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ladyartemesia · 4 years

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The Praetor

◐ PART VI of THE ALPHA ◐

◐ Series Masterlist ◐

◐ Part I ◐ Part II ◐ Part III ◐ Part IV ◐ Part V ◐

Pairing: Alpha Werewolf Jimin x Omega Reader

Rating: Hard Mature 18+ (for this installment)

Warnings: sexual content including grinding and marking, some light (and totally consensual) manhandling, ABO sexual dynamics including discussion of scenting, marking, mating, and claiming. Violence and discussion of violence relating to ritual combat, possessive behavior, injuries and discussion of injuries

Special Note: Yoonji and Yunli are NOT the same person. Yoonji is Yoongi and Yunli’s cousin. She is sometimes affectionately called “Ji-ah.”

Word Count: 5500 (wow)

Author’s Note: Life has been really hard. I won’t beat around the bush. It was hard to do anything... but your kind words and support really kept me going. Truly you guys straight up manifested this chapter with your incredible support. As always, my angels @ppersonna @xjoonchildx @untaemedqueen and @underthejoon were the best betas and the best friends anyone could ask for. My thanks to ALL of you for helping me bring this story to life!

“Alpha.”

Namjoon’s voice echoed through the clearing with profound resonance.

There would be no more fighting.

There would be no more doubt.

It was a complete surrender, the kind only a true Alpha could compel.

A frantic whimper suddenly split the air, drawing every eye to you-

But you saw only him.

“Untie me,” you pleaded, struggling impatiently against the restraints.

One of the elders moved to release you, but before she could, Jin produced a knife and cut you free with the kind of terrifying precision expected of a man who was every bit as deadly as he was beautiful.

Then you were running - and this time, no one could stop you.

Your body crashed into his and fiery joy shot through you as he pulled you into his arms.

His scent wrapped around your senses like a warm blanket, covering the fear and pain of the past days in unimaginable relief.

“Jimin.”

“I’m here. I have you,” he whispered.

Your entire frame seemed to shake as you sobbed against his chest. It was as if you could not draw close enough - could not hold tight enough - to be satisfied. Part of you was still terrified that you would wake up and discover that all of this had been a dream...

Then you heard it.

Another set of knees hitting the ground.

“Alpha.”

Then another-

“Alpha.“

And another

“Alpha.”

Till the air was filled with hundreds of voices, all speaking the same word.

“Alpha.”

Namjoon remembered very little of what happened after his surrender...

Just pain.

His limbs seemed oddly disconnected from the rest of his body. There was blood everywhere (and he was reasonably sure it was his).

He knew he should feel defeated, broken - ashamed even.

Instead he felt strangely...

Light.

As if a great weight had lifted from his shoulders.

The last thing he saw before losing consciousness entirely was Yunli’s tear-stained gaze - still fixed on him - even as the others turned to face their new Alpha.

He breathed out her name in a quiet, desperate plea as the darkness overtook him.

Jimin was only in your arms a few moments before healers and half the elder’s council came rushing forward on all sides.

You snarled instinctively at the first elder who tried to collect him, but a healer eventually got close enough to reason with you after pointing out that the wound on his shoulder could possibly become infected if left untreated for much longer.

An Alpha’s injuries always took the highest priority, but Jimin directed them all toward Namjoon, brushing away anyone who attempted to tend to him.

By that point Jin and your mother had found their way to your side and were gently trying to pull you back - even as more elders reached for your mate.

Everyone was speaking at once - words about preparations and plans and ceremonies - but none of it registered over the waves of frantic adrenaline still pounding through your system.

You didn’t know what they wanted or why they were so close-

just that they were trying to take him away again.

No.

Suddenly a senior elder placed his hand on Jimin’s forearm and your wolf snapped entirely.

Omegas were known for their speed and as a Luna, yours was unparalleled.

Two council members and a healer went flying into the dirt within the space of a single second as your body instinctively assumed a defensive stance. The remaining elders stumbled back in alarm and your mother fainted dead away forcing Jin to catch her rather inelegantly.

Your canines began to lengthen as you pressed your back to the Alpha, letting primal rage guide your movements.

They had tied you up.

Forced you to watch as he was attacked again and again and again-

An omega would defend their mate to the death and you had spent days knowing he was in danger...

Feeling powerless, feeling paralyzed-

Your wolf had simply had enough.

“Luna please-“ the chief elder began cautiously, but you cut him off with warning growl and lunged - fully prepared to end the next person who attempted to separate you from-

Strong arms closed around you, pulling you back to the comforting warmth that enveloped you moments ago.

Jimin.

“Luna,” he whispered against your skin and you shivered, letting your eyes flutter shut.

Then you felt it.

The gentle pressure of the Alpha - your mate - nosing softly at your neck.

It was a gesture of soothing affection.

Of gratitude.

Slowly he turned you in his arms till you were facing him once again. The fire in your blood began to fade as you simply took him in, struck by the sensual beauty of his face and the possessive heat in his gaze.

“So fierce,” he hummed, tilting his head so you could bury yourself in his scent once more. His hands brushed soothing circles over your back, leaving delicious sparks of pleasure in their wake.

“I’m safe,” he promised as you nuzzled into him needily. “You can rest now...”

The pleasant pull of his command wove heavily through your senses. You felt your feet leave the ground as he lifted you fully into his arms...

Then you slipped into a blissful sleep.

The healers worked for hours on Namjoon.

Some betas were blessed with minor healing abilities - a valuable gift stemming from a type of energy transference. He could feel the heat of their hands as they poured themselves - literally - into mending his battered body.

His ribs were set and wrapped tightly and the swelling and bruising were already beginning to fade due to the assortment of vile tasting herbal concoctions they insisted on ramming down his throat.

Accelerated healing and potent herbal intervention truly went a long way, but it would take time and rest to restore him fully.

Despite his lingering soreness, Namjoon was finally lucid enough to think for the first time since the fight and there was certainly a wealth of things to think about…

Yet his mind kept going back to that moment-

To her.

“Kim Namjoon.”

Every hair on his body raised to attention.

“Alpha-”

He struggled to pull himself upright, but Jimin placed a hand on his arm to still him.

“Please,” he spoke softly, “let me sit. I’ve caused you enough trouble for one day.”

A painful chuckle stuttered out of Namjoon and he shook his head.

“Shouldn’t I be the one saying that? We both know this is entirely my fault.”

Jimin’s eyes dropped in reluctant amusement..

“You think rather highly of yourself,” he said with a barely perceptible grin, echoing his words in the chief elder’s chambers a day - a lifetime - ago. “I believe I had something to do with it as well.”

Namjoon laughed and winced immediately. He rubbed gingerly over the binding on his ribs before voicing the question that had plagued him from the moment he awoke.

“How quickly?”

The Alpha tilted his head in confusion. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“How quickly,” Namjoon grunted, pulling himself to an upright position, “could you have killed me?”

There was a strange sort of acceptance in his eyes, a profound and untainted respect that Jimin was wholly unused to receiving from a man like him.

It was equal parts humbling and overwhelming.

“The first hit... a little to the left - at full force - would have fractured your sternum and penetrated your heart. You’d have been dead in a matter of minutes.”

Namjoon was silent for a long time.

“Why did you spare me? ...I challenged you, threatened you, intended to lay claim to your mate which-” he rubbed idly at the back of his neck, “I’m beginning to understand is enough to enrage any man… So why am I still here?”

“Because,” Jimin sighed, “apparently I think very highly of you too, Kim Namjoon.”

“Well… I’m flattered, but I - I still don’t understand… I’ve done nothing but underestimate you. Most wolves would have made an example of me.”

“Oh I intend to make an example of you,” Jimin smiled and Namjoon felt his blood run cold for the briefest instant, “but not in the way you’re thinking.”

The Alpha’s eyes took on a strangely solemn light. “I have no intention of ruling through fear and violence.”

After a moment, his gaze met Namjoon’s again.

“You were right… Without your challenge, the pack would never have trusted my leadership. You were the obvious choice to be Alpha and without defeating you decisively, they would always look to you as an alternative.”

Namjoon eyed his collection of injuries sardonically.

“Something tells me you won’t have that issue now.”

“And I have you to thank for that.”

“So … you spared my life in gratitude?”

“I spared your life because it was well worth sparing. You have always led your clan with honor and dignity. You don’t strike me as someone who enjoys killing, yet you were willing to do so for the good of our people. Such a man is a far better example alive than he is dead.”

Namjoon could not help but be impressed by the younger alpha’s insight and perception.

Our goddess has chosen well.

“I am grateful for your mercy, Alpha... Though I’m sure there are some who believe I should have chosen death over the disgrace of defeat.”

Jimin’s jaw clenched. .

“Defeat is not a disgrace. I have learned some of my greatest lessons from it. Defeat is often a vital stop on the path to victory.”

The elder alpha grinned.

“I wouldn’t know. This is the first time I’ve lost.”

Jimin laughed and Namjoon’s impish smile suddenly became oddly serious.

“I want you to know… You have my loyalty - without question - and not simply because you spared me. It is clear that you were meant to lead.”

A subtle hint of awe crept into his tone as he continued.

“Honestly… I’ve only ever heard stories of primal alphas. I never thought I’d meet one,” he snorted, “or be foolish enough to fight him.“

Jimin drew back in confusion.

“I’m not familiar- ...I’ve never heard of a primal alpha.”

“Really?... Well ...I suppose that makes sense. I forgot how often you skipped camp.” He sighed and shifted into a more comfortable position before answering.

“A primal alpha is goddess-blessed. They cannot be compelled. Their command is powerful enough to compel members of other packs and even non-wolves. It is a rare gift.”

Jimin’s face easily betrayed his shock.

“I-...That’s-” he shook his head. “Why do you believe I have such a gift?”

“I suppose the first hint should have been your coloring. Silver wolves are never born to mundane destinies... But the real proof is in your eyes.” Namjoon leaned back against the headboard, quietly reliving the moment he discovered the depth of Jimin’s ability. “When you commanded me to yield, your eyes flashed gold. It’s the true sign of a primal alpha... of a king.”

King.

The word fell heavily between them.

A human king was a politician, a figurehead whose power became more symbolic as the ages passed.

But to the wolf nations, a king - an Alpha - was the heart of their pack. A warrior who bore the burden of leadership alongside his Luna.

The power of a wolf king was quite real.

The Alpha shifted uncomfortably

“I never thought I would be a king.”

“And I never thought I wouldn’t be.” His eyes dropped to his hands. “I’m not quite sure what I am anymore.”

“Perhaps I can help with that.”

Namjoon’s gaze met his with cautious curiosity.

“Oh?”

“You said yourself I skipped Alpha camp every year. I may have been destined to lead, but I won’t pretend that I’m completely prepared for it.”

All at once Namjoon realized why Jimin was there.

The transfer of power was a long and intricate process that should remain essentially uninterrupted until its completion.

There could only be one reason the Alpha had come to his bedside.

He was here to appoint his Praetor.

A Praetor wielded nearly as much authority as the Alpha. In terms of pack hierarchy, only the Alpha outranked him (or her). The commitment required was immense. Their role encompassed everything from ‘chief advisor’ to ‘the last line of defense.’

Praetor were expected to cut all obligations to their own clan and serve only the Alpha. They were an extension of his authority and vision. It was a lifetime appointment which could be extremely dangerous (depending on the number of territorial disputes one’s pack might be involved in).

If anything were to happen to the Alpha, a Praetor would assume the responsibility of protecting the Luna and ruling by her side (without any romantic obligations as Praetor often had their own mates) until their death.

“What about Taehyung?”

Jimin shrugged.

“What about him? I assure you, he has no interest in this at all.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Besides, he serves me well as a best friend... A Praetor must be willing to disagree with me from time to time without worrying too much about my feelings. They must be in tune with the needs of the pack. Kim Taehyung is a good man… but he isn’t the right one. Not for this.”

The elder alpha considered his next words carefully.

“What you’re asking is no small request.”

“True,” Jimin nodded, “but how about this…” he grinned mischievously, “I promise to put in a good word for you with Min Yoongi when he finds out what you’ve done to his little sister.”

“I haven’t done anything to his little sister.”

“Yet.”

Namjoon cleared his throat guiltily.

“You realize this means we’ll have to talk every single day.”

“It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for the good of the pack.”

Namjoon laughed and Jimin smiled back, more sure than ever that he was making the right choice.

After a moment the Alpha held out his hand in an age old ceremonial gesture and finally voiced the question he had come to ask.

“Kim Namjoon, will you forsake your place in the clan of your blood to serve your Alpha and your pack as Praetor. Will you protect my blood as your own and fight by my side till the paths of our lives be complete?

Namjoon’s gaze locked with his as their palms met, letting the force of his resolve color each word.

“I swear it shall be so.”

It was well past noon when you stumbled from your bedroom to find Jin spread luxuriously over your kitchen island, popping berries into his mouth like a debauched satyr.

“I feel very odd…” you yawned, “almost like I-”

“Attacked half the elders council in a fit of horny rage?”

Your jaw dropped.

“I did no such thing!” A few choice memories began to flood back and your staunch defensive tirade stuttered in shock. “Wait...Did I-”

“You did.”

“I wouldn’t call it horny rage,” you muttered, massaging your temples as you struggled to process your own actions.

“I don’t know, the whole thing looked very horny to me.”

“Everything looks horny to you.”

Jin grinned but didn’t bother denying it.

“What do you remember?”

“I remember…” you pulled a water bottle from the fridge and took a long drink before answering,”...Jimin’s victory... People kept trying to take him away and then-”

Heat streaked across the back of your neck as you recalled the press of his lips on your skin.

“Oh...”

You shivered deliciously.

Jin sighed. “Yes, you were quite the spectacle. Who knows how many throats you would have ripped out if the Alpha had not intervened.”

“Oh goddess,” you moaned, burying your face in your hands. “He probably thinks I’m a lunatic.”

Jin rolled his eyes.

“I wonder if there is a celestial punishment for smacking the Luna upside the head.”

“Punishable by death - for sure,” you pouted, “and why would you even want to do that?”

“Because you’re an idiot. The man risked his life for you in ritual combat and then carried you home in his arms all the way from the sacred circle like a fairy tale princess.”

“He... he did?”

Your cousin nodded and tossed another berry in his mouth.

“The whole scene was so disgustingly romantic. I would have swooned if I wasn’t left to haul your mother back. Honestly I think I threw out my back.”

“And - and the pack?”

“They were free to swoon since they weren’t carrying your mother and most of them did. The man has become a bit of a legend already. Namjoon is one of the strongest alphas in the mountain kingdoms and Park Jimin dispatched him like it was nothing.” He paused to dab berry juice off his absurdly full lips. “I’d be surprised if every pack for a hundred miles hasn’t heard about it by now.”

“How is Namjoon?”

“Alive. He will make a full recovery.”

You sighed in relief. Truly, you had no desire to mate with the Kim alpha, but (despite the grumbling of your bloodthirsty wolf) you never wanted him dead.

Not to mention the loss of Namjoon would have cast a heavy shade over Jimin’s leadership. He was wise to spare him.

“Where is he? I want to see him.”

“Namjoon is with the healers-”

“Kim Seokjin,” you bopped him with your now empty water bottle. “I am obviously not talking about Namjoon. Where is my mate?!”

“Calm down, cousin. You’re getting that throat-rippy gleam in your eye again and I’m far too beautiful to go out like that.”

He reached for another berry.

“I need to see him.”

You were already marching toward the door when Jin yanked you back. It was always a surprise to see how fast he could move when he wanted to.

“My dear sweet Luna, you have one murderous rampage and forget all about our tedious traditions. The elders will be drowning him in the preparations and expectations of leadership for at least another ten hours.”

None of Jin’s sensible reminders mattered the least bit to your wolf. She was already suggesting all sorts of reasons you should just march into the council chambers and take him.

Park Jimin was yours.

You’ve waited long enough.

Your hand tightened on the doorknob.

“He left something for you.”

Kim Seokjin really was a wickedly clever man. He knew exactly which cards to play and exactly when to play them.

Your heart stuttered wildly in your chest as Jin nodded toward a small box on the table.

“He sent Taehyung to drop it off not long after the elders dragged him away from your bedside.”

If you had even an ounce of dignity left, you might have been embarrassed by how quickly you scrambled over to the gift, but you were well past caring about such things when it came to him.

Your cousin shook his head as you eagerly tore into the wrapping, impatient to discover what he could have possibly-

You gasped.

There, laying nestled in an ornate wooden box with a lavish blue satin interior, was the most beautiful pair of gloves you had ever seen…

Your fingers reached out to brush the soft white leather, custom stitched with intricately embroidered vines that wound around a beautiful silver wolf.

“They’re exquisite.”

Jim’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“They’re not just exquisite, they’re one of a kind.” His fingers traced over the emblem on the box. “This is the mark of the Bangtan Leatherworkers Guild. Every one of their pieces is unique.”

Your head tilted curiously as Jin began to lift back the satin lining.

“What are you doing?”

“You can only buy their merchandise directly from the shop in Seoul. There’s no way he could have gotten these today.”

“R...Really?”

Jin nodded.

“I’m about to find out for sure. Each piece produced by the guild comes with a certification. It includes the date of manufacture and the date of sale.”

After a moment he withdrew a small card embossed with gold writing.

“Well... what does it say?” you pressed impatiently.

An odd little smile drifted across Jin’s lips as he considered the information in his hands.

“These gloves were sold to Park Jimin three years ago... a few days before your 17th birthday.”

Min Yunli slept for most of the day after Taehyung brought her home.

The Alpha ordered his second to secure her and see to her safety not long after lifting the Luna into his arms.

In the end, Tae had to compel her again.

She fought to stay near Namjoon, but he needed medical attention and there was no real reason to allow her any access to the fallen alpha.

She had no claim on him.

She was nothing to him.

Nothing at all.

When she finally opened her eyes the sun was already dipping low on the horizon and the world around her was dim.

Aching emptiness sat heavily in her chest. The Change was another six days away which meant the connection between her consciousness and her wolf was not fully solidified… but she could still feel acidic pain of rejection festering in both halves of her heart.

Tears fell silently down her cheek as she considered her actions and what the consequences might be.

Namjoon probably hated her now. She had ruined everything for him.

An angry growl rumbled up from her stomach.

Yunli snorted humorously and shrugged off her dirty clothes, throwing on an oversized t-shirt before trudging out to the refrigerator.

Of all the problems she was facing, hunger was the easiest to fix.

“Do you normally walk around without pants?”

She just barely bit back a scream.

There - sitting on her couch (and looking significantly better than he had the last time she’d seen him) - was Kim Namjoon.

“How did you get in here?!” Yunli squeaked.

Namjoon held up a key.

“Yoongi gave it to me years ago.”

Though I doubt he intended for me to use it like this.

Her fists clenched and unclenched reflexively at her side.

“Have you… come to yell at me?” she whispered.

Namjoon didn’t respond right away, he was too distracted by the shapely curve of her legs and the soft glow of her skin under the warmth of the living room lamps.

Yunli, however, took his silence as confirmation of her worst fears.

“I’m so sorry...” she trembled, her beautiful eyes glistening poetically with unshed tears. “I don’t - I don’t know what came over me - I know I cost you the fight and I-”

Namjoon felt a chuckle bubble up in chest and winced.

“Yunli...your screams, however affecting, could not undo the will of the goddess.” He shook his head, “Park Jimin was born to be the Alpha.” His fingers rubbed idly at his chest. “I’ve never come across anything like his power.”

Her eyes traced over the damage to his body with obvious remorse.

“Are you ok?” she asked finally.

He had four cracked ribs, several critical lacerations, a concussion, two sprained elbows, countless contusions, and a split lip.

“Ah, it’s nothing,” he shrugged, barely suppressing a groan.

Yunli grinned, helplessly endeared as always. She opened her mouth to ask again why he was here, but he cut her off with a surprisingly curt question.

“Has Taehyung seen you like this?”

Yunli blinked. Twice.

“T-Taehyung? Like Kim Taehyung - your cousin?”

“Second cousin,” he growled, “I was told he brought you home.”

“Well. Yes. He did… I’m really grateful to him actually. I don’t know what would have happened if he hadn’t caught me and calmed me down.”

A loud ringing was building in Namjoon’s ears.

“Do you have an understanding with him?” he snarled.

Yunli’s jaw dropped.

“An understanding? With Yoonji’s Taehyung?!” She snorted. “I don’t have a death wish.”

“What’s Yoonji got to do with this? Isn’t she in Europe?”

“Never mind that. Why would you think Tae and I-”

“Tae?!”

Yunli’s eyes narrowed.

“What’s going on in that busted up skull of yours, Kim Namjoon?”

Namjoon was off the couch and pressing her against the wall faster than she would have thought possible in his condition.

“What’s going on is that for the past year you’ve been a real problem for me, Min Yunli.”

Yunli gasped as the muscled lines of his body weighed firmly into her own. Deep curls of pleasure flared up at every contact point.

Yes. Oh goddess, yes.

The force of his desire burned hot in the air between them. She had waited years for him to see her like this - to touch her like this...

“I wasn’t supposed to feel anything when you looked at me with your heart in those pretty brown eyes,” he murmured, brushing the tips of his fingers up over her arms till he was cupping her chin.

Yunli’s wolf keened in delight as she melted helplessly into his embrace.

It felt good. It felt so so good.

“I was convinced you were a challenge - a divine temptation put in my path to test my resolve-” his jaw clenched, “or simply an endless source of torment because you wanted me so badly and I could never have you.”

The sound of ripping fabric split the air as Namjoon clawed through the neckline of her t-shirt, baring her pert little breasts to him like an obscene feast.

“I was supposed to want the Luna,” he growled, squeezing the soft mounds roughly in his palms till she was whining and writhing against him, “-not Min Yoongi’s sweet little sister.”

Her gaze was so open - so trusting. Adoration shone through every inch of her regard and it was intoxicating.

She was intoxicating.

His hand slid down to grip her thighs, lifting her body till she was forced to wrap her legs around him for balance.

“Namjoon,” she whimpered as the sensitive folds of her core ground into his growing hardness.

“You just kept pushing and pushing-” he hissed, punctuating each word with delicious thrusts till the maddening pressure in her center was nearly unbearable. “Then last night you offered me a taste and it nearly destroyed me.”

His mouth finally descended on hers again and she opened to him eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck with wanton desperation. A tortured groan slipped past his lips as he dragged her away from the wall and onto the sofa where she first discovered him.

“Is this what you wanted, Min Yunli?” he rasped between the fervent mating of their mouths. “To make me desperate? To take me apart until I’m half-mad with wanting you?”

“Yes,” she sobbed as he sucked mark after mark into her flesh, painting her body with the evidence of his passion.

She slipped her hands greedily under his shirt, aching to feel more of his skin against her own. Needy whines and moans fell from her mouth like a siren’s call, beckoning Namjoon to lose himself in the lush warmth of her body.

“If Kim Taehyung puts his greasy hands on you again, I’ll kill him.”

Yunli mewled in primal gratification at his bold words. She had waited far too long to hear them.

“All those months I suffered because my wolf recognized what I was too ignorant to see.”

The last shreds of her shirt flew across the room and Namjoon pinned her wrists above her head like a pagan offering, allowing his free hand to explore her curves with impassioned reverence.

“You are mine, Yunli,” he swore.

And she was.

She always had been.

Following Jimin’s victory, the pack exploded into a chaotic storm of gossip and ceremonial preparations. The story of his unlikely path to power had already spread beyond the borders of the mountain kingdoms.

“-messages are coming in from the high packs of Delhi and Beijing requesting to meet with him-“

The rise of new pack leaders typically brought with it a buzz of excitement, but the Luna and her newly victorious Alpha were anything but typical.

“-he’s a silver wolf. I always knew he was meant for more than just heading up the Park clan-“

The last Alpha king (the current Luna’s great-grandfather) died peacefully in his sleep nearly thirty years ago and the elder’s council ruled in the interim while they waited for a new Alpha to rise. This was the first (and likely the only) coronation most people would see in their lifetime.

“ - my friend from Seoul is begging me to invite her. Outsiders aren’t allowed to attend unless they’re the guest of a pack member- “

Preparations to transfer power were every bit as tedious and time consuming as the rest of pack law.

“-the council just announced that he’s chosen a Praetor. I’m sure it will be Taehyung-“

Aside from sneaking out to secure his Praetor (who was not Taehyung), the new Alpha had been holed up with the council, the heads of the ten major clans, and an army of envoys from other packs for nearly twelve hours.

“ -grandfather worked with him all day. He claims that the future king has already impressed the council-”

Park Jimin’s name echoed through the mountain kingdoms. People could speak of nothing else.

But there was one member of the pack who had not yet heard the news...

Yoongi took a deep breath as he waited for the woman on the other end of the line to accept his call. He was mentally and physically exhausted, but he had promised to tell her what happened as soon as he could.

Silence lingered eerily in the first few moments after she picked up.

“I really debated answering this,” Min Yoonji whispered at last. “I don’t know if I can bear to hear you say that Park Jimin is dead.”

She sighed heavily as she ambled down the stairs of her tiny apartment in Paris.

There were too many happy memories connected with him. He was Tae’s best friend... His loss would tear her former lover apart.

And she could not be there for him when it did.

She could never be there for him...

Several thousand miles away her cousin smiled.

“Park Jimin is not dead, Ji-ah.”

Yoonji missed the last step and crashed down inelegantly on her tail bone.

“WHAT?!” Her fingers scrambled to hold the phone secure in her precarious position. “You mean to tell me that Kim Namjoon lost - to PARK JIMIN?!”

“You sure picked a wild time to move to Europe,” Yoongi chuckled.

“I didn’t really move here per se... I just relocated temporarily but indefinitely.”

“Yes, I’m well aware. Your mother is still howling about what a disgrace it was to go through the Change away from your friends and family. So thank you for that.”

Yoonji sighed.

“What’s done is done... I know you don’t understand, but I promise to explain someday.” Her eyes drifted shut as she forced the pain in her heart aside. “... I can’t believe I missed all this. You have to tell me how he did it.”

“I will later, but I need to head back to the council chambers. We had a brief recess and I figured I’d call since it’s still early over there. However… I do have one last shocking revelation for you before I go.”

Yoonji rolled her eyes at her cousin’s dramatics.

“I’m not sure anything could shock me after finding out that Park Jimin is our new Alpha.”

“Jimin just made Namjoon his Praetor.”

Apparently I was wrong.

“WHAT!? So wait - that means Jinwook is now head of the Kim Clan?”

Yoongi’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Jinwook? No, how could - ah never mind. You were already in Europe when he left.”

“Jinwook left?!”

“Yeah, he was finishing up a consultation in Bangkok when he met his mate in one of the packs up there. It's an older pack with almost no alphas so they asked him to stay. He’s lived in Thailand since August.” Yoongi yawned. “Believe it or not Kim Taehyung was just sworn in as the Kim Clan alpha.”

Dead silence met his declaration. For a moment he wondered if the call had been disconnected but then-

“...What... did you just say?”

Yoonji’s voice had taken on a strange hollow quality that had her cousin frowning into the receiver.

“I said Taehyung was just sworn in as a Clan alpha.”

“That... no that can’t be right... You’re saying Kim Taehyung - my Taehyung-”

“What do you mean your Taehyung?!”

“- is a Clan alpha?”

“Yoonji. I can’t believe I’m repeating this a third time. Yes. Tae is the new head of the Kim Clan. I watched him take the oath twenty minutes ago and I have to say-”

A heart wrenching sob cut him off abruptly.

“Oh goddess what have I done,” she gasped.

Yoongi’s eyes widened in fear and alarm.

“Ji-ah? What’s wrong?... Ji-ah?... Ji-ah?!”

But the line was dead.

Don’t Miss Chapter VII: The Luna… Coming Soon!

If you would like to be added to the taglist, please comment on this post. If you have already asked then you will be automatically tagged in all future updates.

Guys I cannot emphasize enough how much your support has meant to me these last few weeks.

Your comments and your love kept me going. I truly value it so much and it fuels my creativity. Please let me know what you thought? It is incredibly rewarding and motivating to hear from you!

I really struggled with this update. It was much longer and took a lot out of me... I hope you love the final product as much as I do…

Bonus: The gloves Jimin sent his Luna...

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chispas-and-broken-bindings · 3 years

Note

Lmao 🤣 I know to which post you are replying about them being besties . That scene always gave me more ominous vibes than actually something that would ignite friendship . Also the title of " Usurper's Dog " isn't something @ry@ is going to take lightly .

Ha! I actually didn't have any particular post in mind. The Dany/Arya friendship is just something that I see float around the fandom from time to time and it drives me absolutely bonkers (not fanon. feel free to explore all your platonic dreams with these two in fanon. Go wild. You do you.)

If we are talking canon though, I can't think of a single character that has more anti-Targ foreshadowing in their chapters than Arya (even Jon comes in second place). I actually started pasting bits of Arya's chapters into a word document awhile ago, because I couldn't believe how much GRRM uses her POV to detail the horrors of fire and burning...it's almost comical how heavy-handed he is with it.

And yet...

After I saw this ask in my inbox, I looked at the Arya Stark tag and immediately found a post about Dany and Arya being best friends.

So.

Here we are:

A Storm of Swords - Arya I

Later they passed through a burned village, threading their way carefully between the shells of blackened hovels and past the bones of a dozen dead men hanging from a row of apple trees. When Hot Pie saw them he began to pray, a thin whispered plea for the Mother's mercy, repeated over and over. Arya looked up at the fleshless dead in their wet rotting clothes and said her own prayer. Ser Gregor, it went, Dunsen, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling. The Tickler and the Hound. Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei. She ended it with valar morghulis, touched Jaqen's coin where it nestled under her belt, and then reached up and plucked an apple from among the dead men as she rode beneath them. It was mushy and overripe, but she ate it worms and all.

That was the day without a dawn. Slowly the sky lightened around them, but they never saw the sun. Black turned to grey, and colors crept timidly back into the world. The soldier pines were dressed in somber greens, the broadleafs in russets and faded golds already beginning to brown.

Hot Pie opened his mouth and closed it. He did not fall off his horse. The rain began again a short time later. They still had not seen so much as a glimpse of the sun. It was growing colder, and pale white mists were threading between the pines and blowing across the bare burned fields.

A Storm of Swords - Arya III

That night they sheltered in a burned, abandoned village.

A Storm of Swords - Arya IV

The next night they found shelter beneath the scorched shell of a sept, in a burned village called Sallydance. Only shards remained of its windows of leaded glass, and the aged septon who greeted them said the looters had even made off with the Mother's costly robes, the Crone's gilded lantern, and the silver crown the Father had worn. "They hacked the Maiden's breasts off too, though those were only wood," he told them. "And the eyes, the eyes were jet and lapis and mother-of-pearl, they pried them out with their knives. May the Mother have mercy on them all."

A Storm of Swords Arya VI

"Please," Sandor Clegane rasped, cradling his arm. "I'm burned. Help me. Someone. Help me." He was crying. "Please."

Arya looked at him in astonishment. He's crying like a little baby, she thought.

Clegane tried to stand, but as he moved a piece of burned flesh sloughed right off his arm, and his knees went out from under him. Tom caught him by his good arm and held him up.

His arm, Arya thought, and his face. But he was the Hound. He deserved to burn in a fiery hell. The knife felt heavy in her hand. She gripped it tighter. "You killed Mycah," she said once more, daring him to deny it. "Tell them. You did. You did."

"I did." His whole face twisted. "I rode him down and cut him in half, and laughed. I watched them beat your sister bloody too, watched them cut your father's head off."

Lem grabbed her wrist and twisted, wrenching the dagger away. She kicked at him, but he would not give it back. "You go to hell, Hound," she screamed at Sandor Clegane in helpless empty-handed rage. "You just go to hell!"

(Okay, so she's not exactly sympathetic to the Hound's plight here, but still...another reference to burning, and a pretty graphic one at that)

A Storm of Swords - Arya VII

Jack-Be-Lucky, Harwin, and Merrit o' Moontown braved the burning septry to search for captives. They emerged from the smoke and flames a few moments later with eight brown brothers, one so weak that Merrit had to carry him across a shoulder.

The septry soon collapsed in a roar of smoke and flame, its walls no longer able to support the weight of its heavy slate roof. The eight brown brothers watched with resignation. They were all that remained, explained the eldest, who wore a small iron hammer on a thong about his neck to signify his devotion to the Smith. "Before the war we were four-and-forty, and this was a prosperous place. We had a dozen milk cows and a bull, a hundred beehives, a vineyard and an apple arbor. But when the lions came through they took all our wine and milk and honey, slaughtered the cows, and put our vineyard to the torch.

A Storm of Swords - Arya XI

"Dead," he shouted back at her. "Do you think they'd slaughter his men and leave him alive?" He turned his head back toward the camp. "Look. Look, damn you."

The camp had become a battlefield. No, a butcher's den. The flames from the feasting tents reached halfway up the sky. Some of the barracks tents were burning too, and half a hundred silk pavilions. Everywhere swords were singing. And now the rains weep o'er his hall, with not a soul to hear. She saw two knights ride down a running man. A wooden barrel came crashing onto one of the burning tents and burst apart, and the flames leapt twice as high. A catapult, she knew. The castle was flinging oil or pitch or something.

"Come with me." Sandor Clegane reached down a hand. "We have to get away from here, and now." Stranger tossed his head impatiently, his nostrils flaring at the scent of blood. The song was done. There was only one solitary drum, its slow monotonous beats echoing across the river like the pounding of some monstrous heart. The black sky wept, the river grumbled, men cursed and died. Arya had mud in her teeth and her face was wet. Rain. It's only rain. That's all it is. "We're here," she shouted. Her voice sounded thin and scared, a little girl's voice. "Robb's just in the castle, and my mother. The gate's even open." There were no more Freys riding out. I came so far. "We have to go get my mother."

(heart: broken)

Look, there is a lot to say about fire and about rain in Arya's chapters, particularly in A Storm of Swords. I don't have the energy for it, so I'm just dumping quotes. Draw your own conclusions.

This collection is by no means exhaustive, and I'm sure there is someone more dedicated than I am, who has written something about this symbolism. (If anyone has it, send me a link).

All I'm saying is that GRRM isn't throwing all this devastation by fire and blood into Arya's chapters as positive foreshadowing for how she'll feel when a certain conqueror cross the Narrow Sea with her dragons.

#Arya Stark #dark!dany #my asks #dark dany #dark daenerys

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crystalirises · 3 years

Note

i am completely in love with your harry potter au, got any more crumbs? maybe some young georgebur falling in love? maybe some george x revivebur reunion?

(2/2) oh also I have this hc that not only did wilbur trust george with the hufflepuff cup horcrux just like bellatrix, but that he also made george's wedding ring into the ring horcrux (yk the one that poisoned dumbledors hand? except this one wouldn't be cursed obviously) so george would always have a piece of his husbands soul with him wherever he goes :,( <3 this is way to romantic in my head considering the fact that you have to murder someone and literally split your soul in half to create a horcrux🤦

hello! So this might not be exactly what you wanted cause I kinda like...

You know when you want to write but you're like... nah, I'm tired?

Yeah I'm currently going through that XD. My second year in college is starting next week so I've been busy with enlistment of classes and stuff. I did do something about this (along with other stuff cause I couldn't help myself and someone else asked before if I could make like a second prompt for what happens to Fundy after he got obliviated).

So yeah, this is like ten parts of drabbles that take place in this AU. Sorry if this isn't what you wanted. I'm very sorry.

Fair warning, some parts are dark cause... Georgebur are the villains and well they win and this is a Harry Potter AU, y'all know the villain, y'all know what his agenda is.

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31985884/chapters/82666897

I. First Meeting

“You’re all bark, Mr. Soot.”

He stopped, one foot already at the top of the stairs. Wilbur threw a careless glance back.

And, oh, he was glad he looked back. There were many students within Slytherin, and he only recalled the most interesting ones. George Lore had always been very intriguing. “How so?”

“You’re charming, but I’ve seen your… skills. You’re not very sharp.”

Wilbur laughed, moving back down the stairs to where George waited. He’ll show him sharp.

II. Expelled

“George Lore, the only man I will ever love, I believe this is where we part ways—”

“Wilbur, please keep your mouth shut and assist me with my luggage.” Of all the replies, Wilbur did not expect that. He glanced behind George where a bunch of suitcases waited eagerly to board the boat that would lead them back to the train station. Wilbur was stricken. When they’d expelled him for the murder of some… honestly, he wasn’t quite sure who he had murdered - some nobody mudblood, that was all… one, he had expected George to track him down just for the sake of lecturing him on his stupidity. Yet it seemed, that wasn’t the case. “Well, Wilbur? What do you say? Do we head home to your family’s manor or to mine? Either works for me.”

“Love, as much as I would love for you to stay at my home, what are you… huh?” George rolled his eyes, huffing before finally placing his bags on the boat, muttering on how useless Wilbur was and how he really was just charms and good looks. Not to be upstaged, Wilbur immediately took over, carrying George’s heavy bags onto the boat despite his confusion. He bit the bottom of his lip, watching as George stepped on board, sitting down as he waited for Wilbur to get his own bags into the boat. “Don’t tell me you’ve snuck out. Think of your grades, love, you care so—”

“I care more for you than some school who accepted those filthy mudbloods in the first place.”

Wilbur smiled, “And that’s why I love you. Whoever I killed, they had it coming.”

III. Isolation

George was growing tired of the same dingy walls.

He never thought he’d end up in Azkaban, but fate tends to surprise you.

They trapped him in there, thinking that the dementors would drive him to the brink of madness.

He’d be damned if they were to devour his happiness. His husband was dead, and so was their son. There was no happiness in his mind, and he could not bring himself to hope. Hope meant food for those damned abominations. He’d keep his thoughts and his emotions kept under lock and key. He won’t let them take what was left of what he remembers of Wilbur and their child.

He refuses to lose them again. Not again.

IV. Loss

He wasn’t an orphan, but now he felt like he was.

Fundy rushed out of the house, hands wet with sweat despite the cold and rainy weather of London. His bag dragged across the pavement, his shoes splashing against the murky puddles. He didn’t dare to turn back, he couldn’t. Dream and Sapnap would be devastated if they knew what he had done, but Fundy couldn’t stay and endanger his parents any longer. He loved them, they were the best parents a kid could ever ask for. But Sally and Jared Salmon would be better off thinking that they never had a son and that their lifelong dream was to move to the Netherlands. Fundy walked faster, scared that he’d turn back the longer he stayed near the house.

He could feel the tears gathering in his eyes, but Fundy knew he needed to be strong. Sapnap and Dream needed him to be strong. They’ve all lost too much. He won’t cry until the war is over.

Who knows? Maybe he’ll actually like living in the wizarding world.

He just wished it didn’t have to come with the cost of his parents forgetting he ever even existed.

V. Wedding Ring

George found it to be quite amusing, honestly.

You would think that the Order would know better. Incompetent fools, all of them.

He admired the ring on his finger, a small smile on his face. When they’d dragged him away to Azkaban, they had given him the mercy of leaving the wedding ring that Wilbur had proposed to him with. It was hilarious, if only they had known that they had been looking at a horcrux.

His husband’s horcrux. He shook his head, gazing over at the man who stood at the head of the war table. A map of Hogwarts laid on the surface, his husband’s focused gaze nearly covered by his curly, dark chocolate brown hair. He’d join in on the brainstorming once Wilbur had gained a bit of a plan. While George did adore his husband… he was more the charms than the brains.

For now, he keeps a part of his love’s soul close to his heart.

VI. Knitting Habits

He’s never held a knitting needle before in his life, but he can’t say that knitting wasn’t fun.

“I never thought I’d see the day. You’re getting old, love. Should I get you a rocking chair too?”

George threw a ball of yarn towards Wilbur, eliciting a laugh as it hit Wilbur directly on the face.

“Ever the humorist, Wil. It would be funny if it wasn’t coming from a man who literally came back from the dead and looks decayed.” He sighed, leaning against the wall of the alcove. Wilbur was still mulling over their plans, a crease in his forehead. “I’m making a scarf for our little son.”

Now here’s to hoping that Fundy would like it. George did do it with the colors of their family.

VII. Home

He trembled, the effects of the spell washing over him like a pile of snow.

George was whispering into his ear, but Fundy couldn’t hear him over the sound of his own breathing. Dream was dead, Sapnap got hit by a crucio spell, and George was taking him back to be tortured all over again. He continued to shiver, tears pouring past his cheeks no matter how hard he tried to keep himself from crying. The world around them melted back into existence, but all he could feel was his heart beating loudly in his chest and the arms wrapped around him.

“Shh, shhh, you’re alright, sweetheart.”

His captor pulled him along, keeping an arm wrapped around his shoulders, squeezing him every now and then each time he tried to put a bit of distance between them. He was led inside a room, and from the way it looked, Fundy could tell it wasn’t an ordinary guest room. It felt too lived-in, too personal. George led him to sit on the edge of the bed, gently petting his messy and dirty hair.

“It’s alright, Fundy. You’re home with dads now.”

VIII. Scarf

Fundy scowled, the scarf somehow tight against his neck despite it practically falling off.

He felt George adjust it back around him, fussing over him like he was a child and not some captive that they’ve been keeping locked inside their room. Fundy knew he wasn’t the tallest, his best friends already joke - well, they used to - about it, but George was just a foot taller and still he somehow felt even smaller. He huffed, moving away until his back was against the wall of the alcove. George didn’t make a move to follow him, simply sighing before turning back to Wilbur.

He buried his face against the scarf, trying to bring himself comfort.

If he tried hard enough, he could catch the faint scent of ash and black licorice. Sapnap had worn the scarf at some point during the battle since he thought it looked comfortable to wear. Fundy had given it to him since he didn’t know where it came from and it had been too big for him.

What he’d give to go back to that time, instead of clinging to the fading scent of his best friend.

IX. Very Dark Blue Eyes

There was a stranger in his room.

Fundy nervously fiddled with the end of his scarf. His wand was still on the nightstand where he had left it, and the stranger was blocking his way. He’d barely seen anyone for the past few months aside from his dads, but he could already tell who the stranger was. The stranger was his age and had long black hair falling past his shoulders. Fundy knew he was a Halo immediately.

“Holy shit… Fundy! Finally, I’ve been scouting the fucking grounds for hours! This place has terrible security, well except for the wards but they were easy to break.” The stranger rambled on and on, each word striking Fundy with more confusion. He wasn’t sure why he was acting like they knew each other. Fundy had no friends - aside from his Uncle Tommy but Uncle Tommy was awkward around him - so he wouldn’t know the stranger, especially since they were a Halo of all things. The stranger moved closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “I missed you!”

“Who are you?” He moved away from the stranger’s hold, avoiding the stricken look that the stranger was giving him. Fundy scowled. Of all the times to leave his wand where he couldn’t reach it. “I know you’re one of those… Halos at least. Now, how did you get inside my room?!”

“Fundy…” Very dark blue eyes gazed at him, hurt dancing in their stare. “It’s me, Sapnap…”

X. You’re a Wizard, Fundy

The letter came at some point during the night.

His mama had asked his papa if he’d enrolled Fundy in a faraway school by accident, but papa had said that he hadn’t. They were whispering about it during breakfast, throwing glances at him every so often as though they didn’t want him to hear. He pretended not to care, attention focused on his breakfast. Mama and papa weren’t arguing, but it almost felt like they were. He hoped that their conversation would be over soon, but it continued even after Fundy finished his breakfast. He left his plate on the table before walking out of the dining room and into the hall. Mama and papa didn’t seem to even notice that he had left. Now to find what was the problem.

He found the problem all too quickly, his scavenger hunt cut short by the fancy letter that had been left on top of a table in the hallway. Fundy held the letter in his hand, the paper coarser than most that he’d felt. He knew he shouldn’t be snooping, but his mama and papa never talked about something so incessantly, at least not something about him. He snuck back into his room, the letter clutched in his hand. Maybe he’d failed his entrance exam at the school his parents were enrolling him in? He pouted, but he’d studied so hard for it and it had been so easy for him!

Fundy didn’t know why his hands trembled as he tried to pull the letter open. Mama had folded it back to the way it had been, and he couldn’t really see the trace of ink at the back. A part of him wanted to hide it away, maybe then mama and papa would stop worrying about it. He didn’t know why, but a part of him felt like something was about to end the moment he opened the letter. He took a deep breath. He could handle long hours of studying, even though his mama and papa said it wasn’t healthy for him to stay up so late. He could handle what was inside the letter. With shaking hands, he opened it, scanning the life-changing words that were meant for him.

If he only knew what that letter meant at the time, then maybe he would have just burned it.

#georgenotfound dsmp #wilbur soot #georgebur #fundy #sapnap #dream smp fanfiction #dsmp #harry potter AU

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ceescedasticity · 2 years

Text

Twelve Missing Princesses IV

“Twelve daughters of the House of Finwë who might have slipped through the in-universe-historical-document cracks (plus one who DEFINITELY would not have)”

Part IV: Supplemental documents

Private letter from Lady Galadriel, handed to Finarfin High King of the Noldor in Aman, F.A. 588:

I write to you privately of Iestorwen Laethriel, who has been taken to Lórien for healing but who I hope will come to you in Tirion afterwards. I will not tell you the whole sorrowful story of her origins, for it is hers to tell. (Other than Laethriel, it was only ever known to Maedhros, Maglor, Fingon, Fingolfin, Finrod, and myself.) But there are things you and the rest of our living family should know.

She is Maedhros's daughter by blood and by choice. Most who know this believe she was begotten when he was in despair after the Nirnaeth, but this is not true; she is much older. She has not seen Maedhros since a yén before the Sudden Flame. He loved her, and she still loves him very much and mourns accordingly. She understands he has done evil things, and will not speak up against any condemnation of him, but to hear it cuts her deeply, and to hear that some acts are beyond forgiveness cuts her worse.

We do not know her mother's name or kin, and did not try to learn them. Speak to her of the matter ere you go down that road. For practical purposes her second parent was Fingon. He gave her the name Iestorwen, as Maedhros gave her Laethriel. She had no difficulty acknowledging other authorities or kinfolk, and indeed has faithfully followed me and Celeborn east of the Ered Luin for many years; but Maedhros and Fingon were her parents and she loved them best and misses them still.

I hope time in Lórien may help with this, but if she is badly startled or frightened she may flee or strike out. If she strikes out she can be dangerous. If she flees she can be difficult to locate. She will sometimes seek out the most perilous place nearby.

I have promised her our family in Aman will receive her with kindness, understanding, and love. I beg you, do not make a liar of me in this.

from "The Rulings of Lord Eönwë in Endórë", Valmar, S.A. 1

Having reaffirmed her refusal to submit to judgment, Artanis Arafinwiel then suddenly knelt.

"I stand by my words: but I beg you for mercy for one who is in my charge.

"She was born in the dungeons of Angband by a vile crime of the Enemy's, and enslaved to their purposes for long decades before we freed her. And we were new and inexpert at such endeavors, then, and though we sought only to help we do not know if we did her fëa any injury in our cutting away the chains upon it.

"Since then she has been noble and kind and true. But we have never been completely certain every trace of the Enemy's power is gone from her mind, and though it was not her will it was her hands that spilled the blood of kin, and both of these haunt her. And before it all was the unspeakable wrong done her mother and father, which she fears cannot but reflect on her.

"Her mother could not stand the sight of her, and named her Naegradis for pain, and regardless did not leave Angband alive; her father is lost to her; she is left only with more remote kin, and we try to help her but we fear it is not enough.

"I implore you to grant mercy and healing to this child, and let her go to the Blessed Realm to live without fear."

And Lord Eönwë was moved, and despite the lady's defiance assured her that this girl her charge would be brought with utmost kindness to the Gardens of Lórien for such healing as she needed, and afterwards would be free and welcome among the Amanyar.

Artanis bowed and thanked him respectfully, then left and did not look back.

[There may be another supplemental document to be written about how things played out in F.A. 80-81 when several princes of the Noldor got a very big surprise (and someone in Angband had a plan fail dramatically and probably got in a lot of trouble about it), but I've had a couple false starts and haven't written it yet, and I think this conveys the most important information...]

#twelve missing princesses #other fic #tolkien

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chubby-dragon13 · 4 years

Text

An Unexpected Visit

Welp It’s been a century since I’ve written anything on this blog. My current hyperfixation fandom now is League of legends though there is literally no WG stories for this fandom at all and the only ones ive seen are for the same females so ive just decided to write somthing for myself with my favorite ship, the two ninja masters Shen and Zed.

I WILL MAKE THIS AS OBVIOUS AS POSSIBLE. THIS IS A WEIGHT GAIN STORY SO IF YOU DONT LIKE IT JUST KEEP ON SCROLLING OK! PLEASE DONT LEAVE ANY HATE OK? THANKS.

He knew he was going to get caught. That was the plan after all. Did Shen wail on him a bit harder then he expected. Just a bit. It was honestly more surprising that he was alive if he really had to think about it. Like his father though Shen had that odd mercy that he never did understand and had him shipped to Tuula Prison where he was purged, rather painfully, of his shadow magic and left in a cell alone. Now he sits on his simple, slightly ratty bed and finishes his lunch for the day, just as he does everyday. He places the plate to the side and places his hand on his stomach. Looking down he flinches slightly at the new doughy softness that has made it’s self known slowly but surely in his time in this cell. Never being allowed to leave his cell much and eating more then he normally would has certainly taken its toll. The master of shadow never really ate much if at all most days and now to suddenly eat three meals a day and not move around much had added plushness he never thought he’d ever see on himself. He grimaces at the taught peasant tunic he’s wearing. It had been getting tighter recently. This would be the forth time he’d need a new shirt. A deep sigh escapes his lips as his hand moves over his distended stomach down to his thickened thighs. It was the oddest sensation to be so…big. Along with this size also came the weight. His movements were slow and and clunky compared to how they used to be because of it. Even walking has changed. From the smooth quick strides to an odd slow sway as his thighs push each other to move forward. Seeing what he’s become from what he was will never cease being embarrassing. Not that he can do much about it anymore. He lays back on the bed and winces as the bed frame creaks. Nothing to do now but lament what once was.

Shen isn’t entirely sure what he’s doing as he walks into the prison. For months now his mind has been filled with the thought of his childhood best friend since he was caught. Of course he pushed duty first above all else. He was caught and now paying for his crime. There should be nothing more to this story. It’s done and over with. At least it should be. His heart and mind seem to be telling him otherwise and was now dragging the Eye of Twilight to Tuula prison to see him. Perhaps if he sees him one more time he’ll finally get over this attachment. The guards are quick to let him in and don’t ask questions when he asks to be left alone with Usan. He’s informed where his cell is and makes a bee line there. As he gets closer though he slows and begins to second guess himself a bit. Why is he doing this again? What was the point? Usan was gone only Zed remained. Yet why did he keep thinking there was a bit of him that he loved still left in this albino man? No. He had to do this. Closer was the only way to truly move on. He’s walking pace renewed he quickly made it to what was supposed to be Zed’s cell but as he peers in he doesn’t see the slender pale figure he was expecting to see. In its place was still a pale form but it was much, much larger then he remembered. Quietly he takes a couple unsure steps forward towards the large man and experimentally calls out to them.

“Usan? Zed? Is that you?” The figure suddenly goes completely still like it was flash frozen and now a statue. Burgundy eyes look back at him with a wide surprised expression. He knew those eyes. This was most definitely Zed. Shen enters his cell and watches as Zed rolls his newly rotund body upright with a couple soft grunts. The albino puffs a bit and takes in a breath as he sits on the bed.

“Shen. What brings you here? I’m sure you’ve heard I am incapable of causing trouble without my powers.” The ginger looks down at the pudgy man with a raised eyebrow. Despite his shock of seeing Zed like this he keeps his voice in his usual calm monotone.

“I am certain the lack of power is a smaller reason for you not causing trouble.” The former Master of Shadows glares up at him. Ah, so there is still some fire in him. That’s oddly nice to see.

“Glad to see your eyes are still functioning.” Zed snaps back at him. Shen sighs.

“I did not come here to fight with you.” The huff that comes from the seated male tells him that he does not believe him.

“Then do tell. Why are you here?” A simple enough question to ask. Not so simple to answer. He supposes being truthful and blunt should be the way to go. Like pulling out a thorn.

“I came here to see you.” The expression of disbelief on Zed’s face tells him he’s still untrusting. Zed knows Shen does not lie but he couldn’t be here for such a simple reason.

“You came here. To see me? Why?” Shen breaks eye contact and lets his blue tinted eyes roam down towards Zed’s new acquisition. The bulging mass sitting heavily in his lap, taking up so much space on those larger thighs that are spread wide on the bed. He is completely transfixed on this new plump form. Every curve and bulge unique and begging him to reach out and explore the tattooed pale mass underneath that strained tunic that seems to be struggling to hold back the, what he assumes to be, slowly growing belly underneath. He clearly was going to need a new shirt soon and possibly new pants as well to hold all of him in. The normally stone face of Zed has gained a hint of red as the Eyes of Kinkou Master roam his body. He clears his throat to try to regain Shen’s attention and those glowing blue eyes look back up at his cherubic face.

“Well? Now that you’ve looked me over enough answer the question. Why are you here?” Shen coughs into his hand and is obviously trying to shove his awkwardness down.

“I told you, I came here to see you. I am not sure why either. You have…been on my mind a lot recently and I thought perhaps if I saw you again I could move on.” The truth has been revealed and a slightly uncomfortable silence fills the air.

“I see. Well, you’ve seen me. Can you move on now?” The slight sadness in Zed’s voice as he says that is not lost on Shen.

“No.” He says bluntly. It was true as well. Seeing Zed, and his new form, again has only increased his heart and mind’s desire to be close to the one he loved, loves, once more. A deep inhale and a couple large strides is the only warning Zed gets as Shen closes the space between them and crouches down to embrace him fully. The albino man goes completely still in shock. Oh. He was not expecting this at all. The embrace was so warm and strong. Large hands squeezing his soft, yielding flesh.Defined jaw and cheekbones pushed against pudgy, round cheeks. Muscular torso against plush belly and breasts. Contrasts so stark but so oddly pleasant against each other. It takes Zed a few moments to fully sink into the hug and return it with his own plush arms. They stay like this for a good while before one of the large hands moves to the front and gives the large fatty mass a gentle squeeze. This brings a sudden small gasp from the shorter man.

“So forward are we?” The assailant lets out a soft, short laugh, hand working the swollen fat slightly.

“I would be lying if I said I was not a bit curious to feel what your body felt like now.” A small strange shiver runs down Zed’s spine. Curious was he? Maybe he should indulge in Shen’s curiosity. He pushes Shen back a bit and lifts the tunic up and off him, letting the restrained tattooed fat flood forward.

“Oh.” Is all the Eye of Twilight can muster as his vision is filled with jiggling paleness. His mouth going a bit dry at the sight of so much ample fat. He can’t remember ever being attracted to larger men but there is just something about the way Zed wears all of this that just seems so nice. A pudgy hand rubs softly at the bulging stomach ever so tauntingly.

“Well, you want a feel?” Yes. Yes he does. Shen wastes no time in letting his hands sink deeply into the blubbery mound on Zed’s lap. It was so warm and lush so perfect for holding. He squeezes his way down to the marked underbelly and lifts the full mass slightly and lets it fall into place. Blue eyes locked in and completely mesmerized by the wobbling it does. A chuckle breaks his concentration.

“I did not take you for someone so interested in this?” Zed gestures to his bloated frame. Shen smiles slightly.

“Neither did I. I suppose I just can not resist you no matter what you look like.” Red flashes across ivory skin.

“Ah. Ever the one for flattery hm?” A surprising tender kiss lands and presses against his belly. The smile widening a bit more.

“No. I just speak truth. You have always been lovely and I still mean it.” A gentle push that is so reminiscent from when they were young lands on Shen’s face. It seems he has managed to fluster the once cold shadow master. He watches in amusement as the albino squirms slightly and is red faced from embarrassment. Cute. His hand goes up to cup his soft cheek and rubs it tenderly. Getting up he continues to stroke Zed’s cheek. Light blue and burgundy eyes meet before closing. Lips meet with passion that had been pent up for so long. Hands eagerly taking as much of each other as they can until the stronger of the two pushes them down onto the bed. The hefty round frame is quickly straddled. Big plump belly pressed against hardened abs. The kiss breaks when they run out of breath and Shen is looking down at the panting face underneath and can’t help but dip down to kiss the thick layer of fat that has given Zed a second chin. A small laugh comes out of the pale man.

“Having fun?” A hand lands on the center of the tattooed girth and wobbles it a little playfully.

“Yes. How could I not?” Shen lays himself down next to Zed on the bed and holds him close. The hand has not left the shadow masters portly stomach and starts rubbing circles into it. A quiet groan escapes the bloated man. That feels so wonderful. A chuckle comes out of the ginger and he leans in to kiss the others cheek.

“Is that nice?” The white haired man nods and presses himself more into him. So desperate for the touch of one another. So much time has past. So much time wasted. Now they will waste no more time. No more what if’s or wondering what could have been. Living in the past no longer when the future holds something worth thinking about. The blue clad ninja squeezes him tightly, fingers caressing down the side and takes a large handful of a ripe love handle. The tattooed man in his arms holds on to one of his powerful biceps and rests his head underneath his chin. A position they have not had in many years. Calm, comfortable silence befalls them until a faint rumble disturbs the quiet. A dark eyebrow raises up and blue eyes cast down at the tint of red against alabaster cheeks.

“Hungry?” The sound returns to answer for the question. The albino in his arms grumbles as he tries to hide his face from the spirit eyes.

“I’ll take that as a yes then. I suppose I’ll have to remember to bring something for you to eat next time I visit.” A half hearted smack to his arm causes him to laugh faintly.

“As if I need more food.” Zed complains. His belly betraying his declaration with an audible rumble. A kiss makes its way onto his head.

“Well it isn’t like you are going anywhere and whats the harm of having something a little special when I visit?” Dark red eyes look up at him slightly narrowed in suspicion.

“If I didn’t know better I would be assuming you like me like this?” He emphasizes “this” by grabbing a hand full of his plush middle. A war worn callous hand grabs the pale pudgy one and runs a thumb across it.

“Usan, I will like you no matter your form. I will admit your new softness is pleasant but it’s you I adore more then anything.” The ever obvious blush that casts upon Zed’s face brings Shen a deep joy. Those dark ruby eyes cast down a bit as their owner musters up his voice.

“You are just flattering me.” The voice says softly. A finger and thumb come up to take the fat under Zed’s chin and lift his head up to meet loving blue eyes.

“We both know that I am not lying to you. I love you as much as you love me my Heartlight. No amount of weight will change that.” The kiss that comes after is filled with love that makes the once cold shadow master’s heart flutter like when he was young. Parting leaves them wanting a bit more and dip back in for a quick peck before they gain tender smiles on their faces.

“I know you do not lie. That has always been something I have done but not you. You’ve always been so blunt and to the point.” This brings a chortle out of Shen.

“I have no reason to lie and don’t always care for small talk when there is a matter at hand. Like what I should bring you. “ He says a bit cheekily. The large hand returns to its new favorite place upon the large engorged stomach and gives it a playful pinch. An equally playful swat comes down on the cheeky hand. The rarest of broad smiles appears upon the normally stoic face of the Eye of Twilight.

“Ass.” Is the only response he gets from the slightly pouty albino. The ginger decides in that moment would be a good moment to play dumb and reaches further back to pinch at the large behind of the Master of Shadows which prompts a quicker, slightly harder swat. Shen pretends to be confused and looks at him innocently.

“What? You said ass? I assumed that is where you wanted me to touch you?” Those deep red eyes narrow and a plump hand comes forth to squeeze at one of the blue coated large pecs. This in turn makes the cheeky ninja take in a sharp breath. A smirk is plastered on Zed’s face as it was now Shen’s turn to be dusted with red across his face.

“Hm? Is something wrong?” Oh so two can play at the pretending to be dumb game. Light blue eyes take their turn to narrow and the hand holding the wide doughy behind squeeze firmly making Zed gasp slightly. A tan face is quick to use the small distraction and worm its way to the side of Zed’s neck and bury itself. An assault of light kisses there follows and he can feel the blubbery body under him trembling and wobbling from the need to laugh and squirm. Stubborn, still is the shadow master and trying so desperately to maintain his composer in a losing battle. It’s not long before he’s laughing sparaticly and trying to wiggle out of the very strong grasp. Damn Shen and his ridiculous strength! The onslaught continues and the albino is helpless until Shen feels some mercy to let Zed breath. A pleased smile clear on his face.

“I hate you.” Is the response he gives to the man next to him. There is no malice in his voice at all as he says this and the spirit seer knows this.

“I love you too Zed.” That statement is punctuated with a kiss and a huff from the white haired man. He was grumpy it seems.

“My poor Heartlight. Did that upset you? Would you feel a little better if I bring you those dumplings I know you like the next time I visit?” The sudden stillness from Zed tells Shen all he needs to know. He still remembers fondly the times they would go and get them together and even the times Zed had snuck off to get some by himself. They were delicious and he could not blame his love for liking them so much.

“I’ll take that as a yes and perhaps I should bring you some larger clothing as well? Im sure these garbs won’t last much longer and I would hate for you to be so uncomfortable. Maybe even a couple sizes bigger so you have a little room to grow into.” A much deeper red spreads across those chubby white cheeks. Shen tugs curiously on the hem of Zed’s pants. There was not much give there and the stitching down towards those thick thighs were becoming quite strained. The larger body clearly needed room to breath, and grow. The blushing man was oddly quiet which in Shen’s experience means that he is right in his assumption.

“You think I will get bigger?” An uncertain voice says. Blue eyes soften at the question. He muscular man sighs and caresses a warm cheek.

“I do not know but I will love you none the less. I am serious though. I would like to make sure you are comfortable.” The slightly concerned expression turns into questioning.

“I am in prison. I am not supposed to be comfortable” Ah, there he goes starting to push away his love slightly again. Shen will not let him do that again this time non again. A warm soft hand is placed upon his firm jaw draws his attention.

“I know that face. It seems you are determined to make me as comfortable as possible and I can not do much about it can I?” A low chuckle comes out from the blue ninja.

“No, you can’t do anything about it. I will love you and let it be known to you in any way I can.” He says confidently. A pleasant smile grows on Zeds’s face.

“I should have expected nothing less. I love you too My Heartlight.” The albino ends that sentence with a full hug, unifying them once more. They sigh in blissful comfort and time seem to stand still. The world feels so distant from this moment and neither of them wish to return to reality. Unfortunately time does pass and eventually Shen’s visit must come to an end. When the Eye of Twilight shifts to get up Zed knows his blissful time with him is tragically over. Fully sitting up he watches his love stand and stretch before offering him a hand to get up himself.

“Guide me to the door?” A dry short laugh leaves Zed. The door was only a couple steps behind Shen but it would be rude not to see him out. He takes the offered hand and heaves himself up to his feet. All that fat he is carrying drops down and bounces a bit. Standing up he follows the same route that Shen did and stretches a bit leaving his belly open for a couple hands to cup the bulging fat. His own hands meet the strong firm ones as he smiles up at the owner.

“I will miss you.” The master of shadows says honestly. He does not know how long his beloved will be gone but even now before he has even left his heart already aches for him to return. One of the hands moves up to stroke his cheek. A strong, hard abdomen pushes into his lush belly. Those eyes still full of affection he long since thought he would never see again. The lips he longs to kiss over and over part to speak.

“And I will miss you as well. So much. I will try to visit you as much as I can. Perhaps one day when you will be released we can try to have a normal life. As normal as we could have it.” A hopeful dream. Zed would normally crush those dreams as soon as they arise but this time there just seemed to be so much mirth and hope in this one that he just did not have the heart to break it. He would love to try and start life over with Shen once more. Fat or not he would have his love and that is all that mattered now to him. The order would survive with Kayn, it was not like he could do much in this state anyway. Why not try to be happy for once in his life?

“I would adore that, My Heartlight.” The taller man smiles warmly before leaning down to ensnare his plump love in a deep final kiss. Their arms wrapping tightly around one another as if they would never see each other again. Who knew how long it would be before they would see each other again. The kiss breaks with slight panting and immeasurable amounts of fondness. They are stalling for the inevitable departure, they know it, but it is hard to say goodbye after just fully reconnecting.

“Please…be safe.” Is the one request that comes from the shorter man. A hand squeezes his plump upper arm reassuringly.

“I will. For you. In turn I expect you to behave. If you seem like you’ve change it could make it easer to have you released from here.” A hand gestures to the surrounding cell. A short chortle leaves the prisoner.

“By the time I’m allowed to leave I am sure I will be as wide as the doorway.” Zed says sarcastically. Shen glances behind him to look at the aforementioned doorway. It was quite wide. At least double the width Zed was now. A small flash of thought fills the gingers mind for a moment. The thought of Zed being that large made his insides unusually warm. He keeps his stoic face and doesn’t show a hint of what he was currently thinking about.

“As I said and will continue to say. That will not bother me in the slightest. As long as it is you, you may look however you wish. I will always love you.” The heartfelt sentiment is reciprocated with a quick kiss to the jaw from the shadow master.

“I know. I suppose this is where you leave?” Those burgundy eyes glint with a touch of sorrow. Shen breathes heavily with equal amounts of gloom.

“Unfortunately. I will send letters to you between my visits. If we cannot see each other frequently then we can at least write.” The forlorn feeling in the room lessens slightly at that proclamation.

“I would like that. Very much. Goodbye My Heartlight.” Zed says softly.

“Goodbye, My Love.” Their departure is marked with the actual final embrace and deep passionate kiss. How they wish they did not wish to part but alas it can not be for now. They had waited years for each other with their dispute what is a few more with pleasant visits and and ever growing love.

#my fanfiction #long story #weight gain #male weight gain #weight gain story #League stuff #I dont have the nerve to put the actual league tag lol #weight gain kink

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kat-hawke · 4 years

Text

Cessation

(Following [To Hunt a Shadow]) (Run in conjuction with [The Voice in the Dark])

"You're not alone." Alyssa chimed in as Kat and Erzis stared one another down.

"I know," Kat responds tentatively, "I'm never alone. Always been a blessing and a curse."

"Maybe we'll get to the place where it's more the first and less the latter," Alyssa said.

"Been this way since I was twelve, so I doubt it..." Kat's mental conversation trails off as she strafes the lesser void lord, drawing the Gilnean dagger and turning the blade over in her fingers.

"Renegotiate," she addressed the entity directly now. "I believe ya' will find this soul t' yer likin'. Powerful, already subdued, and bound to live within this blade."

An eerie bout of laughter erupted as the creature of Void closed the distance. "So callously, you would discard a loved one for your own gains?" Erzis taunted as a shadowy claw ran over the engravings of the blade.

"Love is weakness," Kat spoke in a monotone, "but a damn fine method o' manipulation."

As Erzis inspected the offering, Alyssa spoke again, seemingly unaware she had become a bargaining chip. "What can I do to help?"

"Don't die," Kat answered slowly, taking caution not to alert Erzis of their communication.

"You first," Alyssa replied.

"No promises."

"Same...but I'll do my best." Alyssa paused for a second. "I've decided I'm not really ready to be dead."

The latter statement sends a quick ping of concern through Kat's mind; her rampant paranoia threatened to derail the carefully laid plans. Perhaps this could be the ideal resolution; to hand Alyssa over to the Void lord as payment and no longer worry about a betrayal in the future. To close a debt and eliminate a threat in one action, the temptation was overwhelming.

Kat dismissed the notion and shelved the subject for another time as her attention returned to Erzis, who appraised Alyssa's worth.

"This one stinks of fel, and she tries to siphon from my touch," the Void lord sounds amused. "It is more fun when they struggle."

"She is a defian' one," Kat scoffs, focusing on reality more than Alyssa's voice in her head. "That's how she ended up in there in th' first place."

A low tone of consideration echoed off the cavern walls as Erzis circled Kat, leaving a wafting trail of shadows behind in its movement. "This one may be payment enough, with one stipulation."

"No," Kat immediately protested, cutting the creature off, spinning on her heel to face the empty visage. "We're done. Take her and do as ya' will," the dagger was offered outward, "but our business is concluded."

"Who are you to make demands?" Erzis challenged, sticking it's empty eyes inches from Kat's. "You've cheated death multiple times because of me, all while failing to uphold your end of the bargain. Now you bring me a single soul and seek to change the terms of our agreement? And not even that of the priest whom it was meant to be?"

Kat bristled, snarling at how close Erzis got to her face. "With this soul, ya'll have yer freedom and enough power to hunt after Saelkath on yer own. Our. Business. Is. Concluded."

A long silence followed as they stared each other down, their temperments nearly palpable in the static air of the cavern as the echoing breeze bounced off the stone walls.

"Very well," Erzis answered in a chilling tone as it reached for the dagger, accepting the new agreement with a gut-wrenching smile. "A pleasure doing business with you."

The moment the shadowy hand made contact with the dagger, Kat spun it back around, aiming to plunge the blade into the Void lord's center mass. The creature was quicker to Kat's misfortune, slipping out of reach with an angered screech that rattled the cavern stones.

"You okay?" Alyssa promptly reaches out.

"Yeah," Kat answered shortly as she stepped back from the angered entity.

"Ezris spoke to me," Alyssa continues, "it wanted me to believe you were trading me away in payment."

Though concerned at that implication, Kat does not respond, despite the paranoid thoughts clawing at the edges of her sanity, focusing instead on Erzis, who dropped the mirrored facade, taking on its proper form, which expanded throughout the cavern. The slender arms and formless body tripling in size as the area grew darker by the second.

"I'll drag you both into the abyss!" Erzis exclaimed in anger as reality shattered.

The cavern's stones shattered like glass, peeling away as space transformed into an endless, twisting void. An illusion but a reality in the same instance, one which still felt disorienting as Kat found her footing left with only a sliver of ground. The once walls and ceiling now hovering through the dimly illuminated space in chucks.

Shifting the dagger to her left hand, Kat drew the shortsword from her waist. With an upward swing, she cleaved a chunk of stone in two, thwarting the would-be projectile Erzis had launched. The deflection left her little time to leap into the empty space, narrowly dodging the horizontal sweep of the Void lord's claws.

Bouncing from stone to stone Kat kept herself on the defensive, failing to create an opening to move closer to Erzis, who attacked without mercy. Hurling the broken shards of reality, lashing out with the natural void, and swinging the narrow, shapeless arms at each foothold Kat could find. Her energy expensed carefully over the hour in which the fight dragged on, siphoning tentatively from the azerite crystal around her neck to supplement recovery.

Running out of patience, Kat formulated a final hail-mary. Hanging in what felt an upside-down position, she kicked away from one of the final remaining pieces of reality, launching herself towards Erzis in a feverous assault. The Void lord retaliated, gathering up the last few stone pieces and throwing them into Kat's path. With a zealous shout, her sword and daggers swung, one after another in various angles to cut away each oncoming chunk of earth.

Tucking arms tight across her chest, she dove into a slide, drawing what energy remained from the azerite necklace to propel herself between the body and arm of the Void entity. With the dagger meticulously positioned upward, the tip of the blade dragged across Erzis' body, slicing open a small wound with spilled coalesced void like blood. Hoping the brief moment of contact was enough for Alyssa to draw some of its essences and weaken the void lord to some degree.

Turning over to observe the damage, the sword and dagger were returned to their sheaths, watching as Erzis patched the gushing wound and set its lifeless sights on Kat. The two charged at each other with unprecedented conviction, waiting until they were only a yard apart before shouting out to Alyssa, "Now!"

Without delay, the dagger on her thigh lit up with a swell of energy. Kat's left hand reach forward as shadow-forged chains sprung from her flesh, ensnaring Erzis as they passed one another. In a pained roar, she yanked downward, dragging the Void lord back into reality as the cavern appeared around them in the blink of an eye.

The chains had been wrapped around the damaged effigy, which now sparked to life with defiant shadows. Suspended in the air at the center of the cavern, the excess energy swirled around Kat's body in faint wisps, faulting as Erzis pushed back at the confinement. In another shout of anger and pain, she reached with the right hand towards the undisturbed effigy on the opposite side, light-forge chains coiling from her fingers as she tapped into the bound entity's power.

Straining, she pulled her arms inward, the flesh and soul of her being threatening to shatter and tear apart into thousands of pieces as skin broke like a china doll and energies seeped from the crevices. Syllables were muttered through gritted teeth as she spoke the ancient words of power in tongues, expelling the remaining fuel to her fingertips. The cavern lit up in the explosion, and Kat collapsed onto the ground, panting as she stared at the charred fingertips which supported her on the stone.

Leaning back, her haunches rested on the heels of the boots, gaze casting upward to the void-bound effigy. The stone visage of the crudely carved statue repaired and patched with dark fillings, Erzis once again bound to captivity and servitude. Slowly her eyes swept down the statute to its base, the rune alive with energy. An identical rune had been carved into the flesh of her left wrist years ago in the origin ritual.

With heavy breaths, Kat looked to her hands. Conjuring and orb of shadow and light in either palm before snuffing them out in a fist. Emotionlessly she laughed, hands slipping over her hips as she held herself. Back to the beginning to start anew, whole again with the stolen powers.

[ @alyssa-ward ] [ Mentioned: @saelkath-alzarah ]

( [Chapter I] [Chapter II] [Chapter III] [Chapter IV] ) ( [pt.I] [pt.II] [pt.III] [pt.IV] [pt.V] [pt.VI] [pt.VII] [pt.VIII] [pt.IX] )

#ic #plotlines #redemption #pt.X

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nitewrighter · 4 years

Text

Ripping Off Bandaids

I started writing this back when I got that ask about heart-to-hearts between Mercy and Hanzo. Here’s some venty, angry angsty Mercy and Hanzo who’s honestly kind of relieved to hear his horrible internal monologue coming from outside his head for once.

----

McCree shivered and pulled the infirmary sheets up around himself in a half-asleep haze. “Fish tacos...” he said deliriously, a clammy, feverish sweat on his forehead, “I can’t believe I was betrayed by fish tacos...”

Mercy was nonchalantly looking over his vitals on her tablet, the lower half of her face covered by a surgical mask, “Well, with all the traveling Overwatch does, I figured something like this would happen sooner or later,” she glanced up from her tablet at his IV’s, “But you seem to have... uh... purged the worst of it from your system. At this point it’s mostly a matter of resting and staying hydrated.”

“Mmh,” McCree curled up a little bit more.

“How would you say it? ‘Rest easy, buckaroo,’” said Mercy, with a weary smile, as she closed the blinds of the infirmary.

“Merce, if I hear the word ‘buckaroo’ outta you I may just start spewing chunks all over again,” said McCree, his voice half-muffled into a pillow.

Mercy snorted slightly, glad McCree had the strength to call her out on it, “I’m just a button press away,” she said, stepping out the door. It closed behind her with a whoosh and she rolled her shoulders slightly, looking forward to getting out of her sterilized gear--when she nearly bumped into Hanzo. Hanzo was carrying several bottles of sports drinks and cans of ginger ale and nearly dropped one.

“...Doctor Ziegler,” Hanzo said, awkwardly readjusting the bottles and cans in his arms.

“...the intent is appreciated, Hanzo,” said Mercy, “But he already has a saline IV. He should be fine.”

“Yes--well... I thought.. the option might be appreciated,” said Hanzo.

“It’s probably best you keep your distance in case there’s still risk of contamination,” said Mercy, stepping around him.

“…would it be too risky to leave a bottle or two on his table?” asked Hanzo.

“Well… probably not, but he needs his rest,” said Mercy.

Hanzo gave a single nod and stepped into McCree’s room. Mercy was pulling her mask and gloves off and washing her hands and wiping down her tablet at a disinfecting station when he emerged again. He waited patiently to use the sink after her.

“He, um…he looks well,” said Hanzo, washing his hands as Mercy looked back at her tablet, “Well… better. He looks better.”

“He’s over the worst of it. I’m sure he’ll appreciate your concern,” said Mercy, not looking up from her tablet.

A long silence passed between them. Hanzo dried his hands.

“...was there anything else I could help you with?” said Mercy, glancing up from her tablet.

“I thought... perhaps... we should talk,” said Hanzo.

A pall seemed to pass over Mercy’s face as she lowered her tablet to her side. She took a steadying inhale. Hanzo wondered if she had picked up the habit from Genji from the meditations their father put them through when they were small. “What did you want to talk about?” she said, looking at him.

“I know you hate me—“ Hanzo started.

Mercy’s mouth twisted down at the corners.

“Okay--I... probably could have started better than that,” Hanzo admitted..

“I don’t hate you, Hanzo, I don’t have the energy to hate you,” said Mercy, flatly.

Is that worse? thought Hanzo, That feels worse.

“I’ll look after your physical wellbeing,” Mercy went on, “Both here on the watchpoint and during missions, as part of my commitment to medicine and the health of this watchpoint as a whole. That’s the only relationship we need to have.”

“I... understand your feelings,” said Hanzo. Mercy gave him a calm ‘you can drop it right now and get out while you still can’ look, but Hanzo continued, “But... I believe, at least for Genji’s sake, we should at least try to have more, um... rapport.”

“For Genji’s sake,” Mercy repeated flatly, “Did you come here for Genji’s sake or for your own?”

“I--” Hanzo’s voice faltered.

“Because according to your exchange with Jack, you came here because you had nowhere else to go, because Genji was all you had left,” Mercy’s words were clear and sharp and tight, something she had bundled up tightly inside for a decent amount of time, “And who am I to deny you that? Who am I to deny you your family? Who am I to deny Genji his family that he has wanted so badly for years, even though there are still nights where he wakes up, hyperventilating in a cold sweat from what you did to him? He loves you. He still loves you. McCree even loves--” she caught herself, closed her eyes and tightened her lips, tensing her shoulders before taking another calming inhale through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. Her eyes opened, a half-squint half-glare at him, expecting him to cut in, but he said nothing, looking at her placidly. “This was a bad idea. I appreciate the intention, but this isn’t helping. You should--”

“You’ve sent me off before,” said Hanzo, folding his arms, “I’d... rather you complete the thought than let it fester.”

“Fester? Fester?!” Mercy repeated incredulously, “You want to talk about festering?! Against all my better thinking, I let this place, these people, become a family to me, because my family was torn away from me by forces well beyond my fucking 5-year-old self could control! And then I felt this place, and this family crumble through my fingers. And I was soft. I was kind. I was patient. Even when they let me down. Even when they betrayed my few conditions I brought with me when I started working here. I kept hoping that maybe these people I trusted, these people who brought me in and gave me purpose would do the right thing--but no. I had to watch them all fucking implode!” A shuddering breath escaped her. “So then I spend five fucking years trying to heal by helping everyone I could. And how did you try to heal after dragon-blasting the closest family you had left? 10 years wandering, drowning your problems in blood and sake,” she squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her fingertips to her temples for a few seconds before her eyes flicked open at him, “So I could be soft now. I could be kind. I could be patient. I could say ‘Oh Genji, I’m so glad you’re bringing back your brother who murdered and traumatized you into this fragile life we’ve built together.’ But I’ve felt this family crumble before, and I won’t let it crumble again. Can you understand those feelings, Hanzo? Can you respect those feelings?” She was breathless now, fingers shaking slightly in front of her.

Hanzo looked at her with that same level gaze Genji would give her sometimes. Not pity, but trying to puzzle out how to pull her from her pain. “...I can,” he said after a long time, “I do.”

Mercy made a wincing face and Hanzo brought his hands up in a calming motion.

“During one of my first nights on the Watchpoint,” he went on, “McCree asked me if... everyone here other than Genji was just background noise to me. He... said something similar to what you said--that I was just here so I could, quote, ‘stop kicking my own ass over Genji.’ That the people Genji cared about, the people who cared about Genji, didn’t matter to me.”

Mercy let out a scoffing chuckle, glancing off, “That sounds like McCree.”

“When I responded ‘I don’t know’ he said, ‘Figure it out before you hurt him again.’ That... that is what I’m trying to figure out now,” Hanzo glanced down, “Admittedly I was operating under the assumption that Genji has spent this past decade as isolated as me. If not dead, then surely alone.” He sighed, “And from my own solitude came the assumption that Genji’s pain was Genji’s own... that there weren’t other people it was affecting. That there weren’t people who loved him. That there weren’t people like you.”

Mercy’s expression softened slightly, but she folded her arms across herself to try and get the shake in her fingers under control.

“...You don’t have to like me,” said Hanzo, at last, “As you said--being a doctor to this Watchpoint is the only relationship we absolutely need to have. But I want you to know that you have my deepest respect and thanks for saving my brother from my own rage and pride. And while I know there’s nothing I can do that can ever repay you for that act, if there’s any way I could help you in the future... I am at your service.”

Mercy’s eyes widened. “Did... did McCree--”

“McCree did not ‘put me up to this,’” said Hanzo, with a slight wry smile, “But... he holds you in very high regard. So that did help push me towards the decision to discuss this with you. I know he means a lot to you as well.”

“...You mean a lot to him,” said Mercy, glancing towards McCree’s door.

“He believes in redemption,” said Hanzo, following her line of sight.

“...I don’t think any of us would be here if we didn’t believe in redemption,” she bit the inside of her lip, “What I said to you earlier--the ‘blood and sake’ and--and you threatening this family--”

“I understand completely,” said Hanzo.

“It was horrible of me,” Mercy tried to go on.

“Those words came from your need to protect Genji. I can assure you, I’ve done a lot worse,” said Hanzo.

Mercy huffed a little. “Terribly competitive, you Shimadas.”

“Oh I’m even worse than Genji,” said Hanzo with a slight smirk, folding his arms.

“You’re even competitive about who’s worse about being competitive!” said Mercy with a scoffing chuckle.

Hanzo chuckled a bit too. “Yes... I suppose so.”

A long, somewhat awkward pause passed between them.

“I--I should probably let you...” Hanzo trailed off, stepping backwards.

“Yes, I should be closing up here,” said Mercy, picking her tablet back up.

“Right,” said Hanzo, turning around, “Have a good evening, Doctor Ziegler.”

“You as well,” said Mercy.

Hanzo made it down the infirmary hall a ways before Mercy’s voice piped up. “Oh--and Hanzo?”

He stopped and turned to look at her.

“I’ll let you know when McCree’s ready to see you,” she said, tucking her tablet against herself.

Hanzo gave a quiet “Hm,” and a small nod before walking off again.

#overwatch #hanzo shimada #angela ziegler #gency #mchanzo

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itsthecupbros · 3 years

Text

Just a scene

I wrote this with @shattered-ecilpse-varian last night for out hogwarts au and I thought Id format it here-

Mugman looked into the mirror of the 4th floor boys bathroom and saw and felt his face flush blue. It was near midnight, no no one should walk in on him, but he was still anxious. Bracing his hands on either side of the sink and taking a deep breath, he looked himself over. Maraca, a hint of dark blue eyeshadow, light pink lip gloss. He knew that if his father, heck, anyone in his old neighborhood saw him like this, they would never wash the blood out of the road. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the cold surface of the mirror. After reassuring himself, he released the sink and took a step back, looking at himself in the clear glass surface. The long blue dress gently brushed the tops of his bare feet as he turned slightly on the spot. It had two straps, leading his white shoulders and upper back exposed. He thought he looked amazing, but then all of the the memories and facts came crashing down onto him. What people would think, what they would say. Guys can't wear dresses, guys can't appear like this. His face flushed dark again and he looked at the cold floor, trying to push away the shame already rising in his face.

Indigo was wandering around stress forcing him to walk was exhausted he couldn't sleep so he sweared he heard loud angry footsteps coming his way he quickly entered the boys bathroom panic-stricken he didn't want to get in trouble all over again. He saw his crush dress up in a beautiful dress he just froze staring not knowing what exactly to say

It was a few moments before Mugman noticed him. He turned and let out a Yelp, taking a step back as his face flushed darker in embarrassment. "I-Indigo! Wh-what are you doing here?" He looked downward, his face hot. He braced himself for indigo to laugh at him, or cry out in disgust, or ridicule him in some other manner.

"Tt. Um.. you... i..." Indigo flushed red looking down dying inside "I'm sorry I...I didn't m-m-mean to i-intrude I'm sorry"

"N-No! Please! I-I was just startled..." The toon let out a nervous laugh, avoiding his eyes and rubbing at the elbow joint of his prosthetic, suddenly self conscious that it was so exposed.

"Um... what what are you why are you up this late?: Indigo mumbled softly squeezing his already scratched off and red arm trying to stay awake trying to not let anything bad happen

"I-I just wanted to... to t-try some things on without the boys from my dorm looking on..."

"Oo...um understandable..." Indigo smiled a little scratching a little. "Um....you...you looked look nice..."

Mugman flushed darker. "R-really? I..I wasn't sure... you.. you don't think I look like... l-like a freak? ..o-or something...?" He wrapped his arms around himself, still avoiding his eyes.

Indigo shook his head "N-no! I no? You don't!"

Mugman seemed stunned for a few seconds before he gave a chiming laugh and a glowing smile, his eyes shining. "..thank you..."

Indigo just gave an embarrassed thumbs up. He looked away and tried to think of more conversation "Um...so...... you can't sleep I'm guessing?"

"...no... too many nightmares..." mugman replied, looked away and biting his lip.

"Mmhm...same.... want to wander around?..um I've been doing that for the past... I don't know how many hours.. we can try to find new secret passageways and such! I do that when I can't sleep or I just watch over the dorm.. but it seems like Atlas got that one covered tonight" Inido smiled looking down reaching out his hand.

Mugman reached out, gripping it gently and smiling. "I think I'd like that..."

Indigo smiled nervously holding his hand and it started walking. "Okay! Let's do this"

Mugman giggled as he started speeding up. "Come on, I know this great hidden room up ahead!"

Indigo smiled letting the toon go first "Okay! Show show!" He said fidgeting, extremely excited and well happy. He was barely flustered anymore just happy to hang out with someone

Mugman rushed around a corner and ducked through a tapestry, starting to talk as he sped by. "My older brother is quite the troublemaker. On our first day, he showed me and lost the best spots in the castle. You would t believe the trouble he's gotten himself into in the past..."

Indigo quietly followed knowing a bit about getting in trouble "Mmhm! that's always nice"

After running down a passageway for a while, mugs turned a corner and came to a large open room with a small fountain off to the side, ornate pillars around the walls, and a tree growing in the center. Mugman smiled. "This has to be my favorite of the places he showed me... I'm not sure what it's used for, but I think it's beautiful..."

Indigo stared gobsmacked he started looking around and just smiled "Whoa..."

Mugman gently squeezed his hand. "...I know right...?" His voice had taken a softer tone.

Indigo gently squeezed back "Yeah.."

Mugman looked at him and felt his heart flutter, warmth rushing to his face. He looked away again, pushing the feeling down. He didn't know what it was, but he didn't want to tempt fate.

"So...um.." Indigo squeezed his hand a little and started walking to the tree "Let's hang out?"

Mugman walked beside him, squeezing back. "We'll have to be back before morning, but I'd love that..."

"Okay... that sucks" Indigo mumbled softly and sat down exhaustion hitting him hard

"...tired...?" Mugman asked with a small smile.

"Always.." Indigo mumbled softly rubbing his eyes

Mugman hesitated "...I get that.. some... things... have been happening lately... I... I actually really need to talk about it... s-so.. can I vent to you...?"

"Mm..do tell... I'm here.." Indigo smiled, as his eyes closed he was quietly listening

Mugman paused for a few moments, bracing himself "okay.. s-so... I...I suppose I should start at the beginning... C-Cuphead and I got kicked out of the house when I was 3... our mom was a witch, but she didn't tell our dad until after I was born. She... she died shortly after... I don't know how... our dad was already n-not fond of us because we were wizards, but when he found out my brother was gay... it was the final straw..." he paused, taking a deep breath to stop the tears forming in his eyes. "...w-we lived on the streets for a while until cups could get enough money to rent an apartment. One day, we found another toon. He literally bumped into us on the streets and begged us to help him, he said he was being hunted and he had been under the control of dark wizards for over a year... we weren't sure, but took him in... he didn't remember his name... so he gave himself the name lost... surprisingly, we were accepted into this school and were able to escape for a while... unfortunately, apparently the people who had been controlling lost didnt want to give him up... th-they... came for him... I-Ive never see Lost so scared... he was screaming and begging... we fought them off... but... we didn't get out in one piece..." he gestured to his prosthetic, tears were starting to slip down his face. "...what scares me most is that they... they hired someone... they call themselves void and they're one of the most wanted magic users in country... they crushed cuphead's hand and... they never stop until they get the job done... we have an agreement with the headmaster... so we can stay at the castle over break... b-but I'm still terrified every night that they'll find us... Im terrified they'll take lost and kill the two of us for standing in their way... and.. th-theres no way to know if today will be the last day... I.. Im just so scared..."

Indigo just stared at him worried and bewildered. He just didn't know what to say he just looked down hugging himself

Mugman realized he'd been rambling, his face flushing. "O-oh jeez... I'm so sorry... I ruined it, didnt I...? I-I shouldn't dump that on you... jeez... stupid, stupid..." he bit his lip. He completely ruined it. They were having such a nice night... Indigo didnt need to hear about all the terrifying things going on without him and his brothers...

He quietly pulled him into a hug. He quietly mumbles "I'm so sorry..."

He closed his eyes and hugged him back, repressing a sob as all the emotions he had been repressing came crashing down on him at once. The horror of watching his own brother screaming and begging for mercy. The terror of living every day having to wonder if this would be the last time he would see the sun. He was trembling, clinging to indigo as his resolve finally broke and he sobbed into his shoulder, his body shaking I violently as wave after wave of emotion crashed into him.

Indigo gently held him rubbing his back. He tried to comfort him, he was pretty sure it wasn't good enough but he had to try

He choked out apologies as he struggled to regain control, praying indigo wouldn't hate him and already hating himself for dumping his own emotions onto the person he considered his best friend.

Indigo just started softly speaking in German in a tune of a lullaby. He scooped him up the best he could and just held him continuing to speak

After the toon managed to stop himself from sobbing, he continued to cling to him, his arms wrapped around him and his face buried in his chest.

The twin buried himself into him as well mostly in his shoulder. He didn't cling on to him as tightly but he still held on to him still mumbling that German tune

After a few minutes, mugman took in a shuddering breath and gently pulled away, looking downwards. His mascara was smudged and there were black tear tracks running down his pale face. He kept his eyes downcast. "I-I'm sorry... you mustn't think much of me now... right...? ...s-sorry... I just... g-god I'm so weak...

Indigo shook his head holding both of his hands not caring about the prosthetic. He just tiredly mumbled "....you're strong...you're strong.."

Mugman hesitated "...I-I just broke down in your arms and you still tell me I'm strong.. I... I really don't deserve you as a friend..." his voice was weak and broken as he bit his lip. "...you don't deserve me dumping this on you... I-I'm sorry..."

He hugged him tightly "N-no I... don't go please" Indigo's voice out of nowhere became weak and filled with terror

He hesitated before squeezing his hand, swallowing the lump in his throat before nodding, his voice only a whisper. "O-okay... I won't go..."

"Sorry.." He eventually mumbled his eyes closed trying not to slip into sleep

"...please don't be... I'm the one who just dumped a ton off emotional trauma onto you..."

Indigo mumbled incoherently clinging onto him exhaustion finally pulling him down to slumber

Mugman ran a hand through his hair, soon realizing that he had fallen asleep. He started to panic for a few seconds before managing to calm himself down, leaning back and letting his eyes flutter shut, focusing on indigo's even breaths. Maybe just a little rest... he could... wake up before morning.... before he could stop himself, he drifted into unconscious.

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hellouniversegoodbyeworld · 3 years

Text

Martial, Epigrams. Book 1. Bohn's Classical Library (1897)

BOOK I.

TO THE READER

I trust that, in these little books of mine, I have observed such self-control, that whoever forms a fair judgment from his own' mind can make no complaint of them, since they indulge their sportive fancies without violating the respect due even to persons of the humblest station; a respect which was so far disregarded by the authors of antiquity, that they made free use, not only of real, but of great names. For me; let fame be held in less estimation, and let such talent be the last thing commended in me.

Let the ill-natured interpreter, too, keep himself from meddling with the simple meaning of my jests, and not write my epigrams for me.1 He acted honourably who exercises perverse ingenuity on another man's book: For the free plainness of expression, that is, for the language of epigram, I would apologize, if I were introducing the practice; but it is thus that Catullus writes, and Marsus, and Pedo, and Getulicus, and every one whose writings are read through. If any assumes to be so scrupulously nice, however, that it is not allowable to address him, in a single page, in plain language, he may confine himself to this address, or rather to the title of the book. Epigrams are written for those who are accustomed to be spectators at the games of Flora. Let not Cato enter my theatre; or, if he do enter, let him look on. It appears to me that I shall do only what I have a right to do, if I close my address with the following verses:----

1 Let him not make them his own, by the false interpretation which he puts upon them.

TO CATO.

Since you knew the lascivious nature of the rites of sportive Flora, as well as the dissoluteness of the games, and the license of the populace, why, stern Cato, did you enter the theatre? Did you come in only that you might go out again?

I. TO THE READER.

The man whom you are reading is the very man that you want,----Martial, known over the whole world for his humorous books of epigrams; to whom, studious reader, you have afforded such honours, while he is alive and has a sense of them, as few poets receive after their death.

II. TO THE READER; SHOWING WHERE THE AUTHOR'S BOOKS MAY BE PURCHASED.

You who are anxious that my books should be with you everywhere, and desire to have them as companions on a long journey, buy a copy of which the parchment leaves are compressed into a small compass.1 Bestow book-cases upon large volumes; one hand will hold me. But that you may not be ignorant where I am to be bought, and wander in uncertainty over the whole town, you shall, under my guidance, be sure of obtaining me. Seek Secundus, the freedman of the learned Lucensis, behind the Temple of Peace and the Forum of Pallas.

1 That is, a copy with small pages; a small copy.

III. THE AUTHOR TO HIS BOOK.

You prefer, little book, to dwell in the shops in the Argiletum,1 though my book-case has plenty of room for you. You are ignorant, alas! you are ignorant of the fastidiousness of Rome, the mistress of the world; the sons of Man, believe me, are much too critical. Nowhere are there louder sneers; young men and old, and even boys, have the nose of the rhinoceros.2 After you have heard a loud "Bravo!" and are expecting kisses, you will go, tossed to the skies, from the jerked toga.3 Yet, that you may not so often suffer the corrections of your master, and that his relentless pen may not so often mark your vagaries, you desire, frolicsome little book, to fly through the air of heaven. Go, fly; but you would have been safer at home.

1 An open place, or square, in Rome, where tradesmen had shops. 2 Have great powers of ridicule, which the Romans often expressed by turning up or wrinkling the nose. 3 People will take you into their lap, and then jerk you out of it, as if you were tossed in a blanket

IV. TO CAESAR.

If you should chance, Caesar, to light upon my books, lay aside that look which awes the world. Even your triumphs have been accustomed to endure jests,1 nor is it any shame to a general to be a subject for witticisms. Read my verses, I pray you, with that brow with which you behold Thymele 2 and Latinus 3 the buffoon. The censorship 4 may tolerate innocent jokes: my page indulges in freedoms, but my life is pure.

1 In allusion to the jests which the soldiers threw out on their generals while they were riding in the triumphal procession. 2 A female dancer. 3 A dancer in pantomime; a sort of harlequin. 4 Alluding to Domitian having made himself perpetual censor.

V. THE EMPEROR'S REPLY.

I give you a sea-fight, and you give me epigrams: you wish, I suppose, Marcus, to be set afloat with your book.

VI. ON A LION OF CAESAR'S THAT SPARED A HARE.

While through the air of heaven the eagle was carrying the youth,1 the burden unhurt clung to its anxious talons. From Caesar's lions their own prey now succeeds in obtaining mercy, and the hare plays safe in their huge jaws. Which miracle do you think the greater? The author of each is a supreme being: the one is the work of Caesar; the other,2 of Jove.

1 Ganymede. 2 Comp. Eps. 14, 22.

VII. TO MAXIMUS

The dove, the delight of my friend Stella,3----even with Verona4 listening will I say it, ---- has surpassed, Maximus, the sparrow of Catullus. By so much is my Stella greater than your Catullus, as a dove is greater than a sparrow.

3 A poet of Patavium, who wrote an elegy on the dove of his mistress Ianthis. See B. vi. Ep. 21; B. vii. Ep. 13. 4 The birth-place of Catullus.

VIII. TO DECIANUS

In that you so far only follow the opinions of the great Thrasea and Cato of consummate virtue, that you still wish to preserve your life, and do not with bared breast rush upon drawn swords, you do, Decianus, what I should wish you to do. I do not approve of a man who purchases fame with life-blood, easy to be shed: I like him who can be praised without dying to obtain it.

IX. TO COTTA.

You wish to appear, Cotta, a pretty man and a great man at one and the same time: but he who is a pretty man, Cotta, is a very small man.

X. ON GEMELLUS AND MARONILLA.

Gemellus is seeking the hand of Maronilla, and is earnest, and lays siege to her, and beseeches her, and makes presents to her. Is she then so pretty? Nay; nothing can be more ugly. What then is the great object and attraction in her? ----Her cough.

XI. TO SEXTILIANUS.

Seeing that there are given to a knight twice five pieces,1 wherefore is twice ten the amount which you spend by yourself, Sextilianus, in drink? Long since would the warm water have failed the attendants who carried it, had you not, Sextilianus, been drinking your wine unmixed.2

1 Ten sesterces, the usual sportula, or donation from the emperor. 2 The Romans used to drink their wine mixed with warm water.

XII. ON REGULUS.

Where the road runs to the towers of the cool Tivoli, sacred to Hercules, and the hoary Albula 3 smokes with sulphureous waters, a milestone, the fourth from the neighbouring city, points out a country retreat, and a hallowed grove, and a domain well beloved of the Muses. Here a rude portico used to afford cool shade in summer; a portico, ah! how nearly the desperate cause of an unheard-of calamity: for suddenly it fell in ruins, after Regulus had just been conveyed in a carriage and pair from under its high fabric. Truly Dame Fortune feared our complaints, as she would have been unable to withstand so great odium. Now even our loss delights us; so beneficial is the impression which the very danger produces; since, while standing, the edifice could not have proved to us the existence of the gods.

3 A plain near Tivoli.

XIII. ON ARRIA AND PAETUS.

When the chaste Arria handed to her Paetus the sword which she had with her own hand drawn forth from her heart, "If you believe me," said she, "the wound which I have made gives me no pain; but it is that which you will make, Paetus, that pains me."

XIV. TO DOMITIAN.

The pastimes, Caesar, the sports and the play of the lions, we have seen: your arena affords you the additional sight of the captured hare returning often in safety from the kindly tooth, and running at large through the open jaws. Whence is it that the greedy lion can spare his captured prey? He is said to be yours: thence it is that he can show mercy.

XV. TO JULIUS.

Oh! you who are regarded by me, Julius, as second to none of my companions, if well-tried friendship and longstanding ties are worth anything, already nearly a sixtieth consul is pressing upon you, and your life numbers but a few more uncertain days. Not wisely would you defer the enjoyment which you see maybe denied you, or consider the past alone as your own. Cares and linked chains of disaster are in store; joys abide not, but take flight with winced speed. Seize them with either hand, and with your full grasp; even thus they will oft-times pass away and glide from your closest embrace. 'Tis not, believe me, a wise man's part to say, "I will live." To-morrow's life is too late: live to-day.

XVI. TO AVITUS.

Of the epigrams which you read here, some are good, some middling, many bad; a book, Avitus, cannot be made in any other way.

XVII. TO TITUS.

Titus urges me to go to the Bar, and often tells me, "The gains are large." The gains of the husbandman, Titus, are likewise large.

XVIII. TO TUCCA, ON HIS PARSIMONY.

What pleasure can it give you, Tucca, to mix with old Falernian wine new wine stored up in Vatican casks? What vast amount of good has the most worthless of wine done you? or what amount of evil has the best wine done you? As for us, it is a small matter; but to murder Falernian, and to put poisonous wine in a Campanian cask, is an atrocity. Your guests may possibly have deserved to perish: a wine-jar of such value has not deserved to die.

XIX. TO AELIA.

If I remember right, Aelia, you had four teeth; a cough displaced two, another two more. You can now cough without anxiety all the day long. A third cough can find nothing to do in your mouth.

XX. TO CAECILIANUS.

Tell me, what madness is this? While a whole crowd of invited guests is looking on, you alone, Caecilianus, devour the truffles. What shall I imprecate on you worthy of so large a stomach and throat? That you may eat a truffle such as Claudius ate.

XXI. ON PORSENA AND MUCIUS SCAEVOLA.

When the hand that aimed at the king mistook for him his secretary, it thrust itself to perish into the sacred fire but the generous foe could not endure so cruel a sight, and bade the hero, snatched from the flame, to be set free. The hand which, despising the fire, Mucius dared to burn, Porsena could not bear to look on Greater was the fame and glory of that right hand from being deceived; had it not missed its aim, it had accomplished less.

XXII. TO A HARE.

Why, silly hare, are you fleeing from the fierce jaws of the lion now grown tame? They have not learned to crush such tiny animals. Those talons, which you fear, are reserved for mighty necks, nor does a thirst so great delight in so small a draught of blood. The hare is the prey of hounds; it does not fill large mouths: the Dacian boy should not fear Caesar.

XXIII. TO COTTA.

You invite no one, Cotta, except those whom you meet at the bath; and the bath alone supplies you with guests. I used to wonder why you had never asked me, Cotta; I know now that my appearance in a state of nature was unpleasing in your eyes.

XXIV. TO DECIANUS.

You see yonder individual, Decianus, with locks uncombed, whose grave brow even you fear; who talks incessantly of the Curii and Camilli, defenders of their country's liberties: do not trust his looks; he was taken to wife but yesterday.

XXV. TO FAUSTINUS.

Issue at length your books to the public, Faustinus, and give to the light the work elaborated by your accomplished mind,----a work such as neither the Cecropian city of Pandion would condemn, nor our old men pass by in silence. Do you hesitate to admit Fame, who is standing before your door; and does it displease you to receive the reward of your labour? Let the writings, destined to live after you, begin to live through your means. Glory comes too late, when paid only to our ashes.

XXVI. TO SEXTILIANUS.

Sextilianus, you drink as much as five rows of knights 1 alone: you might intoxicate yourself with water, if you so often drank as much. Nor is it the coin of those who sit near you alone that you consume in drink, but the money of those far removed from you, on the distant benches. This vintage has not been concerned with Pelignian presses, nor was this juice of the grape produced upon Tuscan heights; but it is the glorious jar of the long-departed Opimius 2 that is drained, and it is the Massic cellar that sends forth its blackened casks. Get dregs of Laletane wine from a tavern-keeper, Sextilianus, if you drink more than ten cups.3

1 Seated on the benches allotted them in the theatre. See Ep. 12. 2 The vintage of B. C. 121, in which year L. Opimius was one of the consuls, was extremely celebrated, and is frequently mentioned by the Roman writers. 3 The number to which persons at feasts usually restricted themselves.

XXVII. TO PROCILLUS.

Last night I had invited you----after some fifty glasses, I suppose, had been despatched----to sup with me to-day. You immediately thought your fortune was made, and took note of my unsober words, with a precedent but too dangerous. I hate a boon companion whose memory is good, Procillus.

XXVIII. ON ACCERRA.

Whoever believes it is of yesterday's wine that Acerra smells, is mistaken: Acerra always drinks till morning.

XXIX. TO FIDENTINUS.

Report says that you, Fidentinus, recite my compositions in public as if they were your own. If you allow them to be called mine, I will send you my verses gratis; if you wish them to be called yours, pray buy them, that they may be mine no longer.

XXX. ON DIAULUS.

Diaulus had been a surgeon, and is now an undertaker. He has begun to be useful to the sick in the only way that he could.

XXXI. TO APOLLO, OF ENCOLPUS.

Encolpus, the favourite of the centurion his master, consecrates these, the whole of the locks from his head, to you, O Phoebus.1 When Pudens shall have rained the pleasing honour of the chief-centurionship, which he has so well merited, cut these long tresses close, O Phoebus, as soon as possible, while the tender face is yet undisfigured with down, and while the flowing hair adorns the milk-white neck; and, that both master and favourite may long enjoy your gifts, make him carry shorn, but late a man.2

1 Encolpus, a favourite of Aulus Pudens the centurion, had vowed his hair to Phoebus, is order that his master might soon be made chief centurion. Martial prays that they may both obtain what they desire. 2 Extend his youth as long as possible.

XXXII. TO SABIDIUS.

I do not love you, Sabidius, nor can I say why; I can only say this, I do not love you.

The following lines, in imitation of this epigram, were made by some Oxford wit, on Dr John Fell, Bishop of Oxford, who died in 1686:

I do not love thee, Doctor Fell; The reason why I cannot tell. But this I'm sure I know full well, I do not love thee, Doctor Fell.

XXXIII. ON GELLIA.

Gellia does not mourn for her deceased father, when she is alone; but if any one is present, obedient tears spring forth. He mourns not, Gellia, who seeks to be praised; he is the true mourner, who mourns without a witness.

XXXIV. TO LESBIA.

You always take your pleasure, Lesbia, with doors unguarded and open, nor are you at any pains to conceal your amusements. It is more the spectator, than the accomplice in your doings, that pleases you, nor are any pleasures grateful to your taste if they be secret. Yet the common courtesan excludes every witness by curtain and by bolt, and few are the chinks in a suburban brothel. Learn something at least of modesty from Chione, or from Alis: even the monumental edifices of the dead afford hiding-places for abandoned harlots. Does my censure seem too harsh? I do not exhort you to be chaste, Lesbia, but not to be caught.

XXXV. TO CORNELIUS.

You complain, Cornelius, that the verses which I compose are little remarkable for their reserve, and not such as a master can read out in his school; but such effusions, as in the case of man and wife, cannot please without some spice of pleasantry in them. What if you were to bid me write a hymeneal song in words not suited to hymeneal occasions? Who enjoins the use of attire at the Floral games, and imposes on the courtesan the reserve of the matron? This law has been allowed to frolicsome verses, that without tickling the fancy they cannot please. Lay aside, therefore, your severe look, I beseech you, and spare my jokes and gaiety, and do not desire to mutilate my compositions. Nothing is more disgusting than Priapus become a priest of Cybele.

XXXVI. TO THE BROTHERS LUCANUS AND TULLUS.

If, Lucanus, to you, or if to you, Tullus, had been offered such fates as the Laconian children of Leda enjoy, there would have been this noble struggle of affection in both of you, that each would have wished to die first in place of his brother; and he who should have first descended to the nether realms of shade would have said, "Live, brother, thine own term of days; live also mine."

XXXVII. TO BASSUS.

Yon deposit your excretions, without any sense of shame, into an unfortunate vessel of gold, while you drink out of glass. The former operation, consequently, is the more expensive.

XXXVIII. TO FIDENTINUS.

The book which you are reading aloud is mine, Fidentinus but, while you read it so badly, it begins to be yours.

With fruity accents, and so vile a tone, You quote my lines, I took them for your own. Anon.

XXXIX. TO DECIANUS.

If there be any man fit to be numbered among one's few choice friends, a man such as the honesty of past times and ancient renown would readily acknowledge; if any man thoroughly imbued with the accomplishments of the Athenian and Latin Minervas, and exemplary for true integrity; if there be any man who cherishes what is right, and admires what is honourable, and asks nothing of the gods but what all may hear; if there be any man sustained by the strength of a great mind, may I die, if that man is not Decianus.

XL. TO AN ENVIOUS MAN.

You who make grimaces, and read these verses of mine with an ill grace, you, victim of jealousy, may, if you please, envy everybody; nobody will envy you.

XLI. TO CAECILIUS.

You imagine yourself Caecilius, a man of wit. You are no such thing, believe me. What then? A low buffoon; such a thing as wanders about in the quarters beyond the Tiber, and barters pale-coloured sulphur matches for broken glass; such a one as sells boiled peas and beans to the idle crowd; such as a lord and keeper of snakes; or as a common servant of the salt-meat-sellers; or a hoarse-voiced cook who carries round smoking sausages in steaming shops; or the worst of street poets; or a blackguard slave-dealer from Gades;1 or a chattering old debauchee. Cease at length, therefore, to imagine yourself that which is imagined by you alone, Caecilius, you who could have silenced Gabba, and even Testius Caballus, with your jokes. It is not given to every one to have taste; he who jests with a stupid effrontery is not a Testius, but a Caballus.3

1 See Juvenal xi. 163, and Mayor's note. 3 A play on the word Caballus, which, as an appellative noun, meant a hack-horse.

XLII. ON PORCIA.

When Porcia had heard the fate of her consort Brutus, and her grief was seeking the weapon, which had been carefully removed from her," You know not yet," she cried, "that death cannot be denied: I had supposed that my father had taught you this lesson by his fate. She spoke, and with eager mouth swallowed the blazing coals. "Go now, officious attendants, and refuse me a sword, if you will."

XLIII. ON MANCINUS.

Twice thirty were invited to your table, Mancinus, and nothing was placed before us yesterday but a wild-boar. Nowhere were to be seen grapes preserved from the late vines, or apples vying in flavour with sweet honey-combs; nowhere the pears which hang suspended by flexible twigs, or pomegranates the colour of summer roses: nor did the rustic basket supply its milky cheeses, or the olive emerge from its Picenian jar. Your wild-boar was by itself: and it was even of the smallest size, and such a one as might have been slaughtered by an unarmed dwarf. Besides, none of it was given us; we simply looked on it as spectators. This is the way in which even the arena places a wild-boar before us. May no wild-boar be placed before you after such doings, but may you be placed before the boar in front of which Charidemus was placed.1

1 By Domitian, to be torn in pieces. See Sueton. Life of Domit.

XLIV. TO STELLA.

If it seems to you too much, Stella, that my longer and shorter compositions are occupied with the frisky gambols of the hares and the play of the lions, and that I go over the same subject twice, do you also place a hare twice before me.

XLV. ON HIS BOOK.

That the care which I have bestowed upon what I have published may not come to nothing through the smallness of my volumes, let me rather fill up my verses with Τὸν δ̕ ἀπαμειθόμενος.1

1 Let me rather use frequent repetitions, just as Homer frequently repeats these words.

XLVI. TO HEDYLUS.

[From the Loeb translation]

When you say "I haste; now is the time," then, Hedylus, my ardour at once flags and weakens. Bid me wait: more quickly, stayed, shall I speed on. Hedylus, if you do haste, tell me not to haste!

XLVII. ON DIAULUS.

Diaulus, lately a doctor, is now an undertaker: what he does as an undertaker, he used to do also as a doctor.

XLVIII. ON THE LION AND HARE.

The keepers could not snatch the bulls from those wide jaws, through which the fleeting prey, the hare, goes and returns in safety; and, what is still more strange, he starts from his foe with increased swiftness, and contracts something of the great nobleness of the lion's nature. He is not safer when he courses along the empty arena, nor with equal feeling of security does he hide him in his hutch. If, venturous hare, you seek; to avoid the teeth of the hounds, you have the jaws of the lion to which you may flee for refuge.

XLIX. TO LICINIANUS.

O you, whose name must not be left untold by Celtiberian nations, you the honour of our common country, Spain, you, Licinianus, will behold the lofty Bilbilis, renowned for horses and arms, and Catus1 venerable with his locks of snow, and eased Vadavero with ita broken cliffs, and the sweet grove of delicious Botrodus, which the happy Pomona loves. You will breast the gently-flowing water of the warm Congedus and the calm lakes of the Nymphs, and your body, relaxed by these, you may brace up in the little Salo, which hardens iron. There Voberca 2 herself will supply for your meals animals which may be brought down close at hand. The serene summer heat you will disarm by bathing in the golden Tagus, hidden beneath the shades of trees; your greedy thirst the fresh Dercenna will appease, and Nutha, which in coldness surpasses snow. But when hoar December and the furious solstice shall resound with the hoarse blasts of the north-wind, you will again seek the sunny shores of Tarraco and thine own Laletania. There you will despatch hinds caught in your supple toils, and native boars; and you will tire out the cunning hare with your hardy steed; the stags you will leave to your bailiff. The neighboring wood will come down into your very hearth, surrounded as it will be with a troop of uncombed children. The huntsman will be invited to your table, and many a guest called in from the neighbourhood will come to you. The crescent-adorned boot 3 will be nowhere to be seen, nowhere the toga and garments smelling of purple dye. Far away will be the ill-favoured Liburnian porter 4 and the grumbling client; far away the imperious demands of widows. The pale criminal will not break your deep sleep, but all the morning long you will enjoy your slumber. Let another earn the grand and wild "Bravo!" Do you pity such happy ones, and enjoy without pride true delight, while your friend Sura is crowned with applause. Not unduly does life demand of us our few remaining days, when fame has as much as is sufficient.

1 Catus and Vadavero are names of mountains near Bilbilis. Botrodus is a small town; Congedus and Salo, riven. 2 The name of a town. Dercenna and Nutha are fountains. 3 Worn by senators. 4 See Juvenal, iv. 75.

L. TO AEMILIANUS.

If your cook, Aemilianus, is called Mistyllus, why should not mine be called Taratalla?1

1 A meaningless jest taken from Homer's words (Il. i.465).

LI. TO A HARE.

No neck, save the proudest, serves for the fierce lion. Why do you, vain-glorious hare, flee from these teeth? No doubt you would wish them to stoop from the huge bull to you, and to crush a neck which they cannot see. The glory of an illustrious death must be an object of despair to you. You, a tiny prey, canst not fall before such an enemy!

LII. TO QUINCTIANUS.

To you, Quinctianus, do I commend my books, if indeed I can call books mine, which your poet recites.1 If they complain of a grievous yoke, do you come forward as their advocate, and defend them efficiently; and when he calls himself their master, say that they were mine, but have been given 2 by me to the public. If you will proclaim this three or four times, you will bring shame on the plagiary.

1 A poet that recited verses to Quinctianus; the same, probably, that is mentioned in the next epigram. 2 Manumitted; released from my portfolio.

LIII. TO FIDENTINUS.

One page only in my books belongs to you, Fidentinus, but it bears the sure stamp of its master, and accuses your verses of glaring theft. Just so does a Gallic frock coming in contact with purple city cloaks stain them with grease and filth; just so do Arretine1 pots disgrace vases of crystal; so is a buck crow, straying perchance on the banks of the Cayster, laughed to scorn amid the swans of Leda: and so, when the sacred grove resounds with the music of the tuneful nightingale, the miscreant magpie disturbs her Attic plaints. My books need no one to accuse or judge you: the page which is yours stands up against you and says, "You are a thief"

1 Earthen pots from Arretium, a town of Etruria.

LIV. TO FUSCUS.

If, Fuscus, you have room to receive still more affection, (for you have friends around you on all sides), I ask you one place in your heart, if one still remains vacant, and that you will not refuse because I am a stranger to you: all your old friends were so once. Simply consider whether he who is presented to you a stranger is likely to become an old friend.

LV. TO FRONTO.

If you, Fronto, so distinguished an ornament of military and civil life, desire to learn the wishes of your friend Marcus, he prays for this, to be the tiller of his own farm, nor that a large one, and he loves inglorious repose in as unpretending sphere. Does any one haunt the porticoes of cold variegated Spartan marble, and run to offer, like a fool, his morning greetings, when he might, rich with the spoils of grave and field, unfold before his fire his well-filled nets, and lift the leaping fish with the quivering line, and draw forth the yellow honey from the red1 cask, while a plump housekeeper loads his unevenly-propped table, and his own eggs are cooked by an unbought fire? That the man who loves not me may not love this life, is my wish; and let him drag out life pallid with the cares of the city.

1 Stained with vermilion.

LVI. TO A VINTNER.

Harassed with continual rains, the vineyard drips with wet. You cannot sell us, vintner, even though you wish, neat wine.

LVII. TO FLACCUS.

Do you ask what sort of maid I desire or dislike, Flaccus? I dislike one too easy, and one too coy. The just mean, which lies between the two extremes, is what I approve; I like neither that which tortures, nor that which cloys.

LVIII. DE PUERI PRETIO.

[Untranslated]

LIX. TO FLACCUS.

The sportula1 at Baiae brings me in a hundred farthings; of what use is such a miserable sum in the midst of such sumptuous baths? Give me back the darksome baths of Lupus and Gryllus. When I sup so scantily, Flaccus, why should I bathe so luxuriously?

1 Sportula. A present from the richer class to the poorer; nominally the price of a supper. See Dict. Antiqq. s. v.

LX. ON THE LION AND HARE.

Hare, although you enter the wide jaws of the fierce lion, still he imagines his mouth to be empty. Where is the back on which he shall rush? where the shoulders on which he shall flail? where shall he fix those deep bites which he inflicts on young bulls? why do you in vain weary the lord and monarch of the groves? 'Tis only on the wild prey of his choice that he feeds.

LXI. TO LICINIANUS, ON THE COUNTRIES OF CELEBRATED AUTHORS.

Verona loves the verses of her learned Poet; Mantua is blest in her Maro; the territory of Apona is renowned for its Livy, its Stella, and not less for its Flaccus. The Nile, whose waters are instead of rain, applauds its Apollodorus; the Pelignians vaunt their Ovid. Eloquent Cordova speaks of its two Senecas and its single and preeminent Lucan. Voluptuous Gades delights in her Canius,1 Emerita in my friend Decianus. Our Bilbilis will be proud of you, Licinianus, nor will be altogether silent concerning me.

1 See b. iii. Ep. 20.

LXII. ON LAEVINA.

Laevina, so chaste as to rival even the Sabine women of old, and more austere than even her stern husband, chanced, while entrusting herself sometimes to the waters of the Lucrine lake, sometimes to those of Avernus, and while frequently refreshing herself in the baths of Baiae, to fall into flames of love, and, leaving her husband, fled with a young gallant. She arrived a Penelope, she departed a Helen.

LXIII. TO CELER.

You ask me to recite to you my Epigrams. I cannot oblige you; for you wish not to hear them, Celer, but to recite them.1

1 To plagiarise them from me, and then to recite them as your own.

LXIV. TO FABULLA.

You are pretty,----we know it; and young,----it is true; and rich,----who can deny it? But when you praise yourself extravagantly, Fabulla, you appear neither rich, nor pretty, nor young.

LXV. TO CAECILIANUS.

When I said ficus, you laughed at it as a barbarous word, Caecilianus, and bade me say ficos. I shall call the produce of the fig-tree ficus; yours I shall call ficos.1

1 An untranslatable jest on the double meaning of the word ficus, which, when declined ficus, -i, means piles or someone afflicted with it; and when ficus -lis, a fig-tree.

LXVI. TO A PLAGIARIST.

You are mistaken, insatiable thief of my writings, who think a poet can be made for the mere expense which copying, and a cheap volume cost. The applause of the world is not acquired for six or even ten sesterces. Seek out for this purpose verses treasured up, and unpublished efforts, known only to one person, and which the father himself of the virgin sheet, that has not been worn and scrubbed by bushy chins, keeps sealed up in his desk. A well-known book cannot change its master. But if there is one to be found vet unpolished by the pumice-stone, yet unadorned with bosses and cover, buy it: I have such by me, and no one shall know it. Whoever recites another's compositions, and seeks for fame, must buy, not a book, but the author's silence.

LXVII. TO CHOERILUS.

"You are too free-spoken," is your constant remark to me, Choerilus. He who speaks against you, Choerilus, is indeed a free speaker.1

1 Free from all restraint, for he may say all sorts of things against you without fear of contradiction.

LXVIII. ON RUFUS.

Whatever Rufus does, Naevia is all in all to him. Whether he rejoices, or mourns, or is silent, it is ever Naevia. He eats, he drinks, he asks, he refuses, he gesticulates, Naevia alone is in his thoughts: if there were no Naevia, he would be mute. When he had written a dutiful letter yesterday to his father, he ended it with, "Naevia, light of my eyes, Naevia, my idol, farewell" Naevia read these words, and laughed with downcast looks. Naevia is not yours only: what madness is this, foolish man?

LXIX. TO MAXIMUS.

Tarentos,3 which was wont to exhibit the statue of Pan, begins now, Maximus, to exhibit that of Canius.

3 Tarentos, a place in the Campus Martius, in which was a temple consecrated to Plato, and filled with statues of Pan, the Satyrs, and other deities or remarkable personages. On Canius, a humorous poet of Gades, whose statue, it appears, was put there with Pan's, see above, Ep. 61; B. iii. Ep. 29.

LXX. TO HIS BOOK.

Go, my book, and pay my respects for me: you are ordered to go, dutiful volume, to the splendid halls of Proculus. Do you ask the way? I will tell you. You will go along by the temple of Castor, near that of ancient Vesta, and that goddess's virgin home. Thence you will pass to the majestic Palatine edifice on the sacred hill, where glitters many a statue of the supreme ruler of the empire. And let not the ray-adorned mass of the Colossus detain you, a work which is proud of surpassing that of Rhodes. But turn aside by the way where the temple of the wine-bibbing Bacchus rises, and where the couch of Cybele stands adorned with. pictures of the Corybantes. Immediately on the left is the dwelling with its splendid facade, and the halls of the lofty mansion which you are to approach. Enter it; and fear not its haughty looks or proud gate; no entrance affords more ready access; nor is there any house more inviting for Phoebus and the learned sisters to love. If Proculus shall say, "But why does he not come himself?" you may excuse me thus, "Because he could not have written what is to be read here, whatever be its merit, if he had come to pay his respects in person."

LXXI. TO SLEEP.

Let Laevia be toasted with six cups,. Justine with seven, Lycas with five, Lyde with four, Ida with three. Let the number of letters in the name of each of our mistresses be equalled by the number of cups of Falernian. But, since none of them comes, come you, Sleep, to me.

LXXII. TO FIDENTINUS, A PLAGIARIST.

Do you imagine, Fidentinus, that you are a poet by the aid of my verses, and do you wish to be thought so? Just so does Aegle think she has teeth from having purchased bone or ivory. Just so does Lycoris, who is blacker than the falling mulberry, seem fair in her own eyes, because she is painted. You too, in the same way that you are a poet, will have flowing locks when you are grown bald.

LXXIII. TO CAECILIANUS.

These was no one in the whole city, Caecilianus, who desired to meddle with your wife, even gratis, while permission was given; but now, since you have set a watch upon her, the crowd of gallants is innumerable. You are a clever fellow!

LXXIV. TO PAULA.

He was your gallant, Paula; you could however deny it He is become your husband; can you deny it now, Paula? 1

1 He was said to be your gallant when your first husband was alive. You then denied it. You married him as soon as your husband died. Will you deny it now?

LXXV. ON LINUS.

He who prefers to give Linus the half of what he wishes to borrow, rather than to lend him the whole, prefers to lose only the half.

LXXVI. TO VALERIUS FLACCUS.1

Flaccus, valued object of my solicitude, hope and nursling of the city of Antenor,2 put aside Pierian strains and the lyre of the Sisters; none of those damsels will give you money. What do you expect from Phoebus? The cheat of Minerva contains the cash; she alone is wise, she alone lends to all the gods. What can the ivy of Bacchus give? The dark tree of Pallas bends down its variegated boughs under the load of fruit. Helicon, besides its waters and the garlands and lyres of the goddesses, and the great but empty applause of the multitude, has nothing. What have you to do with Cirrha? What with bare Permessis? The Roman forum is nearer and more lucrative. There is heard the chink of money; but around our desks and barren chairs kisses 3 alone resound.

Though midst the noblest poets you have place, Flaccus, the offering of Antenor's race; Renounce the Muses' songs and charming quire, For none of them enrich, though they inspire. Court not Apollo, Pallas has the gold; She 's wise, and does the gods in mortgage hold. What profit is there in an ivy wreath? Its fruits the loaden olive sinks beneath. In Helicon there's nought but springs and bays, The Muses' harps loud sounding empty praise.

1 The author of the Argonautica. 2 The city of Patavium, founded by Antenor 3 As tokens of applause.

LXXVII. ON CHARINUS.

Charinus is perfectly well, and yet he is pale; Charinus drinks sparingly, and yet he is pale; Charinus digests well, and yet he is pale; Charinus suns himself and yet he is pale; Charinus dyes his skin, and yet he is pale; Charinus indulges in [infamous debauchery], and yet he is pale.1

1 That is, he does not blush at his infamy.

LXXVIII. ON FESTUS, WHO STABBED HIMSELF.

When a devouring malady attacked his unoffending throat, and its black poison extended its ravages over his face, Festus, consoling his weeping friends, while his own eyes were dry, determined to seek the Stygian lake. He did not however pollute his pious mouth with secret poison, or aggravate his sad fate by lingering famine, but ended his pure life by a death befitting a Roman, and freed his spirit in a nobler way. This death fame may place above that of the great Cato; for Domitian was Festus' friend.2

2 Cato said that he died to avoid looking on the face of the tyrant Caesar.

LXXIX. TO ATTALUS, A BUSY-BODY.

Attalus, you are ever acting the barrister, or acting the man of business: whether there is or is not a part for you to act, Attalus, you are always acting a part. If lawsuits and business are not to be found, Attalus, you act the mule-driver. Attalus, lest a part should be wanting for you to act, act the part of executioner on yourself..

You act the pleader, and you act the man Of business; acting is your constant plan: So prone to act, the coachman's part is tried; Lest all parts fail you, act the suicide. L. H. S.

LXXX. TO CANUS.

On the last night of your lift, Canus, a sportula was the object of your wishes. I suppose the cause of your death was, Canus, that there was only one.1

1 He had hoped for several largesses; he died of mortification at receiving only one.

LXXXI. TO SOSIBIANUS.

You know that you are the son of a slave, and you ingenuously confess it, when you call your father, Sosibianus, "master".2

2 The mother of Sosibianus had been guilty of adultery with a slave. When Sosibianus calls his reputed father Dominus, as a title of respect, but which was also a term for a master of slaves, he confessed himself a verna, or born-slave.

LXXXII. ON REGULUS.

See from what mischief this portico, which, overthrown amid clouds of dust, stretches its long ruins over the ground, lies absolved. For Regulus had but just been carried in his litter under its arch, and had got out of the way, when forthwith, borne down by its own weight, it fell; and, being no longer in fear for its master, it came down free from blood-guiltiness, a harmless ruin, without any attendant anxiety. After the fear of so great a cause for complaint is passed, who would deny, Regulus, that you, for whose sake the fall was harmless, are an object of care to the gods?

LXXXIII. ON MANNEIA.

Your lap-dog, Manneia, licks your mouth and lips: I do not wonder at a dog liking to eat ordure.1

1 A sarcasm on the foulness of Manneia's breath.

LXXXIV. ON QUIRINALIS.

Quirinalis, though he wishes to have children, has no intention of taking a wife, and has found out in what way he can accomplish his object. He takes to him his maid-servants, and fills his house and his lands with slave-knights.2 Quirinalis is a true pater-familias.

2 Equitibus vernis. (See Heinrich on Juv. ix. 10.) Eques verna, the offspring of a knight and a slave.

LXXXV. ON AN AUCTIONEER.

A wag of an auctioneer, offering for sale some cultivated heights, and some beautiful acres of land near the city, says, "If any one imagines that Marius is compelled to sell, he is mistaken; Marius owes nothing: on the contrary, he rather has money to put out at interest." "What is his reason, then, for selling?" "In this place he lost all his slaves, and his cattle, and his profits; hence he does not like the locality." Who would have made any offer, unless he had wished to lose all his property? So the ill-fated land remains with Marius.

LXXXVI. ON NOVIUS.

Novius is my neighbour, and may be reached by the hand from my windows. Who would not envy me, and think me a happy man every hour of the day when I may enjoy the society of one so near to me? But, he is as far removed from me as Terentianus, who is now governor of Syene on the Nile. I am not privileged either to live with him, or even see him, or hear him; nor in the whole city is there any one at once so near and so far from me. I must remove farther off, or he must. If any one wishes not to see Novius, let him become his neighbour or his fellow-lodger.

My neighbour Hunks's house and mine Are built so near they almost join; The windows too project so much, That through the casements we may touch. Nay, I'm so happy, most men think, To live so near a man of chink, That they are apt to envy me, For keeping such good company: But he's far from me, I vow, As London is from good Lord Howe; For when old Hunks I chance to meet, Or one or both must quit the street. Thus he who would not see old Roger, Must be his neighbour----or his lodger. Swift

LXXXVII. TO FESCENNIA.

That you may not be disagreeably fragrant with your yesterday's wine, you devour, luxurious Fescennia, certain of Cosmus's1 perfumes. Breakfasts of such a nature leave their mark on the teeth, but form no barrier against the emanations which escape from the depths of the stomach. Nay, the fetid smell is but the worse when mixed with perfume, and the double odour of the breath is carried but the farther. Cease then to use frauds but too well known, and disguises well understood; and simply intoxicate yourself!

1 Cosmus: a celebrated perfumer of the day, and frequently mentioned.

LXXXVIII. ON ALCIMUS.

Alcimus, whom, snatched from your lord in your opening years, the Labican earth covers with light turf, receive, not a nodding mass of Parian marble,----an unenduring monument which misapplied toil gives to the dead,----but shapely box-trees and the dark shades of the palm leaf, and dewy flowers of the mead which bloom from being watered with my tears. Receive, dear youth, the memorials of my grief: this tribute will live for you in all time. When Lachesis shall have spun to the end of my last hour, I shall ask no other honours for my ashes.

LXXXIX. TO CINNA.

You always whisper into every one's ear, Cinna; you whisper even what might be said in the hearing of the whole world. You laugh, you complain, you dispute, you weep, you sing, you criticise, you are silent, you are noisy; and all in one's ear. Has this disease so thoroughly taken possession of you, that you often praise Caesar, Cinna, in the ear? 1

1 When his praise ought to be proclaimed aloud everywhere.

XC. ON BASSA.

Inasmuch as I never saw you, Bassa, surrounded by a crowd of admirers, and report in no case assigned to you a favoured lover; but every duty about your person was constantly performed by a crowd of your own sex, without the presence of even one man; you seemed to me, I confess it, to be a Lucretia.

XCI. TO LAELIUS.

You do not publish your own verses, Laelius; you criticise mine. Pray cease to criticise mine, or else publish your own.

You blame my verses and conceal your own: Either publish yours, or else let mine alone! Anon. 1695.

XCII. TO MAMURIANUS.

Cestus with tears in his eyes often complains to me, Hamurianus, of being touched with your finger. You need not use your finger merely; take Cestos all to yourself if nothing else is wanting in your establishment, Mamurianus.2 But if you have neither fire, nor legs for your bare bedstead, nor broken basin of Chione or Antiope;3 if a cloak greasy and worn hangs down your back, and a Gallic jacket covers only half of your loins; and if you feed on the smell alone of the dark kitchen, and drink on your knees dirty water with the dog;

Non culum, neque enim est cuius, qui non cacat olim, Sed fodiam digito qui super est oculum.4 Nec me zelotypum nec dixeris esse malignum: Denique paedica, Mamuriane, satur.

2 Mamurianus is ridiculed for his sordid and licentious life. He had but one eye, as appears from what is said below. Cestus was Martial's servant. 3 Names of courtesans, from whom Martial intimates that Mamurianus would accept broken vessels. 4 A play on the words culus and oculus. A common threat was, "Oculos tibieffodiam," often used in Plautus.

XCIII. ON AQUINUS AND FABRICIUS.

Here reposes Aquinas, reunited to his faithful Fabricius, who rejoices in having preceded him to the Elysian retreats. This double altar bears record that each was honoured with the rank of chief centurion; but that praise is of still greater worth which you read in this shorter inscription: Both were united in the sacred bond of a well-spent life, and, what is rarely known to fame, were friends.

XCIV. TO AEGLE THE FELLATRIX.

[Not translated in the Bohn - adapted from the Loeb]

Badly you sang while you fornicated, Aegle. Now you sing well; but I won't kiss you.

XCV. TO AELIUS.

In constantly making a clamour, and obstructing the pleaders with your noise, Aelius, you act not without an object; you look for pay to hold your tongue.

That bawlers you out-bawl, the busy crush, No idler you, who bring to sale your hush. Elphinston.

XCVI. TO HIS VERSE, ON A LICENTIOUS CHARACTER.

If it is not disagreeable, and does not annoy you, my verse, say, I pray, a word or two in the ear of our friend Maternus, so that he alone may hear. That admirer of sad-coloured coats, clad in the costume of the banks of the river Baetis, and in grey garments, who deems the wearers of scarlet not men, and calls amethyst-coloured robes the dress of women, however much he may praise natural hues, and be always seen in dark colours, has at the same time morals of an extremely flagrant hue. You will ask whence I suspect him of effeminacy. We go to the same baths; Do you ask me who this is? His name has escaped me.

XCVII. TO NAEVOLUS.

When every one is talking, then and then only, Naevolus, do you open your month; and you think yourself an advocate and a pleader. In such a way every one may be eloquent. But see, everybody is silent; say something now, Naevolus.

XCVIII. TO FLACCUS, ON DIODORUS.

Diodorus goes to law, Flaccus, and has the gout in his feet But he pays his counsel nothing; surely he has the gout also in his hands.

XCIX. TO CALENUS.

But a short time since, Calenus, you had not quite two millions of sesterces; but you were so prodigal and open-handed, and hospitable, that all your friends wished you ten millions. Heaven heard the wish and our prayers; and within, I think, six months, four deaths gave you the desired fortune. But you, as if ten millions had not been left to you, but taken from you, condemned yourself to such abstinence, wretched man, that you prepare even your most sumptuous feasts, which you provide only once in the whole year, at the cost of but a few dirty pieces of black coin; and we, seven of your old companions, stand you in just half a pound of leaden money. What blessing are we to invoke upon you worthy of such merits? We wish you, Calenus, a fortune of a hundred millions. If this falls to your lot, you will die of hunger.

C. ON AFRA.

Afra talks of her papas and her mammas; but she herself may be called the grandmamma of her papas and mammas.

CI. ON THE DEATH OF HIS AMANUENSIS DEMETRIUS.

Demetrius, whose hand was once the faithful confidant of my verses, so useful to his master, and so well known to the Caesars, has yielded up his brief life in its early prime. A fourth harvest had been added to his years, which previously numbered fifteen. That he might not, however, descend to the Stygian shades as a slave, I, when the accursed disease had seized and was withering him, took precaution, and remitted to the sick youth all my right over him as his master; he was worthy of restoration to health through my gift.1 He appreciated, with failing faculties, the kindness which he had received; and on the point of departing, a free man, to the Tartarean waters, saluted me as his patron.

1 I.e. I wish my gift could have restored him to health.

CII. TO LYCORIS.

The painter who drew your Venus, Lycoris, paid court, I suppose, to Minerva.2

2 Represented Venus less beautiful than she is, in order to please Minerva, her rival for the golden apple.

CIII. TO SCAEVOLA.

"If the gods were to give me a fortune of a million sesterces," you used to say, Scaevola, before you were a full knight,1 "oh how would I live! how magnificently, how happily!" The complaisant deities smiled and granted your wish. Since that time your toga has become much more dirty, your cloak worse; your shoe has been sewn up three and four times; of ten olives the greater portion is always put by, and one spread of the table serves for two meals; the thick dregs of pink Vejentan wine are your drink; a plate of lukewarm peas costs you a penny; your mistress a penny likewise. Cheat and liar, let us go before the tribunal of the gods; and either live, Scaevola, as befits you, or restore to the gods your million sesterces.

1 That is, before you had four hundred thousand sesterces; which was the fortune that a man must have before he could be a knight

CIV. ON A SPECTACLE IN THE ARENA.

When we see the leopard bear upon his spotted neck a light and easy yoke, and the furious tigers endure with patience the blows of the whip; the stags champ the golden curbs; the Libyan bears tamed by the bit; a boar, huge as that which Calydon is said to have produced, obey the purple muzzle; the ugly buffaloes drag chariots, and the elephant, when ordered to dance nimbly, pay prompt obedience to his swarthy leader; who would not imagine such things a spectacle given by the gods? These, however, any one disregards as of inferior attraction who sees the condescension of the lions, which the swift-footed timorous hares fatigue in the chase. They let go the little animals, catch them again, and caress them when caught, and the latter are safer in their captors' mouths than elsewhere; since the lions delight in granting them free passage through their open jaws, and in holding their teeth as with fear, for they are ashamed to crush the tender prey, after having just come from slaying bulls; This clemency does not proceed from art; the lions know whom they serve.

CV. TO QUINTUS OVIDIUS.

The wine, Ovidius, which is grown in the Nomentan fields, in proportion as it receives the addition of years, puts off, through age, its character and name; and the jar thus ancient receives whatever name you please.1

1 Being mellowed by age, it maybe called Falernian, Cecuban, or any other name given to the best wines.

CVI. TO RUFUS.

Rufus, you often pour water into your wine, and, if hard pressed by your companion, you drink just a cup now and then of diluted Falernian. Pray, is it that Naevia has promised you a night of bliss; and you prefer by sobriety to enhance your enjoyment? You sigh, you are silent, you groan: she has refused you. You may drink, then, and often, cups of four-fold size, and drown in wine your concern at her cruelty. Why do you spare yourself, Rufus? You have nothing before you but to sleep.

CVII. TO LUCIUS JULIUS.

You often say to me, dearest Lucius Julius, "Write something great: you take your ease too much." Give me then leisure,----but leisure such as that which of old Maecenas gave to his Horace and his Virgil -- and I would endeavour to write something which should live through time, and to snatch my name from the flames of the funeral pyre. Steers are unwilling to carry their yoke into barren fields. A fat soil fatigues, but the very labour bestowed on it is delightful.

CVIII. TO GALLUS.

You possess----and may it be yours and grow larger through a long series of years----a house, beautiful I admit, but on the other side of the Tiber. But my garret looks upon the laurels of Agrippa; and in this quarter I am already grown old. I must move, in order to pay you a morning call, Gallus, and you deserve this consideration, even if your house were still farther off. But it is a small matter to you, Gallus, if I add one to the number of your toga-clad visitors; while it is a great matter to me, if I withhold that one. I myself will frequently pay my respects to you at the tenth hour.1 This morning my book shall wish you "good day" in my stead.

1 The tenth hour from sunrise, corresponding to our four o'clock is the afternoon. SeeB. iv. Ep. 8.

CIX. ON A PET DOG AND THE PAINTER.

Issa is more playful than the sparrow of Catullus. Issa is more pure than the kiss of a dove. Issa is more loving than any maiden. Issa is dearer than Indian gems. The little dog Issa is the pet of Publius. If she complains, you will think she speaks. She feels both the sorrow and the gladness of her master. She lies reclined upon his neck, and sleeps, so that not a respiration is heard from her. And, however pressed, she has never sullied the coverlet with a single spot; but rouses her master with a gentle touch of her foot, and begs to be set down from the bed and relieved. Such modesty resides in this chaste little animal; she knows not the pleasures of love; nor do we find a mate worthy of so tender a damsel. That her last hour may not carry her off wholly, Publius has her limned in a picture, in which you will see an Issa so like, that not even herself is so like herself. In a word, place Issa and the picture side by side, and you will imagine either both real, or both painted.

CX. TO VELOX.

You complain, Velox, that the epigrams which I write are long. You yourself write nothing; your attempts are shorter.1

1 Imperfect; abortive; ending in nothing.

CXI. TO REGULUS, ON SENDING HIM A BOOK AND A PRESENT OF FRANKINCENSE.

Since your reputation for wisdom, and the care which you bestow on your labours, are equal, and since your piety is not inferior to your genius, he who is surprised that a book and incense are presented to you, Regulus, is ignorant how to adapt presents to deserts.

CXII. ON PRISCUS, A USURER.

When I did not know you, I used to address you as my lord and king. Now, since I know you well, you shall be plain Priscus with me.

CXIII. TO THE READER.

If, reader, you wish to employ some good hours badly, and are an enemy to your own leisure, you will obtain whatever sportive verses I produced in my youth and boyhood, and all my trifles, which even I myself have forgotten, from Quintus Pollius Valerianus, who has resolved not to let my light effusions perish.

CXIV. TO FAUSTINUS.

These gardens adjoining your domain, Faustinus, and these small fields and moist meadows, Telesphorus Faenius owns. Here he has deposited the ashes of his daughter, and has consecrated the name, which you read, of Antulla;----though his own name should rather have been read there. It had been more just that the father should have gone to the Stygian shades; but, since this was not permitted, may he live to honour his daughter's remains.

CXV. TO PROCILLUS.

A certain damsel, envious Procillus, is desperately in love with me,----a nymph more white than the spotless swan, than silver, than snow, than lily, than privet: already you will be thinking of hanging yourself, But I long for one darker than night, than the ant, than pitch, than the jack-daw, than the cricket. If I know you well, Procillus, you will spare your life.

CXVI. ON THE TOMB OF ANTULLA.

This grove, and these fair acres of cultivated land, Faenius has consecrated to the eternal honour of the dead. In this tomb is deposited Antulla, too soon snatched from her family: in this tomb each of her parents will be united to her. If any one desires this piece of ground, I warn him not to hope for it; it is for ever devoted to its owners.

CXVII. TO LUPERCUS.

Whenever you meet me, Lupercus, you constantly say, "Shall I send my servant, for you to give him your little book of Epigrams, which I will read and return to you directly?" There is no reason, Lupercus, to trouble your servant. It is a lone journey, if he wishes to come to the Pirus;1 and I live up three pairs of stairs, and those high ones. What you want you may procure nearer at hand. You frequently go down to the Argiletum: opposite Caesar's forum is a shop, with pillars on each side covered over with titles of books, so that you may quickly run over the names of all the poets. Procure me there; you will no sooner ask Atrectus,----such is the name of the owner of the shop,----than he will give you, from the first or second shelf a Martial, well smoothed with pumice-stone, and adorned with purple, for five denarii "You are not worth so much," do you say? You are right, Lupercus.

1 The pear-tree. The name of some spot near which Martial lived.

CXVIII. TO CAEDICIANUS.

For him who is not satisfied with reading a hundred epigrams, no amount of trouble is sufficient, Caedicianus.

This text was transcribed by Roger Pearse, Ipswich, UK, 2008. This file and all material on this page is in the public domain - copy freely.

Greek text is rendered using unicode.

Early Church Fathers - Additional Texts

#latin poetry

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bnha-archive · 4 years

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As Long As You’re Mine: Hawks X Sidekick!Reader

Wrote this on a whim: hope you enjoy it.

Sidekick and Hero romantic fraternization is frowned upon, both in the community and by the media. Hero dating Hero? Perfectly acceptable but dating a subordinate? Abuse of power. Such things can interfere with the work, after all. Professionalism may not be Hawks’ strong point, but he can keep up appearances well. He’s slipped up a few times, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear or fixing the way your costume sits while on patrol, but the media has chalked up to the sibling-like affection between you two. “The Best Big Brother” they called him while showcasing a picture of him ruffling your hair. It’s for your sake that he doesn’t correct the media. Your career is important after all and how would it spiral after the revelation that you are dating someone who is essentially your boss?

But, Keigo couldn’t give a single fuck at this moment. He cradles your limp form in his arms, bleeding and broken but alive. Your eyes are hazy, and you keep trying to speak. “Hawks. What, what about—” His lips meet your sweaty, bloodied and dust-covered forehead and cheeks. You’re alive. The sound of the city falling around him goes silent as he smooths out your hair, kissing the top of your head.

“Don’t. Don’t talk. It’s ok. It’ll all be ok.”

A gruff voice jolts Keigo back to reality, “Hawks.” Endeavor stands before him, dust marring his features. The older man points to flashing lights at a nearby intersection. “You both need medical attention.”

“It’ll be faster if I fly.”

“Don’t.”

He holds you tighter. “I don’t take orders from you—”

Endeavor lowers his voice and something in his face softens. “There’s plenty of officers and heroes alike to escort you there.” Get out of the public eye.

“I… right. Right yeah. See you later.” And with a flash of red, Hawks flies low to the ground in a swoop that puts him amid EMTs and police. He doesn’t leave your side as you’re placed on a gurney, and he waves away attempt to be checked over. No, no he’s fine. His sidekick is the priority.

“What a good boss you are!” One EMT says, with a beaming smile. “Caring for your subordinates. But we can take it from here.”

Hawks doesn’t think before answering. “No. No, this is a special case, I’ll stay.”

“Hm?” The medic doesn’t understand.

Golden eyes glisten as he fights through the lump in his throat to speak. “My favorite, the best partner I’ve ever had the chance to work with.”

“Ah, I see. I feel the same way about some of my colleagues.”

Your hand brushes against his and your gazes meet. A silent plea travels through your body as your fingers tighten around his sleeve. With practiced ease, Hawks bends over and seals his mouth over yours for a few seconds. He relishes the warmth in the kiss because it means you’re still breathing. And for a few heart-stopping moments, he hadn’t been sure you were. “No. I doubt it.” Hawks replies as he takes a seat in the back of the ambulance next to your head. “This is definitely different.”

***

“How long?”

“What?”

Sitting in a hospital hallway while a surgeon pulls the glass out of your arms and legs isn’t the ideal situation for this conversation (you didn’t want him in the room). And to make it better, Hawks isn’t even sure who’s talking to him right now. The all-black outfit and the long hair feel familiar, but he can’t place—the man seizes Keigo by the collar and hauls him to his feet, dark eyes glowing red and suddenly, his wings are useless.

Wait a second. “There’s a poster of you on the wall of my apartment. You’re the homeroom teacher.”

“Answer me. How long have you been taking advantage?”

Hawks can’t help himself, “It’s not taking advantage if you beg for it.” To be fair, he totally deserved the punch that landed on his cheek.

Aizawa slams the younger man against the wall, arm barring him and applying pressure to his windpipe. Keigo Takami believes that he deserves some part of this—he’d pushed, hadn’t he? Pursued you in a way that made it hard to say no. He’d tease you, praise you, admire you and let it show. You, young and naïve, naturally fell for a man that fights by your side and saves your life more times than you care to count. A man who is your supposed superior is now your lover. It’s inappropriate.

“I’ll ask you again,” Eraserhead hisses, “How long?”

Hawks fights for a breath. “Not… until after graduation. Didn’t touch—‘m not a pervert.”

With a grunt, Aizawa releases him and Keigo slumps against the wall. And at that moment, the door to the private procedure room opens. You wheel out, arms and legs in a thick layer of bandages and an IV in your left wrist. You’re beaming at the pair of them—completely unaware of the exchange that had just happened moments before.

“Sensei! I wish the circumstances of our meeting were better. Are you well?” You extend your right arm, only flinching slightly.

Your homeroom teacher allows the Velcro of his face to relax for a moment as he takes your hand in his own in a handshake. “I am. How serious are your injuries?”

“Oh, just had some debris stuck in my limbs. Almost nicked an artery. Got about 80 stitches going for me in my arms alone. But hey I’m alive.” You brush off the concern like dust. The answer incenses Keigo, how could you be so casual about this?

“80 stitches aren’t nothing.” He interjects. “You won’t be going on patrol until every cut is healed.” His golden eyes meet your own—his response confuses you; this is the same man who laughed off a broken arm not 2 months ago.

“What?” You lean forward in your wheelchair. “That’s not fair. I’ve done patrol with bruised ribs and a bloody lip!” You plead your case to Aizawa, “C’mon Sensei, tell him! Haven’t I survived worse?”

Shota Aizawa is not lacking in mercy, but given your physical state and relationship status… “It’s not my place to contest orders from your superior, kid.” The older man shrugs, and he catches your eyes in a serious look. “It’s also not my place to interfere with your relationship with him. But, believe me when I say I’m resisting the urge.”

“You told him?”

“I didn’t have to. He knew already.” Hawks holds up his hands in defeat.

Aizawa crouches to meet your gaze evenly. He searches your eyes. “Are you happy? Do you want to stay with him?”

“I’m right here.”

Eraserhead ignores the other hero—focusing on you and waiting for an answer. Your eyes soften and you place a gauze covered hand on his shoulder. “I’m happy and I want to stay. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Ok then.” The man stands, taking one last moment to address Hawks, “Who else knows?”

“No one, I think.”

“Hm, keep it that unless you want trouble.” Aizawa turns to leave, “You’ll always have a place at U.A. if you want one kid.”

“Thanks, Sensei.” You turn back to your lover, searching his face. “What’d he say to you?”

Keigo sits back down, slumping forward and dragging your chair forward to he could rest his head on your lap. “He wanted to know how long I’d—we were together.”

“Ah. I mean, that’s fair. It was a little after I graduated right?”

“Yeah, yeah…” He sighs, and you can feel his breath through the bandages. “I’m so tired.”

“Don’t fall asleep on me, Kei. You need to be checked out as well. And you need to shower, you have dust all over you.”

“Don’t care. I can finally relax.”

You’re alive. You’re going to be fine. He didn’t lose you.

Everything is ok.

#bnha #mha #hawks #hawks x reader #insert reader #x reader #gender neutral reader #takami keigo #angst #fluff #sidekick!reader #back from the dead #dadzawa #shota aizawa #keigo tamaki #my hero imagines #boku no hero x reader

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latristereina · 5 years

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The wedding of Isabella I of Castile and Ferdinand II of Aragon (18-19 October 1469, Palacio de los Vivero, Valladolid)

John II of Aragon, as a Castilian infante and one of Castile’s great magnates, had always thought of an alliance with this realm in order to face his problems in Cataluña and with the powerful Kingdom of France. Already in 1457, John II proposed the marriage of his two children, Ferdinand and Joanna, to the half-siblings of Henry IV of Castile, Isabella, and Alfonso, although, it seems, no one took this proposition seriously at the time.

Considering the grave situation in Catalonia between 1466-67, for it was invaded by the French troops, the king of Aragon decided to negotiate with the representatives of prince Alfonso and Isabel, without breaking off ties with Henry IV, in order to assure the Castilian support. In April 1467, the leaders of Alfonso’s camp, Juan Pacheco – who was desperate to become bonded with royalty – and Alfonso Carrillo, offered him the double match: prince Alfonso would marry infanta Joanna of Aragon, and prince Ferdinand would wed Pacheco’s daughter, Beatriz. John II agreed, and although, he made it clear, he would prefer his son to marry infanta Isabella, given the desperate situation he had found himself in, he eventually gave his permission. He sent one of his diplomats, Pierres de Peralta, to Castile, with the power of attorney, to negotiate the marriage of his son with any woman of royal blood, or with any woman who did not descend from royalty. Pierres navigated skillfully between the two camps, not breaking off with anyone.

In November 1467, after the lost battle of Vilademat, John II put pressure on the ambassador of Alfonso’s party to conclude the issue of the double match. Juan Pacheco, however, seemed to be gradually distancing himself from those plans, whereas his uncle, Alfonso Carrillo, cheered John II on when it came to the Castilian marriage, agreeing with him the union with infanta Isabella, instead of Pacheco’s daughter, would be the best option. However, in June 1468, John II continued maintaining political relations with Juan Pacheco through his ambassador, Pierres. Prince Alfonso died on July 5, 1468. John II broke off the negotiations for his son’s marriage to Beatriz Pacheco. Twelve days later, on the 17 of the same month, Ferdinand authorized Pierres de Peralta and Alfonso Carrillo to arrange his marriage with infanta Isabella, the first-born heiress to the kingdoms of Castile. John II ratified those powers on July 24, 1468.

As for Isabella, she had been held a prisoner in Segovia until autumn of 1467, when her younger brother’s faction set her free. After Alfonso’s death, the rebellious camp that had elevated the young prince to the rebellious throne, in opposition to Henry IV, planned on crowning Isabella for the new queen, but she denied it, maintaining she would be Henry’s heir. Meanwhile, Pacheco and Henry IV reconciled, and the majority of the grandees that had been in Alfonso’s camp followed in Pacheco’s footsteps. Before, Henry IV had agreed to confirm his younger brother as the heir, instead of his daughter, Juana, believing the marriage of the two would remove all the obstacles. Now, in order to preserve peace in his kingdoms, the king decided to make a pact with Isabella’s party. In August of 1468, Henry IV signed a document in which he agreed for his sister to be sworn in and obeyed as his heiress. He and Isabella met at Toros de Guisando (the place between Cadalso (Madrid) and Cebreros (Ávila)), where on August 19, he invited all his vassals to recognize the infanta as his heiress. It was then, when Juan Pacheco officially changed the camps again, having departed from Ávila on Isabella’s side, during the meeting at Toros de Guisando, he positioned himself in Henry’s camp (Cadalso – Madrid).

Everyone had to pledge loyalty to the king, the rebellious villages were to be handed over to Henry IV, Isabella promised she would not marry without her half-brother’s consent, and he promised to not marry her off against her will.

Isabella left Toros de Guisando with the title of Princess of Asturias, with all of the rents and cities that went along with it. And despite rumors about what was said during that all important meeting, and against opinion of some historians, according to Tarsicio de Azcona, there is no evidence Henry IV of Castile denied the paternity of his daughter, Juana, during the meeting, or that he claimed his marriage to Joanna of Avis was invalid, and he himself was a cuckold.

Joanna of Avis’s party and many Castilian nobles were not satisfied with the new situation. They wrote to Pope Paul II, insisting princess Juana was the legitimate heiress of Henry IV, born into the canonically approved marriage by Paul II himself, and legally sworn in, as the heir to the throne. Whereas the appointment of Isabella was done against the law because it was carried out without the consent of the three states, and attorneys of the cities. It is almost certain that neither Henry IV nor Juan Pacheco, who once again had dominated the situation, in fact steering the king, had any intention to swear Isabella in as the heir legally at the Cortes. During the meeting at Toros de Guisando, she had been sworn in only by some prelates and grandees of the kingdom, who were present there, which did not make it binding.

Since October 1468 Isabella had resided at Ocaña, which was Juan Pacheco’s stronghold, and where Henry IV’s court resided as well. At the time, Juan Pacheco and his camp prepared the double Portuguese match: Isabella was to marry Alfonso V of Portugal (such match had been already proposed in 1465), and princess Juana was to be the wife of Alfonso V’s heir. This way Henry IV and Pacheco wanted to make sure Isabella would not have chances to become queen and would leave Castile once and for all. Among other candidates, proposed to her, were: the brother of Louis XI of France, Duke of Berry, the future Richard III, and Ferdinand of Aragon. Henry’s first choice was the Portuguese match, however, the duke of Berry and Richard III would also take Isabella away from Castile, which was what the king and Pacheco desired.

John II’s diplomat, Pierres de Peralta, navigated between two camps: the Pacheco’s and the Mendoza’s, trying to see which one would make a better offer. He also met with nuncio Venier, who agreed to support the union of Isabella and Ferdinand. John II also greased the palms of Isabella’s closest advisers, such as Gonzalo Chacón and Gutierre de Cárdenas, promising them many favors in the Crown of Aragon. At the beginning of January 1469, king John II and his son sent to Isabella a draft of the marital contract. It offered her many advantages and guarantees, such as the help and money to gain succession to the throne, that the princess agreed with pleasure. It was basically the only option to save herself politically. Ferdinand also had something the three other candidates did not: his own good claim to the crown of Castile through the second son of John I of Castile. In fact, John II and Ferdinand were the closest male relatives of Henry IV, with their own claim to the throne. (Henry IV was also Ferdinand’s first cousin through his mother, Maria of Aragon, John II’s sister).

After that, Isabella refused to accept any offers delivered to her by the Portuguese embassy. On January 30, John II’s agent wrote to the king, informing him the Portuguese had returned to their country, the political situation was favorable, and Isabella was ready to get married to Ferdinand, declaring:

It has to be he and absolutely no other.

Isabella said a definitive “yes” in an undated letter, addressed to Ferdinand, delivered by Pierres de Peralta, the Constable of Navarre:

To the Lord my cousin, the king of Sicily Lord cousin, since Constable is going there, there is no need for me to write at greater length, except to ask your pardon for so late a reply. And the reason for the delay, the Constable will explain to Your Mercy. I beg you to trust him and to say what you wish me to do, for that I must do. And the reason I must do that today more than ever you will know from the Constable because it is not to be written. From the hand that will do as you may order

The princess.

The marital capitulations were revised and signed by Ferdinand on March 7, 1469, at Cervera, according to which:

- Isabella and Ferdinand would obey Henry IV

- Justice would be administered by Ferdinand

- Ferdinand promised to respect the ecclesiastic liberty and fueros of the cities

- Ferdinand could not sign any document on his own, only in unison with his wife

- Ferdinand would not be able to leave Castile without Isabella’s consent or be able to take their children away

- Ferdinand would not be able to carry out any enterprise without the consent of his wife

- Isabella would receive the dowry of the queens in Aragon, la cámara de la reina in Siracusa, and 100.000 golden florins, that were to be paid within four months, after the consummation of the marriage.

Besides, John II would give her 20.000 golden florins and the ruby collar that had belonged to Ferdinand’s mother, which worth was estimated at 40.000 ducats, and which was pawned at the time.

Along with the capitulations, the petitions and demands of the above-mentioned advisers of Isabella were brought by Pierres.

Her advisers made sure Ferdinand would not have a say in the matters of Castile, being dominated by the Castilian will. Something time would verify, and something Isabella would be forced to change, later on.

Given his difficult situation, John II had no choice but to cede and accept.

Another prominent Aragonese diplomat, Pedro de la Cavallería, was sent to Castile in order to gain the Mendozas’s support and to prepare Isabella’s departure from Ocaña, which was easier than usual, given Henry IV and Juan Pacheco had left for Andalusia.

Isabella abandoned Ocaña in the middle of May 1469. On May 30, John II of Aragon informed the grandees of Valencia that Isabella planned on picking her mother up from Arévalo and taking shelter in Ávila, “at her full liberty”.

Alfonso de Palencia was sent to Aragon, in order to collect the promised 20.000 florins and the ruby necklace. It was Ferdinand in person, who got the collar out of pawn on July 19.

Isabella traveled through Ávila, reached Madrigal, and celebrated the death anniversary of her brother, Alfonso. At the beginning of August, Isabella received the embassy from Louis XI of France. The French king had sent Jean Jouffroy, the cardinal of Albi, to examine the possibility of his brother’s marriage to Isabella. The princess made the cardinal believe she would, in fact, marry the Duke of Berry, and was so convincing that even Louis XI believed this to be true until November 1469.

Meanwhile, Henry IV lost all the hope Isabella would obey him, and hence ordered the city council of Madrigal to have her arrested. Then, or even earlier, the archbishop of Toledo and Fadrique Enríquez, Ferdinand’s grandfather, came to the conclusion Isabella had to be taken to another place. The archbishop had obtained the letter, signed by Juan Pacheco, with a forged date, thanks to which, the city of Valladolid would gladly receive Isabella.

From there, the princess sent Alonso de Palencia and Gutierre de Cárdenas to Aragon, to let Ferdinand know he should come to Castile as soon as possible.

In a letter written on September 8, dispatched from Valladolid, she informed her brother that she had chosen the Aragonese prince for her husband, and tried to justify her decision.

As for Ferdinand, Alfonso de Palencia and Gutierre de Cárdenas explained to him all the reasons for which he should immediately leave for Valladolid and confront Henry IV with the done deal, and said it was convenient for him to travel in disguise, given the Duero border was in the power of adversaries of the marriage. The hazardous plan was accepted by Ferdinand without vacillation, and also by his half-brother, Juan, the archbishop of Zaragoza. However, one of the advisers thought they should consult John II of Aragon, who was at another place, at the time.

It was hard for the king to let his heir leave, to cross the enemy’s lands, unprotected because he did not have

(…) another son, or other good for his old age, and for the well-being and the succession of all those kingdoms.

But he eventually sent his consent and blessings.

In Calatayud, Ferdinand’s party received a message from Isabella, urging them to hurry. They divided into two groups, taking two different roads: one of them was supposed to be official embassy at the court of Henry IV, with which Alfonso de Palencia would go, the other, with Ferdinand, was meant to reach Valladolid. The prince left Zaragoza on October 5 and was joined by Gutierre de Cárdenas and his group at Berdejo. According to Palencia, whenever they stopped, Ferdinand acted as a servant of merchants, looked after the mules and served the supper.

On October 7, at night, the prince and his entourage arrived in Burgo de Osma, where Alfonso de Palencia and the official Aragonese embassy were waiting for him, having arrived earlier the same day. There, according to Palencia, a stone was thrown by someone, who had not recognized the prince, which almost hurt him.

He reached Dueñas on October 9, where he could consider himself safe, at the fortress that belonged to the brother of the archbishop Carrillo. On October 14, at 11 pm., Ferdinand and Isabella met for the first time, in Valladolid, at the Palacio de los Vivero, where Isabella resided. The meeting was conducted in the presence of the archbishop of Toledo, Alfonso Carrillo, who had led Ferdinand to the rooms of the princess.

According to Palencia, who was there, the princes were smitten with each other. They talked for two hours, and then a notary took down their formal promises to marry. Ferdinand gave Isabella betrothal gifts and returned to Dueñas. He came back four days later, on October 18.

The famous forged dispensation and the marital capitulations were read out, and then, the young couple said their wedding vows in the rich sala of the palace. That night Ferdinand retired to the residence of the archbishop of Toledo, and returned to the Palacio de los Vivero the next day. The nuptial mass was held, and after the celebrations (which were not splendorous, given the circumstances), on the night of October 19, the marriage was consummated with witnesses crowded at the door of the bridal chamber. Some of them entered to take the stained bedsheets, in order to show them to the people waiting in a hall below. The witnesses also surveyed the bedroom itself, to make sure they had not been cheated.

We know for sure when the wedding and consummation took place. It was Ferdinand himself, who, on October 20, reported to the Valencian grandees that:

there was a high nuptial mass. And last night, in service to God, we consummated our marriage.

Sources:

Jaime Vicens Vives, Historia crítica de la vida y reinado de Fernando II de Aragón,

Tarsicio de Azcona, Isabel la Católica: Vida y reinado,

Luis Suárez Fernández, Fernando el Católico,

Manuel Fernández Álvarez, Isabel la Católica,

Palencia, Crónica, dec. 2, lib. 2

Peggy K. Liss, Isabel the Queen: Life and Times

Nancy Rubin Stuart, Isabella of Castile: The First Renaissance Queen,

Filip Kubiaczyk, Między wojną a dyplomacją. Ferdynand Katolicki I polityka zagraniczna Hiszpanii w latach 1492-1516

#perioddramaedit #historyedit #on this day in history #women in history #men in history #isabella i of castile #ferdinand ii of aragon #isabel tve #S01E09 #michelle jenner #rodolfo sancho

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