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brooklynmuseum · 4 years

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Springtime in Brooklyn by Nancy Rosoff, Andrew W. Mellon Senior Curator, Arts of the Americas

As I look out my window at the falling rain, I know that these April showers will soon be followed by May’s flowers. The vibrant colors of budding trees and blossoming flowers give us hope that we will overcome the current crisis, and the world will be rejuvenated, stronger, and more unified. The following works from the Brooklyn Museum’s diverse collection celebrate the arrival of Spring and our hope for a healthy and more peaceful world.

Brightly colored plants and flowers made of faience once decorated the walls of the Great Palace of king Akhenaten at Amarna. Sun light and the disk of the sun itself became the focus of religious worship in the Amarna period (1353-13336 B.C.E.). The floral motifs of these tiles were meant to evoke rebirth of life brought about by the sun. See the artwork in our open collection.

While the Nile was revered as a life-giving place, the desert was also teeming with nature. Here one can see animals breeding in their desert environs. To the right, a feline is showing interest in another feline. At the lower left, a male antelope, mounting his mate, rears his head into the row above. At the lower right, the hindquarters of an antelope giving birth and the emerging head of her calf are partly preserved. The bovine calf at center left completes this depiction of the cycle of life. See the artwork in our open collection.

This detail from a Nasca mantle not only illustrates some of the plants and animals native to Peru’s South Coast, but it also conveys how the society’s spiritual beliefs are connected to agricultural seasons. The blossoming huarango tree seen here represents life and is shown growing out of a human trophy head on the back of a pampas cat. The trophy head symbolizes death but it is also a germinating seed from which life sprouts in a never-ending cycle of life, death, and rebirth. See the artwork in our open collection.

This late-seventeenth-century painting from viceregal Peru shows Saint Joseph standing hand-in-hand with the Christ Child in a field of blooming flora and enclosed within a border of bright carnations and lilies. Saint Joseph’s popularity flourished at this moment in the Spanish Americas as he embodied ideals of fatherhood, marriage, divinity, and masculinity. Here, he holds a stem of white lilies, which symbolize his holiness and purity. See the artwork in our open collection.

This sculpture would have served as a means for people to contact spiritual intermediaries for aid. Its raised arms are said to refer to prayers for rain, crucial to survive and thrive in arid the Mopti Region of Mali. See the artwork in our open collection.

The use of naturalistic floral motifs, such as carnations, tulips, and hyacinths, was a trademark of the design workshop of the Ottoman court in Istanbul in the mid-sixteenth century. This design principle was adopted in central and distant areas of the empire and applied to different media, such as manuscript illuminations made in Istanbul, textiles made in Bursa, and tiles made in Iznik and Damascus. This octagonal tile from Syria brings the beauty of spring indoors permanently. See the artwork in our open collection.

Vibrant greens and blues bring a spring woodland scene inside the Museum, creating an eternal verdant landscape. The effects of changing sunlight or a passing cloud can animate the glass used to depict the stream, tree trunks and leaves. Originally installed in the Universalist Church of Our Father at Classon and Atlantic Avenues in Brooklyn, the windows were purchased by the All Souls Universalist Church on Ocean Avenue and installed in 1945, before coming to the Brooklyn Museum a few years ago. Tiffany Studio was extremely skilled at creating panoramas that open onto lush, brilliantly colored vistas. See the artwork in our open collection.

This elaborately decorated cabinet brought ever-blooming flowers into the owner’s bedroom. Inspired by Japanese precedents, New York’s most important late-19th-century furniture manufacturing firm Herter Brothers employed different colored woods to create the densely packed, abstracted flowers and leaves on this luxurious, yet functional chest-of-drawers. See the artwork in our open collection.

In the Japanese tradition, cherry blossom season is a time for celebration: the world wakes up after a long winter and people head outside to gather under the pink-and-white canopies created by trees that seemed barren only a week or two earlier. This year the picnics were cancelled, but in nature the show goes on whether there’s an audience or not. See the artwork in our open collection.

In this painting, Gustave Caillebotte offers a glimpse of his private garden in Petit Gennevilliers, a small village on the Seine opposite Argenteuil. The apple blossoms are rendered in thick touches of paint, which contrast with the sketchy treatment of the path that leads toward the denser foliage beyond the tree. See the artwork in our open collection.

Nothing celebrates Spring more than this dazzling child’s cap with its delicate beadwork on vibrant rose-colored velvet. It was lovingly made by the mother or female relative of a little girl who would have worn it with pride during special occasions. See the artwork in our open collection.

A table set with bread and coffee in a blooming garden along a sun-dappled path conjures the pleasures of the warmer months to come. Robert Delaunay would become known later in his career for more abstract work, but in this early painting the 19 year old artist was still working under the influence of Impressionism. See the artwork in our open collection.

Redolent with the sweet scent of peonies, American Impressionist Ernest Lawson paints his flowerbeds in a dazzling display of jewel like tones in the Cos Cob art-colony located along the Connecticut shore. See the artwork in our open collection.

This Balinese cover features bright brocade rosettes in purple, blue, red, yellow, and green. The gilded gold overpaint features patra cina designs borrowed from Chinese floral patterns. Together, they create a glittering textile that is awash with color and floral motifs. See the artwork in our open collection.

One of the Brooklyn Museum’s most important Japanese paintings is a folding screen showing a group of urbanites walking together, followed by a musician and a servant with a big box. The only clue that they are heading to a cherry-blossom-viewing picnic comes from a woman who extends a branch of flowering cherry back toward a group of men. Attached to the branch is a long strip of paper of the type used traditionally in Japan for writing poems. What does the poem strip say? We don’t know, but it seems fair to guess that it serves as an invitation to romance. The screen reminds us that the spring tradition of partying beneath the cherry trees wasn’t solely about communing with nature. See the artwork in our open collection.

Inspired by Japanese folding screens or byōbu, Elizabeth Boott Duveneck’s five panels bring the natural world into the interior of the house depicting all four seasons from Autumn Foliage to Apple blossoms throughout the year. See the artwork in our open collection.

Beginning in the early 1930s, Consuelo Kanaga became one of few white photographers to make artistic portraits of Black Americans. This closely cropped and sharply focused image of a girl’s face with a flower was likely included in Group f.64’s inaugural exhibition in 1932, which announced a new realist direction in photography. Considered radical in its time, Frances with a Flower explores powerful ideas about beauty, gender, and race. See the artwork in our open collection.

Mary Wollstonecraft was a renowned women’s rights activist who authored "A Vindication of the Rights of Woman," (1792), a classic of rationalist feminism that is considered the earliest and most important treatise, advocating for equality and education for women. Akin to the nature of Spring, Wollstonecraft's life symbolized the fruition of a legacy—from which infinite linages of women continue to reap the fruits of her labor. See the artwork in our open collection.

With rose-patterned leggings and an elaborate floral armature/headdress, Nick Cave’s Soundsuit transforms the human body into a lush garden. Since the early 1990s, Cave has been fabricating inventive sculptures out of scavenged materials, which he often overlays with beadwork, stitching, and other embellishments. One of the first, crafted from twigs, was made to be worn and created a rustling sound, which led to the eventual name of such works: Soundsuits. Cave’s costumes draw from a variety of sources, including both African and Caribbean traditions of masquerade. See the artwork in our open collection.

Posted by Nancy Rosoff with contributions from the Curators and Curatorial Assistants of African, American, Ancient Egyptian, Arts of the Americas, Asian, Contemporary, Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for Feminist Art, and Islamic Art

Photos: Gary Alan Bukovnik (American, born 1947). Rhododendrum, 1980. Lithograph on paper. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of the artist, 81.15.2. © Gary Alan Bukovnik(Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Tile with Floral Inlays, ca. 1352-1336 B.C.E. Faience. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of the Egypt Exploration Society, 35.2001. Creative Commons-BY (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Relief with Desert Scene, ca. 2472-2455 B.C.E. Limestone, pigment. Brooklyn Museum, Charles Edwin Wilbour Fund, 64.147. Creative Commons-BY (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Nazca. Mantle ("The Paracas Textile"), 100-300 C.E. Cotton, camelid fiber. Brooklyn Museum, John Thomas Underwood Memorial Fund, 38.12; Cuzco School. Saint Joseph and the Christ Child, late 17th-18th century. Oil on canvas. Brooklyn Museum, Museum Expedition 1941, Frank L. Babbott Fund, 41.1275.191 (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Dogon. Nommo Figure with Raised Arms, 11th-15th century (possibly). Wood, organic sacrificial material. Brooklyn Museum, The Adolph and Esther D. Gottlieb Collection, 1989.51.39. Creative Commons-BY (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Octagonal Tile Depicting Peacock in Prunus Tree, 16th century. Ceramic; fritware, painted in black, cobalt blue, green, and manganese purple under a transparent glaze. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Jack A. Josephson, 1990.21. Creative Commons-BY (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Tiffany Studios (1902-1932). Dawn in the Woods in Springtime, 1905. Stained glass window. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of All Souls Bethlehem Church, 2014.17.1. Creative Commons-BY; Herter Brothers (American, 1865-1905). Chest-of-Drawers, ca. 1880. Ebonized cherry, other woods, modern marble top, brass. Brooklyn Museum, Modernism Benefit Fund, 1989.69. Creative Commons-BY (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Utagawa Hiroshige (Ando) (Japanese, 1797-1858). Suijin Shrine and Massaki on the Sumida River (Sumidagawa Suijin no Mori Massaki), No. 35 from One Hundred Famous Views of Edo, 8th month of 1856. Woodblock print. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Anna Ferris, 30.1478.35 (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Gustave Caillebotte (French, 1848-1894). Apple Tree in Bloom (Pommier en fleurs), ca. 1885. Oil on canvas. Brooklyn Museum, Bequest of William K. Jacobs, Jr., 1992.107.2 (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Woodlands. Child's Cap, ca. 1890s. Velvet, cloth, beads. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of the Edward J. Guarino Collection in memory of Josephine M. Guarino, 2016.11.2. Creative Commons-BY; Robert Delaunay (French, 1885-1941). In the Garden (Dans le jardin), 1904. Oil on canvas. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Iris and B. Gerald Cantor, 86.28 (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Ernest Lawson (American, 1873-1939). Garden Landscape, ca. 1915. Oil on canvas. Brooklyn Museum, Bequest of Laura L. Barnes, 67.24.10 (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Cover, 19th or early 20th century. Silk, pigment. Brooklyn Museum, Dick S. Ramsay Fund, 45.183.110. Creative Commons-BY; Cherry Blossom Viewing Picnic, ca. 1624-1644. Ink, color and gold leaf on paper. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Frederic B. Pratt, 39.87. Creative Commons-BY (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Elizabeth Boott Duveneck (American, 1846-1888). Apple Blossoms, 1882. Oil on wood panel. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Joan Harmen Brown, Mr. and Mrs. William Slocum Davenport, Mrs. Lewis Francis, Samuel E. Haslett, William H. Herriman, Joseph Jefferson IV, Clifford L. Middleton, the New York City Police Department, Mrs. Charles D. Ruwe, Charles A. Schieren, the University Club, Mrs. Henry Wolf, Austin M. Wolf, and Hamilton A. Wolf, by exchange, Frank Sherman Benson Fund, Museum Collection Fund, Dick S. Ramsay Fund, Carll H. de Silver Fund, John B. Woodward Memorial Fund, and Designated Purchase Fund , 2005.54.3 (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Consuelo Kanaga (American, 1894-1978). Frances with a Flower, early 1930s. Gelatin silver photograph. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Wallace B. Putnam from the Estate of Consuelo Kanaga, 82.65.10 (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Judy Chicago (American, b. 1939). The Dinner Party (Mary Wollstonecraft place setting), 1974–79. Mixed media: ceramic, porcelain, textile. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of the Elizabeth A. Sackler Foundation, 2002.10. © Judy Chicago. Photograph by Jook Leung Photography; Nick Cave (American, born 1959). Soundsuit, 2008. Mixed media. Brooklyn Museum, Mary Smith Dorward Fund, 2009.44a-b. © Nick Cave (Photo: Image courtesy of Robilant Voena)

#virtualtour #springtime #spring #brooklyn museum #museums #brooklyn #virtual tour #art #art museum #bkmtours #virtual tours

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agoddamn · 4 years

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I'm interested in how Fates does different storytelling from other games in the series and how a mystery writer influences it. I'm not a big fan of Fates hate and I love how the character designs inform the characters so much...but I struggle to like the story of Fates itself. I'm admittedly someone who plays super casual. I like doing as many supports in games to get character interactions/backstories, which is hard to do in Nohr storyline. I had a hard time getting past the whole (1/2)

“If we tell anyone Garon is an evil fake, we’ll die” Like that feels like weak writing. Which isn’t fair to hold against all of Fates, but really put me out of the story. I want to like Fates, but things keep pushing me against it. Is there a way I should approach it differently? (2/2)

The first thing I wanna say is that sometimes a story isn't for you and there's nothing at all wrong with that. There's nothing necessarily wrong with either you or the piece of media you're trying to get into if it just doesn't click with you.

I think it's important to look at Fates as a character-driven story, first and foremost. You ever watch, I dunno, Power Rangers or something? I'm not saying that Fates is Saban-level storytelling, but it's something where your attention is on what the characters are going through moreso than the details of how every gadget works.

Mystery writers tend to dispense only the details you absolutely need to tell the story. Even your red herrings should mean something, not be wasted space. Clues are disguised as basic elements you're supposed to overlook, so spewing loads of irrelevant information at the reader just isn't...artful, for lack of a better word. You want your readers to be making sensible deductions, not drowning under unrelated noise.

So, because Fates is a character-driven story, a lot of the setting is informed by implication; the writer isn't going to hand you a list of Nohr's resources, but he expects you to notice that only Nohr uses heavy armor. He expects you to notice that the Nohrsibs are used to lying to their father to protect themselves and realize the nightmare of their family life without having to say "Garon is abusive".

It's also possibly relevant--though this is totally me spitballing--that Japan, as both a culture and language, is really into being oblique. You are literally encouraged to drop subjects and objects from sentences because the listener should know what you're talking about by context. Look at haiku--purposely limited amounts of information communicating almost entirely through symbolism and intertextuality.

Or the story about the translator who said that it wasn't appropriate to translate "I love you" to Japanese because it's too direct, and instead "the moon is beautiful" should be used. It communicates the sentiment through contextual clues (you are supposed to imagine lovers walking together on a moonlit night), which is much more appropriate to Japanese. So this might also partly be a Japanese storytelling thing that comes across much more strongly in Fates than other games because Kibayashi is much more dyed in literary experience.

Third is that Fates has a genuinely bad localization, like, Christ. You take a character-driven game and remove ⅔ of the character dialog? Yeah, that's gonna fuck some things up!

There were also "localization choices" to make several elements of the game more consumable that also tore up the character drama. They downplayed the trauma of the Nohrsibs by rewriting Xander as a friendly, relatable big brother, which fundamentally ruins the tension of the Nohr family because Marx is supposed to be faintly scary.

The Nohrsibs are fundamentally abused children, and Marx, as the oldest, is the one most mired in his inability to confront that. He's the guy who's told in chapter 2 to execute his younger sibling and just goes "welp...guess I gotta". You are supposed to be worried throughout the game that he's going to side with Garon when the chips go down. But this makes him sound like a pussy, I guess, so they added a bunch of lines where early/midgame/support Xander explicitly says he wants to rebel against Garon--which confuses the shit out of the emotional arc of Conquest.

This is partly why the "we can't tell anyone about Garon because reasons" thing sounds so cheap to you. To be clear, I also find the crystal-of-plot-revealing-you-can-only-use-once pretty damn lame, but the underlying emotional tension there is supposed to be "we genuinely don't know if Marx or any of the other siblings will side with us against Garon". But you can't have that when Xander has already been established as a nice big bro who totally wants to take out Garon.

On the Hoshido side, they "edited" out mentions of explicit systemic sexism, I guess because sexism bad? But that sexism informs the bitter tragedy of "Queen Hinoka" and other female characters, where the English rewrite of "Hinoka had already decided that if Ryouma died she would pass up the throne" makes her sound selfish and lazy (not to mention callous, like you already were planning what you'd do if your brother died? Yeesh).

And in general a lot of jokes/purposely goofy lines were added, which is another thing that dilutes the character-driven moments.

Finally I do freely admit that it's a game with writing issues. It relies on plot devices like the Rainbow Sage or whatever's in Aqua's pockets too much, the kids are non-canon, and the earlygame is a bit too fast. These aren't dealbreakers for me, but they might be for you, and there's not really anything to do about that except suggesting you approach from a different angle.

So I guess my recommendations are these: try to think of it first and foremost as a character-driven story, a playground for these characters to express themselves and show emotion; check out some supports you don't have the energy to grind out on YouTube (all the royal ones are extremely good, and most of the C-A ones are great); and try looking up some of the translations of cut lines, which can sometimes give you a much more rounded understanding of a character. The fan translations tend to be on the dry side because they're being written by normal people without any kind of overseeing editor, so cut them a little slack for that, too.

#fates blogging #fire emblem fates #long text #bootsmeta

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dragonrajafanfiction · 4 years

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Dragon Dancer IV: Goodbye, Tokyo

I stood behind Zihang’s chair, running a lock of his dark hair through with a comb, spreading the shiny strands in my fingers, and then, taking a pair of shears, snipped the ends into a straight line.

Chu Zihang sat quiet and still. Were it not for his coal black eyes, wide like an elk’s, I would have thought he was just the same as always.

Meanwhile, Lu Mingfei examined himself in the mirror turning his head back and forth examining my work.. “Not bad, Meix- er... Fengchu.”

I glanced at him with a small smile. “Thanks. I had a lot of practice.”

There were large and small boxes all over the floor. Some boxes contained light and heavy weapons, some boxes contained medicines and clothing for all seasons. Others contained compressed food, enough for the four of us to live in a wasteland.

Two boxes were just for supplies for Ru’Yi including diapers of different sizes, reusable cloth ones.

It didn’t feel like fleeing, but like moving.

I walked around Chu Zihang to work on the bangs over his eyes. It was his usual haircut. Of course, he didn’t know that.

“Wow, what a handsome style this is turning out to be....” Nono rubbed her chin.

“He’s handsome in any style.” I said.

Zihang glanced down, his cheeks turning a little pink.

“All the girls should chase him, but he has no one even in high school?” Nono asked suspiciously.

I was grateful for that, of course, but I bit my tongue and stepped away. “What do you think?”

“I like it.” He said in an almost inaudible mumble.

Lu Mingfei was watching us, his eyes distant. Who knew what he was thinking?But I could guess.

Erii. Did she cut his hair like this? I looked up but he turned away before I could say anything and pulled a cap on his head.

I opened my mouth to say something.

“I’ll be back later.” He said, picking up Chu Zihang’s backpack.

“What are you doing with his pack?” Nono asked.

“I have some...shopping... we still lack a detailed map and I won’t be using Fingel’s navigation until we can make sure he is not being tracked. There’s a bookstore nearby.”

“Cold-hearted! I would rather toss myself in the nearest toilet than betray you but you still distrust me!” came the voice of Fingel from his pocket.

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

I went back to my room, planning to go to bed early, after feeding Ru’Yi well. This might be the last time we could sleep together in comfort like this. I looked down at Ru’Yi’s dark eyes. They were heavy with fatigue but she stayed awake. I wondered if she would grow up on the run. I thought to myself that maybe I could find a place for us to hide for a while. I’d change my name and then one day, I would tell her the truth about everything that happened around her birth.

How just like the Christ, she’d been attacked as a young child and we had to flee. And a handsome young man from the East came bearing her gifts.

She fell asleep quickly and I swaddled her and set her on a folded blanket on the floor.

A knock sounded at the door. I grabbed Tongzi and walked up to the foyer. “Who is it?” I called.

“It’s Saeki-kun!”

I frowned. “Who is Saeki-kun? I don’t know that name.”

I heard a loud sigh. “It’s Crow. I don’t want to be called that you know.”

I cracked the door, eying him in suspicion, not undoing the chain.

He looked at me with a hurt expression. “Really, all this and you come at me with a sword?”

Belatedly, I put the sword out of sight. “Don’t feel bad. I don’t really trust anyone any more. I know you say you’re watching your back but if I don’t watch mine, who’s going to watch it?”

He gave me a crooked smile. “I get it. Well, I won’t waste your time. I’m here to tell you about our escape plans. I’ve prepared ship for you. It’s a cargo ship, typically transports trash, but it also trades in black market goods and illegal immigrants.”

“A boat?” My eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve made sure that captain understands the importance of getting you to your destination... by taking his whole family hostage.” His voice lowered and his smile disappeared.

I licked my lips. “Wow.”

“Convinced yet?”

“Ninety percent...”

“What?! What do I have to do?” He pushed back his bangs.

“Hey! It’s just you that saying you kidnapped his family. You have no evidence of it!”

“Why would I have evidence of a crime!” He hissed at me.

“Okay, in case of emergency how do we get off?”

“Huh?” He blinked.

“If things go south, how do we get off the ship!” My eyes narrowed. “I’ll feel better if I feel like I can escape in case something goes wrong.”

“Every ship has life boats...”

“You didn’t think of a plan B for the ship?!”

“I did but I can’t tell you. Trust me. I have a plan for the Executive bureau....”

“I don’t trust anyone any more!” My voice was starting to shake. “Crow, you tell me there’s a way off or I’m going to assume this is a death trap!”

He slammed his palm against door post and snarled into my face. “I love Ru’Yi.”

I shrank away and he lowered his head.

“Look. Nothing is one hundred percent. I’m doing everything I can here. If I could... I’d go with you.”

“Why don’t you?” I asked the question sharply. If the ship was good enough for us, it should be good enough for him, right?

He looked up at me, hurt radiating from his eyes. I forced myself to meet them, not willing to budge an inch on this.

“Because my father... he’s getting old. His mind is going. He can’t make his appointments if I don’t remind him. If I get sent to the isles, Hydra will break me out, and take care of him, but if I go with you? He might be at risk.”

I hesitated a moment to let go of my suspicions but then I relented, nodding my head. “Thank you... for everything.”

“Nah...” He waved me away. “If I could do it all over again, I’d do a better job. This is one last chance for me to get it all right. Lancelot knows you want to escape Japan so he’s monitoring all the ports. But this smuggling ship won’t go to a normal port.”

“Okay.” I whispered.

He smiled at me, his eyes soft. “Is there anything else you need?”

I thought a moment and shook my head.

“Then be ready to go. 2 am sharp.”

The pier was far away from the harbor area familiar to most people. There were no commercial buildings, only the endless rocky beach and the black undulating sea. The gray concrete pillars extended one by one toward the depths of the water, an unfinished trestle bridge for unloading cargo.

Only cargo ships were loaded and unloaded here and usually they transported high-value commodities. Looking out, rusty containers were piled around the wharf. The air was filled with a slight metallic smell.

My eyes were wide, searching for any signs that we were being followed or watched. It had been a long time since I had been in the open like this. Ru’Yi slept against my back, bundled in a tight wrap. The wrap also held Spiderfang and Tongzi at my side.

I looked at Nono and she too stayed vigilant.

Crow, however, calmly leaned on his red sports car, waiting and humming a tune.

“What are you singing?”

“The dock is my father’s fishing pole, my brother and I are standing at the two ends of the pole.” Lu Mingfei translated to us. “Sounds like a Japanese folk song.”

“It’s from my hometown! When we were young, we both waited for my father to come back from the pier. He’d bring back fresh fish, and my mother would make fish soup and tofu for us.”

Nono turned to him. “I thought your father was a gangster? Since when did he take up fishing?”

I glanced at Nono, hackles rising again.

Crow threw up his hands. “Do you think I grew up on Tokyo? We collected protection money from the fishermen! He came from the pier after collecting! You women and your trust issues!”

Nono rolled her eyes but didn’t continue to question.

The wind blowing on the sea was getting colder and colder. I checked to make sure Ru’Yi’s knitted hat was staying on her head. Tonight, we were all wearing the uniforms of the Japanese Executive Bureau: Long black trench coats, with the special customized Ukiyo-e pattern in the lining.

“That trestle bridge is also thanks to my brother...” He suddenly stopped talking.

He spit out the cigarette in his mouth, stomped it out with the toe of his shoe and strode forward. “How are you my friend! I missed you so much, my white sail, the portrait of my ship, the strongest male seagull among us. My dear captain!”

From the darkness ahead came a middle aged man wearing a white uniform with a pale face. I could smell the alcohol and oil from a long distance. The man and Crow hugged vigorously and rubbed their chins together in a strange greeting.

“He’s a Slav.” Nono muttered, just loud enough for me to hear.

My uneasiness grew at his rough and unkempt appearance. How could I trust this dirty alcoholic stranger with my child’s life? I wanted off this boat and I hadn’t even gotten on it.

Nono noticed my discomfort. “Yeah I know... but Crow has kidnapped this man’s family and I’m sure if anyone harasses any of us, they’ll have Chu Zihang to contend with.”

The captain took out a bottle of vodka from his trouser pocket and handed it to Crow. Crow unscrewed it and took a sip. They spoke Japanese and what sounded like Russian. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that Crow was truly a sailor and not a gangster at all.

He returned to us and enthusiastically introduced us. “My good brother, Captain Aliyev will take you out of Japan. There are not many people who dare to enter and exit the port of Tokyo directly. The Aliyev brothers run the smoothest on this route and have never lost their cargo!”

I nodded but couldn’t help but frown at the vodka bottle.

“We will unload the cargo in Vladivostok in seven days. Within seven days, I will guarantee your safety.” Captain Aliyev seemed very proud. “Our ship is of very high level. Although we dare not say we are being escorted by warships, if anything happens, we will raise an alarm! And there will be warships coming from nearby within an hour. No one has ever dared to embarrass us on the high seas!”

Crow looked at me and gave me a thumbs up.

I expelled a breath and smiled, returning his thumbs up.

But in truth, I had already planned my own escape.

After our conversation earlier this night, I couldn’t sleep. I spent about an hour researching destinations to teleport to if needed. I decided against any more islands and settled on a place called La Rinconada, high in the mountains of Peru.

It was a six hour ride from the nearest city. There were no paved roads and buses were irregular. The biggest advantage it had was the fact that anyone coming into such a place would be noticed long before they got there. It was landlocked, making for an easy escape once we needed to escape again.

I wouldn’t depend on the assurances of the captain or Crow.

“Why would armed ships come to the rescue of a garbage ship?” Mingfei asked, surprised.

Crow leaned over and whispered something in Mingfei’s ear. Mingfei let out a little... “Oh!” and nodded.

I glanced over, frowning. Why couldn’t he tell me?

“Ladies and gentlemen, please come on board with me, your bed and vodka are ready!” Captain Aliyev cheered.

“My friend, I will leave it to you! I owe you big time, Cap!” Crow shouted as he made his way back to his car.

He leaned against his sports car, looking at me. I felt that there should be more to say than this, but he waved his hand, shooing me off.

I gave him a wave and turned to follow the captain. As soon as I reached the captain’s side however, Crow shouted again. “I’ll take care of your wife and children!”

A shiver ran down my spine.

The ship was worse than I imagined. No matter how high a priority the cargo, a garbage ship still smelled like garbage, fish, and rusty steel. We were supposed to spend our escape in a literal floating dumpster!

The living area was below the deck, and Aliyev led us through the dark passageway. Nono was alert to everything, memorizing the dark halls to find her way back later on her own. I followed her lead, mentally marking signs in my head to make sure I understood the route back to the upper decks.

With her ability to profile and read people, Nono was also good as a watch dog. If anyone here seemed out of place, she would let us know.

Aliyev stopped at the end of a passage, the two doors on each side of the hall made for four cabins.

“Vodka, soft beds, 24-hour hot water. This is the best place to to live on this boat.” He squinted at us. “Why are you such good friend of Mr. Saeki?”

He didn’t wait for a reply. “Don’t walk around for your own safety. Many men on boat. Always sad, depressed and lonely. You are very beautiful... and they get drunk.”

Nono gave a loud snort and pushed into the door.

Mingfei went in the opposite door from Nono

Chu Zihang dutifully went to follow Nono but suddenly hesitated, looking at me.

I walked past him and then grabbed his arm, leaning into his ear to whisper. “Sleep with your sword tonight.”

I picked the door next to Mingfei’s.

The cabin was quite tidy, and there was even a small round porthole to look outside. But the so-called 24-hour hot water was just a shower head and the unlimited vodka was also the cheap kind, not that I cared.

The Captain stood at the door watching me. “He told me to make sure you had everything you needed. Are you his wife?”

“When are we sailing?” I asked with some annoyance.

“The goods are loaded and we can leave at any time.” He held out a key to me.

I stared at him, frowning. “Toss it on the bed.”

He shrugged and did so. “I will ask the crew to bring in your other luggage later.”

“Are there lifeboats?”

“Of course! We must follow maritime law.”

I squinted at him in silence. Was this guy talking about law when he was smuggling fugitives? “Okay. Thank you very much.”

He turned and his heavy footsteps receded down the hall.

I hissed through my teeth. “I don’t trust these people. I don’t trust these people!”

I unwrapped Ru’Yi and laid her on the bed and then I sat on the bed, looking out the porthole window, holding Tongzi and Spider Fang in my lap.

In a few moments Lu Mingfei came in and saw me. He held a device in his hand. “You’re worried to, huh? I brought a bug scanner.”

I smiled with immense relief as he swept the room. “Nono’s already got her Beretta heavy pistol assembled and loaded. Only now she’s taking sips of vodka.” He said, chuckling.

After a few minutes of scanning, he nodded. “Alright... looks like the room is clean of bugs. We’re good to go.”

“Thanks Mingfei.”

“Any time.” He put the device back in his pocket. “Get some rest, Meixiu.”

“Call me Hamilton.” I smiled.

“I’m not calling you that.”

As he turned to leave, I spoke up. “By the way, anything goes down, come find me. I have a place we can teleport to.”

"I know I can count on you.” He gave me a thumbs up, then walked away and shut the door.

#Dragon Dancer #Dragon Raja #Writing #Fanfiction #Chen Moutong #Nono #Lu Mingfei #Mingfei Lu #Luminous #Chu Zihang #Johann Chu

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hypmicreload · 5 years

Text

chapter one (part one)

written by: Beenz, Dan

edited by: Dan, Miki

word count: 1537

next part

Sunlight was barely seeping through the blinds that lazily covered the windows. It was late afternoon in mid-winter when the announcement came on, but in any instance the colour of the occupied living room made it seem closer to dusk.

Inside the orange-tinted room were two boys sitting side by side underneath the kotatsu. The younger, a high school boy, doing his homework whilst the elder, an unemployed “influencer” scrolled through Instagram. Both of them half paid mind to the anime that played on TV on a low volume. On the table were two phones, an empty cup of coffee, school supplies, a notebook, and a bowl of snacks their fathers had left them while they were both busy working.

“Koro-Nii?” The smallest of the two spoke up—his hair was neat and brown, tucked carefully behind his ear. He barely looked up from his work, scribbling numbers and symbols lazily over his paper.

“Can you pass me the calculator?” He held his hand out.

Instead of fulfilling the request, Saikoro, the elder (but not much taller), took a handful of candy and set it into his brother's hand, not even looking up from his phone.

“I should get highlights.” He mused absentmindedly, admiring a picture of a lady with streaks of purple throughout her hair as he tugged at his blue and pink fringe, dragging his messy bangs to cover his brow then letting them spring back up when he let go. His face was pale, not as white as his brother’s, but far less freckly. He sent his wide blue eyes sparkling towards Nao as he asked his question.

“What do you think?”

“I think you're not helping.” He dropped the candy back into the bowl, reaching over the table for his school bag that was left discarded on the floor since he came home. He knocked over the coffee mug in the process and silently thanked that it was empty- otherwise his notes would be receiving a full hairdryer treatment in a matter of seconds.

Nao began to dig through his bag for the calculator, until the TV cut out.

“Argh, Dad didn’t pay the electric bill aga—”

“Attention all citizens. This is a mandatory announcement from Prime Minister Tohoten.” A voice spoke up, from the screen emerged the logo of Chuuoku plastered behind red. Both boys looked up now, watching the image change once more to a woman standing behind a podium, microphones in her face and bodyguards standing on either side. Her uniform was pressed and her hair was neat—immaculately styled even. The sharpness in her eyes stared through the cameras, through the TV, and straight into the fears of those watching.

She wasted no time in speaking, standing straight with her shoulders back and chin up—as if she was talking down to everyone

“Citizens of Japan,” She began, droning on into a well-rehearsed speech about their country's history. She discussed the atrocities of war and the light that Era H had brought upon everyone, speaking so highly as if such a thing didn’t put only Chuuoku at an advantage, speaking as if nothing terrible happened outside of the walls of inequity.

“—as of today, a new act will be put into place. One that will end fighting amongst divisions and bring peace to us all.” Saikoro rolled his eyes at such a comment.

“Effective immediately, it will be stated that it is now strictly forbidden for any communication to take place beyond one’s own division. There will be some common ground, including schools and hospitals, but such institutes are guarded heavily and surveilled by officials of Chuuoku. All violators of this law will be placed under house arrest as a primary warning, second-time perpetrators will fa—”

“Shut up old lady!”

Click.

With a cheeky grin, Saikoro turned the TV off and watched the black screen for a second before turning to his younger brother.

“What kind of shit is she spouting now?”

“Koro-Nii, you shouldn’t turn that off! What if we miss something important?!”

“Nothing she says is important.” He was quick in his response, sighing a little after and standing up. “Ya know, Nao… I really hate politics and all, it's so boring but… I also really hate this government.”

Nao nodded, thinking over and over about the words the woman had said.

“Being separated into our divisions… That's too harsh, right? I like Shibuya but- “

“Right?! Such a hardass!” He cut him off, wandering around the living room and humming a random song as he made his way to the window, giving a little peek.

“It’s not like they can keep us in, right? There's no walls… I wonder what the plan is~”

Nao stared down slightly, looking at his hands that were still buried into his bag. He abandoned the idea of his calculator, and he abandoned the idea of his homework for that matter.

“Nao!” Saikoro screamed, making him jump and hitch his breathing, his heart instantly beating against his rib cage, and the contents of his bag flying across the floor.

“HUH! What!? What!?”

“Nothing~ “ He laughed, petting his head. “You zoned out. Pay attention to me!”

“Don’t do that…” Nao tried to catch his breath and collect the thoughts (and school supplies) that had scattered about with the shout, shaking his head at his brother. There was a silence between them for a second, then Nao spoke up once more.

“Koro-Nii…?”

“Hmmm? Yes, my darling little brother~?”

“Shut up.” He rolled his eyes. “I was going to say…” He let the thought stick for a second, his eyes darting to a picture of Yumeno Gentaro and Arisugawa Dice that sat on the cabinet which also held the TV and a few other items, such as various good luck charms their father had collected over years and copies of novels the other had written.

“Why don’t you do something? If you hate it so much?”

There was a pause, followed by a smirk. “You mean like forming a team?”

He nodded to confirm the thought.

“I thought about it, actually…” He pressed a finger to his chin. “Nao, do you want to keep a secret?”

“Are you really sure it’s a good idea?” Nao was hesitant in his words, fumbling uneasily with his hands.

“Of course it is! Nothing could go wrong!”

“We could get caught—”

“Nothing could go wrong!” He laughed this time. It didn’t help to ease his younger sibling’s anxieties.

“Then… we need another person, right? We can’t just go in with the two of us.”

There was a silence between them both. Both boys were taking their time to think about anyone eligible to rap beside them…

“I, um...!” Nao spoke up, taking his phone, hurriedly opening up a social media, and scrolling through for someone's page. “I have a friend… Well… more of a parasite.” He kept searching through for a picture he liked. “They kinda… They do a lot of rapping? There’s rumours they hang around underground, but I don’t know if it’s true?”

“Oh! What’s his name?” Saikoro hummed, choosing not to comment on the fact that Nao only had 5 followers and he was one of them. A guy with experience and attachments to the underground scene had to be good, right?

Nao settled on a picture and flipped his phone to show him—it was a photo of a girl around the same age as himself.

“HER name is Ikumi.”

Saikoro screwed his nose up, pushing the phone away.

“No, nope. Not having women on my team! They caused this problem!”

Nao flicked his brother's forehead, ready to scold him.

“The world is the way it is purely because of inequality, what kind of solution would it be to separate ourselves by gender AGAIN?”

Saikoro was silent… he was right.

Defeated, he took the phone over and examined the photo. Admittedly she was very cute, but a particular feature caught his attention amidst the rest of them.

“Nao? What is her full name…?”

“Hm? Oh… Yamada Ikumi? She doesn’t let us refer to her as her last n—”

A smack upside the head stopped him in his tracks, making him whine.

“Are you stupid!? Why didn’t you mention that!?”

Nao rubbed his new wound, puffing his cheeks in annoyance. “She has a weird thing about using her surname! Besides, it’s a common...”

“A common name that coincides with half-half eyes?”

He shrugged, completely unaware as to what was being hinted at, making the elder pinch the bridge of his nose.

He went off the photo and scrolled through her page a little more, finding what he was looking for—a photo of her with her father.

He flipped his brother’s phone to show him “And who’s that?”

Nao tilted his head and shrugged once more. Stupid. “...Her father?”

Saikoro finally gave up in letting him figure it out on his own.

“That—” He pointed at the picture, “is Yamada Ichiro!”

“...Who?”

“Jesus Christ Nao, I’ll kill you.” He sighed, staring at the photo closer and closer, his mind ticking over with ideas and concepts.

“...I wonder…”

#hypmic #hypmic reload

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solatgif · 4 years

Text

TGIF: ROUNDUP FOR JULY 17, 2020

Despite COVID-19 and the cancelation of the SOLA Conference, SOLA Digital and the SOLA Network website have continued to grow. We are grateful for our audience, and we hope that our articles, interviews, and other content continue to bless and equip Christians. Read our latest Leadership Updates from the SOLA Network.

SOLA editor Hannah Chao interviewed Jane Kim, a SOLA contributor and educator, and they talked about how Asian Americans can confront anti-Blackness and be active in our communities, as well as how churches need to be safe places that equip Christians about subjects about race and politics. Watch on YouTube.

We also released a video compilation of sermons and talks that SOLA Council members have given on the topic of race, racism, reconciliation, and the Gospel in May and June 2020. Watch on YouTube. Do you have a link or article to share? Find me on Twitter or Instagram.

ARTICLES FROM AROUND THE WEB

1. Walter Kim: The Long Obedience of Racial Justice

“For churches today to engage in racial justice and reconciliation, intentional efforts must be made at the leadership and organizational levels. Structural change must be a priority in personnel and policy decisions and in the regular preaching schedule, as it is in many black churches.”

2. Sarah Eekhoff Zylstra: Churches in the Graveyard: 10 Plants in 10 Years in Tokyo

“If the parable of the sower were set in East Asia, South Korea’s soil would be rich and lush. China’s would be weedy but productive. And Japan’s would be blood-red and rock-hard.”

3. P. J. Tibayan: Will Membership Make a Difference? The Vital Joys of Joining a Church

“We commit to formal church membership to experience God’s goodness in providing vital joy. By vital I mean necessary for Christian obedience and therefore a thriving spiritual life. By joy I mean savoring the worth of God in the experience of mutual church accountability.”

BOOKS, PODCASTS, MUSIC, AND MORE

1. FCBC Walnut: To God Be the Glory

A virtual music ministry choir from FCBC Walnut with a classic hymn.

2. Japanese Evangelical Missionary Society: The JEMS Mount Hermon Blessing

Worship leaders and staff members from all 7 of JEMS Mount Hermon's camps join together to sing "The Blessing" by Elevation Worship.

3. Aaron Lee: Miscellaneous

On my blog: Adoption Starter Kit, Church Emails Are Worth The Effort, and Tony Reinke’s 5 Content Strategy Tips for the Coronavirus Crisis. Our TGIF playlist is available on Spotify.

FEATURED THIS WEEK ON SOLA NETWORK

1. Hannah Chao: Leadership Updates from the SOLA Network - Summer 2020

“We are excited to continue to grow, and to better serve our audience, we have added more members to our SOLA Editorial Board, our SOLA Conference team, and our SOLA Digital team. You can learn about the people and the changes below.”

2. Jane Kim and Hannah Chao: How to Learn, Unlearn, and Relearn: Talking with an Educator about Anti-Blackness

“When it comes to addressing racism, one of the first things Christians must do is to look within themselves to see if they have any biases or prejudices of their own. In these past few months, many who agree with the idea that Black lives matter have realized that they themselves hold anti-Black views that must be addressed. So how do we confront anti-Blackness in our lives?”

3. Heidi Tai: Prosperity versus Faith: An “American Gospel” Reflection

“Now available on Netflix, American Gospel is a documentary that powerfully unveils the importance of good theology because ‘bad theology hurts people.’ By piecing together conversational vignettes, video footage, and audiotapes, the documentary contrasts the beauty of the Gospel with the ugly truth of the prosperity gospel as taught by the Word of Faith movement. It dawned on me that while the former promises freedom, the latter enslaves with fear.”

4. SOLA Council: United with our Black Brothers and Sisters in Christ

This video is a compilation of sermons and talks that SOLA Council members have given on the topic of race, racism, reconciliation, and the Gospel in May and June 2020.

5. TGIF: Roundup for July 10, 2020

In case you missed it: Thoughts as I End my Vacation / ‘Hamilton’: Healing Balm for Restless Immigrants / Pastors on Social Media

General disclaimer: Our link roundups are not endorsements of the positions or lives of the authors.

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marumafan · 7 years

Text

Yuuram in Novel 16

The beginning of Prison arc. Novel 16 and 17 have little yuuram as Yuuri and Wolf are in two different places for the duration of this arc and they’re both very busy. However let's see what we can find. I'm also including some interesting Shinou parts. Yuuram in Novel : 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10|11|12|13|14|15|16|17

———��—————————————————— Novel 16. ch.1 - A slap, a stab, a punch, a push into the ocean -

And besides, I hadn’t planned to return yet, it was Wolfram beside me that pushed us into the sea from the back, so even if it wasn’t of our own volition, in the end we still fell down towards the blue-black whirlpool.

Just as Wolfram said, I know he did it completely out of kindness. He probably wishes I can return to Earth and sleep peacefully, eat Mom’s cooking, then recharge and rest up properly before returning to Shin Makoku. But in the end…

“This is very obviously not Japan.”

—————————————————————— Novel 16. ch.2 - Gunter and Wolfram talking-

“I really wanna see the world His Majesty grew up in… go to where His Majesty grew up… ‘Ears’.”

Of course at this time no one would pay attention to the fact that he got the name wrong.

“You probably want to follow and see as well, huh, Wolfram?”

“I’m still okay.”

“There you go again, you’re always so stubborn with your words.”

“I’m not being stubborn, I really never thought of going to the world where Yuuri grew up.”

“Sometimes you don’t have to force yourself so much, y’know, Wolfram.” Günter’s gaze is condescendingly saying ‘you were just like a pouting brat just now’. (...)

“I’m not forcing myself! To Yuuri and me, it doesn’t matter what kind of world he grew up in, it doesn’t change the fact that Shin Makoku will always be the best!”

(...)“There’s no country better than this, and I believe Yuuri thinks the same. Once his body gets used to it, he would probably want to stay here all the time, right?”

—————————————————————— Novel 16. ch.2 - Ice swan-

“When Your Excellency was still Snow Günta, His Excellency Gwendal stayed by your side. He even put a snow rabbit on your important parts.”

“Don’t tell me you want me to do that too?”

“I have already put a swan ice carving on Gurrier’s crotch.”

Gisela says decisively. Although it sounds cold just listening about it, Wolfram still decides in his heart that he must go see that later.

—————————————————————— Novel 16. ch.2 - Wolfram's power -

If this continues, Wolfram might very likely suffocate.

But Wolfram, on the brink of losing his rational mind, is putting up quite the fight, grabbing Gisela’s wrist and glove, and twisting it unhesitatingly.

“Mgh!”

Gisela clenches her teeth instead of screaming, then turns her body to try and shake off the pressure on her wrist. Although she manages to save her wrist, she also gives Wolfram back his freedom, and his feet finally return to the ground. With that, the Bear Paw has lost its usefulness.

“Did I just witness the moment Anissina’s ma-powered device was defeated with my own eyes?”

—————————————————————— Novel 16. ch.3 -Pretty face-

I shake my head slowly, saying,

“I won’t run.”

If it were Conrad, by now he would surely be saying with a smile, “I knew it would end up like this.” If it were Wolfram, his pretty face would surely go completely red with anger, and then he’d say, “That’s why you’re such a henachoko.”

Lord von Voltaire isn’t like either of them.

—————————————————————— Novel 16. ch.4 -White face-

“I mean, don’t you guys get dizzy on human land because of houryoku?” (...) “Wolf’s condition is more obvious. Because his face would immediately turn white, but you resist more.” “I don’t feel any particular change, maybe because this land has weaker houryoku.”

—————————————————————— Novel 16. ch.6 -Your maryoku is smol -

“What did you say--?”

Behind the open door, Wolfram demands loudly from the chair on the deck. He’s at least twenty adult steps away from this side. This is in order to prevent him from accidentally touching the Box, so they deliberately made him leave.

It is said that even when it is spoken in a foreign language, people can still tell between good words and bad ones. Even though Wolfram is so far away, he can still sense people badmouthing him—despite not knowing exactly what’s being said.

The maryoku sealed inside the pouch is Wolfram’s maryoku, and if he were to hear that… his maryoku is unexpectedly small, he would surely blow his top, so Günter hurriedly replies,

“It’s nothing, y’know—Wolfram—Nothing at all!”

—————————————————————— Novel 16. ch.6 -Stuck up Wolf -

Pouch Man mutters,

“Pretty stuck-up, ain’t he.”

“How troubling, he’s always like that, his stubbornness is always so hard for us to handle.”

“Oh~~ I understand his personality fairly well, to think that his stubbornness is very different depending on whether I’m watching it from afar or experiencing it first-hand.”

“You’re saying you’ve seen Wolfram before?”

—————————————————————— Novel 16. ch.6 -Shinou's description-

“Eh—In that case there’s not enough evidence for me to believe you’re His Majesty Shinou, now what do we do?”

“The way you’re suspecting my status like this, if we were back in my time you would have been executed on the spot long ago.”

He continues muttering,

“To think that I’ve gotten softer too. Back in the past, I was very much respected and idolized, so although I never oppressed anyone with my power, no one dared to raise up their heads and look at me directly either. Especially Lord von Christ, I expected you would perform a spray all the way to the ceiling and then faint.”

(...) “Speaking of that~~ I didn’t have a physical body to start with, but that’s something you can imagine. Living alone all this time as a spiritual body, I was looking for an entrance to the real world when I just happened to find a gathering of maryoku that was in pretty decent shape, which is…”

He uses the tip of his fingers to pull at the hair from the pouch,

“Lord von Bielefeld’s maryoku was sealed up in a hundred percent hair, and became a perfect exit that connected the space I was in to this world. From where I’m at, this is just like a little round window made of transparent ice. Then, the second I passed through that little round window, I used the maryoku gathered there to make this thing that looks like a body physical. In other words… it’s like how when a bubble rises from the bottom of a marsh, the mud will fill with air and swell up. However, observe!”

—————————————————————— Novel 16. ch.6 -Shinou spying on Yuuri and Wolf-

“Y-you watch over everyone?” “That’s right… No, you don’t have to worry, I have no interest in vulgar things, and I don’t watch all of you all day long, after all I only have two eyes. However…”

(....)

Shinou looks at the beautiful face similar to his, saying disdainfully, “Wolf sure is stuck-up, despite how cute he is when talking in his sleep.” “You even know that he talks in his sleep!? D-d-d-don’t tell me you’ve heard His Majesty Yuuri’s sleep-talk as well?” “I have, so? The things Yuuri says are pretty descriptive, mostly about ‘assassination’, ‘dead’ and the like. It’s making me wonder recently, is he really a pacifist?” “If you’re talking about Yuuri, I want to hear too!!!” (Wolf)

—————————————————————— Novel 16. ch.6 -Key-

“A, part, of, the, Box?” “Lord von Bielefeld Wolfram, you are the Key to ‘Inferno on the Tundra’. And the same goes for your two older brothers, Lord von Voltaire Gwendal and Lord Weller Conrart, the Keys of the Boxes of Earth and Wind are hosted on their bodies respectively.” “I am… the Key?” “Didn’t you sense it slightly?” “But… To think… I…”

—————————————————————— Novel 16. ch.7 -Wolf and me-

I bet we’re currently witnessing a special version of ‘Father, give me your daughter!’ But the one acting as the father is the son, and the daughter is his old lady, this difference is too much.

Even if that little skit is so unique, I’m still touched to tears. If I were to find myself in that position in the near future, what should I do? At that time, the fathers would be Wolf and me, and the daughter would be Greta.

Thinking that, I immediately understand Gwendal’s feelings deeply.

—————————————————————— Novel 16. short story at the end -In Greta’s Mirror -Royal family. Greta wants a picture of her mother-

Greta returned to Yuuri’s room and waited impatiently while her beloved family hugged her, then led her by the hand to Wolfram’s room. “Wolfram will paint a picture of your mother from her childhood.” “Childhood?” “Yeah. Greta’s mother and the current you are painted pretty much the same.” Greta sat on a large stool for several hours in the same position without moving. Wolfram, closing one eye and measuring the length with a writing brush, painted a picture with strong-smelling paint. “We can’t take a photograph of your mother, but we can paint a portrait. After this we can make one each year. When Greta is an adult, surely the mother from your memories will be almost exactly like the one in the portrait.” “Really?” “Really. Because Greta is her beloved mother’s daughter, right? But-” Yuuri quickly lowered his voice and whispered in Greta’s ear. He felt around in his pocket again and pulled out a small mirror with a light-blue border, putting it in the smiling Greta’s palm. “It’s a secret from Wolf.” “Yeah, a secret from Wolf.” Greta didn’t know whether or not the completed picture actually resembled her mother. That wasn’t because Greta was forgetting her mother’s face; it was definitely because Wolfram’s artistic style was so incredibly abstract that there was no distinction between a person and a tanuki. Nevertheless she hung the portrait in her room, and spoke to it every morning without fail. But ever after that, Greta wished for a portrait or photograph of her mother.

And every time she used the tiny mirror, she remembered.

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

Yuuram in Novel : 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10|11|12|13|14|15|16|17

#kyou kara maou #kkm #maruma #yuuram

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gracewithducks · 7 years

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“The most deadly poison of our times in indifference.” - Maximilian Kolbe (John 15:12-17)

When Mike and I visited London last summer, we had the chance to see Westminster Abbey – and there really are no words to capture that experience. Sure, it’s a church, but it’s not just a church. Westminster Abbey is this gigantic Gothic cathedral in the heart of London; every coronation since William the Conqueror in 1066 has taken place in Westminster Abbey – though the present building was built a couple of hundred years later.It’s been the location of many royal weddings, including the much-celebrated wedding of Prince William to Catherine Middleton a few years ago, and it’s the final resting place of many kings and queens and other notable figures throughout the years.

The church building itself is impressive, one of those buildings where the very stones resonate with history, where you can see the wearing down of hundreds of years of footfalls. It’s a building that carries a weight of the ages that those of us who live in this very, very young nation across the pond really can’t quite understand.

But in 1998, the timeless Westminster Abbey made headlines, when ten new figures were added above the Great West Door: none of them British, none of them biblical or royal figures – all of them 20th century martyrs. Among them are Martin Luther King, Jr, and Dietrich Bonhoeffer… as well as our focus for today, Father Maximilian Kolbe.

You may have heard of Martin Luther King Jr. before. You may have even heard of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. But perhaps for you, like me, Maximilian Kolbe is a name that you don’t remember hearing before. His name, and his story, however, are much too important for us to forget.

Kolbe was born the second son in a relatively poor working-class Polish family, but even from his early years, he had a strong sense that his faith was going to shape his life. As a child, he had a dream, and in that dream, Mary, the mother of Jesus, appeared before him. Kolbe asked Mary to tell him what his future was going to hold, and she responded by holding up two crowns and offering him a choice: “Choose the white crown,” she said, “and you will persevere in purity; choose the red crown, and you will be a martyr for the faith.” Kolbe said, “I’ll take them both.”

We can have all kinds of debates about whether Kolbe really was talking to Mary, but for today, what matters to us is that this vision mattered to Kolbe. It was as real to him as anything else in his life, and the rest of his life was shaped by this awareness that he had committed himself, long ago, to stay pure – that is, not to compromise his faith – and also to be willing, when called upon, to lay down everything, even his life, for what he believed.

Kolbe studied at seminary, became a Franciscan monk, earned two doctorates, was ordained as priest, and finally settled at a monastery near Warsaw.

As a priest, Kolbe was full of evangelistic zeal; he longed to convert sinners and to not only defend the church from her enemies but to find ways to win them over and bring them in. He started monastic houses in Poland and also in Japan, and he started a radio station, and he ran a publishing house out of his monastery in order to better spread the good news of Jesus – and, more and more, to also call out the dangers and abuses of the rising Nazi regime.

When World War II broke out, Kolbe was one of the brothers who remained in the monastery, organizing it into a temporary hospital. In 1939, when Poland was overrun by Nazis, Kolbe was arrested and held for three months under “general suspicion.” Given the opportunity to sign a document claiming his father’s German heritage, Kolbe refused, instead choosing to see his arrest as an opportunity to enter a new mission field.

Father Kolbe was soon released, and he went right back to work. Many Polish and Jewish refugees sought sanctuary in his monastery; with his community, Kolbe helped to hide, feed, and clothe three thousand Polish refugees, of whom some 2000 were Jews.

He also continued his radio broadcasts, now illegally, denouncing the crimes and injustices all around him. He had to know the risk he was facing – but he also knew that he had to be true to who he was and who he believed God to be. Even with war raging around, he said, “The most deadly poison of our times is indifference…” – that is, this is no time to stay still and stay silent; this is no time to play it safe, to look away from what’s happening in the world. He said, “The real conflict is an inner conflict [between] good and evil, sin and love. And what use are the victories on the battlefield if we ourselves are defeated in our innermost personal selves?”

Kolbe refused to compromise; he refused to be defeated.

And so it was that, in February 1941, he was arrested again. He was accused and found guilty of hiding Jews in his monastery, and he was sent to the concentration camp at Auschwitz.

In Auschwitz, Kolbe was put to work. He carried blocks of heavy stone, used for building the crematorium walls. The work was overseen by an ex-criminal who, for his own reasons, singled Kolbe out for brutal treatment – perhaps, I wonder, if he was secretly amazed that this Catholic priest of German heritage chose to suffer willingly, when he so easily could have chosen otherwise; perhaps he wanted to see just how deep Kolbe’s commitment ran, and how much it would take to break this man of faith.

He didn’t find out. By all accounts, Kolbe accepted all his brutal treatments – every beating and lashing – with calm. He held on to his dignity, and he also held onto his faith.

A couple of months after arriving in Auschwitz, Kolbe was able to send a letter out to his mother. And this is what he wrote: “Dear mama, At the end of the month of May I was transferred to the camp of Auschwitz. Everything is well in my regard. Be tranquil about me and my health, because the good God is everywhere and provides for everything with love…”

Here is a man who truly takes to heart the words “Whatever my lot, God has taught me to say, it is well, it is well, with my soul”! Here is a man who lives the faith expressed by Paul: “If I live, I live for Christ; and if I die, I die for Christ; so whether I live or whether I die, I know I belong to God” (Romans 14:8, paraphrased).

The next month after Kolbe wrote that letter to his mother, there was a small escape from Auschwitz. The guards in charge were furious. As punishment, and to deter anyone from trying to escape in the future, ten men were chosen, at random, to starve to death.

Father Kolbe wasn’t chosen. But when one of the men who was selected cried out in grief for his wife and his sons – Kolbe stepped forward to take his place.

Kolbe willingly volunteered to face a long and agonizing death by starvation, as punishment for a crime he didn’t commit, in order to save a stranger from that fate.

The ten men chosen were led away to an underground bunker. And while they were there, there are many reports that tell us that Kolbe – like Peter and Paul before him – Kolbe led the others in prayer, and offered them comfort, and sang with them hymns of faith.

Throughout day after day of dehydration and starvation, Father Kolbe ministered to those dying with him. After two weeks – or some reports say three – most of the men had died. Kolbe was one of the few left alive. The guards decided to hurry to process along, executing the final prisoners with a lethal injection. And again, those present say that Father Kolbe still held onto his faith, even lifting up his arm for the needle to go in.

The man Kolbe saved – his name was Franciszek Gajowniczek. And he survived. Some of the other prisoners blamed Franciszek for Father Kolbe’s death – but he himself never expressed anything but humble gratitude for the second chance he received. He survived through five years, five months, and nine days in concentration camps – and after liberation, he was reunited with his wife, though sadly, their sons were killed during the bombing of Poland before their father was released.

Franciszek would later say, looking back at that day in Auschwitz, “I was stunned and could hardly grasp what was going on. The immensity of it: I, the condemned, am to live and someone else willingly and voluntarily offers his life for me – a stranger. Is this some dream?... I was saved… It was the first and last time that such an incident happened in the whole history of Auschwitz.”

Franciszek was present at Father Kolbe’s beatification ceremony thirty years later – and he was there, too, when Father Kolbe was canonized, named an official saint, some forty years after his death. Franciszek remained grateful, and spent his life bearing witness to the love shown by the stranger, the priest, who saved his life.

Friends, this is the story of Maximilian Kolbe. And even as I have been preparing to share the story of his life with you today – I have been humbled to dust by the task. Because – for all the superheroes who are in vogue these days, here is a real-life hero of the faith, and the more I think about what he did – he starts to loom so much larger than life.

But here’s the thing: yes, Father Kolbe was a man of profound, heroic faith; yes, he was a man who demonstrated more courage and more grace and more peace than many of us can even ever only dream of.

But he was also just a man. He was just a man, who really believed. He was a man, who believed that God was with him. He was a man, who believed that he could make a difference. He was a man, who believed that – even if he couldn’t end the war, if he couldn’t save all the men and women and children dying in Auschwitz – he could save one. And he believed that saving one life matters. He believed it enough he was willing to trade his life for another’s – because he really did believe that good would conquer evil, in fact, it already has, even if the world doesn’t know it yet; he really did believe that death had lost it sting, and living or dying, he belonged to Christ. And that faith gave him hope; it gave him purpose; it gave him peace.

Our scripture today is one that is familiar to many of us; Jesus is talking to his disciples, and he says, “This is my commandment, that you love one another.” And then he makes his way right back around to the same message: “I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another.”

You may have noticed that I’m a big fan of love. Different theologians and preachers and teachers interpret the gospel in different ways – but if you hang around me at all, you’ll probably notice that I tend to boil the gospel down to love. God loves you. Jesus comes to teach us that God loves us. And Jesus says, they’ll know you’re my disciples if you love one another. They’ll know you by your love. Paul writes that faith, hope, and love endure, and the greatest of these is love. The greatest commandment is to love God, and love other people. That’s what our faith is all about.

The problem, though, is that “love” can be a bit vague. Often, that’s where we leave it: “love one another.” And we try to treat one another with ambiguous attitudes of affection and sort of moderately polite good-wishes, and hope that it’s enough.

But when Jesus talks about love, he isn’t talking about wishy-washy niceties. No, hear again what he says today: “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down [your] life for [your] friends…. I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another.”

This love – it goes way beyond being nice. This love goes beyond warm fuzzies, beyond thoughts and prayers. This is love in action, and this love – it costs us something; it just might cost us everything.

When Jesus tells his disciples, “Love one another as I have loved you” – he’s just gotten done kneeling down and washing their feet, and he’s on his way out to the garden, about to be arrested and sent to the cross.

“Love one another as I have loved you” – means laying our pride aside, humbling ourselves, honoring each other, and believing: there is more to our lives than this life; and we need to be careful how we spend this life, and what – and who – we spend it on.

This is the faith that shaped Maximillian Kolbe. This is the faith that he accepted as a child, even knowing that he would be tempted to compromise, knowing that days of decision were coming, know that following Christ would demand nothing less than his everything – still he said, “Here I am, Lord, your faithful servant; send me.”

And that’s how he lived: all his life, laying himself aside. As dramatic as that final act of faith was – as dramatic as that moment was, when he raised his hand to spare another man – Kolbe lived a whole life of faith, a whole life of love for others. He did everything he could, and he did it with no regrets, because he believed that every bit of it mattered, and nothing he placed into Christ’s keeping was lost, but would echo through eternity.

And I hear you say: yes, but he was a saint. Of course he had a sense of purpose. Of course he was willing to do anything for his faith.

But friends, that’s all a saint is: someone who loves God and loves others as best they can, as often as they can, for as long as they possibly can. And that can be you and me, too.

Maximilian Kolbe lived an inspiring life, and the world lost a great force for truth and faithfulness when he died. But Maximilian Kolbe was willing to die, when he looked at another man – another ordinary man, a stranger, a father, a husband – and Kolbe saw someone whose life mattered, too. And that’s how God sees us: as people who are worth laying down everything for. How very, very sad it must make God when we see ourselves, when we treat ourselves, when we treat one another, as anything less.

Maximilian Kolbe lived in a tumultuous and pivotal moment in history, a time when the voices and witnesses of people of faith were needed, to stand against evil, to stand alongside the suffering, to shine light in the darkness and call others – by their lives and by their deaths – to remember what really matters. And I would dare say that we live in just such a tumultuous and pivotal moment in history, too, and the world still needs people of faith to stand, unbending and unwavering, today. The world needs us to have the courage to be saints, to be the people God created and called us to be.

Friends, this fall, as we hear the stories of other faithful men and women, I hope that we will each take some time to consider our own stories. I’m going to be giving you some homework each week, and this week, simply put, your homework is just that: to consider the story of your life, what it is that your life is about. Because, dear ones, none of us is guaranteed tomorrow. That message rings especially true and poignant for us this week. We never know how much time we have, and the risk we run is putting off what really matters until suddenly it’s too late.

Someday, someone is going to tell your story; what is the story they’re going to tell? When the time comes, will they say “she liked golfing” or “he loved to go to the casino” or “they never missed a U of M game”? Don’t get me wrong; those are all lovely things. But I sure hope that we are living lives that are about so much more than that. Will they say, “He never missed an opportunity to be generous”? “She loved volunteering at the schools, reading to little ones who flourished in her love”? Will they say of us, “They lived with courage and compassion, and will be remembered for their faith, even to the end”?

The good news is, if you don’t like the story your life is telling, you can change that story, and you can start today.

Let’s live now like we mean it. Let’s love God with all we have; let’s love our neighbors as best we can; let’s love as Christ has loved us, love like our lives depend on it, love not just in words but in action and in truth – let’s love like it matters – because in the end, it’s the only thing that does.

God, we are so grateful today for the witness of your beloved child, Maximilian Kolbe. We are humbled and awed by his faith, by the grace and courage which shaped his life and gave him peace even in the face of death. And we are reminded, Lord, that we live in a troubled world, too. We live in a world where our neighbors are hurting, where people around us are suffering injustice, are crying out for compassion, are begging us to care… and we pray that you will give us, too, the courage and grace to stand with your people, with your hurting people, to always choose to stand on the side of truth, on the side of what’s right, on the side of love – believing that not even death can conquer love, but in the end, love lasts, and love will win.

Help us, this week, to live with purpose. Help us to live with intention. Help us never to forget that we only get one life – and don’t let us squander this gift you’ve given us, but help us to use it well. Fill us with courage, with compassion, and always, with peace. In Christ’s name we pray; amen.

To learn more about Father Kolbe’s life, check out:

Ellyn von Huben, 9 Things to Know About St. Maximilian Kolbe (Aug 14, 2014). https://www.wordonfire.org/resources/blog/9-things-to-know-about-st-maximilian-kolbe/4426/

Maximilian Kolbe Biography.(accessed 9/15/2017) http://www.biographyonline.net/spiritual/maximilian-kolbe.html

Maximilian Kolbe. (accessed 9/15/2017) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maximilian_Kolbe

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