#now convinced him of the majesty of immortality

[yoonyia]

"Marry me."

"James you're far too old for me."

"We're the same age. Don't you dare lie to me"

"I'm married, and somehow I love him too. You're asking for far too much James."

"I can wait 6 years, he's gonna have to die then anyways,"

"James I'm not going to fall back in love because you shower me with gifts and information make grand romantic gestures to take me across the galaxy so we can live forever middle aged, I'm gonna save the last few years I have with my husband then spend the rest of my life time begging for forgiveness to my son, do you understand me James? I'm a guilty old man who's grief would kill him if he went with you."

"You're no old man, you're younger then me. 49 is far from old."

"63 isn't far."

"Oh don't call me old."

"I'm not calling you old I'm saying you had a chance to live a life despite flying yourself into space and living in a false grandeur of immortality. You achieved your dream, I left behind the only people that I could ever love and they love me back out of drunken self pity and when I came back I knew no one. I threw away my life and now my own son has more lines on his face given to him as gifts from time when I should be dying next to the love of my life. I have a life I want to live, grow old, and die in. I have no want to live so long we become ancient legends."

"Im giving you the chance to grow old and die with me. I'll be the new love of your life. We can make a life from the one I crave and the one you lost."

"You were my old love of my life, and my heart is too ill to do anything but grieve."

"Then let me give you time to heal, leave behind everyone and everything and rid your heart of all that worry."

"How is that an attractive offer to you, how are you looking me in the eyes and telling me the thing I punished myself for years on end is something I should yearn for and show it to me as a relief?"

"It's lonely being alone forever. Do it for me, Ari, Do it for your friend."

"It'll be lonely even if you take a hundred people."

"I can wait 2 decades for you."

"I hope I'm dead by then."

"I hope we never die."

"I'm sorry for your loss already."

[harunayuuka2060]

Leviathan: What are you doing here in Hades?

Satan: We're here to see the child.

Mammon: They must be feeling lonely. It's been a while since I've last pampered them.

Leviathan: They don't need your pampering.

Beelzebub: Levi, are you aware that your foster child has been dating someone from Avisos?

Leviathan: Dating someone? I doubt that.

Beelzebub: Hm?

Leviathan: I raised that child.

Leviathan: I know they would never be interested to anyone.

Leviathan: So enough with these nonsense and leave.

Satan: Come on. We just want to see MC.

Leviathan: No.

Satan, Mammon, and Beelzebub: ...

Child demon: Descendant of Solomon, will you be forever staying here in Hades?

MC: *carrying him* Hmm... I don't know. I'm not immortal. But sure, I don't mind spending a lifetime here.

Child demon: *giggles* Dying is like living. So you will live forever, descendant of Solomon.

MC: *nods* *accepting his statement*

MC: Anyway, Foras?

Foras: *appears behind them* Yes?

MC: Why can't we return to the castle?

Foras: His Majesty's orders.

MC: ...

MC: He's not kicking me out, is he?

Foras: *smiles* Of course not. Though he needs to take care of something right now.

MC: I see.

Foras: ...

Foras: Would you like to go shopping? I can ask Barbatos to accompany you.

MC: You're already here, Foras. You can accompany me instead.

Foras: If that's what you wish.

Child demon: Can I go with you too, descendant of Solomon?

*the demons around them glaring at the child with jealousy*

MC: ...

MC: Of course. If you promise that you'll be safe after.

Foras: ...

MC: Everything here is similar to the ones I usually wear back in the human world.

Foras: This was the store you used to visit with His Majesty Leviathan.

Foras: In fact, that one baby dress over there was yours.

MC: ...

MC: Why is it on display?

Foras: This has become a memorable place for His Majesty that he ordered this store to stop receiving customers until your return.

Foras: Everything here has been kept in good condition. Shoes, clothes, even the cupcake you dropped on the floor.

MC: ...

Satan, Beelzebub, and Mammon: Levi~.

Leviathan: *is completely annoyed now* *has been trying to shoo them away but they won't listen to him*

Beelzebub: The descendant of Solomon will be needing the devil's energy whether you like it or not. So it's important that they find themselves a partner.

Satan: That's right. You can choose from the demons in Gehenna. Oh, and I almost forgot, they're especially close to Paimon. You can consider him.

Beelzebub: I'm sure they would like Bael most.

Mammon: Bimet is also a good option.

Leviathan: *death glares* How dare you... suggest unworthy demons... to my child?

*meanwhile*

Foras: His Majesty will explode if he sees you wearing that.

MC: *tries on an anklet* Why?

Foras: ...Because it implies that you're married or open to... a lot of things.

MC: ...

MC: I thought it was a good luck charm.

Foras: Oh. I see. Then you can wear it, I'll explain it to His Majesty.

MC: You're quite easy to convince...

[ruleroftheimps]

Enter password – – > ************* Verifying… Welcome back sir. What would you like to do? – – > Create new audio recording Recording...

Vox here, to... future Vox I guess? Or whichever group got fed up with my games and finally offed me. Heh, good luck getting anything if it's the latter. Trust me... I'm not just good at finding secrets. Keeping them is a pretty valuable skill in my line of work. Although, I suppose if you figured out any and all important files are stored up here, you've already figured out one. Anyways, I finally, finally got a bit more information on this whole war, enough to finish that overview for new sinners Vel’s been nagging me to make. Honestly, it was pure luck. The old-timey prick was out of commission today, so a certain archangel had to come to our little meeting. Sure, Alastor’s much more enjoyable company than that stick in the mud, but I get a hell of a lot more information from Micheal. Well, considering the fact that I get nothing from Alastor, literally anybody would give me more, but the point still stands.

Really, it’s remarkable how much you can find out from a few, well-aimed questions. Yeah, Micheal doesn’t answer half of them, but his silence speaks loud enough. Add in the fact that he physically can’t lie, and my literal job is collecting and selling information, well…

From what I gathered, the war did in fact start because of a few angels who seceded from Heaven, like the rumors say. Something about missing the ‘creative spark’ Lucifer had given it, I don’t know. I really need to organize the information I have on the archangels at some point. Or get more. I know basically nothing. Fuck you, Micheal.

But the fallen angels- we call them Ars Goetia now- somehow managed to convince the hellborn and the sinners who were down there at the time to start a war with Heaven. Ugh, seriously, whichever of my ancestors thought that was a good idea, I really hope their death was torturous. This war is… well, saying it’s a nightmare is an understatement. It makes literal Hell look like a playground.

In any case, the war started, and Micheal took his armies to stop it before it got out of control. Yeah, he did a great job at that. Well, they did good in the beginning, but, towards the end of the war, for some reason, the portals in between Heaven and Hell got cut off. Back then, apparently, only one of the archangels knew how to make portals, and he got incapacitated temporarily somehow. I think his name is Akrasiel or something? Tsk, I really do need to get more information on Archangels. Fuck, Micheal’s a secretive bitch. Anything else, and I can find it out in a snap, but bring up his brothers, and he might as well be a brick wall.

Essentially, they got cut off from Heaven, and stuck down here. From what I gathered from the King for the low, low price of the angels’ battle plans for the next month, His Majesty and his son found Micheal a week or two afterwards, barely alive, even with his immortality, with all of his soldiers dead around him. Nobody knows who killed them, and Lucifer refused to say how they died. But, they took Micheal back to the palace, and, well… that’s where the stories don’t line up.

Lucifer claims that that night, Micheal assassinated Ramon, the Prince. He wasn’t lying as far as I can tell, and trust me when I say I can tell when he lies. Also… corpses are pretty solid evidence. But… assassination isn’t Micheal’s style, and, like I said, a lot can be gathered from his silence when he’s asked a question. Scars, injuries that never healed, shredded wings… he went through something, and it was bad. I can’t tell which story is the truth, and honestly? I don’t want to know. Knowing things is my whole job, but… I’m pretty sure I won’t like the answer either way.

No matter what happened, the war got so much worse. Demons who had stayed out of the fight joined the war in outrage, and Micheal’s immortality was the only thing that helped him survive. On the other hand, the angels were furious at the slaughter of their entire army, and they doubled down. The Exorcists, a new group of angels specialized to kill as many demons as possible, were created, while Micheal left Heaven in a self-inflicted exile, with quite a few angels and even some demons following him. And, hey, that’s where we get our original three sides of the war. Or, as I like to call them, the original three e’s, because they all have different goals.

Eliminate. The demons, who want to eliminate all the angels.

Exorcize. The angels, who want to exorcize all the demons.

And enlighten. Micheal and his followers, who want it to stop. Or, well, wanted. I’m pretty sure that, nowadays, Micheal’s much more obsessed with revenge, which… yeah, I’m not touching that mess if you paid me. Trust me, people have tried. No.

Two hundred something years ago, the King and Queen had another kid, Charlie. Sweet kid, too sweet, really, for somebody who was born in the middle of a war. She started her whole thing. ‘Enrichen’ as I call it. She basically took over Micheal’s original role as peacekeeper, but… with a lot less sway with the angels, and just… people in general. It’s… not going well to say the least. Seriously, a hotel? Outside of Temptation? Yeah... that's going to work.

Oh, and of course there are the Overlords. Ugh, them. They’re just idiots who just want to ‘endure’ the fight, hoping that it will end soon. No? It’s been going on for centuries? You should try to enjoy the limited time you have. Well, that’s what we say, and it’s the motto of Gluttony. Or, at least, what was Gluttony.

Temptation. The best place in Heaven or Hell for any soul looking for a good time. I’m pretty damn proud of it too. It’s… well, amazing doesn’t do it justice. Whatever you want, whenever you want, however you want it, it’s there. All seven deadly sins are shown pretty clearly here, and it’s the closest thing anybody- angel or demon- will get to a true Heaven while this fight is on.

And, well, if it’s easier for me to learn everything there is to learn here, that’s my business, isn’t it?

– – > End recording Ending recording... Save to files? – – > Y Saving...

~*~ (Hello there if you made it down here! This is the first thing I'm posting for an AU I came up with, called the Eternal War AU because I am bad at naming things lol. Lore will be explained either in posts like this where Vox is making audio/text files and oneshots. I may try drawing ref sheets at some point for the major characters/affiliations, but that's a big if. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this, and, if you are interested, feel free to ask questions!) Eternal War AU Next

[teejaystumbles]

Well, since the idea of it is what got me to go watch Hannibal...Do tell about Unsustainable (Dreamling Hannibal AU)!!! :D

(I think you probably know all there is to know already 😅 because sadly I didn't work on it one bit since its inception... I know, I'm sorry. The Hannibal mood is a hard one to achieve and stay in for long enough. But I still love it and hope I'll write more for it someday. I think it can only profit from me gaining more writing experience in the meantime!)

Unsustainable is a Dreamling AU with the premise that Dream comes out of the fishbowl broken, and with a grudge. Here's a good summary I wrote a long while back:

Hob doesn’t know Dream personally. He got his immortality from Death, he has a standing appointment with her, not Dream. Dream has only watched those meetings but always declined his sister’s invitation to join them and get to know Hob. He has started to watch him and his dreams more closely though after 1689, has sent him appropriate nightmares after 1789, has in fact indulged more and more in watching him. So much, that he is focused on Hob alone as a possible ally after his escape. His imprisonment has made Dream cruel, almost feral, but his exemplary control allows him to hide that dark side rising inside him. He approaches Hob and finds it not hard at all to convince him to help him get revenge after a few meetings. Dream becomes more and more obsessed with Hob, he wants him to be the mongoose under the house when the snakes slither by. He also wants him in every other conceivable way. Hob is not averse, not at all, he’s head over heels for this beautiful brother of his stranger, he has finally found someone who knows him, needs him, can be there forever if he doesn’t chase him away, so he’s careful and kind. He soon realises that Dream does not want him to be kind, though, does in fact seem to revel in it when Hob loses his temper. The things Dream asks him to do are nothing to an ex-soldier and he believes he is giving bad people their just desserts. The weird behaviour of some of them, as if they are dreaming, makes him wonder, though.

It features a lot of dark themes - revenge; murder and violence; Hob being into near-death experiences; Morpheus praising the Corinthian instead of atomising him; mind fuckery and gaslighting-

it's a heavy one and I honestly don't know if I can ever pull it off, it's a bit different from the things I usually write. But I might just be in the mood to explore it again one day :3 until then, have a bit of what I've already written (I've forgotten if I've already shared it, sorry):

The King of Dreams! What a wonder! Hob loves this. "Pleasure to meet you, Morpheus. Your majesty. What do you prefer? But I warn you, I am not a fan of monarchy and a peasant at heart. So forgive me if I, ah, behave like a boor." He winks cheekily at the other and sees his nostrils flare in irritation. He does not seem angry, though. He looks... curious. "Morpheus is fine. I will not stand on ceremony with one I...would like to call... friend. Hob Gadling." He leans back in his chair and tilts his head back a fraction, looking at Hob down his perfect long nose. He gives a miniscule smirk and adds: “I also believe you to be perfectly capable of quite a number of things. Including courtly manners. Do not sell yourself short… Sir Robert Gadlen.” Hob sucks in a breath and twitches his fingers restlessly. He can barely refrain from jiggling his leg, so thrilled is he. This man, this…being, knows him! Knows him like Death knows him! He grins and leans back to hide his twitching fingers under the table and grip his trouser leg instead. “So tell me, brother of Death. Why did you decide to meet me? I believe she has invited you to join us a number of times. You never came. Why now?” The red pinpricks of light in the Dreamking’s eyes flicker. His smile grows for a moment before his face becomes deadly serious. “My sister has praised you, Hob Gadling. You are. A good friend to her. She believes you can be a good friend to me as well.” He leans forward and puts his hands on the table between them, palms up like an offering, an invitation, a question. “I am in need. Of a friend. Someone who will help me. Retrieve what was stolen from me.” Morpheus’ blue eyes are boring holes into Hob’s and Hob shivers and blinks. He licks his lips again and then, cautiously, reaches out for one of the bone white hands on the table. The moment he comes into touching distance Morpheus pulls his hands back, eyes wide. He flicks his gaze down and away and then up again to meet Hob’s once more and Hob feels like he has just stuck his hand into the cage of a tiger. Morpheus’ eyes burn with a fiery red light. He swallows and Hob tracks the movement of his Adam's apple, feeling his own throat go dry. He clears it awkwardly and puts his hand palm down on the table. Clearly touching doesn’t seem to be a good idea just yet. “If you are in trouble, I am happy to help”, he says, smiling gently at the other who still looks like a spooked animal ready to attack. At Hob’s quiet words the man blinks and, in a second, regains his composure, his face giving nothing of the obvious discomfort he just felt away. Hob breathes an inconspicuous sigh of relief, feeling like he just avoided getting his throat ripped out by a feral beast.“I would. Very much appreciate that.” Death’s brother says in his deep rumble of a voice and Hob signals the waiter for another pint. “Then let’s talk.”

[thedeerman]

Do You Want to Know? sneak peek!

I didn't take a lot of convincing lmao. Here's a little snippet from an upcoming chapter of DYWTK! Let me know if you’re interested in more little tidbits!

The radio demon stepped closer to Lucifer, raising the king’s chin with one clawed finger. “I would have nothing different.” The fallen angel smiled warmly and stood on the tips of his toes to kiss the radio demon. So comically short, this one. 

Lucifer kissed him for barely a quarter of a second before jumping back in shock as a very excited princess entered the room with an, “AAAAAAAAAAA!! You guys are literally the cutest!!!” 

They both froze and looked at her excitedly bouncing up and down in the entry to the kitchen. Lucifer’s face was now a bright gold, like he got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. As always, Alastor loved that flustered look on his face. With a devious smile, the radio demon wrapped one arm around the king’s waist and said, “Hear that, darling? Our dear daughter approves.”

At first Lucifer chuckled and said, “Well yeah, she’s the one that-” but paused when his mind caught up to what Alastor had said. Then he gave an eye roll and smirked. “Mhmm. Ya got me. Asshole. Luckily, my daughter knows that there’s only one eternally damned soul I want to spend my immortal life with. So of course she approves.” 

Charlie had the biggest, most teary eyes Alastor had ever seen. Please do not let this girl cry all over me again… Bless the sins, Vaggie entered the room just then and Charlie let the tears loose on her instead. She just burst into sobs, wailing about her father being happy or some nonsense. Vaggie smiled and scooped her girlfriend up in her arms. She gave only a short glance to Lucifer and Alastor before she said, “Alright, babe. Let’s go cry about it,” and carried the princess out of the room.

Lucifer turned to the radio demon with a smile. “Well, I have a feeling that today’s morning meeting is going to be canceled…” 

Alastor twirled his microphone staff. “Say no more, your majesty! We have business to attend to.” Music. Chores. Tasks. Literally anything but talking about my deal. He poured some freshly brewed coffee into his mug and the two started down the long halls of the hotel towards the music room.

Read the fic here!

(let me know if you want more, cause ive got plenty of little bits I could sprinkle around for fun!)

[therxtking]

Dating your enemy’s sibling

Wether it's out of spite or personal gain Kha'xanzyr allowed this was anyone's guess, Gordon couldn't even fool himself in saying it was because they fancied him in any way. But here they were.

Per the daemon's request, no one outside the retchen, who now obeyed and catered to Kha'xanzyr's every whim and command, was to know. And Gordon faithfully never uttered a word or showed particular favoritism outside closed doors even if he would so love to rub it in Khazaan's face. Within, they never were intimate. Gordon actually put a conscious effort in to never be suggestive, he didn't want to make him uncomfortable. But his majesty was a very affectionate creature, and that simply had to be not only tolerated but reciprocated to just a fraction... Another thing not even the retchen were allowed to know of or see. And in return the bloodthirster had access to armies who did not fear death, and every precious underground resource imaginable. He even got perks from the unofficial 'in laws'. Zicamaia allowed access to her extensive research documents and equipment regarding magic of all kinds and origins, and Ira was only a call away to grant any request deemed reasonable. And no one was to know.

Taking a Khornate out on a 'date' excluded a lot of venues or activities. But the rat never gave up trying. Going off together to vanquish human settlements, hunting large game, and even visiting the temple of Dairtuun, the house of all things that are and have been kept in records. Or Zicamaia's labyrinth, which no one is supposed to be able to survive (But she allowed them to enter after much begging on the rat king's part). Apparently it's like a 'get out game' for the bloodthirsty creature, and one with more calculative intelligence at that. But most of the time, it was quiet nights in Gordon's home sharpening and up keeping weapons, sharing a meal (Gordon had to really try to find things to make that his daemon lover liked and would now even demand.) or a game of some sort (Which took way too much time to convince Kha'x to indulge in) Or even just a quiet safe place to sleep or read without keeping his collection of books at his forge. Gordon never asked them to train him or spar, he was convinced it would only end badly and would not be enjoyable for either. But he is trying harder on his own, he wants to be able to put up a good fight for him one day. Maybe they'd respect him... And. If he became powerful enough. His mother would exalt him and make him a creature more like her. Something big, powerful, immortal, with horns and wings, the whole shebang. Then Kha'xanzyr wouldn't be so ashamed. Right?

And while he told no one, it was not completely safe that his least favorite being would discover it. Should he put two and two together how often his 'odd' brother was in the rat's presence but never smelling of his blood or fear, the nights spent there. Or just come barging in uninvited again for food or just to be terrible to the rat and see just how far his brother had fallen...

Reading a book of magic by firelight with a foppish and effeminate rat king hugging his waist, cuddled up in a great red wing laying on a luxurious couch. Or worse. Being romantic with it. Engaging in mutual grooming behavior, bathing in water or even kissing. No, Gordon would never tell. If they were ever caught by another demon or his brothers, Gordon was fairly sure his 'boyfriend' would bite his head off just to save himself some shame.

[tomtenadia]

King for a day

I apologise for the horrible title...

Rowaelin month - day 19 

It was a nice autumn day and the castle still lay quiet. It was still early and most of its occupants were still in bed.

In the royal chambers Rowan’s eyes popped open and in that instant he sensed the distress in the person sleeping at his side. His fae senses alerted him through the bond that there was something wrong with his mate. She lay curled in a foetal position, her hands clutching her stomach.

“Fireheart?” His voice thick with fear. Was it a nightmare? Was she ill?

It had been three years since the war had been over but the healing process for all of them was taking much longer than expected and he knew that Aelin some night still woke in the grips of panic and the horrible feeling of still being in that damned coffin. And in those nights all he could do was to hold his mate in his arms and let her know she was safe, and free and that he was at her side. It broke his old immortal heart.

“Aelin?” He called again, pulling her to his chest and as of on instinct she buried her face against his chest “are you okay?”

She whimpered and Rowan almost screamed. He could not bear to have her in pain. His lips peppered her forehead with kisses “what is it?”

“Cycle.” Was all she said and Rowan knew. Since her transformation into full fae her body had been changing as well and adopted all the traits of the race. He had learned that her cycles were not regular and when they happened, Aelin would be in extreme pain for days. She had also inherited the difficulty for fae to procreate. They had decided to try and have a family for over a year now but it has been proving very hard and he could not stand the hurt in Aelin’s face when it failed once again.

It would happen, he kept telling her, the last piece to that happiness they had been trying to find since after the horrors of the war. He had dreamed it, their family, they just needed patience.

“Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to call the healer?”

She shook her head and snuggled closer and Rowan tightened his hold “I guess I can play king consort for a day and deal with politics.” Aelin looked up at him.

“You hate that stuff.”

A gentle kiss “I do, that’s why you are queen and I am just the pretty male at your side,” he joked “but I guess that for a day I can deal with Darrow and the council men.”

“I am the queen,” she said with a tired voice, forcing herself to a sit position “I can’t stay in bed all day. I have a duty.”

“Aelin,” his strong hand brushed a strand of hair from her face “even the queen needs a day off when she is not well.”

Once they had started working on their kingdom they had reached the agreement that she was the one dealing with the political side. Rowan had preferred to throw himself into physical labour admitting that helping rebuild was more into his chords than dealing with courtly bullshit. Aelin had joked that he just hated to dress up for court.

She tried once more to protest but Rowan was in full fuss mode and pushed her back down in bed. He grabbed the thick blankets and covered her “now you stay here. I will go to the healer and ask for your tonic.”

Aelin watched him stand and leave their chamber and as soon as he left she ducked under the blankets ignoring the pain spreading through her lower body.

Rowan came back ten minutes later and found her hiding under the blankets. He pulled them back and helped Aelin to sit up “Drink. The healer assured me this will help.”

She took the goblet and drank under his watchful eye and once she was done Rowan grabbed the empty goblet and pushed her back down “now you rest and sleep. Would you like a book?”

Aelin shook her head. She was not feeling well enough to concentrate on a book.

“Or we could just cancel the council for a day and you could stay in bed with your wife all day, keeping me company and holding me in those strong arms of yours.”

Rowan flicked her nose “we can’t do that.”

“Not even if it’s your queen who orders it?” She looked at him hopeful that she had hit the right spot that convinced him to dismiss court duty and stay with her. She appealed at his male duty to look after his mate and a glimmer of hope flickered into her when for a brief instant he seemed to consider it.

“For as much as it pains me to leave you alone when you are distressed, alas, I am the king consort, which means that is my duty to deal with politics when you can’t.”

Aelin huffed disappointed “at least bring me chocolate when you come back from your duties.”

“As my queen commands.” He leaned over to kiss her deeply and pushed her once more under the blanket and then pulled away to get changed for his boring and long day with the council.

Ten minutes later he was pushing open the heavy doors of the council room all dressed up in his best tunic, breeches and polished boots. 

“Good morning, gentlemen.” He greeted as he sat at the head of the table where Aelin would usually sit.

“Your majesty.” Said Darrow, bowing his head in salute. Rowan hated to be addressed so formally, hated all the frills of court. He was a warrior, he was used to a much simpler way of life. But being married to the queen had that unpleasant downside. But for her he’d do anything. Even deal with people who still looked at him as a brute with no right to claim the title of king consort.

“My queen has asked me to convey her deepest apologies. She is currently indisposed and had asked me to attend to her duties for the day. I hope the lords here present will not be offended to deal with such a brute like me.” A smirk spread on his face. Let them know that he knew exactly what they thought about him.

“We are sorry to hear about her majesty’s being unwell. We wish her a speedy recovery.” Replied Darrow ignoring the jab about having to deal with him. 

“So,” he started grabbing some documents. He might not actively deal with politics, but he knew exactly what Aelin was doing. She would discuss her plans with him and update him after every council session.

“The first item on the agenda is the requests from the merchants guild…”

It was far too many hours later when he was free once again. Once out of the room he unclasped the first three buttons of his tunic and felt like he could breath once again. Quickly he ran back to their chambers. The bond had been quiet and he felt little distress from Aelin meaning that the tonic had effect. Leaving her alone had gone against every single one of his male instincts but he had responsibilities and their kingdom mattered a lot to both. So he put his male fussiness aside and just went on with the day job.

Once back in the royal chamber he found Aelin deeply asleep and the worry in his chest loosened a bit. He quickly got changed in a more comfortable attire and then slipped in bed with her, pulling her body to his chest.

As soon as she was in his arms Aelin awoke and gave him a sleepy smile.

“My dutiful king is back,” she said in a tired voice.

“Yes, and Darrow is unpleasant as always.”

Aelin gave him a low chuckle.

“How are you feeling?” He asked as his hand gently massaged her lower back.

“Now that you are back, much better.” Her face disappeared in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of pine and snow that was so him.

“Did you sleep the whole time?”

Aelin nodded.

“Good.”

“Did you bring me chocolate?”

Rowan chuckled and stood to go to his desk and grabbed something. A moment later he joined her back in bed with a box of her favourite chocolates.

“Such a dutiful king.”

Rowan sat with his back against the head of the bed and pulled Aelin against him in a semi sit position as she ate some of the chocolate delicacies in the box.

“Nothing like eating chocolate in your mate’s arms on a sick day.”

Rowan chuckled and tucked her head under his chin “just don’t eat too many or you’ll find yourself with a different kind of stomachache.” He took the box from her hands and pulled the blanket up to cover them both.

“I am here now,” he whispered against her hair while his arms surrounded her “sleep a bit more.”

A few minutes later Aelin was asleep once more and he relaxed.

She was his life. His everything.

And for her he’d even sit in endless meetings.

[imagines-dreams]

A Reaper - Jack Frost Imagine

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: mentions of death and overworking oneself, burnout, not much romantic things so it can be read as platonic

Summary: You’re one of the many reapers who lead souls from death. You’ve never met any of the guardians, but you’ve met Pitch more times than you’d like.

Word Count: 2882

Notes: This is unedited, because I feel bad for not posting so hopefully this is good for someone

~ - ~

“Hello.”

The old woman opened her eyes and blinked the stiffness of death away. “Wha-” She rubbed her eyes at the sight of you. “Who” -she turned only to gasp. You gently pulled her to face you before smiling. “It’s ok. Your friends will be fine.”

“But I’m-”

“Dead.”

“Are you-” She gulped. “Are you death?”

“I have many names, but my job is to bring you home.” You held out your hand. “You can come with me, or you can stay.”

“What if I stay?”

“Then, I’ll come back when you’re ready.” You stared past her to look at the nurses and her friends that surround the hospital bed. “I warn you, though, it’s a sad existence to see and not be seen.”

The old woman slowly made her way to another old woman, who was crying at the bedside. Your passenger patted her friend’s head only to see her hand touch nothing. The woman started to cry. “I’ll go.”

You nodded. “Alright.” When she took your hand, you led her away, and as your surroundings came back into focus, she beamed. “My home.”

You laughed. “I told you. Back home.”

The apartment door didn’t open, but someone emerged. 

“Mama?”

The old woman and her mother embraced, and they left. 

You closed your eyes and leaned against the wall. Leading the dead was exhausting. Willing yourself out, you took yourself to your garden. There, nothing was dead, only the silence. You stared at the moon in the night sky. “You really couldn’t have found someone else for the job?”

And like always, the moon didn’t respond.

And like always, you were whisked away to another soul to lead. 

“Hello, dear.”

Damn it. Your sword appeared in your hand, and brandished it with no fear. “Pitch.” The name tasted like tar. 

Despite the unfortunate circumstance of the king of nightmares being present, you noticed the road beneath your feet and the ambulance to your right. There was also a child in someone’s arms, struggling against the hold. A nightmare.

“You sick, twisted-”

“There’s no need for name calling.”

You put away your sword and rushed to the child. With one touch, the black sand disintegrated. “He witnessed death, and you play with his dreams like its nothing.” You hadn’t so desperately wished for the Sand man’s abilities until the moment.

“I just needed your attention.” 

The ambulance was your next destination. A middle-aged woman was crying over the body of her husband, and the soul was just leaving. “Please, leave, you’re not needed,” you sneered as you checked the man’s memories. He liked the beach, and he had recently lost a beloved uncle. Perhaps you could call upon that soul. 

As you made your arrangements, Pitch slithered behind you. “Don’t you think some souls deserve punishment?”

“That’s not our call to make, Pitch.” You took out your sword. “Now, get out!” You striked, but he was gone. 

“Wha- Who- Are you-”

“Death?” You smiled through your stress. “I have many names, but my job is to bring you home.” 

After the man had reunited with his uncle, you stared at the waves and watched them go, back and forth. It was mesmerizing. Sometimes, you wished you could have that kind of simplicity. 

“Are you really going to ignore me?”

But, that wasn’t your life. 

You said nothing. He wouldn’t stop. You took a deep breath and let him talk. He’d tire himself out.

He stood in front of you, blocking your view of the sea. “Your fellow grim reapers joined me. Don’t you want to see them again?”

You didn’t even give him the satisfaction of glaring at him. It didn’t mean that your shoulders weren’t tense, though. 

“They all agreed that some deserve the nightmares. You don’t think there are bad people in the world?” He circled you, but you kept your eyes on the waves, even as he grew mad. “Don’t they deserve punishment?! The liars! The cheaters! The murderers!”

You bit your cheek. He talked about so much, and both of you knew so little of what happens after death. It was a shame that the people you once worked with agreed with a man who was only mad at the world and everyone in it. Your friends may have taken the easy way out, let nightmares guide people in death instead of themselves, but you wouldn’t. 

“Don’t you want help, my dear?”

You steeled yourself. Because yes, you did want help. You didn’t ask to see death every minute of every day. You didn’t ask to be immortal. But you were, and you were people’s first comfort in death. You wouldn’t hand that over to some nightmare king. 

“I can help you.” He crouched down to whisper in your ear, “And then, you can stare at the ocean all you want.”

You shivered.

He screamed. 

And someone laughed. “Hey, snake eyes!”

When you looked up to see what had happened, a laugh bubbled from within you and escaped your lips in a merry glee. Pitch, the darkness personified and king of the nightmare realm had been hit with two snowballs, and he wasn’t happy about it. A boy in blue was behind you. Snow covered the ground he walked on, and a pile of snow was next to him. He had a snowball ready to fire.

Jack Frost. 

The boy launched the other snowball right as Pitch disappeared and reappeared by his side. 

“Jack Frost,” Pitch said, “you are-”

Jack threw a snowball in his face. “Ha!” He raced to you, grabbed your hand, and pulled you behind him. “You’re so bad at this, Pitch. You’re not supposed to talk!” Another snowball thrown, and another appeared. A big one. On top of Pitch’s head. 

It fell and covered the lord of darkness in blue, fluffy snow. 

You laughed. You laughed really hard. “You really shouldn’t do that,” you said with a smile that said otherwise.

The guardian shrugged. “Sometimes, when stupid people talk, you have to treat it like a joke.” He threw his snowball in the air and let you catch it. “Take the shot.”

With nothing better to do, you did, and seeing Pitch’s face covered in snow was a payoff you never knew you needed. “I did it!” 

“Yeah, you did!” With a wave of his hand, the beach was covered in snow, and a pile of ready-made ammunition was by your side. “Take aim!”

You’re not sure how it happened, but soon you were giggling and the man of fear wasn’t talking. He was too busy being hit by you or by Jack Frost! You were besting him at a game he didn’t want to play, and honestly, it felt good. You had run for the joy of it or laughed for the sake of laughing in so long. 

The man growled, “This isn’t over,” but since he was covered in snow, it didn’t sound as threatening or tiring. Then, he was gone. 

Your chest hurt from the lightness you felt, and yet you had never felt better. “I’ve never had him leave so fast,” you said. “Usually, he’d follow me until something else called his attention.”

“That’s no fair.” Jack leaned against his staff. “Did Manny really put one person in charge of leading the souls?”

“Not at first.” You shook your head. “There were many of us, but Pitch, he convinced so many to let him handle it. After all, so many people in the world, right?”

Jack’s face contorted into something of disgust. “I mean, some, yeah, but not all.”

“Exactly, but Pitch sees it differently, and my other reapers were just so tired of-”

Another soul called out to you. Your chest felt heavy again. “I need to go.” You smiled. “This was fun.”

“Woah, wait!” Jack raised his eyebrows. “I think I’m owed a name.”

You told him your name. You left before seeing his brilliant smile and before you could see him repeat your name before nodding to himself. “Name to remember.”

As the weeks went by, More and more reapers joined Pitch, and more and more souls were put under your care. You were exhausted. While you could physically do your job, you were so tired of seeing all these souls distraught and clinging to you for answers. You helped people, but you were soon at a point where you couldn’t help yourself. 

“I can’t do this,” you said to the moon. “I’m going to break soon. Help me.”

Jack Frost visited your garden. He didn’t know it was yours but it was winter. “Hi, Jack.”

“Ah, our own Hades!” He bowed. “Your majesty.”

Though your head was heavy and your thoughts far from light, you smiled as best you could. “That’s not how it works. People don’t fear me like the god of death and destruction.”

Jack blinked. “Ok, you need a breather.” He tilted his head far too much to the side. “Ah!” He held out his staff to you. “Grab on.”

“What?”

“Grab on.”

“I might have another soul-”

“To lead, I know, but grab on, you can have a bit of a break.”

When you only stared at the staff, Jack poked you. “Come on, before you need to leave.”

You shook your head. “Only for a little bit.” You grabbed the end of his staff, and Jack smirked. “Jack, I don’t like that- Woah!” You were yanked right into the air, the wind carrying you and Jack. The pull was so strong, so unexpected, and the staff slipped from your grip. 

“Jack!”

“Oh!” He zipped past you and let the wind carry him forward so he could hold your hand and pull you into his chest. “You haven’t flown by wind before have you?”

“I can transport!” You held onto him. “No need for the wind messing up my robes!”

He laughed. “Don’t worry, the wind will fix you when we land.”

The North Pole was beautiful. It was bright and full of music, and there was no such thing as silence. Elves were bustling around and testing toys. There was music in the air, percussion, strings, wind, brass, and even some yetis singing carols as they worked. 

“Ah, a reaper!” North lifted you up and squeezed you as if he had met you before and hadn’t seen you in years. “Wait!” He pulled away. “Don’t tell me it’s my time already!”

You laughed. “Don’t worry, North, you’re not on my list.”

The jolly man laughed, and it sounded better than music. “My friend, you must visit us more.”

You and Jack got to build toys for a lengthy twelve minutes before someone called out to you. 

“I’ll bring you back when you have a break,” Jack promised. 

As your shoulders sagged and you put on your standard robe, you said, “You better.” 

The days went on, and more reapers left to join Pitch. Soon, he began to reappear to you. “Wouldn’t it be easier?” he said. “Let me take care of this. Let me free you from-”

You threw sand at his face, and you laughed. 

“That’s not funny.”

You shrugged. “It’s kinda funny.” You went back to tending your garden. “Also, I know what you’re doing.”

“What? Trying to help you?”

“No.” You plucked the last of your fruits and smiled at him. “Helping yourself.” You turned to go back into your house. “You see, it didn’t occur to me until Jack had called me Hades.” you set your basket down and sorted your fresh harvest. “When people fear death, they believe that you must be able to cheat it, talk to it. Of course, you can’t, but if a certain king of nightmares kept on haunting people close to death, maybe, just maybe, some people would fear him enough to believe.” 

You took your knife and began to cut some vegetables for a salad. “But you see, I’m not leaving.” You turned to him and casually let your knife point right at him. “People don’t deserve to fear and avoid something as inevitable as death.” 

He scoffed. “So, you’re what? You’re going to keep on helping until you become exhausted? Think of all that death you will witness. All those people you must comfort. All the souls you must lead. Won’t you need help?”

“I have help.” You leaned forward to open your window. “He’s here!” you yelled. 

In a flash, Jack, North, and some of their friends were in front of your cottage. You continue to chop tomatoes. “It’s funny, because if you didn’t pester me so much, Jack wouldn’t have found me. He wouldn’t have forced me to take breaks and make friends and find the fun in everything as many things as I can.” You scooped all of your ingredients into a bowl and looked at Pitch. “So, really, I must thank you. I can help souls, and be helped by guardians.” You opened the door so Pitch could try to escape. “Have fun.”

As guardians fought Pitch and sent him back to his realm, you ate your salad and cheered them on. They knew you had a busy day, and they could easily handle a man who was in over his head. It had only taken a few minutes.

You let them stay for lunch. You had enough harvest to share. 

“Thanks for the rabbit food,” Jack said. 

“Oi, I’d watch your tongue, Frosty,” Bunny said. 

You only shook your head. “You’re welcome, but I must thank all of you. It’s been hard, but I’m glad to say I have friends like you.”

When they left, Jack hugged you and smiled. “Hey, I got you something.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“It’s for me, too.” He held up two bells, one blue and one white. “Ring this when you need me.” You took the white one and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

That night, no soul called out to you. You had an entire night to yourself. When morning came, no souls called. Something was wrong. You were just about to ring you new bell when it rang by itself. Jack was calling you. You grabbed the bell, and your door flew open. The wind scooped you up and flew you North. 

“Jack?!” you called, but he didn’t answer. 

When you were above North’s workshop, the wind dropped you.

Jack caught you. “Hey there.”

“What?!”

He laughed and kissed your forehead before letting you down. “Trust me, it’s going to be fun.” With an overdramatic bow, he held out his hand, “My reaper.”

You rolled your eyes and put your hand in his. Then, the two of you were off. Jack pushed you inside the workshop backwards so your fell into Tooth’s arms. She wrapped something around your eyes just to disappear and let Sandy hold your hand. “Follow you?”

Sandy jingled, so yes. 

Sandy led you somewhere into the workshop, and when you stopped, North’ sand Bunny’s voices were hushed. Jack reassured you, “You’re gonna love this.”

“Not loving the blindfold, though. What’s going on?”

The blindfold was off. 

There was a great noise, like fireworks, and streamers and confetti. “Surprise!” North stepped forward and announced, “You are our new guardian!” He spread out his arms. ‘Ta da!”

You blinked. 

“What?”

“Believe it.” Jack draped his arm around your shoulder and pointed at the skylight where the moon watched the two of you. “That guy up there, he told us last night.” He brought his hand up to cover his whisper to you, “Be grateful I told North to tone it down for you.”

You laughed. “Wait, I’m not a guardian. I’m just a reaper.”

“Our reaper guardian!” Tooth gushed. 

North knelt in front of you and asked, “Little one, you are a guardian, like us. You defied Pitch and helped souls for years, and you learned how to help yourself. That is guardian material right there!”

“Better than some, actually,” Bunny joked.

Jack promptly put his hand to his ear. “I’m sorry, did you hear something? Cause I swore I heard the sound of someone who only has one day as opposed to, I don’t know, a season?” He looked to you. “Guess who has a season? Me!” 

Tooth only rolled her eyes before flying up to you and saying, “Some people can’t take every day jobs.” 

Sandy pointed at her with glee in enthusiastic agreement.

You laughed. “I don’t even know what I’m guardian of!”

Sandy tugged on your robe and pointed at your stomach. 

“He’s right,” Jack said. “It’s your center. At your core, what are you? What do you want to impart on everyone else?”

You wanted to say something like laughter, but that was Jack. He brought you laughter. Before that, you were tired and drained. Really, it was all thanks to Jack for bringing you a balance to life, a steady state where you could be calm and… 

“Peace,” you whispered. As soon as the word left your lips, you felt like everything had fallen into place. It was all a perfect state, and if you could remember only one moment in your life it would be that one. Nothing was out of place. Not you, not your friends, not your struggles. It was all at peace. 

“I’m a reaper,” you stated, “and I’m the new guardian of peace.”

[dwellordream]

“Doubtless many reigns have begun amidst an atmosphere of jubilant expectation; but this beginning had an especial lustre. For the new king, accession to the throne brought deliverance from a long, probably oppressive subjection to a stern father and grandmother, and released him into the bright, cloudless warmth of gaiety, freedom and power. He stood now on the brink of manhood, suddenly clad with the full panoply of kingship. He ascended a throne which his father had made remarkably secure, he inherited a fortune which probably no English king had ever been bequeathed, he came to a kingdom which was the best governed and most obedient in Christendom. Shortly before his death, his father had granted a general pardon to his people. The new king confirmed this - in ampler form. 

His father left him a body of accomplished ministers, most of whom would continue to serve him. But those two men, Richard Empson and Edmund Dudley, who had served Henry VII's money-gathering and law-enforcement so assiduously, and whose 'unreasonable and extort doing noble men grudged, mean men kicked, poor men lamented, preachers openly at Paul's Cross and other places exclaimed, rebuked and detested' - these would be cast aside. Within a few hours of his accession Henry had been so roused to wrath by tales of their wrong-doing that, even as he came to the Tower amidst the trumpets and rejoicing on that 23 April, the second day of his reign, they were seized and brought thither as prisoners, where they languished until their execution sixteen months later. 

'Heaven and earth rejoices; everything is full of milk and honey and nectar. Avarice has fled the country. Our king is not after gold, or gems, or precious metals, but virtue, glory, immortality.' So wrote Lord Mountjoy to Erasmus in a celebrated, and, as it proved, somewhat inaccurate, outburst of enthusiasm. There had come to the throne the very perfection of Christian kingship - gracious, gifted and enlightened - and with his coming, it seemed, bleak days must give way to bounteous prosperity. The new king quickly married; and, after all, he married Catherine. He himself said that he did so in obedience to his father's dying wish, but it may well be that his story of Henry VII's deathbed change of heart was invented shortly afterwards to placate the Habsburgs whose daughter, Eleanor, had just been jilted. 

Fuensalida believed that it was the young king himself who brought about the change of plan, and this may be the truth. Five days after Henry VII died, the ambassador was still convinced that Catherine's cause was lost and quoted two members of the Council to the effect that the dying king had assured his son that he was free to marry whomsoever he chose. Then the situation changed radically. Fuensalida was suddenly called before the Council and, to his astonishment, not only assured of the king's fervent goodwill towards the princess, but told by the bishop of Durham, Thomas Ruthal, who had at that moment emerged from a meeting with Henry in a nearby room, that such matters as Catherine's dowry were trifles and that the king looked to him to settle quickly all the details concerning the marriage; whereupon he withdrew in some bewilderment and set about recovering the possessions of the princess which he had already begun to transfer to Bruges.' 

Six weeks later, on 11 June, the marriage between Henry and Catherine was solemnized in the Franciscan church at Greenwich. A little while before there had been some talk of a possible scruple about his marrying his dead brother's widow, and many years later Bishop Fox recalled that the archbishop of Canterbury, William Warham, had disapproved of the union, apparently because he doubted the sufficiency or validity of the now six year-old bull of dispensation - though on what ground he did so we are not told. Warham's qualms were to be of consequence nearly two decades hence when the lawfulness of this marriage became a matter of impassioned debate; but for the moment any doubts there may have been were brushed aside as a proud king undid the protest he had made at his father's command three years before and finally (and freely) ratified his union with a princess who, though five years his senior, was probably still beautiful and certainly of a quality of mind and life which few queens have seriously rivalled. 

At least outwardly, her husband was, and had been since childhood, immensely striking. Ten years before, Erasmus had strolled over to Eltham in the company of Thomas More to meet the royal children and been much impressed by the grace and poise of the eight year-old Duke Henry. By the time he came to the throne he had burgeoned into a full-blooded seventeen year-old, upon whom Nature had showered apparently every gift. 'His majesty', wrote a dazzled Venetian shortly after the new reign began, 'is the handsomest potentate I ever set eyes on.' He was tall and splendidly built, with glowing auburn hair 'combed short and straight in the French fashion' and a pink round face so delicately cut 'that it would become a pretty woman'.' 

He was 'extremely handsome. Nature could not have done more for him,' one said a few years later, in 1519. 'He is much handsomer than any sovereign in Christendom; a great deal handsomer than the king of France, very fair and his whole frame admirably proportioned.' His was a superlative body. He was a capital horseman who could stay in the saddle for hour after hour and tire out eight or ten horses; he exulted in hawking, wrestling and dancing; he excelled at tennis, 'at which game it is the prettiest thing in the world to see him play, his fair skin glowing through a shirt of the finest texture'. He could throw a twelve-foot spear many yards, withstand all-comers in mock combat with heavy, two-handed swords, draw the bow with greater strength than any man in England. 

In July 1513, while at Calais on his first campaign, he practised archery with the archers of his guard and 'cleft the mark in the middle and surpassed them all, as he surpasses them in stature and personal graces'. Above all, he delighted in prowess in the ring and at the barrier, the sovereign sport of princes. Through the summer of 1508 the prince of Wales, still only just seventeen, had hurled his keen, tireless body into the fury of the tournament and excelled all his opponents, and his accession to the throne would inaugurate a festival of apparently endless jousting and tilting, at which the king ever carried away the prizes. 

When Erasmus first met him on that day in 1499 - standing with his sisters Margaret and Mary and his infant brother Edmund, soon to die - he 'sent me a little note, while we were at dinner, to challenge something from my pen'; whereupon Erasmus, unable to perform extempore, spent three anxious days composing an ode entitled 'A Description of Britain, King Henry VII and the King's Children' and a eulogy of Skelton (who had doubtless been the true author of the boy's message), to which he added some odds and ends scraped together from the bottom of his trunk to form a literary nosegay worthy of the young duke.' 

Seven years later Erasmus wrote to Henry and received so accomplished a reply that he was convinced that someone else had had a large hand in its composition. But Lord Mountjoy, his patient patron, showed him a number of letters from the prince to various people in which there were so many signs of corrections and additions that Erasmus was forced to abandon his scepticism. Presumably Skelton and Hone pushed Henry's pen to paper, for in later life Henry was never an industrious letter-writer - except during those months twenty years or so later when romantic passion got the better of sluggishness and drew from him some rather heavy sighings for his absent beloved, Anne Boleyn. But Henry was undoubtedly a precocious, nimble-minded pupil. 

He knew Latin and French and some Italian. He is said to have acquired some Spanish, and about 1519 had a sufficient (if passing) interest in Greek to receive instruction in this fashionable language from Richard Croke, a minor English humanist who had hitherto been at Paris, Louvain, Cologne and Leipzig, and was now to teach at Cambridge. His grasp of theology may have been less assured than he supposed, but it was remarkable for a king; he showed himself an apt student of mathematics; and it was his custom to take Thomas More 'into his private room, and there some time in matters of astronomy, geometry, divinity and such other faculties, and some time in his worldly affairs, to sit and confer with him, and other whiles would he in the night have him up into the leads [i.e. the roof] there to consider with him the diversities, courses, motions and operations of the stars and planets'. 

Above all he was a gifted, enthusiastic musician. He had music wherever he went, on progress, on campaign. He scoured England for singing boys and men for the chapels royal, and even stole talent from Wolsey's choir, of which he was evidently jealous. Sacred music in the Renaissance style - the work of Benedict de Opitiis and Richard Sampson, later bishop of Chichester - was introduced into the royal chapel in 1516 and sung by a choir judged by an Italian visitor to be 'more divine than human'; and between 1518 and 1528 the king acquired a collection of French and Netherlandish music. Henry had many foreign musicians at court, like the violist Ambrose Lupo, the lutenist Philip van Wilder from the Netherlands, as well as trumpeters, flautists and two Italian organists, de Opitiis and the famous Dionisio Memo, organist of St Mark's, Venice, who was lured to England in 1516 and would sometimes perform for four hours at a stretch before the king and court. 

There were twenty-six lutes in Henry's collection of instruments, together with trumpets, viols, rebecs, sackbuts, fifes and drums, harpsichords and organs. The king himself played the lute well; he could manage the organ and was skilled on the virginals (which perhaps John Heywood, his virginalist, taught him). He had a strong, sure voice, could sight-read easily, and delighted to sing with a courtier like Sir Peter Carew 'certain songs they called "freeman's songs", as "By the banks as I lay" and "As I walked the wood so wild" '. His court was a generous patron to composers, headed by the great Dr Fairfax, if not Henry himself - for the king wrote at least two five-part Masses, a motet, a large number of instrumental pieces, part songs and rounds. 'Pastime with good company', 'Helas, madam' and perhaps 'Gentle prince' are his work; so too the motet 'O Lord, the maker of all thing' - no mean achievement for a monarch. 

Henry has traditional.ly been seen, alongside James IV of Scotland or the colourful, versatile Emperor Maximilian I, as the archetype of resplendent Renaissance monarchy; and the praise which Erasmus and other humanists heaped upon the zeal for learning and the arts of this king who had been so generously endowed in mind and body seemed to justify this picture of him. But, though Erasmus could speak stern words about monarchy and wealth, he was a shameless flatterer of kings and the wealthy, and we should treat his outpourings with caution. If anything, Henry was the last of the troubadours and the heir of Burgundian chivalry: a youth wholly absorbed in dance and song, courtly love and knight-errantry. 

He was to grow into a rumbustious, noisy, unbuttoned, prodigal man - the 'bluff king Hal' of legend - exulting in his magnificent physique, boisterous animal exercise, orgies of gambling and eating, lavish clothes. 'His fingers were one mass of jewelled rings and around his neck he wore a gold collar from which hung a diamond as big as a walnut', wrote the Venetian ambassador, Giustinian, of him. He loved to dress up and his wardrobe, ablaze with jewels of all description and cloth of gold, rich silks, sarcenets, satins and highly-coloured feathers, constantly astounded beholders. He was a man who lived with huge, extroverted ebullience, at least in the earlier part of his life, revelling in spectacular living, throwing away money amidst his courtiers on cards, tennis and dicing, dazzling his kingdom. 

Many readers will have their chosen picture of him - Henry, cock-sure and truculent, astride one of Holbein's canvases; Henry, dressed in dazzling richness and with a huge gold whistle, crusted with jewels, hanging from a gold chain, dining with his queen aboard Henry Grace a Dieu on the occasion of its launching; Henry walking up and down More's garden at Chelsea for an hour with his arm round More's neck;' Henry showing the Venetian ambassador his fine calf and demanding to know whether it was not a finer one than the French king boasted; Henry, at Hunsdon, over twenty years later, holding his precious son Edward in his arms and bringing him proudly to a window 'to the sight and great comfort of all the people'.

He was a formidable, captivating man who wore regality with splendid conviction. But easily and unpredictably his great charm could turn into anger and shouting. When (as was alleged) he hit Thomas Cromwell round the head and swore at him, or addressed a lord chancellor (Wriothesley) as 'my pig',' his mood may have been amiable enough, but More knew that the master who put his arm lovingly round his neck would have his head if it 'could win him a castle in France'. He was highly-strung and unstable; hypochondriac and possessed of a strong streak of cruelty. Possibly he had an Oedipus complex: and possibly from this derived a desire for, yet horror of, incest, which may have shaped some of his sexual life.”

- J.J. Scarisbrick, “The New King.” in Henry VIII

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 29

of the wwx emperor au I’m thinking of calling Lan QiRen’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week oh god it’s only gonna get worse

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 Part 1 | Chapter 22 Part 2 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28

Wei Ying has watched the lanterns on every fifth night of his birthday festival for as long as he can remember.

His earliest memories are pale and indistinct, a collection of images and sounds, slithering through his fingers even as his grip tightens. The cold rooftop tiles under his hands, being lifted up onto his father’s shoulders, his mother’s delighted laughter. The Empress of the Shan Empire, a cool and dignified statue in the daylight hours, dancing over the moonlit roof peaks in her bare feet. Falling asleep in her lap while the lanterns drifted above, the soft murmur of his parents’ voices lulling him into sweet dreams.  

Eighteen years, and eighteen lantern festivals, but most of those he remembers clearly are filled with an ache of loss. He has often cursed his unreliable childhood memories, lamenting the cruelty of recollections that deny him access to those early years. Guilt usually follows after, as relentless as the passing of time. He has never had a cause to feel abandoned; not one festival has gone by where he was allowed to sink into despondency and isolation. Even on those years when copious amounts of wine were needed, his brothers had always been by his side, prepared to chase away the loneliness by any means necessary. Without Nie HuaiSang and Jiang Cheng, Wei Ying is certain that he would have grown twisted and warped by the loss, forever attempting to lean into the warmth that no longer existed. All that he is, and will still become, he owes to them. To shijie, to Wen Qing, to Wen Ning and A-Yuan.

But the easy, uncomplicated joy of watching the lights dance across the sky, that had gone away on his twelfth birthday. He had been convinced that it would never return. Not because of the loss, or the accompanying ache which had, over time, grown dull and heavy instead of sharp and bright, but because he believed it impossible, to feel a child’s joy once having reached adulthood.

There are many things he believed to be impossible before meeting Lan Zhan.

The outskirts of YiLing are sparsely populated to the east, a few sprawling farms and long pasture fields stretching between the town and the river. They have a small hill to themselves; the ground is still warm from the sun, the air saturated with the syrupy scent of the late autumn harvest, the fireflies rivaling the lanterns with their lights. They can hear the sounds of celebration from YiLing, but the noise is far away and muffled, barely penetrating the comfortable cocoon of silence between them.

Wei Ying’s little finger is hooked around Lan Zhan’s.

They are lying down, eyes locked on the sky. Wei Ying is sure that he will have grass and dirt in his hair, and probably a liberal smear of both on his robes. He is also sure that Lan Zhan’s hair and robes will be as pristine as they were before he cautiously stretched himself out by Wei Ying’s side.

Their shoulders are almost close enough to touch. Lan Zhan’s hand had trembled once, then settled into stillness. Wei Ying can hear him breathe, the rhythm slow and even. He thinks, if he were only to shift a little closer, if the din of YiLing were to fall quiet, perhaps he could hear Lan Zhan’s heart beating as well, and discern if it flutters as restlessly as his own.  

The touch is small and insignificant. Wei Ying has already held Lan Zhan’s hand in his own, had tangled their fingers together, had felt the warmth of his palm. But it does not feel small. The contact overshadows the lights above; a bright, single point of happiness that Wei Ying would give anything to keep.

“Lan Zhan,” he says.

“Mhm.”

Wei Ying bites his tongue.

It is not the lack of words that gives him pause. He possesses a river of words that relentlessly rushes whichever way it pleases, paying no mind to his intentions or wishes. He has had to learn how to dam this river; the Emperor must always take care of how he speaks, least he means to start a war with an offhand remark. But Lan Zhan is not a an overbearing sect leader, or a supplicant asking for favors. Nothing Wei Ying wants to say can ever be simple, because complexity is rooted in his birth, his status, his entire existence.

And yet.

What can be more simple than a feeling of emptiness finally filled, a sense of completeness, of irrevocable rightness?

Lan Zhan turns his head to look at him. There is a firefly hovering over his temple, a tiny burst of light traveling across a flawless cheek. In the gloom, his eyelashes seem thicker, his eyes black, their depth an endless abyss.

Wei Ying wants to look at him forever.    

“Lan Zhan, I really like you.”

The dark eyes widen, then immediately return to their study of the sky. Wei Ying watches his throat move, a heavy swallow that could mean anything at all. He cannot tell if there are words building behind the movement, and despite the obvious surprise in his gaze, as brief as it was, Lan Zhan’s expression has not changed.  

No, Wei Ying is wrong. It has changed.

There is a faint tremble to his eyelashes. The tips of his ears appear slightly darker. His throat moves again, but his mouth does not.

His little finger is still hooked around Wei Ying’s. It has not pulled away.

There is an entire language being spoken in front of Wei Ying’s eyes, but it is a language he does not yet understand. It is frustrating and painful to think, that he may never have an opportunity to learn, that Lan Zhan may not want him to know.

His future stretches in front of him, a lone seat on top of a dais, as decades endlessly melt into one another, seasons coming and going, favors given and taken away, a continuous tedium of birthdays, and festivals, and sect leader meetings. Lan Zhan nothing more than a cool and collected face, glimpsed twice a year among the sea of others, forever remaining a half-met stranger.

It is unbearable.

“Lan Zhan--“

“You are the Emperor,” Lan Zhan says, his voice stiff.

“Yes, but--“

“Young Master Lan!”

Startled, they both jerk upright, reaching for their swords.

“There you are,” an annoyed voice comes from the bottom of the hill, “if not for the Lan Sect funeral robes, I would have passed by this hill a dozen times.”

Wei Ying cannot make out the small shape climbing closer to them, but he recognizes the voice easily.

Lan Zhan has already gotten to his feet and moved back, placing himself a respectable distance away. Wei Ying was right. His hair and robes are as immaculate as they were before. Wei Ying, on the other hand, is pretty sure that he has grass sticking to his entire back.

“Why is it always you?” he snaps at the small disciple.

The boy, now close enough where he does not need to shout, offers him a sloppy bow and a disgruntled greeting.

“Your Majesty.”

“Your Majesty, Your Majesty” Wei Ying grumbles, “not two days ago you tried to bite me. I should have you tossed in the dungeons.”

“If it pleases Your Majesty,” the boy says, “this one would rather spend the night in the dungeon than traipsing through the YiLing countryside. Sect Leader Nie asks Your Majesty to meet him at the Lan Sect camp. There has been a development.”

“The Lan Sect camp?” he glances at Lan Zhan, but this time, the other boy’s face is truly unreadable.

“What is a Lan Sect camp? What development?”

“This one does not know,” the disciple says with exaggerated patience, “but if Your Majesty were to go there, I am sure it will all be made clear.”

Wei Ying ignores him.

“Lan Zhan, what is he talking about? What camp?”

Lan Zhan is silent for a few moments before he speaks, “The Lan Sect escort. The disciples that accompanied us to YiLing. There are no accommodations to be had in the town itself, so they have made camp on the outskirts.”

“Why?” Wei Ying asks, feeling bewildered, “all the other disciples are in the Immortal Mountain City. Why would you leave yours in YiLing?”

Lan Zhan’s throat moves again, but he does not need to speak. Wei Ying understands the moment the words have left his mouth.

They were not invited.

Uncle has always been the one to send out invitations, the Jiang Sect lotus prominently placed next to the Imperial Seal, his signature replacing Wei Ying’s, who could not be bothered with such minor formalities.

Fury rises in him for the second time that night, but this one is cold and already settled, not likely to wane any time soon.

“They will be coming with us,” he says, turning to head back down the hill.

What other small formalities have been left to Jiang FengMian over the years? Many more than Wei Ying can count; if he is to begin questioning his uncle’s methods, each must be addressed, reinspected, and altered if necessary.

This will take weeks. Possibly months.

Striding ahead, wishing he could kick something, he turns to the small disciple.

“Little beast, what is your name?”

The boy grimaces, but offers a half-bow, even sloppier than the one before, “This one is Nie XuanYu.”  

“Nie XuanYu,” Wei Ying says, “You have a bad temper and a terrible attitude. Try and pay attention to the Second Young Master, and you may yet learn how a disciple is supposed to behave.”

[starrosefics-archive]

Trials

(So, I just finished binging Monkie Kid and went Tumblr-mining...and I decided to write a possible flashback for the original Journey to the West crew after seeing both @winterpower98‘s art piece and @chickensauras‘s piece here.)

A group of people stood in a grand courtyard. Four of them stood in front of a fancy lacquered box. Three of them had looks of grand confidence while the fourth and youngest looked ready to pass out. The king of the courtyard stepped forward. “Now,” he boomed. “What are your guesses?”

The largest of three strutted forward with a grin. “Your majesty, my brothers and I guess that the box contains the grandest of your royal court wear.” The king grinned brightly. “Now, what’s the monk’s guess?”

Tripitaka stepped forward with a gulp. “Yesterday’s...castoffs?” Only he noticed a fly zip off his shoulder and joined a horse, a pig, and a fish. In a flash of light, Sun Wukong was standing there with a grin. The sight emboldened the young monk, even as the king frowned and the other three snickered.

“I’m so sorry, my boy.” The king opened the chest. “It was actually-” He froze when he looked in the box. “Wha- WHAT?! But, but, but...!” He wasn’t the only one as Tiger Strength, Deer Strength, and Goat Strength fell into various states of shock and anger. He was the first to calm. “Well, since you were correct-”

“ONE MORE CHALLENGE!”

The group all let out a mutual groan. “What is it?” the king said, rubbing his temples.

“Well,” Deer said. “We’re not called the Three Immortals for nothing. We can all survive having our heads cut off, our organs removed, and being boiled in oil.” He smirked at Tripitaka, who once again looked ready to pass out. “If the Buddhists can survive it, they win.”

“But-”

“YES!”

All heads turned towards the Monkey King, who was practically vibrating. “Um,” Tripitaka raised a hand. “Can...my disciple and I...have a word?” The king gave a nod. “Thank you, your grand imperial majesty,” the monk, walking backwards, mumbled out. He grabbed Wukong’s wrist once he was close enough, pulling him out of sight.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

“Look, kid, trust me when I say that this is gonna be good!”

Tripitaka was too nervous to make a comment on the ‘kid’ part. “This morning you said that those three were probably going to try and eat me and that we should get out of town as soon as we can.”

“Yeah, but that was before all these challenges.”

Tripitaka’s eye twitched. “When I told you that you three could go wreck the place, I told you to make sure nobody could tell it was you!” He gestured to the courtyard. “This is nothing like what I said!”

“It was late. And you were half asleep.”

There was another eye twitch at the reminder of his excuse. He backtracked to “We’re gonna-” Realization struck. “You’re doing this just to show off, aren’t you?”

There was a chuckle and a pat on the head, nearly knocking his headpiece off. “It’s like you know me exactly! They want to be immortal, I’ll give them the immortal. Or whatever.” Monkey paused when his master failed to look convinced. “Hey, don’t worry. If we play our cards right, we won’t even have to worry about these guys.”

“...you better be right.”

“Of course I am!” 

Slinging an arm around Tripitaka’s shoulders, Wukong led him back into the courtyard.

(Monkey was right. He ended up stealing buying a week’s supply of Tripitaka’s favorite peach desserts to apologize for the oil scare.)

[josefavomjaaga]

Letters from Naples, 1815

Some documents relating to chapter 3 of Helfert's book on Joachim Murat. I have not translated the report by Pauline Bonaparte's secretary about Napoleon's escape that Mier refers to in his second letter, as it's quite long and I assume it's been translated and quoted before. But I can do so if there is interest. Mier's letters however, are about Murat's immediate reaction to this news.

Mier to Metternich (in his own hand). (N° 21)

This 5th of March 1815.

My Prince! His Majesty the King received this morning a letter from Rome with the news of the escape of the Emperor Napoleon from the island of Elba. The Chevalier de Lebzeltern took advantage of this opportunity to announce this same event to me. Your Highness can easily imagine the effect which this news produced on the minds of Their Majesties. - The King sent for me to come to him to talk to me about this event, and told me that in a few hours he would send a courier to Vienna. Campochiaro was ordered to declare to our Court that in any event the policy of the King of Naples remained entirely subordinate to ours, that nothing could make Him deviate from this principle, and that He wished to know what course we would believe necessary to follow in this affair in order to comply with it. The King repeated to me on this occasion how much he wished to give the Emperor Francis proof of His attachment and His gratitude. While we were talking we saw several merchant ships enter the port. His Majesty sent to find out where they came from. It turned out that one of these ships had come from the island of Elba and had left after the flight of the Emperor Napoleon. The captain of this vessel gave the King details of which we were unaware, and communicated to Him the proclamation of the Governor of the Isle of Elba after the departure of Napoleon.

May Your Highness deign to accept the assurance of my highest consideration.

Mier. Mier to Metternich. (N° 22)

Naples 9 March 1815.

My Prince!

1) The departure for Rome of two officers of our Regiment of Prince-Regent Houzards, who have spent a few days here, provides me with a sure occasion to send my following dispatch to Rome and to recommend it to the care of the Chevalier de Lebzeltern.

2) It is only the day after I sent my report No. 21, that I learned that on the ship arriving from the Isle of Elba there was a certain Mr. Mary, secretary to the Princess Pauline. It is from him that all the details of Napoleon's escape were obtained. I do not believe that he brought letters for Their Majesties, at least the Queen has very definitely assured me of this. She has been kind enough to send me the attached document, written by Monsieur Mary.

3) I had the honour of informing Your Highness in my last report that I had been called to the King's residence at the moment when he had received the news of Napoleon's departure from the Isle of Elba. I found the King extremely agitated, not knowing where to stop his thoughts. It was obvious that he did not know what to desire. He maintained that the Emperor Napoleon landing in France would have the entire army, the whole of France behind him; that the Bourbons would be driven out; that Napoleon would not have risked this enterprise without being semi-certain of its success; that if he found a very doubtful party of the Bourbons resisting him, it would bring on a civil war in France. "What side will Austria and the other Powers take? It is a very unfortunate event, and one which may confuse all at the moment when the main questions had been happily arranged at the Congress. It is no less unfortunate for me in many respects: it may delay the arrangement of my interests, and in the long run I cannot remain in this position; I must know where I stand." He would go out at any moment to ask for news of the ships entering the harbour. After a conversation of more than two hours in the presence of the Queen, he withdrew when a ship from the island of Elba was announced. Afterwards I had a long conversation with the Queen who always consistent in her way of considering things, wise in her views and reasonings, putting character and perseverance in the party and the course which she once convinced herself was useful to her interests, not varying opinion at any event, always preaching uprightness and loyalty, gave me on this occasion new proofs of the essential qualities which distinguish her. One could see in her face how much this event had upset her. She told me that she was extremely worried about the fate of her brother, who was running towards his inevitable loss; that as a sister she could not wish for his death, but that she would have liked him to keep quiet in Elba; that she was convinced that, if the Emperor Napoleon ever succeeded in replacing himself on the throne of France, he would hasten to chase them out of Naples, a thing she never ceased to repeat to the King; that the Emperor Napoleon, once again Emperor of the French, will once more upset the whole of Europe; that she knows his character too well to ever doubt it; that it would be wrong to believe that age and experience have corrected him. "The King", she continued, "has a fine role to play, it is to remain invariably attached to the policy which he has embraced, to unite his interests as closely as possible with those of Austria, to repel all the perfidious insinuations which will not fail to be made to him, and to remain firm in his promises and declarations. This is what his honour and his true interests demand. You know me too well to doubt that I will not do everything to this end.

4) A Neapolitan courier sent to London carried the same declarations as the one that left for Vienna. The same day that the news of Napoleon's escape was learned here, the King convened an extraordinary Council of Ministers in which he declared to them that this event would in no way change the course of his policy. Notwithstanding these declarations and promises made to his people and his Allies, I know that his head is hard at work; that he has admitted into his presence several French refugees in Naples, enraged Bonapartists; that he has had several conferences with them; that he has sent secret emissaries everywhere (I have pointed out to Marshal Bellegarde two of this number who are on their way to France by way of Milan), and that his announced determinations are very shaky. This event instead of delaying his planned journey to the Marches seems to have accelerated it. His saddle horses and some campaign crews left last Monday for the Marches. His departure may take place at any moment. His mood, his words announce that he has projects in view, but that his ideas are not yet fixed, and that he is waiting for the first results of Napoleon's enterprise. If He remained in Naples, surrounded by the Queen and by a few sensible people who, without flattering Him, have the courage to tell Him the truth, one could count on His not being drawn into a few false steps; but in Ancona, returned to himself, surrounded by hotheads, there is nothing to be sure of. I have done everything to prevent this journey, I have begged and insisted that it should not be undertaken at this time, because of the bad effect it would have, and the suspicion that He would arouse by this step. I know that the Queen, Monsieur de Gallo, the Count of Mosbourg and many other reasonable people have positively advised Him against it; but all in vain; He seems determined to go. It is not yet known whether He will leave the Regency to the Queen.

5) Spirits in Naples are very agitated. There are people who make wishes for Napoleon, without knowing what they are asking for; but in general one would be angry here if the King interfered in an affair foreign for the moment to the interests of this country, and in despair if He took up the cause of Napoleon; in the latter case I believe that the King should not count on the fidelity of his subjects. If He wanted to make a diversion in favour of the Emperor Napoleon by going to France, half his army would leave Him; it would not be the same if He remained in Italy. He would find supporters there and could do us a lot of harm. Prudence requires that we put ourselves in this country in a position to face any event.

6) The Princess of Wales has openly expressed much delight at the escape of Napoleon. She told the King that she hoped for his glory that he would not remain an idle spectator of the events that were being prepared; that he should follow the example of the Emperor Napoleon, who with a thousand men despaired of nothing, while he with 80,000 seemed to let himself be imposed upon; that the course he would take in the present circumstances might lead him to immortality, etc. This inconsiderate woman wanted to follow the King to Ancona; but I have just been told that she has changed her plans and that she is leaving for Civitavecchia the day after tomorrow.

7) The Capri, a Neapolitan ship of the line of 80 guns, set sail several days ago to join the two Neapolitan frigates which left for the Adriatic.

8) Until now no movement of Neapolitan troops has taken place in the kingdom.

9) Count Széchényi leaves tomorrow for London. I have endorsed his passport for Rome. May Your Highness accept etc.

Mier.

(Completely unrelated question: What's the legal punishment for throttling a Princess of Wales?) I also love how Mier praises Caroline to Metternich.

[wondersofdreaming]

Per aspera ad inferi

Characters: AU!August Walker x @littlefreya​​

Word count: 1.390

Warnings: Jealousy. Abduction. Death. Love. Ending in fluff.

Author’s note: The title is borrowed from Ghost’s song of the same name.

My translation, roughly: “To hell through hardships”

Inspiration from ‘The Seven Deadly Sins’.

I do not own any characters in this short story.

Tag: @katerka88​​ @littlefreya​​ @hell1129-blog​​ @mitzwinchester​​ @mary-ann84​​ @valkavill​​ @sciapod​​ @henry-cavlll​​ @luclittlepond​​ @iloveyouyen​​ @trippedmetaldetector​​ @radaofrivia​​ @omgkatinka​​ @gothwhopper​​ @fcgrizi​​ @vania-marie​​ @alyxkbrl​​ @singeramg​​ @onlyhenrys​​ @henrythickcavill​​ @madbaddic7ed​​ @palaiasaurus64​​ @queenslandlover-93​​ @magdelen69​​ @mis-lil-red

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list.

MASTERLIST

Feedback is appreciated.

You watched as his majesty sat on his throne made of bones. Human bones. A golden goblet in his right hand, filled with his favourite red wine, the only drink he loved from the world above. The flames licked at his golden skin, while some danced around the top of his head, playing with his dark brown curly locks. Female demons surrounded him, trying to get his attention. His most trusted demon was feeding him green grapes. The jealousy inside you spiked to maximum capacity. You moved from the wall you had leaned against and walked with determined steps towards the ruler of Hell.

He knew you were there. The smirk on his soft lips hinted it. His blue eyes turned to lock with your own. He lured you in with those sky-irises. The demons scattered as you neared the throne.

“My dear, how lovely of you to join us,” he held out his large palm as you took the five steps up to his chair. You put your tiny hand in his, his fingers swallowing your own.

“I’ve been here a week now, August. I died and you brought me here instead of letting me burn in the inferno that is happening outside these walls. I want to know why.”

The master of the Underworld stroked his neatly trimmed moustache while thinking if he should tell you the truth. His gaze landing on your worried expression which made his shoulders slump. He pulled you to sit on his lap, fed you a few grapes and told you a story.

***

The story began aeons ago before he had changed his name to August before he got the Underworld as a domain to rule before he found his one true love. He had been a feared god amongst all the gods. Even his brothers and sisters were getting annoyed by his playboy attitude. Then he saw her. The most beautiful young goddess walking in the orchard of golden apples. Her long golden hair blowing in the wind, her lips curled up in a smile, a soft laughter, the most beautiful sound he had ever heard reached his ears. He wanted her, he needed her.

The hunt began.

He would try to get her attention every day, but she avoided him like the plague. She wanted nothing to do with him, knowing that he had slept with every goddess, every nymph, just every female supernatural being on the entire planet. She wasn’t going to be another one of his conquests.

He had no choice but to go find the three witch-sisters, who helped him brew a potion so strong she would fall in love with him over and over again. They tried to tell him the downside of using magic to make a goddess fall in love with another god, but he didn’t listen, too excited to finally have her.

He slipped the potion into her drink that same evening. It worked almost immediately after she downed the liquid. She threw herself at him like a drunk human, forgetting her manners and spitefulness of him.

He abducted her to his realm. The Underworld, Hell, the Firepit, the endless inferno, it had been called many things over time, but he called it home.

The spell broke the moment he stepped into his domain, and she fought him all the way to the throne room. The demons were furious at him for bringing a goddess to their place. She was angry for having been abducted, and even more so when she learned she couldn’t leave the Underworld unless he approved of it.

Months passed and one day, chaos knocked on his front door. An angry horde of supernatural beings attacked, having been sent by her mother. His love, who had started warming up to him, was caught in the crossfire and died in his arms. He mourned for the loss, sitting on his throne with her in his arms. He felt her getting colder and colder until she dissipated into ashes.

He had run to the witches to ask them to bring her back. They couldn’t. This was his payment for having used magic to make her fall in love with him.

She was cursed to be reborn as a human, and the moment she started to fall in love with him, she would die in his arms, turn to ashes and be reincarnated again.

***

He told you the story, and something inside you knew that you were the woman he had abducted and fallen in love with.

“How do you break the curse?” You asked him.

“I’d have to make the ultimate sacrifice.”

“What’s that?”

“Give up something I love to be with someone I love.”

“What, your throne?” You asked sarcastically.

“Yes.”

You starred at him, thinking it was a big joke.

How could the ruler of Hell be in love with you? And if so, would he really give up his beloved kingdom of fire and death to break your curse?

The answer was simple as you looked into his eyes. He wouldn’t.

“How long have we been doing this?”

“Millions of years.”

“How many times have I been reborn?”

“Millions.”

“And is this reincarnate different?”

He whipped his head towards you. Two sparkling cerulean orbs glared into your soul.

“You are.”

“I don’t believe you. Convince me.”

August stood and put you on the throne. It was incredibly comfortable having been made of bones, must be the soft cushions. August paced in front of you.

“You’ve been here a fortnight and you haven’t died yet.”

“So, I’ve died within two weeks of being here? Great.”

“You’ve never been reborn with dark hair. It was always blonde, most times almost white. To show that you were the goddess of innocence and tranquillity.”

“I changed my hair, woohoo… next!”

“You’ve never gotten tattoos before.”

“A few inked pieces on my skin doesn’t change who I am.”

“Listen to me, woman! As I said, you are… were the goddess of innocence and tranquillity. Do you feel innocent and tranquil right this moment?”

You looked at him with your big brown eyes. He knew that you weren’t feeling anything near innocent and tranquil.

“And so, what I don’t feel like I am those things? I am a stubborn woman, who loves to have a good time, and I will fight you every step of the way, but I will also love you with all my heart, and if you don’t love me back… then I’d rather just stay dead forever.”

August’s fiery gaze turned soft. His full lips turned upwards at the corners.

“I love you too.”

“I didn’t say that I love you,” you scoffed. August let out a burst of laughter as he pulled you into his warm chest. He kissed your forehead, while he whispered something.

“I; god of death and destruction, creator of chaos and starter of war, ruler of the Underworld; relinquish my immortality and my kingdom.”

The demons around you let out a high-pitched shriek.

“Who is going to sit on the throne of Hell now?” You asked.

“I will. Was about time too,” a deep voice said behind you. You watched the young male step out of the shadows. His chiselled jaw and blue irises showed that he was August’s son, but his nose and lips seemed familiar. “Hello, mother. I like the new you.” He smiled, the half-smirk that August had shared a few times with you during your most intimate moments.

“We have a son?”

“He was born before you died the first time.”

“And now my baby boy is going to be king of Hell, just every mother’s dream for their son’s future job.”

“Careful, my love, sarcasm can kill.”

A wind blew through the throne room. It felt cleansing.

“What was that?”

“The curse has been lifted. What do you want to do with the rest of your life?”

You contemplated a while.

“I want to explore all the worlds of this universe.”

“Then that is what we will do.”

He started moving towards the bedrooms.

“August…?”

He turned.

“Yes?”

“I… I love you.”

He smiled and bent to capture your lips in a hungry kiss.

“Do you need to infect my new throne room with your love?” Your son complained.

“Times are different now, son. Love is stronger than death.”

[fuzzyporcupine]

lead me with your hands tied | chapter 4

chapters:

FULL - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

rating: explicit

word count: 8,104

summary:

In the midst of a crumbling kingdom at war, Levi Ackerman is commissioned by King Jaeger to paint a portrait of his overzealous son.

chapter 4:

The sun was high and hot in the sky. The summers in Shinganshina left hardly anyone unaware of their presence each year. The rays beat in boldly from the studio windows as Levi impatiently paced the floor. The prince should have appeared at least an hour ago. Levi had been quite clear with the instructions he passed along to Petra. Arrive no later than midday, he’d said. And like the grand fool he was, Levi actually believed Eren Jaeger might heed his request. Yet there he stood, the afternoon shine beginning to warm his skin.

“To hell with it,” Levi muttered, low under his breath. He refused to spend the entire day waiting around like an eager hound after its master. 

Gathering his brushes from the easel, Levi carefully placed each tool on an expanse of brown leather. He began rolling the material, not unlike a baker kneading dough; pulling the leather tight enough to ensure that no brushes would fall loose and slip out unnoticed. The tasks were methodical, and Levi appreciated the simplicity in the quiet moments he often found himself after the muse had left. 

A piece of twine was wrapped around the bundle and pulled snuggly. Levi’s lip quirked in annoyance when he noticed the number of frays the rope had acquired. It would have to be replaced soon, he mentally noted. Levi was still inspecting the loose ends when the door creaked open loudly behind him.

“Leaving already?” Levi’s fingers slipped around the rough string as it fell from his hands. The prince leaned against the door frame, face full of mirth as he regarded Levi. Unlike their last encounter, this time the man was appropriately clothed. The black velvet of his tailcoat gleamed, highlighting strong shoulders and lithe arms. White breeches traced the curve of the man’s thighs down to the onyx riding boots trailing up beneath the knee. The man even looked as if he’d brushed his hair. Levi was understandably amazed. “We’ve not even started.”

“We should have started an hour ago, Your Highness.” Levi tried to keep the bite out of his tone.

A grin cracked across Eren’s face as he pushed himself off the frame. “Ah, you’re no fun. I see why father hired you.” Levi wanted to tell the cocky little shit that he wasn’t hired to be fun. He was hired to paint. Which he really would like to- “I’ve seen your work before, artist.” Levi’s breath caught in his throat.

“Oh?” he replied simply, watching as Eren moved closer. 

“Yes. On a holiday in Sina.” Levi tried not to cringe. Sina was a dreadful place, full of aristocrats with heads shoved deeply up their own asses. The man who’d commissioned the portrait was no different. Fat and smelly with a horrible disposition. A crook, as well, only paying Levi half of the agreed-upon price after the piece was completed.

“It was a portrait of a nobleman whose name I can’t quite recall. But I remember the painting, though.” Long, dexterous fingers danced up the side of the canvas Levi had set up prior to the arranged meeting time. “I think about how in awe I was, all the bright lines and dark shadows. It was so realistic.” The prince’s hand stilled on the canvas and stiffened around the edge, drawing Levi’s attention to the way the tanned skin tightened ever so delicately around the joints. “Hell, I imagine at the time I would have believed that painting hung in front of me to be more alive than the very man immortalized in it.” 

Levi bowed his head slightly. “I’m honored, Your Highness.” 

“Yes, I’m sure you are.” He tried not to be too off-put by the prince’s rebuttal. It had only been a night’s rest since he witnessed the man prance into the dining room in all his stockinged glory. No matter how self-assured Eren appeared to him now, Levi would always remember the prince as he truly was -  a brat screaming about in his nightclothes.

“Tell me, artist, do you really want to be here?” He looked up at that, brows furrowed in a questioning glance. Did he really want to be there? Levi knew the answer to the query, but he wondered how open to the truth the young prince truly was. Eren set him with a firm look, large green eyes alight with something Levi couldn’t quite place. “Answer me.” 

He clenched an empty fist and schooled his expression into an apathetic frown. “Of course, Your Highness.” The prince’s eye twitched at the way he spoke the words, dead and hollow. It was likely not the answer Eren was expecting. Probably guessed Levi would be falling to his knees in a physical display of unwavering loyalty. However, Levi would kneel for no man, especially not one as selfish and tone-deaf as the Prince of Shinganshina.

“I can’t tell if you are bold or simply stupid.” The prince’s voice held no malice, but Levi still bristled at the accusation. He may be a fool, but he was not stupid. “It’s treasonous to lie to a king.” Levi caught himself from rolling his eyes deep into his skull. He watched the so-called king cock his head to the side as a playful smile broke across his face. Eren was toying with him, and Levi couldn’t help but feel like a rabbit caught in a lethal trap. 

“My head should be safe on its shoulders then, Your Highness.” The prince’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it spread further. 

“You’d make a fine jester shall you decide to abandon this artist’s plight.” Levi was wise enough to know when he was being teased. All the time spent in Kenny’s presence had hardened him to most mockery. However, watching Eren’s taunting smirk goad him from across the room was enough to send a burning wave of frustration beneath his skin. 

“If it pleases you, Your Highness, I would like to retire to my chambers.” Levi bowed the upper half of his body lowly while addressing the prince. He was unable to see the confoundment as it morphed into Eren’s face, but Levi surely heard the stutter in the tone as the prince rushed a reply. 

“N-no!” The sound mimicked a small child squealing after being denied a sweet treat. Eren quickly cleared his throat. “No, artist, it does not please me. Has your existence here not been due to your ability to paint? I would assume mulling about in your chambers was not what my father requested.” 

“Nor was it to entertain long-winded conversations about my desire to be here, Your Highness,” Levi retorted tartly as he lifted his head. A fierce redness crept up above Eren’s high collar and extended past the man’s jawline. He watched as the muscles there tightened and silently wondered if Eren still thought of him to be so comical. 

His question was soundlessly answered as Levi observed the prince’s nostrils flare angrily. 

He didn’t back down from the glare tossed in his direction, instead challenging it head-on with his own gaze of indifference. Levi was not scared of the prince’s poor attempt at intimidation. He knew that beneath that veil of false confidence was simply a mutt trying to convince a sheep it was a wolf. Until the king’s crown rested upon Eren’s head, Levi knew that he had nothing to fear from the spoilt prince. 

A terse knock broke the strained silence, followed by the studio door creaking alive. 

“Mr. Ackerman, sorry to bother you. I’ve brought tea.” Petra’s voice cut sharply through the air as the sound of jostling porcelain followed her words. As if finally noticing the silent confrontation, the footfalls paused. “Is everything alright, Your Majesty?” 

The anger suddenly flooded from the prince’s face, being replaced with a melancholy discontent. Wordlessly, Eren shuffled past Petra and out into the hall, abandoning Levi with the woman who seemed prepared to ask a thousand questions. 

He took a deep, heavy breath in through his nose, shoulders relaxing on the exhale. “My apologies, Ms. Ral.” Levi turned to face her. “I will bring the tea to my chambers if that is satisfactory.” 

Petra nodded, “Of course, sir.” They stood in uneasy silence for what felt like hours, Levi too awkward to excuse himself and Petra far too polite. He watched as her bottom lip was worried harshly until finally, her thoughts became audible. “Mr. Ackerman, if I may?” Levi offered no opposition, and the woman took the silence for what it was. “The prince is stubborn and willful and outrageously frustrating.” He quirked a brow, wondering where this insult was leading. “But he has suffered more than most. I’ve watched him grow up experiencing things no child should ever have to witness. He…” Petra paused and heaved a deep sigh. “He is not as you have constructed in your mind, sir.”

“And how would you know what image that may be?” Levi sneered, shoulders straightening ever slightly. 

“You hold the same fury in your eyes as the whole of the peasants across Shinganshina.” He stiffened at the accusation. All the bitterness that had risen within him suddenly deflated and Levi was left looking thoroughly conflicted. “I shall bring the tea to your chambers, sir.” He watched her turn, the porcelain chattering to the beat of her footsteps. Before moving through the doorway, she paused, gifting Levi one last glance. “He’s not his father, sir.” 

And then she was gone.

[hela-avenger]

poison & wine- part 19

Author: hela-avenger

Word Count: 1940

Summary: Prince Loki of Asgard is in need of a date to take back home. That’s where you come in with a task of your own to make the whole trip with an insufferable prince worth it. Too bad that things don’t always go as planned and you end up giving more than you can take. Fake-Dating AU.

A/N: So the last update brought the angst and this one makes up for it! Thanks for reading and commenting everyone! Please send me a message if you’ll like to be tagged! 

poison & wine masterlist

After a few minutes, Loki was forced to let you go. You had yet to stop crying and he didn’t know what he was meant to do if this continued on. He couldn’t take you back to the palace in this state but he couldn’t stay on the bridge any longer and risk someone finding you like this too. 

“Mount my horse,” Loki instructs you as he leads you to the black stallion adorned in his colors. “You’re in no state to ride back on your own so you’ll ride with me.” 

“But…” you whisper as your stare turns to the horse you had brought along. 

“I’ll send someone to come pick him up,” Loki assures you. “Just get on my horse.” 

Loki watches as you climb onto his horse and settle into his saddle. When he’s convinced you won’t do anything brash, which he isn’t entirely convinced at the moment, Loki steps away.

“I’ll be back. Just wait for me.” 

You don’t argue when he turns away and leaves you behind. You simply watch as he makes his way into the dome. 

“Is the Lady Y/N alright?” Heimdall asks as the prince enters. 

“Yes, no thanks to you.”  

“I knew you would catch her, your majesty,” Heimdall remarks. “There was no need for me to intervene.”

Loki shakes his head at the guardian knowing that there was no point in arguing further. 

“What did you tell her, Heimdall?” Loki asks as he glared up at the All-Seer. 

“She wanted to know who her father is,” Heimdall answers. “I reminded her that my loyalty is to the king.”

“Don’t drag this out,” Loki snaps. “She’s deeply upset. What did you tell her?” 

Heimdall knows better than to reveal such a secret to the prince. You had come to the truth on your own and the prince would have to do the same.

“I gave her clues to lead her to an altogether different truth,” Heimdall states. “She was smart enough to find it.” 

Loki hated when Heimdall spoke in riddles but that was all the All-Seer was going to give him. The only way he would find out would be through you if you allowed him to know. 

He turns his back with the intent of heading back to you but Heimdall wasn’t done with him yet. 

“This game you’re playing with her at the moment,” Heimdall speaks. “I suggest you put an end to it.” 

“Is that a threat?” 

“No,” Heimdall answers as his stare shifts to watch something else entirely. “But it can be.” 

Loki scoffs and walks away. 

He held no fear towards the All-Seer and his attempts of intimidation but he couldn’t help but keep the warning in mind. There must be a reason for it and Loki had every intention in figuring it out. 

The ride was silent and slow. Neither of you were willing to be the first to speak and perhaps it all had to do with the distraction of the thoughts revolving in your mind. You had broken down and out of everyone, it was in front of Loki. You didn’t know how to manage that situation. In fact, you didn’t know how you were meant to manage any situation at all. 

You were in Asgard, a thousand light years away from your home on Earth, and you had found your answer. The answer being something you already knew. That you were on your own. 

“We’re here.” 

You frown when you realize that Loki had steered the horse out of the palace path into some unknown forest. 

“Where are we?” you ask as Loki leads the horse under the shade of a nearby tree. 

“We’re just outside of the city gates,” Loki answers as he dismounts from his horse. “There’s a small river nearby where Thor and I used to play. It’s relatively safe and out of the way that no one ever thinks of coming through here.” 

“But why?” 

“Your eyes are still red from crying,” Loki points out. “We can go back if you like but I believe you and I would prefer to avoid the royal court's attention on this matter.” 

Loki had a point and so you agree on the break. You dismount and the moment you’re off, Loki is quick to whisper something to the horse before sending him off. 

“He’ll be back when I call for him,” Loki tells you. “Just sent him out to get a drink.” 

You nod at his explanation and allow yourself to relax. You take a deep breath of fresh air and take a seat on the shaded grass. Loki follows suit leaning against the tree. 

“Are you going to tell me what you and Heimdall spoke of?” 

You let out a sigh knowing you had to. 

“I asked him about my father,” you answer as you wrap your arms around your knees to rest your head upon. “Heimdall couldn’t tell me much but the little he managed to give away … well, it was enough for me to come to a big conclusion.” 

“Which was?” 

“The reason why my father never came back for me and my mother is because he died before he was able to do so,” you can’t help the dark chuckle that escapes you. “My life is not at risk. I was safe all along apparently.”  

You’re met with silence which doesn’t surprise you. Loki stares out into the forest in front of you and lets out a sigh.

“I… I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” you tell him. “I found the answer I was looking for. All matters have been put to rest.”

“But…” 

“No, there’s no more buts, I just… I just want to move past this.” 

“Y/N.” 

You look over at Loki who’s watching you with that same concern he had when he caught you from falling to your death. 

“What?” you ask. 

“I am not the best at managing my emotions but even I know that you can’t simply move past this.” 

He was right but you didn’t want to admit that to him. You wanted to be numb and remain numb. 

“I don’t want to cry anymore,” you whisper. “I don’t…” 

“You don’t what?” Loki asks. 

You swallow not wanting to admit what you feared the most. 

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” you whisper. “But I don’t… I don’t have anyone. There’s no one left.”

“You have friends down in Midgard,” Loki reminds you. “The Man of Iron and the Captain… the Witch and the Widow.” 

“I can’t call them my friends when all I do is push them away because I’m afraid of growing attached,” you answer. “You and I both know that I will outlive them all anyway and then I’ll be left on my own once again so what’s the point? My father was the only person I could rely on and it turns out he’s been dead all along.” 

“Y/N…” 

“People aren’t meant to be alone. We need a community. We need companionship,” you explain. “I thought I could go without but I have been on my own for two centuries and I can’t take it anymore. So what am I meant to do now? What is there left for me to do?” 

You lean against the tree in resignation trying to find your own answer to the questions you’ve been asking since you left Heimdall. 

“Your father, though he is dead, must have left you a legacy to follow through,” Loki tells you. “All we need to do is find it.” 

“Loki…” you sigh out unsure why he was so intent in dragging this out longer. 

“Just listen,” he interrupts you. “I looked through the travel records and found nothing.” 

“Ok?” you answer confused as to how that mattered. “Maybe someone forgot to write it down.” 

“We are precise here in Asgard. Such a thing wouldn’t happen,” Loki explains. “Which leaves a unique conclusion to explain it all.”

“That is…?” 

“Your father, whatever his role in court was, must have been very important and private for his travel records to Midgard to be sealed. Only Odin has access to those.” 

“But what kind of… That doesn’t make any sense,” you stammer out. “What could he be doing down on Earth that it had to be kept secret?” 

“I don’t know,” Loki answers. “If you no longer wish to find your father, I will let the matter rest but I believe you owe it to yourself to know.” 

You let out a sigh. 

Loki seemed genuinely invested in helping you now. It made you suspicious. 

“You’re not trying to convince me because you still need me to fake court you, are you?”  

“No,” Loki smiles. “I have a feeling you would regret missing the opportunity to find some real answers. You deserve to know the truth.” 

You knew he was right. If you went back to Earth empty-handed, you would regret it for the rest of your life. 

“Ok, I’m in,” you tell him. “You get me my answers and I’ll keep fake courting you.” 

“It’s a deal,” Loki agrees. “Are you ready to head back?” 

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh out. 

Loki stands up and offers his hand for you to take so you do. He pulls you up and surprisingly doesn’t let your hand go. 

“I uh…” Loki hesitates for a moment before continuing. “I thought I should let you know that… that you’re not alone.”

“How so?” you ask him.

You couldn’t help the smile that fought its way to your lips. He was suddenly nervous that he couldn’t even meet your eyes anymore.

“You have me,” Loki answers. “I am an immortal with nothing but time in my hands. I can be there for you for as many years as you have left.”

You squeeze his hand in gratitude and he finally meets your stare. 

“I would like that,” you tell him. “Thank you.” 

Loki nods at your answer and lets go of your hand. He clears his throat and the simple gesture shifts him back to his usual princely self. He turns away from you and whistles causing his horse to trot back to you instantly. 

Loki grabs the reigns and motions for you to mount first. Once you’re settled, he climbs up and settles himself behind you.

“We should probably come up with a story as to why we left the palace to visit Heimdall,” you tell Loki as he pulls you back to the palace path. 

“Simple, you wanted to check in on your friends in Midgard,” Loki answers. “And if someone asks if you’ve been crying just tell them the truth.”

“My father’s dead?” you ask confused. 

“No,” Loki objects quickly. “I was referring to your bridge incident.”  

You can’t help but be shocked at the reminder.

“I can’t believe I almost fell off the Bifrost,” you mutter in realization. You look back at him with a laugh. “There should really be some kind of warning sign to prevent another accident like mine.”

“A warning sign?” Loki mocks. “It’s common sense to not get close to the ledge.”  

You can’t help but laugh and continue to pester him for a solution. 

“Ok then maybe set up some rails or a fence,” you offer. “Your first order of business when you become king is to put some rails up.” 

Loki shakes his head as you continue to ramble on possible solutions for him to consider. You look back at him in amusement and he can’t help but smile in response. The return of your happiness was contagious and he allowed himself the peaceful reprieve of it.

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All Works Tag: @jmb959​ @astudyoftimeywimeystuff​ @hellocookiecutter​ @steve-rogers-personal-hell​ @buckybarnesyard​ @not-zari-tak @strangersstranger

[mountainpoem]

Song of the Open Road by Walt Whitman

1 Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road, Healthy, free, the world before me, The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose. Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune, Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing, Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms, Strong and content I travel the open road. The earth, that is sufficient, I do not want the constellations any nearer, I know they are very well where they are, I know they suffice for those who belong to them. (Still here I carry my old delicious burdens, I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go, I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them, I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return.) 2 You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all that is here, I believe that much unseen is also here. Here the profound lesson of reception, nor preference nor denial, The black with his woolly head, the felon, the diseas’d, the illiterate person, are not denied; The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar’s tramp, the drunkard’s stagger, the laughing party of mechanics, The escaped youth, the rich person’s carriage, the fop, the eloping couple, The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the town, the return back from the town, They pass, I also pass, any thing passes, none can be interdicted, None but are accepted, none but shall be dear to me. 3 You air that serves me with breath to speak! You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them shape! You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers! You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the roadsides! I believe you are latent with unseen existences, you are so dear to me. You flagg’d walks of the cities! you strong curbs at the edges! You ferries! you planks and posts of wharves! you timber-lined sides! you distant ships! You rows of houses! you window-pierc’d façades! you roofs! You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards! You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much! You doors and ascending steps! you arches! You gray stones of interminable pavements! you trodden crossings! From all that has touch’d you I believe you have imparted to yourselves, and now would impart the same secretly to me, From the living and the dead you have peopled your impassive surfaces, and the spirits thereof would be evident and amicable with me. 4 The earth expanding right hand and left hand, The picture alive, every part in its best light, The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted, The cheerful voice of the public road, the gay fresh sentiment of the road. O highway I travel, do you say to me Do not leave me? Do you say Venture not—if you leave me you are lost? Do you say I am already prepared, I am well-beaten and undenied, adhere to me? O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you, You express me better than I can express myself, You shall be more to me than my poem. I think heroic deeds were all conceiv’d in the open air, and all free poems also, I think I could stop here myself and do miracles, I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and whoever beholds me shall like me, I think whoever I see must be happy. 5 From this hour I ordain myself loos’d of limits and imaginary lines, Going where I list, my own master total and absolute, Listening to others, considering well what they say, Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating, Gently,but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me. I inhale great draughts of space, The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine. I am larger, better than I thought, I did not know I held so much goodness. All seems beautiful to me, I can repeat over to men and women You have done such good to me I would do the same to you, I will recruit for myself and you as I go, I will scatter myself among men and women as I go, I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them, Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me, Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless me. 6 Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear it would not amaze me, Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear’d it would not astonish me. Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons, It is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth. Here a great personal deed has room, (Such a deed seizes upon the hearts of the whole race of men, Its effusion of strength and will overwhelms law and mocks all authority and all argument against it.) Here is the test of wisdom, Wisdom is not finally tested in schools, Wisdom cannot be pass’d from one having it to another not having it, Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof, Applies to all stages and objects and qualities and is content, Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and the excellence of things; Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes it out of the soul. Now I re-examine philosophies and religions, They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under the spacious clouds and along the landscape and flowing currents. Here is realization, Here is a man tallied—he realizes here what he has in him, The past, the future, majesty, love—if they are vacant of you, you are vacant of them. Only the kernel of every object nourishes; Where is he who tears off the husks for you and me? Where is he that undoes stratagems and envelopes for you and me? Here is adhesiveness, it is not previously fashion’d, it is apropos; Do you know what it is as you pass to be loved by strangers? Do you know the talk of those turning eye-balls? 7 Here is the efflux of the soul, The efflux of the soul comes from within through embower’d gates, ever provoking questions, These yearnings why are they? these thoughts in the darkness why are they? Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight expands my blood? Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank? Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me? (I think they hang there winter and summer on those trees and always drop fruit as I pass;) What is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers? What with some driver as I ride on the seat by his side? What with some fisherman drawing his seine by the shore as I walk by and pause? What gives me to be free to a woman’s and man’s good-will? what gives them to be free to mine? 8 The efflux of the soul is happiness, here is happiness, I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times, Now it flows unto us, we are rightly charged. Here rises the fluid and attaching character, The fluid and attaching character is the freshness and sweetness of man and woman, (The herbs of the morning sprout no fresher and sweeter every day out of the roots of themselves, than it sprouts fresh and sweet continually out of itself.) Toward the fluid and attaching character exudes the sweat of the love of young and old, From it falls distill’d the charm that mocks beauty and attainments, Toward it heaves the shuddering longing ache of contact. 9 Allons! whoever you are come travel with me! Traveling with me you find what never tires. The earth never tires, The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first, Nature is rude and incomprehensible at first, Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well envelop’d, I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell. Allons! we must not stop here, However sweet these laid-up stores, however convenient this dwelling we cannot remain here, However shelter’d this port and however calm these waters we must not anchor here, However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us we are permitted to receive it but a little while. 10 Allons! the inducements shall be greater, We will sail pathless and wild seas, We will go where winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper speeds by under full sail. Allons! with power, liberty, the earth, the elements, Health, defiance, gayety, self-esteem, curiosity; Allons! from all formules! From your formules, O bat-eyed and materialistic priests. The stale cadaver blocks up the passage—the burial waits no longer. Allons! yet take warning! He traveling with me needs the best blood, thews, endurance, None may come to the trial till he or she bring courage and health, Come not here if you have already spent the best of yourself, Only those may come who come in sweet and determin’d bodies, No diseas’d person, no rum-drinker or venereal taint is permitted here. (I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes, rhymes, We convince by our presence.) 11 Listen! I will be honest with you, I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes, These are the days that must happen to you: You shall not heap up what is call’d riches, You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve, You but arrive at the city to which you were destin’d, you hardly settle yourself to satisfaction before you are call’d by an irresistible call to depart, You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings of those who remain behind you, What beckonings of love you receive you shall only answer with passionate kisses of parting, You shall not allow the hold of those who spread their reach’d hands toward you. 12 Allons! after the great Companions, and to belong to them! They too are on the road—they are the swift and majestic men—they are the greatest women, Enjoyers of calms of seas and storms of seas, Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land, Habituès of many distant countries, habituès of far-distant dwellings, Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, solitary toilers, Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells of the shore, Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of children, bearers of children, Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers-down of coffins, Journeyers over consecutive seasons, over the years, the curious years each emerging from that which preceded it, Journeyers as with companions, namely their own diverse phases, Forth-steppers from the latent unrealized baby-days, Journeyers gayly with their own youth, journeyers with their bearded and well-grain’d manhood, Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsurpass’d, content, Journeyers with their own sublime old age of manhood or womanhood, Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe, Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death. 13 Allons! to that which is endless as it was beginningless, To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights, To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days and nights they tend to, Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys, To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it, To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and pass it, To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you, however long but it stretches and waits for you, To see no being, not God’s or any, but you also go thither, To see no possession but you may possess it, enjoying all without labor or purchase, abstracting the feast yet not abstracting one particle of it, To take the best of the farmer’s farm and the rich man’s elegant villa, and the chaste blessings of the well-married couple, and the fruits of orchards and flowers of gardens, To take to your use out of the compact cities as you pass through, To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you go, To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter them, to gather the love out of their hearts, To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave them behind you, To know the universe itself as a road, as many roads, as roads for traveling souls. All parts away for the progress of souls, All religion, all solid things, arts, governments—all that was or is apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches and corners before the procession of souls along the grand roads of the universe. Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads of the universe, all other progress is the needed emblem and sustenance. Forever alive, forever forward, Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble, dissatisfied, Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men, They go! they go! I know that they go, but I know not where they go, But I know that they go toward the best—toward something great. Whoever you are, come forth! or man or woman come forth! You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though you built it, or though it has been built for you. Out of the dark confinement! out from behind the screen! It is useless to protest, I know all and expose it. Behold through you as bad as the rest, Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people, Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash’d and trimm’d faces, Behold a secret silent loathing and despair. No husband, no wife, no friend, trusted to hear the confession, Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it goes, Formless and wordless through the streets of the cities, polite and bland in the parlors, In the cars of railroads, in steamboats, in the public assembly, Home to the houses of men and women, at the table, in the bedroom, everywhere, Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under the breast-bones, hell under the skull-bones, Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial flowers, Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable of itself, Speaking of any thing else but never of itself. 14 Allons! through struggles and wars! The goal that was named cannot be countermanded. Have the past struggles succeeded? What has succeeded? yourself? your nation? Nature? Now understand me well—it is provided in the essence of things that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a greater struggle necessary. My call is the call of battle, I nourish active rebellion, He going with me must go well arm’d, He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry enemies, desertions. 15 Allons! the road is before us! It is safe—I have tried it—my own feet have tried it well—be not detain’d! Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen’d! Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn’d! Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher! Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law. Camerado, I give you my hand! I give you my love more precious than money, I give you myself before preaching or law; Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me? Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?