#i was describing valerian & love to a friend the other day

[herchunting]

you lean in to kiss valerian but she just headbutts you

[belle--ofthebrawl]

Hiya 💚

Just popping by off anon today to say I hope you’re having a good weekend. What’s something that’s made you smile recently? Have you been watered, fed, and provided some sunlight today?

You’re amazing, don’t forget that 🤘

I'm having a little snack of some fruit and toast before I go to bed. Usually I have some valerian tea as well but I'm coming off a flareup and strong valerian tea can cause stomach pains which I'm not interested in experiencing again anytime soon. Woe is me and my "mysterious illness" that I can easily avoid by eating foods that do not trigger symptoms. Tragically, I work downwind of a food court on the weekends and the smell of roasted meat, baking bread and deep fried whatever calls to me like a siren. Hard to believe I used to be afraid to eat anything!

I have lots of reasons to smile lately. My new job is going to take up more time but that's alright because this is a place I really want to believe in. I've had a friend working there for a year and she's loved it so I finally jumped ship. I like what they do and I like what they pay. It's a job I want to improve myself for and be the best I can be, since my last place had me clawing at the walls in despair of all the bullshit and regulation breaking that went on. I'm really pissed at that place, can you tell? And working at the Faire on the weekends is always fun. I'm always smiling there and it's a genuine smile. So let me tell you a story about something that happened today. It's about a man in a boat and a peep show.

(Don't worry. It's safe for work.)

It starts at the end of the day. For any not yet aware, I work at a Renaissance Faire. I'm comfortable disclosing this because I don't live anywhere near the faire, it's thirty acres of land and my shop is known for other things besides what I've talked about here. I use a different name there, too. There are three jousts at the fair, with the final one taking place at around 5:30 ish. So the streets of the little town were fairly empty save for a few dozen or so patrons, the Fantastikals (fairies) and one very special independent performer.

My assistant manager calls me over to the door with a grin. I come out from behind my counter to see what she wants and she points to this very special performer. "Ask him for the peep show". She tells me with a grin and because I'm down for anything at the Faire, I leave my shop to where this man is standing, in the shadows stretched long across the roads.

Words can not describe the experience of meeting him but I'm going to try. You heard him before you saw him, because he had a cleverly hidden speaker playing Italian opera. Classical music? Something masculine and passionate and bellowing. He wore black tights and shoes. His frilly shirt may have been yellow. He wore a perfect painted circle of white outlined in blue on his face and there was a pin that said "Yes, I work here!" on his shirt. There was a hat and finer details to his makeup but they all escape me because the man was also a boat. Or, in the middle of one. Jutting out four feet from his front and four feet behind was a gondola. There must be a harness of some kind under his shirt to help keep it up. Because in the gondola were buildings. Anywhere from a foot to eighteen inches tall. Think of Venice. Think of beautiful towers and elegant façades.

The man was a city.

In a boat.

I asked him for the peep show.

"Ah, my dear." He said, a twinkle in his eyes. "You're in for a real treat."

He directed me to a certain building on his other side. As I rounded him, I made eye contact with a little harlequin puppet placidly rowing the boat. It may have winked at me. I went to the building and noticed an open window. Putting my eye to it, do you know what I saw?

Two candy peeps on a platform, staring serenely back at me. I told him I loved it and he smiled.

"Sometimes people are nervous. They think I might scare them or poke them. But this is the level we're at here, my friend."

His other buildings had windows too. The tallest had several with cleverly angled mirrors so that the person looking in the bottom would see the person looking on top and vice versa. Another one, an opera house where your reflection was on stage. So many others, but I can't remember them! I was also still in character and interacting with patrons and very much still on the clock. But again, end of the day. My boss was very forgiving.

People like him are the reason I love the Faire so much. My hometown had one and the childhood memories of visiting are so clear and vivid it's like I could open a door and step back into it. I danced with the Queen, you know. She looked like one of my teachers, but I'll never be sure.

It's nice to keep the spirit going. Thank you for spreading positivity, Mr. Barnes. A good example for the fandom to follow 🩵. I hope your weekend is going as amazing as you are.

[loneberry]

What have I done today? Very little. (Secretly, I like doing very little—if I had my druthers I’d spend my days in bed, reading and writing in my journal.)

If I had to make an inventory of my day’s activities it would look something like this:

Megaformer pilates class

Grocery shopping

Reading by the sea

Cooking

*

Yet at the end of the day, as I was crying during the conclusion of Woolf’s first novel, The Voyage Out, all the details of my day surged forth with such a powerful force that I felt, how can I describe it, it was something like pure love. I want to be better. I want to tell my beautiful friends how much they mean to me. How full a day is, even when nothing happens. Isn’t that what Bernadette Mayer taught us in her durational poem written on the winter solstice? It began with a dream. So did my day.

Every night for the last week I’ve woken up in agony—it is the recrudescence of my mysterious autoimmune condition, which waylaid me for 6 months this year. I wake up in the middle of the night covered in hives and can’t go back to sleep. During the day I struggle to focus or function. At night I take four different antihistamines and every otc sleep remedy (magnesium, melatonin, valerian, kava, Benadryl, herbal tea, CBD) plus my prescription sleep med. Nothing works.

When my hives woke me up at 3am I was dreaming. Of Laura. I go to check the time on my phone. Uncanny, the only notification is a text from Laura. She sends a picture of Walter Benjamin’s memorial. Half-asleep, I write her back:

Wow I was just dreaming you wrote a brilliant novel called “diaries of a terrorist” (funny my friend wrote a book w that title)… it was somehow about the geometry of revolt, about an elaborate coordinated action in Red Square that took the shape of a pentagram, aimed at revealing an invisible structure… but the action misfired because there was a flaw in the original hidden design of the structure. There were more points than the five of the pentagram…

Red Square… was it Russia? No, it was somehow Germany. But it looked like the Red Square of Moscow… perhaps because earlier in the day I was thinking about my trip to Russia. Was the pentagram of the dream drawing attention to some latent demonic presence in Russian society? Lord. How I wish I could sleep.

What do I do when I can’t sleep… listen to podcasts with my eyes closed while in bed, my usual rotation of news, political economy, politics, and war. So much emotion in the voices of strangers, how it stirs me. Richard Fierro, the man who disarmed the Club Q gunman in Colorado Springs, is talking about the incident, calmly narrating the actions, when suddenly he starts weeping about the people he could not save. It cuts through everything, like the testimonies of Ukrainians I listen to daily. On another podcast, Ukrainian writer Victoria Amelina speaks beautifully about her memories of Maidan, of the university of the streets, the transformational eros of revolt, and how useless literary writing feels during times of war, how she switched from writing novels to investigating war crimes.

News. It never stops. Ariana’s mother is dead. Bernadette Mayer is dead. A 2-day old Ukrainian baby, dead. More civilian infrastructure in Ukraine has been destroyed by Russian missiles. A maternity ward. All the cities in candlelight. No water in Kyiv. Germany builds an LNG terminal. Meanwhile in Virginia: another mass shooting. Turkey is attacking the Kurds. Who will help the Kurds?

I rearrange my wilting gillyflowers into smaller vases. There’s the smell of clove as I cut the stems. Gilly…I knew you simply as “stock.” Others call you “hoary”—a word I once used in my journal to describe a vision of my future: “…a hoary woman alone in the stone house, clutching her shimmering memories.”

Meditate on Sophrosyne. When will I ever get a handle on this monkey mind? Cook tilapia and pasta. Think about the dead. Call Ulysses. UC on strike. Call from Lily, mom in the hospital again. “Toss a penny to the sky. Heads or tails. Who knows, not I…” Conversations on the pier, while the crows, seagulls, and pigeons loitered for scraps. How the pelicans flew overhead in their enormous formations, then dipped and glided just above the water. The face of the young man with the fishing rod as he looks up when I bike past him.

All the words I read. Free associating in the marginalia, that tender compassion I felt for Virginia Woolf, the exposed nerve that was her mind, too sensitive for the world. I think of the death of her brother Thoby, of the sexual abuse she endured in childhood, all the things she never got over. The sea, the water closing over the head. So much in a day. There are people I can’t protect. You can’t protect the dead. I think of the dead. She died without dignity. Does anyone die with dignity? Yes, some do. “Poetry doesn’t tell you how to bury the dead,” though I often think, as I’m looking at a patch of light while tidying my house, that poetry is the last defense of the sacred.

[unravelingthepages]

The Diary of A Young Girl- my review

Hi! Fair warning, this book took me MONTHS to finish. It was heavy at times, humorous somehow too, and heartbreaking. I loved it and here's why.

The Diary of A Young Girl is exactly what the title says. The girl in question just so happens to be in hiding in a country where being a Jew was one of the worst possible things that could happen to you. Her name was Anne Frank and she died before she turned 16. [In case you have never heard about this book, this is a non-fiction book that is quite literally her diary, that was discovered and published after she and her sister were taken to concentration camps.]

"Writing in a diary is a really strange experience for someone like me. Not only because I’ve never written anything before, but also because it seems to me that later on neither I nor anyone else will be interested in the musings of a thirteen-year old school girl. Oh well, it doesn’t matter. I feel like writing."

Roughly more than 30 million people read her musings. She wanted to be a writer, see her stories published. She never got to see her own life story published.

What I thought-

This book is in the form of diary entries, that this 13 year old Jew, Anne Frank, addresses to Kitty, her diary. When you think of The Holocaust or of the Jews' oppression, or at least I did before, I thought of these nameless, featureless figures who suffered unimaginable tragedies. But when you read this book, you see them as people. Real people who suffered unimaginable tragedies. People who were petty and frightened and loving and courageous. People who bickered and whined and cried and laughed. They had dreams and hopes and thoughts about what they would do when the war ended.

This book talks about a lot of heavy issues, but at the same time it tells us about petty fights and first love and crushes. It describes a girl growing up during the Holocaust. She survived so so much, and yet she died only weeks before the war ended. It makes you think about the people who were this close to surviving the war, surviving being a Jew.

"I've been taking valerian every day to fight the anxiety and depression, but it doesn't stop me from being even more miserable the next day. A good hearty laugh would help better than ten valerian drops, but we've almost forgotten how to laugh."

“I’ve asked myself again and again whether it wouldn’t have been better if we hadn’t gone into hiding; if we were dead now and didn’t have to go through this misery, especially so that the others could be spared the burden. But we all shrink from this thought. We still love life, we haven’t yet forgotten the voice of nature, and we keep hoping, hoping for...everything.”

“All we can do is wait, as calmly as possible, for it to end. Jews and Christians alike are waiting, the whole world is waiting, and many are waiting for death.”

I can tell you a lot about this book, but what I will say is that I feel like I know her. And I did, didn't I? I read her diary, her innermost thoughts, her only escape from the horrific reality they were in (a reality that they still made the best of). I grew to love her as a person and love her family through her eyes. Her sister and father and mother. But mostly her. I read as she struggled everyday, felt like no one understood her and continued to feel like that. I read as she quietly loved her family and recorded their birthdays and laughed over their tiny squabbles. (I mean the Secret Annex family too, not only her parents and sister.) She felt guilty for being the ones relatively safe in hiding and so worried for their helpers and all her friends who were not in hiding.

She was her worst critic and the most empathetic person ever. She was mature and understanding and far too old for her age. She got to be a person in hiding and someone in a concentration camp and a Jew but never just a teenager. If you were waiting for a time to start reading this book, this is your sign to start it now!

purchase this book: https://amzn.to/3scZWUl [this is an associate link]

quotes:

“In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart. " “As long as this exists, this sunshine and this cloudless sky, and as long as I can enjoy it, how can I be sad?” “I sometimes wonder if anyone will ever understand what I mean, if anyone will ever overlook my ingratitude and not worry about whether or not I’m Jewish and merely see me as a teenager badly in need of some good, plain fun.” "It’s difficult in times like these: ideals, dreams and cherished hopes rise within us, only to be crushed by grim reality. It’s a wonder I haven’t abandoned all my ideals, they seem so absurd and impractical. Yet I cling to them because I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart." "I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness, I hear the ever approaching thunder, which will destroy us too, I can feel the sufferings of millions and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come right, that this cruelty too will end, and that peace and tranquility will return again.”

“I wish to go on living even after my death.” ― Anne Frank, The Diary of a Young Girl

[the-chick-of-the-air]

Hello my lovelies!

Wow ok I’m sorry I know it’s been a while- I kinda got into a writing slump that wouldn’t let me out, however I’m feeling like I’m getting back into things! Yay!

I want to thank all of you for your continued support in my writing adventures, I seriously can’t describe how much it means to me when I get feedback and love on my work, one of my favorite things to do is make people happy- or really just feel anything- with my writing and I love hearing about it so thank you thank you THANK YOU!!! 🥰❤️

So, now I’m back with a gift! A very long fic that took me way to long to get around to finishing but I wanna share! So here, have this!!

Sorry if the length is too, well, lengthy 😅 I do so hope you enjoy it!

Edit: have added a cut due to length, read below!🥰❤️

Some Wicked Type of Love

Cardan stared down at the vial he held carefully, the greenish liquid sparkled as it sloshed around with the subtle shakes he gave it. This. This would fix everything.

“So, he just has to drink that? Nothing else?” Rhyia asked, unnerved. That unnerved Cardan, his elder sister was hardly ever shaken, so seeing her nervous about something didn’t sit well.

The imp with golden skin smiled thinly. Despite her obvious skepticism, he was the one Rhyia had told Cardan about, the one that could fix his problem, rid him of his ailment.

“That is all.”

Rhyia’s eyes narrowed into slits, “And it won’t hurt him?” Despite how she, along with the rest of his siblings, chose to brush him off more often than not, she did care for him on a certain level. It was why Cardan had approached her in the first place. He trusted her alone to follow through with this task.

“The young Prince shall remain whole and hale. It is to my understanding that he is now indebted to me?”

Cardan was about to protest when Rhyia spoke first, “I will take on his debt to you. When you need a favor, come to me.”

The imp’s smile widened, “Oh it is not a favor I seek in return. Simply bring him back to me once the… effects of the cure have taken hold.”

Cardan didn’t like how ominous that sounded. Nonetheless he nodded to his sister and they moved to leave.

Once they had turned away, they missed how the Imp’s smile grew impossibly wider and a silent laugh fell from his lips.

~.~

“Are you sure about this?”

Her constant questioning was beginning to grate on Cardan’s nerves as they trekked back to Hallow Hall. “For the last time, yes. I am profoundly certain in my decision. Will you let it alone now?”

Rhyia hummed and stopped walking. When Cardan realized she was no longer beside him, he stopped as well and turned to face her. She was staring at him with an expression he couldn’t puzzle out.

“Having the love of a mortal is-”

Cardan turned away sharply and began walking again, “I do not have the love of a mortal! One simply plagues my thoughts, and this is the only way to cure it.”

Rhyia jogged to catch up with him. She linked her arm through his, “All I was going to say was that…being in love with, or having the love of a mortal, is no reason to feel shame. Many of us have loved them, dearly so. The General, our father. Even I have known the affections of one.”

Cardan stopped short. That couldn’t be right. Yes, there were some Folk who took mortals as consorts and lovers- they were good for cultivating many children. The General’s love, he knew, had ended in tragedy. One that produced the very person he so sorely wished to be rid of. His father had an affinity for many a thing unusual, and having Val Moren at his side was just that. Cardan had just always assumed it was out of need for a seneschal who had an undying loyalty to him. But Rhyia?

He glanced at her sideways and she held her chin up higher, “As I said. I am not ashamed of who I have come to adore. Many think them beneath us, I find that to be wholly untrue. They are born, they live vibrant, beautiful lives, and they die, just as we do.”

Cardan shook his head, “They are dirt. A fleeting thing made of dust and water, gone before they can live fully if they do not stay here. They are beneath us.” A practiced excuse, and his sister knew it.

“You feel the need to run from what you do not understand. Do not want to feel. The choice is yours but know this: You are a prince. You may love whoever you see fit to love. Mortals may be weaker than we are, but their ability to love is stronger even than our own. When they find someone fit to adore, they put their entire existence into loving them. They feel it deeply and should you find yourself the object of their affection, there will be nothing they will not do for you,” She looked at him pointedly, “It is an honor to be loved by a mortal.”

Cardan was silent for a moment as her words sank in. The vial in his pocket felt heavier, somehow.

An honor. Cardan had never been granted anything akin to honor before. And as thoughts of auburn hair and rounded ears flashed through his mind, he realized he never would be granted such a thing. He shook his head,

“Even if that were true, my issue does not stem from running from the affections of a mortal.”

Rhyia smiled carefully at her brother, “Of course not. Simply from the possibility that she will not love you as you love her.”

He balked and tugged his arm from her hold, stalking the rest of the way home on his own. He did not love a mortal. He just couldn’t get thoughts of her out of his mind. Her name played on an indestructible loop in his brain, carefully preserved memories of her every sneer and glare followed him into his dreams and emerged with him in his waking hours. She wouldn’t leave him alone.

The liquid in that vial would fix it. It would erase her very essence from each corner of his brain, every fold she inhabited, like a sprite infestation of the mind. He would be rid of every thought, every memory, every feeling he had ever had for her.

Without any further pondering, he lifted the vial from his pocket and uncorked it.

Before he even got inside Hallow Hall, he brought it to his lips.

He threw back the potion and blessedly forgot Jude Duarte.

~.~

Lessons had never been a source of joy for Cardan. In fact, he would go as far to say they were a bane of his existence. Knowledge and learning, taking precious time to become scholarly when he could have been lounging about instead.

An odd absence in his chest pulled at him. He felt as if there was something about lessons that should have- usually would have- brought him some level of entertainment, of satisfaction. Looking around, his comrades by his side as they set up their blankets and baskets on the great lawn for the day, there was nothing amiss.

And yet there was something…

“Here they come.” Locke muttered conspiratorially, looking at someone approaching over Cardan’s shoulder. Valerian leered and Nicasia glanced in that direction before scoffing and looking elsewhere.

Had they all met someone at a revel recently? Someone worthy of their torment? Surely, they would have told him had that been the case.

Either way, he wanted to be included, so he turned as well.

When he caught sight of her, he lost his right to breathe.

There were two mortal girls, they were linked at the arm and looked exactly alike. Twins, highly uncommon amongst the Folk, though it happened often enough for the term to be familiar.

Despite there being two of them, his eyes immediately caught on the one to the right.

She was gorgeous.

Her auburn hair was twisted into a knot at the top of her head, a golden net holding it in place along with a few decorative pins. She was wearing a simple tunic with a crest across her chest that he instantly recognized. The family crest of General Madoc. He had mortal charges?

She clutched her basket in one hand and clutched her sister’s arm even closer. She was whispering something to the other girl and when she glanced up, she locked gazes with him.

It felt as if time had frozen.

She stared at him for a moment, brown eyes boring into his. It was the most beautiful color he had ever had the privilege of seeing. What a shame she shared a face with the girl next to her, her beauty was so striking that it deserved to be all her own. Even so, she was- as far as he was concerned- far more breathtaking than her twin.

She was alarmingly attractive. Distressingly beautiful. The product of tortuous, glorifying nightmares. He needed to know her, needed to speak to her. What did her voice sound like? Was she bold or soft spoken? How long had she been in Elfahme and why had he never encountered her before?

This ethereal creature… he could feel his heart beating so quickly it was growing painful, he had to force himself to take a breath least he pass out from lack of oxygen.

“Who is that?” He knew his voice was little more than a strained whisper as he continued to stare at her.

As soon as his mouth moved, it seemed to shatter some hold that had settled over her. Her eyes narrowed and she gave him a glare so delightfully heated that he could feel it burning his very blood. She was a fiery one.

Her lips pulled into a sneer and he immediately wanted to know what she would taste like. Some strange, horrid concoction of bitter and sweet, no doubt. He had to know.

He could see Nicasia looking at him strangely from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t bring himself to tear his gaze from the mortal as she moved to an empty area on the grass with her twin in tow. He watched as they spread out their blankets and settled down.

“The Duarte twins? Madoc’s filthy mortal brats? Cardan, are you feeling well?” She asked, rare concern lacing her voice.

He would wager he’d never felt better in his life. He felt something in his chest- the previously empty and wounded area- light up as though something finally came to life in him, as though he were finally whole.

“What’s her name, the one on the right?” He ignored the strange looks his friends gave him, never looking away from the Duarte twin that had enraptured his attention, though she kept throwing disgusted sneers his way every time she looked up to find him still staring.

“Jude?” Locke inquired, glancing gleefully between the twins and the prince.

Something in his mind snapped into place, and he finally understood what had been missing, Jude.

Her name looped around his thoughts, over and over.

Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude…

He needed her. He felt it, he…

Cardan Greenbriar was in love.

~.~

Waiting for lessons to end was nearly unbearable, the only consolation Cardan got was from staring at the object of his affections throughout the day.

Each time she caught him staring, she would glare and turn away sharply, as though his gaze had branded her. Each time it sent a thrill through him, something he had never felt before, even with previous lovers. Even with Nicasia, who was sitting right next to him through the whole day.

It was perhaps hasty on his part, this whole bodied acceptance of his feelings, but Cardan was never one to curb his indulgences. After all, when the Folk fell in love, it was often that it happened deeply and all at once. This was nothing out of the ordinary, and the prince looked forward to trying to shower this lovely fiend in affections as soon as he could speak with her.

As soon as they were released for the day, he issued Locke to distract her twin, having seen how they stole glances at one another during their lessons. The fox like faerie was all too happy to oblige and Cardan found himself trailing his new love off the palace grounds and into the forest, glad she hadn’t bothered to wait for her twin.

It took about two minutes for her to stop, once they were out of sight of the palace behind them. She turned and her gaze locked onto him.

He continued forward until he was a mere foot away from her. He said nothing and simply stood there, watching, waiting for her to speak first.

“What do you want?” Oh, how delightfully sharp her voice was! Even drenched in irritation, it was soothing as a balm to his aching head after listening to Nicasia’s grating prattle all day. She looked momentarily surprised at herself, as though she were normally much milder. Though she quickly shook it off and continued to glare at him.

He decided to forego beating around the bush, she seemed like the type of person who enjoyed being direct, getting straight to the point. That spot in his chest she now occupied throbbed a bit, “You’ve captured my attention. You’re quite alluring, Jude. That is your name, correct?”

A completely logical question, but she looked at him as though he had two heads. Actually no- there was at least one two headed faerie out there- she looked at him as though he had just asked her to shoot him through with an arrow, like he was an idiot in need of mental help.

“Is this some kind of trick?” Her voice was dripping disgust and her hand twitched as though she wanted to reach for something but thought better of it at the last moment. Her eyes narrowed further and he found himself wishing she would look at him normally so he could see her eyes fully. They must be exquisite this close up.

He shook his head, shifting towards her, she took a step back, “No trick. I know I’m being forward, but I find you most enchanting, perhaps we can walk together?” he smirked at her. He knew how to be charming, had won a few hearts that way. However, she sneered at him as though she were completely immune to it- even better!

“’Perhaps we’… What are you doing, Cardan?” she nearly growled his name and he found he quite liked the way it sounded coming out of her mouth.

“Expressing my interest in you,” he stepped closer and grabbed one of her hands gently, tried not to laugh when she casually pulled it away and unsheathed a small dagger at her hip, “As I said, you have my attention.”

She looked confused a moment, even slightly concerned. It vanished quickly and she held the dagger a little higher. Outright threatening him. Yes, he was definitely in love!

“What has gotten into you? Some sort of sickness the Folk get? Have you been drinking already?”

Already. For some reason that stuck in his head. ‘Have you been..’ it sounded as though she knew of his habits. Granted it was no secret that he preferred various wines over most other beverages any day, but only those who paid attention to him knew that. He was under the distinct impression they had never met before.

That spot in his heart throbbed again, painfully.

“You…” He took a step towards her and she backed up several paces, her blade gleaming between them.

“If this is some new way of trying to get me to back down, you can drop it. It’s not going to work. You’ve managed to pit Taryn against me already, and as long as you leave her alone, we have an understanding but that’s it. I won’t hesitate to hurt you if you touch either one of us. Now leave me alone.”

Cardan didn’t understand half of what she was talking about. Who was Taryn? Her twin perhaps? He hadn’t bothered with her name. How did Jude figure he had pit them against one another? And how had he and Jude come to an agreement of sorts if he had never met her before?

As she backed away, dagger still held offensively as though she expected him to lunge for her, he realized he was going to need answers to his growing list of questions before he tried to pursue her further.

He held up his hands in what he hoped was a placating gesture, watching as she continued to move away before she was far enough to turn and hastily make her way from him. He gazed after her a moment, wishing that had gone differently, then turned and started to trek his way home, suddenly in a somber mood.

~.~

Jude huffed out a breath of frustration as she re-sheathed her dagger, trying to figure out what on earth had just passed between her and Cardan.

You have my attention. That was normally a bad thing, but the way he had been gazing at her…she could feel her blood heating and it wasn’t all due to hate.

So wrapped up in trying to figure out what had just happened with Cardan, Jude didn’t realize someone else was following her until it was too late.

She jumped an embarrassingly high distance into the air when Princess Rhyia appeared beside her.

“Oh! Uh, your highness.” Jude muttered, dropping into a low curtsy.

She tried to keep her wits about her when the princess gripped her arm and looped her own through it. She smiled warmly at Jude, something she found slightly disconcerting, and said, “Walk with me.”

Her tone was gentle, but Jude understood a command when she heard one, and Rhyia was all but physically dragging her by the arm, so she really had little choice in the matter.

“Tell me, young Jude. What do you think of my brother?”

Jude didn’t bother asking for clarification. If Rhyia had followed her all this way, it was likely she had just seen whatever it was that had transpired between Cardan and herself. She was about to blurt out “I hate him, as he does me” when she stopped herself. It probably wasn’t wise to badmouth him to his sibling. Not to mention it felt…odd, to say that all of a sudden.

The princess caught her hesitation and squeezed her arm gently, “Please, speak freely.”

Well then, “Um…we don’t…we don’t see eye to eye.” A huge understatement, though Rhyia simply nodded, keeping quiet as she waited for Jude to go on. “I take it you know why he was acting so strangely back there?”

For a startling moment, the princess looked upset. She schooled her features quickly, though. “Usually, I would feel it is not my place to meddle. But Cardan… it is no excuse, I know, but… he doesn’t always understand his own feelings.”

Jude bit the inside of her own cheek. She had quite a bit to say when it came to Cardan and feelings. She kept quiet as his sister went on.

“I shouldn’t be the one to reveal all the details, but I can tell you that he feels very strongly for you. So strongly in fact, that he went to extremes to stop feeling for you. It would appear his plan backfired.”

Strong feelings? Backfired? What? “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Cardan approached me yesterday, asking if I knew of a way to rid him of feelings he couldn’t stand to feel. I took him to an imp I know of, who gave him a potion, a…cure, he called it. It would erase the thing that ails one from their memory.”

Jude was putting the pieces together now. For an inexplicable reason, something tugged at her chest, dark and ugly. “He…wanted to forget me?” She asked carefully.

Rhyia smiled, obviously happy Jude was understanding, “You were haunting him. He couldn’t cease thinking of you and it was driving him quite mad. So, he sought a solution.”

“A solution?” Jude scoffed, the hurt in her chest growing, “So rather than…than talk to me, he decided to erase me from his memory?!” She couldn’t fathom why this truth hurt, why she even cared-

“Well, he tried. I’ve been watching him today. It seems that, if anything, his feelings for you are much clearer now.” She nodded to herself, as if this was a completely logical situation.

Jude felt like she couldn’t breathe. Cardan, he felt something for her? Something other than hate?

She thought back to a piece of paper, her name dashed out over and over and over, like he was trying to immortalize her, pen her down on paper so she should never be forgotten.

Suddenly, she was recounting every interaction they had ever had, every weighted look and spiteful word. Each trick and torment and barb thrown at one another. The way they relentlessly targeted one another, trading blows in every form one could think of. She recalled the way Taryn begged her to let it go, to quit this twisted game but she couldn’t. She would not forfeit. She didn’t want to stop.

And he was just as guilty. Each time they went toe to toe, he wouldn’t back down, wouldn’t leave her alone, almost as if he needed this game they played just as much as she did, just to feel... and each time, there was an air of something heavier behind it all, something unspoken and deadly and mutual.

Something like obsession. A twisted kind of heart-breaking. A tragic back and forth dance. Evil, heated, something intense, some…

Some wicked type of love.

She didn’t realize she had stopped moving until Rhyia pulled her arm from Jude’s. They were nearing Madoc’s estate, but Jude found she didn’t want to go home just yet.

“He…We, uh…” Great, at a loss for words in front of royalty. But Rhyia just smiled wider.

“I heard there is a way to bring back memory stolen by a potion, a kiss of true love or something of that nature. But you didn’t hear it from me.” The princess leaned in and placed a sisterly kiss on Jude’s cheek before she winked and walked away.

Jude stood there, stupidly staring at nothing just off the edge of Madoc’s estate for far longer than she would have liked to admit.

She… she loved him? She wanted to be wrong, but it felt like she had just discovered the answer to everything she never realized she was questioning. Her chest ached, she had to get to him. What had Rhyia said? ‘kiss of true love’? Like from a story book? Ridiculous. And exactly the kind of thing that would happen to her.

Jude squared her shoulders, resigning herself to her decision.

Without giving herself a chance to reconsider, she turned on her heel and started to backtrack to Hallow Hall.

~.~

Cardan was only slightly surprised when Jude traipsed through his open balcony doors an hour later. He wasn’t sure what she had against using the front door like a normal person but epic declarations of love were often much more, well, epic when preceded by dramatic entrances.

He liked her flair.

“Somehow I knew you would show up.” He was genuinely glad to see her, though if she was here to tell him off again, he wasn’t sure how he would manage. He would find a way, though, for her.

“Shame on me for being predictable.” She muttered, moving further into the room. She regarded him coolly, “You really don’t remember me?”

Cardan held up a finger and moved to his desk. He picked up an empty vial that was sitting atop. He held it out to her.

“I assumed I was at a revel last night and that was why I couldn’t recall anything, however today’s events are making that hard to believe.”

Jude took the vial from him, careful not to touch him as she did so. She examined the glass, rolled it over in her hands a few times. She glanced back up at him and he was happy to find her eyes open wide. He was right, a gorgeous color.

“I assume you don’t know what this is.” She shook the vial.

He shook his head, “I figure it’s the cause of my lapse in memory. Now I wonder what was in it and why I needed it,” He looked her over carefully, head to toe and back up again, “And why it seems tied to you.”

She pocketed the vial, though he wasn’t sure why she would want it, “Have you spoken with Rhyia today?”

Rhyia? “What does my sister have to do with this?”

“She accompanied me home, don’t give me that look- she snuck up on me. She told me that yesterday you asked for her assistance in acquiring something. A cure, of sorts.”

Cardan ignored the jealousy he felt against his sister-how unfair that she got to walk Jude home- and mused over Jude’s words. A cure… “I don’t recall being ill before last night.” He crossed his arms, watching her. Even the way she just stood there was astounding. He could look at her forever and it still wouldn’t be long enough to give her the attention she deserved.

“Well, you weren’t sick, exactly. You…wanted someone erased from your memory.” Her voice went quiet. Odd, from what he knew of her thus far, that seemed extremely out of character for her.

“That would explain the memory loss.” Horrible attempt at a quip, though her mouth quirked up at the corner, he got her to smile! Despite her obvious upset, his chest warmed. He wanted to see her grinning, to hear her laugh. Perhaps he would, one day.

“Yeah, well, it definitely did its job.”

It hit him, then. He had wanted to forget someone, his comrades had displayed obvious distaste for the Duarte twins even though Cardan could not recall ever meeting them. Rhyia had gone to Jude after their…talk in the woods, and Cardan hardly believed it had been Jude’s twin he had wanted to forget.

“You.” He said quietly, watching her shift her weight from one foot to the other, “I wanted to forget you?” He hardly thought it possible, she was a delight! He had never known what the missing piece of his entire existence had been until he laid eyes on her for the first time- ok, not first time, rather the first time he remembers. All the same, looking upon her beautiful countenance now, he could quite confidently declare his past self absolutely mad for attempting to purge her from his thoughts.

Jude shrugged and stepped closer, “I guess I was haunting you. And you don’t like knowing there is something out there that you can’t have.”

His heart plummeted. He wished it to soar at the obvious fact that she seemed to know him so well, however her words crushed the fragile hope that had been budding within him since he left her alone in the woods, “And I can’t? Have you?”

Her gaze was intense and piercing when it landed on his own. Again, he marveled at the color. The rich hues of brown one found upon the forest floor, the cracked deck of a mighty ship, all the copper and wood and soil of the earth blending together to solidify themselves in the alluring shade of her eyes. He couldn’t breathe.

She forewent answering his question, “Your sister told me there is a way to restore your memory, if you would have it.”

“Yes.” He found himself breathing, already enticed at the prospect of remembering this wicked girl before him. Obviously, his past self had been an idiot for trying to forget her. He cleared his throat, “What is it?”

She took another step, then another, stopping only when they were so close he had to tilt his head down to meet her eyes.

“I’m not sure it will work, but I know you’ll find it entertaining.”

Gently, he reached up to wrap a lock of her hair around his finger. She didn’t seem to mind as he asked again, “Is there a chance? That I could have you?” He’d never had anything solely his, never won affections simply because someone had cared for him. He knew if she could be that for him, he’d want for nothing more in his life ever again.

Slowly, she lifted a hand to his cheek. He found himself leaning into it readily as she pulled his face closer to hers.

She seemed to hesitate, considering something before she answered, “So long as I could have you.”

He would have answered, ‘Anything, you can have anything you want’ had she not closed the distance and pressed her lips to his.

~.~

The memories came rushing back all at once and they nearly knocked his breath out of his chest. But he only gave his history with his gorgeous villain a passing thought as more pressing matters settled themselves in the forefront of his mind.

Namely, the fact that Jude was kissing him. Jude. As everything he knew about her, about them fell into place he had to wonder if he was dreaming. But no. He’d imagined this very moment before and… It had all his hopes, his expectations paling in comparison to the actual sensation. She was warm and her mouth was soft even as she roughly slanted it against his own. Even when showing affection, she felt the need to be in control and he lent it to her willingly.

In the back of his mind, he recalled having always assumed that their first kiss would be intoxicating and drenched in delirium- why else would either of them fall into the other without a fight, if not for the moment being brought about by emotions stronger than they could contend with? And while it definitely lived up to that expectation, he had also always assumed it would be over rather quickly. That she would pull away abruptly, muttering about mistakes and small, ironic acts of vengeance.

That is where the likeness between imagination and reality broke away.

In reality, as soon as her mouth met his and she gave him a moment to feel the onslaught of memories, she stepped closer, forcing him to bend slightly to accommodate their height difference. The hand that had been resting on his face slid up, over the pointed tip of his ear and into his hair while her other arm fastened tightly around his shoulders, pulling him flush against her.

He fumbled for a moment- which was really something wasn’t it? Wasn’t he the more experienced of the two? How thoroughly she had undone him already!

Once his bearings were back intact, he slipped his arms around her waist, molding himself to her. He marveled at how seamlessly they seemed to fit together. A lock and- wait, no. No Locke. Two pieces of the same puzzle finally snapping into place.

His mind gave over to a blank sort of haze, melting along to the backdrop of her name looping around his thoughts, Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude and for a bare moment he understood again why he had forced her out of his mind, for she was the only thing in the universe that had the power to drive him into pure madness.

He would happily crash into insanity now, with her wrapped around him, teeth tugging at his bottom lip demandingly. He obliged to her wishes, would cater to her every twisted whim if she would have it. One of his hands snaked into her hair as he deepened their kiss, he felt her fingers dig into his back harshly in response. He felt that should he die now, he would leave this existence fulfilled and whole.

Once the need for oxygen became unrelenting, he pressed his mouth firmly against hers, once more, and pulled away.

Again, his imaginings of this moment ended here or before, with her pulling away, that beautiful scowl etched across her perfect face, muttering foul and soul wrenching words like mistake and useless.

And again, reality outshone even the darkest parts of his mind. As soon as he pulled back, she stayed near a moment, waiting to see if he would come back. When he didn’t, she sighed through her nose, the sound almost content and she peered up at him.

His eyes locked on hers as she let her hands explore the breadth of his shoulders, the column of his neck which she glanced at briefly before her gaze snapped back to his own, full of something like longing.

When he didn’t move, said nothing, she tilted her head to the side as she tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck. “Well?” was all she said.

It took him a moment to register what her meaning was. She wanted to know if he remembered her, their history. He blinked, “I…remember.” He stated cautiously. He couldn’t lie of course, but he almost wanted to. So terrified was he of what that knowledge would mean for them, for what had just transpired between them. His imaginings never prepared him for this.

Or for what she did next.

A smirk, more of a small smile, really, bloomed across her features. That in itself was jarring but since this was Jude and ambition was what drove her out of bed in the morning, of course she took it further than simply jarring. She leaned in again, placing a kiss to his cheek, along his jaw, his nose even, before she finally claimed his lips again. It was past shocking. Had he known memory loss would lead to this he would have sought out his sister for help much sooner.

Though really, why was she even doing this? Just yesterday she had been scowling at him every time they glanced at each other, just an hour ago she had been threating his life, warning him to back off. What had changed?

This, while thrilling, wasn’t ideal. Insecurity was not something Cardan was overly familiar with these days, not when it came to her. This information is what had him puling away gently, looking at her in earnest.

“Why the sudden interest?” He debated throwing a quip or scathing remark of some sort her way, a sudden and desperate need to get back to their malicious bantering washing over him, though he shoved the thought away. He was genuinely curious as to what changed her mind.

She shook her head as she finally left his embrace, “I had just been thinking and realized that somewhere along the way, strong feelings of hate had shifted into strong feelings of…something else.”

She looked put out at the thought that she had developed any sort of emotion for him other than contempt, but he had to agree with her sentiment. He bristled to think that that potion hadn’t done its job right, but it had done something. Before, he had been content to half-lie to himself, to convince himself so profoundly that he was not enchanted, mind and body and soul by this girl before him.

What was it Rhyia had said? It is an honor to be loved by a mortal.

Cardan felt that maybe there was honor in loving one, too.

He bit the inside of his cheek before asking, “And you meant what you said, before?”

So long as I could have you.

“Yes.” She sounded so sure. He liked to believe she wasn’t lying. She rubbed at the missing tip of her finger as she watched him, “So, where does that leave us?”

Bring him back to me when the effects of the… cure have taken hold. He’d gotten more than he had bargained for. He held out his hand to Jude.

She reached for it instantly and he tried not to let it show how deeply that affected him, his head already wanting to go fuzzy with nothing but the thought of her.

“I owe a visit to a certain imp.”

Fin

And that is that! Please let me know your thoughts! And I am so excited to be sharing again and looking forward to what I plan to write in the future☺️ (jeez it is so long I’m so sorry for everyone who has to scroll all this way😬😅)

Here is my tag list, as always please let me know if you would like to be added, I’m always excited when people ask me tag them and it is my greatest pleasure to oblige!❤️ (also- over 500 followers now? What!? You guys are amazing and I honestly don’t think I would have come this far without you guys! Sending all my love!🥰)

@maleckanejnessianjurdansolangelo @woodsbeyond1 @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @thewickedkings @aneurwin @snusbandxknifewife @jurdanhell @andromeddea @dressedindustandshadows @thesirenwashere @b00kworm @hizqueen4life @unidentifiedblackthorn @iminsanenotobsessed @df3ndyr @brittneyal @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @thefolkofthefic @yafandomsdotnet @fuzzypineapples @nahthanks @charrise @thefolkofthefic @theviolettulip @embersfromink @kittkatandbooboo

[filmoflifeburst]

Mobius Strip

Sum: the third break-up of Lucerys Velaryon and Aemond Targaryen.

*Translated from the Chinese version and my English is really POOR. *Lucerys Velaryon （above） x Aemond Targaryen (sub) *Age difference adjusted to one year. Modern city paro.

"We've come to the end of the road, but we're safe." -- "Downhill”

Aemond Targaryen took all his appendages with him, and all that he had left behind in Lucerys' life suddenly disappeared as if swallowed by a sudden tornado, leaving a huge, gray void surrounding him. It was the third time in two years, but now Lucerys felt a panic that he had never felt before.

He felt chagrin, but not much regret - it was a little too difficult for him to endure any longer. Most of the time Lucerys would choose to forgive the other side, but this time it was difficult. The funny thing was that he couldn't even remember what the heated argument had been about, except that he had burned their only photo together on the balcony half an hour after Aemond had left, in a mood that could not be described as depressed, and then smoked a menthol cigarette for the first time as a "reward" for crossing that hurdle. His eyes felt a little sore, and he convinced himself that it was only because the smoke was too strong, and not because of anything else. He thought about how Aemond was always passing the buck, blaming all of life's misfortunes on Lucerys - whether it was the dispute with Alicent Hightower or his brother's malicious jokes. You're too neurotic, Lucerys wanted to tell him, but he was tired of talking to Aemond. Two nights ago Lucerys was convinced that he would go mad sooner or later if he kept going on like this. But it was all over now. So he solemnly went out and drank with his brother, Jacaerys, until the early hours of the morning, and both ended up rotten.

"I don't really believe you'd really want to part with him." Jacaerys said.

"Maybe he never loved me at all, and maybe I did as well." Lucerys said calmly, "We just can't continue to live together."

"Who knows? I think that counts for something." His brother replied. And Lucerys smiled at him. He ended up drinking so much that night that he plopped down by the toilet and vomited as soon as he got back to the apartment after dawn. Through physical tears, he finally had a chance to sob. He didn't understand why he was crying, he just felt so miserable, like falling from a speeding carriage into a puddle of sludge, and it wasn't the first time he had fallen. But once he always had the strength to get up from the mud to catch up with Aemond, and now the situation is very different.

Lucerys recalled, in a confused and hazy haze, the times they had stood side by side in the kitchen studying the new oven, and Aemond had licked all the cream and sugar off his fingers before they had kissed for a long time; or the times they had made love on the bathroom floor, and he had separated Aemond's legs while Aemond had covered his eye and cursed Lucerys, and both of them had ended up with red bruises on their knees; or the times when he just stroked Aemond quietly, he could clearly remember the contours of every bone in his body: his little thumbs, for example, were long and curved slightly inward, his spine and shoulder blades shaped when he arched his back; Aemond would drink whiskey laced with lemonade before he went to bed, and Lucerys never understood what proportion they needed to be mixed. At least he could taste it when their lips were entwined. In July, during the summer holiday, they passed most of the day with long kisses and boring romance movies. That year Lucerys craved skin-to-skin contact more and more, but it was only after the holidays were over that he was able to wrap his arms around Aemond and bury his face in the crook of his neck without a care in the world. He liked to hold that position and then kiss the knot of his throat and his lower jaw.

After graduation they spent the rest of their nights and mornings making love, even though Aemond often looked disgusted - sometimes Lucerys just couldn't quite figure out what Aemond was thinking. What does he want from me? Again and again he stood naked and alone on the terrace late at night thinking, with the sound of Aemond's tired breathing in his sleep behind him. Apparently they were not short of money, so Lucerys got a Mustang the following year, no loan, lump sum. He took him on a road in the humid suburban air, the speakers playing a childish Disney animated movie episode. At a red light he let go of the steering wheel and took hold of Aemond's right hand again, rubbing his fingertips against his nails. When Aemond turned his head, Lucerys cupped his cheeks with both hands and kissed him. At that moment he remembered the doves in Snow White passing kisses for the man and woman who fell in love at first sight, but the pigeons in the park only asked for bread crumbs. Did he want me to love him? Lucerys try to find the answer in his closed eyes. Did he simply want a partner who would put up with all his quirks, or at least make his life less irritatingly monotonous? What would he think of when he kissed him back eagerly?

Lucerys subconsciously wanted to call him, but remembering that he had deleted Aemond from his contacts, even though the string of numbers was still clear to him now, he turned off his phone, sat back down on the couch, turned on the TV and started staring at the screen. Until Rhaena called her in the afternoon, "Lucerys, I heard about that thing."

"Oh," he said, "I'm fine now, really."

"It's our birthday party this weekend, so if you'd like to com, that would be great, of course." Rhaena said, "Baela also thought you might need some new friends."

"I have friends." Lucerys said, "I have my brothers, and you and Baela."

"But Baela wants you to come, and so do your brothers."

"Yes, I will come." He sighed and waited patiently for Rhaena to end the conversation, then began to count how many white flowers were on the pattern of the carpet, still feeling drunk.

Lucerys had forgotten exactly what month it had been the last time Aemond had slipped away, but it seemed to be a spring with French sycamore cotton wool-like flowers that would have made Joffrey allergic. He remembers panicking and staying by the phone twenty-four hours a day, even walking aimlessly around the living room, before Lucerys finally made up his mind to go looking for him, and his first step was to dial Aemond's number from a public phone booth near his house. He nervously kept picking his fingers at the reeled-up phone line. What should he answer if Aemond refused, or if he was abusive? Maybe he shouldn't call at this time.

When the line came through, Aemond didn't even make any extra pleasantries, he just said, "Lucerys Valerian."

"I just wanted to ask," Lucerys said, "Are you all right? I was worried about you."

Then he was surprised to find that Aemond's voice seemed a little hoarse when he spoke. "Nothing serious. Except that ...... oh, damn, I got hit by a damned driver." He sounded unwilling to admit it, "Just a broken bone. Nothing else happened."

"I will come to see you." Lucerys said. He hung up before Aemond had time to refuse. Panting, he hailed a cab and took it all the way to the home of Aemond's mother, Alicent Hightower. He didn't have a car of his own at that point. Lucerys tripped over a raised floor tile in the parking lane and fell to the ground, scraping his knee twice. When Alicent came out to open the door, Lucerys found herself still shaking. The outline of her jaw constricted steeply, but she still turned her body sideways to give him room to pass.

Aemond was lying in his bedroom, with his right leg in a white cast, holding a still-unopened packet of Godiva chocolates. Lucerys was too moved to speak as he fell to his knees beside him, and could only kiss him desperately with apologies. Aemond used the index finger of his right hand to push Lucerys's jaw open, then squeezed his shoulder.

"You're not a dog of mine," Aemond said, his voice sounded unhappy and annoyed,"There's no need to follow me all the time."

"Come back. "Lucerys replied feebly, "Come back to me."

In the fourth week of Aemond Targaryen's absence, Lucerys began to be asked out frequently. Most of the time it was Baela's classmates at the university who invited him. He guessed that it was in fact Jacaerys who had authorized them to do so. But Lucerys didn't refuse. He didn't like going to drinking parties, and sitting in the corner of a cafe was more his speed. The sixth time he was asked out he found himself unconsciously wandering off during the date as well. As he gazed at their blond, brown, or black hair, he was reminded of Aemond's hair, silver, and the odd smelling shampoo he used that smelled like a mixture of mint and ginger. Sometimes even Lucerys himself didn't realize he was comparing them to each other until he found himself constantly remembering the time they had sex when they got back together at college and feeling blushing and embarrassed about it.

He certainly remembered it well. They had stumbled into a passionate kiss in the locker room by the winter pool, and Lucerys' back had hit the metal coat hook behind him several times. Aemond sat on Luceys, holding his fingers tightly and guiding Lucerys through the expansion while he put on a "Troy" condom for Lucerys. He had obviously come prepared. Even though he knew Aemond wouldn't want him to do anything rash at a time like this, he reached out with his left hand to press against his buttocks, the skin wet and cold. Aemond warbled and began to adjust his position after pulling his fingers away, until he sank down hard and then Lucerys' penis finally entered his hole. Troy's blue wrapper fell to one side.

"Do you want me?" Aemond moaned and forced him, arching his back as his lower body went deeper. Lucerys touched his well-defined spine again, and he found himself shuddering at that, turning to rest his palms on the side of Aemond's waist in confusion, feeling Aemond like a sailboat undulating on the sea. He had also begun to gasp with excitement. Even though he knew Aemond didn't like him staring at himself during sex, he still couldn't ignore the lines of Aemond's cheekbones, the hollows between his collarbones, and the blazing warmth between his legs - all things that made Lucerys grateful at that moment. "I want you." Lucerys whispered. And Aemond gave no indication; he simply increased the intensity of his movements and soon found a position that invigorated both of them. He lowered his head and kissed him hard, finally scratching Luthris's back hard as he climaxed. Lucerys heard him let out a sigh that didn't sound like satisfaction or exhaustion, but it sounded like relief. It was as if the barrier between them had vanished into thin air at the same time. Aemond briefly rested his face on his chest. At least for a moment, he felt they had reconciled. They had been together until graduation, even if their relationship had not been as ideal as it had been at the beginning. Lucerys needed a glass of milk every night to help him sleep - a habit he had broken for six years since he turned fifteen. In fact, he wasn't sure if it was working or not at all.

"You're going off again." The girl sitting across from him complained. Lucerys couldn't remember her name for a moment. Marilyn, or was it Marianne? He blamed himself for forgetting it, and sulked because of his irritatingly declining memory. Lucerys struggled to throw away the unpleasant memories, but found that they stuck to his mind like garbage. They played over and over like a montage.

"You had an ex, didn't you?" She trailed off. Then before he could answer she was talking to herself again, spouting off about how awful and insufferable her ex was. He pretended to be listening intently, then deleted all ninety-nine unread ads and verification texts from his phone, then the red and blue dots from his email and social apps. He cleans them up silently and finishes his gin on the table with ice. He never drank before.

At the end of the lengthy date Lucerys drove the red Mustang to meet his mother at the restaurant. Rhaenyra Targaryen was in her early forties, and she wore a low-cut black dress. Their seats were next to the window, and Lucerys didn't like the neon light coming in from outside, so he pushed back his chair. Rhaenyra blinked in displeasure at this. She always used her eyes like that to suggest how she felt. Lucerys lowered his head, just as he had done in elementary school when he came home dirty from jumping in mud puddles for fun. Only now his shoes didn't have dried and caked mud on them, and Renila wouldn't order him to come back for dinner after a bath.

"You don't want to look at me, Lucerys." She said.

"I ...... I'm sorry." Lucerys replied.

"You should have felt that way from the beginning, instead of saying sorry to me now." Rhaenyra said, "I've asked you before, what were you thinking, Lou? Aemond is your uncle and my half-brother. And you both wanted to strangle each other."

"I'm not sure." He said, "Because then I realized he wasn't as bad as I thought he was."

"He was getting back at you. He was always getting back at you. He wanted to destroy you." Rhaenyra said, "He's as no good as his mother, Alicent. She only wants your grandfather's inheritance."

"Don't say that please."

"You're still taking sides with Aemond. But he never forgave you. I told you it was all his revenge on you. Revenge for you blinding him in his right eye."

"I don't want to talk about it, please." Lucerys replied.

Dessert was brownies. Lucerys was still haunted by what Rhaenyra had just said, even though she was telling the whole truth. Aemond teased him and his brother for not being their father's biological sons. Only Joffrey was there at first, so he was pushed off the bridge into the lake at the pier by Aemond. He was indeed an asshole. Lucerys knew this all too well, and didn't even regret accidentally stabbing Aemond in the eye when he returned fire. He shouldn't have tried to make it up to him. Lucerys thought with resentment. He had already wasted too much time on Aemond in his life. If he hadn't insisted, they wouldn't have seen each other so often, and perhaps he wouldn't have discovered that Aemond was far less unbelievable than he thought, and he wouldn't have uncontrollably desired him.

"You've taken the first step. That's good."

Lucerys coped vaguely. Confronting his mother had made him feel more helpless than ever. He had never been able to confess to her that he had begun to desire Aemond when he was fourteen in the pool. A few years later Lucerys learned to masturbate at night thinking about him. He used his memories of the summer in the pool to give vent to his desperate imagination of Ymund. He woke up as if he had been in a swimming pool, covered in dirty leaves and cold water mixed with sweat and disinfectant powder, feeling frustrated and resentful. When he was eighteen years old, Lucerys Rees gave Aemond a dark blue prosthetic eye as a birthday present, almost with malice. They ended up falling in love two months later. It wasn't until the two moved into an apartment and started living together that Lucerys discovered that Aemond smoked a Marlboro every week. He found his posture when he smoked surprisingly lazy and elegant. It was also the only time he could barely call himself "calm". "Men only remember love for romance. ¹" Aemond told him, "but we don't have romance or love. There's only lust and incest between you and me. Do you enjoy it all, Little Luke Strong?"At that time he felt like Aemond was a kite tied by a thin string and held under a glass cover. The string seemed like it would break at any moment. All Lucerys could do was listen in silence to his thunderous curses against Alicent and his brother, who complained that they were trying to drag him into a pointless struggle for his property. Sometimes Aemond was angry with Lucerys, and then continued to lie in the same bed with him as if nothing had happened, deliberately putting his legs on Lucerys.

Lucerys saw Aemond again after the tenth week of his untimely departure. He dreamed of him almost every night. What really alarmed Lucerys was that he found he could no longer clearly recall the details of Aemond's body. He couldn't recall the degree of depression in Aemond's shoulders, the touch of his pinky fingertips, the shape of his knees, or even accurately piece together his features, even as he tried to find them in the pleasure of masturbation. Lucerys crouched in the lavatory in despair, almost wanting to cry. He felt like what he had once had was drifting away from him as fast as if he were adrift at sea. He found himself sunken in the sockets of his eyes as he shaved the new stubble that had sprung up on his lips. His insomnia was getting worse.

After taking some time to calm down he called Aemond's brother Darren in as polite a tone as possible. The person on the other end hesitantly stated that Aemond hadn't been at their house at all. "Shouldn't he be with you all the time?" Darren said, "Mom's been pushing him to break up with you lately." With a shaky voice, Lucerys thanked him. He unconsciously began to smoke on the balcony until a pile of cigarette butts was added to the tiles laid on the floor. Like the first time Aemond had shoved a Marlboro into his mouth, Lucerys felt his lungs burning, but it made him slightly firmer. He knelt beside the bed and buried his face in the blanket, which was no longer covered with Aemond's breath. Then he went back to the bookshelf and ran his fingers across the spines, plucking them one by one out of the bookcase and onto the floor. Until the last one, the pink cover appeared in front of him. Lucerys pulled out "The Lady of the Camellias" carefully, it opened automatically to a certain page, and he found fingernail scratches on the paper. "And who am I tell you how to live. ²" Lucerys murmured. He was right, without the first half of the sentence, without love. He provoked Alicent with the Incestuous rebellion, and enjoyed it. Aemond Targaryen had always been like that.

For two months he was nowhere to be seen or heard from. Lucerys only received an anonymous card at Christmas, a simple folded green cardboard with the words "Happy Holidays" scrawled in blue oil-based ballpoint pen. He didn't know where it came from, but found it standing quietly in his Rolodex. But Lucerys recognized it as coming from Aemond by the unintentional crook at the end of the letter "M" and the "h." He thought about it over and over again that day. Had Ymund come to his office? Or had he just asked someone to leave it there? Had he done it to tell Lucerys that it wasn't over between them - or had he taken it as a terse farewell?

He had been up all night, repeatedly debating between turning on the TV, switching channels, and turning it off. He would not admit that he was actually dreading the overly quiet room, as it seemed to be a constant reminder of the fact that he was bored. In the early hours of the next morning Lucerys heard the doorbell. He went to the door and found Aemond standing in the doorway. He didn't look much different, except that he had grown his hair back and tied it behind his head, with his suitcase behind him. Lucerys stared at him unblinkingly.

"I lost the goddam key." Aemond said.

"The key can be replaced with another one." Lucerys said, "That's okay."

"I was not apologizing to you."

"I know."

"You want to sleep with me now, don't you?"

"I love you."

"Obviously." Aemond said. He started to take off his shirt. Lucerys stopped him. "That's not what I'm here for."

"Turn the light off, I don't want to see you."

Lucerys felt his approaching breath in the darkness and tried to kiss Aemond's lips, easily re-tracing the shape of his body in his mind's eye. His tongue met his teeth, and then another tongue. He held Aemond's nipples between his fingertips until they grew hard, and stroked over his ribs and abdomen again. It was like the night he came of age when they touched each other carefully for the first time in the wet night. His uncle took his wrist and slowly licked each of his fingers. Lucerys tasted smoke and blueberry chewing gum. He suddenly realized the room was too cold, but didn't get up to turn on the heating fan. The cold and the excitement made him feel awake rather than caught in yet another lustful dream. He was kneeling on a patchwork rug imported from Japan, pinning Aemond down with unprecedented firmness, then probing the index finger of his right hand into his rear hole and beginning to move in and out continuously. Aemond turned his head to the side. Lucerys felt his fingers being gripped tightly and pushed inward. He was as hot as fire. And one could feel pleasure in addition to pain when one was burned. When he was little, Lucerys tried to touch the lit candles on his birthday cake, but he was immediately burned and withdrew his hand. Not so, Aemond, he thought, I've always enjoyed burning myself.

   "What the fuck are you crying about?" Aemond asked him, suddenly surprised. "It seems like you're not the one getting fucked. Are you crazy for wanting to fuck me?"

So he wiped the back of his hand across the area below his eyes and found himself in tears. They flowed inexorably and then fell on Aemond's body. He began to sob. Aemond hesitated and reached out and touched his forehead with a gentle gesture that Lucerys had never felt before. A faint glow came through the window behind them, which allowed him to see Aemond's face clearly. Lucerys observed the stiff pause in his right eye as he blinked. The prosthetic eye was beautiful on his face, blue in color. Lucerys remembered that they had not seen each other for seventy-four days. Seventy-four days ago he had sworn that he would be better off without Aemond. Instead, it turned out that losing him would only make things worse. During one of their arguments, Lucerys called him "the bastard Imonte Targaryen, who has turned my head," and Imonte just smiled contemptuously. "Of course I fucking know that." He grabbed Lucerys by the shoulders, "Violent Little Luke Strong." They ended up in a heckle. Finally Lucerys took him in his arms, the tip of his nose touching Aemond's left cheek. Aemond grunted and squeezed Lucerys' stomach. "I should have gone." That's what he told Lucerys then, "I should have gone to Philadelphia and left you alone in this hellhole to watch you languish like a downed dog."

Lucerys decided to close his aching eyes as he entered Aemond, at least that would make him look less wretched. But Aemond immediately asked him to open his eyes again. Lucerys began to move his loins slowly, and Aemond grunted as his legs clenched tighter. He took hold of Aemond's wet and sticky hands. Aemond rarely sweated. At least as far as he could remember his hands had never been as hot as this. There were times when he was as cold as a snake, or maybe he was just cold-blooded. But he groaned with pleasure when Lucerys found his high point by intuition. Lucerys lifted Aemond's hair to the side and he gripped his hand as if it were the last cable on a stormy ship. They kissed again passionately at the onset of their climax. Then they parted in silence, somewhat awkwardly. Aemond announced that he was going to take a shower. Lucerys found the tequila in the refrigerator and took down two more glasses from the cupboard.

"I shouldn't have come back." Aemond draped the bath towel over his shoulders. He took a sip of his drink.

"We can go to Colorado together, if you want." Lucerys said, "We can leave tomorrow. You can go alone, too, but at least let me know you're alive."

"That's not the problem." He slapped the tabletop in annoyance. The towel slid downward a notch. "I thought you knew I loved you too, Lucerys, you're so fucking extravagant, isn't that enough?"

"I never knew." Lucerys was starting to feel impatient, too.

"So that's why you drive me crazy with your stupidity." Aemond finished his tequila in one go and poured another glass full, "I wanted to go too. But unfortunately, I find I can't."

"I should say thank you, Right?" Lucerys wanted to hit him. He hadn't thought of it that way in many years. They had fought hard when he was seventeen: Aemond had punched him in the nose and Lucerys had elbowed him in the jaw, and they had laughed and accused each other when they talked about it, when Lucerys would have felt relieved. Now he only felt an unprecedented anger towards Aemond. He doesn't understand anything at all, Lucerys thought. Aemond never understood what he really wanted. Hell, he was a self-righteous fool. He should have realized the truth. It would have been so much easier if Aemond hadn't been his uncle and had been a woman. Maybe then they would have been married, or maybe then they would never have met. Now he couldn't tell which would be the better situation.

Two hours after dawn he began to count, until roughly an hour had passed. Lucerys got up and brewed a bowl of cereal with cold milk that was about to expire - the red carton with the smiling woman in the white headscarf that Lucerys thought would be more appropriate for the cover of the cleaner. He made more spices for mulled wine with cinnamon, cardamom, citrus and rosemary. Rhaenyra had suggested that he drink a glass of red wine before bed to help him sleep, and now he decided to heed that advice. Aemond sat across from him and repeatedly poked the bowl of cereal with his spoon.

"We should get a dog." Lucerys said.

"I hate dogs." Aemond said, "Noisy and a waste of money."

"You never thought anything wasn't worth spending money on."

"I'm different now."

"You haven't changed a thing."

"That's your inconsequential judgment."

"We need a dog. One of those sheepdogs."

"It's useless." Aemond pursed his lips, indicating he didn't want to continue the argument.

Lucerys also felt he had no need to argue with him any further. In the afternoon they drove the Mustang to the mall. To buy tomorrow's breakfast, like whole wheat toast and marmalade. He had made his shopping list in advance and added coffee beans to the last column before he left. Only to find that the piece of paper was missing. Aemond taunted him for his carelessness, and Lucerys tried his best to restrain his chagrin. He had sometimes found living with Aemond nerve-wracking in the past; now he was beginning to feel tired. Rhaenyra called him in the evening. He and Aemond were reviewing the menu at the steakhouse and had just decided on a lobster bisque.

"I saw you with Ymund." Rhaenyra's voice sounded worried and sad, "What did you say last time, you swore you'd give him up. Lucerys, you chose him over your family."

"Aemond is my family, too. He's my uncle."

"That's only 'half' family, too."

"He only came back yesterday."

"Jacaerys is right. You can't leave him anymore." Raynera sighed. Lucerys rubbed his hand against the red velvet-trimmed wall. I'm rotting, he thought, and Aemond is like marijuana, toxic and capable of addiction. He was suddenly so sad he almost choked, but couldn't say why. After Rhaenyra Targaryen discovered the relationship between the two of them Lucerys had also had a big fight with her. In fact, he had been used to playing the role of a good boy. That was the first time that Lucerys rebelled against her. He followed the rules and went to the school she thought was good, joined the clubs she thought were good, applied to the majors she thought were good, and then found the boyfriend that drove her the most crazy. Lucerys admits he got pleasure from her shock and anger at the time, but that didn't last long.

"I'm going to hang up." He said.

"No matter what, you'll always be my son, and I'll always be your mother." She said at last.

"I know." Immediately afterwards he hung up the phone.

After a long tussle Lucerys chose the rib-eye steak, and Aemond asked for the same. He knew Aemond hated spinach, so he ordered only the goose fat potatoes, even though Lucerys didn't like them himself. After eating, they wandered aimlessly through the mall. Lucerys saw a ring at the counter in the shape of a Mobius strip, meaning "infinite love", which he thought was ridiculous, but bought a pair anyway.

On the way back they encountered a serious traffic jam. Aemond kept pressing the fast-forward and fast-reverse buttons on the record player with his hand. Lucerys put his hand on his knee. He grasped his hand. The skin felt extraordinarily real.

"When are you planning to go to Colorado?" Lucerys asked Aemond.

"I didn't say I was going to fucking Colorado."

"No, you have to go. And it's going to be us together." His lips parted and closed as if the words were automatically popping out of his chest in a huge blossom in his throat. Don't you understand? Lucerys wanted to ask him. He knew that Aemond never cared about what was going on around himself, but it didn't occur to him that he couldn't even perceive the most superficial nature of their relationship. Even the little love we have left for each other. He thought as he counted the lines on the leather of the seat. Even though it had burned so brightly for a short time.

"We'll come back. We'll go back to the beginning." Lucerys continued.

Aemond scowled at him suspiciously, as if to make sure this wasn't just another malicious joke. Lucerys had enjoyed this pungent look from him in the past, but now it only showed his confusion and foolishness. "Back to what?"

"Back here, back where it started." Lucerys suddenly wanted to let out a laugh. He wanted to laugh hysterically at something, someone. His heart fluttered at the thought that it might be himself, but he immediately felt the pleasure of sobriety again. He had pretended to himself that everything was fine between him and Aemond, that the problem was simply Aemond's capricious stubbornness, including his unwillingness to forgive Lucerys. The root cause was never here. They were destined to be so long ago, because they were Targaryen and Valerian. Lucerys could always find excuses from other sources, but he also knew in his heart that it didn't work. Aemond was even more foolish than he was, and he didn't even have the slightest sense - his poor eye were always set on less than a few miles long. Now Lucerys was determined to tease out the truth, or at least make it clear to both of them where they stood.

"We'll repeat the same mistakes, just like the past over and over again without realizing it, just like this damned Mobius ring, back to the beginning again for a change." Lucerys Velaryon spoke the truth aloud to the windshield in front of him, raising his hand to show Aemond the ring he had just placed on his left middle finger -- a shimmering silver metal ring -- Aemond also had one on his hand --then slumped exhausted at the wheel and waited for the long line of cars that had formed to restart.

1. It is said that the brand name comes from the abbreviation of "Man Always Remember Love Because Of Romance Only".

2.The original is, "Who are you, tell me how to love, and who am I tell you how to live.

[hobeemin]

content tag game

tagged by the lovely @joonscypher 🍒🍒

1. what fandoms have you written for (but do not currently)? whew one i wrote for was sailor moon, true blood, xmen, batman, game of thrones. haven’t written anything in ages.

2. what fandoms are you currently writing for? bts, got7, nct... i’ve put members of red velvet, vixx, txt, sunmi, exo, hyuna, hyolyn and a few others in my fics as well.

3. how long have you been writing? since middle school, but actually wriiten works online, i was 16

4. on which platforms do you post your stories? tumblr & ao3

5. what is your favourite genre to write? supernatural and crime. i always loved mysteries and fantasy and otherworldly creatures.

6. are you a pantser or a planner? both, but i lean towards planner now a days. i have to do at least a basic outline for my fics so i remember my thoughts and the plot.

7. one shot or multi-chapter? def both. 

8. what is the perfect chapter length in your opinion? umm honestly it depends on the fic.

9. what is your longest published story? is it complete? hmm if were looking over the course of my writing, it was a sailor fic called angel of mercy, super cringe >.<. but currently one i’m proud of is a bts fic called resurrection a mix of zombies and drama. i’m proud of writing a six part series in less than three months. don’t know if i can do that again lol

10. which story did you enjoy working on the most? ohh good question, probably my delightful temptations series, dangerous pairing, jamais vu, and eros et psyche

11. favourite request you’ve written and why? hands down it was dark charms it combined both my love of bts and harry potter into one story. it was so much fun researching and familiarizing myself with hp world once again.

12. are there recurring themes in your stories? ohh def enemies or strangers to lovers. there is even a bit of slow burn if i’m being kind. 

13. current number of wips? you don’t wanna know...i think its like more than 10 by now.

14. three things you have noticed about your own writing? 1. i can never now a striaght pwp cause i like to describe a lot of details. 2. my mc always have an attitude lol 3. i need to use a thesaurus more.

15. a quote you like from a published story. this is from dark charms 😊

Her eyes scanned the shelves looking for the purple sprigs. She lit up once she saw them peeking behind an extra mortar and pestle. Standing on her tiptoes, Y/N tried to reach for them only for a hand to shoot in front of her to grab them. The intricate ink patterns on the fingers could only belong to one person. Jeon Jungkook. She sighed as he pulled the lavender off the shelf giving her the tiniest acknowledgment. He turned to walk away when she grabbed the sleeve of his robe.

“Um, that was mine first, Jungkook.”

He froze, whirling around to give her a cold stare. “Does it have your name on it?”

Y/N flinched slightly under his intense gaze. “N-No, but–”

“B-But,” he mimicked mockingly. With a snort, he turned back on his heel. “You can have it when I’m done with it.”

Her eyes blinked in surprise. She watched his retreating form going over to the table with the rest of his Slytherin buddies. She grabbed the Valerian sprigs and walked back into the classroom. Throat tightening, she tried to keep her composure as she made her way back to her table. He knew she couldn’t start the Sleeping Draught without the lavender. It took awhile to make the paste. Her eyes cast over to him as he took his sweet time pulling the lavender out and making a show of taking out each sprig slowly. Her face felt hot as she watched him chatting and laughing with his friends. Once she knew he wasn’t planning on giving them back, her face darkened with anger. All her reasoning going out the window. She grabbed something out of one of the bowls and stomped angrily over to his table, fist balled. Before she knew it, Y/N smacked him across the face with the flobberworm mucus and snatched the lavender from his hands.

16. a quote from an unpublished story. ohh okay here’s from a fic called a princely affair

“Who’s shameless?”

The couple’s eyes turned toward the entrance of the veranda. Namjoon was standing with a young woman. Her dress is the shade of lavender with a silver mask adorning her face.

“Cousin!” Aria ran to her in excitement. “Namjoon, have you two been getting acquainted?”

“You could say that,” he chuckled cutting his eyes to Jin. He raised his brow not understanding his friend and walked forward to the woman.

“Aria was just telling me she visited you abroad on her holiday. I’m surprised I didn’t know that information already.”

“Shocking really,” she said crossing her arms. “You would think Prince Seokjin would know all.”

“Pardon?”

“Still being a jerk?”

Aria cried out covering her mouth, “Cousin! H-How could you say that?!”

Jin clenched his jaw but gave a forced laugh. “I didn’t know she would be so bold.”

17. a space for you to say something to your readers. to anyone whose read my fics, thank you. i write for myself mostly, but if anyone enjoys my writing that is a bonus. love all yall 💜💜

tagging; @springbean @hobiandsprite @yoongsgguktae @kookdiaries @bangtanhome @ressjeon @oftenderweapons @joheunsaram @sugasbabiie

[vampiresuns]

The Radošević-Cassano | Lore & Palazzo Inspiration

Some lore for the untitled geese family of Vesuvian High Society. As per usual, the family tree is here. With a quick run down on mostly everyone.

✴︎ General Headcanons

I call them the Radošević-Cassano because I keep Anatole in the centre of the family tree, and much of the Arcana lore I have revolves around him. This isn’t because everything is about him, but because he is the original OC, and hence the place all of this lore comes from.

In reality the Cassano of Vesuvia (how they’re actually known as) are an old Vesuvian family.

They hold no nobility titles, they’re just old, ingrained with the City, and simply have money. The surname Cassano isn’t that old, they’ve probably been the Cassano for less than what they’ve held the Consulship for, only having been known in this way since the last 300 to 250 years, give or take.

They’ve had a hold of the Consulship for a little longer than that. No one actually knows how they ended up with the Consul’s office.

Not even the Cassano themselves. There’s many rumours and the story itself is kind of a local legend at this point. No one remembers because sometimes stories are just oral tradition. Sometimes they just get lost. That’s how it is.

The Cassano surname comes from... a first name actually. Consul Cassano ruled Vesuvia in lieu of the Count they were Consul for, while said Count’s children grew up, becoming old enough to rule themselves.

They are a multicultural, multiethnic family. Different branches have different cultural backgrounds.

Yet their unity steams from 1. being the Addams Family of Vesuvia 2. The Consulship. A way for them to protect themselves versus other Courtiers down for their own power-grabs, or nobility which do not like that these respected and well known family have no titles made them create a network (inside and outside of the family) that allows them to protect themselves and their political position.

For a Cassano, it is not social standing which matters. It is political standing.

They’ve been friends with the Radošević family (less remarkable and less old) for around six or seven generations. The Radošević are the Addams Family of Balkovia. Fish, Water.

Both families favour cultivating a career, craft or academic pursuit. It doesn’t matter what at least you pursue it honestly.

Speaking of honest pursuits, one of their secrets for enduring is rejecting arranged marriages. Convenience marriages are one thing, if mutually consented by the future spouses, arranged marriages however are a recipe for owing other families favours. It helps get rid of families who simply want to marry with them solely because they’re interested in the political position.

Important things for both these families are: authenticity, professionalism (they do not conceive not working, hoarding land, property and wealth aren’t actual jobs), ambition, creativity, survival, fraternity and resourcefulness. Both of the families are very communal between each other, acting as extensions of each other way before they married between them.

They follow three principles: 1. Whatever happened to you, whatever life shot at you, you survived. A Cassano-Radošević is nothing if not enduring 2. Sometimes conventional problems needed to be solved through unconventional means. They are nothing if not resourceful. 3. What happens to one of us, happens to all of us. They are nothing if not community driven.

This sometimes made them out of touch with other parts of Vesuvian High-Society, especially certain kind of Noble families. I hc that the Consul is the link between the Count and the City, and is meant to represent the City in front of the Count. The Cassano have a very tightly knit relationship with the City, and while their position of privilege is undeniable they are more aware of the social condition and estate of the City than others of their same social circles.

Their tendency to work for the City in a usually self-less manner (which is encouraged), using their position to help others instead of stepping over them, coined the underlying belief that the Cassano are protectors of Vesuvia. They are the last line between something which wishes to harm the City and the people of Vesuvia. This is something which Anatole specially takes very seriously.

Other sayings or beliefs around them are: “Good Counts make their Consuls their friends, while Good Consuls have a Happy Marriage in their beds.” Given how long they’ve hold the Consul’s office, it is better for Vesuvian Counts (regardless of their origin) to befriend them rather than go against them. The second part stems from the Cassano tendency to marry for love, not out of arranged marriages.

“Nothing mortal can kill a Cassano” this began as a joke, simply because they’re a really sturdy family. While they were very close to disappearing in more than one occasion, they simply keep on living. They’re very petty about their vitality. This belief gets reaffirmed during any of the apprentice timelines, but also because of Valerian Cassano’s (Anatole’s great grandfather) longevity.

Few of them believe in the Arcana as a belief system, though a bunch of them are familiar with tarot. There’s a tendency to generate Death and Hierophant beneficiaries the most. The Radošević while not following the Arcana at all, and most of them being unfamiliar with them, have a tendency to generate beneficiaries of The Lovers, Strength and Magicians.

“When Death marries a Star nothing will bring that marriage down” comes from the most notorious Cassano marriages being between Death and Star beneficiaries, with the Star beneficiaries usually being foreign. Examples of this are Amparo Mediavilla (Star) and Vitale Cassano, former Consul (Death), Stelarius Cassano (former Consul, Death) and spouse (Star), and recently Amparo Cassano (Death) and Portia Devorakova (Star).

Magic in the family, manifesting in given individuals is rare, but not unseen. The Cassano seem to be coated by a halo of magical energy but not display magical abilities themselves for the most part. Some exceptions are Amparo Mediavilla, Lucenzo Cassano, Valerian Cassano, one of Florentino’s (Anatole’s grandfather) brothers – Nemesi Cassano, Amparo Cassano, Vlad Radošević (son of a Cassano, and Anatole’s father), Aelius Anatole Radošević, and Artemisia Cassano, sibling of Amparo.

People with magical abilities in the family tend to keep it reserved from the general public. The reasons vary. 

While the Cassano Personality is strong and produces an inter-generational imprint, the Cassano genes are not that strong. No one is entirely sure what a ‘Cassano face’ looks like because of their multicultural background, but apparently they all have expressive eyebrows.

However, most of the Cassano stand in the same way (the way Valerius stands). Valerius, Anatole, his father, Florentino, Amparo, Artemisia, Cassiopeia, and others all stand in the same way.

✴︎ The Radošević

They’re not that different from the Cassano. Can be described as a “A family of survivors, eccentrics, patrons of the arts, inventors and scientists. A family of academics full of anxieties about the world surrounding them, whose sorrows were scars they rarely showed. Private yet with an extensive, and international, circle of acquaintances who deemed them all charmingly strange on their best days; prideful, analytic, often with a drink in hand.”

The Cassano can be described in a similar way, they’re different manifestations of the same core after all. Other than them being the Addams family of the fantasy Balkans, there’s no much to add to them besides what I’ve already said.

While the most distinctive Cassano trait is probably spite, the most notorious Radošević trait is rage. Rage is easier than grief and they’ve all had complicated relationships with life. They are not violent or toxic as a family, however. While they are not perfect, it seems of little use to them to mistreat those who are in the same boat as you, going through the same hardships.

Probably the some of the most interesting people in this family are Elysian Radošević, Anatole’s great grandmother, a partisan, Neuma Radošević a famous painter, and well, Valeriy “Valerius” Radošević. This is my personal HC in the julesverse, but Valerius has more of a Radošević personality than a Cassano personality.

Anatole would be a nice mix of both of them, which is catalysed by his mother, Louisa De Silva.

As an aside, Anatole has his father’s and uncle’s brows, his father’s eyes, and while his face bone structure is a toss up, he has his mother’s lips and nose. He also has his mother’s hips and legs.

The Radošević have a vineyard in fantasy Istria. No, it’s not Valerius’ vineyard.

One of the reasons why Anatole would refuse all kind of title (and so would his uncle, actually, despite the way he acts) is because having a nobility title is one of the few reasons for your Balkovian citizenship to be revoked. Nobility has been abolished in Balkovia for decades, and it’s not making a comeback.

✴︎ The Palazzo

The Palazzo Cassano is where the star mark is. It is 12 minutes away from the Palace, and 18 minutes way from Goldgrave. It is one of the few properties the family has, and probably the most important.

For years, it has been open to the Vesuvian Public who, with previous appointment, might need its resources, such as the music room or the Cassano Library. Like I said before, the Cassano do not think owning things is a job, and like I said before they encourage finding an actual occupation, whatever it might be. Other properties tied to the Cassano, including the Radošević-Cassano, are: Mircea’s and Florentino’s house in Balkovia (Anatole’s grandfather’s), the Radošević Vineyard, Valerius’ vineyard, Blasio’s house (Milenko’s grandfather), Milenko’s apartment, Vlad’s and Louisa’s townhouse in Balkovia, where Anatole grew up, and Paris’ shop + apartment, as she leaves it to Amparo, Milenko and Anatole. 

The Palazzo holds a series of invaluable collections, from books, artefacts, painting, sculptures, swords and others. They are long standing patron of the arts, who sustain themselves on social connectivity, so it is not unheard of them sustaining balls for these purposes every now and then. The Palazzo is meant to be able to house the majority of the family in somewhat comfortable terms. It’s most famous room, is it’s winter garden, which is open to the Public on certain days.

The Palazzo does not have permanent staff. It’s an oddity. The only permanent positions are the one of personal secretary of the Consul — not a valet, not a servant — and the Chef. Most of the staff is divided in shifts.

The Palazzo doesn’t have a housekeeper, only a housekeeper assistant. The Palazzo housekeepers are Batiste Cassano (sister of Florentino, Anatole’s grandfather), Iris Ravella (Amparo’s parent), and post-game Valerius.

Some of the OC families they’re related to are the Ventura, the family of two high-priests in one of Vesuvia’s temples, the Valperga (Valerian’s family), a number of Venterrean family’s, the Radošević (obviously), and the Ravella, among others. All these families are part of the julesverse.

Canon families they are related to include the Devoraks, the Satrinava (Milenko, while not a Cassano by blood is a Cassano by upbringing, and the Cassano include all the Radošević as their own), and the Alnazar. 

As an addition, when @apprenticealec​ and I merge worlds, they are also related to the Parsa D’Orias, as they are to the El-Saieh, but they belong to @ilyamatic​.

The story of how they ended up with the Palazzo stirs as much rumours as how they ended up with the Consulship, but the truth is way less exciting. It came with the position, and they deliberately altered the papers so from Grant of the Count, became their own. It was finders keepers. The Palazzo is inspired by different buildings in different parts of the world, but primarily, it’s outside is inspired by the Palazzo Papadopoli, in Venice, Italy, the Palazzo Ca d’Oro, and Ca Dario

Here are some pictures of different things it takes inspiration from:

The Palazzo has a back door, which leads to a minor street — the lovers and close friends door — inspired by the Palazzo Bembo- Boldù. The only way to open this door is from the inside. To ring it, you have to turn the knob three times to the right.

Thank you for reading these untitled geese family lore ❤️

[undermounts]

Empire of Light—Chapter 2: The Outsiders

AO3 | Table of Contents  | Ashes and Embers | Playlist

Fic Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of Ash, the party travels across Morella in search of allies to defeat the Empire of Ash, once and for all.

Chapter Summary: Back in Undermount, Tyril's plans to obtain aid from the elves are thrown into chaos when outsiders arrive in the hidden city.

➳ ➳ ➳ ➳

Tyril Starfury sat with his chin cupped in his hand, elbow propped up on the arm of his chair, as he gazed at the center of the symposium, where two elves, a woman from House Fortellane and a man from House Sunstrider, debated which dynasty, the Skywarren or the Stonewald, contributed the most to elven art. 

Adrina sat on his left, her pale hair falling over her shoulders like the first gentle snow of winter. The amusement in her expression, Tyril knew, was more for appearances than it was genuine. Adrina loved Undermount and their people just as much as Tyril did, but the expression she wore now could not even begin to compare to the light that filled her eyes when he told her of the world beyond Undermount, beyond Morella. The Frostwhisper Mountains of Vishanti, the poison fields, Rysoth… She had so many questions and Tyril was incredibly grateful that Nia was there to help answer them. 

But stories could hardly even begin to capture the wonder of reality. Tyril found himself hoping that next time he left the mountain city, Adrina—and the rest of their people—would come with them. 

Their father, Valir, sat on her other side, tapping his chin thoughtfully as he listened to the debate with rapt attention. Tyril wished he was even half as engrossed as his father.

Nia sat on Tyril’s right side, her priestess’ robes swapped out for a silken lavender dress that was embroidered with silver thread and rippled like a windswept field of purple peonies when she moved. To her credit, Nia tried her best to look fascinated, her hands folded politely in her lap, and her posture attentive, but Tyril could tell by the way she frequently shifted about and her eyes fluttered wide every so often that she was doing everything she could to stay awake.

It was not the worst debate Tyril had ever attended but it certainly wasn’t the most thought-provoking or insightful either. In fact, that was how Tyril felt about many things in Undermount lately. Once, he had delighted in debating or listening to other elves as they argued about all sorts of topics, from philosophy to art, and had very much enjoyed all that Undermount had to offer outside of its byzantine political structure. 

But now, Tyril could not indulge in any of these things without thinking of everything in the outside world that his people were missing out on. It made him restless. How could he possibly stay here, hiding behind these gilded walls while his friends were spread across the kingdom, dealing with murders and schemes? How could he participate in discussions about ancient art and literature or look forward to the next decadent banquet when with every second that passed, the Empire developed its plans for Morella’s demise?

Nia nudged his arm with her elbow, drawing Tyril out of his thoughts. 

“Who do you think is right?” Nia whispered, nodding her chin toward the center of the forum.

Tyril shook his head, leaning over the arm of his chair in her direction. “Topics related to art or philosophy are always subjective,” he explained patiently, waving a hand at the podium. “The point of most of these debates is not to determine right or wrong but to stimulate the mind and bring attention to topics in order to ensure they are not forgotten.”

“Oh,” Nia replied, nodding slowly. Her brow furrowed. “Of course. That makes… sense.”

Tyril laughed under his breath, understanding that to those raised outside of Undermount, it certainly did not.

“But, to answer your question…”  he added with a private smile. “Neither. Anyone with a true appreciation of the arts or even a sense of taste knows that the most exquisite pieces of art were made during the Greenbriar Dynasty. It is hardly a debate. The artistry of the Skywarren and other eras cannot even begin to compare.”

Nia’s brows lifted, her lips pursing. “I thought you just said art was subjective and there is no right or wrong?” 

Tyril waved his hand dismissively. “Officially, yes. But we all have our own opinions.”

“Hm,” Nia hummed thoughtfully, redirecting her attention to the two debaters and the pieces of art displayed behind them. She pointed toward the center of the conclave. “That one… It is from the Skywarren Dynasty, right?”

Tyril followed her fingertip to a woven tapestry that was on display between two canvases. It was a swirling conglomeration of black and gold thread that spiraled out toward the edges of the tapestry, like a maelstrom of sunlight and shadow. At the eye of the storm was a dark, winged warrior, clutching a spiked club.

Tyril frowned at it, an uneasy feeling settling deep into the pit of his stomach. He glanced at Nia, who was staring hard at the tapestry, her expression betraying both her discomfort and a sense of befuddled familiarity. 

“Yes,” he replied slowly, keeping his voice low to avoid drawing attention away from the debaters. “I believe it was produced not long before Valen fell. See its burnt edges? It was recovered from the Golden City before it could be consumed by flames and has been preserved with magic ever since.”

Nia frowned and wrapped her arms around herself, shuddering slightly. She shook her head, tearing her gaze away from the tapestry at last. “I don’t like it.”

Tyril opened his mouth to question why, but found that he sympathized with her sentiments. “Admittedly, neither do I,” Tyril confessed, pursing his lips. “There’s something unnerving about it.”

“If the elves lived in peace and prosperity,” Nia wondered softly, “how could something so…”

“Foreboding?” Tyril offered.

“Disturbing.” Nia grimaced. “How could something so dark be produced in a civilization that survived in the Light?”

Tyril let out a low hum, lips turning down into a frown. “The darkness will always be there, Nia. No matter how prosperous a city is, every alleyway has its shadows. But…” 

As he spoke, Tyril’s gaze roamed about the rotunda, idly skimming over the faces of the other elves that had attended the debate this morning, noting those who were fully engrossed in the art discussion, those who looked uninterested but remained out of respect and decorum, and those, few in number, who were more interested in Tyril’s human guest than anything else in the room. 

Most of the elves that gazed at Nia—a woman from House Rainwallow, two men from House Stonewater, and another woman from House Sandblossom—did so with equal parts curiosity and wariness. But there was one man whose expression conveyed neither of these feelings as he glared at Nia with what could only be described as poorly disguised contempt. Tyril recognized the white-haired man as Valerian, heir to the very same House that yielded Duke Erthax, or as the people of Valen once knew him, Bastion Steelsorrow.

Tyril narrowed his eyes at the Steelsorrow heir, glaring with a coldness so severe, it rivaled that which laid in the darkness between distant stars. Beside him, Tyril felt Adrina stiffen as if she had noticed the same thing he had. He did not doubt that she now bore a similar expression to his own.

Valerian’s rosy gaze met Tyril’s, furrowed brows creasing his midnight blue skin as his lip curled with distaste. Then, without so much as a lingering glance, the other elf lord looked away. Tyril stared at him for a few moments longer, then did the same while making a mental note to keep Nia away from Valerian and learn which Houses were particularly close to the Steelsorrow line. Perhaps if he acted quickly and Nia utilized her natural charm, they could be swayed before the Steelsorrow heir poisoned their thoughts.

Tyril returned his attention to his conversation with Nia, leaving the issue of the Steelsorrows and Nia’s reputation amongst the elves for when he returned to the manor and could consult his notes. He rapped his fingertips against the arm of his chair and looked at the tapestry with a pensive expression. 

“It makes me wonder about the elves at the time…” he said slowly, feeling Nia’s gaze weigh heavily on his profile. “If they knew something terrible was about to come, that they were on the precipice of a darkness from which they could not return.”

“Well, the same could be said of us,” Nia mused, cupping her chin in one hand as she fluttered the fingers of the other. “Two years ago, could you have ever imagined that we would be here like this now? That everything that happened could have… happened?”

Tyril thought that over for a few moments. Gods, he could not even comprehend how simple life had been two years ago. Or perhaps simple was not the correct word. His life at the center of elven politics and scheming had never been simple. But it had been familiar. And for the most part, predictable. When his best friend had left… 

It did not matter that months had passed before Duchess Xenia had returned in Kaya Duskraven’s skin and shamed him in a duel. In retrospect, Tyril knew that the day his best friend had left Undermount in search of long forgotten knowledge was also the day that life as he knew it ceased to exist. From that point on, nothing had been the same, and now, it never could be again. 

Although perhaps that was for the best.

Two years ago, Tyril had spent his days aiding his father in managing the Starfury manor and their various political and economic endeavors, as was customary of House heirs. And when he was not aiding Valir or spending time with Kaya, Tyril spent his time brushing up on his lessons on politics, ancient elvish, magic, dueling, poetry, history, and pretty much any other topic he could find information on in the Grand Library. 

It was all very… 

Words such as familiar, comforting, and predictable, swirled through Tyril’s mind, but looking back on the memories and all of the time he spent alone, Tyril could only describe it as monotonous.

He did not know it then, but it seemed that even he had been in desperate need of change. 

“I will admit that even in my wildest wonderings, I could never have dreamt that our lives would be as they are now,” Tyril said slowly, carefully picking his words as he tried to work through his thoughts. “But I think I’d always known that things could not stay as they were forever. And they still cannot,” he added firmly. “We cannot afford to stand still.”

Nia nodded in agreement, although her gaze became a little sharper on his face. Searching—for his answers, and perhaps her own. She affirmed, “Change is good, right?”

“And often necessary,” Tyril replied, sinking into his chair with a weary sigh. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “But that does not make it any easier.”

Nia’s expression softened into one of understanding and commiseration. She opened her mouth, about to respond when—

All conversation, including that of the House Fortellane and House Sunstrider’s debate, drew to a sudden halt as the doors to the rotunda burst open, emitting a single elf. All eyes shifted in the elf’s direction, noting her wide pink eyes and disgruntled appearance.

“Trespassers!” she panted, winded from both exertion and shock, and clinging to the open doors. “At the eastern gates!”

“The eastern gates?” Adrina murmured beside him in skeptical disbelief. “Through the tunnels? That must mean—”

“Yes,” Valir replied gravely. “They came from the other side of the mountains.”

Nia leaned forward, her brow creasing. “What’s on the other side of the mountains?”

Tyril pressed his lips into a grim line as his memory dredged up a few ancient paintings featured in the Grand Library. He saw it clearly in his mind, an oil rendering of red sand dunes, crumbling pillars, and rippling waves of heat that simmered beneath an unforgiving sun… 

“The wastelands,” Tyril replied, a sinking feeling settling into his gut. “Zaradun.”

“Trespassers?” Valerian snapped from the other side of the forum, his rich voice drawn into a careless but irritated drawl. “What kind?”

The elf drew in a deep breath, her golden hair stirring in the benign wind that swept through the doorway around her. “Dwarves.”

Read the rest of the chapter on AO3!

➳ ➳ ➳ ➳

Tagging:  @diamonds-and-decorum, @kelseaaa, @xsweetnspookyx, @tyrils-star, @maeksoo, @tylorswift, @somin-yin, @vesselsynths, @mikewawazoski, @rainesenator, @desperatetrashwives, @choicesficwriterscreations

Let me know if you would like to be tagged/removed!

[twoidiotwriters1]

Pure Blood 21 (Sirius Black x F!Oc)

A/N:  I'm not crying, you are

Warning: Broken hearts, including mine -Val

Words: 3,358

Masterlist:

Chapter 20 / Chapter 22

"I can't believe what I'm saying, but," He says sitting next to me. "I think we have another mission in common."

"What are you talking about?" I say, stopping looking at the couple sitting a few meters from us.

“We must separate Trixie from Remus, it’s obvious. When we least expect it, she’ll take his blood.” That comment makes me smile.

"The other day she apologized to me about Hogsmeade, I'm talking about Trixie."

"And? Are you best friends now? ” I scoff.

"Of course not. I won't lie, it made me hesitate, but there’s something very wrong with that girl, Black.”

“What's your idea?" I look at him.

"Me? It's up to you, I already suffered from the first battle, it's your turn,” He grimaces.

"I'll see what I can think of.”

That's when Slughorn comes in and the class begins.

"Well, everyone, come here, I have something new for you,” We all stand around a table, which has several cauldrons. "Can anyone identify these potions?"

Lily is the first to raise her hand and answers everything correctly.

“…And the one in the middle is amortentia.”

“Correct, Miss Evans, thirty points for Gryffindor. Very well, can anyone describe the amortentia? Use and its characteristics.”

Lily raises her hand again.

"Miss Evans, please let your classmates try," We laugh. "Well, I have an idea…”

"Miss Evans, Singh, and Lupin. Come over to the cauldron, please.” I stand between Lily and Remus. "Now, what smells can you detect?"

I focus on the cauldron.

The first thing I smell reminds me of the grass when I go to the gardens in the morning. Then I smell chocolate, which makes me happy, the other reminds me of all those bonfires we made at home, or the continuous times I fell asleep near the fireplace when I was little; something surprises me, is- What is that? It’s not a pleasant smell. I wrinkle my nose and look confused at the cauldron.

"And well?"

"I can smell old books,” begins Lily, "new parchment, but the last one I'm not sure, I know I've smelled it before, but I don't remember…”

"Very good. Miss Singh? ”

"Lawn, chocolate, firewood and the other- it's something strange,” I say looking at the teacher, "I don't know what it is exactly, but it's not pleasant.”

“Sometimes it’s confusing, but over time, you’ll be able to identify that smell. Remus?”

"Chocolate, the next one reminds me of a forest, pumpkin pie and... I don't know, strawberry?"

“Excellent, good work. These scents are very peculiar, they remind us of happy moments, things that are pleasant or, in many occasions, are related to the people we love.”

The three of us return to our seats.

“Amortentia is the strongest love filter in the world. However, it doesn’t create true love, it’s impossible to create or imitate love. It only produces an intense infatuation, a powerful obsession. It’s probably the most dangerous and powerful potion of all in this room."

Some girls get a little closer and then back off laughing. Maybe thinking about smells and the people it reminds them of.

I’m still confused by the last scent I perceived.

"But well. There's something else,” says Slughorn. “This potion is called Felix Felicis, or better known as liquid luck. It makes the drinker a lucky being for a certain time, conditioned on the amount taken, during which everything he tries or undertakes will have a successful result.”

"That would do me good," I hear James say behind my back.

"Oh Mister Potter, you and your companions have a chance to own this little thing." Everyone gets excited and looks anxiously at the potion. "All they have to do is prepare perfectly is the Filter Potion of the Living Dead. Whoever does it will earn it. Move your tables away, it won't be as a team. Let's go.”

Everyone runs to the shelves to grab the correct ingredients and return to the tables and start the potion.

Wormwood, asphodel, valerian roots, brain sloth, soporific bean, all good so far. I look up to see the others panic, I'm sure everyone has a different reason to make it perfect and win the potion.

"I can finally get all the credit when Slughorn sees my excellent work," says Sirius next to me.

"You seem too sure.”

"I'm sure of what I'm doing, doll.”

I roll my eyes and go on with my own, but as I read the following instruction I frown in confusion. If you want all the juice from the 12 soporophore grains, why cut them?

I decide to ignore it and crush one of them and then put the juice in the potion, I hear Sirius giggle, which I ignore, do the same with the others and stir the liquid.

"Hey, you missed a grain of soporophore," adds Sirius.

"Of course not.”

“Eh, yes.”

“Eh, no.”

"I know what I'm saying, you missed one.”

"Of course not, I brought everything I needed, I know how to count, Black.”

He raises his hands in surrender.

"Okay, but if it doesn't come out, then don't cry."

I stop and my anxiety causes me to doubt. I curse and put another grain and then listen to his low chuckle.

"Now what?"

"You shouldn't trust anyone when there’s an award as valuable as the potion."

"What? No!” The idiot cheated and now my potion is wrong.

“Time's up!" Slughorn yells.

The teacher reviews each of the works, but none, so far, has succeeded. We’re all surprised to learn that neither Lily nor Remus were able to do it.

"I hate you," I whisper when the teacher arrives at our place, checking Sirius' potion.

"You should thank me, I taught you a good lesson."

"Mr. Black, very good work,” Sirius smiles. "But I'm afraid you haven't done it perfectly either, it must be a problem with the sopophor beans, I'm sorry.” His smile disappears.

"I still love you, Padfoot!” James yells at the back and everyone laughs.

Slughorn walks to my cauldron, for a few seconds nobody says anything.

"I can't believe it," He says, dropping a small leaf into the liquid. "With just a few drops we would all be lost," He turns to me. "Excellent work, Miss Singh. I’m very surprised, good done. I think we have a winner.”

Some applaud in surprise, but someone in particular makes a rather animalistic growl.

"Thank you, Padfoot," I tease him.

—————————————————————

“I'm very proud of you, my little winner," says Jenna, squeezing me into a hug. "I knew you would win something like this!”

"I can't breathe,” I manage to say and she releases me.

"Tell me you’ll do something good with that potion," adds Remus.

"I don't know, I don't know…” I lift the potion between my fingers and the corridor light illuminates it. "So many possibilities…”

"Maybe you can use it to end our future marriage, Singh,” says Sirius coming to our side along with James.

"Oh sure. As if you had used it for that and not for selfish purposes,” I cross my arms.

“Obviously, I’d use it wisely."

I look at him incredulously.

“Not even I believe it, Padfoot," adds James, making the others laugh.

"Whatever," Sirius snorts.

"I have time to decide, nobody will take it from me,” I put the bottle in my bag.

"You have to be careful with that, Persephone," says Lily.

"Yes, mom," I tease.

"Congratulations, Persephone. I'm sure you deserve it,” says Trixie smiling, then smiles at Remus.

"How strange, I don't remember calling for the devil," adds Sirius, feigning confusion.

“Padfoot," scolds Remus.

“It’s okay, Remi,” She replies and then kisses Lupin's cheek causing him to blush. "I must go, see you later!” She says goodbye and goes to meet her friends.

"If you keep clenching your teeth, they'll break," Jenna whispers to me and I relax my jaw noticing that it was actually quite tense. I look up to see her and she raises and lowers her eyebrows suggestively.

"Not a word," I growl, making her laugh.

———————————————————————

I walk through the hallways in my way to the library all alone, for some reason everyone’s busy and no one could come with me. It’s not that I’m always surrounded by my friends now, I try not to think about it much and I go on my way quietly, but that doesn’t last for long.

Someone forces me to run in another direction. I try to get away, but nothing works, until we reach an empty corridor.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Black?" I screech rubbing my wrist.

"Sorry, but this is important," He says, breathing hard, holding some sort of blanket in his free arm.

“What's important enough to drag me through school?"

"I know how we can stop the devil from being with Remus.”

I look at him confused. "I hear you.”

His mouth opens, but he regrets it, he looks at the blanket and gets nervous.

"Sirius?"

He lets out an annoyed growl and brushes some strands of hair out of his face.

“James is going to kill me, but it’s for a good cause,” He says, raising the blanket. "This is an invisibility cloak, it's from James, but you can't say anything."

"Uh-huh and I have the Elder wand. Is this why you hurt my wrist?" I say tiredly.

Sirius looks down and notices my wrist, which is a little red.

"Sorry, I- I didn't want to,” He shakes his head. "We'll talk about that later, but I'm telling you the truth about the cape,” he says and extends it to later put it around his body, disappearing entirely.

I walk away a few steps in surprise.

“Oh.”

"Great, right?" He says with a sly smile. "It's from James, well, his father gave it to him, it’s a family thing."

"Yes, you just wanted to show me something that’s not yours?" I say reaching out, maybe too close, to touch the fabric of the cape.

"What? No, I–” He stutters a bit. I look up meeting his gray eyes, I feel his breath hit my face.

Suddenly, I realize the closeness and move away a little, he also comes out of his thoughts and shakes his head.

"Listen, this may interest you.”

“Okay?" I say unsure.

"I was with James in- well, I don't know why we were there- but the news are that I heard the devil talk to her friends.”

Now he has my full attention.

“And?"

"Wait, won't you tell me something about invading privacy or something?"

I roll my eyes.

"We can talk about your immoral behaviors another time, now continue.”

“Well, after all the female chatter, they asked her how she felt about Remus and she said she was just playing with him, that she was really planning something bigger for when they meet again and then they all laughed. I'm sure it was an evil laugh.”

I think carefully about what he tells me, and then grimace.

"Wow, I didn't think we could go that far,” Sirius seems to understand and nods, surprised. "We must tell him."

I can't believe Remus will finally realize the girl's evil.

"Do you know where he is?

"He said he would be in the gardens- now that I think about it, he said he wanted to be very far from you.”

Sirius laughs.

"Yeah, he didn't agree with the joke- it doesn't matter- come on.”

We almost ran through the school until we found the boy, who was reading under a tree with Lily by his side.

"You told me you were busy, but you’re just reading," I accuse them when we arrived.

"Sometimes we need a break, Percy," Remus replies with a smile.

"We have proof of why you shouldn't date Satan," Sirius blurts out without thinking. I look at him raising my eyebrows and he smiles embarrassed, apparently the gossip can not be held long enough inside his body.

"What are you talking about?" Remus asks closing his book.

"Guys, I think you should drop that topic. Trixie’s not the same girl you met when you were kids,” adds Lily.

"But now we have proof," Sirius repeats.

"Just say it, Padfoot.”

Sirius tells him the same thing he said to me a few moments ago and Remus doesn't respond for a few minutes. The three of us look at him expecting the worst.

"Are you sure of what you heard? Maybe it's a misunderstanding,” He says nervously.

"I think I identify a malicious laugh when I hear it.”

I hit Sirius's arm and he complains.

“Sorry, Wolfie,” I say sitting next to him.

“You don't have to, you guys warned me, right? It's my fault.”

Before anyone could do otherwise, Lily warns us that Trixie is approaching with a big smile, but Sirius steps in front of us to stop her.

"He no longer wants to see you, he says that you are a bad, bad monster and that he hopes never to see you again,” He warns crossing his arms.

I almost want to laugh at his childish speech. Remus gets up and confronts the girl.

"It is true?" Lupin asks.

"What are you talking about?" She says confused.

"Someone heard you talk to your friends about how you want to play with Remus' feelings," I added annoyed.

"Play with your feelings?" She looks at Remus. "I don't understand what they mean…”

I approach to be next to my friend and I can notice the pain reflected in his honey-colored eyes. My heart squeezes when I see it.

"You better never talk to Remus again."

"It is true? Am I just a game for you?” She denies and her eyes water. Wait a minute. “Everything they talk about you is true. You're that kind of girl who has guys under her control."

"No, Remus, I would never hurt you, I really don't understand that-" She interrupts herself in mid-word and looks at us. "I think- I think I know."

Sirius stands next to me.

Trixie sighs, "It's not what they think.”

"Yeah right," Sirius replies defensively.

"Sirius, enough is enough, there must be an explanation," adds Lily.

Trixie nods and turns to Remus.

"It was a surprise," She smiles sadly. "I was planning to give you a gift, you have helped me a lot with all my subjects and you’ve been kind and nice to me, I thought…” She sniffs. “My friends helped me get a book, a first edition of your favorite book. When I said that I was just playing with him, I meant that I was making up many excuses for not seeing him, I needed more time to get the book.”

My eyes widen and I gape. I'm sure Sirius has the same face.

"B-but, you all laughed maliciously, besides, who uses that expression?" Sirius defends himself.

"It's kind of a game,” She replies a little embarrassed. "The excuses were ridiculous, I really wanted to surprise him.”

No one says anything for a few seconds.

"Remus?" Lily asks, touching his shoulder.

Suddenly, Lupin turns to us and the pain is replaced by pure anger.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" His scream makes us start. Remus's face turns completely red and the marks on his veins are more visible than ever before.

“Re-Remus–" Sirius stutters.

"What? Now what excuse will you give me? Hmm?” He gets closer and we back off a little. “You're impossible, I can't believe it!" He rubs his face with both hands.

"Calm down, Moony…”

“How do you want me to calm down after what you have done to me?”

Lily tries to help, but Remus just watches us.

“I'm sick of you two and your stupid ideas about Trixie! Finally, after so many years of being in this school, someone notices me, and what do you do? I can't believe how selfish you are!”

“We're not–”

"Oh, please, leave the role of victims. You’ve succeeded. It's easy for you to just judge people, and act selfish under the guise of your pathetic childhood and family. You’re not the only ones who have suffered and yet you’re the ones who have the most. You can both have whoever you want. Sirius has no problem getting dates with any girl, even guys line up to be with you. And Persephone, you have all the boys in the palm of your hand. You don't know what it feels like to be someone's shadow, you never stopped to think that this could be my one good thing. Everything’s normal for you and still you can't help but stick your noses into my life and destroy what I’ve always wanted!”

My heart hammers against my chest. I never believed that something like this would go out of hand. And without a doubt, I never thought I’d see Remus in this state.

His breathing is rough, his body’s tense. After a few seconds he realizes all he’s said to us, looks up, and notices the attention he elicited from some students, but then turns to us one last time.

"I don't want any of you to ever get into my life again, I-I don't want to see you again. I'm sick of being the good person among hypocritical people.” He setences and leaves.

Lily shakes her head disappointed and goes in the same direction as Remus. Trixie cries and her friends arrive to comfort her.

In the end, only Sirius and I were left.

——————————————————————

As an excellent dramatic touch, the day ends with a major storm flooding the school. Sirius and I are sitting under an arch with a view of the gardens, the lake and some trees. A few drops cover my hair and part of my uniform.

"Do you think he will ever forgive us?" Sirius says after several hours without saying anything. His voice is very thin right now.

"I don't know," I reply, my voice hoarse from crying.

"Of all the things I've done in my life, I've never felt this way."

Before, I would have taken that comment to complain about what he did to me, but I don't have the energy to do it. Now that no longer matters.

"Me too," I sigh and the tears return. “I’m the problem.”

Sirius turns to me confused.

“Every friendship I've had, I always manage to ruin it. It happened with you, with Jenna, Remus… I'm only missing Regulus or Lily.”

"I don't think you’re the problem, the problems will always be there, and we will have many discussions with our friends, it can’t be avoided, but that’s why we shouldn’t give them up. If they’re true, everything will work out.”

"Since when are you so wise?" I say trying to joke and he smiles a little.

"Actually, my uncle Alphard told me this in second grade," He clears his throat. "I was upset the whole time because of what had happened with you, he was the only one who could calm me down.”

I nod.

"I never wanted to hurt Remus.”

"Me neither," He says in a broken voice, after so long, I see Sirius Black cry. “He's my best friend and- and he's always been there for me. I didn't know he felt like that. It wasn’t my intention to make him feel inferior, I always believed that we were a team.”

"I wanted someone to listen to me, but I never did," I add.

We were silent for a long time, letting the crying subside a little. In that a thunder resounds in the castle causing me to jump from the fright, I’ve never been a fan of loud noises. Sirius notices it and takes my hand.

"Easy, it will pass,” he murmurs.

My heart squeezes again. It’s like when we were kids and storms would take the best of me. I bite my lower lip and wrap my arms around Sirius's torso while he puts one arm around my shoulders and the other wraps around my waist. I hide my face on his chest and feel his head rest above mine.

This was definitely not part of the plan.

Taglist

@treestarrrrrrrr​ @siriuslysirius1107​      @thagreenmoon​ @madmaiden2890​   @ren-ela​  @avipshamitra​   @auroraawrites​ @findzelda​  @lizlil​ @siriusmuch​   @chloe-geoghegan1​ @reverse-hxlland​​  @may-rapp​​ @the-specific-oceans​

 @bloodorangemoonlight​

@littledeadgirlwalking​

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Tue., Aug. 18, 2020

Commemorated on August 5_Julian Calendar

The Martyr Pontius (267)

     The Martyr Pontius lived during the III Century, the son of a pagan Roman senator named Marcus and his wife Julia. While with child, Julia had gone with her husband to the pagan temple of Jupiter. The devil, inhabiting the temple, shouted from the lips of the pagan priest that the boy in Julia's womb would destroy Jupiter and his pagan temple. When the boy was born, his mother wanted to kill him out of fear of the prediction, but his father opposed this and the child was left to live. He was named Pontius, and he grew up sharp of mind and keen for study. On his way to the pagan school Pontius happened to go past an house, where Christians were making the morning Divine-services. Hearing the words of the psalm which the Christians were singing: "pagan idols be silver and gold, the works of the hands of men..." (Ps. 113: 12 [115: 4]). Pontius became very interested in this verse and he paused at the gate. Pope Pontian, who was making the service, invited Pontius and his companion Valerian to come in. After the service, the pope talked for a long while with the youths, revealing to them the Gospel teachings, and after a certain while he baptised them. Saint Pontius in turn likewise converted his father to Christ, whom Pope Pontian also baptised, together with his whole household. And after the death of his father, Saint Pontius, then 20 years old, was appointed by the emperor Alexander Severus (222-235) as a senator, to take the place of his deceased father. In the Senate and the surroundings of the emperor, Saint Pontius enjoyed universal esteem for his good nature, sound sense and fairness. Under the successor to the emperor Alexander Severus – Maximian (235-238), Pope Saint Pontian finished his life as a martyr (+ 235).      Pope Saint Antherus was elected Bishop of Rome in place of Pope Saint Pontian, and he too soon accepted suffering and death for Christ (+ 236). His successor was Pope Saint Fabian (Fabius), who as a presbyter fearlessly gave burial to the bodies of martyrs. Pope Saint Fabian loved Saint Pontius as though he were his own flesh and blood son. Saint Pontius distributed with Saint Fabian all his substance on the needs of the poor. After the perishing of impious Maximian, the new emperor Gordian (238-244) did not persecute Christians, and thereafter in turn the emperor Philip (244-249) together with his co-regent son Philip was persuaded by the conversations and preaching of Saint Pontius to believe in Christ and to accept Baptism from holy Pope Fabian. With the permission of the emperors, Saints Pontius and Fabian threw down the statue of Jupiter at the pagan temple and on this place built a church. For 4 years the Church of Christ dwelt in peace and tranquility. But then Decius (249-251) ascended the throne, having organised a rebellion and murdered the emperor Philip and his son. And during this time Sainted Fabian, Pope of Rome (+ 250), accepted death for Christ. But Saint Pontius left Rome for the city of Cimelum (on the border of Italy and Gaul-France) and lived there like a stranger. During the time of the emperor Valerian (253-259), cruel torturers were sent out with full authority to all ends to seek out and kill all Christians. And thus Claudius and Anubius arrived in the city of Cimelum for this purpose. Saint Pontius fearlessly confessed himself a Christian and refused to offer sacrifice to idols. They shackled him in irons and threw him in prison. From the very beginning of the torture the saint calmly admonished the torturers, that the Lord would bring to naught the torture and they would see the power of God. And indeed, as soon as the servants attempted to tie Saint Pontius to the rack, it fell apart to pieces, and the torturers fell to the ground as though dead.      "Be convinced, O man of little faith, in the power of my Lord", – said Saint Pontius to Claudius, but on the advice of Anubius he gave Saint Pontius over to be devoured by two bears in the circus. The wild beasts, while not touching the saint, fell instead upon their keepers and tore at them. The spectators began to shout: "God only is the Christian God, in Whom believeth Pontius". By order of the torturers a bon-fire was built, but it burnt out, and the saint remained alive, and even his clothes did not burn. The crowd shouted all the more strongly: "Great is the God of the Christians!" Saint Pontius then was sentenced to beheading by the sword, and the execution was made out beyond the city in the year 257. The body of Saint Pontius was given burial at the place of execution by his comrade and friend Valerian.

© 1996-2001 by translator Fr. S. Janos.

Martyr Eusignios of Antioch (362)

     The Martyr Eusignios was born at Antioch in the mid III Century. Over the course of sixty years he served in the Roman armies of the emperors Diocletian, Maximian Hercules, Constantius Chlorus, Constantine the Great and his sons. Saint Eusignios was a companion of Saint Basiliskos (Comm. 3 March and 22 May), and he provided an account of his deed of martyrdom (+ c. 308). At the beginning of the reign of Saint Constantine the Great, Saint Eusignios was a witness to the appearance in the sky of the starry Cross, a prediction of victory. Saint Eusignios retired in his old age from military service and returned to his own country. There he spent his time in prayer, fasting, and attending the temple of God. And thus he lived until the reign of Julian the Apostate (361-363), who yearned for a return to paganism. Through the denunciation of one of the Antioch citizens, Saint Eusignios stood trial as a Christian before the emperor Julian in the year 362. He fearlessly accused the emperor of apostacy from Christ, and reproached him with the example of his relative, Constantine the Great, and he described in detail how he himself had been an eyewitness to the appearance in the sky of the sign of the Cross. Julian did not spare the quite old Saint Eusignios, then 110 years old, but rather ordered him beheaded.

© 1996-2001 by translator Fr. S. Janos.

2 Corinthians 2:14-3:3

14Now thanks be to God who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and through us diffuses the fragrance of His knowledge in every place.15For we are to God the fragrance of Christ among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing.16To the one we are the aroma of death leading to death, and to the other the aroma of life leading to life. And who is sufficient for these things? 17For we are not, as so many, peddling the word of God; but as of sincerity, but as from God, we speak in the sight of God in Christ.

1Do we begin again to commend ourselves? Or do we need, as some others, epistles of commendation to you or letters of commendation from you? 2You are our epistle written in our hearts, known and read by all men; 3clearly you are an epistle of Christ, ministered by us, written not with ink but by the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of flesh, that is, of the heart.

Matthew 23:29-39

29Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! Because you build the tombs of the prophets and adorn the monuments of the righteous,30and say, 'If we had lived in the days of our fathers, we would not have been partakers with them in the blood of the prophets.'31Therefore you are witnesses against yourselves that you are sons of those who murdered the prophets.32Fill up, then, the measure of your fathers' guilt.33Serpents, brood of vipers! How can you escape the condemnation of hell?34Therefore, indeed, I send you prophets, wise men, and scribes: some of them you will kill and crucify, and some of them you will scourge in your synagogues and persecute from city to city,35that on you may come all the righteous blood shed on the earth, from the blood of righteous Abel to the blood of Zechariah, son of Berechiah, whom you murdered between the temple and the altar.36Assuredly, I say to you, all these things will come upon this generation.37O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the one who kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to her! How often I wanted to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing!38See! Your house is left to you desolate;39for I say to you, you shall see Me no more till you say, 'Blessed is He who comes in the name of the LORD!'

[justforbooks]

The Best Spy Novels to Read While Stuck at Home

Forty, page-turning spy novels, to Keep you on the edge of your seat. Marked by an exhilarating pace, plenty of dramatic twists, and richly drawn complex protagonists, spy novels are about as riveting as it gets in the library. And while all the excitement of double agents and espionage keeps you at the edge of your seat, these books also offer insight into fascinating and troubling historical periods.

In the name of thrilling reading, no matter what time of year and to wrestle with larger philosophical questions of betrayal, human connection, and the legacy of international conflict, I rounded up 40 of the best spy novels around, to read while stuck at home. Written by former CIA and other intelligence agents and some of the most prolific literary minds of all time, get to know the best spy novels below.

Here are my picks for the best spy novels you have to read while stuck at home.

Rosalie Knecht, Who Is Vera Kelly?

1962 in New York City's Greenwich Village and Argentina. A radio show host is struggling to make ends meet and fit into the underground gay scene when she gets recruited by the CIA to wiretap a crooked congressman in Argentina, and works her way into a radical group of students planning a coup. Think coming-of-age meets historical fiction with a strong female protagonist.

Jason Matthews, Red Sparrow

Modern-day Russia. Dominika Egorova is forced into becoming a secret agent that uses her sultry beauty to seduce an American CIA officer. When she develops genuine feelings for him, her loyalties begin to shift and the plot thickens.

Gina Apostol, Gun Dealer's Daughter

1980s Marcos-era Philippines and modern-day America. Though this book doesn't follow a linear chronology, it reflects Sol's fragmented memory and trauma. As a young woman limited by the comfort of her wealth, she seeks to overthrow the Marcos regime. Spying on the American generals and Philippine elite from her own fancy dinner table, Sol's loyalties struggle between her family, homeland, and her insurgent student friends. Politically charged, lyrical, and eye-opening, this is a must-read.

Helen MacInnes, Agent in Place

New York, Washington, D.C., and the French Riviera during the Cold War. When a Russian spy who's expertly infiltrated Washington society gets his hands on a top-secret NATO memorandum, a high-profile CIA officer's cover is blown in Moscow. Now, everyone is racing against time to uncover who the Russian spy actually is.

Viet Thanh Nguyen, The Sympathizer

1975 Vietnam and Los Angeles, A half-French, half-Vietnamese double agent relocates to America after the fall of Saigon, and betrayal, both personal and political, ensues. At once a love story and a spy novel about the legacy and evils of colonialism, the Vietnam War, and ensuing refugee experience in the U.S. you won't soon forget The Sympathizer. It's satirical, sharp, suspenseful, and poignant.

Joseph Kanon, Leaving Berlin

Post-WWII Berlin, Germany. Alex Meier is a young German Jew who fled to America at the onset of WWII to escape Nazi persecution. But with the Cold War underway, it's the peak of the McCarthy era, and he's pigeon-holed into working undercover in East Berlin for the CIA. It's the only way he won't be deported. But when he gets there, he finds out that his target is the woman he loved and left behind before the war. It's a thought-provoking and action-packed love story.

Joseph Conrad, The Secret Agent

London, late 1800s. A shop-owner gets wrapped up in an anarchist scheme to bomb the Greenwich Observatory, but the plan goes wrong and throws his life into chaos. It raises philosophical questions and is a literary masterpiece, but that doesn't keep it from being a thrilling, entertaining read.

John Le Carré, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

Post-WWII Britain. Unhappily retired after a failed mission, an aging officer sets out to catch a traitor who has worked their way into the highest ranks of British intelligence. Full of political and social commentary with a fast-paced plot, there's a reason this is such a classic.

Ian McEwan, The Innocent

Berlin, 1955. A young Englishman living in American-occupied Berlin is commissioned to install the tape recorders that that will wiretap Russians in Soviet-occupied East Berlin. He begins spying on the Americans for the Brits while helping the Americans spy on the Russians. But, he fails as a spy, and the plot becomes more complicated when he falls in love with an older German with a violent, possessive ex-husband.

Lauren Wilkinson, American Spy

Burkina Faso. In the FBI, Marie Mitchell sticks out as a young black woman. In American Spy, Marie wades through a sea of a mostly white male intelligence community, and an assignment to Burkina Faso, where she meets Thomas Sankara, revolutionary president of the landlocked, West African country.

John le Carré, The Spy Who Came in From the Cold

Cold War-era Germany. British intelligence agent Alec Leamas should be on his way back to London, but one more job—an undercover mission to topple East German intelligence, leads Leamas back into dangerous territory. In an interview with Electric Literature, author Lauren Wilkinson (author of American Spy) calls this spy novel "terrific."

Susan Hasler, Intelligence

Post-9/11 America, during an election year. Intelligence trails Maddie James, a CIA counterterrorism analyst as she pursues an al-Qaida operation with an eccentric team. Meanwhile, the Administration is more interested in maintaining the message that America is winning the war on terror. According to author Susan Hasler, a former member of the CIA, writing the novel was a way to cope with residual 9/11 period anger.

Valerie Plame, Blowback

Cyprus. Young, blonde CIA operative Vanessa Pierson assumes the identify of a financial adviser in Cyprus on a reconnaissance mission. Her target: An international arms dealer, Bhoot, who is believed to be aiding Iran to bolster its nuclear activities. With an assassin on her trail, Blowback is full of fast-paced action scenes, as well as intimate details that the Washington Post describes "might elude a male writer." Blowback is co-authored by former CIA agent Valerie Plame, and Sarah Lovett.

Stella Rimington, At Risk

Britain. British intelligence taps Liz Carlyle, a scrappy counter terror agent to stop a terrorist attack. And the person of interest is traveling under a British passport, an "invisible." Author Stella Rimington relies on her former life as a high-ranking spy to author At Risk, Rimington's debut novel.

Patricia Wentworth, Hue and Cry

London. Before Mally Lee's wedding in six months, she accepts a position as governess to a shipping magnate's young daughter. Upon entering the Peterson grounds, however, Lee will be accused of being a thief and spy. Mally flees, leaving her fiancé in emotional shambles and private investigators in hot pursuit. What has Mally stumbled into?

Irène Némirovsky, The Courilof Affair

18th century Russia. Léon M, son of Russian revolutionaries, is tasked with assassinating the ruthless Valerian Alexandrovitch Courilof, Russian Minister of Education. Fronting as Courilof's personal physician, Léon M works his way into Courilof's summer house, and as his relationship with Courilof grows, learns things are more complicated than they seem.

Stephenie Meyer, The Chemist

United States. A page-turning tale of an ex-agent on the run from her former employer (a clandestine, unnamed agency). To clear her name, she accepts one more job that will put her in an even more precarious position. But, the job goes south. What now?

Jennifer Chiaverini, The Spymistress

Civil War-era America. Elizabeth Van Lew is a Union loyalist living in the Confederacy, and she will risk it all to help build the Richmond underground, break free inmates from Confederate Libby Prison, and gather military intelligence under the pretense of humanitarian aid. In this historical novel inspired by a true story, Van Lew's contributions during the Civil War comes alive.

John Buchan, The Thirty-Nine Steps

Over a century old, and Buchan’s adventure novel still passes muster. The first of five novels featuring an all-action hero with a stiff upper lip, Richard Hannay, this is unpredictable, exciting fare – and will keep you guessing until the last page.

Graham Greene, The Quiet American

A novel depicting French colonialism being uprooted in Vietnam may not sound like the most thrilling you’ve ever heard, but in the hands of English literary giant Graham Greene, anything is possible. Featuring British journalism, undercover CIA agents, illegitimate marriage and a light smattering of car bombs, there is action balanced with considered philosophy – and the book is all the better for it.

Frederick Forsyth, The Day of the Jackal

Telling the tale of a professional assassin – tasked by a French dissident organisation to kill the President of France – Forsyth’s novel was met with praise when it was first published, and remains so to this day. Of course, the 1973 film adaptation starring the suave Edward Fox did nothing to help with the stories success...

Robert Ludlum, The Bourne Identity

We all know Matt Damon’s award-winning portrayal of Ludlum’s most famous character, but how many of us have read the novels? If not, you’ll be glad to know that these tales of amnesia, backstabbing and action are just as thrilling on the page – and that Eric Van Lustbader has added to the cannon, with an additional 11 Bourne books available to read.

Tom Clancy, The Hunt for Red October

Tom Clancy’s debut novel remains his best. Introducing Jack Ryan, the CIA analyst throw into the field, it one again tackles Soviet themes and the adventures of a group of US Navy officers taking possession of a nuclear submarine. It’s thrilling fare, and Clancy’s talent to bring the appeal of classic espionage into modern-day storytelling is impressive to say the least.

Len Deighton, The IPCRESS File

Len Deighton’s first spy novel, like Tom Clancy’s, is also his best. More famous for the Michael Caine-fronted film spun from its pages, this original novel involves Cold War brainwashing, a United State atomic weapons test and an extended sequence in Lebanon – and makes use of spy novel trope to be employed for years to come: that of the nameless protagonist.

John le Carré, The Tailor of Panama

He is Harry Pendel: Exclusive tailor to Panama’s most powerful men. Informant to British Intelligence. The perfect spy in a country rife with corruption and revolution. What his “handlers” don’t realize is that Harry has a hidden agenda of his own. Deceiving his friends, his wife, and practically himself, he’ll weave a plot so fabulous it exceeds his own vivid imagination. But when events start to spin out of control, Harry is suddenly in over his head—thrown into a lethal maze of politics and espionage, with unthinkable consequences...

Eric Ambler, A Coffin for Dimitrios

A chance encounter with a Turkish colonel leads Charles Latimer, the author of a handful of successful mysteries, into a world of sinister political and criminal maneuvers. At first merely curious to reconstruct the career of the notorious Dimitrios, whose body has been identified in an Istanbul morgue, Latimer soon finds himself caught up in a shadowy web of assassination, espionage, drugs, and treachery that spans the Balkans.

Ken Follett, Eye of the Needle

“His code name was “The Needle.” He was a German aristocrat of extraordinary intelligence—a master spy with a legacy of violence in his blood, and the object of the most desperate manhunt in history... But his fate lay in the hands of a young and vulnerable English woman, whose loyalty, if swayed, would assure his freedom—and win the war for the Nazis...“

Olen Steinhauer, The Tourist

Milo Weaver has tried to leave his old life of secrets and lies behind by giving up his job as a “tourist” for the CIA―an undercover agent with no home, no identity. Now he’s working a desk at the agency’s New York headquarters. But when the arrest of a long-sought-after assassin sets off an investigation into a colleague, exposing new layers of intrigue in his old cases, he has no choice but to go back undercover and find out who’s been behind it all from the very beginning.

Graham Greene, Our Man in Havana

MI6’s man in Havana is Wormold, a former vacuum-cleaner salesman turned reluctant secret agent out of economic necessity. To keep his job, he files bogus reports based on Charles Lamb’s Tales from Shakespeare and dreams up military installations from vacuum-cleaner designs. Then his stories start coming disturbingly true...

Erskine Childers, The Riddle of the Sands

The classic spy novel by Erskine Childers, credited as the first work of modern espionage fiction. Set in pre-World War I Europe, two British subject, Carruthers and Davies, uncover secret German activity suggesting a prelude to war.

Tom Bradby, Secret Service

What if your next national leader was secretly a Russian spy? Kate Henderson is a high-ranking officer of England's MI6—and a recent undercover operation has revealed explosive intel. Russia has infiltrated the upper levels of UK politics by co-opting a senior politician. To make matters worse, there may be a mole moving through the halls of England's Secret Intelligence Service. With an election looming, Kate is in a race to expose the double agents and save those she holds dear. But who can be trusted? Acclaimed British author and journalist Tom Bradby excels at crafting pulse-pounding narratives set against the backdrop of true-life events. In Secret Service, the author delivers a tense and timely spy thriller where the greatest threat comes from within.

James Grady, Condor: The Short Takes

In this novella, the iconic CIA operative Condor is back in a series of new adventures. New York Times-bestselling author James Grady brings back his famous spy but in a surprising setting. Six Days of the Condor was popular during the paranoid era of the 1970s as Condor was a spy in his prime who ruthlessly and heroically deals with a conspiracy within the United States government. In Condor: The Short Takes, Grady presents an aged Condor who finds himself in a modern setting and with 21st century threats. The original framework is present but the stories are far more intimate and less straightforward. Condor finds himself involved in cyber threats and the 9/11 aftermath; perhaps an even bigger scandal than the Cold War. The master of intrigue brings you six stories that are sure to leave you on the edge of your seat; can Condor soar over the obstacles or will he falter and fall? This is perfect for any fans of the hit original series, Condor!

John Lawton, A Little White Death

A social and sexual revolution was had throughout most of the world during the 1960s, and England was no exception. John Lawton's novel implants remnants of this revolution into the third book of his Inspector Troy series. This novel follows Inspector Troy—despite many career set-backs—as he rises to the head of CID at Scotland Yard. However, before the chief detective can celebrate, he finds himself deep into a scandal reminiscent of the Profumo affair. Troy becomes entangled in a web as he attempts to battle illness, police politics, and the Establishment. He must focus on protecting those affected by the aftermath of the scandal and discover who murdered the two key players in the scandal.

Brian Freemantle, Charlie M

Charlie Muffin came into the British secret service in the early 1950s, when the desperate government was in search of more foot soldiers in the impending Cold War. They decided to look into the middle class for the first time and found what they were looking for in Charlie. Even though he is a working-class, state-educated man from Manchester, Charlie has been one of the most effective agents of the secret service. However, times are changing as Cambridge and Oxford graduates are ready to take over again. They have decided it's time to sacrifice Charlie, but he won't go down easy. This exhilarating novel of double-crossing is excellent for fans of le Carre or Deighton!

Patricia Wentworth, Dead or Alive

In this suspenseful tale by British crime author Patricia Wentworth, Meg O'Hara's husband Robin disappears on the day she plans to divorce him. A year after the presumed body of her dead husband is found, someone breaks into her apartment to leave a shocking message. Now Meg is left to uncover if her husband is dead or alive. As more cryptic messages appear, Meg is certain that someone—maybe even her husband—is trying to get to her...but no one takes her seriously. Well, except for Bill Coverdale. For years Bill has been deeply in love with Meg, so he sets out to get to the bottom of things. Together, they find themselves embroiled in blackmail, forgery, and murder all while facing an unstoppable criminal mastermind.

John Altman, A Game of Spies

In preparation of Germany's invasion of France, England needs to gather classified information on Germany...and there's only one highly skilled spy who can get the job done: Agent William Hobbs. During the bleak winter of 1940, Hobbs meets the naive Eva Bernhardt and seduces her into working for the British secret service. Smitten with Agent Hobbs and disenchanted by Hitler, Eva agrees to seek information from the Führer’s inner circle. As Hobbs and Eva plunge into the world of espionage, intrigue, and deception, Eva quickly transforms into a tough and cynical operative, using her feminine guile and manipulative skills to obtain crucial knowledge. A Game of Spies is a thrilling tale with an even more electrifying conclusion as Eva holds her future, and the future of the entire war, in her hands.

John Lawton, Then We Take Berlin

Meet Joe Wilderness, orphaned by World War II - and certain that this fact will allow him to operate outside of society's bounds and rules for the rest of his life. But when he gets recruited into MI6, he discovers a fast-paced life in Berlin that will force him to go to extremes to accomplish his missions. This stylish thriller is a beloved read, best for fans of Eric Ambler.

Helen MacInnes, The Salzburg Connection

MacInnes may be best known for her first novel, Above Suspicion, but in The Salzburg Connection, written over 20 years later, she had become an expert in espionage beyond compare. In this spy vs spy vs lawyer tale, Richard Bryant, British agent, is one of the few who knows about a secret cache of Nazi information. When he’s found dead, an American lawyer gets caught up in the quest to find the information, before it gets in the wrong hands.

Gayle Lynds, Masquerade

Lynds became popular thanks to a collaborative series with Robert Ludlum, Covert-One, but she had been honing her craft long before The Altman Code’s debut. Like Jason Bourne, Liz Sansborough wakes up one morning to discover that she no longer remembers her life as a CIA agent. Luckily, her lover, Gordon, is there to explain what she has forgotten. But can Gordon–or the world–be trusted? There’s an international assassin after Liz, and she’ll need to figure out whom she can trust quickly.

Chris Pavone, The Travelers

A more recent addition, but one worthy of the list, The Travelers by Chris Pavone sees travel writer Will Rhodes is on assignment for Travelers magazine in the wine region of Argentina when a beautiful woman makes him an offer he can’t refuse. Drawn into a tangled web of international intrigue – like so many thriller protagonists before him – this is a standout in a modern world of throwaway poolside paperbacks.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[bouwrites]

OC Spotlight: The Cardinal Virtues

This isn’t so much a spotlight on each of these four individual characters so much as an elaboration on how they came about and why they’re so closely related in my mind despite no more than two of them appearing in a single universe at at time thus far. Honestly, I felt this elaboration is necessary just to save space for if/when I do individual spotlights for them.

The Cardinal Virtues are some of my very favorite OCs that I have, and I’ve been calling them that because each one roughly corresponds to one of the four cardinal virtues. In truth, all four are very similar in a lot of ways, for reasons I’ll explain soon, but to prevent this from getting too long...

Hunter Stone - Justice Valerian Isolde - Strength Arno Buenaventura - Temperance Carter Wroden - Prudence

The first thing to know about them, is that Hunter and Valerian (Vale) were originally meant to be the same character. Likewise, Arno, though not created with Vale in mind, was put into my personal cast of OCs with the intention of him “replacing” Vale for stories where Vale isn’t really appropriate. Likewise, Carter was created as a “replacement” of sorts for Arno.

All of them grew in their own ways and developed into distinct characters, but it’s important to note that the framework of their characters, esp. Hunter/Vale and Arno/Carter are essentially the same, and based around my original concept for Hunter, who is actually my very first OC.

Now, I didn’t design them to fit so nicely into the four cardinal virtues. In fact, the reference to the virtues is something that only arose very recently, as I was looking into adding Carter and Arno into my Persona daydream story and stumbled across references to the virtues by chance as I was trying to assign arcana to them.

But this isn’t a spotlight of the characters themselves, but rather how they’re related, and for that we’ll have to go all the way back to my very first OC ever, Hunter Stone.

Hunter is, for all intents and purposes, retired as a character. I haven’t seriously worked with him in many, many years, yet he’s almost constantly on my mind because Arno and Carter, both characters I work extensively with today, are so closely connected with him.

He was my favorite OC for a long time, and my primary best friend and sometimes love interest character in my daydream stories at the time (yes, I romance my OCs in those daydream stories and yes, I’m only admitting to that because that is one of the threads tying these characters together.) until the time I decided to make an original story.

That story was a fantasy novel, and ultimately a tragedy. It’s pretty much abandoned now, though I’d like to use that world for a story at some point, but the creation of that fantasy world is where things got... slightly out of hand.

Now, I should note that a large portion of the magic system used in that fantasy world actually comes directly from my development of how psychic powers work in the Pokemon world (where Hunter is from - kindly don’t remind me that middle-school me thought making an OC child of Steven Stone and Wallace for my cringy grimdark Pokemon story was a good idea. He’s keeping the name, though.) and thus a lot of the framework for how certain things work came from that world as well. Including some characters.

That said, there’s a bit more background we need before getting into that original story. And that, my friends, is Wizard101. I promise you I am completely honest when I say this, and you can trust me because if it wasn’t true there is no way in hell I’d ever admit to this, but “Valerian” is actually the name of my Wizard101 main. I once made a half-baked attempt at a Wizard101 fanfic, and my love for Hunter meant I wanted him in the story, but I decided to use “Valerian” as his name instead to nod to my actual in-game character. For both our sakes, I won’t elaborate any more than that and continue into the original story.

The original story started, at first, in media res with Hunter and some other OCs and their problem, and helping them out is this team of adventurers who were, in hindsight, basically there to babysit the main cast. I actually wrote a lot for that story - most of it, in fact - but eventually decided to change it entirely and set the story two years prior, focusing on that previously mentioned band of babysitters and how they came to be.

But I love Hunter, and couldn’t stand to let him go, so Valerian Isolde comes in to take his place. Vale is probably the single character of mine that has changed the most throughout his development - he actually was in the original script of the story as one of the babysitters, not to mention the other changes from when he was a copy of Hunter as a Wizard101 OC - and that would be much more appropriate for a spotlight of his own, but suffice it to say I ended up with a story with Vale and Hunter both, and them different enough that it honestly doesn’t feel weird even today.

(Needless to say, with my mind so much in that original universe, Vale occupied a lot of my daydreams. He was my primary companion character, often bringing him into fandom universes, though it always felt off to try to romance him, and to an extent even have him around, because of his canon romance and other ties in his native story.)

Enter Arno. Arno Malik Buenaventura is a character I created in tandem with one of my friends as we were traveling to and from university. Long car-rides and shared fandoms, two writers stuck in the car together, there’s only one logical conclusion.

He and his twin sister, Elizabeth, were created for a shared story we worked on. It never developed into anything, really, and to be honest I never really felt right for a while after that using either of them, as they aren’t technically “mine” so I used Arno as a background character for a while. If I needed a name in a fic, just some random schoolgoer who’s mentioned, that kind of thing, I’d use Arno.

I ended up getting more comfortable with him and using him more freely - he’s one of the featured OCs in my ML Twin AU, actually - though I still don’t use Elizabeth much if at all. That’s the reason she doesn’t appear in that story despite being mentioned several times, and being his literal twin - I just kind of feel like she’s more my friend’s OC than my own.

Anyway, I fell in love with Arno, and since, for a while, I was nervous to use him as a character proper due to his origin, he ended up becoming a character that appeared often in my daydream stories - the ones I don’t write, which are usually self-insert just for my own entertainment.

But I ran into another snag like with Vale. Arno didn’t have a love interest at the time, but I was getting older and it started to feel weird to me to play out imaginary romances with imaginary boyfriends in my daydream stories only to turn around and have him as a perfectly ordinary character in my actual written ones.

The solution was simple: make an OC cast reserved for self-insert daydream stories. “Their” stories, their native stories, would include me, or rather my self-insert character based on me. So, I did. Thus, Carter was born. To this day, Carter is my “imaginary boyfriend” and because of that is probably one of the most heavily featured OCs I have in terms of number of universes they appear in - he’s just in my daydream versions of those universes rather than the ones I use for actual stories.

The rest of his crew, some of which are mentioned in the one fic I’ve written that includes him, including his “love interest” Avery Graham who is, in truth, my self-insert character (though not, technically, meant to be me), are also part of my “Daydream Cast” which follow me around and appear as-needed in my daydream stories so I can avoid awkward situations with characters who are supposed to have very clearly defined stories not ruined by me running around in their backyards, so to speak. I don’t always care about that, but sometimes it doesn’t feel right.

Anyway, that’s  the summary of the four who were supposed to be one but somehow separated into four completely distinct characters. I know I didn’t really describe what makes them similar and different in this spotlight, but their character analyses are much more appropriate for individual spotlights and this one has already gone on long enough, I think.

Interestingly, though, despite the fact that you can roughly categorize them as old (Hunter/Valerian) and modern (Arno/Carter) they actually match up in personality more closely in the pairs of Hunter/Carter and Vale/Arno, though in the first case that’s somewhat by design and in the latter is because that’s one of my favorite archetypes of characters. Hunter/Carter are also the most similar in design of them all with Vale being a huge outlier design-wise.

That’s enough for now, though. I’ve leave this here before I add on another whole essay about these four.

[everly-kindred]

Eve’s Diary - Entry #58

Date: 9th of April, 2020

Dear Diary, 

Well… Saturday was absolutely mad. Where do I begin...

I guess we’ll start with the assembly. The professors were all acting kinda funny at first, and then the Headmistress started giving announcements. Slytherin’s Head of House stepped down because I guess he has a baby now, which makes sense, and now Professor Rask is the Slytherin Head of House. And then they were talking about the easter egg hunt, but I sort of lost track of everything, because I began having visions...

I saw the forest, and a unicorn, and blood and fire. I sort of tuned back into what the Headmistress was saying, and she said that the ministry was raiding the forest, because there was a criminal within it, infiltrating the students. She said we were locked in the long gallery for our safety. 

The ground started shaking and we saw flashes of light coming from the forest. And then I started having visions again. I saw Hogsmeade burning, and I saw this unicorn… It was like… Running around and fighting or something? And there was a wizard on top of her, riding her while fighting giant spiders… Eventually, she died, and I saw that, too. It… made me the most sad I think I’ve ever felt. 

The shield… thing they had put around the castle on the grounds shattered, and it looked like these huge shards of light in the sky. That was when the professors went down onto the grounds, to offer support. 

Hogsmeade really was burning. I had been sticking close to Bonnie most of the time, but she left me with this clockwork unicorn while she went to help fight the fires. Eventually, we all had a sort of… sleep over party in the long gallery. They summoned up sleeping bags and we had dinner there and such. Bonnie was gone for a while, but the unicorn stayed with me. I like that unicorn a lot. It was next to me the whole time.

The next day, the Headmistress had us wear our nicest… tea… dress? For Sunday lunch. We came to the great hall, and they had turned it into a forest with picnic baskets everywhere for a little tea party. O’Keeffe said it was too muddy to do it out on the grounds. I love when they transform the Great Hall, honestly, it reminds me of the great wonders of magic, how far it can truly go. 

We had a moment of silence for those who died in the raid. Thankfully, none of our professors or the other students were harmed or killed. Though, there were some students who were talking during the moment of silence, so O’Keeffe seemed definitely peeved about that, and said she was taking points from those she spotted talking. 

Anyways though, it was a nice little lunch. I sat with Marigold and August. Marigold said all of Hogsmeade burned down, along with Honeydukes, but that her Aunt Taffy made it out okay with all of her pets. That was good news, at least. And for awhile, we talked about how to use magic to rebuild. I pointed out that you couldn’t just transfigure ash to stone and wood again, because you’d constantly have to keep the spell updated. It would eventually wear off. But you can use magic to easily move materials, at least.

So yeah. That was what happened this weekend. We’ve been kinda just… going back to life as normal ever since, which feels a little wrong. That whole thing was… scary. And I feel really kind of… tired and careless ever since? Like I might just be going through the motions. It gets better day by day, though.

I had quidditch practice later on Sunday and I think I’m getting better at catching the snitch. I hope so, anyways. I think Nate said our next game is in a month… I’ve got my fingers crossed that I can finally win one for my team this time. I need to keep practicing, though. 

I went to Durmoney’s herbology class with Marigold. We learned about valerian roots and fanged geranium, though I don’t remember a whole lot about the plants. I was still in a bit of a daze. Sort of have been all week, really. Like I said, though, it’s getting better. Marigold accidentally found a frog in her plants and ended up throwing it across the greenhouse, and it landed in front of me. It wasn’t hurt thankfully, and I let it back outside where it goes. 

We had Defense Against the Dark arts with Vikander, where we were to practice the wand motions, incantation and intention for the boggart-banishing spell. I practiced with a boy named Oleander. It was very strange, because Professor Cavanaugh came out of the little office at the top of the stairs in the corner of the room, and he shook hands with Vikander, and then later on at dinner, we all learned that he was leaving to focus on his wife and his baby which is coming soon. It was really… emotional and kind of sweet at the same time, like a scene from a movie, watching him fly off into the night in his colourful suit. He’s such a cheerful man, and I hope he has a wonderful life with his family. I’ll miss his classes - and those crab friend things whose names escape me at this moment. 

In astronomy, it was the full moon on Tuesday, so we learned about the moon and played a game with these giant ball things where we had to determine where the moon’s position with the earth and the sun would be for certain phases. It was fun to watch, but I didn’t really do much to be helpful. 

In transfigurations with banks, we learned a spell called orchideous which is used to conjure flowers from your wand. I went with that other first year, Arthur, but he seemed to get upset by something and was sort of… well he looked like he was crying? Anyways, at the end of class, we went into the dueling room because the older students were practicing transfigurations in dueling with Bonnie, and it just looked like… pure chaos in there. 

In artificer club, Bonnie had us sorting out rubble to donate to Hogsmeade for the rebuild. My wand didn’t really want to cooperate with me, so I was sort of useless there, too. She’s also set up a donations box for stuff to donate to Hogsmeade, and I think I’m going to donate some of my stuffed animals for the children who live there and also my pocket money. I don’t have a whole lot in the way of donating, but I hope it makes someone happy, you know?

In dragonology we talked about what you should do if you see a dragon in a crowd of muggles. In this specific scenario that Eastwood gave us, it was a baby dragon on Notre Dame. Everyone talked about their ideas but the professor said the best thing to do was to find a way to call the Ministry to come take care of it. Casting spells, luring it, all that was apparently a bad idea, which makes sense to me. 

And then yesterday I had herbology with Dracheblume, and we learned about dittany and floo. Did you know floo powder comes from plants? And the professor said that the way to make floo powder is a closely guarded secret, and that the people who have tried to do it have gone missing, gotten injured or even died trying to figure it out. From failed attempts, I mean. I don’t think the owner of floo powder is out here killing people. I hope not, anyways!

So yeah, that’s been… what’s been happening. Lately, the frogs and crickets have been singing at night, so I like to open the windows in the common room to listen to them, or put on my wellies and go walk around on the grounds. It feels a lot more… still out. The forest is burnt, and needs to heal. It’s a very odd feeling that I’m not sure how to describe. 

Anyways, I suppose I should get ready for classes today.

Much love, Everly

[ Eve’s Wiki Page ] 

[ Flickr ]

[theworldiswhispering]

Get to Know Me

tagged by @lionlass7 (thank u friend!)

rules: answer these questions then tag people you would like to know better!

nickname: Abby

height: 5′5 1/2″

time: 9:00

fav bands/solo artists: So, so many. Off the top of my head Andrew Peterson, The Oh Hellos, the Gray Havens, The Orchardists, Ember Days, TOP, Sleeping At Last, Sarah Sparks, and many more

song stuck in my head: probably something by Billie Eilish

last movie i saw: Valerian (I fell for the Amazon Prime free movie allure, it was good in visuals and themes but cruddy in characters and dialogue and could have definitely gone without it)

last thing i googled: knife bird

other blogs: @creaturesoftheroundtable, @yeatart, @asingsongdirge, @musicmenagerie

do i get asks: not usually, but also no anon hate, so ayy

why i chose my username: It’s based on a line from a poem in the Wingfeather Saga series by Andrew Peterson that I love

following: 518

what I’m wearing: a tshirt from a coffee shop where I live (sadly out of business now, it was really good too) with an opossum on it and jeans 

dream job: Personal motivator through the form of inspirational fantasy writing, also animator or artist, also professional stabber in the form of fencing, which can also be pretty motivational in a different way

dream trip: Ireland, Japan, the Pacific Northwest....anywhere with cool mountains or forests or misty moors

fav food: Pastas with cheese sauces, good soups, sushi

play any instruments: piano for a year when I was 10, now mostly flesh drums aka clapping

fav song: uuuhuhuh

play(ed) any sports: fencing if you count that

hair color: brown

eye color: also brown

most iconic song: Africa 

random fact: I absolutely love falling down personality typing rabbit holes of reserach, particularly MBTI/cognitive functions and the Enneagram (INFP 4w5 6w5 9w1 sp/so as far as I can tell) 

languages you speak/are learning:  some spanish from high school, and duolingo’s been at my throat to get back on learning some japanese

describe yourself as aesthetics/things: old windows with square panes and warped glass, mist in a redwood forest, peachy sunsets, never-ending antique malls, falling half-asleep in the backseat of the car late at night

going to tag @athenenoctua9, @pockypeanut, @ovarian-pesticide, @whimsical-sea-bird, @thelatevalentine, @smolsparrow, @starlightstillsings, @sunshinestalker, @learningtolovemyself2, @watercolourlily

[romancatholicreflections]

22nd November >> Saint of the Day for Roman Catholics: Saint Cecilia martyr

Cecilia was a Roman martyr of the 3rd century but practically nothing certain is known about her life. About the 4th century AD there appeared a Greek religious story based on the loves of Cecilia and Valerian, which were a glorification of the celibate life. It was intended to replace the more sensuous romances such as that of Daphnis and Chloe, then very popular. Cecilia’s later popularity is mainly due to legends dating from the 5th century, some 200 years after her death.

The tradition is that she was a Christian of noble birth and promised in marriage to a non-Christian called Valerian. But, as she had already made a vow of virginity to God, she let her husband know that she did not want to consummate their marriage. As a result, her husband and his brother, Tiburtius (Thateus), themselves became Christians. They were arrested and martyred about the year 230 under the Emperor Alexander Severus. Soon afterwards, Cecilia herself was brought before the prefect.

She refused to offer pagan sacrifice, converted her persecutors to Christianity but was then sentenced to death. Her executioners first tried to kill her by locking her in an overheated sauna-type bathhouse. When this failed, she was to be decapitated but, after her executioner failed in three attempts, he fled the scene. Cecilia survived for three days in a semi-conscious state before finally succumbing. In the last three days of her life, she opened her eyes, looked at her family and friends and then closed them forever. Those keeping vigil knew that she had entered paradise. Later her house was dedicated as a church by Pope Urban, who had encouraged her in her fidelity. Unfortunately this story finds no confirmation in any other contemporary source. She is not mentioned in the writings of Jerome or Ambrose, for instance, although they were particularly interested in the martyrs.

While many legends arose in the case of many early saints, in Cecilia’s case, her very existence is uncertain (similar to Christopher and Philomena). The only basis on which her existence might be argued is the existence of a church, called the titulus Ceciliae in the Trastevere, Rome, and which was founded by a certain Roman lady called Cecilia. It dates from about the 5th century, was magnificently rebuilt by Pope Paschal I about 820, when her supposed relics, with those of her companions, were brought there by the pope. The church was again rebuilt by Cardinal Emilio Sfondrati in 1599. Then the tomb of Cecilia was opened and the body was found incorrupt but it quickly disintegrated through contact with the air. The sculptor Maderna, however, made a life-size marble statue of the body “lying on the right side, as a maiden in her bed, her knees drawn together and seeming to be asleep”. A replica of this statue occupies Cecilia’s supposed original tomb in the cemetery of Callistus. The church was in recent times the titular church Cardinal Carlo Martini, former Archbishop of Milan.

Cecilia is one of seven women, excluding the Blessed Virgin, commemorated by name in the First Eucharist Prayer of the Mass. She is probably best known as the patron of musicians and choirs since the 16th century. The origin of this seems to be found in the antiphon taken from her Acts: “As the musical instruments (at her wedding feast) were playing, Cecilia sung (in her heart) to the Lord, saying: ‘May my heart remain unsullied, so that I be not confounded’.” The traditional account of her life is famous as the Second Nun’s Tale in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. In art her principal emblem since the 16th century is an organ (as in Raphael’s painting at Bologna) or some other musical instrument such as a lute but she appears without emblem in ancient representations such as the mosaic in S. Apollinare Nuovo, Ravenna (6th century), and in Roman frescoes in the catacomb of Callixtus and in the church of S. Maria Antiqua.

Reflection

Readings: Hosea 2:16b,17b, 21-22; Ps 44; Matthew 25:1-13

The Gospel reading comes from Matthew’s account of the end times where Jesus speaks of the coming destruction of Jerusalem and mingles it with images about the Second Coming of Jesus for the General Judgement. This section also contains three important parables linked to the Final Judgement.

We have the first of these parables as our reading for today’s feast. Not surprisingly, it is the parable of the 10 bridesmaids, often referred to as the Ten Virgins. Jesus says that the Kingdom of God (he uses the word ‘heaven’) can be compared to ten bridesmaids going out to welcome the bridegroom at a wedding.

Five of them were sensible and had foresight and the other five were foolish. The sensible ones took a reserve of oil for their lamps while the foolish ones did not. Then the groom took much longer to come than expected and all the virgins became heavy-eyed and sleepy.

At midnight the call went up, “The groom has arrived! Go out to greet him!” But as the bridesmaids trimmed their lamps, the foolish ones realised all their oil was used up. They asked the sensible virgins to share some of their oil. They refused on the grounds that all of them would end up with not enough. They told the foolish girls to and get more oil.

But, while they were on their way, the groom arrived and those who were ready went into the wedding hall with him. And the door was locked. When the foolish virgins arrived, they begged for the door to be open. “Lord, Lord, open the door for us.” But he answered with one of the most chilling statements in the Gospel: “I’m sorry but I do not know you.”

The moral is then given: keep your eyes open for you do not know the day or the hour.

We know that in the very early Church many believed – and it is reflected in the earliest letter of Paul – that Jesus would come again during the believers’ lifetime. (Even in our own days, there are preachers who talk about the imminence of the ‘end times’. One date being given is 21 May 2011.) Or there are people who work on the principle of ‘eat, drink and be merry’ and straighten things out just before the end comes.

Jesus is warning that this is not a very good idea. We do not know when the Bridegroom will come. We have no idea when life on our planet will come to an end. Even more practically, we do not know when our own time on this earth will terminate. The point of these Gospel texts is that, whenever it happens, we be ready, that our lamps are burning bright.

This is not a question of piling up good works and putting them into some celestial account. It is clear from the Gospel that God does not work that way. What is important is that at any given moment we are in a right relationship with God. And how do we do that? We do it by seeking, finding and serving God in every experience of every day, finding and loving God in every person that comes into our life. Sometimes we will fail but we just turn round and start all over again. What is most important is where we are when he calls us. Strangely enough, we guarantee the future by focusing on the present, on the here and now.

Cecilia was just such a faithful virgin who had consecrated her whole life to God and in bringing others to know and love him and unhesitatingly gave that life back to God.

The First Reading is a short passage from the prophet Hoseah. The words describe Yahweh speaking to Israel but they can be understood as describing the Lord calling someone to be espoused to him as his bride, very appropriate for someone who has vowed virginity and makes Christ her Spouse.

“I will lead her into the desert and speak to her heart,” says the Lord. And “she shall respond there as in the days of her youth, when she came up from the land of Egypt.”

The Lord then makes his proposal of marriage: “I will espouse you to me forever; I will espouse you in right and in justice, in love and in mercy. I will espouse you in fidelity, and you shall know the Lord.”

Words again which apply so well to Cecilia who was truly a Bride of Christ, a Bride who was always ready with her lamp burning to greet her Lord.