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dwellordream · 3 years

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“...While on his travels Augustus would have continued to be preoccupied with the old issue of what would happen after his death. He had clearly demonstrated at the time of his departure that he could not manage without Marcus Agrippa, married at the time to Marcella, Octavia’s daughter. Agrippa now divorced her (her compensation was to be married to Iullus Antonius, the son of Antony and Fulvia), so as to be free in 21 to marry the widowed Julia. Plutarch says that this marriage came about through Octavia’s machinations and that she prevailed upon Augustus to accept the idea. It is not clear what her motives would have been.

If we are to believe Seneca we might see pure spite. He claimed that Octavia hated Livia after the death of Marcellus because the hopes of the imperial house passed now to Livia’s sons. This could well be no more than speculation, and Seneca does not even hint at any specific action by Octavia against her supposed rival. The whole story sounds typically Senecan in its denigration of dead individuals who are easy targets. Once again, we are told nothing about Livia’s reaction to the marriage. She might not have been able to object to the earlier marriage between Julia and Augustus’ nephew Marcellus, but in 21 the situation was different. Her older son, Tiberius, who was not yet married, had been passed over in favour of an outsider to the family.

But whatever his sense of obligation to his wife, Augustus probably felt that he had little choice in the matter. Agrippa’s earlier reaction to having to take second place to Marcellus, a blood relative of Augustus, would have provided a good hint to Augustus of how his friend would have taken to playing second string to Tiberius. Agrippa was now a key figure in the governing of Rome. He was not a man to be provoked. If Livia had been entertaining hopes that this early stage of a preeminent role for either of her sons (and such a suggestion, while reasonable, is totally speculative), such hopes would have faded with the birth of two sons to Julia and Agrippa.

Gaius Caesar was born in 20 bc, and, as if to confirm the line, a second son, Lucius Caesar, arrived in 17. Augustus was delighted, and soon after Lucius’ birth signalled his ultimate intentions by adopting both boys. He thus might envisage himself as being ‘‘succeeded’’ by Agrippa, who would in turn be succeeded by either Gaius and Lucius, who were, in a sense, sons of both men. In late 16 bc Augustus set out on an extended trip to Gaul and Spain, where he established a number of veteran settlements. Livia may have accompanied him. Dio does report speculation that the emperor went away so as to be able to conduct his affair with Terentia, the wife of his close confidant Maecenas, in a place where it would not attract gossip.

Even if the rumours were well founded, the implication need not necessarily follow that he had left Livia behind. Livia had a reputation as a femme complaisante, and Augustus may simply have wanted to get away from the prying eyes of the capital. Certainly at one stage Livia intervened with Augustus to argue for the grant of citizenship to a Gaul, and this trip provides the best context. Moreover, Seneca dates a famous incident to this trip, Livia’s plea on behalf of the accused Gaius Cornelius Cinna. It could well be that Seneca misdated the Cinna episode, but he at any rate clearly believed that Livia had been in Gaul with her husband at the relevant time.

…Agrippa lived to see the birth of two other children, his daughters Julia and Agrippina. The first (born about 19 bc) is the namesake of her mother, and, in the historical tradition, cut from the same cloth; the second was to be somewhat eclipsed in the same tradition by her own daughter and namesake, the mother of the last Julio-Claudian emperor, Nero. Agrippa thus became the natural father of four of Augustus’ grandchildren during his lifetime (a fifth would be born posthumously), and his stock rose higher with each event. He had served his princeps well, and could now take his final exit. In 13 he campaigned in the Balkans. At the end of the season he returned to Italy, where he fell ill, and in mid-March, 12 bc, he died.

His body was brought to Rome, where it was given a magnificent burial, and the remains were deposited in the Mausoleum of Augustus, even though Agrippa had earlier booked himself another site in the Campus Martius. In the following year Octavia died. She is celebrated by the sources as a paragon of every human virtue, whose only possible failings had been the forgivable ones of excessive loyalty to an undeserving husband and excessive grief over the death of a possibly only marginally more deserving son. As noted earlier, we should be cautious about Seneca’s claim that Octavia nursed a hatred for Livia after the death of Marcellus. But there can be no doubt that her death was in a sense advantageous to Livia, for it removed one of the main contenders for the role of the premier woman in the state. Only Augustus’ daughter Julia might now lay claim to a precedence of sorts, but she in fact became an agent in furthering Livia’s ambitions, rather than an obstacle. Once her formal period of mourning was over, Julia would need another husband. Suetonius says that her father carefully considered several options, even from among the equestrians.

Tiberius later claimed that Augustus pondered the idea of marrying her off to a political nonentity, someone noted for leading a retiring life and not involved in a political career. Among others he supposedly considered Gaius Proculeius, a close friend of the emperor and best known for the manner of his death rather than of his life: he committed suicide by what must have been a painful technique—swallowing gypsum. This drastic action was apparently not in response to the prospect of marriage to Julia but in despair over the unbearable pains in his stomach.

In 11 bc, the year of Octavia’s death, Augustus made his decision. He could hardly pass over one of Livia’s sons again. They were the only real choices, given the practical options open to him. Both were married, and Drusus’ wife was the daughter of Octavia, someone able already to produce offspring linked, at least indirectly, by blood to the princeps. Divorce in this case would not have been desirable. Augustus had already demonstrated his faith in Livia’s other son, Tiberius, by appointing him to replace Agrippa in the Balkans. He was the inevitable candidate for Julia’s next husband. In perhaps 20 or 19 Tiberius had married Agrippa’s daughter Vipsania, to whom he had long been betrothed. Their son Drusus was born in perhaps 14. In 11 Vipsania was pregnant for a second time, but Tiberius was obliged to divorce her, although he seems to have been genuinely attached to her. Reputedly when they met after the divorce he followed her with such a forlorn and tearful gaze that precautions were taken that their paths would never cross again.

He was now free to marry Julia. This marriage marks a milestone in Tiberius’ career and in the ambitions that Livia would naturally have nursed for her son. Augustus was clearly prepared to place him in an advantageous position, and the process could be revoked only with difficulty. It is inevitable that there should be speculation among modern scholars that Livia might have played a role in arranging the marriage. Gardthausen claimed that she brought it off in the teeth of vigorous opposition. Perhaps, but the suggestion belongs totally to the realm of speculation. If Livia did play some part in winning over Augustus, she did it so skilfully and unobtrusively that she has left no traces, and the sources are silent about any specific interference on this occasion.

Nor can it be assumed that Augustus would have needed a great deal of persuading. No serious store should be placed in the claims in the sources that he held Tiberius in general contempt and was reduced to turning to him faut de mieux. Suetonius quotes passages from Augustus’ correspondence that provide concrete evidence that the emperor in fact held his adopted son in high regard. Suetonius chose the extracts to show his appreciation of Tiberius’ military and administrative skills, but his words clearly suggest a high degree of affection that seems to go beyond the merely formulaic.

He addresses Tiberius as iucundissime, probably the equivalent in modern correspondence of ‘‘my very dear Tiberius.’’ He reveals that when he has a challenging problem or is feeling particularly annoyed at something, he yearns for his Tiberius (Tiberium meum desidero), and he notes that both he and Livia are tortured by the thought that her son might be overtaxing himself. Livia’s other son, Drusus, although arguably his brother’s match in military reputation and ability, seems to have been quite different from him in temperament. Where Tiberius was private, inhibited, uninterested in courting popularity, Drusus was affable, engaging, and well-liked, and there was a popular belief, probably naive, that he was committed to an eventual restoration of the republic. He had found a perfectly compatible wife in Antonia the Younger, a woman who commanded universal esteem and respect to the very end.

They produced two sons, both of whom would loom large on the stage of human events: Germanicus, who became the most loved man in the Roman empire and whose early death threatened to erode Livia’s popularity, and Claudius, whose physical limitations were an embarrassment to Livia and to other members of the imperial family, but who confounded them all by becoming an emperor of considerable acumen and ability. They also had a daughter, Livilla, who attained disrepute through her affair with the most loathed man in the early Roman empire, the notorious praetorian prefect Sejanus.

Drusus dominated the landscape in 9 bc. The year seemed to start auspiciously for Livia. In 13 bc the Senate had voted to consecrate the Ara Pacis, one of the great monuments of Augustus’ regime, as a memorial to his safe return from Spain and the pacification of Gaul. The dedication waited four years and finally took place in 9, on January 30, Livia’s birthday, perhaps her fiftieth. The honour was a profound one, but indirect and thus low-key, in keeping with Livia’s public persona. Her sons continued to achieve distinction on the battlefield. A decorated sword sheath of provincial workmanship has survived from this period.

It represents a frontal Livia with the nodus hairstyle, and shoulder locks carefully designed so as to flow along her shoulders above the drapery. She appears between two heads, almost certainly her sons, and the piece pictorially symbolises Livia at what must have been one of the most satisfying periods of her life. To cap her sense of well-being, Tiberius, after signal victories over the Dalmatians and Pannonians, returned to Rome to celebrate an ovation. Following the usual practice after a triumph or ovation, a dinner was given for the Senate in the Capitoline temple, and tables were set out for the people in front of private houses.

A separate banquet was arranged for the women. Its sponsors were Livia and Julia. Private tensions may already have arisen between Tiberius and Julia, but at least at the public level they were sedulously maintaining an outward image of marital harmony, and Livia was making her own contribution towards promoting that image. Similar festivities were planned to celebrate Drusus’ victories. Presumably in his case Livia would have joined Antonia, Drusus’ wife, in preparing the banquet, as she had joined Tiberius’ wife on the earlier occasion.

While Tiberius had been engaged in operations in Pannonia, Drusus had conducted a highly acclaimed campaign in Germany. By 9 bc he had succeeded in taking Roman arms as far as the river Elbe. So awesome were his achievements that greater powers felt the need to intervene. He was visited by the apparition of a giant barbarian woman, who told him—she conveniently spoke Latin—not to push his successes further. Something was clearly amiss in the divine timing. Suetonius implies that Drusus heeded the warning, but calamity befell him anyhow. In a riding accident Drusus’ horse toppled over onto him and broke his thigh. He fell gravely ill.

His deteriorating condition caused consternation throughout the Roman world, and it is even claimed that the enemy respected him so much that they declared a truce pending his recovery. (Similar claims were later made about his son Germanicus.) Tiberius had been campaigning in the Balkans at the time but had returned to Italy and was passing through Ticinum after the campaign when he heard that Drusus was sinking fast. Travelling the 290 km in a day and a night, a rate that Pliny thought impressive enough to record, he rushed to be with his brother. He reached him just before he died in September, 9 bc. Drusus was universally liked, and his death at the age of twenty-nine could not seriously be seen as benefitting anyone.

Nevertheless, it still managed to attract gossip and rumours. The death of a young prince of the imperial house would usually drag in the name of Livia as the prime suspect. In this instance such a scenario would have been totally implausible, and Augustus became the target of the innuendo instead. Tacitus reports that the tragedy evoked the same jaundiced reactions as would that of Germanicus, three decades later in the reign of Tiberius, that sons with ‘‘democratic’’ temperaments—civilia ingenia—did not please ruling fathers (Germanicus had been adopted by Tiberius).

Suetonius has preserved a tradition that Augustus, suspecting Drusus of republicanism, recalled him from his province and, when he declined to obey, had him poisoned. Suetonius thought the suggestion nonsensical, and he is surely correct. Augustus had shown great affection for the young man and in the Senate had named him joint heir with Gaius and Lucius. He also delivered a warm eulogy after his death. Even Tiberius’ grief was portrayed as twofaced. To illustrate Tiberius’ hatred for the members of his own family, Suetonius claims that he had earlier produced a letter in which his younger brother discussed with him the possibility of compelling Augustus to restore the republic.

But events seem to belie completely the notion of any serious fraternal strife. Tiberius’ anguish was clearly genuine. His general deportment is of special interest, because of the light that it might throw on his and Livia’s conduct later, at the funeral of Germanicus. According to Seneca, the troops were deeply distressed over the death and demanded Drusus’ body. Tiberius maintained that discipline had to be observed in grieving as well as fighting, and that the funeral was to be conducted with the dignity demanded by the Roman tradition. He repressed his own tears and was able to dampen the enthusiasm for a vulgar show of public grief.

Tiberius now set out with the body for Rome. Augustus went to Ticinum (Pavia) to meet the cortege, and because Seneca says that Livia accompanied the procession to Rome, it is probably safe to assume that she went with her husband. As she travelled, she was struck by the pyres that burned throughout the country and the crowds that came out to escort the funeral train. The event provides one of the few glimpses of Livia’s private emotions. She was crushed by the death and sought comfort from the philosopher Areus. On his advice, she uncharacteristically opened herself up to others. She put pictures of Drusus in public and private places and encouraged her acquaintances to talk about him.

But she maintained a respectable level of grief, which elicited the admiration of Seneca. Tiberius may well have learned from his mother the appropriateness of self-restraint in the face of private anguish. It was an attitude that was later to arouse considerable resentment against both of them. During the funeral in Rome, Tiberius delivered a eulogy in the Forum and Augustus another in the Circus Maximus, where the emperor expressed the hope that Gaius and Lucius would emulate Drusus.

The body was taken to the Campus Martius for cremation by the equestrians, and the funeral bier was surrounded by images of the Julian and the Claudian families. The ashes were deposited in Augustus’ mausoleum. The title of Germanicus was posthumously bestowed on Drusus and his descendants, and he was given the further honour of statues, an arch, and a cenotaph on the banks of the Rhine. Augustus composed the verses that appeared on his tomb and also wrote a prose account of his life. No doubt less distinguished Romans, of varied literary talent, would have written their own contributions.

The anonymous Consolatio ad Liviam represents itself as just such a composition, intended to offer comfort to Livia on this very occasion, although it was probably composed somewhat later. Livia was indeed devastated, but as some form of compensation for her terrible private loss, she now, after some thirty years in the shadows, came into greater public prominence. The final chapter of Drusus’ life seems to have opened up a new one in his mother’s.”

- Anthony A. Barrett, “In the Shadows.” in Livia: First Lady of Imperial Rome

#livia drusilla #octavian #livia first lady of imperial rome #anthony a. barrett #roman #ancient #history

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rosethornewrites · 3 years

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Fic: this body yet survives, ch. 5

Relationship: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén, Lán Qǐrén, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín, Jiāng Yànlí

Additional Tags: No War AU, Recovery, Trauma, Dissociation, Courtship, Courting Rituals

Summary: Wangji approaches the Jiang siblings with betrothal gifts, hoping for their approval. More of Wei Wuxian's self-esteem issues rear their ugly heads.

Notes: See end

Parts 1 & 2

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

AO3 link

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Wei Ying offered to help carry the baskets, or even the two cages containing a fat white-feathered wuguji rooster apiece, but Wangji refused to let him—it seemed improper to have him carry any part of the betrothal gifts.

Fortunately, xiongzhang and the outer disciple were both able to help. Wangji could not recall the young man’s name, only that he was an average cultivator with merely adequate guqin skills. Wangji himself carried the cages.

On the way to the guest house Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli were staying in, Wei Ying stayed close, one hand grasping the edge of Wangji’s sleeve, the other holding the box with his forehead ribbon with a sort of reverence. He kept looking at it, his expression tinged with wonder and disbelief.

Wangji knew it would take time for Wei Ying to process the events of today; he wondered if perhaps everything was moving too quickly—telling Wei Ying he wished to court him, the clarification of his acceptance to GusuLan as a disciple, and now formally delivering betrothal gifts to his siblings. Wei Ying was still recovering, after all, but it was too late to change course now.

If he stopped now, Wei Ying might interpret it as changing his mind, and that would be so much worse. Wangji did not want to give him any cause to doubt, not after all he had been through. If he could shield Wei Ying from everything that might hurt him, he would—but he also knew that way of thinking could turn him into his father.

He would not cage Wei Ying, even to protect him.

Jiang Yanli was writing outside in the early afternoon sunshine when they arrived, and Wangji could see her immediate understanding and joy at seeing the decorated baskets before she schooled her expression and called for Jiang Wanyin.

He froze coming from the guest house, a stunned look on his face.

Wei Ying noticed and stopped short, his expression shifting to uncertainty. He didn’t know how his brother would react, Wangji realized. Wangji hovered next to him, not sure how to help.

Fortunately, Jiang Yanli seemed to know what to do. She came to Wei Ying and tucked her arm into his, pulling him forward, then called Jiang Wanyin’s name with a hint of exasperation in her voice.

Quickly, the three siblings were seated at the table, Wei Ying in the middle. He still looked uncertain, almost overwhelmed, and Wangji longed to go to him and draw him into his arms.

He was relieved when Xichen stepped forward, that xiongzhang would handle this part. Technically neither himself nor Wei Ying should be present for this, but on a similar note the Jiang siblings were the family of Wei Ying’s heart, not blood, so nothing about this was strictly traditional. They were both orphans, and thus no parents were involved in this betrothal process.

Xichen directed the disciple to place the baskets he was carrying and set his own down as well. At his pointed look, Wangji placed the cages with the roosters on the table as well.

“Wei Wuxian received his ribbon today,” Xichen began calmly. “As only family and cultivation partners may touch it, Wangji thought perhaps he could show Maiden Jiang how he ties his into his hair.”

Jiang Yanli looked delighted, and Wei Ying opened the box to show her the ribbon.

“Oh, it has little embroidered clouds,” she exclaimed.

“An inner disciple’s ribbon,” the outer disciple said, sounding surprised.

“Wei-gongzi has contributed much to Gusu Lan already,” Xichen clarified. “Shufu and I made the decision.”

Jiang Yanli eyed his hair, clearly thinking ahead to the lesson, and she smiled.

“Oh, is that a new guan?”

To Wangji’s delight, Wei Ying blushed.

“Mine broke this morning. This one belonged to Lan Zhan’s mother.”

“A love token?” Jiang Yanli asked, her smile widening. “It is lovely.”

“You have a whole bag of guan,” Jiang Wanyin muttered.

Wei Ying froze, his eyes going distant. The Jiang siblings looked startled by his reaction.

“The guan in his bag all had lotus on them,” Wangji stated.

He offered nothing more, but they realized anyway if the grief on their faces told him anything. As Wei Ying has predicted, they were sad, but there was a determination there as well.

“I’ll go through your bags for you,” Jiang Wanyin told him softly. “Get rid of anything with lotuses.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t realize, A-Xian.”

Wei Ying attempted a smile, but it was weak.

Both of his siblings looked as though they felt guilty for not having realized, but Wangji had only noticed this morning, had connected his fugue with the fallen lotus guan scattered across the floor.

“I didn’t tell you,” Wei Ying murmured. “How would you know?”

“Tell us what’s bothering you, you idiot. We can’t help otherwise.”

The smile turned more true, and sheepish.

“I’ll try.”

Xichen cleared his throat delicately and gestured to the baskets on the table, and he and Wangji bowed and took their seats across the table as the outer disciple started to unwrap the cloth covering them.

“Regarding the love token…”

Inside the baskets was white tea from Gusu Lan’s stores, aged decades to develop its delicate flavor. Sweet osmanthus cakes stamped with dragon designs—no phoenix, as both he and Wei Ying were men. A pair of dragon candles. One of the baskets contained cuts of pork, obviously purchased in Caiyi; this gift implied Jiang Yanli was a maternal figure. Another basket contained an assortment of seafood to symbolize a long and happy marriage. Oranges and apples, dates, dried tangerine and melon slices, lotus seeds, candies symbolizing prosperity, good fortune, luck, peace, and offspring—perhaps the hope he and Wei Ying would adopt? Sprigs of pine for longevity. Carved jade in different hues—green dragons and turtles, red and purple birds, white clouds, a black bat, orange fish, blue butterflies, flowers in all colors, and other auspicious symbols—all to show Wei Ying’s worth.

Gold had a value; jade was invaluable.

“We have brought a betrothal gift for you, Wei-gongzi’s siblings, to seek your approval for him to be wed to Wangji.”

“I asked him if he would consent to be courted, and he agreed,” Wangji offered.

Instead of responding, Jiang Wanyin looked at Wei Ying with what seemed like anger at first glance but was actually disappointment and grief.

“You’re not coming back to Lotus Cove,” he said.

It wasn’t a question, and he clearly already knew the answer. Jiang Wanyin’s voice was resigned and rough, as though he had held out hope all this time while knowing it was unlikely.

Wei Ying flinched, his face pinched with his own emotions. His throat worked soundlessly for a moment.

“I can’t,” he finally said, his voice shaky. “I’m sorry, Jiang Cheng.”

“Don’t apologize,” Jiang Wanyin told him. “It’s not your fault. After what happened…”

“I promised I’d be your right hand man,” Wei Ying murmured.

His hand was fisted in his sleeve, Wangji noticed, his knuckles as white as the robe, as he fought his emotions.

“But I can’t go back. Not now. Maybe not ever. I’m sorry.”

Jiang Wanyin took him by the shoulders and shook him slightly.

“It isn’t your fault!” he hissed as Wei Ying stared at him wide-eyed. “You have nothing to be sorry for, A-Xian!”

Instead of releasing him, he pulled his brother into an almost violent hug. Then they were both crying, as was Jiang Yanli, who put a hand on Wei Ying’s back.

“It’s enough that you’re here,” she said. “That you’re alive.”

Wangji knew from her expression she was seeing Wei Ying wan and bloody in the mud.

“You will always be his siblings,” he said impulsively, trying to stave off those same memories. “That cannot be taken from you.”

“Yes,” Jiang Yanli whispered. “A-Xian is the brother of our hearts.”

Jiang Wanyin released Wei Ying and fixed Wangji with a calculating look, measuring him as though trying to decide if he was worthy of his brother. Wangji did not begrudge him that—he should do so.

“You’ll protect him?”

Wangji nodded.

“He lies. He’ll pretend he doesn’t need help or protecting when he really does. You’ll protect him from himself?”

Wangji nodded again, reflecting on the way Wei Ying has, how he often put himself last in sneaky ways. He would need to compensate with that in mind.

Jiang Wanyin nodded back, looking very much like he was struggling to find words.

“He’s afraid of dogs. Terrified of them. Even the tiniest puppies. You have to protect him from them. And he forgets to eat. Even before, he forgot when he was working. He gets too focused and forgets to eat and sometimes even sleep.”

Wangji realized abruptly that these instructions were Jiang Wanyin’s way of expressing his approval. It would be his responsibility to care for Wei Ying.

Jiang Yanli expressed the importance of spice, of nutritious and delicious foods, of hugs and affection.

“Xianxian is three,” she said softly, tweaking Wei Ying’s nose between two knuckles and then dabbing at his tears with her sleeve. “He doesn’t say when he’s hurting. He keeps it inside, like with the lotuses. He fears becoming a burden.”

Wei Ying sat still between his siblings, his face flushed, clearly overwhelmed by their discussion of him and his needs.

“Wei Ying is never a burden,” Wangji said. “Wei Ying is a joy.”

His face flushed deeper, and he hid behind his sleeves.

“You can’t just say things like that, Lan Zhan.”

“Mm, can.”

“Lan Zhan!”

“Xianxian deserves to be spoiled,” Jiang Yanli said with a smile, nudging him playfully.

Wei Ying peeked out to shoot her a tremulous smile, but otherwise kept his face hidden. Jiang Wanyin shoved him lightly.

“I won’t be able to get away with staying here forever,” he said regretfully. “I’m the heir. Eventually I’ll be expected home.”

He fixed Wangji with a scowl.

“But if I can be sure Wei Wuxian is protected before I have to leave, I’ll feel better.”

“He is a Gusu Lan disciple,” Xichen pointed out softly. “He will be protected even without the courtship and marriage.”

“Unlike in Yunmeng,” Jiang Wanyin muttered bitterly.

Though Wangji knew xiongzhang hadn’t meant it in that way from the way he winced, he didn’t disagree with the Jiang heir’s interpretation. As a disciple—as head disciple—Wei Ying should have been protected, even from the fury of Madam Yu. She should have faced consequences for attacking a disciple alone, not protected by Meishan Yu with Wei Ying dismissed as a mere servant, as though he was property to be done with as she pleased.

These things still angered Wangji a year later, and probably always will.

“A-Cheng,” Wei Ying said. “It wasn’t—”

“You should’ve been protected,” Jiang Wanyin interrupted. “A-die should’ve protected you. We failed you.”

“You didn’t,” he whispered. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Jiang Yanli reached out and took Wei Ying’s hand.

“A-Xian, we want to be sure it never happens again. A-Cheng and I couldn’t protect you well enough, and Father should have protected you from a-niang, and he failed to.”

“Shijie…”

Wei Ying ducked his head, and Wangji knew he was trying to avoid thinking poorly of the man who he’d been raised to consider an uncle. But there were other issues as well—in truth, Jiang Yanli was no longer his martial sister, but he had called her that since he was young and perhaps hadn’t fully realized. Or, more realistically, he didn’t know what to call her otherwise.

“He could have officially adopted you, A-Xian,” she said gently. “He could have made you our brother officially. She wouldn’t have dared touch you then.”

“It isn’t too late,” Xichen interjected. “The three of you could become sworn siblings.”

The Jiang siblings froze, blinking at each other in surprise. They had not considered the option, but Wangji had not either. The act would send a clear message to the cultivation world at large, would serve as further protection for Wei Ying.

“It would mean you still have a connection to Yunmeng Jiang,” Jiang Wanyin said after a moment.

Wei Ying looked flummoxed, surprised beyond words by the suggestion, and perhaps a bit torn. With his reaction to lotuses, his trauma, a connection might not be a good thing.

“You could call me jiejie,” Jiang Yanli whispered, squeezing Wei Ying’s hands. “I’m not really your shijie anymore, but I’d really like to be your jiejie.”

That was apparently the final straw for Wei Ying, who let out a sob and buried himself in her arms. Jiang Wanyin managed a smile, putting a hand on his shoulder, but looked close to tears himself. Becoming sworn siblings would just make official the relationship they had had most of their lives, would solidify their connection to one another.

“We can set up the ceremony for tomorrow,” Xichen said, smiling gently. “As Jin-furen and Jin-gongzi are visiting, they could serve as witnesses.”

Jiang Yanli glanced at Wei Ying in concern.

“Jin-furen?”

“We met her in Caiyi,” Wangji stated. “She has dissolved the sworn sisterhood and wished to commission Wei Ying.”

The news clearly comes as a surprise to the Jiang siblings—apparently in previous visits Jin Zixuan hadn’t mentioned it.

“They are having tea with shufu presently, but likely intend to visit you,” Xichen added.

The Jiang siblings were watching their brother with concern, and he managed a smile, straightening.

“I’m fine. Lan Zhan was with me. We rescued a turtle at the fish market and released it in the pond at the jingshi. And we got a book about turtles and poetry and oil for my hair and tanghulu.”

None of his rambling mentioned the Jin, and Wangji could hear exhaustion in his voice, despite how he tried to keep his tone light. From his siblings’ expressions, they could tell as well.

“It was a long day for Wei Ying,” he said softly.

A broken guan and slight breakdown, consenting to be courted, rescuing the turtle, shopping, encountering Jin-furen unexpectedly, receiving his ribbon and clarification that Cloud Recesses was now his home, and now this. Too much for him while he was still recovering, almost certainly. He wanted to take him somewhere quiet so he could rest, or to the meadow to bury him in soft rabbits.

“You’re already protecting him,” Jiang Yanli commented approvingly.

“We’ll need to establish chaperones,” Jiang Wanyin said, frowning.

They were agreeing to the betrothal, Wangji realized, and warmth spread from his chest in a way he usually only felt around Wei Ying. Joy. He was feeling joy. The siblings of Wei Ying’s heart had accepted their courtship. They would wed.

Xiongzhang smiled and nudged him gently, clearly happy for him.

“Wei Wuxian deserves no less,” Xichen agreed. “We want to make his worth very clear. Chaperones through the courtship period will be appropriate.”

Wei Ying looked embarrassed by this, as though he felt the fuss was too much for him.

“A-Xian has faced enough questions over his worth. He is precious to us and will be treated as such.”

Jiang Yanli was watching Wei Ying, too, he noticed, and was speaking in part to him.

“A-Cheng and I will be happy to chaperone,” she finished.

“For times when you are indisposed, or if myself or shufu are unavailable, I’m sure we can have some of the outer disciples act in that capacity,” Xichen added. “They are often responsible for escorting guests.”

“Wei Ying may need rest before dinner, while you are visiting with Jin-furen and Jin-gongzi,” Wangji stated, watching him. “I would like to escort him to his quarters once Jiang-guniang has tied his ribbon.”

In truth, their lunch in Caiyi had been more of a second breakfast, too early to truly be lunch. There were still several hours left before dinner.

“I’ll just take it off to rest, won’t I?” Wei Ying protested.

“And I will help you put it back on before dinner,” Jiang Yanli said. “I’m happy to.”

“Disciple Su can chaperone your return to Wei-gongzi’s quarters before he returns to his other duties,” Xichen said.

The disciple bowed. He had a somewhat petulant look on his face, but as Wangji recalled that seemed to just be his natural expression.

“Yes, Lan-zongzhu.”

Jiang Yanli reached into the basket of osmanthus cakes and presented the disciple with one, bowing.

“Thank you for your help.”

He took the cake, blinking at her in a startled way, then quickly returned her bow and retreated.

She moved around the table to study Lan Wangji’s hair, and he removed his ribbon and demonstrated how he wove it through his hair for her twice before she was satisfied she understood.

Within minutes, Wei Ying was wearing his ribbon, the pale fabric making the skin of his face look less pallid, demonstrating how much healthier he looked in comparison to only weeks ago. He looked beautiful as a Gusu Lan disciple, with a proper ribbon—but he was always beautiful to Wangji, so perhaps he was biased.

“It suits you,” Jiang Yanli told him softly. “The clouds almost look like wings from a distance. Perhaps the wings of a crane.”

Wei Ying blushed, and Wangji felt his ears heat. A pair of cranes alluded to a wish for a long married life. He had never considered the resemblance of the embroidery to wings, but he could see it now.

“Or lucky roosters, like these,” Jiang Wanyin muttered, pointing at the cages. “I don’t know what we’ll do with them.”

Jiang Yanli brushed her thumb against the embroidery on the ribbon, smoothing what must have been a minute wrinkle. The gesture was almost motherly.

“They’re for Xianxian’s wedding, to lead him to his husband. We’ll keep them until then, of course. They’re lovely.”

She sat beside him, and Wei Ying leaned his head against her shoulder, a beautiful smile gracing his lips. He looked radiant, if tired, filled with a joy Wangji felt as well.

“Shufu and I will consult to select an auspicious date,” Xichen said. “I would be honored if you two would assist in the planning of the wedding.”

Jiang Yanli looked overjoyed, and Jiang Wanyin nodded, his expression of a man about to embark on an important mission.

“A-jie and I had ideas,” he said.

Wei Ying stared at him, open-mouthed in shock.

“What, you thought we didn’t do that for you like you and I did for A-jie? Like I’m sure you two did for me?” Jiang Wanyin demanded.

“Of course we made plans for you, A-Xian.”

“I didn’t expect to get married,” Wei Ying whispered. “I was going to help Yunmeng Jiang.”

Wangji was surprised by that, but perhaps he shouldn’t have been—Wei Ying was exactly the type to deny himself to do what he saw as duty. His siblings were looking at him in horror, as though just realizing that terrible truth.

“You were allowed to marry, you idiot,” Jiang Wanyin exploded, then took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Even if it meant marry out. You didn’t have to stay.”

“I did. I promised.”

Jiang Wanyin looked to his sister, clearly trying not to lose his temper.

“Xianxian,” she whispered, looking like she felt helpless. “We would never want you to give up your future for Yunmeng Jiang. You always talked so much about Lan-er-gongzi, I always assumed…”

Wei Ying blushed and glanced Wangji’s way, then down at his lap. He was struck again by how exhausted he looked.

“He did not know my regard for him,” Wangji realized aloud.

Worse, Wei Ying had thought he’d been rejected, that he was despised. And, knowing him, he had probably justified to himself that he deserved it.

He could see Xichen’s surprise, but his brother had always known how he felt, before he could even understand himself.

“He thought I disliked him,” he clarified for xiongzhang.

A look of guilt passed over Jiang Wanyin’s face, and Wangji realized perhaps he had thought similarly, had said something to Wei Ying about it. But ultimately the fault lies with Wangji, for not expressing himself more clearly, not until it was almost too late.

Xichen also looked somewhat guilty, as though he felt he should have done something himself, but Wangji wouldn’t let him blame himself.

“I will strive to be clearer. Wei Ying should know he is loved.”

Wei Ying made an almost strangled sound.

“Lan Zhan, my heart can’t take it,” he groaned, hiding his face dramatically again. “You’re too much!”

“As much as Wei Ying deserves. Wei Ying will acclimate.”

Jiang Yanli patted her brother’s shoulder, looking softly fond, but also concerned. Wangji wondered if she too realized that Wei Ying might disbelieve he was loved. Jiang Wanyin stayed quiet, but watchful, his jaw still clenched, his expression still stormy.

“Xianxian will need to get used to it, I think. Lan-er-gongzi will need to use the courtship period to help him adjust.”

Wei Ying gave her a mock betrayed look, and she laughed gently and tweaked his nose. He blinked at her cross-eyed, looking like a sleepy kitten.

“But I think perhaps you could use a nap.”

The lack of protest was enough of an indication, but Wei Ying swayed when he stood, steadied by his siblings. Jiang Yanli pulled out a handkerchief, then put some of the dates, dried tangerines and melon, candies, and an osmanthus cake on it before tying it into a pouch and pressing it into Wei Ying’s hands.

“A snack would do you good,” she said, leading him around the table to Wangji. “I’ll send A-Cheng for you when dinner is ready. Lan-zongzhu and Lan-er-gongzi are welcome as well.”

Wangji took Wei Ying’s arm in his own to help steady him and received a tired smile. Disciple Su frowned at him, as though scolding him for touching his betrothed, but he ignored him. Xichen smiled.

“I will discuss courtship etiquette and terms with Wei-gongzi later, Wangji. You are aware of them. I trust you to respect them.”

He nodded to his brother and led Wei Ying toward his quarters.

Respecting courtship etiquette was the same as respecting Wei Ying, particularly to the rest of the cultivation world. Wangji was disappointed, in some ways, that he had been right; the trip to Caiyi was to be their last time spent together alone for some time to come, and part of it had not been.

But as Wei Ying leaned closer, starting to wilt, Wangji focused on him alone, ignoring the disciple accompanying them. He would ensure Wei Ying ate at least some of what Jiang Yanli had packed before leaving him to rest, and the disciple could simply wait as he did so.

Wei Ying’s health came above all else.

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Lots of symbolism in this chapter. Different colors of jade have different meanings. Green, which is the most prized, is for friendship, harmony, and renewal. Red for energy, life, and love. Yellow for optimism, success, and generosity. Orange for ambition, vitality, and libido (lol, like WangXian need help in that department). Blue for loyalty, freedom, and faith. Purple for insight, peace, and devotion. Black for elegance, security, and pride.

There are a lot of meanings involved in carved jade specifically as well. The bat, for instance, would represent happiness and longevity. Butterflies are a symbol of love. Dragons, power, strength, and goodness, as well as masculinity. Fish represent wealth and abundance, and when paired, harmony and connubial bliss. Different birds have different meanings as well, though Lan Wangji doesn’t specify which ones there are, or which flowers are carved.

I am not as familiar with betrothal customs as I would like to be, but it seemed killing and cooking the roosters would be crass at best, at least before the wedding. Apparently some customs include putting the betrothal chickens under the marital bed for the wedding night. In essence, this betrothal is different in a lot of ways because they’re both grooms and both orphans. Because of Wei Wuxian’s lack of blood family, the decision to go to the Jiang siblings is more a courtesy and recognition of their relationship than anything.

“Gold has a price/value; jade is priceless/invaluable” is a Chinese saying that seemed apt for a betrothal gift.

Wuguji are black-boned chickens, specifically silkies. They’re a smaller breed, but prized in cooking.

Also, I keep meaning and forgetting to thank my amazing beta, @missyriver, for all her help!

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ploppythespaceship · 4 years

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In Defense of Will Riker

Riker gets such an unfair reputation in the Star Trek fandom. So many people genuinely can’t stand the guy, which is their right. He can be a somewhat boring character with a strange and even nonexistent character arc. But a lot of this dislike stems from the idea that Riker is a sexist, misogynistic creep who is actively trying to get into the pants of every woman he meets. Which is so far from the truth, I don’t understand how it’s still the perception.

First of all, we’ve done this song and dance with Kirk before. Enjoying dating and sex does not make someone a creep. If everyone involved is a consenting adult, it shouldn’t matter who you’re dating and/or sleeping with.

Secondly, TNG goes out of its way to show that Riker is a great guy. If you actually go through his episodes and look at how he treats both the women he works with and the women he’s interested in, you’ll see that he always treats them with respect. And in instances where he has an easy opportunity to take advantage, he never does it. Because Will Riker is a gentleman who drinks his respect women juice.

I’m so sick of this argument that under the cut I’ve compiled all of Riker’s important relationships with women on the show to demonstrate exactly what I mean.

I pulled most of these from the relationships section of Riker’s Memory-Alpha page, which is pretty thorough, and a few just from memory since I rewatched the whole show pretty recently. I don’t think anything relevant has been left out, but feel free to let me know if you think of something else. I’m all for some civil discussion of these things! Emphasis on civil.

Deanna Troi

Starting with the big one! The very first episode establishes that they have a romantic history, and have since split up. The details of their relationship are pretty scarce, but it’s clear that they had an intense, intimate connection. Initially they’re awkward but professional around one another, and this eventually softens into genuine friendship. They are close, possibly closer than anyone else on the ship. But Will never, not once, pressures Deanna into romance with him. He is entirely respectful towards her. In a few episodes they’re possibly shown to be dating again (it’s unclear) but Deanna gives no indication of being uncomfortable with this arrangement. When they officially get back together in the films, their feelings are clearly mutual and neither is being pressured into anything.

Frankly, Will and Deanna are an excellent example of a healthy relationship with one’s ex, respecting boundaries while maintaining closeness. The two of them are always shown supporting each other. It always bugs me that people think there’s something insidious going on here. Will isn’t just trying to get back into her pants. He genuinely loves and respects her.

And it’s worth mentioning that in “Second Chances”, when Deanna is interested in dating the alternate version of him (later known as Thomas), Will clearly isn’t thrilled about it, but also respects her decision and does nothing to intervene. When she talks to him about it, he is very clear that he does not expect her to ask for his opinion or for his approval, and that as long as she’s happy, he supports her.

Tasha Yar

Frankly they don’t have many distinct interactions that I recall, but Riker treats her the same as he treats everyone else on the crew. He is respectful of her, her rank, and her position.

Beverly Crusher

Not a hint of romance in their relationship. They are friends with a healthy connection built on mutual trust. Again, he is respectful of her, her rank, and her position.

Kathryn Pulaski

You can copy paste everything I said about Crusher, tbh. They’re friends and quite respectful of one another. Nothing untoward happening here.

Lwaxana Troi

Lwaxana flirts with Riker sometimes. Cause she flirts with everyone. Though she leaves him alone a bit more since he’s involved with her daughter. And yet again, Riker is entirely respectful of her, though he does gently have to tell her to back off at times. Eventually they settle into the classic son-in-law / mother-in-law relationship.

Beata (“Angel One”)

Does this episode suck? Yep. Is this relationship awkward as hell? God, yes. Is Riker being misogynistic? Nope! He actually goes out of his way to be respectful of this matriarchal society’s customs, even wearing an outfit that many in his culture would consider demeaning. Not to mention, Beata is primarily the one coming onto him, not the other way around. He’s simply reciprocating. It might be poor judgment, but it’s again entirely mutual and consensual.

Minuet (“11001001″)

Riker goes into the holodeck to relax, and then meets a nice holograhic lady to help him do just that... and people get mad that he enjoys that? Minuet is programmed specifically for this. Not to mention the Bynars literally designed her to be irresistible for him. Of course he’s gonna be besotted with her. And, issues of hologram sentience aside (Trek hadn’t delved too deelpy into it by that point), this is once again entirely consensual.

Minuet does pop up again in “Future Imperfect”, sort of, simply because Barash needed to choose a figure to serve as Riker’s late wife. With someone unable to distinguish holodeck memories from real ones, Minuet would seem like a perfectly reasonable choice.

Brenna Odell (“Up the Long Ladder”)

This is an entirely consensual one night stand. The feelings are clearly mutual. Even while they’re bickering, it’s obvious there’s an attraction underneath it, on both sides. Again, their fling might be poor judgment, but absolutely not misogyny.

Yuta (“The Vengeance Factor”)

This is one of the few episodes where I can see why their relationship might make some viewers uncomfortable, but I also think it’s the most telling as to why Riker is not the creep people assume him to be.

The cultural and status differences between them place Riker at a clear power advantage compared to Yuta, which makes for an imbalance. Yuta is a servant, and her entire mindset is that of serving others. Having a relationship on equal footing with someone like Riker is entirely foreign to her, and she struggles against her instincts to follow all of his wishes without question. That being said, Riker does basically everything he possibly can to address and negate that imbalance. He does his utmost to respect her and her position. He doesn’t force her into anything she isn’t ready for. Any time she tries to fill the role of a servant for him, he stops her to explain that he wants her to be his equal. You could argue that this relationship is inappropriate regardless, because the power imbalance still exists whether he wishes it to or not, but I think it’s important to note how dedicated he is to not taking advantage of this girl.

And of course, at the end of the episode he is forced to choose duty over love and must kill her, but it’s hardly his fault that she’s a secret assassin.

Lal (“The Offspring”)

He flirted with her while unaware of who she was, and stopped immediately upon realizing. And she kissed him, not the other way around. Just look at his face! He clearly didn’t expect that. He did absolutely nothing wrong here. Using this brief scene against his character is just absurd.

Commander Shelby (“The Best of Both Worlds”)

For some reason the consensus in this episode is that Riker is rude to Shelby because she doesn’t want to sleep with him. And that’s just a complete and utter misread of the episode.

First, there is absolutely no indication that Riker is romantically interested in her. Nor does she does not reject his advances, because no advances are even made. Second, Riker gets short with Shelby at times because she has been assigned to work under his command, and she’s questioning his decisions and generally being difficult to work with. It’s literally his job to call people on things like that. That being said, he’s never particularly rude to her -- at least, no more rude than she is to him. They also grow into mutual respect by the end of the episodes, to the point where he trusts her to serve as his first officer.

Lanel (“First Contact”)

( TW: rape mention )

Quite frankly the next person to point to this episode as evidence of Riker’s misogyny is getting slapped. She. Raped. Him. Full stop. He needed to escape, she offered to help if he slept with her, and he agreed because at the time it was the only way to save his life. Consent under duress is not consent. He does not appear comfortable with the arrangement, and his joking afterwards is forced. So let’s just stop holding this episode up as proof of Riker’s sexism, mkay? He was undeniably the victim here.

Carmen Davila (“Silicon Avatar”)

There’s not much to glean from their brief interaction where Riker asks her to dinner, but again: feelings are mutual. Everyone’s consenting. Nothing untoward happening here. Besides, she’s killed not five minutes into the episode, so it doesn’t particularly matter.

Etana Jol (“The Game”)

Riker’s having a fling with her on Risa. Because that’s what you do on Risa. You go vacation and have fun, and if you so choose, you can find someone else there wanting to have fun. And you have some sexy fun together. That’s just how it goes on Risa.

Also, she’s revealed to be playing him and literally brainwashes him to access the Enterprise. So the situation is not entirely within his control. Again, let’s not blame the victim here.

Ro Laren

There’s clearly sexual tension between them in some episodes, which mostly comes across as bickering. Riker is sharp with her when he needs to be, as a commander, but also tells her when she’s done a good job. The only time they sleep together is in “Conundrum”, when all their memories are erased. Therefore they’re unaware of the context that a romantic relationship isn’t entirely appropriate. When they remember again, they are awkward but respectful of one another, and now have a stronger friendship for it. And I’ll say it for the umpteenth time: mutual and consensual.

Soren (“The Outcast”)

This episode is controversial as hell, and it’s always a tricky one to dive into. But as far as Riker’s relationship with Soren is concerned: there’s honestly nothing bad happening here. He is respectful of her culture and is impressed by her as a pilot and scientist. Though he clearly has feelings for her, it’s unclear if he would have been the first to pursue them, because she confesses hers for him first. Before then, he was entirely professional with her. Only when their mutual attraction is confirmed does Riker actually pursue a relationship with her.

(Side note, that conversation is also when she comes out to him as female.(Yes, Riker was attracted to her before knowing she was female! At the time he believed her to be androgynous/non-binary. Which makes him canonically not straight.)

Additionally he is 100% respectful of her gender -- one of the only people to do that, in fact -- and does what he can both to respect her culture while also supporting her and her journey. He’s genuinely gutted when she’s forced to conform to the expected gender of her society, and isn’t allowed to be who she truly is.

Don’t get me wrong, this episode is a hot mess in many other aspects, but Riker’s treatment of Soren is one of the few things it got right.

Kamala (“The Perfect Mate”)

Is this episode super uncomfy with an almost laughably sexist plot? Oh yeah. But can we blame Riker for anything? Not really. Kamala can read men to make herself everything they desire -- the perfect mate, as the episode’s title says. Naturally this extends to her scenes with Riker as well. She flirts with him, comes onto him, and he’s clearly very into it. They kiss briefly, he’s tempted -- and then he stops her, because he knows this isn’t appropriate and she’s promised to someone else.

Let me say that again: Riker has a perfectly willing woman in front of him, who is literally doing everything in her power to be as appealing to him as possible. She is right there for him to have if he wants. Which he does. And he still tells her no, to keep a clear professional boundary between them. It would have been so easy to take advantage of that and later say she was too irresistible. Yet he didn’t.

Amanda Rogers (“True Q”)

Amanda is a young girl, 18 at the oldest, when she arrives aboard the Enterprise. She’s pretty enamored with Riker, cause she’s a kid who doesn’t have a great sense of what’s healthy/appropriate and what’s not yet. Riker is very aware of this, and does absolutely nothing to encourage her. He sets boundaries where appropriate and is obviously just waiting for her crush to die down, so he doesn’t have to hurt her feelings. When Amanda really starts to make moves on him, he very clearly tells her no. She actually starts to force him to play out her romantic fantasies using her Q powers, though she stops when she realizes it’s not real and isn’t right. Riker does nothing wrong in this episode.

Rebecca Smith (“Genesis”)

There’s nothing to go on here except that they had a date in the holodeck. Everything seems on the up and up. She’s not even shown onscreen, just mentioned in a couple lines of dialogue. I’m just including her for the sake of being thorough.

tl;dr

All of Riker’s relationships are either entirely consensual, or non-consensual with him as the victim. In several situations he could easily have taken advantage of someone, but never does, instead choosing to set clear boundaries. I have been thinking and scouring through Memory-Alpha and I genuinely cannot find a single instance in which he behaved in a sexist or misogynistic manner. That isn’t to say it never happened, I certainly can’t remember every moment of a seven season show. But it’s hardly a defining character trait for him the way many seem to think.

There are plenty of other reasons to dislike Riker. He can be immature. He rather stupidly stays in the same position for a decade because he can’t be bothered to take his own command the way he should. He can be a bit dull as a main character. The way he gets into chairs looks very stupid. But he is not sexist or a creep. *drops microphone*

#star trek: the next generation #star trek #the next generation #william riker #will riker #personal #i spent way too long on this pls validate me #mostly prompted by people genuinely hating this guy #to the point where they add onto other people's riker posts with hate #which is not cool at all #anyway

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lovablebull · 5 years

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The Apprentice II

Here is Part II of The Apprentice.

Part I can be found here.

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One would think that a vault beneath a palace, full of ancient relics and treasures would be well guarded and warded by ancient spells, but no, it was not. The door did little to hold anyone too curious back. No guards near the door, only patrolling the halls. It made you wonder whether Odin was all too trusting of his folk. Something was definitely off. No place in any realm left its treasures unguarded in such a manner.

With a long, quiet sigh you disregarded the thought and pushed the massive doors open as silently as you could. The doors were heavy yet silent when they opened, revealing a couple of marble steps leading into a chapel like chamber, dark and silent except for the crackling of the lit torches. Your steps made little noise as you hurried inside, shutting the door behind you and praying to the Norns that it would not spontaneously lock behind you. You tried to picture the map Loki showed you the best you could, you’ve been rehearsing the instructions in your head the whole way down. As you walked through the passage, you came to a halt when something bright and blue glowed in the dimly lit room. It looked exactly like Loki described it. You approached the artifact cautiously and reached for its handles, brushing your fingers lightly against the odd material of the handles, checking for safety in handling.

Nothing happened as you lightly touched it, so you took both handles into each hand, gripping it tightly as it was not light. But just as you lifted the relic from the pedestal, the weight of it suddenly became unbearable and your hands were gradually going numb, blackening from the tips of your fingers and quickly extending to your arms, the blackness disappearing under the sleeves of your robe. You instantly dropped the relic, sinking to your knees as you examined your blackened hands, watching them tremble, the numbing was now burning, you weren’t sure whether it was heat or cold. You were panicking and screaming as the flesh of your hands burned.

“Must I do everything myself?” You turned your head towards the voice, spotting none other than Loki, coming into sight from a darkened corner, walking towards you slowly. Your vision blurred, your body numbed by the excruciating pain in your upper limbs and everything went dark. You fell half unconscious, the blood pulsating in your ears.

Loki stopped next to your body and looked down, his eyes landing on the damage caused to your flesh before moving along and reaching to pick up the relic from the floor. As he gripped the handles himself, he felt a familiar tingle in his own hands, the pale Aesir skin melting away to reveal a deep blue one. His evident shock was short lived as a deeper, much too familiar voice spoke behind him.

“Stop!” Came the Allfather’s commanding voice. Loki did not turn around to face him, he was holding the relic in his hands, pale skin stripped away to reveal a deep blue one. “Am I cursed?” He asked firmly, to which Odin responded. “No.” “What am I?” And Odin answered softly. “You are my son.” Upon hearing those words, Loki’s voice turned bitter, finally turning around to face the other, but not before he placed the relic back onto its pedestal, his blue flesh reverting back to the Aesir pale one. “What more than that? The casket was not the only thing you too from Jotunheim that day, was it?” He asked. “No. In the aftermath of the battle I went into the temple, I found a baby, small for a giant’s offspring and doomed to suffering, left to die. Laufey’s son.” He spoke softly. “Laufey’s son...” Loki repeated.

The conversation went on and you could have sworn that you heard Loki yell at his father before guards came rushing in. You drifted in and out of consciousness as you were being carried of to what you assumed was the healer’s wing.

Days went by in a haze while the healers took care of your wounds. You didn’t dare look at your hands while they worked hours upon hours to heal them. You could only hope to still have hands after this. Tears welled in your eyes as you recalled that moment of utter fear and panic. What hurt the most was that Loki did not look your way twice in spite of being hurt. Why would he? Just because you were always at his side and always taking the burn for his mischief. Just because you eating together, going to feasts together, reading, riding and laughing together. What did it matter? He was a prince; you were his apprentice. A stupid, silly boy who wouldn’t learn his lesson, who followed the prince blindly, like a lost puppy. No wonder everyone referred to you as Loki’s dog. Fetch this and fetch that, kneel before me whenever I please.

Tears stung as they rolled down your cheeks and all you felt was the sting of something in your arm before you passed out again.

When you woke up and the sedatives wore off, you were helped to your feet by the master healer, having had laid down long enough. You thanked the man and looked up at him. His mouth offering a gentle smile. “How bad is it? I did not dare look at the damage.” You said with a tremble in your voice. “You would have lost your hands if they delayed bringing you here minutes longer, but they did not. Your hands are healing. They will be very sensitive for a while and you must keep them moisturized and wrapped at all times. This will take a while. Do not strain yourself and try not to grip things too hard, the flesh of your hands is still raw. The adepts will give you something for the pain.” You looked at the other in surprise and nodded your head, a smile gracing your lips as you took in the news. Your hands were going to be fine.

“And (Y/N)? The king requests your presence immediately.” You nodded in acknowledgement and dressed quickly, your robes were clean and crisp. This almost felt good.

The guards at the doors to the throne room stepped aside and opened the enormous doors for you, letting you step inside before closing them again. The golden hall was quiet and empty, save for someone on the throne, clearly waiting. Your steps were slow and careful as you approached the throne. The gasp that fell from your lips would have been the butt of all jokes were you in different circumstances. Right there, on the Throne of Asgard sat none other than Loki. Dressed in his finest armor, the horned helmet gleaming in the light, his right-hand gripping Gungir, holding it at his side.

You were at loss as to how to proceed in this very moment but decided to offer a graceful bow. “Your Grace, you asked to see me.”

“(Y/N) … I see you are back on your feet. I trust your hands are healing?” He asked with just a hint of concern in his voice. You refused to fall for it. “They are, no thanks to you.”

“Pardon me?” He asked as if offended.

You frowned and picked up pace, walking in long, sure strides to the throne. You did not even stop in front of it but climbed those steps until you were right in front of him. Loki, the king of Asgard, was looking up to you as he placed his palms on either side of his helmet, taking it off and placing it aside. “I assume you have something to say.” He said smugly. The slap came out of nowhere, not you nor him expected it but the sting in your hand and the print on his cheek were proof enough. His head remained tilted, the smug smile extending into a satisfied smirk. “And here I thought you were nothing but a puppy, it’s good to see you have some bite in you. Striking your king is punishable by death. I am sure you are aware of that.”

“Shut up. Just shut up for once. I don’t care how you ended up on the throne, I care even less if your motives are genuine but you do not get to use me like that. I am not your scapegoat and I am not your slave! You cannot treat me like that. You might not care for me but I do, my parents and my friends do. You do not have the right to deprive them of me. Not for your selfishness, not for knowledge and absolutely not for the fun of it. You used me, you humiliated me and you left me to die. There was a time when I thought we were friends, and many other times when I wanted to leave this cursed place. To stop being your dog, to stop playing your games and have everyone laugh at me for being so damn stupid and trusting of you, Liesmith.”

“I am leaving, I am done with your games, Loki.” By the time you were done speaking, your eyes were blurred with tears and as you turned around to step off the platform, he reached out and grabbed your elbow, pulling you back forcefully. “No. Stay.” You huffed out a laugh because how dare he tell you to stay, you were not a dog. “Loki… I am done. Let me go.”

He released you and as you began to walk, he followed in your steps angrily. He soon grabbed onto your upper arm (again) and before you could blink, everything around you spun out of existence, the second you opened your eyes you were in a very familiar setting. Loki’s chambers have changed a bit since you last saw them, perhaps his Kingship deserved fancier things.

You turned to the other, eyes burning with fury at this point and you were ready to shout when you were met with Loki, you guessed. Or perhaps a version of him, his skin marred with markings and of the prettiest blue you’ve ever seen. His red eyes, like precious stones looked at you in an almost pleading manner. “What did you do to yourself?” You asked, brows furrowing in clear concern.

“(Y/N). I do not say this as often as I should. But you mean to me more than I could put into words. A lot has transpired in the time you were healing. When you fell, I picked up the relic myself. I wanted nothing more but to put it back in its place and take you to the healers but Odin stopped me. You see, something happened when I went with Thor to Jotunheim, one of the frost giants touched me and my skin changed color. I knew there was more to it, I wanted to see if the same would happen if someone else touched something belonging to the frost giants. And something happened, your hands burned.” He explained softly as he took your bandaged hands into his own. “It did not burn me for I am a frost giant.”

“Who else knows of this?” You asked in a trembling voice. “Odin and my mother, they have known all along and now you. But now, Odin has fallen into Odin Sleep and Thor has been banished to Midgard as punishment for his reckless actions in Jotunheim. Sorry does not begin to cover all the wrongs I have done to you and the way I have treated you, but you are my best friend whom I trust with my most elaborate plans and schemes and you have never let me down. But then again, you never really knew you befriended a monster so there is absolutely nothing keeping you here right now. I just wanted you to know.”

You tentatively reached out and touched the male’s hand, it felt cold and soothing but not cold enough to give you frost bite. Loki was looking at you sadly, yet his gaze was almost fond, regretful and with just the right amount of wetness. Your hand moved to cup his cheek, the exact one you slapped moments ago, your forehead resting onto his cool one as your noses touched. You said nothing else as he tilted his head slowly and pressed his icy lips against yours.

They say that sparks fly when you kiss the right person, well there weren’t any sparks but there were snowflakes behind your closed eyelids. He was really cold to the touch. Yet you returned the kiss eagerly, recalling how just days ago you were fantasizing about those thin lips and now you had them. They were a little blue and cold but you didn’t mind.

You felt Loki’s lips warm up as he shifted back into his Aesir form, never breaking the kiss. He pulled you in closer, arms wrapping around your middle. “Stay. Please? I can’t do this without you. Especially now, there is hardly anyone else I trust but you and mother. It would break her heart as well as mine if you left.” You slipped his arms around his armored shoulders, burying your face onto the crook of his neck, inhaling that floral scent that was uniquely Loki. You smiled against his flesh and pressed a loving kiss to the long column of his neck. “You better start teaching me proper spells. I need to be able to defend my king. Don’t I?” You asked as you pulled away to look at him, smiling happily.

He kissed you again, and again and again as he held you closely. “Am I forgiven?” You rose an eyebrow at the question, smile instantly vanishing. Your lips were red from kissing, face slightly flushed. “I could be persuaded.” You said suggestively as your hand busied themselves with undoing a strap of the other’s armor. “You cheeky little minx, so shameless in front of your king. I might just have to teach you manners.”

The End.

A/N: SORRY!! That took ages but I do hope you enjoy the second part of my Loki fic. Hoping to write more in the future, if time allows.

#loki x male reader #loki x male!reader #male reader #THOR 2011 #frostgiant #loki is king #male readers #Avengers #Marvel MCU #male pronouns

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siren-theories · 5 years

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Do Sirens have body hair?

TL, DR.: Females seem to consistently not have body hair, for males it is more complicated and seems to be a genetic choice between having body hair or facial hair.

All images are taken from the PG-13 show Siren on Freeform.

When I first saw the question by the very talented @imaginejolls (go read their Siren fanfic on Ao3 it is awesome) my initial answer would have been an (overconfident) "of course they do have body hair". This was based on a simple assumption:

Sirens are biologically very close to humans, so close in fact that they can mate with humans and produce fertile offspring. This is a big deal as it means that Sirens are more closely related to humans than donkeys are to horses or zebras are to horses (different species that can produce infertile offspring with each other). So therefore it stands to reason that in everything (except for those things the show explicitly tells us are different) Sirens are generally replicating the human baseline. We see this for example with their diets - while they prefer fish, they are biologically speaking omnivores (Cami and Ryn for example ate fruit and digested it with no problem at all). So based on that I would have confidently claimed that they would have body hair.

I soon however realized that a more measured approach needs to be taken. For example, while things work the same or may even look the same on the outside there are several cases in the show where they are not the same. Take for example the reproductive system of the mermaids, which definitely is not human in structure even though it has human elements, works like a human reproductive system and is compatible with a human reproductive system. Another example of "similar looking, same function but different" would be the bones and muscles of our mermaids which are way denser and stronger than their human equivalents. So while I still think the general argument that they are very close to humans is a correct one there needs to be a case-by-case study being done to see if we can find evidence in the show itself for questions such as the one that is being posed here.

Let's dive deep into the visual evidence of the show for body hair. I apologize in advance if pictures of armpits and male chests are not your thing.

Part A: Females

We certainly never see as much as a hint of body hair on Ryn or any other female mermaid. The most exposed we see Ryn is in a backshot (Episode 102), her undressing on the boat (in 201) and the transformation scene in 210. She does not have any visible body hair in those scenes.

Ryn in 102 - notice the abscence of any body hair, especially in the armpit area.

Ryn in 201. At this time she has spent enough time out of the water that we would expect her to exhibit some signs of body hair.

What about the lower body areas? Ryn's legs are smooth and hairless.

Ryn’s (and Maddie’s) legs from 209 (there also are plenty of leg shots in 205 when she was on land a lot longer but these suffer from bad lighting or lack of focus. Suffice to say they too do not depict any body hair).

Now it might be the case that Ryn decided to adopt human customs and started shaving her armpits and legs. I highly doubt this to be the case though as Ryn is quite possibly the person most comfortable with her body on the show. Everytime her body comes up in conversation she is very proud of it (except when one compares it to sharks). There is no indication at all that she would conform to human beauty standards or even feels the need to change anything about her body. After all, if she does not care a lot about what clothes she wears what are the odds that she suddenly cares about how much (hypothetical) body hair she is showing? And I cannot imagine any situation in Season 1 where Ben or Maddie or Helen would have decided to teach Ryn how to shave her body hair, nor can I imagine any situation where something this intimate and something this unimportant to the issues facing our protagonists in those episodes would even have been discussed. Considering Ryn reacted almost violently to slight pressure on her arm during an attempt by Ben to measure blood pressure in episode 103 it seems highly unlikely anybody would have even tried bringing a razor blade near her body.

Therefore, it seems most likely that Ryn at no point shaved her body hair and therefore it seems most likely she never had any body hair on her legs or armpits in the first place.

Due to this not being some HBO fleshfest no visual evidence exists for the genital areas (and thank god for that because that would not fit the tone of this show or the respect with which the show treats its characters). However I find it very unlikely that Ryn or other female sirens would have body hair in the genital area if their entire body is missing body hair elsewhere. Body hair in that particular area would also cause problems with transformation as said area is covered by layers of additional flesh and muscle in the water form. Having hair covered by flesh and muscle is not a good thing biologically speaking (if you want a horror show google "ingrown hair"). Given how Ryn's skin is also more insulating than human skin as shown in 208 there would not be a need to have body hair in the first place.

Furthermore, we have no indication that for the females forming body hair is even an option to form during their transformation.

Ryn's immediate post-transformation body in 210 shows no sign of any body hair (neatly sidestepping the whole ingrown hair issues).

The same seems to be true for the other female sirens who never exhibit any sign of body hair, not even when in states of light dress or undress (various scenes in Helen's shop or in the forest from the first half of Season 2 come to mind.)

Convincing any of those apex predators to start shaving seems out of character for any of the humans that interacted with them (they had a lot more important things to do) and in any case I cannot imagine that any attempt to convince an apex predator to let a sharp blade come anywhere near vulnerable body areas would have gone over well. In fact, it would have been downright stupid and suicidal to even attempt such a thing.

Therefore I have no other option but to conclude that female Sirens do not have body hair in human form.

Part B: Males

But what about the Males? After all, body hair does differ in humans as well according to their respective sex.

Frank's body exhibits facial hair but otherwise is devoid of body hair, as seen in 205 before he jumps into the water.

This is also several days after his first transition, so if he has the capacity to grow body hair in those areas we would expect it to be shown there. As there definitely is nobody who has ever taught Frank to shave his body I would therefore argue male Sirens also have no body hair.

So case closed. No body hair whatsoever.

And then it got complicated, because there is one male Siren who constantly exhibits body hair.

Levi in Episode 108 (the first time he comes on land) has chest chair in human form. We get a closeup of his chest in Episode 201 when Ben drains the fluid from his lungs, this also shows clear chest hair despite him only having transformed a short time ago.

Levi in 108 and 201.

However Levi is also an aberration in that he has no facial hair at all (and does not grow any during his time on land) but has body hair at the time of his transformation. Truth be told I do not know how to classify Levi. Is he the one exception that prove the rule? Is he the rare case where the recessive genes (body hair) triumph over the dominant genes (no body hair) in the males? Or did the writers and directors forget to be consistent here?

Assuming that Levi is not special in the genetic category the conclusion must be that for male Sirens you either have facial hair but no body hair (Frank) or you have body hair but no facial hair (Levi).

I tried to get a tiebreaker in the form of the walking sperm bank of Episode 214 but the lightning in his scenes prevented me from getitng any good evidence either way. I also wish I had more than two examples to base this analysis on - I am in general much less certain when it comes to the males than when it comes to the females as we have many more examples of the former than the latter.

So after examining all visual evidence and the case for and against body hair, I have to conclude that my earlier assumption of them having body hair was wrong for the females and at least partly wrong for the males. It seems females have no body hair at all and males seem to either have facial hair or body hair - but not both.

Thank you for reading this long post about a (seemingly) trivial issue. I look forward to any criticism or additional information you might have, feel free to drop them via reply or message anytime.

TL, DR.: Females seem to consistently not have body hair, for males it is more complicated and seems to be a genetic choice between having body hair or facial hair.

(Oh and here is an imgur link for bigger versions of the pictures in case you have trouble viewing them in the low resolution I used for the article)

#ryn #siren #siren freeform #analysis #god this took longer than I thought #why does Levi have to complicate things #need more male sirens to be sure #hmmm what should I analyze next

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callumd1001-blog · 4 years

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Why do some People become Parents? Results from a Reddit Survey [Serious]

Abstract

Parenting—defined as the act of raising a child as one's own—is perhaps the oldest societal tradition of human beings. Judging from related animals species, such as the Great Apes, we have likely been raising children longer than we have been growing crops. That being said, the choice of having or adopting even one child—that is to say, the choice to become a parent—is a decision which has great impact upon one's life, arguably one of the biggest choices a person can make.

There is a large and diverse group of people—around the whole world—who deliberately go their entire lives without having children. The reasons for this are quite varied: some consider children an obstruction to completing one's goals in life, others harbour a disliking of children, while still others avoid having children out of fear that they might turn to be an abusive and/or negligent parent. Throughout present day media and society, on both an interpersonal and global scale, the childfree population is subject to a significant amount of misunderstanding, under-representation, and—in some cases—discrimination. In particular, the majority of outspoken, self-identified childfree people are female, highlighting how commonplace gender roles affect the roles that parents have in society, which also impacts the decision of whether or not one wishes to eventually become a parent at all.

Introduction

First, the technical, functional definitions of the word “parent” must be fully understood for the purposes of our research. Merriam-Webster has multiple definitions of the word, ranging from “one begets or brings forth offspring” [14], to “a person who brings up and cares for another” [14]. This second, somewhat looser definition is the one that will be used for this paper; while the different ways of becoming a parent (birth, adoption, parenting of kin, etc) were accounted for in the survey, it is the motivation that was ultimately focused on more than the method.

One possible explanation for the root cause of deliberate parenting is offered by the field of evolutionary psychology. To quote researcher Helen Fisher, “Humans and other mammals have evolved three primary emotion systems for mating, reproduction, and parenting”, with those being lust, attraction towards potential mates, and attachment to them, forming close social bonds [16]. The study of parenting's evolutionary origins has brought to light how parenting is a drain of resources on behalf of the parent, which trades those resources to give one's offspring a better chance of survival [15] [17]. Research has found that human fathers tend to invest more time and energy into taking care of children who closely resemble them in visual appearance and smell: an outcome predicted by evolutionary psychology [15]. However, the evolutionary need to pass on one's own genes is an insufficient explanation for the motivation behind parenthood: alloparental care—defined as an individual temporarily caring for another's child [2]—has been reported in 270 mammalian and avian species [1], including humans [18]. This is despite the fact that alloparental care, particularly that provided by aunts and uncles, has been found to only negligibly improve the child's chances of survival [18]. These findings hint that perhaps an evolutionary perspective does not entirely provide all the answers into why parenting is still an extremely popular trend in human society, necessitating an inquiry into the thought processes of people who themselves engage in parental care, and those who willingly abstain from it.

A plausible, personal, non-evolutionary reason for having children—that might strike one as being obvious—is that having children is supposed to bring joy to whomsoever takes care of him/her. Objectively, however, factual data on the impact that children have on personal happiness is mixed, with different researchers making radically opposed statements on the matter. A joint University of Texas/University of Denver study found that, “Compared to pre-birth levels and trajectories, parents showed sudden deterioration following birth on observed and self-reported measures of positive and negative aspects of relationship functioning.” [11]. This was compared to couples who had spent the same amount of time together without having children—who suffered a more gradual deterioration in relationship functioning—indicating that many of the changes may stem from the birth itself [11]. These changes were mostly the same across both genders, although mothers were found to struggle more with problem intensity and conflict resolution [11]. However, it was noted that parents and non-parents are not equivalent groups, and some of the deterioration in parental couples may be for reasons not directly caused by the children. For instance, having a child may serve as a barrier to divorce, but not a cause of the initial relationship dissatisfaction [11]. In regards to how couples are affected by the burden of child-rearing, a professor from Binghamton University noted, “'Parents often become more distant and businesslike with each other as they attend to the details of parenting.'” [12]. “Mundane basics” that arise from taking care of a child's basic needs take priority in the lives of parents, changing their verbal interactions to be focused more on topics related to domestic duties—such as coordinating a grocery shopping trip and changing the baby's diapers—with less time spent socializing in a casual, friendly manner [12]. It should also be noted that children place a burden on any form of romantic relationship, regardless of income level, marital status, gender orientation or national residence [12].

In contrast to these findings, however, is another study conducted between the London School of Economics & Political Science (LSE) and the University of Western Ontario, which claims parenting to have the opposite effect upon couples. According to the researchers, “Consistent with existing work, we find that happiness increases in the years around the birth of the first child, then decreases to before-child levels.” [13]. Happiness was found to increase with the first 2 children a couple has, with additional children correlating to no increases in relationship satisfaction. Couples who were older and/or more educated also enjoyed a larger rise in personal happiness. These findings were similar between both Britain and Germany, indicating that parents who postponed child-bearing received the most significant emotional reward for doing so [13].

As to why these studies make different claims, there could be a number of reasons. Excluding potential researcher bias and flaws in the ways that experiments and/or surveys were designed, it is possible that demographics can majorly alter the results that researchers in this field have not yet effectively managed to notice and control for. However, it can be tentatively stated that scientific evidence points to couples which become parents can either experience improvement or decreases in their mood, largely depending on their specific circumstances, while changes to personal dynamics are both significant and permanent. It can also be said that any statements which claim a universally true life alteration granted by childbirth—either desirable or otherwise—should be met with considerable skepticism.

Given that objective changes in parenting-related happiness are not the same as the perceived possible benefits, this research has some limits in understanding why people choose to have children. However, it can be inferred that if a single parent or couple experiences a decline in life satisfaction immediately following the birth/adoption of a child, they will be unlikely to willingly undergo the experience again.

In relation to the potential drawbacks of having children, there is the concept of people who simply never have children in the lifetimes, particularly those who are childless by choice. These latter people are commonly known as the voluntarily childfree [22] [23] [24]. Voluntary childlessness is a social issue [23], with those who are childfree by choice experiencing pressure from society to have children [24]. An example of this societal pressure is how women in their mid-to-late 20s are denied access to sterilization procedures on the basis that they are too young for it, even after explicit requests for said procedures [20]. In North American culture, it is a social more that married couples should both want children and actually have them [22], while people who willingly abstain from having children are regarded as social deviants, and looked down upon accordingly [10] [22] [23]. Negative stereotypes about the voluntarily childless can be traced back to the 1970s, and are consistent from then to the 21st century [10].

A commonly stated line of reasoning, held by the voluntarily childless, is that children interfere with career ambitions [10] [20] . It should be noted that most young women plan on having children, and say as much in surveys [10]. However, most young women also wait before having children—effectively being childless by choice during their prime reproductive years—and some become childfree by choice due to holding off on reproduction for so long [10]. The reasons for this are likely quite variable. A 2002 Italian survey tallied 859 childless, Urban residents into different categories of being childfree. 36% of the women were always single, 22% were either sterile or avoided reproduction due to physical problems, and 30% of the women chose not to have children for “other reasons” [22]. The diverse scope of childfree women shown in this survey can be used to help understand the circumstances of women outside of Italy, and how the reasons for being childless are neither simple nor ubiquitous. However, because statistics on the voluntarily childfree do vary greatly between nations of the European Union [22], this would be better served as an example of how there could be a multitude of different reasons for a North American woman to be childless, rather than a direct demographic estimate of Canada or the U.S..

On a global scale, the Total Fertility Rate—which is the average number of children born to women of a given country—is going down [31] [32]. One possible correlation is the rising age of marriage, meaning that people are generally having children when they are less fertile [32]. In the developed world, the TFR is noticeably lower: in the U.K. and many nations in Western Europe, the TFR is 1.7, when the Total Fertility Rate needed to maintain a population at the same level—the replacement rate—is 2.1 [31] [33]. The United States also has a TFR below its replacement rate, but only for the native born, while immigrant residents actually have a Fertility Rate above replacement levels. However, TFR declines drastically in immigrant populations by the 2nd generation, presumably due to an increased access to education and income [31]. Currently only half of Earth's countries have a TFR above the replacement rate, but as nations economically develop, they experience a corresponding decrease in fertility rate [33]. According to the CIA's World Factbook, as of 2017, 118 out of the 224 nations catelogued have a TFR below 2.1 [34].

In short, having children is a conscious choice that many people in modern day society have decided, for any or all of a number of reasons, not to partake in. On both a personal scale and a global one, the reality is that a social change is underway, one which sees a reduced presence of children in adult life.

Methodology

This research paper was written to ask the question, “Why do people have kids?” Bearing in mind that some people never have children of their own, it also asked the question, “Why do some people not have kids?” Distinctions between planned parenthood and unforeseeable pregnancy/circumstantial adoption were also considered. Similar distinctions were kept in mind as to why people remain childfree: for some, it is a deliberate choice, while others do not come around to having children due to circumstance. Along with external factors, it could be surmised that the primary reason people do or do not become parents is because of their own predictions on how children would impact their own futures, from a more or less self-serving interest. The hypothesis being tested here is that people generally make the parenting choice prioritizing their own happiness, followed by perceived duties to their family, society as a whole and in order to fit in with their group of peers.

The originally planned methodology of this research project was to have 2 separate surveys—one for parents and guardians, the other for childfree people—to do a compare/contrast analysis. These surveys were titled Why do People become Parents?: Survey For Parents and Guardians and Why do People become Parents?: Survey For People who Currently Do Not Have Children respectively. Both surveys shared some questions and were designed to gather the same kind of information, with some parts of them adjusted to their target audience accordingly. In the beginning stages of this project, the hardest part of conducting research was finding a sufficient sample population to partake in these studies. Given that the project's head researcher has limited funds and very little influence in the social science community, the best that could be done was to post the surveys online in the hopes that enough people would take interest in them. Reddit was used as the primary site for this: with an explanation of the surveys and the research project being posted to Reddit's r/parenting thread and its r/childfree thread. Both surveys were linked to in these posts, along with the incentive that the research paper will be published online after it has been marked by the head researcher’s school.

Due to differences between these two Reddit communities, and the inherently random process of garnering attention from strangers on the internet, the post and accompanying survey on r/childfree gathered significantly more responses than the survey for parents. 429 responses were accumulated in the Survey For People who Currently Do Not Have Children, which is written in a Google Drive document designed to collect aggregate data for this exact kind of survey. The rising number of responses experienced a number of spikes in the following 2-3 days after it was initially posted online; after the survey's attention started to die down, further responses to the survey were denied in the interest of making the collection of data easier. At this same time, the Survey For Parents and Guardians was automatically banned from r/parenting for breaking the subreddits rules, which meant the survey only got 2 respondents who came from a link on the r/childfree post. Keeping in mind this gross imbalance between the two surveys, and the potential difficulty in making the Survey For Parents match the success of the Survey For People who Currently Do Not Have Children, it was decided to continue only with the data gathered from 429 voluntarily childfree responses.

Like all surveys, the participants' anonymity and volunteered consent were kept in mind. No personal information any more intrusive than general demographic data was specifically asked, and all participants were made aware of how they could skip any question which they felt uncomfortable with answering; some participants elected to do this accordingly. The Reddit post was also updated with a notification on how many results were gathered, the fact that further responses were turned off in the Google Drive, and a rough estimate of when the research paper is likely to be published. No detailed information on the head researcher’s school or how my work was marked is going to be published; this was also made clear in the Reddit post.

It should be mentioned that, while diverse, Reddit's r/childfree community is not a perfectly random selection of childless people. For instance, given that this is an online forum for people who self identify as childfree—as opposed to those who are childfree without actively discussing this fact amongst their peers—there is already a potential factor that could influence responses to questions asking why they are childfree. Furthermore, the fact that these participants were gathered from an English speaking community accessible through computers also unbalances the sample population: most respondents claimed to live in the U.S.A., the U.K., or the E.U., with smaller or singular groups stating residencies in other nations of the world. This sample bias manifested in other, less easily explainable ways, such as how more of the survey's participants identified themselves as Pagan rather than Hindu, despite the fact that Hinduism is the world's 3rd largest religion, after Christianity and Islam [25]. The key thing to note here is that while the survey's sample group is culturally diverse and it is global, it is not a balanced representation of the Earth's childfree population.

Some of the survey used multiple choice questions that asked users to assess their own feelings and/or mental states, available options used terminology such as “None at all”, “Average”, and “Very high”, instead of a potentially more concrete rating such as 1 to 10. This is because numbered ratings, while more precise, also carry a degree of subjectivity: one person's “6” may be another person's “7”. Multiple-choice questions had followup questions for participants who felt that their real answer was not included in the multiple-choice segment, along with those who wished to elaborate upon their answers. These questions allowed participants to write whatever answers they wished, without restriction. The final question also asked participants to freely state any personal experiences, aspects to the parent or childfree decision, along with any other topics of interest that may have been neglected in the original survey. Fortunately, many of the participants took this opportunity to significantly increase the depth of their answers, providing a much greater bevy of information.

The self-purported happiness of participants was also investigated, along with if their children or lack of children could have had any major impact in parts of life such as career, education and relationship status. Given the complexity of gender, racial and ethnic identification, respondents were asked to freely state their identification in these demographics, rather than selecting from a multiple choice (such as “Are you White, Black or Asian?”). The same approach was taken with questions regarding gender orientaion, gender identification, and disability.

Results

(It should be noted that, due to 2 responses which mirrored the answers of the responses immediately previous to them—in both cases using the exact same wording in freely-spoken answers—it was assumed that there were 2 incidents during this survey wherein a participant accidentally sent in their answers twice, possibly due to being unsure if the first response went through. Thus, despite the survey having 429 answers, only 427 respondents will be referred to from here on out)

Out of the survey's 427 respondents, the majority were female, with 341 (81.3%) participants identifying as such. 74 (16.66%) of the participants identified themselves as male, while 5 identified as non-binary—including one non-binary female—2 genderqueer individuals, a single person identified as a Transgender Male, and finally 2 people listed their gender identities as “other”.

Age varied across the board, with the largest age group being those in their mid-to-late 20s, followed. by individuals in their early 30s and teenagers. 10 participants answered that they were between the ages of 13 and 18 (13 being the youngest age of all 427 respondents), while 82 people said they were between 18 and 23. 125 individuals were of the ages between 23 and 28, and 104 participants were between 28 and 33. 60 were aged 33 to 38, 23 between 38 and 43, with 5 participants aged 43 to 48. 8 people were aged 48 to 53, and 4 were between 53 and 58. Beyond this age, there was a single participant aged 60, an individual who was 71, and 2 people who have lived 72 years.

In regards to race, since participants identified themselves as they wished, “White” and “Caucasian” were tallied separately in respect to the distinctions between the two; “White” colloquially refers to those of European and occasionally Middle Eastern heritage, while Caucasian is a larger ethnicity which encompasses traditionally white people along with other racial groups, such as those of South Asian, Central Asian, or North African descent [26]. That being said, both groups made a clear majority in this survey, both individually and especially when counted together.

216 participants identified themselves as White, while another 122 claimed Caucasian heritage. The other racial groups were: 30 Hispanic and/or Latinx people (3 of whom were White Hispanics), 16 individuals of Asian descent, 13 Mixed Race people, 7 Black people, 5 participants of recent European heritage, 4 Native American people (2 of whom were mixed race with White ancestry), 3 Jewish people (2 of whom were also White) and 13 participants who gave identifications that were unclear or otherwise non-applicable.

Separately from race/ethnicity—and further down the line of questions to further distinguish the two—participants were also asked of what nation they were currently residing in at the time of the survey. 277 respondents were living in the United States of America, with another 42 living in the nation's northwards neighbour of Canada. These two nations made a clear majority of the survey respondents, followed by 31 residents of the U.K. and 13 from Australia. After these 4 countries were 9 people living in the Netherlands, 5 from Germany, 5 from Sweden, 4 living in Japan, 4 in Poland, 3 in India, and 3 in France. Additionally, there were 2 people from Ireland, 2 from the Czech Republic, 2 from Denmark and 2 from Scotland. The remaining 15 answers were all from people who were the only members of their respective nations represented in the survey. These nations are: Mexico, Argentina, Brazil, Columbia, Panama, Hungary, Ukraine, Italy, Romania, Norway, Singapore, Philippines, the United Arab Emirates, and Kenya.

As for sexual orientation, the most common responses were identifications of being heterosexual/straight, followed by identifications of bisexuality. 240 respondents identified as straight, 93 participants were bisexual, and 12 stated they were gay/lesbian. Other identifications included 17 asexuals, 14 pansexuals, 4 queer people, 3 people with gray sexuality, and 6 people who gave other non-heteronormative identifications.

Regarding Disability, subjects were given the option to describe—in their own words—any and all disabilities they identified as having. Some participants described their conditions as “mild” or even questioned their status as a disability, while others described conditions that are chronic and noticeably impact their lives: disabilities of all manner of severity and manifestation were recorded for this survey. A total of 79 individuals reported having at least 1 disability; 25 of these participants reported having 2 or more disabling conditions. 31 participants reported physical disabilities—such as Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, Diabetes, Endometriosis, among others. 15 instances of Depression and 14 cases of Anxiety were reported, with 6 individuals stating that they had both conditions. 17 participants described having other Mental Health conditions which they were the only one out of the 427 to experience, conditions such as Misophonia. 14 participants described having ADHD, and 20 people said they had a form of Autism Spectrum Disorder. It should be noted that this last number may not be proportionate: the head researcher described having Autism in their description of the research paper and its goal as a school project (which may have made Autistic r/childfree members more inclined to take the survey than others), although the paper was only made accessible through the disability-blind online community of r/childfree, and was not posted on any Autism forums. 3 individuals described having learning disabilities, 2 experience Tourette's, and 1 person said they are deaf.

Participants were asked what their religious identifications were—if any—followed by a multiple choice question querying how much their beliefs impacted one's decision making in life: ranging from “Not at all”, “A little” “Noticeably” and “Significantly”. 260 participants described themselves as having no religion or faith, while 38 additional people referred to themselves as either Atheist or Agnostic. Both these counts include people who formerly ascribed to a particular belief system and/or were raised by it, before they lost their faith. 38 participants identified themselves as Christian—of any denomination—along with 6 people who affiliated themselves with the Pagan faith, and 3 Hindu individuals and 1 practitioner of Reform Judaism. 4 people described themselves as Satanist, with 1 Agnostic Satanist and 2 people who affiliated themselves with the Church of Satan/LaVeyan Satanism. Founded by Anton Szandor LaVey, the Church of Satan is an Atheist organization which uses Satan as a metaphor, and does not consider him or any other religious symbol to exist in the real world [27] [28]. Given that one person did not specify which form of Satanism they follow, it is unclear what their actual religious stance is, although it is likely that all 4 individuals were referring to the Church of Satan. Other religious identifications included a Buddhist, one follower of the Druid faith, a Wiccan, one follower of Hellenic Polytheism, a person who believed in a higher power but subscribed to no particular religion, and an individual who followed a “self made” religion; these latter participants all selected “None at all” for the survey's question on faith and life choices. 3 Pagans said that their faith had “a little” influence on their decision-making, while 2 said that it had no impact and 1 found the influence noticeable.

As for how much religious faith impacted the participants' life choices, 347 (83.2%) said that it had no impact whatsoever. With this number, it is important to bear in mind that while the majority of participants had no religious faith or belief in the existence of deities, some irreligious/atheistic people did say that their beliefs had an impact on their life choices. 8 irreligious people said their beliefs had “a little” impact on their choices in life, while another 2 said the impact was “noticeable”, and 2 said it was “significant”. With the Atheists respondents, 3 said the impact was “noticeable” and 2 answered that it was “significant”. 6 Christian participants said that their faith had no impact, 16 answered that it had a little effect, 11 that the impact was noticeable, and 2 said that it was significant.. 2 of the Satanists said their faith had a “significant” impact on decision-making in life, with a third describing the impact as “noticeable” and another saying that it had “none at all”.

Despite the fact that religious influence on life choices was understandably higher among those of religious faith, it is still worth noting that the majority of participants said religion had no impact on their decisions. This could possibly mean one of two things. The first interpretation of this data is that religion tends to encourage people to have children, which would make childfree people who lead a life influenced by faith a minority, as represented by the demographics of this survey. The other interpretation is that religious teachings are irrelevant to the decision on whether or not one should become a parent, and the discrepancy between religious and irreligious participants is caused by an additional factor, perhaps related to Reddit not being an entirely representative sample population of Earth's population. Given the sheer amount of diversity, and rigidity, of religious principles and rules, it is possible that both interpretations are equally too.

The relationship statuses of participants were also tallied, opening the conversation up onto that topic should it be a relevant factor as to why or why not a person may choose/be able to have children. 171 (40.3%) of participants stated they were in a romantic relationship equivalent to having a boyfriend or girlfriend. 134 (31.6%) of volunteers were single at the time of the survey, and 112 (26.4%) identified as being currently married. 12 participants (2.8%) were engaging in polyamorous relationships. Additionally, 8 (1.9%) participants stated to have experienced a previous divorce, while 31 (7.3%) respondents stated that they have never been married.

However, the influence of a romantic partner(s) might not be as great as initially thought by the research team. When asked by multiple choice, 389 (90.9%) of the respondents stated that their desire to have a child is completely independent from the wishes of their current or future romantic partner(s). Only 24 (5.6%) participants stated that such influence could be possible, answering with “maybe”, while 15 (3.5%) responded “yes”, indicating that their partner's desires would impact the participants' own decision on whether or not they would have a child.

Related to the above, when given the multiple-choice question of “How strong is your current desire to have children?”, with answers ranging from “None at all”, “Low”, “Average” and “High”. 382 respondents (89.3%) stated they had “none at all”. 36 (8.4%) of participants claimed to have a low desire for becoming a parent, 3 (0.7%) had an “average” desire, and 7 (1.6%) had a very high desire to have children. Comparing the results from these 2 questions, there is perhaps something to be said for how strongly people feel about the correctness of their choice on whether or not have to children, and that most people are strong-willed enough to make the decision for themselves instead of defaulting to the wishes of a romantic partner. If nothing else, the answers to this question prove that the vast majority of the self-identified childfree community—at least, those who join the conversation via Reddit—are indeed childfree by choice, negating the possibility that most people who never become parents are so merely because of circumstance, not intention.

A low or non-existent desire to have children would seem to be a primary motivational factor—or lack of motivational factor, as the case may be—for the majority of people who identify themselves as childfree online. When given the question, “Is there any particular reason why you have not had a child?”, and asked to select any and all answers which may apply to them, 388 (90.7%) of participants stated that one noticeable reason was that they simply had no desire to. 367 (85.7%) of the respondents additionally claimed to have made a deliberate choice to not have children. 21 (4.9%) participants said that they are only childfree currently, and are waiting to have a child once their life affairs (education, career, etc) are in order. 5 (1.2%) respondents said they were waiting for the right romantic partner to raise children with; the same number of participants also said they were waiting until all participating family members—including future grandparents and so forth—were prepared to have a baby. 4 (0.9%) participants were struggling to have children either due to infertility, issues with adoption, or other circumstances, while one (0.2%) respondent did have a child who has unfortunately passed away.

Participants were also asked to select between a number of potential influencing factors—if any at all—with the question, “Do you feel like your choice to have children is largely commented on, influenced by and/or attempted to be influenced by any of the following?”. Given that participants were allowed to select any number of options, the goal behind this question was to see which influence had the most impact on each individual person, and rather to determine which influences were the most prevalent, according to the individuals who profess to have had personal experience with them. 422 of participants chose to answer this question, selecting any number of the available answers.

249 (59%) of participants cited society as a whole as a social factor which judges and/or impacts their status as childfree people, making it the most predominant influencer as voted by the survey's volunteers. The second largest influencer/commentator described was family, with 177 (41.9%) of respondents selecting it. In regards to other interpersonal influences in the childfree life, 121 (28.7%) of participants stated that their peers—described as classmates, coworkers, and so forth—became involved with their childless status in some way, compared to only 78 (18.5%) of respondents saying the same about their friends. This could potentially mean one of two things: either a childfree person's friends are more understanding and tolerant of his/her choices (perhaps as a consequence of the more intimate knowledge friends have of each other compared to coworkers), or that childfree people tend to select friends who do not judge them for their life choices, and likely have less freedom being paired with colleagues in a work and/or school environment.

The third largest social factor to impact the lives of childfree people was the media, according to 168 (39.8%) of people who took the survey. 116 (27.5%) of respondents stated their local culture was a noticeable factor, and 37 (8.8%) stated that other factors not otherwise specified impacted their lives as well. Furthermore, 149 (35.3%) of participants stated that no outside factor affected their decision to be childfree.

On the topic of how social influences impact one's child-making decision, participants were asked the following question, “If any of these factors are influencing, or attempting to influence, your decision to have a child, how does that make you feel?”. Participants were allowed to answer in their words, with similarly-written answers being counted in the same groups and tallied together for the purposes of this paper. Some participants had short, concise answers, others made multiple statements that were similar to what their peers had made; each form of answer was tallied individually, in order to see which thoughts and feelings were the most commonly shared among all group members.

Of the 226 participants who wrote a response to this question, 36 said that they were ignoring outside factors which attempted to influence their decision—and otherwise made little to no impact on their lives, while another 18 said that the judgments passed onto childfree people and the pressure put on them to have children actually strengthened their motivation to remain childless. 42 participants were quoted as feeling “annoyed”, at persuasive comments regarding their status as childfree, 61 people said they felt angry and/or frustrated when their decision was judged by others, 3 people said they felt isolated and 2 reported feelings of anxiety on the matter. A separate 15 individuals made statements indicating the social pressure made them feel upset in some other manner. 9 participants stated that the social factors listed in the preceding multiple-choice question made them feel guilty and ashamed of their decision to not have a child; in direct contrast to this, 15 individuals were of the opinion that this pressure to have children is disrespectful. Furthermore, 49 participants made complaints that they did not feel a true freedom of choice in the decision of not having a child, and 13 people described personal questions and/or criticisms of their childfree status as an invasion of privacy. 14 people said that they felt a lack of acceptance and understanding from those who were informed of their childfree status. 37 participants stated opinions that society at large harbours and encourages prejudice towards childfree individuals, 21 of whom making specific comments on how societal expectations of parenthood are misogynistic, such as by enforcing traditional gender roles. 8 participants recounted being personally discriminated against directly because of their choice of remaining childless, while an additional 6 female volunteers told stories of how they were denied medical procedures—even after request—because their doctors prioritized the patients' fertility over personal desire or ambivalence towards becoming sterile. Another 14 participants reported feeling a lack of understanding and/or acceptance on the behalf of those made aware of one's chidlfree status.

Some of the most interesting results of this survey were not the answers given to specific surveys, but the information that participants volunteered in sections given for those who felt that the multiple-choice questions failed to address their situations. Indeed, several participants gave similar volunteered statements in regards to several subject matters that pertain to being childfree, which shall be listed here.

One topic—which was admittedly overlooked during by the questions in the survey—was that some women avoid having biological children as a consequence of a deep-seated aversion to the intense processes of pregnancy and/or labour. 43 participants—42 of whom were female, the other identifying as “Nonbinary/female”—all voluntarily described, in way or another, wishing to avoid the process of undergoing pregnancy. 19 of these women either said they had a fear of pregnancy and/or labour, or explicitly diagnosed themselves with Tokophobia. A further 15 participants explained that they were unwilling to go through the—often permanent—bodily changes that result from pregnancy, and another 3 wished to avoid the mental affects that childbirth can have on a person such as Post-Partum Depression. 6 women stated that pregnancy was too dangerous for them to consider the process worth it, and 4 cited personal medical complications reasons against pregnancy. 5 women expressed that they considered pregnancy to be disgusting and/or painful, and the remaining 7 women simply stated that they wished to avoid becoming pregnant.

62 individuals professed a disliking of children as one of their reasons for being childfree. Perhaps this number could be seen as surprising: either that so many people could dislike children, or that so few of the respondents had this as their primary reason for being childfree, indicating that the choice to become a parent—in many cases—is much more complex than whether or not one enjoys the company of children. 50 of these individuals identified as female, 8 as male, 3 as non-binary/agender/genderqueer, and 1 gave a not-applicable answer.

Moral and ethical considerations were also volunteered by some participants as additional reasons why they have decided not to have children, or at the very least, not give birth to biological children. Some participants stated more than one ethical reason, and the vast majority considered the morality of childbirth alongside the other—more interpersonal—factors that were also discussed in the other answers to this survey. Again, these answers will be tallied individually, with the emphasis on which moral reasons were the most popular or commonly stated, without going into the specifics of how many people cited each type of answer individually.

31 participants cited their and/or their partners' genetics, which were perceived as undesirable, onto another person. 20 of these people also either identified as having a disability which profoundly impacts their lives—such as a significant physical disability, or Autism Spectrum Disorder—or mentioned having mental health problems such as anxiety and depression, that they felt would be cruel to pass on to an unwilling newborn. Another 8 were concerned of passing on an inheritable condition that runs in the family bloodline. Outside of genetics, 10 participants cited a familial history of domestic abuse, instilling an aversion towards raising either biological or adopted children in order to stop the cycle of abuse. 17 participants expressed concern that they would turn out to be ill-suited as parents for other reasons, 3 of whom citing their disliking of children as a possible instigator of this.

4 participants stated that they felt bringing new life into the world is inherently cruel and/or selfish, with another 3 specifically citing “anti-natalism” as one of their reasons. “Anti-natalism is the view that it is (almost) always wrong to bring people (and perhaps all sentient beings) into existence.” [29]. Another common anti-natalist argument against bringing new humans into the world is the impact our species has on Earth's climate [30]. Outside of anti-natalism and the belief that childbirth is inherently cruel, several participants did cite human overpopulation and anthropogenic impact on the environment. 19 participants stated a desire to protect the environment as one of the reasons they have chosen not to have children, while another 13 cited the human population crisis as their moral problem; an additional 26 participants described both of these moral considerations as factors contributing to their childfree decision. This totals to 58 individuals who felt that either one or both of these long-term, global trends were significant enough to their personal lives to at least be a partial influence in the childfree decision. Finally, 14 participants expressed the fear that their region's current political situation would curse any children they raise with a life of hardship, persecution, or even danger.

The monetary cost of raising children was cited by 51 participants as a factor against their wanting to have kids, with another 6 people stating that their financial situations made parenthood impossible.

Finally, the impact that newly introduced children have on a person's life—in particular, personal happiness and self-satisfaction—were also brought up by participants as factors influencing their decision. 47 people described a desire for freedom, sufficient free time, or otherwise wished to avoid the restrictions in life that parenting naturally creates. 18 participants felt that having a child would interfere with their career goals and another 8 said the same in regards to their life goals and hobbies. Particular activities which participants felt child-rearing would interfere with include travelling, as cited by 11 people, and sleeping, according to 8. Finally, 24 participants stated that they were content in their marriages/romantic relationships,and decided to not have children in order to preserve this comfortable dynamic.

Conclusions

When analyzing all of this data—both the survey's questions that were answered, and the information that participants gave without prompt—there are certain conclusions that can be drawn in relation to why people decide they are better off avoiding children of their own, why many prospective parents consider biological children a poor choice for themselves, and how society as a whole interacts with the childfree population.

First off, it needs to be made clear that the reasons behind many childfree decisions are both diverse and complex, with some individuals making their choice based largely on a single factor, with others citing dozens of reasons behind their aversion of parenthood. It could be surmised that some of the more commonly stated reasons—such as wishing to fully commit to one's romantic partner, devoting oneself to a satisfactory career and personal life, or simply disliking children—do all have personal happiness and potential changes to it as a central consideration. This partially confirms this research paper's original hypothesis: which is that people primarily make the choice of whether they will become a parent based on if they believe children will bring either a positive or negative change to their lives. However, the second part of the original hypothesis—that the choice is also made based on how a person wishes to serve their family, society and fit in with peers—has been largely disproved. Many of the survey respondents made it very clear, both in answering the multiple-choice questions and writing their own answers, that their decisions were often made not because of outside social factors, but regardless of them. In fact, while local communities, peer groups, media and society at large often attempt to persuade people into having children, these attempts at influence do not easily succeed, and serve little more than to create tension between parents and childfree people. Perhaps this research paper could be used as evidence of the fact that all types of people in the world, including those who are raising the next generation of humanity, and those who have good reason not to do so, need to find a common ground, in order for childfree people to be better understood in the modern era.

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#childfree #poll #reddit

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sparkleywonderful · 6 years

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The Prince of Ice: Ch.24.4

Part 24.4 of The Prince of Ice series, a retelling of Heir of Fire from Rowan’s point of view.

The Prince of Ice Parts [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ] [ 8 ] [ 9 ] [ 10 ] [ 11 ] [ 12 ] [ 13 ] [ 14 ] [ 14.5 ] [ 15 ] [ 16 ] [ 17 ] [ 18 ] [ 19 ] [ 20 ] [ 21 ] [ 22 ] [ 23 ] [ 24.1 ] [ 24.2 ] [ 24.3 ] [ 24.4 ] [ 24.5 ] [ 24.6 ] [ 24.7 ] [ AO3 ]

A/N: I have been dying to write this chapter, just dying. It was so much fun to write and I always felt that this exclusive belonged in the book. Although we all filled in the gaps, it is the first time you truly see the friendship that is growing between Rowan and Aelin. For tumblr, I will be braking this apart into seven sections for your viewing pleasure.

Gratitude goes to @bookofademigod and @themaasofwar for posting the target exclusive. Without this I would have never been able to write this very important POV.

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Months before Aelin reclaimed her identity as the long-lost Queen of Terrasen, she still called herself Celaena Sardothien - and was trained to wield her rekindled magic by a Fae Prince in a mountain fortress of Wendlyn… Despite their rough beginning, Aelin and Rowan have finally formed a solid friendship, based on mutual respect, trust, and more than a bit of banter. But just when their bond begins to shift into something neither of them quite anticipates - something far deeper - the fortress of Mistward receives a visit from three Fae nobles. And one of them claims some very, very personal ties to Rowan himself. Read on for an exclusive deleted scene from Heir of Fire, in which Aelin gets her first glimpse of the Fae nobility of Doranelle, and a bit more of Rowan’s history is revealed to her … with fiery consequences.

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He paced his rooms after Remelle left. The raging anger refusing to diminish. He shifted in the hope that a flight would clear the emotions coursing through him. Not surprising he perched outside the kitchen, ensuring that Remelle did not find her blood scattered throughout the kitchen.

Aelin did indeed go to the kitchen, where she helped Emrys prepare the meal. Luca was there, prattling away, but the chatter stopped mid-sentence. He had no idea how she could stand his constant prattling.

Essar was standing at the foot of the stairs, smiling faintly.

“Dinner won’t be ready for another twenty minutes,” Aelin said, wiping her hands on a dishcloth before approaching the lady. Luca was practically gaping at the small beauty, but Essar gave him a polite smile and he immediately found himself interested in whatever he was doing with a hint of a blush. “I can show you to the dining hall, if you’d like to wait there.”

“Oh, no. Benson’s in there already, and he … I think I’d have more fun in here.”

“It can be chaotic and loud and messy in here—”

“I know how a kitchen operates,” Essar said. “Just tell me what work needs to be done, and I’ll do it.”

Aelin looked to Emrys, who bowed and introduced himself and Luca—whose blush went beet red at the attention. Aelin stood chopping vegetables beside the Essar. He should fly away, but a small part of him was curious with what Essar would see in Aelin. Her gift of fire was nothing compared to Aelin’s, her true gift he was coming to realize was reading people.

Aelin broke the silence,“So, you’re just … travelling around?”

“Maeve gave us a task, which I’m not supposed to talk about, but yes—it involved us travelling for a bit. We’re on our way back to Doranelle though—thank the Bright Lady.”

Aelin raised a brow. ‘Mala?”

Essar lifted a hand, and flames danced on her fingertips. “Not much of a gift, but it kept us warm on the road at least.”

He watched as Aelin swallowed. He knew that she’d never met another fire-wielder. “Is it hard—to master the fire?”

He was not surprised that Aelin continued to hide her gift. It was then that he realized there was a secondary reason for Maeve sending Esaar on this task.

Essar shrugged. “I was very young when my training began, and I’ve had about two centuries to master what little power I have. Aside from a few burns and blisters, I’ve never really been able to do much harm, or impress anyone, really. Remelle’s got the more interesting gift—her magic lends itself toward mastering any language she hears, no matter how briefly. It’s why Maeve likes to send her around to places. And Benson’s got a knack for becoming invisible whenever he wants to, which …” Essar winced.

“Makes him a good listener,” Aelin finished finished for her.

Essar responded wanting to move from talking of the others,“You must have impressive gifts if Prince Rowan is training you.”

“I—”

“Those vegetables done?” Emrys asked, he was once again reminded how astute the demi-Fae male was.

Essar said casually, “I can’t imagine Rowan is as easy teacher.”

“You could say that.”

“But they’re all like that—Rowan and his companions who serve the queen.”

“You know them?”

Essar blushed. “I was involved with Lorcan, their leader, for a time. But—his lifestyle and mine are very different.”

“And what is Lorcan like?”

“A demi-Fae, like you.”

Aelin masked her surprise. Essar went on, “He has had to prove himself every single day, every hour, since he was born. Even though his power isn’t challenged—by anyone other than Rowan that is—he … Lorcan is not an easy male to be around. Some days, I’m surprised he has friends.”

“And Rowan is his friend?”

Essar gave Aelin an amused smile. “In a way. They frighten even us, you know. Especially when they’re together. When Rowan and Lorcan are together in a room … Let’s just say that they sometimes do not leave that room intact by the time they depart. Or the city for that matter.”

True, Essar had even seen that there was little friendship between him and Lorcan, more of a common goal and the ability to destroy anything that stood in their way or Maeve’s way. Though the destruction came from different places and needs within each of them.

“And yet Maeve lets them work together?”

“She would be a fool to let either of them go—which is why she bound them to her with the blood oath. They’ve levelled cities for her before.”

“Actually levelled cities?”

Essar nodded gravely. “And yet Remelle thinks she can control Rowan—wants to possess him.”

“She’s an idiot.”

“Indeed. But power is power, and since Remelle can’t look past Lorcan’s mixed bloodline, Rowan is her only other option.”

“Would—would their children also belong to Maeve, the way Rowan does?”

Essar cocked her head. “I don’t know. None of his companions have sired offspring, so there’s no way of telling what Maeve would do.”

He could see Aelin’s shudder, “You don’t seem to speak as reverently as the others do about her.”

“Not all Fae are her willing slaves, you know. And part of—part of why my relationship with Lorcan fell apart was due to that. He is blood-sworn to her, and no matter how I cared for him, I am most certainly not. Nor will I ever swear such an oath.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you are training with the most dangerous pure-blooded Fae male in the world, and yet he treats you as an equal. He presented you as his equal.”

He did not realize he had done such an innate action in front of the nobles. Even he was just realizing and coming to terms with the fact that Aelin was his equal and if given the chance he knew that she would surpass him. He had to remember to mask himself, that action was dangerous both for Aelin and himself.

“I think Rowan just didn’t feel like dealing with Remelle alone.”

“Probably. But he’s also dealt with her on his own plenty. And since Rowan’s not one to show off a new companion just to spite an old lover …”

“I’m not sure I follow what you’re getting at.”

“I find it all very interesting.”

“I think you’re reading a bit into it.”

But Essar only gave her a soft smile. “I’m sure I am.”

He had been fighting for weeks this connection between them. The likelihood that they were Carranam. As he flew off, it unsettled him a bit that Essar could see the bond that they were beginning to form. Such a bond was dangerous not only because he was blood sworn to Maeve, but a bond like this could destroy him or the princess. A bond that Essar felt she needed to warn Aelin of.

#The Prince of Ice #Prince of Ice #rowan whitethorn #rowan pov #heir of fire #aelin ashryver galathynius #sparkleywonderful

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wiseabsol · 7 years

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Excerpts from a Prompts Project

For those of you who read my Pokemon fanfic “The Phoenix Rose Saga” back in the day, here is the first of three excerpts showing what a re-imagined version of it would look like.

Prompt #1: Creation, featuring Aaron from “TPRS”

Creation:

As far as creations went, the second of their mew clones (or the third, if he decided to count the prototype, which he generally didn’t) wasn’t much of a success.

Perhaps Aaron shouldn’t say that. The clone, who his assistants had named “Neva” for her snowy white pelt, was alive and healthy. That was more than most of their early clones could boast. They had died while they were growing in their gestation tanks or shortly after their births. Still, there wasn’t much else that could be said in Neva’s favor. Her albinism, while unusual among pokémon, wasn’t as rare or valuable as the “shiny” coloration. The vulnerability of her eyes and skin to sunlight, thanks to her condition, didn’t help either. If they weren’t careful, she might eventually go blind or develop skin cancer (which was another reason why confining her to the lab was for the best).

Yet compared to her other flaws, her albinism could be overlooked. Her being deaf and psychically disabled were much more serious problems.

The deafness could be worked around. Neva’s primary caretaker, Dr. Rosenberg, knew several languages, including the local version of sign language. In addition to her other duties, Dr. Rosenberg was adapting that version into a three-fingered one that Neva could use. She’d given Aaron reports on how Neva was progressing, along with the growing list of signs that Neva had learned, but he’d only managed to skim through them. Neva’s “sister,” Morgan, interested him more than her less capable sibling. Most of his time was spent going over her medical reports and her battle analyses instead. As long as Dr. Rosenberg was confident that her pet project was going well, he felt safe entrusting her with the second clone. Until he found a use for Neva, her time could be spent in language lessons.

What else was he supposed to do with her? She didn’t have a wisp of psychic power, nor any hint of the others, despite the lineage she boasted. Mew was said to be able to learn every move a pokémon could learn, he thought, rubbing his temples as he waited for his coffee to brew. And this creature can barely use Scratch.

Cloning pokémon was always a gamble, of course. His colleagues back on Cinnabar had stressed that time and again as they’d sifted through fossilized remains, looking for the most promising samples. Even the best-preserved ones, though, captured in ice and amber, would have holes somewhere in their genetic codes. Using stem cells from dittos could fill in only so much of what had been lost. For the rest of the gaps, they had to splice in genes from other pokémon and people, which threw all sort of variables into the mix. No doubt that had been what had brought about Morgan’s blue coloration (due to the vaporeon genes in her genetic cocktail) and Neva’s disabilities. That or her mew fossil had been from a flawed specimen, which was entirely possible. Aaron had hardly expected to find one set of mew remains, let alone two, so of course he had made clones from them both. That was more than Dr. Fuji had accomplished!

It niggled at Aaron, though, that Dr. Fuji’s prototype had been practically perfect. Its psychic powers alone could have leveled mountains. Such a shame, really, that its temperament had been so foul….

Even if Aaron’s creations weren’t as strong as their predecessor, at least they were under his control. Certainly, Morgan was a handful. She was eager to test herself in battle—she was rather like the prototype that way (if only, if only he could capture Mewtwo as well and use it as a stud. The offspring would no doubt be priceless). But she still obeyed them and adhered to the rules and restrictions they’d laid out for her, and all because he’d taken the time to sit down with her and answer her questions. He’d be careful to treat her like a person, even though she wasn’t one, and that had made the difference. His lab was still standing and he and his people were still alive. That put him well ahead of Dr. Fuji, as far as Aaron was concerned.

But the question remained: what was he supposed to do with Neva?

Euthanizing and dissecting her was out of the question (unless her body started breaking down like some of the others had, in which case his intervention would be a mercy). They’d sunk too much money, too much time, too much labor and energy into making her. He couldn’t waste the investment. He hadn’t been able to back when she was gestating, when her pure white fur and her biopsies had told him of her condition. Mew samples were too hard to come by, and even a flawed sample couldn’t be discarded because the result was imperfect. But if she couldn’t be used for battle or for contests—or for activities that the League didn’t sanction, but his financers pursued—what else was left?

Breeding, the answer came to him. She can be used for breeding. If nothing else, she could act as a surrogate for her sister’s offspring. That way, Morgan can remain in the arena and won’t be injured by any pregnancy complications. The mew clones, after all, were essentially chimeras. Delivering might be harder for them than for their purer ancestors. Especially if they had litters.

It would have to be carefully done. They had gambled with the genetic cocktails that had brought the sisters into being, but they could not take the same risks with the offspring (if the sisters were even fertile. They might not be. Most pokémon were and could breed across species lines, but there were a select few who were more restrictive. The mews could have been one of those, regardless of their supposed “ancestor of all” designation). Fortunately, both sisters had a readier supply of gametes than Aaron had of fossilized remains, so he could do more with the genes he’d be mixing. Maybe he could increase the claw length in the offspring…maybe tweak their coloration…definitely expand their move sets if he could…yes, there was a lot he could experiment with.

After mixing a tooth-aching amount of sugar and a dollop of cream into his coffee, he left his office and went to the training center for the clones. Morgan was making good progress on converting her psychic energies into electric attacks and was making short work of her opponents. She seemed restless, but he supposed that was to be expected when none of her challengers were putting up a good fight. They would have to increase the level tier again and see how she fared then.

Neva, in contrast, was practicing signs with Dr. Rosenberg. They were in the botanical lab today. Dr. Rosenberg was teaching Neva the names and medicinal uses of the plants there, as if she would have any use for that knowledge. But he supposed they had to improve Neva’s communication skills somehow, and keeping her in a stagnant environment like her pen would hinder her in that. If only she had half of her sister’s innate empathic abilities. Then she would be fluent in their language already….

“Dr. Rosenberg,” he called through the doorway, feeling the moist, sticky heat of the lab against his face. “A word?”

She nodded and made some quick signs to Neva, who nodded and started working clumsily on a project. She was getting dirt everywhere on the floor. Dr. Rosenberg removed her gardening gloves and joined him. “Yes?”

“I wanted to run something by you.” He explained the breeding idea to her. To his surprise, she looked uncertain about it. “Is something the matter?”

“Sir, it’s just…the sisters might be physically mature, but psychologically, they’re far from it. They need more time to learn and develop before—I’m not saying that we shouldn’t consider it,” she added hastily, seeing his annoyance, “but maybe we should wait a year or two for their minds to catch up to their bodies.”

“That would be fine, if we didn’t have Ms. Stoneson breathing down our necks. But we do, and while she’s pleased with Morgan’s progress, she’s starting to see Neva as a waste of resources.” That had come up repeatedly in their last meeting. “I’m not sure how much more she is willing to spend on a failed investment.”

“Neva is not a failure!”

Gods protect him from scientists who grew too attached to their experiments. “She is in the eyes of our employer,” he explained, with rather more patience than Dr. Rosenberg deserved. “But that could change if we find a use for her. I’m open to alternative suggestions.” When the now red-faced Dr. Rosenberg seemed at a loss, he added, “If you think of any, let me know. Otherwise, inform Neva that this is where things are heading. We might start her on a hormone regime as soon as next month.”

As he was turning away, Dr. Rosenberg reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Aaron, she’s a child, you can’t—”

“Would you rather she be a dead child? Because that’s another option our dear employer has mentioned. Using Neva for samples and spare parts certainly would put an end to the drain she’s being, even if it wouldn’t give us back a fraction of the fortune we spent on making her.”

Dr. Rosenberg paled at that. Aaron nodded. “I don’t want that either, but I might not have a choice if Neva doesn’t prove her value somehow.” He looked past her, at the creation, who had buried her muzzle into the roses. “Take a day to think about it,” he told Dr. Rosenberg, then left.

They had to find a use for the clone somehow. This was the only way he could think of.

Better this than the dissection table, he thought. I’m sure even Neva would agree.

But he would never ask her that. He would become like Dr. Rosenberg if he did—too involved, too close to keep perspective like he should, when they were working for people who had no patience for such softheartedness. He had to keep his distance and keep in mind what the sisters were: creations. Products. Property. Not pokémon. Not even people.

No matter what Dr. Rosenberg might say, Aaron couldn’t allow himself to lose sight of that.

#WiseAbsol #My Fanfiction #The Phoenix Rose Saga #Prompts Project #Pokemon

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aliadayne · 7 years

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I want to share a little thing I’ve just made... Let’s say is a WIP, because probably I’ll be overthinking about it and I will make some changes.

First, some disclaimers: I do not own ASOIAF and related works, this is not canon, but comes from the careful analysis of the original material and related discussions, and tries to fill or illuminate a few voids or blurry zones in the narrative. Also, English is not my first language, so, apologies beforehand for the mistakes. There is a long text ahead, so do not get into unless you love House Penrose or Elaena Targaryen as I do.

FAMILY TREE: HOUSE PENROSE IN THE REIGN OF DAERON II

According to the wiki,

House Penrose gained a significant influence within the royal court after lord Ronnel Penrose married Princess Elaena Targaryen. Ronnel Penrose sat on the king's small council as Master of Coin, though it was widely known that his wife Elaena was the one performing the duties of the office. The couple had four children together, namely; Robin, Laena, Jocelyn and Joy. Some time afterwards a member of House Penrose, yet again, married a Targaryen when Aelinor Penrose wed prince Aerys Targaryen, who would become King Aerys I.

During the Blackfyre Rebellion, House Penrose remained loyal to House Targaryen. At the crossing of the Mander, Ser Quentyn Ball slew all of Lady Penrose's sons except for the youngest, whom he spared as a favor to the lady. Ser Jon Penrose fought at the Ashford Tourney and managed to unhorse Ser Tybolt Lannister, but lost the duel.

The king in whose council Ronnel Penrose sat on was Daeron II Targaryen, who was ruler of Westeros from 184 to 209. Daeron, called “The Good”, was known for finally bringing Dorne into the kingdom, through his marriage to Mariah Martell (a union arranged in the reign of Baelor the Blessed). Following this strategy, Daeron also arranged for their four sons (Baelor, Aerys, Rhaegel and Maekar) weddings with other houses outside the Targaryens (something quite unusual). In spite of all the diplomatic marriages, the Blackfyre Rebellion, which occurred in 196, marked his reign and divided the realm, and the conflic endured in one way or another for decades. Finally, In the year 209 took place the Ashford Tourney, just before the Great Spring Sickness took the life of the good King.

So, the 25-year period in which Daeron II ruled Westeros, seems to give a definite frame to the most luminous moment of House Penrose, which begins with the marriage between Ronnel and the magnificent Elaena Targaryen. Union that was also suggested by my favorite matchmaker, Daeron II.

However, the relationship between several of the many Penroses referenced in the different sources was never quite clear. And, as the House of the quills is one of my favorites, and I simply love Elaena Targaryen (please George, make her have an appearance in the future Dunk and Eggs novellas, please please please), and overthinking about obscures family trees is probably my greatest guilty pleasure, I made an educated guess (among the many possible) about how I think the Penroses (and Targaryens) should have been related to each other so that everything makes sense.

To make it brief, I will highlight the main knots that I intend to solve with this tree. And let me first clarify that I took the liberty of assuming for each speculated character, names and defined dates of birth and death. I did so just because I did not wanted to leave half of the tree between question marks, and since I was on the train of speculation, why not do it with that too.

Now, to the main knots:

1- The Ronnel Penrose Knot:

Elaena’s husband seems to have all his life facts quite clear, except for one. Was Ronnel the Lord of Parchment? In TWOIAF, it is said that “Daeron wed her to his master of coin, and this union led to four more children …and to Elaena becoming known to be the true master of coin, for her husband was said to be a good and noble lord but one without a great facility for numbers”. The fact that it says “lord” and no “ser” seems to solve the matter for many.

However, it's “lord”, not “Lord”. When it’s not capitalized, can be referred to any nobleman or member of the House. So that detail is not conclusive.

On the other hand, if we make him Lord Penrose of Parchment, he would be almost sharing seat with the protagonist of the next knot: the Lady Penrose (with capital “L”) mentioned in the Blackfyre Rebellion.

There would be several possibilities, and none convince me at all.

A) Ronnel Penrose is the Lady’s father, or the Lady’s father in law (if she is not a Lady in her own right). And we are talking of a Lady with many sons, so unless Ronnel had a previous marriage (which is not stated, so lets assume he hadn’t), none of his children with Elaena can be the Lady or the Lady’s husband (the marriage of Ronnel and Elaena took place quite possibly in the early years of Daeron II reign, making 184 the earliest possible date for the birth of their first child, Robin, who if so would only be 12 years old during the Rebellion).

B) Ronnel Penrose is the Lady’s son. Which means that he could only have been the younger son to be able to become the next Lord, because the older ones got killed. But it's hard to imagine the experienced Master of Coin beign the “youngest one” to whom Quentyn Ball forgives his life. It is possible, but that situation speaks more of a boy that a grown man.

C) Ronnel Penrose is the Lady’s husband. So that would make that Lady our Mistress-of-Coin-in-the-shadows Elaena Targaryen. A question that leads me to the next knot.

2- The Lady Penrose Knot:

The first question that arises here is, Is Lady Penrose -the one who lose many sons in the Blackfyre Rebellion- Elaena Targaryen?

In TMK it is says: “At the crossing of the Mander, he cut down the sons of Lady Penrose one by one. They say he spared the life of the youngest one as a kindness to his mother”.

We must ask here another question: Why it’s says “the sons of Lady Penrose” and no “the sons of Lord Penrose”? It’s because there is no Lord Penrose, ergo, it is the Lady who is the head of the House? Or it’s because the Lady has some importance or fame on her own, besides her place on the feudal hierarchy? Only the second alternative shouts “Elaena”, but she had only one son with Ronnel Penrose, so it would not fit.

(Unless... the source states that the Lady is Penrose, but it never says that the sons are all Penroses... Elaena had in total three sons: Jon Waters, Viserys Plumm and Robin Penrose. However, it is confirmed that Jon and Viserys -born between 171 and 177) had offspring, and that would not fit with an early demise in 196... I mean, it could be possible, given their approximate ages, but it would leave a very narrow window for them to marry and had kids... Let’s just assume they were not the sons killed by Fireball, and keep going through this)

Believe me, I really really tried to make Lady Penrose a Lady in her own right. I find her more interesting that way. The thing is, there is nothing that tilts the scale to one side or another. Not a clue. But, when there is nothing, the slightest hint or bump stands out. And that bump is a short statement that finally conviced me to make Lady Penrose not a Lady in her own right, nor Elaena Targaryen, but a daughter of House Hightower married into House Penrose: Quentyn Ball spared the life of the youngest son as a favor to the lady.

This has to be crucial. The Lady in question had to be related in some way to or have some sort of ascendacy over Fireball for him to have such a gesture towards her. (This also shouts Elaena, by the way, but I already discarded her). House Ball is a House from the Reach, so it has more sense that he feels the need to make a show of "gallantry" for a Lady related to a powerful House in that region, a Lady who probably he knew... and a Lady with dragon blood in her. Because, why she has to be a Hightower? And this is related to the final knot.

3- The cousin Aelinor Knot:

One thing we know for sure, Aelinor is not Elaena’s daughter.

There was a simpler time, long ago, when Aelinor was just another Targaryen sister-wife, and all was well in our world. But suddenly, she was confirmed as a Penrose, and, to make everything even more complex, a cousin of her husband, Aerys I Targaryen.

(Who would have thought that the incest way would be the simpler way?)

By making her a cousin (a vague relationship of which we do not know the degree) and from another House, we must find women with Targaryen blood who may have married to House Penrose.

Luckily, we have not one but two possible ways thanks to the twins daughters of Daemon Targaryen (the grandfather of Elaena and the great grandfather of Daeron II). Baela and Rhaena survived the Dance of the Dragons and both married into powerful Houses. Baela married Lord Alyn Velaryon, the house of her mother, and had offspring. Rhaena married first into the Corbrays, with no issue, and finally with Garmund Hightower, a “lord” with no clear status, by whom she had six daughters.

That amount of daughters is what makes Rhaena more attractive for our purposes. The fact that they are so many leaves the door open for a union with a small house or with a house outside the Reach (something that happens with Lynesse Hightower, for instance).

And, as we discussed above, Quentyn Ball's action makes more sense if the Lady to whom he does the "favor" of sparing a son, has some relationship with him, with his House, or with his affections and loyalties. The Lady in question would be that way a Reachean-born half-Hightower half-Targaryen Lady of Parchment by marriage, worthy of an attention from such a “fiery” and ambitious knight, which could be highlighted in the stories many years after the fact.

By that time, Lady Penrose has not only her doomed group of sons (which I chose to be four, to enlarge the tragedy), but at least a daughter, Aelinor, whom she gave a Valyrian name. Maybe Lady Penrose has also a Targaryen name (I chose Alysanne, to be conservative).

That way, Aelinor and Aerys are second cousins, not too far in the tree to make the realtionship between them too distant to be relevant or worth mentioning.

TL;DR

So to summarize, IMHO: Ronnel Penrose was not the Lord of Parchments, ergo, Elaena was not Lady Penrose during the Blackfyre Rebellion, and Aelinor Penrose was a granddaughter of Rhaena Targaryen through one of her Hightowers daughters.

Reading all these ramblings, I can’t say for sure if I have succeeded in proving or discrediting the family tree I created. But it feels good to have written so much about something I enjoy. Now that I've let it all out, I can obsess about another House.

If you are interested in reading more of this topic, I recommend this excellent essay, which deepens more seriously into the motivations behind the marriages of the sons of Daeron II (and also makes a good statement of why Aerys and Aelinor can’t be related through his Martell side): Brides of War: Ladies of the Blackfyre Rebellion

If you got until here, thank you for reading!

#asoiafedit #asoiaf #family tree #House Penrose #House Targaryen #House Hightower #House Manwoody #fancast #fanfic #Ronnel Penrose #Daeron II Targaryen #Garmund Hightower #Michael Manwoody #Rhaena Targaryen #Aelinor Penrose #Aerys I Targaryen #asoiaf houses #minor houses

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icelebrateamerica · 7 years

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“Song of Myself,” Walt Whitman, 1882

1 I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same, I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin, Hoping to cease not till death. Creeds and schools in abeyance, Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten, I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard, Nature without check with original energy. 2 Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes, I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it, The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it. The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless, It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it, I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked, I am mad for it to be in contact with me. The smoke of my own breath, Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine, My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs, The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn, The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies of the wind, A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag, The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides, The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun. Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much? have you reckon'd the earth much? Have you practis'd so long to learn to read? Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems? Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems, You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,) You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books, You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me, You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self. 3 I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end, But I do not talk of the beginning or the end. There was never any more inception than there is now, Nor any more youth or age than there is now, And will never be any more perfection than there is now, Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now. Urge and urge and urge, Always the procreant urge of the world. Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex, Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life. To elaborate is no avail, learn'd and unlearn'd feel that it is so. Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well entretied, braced in the beams, Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical, I and this mystery here we stand. Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul. Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen, Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn. Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age, Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself. Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean, Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be less familiar than the rest. I am satisfied -- I see, dance, laugh, sing; As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy tread, Leaving me baskets cover'd with white towels swelling the house with their plenty, Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes, That they turn from gazing after and down the road, And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent, Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead? 4 Trippers and askers surround me, People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and city I live in, or the nation, The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new, My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues, The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love, The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations, Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news, the fitful events; These come to me days and nights and go from me again, But they are not the Me myself. Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am, Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary, Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest, Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next, Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it. 5 I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you, And you must not be abased to the other. Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat, Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best, Only the lull I like, the hum of your valv'd voice. I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning, How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over upon me, And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart, And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet. Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth, And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own, And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own, And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers, And that a kelson of the creation is love, And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields, And brown ants in the little wells beneath them, And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap'd stones, elder, mullein and poke-weed. 6 A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he. I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven. Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose? Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation. Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, Growing among black folks as among white, Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same. And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. Tenderly will I use you curling grass, It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, It may be if I had known them I would have loved them, It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers' laps, And here you are the mothers' laps. This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers, Darker than the colorless beards of old men, Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths. O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues, And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing. I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women, And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps. What do you think has become of the young and old men? And what do you think has become of the women and children? They are alive and well somewhere, The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceas'd the moment life appear'd. All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier. 7 Has any one supposed it lucky to be born? I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it. I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash'd babe, and am not contain'd between my hat and boots, And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good, The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good. I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth, I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and fathomless as myself, (They do not know how immortal, but I know.) Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female, For me those that have been boys and that love women, For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted, For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the mothers of mothers, For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears, For me children and the begetters of children. Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded, I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no, And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away. 8 The little one sleeps in its cradle, I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies with my hand. The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill, I peeringly view them from the top. The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the bedroom, I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol has fallen. The blab of the pave, tires of carts, sluff of boot-soles, talk of the promenaders, The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the clank of the shod horses on the granite floor, The snow-sleighs, clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-balls, The hurrahs for popular favorites, the fury of rous'd mobs, The flap of the curtain'd litter, a sick man inside borne to the hospital, The meeting of enemies, the sudden oath, the blows and fall, The excited crowd, the policeman with his star quickly working his passage to the centre of the crowd, The impassive stones that receive and return so many echoes, What groans of over-fed or half-starv'd who fall sunstruck or in fits, What exclamations of women taken suddenly who hurry home and give birth to babes, What living and buried speech is always vibrating here, what howls restrain'd by decorum, Arrests of criminals, slights, adulterous offers made, acceptances, rejections with convex lips, I mind them or the show or resonance of them -- I come and I depart. 9 The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready, The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon, The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged, The armfuls are pack'd to the sagging mow. I am there, I help, I came stretch'd atop of the load, I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other, I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy, And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps. 10 Alone far in the wilds and mountains I hunt, Wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee, In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night, Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh-kill'd game, Falling asleep on the gather'd leaves with my dog and gun by my side. The Yankee clipper is under her sky-sails, she cuts the sparkle and scud, My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from the deck. The boatmen and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me, I tuck'd my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time; You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle. I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in the far west, the bride was a red girl, Her father and his friends sat near cross-legged and dumbly smoking, they had moccasins to their feet and large thick blankets hanging from their shoulders, On a bank lounged the trapper, he was drest mostly in skins, his luxuriant beard and curls protected his neck, he held his bride by the hand, She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her coarse straight locks descended upon her voluptuous limbs and reach'd to her feet. The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside, I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the woodpile, Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and weak, And went where he sat on a log and led him in and assured him, And brought water and fill'd a tub for his sweated body and bruis'd feet, And gave him a room that enter'd from my own, and gave him some coarse clean clothes, And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness, And remember putting plasters on the galls of his neck and ankles; He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and pass'd north, I had him sit next me at table, my fire-lock lean'd in the corner.

11 Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore, Twenty-eight young men and all so friendly; Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome. She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank, She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window. Which of the young men does she like the best? Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her. Where are you off to, lady? for I see you, You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room. Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth bather, The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them. The beards of the young men glisten'd with wet, it ran from their long hair, Little streams pass'd all over their bodies. An unseen hand also pass'd over their bodies, It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs. The young men float on their backs, their white bellies bulge to the sun, they do not ask who seizes fast to them, They do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bending arch, They do not think whom they souse with spray. 12 The butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife at the stall in the market, I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down. Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy chests environ the anvil, Each has his main-sledge, they are all out, there is a great heat in the fire. From the cinder-strew'd threshold I follow their movements, The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms, Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure, They do not hasten, each man hits in his place. 13 The negro holds firmly the reins of his four horses, the block swags underneath on its tied-over chain, The negro that drives the long dray of the stone-yard, steady and tall he stands pois'd on one leg on the string-piece, His blue shirt exposes his ample neck and breast and loosens over his hip-band, His glance is calm and commanding, he tosses the slouch of his hat away from his forehead, The sun falls on his crispy hair and mustache, falls on the black of his polish'd and perfect limbs. I behold the picturesque giant and love him, and I do not stop there, I go with the team also. In me the caresser of life wherever moving, backward as well as forward sluing, To niches aside and junior bending, not a person or object missing, Absorbing all to myself and for this song. Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life. My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and day-long ramble, They rise together, they slowly circle around. I believe in those wing'd purposes, And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within me, And consider green and violet and the tufted crown intentional, And do not call the tortoise unworthy because she is not something else, And the jay in the woods never studied the gamut, yet trills pretty well to me, And the look of the bay mare shames silliness out of me. 14 The wild gander leads his flock through the cool night, Ya-honk he says, and sounds it down to me like an invitation, The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listening close, Find its purpose and place up there toward the wintry sky. The sharp-hoof'd moose of the north, the cat on the house-sill, the chickadee, the prairie-dog, The litter of the grunting sow as they tug at her teats, The brood of the turkey-hen and she with her half-spread wings, I see in them and myself the same old law. The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections, They scorn the best I can do to relate them. I am enamour'd of growing out-doors, Of men that live among cattle or taste of the ocean or woods, Of the builders and steerers of ships and the wielders of axes and mauls, and the drivers of horses, I can eat and sleep with them week in and week out. What is commonest, cheapest, nearest, easiest, is Me, Me going in for my chances, spending for vast returns, Adorning myself to bestow myself on the first that will take me, Not asking the sky to come down to my good will, Scattering it freely forever. 15 The pure contralto sings in the organ loft, The carpenter dresses his plank, the tongue of his foreplane whistles its wild ascending lisp, The married and unmarried children ride home to their Thanksgiving dinner, The pilot seizes the king-pin, he heaves down with a strong arm, The mate stands braced in the whale-boat, lance and harpoon are ready, The duck-shooter walks by silent and cautious stretches, The deacons are ordain'd with cross'd hands at the altar, The spinning-girl retreats and advances to the hum of the big wheel, The farmer stops by the bars as he walks on a First-day loafe and looks at the oats and rye, The lunatic is carried at last to the asylum a confirm'd case, (He will never sleep any more as he did in the cot in his mother's bed-room;) The jour printer with gray head and gaunt jaws works at his case, He turns his quid of tobacco while his eyes blurr with the manuscript; The malform'd limbs are tied to the surgeon's table, What is removed drops horribly in a pail; The quadroon girl is sold at the auction-stand, the drunkard nods by the bar-room stove, The machinist rolls up his sleeves, the policeman travels his beat, the gate-keeper marks who pass, The young fellow drives the express-wagon, (I love him, though I do not know him;) The half-breed straps on his light boots to compete in the race, The western turkey-shooting draws old and young, some lean on their rifles, some sit on logs, Out from the crowd steps the marksman, takes his position, levels his piece; The groups of newly-come immigrants cover the wharf or levee, As the woolly-pates hoe in the sugar-field, the overseer views them from his saddle, The bugle calls in the ball-room, the gentlemen run for their partners, the dancers bow to each other, The youth lies awake in the cedar-roof'd garret and harks to the musical rain, The Wolverine sets traps on the creek that helps fill the Huron, The squaw wrapt in her yellow-hemm'd cloth is offering moccasins and bead-bags for sale, The connoisseur peers along the exhibition-gallery with half-shut eyes bent sideways, As the deck-hands make fast the steamboat the plank is thrown for the shore-going passengers, The young sister holds out the skein while the elder sister winds it off in a ball, and stops now and then for the knots, The one-year wife is recovering and happy having a week ago borne her first child, The clean-hair'd Yankee girl works with her sewing-machine or in the factory or mill, The paving-man leans on his two-handed rammer, the reporter's lead flies swiftly over the note-book, the sign-painter is lettering with blue and gold, The canal boy trots on the tow-path, the book-keeper counts at his desk, the shoemaker waxes his thread, The conductor beats time for the band and all the performers follow him, The child is baptized, the convert is making his first professions, The regatta is spread on the bay, the race is begun, (how the white sails sparkle!) The drover watching his drove sings out to them that would stray, The pedler sweats with his pack on his back, (the purchaser higgling about the odd cent;) The bride unrumples her white dress, the minute-hand of the clock moves slowly, The opium-eater reclines with rigid head and just-open'd lips, The prostitute draggles her shawl, her bonnet bobs on her tipsy and pimpled neck, The crowd laugh at her blackguard oaths, the men jeer and wink to each other, (Miserable! I do not laugh at your oaths nor jeer you;) The President holding a cabinet council is surrounded by the great Secretaries, On the piazza walk three matrons stately and friendly with twined arms, The crew of the fish-smack pack repeated layers of halibut in the hold, The Missourian crosses the plains toting his wares and his cattle, As the fare-collector goes through the train he gives notice by the jingling of loose change, The floor-men are laying the floor, the tinners are tinning the roof, the masons are calling for mortar, In single file each shouldering his hod pass onward the laborers; Seasons pursuing each other the indescribable crowd is gather'd, it is the fourth of Seventh-month, (what salutes of cannon and small arms!) Seasons pursuing each other the plougher ploughs, the mower mows, and the winter-grain falls in the ground; Off on the lakes the pike-fisher watches and waits by the hole in the frozen surface, The stumps stand thick round the clearing, the squatter strikes deep with his axe, Flatboatmen make fast towards dusk near the cotton-wood or pecan-trees, Coon-seekers go through the regions of the Red river or through those drain'd by the Tennessee, or through those of the Arkansas, Torches shine in the dark that hangs on the Chattahooche or Altamahaw, Patriarchs sit at supper with sons and grandsons and great-grandsons around them, In walls of adobie, in canvas tents, rest hunters and trappers after their day's sport, The city sleeps and the country sleeps, The living sleep for their time, the dead sleep for their time, The old husband sleeps by his wife and the young husband sleeps by his wife; And these tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them, And such as it is to be of these more or less I am, And of these one and all I weave the song of myself. 16 I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise, Regardless of others, ever regardful of others, Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man, Stuff'd with the stuff that is coarse and stuff'd with the stuff that is fine, One of the Nation of many nations, the smallest the same and the largest the same, A Southerner soon as a Northerner, a planter nonchalant and hospitable down by the Oconee I live, A Yankee bound my own way ready for trade, my joints the limberest joints on earth and the sternest joints on earth, A Kentuckian walking the vale of the Elkhorn in my deer-skin leggings, a Louisianian or Georgian, A boatman over lakes or bays or along coasts, a Hoosier, Badger, Buckeye; At home on Kanadian snow-shoes or up in the bush, or with fishermen off Newfoundland, At home in the fleet of ice-boats, sailing with the rest and tacking, At home on the hills of Vermont or in the woods of Maine, or the Texan ranch, Comrade of Californians, comrade of free North-Westerners, (loving their big proportions,) Comrade of raftsmen and coalmen, comrade of all who shake hands and welcome to drink and meat, A learner with the simplest, a teacher of the thoughtfullest, A novice beginning yet experient of myriads of seasons, Of every hue and caste am I, of every rank and religion, A farmer, mechanic, artist, gentleman, sailor, quaker, Prisoner, fancy-man, rowdy, lawyer, physician, priest. I resist any thing better than my own diversity, Breathe the air but leave plenty after me, And am not stuck up, and am in my place. (The moth and the fish-eggs are in their place, The bright suns I see and the dark suns I cannot see are in their place, The palpable is in its place and the impalpable is in its place.) 17 These are really the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, If they are not yours as much as mine they are nothing, or next to nothing, If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle they are nothing, If they are not just as close as they are distant they are nothing. This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is, This the common air that bathes the globe. 18 With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums, I play not marches for accepted victors only, I play marches for conquer'd and slain persons. Have you heard that it was good to gain the day? I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won. I beat and pound for the dead, I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them. Vivas to those who have fail'd! And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea! And to those themselves who sank in the sea! And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome heroes! And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known! 19 This is the meal equally set, this the meat for natural hunger, It is for the wicked just the same as the righteous, I make appointments with all, I will not have a single person slighted or left away, The kept-woman, sponger, thief, are hereby invited, The heavy-lipp'd slave is invited, the venerealee is invited; There shall be no difference between them and the rest. This is the press of a bashful hand, this the float and odor of hair, This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning, This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face, This the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again. Do you guess I have some intricate purpose? Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the side of a rock has. Do you take it I would astonish? Does the daylight astonish? does the early redstart twittering through the woods? Do I astonish more than they? This hour I tell things in confidence, I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you. 20 Who goes there? hankering, gross, mystical, nude; How is it I extract strength from the beef I eat? What is a man anyhow? what am I? what are you? All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own, Else it were time lost listening to me. I do not snivel that snivel the world over, That months are vacuums and the ground but wallow and filth. Whimpering and truckling fold with powders for invalids, conformity goes to the fourth-remov'd, I wear my hat as I please indoors or out. Why should I pray? why should I venerate and be ceremonious? Having pried through the strata, analyzed to a hair, counsel'd with doctors and calculated close, I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones. In all people I see myself, none more and not one a barley-corn less, And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them. I know I am solid and sound, To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow, All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means. I know I am deathless, I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter's compass, I know I shall not pass like a child's carlacue cut with a burnt stick at night. I know I am august, I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood, I see that the elementary laws never apologize, (I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house by, after all.) I exist as I am, that is enough, If no other in the world be aware I sit content, And if each and all be aware I sit content. One world is aware and by far the largest to me, and that is myself, And whether I come to my own to-day or in ten thousand or ten million years, I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait. My foothold is tenon'd and mortis'd in granite, I laugh at what you call dissolution, And I know the amplitude of time. 21 I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul, The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me, The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into a new tongue. I am the poet of the woman the same as the man, And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man, And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men. I chant the chant of dilation or pride, We have had ducking and deprecating about enough, I show that size is only development. Have you outstript the rest? are you the President? It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every one, and still pass on. I am he that walks with the tender and growing night, I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night. Press close bare-bosom'd night -- press close magnetic nourishing night! Night of south winds -- night of the large few stars! Still nodding night -- mad naked summer night. Smile O voluptuous cool-breath'd earth! Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees! Earth of departed sunset -- earth of the mountains misty-topt! Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue! Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river! Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake! Far-swooping elbow'd earth -- rich apple-blossom'd earth! Smile, for your lover comes. Prodigal, you have given me love -- therefore I to you give love! O unspeakable passionate love. 22 You sea! I resign myself to you also -- I guess what you mean, I behold from the beach your crooked inviting fingers, I believe you refuse to go back without feeling of me, We must have a turn together, I undress, hurry me out of sight of the land, Cushion me soft, rock me in billowy drowse, Dash me with amorous wet, I can repay you. Sea of stretch'd ground-swells, Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths, Sea of the brine of life and of unshovell'd yet always-ready graves, Howler and scooper of storms, capricious and dainty sea, I am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all phases. Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation, Extoller of amies and those that sleep in each others' arms. I am he attesting sympathy, (Shall I make my list of things in the house and skip the house that supports them?) I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also. What blurt is this about virtue and about vice? Evil propels me and reform of evil propels me, I stand indifferent, My gait is no fault-finder's or rejecter's gait, I moisten the roots of all that has grown. Did you fear some scrofula out of the unflagging pregnancy? Did you guess the celestial laws are yet to be work'd over and rectified? I find one side a balance and the antipodal side a balance, Soft doctrine as steady help as stable doctrine, Thoughts and deeds of the present our rouse and early start. This minute that comes to me over the past decillions, There is no better than it and now. What behaved well in the past or behaves well to-day is not such a wonder, The wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man or an infidel. 23 Endless unfolding of words of ages! And mine a word of the modern, the word En-Masse. A word of the faith that never balks, Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely. It alone is without flaw, it alone rounds and completes all, That mystic baffling wonder alone completes all. I accept Reality and dare not question it, Materialism first and last imbuing. Hurrah for positive science! long live exact demonstration! Fetch stonecrop mixt with cedar and branches of lilac, This is the lexicographer, this the chemist, this made a grammar of the old cartouches, These mariners put the ship through dangerous unknown seas. This is the geologist, this works with the scalpel, and this is a mathematician. Gentlemen, to you the first honors always! Your facts are useful, and yet they are not my dwelling, I but enter by them to an area of my dwelling. Less the reminders of properties told my words, And more the reminders they of life untold, and of freedom and extrication, And make short account of neuters and geldings, and favor men and women fully equipt, And beat the gong of revolt, and stop with fugitives and them that plot and conspire. 24 Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son, Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding, No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them, No more modest than immodest. Unscrew the locks from the doors! Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs! Whoever degrades another degrades me, And whatever is done or said returns at last to me. Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the current and index. I speak the pass-word primeval, I give the sign of democracy, By God! I will accept nothing which all cannot have their counterpart of on the same terms. Through me many long dumb voices, Voices of the interminable generations of prisoners and slaves, Voices of the diseas'd and despairing and of thieves and dwarfs, Voices of cycles of preparation and accretion, And of the threads that connect the stars, and of wombs and of the father-stuff, And of the rights of them the others are down upon, Of the deform'd, trivial, flat, foolish, despised, Fog in the air, beetles rolling balls of dung. Through me forbidden voices, Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil'd and I remove the veil, Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur'd. I do not press my fingers across my mouth, I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and heart, Copulation is no more rank to me than death is. I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle. Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch'd from, The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds. If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of my own body, or any part of it, Translucent mould of me it shall be you! Shaded ledges and rests it shall be you! Firm masculine colter it shall be you! Whatever goes to the tilth of me it shall be you! You my rich blood! your milky stream pale strippings of my life! Breast that presses against other breasts it shall be you! My brain it shall be your occult convolutions! Root of wash'd sweet-flag! timorous pond-snipe! nest of guarded duplicate eggs! it shall be you! Mix'd tussled hay of head, beard, brawn, it shall be you! Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you! Sun so generous it shall be you! Vapors lighting and shading my face it shall be you! You sweaty brooks and dews it shall be you! Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub against me it shall be you! Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my winding paths, it shall be you! Hands I have taken, face I have kiss'd, mortal I have ever touch'd, it shall be you. I dote on myself, there is that lot of me and all so luscious, Each moment and whatever happens thrills me with joy, I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the cause of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the friendship I emit, nor the cause of the friendship I take again. That I walk up my stoop, I pause to consider if it really be, A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books. To behold the day-break! The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate. Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising freshly exuding, Scooting obliquely high and low. Something I cannot see puts upward libidinous prongs, Seas of bright juice suffuse heaven. The earth by the sky staid with, the daily close of their junction, The heav'd challenge from the east that moment over my head, The mocking taunt. See then whether you shall be master! 25 Dazzling and tremendous how quick the sun-rise would kill me, If I could not now and always send sun-rise out of me. We also ascend dazzling and tremendous as the sun, We found our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the day-break. My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach, With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes of worlds. Speech is the twin of my vision, it is unequal to measure itself, It provokes me forever, it says sarcastically, Walt you contain enough, why don't you let it out then? Come now I will not be tantalized, you conceive too much of articulation, Do you not know O speech how the buds beneath you are folded? Waiting in gloom, protected by frost, The dirt receding before my prophetical screams, I underlying causes to balance them at last, My knowledge my live parts, it keeping tally with the meaning of all things, Happiness, (which whoever hears me let him or her set out in search of this day.) My final merit I refuse you, I refuse putting from me what I really am, Encompass worlds, but never try to encompass me, I crowd your sleekest and best by simply looking toward you. Writing and talk do not prove me, I carry the plenum of proof and every thing else in my face, With the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skeptic. 26 Now I will do nothing but listen, To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute toward it. I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals, I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice, I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following, Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night, Talkative young ones to those that like them, the loud laugh of work-people at their meals, The angry base of disjointed friendship, the faint tones of the sick, The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronouncing a death-sentence, The heave'e'yo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves, the refrain of the anchor-lifters, The ring of alarm-bells, the cry of fire, the whirr of swift-streaking engines and hose-carts with premonitory tinkles and color'd lights, The steam-whistle, the solid roll of the train of approaching cars, The slow march play'd at the head of the association marching two and two, (They go to guard some corpse, the flag-tops are draped with black muslin.) I hear the violoncello, ('tis the young man's heart's complaint,) I hear the key'd cornet, it glides quickly in through my ears, It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and breast. I hear the chorus, it is a grand opera, Ah this indeed is music -- this suits me. A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me, The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full. I hear the train'd soprano (what work with hers is this?) The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies, It wrenches such ardors from me I did not know I possess'd them, It sails me, I dab with bare feet, they are lick'd by the indolent waves, I am cut by bitter and angry hail, I lose my breath, Steep'd amid honey'd morphine, my windpipe throttled in fakes of death, At length let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles, And that we call Being. 27 To be in any form, what is that? (Round and round we go, all of us, and ever come back thither,) If nothing lay more develop'd the quahaug in its callous shell were enough. Mine is no callous shell, I have instant conductors all over me whether I pass or stop, They seize every object and lead it harmlessly through me. I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy, To touch my person to some one else's is about as much as I can stand. 28 Is this then a touch? quivering me to a new identity, Flames and ether making a rush for my veins, Treacherous tip of me reaching and crowding to help them, My flesh and blood playing out lightning to strike what is hardly different from myself, On all sides prurient provokers stiffening my limbs, Straining the udder of my heart for its withheld drip, Behaving licentious toward me, taking no denial, Depriving me of my best as for a purpose, Unbuttoning my clothes, holding me by the bare waist, Deluding my confusion with the calm of the sunlight and pasture-fields, Immodestly sliding the fellow-senses away, They bribed to swap off with touch and go and graze at the edges of me, No consideration, no regard for my draining strength or my anger, Fetching the rest of the herd around to enjoy them a while, Then all uniting to stand on a headland and worry me. The sentries desert every other part of me, They have left me helpless to a red marauder, They all come to the headland to witness and assist against me. I am given up by traitors, I talk wildly, I have lost my wits, I and nobody else am the greatest traitor, I went myself first to the headland, my own hands carried me there. You villain touch! what are you doing? my breath is tight in its throat, Unclench your floodgates, you are too much for me. 29 Blind loving wrestling touch, sheath'd hooded sharp-tooth'd touch! Did it make you ache so, leaving me? Parting track'd by arriving, perpetual payment of perpetual loan, Rich showering rain, and recompense richer afterward. Sprouts take and accumulate, stand by the curb prolific and vital, Landscapes projected masculine, full-sized and golden. 30 All truths wait in all things, They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it, They do not need the obstetric forceps of the surgeon, The insignificant is as big to me as any, (What is less or more than a touch?) Logic and sermons never convince, The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul. (Only what proves itself to every man and woman is so, Only what nobody denies is so.) A minute and a drop of me settle my brain, I believe the soggy clods shall become lovers and lamps, And a compend of compends is the meat of a man or woman, And a summit and flower there is the feeling they have for each other, And they are to branch boundlessly out of that lesson until it becomes omnific, And until one and all shall delight us, and we them. 31 I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars, And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren, And the tree-toad is a chef-d'oeuvre for the highest, And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven, And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery, And the cow crunching with depress'd head surpasses any statue, And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels. I find I incorporate gneiss, coal, long-threaded moss, fruits, grains, esculent roots, And am stucco'd with quadrupeds and birds all over, And have distanced what is behind me for good reasons, But call any thing back again when I desire it. In vain the speeding or shyness, In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against my approach, In vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own powder'd bones, In vain objects stand leagues off and assume manifold shapes, In vain the ocean settling in hollows and the great monsters lying low, In vain the buzzard houses herself with the sky, In vain the snake slides through the creepers and logs, In vain the elk takes to the inner passes of the woods, In vain the razor-bill'd auk sails far north to Labrador, I follow quickly, I ascend to the nest in the fissure of the cliff. 32 I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contain'd, I stand and look at them long and long. They do not sweat and whine about their condition, They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God, Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things, Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago, Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth. So they show their relations to me and I accept them, They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their possession. I wonder where they get those tokens, Did I pass that way huge times ago and negligently drop them? Myself moving forward then and now and forever, Gathering and showing more always and with velocity, Infinite and omnigenous, and the like of these among them, Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remembrancers, Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him on brotherly terms. A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my caresses, Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears, Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground, Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving. His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him, His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return. I but use you a minute, then I resign you, stallion, Why do I need your paces when I myself out-gallop them? Even as I stand or sit passing faster than you. 33 Space and Time! now I see it is true, what I guess'd at, What I guess'd when I loaf'd on the grass, What I guess'd while I lay alone in my bed, And again as I walk'd the beach under the paling stars of the morning. My ties and ballasts leave me, my elbows rest in sea-gaps, I skirt sierras, my palms cover continents, I am afoot with my vision. By the city's quadrangular houses -- in log huts, camping with lumbermen, Along the ruts of the turnpike, along the dry gulch and rivulet bed, Weeding my onion-patch or hoeing rows of carrots and parsnips, crossing savannas, trailing in forests, Prospecting, gold-digging, girdling the trees of a new purchase, Scorch'd ankle-deep by the hot sand, hauling my boat down the shallow river, Where the panther walks to and fro on a limb overhead, where the buck turns furiously at the hunter, Where the rattlesnake suns his flabby length on a rock, where the otter is feeding on fish, Where the alligator in his tough pimples sleeps by the bayou, Where the black bear is searching for roots or honey, where the beaver pats the mud with his paddle-shaped tail; Over the growing sugar, over the yellow-flower'd cotton plant, over the rice in its low moist field, Over the sharp-peak'd farm house, with its scallop'd scum and slender shoots from the gutters, Over the western persimmon, over the long-leav'd corn, over the delicate blue-flower flax, Over the white and brown buckwheat, a hummer and buzzer there with the rest, Over the dusky green of the rye as it ripples and shades in the breeze; Scaling mountains, pulling myself cautiously up, holding on by low scragged limbs, Walking the path worn in the grass and beat through the leaves of the brush, Where the quail is whistling betwixt the woods and the wheat-lot, Where the bat flies in the Seventh-month eve, where the great goldbug drops through the dark, Where the brook puts out of the roots of the old tree and flows to the meadow, Where cattle stand and shake away flies with the tremulous shuddering of their hides, Where the cheese-cloth hangs in the kitchen, where andirons straddle the hearth-slab, where cobwebs fall in festoons from the rafters; Where trip-hammers crash, where the press is whirling its cylinders, Wherever the human heart beats with terrible throes under its ribs, Where the pear-shaped balloon is floating aloft, (floating in it myself and looking composedly down,) Where the life-car is drawn on the slip-noose, where the heat hatches pale-green eggs in the dented sand, Where the she-whale swims with her calf and never forsakes it, Where the steam-ship trails hind-ways its long pennant of smoke, Where the fin of the shark cuts like a black chip out of the water, Where the half-burn'd brig is riding on unknown currents, Where shells grow to her slimy deck, where the dead are corrupting below; Where the dense-starr'd flag is borne at the head of the regiments, Approaching Manhattan up by the long-stretching island, Under Niagara, the cataract falling like a veil over my countenance, Upon a door-step, upon the horse-block of hard wood outside, Upon the race-course, or enjoying picnics or jigs or a good game of base-ball, At he-festivals, with blackguard gibes, ironical license, bull-dances, drinking, laughter, At the cider-mill tasting the sweets of the brown mash, sucking the juice through a straw, At apple-peelings wanting kisses for all the red fruit I find, At musters, beach-parties, friendly bees, huskings, house-raisings; Where the mocking-bird sounds his delicious gurgles, cackles, screams, weeps, Where the hay-rick stands in the barn-yard, where the dry-stalks are scatter'd, where the brood-cow waits in the hovel, Where the bull advances to do his masculine work, where the stud to the mare, where the cock is treading the hen, Where the heifers browse, where geese nip their food with short jerks, Where sun-down shadows lengthen over the limitless and lonesome prairie, Where herds of buffalo make a crawling spread of the square miles far and near, Where the humming-bird shimmers, where the neck of the long-lived swan is curving and winding, Where the laughing-gull scoots by the shore, where she laughs her near-human laugh, Where bee-hives range on a gray bench in the garden half hid by the high weeds, Where band-neck'd partridges roost in a ring on the ground with their heads out, Where burial coaches enter the arch'd gates of a cemetery, Where winter wolves bark amid wastes of snow and icicled trees, Where the yellow-crown'd heron comes to the edge of the marsh at night and feeds upon small crabs, Where the splash of swimmers and divers cools the warm noon, Where the katy-did works her chromatic reed on the walnut-tree over the well, Through patches of citrons and cucumbers with silver-wired leaves, Through the salt-lick or orange glade, or under conical firs, Through the gymnasium, through the curtain'd saloon, through the office or public hall; Pleas'd with the native and pleas'd with the foreign, pleas'd with the new and old, Pleas'd with the homely woman as well as the handsome, Pleas'd with the quakeress as she puts off her bonnet and talks melodiously, Pleas'd with the tune of the choir of the whitewash'd church, Pleas'd with the earnest words of the sweating Methodist preacher, impress'd seriously at the camp-meeting; Looking in at the shop-windows of Broadway the whole forenoon, flatting the flesh of my nose on the thick plate glass, Wandering the same afternoon with my face turn'd up to the clouds, or down a lane or along the beach, My right and left arms round the sides of two friends, and I in the middle; Coming home with the silent and dark-cheek'd bush-boy, (behind me he rides at the drape of the day,) Far from the settlements studying the print of animals' feet, or the moccasin print, By the cot in the hospital reaching lemonade to a feverish patient, Nigh the coffin'd corpse when all is still, examining with a candle; Voyaging to every port to dicker and adventure, Hurrying with the modern crowd as eager and fickle as any, Hot toward one I hate, ready in my madness to knife him, Solitary at midnight in my back yard, my thoughts gone from me a long while, Walking the old hills of Judaea with the beautiful gentle God by my side, Speeding through space, speeding through heaven and the stars, Speeding amid the seven satellites and the broad ring, and the diameter of eighty thousand miles, Speeding with tail'd meteors, throwing fire-balls like the rest, Carrying the crescent child that carries its own full mother in its belly, Storming, enjoying, planning, loving, cautioning, Backing and filling, appearing and disappearing, I tread day and night such roads. I visit the orchards of spheres and look at the product, And look at quintillions ripen'd and look at quintillions green. I fly those flights of a fluid and swallowing soul, My course runs below the soundings of plummets. I help myself to material and immaterial, No guard can shut me off, no law prevent me. I anchor my ship for a little while only, My messengers continually cruise away or bring their returns to me. I go hunting polar furs and the seal, leaping chasms with a pike-pointed staff, clinging to topples of brittle and blue. I ascend to the foretruck, I take my place late at night in the crow's-nest, We sail the arctic sea, it is plenty light enough, Through the clear atmosphere I stretch around on the wonderful beauty, The enormous masses of ice pass me and I pass them, the scenery is plain in all directions, The white-topt mountains show in the distance, I fling out my fancies toward them, We are approaching some great battle-field in which we are soon to be engaged, We pass the colossal outposts of the encampment, we pass with still feet and caution, Or we are entering by the suburbs some vast and ruin'd city, The blocks and fallen architecture more than all the living cities of the globe. I am a free companion, I bivouac by invading watchfires, I turn the bridegroom out of bed and stay with the bride myself, I tighten her all night to my thighs and lips. My voice is the wife's voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs, They fetch my man's body up dripping and drown'd. I understand the large hearts of heroes, The courage of present times and all times, How the skipper saw the crowded and rudderless wreck of the steam-ship, and Death chasing it up and down the storm, How he knuckled tight and gave not back an inch, and was faithful of days and faithful of nights, And chalk'd in large letters on a board, Be of good cheer, we will not desert you; How he follow'd with them and tack'd with them three days and would not give it up, How he saved the drifting company at last, How the lank loose-gown'd women look'd when boated from the side of their prepared graves, How the silent old-faced infants and the lifted sick, and the sharp-lipp'd unshaved men; All this I swallow, it tastes good, I like it well, it becomes mine, I am the man, I suffer'd, I was there. The disdain and calmness of martyrs, The mother of old, condemn'd for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her children gazing on, The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, blowing, cover'd with sweat, The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck, the murderous buckshot and the bullets, All these I feel or am. I am the hounded slave, I wince at the bite of the dogs, Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marksmen, I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinn'd with the ooze of my skin, I fall on the weeds and stones, The riders spur their unwilling horses, haul close, Taunt my dizzy ears and beat me violently over the head with whip-stocks. Agonies are one of my changes of garments, I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person, My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe. I am the mash'd fireman with breast-bone broken, Tumbling walls buried me in their debris, Heat and smoke I inspired, I heard the yelling shouts of my comrades, I heard the distant click of their picks and shovels, They have clear'd the beams away, they tenderly lift me forth. I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush is for my sake, Painless after all I lie exhausted but not so unhappy, White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared of their fire-caps, The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the torches. Distant and dead resuscitate, They show as the dial or move as the hands of me, I am the clock myself. I am an old artillerist, I tell of my fort's bombardment, I am there again. Again the long roll of the drummers, Again the attacking cannon, mortars, Again to my listening ears the cannon responsive. I take part, I see and hear the whole, The cries, curses, roar, the plaudits for well-aim'd shots, The ambulanza slowly passing trailing its red drip, Workmen searching after damages, making indispensable repairs, The fall of grenades through the rent roof, the fan-shaped explosion, The whizz of limbs, heads, stone, wood, iron, high in the air. Again gurgles the mouth of my dying general, he furiously waves with his hand, He gasps through the clot Mind not me -- mind -- the entrenchments. 34 Now I tell what I knew in Texas in my early youth, (I tell not the fall of Alamo, Not one escaped to tell the fall of Alamo, The hundred and fifty are dumb yet at Alamo,) 'Tis the tale of the murder in cold blood of four hundred and twelve young men. Retreating they had form'd in a hollow square with their baggage for breastworks, Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemy's, nine times their number, was the price they took in advance, Their colonel was wounded and their ammunition gone, They treated for an honorable capitulation, receiv'd writing and seal, gave up their arms and march'd back prisoners of war. They were the glory of the race of rangers, Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship, Large, turbulent, generous, handsome, proud, and affectionate, Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of hunters, Not a single one over thirty years of age. The second First-day morning they were brought out in squads and massacred, it was beautiful early summer, The work commenced about five o'clock and was over by eight. None obey'd the command to kneel, Some made a mad and helpless rush, some stood stark and straight, A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart, the living and dead lay together, The maim'd and mangled dug in the dirt, the new-comers saw them there, Some half-kill'd attempted to crawl away, These were despatch'd with bayonets or batter'd with the blunts of muskets, A youth not seventeen years old seiz'd his assassin till two more came to release him, The three were all torn and cover'd with the boy's blood. At eleven o'clock began the burning of the bodies; That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred and twelve young men. 35 Would you hear of an old-time sea-fight? Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars? List to the yarn, as my grandmother's father the sailor told it to me. Our foe was no skulk in his ship I tell you, (said he,) His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher or truer, and never was, and never will be; Along the lower'd eve he came horribly raking us. We closed with him, the yards entangled, the cannon touch'd, My captain lash'd fast with his own hands. We had receiv'd some eighteen pound shots under the water, On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire, killing all around and blowing up overhead. Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark, Ten o'clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain, and five feet of water reported, The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold to give them a chance for themselves. The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels, They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust. Our frigate takes fire, The other asks if we demand quarter? If our colors are struck and the fighting done? Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain, We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just begun our part of the fighting. Only three guns are in use, One is directed by the captain himself against the enemy's mainmast, Two well serv'd with grape and canister silence his musketry and clear his decks. The tops alone second the fire of this little battery, especially the main-top, They hold out bravely during the whole of the action. Not a moment's cease, The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine. One of the pumps has been shot away, it is generally thought we are sinking. Serene stands the little captain, He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low, His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns. Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they surrender to us. 36 Stretch'd and still lies the midnight, Two great hulls motionless on the breast of the darkness, Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking, preparations to pass to the one we have conquer'd, The captain on the quarter-deck coldly giving his orders through a countenance white as a sheet, Near by the corpse of the child that serv'd in the cabin, The dead face of an old salt with long white hair and carefully curl'd whiskers, The flames spite of all that can be done flickering aloft and below, The husky voices of the two or three officers yet fit for duty, Formless stacks of bodies and bodies by themselves, dabs of flesh upon the masts and spars, Cut of cordage, dangle of rigging, slight shock of the soothe of waves, Black and impassive guns, litter of powder-parcels, strong scent, A few large stars overhead, silent and mournful shining, Delicate sniffs of sea-breeze, smells of sedgy grass and fields by the shore, death-messages given in charge to survivors, The hiss of the surgeon's knife, the gnawing teeth of his saw, Wheeze, cluck, swash of falling blood, short wild scream, and long, dull, tapering groan, These so, these irretrievable. 37 You laggards there on guard! look to your arms! In at the conquer'd doors they crowd! I am possess'd! Embody all presences outlaw'd or suffering, See myself in prison shaped like another man, And feel the dull unintermitted pain. For me the keepers of convicts shoulder their carbines and keep watch, It is I let out in the morning and barr'd at night. Not a mutineer walks handcuff'd to jail but I am handcuff'd to him and walk by his side, (I am less the jolly one there, and more the silent one with sweat on my twitching lips.) Not a youngster is taken for larceny but I go up too, and am tried and sentenced. Not a cholera patient lies at the last gasp but I also lie at the last gasp, My face is ash-color'd, my sinews gnarl, away from me people retreat. Askers embody themselves in me and I am embodied in them, I project my hat, sit shame-faced, and beg. 38 Enough! enough! enough! Somehow I have been stunn'd. Stand back! Give me a little time beyond my cuff'd head, slumbers, dreams, gaping, I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake. That I could forget the mockers and insults! That I could forget the trickling tears and the blows of the bludgeons and hammers! That I could look with a separate look on my own crucifixion and bloody crowning. I remember now, I resume the overstaid fraction, The grave of rock multiplies what has been confided to it, or to any graves, Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from me. I troop forth replenish'd with supreme power, one of an average unending procession, Inland and sea-coast we go, and pass all boundary lines, Our swift ordinances on their way over the whole earth, The blossoms we wear in our hats the growth of thousands of years. Eleves, I salute you! come forward! Continue your annotations, continue your questionings. 39 The friendly and flowing savage, who is he? Is he waiting for civilization, or past it and mastering it? Is he some Southwesterner rais'd out-doors? is he Kanadian? Is he from the Mississippi country? Iowa, Oregon, California? The mountains? prairie-life, bush-life? or sailor from the sea? Wherever he goes men and women accept and desire him, They desire he should like them, touch them, speak to them, stay with them. Behavior lawless as snow-flakes, words simple as grass, uncomb'd head, laughter, and naivete, Slow-stepping feet, common features, common modes and emanations, They descend in new forms from the tips of his fingers, They are wafted with the odor of his body or breath, they fly out of the glance of his eyes. 40 Flaunt of the sunshine I need not your bask -- lie over! You light surfaces only, I force surfaces and depths also. Earth! you seem to look for something at my hands, Say, old top-knot, what do you want? Man or woman, I might tell how I like you, but cannot, And might tell what it is in me and what it is in you, but cannot, And might tell that pining I have, that pulse of my nights and days. Behold, I do not give lectures or a little charity, When I give I give myself. You there, impotent, loose in the knees, Open your scarf'd chops till I blow grit within you, Spread your palms and lift the flaps of your pockets, I am not to be denied, I compel, I have stores plenty and to spare, And any thing I have I bestow. I do not ask who you are, that is not important to me, You can do nothing and be nothing but what I will infold you. To cotton-field drudge or cleaner of privies I lean, On his right cheek I put the family kiss, And in my soul I swear I never will deny him. On women fit for conception I start bigger and nimbler babes, (This day I am jetting the stuff of far more arrogant republics.) To any one dying, thither I speed and twist the knob of the door, Turn the bed-clothes toward the foot of the bed, Let the physician and the priest go home. I seize the descending man and raise him with resistless will, O despairer, here is my neck, By God, you shall not go down! hang your whole weight upon me. I dilate you with tremendous breath, I buoy you up, Every room of the house do I fill with an arm'd force, Lovers of me, bafflers of graves. Sleep -- I and they keep guard all night, Not doubt, not decease shall dare to lay finger upon you, I have embraced you, and henceforth possess you to myself, And when you rise in the morning you will find what I tell you is so. 41 I am he bringing help for the sick as they pant on their backs, And for strong upright men I bring yet more needed help. I heard what was said of the universe, Heard it and heard it of several thousand years; It is middling well as far as it goes -- but is that all? Magnifying and applying come I, Outbidding at the start the old cautious hucksters, Taking myself the exact dimensions of Jehovah, Lithographing Kronos, Zeus his son, and Hercules his grandson, Buying drafts of Osiris, Isis, Belus, Brahma, Buddha, In my portfolio placing Manito loose, Allah on a leaf, the crucifix engraved, With Odin and the hideous-faced Mexitli and every idol and image, Taking them all for what they are worth and not a cent more, Admitting they were alive and did the work of their days, (They bore mites as for unfledg'd birds who have now to rise and fly and sing for themselves,) Accepting the rough deific sketches to fill out better in myself, bestowing them freely on each man and woman I see, Discovering as much or more in a framer framing a house, Putting higher claims for him there with his roll'd-up sleeves driving the mallet and chisel, Not objecting to special revelations, considering a curl of smoke or a hair on the back of my hand just as curious as any revelation, Lads ahold of fire-engines and hook-and-ladder ropes no less to me than the gods of the antique wars, Minding their voices peal through the crash of destruction, Their brawny limbs passing safe over charr'd laths, their white foreheads whole and unhurt out of the flames; By the mechanic's wife with her babe at her nipple interceding for every person born, Three scythes at harvest whizzing in a row from three lusty angels with shirts bagg'd out at their waists, The snag-tooth'd hostler with red hair redeeming sins past and to come, Selling all he possesses, traveling on foot to fee lawyers for his brother and sit by him while he is tried for forgery; What was strewn in the amplest strewing the square rod about me, and not filling the square rod then, The bull and the bug never worshipp'd half enough, Dung and dirt more admirable than was dream'd, The supernatural of no account, myself waiting my time to be one of the supremes, The day getting ready for me when I shall do as much good as the best, and be as prodigious; By my life-lumps! becoming already a creator, Putting myself here and now to the ambush'd womb of the shadows. 42 A call in the midst of the crowd, My own voice, orotund sweeping and final. Come my children, Come my boys and girls, my women, household and intimates, Now the performer launches his nerve, he has pass'd his prelude on the reeds within. Easily written loose-finger'd chords -- I feel the thrum of your climax and close. My head slues round on my neck, Music rolls, but not from the organ, Folks are around me, but they are no household of mine. Ever the hard unsunk ground, Ever the eaters and drinkers, ever the upward and downward sun, ever the air and the ceaseless tides, Ever myself and my neighbors, refreshing, wicked, real, Ever the old inexplicable query, ever that thorn'd thumb, that breath of itches and thirsts, Ever the vexer's hoot! hoot! till we find where the sly one hides and bring him forth, Ever love, ever the sobbing liquid of life, Ever the bandage under the chin, ever the trestles of death. Here and there with dimes on the eyes walking, To feed the greed of the belly the brains liberally spooning, Tickets buying, taking, selling, but in to the feast never once going. Many sweating, ploughing, thrashing, and then the chaff for payment receiving, A few idly owning, and they the wheat continually claiming. This is the city and I am one of the citizens, Whatever interests the rest interests me, politics, wars, markets, newspapers, schools, The mayor and councils, banks, tariffs, steamships, factories, stocks, stores, real estate and personal estate. The little plentiful manikins skipping around in collars and tail'd coats, I am aware who they are, (they are positively not worms or fleas,) I acknowledge the duplicates of myself, the weakest and shallowest is deathless with me, What I do and say the same waits for them, Every thought that flounders in me the same flounders in them. I know perfectly well my own egotism, Know my omnivorous lines and must not write any less, And would fetch you whoever you are flush with myself. Not words of routine this song of mine, But abruptly to question, to leap beyond yet nearer bring; This printed and bound book -- but the printer and the printing-office boy? The well-taken photographs -- but your wife or friend close and solid in your arms? The black ship mail'd with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets -- but the pluck of the captain and engineers? In the houses the dishes and fare and furniture -- but the host and hostess, and the look out of their eyes? The sky up there -- yet here or next door, or across the way? The saints and sages in history -- but you yourself? Sermons, creeds, theology -- but the fathomless human brain, And what is reason? and what is love? and what is life? 43 I do not despise you priests, all time, the world over, My faith is the greatest of faiths and the least of faiths, Enclosing worship ancient and modern and all between ancient and modern, Believing I shall come again upon the earth after five thousand years, Waiting responses from oracles, honoring the gods, saluting the sun, Making a fetich of the first rock or stump, powowing with sticks in the circle of obis, Helping the llama or brahmin as he trims the lamps of the idols, Dancing yet through the streets in a phallic procession, rapt and austere in the woods a gymnosophist, Drinking mead from the skull-cup, to Shastas and Vedas admirant, minding the Koran, Walking the teokallis, spotted with gore from the stone and knife, beating the serpent-skin drum, Accepting the Gospels, accepting him that was crucified, knowing assuredly that he is divine, To the mass kneeling or the puritan's prayer rising, or sitting patiently in a pew, Ranting and frothing in my insane crisis, or waiting dead-like till my spirit arouses me, Looking forth on pavement and land, or outside of pavement and land, Belonging to the winders of the circuit of circuits. One of that centripetal and centrifugal gang I turn and talk like a man leaving charges before a journey. Down-hearted doubters dull and excluded, Frivolous, sullen, moping, angry, affected, dishearten'd, atheistical, I know every one of you, I know the sea of torment, doubt, despair and unbelief. How the flukes splash! How they contort rapid as lightning, with spasms and spouts of blood! Be at peace bloody flukes of doubters and sullen mopers, I take my place among you as much as among any, The past is the push of you, me, all, precisely the same, And what is yet untried and afterward is for you, me, all, precisely the same. I do not know what is untried and afterward, But I know it will in its turn prove sufficient, and cannot fail. Each who passes is consider'd, each who stops is consider'd, not a single one can it fail. It cannot fail the young man who died and was buried, Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side, Nor the little child that peep'd in at the door, and then drew back and was never seen again, Nor the old man who has lived without purpose, and feels it with bitterness worse than gall, Nor him in the poor house tubercled by rum and the bad disorder, Nor the numberless slaughter'd and wreck'd, nor the brutish koboo call'd the ordure of humanity, Nor the sacs merely floating with open mouths for food to slip in, Nor any thing in the earth, or down in the oldest graves of the earth, Nor any thing in the myriads of spheres, nor the myriads of myriads that inhabit them, Nor the present, nor the least wisp that is known. 44 It is time to explain myself -- let us stand up. What is known I strip away, I launch all men and women forward with me into the Unknown. The clock indicates the moment -- but what does eternity indicate? We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers, There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them. Births have brought us richness and variety, And other births will bring us richness and variety. I do not call one greater and one smaller, That which fills its period and place is equal to any. Were mankind murderous or jealous upon you, my brother, my sister? I am sorry for you, they are not murderous or jealous upon me, All has been gentle with me, I keep no account with lamentation, (What have I to do with lamentation?) I am an acme of things accomplish'd, and I an encloser of things to be. My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs, On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps, All below duly travel'd, and still I mount and mount. Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me, Afar down I see the huge first Nothing, I know I was even there, I waited unseen and always, and slept through the lethargic mist, And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon. Were mankind murderous or jealous upon you, my brother, my sister? I am sorry for you, they are not murderous or jealous upon me, All has been gentle with me, I keep no account with lamentation, (What have I to do with lamentation?) I am an acme of things accomplish'd, and I an encloser of things to be. My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs, On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps, All below duly travel'd, and still I mount and mount. Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me, Afar down I see the huge first Nothing, I know I was even there, I waited unseen and always, and slept through the lethargic mist, And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon. Long I was hugg'd close -- long and long. Immense have been the preparations for me, Faithful and friendly the arms that have help'd me. Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen, For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings, They sent influences to look after what was to hold me. Before I was born out of my mother generations guided me, My embryo has never been torpid, nothing could overlay it. For it the nebula cohered to an orb, The long slow strata piled to rest it on, Vast vegetables gave it sustenance, Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited it with care. All forces have been steadily employ'd to complete and delight me, Now on this spot I stand with my robust soul. 45 O span of youth! ever-push'd elasticity! O manhood, balanced, florid and full. My lovers suffocate me, Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin, Jostling me through streets and public halls, coming naked to me at night, Crying by day Ahoy! from the rocks of the river, swinging and chirping over my head, Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled underbrush, Lighting on every moment of my life, Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses, Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts and giving them to be mine. Old age superbly rising! O welcome, ineffable grace of dying days! Every condition promulges not only itself, it promulges what grows after and out of itself, And the dark hush promulges as much as any. I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems, And all I see multiplied as high as I can cipher edge but the rim of the farther systems. Wider and wider they spread, expanding, always expanding, Outward and outward and forever outward. My sun has his sun and round him obediently wheels, He joins with his partners a group of superior circuit, And greater sets follow, making specks of the greatest inside them. There is no stoppage and never can be stoppage, If I, you, and the worlds, and all beneath or upon their surfaces, were this moment reduced back to a pallid float, it would not avail in the long run, We should surely bring up again where we now stand, And surely go as much farther, and then farther and farther. A few quadrillions of eras, a few octillions of cubic leagues, do not hazard the span or make it impatient, They are but parts, any thing is but a part. See ever so far, there is limitless space outside of that, Count ever so much, there is limitless time around that. My rendezvous is appointed, it is certain, The Lord will be there and wait till I come on perfect terms, The great Camerado, the lover true for whom I pine will be there. 46 I know I have the best of time and space, and was never measured and never will be measured. I tramp a perpetual journey, (come listen all!) My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff cut from the woods, No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair, I have no chair, no church, no philosophy, I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, exchange, But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll, My left hand hooking you round the waist, My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents and the public road. Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you, You must travel it for yourself. It is not far, it is within reach, Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know, Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land. Shoulder your duds dear son, and I will mine, and let us hasten forth, Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go. If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand on my hip, And in due time you shall repay the same service to me, For after we start we never lie by again. This day before dawn I ascended a hill and look'd at the crowded heaven, And I said to my spirit When we become the enfolders of those orbs, and the pleasure and knowledge of every thing in them, shall we be fill'd and satisfied then? And my spirit said No, we but level that lift to pass and continue beyond. You are also asking me questions and I hear you, I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself. Sit a while dear son, Here are biscuits to eat and here is milk to drink, But as soon as you sleep and renew yourself in sweet clothes, I kiss you with a good-by kiss and open the gate for your egress hence. Long enough have you dream'd contemptible dreams, Now I wash the gum before your eyes, You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life. Long have you timidly waded holding a plank by the shore, Now I will you to be a bold swimmer, To jump off in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, shout, and laughingly dash with your hair. 47 I am the teacher of athletes, He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves the width of my own, He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher. The boy I love, the same becomes a man not through derived power, but in his own right, Wicked rather than virtuous out of conformity or fear, Fond of his sweetheart, relishing well his steak, Unrequited love or a slight cutting him worse than sharp steel cuts, First-rate to ride, to fight, to hit the bull's eye, to sail a skiff, to sing a song or play on the banjo, Preferring scars and the beard and faces pitted with small-pox over athletes, And those well-tann'd to those that keep out of the sun. I teach straying from me, yet who can stray from me? I follow you whoever you are from the present hour, My words itch at your ears till you understand them. I do not say these things for a dollar or to fill up the time while I wait for a boat, (It is you talking just as much as myself, I act as the tongue of you, Tied in your mouth, in mine it begins to be loosen'd.) I swear I will never again mention love or death inside a house, And I swear I will never translate myself at all, only to him or her who privately stays with me in the open air. If you would understand me go to the heights or water-shore, The nearest gnat is an explanation, and a drop or motion of waves a key, The maul, the oar, the hand-saw, second my words. No shutter'd room or school can commune with me, But roughs and little children better than they. The young mechanic is closest to me, he knows me well, The woodman that takes his axe and jug with him shall take me with him all day, The farm-boy ploughing in the field feels good at the sound of my voice, In vessels that sail my words sail, I go with fishermen and seamen and love them. The soldier camp'd or upon the march is mine, On the night ere the pending battle many seek me, and I do not fail them, On that solemn night (it may be their last) those that know me seek me. My face rubs to the hunter's face when he lies down alone in his blanket, The driver thinking of me does not mind the jolt of his wagon, The young mother and old mother comprehend me, The girl and the wife rest the needle a moment and forget where they are, They and all would resume what I have told them. 48 I have said that the soul is not more than the body, And I have said that the body is not more than the soul, And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one's self is, And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral drest in his shroud, And I or you pocketless of a dime may purchase the pick of the earth, And to glance with an eye or show a bean in its pod confounds the learning of all times, And there is no trade or employment but the young man following it may become a hero, And there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheel'd universe, And I say to any man or woman, Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes. And I say to mankind, Be not curious about God, For I who am curious about each am not curious about God, (No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about God and about death.) I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not in the least, Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself. Why should I wish to see God better than this day? I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then, In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass, I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one is sign'd by God's name, And I leave them where they are, for I know that wheresoe'er I go, Others will punctually come for ever and ever. 49 And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to try to alarm me. To his work without flinching the accoucheur comes, I see the elder-hand pressing receiving supporting, I recline by the sills of the exquisite flexible doors, And mark the outlet, and mark the relief and escape. And as to you Corpse I think you are good manure, but that does not offend me, I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing, I reach to the leafy lips, I reach to the polish'd breasts of melons. And as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths, (No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.) I hear you whispering there O stars of heaven, O suns -- O grass of graves -- O perpetual transfers and promotions, If you do not say any thing how can I say any thing? Of the turbid pool that lies in the autumn forest, Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing twilight, Toss, sparkles of day and dusk -- toss on the black stems that decay in the muck, Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs. I ascend from the moon, I ascend from the night, I perceive that the ghastly glimmer is noonday sunbeams reflected, And debouch to the steady and central from the offspring great or small. 50 There is that in me -- I do not know what it is -- but I know it is in me. Wrench'd and sweaty -- calm and cool then my body becomes, I sleep -- I sleep long. I do not know it -- it is without name -- it is a word unsaid, It is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol. Something it swings on more than the earth I swing on, To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes me. Perhaps I might tell more. Outlines! I plead for my brothers and sisters. Do you see O my brothers and sisters? It is not chaos or death -- it is form, union, plan -- it is eternal life -- it is Happiness. 51 The past and present wilt -- I have fill'd them, emptied them. And proceed to fill my next fold of the future. Listener up there! what have you to confide to me? Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening, (Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute longer.) Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.) I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door-slab. Who has done his day's work? who will soonest be through with his supper? Who wishes to walk with me? Will you speak before I am gone? will you prove already too late? 52 The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering. I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. The last scud of day holds back for me, It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow'd wilds, It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk. I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags. I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles. You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, And filter and fibre your blood. Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you.

#walt whitman #i sing myself #song of myself #america #poetry #i celebrate myself #truth #vision #leaves of grass

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