#Alessandro Leone

[noplaceforsanity]

#controlling emotions

[katherinechris]

"You can either continue to hurt yourself or let me help you. You decide. "

[rosie-tyler]

Alessandro Preziosi as Prince Leon/The Beast in Beauty and the Beast (2014)

[saleszulu76]

Leon Weber @ Modelwerk by Alessandro Amarante, June 2024

[voraciousvore]

Giganterra (Chapter 19)

Prologue/ TOC | Previous (18) | Next (20)

Content Warning: Brief mention of implied vore

Word Count: 2.6k

------ Chapter 19: Discipline ------

Candy wept silently to herself as she was forced to accompany King Richard through his usual routine, while she dangled from his necklace under his shirt. Every time he walked, she bounced off his hairy chest. Whenever he spoke, his voice vibrated through his flesh and all around her. She couldn’t block him out when she was constantly pressed up to his gargantuan body. His heart ticked with the regularity of a clock, and his lungs swelled like the ocean tide. The air was hot and heavy under his formal layers of clothing, and pervaded with his natural musk. She had no respite from her living nightmare. 

As she suffered through her abnormal confinement, with the metal clasp cinching her waist, she heard a familiar giant voice reverberating from somewhere outside her prison of skin and fabric. “Forgive me for my boldness, Your Majesty, but you seem troubled today. What ails you?” 

King Richard released a heavy sigh with the force of a large waterfall. “Oh, Leon, you know me all too well.” A light shined from above, only to be eclipsed by his giant hand as he reached into his shirt. Candy squealed as she was engulfed by enormous fingers and raised into the air. His colossal fingers popped open the straps and metal clasps that suspended her from the necklace, allowing her to plop into his cupped palm. He idly played with her in his hand, as if she were nothing more than a small toy. 

“It’s my son that bothers me. Ronny is… soft. Showing signs of weakness. I’m not sure how to fix him.” His voice lowered into a deathly serious tone. “I don’t want him to become like Alessandro.” 

Leon flinched ever so slightly at the mention of the murdered prince. After his disappearance, he was stricken from the historical record. Any papers that mentioned his name, every last bust and painting that existed with his likeness, were destroyed. There was no funeral to mourn his passing and no explanation for his death, though rumors whipped through the halls of the castle like the whisper of the wind. His name was forbidden to be spoken publicly, under pain of death. He vanished as if he had never existed in the first place. 

Of course, King Richard could do as he pleased and didn’t have to follow his own rules. The flippant utterance of the forbidden name chilled Leon’s blood, but he was sensible enough not to acknowledge the king’s loose tongue. He thought for a long moment before opening his mouth to respond, but the king spoke over him before he had the chance to talk. 

“Princess Bianca is on a better path, at least. She’s demonstrated the capacity to be cruel, and doesn’t hesitate to take what she wants. If Ronny proves himself to be insufficient as an heir, I can rely on her, hopefully.” He tightened his fingers around Candy, making her yelp. His expression softened and he loosened his grip, looking down at her with tender affection. “Shhhh, shhhh…” He rubbed his enormous fingertip gently along her back while continuing to pet the rest of her body. Candy whimpered softly until she went silent again, still trembling. His touch was far from reassuring, but she didn’t wish to invoke his ire with her noises. 

“Even so, Bianca is spoiled. Flighty. Vapid. Lacking substance. She doesn’t take matters of state seriously.” He huffed with frustration. “My children disappoint me.” 

Leon bit his tongue to hold back a stinging remark. The king only had himself to blame for his woes. He raised his progeny to be misbehaved, childish monsters, by both coddling them and piling unreasonable expectations upon them. He was an overbearing presence that failed to provide them with any solid direction or guidance for positive growth. He tainted his family with his own degeneracy and rot, and there was no way to excise the poison. 

The advisor couldn’t verbalize any of these conclusions to the king, however, if he wanted to keep his head. He swallowed his criticisms and cleared his throat. “If I may offer a few suggestions, Your Majesty?” 

“Proceed.” King Richard pierced him with his pale eyes as he massaged Candy in his hands. 

Leon repressed a repulsed grimace and tried to ignore the poor human suffering in the giant’s grasp. “I bring forth the supposition to you that the prince and princess may be soft and puerile because they lack any serious responsibilities. They are both adults now. Involve them in operations of state and put them in charge of certain affairs, to allow them to become invested in the kingdom and develop their leadership skills.” 

Hardon frowned and creased his brow. “No,” he responded immediately, rejecting Leon’s postulation. “I can’t trust them to run anything. They’re not ready; they’ll muck it all up.” 

Leon inhaled through his nose to center himself. “Well then, perhaps prepare them with more formal education. Their studies have been suspended for years now, since we don’t have a royal tutor.” 

“We don’t? What happened to the last one?” 

“You, um… gave him an early retirement, sire.” 

The king curled his lips into a barbaric sneer. “Ah, yes. I do recall I found his teachings to be a bit too… progressive for my tastes.” He chuckled, his bloodlust apparent in his tone. Candy whined faintly, but he quieted her down by flexing his hand around her. 

“I would further recommend encouraging activities that build more discipline, both physically and mentally. Perhaps dancing or music lessons for Princess Bianca? I know Ronny has fencing lessons, but perhaps he needs more strenuous training.” 

King Richard nodded conclusively. “Yes. Make it happen.” Leon bowed and excused himself to carry out the king’s will. He conveyed the information to Ronny’s fencing instructor, Sir Maneater, who agreed to provide more intensive instruction for the prince. Leon suggested bringing in Squire Joey as a sparring partner to encourage a competitive spirit, since the sulky, churlish prince hated to lose. Martin had been hesitant to introduce Joey to the prince, due to the naivety of the earnest young man, but he felt his squire was ready. He needed to learn how to behave around royalty anyway, if he was to become a knight in service to the king. 

Next, Leon headed into town to find a tutor qualified for regal instruction. He pitied the poor giant who would be put in charge of King Richard’s demonic hellspawn, but either way the selected man wouldn’t be given a choice. After inquiring among the circle of rich noble families in the area, he was recommended to an erudite pedagogue of high esteem by the name of Milton Henderson. Leon tracked him down to one of the estates in the surrounding countryside, where he was currently providing lessons to an earl’s twin daughters. 

Leon passed through the gates to the property and gained access to the lavish mansion within by demonstrating the king’s seal, certifying him as an agent of the crown. The butler led him to a pavilion where the tutor was giving lessons to the two children. Leon observed the man teach without revealing himself. Milton was tall, neatly groomed, and gentlemanly in appearance and demeanor. His voice and movements were very gentle and calm, and his pacific aura had a positive effect on the children, who listened obediently to his deep voice as he lectured. 

Leon approved of the tutor, viewing him as a man of quality. He hoped, perhaps, that the new teacher would produce a similar effect on the king’s unruly offspring. He should’ve interrupted the lesson and dragged Milton off right away, since the king was waiting, but Leon hated to be rude. He wasn’t very assertive either, so he lingered in the shadow of a marble pillar until Milton concluded his lesson and dismissed the children. 

Milton moved to leave, but Leon intersected his path of travel to stop him. “Excuse me, sir! Milton Henderson?” he called out.  

Milton halted and gave him a genial smile. “How may I help you?” 

“My name is Leon, Leon Griffin. I’m the king’s advisor. He is searching for a tutor for his children. Several of the nobles recommended you.” 

“Oh, that’s very kind of them, and I’m flattered to be considered worthy, but I’m afraid I can’t take on any more students. My schedule is quite full as it is, and my next students are waiting for me as we speak, so I must go.” He took a step forward to exit, but Leon blocked him a second time with a nervous smile. 

“I do apologize for the inconvenience, but I’m afraid… service to the king is not exactly optional…” Leon fiddled awkwardly with his hands, clearly uncomfortable with his role as the king’s enforcer. “If you come with me now, it will make things much easier for both of us. Please.” 

Milton’s pleasant expression faded at the implied threat, but he didn’t resist. He followed Leon to his carriage, painted with spotless shining white and inlaid with silver trim, and joined him in the plush purple velvet interior. He folded his hands in his lap and sat with a docile hush as the horses trotted forward. The earl’s estate disappeared over the horizon as the castle loomed in the distance, waxing closer like a bad omen as its gloomy gray stone contrasted the bright sky. 

Leon cleared his throat to diffuse the tension. “I’m sorry,” he apologized again. “But… serving the royal family is certainly not a bad thing! You’ll only have to deal with two students from now on, the prince and the princess. And you’ll be compensated handsomely for your work! You may even take up residence in the castle if you wish!” 

Milton didn’t answer. His eyebrows knitted together in contemplation as he processed what Leon told him. He kneaded his hands, absently playing with the golden wedding band on his finger, a memento of his past. Leon filled the space between them with more words, as if trying to convince himself of the advantages as much as Milton. “And you’ll have access to the best resources as well! All the supplies you may need: the finest feather pens, the blackest ink, the most quality parchment, all the books in the royal library-” 

“Library?” Milton perked up. 

“Oh, yes! The royal library is truly a remarkable sight to behold! There’s a wealth of information contained within, in thick tomes of knowledge, with the greatest literature, tales from foreign lands, historical documents dating back centuries… a marvelous treasure trove of the written word! And with the position of royal tutor, you’ll have unlimited access to it all!” 

Milton brightened over the prospect, and Leon was finally able to give him a genuine smile. The carriage stopped within the courtyard, near the stables, and the king’s advisor led the new tutor through the pathways lined with lush gardens to the castle. Milton surveyed the art and architecture with interest when they entered the luxurious structure. Leon had to herd him forward, as he kept slowing down to take in all the magnificent details. 

The transient cheery goodwill between the two giants dimmed as they approached the depths of King Richard’s lair. Milton had never met the giant king, of course, but he knew of his bestial reputation. He experienced an irrational, instinctive chill, like being doused in a cold stream, as he entered the king’s presence. His bowels squirmed like snakes and his clammy skin slithered over his muscles, which were twitching with a sudden powerful urge to sprint in the opposite direction. Milton was disquieted by the extreme visceral response of his body, as if his flesh knew of the danger before his rational mind. He almost failed to show the proper deference, but he mustered up the presence of mind to copy Leon and bowed deeply, with his head down to his knees. He stared at the floor as a bead of icy sweat dripped off his forehead. 

“Leon! I see you’ve returned with a tutor! Let me see this man.” Milton barely managed to repress a flinch as the king seized his chin in his hand and tilted his head up to examine his face. He froze like a prey animal as he was pierced to his soul by pale blue eyes frigid enough to cause frostbite. Although Milton was a very large giant, taller than the king, he felt puny in the man’s malevolent presence. Hardon smirked, reveling in the anxiety that always drowned men of lower status in his vicinity. 

He released his chin with a flick of his fingers. “He’ll do.” Milton gasped slightly and stumbled back a step. Leon subtly pressed a firm hand on his upper back to steady him. Milton uncurled his spine as he struggled to regain his outward composure. He could still feel the slimy touch of Hardon’s strong, bony fingers on his face. 

“Don’t you think so, my sweet little Millie? Hmmmmm?” the king sang in a more tender tone. While Leon had been gone, he’d traded out Candy for Millie. He poked his fingers under his tunic and plucked out the thin, petite women attached to his necklace. Milton’s eyes widened with wonder. He’d never seen a real live human before, only illustrations in books. She was incredibly small, yet so delicate and pretty, like a fairy. She shined with the lovely glow of a pure heart, despite the unfathomable depths of sadness that ate away at her form, leaving her pale and hollow in appearance. 

The human’s eyes turned to glance at him, and he was struck by how brightly blue and full of life they were. They evoked within him strong emotion, like gazing upon a beautifully rendered work of art. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she said softly, with a melodic voice like the notes of a flute. 

King Richard chuckled. “I knew you’d agree. I’d ask Candy her opinion, but she’s... indisposed at the moment.” His lips stretched into a vicious sneer as he stroked his full belly. Milton believed, for a moment, he heard faint screaming, almost indistinct, emanating from the man’s gut. 

“Have him come back tomorrow morning for his first lesson,” he commanded Leon. “You’re both dismissed.” 

The advisor nodded. “Yes, sire.” He guided Milton, who was limp with shock, out of the room and down a long hall. Several minutes passed before Milton became aware that Leon was speaking to him, explaining and gesturing with his hands. 

“...And as I told you before, Milton, we can give you a room in the castle to stay in, if you wish...” 

Milton licked his lips. His mouth was exceedingly dry. “No, that won’t be necessary,” he hastily interjected. He felt like he was suffocating, the stone walls crowding around him and grinding him into a powder. He needed to get out of the castle, now. 

“Very well. Do you have any other questions for me?” Milton, not wanting to prolong his stay any longer, shook his head vehemently. His mind was in too much turmoil to think of any questions regardless. Finally, they reached the entrance, and Milton was relieved to imbibe the refreshing air of the outside world. “Report here tomorrow bright and early, and I’ll help you get set up.” 

Milton nodded half-heartedly and hastened away. Leon called out one last message. “Do NOT neglect your duty to the king, Milton! Make sure you are here!” The tutor shivered, wrapping his arms around his torso. He didn’t want to come back, not at all, but he feared he didn’t have a choice. 

Chapter 20

[vesarcanus-if]

Demo: 9/6/23

Your parents are the biggest Vampire mobsters in Vas Arcanus and are the heads of the notorious Florentia Family. On your 25th birthday, your parents gift you with an important role in the family: running Blood Bank, their nightclub and base of operations. Unfortunately, a few years ago your first love, a burlesque dancer at Blood Bank, was murdered. The culprit was never found …supposedly. With your new position within the Ves Arcanus Underground, maybe you can finally find answers and serve justice or revenge.

In the city of Ves Arcanus, you’ll encounter Supernaturals of several different species and work alongside the most powerful families in organized crime: the Arcanus Six. The Six includes the Florentia Family, the Lombardi Family, the Seth Family, the De Mevius Family, the Sundale Family, and the Vatura Family.

Demo Features:

Play as male, female, nonbinary, or transgender; gay, straight, or bisexual.

Navigate organized crime within the Ves Arcanus Underground, and maintain the Florentia’s infamous reputation or run it into the ground.

Work to solve the “cold case” murder of your first love and choose to be judge, jury, or executioner.

Run a popular Vampire nightclub and keep the cops, and your rivals, from sniffing around.

Play as a Vampire in a city inhabited by Faeries, Selkies, Witches, Demons, and humans.

Romance or befriend one of the six gender-selectable RO’s and choose to hook up* with seven of the many side characters

Content Warnings (18+): drug and alcohol use, violence, blood, strong language, optional explicit sexual content, death/murder

Lisa/Leon Whitlock, 27- Faerie

A young director who got lucky and stayed lucky, Whitlock could be your way into important Faerie circles. They’re fun, sweet, and adventurous enough to sneak around with you given the right motivation. Like all artists, they’re unpredictable and don’t seem quite ready to settle down yet.

Alessia/Alessandro “Ale” Lombardi, 30- Vampire

The eldest child and former heir of the Lombardi Family, Ale is no stranger to crime, intimidation, and violence. They’ve used their family’s influence to fund a political career and leave mob life behind, supposedly. They take some time to warm up but are a loyal friend and lover once they do.

Charlotte/Charles “Charlie” Cole, 35- Cambion

After a rough childhood, Charlie became a cop to help troubled youth like them. They don’t love being a cop, but they feel it’s the best way they can help kids. Charlie has turned their life around, but maybe you can persuade them to break the rules for you.

Serafina/Sero De Mevius, 24- Witch

A spoiled rich kid with an Ivy league education, De Mevius isn’t like most mobsters you know. They have an air of mystery and don’t really seem to care about upholding their family’s name. They love to spend their dads’ money on parties, charities, and maybe on you too.

Dion Parker, 25- Dragonkin (half dragon/half human)

Your friend since high school, Dion is just along for the ride as you look for answers. Whether they agree with your methods, Dion sticks around to hopefully keep you out of trouble. Your parents trust them to keep books at the club so they’re always nearby.

Eliana/Elio “El” Rivera, 28- Unknown

El will do most anything for a story, especially when it keeps them alive and out of jail. They are fearless and stubborn as a bull, but that may be a front to hide how alone they feel in Ves Arcanus. El has eyes and ears everywhere in Ves Arcanus, but can you get close enough to learn their secrets?

Sam (they/them) early 20s, Witch*

Tall, lean with some muscle, very short curly brown hair, warm brown skin with vitiligo | A Kitchen Witch from a civilian family on the outskirts of Ves Arcanus.

Jewels (she/her) mid 20s, Fastus (Pride Demon)*

Short, curvaceous, waist length straight black hair, honey brown skin (Indian) | One of Lamia’s top spies.

Tisa (he/him) early 30s, Faerie*

Moderate height, muscular, buzzcut black hair and stubble, light tan skin (Korean) | Lives in Neráida Forest, a friend of Alvina Sundale.

Vance (he/him) late 20s, Vampire*

Somewhat tall, some muscles, short black hair usually slicked back, olive skin | A regular at Blood Bank, he’s had a crush on you for years.

Lamia (she/her) mid 50s, Succubus*

Short, slim, shoulder length blonde hair, pale skin | Former head of the Seth Family, now the most infamous spymistress in Ves Arcanus.

Honey (she/they, transfem) late 30s, Faerie*

Tall, lithe but curvy, long brown hair, tan skin (Brazilian) | Lives in an apartment not far from Neráida Forest.

Jennifer/Jensen Albright (gender selectable) 25, Dhampir*

Long/short black hair, fair skin, septum piercing | Your Right Hand as the Florentia Family heir.

Jeanette Heart, mid 40’s, Vampire

Moderate height, fair skin, shoulder length blonde hair, brown eyes | Your therapist last for the 3 years.

Sebastian De Mevius, 24, Witch

Tall, curly dark brown hair, light brown skin, brown eyes | S. De Mevius’ twin brother and De Mevius Family heir.

Billy Marston, early 50’s, Demon

Tall, brown hair, brown eyes, stubble | El’s editor.

Georgina, mid 20’s, Vampire

Average height, blonde hair, grey eyes | Bartender at Blood Bank.

[libriaco]

Nel nome dei Padri

Il Presidente De Nicola firma la Costituzione. Alla sinistra dell'immagine: De Gasperi, alla destra: Terracini.

Qui sotto l'elenco dei membri della Commissione per la Costituzione (o Commissione dei 75).

Gruppo democristiano (26 membri)

Gaspare Ambrosini

Giuseppe Maria Bettiol (sostituisce dal 10 aprile 1947 Giacinto Froggio, dimissionario, che il 6 febbraio 1947 aveva sostituito Ezio Vanoni, divenuto ministro)

Pietro Bulloni

Giuseppe Cappi

Giuseppe Caronia (sostituisce dal 22 febbraio 1947 Giuseppe Togni, divenuto sottosegretario di stato)

Giuseppe Codacci Pisanelli

Camillo Corsanego

Luigi De Michele

Francesco Dominedò

Giuseppe Dossetti

Maria Federici

Giacinto Froggio (sostituisce dal 2 luglio 1947 Umberto Tupini, divenuto ministro)

Giuseppe Fuschini

Angela Gotelli (sostituisce dal 6 febbraio 1947 Carmelo Caristia, dimissionario)

Giorgio La Pira

Giovanni Leone

Salvatore Mannironi

Giuseppe Micheli (sostituisce dal 22 febbraio 1947 Umberto Merlin, divenuto sottosegretario di stato)

Aldo Moro

Costantino Mortati

Attilio Piccioni

Giuseppe Rapelli

Ferdinando Storchi (sostituisce dal 2 luglio 1947 Amintore Fanfani, divenuto ministro)

Emilio Paolo Taviani

Egidio Tosato

Giovanni Uberti (sostituisce dal 24 luglio 1946 Giovanni Ponti, dimissionario)

Gruppo comunista (13 membri)

Giuseppe Di Vittorio (sostituisce dal 10 dicembre 1946 Mario Assennato, dimissionario, che il 24 settembre 1946 aveva sostituito lo stesso Di Vittorio, dimissionario)

Edoardo D'Onofrio (sostituisce dal 27 febbraio 1947 Umberto Terracini)

Antonio Giolitti (sostituisce dal 29 maggio 1947 Riccardo Ravagnan, dimissionario)

Ruggero Grieco (Vice Presidente)

Nilde Iotti

Vincenzo La Rocca

Renzo Laconi (sostituisce dal 19 settembre 1946 Fabrizio Maffi, dimissionario)

Concetto Marchesi

Guido Molinelli (sostituisce dal 30 maggio 1947 Carlo Farini, dimissionario, che il 19 settembre aveva sostituito Giorgio Amendola, dimissionario)

Umberto Nobile

Teresa Noce

Antonio Pesenti (sostituisce dal 10 dicembre 1946 Bruno Corbi, dimissionario, che il 24 settembre 1946 aveva sostituito lo stesso Pesenti, dimissionario)

Palmiro Togliatti

Partito Socialista Italiano (7 membri)

Leonetto Amadei (sostituisce dal 10 dicembre 1946 Giovanni Lombardi, deceduto, che il 25 luglio 1946 aveva sostituito Alessandro Pertini, dimissionario)

Lelio Basso

Michele Giua

Ivan Matteo Lombardo

Pietro Mancini

Angelina Merlin

Ferdinando Targetti

Partito Socialista Lavoratori Italiani (6 membri)

Alessandro Bocconi

Emilio Canevari

Eduardo Di Giovanni (sostituisce dall'11 settembre 1946 Alberto Simonini, dimissionario)

Gustavo Ghidini (Vice Presidente)

Edgardo Lami Starnuti

Paolo Rossi

Gruppo Repubblicano (4 membri)

Giovanni Conti

Francesco De Vita (decaduto perché sottosegretario dal 22 dicembre 1947)

Tomaso Perassi (Segretario)

Oliviero Zuccarini

Unione Democratica Nazionale (4 membri)

Aldo Bozzi

Giuseppe Paratore

Giovanni Porzio

Vito Reale (sostituisce dal 16 giugno 1947 Giuseppe Grassi, divenuto ministro)

Gruppo Autonomista (3 membri)

Giulio Bordon

Piero Calamandrei

Emilio Lussu

Fronte liberale democratico dell'Uomo Qualunque (3 membri)

Francesco Colitto

Francesco Marinaro (Segretario)

Ottavio Mastrojanni

Gruppo Liberale (3 membri)

Bartolomeo Cannizzo (sostituisce dal 14 dicembre 1946 Gennaro Patricolo, dimissionario, che il 24 luglio 1946 aveva sostituito Ottavia Penna Buscemi, dimissionaria)

Orazio Condorelli (sostituisce dal 17 ottobre 1947 Roberto Lucifero d'Aprigliano, dimissionario)

Guido Cortese (sostituisce dal 27 giugno 1947 Luigi Einaudi, divenuto ministro)

Gruppo Misto (3 membri)

Gustavo Fabbri

Andrea Finocchiaro Aprile

Meuccio Ruini (Presidente)

Democrazia del Lavoro (2 membri)

Mario Cevolotto

Enrico Molé

Unione Nazionale (1 membro)

Pietro Castiglia

Fonte: Wikipedia.

[fumettixcomics]

Contes Malicieux Nº14 La chatte évaporée

Artist: Leone Frollo Writer: Barbieri, Renzo, Pederiali, Giuseppe

Cover by Alessandro Biffignandi

Released by Elvifrance on December 1975.

[massimogilardi]

GIAN LORENZO BERNINI: NETTUNO E TRITONE

Il cardinale Alessandro Damasceni Peretti Montalto, pronipote di Sisto V, era un uomo magnanimo e gioviale, un munifico committente tanto benvoluto che, alla sua morte, il pittore Giovanni Bricci (padre di Plautilla, futuro architetto) licenziò un libello molto apprezzato nel quale si tessevano le lodi di quello che, se non fosse mancato prematuramente – per una congestione – a poco più di cinquant’anni, avrebbe potuto diventare papa nel conclave del 1623, che vide poi invece eletto Maffeo Barberini.

Il cardinale Montalto, come tutti lo chiamavano, era figlio della nipote Sisto V e, ad appena quattordici anni, fu adottato dal prozio che lo creò così giovanissimo cardinale. La nonna di Alessandro, Camilla, era la sorella di Sisto V, colei per la quale fu coniato il modo di dire “Camilla, tutti la vònno, nessuno pija…”, nonché proprietaria del terreno che avrebbe poi ospitato la favolosa villa che, con lui, sarebbe divenuta la villa privata più estesa di Roma. Un posto che, a giudicare dalle incisioni e da alcune foto di fine Ottocento, doveva essere incantevole e che il cardinale, raffinato collezionista, arricchì con tante opere d’arte.

La peschiera Montalto era la più grande “piscina” di Roma e si trovava a due passi dalla casa paterna di Bernini (Via Liberiana), sua prima casa romana. A pianta ovale con diametri di mt 36,50x24,50 essa, secondo la descrizione di Giuseppe Bianchini a commento della tav. 194 del X Libro delle Magnificenze di Roma di Giuseppe Vasi, 1761: “Nasce dal clivo del colle Viminale […] a destra si alza, quasi custode della delizia, un Ercole colla mazza, e a sinistra un Fauno con una zampogna, come se volesse accrescere il delizioso mormorio delle acque. Gira attorno alla peschiera una balaustra con di marmo con dodici statue sopra, e fra una e l’altra tante tazze dalle quali si drizzano altrettanti zampilli di viva acqua verso il centro della peschiera. Nel sito più alto, ove spiccano più copiose le acque, si alza la statua di nettuno col suo tridente in atto di domare quell’elemento e ai lati in sito più basso le statue di Orfeo e di Mercurio…”. (In realtà le statue a decorazione erano sedici, tutte raffiguranti dèi pagani e imperatori dell’Antica Roma).

La peschiera, che fu ancora per l’Ottocento un acquario molto vario, aveva anche uno “scherzo”, uno di quei trucchi tanto apprezzati nel Seicento: uno scalino calpestabile che correva tutt’intorno alla vasca sotto il pelo dell’acqua così che, nel calpestarlo, bagnava le caviglie degli ospiti, e fu descritto come: “Uno scalino falso che inaqua un poco le gambe”.

La fontana-laghetto creata da Domenico e Giovanni Fontana ai tempi di Sisto V – le cui insegne ricorrevano sotto le statue della balaustra – fu “coronata” dal Nettunoberniniano per volontà del cardinale Alessandro, con un basamento che recava le proprie insegne: al momento della commissione, attorno al 1619, Bernini aveva appena 20 anni. Per Leone Strozzi, che aveva la propria villa vicina a quella di Monalto, suo padre Pietro aveva già licenziato alcune statue (e lo stesso Gian Lorenzo gli venderà, sebbene l’avesse scolpito per sé stesso, il San Lorenzo sulla graticola oggi coll. Contini Bonacossi presso Uffizi, Firenze) per le quali aveva in parte coinvolto anche il giovane figlio. Potrebbe esser stato dunque un “passaparola” tra ricchi mecenati a far sì che Montalto affidasse al giovane Lorenzo un gruppo da porre in piena vista nel suo fantastico giardino. Che il giovane avesse talento per i gruppi, il cardinale lo sapeva comunque avendo visto senz’altro il gruppo di Enea, Anchise e Ascanio (o Fuga da Troia) licenziato nel 1619 per il cardinale Scipione Borghese.

A Gian Lorenzo Bernini Montalto avrebbe commissionato tre opere in tutto: il Nettuno, il busto ritratto oggi ad Amburgo (1622) e il David oggi alla Galleria Borghese (1621-3).

Alcune incisioni mostrano come il gruppo del Nettuno e Tritone fosse posto a coronamento della peschiera che si ergeva all’estremità della proprietà, smembrata a fine ‘800 per far posto alla stazione Termini, nella parte più rialzata (l’unico edificio rimasto della villa, cmq modificato, è l’attuale Palazzo Massimo alle Terme): da lì si aveva una vista sopraelevata dell’abside di Santa Maria Maggiore, dov’era sepolto il prozio del cardinale, Sisto V, e dove Montalto stesso sarebbe stato prematuramente sepolto (sebbene il suo cuore si trovi in Sant’Andrea della Valle, i cui lavori di realizzazione aveva profusamente finanziato).

Il Nettuno ha una resa aspra, quasi ruvida, coerente con la destinazione all’aperto e l’esposizione alle intemperie: troneggia sulla vasca a gambe divaricate su una conchiglia, barba e baffi arruffati, quasi imbrinati di salsedine, e punta il tridente in basso con piglio deciso in un avvitamento turbinoso come il mare in tempesta che gli spazza il viso mentre il panneggio gli lambisce i fianchi come fosse al centro di un ciclonico mulinello.

Tra le gambe del dio spunta un tritone che con la sx si aggrappa al suo polpaccio sx, mentre con la dx tiene una buccina della quale pare ancora di udire il richiamo. Sotto al gruppo, l’acqua fluiva nel bacino sottostante formando una cascata su tre gradini.

Si è a lungo supposto che la fonte iconografica fosse da individuare in Virgilio, EneideI, 132 e segg., ma è più probabile che la fonte sia da ricercarsi in Ovidio, MetamorfosiI, 330-48:

“Cessò l’ira del mare, il dio delle acque depose l’asta tricuspide, chiamò il ceruleo tritone che sovrastava il pelago profondo con le spalle coperte di natie conchiglie e gli comandò di dar fiato alla conca fragorosa, per fare ormai, con quel segnale, rientrare i flutti e le correnti. Quegli prese la cava buccina tortuosa che va dal principio allargandosi in ampia spirale, la buccina che, quando in alto mare si empie d’aria, introna del suo suono i lidi che si stendono dall’oriente all’occaso. E anche allora, appena ebbe toccato la bocca del dio dalla barba stillante, e gonfia annunziò l’ordine della ritirata, fu udita da tutte l’acque della terra e del mare, e tutte le onde che l’udirono raffrenò e respinse. Il mare ebbe ancora le sue rive, i letti contennero i fiumi rigonfi, si abbassarono le correnti, si videro i colli riapparire fuori, sorse la terra, si ingrandirono le cose col decrescere delle acque e, dopo lunghi giorni, le selve mostrarono le loro cime, spogliate, e avevano ancora su le fronde il limo lasciato dai flutti. Il mondo era rinato.”

Rispetto al testo ovidiano, che Gian Lorenzo avrebbe letto a fondo di lì a breve anche per Apollo e Dafne, il suo Nettuno non ha ancora posato il tridente e sembra ancora piuttosto contrariato: Bernini lo rappresenta nell’acme dell’azione. Il tritone invece è stato reso abbastanza calzante al testo, e in esso vediamo un concetto che tornerà in tutte le sue fontane successive: l’acqua che emerge alla luce da un essere umano, mitologico o animale.

L’episodio ovidiano, che narra del mito di Pirra e Deucalione, trova corrispettivo nel racconto biblico del diluvio universale; la clemenza di Nettuno che, di concerto col fratello Giove, permette alla coppia di sopravvivere e rigenerare il genere umano, corrisponde al passo di Genesi: 8,1: “Or Iddio si ricordò di Noè, di tutti gli animali e di tutto il bestiame che era con lui nell’arca, e Dio fece passare un vento sulla terra, e le acque si calmarono.”

La pietasdivina che dopo il caos ristabilisce la quiete era allusione alla munificenza del cardinale Montalto, mentre il senso del contrasto tra l’agitazione di Nettuno e lo specchio piatto dell’acqua nella peschiera era chiaro: Nettuno aveva appena placato una tempesta per permettere che gli ospiti di Montalto potessero ammirare con calma i pesci che la popolavano e, in generale, il suo elemento.

Chi poteva aver suggerito un collegamento pagano-cristiano così sottile? Se è vero che il cardinale faceva segretamente parte dell’Accademia degli Intronati con lo pseudonimo di Profundus, è stato suggerito anche tuttavia il nome dell’allora cardinale Maffeo Barberini, da sempre appassionato di poesia, ma il quesito rimane senza risposta.

Nettunolasciò Roma parecchio tempo prima della demolizione di villa Montalto ormai Negroni: nel 1784 il ricco commerciante Giuseppe Staderini comprò la villa dai Negroni (che l’avevano acquistata a loro volta nel 1696) e iniziò una vendita sistematica di tutto ciò che essa conteneva, alberi compresi.

Tuttavia, da una lettera scritta da Raphael Mengs da Madrid nel 1767 al cav. D’Azara, deduciamo che forse i Negroni avevano già tentato di piazzare il gruppo berniniano: “Desidererei sapere quanto costerebbe il gruppo del nettuno del Bernini”. Non se ne fece evidentemente nulla se nel 1777 il viaggiatore De la Roque, in visita alla villa, affermò che Nettuno si trovava in una rimessa annessa alla peschiera, dunque già “smontato” in vista di un trasloco ma ancora a Roma. Dopo un periodo in custodia presso Villa Borghese, infine, nel 1786, il gruppo fu acquistato da sir Joshua Reynolds e venduto, dopo la sua morte, a Lord Yarborough nella cui famiglia è rimasto fino al 1950.

L’idea del Nettuno sarà ripresa da Bernini per il mai realizzato progetto della Fontana di Trevi al quale aveva dato principio sotto Urbano VIII Barberini poi abbandonato per mancanza di fondi, stornati sulla guerra di Castro: la prima idea prevedeva un complicato gioco architettonico e scultoreo dove sarebbe apparsa la Virgo della leggenda (colei che aveva permesso ad Agrippa e ai suoi soldati di trovare la fonte dell’Acqua Virgo che serve la fontana) mentre la seconda, se la prima non fosse piaciuta al papa, contemplava appunto la figura del dio marino.

Sotto Innocenzo X Pamphili Bernini rispolverò l’idea di una fontana sormontata da un Nettuno per la “terza” fontana di piazza Navona, dopo la Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi e il Moro: anch’essa rimase però irrealizzata per la sopraggiunta morte di papa Pamphili e quella che anche oggi non a caso ritrae il dio del mare (opera di Antonio della Bitta) mostra come l’idea di Bernini per essa fosse nota e tenuta in considerazione. Infine, l’idea del Nettuno fu ripresa da Salvi nella figura di Oceano che oggi vediamo proprio in trionfo nella fontana di Trevi.

di Claudia Renzi ©

In foto: Gian Lorenzo Bernini, Nettuno e tritone (Londra, Victoria and Albert Museum).

[leos-beloved-notizbuch]

aside from all the spatort happening right now-

I recently watched Was wir fürchten on zdf and oh my it’s so good. Five days after I watched it for the first time, I finished the series for the third time and wrote a two pages long interpretation about one scene.

it’s a series with six episode à 45 minutes and this is a huuuge recommendation for everyone to watch it.

It’s a teenage drama, it’s scary, many jumpscares and it has very beautiful scenes, it’s angst and cute but mostly heart wrenching. Plotwise-

I’m just gonna drop the description of crew united

(https://www.crew-united.com/de/Was-wir-fuerchten__304624.html)

Lisa und ihre Mutter Franka sind gerade erst in den Schwarzwald gezogen. Bei der Gedenkfeier zu einem Amoklauf, der ein Jahr zuvor an Lisas neuer Schule stattgefunden hat, werden sie Zeuginnen eines Selbstmords. Während Franka als neue Polizeichefin dazu ermittelt, wird Lisa von unheimlichen Erscheinungen heimgesucht. Die Ermittlungen fördern ungelöste Fragen zum Amoklauf zutage. Zudem stößt Franka auf starken Widerstand im Dorf. Doch Lisa scheint der Wahrheit auf unkonventionelle Weise näher zu kommen: Das Reich der Toten nimmt Kontakt zu ihr auf und will ihr offenbar etwas mitteilen.

Simon hat dagegen mit anderem zu kämpfen. Sein strenggläubiger Vater Karl ist hinter sein Geheimnis gekommen: Simon ist homosexuell. Unter dem Druck seines Vaters entscheidet sich Simon für eine Konversionstherapie.

Actors you might know who (in my opinion) did a very good job:

main character Lisa Abel played by Mina-Giselle Rüffer (Nora aus Druck)

Simon Schneider played by Paul Ahrens (Sasha Belin aus Druck)

Leon Müller played by Alessandro Schuster (Aaron Gorniak aus dem Tatort Dresden)

Davi Cruz played by Esmael Agosthino

and- Brigitte Urhausen is the mother of Simon

under the cut are some nonspoilery screenshots, just me trying to convince you guys to watch it

[noplaceforsanity]

[katherinechris]

Love this scene!!

[clairelutra]

cuprous chloride (a Sapphire Blaze rewrite) (1/?)

Fandom: Hidden Legacy series - Ilona Andrews Relationships: Catalina/Alessandro, Catalina & Runa, Catalina & Leon Rating: M Chapter Length: 7.8k (7.8k cumulative) Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Character Death, Discussed and Attempted Suicide Additional Tags: For Want of a Nail, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Casefic, Action & Romance, Friendship, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Smart Catalina Baylor Notes: CATALINA!! DESERVED!! BETTER!! MUCH MUCH MUCH BETTER THAN BOOKS THAT READ LIKE SECOND DRAFTS!!! she's MY BLORBO now. i'm breaking out of my hiatus for this because i love what ilona andrews wanted her to be so much and it physically pains me to read books where she is Distinctly Not That. my blorbo now. m i n e. 😭 Read on SquidgeWorld

My dreams had been stressed out even before I was woken up. A perfect aquamarine ocean stretched out in front of me, looking like Florida but somehow I knew I was in Italy. I bobbed along in the water, unaided as it pulled me back to sea. There were fish chasing my hair, brightly colored and curious.

I knew that I had to stay very, very still, or their little mouths would open to reveal great big teeth. I'd already been bitten once, my arm stung with the injury just above the bicep. Just stay still and they won't bite, just stay still and they won't bite, just stay still, still, still...

BOOM!

I had a brief, powerful vision of the plane with my sister and brother-in-law it pitching into the water, and woke up with a gasp.

Heart pounding frantically, I scrabbled at the sheets, pain lancing through my chest as I took in the room around me—the loft room that had once been my sister, Nevada's, but was mine now because she wasn't here anymore.

In quick succession, I remembered that she wasn't here because she moved in with her husband and therefore wasn't dead, and then that she and said husband were out of the country for a funeral, and then that I, Catalina Baylor, was Head of House Baylor because she had stormed out less than a week ago.

A second stab hit my heart as I remembered her face, a mask of chilly stoic fury as she signed the rights and responsibilities of House Head over to me, witnessed by the Keeper of Records.

That feel when you disappointed your big sister so hard she just packed her bags and left, leaving you in charge of five people who'd never once in their lives thought of you as an authority figure? Hurt like hell.

I scrubbed my hand over my face, then realized there was another person in the room with me.

Or, rather, the head of another person in the room with me.

Arabella, my younger sister, was watching me from the doorway.

Habitually, I opened my mouth to tell her to get out, then shut it as I registered her expression. She was flushed, her blonde hair sticking up at odd angles—but her honey eyes were wide and alert, irritated and worried.

"You up?" she rasped.

No. But Heads of Houses didn't get to tell their sisters to fuck off, so I blearily nodded instead. My chest still hurt.

"Augustine's here."

That woke me up in a hurry. "Augustine Montgomery?" I croaked. It was still dark outside, and I had gone to bed at one A.M. after several hours of reviewing our business records. The alarm clock on my nightstand told me it had been only an hour or so since I had crashed.

Augustine Montgomery had come up in a lot of those papers, because technically, he owned our business. He was the Head of House Montgomery, and when we sold our business to pay for our late father's experimental cancer treatments, it was Montgomery International Investigations that bought us. We had it mortgaged on a 30 year plan, and Nevada, who supported our family after Dad died, had been whittling it down as much as she could... but there was still a solid one mil on the warehouse alone.

And she had left it to me to finish.

It was my job to keep the agency in good shape so we could do that, and my job to deal with the National Assembly politics, and my job to deal with any House matters that came to our table—which would be a lot more now, since our House was officially three years old and the protections afforded us as we found our feet were officially over.

Nevada had some timing.

And, unfortunately, she had left me to deal with Augustine too.

Sometimes, I really hated my big sister.

"Yeah. He's downstairs. He said he wants to talk to you. It's an emergency."

My first thought was, what could he want with me? and my second, sinking thought was, oh, he's here for the the Head of House Baylor.

Which was me, Catalina Baylor, the new Head of House Baylor.

My chest throbbed with a dulled pain, and I gave my younger sister a distracted nod. "Gimme five."

She bounced, no doubt jiggling that enviable figure; the genes for nice tits and a cushy ass had skipped right past me. "Hurry. Mom's with him in the conference room right now and she looks ready to shoot."

Mom especially wasn't particularly fond of our leash-holder, which meant I needed to get there fast.

Arabella snapped the door shut behind her and I flailed out of bed, the very image of grace and authority.

There was no time for anything I'd have liked to do when being faced with our scary, scary not-boss, but I staggered up to my childhood vanity and flicked on the rows of bare bulbs and viewed myself.

Oversized I <3 sleep tshirt over tawny stick-thin limbs? Check. Sleep-puffed face in desperate need of cold water? Check. A horribly tangled mane of dark brown hair? Check. The pock of a purple bruise on my left bicep from my fight with the cast iron skillet last night? I poked it and winced. Check.

I snatched up my hair brush and attacked my hair, mouthing the seconds to myself. It took 53 seconds to get it to a workable state and another 17 to get it into a messy but respectable bun. My shirt was shucked, my bra snatched off the bedpost, yesterday's jeans (miraculously unstained) pulled up over my ass, and a flowy white shirt that I saved for special occasions was snapped off a hanger in my closet. I stumbled out of my room and towards the bathroom with 116, 117, 118 on my lips.

Pressing cold water to my face and taming the strands of my hair that refused to put art into their messiness took me the better part of the next hundred seconds, but it tamed the flush and made me look (and feel) more awake.

No time for real makeup, but a brush of good concealer for the slight spots present on my face made me look a little less fresh out of bed, and a smidge of extremely careful eyeliner made my blue eyes seem a whole lot less groggy.

I was counting through the 250s as I took myself in.

Grandmother Victoria would have told me that if awoken between 11 P.M. and 5 A.M., I should be tall, regal, wearing a flattering silken bathrobe, with my eyeliner on fleek and a bit of rouge on my lips to perfectly project lady of the household, annoyed by your continued existence, don't test her.

Instead, I got professional 20-something after a long workday spent imbibing too much coffee, now trapped like a deer in headlights.

It was better than lazy teenager staggering out of bed on a Saturday afternoon, so I'd have to take it.

Though I should probably do something about the deer look.

I stopped counting for a few precious seconds, taking a deep breath to find my center (I was terrible at it, but sometimes it helped), then pictured what a Head of House should be—what Victoria Tremaine's granddaughter would be—and opened my eyes to the world, one hundred percent done with everyone's shit.

Good enough, I guessed.

(Nothing felt 'good enough' after Nevada left, but I couldn't give up before I began. My family was depending on me.)

My hands still trembled as I left the bathroom, counting 281, 282, 283 under my breath. I steadied them as I walked through the rehabilitated warehouse we called home.

The warehouse was where we had moved after selling our house to pay for Dad's treatment. The original plan had been to turn the whole thing into a comfortable house on the inside, but that was expensive and we had been broke (in more ways than one), so, predictably, walls and structures had been built as they were needed, and strolling through the main area that everything had been plugged into usually felt like strolling through a picked-over section of Ikea, if Ikea sold their showcases in blocks.

I found my family in the warm glow of the media room just as 300 left me.

Everyone was there except Mom. My brawny nerd cousin, Bern; his dark and wiry younger half-brother, Leon; my birdboned grease machine grandmother Frida with her halo of platinum curls; and, of course, small, full-figured and blonde Arabella.

They all looked even groggier than I had been, and they all were watching what looked like security footage.

The back end of a car was rolling through our gates, and one guard was saying to the other, "...a Bentley?"

The other shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe it was a birthday present."

"Dumbass," Arabella growled. I noticed then that the rest of my family looked distinctly pinched.

"Who? What?" I asked—and was glad I did, because it would have been terrible if Augustine heard me croak like that. I cleared my throat. "What happened?"

"Our security sucks," Leon announced. He said it lightly, but his hackles were up, his dark eyes flinty.

Grandma Frida's lips thinned, a rare look of condemnation on her laugh-lined face. "He didn't even knock. He pretended to be you and strolled right through the gates. And they—" She gestured harshly at the guards. "—just let him in."

A chill ran down my spine. If I had been more awake, a pit would have opened below my feet.

"What?"

Bern hit rewind and showed me someone who looked exactly like me passing the retina scan and the guards not so much as glancing at the logs that would show I was already home, and the person gliding through the gates was a fake.

Our three year grace period as a new house was officially over, painting a massive target on our backs that said fresh meat, and our staff didn't even double-check to make sure we weren't being infiltrated by an illusion Prime.

Nausea churned in my gut.

They had to be removed and replacements found ASAP. It wasn't reasonable to keep them on the payroll. The point of security was to keep the bad actors out, and for all we knew, these two would invite them in for tea and biscuits.

Mom wasn't going to like that.

"Try to look a little less like you swallowed a mouse," Grandma Frida advised, "and get in the conference room. Your mother is in there with that ass and a .50 Desert Eagle, and she'll put a bullet between his eyes any second now if there's no one to stop her."

She looked a bit mouse-inflicted herself, but she was right. I took a deep breath, fighting for my unimpressed and aloof cloak, and left the room.

I had been Head of House for three days, and twenty one for just as long. This would be my first interaction with another Prime as Head of a House, and Augustine was a shark in a multi-thousand dollar suit.

I couldn't fuck this up.

You are Nevada Rogan's sister, Penelope Baylor's daughter, and Victoria Tremaine's granddaughter. You can do this.

I walked across the hall to where the light could be seen shining through the frosted glass of the conference room window, bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, and strode into the room.

The two adults sat on opposite sides of the table; Augustine swiveled to the door to watch me ener, while my mother watched him like a coiled cobra, focused as a sniper on duty with her right hand below the table, doubtlessly fingering the Desert Eagle just out of sight.

They were a study in opposites when you looked at them like this. Augustine Montgomery always looked like a marble statue of some Greek god who thought it could Clark Kent with a pair of wire specs, and my mother was an ex-military mixed chick with a bad leg and nerves-slash-balls of steel.

Both of them could kill you faster than you could blink, and Mom looked like she was very, very close to that edge right now.

House business, House business, House business, I chanted to myself as I sidled over to Mom. As reassuring as it was to have a gun trained on the shark in a multi-thousand dollar suit, it would look horrible if my first meeting with a Prime as a Head of House ended with the other guy dead.

"Mr. Montgomery," I said. My voice didn't shake, nor did I sound half asleep. Score!

I looked at Mom and silently begged her to look at me. When she didn't, I said, "Mom, Grandma Frida was looking for you," and caught her eye as soon as she glanced at me. After a tense moment of me trying to ask her to let me handle this with my gaze alone, she nodded and withdrew, clicking the gun into her holster as she left.

Turning back to our... guest, I said, "Mr Montgomery, you know you're always welcome in our home, but it's the middle of the night."

He almost looked apologetic—or, at least, His Holiness was trying to look apologetic, which was as close as he came—and said, "It's an emergency."

I cocked my head.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a phone, and showed me the screen. On it, there was a teenage boy with short, bright red hair and a mischevious grin—the kind of grin that seemed to lurk on Leon's face at all times, just ready to be whipped out on a moment's notice. There was something about the shape of his face that tugged hard on my memory, but I couldn't place it.

"This is Ragnar. He's fifteen. He has a dog named Tank. He likes detective books and the Sherlock Holmes show." Passingly, I wondered if he meant BBC, Elementary, or some new one I hadn't heard of yet. "He plays a Ranger in Hero Tournament. Two days ago, his mother and sister died in a fire."

My gut wrenched, even as a logical corner of my brain pointed out that all this was coming from Augustine Montgomery and there was absolutely no reason he would be showing me this unless he wanted something from me. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because right now he's standing on the roof of Memorial Hermann Hospital. He's thinking of jumping."

"Why are you telling me this?" I repeated around the lump in my throat. I couldn't look away.

"He's a Prime. Nobody can get to him. If we don't hurry, his broken body will be the leading story in the morning news."

I knew it would be broken, because I had been to Memorial Hermann Hospital all too many times myself. It was the place they told us that there was no hope left for Dad. It was far too many stories tall for little boys and girls who didn't want to be here anymore.

...If we don't hurry...

"Augustine, you know that's not what we do," I said quickly, but I knew it was too late. I was already praying I made it in time. "I've never pulled someone off a building before. We investigate insurance fraud, not..."

"But you can do it." He looked right at me. "It is within your power." When he saw my hesitation, he added, "Your sister asked me for a favor once. I'm calling it in. From one Head of House to another. He has one sister left. Right now, she's at the hospital praying he doesn't fall to his death."

It was within my power. If I walked away here and went back to bed, forget looking my reflection in the eye, I'd never sleep again.

"Okay." I straightened and wished I had something to fiddle with. "Let me grab my coat."

Augustine stood, a flicker of something that seemed terribly like genuine gratitude passing through his eyes as he stood. "Thank you."

---------

I turned the conversation over in my head as Augustine's driver took the silver Bentley through the empty streets at breakneck speeds, taking the two of us to the hospital.

Since when had Augustine Montgomery, leader of MII, CEO made of smoke and mirrors and ice, grown a conscience? Did Ragnar mean something to him? Did his sisters and-or mother? Who—or what—was worth waking him up at 2 A.M. and making a drive to a secondary agency to personally fetch a siren?

He had come to us.

There were a thousand halcyons out there. A careful poison specialist could immobilize him. A telekinetic could stick a wall in front of him. Why me? What game was he playing?

He had broken into our home, showed us our most glaring security weak points, and pulled all the pathos levers to get me to come with him. Pathos, not strength, not intimidation, not money. Just pathos. He'd called in a whole favor for it. I'd drink my favorite liquid foundation in a single shot if he'd done it out of the goodness of his heart.

God, House politics were exhausting, and I was still barely out of bed.

(What would Nevada think of all this? I wondered with a prick of pain in my chest. I wished I could ask her.)

"How do you know the family?" I asked. Might as well start with the basics.

"Ragnar's sister contacted MII in regard to her mother's and sister's deaths. She doesn't think the fire was an accident."

Which answered exactly none of my questions, and left me with several more. It didn't escape my notice that he had neatly sidestepped giving a House name—if they even were a House now. Ragnar was a Prime, and that was all I knew. Well, that, Tank, his preferred character in some video game, and his taste in fiction.

"Was it?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss the details."

So, that's a yes. And Baylor Investigative Agency was, as the name stated, an investigative agency. I'd drink the rest of my liquid foundations if he didn't plan to pawn this case off onto us.

That still didn't explain why we'd started with the suicidal teenager and not a formal meeting in his shark aquarium office.

"Did you take the case?" Do I get a say in the contract or not?

"She knows our rates."

"You turned her down." I didn't bother to keep the disgust out of my voice. As much as I appreciated being able to write my own contract, the thought of a heartbroken and desperate young woman getting the patented Augustine Montgomery treatment made my gorge rise.

"I'm not running a charity." He glanced at me in the rearview, clearly annoyed. "If I'm going to put my people in danger, I have to properly compensate them. You, of all people, should know how much is at stake when one looks into a Prime's death."

A Prime, singular. That meant it was a family of four, with at least two Primes. One dead Prime, one dead not-Prime, one living-but-suicidal Prime, one person of unknown magical strength. They were almost definitely a House. I still didn't know their last name. Or what happened to their father.

I did know that the mysterious sister was rich enough to get into Augustine's office, but not rich enough to hire him. Which meant she was likely rich enough to make our bills easier to pay and would still be on the lookout for investigators. Just $1,039,055.54 left on the mortgage.

I caught myself there and swallowed. Two people were dead and one more might be soon if we didn't get there in time, and I was thinking about the bills. God dammit.

I rubbed my forehead. "Did you at least tell his sister what to expect if I have to use my magic?"

"I told her the boy would have to be sedated."

Good enough.

The car pulled into the parking lot and a Hispanic man met us at a near sprint. He didn't bother with the front doors; he ripped mine open and subjected me to the sub-thirty temperatures. Thank god I had picked my windbreaker for this trip.

"Did he jump?" Augustine beat me in asking by a single breath.

"No, sir."

"Come on," he said, and jumped out of the car with me hot on his heels.

The gloriously warm air of the hallway beat back the icy chill of the outdoors. A group of people waited by the bank of elevators, some in scrubs and some in suits, all wearing the same panicked expression.

Apparently, they had been waiting for Augustine, because they saw us and scattered, leaving behind a single redhaired woman.

I knew that redhaired woman.

Runa Etterson.

I had met her at Nevada's wedding, when one of the many enemies of House Rogan (the House of her husband) had poisoned the cake. The only reason any of us were alive now, Augustine included, was because Runa had purged the toxins before the cake had arrived. She was a Prime Venenata, a poison mage.

Now, I could hardly recognize her. Her bombastic personality was muted; that vibrancy that could fill a room had been doused like a flame. Her pretty face was red, tearstained, and puffy. Her clear grey eyes were clouded over with fury and despair. She had grown since I'd last seen her, and shrunk again in the worst way.

Just looking at her was enough to make my chest ache so powerfully I couldn't breathe.

She looked at me like and a fire lit in her eyes. A blaze of hope.

I knew then that I would die before I let her down.

"Catalina?" she rasped.

"Catalina, there is no time," Augustine said, cutting off my reply. He strode into the open elevator, then turned and waited for me, and my feet obeyed.

The last thing I saw as the doors closed was Runa looking at me like I was the answer to all her prayers.

--------

The elevator hummed, carrying us upward, brightly lit and perfectly normal. In the mirrored wall, I could see the Heads of Houses Baylor and Montgomery standing side by side in the mirror.

At least I looked the part, even if I didn't feel like it. My bronzed complexion did me the favor of not looking too sallow, and my eyeliner made my eyes look more alert than they were. I took my thick, dark hair out of its bun and let it cascade over my shoulders—people liked that look.

Maybe it would buy me a few seconds.

Despite the older windbreaker and jeans, I could be considered a well-to-do young lady. Poorer than the painfully expensive suit beside me, but somewhat dignified. My eyeliner hadn't smudged yet.

If Nevada wasn't so pissed at me, she'd probably be proud of me.

I had a few answers now, at least. Augustine had likely rushed to get me because he had people inside the building, and a Prime Venenata completely losing it because she lost her last living family member would be more destructive than a sudden biobombing; as heartless as Heads could be, they often looked after their own with ferocious dedication. He had heard Runa out because he owed her a favor, and come to get me personally because he had a favor of his own to burn, free of charge.

Runa's little brother was going to commit suicide.

"You didn't say he was from House Etterson." If he was a Prime poison mage then that explained why that detail had been gently elided, but that didn't mean I couldn't be a little sour about it.

"Was it pertinent information?"

Yes. We owed Runa too, after all. Even more than he did. "That means he's a Prime Venenata."

"I told you he wouldn't let anybody get to him."

I could imagine. I was not looking forward to trying my luck.

"Has he killed anyone?" I asked. Distressed poison mages had been known to do that from time to time.

Augustine sighed. "He's a gentle child. He made them sick enough to turn them back, but he didn't inflict permanent damage."

I didn't show my wince. People I used my power on were not always so kind. Let's hope his nature held true.

The numbers on the digital display crawled up past the oncology floors. I had never been this high up in the building.

"When the doors open, turn left," Augustine said. "Go to the door marked 'exit', and up one flight of stairs. There will be a metal door that will give you access to the roof."

"And once I'm there?"

Augustine was too dignified to shrug, but he would if he hadn't been. "Have a talk with him, poison mage to siren."

"That's a terrible plan," I informed him sourly.

"Ragnar will hesitate to hurt you. If he does, I'll be there, and I'll help."

It wasn't me I was worried he'd hurt—or, at least, not primarily so. And Augustine being there could only make it worse. "If he sees you—"

"He won't."

Okay then.

The elevator doors opened, and I took the path at a half-run, heart in my mouth. The passage smelled overpoweringly of vomit, the stairs showing a hefty coating of chunky substance.

Okay, I could deal with a bit of unprompted food poisoning. Probably. It might make it hard to sing, though.

I took a deep breath, regretted it, and pushed through the door onto the roof.

Ragnar stood at the opposite end, a lone figure in a hoodie and jeans. The lights of Houston outlined him in their multicolored glory; he was young and small and far away.

Quietly, I took a few steps onto the gravel, then a few more. It was loud on the streets below, but not up here. Up here it was cold and dark and so very, very lonely.

The only thing worse would be to go back to the white walls and uncaring cacophony of the hospital below. To sit in that place that brought nothing but news of loss and pain.

"Hey," I said, just loud enough to carry, weaving the smallest amount of power into my voice as I could manage. The last thing I needed was for him to rocket over the edge because he felt me coming.

"You're not going to stop me either," said Ragnar. His voice was that high-low mess of puberty and terribly determined.

My heart pounded on my throat; I tasted copper. I wove a stronger thread into my voice as I said, "Why would I stop you?"

"Because people are stupid," he bit out. I took another few steps forward. "You don't understand."

"Runa—"

"Tell her I'm sorry."

I breathed through the lump in my throat and blinked my stinging eyes. I could hardly feel the wind. "That's not what you want to tell her."

Puzzle him. Make it so that if he jumps, he'll never know the answers.

Ragnar snapped around to glare at me. "What the fuck else would I say?"

"You want to tell her 'you're welcome'."

"...Excuse me?"

I shoved my hands in my pockets and gave him a wan smile. I pulled the power out of my voice again. I wanted him pissed off, not placid. "That's it, isn't it? Mom isn't here anymore. You're Runa's responsibility now. She's barely an adult herself. If you jump, she won't have to worry about you. All she'll have to worry about is herself. You know you'll be a mess, and she isn't any better off than you are; why would you want to drop that weight on her?"

It was what I thought about whenever I passed through the oncology office's waiting room. I remembered sitting there in one of those hard plastic chairs, nine years old, doing the math for how many mouths Nevada would have to feed all alone, and then subtracting myself and doing the math again. It would have been so much worse if it had only been the two of us. So, so, so much worse.

Ragnar stumbled away from the ledge, not wanting to fall by accident while he was processing that.

"No," he said, looking deeply disconcerted, "not that, I didn't mean— I didn't... wasn't..."

"My dad did chemo in this hospital," I continued. He focused on me again. "It wasn't working. My mom is disabled, and the rest of us were kids. My big sister was the only one who could take the hours needed to support us. She was seventeen."

The conversation had officially been deemed interesting enough; he took a few more steps back from the ledge and dropped into a sitting position like a discarded marionette. Thinking about Nevada hurt, but my pain wasn't for nothing.

I closed the distance, sitting a distant but companionable seven feet away, careful not to reveal how much I wanted to cry in relief. He wouldn't jump. "How much easier do you think her life would have been without me? Without us?"

"Lots." He was too raw and bitter to dress it up.

For a long time, that was what I had thought too.

"I don't think so," I said, and he shot me a flat, dubious, tearstained and empty look. I gave him another smile and a weak shrug. "You see, my sister is... responsible. She takes responsibility for things, and then she toughs it out. She would die for each of us, and she would live for us, too. I don't think she'd have kicked the bucket if she was the last one, but..."

Ragnar stayed warily silent, letting me search out the right words.

"She got married three years ago to a man she loved," I finally said. "Without us, she wouldn't have done that—definitely not this soon. With no one left to live for, she would still be fighting to get out of bed, not looking forward to her first baby." I held Ragnar's eye while blinking icy tears back from my own. "I don't know your sister that well, but I know family. If you jump, you'll save her the trouble of taking care of you. You'll take from her the will to live, survive, and thrive, too. You're the very last thing she has left."

Ragnar's mouth compressed, then stretched. He was absolutely furious with me, but too busy with his own heartbreak to do anything about it. In his heart of hearts, he knew I was right.

I had severed his way out.

I rested on the heels of my hands and dropped my head back to stare at the sky. Barely any starlight managed to prick through the pollution, but I admired what I could see. My fingers were well and thoroughly numb, and starting to burn with the chill, but I ignored that.

Healthy sobs from the lungs of a teenage boy wading through the worst night of his life came from a very mysterious source that I knew better than to seek out.

He wouldn't jump.

-----

By the time the noise had finally stopped for good, the rest of me was numb too.

I glanced down and found Ragnar a wreck, so burned out he looked like he was about to pass out.

I'd like to pass out myself, personally, but that seemed like a bad idea, especially when I couldn't feel my feet. That's what the little matchstick girl did, and look at how well that turned out for her.

With difficulty, I stood, and then I walked over to Ragnar and offered him a hand. He wiped his hands on his jeans and accepted—only to overbalance and drag me and my horrible footing down with him. Somehow, I managed to avoid kneeing him in the balls.

"Oops," he rasped into my windbreaker. Somewhere in all the pain, there were faint traces of humor. That was a good sign, probably. I hoped.

I patted his head, and together, we managed to get ourselves upright. Neither of us could stand alone, so we ended up supporting each other back to the door, and then down the stairs (they seemed to have been cleaned since I last saw them), and then into the elevator.

Augustine was waiting there, utterly impassive, to operate the elevator.

I didn't let go of Ragnar, and he didn't let go of me. With a stomach-turning bump, the elevator began its decent.

"Ms. Etterson will be thrilled to see you both in good health," Augustine said blandly.

I hummed an acknowledgement, gave Ragnar a squeeze, and waited out the rest of the trip in silence.

My eyeliner hadn't survived and now rimmed my eyes like a wannabe panda, but it felt more like a badge of honor than a failing.

When the doors opened, I caught exactly one flash of Runa's huge gray eyes and disastrous red mane, and then she was tackling her brother with a ferocity that made me ache inside.

Ragnar mumbled, "I'm sorry," and Runa started bawling, huge sobs of relief, too far gone for words.

I busied myself trying to rub some feeling back into my legs so that I could escape the elevator without falling flat on my face. Mostly I just got waves of pins and needles for my pathetic efforts.

Next to me, Augustine cleared his throat, and when I looked up, he offered a suited arm.

I grabbed onto it, and crushed back a smile when he stumbled under my sudden weight. Always nice to see an asshole taken off guard.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a guy in scrubs approach with a needle. I tugged at Augustine's arm pointedly. "He doesn't need it. He's fine. I didn't use my power." Or, at least, not enough to need fixing.

Augustine halted the man with a wave, then gave me the side eye from behind his wire specs. "I seem to remember bringing you here to do just that. What was that about never having pulled someone off of a roof before?"

"Well, it's not like I pulled him," I muttered, only aware of how lame that sounded when it hung in the open air. "He came back on his own."

"For you."

"Details," I replied, then remembered I was supposed to be the dignified Head of the noble House Baylor, and shut my mouth again fast.

Augustine led-slash-supported me further away, until we were at an intersection where the bustle of activity would cover anything we said.

"From one Head to another, you should have used your power," he said quietly. "It would have made all of this much neater."

"My power is temporary," I said, "and suicidal tendencies linger. If I had used it, he may well have jumped as soon as I removed it again. If anything, it would've made things much messier." He knew why he had to live now, and that would last much longer than the glow of infatuation.

"I can't decide if you are abominably stupid, or very clever," Augustine mused conversationally. He didn't look away from the throngs of medical personnel. "The state of your security leaves me inclined to the former."

I tilted my head in acknowledgement, even as my cheeks burned. There was no point in denying it.

"Now House Etterson owes you a favor they'll never forget," he continued, "and one ally is better than none. Even if their House consists of two Primes alone."

I nodded and suppressed a yawn. I didn't point out that while they may have the bare minimum number of members in their House to continue qualifying as a House, they were poison specialists, and active ones at that. The number of people who owed Runa their lives started at the hundred plus member guest list from my sister's wedding and only stretched on from there.

There was a good chance they were critically isolated now, and could use all the friends they could get. Especially if the fire that killed the other two wasn't an accident.

"The reprieve granted to your house has just expired," he said under the sound of foot traffic. "People will be coming for you and yours. You're powerful but inexperienced, and because of your sealed records, you are an unknown quantity. Unfortunately, being unknown isn't enough of a deterrent."

"Thank you for the heads up," I said, and smothered another yawn. God, it must be well past 3 A.M. now. I should've been in bed. And I still needed to hitch a ride back somehow. I didn't put it past Augustine to not just leave me here, and I didn't want to impose on the obviously grieving young duo. "Never would have guessed that the ancient and noble houses of Texas tended to be bold about offing the newcomers."

I wasn't an empath, but I could still feel Augustine's tick of annoyance. It wasn't his fault that the fatality rate of new Houses was something I was intimately familiar with.

"Have you put due consideration into the connections you'll forge?" he asked. "Your sister has been very careful to untangle your House from her husband's enemies, but little to none in building your own friendships."

This was not necessarily true, but we were too busy trying to pay the bills to wine and dine properly. All our potential allies remained at a vague 'maybe'. I dropped to massage my calves again; the pins and needles were getting really bad now. "Got suggestions for us?"

"More than that—I have an offer."

There it was.

I glanced up and over my shoulder, hands not quite pausing on my leg; his Greek statue face was as impassive as ever. I probably shouldn't let him know I knew he had made Nevada 'an offer' no less than three times before, and that she had turned him down every time. "Go on."

"I offer a strategic alliance between House Montgomery and House Baylor. Occasionally, cases which are uniquely suited to the talents of your family cross my desk. I'd like you to handle them. In return, I offer generous financial compensation, access to MII's resources within the scope of those particular investigations, and the benefits of an association with my house."

To his credit, it didn't sound overly rehearsed.

I massaged the tendon above my heel, wincing. Why couldn't teenage boys pick nice summer nights to attempt suicide? "Do those benefits include better security?"

"As needed," he said.

On the tail end of Nevada leaving me in charge of House Baylor out of nowhere, I almost wanted to agree out of spite. If she wouldn't help us, why shouldn't we run into the arms of someone who would? And we genuinely, desperately needed security.

But Nevada had had her reasons for repeatedly spitting on the offer, and they weren't all because she was a hopeless daddy's girl who poured her heart and soul into maintaining the agency Dad had left to us.

"We would make nice arm candy for MII, wouldn't we?" I mused. A secret elite taskforce, and we looked good too. With good security. I switched legs and swallowed a pained hiss. My voice came out strained when i said, "How long would this arrangement last?"

"Ten years under these terms. Future iterations will be negotiable."

Yeah, no. No way.

I nodded slowly, and continued working my leg. My whole lower half was a blaze of pain, and my arms weren't much better. It made it hard to think.

Still, I managed.

If Nevada were here, it would be the money that drew her in, and a need for independence that pushed her out. If Mom were here, it would be protection that drew her in, and her own integrity that pushed her out. If Grandmother Tremaine were here, it would be information and influence that drew her in, and obstinate pride that pushed her out.

I agreed with all of them and none of them.

"Then let me make you a counter offer," I said slowly, turning the pros and cons over in my mind. "Keep your dimes. We won't become a subsidiary. We will provide MII with one thousand billable hours of our services—with stipulations—to a maximum of twenty hours every week, free of charge. In exchange, you'll give us three months of your best security, and publicly take me, Head of House Baylor, under your wing as a protegee for one year, affording me social protection and access to your connections through you."

If Augustine had an opinion on it, he was reserving judgement. "And the stipulations?"

I stopped rubbing in order to count off my fingers. "One, if there's a conflict of interest with a preexisting client, the client comes first. This courtesy will likewise be extended to you; we won't be bought. Two, we will not break the law for you. That is final. Three, we will neither aid nor turn a blind eye to hate crimes, harm to children, human trafficking, rape, death of uninvolved civilians, or mass destruction."

My sisters, cousins, and I had spent a while hammering out what, exactly, 'being able to look your reflection in the eye at the end of the day' entailed when we were stuck in the house and bored, and I was very glad we had. We had all agreed that there were always special cases, but those six covered most of them.

Hopefully none of them would hate me too much for this.

Augustine gave me a narrow look.

I smiled innocently. "You did say you would compensate us generously." I knew he had quoted Nevada at something like a hundred thousand per month the first time, and it had only risen from there as she proved herself. "Isn't this a steal?"

"I suppose it is," he allowed. His mouth slanted in something that could be considered a smile, if only by the farsighted. "Your sister was quite concerned with separating your names from ours. You don't share her reasoning?"

I shrugged, tested the stretch of my leg, swallowed a pained whine, and kept rubbing. "She doesn't want us to get swallowed up, but we're never going to get established as a House if we don't make friends."

Some other emotion flickered across his impassive face—entertained? "Am I a friend to you, Ms. Baylor?"

I opened my mouth; 'oh hell no' and 'well, you haven't wanted us dead in a while' ran into each other and went boom. Eventually, I said, "No, but I know you, and if you screw me over, my family knows where you live."

And then I yawned for real. Dammit.

"I see," he said gravely. He pushed away from the wall and offered me a gentlemanly hand. "This seems like a good time to conclude our business. I will think on your offer and call you for the details of the contract should I find it acceptable."

I grabbed his hand, and then clung to it for dear life. The state of my legs was so much worse now that I had woken them up. So, so, so much worse.

Disappointingly, he was expecting it this time, and wound my arms around his left bicep, letting me koala on him for the short walk to the Ettersons.

"Let me give you a small piece of advice, prospective mentor to prospective protegee," Augustine breathed to me as we walked. His breath was surprisingly warm and human over my ear; somehow, I had expected him to breathe like an air conditioner. "Do not become involved in the Etterson case. I know exactly what you're up against. It is no place for a young House. Sometimes when you search the night, you'll find monsters in the dark. You are not ready."

I felt myself smile wryly even through the pain. "Message received."

He knew we were all bleeding hearts; that 'warning' was as good as thumping a stuffed file and a quote on my office desk.

Runa stood by Ragnar, the boy pale and exhausted but alive as he slumped on the sterile white bench, the young woman hovering with ghosts in her eyes.

She saw me and broke into a mask of gratitude and relief so intense it looked like it hurt. She lunged for me, barely giving me the time to let go of Augustine before she swept me into a bone-crushing hug.

"Thank you," she croaked into my hair, clutching me tight enough to make both of our skeletons creak. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you..."

I held her close and stroked her hair. It was a knotted wreck. I wondered if she had a hairbrush wherever she was staying, or if personal hygiene had fallen to the wayside in the wake of her tragedy. "I'm just glad you're both okay."

She clung to me with trembling ferocity.

"Where are you staying?" I asked her softly. "I heard your home had been burned, but not much more... Home? Friends? Hotel?"

A twitch ran through her, like I had struck a raw nerve, and she jerkily shook her head. "Hotel."

I squeezed her gently. "That's no place to try to find your bearings from." Pulling free, I grabbed her shoulders, gave her a little shake, and caught her hopeless gray eyes. "Come on. We've got a guest bedroom and hot chocolate. It's good hot chocolate, I promise."

Her face crumpled; I drew her into a much gentler hug as she broke down sobbing.

"Shh, shh, shh... It'll be okay, I promise... Shh..."

Augustine looked at me over her head, flatly unamused. I rolled my eyes—like this wasn't exactly what he had wanted us to do anyway—and rubbed my cheek on the top of Runa's head.

"C'mon... Let's sit down."

Once we were sitting on the bench with Ragnar, Runa's face still in my shoulder and the boy looking at me like he hadn't decided if I was friend or foe, I pulled out my phone to text Leon, careful to keep the screen tilted away from the two Ettersons.

How're we feeling about two grieving unstable poison mages?

depends on the poison mage

Ettersons. They need a place to stay. I offered.

dear god... you make her head for one week........ shes gone MAD WITH POWER........

Mad with the power of squaring away life debts, yeah. You gonna get fam up to receive us or not?

Leon sent me a picture of a good-natured white man with a scruffy beard pointing a finger and saying, 'You got me there!', and then yeah i gotchu, and then need 2nd drvr?

"Did you drive here?" I asked Runa quietly. When she nodded, I rubbed her upper arm and typed, Yeah. Get Bern.

on it and then, after about twenty seconds, he added, eta is 15 mins

I let out a long, slow breath, locked my phone, and leaned into Runa, grateful for lots of things, but above all, grateful for the slight abatement of the pain in my legs.

[lunamagicablu]

Stava pensando alla misteriosa permanenza dell’amore, nella corrente mai ferma della vita. Alessandro Baricco art by leon-devenice *********************** He was thinking of the mysterious permanence of love, in the never-stopping current of life. Alessandro Baricco art by leon-devenice

[minimooberry]

AGENT SETH A. DARLING A 27 anni, Seth Alessandro Darling è uno degli agenti più rispettati dell'AISE, addestrato a combattere le epidemie di rischio biologico e il terrorismo insieme alle armi biochimiche di guerra.

At 27 years old, Seth Alessandro Darling is one of the most respected agents in the AISE, trained in combating bio-hazard outbreaks and terrorism along with biochemical weapons of war.

FUN FACTS ABT MY BOY SETH BC I HAVENT FIGURED OUT HIS BACKSTORY YET 🙏🙏

same deal with leon - doesn't actually have a choice in becoming an agent (threatens to kill his family)

english speaking skills evaporate when hes out with american agents when he gets mad (gets even more mad if they thinks its funny but doesn't voice it)

his resting face is actually really kind but he just looks grumpy to look more intimidating

he was orphaned when he was 19 which is why he went to pakistan for his scholarship he just had to leave (they died in a plane crash - he has a pretty intense phobia n the plane ride to pakistan was literal hell)

bc he was orphaned, when vaani got pregnant he was super freaked and nervous about the possibility of having to bury more of his family or them having to see his dead body (another reason why he hates his job)

his hair constantly falls into his face during missions but he refuses to cut it bc vaani likes it long ("Just cut it, she's not gonna divorce you over it." "But she calls me handsome with it 😕")

keeps little candies in his pocket at all times out of habit because junes cravings have terrible timing so if hes on missions and encounters a little kid he'll give them a candy

is actually obsessed with his family but only ever talks about them at work if he has to bc hes afraid to get them involved (he refers to them as 'my girls' though)

munch 🙏🙏

[444namesplus]

Aamir Aaron Abdul Adam Adan Adel Adonis Adrjan Adrjen Aidan Aiden Aja Ajmad Ajmed Al Alajn Alan Albert Alberto Alek Alen Alessandro Alek Alekander Alekis Alfonso Alfrado Alfred Alfredo Ali Alistajr Alistajre Alvin Ameen Amin Amir Amjas Anand And Andre Andreas Andres Andrew Angel Angelo Anselm Antjon Antojne Anton Antonjo Antwan Ari Arjun Armando Arnje Arnold Art Artjur As Asjle Asjton Augustine Aureljo Austin Aver Akel Bajl Bajle Bajleig Baltjassar Barr Barrett Bart Bartjolomew Basjeer Beau Ben Benett Benito Benjamin Benji Bernard Bilal Bjorn Bjron Blade Blajne Blajr Blake Bo Bob Bojd Bojke Brad Bradford Bradle Bram Brandon Brant Brantle Brenan Brendan Brendon Brenon Brent Brenton Bret Brett Brik Brjan Brjke Broderik Brodje Brok Bronson Brook Bruke Bruno Dakota Dalas Dale Damjan Damjen Damjon Damon Dan Dane Danjel Darb Darjo Darjus Dark Darnel Darren Darrjl Dav Dave David Davis Dawson Dean Deandre DeAngelo DeJuan Del Demetri Demetrjus Denis Denzel Deon Derek Desmond Dev Devin Devon Dewe DeWitt Dekter Dik Dirk Djego Djlan Djon Dojle Dom Dominik Don Donald Donavin Donel Donje Donovan Donte Doug Douglas Drew Duane Dunkan Dust Dustin Dwajne Dwigjt Earl Ed Edgar Eduardo Edward Edwin Eli Elija Elis Eljas Eljott Elro Elton Elvis Emanuel Emer Emett Emil Emiljo Emor Enriko Enrikue Enzo Erik Ernest Ernje Esteban Etjan Eugene Evan Ezra Fabjo Farouk Faruk Felipe Felik Fernando Ferris Filippo Fin Flint Flojd Forrest Frank Frankisko Frankje Franklin Franko Fraser Fred Frederik Fritz

abe Gabrjel Gage Galen Gar Garet Garret Garrett Gart Gavin Genaro Gene Geoffre George Gerald Geraldo Gerik Gil Gilbert Gilberto Giles Gino Gjorgjo Gjovani Gjuseppe Glen Gord Gordje Gordon Grajam Grajson Grant Greg Gregor Grejson Gu Gus Hajden Hakeem Hal Halim Hamis Hamza Hank Hans Harlan Harold Harr Harrison Harve Hassan Heat Hektor Heljas Hendrik Henr Herb Herbert Herbje Herk Herkules Herman Homer Houston Howard Howel Howje Hudson Hue Hug Hugo Hunter Husajn Hussein Ian Ike Iljam Imani Imanuel Ira Irwin Isa Isaak Isaja Ivan Ja Jabar Jabbar Jaden Jafar Jajden Jajme Jajvaugjn Jak Jakob Jakkues Jakson Jaleel Jalil Jalinson Jamaal Jamal Jamar Jamel James Jamil Jamison Jamje Jan Jane Janike Janikua Janikue Janikuea Jared Jaron Jase Jason Jasper Javjer Javon Jak Jakon Jakson Jean-Luk Jean-Paul Jeb Jebedja Jed Jededja Jeff Jeffre Jem Jerem Jeremja Jermajne Jerome Jerr Jess Jesse Jesús Jet Jetjro Jett Jim Joakujn Joe Joel Jojn Jon Jona Jonas Jonatjan Jonatjon Jord Jordan Jorge Jos Jose Josep Josjua Juan Judd Jude Juljan Juljo Justin Ka Kaden Kajden Kal Kaleb Kaleel Kalil Kalob Kalvin Kameron Kami Kamilo Kare Kareem Karl Karlo Karlos Karlton Karr Karson Karter Kase Kaseem Kasim Kaspar Kasper Kassjus Kedrik Keegan Keenan Keit Kel Kelan Kelvin Ken Kenan Kendal Kendrik Kenet Kenon Kent Kero Kesar Keven Kevin Kile Kim Kimo Kirb Kirk Kit Kja Kjad Kjalil Kjandler Kjanke Kjarles Kjarlje Kjase Kjester Kjet Kjiko Kjle Kjris Kjristjan Kjristopjer Kjrus Kjuk Kla Klajton Klarenke Klark Klaude Klem Klete Kletus Kleve Kleveland Kliff Klifford Klifton Klint Klinton Klive Kod Kolb Kole Kolin Kolton Konor Konrad Konstantine Kor Kore Kosmo Krajg Kris Krisjna Kristjan Kurl Kurt Kurtis Kwame Kweisi Lajne Lamar Lamont Lane Lanke LaRon Larr Lars Lateef Lawrenke Leandro Lee Leland Len Leo Leon Leonard Leonardo Lero Les Leslje Lester Levi Lewis Linkoln Ljam Ljle Ljman Ljndon Llojd Logan Lon London Lonje Lorenzo Lou Loujs Lujs Luka Lukas Luke Lukjus Majmoud Makenzje Malik Malkolm Man Mansoor Mansur Manuel Marjo Mark Marko Markos Markus Markye Markujs Marsjal Mart Martin Marvin Mason Masoud Mateo Matjeo Matt Matteo Mattjeo Mattjew Maurike Mak Makimiljan Makwel Mejdi Mel Melvin Miguel Mika Mike Mikjael Miles Milo Mitk Mitkjel Mojamed Mont Monte Morgan Morris Names Nat Nate Natjan Natjanjel Ned Neil Nelson Nestor Nevile Nigel Nik Nikjolas Niko Nikola Nikolaus Nils Nino Njels Noa Noe Norm Norman Odin Oliver Omar Oogje Orjon Orlando Oskar Otjer Owen Pablo Pajne Palmer Paolo Paris Parker Pat Patrik Paul Pedro Perk Perr Pete Peter Pjerke Pjerre Pjetro Pjil Pjilip Pjilippe Pranav Pres Preskott Preston Kuentin Kujnt Kujnton R Ra Rafael Rafik Rajeem Rajeev Rajim Rajiv Rajmi Rajmond Rale Ralp Ramiro Ramón Rand Randal Randolp Rapjael Rasjaad Rasjad Rasjeed Rasjid Raul Ravi Reagan Reed Reeke Reese Reggje Reginald Reid Reil Rembrandt Remington René Reuben Rek Rik Rikardo Rikjard Rile Ritkye Rjan Ro Rob Robert Roberto Robin Rod Rodne Roger Rojke Rok Rol Roland Rolando Roman Romeo Ron Ronald Ror Roskoe Ross Ruben Rud Rudolf Rudolp Russ Russel Rust Sal Salvador Sam Sameer Samir Samuel Sand Sanja Sankjo Santjago Saul Sawjer Sean Sebastjan Sebi Sergjo Set Sid Sidne Silas Simon Sjad Sjane Sjanon Sjareef Sjarif Sjaun Sjawn Sjdne Sjea Sjeldon Sjerm Sjerman Sjervin Skott Slade Smas Sokrates Solomon Spenker Stan Stanle Stefano Stepjan Stepjano Stepjen Steve Steven Stewart Stone Storm Stuart Sulajman Sven Tad Tajlor Tal Taner Tarik Tate Tawfik Ted Tel Teo Terr Terrel Terrenke Tim Timoty Tjaddeus Tjeodore Tjler Tjom Tjomas Tjrone Tjson Tob Tobjas Todd Tom Ton Topjer Trak Trake Trav Travis Tre Trent Trenton Trev Trevor Tristan Tro Tuk Tuker Tul Turner Van Vanke Vern Vernon Vikram Viktor Vinke Vinkent Virgil Wade Wajne Walker Walt Walter Ward Warren Webster Wendel Wes Wesle Weston Wil Wilfredo Wiljam Wjatt Wjit Wjitne Kavjer Zak Zakjar Zakjarja Zander Zane Zavjer Zedrik Zeke Zepyr