, so their look is ambiguous (long dark hair, face obscured, (possibly malnourished) slim body, concealing rags, nothing to indicate a preferred gender presentation). If it hadn’t been that way, we would have been more prone to say “oh he’s a man, so it’s definitely Amadeus / oh she’s a woman, so it’s definitely Amaryllis”. 

HOWEVER

That’s only if we assume cisnormativity. 

Who’s to say an immortal and powerful being would stay as their assigned gender? Sounds fake. 

If one person would get that gender is a social construct that doesn’t really matter, it’s a millenias old hermit with magical power. 

Which brings me to this conclusion: Amaryllis and Amadeus are the same person who goes by different names depending on how they’re feeling or what others call them.

 Hobo never threw a fit like Rylie about being called by his name, and in that he reminds me of Wander. Embracing the names given to him. 

What about the Storm? Amadeus and Amaryllis don’t have the same magical abilities, one works with Darkness and the other deals with the sky. A good point, for which I fortunately have a retort. 

Compared to a random magician, mancers have incredible powers and magic potential. This also includes their “magic personality” which is much broader and encompassing than your average magician. Compare Cakegirl who can only create and manipulate cakes and other sweets, to Amadeus who’s domain is darkness and who can presumably create and control everything that relates to it. Your first thought might be that controlling shadows isn’t as all encompassing and powerful as what I’m making it out to be, but I’ll reply that you’re thinking too small. With mancers, the sky's the limit! (pun intended) 

Speaking of sky, a storm can count as Darkness, can’t it? It casts an enormous shadow, and if you can manipulate shadows, you could also manipulate what casts it. The Storm also has a color palette reminiscent of the Dark Lord: Red, greys, black… I think there’s a link!

And I’ll end with this:

Amaryllis was the first person to gain magic, and they did so as a child who grew up in caves, unable to go outside because of the raging Storm. Magic is based on your interests, on what you like to do. Would a child have such a love for the Storm depriving them of freedom that their magic would be sky-themed? Or would they resent it for everything they put them through? It’s possible that Amaryllis was indeed fascinated by the Storm and that their sky magic reflects that, but I think it’s also likely that Amaryllis’ magic was not sky magic, but rather shadow magic. They grew up in caves, playing and hiding amongst the omnipresent darkness, and I think it’s more likely that they developed a fondness for this rather than for the storm. Since their first feat of magic was getting rid of the Storm, people remembered them as a sky magician, and they disappeared into the shadow before proving them wrong.

Amaryllis is Yellow

Did that last one seem a bit too far-fetched? Well I’m not done!

Let’s say there IS indeed five mancers, and not actually four.

Amaryllis’ name has been cited in the comic by Cirrus. In Stratoverse, the Sun is revered as a Goddess who gives stratoversians their weather magic and looks after them. This Goddess is known by the name Amaryllis.

Amaryllis is a flower, as most ecoversians are named after a plant, but amarillo is also the color "yellow" in Spanish. Coincidentally, Yellow is both of those. She's originally from Ecoverse as her room indicates (the bed sheet has a Hyacy symbol), and she was briefly in Gloomverse during its foundation as part of Prisma’s entourage. After the events that transpired there, she went to Stratoverse where she is nowadays seen as a Goddess. The grandchildren of the King admire her and the Queen takes orders from her: she’s in a position of power, in the shoes of a leader.

Sidenote: if the theory that Prisma and Yellow were a couple is exact, and that Rylie is their child (or a reincarnation of), then she’s the “daughter” of two mancers and as such, probably dangerous. She’s also Rainbow themed, and what is a rainbow if not the convergence of Sky/Cloud and Light? Rylie Rainbow Mancer Confirmed.

It also makes sense that the weather mancer would find herself in Stratoverse, the cloud kingdom, near the planetary Storm that she cast away many years ago. She may be here because of the Storm, to keep it at bay with the help of other weather magicians. It is said that the closer you are to Stratoverse, the stronger magic potential you have. Coincidentally, Stratoverse is where the discoverer of magic resides. Could she be the source of magic?

However, Yellow has a ladder in her room and likely can’t fly. If she was a weather magician or even a weather mancer like Amaryllis must have been, then she should be able to fly like the other stratoversians. Beside her passive coloration abilities, she doesn’t showcase any magic. Why? Maybe she lost her wand and hat after the events in Gloomverse, maybe she can’t use magic anymore… or maybe she does not have weather magic.

In her room, the bedsheet has a Hyacy symbol which means she’s from Ecoverse, but AFTER the revolution of Malus and subsequent peace of Hyacinth. Unless the 500 years old Yellow really liked Hyacy ideology yet didn’t feel the need to intervene during the slavery, the revolution or the restoration, it’s safe to say that she wasn’t alive at the time and grew up during a period where it was already an established religion.

Purple also says that the Colors were a Mancer’s servant and even if “servant” may not be entirely accurate, Prisma still seems to be in charge. If Yellow were a mancer, would she still be “Yellow”? Being a Color puts you under the authority of Prisma, if she truly was a Mancer (and an older one than Prisma) why would she become one of her followers and not an equal? I can see two ways out of this. Either Yellow is indeed a mancer and wanted to have her abilities enhanced by Prisma via Colorification, or Yellow is not the original Amaryllis, but a reincarnation who became a Color before getting magic/figuring out her powers.

Between those two, Yellow being a reincarnation is more convincing. However we don’t know what are the consequences of becoming a “Color”, and if Yellow being a mancer would affect this in anyway. Since Harold’s and Purple’s “color palette switch” happened when they got their magic, we can theorize that Yellow became a color when she got her magic. How did it affect her powers? It’s unclear, but like I said before, Yellow can’t fly and likely can’t use other forms of magic. Prisma “gave” her magic (like Hobo did for Harold) but maybe also took its real version away? Prisma had the power of another mancer under her control, which could explain why she had to be taken down.

While Yellow = Amaryllis is a very interesting theory, I believe that Yellow being Amaryllis is a red herring.

She literally denies being a goddess to the Stratoversian children who believe her to be Amaryllis.

Amaryllis is Rylie

I mentioned in the last one that Amaryllis may have “reincarnated” or something of the sort in Yellow. It’s unclear if there IS a reincarnation mess in gloomverse, but the whole Color thing makes it seem plausible. It also explains why Amaryllis didn’t do anything when human rights were being violated: they weren’t there anymore. 

Why Rylie though? Isn’t Yellow a much likelier Amaryllis? Well, my dear conspirator, this theory also explains why Yellow wants her dead. 

Let’s go over the evidence! 

Rylie’s magic is very air-themed: she has blue boots that make her fly and yellow gloves that make others fly (Cakegirl got to fly thanks to the AIR PUNCH Rylie gave her). Both of her altered hats have a little wing as decoration and her wand is composed of two clouds (and a rainbow) which are sky symbols.

We also know that Amadeus and everyone else involved in this shebang didn’t want Rylie to get magic. Why not? Magic is supposedly based on someone’s interest, so her getting magic when she was obsessed with unicron the unicorn would have resulted in a non-threatening magic. It seems they were more worried about her potential than what kind of magic she would get, though Hobo looked like he recognised her wand/power when she used them during the camp out.

Everyone looked away. He did not.

Rylie’s magic is sky themed, and her potential was frightening enough that Amadeus tried to keep magic away from her. That sounds like a (sky) mancer to me. 

During her dreams (specifically Hereafter) she is often seen in a cloudy landscape, walking on clouds in an open sky with no lands beneath. The clouds take her where she wants to go, they obey her instinctually.

And where does she want to go? To a cave, similar to the ones early humans might have lived in, maybe the cave the original Amaryllis lived in? The scene she sees inside possibly comes from either Prisma, Yellow or the baby, but the outside must come from Amaryllis, or an equally old mancer.

Now here comes the fun part. Why did Yellow ask Virga to kill Rylie? Why did Amadeus keep her magic away from her for so long? 

Because Rylie is Amaryllis. A Sky mancer with the Storm, the deadliest phenomenon to exist on the planet, under her control. What would happen if an inexperienced magician accidentally unleashed their power? What if the Storm came back and sent all of humanity in a dark age? 

Well… what if it had already happened once before?

In his book, Purple mentions “The Return” but never explains what it is for legal reasons. We believe that the “return” that drastically changed stratoverse’s society was the return of the Storm. 

Amaryllis was the only one who could control the Storm, but they disappeared for centuries, and had no reasons to make it return. 

Which is why I think it was an accident. A newly reincarnated Amaryllis would not be aware of the scope of their power. Like Wallis showed us, magic tends to go wild when a powerful magician is feeling… strong emotions. Sadly that magical outburst affected a lot more people and threatened all of Stratoverse. It seems like people don’t want that to happen ever again.

It may seem harsh to kill Amaryllis and all of their reincarnation, but the fate of the world is in the balance. Yellow has shown with Stratoverse’s system that she cares more about the greater good than for the individuals. What’s one person in the grand scheme of things? Not much. It’s a trolley problem, really. Except you either kill one person every time they reincarnate, or risk dooming the entirety of humanity. Would you be willing to take that risk? Yellow isn’t. 

Amadeus has tried a more peaceful way of resolving this conundrum: no hat, no magic, no problem! Alas Cakegirl forced his hand, and now he is keeping a close watch on Rylie. He won’t let it happen again.

One thing doesn’t hold up. Amaryllis is seen as a Sun God, as a personification of the Sun. Not as a sky mancer. Even though the sun is in the sky, it’s much more related to Light, to Prisma, to Yellow. Everyone is quick to assume that she IS Amaryllis, but in this theory, she would be usurping this name to get her ways. I don’t know if Virga would be aware of that, or if she’s going to find out that Yellow lied to her and ordered the death of her goddess. Wouldn’t that be fun :3

One last thing: AmaRYLLIS => AmaRYLIE 

Amaryllis is Ylil

I know that it sounds crazy. Ylil is an inversian and she doesn’t even have magic. What sort of proof could I possibly have? Just one. Amaryllises the flowers are closely related to lillies. Lilly…. or should I say Yllil? 

That’s it, that’s the theory. 

More seriously, while they may not be Ylil, it is possible that Amaryllis lives in Inverse. Maybe not as an official resident or maybe not currently, but them retiring from the world by living in Inverse when all the other events went down would make sense. It would explain their lack of intervention or relevance. 

Inversian eyes can only support blues because the color of the sky is the only one that can not be blocked. The sky, the weather, they cannot be blocked. They’re the only ones allowed. The only magician to be tolerated in Inverse is the sky magician. 

Thematically, Amaryllis relates more closely to Inverse than to Stratoverse. 

Important event marked by a discovery? Check

Retiring from the world to get away from magicians? Check

Only like the sky? Check

Very secretive? Check

Instead of Amaryllis=Stratoverse and Prisma/Amadeus=Inverse/Gloomverse, I think we have Amaryllis=Inverse, Prisma=Stratoverse and Amadeus=Gloomverse.

Amaryllis is… someone else

Sometimes people exist to add flavour but end up not being relevant and that’s okay.

It’s not. I’m a conspiracy theorist. Everything MUST be linked.

The end.

TL;DR

Amaryllis diseappeared on purpose, either by fleeing to inverse, staying in the shadows or going by a different name and face. While Yellow is a convincing Amaryllis at first glance, some stuff doesn’t hold up. Amadeus and Amaryllis are linked, if not the same person. It’s possible that Amaryllis reincarnated, perhaps in Rylie, and is a danger to humanity because of their control of the Storm.

[yekistraight]

Hey, could you explain what being a feminist means? I’ve heard all these terms before, and there’s this huge stigma around it. So do you think there’s a way you could clarify at least what your beliefs are, and what you believe it to be? I’m simply trying to study stuff and see what it’s become or is. Thank you.

Sorry I wrote so much i just wanted to make it comprehensive:

General definition of feminist is someone who believes in the socio-economic equality of the sexes. In the beginning this was a straightforward ideology to follow. Women needed to be equal to men. It’s only fair, there’s no reason not to be. But sharing power is not something the ruling majority particularly enjoys so there’s been some bumps in the road. Decades and decades of bumps.

The feminists of the past started this push a long time ago with one message: “we want to be taken seriously, we are humans too and we need rights that benefit us and protect us from you[men]” and they were right. Sex based crimes against women were happening at an alarming rate. So much so that it had become part of some cultures and traditions, meaning it would be defended and men would be protected while women basically died, physically and socially. Women lived in fear and helplessness, being sold a dream of subservience promoted by religion and ego in exchange for protection from men. What about the women that still, despite the odds, wanted to choose a different path? Well, they were brave enough to step out of line and others followed. They exist throughout history, inspiring other women will their bravery and confidence, proving that it was possible to have the power and authority that men had. Now imagine giving every woman that access to power? They’d have everything right? Well feminism didn’t start like that (it was racially exclusive actually) but fortunately the ideologies spread out through cities, across oceans and into continents where women wanted, no, NEEDED such power; the power to change their destinies that had been set upon them by another mere human being.

So feminism is like a sisterhood, where we’re only related by a common goal to protect each other while trying to defeat our common enemy. Here’s where the simplistic ideology begins to mutate based on strategy and cultural progression.

Feminism is a sisterhood, but not a monolith. There’s been different waves (eras) of feminism where each sisterhood used different tactics to achieve their goals for equality. Its like making a new checklist after the old one gets checked off. However there’s been one item that still needs a lot of work before ticking off and that’s dismantling gender roles. Gender roles are the root cause of every.single.thing. Toxic masculinity, performative femininity. Gender roles were created to control humans and keep them in their place. For a feminist to push her way into male dominated spaces, she must first acknowledge that gender roles have been constructed to work against her and break through it. So take note, everything is the way it is because of gender roles.

In this era, the sisterhood has been split into two major groups, two warring tribes if you will: libfems and radfems.

Liberal Feminists accept everyone. They use the tactic of assimilation, where they water down feminist ideologies to make it inclusive for everyone. They follow the lead of oppressed minorities who reclaimed slurs and instead reclaim methods tused to oppress women that past waves of feminists fought to dismantle. Remember what I said about gender roles? These women are bringing it back and think they’re reclaiming it. How do you reclaim something that hasn’t been dismantled yet?The only power they’re concerned with is the feeling of superiority that comes from thinking bowing down to the patriarchy is their idea. Their feminism tackles issues like rape, victim blaming and misogyny, things that affect them personally, while taking on the burden of other marginalised groups as their own, pushing their own goals to the backseat while feeling a self-righteous high. Basically, they’re activists who have lost the plot but would keep pushing blindly than admit it. The second group was born from libfems that wanted more than a feel good pat on the back from the patriarchy for not being too interfering.

Radical feminists are still following the original objective of their predecessors. They still have their eyes open to sex-based oppression and are aware there’s still a lot of work to be done. They don’t put the opposite sex’s needs above their own or let other group’s ideologies influence theirs and because of this, other groups as well as libfems have dubbed them as enemies to progress. Ironic isn’t it? The group that still fights for sexual equality has been silenced by none other than their own. Of course hatred for this group of feminists didn’t come out of nowhere. Radfems and their female-only values are presumed to hurt trans women, as trans women are biologically male and don’t have the same sex based experiences as biological women. Trans activists took these as transphobic fighting words and ostracised radfems, silencing them and their ideologies, claiming that everything they fought for was an attack against the trans community. Conservative americans also share some radfem values, basically the one on keeping the movement focused on female only issues, and because the right is notoriously bigoted (ironic because conservatives are the ones who uphold the gender roles feminists fight against so a conservative feminist is paradoxical) this is enough to tell people that radfems can’t be trusted. That they’re all racist, transphobic white supremacists. Because all groups that share similar ideologies are bad. The public, not wanting to be on the Unpopular Opinion side of history, shifted away and further pushed radfems into the background while libfems and their blind acceptance values were hailed as the patron saints of feminism.

So what feminism was and what it is now are vastly different. It started as a movement in different countries with different goals, then it graduated and took on more serious topics. It was like a game where every level gets tougher to prepare you for that last boss, the one who holds all the power you need to physically change your reality.

Today in the year 2021, young girls are being told that it’s feminist to enjoy selling their bodies for money. That it’s the same as working in a mine (a common comparative statement). That it’s feminist to look as womanly as the gender roles men created dictate. That it’s feminist to watch porn and be happy your romantic partner watches it to; this means you’re sexually liberated. Grown women go to Tiktok full of minors in the style of pimps to show off stacks of money they’ve made from pleasing men. They say “i did it because i wanted to and so should you”. Minors are all over twitter trying to lure men with financial dominatrix tags. They can’t wait till they become legal to start selling their nude bodies to men. They were told it would make them feel powerful. People who are skeptical are shamed into silence, because the popular crowd is always in control and no one wants to be the odd one out.

Now compare that to women who spend time researching horrifying news of sexual violence still happening today. Women still having to sell themselves to survive in 2021 is a clear indicator that we’re still not taken seriously. Sex buying, pimping and displaying women as commodities is the reason little girls are being stolen off the streets and shipped off to a disgusting dreg who think he’s owed sexual satisfaction.

Radfems want to end child sex trafficking, sex slavery, wedding night virginity checks, honour killings, femicide, sewing up little girls vaginas to avoid them exploring their sexuality before their wedding night and bring attention to way more hardcore shit being run by top dogs who are cooperating with the old powers that influence the governments.

Whose side do you think the media will be on? Whose side is worth not risking ruffling feathers?

Feminism has become many things now. You can choose the one that reminds you of the cruelty of man or the one that creates a comfortable fantasy of false empowerment while women’s violence continues. Both get stigmatised anyway.

If it wasn’t obvious already, I’m a radical feminist.

I’m an autistic radfem living in a backwards country where the lgbt community can’t thrive so there’s no pride parades, no trans movement, nothing that can be publicised anyway. I can’t create a fantasy where everything works because nothing works. Women are dying around me everyday for being female, my best friend is trapped with an abusive father who hates her for being a female firstborn (something babies get killed for), I’m not worthy of basic respect without a husband, a poor woman from a muslim state gets death threats from her fellow muslims for wearing a backless top while a rich married one gets praised and women can’t apply for anything important without a man’s permission.

Now why on earth would i want to pamper the gender that made and uphold those laws? The battle here is still greatly a battle of the sexes. Despite this stale level of progress, our movement, like many others have allies. Male allies are great, allies are great, we need them to push buttons yes but also remember they can never fully understand what we feel. All they can do is try their best to help and in return we give them acknowledgement and support; so no we’re not supposed to be misandrists or transphobes. We just hate anyone who uplifts what we and our ancestors have been fighting to destroy.

That’s all

[littlewickedwiccan]

For The Workers

Chapter 1

Alfie x Reader

Chapter 2 || Chapter 3

Warning: Swearing, obvs

Authors note: I haven’t written a fic in about 10 years and I’ve never written Peaky stuff so be gentle with me and I may continue. Just a bit of establishing fluff to get the ball rolling. This takes place in episode 2 season 2 and the first scene where we meet Alfie.

You’d insisted on joining Tommy on his long journey down to Camden. He’d managed to check himself out of the hospital 3-weeks early, and you were surprised he’d even made it to Charlie’s in one piece.

You’d served as a nurse, way back during the war, so you rushed to give him a once over, which he brushed off, telling you he was ‘fine’.

He had, however, very reluctantly agreed to let you accompany him down the canal to London, just so you could help him heal that little bit faster. You didn’t think your presence would actually do that much good, but it made you feel better being by his side just in case.

Curly was now steering you smoothly along the water, while you and Tommy rested down below. Every now and again you would have to lean over and dab away a small droplet of blood that escaped from his nose.

Tommy may not be blood related, but he was the closest thing you had to family. Ever since Polly had taken you in at 13, he had made sure to protect you as if you were a full blood Shelby. You knew what happened behind closed doors, but you rarely got dragged into Peaky business.

The boat turned idly into Camden locks, just as the dawn started to settle and workers appeared ready for the day. You tried to help Tommy get dressed and attempted to make him look as though he hadn’t had the shit kicked out of him just weeks before.

“How do I look?” He asked, tentatively fixing his cuffs and collar.

“Like you should still be resting in a hospital, surrounded by medical professionals” you replied, as you once again wiped the red drip from his nostril.

He brushed off your comment with a shrug, carefully stood finding his balance and squeezed himself through the tiny door and onto the solid concrete of the locks.

You followed quickly, smoothing out the wrinkles in your skirt and repinning the loose strands of hair that had broken free from your top bun. You sighed heavily, trying to remember why you had been so desperate to take care of this stubborn ox of a man.

Camden didn’t look too dissimilar to Birmingham. The same working class men covered in soot, callouses burned on their finger tips and sweat on their brow.

Steam lingered in the air and there was a faint smell of bread mixed with coal and rum. The men lifting barrels and boxes stopped to watch you as you trailed behind Tommy. You made sure to keep close.

As you rounded the corner and into the wooden warehouse, you were greeted by a tall, lanky man, a stained white apron tied loosely around his waist.

Tommy automatically held his arms out to the side, allowing the man to pat him down. He knew the drill. You however, you had always been kept out of this kind of thing, so you weren’t sure if you should follow suit or hang back. Were you supposed to just let this man feel you up? Would it cause trouble if you refused? You tried to catch Tommy’s eye but he was focused on a spot on the ground, trying to remain in control and probably conscious.

Just when the tall man was about to set his sights on you, a booming, gravely voice from down the hall cut through the loud sounds of machinery and chatter.

“Put ‘im down down Ollie, put ‘im down mate he’s only little”

The man apparently called Ollie took a step back, giving you a much better view of the man barrelling towards you.

He was sturdy, broad shouldered and walked with a slight hunch. His worn shirt was littered with stains and dirt, the same as his apron that was also tied around his waist, just like Ollie’s.

He stopped just short of Tommy, only glancing up for a second and ignoring your presence completely.

“You two come alone?” Apparently he had noticed you after all.

Tommy glanced back, looking at you for a brief moment before replying “it appears so”.

“You’re a brave boy ain’t ya, come on then”

This was where you had to let Tommy take the lead. You may have been there to keep him on his feet, but you knew you couldn’t let this man see how broken Tommy really was.

You held back, allowing the broad man to lead your group down the dark corridor. You looked around, taking in the dirty floors and tired looking men hiding in the shadows. The smell of rum and fire was stronger now and the heat was almost stifling this far into the warehouse.

You couldn’t hear what the two men in front of you were saying until they stopped suddenly to look at something. As you drew closer you heard the broad man say something about bread, as he made a small sweeping motion towards some bottles on a table.

“White or brown?”

“I’ll try the brown” replied Tommy, shifting his weight slightly.

He must be struggling to hold it together with this heat, you could see the tiny movements he was making under his long black coat, in order to stabilise himself.

The broad man seemed friendly enough on the surface, but there was an air about him that made you feel like he could snap at any moment and kill you all. It was both terrifying and exciting all at once.

His firm shoulders could be seen tensing through his thin shirt and his eyes were laser focused on Tommy’s face and Tommy was staring just as intently, refusing to back down. It was like watching two Tom cats size each other up, each one ready for a fight if the other made any sudden movement.

“And what about you love?”

You locked eyes with the man suddenly, you’d been so busy analysing the exchange in front of you, you hadn’t even noticed that his attention had been redirected towards you.

Your face grew hot, caught off guard and feeling naked under his intense stare.

“I’ll have the same, thank you”

You actually didn’t want a drink at all, you were far too nervous in this unfamiliar surrounding but you also didn’t want to offend this man.

He handed you both a glass of amber liquid, its smell was stronger than you had anticipated. Tentatively you brought the rim of the glass to your lips and took a sip. It burned all the way down your throat and your face winced at the sensation.

Your eyes flicked up momentarily as you felt someone’s eyes on you. They were his. He was staring directly at you unblinking.

“Whattya think?”

Even though he was still focused on you, the slight tilt of his head as he asked his question indicated that he was addressing Tommy.

“It’s alright”

“Alright? Alright?”

Tommy didn’t move, You weren’t even sure if he was breathing. You also stopped breathing, unsure if the man had been offended by Tommy’s flippant review of his rum.

“... it’s bloody awful that stuff.”

You both sighed an inaudible sigh of relief.

“Nah the brown stuff’s for the workers. The white stuff, now that’s for the bosses.”

The man took Tommy’s glass from him and placed it on the table in front of him, turning then to face you, his hand outstretched to take your glass.

“Whatta about you then?” His gaze returning to your face.

You faltered slightly under his watchful eye before finding your words.

“... I like it. I think the darker rums have more flavour than the white spirits.”

He paused and for a second you thought you’d somehow stepped out of line. You were both now holding onto the glass in your hand as you just stared each other down, neither one of you blinking.

“Right then” he said softly, as he slowly took the glass and placed it next to Tommy’s.

You let go of the breath you didn’t even know you’d been holding. You could feel the blood in your face heating your skin. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you picked a spot on the floor to focus on, sinking back just a little bit more.

After that moment, it was like you’d been dunked in a pool of water. The sounds around you were muffled and you almost didn’t notice Tommy and the man walking off towards an office.

Quickly you snapped out of your daze and stepped forwards, but instinctively you knew that the office was not a place for you. Women were never allowed in the room where men were doing ‘business’, or ‘willy waving’ as Polly often called it.

Instead, you found a sturdy box outside the room to perch on and wait. You watched as Tommy stepped into the office, the man following behind him and turning to close the door. Just before it shut, you caught his eye again, he gave you a wink before shutting the door and pulling the blinds down, leaving you outside alone.

Once again your face felt flush, your heart racing and your breathing becoming shallow. You tried everything you could then to repress the butterflies that were forming deep within your stomach.

——————————————————————

Chapter 2 || Chapter 3

[ggukcangetit]

Dreamcatchers 5

Pairing: jungkook x oc

Summary: DI Jeon didn’t need a new partner. Unfortunately, his superiors felt otherwise; especially considering the extremely high-profile murder that had just taken place in the port city. Recent transfer, DI Choi Yuri finds herself confronted with a new cityscape, unfamiliar people, a hostile partner, and a homicide that is certain to bring back unpleasant memories.  

Genre/AU: fluff/action/mystery | detective! au | police!jungkook, police!oc

Word Count: 3.7k

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: mentions of violence, alcohol, blood, drugs, death. basically stuff you’d associate with a murder mystery/crime drama.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | A/N:  found a lovely group of people at bsh and their enthusiasm is infectious enough to get me to write a lot more than i had originally planned. reminding everyone that this story features a named oc because i’m still very unfamiliar with writing second person reader inserts. i’m not aiming for strict accuracy in this story, and all criminal investigation/forensics knowledge i have has been gathered by watching crime drama/procedural dramas! my knowledge of geography is also not totally accurate so apologies for that. once again, one thing right by @hobios​ prompted me to write a police inspector! jungkook story. would highly recommend reading that because it’s probably one of my most favorite pieces of writing! additional note: the timeline at the end of the post is what i imagine yuri and jeongguk were constructing on the station’s white board in the last scene.

20th December

Seokjin was inside his bakery, getting ready to open in a little bit, when frantic knocking interrupted him. Checking his watch, he saw that it was 6.52 am, which meant that he had 8 minutes until opening. While people in this town were known to wake up at the crack of dawn, he had never had anyone knocking at his door before opening time. A second set of knocks - much louder this time - made him rush over to the front door.

"They've arrested Jimin on suspicion of murder."

Taehyung stood there looking more lost than he had ever seen him. Even more than when he had found Seokjin months after the latter had left home. Even more than when he had been given the responsibility of taking over the company. Taehyung, who struggled to wake up in time for 10 am meetings, was wide awake before the clock struck 7 and looked like he hadn't slept a wink the previous night.

"Did you run all the way here?" Seokjin asked. Taehyung's hair looked windswept and beads of perspiration lined his forehead despite it being the middle of winter.

"Why've they arrested him? He would never do something like that!"

"Come inside first. You'll catch a cold if you stay outside like this."

Once inside, Taehyung didn't look any less perturbed - his expressive eyes glistening with many different emotions. Seokjin brought out a cup of hot chocolate and a red bean bun, sitting down opposite his younger brother.

"Now, tell me what's going on."

"Jimin was arrested last night on suspicion of murder."

"Murder? You mean Eunwoo? They think Jimin had something to do with Eunwoo's death?"

Taehyung nodded his head, the initial rush of adrenaline having worn off, leaving him looking significantly more worn out.

"Do you know why? How did you even find out? Did Jimin tell you?"

"No. Ahreum did." Taehyung rubbed his face with his hands, trying to rid himself of the terrifying thoughts rushing through his mind. "She was there when Yuri - that's her friend who's also Jeongguk's new partner - made the call. There must be some mistake!"

Seokjin bit his lip worriedly. While Jimin had been Taehyung's best friend since they were little, there was no doubt that the former led a very wild life involving many questionable escapades. He didn't know much about Yuri, but there was no doubt in his mind that Jeongguk was a very competent detective who knew what he was doing.

"I don't know what I should do." Taehyung's voice, jolted him out of his thoughts. "I should go down to the station, shouldn't I? Jimin probably needs someone there with him. What about getting a lawyer? Should we ask Namjoon? I-"

"Slow down, Taehyung," Seokjin said, patting his brother's shoulder reassuringly. "I'm sure Jimin's gotten a lawyer himself. His family has a lot of resources. But if you want, you can drop by the station in case he needs something."

"Y-yeah, I should do that. I'll go right now. I- Shit!" Taehyung patted his coat pockets frantically. "I can't find my car keys!"

"You didn't drive here," reminded Seokjin, gently. "Do you want me to drive you there?"

The bell hanging above the front door jingled softly at that moment, signalling Seokjin's first customer of the day.

"No, you shouldn’t leave your bakery. It would be bad for business." Taehyung shook his head, the helpless look in his eyes not leaving him despite his conviction to leave his brother out of this.

"Why don't you ask Ahreum if she can give you a lift? Isn't she usually up by this time?"

"You're right! I'll do that!"

Seokjin busied himself with the customer who had just come in, his eyes wandering towards his brother ever so often. Ahreum picked him up 15 minutes later, but Seokjin couldn't shake off the worried feeling he had gotten after seeing Taehyung so frantic and helpless.

...

Yuri had reached the station at 6 that morning. She hadn't slept last night, going through every inch of evidence and every statement they had taken related to Kang Eunwoo's murder. Her stomach had dropped when she had read the email from Seulgi last night. It wasn't that she was convinced that Jimin was a saint who had nothing to do with this, but the fact that he had finally decided to give a blood sample suggested either that he was innocent, or that he was guilty but somehow knew that he would be able to escape the charges. Both options did not bode well with her.

Jeon arrived around half past 6, the bags under his eyes suggesting that he had also had a sleepless night. He didn't say anything, just heading straight for his desk and pouring over a set of files like he had a final exam he was cramming for.

Chief Inspector Goh had spoken to both of them on a conference call last night once news of Jimin's arrest had been confirmed.

"Are we completely sure about this?" His voice hoarse, indicating that the call had disturbed his slumber.

"Yes, sir," Yuri replied, not waiting for her partner to chip in. She was the one who had received the email from Seulgi, she had been the one to convince Jimin for a blood sample - this was her line of inquiry. Which made her all the more nervous.

"I'm sure I don't need to remind either of you that the Parks are difficult customers. Young Mr. Park does not have a criminal record despite his many infractions over the years."

"We are aware, sir." Jeon answered this time, being more familiar with the social landscape than Yuri. "Everything will be carried out according to proper procedure."

"Good. Be prepared to deal with lawyers as well. I have a suspicion that that bastard Song will be representing the Park boy tomorrow. Jeongguk, I'm sure you're aware of his reputation and the kinds of clients he usually represents."

Yuri did not know about this particular lawyer, but made a note to look up his previous cases to get an understanding of what they were up against. She had no doubt that Jeon would be as unhelpful as he had been since she had first arrived.

"You can't start the interview before 8 am, but given that he was arrested just before midnight, we will have lost 8 precious hours out of the total 48 before we have to either charge him or release him on bail. Be clear, be smart, and do not allow anyone to string you along."

"Yes, sir." They both replied, before ending the call.

"Do you want to go over the interview strategy?"

Jeon's words took Yuri by surprise. She had been expecting a cold shoulder at best, and unfiltered hostility at worst.

"Y-yeah sure," she replied, turning her chair around to find that he had moved over to her side of the cubicle already.

"I think we should lead with the blood match," he continued, frowning at a sheet of paper. "What do you think?"

"While that is the most efficient way to approach it," said Yuri, pausing to organize her thoughts. "We could also press him to provide us with an alibi."

"Why'd you think that?"

Yuri tapped her fingers on the table, wondering how far she should try and explain her idea to Jeon. "I just... He was very uncooperative about providing an alibi last time. But then he came down and voluntarily gave a blood sample, which has put him in a much worse position than not providing an alibi. I don't know why he would refuse the low risk option in favor of the high risk one."

Jeon scoffed. "Well you clearly don't know Jimin then."

"Well obviously not like you lot do," she frowned, folding her arms across her chest.

"Don't get me wrong," he continued, leaning against the divider. "Your confusion is completely valid, but this behavior is very much in character for Jimin."

"How'd you mean?"

"He's a loose canon. He has no regard for authority - half of what he does is to piss off people in power or positions of authority. Jimin's always been like that as far as I can remember. But-" he paused and rubbed the back of his neck tiredly - "this is much more serious. This is murder."

Yuri pressed her lips together, wondering how difficult the interview was going to be.

8 am

"You are aware that you have been arrested on suspicion of the murder of Kang Eunwoo on 16th December."

Park Jimin looked very different from the previous few times Yuri had met him. His silver hair was devoid of any gel, making him look drastically younger. He was not wearing expensive lounge wear like he had been during the previous interview. The only thing that remained unchanged was the emotionless look in his cold grey eyes.

His lawyer, on the other hand, looked quite cheerful - smug even. As if he knew in advance that his client would get off without any charges no matter how serious the offense.

"When you were here a couple of days ago, we asked you where you were on the night of December 15th. And you did not provide us with an answer." Yuri paused, trying in vain to discern something from Jimin's expression. "So let me ask you again - where were you on the night of December 15th?"

"No comment."

"I must impress upon you the importance of this matter. You are the prime suspect in the murder of a rival family's heir. If you do not provide an alibi, we will be forced to assume that you do not have one."

Silence.

"Your blood was found on the victim's clothes." Jeon took over, moving along to the main line of inquiry. "What can you tell us about that?"

"No comment."

"The victim's father says that you visited their house on the night that the victim was murdered. What do you have to say about that?"

"No comment."

This was not going any better than the previous interview. In fact, Yuri thought this one was much worse. Even though they should have had the upper hand, Jimin's unperturbed, stoic expression indicated otherwise. The blood on the sleeve was enough to charge him, but with the Park family's resources there was always a chance that Jimin would be able to get off in court. Which was why they needed to build a stronger case against him.

Jeon continued persisting with the questions, receiving an emotionless "no comment" every time. The lawyer looked rather relaxed, and Yuri tried her best to avoid looking at him. Instead, she focused on Jimin. Everything about him was unreadable - his eyes, his body language, his face, his tone of voice. Despite his more casual appearance this time around, his fingers were still adorned with multiple rings. Her eyes lingered briefly on his hands, absentmindedly counting the number of rings when something struck her.

Jeon had paused to look through his notes, and Yuri took this opportunity to dive in.

"Mr. Park," she began, placing a hand on Jeon's knee to stop him from interrupting her. "I noticed that you always wear a lot of rings on your fingers."

"As far as I can remember, DI Choi," said Jimin's lawyer. "Wearing a lot of rings is not a criminal offense."

"And I commend you on your immaculate memory," she replied, dryly. "Getting back to what I was saying, you wear a lot of rings. Are they supposed to be a fashion statement? Or do they have some greater significance?"

Jimin's expression flickered for the briefest of moments.

"For example," she continued, indicating the ring on the little finger of his left hand. "That's an unusual design - quite old-fashioned compared to the rest of your rings. Is there anything special about that ring?"

"I don't understand how this is relev-"

"Then why don't you let your client answer himself."

For the first time since the interview had begun, Jimin's posture changed slightly. "That ring belonged to my mother."

"I see... that must hold a lot of emotions for you." Yuri removed her hand from Jeon's thigh, indicating that he could continue. He didn't say anything to her, preferring to hold eye-contact for a few meaningful seconds

"I'm going to ask you one last time," he said, taking over once again. "Where were you on the night of December 15th?"

"No comment."

...

"What was that about?" asked Jeon, once they were out of the interview room.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," he sighed in exasperation. "The ring, Choi."

"Just wanted to bring down his guard a bit," she shrugged.

He looked unconvinced, but dropped it seeing as they had more pressing things to deal with at the moment. Shaking his head, he went into Goh's room to update him on the outcome of the interview.

Making sure that the door to the Chief Inspector's room had been shut completely, Yuri switched on her laptop and pulled up every bit of information she had on Jimin. Even though she had gone over it less than 2 days ago, there were some things she needed to confirm. If what she thought was even remotely possible, they had been looking at things wrong the entire time.

"Hello? Telecoms Division? This DI Choi Yuri, badge number XXXX. I wanted to check whether this phone number is currently being used in Korea. Yes, I'll hold."

She tapped her fingers on the desk nervously, hoping she could get the information before Jeon came back. While it was true that he hadn't been openly hostile with her over the past 24 hours or so, she didn't want to risk pissing him off without something concrete.

"Yes, I'm still here," she breathed a sigh of relief when the person on the other end of the line took her off hold. "Really? Okay. And can you tell me if the number was being used overseas at any point in the past 2 months? I see... Would it be possible to send this to my official email? Great! Thank you very much for your help."

A couple of minutes later, Yuri's laptop pinged, indicating a new email. She read through everything carefully- once, twice, making sure she had gotten everything down accurately.

Fuck...

"Going somewhere?" Chief Inspector Goh walked out of his office to see Yuri putting on her coat and packing her bag.

"I- uh- yes."

"There's a lot of paperwork that has to be done, I'm afraid," he continued, checking messages on his phone. "You and Jeongguk will probably need to be here well past usual hours."

"Of course, sir." Yuri shrugged off her coat and sat down with a sigh.

6 pm

Seven hours. It had been seven hours since Yuri and Jeon had begun working their way through the piles of paperwork Goh had instructed them to finish.

"I'm hungry." Jeon stretched his arms above his head, yawning with his entire being. "Do you wanna get some takeout?"

"What?" Yuri looked up from the page she had been trying to read for the past fifteen minutes. Her eyes were glazing over with exhaustion.

"Food. Dinner. Sustenance."

"Y-yeah," Yuri blinked her eyes rapidly. "Sorry what were you saying?"

"You know what? Never mind. I'm just ordering a bunch of things- " He unlocked his phone and began typing away furiously. "Eat whatever you like from there."

Yuri gazed at him for a few moments, trying to reorient herself with the three dimensional world. She noticed that he was sitting on the swivel chair with his feet tucked beneath him - something oddly endearing which didn't really fit her image of him.

"I like dumplings," she said, more to herself than anyone else.

Jeon smirked but didn't say anything.

Half an hour later, a dozen or so takeout containers lay open in front of them - occupying more of Yuri's desk than Jeon's, much to her annoyance. He had rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt, slurping the hot noodles rather noisily.

Yuri threw him a quick glare and reached over to pick up a couple of fried chicken pieces.

"So why'd you ask Jimin about the ring?"

"I see you haven't forgotten about that," Yuri rolled her eyes, biting into the juicy meat.

"It was too specific to be a random thought," he shrugged. "So, are you gonna tell me or...?"

"I don't know if I can trust you, Jeon," she replied, simply.

"W-what?" he spluttered on the noodles, gulping some water to stop choking. "I'm your partner! Why can't you trust me?"

"I don't know..." Yuri tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Is it because you only glared at me on my first day? Or is it because you haven't greeted me civilly even once since I joined? Ooh, I know! Maybe its all of these combined with the fact that you've been an uncooperative bastard since I got here."

Jeon stared at her guiltily, his eyes widening considerably - giving him an expression akin to a deer caught in the headlights. "You're right. I apologize for that."

"Against my better judgment, I'll accept your apology. But you have Yoongi to thank for that."

Jeon smiled into his noodles at the mention of Yoongi.

"You also have Yoongi to thank for what I did yesterday," she continued, setting down the empty container. "I nicked your 2nd Nov case file and went through it."

"You what? When?!"

Yuri waved her hand dismissively. "Details. Unimportant. Yoongi suggested I should and I did. But that's not what I wanted to talk about."

"Anything else of mine you've nicked in the 5 days that you've been here?" grumbled Jeon, but there was no real bitterness in his tone.

Ignoring his comment, she pulled out her phone from the charging socket. "The reason I asked Jimin about his rings, is this -" she scrolled up to a particular picture and passed the phone over to him - "The ring found at the 2nd Nov crime scene is identical to the one Jimin wears on his left little finger."

"Are you sure...?" Jeon asked, raising an eyebrow uncertainly. "Even if it is, what's to say there aren't hundreds of other identical rings belonging to people across the country?"

"I did think that initially," Yuri took her phone back, and pulled up another image. "Which is why I asked Jimin about it during the interview. He said that it belonged to his mother. I'm sure you know this much better than I do but the late Mrs. Park came from a very old, distinguished family. That ring that Jimin was wearing is a family heirloom - from his mother's side. Here's an article that covered heirlooms of famous families in Korea, and it mentions the Park family."

Jeon took the phone from her, a frown forming on his face. The article was dated around 3 years ago.

"According to the article, there were three rings in total. One that belonged to Mrs. Park - which was buried with her after her death - and two others belonging to Jimin and his older brother Minhyuk. Not just that, there's a picture of Jimin and Minhyuk in the article, where they're both wearing the rings."

"Shit... You're right." Jeon pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. "During the investigation, we just assumed that the ring belonged to the victim and had slipped off her finger during the struggle."

"Three rings," said Yuri. "One that has presumably been buried in a grave for over 10 years. One that was definitely on Jimin's finger today. And one that was found at the 2nd Nov crime scene."

"Minhyuk? You think he had something to do with it?" asked Jeon, sharply. "It was pretty clear that the drunk and homeless father of her child had stabbed her."

"Hear me out," she continued, opening her laptop this time. The food lay forgotten at this point. "I went through what we know about the victim - paints a pretty tragic picture. Although it wasn't always like that for her. She worked for a few years, saved up enough money before enrolling into a professional degree program at Busan National University."

"Yeah, so what?"

"Her time at Busan National University coincided with Park Minhyuk's Masters program."

"What?"

"Yeah, but," she continued, finding the university website. "She dropped out after less than a year because her father passed away, leaving behind a huge pile of debt. We know that her mother had passed away when she was about 10. Now if you look at her daughter's birth certificate, it would appear that she got pregnant while she was still enrolled at the university."

"Are you saying the baby was his?! There's a pretty big stretch from attended university at the same time to father of her child."

"Let me finish, would you?" she groaned, throwing her hands up in frustration.

"Fine, go ahead."

"In order to see if they were acquainted with one another, I resorted to the most informative source available - social media. Our victim didn't have much of a social media presence, but I scrolled through anything and everything Park Minhyuk has been tagged in. And guess what I found?"

Jeon stopped eating, and moved closer to the screen to see a picture of a few university students having a picnic together. It was dated January 2016, and two of the people in the picture were recognizable immediately.

"Holy shit! They did know each other! And quite well apparently." Jeon wheeled his chair forward, bumping into her chair in the process. "Shit, sorry."

Yuri rolled her eyes and moved out of his way. She had no desire to get slammed into again.

"Since I'm not part of the original investigation, I thought of checking whether Park Minhyuk was in the country around the time of the stabbing with a different excuse. I called the company, asking if he was available to chat about Jimin. They said he's abroad at the moment. Has been since October, apparently. But- " she rummaged through the papers on her desk before finding the post-it she had hurriedly scribbled on a few hours ago - "Telecoms did an analysis and found that his cell phone has been operating in Korea for a while now. So...?"

"Either someone else has gotten a hold of Park Minhyuk's cell phone," said Jeon, frowning thoughtfully. "Or the Parks are knee-deep in murder and perjury."

XXX

a/n: sorry there was such a huge delay between chapters. i was writing out some of the chapters beforehand so that there wouldn’t be too many plot inconsistencies.

[sojourner-between-worlds]

Why the Idea of Disabled Jesus is Heretical

(Or, at best, a gross misinterpretation of Scripture. But really, it's heresy.)

@aspiringautistic asked on this post from my side blog: "what would be so harmful if there were people who perceived jesus as disabled?" and I am happy to oblige in expanding on those thoughts (though since the answer has little to do with autism and everything to do with Christianity in general, I thought it more appropriate to answer here on main). In case you hadn't prior seen the linked post and don't feel like clicking through, the short of it is this: the Gospel Coalition recently published an article in which the author, Andrew Abernethy, argued that Jesus was disabled. I'm here to tell you where he went wrong.

Hold on to your hats, folks. This is a long post.

(All Scripture quotations taken from the ESV translation.)

1. Disabilities are a result of the Fall. Before I get into anything else, I need to make this point abundantly clear. While being disabled does not dictate worth and it is not an indication of personal sin, it is still not how we are meant to be. Adam and Eve were created in the likeness of God, and were, therefore, created without sin or any of the things that came with sin. They were perfect -- at least until they disobeyed (Genesis 2-3). Sometimes people ask "if there is a God, why do bad things happen?" and the answer is because we live in a sin-cursed world. Disabilities, illness, and death itself exist because Adam and Eve sinned. (Romans 5:12: "Therefore, just as sin came into the world through one man, and death through sin, and so death spread to all men because all sinned.")

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2. Old Testament laws regarding sacrifices. The Old Testament Law is very specific when talking about what makes an acceptable sacrifice. There are a lot of different types (everything from bulls to grain), but the relevant ones to this discussion are sacrifices made for the atonement of sins. 

There are two categories of sacrifices made for sin: sin offerings made for unintentional sins, and burnt offerings made for sin in general. Burnt offerings and sin offerings both ranged from bulls to doves (or flour for the latter, if nothing else could be afforded) and sin offerings varied depending on both the person and the sin as well (Leviticus 1, 4-5). But all of the animals sacrificed had two instructions about them in common: that they be "without blemish", and that the sinner must place their hand on the head of the animal. The difference between the two was that a sin offering was required as an act of repentance and a burnt offering was voluntary. In the case of burnt offerings, the requirements for bulls and sheep or goats are laid out very plainly: "a male without blemish" (1:3, 10). 

In addition to all of this, once a year, on the Day of Atonement, one bull and two male goats would be sacrificed for the people to remove their sins (Leviticus 16; only one goat was killed; the other was sent away, symbolizing the removal of sin). Again, these animals had to be without blemish, just as all the others. The person offering the sacrifice was to place their hand on the head of the animal. The action of placing their hand was symbolic: it was a way of showing that the person's sin was being "transferred" to the animal so that the animal could take the person's place and receive the punishment for sin instead. "Without blemish" meant that it couldn't be sickly or diseased or crippled in any way. It had to be as close to perfect as was possible in a sin-cursed world because anything less than perfect had to die for its own imperfections. 

Because these sacrifices could never be truly perfect, they had to be repeated, but all of this was pointing to the time when Jesus would come as the final sacrifice made for the sins of the world.

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3. Jesus as the final sacrifice. If you know anything about the Christian faith, you know that this is at the heart of everything we believe. Without Jesus, there is no gospel. So here's why that matters to this discussion: 

"But when Christ appeared as a high priest of the good things that have come, then through the greater and more perfect tent (not made with hands, that is, not of this creation) he entered once for all into the holy places, not by means of the blood of goats and calves but by the means of his own blood, thus securing an eternal redemption. For if the blood of goats and bulls, and the sprinkling of defiled persons with the ashes of a heifer, sanctify for the purification of the flesh, how much more will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself without blemish to God, purify our conscience from dead works to serve the living God" (Hebrews 9:11-14, emphasis mine). 

This passage in Hebrews (as well as verses preceding and following) are all about how Christ made atonement for us with His death, and how His voluntary sacrifice of Himself is superior to the OT sacrifices. 

So allow me to direct your attention to the bolded phrase above: “offered himself without blemish”. If this sounds familiar, it should, since I talked extensively about this in the point above. “Without blemish” in Leviticus meant to be not crippled or disfigured or ill in any way. If this same phrase is also applied to Christ, then the same must be true. If the OT sacrifices were required to be so, why would the same not apply to the Final Sacrifice that ended the need for sacrifices to be made? It wouldn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense. Not when the OT sacrifices were pointing towards Jesus; not when we have a God Who created order and purpose. Jesus had to be perfect to take our places -- and that includes being free of deformities that are a result of a sin-cursed world.

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4. Isaiah 53, misinterpreted at best. This was one of Mr Abernethy’s main points, and it’s one he got disastrously wrong by reading what he wanted into Scripture (eisegesis) rather than letting Scripture say what it says (exegesis). See, the thing about interpreting prophecy is that you have to be careful how you do it, and, just like all Scripture, make sure it’s within the proper context. 

In the case of this chapter of Isaiah, the wider context is that it’s a prediction of Jesus’ suffering on earth and His death. One of the verses he tries to pass off about Jesus being ugly or deformed is the second part of verse 3: “and as one from whom men hide their faces, he was despised, and we esteemed him not.” The problem is, this verse and one directly after it are not about his physical appearance at all. They are about emotions and grief: “He was despised and rejected by men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief; and as one whom men hide their faces, he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteem him stricken, smitten by God and afflicted” (vs. 3-4, emphasis mine). This is about Him bearing our burdens and our rejection of Him anyway. This is a parallel that continues as the chapter moves forward. 

There is only one physical description in this passage that is not related to His death, and it’s the second part of verse 2: “he had no form or majesty that we should look at him, and no beauty that we should desire him.” And this is the only point that Mr Abernethy got correct: Jesus wasn’t the Hollywood definition of drop-dead gorgeous. He looked like your average Joe. In order to not be conventionally beautiful/handsome, that does not dictate that a person must be deformed or “ugly” in any way. The only thing this verse means is that he didn’t stand out from the crowd with His looks. He didn’t look the way they thought their Savior should. That’s it. That’s all it means.

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5. Tradition isn't truth (no matter how much anyone wants it to be). I have to admit, adding in a section about a so-called “tradition” that’s nigh on impossible to find anything about was brilliant. The average person wouldn’t even bother looking in the first place, and most people who would look, would give up after five or ten minutes of searching. I spent an hour and found exactly nothing on this “tradition” of Jesus being a leper. So you just... have to take Abernethy’s word for it. 

Aside from not being able to find anything on it myself, the argument he uses is faulty anyway. Because tradition doesn’t equal truth, in the first place, especially a tradition that didn’t pop up until the 16th century. There’s no basis for something that apparently wasn’t known until 1400 years after His death. 

Aside from that, he calls on Jerome’s Latin translation of Isaiah 53:4 that translates a phrase as “he was like a leper.” First of all, “like a leper” does not mean He actually was a leper. C’mon, man. Any fifth grader in America could tell you that similes are used for comparisons and aren’t literal. 

Second of all, if you’d like to make a point, it’s a much better idea to go back to the Hebrew manuscripts rather than to any one translation. Now, I don’t know Hebrew myself, but I do have access to a little thing called the Internet, where you can find a plethora of commentaries from people who do know Hebrew. For this particular problem, I went to Albert Barne’s Notes on the Whole Bible. I’m not going to put his whole notes here (because there’s a lot), but if you’d like to read all of his notes, you can search the verse on studylight.org and use the ‘jump to’ feature under the verse to find him, but the bottom line of his notes on it are this: Jesus wasn’t literally being rightfully punished like the Jews would incorrectly think; leprosy was used here as an example because it was seen as a divine punishment for sin. It has nothing to do with literal leprosy at all. 

And to top off this cake of incorrectness... well, has he even read the New Testament? If Jesus had had leprosy, He: a. wouldn’t have been allowed in temples or synagogues, b. wouldn’t have been allowed in towns period, and c. wouldn’t have been nailed to a cross because no one would have risked touching Him in order to do so. Abernethy shouldn’t have even brought this up in his argument, it’s so far off base, and no artist in the 16th century should have painted a painting of a leprous Jesus nailed to the cross because, quite simply, it never would have happened.

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6. Jesus relates to us -- but not in the ways Mr Abernethy says. While he never cites any Scripture on this, I’m pretty sure I know where this idea came from. In his article, he states that in order for Jesus to have related to the disabled, He had to be disabled Himself. Since He relates to us, then He must have been disabled. 

First of all, the logical fallacy of this statement is this: if He must be disabled to relate to the disabled, then can the abled still relate to Him? The answer to that, of course, would be no, because if He wasn’t abled then He can’t relate to the abled in the same way that Abernethy asserts that He can’t relate to the disabled without being disabled. It’s one of those things where you can’t have it both ways. Another example of how this logic falls short is pregnancy. Can Jesus not relate to pregnant people because He Himself was never in such a state? And the rabbit hole just gets deeper from there: Can He relate specifically to the blind when He was never blind? How about the deaf or hard of hearing? Or people missing limbs, either from birth or through amputation? All disabilities are different, and experiencing one doesn’t mean you understand them all, so by Abernethy’s logic, Jesus had to experience all of them. Do you see how ridiculous Abernethy’s logic here is yet? 

Second of all, Abernethy is, once again, taking Scripture entirely out of context -- if, indeed, he got this idea from Scripture at all. Hebrews 4:15 says, “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin.” The problem with trying to use this verse as proof is, obviously, that it’s talking about temptations (Matthew 4:1-11), not lived experiences. If he was, again, referencing Isaiah 53 -- well, that doesn’t work either, because, again, that is in reference to His death and the sins He bore for us on the cross. The fact of the matter is, there are no Scriptures to back up the idea that He had to personally experience everything we do in order for Him to understand our pain and suffering. 

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The source of this heresy is the same as many heresies, actually: People want to make Jesus into something He's not. I listened to a podcast recently where the host was talking about a couple of heretics, and while I don't remember the heretic's name, he said that to him, Jesus was Latinx because he himself is Latinx. Except that, ya know, Jesus was a Middle-Eastern Jew. It's the same fallacy to say that Jesus was disabled. Everyone wants Jesus -- and God, for that matter -- to be something He's not, rather than for Him to be what Scripture tells us He is, but you can't force God into the box you've carved for Him. He is who He is, no matter how much you want Him to be something different.

There's no getting around it: to make Him out to be anything other than what Scripture tells us He is -- especially when it contradicts Scripture, is heresy.

[casually-inlove]

Hello. In one of your responses, you wrote: "I also have things that I don't necessarily agree with." Can you tell us about it? I am very interested in your representation of this manhua. What do you think is written well in the story, and what is not? What would you add or remove? What is missing and what is too much in history? I would very much like to know your TianShan headcanon. I have too many "wants". I'm sorry if I was rude.

Dear anon, this was not rude at all. Indeed, you have many questions, so much as I try to be concise in my posts, this one is going to be very lengthy. Let me start with a little disclaimer. Everything below is entirely subjective. It is in no way meant to undermine anyone's enjoyment of the series, nor is it supposed to be an attack against the author. I value the comic's episodic nature and light-heartedness myself, otherwise, I would not have stuck around. It is also true that for the past half a year my interest in it waxes and wanes. Besides, I am well aware that certain groups of fans grow dissatisfied with the manhua direction. That said, I must state once again, OX has every right to write the story as they please, while the fans, no matter how displeased they may be, do not have the room to make demands of the author. So then, without further ado, some of my quibblings follow below. Beware of the wall-of-text.

1) The plot and characters get stagnant at times — these two go hand in hand. I suppose it is a prevalent gripe with 19 Days, and I am sure everyone has experienced it at least once. Some of it stems from the very way the story is told: the manhua timeline moves slowly in comparison with the readers' timeline. It works for depicting slow-burn relationships and subtle changes in the characters' outlooks. The problem is, more often than not, the latest chapters are inconsequential to either plot or character growth. They do not have the substance or the conflict to them. When OX had introduced the characters, while undoubtedly charming and loveable, they were practically walking tropes. Jian Yi, the bubbly airhead. ZZX, the stoic childhood friend. HT, Mr Popular. As time passed, OX did the clever (and the right) thing — they have subverted these stereotypes, by showing us that the characters are not who they appear to be. Thus, we learned that Jian Yi is a lonesome, affection deprived kid who on occasion dreads going back home because it's empty; his bright grin is there to hide his sadness.  We also learned that HT had a dysfunctional family and had been exposed to violence since a tender age; we also learned that he used to lead an empty life devoid of close interpersonal connections and passions, etc. I am not going to write about Mo because it is obvious and self-explanatory.

That sudden change in the perspective is what made those characters fascinating. A few of these developments co-occur with the addition of the “darker” mafia/gangster subplot. Indeed, the introduction of the criminal legacy theme (which is true for Jian Yi, He Tian, and Mo to an extent) allowed to show the wounds and troubles these characters had to face. It also dangled the prospect of an intriguing plot direction — a mafia-related story that is disguised as a school-themed slice-of-life. It was the underlying gangster plot-line that hooked me up; I kept asking myself: Are they connected (the Jian family, the He family)? Were they responsible for what happened with the Mo family restaurant? Will their backgrounds converge at some point? How does Jia Yi's kidnapping fit into all this? That sort of stuff. Alas, right now that subplot seems to be put on a backburner, which is a shame because this is the plot-line that leads to future events, such as Jian Yi's disappearance. The kidnapping is still going to happen and the threat looming over Jian Yi is still real, yet OX does very little to explain anything about it. Naturally, revealing everything at once is out of the question, but if it were me, I would have opted for unveiling bits and pieces now and then. To start with, it would have propelled the plot forward. Apart from that, it would have given the readers some food for thought and kept the intrigue fresh — they would have been cracking their heads to piece the puzzle. Finally, the characters' darker backgrounds provide the opportunity to give them development. For instance, how would Mo's view of He Tian change, if he learned that the latter had to face his warped father to save Mo (ch. 245 and further on)? Or how would Mo react, if he learned that He Tian lost his mother (presumably) due to his family shady dealings? Would it make him understand the other boy, relate to him on some level? Etc. 

The comedy and fun, light moments are precious, but I miss those moments when the manhua challenged my impression of the characters. Right now, the plot stagnates in the sense that we know that someone is threatening Jian Yi, but we aren't being given any clues or updates on the matter, as if the whole thing wasn't important. So, in response to your question “what would I have removed”, I would say that I would probably drop quite a few school-centric chapters in favour of “criminal” subplot. Just a bit: maybe show Mr Jian's messages, or Jian Yi's mother discussing the situation with him, or He Cheng receiving some reports on the situation.  

The character recent portrayal also disappoints me on occasion. They started as stereotypical manga characters, then they were given some depth, and now they are close to becoming yet another set of stereotypes. Yeah, I get that Mo is a tsundere and enamoured He Tian is an idiot in love — OX has been depicting them as such for the past year. It would be cool to take a look at other facets of their personalities now and then too. While it’s understandable that only a few weeks have passed since the beginning of the story, OX should remember that years have passed for the readers; keeping the audience engaged should be among their priorities.

I suppose I do have a bias here because as an adult I have little interest in all things school-related, and in general, I am not too fond of slice-of-life (I typically avoid reading it).19 Days attracted me because it had some universal themes, like dealing with past and legacy, finding your path, healing from the old scars, learning to handle difficult relationships within a family, and of course its low-key “mafia” subplot. It could be that OX truly doesn't have a meticulously chapter-to-chapter thought-out plot, hence why the manhua meanders at times, or it could have something to do with Mosspaca's internal agenda. Perhaps, it is the latter and the company somehow insists its artists stick with simplistic plots for the sake of keeping their target audience. Even so, there's a catch here, which was brought to the attention by @agapaic: the original reader audience has aged up already so to keep them hooked it would be wise of OX to “mature up” the comic as well. Not in the sense of 18+ content, but in the sense of introducing more mature subjects alongside the comedy and slice of life. Perhaps, they are not looking to keep the fans but to attract the new, younger ones. Who knows.

2) Drama and comedy imbalance. It is a pet peeve of mine which I consider to be one of the prominent manhua flaws: there is lots of slapstick comedy which ends up being out of place on occasion. I do realize the comic is humorous, however, there is no denying that OX introduced themes and topics that are no laughing matters. Jian Yi's and He Tian's loneliness, bullying and ostracizing, extortion racket, absentee parents, youth gangs and violence — just to name a few. There is a lot more, but you get the picture.

It is also obvious that three out of four main characters carry the remnants of childhood trauma with them, which directly affects their present selves. All the same, these topics practically fizzle out as soon as they get introduced, or get swept under the rug with comedy. Considering the humorous nature of the comic, it is given that dispersing some grimmer topics with playfulness will be used now and then. To my mind, however, OX relies on that abrupt drama-to-comedy switch too heavily, which makes the transition steep and often out of place. At times, it creates an impression that the author does not take these issues seriously. There have been numerous episodes when emotional moments were subverted and then dropped, without gaining climax and closure. For instance, the moment that sticks out to me the most is when He Tian attempted to tell Mo why he liked him. The visuals made it clear that it wasn't easy for He Tian to say out loud, yet OX never gave the intense moment the needed closure.

Mo brushed He Tian off and the latter just rolled with it, as if it never took him any courage to say those words, and then everything was swiftly engulfed by slapstick humour (the ball-slapping scene). A panel showing a glimpse of He Tian's face sinking to indicate he was somewhat let down by Mo's nonchalant response would have been appropriate — in fact, it would be natural for someone to get hurt when their confession is taken lightly. Likewise, I half-expected OX to show a bit more of He Tian's reaction towards Mo's story about his meeting with She Li. We got to see his expression darkening when he learned that She Li gave Mo the ear piercings, yet this time — mind you, when Mo suggested that She Li might have murdered someone — we never see He Tian react much. For the record, it was He Tian who asked She Li a rhetorical question about being able to take responsibility for taking a life.

Furthermore, I believe that someone romantically invested in another human being would have naturally shown more inquisitiveness upon hearing a story like that. Sure enough, some would say that Mo would not have liked talking about a traumatizing event, and that is fine as well — just show it. A single panel of He Tian being concerned and trying to inquire further and Mo refusing to talk would have been a very neat detail that could have potentially smoothed the transition into humour, while keeping our heroes in character.

3) Sometimes there is too much focus on the couples. The manhua has introduced several reoccurring supporting characters which are directly linked to our main quartet. For example, Mo had bonds before meeting our boys: his henchmen, the Buzzcut. Likewise, He Cheng was the one to raise He Tian; he shaped the boy's outlook on life.  These characters all played important roles in making our boys the people they are today, and yet we know so little of their bonds. Maybe the Buzzcut is unimportant in the larger scheme of things, He Cheng, however, is not only linked to He Tian, but he also plays a part in the underlying mafia/gangster subplot. It would have made sense if he was the one to shed some light on the situation with Jian Yi and He Tian's traumatic past. I would have loved to see our boys interact with other people as well — it would have served to show the variety of relationships out there: friendships, familial bonds, mutual respect between the leader and underlings, etc.

Anyway, I am going to stop now. I could name a few more, but this text is already more than 2000 words long. I have made some posts with my nitpicking before, so if you wish you can read them here.  

link & link 

Once again, this is all entirely subjective and it is not meant to be perceived as me saying that the manhua is poorly written and no one should enjoy it. Writing and creating compelling plots is a tough job, especially when it comes to long pieces. It also goes without saying that the author should keep their target audience and marketing goals in mind. 19 Days appeals to a great number of people of all ages and that means that OX succeeded in creating something compelling. Their writing is indeed flawed at times, but there is no way around it. It is impossible to excel both at being a great artist and a good writer. While there may be things that each of us would want to change (when comes to characters or the plot), it is still important to remember that it is not our creation. We can only decide whether to keep reading and enjoy what we get or move along. There is no point in attacking the author or generating constant pessimism.

[questionsonislam]

Some circles claim that todays wretched state of Moslem World has been occasioned by the religion of Islam and therefore they stand against the religion. How should we respond to them?

There is a disease-like perception, which once used to be brought into the agenda so often and now recurring many times: To suppose that the religion is an impediment to the advancement and to look for the causes of Islamic countries being behind of Christian countries in the religion of Islam.

I would like to point out some issues before responding to this belief, through which we could get to the first answer of the question.

First point:

At the times when the religion of Islam had been rising, Muslims were subjected to the oppressions and tyranny of polytheists, and afterwards set up a state and kept progressing as back as one century before. The Era of Bliss being an era of faith, morality, justice, and welfare is the first evidence to that. Umayyad of Andalusia being a pioneer to Europe in science, and the wonders that the Seljuks and the Ottomans achieved in both knowledge and art are not to be overlooked.

Here we need to distinguish between the words Islam and Muslim. Who progress or drop behind are Muslims. Islam is what it is.

This day I have perfected for you your Religion (with all its rules, commandments and universality), completed My favor upon you, and have been pleased to assign for you Islam as religion. (Al-Maidah Surah, 5:3)

Then we need to seek the answer to this question:

Were we loyal to Islam more when we established empires or when we were behind?

Another point:

Those who put forward Islam as a reason for Muslims staying behind need to speak about Islam itself rather than Muslims, and to set out by saying these decrees of the Quran and these and those hadiths of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) are hindrances for advancement and to produce their proofs.

For example, they need to prove that prohibition of telling lies, tyranny, adultery, stockpiling, interest, backbiting, racism; in short, any sort of ill doing is a hindrance to advancement.

Third point:

Those who blame Islam for Christians being more advanced than Muslims need to do one more thing, which is to survey Bible in order to find out the bases of todays technology and material well being and to say that Muslims are backward since they have been deprived of those. This is something impossible. For, there is no single verse in the Bible with regard to neither the economic life nor the state management.

Having indicated one more point lastly, we shall pass to the answer of the question:

Those who put forward this claim need to prove that it is Islam, which stipulates a kind of system of education, which makes the hard-working, active, zealous, upright, patriotic people of previous times into the reckless, fraud supporting, lustful, selfish ones of today.

Now let us try to give an answer to the question by basing it upon the views of Bediuzzaman Said Nursi, the author of the Risale-i Nur:

In the book The Flashes from the Risale-i Nur Collection, Bediuzzaman poses this question: Since truth will prevail is the truth, why has the infidel prevailed over the Muslim, and force over right?

The answer to this question is given from four different aspects but satisfactorily.

He first dwells on causes and draws our attention to the fact that causes and reasons coincide with each other. Be it Muslim or disbeliever, whoever meets the preliminary conditions of the achievement they expect and observe their causes and reasons, they will have the success. It is clear how to be benefited from a tool under what conditions, with what techniques, and with what kind of planning. Whoever observe these rules and carry out causes, they will have the success.

The word force in the question above is mentioned as follows, Force possesses a truth; there is an underlying meaning in its creation.

If you want to be successful and desire to get the better of your adversaries, you need to try to be powerful. For power also possesses a truth. Those who take hold of the power are most likely to come out winner. If you make wood and steel collide, it is obvious that wood will smash.

Secondly, he handles the question with regard to the qualities in man. All beautiful qualities have been mentioned in the Quran, and have been put into practice most perfectly by the Messenger of Allah. However, a Muslim may not be able to demonstrate them in his/her practices considering the factors of evil-self, Satan, the corrupted state of society and so on. Again, a non-Muslim may have some fine manners because of the education s/he has received and of social structure. These are his/her Muslim qualities. What contradict with each other are not the beliefs in hearts but these qualities.

Let us give an example from the life of commerce: The qualities such as experience, uprightness, the order of working, having principles have direct impacts on the outcome of commerce. If a non-Muslim possesses these qualities and again if a Muslim lacks these qualities, it is most probable that a non-Muslim be wealthier than a Muslim is. Here, a non-Muslim does not get the better of a Muslim, but Muslim qualities get the better of non-Muslim qualities. However, finally, it is always still the truths.

He proceeds to make another comment, which broadens our horizons: Furthermore, in this world the right of life is general and all-embracing. It is a universal mercy that has a meaningful manifestation, a wise inner purpose, which unbelief does not impede.

The right of life is general and all embracing. That is, in this respect, there is no difference between believer and unbeliever, human and animal. Whoever has been given life is also given sustenance. Sustenance is given not to belief or worship but to life. The right of belief and worship is the eternal bliss in the Hereafter.

Setting out from here, we can continue as follows:

There are different mirrors and different places for each name of Allah Almighty. Most of them are not related to the faith of an individual. For example, if a farmer, who wants to get more shares from the manifestation of name of Provider, meets the necessary conditions, he will enjoy more crops in his field. Here the faith of the person does not matter at all. Again, a person, who wants to enjoy the manifestation of the name of Healer on himself/herself, takes the useful medication for his/her illness. His/her faith is not to be taken into consideration either. Because this person has known how to require the manifestation of this name and in return healing has been bestowed upon him/her. Someone who does not take this procedure may not heal even if s/he is a perfect believer.

Thus, if a believer wishes to make use of the manifestations of divine names, s/he must be a mirror worthy of those manifestations. If s/he does not do that, s/he gets nothing. However, the same believer becomes a candidate for the Divine bounties in the realm of Hereafter by engaging in worship, good deeds, and sincerity.

A person who does not fulfill these conditions cannot get his/her share from the Paradise no matter how much successful s/he may be.

In the same place, he calls on our attention to the third point of the matter:

He says that Allah has two separate systems of laws. One of them is the decrees of the Quran, which puts mans actions into order pertaining to will. The other one is the laws that arrange the order of the universe and the objects in it. The first is Sharia. The second is called code of laws pertaining to the worldly life, which is the second type of Sharia. The laws of nature are from this second type of Sharia.

Those who obey or oppose the decrees of the Quran will get their reward or punishment mostly in the Hereafter, and those who conform or not with the code of laws pertaining to the worldly life will be rewarded or punished in this world. Those who do not act in accordance with the code of laws pertaining to the worldly life suffer from poverty, wretchedness, and misery. As for a non-Muslim who conforms with these rules in accordance with the Divine will even unknowingly, s/he receives his/her reward in this world.

These three issues are basic factors for success or failures. And most of the events is explained with one or a few of them. Nevertheless, sometimes although we have done everything necessary, we may fail to achieve our goals. Here we are obliged to seek a hidden aspect of mercy of divine ordaining. Now in the fourth part of the answer, he points to this issue and draws our attention to the divine determining and will.

In the fourth point, he suggests that unbelief gets the better of the truth assists and strengthens the flourishing of the truth.

This point is important in this respect:

The Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) in a hadith says, Most of the troubles come to the prophets and to the other beloved servants of Allah (SWT) in accordance with their degrees.

That most of the prophets were insulted, driven away from their homes and inflicted torture upon comes true with a Divine wisdom. The hardship they face, as Bediuzzaman puts it, is like worship.

The worship, which is based on the principle of patience, trust in Allah (SWT) and is quite hard to endure, deserves an enormous reward. With these hardships, the prophets and the beloved servants of Allah Almighty progress spiritually and besides their Divine causes gain the heart of people even if late. While those who oppressed them are tortured in their graves, their communities live and let, live the truth on earth.

Just as day and night are of use differently in the growing of a plant, so are effects of the manifestations of Glory and Beauty of Allah in the growing up of human spirit.

This is a Divine wisdom. Hardships and calamities that are visited on the Companions of Truth have nothing to do with the first three points.

[shamandrummer]

Out of the Darkness, Light

From Hitler's Rischstag Fire to 9/11, history is beset with instances of governments using terrorist attacks to justify invasions or suspend civil liberties indefinitely. The Reichstag fire was an arson attack on the Reichstag building, home of the German parliament in Berlin, on February 27, 1933, precisely four weeks after Adolf Hitler was sworn in as Chancellor of Germany. Hitler's government stated that Marinus van der Lubbe, a Dutch council communist, was the culprit, and it attributed the fire to communist agitators. A German court decided later that year that Van der Lubbe had acted alone, as he had claimed. The day after the fire, the Reichstag Fire Decree was passed. The Nazi Party used the fire as a pretext to claim that communists were plotting against the German government, which made the fire pivotal in the establishment of Nazi Germany.

After the September 11, 2001 attacks, restrictions on civil liberties began to grow. The attack spawned wars to export democracy abroad, while degrading it at home. Our military actions, from Afghanistan and Iraq to Syria, have reflected increased investments in the military, accompanied by diminished attention to political change, economic development and institution-building -- the essential prerequisites for democratic freedoms. Fear of terrorism has justified excessive and persistent suspension of good governance, ultimately creating more fertile ground for terrorists. Our leaders have nurtured a crisis of "domestic terrorism" within U.S. borders, perpetrated not by foreigners, but by U.S. citizens.

The question is not, "is it happening?" but, "why is it happening?" To fully comprehend the "why" of it, we must first understand the meaning of the Latin phrase "ordo ab chao" or "order out of chaos." The  expression "order out of chaos" or more accurately translated, "out of chaos, order" is the idea that the order of the world emerges out of chaos or the undifferentiated. The term is often used to capture a fundamental dimension of evolutionary change within nature. It has become popular in contemporary times to identify chaos as a precondition for transformation, rebirth and creativity.

However, to our political leaders and their inner circles, chaos is a way of getting power and keeping it. That is, if you can create just the right crisis or chaos, you will necessarily get a citizen outcry for the kind of solution or order that you wanted to have all along. It really is a "shock and awe" military strategy based on achieving rapid dominance over an adversary by the initial imposition of overwhelming force and firepower. Politicians engage in shock and awe politics in order to stun their opponents into inaction.

The idea that the order of the world emerges out of chaos is actually not new at all. It was preceded by more ancient principles such as "lux in tenebris," or "light out of darkness." Light out of darkness is an expression of an ancient wisdom about the relationship of complementary opposites in nature. In the eastern tradition of Taoism, light and darkness are represented by yin and yang, each of which contains the seed of its opposite within it as expressed in the ancient Chinese symbol (T'ai Chi Tu) of the yin-yang. The two teardrop figures within the circle illustrate the balance between the dark yin and the light yang. The black vibration of yin is dark, passive, feminine, nurturing, intuitive, and corresponds to earth or matter. The white vibration of yang is light, active, masculine, creative, expansive, and corresponds to heaven or spirit. Yin and yang pulsate within all things and in unison, they are the moving force of nature and all its manifestations.

Various mystery traditions such as Hermeticism had similar concepts such as "As above, so below" and "As within, so without." In Hermeticism, the phrase "As above so below" can be taken to indicate that earthly matters reflect the operation of the Cosmos. In other words, the human experience is a microcosm of the macrocosm we call the universe. Each human being is a hologram of the Cosmos, a weaving together of universal information from a particular point of view. Essentially, we are the universe experiencing itself in human form.

The idea that "As within, so without" can be found in the world's indigenous shamanic traditions. In the shaman's world, all human experience is self-generated -- our inner thoughts actually create what we see and experience. Everything that we perceive began with a thought. The structure of our universe is thought, mind and consciousness. Consciousness determines the form of our experience. The shaman traverses the inner planes of consciousness in order to change and shape experience. It is an inward spiritual journey of rapture in which the shaman interacts with the inner world, thereby influencing the outer world.

Shamanic rites involve many technologies for inducing altered states of consciousness. These vary from drum and dance to ingesting sacred plants. Practitioners enter trance states in order to perceive and interact with the inner world of the self. The essence of shamanism is the experience of direct revelation from within. Shamanism is about remembering, exploring and developing the true self. Shamanism places emphasis on the individual, of breaking free and discovering one's own uniqueness in order to bring something new back to the community. The goal is inner transformation; not outer.

Those who presently call the shots and pull the strings on the world stage only use "order out of chaos" to create favorable circumstances for themselves; to gain and sustain the same authoritarian power relations. For the power elite, external order is the goal. To achieve their goals, they first create the conditions for chaos/disorder to bring about order. The controlled chaos we are witnessing in society today is the direct result of the coordinated efforts by some to turn people against each other. This is a classic "divide and conquer" strategy.

A highly centralized government relies mainly on lies, fear and economic prosperity to maintain equilibrium. Allegiance is achieved through various means of socialization and indoctrination. Political propaganda emphasizes material and technical development while suppressing access to personal revelation and spiritual experience. Citizens are discouraged from thinking for themselves and required to follow the laws of secular authorities regardless of the discrepancy between what is legal and what is considered to be moral, ethical and right. The individual is left morally and spiritually impaired; their soul abandoned in darkness and chaos while urged to acquiesce to the needs of the collective.

This imbalance is reaching such heights that the pendulum of change will soon begin swinging back in the opposite direction. The movement for external transformation will reach a psychological extinction -- meaning there just won't be a situation chaotic enough or carrot sweet enough to keep people hoping external transformation and order will bring salvation without a shift in the internal direction. People will begin to realize the limits of external order when their internal worlds are in chaos, thus discovering the seed of the one in the other… out of the darkness, light!

[adrischrv]

REGNUM [L.H] - Chapter Two

Author´s Note: Here´s the next chapter of my King!Luke fanfic. English is not my first language so let me know if there are any mistakes. 

Word count: 1,801

Warning: Accident.

Introduction. Chapter One.

I had never seen the Irwin brothers in person. I could imagine them and quickly relate them to the cruelty of their father, Henry II. It was said that Maredale and Lauxwell were twin kingdoms because of their geographical location, but they were too different in their development. Lauxwell was a kingdom forged from cruelty, exploitation of its inhabitants, and the desire for destruction to achieve its construction. It was a rather chaotic kingdom and its leaders were not known to be friendly; but they were rich, a lot; more than Gardenstone and Maredale alone. 

The coal-black hair of both stood out. Lauren's hair was long and matched her sensual silhouette, and on her left, Ashton was as strong and dominant as his features; but the real beauty in that man was his hazel eyes; and not to mention his green suit, both brothers were a magnificent sight. 

“Pardon the interruption, your highnesses, your majesty-” Ashton spoke again, this time stepping forward. “My sister and I believe that a dance is necessary to introduce us to the new face.”

Ashton approached me in a bow that I reciprocated, took my hand and kissed it, pausing at my knuckles carefully to add: "What a crime it would be to lose sight of your beauty."

I couldn't help but blush, but with my future father-in-law and brother-in-law's eyes on me, I had to try. 

I withdrew my hand with a little shame and it took me two seconds to remember my name. 

“No problem, your…”

“...Majesty. Surely you know of my father's recent death. My sister Lauren and I rule Lauxwell now," Ashton completed, looking at Luke and the King sideways. “We still don't know who it was, but I can assure you that the guilty party will pay for it.“

As Ashton stood next to her sister again, King Robert indicated something to Luke with a serious face. The prince took his companion aside and spoke aloud. 

“Are you insinuating something, your majesty? I recommend you to be clever and do it with a weapon at hand... “ With a sign, the guards handed him two swords. “It is cowardly to throw the stone and hide the hand.”

Luke began to roll up his sleeves, watching Ashton with an arrogant smile. Lauren's gaze met mine, indicating that she was afraid. Not for Ashton, for Luke. 

Ashton laughed, grabbing a sword and admiring its edge.

Contrary to what I thought, Queen Susan and my mother took their seats without commenting on the duel that was about to begin. King Robert made eye contact with Prince Jake in the distance, but he did nothing to stop his son. 

The people around us fixed their attention on that pair by opening up space, the violinists stopped and the bets disguised as whispers increased as did the tension.

“If I win," Luke spoke, "you will both leave the Gardenstone and never set foot here again for the rest of your lives.”

I waited for King Robert to interrupt him and contradict him, the prince couldn't do that. His Majesty did not flinch at all. 

“If I win," Ashton followed him into position, "we have unlimited entry and stay at Gardenstone. Also, I would like to have the pleasure of dancing with Princess Amberly, if she agrees.”

My mother smiled approvingly, enjoying the show in which my company was a bet. 

“All right," I replied to both of them. “I will add a condition since I have been put in this medieval act. At the first drop of blood, both of you must stop.”

They nodded, anxious to be able to throw themselves at each other. Luke imitated the position that Ashton had taken and once King Robert indicated it, the clash of swords began. 

It was sad to admit, but I didn't know much about dueling. It had been centuries since it was practiced as a sport so I couldn't tell who was winning, but even someone like me with little knowledge in the art of dueling could notice the grace with which Ashton held on after each thrust and although Prince Luke didn't match him, he put his strategy into practice to try and avoid it. 

Luke's sword grazed Ashton's side, tearing his green pants, without a drop of blood outside. Lauren moved over to my side, in comparison to me she didn't look at them in horror, it was fun for her to watch the duel. 

“Your Highness, this is not the right time, but we wanted to give you this humble detail in the name of Lauxwell," she said, offering a necklace with an emerald hanging from it. 

I took it and admired both the luster and the price. In Maredale it would cost a fortune to wear something like this. 

“Thank you very much, Your Majesty," I smiled. “It is beautiful.”

Lauren smiled back. A roar followed by applause turned our attention to that pair.

Ashton had left his sword on the floor. He was sweating a bit and his hair was out of place. Luke was lying next to the sword with just a drop of blood running down his throat. The black-haired man offered him a hand but he refused, choosing to stand up with effort.

“You've gotten better, Luke," Ashton said, wiping herself with a cloth to make her look just as flawless as before. “Just... not good enough.”

The crowd resumed the event as soon as the violins started the next song, and just as he'd said, King Ashton offered his arm, gently leading me to the floor. 

“Your Highness, how do you feel at Gardenstone?” He asked, swaying me to the music as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

“Comfortable," I replied, raising my hands with his following the dance. “I am afraid I haven't seen anything else than my room since I arrived.”

“Why not?” He asked.

We followed the couples who jumped and clapped before returning to the conversation.

“I can't, my wedding is... let's say it's coming up.”

“Can I call you Amberly?” He asked behind me following the dance, I nodded. “The truth is, Amberly, you should be exploring your future kingdom. You should be able to choose what your future kingdom will be. I should be in mine, waiting for you to arrive to consider my alliance and fulfill my destiny without the need to take up arms; but I don't. Do you have any idea why this is not so?”

I denied with my head, I had some ideas in my mind but his narration was entertaining and his eyes shone perfectly with the light of the chandelier bursting in his face. 

“Because we have new opportunities, we create them," he replied. “I firmly believe that everything happens for a reason, there is always a reason.”

He was right, maybe I shouldn't have let my mother choose my alliance, maybe the alliance with Gardenstone didn't have to happen. Between three realms the possibilities were almost endless. 

“The horrible things that people say happen in my kingdom, every single one of them... are true, I'm afraid," Ashton continued. “My father, my grandfather... my blood has taken care of it, but I'm different, I have to be.”

It was a very heavy promise to remove slavery and exploitation from a territory as vast as Lauxwell. Understanding how unrealistic it sounded to me, Ashton approached my ear and added:

“Fate has no power in the now, we do.”

Applause filled the room again as the song ended, and amidst the reverence, Luke was present again. 

“I'll have to steal the princess for the next piece," he announced, taking my hands in his to push Ashton away. 

“That's not…”

“I wasn't on the deal, it's my turn to dance with her," Luke interrupted, silencing any protest. 

Unable to afford to be rude, I placed my hands around his neck and he grabbed me by the waist. A slow piece began to play. 

“You're very tense, your highness," I mentioned in an attempt to begin a conversation with him.

“Good point, I certainly am. Although it's not of your interest," Luke noted the rudeness of her tone and added, "Princess.”

He made me blink a couple of times, it didn't make sense to ask for a dance with me and then behave so... rude. 

“I'm sorry, did I do something wrong? Did I offend you in any way?” I asked in a different, more serious tone. “Because, as far as I remember, you didn't have time to be offended if you didn't deign to come to my welcome yesterday, prince.”

Luke focused on me, his jaw tightened for a few seconds and his hands clenched my waist slightly. Right at his royal pride. 

“Do you think you're smart, Amberly? Do you think my brother likes that?” Luke asked, clearly going past the formalities. “Because if you think so, you are wrong and very much so. My brother doesn't need someone like you, my father raised him to run the kingdom on his own. You will only get in the way. And if that's not enough, I don't like you. I never will.”

I stopped dancing, standing up straight and with a threatening look (my favorite) I responded. 

“I was also raised to run a kingdom on my own, and yet here I am, wasting my time with a complete brat. I ask you, your highness, to rethink who is in the way here.”

Luke, with surely a lousy counterattack in mind, was interrupted by shouts from all over the great hall.

The chandelier had fallen in the center, causing everything around it to catch fire. People began to run desperately in search of a way out, the guards helped guide them all to the southern garden through large doors. 

“Princess Amberly, Prince Luke, run!” Calum took us both running for the exit.

“Where is the king?!” I shouted to be heard amidst all the noise.

A couple of guards led us to the side of the garden where the people of the palace and the town were splitting up to find the people they were looking for. Panic overcame me when I saw so many people scared. 

Three guards surrounded us, a little further away from us was Lidia with several sobbing girls, even the blonde that Luke had brought with her, but there was no sign of the king or queen, let alone Jake. 

“And the king? Calum, tell me you saw him, where is he?” Luke asked for answers.

A man who looked like Calum walked quickly towards us, the guards followed him with briefcases in hand. One seemed to take out a Bible and once in front of Luke, the man spoke. 

“He's here. It's you, you are the new king.”

[tiramisiyu]

【未定事件簿】 Tears of Themis: “Romantic Rail Getaway” Xia Yan Route, Day 3

Translation Masterlist | Event Masterlist

Xia Yan Route: Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5

Videos, where applicable, are hyperlinked on the headings in the post.

See under cut!

Part 1: Park Countryside

[Gameplay]

Part 2: Scenic Plains

[Gameplay]

 Part 3: Indigenous Village - “The Truth Behind the Rumours”

On the third day of the trip, the weather was still bright and sunny, suitable for traveling.

After enjoying a sumptuous breakfast filled with Tambuyani’s characteristics, the train arrived right then at the Tambuyani National Park stop.

Following the route we checked yesterday, we walked into the indigenous village and arrived in front of the door to Jerry’s house, under the guidance of the villagers.

MC: Hello, may I ask if you are Mr. Jerry?

Jerry: Who… are you two?

An indigenous young man looked vigilantly at us. His arm drooped unnaturally on one side, looking like he’d just been injured.

Looks like this man in front of us is the person we’re looking for.

MC: We ran into your friend yesterday at the Anma indigenous village. She was worried about your injury, and asked us to check up on you.

I thought about it and found an excuse that seemed fairly reasonable.

Sure enough, Jerry’s expression looked like he’d relaxed quite a lot.

Jerry: I didn’t think she was this worried for me… ah, don’t worry, my wounds are no big deal.

Jerry: I’ve rested for these two days, and I’ve nearly back to normal. In a few days, I’ll be able to return to the mine and work.

Xia Yan: Right, your friend also told us that there was an incident at your mine recently… exactly what was the situation?

Jerry: Ah, why’s she like this… she even told you guys this?

--

INTERROGATION START

Kuru Mine

MC: We’re already talking about it, so you might as well chat with us about this thing on your mine.

Jerry: It’s actually nothing big – just that a few days ago in the mine, some miners and mine bosses fought.

Jerry: The mine doesn’t see us as people at all. We work lots and receive little wages, and all they care about is having us dig up gems without regard to day or night.

Jerry: Say, if anyone were in this position, who would be able to deal with this treatment?

Jerry: Plus, the cause of this matter was the mine’s problem to begin with.

Jerry: Some time back, a miner named Mark at our mine dug up a massive golden gem.

Jerry: Thinking he’d struck it rich, Mark couldn’t resist showing it off to us. Who would’ve known… ugh…

In Jerry’s somewhat messy narration, my ears caught onto the important point we wanted. [1]

 [1] TL Note: Likely due to an accident, this line was displayed as something that Jerry said.

Mark the Miner

MC: Hmm? What happened with Mark?

Jerry: Mark dug up a large gem, and originally thought that he could finally live a good life…

Jerry: Who would’ve known that the mine’s people would straight-up take the gem for themselves, without even giving him a bonus.

Jerry: In unbearable anger, Mark fought with the mine bosses. In the chaos, he snatched away that gem and jumped off the cliff behind the mine…

MC: How could it end up like this…

Golden Gem

MC: Approximately how large was the golden gem that Mark dug up?

Jerry: I’m estimating that it’s around the size of my palm.

Jerry: I’m not exaggerating – I really have never seen a gem this big in my life.

MC: (Looks like this gem is indeed the golden gem in Xia Yan’s commission.)

INTERROGATION COMPLETE

--

Jerry: Ah, don’t shoot off your mouth to others about this, otherwise I…

Jerry hesitated for a second. When he wanted to continue talking, a severe voice sounded from behind us –

???: What nonsense are you talking about!

A young person, looking like he wasn’t a Tambuyani local, rushed at us with quick steps, bringing several people with him.

As soon as Jerry saw him, he immediately lowered his head, his expression extremely panicked.

MC: You are…

???: I warned you early on! Don’t talk blindly as you wish to outside people. You want to violate rules without authorization?

That person paid no attention whatsoever to Xia Yan or me, rushing straight at Jerry.

???: Let’s go. Come with me right now.

Seeing that person grabbing Jerry, wanting to drag him away, Xia Yan immediately blocked him off.

Xia Yan: Back off.

???: I’m just talking with a person from our mine. What do you outside people wanna do?

Jerry: Um… this is our mine’s… mine boss.

Jerry’s expression was panicked, looking like he was terribly afraid of this miner boss.

MC: You do not have the right to take people away as you wish.

Miner Boss: Hah, it’s not your place to interfere with our mine matters, is it?!

[Gameplay]

Miner Boss: Hmph, not gonna bother wasting words with you.

Miner Boss: Let’s go, Jerry. Your injury leave has ended, and it’s just about time for you to return to the mine and work.

The miner boss grabbed tightly onto Jerry’s arm, like he was afraid we’d pull him over.

Jerry: …

MC: Wait!

Without waiting for me to say more refuting words, that miner boss dragged Jerry onto his Jeep.

We could only watch with our eyes wide open as his car drove arrogantly off.

  Part 4: Countryside Outside the Village

[Gameplay]

 Part 5: Park’s Sea of Grass

[Gameplay]

 Part 6: The Weight of Truth

Tambuyani National Park

MC: …

Standing on the grass under the dusky sunset, I had no time to view the painting-like sceneries of Tambuyani National Park as I lowered my head and quietly sighed.

Xia Yan: Are you still thinking about what happened during the day?

MC: Mhmm. I didn’t think that behind the disappearance of the golden gem, there would actually be this many people implicated.

Xia Yan: The mine originally wanted to rely on the gem that Mark the miner dug up to earn a big sum…

Xia Yan: But they didn’t think that Mark would get in a dispute with the mine, even dropping off the cliff with the gem during the conflict, his whereabouts unknown.

Xia Yan: With no way to execute the gem transaction, the manager of the mine could only pretend like the transaction never happened.

MC: I wonder how Mark the miner is right now, and where that golden gem has gone.

Xia Yan: Based on the clues we asked about during the day, it seems like no one is sure about the whereabouts of the golden gem and Mark. This will be somewhat hard to deal with…

MC: The mine’s oppression of their staff implicated lots of people… there probably is lots of information to dig out behind it.

Xia Yan: Too bad that miner named Jerry was taken away by the miner boss. If we had the chance, it would’ve been great to chat more with him.

MC: Yeah, the miner boss’s timing really was bad. Just when we asked about the essential parts, he arrived!

Xia Yan: It’s very evident that he knows about everything that happens in the indigenous village like the back of his hand.

MC: Are you saying… that he’s monitoring this place?

Xia Yan: To be exact, he’s trying to cover the truth, and in the meanwhile, monitoring for the movements of the golden gem.

Xia Yan chose a relatively flat piece of grassy area and tugged me down to sit with him, then started to analyze slowly with me.

Xia Yan: There are probably two purposes behind why the mine would monitor the miners.

Xia Yan: One, to prevent the minors from revealing information to the outside and generating a souring of public opinion.

Xia Yan: Two, to prevent mutual collusion between miners and sheltering Mark… or secretly moving the golden gem.

MC: So… once the miner boss was alerted to how we were inquiring on things related to the golden gem, he immediately took Jerry away by force…

MC: He must be afraid that we have some sort of business deal with Jerry, right?

Xia Yan: I’m guessing that to him, the two of us must be the top-rank dangerous people.

Thinking about the miner boss’s fiendish look from before he left, I felt anxious and frightened.

This is bad – he couldn’t have done something to Jerry, right…

MC: Ugh, it would be great if we had evidence to prove that the mine was violating local labor laws.

Xia Yan: I’ve got it! I’ve thought up of a method we could do!

Xia Yan turned on his phone and opened up the train route picture, poking at the red dot on the screen with his finger.

That was the route picture that indicated where the train would be going through tomorrow. On the map, the name “Kuru Mine” was listed boldly.

Xia Yan: Tomorrow, the train will stop near Kuru Mine. There are mine pit flower fields there that are extremely close to the gem mine.

Xia Yan: When time comes, we can ostensibly be sightseeing as we explore near the mine.

MC: Awesome. If we can get our hands on feasible evidence, we can offer the evidence to the local police!

Xia Yan: And so, tomorrow’s itinerary arrangements are set.

MC: Mhmm, I’m sure those lawbreakers will definitely pay the price for what they’ve done!