#and he let himself be carried by the glory of rome

[rachiebeee]

trials of apollo but instead of leo getting revived its octavian. calypso not understanding who he is, what he's done, grieves leo's death but doesn't blame octavian.

and then they make it to camp half blood and apollo - his ancestor, the one who had supported him and let him see into the future. a future where the greeks destroyed new rome, one that he had been desperate to avoid. even at the cost of his morality and his sanity.

the same ancestor who had rescinded his support, and octavian had convinced himself it was because the damned greeks were trying to control his gods.

that ancestor was disappointed to see him alive, had been hoping that the other one had survived. and it wasn't just apollo. everyone at camp treated him with varying levels of disgust, every single one of them made it known to him in some shape or form that they hated that he was alive. that they would have preferred him dead.

anyway i haven't actually thought this through, but something about an 18yo who was driven to insanity not just by himself but because of gods who had manipulated and used him. that 18yo needed reviving to a world that hates him, a city that he had wanted to protect which now shuns him.

for funsies make leo's ghost unable to pass on and be tethered to his. or something. have the prophecy force octavian to go along with apollo, meg and calypso to the waystation. have him question everything he stood for, everything he believed in, everything he became. give him a second chance because he was 18 and a pawn of the gods like everyone else.

[shebeafancyflapjack]

Ghost OC: Markus

Some facts about this bastard whumper oc of mine (art by @idiotwithanipad ). Tw: mentions of abuse, conditioning and SA.

Died 70 AD in his mid thirties from pneumonic plague. Served in the Roman army most of his life, reaching the rank of Legate, also served as an overseer for the armies captured slaves. Because of this, he carried a flagrum (whip) attached to his armor, which he took with him in death, as well as his dagger. Despite having left Rome as a young boy to travel with his father, he idealised his country and dreamed of returning as a hero.

Markus loved his Empire to the point of obsession. He only had respect for his fellow Romans, in particular his fellow soldiers. All other nations he viewed as savages or barbarians, destined to be beaten down and subdued, but he held a special contempt for Britons and was looking forward to finally leaving the wet, miserable country shortly before his death.

When he died, the ghosts who inhabited the land were Robin (then Rogh), Penelope the former slave-bard, and Gaius, a fellow Roman who died a few decades prior after the local tribe sacrificed him to their water goddess by drowning him in the lake. Markus respected Gaius, who had outranked him in life, and saw him as a close friend. He lusted after Penelope, but she refused to submit to any man with a whip again, and also had the protection of the other men there. He hated Rogh at first sight, disgusted by the sight of him, the epitome of a savage. But it was seeing Penelope happily let herself be touched and kissed by the caveman that boiled Markus' blood.

Despite hostilities, Markus concealed his feelings for the most part for Gaius' sake, who wished to keep the peace between their little group. Gaius was fond of both Rogh and Markus and never quite saw his fellow Roman's true colors. Markus would keep trying it on with Penelope but Rogh only became more protective of her, which made things more heated between them.

After Penelope moved on, Rogh attempted to make peace with Markus at Gaius' prompting, only for Markus to begin abusing Rogh. He discovered that it was possible for ghosts to hurt each other with enough force, even if they did regenerate quickly. As wild and capable as Rogh was, he stood no chance against a man in armor, with a sword and whip at his use. When Markus threatened to hurt Gaius if he spoke up, Rogh reluctantly agreed to let himself be hurt in secret. This was his biggest mistake.

By the time Gaius moved on, Rogh's sanity was already beginning to wear thin, but losing his last friend and being trapped with this psychopath was the last straw. Likewise, Markus was just as infuriated to lose his 'brother' and be stuck with a filthy savage. He saw it as his right to 'tame' the beast, just as he always fantasised he'd done to Penelope. Markus took advantage of Rogh's unstable mental health and conditioned him to believe this was what he deserved and that he was no better than a dog, not worthy to speak, stand or sleep on a bed or sit anywhere but the floor. Rogh, starving for any sort of human interaction, was eventually broken.

Markus had never been a stable man to begin with, but his time as a ghost made him start to go mad too. Instead of seeking company with the one other ghost he had with him, he chose to take out his pain on Rogh, beating him and whipping him and shouting him down for seemingly no reason. He started to fantasize about the gods coming to take him to Elysium, to see his father again, to know he'd made something of himself instead of being forgotten to history. Rogh could only cower in the corner and watch the other crazy man mutter to himself about his apparent glories, while waiting for his next random beating.

It's only when, after many decades of isolation and abuse, Markus begins to have other desires and tries to assault Rogh one night which makes the caveman finally snap. He left and sought company in a pack of ghost wolves who took him in, and Rogh was able to get them to help him attack Markus viciously, tearing beneath his armor and mauling him over and over until he ran and hid. Rogh's mind was gone, for now, given into becoming the beast Markus thought him to be, but at least he was free (don't worry, he got better).

No one saw Markus ascend. Robin is certain he's gone as he could no longer smell him, just over a year after he left him to join the wolves. But who is to say if he went up or down....or if he's still somewhere hidden on the grounds. Robin continues to have nightmares about the man and refuses to watch epic films about Ancient Rome (like Gladiator) because the sight of the armor gives him ptsd.

[anamnesis-aeternus]

As the Wheel Turns

As young Octavian calls himself Augustus, ambition sweetens the idea of great Caesar rising from the dead to rule an eternal Rome as a living god.

At the same time it feels like a blasphemous temptation of fate, and not worth the sheer scale of such an upheaval so soon after the irrevocable transformation of the republic. People are changing, and without their rulers changing with them, they would shoot the eagle out of the sky soon enough. Brutus had made that point abundantly clear.

Perhaps they would've wanted him to take the diadem. Perhaps they would've torn him to shreds for it. He is grateful he would never know, and bravely faces the uncertainty that awaits him as a nameless plebeian as the night sky bears a new star.

Between knife and altar, time becomes a looming shadow.

The conqueror's voice of reason beats his ambition over the head with hindsight. Divus Iulius and his star grace the Forum, principes waver under the burden of the power they had lusted for, and the borders push further once more. 

A wandering priest dies on the cross. Rome burns and rises from the ashes. A tyrant is struck down by his own guard. Intrigue, safely observed from afar, entertains.

Between martyrs and mad emperors, time becomes a repressed memory.

Rome embraces a singular God, and he reminisces on the deposed pantheon, keeping symbols of mother Venus in the guise of Maria Virgo. Her face blurs together with that of Aurelia and her hands reach into his dreams to cradle his head and whisper softly of home, of comfort, of a life sealed in the past and denied the mercy of ending. 

His lover bears a child, and he weeps over the name the boy would never know to be his father's. 

Between the turmoil of temples in flames and that of being human, time becomes a cruel joke.

At the turn of another century, a stained old ring glints sadly at him from a curiosity peddler's market stall, the faded image of Venus Victrix staring back at him and setting memories aflame. 

The merchant loudly praises God for the fortune he's just made, turning heads away from the hooded old man leaving in haste with greatly lightened pockets and renewed resolve to help the city drive out its thieves.

Between falling giants and the winds of change, time becomes a dragon's hoard.

Employment as a scribe for the church pays well even if he feels terribly out of place as a hidden heathen. It feels strangely comforting to copy works he had read first editions of and to suggest more elegant translations, and of course he wouldn't miss out on copying his own work, proud of it being carried on, though it still hurts no less to see it treated the same as faded papyri that had already been ancient by his time. 

If only they would leave Brother Casimir to his scrolls and spare him the barely-veiled suspicion, he might resent Constantine a little less.

Between beloved quill and feigned prayers, time becomes a mournful library.

The north is unforgiving, but beyond the tales of bloodthirsty raiders are echoes of who he had once written of as worthy foes, their gods now holding different names, their descendants' great sagas speaking of valor unclouded by ambition. Kjárr the Curious lets every song burn itself into his memory, and a king pays handsomely to have them recited day upon day, too captivated by the wise old bard to evade a stray arrow.

Between petty revenge and lost legends, time becomes a comedy.

The Renaissance is aptly named, he finds. The imitations of the art so familiar to him seem clumsy at first, but perhaps Neoclassical, future past, has its own charm. 

The idea of revealing himself first crosses his mind then. These painters and writers and sculptors are already head over heels for their romanticized idea of Greece and Rome; if they had a living relic shatter their illusion only to rebuild it in the true glory he could've brought it to - 

- no, no. The church's fear of losing control is too great. Copernicus, Galilei, silenced for questioning divine doctrine. Flirting with dead gods and angels and demons in art, belittled as mere art, fiction, flights of fancy.

They are not ready, and he lights a candle at Venus' altar for the great scholars who will never drink from the fountain of knowledge walking among them.

Between bare statues and a secret weighing ever heavier, time becomes a burden.

A star-spangled banner is raised, railroads streak triumphant across land, Edison's spark lights up cities, the world begins to speak of nations and independence and citizenship and the chess pieces are toppled once more. We the people, sacred words in ink on parchment after they had once been an oath on his own lips, senatus populusque, primus inter pares.

He signs with J. M. Carter Jr., another name he hopes will be forgotten, and sends the servant to drop off the ballot. Alone, he caresses Portrait of a patrician matron's hair and chooses to believe in this new endeavor.

Between the march of technology and the ouroboros of hubris, time becomes a lesson learned.

An archduke is dead, and a number of soldiers follow that no mortal could yet comprehend. The war to end all wars, people had said a thousand years ago, and now again on an exponentially greater scale. Perhaps the Greeks were right about hubris.

Another tyrant becomes obsessed with Rome again, a bronze statue is erected, and the man it depicts has half a mind to tear it down in rage. Or to write a letter and place it in the figure's hand, or to go right ahead and sue the bastard for... something. Or a well-placed nightmare sent from afar, perhaps, the great ones he worships condemning him.

Or, as the indomitable voice of reason says, he should stay away, if only to wait until they are ready to learn.

Between a legacy abused and costly justice served, time becomes a weapon.

Decades are a blur, and humanity no less quarrelsome than they had always been, though the sparks of kindness are all the more visible. Scientists walking in the dark on things beyond the mundane band together to find... they don't know yet what they're looking for, but they joke about running into a guy who knows a guy who might be more than a proverbial vampire, or one of themselves might turn into a giant wolf one full moon, or a real saint might cause some miracle, or another Lazarus might come back from the dead.

It's amusing at first, then promising, then impressive as they go from bored university students to a fringe but growing research group and, within a few more years, the Seekers have facilities, equipment, databases, employees, volunteers, informants, test subjects, associates, esteemed fellows...

Between yet another new status quo and frivolous pursuits begrudgingly tolerated, time becomes an opportunity.

His new life begins with a letter.

Then staring into camera lenses, making phone calls, compiling bibliographies, visiting a hundred archives. An assistant is handed thirty images of marble busts and many more old photos, snapshots decades apart of the same man who had never looked a day older, and asked to make sure their colleague isn't 'seeing things'.

The rumor mill is merrily churning about an ancient vampire having been discovered. The oldest they'd worked with was only three hundred! And now this one is older than steam, older than gunpowder, older than the church - if it was true and they hadn't just been hibernating for centuries, what sheer wondrous volume of knowledge could they share?

Everyone who heard about it is giddily awaiting the new associate's arrival, but of course, none of them know what an ancient vampire could or should look like.

The receptionist sends a charming middle-aged gentleman in a nice suit to a young assistant absolutely shaking in her boots, who accompanies him to the security office, from where he's sent to the restricted area surrounded by four burly guards with silver bullets in their belts, standing motionless while the small crowd awaiting him all have eyes big as dinner plates. 

The Seekers' dean of history almost visibly has three words stuck in their throat. A name that had become an heirloom, then a title, then a synonym for the end of an era, and unbeknownst to all but a few, the name of a man whose heart still beat strong and whose hands had never been idle, first in defiance, then with hope.

Please, 'Mr. Kadingir' will do, he tells the group, and thirty people release the breath they'd been holding, willingly enchanted by the same smooth words and hint of a smile that had bent emperors and kings to its will.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we?

Between curiosity and remembrance, time had become a treasure.

- - - - -

AO3 crosspost here.

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

18th November >> Mass Readings (Except USA)

Saturday, Thirty Second Week in Ordinary Time 

or

Dedication of the Basilicas of Saints Peter and Paul, Apostles 

or

Saturday memorial of the Blessed Virgin Mary. 

Saturday, Thirty Second Week in Ordinary Time 

(Liturgical Colour: Green: A (1))

First Reading Wisdom 18:14-16,19:6-9 The Red Sea became an unimpeded way.

When peaceful silence lay over all, and night had run the half of her swift course, down from the heavens, from the royal throne, leapt your all-powerful Word; into the heart of a doomed land the stern warrior leapt. Carrying your unambiguous command like a sharp sword, he stood, and filled the universe with death; he touched the sky, yet trod the earth.

For, to keep your children from all harm, the whole creation, obedient to your commands, was once more, and newly, fashioned in its nature. Overshadowing the camp there was the cloud, where water had been, dry land was seen to rise, the Red Sea became an unimpeded way, the tempestuous flood a green plain; sheltered by your hand, the whole nation passed across, gazing at these amazing miracles. They were like horses at pasture, they skipped like lambs, singing your praises, Lord, their deliverer.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 104(105):2-3,36-37,42-43

R/ Remember the wonders the Lord has done. or R/ Alleluia!

O sing to him, sing his praise; tell all his wonderful works! Be proud of his holy name, let the hearts that seek the Lord rejoice.

R/ Remember the wonders the Lord has done. or R/ Alleluia!

He struck all the first-born in their land, the finest flower of their sons. He led out Israel with silver and gold. In his tribes were none who fell behind.

R/ Remember the wonders the Lord has done. or R/ Alleluia!

For he remembered his holy word, which he gave to Abraham his servant. So he brought out his people with joy, his chosen ones with shouts of rejoicing.

R/ Remember the wonders the Lord has done. or R/ Alleluia!

Gospel Acclamation James 1:21

Alleluia, alleluia! Accept and submit to the word which has been planted in you and can save your souls. Alleluia!

Or: cf. 2 Thessalonians 2:14

Alleluia, alleluia! Through the Good News God called us to share the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ. Alleluia!

Gospel Luke 18:1-8 The parable of the unjust judge.

Jesus told his disciples a parable about the need to pray continually and never lose heart. ‘There was a judge in a certain town’ he said ‘who had neither fear of God nor respect for man. In the same town there was a widow who kept on coming to him and saying, “I want justice from you against my enemy!” For a long time he refused, but at last he said to himself, “Maybe I have neither fear of God nor respect for man, but since she keeps pestering me I must give this widow her just rights, or she will persist in coming and worry me to death.”’

And the Lord said ‘You notice what the unjust judge has to say? Now will not God see justice done to his chosen who cry to him day and night even when he delays to help them? I promise you, he will see justice done to them, and done speedily. But when the Son of Man comes, will he find any faith on earth?’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ. 

----------------------------

Dedication of the Basilicas of Saints Peter and Paul, Apostles 

(Liturgical Colour: White: A (1))

(There is no choice between ferial and memorial readings today, because all readings are proper to the memorial)

First Reading Acts of the Apostles 28:11-16,30-31 So we came to Rome.

At the end of three months we set sail in a ship that had wintered in the island; she came from Alexandria and her figurehead was the Twins. We put in at Syracuse and spent three days there; from there we followed the coast up to Rhegium. After one day there a south wind sprang up and on the second day we made Puteoli, where we found some brothers and were much rewarded by staying a week with them. And so we came to Rome.

When the brothers there heard of our arrival they came to meet us, as far as the Forum of Appius and the Three Taverns. When Paul saw them he thanked God and took courage. On our arrival in Rome Paul was allowed to stay in lodgings of his own with the soldier who guarded him.

Paul spent the whole of the two years in his own rented lodging. He welcomed all who came to visit him, proclaiming the kingdom of God and teaching the truth about the Lord Jesus Christ with complete freedom and without hindrance from anyone.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 97(98):1-6

R/ The Lord has shown his salvation to the nations.

Sing a new song to the Lord for he has worked wonders. His right hand and his holy arm have brought salvation.

R/ The Lord has shown his salvation to the nations.

The Lord has made known his salvation; has shown his justice to the nations. He has remembered his truth and love for the house of Israel.

R/ The Lord has shown his salvation to the nations.

All the ends of the earth have seen the salvation of our God. Shout to the Lord, all the earth, ring out your joy.

R/ The Lord has shown his salvation to the nations.

Sing psalms to the Lord with the harp with the sound of music. With trumpets and the sound of the horn acclaim the King, the Lord.

R/ The Lord has shown his salvation to the nations.

Gospel Acclamation cf. Te Deum

Alleluia, alleluia! We praise you, O God, we acknowledge you to be the Lord. The glorious company of the apostles praise you, O Lord. Alleluia!

Gospel Matthew 14:22-33 Jesus walks on the water.

Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side while he would send the crowds away. After sending the crowds away he went up into the hills by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, while the boat, by now far out on the lake, was battling with a heavy sea, for there was a head-wind. In the fourth watch of the night he went towards them, walking on the lake, and when the disciples saw him walking on the lake they were terrified. ‘It is a ghost’ they said, and cried out in fear. But at once Jesus called out to them, saying, ‘Courage! It is I! Do not be afraid.’ It was Peter who answered. ‘Lord,’ he said ‘if it is you, tell me to come to you across the water.’ ‘Come’ said Jesus. Then Peter got out of the boat and started walking towards Jesus across the water, but as soon as he felt the force of the wind, he took fright and began to sink. ‘Lord! Save me!’ he cried. Jesus put out his hand at once and held him. ‘Man of little faith,’ he said ‘why did you doubt?’ And as they got into the boat the wind dropped. The men in the boat bowed down before him and said, ‘Truly, you are the Son of God.’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ. 

-------------------------

Saturday memorial of the Blessed Virgin Mary 

(Liturgical Colour: White: A (1))

(Readings for the memorial)

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Saturday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

Either:

First Reading Genesis 3:9-15,20 The mother of all those who live.

After Adam had eaten of the tree the Lord God called to him. ‘Where are you?’ he asked. ‘I heard the sound of you in the garden;’ he replied ‘I was afraid because I was naked, so I hid.’ ‘Who told you that you were naked?’ he asked ‘Have you been eating of the tree I forbade you to eat?’ The man replied, ‘It was the woman you put with me; she gave me the fruit, and I ate it.’ Then the Lord God asked the woman, ‘What is this you have done?’ The woman replied, ‘The serpent tempted me and I ate.’ Then the Lord God said to the serpent, ‘Because you have done this,

‘Be accursed beyond all cattle, all wild beasts. You shall crawl on your belly and eat dust every day of your life. I will make you enemies of each other: you and the woman, your offspring and her offspring. It will crush your head and you will strike its heel.’

The man named his wife ‘Eve’ because she was the mother of all those who live.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

OR: --------

First reading Genesis 12:1-7 All the tribes of the earth shall bless themselves by you

The Lord said to Abram, ‘Leave your country, your family and your father’s house, for the land I will show you. I will make you a great nation; I will bless you and make your name so famous that it will be used as a blessing.

‘I will bless those who bless you: I will curse those who slight you. All the tribes of the earth shall bless themselves by you.’

So Abram went as the Lord told him, and Lot went with him. Abram was seventy-five years old when he left Haran. Abram took his wife Sarai, his nephew Lot, all the possessions they had amassed and the people they had acquired in Haran. They set off for the land of Canaan, and arrived there. Abram passed through the land as far as Shechem’s holy place, the Oak of Moreh. At that time the Canaanites were in the land. The Lord appeared to Abram and said, ‘It is to your descendants that I will give this land.’ So Abram built there an altar for the Lord who had appeared to him.

OR: --------

First reading 2 Samuel 7:1-5,8-11,16 The Lord will make you great; the Lord will make you a House

Once David had settled into his house and the Lord had given him rest from all the enemies surrounding him, the king said to the prophet Nathan, ‘Look, I am living in a house of cedar while the ark of God dwells in a tent.’ Nathan said to the king, ‘Go and do all that is in your mind, for the Lord is with you.’ But that very night the word of the Lord came to Nathan: ‘Go and tell my servant David, “Thus the Lord speaks: Are you the man to build me a house to dwell in? I took you from the pasture, from following the sheep, to be leader of my people Israel; I have been with you on all your expeditions; I have cut off all your enemies before you. I will give you fame as great as the fame of the greatest on earth. I will provide a place for my people Israel; I will plant them there and they shall dwell in that place and never be disturbed again; nor shall the wicked continue to oppress them as they did, in the days when I appointed judges over my people Israel; I will give them rest from all their enemies. The Lord will make you great; the Lord will make you a House. Your House and your sovereignty will always stand secure before me and your throne be established for ever.”’

OR: --------

First reading 1 Chronicles 15:3-4,15-16,16:1-2 They brought in the ark of God and put it inside the tent that David had pitched for it

David gathered all Israel together to bring the ark of God up to the place he had prepared for it. David called together the sons of Aaron and the sons of Levi. And the Levites carried the ark of God with the shafts on their shoulders, as Moses had ordered in accordance with the word of the Lord. David then told the heads of the Levites to assign duties for their kinsmen as cantors, with their various instruments of music, harps and lyres and cymbals, to play joyful tunes. They brought the ark of God in and put it inside the tent that David had pitched for it; and they offered holocausts before God, and communion sacrifices. And when David had finished offering holocausts and communion sacrifices, he blessed the people in the name of the Lord.

OR: --------

First reading Proverbs 8:22-31 Before the earth came into being, Wisdom was born

The Wisdom of God cries aloud:

The Lord created me when his purpose first unfolded, before the oldest of his works. From everlasting I was firmly set, from the beginning, before earth came into being. The deep was not, when I was born, there were no springs to gush with water. Before the mountains were settled, before the hills, I came to birth; before he made the earth, the countryside, or the first grains of the world’s dust. When he fixed the heavens firm, I was there, when he drew a ring on the surface of the deep, when he thickened the clouds above, when he fixed fast the springs of the deep, when he assigned the sea its boundaries  – and the waters will not invade the shore – when he laid down the foundations of the earth, I was by his side, a master craftsman, delighting him day after day, ever at play in his presence, at play everywhere in his world, delighting to be with the sons of men.

OR: --------

First reading Ecclesiasticus 24:1-4,8-12,18-21 From eternity, in the beginning, God created wisdom

Wisdom speaks her own praises, in the midst of her people she glories in herself. She opens her mouth in the assembly of the Most High, she glories in herself in the presence of the Mighty One: ‘I came forth from the mouth of the Most High, and I covered the earth like a mist. I had my tent in the heights, and my throne in a pillar of cloud. Then the creator of all things instructed me, and he who created me fixed a place for my tent. He said, “Pitch your tent in Jacob, make Israel your inheritance.” From eternity, in the beginning, he created me, and for eternity I shall remain. I ministered before him in the holy tabernacle, and thus was I established on Zion. In the beloved city he has given me rest, and in Jerusalem I wield my authority. I have taken root in a privileged people, in the Lord’s property, in his inheritance. Approach me, you who desire me, and take your fill of my fruits, for memories of me are sweeter than honey, inheriting me is sweeter than the honeycomb. They who eat me will hunger for more, they who drink me will thirst for more. Whoever listens to me will never have to blush, whoever acts as I dictate will never sin.’

OR: --------

First reading Isaiah 7:10-14,8:10 The maiden is with child

The Lord spoke to Ahaz and said, ‘Ask the Lord your God for a sign for yourself coming either from the depths of Sheol or from the heights above.’ ‘No,’ Ahaz answered ‘I will not put the Lord to the test.’ Then Isaiah said:

‘Listen now, House of David: are you not satisfied with trying the patience of men without trying the patience of my God, too? The Lord himself, therefore, will give you a sign. It is this: the maiden is with child and will soon give birth to a son whom she will call Immanuel, a name which means “God-is-with-us.”’

OR: --------

First reading Isaiah 9:1-6 A Son is given to us

The people that walked in darkness has seen a great light; on those who live in a land of deep shadow a light has shone. You have made their gladness greater, you have made their joy increase; they rejoice in your presence as men rejoice at harvest time, as men are happy when they are dividing the spoils.

For the yoke that was weighing on him, the bar across his shoulders, the rod of his oppressor, these you break as on the day of Midian.

For all the footgear of battle, every cloak rolled in blood, is burnt, and consumed by fire.

For there is a child born for us, a son given to us and dominion is laid on his shoulders; and this is the name they give him: Wonder-Counsellor, Mighty-God, Eternal-Father, Prince-of-Peace.

OR: --------

First reading Isaiah 61:9-11 I exult for joy in the Lord

Their race will be famous throughout the nations, their descendants throughout the peoples. All who see them will admit that they are a race whom the Lord has blessed.

‘I exult for joy in the Lord, my soul rejoices in my God, for he has clothed me in the garments of salvation, he has wrapped me in the cloak of integrity, like a bridegroom wearing his wreath, like a bride adorned in her jewels.

‘For as the earth makes fresh things grow, as a garden makes seeds spring up, so will the Lord make both integrity and praise spring up in the sight of the nations.’

OR: --------

First reading Micah 5:1-4 He will stand and feed his flock with the power of the Lord

The Lord says this:

But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, the least of the clans of Judah, out of you will be born for me the one who is to rule over Israel; his origin goes back to the distant past, to the days of old. The Lord is therefore going to abandon them till the time when she who is to give birth gives birth. Then the remnant of his brothers will come back to the sons of Israel. He will stand and feed his flock with the power of the Lord, with the majesty of the name of his God. They will live secure, for from then on he will extend his power to the ends of the land. He himself will be peace.

OR: --------

First reading Zechariah 2:14-17 'I am coming', says the Lord

Sing, rejoice, daughter of Zion; for I am coming to dwell in the middle of you – it is the Lord who speaks. Many nations will join the Lord, on that day; they will become his people. But he will remain among you, and you will know that the Lord of Hosts has sent me to you. But the Lord will hold Judah as his portion in the Holy Land, and again make Jerusalem his very own. Let all mankind be silent before the Lord! For he is awaking and is coming from his holy dwelling.

EITHER: --------

Responsorial Psalm 1 Samuel 2:1,4-8

My heart exults in the Lord my Saviour.

My heart exults in the Lord. I find my strength in my God; my mouth laughs at my enemies as I rejoice in your saving help.

My heart exults in the Lord my Saviour.

The bows of the mighty are broken, but the weak are clothed with strength. Those with plenty must labour for bread, but the hungry need work no more. The childless wife has children now but the fruitful wife bears no more.

My heart exults in the Lord my Saviour.

It is the Lord who gives life and death, he brings men to the grave and back; it is the Lord who gives poverty and riches. He brings men low and raises them on high.

My heart exults in the Lord my Saviour.

He lifts up the lowly from the dust, from the dungheap he raises the poor to set him in the company of princes to give him a glorious throne. For the pillars of the earth are the Lord’s, on them he has set the world.

My heart exults in the Lord my Saviour.

OR: --------

Responsorial Psalm Judith 13:18a-19

You are the highest honour of our race!

May you be blessed, my daughter, by God Most High, beyond all women on earth; and may the Lord God be blessed, the Creator of heaven and earth.

You are the highest honour of our race!

The trust you have shown shall not pass from the memories of men, but shall ever remind them of the power of God.

You are the highest honour of our race!

OR: --------

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 44(45):11-12,14-17

Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words.

Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words: forget your own people and your father’s house. So will the king desire your beauty: He is your lord, pay homage to him.

Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words.

The daughter of the king is clothed with splendour, her robes embroidered with pearls set in gold. She is led to the king with her maiden companions.

Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words.

They are escorted amid gladness and joy; they pass within the palace of the king. Sons shall be yours in place of your fathers: you will make them princes over all the earth.

Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words.

OR: --------

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 112(113):1-7

May the name of the Lord be blessed for evermore! or Alleluia!

Praise, O servants of the Lord, praise the name of the Lord! May the name of the Lord be blessed both now and for evermore!

May the name of the Lord be blessed for evermore! or Alleluia!

From the rising of the sun to its setting praised be the name of the Lord! High above all nations is the Lord, above the heavens his glory.

May the name of the Lord be blessed for evermore! or Alleluia!

Who is like the Lord, our God, who has risen on high to his throne yet stoops from the heights to look down, to look down upon heaven and earth? From the dust he lifts up the lowly, from the dungheap he raises the poor

May the name of the Lord be blessed for evermore! or Alleluia!

OR: --------

Responsorial Psalm Luke 1:46-55

The Almighty works marvels for me. Holy is his name! or Blessed is the Virgin Mary, who bore the Son of the eternal Father.

My soul glorifies the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God, my Saviour.

The Almighty works marvels for me. Holy is his name! or Blessed is the Virgin Mary, who bore the Son of the eternal Father.

He looks on his servant in her nothingness; henceforth all ages will call me blessed. The Almighty works marvels for me. Holy his name!

The Almighty works marvels for me. Holy is his name! or Blessed is the Virgin Mary, who bore the Son of the eternal Father.

His mercy is from age to age, on those who fear him. He puts forth his arm in strength and scatters the proud-hearted.

The Almighty works marvels for me. Holy is his name! or Blessed is the Virgin Mary, who bore the Son of the eternal Father.

He casts the mighty from their thrones and raises the lowly. He fills the starving with good things, sends the rich away empty.

The Almighty works marvels for me. Holy is his name! or Blessed is the Virgin Mary, who bore the Son of the eternal Father.

He protects Israel, his servant, remembering his mercy, the mercy promised to our fathers, to Abraham and his sons for ever.

The Almighty works marvels for me. Holy is his name! or Blessed is the Virgin Mary, who bore the Son of the eternal Father.

Gospel Acclamation cf.Lk1:28

Alleluia, alleluia! Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee! Blessed art thou among women. Alleluia!

Or: cf.Lk1:45

Alleluia, alleluia! Blessed is the Virgin Mary, who believed that the promise made her by the Lord would be fulfilled. Alleluia!

Or: cf.Lk2:19

Alleluia, alleluia! Blessed is the Virgin Mary, who treasured the word of God and pondered it in her heart. Alleluia!

Or: Lk11:28

Alleluia, alleluia! Happy are those who hear the word of God and keep it. Alleluia!

Or:

Alleluia, alleluia! Blessed are you, holy Virgin Mary, and most worthy of all praise, for the sun of justice, Christ our God, was born of you. Alleluia!

Or:

Alleluia, alleluia! Happy is the Virgin Mary, who, without dying, won the palm of martyrdom beneath the cross of the Lord. Alleluia!

EITHER: --------

Gospel Matthew 1:1-16,18-23 The ancestry and conception of Jesus Christ

A genealogy of Jesus Christ, son of David, son of Abraham:

Abraham was the father of Isaac, Isaac the father of Jacob, Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers, Judah was the father of Perez and Zerah, Tamar being their mother, Perez was the father of Hezron, Hezron the father of Ram, Ram was the father of Amminadab, Amminadab the father of Nahshon, Nahshon the father of Salmon, Salmon was the father of Boaz, Rahab being his mother, Boaz was the father of Obed, Ruth being his mother, Obed was the father of Jesse; and Jesse was the father of King David.

David was the father of Solomon, whose mother had been Uriah’s wife, Solomon was the father of Rehoboam, Rehoboam the father of Abijah, Abijah the father of Asa, Asa was the father of Jehoshaphat, Jehoshaphat the father of Joram, Joram the father of Azariah, Azariah was the father of Jotham, Jotham the father of Ahaz, Ahaz the father of Hezekiah, Hezekiah was the father of Manasseh, Manasseh the father of Amon, Amon the father of Josiah; and Josiah was the father of Jechoniah and his brothers. Then the deportation to Babylon took place.

After the deportation to Babylon: Jechoniah was the father of Shealtiel, Shealtiel the father of Zerubbabel, Zerubbabel was the father of Abiud, Abiud the father of Eliakim, Eliakim the father of Azor, Azor was the father of Zadok, Zadok the father of Achim, Achim the father of Eliud, Eliud was the father of Eleazar, Eleazar the father of Matthan, Matthan the father of Jacob; and Jacob was the father of Joseph the husband of Mary; of her was born Jesus who is called Christ.

This is how Jesus Christ came to be born. His mother Mary was betrothed to Joseph; but before they came to live together she was found to be with child through the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph; being a man of honour and wanting to spare her publicity, decided to divorce her informally. He had made up his mind to do this when the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, ‘Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because she has conceived what is in her by the Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son and you must name him Jesus, because he is the one who is to save his people from their sins.’ Now all this took place to fulfil the words spoken by the Lord through the prophet:

The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son and they will call him Emmanuel,

a name which means ‘God-is-with-us.’

OR: --------

Gospel Matthew 1:18-23 How Jesus Christ came to be born

This is how Jesus Christ came to be born. His mother Mary was betrothed to Joseph; but before they came to live together she was found to be with child through the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph; being a man of honour and wanting to spare her publicity, decided to divorce her informally. He had made up his mind to do this when the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, ‘Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because she has conceived what is in her by the Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son and you must name him Jesus, because he is the one who is to save his people from their sins.’ Now all this took place to fulfil the words spoken by the Lord through the prophet:

The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son and they will call him Emmanuel,

a name which means ‘God-is-with-us.’

OR: --------

Gospel Matthew 2:13-15,19-23 The flight into Egypt and the return to Nazareth

After the wise men had left, the angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, ‘Get up, take the child and his mother with you, and escape into Egypt, and stay there until I tell you, because Herod intends to search for the child and do away with him.’ So Joseph got up and, taking the child and his mother with him, left that night for Egypt, where he stayed until Herod was dead. This was to fulfil what the Lord had spoken through the prophet:

I called my son out of Egypt.

After Herod’s death, the angel of the Lord appeared in a dream to Joseph in Egypt and said, ‘Get up, take the child and his mother with you and go back to the land of Israel, for those who wanted to kill the child are dead.’ So Joseph got up and, taking the child and his mother with him, went back to the land of Israel. But when he learnt that Archelaus had succeeded his father Herod as ruler of Judaea he was afraid to go there, and being warned in a dream he left for the region of Galilee. There he settled in a town called Nazareth. In this way the words spoken through the prophets were to be fulfilled:

‘He will be called a Nazarene.’

OR: --------

Gospel Matthew 12:46-50 My mother and my brothers are anyone who does the will of my Father in heaven

Jesus was speaking to the crowds when his mother and his brothers appeared; they were standing outside and were anxious to have a word with him. But to the man who told him this Jesus replied, ‘Who is my mother? Who are my brothers?’ And stretching out his hand towards his disciples he said, ‘Here are my mother and my brothers. Anyone who does the will of my Father in heaven, he is my brother and sister and mother.’

OR: --------

Gospel Luke 1:26-38 'I am the handmaid of the Lord'

The angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the House of David; and the virgin’s name was Mary. He went in and said to her, ‘Rejoice, so highly favoured! The Lord is with you.’ She was deeply disturbed by these words and asked herself what this greeting could mean, but the angel said to her, ‘Mary, do not be afraid; you have won God’s favour. Listen! You are to conceive and bear a son, and you must name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his ancestor David; he will rule over the House of Jacob for ever and his reign will have no end.’ Mary said to the angel, ‘But how can this come about, since I am a virgin?’ ‘The Holy Spirit will come upon you’ the angel answered ‘and the power of the Most High will cover you with its shadow. And so the child will be holy and will be called Son of God. Know this too: your kinswoman Elizabeth has, in her old age, herself conceived a son, and she whom people called barren is now in her sixth month, for nothing is impossible to God.’ ‘I am the handmaid of the Lord,’ said Mary ‘let what you have said be done to me.’ And the angel left her.

OR: --------

Gospel Luke 1:39-47 Blessed is she who believed the promise

Mary set out and went as quickly as she could to a town in the hill country of Judah. She went into Zechariah’s house and greeted Elizabeth. Now as soon as Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leapt in her womb and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit. She gave a loud cry and said, ‘Of all women you are the most blessed, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. Why should I be honoured with a visit from the mother of my Lord? For the moment your greeting reached my ears, the child in my womb leapt for joy. Yes, blessed is she who believed that the promise made her by the Lord would be fulfilled.’ And Mary said:

‘My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord and my spirit exults in God my saviour.’

OR: --------

Gospel Luke 2:1-14 'In the town of David a saviour has been born to you'

Caesar Augustus issued a decree for a census of the whole world to be taken. This census – the first – took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria, and everyone went to his own town to be registered. So Joseph set out from the town of Nazareth in Galilee and travelled up to Judaea, to the town of David called Bethlehem, since he was of David’s House and line, in order to be registered together with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child. While they were there the time came for her to have her child, and she gave birth to a son, her first born. She wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger because there was no room for them at the inn. In the countryside close by there were shepherds who lived in the fields and took it in turns to watch their flocks during the night. The angel of the Lord appeared to them and the glory of the Lord shone round them. They were terrified, but the angel said, ‘Do not be afraid. Listen, I bring you news of great joy, a joy to be shared by the whole people. Today in the town of David a saviour has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. And here is a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.’ And suddenly with the angel there was a great throng of the heavenly host, praising God and singing:

‘Glory to God in the highest heaven, and peace to men who enjoy his favour.’

OR: --------

Gospel Luke 2:15-19 The shepherds hurried to Bethlehem and found the baby lying in the manger

Now when the angels had gone from them into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, ‘Let us go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened which the Lord has made known to us.’ So they hurried away and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in the manger. When they saw the child they repeated what they had been told about him, and everyone who heard it was astonished at what the shepherds had to say. As for Mary, she treasured all these things and pondered them in her heart.

OR: --------

Gospel Luke 2:27-35 'A sword will pierce your soul too'

Prompted by the Spirit Simeon came to the Temple; and when the parents brought in the child Jesus to do for him what the Law required, he took him into his arms and blessed God; and he said:

‘Now, Master, you can let your servant go in peace, just as you promised; because my eyes have seen the salvation which you have prepared for all the nations to see, a light to enlighten the pagans and the glory of your people Israel.’

As the child’s father and mother stood there wondering at the things that were being said about him, Simeon blessed them and said to Mary his mother, ‘You see this child: he is destined for the fall and for the rising of many in Israel, destined to be a sign that is rejected – and a sword will pierce your own soul too – so that the secret thoughts of many may be laid bare.’

OR: --------

Gospel Luke 2:41-52 Mary stored up all these things in her heart

Every year the parents of Jesus used to go to Jerusalem for the feast of the Passover. When he was twelve years old, they went up for the feast as usual. When they were on their way home after the feast, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem without his parents knowing it. They assumed he was with the caravan, and it was only after a day’s journey that they went to look for him among their relations and acquaintances. When they failed to find him they went back to Jerusalem looking for him everywhere. Three days later, they found him in the Temple, sitting among the doctors, listening to them, and asking them questions; and all those who heard him were astounded at his intelligence and his replies. They were overcome when they saw him, and his mother said to him, ‘My child, why have, you done this to us? See how worried your father and I have been, looking for you.’ ‘Why were you looking for me?’ he replied. ‘Did you not know that I must be busy with my Father’s affairs?’ But they did not understand what he meant. He then went down with them and came to Nazareth and lived under their authority. His mother stored up all these things in her heart. And Jesus increased in wisdom, in stature, and in favour with God and men.

OR: --------

Gospel Luke 11:27-28 'Happy the womb that bore you and the breasts you sucked!'

As Jesus was speaking, a woman in the crowd raised her voice and said, ‘Happy the womb that bore you and the breasts you sucked!’ But he replied, ‘Still happier those who hear the word of God and keep it!’

OR: --------

Gospel John 2:1-11 'My hour has not come yet' - 'Do whatever he tells you'

There was a wedding at Cana in Galilee. The mother of Jesus was there, and Jesus and his disciples had also been invited. When they ran out of wine, since the wine provided for the wedding was all finished, the mother of Jesus said to him, ‘They have no wine.’ Jesus said ‘Woman, why turn to me? My hour has not come yet.’ His mother said to the servants, ‘Do whatever he tells you.’ There were six stone water jars standing there, meant for the ablutions that are customary among the Jews: each could hold twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to the servants, ‘Fill the jars with water’, and they filled them to the brim. ‘Draw some out now’ he told them ‘and take it to the steward.’ They did this; the steward tasted the water, and it had turned into wine. Having no idea where it came from – only the servants who had drawn the water knew – the steward called the bridegroom and said, ‘People generally serve the best wine first, and keep the cheaper sort till the guests have had plenty to drink; but you have kept the best wine till now.’ This was the first of the signs given by Jesus: it was given at Cana in Galilee. He let his glory be seen, and his disciples believed in him.

Or:

Gospel John 19:25-27 'Woman, this is your son'.

Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary of Magdala. Seeing his mother and the disciple he loved standing near her, Jesus said to his mother, ‘Woman, this is your son.’ Then to the disciple he said, ‘This is your mother.’ And from that moment the disciple made a place for her in his home.

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ. 

[hieromonkcharbel]

“There are many who say: ‘O that we might see some good! Let the light of your face shine upon us, O Lord’” (Ps 4:6)

The light of God’s face shines in all its beauty on the countenance of Jesus Christ, “the image of the invisible God” (Cor 1:15), the “reflection of God’s glory” (Heb 1:3), “full of grace and truth” (Jn 1:14). Christ is “the way, and the truth, and the life” (Jn 14:6). Consequently the decisive answer to every one of man’s questions, his religious and moral questions in particular, is given by Jesus Christ, or rather is Jesus Christ himself.

As Pope St. John Paul II spoke so clearly about in Veritatis Splendor, to win the battle for souls, the Church must bring the light of the Face of Christ to our darkened world. Although the existence of a miraculous veil of the Face of Jesus existed from the earliest centuries of Christianity, about the time this miraculous veil first appeared in Rome, in the Middle Ages, the name “Veronica” referred to the veil itself–“Veronica” meaning “vera” or true, and “icon” meaning image, or even more precisely, “to be present.” Those who gazed upon the veil bearing the true Face of Jesus stood in God’s presence. They were turned toward His Face. The veil of the Face of Christ has a particular importance for us today. Pope St. John Paul II wrote this beautiful meditation on St. Veronica in 2000, the same year in which he dedicated the millennium to the Face of Christ:

“Veronica does not appear in the Gospels. Her name is not mentioned, even though the names of other women who accompanied Jesus do appear. It is possible, therefore, that the name refers more to what the woman did. In fact, according to tradition, on the road to Calvary a woman pushed her way through the soldiers escorting Jesus and with a veil wiped thesweat and blood from the Lord’s face. That face remained imprinted on the veil, a faithful reflection, a “true icon”. This would be the reason for the name Veronica. If this is so, the name which evokes the memory of what this woman did carries with it the deepest truth about her…The Redeemer of the world presents Veronica with an authentic image of his face. The veil upon which the face of Christ remains imprinted becomes a message for us.

In a certain sense it says: This is how every act of goodness, every gesture of true love toward’s one’s neighbor, strengthens the likeness of the Redeemer of the world in the one who acts that way. Acts of love do not pass away. Every act of goodness, of understanding, of service leaves on people’s hearts an indelible imprint and makes us ever more like the One who ’emptied himself, taking the form of a servant’ (Phil 2:7). This is what shapes our identity and gives us our true name.”

[lusianarendraws]

[DETAILED OTHER IKEVAMP OC BIO]

Basics:

Name: Cleopatra VII Philopator

Name meaning: Cleopatra - glory of her father, Philopator = father-loving

Nicknames: Cleo

Gender: Female

Pronouns: she/her

Birthday: January 4th

Age: ???

Zodiac Sign: Capricorn♑

Species: lesser vampire

Sexuality: bisexual

Appearance:

Skin: tanned

Hair color: purple

Hair length: reaches to her waist

Eye color: turquoise

Height: 169 cm/5'5

Weight: 55 kg/121 lbs

Body type: Mesomorph

Outfit: black tight jumpsuit, blue crop top revealing shoulders, blue long skirt stopping at her ankles, brown sandals

Accessories: golden diamond-shaped earrings, golden chain necklace, golden pearl hair accessory

Personality:

Normal mood: seems serious at first, but don't let that fool you! Once she warms up to you, she becomes sweet and playful, sometimes even a little flirty!

Temper: rarely loses her temper. Can't get mad if you don't let others provoke you!

Strengths:

- great leader

- great strategist

- very flexible

Weaknesses:

- sometimes, she falls back into her habits from the time when she was a Queen, and it usually leaves her feeling sentimental

Family & Relationships:

Father: Ptolemy XII Auletes

Mother: Cleopatra V

Brothers: Ptolemy XII Theos Philopator, Ptolemy XIV Philopator

Sisters: Cleopatra, Cleopatra VI, Berenice IV, Arsinoe IV

Enemies: her enemies used to be anyone who tried to take over Egypt

Rivals: nobody nowadays

Love interest: Vlad

Marital status: undecided

Pets: a female jackal named Anu

Children: undecided

Pass-Time:

Hobbies: Dancing, writing about ancient egyptian history, philosophy and religion

Occupation: Queen of Egypt (former), exotic dancer

Backstory:

[TRIGGER WARNING: DEATH, SUICIDE]

Cleopatra was born in Alexandria, Ancient Egypt's capital at the time. Though she grew up a life of luxury, that was crushed when her father died. Because her father wanted Cleopatra to take the throne, but her brother tried to take it from her. So she negotiated with the one man who could make sure she stays as Egypt's Queen - Caesar. It was the first time the young queen seduced a man in order to stay in royal position. Though they never married, she did have her first child with him. At some point, he even brought Cleopatra and their son to Rome for some time, but they fled back to Egypt when Caesar was murdered. He was thought to be the only person who would protect Cleopatra, as most people who knew about her called her the "royal slut".

After he died, two Romans worked together to rule the Roman Empire, and one of them, Mark Antony, was trying to take over Egypt - through negotiations, at first. He called Cleopatra to him several times, but she never even once attended. Instead, she made him come to Alexandria, in which royal palace he was welcomed by a fest, where Cleopatra cosplayed as Isis, an Egyptian Goddess. She seduced yet another man, getting him to be her metaphorical slave. She carried twins for him. And she slowly fell in deep love with him.

But the other one was very displeased, so he made Mark marry the other man's sister. This shattered Cleopatra's heart, and led her to try and get him to divorce her. After this, a war between the Roman Empire and Egypt broke out. Through one of Cleopatra's great strategies, they technically won, but the Romans spread false information to shatter their last bit of honor and dignity.

Cleopatra was shattered. Nothing seemed to save her dignity, and she was unable to protect her kingdom as a free nation. So she planned on committing suicide, using the venom of a cobra. When Mark heard about his beloved's plans, he stabbed himself to death.

When Cleopatra was about to let the cobra bite her, she spoke: "Tell the Romans this - they may have won, and they may use whatever they want to take control of Egypt… However, they will never, ever get control of the proud last Queen of Egypt."

But… She regretted her decision. Things went dark, and she began to doubt herself. She heard her heart screaming 'I want to live my life!'. Just when her heart let her hear its voice, a man came, and talked to her. He offered her 'a taste of eternity'. She had no idea who or what he was, but she agreed to it.

That was when she got turned into a vampire. When she first entered the mansion, everything was so new and perplexing to her that she felt completely lost. She needed a lot of guidance, but she managed to find something to do with her extended life. Using her beauty and body to make people happy. Dancing.

Though she is happy to live the life she has now, she swore to herself to never fall in love again… But will that didn't last, as she met soon Vlad in the town...

Fun Fact:

She has an unhealthy relationship with coffee

She loves oranges

Though Cleo is a dancer, I (the creator) haven't designed her dance outfits yet

The whole thing with marriage and children remains undecided because 1) as Vlad's route is coming, I'll wait to see if it fits 2) I'm not sure if I want them to have children. I have trouble imagining Vlad as a father.

Extra images:

1) Cleo in sort of a "gown" for parties. Idk if I could use that outfit for her dancing performances too

2) Cleo licking off the blood on her fingers. From who? Nobody knowsss.

Picrew.me version!

[izayoi-hakuyu]

Vanitas no carte: A case study of the vanitas motif?

In this I want to examine how the vanitas motif is used in the manga “Vanitas no carte”. In other words: Is the main character just called Vanitas because it’s a cool name or is the manga embedded within a certain literary/artistic/cultural tradition? And is the connection to that tradition just the name of the main character (spoiler: it isn’t, at least in my option) or is the vanitas motif deeply interwoven within the narrative and its themes (spoiler: it is, at least in my option)?

Talking about spoilers: I have only read up to chapter 40, so this may be updated as I continue reading. On the other hand, there will be spoilers for the chapters up to chapter 40.

Note: I don’t know if something like this has been done before. If it has, I’m very sorry. This is actually my second step into the actual fandom and I’m lacking an overview. Also English is not my native language and it’s hard for me to articulate myself properly. I’m sorry if the topic of the vanitas motif within the manga has been discussed before and I’m sorry for any mistakes I make.

So what is vanitas as a motif?

“Vanitas” is latin for “vanity”. As a theme in literature it addresses the transience of all being.

These works of art associates with the vanitas motif show the futility of pleasure, and the certainty of death. Symbols of wealth and symbols of death are often arranged in a contrasting matter. Similar to “memento mori” (latin for “remember that you [have to] die”. Memento mori is a vanitas symbol itself and they are overlapping), it accentuates the inevitably of death. But instead of the death itself it emphasizes the vanity and transiency of the human life. Motifs connected to vanitas became especially popular during the baroque period due to religious and social upheavals and the experience of the Thirty Years' War (1618-1648) and several plague pandemics and the steady presence of destruction and death. On the other hand, social injustice rose due to the build of expensive castles by absolutist rulers.

The vanitas-motif not only criticizes the worldly glory and pleasure that is transient in nature. But vanitas also accentuated that the humans are powerlessly confronted with their own fate and have no control over their own life. This mindset originated in the traditional Christian belief that earthly pursuits and goods were believed to be transient and worthless. Furthermore, people would be expected to accept their fate that would be inflicted by God. While everything earthly would be eventually in vain, God would be eternal.

The paintings under the term “vanitas still lifes” are the most well-known incarnation of the vanitas motif, but it has been also incorporated as a motif not only in painting, but in poetry (for example in the works of the German baroque poet Andreas Gryphius. And I kid you not, he wrote an ode called “Vanitas! Vanitatum Vanitas!”) and other forms of literature. Within the vanitas motif developed a whole collection of symbols associated with it. These are also presented in this manga.

Vanitas symbols in Vanitas no Carte

Hourglass

The hourglass that takes form in Vanitas’ earring is a classical symbol of vanitas. The flowing sand symbolizes the passing of lifetime and mortality. A symbol of the passing of time and the eventual death is also expressed in the gearwheel ornaments on the “Book of Vanitas”.

Skull

The cover of the first volume shows Vanitas in front of a picture frame made of golden skulls. Skulls are symbols of vanitas and memento mori. They are reminder of death and human transience. One of the skulls on the cover is wearing with a crown, which alludes to the typical form of presentation of the vanitas motif, to juxtapose symbols of death and symbols of wealth and worldly power. This relates to the role of the vampire Queen Faustina, who is both in reign of the vampires but who also seemingly spreads death over them by spreading the curse as Naenia (a name also connected to death, as Naenia was a funeral deity in ancient Rome. The name Faustina on the other hand…is a whole new topic for another day and is most likely referring to Goethe’s Faust, a play that revolves around a scholar who makes a contract with the devil. Actually the act of vampires exposing their real name includes elements of/refers to the Faustian pact motif).

Book

The book itself also a symbol of vanitas and finds its place in the story in form of the…”Book of Vanitas”. Books (among measurement tools and the like) within the vanitas motif represent the emptiness and vanity of earthly knowledge and striving. Subsequently they symbolize the haughtiness that can arise out of thirst for knowledge. From this perspective this symbolism is also tied to Dr. Moreau, who horribly abused Vanitas and other children in experiments to gain scientific knowledge in order to become a vampire himself...and his eventual failure.

Knife

Another part of Vanitas as a character is also connected to the vanitas motif – his knife. The knife stands for the vulnerability of the human life and also functions as a death symbol. The knife is especially charged symbolically as Vanitas attacks Noé on the rooftop, declaring their cooperation has ended at this point. Vanitas is refusing to let another person in his life, refusing to trust someone else but himself. His attack towards Noé with his knife not only is an attempt to make Noé hate him, but also a symbolic ���cut” of their ties. But the symbolism doesn’t end here, as Noé is the one who stops the knife with his hand. Showing that he will refuse their ties to be cut. Showing that he will stay at Vanitas side no matter what and that he accepts him and doesn’t want him to be alone. In a second situation where their relationship is on the verge of breaking is the conflict within the catacombs, as Noé refuses to agree with Vanitas idea of fighting back Laurent. Vanitas lashes out, severly insults Noé and tells him to leave, if he doesn’t agree. But Noé stays at his side (and still shows him that he doesn’t agree). One could conclude that Noé’s relationship with Vanitas has an element of transience in it by Vanitas coping mechanism of avoiding and leaving others in case of conflict. And Noé fights this transience of their relationship by offering Vanitas trust, acceptation and in the end stability. During their next conflict, where Noé spits out that he wants to drink Vanitas’ blood, Vanitas leaves. But this time it is Vanitas himself who initiates remediation, who fights his own transience when it comes to social relationships. He returns (which is unlikely to him, as Dante states), his care for Noé are stronger than his desire to be fleeting, not being able to be “caught” by anyone. And sees Noé waiting for him. Again, offering stability.

Mirror

The vanitas motif is not only imbedded in the accessory of Vanitas himself. It also finds its place in the design of Noé, more precisely in the small mirror attached to his tophat. In the context of the vanitas motif, mirrors symbolize vanity and the evanescence of earthly beauty. It also stands for pride and haughtiness, similar to the Greek myth of Narcissus. This actually contrasts Noé’s humble personality.

Flowers

Within the manga Paris is described as the “City of flowers”. While flowers can be also a symbol of love and even immortality, their blooming and withering can also be a symbol of death and fleetingness of beauty, especially in the context of baroque symbolism.

Musical instruments

Musical instruments are a sign of transiency as well, as the sound vanishes into nothing as soon as it is articulated. Music is seen as something unique and unrepeatable, and also as something that is transient in its nature. This becomes evident in Cloé’s character arc, as music is her way to manipulate the world formula. Her life is also highly influenced by the transience of her surroundings, while she herself is forced to remain static.

Carpe diem

Latin for “seize the day”. It’s the name of Jeanne’s weapon. “Carpe diem” is an idiom that was especially popular in the baroque era, but it dates back to the roman poet Horace. Along with “memento mori” and “vanitas”, it emphasized the fleetingness of all life. “Carpe diem” emphasizes the call to make use of the day and the time left and to act, despite the eventual transient nature of all afford. The own mortality should be remembered and therefore the day should be seized. This reflects the main characters Vanitas, Noé and Jeanne, who carry on and refuse to give up, despite the external and internal struggles they face.

The color blue

The color blue takes a significant role within the narratives (Vampire!Vanitas being born under the blue moon). While it is not traditionally connected with vanitas itself, the color blue, together with the color black (which are the two dominating colors within human!Vanitas’ character design), is connected to death and melancholy.

The role of the vanitas motif within the narrative

The vanitas motif is embedded both in the form and in the content of the narrative.

The vanitas motif is embedded within in form of the manga as it has an analytic plot structure. This means the story’s conclusion is already presented in the beginning and the rest of the story unfolds how the eventual conclusion happened. This is the case in “Vanitas no carte” as it presents the conclusion, that Vanitas dies in the end within the first chapter and we are actually reading Noé’s memoirs. Therefore it is a constant reminder, that Vanitas will die and nothing that will happen in the story will change that outcome. Everything that happens in the story appears basically unable to change the end. Every positive development is overshadowed by the fact that it is made clear by the narrative since the very beginning that there will be no happy ending for the main characters. This is especially notable in the scene on the rooftop in volume 3, where Noé declares, how he will stay on Vanitas’ side. This scene is followed by an overlying narration of Noé, who says that memories of the beginning awake memories of the end and expressing his regret. In this positive, powerful scene where Vanitas and Noé make up and the themes of human bonds, free will, acceptation of oneself and others and trust really shine…also embeds the eventual tragic end. The omnipresence of death and its fatality and the transience of life and the knowledge that nothing lasts is the essence vanitas motif and it is presented in the mere structure of the manga.

But its not only the structure where the vanitas motif is woven in, but also the story. This shows especially in the character Vampire!Vanitas and in the mere name itself. As Cloe’s case shows: Vampires are pretty much immortal, if not directly killed. On the other hand, it is the curse of Vampire!Vanitas that endangers vampires: Because it gives them back their mortality and the transience of their existence. A transience not brought by an outside force as in the church, that hunts the vampires – but transience within themselves and their very nature. Vampires fear becoming cursed as much as humans fear death – it can always happen, to everyone. It’s not fast, but slow, seemingly unstoppable “decay”. So it is fitting for someone called “Vanitas” to bring transience and the constant reminder of death and fear upon their whole species.

Another factor of the vanitas motif is the inevitable passing of time and the changes this brings – a theme that is deeply tied to several characters arcs, where death and loss and how to deal with both is a major theme (especially when it comes to Vanitas, Noé, Jeanne, but how they relate to each other thematically is worth an analysis itself and I would digress too much). This is especially notable in Cloé’s arc, who is the only vampire in her family and becomes more and more isolated and alienated from her family, who eventually forgets about her. Cloé’s wish to stop the passing of time (and the underlying wish to be happy with her family, to be accepted for what she is), to fight the transience or rather to fight the vanitas manifests in the time loop. The time is reset and tied into a loop – symbolizing not only her being stuck in the past, but also her refusal of a future, since a future meant nothing but being forgotten for her, who sees no other purpose in herself but to execute the will of her family that has long forgotten her.

The concept of vanitas also includes fatalism and the belief that humans don’t have control over their own lifes. This makes Lord Ruthven , who uses curses to bind other vampires to his will and eliminating their own (as he did/tried to do with Noé, Jeanne and Cloé) a fitting villain from a thematic viewpoint as he impersonates fatalism. Personal choices or free will don’t matter for him as he erases both. This makes him a foil for Vanitas and an antagonist not only in actions but in world view. To Vanitas the freedom of his will and the consciousness of his own choices are extremely important to him. He could never choose in the past and was more seen as tool used by his surroundings than as a person. This emphasis of choices opposes Vanitas to the traditionally fatalistic viewpoint of the vanitas-motif. Not only that, but he uses the Book of Vanitas to actually reverse the curse and fighting the transience of existence that has befallen the vampires.

So Vanitas fights Vampire!Vanitas not only as a person by preventing the curse from killing vampires – but simultaneously he fights the transience and the fatalism: He fights vanitas as a concept itself.

But the narrative doesn’t deem transience not as internally negative. Quite the opposite, the narrative sees transience as an opportunity for change. The change of fixed structures is also an important theme after all. This change of structures is of both negative (as the curse dissembles the true name of the vampire and therefore their entire nature and Jeanne’s struggle and agony with coming in terms with seeing herself changing) and positive qualities. In one of the early chapters Vanitas complains about how the vampires are stuck in the past and therefore refusing his help – it is not only after Vanitas proofs himself that he is at least tolerated. The message of the positive side of change is also within Vanitas’ and Noé’s improving relationship and understanding. Even though Vanitas has a hard time to accept these changes (as he didn’t tell Noé about the state of the Queen, because he thought he wouldn’t believe him and refers to the several past experiences of vampires almost killing him), the positive relationship of both of them even inspires changes in others. Notably Laurent. Who, inspired by seeing a human and a vampire in a positive relationship begins to question his own beliefs and is even on the road to uncover secrets of the church, breaking up entrenched structures as well.

As a conclusion one could say that the manga makes many, many allusions to the vanitas motif and incorporates them structurally, thematically and plot-wise.

Vanitas no Carte is really a case study of vanitas.

[bi-writes]

notorious: reboot — chapter ten sovereign

If this crown is mine, why is it impossible to carry?

type: series, alternate universe detail: mob!tom word count: 8.5k warnings: mature language and themes, mature sexual content series masterlist music playlist by mood, curated just for notorious

They were fearless. Wide eyes staring back at you, dark uniforms made of crisp pressed suits. Every time one of them moved, the sound of heavy metal in their pockets echoed throughout the room. They were all packing, but tonight, they held nothing in their hands but silence.

When your eyes met theirs, they all moved at the same time. Blades held up against moonlight, they all pricked their fingers, letting crimson drip onto the palms of their hands, entangling their skin, covering them in an irony, metallic scent. It satisfied you, watching the blood sleep under their fingernails. They were men with blood on their hands, and they needed to remember where they came from.

From nothing. You come from nothing, and when all of this is over, you’ll resort back to nothing. We all will. I will.

You stepped in front of them, one by one, only briefly glancing down at their hands before producing a lighter and bringing flame to the pictures in their palms. Saints, religious figures, carefully handpicked by your father’s lackeys. St. Augustine, St. Matthew, St. Peter, figures that lived through history as sinners, then became sanctimonious figures of fidelity and undying faith. You watched as their pictures caught the lick of the flames, their faces burning away into ash into killers’ hands.

St. Augustine had mistresses, had strayed far from faith. St. Matthew stole from the poor, a part of an oppressive system that preyed on those with less. St. Peter had denied his own friend, watching him die. They were men with flaws, and yet they stood revered in their pictures, wearing gold and silk and crowns of glory. Those crowns disappeared as fire consumed them.

Perhaps soldiers want to think of themselves as saints. Men who do terrible things for something of the greater good. Men who sin, who kill, who kiss the devil but still live on in stories of goodness and courage.

“Tonight, you are born again,” you said lowly as you lit the final picture. You stepped back to look at them, watching as they all stared at the burning saints in their hands. Soft orange glows lit up their faces, and even as the fire nipped at their palms, they refused to let it show. Blood and paper rose into ash and smoke as they stood in front of you. “I ask nothing of you except for your loyalty. Not just to me, but to the men who stand beside you, and the men and women who will come to stand beside you. Betray them…betray me…” You made sure to meet all of their eyes, one by one, pausing to make your presence known, “and you will burn like the saints burn before you.”

Alabaster light was all that was left when the pictures had been reduced to nothing but embers. You watched as your father’s men crumpled the pictures in their palms, particles falling at their feet.

“You are not my soldiers,” you said finally. “My father might have had a different philosophy. That philosophy is not mine. You’re my brothers, and your pain is my pain. Your blood is my blood. If you burn…I burn.”

If you die, I die.

“Is it true then that your father was killed by your hand?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, shaking your head for a moment. You opened them again when you had gathered enough strength.

“I’ll be honest,” you took a seat on the bench beside you, looking out. You were staring at the wide expanse of your childhood home, the grass and gardens that stretched on for acres, the fountains that glittered in the distance, the large walls that surrounded the home behind you. Your father had built a fortress, and he had trapped you inside of it for as long as you could remember. “My father…was made of nothing. There was nothing…redeemable about him. He was weak-minded and a coward, and the only reason he was in charge for this long was not for his ability to lead but for his horrid ability to get others to do his bidding.”

You turned back to look at them. Your father’s men, who had spent too long under his thumb, staring off into the same distance you once were. They were thinking, remembering, and while the life you all led was not an easy one, they couldn’t help but see in the same light as you. Your father had been nothing but cruel, talking down to anyone that wasn’t himself. He was selfish, abusive, and he took advantage of anyone that worked closely with him. His men followed him because he paid them.

You realized they were not soldiers. They were mercenaries, a means to an end.

They meant nothing more to him than strings attached, strings he could cut off whenever he pleased.

“It was killed or be killed, gentlemen,” you said softly. “That’s the truth.”

You stood up slowly, and as you walked, they parted the way for you. They followed you inside the house, and they scattered, some getting back into their cars to go about their business, and others retreating to the offices around the house to start going through documents, like you asked. You took a deep breath as you stood in the living room, watching the fire crackle and spark in the fireplace, warming up the room with a soft light. You made your way towards the mantlepiece, looking at the pictures that scattered the surface.

They almost all were of you and your mother. You in her lap, smiling at each other, you running, smiling, screaming, a version of you that remained innocent and unbothered in a past that you had long forgotten. Before you had seen blood on the carpets, before you had known your father’s men held guns, before you knew that the cash hidden in every wall of the house wasn’t play money. Every picture that had you smiling was a picture before the mess of what your father’s business had done to you.

On the other side of the room were all the pictures of family. Distant uncles and cousins sitting around tables with your father, cigars and drinks and documents in sight. Pictures of Italy, of the Sicilian coast that your family still roamed around. You wondered what their reaction would be when they found out about what you had done. You wondered if they would come for you. Retaliation, revenge, punishment for being disobedient and not putting your head down as all the women had done before in your family. You wondered if they would forgive you if you had to fight back.

Because I will fight back. I will not cower for another man ever again. I won’t let another man hold anything over me ever again.

You picked up a picture of your father, sitting in the sand on a beach in Rome. You felt nothing as you threw it into the fire, watching as the flames ate up the wood and the glass, finally curling around the picture of him. Your brothers had burnt pictures of men they hoped to be, but you were not like them.

I will burn pictures of all the men I aspire not to be. I will burn pictures of men that deserve to be forgotten. I will burn pictures of them so that no one will know their names. I will burn pictures of them so that no one will remember them, so that no one will admire them, so that no one will swear their lives over them as an act of faith.

You picked up picture after picture of your father off the mantlepiece, your lips trembling as you ripped the pictures out of the frames, tossing them into the fire. Pictures of him sitting, dancing, laughing, smiling, you ripped all of them off of their resting places and kept tossing them into the flames.

Men who sin are not saints. They are ordinary.

You dropped to your knees as you ripped the last picture of him in your hands. You tore the picture right across him, his face split in half now, and you lifted the lighter from your pocket and lit both sides of the picture, watching as it curled in on itself in a quick blue and orange flame. You dropped it onto the floor, watching as it burned.

I will not bend to another ordinary man.

You closed your eyes as you felt a warm hand on your shoulder. His touch was familiar, his hand smoothing down your spine and around your waist until he pressed his chest to your back, holding you against him. You leaned your head back as his lips pressed against your neck, then up, a trail of butterfly kisses that traveled down your jaw and up again until he was breathing against your ear.

“I hate it here,” you whispered softly, and you didn’t realize you had been crying until his fingers swiped a few tears off your cheek. “I-I can’t stay here.”

You gasped a bit as his hand curled around your throat, holding you there. His thumb swiped against your bottom lip, and his touch was nothing except gentle, possessive. He kissed just behind your ear.

“Then I’ll take you away, love,” Tom murmured lowly, his voice like velvet. “I will take you away from here, and you never have to come back.”

“But the business, Tom, I can’t just—”

“Listen to me,” he interrupted you, and you let your head fall back onto his shoulder. The warmth of the fire was no match for the heat that traveled through you as his hand squeezed your throat, holding you closer to him. “You are not beneath anyone anymore. There is no one holding you back any longer. You are not a dog on a leash anymore, y/n. You are free, and you are sovereign in this house. What do you want?”

What do I want?

You licked your bottom lip, biting down on it hard. You could feel the rings along Tom’s fingers, searing cold against the heat of your skin. The scratch of gold, of diamonds, he was bringing a cloudiness to your head with just soft touches. He kissed under your ear again, and the cloudiness was gone. You opened your eyes, your vision blurry from the tears that continued to fall, and he let go of your throat. You sat down, between his legs, your back against his chest as you stared at the fireplace, watching it burn the pictures and frames you had thrown into it. Tom was sitting up against the couch, his arms around your middle as he held you.

“You’re what I want, Tom,” you said finally, your hand sliding over his, and he sighed deeply.

“You know that isn’t what I meant, y/n.”

“I know it’s not what you meant, but it’s the only answer you’re getting,” you whispered. You looked down at his hands, playing with the band over his left hand. A thick golden band, with your initials carved into it. If you moved the band, your initials would still be there. Tom had gotten them permanently inked onto his hand, letters so small they were hidden under the ring, but when you first saw them written there, there was nothing more to explain how you felt except for pure admiration and love. Tom was romantic and sentimental, something you had discovered not long after you had met him. Being his wife had opened the door for a romance and sentiment that you hadn’t prepared yourself for.

“y/n—”

“All I know is that I don’t want to be here,” you said softly. “This place, Tom…Los Angeles…this house…” You closed your eyes. “I hate it here.”

Tom moved your hair to the side, and you leaned your head away as he kissed your neck, a sigh leaving you as he swiped his tongue over your sweet spot, a gesture that had you relaxing even more against him. Tom had you completely, and there was no one else that could make you this weak with just a single touch.

“Then we’ll go,” Tom muttered. “We’ll leave, and we won’t come back.”

“Do you promise?”

“You don’t take orders from anyone but yourself now,” Tom said into your ear. “If you never want to come back to this wretched place, then don’t. Put someone else in charge, and go. Listen to your gut, my love. Sometimes…it can be the only voice that makes sense. But you need to listen to it, because it’s going to keep you alive. It’s going to keep you from losing yourself. So I’m going to ask you again. What do you want?”

Your eyes focused again on the fireplace. The pictures had all but disappeared, unrecognizable against the ashes of the wood along the bricks. You took a deep breath, turning your head finally, your eyes meeting his. Warm, crackling swirls of orange reflected in his dark eyes. Some of his curls had fallen out of their style, falling against his forehead, and his lips were pursed in a thin line, looking down at you.

“I want to go home,” you breathed, and Tom’s hand came up and caressed your cheek. He softened visibly, and you both closed your eyes as your foreheads touched. Leaning against each other, holding each other, listening to nothing but the crackle of low embers beside you. Tom was your comfort, your safe place.

Two sides of the same coin, one and the same, reflections of each other.

“Okay. Let’s go home, y/n.”

You nodded in response, silent for a few moments. Then, you reached into your jacket and pulled out an envelope, something that had been sitting there, waiting to be opened, a New York address scrawled on it. Tearing it open, knowing who it was from, you and Tom were both curious to see what was inside.

You stared down at the polaroid picture in your hands, smiling down at it. Mariposa was so beautiful, her curls twisted into box braids and her makeup still perfectly applied as always. She had a dark red lip and long lashes, and she wore her signature golden hoops in her ears. Harrison was beside her, smiling wide, his arm twisted around her tight, and they were holding a few pictures in their hands from Mariposa’s ultrasound. Their faces were close together as Harrison was the one taking the picture of them.

Mariposa’s scribbled handwriting was on the bottom of the polaroid picture, in black ink.

it’s a boy

Tom pulled you tighter against him as you both studied the picture. You had felt far away for a while now, distant, completed detached. Mariposa had been absent from your mind, you had been apart for some time now, but suddenly she was vivid and colorful in your head, her smile a thousand times brighter as you looked down at the picture.

I have to get away from here. Far away. I have to go, and I’m not coming back, not ever, not to this place. I’ll never let myself be this isolated ever again.

You didn’t even look back as Tom led you outside. Your heels crunched against gravel, and you had your hand in his, and you were making your way to his car. He shut the door behind you once you had your seatbelt on. Your eyes stayed ahead, and you didn’t even feel the need to look at the house again as Tom pulled out of the driveway. There were palm trees waving you goodbye as you left, and a cotton candy sunrise greeting you. You rolled down the window, taking a deep breath of the California air. Warm, crisp, and enveloping you entirely. Familiar, inviting, but it was deceitful.

This wasn’t home. It never was, and it never would be.

You weren’t sure what home was to you, not at first. Tom was prepared to go back to New York, but the thought of going back there so soon had you on edge. When you said you wanted to go home, Tom hadn’t thought of places, of your apartment on Park Avenue, he thought of Mariposa and the city that had brought you together. The blinding lights, the noise, the never-ending nights of good drinks and smiles that never ceased, Tom hadn’t thought of New York as your weakness but as your beginning.

Mariposa raised an eyebrow at you, watching as you tumbled onto the floor, flat on your back as you coughed. You rolled over a bit, holding your aching side, and Mariposa twirled the baton in her hand, pretending to blow on the end of it like it was smoking gun.

“Jesus,” Mariposa laughed. “Are you out of shape or something?”

“No,” you breathed, sitting up on your elbows, glaring up at her. Mariposa walked around you as she kept twirling the menacing black stick, her heels clicking as she paced. She hit you with it again, forcing you onto your knees.

“Get up. We’re going again.”

You stumbled back onto your feet. You were wearing boots, and she was wearing heels, but she was dominating you in them. She didn’t wobble once even six inches higher, and you put up your fists as she narrowed her eyes at you.

Mariposa came at you again with it, and you managed to duck, swinging your leg out to knock her off her feet. She fell onto her hands, dropping the baton, but as you came at her, she rolled and swung her foot back, kicking your knee in and dropping you. She managed to grab the baton and rolled over just in time to point it at you.

“Dead,” Mariposa called out, shaking her head as she stood up onto her feet. “You’re sloppy, y/n. Once that gun goes down, you never take your fucking eye off of it. You need to know where it is and be able to anticipate their next move. Your reflexes are slow.”

“Shut up,” you snapped, standing back up onto your feet. Mariposa rolled her eyes.

“You might be better than your father’s men, y/n, but you’re not better than me. So you can talk back to me when you can beat me,” she argued. She tossed the baton to the side and pulled her gun out from her waistband, holding it up to you. She nodded her head at you. “Your target has their weapon pointed at you. What do you do first?”

You racked your brain for the answer, and Mariposa narrowed her eyes at you.

“What’s going to keep you alive, y/n?” She prompted you. You nodded, swallowing.

“Get myself off the line of sight.”

“Good. So do it. Like we practiced.”

You put one hand on the gun and pushed to the side, the barrel of the gun pointing at the wall behind you. You hurried to use your other hand to strike her on the side of the head, but she brought her elbow back and managed to maneuver the gun back on you. You ducked and went for her stomach, and she finally dropped the gun. You kicked it out of her reach, but she wrapped her arms around your neck, forcing her elbows up to trap you in a chokehold. You coughed out a bit at the absurd amount of strength her petite body had on you, and you managed to scratch and claw at her, but she wasn’t budging.

“You’re being stupid again, y/n!” Mariposa muttered. “Damsels in distress scratch and bite. We’re not damsels. Use your fucking head!”

You cried out and threw your head back, knocking her in the forehead with the back of your head. You wrapped your leg around her own, ducking your head to roll before you knocked her over and onto her stomach, your knee digging into her back as you held your arm up to punch her. You panted as you waited there, your fist drawn up, and Mariposa held her hand out, tapping out as she struggled to breathe. You fell off of her, onto the ground, panting as you watched her recover. She sat up slowly, rolling her neck out.

“Better,” Mariposa breathed, and you scoffed.

“Better? I beat you!”

“You beat me once, and I’ve beat you twenty times over. I need you to beat me every time, y/n. Out there, we don’t get second chances. And out there, they’re worse.”

You could feel the bruises forming all over you, and so could she, but you both stood up, staring at each other as you stood a few feet apart.

“Again.”

Tom thought of Mariposa and you, hand in hand, laughing on top of piles of cash and never letting go of one another. He thought of the stories you used to tell, of the two of you wreaking havoc on the city and never apologizing. He thought of all of the things she had taught you and all the places she had taken you to. In some respects, Tom was jealous of her. Mariposa had you in a way Tom never could; she was selfless, a confidant with undying loyalty, so much trust in you that she risked her life again and again just to help you. She was flawed in that respect, but it was honorable, and Tom vowed to be that kind of selfless when it came to you.

Selfless enough to risk everything, selfless enough to see nothing but love, selfless enough that someone else could matter more than anything else in the world.

You were completely frozen. You were awake, present, but you couldn’t move. You were staring at your heels, pretty, expensive heels, but all you could focus on was their dark color. The color was bleeding, just like the warm liquid between your palms. Underneath the soles of your heels, you could see the bloody marks your father’s body had made as they dragged him away.

That was you. You had done that.

“Where is she?! Where is—fuck!”

You didn’t move when you heard his voice, shrill and angry. You just sat there, still staring blankly into nowhere. You didn’t even really hear his voice, still distracted by blood rushing in your ears, a sound that seemed to take over you completely.

“Get the fuck over here!”

You choked out a breath as he grabbed you by the neck, picking you up off your seat and slamming you into the wall, holding you there roughly.

“This is all your fault! It’s all your fucking fault!”

His blue eyes were bright and crazy, but you had no fight left in you. You dangled by your toes as he choked you against the wall, his strength too much for you. You were starting to turn a strange color as he forced you against the wall, his face contorted in a crazed sort of fury.

“You knew! You knew she’d do this for you, and you just had to have her do your dirty work, eh?!” Harrison cried, his thumbs digging into your jaw. “You’re a piece of shit! You’re a piece of shit, and I’m going to kill you!”

You tried to take breaths, but it was useless. You were starting to see nothing but haze, your vision blurry, but maybe you deserved this. Maybe it was meant to be this way, feel this way.

The yelling had interrupted Mariposa and Tom. Tom had been taking care of the cut on her forehead, holding a cloth to her head, but he could recognize Harrison’s voice from anywhere. He met Mariposa’s worried eyes for a second before he got up and bolted from the room.

When Tom saw his best friend’s hands on you, he went into a blind rage. He came up behind Harrison, wrapping his arm around his neck and pulling him off of you, holding him there in a chokehold. Tom didn’t even think twice before yanking him away from you, letting go of him and punching Harrison right across the face, his fist making contact with his cheekbone.

You fell onto the floor as soon as Harrison’s hands left you, falling onto your side and just lying there, coughing uncontrollably as you tried to catch your breath. You rolled onto your back, trying to blink your vision back to normal, but you were just in a daze there. Mariposa was the one to break up the fighting boys, getting herself between them.

“Stop! Stop, the both of you, stop!” She cried out. “Look at yourselves! Look at what you’re doing! Just stop for one fucking second!”

Mariposa had one hand on Tom’s chest and the other on Harrison’s, and when she was sure that they were both capable of keeping to themselves, she hurried to your side, picking your head up off the floor and laying it in her lap.

“What are you doing? Let her fucking choke,” Harrison snapped, and Tom stepped forward.

“Say one more fucking word, Haz, and I’m going to blow your fucking head off right here.”

“Oh, I bloody dare you, you bastard,” Harrison growled, and Mariposa groaned loudly.

“Harrison! Stop!” She breathed. “Just stop.”

Mariposa sniffled as she leaned down and kissed your forehead, rubbing your neck soothingly. There were deep bruises where Harrison had grabbed you, and she winced a bit as she noticed them getting darker and darker.

“I would’ve done it anyways,” Mariposa said softly. “You know that, Harrison. Don’t take your anger out on other people. It wasn’t her fault. I could’ve said no. But I didn’t, and I wouldn’t have. And you know what? We’re alive because of it.”

“You wouldn’t have had to do anything if she hadn’t gotten you into this shit!”

“Harri, I’ve been in it since I was a teenager! It would’ve happened either way!” She snapped. “You’re angry at me. Not at her. I can’t believe you…”

Mariposa motioned Tom over to pick you up, and Tom bent down to pick you up in his arms, your forehead against his chest as you finally breathed out gently.

“We’re not finished,” Tom grabbed onto Harrison’s jacket to growl in his ear, letting him go roughly as he carried you downstairs. Mariposa sat back onto the floor, letting out a deep breath as she leaned against the wall. She had tears in her eyes, and she looked up at Harrison. He was fuming visibly, angry down to his toes. His hands were curling and uncurling into fists, and his nose kept twitching.

“What’s wrong with you?” She sniffled, and Harrison scoffed.

“With me?!” He argued. “What the fuck are you talking about? Ri, you’re pregnant! You can’t be doing this shit! You can’t be taking risks right now! What if something happened to you?”

Mariposa shrugged, putting a hand to her stomach as she stared off at the stairs that Tom had carried you down from.

“It would’ve been worth it,” she said finally, and Harrison ran a rough hand through his hair, laughing bitterly.

“I can’t believe what I’m fucking hearing,” he breathed. “She can’t be more important than me, Ri. She can’t be more important than…our baby.”

Mariposa’s lip trembled a bit, “you don’t understand. You just don’t understand,” she shook her head.

“Then fucking help me! Help me understand how she could possibly be more important than us!”

“Because I love her!” Mariposa cried, putting a hand over her face. “I love her, Harri, and you can’t understand that!”

“Loving her is one thing—”

“No, Harri,” she whimpered, staring up at him as the tears came down her cheeks. “I…I love her.”

Harrison closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Mariposa pulled her knees to her chest, her face buried there as she started to cry. Harrison put a hand to the wall and slid down it, sitting down beside her on the floor, and he pursed his lips.

“Do you love her more than me?” He asked finally, just above a whisper. Mariposa looked up from her knees, her face wet and red with her tears, and she shook her head.

“No, of course not,” she whispered. “It’s not…I just…she has a hold on me, Harri. I can’t help it. She needs me, and then I…the risks don’t matter anymore.”

Harrison reached over and took her face into his hands.

“We’ve got…a wonderful thing coming, Ri,” he murmured, and Mariposa smiled a bit, her lashes fluttering as she looked up at him. “You’ve gotta choose.”

“I-I can’t—”

“One day,” Harrison interrupted her. “One day you’re going to have to choose between me and her. It has to be me, Ri. It just has to be.”

Mariposa said nothing for a long while, more tears wetting his palms until she finally nodded.

“Okay,” she said weakly. “It’s you, Harri. Always.”

She wished she could believe her own lies. She could never choose. Even if you never loved her back, she couldn’t help the feeling inside of her when you asked for her help. Mariposa had a weakness for you, and it would always be there.

Who didn’t have a soft spot for their first love?

Her thoughts ran from her when Harrison wrapped his arm around her, his other hand sliding down her side and resting on her stomach. Mariposa sniffled as he touched her there, his warmth making her feel all sorts of love and wonder. She had to realize that you would never love her the way he did. You would never love her so selflessly, so passionately, so naturally, not the way Harrison did.

Harrison was her forever. No matter how much she loved you, she had to make it so. This was survival, and there was only one man that was going to be beside her when the dust settled.

Mariposa had to put herself first, for once in her life. Mariposa had to choose herself.

But she knew, deep down, she never would. Mariposa would always choose everyone but herself. You, Harrison, maybe even Tom.

She would choose them first. Every single time.

The memories of that night came in flashes. You found yourself getting lost in them. Trying to sleep, closing your eyes, reminiscences coming to you again and again. They came in colors sometimes. The memories were red at times, and then colorless, and then vivid and bright as they haunted you.

You thought it would feel liberating. You thought that after your oppressor had been buried, you would feel relief. Maybe freedom. Even openness. You had thought about what it would feel like to not have weights attached to your ankles. Your whole life you felt like your father was pulling on you. You were lost at sea, and he wanted to drown you, weighing you down so only your fingertips could kiss the sunlight on the surface.

Your father didn’t love you. Even when you were pretending, even when you were lying, you tried to convince yourself that maybe, just maybe, your father would break at the end. You tried to convince yourself there was something inside of him that would see your face and think to himself that what he was doing to you was wrong.

But he didn’t even blink. Not even when he tried to kill me.

The thoughts kept you up, disguised as nightmares. You would wake up sweating sometimes. Crying, even screaming, trying to find solace in the mess your mind had become in the past weeks. You could only relax when Tom’s hand was there, crawling up your arm, wrapping around your middle, cocooning you in warmth and muffling your cries.

You relived the same moment again and again when you closed your eyes. The blood, the cries, the flicker of insanity that had come over you for a few moments, it was all vivid and surreal playing like a loop in your dreams. They were brutal, terrifying dreams that never allowed you to forget the most defining moment of your entire life. Your mother had made you something dangerous, and you supposed she got her dying wish. Your father had broken you down, enough to put you on your knees, but you were good at being broken down by men that didn’t understand. She had prepared you for that moment, and you supposed she knew enough to understand that you would know when it was your time. The moment had been too perfect. She must have known you would take the opportunity and run with it.

She taught me how to take a beating. She taught me how to wait. And now I’ve done exactly as she predicted. I was never my father’s pawn, I was always hers. She was better at disguising it for something meaningful.

You stared down at the palms of your hands. One was empty, holding nothing, and you could see the scratchiness and roughness of the skin there. The other hand was heavy, holding up the weight of the handgun, almost slipping because your palm was a bit clammy, sweaty, uneasy. It wasn’t long ago that they were stained completely red, heavy with something intangible.

How did it feel to have life in it? How did it feel to hold it so close? How did it feel when you suffocated it, and how did it feel when you crushed it between your killing fingers?

You wrapped your fingers around the handle of the gun, squeezing the heavy metal hard, trying to hold onto for stability. You closed your eyes, but all you could see was the replay of holding it above your head and bringing it down, over and over again.

Over and over again, not stopping until whatever you crushed was not just broken into pieces. You wanted it completed obliterated.

“y/n?”

Your head snapped up, and you were met with curious dark eyes. Tom knelt down in front of you, his head level with yours. He put a hand on your knee, his thumb rubbing across it soothingly.

“I asked you to show me,” he said, raising a brow. “Something wrong?”

You shook your head silently, standing up from the bench. You adjusted the gun in your hand, rolling your neck out before picking up the thin barrel, attaching it to the front of your pistol. You screwed the silencer onto it before holding it up. Tom watched, his arms crossed as he observed how you adjusted your aim. You took a deep breath and let it out, finally putting your finger on the trigger. You kept your arms straight as you fired the silent shots.

Bottle after bottle went down, shattering the glass as soon as the bullet hit it. You were yards away, the bottles in the far distance, but it didn’t make your shots any less accurate. You lowered the gun when all the bottles had shattered in their places. You flicked the safety of the gun back on, turning around to face Tom, who had a smug look on his face. You never failed to impress him, not once. He noticed the distant look in your eyes, and how you sauntered back to the bench to take a seat, looking out mindlessly at the expansive land of his English estate. You thought a better word for the place was castle, but Tom had simply pointed out that he didn’t wear a crown.

The air was cooler here. You felt like you could breathe, and there was seldom around you to alarm you. It wasn’t the armored vehicles or men around that made you feel safe, it was knowing you were in complete isolation in the countryside. You were far away from the crux of your nightmares, on another continent, across another ocean, and you could finally catch the breath you had been holding for so long.

You looked down when Tom took a seat beside you, his hand finding a place on your thigh, holding you there tightly. You watched him play with the straps of your thigh holster, his thumb swiping over it absentmindedly.

“You hit them all,” he said finally, chuckling lowly, and you pursed your lips, putting your hand over his on your thigh. Your wedding ring sparkled even in the cloudy daylight, and you could feel a chill in the wind. It was going to rain soon. It rained too much here, but you were growing to adore it.

“Are you really surprised?” You asked, and Tom smirked a bit, shaking his head in response.

“No, love. I knew you’d exceed my expectations.”

You smiled a bit, and he squeezed your hand, your fingers intertwining as you both scooted closer to each other. You stared off into the green hills of his backyard, taking a deep breath as you looked out at it. Your vision went blurry with how green it all was. Bright, neon, but still not enough to make you feel whole.

“What’s on your mind, y/n? You’ve got that look in your eyes again.”

“W-What look?”

“That one. The one you get all the time now,” he murmured, frowning a bit. “You’re thinking about New York again.”

You closed your eyes, painfully, sucking in a shaky breath. You let it out just as wearily, shaking your head as you laid your forehead against his shoulder.

“I can’t help it,” you said weakly, and Tom closed his own eyes, his thumb rubbing in small circles over your thigh. “I see it. Every time I close my fucking eyes, Tom. Every time I look at my…at my hands, I can’t stop seeing him all…a-all over me.”

There was a crack in your voice, and Tom pursed his lips, a deep sigh leaving him through his nose as he pondered what you said. You had had that look in your eyes so many times before these past few weeks. You would be sitting, even standing, looking off into nothing, and your eyes would get starry and hazy. You would always think too hard, too much, and Tom knew whatever it was, it was eating you up inside.

“You killed someone,” Tom muttered, shrugging his shoulders. “We’re…human, y/n. Killing people isn’t easy. If it was, then…fuck, then maybe we’d already have everything we wanted. Maybe we’d already run the bloody world.”

“That’s not it, I’ve killed people before—”

“Not the same, love,” Tom interrupted you. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he clasped his hands together. He clenched his jaw a bit, shaking his head. “You didn’t kill a stranger. You weren’t defending yourself. You made a choice. A conscious choice to kill a man that you’ve known since the day you were born.”

“I hated him.”

“Don’t do that, y/n,” he snapped, turning his head to look at you seriously. You winced at that, looking away from him. “Don’t fucking do that. I know what you’re trying to do, and you need to stop. Stop trying to make it seem like killing him didn’t do something to you. Because it did. And no matter how many times you say it out loud, you can’t tell me it didn’t change you. Something happened to you, and you refuse to acknowledge it, and until you do, it’s going to—” he poked your chest, right where your heart was, “eat you fucking alive, y/n.”

Your chin trembled a bit, and your eyes watered. You blinked the tears back, but your hands started to shake, and you put the gun down beside you, holding them together to try and stop them from shivering so bad.

“I…” Your tears came right back, and you tried and swallowed back the lump in your throat. “I don’t know what happened to me,” you whispered. “I…I lost it. I just…I just fucking lost it, Tom. I can barely remember anything. I was so…I was so angry. I was so upset with him. For you, for Mariposa, for my mother, for me…I was just so angry, and I just…I couldn’t stop. I was so mad, and I just…snapped.”

Tom thought for a moment, his eyes trained on his hands as he tried to remember that night. Watching you bring your father’s own gun down onto him over and over again had been a brutal sight. He remembered being frozen to his spot, in shock, disbelief, terror even. It was an entire room full of men, but it seemed as though you had forgotten they were there. When Tom finally snapped out of his trance, he realized just how lost you truly were, and he had to rip you off of him. It was gruesome to watch, agonizing to see the way your emotions had consumed you.

“You brought me back,” you breathed. “I-If it wasn’t for you, Tom, I—” Your voice broke, and Tom stood you up with him, hugging you tightly. You sobbed into his chest, your breathing getting heavier and raspier, and he put a hand over your head, holding you close to him. He shut his eyes as he felt your whole body rattle and shake, your hands clawing into his back for stability. You clung to him for support, and you didn’t let go.

I can’t let go. I’ll drown if I do.

Tom picked your head up, his hands cupping both of your cheeks. There was so much you loved about him trickling into one moment. The way he touched your face, the longing in his dark eyes that never ended, his handsome face pulled tight into concern over the woman in his arms. Tom Holland was nothing short of your lifeline, and you had been starved of one for so long. You needed him so much more than he needed you, and you were afraid to admit it. Not once had you ever depended on a man in your life, but thinking about a future without him made your heart want to fall right into your stomach. There was nothing but Tom Holland, no one to love but him, no one to protect but him, no one to live for except for him.

I will die for you, breathe for you, live for you. I’ve found you, you’ve found me, and I cannot be without you.

The rain was gentle at first. A pitter patter against your skin, and you thought it was your tears at first. Tom’s suit jacket began to dampen, and the air was heavy and cold, and soon your eyes were painted by the darkening clouds above your head. The rain was wetting your hair, wetting his, but neither of you moved as the rain kept falling.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you said finally, your lips damp with the wet weather. “They call me all the time, Tom. They say they need me. But…I have no idea how to do it. I don’t know how to…I don’t know how to be you.”

Tom leaned forward enough to lay his forehead against yours, and you sighed as the rain was falling around you, but here, right in front of you, was silence and love. You nudged your nose against his, and he smiled a bit.

“You’re not me, y/n. You’re you. You can’t be me,” he chuckled a bit. “You and I…we do this together. I’ll help you. We’ll have this whole fucking thing together. This is our world now, there’s nothing on this bloody earth that can keep us apart anymore. We have nothing to be afraid of. Everyone else…they should be afraid of us. We are…fuck, y/n, we’re unstoppable.”

“Unbreakable,” you breathed, and Tom nodded, his fingers going into your wet hair.

“Invincible,” he growled, and you swallowed his husky voice with a kiss, your hands going up and into his curls, tugging on them with fervor. The kiss grew warm and sloppy, not able to stop each other from deepening the embrace, and when he pulled away finally, you both laughed with delight. There was a lightness in your heart now that hadn’t been there before. Much of it was still dark, but there was enough light to cast shadows, and it made you feel like dancing. Tom was holding your head back in the rain, laughing with you, making you feel anything but empty. The sky was drowning you, but you could still breathe; Tom had a grip on you unlike anyone else, and nothing could sink you, nothing could pull you down, and you were alive.

“Let it go, y/n,” Tom whispered against your lips, and you let out a shaky breath against his own. “He doesn’t deserve your tears. He isn’t…he isn’t worthy of being on your mind.”

Tom was pulling on your hair, trying to look into your eyes, and you couldn’t help but smile at him. The crown you were wearing was so heavy, but you weren’t alone. You were a stumbling, weak mess, but Tom was here, Tom was looking at you, Tom was in love with you.

“I don’t want to think about him anymore,” you breathed. Tom’s kisses were like fire, giving you warmth as raindrops masked your tears. You shook your head, putting your hands over his, gripping onto him tight. “I don’t even want to think at all.”

Your wet hair stuck to your forehead as Tom pressed you against the wall of his bedroom. Your clothes were soaked, his shirt was stuck to his chest, but neither of you broke apart for even a moment as you kissed. Desperate kisses, warm kisses, intoxicating kisses that Tom was giving you that were making your head spin. If Tom didn’t want you to think, if he didn’t want you to remember anything but bliss, it was working. His hands were cold under the skin of your shirt, but it was setting you on fire as he tore your clothes off of you, piece by piece, backing you up until you dropped onto the bed.

You had been underneath Tom many times before now. You had made love on the leather seats of his car, in the dim light of the shower, against the wall in every bedroom you had slept in together. You and Tom had grown to know each other’s bodies like your very own, memorizing the dips and curves, the rough and smooth patches, the very spots that made each other speechless, breathless, immobile. You had kissed every part of each other, but somehow, right now, Tom was lighting you inside with something entirely new. There were stars in your eyes, but you didn’t feel like you were dying, no, you felt as alive as you had ever been.

His lips were velvet against your thighs, his curls were tickling your skin, but it did nothing to distract from the sensations of his tongue curling around every crevice that he knew too well. There was nothing rough or rushed about his head between your thighs, this was Tom telling you that he knew his wife, that he memorized the map of her body, and he was showing off his skills like he had never had before.

Two fingers rubbing against your sweet spot, his tongue making obscene noises against your sensitive bud, and you were chanting out his name like a prayer you had known forever. And then it was his hands, tight, calloused, rough, intertwining with your own as he forced you to look at him, dark eyes looking down at you with so much fervor. Tom knew you, Tom loved you, and Tom would make you feel like this forever. You had to know that he would make you feel like this forever.

His breaths were heavy. Skin against skin, you moved together, and when he finally let go of your hands, you wrapped them around his neck, cradling his head to yours. His own wrapped around you, the other hand trailing down to grip your hip tight as you both sung moans into each other’s mouths, clawing at hot skin to try and hold on for as long as possible.

His eyes were so dark. Pooling with depth, a black color that only love could bring, and your entire body ached with need for him, in any way you could have him. When he finally kissed you again, you molded yourself against him, wanting not even air to come between you. When you opened your eyes again, there were stars in his eyes, and you had put them there yourself, handpicked stars that told a story between loss and love, anger and passion, hate and need.

You closed your eyes again as he settled beside you. Both of you were panting, sweating, messes of each other as you tried to breathe. You turned to look at him finally, and he still had his eyes closed. His wet curls were in a heap on his head, and his cheeks were red, his jaw relaxed as he basked in the bliss you always seemed to put him in. You reached over carefully, cupping one side of his face, and the sparkling ring on your finger was cold against his warm face.

“What a distraction,” you whispered, and the comment made you both laugh a bit, breathless, and he finally opened his eyes again and looked at you. He softened as your fingers traced his features, running down the side of his face and along his jaw, over his lips and around his mouth. You moved closer to one another, tucking yourself into his side, and Tom peppered kisses along your fingertips as you touched over his smooth skin.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Tom murmured, watching the uneasiness in your eyes lighten a bit. “This whole bloody thing…it’s ours.”

You felt his hand go into your hair, tangle between the strands. He pressed your forehead to his, and he was whispering against your skin, saying something that mattered, but Tom was making you feel heaven in every breath and delight in every kiss. You could do nothing but feel completely, utterly, blissfully at ease.

He will make me a new crown, one that I can hold with ease. He will guide me onto a new path, so I can find my own way, and he will hold my hand in the dark.

Tom wasn’t letting you go. Not for anyone, not for anything, and not until he was dead.

Tom was not your saint. Tom was not revered, not innocent. Tom was a sinner, and he wore a crown of blood. You were not Tom’s saving grace. You were not blameless, not harmless. You came from nothing, and one day, the devil would come knocking. His kisses would taste just as saccharine as Tom’s kisses, you knew that much.

Men who sin are ordinary. They live in cages that they build for themselves, they live in the dark. I’m a sinner, too. What does that make me?

“I want it all, Tommy,” you whispered, your eyes bright. Your words were sinister, dark, deadly, but it did nothing but bring a sweet taste to his mouth. The thought of strength, of power, of blood, it lived in you like it belonged, and it made him hungry inside, wetting his tongue with something voracious.

“Then I’ll give it to you, princess. Whatever you want. It’s yours,” his voice was low, ravenous, and you didn’t care if he sounded like hell. It was music to you ears. “It’s all yours.”

“You promise?”

I am not ordinary.

“I promise.”

I’m free.

[monotonous-minutia]

Benvenuto Cellini in 300 lines or fewer

for the lovely and incredibly patient @notyouraveragejulie, as requested! Happy Cellini-versary! took me long enough, but decided to get it done today to honor the occasion :)

Act I Scene I

Balducci’s house

Balducci: Teresa what are you doing looking out the window I told you never to look out the window. Besides I need you to listen to my rant. Can you BELIEVE what the Pope has just told me? He’s hired that delinquent Cellini to make his new statue instead of Fieramosca. I just can’t wrap my head around it.

Teresa: Maybe you could if it wasn’t so big.

Balducci: What?

Teresa: Nothing.

(Balducci exits)

Teresa: Ugh FINALLY I hate listening to his rants. )goes back to look out the window)

Masqueraders outside: LALALALA IT’S CARNIVAL THE BEST TIME OF THE YEAR

(Balducci comes back and sees Teresa at the window)

Balducci: TERESA WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT STAYING AWAY FROM THE WINDOW what is even going on down there? I bet it’s that Cellini whipping everyone into a frenzy. Ugh, Carnival. (exits again)

Teresa: (goes to the window and is immediately showered with flowers) I don’t care what my dad says, hanging out by the window is fun. I love flowers. Oh hey, a note from Cellini! What? He’s coming here? Oh, that’ll be risky. But hey, dad’s out of the house, what could go wrong? Y’know, it’s kinda hard, dealing with all this—feeling like I have to listen to my dad, but wanting to indulge in the affections of my beloved. When I’m older, old like my parents, maybe I’ll be responsible, but right now I’m young, and I deserve to have some fun! Girls just wanna have fun!

Cellini: (appearing at the window) TERESA MY BELOVED

Teresa: Cellini, I love you, but it’s too dangerous for you to be here. What if my dad catches us?

Cellini: But look, it’s carnival, and it’s so gay! And I mean that like happy, but y’know, it’s pretty gay too. Besides, I love you. Why do you turn me away?

Teresa: Well, I just got done singing this empowering feminist aria, but unfortunately reality hits and I remember that it’s 1532 and I basically have no rights, so it’s best for you to forget me and move on.

Fieramosca: (sneaking in carrying a huge bouquet) The best way to a woman’s heart is with a cool sneak-in plan and a bunch of flowers. Hang on, is that Cellini talking to my Teresa?

Cellini: How am I supposed to just leave you behind? Let you be forced into the arms of that Fieramosca?

Teresa: I’d rather die than marry Fieramosca!

Fieramosca: …I just came here to have a good time and I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now.

Cellini: Okay, so, how about this: Come to the new opera Cassandro is presenting tomorrow night. While your dad is distracted, my apprentice and I will sneak over disguised as friars and spirit you away! We’ll go to Florence and live happily ever after! Nothing could possibly go wrong!

Fieramosca: Hmm, interesting plan. It would be a shame if someone were to...interfere.

Teresa: Sounds foolproof. But hang on, my dad is coming back. You have to hide!

(Cellini hides behind the door. Fieramosca hides in Teresa’s bedroom. Balducci somes back.)

Balducci: Teresa, what are you up to? Are you talking to people? How many times do I have to remind you that you’re not allowed to have a life?

Teresa: (distracting him so Cellini can sneak out) DAD THERE’S A MAN IN MY BEDROOM

Balducci: What??? Let me see!

(Balducci goes into Teresa's bedroom and comes out dragging Fieramosca) I can’t believe this! This is so inappropriate, Fieramosca, how dare you?

Fieramosca: No, wait, let me explain! I just came to visit! Cellini is the real rascal!

Teresa: Oh the poor man is raving mad.

Balducci: I will not stand for this! Servants, come here! Let’s teach this seducer a lesson!

Servants: OH YEAAAHHHHH LET’S STICK HIM IN THE FOUNTAIN

Fieramosca: NO WAIT

Teresa: This is the best thing ever.

Act I Scene II

Piazza Colonna

Cellini: I can’t wait to elope with Teresa!

(A bunch of Cellini’s friends and students come in)

Chorus: LALALALALA LET’S GET SLOSHED

Cellini: Yes, but for god’s sake none of those ridiculous drinking songs. Let’s sing about the glory of metal-workers!

Everyone: YEAH GLORY TO THE METAL-WORKERS!! WE’RE THE BEST WE WORK WITH METAL THAT SPARKLES LIKE JEWELS AND RIPPLES LIKE FLOWERS AND IS MORE BEAUTIFUL THAN BOTH OF THOSE PUT TOGETHER

Bernardino: Alright folks, let’s drink up!

Innkeeper: Sorry lads, not until you pay your tab.

Cellini: Okay who’s got the cash? …nobody? Well this is a nice little pickle we’ve gotten ourselves into.

Ascanio: (enters carrying a bag of money) ASCANIO TO THE RESCUE

Everybody: YEAHHH VIVA ASCANIO

Ascanio: Okay hold your horses folks, before you spend this money, you have to realize where it’s coming from. It’s a down payment on that statue you’re supposed to build. Cellini, remember you promised the Pope you’d make that statue?

Cellini: Ugh, don’t remind me.

Ascanio: It’s literally my job to remind you.

Cellini: Fiiiiine I promise I’ll finish the statue.

Ascanio: Okay, cool. Here’s the money.

Cellini: Here you go, you troublesome little man, now give us our drinks.

(He gives the Innkeeper the money.)

Cellini: Okay, now that we all have had our libations, let’s talk revenge. You know that guy Balducci who’s always disrespecting me and trying to keep me away from my girlfriend? Well, I have a plan for Carnival where we can humiliate him in front of everyone as payback!

Everyone else: Sounds like a great time! We’re in.

Everyone: Yeah!! A curse on that guy! And while you’re at it, honor to the metal-workers again!!

Ascanio: That’s such a bop where’d it come from?

Cellini: We made it up while you were gone.

Ascanio: I always miss the fun stuff.

(they all leave to get ready; Fieramosca, who was eavesdropping, comes out into the open)

Fieramosca: Ugh, look at them all, plotting against my future!

Pompeo: (entering) Hey boo! What's with the long face?

Fieramosca: Alas, Pompeo, my only friend! What a week it's been! First off, I got an impromptu and very much unwanted bath at Balducci’s yesterday. And as if that weren’t enough, now Cellini and his apprentice are going to abduct my girl!

Pompeo: That’s actually not a bad idea.

Fieramosca: What do you mean?? You want him to steal Teresa from me?

Pompeo: No, the getting in disguise and abducting her part! Why don’t WE just don those same disguises and get her ourselves?

Fieramosca: Ohhh, I get it! What a great idea! Although I must admit, I am a little scared of what Cellini might do if he catches me in the act.

Pompeo: What you think he’s actually going to stab somebody? Here, let’s practice sword fighting so you’re prepared if he does try to pull anything funny.

Fieramosca: Good idea! (they practice sword fighting) HA LOOK AT ME, WHO WOULD EVER DARE CHALLENGE ME, ALL Y’ALL PEASANTS GET OUT OF MY WAY, I’M THE ROUGHEST TOUGHEST GUY YOU EVER DID SEE. Oh, Teresa, I wish you could know just how much my heart burns for you! I’ll be damned if I let that rascal Cellini come between us.

(They leave to get ready. Balducci enters with Teresa as the Piazza begins to fill with people)

Balducci: Well, Teresa, I hope you’re happy. I’ve decided to suffer through this vulgar comedy so you can stop nagging me about not letting you go to Carnival.

Teresa: I’ll never forget your sacrifice, dad. (Come to think, it DOES make me feel a little guilty to be running away from home...is it fair to leave him all by himself?)

Cellini and Ascanio: (dressed as monks) Quickly and quietly, let’s get down to business! The plot is about to start!

Chorus or Troupers: COME, GOOD PEOPLE OF ROME!! COME AND SEE OUR SHOW!!

People: THIS IS SO MUCH FUN CARNIVAL IS AWESOME

Troupers: Let the show begin! (They start a pantomime featuring a parody of Balducci and the Pope)

Balducci: What fresh nonsense is this?

Teresa: Uhhh maybe we should go?

People: SHUT UP AND WATCH THE SHOW

Balducci: You know what? I’m going to suffer through this whole thing and then go tell the Pope how you’re all mocking him! Because he and I talk all the time I guess.

People: WE SAID SHUT UP JUST WATCH THE SHOW

Cellini: Ascanio, can you see Teresa?

Ascanio: Nope but I see someone else trying to interfere with our plans!

People: HAHAHA WATCH THE SHOW THIS IS SO FUNNY LOOK AT HARLEQUIN LOOK AT THE OLD MAN HAHAHA

Balducci: I’M GOING TO TELL ON ALL OF YOU

Teresa: Dad, stop, you’re just riling them up!

Balducci: THAT’S IT I’VE HAD ENOUGH COME GET A TASTE OF MY WRATH (he runs onstage wielding his cane)

People: HAHAHA THIS JUST KEEPS GETTING BETTER

Fieramosca: Come on, Pompeo, let’s sneak over and grab Teresa!

Cellini: Come on, Ascanio, let’s sneak over and grab Teresa!

Fieramosca: Teresa, it’s me! Come with me!

Cellini: Teresa, it’s me! Come with me!

Teresa: ??? I don’t know who is who!

Cellini: Come with me!

Fieramosca: Come with me!

Teresa: You know, when I imagined myself falling in love, I never thought I’d have two fake monks vying for my attention.

Ascanio: WE’VE BEEN HAD YOU WON’T GET AWAY WITH THIS (starts chasing Fieramosca)

Cellini: Get out of my way! Cut it out! (He and Pompeo fight; Cellini stabs Pompeo.)

Pompeo: Oh, I’m dead! (He dies.)

People: OMG SOMEBODY DIED CALL 911 I CAN’T BELIEVE A MONK JUST KILLED A GUY WHAT KIND OF WORLD DO WE LIVE IN

Fieramosca: OMG I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU JUST KILLED MY BOYFRIEND

Teresa: OMG CELLINI

Balducci: OMG A DEAD MAN TERESA WHERE ARE YOU

Cellini: OMG I’M REALLY IN TROUBLE NOW

Ascanio: Well, that happened.

(General chaos ensues; Cellini’s students help him escape. Amidst the mayhem Balducci bumps into Fieramosca, and, thanks to his white monk costume, mistakes him for the murderer)

Balducci: I FOUND HIM I FOUND THE MURDERER

Fieramosca: ...are you telling me this is the second time in as many days I’m being accused of something that Cellini did?

Ascanio: Come on, Teresa, let’s get out of here!

Teresa: You don’t have to tell me twice! (They both run off.)

Act II Scene I

Cellini’s workshop

Teresa: Oh my gosh what a catastrophe! I hope Cellini is okay!

Ascanio: Have faith! My master is not one to let a silly little murder accusation get him down. I mean, he did actually kill the guy, but I’m sure it will all work itself out. Have faith!

Teresa: Let’s pray for his safe return! (She and Ascanio sing a very pretty prayer; Cellini busts into the workshop)

Cellini: HONEY I’M HOME

Teresa and Ascanio: OMG YAYY YOU’RE ALIVE

Cellini: It was a close call! Everyone was running after me with daggers and calling out for my blood! I thought for sure I was done for, but I managed to evade the crowd and find a place to hide, but passed clean out in the process. It was just my fortune that as I came to my senses, as group of white monks were walking past! I joined their procession and no one was the wiser. God led them right to you!

Teresa: OMG that’s such a harrowing adventure! I’ve got goosebumps.

Ascanio: And you’re sure this is 100% accurate, with no embellishments?

Cellini: What do you take me for? Now, come on, we’ve got to get out of here before they come after us again.

Ascanio: Whoops, they’re already here.

Balducci: Cellini, you scoundrel, abductor, murderer, and general all-around-annoying person! Relinquish my daughter. It’s time for her to unite with her husband, Fieramosca.

Cellini: OVER MY DEAD BODY

Ascanio: Don’t give them any ideas!

Balducci: Come on, Fieramosca, claim your bride!

Teresa: DAD NOOOOO

Fieramosca: Uh...I don’t want to cause a scene…

(The Pope enters with his retinue)

Everybody: OH SHI--OH DEAR IT’S THE POPE

Pope: Rise, rise, my children! Relish in my holiness, but don’t hurt yourselves.

Balducci and Fieramosca: Oh your Holiness, please grant us your assistance! That rascal Cellini has tarnished Teresa’s honor.

Cellini: Come on, I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration.

Pope: Well well, well, Cellini, this isn’t the first time you’ve gotten in trouble with me, is it? For example, where’s my statue? The one I commissioned you to make?

Cellini: Well...it’s not quite done yet.

Pope: Are you saying I should find someone else to cast the statue instead?

Cellini: WHAT?? HOW DARE YOU!! SOMEONE ELSE CAST M STATUE?? I’D RATHER DIE THAN SEE SOME AMETURE DARE TO PUT THEIR GRUBBY LITTLE FINGERS ON MY MASTERWORK

Everyone else: Are you seriously yelling at the Pope????

Pope: Arrest this man!

Cellini: YOU ARREST ME AND I WILL DESTROY THIS MODEL RIGHT HERE THEN NO ONE WILL BE ABLE TO FINISH THE STATUE! NOBODY!! NOBODY!!

Pope: How dare you threaten me? What’s it going to take to calm you down?

Cellini: I want full forgiveness for all my crimes up till this point. Wipe my record clean.

Pope: Fine, fine.

Cellini: ALSO I want Teresa.

Balducci and Fieramosca: WHAT??? Your Holiness can’t possibly be considering this.

Cellini: I ALSO want more time to finish the statue.

Pope: …you know my weakness for art; fine, fine, I can’t really say no.

Balducci and Fieramosca: What audacity! But we’ll see who has the last laugh.

Teresa: Oh, what a fateful day!

Ascanio: Look at my master, he’s so clever and devious!

Pope: Okay, Cellini, here’s the deal. Finish the statue by tomorrow, and you’ll get all that you asked for. If you can’t finish it in time, you’ll be hanged.

Cellini: Fine!

Balducci and Fieramosca: He’s on the brink of ruin! We’ll see who wins this one!

Teresa: He’s doomed, alas! There’s nothing left for me in this world! Luckily I'm not going to end my life based on this notion like most operatic heroines, but I still feel dread in my heart!

Cellini: I’ve got to win this!

Ascanio: Come one boss you’re the best you got this!!!!

Act II Scene II

Cellini’s Foundry

Ascanio: TRALALALALALA….idk what I’m feeling...I’m happy, then I’m sad, then I’m crying, then I’m laughing, then I’m singing! Must be the hormones. Or the stress...our little bronze boy is finally getting finished today! But there’s a lot on the line. On one hand, I’m all scared that we’ll fail and my poor master will be hanged; on the other hand I can’t help laughing over how ridiculous the whole situation is...I mean, did you SEE the way my master stood up to the Pope?? Anyway, I better start getting ready. Tralalala! (He exits)

Cellini: What have I gotten myself into? How did I expect to finish this statue on time? All of Rome has its eyes on me

Ascanio: *Hamilton chorus voice* history has its eyes on youuuu

Cellini: What?

Ascanio: Nothing. I’m not here.

Cellini: Ah, why can’t I be a simple shepherd, whiling my life peacefully away in the mountains?

Chorus outside: Oooh!! here’s a grim old sea shanty

Cellini: I wish they’d stop! Nothing good ever happens when they sing that song!

Ascanio: (coming back) Not that song again!

Cellini: Take heart! We’re like sailors ourselves, but our sea is made of metal! Let’s get to work!

Fieramosca: NOT SO FAST!! I demand justice! Cellini, I challenge you to a duel! No need for all those sword-fighting lessons to go to waste.

Cellini: Someone finally grew a pair, eh? Fine, let’s duel right here.

Fieramosca: Not here! If I kill you in your own place, I’m a murderer. Meet me behind St. Anthony’s cloister.

Cellini: I’ll see you there!

(Fieramosca leaves; Teresa enters)

Ascanio: Here’s your sword, boss!

Teresa: Omg Cellini are you going to a duel??

Cellini: Relax, it’s just Fieramosca. (exit with Ascanio.)

Teresa: What if it’s an ambush????

Cellini’s workers (storming in) THAT’S IT WE’RE GOING ON STRIKE THESE WORKING CONDITIONS SUCK

Teresa: Oh heavens! What’s this ruckus? Come on, folks, just wait for Cellini to come back and talk about it!

Workers: NOPE WE’RE OUTTA HERE

(Fieramosca walks in)

Teresa: OMG FIERAMOSCA IS BACK WITHOUT CELLINI THAT MEANS CELLINI IS DEAD HE KILLED CELLINI (faints)

Workers: YOU KILLED OUR BOSS???

Fieramosca: What? No! Geez, this really is not my week. I’m just here to offer you the raise Cellini won’t give you.

Workers: NOPE WE’RE LOYAL TO CELLINI FORGET WHAT WE JUST SAID GET OUTTA HERE YOU RASCAL

Cellini: (coming back) What’s going on?

Teresa: (awake) OMG YOU’RE ALIVE

Cellini: ...was that ever in question? Oh, hey, Fieramosca, you’re just in time to help build the statue! Here’s an apron, get to work.

Fieramosca: What? I--

Everyone else: Get to work, or you’ll be taking another impromptu bath, but this time it’ll be in a sea of molten metal!

Fieramosca: YIKES! Okay, lead the way.

Everyone: COME ON LADS LET’S GET TO WORK

(the workers and Fieramosca head to the forge. Balducci enters with the Pope.)

Balducci: Teresa! What are you doing here?

Teresa: Uh, funny story.

Pope: So, Cellini, is my statue done yet?

Cellini: Nope, but it will be very soon.

Balducci: We’ll see about that.

Pope: You better be right.

Fieramosca: (running in) We need more metal for the statue!

Cellini: What, are you messing up my statue?? Let me go see (he runs to the forge)

Balducci: Fieramosca? What are you doing wearing an apron?

Fieramosca: Would you believe me if I said I got a new job?

Cellini: (coming back) Haha nothing to see here! Everything is going according to plan! We just need a bit more metal, that’s all, no biggie.

Workers: Just one problem: There is no more metal. And the fire’s going out. If we don’t get more metal in there quick, the whole thing will be ruined!

Balducci: Well, well, well, looks like I’m winning!

Cellini: NO THIS IS NOT THE END I REFUSE TO GIVE UP! Everyone, just grab anything metal and throw it in there!

Workers: What?? Even all your old work?

Cellini: I SAID EVERYTHING DIDN’T I

(Cellini, the workers, and Ascanio all start grabbing metal things and throwing them into the furnace)

Teresa: I can’t handle this stress!!

Pope: I can’t believe the nerve of this guy! Is it possible he could actually succeed?

(An explosion comes from the forge)

Cellini: OMG THIS IS IT I’M DONE FOR

Workers: WOOHOO WE DID IT LONG LIVE CELLINI

Cellini: We did it??

Workers: VICTORY! VICTORY!! LOOK AT THE STATUE ISN'T IT AMAZING

Fieramosca: CELLINI WE DID IT HOW ABOUT A HUG

Cellini: ...how about no

Pope: Well, Cellini, I didn't think I was going to be able to say this, but you made good on your word. I officially pardon your sins, and bless your marriage to Teresa. (He leaves.)

Cellini: YAYY TERESA

Teresa: YAYY CELLINI

Everyone: VICTORY!! LONG LIVE CELLINI!! IMMORTAL GLORY! GLORY TO THE METAL-WORKERS!!!!

The End

[josefavomjaaga]

Letters from Naples, 1815

Some documents relating to chapter 3 of Helfert's book on Joachim Murat. I have not translated the report by Pauline Bonaparte's secretary about Napoleon's escape that Mier refers to in his second letter, as it's quite long and I assume it's been translated and quoted before. But I can do so if there is interest. Mier's letters however, are about Murat's immediate reaction to this news.

Mier to Metternich (in his own hand). (N° 21)

This 5th of March 1815.

My Prince! His Majesty the King received this morning a letter from Rome with the news of the escape of the Emperor Napoleon from the island of Elba. The Chevalier de Lebzeltern took advantage of this opportunity to announce this same event to me. Your Highness can easily imagine the effect which this news produced on the minds of Their Majesties. - The King sent for me to come to him to talk to me about this event, and told me that in a few hours he would send a courier to Vienna. Campochiaro was ordered to declare to our Court that in any event the policy of the King of Naples remained entirely subordinate to ours, that nothing could make Him deviate from this principle, and that He wished to know what course we would believe necessary to follow in this affair in order to comply with it. The King repeated to me on this occasion how much he wished to give the Emperor Francis proof of His attachment and His gratitude. While we were talking we saw several merchant ships enter the port. His Majesty sent to find out where they came from. It turned out that one of these ships had come from the island of Elba and had left after the flight of the Emperor Napoleon. The captain of this vessel gave the King details of which we were unaware, and communicated to Him the proclamation of the Governor of the Isle of Elba after the departure of Napoleon.

May Your Highness deign to accept the assurance of my highest consideration.

Mier. Mier to Metternich. (N° 22)

Naples 9 March 1815.

My Prince!

1) The departure for Rome of two officers of our Regiment of Prince-Regent Houzards, who have spent a few days here, provides me with a sure occasion to send my following dispatch to Rome and to recommend it to the care of the Chevalier de Lebzeltern.

2) It is only the day after I sent my report No. 21, that I learned that on the ship arriving from the Isle of Elba there was a certain Mr. Mary, secretary to the Princess Pauline. It is from him that all the details of Napoleon's escape were obtained. I do not believe that he brought letters for Their Majesties, at least the Queen has very definitely assured me of this. She has been kind enough to send me the attached document, written by Monsieur Mary.

3) I had the honour of informing Your Highness in my last report that I had been called to the King's residence at the moment when he had received the news of Napoleon's departure from the Isle of Elba. I found the King extremely agitated, not knowing where to stop his thoughts. It was obvious that he did not know what to desire. He maintained that the Emperor Napoleon landing in France would have the entire army, the whole of France behind him; that the Bourbons would be driven out; that Napoleon would not have risked this enterprise without being semi-certain of its success; that if he found a very doubtful party of the Bourbons resisting him, it would bring on a civil war in France. "What side will Austria and the other Powers take? It is a very unfortunate event, and one which may confuse all at the moment when the main questions had been happily arranged at the Congress. It is no less unfortunate for me in many respects: it may delay the arrangement of my interests, and in the long run I cannot remain in this position; I must know where I stand." He would go out at any moment to ask for news of the ships entering the harbour. After a conversation of more than two hours in the presence of the Queen, he withdrew when a ship from the island of Elba was announced. Afterwards I had a long conversation with the Queen who always consistent in her way of considering things, wise in her views and reasonings, putting character and perseverance in the party and the course which she once convinced herself was useful to her interests, not varying opinion at any event, always preaching uprightness and loyalty, gave me on this occasion new proofs of the essential qualities which distinguish her. One could see in her face how much this event had upset her. She told me that she was extremely worried about the fate of her brother, who was running towards his inevitable loss; that as a sister she could not wish for his death, but that she would have liked him to keep quiet in Elba; that she was convinced that, if the Emperor Napoleon ever succeeded in replacing himself on the throne of France, he would hasten to chase them out of Naples, a thing she never ceased to repeat to the King; that the Emperor Napoleon, once again Emperor of the French, will once more upset the whole of Europe; that she knows his character too well to ever doubt it; that it would be wrong to believe that age and experience have corrected him. "The King", she continued, "has a fine role to play, it is to remain invariably attached to the policy which he has embraced, to unite his interests as closely as possible with those of Austria, to repel all the perfidious insinuations which will not fail to be made to him, and to remain firm in his promises and declarations. This is what his honour and his true interests demand. You know me too well to doubt that I will not do everything to this end.

4) A Neapolitan courier sent to London carried the same declarations as the one that left for Vienna. The same day that the news of Napoleon's escape was learned here, the King convened an extraordinary Council of Ministers in which he declared to them that this event would in no way change the course of his policy. Notwithstanding these declarations and promises made to his people and his Allies, I know that his head is hard at work; that he has admitted into his presence several French refugees in Naples, enraged Bonapartists; that he has had several conferences with them; that he has sent secret emissaries everywhere (I have pointed out to Marshal Bellegarde two of this number who are on their way to France by way of Milan), and that his announced determinations are very shaky. This event instead of delaying his planned journey to the Marches seems to have accelerated it. His saddle horses and some campaign crews left last Monday for the Marches. His departure may take place at any moment. His mood, his words announce that he has projects in view, but that his ideas are not yet fixed, and that he is waiting for the first results of Napoleon's enterprise. If He remained in Naples, surrounded by the Queen and by a few sensible people who, without flattering Him, have the courage to tell Him the truth, one could count on His not being drawn into a few false steps; but in Ancona, returned to himself, surrounded by hotheads, there is nothing to be sure of. I have done everything to prevent this journey, I have begged and insisted that it should not be undertaken at this time, because of the bad effect it would have, and the suspicion that He would arouse by this step. I know that the Queen, Monsieur de Gallo, the Count of Mosbourg and many other reasonable people have positively advised Him against it; but all in vain; He seems determined to go. It is not yet known whether He will leave the Regency to the Queen.

5) Spirits in Naples are very agitated. There are people who make wishes for Napoleon, without knowing what they are asking for; but in general one would be angry here if the King interfered in an affair foreign for the moment to the interests of this country, and in despair if He took up the cause of Napoleon; in the latter case I believe that the King should not count on the fidelity of his subjects. If He wanted to make a diversion in favour of the Emperor Napoleon by going to France, half his army would leave Him; it would not be the same if He remained in Italy. He would find supporters there and could do us a lot of harm. Prudence requires that we put ourselves in this country in a position to face any event.

6) The Princess of Wales has openly expressed much delight at the escape of Napoleon. She told the King that she hoped for his glory that he would not remain an idle spectator of the events that were being prepared; that he should follow the example of the Emperor Napoleon, who with a thousand men despaired of nothing, while he with 80,000 seemed to let himself be imposed upon; that the course he would take in the present circumstances might lead him to immortality, etc. This inconsiderate woman wanted to follow the King to Ancona; but I have just been told that she has changed her plans and that she is leaving for Civitavecchia the day after tomorrow.

7) The Capri, a Neapolitan ship of the line of 80 guns, set sail several days ago to join the two Neapolitan frigates which left for the Adriatic.

8) Until now no movement of Neapolitan troops has taken place in the kingdom.

9) Count Széchényi leaves tomorrow for London. I have endorsed his passport for Rome. May Your Highness accept etc.

Mier.

(Completely unrelated question: What's the legal punishment for throttling a Princess of Wales?) I also love how Mier praises Caroline to Metternich.

[wowweeharrystyles]

Part 10 | Love & Villas in Italy | 6.8k words

Sequins & Zippers’ Summary: An internship with Harry Lambert transformed into a job of a lifetime - Aurora Del Gatto finds herself touring the world with the one & only Harry Styles as his ‘Head of Wardrobe.’ Aurora is nothing but nerves & excitement as she packs her bags & almost 100 custom designer suits that belong to an unbelievably kind rockstar. She never thought she’d fall in love on top of it all.

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9 

Masterlist

a/n: hello friends ! sending all the love to you in the crazyyyyy time we live in. getting focused on writing has been a big help to keep me sane this past week so I hope if you do read this that it’ll help distract you from the craziness too. - lots of love to @niallhoranapologist​ for consistently giving me ideas & listen to me ramble on & on about Aurora & Harry 💕

Alrightyyyyyyy here’s part 10 ! 

Aurora has seen Harry in every single one of these looks but still, night after night, she fawns over them. In Hong Kong, the stars and lightning that are rhinestoned onto the velvet Givenchy suit turns him into a real life disco ball when the lights come up. Sparkles and bright sparks of light covered his face through the entire show. Manila and Singapore’s looks graced the world with the glory of Harry’s swallow tattoos. Both the Harris Reed and St Laurent shirt dipped low and flowed with his movement on stage. Aurora couldn’t help but admire the way his chest and shoulders had bulked from the past 2 months of training. She paid extra attention to his collarbones, the tattoos littered across his shoulders and the swell between his pecs both of those nights as she helped him get ready.

Aurora could tell, night after night, before and after the show that he was growing exhausted. The circles under his eyes were getting darker, harder to cover up. He had to stop talking so much when he wasn’t on stage, drinking even more hot tea than normal. After the show in Osaka Aurora kissed him goodnight after taking care of his suit and readying the wardrobe cases to be moved to the next Arena. 

“Will you stay with me tonight?” He asked quietly, not letting go of her hand. Aurora had been staying in her own hotel room during the Asia leg of tour, both of them deciding to drag out the honeymoon phase of their relationship. Anyways, both of them actually enjoy time on their own and neither of them were ready to pretty much “live together” cause that’s what it started feeling like. 

Aurora looks up to him and squeezes his hand. Her eyes rounded, eyebrows lifting up only a little, almost like she was surprised by the helpless look on Harry’s face. 

“I’m so tired but by the time my brain slows down enough for me to fall asleep I have to be up again. I fall asleep right away when you’re there,” his voice is soft. “S’much easier when you hold me and play with my hair,” he barely whispers, looking down to where their hands are intertwined, like he’s embarrassed by the admission. 

Aurora drops his hand and cups his cheek delicately. Her lips are soft against his. She nods slowly at him when he opens his eyes. She kisses the opposite cheek her hand is holding. Her bag in one hand and Harry’s jacket in the other, she offers it to him. He slips his arms in it, tossing his phone in the pocket and throwing his own bag over his shoulder. He opens his mouth to say something, but Aurora offers her hand out to him and speaks. “Come on, baby, lets go.” 

Harry feels his chest heave. His throat tightens like he’s going to cry. He clears his throat and swallows deliberately. Aurora leads them through the hallways, wishing goodnight to everyone she passes. He’s on vocal rest for the most part, so Harry not giving full goodbyes to everyone isn’t questioned. If Harry tried to speak he’s sure he’d have tears fall from his eyes. The mix of exhaustion, a sore throat and the swell of fondness in his chest are a perfect mix to heighten Harry’s emotions. The car ride is silent as they sit in the backseat of the blacked out car. Harry’s head rests on Aurora’s shoulder. She holds his hands in her lap, twirling his rings back and forth. 

Aurora is quick to wash her face and brush her teeth once they get to Harry’s hotel room. She joins him in the big, oversized bed covered in layers of white linens. Aurora pulls at the sheets until they tug loose from the tight tucking at the corners and discards some of the unnecessarily stiff sheets. Harry finds these actions endearing, now realising she does this in every hotel room. She tosses the extra pillows away as well, commenting that she’s thankful she didn’t pick up the habit of bringing her own pillow with her like her mother does. Harry laughs at that, the first and only time that night. 

Aurora lays down on her side facing Harry, holding up the sheet and blanket that are left, Harry lays in the empty space. Tossing the covers over Harry's body, she moves as close to him as she can. Propping herself up on her forearm, she peers over to catch his eyes. She moves a rogue curl from his face and leans down to kiss him on the lips one last time for the night. After switching off the light on her side of the bed she settles behind him, his back to her front. Aurora hooks a leg over Harry  and when her hand is in his hair, softly running her nails against his scalp he sinks into her chest and in turn, further into the mattress. When his eyes flutter for the last time, closing completely as he falls asleep, Aurora presses a kiss to his shoulder landing near the ‘A’.

She continues to run her hands through his thick curls for a while longer. She watches as his pink lips part as slow, even breaths fall in and out. His features are completely relaxed. It's the first time in almost a week that she’s seen his face without a permanent furrow to his brows. Once she knows he lost deep in sleep, she wraps her once busy hand around his torso, hooks her chin between the base of his neck and shoulder and falls asleep with him. 

The final night of the Asia leg of tour was long and Harry was counting down the hours till he could crash onto the almost familiar bed in his favourite villa in Rome. Aurora and Harry take a car straight to the Tokyo airport from the arena after saying goodbye to their friends for the next 10 days. Sarah and Mitch are going back to london to get some rest, Adam is going back home to his wife and kids. Most of the crew are London based so they’ll head home too before they pack back up to start the 2nd half of tour. 

Both Harry and Aurora are clad in their own black World Tour 2018 hoodies, their hoods pulled up all the way. The airport is pretty quiet, given it being past midnight. Harry’s security leads the couple to the private lounge while they wait for their flight to board. Harry dozes off while waiting and Aurora facetimes her parents as it’s morning back in New York. She paces the almost empty lounge while she talks to her parents on Facetime. Her mom catches a glimpse of Harry’s sleeping figure in the background which sparks several questions. Saved by the bell, Sean, Harry’s head of security calls her name and says it’s time to board. Aurora says goodbye and hangs up before waking Harry. The 3 of them grab their carry on bags, Harry and Aurora following Sean to the terminal. 

Aurora wishes she wasn't so tired so she could properly enjoy her first time in first class but her and Harry barely get out a sentence to each other before they're both asleep.

| | | | | 

They’re ushered into a large black SUV when they land in Rome. Harry instinctively grabs Aurora’s bag, tossing his own over his shoulder and reaches for her hand when they’re dropped off at the villa. The sun is out and the almost 13 hour flight helping the dark circles begin to disappear. Aurora’s eyes widen when she pulls her focus from Harry’s broad back. In front of her is a cream brick house. She’s never seen a house this big. Well, it’s called a villa for a reason, she laughs to herself. Opening the front door after turning the key in the lock, Harry pulls Aurora inside. 

Setting the bags down near the staircase that is directly in front of the front door, Harry turns around. Aurora’s eyes haven’t changed since she got here. They’re wide with wonder and awe. 

“I’ve never-” she doesn’t finish her sentence. Her eyes dark around the beautiful home. 

“I know it’s obnoxiously big, I swear I’m not trying to be like that, but it’s my favourite place in Italy. I normally come here with a big group, so it makes sense then,” he stops himself from rambling. “I wanted to share it with you,” he says once he’s got his arms wrapped around Aurora’s waist. 

“Harry, it’s beautiful,” she almost whispers, entranced by the details and the feeling that is sitting in the pit of her stomach. It’s almost the same feeling she had when she walked into Harry’s London home. Her hands hold onto his biceps as she takes one more look around before looking at Harry. “Thank you for bringing me here.” 

| | | | | 

They’re sitting on the floor of the living room, an old unique rug underneath them. Fresh mugs of tea are steaming in their hands. They are facing the big picture window that looks out onto the grounds of the villa. The sunset cast the perfect light into the cozy room. 

“What scares you the most?” Harry’s voice breaks the silence. 

Aurora looks at Harry and lets out a breath. She pulls her lips in between her teeth, thinking. She knows what scares her. She’s got plenty of fears, most are silly and she knows those are her brain messing with her. But, the thing that scares her most? “Never feeling comfortable in myself.”

“Ror,” Harry says with small laugh, “you’re so confident though, and so sure in what you know and-”

“No,” she cuts him off, she shakes her head, focusing on the swirl of the hot tea in her mug, thankful their backs are to the sofa, so she doesn’t have to look at him right now. “I don’t think it's the confidence and I’ve been pretending to know things since I could talk. Ask my mom,” she lets out a short laugh then pauses before getting to her point. “I can fake being confident and knowing what I’m doing. I’m really good at it. I’m scared I’ll never actually be comfortable in myself enough and that I’ll have to fake it forever. That I’ll go through my entire life playing pretend with myself, overthinking every move.” Aurora doesn't dare look at Harry’s face, instead she trains her eyes on the darkening horizon in front of her. 

“You never feel fake to me,” Harry encourages. Aurora sighs. 

“I’ve had a lot of practice, never really come off fake, I guess?” Aurora thinks about where she wants this conversation to go. It’s Harry after all and this villa feels like a world away from everything else. “I’ve got a lot to work on still, but it is getting easier.” She sets her mug down and turns to Harry. “I feel comfortable when I’m with you,” she admits. Harry’s eyes light up. “I’ve never felt this comfortable in myself or with someone in a long time.” Harry leans over the small space between them and lands his lips on the top of Aurora’s cheek. 

“Come ‘ere,” he says, setting his mug down and then motioning to the space between his legs. Aurora smiles softly as she moves on the rug. She reciprocates his actions and kisses his cheek quickly before leaning her back against his chest. 

As they get comfortable again, he wraps his arms around her torso and she rests her hands on top of his. She lets her breathing match his, their chests rising and falling at the same time. She sinks further into his chest, fully relaxing as his hot breath hits the top of her ear a few times. 

“What scares you?” she tosses his question back. Harry nudges his nose into Aurora’s hair, kisses the skin behind her ear and then sighs. 

Harry begins to move Aurora’s hair off her neck as he speaks, “M’scared of not knowing who I really am, or could be.” He kisses the back of Aurora’s neck softly and it makes Aurora squirm. His motions are so light they barely feel real. “The time where I was meant to be figuring that out was the busiest, craziest time of my life. I’m afraid I’ll never get that time to discover myself, back.” 

“If it counts for anything,” Aurora speaks up, leaning to the side so she can peer back at Harry, “I think you’re pretty great.” Harry laughs lightly. “Seriously though, it can’t be easy to do all that in the public eye, but it seems like you’re getting there. I studied fashion so that’s where I can pinpoint it easily, it’s where I see people express themselves and feel like I can really see who someone is through their clothes. That’s why I feel in love with it in the first place.” Aurora kisses the edge of Harry’s jaw, noticing how it had tensed up. He lets out a breath. “And even though I’ve only really known you for a short amount of time I can see the transition and the coming into your own through your clothes. Saw it happen years ago and it just continues.” She twists her body around more so she can really look at him. “I can see it on your face when you’ve got something on that you feel so incredibly confident in, singing your own songs, the music you made. It’s hard to describe what I see night after night, but,” she stutters, unsure how to word the feeling that flutters in her chest every time she sees him perform on stage. “It may not feel like it to you, but I think you’re doing a pretty good job of figuring out who you are.” She kisses the corner of his mouth, where it ticks up in a smile first. “Always a work in progress though,” she adds. 

Harry’s eyes gleamed. The sun has set fully now and the flicks of light from the few candles they lit earlier in the evening create a warm glow throughout the room. It doesn’t take Aurora long to cradle Harry’s shadowed face in her hands and pulls kiss after kiss from him.

Harry’s arms engulf Aurora and she’s pulled tight to his chest, their legs tangled together. Their mugs of tea go cold long before they remember them. After tossing the cold tea down the sink they make their way up to the master bedroom and retire for the evening. 

| | | | |

Aurora’s eyes light up when she steps out of the car and onto the beautiful grounds of the Villa Lante. Through the large, innately carved, moss covered arc Aurora can see an expansive green filled garden. A woman with a clipboard says hello to Harry and it seems that he’s worked with her before. Harry takes the initiative to introduce Aurora. The woman checks her list and ushers them under the Arc pointing out the row of makeshift white tents set up to the right of the fountain in front of them. 

Harry Lambert is waiting outside one of the tents when the couple make their way in. Lambert greets them both and immediately Harry is pulled off to get to hair and makeup. 

“How’s Italy treating you so far?” Lambert asks as he brings her into the tent that is housing the several rolling racks of clothes. 

“It’s lovely,” Aurora answers before she’s fully distracted by the clothes in front of her. She runs her hands over the intricate details of each flower that’s stitched onto one of the jackets. 

Lambert begins to go over the lay of the land and walk Aurora through the schedule for the day. In about an hour, Harry should be done in hair and makeup and come to them to get dressed. Aurora and Lambert begin to pull together an outfit for the first scene. They opt to start out simple and prep a solid cloudy grey jacket and lilac shirt and trousers. 

Harry enters almost exactly an hour later, a tray of coffees in his hand and someone follows behind carrying another tray. There’s enough for everyone floating in and out of the tent. 

“Here ya go, Ror,” Harry says, grabbing the one he’s written her name on. She thanks him as she always does. She’s nervous to say the least, but the familiarity of Harry bringing her a coffee eases the nerves a little. 

Once Harry’s dressed in the suit, Lambert and Aurora take a step back to make any adjustments needed. Harry’s hair is the longest it’s been in a while and the stylists have got it set and curled just right. Aurora remembers a gold hair piece she saw earlier on the table. Grabbing it, she hovers it over Harry's head to see what Lambert thinks before placing it in his hair. 

“Yes, absolutely,” Lambert approves. 

As aurora rounds to the front of Harry to face him he purses his lips, suppressing a smile. She rolls her eyes minutely at his hidden expression and focuses on the task on hand. Twisting the crownlike headband in her hand she lets out a huff. 

“Will ya bend down for me, Har?” He does as he’s asked and smiles up at her through his eyelashes. She scrunches her nose at him as she tries to hide a smile now. 

She places the gold crown on his head, adjusts it lightly and moves one curl so it doesn’t cover the detail at the center of it. 

“You look like a prince,” she comments, only loud enough for Harry to hear. 

| | | | |  

“Ya really think I looked like a prince?” Harry asks from where he’s standing across the kitchen, glass of wine in his hand. 

Aurora’s busy at the stove top as she laughs at him. “You’re not gonna let this go, huh?” she asks as she turns around. The blue apron she has tied around her waist is starting to get dirty as she moves through the recipe she has pulled up on her phone. 

Her and Harry had stopped at the local shop to get food for the week and Aurora offered to make dinner for the 2 of them tonight. When they got back and Aurora started cooking Harry was instructed that his only job was to drink wine once the groceries were put away. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying watching Aurora work around the kitchen. 

Harry shakes his head, “Definitely not going to let it go,” he answers. Sipping his wine he walks over to Aurora. “So what are we having?” Harry thinks he could do this the rest of his life. Sneaking away on trips with Rory, watching her move around an unfamiliar kitchen like it’s her own, sharing quiet evenings and all that consumes their heads like they did the night before. 

“It’s my dad's recipe, toasted ravioli, but I’ve never made it with fresh made ravioli, only ever frozen. The first few might be failures, we’ll see.” 

“Smells good!” Harry compliments, resting his hip against the counter, smiling at her. 

“My dad always made it for big occasions or celebrations growing up. Now he’ll make it when all of us are home, still kind of a celebration then, I guess.” 

“What’re we celebrating?” 

“Hmmm,” Aurora begins, “not sure, guess I just wanted to make you dinner.” 

“How about we celebrate this?” Aurora’s eyebrows knit together in confusion but before she can get out a word he’s connecting their lips.

The kiss is languid and passionate. Aurora sets the utensil she had in her hand on the counter so she can wrap her arms around his shoulders. Harry pulls away and rests his forehead against hers. 

“I love you.” 

Aurora’s eyes go wide and she feels tears prickle at her waterline and squeezes her eyes shut. She opens them just as quickly. A flush creeps up on her face as Harry’s eyes bore into her own, his green iris’ full of nothing but compassion and love. Aurora kisses him quickly so she can relay her feelings and get the 3 exact same words out to him. 

“I love you, too,” she whispers against his lips. 

They would stand there in the kitchen kissing for the rest of the night if the oil didn’t start spattering in the deep pot barely a foot behind Aurora. She lets out a surprised “oh,” both of them jumping at the sound. She pulls away from him, regrettably, to attend to the hot oil and the food that needs to be cooked. She sucks in a deep breath, her head a bit dizzy and lets it out as she turns the burner down just a notch before dropping the first few breaded raviolis in the oil. 

Harry presses a kiss to her cheek as she watches the pot and then sits back on a stool nearby to watch her make dinner. She turns her head to him and sees him shamelessly watching her every move. Neither of them say anything. They mirror each other’s smiles. Harry smiles Aurora’s favourite smile. The one where his lips turn up so much that his gums show, his nose scrunches up and the crinkle from his nose melt into the ones that appear at his eyes. His dimples are deep and the shimmer to his eyes is nothing but another way of proving he is her sunshine. 

They eat dinner on the patio in the backyard of the villa, finishing a full bottle of wine by the time they finish dinner. Harry grabs a new bottle and a blanket from inside when they move from the table to the lounge chair that faces the same sunset they watched the night before. 

The light breeze and repeated whispers of ‘I love you’ back and forth are the only sounds as they watch the sun set. Aurora snuggles into Harry even more as he begins to softly sing ‘Leather and Lace.” 

She falls asleep against him and Harry happily carries her up to bed. One last exchange of “I love you”s is all that is needed before they’re both fast asleep. 

| | | | |

“I get why you sit with me while I get ready, now,” Harry comments, talking only loud enough to be heard over Aurora’s music that’s playing softly from her phone. Aurora smiles at him in the mirror. He is sitting on a velvet covered vanity seat that was tucked away in the corner of the master bathroom until Harry pulled it out to sit with Aurora. 

He admires how her delicate fingers apply her makeup. He can’t help but smile while he watches her. The red floral wrap dress she has on moves slightly as she sways along to the music, singing along every so often. 

“Okay, all done!” she announces. She’s got a look on her face like she’s proud of herself and she is. She’s always enjoyed taking the time to do her make up and she’s particularly thrilled with how her eyeliner turned out today. 

Harry follows her to the bedroom where their stuff is scattered around. She grabs her purse and tosses it on the bed. Last night, courtesy of Gucci, both her and Harry were sent an array of boxes and bags. She pulls the latest gucci tote out of a fresh box and sets it on the bed. Before transferring her belongings from her old, torn up purse she runs her fingers over the freshly embroidered monogram. AMDG is embroidered in red thread - Aurora Marie Del Gatto. 

Once she packs her things into their place she pulls the bag over her shoulder and looks at herself in the mirror. The red lipstick she put on matches her dress and the monogram letters perfectly and her small heeled boots give her a boost of confidence. 

“You look beautiful, Rory,” Harry says as he sees her reflection in the large mirror. Harry places a hand on her waist and kisses the crown of her head. 

“Thank you,” she says with a sweet smile. Aurora turns to Harry and gives him an unexpected hug. He has a look of surprise on his face when they pull apart. “I’m just really grateful for all of this,” she explains. 

“I didn’t buy you the purse, Ror,” he chuckles. 

“No, I know that. I’m grateful for this opportunity, for being in Italy, just being here with you in general.” Harry kisses her swiftly. Harry shushes her before she continues. 

“We’ve still got 2 more days of shooting left, things could go downhill from here,” he jokes, “and you’ve got 3 more days of being here with me and then we’ve got another half of tour to go through. You’ve gotta be sick of me.” 

“Could never be sick of you,” she says, running a hand through his hair. 

“and why’s that?” he counters. 

“‘Cause I love you, that’s why.” That answer earns a kiss. 

“Love you too, Rory,” he says with red stained lips. 

| | | | | 

Harry’s body becomes flush with Aurora’s as he backs her up into the tall hedge. His hands have a strong hold on her hips and Aurora’s given up trying to push him away, letting her hands sneak around his neck. 

“Someone is going to find us, Harry,” Aurora giggles into his lips. 

“Alessandro called the end of the day, everyone is packing up and leaving. Nobody will find us,” he rushes out so he can press another bruising kiss to her lips. 

There’s something about an ancient garden and sneaking around through a maze of tall hedges that is so romantic and thrilling at the same time. The hedges rustles as the wind blows through them and birds chirp in the late afternoon sun. 

Harry toys at the bow tied at Aurora’s waist and she squeals when she feels it come loose. She yelps his name as he kisses at her collarbone. Her hands move from his chest to her dress that is daringly close to fall open completely. She ties it quickly and Harry’s hands rush to stop hers. 

“Stop,” she whines, “I don’t have anything underneath.” Harry pulls away immediately and groans at her confession. His jaw drops. “Don’t give me that look, I just don’t have a bra on. Don’t need one with this dress.” She kisses the dopey look off his face. His grip on her isn’t as strong so she takes the opportunity to push him against the hedges now. She laughs at the vision in front of her. Harry’s once perfect hair is a mess and his mouth is covered in Aurora’s red lipstick. She uses her thumb to try to wipe some of it away but has no luck. “I should have some makeup wipes in my bag,” she giggles. 

“Don’t worry about that now, I’m not finished,” Harry says as he surges forward, connecting their lips together. 

Their laughter fills the air of Villa Lante as they chase each other around the garden, sneaking kisses behind the tall hedges. Aurora doesn’t think she’s felt this carefree and joyous in years. She feels like a kid running around a park without a worry in the world and she’s happily sharing this feeling with Harry. 

| | | | |

The last day of the shoot has to be Aurora’s favourite. There’s 2 suit changes and Harry looks even more like a prince with his rogue curl falling out of where the rest of his curls are pulled back by the crown. The animals on set today make Harry extra giggly and Aurora can’t help but laugh along with the crew as the small black and white goat that’s in Harry’s hands presses its nose to Harry’s chin, sniffing at his face. Harry’s face bunches up as he giggles. Aurora gazes lovingly at him. 

Alessandro Michele comes up to Aurora at the end of the shoot and thanks her for her hard work and she thinks she could die right there. Harry’s strong grip on her waist is the only thing keeping herself upright. She’s admired Alessandro since he took over as Creative Director of Gucci. She thanks him up and down for the opportunity. The Gucci team sets up a small party to celebrate the end of the shoot with incredible wine and cheese boards. 

From a few feet away Harry can’t help but smile as he watches Aurora mingle with the designers, photographers, assistants and the rest of the creative team. She looks like she’s in her element and she’s glowing. Harry can’t believe he gets to love this girl for as long as she’ll let her. He sure hopes it's for a long long time. 

Harry and Aurora take a final stroll through the maze of hedges as the sun sets on the beautiful garden. Aurora tries to thank Harry for giving her this opportunity but he cuts her off. 

“It might have helped a small bit that I’m in love with you,” Harry says with a wink, “but your hard work is what got you here. Alessandro hired you on Lambert’s suggestion, not mine.” 

“Still, I wouldn’t be here if it weren't for you.” Harry tries to speak but Aurora won’t have it. “Just let me thank you, okay?” Harry nods as Aurora reaches up to kiss him softly. “I’m kinda ready to go,” Aurora shares as she trails her hands down Harry’s chest. Her hands land on the belt of his pants as she kisses him again, this time tilting her head to kiss him deeper. 

“Okay,” Harry says breathlessly when they pull apart. 

 | | | | | 

The next morning when Aurora wakes up she can’t put a finger on what she’s feeling. She’s not startled by the unfamiliar room she’s in because she can hear Harry’s slow, steady heartbeat where her head lays on his chest. She moves her body minuelty against Harry, snuggling in closer and is reminded of last night when her bare chest slides against his and his arms wrap tighter around her. A sigh leaves her mouth before pressing a light kiss to the skin of his chest that is nearest her lips. 

“Just a few more minutes, Ror.” Harry’s voice is low and raspy. “Tired me out last night, need some extra sleep.” Aurora groans cause even half asleep, on a peaceful morning, Harry can be a menace. 

She looks up to him through her lashes, his eyes still closed, his breathing still slow, his face soft. She recalls last night as she traces the lines of his tattoos on his torso.

//

When they get back to the villa Aurora pauses in the entryway as the door closes behind her. She inhales through her nose and lets the breath out through her mouth. Her fingertips are tingling but not in the way they normally do. Her whole body feels like this. Every surface of her body is tingly and Aurora’s heart is beating fast and she knows where she’s about to venture. 

As she walks towards Harry, she hopes that he doesn’t ask her a question or expect her to talk right now because her voice is caught in her chest. She couldn’t speak even if she tried. She reaches her hands up to Harry’s face when she gets to him. Pulling him down to her, he obliges and kisses her lips. They kiss, standing there for as long as they both can stand it. When Aurora pulls away to catch her breath she meets Harry’s vulnerable eyes, his breathing uneven just like hers. She grabs his hand and leads him up the stairs.

It’s when she pulls her shirt over her head that Harry sucks in a breath through his teeth. Their eyes meet for a moment and Aurora hopes that he can read her just as he did that night in the bar. He dips his head down to press a kiss to her shoulder as he slowly pushes her black bra strap to the side. When he looks back to her Aurora reaches for the hem of his shirt. She kisses him softly on the lips before pulling his t-shirt over his head. 

His shirt is tossed to the floor and lands somewhere unknown to either of them. Aurora lets out a short nervous laugh when she meets Harry’s eyes. Her eyes dart to his bare chest and her hands lightly trail down his skin. They pause at the laurels that are inked on his hips. The bottom of them is hidden under the waistband of his boxers and trousers. She hooks her fingers into the waistband of his black trousers. Harry has a hand holding the back of Aurora’s head, tilting it sideways as he presses kiss after kiss down her neck and across her shoulder and over her collarbone. He pauses his actions when he feels Aurora fumble with the button on his trousers. 

“Ror,” he says softly, his hands going to her wrists to pause her actions as well. She looks up to him. “Seems like you’re better at getting me in clothes than getting me out of them,” he says with a light chuckle. Aurora lets out all of the air that’s in her chest through her nose, it’s an equally annoyed and frustrated release. 

“Do you want me to take your clothes off or not?” There’s a hint of mischievousness to her tone. 

Harry’s head drops back, a groan coming from the back of his throat. “Are you sure, Ror?” Harry’s voice is soft and serious, but it doesn’t lack compassion or love or lust, even. 

Aurora’s chest feels hot, her cheeks flush and she nods because getting her voice to work right now is only going to draw this on longer. Harry carefully takes her head in his hands, the softest touch he’s had with her yet, and collides their lips. He only disconnects their lips for a moment to turn his head to the side to kiss her deeper. The next time he pulls away he speaks up, resting his forehead against hers. 

“Rory, I need you to say it,” he kisses her swiftly, unable to bear the smallest amount of time not attached to her lips. “Need you to say yes, say this is what you want,” his eyes are pleading with hers. Aurora only nods as she swallows. She can hear her heartbeat in her ears and she’s sure Harry can hear it as well. His hands move to rest on her waist. Goosebumps arise all over as his rough, calloused fingertips dig into the bare skin. 

Aurora closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. Her hands go to his jaw and she trails a finger along the edge of one side. “Yes, Harry, I want this,” she whispers. She looks him in the eyes as she tucks a stray curl back in its place. The green of his eyes is barely there, but still striking nonetheless. She tries to kiss the smirk off his face but when she pulls away it’s still there, dimple and all. “Will you let me take your clothes off now?” She asks, reaching back to the button of his trousers. Aurora doesn’t drop her focus to her hands and keeps her eye locked with Harry’s. She can’t help but mirror the joy on Harry's face. 

It’s Harry’s turn to be speechless and he nods as Aurora continues her previous movements. She giggles as his pants come loose, the button not only sliding through the buttonhole but popping off the fabric completely. It bounces once on the floor before rolling away to a place neither of them care to figure out. They're both in fits of laughter. 

Through giggles and smiles Aurora apologizes, “Sorry! I can sew that back on! I promise!” They only stop laughing when Harry takes Aurora’s face in his hands again and kisses her deeply. 

“You can fix it tomorrow. We’ve got much more important things at hand,” he says between kisses. Aurora works his now unbuttoned pants over his bum and he helps her push them down so he can step out of them. All whilst kissing her again and again, he manages to move them towards the bed that they’ve been calling theirs for the past few days. 

Aurora begins to work her mouth down the side of Harry's neck. She smiles into the next kiss at his collarbone when she can not only hear, but feel the low groan Harry makes as it rattles his chest. She feels Harry’s hands move from her waist to the front of her pants. Now returning the favour, he ceremoniously drags Aurora’s jeans off her. 

She’s been here before with Harry, but anything that comes next is new territory. She wants it, the flutter at the bottom of her stomach tells her so. Her ever quickening heartbeat reminds her this is real and that she really does love the man that is worshiping her right now. 

Aurora’s eyes follow his every move. They flutter when he places a soft kiss to the skin above the waistband of her underwear. His lips leave a heated path from there, up the center of her stomach and to her sternum. He sucks lightly at her collarbone before he kisses her on the lips again. Both of their chests are rising and falling rapidly, from the lack of oxygen because they can’t stop kissing or from the nerves that are coursing through the both of them, neither are sure. A combination of both most likely. Though the nerves are there, Aurora feels more confident than she ever has before. 

She’s been naked and vulnerable with someone before, but never has she felt this. She feels like baring her entire self to Harry right now is the best moment of her life. She feels free and unashamed of the small marks here or there on her skin. The patch of hair she missed when she shaved her legs last doesn’t even cross her mind. The unmatching, probably ripped pair of underwear she has on doesn’t bother her. The stretch marks that cover her breasts, which she has hated her whole adult life, are nothing to be ashamed of and so she takes this new found confidence and reaches back to the clasps on her bra. As she unhooks them, she realises that her confindence and sureness in herself isn’t just because it’s Harry who stands in front of her. Yes, he is the one who has created the space for her to feel like this but she’s really here because of herself. She’s proud of who she is and all she is because she’s made progress, even in a short few months. Aurora will reflect back on this moment for years to come, regardless if her and Harry aren’t the same as they are now. The Aurora that left home to go on tour is not the same Aurora that is standing here now, pulling the straps of her bra off her shoulders. 

When she really looks at Harry she has to give him credit. He is part of the reason she’s standing here. He’s taught her in a few short, crazy weeks that being vulnerable is okay. That sticking around and fighting for something is worth it. That letting go and being open to love is perfectly okay. She doesn’t feel the need to pretend that she’s comfortable. Not for herself. Not for Harry. She really is okay right now.

As the fabric of her bra hits the floor, Harry’s face shows nothing but love as his eyes dart from the newly uncovered skin, to her lips, to her eyes and back. His hands move from her hips, up the side of her body and graze the side of breasts. She lets out a shaky breath. 

“I love you,” he reminds Aurora. “I love you so much, Rory,” he repeats. 

“Harry,” she breathes out, her hands going to rest on his chest, smoothing over the skin before she reciprocates the gesture, “love you, too,” she rushes out. And then they’re kissing and Harry is guiding her down to the bed. 

Northern lights and sunshine could never exist at the same time. It’s not possible in this universe. Except for right now, as Harry stares down at Aurora and Aurora back up at him. There’s nothing between their 2 bodies that can get in the way. He’s shining more than Aurora’s ever seen and Harry is seeing new colours. In a different world, their bodies melding together, would look like bursts of sunlight weaving through the bright colours of the Northern Lights. A sight that would surely stop anyone in their tracks. 

// 

The morning sun now shines through the gauzy white curtains and Aurora is pulled out of her thoughts as Harry lightly grazes his hand up and down her bare back. Goosebumps appear in the wake of his fingertips. She lifts her head up to look at him clearly. His eyes are barely open but the sun shining through the window makes the green of his eyes an almost silver colour with dark green edges. He smiles softly down at her. Aurora can’t help but smile back. She slides her leg all the way over his hips and presses their chests together, laying down on top of him. Harry pulls the crisp white sheet as she moves and leaves it low but covering their bottom halves. Harry wraps his arms around Aurora and hugs her to him. They don’t move for a long while. They spend the majority of the sunny morning passing kisses back forth. 

Sunshine and the Northern Lights could never exist together, yet here in this villa too big for just the 2 of them, Aurora and Harry exist as one.  

I really hope you enjoyed this part ! 💕 thank you sooo much for reading ! please reblog to share with your friends, it really helps out :) 

[dilutesworry]

❛                    𝒉𝒆    takes    no    time    to    shake    his    wings    dry    again    ,    but    for    us    –    a    few    drops    of    love    are    intense    pain    .    wine    rouses    the    heart    ,    wine    makes    all    men    lovers    –    wine    ,    undiluted    ,    dilutes    worry    .

               *     omg  hello  ,  i’m  so  excited  to  be  here  i  love  mythology  in  all  forms  &  i  simply  ,  am  a  s-word  for  it  always  .  i’m  cc  ,  cst  tz  w  /  feminine  pronouns  &  this  is  bacchus  ,  who  i’ve  never  written  before  but  am  excited  to  try  my  hand  at  !  in  a  nutshell  ,  he  can  be  described  as  scarily  calm  angry  guy  who’s  wine  drunk  &  has  a  flair  for  the  dramatics  .  lots  more  under  the  cut  ,  but  i’m  so  excited  for  this  so  pls  !  hit  the  stupid  lil  heart  to  plot  or  hmu  for  my  discord  !  general  tw  for  alcohol  .

  ❛           𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔  &  𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒌     ›     𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐒     .  

(   YOON   JEONGHAN,   CIS   MAN,   HE   /   HIM    ╱    well,   if   it   isn’t   BACCHUS,   who   has   decided   to   grace   us   with   HIS   presence.   I   heard   the   GOD   OF   WINE   &  MADNESS   has   been   living   amongst   the   humans   for   417   YEARS,  and  hasn’t   aged   a   day,   funny   right   ?   they   can   be   EQUABLE   &   WILY,   you   should   watch   out   because   they   are   also   known   to   be   INTEMPERATE   &   AUDACIOUS.   HE   harnesses   the   power   of   MADNESS  INDUCTION,   and   have   chosen   the   path   of   being   AGAINST   the   humans.    ╱  CC,   20,   CST   )

  ❛           𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆  &  𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒘     ›     𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒     .    

he    sits    by    the    sea    ,    swallowed    in    sand    with    an    empty    chalice    in    his    hands    .    his    eyes    are    tired    ,    an    irrationally    calm    ire    that    rests    on    impenetrable    skin    while    he    watches    the    sun    rise    .    will    he    ever    tire    of    the    simple    things    ?    there    was    once    beauty    in    humanity    –    he’s    spent    centuries    dancing    naked    in    the    woods    ,    flowers    adorned    in    his    hair    sending    messages    in    the    breeze    ;    life    hasn’t    been    the    same    since    last    he    blinked    .    oh    ,    he    tires    ,    he    longs    to    sink    in    the    sand    unforgotten    ,    but    accursed    with    the    weight    of    mankind    ,    he    tires    –    of    them    .

  ❛           𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒖𝒔  𝒊𝒏  𝒕𝒉𝒆  𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒆     ›     𝐅𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐒     .  

                           ✧  *   CORE  

↠  full  name  .  bacchus   /   alias  baek  suhwan ↠ nickname(s)  /  alias(es)  /   title(s)  .  roman  god  of  wine  &  madness  ,  baek  suhwan  –  in  the  modern  age  to  mortals   ↠  age  /  dob  .  immortal  /  appears  twenty  -  eight ↠  hometown  .  rome  (  if  u  saw  me  put  greece  here  first  no  u  didn’t  ) ↠  current  location  .  new  york  city  . ↠  stance  .  against  mankind  . ↠  abilities  .  madness  induction  . ↠  gender .  cis  gendered  man  . ↠  pronouns .  he  /  him  . ↠  orientation  .  bisexual  ,  grayromantic  . ↠  occupation  .  ????  billionaire  playboy  ???? ↠  face  claim  .  yoon  jeonghan  .

       ✧  *   COUNTENANCE

↠  height  .  six  feet  ,  one  inch  /  187  cm ↠  build .  broad  shoulders  ,  though  he’s  got  thinner  limbs  than  the  more  athletic  of  his  kind  .  best  described  as  lean  ,  but  well  toned  . ↠  tattoos  .  a  couple  hand  tattoos  ,  XII  on  the  back  of  his  neck  . ↠  piercings  .  ears  . ↠  scars  .  none  . ↠  hair .  these  days  he’s  sporting  jet  black  ,  messy  curls  that  usually  fall  into  his  eyes  .  he’s  been  known  to  try  different  hair  colors  ,  but  hasn’t  been  blonde  or  otherwise  in  the  last  century  . ↠  eyes  .  dark  ,  and  always  seeming  to  swirl  with  a  mix  of  emotions  –  it  teems  on  raw  anger  and  sheer  entertainment  ,  but  his  eyes  tend  to  always  just  be  watching  and  observing  ,  easily  putting  most  mortals  at  unease  if  he  wants  to  . ↠  clothing  style  .  whatever’s  on  trend  –  but  just  ,  slightly  off  .  in  his  youth  on  earth  ,  used  to  sport  bright  colors  and  flashy  clothing  but  in  the  most  recent  years  (  decades  ,  even  ,  not  centuries  )  he’s  toned  it  way  down  to  neutrals  and  dark  toned  clothing  .  it’s  jarring  ,  since  he’s  mostly  outwardly  still  the  same  ,  he  just  looks  like  he’s  matured  a  lot  more  . ↠  usual  expression  .  just  slightly  entertained  ,  half  a  smirk  written  on  his  lips  while  a  golden  chalice  is  tipped  toward  them  .  always  like  he’s  in  on  a  secret  that  he’s  not  supposed  to  know  about  ,  like  he’s  just  on  the  verge  of  ruining  your  life  if  you  choose  to  approach  him  in  the  darkness  of  the  party  –  he  screams  danger  ,  but  he’s  tempting  . ↠  speech  .  slightly  off  putting  ,  as  if  when  listening  you’re  unable  to  discern  where  he’s  really  from  –  because  his  words  sound  a  little  ,  ancient  ,  a  little  too  powerful  .  he  speaks  like  he’s  the  most  important  person  ,  and  like  attention  and  glory  are  owed  to  him  .  awfully  crude  ,  but  he’s  charming  enough  to  get  away  with  his  egotistical  tendencies  and  how  harshly  his  words  leave  his  lips  . ↠  distinguishing  features  .  an  aura  that  demands  attention  –  whether  he’s  earned  it  or  not  ,  worn  fingertips  that  are  always  rough  against  others’  skin  ,  tilted  lips  that  always  spread  in  a  trouble  -  making  grin  ,  clever  eyes  that  don’t  seem  to  match  the  rest  of  his  demeanor  .

       ✧  *  RUMINATIONS    

↠  (  +  )  positive .  equable  ,  wily ↠  (  -  )  negative  .  intemperate  ,  audacious ↠  moral  alignment  .  chaotic  evil ↠  likes  .  wine  (  though  ,  won’t  complain  about  other  types  of  alcohol  either  )  ,  long  parties  that  last  days  –  even  if  it’s  not  as  common  these  days  ,  the  silent  roar  of  the  sea  ,  the  feel  of  an  evenly  balanced  blade  in  hand  ,  naked  company  resting  between  silk  sheets  ,  cliff  diving  (  won’t  explain  )  ,  being  awake  in  a  city  that  never  sleeps  –  roams  free  barefoot  in  the  streets  from  time  to  time  ,  never  ending  adventures  with  heroes  ;  hasn’t  found  a  hero  worth  following  ,  though  . ↠  dislikes  .  most  mankind  –  they’ve  lost  his  respect  far  too  long  ago  ,  death  (  of  a  party  ,  of  a  favored  mortal  ,  of  joy  )  ,  disrespect  toward  him  –  everyone  else  is  fair  game  ,  apparently  ,  most  demigods  –  they’re  just  annoying  ,  being  uncomfortable  –  therefore  often  indulges  in  the  finest  things  in  life  ,  most  modern  music  (  old  man  vibes  )  . ↠  quirks  .  will  pull  out  various  ,  priceless  chalices  and  goblets  seemingly  out  of  nowhere  –  usually  accompanied  by  a  rare  ,  expensive  bottle  of  wine  (  won’t  offer  to  anyone  else  ,  it’s  just  for  him  )  ,  raises  his  right  eyebrow  whenever  he  finds  something  interesting  ,  carries  around  an  authentic  aureus  coin  at  all  times  and  is  often  seen  flipping  and  weaving  it  between  his  fingers  . ↠  hobbies  .  disappearing  for  multiple  years  at  a  time  only  to  reappear  as  some  new  version  of  asshole  ,  letting  himself  get  into  fights  (  and  willingly  losing  )  just  to  Feel  Something  ,  lounging  in  a  silk  robe  in  his  penthouse  and  complaining  to  his  household  staff  (  aka  lamenting  like  an  old  poet  )  ,  creating  multiple  social  media  personalities  just  to  see  how  far  he  can  get  away  with  things  if  he  pretends  to  be  famous  for  a  century  or  two  .

 ❛           𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒆  𝒔𝒐𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒅     ›     𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐋𝐄     .

trigger  warnings  :  death  ,  war  –  mentions  of  blood  .

       ✧  *  ASCENSION

         *     bacchus  ,  roman  god  of  wine  &  madness  .  he  is  not  far  from  his  greek  counterpart  ,  dionysus  ,  &  often  has  the  same  stories  as  him  .  

he’s  born  from  the  thigh  of  his  father  –  birthed  as  a  demigod  while  being  raised  by  nymphs  in  order  to  be  hidden  from  the  wrath  of  an  immortal  queen  .  the  first  to  cultivate  grapes  &  turn  them  into  wine  ,  his  first  instance  with  mankind  is  spent  in  asia  –  teaching  the  mortals  their  the  secrets  of  wine  making  .  he  is  the  last  to  ascend  to  mount  olympus  ,  the  twelfth  to  take  his  seat  among  them  &  is  inherently  ,  the  baby  (  which  ,  he  lives  up  to  )  .

       ✧  *  500 YEARS AGO

             *     the  1500s  ,  bacchus  arrives  on  earth  –  naked  &  drunk  ,  awaiting  his  newest  adventure  .  he  loves  mankind  ,  despite  the  atrocities  they  perform  upon  each  other  .  a  traveling  storyteller  ,  he  finds  his  place  on  a  caravan  of  freaks  while  roaming  in  europe  .  rome  isn’t  what  it  used  to  be  ,  now  taken  over  by  men  from  the  north  who  are  just  learning  about  the  earth  being  round  –  churches  &  monarchy  are  rampant  ,  bacchus  becomes  a  bard  briefly  .  he  has  his  way  with  the  men  &  women  of  the  court  ,  charming  them  into  sin  ,  whispering  forbidden  stories  of  godhood  into  their  ears  as  he  brings  in  a  generation  of  forgotten  demigods  that  won’t  amount  to  much  .  he  falls  in  love  with  a  mortal  prince  ,  watches  him  die  in  a  baseless  fight  against  the  churches  &  the  people  .  he  disappears  for  a  few  decades  before  resurfacing  in  asia  ,  finding  an  easy  life  with  the  sprawling  dynasties  .  as  always  ,  adopts  a  life  as  a  storyteller  –  a  rambunctious  drunk  that  has  a  way  with  words  (  &  royalty  )  ,  earning  him  a  comfortable  life  .  he  ends  the  era  with  still  much  love  in  his  heart  for  mankind  –  they’ve  been  nothing  but  kind  to  him  ,  they’ve  loved  him  &  cherished  him  ,  his  anger  is  nonexistent  .

       ✧  *  400  YEARS  AGO

            *     the  1600s  ,  italy  calls  him  home  ,  bacchus  arrives  at  the  same  time  of  the  greatest  minds  mankind  has  to  offer  .  but  as  galileo  &  isaac  newton  are  quick  to  make  discoveries  (  that  are  quite  ,  common  knowledge  in  his  opinion  )  ,  he’s  the  kind  instead  to  be  distracted  by  the  pleasures  in  life  .  bacchus  is  the  same  bacchus  as  the  child  who  took  his  first  steps  just  a  century  earlier  .  he  indulges  in  the  finest  wines  &  women  ,  a  sprawling  palace  built  in  his  name  as  he  lounges  about  being  fed  grapes  .  it’s  here  he  has  his  first  taste  in  adventure  ,  after  boredom  settles  into  his  bones  .  bacchus  assimilates  into  mankind  even  more  than  he  had  previously  –  he’s  quick  to  fall  in  love  again  ,  but  not  necessarily  with  someone  –  just  ,  even  more  with  mankind  .  he  watches  from  afar  as  they  grow  &  form  ideas  ,  becoming  brighter  &  stronger  than  they  were  ever  intended  to  .  bacchus  gifts  more  to  mankind  than  ever  ,  there  are  records  of  him  all  over  europe  –  &  to  the  east  ,  a  mysterious  benefactor  in  the  ottoman empire  that  matches  his  description  .  he  most  often  brings  up  stories  from  this  era  (  &  the  18th  century  ,  but  ,  not  there  yet  )  .

       ✧  *  300  YEARS  AGO

           *     the  1700s  ,  bacchus  becomes  more  warlike  than  ever  .  he  shows  his  godhood  in  both  the  american  &  french  revolution  ,  bares  his  teeth  in  every  single  major  war  that  starts  on  earth  .  bloody  &  powerful  ,  his  stories  during  this  century  are  a  lot  more  somber  .  he  witnesses  horrors  &  pain  that  he  didn’t  know  were  necessary  (  aren’t  those  usually  things  reserved  for  the  gods  ?  he  hasn’t  experienced  life  on  earth  on  the  bad  side  ,  perhaps  he  would’ve  seen  more  if  he  had  –  understood  that  mankind  isn’t  too  far  away  from  the  gods  themselves  .  the  titanomachy  tends  to  repeat  ,  after  all  )  ,  he  gains  his  first  taste  of  disdain  for  mankind  .  even  when  he’s  settled  between  wars  with  a  crown  on  his  head  &  a  golden  spear  in  hand  ,  he’s  starting  to  see  humans  forget  him  .  they’ve  shifted  focus  ,  weapons  in  hand  with  blood  on  their  teeth  ,  left  his  altars  empty  &  forgotten  .  of  course  ,  if  he  just  shifted  his  own  focus  back  onto  the  courts  (  &  the  rich  )  he’d  be  better  off  .  but  ,  he  spends  this  century  as  a  disciple  of  war  ,  for  the  first  time  on  earth  showing  the  strength  of  the  roman  empire  .

       ✧  *  200  YEARS  AGO

          *     the  1800s  ,  bacchus  falls  back  into  old  patterns  –  indulges  more  &  more  in  his  domain  than  ever  .  this  is  his  worst  century  on  earth  –  every  god  ever  is  aware  of  bacchus  ,  who’s  fallen  very  deeply  into  a  spiral  that’s  difficult  to  get  out  of  .  when  asked  ,  it  takes  more  than  a  thousand  drinks  before  they  understand  what  he  went  through  .  dozens  of  favored  humans  dead  in  wars  ,  hundreds  of  children  lost  in  one  fell  swoop  –  while  the  world  just  moves  on  ,  he’s  stuck  running  around  the  world  spreading  his  gifts  &  powers  .  chosen  alcohol  no  matter  where  he  goes  ,  a  never  ending  party  left  his  wake  ,  newborn  maenads  in  his  name  ,  bacchus  is  an  eternal  mess  .  he  spends  very  little  actual  time  with  sober  humans  ,  keeping  other  gods  in  his  company  instead  .  he  almost  misses  home  ,  almost  chooses  to  return  home  ,  but  is  too  stuck  in  his  haze  to  really  remember  the  way  back  .  is  it  possible  for  gods  to  be  drunk  ?  is  it  possible  for  them  to  absolutely  forget  their  godhood  ?  well  ,  it  is  for  him  .

       ✧  *  100  YEARS  AGO

         *     the  1900s  ,  his  anger  is  at  an  all  time  high  ,  bacchus  is  all  but  forgotten  .  his  greek  counterpart  is  far  more  remembered  ,  he  is  left  behind  in  the  dirt  (  though  ,  who’s  fault  is  it  really  ?  over  a  hundred  years  as  a  drunkard  ,  spilling  old  stories  &  fading  from  the  forefront  of  man’s  mind  ,  he’s  got  nobody  else  but  himself  to  blame  )  .  for  the  century  ,  he’s  a  particularly  cruel  god  –  very  sly  ,  very  cunning  ,  very  not  great  for  mankind  .  a  deal  broker  ,  he’s  quick  to  help  out  humans  ,  but  always  for  a  price  &  always  an  entirely  too  high  one  .  it  doesn’t  make  much  sense  ,  since  there’s  not  much  he  can  grant except  momentary  invincibility  ,  a  quick  escape  if  needed  ,  a  personal  maenad  .  he  sets  a  quick  record  for  inducing  madness  ,  more  than  ever  in  his  entire  four  hundred  years  on  earth  –  more  people  go  insane  than  ever  under  his  fingertips  &  he  finds  it  absolutely  entertaining  .  only  toward  the  end  of  the  cold  war  does  he  find  it  in  himself  to  ...  Relax  ,  a  little  .

       ✧  *  NOW

         *     nowadays  ,  a  new  visage  on  hand  ,  he  returns  to  his  roots  from  his  favorite  place  earth  has  to  offer  .  the  first  few  years  of  the  new  century  are  spent  around  eastern  asia  ,  traveling  about  once  again  &  teaching  mankind  new  ways  to  succeed  in  the  wine  business  .  after  he’s  swindled  enough  mortals  out  of  their  money  ,  he  turns  to  the  west  &�� settles  in  manhattan  ,  new  york  .  a  penthouse  is  purchased  underneath  the  alias  “baek  suhwan”  &  he  is  content  to  live  his  days  out  ,  lounging  about  with  the  people  that  disgust  him  the  most  .  he  is  calm  now  ,  though  is  anger  is  not  forgotten  .  it’s  turned  almost  –  apathetic  ,  a  dangerous  type  of  ire  to  hold  ,  but  he’s  numbed  out  to  it  .  most  of  what  he  does  nowadays  is  insult  everyone  around  him  (  for  entertainment  )  or  be  the  most  dramatic  person  in  the  room  (  for  entertainment  )  or  cause  a  ruckus  amongst  the  gods  (  for  entertainment  )  .  as  for  mankind  ,  they’ve  really  done  nothing  in  the  recent  centuries  to  win  back  his  favor  ,  &  though  he  now  more  leans  toward  indifferent  ,  he’d  still  choose  to  fight  against  them  rather  than  ever  fighting  for  them  .

 ❛           𝒅𝒊𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒔  𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚     ›     𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃     .  

so  like  ,  in  theory  :  everything  .

but  in  specifics  i’ll  just  list  some  scenarios  instead  haha  cause  that’s  how  i  do  things  cause  smol  brain  .

001  :  we  always  run  into  each  other  &  i  know  exactly  how  to  push  your  buttons  so  i  always  do  &  maybe  you  like  it  ,  or  maybe  you  hate  it  –  i’m  still  going  to  be  as  annoying  as  possible  because  technically  ,  i  can  .

002  :  for  the  greek  gods  –  we’re  technically  related  (  but  i’m  not  greek  &   i  never  will  be  ,  ew  ,  god  )  &  i’m  technically  still  a  baby  god  compared  to  you  but  i  am  annoying  &  i  will  annoy  you  but  you  can’t  do  anything  about  it  because  i’m  the  baby  ):

003  :  same  as  above  except  you  DO  do  something  about  it  because  again  :  i’m  not  greek  so  yeah  you  beat  my  ass  

004  :  one  time  we  accidentally  started  a  small  war  between  mortals  &  that  was  kind  of  messy  but  now  we’re  friends  ,  except  mankind  insists  that  we’re  enemies  &  we  think  it’s  kind  of  funny  .

005  :  oh  ,  yeah  ,  i’m  a  “mortal”  but  i’m  really  not  good  at  hiding  it  cause  i  kinda  do  whatever  i  want  &  i  get  away  with  it  all  the  time  but  yeah  ,  dude  ,  i’m  “human”  –  what  do  you  mean  why  did  i  put  it  in  quotation  marks  i’m  not  a  god  ,  dude  –  no  i  didn’t  wink  at  you  haha

006  :  i  did  you  a  favor  once  &  now  you  think  you’ve  gotta  repay  me  back  but  like  ,  i’m  good  –  please  don’t  talk  to  me  ever  again  ,  i  don’t  like  you  please  stop  bothering  me  &  being  nice  to  me  please  stop  .

007  :  oh  ,  we  don’t  like  each  other  &  we  both  know  it  ,  so  yeah  we  just  don’t  get  along  &  i  will  fight  you  in  public  except  the  last  time  we  started  a  battle  it  wasn’t  cool  &  we  got  reprimanded  for  like  9  decades  so  let’s  Not  Do  That  but  yeah  ,  hate  u  ,  xx  .

[lawrenceop]

HOMILY for 4th Sunday after Easter (Dominican rite)

James 1:17-21; John 16:5-14

In today’s Gospel the Lord says to his disciples, why have none of you asked me, quo vadis, where are you going? Perhaps they are overcome by sorrow, or they just did not dare to ask him. But as we heard in last Sunday’s Gospel, our sorrow in this life now is only temporary and passing, for “in a little while”, our Christian hope is that we shall, by grace, see Christ again, enjoying the beatific vision in heaven. So, as the Lord said just a few verses before, he goes “to prepare a place for you” (Jn 14:2), in his Father’s house, that is to say, in heaven. And so last Sunday we considered the three-fold joy of the Saints in heaven, a joy which is to be ours if we remain united to Christ.

However, lest we think that heaven is the universal destination of all human beings; or the well-deserved home of all Christians irrespective of how they’ve lived their baptismal calling; or that heaven is simply that “better place” which awaits all people after death, it is probably vital to realise that although the disciples do not ask the Lord where he is going, the Lord Jesus does ask this of his disciples. Quo vadis? This is the question that Our Lord put to St Peter when he appeared to him after his Ascension into heaven, and the prince of the apostles was on the road out of Rome, trying to avoid his martyrdom in that city. He is trying to flee from his Christian vocation; running for his life. So the Lord comes to him and says to him “Where are you going?” For it is possible to, then, to walk away from our heavenly homeland; to choose a path that takes us further from Christ; to try to avoid the Cross and so to end up in another place, the worst place where all who reject the graces of God are, ie, in hell.

Hence the apostle, ashamed and returning to his better self, returned also to Rome and so went to a martyr’s death like Christ’s. St Peter thus entered into heavenly glory with his Christ, entering into his Master’s joy. For as Our Lord said: “He who loves his life loses it, and he who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life.” (Jn 12:25)

So the question that is put to us today, and which we must ask ourselves whenever we examine our consciences is, quo vado? Where am I going? And yes, this is posed in the first person because we are often very interested in where others are going, but the Scriptures remind us to be mindful of our own walk with Christ. So the Lord says to St Peter at the end of St John’s Gospel: “What is that to you? Follow me!” (Jn 21:22) Hence St Paul said: “Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling”. (Phil 2:12)

The focus of this church, as I mentioned last Sunday, makes it very clear where we should be going; where we are called by reason of our Christian vocation. We have before us a vision of heaven, and this is made especially evident when the Blessed Sacrament is exposed for Adoration on the Throne, and then the Dominican friars in their white habits are singing the psalms during Vespers, as it happens before this Mass. For the whole apse of this church is designed to show us what, according to the vision of St John, heaven will look like: the Lamb of God seated on the Throne; the white robed army of his followers singing the glory of God as incense goes up; a whole company of heaven looking on, thus the colourful stained glass windows showing the Saints and Angels in heaven. And then, the many pinnacles and niches and gables around the Altar evoking the many rooms in the Father’s house, and the golden walls that remind us that the heavenly Jerusalem is seen to be like pure gold. So, we have before us a vision of heaven, of our destination, and of the joys that await us in union with Mary, our exalted Queen and Mother. So, my brothers and sisters in Christ: Where are you going? To heaven, we hope!

Hence the Lord, having revealed to us the joys of heaven last week, and having told us that we shall have to endure sorrows in this life for a little while, meaning, for our lifetime, he now reveals to us the very necessary help God gives us so that we can live this life well, as faithful Christians, as steadfast pilgrims who are heading always forward towards our heavenly destination. So Jesus says: “If I go, I will send him [the Holy Spirit] to you. And when he comes, he will convince the world concerning sin and righteousness and judgement… When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth”. (Jn 16:7-8, 13)

Yes, Lord, give us now your Spirit of truth! For with purifying truth, the Holy Spirit will convince us of sin – not the sin of others, which we are quick to see and point out, but the sin that is hidden, the sins that we are too ashamed to admit to ourselves, the sins that we do not want to see but need to bring before God’s mercy if we’re to be saved. These hidden sins the Holy Spirit will bring to light so that we can be healed of them, so that we can have true repentance.

Then, having rejected our sins, the Holy Spirit will come with clarifying truth to convince us of righteousness, that is to say, he will teach us to desire virtue, and to seek the wisdom of God’s ways over the wisdom of the world. As we are observing the Year of St Joseph and yesterday was his feast day, let us look to his example to show us the wisdom of God’s ways. Pope Francis, for example, points out that “as we read the infancy narratives, we may often wonder why God did not act in a more direct and clear way. Yet God acts through events and people. Joseph was the man chosen by God to guide the beginnings of the history of redemption. He was the true “miracle” by which God saves the child and his mother. God acted by trusting in Joseph’s creative courage… A superficial reading of these stories can often give the impression that the world is at the mercy of the strong and mighty, but the “good news” of the Gospel consists in showing that, for all the arrogance and violence of worldly powers, God always finds a way to carry out his saving plan. So too, our lives may at times seem to be at the mercy of the powerful, but the Gospel shows us what counts. God always finds a way to save us, provided we show the same creative courage as the carpenter of Nazareth, who was able to turn a problem into a possibility by trusting always in divine providence.” (Patris Corde, 5)

And thirdly, having given us the Holy Spirit and his gifts and virtues to lead us, we shall be led by the Spirit of truth to judgement. To be convinced of God’s judgement is to know that we shall be called to account for what we have done with our human freedom, and to account for how we have benefited from the gifts and graces that God has given us. Thus each day we are being asked by the Holy Spirit: Quo vado, where are you going? Am I growing in charity, for as St John of the Cross says: “In the evening of life, we will be judged on love alone.” Therefore St Paul reminds us: “Why do you pass judgement on your brother? Or you, why do you despise your brother? For we shall all stand before the judgement seat of God… So each of us shall give account of himself to God.” (Rom 14:10, 12)

Many medieval churches used to have an image of divine judgement painted above the Altar to constantly remind us of this post-mortem necessity. But the question we’re asked is: Where are you going? To which the answer is not merely that we go to be judged on love alone, but rather, we go Him who is Love. The vision of heaven, therefore, which is the vision of our communion with God who is Love alone, is surely the end for which we long, and for which we hope, and by which our actions are motivated. For only Love can motivate us to love. Nevertheless it is noteworthy that in the Sistine Chapel with its monumental painting of the Last Judgement, the mouth of hell is painted directly behind the Cross on the Altar. For it is the Cross of Christ, his holy Sacrifice, his saving Love and Mercy, that has barred Man’s entry into hell.

Hence, when St Peter tried to avoid the Cross of his martyrdom and was running away, the Lord appeared to him to gently turn him around. For we too must go to the Cross; we too must be led by the Spirit of truth to follow our Crucified Lord. For in this way we remain faithful to our Christian vocation. So Jesus said: “If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it; and whoever loses his life for my sake, he will save it.” (Lk 9:23-24) Indeed, the Cross bars our entry to hell, for through it we shall be raised up with the Lord into the joys of heaven. May Our Lady, Queen of Heaven, pray for us!

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

9th March >> Mass Readings (Except USA)

Thursday, Second Week of Lent 

(optional commemoration of Saint Frances of Rome, Religious)

(Liturgical Colour: Violet: Year A(1))

First Reading Jeremiah 17:5-10 A curse on the man who puts his trust in man and turns from the Lord.

The Lord says this:

‘A curse on the man who puts his trust in man, who relies on things of flesh, whose heart turns from the Lord. He is like dry scrub in the wastelands: if good comes, he has no eyes for it, he settles in the parched places of the wilderness, a salt land, uninhabited.

‘A blessing on the man who puts his trust in the Lord, with the Lord for his hope. He is like a tree by the waterside that thrusts its roots to the stream: when the heat comes it feels no alarm, its foliage stays green; it has no worries in a year of drought, and never ceases to bear fruit.

‘The heart is more devious than any other thing, perverse too: who can pierce its secrets? I, the Lord, search to the heart, I probe the loins, to give each man what his conduct and his actions deserve.’

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 1:1-4,6

R/ Happy the man who has placed his trust in the Lord.

Happy indeed is the man who follows not the counsel of the wicked; nor lingers in the way of sinners nor sits in the company of scorners, but whose delight is the law of the Lord and who ponders his law day and night.

R/ Happy the man who has placed his trust in the Lord.

He is like a tree that is planted beside the flowing waters, that yields its fruit in due season and whose leaves shall never fade; and all that he does shall prosper.

R/ Happy the man who has placed his trust in the Lord.

Not so are the wicked, not so! For they like winnowed chaff shall be driven away by the wind: for the Lord guards the way of the just but the way of the wicked leads to doom.

R/ Happy the man who has placed his trust in the Lord.

Gospel Acclamation Luke 15:18

Praise to you, O Christ, king of eternal glory! I will leave this place and go to my father and say: ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you.’ Praise to you, O Christ, king of eternal glory!

Or: cf. Luke 8:15

Praise to you, O Christ, king of eternal glory! Blessed are those who, with a noble and generous heart, take the word of God to themselves and yield a harvest through their perseverance. Praise to you, O Christ, king of eternal glory!

Gospel Luke 16:19-31 Dives and Lazarus.

Jesus said to the Pharisees: ‘There was a rich man who used to dress in purple and fine linen and feast magnificently every day. And at his gate there lay a poor man called Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to fill himself with the scraps that fell from the rich man’s table. Dogs even came and licked his sores. Now the poor man died and was carried away by the angels to the bosom of Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried.

‘In his torment in Hades he looked up and saw Abraham a long way off with Lazarus in his bosom. So he cried out, “Father Abraham, pity me and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am in agony in these flames.” “My son,” Abraham replied “remember that during your life good things came your way, just as bad things came the way of Lazarus. Now he is being comforted here while you are in agony. But that is not all: between us and you a great gulf has been fixed, to stop anyone, if he wanted to, crossing from our side to yours, and to stop any crossing from your side to ours.” ‘The rich man replied, “Father, I beg you then to send Lazarus to my father’s house, since I have five brothers, to give them warning so that they do not come to this place of torment too.” “They have Moses and the prophets,” said Abraham “let them listen to them.” “Ah no, father Abraham,” said the rich man “but if someone comes to them from the dead, they will repent.” Then Abraham said to him, “If they will not listen either to Moses or to the prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone should rise from the dead.”’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[pamphletstoinspire]

The Circumcision of Our Lord - January 1st

by Dom Prosper Gueranger, 1870

Our new-born King and Saviour is eight days old today; the Star, that guides the Magi, is advancing towards Bethlehem, and, five days hence, will be standing over the Stable where our Jesus is being nursed by his Mother. Today, the Son of Man is to be circumcised; this first sacrifice of his innocent Flesh must honour the eighth day of his mortal life. Today, also, a Name is to be given him–the Name will be Jesus, and it means Saviour. So that, Mysteries abound on this day: let us not pass one of them over, but honour them with all possible devotion and love.

But this Day is not exclusively devoted to the Circumcision of Jesus. The mystery of this Circumcision forms part of that other great mystery, the Incarnation and Infancy of our Saviour–a mystery on which the Church fixes her heart, not only during this Octave, but during the whole forty days of Christmas-Tide. Then, as regards our Lord’s receiving the Name of Jesus, a special Feast, which we shall soon be keeping, is set apart in honour of it. There is another object, that shares the love and devotion of the Faithful, on this great Solemnity. This object is Mary, the Mother of God. The Church celebrates, today, the august prerogative of this divine Maternity, which was conferred on a mere creature, and which made her the co-operatrix with Jesus in the great work of man’s salvation.

The holy Church of Rome used formerly to say two Masses on the first of January; one was for the Octave of Christmas Day, the other was in honour of Mary. She now unites the two intentions in one Sacrifice, in the same manner as, in the rest of this Day’s Office, she unites together the acts of her adoration of the Son, and the expressions of her admiration for, and confidence in, the Mother.

Let us not be surprised, therefore, at the enthusiasm and profound respect, wherewith the Church extols the Blessed Virgin, and her prerogatives. Let us, on the contrary, be convinced, that all the praise the Church can give her, and all the devotion she can ever bear towards her, are far below what is due to her as Mother of the Incarnate God. No mortal will ever be able to describe, or even comprehend, how great a glory accrues to her from this sublime dignity. For, as the glory of Mary comes from her being the Mother of God, one would have first to comprehend God Himself, in order to measure the greatness of her dignity. It is to God, that Mary gave our human nature; it is God, whom she had as her Child; it is God, who gloried in rendering Himself, inasmuch as He is Man, subject to her: hence, the true value of such a dignity, possessed by a mere creature, can only be appreciated, in proportion to our knowledge of the sovereign perfections of the great God, who thus deigns to make Himself dependent upon that favoured creature. Let us, therefore, bow down in deepest adoration before the Majesty of our God; let us, therefore, acknowledge that we cannot respect, as it deserves, the extraordinary dignity of Her, whom He chose for His Mother.

The same sublime Mystery overpowers the mind from another point of view–what were the feelings of such a Mother towards such a Son? The Child she holds in her arms, and presses to her heart, is the Fruit of her virginal womb, and she loves Him as her own; she loves Him because she is His Mother, and a Mother loves her child as herself, nay, more than herself:–but, when she thinks upon the infinite majesty of Him, who has thus given Himself to her to be the object of her love and her fond caresses–she trembles in her humility, and her soul has to turn, in order to bear up against the overwhelming truth, to the other thought of the nine months she held this Babe in her womb, and of the filial smile he gave her when her eyes first met His. These two deep-rooted feelings–of a creature that adores, and of a Mother that loves–are in Mary’s heart. The being Mother of God implies all this:–and may we not well say, that no pure creature could be exalted more than she? and that in order to comprehend her dignity, we should first have to comprehend God Himself? and that only God’s infinite wisdom could plan such a work, and only His infinite power accomplish it?

A Mother of God!–It is the mystery, whose fulfillment the world, without knowing it, was awaiting for four thousand years. It is the work, which, in God’s eyes, was incomparably greater than that of the creation of a million new worlds, for such a creation would cost Him nothing; he has but to speak, and all whatsoever he wills is made. But, that a creature should become Mother of God, He has had, not only to suspend the laws of nature by making a Virgin Mother, but also to put Himself in a state of dependence upon the happy creature He chose for His Mother. He had to give her rights over himself, and contract the obligation of certain duties towards her. He had to make Her His Mother, and Himself her Son.

It follows from all this, that the blessings of the Incarnation, for which we are indebted to the love wherewith the Divine Word loved us, may and ought to be referred, though in an inferior degree, to Mary herself. If she be the Mother of God, it is because she consented to it, for God vouchsafed, not only to ask her consent, but, moreover, to make the coming of His Son into this world depend upon her giving it. As this His Son, the Eternal Word, spoke His Fiat over chaos, and the answer to His word was creation; so did Mary use the same word Fiat:–let it be done unto me (St. Luke, i. 38), she said. God heard her word, and, immediately, the Son of God descended into her virginal womb. After God, then, it is to Mary, His ever Blessed Mother, that we are indebted for our Emmanuel.

The divine plan for the world’s salvation included there being a Mother of God: and as heresy sought to deny the mystery of the Incarnation, it equally sought to deny the glorious prerogative of Mary. Nestorius asserted, that Jesus was only man; Mary, consequently was not Mother of God, but merely Mother of a Man, called Jesus. This impious doctrine roused the indignation of the Catholic world. The East and West united in proclaiming, that Jesus was God and Man, in unity of Person; and that Mary, being His Mother, was, in strict truth, “Mother of God.” This victory over Nestorianism was won at the Council of Ephesus. It was hailed by the Christians of those times with an enthusiasm of faith, which not only proved the tender love they had for the Mother of Jesus, but was sure to result in the setting up of some solemn trophy, that would perpetuate the memory of the victory. It was then that began, in both the Greek and Latin Churches, the pious custom of uniting, during Christmas, the veneration due to the Mother with the supreme worship given to the Son. The day assigned for the united commemoration varied in the several countries, but the sentiment of religion, which suggested the Feast, was one and the same throughout the entire Church.

At that time : After eight days were accomplished, that the Child should be circumcised, His name was called Jesus, which was called by the Angel, before He was conceived in the womb.

The Child is circumcised: He is, now, not only a member of the human race; He is made, today, a member of God’s chosen People. He subjects Himself to this painful ceremony, to this symbol of one devoted to the Divine service, in order that He may fulfil all justice. He receives, at the same time, His Name:–the Name is Jesus, and it means a Saviour. A Saviour! Then, He is to save us? Yes; and He is to save us by His Blood. Such is the divine appointment, and he has bowed down his will to it. The Incarnate Word is upon the earth in order to offer a Sacrifice, and the Sacrifice is begun today. This first shedding of the Blood of the Man-God was sufficient to the fulness and perfection of a Sacrifice; but He is come to win the heart of the sinner, and that heart is so hard, that all the streams of that Precious Blood, which flow from the Cross on Calvary, will scarcely make it yield. The drops that were shed today would have been enough to satisfy the justice of the Eternal Father, but not to cure man’s miseries, and the Babe’s Heart would not be satisfied to leave us uncured. He came for man’s sake, and His love for man will go to what looks like excess–He will carry out the whole meaning of His dear name–He will be our “Jesus,” our Saviour.

On this the Eighth Day since the Birth of our Emmanuel, let us consider the great mystery which the Gospel tells us was accomplished in his divine Flesh–the Circumcision. On this day, the earth sees the first-fruits of that Blood-shedding, which is to be its Redemption, and the first sufferings of that Divine Lamb, who is to atone for our sins. Let us compassionate our sweet Jesus, who meekly submits to the knife which is to put upon Him the sign of a Servant of God.

Mary, who has watched over Him with the most affectionate solicitude, has felt her heart sink within her, as each day brought her nearer to this hour of her Child’s first suffering. She knows, that the justice of God does not necessarily require this first sacrifice, or might accept it, on account of its infinite value, for the world’s salvation: and yet, the innocent Flesh of her Son must, even so early as this, be torn, and his Blood flow down his infant limbs.

What must be her affliction at seeing the preparations for this painful ceremony! She cannot leave her Jesus–and yet, how shall she bear to see Him writhe under this His first experience of suffering! She must stay, then, and hear His sobs and heartrending cries; she must bear the sight of the tears of her Divine Babe, forced from Him by the violence of the pain. We need St. Bonaventure to describe this wonderful mystery. “And if He weeps, thinkest thou his Mother could keep in her tears? No–she, too, wept, and when the Babe, who was standing on her lap, perceived her tears, He raised His little hand to her mouth and face, as though he would beckon to her not to weep, for it grieved Him to see Her weeping, whom He so tenderly loved. The Mother, on her side, was touched to the quick at the suffering and tears of the Babe, and she consoled Him by caresses and fond words; and as she was quick to see His thoughts, as though He had expressed them in words, she said to Him: If thou wishest me to cease weeping, weep not Thou, my Child! If Thou weepest, I must weep too. Then the Babe, from compassion for the Mother, repressed his sobs, and Mary wiped His eyes and her own, and put His Face to her own, and gave Him her Breast, and consoled him in every way she could (Meditations on the Life of Christ, by St. Bonaventure).”

And now, what shall we give in return to this Saviour of our souls for the Circumcision, which he has deigned to suffer, in order to show us how much He loved us? We must, according to the teaching of the Apostle, circumcise our heart from all its evil affections, its sins, and its wicked inclinations; we must begin, at once, to live that new life, of which the Infant Jesus is the sublime model. Let us thus show Him our compassion for this His earliest suffering for us, and be more attentive, than we have hitherto been, to the example He sets us. 

THE CIRCUMCISION by Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen

Eight days later the time came to circumcise him, and he was given the name of Jesus, the name given by the Angel before he was conceived.  [Luke 2: 21]

Circumcision was the symbol of the covenant between God and Abraham and his seed, and took place on the eighth day; circumcision presumed that the person circumcised was a sinner. The Babe was now taking the sinner’s place——something He was to do all through His Life. Circumcision was a sign and token of membership in the body of Israel. Mere human birth did not bring a child into the body of God’s chosen people. Another rite was required, as recorded in the Book of Genesis:

God said to Abraham, For your part, you must keep my covenant, you and your descendants after you, generation by generation. This is how you shall keep my covenant between myself and you and your descendants after you: circumcise yourselves, every male among you. [Genesis 17: 9-11]

Circumcision in the Old Testament was a prefiguring of Baptism in the New Testament. Both symbolize a renunciation of the flesh with its sins. The first was done by wounding of the body; the second, by cleansing the soul. The first incorporated the child into the body of Israel; the second incorporates the child into the body of the new Israel or the Church. The term .’Circumcision” was later used in the Scriptures to reveal the spiritual significance of applying the Cross to the flesh through self-discipline. Moses, in the Book of Deuteronomy clearly spoke of circumcising the heart. Jeremiah also used the same expression. St. Stephen, in his last address before being killed, told his hearers that they were uncircumcised in heart and ears. By submitting to this rite, which He need not have done because He was sinless, the Son of God made man satisfied the demands of His nation, just as He was to keep all the other Hebrew regulations. He kept the Passover; He observed the Sabbath; He went up to the Feasts; He obeyed the Old Law until the time came for Him to fulfill it by realizing and spiritualizing its shadowy prefigurements of God’s dispensation. In the Circumcision of the Divine Child there was a dim suggestion and hint of Calvary, in the precious surrendering of blood. The shadow of the Cross was already hanging over a child eight days old. He would have seven blood-sheddings of which this was the first, the others being the Agony in the Garden, the Scourging, the Crowning with Thorns, the Way of the Cross, the Crucifixion, and the Piercing of His Heart. But whenever there was an indication of Calvary, there was also some sign of glory; and it was at this moment when He was anticipating Calvary by shedding His blood that the name of Jesus was bestowed on Him.

A child only eight days old was already beginning the blood-shedding that would fulfill His perfect manhood. The cradle was tinged with crimson, a token of Calvary. The Precious Blood was beginning its long pilgrimage. Within an octave of His birth, Christ obeyed a law of which He Himself was the Author, a law which was to find its last application in Him. There had been sin in human blood, and now blood was already being poured out to do away with sin. As the East catches at sunset the colors of the West, so does the Circumcision reflect Calvary.

Must He begin redeeming all at once? Cannot the Cross wait? There will be plenty of time for it. Coming straight from the Father’s Arm to the arms of His earthly mother, He is carried in her arms to His first Calvary. Many years later He will be taken from her arms again, after the bruising of the flesh on the Cross, when the Father’s work is done. 

[a2000yearjourney]

Rome 49BC: Order from Chaos

Two thousand years ago, at the dawn of the first century, the world was ruled from Rome. Rome was in turmoil. Civil war had engulfed the empire’s capital city. Dictators seized power, and the Roman future seemed bleak. But from the chaos, the Roman Empire would rise stronger and more dazzling than ever before. Within a few short years, it would stretch from Britain, across Europe, to southern Egypt, from North Africa around the Mediterranean, to the Middle East. It would embrace hundreds of languages and religions and would till those diverse cultures into a rich soil, from which western civilizations would grow. Rome would become the world’s first and most enduring super power, spanning continents. The glory days of Rome were studded with names that reach out to us across two millennia: Ovid and Nero, Seneca and Caligula. But the story of Rome is more than the story of famous men. Millions of less familiar figures struck different chords in the symphony of empire. People such as the wealthy benefactor, Umachia. The rebel queen, Boudicca, and countless uncelebrated soldiers and slaves, senators and peasants.

Above them all, is this man, Caesar Augustus. This was the emperor who set the tone for the astonishing renaissance of Rome.

Part one of my history tells the story of Augustus, (the great-grandfather of my 51st great granduncle) and his people, the men and women who wrested order from chaos. They shaped the greatest empire the world has ever seen and launched the Roman Empire in the first century.

Two thousand years after Egypt’s pharaoh’s reigned supreme, four hundred years after the flowering of Greek culture, three hundred years after Alexander the great - a boy named Octavian was born in a small Italian town. The child would one day be called Augustus, and his birth, one ancient historian tells us, would be gilded by legend. His father, leading an army through distant lands, went to a sacred grove, seeking prophecy on the boy’s future. When wine was poured on the altar, flames shot up to heaven. The signs were heard only once before, by Alexander the Great. The priest declared that Augustus would be ruler of the world.

Suetonius tells the story. Writing at the turn of the first century, he based his biography on eyewitness accounts, on common gossip and on research conducted as imperial librarian. In truth, he writes that the prospects of young Augustus were far from grand. The boy was sickly, with few connections. His family were country people. His father was the first in their line to join the Senate. But worse - Augustus was born into dangerous times. Civil war had flared for decades. Feuding nobles fought to gain power for themselves. And Rome’s traditions of open government were often trampled underfoot. So too, were innocent bystanders. When Augustus was just four years old, his father suddenly died. Without a male mentor, the boy’s future looked bleak. But in 49 BC, when he was thirteen, Augustus’ fortunes took a dramatic turn. For in that year, his great uncle, Julius Caesar, gained the upper hand on the battlefield. Leading an army across the Rubicon River, Caesar declared himself master of Rome and ruler of an empire still aspiring to greatness. At the time of Julius Caesar, the Roman Empire was a bit like a boy who has reached six feet tall, yet he’s only fourteen or fifteen years old. He’s not yet a man. The externals of empire were there - the armies were there. The Romans governed most of the coast of the Mediterranean, with the exception of Egypt. However, they had not yet learned to bring that into a functioning organism. The past decades of internal fighting had weakened the empire. Northern tribes harried the borders. Enemies were confronting Rome in the east. And the province of Spain threatened to break free. Julius Caesar moved quickly to bolster the frontiers, and his own legacy. Caesar had no heir, so when Augustus completed a dangerous mission, Caesar adopted the teenager in his will. Karl Galinsky, Professor of Classics, University of Texas, Austin:

“Augustus realized this was a tremendous opportunity. Mind you, he had no military training, but he was the heir of the greatest political figure that was under the Roman sky at that time - and he cashed in on it.”

It was a heady opportunity for Augustus, but also a perilous challenge. For in 44 BC, foreigners were not the only threat to stability. There were enemies within Caesar’s small circle of advisors. They murdered Caesar at a meeting of the Senate. For the second time in his life, Augustus lost a father. Now, on the verge of manhood, he thrust himself into the maelstrom of Roman politics. Keith Bradley, Professor of Greek and Roman Studies, University of Victoria:

“The death of Julius Caesar was not just a turning point in Augustus’ life, it was a turning point in world history. Augustus was extremely young at this time, only in his nineteenth year. Yet when he knew that he had been made Caesar’s heir, he immediately took up the political legacy of Caesar. He entered the mainstream of Roman politics. He didn’t hesitate to try to avenge his father. That meant, of course, stepping onto the stage of politics, raising an army and immersing himself in a contest for supreme political power in Rome.”

He displayed brutality against enemy prisoners. Once, when a father and son were begging for their lives, he ordered that they should draw lots to determine which one should be executed. The father offered himself and was killed. Because of this, the son committed suicide. Augustus watched them both die. Suetonius describes the crisis as “trial by fire” and Augustus didn’t flinch from the task. He formed a strategic alliance with Marc Antony, a powerful general, who also wanted supremacy. Together they massacred their enemies in the capital. Then they pursued their rivals to the shores of Greece, where they fought and won two of the bloodiest battles in Roman history. When the carnage ended, the empire was theirs. Augustus and Antony divided the spoils of war. Augustus remained in Rome. But Antony took control of Egypt, a land not formally joined to Rome, but firmly under the empire’s command. There, he joined forces with Egypt’s queen. Ancient historians, like Cassius Dio, believed that was a fateful move. When Antony fell deeply in love with his new ally, many feared the ambitious queen was scheming to rule Rome herself. Her name was Cleopatra. Cleopatra’s brazen desire for passion and wealth was insatiable. By love, she had made herself queen of Egypt. But she failed in her goal to become queen of the Romans. Judith P. Hallett, Professor of Classics, University of Maryland, College Park:

“Cleopatra did not enjoy a good press in Rome. What really irritated people about Cleopatra was that she was a powerful woman from the east, and from a very wealthy country with a monarchic system of government. She therefore symbolized lack of moderation, lack of control, frenzied fury, everything that Rome tried not to be. Cleopatra and Antony were cast as leaders of the evil empire.” Antony’s alliance with Augustus withered. But Augustus struck first. The poet, Virgil, later cast the battle as an epic struggle of east against west. “Standing high on the stern, Augustus leads the Italians into battle. Carrying with him the bite of the Senate and the people. Opposing him, with barbarian wealth, is Antony, suited for battle. He carries with him the powers of the orient. And to the scandal of all, his Egyptian wife, their monstrous divinities raised weapons against our noble, Roman gods.” Three quarters of the Egyptian fleet was destroyed. Anthony and Cleopatra committed suicide - and the land of the pharaohs was formally annexed to the Roman Empire. Judith Hallet:

“The annexation of Egypt for Augustus was immensely important. It was the equivalent of Hitler’s troops marching through the streets of Paris. Here was a wealthy country that was going to be providing food, that was going to be providing land. But above all, it was a country of great cultural prestige, and once Rome had Egypt as part of its empire, they had truly arrived.”

A Voice:

“There is nothing that man can wish from the gods, nothing the gods can do for men which Augustus, when he returned to the city, did not do for the public, the Roman people, and the entire world. Civil wars were finished - foreign wars ended and everywhere the fury of arms was put to rest.” Upon Augustus’ return to a war torn Rome in 29 BC, the city went wild with enthusiasm. The triumphant general vowed to restore peace and security. It was a promise he would keep. The victory of Augustus launched a period of stunning cultural vitality, of religious renewal and of economic well being that spread throughout the empire. It would be called the ‘Pax Romana’ - the peace of Rome. To many, it marked the return of Rome’s mythic and glorious past. But Augustus himself would never return to the past. He was now a hardened thirty-two-year-old man - the sole ruler of the Greco-Roman world, Rome’s first emperor. Victory had been costly, but the greatest challenge still lay ahead, for to avoid the fate of Julius Caesar, Augustus must disarm the Senate and charm the masses. He must do better than win the war. He must win the peace. That challenge would occupy the rest of his life. A Voice:

“Let me step forward, clear my throat, and announce that I am a native of Soula, a few days’ journey eastward from Rome.” While Augustus fought his way to the pinnacle of power, a boy named Ovid was coming of age under less demanding circumstances. Ovid Speaks:

“I was the second son, a year to the day younger than my brother. We always had two cakes on the birthday we shared, and were close in other ways as well. We studied together, and then went up to Rome to seek our fortunes. I used to waste my time trying to write verses. My father called it waste. He disapproved of any pursuit where you could not turn a decent living, and always used to say, ‘Homer died poor.’” Ovid came from the same stock as Augustus. They were both landed gentries, and like Augustus, the young man found his identity and his ambitions moulded by his demanding family.

Ovid:

“I tried to give up poetry, to stick to prose on serious subjects, but frivolous minds like mine attract frivolous inspirations, some too good not to fool with. I kept returning to my bad habits, secretive and ashamed. I couldn’t help it, I felt like an impostor in serious matters, but I owed it to my father and my brother to try to do my duty.” By Roman law, a father wielded absolute control over his children. Those who displeased him could be disowned, sold into slavery or even killed. The young Ovid tried to meet his father’s expectations. He married, studied law - but the strain proved unendurable. Miserable, Ovid and a friend set out on a journey of self-discovery. Ovid:

“We toured the magnificent cities of Asia. We watched the flames of Mount Etna light up the heavens. We ploughed the waves in a painted ship, and also travelled by wagon. Often the roads seemed short, as we were lost in conversation. When we walked, our words outnumbered our steps - and we had too much to say, even for the long evenings of supper.” Eighteen months later, Ovid settled in Rome, older and more self-confident than before. He resolved to become a poet. He cultivated new friends in Roman literary circles, and soon, Ovid made a name for himself as Rome’s reigning poet - of stolen kisses. Ovid:

“So your husband is coming to this dinner party? I hope he gags on his food. Listen - and learn what you must do. When he settles on his couch to eat, go to him with a straight face. Look modest and lie back beside him. But secretly touch me with your foot. Don’t let him drape his arms around your neck, don’t rest your gentle head against his chest - don’t welcome his fingers to your lap or to your eager nipples. Most of all, no kissing. When dinner is done, your husband will close the bedroom door. But whatever the night shall bring, tell me tomorrow - you refused.”

Keith Bradley:

“It’s a mistake to think that Ovid’s poetry can be read very literally in purely autobiographical terms. That wouldn’t be true, I think, of any poetry from antiquity. But at the same time, Ovid is writing of subjects of which he has some sort of experience and he certainly, through the love poetry, opens up a world that is very different in tone and quality from the official atmosphere.”

While Ovid bloomed as a man of words, the new emperor thrived as a man of action. He rebuilt Rome - and his own family. Divorcing his wife, Augustus married his heavily pregnant mistress - Livia. The move raised eyebrows and hackles, as love was not the only motive. Although Augustus shunned the trappings of absolute power, many suspected he was building a dynasty - a line of heirs to rule Rome for generations to come. Augustus knew it was a dangerous move. He knew that Julius Caesar had been murdered for appearing as a king. Augustus would not make the same mistake. He relinquished high office and struck a delicate balance between fact and fiction.

Augustus writes:

“Having, by universal consent, acquired control of all affairs, I transferred government to the Senate and the people of Rome.” Judith Hallet:

“Augustus was a very cagey political leader because he pretended to be restoring all of these republican political traditions. In fact, what he was running was a full-fledged dynastic monarchy.” A Voice:

“Augustus conquered Cantabria, Aquitania, Pannonia, Dalmatia and all of Illyricum, as well as Raetia.” Augustus not only changed the empire, he expanded it. Egypt had been added early in his career. Soon, Northern Spain was joined. Augustus drove across Europe, into Germany, and he united east and west by adding modern Hungary, Austria, the Balkans and central Turkey. These victories employed Roman soldiers and senators and offered welcome distractions to the city’s poor. When Augustus wasn’t staging chariot races or gladiator shows, he displayed exotic animals, the quarry of Rome’s far-flung empire. A rhinoceros appeared in the arena, Asian tigers in the theatre and a giant serpent in the forum.

Karl Galinsky:

“One key constituency for Augustus was the plebeian population of Rome, and that is basically the city mob. You have several hundred thousand folks here who have no jobs, and to put it very simply, who need to be kept off the streets, and kept from making trouble, because it’s a very volatile, combustible mixture.” The volatile mix that made up Rome stayed quiet for the first four years of Augustus’ rule. Then, in 23 BC, events took a critical turn. Cassius Dio writes that a series of disasters convinced the people that Augustus needed not less power, but more. “The city was flooded by the over flowing river and many things were struck by lightning. Then a plague passed through Italy and no one could work the land. The Romans thought these misfortunes were caused because Augustus had relinquished his office. They wished to appoint him dictator. A mob barricaded the Senate inside its building and threatening to burn them alive, forced the Senate to vote Augustus absolute ruler.” The demands threatened to unsettle the emperor’s precarious political balance. Augustus fell to his knees before the riders. He tore his toga and beat his chest. He promised the mob that he would personally take control of the grain supply. But Augustus refused to be called a dictator. The crowd disbanded, but the lesson was clear. Augustus was riding a tiger. To keep order on the frontiers, the streets and the Senate was a super human task. Super human skills were needed. Luckily for Rome, Augustus had them. Karl Galinsky:

“Then something very fortuitous happens: Halley’s Comet shows up and the word is given out by Augustus that this is the soul of Julius Caesar ascending into heaven. So from this point on he is called Julius Caesar the divine. Politically it became very potent, because what does Augustus do at this point? On all his coinage on all his writings, on all his symbols, whatever, he puts on the words “DF”, meaning Son of the Divine. And it’s really quite an asset in politics to be the Son of the Divine. There are modern politicians I think would be very jealous of being able to do that.”

Augustus enhanced his pious new identity with stories of his lean habits. It was said that he slept in a modest house, and slept on a low bed, that he ate common foods, coarse bread, common cheese, and sometimes, even less.

Augustus:

“My dear Tiberius, not even a Jew observes a fast as diligently on the Sabbath as I have today. I ate nothing until the early hours of evening when I nibbled two bites before my rub down.”

Moral change, Augustus began to argue, was the enemy of Rome. He believed that its future ran through its past, through the restoration of the values he thought had first made Rome great. Augustus:

“I renewed many traditions which were fading in our age. I restored eighty-two temples of the gods, neglecting none that required repair at the time.” In public, Augustus led by example. He sacrificed animals in traditional rituals and he re-established traditional social rules. New laws assigned theatre seats by social rank. Women were confined to the back rows. Adultery was outlawed; marriage and children were encouraged. To many, Roman society had recovered its true course. The son of a god was building an empire for the ages. Augustus:

“Who can find words to adequately describe the advancements of these years? Authority has been returned to the government, majesty to the Senate, and influence to the courts. Protests in the theatre have been stopped, integrity is honored, depravity is punished.” But amid the applause, there were also cries of protest. The emperor’s new traditional values rankled friends and enemies alike. It even rankled his own daughter, Julia. Long a pawn of family politics, Julia assumed that she was exempt from her father’s stringent views. She was wrong. And in the coming years, Augustus, son of a god, would have to confront Augustus the father.

“If there is anyone here who is a novice in the art of love, let him read my book. With study, he will love like a professional.” As the emperor, Augustus firmly charted a course of moral rigor. The poet Ovid staked out different ground. He was now Rome’s most famous living poet, and his boldness grew in step with his reputation. Having all but exhausted the conventions of love poetry, he decided to stretch them. He began composing a manual of practical tips on adultery.

Ovid writes:

“Step one - stroll under a shady colonnade. Don’t miss the shrine of Adonis, but the theatre is your best hunting ground. There you will find women to satisfy any desire, just as ants come and go, so the cultured ladies swarm to the games. They come for the show - and to make a show of themselves. There are so many I often reel from the choice.” Many Romans yearned to follow their emperor back to the good old days of stern Roman virtue. But others reveled in the promises of Rome’s newfound peace. Ovid was one of them. To the youthful poet, old limits seemed meaningless. “Do not doubt you can have any girl you wish. Some give in, others resist but all love to be propositioned. And even if you fail, rejection doesn’t hurt. Why should you fail? Women always welcome pleasure and find novelty exciting.” Indeed, the earlier civil wars had unleashed enormous social change. Some women had gained political clout, new rights, and new freedoms. Tradition holds that one such woman was Julia, the emperor’s only child.

“Julia had a love of letters and was well educated - a given in that family. She also had a gentle nature and no cruel intentions. Together these brought her great esteem as a woman.”

Julia didn’t reject traditional values wholesale. She had long endured her father’s overbearing control. She dutifully married three times to further his dynastic ambitions, and she bore five children. Her two boys, Guyus and Luccius were cherished by Augustus as probable heirs. But like Ovid, Julia expected more from the peace. She was clever and vivacious, and she had an irreverent tongue that cut across the grain of Roman convention. Her legendary wit was passed through the centuries by a late Roman writer called Macrobius.

Macrobius writes:

“Several times her father ordered her in a manner both doting and scolding to moderate her lavish clothes and keep less mischievous company. Once he saw her in a revealing dress. He disapproved but held his tongue. The next day, in a different dress, she embraced her father with modesty. He could not contain his joy and said, ‘Now isn’t this dress more suited to the daughter of Augustus?’ Julia retorted, ‘Today I am dressed for my father’s eyes. Yesterday I dressed for my husband.’

But apparently Julia’s charms were not reserved for her husband alone. The emperor’s daughter took many lovers.

Judith Hallet:

“Her dalliances were so well known that people were actually surprised when her children resembled her second husband, who was the father of her five children. She wittily replied, “Well that’s because I never take on a passenger unless I already have a full cargo.” The meaning here is that she waited until she was already pregnant before undertaking these dalliances, so concerned was she to protect the bloodlines of these offspring.“

Julia, like Ovid, was a testament to her times. But neither of them were average Romans. The life they represented shocked traditional society to the core. And as Julia entered her thirty-eighth year, crisis loom

"In that year, a scandal broke out in the emperor’s own home. It was shameful to discuss, horrible to remember

One Roman soldier voiced deep revulsion at Julia’s extraordinary self-indulgence. "Julia, ignoring her father Augustus, did everything which is shameful for a woman to do, whether through extravagance or lust. She counted her sins as though counting her blessings, and asserted her freedom to ignore the laws of decency.” Julia’s behavior erupted into a full-blown political crisis, which was marked by over-blown claims. The emperor’s daughter was rumored to hold nightly revels in Rome’s public square. She was said to barter sexual favors from the podium where her father addressed the people. When the gossip reached Augustus, the emperor flew into a violent rage. He refused to see visitors. Upon emerging, Suetonius reports, he publicly denounced his only child. “He wrote a letter, advising the Senate of her misbehavior, but was absent when it was read. He secluded himself out of shame, and even considered a death sentence for his daughter. He grew more obstinate, when the Roman people came to him several times, begging for her sake. He cursed the crowd that they should have such daughters and such wives.” As a father, Augustus could not abide Julia’s behavior. As an emperor, he could not tolerate the embarrassment. Augustus banished Julia for the rest of her life. “I was going to pass over the ways a clever girl might elude a husband or a watchful guard. But since you need help - here is my advice.” Soon after Julia’s exile, Ovid released his salacious poem. It couldn’t have been more poorly timed. “Of course a guard stands in your way, but you can still write. Compose love letters while alone in the bathroom and send them out with an accomplice. She can hide them next to her warm flesh, under her breasts or bound beneath her foot. Should your guard get wind of these schemes, she can offer her skin for paper and carry out notes written on her body.” Ovid’s poetry extolled behavior for which the emperor’s daughter was banished. Her fate loomed large as a warning. For the present, the emperor remained mute towards Rome’s most gifted rebel. Ovid turned his hand to less provocative forms of poetry. He remarried, and he embraced a new appreciation for discretion.

“Enjoy forbidden pleasures in their place. But when you dress, don’t forget your mask of decorum. An innocent face hides more than a lying tongue.” Ovid was on notice. The order of Augustus had firm bounds of propriety and Ovid had tested them to the fullest. “Now consider the dangers of night. Tiles fall from the rooftop and crack you on the head. And the drunken hooligan, spoiling for a fight, cannot rest without a brawl. What can you do when a raving madman confronts you? Or tenants throw their broken pots out the window? You’re courting disaster if you go to dinner before writing your will.” At the turn of the first century, the poet Juvenal, was writing verses, which exposed much of Rome to scorn. He was acerbic and had a keen eye for the gritty realities of urban life. Juvenal writes:

“Our apartment block is a tottering ruin. The building manager props it up with slender poles and plasters over the gaping cracks. Then he bids us sleep safe and sound in his wretched death trap.” Ronald Mellor, Professor of History, UCLA:

I don’t think our notion of Rome bears much relation to the Rome of every day life. Because what is left today are the big public buildings, not the squalid hovels without plumbing and sanitary conditions that ordinary people lived in. That’s precisely the reason members of the elite preferred to withdraw up into the hills, and to have their villas up on the hills, a little bit away from the noise and away from the stench and away from that incredible hoard of people pressing close together. Juvenal writes:

“I would love to live where there are no fears, in the dark of night. Even now, I smell fire and hear a neighbor cry out for water as he struggles to save his measly belongings. Smoke pours out from the third story as flames move upwards, but the poor wretch who lives at the top with the leaking roof and roosting birds, is oblivious to the danger, and sure to burn.” In the year 4, in the imperial palace, the emperor, Augustus also lost sleep, but not from fear of fire. Now an old man of sixty-six, Augustus has lost much of his youthful vigor. “His vision had faded in his left eye, his teeth were few, widely spaced and worn down, his hair wispy and yellowed. His skin was irritated by scratching and vehement scraping, so that he had chronic rough spots, resembling ring worm.” As the emperor neared death, plots to succeed him sprouted. His grandsons and intended heirs had both died, unexpectedly. And the emperor himself lived under constant threat of assassination. Speaking for Augustus, one ancient historian voiced his dilemma: “Whereas solitude is dreadful,” he wrote, “company is also dreadful - the very men who protect us are most terrifying.” Andrew Wallace-Hadrill, Director, British School, Rome:

“In many ways, Augustus looked so solid, and what he created looked so solid you forget the fragility. I think contemporaries were very aware of that fragility. And surely Augustus was, he was - over anxious, in a sense, to provide a secure system after he’d gone.”

At this time, there were unusually strong earthquakes. The Tiber pulled down the bridge and flooded the city for seven days. There was a partial eclipse of the sun, and famine developed. Ancient historians report that natural disasters predicted political ones. In the year 6, soldiers, the backbone of the empire, refused to re-enlist without a pay rise. New funds had to be found. Then, fire swept parts of the capital. A reluctant Augustus turned to taxation. It was a dangerous tactic, and the emperor knew it. Fearing a coup, Augustus dispersed potential enemies. He recessed the courts and disbanded the Senate. He even dismissed his own retinue - Rome remained on edge.

“The mob, distressed by the famine of the taxes after the fire… openly discussed rebellion. When night fell, they hung seditious posters.” The crisis passed. But soon a new and even greater disaster battered the aging Augustus. It began in Germany, a land of fiercely independent tribes, and to the Roman eye, rugged barbarism. The region had been recently conquered, and Roman customs were taking root - or so they thought. “The barbarians had not forgotten their ancient traditions, their free way of life or the power of arms. But, as long as they were assimilated slowly, they did not realize they were changing, and did not resist Roman influence.” That peaceful evolution stopped, however, in the year 9. The year an arrogant young General named Quinctilius Varus became commander of the Rhine army, and brought an iron fist to the province. “He forced more drastic change on the barbarians, and exacted money as if they were his subjects.” Varus disastrously miscalculated the extent of Roman control, and misjudged German compliance. A trusted German chieftain organized a full-scale revolt, and lured Varus’ troops into a trap, deep in unfamiliar terrain. “The mountains were rocky and covered with ravines. The trees were dense and tall so that the Romans were struggling to make progress. Rain began to fall in sheets. The heavy wind scattered their numbers. The ground became slippery around the tree trunks and leaves. While the Romans were dealing with these troubles, the barbarians surrounded them, suddenly coming from everywhere. First, they came from afar. Then, since no one was fighting back and many were wounded, the barbarians came ever closer, and the Romans were unable to retaliate. They kept crashing into each other…They could not grip their arrows or javelins. The rain forced their weapons from their hands. Even their sodden shields were useless. And so every man and every horse was slaughtered.” Three legions were massacred - a tenth of Rome’s army. Augustus, his biographer reports, was traumatized. “They say he was so disturbed, that for several months, he let his hair and beard grow, and would sometimes bash his head on doors and cry out 'Quntillius Varus, give me back my legions.’” The disaster in Germany underscored a stark reality. The empire was born of violence, and to violence, it ever threatened to return. The emperor was in no mood for leniency. “Believe me, love’s climax of pleasure should not be rushed, but savored. But when you reach those places a woman loves to have touched, don’t let shame get in the way, don’t back off. You’ll see her eyes shine with a trembling light, as when the sun glitters on rippling water. She’ll moan and murmur sweet words just right for the game. But don’t outpace your mistress, or let her leave you in the dust. Rush to the finish line in unison. When man and woman collapse together, they both win. That’s the greatest prize.” Ovid’s sizzling words gripped Rome when they were first published. But a decade later, they would return to haunt him. For the patience of the emperor Augustus has reached its lowest point. Beleaguered, he saw plots in every corner, anarchy in every act of disobedience. Blaming the subversive book, Augustus banished Ovid from Rome. “Hello. Are you there? If so, indulge these verses of mine. They don’t come from my garden, or from that old couch I used to sprawl on. Whoever you are and in whatever parlor or bedroom or study, I have been writing on decks, propped up against bulkheads.” The poet was sent to an untamed backwater on the edges of the empire, on the shores of the black sea. For Ovid, the ultimate urban sophisticate, no punishment could have been harsher. His roguish aplomb crumbled to anguish. “When night falls here, I think of that other night when I was cast out into the endless gloom. We managed to laugh, once or twice, when my wife found, in some old trunk, odd pieces of clothing. This might be the thing this season, the new Romanian mode. And just as abruptly, our peal of laughter would catch, and tear into tears. And we

held each other. My wife sobbed at the hearth. What could I say? I took the first step with which all journeys begin, but could not take the second. I was barely able to breathe. I set forth again. Behind me, she fell, rolling, onto the floor, her hair swept onto the hearth, stirring up the dust and ashes. I heard her call my name. I thought I had survived the worst - what could be worst? But my wife arose, pursued me, held on to me weeping. Servants pulled her away. Whatever worth there was in me died there.”

Ovid was sure his talents would bring him home. He wrote constantly. And as he waited, he sought refuge in a remote frontier town. When the temperatures dropped, Ovid wrote, the wine froze in its vessels, the river in its banks. Across the ice thundered hostile horsemen, plundering and killing. It was a brutal life. Ovid wrote home from exile, a side of the empire that few Romans ever saw. “Beyond these rickety walls there’s no safety. And inside it’s hardly better. Barbarians live in most of the houses - even if you’re not afraid of them you’ll despise their long hair and clothes made of animal skins. They all do business in their common language. I have to communicate with gestures. I am understood by no one, and the stupid peasants insult my Latin words. They heckle me to my face, and mock my exile.” Writing for this audience, Ovid complained, was like “dancing in the dark.” As the years passed, Ovid shrivelled into a bony old man. He fell ill. Contrition replaced his former bravado. “Oh, I repent I repent. If anyone as wretched as I can be believed, I do repent. I am tortured by my deed.” Ovid, however, never got an answer to his pleas. And would never get a reprieve. As he approached death, he became sadly resigned to his fate. “Look at me. I yearn for my country, my home, and for you. I have lost everything that I once had. But I still have my talent. Emperors have no jurisdiction over that. My fame will survive, even after I am gone. And as long as Rome dominates the world, I will be read.” Nine years into his exile, Ovid died. He outlived Augustus, but he had bent to the emperor’s will. At the start of the emperor’s public life, Augustus had won the wars engulfing Rome. By the end, he had won the peace, and men like Ovid paid the price. In the years ahead, when lesser men would rule Rome, that price would rise higher still. “Oh Jupiter and Mars and all gods that raise the Roman Empire to ruler of the world, I invoke you and I pray - guard this prosperity, this peace, now and into the future.” In the year 14, prayers such as these were heard around the vast dominion ruled by Rome. For in that year, the empire stood at a precipice. The emperor Augustus had died. Augustus had been a towering figure. He had extinguished a century of civil war. He presided over forty years of internal peace and prosperity. He forged the vision and power that cemented the empire together. But the peace of Augustus came at a price. By the end of his life, Augustus had eclipsed the Senate, ruled as a monarch, and founded a dynasty that was fraught with troubles. His heirs, Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius - these men would lead Rome through years of political terror, imperial madness, assassination - and through the distant founding of a new religion that would one day engulf the empire itself. The years to come would be years of trial - testing the endurance of subjects and citizens, soldiers, and slaves. The men and women of the Roman Empire in the first century.