Historical Fiction - Tumblr Posts
High key scandalized listening to this romance novel like I haven't written things twice as smutty
I love learning about everyone's characters and all the inspiration that went into making them! I normally don't go for historical fiction but this sounds amazing and genuinely well-researched. :D
Writers Challenge#4
Author Interview:
Hi guys.
It's me again and I guess I have another challenge this time and this is too all writers who haven't found their title, even if you have a title you can join.
OC inspirations.
And book inspirations.
How did your book grow into it now?
Was a fanfic to original story?
Vibes?
Optional.
What inspired you to write your WIP? It could be a book, a show, a person or even a character.
My current WIP is based on a Wolfblood, Twilight and Avatar:The Last Airbender.
Wolfblood gave me the way to write controlled werewolves, Twilight gave me my protagonist, Thalia but she was a nameless Black girl who had a relationship with a vampire and Avatar for my panther shifters but slowly the book changed, and the Avatar gave me inspo for her abilities and she was a mortal who lived with supernatural creatures.
So yeah.
Thats it.
The vibe is a snowy winter wonderland filled with secrets and monsters and strange happenings after a strange human girl meets a tribe of Inuit werewolves.
The tone is quite dark at first.
Sorry for the tags.
@morganthepen @imbecominggayer
@imbecominggayer @wyked-ao3 @thehighladyreads @blue-endy
@furrywrit3r @loverboyxbutch @blargh-500 @jj-the-hobbit171
idea time
So my mother absolutely loves this historical drama about The Queen’s life (history buff moms are fun) and it just got to a part where JFK was shot and I turned to her and said “Who assassinated JFK” and she said “Well a guy named Lee Harvey Oswald was accused and arrested for it, but many conspiracists believe that either he didn’t do it alone, or didn’t do it if his own volition” and he gave a smirk and a raised brow and I was like “Oooo” like we were gossiping about a lady’s dress and I asked if there was any grounds and she said yes, because after Lee was arrested and at the police station some dude ran up and shot him! So there was never any way to confirm anything, because he was never and will never be able to give a testimony! And I was reading a thingy about Danny solving dropped cases for ghosts working with them and anonymously sending in tips to the police (there are several fics & drabbles like this and I love them) and I had the idea of “What if he talked to Lee! Or Kennedy? That’s be splendiferous! And Yes I’m. A history nerd too thank you kindly.
The Red Baron's cameo in Ottoway Volume 2. I might repost this on his birth and death days. Landscapes are my weakness, and bird's eye shots too. Thank George Barbier for the Autumn colour scheme.
Major Isenstein's red 1915 Chevrolet is on the road below.
@tristandelarkadien for landscape art exchange!
I originally just drew the girls but decided to keep going and add the boys.
Me, after reading Kindred by Octavia Butler:
Some minor angst I wanted to give Elies
Bonus; the soilder I drew (don't have a name for him yet) and them in the snow!
The Little Book of Revelation: The First Coming of Jesus at the End of Days By Eli of Kittim (Amazon) https://www.amazon.com/Little-Book-Revelation-First-Coming/dp/1479747068
8 Theses or Disputations on Modern Christianity’s View of the Bible
By Author Eli Kittim
——-
A Call For a *New Reformation*
A common bias of modern Christianity is expressed in this way:
“If your doctrine damages other Biblical
doctrines, you’ve gotta change your
doctrine” (see “Galatians 5:1-12 sermon by
Dr. Bob Utley”; YouTube video).
Not necessarily. Maybe the previous Biblical doctrines need to change in light of new discoveries. Bible scholarship is still evolving like every other discipline. No one can say to Einstein: “if your theory damages previous theories, you’ve gotta change your theory.” What if the previous theories are wrong? Are we to view them as infallible?
What did the Reformers mean by sola scriptura? They meant that the Bible alone provides the “constitutive tenets of the Christian faith.” In other words, the basic tenets of the faith (e.g. credal formulations) are NOT to be found in papal decrees or councils but in the Bible alone! And they went to great lengths to show how both the church and its councils had made many mistakes.
If I can similarly demonstrate that the constitutive tenets of the Christian faith are wrong, and that the Bible contradicts modern Christianity, as the reformers did, then I, too, must call for a *new reformation*! Those hard core adherents of historical Christianity will of course excoriate me as a peddler of godless heresies without honestly investigating my multiple lines of evidence.
——-
1. The New Testament is an Ancient Eastern Text Employing the Literary Conventions of its Time
The New Testament doesn’t use 21st century propositional language but rather Eastern hyperbolic language, parables, poetry, paradox, and the like. Today, any story about a person is immediately seen as a biography. But in those days it could have been a poetic literary expression, akin to what we today would call, “theology.” The gospel writers adopted many of the literary conventions of the ancient writings and created what would be analogous to Greek productions (see Dennis MacDonald’s seminal work, “The Homeric Epics and the Gospel of Mark”). We often miss the genre of the gospels by looking at it with modern western lenses.
——-
2. The Gospel Genre Is Not Biographical
This is the starting point of all the hermeneutical confusion. The gospels are not biographies or historiographical accounts. As most Bible scholars acknowledge, they are largely embellished theological documents that demonstrate the presence of “intertextuality” (i.e. a heavy literary dependence on the Old Testament [OT]). If we don’t understand a particular genre out of which a unique discourse is operating from, then we will inevitably misinterpret the text. So, the assumption that the gospels are furnishing us with biographical information seems to be a misreading of the genre, which appears to be theological or apocalyptic in nature. It is precisely this quasi-biographical literary form that gives the “novel” some verisimilitude. How can we be sure? Let’s look at the New Testament (NT) letters. The epistles apparently contradict the gospels regarding the timeline of Christ’s birth, death, and resurrection by placing it in eschatological categories. The epistolary authors deviate from the gospel writers in their understanding of the overall importance of eschatology in the chronology of Jesus. For them, Scripture comprises revelations and “prophetic writings” (see Rom. 16.25-26; 2 Pet. 1.19-21; Rev. 22.18-19)! According to the NT Epistles, the Christ will die “once for all” (Gk. ἅπαξ hapax) “at the end of the age” (Heb. 9.26b), a phrase which consistently refers to the end of the world (cf. Mt. 13.39-40, 49; 24.3; 28.20). Similarly, just as Heb. 1.2 says that the physical Son speaks to humanity in the “last days,” 1 Pet. 1.20 (NJB) demonstrates the eschatological timing of Christ’s *initial* appearance with unsurpassed lucidity:
“He was marked out before the world was
made, and was revealed at the final point of
time.”
——-
3. NT Scholars Demonstrate that the Gospels Are Not Historical
During his in-depth dialogue with Mike Licona on the historical reliability of the NT (2016), Bart Ehrman stated that “the NT gospels are historically unreliable accounts of Jesus.” In his book, “The Resurrection of Jesus: A New Historiographical Approach,” NT scholar Michael Licona has actually de-historicized parts of the gospel (i.e. Mt. 27.51-53), showing, for example, that the resurrection of the saints after Jesus’ crucifixion is indicative of a non-literal, apocalyptic genre rather than of an actual historical event. Licona suggests that the appearance of angels at Jesus’ tomb after the resurrection is legendary. He considers parts of the gospels to be “poetic language or legend,” especially in regard to the raising of some dead saints at Jesus’ death (Mt. 27.51-54) and the angel(s) at the tomb (Mk 15.5-7; Mt. 28.2-7; Lk 24.4-7; Jn 20.11-13). NT scholar, James Crossley agrees that the purported events of Mt. 27.52-53 didn’t happen. Licona is, in some sense, de-mythologizing the Bible in the tradition of Rudolf Bultmann. This infiltration of legend in Matthew extends to all the other gospels as well. According to the book called “The Jesus Crisis” by Robert L. Thomas and F. David Farnell, two NT scholars, the sermon on the mount didn’t happen. The commissioning of the 12 did not happen. The parables of Matthew 13 and 14 didn’t happen. According to this book, it’s all made up. The magi? Fiction. The genealogy? Fiction! Robert H. Gundry, a professor of NT studies and koine Greek, has also said that Matthew 1-3 (the infancy narratives) were historical fiction (Midrash). Similarly, NT scholar Robert M. Price argues that all the Gospel stories of Jesus are a kind of midrash on the OT, and therefore completely fictional. Thomas L. Brodie, a Dominican priest, author, and academic, has similarly emphasised that most of the gospel thematic material is borrowed from the Hebrew Bible. These scholarly views have profound implications for so-called “historical Christianity,” its systematic theology, and its doctrines. Moreover, British NT scholar, James Dunn thought that the resurrection of Christ didn’t happen. He thought that Jesus was not resurrected in Antiquity but that Jesus probably meant he would be resurrected at the last judgment! What is more, Ludermann, Crossan, Ehrman, Bultmann all think that the resurrection is based on visions. So does Luke! No one saw Jesus during or after the so-called resurrection. The women saw a “vision” (Lk 24.23–24) just as the eyewitnesses did who were said to be “chosen beforehand” in Acts 10.40–41. Similarly, Paul only knows of the divine Christ (Gal. 1.11–12). With regard to the post-resurrection appearances of Jesus, where more than 500 people supposedly saw Christ, Paul suggests that they all saw him just as he did. He declares: “Last of all, as to one untimely born, he appeared ALSO to me” (1 Cor. 15.8 emphasis added). In other words, in saying “also to me; Gk. κἀμοί), Paul suggests that Christ appeared to others in the same way or manner that he appeared to him (that is to say, by way of “visions”)!
——-
4. A Few Examples of Legendary Elements in the Gospels
A few examples from the gospels serve to illustrate these points. From the point of view of form criticism, it is well-known among biblical scholars that The Feeding of the 5,000 (aka the "miracle of the five loaves and two fish") in Jn 6.5-13 is a literary pattern that can be traced back to the OT tradition of 2 Kings 4.40-44. Besides the parallel thematic motifs, there are also near verbal agreements: "They shall eat and have some left” (2 Kings 4.43). Compare Jn 6.13: “So they gathered ... twelve baskets ... left over by those who had eaten.” The magi are also taken from Ps. 72.11: “May all kings fall down before him.” The phrase “they have pierced my hands and my feet” is from Ps. 22.16; “They put gall in my food and gave me vinegar for my thirst” is from Psalm 69.21. The virgin birth comes from a Septuagint translation of Isaiah 7.14. The “Calming the storm” episode is taken from Ps. 107.23-30, and so on & so forth. Is there anything real that actually happened which is not taken from the Jewish Bible? Another example demonstrates the legendary nature of the Trial of Jesus. Everything about the trial of Jesus is at odds with what we know about Jewish Law and Jewish proceedings.
Six trials occur between Jesus’ arrest and crucifixion:
Jewish Trials
1. Before Annas
2. Before Caiaphas
3. Before the Sanhedrin
Roman Trials
4. Before Pilate
5. Before Herod
6. Before Pilate
Every single detail of each and every trial is not only illegal, but utterly ridiculous to be considered as a historical “fact.”
Illegalities ...
a) Binding a prisoner before he was condemned was illegal.
b) It was also illegal for Judges to participate in the arrest of the accused.
c) It was also illegal to have legal proceedings, legal transactions, or conduct a trial at night. It’s preposterous to have a trial going on in the middle of the night.
d) According to the law, although an acquittal may be pronounced on the same day, any other verdict required a majority of two and must come on a subsequent day. This law was also violated.
e) Moreover, no prisoner could be convicted on his own evidence. However, following Jesus’ reply under oath, a guilty verdict was pronounced!
f) Furthermore, it was the duty of a judge to make sure that the interest of the accused was fully protected.
g) The use of violence during the trial was completely unopposed by the judges (e.g. they slapped Jesus around). That was not just illegal; that kind of thing just didn’t happen.
h) The judges supposedly sought false witnesses against Jesus. Also illegal.
i) In a Jewish court room the accused was to be assumed innocent until proved guilty by two or more witnesses. This was certainly violated here as well.
j) No witness was ever called by the defense (except Jesus’ self incrimination testimony). Not just illegal; unheard of.
k) The Court lacked the civil authority to condemn a man to death.
l) It was also illegal to conduct a session of the court on a feast day (it was Passover).
m) Finally, the sentence is passed in the palace of the high priest, but Jewish law demanded that it be pronounced in the temple, in the hall of hewn stone. They didn’t do that either.
n) Also, the high priest is said to rend his garment (that was against the law). He was never permitted to tear his official robe (Lev. 21:10). For example, without his priestly robe he couldn’t have put Christ under oath in the first place.
Thus, all these illegalities according to Jewish law are not only quite unimaginable but utterly unrealistic to have happened in history.
——-
5. Bart Ehrman Says That Paul Tells Us Nothing About the Historical Jesus
One of the staunch proponents of the historical Jesus position is the renowned textual scholar Bart Ehrman, who, surprisingly, said this on his blog:
“Paul says almost *NOTHING* about the
events of Jesus’ lifetime. That seems weird
to people, but just read all of his letters.
Paul never mentions Jesus healing anyone,
casting out a demon, doing any other
miracle, arguing with Pharisees or other
leaders, teaching the multitudes, even
speaking a parable, being baptized, being
transfigured, going to Jerusalem, being
arrested, put on trial, found guilty of
blasphemy, appearing before Pontius Pilate
on charges of calling himself the King of the
Jews, being flogged, etc. etc. etc. It’s a
very, very long list of what he doesn’t tell us
about.”
——-
6. The External Evidence Does Not Support the Historicity of Jesus
A) There are no eyewitnesses.
B) The gospel writers are not eyewitnesses.
C) The epistolary authors are not eyewitnesses.
D) Paul hasn’t seen Jesus in the flesh.
E) As a matter of fact, no one has ever seen or heard Jesus (there are no firsthand accounts)!
F) Contemporaries of Jesus seemingly didn’t see him either; otherwise they’d have written at least a single word about him. For example, Philo of Alexandria is unaware of Jesus’ existence.
G) Later generations didn’t see him either because not even a passing reference to Jesus is ever written by a secular author in the span of approximately 65y.
H) The very first mention of Jesus by a secular source comes at the close of the first century (93-94 CE). Here’s the scholarly verdict on Josephus’ text: “Almost all modern scholars reject the authenticity of the Testimonium Flavianum in its present form” - wiki
I) Even Kurt Åland——the founder of the Institute for NT textual Research, who was also a textual critic and one of the principal editors of the modern critical NT——questioned whether Jesus existed! In his own words: “it almost then appears as if Jesus were a mere PHANTOM . . . “ (emphasis added)! Bertrand Russell, a British polymath, didn’t think Christ existed either. He said: “Historically it is quite doubtful whether Christ ever existed at all” (“Why I am not a Christian”).
J) Interestingly enough, even though scholars usually reject the historicity of Noah, Abraham, and Moses, they nevertheless support the historicity of Jesus, which seems to be a case of special pleading. In his article, “Beware of Consensus Theology,” Dr. Stephen R. Lewis correctly writes:
there have been so many things society has held
as true when in fact they are merely a consensus.
. . . We must beware of our own “consensus
theology.” . . . We must beware of allowing the
theology of anyone—Augustine, Martin Luther,
John Calvin, or whomever—to take precedence
over the teachings of Scripture.
——-
7. First Peter 1.10-11 Suggests An Eschatological Soteriology:
“Concerning this salvation, the prophets, who spoke of the grace that was to come to you, searched intently and with the greatest care, trying to find out the time and circumstances to which the Spirit of Christ in them was pointing when he predicted the sufferings of the Messiah and the glories that would follow” (1 Pet. 1.10-11 NIV).
Exegesis
First, notice that the prophets (Gk. προφῆται) in the aforementioned passage are said to have the Spirit of Christ (Gk. Πνεῦμα Χριστοῦ) within them, thereby making it abundantly clear that they are prophets of the NT, since there’s no reference to the Spirit of Christ in the OT. That they were NT prophets is subsequently attested by verse 12 with its reference to the gospel:
“It was revealed to them that they were not
serving themselves but you, when they
spoke of the things that have now been told
you by those who have preached the gospel
to you by the Holy Spirit sent from heaven.”
Second, the notion that 1 Peter 1.10-11 is referring to NT as opposed to OT prophets is further established by way of the doctrine of salvation (Gk. σωτηρίας), which is said to come through the means of grace! This explicit type of Soteriology (namely, through grace; Gk. χάριτος) cannot be found anywhere in the OT.
Third, and most importantly, observe that “the sufferings of the Messiah and the glories that would follow” were actually “PREDICTED” (Gk. προμαρτυρόμενον; i.e., testified beforehand) by “the Spirit of Christ” (Gk. Πνεῦμα Χριστοῦ; presumably a reference to the Holy Spirit) and communicated to the NT prophets so that they might record them for posterity’s sake (cf. v. 12). Therefore, the passion of Christ was seemingly written in advance—-or prophesied, if you will—-according to this apocalyptic NT passage!
_______________________________________
Here’s Further Evidence that the Gospel of Christ is Promised Beforehand in the NT. In the undermentioned passage, notice that it was “the gospel concerning his Son” “which he [God] promised beforehand through his prophets in the holy scriptures.” This passage further demonstrates that these are NT prophets, since there’s no reference to “the gospel (Gk. εὐαγγέλιον) of God … concerning his Son” in the OT:
“Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ, called to be
an apostle, set apart for the gospel of God,
which he promised beforehand through his
prophets in the holy scriptures, the gospel
concerning his Son” (Rom. 1.1-3 NRSV).
Moreover, Paul’s letters are referred to as “Scripture” in 2 Pet. 3.16, while Luke’s gospel is referred to as “Scripture” in 1 Tim. 5.18!
——-
8. Conclusion: NT History is Written in Advance
The all-pervading scriptural theme——that Christ’s gospel, crucifixion, and resurrection is either promised, known, or witnessed *beforehand* by the foreknowledge of God——should be the guiding principle for NT interpretation. First, we read that “the gospel concerning his [God’s] Son” is “promised beforehand (προεπηγγείλατο; Rom. 1.2). Second, the text reveals that Jesus was foreknown to be crucified “according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God” (προγνώσει; Acts 2.22-23). Third, this theme is reiterated in Acts 10.40-41 in which we are told that Jesus’ resurrection is *only* visible “to witnesses who were chosen beforehand by God” (προκεχειροτονημένοις; NASB). Accordingly, the evidence suggests that the knowledge of Christ’s coming was communicated beforehand to the preselected witnesses through the agency of the Holy Spirit (cf. Jn 16.13; 2 Pet. 1.17-19 ff.). It appears, then, that the theological purpose of the gospels is to provide a fitting introduction to the messianic story beforehand so that it can be passed down from generation to generation until the time of its fulfilment. It is as though New Testament history is written in advance:
“I am God . . . declaring the end from the
beginning and from ancient times things
not yet done (Isa. 46.9-10).
Mine is the only view that appropriately combines the end-time messianic expectations of the Jews with Christian Scripture!
What if the Crucifixion of Christ is a future event? (See my article “WHY DOES THE NEW TESTAMENT REFER TO CHRIST’S FUTURE COMING AS A REVELATION?”: https://eli-kittim.tumblr.com/post/187927555567/why-does-the-new-testament-refer-to-christs).
——-
The Da Vinci Code Versus The Gospels
By Eli Kittim 🎓
Bart Ehrman was once quoted as saying: “If Jesus did not exist, you would think his brother would know it.” This is an amusing anecdote that I’d like to use as a springboard for this short essay to try to show that it’s impossible to separate literary characters from the literature in which they are found. For example, when Ehrman says, “If Jesus did not exist, you would think his brother would know it,” his comment presupposes that James is a real historical figure. But how can we affirm the historicity of a literary character offhand when the so-called “history” of this character is solely based on, and intimately intertwined with, the literary New Testament structures? And if these literary structures are not historical, what then? The fact that the gospels were written anonymously, and that there were no eyewitnesses and no firsthand accounts, and that the events in Jesus’ life were, for the most part, borrowed from the Old Testament, seems to suggest that they were written in the literary genre known as theological fiction. After all, the gospels read like Broadway plays!
Let me give you an analogy. Dan Brown writes novels. All his novels, just like the gospels, contain some historical places, figures, and events. But the stories, in and of themselves, are completely fictional. So, Ehrman’s strawman argument is tantamount to saying that if we want to examine the historicity of Professor Robert Langdon——who is supposedly a Harvard University professor of history of art and symbology——we’ll have to focus on his relationship with Sophie Neveu, a cryptologist with the French Judicial Police, and the female protagonist of the book. Ehrman’s earlier anecdote would be akin to saying: “if Robert Langdon did not exist, you would think Sophie would know it.”
But we wouldn’t know about Robert Langdon if it wasn’t for The Da Vinci Code. You can’t separate the character Robert Langdon from The Da Vinci Code and present him independently of it because he’s a character within that book. Therefore, his historicity or lack thereof depends entirely on how we view The Da Vinci Code. If The Da Vinci Code turns out to be a novel (which in fact it is), then how can we possibly ask historians to give us their professional opinions about him? It’s like asking historians to give us a historical assessment of bugs bunny? Was he real? So, as you can see, it’s all based on the literary structure of The Da Vinci Code, which turns out to be a novel!
By comparison, the historicity of Jesus depends entirely on how we view the literary structure of the gospel literature. Although modern critical scholars view the gospels as theological documents, they, nevertheless, believe that they contain a historic core or nucleus. They also think that we have evidence of an oral tradition. We do not! There are no eyewitnesses and no firsthand accounts. All we have about the life and times of Jesus are the gospel narratives, which were composed approximately 40 to 70 years after the purported events by anonymous Greek authors who never met Jesus. And they seem to be works of theological fiction. So where is the historical evidence that these events actually happened? We have to believe they happened because the gospel characters tell us so? It’s tantamount to saying that the events in The Da Vinci Code actually happened because Robert Langdon says so. But if the story is theological, so are its characters. Thus, the motto of the story is: don’t get caught up in the characters. The message is much more important! As for those who look to Josephus’ Antiquities for confirmation, unfortunately——due to the obvious interpolations——it cannot be considered authentic. Not to mention that Josephus presumably would have been acquainted with the gospel stories, most of which were disseminated decades earlier.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to downplay the seriousness of the gospel message. I’m simply trying to clarify it. The gospels are inspired, but they were never meant to be taken literally. I’m also a believer and I have a high view of scripture. The message of Christ is real. But when will the Jesus-story play out is not something the gospels can address. Only the epistles give us the real Jesus!
Who Wrote the Gospels? Are They Giving us History? Is Luke 1:1-4 a Case Study?
Eli Kittim
I think we need to seriously reevaluate our traditional view of the New Testament. Almost everything we believe about it is wrong. Christianity is not a historical religion, and it doesn’t need to be defended through archaeology or historical apologetics (e.g. listing eyewitnesses, or proving the resurrection), as is often done. Similarly, the gospels are not historical documents that correspond to real historical events. One would be hard put to reconstruct the so-called “historical Jesus” through fictional/theological stories that are largely based on the Old Testament.
For example, if Luke wrote his gospel based on other people’s opinions (Lk 1:1-4), we are in big trouble! Here’s what probably happened. There was no oral Aramaic tradition.
As scholars are now saying, the New Testament was probably written by the Greco-Roman literati (i.e. the educated upper class/intelligentsia). That’s precisely why the New Testament was composed, for the most part, in Greece and Rome. And that also explains why it was written in Greek by highly literate authors who didn’t understand the finer points of Jewish life in first century Palestine.
The New Testament authors must have been members of the Greco-Roman upper crust and very well-known, and that’s probably why they didn’t add their names to the texts. Some of the potential candidates who may have had a hand in writing the New Testament are Philo, Plutarch, and Josephus. And that’s probably why Luke seems to be familiar with Josephus’ works (Steve Mason). At any rate, it was obviously more than one writer, and all the authors, without exception, must have had transcendent experiences of God. There were no interviews and no “memories” involved, as Luke suggests. Every word they put on paper was coming directly from God. The New Testament is basically written in the form of prophetical writing (i.e. the genre called “apocalyptic literature”) because it’s based exclusively on visions and revelations (see Gal. 1:11-12; 1 Pet. 1:10-11)!
But we have completely misunderstood and misinterpreted these books. The problem is not with the New Testament; it’s with us. If you carefully analyze the New Testament, you’ll find that the epistles give us the “real” Jesus (meaning the actual *timing* of the parousia), whereas the gospels only give us a literary, fictional/theological rendering based on Old Testament material (intertextuality). That’s what’s going on!
Here’s the problem with our traditional interpretation of the preface to Luke’s Gospel. If Luke 1:1-4 is taken as prima facie evidence, then we’re no longer reading the word of God, but a case study. It’s as if Luke is saying: I interviewed someone, who knew someone, who knew someone, who knew one of the apostles. In other words, Luke is basing his gospel on the memories (or false memories) of some individuals. Is this the inspired word of God that we must now accept as eyewitness testimony? I think not!
There are many problems with that view.
First, if Luke is giving us reports from interviews, then his gospel would certainly not be considered as the inspired word of God, but rather a case study which contains the questionable memories of second generation Christians, who may or may not know much, or who may not remember things accurately.
Second, the composite work of Luke-Acts is a fictional composition. The Book of Acts, especially, creates a head-on collision with the authentic Pauline corpus, particularly with Galatians. Not to mention that many of the details in the story are seemingly fabricated (e.g. Pharisees working for Sadducees, the Sanhedrin had no jurisdiction in Syria, Paul’s journeys are contradicted, etc.), and even the term “Christian” was not used until the beginning of the 2nd century. That’s why scholars like EP Sanders and Paula Fredriksen view Acts as a work of historical fiction. In fact, Dr. Fredriksen seriously doubts whether the author of Luke-Acts was Paul's companion. According to her, Luke doesn’t seem to know Paul very well. Bottom line, if you want to understand the actual TIMING of the Birth, Death, and Resurrection of Jesus, read the epistles, not the gospels!
How Did God Inspire the Biblical Authors?
the thing that scares me the most about writing historical fiction is not being able to write in the right tone. I worry the dialogue may bleed modernity and ruin the experience for the reader. At the same time, I worry it’ll sound incomprehensible for the sake of adherence to the era’s nature. How can I strike the happy medium?
-penned by j. m. medna (2024)
flower petal
credit for the gif goes to whoever made it and posted it first 🖤
yandere! jeon jungkook x reader oneshot
reincarnation au
you were once the queen married to the most well-known king of his dynasty, Jeon Jungkook. He failed to rule his kingdom properly, however, and took to prioritizing you rather than his kingdom. As a means of escape, you helped the people sneak into the palace and overthrow the young king.
centuries later, where you may have forgotten your place by his side, Jungkook will be all too sure to remind you where you stand.
note: (M/N) is for your middle name, and not your mother’s name just to avoid any confusion :) happy reading!
warnings: yandere themes, physical altercations
A.D. 1200s-1400s, North Drokest
“A king…does that mean I can be yours?”
He balked in confusion at the dark tone in your voice.
You weren’t meant to sound like this. Your voice was the honey in his tea to soothe his aching throat, the flower petals pressed between his pages in which he left a bit of his soul.
His queen would never speak to him with such a cruel, demeaning tone.
“Answer me.” Your voice got steadily louder. “You call yourself ‘king.’ You claim you rule over this sad, desperate realm but in reality, you divide. You cause turmoil. Your people aren’t happy. They starve, and they beg you for your mercy and you have none to give.”
The throne room was vast but straightforward. High walls and ceilings held up by ornate columns, decorated in every inch with the colors of the household. Red and gold banners decorated the walls, even the carpet leading to the red, plush seats of the golden throne was red with yellow lining. The tall, wooden doors of the palace stood behind you as threatening as the presence of the man before you.
The space was empty, except for you and the king, as all the advisors and knights had been released from duty. You assumed they were happily spending their freedom buried in spirits, women, men, or something of the sort.
You stood before the king, the red and gold trim of his robes mockingly prominent.
“A king would not sit back in amusement as his land festers away with an illness, a virus that is the king himself. You poison your land, this land. You have absolutely no right to call yourself king. To me, you are nothing more than a child playing dress-up.”
He sucked in a breath, gazing at you curiously. This was the first time he was making this sort of expression to you and for some crazed reason, you thought your words were finally reaching the mind of the deranged man before you.
“As for me? I am anything but yours. My body is dust, my breath air. Everything that was given to me I intend to give back to this world. You lay no claim over me, just as you lay no claim over this earth.”
“A king is only as powerful as his people intend him to be. In accordance with your current state, the people have deemed you unworthy.”
Your words were accentuated with the crashing of the palace doors. Citizens young and old marched into the throne room, pitchforks and torches lit, clamoring for the death of the king.
His eyes never left yours as the crowds grew behind you. “So you have betrayed me, my love.”
“You lied to me. You promised that once you took the throne, you would change everything your brother and father stood for. The minute you placed yourself on their seat, you followed in their footsteps.” You had to scream over the chants now.
The crowds hushed as the village leaders climbed the steps to the throne, pausing beside you.
“This is not me enacting punishment against you, for it is not my place, but the responsibility of the people to remove a leader they deem unfit.” You said.
“This is how we end?” He asked, remaining calm. If anything, the sadness in his tone made you clench your fists tighter.
“We ended a long time ago,” you said.
Just before you stepped to the side and let the people take him away, you bowed to His Majesty one last time.
“Your flower petals lost color a long time ago,” You choked out, stumbling backward and rushing out the throne room.
Your voice was torn, he noticed. You had tears in your eyes.
That was his darling.
Breaking out of the cold, hard shell that was the woman before. You were there.
“(M/N)!” He called, watching your form retreat into the darkness. The leaders restrained him, but he fought tooth and nail to catch a glimpse of your form once more. “Petal!”
You froze, but only for a moment. You then continued on with a quickened pace, holding back sobs.
And all throughout the kingdom, up until the king’s execution, the only words that passed through his lips were your name.
In small, breathless whispers and desperate, ravaged screams.
He called for you, but you never came.
———————————————————————————
A.D. 2019, a metropolitan city
“I don’t know why I took this course,” you muttered to your friend, sticking your phone inside your bag as you stood in line at the Treshiuan Art Museum.
The building was lined with obsidian rock, glistening in the morning sun. The steps were dark and slippery, and the glass walls that adorned the first floor reflected harshly against the material. Inside, the cool blasts of air from the ceiling didn’t make the space any more welcoming. You untied your sweater from around your waist and zipped it up.
“You didn’t want to be stuck with a science course for the optional summer colloquium,” Taehyung stated, carelessly flicking through a museum pamphlet. “You said, and I quote, ‘Memorizing old people, dates, their art, and its meaning would forever be easier than learning oxidation-reduction.’’
“But was I wrong?” you grinned at him as he rolled his eyes. Taehyung felt that you had a lack of appreciation for “the arts”. It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate them; you just weren’t as interested as he was. You would never discredit the beauty (or lack thereof) and meaning artists placed into their pieces.
“Tell her she’s wrong, Jungkook.” The upperclassman pouted at your classmate, whose eyes were glued to the game on his cellphone.
“You’re both wrong for trying to interrupt me right now,” he muttered furiously slamming his fingers on his screen.
“Joumou University students, over here!” The art history teacher called your group out of the line, standing next to a tall, brown-skinned woman with dark eyes. She smiled ominously, eyeing your trio with something akin to amusement in her eyes.
“Good morning everyone,” her slightly accented voice rang through the students, causing even Jungkook to look up from his handheld game.
“My name is Ilyana and I will be your tour guide this morning. I have been told by your teacher that most of you know little to nothing about thirteenth to fifteenth century dynasty art. I am excited to tell you everything I can. Before we embark upon our journey to the past, are there any questions?”
“I like her,” Taehyung whispered in your ear.
“Same. Anything like ‘embark upon our journey’ would sound lame from anyone else, but she makes it elegant and exciting.” You whispered back.
Jungkook snorted and tucked his phone into his pocket.
“No? Then let’s begin. Our tour will cover pieces from the Drokest region.”
Ilyana led your group to the elevators spouting information about the formation of royal lines in Drokest, where you somehow managed to fit in with another group. Your stop was first, and as you stepped off the elevator, your jaw dropped in awe.
The room was covered wall to wall with blue, purple, and silver. Tapestries, silks, and paintings, all had the same colors with glittering figures and jewels.
“In this land, every dynasty had designated colors. The first family to rule, the Layvns, were crowned with shades of royal blue and purple underneath a full moon, depicted by the silver embroidery.”
You walked around with Taehyung and Jungkook, admiring the care and attentiveness put into the tapestries.
“They must have loved this family,” you noted.
“The royal line of the Drokest region, albeit short, was mostly highly favored,” Ilyana said as she moved into the next hall.
“Mostly?” Taehyung asked.
“That’s a story for later.” Ilyana smiled.
You giggled and glanced over at Jungkook. He had his hood fully over his head, walking past all of the artwork without so much as sparing a look.
Like this, you passed rooms and rooms of bright, blooming colors. Pink and ivory for the second family, black and green for the third, and brown and ginger for the fourth.
As you passed through each room, the amount of artwork lessened. The number of tapestries decreased, the silk wardrobes became sparse, and the only consistent painting was that of the king and queen, possibly with their royal family.
You were with Taehyung, who was commenting on the horrible color choice the fourth family made when you noticed Jungkook sitting on a bench in the middle of the room. He had been downcast since before your tour of the exhibit started.
You left your energetic, argumentative friend and sat next to Jungkook. “You know, for the actual art major, you seem less interested in these pieces than me. Is everything okay?” you asked.
He shook his head. “I’m fine…the pieces are nice and everything. I just feel like…”
“Feel like what?” You gently pressed for him to go on.
“…I feel like I shouldn’t be here.” He finished. “Like someone hurt me and I don’t want to feel that pain ever again.”
Usually, you would push the feelings off with a joke, claiming Jungkook was getting in his feels because of the art and asking him if he wanted to play his hurt girl music. But the pain in his face told you a truer picture.
“Well, we’re almost done. After this next family, we can leave the museum and head back to the hotel. Or we can go to the restaurant you were excited to check out!” You said, placing a hand on his arm. “It’s only another half an hour. You’ve got this, and I’ve got you.”
Jungkook smiled weakly at you and you both stood as Ilyana called for the group to move on.
When your group entered the fifth room, it was a surprise for you to see only one painting. The room was bare of any tapestries or silks, and all of the lights were off, except for a single, dim light clearing the piece.
“Here, we have the fifth and final royal family of the Drokest region. We call them a family, but they were really just a royal couple. A young royal couple.”
“King Jeongguk and his Queen, (M/N). The two have quite a fantastic love story, full of tragedy, love, and disloyalty.” Ilyana smiled as if she had been present for the development of their story herself. “Gather for such a story, if you please.”
“King Jeongguk grew up in the palace a sheltered, careful boy. He did not have the same bloodthirsty, righteous drive his father and older brother carried. His closest companions were the walls of his bedroom; not even the chambermaids would speak to him.
“Jeongguk’s mother passed away at his birth, and he had never known the kindness of a woman’s touch. Legends say it was why he fell so hard, so fast for his future queen.”
“(M/N) was a little girl, the daughter of a flower peddler. She would stand in the streets of the capital city with her parents and older sister, charming people into buying a flower or two from her.”
“Jeongguk’s chambermaids would often purchase a bouquet of these flowers and place them in his room and the hallways of the palace. He adored their smell and look, pressed the petals between the pages of his book to save them, and talked to them in his extreme loneliness.”
“One day, the youngest prince escaped from the palace. He fled to the streets of the capital city, away from the brown and ginger flags of his father and pledged to live a simple life hidden amongst the commoners. During this short escape, he managed to meet the young girl as she and her family were selling his favorite flowers.”
Jungkook choked back a groan as he felt a sudden migraine hit. He stumbled his way to a bench and held his head in his hand as he tried not to draw too much attention to himself.
Images flashed before his eyes, with words and names that didn’t name sense. The clearest image was that of a young girl, with (h/c), (h/l) hair and the most beautiful (e/c) eyes. Her (s/c) hand extended a flower to him.
“Would you like to purchase a flower today?”
She grinned up at him, a few years younger and a few heads shorter. “I think it would look ever so lovely on your wrist or finger.”
He stood in awe until he heard the pounding feet of the palace guards.
“The palace guard found him, however, and dragged him back to the palace where he endured years of torment at the hand of his father and brother.” Ilyana continued.
Jungkook sat shaking.
How was he able to see the story in his mind?
“With every beating, the prince lost more and more of his humanity. The very viciousness that the king tried to instill in his own son was inflicted upon him and the crown prince. He slaughtered them and hung their bodies from trees in the mountains, letting the birds pick at their flesh. When nothing but bones were left, he had the soldiers throw their skeletons in the river.”
“Damn.” Taehyung whistled. You shivered, the feeling crawling down your spine.
“And once this cold-hearted prince became king, he had only one woman on his mind for him to marry. The same, precious little girl who offered to place a flower around his finger.”
“The king had her brought to the palace, where he essentially threatened her into marriage. At first, their relationship was tense but with time, the flower peddler’s daughter saw what was once in her young, sensitive prince. She brought out the best in him, hoping his kindness towards her could reflect more upon his actions in the kingdom.” Ever so often, Ilyana would pause and look you in the eye as she spoke about the queen. Her eyes carried a heaviness, a burden of emotions that you felt had no right to be turned against you.
“Unfortunately, however, it did the opposite and his reign got harsher, and the control he placed over his wife was suffocating. The citizens were taxed harshly, and corruption in the palace ran rampant. Jeongguk cared more for his wife than he did for being king. He was extremely possessive of her and forbid the chambermaids and knights from speaking to her. The queen eventually tired of this treatment and worked with the townspeople to overthrow the king. She disappeared in the night, and he was executed with her name on his lips. Thus, this was the last of the Drokest dynasty.” Your tour guide finished.
The room was hushed with the power of the story. Jungkook grit his teeth as more images flashed by in his mind.
The cracking of a whip against the air, the sting on his back and the smell of blood. His voice was hoarse from screaming.
The feeling of blood on his hands as he rid himself of his tormentors.
The joy he felt when he slipped a golden band onto his queen’s fingers.
The despair and anger that consumed him when she turned against him.
You had your eyes glued to the painting. Your chest ached painfully at the images of those two, young people. In every other portrait, the royal family is side by side staring cold and unforgivingly into the onlooker’s eyes. But in this portrait, as the queen grasps the king’s hands, she smiles gently. Her eyes are crinkled a bit, and the king beams as he turns his eyes on her.
How long must he have held his head in that position?
Since the beginning, I only ever had eyes for you. You are my saving grace, flower petal.
You turned, expecting to see someone next to you, but there was just empty space.
“Who said that?” you muttered.
Your eyes scanned the room for Jungkook, worried about how he was feeling after hearing the story. Perhaps it had hit him as hard as it hit you. Or perhaps it had made his uneasiness worse.
The young man stood in front of the painting, as close as the red rope allowed him. He scrutinized every aspect of the work.
Why did it feel so familiar?
He felt a hand on his shoulder and jolted. “Woah, are you okay?” You chuckled.
His eyes refused to land anywhere near you and his voice was currently not working, so he settled for a nod.
“The story must have gotten to you too. I was just thinking about how much love he had for her to break his neck staying in one position for the painting…” You looked at him searching for a laugh, or even a smile, but to your surprise, Jungkook had tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Jungkook?” You gasped out and reached to wipe them away.
He smacked your hand away harshly, his hood falling down to cover his eyes. Without another word, he stormed out of the gallery.
You were about to go running after him when Ilyana stepped in your path. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”
“What? Oh…yes.” You said. “In another life, I’m sure they would have made a great pair.”
Ilyana laughed gracefully. “I admire the way you think. Would you like to hear a little known fact?”
“Sure,” you said trying to hide your frustration as you watched your friend get farther and farther away. “Why not?”
“Rumour has it, King Jeongguk had the sweetest nickname for his queen.” Ilyana mused. “He called her flower petal.”
Your blood froze.
——————————————————————————
The rest of the summer was extremely hard. Ever since the travel colloquium, Jungkook had been ignoring you. Two weeks into the school year his behavior hadn’t changed. He would be with Taehyung, and once you walked up to the two he found a way to step out of the conversation.
There was a day when he stopped giving excuses, and it was the same day you stopped accepting them.
“Hey, (Y/N),” Taehyung asked as you were in his dorm room one night. The two of you were eating pizza and playing video games, as usual, relaxing from a busy, stressful week of adulting. He sat relaxing in his Gucci shirt and sweatpants. “Why are you and Jungkook so tense? Are you fighting or something? Did you two have sex over the summer and then things got really awkward, so you stopped talking?”
You spluttered, choking on a slice of pizza. “Tae, what? No! Absolutely not! I don’t know what went wrong–we were looking at that painting from the Drokest dynasty and he flipped out on me and hasn’t spoken to me since. I don’t know what I did wrong…”
“You shouldn’t let him treat you that way, especially if you don’t deserve it,” Taehyung advised. “Why don’t you confront him about it?”
“You know I’m not a very confrontational person. I don’t like getting into other people’s business. Then again, Jungkook isn’t just ‘other people’. So if he’s going through something, I should at least try to meet him halfway.” Your argument changed direction in a matter of seconds as you reconsidered your thoughts.
“Most definitely!” Taehyung cheered you on. “It isn’t too late, why don’t you go over to his apartment now?”
You hesitated but grabbed your bag. “Alright. I guess I’m off, then.”
Taehyung walked you to the door, hugging you goodbye.
On the way to Jungkook’s, you thought over everything you were going to say. Things ended so awkwardly back at the museum, you hadn’t the slightest idea what to do.
You passed by a familiar green and white sign, looking at the multiple flower bouquets and stands.
This would either go horribly wrong or horribly right, but it was going to happen nonetheless.
———————————————————————–
You stood, shaking for some reason, in front of Jungkook’s door. He resided in a quieter part of the university town, a considerable distance from campus.
When terms with you two were better, he would join you and Taehyung’s “legendary” sleepovers and rarely had to worry about the distance. Lately, according to Taehyung, he’d been shutting himself inside his house.
Jungkook was a good student–he’d show up to class, never handed assignments in late, and was virtually passing every subject. But for the past couple of days, his teachers hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him.
You gulped.
“Come now, (Y/N). You’re not walking into certain death here.” You spoke under your breath. “This is a friend of yours who is shutting himself away from you, and you care about him. This is serious.”
With that self-encouragement, you rang the doorbell twice and stuck the flowers behind your back.
It was quiet inside for a moment, but you soon heard floorboards creaking. The chain slid into place before the door slightly opened.
As he peered out the crack, he saw you standing there with a smile on your face. His eyes widened.
“Hey, Jungkook.” You rocked back and forth on your heels. “I know it’s been a while but…I’ve been worried about you since our museum trip…I’m sorry for anything I did to offend you back then and I would sincerely like to talk to you about anything you’re worried about.”
He eyed you for a few moments. Without another word, he closed the door and removed the chain.
“Come in.” He said quietly.
You smiled, entering with your front to his so that he could not see your gift.
Jungkook was never this demure before, you noticed.
The apartment was dark. All of the lights were off, save a single lamplight illuminating his desk. It looked like the apartment of a recluse.
“So you have willingly returned to me, my love?” Jungkook murmured.
“What?” You asked, turning your head to face him.
“What?” He replied, locking the door behind him. “I didn’t say anything.”
You laughed weakly, eyeing the lock he just turned. “Sure, okay. But on a more serious note…”
Rather than the usual doodles and pieces of artwork Jungkook would have strewn around his apartment, there were clippings of articles about the fifth king and queen of the Drokest dynasty pinned to the walls, curtains, and windows. From art reviews to historical findings, any piece of information he could find was stapped to a chalkboard near the desk like a considerable life map.
“Were you that fascinated with the king and queen?” You asked him. “I still find the ending unsettling. I kind of wish it had ended another way, you know?”
This was obviously dangerous territory, for the last time you tried to talk to him about them, he’d burst into tears.
Yet when you looked at Jungkook, his eyes were alight with a hope that had not been present before.
“Yes!” He said, beaming. “That’s why I’ve been trying to find out so much about them…I want to recreate ou-their story so that they can get the best ending possible.”
“That’s cute.” You chuckled. “I wish you all the success in making that happen.”
“What did you bring me?” He questioned. “I’m ever so curious.”
You blushed, ignoring his antiquated speech. “Funnily enough, I was coming from Taehyung’s dorm-”
You didn’t notice the way his face darkened.
“-and on my way here, I passed by a flower shop and saw these and, well,” You handed him the bouquet. “Aren’t they beautiful? I think they’d look adorable on someone’s wrist or-”
“Wrapped around someone’s finger, yes.” Jungkook took the flowers so carefully, treating them like precious glass.
“Yes, how did you know?” You wondered.
“It was just a feeling…” Jungkook placed the flowers on his table and started preparing a vase for them. “…you know, (Y/N), when we were at the museum listening to the story, you didn’t feel anything strange?”
“Strange? No, I-actually, there was something a little weird. I thought you or Taehyung had said it to me, but after the story ended I heard someone calling me their ‘saving grace.’ But there was no one next to me the whole time.”
Since the beginning, I only ever had eyes for you.
Your head began to pound harshly. You grimaced and sat on a chair by his living room table.
Your friend placed the vase in the center of the table, setting the flowers in the water. “So you don’t remember anything other than that?”
Jungkook’s voice was oddly menacing. He trembled in the darkness of his apartment.
“No, should I?” You said.
Why is he shaking?
“You remember nothing of our past.” Jungkook lifted his head and those deep, dark, brown eyes were teeming with rage. “You remember nothing of your betrayal, yet your actions remain the same.”
“Jungkook, what are you talking about? I never betrayed you!” Your headache wasn’t getting any better and the situation had clearly worsened.
“I’ve been using my time to find out any and all information about us,” He continued. “My death was broadcasted all over the kingdom, with the next ruler being the son of one of the village elders. You, however, you disappeared without a trace.”
Your head was spinning too fast for you to understand. “Your death? The kingdom? …Jungkook. Do you honestly think you’re the fifth king of Drokest?”
“I don’t think! I know I am!” He hissed at you. “I didn’t ask to remember, but now that I have do you expect it, all of it, to be water under the bridge?”
“Is that why you’ve been so angry at me?” You stood now furious, head pain be damned. “You think I’m the queen from the painting? You think I want you dead?”
“Like I said, your own actions betray you.” He gestured towards the flowers you brought him. “I can clearly see that history is about to repeat itself.”
“Those people are dead, Jungkook!” You finally burst. You had had enough of his emotional tantrum and gaslighting. “They lived, they loved, they’re gone! We are us! Here! In 2019!”
Jungkook grabbed you by the shoulders and slammed you so hard against the wall you saw stars. But they weren’t the normal stars erupting behind your eyelids.
The sky was lit with constellation upon constellation. A cool, night breeze blew your (h/c) hair from your face. You reached up to brush it back for the hundredth time when another hand grabbed yours.
“For you, my love.” A young man with dark hair and dark eyes appeared next to you, holding out a beautiful hairpin. The flower on it was a dazzling red, and the beads that hung from it shimmered of gold and pink.
You accepted the gift with a bow and trembling hands. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
When you tried to fix the ornament in place, your hands were shaking so bad it would not stay still. He gracefully took it and in one swoop, locked your hair behind your ear.
“I know that you are afraid of me,” he claimed as you stiffened. “I won’t pretend that I have not done some things others may consider atrocious…”
“Yet you have nothing to fear from me, darling. Should you give yourself to me, I promise you will see me anew.” He wrapped his arms around you so easily, as if they had always been there. “As a changed man, I will do better for you.”
You relaxed some. “Your Majesty-”
“Jeongguk.” He interrupted. “Please, call me by my name.”
You blushed and whispered his birth name. “I am afraid of you. I’m not crafty enough to lie in your presence. But there is something I have wanted to ask you since the wedding.”
“Speak.” Jeongguk rubbed his head into your shoulder. “Anything you ask of, I will comply with.”
You gently pushed him off of you so that you could look him in the eyes and it would not be taken as rejection. “Why me? My family and I have done nothing but vend flowers for years. I have no special meaning to this kingdom, I truly can not comprehend how I can be its queen.”
The king was still for some moments. “Your flowers were my only friends in this palace.” He muttered at last. “In this sad, cold place where I was confined to my room, I pressed the petals between the pages of my books simply to feel their smoothness and warmth later on.”
His arms, strong and constricting, still rested around you. They tightened as he went on, holding you to the point where you felt that you could not breathe.
“When my father and brother chose to discipline me into becoming like them every day, it was the love for your flowers that they tried to beat out of me. My love for you.” He smirked. “Clearly, it didn’t work.”
You shivered and resisted the temptation to look to the mountains, where the bodies of the previous king and crown prince were still hanging, swaying in the wind.
“I chose you because you are the reason I stay human. Since the beginning, I only ever had eyes for you. That precious day when we met on the market streets, and you offered to tie a flower around my finger. You are my saving grace, flower petal.”
With a harsh gasp, you were brought out of the memory. Your hands grasped Jungkook’s arms like a vice and your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath.
The vision..the voice…they were real.
Jungkook patiently waited for you to calm down, tsking as you slid to the floor still in his arms.
“That’s just like you, petal. Blaming me for not being able to recognize your wrongdoing.”
“So I was the…” you said. “And you were…we really…why?”
“I couldn’t tell you why, (Y/N). I hardly know why myself.” Jungkook said. “I laid here in torment since the summer, trying to find a way to prove to myself that it wasn’t real.”
“The visions?” You asked.
“Your betrayal.” He gritted out. “The way you sold me out to the villagers like some common criminal. I screamed until my throat bled, begging for you to come back and you never did.”
Your eyes widened with awakened fear. “I…it was…”
“Do you still stand by that decision?” Jungkook asked as he kneeled next to you on the ground.
“I…had to…” You whispered. Even after all these years, your feelings hadn’t changed. He was destroying the country, you, and himself. “Everything you touched was poison.”
Jungkook let out a sickly, dark laugh. He wrapped his hands around your throat, squeezing tighter and tighter, bringing his lips to your ear.
“I suppose that alternate ending you were waiting for has arrived, then, hasn’t it?”
You feebly kicked at the spot between his legs but he jerked back without removing his hands. “Don’t worry, petal. I’ll make sure we go back to being happy and in love. With that, we will have the perfect ending. We can start the sixth line that never got to be.” His voice was dreamy and his eyes were light, despite the fact that he was applying enough strength to your neck to choke you out.
“N..o…” you barely managed to get the word out. It didn’t matter how much you resisted. Jungkook had centuries worth of anger backing him up.
“Don’t make me break you, petal,” he brushed tears from your eyes and shushed you like a child. “Flowers can’t grow to be as beautiful as they can be if the stems aren’t intact.”
I never should have come, you thought to yourself.
“Yes, you never should have betrayed me. But it’s alright, (Y/N). As you said, those people are dead and gone. We will start anew in this century and this life…and perhaps even the one after that.” He smiled, looking down at your unconscious figure and stroking your hair.
“I don’t care how many lives I have to live if it means I can finally be with you, petal.”
one of the best things david jenkins does with OFMD is that when he fucks with the historicity of 18th century pirate-adventure genre, the effect is not just comedic. it’s not just getting a kick out of leather gang + clipper ships + dramatic capture scene set to fleetwood mac’s the chain + british royalists in their stupid wigs. it’s that the obscuring of that timeline and ours allows u to perceive the setting of imperialism that the characters are playing in as both a past relic and present reality. is this more intentional than just an aesthetic choice? feels like it. why not tbh? the Pirates Dicking Around genre has always been about 1700s western european empire. and in OFMD we get an eerie insistence that there is actually no post-colonial era. there never was. there’s just the iterations of that violent legacy: from the trans-atlantic slave route, the pillaging of asia-pacific, etc. to the current forms of global imperial militarism and armed police states that took its place. on paper the show is based on a true story. in tone it’s present-haunted. and the central motley crew here works bc they’re all dynamic, hilarious, flirty, grimy, etc. but they also work bc they’re all visually, clearly a little united nations survey of colonized peoples whose shit was fucked up by 18th century imperialists. and it isn’t even subtext?? the whole show is about piracy as refuge. yea sure, from everyone’s dicey personal life dramas, sour romantic entanglements, the general banalities of life etc. but also, piracy as escape from the larger ills of societal outcasting and poverty as a result of …. . british/spanish/french/etc colonialism. consider: blackbeard’s voice in the show is just taika’s actual māori accent. and there’s a scene where you find out the kraken isn’t real, that blackbeard is monster and man. and behind his infamy is just some guy who’s traumatized, forlorn as all fuck, with insane daddy issues, etc. but whose tender humanity is brought into question against his own monstrousness. you see the whites of his eyes peering out of a soot smeared face, a mirror of the savage native caricature that all 18th century western europeans held of their colonized pacific islander subjects. blackbeard’s final act is a regression into that mythic dehumanization but rly it’s just him at his most heartbroken and lonely. and yea, this is mainly the angsty climax part of a multi-act love story. but also perhaps a purposeful genre-aware moment among many other similar moments within a show whose historical/present context is very explicit. and is meant to define the parameters of the world these characters are struggling in. ultimately OFMD makes u feel like. the absurd horror and wretchedness of colonialism’s totaling stain on history is in fact the most surreal wasteland valley-of-death setting for a group of outcasts to go and find refuge in love, gay sex, hooligan shit, and jokes. in the 1700s pirate hostile open seas, among their own fellow-othered. u know
I’m still on holiday in the UK, but here’s a quick Richard pic using Artstudio Pro and iPad (feels weird🤣).
Can’t draw anything NSFW cos my 5-year-old nieces are all over the iPad, but I have trained them to love Richard! (They’ve watched the play 3 times now and can do abridged versions of key scenes XD)
chained up or forced to wear a straightjacket // stabbed in the shoulder or bitten by a monster // masquerade ball or dinner party // stormy night or winter forest // dungeon or tower // sudden collapse or bandaged up // poisoned or drained of blood // experimented on or bedridden // nightmares or hallucinations // attacked by a monster or transformed into one // betrayal or lost love // castle or cottage // seaside or garden // hanged or strapped down // damsel in distress or ghostly maiden // haunted portrait or haunted mirror // guilt or insanity // immortality or untimely death // thunderstorm or snowstorm // imprisoned monster or angry ghost // laboratory or library // cemetery or portrait gallery // secret cellar or secret attic // hanging chandeliers or melting candelabras // body horror or creature horror // howling wind or eerie silence
tagging: @maguayans @lysiswriting @astridmayewrites @stardustsnight
This or That, Gothic Edition
You know the drill: reblog and bold your preferences.
chained up or forced to wear a straightjacket // stabbed in the shoulder or bitten by a monster // masquerade ball or dinner party // stormy night or winter forest // dungeon or tower // sudden collapse or bandaged up // poisoned or drained of blood // experimented on or bedridden // nightmares or hallucinations // attacked by a monster or transformed into one // betrayal or lost love // castle or cottage // seaside or garden // hanged or strapped down // damsel in distress or ghostly maiden // haunted portrait or haunted mirror // guilt or insanity // immortality or untimely death // thunderstorm or snowstorm // imprisoned monster or angry ghost // laboratory or library // cemetery or portrait gallery // secret cellar or secret attic // hanging chandeliers or melting candelabras // body horror or creature horror // howling wind or eerie silence
when my name was keoko
ahhhh hello hello (not me coming back from the dead to talk about a novel of all things) but i just wanted to get this post out first before giving myself time to breath and enter the social media world again haha.
i think i spent the last few months researching about korea, its history, and just the folklore surrounding the culture. and there's just one book i stumbled on that i thought i had to talk about: when my name was keoko.
set in Korea during Japanese colonization and WWII, this book alternates the POV between a young boy and girl, both siblings, who have not only lost their names but identities as Koreans. it's the most heartwrenching and heartwarming book you'll ever read.
and it's hard, finding a book about Korea colonized. i'm just grateful that this book exists, and I had the opportunity to read it.
so if anyone wants to check it out [and read my long ass grateful/sappy review] go right ahead!
i'm just grateful for this book for existing.
if you don't know, Korea has been colonized by Japan for years, decades even. as a Korean American, there's barely any readings (much less teachings unless you search for them) on this topic; it's also even more difficult to find a novel based on the context of this era.
this era is so, so, important. it is the cause of the strained relationship between the two countries, a consequence that continues to this day. it is an era that all, and I truly mean all koreans remember. colonization has shaped us, but haunted us as well.
I come to Korea, and my grandmother remembers like it was yesterday. my mother lived through the park chung-hee era, under a dictatorship and through the march revolution. so many historical events and issues in Korea that I was never taught as an American, that I could never follow, that i was ashamed to learn.
it just shows the strength that we had. we lived through this. we found ways to fight back. we found ways to preserve our culture - our names, our language, our national symbols.
it's insightful, horrific, intriguing, heartwarming, and tear-jerking. but I'm just so grateful that somewhere out there, this book is piecing together another part of Korean history that is unheard and untold of.
YES and literally the time they were running in breeches and Marcus and Simon Hunt saw them and were like so shocked… just the most hilarious moment ever
I’ve concluded that Lillian Bowman & Marcus Westcliff is really serving that Kathony vibe & that everyone who’s a fan of The Viscount Who Loved Me needs to read It Happened One Autumn by Lisa Kleypas, sorry I don’t make the rules
Also I have @death-of-astar to back me up on this
Mausoleum
The only thing as consistent in this world as the sin of human beings is the inevitability of my death and the dust of my forgotten bones. Through the many ages my bones have turned to dust behind the protection of stone, been worn by the weight of the dirt that pressed down on them and been burned to ash on many a pyre. My skull sits, bejeweled and gilded beneath the altar of a Cathedral in Europe. Somewhere, I know, lost to me in the shuffle, is an arrow carved from one of my tibias sitting in a velvet case in a museum. I still remember the day I dug it up, with a shovel and my bare skin, holding the sharp edges in my palm and running my thumb over the divots worn by time. It had been many years since I held a relic of my life and as the bone warmed in my palm, I felt those long forgotten sensations dust themselves off in my chest; the feeling of the kohl rimming my eyes, silk sliding over the skin of my thighs, the desert sun kissing my collarbones.
The only thing as present as my death is his own. It has happened more times than I can recall in this age though, some of my sharpest memories are often those littered with my own agony; as I see him finally, my lost companion, marching along the front lines of my army before the slaughter. I can so crisply recall the soft strands of his hair soaked in blood, body littered with wounds on the steps of a great building, surrounded by traitors. Some deaths are even more agonizing as I miss them entirely. Hearing about it from an advisor, reading about it in a book, the newspaper. A new memory, not greyed by the act of distant remembrance, often plays before my eyes as I drift off to sleep; standing before an exhibit as people mill around me, mothers corralling their children, teenagers huddled together as they shuffle past, and me, looking up at him for the first time with my new eyes.
He was smiling in the picture, arms thrown around two other men as they stood before a car, a 1932 Ford Model 18 V8 read the small plaque below the picture. His dark hair was slicked back beneath a top hat, and his coat was fitted to his lean frame. I was so transfixed; I did not realize I had stepped forward and placed my hand on the glass of the photo until a guard sternly asked me to take a step back. The moment was distinct, when the world came rushing back to me and a sharp pang took over my chest when I realized it, when I knew it in my soul. I had missed him entirely. It happened from time to time, when the only way we knew of one another was through a history book or a passing mention from a stranger. I was only eleven when I listened through the crack in the door of my father’s court as his advisor told him the tale of the Great King who had died in Babylon, as was prophesied. Not even the muddled understanding of my youth could keep me from the crushing loneliness of knowing, in my soul, that I would be utterly alone through my life.
The memories come slowly at first, a morbid understanding of a wisdom beyond my years is often recognized by those around me, though considered the quirk of my personality. At some point, an understanding settled in me to hold those memories close to my heart as the smell of smoke still burned the inside of my nose from time to time, the echo of my charred flesh shaking me from my slumber. I think, sometimes, that I can hear the timber of his screams paired with taste of ash in my mouth. I singed myself once with a candle; I watched the blood drain from his face as he cradled my burned skin and he wept. It was clear that our shared memory was much sharper, in his mind, than my vague impressions. There are many stories we cannot bear to tell the other that haunt the space behind our eyes. At some point he stopped looking at fire the same way and still, he has yet to understand why when he turns his head to the side, just so, tears slide down my cheeks as I see him sprawled on the dirt, neck broken as my husband towers over him in a foreign land.
Sometimes, warming ourselves in the light of a fire, the night settled around us where no prying ears could hear we would fill in the gaps of each other’s forgotten experience. The name of our first born child, the war we fled from, the court he presided over, the last name he wore. Our own names were long forgotten along with the life they lived, a sad but relieving tragedy in the face of our endless existence.
His favorite story was that of his time as one king or another, the kingdom forgotten in the cracks of his memory, but he could still remember the sweet smell of my hair as I poured wine into his goblet. He had never noticed a servant before yet found himself slowly lifting my trembling chin. His mouth had stretched into a grin when our eyes met and he often teased that his first thought was that of triumph to finally be the towering authority to my submission after so many moments standing before my many thrones age after age.
My favorite tale is always that of the wide set of his eyes as he was introduced to the visiting sister of a fellow priest as we stood on the steps of a great cathedral. His surprise was so great, he tripped on his way down the steps and landed in a heap before the hem of my skirts. I would always tease him for how he could barely make eye contact with me once he righted himself and he would defend himself with a scoff and a waving of his hands. How was an old soul in the body of a young man supposed to react when he realized how sorely he regretted taking his holy orders not even months prior as he was now faced with his lost love.
Our journeys to finding one another were mostly a waiting for fate, which we both had decided must exist, and would lead us together eventually. Though, the fear was always there of when, and how, and if that meeting would happen, our hope scarred by many missed opportunities. In the meantime, how were we supposed to live our lives? Sometimes the waiting would be too much, and our indifference would grow as our years passed in one life or another. One cannot cease living to wait for the companionship of another and the years after that realization were often better for it, and the meeting if it did come, was a gift more sweet.
One of my favorite pass times is reading about him, those details I don’t know or the people I missed entirely. Only years prior, I even wrote a thesis in my senior year of university on the phenomena of prohibition crime, inspired by that picture; the smirk on his lips, the gun in his pocket, looking the ever suave American gangster. I hope to remember my work by the next time I see him so I can ask him my curious questions. He will most likely tease me for being so obsessive as to write a thesis on him. Though, he’ll quickly blush when I mention the multiple volumes he wrote on a past queendom, by hand, when Gutenberg was but a young man.
In this life, however, my love for his past life is, I am beginning to see, a veiled acceptance. A hope that, if I dig enough, he will appear. If I just walk through the museum hall one more time he will be standing before that picture, waiting. I have yet to learn, once again, that waiting will only lead me to an agony too deep to encounter.
I hope, in the meantime, to leave something behind for him as I am now, so that when fate eventually brings him to stand in a museum hall, or see the names on a wall of alumni, or maybe read my name under the authorship of a paper handed to him by his professor, there will be something there to comfort him, to give him, until we see one another again.
(s.m.)
PSA to all historical fiction/fantasy writers:
A SEAMSTRESS, in a historical sense, is someone whose job is sewing. Just sewing. The main skill involved here is going to be putting the needle into an out of the fabric. They’re usually considered unskilled workers, because everyone can sew, right? (Note: yes, just about everyone could sew historically. And I mean everyone.) They’re usually going to be making either clothes that aren’t fitted (like shirts or shifts or petticoats) or things more along the lines of linens (bedsheets, handkerchiefs, napkins, ect.). Now, a decent number of people would make these things at home, especially in more rural areas, since they don’t take a ton of practice, but they’re also often available ready-made so it’s not an uncommon job. Nowadays it just means someone whose job is to sew things in general, but this was not the case historically. Calling a dressmaker a seamstress would be like asking a portrait painter to paint your house
A DRESSMAKER (or mantua maker before the early 1800s) makes clothing though the skill of draping (which is when you don’t use as many patterns and more drape the fabric over the person’s body to fit it and pin from there (although they did start using more patterns in the early 19th century). They’re usually going to work exclusively for women, since menswear is rarely made through this method (could be different in a fantasy world though). Sometimes you also see them called “gown makers”, especially if they were men (like tailors advertising that that could do both. Mantua-maker was a very feminized term, like seamstress. You wouldn’t really call a man that historically). This is a pretty new trade; it only really sprung up in the later 1600s, when the mantua dress came into fashion (hence the name).
TAILORS make clothing by using the method of patterning: they take measurements and use those measurements to draw out a 2D pattern that is then sewed up into the 3D item of clothing (unlike the dressmakers, who drape the item as a 3D piece of clothing originally). They usually did menswear, but also plenty of pieces of womenswear, especially things made similarly to menswear: riding habits, overcoats, the like. Before the dressmaking trade split off (for very interesting reason I suggest looking into. Basically new fashion required new methods that tailors thought were beneath them), tailors made everyone’s clothes. And also it was not uncommon for them to alter clothes (dressmakers did this too). Staymakers are a sort of subsect of tailors that made corsets or stays (which are made with tailoring methods but most of the time in urban areas a staymaker could find enough work so just do stays, although most tailors could and would make them).
Tailors and dressmakers are both skilled workers. Those aren’t skills that most people could do at home. Fitted things like dresses and jackets and things would probably be made professionally and for the wearer even by the working class (with some exceptions of course). Making all clothes at home didn’t really become a thing until the mid Victorian era.
And then of course there are other trades that involve the skill of sewing, such as millinery (not just hats, historically they did all kinds of women’s accessories), trimming for hatmaking (putting on the hat and and binding and things), glovemaking (self explanatory) and such.
TLDR: seamstress, dressmaker, and tailor are three very different jobs with different skills and levels of prestige. Don’t use them interchangeably and for the love of all that is holy please don’t call someone a seamstress when they’re a dressmaker