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lovelykhaleesiii · 10 months

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as I was taking I am taking FULL advantage of the requests.

as I am on a roll for chubby daddy! aegon and professor! aegon may I maybe suggest an idea where his class is very surprised to discover that he has a wife and a child while they catch them onto a pic-nic and aegon is like 'yeah, why do you think that your papers comes with glitter on them? or handprints?'.

just cute chubby daddy! aegon who doesn't only have to handle a toddler at home but also at work (although he teaches either at high school or university).

ok ok that's it, I am done and I hope you'll enjoy my silly requests but if you don't, pls feel free to ignore them!

Angsti this is yet another delicious request!!! thank you for spoiling me with your ideas I can never get enough!!! hope you enjoy this xox

To Lead Astray Or Not...

PAIRING: chubby!Professor!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Wife!Reader [Modern AU]

WORDS: 2,381.

WARNINGS: fluff, Daddy!Aegon, professor kink (?), female oral receiving, mentions of p in v sexual intercourse, size kink, slight breeding kink, non-implied references to affair/cheating, swearing.

A/N - something I whipped up on my little hiatus. still not 100% with my writing but it’s okay xx sorry my love, I changed the plot slightly, forgive me.

“Are they truly that oblivious to that shiny, gold band on your finger?” You lightly chuckle, amused at the revelation your beloved husband spoke of, upon returning home from work, with yet another spoiled gift of baked goodies in his hand.

Throughout the semester, since Aegon had commenced his new position, his pupils had taken it upon themselves, eager to delight their plump professor with delectable treats, knowing precisely the way to his heart was through his stomach. As untempted as Aegon was with their meticulous attempts, he wouldn’t deny himself to a few servings [the entire container], often plainly excusing his innocent debauchery with the line “it would be such a shame to waste food.”

“That seems to be the case… As much as I try to flaunt it on their faces. This is ridiculous, there's no time for these shenanigans. I have to put an end to their madness, or else-.” Aegon exclaims, with a mouthful of baked choc-chip cookies in his plump mouth. The fullness of his handsome face had accentuated as he gorged himself silly. Seemingly the sedentary lifestyle of working behind a desk, the most strenuous action he’d often only undertaken, was that of lifting a ballpoint pen to mark a few papers, Amounting overtime gradually, as it began to blatantly show on his newly found stout figure. Not that you had grown to distaste your beloved husband’s changes, quite the opposite, in fact.

“Or else I’d be losing my husband to some college school girls? He’ll have to roll himself out of here,” You subtly chuckle, as you continued on stirring the full, warm pot at hand.

“Y/N- Do not toy with me about this. It’s serious-” Aegon firmly put it, before reaching for another cookie, eyeing it’s detail, most likely estimating ratio of choc chip inside.

Aegon shared an immense enjoyment when it came to food, relishing in different cuisines and palates, and mostly baked treats. He was scarcely a picky eater and had a grand appetite, going hand in hand. Often in the late hours of the night when he remained tediously awake, skimming over and dotting down notes on mounds of papers, did he find himself constantly munching on something. Whether it was a sneaky fast-food takeout or some sweet snack he could scour in the pantry, his keen mouth was always full and chomping.

His plush, soft belly throughout each semester had slowly extended in size, generously pushing across his waistline that was now hidden beneath the mass. His hips had grown wider in frame, love handles now obvious in plain sight even beneath his tight dress shirts and tightly fitted blazers, tubby to hold as it would pool at the sides. Standing beside your dear husband, it was evident that Aegon's substantial frame could smother you whole, if he ever so desired as you did. Despite him paying now mind to his evident changes, you had rather relished in it.

Sidetracked in your own sensual thoughts, your lustful eyes lingering over Aegon relievingly devouring another cookie, the sudden shrieking cries erupting from down the hall snapped you back to the reality at hand.

"I'll get her-" Aegon uttered, licking the crumbs of his fingers as he strolled away from you hovering over the stove, as you busied yourself with the evening’s dinner. A minute scattered by, when you heard the familiar, heavy footsteps of Aegon re-entering the kitchen once more, only this time, with a little companion strapped to his arms.

"Look who just woke up, my sweet princess," Aegon giddily whispered, cooing at the little girl in his arms, as she rubbed her little lilac eyes: a split image of her Daddy. Resting her tiny head against his broad shoulder, Aegon swayed her from side to side subtly, bopping her lightly as he tried to feed her a cookie, taking a sneaky bite from it first.

"Hiya Mumma, someone woke up a little early."

Walking over towards Aegon and your daughter cosily nestled in his thick arms, you softly reach and grip for her hand pulling it in for a loving kiss. Earning a small little yawn from her behalf, as Aegon tenderly pecked at the base of her head.

"Sounds like we have competition, you and I, babygirl-" You taunt, exchanging a swift wink to Aegon, who in response rolled his eyes to your jab.

“C’mon Y/N. There’s no competition at all. Nothing could possibly tempt me, when I’ve already won at life. I have everything I could have possibly imagined and more, all thanks to you-”

“Not even with all these goodies, you can’t seem to help but scoff down, hmm?”

“If I’m being frank, my love… These don’t even come close to your home-cooked meals, isn’t that right, bubba?” Aegon bopping his little girl, stirring her more awake, as she nibbled at the small bite from the cookie, her face adorably screwing with disgust, in agreement with her father’s dissatisfaction with the treats.

“Well relieved to hear my cooking is keeping you grounded. Was getting worried I would be losing my husband to his schoolgirl fanclub. Perhaps their treats won’t be the only thing they’re willing to offer next time-” You tease, yet a grim tone coated your words, as you coldly turned your back to your husband, resuming your cooking once more.

“Y/N, baby, c’mon now-” Aegon earnestly sighed, as he carefully plopped his daughter down at her high chair, who now took the cookie to her own matters: the only time you were willing to allow her to play with food rather than indulging herself as her father did.

Aegon’s pudgy hands tightly gripped at your waist, tugging your body to swivel in his direction, as you face him defeatedly.

“Now how could you ever think that of me? Am I so naive to be seduced by some minor league scholar, when I have such a beautiful, accomplished wife at home, that I just can’t ever get enough of, who spoils me like a King? I mean look at me woman. Look at what you’ve done to me!” Aegon chuckles proudly, swaying his thick arms up as his eyes hover over his swollen gut pressing up against your meek frame.

“Please, Y/N. I’m going to come clear about this double life, squash all their hopes and dreams. You know how kids are at that age, don’t you remember how we were, huh?-” Aegon growls, as his hands snake their way behind, his palms finding their way naturally to your bosom, confidently squeezing at your fleshy cheeks, earning a little squeak from you. Intentionally pushing your smaller body against his cushioned frame, your blush lips meet with his momentarily falling into a passionate, longing kiss, as Aegon’s eager tongue peaks through your lips, swirling against yours. Immersing himself completely in your taste. Breaking free, his nose nuzzles against yours, as he gleefully smiles down at you.

“Don’t you ever dare to think otherwise, it hurts my feelings when you think of me capable of that, you know,” He quietly mutters, as his thumb gently grasps and pulls at your chin, nudging you to look directly up at him, your dimly joyful eyes met with his half-hearted smirk.

“I love you, and only you. My precious girl. Shall I make it up to you tonight, hmm?”

Giddily blushing and nodding to his words, just as Aegon slowly leaned in to chase another kiss, the loud babbling of your daughter tore him astray midway, interrupting the intimate moment, as you both gleamed at the little girl with sincere smiles, only to be met with her innocent frown. Just as her grandmother, Alicent, had noticed and shared, “she seems to have gathered her father’s expressive gene”, as she never seems to struggle nor shy away from her emotions.

“And you, my little one-” Aegon boasts, as he races over towards her, picking her up once more with such ease, as her weight is close to that of a feather for him.

“My two precious girls, what more could I possibly want?”

Later that evening, after you had both dined well together and the little princess returned to her crib from her Daddy’s plush lap, fast asleep in her deep slumber once more, Aegon took his steady time proving exactly what he meant. Lusting and touching at your body as he slowly undressed you piece by piece, handling you with great care as though you were some rare gem he had just unearthed, a delicate commodity in his bare hands. He could scarcely keep his hands off you even during dinner or as you washed the dishes, lulling his little girl asleep in one arm, and the other wrapped tenderly around your waist, embracing you.

“How’d I end up being the luckiest man in the world, huh? A wife that takes care of me, makes sure I’m abundantly well-fed, who blessed me with the most perfect child…. My beautiful fucking wife.”

Kissing at your tender skin across your abdomen leaving a moist trail, Aegon seated himself at the edge of the mattress, and you remained standing above, with his soft hands held firmly at your hips.

“And you think I would give up all this in a heartbeat? For a bunch of hormonal, minor league girls? You leave me no choice but to fuck some real, hard sense into you, Y/N.”

“Hmm, is that so?” You breathlessly whimper, as Aegon’s mouth lapped at your entrance between the front folds, his fleshy hands once again, finding their way to your bosom, as he firmly grips and kneads ar your cheeks.

“Gonna teach me a lesson, Professor? Have I been such an ignorant brat, needy to be put back in line. Punish me, Aeg. Teach me a good, hard lesson I won’t forget-”

Aegon releases his latched mouth from your throbbing, moist cunt, his lips glistening in the dim, cosy light. A familiar smirk strewed across his full face, one that you had gathered could only mean one thing… Mischief.

As Aegon’s weight had marvelled, so did his strength. Inevitably, his mass was heavier against you, often finding yourself squirming beneath his bulk and the mattress, as he would fuck you from atop with vigour. His thick, fat cock stretching your walls beyond relief, as you could meekly feel yourself from below clenching around his stiff cock, with his round gut laying sprawled above your own. The pressure he exerted from within your folds, bulging inside and the pressure from outside was overwhelmingly insatiable, stimulating you to an aching climax like none before.

Although, it also meant his once impressive stamina would now often exceed quickly, finding himself breathlessly huffing and puffing for more, Aegon remained insistent on continuing, with you eagerly taking the reins from above, as he would often lay himself comfortably down, pacing his rapid breath. Riding his cock was a pleasure, as he relished in watching you strenuously exert great efforts, like the obedient wife you were, keen to sate your husband’s appetite. Steadying yourself against his meaty flesh, often finding your small hands cupping and massaging at his now obviously, sensitive moobs. Not to forget on Aegon’s behalf, your tits were a glorious sight to see, enthusiastically bouncing above from the momentum of your quickening pace: especially after the birth, your breasts naturally remained somewhat swollen and plump, Aegon savouring your bodily changes just as much.

Nonetheless, the sex peaked, and Aegon remained true to his word… He indeed taught you a valuable lesson that night.

“Perhaps if I’ve fucked another child into you, that ought to keep you in check.”

“So you’ve been married this entire time?” One of his pupils exclaimed, confusion plastered across her face, as Aegon nodded keenly.

“Indeed, a very happy wife and little bub at home. With another on the way it seems, hence why I’ll be away next semester.”

“Is that why some of our quiz papers came back with glitter and weird little scribbles?”

Arms remained tightly folded, Aegon defeatedly shaking his head in disbelief, as he helplessly chuckled at the illogical discourse at hand. His wide back-side remained leaning back on his desk, the wood creaking beneath his weight, yet he paid no mind.

“Did you honestly think that was all me? And watch yourself Lannister, she’s learning pencil grip… She’s only 14 months, which is pretty impressive to me.”

“But you’ve never mentioned them before?” Another pupil hastily questioned.

“Never felt the need to. This is an academic lecture, not a TED Talk. And besides, did no one seriously not notice this?” Aegon exasperated, flashing his left ring finger, where a bulky, gold band wrapped around his thick digit.

The silence that fell the room was palpable: a few of Aegon’s avid fanatics, awkwardly attempting to pull away their filled tupperware containers, back into their bags or laps, in a poor attempt to hide their shame.

“Well I for one, would like to congratulate you Sir.”

“Nice save Lannister. Now can we actually get back to the lesson or any more questions I need to clear?”

“B-But you accepted our gifts? The cookies, and the-” One of the few Baratheon sisters that attended Aegon’s classes, stuttered, the colour in her face blush pink, yet her eyes saddened and watery, yet no tears fell.

“Who am I to deny my appetite from a little snack? And besides, what a waste it would be. I presume you ladies just wanted me to bump up your grades, yes?”

Each girl in the same exact front row that they’d been occupying the entire semester, began to nod in poor unison, not daring to venture not interrogate Aegon further, as his look now remained stern.

The single, thunderous applaud echoed across the room, as he clapped his large hands together, excited to carry on with the lesson. The subtle sounds of pages opening, and pencils clicking, as Aegon began to write across the board, he felt a burden lift off his shoulders. The clarity was a relief, and the fact that he had a loving family awaiting for his arrival was his greatest achievement yet. Spoiled with a bliss life, thanks to you, his dotting, devoted wife, there was nothing that could tempt him astray otherwise.

general taglist - @evenstaris @bel-bottoms @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @ilikeitbetterangsty @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @rafesbarbiegirl @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylas-the-grim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider

Aegon ii taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @amiraisgoingthruit

credit for header - @/saradika

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actualgoron · 5 months

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song of the night

#january 14 2024 #song of the night #men at work #its a mistake #cargo #new wave #reggae #80s music #newly discovered album #this album is so fucking good #men at work is a seriously underrated band #Spotify

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isntitdelicatevivi · 28 days

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﹙𝓙 ﹚𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲 ! 𝐀emond | Modern AU.

⠀⠀⠀⠀──────────── 🥀

♡ ◟𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 : You are a rock star. You, Aegon and Aemond are part of a band, and Aemond discovers that you are having sex with Aegon too, and he wants exclusivity. Chapter 1 (?).

♡ ◟𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 : 18+, rough sex, jealous sex, dirty talk, rage sex, fingering.

English is not my first language, sorry.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀───────────────── 🥀

It all started when she was fifteen. When her parents told her she would be a failure, and then, suddenly, as if her subconscious wanted to play a trick on her, she put her insecurities aside and began to work on herself. "I've never heard a voice like yours," was what her first singing teacher had said to her. "It's the kind of voice that deserves to be heard," was one of the comments from one of the vocal coaches who had examined her. And then, everything seemed to make sense. Even when she played alone in the empty parking lot of a shopping mall, or when she played in a bar, to a unique group of drunk men. Part of her was there just for the music, but the other part wanted more. She also wanted fame.

"You've got an email," said her roommate, in the first month of college, close to her seventeenth birthday, when she had almost lost hope that music would really work out. And that she would have to convince herself that the covers for the internet were nothing more than just fun. She clung to the thought that not every artist makes it to the top and becomes the bright star everyone wants to see. But... Her feelings weren't buried that deep, not at all. And she only realized this when she read the email. It came from a discreet agency, an email dictated and sent personally, to the next toy of two Targaryens.

The fusion of Aegon, Aemond, and her occurred like the awakening of a future in music, of course, initially there were those who said that real talent was not the band's strong suit, that Aemond and Aegon, the two brothers; sons of the most powerful man in Westeros, were there only because of nepotism and the name they carried, and were using a promising and innocent young woman to divert the spotlight from their own lack of humility. Whether that was the case or not, people cared little after the first album. Obviously, money is power, and influence as well, some strings were pulled, but it became undeniable that they were indeed artists. And it all started with an email one April afternoon. And after that, she finally got what she wanted, the fame. Which, coincidentally, was one of the ways to prove her worth to her own family.

Being a rock star always meant a lot to her, it wasn't just about getting on stage, holding a microphone, and rocking out. There were also sore throats, calluses on the vocal cords, rehearsals, constant visits to doctors, singing teachers, and vocal coaches, hours on the treadmill, singing and running at the same time to train her breath, the exhaustion of always being in the camera's crosshairs, and a newly discovered lack of peace, but somehow, she survived all this, because deep down, she liked it.

The credit, however, was not solely in the peculiar ability she had to deal with fame, it was also in Aegon, and Aemond. At the beginning, when they met, there was a period of awkwardness between them, after all, it’s not every day that two "heirs" send you an email with a job proposal, which besides, was the realization of your dreams. But as the days passed, the pieces fell into place.

Aegon was funny; he was always cracking jokes in the studio, he was the one who would finish off the donuts, and who frequently fell asleep in the middle of a recording, with a cigarette between his fingers. He was the one who was always late to appointments, and somehow, he managed to make the situation funny.

He was also the one who dragged them to the most expensive clubs, to strip clubs, and other unhealthy places, where drugs became common. Aegon was like the sunshine, warm; cheerful, vivid, even with his negative sides, such as the obvious substance abuse, mommy issues, and depression; which turned into a joke for him. But within him resided a certain grace. Which was the perfect opposite of Aemond.

Aemond was cold, and distant. He hardly ever spoke, preferring to let the perfect sound of his guitar speak for him. He plucked the guitar strings like no one else, and was strictly professional when they were in the studio. He rarely smiled, not at Aegon's jokes, nor when she looked at him and stuck out her tongue, a common playfulness between the two; he was reserved, quiet, and yet, she could read him like a sad and somber book.

Aemond was like the midnight rain, cold, dark, frightening. And yet, beautiful. Perhaps it was Aemond's austere personality, or the way Aegon showed up high in the studio every day, or how Aemond liked to flick his fingers in the air, as if his muscle memory didn't want to stray from the guitar, or how Aegon was responsible for making her smoke her first joint, or how Aemond looked much more handsome without the patch over his glass eye, or how Aegon's stubble pricked her cheek when he kissed her... It was something between that, which made her fall deeply in love with them. And as the wise Katherine Pierce once said, "It's okay to love them both."

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀─────────────────

The flashes hit her face non-stop, so much time had passed since the first time she had to face the paparazzi, and yet, she never got used to it. The published photos always left her a nervous wreck, capturing her grimaces, or her face missing; she always told herself she would try to smile next time, but she never could. The car smelled of cheap cigarettes and sweet, exaggerated feminine perfume; it was always like this when she entered the car, the odor of smoke and sex greeted her much better than Aemond.

─ How did the photos go? ─ Aegon asked, sitting on the left side, his legs spread as if he owned the car, his silver-white hair was disheveled, and he held a glass of champagne in his hand, it was always a day for toasting for him. Hickeys were spread across the milky skin of his neck; it wasn't a surprise, and no one needed to know that those marks were actually hers.

─ I kind of had to wear a weird outfit. ─ She replied, sitting in front of them. She pulled down her skirt because the fabric insisted on riding up, and she was almost certain that it was intentional.

─ I saw. You looked like a slut. ─ The voice from the right side echoed. Aemond. His legs were crossed, and he held a book resting on his knee, not looking at her, not needing to and not even bothering. His long hair was tied up in a sort of messy bun, and the fringe fell over the patch on his eye.

─ Thank you? ─ She asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise, unsure whether that was supposed to be a compliment or an insult. ─ I'm going to be on the cover of KL Magazine. ─ She added, a smile spreading across her plump lips. Being on the cover of a magazine as prestigious as KL was like receiving a handshake from a king; she was so radiant that her glow spread throughout the car.

─ Fuck, wow! You're hot, this is going to be a hit. We should celebrate. ─ Aegon winked at her. His tongue gently passed over his lips, and she was almost certain she knew what kind of celebration he was talking about.

─ I'd rather throw myself in front of the nearest car than have any kind of 'celebration' with you guys. ─ Aemond replied, his sharp words cutting through her mood. He didn't even compliment her, and that definitely upset her. For a moment she even forgot Aegon's teasing, and how his tongue had passed over his own lips, which reminded her of how that same tongue so deliciously passed over her clit.

─ Gods, what's gotten into you today? Need a lay? ─ Aegon asked, a sarcastic laugh coming from him as he topped up his alcohol reserve with another bottle of champagne.

─ As you and her have been doing? No, thanks. Besides, you don't moan as quietly as you think. ─ For the first time since getting in the car, Aemond looked at her. That single shining violet eye, which seemed to hunt the secrets of her soul, pierced her reddened cheeks before shifting back to the page of the book.

An awkward silence echoed in the car, the sound of the wheels sliding on the streets, and the traffic seemed much louder now. She didn’t know what to say because she knew exactly what that meant. Aegon didn’t know she was also sleeping with Aemond. And Aemond didn’t know she was sleeping with Aegon. Well, apparently he knew now.

She always tried to maintain a relationship with both; it was common sense that a woman like her couldn’t ignore them. Each had their own charm, their foolproof method of seduction, and each had managed to take her to bed. In the beginning, it was easy to hide one from the other; they never even suspected that she was involved with both at the same time.

But Aemond, unlike Aegon, wasn’t so foolish; she should have foreseen that he would find out sooner or later. Aegon wouldn’t have the capacity to notice the tension between them after Aemond’s remarks, but she knew that the way he spoke indicated indignation and jealousy. A lot of jealousy.

─ Tsk. Jealous, Aemond? I bet you would like to make her moan too. Don’t be dramatic. As if you don’t ruin the mood everywhere you go as it is. ─ Her heart froze when the words "I bet you would like to make her moan too" came out of Aegon’s mouth. And mentally she cursed him for saying that so deliberately.

─ If it were with me. I bet she’d moan louder than with you... ─ Aemond murmured, and she saw him focus his eye on her again, like a subliminal message of what was true. Her hands began to sweat, and looking through the window, a sudden urge to throw herself from the car crossed her thoughts.

─ Can you stop talking about me as if I'm not here? Thank you. I think I have the right to do certain things, since as far as I remember I'm not committed to anyone. But, thanks for the heads-up, Aemond. ─ Although it wasn't a lie, she knew this would be held against her later. She didn’t have a serious commitment with Aemond, but they had spent so many nights together that it felt as if they did.

The journey to the hotel was uncomfortably silent after that. Nothing more was discussed among them, but she could almost read Aemond's dark thoughts and Aegon's lascivious ones. The elevator felt as hot and cramped as the car after what happened; for the first time, she felt claustrophobic and all she wanted was to throw herself on her soft bed and sleep until it was time to catch the flight the next morning. However, things never go as she wants, why would today be different?

─ I’m hungry. Anyone want to order something? ─ Aegon announced, as he threw himself on the nearest sofa, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a cheap lighter from his pocket.

─ Ah... I’ll take Dornish food. ─ She said, trying to sound casual; she wasn't, however. Not at all.

─ I don’t like Dornish food. Can we order something from the cuisine of Essos? ─ Aemond replied with a sarcastic snort. His fingers stuffed in his pants pockets as he leaned against the wall. She looked at him, one eyebrow raised, trying to understand his argument, since she knew he did indeed like Dornish food.

─ I like Dornish food, I thought you- ─ Her words were cut off when she felt Aegon's firm hands pull her by the waist, dragging her in a quick motion onto his lap. Her cheeks burned instantly, not because she was embarrassed, but because she knew this would increase the jealousy and anger that Aemond must have been feeling.

─ Relax, babe. We can order both Dornish and Essos food, I don't mind. ─ Aegon said, his fingers sliding down to her hips, pulling her deeper into his lap. His right hand rested on one of her thighs, gently caressing the area. Although she wasn't looking directly at Aemond, she could feel his gaze piercing through them.

─ Great. Just don’t start making out while I’m still here. ─ She heard the loud snort that came from Aemond's lips. Of course, that was the reason for all the bad mood. And Aegon being far from discovering it made everything worse.

He stood up, leaving her seated on the cushion, a bold slap on her thigh made her shiver, and she had to look away to not see the expression on Aemond’s face when Aegon did that.

─ I'm going to the restaurant downstairs. Try not to kill each other, and don't light up any joints without me. ─ Aegon's footsteps echoed out of the room. Her body tensed on the upholstery as the door closed, and she knew she was alone with Aemond. The silence was beyond uncomfortable, it was torturous.

─ Aren't we going to talk about the elephant in the room? ─ Aemond finally said something. But she still couldn't look at him. ─ Fine, then I'll talk. What the fuck is this? You're sleeping with my brother? ─ His tone of voice wasn't the friendliest. She had witnessed it a few times, when he and Aegon would argue over the lyrics of a song, and she had to intervene before they started hitting each other.

─ Aemond... I— She was interrupted. Her bones trembled when she felt his hand grab her by the jaw, forcing her to look at him. His fingers were pressing, and she couldn't resist the thrill that ran through her when he did that.

─ Look at me, damn it! ─ He said, pushing her face back as soon as their eyes were fixed on each other. She felt her adjacent jaw ache, but it was the kind of pain she liked.

─ Aemond, I'm not going to be the 'I can explain' type of person, but... I don't know, it just... happened, the same way it did with us...

─ It happened... You blinked and suddenly you were with your legs open on his bed?

─ Aemond... I... What do you want me to say? Do you want me to apologize? I will, but I don’t understand why you're acting like we had something serious. ─ She stood up from the sofa, slowly making her steps toward him. His figure seemed imposing there. So tall and serious.

─ Was it just once? ─ He didn't even need a verbal answer; the way her lips tightened said it all. ─ How long? ─ She stayed silent, she didn’t know what to say, or rather, how to say it. ─ How fucking long?! ─ He shouted this time, his loud voice made her knees tremble, and she felt her clit throb; it was strange, but the way he reacted turned her on.

─ It was before you... ─ She finally answered, biting her lips nervously. She would probably leave there without Aemond, or maybe without both if he told Aegon too. But now the damage was done. She heard him snort.

─ What the hell... You were already with him when you slept with me for the first time? What are you? A whore? Are you so selfish and greedy that you needed both of us? What the fuck... I don’t even know what to say because now all that comes to my mind is you fucking with Aegon and then coming to fuck with me! ─ His voice was so loud, she thought maybe they would receive a call from the hotel reception, asking if everything was okay. She clenched her fingers, and crossed her knees softly, trying to contain the wetness that began to form in her pussy. ─ Fuck... You’re turned on...

─ What? ─ She looked up at him, shaking her head in denial as she watched him approach dangerously.

─ You cross your knees when you’re turned on. I know that because I always leave you like this. ─ His fingers grabbed her jaw again, pulling her closer to him. She could feel his hot breath against her face, he was fuming with anger, his eye closed over that proximity, and she felt his forehead pressing against hers as he squeezed her harder. ─ You’re such a whore...─ He whispered. Before kissing her. His lips pressed so hard against hers that her lower lip hurt. She could feel his tongue pushing into her throat violently, and yet, it was an exciting kiss.

Aemond's free hand clutched the hem of her skirt, and he used the fabric to pull her closer to him, pressing her small body against his aggressively. His lips devoured hers mercilessly, her jaw was weak from the grip and how he forcibly kissed her, the sensation was pleasurable, and she could already feel her panties wet, and her clit throbbing with such suggestively violent interaction. Aemond pulled away, his lips moist with saliva, as were hers, she supposed, he looked her deep in the eyes before gently pulling back.

─ Is it Aegon you want? You can have him as many times as you want... But first, I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll remember me when you're with him, you little slut. ─ His hand slid from her jaw to her nape, and he pushed her aggressively onto the coffee table in front of the sofa. His fingers dug into her skin, making her lean against the cold glass, her cheek stuck to the table, as well as her stomach, her knees were forced to bend, and she found herself completely vulnerable to him.

And this excited her even more. Without any care, Aemond pulled her skirt down, the buttons broke with the force he used to strip the clothing from her body, leaving it tangled at the bend of her knees. His fingers gently brushed her ass, like a gentle caress, before he gave her a strong slap on one of the cheeks. A soft moan escaped her lips, her fingers clutched the edges of the table as she tried to look at him from the corner of her eyes.

─ What's the matter? Prefer it when Aegon is slapping you, whore? I bet he doesn't even know how to do it the way you like...─ Another strong slap burned her ass, making her moan again. She could hear a soft laugh escape Aemond's lips, the way he was enjoying this only drove her crazier.

─ Aemond... ─ He pushed her harder against the glass before she could speak, squeezed her ass tightly, almost burying his fingers in her soft skin.

─ No 'Aemond' bullshit. I don't want to hear you say anything unless I tell you to, got it? You only speak when I tell you to. ─ He said, delivering another slap, even stronger on her ass. ─ Did you fucking got it? ─ She nodded immediately, making him release her just a bit.

He grabbed the start of her panties and pulled them down, making them slide down her thighs. A sigh, leaning more towards a moan, escaped Aemond's lips, and his fingers slid up to her tight pussy.

─ Your panties are soaked... Is this how Aegon leaves you? Or is it because of me? Or maybe... You're such a greedy slut that you're thinking about both of us fucking you at the same time. ─ At the end of the sentence, Aemond slipped a finger inside her, she was so wet that his finger was swallowed by her cunt, her walls tightened around his finger, prompting him to insert a second finger. Hearing her moan from this, he began to thrust his fingers rapidly inside her.

─ Aemond... Please... ─ His hand moved from her nape to her hair, he wrapped her strands around his fist and pulled hard back, making her cheek lift off the table.

─ What did I say about you speaking? I said you speak when I tell you to, bitch. I'm not fucking Aegon, if you don't obey me, there will be consequences. ─ His fingers began to move faster inside her, the sound of the thrusts caused by her wetness became audible in the room, along with the whiny moans escaping her lips. His other hand tightened around her locks, pulling her hair even harder.

Aemond pulled his fingers out of her after a few more thrusts, soaked with her juices, he knew they were sweet, he loved her smell, her taste, but now, he was too angry to focus on those details. His wet fingers passed around her lips, before he pushed the two fingers into her mouth, down her throat, making her softly gag.

─ Now. I'm going to fuck you. And I want to hear you moan loud. ─ He said while swirling his fingers inside her mouth, pressing his own body behind hers. She could feel his erection rubbing against her ass through the fabric of his jeans.

Aemond released her hair, also removing his fingers from her mouth. His hands moved to the buttons on his own pants, and he quickly opened his jeans, pulling them down just enough for what he wanted, along with his boxers. His hard cock freed from the fabric prison it was in, and she could already feel the tip touching her wet cunt. His fingers embraced his own erection, and he gently stroked it while looking at her ass, and the few red marks he had already left there.

─ Does he fuck you with a condom? Or are you so slut that you ask him not to use one?... Either way, I'm going to fuck you without one today, and I'm going to cum inside you until every drop of me is buried in your pussy. ─ Using his own hand, he dragged his cock across her pussy, making the length rub against her lips, brushing her clit, moans returned to the room, each time he rubbed against her, and only the tip of his cock bumped into her cunt. Finally, Aemond positioned himself at her, pushing everything in all at once. Her fingers gripped the edges of the table more firmly, and a louder moan escaped her lips, feeling him hit the right spots inside her on the first thrust. A pleasurable sigh escaped Aemond's lips, and he stayed still for a moment.

─ So tight... You got me addicted to your pussy... ─ He thrust hard at the end of the sentence, stopping again. ─ Made me fuck it every week... ─ And then another thrust, and another pause. ─ And I find out you were doing the same with that jerk... But even he won’t fuck you better than I do... ─ And finally, his hips began to move, thrusting several times inside her, the sound of his skin slamming against hers soon became audible, along with his panting breath and her moans. His hips moved faster and harder, hitting the pleasure spots inside her, making her tighten around him, which resulted in soft grunts from him. His fingers grabbed her hair again, holding it like reins in his hands, and pulling harder as he fucked her.

─ Who’s fucking you now, bitch? Speak! Say my name. ─ He said between pleasurable sighs, delivering another hard slap on her ass, his cock burying deep inside her with each thrust. But it wasn’t enough for him; he went faster, harder. The sounds became louder, as did his hunger.

─ Aemond! It's you... Gods... Aemond! ─ She moaned pleasurably, her teeth sunk into her lips, trying to control the loud moans that escaped because of the series of violent thrusts he was giving her, but it was impossible.

─ That’s right, little slut... I’m going to make you scream my name... ─ He released her hair, placing both hands on her shoulders, and using them as leverage to go even deeper inside her. She felt her womb being destroyed with Aemond's strong thrusts, every part of her body ached in pleasure with what he was doing. Her legs were already trembling and her knees hurt from being propped on the hard floor, but she didn’t care, she wanted this. She deserved this. The sound of their skin colliding filled the room, her moans were as good and pleasurable for Aemond as her music, her voice was absurdly perfect in every aspect, but he should have been the only one to appreciate her moans like this. Or so he thought.

─ Aemond... I’m almost... I’m close... ─ She whispered, her voice hoarse with pleasure, she tried to cling to the table, but her fingers were too trembling for that. Her eyes were already closed and she allowed herself to be guided to heaven, when she felt the climax on the edge of her senses.

─ What did you say? Did I just hear you're going to cum? That’s right... Cum, bitch... Cum on my cock while I fuck you... ─ His voice was as pleasurably suggestive as hers, he bit his lower lip while squeezing her shoulders, the sensation of her walls crushing him with each thrust was incredible, and he would never admit it out loud, but she was the first woman who made him feel so alive.

His hands moved down her back, grabbed her hips, and in a swift movement he pushed her to the floor, placing her back on the carpet, and her eyes fixed on him. It hardly seemed humanly possible that he could switch positions like that without coming out of her, but he did, as if his own body refused to let her go.

─ I want you to look at me while you’re cumming... I want to see your face when you get there screaming my name... ─ His hand circled her throat, squeezing excitingly while he used the other hand for support on the floor, continuing the firm thrusts, her parted lips left moans behind, as she did everything to keep her eyes fixed on him, but it seemed almost impossible, especially when her body trembled intensely, and the orgasm arrived.

─ Aemond! ─ She shouted, exactly as he said she would, the spasms hitting her in an extremely pleasurable way, her fingers clutched the wrist of his hand on her neck, digging her nails into his skin, her back arched and she made clear how intense that orgasm was. Aemond's hips continued, moving violently inside her, deeper and harder each time.

─ Yes... That's it, slut... ─ He whispered, feeling the juices of her orgasm soak the carpet and his pants as he continued thrusting hard into her. The grip on her throat tightened, and he let the full weight of his body fall on hers, burying his face in the strands of her hair spread on the floor as he also came. His lips were glued to her ear, and soft moans escaped his mouth, making her shiver even more. The thrusts slowed down in rhythm, and she felt every drop of his seed fill her.

His breathing was panting, just like hers, both seemed to have run a marathon, their bodies sprawled on the floor, him on top of her, still buried deep inside her, but with his hips now stopped. His fingers did not release her throat, but she no longer cared. Her mind was smoke, she could only focus on the intoxicating sensation of post-orgasm, and remember everything that happened there. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and with her eyes open, she watched on Aemond's face, the most cruelly victorious smile she had ever seen.

─ You're mine... This pussy is mine... Understand? ─ He whispered, his warm breath on her ear, making her shiver. She closed her eyes again, and nodded gently, trying to swallow her own saliva, with his hand pressed on her throat.

─ Good girl... I hope this doesn't happen again... It's me or him. ─ It sounded authoritative, it sounded serious. Part of her wanted to accept the terms, but another part did not. What harm was there in having both? She loved them equally, there was no room for doubt, she had spent time getting to know them, on and off stage, she knew she liked them, and she knew she couldn’t lose either of them.

But she also knew that it would be a tough time trying to convince them of that. She chose not to respond, but Aemond couldn't tell if it was because of exhaustion, or not. So he let it go. In a sweet gesture, he kissed her lips softly, releasing the fingers from her neck and taking them to her cheek, which he caressed gently. It seemed like a good moment, it was romantic, his lips on hers felt right. But... It all ended when...

─ What the fuck is this?! ─ Aegon arrived.

To be continued?

#aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #ewan mitchell #house of the dragon #fanfic #modern #rockstar boyfriend #aegon ii targaryen #tom glynn carney

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fansplaining · 3 months

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It kind of awakened me like a sleeper agent, this interest in history, and in studying history, that I had heretofore never experienced. I mean, my only sort of thing that I can compare to the way that The Terror made me feel, the way that I dove headfirst into the history behind the show, is like when I got into a band and I would go on the Wayback Machine and look at all their old MySpaces and, like, try to find every picture of them from 2004. Except now it’s, like, dead guys from 100 years ago. But it’s the same, my attention was directed in the same way.

— @areyougonnabe on the most recent episode of the podcast, discussing her newly discovered love of polar history and how that led her to organize the hybrid fan-academic conference Terror Camp. Listen to the whole conversation or read a full transcript!

#allegra rosenberg #fandom #the terror #history #terror camp

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staycalmandhugaclone · 4 months

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Ode to Artists Pt 1

Part (1) of Ode to Artists, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Am I well past when I was supposed to finish my Bingo sheet? Yup. Am I still counting this one toward the "Bed" prompt? Also yup. I meant for this to just be a one-parter, but I just can't write those... so it'll be 2 or 3 parts of mostly (emphasis on mostly) fluff before we get into the next whump-tastic arcs I have planned. (Also, after my appointment today, the midwives say I could literally go anytime from tomorrow to 5 weeks from now, soooo if I vanish for a bit... well, you'll know why)

Warnings: This arc will mostly be fluffy stuff, but there will be references to past torture here and there. This one has some flashbacks, profanity, and loads of emotions like guilt, fear, anger, and general angst, as well some brief mention of wanting to die (not SI - with relation to ending torture), and I supposed some dependency

WC: 3,405

Rough Mando'a translation:

hut’uunla chakaaryc - coward and a rotten, low-life, (considered worst possible insult)

When we’re children and we first learn that the sky is endless, when we’re told of the countless lives beyond that stunning blue and the thousands of planets that we’ll never visit; when we’re first taught that the impossibly distant stars who’s lights danced in the darkness of night had died and been reborn long before we’d ever glimpsed them, and we discover just how small we are amidst an existence that would live on unchanged in spite of our hopes and dreams and fears, unmoved by our short lives and inevitable deaths; when we’re children and these harsh truths rob us of that innocent sense of invulnerability and infinite potential innate in the brilliance of youth, there is a wound that is dealt in the wake of that revelation regardless if the words are spoken with unapologetic honesty or gentle wonder, and those wounds may scar or they may fester, but they never fully fade.

I remembered when I learned how big the galaxy was. I didn’t feel that loss then. At the time, I’d felt inspired, enamored by the vast stretches of possibilities I’d never before considered and lightened beneath the new sense of freedom granted by those possibilities, but I felt those scars now.

Used bandages lay forgotten in small piles atop the medbay counter as my eyes stared blindly at the still pink bands encircling my wrists, fingertips just whispering over the newly knit skin. The freshly formed nerves shuddered beneath that delicate touch, unaccustomed, yet, to even gentle sensation. I hadn’t seen the damage wrought by how violently I’d thrashed against those restraints, not until after Comet had done his best to clean and sow them back together, and bacta gel had regrown most of what surely still dirtied a floor already coated with too much blood, but I could imagine it. For the scars to still shine so starkly against the unmarried flesh beside it, I didn’t doubt how near I’d come to severing tendon and exposing bone, and the simple fact that I could remember no sense of pain beyond the panic of drowning held its own morbid wonder.

It was as I stared unseeing at those scars, thoughts coming and going absent a moment’s true consideration, that I felt small. I’d never known fear could cut so deeply, that the body was capable of such terror, and yet I’d suffered beneath it for so long as the worlds around me continued in blissful ignorance. Children played as I screamed. New lovers relished the touch of another as I died. Stars were born as I begged for everything to end, and yet I now stood in the same room of the Marauder that I’d lived in for well over a year. The air still held the stale taste of too many rotations through the recyclers. The engines hummed with that same subtle rumble fading into the ambiance of the occasional beep of an alarm, and beyond the door, if I bothered to listen, I was sure I’d hear Wrecker’s boisterous voice or catch a sharp retort from Crosshair.

Even in that haze of wandering memories, my heart still leapt at the thought of him. He’d refused to let me so much as change my own bandages during the week we’d remained on the Negotiator. What arguments I’d tried to offer failed beneath the gentleness of his touch, the way his eyes hardened and his lithe body curled over mine. It didn’t feel possessive. It felt safe, and that was far too precious to refuse. Between those moments, however, I’d rarely seen him.

Only after noting his absence for several days did I learn that he kept vanishing to the training rooms, seeking anyone foolish enough or brave enough to spar and ensuring what minor injuries he sustained had been tended long before returning to my side. I wanted to talk to him about it but found myself unable to force the question past my lips, too worried that I already knew the answer to risk asking, because what could I say if he was fighting as a means of distracting himself from everything I wasn’t yet willing to speak of? If he felt driven to escape a helplessness I knew too well, a helplessness he only felt because of me? It had been something of a relief to get word of our latest assignment if only to break that routine.

With my wounds now all but healed and the lot of us en route to Alderaan, some semblance of normalcy was finally beginning to return. Friendly bickering again flowed between the brothers, free of that tension that had made my heart twist since Devaron, and no one shot away to hide the instant the medbay door opened or purposefully avoided eye contact if we were in the same room. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. That return to normalcy, however, brought with it a quiet I wished I could appreciate, but the thoughts it granted freedom to were ones that robbed me of breath and left me staggering amidst memories I couldn’t force back.

“Doc?” My attention snapped away from those lingering scars, chest hitching in a small gasp at the suddenness with which that daze fled me. Echo stood barely a handful of steps away, brows draw lightly together above eyes full of the beginnings of worry. I hadn’t noticed the hiss of the door opening or closing, hadn’t heard whatever initial greeting he’d offered as he entered. Had he asked me something? How long had he been speaking before falling silent at the realization that I wasn’t even aware of his presence?

“Sorry, Echo; guess I got a bit lost in thought.” I said softly with a gentle smile that did little to chase the concern from his gaze. “What did you say?” He hesitated a moment, jaw tensing, and I couldn’t help but fear I’d missed something vital in whatever words he’d spoken while my mind had floated absent intent.

“Just… wondered if you’d eaten yet? Figured I’d grab you something since I was headed there anyway.” My heart sank at the offer, certain that had nothing to do with why he’d really come here, but the tentative truce between us was still too delicate to strain beneath blunt questions. I turned my attention back to the counter, using the excuse of gathering the discarded cloth to hide the threat of disappointment from my gaze.

“Probably a good idea.” I sighed despite how unappealing one of those flavorless bars sounded. “I’m finished here, anyway, so I’ll come with you.” A stranger wouldn’t have noticed the tension steal through him, the delay preceding that forced smile. A close friend wouldn’t have hesitated to address them. I noticed and said nothing, caught in the lingering uncertainty of where we stood, terrified that I might push him away again with one poorly chosen word.

“Have you reviewed the mission brief, yet?” He asked, vying for some attempt at nonchalance as we started from the medbay. I nodded, still a bit confused by it. We were making a delivery to the governing body. Given the relatively safe location of the planet, using a squad with the immaculate record Hunter and his brothers boasted made little sense. Echo let out a small chuckle at my expression, and my heart leapt at the sound.

“I think Cody sent us on this one as a bit of a break.” I didn’t fight the look of surprise that drew my attention back to him, though the darkness that followed left me turning away just as quickly. He was babying us because of me… sending us as a glorified delivery service. I wasn’t sure if I was grateful for the reprieve or enraged at how badly I needed just that: a respite from the unending horrors of this nightmare of a war.

“I don’t think he meant it as an insult.” At that, a quick huff escaped me, cheeks warming from how effortlessly he read me.

“I think he meant it as an olive branch more than anything.” I retorted, pleased to glimpse the smirk those words brought to his lips.

“Or an excuse to get Crosshair off his ship as soon as possible.” He mused, voice lowering as he leaned subtly closer to me, and I found myself biting back a string of laughter at his conspiratory tone.

I wasn’t surprised to find Wrecker in the small kitchette as we entered, a few empty wrappers already littering the table with a third already half eaten. His eyes lit up when he saw us.

“Did he tell you?!” The vibrant excitement in his voice was almost enough to make me hesitate, eyes flicking back to Echo for a moment.

“I’m going to guess not yet?” I replied, brow hitching expectantly. The arc didn’t bother even trying to explain before his brother jumped to his feet.

“They got this celebration tomorrow on Alderaan! Tech says they only do it every five years!” He purged the news in a loud, eager rush of glee that I was helpless against, lips instantly drawing up into a broad grin.

“Tomorrow? Are going to make it?” A quiet whisper of fear coiled in my chest, images of too many strange faces milling about overly pretentious floors as music danced through the air, but I refused to grant it purchase in the wake of Wrecker’s delight.

“Yup! Hunter even said we’d have the whole night to see it while the ship gets fueled up!”

“It’s outside,” Echo added softly, and I couldn’t quite meet his gaze despite how my body automatically shifted toward him, too aware of what prompted him to offer the gentle reassurance. “Up in the mountains.” Alderaan’s snowy peaks were renowned for their timeless beauty, and the knowledge that we wouldn’t be confined to some inescapable prison veiled in the guise of splendor and finery proved the perfect balm to the quickening of my heartbeat.

“We’ll have to bundle you up with a couple extra layers.” I didn’t doubt that he heard the gratitude warming my words as I finally found the strength to look at him, and the kindness in those eyes shown untainted by the distance that still haunted us.

“Pretty sure I’ll be thawing out the whole trip back regardless how many sets of blacks I put on.” He grumbled, but there was no heat to the complaint. I offered a sympathetic smile and bumped my shoulder lightly against his chest before treading further into the small room to retrieve some rations for us.

“Did Tech mention what all we might expect at this event?” I knew Wrecker would have seen through the subtleties of how Echo eased that fear from me; knew he’d likely understood the instant my gaze first turned away from him, just as I knew he understood the true reason behind my question, and I loved him for how readily he answered my unspoken plea for a distraction as he raptly described what he remembered of Tech’s earlier explanation: of the group of artists that had lived and died centuries prior, but who’s works of Alderaan’s beauty became so renowned throughout the galaxy as to alter the very fate of the planet, inspiring countless others to seek out those natural landscapes to witness that beauty for themselves. He spoke of the promise of endless venders offering unique food and drink and all manner of goods, and he drew no attention to why I sat so quietly beside him, why I failed to respond with my usual glee to his animated retelling, but he was not silent in the face of my stillness, powerful body shifting ever so subtly about mine, hand gentle in every brief touch that somehow never lasted too long, and I couldn’t bring myself to feel anything but relief at his unspoken offer for a comfort that was so soft as to barely be noticeably beyond the unwavering sense of safety it granted me.

It was late. Offensively late. The medbay lay illuminated in the faint glow of a monitor I hadn’t been able to bring myself to turn off, knowing what darkness awaited me the instant I flicked that switch, what terrors lingered in the shadows vying for any excuse to strike. Crosshair had said nothing about it as he shifted atop my bed, groggily holding the blanket open with feigned impatience, but I couldn’t dismiss that flare of shame at yielding to that fear. The instant I settled into him, however, the warmth that enveloped me as he fit himself perfectly around my too tense form and let out that deep, quiet sigh of contentment robbed me of all thought beyond the feeling of his chest dancing with unhurried breaths against my back, the strength of his arms holding me with a covetous need, and I’d found myself drifting into a far kinder sleep that I had any right to hope for.

I loathed the unknown disturbance drawing me from that gentle slumber, jaw tensing beneath an attempt at denial that I might simply ignore whatever it was and slip back into that blessed nothingness. Crosshair lay perfectly limp against me, face tucked into my hair with that precious stillness of sleep. Resigned to a late-night visit to the privy, I reluctantly tried to slip away from him, laughter threatening to bubble past pursed lips at the tiny groan that escaped him as his arms tightened petulantly around me, but he showed no signs of waking as I finally managed to detangle myself from his embrace.

Footsteps as near to silent as I could manage, I tread carefully down the hall, tiptoeing past the bunkroom, though only Wrecker and Echo lay within, both far too lost to their own blissful sleep to note my movements. It wasn’t until I’d nearly reached the privy door that something on the very edge of perception left my blood running cold. I couldn’t say what it was, not yet, but my body seemed drawn toward it, wide eyes locked on the fore of the ship as my legs carried me forward despite the sudden urge to flee.

Even after some recognition began to note the sound of broken gasps amidst free-flowing water, I couldn’t bring myself to stop. There was a haunted sense of familiarity in the way I watched myself move through the ship; in the automated motions I didn’t have the presence of mind to even try to stop.

“…severe forms of torture.” There was a weight to that normally clinical voice; a dread that even he couldn’t fully suppress.

“Tech.” Hunter’s hushed voice barely registered as he turned sharply to face me, but I couldn’t focus on him. I hadn’t even noticed myself climb down the ladder into the cockpit.

“Who ordered the hit?!” I don’t remember when that man’s voice had filled with such anger.

“It’s rare for anyone to endure longer than a couple minutes… what she went through”

“Tech!” Hunter barked, finally ripping his brother’s attention from the audio clip. I didn’t see the look in his eyes as he followed Hunter’s gaze toward me.

“Just tell me who planted the kriffing bomb!”

“I don’t know!” It didn’t sound like my voice. It was enraged and terrified and ruined by hours of screaming. Hunter’s hand flared toward Tech, but he sat frozen – caught – as I approached on strides faltering beneath the tremble just beginning to steal through me.

“That’s krayt spit, and you kriffing know it! Who ordered the hit?!” Part of me wanted to be impressed at how clear the recording was, mind eager to detach from the rush of liquid that followed my every response, the way my lungs panicked and burned with the afterimage of that agony.

“Just kill me, you hut’uunla chakaaryc!” I’d heard Warthog say that once… even Wolffe had been taken aback, and only Sinker would tell me what it meant when I’d asked. That man surely had no idea what I’d called him, but the violent slap that tore from the speakers followed by the seemingly endless flood of water and desperate coughs left no uncertainty that he’d fathomed a guess.

“…Doc.” My hand was reaching out, senses dulled to all but the echoes of my nightmares screaming with such haunting clarity from the speakers, deaf to Hunter’s quiet call.

“Who was behind the attack?!”

“I don’t know!!” That voice was sobbing and screaming and so utterly broken.

My fingertips barely brushed the console before the recording stopped, but I could still hear it… the gush of water… I could feel it’s chill tear the warmth from my flesh; felt it flooding my mouth and nose… and I felt that undeniable, visceral fear of death creeping through me.

Hunter shifted hesitantly toward me, but I merely shook my head. The movement was so slight, I barely felt it, but it instantly left him frozen, shoulders sinking beneath emotions I was still far too raw to try to name.

Without a word, I stepped away from them, away from whatever apologies or questions or murmured reassurances might be festering atop their tongues, my eyes still staring blindly at the endless buttons and switches decorating the console, and when I turned away, when I began to leave in the same silence in which I’d arrived, neither could bring themselves to try calling out again.

Any other night, I would have cringed at the thought of waking him. I would have strained myself to slip back into his embrace as carefully as possible, breath held in my chest until I was sure my intrusion hadn’t robbed him of that empty sleep, but I could spare little thought toward such things. He was warm. And he was safe. And I didn’t bother to even slide beneath the blanket before pressing myself against him.

Crosshair’s torso swelled with a sharp inhale, brows drawing together with some mixture of annoyance and confusion, but then he went still. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, body curling into his as though I might hide from the memories still raging through my mind. He studied me for mere seconds before shifting in careful, unhurried movements, one arm slipping beneath me to wrap around my shoulders while he brought his other hand up to just whisper against my cheek, the unspoken question clear in that tender gesture.

Again, I felt my head give the slightest shake, unable to offer anything more. His thumb trailed the ridge of my cheekbone, touch featherlight, before letting his hand brush gently through my hair to rest against the back of my neck, holding me with just enough force for me to feel his strength, and a shuttered exhale escaped me that left us both clinging just that much harder to each other.

He didn’t speak throughout the night, but the occasional dance of his fingers or touch of his lips in something too gentle to be called a kiss reassured me that he was still awake, still holding me until that tension began to slip away. I don’t know how long we laid there, letting the minutes and hours pass in that perfect quiet, but when I finally heard the steady thrum of his heartbeat over those horrid screams, I wanted to sob. I wanted to shout beneath the disdain I felt toward myself and the apologies I didn’t have the strength to voice. I wanted to tell him that he could leave; that I wouldn’t blame him for needing to separate himself from the mess I’d become, but I couldn’t stop my grasp from tightening around his shirt at the very thought, and when he responded without hesitation, when his arms nearly crushed me against him, I abandoned even the memory of fear that he’d want me to grant him that escape.

In the morning, I’d thank him. In the morning, I’d try to offer some manner of an explanation that he was long past due, but for what few hours still remained in that façade of night that meant nothing in the emptiness of space, I let myself give in to the simple need for his presence and the quiet it granted me. I let myself be weak that I might find solace in his strength, and I let myself love him with every atom of my being for the selflessness of his comfort.

Next Chapter

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bts-0t-7 · 6 months

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So What? | MYG | Chapter 5

Pair: Hybrid Cat Yoongi x F Reader

Summary: Running from a past that foreshadows him, Yoongi is adamant about ever turning back to his human counterpart form, in hopes that nobody would recognise him and take him away. You worked at a cafe with your best friend. As a more-than-normal day seemed to go by, you discovered something amidst your housing block. Perhaps - just perhaps, the nighttime is where the angels arrive.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid, non-idol au

Warnings: Contains explicit language, abuse

WC: 2.4K

Taglist: @bearr02 @svnbangtansworld @vintageoldfashion @rkivemaar @codeinebelle @bontensbabygirl

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Yoongi had been holding back tears the moment they had discharged him. He had a trackable band placed on his wrist as officers guided him out of the hospital, gaining many stares from people around. He bowed his head, letting his hair cover his face, uncomfortable at so many people looking at him.

He didn’t want the attention nor did he ask for the attention. The officers led him to a black SUV with tinted windows, urging him in. He buckled himself in as they drove off. He didn’t know where they were bringing him and he didn’t want to know either.

He looked out of the windows at the passing trees and buildings, tears streaming down his face as he hastily wiped them away. The car ride was silent throughout. The officers were alert and ready, making him feel stiff. He missed you. He really did and all he wants to do is run into your arms and stay there forever. But he understands why you don’t ever want him again.

He lied, cheated, and betrayed you. Of course, you wouldn’t want a bad kitty.

More tears fell from Yoongi’s eyes and he sniffed. Breathing in a deep breath, he controlled himself as best as he could. He hated crying in front of people - especially strangers. But it was only until the officers pulled up that Yoongi was, too, pulled out of his blank state of mind. Yoongi observed that he was in your neighbourhood, more specifically directly outside your apartment building. The officers opened the door and led him out.

“Come on, you’re going home.”

Yoongi drew in a shaky breath. Maybe one of the people who unknowingly bought him coincidentally stays in the same apartment block as you. They went up the lift, to the same level, walking to the same opened door where he saw -

You.

No, no… That can’t be right. Y/N doesn’t want a bad kitty.

“Can you take over from here, Miss Y/N?” An officer questioned and you nodded.

Really? Wait - No, no.

“Alright buddy, we’ll be the transport system for the both of you to the medical checks.” The officer patted his shoulder. “See you soon. Get well.”

They left, leaving him standing there, in front of you and your opened gate. His nose twitched at the lingering smell of paint and dust wood.

Did you renovate the house while he was away?

His ears twitched at the sound of you clearing your throat and turned to you. Your hands fiddled with each other, a nervous tick he knew surfaced when you were anxious.

"Erm," Your eyes darted, looking everywhere but him.

"Hello." He started, hoping that you wouldn’t shut down his attempt to make things… Less awkward.

"Yes… Ah, hello Yoongi." You led the way into your house. "I hope your room is okay for you. I don't know what colours you like but I hope that the green doesn't throw you off."

The both of you entered a room that he was at least seventy percent sure was originally the guest room. The newly painted monochromatic walls, the fresh sheets of linen, the new and old furniture. But most of all, the black cat stuffy caught his eye the moment they walked in. It was placed on the left end of the bed, in a lying position.

Yoongi looked around in wonder. “Are - Am I - Can I really stay here?” He turned to look at you. “You want me?”

You nodded at him with a soft smile gracing your lips. “Of course, I want you, kitty. What do you even mean?” You went over to the curtains, seemingly distracting yourself. “I told you that whatever the circumstances, you’ll always be mine as I am yours.”

You stuck out your hand for him. “So what do you say, Yoongi? Would you like to continue to live with me?”

Yoongi nodded frantically, shoving his head into your hands. Your laugh is the most melodic thing he heard in his life.

“Then may I,” Yoongi walked over to the bedside. “Take this too?”

You nodded at him. “Of course, everything here is yours. They’re all yours.”

He walked over and picked up the stuffy by its paw and brought it to his nose, scenting it like he would with any of his belongings. He was happy, really, really happy and he hoped that this time, the happiness would last.

Since you had found out that Yoongi was a hybrid, you had changed many rules around the house - for one, no more kibbles, only proper human-sized meals from now on; two, no more sleeping on the same bed. The second one had caused a bit of spark in his eyes, lips protruding out into a pout.

“But - but why? I promise I won’t take up so much of the bed.”

You shook your head, standing firm. Although you would admit that the bed now felt empty since missing a fluffy bed buddy, Yoongi needed to understand the boundaries. “Yoongi, no. You are a hybrid, not a cat. I can’t just let you sleep in my bed, come into the room whenever you want anymore. There are boundaries.”

“But we never had such issues last time!”

You sighed. “That was because I didn’t know that you were a hybrid.”

And oh god, you didn’t want to know how many times and exactly what he has seen and heard by just being in your room. His presence is now an awkward one, all the thoughts of so many possibilities.

His pout stayed permanent on his lips as he trudged back to his room, realising that you weren’t going to budge with the rules.

You sighed, turned your back to the door and closed it. You had work tomorrow and whether or not you wanted to stay up arguing about this topic, you still needed sleep. You trudged over to your bed and flopped face-first, groaning at the cold that encased you. Sleep lingered at the edge of your consciousness when you felt a small dip on the bed, eyes too heavy to open and brain too murky to fully register that there was someone else on your bed.

You woke up to the blaring sound of your alarm at your bedside table, groaning to turn it off. You started to fuss when your hair stuck to your face and neck, the sheets that were tangled between your legs felt too warm. Subconsciously, you felt an impending child-like tantrum coming and your morning mood soured almost instantly.

As you continued to fuss and kick off the sheets, you felt a cool wet towel placed on your neck, lifting you up and cleaning your face. The action continued a few times before the towel got warm and the presence disappeared only to come back again a few minutes later.

Slowly, you felt cooler and started to gain more consciousness. It is then did you realise that somebody was standing at your bedside, wiping you down. Your eyes snapped open, tiredness fleeting in a second. You were about to grab your phone from the bedside table when a gentle hand shot out, holding your wrist.

Not that it helped to calm the anxiousness.

You panicked even more. Your mouth opened to scream bloody murder when two hands cupped your face, bringing them to meet the eyes of your - Oh, it’s Yoongi.

You sagged back onto your bed but shot back up, almost hitting your heads together if it wasn’t for Yoongi’s fast reactive movements.

“Oh shit.” Your voice was hoarse. “Work.”

Yoongi's hands came to your shoulders. "No work." He shook his head. "Not when you are in this state."

You didn't understand what he meant. "I'm fine, Yoongi. I'm just a bit more tired than usual. I'll sleep earlier tonight."

"No." Yoongi grabbed you harder. "Y/N, look at you. You're running a high fever."

You touched your forehead. True enough, you felt groggy and overall just really shitty. But you never really thought you were running a fever.

"You can't go to work in this state."

A cough-sneeze wrecked through your body just as he finished the sentence.

Point taken.

Definitely can't go to work. You grabbed tissue from your shelves and blew your nose, throwing the germ-infested thing away. You tucked yourself back under your sheets and wallowed in your self-pity. But you soon realised that Yoongi - your precious hybrid - can't stay here.

You shot out of bed for the third time that morning, grabbing your phone by the bedside table and calling one of your friends.

"'Sup, Y/N. How can I help you today, madam?" The caller's all too cheery voice hurts your head.

"Hoba," You croaked out. "Hoba, I need a favour from you."

You heard rustling from the other side of the line. "Shit, Y/N, are you sick?"

You nodded, forgetting that you were on a call.

"Y/N."

"Oh, sorry. Yes, yes. I'm down with…" You measured your temperature. "Well, shit. 39.6°C."

You heard a bang and then a muffled 'Fuck!'.

"Okay, okay. I'm coming over."

You groaned. "Hoba, wait… no."

"No?"

"No, I need you to come and take Yoongi."

You could physically see the scrunch of his eyebrows. "Yoongi?"

"Yeah." You nodded. "I can take care of myself. I'm fine. Come and take him. I don't want him catching my cold - or whatever sickness I have."

"Erm… I’m not sureyou can but, Y/N, who's Yoongi?"

Oh. In the haste and activities of the weeks, You forgot to tell your friends about your newfound friend.

"Yoongi? Oh, yeah. Yoongi is a hybrid." Your words started to slur. You were starting to feel groggy.

"Okay, I'll come get him but you have a lot to tell me once you recover. I'll be there in fifteen." Hoseok ended the call there.

"Y/N?" Yoongi's voice floated in from the washroom.

"Yoongiii." You made grabby hands and he walked over to you. You tend to get quite clingy when you are sick.

Yoongi made his way over to the bed. You bunched your hands in his shirt, nuzzling your face into his hands. “You’re gonna go stay with Hobi. He’ll take good care of you, I swear. If you want anything, just tell him.”

“So I heard, but I wanna stay here. You need help.”

You shook your head. “I’ll have somebody else help me. I don’t want you to get my illness.”

“But - but…” Tears start glossing over his eyes.

“Yoongi, I’m fine. I swear. I’ll be okay. Go with Hobi, okay?”

Yoongi’s mouth trembled but his resolve suddenly hardened. “No.”

You looked up. “Yoongi, please.”

He shook his head. “No. I’ll stay and take care of you.”

“Yoongi, I swear you’ll go even if it means making Hobi drag you out of the house.” You fluffed his hair. “I’ll be fine in a few days. I’m not dying, just sicker than usual.”

“But who’s gonna help you?” Tears started pooling in his eyes.

Oh no, no, no. If he actually burst into tears, you might consider letting him stay.

You groaned. “Yoongi, please, no. Don’t cry, please. Oh god.” You sighed. “I’ll have Seokjinnie come over. He’s good at cooking.”

Just who was this Seokjinnie?

Seokjinnie. Seokjinnie.

Yoongi humphed in the front seat of the car. He can’t believe Y/N would actually have her friend pull him out of the house. Currently swaddled in the blanket Y/N bought him and his cat toy beside him - a surprisingly accurate identical - he was on the way to god knows where.

He humphed and further slinked between the folds of the blanket, attempting to become as small as he could with the very prominent presence of the stranger driving beside him, making the air uncomfortable. Yoongi doesn’t like to leave the warmth of his comfort space.

“So,” Her friend spoke, startling a hiss out of Yoongi. Y/N’s friend gave him a side glance, before continuing, “So, you’re Yoongi. Sorry if I fail to understand the context of the situation here, but Y/N hasn’t told any of us about you. And, I have a… hybrid at home so excuse her… Ah, excitement.”

Y/N’s friend pulled up into a driveway and exited.

Wait, is he leaving now?

The door at Yoongi’s seat was opened and he was immediately scooped into a pair of strong arms. That set of arms did not take his toy. Yoongi hissed and pawed, claws coming free as he struggled to get his toy.

“Okay! Okay, I get it! Goodness, what a temperamental hybrid Y/N’s has.” Her friend stuck his hand back into his car and picked out his cat toy. “Here ya’ go.”

Yoongi’s ears twitched as he heard a set of keys being thrown before her friend started walking into the big, luxurious building. Yoongi peeked his head out to sniff the air, immediately retreating back into the safety of the blankets.

“Sorry, it’ll take a while to get used to it. Zurie doesn’t like the strong smell either.” Her friend picked up his pace. “I promise it’s better at home.”

Home.

A home is a place where one feels safe. Yoongi doesn’t feel safe here so home isn’t here. Home is a good fifteen minutes away.

“I’m Hoseok.” Y/N’s friend finally introduced himself. “I’m sure Y/N told you about me, but it’s better if I say ‘hi’ myself, right?”

They entered a lift and Y/N’s friend - Hoesok - scanned a card, pressing the button of the highest level, the penthouse. He must be really rich then.

Nearing the floor, Yoongi could smell a stronger, more distinct scent of the hybrid that had clung to Hoseok’s clothes. Zurie, he called her. Yoongi wasn’t sure how he would fare with an energetic hybrid. He liked his sleep undisturbed and the house silent. It allows him to curl into a dark spot and rest. With an energetic owner and a probably equally energetic hybrid, Yoongi would rather catch whatever sickness you have than stay.

Yoongi wiggled out of Hoseok’s hold, pulling along his blanket and grabbing his stuffie. Just as the elevator door opened, a blur of molecules passed him, crashing into the man behind. Yoongi didn’t need to turn to know who and what that hybrid was doing. He sprinted under the furthest edge of the sofa, nesting his belongings against the wall.

At least the floors were carpeted.

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dailyanarchistposts · 25 days

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Chapter 5: Mutual Aid in the Mediæval City

Growth of authority in Barbarian Society. — Serfdom in the villages. — Revolt of fortified towns: their liberation; their charts. — The guild. — Double origin of the free mediæval city. — Self-jurisdiction, self-administration. — Honourable position of labour. — Trade by the guild and by the city.

Sociability and need of mutual aid and support are such inherent parts of human nature that at no time of history can we discover men living in small isolated families, fighting each other for the means of subsistence. On the contrary, modern research, as we saw it in the two preceding chapters, proves that since the very beginning of their prehistoric life men used to agglomerate into gentes, clans, or tribes, maintained by an idea of common descent and by worship of common ancestors. For thousands and thousands of years this organization has kept men together, even though there was no authority whatever to impose it. It has deeply impressed all subsequent development of mankind; and when the bonds of common descent had been loosened by migrations on a grand scale, while the development of the separated family within the clan itself had destroyed the old unity of the clan, a new form of union, territorial in its principle — the village community — was called into existence by the social genius of man. This institution, again, kept men together for a number of centuries, permitting them to further develop their social institutions and to pass through some of the darkest periods of history, without being dissolved into loose aggregations of families and individuals, to make a further step in their evolution, and to work out a number of secondary social institutions, several of which have survived down to the present time. We have now to follow the further developments of the same ever-living tendency for mutual aid. Taking the village communities of the so-called barbarians at a time when they were making a new start of civilization after the fall of the Roman Empire, we have to study the new aspects taken by the sociable wants of the masses in the middle ages, and especially in the mediæval guilds and the mediæval city.

Far from being the fighting animals they have often been compared to, the barbarians of the first centuries of our era (like so many Mongolians, Africans, Arabs, and so on, who still continue in the same barbarian stage) invariably preferred peace to war. With the exception of a few tribes which had been driven during the great migrations into unproductive deserts or highlands, and were thus compelled periodically to prey upon their better-favoured neighbours — apart from these, the great bulk of the Teutons, the Saxons, the Celts, the Slavonians, and so on, very soon after they had settled in their newly-conquered abodes, reverted to the spade or to their herds. The earliest barbarian codes already represent to us societies composed of peaceful agricultural communities, not hordes of men at war with each other. These barbarians covered the country with villages and farmhouses;[156] they cleared the forests, bridged the torrents, and colonized the formerly quite uninhabited wilderness; and they left the uncertain warlike pursuits to brotherhoods, scholæ, or “trusts” of unruly men, gathered round temporary chieftains, who wandered about, offering their adventurous spirit, their arms, and their knowledge of warfare for the protection of populations, only too anxious to be left in peace. The warrior bands came and went, prosecuting their family feuds; but the great mass continued to till the soil, taking but little notice of their would-be rulers, so long as they did not interfere with the independence of their village communities.[157] The new occupiers of Europe evolved the systems of land tenure and soil culture which are still in force with hundreds of millions of men; they worked out their systems of compensation for wrongs, instead of the old tribal blood-revenge; they learned the first rudiments of industry; and while they fortified their villages with palisaded walls, or erected towers and earthen forts whereto to repair in case of a new invasion, they soon abandoned the task of defending these towers and forts to those who made of war a speciality.

The very peacefulness of the barbarians, certainly not their supposed warlike instincts, thus became the source of their subsequent subjection to the military chieftains. It is evident that the very mode of life of the armed brotherhoods offered them more facilities for enrichment than the tillers of the soil could find in their agricultural communities. Even now we see that armed men occasionally come together to shoot down Matabeles and to rob them of their droves of cattle, though the Matabeles only want peace and are ready to buy it at a high price. The scholæ of old certainly were not more scrupulous than the scholæ of our own time. Droves of cattle, iron (which was extremely costly at that time[158]), and slaves were appropriated in this way; and although most acquisitions were wasted on the spot in those glorious feasts of which epic poetry has so much to say — still some part of the robbed riches was used for further enrichment. There was plenty of waste land, and no lack of men ready to till it, if only they could obtain the necessary cattle and implements. Whole villages, ruined by murrains, pests, fires, or raids of new immigrants, were often abandoned by their inhabitants, who went anywhere in search of new abodes. They still do so in Russia in similar circumstances. And if one of the hirdmen of the armed brotherhoods offered the peasants some cattle for a fresh start, some iron to make a plough, if not the plough itself, his protection from further raids, and a number of years free from all obligations, before they should begin to repay the contracted debt, they settled upon the land. And when, after a hard fight with bad crops, inundations and pestilences, those pioneers began to repay their debts, they fell into servile obligations towards the protector of the territory. Wealth undoubtedly did accumulate in this way, and power always follows wealth.[159] And yet, the more we penetrate into the life of those times, the sixth and seventh centuries of our era, the more we see that another element, besides wealth and military force, was required to constitute the authority of the few. It was an element of law and right, a desire of the masses to maintain peace, and to establish what they considered to be justice, which gave to the chieftains of the scholæ — kings, dukes, knyazes, and the like — the force they acquired two or three hundred years later. That same idea of justice, conceived as an adequate revenge for the wrong done, which had grown in the tribal stage, now passed as a red thread through the history of subsequent institutions, and, much more even than military or economic causes, it became the basis upon which the authority of the kings and the feudal lords was founded.

In fact, one of the chief preoccupations of the barbarian village community always was, as it still is with our barbarian contemporaries, to put a speedy end to the feuds which arose from the then current conception of justice. When a quarrel took place, the community at once interfered, and after the folkmote had heard the case, it settled the amount of composition (wergeld) to be paid to the wronged person, or to his family, as well as the fred, or fine for breach of peace, which had to be paid to the community. Interior quarrels were easily appeased in this way. But when feuds broke out between two different tribes, or two confederations of tribes, notwithstanding all measures taken to prevent them,[160] the difficulty was to find an arbiter or sentence-finder whose decision should be accepted by both parties alike, both for his impartiality and for his knowledge of the oldest law. The difficulty was the greater as the customary laws of different tribes and confederations were at variance as to the compensation due in different cases. It therefore became habitual to take the sentence-finder from among such families, or such tribes, as were reputed for keeping the law of old in its purity; of being versed in the songs, triads, sagas, etc., by means of which law was perpetuated in memory; and to retain law in this way became a sort of art, a “mystery,” carefully transmitted in certain families from generation to generation. Thus in Iceland, and in other Scandinavian lands, at every Allthing, or national folkmote, a lövsögmathr used to recite the whole law from memory for the enlightening of the assembly; and in Ireland there was, as is known, a special class of men reputed for the knowledge of the old traditions, and therefore enjoying a great authority as judges.[161] Again, when we are told by the Russian annals that some stems of North-West Russia, moved by the growing disorder which resulted from “clans rising against clans,” appealed to Norman varingiar to be their judges and commanders of warrior scholæ; and when we see the knyazes, or dukes, elected for the next two hundred years always from the same Norman family, we cannot but recognize that the Slavonians trusted to the Normans for a better knowledge of the law which would be equally recognized as good by different Slavonian kins. In this case the possession of runes, used for the transmission of old customs, was a decided advantage in favour of the Normans; but in other cases there are faint indications that the “eldest” branch of the stem, the supposed motherbranch, was appealed to to supply the judges, and its decisions were relied upon as just;[162] while at a later epoch we see a distinct tendency towards taking the sentence-finders from the Christian clergy, which, at that time, kept still to the fundamental, now forgotten, principle of Christianity, that retaliation is no act of justice. At that time the Christian clergy opened the churches as places of asylum for those who fled from blood revenge, and they willingly acted as arbiters in criminal cases, always opposing the old tribal principle of life for life and wound for wound. In short, the deeper we penetrate into the history of early institutions, the less we find grounds for the military theory of origin of authority. Even that power which later on became such a source of oppression seems, on the contrary, to have found its origin in the peaceful inclinations of the masses.

In all these cases the fred, which often amounted to half the compensation, went to the folkmote, and from times immemorial it used to be applied to works of common utility and defence. It has still the same destination (the erection of towers) among the Kabyles and certain Mongolian stems; and we have direct evidence that even several centuries later the judicial fines, in Pskov and several French and German cities, continued to be used for the repair of the city walls.[163] It was thus quite natural that the fines should be handed over to the sentence-finder, who was bound, in return, both to maintain the schola of armed men to whom the defence of the territory was trusted, and to execute the sentences. This became a universal custom in the eighth and ninth centuries, even when the sentence-finder was an elected bishop. The germ of a combination of what we should now call the judicial power and the executive thus made its appearance. But to these two functions the attributions of the duke or king were strictly limited. He was no ruler of the people — the supreme power still belonging to the folkmote — not even a commander of the popular militia; when the folk took to arms, it marched under a separate, also elected, commander, who was not a subordinate, but an equal to the king.[164] The king was a lord on his personal domain only. In fact, in barbarian language, the word konung, koning, or cyning synonymous with the Latin rex, had no other meaning than that of a temporary leader or chieftain of a band of men. The commander of a flotilla of boats, or even of a single pirate boat, was also a konung, and till the present day the commander of fishing in Norway is named Not-kong — “the king of the nets.”[165] The veneration attached later on to the personality of a king did not yet exist, and while treason to the kin was punished by death, the slaying of a king could be recouped by the payment of compensation: a king simply was valued so much more than a freeman.[166] And when King Knu (or Canute) had killed one man of his own schola, the saga represents him convoking his comrades to a thing where he stood on his knees imploring pardon. He was pardoned, but not till he had agreed to pay nine times the regular composition, of which one-third went to himself for the loss of one of his men, one-third to the relatives of the slain man, and one-third (the fred) to the schola.[167] In reality, a complete change had to be accomplished in the current conceptions, under the double influence of the Church and the students of Roman law, before an idea of sanctity began to be attached to the personality of the king.

However, it lies beyond the scope of these essays to follow the gradual development of authority out of the elements just indicated. Historians, such as Mr. and Mrs. Green for this country, Augustin Thierry, Michelet, and Luchaire for France, Kaufmann, Janssen, W. Arnold, and even Nitzsch, for Germany, Leo and Botta for Italy, Byelaeff, Kostomaroff, and their followers for Russia, and many others, have fully told that tale. They have shown how populations, once free, and simply agreeing “to feed” a certain portion of their military defenders, gradually became the serfs of these protectors; how “commendation” to the Church, or to a lord, became a hard necessity for the freeman; how each lord’s and bishop’s castle became a robber’s nest — how feudalism was imposed, in a word — and how the crusades, by freeing the serfs who wore the cross, gave the first impulse to popular emancipation. All this need not be retold in this place, our chief aim being to follow the constructive genius of the masses in their mutual-aid institutions.

At a time when the last vestiges of barbarian freedom seemed to disappear, and Europe, fallen under the dominion of thousands of petty rulers, was marching towards the constitution of such theocracies and despotic States as had followed the barbarian stage during the previous starts of civilization, or of barbarian monarchies, such as we see now in Africa, life in Europe took another direction. It went on on lines similar to those it had once taken in the cities of antique Greece. With a unanimity which seems almost incomprehensible, and for a long time was not understood by historians, the urban agglomerations, down to the smallest burgs, began to shake off the yoke of their worldly and clerical lords. The fortified village rose against the lord’s castle, defied it first, attacked it next, and finally destroyed it. The movement spread from spot to spot, involving every town on the surface of Europe, and in less than a hundred years free cities had been called into existence on the coasts of the Mediterranean, the North Sea, the Baltic, the Atlantic Ocean, down to the fjords of Scandinavia; at the feet of the Apennines, the Alps, the Black Forest, the Grampians, and the Carpathians; in the plains of Russia, Hungary, France and Spain. Everywhere the same revolt took place, with the same features, passing through the same phases, leading to the same results. Wherever men had found, or expected to find, some protection behind their town walls, they instituted their “co-jurations,” their “fraternities,” their “friendships,” united in one common idea, and boldly marching towards a new life of mutual support and liberty. And they succeeded so well that in three or four hundred years they had changed the very face of Europe. They had covered the country with beautiful sumptuous buildings, expressing the genius of free unions of free men, unrivalled since for their beauty and expressiveness; and they bequeathed to the following generations all the arts, all the industries, of which our present civilization, with all its achievements and promises for the future, is only a further development. And when we now look to the forces which have produced these grand results, we find them — not in the genius of individual heroes, not in the mighty organization of huge States or the political capacities of their rulers, but in the very same current of mutual aid and support which we saw at work in the village community, and which was vivified and reinforced in the Middle Ages by a new form of unions, inspired by the very same spirit but shaped on a new model — the guilds.

It is well known by this time that feudalism did not imply a dissolution of the village community. Although the lord had succeeded in imposing servile labour upon the peasants, and had appropriated for himself such rights as were formerly vested in the village community alone (taxes, mortmain, duties on inheritances and marriages), the peasants had, nevertheless, maintained the two fundamental rights of their communities: the common possession of the land, and self-jurisdiction. In olden times, when a king sent his vogt to a village, the peasants received him with flowers in one hand and arms in the other, and asked him — which law he intended to apply: the one he found in the village, or the one he brought with him? And, in the first case, they handed him the flowers and accepted him; while in the second case they fought him.[168] Now, they accepted the king’s or the lord’s official whom they could not refuse; but they maintained the folkmote’s jurisdiction, and themselves nominated six, seven, or twelve judges, who acted with the lord’s judge, in the presence of the folkmote, as arbiters and sentence-finders. In most cases the official had nothing left to him but to confirm the sentence and to levy the customary fred. This precious right of self-jurisdiction, which, at that time, meant self-administration and self-legislation, had been maintained through all the struggles; and even the lawyers by whom Karl the Great was surrounded could not abolish it; they were bound to confirm it. At the same time, in all matters concerning the community’s domain, the folkmote retained its supremacy and (as shown by Maurer) often claimed submission from the lord himself in land tenure matters. No growth of feudalism could break this resistance; the village community kept its ground; and when, in the ninth and tenth centuries, the invasions of the Normans, the Arabs, and the Ugrians had demonstrated that military scholæ were of little value for protecting the land, a general movement began all over Europe for fortifying the villages with stone walls and citadels. Thousands of fortified centres were then built by the energies of the village communities; and, once they had built their walls, once a common interest had been created in this new sanctuary — the town walls — they soon understood that they could henceforward resist the encroachments of the inner enemies, the lords, as well as the invasions of foreigners. A new life of freedom began to develop within the fortified enclosures. The mediæval city was born.[169]

No period of history could better illustrate the constructive powers of the popular masses than the tenth and eleventh centuries, when the fortified villages and market-places, representing so many “oases amidst the feudal forest,” began to free themselves from their lord’s yoke, and slowly elaborated the future city organization; but, unhappily, this is a period about which historical information is especially scarce: we know the results, but little has reached us about the means by which they were achieved. Under the protection of their walls the cities’ folkmotes — either quite independent, or led by the chief noble or merchant families — conquered and maintained the right of electing the military defensor and supreme judge of the town, or at least of choosing between those who pretended to occupy this position. In Italy the young communes were continually sending away their defensors or domini, fighting those who refused to go. The same went on in the East. In Bohemia, rich and poor alike (Bohemicae gentis magni et parvi, nobiles et ignobiles) took part in the election;[170] while, the vyeches (folkmotes) of the Russian cities regularly elected their dukes — always from the same Rurik family — covenanted with them, and sent the knyaz away if he had provoked discontent.[171] At the same time in most cities of Western and Southern Europe, the tendency was to take for defensor a bishop whom the city had elected itself; and so many bishops took the lead in protecting the “immunities” of the towns and in defending their liberties, that numbers of them were considered, after their death, as saints and special patrons of different cities. St. Uthelred of Winchester, St. Ulrik of Augsburg, St. Wolfgang of Ratisbon, St. Heribert of Cologne, St. Adalbert of Prague, and so on, as well as many abbots and monks, became so many cities’ saints for having acted in defence of popular rights.[172] And under the new defensors, whether laic or clerical, the citizens conquered full self-jurisdiction and self-administration for their folkmotes.[173]

The whole process of liberation progressed by a series of imperceptible acts of devotion to the common cause, accomplished by men who came out of the masses — by unknown heroes whose very names have not been preserved by history. The wonderful movement of the God’s peace (treuga Dei) by which the popular masses endeavoured to put a limit to the endless family feuds of the noble families, was born in the young towns, the bishops and the citizens trying to extend to the nobles the peace they had established within their town walls.[174] Already at that period, the commercial cities of Italy, and especially Amalfi (which had its elected consuls since 844, and frequently changed its doges in the tenth century)[175] worked out the customary maritime and commercial law which later on became a model for all Europe; Ravenna elaborated its craft organization, and Milan, which had made its first revolution in 980, became a great centre of commerce, its trades enjoying a full independence since the eleventh century.[176] So also Brügge and Ghent; so also several cities of France in which the Mahl or forum had become a quite independent institution.[177] And already during that period began the work of artistic decoration of the towns by works of architecture, which we still admire and which loudly testify of the intellectual movement of the times. “The basilicae were then renewed in almost all the universe,” Raoul Glaber wrote in his chronicle, and some of the finest monuments of mediæval architecture date from that period: the wonderful old church of Bremen was built in the ninth century, Saint Marc of Venice was finished in 1071, and the beautiful dome of Pisa in 1063. In fact, the intellectual movement which has been described as the Twelfth Century Renaissance[178] and the Twelfth Century Rationalism — the precursor of the Reform[179] date from that period, when most cities were still simple agglomerations of small village communities enclosed by walls.

However, another element, besides the village-community principle, was required to give to these growing centres of liberty and enlightenment the unity of thought and action, and the powers of initiative, which made their force in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. With the growing diversity of occupations, crafts and arts, and with the growing commerce in distant lands, some new form of union was required, and this necessary new element was supplied by the guilds. Volumes and volumes have been written about these unions which, under the name of guilds, brotherhoods, friendships and druzhestva, minne, artels in Russia, esnaifs in Servia and Turkey, amkari in Georgia, and so on, took such a formidable development in mediæval times and played such an important part in the emancipation of the cities. But it took historians more than sixty years before the universality of this institution and its true characters were understood. Only now, when hundreds of guild statutes have been published and studied, and their relationship to the Roman collegiae, and the earlier unions in Greece and in India,[180] is known, can we maintain with full confidence that these brotherhoods were but a further development of the same principles which we saw at work in the gens and the village community.

Nothing illustrates better these mediæval brotherhoods than those temporary guilds which were formed on board ships. When a ship of the Hansa had accomplished her first half-day passage after having left the port, the captain (Schiffer) gathered all crew and passengers on the deck, and held the following language, as reported by a contemporary: —

“‘As we are now at the mercy of God and the waves,’ he said, ‘each one must be equal to each other. And as we are surrounded by storms, high waves, pirates and other dangers, we must keep a strict order that we may bring our voyage to a good end. That is why we shall pronounce the prayer for a good wind and good success, and, according to marine law, we shall name the occupiers of the judges’ seats (Schöffenstellen).’ Thereupon the crew elected a Vogt and four scabini, to act as their judges. At the end of the voyage the Vogt and the scabini abdicated their functions and addressed the crew as follows: — ‘What has happened on board ship, we must pardon to each other and consider as dead (todt und ab sein lassen). What we have judged right, was for the sake of justice. This is why we beg you all, in the name of honest justice, to forget all the animosity one may nourish against another, and to swear on bread and salt that he will not think of it in a bad spirit. If any one, however, considers himself wronged, he must appeal to the land Vogt and ask justice from him before sunset.’ On landing, the Stock with the fred fines was handed over to the Vogt of the sea-port for distribution among the poor.”[181]

This simple narrative, perhaps better than anything else, depicts the spirit of the mediæval guilds. Like organizations came into existence wherever a group of men — fishermen, hunters, travelling merchants, builders, or settled craftsmen — came together for a common pursuit. Thus, there was on board ship the naval authority of the captain; but, for the very success of the common enterprise, all men on board, rich and poor, masters and crew, captain and sailors, agreed to be equals in their mutual relations, to be simply men, bound to aid each other and to settle their possible disputes before judges elected by all of them. So also when a number of craftsmen — masons, carpenters, stone-cutters, etc. — came together for building, say, a cathedral, they all belonged to a city which had its political organization, and each of them belonged moreover to his own craft; but they were united besides by their common enterprise, which they knew better than any one else, and they joined into a body united by closer, although temporary, bonds; they founded the guild for the building of the cathedral.[182] We may see the same till now in the Kabylian çof:[183] the Kabyles have their village community; but this union is not sufficient for all political, commercial, and personal needs of union, and the closer brotherhood of the çof is constituted.

As to the social characters of the mediæval guild, any guild-statute may illustrate them. Taking, for instance, the skraa of some early Danish guild, we read in it, first, a statement of the general brotherly feelings which must reign in the guild; next come the regulations relative to self-jurisdiction in cases of quarrels arising between two brothers, or a brother and a stranger; and then, the social duties of the brethren are enumerated. If a brother’s house is burned, or he has lost his ship, or has suffered on a pilgrim’s voyage, all the brethren must come to his aid. If a brother falls dangerously ill, two brethren must keep watch by his bed till he is out of danger, and if he dies, the brethren must bury him — a great affair in those times of pestilences — and follow him to the church and the grave. After his death they must provide for his children, if necessary; very often the widow becomes a sister to the guild.[184]

These two leading features appeared in every brotherhood formed for any possible purpose. In each case the members treated each other as, and named each other, brother and sister;[185] all were equals before the guild. They owned some “chattel” (cattle, land, buildings, places of worship, or “stock”) in common. All brothers took the oath of abandoning all feuds of old; and, without imposing upon each other the obligation of never quarrelling again, they agreed that no quarrel should degenerate into a feud, or into a lawsuit before another court than the tribunal of the brothers themselves. And if a brother was involved in a quarrel with a stranger to the guild, they agreed to support him for bad and for good; that is, whether he was unjustly accused of aggression, or really was the aggressor, they had to support him, and to bring things to a peaceful end. So long as his was not a secret aggression — in which case he would have been treated as an outlaw — the brotherhood stood by him.[186] If the relatives of the wronged man wanted to revenge the offence at once by a new aggression, the brotherhood supplied him with a horse to run away, or with a boat, a pair of oars, a knife and a steel for striking light; if he remained in town, twelve brothers accompanied him to protect him; and in the meantime they arranged the composition. They went to court to support by oath the truthfulness of his statements, and if he was found guilty they did not let him go to full ruin and become a slave through not paying the due compensation: they all paid it, just as the gens did in olden times. Only when a brother had broken the faith towards his guild-brethren, or other people, he was excluded from the brotherhood “with a Nothing’s name” (tha scal han maeles af brödrescap met nidings nafn).[187]

Such were the leading ideas of those brotherhoods which gradually covered the whole of mediæval life. In fact, we know of guilds among all possible professions: guilds of serfs,[188] guilds of freemen, and guilds of both serfs and freemen; guilds called into life for the special purpose of hunting, fishing, or a trading expedition, and dissolved when the special purpose had been achieved; and guilds lasting for centuries in a given craft or trade. And, in proportion as life took an always greater variety of pursuits, the variety in the guilds grew in proportion. So we see not only merchants, craftsmen, hunters, and peasants united in guilds; we also see guilds of priests, painters, teachers of primary schools and universities, guilds for performing the passion play, for building a church, for developing the “mystery” of a given school of art or craft, or for a special recreation — even guilds among beggars, executioners, and lost women, all organized on the same double principle of self-jurisdiction and mutual support.[189] For Russia we have positive evidence showing that the very “making of Russia” was as much the work of its hunters’, fishermen’s, and traders’ artels as of the budding village communities, and up to the present day the country is covered with artels.[190]

These few remarks show how incorrect was the view taken by some early explorers of the guilds when they wanted to see the essence of the institution in its yearly festival. In reality, the day of the common meal was always the day, or the morrow of the day, of election of aldermen, of discussion of alterations in the statutes, and very often the day of judgment of quarrels that had risen among the brethren,[191] or of renewed allegiance to the guild. The common meal, like the festival at the old tribal folkmote — the mahl or malum — or the Buryate aba, or the parish feast and the harvest supper, was simply an affirmation of brotherhood. It symbolized the times when everything was kept in common by the clan. This day, at least, all belonged to all; all sat at the same table and partook of the same meal. Even at a much later time the inmate of the almshouse of a London guild sat this day by the side of the rich alderman. As to the distinction which several explorers have tried to establish between the old Saxon “frith guild” and the so-called “social” or “religious” guilds — all were frith guilds in the sense above mentioned,[192] and all were religious in the sense in which a village community or a city placed under the protection of a special saint is social and religious. If the institution of the guild has taken such an immense extension in Asia, Africa, and Europe, if it has lived thousands of years, reappearing again and again when similar conditions called it into existence, it is because it was much more than an eating association, or an association for going to church on a certain day, or a burial club. It answered to a deeply inrooted want of human nature; and it embodied all the attributes which the State appropriated later on for its bureaucracy and police, and much more than that. It was an association for mutual support in all circumstances and in all accidents of life, “by deed and advise,” and it was an organization for maintaining justice — with this difference from the State, that on all these occasions a humane, a brotherly element was introduced instead of the formal element which is the essential characteristic of State interference. Even when appearing before the guild tribunal, the guild-brother answered before men who knew him well and had stood by him before in their daily work, at the common meal, in the performance of their brotherly duties: men who were his equals and brethren indeed, not theorists of law nor defenders of some one else’s interests.[193]

It is evident that an institution so well suited to serve the need of union, without depriving the individual of his initiative, could but spread, grow, and fortify. The difficulty was only to find such form as would permit to federate the unions of the guilds without interfering with the unions of the village communities, and to federate all these into one harmonious whole. And when this form of combination had been found, and a series of favourable circumstances permitted the cities to affirm their independence, they did so with a unity of thought which can but excite our admiration, even in our century of railways, telegraphs, and printing. Hundreds of charters in which the cities inscribed their liberation have reached us, and through all of them — notwithstanding the infinite variety of details, which depended upon the more or less greater fulness of emancipation — the same leading ideas run. The city organized itself as a federation of both small village communities and guilds.

“All those who belong to the friendship of the town” — so runs a charter given in 1188 to the burghesses of Aire by Philip, Count of Flanders — “have promised and confirmed by faith and oath that they will aid each other as brethren, in whatever is useful and honest. That if one commits against another an offence in words or in deeds, the one who has suffered there from will not take revenge, either himself or his people... he will lodge a complaint and the offender will make good for his offence, according to what will be pronounced by twelve elected judges acting as arbiters, And if the offender or the offended, after having been warned thrice, does not submit to the decision of the arbiters, he will be excluded from the friendship as a wicked man and a perjuror.[194] “Each one of the men of the commune will be faithful to his conjuror, and will give him aid and advice, according to what justice will dictate him” — the Amiens and Abbeville charters say. “All will aid each other, according to their powers, within the boundaries of the Commune, and will not suffer that any one takes anything from any one of them, or makes one pay contributions” — do we read in the charters of Soissons, Compiègne, Senlis, and many others of the same type.[195] And so on with countless variations on the same theme. “The Commune,” Guilbert de Nogent wrote, “is an oath of mutual aid (mutui adjutorii conjuratio)... A new and detestable word. Through it the serfs (capite sensi) are freed from all serfdom; through it, they can only be condemned to a legally determined fine for breaches of the law; through it, they cease to be liable to payments which the serfs always used to pay.”[196]

The same wave of emancipation ran, in the twelfth century, through all parts of the continent, involving both rich cities and the poorest towns. And if we may say that, as a rule, the Italian cities were the first to free themselves, we can assign no centre from which the movement would have spread. Very often a small burg in central Europe took the lead for its region, and big agglomerations accepted the little town’s charter as a model for their own. Thus, the charter of a small town, Lorris, was adopted by eighty-three towns in south-west France, and that of Beaumont became the model for over five hundred towns and cities in Belgium and France. Special deputies were dispatched by the cities to their neighbours to obtain a copy from their charter, and the constitution was framed upon that model. However, they did not simply copy each other: they framed their own charters in accordance with the concessions they had obtained from their lords; and the result was that, as remarked by an historian, the charters of the mediæval communes offer the same variety as the Gothic architecture of their churches and cathedrals. The same leading ideas in all of them — the cathedral symbolizing the union of parish and guild in the city, — and the same infinitely rich variety of detail.

Self-jurisdiction was the essential point, and self-jurisdiction meant self-administration. But the commune was not simply an “autonomous” part of the State — such ambiguous words had not yet been invented by that time — it was a State in itself. It had the right of war and peace, of federation and alliance with its neighbours. It was sovereign in its own affairs, and mixed with no others. The supreme political power could be vested entirely in a democratic forum, as was the case in Pskov, whose vyeche sent and received ambassadors, concluded treaties, accepted and sent away princes, or went on without them for dozens of years; or it was vested in, or usurped by, an aristocracy of merchants or even nobles, as was the case in hundreds of Italian and middle European cities. The principle, nevertheless, remained the same: the city was a State and — what was perhaps still more remarkable — when the power in the city was usurped by an aristocracy of merchants or even nobles, the inner life of the city and the democratism of its daily life did not disappear: they depended but little upon what may be called the political form of the State.

The secret of this seeming anomaly lies in the fact that a mediæval city was not a centralized State. During the first centuries of its existence, the city hardly could be named a State as regards its interior organization, because the middle ages knew no more of the present centralization of functions than of the present territorial centralization. Each group had its share of sovereignty. The city was usually divided into four quarters, or into five to seven sections radiating from a centre, each quarter or section roughly corresponding to a certain trade or profession which prevailed in it, but nevertheless containing inhabitants of different social positions and occupations — nobles, merchants, artisans, or even half-serfs; and each section or quarter constituted a quite independent agglomeration. In Venice, each island was an independent political community. It had its own organized trades, its own commerce in salt, its own jurisdiction and administration, its own forum; and the nomination of a doge by the city changed nothing in the inner independence of the units.[197] In Cologne, we see the inhabitants divided into Geburschaften and Heimschaften (viciniae), i.e. neighbour guilds, which dated from the Franconian period. Each of them had its judge (Burrichter) and the usual twelve elected sentence-finders (Schöffen), its Vogt, and its greve or commander of the local militia.[198] The story of early London before the Conquest — Mr. Green says — is that “of a number of little groups scattered here and there over the area within the walls, each growing up with its own life and institutions, guilds, sokes, religious houses and the like, and only slowly drawing together into a municipal union.”[199] And if we refer to the annals of the Russian cities, Novgorod and Pskov, both of which are relatively rich in local details, we find the section (konets) consisting of independent streets (ulitsa), each of which, though chiefly peopled with artisans of a certain craft, had also merchants and landowners among its inhabitants, and was a separate community. It had the communal responsibility of all members in case of crime, its own jurisdiction and administration by street aldermen (ulichanskiye starosty), its own seal and, in case of need, its own forum; its own militia, as also its self-elected priests and its, own collective life and collective enterprise.[200]

The mediæval city thus appears as a double federation: of all householders united into small territorial unions — the street, the parish, the section — and of individuals united by oath into guilds according to their professions; the former being a produce of the village-community origin of the city, while the second is a subsequent growth called to life by new conditions.

To guarantee liberty, self-administration, and peace was the chief aim of the mediæval city; and labour, as we shall presently see when speaking of the craft guilds, was its chief foundation. But “production” did not absorb the whole attention of the mediæval economist. With his practical mind, he understood that “consumption” must be guaranteed in order to obtain production; and therefore, to provide for “the common first food and lodging of poor and rich alike” (gemeine notdurft und gemach armer und richer[201]) was the fundamental principle in each city. The purchase of food supplies and other first necessaries (coal, wood, etc.) before they had reached the market, or altogether in especially favourable conditions from which others would be excluded — the preempcio, in a word — was entirely prohibited. Everything had to go to the market and be offered there for every one’s purchase, till the ringing of the bell had closed the market. Then only could the retailer buy the remainder, and even then his profit should be an “honest profit” only.[202] Moreover, when corn was bought by a baker wholesale after the close of the market, every citizen had the right to claim part of the corn (about half-a-quarter) for his own use, at wholesale price, if he did so before the final conclusion of the bargain; and reciprocally, every baker could claim the same if the citizen purchased corn for re-selling it. In the first case, the corn had only to be brought to the town mill to be ground in its proper turn for a settled price, and the bread could be baked in the four banal, or communal oven.[203] In short, if a scarcity visited the city, all had to suffer from it more or less; but apart from the calamities, so long as the free cities existed no one could die in their midst from starvation, as is unhappily too often the case in our own times.

However, all such regulations belong to later periods of the cities’ life, while at an earlier period it was the city itself which used to buy all food supplies for the use of the citizens. The documents recently published by Mr. Gross are quite positive on this point and fully support his conclusion to the effect that the cargoes of subsistences “were purchased by certain civic officials in the name of the town, and then distributed in shares among the merchant burgesses, no one being allowed to buy wares landed in the port unless the municipal authorities refused to purchase them. This seem — she adds — to have been quite a common practice in England, Ireland, Wales and Scotland.“[204] Even in the sixteenth century we find that common purchases of corn were made for the “comoditie and profitt in all things of this.... Citie and Chamber of London, and of all the Citizens and Inhabitants of the same as moche as in us lieth” — as the Mayor wrote in 1565.[205] In Venice, the whole of the trade in corn is well known to have been in the hands of the city; the “quarters,” on receiving the cereals from the board which administrated the imports, being bound to send to every citizen’s house the quantity allotted to him.[206] In France, the city of Amiens used to purchase salt and to distribute it to all citizens at cost price;[207] and even now one sees in many French towns the halles which formerly were municipal dépôts for corn and salt.[208] In Russia it was a regular custom in Novgorod and Pskov.

The whole matter relative to the communal purchases for the use of the citizens, and the manner in which they used to be made, seems not to have yet received proper attention from the historians of the period; but there are here and there some very interesting facts which throw a new light upon it. Thus there is, among Mr. Gross’s documents, a Kilkenny ordinance of the year 1367, from which we learn how the prices of the goods were established. “The merchants and the sailors,” Mr. Gross writes, “were to state on oath the first cost of the goods and the expenses of transportation. Then the mayor of the town and two discreet men were to name the price at which the wares were to be sold.” The same rule held good in Thurso for merchandise coming “by sea or land.” This way of “naming the price” so well answers to the very conceptions of trade which were current in mediæval times that it must have been all but universal. To have the price established by a third person was a very old custom; and for all interchange within the city it certainly was a widely-spread habit to leave the establishment of prices to “discreet men” — to a third party — and not to the vendor or the buyer. But this order of things takes us still further back in the history of trade — namely, to a time when trade in staple produce was carried on by the whole city, and the merchants were only the commissioners, the trustees, of the city for selling the goods which it exported. A Waterford ordinance, published also by Mr. Gross, says “that all manere of marchandis what so ever kynde thei be of... shal be bought by the Maire and balives which bene commene biers [common buyers, for the town] for the time being, and to distribute the same on freemen of the citie (the propre goods of free citisains and inhabitants only excepted).” This ordinance can hardly be explained otherwise than by admitting that all the exterior trade of the town was carried on by its agents. Moreover, we have direct evidence of such having been the case for Novgorod and Pskov. It was the Sovereign Novgorod and the Sovereign Pskov who sent their caravans of merchants to distant lands.

We know also that in nearly all mediæval cities of Middle and Western Europe, the craft guilds used to buy, as a body, all necessary raw produce, and to sell the produce of their work through their officials, and it is hardly possible that the same should not have been done for exterior trade — the more so as it is well known that up to the thirteenth century, not only all merchants of a given city were considered abroad as responsible in a body for debts contracted by any one of them, but the whole city as well was responsible for the debts of each one of its merchants. Only in the twelfth and thirteenth century the towns on the Rhine entered into special treaties abolishing this responsibility.[209] And finally we have the remarkable Ipswich document published by Mr. Gross, from which document we learn that the merchant guild of this town was constituted by all who had the freedom of the city, and who wished to pay their contribution (“their hanse”) to the guild, the whole community discussing all together how better to maintain the merchant guild, and giving it certain privileges. The merchant guild of Ipswich thus appears rather as a body of trustees of the town than as a common private guild.

In short, the more we begin to know the mediaeval city the more we see that it was not simply a political organization for the protection of certain political liberties. It was an attempt at organizing, on a much grander scale than in a village community, a close union for mutual aid and support, for consumption and production, and for social life altogether, without imposing upon men the fetters of the State, but giving full liberty of expression to the creative genius of each separate group of individuals in art, crafts, science, commerce, and political organization. How far this attempt has been successful will be best seen when we have analyzed in the next chapter the organization of labour in the mediæval city and the relations of the cities with the surrounding peasant population.

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