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thiefakefia · 3 years ago

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TKB: Post-Dawn of the Duel

So, because I’m going to be referring specifically to how I choose to write TKB, and how my TKB responds to losing, I will call him Akefia/Kef throughout this post. This is how I write Akefia in my main verse, when dealing with waking up in a new world. I’ve sorta structured this around the 7 stages of grief, but changed the order as appropriate, because it resonates. He is grieving the loss of his village (properly, without the hyperfocus on revenge), and he is grieving the loss of everything he’s worked for. He’s also grieving for his previous view on the world, in a way. He felt he was right, and now in the silence, he has to face what he’s done.

I should probably point out at this point that I don’t subscribe to the idea that TKB was 100% right in what he did. Neither does my Kef (although it takes time for him to accept it). Was his anger justified? Absolutely! Was the chaos justified? Not at the extreme it went to. Not with the innocent people that got involved. I don’t believe it was meant to go that way - and TKB’s confusion as to what was going on when Yami Bakura lets control of him go says a lot to me. He was a pawn - but I don’t believe he’s innocent, either. I think his anger fuelled so much of what happened.

Stage 1: Shock and Disbelief

I mean... what do you do when you’ve revolved your life around a plan of vengeance for so long and now it’s just... gone? There’s a serious sense of shock that goes through him. Everything that’s happened hasn’t caught up with him. He’s not even begun to analyse it - if he was wrong, or right. He’s numb, and lost.

Stage 2: Denial

He’s already a touch removed from the circumstances, having been possessed for a significant portion of it. The way I write him, Kef remembers the majority of it (but later describes it like he was watching it happen, more than controlling it). That sense of derealisation from it means he doesn’t really believe this is happening. His next instinct is to find a way home and effectively fix it. He doesn’t believe he’s lost - and he certainly doesn’t believe it’s over. He will drive himself positively nuts, trying to find a way back.

Stage 3: Anger

Anger at everything but himself starts to settle in his bones. This is the Pharaoh’s fault- those damn Priests- the Gods- this city- these strangers in the streets. Somebody has to pay for it, and Akefia erupts in violence during this stage. Whilst my TKB has a strong history of violence, his anger reaches a level of pointless overkill. The sense of derealisation continues, and he’s removed from his victims as a result. He’s not seeing them as people, but fictional ghosts in a world that isn’t real, which allows the violence to escalate further. This stage tends to be shorter under a good influence if he meets someone. Seeing just one person in his new world as a real, genuine human being allows him to realise the other people are actual real humans he’s harming.

Stage 4: Guilt

This is the longest stage for Akefia, as he battles with what he’s done. The reality of living a new life is starting to sink in, and it begins with the guilt for what he did during the anger phase. It’s only then that he starts to analyse his past behaviour, and picks apart the battle and what he remembers of it. Left to his own devices... this is a pretty long struggle where he swings between stubborness of “not my fault” and realisation of “I really messed this up.”. With the help of a friend he feels comfortable sharing with, it’s a lot easier for him to manage the negative feelings that come with this stage. By himself, it delves into “Am I bad person?” to an extreme that isn’t productive.

He will absolutely settle into the conclusion that he’s responsible for everything that happened - even picking apart what he remembers of the connection between Y!Bakura and Ryou and holding himself accountable for the devastation of Ryou’s childhood. If left to come to his own conclusions, he will take on responsibility to an overwhelming amount to a degree that begins to cause panic attacks and a level of anxiety he has never experienced before. There is no fixing those mistakes - and he has no idea what to do with them, or any idea how to conceptualise a new life after this.

He swings rapidly between feeling he deserves the punishment of being dumped in a new, confusing world, and wishing he had just died and feeling he should have.

With assistance, he’s able to parse through a little better. Whilst still taking responsibility for everything involved - and absolutely refusing to accept anyone telling him he isn’t, or that everything he did was justified - he is able to manage his own feelings better with much-needed comfort. He’s able to maintain some level of calm and composure, rather than being completely overwhelmed by his own negativity. During this stage, he’s also inclined to ask vague, often nonsensical questions and get frustrated when the other person is confused. His ability to function around other people is not yet at a level where he can actually verbalise what he’s thinking/feeling properly.

There is also the added difficultly of feeling he doesn’t deserve assistance and, as he realises more and more that he Done Fucked Up, worrying that this person really shouldn’t be involved with him - and would they if they knew everything he’d done? Akefia, although he will share bits, is hardly the most forthcoming about everything with the majority of people.

The guilt goes on so long because it has so many layers to it. Right from the very beginning, there is a survivor’s guilt from Kul Elna. To guilt for things he had to do to survive before Dawn of the Duel. To the damage he did to Ryou’s life - a completely innocent child. To the innocent people who got swept up in his attempt at vengeance. And in spite of knowing he shouldn’t have let it get that far... the guilt at feeling he failed his village, even so. It, frankly, would take a professional to sort it through with him properly - but Akefia will never do that much to his own disaster (frankly). I know I could personally go deeper into this but I feel like I would never stop!

Stage 5: Depression

I mean, I think this is self-explanatory given what he goes through with the grief stage. That’s a LOT of emotions to swallow, and it causes him to become withdrawn and depressed. Akefia, who has never wanted to laze in his life, who has always enjoyed being outside and hates feeling trapped... now wants nothing more than to retire to bed, pull a blanket over his head and block out the world. Having previously only woken up crying with nightmares, he now finds himself prone to random fits of tears.

He never ‘gets over’ this stage, so much as it becomes episodic as he learns to feel things other than anger and frustration, and how to handle those emotions. The depression never fully goes back in its box but it becomes shorter periods of times, days or weeks rather than months where he refuses to do anything but lay down. He becomes disinterested in food, water or any form of caring for himself - which is also very uncharacteristic of my Kef, who has always prioritised surviving over emotion.

Stage 6: Reconstruction

Akefia starts to see his new life as an actual life - not a prison he’s trapped in. He begins to focus on any connections he’s made and how he can move forward with them. Rather than obsessing over whether or not he deserves them, he starts to search for ways to earn them. This isn’t always healthy for him, and he needs help moderating it as he learns to interact with people around him after a lifetime of refusing to engage with them.

It’s messy, it’s chaos and it’s full of emotion Akefia has no experience dealing with. It’s also... beautiful (to me, anyway). From an intense hyperfocus on vengeance to actually finding joy in life. To enjoying the things he’d considered stupid, and pointless. Whether it’s platonic or romantic, Akefia learning to live a new life with other people in it is not always simple but it’s usually worth it for both parties involved.

Stage 7: Acceptance

Although his past will never be forgotten, Akefia accepts every bit of it as his story. He’s more honest with himself, and others. To the right person, he’ll answer more questions honestly, and he’ll bring up more stories when he trusts someone to give him insight into his own behaviour.

He starts to fully engage in his future, looks to make actual plans and learns more about the world, and people, around him. Instead of only showing interest enough to find a way to survive, he becomes curious and invested in the world around him. He mellows as he begins to fully accept life for what it is - and for what it was. As previously mentioned, he continues to battle periods of depression (and anxiety), and he, unsurprisingly, is traumatised from many of the events in his life. It’s not always an easy life he lives, but he does find his centre, and often a slice of happiness he never thought he could have.

#tw: suicidal thoughts #TKB #thief king bakura #I used my energy for good today #this actually made me more emotional than I thought it would ngl XD #Kef's not a perfect person and he's done a lot of bad things but watching him go on the rollercoaster of emotions #as he realises he bears a good portion of responsibility and he learns to feel things other than anger and hatred...#I really love him okay?#He's messy. He's chaotic. And I just love him #Anyway this is my take and how I write him so don't come for me because everyone has their own opinion on this and this is mine #headcanon

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tae-cup · 4 years ago

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Down With The Ship | One

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Female!Reader

Summary: Captain Jeon Jungkook; a beautiful mess of blood and gold. His greatest treasure, may also be his greatest downfall.

Genre: Pirate!au

Warnings: Mild mild mild sexism, talks of arranged marriage, people being asses and some people being nice

Rating: T for Teens

A/N: I’m so impatient asdfkhslkfh Cross posted to AO3

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

Word Count: 8.2k Words

Network Tag: @castlebangtan

Other: Masterlist

Previous (teaser) | Next

The ship had been sitting in the harbor for exactly two days, three hours, 30 minutes, and 41 seconds. You timed it, tapping your foot against the tiles of the hallway. The moon was still in the sky and wouldn’t be rising for another three hours. You had three hours to convince the crew of that ship to take you in. Why? Well, you didn’t want to get married, that’s why.

The gold band around your ring finger was more of a shackle than any chain or handcuff. You snuck out of the backdoor. It was...easier than you thought it. You wore a pair of baggy pants that you stole from your brother and a nightshirt with the end result being a tragic mess.

On your way, you ran into a young guard. His face looked new, so he was likely in training. He looked startled to see you there and you could almost feel the nerves rolling off of him. You smiled and he looked hesitantly from you to the backdoor.

“Hey aren’t you-?” He started, but you swiftly kneed him where the sun didn't shine and sprinted. He groaned in pain, falling down with a loud thud and probably waking up half the household. You didn’t have much time.

The wind ran through your hair as you hurried down the darkened streets. You tried your best to take the back routes, the smell of the sea drawing you nearer. You had always felt a connection to the sea, you couldn’t stay away from it. The crystal waters, the froth of a storm, the salt that tinged the air. You fell in love with it and fell out of love with your home. Ever since...You shook your head, trying to forget the past.

Your skin longed for the cool water to lap over it, to caress your body, and take you away from the awful life you had. Well, it wasn’t that awful, but it was certainly no way to live. Yes, you had luxurious items, but that wasn’t what you wished for. Adventure called to you as you neared the docks. The distant shouts of men and the sound of metal clanking against metal invaded your senses. In your hand was a small bag of necessities; a change of clothes, undergarments, a pen, and a notebook of papers. You made your way to the ship you had been watching for the past three days.

The ship was tall and proud, the mast reaching high into the sky. The sails were drawn in, the anchor weighing down the wood. The ship looked weathered but sturdy. There was a dim candle flame flickering in the round window of the ship. You took a deep breath and stood outside the hull. The walkway was drawn up so you weren’t left with many options. You checked your watch. You had two hours to sunrise. Two hours until everyone would begin looking for you, maybe less. You looked around the dock, searching for and gathering stones. You took a deep breath, returning to your spot.

Five chances. You held the other four rocks in your arm and then with your dominant hand, you gripped one of the stones. You winded up and threw. Clank. It hit the hull. No movement. You sighed and moved to aim for the window. Clank. It missed by a few feet. Three more chances. Your hands clenched and unclenched nervously. You had never been...the most athletic. Clank. Closer. Clank. Right on the money.

You held your breath, waiting as the candlelight suddenly disappeared from the window and the small circle popped open. The candle stuck out, now attached to an arm. The dawn was fast arriving, the sky lighting up into a gray sky, the clouds still overcast.

“Who goes there?” A deep voice barked out.

“I was wondering if you had any, uh, any openings on your ship for one more?” You called out, your voice traveling easily in the quiet. Upon hearing your voice, the hand withdrew, and instead, a face popped out of the hole.

“Little girl, do you know who we are?” The man had very defining features, his nose prominent and his lips wide.

“No, but I really just want to get out of here, you have to let me on.” You could almost hear your mother calling for you.

“There’s a merchant ship coming in the morning, you can hop on their ship.” You saw him look you over.

“Achem, sir, you don’t understand I...I need to go now.”

“You being chased or something?” The man narrowed his eyes.

“Something like that.” You smiled weakly.

Surprisingly, he laughed loudly and disappeared from the window. A few moments later he appeared on deck, a coat hastily thrown on as he lowered the stairs for you.

“Climb aboard.” He held out his hand and you hurried forward heart pounding. “I’m Taehyung, the gunner on this here crew.” He explained as he redrew the walkway. “Let’s just say this isn’t the first time we’ve helped a runaway.”

“Thank you.” You said breathlessly.

“Though, we’ve never helped one quite as pretty as you, maybe Jin?” He seemed to go off into his own tangent.

“I think you’re very...pretty, sir?” You said awkwardly.

“I’m glad you think so.” He laughed and slung his arm around your shoulder. “I think you’ll fit in just fine-”

“Kim Taehyung, who the hell is this.” A new voice barked. A tall man appeared from the shadows.

“Ah, Jungkook, this is…” Taehyung turned to you expectantly.

“Y/N.” You finished for him, summoning a smile despite wanting to turn around and run.

The man, Jungkook, was intimidating, his aura commanding attention. He had inky black hair and even darker eyes. The man looked like he had just gotten out of bed and yet he still looked handsome.

“Y/N, this is Jungkook, our fearless captain.” Taehyung stood up straighter.

“Nice to meet you.” You bowed your head.

“Why are you here?” Jungkook wasted no time.

“I’m running away.” You were apprehensive to tell him much else. What if he just delivered you back home after hearing your story? Would he think you were a stuck up brat?

“From who?”

“My mother,” You started, he scoffed. “And an arranged marriage.” You continued quietly, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. The ring on your left finger felt heavier than ever as he scrutinized you.

“Fine. You can stay, but you need to pull your weight.” He turned on his heel. “Follow me.”

Taehyung rushed forward, shoving you along as well.

“Exciting! He’s never this quick in his judgment, though he’s always had a soft spot for young ladies such as yourself.” He whispered.

“Y/N?!” Your mother’s distinct voice called. “Is that you?!”

“Shit.” You muttered. Of course, that guard went and tattled on you! What happened to the scout’s honor? Taehyung turned, along with Jungkook.

“I suppose that’s your people?” Jungkook raised an eyebrow and walked purposefully past you. He was at the side of the ship in four strides. “Who goes there?”

“Lady Y/LN. I request my daughter to be returned immediately!” Your mother’s shrill voice shot through the harbor. You winced at her tone, eyes meeting Jungkook’s. You begged him not to tell her, but he didn’t seem to register you at all.

“I’m sorry, we have no woman on this ship, Lady Y/L/N.” Jungkook responded curtly and walked away from the side, ignoring your mother’s protests. You watched him, confusion and shock written on your face. Did he just...defend you? No one had ever done that before, taken your side. It had always been you versus the world.

“Get ready to set sail. It seems we can’t stay here much longer and Ms. Y/N, I need to speak with you immediately.” Jungkook clasped his hands behind his back, walking forward.

You hurried after him, falling into step just a pace or two behind. You weren’t well versed in crew behaviors, but if he was the captain, he was much like a nobleman. And you always had to fall a step behind a nobleman, regardless if you were a man or woman, but especially if you were a woman.

There were shouts as Taehyung wrestled his crewmates out of bed. As you sat in, what you assumed to be, Jungkook’s office, you could hear the footsteps of several other people. They all scurried to the demands of a new muffled voice.

Jungkook took a seat, propping his legs up on the desk and crossing them. You realized he was, in fact, no nobleman at all. He watched you carefully as you sat across from him.

“So, you’re going to tell me all about yourself, little miss, and then I’m going to give you two options, got it?” He rested one arm on the back of his chair, the other hanging over the armrest.

“Right.” You cleared your throat, still trying to take in all that had happened. His eyes appraised you, flickering from your eyes to your lips to your neckline.

“Well, I’m Y/N, as you know. I ran away because I’m being forced to marry someone I don’t love, simple.” You explained dryly. You flashed your engagement ring and then slid it off, pocketing it. “Haneul isn’t a bad guy, but we don’t mix at all and I don’t think I’d survive a day married to him.”

“Alright.” That seemed to be a good enough excuse. The captain pursed his lips in thought. “I’ll give you two options. Option one; you join my crew full time. Option two: we drop you off at the next town and you’ll be on your own.”

“Both sound...not so bad.” You thought for a moment. He seemed amused. You wanted adventure, you didn’t want to be dumped off on your own again. “I’ll join your crew.”

“Do you know who we are?”

“No, I just saw your ship, and, well, I’ve always loved the sea.” Your eyes went distant as you thought about it.

Jungkook smirked, letting out a chuckle of laughter. He took his feet off the desk and leaned on the desk, chin resting on his interlaced fingers.

“Welcome to the crew of the Bulletproof Boy Scouts.”

Shit.

Okay, so jumping aboard the most feared pirate crew of the decade was not the best decision you had ever made. It was right up there with agreeing to an engagement you knew you would never follow through with and stealing your mother’s jewelry.

“You can’t fish, you can’t wield a sword, and you can’t even cook. So what can you do, little lady.” Jungkook frowned, drumming his fingers impatiently on the desk.

The slight swaying of the ship was making you nauseous and it didn’t help that you were below decks and not up above. It felt extremely stuffy, borderline claustrophobic.

“I can draw. I’ll help you navigate and write out maps.” You cleared your throat, trying to settle your stomach.

“Hm…” His eyes were cold, calculating, as he seemed to think it over. “I suppose so, but you’ll need to help Jimin with his chores as well.”

Jungkook stood and motioned for you to follow him. He opened the wooden door and led you down a series of halls. They were short and thin. Your shoulders almost brushed the sides if you walked straight. You didn’t feel...scared of Jungkook. He was definitely intimidating, but you didn’t fear for your life. You had heard the tales of his crew being merciless and cutthroat, not sparing a single person on a ship if they happened to raid it.

“There are some things we need to go over.” He stopped and turned to you.

You stopped short, trying not to bump into him, but a wave of dizziness washed over you. You were definitely feeling a bit seasick, but you had enough pride not to tell him.

“Which are?” You stared at him, your expression confused.

“In order to become a full-fledged crew member, you need to go through our trials.” He explained.

You waited for him to continue, your attention still on him. You were very good at following orders, you had been doing so your entire life. Reading social cues and understanding another’s position were all things you had been taught at a young age. It was mostly to prepare you for a valuable suitor, but you never had any intention of following through on that part.

“The trials are three things that you should be able to get through easily.” The dark-haired male turned back around, beckoning you to follow him. You fell into step once more. He stopped outside of a door.

“In here are your quarters. Now, before you go in, I’ll tell you about the trials. First, you need to spend a night in the holding cell below deck. Second, eating Jin’s carrot soup. It sounds innocent, but there’s always been something off about it. Third, you need to walk the plank.”

“Walk the plank?” Your eyebrows shot up.

Yes, you could float in the water, even keep yourself upright, but you had never been a strong swimmer.

“If this is your ploy to get rid of me, it won’t work, captain.” You gave him a mocking salute, before remembering your place.

He chuckled darkly. “Don’t worry, I’ll wait for you, Little miss.” You ignored the shiver that rolled down your spine.

“Y/N.” You interrupted, getting tired of being referred to as ‘Little Miss’.

“You earn your name here, darling.” He tilted his head and then turned around. “Meet at the jail tonight for your first trial.” He then proceeded to stride into the hallway and disappear around the corner.

You sighed and took a glance around the hall. It was completely silent except for the creaks and groans of the ship. You carefully opened the door. Inside, there was a desk pushed to the corner of the right wall. The left wall had a bed and on the wall farthest from you was a small round window.

You rushed forward and unlatched the window, letting the night air into your tiny room. You curled your fingers around the cold edge of the window, taking in a deep breath to settle your nerves. You swayed slightly, still trying to get a hang of walking on a ship. Five deep breaths later and you resigned yourself to shut the window. You quite liked the fresh air, but it was starting to get chilly.

The morning sun had finally graced its golden hue across the shimmering ocean. The waves skipped by, nothing more than a blur as the ship sailed away from the port. You opened your small bag and organized your things. You placed the notebook and pen in the desk drawer and stored your spare change of clothes under the bed.

It wasn’t anything too fancy, just a summery yellow dress that you knew would come in handy as it got warmer. There was a soft knock at the door and you would have missed it if it weren’t for you already standing near the door.

You pulled out a string of white lace and tied your hair up with it. Then you shoved the rest of your belongings haphazardly under the bed.

“Hello? Is our little sea artist in there?” A voice you didn’t recognize called out to you.

“Yes, coming!” You knocked into the bed frame, hissing and cursing under your breath.

Being on the ship was already reversing years of properly trained manners. It wasn’t like the principles of dance and etiquette had ever really stuck in your mind anyway. You had only been on the ship known as BTS for about two hours and you had already grown attached.

You threw open the door, nursing your smarting elbow. A man with broad shoulders and the most perfectly shaped face you had ever seen stood in the doorway. He had an eyebrow raised, his hand frozen mid knock. You cleared your throat awkwardly.

“I’m sorry have we already met? I’m pretty bad with names.” It was a lie, but to be fair, the morning had been hectic. He just let out a laugh at your antics.

“No, I don’t believe so. I’m Kim Seokjin, but please, just call me Jin.” He said, dipping his head.

“Y/N.” You responded in turn and followed his gesture.

“Nice to meet you! I’m the boatswain here on this fine ship.” He grasped your arm and dragged you above deck. “The Captain asked me to give you a tour and introduce you to our crew.”

“Oh my god, I’m supposed to eat your soup later.”

He seemed deeply offended and he crossed his arms. “I don’t know why that’s still on the stupid trials. I don’t add any weird ingredients, it’s just carrot!”

Jin was the opposite of any rumors you had heard while Jungkook hit the mark perfectly. The contrast was astonishing.

The wind whipped around the loose strands of your hair as you stepped into the blinding sunlight. Waves flickered by, splashing harmlessly against the hull. Jin led you over to the bow of the ship where a young man was standing at a large steering wheel. He was accompanied by a shorter man and they were giggling about something. The picture was pretty adorable.

“Hoseok!” Jin shouted over the wind, pulling you until you were right in front of them. The young man flashed a dazzling smile, handing the wheel over to the man next to him.

“Hello! I’m Hoseok, everyone just calls me hobi, except for the Captain, but he’s a little grouchy.” The man, Hoseok, winked. You chuckled a little, Jungkook’s scowling face coming to mind.

“That’s Jimin, he’s the cabin boy and a little shy, but he’s right up there with the best of us.” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the man behind him.

Hoseok had dark brown hair and chocolate eyes that put you at ease. Jimin had light blonde hair and chubby cheeks. He sent you a shy little wave that made you want to coo.

“Alright, now get back to work, Hoseok. You can’t trust Jimin with the wheel for too long.” Jin rolled his eyes as Hoseok mumbled something under his breath. Then you were swept away to the other side of the ship.

A tall man wearing a loose white top and black pants stood at the railing, clearly deep in thought. Jin cleared his throat loudly, causing the man to startle. He turned around, his mouth open to scold the older man when he noticed you.

“H-hello.” The man seemed quiet. His voice wasn’t soft-spoken, just a little timid about the words he chose.

“Aish, snap out of it. Where’s our fearless first mate, yeah?” Jin patted his back hard, making him cough a little.

“That’s enough! That’s enough! You just startled me.” His voice was husky and low, but not as deep as Taehyung’s. “I’m Namjoon, first mate. You must be the new little miss.” There was a look of disdain in Namjoon’s eyes. “It’s been a while since we’ve had fresh meat.”

“Ah ha...right.” You subconsciously pulled your hair back tighter.

“Someone should go wake up Yoongi, he’s probably still sleeping and we need more fish.” Namjoon instructed, his voice firm without a hint of the timidness displayed a few moments prior. You could see why he was the first mate. Even Jin straightened slightly in his presence.

“Well, looks like there’s no one else around to do it.” The man beside you placed his hands on his hips, a frown was evident. “Come along, missy. You get to have the pleasure of waking him up.”

“I have a bad feeling about this.” You mumbled, following him below deck anyway.

You immediately wanted to go back up. Once you had experienced the freedom of standing on the deck, you couldn’t imagine electing to stay below deck for long periods of time. On another note, your parents would never allow you to sleep past 8:00 A.M. Yet another reason you were an opposite to this sleeping man. Jin took a right and stopped outside of a door.

“I just need to wake him up?”

“Sh!” He put a finger to his lips, then nodded frantically and pointed towards the door.

Then he bolted. He turned the corner, heavy footsteps pounding against the wood floorboards, a creak every now and then.

You sighed as you watched him go. You crossed your arms, pondering what to do. Why did no one want to wake this man up? He was probably harmless, but then again, this was the Bulletproof Boy Scouts who were known for being merciless. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of your neck stood tall. He’s standing behind me, isn’t he?

You turned around, halting a shriek from exiting your throat as you came face to face with a very pale man. You assumed he was Yoongi. Yoongi had very pale, bleached blonde hair and dark eyes. His face didn’t change when you met his gaze. The only sign he wasn’t a mannequin was his eyes moving to take you in. Then, his lips quirked into a smile.

“So I see the others didn’t have the balls to wake me up and instead sent the new girl?” He scoffed. “As if that would change anything, anyway, I’m up now so whatever, you’ve done your job. Now shoo.”

The interaction ended so quickly you got whiplash. The door shut in your face with a loud slam.

“Ah, it’s okay, miss, it’s a real skill to wake him up.” Jimin stood at the end of the hallway, a small smile on his face.

“Oh no, he’s awake, just rude.” You said, emphasizing the last part.

You really should be more thankful, but after meeting the crew, they didn’t seem so bad and you felt yourself quickly easing into the groove of things. There was a muffled crash from inside the room and a string of curses made their way through the door. You let out a breath.

“Anything else I need to do?” You asked, stepping closer.

Jimin seemed to ponder this before wildly shaking his head. His lips were pressed together and you weren’t sure if he was shy or staring at you with distaste. Considering his previous actions, you decided on the former. All the men on the ship held an intimidating presence, but Jimin felt timid. His aura was shy and withdrawn, yet he never seemed bothered by teasing.

“I’m just the cabin boy. If you want a specific job, ask Jungk-I mean the captain.”

“Right.” You nodded your head. Then the two of you fell silent.

You reflected on the men you’d met so far. Hoseok was kind with a warm face and sunny smile, you couldn’t imagine him being as vicious as people claimed. Jimin, who stood before you, had a quiet way about him, but he had the cutest gestures. Jin had a very motherly presence, warm, welcoming, and much like someone who you could depend on. Yoongi, who you’d just met, was, as you called him, rude. He seemed grumpy, a little rough around the edges, but was most likely a good guy. Taehyung was odd. He had this energetic way of conducting himself, yet his personality shifted so drastically when he spoke to Jungkook.

Namjoon held a look of disdain in his eyes when you introduced yourself to him. You chalked it up to him being apprehensive about suddenly have a new person on board. Jungkook was quiet and a bit of an enigma, but he always seemed to have a rage simmering just below the surface. His face floated into your mind and you had to stop yourself from blushing at the thought. Jungkook was one of the most handsome and shockingly beautiful men you had met in a long time. Which was saying a lot since you mostly spoke to nobility in your time at home.

“Right, well,” you stuttered awkwardly. “I guess I should get going.” You brushed past him as you made your way upstairs. He didn’t move, still a little dazed it seemed.

The ocean air was a welcome breeze. You made your way to the nearest railing and leaned over the edge, watching the land grow farther away. The winds were in your favor. The day was clear and the sun glinted off the ocean, making it shine like a diamond. Yes, a diamond that you wanted to spend your entire life polishing and sailing over.

“You might fall in if you lean too far over, little miss.” The unmistakable voice of the captain himself came from your right. You turned to look at him, ponytail flying around your neck as you faced away from the wind.

“Yeah? And who says I don’t want to?”

“The little miss has quite the sharp tongue already.” He watched you carefully, his eyes flicking over your body.

You knew these men had likely never worked with a woman before, but they all acted like you were the first meal they’d seen in ages. It was as if they’d never even seen a woman and that was factually untrue because Taehyung and Jungkook spoke with your mother. Though, you wouldn’t blame them for mistaking that screeching owl for some animal instead of a noblewoman.

“Must be the effect of being around you, lover boy.” You said without thinking, then suddenly halted. He raised an eyebrow and then barked out a laugh.

“You are a funny one, miss.” His eyes crinkled in amusement, his lips curling to show off a bunny smile. You huffed a little and turned back to look at the ocean skidding by.

“It’s beautiful out here. I thought I’d never see it.” You said after a brief pause. He just nodded, looking out over the deep cerulean blue of the sea.

“Despite all differences, everyone on this ship shares one thing in common.” He began, taking in a sharp inhale of salty air. “We all hold a deep love for the sea.”

The jail door slammed shut, keys locking it into place. It was dark, damp, and cramped down in the holding rooms. They weren’t so much rooms and more like little jail cells, metal bars, and all. You groaned, trying to reason with Taehyung.

“Taehyung, it’s so cold, could I at least have a blanket?” You pleaded. Sure, you sounded spoiled as fuck, but it was pretty chilly and you were probably going to catch a cold.

“No can do.” He stated simply, brushing his fingers through his long dirty blonde hair. In his other hand, he swung the keys around on the ring.

“What if the ship starts sinking, will you just let me drown?”

“The ship won’t sink.” His words did little to ease your worries.

Your teachers had always called you a worry wart, impulsive, and you had the habit of then freaking out when those impulsive decisions led to a bad situation. Just like now. You crossed your legs, leaning back against the wooden boards.

“Are you going to stand there all night?”

“Nope.” Taehyung smiled, or at least you thought he did. It was dark and the candle he held was on its last legs. “When the candle runs out, we switch places.” He explained. “I have the hard job of waiting until you’re asleep.”

“Oh boo hoo, you have to talk to me.” You rolled your eyes.

Your tutors would be horrified if they could see you now. There was a steady drip from the ceiling, which you didn’t want to know was from, and the wall you leaned against was slightly damp from the ocean crashing against it.

On the bright side, the ship was rocking so steadily it was quick to make you drowsy.

“Goodnight, little miss. Tomorrow I hope to call you Y/N.”

You came to around midnight. That’s what you thought at least. The jail was pitch black and you couldn’t help the little flutter of panic that crawled up your throat. Then there was a heavy stomping up the stairs that led to the jail and another set of stomping as someone descended. A flicker of light bounced over to you. The pale face illuminated made you wish you had woken up at a different time. Yoongi didn’t seem pleased to be awake either. You warily raked your fingers through your hair.

“What do you want?” You said, but your words lacked their usual bite. You were tired and the darkness weighing at the edges of your eye was honestly terrifying.

“Not sure, but I know I don’t want to be here.” Was all he said before falling silent, his eyes watching you like you were prey in the dark. The lull of the ship swept you up in its arms and carried you into dreamland once more.

The next time you awoke, you assumed it was before the dawn. You were met with a snoozing Jimin, the candle hanging limply out of his hand. The wax dripped steadily onto the floor.

“Jimin.” You reached through the bars, hand landing on his foot. He jolted awake, rubbing his eyes.

“Oh no, I fell asleep.” He mumbled, carding his fingers through his hair.

“It’s fine. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” You smiled sympathetically.

Jimin seemed like the type to rethink things a lot, to regret or feel guilt unnecessarily. You were like that in a lot of ways and in all honesty, you saw in him the woman you were trying to break out off.

You had been taught all your life to be a simple woman. Simple-minded, not outspoken, and certainly no self-confidence. While you never took the subliminal messaging to heart, you always knew your place in society, and sometimes you could see that messaging shining through.

They did this using a lot of guilt. You remembered once asking to play with the boys instead of playing tea party, but the others screamed ‘what would your mother think? Your parents work hard for the money for your pretty dresses only for you to ruin it.’. He had never cared...Your mind drifted back to your guard from a few years ago.

“Captain will kill me, though.” Jimin took a breath and slapped his cheeks to wake up.

“My back is so sore.” You groaned, hand going to massage your lower back.

“The beds upstairs aren’t much better.” The man snorted. “Captain says that it’s a deterrent to slacking off. That doesn’t stop Yoongi, though.”

You watched him carefully, a small smile on your lips. Jimin came across very meek, but he had survived for a seemingly long time, so he must be strong in some capacity.

“Tell me about yourself, Jimin.” You kneeled next to the bars, wrapping your cold hands around the metal.

He tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“About...myself?” He asked. “Hm, people usually don’t ask me that.” He took a moment to think. His hand patted his non existent facial hair. You waited patiently, it wasn’t like you had anywhere to be. It was sort of calming.

“Well, when they say you’re not the first runaway they’ve helped, they mean me.”

“You ran away too?”

“Sort of. My father always pushed me to sail the sea, to grow some chest hair.” He scoffed. “That didn’t help much, but at the time BTS was disguised as a simple merchant ship. So I took up a job working as the cabin boy under Jungk-the captain.” He straightened, patting down the front of his t-shirt.

“I think the captain felt bad for me when he revealed what they actually were, but he didn’t expect me to want to stay. I became a runaway. You and I are both wanted people.” He smiled wistfully at you. “But it’s been years and people stopped searching for a boy from a small town. Actually, we’re going to dock at my hometown, so I’m not allowed to leave. I usually do the supply runs, but people would recognize me.” He explained.

You thought over his words. A runaway, huh? You and I are both wanted people. Right, you probably had a bounty on your head, but you didn’t want the journey to end so soon.

“What is the name of the town?”

“Krestleven.” His face revealed a pain long hidden away. Your breath halted, the town triggering your hidden memories.

He stood against the wall as you surveyed the crowd for a suitable guard. His eyes were as blue as the sky, as deep as the ocean itself. And you found yourself drowning. You pulled yourself from your thoughts.

“Do you miss home?”

His eyes held a far away look. He seemed frozen, eyes moving slightly as he thought. You wished you could see how his mind worked. Then he looked you in the eyes, his face void of emotion.

“BTS is my home now.”

You stretched out your limbs, releasing a sigh of relief as your bones cracked. It was nice to breathe the fresh air. Down below, you had gotten a tad seasick and nausea wasn’t the best when you were in close quarters with yourself. The day was gray, heavy clouds rolling over the sea like an omen. Hoseok and Jimin looked tense as the ship came into view of the settlement. Jungkook, who stood next to Namjoon at the side, was frowning.

“Tell Yoongi that Jimin can’t go.”

“It’s been years, Jungkook, they won’t recognize him.”

“We don’t know that.”

“My word is final, Namjoon.”

Namjoon stiffened, gave a curt nod, and strode toward the stairs that led below deck. You hesitantly took a place next to the captain. Unlike the real world, in this fantasy, you had no idea what your place was. You didn’t know what boundaries could be crossed, but one night on the open sea had already opened so many doors for you. The captain barely registered your presence.

“Did you sleep well?” You asked.

“Well enough.” He said, but the dark circles under his eyes said otherwise.

You didn’t pry, simply nodding and turning back to watching the land come back into view.

“I can go.” You stated. His eyes turned to watch the side of your face, but you seemed serious.

“And why should I let you do that?”

“I’ve actually...I’ve been to Krestleven before.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, we get a lot of our guards from there.” You shrugged. “I picked out a guard a while ago, a personal guard.” You bit your lip. “But he died one night, protecting me, so I tried to avoid going back.”

You remembered the screaming, the crying. Days you spent inside, remembering his touch. So you swore to never love again, or that the next person you loved would truly be the one. You could only afford yourself one heartbreak and you planned on throwing yourself deep into it if you were to ever fall in love again. Jungkook seemed to read you well, because he remained silent. He didn’t comment on the noticeable shift in your aura, the slightest tension in your shoulders.

“You don’t have to go.” He said after a while, his hand suddenly coming up to rest on your shoulder and you tried not to notice the wince on his face when his fingers accidentally brushed the open skin of your neck. It was a touching gesture, the proximity seemingly intimate. You felt your heart flutter, but you pushed it away.

“No, I want to go.”

Krestleven was as beautiful as you remembered it. Despite the cloudy sky, the sea was calm. The mountains in the distance towered over the cold town and all the houses were pushed together like penguins huddling for warmth. You had learned about penguins from one of your tutors. She had been a little...nutty as your mother would have said. She had been very enthusiastic about animals, but you always liked her best.

BTS had anchored out a little ways away and Jin took the rowboat with you and Yoongi to shore. Yoongi was quiet company, but Jin explained to you that it was in his nature. A man of few words. He had said. This had earned a glare from the shorter man.

Yoongi, being the striker, had extensive knowledge on the plant and marine life in the surrounding area. He claimed he needed to pick up some supplies in the town and then he’d be all set for the next voyage across the sea.

Stepping foot onto land was an odd experience after just gaining your sea legs. Your legs wobbled and you almost fell, almost. Yoongi, surprisingly, held out a hand to steady you, but you refused it. He raised an eyebrow, but then just dropped his hand and placed his hands behind his back.

“You two better behave!” Jin called, crossing his arms. He had to stay and watch the rowboat while you were gone.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him.” You joked.

You decided to wear your yellow sundress today. The weather might not be perfect, but you’d fit in more with the crowd if you dressed like a ‘lady’. Here on land, you had to conform. You had to act like a lady and wear pretty dresses to appease the male eye.

“Over here.” He said gruffly, slipping into the crowd, and you found yourself chasing after him.

He was taller than you, but still shorter than most men so you were having trouble seeing him in the crowd. The market was crowded as people tried to get the first batch of goods from each vendor. Low stalls held vendors of all kinds. From jewelry to fish and fine art.

You caught a glimpse of his blonde hair every now and then as he easily wove through the crowd. You finally caught up to him at a bait and tackle store. The place had the putrid smell of fish and salt. You scrunched up your nose at the intoxicating scent.

“Hey, I’m just going to wait outside.” You poked his arm and he gave you a stiff nod of acknowledgement.

You went to stand outside, enjoying watching the people rush by you. Everyone was in a hurry to be somewhere, but you weren’t. You were completely calm.

It all shattered when you spotted a familiar bar across the way. You could still see him leaning against the side, his arms crossed around his chest. You wanted to drown in the depths of his eyes again. You could have sworn you saw him, a twinkle in his eyes as he beckoned you closer. But before you could take the first step, the crowd rushed by and he was gone, just like the wind.

You rubbed your eyes, cursing. Now is not the time to be seeing ghosts. There was still that twinge of regret, of melancholy. I should have run away with him the first time he offered. Suddenly, someone bumped into you, flinging you into the rush of traffic. Your breath quickened as you found yourself pushed farther away. You planted your feet into the ground after a while, forcing the crowd to part around you.

“Y/N?” You whipped around to see a familiar face. It’s the soldier. What did you say? Sorry for kicking you in the balls? Shit, wait, he’s probably here to take you in. So of course you bolted.

“Y/N! Come back! You’re mother,” He squeezed past the people, huffing out words between breaths as you fled. “Is really,” He reached out for you. “Worried.” He finished finally, his hand grasping your arm tightly. You spun around.

“What’s your name, soldier?” You said fiercely, your tone like a commander to quell your shaking legs.

“Myung-Suk.” He answered quickly, dropping your arm like he’d been burned.

“Good, I’ll remember that.” You narrowed your eyes, trying not to give away the trembling of your hands and the fear in your heart. With freedom comes fear. And suddenly you weren’t so sure you wanted to live life on the run. Wouldn’t that get exhausting? To always have your guard up?

“Is there a problem?” Yoongi’s low drawl interrupted your thoughts.

Myung-Suk eyed the shorter man warily before shaking his head quickly. He backed off and ran. You turned and grabbed Yoongi’s arm, pulling him towards the docks.

“What’s the rush?” He quirked an eyebrow, but you ignored him.

Your breath was labored as you tried to control the panic flooding your system. He dug his heels in, effectively stopping you. Your chest rose and fell, eyes darting from the dock to Yoongi to the market. You were getting paranoid and you swore you kept seeing figures watching you. You swore you kept seeing him.

“That was Myung-Suk, a guard for my mother.” You said quickly. “They’re probably going to come for us next.” You continued, your breath getting shallower.

“Woah, woah, take a deep breath.” Yoongi held your arms and took a deep breath to show you. You followed his lead and soon enough your heart rate was calming.

“Listen, this isn’t the first time we’ve been on the run with a wanted person. We also are smart and strong enough not to get caught. Have some faith in us.” He smiled gently, gracing you with his gummy smile that put you at ease instantly.

“Alright, I see what you mean.” You murmured. He released your arms and you shivered as the wind blew in.

“We should probably get going.” The blonde haired man looked at the sky. “It might rain and Jin needs to start making that carrot soup for you.” His voice was gruff, as if he hadn’t used it in a while.

You had noticed that he seemed quiet, almost silent, when around the other crew members. You weren’t sure if there was a reason for this, as he seemed very observant and to have strong opinions of his crew; good opinions mostly, but he still never shared them. You studied his side profile as he focused on helping Jin row the boat.

He was handsome, quiet, a little too quiet for your tastes. But the silence was nice.

“I should’ve known you were going to be trouble.” Jungkook tsked as Jin set the bowl in front of you.

“Now, now, captain, she hasn’t been nearly as much trouble as Jimin was.” Jin chided the younger man. Jimin flushed a bright pink and you sent him a sympathetic look.

“Yeah, but once again we’re all being forced to eat Jin’s carrot soup.” Taehyung sighed, picking up a spoon.

“Yah! You don’t have to eat it, Taehyung!” Jin shouted, causing the table to ripple with laughter. Taehyung’s ears burned as Jin continued the rant.

“Sheesh okay okay I’ll eat it.” Taehyung groaned and took a large spoonful to placate the older man. The others just pushed it around, their gazes moving to you, then Jin, then the soup.

You stared at the bowl before you. It looked harmless; a simple chicken broth and carrots floating around. You narrowed your eyes suspiciously.

“What did you put in here?” You asked.

“Nothing!” Jin cried, taking a big spoonful of soup and then coughing loudly. You turned back to the concoction. The room held their breath when you took a sip.

“Well?” Jungkook’s lips were twitching into a small smile.

It tasted earthy and the carrots added a weird texture. You moved it around your mouth before swallowing.

“Oh, it’s not too bad-” You started and then it hit you.

It felt like your mouth was on fire. You gagged, coughing and taking a huge gulp of water.

“Jin! What the hell did you put in here?!” You choked, fanning your reddening face. Jin huffed and looked away.

“I didn’t put anything in there.” He crossed his arms like a child.

“You obviously did! My mouth is on fire.” You gasped, finishing the water.

The crew chuckled at your red face. Namjoon, despite having acted so cold to you previously, let a smile slip onto his face. He had dimples that you thought were quite cute. You could feel the captain’s stare piercing your profile so you turned to face him, patting your cheeks in an attempt to cool them down. He had an odd look on his face, his eyes bouncing between you and Namjoon. Then he casually stood.

“Well, since that is over, I’ll see you nice and early for the last trial.” Jungkook dipped his head and promptly left the room.

You pressed your lips together, eyes trailing as he walked away. The group tensed as the door to the galley shut loudly. Then Taehyung started choking on his soup and the atmosphere returned to normal.

It was too early to be dragged out of bed and all your limbs were sore from the hard bed in your quarters. The chilly wind made your hair hit your face like a whip. The clouds were still dark and the waves looked choppy. You leaned over the railing.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” You called over your shoulder. Jin peered over the side.

“Yeah, it’ll be a little chilly but I’m sure it’s fine.” He shouted back.

Jungkook was holding up a map and pointing out into the distance while muttering something to Namjoon. The first mate nodded, paying close attention to his counterpart.

“Jin, this might not be the right time to say it but-”

“Little lady, are you ready?” Jungkook barked, his boots thumping loudly against the boards. The words ‘I can’t actually swim very well’ died on your lips.

The captain was wearing a loose black top and tight black pants. He wore a black coat that fell to his ankles with golden buttons lining the sides. On his head was a velvet black hate that was embroidered with gold stitching. You caught yourself staring and glanced away.

“Uh...yeah.” You said quietly, giving a slight nod of your head.

He scooted you towards the plank.

“I said, are you ready?” His voice was loud against the wind.

“Yes!” You shouted.

“Louder.” He commanded.

“Yes, I am, Captain!” You turned to face him, shouting with all your might.

It sounded more like a scream and oh, how you wanted to scream. You wanted to scream at him to stop calling you little miss. You wanted to scream about your engagement, you wanted to scream until you couldn’t any longer.

As the wind swept away the words on your lips, there was a freedom to screaming and no one being around to hear. There was a freedom in knowing your loudest thoughts could still be yours and only yours. You took a step back and then hesitated, turning to see the drop below.

“Then go.” His voice was suddenly low in your ear and you knew he was right behind you.

“I don’t know-”

Then there was a hard shove on your back and you lost your footing.

You were falling, the wind whipping your hair out of its ponytail, obscuring your vision. All you could see were the faces of your crew members peering at you from the railing, but Jungkook’s smirk was imprinted in your mind.

The world rotated as you twisted in the air. Streaks of gray and inky blue. You gasped in a breath, only to lose it as you hit the water. The splash was tiny compared to the unrest of the sea.

You could feel yourself getting lost, sinking deeper, the cold seeping into your bones. You could be at peace, resting here. Who knew that such a simple thing, such as stepping off a plank, could give you such a catharsis. No, you need to go back up, breathe, and live. It was a soft hum in the back of your mind, growing bigger as you sunk deeper.

Then your eyes flew open to see a figure jumping into the water, their dark shadow passing over you. Only then did you want something to live for; for the adventures you were yet to have, for the people you had yet to meet. The shadow reached out for you and pulled you up, yanking you to the surface faster than you thought possible. You gasped for air, breaking the surface.

The captain’s furious face met your blurry vision. “You idiot, why didn’t you say you couldn’t swim?”

“Why isn’t she resurfacing?” Jungkook gripped the railing.

A few more moments passed and the crew looked at each other, worry evident. He was angry. Angry you didn’t tell him you couldn’t swim, angry he pushed you, angry he didn’t understand your limits.

You had looked so afraid in the last few moments. And he wasn’t one to usually care about pushing too far beyond limits or to really care about anyone. His crew came first and he couldn’t understand if you were a part of that crew yet. Someone inside, he considered you a part of the crew, but you still needed to do the trials, it was tradition. He was frustrated. Why am I feeling this way for some stuck up noble girl?

Scowling, he shrugged off his coat and rolled up his sleeves, revealing his strong forearms. He threw his coat over Jin’s shoulder, who was still watching the water with worry. The man jumped at the sudden action.

“Captain what are you-CAPTAIN!” Jin rushed forward to see Jungkook clasp his hands above his head and dive right into the frigid waters.

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satonthelotuspier · 5 years ago

Text

For Day 5 of Wangxian week.

Lan Wangji is an unaligned god of Fate's Past who pines for Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian is a chaotic god of Fate's Future who spends most of his free time thinking of tricks to get Lan Wangji to notice him. They are driving Jiang Cheng, unaligned god of Fate's Future, slowly insane.

Or two idiots who are in love but too stupid to realise it give an uninterested third party a massive headache.

Wangxian shenanigans from Jiang Cheng POV

Day 5 of Wangxian Week, the prompt palette is Past - Future - Mythology AU

Once I sat down the HC’s flowed so this is more exposition for the verse and a taster, there’s story to come at some future date(TM)

The Fate of Gods

Jiang Cheng had a bad feeling about the whole situation when he found the package, carefully wrapped in crimson silk, with the short message Look after this for me, please. in Wei Wuxian’s quick, confident characters, on the table in his rooms.

It was about the same size and shape as if the other had packaged up his spiritual tool, his dizi, Chenqing, but Wei Wuxian wouldn’t be without Chenqing. Hopefully. Jiang Cheng replaced the package on his table and dismissed it from his mind.

Wei Wuxian had obviously returned to the heavens since his trip to earth with the others, so that was something less he had to worry about, as the sensible one. Well, perhaps Jiang Yanli was the sensible one, but still, he was probably more sensible than his impulsive, chaotic brother.

He would be due to relieve Jiang Yanli later at the Well of Fate, in the meantime he should make lotus and pork rib soup so she would have a something comforting to return home to. Wei Wuxian too, when he turned up.

He was just removing the soup from the heat when there was the arrival of company, heralded through the communication array.

He covered the soup and made his way to the courtyard.

“Lan Wangji. Can I help? I don’t think Wei Wuxian is here at the moment, I’m not entirely sure where he is but…”

“Apologies, Jiang Wanyin. Do you know if Wei Wuxian had brother’s Liebing?”

“Your brother’s xiao?” he frowned in confusion, then realisation dawned. “That little…” he bit off his curse, so that was what was in the package Wei Wuxian had left him with.

“I think I might know where it is, please wait here” he stalked to his rooms to find the red-silk-wrapped package Wei Wuxian had left him in charge of.

When he reached his rooms his heart plummeted into his stomach, the package was gone.

He looked frantically around the room, hoping he’d just forgotten where he placed it. But there was nothing.

He made his way back to the reception courtyard, intended to apologise and wrangle Lan Wangji in on his search, only to find Wei Wuxian there, handing over the silk wrapped package to Lan Wangji with a, “Yes, it was in Jiang Cheng’s rooms, maybe he’s taken a liking to your brother and took it to get his attention” Wei Wuxian nudged his shoulder against Lan Wangji’s. Well he tried, the other neatly stepped away, causing Wei Wuxian to stumble a little.

“You-!” Jiang Cheng shouted, and Wei Wuxian’s face turned pale at being caught out.

“Well, Lan Zhan, I’ll see you later” and he vanished with the practised ease of the little weasel he was.

“Jiang Wanyin, you’re going to the Well of Fate now?” Lan Wangji questioned to forestall him chasing the other. Curse Lan Wangji and his feelings for Wei Wuxian, which had him protecting the other like he was a precious piece of glass.

“I am” there was still a little of grit teeth in his response, so Lan Wangji waved a hand at the doorway.

“We should go, Uncle, and Lady Jiang will be waiting”

“Yes, fine” although he really wanted to get a hold of Wei Wuxian, who had obviously stolen Lan Xichen’s Liebing to ensure Lan Wangji came to their palace to check for it, (because he knew Lan Xichen would have too much to attend to, having just returned from earth with Wei Wuxian, to come himself).

He thought up a hundred different tricks and schemes a week to get the other’s attention. For what reason, Jiang Cheng couldn’t fathom. Jiang Cheng had already told Wei Wuxian, repeatedly, that Lan Wangji was in love with him. And he still persisted.

“He is a god of chaos” Lan Wangji as if he read Jiang Cheng’s thoughts on the subject of why his brother was such a trial, and sought to excuse the other’s terrible behaviour. And yes, he was, and what could one do about his nature?

More irritatingly why wouldn’t the two just admit their regard? How obvious did they both have to make it that they had feelings for the other, without using words? And how oblivious did the other have to be? He despaired. Unless it was some stupid pseudo-relationship they both enjoyed, this pining, teasing, attention-seeking back and forth.

He despaired for himself, because they were both so stupid they deserved to suffer, but Jiang Cheng was the one trapped in the middle, the one who had to put up with Lan Wangji’s silent yet obvious pining, and with Wei Wuxian’s childish teasing.

His bad tempered ruminations were halted as they reached the great gilded pagoda which had been built over the Well of Fate at the centre of the heavens, at the confluence of the four great roads.

Only the greater gods of fate were able to enter the pagoda. There were fifteen greater gods of fate, five of fate’s past, five of fate’s present, and five of fate’s future.

Unlike other gods, whose rise and fall were tied directly to belief and worship of the human realm, the Fates were constant, unassailable, permanent. No one could escape fate, whether they believed or not.

At any given time three gods of fate, one each of the past, present and future, worked at the Well’s side. At each human birth the thread of karma was assessed, measured against the current incarnation, and a fate was assigned to that human.

Lan Wangji, god of fate’s past, and Jiang Cheng, god of fate’s future, were joined by the approaching Jin Guangyao, god of fate’s present, and after some mild pleasantries they entered the pagoda.

Lan Qiren, Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli were gathered around the well, each with their left hand submerged in the water. In addition Jiang Yanli’s eyes were covered with a lilac silk blindfold. The future had to be guided by the past and present.

Jiang Cheng only briefly had the time to take in the blood below his A-jie’s nose before he had to join the two other new arrivals by the well-side.

“Excuse me” Lan Wangji said as he raised the silk blindfold, and Jiang Cheng nodded, allowing him to fasten it in place.

As much as it cut his heart that he couldn’t help his A-jie, she would be alright, her immortal body would quickly heal all damage and wounds, but this was the curse of being a god of fate’s future, unlike the others they were the vessels for everything that potentially could be, and channelling such a vast amount of possibility was damaging, even to an immortal body.

He reached forward to touch the water, and felt his companion gods follow his lead, then his awareness of everything but the fates of men slipped away.

***

He was resting later, in the gardens of their palace, when his peace was disturbed.

“Lan Zhan, do you think I’m handsome?”

“Mn” there was a trace of confusion at the question in his monosyllabic response, but of course Lan Wangji would do nothing but agree, of course he thought Wei Wuxian was handsome.

“Who do you think is more handsome, me or you?”

“Wei Ying” of course.

Jiang Cheng wanted to pick up one of the stones nearby and lob it at his torturers. No matter where he went he couldn’t escape exposure to their annoying flirting-but-neither-realising-it.

“Well I think you’re much more handsome than me, Lan Zhan. Is there a god you like?”

“Mn”

Please just confess. Please.

“Who is she? Is it the martial goddess, MianMian? She’s very beautiful, and strong, and righteous” Jiang Cheng got up from the bench he had been reclining on in the soft, warm sunshine; his chance of rest absolutely trampled on by his idiot brother. He played with the idea of barging over to wherever they were sat to throttle him.

If he didn’t, Lan Wangji probably would, anyway.

“No” there was an edge of exasperation in the tone, just the tiniest edge though, because Lan Wangji never expressed emotion.

“What are they a god of? Tell me so I can guess who they are”

“Fate’s future”

“What?! Do you like my A-jie?”

Jiang Cheng closed his eyes, torn between marching over there and shaking him stupid, (it wouldn’t take long), or walking away.

In the end he chose the latter and said a prayer for Lan Wangji’s feelings, which surely couldn’t survive such blind idiocy. Their voices faded as he made his back back inside, the last words he caught were Lan Wangji’s exasperated exclamation, “Wei Ying, I do not love Lady Jiang”

“Oh”

#wangxian #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #lan wangji #mythology #pining #mo dao zu shi #mo dao zu shi fanfic #the untamed fanfic #the untamed #mdzs #mdzs fanfic #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #Shay's stuff #open ended

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kpopchangedme · 5 years ago

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His Taste | Mark Tuan

One night in the JYPE building Mark helps you with a work related problem and you get a bit... overwhelmed by his proximity.

Protagonists: Mark Tuan & You

Word Count: 1.7k

Genre: SFW - Idol!verse - Vampire - Romance - [Drabble 2k]

Prompts: “That’s it, I’m going to kill him!” + “Sometimes, being a complete nerd comes in handy.”

Requested by: Anon

GOT7 | M.list

The only lights on were the corridor ones, and their flickering buzz was deafening... At least to you. It could all just have been your infamous impatience though. Rougher than necessary, you clicked to switch the cameras view, one eye on the monitor and the other on the computer’s screen in front of you. It was way passed 3AM, but these crazy young teens were still training, like they all didn’t have school tomorrow morning.

These days, you had been working security night shifts at JYPE. A musical label and a management company, home to some of the biggest names in modern Korean Pop. Not that you’d care. You stopped listening to music when it stopped being recorded from actual instruments. You weren’t sure whatever was playing on the radio these days could even qualified as such, not when you lived through the greatest eras of Baroque, Classical and Romantic music… Oh, wait. Jazz wasn’t that bad either, at least at the beginning… Fighting back the urge to throw the work computer across the corridor, you hit the Enter button repeatedly, raging. You had to finish this spreadsheet with the trainees’ hours before dawn. “Oh that’s it, I’m going to kill him!” You hated that damn piece technology, hated this shitty job - it didn’t even pay that much - and above it all, you hated th-

“Careful, you should go easy on that old thing!”

You must have lost your mind, because you didn’t hear or see him come in at all. Jerking in your chair, you straightened, too surprised to reply. That was his thing lately, he was one of the only humans who could come and go without you hearing from miles away. He was quiet and discreet, unlike his mates. Raising your eyes to meet his, you tried to ease your obvious irritated frown. Mark Tuan’s lips stretched to his usual dangerous Cheshire cat’s grin, flashing you his unfairly perfect teeth.

Ok, there, a wonderful sight worth this stupid security job. If you had a beating heart, it would probably quicken right then. That was the thing you could get behind about that music industry; these stars were drop dead gorgeous, and this one was no exception. Mark Tuan had a certain thing, a mysterious aura that always kept you on your toes. He was the visual member of his group, his position was a little reminder that Kpop had little to do with the music you were used to.

“What has it done to you this time?” He slowed down by your desk right before the exit door, swinging his large training bag from one shoulder to the other. Even from where you were standing, you could smell the salt of the sweat on his skin, he just finished working on a dance routine and he was probably heading home. He smelled delicious, as if you needed that when he was already looking like a seven-course meal. You felt the burn of your saliva in your mouth, like a little Pavlov’s dog; Mark Tuan walks in and you start thirsting.

“I hate computers. I just can’t.” You played his effect on you off with a groan. “I’ll never get used to them.” Instantly, Mark’ brows creased.

“Where are you from, the 60s?” He joked, not getting how actually funny he was being.

“More like the 17th century...” You replied honestly, and he snorted. Even his snorts were cute, no wonder millions of girls were helplessly pining over him.

“Ah, then you’re pretty well conserved, y/n... You don’t look a day over 25. To be honest, I’m feeling quite old these days...” Mark leaned on the desk. Oh, was he going to attempt small talk today? Unusual. On other nights, he’d greet you and bolt out of this damn building fast, eager to get to his bed after practice. How sweet were those sheets of his, sometimes you’d wonder. “What’s your secret for longevity? I’m curious.”

“Oh, you know…” You offered your best smile, entertained by a reality his humanity couldn’t possibly grasp. “I merely sustain on the blood of the innocents, and consume children’s flesh… occasionally.” He laughed at that, his weird high-pitched cackle. Then the old computer screen glitched, demanding your attention back. It flickered a few times before darkening completely, and none of your slaps and curses managed to revive it. Hours of work gone, just like that. If you were mortal you’d cry from frustration. Mark’s cute laugh died down and he dropped his bag, rounding the large desk to come to your rescue.

“Wait...” He grunted, and before you understood what he was doing, he was already leaning over your chair. Both of his arms caged you, and your eyes rounded, suddenly acutely aware of his warmness and aroma. All senses alerted, you tried to remain in control as Mark worked his magic. He had absolutely no idea what was going on in your mind, or how you were staring at the veins of his hands as they hovered above the keyboard. The warm blood pumping in them was purplish his thin unblemished skin, a shiver went down your spine. If that man tasted as good as he smelled and looked...

“I fixed it.” He announced triumphantly as the desk computer came to life again. You waited for Mark to pulled back but he didn’t, unaware of the danger he was facing. “Sometimes being a complete nerd comes in handy...” The Idol met your gaze, and he must have seen something dark there, because he stopped breathing, holding his air expectedly. You kept staring at each other for a moment that stretched way pass decency before he exhaled sharply, breaking it.

“T-Thanks!” You blurted out, forgetting to be truly thankful he saved your spreadsheet and work for the night. You just hoped he’d pull away. He didn’t.

“It’s nothing…” He hushed, ears reddening. No way. Mark Tuan was there, blushing because at your proximity... Meanwhile you were actively fighting the urge to rip open his jugular. Absolutely no survival instinct.

2.5 seconds. That’s all the time you’d need to have him. You were sure the cameras wouldn’t even catch you. You just needed to push him into the empty closet barely a meter away, far from prying eyes. It’d be so fast and easy that the human wouldn’t even have time to scream. In a second you would be tearing his throat, tasting the salt on his sticky skin and the rich iron of his blood.

Then Mark would be gone forever... But you’d have one hell of a feast.

He was oblivious to your sinister consideration when he finally decided to straighten up. Unfortunately for him, it was too late. Your mind had already gone abysmal black from desire and thirst. Mark didn’t even comprehend what was going on. In under a second he was far from your desk, getting harshly slapped against a shelf in a janitor’s closet. Your nose brushed his neck and he stiffened nervously, catching up on the situation in a daze. It wasn’t like he had never imagined you that way, he just never dreamed you’d jump him. At work, of all places.

“Y/n...” He sighed, struggling to wrap his brain around reality. Were you really kissing his neck, holding onto him like that?

You didn’t react to your name, too taken by him filling all your senses. You could see the tiny hair rise on his body, goosebumps spreading on his arms. You could hear his thumping heartbeat, a far sweeter melody than the buzz of the lightbulbs in the corridor. You could smell his sweat and excitation, feel his warm skin alive under your fingertips. Without meaning to, your tongue traced the shadow of his collarbone. Your eyes rolled into your skull at his exquisite flavour and Mark’s breath caught. It was even better than you imagined, you wanted to bathe in him, make his aroma your new perfume just to have an excuse to wear him. Your mouth climbed his neck following his jugular, it pumped against your lips, tempting, animated. You had absolutely no self-control left, you were too weak. Fine, you’d allow yourself a taste. You didn’t even like this job anyway, you could disappear afterwards, it’s not like you had never done that before. Your fangs grew of their own accord, ready to rupture his artery. That’s exactly when Mark did something that surprised you again, right then. He whispered your name like a secret, wrapping himself around you to pull you closer. You stopped everything, frozen still as his hands explored your back and he pressed a kiss into your hair.

Mark Tuan was hugging you, unaware of how tempted you were to gut him.

“I didn’t know you wanted me like that,” he murmured, and you hadn’t either until he said this aloud. Mark chuckled, closing his arms around your lower back to press you against him. “I would’ve fixed your computer sooner then. Knowing we’d end up like this.”

You curved to look at him, out of it, shaken. He didn’t falter, but he blushed under your dark gaze. You had no idea what you looked like in the moment; feverish, dizzy, obsessive at best. The man simply believed you had thrown yourself at him. Mark didn’t seem to mind at all though, he cupped your nape to tilt your head and he kissed you. Like he meant to do it many times before, but always managed to resist until now. He was still holding back a bit though, you could feel he wanted much more. His mouth opened your mouth delicately, tongue meeting yours halfway. You gasped, immediately craving something else.

In the moment, you forgot what you were doing, your job, and even your name. Mark’s touch was fantastic, overwhelming, everything you could ever ask for.

Only one thing was certain; you were never going to have to hurt him. You were going to adore Mark like that, alive and well. Now everything changed, you were going to keep revel in him, wherever, however he wanted. Empty closets at work or secret dark hotel rooms. It didn’t mattered, nothing could keep you two away now.

When he kissed you, Mark Tuan tasted like he had been yours all along.

GOT7 | M.list

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ofbloodandfaith · 5 years ago

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Day 22 of 30 Days of Hera

A quote, a poem, or piece of writing that you think this deity resonates strongly with

There is, of course, the hymns to Hera both Homeric and Orphic

I) THE HOMERIC HYMNS

Homeric Hymn 12 to Hera (trans. Evelyn-White) (Greek epic C7th to 4th B.C.) : "I sing of golden-throned Hera whom Rhea bare. Queen of the Immortals is she, surpassing all in beauty: she is the sister and wife of loud-thundering Zeus,--the glorious one whom all the blessed throughout high Olympos reverence and honour even as Zeus who delights in thunder."

II) THE ORPHIC HYMNS

Orphic Hymn 16 to Hera (trans. Taylor) (Greek hymns C3rd B.C. to 2nd A.D.) : "O royal Hera, of majestic mien, aerial-formed, divine, Zeus' blessed queen, throned in the bosom of cerulean air, the race of mortals is thy constant care. The cooling gales they power alone inspires, which nourish life, which every life desires. Mother of showers and winds, from thee alone, producing all things, mortal life is known: all natures share thy temperament divine, and universal sway alone is thine, with sounding blasts of wind, the swelling sea and rolling rivers roar when shook by thee. Come, blessed Goddess, famed almighty queen, with aspect kind, rejoicing and serene."

There are also more modern poems that I find reminds me of Hera

Still I Rise by Maya Angelou - 1928-2014

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you? Don’t you take it awful hard ’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I’ve got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame I rise Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.

Little Red Cap by Carol Anne Duffy

At childhood’s end, the houses petered out

into playing fields, the factory, allotments

kept, like mistresses, by kneeling married men,

the silent railway line, the hermit’s caravan,

till you came at last to the edge of the woods.

It was there that I first clapped eyes on the wolf.

He stood in a clearing, reading his verse out loud

in his wolfy drawl, a paperback in his hairy paw,

red wine staining his bearded jaw. What big ears

he had! What big eyes he had! What teeth!

In the interval, I made quite sure he spotted me,

sweet sixteen, never been, babe, waif, and bought me a drink,

my first. You might ask why. Here’s why. Poetry.

The wolf, I knew, would lead me deep into the woods,

away from home, to a dark tangled thorny place

lit by the eyes of owls. I crawled in his wake,

my stockings ripped to shreds, scraps of red from my blazer

snagged on twig and branch, murder clues. I lost both shoes

but got there, wolf’s lair, better beware. Lesson one that night,

breath of the wolf in my ear, was the love poem.

I clung till dawn to his thrashing fur, for

what little girl doesn’t dearly love a wolf?

Then I slid from between his heavy matted paws

and went in search of a living bird – white dove –

which flew, straight, from my hands to his open mouth.

One bite, dead. How nice, breakfast in bed, he said,

licking his chops. As soon as he slept, I crept to the back

of the lair, where a whole wall was crimson, gold, aglow with books.

Words, words were truly alive on the tongue, in the head,

warm, beating, frantic, winged; music and blood.

But then I was young – and it took ten years

in the woods to tell that a mushroom

stoppers the mouth of a buried corpse, that birds

are the uttered thought of trees, that a greying wolf

howls the same old song at the moon, year in, year out,

season after season, same rhyme, same reason. I took an axe

to a willow to see how it wept. I took an axe to a salmon

to see how it leapt. I took an axe to the wolf

as he slept, one chop, scrotum to throat, and saw

the glistening, virgin white of my grandmother’s bones.

I filled his old belly with stones. I stitched him up.

Out of the forest I come with my flowers, singing, all alone.

A Woman Speaks BY AUDRE LORDE

Moon marked and touched by sun my magic is unwritten but when the sea turns back it will leave my shape behind. I seek no favor untouched by blood unrelenting as the curse of love permanent as my errors or my pride I do not mix love with pity nor hate with scorn and if you would know me look into the entrails of Uranus where the restless oceans pound. I do not dwell within my birth nor my divinities who am ageless and half-grown and still seeking my sisters witches in Dahomey wear me inside their coiled cloths as our mother did mourning. I have been woman for a long time beware my smile I am treacherous with old magic and the noon's new fury with all your wide futures promised I am woman and not white.

Women in Labor BY MARY RUEFLE

Women who lie alone at midnight because there is no one else to lie to Women who lie alone at midnight at noon in the laundromat destroying their own socks Women who lie alone at midnight: Hans Brinker, or The Silver Skates Women who lie alone at midnight as the first furl of starlight pearls the moon with nacre Women who lie alone at midnight sending a postcard bearing the face of a bawling infant who cries “I am for the new” Women who lie alone at midnight reciting the names of shoes Women who lie alone at midnight spurting unjustified tears, the kind that run sideways never reaching the mouth, the kind you cannot swallow Women who lie alone at midnight singing breast away the burden of my tender and afterwards burp Women who lie alone at midnight obeying the laws of physics Women who let their dreams curl at the end Women in a monastery of flamingos Women who die alone at midnight contributing to the end, to lost time, to the rain and flies, seeing the bird they saw trapped in the airport surviving by the water fountain What’s more, try it sometime It works

To The Indifferent Women BY CHARLOTTE ANNA PERKINS GILMAN

A Sestina

You who are happy in a thousand homes, Or overworked therein, to a dumb peace; Whose souls are wholly centered in the life Of that small group you personally love; Who told you that you need not know or care About the sin and sorrow of the world? Do you believe the sorrow of the world Does not concern you in your little homes? — That you are licensed to avoid the care And toil for human progress, human peace, And the enlargement of our power of love Until it covers every field of life? The one first duty of all human life Is to promote the progress of the world In righteousness, in wisdom, truth and love; And you ignore it, hidden in your homes, Content to keep them in uncertain peace, Content to leave all else without your care. Yet you are mothers! And a mother's care Is the first step toward friendly human life. Life where all nations in untroubled peace Unite to raise the standard of the world And make the happiness we seek in homes Spread everywhere in strong and fruitful love. You are content to keep that mighty love In its first steps forever; the crude care Of animals for mate and young and homes, Instead of pouring it abroad in life, Its mighty current feeding all the world Till every human child can grow in peace. You cannot keep your small domestic peace Your little pool of undeveloped love, While the neglected, starved, unmothered world Struggles and fights for lack of mother's care, And its tempestuous, bitter, broken life Beats in upon you in your selfish homes. We all may have our homes in joy and peace When woman's life, in its rich power of love Is joined with man's to care for all the world.

#30 days of deity devotion #30 days of devotion #30 days of hera #dodekatheism #hellenic polytheism #hellenismos #hellenic pagan #for the love of apollo #for the love of the dodekatheon #ares is great #Hail King Zeus and Queen Hera #hermes is my god #Hades is great too #Hestia is a sweetheart

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kcrabb88 · 6 years ago

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In a Mirror Dimly

Summary: Enjolras and Valjean bond at the barricade, discussing love and something they share in common. Written for Ace Mis Week 2019.

Note: Aromanticism and asexuality definitely overlap here! That’s my personal experience/orientation, so that comes naturally for me when writing about ace things. Also, the title is a reference to a verse from 1 Corinthians. Thanks to @aflamethatneverdies and @librarianladyx for beta’ing!

Valjean knows he shouldn’t get attached to these boys.

Because these boys will probably be dead soon.

Young men, he corrects himself, because they’re not children. But he has a habit of making any youth a child in his head.

He can’t help but feel fatherly toward them.

Perhaps he can convince them to run? Then again, maybe not. And how could he lead them through the dark of Paris unnoticed, even if he got them out?

Surrender? He flinches, digging his fingernails into his palms. That might mean prison. He swallows, unwilling to imagine these vibrant young men under that weight.

He looks over, seeing the one called Enjolras whisper something in Combeferre’s ear, a soft smile sliding onto the chief’s face.

He remembers seeing the tear running down the lad’s cheek after he shot the artillery sergeant. He remembers watching him step away for a moment and take a deep breath, because there isn’t time for grief.

Not here.

Enjolras brushes a stray strand of astonishing fair hair out of his eyes, not yet noticing Valjean studying him. Paris feels dark in this space before true daylight comes, clouds sweeping across the sky as a slice of blue edges into the black night, just a hint of red lingering on the horizon. There’s no light from the usual window lanterns, the few they have near the barricade emitting a dull yellow haze. The scent of gun smoke lingers in the air, never allowing Valjean to forget where he is.

He’d sensed the revolt in the air for weeks, months, before he heard news of the barricades today, but France has been roiled so many times since his birth that he can never tell when a spark will turn into something or when it won’t. The revolution was in progress when he was shipped to Toulon, and he remembers hearing news of the changes inside France: the revolution ending, Napoleon’s coup, and years later, his disastrous defeat in Russia. Then, Waterloo.

Nothing changed inside the bagne.

Valjean’s surprised when he glances up and sees Enjolras looking at him.

Then walking toward him.

“I was grateful for your help with the mattress to block the grapeshot, citizen,” Enjolras says as he approaches. “And for your bravery in giving your uniform to send another man away. My friends and I are thankful.”

Always citizen, rather than monsieur. Valjean’s intrigued again, even if he doesn’t quite know what to say. He can’t really say why exactly he’s here, though he’d heard Marius say I know him, so what might the other men here suspect? Perhaps nothing. Perhaps that Marius has only seen him in the street.

He realizes how much he’s used to keeping secrets. Always secrets, because he carries Toulon with him everywhere. The secrets grew heavier when he tore up his yellow passport and became someone else, when he took the bishop’s silver and started a new life. But with his secrets he also gained a sort of freedom. The freedom to be someone other than Jean Valjean and the damage that name carries with it. He’s only Jean Valjean at night, when he’s alone with his scars. Wearing another name gives him the chance to help others. It gives him the chance to love his daughter.

Valjean folds his hands together, praying he can get Cosette’s young man out of here even as the National Guard gets closer and daylight breaks into the night, the first hints of dawn reaching the barricade. He recalls Enjolras’ words from the speech he gave not long ago, the words cutting into Valjean’s heart because he doesn’t want these young men to die.

We are entering a tomb all flooded with the dawn.

Enjolras sits down on the paving stones, the first strains of morning light creeping toward his feet through the shadows as if drawn to him. The glow casts his youth into relief and washes the gravity from his face, the knowledge that this lad might perish—and soon—making Valjean’s chest ache. Smudges of gunpowder stain Enjolras’ hands black in places, but he’s bafflingly free of even a small injury.

“Do you have anyone worrying over you at home?” Valjean asks, because he doesn’t know what to say. He so often feels like he doesn’t know what to say, only what to do.

Enjolras pulls his gaze away from the sunrise. “My parents are at home in Marseilles, but hopefully they aren’t worrying yet because news won’t have reached them.”

“No wife or children like those men you sent home?”

Valjean wonders if there’s any way he might convince Enjolras to go home. He looks barely more than seventeen or so, even if he must be a good bit into his twenties. Valjean isn’t opposed to the politics, because he knows just how desperate so many people are, right now. How desperate they’ve been for years. He understands the inequalities and the cholera and the poverty. Those were the things he was trying to fix, in Montreuil, before it all went wrong. Those are the things he wants to help alleviate now, where he can, person by person.

But he doesn’t want these young men dying over this. He wants them to find another way, because there’s enough death in these streets already.

Enjolras smiles, possibly catching onto to Valjean’s motives. “No. I have never been very interested in romance or the…” red creeps into his cheeks, and Valjean suspects he doesn’t blush often. “…the other activities my friends occupy themselves with. So no mistress waiting, either.”

Valjean shifts the gun resting between his knees. “Too busy wanting to change the world?”

Enjolras runs a hand through his over-long fair hair, and the small movement makes Fantine appear in Valjean’s mind with a flash of vibrant, tangible memory, her golden hair cut short and ruined by the cruel edge of a knife. All these years later and he still aches over the fact that he couldn’t save her.

He probably can’t save all these boys either, only the one he’s come for, the one his daughter loves, and it hurts.

Truth be told he doesn’t even know if he can save Marius.

Even in the last excruciating moments, there had been hope in Fantine’s eyes, hope that she might see her daughter again. Even as she died, Valjean saw the life in her bursting at the seams with nowhere to go. He never had the chance to know Fantine, just as he won’t ever know Enjolras, but despite their differences in circumstance and age and gender, he recognizes the same radical, indestructible hope in both of them. In Fantine’s last days he sensed that she was never just surviving, but always looking for the tiniest fragment of joy in the dark, even if she was only holding on by her fingernails. He senses that same spirit in Enjolras, watching it shimmer in the air around them like a living thing.

If he could, he would give some of his years back to Fantine, so she could see her daughter again.

He would give some to these lads, too, and save them from the bullets awaiting them on the other side of the barricade.

But he can’t.

Enjolras’ voice draws him back toward the moment at hand, every second feeling precious, because death’s shadow creeps over the barricade even as the orange-red glow of the sunrise bursts over the Parisian skyline. “That is always time consuming, but my friends also find plenty of hours in the day for both their mistresses and their politics. I suppose I never felt the impulse.”

“I thought I heard one of your friends teasing and saying you were rather intrepid for a man who had no woman he loved,” Valjean says, finding himself talking more with Enjolras than he does with most people other than Cosette. “But I thought perhaps they just might not know that you did.”

Enjolras laughs softly, but there’s grief within the sound. “Oh, no. I keep no secrets from my friends. We are a family, after all. Bound together by love of the same cause, and years of friendship.” Enjolras’s voice cracks ever so slightly, his words growing heavy.

“You’ve lost good friends today.” Valjean almost clasps Enjolras on the shoulder, but he isn’t sure if the touch would be welcome, so he refrains, for now. “Not just compatriots.”

“Two of the best men I knew.” Enjolras glances over at Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Combeferre, Bossuet, and Joly, who stand nearby, a gleam of deep love in his eyes. “Bahorel and Prouvaire. Bahorel had a laugh you could never forget, and a formidable loyalty to those he chose as his own. Prouvaire had an absolutely astonishing soul, and poetry that could make any man cry, even if I don’t understand the finer points of the art form.” Enjolras touches his undone cravat, a bright-red against the more muted colors of the rest of his clothing. Perhaps a gift from the friends he mentioned. Then, his voice goes deeper, a dangerous anger puncturing the words. “Some of the national guardsmen executed Prouvaire point blank. It’s why I’m afraid the police inspector inside will meet his end here.”

Valjean tenses at that, Javert’s presence is a problem for him in a million ways even as he wishes to get him out of here unscathed. Javert is a thorn in his side. Javert could turn him in. Javert keeps turning up, and yet Valjean doesn’t want to see him killed. A strange sympathy for the police inspector wells up in Valjean’s chest, a sympathy of which he doesn’t entirely understand the root.

“I’m sure some people find it odd,” Enjolras continues, his words holding the ring of a confession. “My lack of a mistress or interest in marriage. But I have all I need with my friends.”

Valjean pauses, hesitant to share anything about himself with anyone, the instinct ingrained so deeply within him he doesn’t know how to undo it. He’s afraid to undo it.

“I understand.” Valjean speaks the words before he’s ready, but he does understand, and it’s almost a relief to hear Enjolras make his own admission. Their lives are very different, but that feeling is the same. “I have a daughter, you see. Not my blood, but…” Valjean trails off for a moment, an image of Fantine coughing until her whole body shook overtaking his memory. “…but my own nevertheless. The life I’ve led has never truly offered me the opportunity for marriage and the like, but then again I also haven’t found I desired any of that. So I don’t find it odd at all, if you want the opinion of an old man.”

Concern floods Enjolras’ face, his eyes widening in alarm. “You have a daughter and yet you gave yourself up for another man to leave? I didn’t know…I…” Enjolras is inarticulate now, and it’s a far cry from the beautiful ease of his earlier speech, the words he spoke to the crowd like a hymn caught in the wind. Valjean remembers how those words sunk into his old soul, watching as the flames of hope came alive in the eyes of the men surrounding him. Not hope for their own lives, necessarily, but hope for the future they all believe in.

Valjean does clasp Enjolras’ shoulder now. “Easy, lad. I know what I’m doing. I’ll be all right.”

Enjolras frowns, the earlier gravity returning. “I am far from certain that any of us are going to be all right, I’m afraid. I hate to see your daughter lose you. I’m sure she needs you.”

“I’ll be all right,” Valjean repeats.

He cannot say I faked my own death to escape a prison ship. He cannot say I once snuck into a convent by hiding in a coffin. He cannot say I have been through stranger things, and somehow survived. He’s honestly not sure if he will survive. But he has to try. He has to try to get Cosette’s young man back to her. Even if it means losing her, Valjean wants her happiness. She deserves her happiness. She deserves more than an old man like him.

Valjean’s eyes flick to Marius for the briefest of moments, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Enjolras. Enjolras looks at Marius and back at Valjean again, some kind of recognition flashing in his face that he doesn’t voice.

“I don’t suppose there’s any way I can convince you and your friends to leave the barricade?”

Valjean speaks before Enjolras can, hardly knowing what he’s saying.

A sad smile graces Enjolras’ features as the sun comes up fully over the barricade, gold dripping from the ends of his hair when the light strikes him.

“We will not surrender. My friends and I will do this together as we have so many other things in our lives these past years. We will survive together, or we will not.”

There’s a finality in Enjolras’ words among the grief and the hope and the unshakeable love Valjean hears.

“That kind of family is a beautiful thing to possess,” Valjean says, his words turning tremulous, and he clears his throat against the wave of emotion crashing over him. “That kind of family, and something to believe in.”

Enjolras blinks, wiping away a stray tear falling from his eye. “Those two things are all I have ever needed. Perhaps some might say that my lack of a mistress means I do not love, but that is not the truth.” Enjolras glances over at his friends again, and then at the sun casting the barricade in a golden glow, the light of a new day dawning. The dawn of the sixth of June. “I love so much I feel it might burst out of me at any moment. And sometimes it does.”

“I understand.” Valjean stands up at the same time as Enjolras, putting out his hand for the lad to shake. “I truly do.”

Enjolras accepts the handshake, his hand warm with life and kindness. “I hope that you find your way back to your daughter, citizen. Her name is?”

“Cosette,” Valjean says, something powerful filling him up as he says his child’s name, even more determined to get the Pontmercy boy back to her. He has never felt the kind of romantic feelings for someone like she possesses for that young man, but he does know what it is to deeply love, because she taught him.

“Cosette,” Enjolras repeats, handling the name with care. “Thank you for sharing a piece of yourself with me. It’s always nice to share something in common with someone when you didn’t expect it.”

Valjean nods, letting go of Enjolras’ hand. “It is. Thank you for talking with an old man.”

Enjolras smiles again before going back over to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who each put an arm around him.

There’s still the matter of Javert inside the Corinthe. There’s still the matter of getting Cosette’s young man out of here. There’s still the matter of surviving long enough to do that. But Valjean marvels at the life on this barricade that is so obviously destined to end in death.

He marvels at the love all around him.

More words from Enjolras’ speech echo in his head, louder than the footsteps of the soldiers and the cannon fire on the other side of this chaotic, mismatched pile of wood that is the only thing standing between them and eternity.

Whence shall arise the shout of love, if it be not from the summit of sacrifice?

#Ace Mis Week #My fic #Enjolras #Valjean #Canon era #Les Miserables #Les Mis #Ace things

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thirdstreetthunderbirds · 6 years ago

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She jerked her head in a nod. "Yes, I have travelled to quite a few places in my time. I suppose that was why I was not as concerned about travelling alone. My brother and I decided to travel around before settling at the Forrest. How far have I travelled?" She paused, recollecting her thoughts. "As far north as Port Headland, my father's old town, up the old North Highway. The most easterly point I have reached is the Eastern farmland- and, of course, the most southern point has been Albany."

James whistled, nodding. "As well travelled as me then! I was born up north, as I've said, and I spent a couple years - after the bombs fell - just exploring the desert. A good friend of mine was well versed in surviving off of the land, so he taught me most of what I know. The rest I have learnt on the road." He fell quiet for a moment, poking the fire with a stick at his side before returning to the conversation. "You mainly travel inland then? I usually take the coastal roads. Our North West Coastal Highway is probably the best preserved highway in the north." He paused, trailing off, "...Although parts have gradually fallen into ruin... fucking bandits..." The last part was mumbled, incomprehensible.

She shrugged, glancing at the man again. "It depends on where I am travelling to. I have friends on the southern coast, but, yes, I prefer to travel inland. It feels... safer. It is unusual to run into other travellers."

He nodded, and the two lapsed into a silence that was occasionally disturbed by nearby birdsong. It was... peaceful, surprisingly, and, despite the urge and desperation to continue her quest, she felt almost relaxed. It was almost regretful to break the silence.

"If you don't mind me asking, but where are you travelling to?" She fiddled with one of her belt loops, unused to sitting still, despite the peace. It felt odd. She was so used to doing something, that she began to fiddle and fidget when she actually gained the chance to have a moment to herself.

He quirked a smile, and lent back on his log, almost reclining. "I am heading north. There is a caravan that is supposed to be camping at Toodjay in a few weeks, meeting with the local settlement, and I'm hoping to meet up with it to discuss some details about trading with the settlements south of the city."

"Oh! We're heading in a similar direction then. I was... I was planning on heading north once I reached Pinjarra, but if what you say is true and there is a new bandit group in the region, then I might have to backtrack to skirt around them."

She jumped to her feet again, thankfully not swaying this time, and found her bag, bow and quiver of arrows resting quietly against the patched-up swag. Striding over, she retrieved the old map from one of the outer pockets before returning to her log. "So, Pinjarra is... here-" She pointed to the town on the map. James sidled up to her side before crouching besides her. He pointed at a road on the map that linked Narrogin and Pinjarra. That was where the two of them were, currently. "If I went east, towards Narrogin," following the map with her fingers, she traced the path she had been going to take previously, in which she had planned on cutting through Pinjarra before heading inland again, north-east, towards the town of York, "I could then head north once I hit town, and then eventually, the road would intersect York."

She turned to James, who had been gazing at the map with a pondering look on his face. He raised an eyebrow before pointing to the map and tracing his own path. "I was cutting overland, and was going to travel parallel to the highway, heading north."

"You weren't going to travel on the highway?"

"No. In my experience, that is not the safest - or wisest - option."

She sighed, but nodded. It was the fastest option; not the safest. That had been why she had managed to travel north in such little time - travelling via the Albany Highway had reduced her travelling time by a day. It would have taken her four to five days, with good travelling conditions, to travel from the Forest to York - she was on her third day of travelling, and she still had the rest of the way to go.

This was going to delay her travel, and she had been allowing a couple of extra days for unforeseen circumstances, such as this. All in all, she had planned her trip for around two weeks. She had wanted to get back sooner, with any luck, because her brother was getting worse and she wanted to make sure he had the best chance of survival. Backtracking to Narrogin and then heading north up the Highway would take just over two days of travel.

She had been hoping to find the supplies she needed in Pinjarra, or possibly the lesser dead lands, but none of the old towns they would pass on the way would have the correct medications. She knew this because she and her brother, when travelling through there prior, had searched the towns meticulously for supplies. Everything of use was either taken or destroyed. There was the possibility that the towns south of the city would have supplies, due to their proximity to the dead lands; but, it seemed that she was not the only one who thought this. York was in close proximity to the Hills, which was a settlement that she had visited in years previously; they were friendly towards travellers but had been dying slowly of the radiation illness that had killed so many when the fires had come. It had been a few years since she had last been through the region, but there were no other friendly settlements in the greater Perth area that she could visit.

"You need to get back as soon as possible." Not a question; a statement. She nodded. James sighed, reclining back on his log. "Alright. Since we are heading in the same direction, more or less, it would be safer to travel together. Although I would not normally travel on the Highways, I do understand that they are the fastest way of travelling, and in your case, you need to get to York as soon as possible. Am I correct in assuming that you would use the Highways regardless of me coming with you?" She nodded, again. That was correct. He didn't speak for a minute, deliberating. Then, he looked up. "I'll come with you."

She blinked, dumbfounded. This absolute stranger was willing to travel with her on some of the most dangerous roads in the state. He seemed to notice her surprise - and awe, that was there too - and grinned. "It'll be safer for me, too. And it might be nice travelling with a partner for a change."

"That's- you would-" She laughed and shook her head. "You must be as crazy as me then! Well, alright. When should we leave?"

He smiled, tending to the fire again. "It's late at the moment, and you need your rest, even if it is just a few hours of sleep. Are you happy to leave at dawn?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Good. Now, are we going to take shifts? I've used this area before and it's reasonably safe, but you can never be too cautious."

She nodded, in agreement, and tossed her head towards the swag. "I can take first shift?" At his protests, she raised a hand, as well as an eyebrow. "Yes, I have been unwell. However, you also need sleep, and if we want to make good ground tomorrow, then we both need to be rested." She smiled at the man, who was giving her a rather flat look. "I will wake you up if I feel weak or faint. Happy?"

He sighed, but grumbled, nodding his consent. "At midnight, we switch. Okay?" James lurched to his feet, heading towards his swag. Another show of trust, so soon after meeting?

"Alright. Goodnight then?"

"Yep. Night."

#this is still going on #currently at uni #procrastinating #got to class an hour early #cause i'm an idiot #ah well #got this part done #still not sure where this is going #does anyone even read these??#feedback would be nice #this is catherine

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miitzwrites · 6 years ago

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Not a passing fascination (ereri) pt. I

Hi! I wrote this a while ago, but didn’t post it here. I’m still unsure, but I might continue this small fic. It’s ereri/riren, lots of angst and set in a post canon divergent verse. Enjoy! (Ao3)

Chap I. Farewell

The fight was brutal. One by one, soldiers from both sides fell. The pained screams, the fury, and desperation resounded through the battlefield. Blood was dripping from everyone’s hands, even from those who swore not to kill a human being. Some of them were young, but they already carried with the death of their fellow soldiers, and of the people they loved. They couldn’t do anything but keep going on, and wait for the best outcome, grabbing their farewell letters against their chest, letters that the soldiers exchanged the previous days, while they prepared for the last mission, that would decide the fate of humanity.

Ooo

“Mikasa doesn’t want to be a squad leader during this mission. She said she’d be with us, and gave her place over to Jean.”

“Tsk.”

After all the ups and downs in their relationship, things had started to sort them out by themselves. In the battlefield, they were partners, more than just a superior and his charge. Both of them had lost a lot dur8ng this life, has sacrificed part of their lives for a common objective. But in private, they were equals, lovers, finding a refuge in the arms of the others.

“Levi… what do you want to do once the war is over?” Eren asked, sitting with his back against the headboard, and massaging Levi’s shoulders. Their relationship was different from the beginning, when they seek the company of the other in their bed, almost, as if only with sex could they fill the gaping on their chests. Nowadays, they only needed the presence of the other, the reassurance that they weren’t alone, and that they had a place to crawl back in when the pressure turned out to be too overwhelmed for them. This was enough. This was all the warmth they needed.

“You’re so sure that this war will come to an end soon”, replied the Captain, leaning against the chest of his young lover. “What does make you think that it will be a place for me when everything is over?”

“What do you mean”

“If the war ends, I will be an ugly reminder of everything that happened with the Titans and the people from Marley. The higher-ups won’t want me around, and I don’t have a lot of options. I don’t know other than killing, and I’m too old to start my own band in the underground. Besides, I’ve tasted a kind of freedom that I didn’t have before, so I’m not going back down there. I guess I will have to wait for what the Capital and Hange decide.”

Both men fell in silence. Although Eren knew better than to wait for a different answer, it still stung. It hurt him not to know if Levi would include him in his future or not.

“What about you?”

“No one wants to be close to someone who can shift into a titan. They don’t want me now, I doubt that could change. I suppose they will want to get rid of me.”

Abruptly, Levi leaned up, turning around to face Eren, kneeling between his legs. "Don't be an idiot. You're under my watch, and I would never let anyone hurt you".

Eren smiled although a little sadly. There was no one who could hurt him as much as he himself did and his self-destructive thoughts. He pulled Levi closer, burying his face on the Captain's chest. "You know I don't have many years left," Eres whispered, aware of the grudge that he carried on his shoulders, "Thinking about the future helps me soothe the pain albeit little."

Levi clung to him, and after that, they didn't say more.

Oo o

The Titans kept coming, moved by one of the Marleans.

Both nations had reached a truce, less than four months ago. They agree on giving up the power of the Titans and the shifters. Hange and Armin had tried to create a cure, an antidote that could reverse Ymir's curse. But they couldn't foresee that most of the combatants were so weak, that during their last transformation, their titan's body exploded with heat waves, being burned alive in an instant.

This affront was considered as an act of way, and both nations prepared for the attack.

Ooo

Eren knew that they would leave next week to the battlefield, though, deep inside, he knew it would be the last. He hadn't seen Levi since the night they talked about their plans for after the war when Eren understood he had to continue on his own, merely because Levi wasn't contemplating him on his own plans.

He walked to the Commander's office and was about to knock. He wanted to consult a few things in case his body went through the same last phase as the other shifters. He knew that, if he did explode, he had to do it as close as possible to the enemy's territory, having the chance to take with him as many soldiers as he could. Bue Eren stood still when he heard Levi's voice coming from inside the office.

"You know it as well as I do, shitty glasses. When the war is done, we're gonna be disposed of and throw away like old dogs."

"You may be right, but that won't be immediate. We have to reunify our troops, make agreements with the Capital, and with Historia's favor, the impact will be less."

"I don't care. My resignation doesn't have a starting date, but consider it irrevocable."

"And your squad?"

"If they're smart, they will find a better position, or command their own squad."

"What about Eren?" Have you talked to him?"

"He's under my watch until we know for sure that he isn't dying. After that, he can decide. He's young, let him do whatever the hell he wants."

Listening to Levi's impersonal words about Eren, was like a punch in the guts for the young shifter. He didn't have a problem accepting that he fell in love with the Captain a long time ago, and without a doubt, he would run away with him if asked. But the emptiness in his voice broke his heart.

Stupidly, Eren had believed that Levi would love him back, someday.

He returned to his room, where he still slept some nights -when he didn't share the bed with Levi-, and just lied down, wishing for the pain to go away.

Back in the office, Hange took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose, tired of dealing with Levi's stubbornness. "You know what I mean." It wasn't a secret that they had a relationship, though no one dared to say it out loud. The insistent glances, quick touches, and nightly escapades were enough proof.

"I won't tie him to an old man like me. He's young, he will get over me, and if he survives, I hope he finds someone or something better, that truly makes him happy," Levi sighed, leaning against the window, "you know I can't give him what he needs. For fuck's sake, Hang, I don't even know what I'm gonna do when everything is said and done."

"I'm not a fool, man. Your eyes speak for yourselves," when Levi shook his head, Hange knew their conversation was going nowhere. "Well, at least, answer me this. Do you feel the same way for Jaeger?"

Levi nodded softly, and that was enough answer for the Commander.

Ooo

The roar of Eren in his titan form made both side stop instantly, even the titans that were wandering around stopped to put their attention on him as if they were waiting for his next instruction. His steps were slow, but he had a clear goal in mind, near the enemy's front lines, and with him, the Titans followed closely behind. The grunts and howls that left his throat were agonizingly loud as if he were hurting. Everybody knew then that he was dying. The damn cure hadn't worked.

"Eren!" Mikasa screamed, ready to put him out of his titan body, but Hange stopped her, telling her that it was his decision.

Levi could only lift up his hand with his blade, signaling the soldiers to way. And they did until the explosion came, and the hate wave started to dispel.

ooo

Around every corner, one could spot cadets talking in hushed tones, giving their letters to their loved ones, and at times, some would be crying. Eren saw the new recruits about to piss their pants, scared of what was coming, holding their partners. He saw the veterans, drinking together, because they knew by experience, that there was nothing they could do. His squad, the most important people in his life, were together, too, but they saw him as a stranger, so he didn't approach them. It was okay, he wanted to think, if they hated him, they wouldn't be sad when he was gone.

Marley left him severely wounded, mentally more than anything, and by miracle, the only person who didn't reject his company, was Levi.

Mikasa tried, of course, to look after him as she always did, but sometimes, he believed it had more to do with a blind devotion that with a real interest on her part. Armin, well, they barely crossed a word. Zeke was a total stranger to him, so the only person who helps him step out of his loneliness, was Levi. Thus, when he didn't show up in his room or called for him, Eren understood that he had gotten tired of him -probably-. Or, just like he heard him talking to Hange, Levi wanted to end this quickly, and a proper farewell only complicated things between them.

That night, Eren didn't sleep. He stayed on his bed, rolling around or looking through the small window how the moon seemed to shine brightly. It was ironic how one could find beauty in a world full of shit.

Suddenly, the door of his room was opened. He didn't have to look at the door to know who it was, he had become familiar with the quiet but sure steps. Levi took off his bots and then his harness and his cravat. He got under the covers, and laid down behind him, sneaking an arm around him to press his chest against Eren's back. His lips brushed his tanned neck, and he could feel how he tensed under his touch, to the point of putting some distance between them.

"What's wrong? Did I wake you up?"

"I wasn't asleep."

"You should. We're leaving before dawn.

"And you decided it was okay to come now?" Eren's voice was harsh, clearly upset after being practically ignored for days. It wasn't as common as before to see him losing his temper, but under all that bravado and blackness, there was still a child, scared about the future and what it might hold. "Tell me the truth, Levi, what am I to you?" Eren turned around to look at Levi's eyes. And despite his calm expression, there was a hint of surprise in his eyes.

"You're in my charge. You're in my squad. You're my partner", Levi answered, as if that was the obvious thing to say.

Eren, then, sat down, followed by Levi, but then his shoulders started to shake, and an odd sound escaped his throat. Was his laughing? Probably yes, but the fat tears that rolled down his cheeks, told a different story.

"I don't know why I expected something different," said Eren with a cracked voice, willing himself not to break down. "After all these years, after sleeping in your bed for months and being together, I thought that you saw me as something more, something more than another recruit."

"Eren.-"

"No! I don't want to listen to your excuses anymore! I don't want to hear you saying that you're my superior and that this is the most we can have. I don't want you to tell me that you're too old for me. I don't want you to keep my hopes high anymore. I'm so stupid for believing that one day, you would love me in the same way that I do!"

<<Yeah, you're an idiot>>, thought Levi, <<If only you could know for how long I have loved you>>.

At that moment, crying with his heart opened, Eren looked like the young boy that Levi used to find sobbing in his sleep, dreaming with a family that he lost, and suffering from the nightmares that didn't leave him alone. He wanted to comfort him, wanted to brush his long hair and whisper into his ear that everything would be fine. But neither of them had the time for that. If they survived the last battle, Eren would die soon. And selfishly, Levi didn't want to suffer, even if he would give the rest of his life, to see Eren happy again.

"I can't give you more than this, Eren," Levi said, calmy, clutching the sheets to prevent his hands from touching Eren, "I don't know what will happen tomorrow, nor if Hange's serum cured you at all. And I can't tie you when you have a lot to explore and discover."

"Tie me? Why don't you come front and say that you feel that way with me?" No, Levi didn't feel that way. He wanted to be with him, he wanted to love him and protect him in his imperfect way. But he had never been good with words, never was good expressing what he really felt. Levi let people guessing the true meaning of his words, or let Hange, who was the closest person in the SC to know him, to explain his outburst and speeches, and, in the end, he was used to being seen as someone unapproachable and cold.

But this time, he had fucked up. And when he didn't mutter a word, Eren found his answer.

"Get out, Levi. I don't want to force you to spend your free time with someone like me. It causes repulsion, doesn´t it? So I don't want you to kiss me or to hold me, and I don't want you to tell me that you care about me. You reached your goal, you looked after me until the last battle. So please, let me alone."

"Eren..."

"Get the fuck out of my room, Levi!" The authoritative voice of Eren was strong enough to attract the curious glance of Armin, who was turning around the corner to get to his room. He could hear the rummage of clothes and some hushed voices as someone opened the door. It was Levi, who, without turning around, said to Eren: "We're leaving at dawn, Jaeger. Get to Arlet, you will be riding with Hange's squad. Tell Mikasa in case she wants to change places with someone else."

Just as Levi closed the door, Armin hid, but not before witnessing how glassy the eyes of his captain looked.

Xxx

The next morning, Levi was in the stables, brushing the hair of his horse, preparing him for the ride that morning. Despite the fool smell and the poorly cleaned place, he did enjoy taking care of his animal. It was relaxing in a way. He murmured "don't die before me, alright?" and the horse let out a small grunt as if he could understand him.

Footsteps could be heard near him, and he didn't have to turn to look who it was approaching him. He looked over his shoulder, and with a flat expression, asked: "What do you want, Eren?". Said boy was already dressed in his uniform, wearing his gear and his hair was pulled up in a small bun. Without answering his question, Eren grabbed his arm and made him turn around. Before Levi could do something, Eren closed the distance between them, placing a hand against the nape of Levi's neck and the other on his waist, at the same time that he crashed his lips against the Captain's.

Levi responded the kiss with the same intensity, holding tightly on Eren's harnesses that were part of their uniform. He followed Eren's rhythm, wishing to stay like that for a little bit longer, and even wanting to throw him down and made love to his young lover in that very floor (unsanitary as it was). But he couldn't savor the kiss for longer. They pulled apart, with swelled lips and red tinted cheeks, and without another word, Eren took his horse and walked outside.

No one knew that that would be their last farewell.

Ooooo

The heat was suffocating, and the screams of pain from their enemies were heard. A grey cloud was rising up in the skies, and Levi, still with his eyes on the mission, told his tropes to keep moving on. His soldiers didn't react right away, shocked after watching the titan exploding before their eyes.

When the cloud started to clear up, Mikasa was the first person to reach to the inert body of the titan, preparing her swords to pull Eren out of the titan, but it wasn't needed. The flesh of the titan was practically boiling, and as she got closer to the neck, she saw how the head, neck and upper back had exploded. Afraid of what she might find, she walked to the center, where Eren's body should've been laying unconsciously, but instead, she only found what it appeared to be the part of a calf and a foot, burning in the heat of the titan's body, practically carbonized.

A pained scream was let out, and it was foreign to her ears, but the scream was hers. It was Mikasa who was screaming in agony, screaming out the pain of seeing the only family she had left being taken away from her. At that moment, she broke down and cried as she hadn't done it in years.

Levi approached her, and saw the scene, feeling nauseous, but he had to put up a mask, he had to conserve the little composure he had left. He would have time later to mourn him.

"Move, Ackerman, you can cry later," his voice came out rougher than intended. It was a coping mechanism to hide his pain, under layers of anger that no one could see through.

The girl looked up, watching him with hatred. "Fuck you, Levi."

Levi didn't answer. He flew through the skies, fighting and avenging his pain in the poor souls that crossed his path.

That day, humanity won. Paradis was crowned as the winner, but the strongest soldier of humanity had lost his last hope.

#ereri #riren #snk #snk fanfiction #my fics

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shiggydabs · 6 years ago

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Knights of the Eldritch Garden (ShigaDabi Fic)

I switched Day 3 and 4 because I had this one finished already but Day 3 didn’t... and then I forgot to post this yesterday. Whoops.

Word Count: 2428 Verse: Medieval Fantasy Summary: Prince Tomura is kidnapped, and someone needs to rescue him.

You can also read this fic on Ao3.

Chapter 1/5: The King’s Decree

The decree had arrived in-part, briefly, and declared by one of the King’s speakers.

A man dawning a purple robe spoke to a crowd full of curious faces. He stood upon a stage and read off a scroll in a voice that didn’t boom yet held their attention, an accent unlike their own. “On behalf of the Great King I implore the knights of this kingdom, young and old, to partake in a quest unlike any other. In recent passings the King’s son, Tomura Shigaraki, has been kidnapped. The warlock who holds him seek only ransom... but our Great King refuses to bow to the likes of charlatans. He asks of anyone willing to save his son to march against the castle in the North, rescue the prince, and bring him the warlock’s head. Those who succeed will be rewarded greatly and paid handsomely.” There was a murmur, though, of who was likely to survive. “All who are interested in this offer please approach and take a pamphlet.”

Armed men stood at the foot of the stage, both to guard but also to pass out said pamphlets. Dabi looked to Jin and their eyes met in knowing agreement. Dabi pushed his way into the crowd and returned a moment later with a pamphlet.

“This is suicide,” Jin said as he took the sheet and started to read it. The location was vague, the warlock just as vague, and overall the whole thing seemed sketchy. But the reward was hefty, and success guaranteed innumerable fame. Perhaps it was worth a shot.

“Some royal guard if the prince got kidnapped.”

“Some royal pain in the ass if he got himself kidnapped–maybe he would have died if he didn’t go–not that it matters, he’s still worthless.”

“He’s worth a pretty penny at least.” Dabi took the pamphlet and folded it, tucking it into his shirt. Adjusting his belt, he motioned for Jin to follow. The man did, tugging at the hood that hung around his face, moving it mindlessly. “Some old guy in shiny armor will probably go snatch him in a few weeks and that’ll be the end of that.” Neither of them bore a semblance of confidence about the job, neither of them seemed all too interested either. The announcement came and went, passing from their minds. They would find jobs elsewhere, it’s not like their shoddy armor or cheap swords would get them very far anyway.

Then a week passed. And another.

Bodies came through town, the people mourned, buried, and moved on. Yet the bodies kept coming, endlessly. Some buried nothing yet still had something to mourn. Some worried, and the worry whittled away at their hearts. Some only had bits of bones or chewed limbs or broken fragments that they, fruitlessly, identified as one of their own. The kingdom fell into a spell of despair. Dabi and Jin watched it pass them by. Every week the town crier cried – “Prince Tomura is held by a madman! Anyone brave enough to traverse the winter wasteland will be rewarded greatly!” And every week Dabi and Jin passed him by, an idea in the back of their minds that they hardly ever spoke on. Jin had said it himself, it’s suicide.

But the months passed and no one had succeeded.

“We would be rich–!” Jin exclaimed, “–and dead.” Dabi pushed open the tavern doors and the two of them stepped inside, welcomed by a wave of heat, warmth from the fire and discomfort from the room. Everything was grating, tense and hardly at ease. Wary expressions lined every face, dried tears stained cheeks. So many brave souls. So many lost. They sat at the bar counter and ordered a round of drinks. They all needed something. “Or maybe rich and not dead! Or maybe dead and not rich.” Jin frowned, his hood folding fast around his face. “We’ll probably die. But we won’t know unless we try!”

“Wishful thinking,” Dabi muttered. A pamphlet hung above the bartender’s head, the same one that had been handed out months before... he’d tossed that crumpled piece of paper into the fire ages ago. Yet it was still here, still relevant news. The prince was gone. There was talk of another child, another heir, the king seemed to have little choice. No one had rescued his son. It seemed like no one ever would. “At this rate we’ll have better luck with small game.”

“There’s nothing small about our game.”

“Well, smaller game.”

“Is there anything small about a prince?”

“There’s nothing small about a warlock.”

“Maybe he’s a short warlock.”

“A short warlock who’s killed a lot of tall men.”

“That’s quitter talk!”

“Yeah.” Dabi nodded, the rim of his mug against his lips. “Yeah.”

Another month passed, and no progress had been made. The amount of takers had decreased, there were less funerals to be held. Less people dead or lost, no more than usual at least. Brave faces came and went under the torrents of nature, the unpredictability of life, but no one fell to the same hand, save for the executioner’s. Jin and Dabi made their bread and butter elsewhere. One particular day they returned from a hunt, the head of some monstrosity dragging behind them. Jin had attempted to yank a bolt from its skull, every pull only tearing at the skin and fracturing bone, butchering the bolt and their prize all the same. He huffed and tugged but with little progress made.

“Fine, keep it then,” he spat.

“The more you mess with it the more she’s going to complain,” Dabi muttered as he pulled the head along by the hair. Blood trailed behind them, staining the dirt as they walked to the keep. It was a large grand building, the appeal of the entire town, owned by a remarkable woman, the face of nobility. It was guarded constantly by heavily armed men, armored with pikes in hand. No one dared to attack them. They kept the entire keep in-check, watching the servants, the messengers, the guests. Large walls surrounded the estate, a single gate the one way in, save climbing. The wall itself was ornate, draped in gold. Yet it was nothing compared to the keep itself.

Guardsmen stood guard and eyed them, a simple nod as they passed. It would seem they recognized the scars. Dabi walked through the gate, across the greenery and the garden, beyond the fountain, ever trailing blood. Two guards pulled open the grand doors that lead into the keep, metal boots clicking against the tile. Dabi threw the head of the beast onto the floor, drawing the attention of every man in the room. A woman turned and frowned, a look so unaccustomed to an otherwise smiling face. “Lady Himiko, we brought you the head of your beast,” Dabi said with a mock bow.

“And one of my crossbow bolts because the damn thing won’t let go!” Jin made another attempt to pull the bolt free, splattering more blood across the floor.

Dabi walked passed him and his shenanigans and stood before the woman. It only took a glance before a smile returned to her face. “You never disappoint Dabi,” she hummed before she pulled a bag from her belt. Dabi eyed the thin dagger tucked underneath, and knew well enough that it was only one of many.

“Just doing my job.”

Toga opened the bag and pulled out a number of gold coins. She handed him four, little compared to the weight of the bag. “There will be more where that came from with the next bounty. And the next one. And the next.”

“Plenty of monsters to kill.”

“–or to be killed by!” Jin piped up.

“Indeed,” Toga said with a nod. “Although you two never seem to have much trouble. If you’re interested in more of a challenge then you know the king’s declaration...”

“No thanks,” Dabi said with a shake of the head. “We’re not looking to die.”

“You could die any day, Dabi.”

“Maybe. But going after the warlock is suicide.”

“You’ve fought worst monsters and haven’t died yet.”

“Monsters aren’t like people.”

“They’re worse–!” Jin exclaimed, as he yanked his crossbow bolt free. “And better.”

“They’re smart and they’re cruel.” Dabi tucked the gold coins into his pouch. That would be more than enough to get them something pretty. “And even if we wanted to go after some warlock, we don’t have the gear.” Just from the looks of them it was obvious that there wasn’t much of worth to their appearance. Their armor was clearly old and beaten, their weapons were uneven and dulled, and the scars they bore alone showed how much pain they had endured. It was a miracle they hadn’t been slaughtered. There was little to be admirable of, or to be confident in. Dabi was assured (as much as Jin was half the time) that they would go on this quest and die. He wasn’t looking to die yet. He still had things he needed to do, and people he needed to see.

But Toga seemed to hold a different perspective. She smiled and looked them over, a glint in her eye, something churning in her mind. With a wave of the hand she turned away, lacking dissuasion. “Come by later tonight. Wear something comfortable, none of that armor of yours. I want to talk, and treat you to a meal. You two must be starving.” Dabi opened his mouth but Jin responded first–

“We would love to!”

And apparently, they would love to.

“Perfect. See you then!”

Dabi and Jin stepped outside with a look of confusion between them. It wasn’t until the guards had forced them beyond the gates that they finally got a word out about the situation. “Do you think she’s finally considered my hand in marriage?” Jin said, trailing after Dabi. “Himiko is so pretty, so cute! I wonder!”

“Maybe.” Dabi shrugged. Maybe no. Maybe so, who knows. “Let’s go.”

The day passed them by. The sun rose and set. They broke their gold down to coppers and pondered how much would go to the necessities. Prices were ever changing, the seasons ever unpredictable. Food was sparse, even with less mouths to feed. Less hands to work, too. It made everything difficult. They minded the heavy months that neared, the unending threat of a long, white winter. Prices would go up. Food would go down. People would starve, suffer, and die. Then spring would come. Rinse, and repeat. Dabi and Jin minded the consequences. They held their own, and wondered if the keep would hold. Lady Himiko always seemed well-fed, warm, and protected. They wondered if it would last.

Night came. They changed out of their clothes, per request. Their armor racked, their swords sheathed, they wore the nicest thing they owned (which wasn’t very nice at all) and made the walk down to the keep. Guards still lined the outside, ever on patrol. Even during the coldest nights, they stood guard. Ever faithful. Ever loyal. The two neared and the gates immediately fell open, Dabi supposed his stitched skin was hard to miss. They made the same walk across the garden, passed the gentle fountain, before they entered again. The blood had been cleaned, no such sign of the beast or its head. Mounted somewhere or sold, they supposed.

They entered and a servant approached them. “Lady Himiko will see you.” They were lead, minding that they’d only ever seen the front of the keep before, passing by ornaments of gold and silver, bejeweled and glowing. Wealth, they wondered how Toga lived as she did, where this money came from, and where it went. Nobility by virtue, perhaps. They turned a corner and came across a door. The servant held it open, and inside revealed a large dining room. Toga was already seat at one end, a dozen seats between her and the other. Upon seeing them she smiled, and rose from her seat.

“You came!”

“Of course! We would never miss the opportunity to dine with a woman as stunning as yourself, my lady,” Jin said with a bow.

Dabi rolled his eyes. “We were just curious.”

“Take a seat then,” Toga said as she motioned for them to sit. They took the seats closest to her, the room feeling awfully empty. “Food will be out soon. Are you hungry?”

“Starving!” Jin said. Dabi nodded.

“I’m sure, after all the hunting you two do.”

“We try our best to do our service.”

“And a service well done.” The lady sat promptly, and it became apparent that there was something on her mind. “Eat, enjoy yourselves. We have much to discuss.”

It was a simple proposition over dinner. Dabi didn’t take it all too seriously until servants brought out arms and armor. Full suits of mail, padded and all. A sword too, freshly sharpened, of the finest smith and steel. A crossbow as well, sturdy, light enough to not require much strength to reload, stirrup included. Bolts as well, three dozen. It was a hefty load, sets worth more money than they could imagine. Even in their career they couldn’t have afforded armor or weapons as nice as these. There was only one question – “What’s the catch?”

Toga turned to Dabi with a smile.

“As you’ve heard the prince has been kidnapped...”

“I have heard.”

“...and there is quite the hefty reward for his rescue.”

“I’ve heard that, too.”

“Which is why I’m proposing a bit of an... agreement, if you’d like. You take my gear, my supplies, anything that you would deem necessary for such an endeavour. Then, when you succeed, I get some of the reward.”

“You want a cut.”

“Yes.”

Dabi frowned and shook his head. “We already said we won’t do it.”

“It’s suicide!” Jin added.

“You said you wouldn’t do it because people are cruel and you don’t have the equipment to handle them. Well, now you do.” She motioned to the set on display. “All you need is the will, and the motivation. Coin is the motivation. The will is all your own.” There was a smile on her face, a knowing smile. Jin and Dabi looked amongst themselves, uncertainty in their gaze. Their minds were churning, consideration held firmly in their grip. All it took was a single word to change their lives forever. What was there to gain? Fame, fortune, admiration. What was there to lose? Their dignity, their lives. Another faceless body to bury.

Toga stirred her tea. “What say you, Dabi?”

#shigadabiweek #ShigaDabi #Shigaraki Tomura x Dabi #Shigaraki Tomura #Dabi #Jin Bubaigawara #Boku no Hero Academia #My Hero Academia #Red's Writing

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directionlessbuthappy · 7 years ago

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Dawn of the Draugr: p1

In a pre-apocalyptic world, there is Elyse, a 21 year old woman who was going to community college in her small town in Northern California, working on biology and medicine courses. Doing what young adults are expected to do at her age. But her future spirals into uncertainty with a pandemic spreading across humanity. An illness which infects and shuts down the body, reanimating the brain and turning the person into something only seen in repetitive shitty movies and your nightmares. Being on her own, Elyse would have to lose her morality or sanity to survive. Maybe both. However, she may be able to keep them now that she’s found Alex Lothbrok and his brothers. Or, she may lose it even faster…

Modern AU: Alex H. Anderson x Reader

Warnings: graphic violence, language, blood, death

Note: I kept the last name Lothbrok for the brothers to distinguish characters vs reality. I doubt they are anything like the characters (based on them for visual purposes) I’m writing, so I prefer to add an element of unrealism here to reiterate this as fiction. Cheers xo

Tagged: @missrobyn81

It wasn't a normal day.

Everyone likes to think when the world ends, it'll start out totally normal, and you'll have no idea what's happening or whats coming. You won't see it until its too late. People sell it that way for drama, for TV shows and the movies, but its not real. The truth is, you do see it. The warning signs are everywhere, but without someone telling you to run, you aren't sure if you should. People are like sheep; they don't know what to do without instruction. When the epidemic spread from South America and Asia, nobody here was worried. We had central America in our path, and a whole ocean separating us from Japan. It seemed like the black plague at first; killed massive amounts of people over the last two years. But since there were minimal cases of it here in the US, nobody was worried.

For a while.

My family was split; my mom and I were alone most of my life. She married a man who already had two kids. I was an adult at that point, indifferent to the pairing but still living at home. Going to community college. Everything seemed normal despite everything we were seeing on the internet and on TV. Coverage of the epidemic was getting less and less clear as more people were panicking and packing up their things. Our whole neighborhood moved out in a week. Northern California felt safe enough, we hadn't had any sightings/cases of epidemic here. There was some in Texas, and Arizona...

One day after a phone call, my mom told me she was going with her husband to go get his kids. It was their week to visit us, and their mom wasn't comfortable driving on the roads with how crazy it was getting out there in Washington state, so my mom and her husband planned to go get them. I was in denial, in a way...not really considering how bad it was yet. it felt eerie, being home alone after that. Our little three bedroom, one story house on Sweedland Way felt like a mansion while I waited for my mom to come home. I'd stopped going to school; we'd got an email that class was out due to teacher shortages. Out, indefinitely. I remember when I got my first taste that it was all real, not some widespread panic about the cold.

I was sitting in the living room, checking through a few websites that hadn't posted in over a week. I was studying animal medicine in college (when I was still going) so I understood a lot of technical jargon when reading on the epidemic. All the articles and different notes on the contagion were unfinished; even Wikipedia was useless in explaining what it was. Most researchers first found it in South America, comparing the disease to a virus hiding behind the symptoms of bacterial infection...making it less concerning in its early stages. Researchers didn't catch on until about 6 months in, when more hospital staff were infected verses healthy. Infection was mostly caused by saliva, whether its ingested, gets in your eyes, or most commonly seen in the reports I found...you get bit. Like a rabies virus on cocaine, the disease ravages your system and fries pretty much everything...except your spinal cord and your motor function. The nervous system was preserved by the disease and regenerated itself; the body would be able to function, move, and respond to things like noise. But otherwise...

I didn't like to entertain the idea the dead could come back to life. That wasn't true, it was science fiction bullshit. Granted, I loved cheesy movies where the dead would rise, but that was all they were. Movies. If anything, these sick people were just very sick...maybe it was a new type of cancer, that was why it scared people so much.

I was wrong.

...

"See the sight lined up to the chest?"

"Yeah..."

"Shoot it."

"But I need to hit the head."

"I know Elyse. Take the shot."

I swallowed and pulled the trigger. The gun popped against my chest like a light bump, and the bullet went straight through the target's "neck." I was surprised.

"It aims high!"

"Bingo," Alex replied. "Its the only red sight we have. Jordan can't get the tilt quite right but it still works eh? Now aim at the neck."

I do so, trusting his word now more than before. I squeezed and the gun pops; the bullet hole in my target's head was clear. With a giddy squeal, I aimed to take another shot, but missed. Alex grinned from behind me, I knew this because when I turned he was already doing it.

"Nice shot."

"Shut up," I replied, faintly hurt. He chuckled and outstretched his arm for the gun. I handed it over, safety on.

"Wanna try with the handguns?"

"Actually..." I whined. Holding my arm up to show off the bruise blooming on my tricep, Alex frowned slightly. "Can we take a break?"

"Sure punkin," he shrugged. I still took the time to roll my eyes at him before sitting down on a hay bail. Our little training field wasn't too far away from the house; Jordan and Marco could still see us from the second floor's porch. We were safe, mostly. The treeline that surrounded the house on the hill made me the most nervous, especially at night. Jordan called them "fight nights" for fun, but he was good at making others feel better. I could see right through it. Just like I could see them coming through the treeline every other night.

Sometimes it was just one, sometimes a pack of them. They traveled in groups pretty often. They're always so listless, walking like they were drunk and heavy and yet they weren't slow in their pace. They'd drag their feet, and although they were responsive to sound, it didn't seem like they understood anything. From the material I've read and studied in the last couple months the disease is as unpredictable as its victims. Sometimes you'd die in a week...sometimes it only took 24 hours. But if you got bit at all, you were fucked no matter how long it takes to die.

"Jordan's still not worried about the ammo?"

Alex shrugged, taking a mag and shoving it into the cartridge of his 47. "We have enough to get us through a month of assaults. You and Marco are the only ones worried."

"We have enough for a month of assaults with automatics, Alex. Our handguns are limited. They're attracted to noise, and we can't haul ass with ten pound metal death machines on our shoulders!"

"We'll be fine. If you're really that worried, go down the hunt shop on West 10th. They'll have something," he replied coily. I scowled at him.

"That's not funny."

"Was I laughing?"

"Alex!" I snarled. He had the sense to look a little upset, sighing once he realized he'd actually upset me.

"I'm kidding Lees," he muttered. "I'll go with you tomorrow. Would that make you happy?"

"Are you being sarcastic again?" I replied warily, buttoning my flannel up and down with the same button. Alex took a few shots, turning the head of one of our dummies into swiss cheese. He put so many holes in it the head actually fell off. It made us both chuckle.

"Do you want me to go on my own?"

"No!" I squeaked instantly. Alex grinned and turned his back to me, lining up the sight of his automatic again. The kid was growing on me...

#alex hogh andersen #alex hogh imagine #alex hogh x reader #zombie apocalypse #the lothbroks #post apocalyptic #writings #modern vikings au #dawnofthedraugr #modern au

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dalyunministry · 4 years ago

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Pas. Johnraj Lamech

💗

Greetings in the matchless Name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Topic: Faith Life : Part 01 “Commencement of Faith Life”

Rhema Word (1): Habakkuk 2:4(b) (NKJV) “The just shall live by his faith.”

Rhema Word (2): Romans 1:17 (NKJV) “For in it the righteousness of God is revealed from faith to faith; as it is written, “The just shall live by faith.”

Let’s pray. Our Gracious Loving Father, thank you for giving us an opportunity to meditate your Word today. Thank you Holy Spirit for helping us to understand your Words which are living and active. Please help us to live a life as per your Word Lord. Father, we give all the Glory and Honour to you. We pray in the mighty Name of your beloved Son Jesus Christ. Amen.

Faith is the foundation of Christian life. The importance attached to this truth about faith is made obvious by its emphatic recurrence in three of the New Testament Epistles. There are three key verses, which enlighten the message this truth imparts.

(i) Romans 1:17 “For in it the righteousness of God is revealed from faith to faith; as it is written, “The just shall live by faith.”

(ii) Galatians 3:11 “But that no one is justified by the law in the sight of God is evident, for “the just shall live by faith.”

(iii) Hebrews 10:38 “Now the just shall live by faith; But if anyone draws back, My soul has no pleasure in him.”

The Epistle to Romans talks about the Commencement of the Christian Faith Life. The Letter to the Galatians deals with the problems we face in the course of the Christian Life, and that to the Hebrews pictures the successful Completion of the Christian Life/Race. Yes, The COMMENCEMENT, the CONTINUATION and the CONSUMMATION of faith life!

Let us meditate these three stages of Faith Life, under the light of the Word and with the guidance of the Holy Spirit in next three week-ends starting from today. Today, let us meditate upon the foundation, The Commencement of the Christian Faith Life

In the contemporary spiritual commotion, believers are tossed to and fro with every wind of strange and diverse doctrines. And we need to be educated about living the faith life in order to survive the sleights of Satan. I sincerely pray that this life changing truth may dawn on us with its full significance. Let our unbelief be destroyed and forts of faith be built!

Let us try to understand about “Commencement of Faith Life” under following five aspects:

1] Faith the Prerequisite

2] Why Failures?

3] Simple Faith

4] Adulterated Gospel

5] Man’s Responsibility

1] Faith the prerequisite :

For a life to be approved by God, faith is the basic requirement. There is nothing that can be a substitute for faith. Traditions cannot be an alternative. Religious practices cannot replace it. We revere God. We pray often. We are regular Church-goers. We are well spoken of by our fellow believers for our pious living. In short, we are doing our best to live Christians life, and the world certifies that we are “Good Christians”, But, “Without faith it is impossible to please God” (Hebrews 11:6) It is possible to be engaged in all Christian activities and yet be out of favour with God. Without faith there is no way. Here are few examples from the Scriptures:

(a) Adam & Eve

Adam and Eve were originally a holy pair. Shortly after their creation they had to quit the place where God Himself had put them. But why? Why were they banished from Eden? Why was God so particular about such a trivial thing as eating a mere fruit? It seems to be too awful a consequence for so small a sin. But if we look deeply into the matter, we may discern their grace error which led to that grievous end.

God created and placed them in an exceedingly beautiful garden, the Eden. They lived in perpetual dependence on God and enjoyed perfect bliss. But they could continue in that happy estate only on a condition. The condition that their Creator laid down was this: And the Lord God commanded the man, saying, “Of every tree of the garden you may freely eat; but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die.” (Genesis 2:16-17)

The tree of knowledge had been made a test of their faith and obedience. It was then that the unwanted intruder came on the scene and asked Eve, “Has God indeed said, you shall not eat of every tree of the garden? (Gen 3:1). He questioned the very Word of God. Alas! Eve began to distrust God’s love and doubt His wisdom. She DISBELIEVED the words of God for whom it was impossible to lie (Hebrews 6:8) and believed the lie of the liar (John 8:44). They became outcast from the garden of Eden. The first sin of our first parents is failure to believe God’s Word. Yes, unbelief is the sin of sins.

(b) Moses & Aaron

Have you ever once stopped to think why Moses and Aaron were denied admission into the Promised Land? God spoke to Moses face to face as a man speaks to his friend. The Bible says, “There has not arisen in Israel a prophet like Moses” (Deut 34:10). God testified that Moses was a faithful servant in all His house (Hebrews 3:2). Aaron was also no less than Moses. God once said to Moses, “Aaron, your brother, shall be your prophet.” He was called and anointed to be a high priest. Through both of them, God smote the Egyptians with plagues and redeemed the Israelites from bondage. But at one stage, the same God denied them what once He promised! What was God’s reason? God said in Deuteronomy 32:51, ”Because you trespassed against Me among the children of Israel at the waters of Meribah Kadesh, in the Wilderness of Zin, because you did not hallow Me in the midst of the children of Israel..” Trespassed!

In what way ? God told them in Numbers 20:12 ”Because you did not believe Me, to hallow Me in the eyes of the children of Israel, therefore you shall not bring this assembly into the land which I have given them.” God told them to speak to a rock. To them it seemed a folly to speak to a rock. So, Moses struck that rock with the rod. They disbelieved God’s words and incurred His displeasure. Disbelieving is trespassing.

Israelites were God’s elect. Even when they had not known their Lord, He called them and named them. He delighted in being called, “The God of Israel,” “The Holy One of Israel,” “The Redeemer of Israel” and so on. Yes, He carried them on His shoulders as a father. But did they enter that promised land? Why couldn’t they possess their possessions? On their way, in the wilderness, Israelites became idolaters, committed fornication, tested God and murmured against Him. But the main reason the Bible gives for their failure is this: ”They could not enter in because of UNBELIEF” (Heb 3:19). Unbelief was the deadliest of all their sins.

Let us see some positive examples, as well:

(d) Paul & Silas:

Faithful proclamation of the risen Christ as the Lord and the Saviour took Paul and Silas to the innermost of dungeons. The two peculiar prisoners were prepared for everything. They met the persecution with a spirit of praise and prayer. Whether or not their hymns moved their fellow-prisoners’ hearts, we are not sure. But their praise did move the Roman prison! Following a great earthquake, the foundations of the prison were shaken, all the doors were opened and everyone’s chains were loosened. All these brought the Philippian Jailor on to his knees. Yes, he fell down trembling before Paul and Silas and cried, “Sirs, what must I do to be saved?” (Acts 16:30).

What do you think was the reply? Paul did not attempt to deliver a sermon on Salvation. Nor did he make him recite a long prayer of confession! He could answer the thirsty soul in one sentence, and I should say, it was the only possible answer that God Himself could have given the jailor: ”BELIEVE on the LORD JESUS CHRIST, and you will be SAVED” (Acts 16:31).

Remember, hundreds of thousands of people today ask the same question that the Jailor asked. “What must I do to be saved?” This is the throbbing of their hearts. They visit places of pilgrimage, one after another, hoping to get their sins washed off by holy baths. But there is only one way! “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you will be saved!”

(e) The Lord Jesus:

The Bible says in John 6:28-29 “Then they said to Him, “What shall we do, that we may work the works of God?” Jesus answered and said to them, “This is the work of God, that you believe in Him whom He sent.”. During His earthly ministry Jesus went about healing the sick and setting free the demon-possessed. The disciples had the opportunity to accompany Him wherever He went and to be the eye-witnesses of all that He said and did.

The blind received sight, the lame and crippled rose up and walked, the lepers were cleansed, the deaf heart and the dead were raised up. The disciples wanted such miracles to be wrought by their hands. They approached Him asking “What shall we do that we might work the works of God?”. They might have expected Him to set up a ministry and teach them the means and methods of performing miracles. To their disappointment, He replied, ”This is the work of God, that you BELIEVE in HIM whom HE sent.” Simple words but profound truth!

(f) The Holy Spirit:

Speaking about the Holy Spirit, Jesus said in John 16:8-11 ”And when He has come, He will convict the world of sin, and of righteousness, and of judgment: of sin, because they do not believe in Me; of righteousness, because I go to My Father and you see Me no more; of judgment, because the ruler of this world is judged.” Please note, it is “SIN” and not “SINS”. This sin of sins is referred to in the very next verse: “Because they do NOT BELIEVE in ME”.

1 John 5:16-17 talks about the sin unto death and the sin NOT unto death. “If anyone sees his brother sinning a sin which does not lead to death, he will ask, and He will give him life for those who commit sin not leading to death. There is sin leading to death. I do not say that he should pray about that. All unrighteousness is sin, and there is sin not leading to death.” Please note, the “sin leading to death” is nothing but unbelief.

Let me explain. If you pray for a brother or a sister who has sinned in any other way, God will hear your prayers and the person will be forgiven. But, if you pray to God to pardon a man his unbelief and his unwillingness to accept Jesus as Saviour, God can never grant it. Please note, adultery, fornication, murders and idolatry are all devastating sins, but these are not what take us to hell. There will be in hell those who never committed adultery or murder, but all will be UNBELIEVERS. It is terribly true that even those who know nothing of these heinous sins will be there, just because of their UNBELIEF.

(g) Who believes in Him is not condemned:

Jesus said in John 3:18 ”He who BELIEVES in Him is not condemned; but he who does not believe is condemned already, because he has not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God.” Yes, anyone who takes shelter under the shed blood of Jesus escapes that eternal damnation. He will not perish but will have everlasting life. But the one who does not believe in Jesus will be condemned. No, he is “already” condemned! The unbeliever need not wait for the Dooms Day. He is already doomed. His unbelief has made him a son of hell. Believe or perish!

Remember, faith is supreme in everything that concerns God and man. Every step that draws a human soul nearer to God and every growth is founded on faith.

2] Why Failures?

Instead of putting all our faith and trust in God and finding rest in His promises, we strive and struggle, but all in vain. And we encounter failures right where we are supposed to be progressive.

The history of the Israelites serves us with a good illustration here. The reasons for their failure explain our failures. Theirs was not a triumphant life for two reasons. First, they did not realise the futility of self effort. Secondly, they did not realize the temporariness of the Law.

(i) The futility of Self-effort:

The Law was, in simple words, the Holy God’s righteous and virtuous demands placed on man. When the Israelites heard that what their Lord had commanded them, they all answered in one accord, ”All that the Lord has spoken we will do” (Exodus 24:3). They could not comprehend the claims of the Law on them. They did not understand that the requirements of the Law were of a supreme standard and were beyond their reach. They knew not the cost of obedience. With a spring of enthusiasm they promised, “We will do!”.

Many among us have put great confidence in our undaunted and indomitable will-power. We decidedly move forward but often we are detained. Will-power is the vain religion of the world and Jesus never once advocated this. It is neither by will nor by power that we can run this race of faith (Romans 9:16).

James explains in James 2:8-11, ”If you really fulfil the royal law according to the Scripture, “You shall love your neighbour as yourself,” you do well; but if you show partiality, you commit sin, and are convicted by the law as transgressors. For whoever shall keep the whole law, and yet stumble in one point, he is guilty of all. For He who said, “Do not commit adultery,” also said, “Do not murder.” Now if you do not commit adultery, but you do murder, you have become a transgressor of the law.

Remember, whosoever he might be, whatever possible explanations he might give, if he is a keeper of the whole Law and yet failed in one point of the Law, he was guilty of all the sins and was considered the transgressor of the Law. But, when Jesus ministered in this world, He invited the Jews, the keepers of the Law, to the new and the living way. He said in Matthew 11:29 ”Take my yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.”

Paul confirms in Romans 8:3 ”For what the law could not do in that it was weak through the flesh, God did by sending His own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh, on account of sin: He condemned sin in the flesh, that the righteous requirement of the law might be fulfilled in us who do not walk according to the flesh but according to the Spirit.”

(ii) The Temporariness of the Law:

The Bible says in Hebrews 7:19, ”The law made nothing perfect; on the other hand, there is the bringing in of a better hope, through which we draw near to God.” Yes, we can say the Law was not given to make man righteous but to convict him of his unrighteousness and convince him of his need of a Saviour. Further, the Bible says in Hebrews 10:1 ”The law, having a shadow of the good things to come, and not the very image of the things, can never with these same sacrifices, which they offer continually year by year, make those who approach perfect.”

Shadow is good. But when the light comes it has to give way. The Law was only a shadow of the better things to come. When Christ Jesus, the Sun of Righteousness, rose to shine in strength the shadow had to give way. Paul says in Colossians 2:17 ”These are a shadow of the things that were to come; the reality, however, is found in Christ.” Further, Paul gives us a picture of how the shadow was dispelled in Colossians 2:13-16 (a), ”When you were dead in your sins and in the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made you alive with Christ. He forgave us all our sins, having cancelled the charge of our legal indebtedness, which stood against us and condemned us; He has taken it away, nailing it to the cross. And having disarmed the powers and authorities, He made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross. Therefore, do not let anyone judge you..”

The Law was the handwriting that was AGAINST us and was CONTRARY to us. The Law made our sin manifest. It was standing on our way and it made hard the possibility of union with God. But Jesus Christ nailed it to the cross and opened the WAY for us, revealed the TRUTH and gave us the LIFE. This new and the living way He opened through the veil, that is, His flesh, His own body (Hebrews 10:20). So none of us is to be judged by the Law. Hallelujah!

Paul further explains in Galatians 3:23-25 ”But before faith came, we were kept under guard by the law, kept for the faith which would afterward be revealed. Therefore, the law was our tutor to bring us to Christ, that we might be justified by faith. But after faith has come, we are no longer under a tutor.” Yes, the Law was a strict guard and a stern tutor. It was not all sufficient in itself and so it has led us to a “better hope” (Heb. 7:19). It had been given to us temporarily till the prophecy about Faith Life came to pass.

The following passages makes it obvious that we are justified by faith and not by the Law.

Paul says in Romans 3:21-22 ”The righteousness of God apart from the law is revealed, being witnessed by the Law and the Prophets, even the righteousness of God, through faith in Jesus Christ, to all and on all who believe.”

Paul says further in Romans 9:30-32 ”What shall we say then? That Gentiles, who did not pursue righteousness, have attained to righteousness, even the righteousness of faith; but Israel, pursuing the law of righteousness, has not attained to the law of righteousness. Why? Because they did not seek it by faith, but as it were, by the works of the law.”

Paul concludes in Romans 3:27-28 ”Where is boasting then? It is excluded. By what law? Of works? No, but by the law of faith. Therefore, we conclude that a man is justified by faith apart from the deeds of the law.” Also Paul confirms in Galatians 3:11 But that no one is justified by the law in the sight of God is evident, for “the just shall live by faith.”

There is neither curse nor condemnation for those who believe in Christ Jesus. That is why Paul says in Romans 8:33-35 ”Who shall bring a charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is he who condemns? It is Christ who died, and furthermore is also risen, who is even at the right hand of God, who also makes intercession for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?

Yes, it is neither our self-effort nor our self-righteousness that justifies us. We are justified by our faith on the finished work of Christ on Calvary. We may say a thousand times : ”The-just-shall-live-by-faith!”

3] Simple Faith:

The trouble with the Christianity of today is its complexity. With a dogmatic insistence on externalities, the Church is misleading the believers to a mere religious orthodoxy instead of guiding them to the spiritual realm of reality. The Church is diseased with diverse doctrines. Externalism is esteemed as essentiality. Ritualism is reigning in places which are not worthy of the name “Church”. It is most tragic that Salvation by Faith is neither taught nor believed. Paul says in Romans 3:3 ”What if some were unfaithful? Will their unfaithfulness nullify God’s faithfulness?” Truth is forever what it is and God always acts like Himself. There can be NO SHADOW of variance either in God or His Word. Justification by Faith is God’s design and its invariability remains indomitable by the man-made dogmas.

Let us see the lives of three sinner women which can be the greatest examples of the simplest form of faith.

(i) Rahab:

The Bible says in Hebrews 11:31 (NLT), ”It was by faith that Rahab the prostitute was not destroyed with the people in her city who refused to obey God. For she had given a friendly welcome to the spies.”

This Gentile woman’s faith was so wonderful! The two spies from the Lord’s army gave her a line of scarlet cord as a true token of their faithfulness. She trusted in their words, ”and she bound the scarlet cord in the window” (Joshua 2:21). Simply a cord! It shows her simple faith! And that saved her when the city of Jericho was burned to ashes. Yes, God honoured her faith and her name is found registered in the list of the patriarchs of faith. Were there not any better women living in her times? But this woman’s simple faith has got her a place in this Book of Life. The Red Cord typifies the Red Cross. She blended herself with Calvary’s love even thousands of years ago.

(ii) The Samaritan Woman:

This woman who was a harlot by profession discovered that Jesus was Messiah! A simple conversation with the Saviour led to her great conversion. A conversion of heart and life. She perceived that the person she had been talking to was a prophet (John 4:19). That gave her too great a joy and she could not hold herself back. A moment later she was found proclaiming Him in the streets of Sychar, a city of Samaria. Yes, she found the fountain of living waters and from her heart began to flow forth rivers of living water.

(iii) Sinner Women in a City:

There was no need in her times to refer to her name as such. She was very popular as “The sinner of the city!” Just imagine! What an immoral life she must have lived! She first met Jesus when He was dining in a Pharisee’s house. The Pharisee saw Him as a godly man, but she saw Him as God’s Son. The burden of her sin prevented her from coming in front of Him. She “stood behind Him weeping” (Luke 7:37,38). How penitent and how remorseful she was! Fear gripped her heart that she might not be accepted by the holy Son of god. She washed His feet with tears of repentance, kissed them with gratitude and anointed them with fragrant oil. It was not oil but her life itself that she poured out at His feet. Except for Jesus, she was an unwanted person in that place. The woman uttered not a word. But, what her tear drops spoke was intelligible to Him and He answered her, saying, ”Your sins are forgiven.” The Pharisee would not let her go forgiven. But Jesus assured her of her salvation, ”Your faith has saved you. Go in peace” (Luke 7:50)

Yes, we are made ‘clean’ by Christ’s blood through faith. There is no sin too dark, no crime too black to be washed by His blood. ”The blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanses us from all sin.” (1 John 1:7)

4] Adulterated Gospel:

Paul declares in 1 Corinthians 1:23 ”We preach Christ crucified”. To preach Jesus Christ, the Son of God, as the Saviour is pure Gospel. If we add to this or subtract from this it becomes adulterated. CROSS plus or minus equals NOTHING!.

The faulty exposition of the New Testament truth is the chilly breeze that blows across Church today. The spirit of modern orthodoxy is utterly in contrast with the spirit of the Word of God. People are found preaching many formulae for which they cannot furnish chapter or verse in the Bible. Salvation is not to be found in any formula, but in the Saviour.

Here are few examples of the Adulterated Gospel:

(a) Baptism:

Apostle Peter says in 1 Peter 2:21-22 “This water symbolizes baptism that now saves you also—not the removal of dirt from the body but the pledge of a clear conscience toward God. It saves you by the resurrection of Jesus Christ, who has gone into heaven and is at God’s right hand—with angels, authorities and powers in submission to him.” Trusting in Jesus, you make an agreement with God through baptism. That ‘Baptism – a must’ is the clear teaching of the Bible. But we ought to be careful lest we make a mistake here. FAITH precedes and BAPTISM follows. If it is vice versa, that is adulterated Gospel.

(b) Tithing, Fasting, Praying, etc.

Tithing, fasting, praying, etc., are all necessary. Our righteousness must exceed the righteousness of the Scribes and the Pharisees. But these things do not save you. Nobody can say that someone is saved just because his prayers are often answered. Jesus granted even the prayers of demons (Matthew 8:31). If we believe that our tithing and fasting can save us, we are deceiving ourselves. Salvation is only in the Cross.

We meet a Pharisee in the eighteenth chapter of the Gospel according to Luke. He thanked God for he was not like others and he delighted in that he was far better. He exalted himself. “I fast twice a week; I give tithes” (Luke 18:12). But he had to take his pride in his hands and go back just as he came! But the Publican with the simple prayer, “God be merciful to me, a sinner,” went home justified.

And we know about another Pharisee who counted everything but loss for Christ. That was the apostle Paul! Paul says in Philippians 3:7-9 ”But whatever were gains to me I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them garbage, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ—the righteousness that comes from God on the basis of faith.” Remember, that our most religious activities are counted for our salvation is, again, an adulterated gospel.

Have you confessed and forsaken all your sins? This is the question often asked to the new converts. To speak the truth, there is none on this earth who, at the time of conversion, confessed every single sin he had committed. If that is the rule, nobody can say that he or she is saved, because it is impossible to recall to your memory the whole of your past life!

Many are the examples in the Bible to prove that people are saved instantly:

(i) The Tax-Collector (Luke 8:13-14) : He came to God, confessed his sinfulness and got saved “instantly”.

(ii) Zacchaeus (Luke 19:5-9): The moral giants were murmuring outside but Zacchaeus, the saved, was rejoicing with his Redeemer inside.

(iii) The criminal on the Cross (Luke 23:40-43): He hung crucified on the cross. All that could do was to turn his eyes towards Jesus and see the King of kings crowned with thorns, accepted his own wicked deeds and prayed to Jesus to remember him when He comes into His Kingdom. Yes, a sinner a moment before is saved now!

(iv) The Ethiopian Official (Acts 8:35-38): He believed with all his heart and he was saved instantly.

(v) Lydia (Acts 16:13-15): Her heart swelled with the joy of salvation. Yes, she and her household were baptized that day itself. Instant salvation!

(vi) The Jailor (Acts 16:31-33): The Philippian jailor found that Paul’s God was indeed a living one. He wanted to be saved immediately. Yes, he and all in his household believed on the Lord Jesus Christ and he “rejoiced, having believed in God with all his household.” Yes, immediately he and all his family were baptized.

5] Man’s Responsibility:

Except Christianity, every other religion offers a balance of works and reward. But Christianity is salvation by faith alone. Trusting in Christ’s saving and keeping power, you cease from your own works and efforts.

It is true that we are not saved by our good works (Eph 2:9), but it is equally true that we are saved for good works (Eph 2:10). You may wonder, whether I left the position of grace and reverted to salvation by works? Certainly not. If an initial act of faith alone will do, what is our explanation for the following Scripture passage?

The Bible says in James 2:17,20,26 ”Faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead (Ver. 17)…. You foolish person, do you want evidence that faith without deeds is useless? (Ver.20)… As the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without deeds is dead. (Ver 26)

What does “works” here mean? Are these works the so-called good and religious deeds done with an intention to merit God’s favour and with an expectation of reward from God? A thousand times, NO! Works here mean the corresponding actions of obedience. Faith and obedience go hand in hand in the Scriptures.

Let us see some of the examples given by James himself in his Epistle make clear the implications of the word “works”:

a] Abraham:

James 2:21 ”Was not our father Abraham considered righteous for what he did when he offered his son Isaac on the altar? Here, Abraham is said to have been justified by works! Let us examine the truth about this statement. Turning to Genesis 15:5-6 ”He took him outside and said, “Look up at the sky and count the stars—if indeed you can count them.” Then He said to him, “So shall your offspring be.” Abram believed the Lord, and He credited it to him as righteousness.”

Paul says in Romans 4:9-13 ”We have been saying that Abraham’s faith was credited to him as righteousness. Under what circumstances was it credited? Was it after he was circumcised, or before? It was not after, but before! And he received circumcision as a sign, a seal of the righteousness that he had by faith while he was still uncircumcised. So then, he is the father of all who believe but have not been circumcised, in order that righteousness might be credited to them. And he is then also the father of the circumcised who not only are circumcised but who also follow in the footsteps of the faith that our father Abraham had before he was circumcised. It was not through the law that Abraham and his offspring received the promise that he would be heir of the world, but through the righteousness that comes by faith.”

Further Paul says in Romans 4:20-22 ”He did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God, being fully persuaded that God had power to do what he had promised. This is why “it was credited to him as righteousness.” After being justified, Abraham’s faith was revealed in the corresponding actions. When he took his son to Mount Moriah to do as he was told, his faith was confirmed by his works. This is the “works” referred to by James.

b) Rahab:

James talks about Raheb in James 2:25 ”In the same way, was not even Rahab the prostitute considered righteous for what she did when she gave lodging to the spies and sent them off in a different direction?

Let us turn back to Joshua 2:9-11 “I know that the Lord has given you this land and that a great fear of you has fallen on us, so that all who live in this country are melting in fear because of you. We have heard how the Lord dried up the water of the Red Sea for you when you came out of Egypt, and what you did to Sihon and Og, the two kings of the Amorites east of the Jordan, whom you completely destroyed. When we heard of it, our hearts melted in fear and everyone’s courage failed because of you, for the Lord your God is God in heaven above and on the earth below.”

This faith Rahab made manifest in her works when she accepted the men from the Lord’s army and helped them to get out of their enemies’ hands.

What the Apostle James actually means by “works” can be well understood by referring to the context in James 2:14-17 ”What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save them? Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.”

Remember, by faith we are reconciled to God, by love we have to be reconciled with men. Our right fellowship with God through faith must invariably result in a right interpersonal relationship with men.

Finally, two of Jesus’s disciples were backslidden. One was Judas who was holding an important office, that of a treasurer and the other was the most prominent leader, Peter. Judas did a shameful deed by betraying his Master to the Chief Priests, who, Judas knew, were plotting against His life. Judas did not have the faith to turn back to Christ.

Peter was the worst of the two. He denied Jesus and cursed Him thrice in spite of previous warning. But Jesus had prayed that “his faith should not fail” (Luke 22:31-32). The Father granted the Son’s prayer. When Peter’s eyes met his Lord’s eyes he became penitent and cried bitterly. Unlike Judas, Peter turned to Christ. He, then, became a great blessing to others!

Dear friend, do not suspend yourself in a state of self-condemnation. That was exactly what Judas did with himself. You may have gone to the deadline of backsliding. But Jesus keeps praying that your faith would not come to nought. God awaits your coming back. It is not too late yet. Get back to Christ. Make yourself available to God. You shall surely be made a blessing to others. Yes, that is what Christ did with Peter’s life (Luke 22:32).

Yes, the just will live by faith!

Let us introspect ourselves..

Shall we believe our Lord whole heartedly and run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith?

Shall we stop struggling and striving with our own efforts and put our faith and trust in God?

Shall we live by faith instead of relying on self-righteousness?

Shall we have a simple faith like Rahab, the Samaritan woman, and the sinner woman who washed His feet with tears of repentance?

Shall we be cautious about not mixing religious formulae with the pure Gospel?

Shall we check our hearts whether our faith leads us to good works?

Shall we check our hearts whether we are careful to maintain good works having believed in God?

Shall we get right with God and get right with man as well?

Shall we get rid of self-condemnation and get back to Christ?

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dragonydreams · 7 years ago

Text

Finding Where We Belong - BtVS/LoT Crossover 2/5

Title: Finding Where We Belong Fandom: DC’s Legends of Tomorrow, Buffy the Vampire Slayer Rating: Teen Pairings/Characters: Sara Lance/Leonard Snart, Spike/Willow Rosenberg, Dawn Summers, Faith Lehane, Legends Team Summary: Faith, Dawn, Willow and Spike end up in Legends ‘verse when their only chance of survival was to escape through a portal Dawn created. When Gideon senses the portals opening but isn’t sure what to make of it, the Waverider crew goes to investigate and find much more than they bargained for. Timeline: BtVS: post-series (ignores comics), Legends: end of Episode 2.10 The Legion of Doom Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over these characters. I am merely borrowing them from Berlanti Productions, DC Entertainment, Warner Bros. Television and Mutant Enemy, Kuzui Enterprises, Sandollar Television, 20th Century Fox Television. Betas: Thank you to angelskuuipo and shanachie for looking this over for me. Author’s Note: This marks my 15 year anniversary writing fanfiction. I don’t know the exact date that I shared my first Willow/Giles story in a Yahoo Group, but it was definitely in September 2012. This milestone anniversary demanded a story that crossed the first fandom I wrote in with my current fandom obsession.

Start from the beginning

Chapter 2

After informing the rest of the crew about what, and who, they'd found, Sara asked Amaya to take their guests to the galley for some much needed food and drinks, while she went with Phil/Rip to the med bay, where Mick had already taken Leonard.

"I don't need to see a doctor," Phil protested. "There's nothing wrong with my memory."

Gritting her teeth against the headache that was forming, Sara ground out, "Fine, but I still want Gideon to check you out and heal any injuries you may have from being tortured."

"It can do that?" Phil asked, in awe.

"It can hear you," Gideon said, causing Phil to stumble back into the medical chair he'd been standing next to. "Please lie down so that I may assess your injuries."

Once he had, Sara wrapped a medical cuff around Phil's wrist, to his startled protests, until he suddenly fell silent.

"Thanks, Gideon," Sara said, knowing the AI had administered a fast-acting sedative. "Let me know what you find out about both his physical injuries and memory loss."

"Will do, Captain," Gideon responded.

Sara crossed the room to where Leonard was lying motionless on another chair. She stood on the opposite side of Leonard from Mick, watching his chest rise and fall as he breathed. "And Leonard?" Sara asked.

"Mr. Snart's body is in shock from having been trapped in the time stream for the past several months," Gideon announced. "Otherwise, he appears to be in complete health. The time stream he was trapped in appears to have kept him in perfect stasis."

"When will he wake up?" Mick gruffly asked.

"It shouldn't be long now," Gideon answered.

Wanting to stay by Leonard's side until he woke, Sara knew that she had to go deal with their guests.

"Gideon, please alert me as soon as he wakes up, no matter the time," Sara requested.

"Yes, Captain," Gideon responded.

"You're leaving?" Mick asked, tearing his eyes away from his partner's face in surprise.

"Don't want to," Sara admitted, her hand hovering over Leonard's cheek. "But I need to go be Captain for a while and make sure our guests are settled. If he wakes before I come back, tell him…" she paused, her voice thick with emotion.

"I'll tell him you'll be here soon," Mick finished.

Sara blinked the tears from her eyes and smiled at Mick. "Thanks."

After a quick stop to change back into a pair of ripped jeans and a tee-shirt, Sara headed towards the galley.

The newcomers were sitting at a table, eating heartily. Considering that they looked like they'd just been through a battle, she imagined they needed it.

All except for the blond man, Spike.

"Not hungry?" she asked him.

He smirked at her. "As shiny as your food replicator is, I don't expect that it'll be able to produce what I eat."

"And what's that?" Sara asked.

"Blood," Spike answered.

Sara raised an eyebrow at that. "So the stories about vampires are true? You survive by drinking the blood of the innocent?"

Dawn snorted, then coughed.

"Now just the not-so-innocent," Spike promised. "And usually only bagged stuff from blood banks or animals."

Sara turned to Amaya, who had been watching the group from off to the side of the room. "Can you run to the med bay and grab a couple of bags of blood?"

"Are you sure we should be humoring him?" Amaya asked, not convinced that vampires existed.

"If it makes him sick, it's his own fault," Sara pointed out.

"Not making it up," Spike said.

"You said back at the Vanishing Point that you had a soul. Why did you make a point of mentioning that?" Sara asked.

"I'd like to hear this, too," Nate said, poking his head into the room.

Sara rolled her eyes. "Anyone else eavesdropping out there?"

Ray bashfully stepped into the room beside Nate. Followed by Jax.

"No Stein?" Sara asked.

"Oh, did I hear my name?" Martin asked, as if he'd just been passing by.

Faith and Willow exchanged a look and burst out laughing.

"Oh, yeah, this feels just like home at Slayer Central," Dawn said.

"Grown-ups behaving like children?" Sara asked.

"Yep. Except they were mostly teenagers," Dawn agreed.

Sara raised an eyebrow at that and made a mental note to follow up on it.

"Huddle up, kiddos, and we'll go over Vampires and Slayers 101," Spike said.

Everyone found chairs as Amaya returned with two bags of blood, which she held out to Spike. Starving, Spike shifted to his game face and tore into one of the bags, slurping down the contents.

"Ta," he said licking his lips, once the bag was drained. "Been ages since I was able to properly feed." He relished the shocked looks on their hosts' faces.

"Astonishing," Martin said, breaking the silence.

"Right, so, vampires. To become a vampire, you get drained of most of your blood by a vampire, who then feeds you their blood, causing you to become one, too," Spike said.

"But most vampires don't have souls," Faith added. "When the demon takes over the body, the soul is pushed out, or something. Never really understood how that worked."

"Sounds 'bout right," Spike said.

"So how come you have a soul?" Ray asked. "Were you made wrong?"

"Bite your tongue," Spike hissed. "My sire may have been insane, but I was made right. They didn't call me William the Bloody for nothing."

"Easy, Spike, he doesn't know what he's saying," Willow said, calmly.

Spike adjusted his coat and sat back in a huff.

"I-I'm sorry," Ray stuttered. "I didn't mean any offense."

"Apology accepted," Spike said, grudgingly. "Anyway, I went and fought for my soul. Had to make myself worthy for her."

"Aww, you got a soul because of a woman?" Ray simpered. "How romantic."

"She didn't see it that way," Spike murmured.

"She had good reason," Dawn quietly reminded him.

"I know," he acknowledged. "And my soul is permanent, unlike some cursed poufs that I know."

"Cursed poufs?" Jax asked.

"Angel is another souled vampire we knew," Willow said. "He was a ruthless killer until a gypsy cursed him with a soul, forcing him to feel guilty about everyone he'd killed for over a hundred years. After another century of moping and brooding, he became one of the good guys. He's gone now, like so many of our friends."

"You chose to take on the guilt of a century of killing?" Sara quietly asked, suppressing a shudder as she wrapped her arms around herself.

Spike tilted his head to look at Sara, easily seeing her pain and guilt. He wondered what she had to feel so guilty about. "Was more than a century, but yeah. I'd already been neutered by some soldiers makin' it so that I couldn't harm humans anymore, and I felt that I needed to prove that I could be good on my own and not just because of the chip in my brain."

"Is that why you haven't killed him?" Amaya asked Faith. "You said you are a slayer of vampires, did you not?"

Faith smirked. "That wasn't my call. He was already making nice with Buffy when I rolled into town. She said to leave him alive, so I did."

"She was your commander?" Martin asked.

Faith laughed. "She acted like it, but no, she was the slayer before me." She sat up straighter. "I've gotta back up and give the slayer history."

"Oh, can I do it?" Willow eagerly asked. "I always loved when Giles did it."

"Knock yourself out, Red," Faith allowed.

"Into every generation a slayer is born: one girl in all the world, a chosen one. She alone will wield the strength and skill to fight the vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness; to stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their number. She is the Slayer," Willow said.

Jax raised his hand. "Um, you said, 'one girl', but weren't there two of you?"

"Smart boy," Faith acknowledged. "When one slayer dies, the next is called out of all of the potential slayers out there. Buffy drowned but was resuscitated. According to the mystical forces or whatever, that still counted as a death so the next Slayer was called. That was actually Kendra, who also died, and then I was called."

"So there haven't been any new Slayers since then, since you're still alive?" Nate asked. "Do you think that you leaving your world would count as a death and call the next slayer?"

"There are no more potential slayers on our Earth," Willow said, sadly.

"Because Willow made them all active Slayers when we were fighting the First Evil," Dawn added. "But also, because they're all dead now."

"We weren't able to find them all in time," Willow said. "They were killed before we found them, or they didn't want to come with us to be trained, or they hadn't trained long enough before going into battle, or…"

Spike reached across the table to cover one of Willow's hands with his. "It's not your fault, love," he said. "There were too many of them to find them all; and in the end, there were still a hundred demons to every slayer."

Ray's jaw dropped. "Hold up, are you two," he gestured between Willow and Spike, "together? I thought you were with Faith."

"What? Because I said I was a computer geek I can't get the hot guy?" Willow asked, turning her hand over to hold Spike's.

"No, that's not it at all," Ray spluttered. "They've just been sitting together and bantering since you got here so I thought…"

"Raymond, I suggest stopping there before that shoe enters your throat," Martin suggested.

"Getting back on track, I have a question," Amaya said. She touched her totem briefly before asking, "You said that Willow activated all of the potential slayers. With magic?"

"You don't believe us?" Dawn asked defensively.

"You misunderstand," Amaya said quickly. "There is not much magic here, but some does exist. The totem that I wear allows me to channel the spirit of any animal and take on their attributes: strength, speed, flight, and so on. I am merely curious to meet someone who possesses magic."

"That explains the buzzing that I've been feeling," Willow said. "I thought it was portal-lag or something. It's the magic from your totem that I'm feeling. It's very powerful."

"Just like my girl," Spike said, proudly.

"What about you, Dawn?" Jax asked. "What's your story?"

Dawn looked to Willow as if silently asking how much to tell them, then nodded. "Until about eight years ago I was energy; a mystical key between dimensions. Some monks wanted to hide me from a crazy goddess who wanted to use me to return to the dimension she was banished from, so they made me human and made everyone think that I was Buffy's little sister. That's the only life that I've ever known, but I wasn't born, I just existed one day as a teenager."

"A bratty teenager," Willow interjected.

"And you retained this ability to open portals in your human form?" Martin asked.

"It took me a while to figure out, but yeah, I can still do it," Dawn said. "It's how we got here."

"You also said something about being a Watcher," Nate said.

"Watchers train slayers," Dawn answered the unasked question. "I know I'm young, but I started hanging out with Buffy and her friends as soon as they let me, so I had access to a lot of Giles' books. He was Buffy's watcher. I could read Sumerian in high school, as well as a handful of other dead languages. I help read the ancient prophecies and prepare the slayers with what they'd need to fight particular demons. Willow does a lot of the research, too. Or, we did. Not sure how those skills will be useful in a world without demons."

"You're sure we don't have demons here?" Ray asked, tentatively.

"It's how we ended up here," Dawn said. "When I created the portal, I told it to take us to a world without demons."

"That's a relief, I guess," Ray said, sitting back with a sigh.

"Now your turn," Spike said, settling back in his chair. "We showed, now you tell."

"As I said before, I'm Sara Lance; Captain of this time ship and former member of the League of Assassins before I became the vigilante Canary. I go by White Canary now. I boarded this ship in the year 2016."

Spike nodded upon hearing that Sara had been an assassin. Explained her look when he talked about his soul. He had a feeling they'd get along just fine.

"What year is it now?" Willow asked.

"I guess that depends on where you are," Sara said. "Right now we're in the time stream, which is basically out of time. When we talk about going home, it's to the year 2017. For most of us."

"It was 2006 for us," Dawn said.

"I am from the year 1942," Amaya offered. "My name is Amaya Jiwe and I was recruited from my home in Zambesi by the Justice Society of America. You may also call me Vixen."

"Ray Palmer. I built a supersuit, A.T.O.M., that lets me fly and shrink down to the size of a, well, atom. Which is also my code name."

"I'm Nate Heywood. I came on board because I'm a historian and I helped find this crew when they were scattered throughout time. Thanks to a serum Ray manipulated, I can also now turn my skin into steel and go by Citizen Steel."

"Since when?" Jax snorted.

"Since always," Nate grumbled.

"I'm Jax. I was an auto mechanic until I became the other half of Firestorm with Grey over there. When we're merged, we can fly and shoot fire. I'm also the ship's mechanic."

"Martin Stein. To give a little more history as to how we came to be partners, in 2013, in Central City, S.T.A.R. Labs turned on a particle accelerator which exploded and released a massive dark matter wave that created what have come to be called meta-humans. The explosion caused me to drop the matrix for the F.I.R.E.S.T.O.R.M. project that I'd been working on and my body merged with that of my former partner, Ronald Raymond. While we did not know it for a very long time, we had become Firestorm."

"Fast forward to after they figured out who they were and how to control their powers," Jax said. "Ronnie died trying to close a vortex and Grey needed a new partner to merge with otherwise he was gonna die."

"Not that that was much incentive for you at first," Martin chided.

"I came to my senses," Jax conceded.

"In the med bay we have Mick Rory sitting with his unconscious partner, Leonard Snart; the man that Dawn opened a portal for." Sara paused to take a steadying breath. "We thought that Leonard had died holding down a fail-safe button in order to destroy the Oculus wellspring. The Time Masters had been using the Oculus to control people's lives throughout time."

"He sacrificed himself to save the world," Spike said knowingly, a hand unconsciously rising to his chest as he felt the phantom weight of an amulet resting against it.

"Yeah," Sara agreed. "We'd flown off as the explosion started and assumed that he'd been killed by the blast. We've been mourning for him for the past nine months."

"He and the big guy, Mick, they're together?" Willow asked.

"Not that kind of partners," Amaya answered.

"Back in Central City, they were thieves together. Captain Cold and Heatwave; the master thief and the arsonist. They've both switched to the side of good now," Sara added.

"To conclude the introductions, I am Gideon," a voice said out of nowhere.

"Who said that?" Faith asked, suddenly on alert.

"Gideon is the ship's AI," Sara said. "This ship is from the year 2166. The former captain of this ship is Rip Hunter, who is the man that you found tied up."

"He insists his name is Phil," Dawn said.

"That's a long story," Sara said. "Short version is that he touched something dangerous on the ship that not only time scattered him into the past, but also gave him a completely new personality and accent. He's actually English."

While Dawn had been listening, she'd pulled a metallic disc from one of her pockets and had begun to examine it.

Sara had been watching Dawn and realized that the disc looked futuristic. "What have you got there?"

"Oh, um, kleptomania stuck again," Dawn said, blushing. "I found this in the room next to where Phil was being held while everyone was fighting. It was just sitting out there and had interesting markings and I must have slipped it in my pocket."

"Gideon, can you tell what that is?" Jax asked, having stood to get a better look at it. "It looks like something Time Master-y."

"That is a mnemonic archive," Gideon informed them. "That device is designed to store memories."

"Whose memories?" Faith asked.

"Rip Hunter's, I'd guess," Dawn said, turning the device over in her hands before offering it to Sara.

Trying not to sound too hopeful, Sara asked, "Gideon, can you restore Rip's memories from this?"

"I will need to fully examine the device first, but if they truly are Captain Hunter's memories, then yes, I have the ability to restore them," Gideon confirmed.

Jax gave a whoop of excitement.

"Ray, I want you and Martin to work with Gideon on examining this device and restoring Rip's memories," Sara said, passing the device to him.

"On it, Captain," Ray said, eagerly. He and Martin quickly headed to the library to begin their examination.

"The rest of you can take our guests to the fabrication room and help them fabricate new clothes, pajamas, and anything else they might need for a few days. Oh, and fabricate some cots and bedding and get them set up in one of the emptier storage rooms," Sara instructed.

"You've got a room that just makes stuff out of thin air?" Dawn asked. "Like on Star Trek?"

"It's not made out of thin air, but yep," Jax confirm. "C'mon, I'll show you."

"And what will you be doing?" Spike asked Sara.

"I'll be in the med bay waiting for Leonard to wake up."

Chapter 3

#Fic: Finding Where We Belong #sara lance/leonard snart #spike/willow #spillow #captain canary #captain canary fic #crossover #buffy the vampire slayer

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silezukuk · 7 years ago

Text

Bob Dylan - Nobel Lecture

———

When I first received this Nobel Prize for Literature, I got to wondering exactly how my songs related to literature. I wanted to reflect on it and see where the connection was. I’m going to try to articulate that to you. And most likely it will go in a roundabout way, but I hope what I say will be worthwhile and purposeful.

***

If I was to go back to the dawning of it all, I guess I’d have to start with Buddy Holly. Buddy died when I was about eighteen and he was twenty-two. From the moment I first heard him, I felt akin. I felt related, like he was an older brother. I even thought I resembled him. Buddy played the music that I loved – the music I grew up on: country western, rock ‘n’ roll, and rhythm and blues. Three separate strands of music that he intertwined and infused into one genre. One brand. And Buddy wrote songs – songs that had beautiful melodies and imaginative verses. And he sang great – sang in more than a few voices. He was the archetype. Everything I wasn’t and wanted to be. I saw him only but once, and that was a few days before he was gone. I had to travel a hundred miles to get to see him play, and I wasn’t disappointed.

Waylon Jennings and Buddy Holly, 1959 [***]

———

He was powerful and electrifying and had a commanding presence. I was only six feet away. He was mesmerizing. I watched his face, his hands, the way he tapped his foot, his big black glasses, the eyes behind the glasses, the way he held his guitar, the way he stood, his neat suit. Everything about him. He looked older than twenty-two. Something about him seemed permanent, and he filled me with conviction. Then, out of the blue, the most uncanny thing happened. He looked me right straight dead in the eye, and he transmitted something. Something I didn’t know what. And it gave me the chills.

I think it was a day or two after that that his plane went down. And somebody – somebody I’d never seen before – handed me a Leadbelly record with the song “Cottonfields” on it. And that record changed my life right then and there. Transported me into a world I’d never known. It was like an explosion went off. Like I’d been walking in darkness and all of the sudden the darkness was illuminated. It was like somebody laid hands on me. I must have played that record a hundred times.

It was on a label I’d never heard of with a booklet inside with advertisements for other artists on the label: Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee, the New Lost City Ramblers, Jean Ritchie, string bands. I’d never heard of any of them. But I reckoned if they were on this label with Leadbelly, they had to be good, so I needed to hear them. I wanted to know all about it and play that kind of music. I still had a feeling for the music I’d grown up with, but for right now, I forgot about it. Didn’t even think about it. For the time being, it was long gone.

I hadn’t left home yet, but I couldn’t wait to. I wanted to learn this music and meet the people who played it. Eventually, I did leave, and I did learn to play those songs. They were different than the radio songs that I’d been listening to all along. They were more vibrant and truthful to life. With radio songs, a performer might get a hit with a roll of the dice or a fall of the cards, but that didn’t matter in the folk world. Everything was a hit. All you had to do was be well versed and be able to play the melody. Some of these songs were easy, some not. I had a natural feeling for the ancient ballads and country blues, but everything else I had to learn from scratch. I was playing for small crowds, sometimes no more than four or five people in a room or on a street corner. You had to have a wide repertoire, and you had to know what to play and when. Some songs were intimate, some you had to shout to be heard.

By listening to all the early folk artists and singing the songs yourself, you pick up the vernacular. You internalize it. You sing it in the ragtime blues, work songs, Georgia sea shanties, Appalachian ballads and cowboy songs. You hear all the finer points, and you learn the details.

You know what it’s all about. Takin’ the pistol out and puttin’ it back in your pocket. Whippin’ your way through traffic, talkin’ in the dark. You know that Stagger Lee was a bad man and that Frankie was a good girl. You know that Washington is a bourgeois town and you’ve heard the deep-pitched voice of John the Revelator and you saw the Titanic sink in a boggy creek. And you’re pals with the wild Irish rover and the wild colonial boy. You heard the muffled drums and the fifes that played lowly. You’ve seen the lusty Lord Donald stick a knife in his wife, and a lot of your comrades have been wrapped in white linen.

I had all the vernacular all down. I knew the rhetoric. None of it went over my head – the devices, the techniques, the secrets, the mysteries – and I knew all the deserted roads that it traveled on, too. I could make it all connect and move with the current of the day. When I started writing my own songs, the folk lingo was the only vocabulary that I knew, and I used it.

***

But I had something else as well. I had principles and sensibilities and an informed view of the world. And I had had that for a while. Learned it all in grammar school. Don Quixote, Ivanhoe, Robinson Crusoe, Gulliver’s Travels, Tale of Two Cities, all the rest – typical grammar school reading that gave you a way of looking at life, an understanding of human nature, and a standard to measure things by. I took all that with me when I started composing lyrics. And the themes from those books worked their way into many of my songs, either knowingly or unintentionally. I wanted to write songs unlike anything anybody ever heard, and these themes were fundamental.

Specific books that have stuck with me ever since I read them way back in grammar school – I want to tell you about three of them: Moby Dick, All Quiet on the Western Front and The Odyssey.

———

Barry Moser - Moby Dick (book illustration)

———

Moby Dick

is a fascinating book, a book that’s filled with scenes of high drama and dramatic dialogue. The book makes demands on you. The plot is straightforward. The mysterious Captain Ahab – captain of a ship called the Pequod – an egomaniac with a peg leg pursuing his nemesis, the great white whale Moby Dick who took his leg. And he pursues him all the way from the Atlantic around the tip of Africa and into the Indian Ocean. He pursues the whale around both sides of the earth. It’s an abstract goal, nothing concrete or definite. He calls Moby the emperor, sees him as the embodiment of evil. Ahab’s got a wife and child back in Nantucket that he reminisces about now and again. You can anticipate what will happen.

The ship’s crew is made up of men of different races, and any one of them who sights the whale will be given the reward of a gold coin. A lot of Zodiac symbols, religious allegory, stereotypes. Ahab encounters other whaling vessels, presses the captains for details about Moby. Have they seen him? There’s a crazy prophet, Gabriel, on one of the vessels, and he predicts Ahab’s doom. Says Moby is the incarnate of a Shaker god, and that any dealings with him will lead to disaster. He says that to Captain Ahab. Another ship’s captain – Captain Boomer – he lost an arm to Moby. But he tolerates that, and he’s happy to have survived. He can’t accept Ahab’s lust for vengeance.

This book tells how different men react in different ways to the same experience. A lot of Old Testament, biblical allegory: Gabriel, Rachel, Jeroboam, Bildah, Elijah. Pagan names as well: Tashtego, Flask, Daggoo, Fleece, Starbuck, Stubb, Martha’s Vineyard. The Pagans are idol worshippers. Some worship little wax figures, some wooden figures. Some worship fire. The Pequod is the name of an Indian tribe.

Moby Dick is a seafaring tale. One of the men, the narrator, says, “Call me Ishmael.” Somebody asks him where he’s from, and he says, “It’s not down on any map. True places never are.” Stubb gives no significance to anything, says everything is predestined. Ishmael’s been on a sailing ship his entire life. Calls the sailing ships his Harvard and Yale. He keeps his distance from people.

A typhoon hits the Pequod. Captain Ahab thinks it’s a good omen. Starbuck thinks it’s a bad omen, considers killing Ahab. As soon as the storm ends, a crewmember falls from the ship’s mast and drowns, foreshadowing what’s to come. A Quaker pacifist priest, who is actually a bloodthirsty businessman, tells Flask, “Some men who receive injuries are led to God, others are led to bitterness.”

Everything is mixed in. All the myths: the Judeo Christian bible, Hindu myths, British legends, Saint George, Perseus, Hercules – they’re all whalers. Greek mythology, the gory business of cutting up a whale. Lots of facts in this book, geographical knowledge, whale oil – good for coronation of royalty – noble families in the whaling industry. Whale oil is used to anoint the kings. History of the whale, phrenology, classical philosophy, pseudo-scientific theories, justification for discrimination – everything thrown in and none of it hardly rational. Highbrow, lowbrow, chasing illusion, chasing death, the great white whale, white as polar bear, white as a white man, the emperor, the nemesis, the embodiment of evil. The demented captain who actually lost his leg years ago trying to attack Moby with a knife.

We see only the surface of things. We can interpret what lies below any way we see fit. Crewmen walk around on deck listening for mermaids, and sharks and vultures follow the ship. Reading skulls and faces like you read a book. Here’s a face. I’ll put it in front of you. Read it if you can.

Tashtego says that he died and was reborn. His extra days are a gift. He wasn’t saved by Christ, though, he says he was saved by a fellow man and a non-Christian at that. He parodies the resurrection.

When Starbuck tells Ahab that he should let bygones be bygones, the angry captain snaps back, “Speak not to me of blasphemy, man, I’d strike the sun if it insulted me.” Ahab, too, is a poet of eloquence. He says, “The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails whereon my soul is grooved to run.” Or these lines, “All visible objects are but pasteboard masks.” Quotable poetic phrases that can’t be beat.

Finally, Ahab spots Moby, and the harpoons come out. Boats are lowered. Ahab’s harpoon has been baptized in blood. Moby attacks Ahab’s boat and destroys it. Next day, he sights Moby again. Boats are lowered again. Moby attacks Ahab’s boat again. On the third day, another boat goes in. More religious allegory. He has risen. Moby attacks one more time, ramming the Pequod and sinking it. Ahab gets tangled up in the harpoon lines and is thrown out of his boat into a watery grave.

Ishmael survives. He’s in the sea floating on a coffin. And that’s about it. That’s the whole story. That theme and all that it implies would work its way into more than a few of my songs.

———

Flanders region of northern France / World War I / [***]

———

All Quiet on the Western Front

was another book that did. All Quiet on the Western Front is a horror story. This is a book where you lose your childhood, your faith in a meaningful world, and your concern for individuals. You’re stuck in a nightmare. Sucked up into a mysterious whirlpool of death and pain. You’re defending yourself from elimination. You’re being wiped off the face of the map. Once upon a time you were an innocent youth with big dreams about being a concert pianist. Once you loved life and the world, and now you’re shooting it to pieces.

Day after day, the hornets bite you and worms lap your blood. You’re a cornered animal. You don’t fit anywhere. The falling rain is monotonous. There’s endless assaults, poison gas, nerve gas, morphine, burning streams of gasoline, scavenging and scabbing for food, influenza, typhus, dysentery. Life is breaking down all around you, and the shells are whistling. This is the lower region of hell. Mud, barbed wire, rat-filled trenches, rats eating the intestines of dead men, trenches filled with filth and excrement. Someone shouts, “Hey, you there. Stand and fight.”

Who knows how long this mess will go on? Warfare has no limits. You’re being annihilated, and that leg of yours is bleeding too much. You killed a man yesterday, and you spoke to his corpse. You told him after this is over, you’ll spend the rest of your life looking after his family. Who’s profiting here? The leaders and the generals gain fame, and many others profit financially. But you’re doing the dirty work. One of your comrades says, “Wait a minute, where are you going?” And you say, “Leave me alone, I’ll be back in a minute.” Then you walk out into the woods of death hunting for a piece of sausage. You can’t see how anybody in civilian life has any kind of purpose at all. All their worries, all their desires – you can’t comprehend it.

More machine guns rattle, more parts of bodies hanging from wires, more pieces of arms and legs and skulls where butterflies perch on teeth, more hideous wounds, pus coming out of every pore, lung wounds, wounds too big for the body, gas-blowing cadavers, and dead bodies making retching noises. Death is everywhere. Nothing else is possible. Someone will kill you and use your dead body for target practice. Boots, too. They’re your prized possession. But soon they’ll be on somebody else’s feet.

There’s Froggies coming through the trees. Merciless bastards. Your shells are running out. “It’s not fair to come at us again so soon,” you say. One of your companions is laying in the dirt, and you want to take him to the field hospital. Someone else says, “You might save yourself a trip.” “What do you mean?” “Turn him over, you’ll see what I mean.”

You wait to hear the news. You don’t understand why the war isn’t over. The army is so strapped for replacement troops that they’re drafting young boys who are of little military use, but they’re draftin’ ‘em anyway because they’re running out of men. Sickness and humiliation have broken your heart. You were betrayed by your parents, your schoolmasters, your ministers, and even your own government.

The general with the slowly smoked cigar betrayed you too – turned you into a thug and a murderer. If you could, you’d put a bullet in his face. The commander as well. You fantasize that if you had the money, you’d put up a reward for any man who would take his life by any means necessary. And if he should lose his life by doing that, then let the money go to his heirs. The colonel, too, with his caviar and his coffee – he’s another one. Spends all his time in the officers’ brothel. You’d like to see him stoned dead too. More Tommies and Johnnies with their whack fo’ me daddy-o and their whiskey in the jars. You kill twenty of ‘em and twenty more will spring up in their place. It just stinks in your nostrils.

You’ve come to despise that older generation that sent you out into this madness, into this torture chamber. All around you, your comrades are dying. Dying from abdominal wounds, double amputations, shattered hipbones, and you think, “I’m only twenty years old, but I’m capable of killing anybody. Even my father if he came at me.”

Yesterday, you tried to save a wounded messenger dog, and somebody shouted, “Don’t be a fool.” One Froggy is laying gurgling at your feet. You stuck him with a dagger in his stomach, but the man still lives. You know you should finish the job, but you can’t. You’re on the real iron cross, and a Roman soldier’s putting a sponge of vinegar to your lips.

Months pass by. You go home on leave. You can’t communicate with your father. He said, “You’d be a coward if you don’t enlist.” Your mother, too, on your way back out the door, she says, “You be careful of those French girls now.” More madness. You fight for a week or a month, and you gain ten yards. And then the next month it gets taken back.

All that culture from a thousand years ago, that philosophy, that wisdom – Plato, Aristotle, Socrates – what happened to it? It should have prevented this. Your thoughts turn homeward. And once again you’re a schoolboy walking through the tall poplar trees. It’s a pleasant memory. More bombs dropping on you from blimps. You got to get it together now. You can’t even look at anybody for fear of some miscalculable thing that might happen. The common grave. There are no other possibilities.

Then you notice the cherry blossoms, and you see that nature is unaffected by all this. Poplar trees, the red butterflies, the fragile beauty of flowers, the sun – you see how nature is indifferent to it all. All the violence and suffering of all mankind. Nature doesn’t even notice it.

You’re so alone. Then a piece of shrapnel hits the side of your head and you’re dead. You’ve been ruled out, crossed out. You’ve been exterminated. I put this book down and closed it up. I never wanted to read another war novel again, and I never did.

Charlie Poole from North Carolina had a song that connected to all this. It’s called “You Ain’t Talkin’ to Me,” and the lyrics go like this:

I saw a sign in a window walking up town one day. Join the army, see the world is what it had to say. You’ll see exciting places with a jolly crew, You’ll meet interesting people, and learn to kill them too. ___

Oh you ain’t talkin’ to me, you ain’t talking to me. I may be crazy and all that, but I got good sense you see. You ain’t talkin’ to me, you ain’t talkin’ to me. Killin’ with a gun don’t sound like fun. You ain’t talkin’ to me.

***

[ note: Jim Krause wrote, “Some verses I once penned to Charlie Poole’s You Ain’t Talkin’ to Me” and there, lo and behold, are the verses Dylan included in his Nobel speech! –> https://goo.gl/W9F6rN ]

———

[detail] / Roman mosaic from the 2nd century CE depicting Odysseus and the Sirens. Displayed in the Bardo Museum in Tunisia / [***] / [***]

———

The Odyssey

is a great book whose themes have worked its way into the ballads of a lot of songwriters: “Homeward Bound, “Green, Green Grass of Home,” “Home on the Range,” and my songs as well.

The Odyssey is a strange, adventurous tale of a grown man trying to get home after fighting in a war. He��s on that long journey home, and it’s filled with traps and pitfalls. He’s cursed to wander. He’s always getting carried out to sea, always having close calls. Huge chunks of boulders rock his boat. He angers people he shouldn’t. There’s troublemakers in his crew. Treachery. His men are turned into pigs and then are turned back into younger, more handsome men. He’s always trying to rescue somebody. He’s a travelin’ man, but he’s making a lot of stops.

He’s stranded on a desert island. He finds deserted caves, and he hides in them. He meets giants that say, “I’ll eat you last.” And he escapes from giants. He’s trying to get back home, but he’s tossed and turned by the winds. Restless winds, chilly winds, unfriendly winds. He travels far, and then he gets blown back.

He’s always being warned of things to come. Touching things he’s told not to. There’s two roads to take, and they’re both bad. Both hazardous. On one you could drown and on the other you could starve. He goes into the narrow straits with foaming whirlpools that swallow him. Meets six-headed monsters with sharp fangs. Thunderbolts strike at him. Overhanging branches that he makes a leap to reach for to save himself from a raging river. Goddesses and gods protect him, but some others want to kill him. He changes identities. He’s exhausted. He falls asleep, and he’s woken up by the sound of laughter. He tells his story to strangers. He’s been gone twenty years. He was carried off somewhere and left there. Drugs have been dropped into his wine. It’s been a hard road to travel.

In a lot of ways, some of these same things have happened to you. You too have had drugs dropped into your wine. You too have shared a bed with the wrong woman. You too have been spellbound by magical voices, sweet voices with strange melodies. You too have come so far and have been so far blown back. And you’ve had close calls as well. You have angered people you should not have. And you too have rambled this country all around. And you’ve also felt that ill wind, the one that blows you no good. And that’s still not all of it.

When he gets back home, things aren’t any better. Scoundrels have moved in and are taking advantage of his wife’s hospitality. And there’s too many of ‘em. And though he’s greater than them all and the best at everything – best carpenter, best hunter, best expert on ahnimals, best seaman – his courage won’t save him, but his trickery will.

All these stragglers will have to pay for desecrating his palace. He’ll disguise himself as a filthy beggar, and a lowly servant kicks him down the steps with arrogance and stupidity. The servant’s arrogance revolts him, but he controls his anger. He’s one against a hundred, but they’ll all fall, even the strongest. He was nobody. And when it’s all said and done, when he’s home at last, he sits with his wife, and he tells her the stories.

———

So what does it all mean? Myself and a lot of other songwriters have been influenced by these very same themes. And they can mean a lot of different things. If a song moves you, that’s all that’s important. I don’t have to know what a song means. I’ve written all kinds of things into my songs. And I’m not going to worry about it – what it all means. When Melville put all his old testament, biblical references, scientific theories, Protestant doctrines, and all that knowledge of the sea and sailing ships and whales into one story, I don’t think he would have worried about it either – what it all means.

John Donne as well, the poet-priest who lived in the time of Shakespeare, wrote these words, “The Sestos and Abydos of her breasts. Not of two lovers, but two loves, the nests.” I don’t know what it means, either. But it sounds good. And you want your songs to sound good.

When Odysseus in The Odyssey visits the famed warrior Achilles in the underworld – Achilles, who traded a long life full of peace and contentment for a short one full of honor and glory – tells Odysseus it was all a mistake. “I just died, that’s all.” There was no honor. No immortality. And that if he could, he would choose to go back and be a lowly slave to a tenant farmer on Earth rather than be what he is – a king in the land of the dead – that whatever his struggles of life were, they were preferable to being here in this dead place.

Bob Dylan backstage during the Rolling Thunder Revue, 1975 [cropped]

———

That’s what songs are too. Our songs are alive in the land of the living. But songs are unlike literature. They’re meant to be sung, not read. The words in Shakespeare’s plays were meant to be acted on the stage. Just as lyrics in songs are meant to be sung, not read on a page. And I hope some of you get the chance to listen to these lyrics the way they were intended to be heard: in concert or on record or however people are listening to songs these days. I return once again to Homer, who says, “Sing in me, oh Muse, and through me tell the story.”

———

#bob dylan #dylan #nobel #lecture #2017

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