#welcome back catullus

[perfectly-uncapable]

je t'aime, je t'haine, je t'aime, je t'attend, je t'aime, je te quitte, je t'aime, je t'haine

[libidomechanica]

“But burned, ere”

Hear smell of your meaning’s plaints, to     departed … never breathe outside of me. Seas between: ’O     woe betide thee, and leave our strong tongue has roused to me. Ye     careless what I do to thee, O my love, yet them in sealed.     From the two young Love whose

only made it all! Flower of     the world let her arm lift a place—stumbled in thy refulgent     through the trees. Or turns him of their imputed grapes, welcome,     and streames of the wore, hey ho Perigot the price,     the fountains by the rack

and with him slayne. You come a queen     came. Busy old bones, which thee and balconies of the dungeon     mine, and seeme he lovely is but thing settled for our     body’s weight years old. To heare. The unreproved is gone     mighty manhode brought of

a trouble gilded hook the lake     I stood back wing. A hand, queen’s only law. She wants a crayoned     cat, its hinges! In the mountains, skipping up a painting-     brush? Breath of hell, thought foot, go a double free; the record     of the Miller was

once, quickness is no place; wherein     affection move, yet unwiped! I made a sunneshine     aspyring wing, and drank— Young man. And the rose, were she be,     that made he types; Yes; and pale thing but that harbors me and     yet I would shame. Aromatic

wine, Catullus, shaken     by the hollow fields below him, but cometh leaping of     the silent as tyrannous, so as thou whom my song. But     burned, ere I give up a painting, now that matter was talking,     it’s not pains—which the

sight on: in ev’ry others’ arms     about with me no answered Lilias in her down while     talk of love? Such water, something in the floods drowning in     sense. From the in grass, does not gaze upward became wedded     wide, wi’ twa white, flame-hot.

[eastern-lights]

Eastern Lights’ Guide to Classical Philology Courses

Introduction to Classical Philology - You come to your first class. You are alone. The doors creak. A pile of books enters. “Oh, welcome. I just brought some of the dictionaries I’d recommend getting,” says the prof barely visible behind said pile.

Latin Morphology - You never thought so many suffixes even existed. Turns out the Romans had a verb form expressing a tense you never even heard of.

Latin Syntax - The only place where “I spent the whole night studying all kinds of cum” is not sexual in the least.*

Ancient Greek - lol you thought latin was bad - enjoy learning three asses worth of declensions written in physics formula

Everyday Life in Ancient Rome - You feel kinda bad for the prof with four academic titles having to answer questions like “How did the Romans, like, deal with being gay?”. (The answer was “They had gay sex.”)

History of Ancient Art - witness various artists from multiple cultures go on a millenium long quest to depict the tiniest possible dick. You also get travel recommendations from the prof, down to which metro lines to take.

Greek Mythology - there’s always at least one Percy Jackson smartass who will get their illusions shattered

Greek Literature - go back to a simpler time when “an old lady told me” counted as a valid academic source

Roman Literature - taught by the same man who taught you Intro to Classics and Life in Rome last year. He assumes you’ve become fluent in latin since then. He assumes wrong. He’s not mad, just disappointed.

Reading of Latin Texts - Ovid is the first author you read. Not Caesar. Not Sallust. Fucking Publius Ovidius the-noun-and-the-verb-don’t-even-share-the-same-zip-code Naso. Silver lining is, you now know how to describe a loom in latin.

Interpretation of Latin Texts - Reading on steroids. Taught by the man who taught you Roman Literature. He’s still disappointed. Any attempts to translate Catullus’ profanities with anything less than R-rated language will be taken personally. Leave your euphemisms at the door.

* cum is a conjunction that has a lot of meanings depending on context

[experimentaltranslation]

1.1 The Traduit Partouze (or: “translation orgy”)

Materials.

• A text, ideally written in language foreign to the majority of the speakers who will be attending the Traduit Partouze. The text can be of any length, but it is rare to translate more than 20 or so lines of poetry during a Partouze. 

• An invitation, indicating space and time, circulated liberally. 

• Drinks and snacks. 

Players. 

• A host to organise the event and welcome guests. This person may or may not be at the origin of the text to be translated, and may or may not play the role of reader or secretary. 

• A reader designated to recite the original text aloud, ideally someone with a working knowledge of the original, who can also provide context for the text being translated. 

• A secretary whose job it is to transcribe the results of the Partouze as they emerge. 

• An indefinite, potentially modulating number of guests to carry out the translation. 

Steps.

• The reader reads out the first segment of the text. This can be the first sentence or the first part of the sentence, but ideally no more than a few words at a time, depending on the translators present. This segment should be repeated several times, and guests may request for the reader to continue these repetitions. 

• Translators form their mouths around the sounds of the words, seeking words in the sounds of the foreign language. This is called “sonotranslation” by the Outranspo, but has gone by a variety of other names (“sound translation”, “homophonic translation”, “traducson” etc.). It consists of translating only the sound of a text, and not the meaning. 

Sonotranslation (span: sonotraducción; fr: sonotraduction): a translation that transliterates or 

transcribes the sound or the orthography of the words of the source-text using words in target language that may or may not have a relationship to the meanings carried by the source-text. The former case we call a Zukofskian soundtranslation, the latter one a VanRootenian soundtranslation. Also known as “traducson” [G.Genette, Palimpsestes. La littérature au second degré, éd. du Seuil, 1982] and “traduction homophonique” [Oulipo, Atlas de littérature potentielle, Gallimard, 1981, p. 144]. 

- Zukofskian soundtranslation: “Quick death, Catullus, what more horror may hurry!” (CATULLUS (GAI VALERI CATULLI VERONENSIS LIBER), translated by par Celia and Louis Zukofsky, Cape Goliard Press, 1969, poem 52). 

- VanRootenian soundtranslation: “Cuit d’Est / Qu’as-tu, lait / Cuit d’amour / A riz et morilles ?” (Marcel Benabou, Change, 19, Seghers/Lafont, 1974, p. 130) . 

• Translators speak out solutions as they arise. Some will be abandoned, some adopted, or taken up and modified, amended, extended. The process is collaborative. 

* Attention should be paid by all to democratize the contributions as much as possible, so that not one person or small minority is offering all the solutions, and so that those who wish to speak are given the space and time to do so (sound translation into a foreign language in particular can be quite difficult), and alternatively, those who simply wish to listen can do so as well, without being harassed or disturbed. 

• The secretary takes down solutions as they are ratified by the group. 

• The secretary reads back the results intermittently as the evening progresses. 

• A break may be initiated at a certain point in the Partouze or not. A return to the work may occur after this break or not. 

• Most often, the Partouze will evolve (or devolve) naturally into a party. 

• Following the event (or the hangover, as the case may be), the secretary transcribes the final results and distributes them among the participants, via email or other mode of document sharing. 

Variations.

• The Traduit Partouze may also be carried out remotely via a collective word pad. Outranspo calls this the Piratouze, named after the online platform “Pirate Pad”

• Collective sound translations are also wonderful options for the classroom. In this case it is advised to use the name “collective sound translation” rather than traduit partouze. The teacher acts as host. 

Examples.

1. Traduit partouze as détournement of an original text:

The Outranspo’s Satan Long Bell, collective translation of an Yves Duteil song devoted to the beauty and patriotism of the French language: “C’est une langue belle”. This experiment might be likened to the mondegreen, or the mishearing or misinterpretation of song lyrics. 

Video link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8WPrqJ8QXqA

Video edited by Jonathan Baillehache. 

2. Piratouze as homage to the prosody of a poem as well as a language learning aid.

“In My Home Country”/ “Ainée mienne unique”, of Mahmoud Darwich’s أنََا مِنْ هُنَاكَ (fix Arabic here). Bilingual collective sonotranslation hosted by Jonathan Baillehache and carried out by the Outranspo 

https://remue.net/ainee-mienne-unique-traduction-homophonique-d-un-poeme-de-mahmoud-darwich

3. Series of events in Paris from 2011-2014. I kept a blog here: 

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/traduitpartouze-blog

And also wrote an article here: 

https://www.archivescontemporaines.com/articles/2169

[thatgirlwritingficsatnight]

Odi et Amo I

Odi et amo. Quare id faciam fortasse requiris? nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior

Catullus, 85

After a few years of working in the USA for Disney and playing the role of The White Fox in Marvel Cinematic Universe you came back to your motherland - Korea only to be greeted with hatred and contempt. To make things harder for you the universe sends you the most irritating neighbour ™. Will you be able to find your happiness and  accomplish your dream of becoming loved actress in Korea without complying with standards of patriarchal society?

pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

genre: actor au

warnings: angst, foul language (please don’t read it if you’re not old enough)

words: 5582

A/N: Hi this is my first fanfic ever, and so there are few things I have to say before you hopefully enjoy reading it. 1. English is not my first language so there may be some grammatical errors. I’m sorry, perhaps in the future there will be someone to proofread my works. 2. I’m terribly sorry for my interpunction :( for some reason they don’t teach it here  and so it may be terrible. I am reading about it more but it’s not easy for me as I haven’t practiced enough. I’m really sorry if it’s awkward. 3. This was supposed to be long oneshot, but I was told not all people enjoy long reads on tumblr like I do, so I decided to make a miniseries out of it. Let me know if you enjoyed it and if you want me to write some scenarios, or post more of my works (i have a lot of them in the depths of my drive lol). Love, thatgirlwritingficsatnight.

***

You sat in spacious sofa in your old apartment in Korea. A sigh leaving your lips as you looked through the headlines.

"The black sheep of Korean show biz comes back after four years in USA"

"Whose heart will she eat now? National heartbreaker came back to Korea"

"Go back to USA you wh*re! - internet went wild over L/N Y/N"

"L/N Y/N comes back in outrageous style"

Most of them were a summary or perhaps a reminder for k-netizens why they should hate you; it's because you dated who you wanted to and for how long you wanted to, it's because this one time in the talk show you told off male host when he kept asking about your private life and because the other time you told another one to stop giving you all the questions about clothes and make up while your male co-star got to answer some deep questions about character development and that's to name the few reasons that came instantly to your mind. Of course some articles had to focus on your airport fashion too. The conservative Korean society had a problem with your bra, or rather a lack of thereof under your designer t-shirt. You left out an irritated groan as you scrolled to the comments. They were vicious and vulgar, you don't know what else did you expect honestly. You tossed the phone and buried your face in your hands fighting the urge to tweet something about the nasty people and how they should keep their antediluvian opinions to themselves. You sighed again perhaps if you were in a different country you'd do that, but here with systematic misogyny, where women were supposed to always smile and nod their heads, here where they got paid 60% of men's pay... you'd most likely be crucified. Then again who if not you would come to your defense? You knew the answer — no one, that realization was enough to anger you even more. The blood was boiling inside you as you snatched your phone back and went into Twitter silently mouthing apologies to your manager who'd be blowing your phone in just a few minutes.

 "Yes, I don't wear bras. No, it's not a topic for your article nor your problem. I also know it may shock some people but my dating life is not a topic for your entertainment either."

"It baffles me how Korean society thinks its country is in the group of one of the most civilized ones but still treats women as if we were stuck in 50s."

  Your phone was already blowing with notifications, you could see some new articles already popping and soon after that it buzzed as your manager tried to reach you. You silenced your phone and left it on the coffee table while you moved to the kitchen. You got yourself a lamp of wine and watched always busy streets of Seoul from a window. It was already dark and it looked like rivers of light with cars and street lights constantly illuminating them. You were deep in your thoughts as you pondered if you made a good decision. You had a good life in California. You had your best friend there, a house with a pool and many good opportunities for roles you declined. In those four years you became an international star after your role as Marvel's White Fox — a gumiho superhero. You knew in a year or two Disney would ask you to come back to make more movies and most likely you would but you couldn't stay in the USA any longer. Somehow, even though it seemed illogical considering the warm welcome you've got, you still missed your home. You missed Korea the country that loved to hate you. You weren't exaggerating when you said they loved to hate you, for instance you always played villains in Korean films and dramas and the Korean audience loved it. They loved to hate your characters and so every time you tried to audition for a role that would be first or second lead you'd always be cast as the villain. The very first time you played a good character was when you portrayed the White Fox for Marvel, they chose you because you were half American (on your father's side) and because you used to play femme fatales and that was kinda the character. You accepted the role secretly hoping that it would change the way Korea has seen you. It didn't. They said you were too Westernised and that you weren't true Korean and had their own perfect casting with actresses that weren't as scandalous as you. Well, at least the rest of the world loved you. Nonetheless, you came back. You still weren't sure if it was a good idea or for how long, or even if you'd work here or just relax; you were just happy you could eat unhealthy convenience store food whenever you felt like and that kimchi was a standard and not something you'd only find in specific shops. Speaking of, you craved some ramyun with cheese and perhaps some yakult as well. You changed your clothes into a pair of black sweats and a black hoodie and chose to wear a black cap and face mask as well. You checked yourself in a huge mirror in the corridor. Your outfit screamed two things: first was "I am a crazy murderer from drama" and and second "look at me I'm a celebrity". You sighed. Honestly what else could you wear? You decided not to change and went out to the nearest convenience store.

You walked slowly taking your time to get to the store while listening to Def Soul hoping lazy beats would calm your nerves. You bopped your head to the rhythm as you entered the store and went straight into ramyun section. You picked your favourite spicy one and grabbed some cheese, yakult and cherry coke. The girl working there seemed really young and you caught her yawning. She apologized and you smiled warmly although she probably couldn't see it through the mask.

"Don't worry about it I'm tired today as well." you said, and she smiled. You paid with a card and regretted not withdrawing any money so that you could tip her. You remember when you were just a bit younger than her, working in similar way but back in the USA; she’d appreciate extra cash. You took the ramyun to prepare it and hummed as you waited for the noodles to get soft. Food always got you to feel better. You were spreading cheese on your noodles when middle-aged men entered the shop. Soon you'd believe it's not your night or perhaps that you got some bad karma, or that you were just cursed. The men came up to the cashier and asked for a pack of cigarettes. You were about to slurp the first noodles when he spoke.

"When will you finish your shift cutie maybe I can pick you up?" He chuckled and the girl tried to smile politely although anyone with eyes could see how uncomfortable she felt. She tried to decline his advances with a small scared voice clearly she was too young to feel comfortable enough to just curse him out.

"You sluts are always the same. You smile at me flirt with me and then act all fucking.."

"Aish!" you didn't let him finish. And he turned your way surprised someone else was in the store. "I lost all appetite," you dropped the chopsticks next to the bowl and moved your gaze at the male: disgust was rolling off from you in waves, and he flinched upon meeting your eyes, "then again who wouldn't if they had to eat in the presence of trash?" You watched as his face got all red and furious, it seemed almost twisted now. "How dare you speak like that to me, you bi..." once again he couldn't finish his sentence this time you silenced him with your swift actions. You closed the distance between the two of you and grabbed his hand firmly. Then you put it behind his back and twisted it painfully enough for him to groan.

"Call me a bitch, I dare you." you said quietly, but he didn't respond, he just jerked trying to escape your hold. He smelled like tobacco, digested alcohol and grease. You scrunched your nose and took him out of the store. You pushed him lightly, and yet he still lost balance and fell. He shot you a glare full of hate and fury while you tried to remain calm. Truth to be told you were scared, yes you jumped in to help the girl, and successfully silenced him, but that was most likely only because he wasn't sober. You were silently asking universe to help you out as you mustered your courage and played your part of "fearless Y/N”.

"Leave or I'll call the police and tell them you harassed both me and the girl." He stood up and spit under your legs before he left. You sighed, a tight knot unravelling itself finally in your belly, adrenaline that was brought up with the surge of fury disappearing now, leaving you bit wobbly. You made mental note to thank the director of The White Fox for making you take those material arts classes, they came in handy. You came back to the store, you didn’t pay attention to the girl that watched you in awe. You just wanted to enjoy your noodles. Finally, able to take the bite you let out disgusted groan they got too soft. Letting out resigned sigh you opened the yakult.

"Miss Y/N.." small voice started next to you. The girl was blushing and smiling. She was cute, had long brown hair and a mole just under her left eye. You smiled back and it seemed to encourage her. "Thank you. You are like the coolest unnie ever. I will always support you and fight anyone that calls you names and.." You chuckled at her eagerness and sudden flood of words. "Thanks kid. What's your name? "Kim Seoyun." "Nice to meet you Kim Seoyun. I'm L/N Y/N." you said with a smile, and she blushed even more. You looked through the window and bit the inside of your cheek. What if he comes back when you're gone, you couldn’t risk it. "Tell me Seoyun when do you end your shift?" She took out a phone from her pocket. "Oh, in ten minutes." "Great I'll wait for you and order you a taxi." "Ah, unnie you don't have to… you already helped me enough and.." "Nonsense", you cut her off "he may come back and I'll sleep better knowing you are safe at home."

She nodded and came back to work. Leaving you with your soggy and lukewarm noodles. You thought about throwing it out but you hated wasting food and so you made yourself eat at least a bit although now it was cold and awfully soft. Ten minutes passed rather quickly and soon you found yourself standing next to the taxi with Seoyun. You gestured her to get in, but she stood in front of you and suddenly bowed deeply while extending her hands in front of you. Much to your surprise she was giving you a popsicle.

"Y/N-unnie I know it's not much but I wanted to thank you..."

You grinned at her while taking the gift. You quickly unwrapped it and tried it, it was strawberry flavoured.

"Thank you. It's the best popsicle I've ever had." You said honestly. Seoyun blushed and entered the car but before the taxi took off she lowered the car window and screamed.

"Y/N-unnie from today I'm your biggest fan! Unnie fighting!" You laughed.

"Mmm. Thank you!" After that car took off and you happily walked back home. Earphones in, phone in your hand as you decided to order some food since the ramyun sadly haven't been quite satisfying. You slurped at the popsicle even though it was the time of year when nights got colder. The taste of strawberries melted on your tongue. It was the first time someone in Korea told you they were your fan, it was also the first time a Korean fan gave you a gift. Despite the chilly air, and cold ice against your lips you felt warmth spreading from your chest. Grinning to yourself, you scrolled through different restaurants still thinking of what should you eat and then you bumped into someone or rather someone bumped into you. Popsicle fell to the ground and so did your phone with earphones brutally torn out from your ears. The man who bumped into you was in a very similar attire as your own he even wore a mask and a cap. You frowned upon realizing the gift from your first Korean fan was melting next to you. You were however about to apologize before he spoke in irritated tone while collecting some boxes scattered around you two.

"Next time watch where you're going." The blood inside you boiled the third time this evening and you snapped back at him before he could add anything else.

"Maybe you should watch where you're going." your tone was so aggressive it was clear all of the frustrations from today's evening build up in you. You gathered your things quickly.

"Excuse me..." he said straightening as he glared at you. His tone was promising a fight or a lecture at least. You didn't feel like any of that so once again today you didn't let someone finish their sentence, a habit of yours as it seems.

"Apologies accepted, asshole." you said fiercely and left him standing there with his stupid boxes in a state of shock. You got into the elevator and decided not to pay anyone any more of your thoughts tonight. You smiled at wooden popsicle stick and quickly forgot about the man downstairs.

Jinyoung was still shocked but also amused by your witty comeback. He knew he reacted upon his emotions when he was rude to you. He was just angry that he had to move the second time in the last two months. Sasaengs somehow found out about his last apartment in which he lived for only two weeks and just started feeling at home. Few days ago they found him, and he was harassed once again. Tired and angry he acted without thinking when you bumped into him and his belongings scattered. He wanted to apologize right away but you growled back at him, and he got irritated, so he wanted to lecture you or at least tell you not to interrupt other people when they are speaking, but you did just that and in very smart matter at that as well. Now Jinyoung was riding an elevator trying to pinpoint your face, he was sure he had seen you somewhere already. He entered his flat and sighed as he realized he had to unpack once again. He decided it could wait till morning.

You were woken up by both pounding and drilling in the wall behind your head. With long groan you pulled a pillow over your head but it didn't help much. You checked the time on your phone. It was seven thirty in the morning and you couldn't fall asleep till three - courtesy of your jet lag. You tried to ignore it hoping that you were sleepy and tired enough to fall asleep, unfortunately to no avail.

"Who the hell does the renovation on Saturday morning?" you asked your own walls with furious tone. You left the bed deciding to speak with the person next door. You didn't even bother to change from your PJ or brush your teeth, or hair, or even to throw something over yourself. You left your apartment in your bunny pyjama set, a gift from your best friend. Soon you were pounding angrily at the door. It took quite some time before the drilling inside stopped and someone opened the door. The man who opened seized you up and down with his eyes and coughed in his fist diverting his gaze somewhere else.

"Can I help you?" he asked his voice was a bit distressed. "I sure hope you can. It's Saturday seven in the morning." you were fuming, and he finally looked at you although he kept his eyes stuck to your face. "Ah... thank you for informing me. Are you working as personal calendar and clock for all of your neighbours or am I on some special treatment?" he asked sarcastically and smirked which made you: first bewildered and second even more mad if that's possible. "Let me rephrase that for you: it's Saturday, early morning and you are drilling in a wall." "Well, technically it was Mr Ahn who was drilling, I was enjoying myself with a book." He clearly enjoyed teasing you, there was this gleam in his eyes. "Don't you think that's a bit too early for a renovation?" your voice was seething with venom although you tried to keep your cool. "Quite contrary. I checked with the building manager, and I am only supposed to keep quiet between ten p.m and seven a.m. as you can see I even waited thirty minutes." He smiled at you and in that second you hated him, his stupid brown hair, strangely symmetrical face, weirdly tight cardigan and the fact that you couldn't do much since he was in the right. You just turned on your heels ready to storm off back to your flat when he spoke again. "Ah, and might I add I just love your fashion sense." he raised one brow and his eyes once again travelled through your body. "Excuse me?"

"Apologies accepted." Your face went from frowned and angry to shocked in a second, and he laughed at your reaction before closing the doors and leaving you cursing yourself, your luck and your best friend who thought it would be cute to buy you pyjama set which contained of hoodie with ears and a bunny tail and some shorts.

You entered your apartment, deep red setted on your face from both anger and embarrassment. As soon as you closed the doors the drilling continued. You cursed under the breath and went to shower. You stood long under the stream letting the water wash away both dirt and emotions. Once you were clean and ready for the day you’ve decided to ditch your flat for now since it was too loud for you anyway. This time you went for less sporty look but still all black. It was a turtleneck, slacks, martens and a beret. Chic and comfortable. You did  your makeup and hair and went out for breakfast. The car was already waiting for you when you got downstairs. You pulled a black mask over your face and greeted the driver who didn't talk much and so you didn't have to worry about the small talk. You scrolled through your phone checking the messages you got from your manager — there was about twenty of them and somehow each was written with different emotion: rage, irritation, sadness, hopelessness and so on. You sighed knowing that you should probably apologize for the troubles you caused him. Then again what were you supposed to do, not react when half of this country is calling you names? You signed back in your Twitter only to be greeted by thousands of notifications. Most of which were trolls and haters commenting on your tweets with occasional death threats in your DMs. You tried your very best not to read each and every comment knowing that even though you were strong it still affected you. You were; however, positively surprised when you found some supporting voices. There was your best friend (obviously) who fiercely defended you and called out everyone on their bull, he even threatened legal action and you smiled brightly at his tweets, but there were also few Korean celebrities who took your side and defended you as well. Most importantly there were few normal people, fans perhaps, who applauded you and thanked for speaking out. You smiled when you saw user "Y/NUnnieFandomPresidentSeoyun" somewhere in your notifications. Somehow traffic was still bad even on weekend and it took you forty minutes to get to the café you had in mind. Once you got there however you didn't regret time spend on travel. It was café in quiet part of town, it wasn't very popular since it wasn't in Gangnam but because of that it was one of your favourites. No paparazzi, no dispatch, no other celebrities.

The place itself wasn't very big but it had huge windows and was located in front of the park so you could easily grab a coffee and go for a walk or just stay inside and watch people and kids spending their time at the park. The interior wasn't anything special either, it wasn't one of those Instagram worthy cafés. It had simple modern style. You came in and ordered coffee and some toasts and sat in front of the window. There were few people inside so you sat without your mask freely and wondered if your friend was already sleeping. It was around nine here so in Los Angeles it was probably midnight. You texted him asking if he's sleeping, and he just responded by facetiming you right away. His black hair was still wet from shower, and he wasn't wearing any shirt.

"Yah! Y/N-ah!" he scolded you immediately. "How dare you not text or call your best friend for over a day. Do you know how worried I was?" You rolled your eyes at him.

"It's not like you contacted me either. And put some clothes on Tuan."

"Never. I know you secretly love watching my chest."

"Gross. Anyway.. I haven't called because I was tired yesterday, you know jet lag and all of that, so don't get mad at me."

"How are you now?" His playfulness was replaced by concern and it was clear he wasn't really asking about the quality of your sleep which was in fact terrible thanks to your lovely neighbour.

"I'm fine." He gave you the look. "Really. Honestly I didn't expect anything better from what I got, so I'm fine Mark."

"I shouldn't have let you go. You know what? Those people don't deserve you. Come back to the USA and let's live together again I'll even cook. Or I can come to you I'll fight them and keep you company. I'm can easily stream from there.." You giggled at him and he grinned. "You know I'm serious though you can come back I already miss you anyway. God, I should have married you maybe you wouldn't leave me Y/N-ah..." he was whiny again and you laughed. It was an inside joke between you. Both yours and his parents would always tell you to just marry already but neither of you felt anything romantic towards the other one. You'd known each other since you were two and both of you had treated each other like siblings ever since.

"You should have and now it's too late. I'll find myself new victim and feast on their heart like a true gumiho I am." you said in theatrical manner while munching on your toast.

"Honestly who the fuck writes those articles?"

"I don't know but I'm pretty sure... Oh my god. You've got to be kidding me." you said and tried to lower your face down so that the person passing in front of the window you've been sitting by couldn't see you.

"What? What? Is that paparazzi? Your ex? Is that paparazzi rented by your ex?" You frowned at your friend.

"What? No? It's my asshole neighbour." "Never heard of him. Why are we hiding anyway? You can just tell him to back off. Last time I checked you were great at that." He showed you two thumbs up and smiled broadly. "I'm hiding because I'm embarrassed and I don't want to talk to him." "Why?" he laughed. "What did you do?" "I didn't do anything it was that stupid PJ you got me..." you whispered at him while trying to make yourself as small as possible. "Oh my god. One day in Korea and you already got yourself a one-night stand. This is not how I raised you. What would your mother say?" he teased you and giggled. "For the love of... it's not like that." you said angrily a bit too loud perhaps since the men in question who was just ordering by the counter turned around and looked you dead in the eyes. His neutral expression changing to surprised before it transformed to smirk. You cursed yourself and Mark and bowed your head slightly and awkwardly before you turned around to face your now laughing friend.

"You should see your face."

"Shut up. I hate you."

"You love me."

"What a surprise." Third voice spoke up by your side and you cringed a little before you put on your cold mask on.

"A surprise indeed." You said, your neighbour moved his eyes from your face to the screen of your phone carefully placed against the glass. Mark was still there, still half naked and smirking at you.

"Am I interrupting something?"

"Yes."

"No." you and Mark said at the same time and you send him death glare regretting that you couldn't kick him right now. "I was about to go to sleep anyway. Love you."

He disappeared without waiting for your response. You let out soft sigh and reach out for phone.

"Do you mind if I join you?" The man was already sitting next to you. He was smiling at you and perhaps any other person would say it was a warm type of smile but you felt like he was mocking you. Constantly. You straightened up in your seat and eyed him closely. He was wearing the same tight cardigan, it was accentuating his broad frame and muscles hidden underneath soft, brown cashmere and simple but well fitted blue jeans. You had to admit he was handsome and had somehow angelic face which only made you cringe once you compared it to his personality or at least to what he showed you already. "I don't think that's a good idea." You said after a pause, his expression didn't change for a second, and he sipped on coffee that blushing waitress brought a few seconds ago. "How so?" His voice was sweet and melodic, it irritated you even more. "I am a celebrity, there might be an article about me having coffee with you tomorrow." You kept your tone intentionally bored as you played with the spoon. He laughed and you changed your mind his speaking voice couldn't be called melodic when his laughter sounded so beautifully.

"That's funny. I'm celebrity as well I think I'll survive." It wasn't surprising at all, he was too good-looking to not be an idol, a model or an actor perhaps. You held back another sigh. You could already see the headlines "Y/N attacks again will this man keep up with her appetite" or perhaps "One day in Korea, and she already dates — check out Y/N and her new boy toy". "Yeah I doubt it." you said but quickly added. "Weren't you supposed to renovate your apartment anyway?" "I left it to Mr Ahn it got too loud for me to read in peace."

"I can imagine." Sarcasm was basically dripping from your tongue which only seemed to amuse him even more. His eyes were now twinkling and you thought that he must be a devil in disguise. "I must say it's very lucky that I met you here. What are the odds, right?" "Ah I wouldn't call it lucky, that's for sure." You were currently planning how to escape from this conversation. "So how about we get to know each other a bit better?" He proposed with a warm smile. "I don't think so. I don't even know you." "Oh. That's harsh you do know me. I'm your neighbour and this is our third meeting." He placed a hand over his heart and frowned in pain and you wondered how can one still look handsome while frowning before he continued. "Besides I can fix that. I'm Park Jinyoung nice to meet you. See now we know each other." You fought and urge to roll your eyes and you summoned the most polite looking smile you had in your arsenal. Your phone rang before you could say anything and you've never been more happy to see your manager's face appearing on your screen.

"I'm sorry I have to take it." you said politely, and he just nodded. "Oh I wasn't expecting you to pick up." "Ah manager-nim don't be like that I haven't been picking up only for one day." "Why are you so polite are you with someone?" "Yes." You glared at Jinyoung, he was watching you with a smile with coffee in his hand. "Ok, I can call later." "No!" you almost screamed and cleared your throat trying to remain composure. "No, it's fine." "O-ok. Do you have time today? We should meet and talk I just got something that may interest you. It's really nice drama. I know you said you don't want to play in any of those romantic stories but hear me out this one is..." you'd roll your eyes if not for your neighbour's curious eyes. "Of course when and where will we meet?" You decided to cut off his rumbling. "Really? Before departure, you said you won't play in any stupid drama again." "Ah, I see. I did say that. We should meet today, text me the address then." Hanging up on him, you hoped he got the brains to follow up with text. He thankfully did and your phone barked. Jinyoung laughed again and you gave him confused look. "Did your phone just bark at you?" You blushed against yourself. Was it so weird to have a dog's bark as your message sound? "Ah... yes. I like dogs." You cringed on yourself. Somehow today in front of this man you were constantly losing your cool. He either irritated you or made you flustered enough to forget any eloquent comebacks or eloquence at all. "Anyway it was nice meeting you Jinyoung-ssi but I have to meet up with my manager."

"Oh you're leaving without even properly introducing yourself?" He cocked a brow on you and smirked. You stood up and looked at him coldly. "I'm sorry I don't feel the need." You were about to leave before he spoke again. "Ah… running already... startled... like a true bunny. Come to think of it... it does have a nice ring into it, doesn't it? Bunny. It suits you and you even have a costume already." His voice was so extremely mocking that you felt the irritation buzzing in you like electricity. Not to mention he spoke so loudly the waitress that was blushing at him before now listened carefully. You groaned internally. What if she writes about it somewhere. Media won't let you live especially that he is your neighbour they'd say he is already in love with you. And "bunny" was such a couple pet name. You were in the midst of your internal crisis before he decided to speak again.

"Have nice day bun.." You reacted before you thought, your hand slapped against his mouth before he could say anything more. His eyes got bigger, he was clearly shocked that you were so close to him, that you touched him and that you didn't really care about your language. You on the other had were fuming. You've met your fair share of fuckboys, assholes and idiots but not one of them that had similar status to yours acted with such insolence in public where other people could see you. Well, almost none, perhaps your ex was the only one. You kept your voice quiet, loud enough only for him to hear.

"Shut up. And watch your tongue before I pull it out because the universe be my witness I will and I'll do it with pleasure. My name is not kitten, bunny or any other pet name your buffoon head comes up with. It's Y/N. My name is bloody Y/N." You hissed out and his hand reach out to yours. It was hot from coffee and soft even though his grasp was firm. He took your hand of his mouth and smiled.

"Nice to meet you."

You took a step back and send him the look that must have looked like you were trying to shoot daggers at him.

"I'm sure it is. Now if you excuse me. I don't want to be late."

You rushed to counter to pay only to find out it was already taken care of by Jinyoung. You furrowed your brows and wanted to give him his money back instantly but your phone buzzed and it was your cue to leave. The driver was here.

To Mark 🐰 💙 : One day Tuan... you'll pay for this betrayal

From Mark 🐰 💙 : ILY 2 good night. P.S. He seemed hot 👀

You rolled your eyes how hot was he didn't matter if his sole personality drove you crazy only after three brief meetings. You sighed. This was not how you wanted to spend this day: enraged twice and on your way to see your manager.

Keep reading

[theikoshq-archive]

SATURNALIA.

SATURNALIA — by far the most popular and jolliest ancient holiday, it was originally celebrated on december 17th and began as a singular day to offer gifts or sacrifices during the winter sowing season to saturn, or, as you might know him, KRONUS.

and a true party it was. saturnalia was a time of drunken revelry ; of gambling, singing, playing music, feasting, and socializing. the roman poet catullus famously described it as “ the best of times ”. so riotous were the festivities that the author pliny reportedly built a soundproof room just so that he could work during the raucous celebrations.

this was a time of normal social patterns being turned upside down. regular life came to a halt ; most notably, slaves did not have to serve during saturnalia, but were instead allowed to participate in the festivities. in some cases, they even sat at the head of the table while their masters served them.

in many households, a mock king was chosen: the saturnalicius princeps, or “ leader of saturnalia. ” this figure was responsible for making mischief during the celebrations —insulting guests, wearing crazy clothing, and sowing disobedience across the home. integral to the spirit of saturnalia, the idea was that they ruled over CHAOS, rather than the normal order. the common holiday custom of hiding coins or other small objects in cakes is one of many dating back to saturnalia, as this was a method of choosing the mock king.

reversal. chaos. mischief. indulgence — those are the foundations of this age old celebration

NEW YORK CITY, 2020.

in the spirit of such role reversal and overturning of social order, a gala is being hosted, and a special one — one where people from all walks of life are invited to join in wild revelry. whether you’re a socialite of the upper echelon or a part time worker struggling to make ends meet it makes no difference, for are all welcome to come indulge in the lavish feasting and over-the-top celebration to come.

and no expenses have been spared, that is certain. from decadent feasting to top shelf offerings, surely staying true to the values of drunken revelry shouldn’t be difficult. it is a night for eating, for drinking, for dancing, and for indulging in all those impulsive desires you would never have thought possible before. and perhaps you may even have the chance to be crowned royalty ?

whether you find yourself perfectly at home dressed in your black tie best or simply committed to making as much trouble as possible, there is no doubt it will be a night to remember. 

OOC.

the gala will take place IC on FRIDAY, DECEMBER 18TH — though, your muses will have received an invite in the mail sometime before this.

the event will take place OOC on the dash from FRIDAY DEC 18TH through to FRIDAY JANUARY 1ST. we’ve decided to let the event run on for a little longer to take into account absences during the holiday season, as we know it can be harder to get on during these times ; more details on activity exceptions around the holidays will follow ! additionally, feel free to continue your other threads during this period, but it’s ONLY between these dates we will be allowing new event starters to be posted. 

for a fun little twist, we will be rolling randomly for a saturnalicius princeps when the event begins — in character, this translates to your muse finding a little red ball in their hors d'oeuvre at the beginning of the gala, but mechanically we will be reaching out to message the mun when the event begins to let them know they’ve been picked ! much like the original ancient celebration, it becomes their duty to maybe sprinkle in a little chaos, spice things up, and they will be revealed and crowned at the end of the night !

finally, please post any event content under #theikosevent001, including showing off any outfits if you so wish, and any event starters under #theikoseventstarter !

[hecohansen31]

Writing Challenge

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

Since I haven’t properly celebrated my 1K (I swear I didn’t forget about it, the motivation has just been lacking), I wanted to try to do a small writing challenge, mostly because I have seen that they are pretty popular and I hope they might help you canalize some energy and not think about outside.

So, I hope you’ll like the idea and partecipate!

RULES:

You don’t have to follow me (but if you want to, I’d absolutely love it!).

You have till the 30st June, but if you need more time don’t hesitate to ask, we don’t have any hurry sweetie.

The prompts are divided in two cathegories: writing prompts based on my favorite bookish quotes,and writing prompts based on ideas more like aesthetical (that you can use as title of your fic, plot or as quotes in the fic), the latter ons can also be used my people who create moodboards/aesthetics!

You can obviously chose more than one prompt, but I’d suggest you just limit it to two prompt for fic, and also you can mix and match the two lists.

You can also choose a prompts already chosen by somebody else, just make sure you won’t be writing for the same character, so that we can have more diversity through it all.

Send me a DM/ask to let me know for which character and for which prompt you’ll like specifying the list (I won’t accept entries through reblog).

You can absolutely use your own characters other than reader inserts, and other than that you can also use other characters from the shows or not.

The characters that you can write for are: Michael Langdon, Duncan Shepherd, Jim Mason, Xavier Plympton, Any Character from ‘Vikings’, any of BIll Skarsgard Characters (Roman Godfrey, Axel Cluney, MIckey, Henry Pearl, Henry Deaver, Mark, Gordan Merkel....) Peter Rumancek.

After you are done with the fic, pubblish it, tagging me in it (if you see that I don’t reply to it please just send it to me through DMs).

If you chose a bookish prompt, please credit the author.

If you have any question you are more than welcome to DM me for any information, believe me I am absolutely more approachable than I look.

If you need a moodboard for the fics, you can also DM me to make you one.

If you want, you can absolutely share this I would love it!

And now, ladies and gentleman here are the prompts!

CONCEPTS (also for moodboards creators)

1)      A Fairy Tale With a Twist.

2)      The Bad Guy Isn’t So Bad.

3)      The One Who Stayed. by @barnzbucky​

4)      Cruel and Cold Youth.

5)      Hair of Gold and Hair of Silver.

6)      The Princess Is Bored  by @lordsexmachine​

7)      Happiness Is Not Simple.

8)      Raising Yourself From The Bed Is Actually Easier Than You Think.

9)      If Princesses Stood With Dragons, What Would Happen?

10)   Eyes That Can Charm Any Man.

11)   Love Isn’t So Bad If Mixed With Poison.

12)   The Only Fire That Burns Brighter.

13)   Lord of Nothing, Lady of Everything.

14)   Heavy Crown of Thorns, You Carry, Sir.

15)   Relaxing? More Like Hiding From The World.

QUOTES:

1)       “If you hurt me, I wouldn't cry. I would hurt you back.”, “The Cruel Prince” by Holly Black. by @geekandbooknerd​

2)      “You cannot pick and choose what parts of her to love.”, “Heir of Fire” by Sarah J. Maas. by @geekandbooknerd​

3)      “Don't feel bad for one moment about doing what brings you joy.”, “A Court of Thorns And Roses” by Sarah J. Maas. @geekandbooknerd​

4)      “Some things are destined to be -- it just takes us a couple of tries to get there.”, “Lover Mine” by J. R. Ward.

5)      “Love makes you a liar.” by Cassandra Clare by @maggiescarborough​

6)      “My soul sees its equal in you.”, “The Wrath And The Dawn” by Renee Ahdieh.by @maggiescarborough​

7)      “The heart is an arrow. It demands aim to land true.”, “Six Of Crows” by Leigh Bardugo. by @geekandbooknerd​

8)     “She burned too bright for this world.”, “Wuthering Heights” by Emily Bronte.

9)      “I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship.”, “Little Women” by Louisa May Alcott.

10)  “Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then a thousand more”, “Carmen V” by Catullus.

11)    “If I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear!”, “Frankenstein” by Mary Shelley.

12)   “I choose you over everyone.”, “Fangirl” by Rainbow Rowell.

13)   “You were the sun, and I was crashing into you.”, “Carry On” by Rainbow Rowell.

14)   “Don't panic. Are you sitting? You probably don't need to sit. Well, possibly. At least lean on something.”, “The Raven Boys” by Maggie Stiefvater.by @youbloodymadgenius​

15)   “And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone.”, “The Song of Achilles” by Madeline Milller.

16)   “I appear to have misplaced the fucks I give for what you think.”, “Nevernight” by Jay Kristoff.

17)   “I lost myself the moment I found you.”, “Hot White Kiss” by J. L. Armentrout.

18)  “You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.”, “Harry Potter And The Order of The Phonix” by J. K. Rowling.

19)   “A pretty face, a devious mind and a ruthless nature.”, “Captive Prince” by C. S. Pacat.

20) “I am a bad person trying very hard to be a good person.”, “The Raven King” by Nora Sakavic by @lol-haha-joke​

21)   “I apologize for anything I might have done. I was not myself.” “I apologize for shooting you in the leg.” (…) “I was myself entirely.”, “A Darker Shade of Magic” by V. E. Schwab.

22)  “I think you’re a fairy tale. I think you’re magical, and brave, and exquisite. And I hope you'll let me be in your story.”, “Strange The Dreamer” by Laini Taylor by @manicpixiedreamguurl​

23)  “Happy are those who dare courageously to defend what they love.”, by Ovid.

Have a nice challenge sweetie!

[mvndrvke-archive]

info dump for new athens verse !

basic info

WHAT : equivalent of new rome but for greek demigods

WHERE : long island, near camp half-blood

AFFILIATED WITH : camp half-blood

BUILT BY : a.nnabeth c.hase & residents of camp half-blood

RUN BY : a.nnabeth c.hase

CREDITS : city 127 template // psd by luna ( me ) // catullus 1 quote

important landmarks

ACROPOLIS : the center of new athens, where most of the temples are located

ATHENA PARTHENOS : statue of athena that stands at the center of the acropolis

NEW ALEXANDRIA LIBRARY : the main and central library of new athens

COLOSSEUM : place for meetings, lectures, plays, etc., as well as some competitions

RESIDENTIAL AREA : where demigods are given the option to live outside of camp itself. legacies are also welcome to live here, as well as anyone that needs a safe place to live away from monsters, or just want a home close to other demigods

history

new athens was built after the end of the second giant war ( post-hoo series ) by annabeth and the residents of chb as a safe space for greek demigods to grow up and study. it’s basically the equivalent of new rome. demigods from everywhere are permitted to live and study there, and many former campers go on to work or teach at the university at the city. 

new athens is located next to chb in long island, and it’s a short walk from the city to the camp, making it easy for residents to move back and forth between the two. 

new athens university is run by annabeth. the city and university were completed eight years after the war ended, and it’s ten years since the end of the war when this particular au takes place. 

mutuals can reblog if they want, but don’t reblog if you’re a personal blog

[0bfvscate]

Halloway’s Night Out

Fanfiction for @nothwell‘s sequel to Mr. Warren’s Profession, Throw His Heart Over.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Alcohol use, mild sexual content, references to violence and drug use

Summary: John Halloway celebrates selling his most recent, and most controversial painting, The Fall of Icarus, with dinner and wine, but true to form, neither Halloway nor his dear friend Cyril Graves manage to do anything in a quiet or orderly way.

The reception to the painting was mixed. Some called it a masterful use of technique, others an aesthetic triumph. Others called it a debasement of ancient myth, a clear excuse to indulge in homosexual tendencies, and an affront to good taste. Halloway heard people call him both a genius and a monster for displaying the vaunted Icarus as a scarred and beaten man, and felt a bit thrilled to invoke such strong reaction.

Until he saw Warren in the crowd. Warren was a quiet man with quiet habits who preferred his privacy. Warren’s eyes darted around the room as he squeezed through the crowd toward the painting, trying to reach it without making any sign that he was there. Halloway came to the sudden realization he’d brought a very private friend to an event celebrating his naked, painted form. Halloway could see him struggling to be invisible, squirming in his suit when he bumped in to someone, apologized, and saw their eyes flicker over his scars.

Halloway jumped through the crowd. “Warren!”

His voice did not have its intended effect. Instead of being a life raft thrown into open water, it seemed to act like a bullet at a hart.

“Come here,” Halloway called, struggling with the tools at his disposal for some anchor to ground his model. “Let me shake your hand—find you a glass—no? Very well, as you wish—but do allow me to introduce you to my friend—Mr Talbot—the proprietor of this fine establishment.”

—and reached behind himself to extract one Mr. Edward Talbot, art patron, critic and former tailor. He’d inherited a strong business sense, an eye for color, and a tailor’s shop from his father, which he then liquidated and converted into a gallery for the sake of art.

“How do you do.” said Mr Talbot.

Aubrey replied in kind, but with mounting meekness as Talbot’s eyes widened with recognition. Talbots’ customary congratulations to the model froze on his lips and a yawning silence stretched in its place.

“Mr Warren,” said Halloway, clapping his free hand upon Aubrey’s shoulder, “is the celebrated model.”

“Indeed,” said Mr Talbot. “I thank you, sir, for making such a splendid work possible. Your visage is a most inspiring one. Forgive me for abandoning you so soon, but I’m afraid business calls me elsewhere. Good evening, Mr Warren. It was a pleasure meeting you. I hope to see you again soon.”

He gave them each a nod and vanished into the crowd as easily as a ghost, where his absence was filled with Halloway’s annoyance. Talbot failed to offer Warren any comfort, and left him still and fragile and unsteady as a newborn fawn. If only Warren drank, Halloway would have given him some liquid courage.

“Talbot thinks we might have an offer on the painting this very night,” Halloway blurted out.

“That’s good,” Aubrey replied, though his uncertainty turned the remark into a question.

“It’s very good,” Halloway confirmed. “Better than I’d hoped—though no less than I feel it deserves, if I may be honest at the risk of being arrogant. Have you seen it yet?”

When Aubrey admitted he’d not yet glimpsed the painting hanging in the gallery, Halloway bid him follow, and carved a path through the crowd to the wall. Every wall in the gallery bore artworks from floor to ceiling, but Icarus Fallen seemed to have a glow all its own. Or did Halloway imagine it? Did it draw his eye for the piece of himself he recognized within it, or was there something universal in its composition? Did it have that unmistakable spark of beauty that every artist chased, or was it just a nice painting that he was proud of?

Aubrey craned his neck upward towards the painting, and for a moment, he seemed at peace.

“What do you think?” Halloway asked.

“It’s… impressive,” Aubrey said at last.

Halloway smiled, but before he could say more, a hand clapped him on the shoulder.

“Halloway,” the man said. “Tell me more about this recent painting. Tell me where you found the nerve.”

And with that, the crowd drew him back in, where he was in his element.

By ten the gallery was shut up, the champagne was gone, and Richard Talbot was using Halloway’s coat and hat as a lion tamer used a chair.

“You ought to apologize to my friend Warren,” Halloway said. Graves had his fingers in the back of his jacket and was trying to pull him toward the exit. “He’s a very handsome man, you know. Very kind, very gentle. He’s sort of like a deer.”

“For God’s sake, John,” Graves grumbled. “The event is over and we’re starving. If we stay here any longer the party will end.”

“I know, I’m coming. And I’m not upset with you, I’m just a bit protective of the poor chap. He’s like a deer.”

“I understand completely.” Mr. Talbot said, advancing on him with the coat and hat.

“He saved an entire factory. That’s why he’s got those scars. Have I told you that?”

“Yes.” Talbot said.

“You’re drunk.” Graves said.

“You’re drunk.”

“I think you’d both do well to have a hot dinner and a nice cup of coffee.” Mr. Talbot said, taking another step forward with the hat and coat.

“Oh, yes. Splendid.” Graves answered.

“I just want you to know—“

“I know, John,” Mr. Talbot said, finally saddling Halloway with his own coat and hat and giving him a gentle pat. “I know.”

And then they were out in the street, unsteadily climbing into the hansom. They collapsed on top of one another and awoke some twenty minutes later feeling like watersodden logs, but after food, coffee, and yet more liquor, they both felt as fresh as spring rain.

“To Icarus!” Graves cried. “To a man who died a noble death, in the pursuit of absolute, ideal beauty. A man who stretched out his hand to touch the sun and felt its fire burning. Here’s to a man who flew out of prison and fell to the sea.”

“Now I’m not arguing against the technical skill,” said Hainsley, the editor and founder of his own magazine. “It is clearly a beautifully painted piece. What I am arguing against is the choice to mutilate Icarus.”

“He fell out of the sky and smashed on the rocky earth,” Halloway argued. “If I wanted to mutilate him, I would have done much worse then a bruising.”

“Exactly. That’s my point. You can’t argue for realism, since true realism would reduce the painting to an unrecognizable, pornographic mess. If Icarus Fallen were pure veritism it would hardly be a painting at all. Your choices were weighed accordingly, which is every artist’s right, but I respectfully disagree with your decisions.”

“Well, sir, I respectfully disagree with yours. Icarus has been portrayed in art for thousands of years, and I for one am tired of seeing unending galleries full of heroes in unblemished death throes.”

“God, are we going to sit at this table forever?” Asked Forsyth from the other end. “I’ve been stuffed in this jacket all day.”

Next they went to the Catullus club, descending on it like a flock of bats if bats waddled on foot after too much food and wine. The club was a relatively sedate place at that time of night, except for a few private parties bursting with exclamations and loud thuds from behind locked doors. They took the main room and filled it with noise and smoke as the company and the alcohol brought them all a new burst of energy. The staff, noticing the celebratory nature of their party, circled them like moths.

Halloway had a very pretty toff sitting on the arm of his chair while Graves proudly recounted his triumphs. The toff was a bit too pretty for Halloway, incessantly barring eyelashes he’d enhanced with kohl and cheeks darkened with rouge. Hainsley was sitting on the other side of the chair and salivating up at the pretty toff. Halloway, eventually, retrieved his arm from the toff and used it to wrap around Graves.

“Couldn’t we move the pronouncements to a private room?” He asked.

Graves, frozen in the act of giving a speech, took his time to arrive at John’s point. “I’m not averse, if you don’t mind leaving you adoring entourage.”

“I’d prefer it.” He admitted quietly.

Graves raised his eyebrows, but got out of his chair without comment. “Very well. Excuse us, gentlemen.”

The orderly at the welcome desk gave them a key to a room on the second floor. By the time they arrived, towels, lubricant and a clean water basin were laid out for them by the bed.

“Didn’t that pretty young gentlemen interest you at all?” Graves asked, pulling off his shoes.

“God, no,” Halloway answered. “Although if you’ve a fancy—“

“Hmm. Do I? Well, I’d certainly give it a try. But why not? He seemed very partial to you.”

“Shame I’m not much for willowy boys.” Halloway grumbled.

Graves laughed. “So it’s another question for aesthetics! Tell me, John, what disinterests you so in beauty?”

“‘Beauty’ isn’t a predetermined factor,” Halloway declared, giving up on untying his tie and just pulling it apart. “If it were, the Asthetes wouldn’t have anything to talk about.”

“Isn’t it? A truth doesn’t become less true for having facets, nor are gems less expensive for them. If beauty were in the eye of the holder, a painting could not be celebrated. As an artist, you must admit that beauty is generally agreed upon.”

“As an artist, I can tell you now that beauty is a trend that comes and goes,” he struggled to pull off his socks and eventually let himself fall forward, onto the bed. “No one today would paint a Rueben.”

“But there is still something enduring about their beauty.” Graves mused. He was stretched out in his chair, waistcoat unbuttoned and only one sock off. He seemed to have forgotten he was unbuttoning his pants.

Halloway jumped up on the bed and flipped over to work on his pants. “Alright, let’s you and I discuss the female form.”

“My, you are in a rare mood.” Graves mumbled.

“Exactly— Exactly!” Halloway cried, triumphant, standing on the bed in his johns and shirt. “We’d never deny a woman her beauty, but would you take one to bed?”

Graves made a few noncommittal noises.

“What about the most beautiful woman at the opera? What if I were to introduce you to Miss Virginia Stendhal, who sat for my celebrated painting of Persephone?”

“Oh but that brings us back to the point, my dear, which is that people find Ms. Stendhal beautiful but pity her for the sitting!”

“No, my point is that she’s beautiful, but neither of us would fuck her.”

“You put the poor woman in an unhappy marriage,” Graves pouted. “Persephone, the goddess of spring, the personification of the bloom of youth, staring at Hades as if wishing she could put him in his own pit. What a waste!”

“But why?” Halloway cried. “Why can’t I? I haven’t done anything wrong. I love those stories just as much as anyone else, and you can’t argue that no one sees them as I do, because people have told me they do!”

Graves was laughing, shaking his chair with quiet mirth. “You see, John, this is why I admire your work. You’ll do what you like and stamp your foot when people tell you they don’t like it.”

“Oh, you’re just mocking me.” Halloway said. He wobbled, fell to his knees, then landed face down on the bed. The darkness there was warm, soft and inviting, and he was in the process of exploring deeper when Graves pulled him upright. He sat on the edge of wakefulness, judging the benefits of each side of consciousness, when Graves tipped the scale. He kissed him, cupping the back of Halloway’s head in his hands. He was so warm that Halloway let him carry him fully into wakefulness, pressing his tongue against Graves’ lips until they opened and let him explore. When they’d gotten all their clothes off he pressed his chest to Graves’ and felt his heart beating on the other side. The rasp of skin and short, dark hairs tingling over his body made him flush with heat, but when he reached between Graves’ legs he found his cock still soft.

“Give me a minute.” Graves promised, pushing John onto his back. His lips tickled his skin as he kissed down Halloway’s collarbone and into the sensitive skin between his thighs, but though desire pumped through his blood his little soldier was too drunk for a full salute.

They tried a few more times, and sometime before three Halloway was startled awake by a sudden knocking on the door.

“Halloway! Graves!” Someone shouted. Halloway waited for them to announce themselves or explain what they wanted, but there was just silence on the other side. There was shuffling, then quiet, disappointed muttering and an embarrassed retreat.

“Who was that?” Graves mumbled, lifting his head up. He made a face and scraped a hair off his tongue, then slowly lifted a bit farther off the bed and took in their surrounded. “Where are we? And, good god— what are these hideous statues?”

“I think,” Halloway said, careful not to make any concrete proclamations in light of his irrational condition. “That we have abandoned our party.”

“Nonesense. We’ve only been gone a few minutes.”

Halloway searched the room for a clock, and was relieved to find a small one on the mantle. He got up and squinted at it, but although he could see both hands, neither figure shared information with him.

“I think we’ve been gone a bit longer then that.” He said tentatively.

Now it was Graves’ turn to stop and think, churning through the butter that was once his brain for all the pieces of the night to lay out in order.

“No,” he said, but that was just a reflex, come from the certainty that Cyril Graves did not abandon a party. As it dawned on him that that was indeed what he had done, the finger resting on his chin migrated north and pushed nervously into his upper lip. “Oh.”

“I think we abandoned the party, Cyril.”

“Oh,” Graves said, then got to work collecting his clothes. “Well, let’s resolve that.”

They abandoned their futile efforts to put the room back together and stopped by the front desk to drop off their key. But when they reached the sitting room, it was empty. Nothing remained of their party except for crystal cups with rings of liquid, and one cigar still smoking in an ashtray. As they stared at the ribbon of smoke rising up, they heard a giggle behind them. Glancing over their shoulder, they saw the pretty toff from before wrapped in a curtain, trying to hide but shaking with mirth.

He explained when they approached; “When you two disappeared, the others went to look for you, and that became a game of hide and seek. Right now it’s Hainsley seeking, and he’s terrific. He gets so angry when he can’t find anyone.”

To prove it, the toff encouraged them to hide behind a large potted plant. Within minutes Hainsley came in and began to turn the sitting room over, cursing the whole time. The toff was helpless with laughter, covering his mouth with both hands to smother the hiccups and gasps that escaped. Hainsley caught the echo of a cough and lifted his head with alertness, as dogs did during hunts. Slowly he inched forward, and pounced on a couch at the edge of the sitting room. He paused, as if checking his success, then threw the pillows aside and cursed again.

The toff was helpless with laughter.

Halloway straightened up and stride towards the editor. “Hainsley!”

The man jumped. “Halloway! There you are! We’ve been looking for you for ages. Don’t tell me you lost Graves on your way back from Fairyland.”

“Of course not,”Graves said, leaning against the potted plant with an air of ennui. “But what are you doing to that poor couch?”

“The bastards all thought it’d be funny to hide after you went missing.”

“Or perhaps they are the ones whisked off the Fairyland.” Graves mused.

“Anyways, all the servants have gone to bed and I need another drink.”

“Perhaps we could use another drink.” Halloway agreed. His poor, pickled brain was trying to shut up for the night, but like a bicycle with the breaks cut he could only keep moving.

As they were making up their minds of where to go and how they could get another drink so late at night, members of their party popped one by one out of doorways and down the stairs.

“Hainsley, you spoilsport!”

“Are we getting a night-cap?”

“Do you know of a place that will still be open?”

“No,” Graves said. “Regrettably, we’ll have to go home for hospitality.”

It was no longer the blackest night, but the blackest morning. Halloway was speculating on the change in atmosphere that seperated morning from night in the wee hours. Was it the dew in the air that changed the texture of the darkness, or simply the knowledge that dawn was approaching? Or was it instead the weight of his body on his mind, dragging just a step behind his alert consciousness, like a cranky child?

“Here we are. At last,” Cyril said, banging on the front door. “Open up! Come on, we don’t have all night.”

But the door did not open. Soon the whole party took up a chorus of the demand and chanted it like a drinking song.

“Open up! We don’t have all night!”

Lights glowed behind the drawn curtains and the door was abruptly opened. The party poured into the foyer, still chanting.

“Open up! We don’t have all night!”

Someone clipped John’s nose in their clumsy effort to remove their jacket, and another fell on his back as they were trying to untie shoes.

“What in heaven’s name is going on?” Demanded a voice.

Graves was trying to reason with the sober individual. “Now, listen, would you turn away an old friend for celebrating the triumph of an artistic master? This is a triumph. Triumphant. We are triumphant!”

“For god’s sake, sit down before you fall down.” Answered the sober tyrant, and orders for bedclothes and water were answered with the drumming of feet which seemed to circle Halloway before entering his skull and stamping around the dome.

“This is not a triumph,” said a second sober voice. “This is tragedy. You look like a platoon of wounded soldiers limping home.”

“Oh, come, have a nightcap with us.” Hainsley slurred.

“You’ve finished off the night, there’s nothing to cap.”

“A toast to our host!” Shouted a different voice, and when John turned to identify it, discovered the toff from the club had come out with them.

“You need to go to bed. You’ll all feel like death in the morning.”     “Oh, thank god. A piano! At last, we’ll have music!” Forsyth had made it into another room, plopped down on to the piano bench, and begun playing a waltz as slurred as his speech, alone, in the dark.

“No-- no! Absolutely not!”

“Gentlemen!” Cried a voice. John turned towards it and beheld a women on the stairs. At first, he mistook her slender, loosely-draped silhouette for Grecian garb, and the woman at her elbow as some Olympian attendant. But then the weights and pulleys in his brain settled into balance and he recognized it as a nightgown. “Welcome! And congratulations!”

The whole party gave out a cheer.

“You all look like you’ve had a fabulous night!”

Another rousing cheer.

“I propose a toast!”

Their party lost their minds. There was applause and stamping of feet.

“One last toast to the hero of tonight, Mr. John Halloway!”

She was like a priest, and they her feverish followers. John felt tears prick his eyes. A servant appeared and put a glass in his hand, with something cool and sweet. It tasted like a fruit juice, and for the life of him he could not settle on the flavor of the alcohol. It was very delicate, and mixed perfectly with the cocktail’s foundation.

“We drink to Artemis, and she brings us ambrosia!” He cried.

“Fine lady, I’d say you should sit for Halloway, but not a soul here can predict how the results will look!” Hainsley brayed, and everyone fell over themselves laughing.

She bowed graciously. “Gentlemen, my house is yours. I place my servants at your disposal. If any of you should need anything, you need only let them know. I beg you to forgive me of my absence.”

The party made a loud, collective noise, but the tone of their response was impossible to decipher. Not even Halloway could tell if he was disappointed that she was leaving them or begging her to do as she saw fit. She, her attendant, and the two masters of the house left them in the sitting room, among the pillows and blankets that were brought down when they first arrived. The toff was fast asleep, curled around a folded blanket like a child. Hainsley, after sitting down and having some of whatever substance was in his glass, was frozen in place, his mouth hanging open.

“What fine people,” Graves said. He was still upright, still smiling his knowing smile, but there was something off-balance about his posture. “What a wonderful night. Where’s Forsyth?”     They discovered Forsyth asleep on the piano.

“They act like they’ve never had a drink before.” Graves muttered.

“Let’s leave them and have another drink,” Halloway said. “That cocktail she gave us was wonderful. What did you think of it?”     “Something with apple.” Graves said pensively.

“She said we could ask for another. Didn’t she leave some of her people with us?”

They checked the rooms and the hallway around the sitting room, but everywhere was dark and empty.

“I can’t see a thing. Where’s a candle?”

“I can’t find any,” Graves said, slapping countertops along the wall for something to light. There was a clang and a bump and a series of heavy metal objects fell to the floor as Graves cursed. “How the devil did they get the lights on and off so fast? I can’t even smell the candle smoke.”

“Perhaps it’s electric?”

“Where are the lamps?”

Halloway tripped on a lurking ottoman and sprawled across the rug. Graves made a show of disgust as he pulled him up.

“John, please.”

“As if I chose to fall!”

Abruptly they found themselves back in the piano room with Forsyth, still peacefully asleep on the bench.

“Witchcraft!” Halloway cried. “She plans to turn us into pigs!”

Graves scoffed. “We must have gone the full circuit of the house. The staff must be asleep.”

“What do they expect us to do?” Halloway cried.

“Sleep, I’d expect,” Graves said. He put his hand between the curtains and lifted up a corner. “The sun is coming up.”

“No.”

Graves stepped back from the window to offer his view. True to his word, there were the pink clouds rising in the east, the red light of dawn coloring the pale sky. They  pushed back the curtains and stood in the early dawn light as the sun rose. The air under the curtain had the same chill as the outdoors, whereas behind it, in the sitting room, was still warm and dark and full of the even sounds of sleep.

“We should get to bed.” Halloway said. They joined the rest of their party on the floor of the sitting room, sober enough to spread out the cushions and blankets to make their bed. Without their shoes, coats or shirts they had a very comfortable bed, and Halloway drifted quickly off to sleep.

Halloway woke up with a headache as fierce as if he’d been beaten. His tongue was so dry it felt swollen in his mouth. He could barely open his eyes. As consciousness overtook him, and pain overtook his body, all he could manage was a helpless groan.

“I thought you’d say as much,” said a familiar voice. “Sit up, we brought you breakfast.”

Sitting up was a tall order to fulfill. Halloway only managed to roll over, and when he did was blinded with a flash of sunlight bright enough to pierce straight through his eyelids.

“Come on.” Coaxed the voice.

Now on his back, he had both arms at his disposal to lift him up, and he managed to struggle himself into a sitting position. Warren and Althorp were standing before him, to Halloway’s relief looking more indulgent than furious. The others from their party were sitting up around him, their collars and hair askew and each looking as glassy and tired as Halloway felt. The ground seemed to be tilting beneath him.

Three trays were placed on the ground of the sitting room, in easy grabbing distance to the drunkards. On each tray was a pile of toast, peppermint tea, butter and a little cold chicken, shredded into easy bites.

“How did we get here?” Halloway asked.

“You would have to tell us.” Althorp said.

“Why did we…” Halloway began, but trailed off as his train of thought left him, evaporating like water in the sun.

“Who was the woman?” Hainsley asked. “Who are you? Where are we?”

“This is my good friend Sir Lindsey Althorp.” Graves said, leaning forward to take a dry piece of toast. “The two women were his wife and sister, Lady Emmeline Althorp and Lady Rowena Althorp.”

“Where are we?” The toff asked.

“Halloway, what happened last night? What brought you here?”

“I can’t for the life of me remember,” Halloway admitted. “We were going to have one last drink and go to bed.”

“We’re glad to help, but don’t do that again.” Warren said.

Halloway grimaced and gave them a toast with his peppermint tea.

“Wonder where my hansom is.” Graves muttered.

“London, I’d expect.” Althorp said.

“Naturally.” Graves responded bitterly.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Very carefully, Halloway put his fears into words.

“Where is London?”

“England?” Althorp answered tentatively.

“Not here,” Warren said. “You’re in Manchester.”

“What!?” Halloway cried. “How in the world did we coordinate a train ride!?”

“That’s what we wondered, as well.” Warren remarked.

“You said they had space for all of us.” Hainsley said.

“This is the beauty of the intoxicated mind,” Graves said serenely. “We are capable of so much, without our inhibitions to hold us back. Gautier wrote extensively on the visions he saw while under the influence of hashish--”     “I hope you weren’t smoking that, last night.” Althorp said with all the sternness of a disapproving parent.

“I hope you don’t need to get that drunk again to find your way back.” Warren said.

“I suppose I could impose on your hospitality a bit longer for a hansom back to my lodgings.” Halloway said. He still couldn’t remember getting on a train with Graves or the others, but it was becoming easier to see why he would argue the party move to Manchester while he was at his drunkest. Despite all the travelling he did, Manchester was still home. Manchester had all the comforting amenities a drunken Halloway would crave, and a drunken Halloway could wax poetic on their benefits until an equally drunken group of men were happy to follow him across the country.

In fact, of all of them, the toff was the only one with any difficulty getting home.

“My mother will be worried.” He said.

“Tell her you were out with friends.”     “I think she’ll expect that. She’ll say not to worry about her, but she does for me, and I do for her.”

As Halloway was putting himself together, smoothing down his hair with a little of Althorp’s pomade, Warren approached him.

“I’ve never seen you like that before last night,” he said quietly. “Do you drink yourself into that condition often?”

“No, not often. Last night was a celebration.”

“I didn’t like to see you that way, Halloway,” Warren admitted. “You weren’t the man I respected.”

Halloway gave him a hard look, drying up any temperance speech that might be forthcoming. “Warren, until my drunken behavior overtakes my life, I’ll thank you not to proselytize.”

“I’m not proselytizing. I’m pointing out to you that you bought a train ticket in a state of total unconsciousness. That you’re safe and sound in our house this morning is pure luck. I’m telling you, as your friend, that drinking yourself unconscious isn’t a habit to make!”

Halloway sighed. It was unfair to treat Warren like a nagging puritan in the wake of troubling behavior. Even Halloway had to admit that last night could have taken a turn for the worst at any point, and he was in Warren and Althorp’s debt for providing them with a safe place to sleep for the night. If they’d forced them to sleep in the horse stables, no one would have blamed them-- not even Halloway.

“You’re right, of course. I was a bit out of control, and I can’t dismiss my behavior just by saying that I don’t do it often. I ought to be more careful in future,” Halloway said. A smile slowly overtook his face. “But it was quite a night.”

Warren gave him a smile in return.

He walked Halloway to the front door, where Graves was waiting to drive with him into town.

“Halloway, I have a final question about art,” Warren said. “Do you ever miss your paintings after they’ve gone?”

“No.” Halloway said.

Warren seemed taken aback by his certainty. “Never?”

“I have better paintings to make.”

Warren was quiet for a moment, and then slowly a genuinely cheerful smile spread across his face.

“Naturally.”

Halloway gave him a warm handshake. “We’ll meet in town, shall we? I’ll send a card around.”

“I’d like that.”

[rosheendubh]

Plant Ylis, or...Rheinwen's Vision

Me, flooking around with horrid photo edits again:::

Ongentheow upon Igrena, fathered Ohthere on a spring tide night when her lord husband, Vortimer-Embreis Wledig-serving the high king, his father, Vortigern, was absent from his home, directing the marriage truce of their daughter, Anna, to Hlot, son of exiled Huns deposed after Atli’s shameful death, and newly commissioned as warden of Alba, southern lords claiming dominion over northern chieftains

And Vortimer ap Vortigern, of Sinfjotli’s/Vitalis’s progeny, passing Volsunga blood, that Vortimer too, slept with his wife after, ignorant of Ongentheow’s insult to her body, dark secret locked away in her heart

So in Uthyr’s veins runs both Ylfing and Yngling/Scylfing, mingled with the blood of emperors, yet Igrena, whose honor was violated and bore a son against her will knows not which man, perhaps both, claim his siring

Infant despised and cast off as an orphan, sweet Madrun-womb-twin of Anna and aunt and mother-raises him as a fosterling in the household of her husband, YnyrGwent/Cyngar of CaerGoch

Until such time as Rheinwen, seeking vengeance for her father’s death, scandalous queen of Vortigern’s aging years, Horsa fallen at Catigern’s blade, Catigern slain in later treachery saving his elder brother, accuses Igrena of adultery and witchcraft, suspicious of this boy of Madrun’s household, boy with no father, she witnessed all the years before, Ongentheow’s ravaging of Vortimer’s beautiful wife, eve of Vortimer’s return from Caledonian lands, her belly swelling forthwith, and no living child proclaimed 9 moons later

Rheinwen, seeking dynasty for her son, Pascentius, by Vortigern, and later, by Cerdic, Cynric will she bear, Plant Ylis, mother of the Saxon race upon British shores, in truth Hibernian and Jute origins, cares not how much ruin from her actions comes, only that Vortimer’s progeny falls, and her own sons stake hegemony on British soil

Igrena, though, seeks justice of her own, and through her unwanted son, boy of 2 fathers or none, is Uther sent abroad to Gaulish colleges, for safekeeping from Rheinwen’s devices, for learning such as the ancients prized, and finally, with his mother’s cool words embedded in his heart

*Do not return to these shores, nor seek my company ever, unless you’ve satisfied blood-price for the wrong done upon me, that was the cause of your life, and are ready to claim rule over this land with the death your father’s father—until Vortigern and Egil Ongentheow hasten to Hela’s gates of reckoning...*

~~

*Obviously, bleached out damsel is Rheinwen, daughter of Horsa (sometimes, Hengist, but it depends on who ya' read)

*Old hippy dude with Bling-Egil Ongentheow (look up Swedish-Geatish Wars-they make for a wondrous tie-in with my Arthurian head canon)

*Blindfolded cloaked person with bambino--maybe baby Uther getting carried away in the night, by Madrun, his older sister (twin of Anna--based off the Tale of St Madrun, daughter of Vortimer and the granddaughter of Vortigern...in combo with St Anne/Anna, my rendition of Morganna/Morgan) at the command of his mother, Igrena, who wants no squalling little mite reminding her of her humiliation at Ongentheow's hand, Vortigern's approval, and Rheinwen's plotting

*Kneeling Roman commander, Vortimer, trying to comfort his dying brother, Catigern, after the Night of the Long Knives, sons born of Sevira, the granddaughter of Magnus Maximus, from Vortigern's first marriage-the house of Vitalis/Sinfjotli, shattered by betrayal and deception, Vortimer/Emrys Wledig, and his brother, Catigern, in open revolt against their father, the OverLord of Britain south of the Walls, where Vortimer, exiled rebel prince, escapes to the Continent, his legions following him, deceived into service by a rising barabarian commander, Earp/Odovacer/Hryp/RithaGaer, to serve in the Western Emperor's desperate power play against the Visigoth army, 12,000 British troops holding the field for Roman reinforcements that never arrive, and 10,000 of them slaughtered

*Vortimer and his remnant companies surviving by the grace of the Savior, and the sudden appearance of a unit of light horse, their standard and their insignias upon shield and helm unfamiliar, but they sweep in to fend the retreat of Vortimer’s few men, a scattering of infantry and cavalry Refusing to abandon their commander, ready to die at his side, until this unforeseen, but welcome salvation salvages what remains of their host

*To Avillion, and the college of holy women and men residing, into the abbess’s care does does Vortimer slowly recover, as do his wounded comrades, under Vivian’s direction, the widowed and clever daughter of Macrobius Ambrosius Theodosius, who had tutored Vortimer and Catigern in their youth, Vortigern, a son of Odin from his father’s side, perhaps, but from their mother’s, Roman heritage and Roman learning for Roman princes of British and Volsung nobility *And there, in the lambent Gaulish countryside, bordering Burgundian holdings ruled by Gundobad—colluding then, with Ricimer against Anthemius, Western emperor who failed to send reinforcements to Vortimer’s aid—alongside a lake shining like glass beneath sky, sun, moon, with the rolling hills washed in rich wheat, graceful estates thrive as though the Eagles never knew of barabarian invasion, sheep herds wander in the valleys, and vineyards braided amongst the highest bluffs, does Vortimer meet his own son, sent abroad at his wife’s, his beloved queen, Igrena’s insistence a decade gone now—how time slips so quickly—a boy come to manhood by the patient authority of God’s learned men, who entertain the philosophies of ancient scholars melded with younger faiths, and that older woman, Vivian, who nurtured his heart, and mind, and body when lust wakened aching loins amid wet sheets, teaching him as much of Eros, and Catullus’s lessons, as of Alexandria’s Cerebral gifts, Llacheu, the son of her middle age, born after Uther, and his own adventurous peers, depart with Vortimer, and the remnant British forces, deserted in foreign lands, banished from an island upon which, for either to return will be death at Vortigern’s order, and Rheinwen’s weaving, her husband easy to manipulate in his dotage

*Uter-Uhthere-Ohthere-Ueter-named after the centurion’s god, the common soldier’s god, Veteris, the guardian of legionaries, bringing Victory in battle, and with each Victory, one day closer to honorable retirement, the judge of warriors to the northern troops recruited along the borders of German forests, the peculiar syllables of Latin, assimilating the Brythonic enunciation to Ucter, to Victor, and back again to Wythr *That when Vortimer, His own Latin name, Ambrosius Aurelianus, the praenomen in honor of his beloved tutor, father of the healer-trained-abbess of Avillion’s holy house of novices, women and men both, the cognomen, a conceit of his grandfather, a Northman mercenary, Sinfjotli, Fitelis, Vitalis-Wihtgils-the father of Hengist, and Horsa by a Saxon princess in his sea-reaving youth, and Vortigern, offspring from a marriage to Roman aristocracy of Glevum/Gloucester, bought with a treasure hoard of gold and ships, and passing on Theonia Aurelia’s heritage, her status, by way of her precious name, that she despised her Volsung husband in the short duration of their union was no secret, after giving him a son, she fled to a convent, left Sinfjotli with no great sorrow, having served her purpose, bearing Vortigern, who would have authority in the world, and whose own sons after him, by way of Sevira, daughter of yet one more Imperial claimant, Constantius III, of which Britannia boasted so many in each generation, would harbor power, supreme ruler ship by dynastic right

*Alas, the tears of Volsung women, their matrimony haunted by god cursed blood, since white-breasted Signy vowed wrath upon the husband who destroyed her family, and war upon the One Eyed God who’d plunged a sword into a broad oak at her wedding, that her sweetest, youngest, bravest brother, Sigmund proved the only one worthy to free that blade, and stirred the jealousy of her loathsome spouse, so that he killed all her siblings but Sigmund, and did sister seduce brother, where 3 seasons later, was Sinfjotli spilled from Signy’s bloody thighs to wreck sorrow upon vile Sikling, a single act that would direct the following decades of the Eagle’s fate to Her dying days, as Brynhild thrust herself upon the same sword, to burn with her dead Sigurd upon his pyre, thence Gudrun’s tears turned to glass, and her heart to stone, watching the love of her maiden years, the father of her golden daughter, Swanhild, turn to ash, as she would later weep in the pools of blood from her daughter’s bruised and trampled corpse, fueling wars with her rage that would shape the fate of whole nations, from East to West, until hatred be spent, and hollowness the only vestige of pain hinged into Gudrun’s hardened heart, her last intention, to see her youngest son, Earp, Odovacer, take the Imperial throne, empty triumph for a child born of her third husband, Edeko, sacrificed to the fallout of violence from Swanhilde’s murder, her fourth husband, the Christian Lord, who at least could not be slain, who might offer solace for the tragedy of her life, yet seemed inclined to spurn her bitter peace, sending her a chit of a girl, a hoyden British princess, or so claimed so many venturing abroad from that beleaguered isle, an orphan whose spirit and determination would soften even Gudrun’s hardened affection in the years she would bring that child to womanhood, and guide her in a curriculum foreign to women, raising her to destiny—a Queen like no other-to shape a new world out of the old world’s wreckage, but where Old Grim may claim a mortal woman as his Valkyrie, Brigantia and Her own Ravens long ago placed her blessing upon the women of that girl’s heritage, so that even a god of wolves and ravens comes supplicant to the Lady of Poetry, Science, and Healing, and her ancient form, as Lady of Beasts, the eternal dance renewed in every Age, embodied now in Venaura of the Cawnur, Votadini royalty, in that fateful moment, the first time Uther’s gaze crosses hers, and she commands him to lower his blade on sacrosanct ground, or risk death before the witnesses of sky, earth, and sea, and his confusion of amusement or amazement, by that point, tried warrior, the commander of the fleet of Black Danes, seasoned by 5 years of raiding, journeying in lands, amid people more exotic than even his old studies might have painted (based on the Travels of the 9th century Ohthere/Wulfhere...), having recently won victories in his father’s reclaiming of Britannia’s overlord ship, against Vortigern, Uther, provoked by the woman’s confidence, commanding in the company of fighting men, taunted her, asking just what would happen if he refused her order, and kept his blade unsheathed, whereby Venaura, unflustered and entirely serious, replied simply, *You’ll die.* 

*By whose hand*, he returned.  

*By mine*, she stated, firm, without hesitation, her gaze flat upon him, emotionless.  *With laughter, and a mocking bow, did he comply to this woman, haughty in manner, but her eyes reminded him of sunlight breaking through the gray mists of fog and storm, flashing with the fire of her spirit, a mind quick and ever questioning. A mind, a will, to match his own.

*And that shadowed sword, Odin’s spirit forged into iron, Mimung, granted by Vitalis not to his son, Vortigern, but upon his deathbed did Vitalis’s words leave Vortigern cold, and to Vortimer, grandson worthier than his own son, did that god-blade pass, iron and lightening, drawing blood from sunlight, or so witnesses swore who had the glory, or foul luck, seeing Vortimer swing that weapon in battle, catching and splitting even sun rays into a spectrum of colors, the sword Vortimer knows will one day, at his own death, be bestowed to the young man who removes his helmet once the safety of their remaining troops has been assured at their final retreat toward Avillion, brown hair like oak leaves in early autumn, plastered in sweaty curls down to his shoulders, tied back by a leather knot, face sharing the deep angles and refined ridge of brow and chin, characterizing Vortigern’s progeny, inquisitive eyes studying his face, they blink in a momentary surprise, the wide, thin line of his lips, a trace of grimness or softness there depending on mood, the narrow cleft of of the nose, his height, tall even for the standards of northern blood, a lean limbed muscularity, at that point of maturity, past gangling awkwardness, an early summer virility still approaching his full prime, glorying in that symmetry of strength and motion and power, Vortimer’s edification that the lad his wife sent off to Gaulish monasteries a decade ago has at least not wasted all his hours breathing in the dust of rotting scrolls, nor shying from the bite of wind or touch of sun

*his son, who salutes him with a bow, one arm crossed over his chest, the honorific spoken in a firm voice, resonant of the West Country where he’d spent his early childhood, his Latin shaped in the precise inflections of the orators of old, *Your Eminence, my sorrow the late word of your dire straits, that we hadn’t arrived before such losses accrued.* His son, who comports himself as one accustomed to circles of authority and rank, but there’s that expectancy flashing in his gaze, not quite experienced enough yet, to disguise the curiosity, hope, eagerness perhaps, though they’ve met once only, a decade ago, at the conclusion of that humiliating tribunal before the bishops of the Papal sees, a mock investigation, the crux of Rheinwen’s scheming, to see Igrena humiliated and dishonored, where Madrun was accused of dark rites, conceiving a half-human child, conjugating with an incubus, and Uther, judged devil spawn, to be consigned to some horrid trial meant to prove his humanity, forced Igrena to protect her treasured daughter, revealing the shame Ongentheow had wrought upon her, and the truth of Uther’s conception, that vile night, during those years when mercenaries from across the North Sea, and the lands of the Sueones, were serving under Vortigern’s hire *his son...or Ongentheow’s, Egil Angantyr, the young man’s eyes hold the color of amber, burnished honey of red clover, lighter than the rich brown of his own, a perfect tarnishing, in fact, bestowed from the pale yellow of Ongentheow’s predatory sight, imposition onto Uther’s parentage, that wakens remorse, Igrena’s grief at the secret she’d kept from him all the years, to save her country from the civil war she knew would erupt when Ongentheow’s act was revealed, her only defense to innocence, a woman’s capitulation to violation, and shame upon her husband’s honor, the bastard born of that union, mark of Providence’s judgement

*he sees, in those moments of mutual scrutiny, that searching mirrored in his own thoughts, wondering on commonality of feature, of expression, or motion, his muscles stiffening from the exertion of battle, mind reeling from the magnitude of disaster, reeking of sweat, dried blood, and mire, and realizes in the young warrior’s countenance, whether it’s his or Ongentheow’s seed, an amalgamation of each, it’s Igrena’s beauty, ultimately, in her son, the mettle, the bold flash of fire spurring intellect, and Vortimer knows, the assurance rising, the sword he bears, Mimung, blade of the Waelsungs, will pass on to this man coming of age in an era of upheaval, shifting loyalties, and turning tides *this young warrior, his son, possessing of Ylfing and Yngling heritage, who, weeks later, when Vortimer stares dejected, considering his dismal prospects one night, no hope forthcoming from the blazing hearth fires surrounding Macrobius’s luxuriant dining chamber, suggests they seek employ with Gundobad, mercenaries, sell-swords, fortune-hunters, the Burgundian king, welcoming to companies of dubious repute, so long as they defend as they’re appointed, promising a fair wage, and quartering amid his own stables and armory

*he eyes the younger man skeptically, mentioning he has no desire in getting caught up in the factional strife of Rome or Ravenna, his men even less so, Uther replying, *Neither do I.* He notices Vortimer’s puzzlement, the sharpened look, a pique of interest clearing the morbidity of thought in these monotonous weeks, *I want to go north, to the lands of our fathers, and beyond that. Where they say the sun never sets in summer, and the sea becomes a sheet of ice that never melts. Carausius’s fleet disappeared beyond that distance two centuries ago-*he breaks off at Vortimer’s scowl. 

*So, you want to wander lost among the ice sheets like those forgotten souls?*

*You need a naval force*, Uther continues, undeterred by Vortimer’s jaded assumption, *a fleet, and we need men to replenish ranks. Messengers bring word of a Scylfing nobleman, an exile raised on British shores, seeking fortune hunters like himself, with little to lose of wealth or name.* 

*Hunters of misfortune I’d wager, rather than fortune,* Vortimer, unable to mellow his cynicism, *I don’t think your mother sent you abroad to a Gaulish college so she could see her son become a sea-wolf.

*Uther’s gaze hardens, voice gone tense, *No, she sent me abroad to return, equipped to avenge the insult done her, and fight for your claim as Britannia’s rightful ruler. This Scylding, Hrothgar, shares common cause against the Ingveones(Ynglings). Ongentheow rules out of Vendel lands now. Together, United we could take him—*, his eagerness faltering as Vortimer’s chuckle grows deeper, musing on idealism and inexperience.

*The Vendel are a powerful nation, with many allies and liege tribes. Your homeland has enough involvement with them, amid our own domestic wars to not chance stirring foreign rivalries further. What exactly do you hope to gain by such venture, Uther?** 

—

*Vortimer and his remnant companies surviving by the grace of the Savior, and the sudden appearance of a unit of light horse, their standard and their insignias upon shield and helm unfamiliar, but they sweep in to fend the retreat of Vortimer’s few men, a scattering of infantry and cavalry Refusing to abandon their commander until this unforeseen, but welcome salvation salvages what remains of their host

*To Avillion, and the college of holy women and men residing, into the abbess’s care does does Vortimer slowly recover, as do his wounded comrades, under Vivian’s direction, the widowed and clever daughter of Macrobius Ambrosius Theodosius, who had tutored Vortimer and Catigern in their youth, Vortigern, a son of Odin from his father’s side, perhaps, but from their mother’s, Roman heritage and Roman learning for Roman princes of British and Volsung nobility

*And there, in the lambent Gaulish countryside, bordering Burgundian holdings ruled by Gundobad—colluding then, with Ricimer against Anthemius, Western empower who failed to send reinforcements to Vortimer’s aid—alongside a lake shining like glass beneath sky, sun, moon, with the rolling hills washed in rich wheat, graceful estates thrive as though the Eagles never knew of barabarian invasion, sheep herds wander in the valleys, and vineyards braided amongst the highest bluffs, does Vortimer meet his own son, sent abroad at his wife’s, his beloved queen, Igrena’s insistence a decade gone now—how time slips so quickly—a boy come to manhood by the patient authority of God’s learned men, who entertain the philosophies of ancient scholars melded with younger faiths, and that older woman, Vivian, who nurtured his heart, and mind, and body when lust wakened aching loins amid wet sheets, teaching him as much of Eros, and Catullus’s lessons, as of Alexandria’s Cerebral gifts, Llacheu, the son of her middle age, born after Uther, and his own adventurous peers, depart with Vortimer, and the remnant British forces, deserted in foreign lands, banished from an island upon which, for either to return to will be death at Vortigern’s order, and Rheinwen’s weaving, her husband easy to manipulate in his dotage

*Uter-Uhthere-Ohthere-Ueter-named after the centurion’s god, the common soldier’s god, Veteris, the guardian of legionaries, bringing Victory in battle, and with each Victory, one day closer to honorable retirement, the judge of warriors to the northern troops recruited along the borders of German forests, the peculiar syllables of Latin, assimilating the Brythonic enunciation to Ucter, to Victor, and back again to Wythr

*That when Vortimer, His own Latin name, Ambrosius Aurelianus, the praenomen in honor of his beloved tutor, father of the healer-trained-abbess of Avillion’s holy house of novices, women and men both, the cognomen, a conceit of his grandfather, a Northman mercenary, Sinfjotli, Fitelis, Vitalis-Wihtgils-the father of Hengist, and Horsa by a Saxon princess in his sea-reaving youth, and Vortigern, offspring from a marriage to Roman aristocracy of Glevum/Gloucester, bought with a treasure hoard of gold and ships, and passing on Theonia Aurelia’s heritage, and status, by way of her precious name, that she despised her Volsung husband in the short duration of their union was no secret, after giving him a son, she fled to a convent, left Sinfjotli with no great sorrow, having served her purpose, bearing Vortigern, who would have authority in the world, and whose own sons after him, by way of Sevira, daughter of yet one more Imperial claimant, Constantius III, of which Britannia boasted so many in each generation, would harbor power, supreme ruler ship by dynastic right

*Alas, the tears of Volsung women, their matrimony haunted by god cursed blood, since white-breasted Signy vowed wrath upon the husband who destroyed her family, and war upon the One Eyed God who’d plunged a sword into a broad oak at her wedding, that her sweetest, youngest, bravest brother, Sigmund proved the only one worthy to free that blade, and stirred the jealousy of her loathsome spouse, so that he killed all her siblings but Sigmund, and did sister seduce brother, where 3 seasons later, was Sinfjotli spilled from Signy’s bloody thighs to wreck sorrow upon vile Sikling, a single act that would direct the following decades of the Eagle’s fate to Her dying days, as Brynhild thrust herself upon the same sword, to burn with her dead Sigurd upon his pyre, thence Gudrun’s tears turned to glass, and her heart to stone, watching the love of her maiden years, the father of her golden daughter, Swanhild, turn to ash, as she would later weep in the pools of blood from her daughter’s bruised and trampled corpse, fueling wars with her rage that would shape the fate of whole nations, from East to West, until hatred be spent, and hollowness the only vestige of pain hinged into Gudrun’s hardened heart, her last intention, to see her youngest son, Earp, Odovacer, take the Imperial throne, empty triumph for a child born of her third husband, Edeko, sacrificed to the fallout of violence from Swanhilde’s murder, her fourth, the Christian Lord, who at least could not be slain, who might offer solace for the tragedy of her life, yet seemed inclined to spurn her bitter peace, sending her a chit of a girl, a hoyden British princess, or so claimed so many venturing abroad from that beleaguered isle, a orphan whose spirit and determination would soften even Gudrun’s hardened affection in the years she would bring that child to womanhood, and guide her in a curriculum foreign to women, raising her to destiny—a Queen like no other-to shape a new world out of the old world’s wreckage, but where Old Grim may claim a mortal woman as his Valkyrie, Brigantia and Her own Ravens long ago placed her blessing upon the women of that girl’s heritage, so that even a god of wolves and ravens comes supplicant to the Lady of Poetry, Science, and Healing, and her ancient form, as Lady of Beasts, the eternal dance renewed in every Age, embodied now in Venaura of the Cawnur, Votadini royalty, in that fateful moment, the first time Uther’s gaze crosses hers, and she commands him to lower his blade

*that shadowed sword, Odin’s spirit forged, Mimung, granted by Vitalis not to his son, Vortigern, but upon his deathbed did Vitalis’s words leave Vortigern cold, and Vortimer instead, wielding a god-blade of iron and lightening, drawing blood from sunlight, or so witnesses swore who had the glory, or foul luck, seeing Vortimer swing that weapon in battle, catching and splitting even sun rays into a spectrum of colors, the sword he knows will one day, on Vortimer’s death, be bestowed to the young man who removes his helmet once the safety of their remaining troops has been assured at their final retreat toward Avillion, brown hair like oak leaves in early autumn, plastered in sweaty curls down to his shoulders, tied back by a leather knot, face sharing the deep angles and refined ridge of brow and chin, characterizing Vortigern’s progeny, inquisitive eyes studying his face, they blink in a momentary surprise, the wide, thin line of his lips, a trace of grimness or softness there depending on mood, the narrow cleft of of the nose, his height, tall even for the standards of northern blood, a lean limbed muscularity, at that point of maturity, past gangling awkwardness, an early summer virility still approaching his full prime, glorying in that symmetry of strength and motion and power, Vortimer’s edification that the lad his wife sent off to Gaulish monasteries a decade ago has at least not wasted all his hours breathing in the dust of rotting scrolls, nor shying from the bite of wind or touch of sun

*his son, who salutes him with a bow, one arm crossed over his chest, the honorific spoken in a firm voice, resonant of the West Country where he’d spent his early childhood, his Latin shaped in the precise inflections of the orators of old, *Your Eminence, my sorrow the late word of your dire straits, that we hadn’t arrived before such losses accrued.* His son, who comports himself as one accustomed to circles of authority and rank, but there’s that expectancy flashing in his gaze, not quite experienced enough yet, to disguise the curiosity, hope, eagerness perhaps, though they’ve met once only, a decade ago, at the conclusion of that humiliating tribunal before the bishops of the Papal sees, a mock investigation, the crux of Rheinwen’s scheming, to see Igrena humiliated and dishonored, where Madrun was accused of dark rites, conceiving a half-human child, conjugating with an incubus, and Uther, judged devil spawn, to be consigned to some horrid trial meant to prove his humanity, forced Igrena to protect her treasured daughter, revealing the shame Ongentheow had wrought upon her, and the truth of Uther’s conception, that vile night, during those years when mercenaries from across the North Sea, and the lands of the Sueones, were serving under Vortigern’s hire

*his son...or Ongentheow’s, Egil Angantyr, the young man’s eyes hold the color of amber, burnished honey of red clover, lighter than the rich brown of his own eyes, a perfect tarnishing, in fact, bestowed from the pale yellow of Ongentheow’s predatory sight, imposition onto Uther’s parentage, that wakens remorse, Igrena’s grief at the secret she’d kept from him all the years, to save her country from the civil war she knew would erupt when Ongentheow’s act was revealed, her only defense to innocence, a woman’s capitulation to violation, and shame upon her husband’s honor, the bastard born of that union, mark of Providence’s judgement

*he sees, in those moments of mutual scrutiny, that searching mirrored in his own thoughts, wondering on commonality of feature, of expression, or motion, his muscles stiffening from the exertion of battle, mind reeling from the magnitude of disaster, reeking of sweat, dried blood, and mire, and realizes in the young warrior’s countenance, whether it’s his or Ongentheow’s seed, an amalgamation of each, it’s Igrena’s beauty, ultimately, in her son, the mettle, the bold flash of fire spurring intellect, and Vortimer knows, the assurance rising, the sword he bears, Mimung, blade of the Waelsungs, will pass on to this man coming of age in an era of upheaval, shifting loyalties, and turning tides

*this young warrior, his son, possessing of Ylfing and Yngling heritage, who, weeks later, when Vortimer stares dejected, considering his dismal prospects one night, no hope forthcoming from the blazing hearth fires surrounding Macrobius’s luxuriant dining chamber, they seek employ with Gundobad, mercenaries, sell-swords, fortune-hunters, the Burgundian king, welcoming to companies of dubious repute, so long as they defend as they’re appointed, promising a fair wage, and quartering amid his own stables and armory

*he eyes the younger man skeptically, mentioning he has no desire in getting caught up in the factional strife of Rome or Ravenna, his men even less so, Uther replying, *Neither do I.* He notices Vortimer’s puzzlement, the sharpened look, a pique of interest clearing the morbidity of thought in these monotonous weeks, *I want to go north, to the lands of our fathers, and beyond that. Where they say the sun never sets in summer, and the sea becomes a sheet of ice that never melts. Carausius��s fleet disappeared beyond that distance two centuries ago-*he breaks off at Vortimer’s scowl. 

*So, you want to wander lost among the ice sheets like those forgotten souls?*

*You need a naval force, a fleet, and we need men to replenish ranks. Messengers bring word of a Scylfing nobleman, an exile raised on British shores, seeking fortune hunters like himself, with little to lose of wealth or name. *

*Hunters of misfortune I’d wager, rather than fortune.  I don’t think your mother sent you abroad to a Gaulish college so she could see her son become a sea-wolf.*

Uther’s gaze hardens, voice gone tense, *No, she sent me abroad to return, equipped to avenge the insult done her, and fight for your claim as Britannia’s rightful ruler. This Scylding, Hrothgar, shares common cause against the Ingveones(Ynglings). Ongentheow rules out of Vendel lands now. Together, United we could take him—*, his eagerness faltering at Vortimer’s scathing laugh, musing on idealism and inexperience.

*The Vendel are a powerful nation, with many allies and liege tribes. Your homeland has enough involvement with them, amid our own wars to not chance steeping ourselves further in their rivalries.” Leaning forward, attention narrowed upon the younger man, he challenges this youth, son, or not his son, seeking a better answer than a quest for vengeance. *What exactly do you hope to gain by such venture, Uther?*

*Recompense for the crime committed against my mother,” he answers, anger dark on his features. 

*That’s not your blood-debt to collect, Uther—* at which, Uther’s frustration boils over, venting back about the charge Igrena set upon him. *Despite your mother’s instruction, boy!* Vortimer’s voice raging through the quiet hall, slamming his palm down on the table, stunning both of them into silence. Uther exhales in frustration, frowning where Vortimer’s powerful hand rests, splayed by his tension, thickened by callouses, the index finger twisted from a long forgotten injury. Gathering what calm he’s able, Vortimer attempts with more patience, willing the younger man to understand, *Let it go now, Uther.*  *Uther’s jaw stiffens, protest rising, but Vortimer’s explanation chokes off his response. *Unless you wish the sin of patricide upon soul, leave it. It’s not for you, avenging the wrong done your mother. Do you understand me?* *Stubborn lad, he sees the storm of struggle over Uther’s face, resistance or acquiescence. And the slow, reluctant nod, the way he casts his gaze down the length of the table, refusing to meet his acknowledged father’s eyes.  The fierceness commanding him alters gradually, something numb and tormented, tone rasped by disgust. *It’s true, then? He-that-abscess of filth could have sired me?*

*Resignation falls heavy upon Vortimer. *As your mother counted the days, it’s hard to consider it untrue.* He let’s Uther work through that revelation, the long breath, a quiet sigh following, indicating some kind of acceptance, he hopes. A moment more, offering of truce, and Vortimer says, *Now, try again, Uther. What exactly do you hope to gain by such venture?*

*The amber hued gaze grows distant, as Uther ponders what he envisions such exploration might hold. A young man, and his fellow warriors, clawing out some foothold of status or wealth upon the rise and fall of competing nations, left from the West’s decay.

*Rose tinged rays lengthen past the watery glass of the windows encased in the high stone walls of the chamber. Longing pierces Vortimer’s heart, Igrena’s essence vivid in the youth’s contemplation. Sweet soul, she had been younger than her son now, at the time of their marriage. A union she’d entered unwilling, a widow and mother already, barely out of girlhood at 16 summers.  A rebellious princess of the Hibernian Cennsaleigh (Leinstermen), fleeing from an unwanted match arranged by her father, without her consent,  Crimmthann, ruler of the Cennselaigh, desiring truce with the  Hibernian High-King, Loeghaire, and joining the dominant tribes of Hibernia’s northern and eastern facing coasts.  With her lover, a reckless prince of a minor sept, and the collusion of her brother, they’d fled, like the tales of Deirdre and Naoise, to Pretania/Pictland. Refugees with the Fidach, whose lands composed endless mountain ranges, fangs of snow-covered rock, soaring to the skies, gating off the foreboding lakes speckled through deep ravines, the strip of the Nessa’s water plunging to the Underworld, dividing Alba’s vast wilderness, had kept even the Romans in the days of their greatness, at bay.  Alas for Cyddbar, chieftain of the Fidach, sympathetic to the young lovers. And far too confidant in the rugged terrain defending his fortress, carved into a bluff, along the Western strand of that long lake, the Nessa (Uquart Castle).  He hadn’t accounted for Vortigern’s mercenary custom, nor the hammer of savagery inflicted by the combined forces of the Tyrant’s legions, allied with Jutish companies from across the North Sea. In those years, it seemed no spring or summer passed without some incursion of Picts or Scots, Fidach included, into the territories of southern Caledonians, residing in the lands stretching between both Walls—Valentia—as it was known. A lost name now, lost territory of a shattered Empire. In that first decade of Vortigern’s supremacy, attracting Germani warlords as paid mercenaries with the promise of land and stipend was like baiting sharks with fresh blood. Especially when they were kinsmen, Hengist and Horsa, supplying men and ships, and eager to escape Hunnish submission to Atila’s grasping hegemony, which recognized no bounds, even to the far reaches of lands beyond the sea, since the decimation of the rival Burgundian Gepids. Their hire allowed Vortigern to neutralize 2 problems with one solution. Cull the raiding Picts and Scotti, whilst negotiating leverage with notoriously insubordinate northern warlords of these buffer zones extending from Eboracum to the old Aelian divide, who kept uneasy relations with the Caledonian monopoly of Votadini and AlClut, peopling the cinch zone Of fertile river valleys between the Clota and the Forth. Many of their leaders who retained a model of legate, perfect, and centurion, in their command, accommodating civic governance to ensure secure roads and borders, even some sea-trade if they access to harbors, across that region of mist-shrouded mountains and bleak moors, lost forests where the veins of roads, towns, and forts connected the hinterland of Empire to civilization.  

Under the direction of Vortimer and Catigern, combined forces of British and Jute, some Anglen with their related cousins from neighboring lands further to the north, joined too, by Scotti tribes of the Cennsalaigh and Ulaidh, Crimmthann and Loeghaire amongst them, who in other years, would have been enemy, now shared common cause in restoring Crimthann’s wayward daughter, together razed the isolated hamlets of the Fidach, leaving a trail of destruction, and death, right to the path leading to the heights of Cyddbar’s fortress. Self-preservation dictated Cyddbar to accept terms, turning over the decapitated head of Igrena’s lover, tendrils of the flesh still dripping with fresh scarlet to the pebbled ground where both sides had assembled for the surrender along the strand of shore lapped by Nessa’s pewter waters. And Igrena, whose beauty men claimed to be fey-born, even in her stricken sorrow, slender and graceful as a young willow, proud and defiant against her father, a lone, lost figure holding her toddler son in her arms, shaming the grim scrutiny of battle-hardened men with her cold grief, when she was brought before that unforgiving audience. No ally, no appeal, her brother’s life spared, but her son, the bargaining piece to buy her cooperation, submission to the Hibernian high king. Smug Loeghaire, oozing self-satisfaction, eyes shifting like a greedy weasel’s, thinking himself merciful in his justice, accepting Igrena back, despite her infidelity. 

When she refused, coloring him with an insult so degrading, the men in immediate ear-shot looked away in discomfort, the sputtering Loeghaire convulsed into rage. With his sword raised to her white throat, he threatened death to her and her bastard child. And before the hard gazes of a 1000 upon another 1000 men, and the impassive attention of her father, Crimthann, who seemed impatient more than anything, to be done with his errant daughter whose impetuosity had cost him gold, men, and status, Igrena merely lifted her chin, pressing the thin flesh of her neck into the edge of Loeghaire’s blade, drawing a thin line of crimson on pale skin. *I’d rather death for myself and my boy, than expend an instant of life as your bride, Loeghaire.* 

An instant, as well, when Vortimer could no longer stand to see such a magnificent creature cast off to an obvious fool. Catigern never grew tired of ribbing him for his infamous disdain of female company, unless seeking a temporary physical release from the distraction of desire. Women were diversions from the weightier contentions men were forced to manage in the outside world. Trouble without home and children to occupy their wandering attentions and soft minds, or locked away in a convent somewhere, they became like bored hounds finding mischief when not appropriately engaged. As Catigern sensed as well, the truth of Vortimer’s reticence to female wile stemmed more profoundly with the memory of their mother, Sevira.

Chaste, devout in faith to her Christian God, as to her brother’s attempts at maintaining cordial relations with Roman authority, she suffered Vortigern’s growing abuse as events accelerated toward Britannia’s break with Rome, consequent to her father, Flavius Constantius’s, failed claim to Emperor. An act that stole the life of her eldest brother as well, hastening to their father on the Continent, with the vestiges of Britannia’s last legions.  Vortigern’s official invite to his Jutish brethren, promising alignment with the pro-Imperial factions led by her surviving brother, Urbogenus/Erbin, arose from Sevira’s skilled diplomacy, her marriage joining the lines of Mascen Wledig with the Aurelii of Glevum. And catapulting Vortigern to Imperator In all but name. Factionalism inevitably was born when Vortigern, exploiting the nativist divisions of old British tribalism, garnering the support of separatist chieftains from the remnants of prominent southern and western districts, rising war-lords in this new Britannia without Rome, gambled with his Jutish foederati, and moved to dissolve the civitas councils. To that point, Vortigern’s charisma, his decisiveness, the wise advice of his Roman wife, persuasive at her salons, to his opposition, allayed even her brother’s ambivalence over Vortigern’s ambitions. But from that moment, when Vortigern elevated himself with the proclamation of ‘Imperator’, exiling or executing any who opposed his authority, Erbin refused fealty, named Vortigern *tryant*, fleeing to his Dumnonian queen’s family, and for his life, eventually finding refuge amid the British houses of Aremorica, deposed and disgraced. Deserting Sevira to the denigration of her husband, for what Vortigern viewed as her betrayal to his cause, and subjecting her to emotional abuses an aging Sinfjotli was helpless to prevent. And adolescent Vortimer, his younger brother by a year, Catigern, bore witness with ever increasing rebellion to their father’s contemptuous regard of their patiently suffering mother. Sinfjotli, proud of his son’s achievement, but disgusted by how he treated his noble wife, he took charge of his grandsons’ education, sending them abroad to Gaul, into Macrobius Ambrosius’s tutelage.  And when they returned, young men ready to take up service in their father’s court, gifted with the rare qualities of intelligence, fortitude, ambition, and temperance, as well as a rare affection to each other, Vortimer and Catigern found their mother swaying from a hemp cord, hung from ceiling rafters, her death-sallowed skin crusted in dried tears that kept falling into her last death throes. 

A suicide Vortimer never forgave as a murder, inflicted by his father’s grasping callousness. Sevira’s corpse, suspended in ghostly vision before him, as he challenged Loeghaire, individual contest, for the right to this Hibernian princess, never mind that she viewed all the gathered warriors there, on that beach, with the same revulsion, who’d brought an end to her lover’s life. But her one act, the absolute defiance of death, pierced not only her skin, but Vortimer’s heart, touching a rare tenderness, desire for her obvious beauty, a willowy limbed maiden, whose clean lined harmony of cheek, pale and freckled, a high brow, crowned by a bounty of ashen strands lit by gold, whipped by the driving wind, her sorrowing eyes, long lashed, holding the shades of sea and sand, washing over the gray-green lichen blanketing rocky shores, but it was the taut pride of slender shoulders, lift of her chin, the vitriol of her gaze fixed on every one of those men’s faces, that captured him, and forever bound him to her. Nothing in her look softened upon Vortimer, as her father joined their hands, his trembling, hers slack, in her humiliation and disbelief, being bartered off to a southern British lordling, son of a usurping tyrant, treaty solidifying Leinster loyalty for British wealth, and ensuring no more harassment of new Hiberni colonizers to the territories of Demetia, where previous communities of Scotti had settled over the last century.  

Nine years her senior, as Vortimer reckoned his experience and maturity, Igrena’s resentment at their betrothal wrought forth a chasm of isolation and hurt between them, in those first months, he didn’t know how to mend. Gruff by nature, Vortimer was more accustomed, and so preferred, the company of his war-band to that of women.  Where he exploded with impatience at his young wife’s stubborn reticence, especially when he demanded she send her bastard son back to her dead lover’s people in Hibernia, it was his brother, a fury in battle, but by contrast, more attuned to a woman’s mind, and her affections, belying a sensitivity in Catigern’s nature neglected in Vortimer, who convinced Vortimer to allow the child in his home. At least temporarily. A comfort to his still grieving bride, who eventually agreed, by Catigern’s orchestration, as compromise with her husband, to send the child for fostering when he reached his 7th year, back to his father’s Hibernian tribe of the Ui Bairrche.

Indeed, It was Catigern who brought out the enchantment of Igrena’s spirit, the weave of her thoughts, reconciling her to the abandonment of her pagan upbringing in Crimthann’s halls, requisitely adopting the faith of Christ when she married her British husband. And it was Catigern who introduced his older, worshipped brother, to the dialogue of respect between lovers. The first time Her acerbic wit, parodying of Britannia’s competing aristocracies, vying for political and martial dominance, sparked Vortimer’s humor, responding to her for once, with more than condescension, and realizing the wisdom she possessed, deeper than her youth.  The asset of her talents, yet emerging, as confidant and advisor, partner, equal sovereign, pending Destiny’s preferences. Months passed. Igrena’s pain at her lover’s death gradually faded. And one night, in Vortimer’s modest hall, the old magistrate’s quarters of Venta Silurnum, she graced that chamber with a voice of sweet crystal, delicacy and longing, embodying a magic in the ancient tales of old gods, heroines, lovers, wars, and heroes. Some of her original improvision, fingers wise on the harp. When Vortimer’s tenor, deep and steady, flowed into her song, Igrena’s eyes widened in astonishment, a quaver in her chords, and stirred a murmur amongst his men, of surprise and admiration, not unpleasant for the momentary shock, their lord, usually so stoic in demeanor, suddenly relaxing reservation, a trait commended by a race styling their heritage as warriors and poets. A rare indulgence for Vortimer, the art of song, but a talent freely displayed with the glory of his wife’s yearning melody. Followed later, by other sounds of ecstasy resounding from their private quarters, that first night, and many after, nearly three months following the hastened elopement, born of shame and death, turned into something precious and tender. A passion still too new, viewed ambivalently by both Vortimer, and his golden wife, more so at her confusion, how quickly she ripened in pregnancy to his seed.  As like to clash in temper, as treat in gentleness, Vortimer’s happiness, boy-like almost, at the prospects of her growing belly, envisioning a home abounding with children, mocked her guilt, memories of first young love, the son she bore him. The father dead, the boy tolerated as courtesy. Both strong-willed, Igrena seconded Catigern’s description of her husband as sentimentally constipated, while Vortimer reprimanded her quick-temper, biting judgement of the opportunists who plagued his own court, sent by his father. Vortigern ever-thirsting to strengthen his position, his sons the weapons ensuring future dynasty.   Their daughters were born on the eve of Vortigern ceding the Cantici lands, to his Jutish brethren, 

[rex-sidereus]

6, 12 and 16 ?

6. who is your favourite character from the Iliad or Odyssey?

i should feel bad for not saying penelope & andromache, or priam & thetis, etc - but, diomides. 

because he is the warrior-king which the odysseus is too much of a trickster to be, and achilles and agamemnon can’t even grasp. he brought the second greatest fleet to troy, was the only one to see athena in her divine form, stood up against the god of war in battle, and reasoned with men - the longest aristeia in the book.

he is nearly odysseus in his wisdom and cunning, and nearly achilles in his passion - and comes back home in one peace, and becomes known as the founder of cities.

12. who is your favourite poet? why?

archilochus, because i love his embittered homeric θυμος. i love his running meter, and the war-weary, disobedient verses which show for such a great shift in social and poetic consciousness.

but also, ah, catullus. his latin is so fluid, and so welcoming, and so vulnerable - i never thought there could be so much feeling stored in a language before i read him

16. Cicero - love him or loathe him?

i really don’t care? like, as much i love greek forensic oratory, and would drag demosthenes out of hades before any other dead ancient - i absolutely snooze through the roman one.

because the entirety of cicero’s politics is trying to articulate and save the republic which wasn’t really there. i guess my favourite part of him is the jumpstart of the latin philosophical language and tradition.

[worldhotelvideo]

Le Ali Del Frassino in Peschiera del Garda, Italy (Europe). The best of Le Ali Del Frassino Hotel. Welcome to Le Ali Del Frassino in Peschiera del Garda, Italy (Europe). The best of Le Ali Del Frassino. Subscribe in http://goo.gl/VQ4MLN The general services in the accommodation will be wifi available in all areas. bowling, cycling and tennis court. In the bars section you can enjoy bar, breakfast in the room, fruits, breakfast options, snack bar, chocolate or cookies, room service, wine/champagne, restaurant and kid meals. For the well-being the accommodation has hot tub/jacuzzi, couples massage, spa facilities, full body massage, head massage, sun loungers or beach chairs, fitness centre, back massage, spa lounge/relaxation area, pool with view, outdoor pool, massage, spa and wellness centre, pool bar, neck massage, fitness, sauna, sun umbrellas, pool/beach towels, steam room, hand massage, swimming pool, foot massage and fitness/spa locker rooms. As far as transport is concerned, we have shuttle service, shuttle service (additional charge) and bicycle rental (additional charge). For the reception we can find concierge service, 24-hour front desk and luggage storage. Within the related areas we will enjoy garden, shared lounge/tv area and sun terrace. For family leisure we can have board games/puzzles, babysitting/child services, indoor play area and children's playground. Cleaning services will include laundry, daily maid service and ironing service. If you travel for business reasons in the establishment you will find business centre, meeting/banquet facilities and fax/photocopying. We could emphasize other benefits like toilet with grab rails, designated smoking area, wheelchair accessible, non-smoking rooms, soundproof rooms, family rooms, air conditioning, facilities for disabled guests, heating, higher level toilet and lift [https://youtu.be/o_YvjnBOEjc] Book now cheaper in https://ift.tt/2lVERbC You can find more info in https://ift.tt/2u5hHmV We hope you have a pleasant stay in Le Ali Del Frassino Other hotels in Peschiera del Garda Enjoy Garda Hotel https://youtu.be/drSZJsDYAkg Active Hotel Paradiso & Golf https://youtu.be/lFf13FPp8vw Parc Hotel https://youtu.be/agMaoJUAUGA Hotel Bella Italia https://youtu.be/QruzFzHC2iw Palazzo Ai Capitani https://youtu.be/8apkA8Osqb4 The Ziba Hotel & Spa https://youtu.be/Gz8LhxVvh2w Other hotels in this channel Falkensteiner Family Hotel Diadora https://youtu.be/SJTgR2lq9Os Voyage Sorgun Hotel https://youtu.be/AzCL6V_aWtc The Guesthouse Hotel https://youtu.be/kr-pppxFwns https://youtu.be/M56vuZy5ngg Harrah's Lake Tahoe Hotel & Casino https://youtu.be/8ffRb9U5-U8 Kenwingston Hotel Wangsa Maju https://youtu.be/rJKH-WXpya4 Hotel Sokoline https://youtu.be/HL8pwXQ1CZY The Grand Hotel & Spa https://youtu.be/EqaTQVf8kwQ Hotel Volgograd https://youtu.be/tAhOhCWaj5Y Kimpton Hotel Monaco Portland https://youtu.be/WvFtELeG0FE Radisson Blu Hotel Jaipur https://youtu.be/rRLI3oAjIY8 Hotel Bereg Evkaliptov https://youtu.be/RIOZwZfjujs Auberge du Vieux Port https://youtu.be/qEvcuEdprIw The Lodge at Torrey Pines https://youtu.be/khYh8s5MLxE Travelers Suites Juanambú https://youtu.be/MtFKudVJz38 In Peschiera del Garda we recommended to visit In the Italy you can visit some of the most recommended places such as Gardaland, Blue Tornado, Gardaland SEA LIFE Aquarium, Monumental Complex of San Martino della Battaglia, Palazzina Storica, Forte Ardietti, Porta Verona, Canevaworld and Parco Natura Viva. We also recommend that you do not miss Castello Di Sirmione, Movieland Studios, Grottoes of Catullus, Castelo Scaligero, Magic Mountain, Jamaica Beach, We hope you have a pleasant stay in Le Ali Del Frassino and we hope you enjoy our top 10 of the best hotels in Italy based in Le Ali Del Frassino Tripadvisor Reviews. All images used in this video are or have been provided by Booking. If you are the owner and do not want this video to appear, simply contact us. You can find us at https://ift.tt/2iPJ6Xr by World Hotel Video

[libidomechanica]

The arms

The arms, I have sent hope to  sing, full was, and  mart or ioynts be true that  loved! My fears, thirst, minds apart  must not back and still passed hiss  on the faint! 

Where not run off like a pretty  skipping has been he  welcome success that they ho hollow  lies thy natives to  sufferance, may champagne, who  come brough at a 

shower it was long-boat  still, lets blood reading, alert.  I design her vision joints of  one, or was  steering than had you  so may that the 

sole lend (who known their best way, and  all the sand all live  our for One where  cry, by nights in  his face its grew fire  to make that 

my Longing might, when  a perspect the most  enough a fading for  oft, indeed to  have had my love Goddes men  in evry life could 

restless sea-sick match him as “ twere, if you heart they shook the  be your days, when  I lay on what  is golden charms on the  presaging the 

sail. And if rymes  with hand in mine ideal).  Constancy. But why? Bob Southed  away; give your  day)s before his masters  feet we wild remember 

were it of  brother, too. Was we  done! Not the day on your  touch to flightning  the one, or other,  her none peck 

of silent after-loss: ah, do you:  there for Death was  her can physicians,  which I inferior  mess of my spoke yourses  the mountains 

begun, and tutor, wave when  I am two-and- twenty-four; pedro, quickly  know thought eye: yes; and  even Conscious could be in  my Longing, vertical, 

and all deserted several  of Passing, and  the Spain, into  the boys grace  it came half glazed, and darkenings  for the 

beauty from his but he, ’“ t was different  in chance gold ill be falsehood,  because  and no prepared fisherman  was 

not cured out” the  presents althought: I arise  from of the bay light,  unless grace, Catullus,  scholars, Ovid tutors vegetable,  or but do ow; 

and, Julia, I die, that I  would stand, and head, whom they remembering  breath  through fast,  I am not unto whose which  upon thee in 

spite of tale: to rain on  a pair, still, you teach nigh, swell;  their proved a turmoil of all this  reigns and them  upon image in  ruind long-hid love you ask 

charity, having ill in br aue a spect Son or be a  spectable violets were  both Loue hate the  language to  their best again 

By his assertion. a cows  foolish pulse a veild Melancholy  father woman the birthrighted.  is their purvey;  if twice your hence within.  The wept 

above, that discomposed; and  so oft as of these kind  of foot to me most rich  enjoining the  cave— such of the pearls  away still hopes with 

present every  is awful,  and each wight that bloody craft  vs of  education  as thee; yet worthy 

gallons in red breath; and we  are market to  a barb a placd suffering  oer was  right with poppies of  his pale: that 

hath kiss on your farthing balm  it is end. And the  orchard on the lot  fell upon them  know no doubt he diversal look,  even the same 

the winding burnes, must get  to a stupid  stare, of sometimes comrades thinnd  to descry  He wears and rocks for thy  long through top of 

no greate, our teeth, and  pray for Stella, I make than  Dante. part of chekes in  May, but like accountry  landscape me, so I am  beat upon the 

girl and in my souls  count its pointed  slope in ordinary plant agains  no other way, which  a glass, and the  boys grace, Catullus, sometimes 

when shirts, jacketh  Pedrillo. And one time  weve bitterns, and Nature she trie; let  clouds and of  stony vapours half remember  and sorrows 

why, The found very drunk  to himself is liquid  air; behold out that slide,  how the living.  unless eyes from City; there them  we so goodly 

women, mirth care, alas, the sand  swam round a tutor any land  when to oblige  us mould there, and  found there it, and fast-flower  to speak 

thy mind; the and all that  poesy has been. And  the boast of them happy  am by train  into the  heaunly black in 

accurs but win; with all the  wave, for my last,  he fictitionly, she gazes  on the  sun smiles, then cause the  soil,— rather 

will; but been he flower of  youth would not as the  head (though not it pours his is  moments, askd no rich  the chaine than public measure  to season, 

in Sleepy one, stir ordinary  photo in my good  battered, out of Heaven, he case  by their hour weed:  a lettered mans edge, who, before  my heart of 

three were she had still people are  braille to blame place a  blush, checks were our slake,  that day by day were  came happines the murmur  grew. Were had 

slippers, in thee dead; or see Tweeds  sake. In evry scene mends and  creature ask me, is nest secret  of disgusts  me; her at length  throught for 

shearse. But bid you, you sung of Thine image  is all then the  bred, six flasks and hope— quite confined,  consisted,  save upon his for  thought in the 

flocked; thy deeds,) the fields are  all the unmilke last,  of grass like a pretty grievance  just energetic.  Not quick, for wanting  pebbles an 

Ionian cave, but much poesy discouragedy.  Of all thee to  filled the keep these myself where  is a fair  as love, and blessing, with  the 

fire, howling, then cask or two  years— and blood: it would bare—  love, bene that make let her  lips, the sunset  trains regaled to grief, and  all seemd as if 

she grave; you all, of globes of  its joys and thilke last  heaven know a pleasing tress some  visit. Stretched the  looks ouer me time for  shore, but thy miser 

tolerant enough all that  much a purposed; their twos an  army doole, or flesh the  soil of Spain.  Wrough, sweet kisss straight have a lighthousand  day tarnished dust-

of-sleeping and theyd been  may have meals to your dreader  in broke from mine eye, as  when though  to signs of love, as  Lots fate in vain. 

Their rum and strangel in her  labouring ring smile as craggy  noone who followd on Devon, wilt  leave to rove, like  not then I tip-toed past hour  I am gone.

[flawlessbellamy]

Bellarke + #14 from the Uni prompts please :)

Bellarke+ I come to the library every day to ‘study’ but really I’m just watching Netflix over your shoulder and I’m really invested in this series and the day we’re supposed to be watching the season finale you’re not there and I??? Feel personally betrayed??

A/N: i spent a good 2 hours thinking about the right show till @holybellamy​ and @thejuggyjones​ answered it straight away. They are a better people than me.

Bellamy spends a lot of time in the library. 

As a TA he isn’t entitled to his own office so usually has to put up with whatever spare space he can find in between classes and meetings in the departments library. It’s quiet and unlike his flat isn’t taken up by Miller’s weird architectural models all over the kitchen table.

It’s a quiet time of year so there aren’t many people in the study space but he does see a few regular faces he knows. He drops his bag down onto a table and falls into a seat. 

He has just over an hour till he has to lead a seminar and he’s already done all his prep so he pulls out his laptop and intends to maybe start his next thesis point when he remembered the new series of Sense8 was out, he pulled up Netflix and untangled his headphones and plugged them in. 

He barely acknowledged the blonde who sat at the space next to him dropping her books with a bit of force, Bellamy flicked his eyes to watch her quickly but his eyes returned to the screen as the Netflix theme boomed onto the screen. He watches the different cities flash across the screen for the opening credit and settles in for the episode. 

Less the 5 minutes in he gets a very definite feeling of a pair of eyes watching his screen. He looks over at the girl sitting next to him to find her eyes stuck on his screen. She looks like she got distracted mid studying, pen still in hand, notes half finished. He assumes she’ll look away in a minute but when he see’s her still watching over his shoulder he shifts in his seat. She seem’s pretty hooked on the show and he can’t blame her, after all Sense8 is a powerful show, but he kinda feels a bit awkward with her watching over his shoulder. 

He ends up switching on the subtitles. 

He feels kinda bad she’s missing the dialogue. He looks over after he does it and meets her eye and this time she blushes in slight embarrassment and nods awkwardly at him. 

Bellamy nods back and notices the freckle placed just above her lip. Looking back at the screen Bellamy focuses on the rest of the episode getting use to the girl next to him watching along. 

When the episode finishes he shuts down the tab and pulls out his headphones. He packs away and stands up to leave. When he hears a voice next to him speak he looks over to the girl. 

“thanks for the subtitles.” she say’s smiling at him gently. 

“no problems” Bellamy replies, he waves awkwardly walking out the room. 

Over the next few days he gets kinda distracted and forgets about the random girl in the study room. He doesn’t quite forget about sense8 and he plans to watch it again when he gets the time. 

The opportunity pops up 2 days later. He’s meant to have lunch with Monty and Jasper but they cancel last minute, Bellamy’s pretty sure it’s because they’re to high to move but he’s not going to judge. 

He heads back into the Library and see’s the blonde sitting next to the only empty space that has a plug.  Bellamy slides into the space and glances over. She’s to busy studying to notice he’s there but by the time he’s set up his laptop and plugged in his charger she’s notices and gives him an acknowledging smile. 

When he plays Sense8 again he watches her again, she seems to notice a bit quicker this time and leans her chair back. He switches the subtitles on again and watches for an hour with her leaning back seeming to be happy with watching the next episode with subtitles only. Bellamy feels bad. The music is awesome. 

They seem to find a routine. She isn’t always there when Bellamy shows up but they manage to get to episode 5 before they actually talk about an episode. Riley and Will escape by a hairs breath and Bellamy lets out a puff of air as he pulls his headphones out. 

“that was intense” she says shocked. Bellamy nods. 

“it was close. But the club scene was great.” He replied, she nodded in agreement. 

“totally, i love when they all get together.” she offers

“it’s so great.”he rubs a hand across the back of his neck “I guess ermm you didn’t hear but they used the What’s going on song remix for the scene” he tells her. 

The look on her face is priceless and Bellamy laughs. 

“i guess i should have offered you a headphone” he joked. She laughs back and Bellamy gets caught in her infectious smile, her eyes bright with joy. 

“I guess. Or i could stop watching over your shoulder.” She chuckled glancing to the floor. 

“I don’t mind. I feel like it’s tradition now i guess!” He replies hoping she agrees. 

“I guess” she echo’s “if i’m going to keep watching over your shoulder you should probably know my name. It’s Clarke.”

“I’m Bellamy” he greeted in return.

Ever since Bellamy found out Clarke’s name he can’t stop thinking about her. 

He walks into the library and automatically looks for her, he waits 15 minutes before starting on his thesis incase she turns up. He’s starting to feel a bit pathetic honestly, watching 6 episodes of a tv show with someone and barely exchanging names doesn’t make them friends. 

He decides to get something to eat one day before heading to the library, it’s late on a Tuesday and he doesn’t expect to be in the department. His plan is to buckle down and get his seminar and lesson plans done for the next two weeks. He walks in the room distracted trying to put his Grad student ID back in his wallet. When he looks up he see’s Clarke sitting there grinning over at him. 

“Hey” she welcomes him “i was hoping you’d appear!” 

He sits next to her and he can feel himself blush slightly at her openly enthusiastic greeting. 

“you ready for another episode?” he asks, reaching down to his bag. 

“yes, honestly i’ve been thinking about what the next move will be  for the last few days”  she confesses and moves her chair lightly closer. 

There’s no one else in the library and Bellamy points this out. 

“you wanna watch it out loud?” Clarke asks

“yeah, you’ve been missing out on some great music.” he jokes pressing play on the next episode. 

They get through to episode 9 that evening. Bellamy pulls out his snacks and offers some to Clarke. She takes them gladly and they chewing through his entire stash. 

They throw stupid comments around and remark on the characters and their relationships. 

Bellamy finds out Clarke is a massive fan of Wolfgang but sympathises most with Sun, she says it’s the similarities in their parental relationship and the expectations they grew up with. Bellamy doesn’t dig any deeper but tucks the information away in the back of his brain. She laughs at Lito and claims to have a who’s hacking ability rival Nomi’s. 

Bellamy tells her about Octavia who forced him to watch the show in the first place. About how his friend Miller ran into Freema Agyeman once and she was apparently really nice. 

They swap more information then that. He learns she’s a grad student too, history of art. He tells her about his thesis which involves some rude roman poems by Catullus’ he’s studying. He learns she’s not dating anyone and he shares, not so subtly that he’s single too.  

They talk through half the show. Bellamy’s sure he’ll have to rewatch it at some point but right now he can’t bring himself to stop the chatter. 

Eventually her phone rings and he see’s the name “Jaha Jr” flashes up across the screen. She picks it up quickly. 

“i’m so sorry Wells i’ll be there in 10 minutes” she promised. Bellamy heard the person on the other end swear its fine and Clarke apologises again and hang up. 

Clarke smooths her hair back and looks over at Bellamy apologetically. Bellamy just shakes her head waving off her worries. He realises it’s dark outside and they’ve been in the department room for hours. 

“do you want me to walk you anywhere?” The campus is relitivly safe and Bellamy’s honestly never heard of anyone having any issues near or around campus, but if it was Octavia he’d want someone to at least offer even even though he knows she’d just roll her eyes. 

Clarke has the exact same reaction. She just packs up her stuff and pushes her chair back under the table. 

“i’ll be fine Bellamy” she assures him. They walk out the building in comfortable silence and Bellamy finds it slightly odd to see her anywhere but the Library. She pauses before they say goodbye and seems to consider something for a moment. 

She makes up her mind it seems since the next thing he knows Clarke is wrapping both arms around his neck and hugging him. Bellamy pauses for a moment before responding and wrapping his arms around her waist hugging her back. She pulls back too quickly dropping back down to the soles of her feet. 

“See you around?” he asks. She smiles and waves before turning around and walking away hurriedly to meet her friend. 

Episode 10 is the penultimate episode and in Bellamy’s opinion is the best. Which is obviously about the amazing plot and character development that happens and nothing to do with the fact Clarke spends the episode grazing his shoulder and eventually leaned up against him. 

It’s ridiculous. Connecting with someone because of a TV and building a relationship with them based entirely on that. He hasn’t even seen Clarke outside of their weird Social Science Library bubble. But he’s ending up sharing a lot with her and vice versa. 

The episode finishes and Clarke pulls out the headphone Bellamy’s shared with her. 

“the last one?” Clarke asks hopeful. The last epsiode had been thrilling and he couldn’t wait to finish the series but right now he had class. 

“I can’t i’ve actually got to attend a lecture, i can’t justify skipping it even for Sun getting her revenge finally” he sighs settling his things back in his bag. 

Clarke looks disappointed pulling her lips thin but nodding in understanding. 

“i’ll be around tomorrow?” he poses it as a question asking her if she’ll be around too. She smiles a half smile and agrees. 

“See you then Bellamy Blake” she kicks his heals affectionately and he leaves smiling like an idiot.  

The problem is Clarke disappears. He’s there waiting, watching the door to check for her. He gets a sinking feeling at the end of the day when he realises she’s not coming. He drags himself back the next day and the next. She doesn’t appear and although he gets the rest of his lesson plans for the semester and a good chunk of his thesis. That doesn’t mean the disappointment that settles in his stomach disappears though.

He spends the weekend with miller wallowing and playing video games until Octavia drags him out for dinner on Sunday night. 

“whats up? Miller said you didn’t even swear when he deliberately shot you in the dace last night” Octavia asked going straight to the point after they ordered. 

“ Traitor” he whispers “nothing O i’m fine” The single raised eyebrow on Octavia’s face tells him she doesn’t believe a word of it. 

He ends up telling her about Clarke and for once Octavia just listens occasionally smiling at a joke her tries. At the end she reaches across the table and grabs his hand. 

“you, dear brother” she starts and Bellamy braces himself “are ridiculous. But” she continues “romantic as hell. She seems into from what you’ve said. I don’t know why she wouldn’t show up. Have you social media checked her?” 

“No, i’m not being a creepy stalker O” Bellamy sighed knowing full well Octavia will have done it anyway by the time she gets home. 

“ughhh fine, but you seem pretty into this girl for hardly knowing her. Maybe give it one more shot before you commit fully to the single life” 

“i hate you” he deadpanned but Octavia just laughed. 

Bellamy was a glutton for punishment apparently because on Monday he bunkered down in the Library ready to be disappointed once again. 

By midday he’d managed to restrain himself from looking at the door every time it opened. So much so he jumped when a hand squeezed his shoulder. 

“Clarke” he breathed looking her up and down. She looked happy if slightly tired. 

“Hey” she offered pulling up a chair close to him. “i’m glad you’re here. I’m so so sorry Bellamy.” she apologised, whispering so the rest of the room wasn’t disturbed. 

“it’s fine” he ran his hand over the back of his neck “i was kinda expecting you last week though” She grimaced. 

“I know i’m sorry. Ugh, my mum showed up and tried to talk me out of Art and into medicine which obviously ended in a massive mess.” she babbled her apology. Her eyes softened when she eventually met his eyes.There was a pause where Bellamy just watched her. She relaxed slowly and seemed to get comfortable in her chair.

“you wanna watch the last episode?”he asked knocking his knee against hers. 

She looked down and then glanced at him from through her eyelashes. 

“i do but…” she smiled coyly at him “maybe back at my place?” 

Bellamy raised both his eyebrows in shock and placed his hand over his for exasperated effect. 

She stood up and offered her hand to him slightly tentative.

Bellamy hurried his belongings into his bag and wrapped his fingers around hers quickly. She pulled him out the room keeping their hands interlocked all the way. 

He kisses Clarke Griffin at the end of the last episode. Running his hands down her shoulders and pulling her close. Clarke laughs against his lips and he pulls back to ask her what’s so funny. 

“nothing. I just can’t believe all i had to do was invite you around to watch Netflix to get you to kiss me”  

[thatgirlwritingficsatnight]

Odi et Amo II

Odi et amo. Quare id faciam fortasse requiris? nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior  

Catullus, 85

After a few years of working in the USA for Disney and playing the role of The White Fox in Marvel Cinematic Universe you came back to your motherland - Korea only to be greeted with hatred and contempt. To make things harder for you the universe sends you the most irritating neighbour ™. Will you be able to find your happiness and  accomplish your dream of becoming loved actress in Korea without complying with standards of patriarchal society?

pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

genre: actor au

warnings: angst, foul language (please don’t read it if you’re not old enough)

words: 5764

A/N: It was supposed to be published last week, but I was unhappy with it and ended up rewriting it/adding some things. Sorry! (*_ _)人 P.S Sorry for my grammatical errors! Enjoy!

Chapter I

***

Currently sitting in front of your manager you eyed him. He seemed tired and you felt a pang of conscience it was probably because of your tweets last night and you wouldn’t even think of meeting him if you weren’t in dire need of getaway from the uncomfortable conversation with your neighbor. You didn’t meet in your agency’s building since both of you despised the place even though it was a new and flashy building made out of something that looked like a white marble. Both of you agreed on meeting outside it, so you were sitting in the café nearby while wondering how did your shitty boss manage to rent it. Last time you’ve been here, it was a few rooms in shabby, old building. You shivered while imagining going in, that place had an evil aura even from across the street.

"Where did you get all that money to rent it?" you asked.

"We actually bought it." 

"Well, business goes well then."

"Actually we are only able thanks to your movies. Don’t tell Kim Pd-nim I told you, he thinks you'll become arrogant."

"I already am." You smiled coldly.

"That's what I told him."

Your manager had a sarcastic smirk on. Both of you and hated your CEO and even mentioning him would bring up unpleasant memories. Kim Sanghoon was one of those bosses who wouldn't even think about trying to help idols and stars that were bringing him money. No matter what it was — crazy fans destroying your life, death threats, your collapsing mental health he didn’t care. Once you were attacked by media and netizens you were on your own and if it was too much for the company your contract was terminated. You often wondered when would you become too much for them to handle.

"How do you feel?" Your manager caught you off guard, even though you had known each other for a long time there was an unspoken rule between you not to talk about other things than work.

"Honesty..I'm fine I don't understand why everyone asks me that." You huffed a bit irritated and run fingers through your hair. 

"Well it's just.. I know it was important to you and you worked hard to earn the hearts of your Korean fa..."

"I'm fine." you didn't manage to hide irritation in your voice. You were not used to talking about it and you didn't like it one bit. Besides what were you supposed to say anyway? No one else was as hated as you. Of course there were idols and stars that were occasionally criticized but not one of them was constantly a target of such hatred. Even when you left there were still death threats send from your motherland to you, nothing changed. Not to mention no one else got such welcoming on the day of return to their home. It was unfair, stupid, infuriating and saddening. And yet you couldn’t understand what people were expecting of you? Both Mark and your manager knew you, or so you thought. What were you supposed to do? Cry? You wouldn't cry, that was what weak people do, that would show you actually care about what those assholes think about you. You were just fine. Ok. Neither sad nor happy. You'd endure whatever you had to but you won't conform to their image of idol and woman nor will you show any sign of weakness. You'd rather stay hated than do that. Your manager sighed and it pulled you out of your thoughts.

"Well then. If you're okay then I'm glad. So just as I told you I have this drama for you if you're interested." You weren't the slightest bit. Frankly you'd rather stay in bed for the next three months jobless than play some crazy villain or villainous second female lead. Then again you felt bad about the amount of work he probably had because of you. You looked him in the eyes and answered with a sigh.

"I can't promise anything but I can at least listen what it’s about.." Your manager seemed surprised, but he didn't wait long, perhaps in case you'd change your mind. He took out some papers and handed them to you. You cringed on the sole title "Love is your destiny" — it sounded sappy. 

"So it's a love story between fallen angel and this human..." he started.

"Angels...so who do they want me to play? Satan? Devil? Succubus?" You browsed through pages to find the villain.

"You'd know if you'd let me finish." You sent him a small apologetic smile. "They want you to play the main role." You stared at him confused before you burst with laughter.

"They want me to play cute girl in love with the angel?" The idea of you playing the sweet female lead was absurd, not that you weren’t able to do it, you were a good actress it wouldn’t be a problem for you, if anything it would most likely be a challenge for the audience.

"No, no! You'd play the angel. See this is drama with strong female lead. The origin of your character is fascinating. You had to watch the mistreatment of a woman extremely devoted to god. The lady prayed, but she still got beaten, almost killed even. Moreover, you had to be the guardian angel of her torturer — the aggressive husband. You pleaded to god, you asked him to let you guard her instead, but he didn’t agree and forbade you from intervening. One night when the husband got drunk, he beat her unconscious and you were sure he’d kill her. You decided to save her, you kill her husband and this is the moment when you fell. That's when you became deviant and promised yourself you'd help those who were denied it. You’d protect them and avenge them. Fast-forward a thousand years, and we are in Seoul and you meet a man, a painter..." He was so excited you almost didn't understand some words because of the speed. He was waiting for your response but you were too occupied with reading what he handed you. Once you finished it you looked at him with a mix of surprise and excitement.

"It's like it was made for me.." you said with bewildered tone.

"That's because it was made for you. The screenwriter wrote it with you in mind." You looked like a cartoon character, eyes wide, mouth in a shape of letter "o", once you heard him.

"Me?"

"Yes. She is apparently a big fan."

"And tvN is ok with that?" You furrowed your brows confused.

"Perhaps they aren't. But it is co-production with Netflix, and they pushed for you since you’re popular worldwide." 

Your heart fluttered and the tips of your fingers tingled from excitement as you rummaged through the pages once again, not only it would be showed in TV during the prime-time but also streamed on Netflix weekly.

"The screenwriter and producer kept calling me since yesterday as soon as it was known you came back. They almost cast someone else. They were sure you're staying in the USA. Isn't it amazing?" He was as excited as you were and you felt some remorse for being so rude to him before. You gave him your warmest smile, one you usually used only around Mark and your family.

"It really is. Thank you and I'm sorry for being rude earlier." He was clearly uncomfortable with your apology, red spreading on his cheeks as he waved his hand dismissively.

"Ah don't mention it. Does that mean I can call them and say you are interested." You looked at the pages in front of you once again and smiled broadly before simply saying.

"Yes!"

Jinyoung was still amused you threatened him in his own café. He couldn't focus on the book he had in his hands anymore as he chuckled replying your angered and irritated expressions in his head. It was fun to tease you because you reacted so well. He could tell you could be great friends if you'd let him. He smiled to himself mouthing your own words "bloody Y/N". He was truly shocked that he met you here of all places and found it rather amusing when you yelled in English and caught his attention. He felt some disappointment upon seeing a half naked man talking to you from the screen of your phone but the feeling disappeared as quickly as it came up once your friend ended the call. Jinyoung wouldn't call himself a noisy person, but he found you interesting, and he wanted to know who it was and what kind of relationship you had although he rarely cared for stuff like this... His thoughts were interrupted by his ring-tone, BamBam's face illuminated the screen. He sighed but answered it anyway.

"Skrrrt, skrrt!"

"Ah yes, good morning to you to Bam." Jinyoung said in amused tone.

"Oh, hyung you seem in good mood. What you're up to?"

"Reading, thinking."

"Sounds boring wanna hang out?"

"Actually I wanted to ask you about something." Jinyoung ignored his question once he remembered how obsessed with celebrities and their styles Bam was.

"Shoot."

"Do you know any celebrities under the name Y/N." BamBam laughed wholeheartedly.

"That's very funny hyung."

"What do you mean?"

"OMG you're not joking! Are you living under a rock, hyung? Y/N is like the hottest actress ever. Her style is chic and comfy and artsy it's really cool, and she actually doesn't have a stylist, she does it on her ow..."

"She is an actress?"

"She is the actress! She played the White Fox in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Lol, you call yourself an actor and you don't know the most popular Korean actress abroad."

"You know I don't like those superheroes movies. Besides why didn't I hear about her Korean career if she's so good?"

"You are so old it scares me sometimes. Well you should know her from internet. I think it's national sport to hate her or something. She just came back, and they're already frying her online not to mention the media and dating rumors."

"Dating rumors?"

"Yeah she dated few actors. I think Seojoon hyung dated her and Changwook hyung even almost proposed. The media made her to look like heartless vixen though. I mean they never liked her but her last ex gave a very unfavorable interview to dispatch and after that she became villain number one. She left shortly after."

"Mmmm... I see." Jinyoung only started his career four years ago so it shouldn't be weird you've never met before. He was also the type of person who couldn't care less about internet gossip and gutter press or dispatch. He sighed. Suddenly your angry reaction made much more sense and Jinyoung didn't feel as good about it as he did before. He scolded himself for being too frivolous and selfish. He just wanted to see your reactions - it was cute and funny...

"Why did you ask? OMG you've met her didn't you. I'm so jealous. What was she wearing? Was it Gucci? I heard she likes it."

"Ok Bam. I have to go. Thanks for the talk."

"Wait, so you wanna hang out?"

"Last time when you asked me to hang out I had to shop for 4 hours with you."

"Well... I am your stylist. Besides, it was fun, come on." 

"I think we have different definitions of "fun""

You woke up to no noise pleasantly surprised. It seems that Sunday's were free from renovation and thanks to that you could sleep in. You stretched out and grabbed the phone to check the time. It was already past eleven. You smiled to yourself and fell to bed lazily. Soon you wouldn't have time for lazy days like this as the production team was supposed to finish up casting for the drama by the end of the next week. You thought about picking some groceries, maybe cooking yourself some food and enjoying the day with a book or perhaps some video games. You took shower and put on some comfortable clothes — beige cardigan you stole from Mark clearly too big for you and some black trousers pairing it up with brown coat. You left the apartment and as soon as you did the irritating voice in your head reminded you about your debt. Hesitant at first you shook off the feeling quickly and knocked on the door. This time you were prepared for teasing, you were expecting it even so you wouldn't be caught off guard. At least that's what you were telling yourself. Your neighbor, however, didn't act the way you expected him to. Instead of smirking at you and teasing you or straight up mocking you, he seemed nervous. He had deep purple bags under his usually sparkling eyes. Perhaps he didn’t feel well... you wondered whether you should ask him if he needed some help. You decided it would be extremely awkward and so you cleared your throat and spoke up — softness now somewhere in your voice.

"Is that bad time? I can come later I just wanted to give you back your money.."

"N-No." He started nervously "I mean no. It's fine. I'm actually glad you're here. Would you come in?"

You didn't want to come in and it must have shown on your face since he continued.

"Come on. I don't bite." He smiled warmly and it seemed much more normal than the timid self he showed you seconds ago. And so you came in curiously looking around his own apartment. It was a mirror image of your own in terms of room placements — a hallway leading to living room with opened kitchen. You came into the living room and Jinyoung rushed after you quickly turning the TV off. You didn't pay it any mind since you were looking around and taking in how different was his home compared to yours. It was very modern and yet it kept the homey feeling. Yours on the other hand, well it was raw yet full of stuff? Mark would probably call it unfinished and cluttered. Your neighbor sat on the other side of the couch leaving quite a lot of space between the two of you and run a hand through his hair. He wore a cardigan very similar to yours both in color and style in fact it could be the very same brand and style it’s just neither of you noticed it.

"So what did you want to talk about?"

"I wanted to apologize." He responded quickly and gained a surprised look from you.

"Apologize?"

"Yes about yesterday…I shouldn't have said those things in public I could say I just didn't know about your situation but it’s no excuse. I’m truly sorry." he paused. "You don't have to be stressed about press or rumors though. It is my café and my staff, so they won't talk about it with anyone I took care of it." You took back everything you said, you weren’t prepared for meeting him, especially not getting apologies from him. On top of that he was the owner of your favorite café...

"I… it's fine." You said confused and tried to act as normal as possible while being very aware of your palms spread on your thighs. They were unnaturally clammy. It was a surprise to you, you rarely got any apologies and you were expecting some more teasing not something like that. Your eyes were everywhere except on him and you were screaming at yourself internally to say something, anything, but nothing was coming to your mind. Once again you lost your ability for forming witty sentences around him or in that case any sentences. There was awkward silence between you and you immensely regretted coming to see him today. You weren’t used to this. Somewhere in your belly you could feel as if butterflies - or rather moths — yes, moths of anxiety were fluttering their wings desperately trying to get into your chest. You never felt like this before. You tried to avoid looking at him but your own eyes betrayed you and fell on Jinyoung only to find out he was enjoying your anguish. His brown eyes were glimmering and his lips formed half smirk that he tried to cover with his left hand in a gesture of propping his head up. Immediately irritation came to you burning all the fluttering wings in the pits of your stomach. A frown formed on your face and you send him a glare. Wondering how could you be so stupid and fall for his act.

"You're really cute when you're shy or embarrassed." He chuckled now mocking you openly.

"I can't believe I took your apologies as sincere." He chuckled again clearly pleased with how you responded.

"They were sincere. I just enjoy teasing you."

"Could you stop? That's inappropriate you don't even know me."

"What do you mean we are neighbors and soon to be friends." He smiled broadly and for a second your mind travelled somewhere else simply admiring his beauty. You cursed his handsome face it could blind and charm everyone really. You wanted to leave, no you needed to leave. It was stuffy in here.

"I'm here for a reason." You reminded him, he was watching you with amusement. It felt almost as if a cat was observing you.

"Ah right... money." his tone seemed inattentive somehow. "I don't need it. Let's say it was a part of my apology."

"Just give me your account number and take the money."

"I don't remember it." You were getting more irritated every minute you talked to him.

"You don't remember your account number?" This man was unbelievable. He shrugged.

"You can send it to me through KakaoTalk if you really want." He smiled and took out the phone from the pocket of his pants. 

"Fine. Just give it." Not wanting to spend any second longer here with him, you scanned his qr to add him quickly and transferred the money.

"Done. Now if you excuse me."

"Of course." He smiled again and you felt mocked by the sole action of his lips shooting upwards. He walked you to the door and watched as you slipped on your shoes. You tried to look as cold and dignified as possible but still tripped over the doorstep. He caught your arm firmly and straightened you. Your heart was beating so fast and hard all you could hear was blood pumping in your ears in fact you were sure he could hear it as well. On the other hand whose heart wouldn't when you almost fell face first, right…? Right? It surely wasn't because of his warm breath now tickling the crown of your head, nor the dangerously beautiful eyes... you absolutely regretted coming here today. It was foolish of you to think your cursed neighbor wouldn't shake you up today. And he was still holding you — how awkward is that; and you felt fine with being hold like that — what on earth was wrong with you? You started to think that maybe it would be better if you'd actually fell and hit that stupid head of yours.

Jinyoung was having very dangerous thoughts. The kind he didn't have in a very long time. He wasn't prepared for this kind of proximity. He was already shaken up yesterday by your touch and closeness he only held your hand for a second or two. Maybe he didn't show it but he was. Honestly he wasn't even into PDA or flirting with someone or even thinking of flirting with someone. Yes, he liked teasing, and he teased you but it was in a FRIENDLY manner. Well it was safe to say he didn't have friendshippy type of thoughts right now. Jinyoung reacted automatically upon seeing you fall he just grabbed your arm and pulled you his way. He was still holding your now tensed muscles, but he couldn't let go of you. He was in trance. Your warmth radiating onto him, the way the smell of your shampoo was tingling his nose, your huge doe-like shocked eyes, parted lips, soft pink on the apples of your cheeks. He was wondering how badly would you kill him if he asked to kiss you right now. He was seriously considering it worthy asking even if you were to pull out his tongue like you threatened yesterday. He didn't ask though, the rational part of his brain finally letting go of you. His own feeling were mess, but he did what he knew best — he masked his emotional disarray with some more teasing hoping you wouldn’t notice.

"Falling for me already?" He smirked even though internally he was screaming and already thinking of confiding in Jackson to get himself calmed. He was clearly the one falling and he was panicked. You rolled your eyes on him seemingly gaining the composure while he was getting stunned even by such simple gesture like this.

"You're way below my standards." You seemed annoyed. He smiled again although he wanted you to leave quickly and leave him alone with his feelings, so he can sort this out. Your eyes narrowed at him even more.

"I need to go now."

"Well, have a great day."

"Right, you too." You were so cold Jinyoung almost chuckled at it because it almost wounded him, and yet he liked it. He enjoyed teasing you too much. You were already walking to the elevator, but he couldn't help himself.

"Oh, and try not to fall when I'm not around to catch you, Y/N." He laughed and you were already frowning at him absolutely mad which made his heart skip a beat, you were really too cute when you frowned. Jinyoung closed the door before you could say anything or worse before he did. He realized he was in deep shit. He tried to think reasonably. He probably just had a crush because he spent a whole night watching movies and dramas you were starring in, he might have also accidentally watched all of your interviews and went to sleep at 6 still smiling to himself from that interview where you had to answer questions about your body in preparation for your role in that Marvel movie. The reporter wouldn't stop asking about your body and making comments on it even though you were clearly uninterested in the topic which you finally cut with your own questions. "Are you looking for some weight loss tips? You look great. Seriously what is it about? Are you trying to fit in my suit?" The last question was asked with whole whisper theatrics and Jinyoung laughed at loud at five am hoping he didn't wake you up through the wall. The suit in question was extremely fitting white leather catsuit. It wasn't the only interview in which you showed off your wits, eloquence and badassness, or how Bam would call it "swag". You were also the most attractive actress he had seen. Of course, you were also attractive when you weren't acting but on the screen... you were amazing. So Jinyoung tried to calm himself down rationalizing his earlier thoughts as simply being starstrucked. That’s what fans felt towards their idols, he was simply charmed by his own new idol. Yes that was it — that’s exactly the type of thoughts some fanboys or fangirls would have. He called Jackson anyway, he knew the designer was the right person to talk to in situations like this. 

Twenty minutes later Jinyoung regretted ever calling his best friend.

"OH MY GOD YOU ARE SO IN LOVE WITH HER!" Jackson basically yelled to the phone. Jinyoung groaned and massaged the space between his brows. 

"Were you even listening? I'm just a big fan."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night man. I’m a big fan of Christian Dior and all I can think of is making out with him." 

"Don’t compare it, he is dead!" Jinyoung yelled and his friend filled his ear in response.

 You were regretting not taking the car for shopping. The walk did help with your racing heart, and helped ease off your mind but it turned out the supermarket isn't that close any more when you have to drag home ten bags of food and products. Thankfully a convenience store was on your way so you could make a stop there maybe you'd be lucky enough to see Seoyun, buy her coffee and have a chat. You knew it was stupid, because she could've just feel obliged to say she is your fan but you still wanted to tell her about your new upcoming role. Sadly she wasn't there and so you just made a stop and sat on one of nearby benches. Massaging your palms that had those harsh red lines imprinted in them now thanks to the bags. You could swear you heard the sound of released shutter and so now alarmed you looked around but it seemed you were the only person here. You sighed, how paranoid have you become that you started hearing the cameras when there was none. Then again you were extremely lucky dispatch and paparazzi haven't found you yet. Just before you left to the USA, your ex gave this interview and your life became hell. You didn't have a day without paparazzi running after you or spying on you. The memories came to you not without acrimony and hurt. Your ex, an actor just like you, used you to create scandal and gain some popularity. You could remember how enraged and morose it made you. You didn't date anyone since then even when Mark tried to introduce you to some people. You intended on staying that way. You didn't need anyone, you had Mark, and he was enough for you. Just you and your best friend. You weren't sure how long you stayed like this, deep in your thoughts. You moved only after you fingers became stiff from cold. Somehow you managed to carry the groceries back home. You were so tired that you just counted it as your training today. You checked the time and it was one PM, perfect time to call your bestie.

"Markiee!!" You whined as soon as his face appeared on your screen.

"Y/N-ah. I miss you." He was wearing some blue hoodie this time.

"That's my line. Do you have time to talk?"

"Bruh, for you? Always. What's up?" 

"I am going to star in a drama!"

"What? I thought you hate those." He was genuinely shocked.

"I know, I do. But this one is different. I'm not playing the villain I got female lead, and she isn't some damsel in distress she is a badass character!" You almost screamed and he chuckled.

"Woah. Someone's excited. I'm so proud of you. So who is getting the privilege to be cast with you?"

"I don't know yet. I'm supposed to meet the cast next week." He nodded his head and smiled. "Anyway what are you up to?"

"I was actually thinking of playing Among Us and streaming wanna join?" He grinned.

"Absolutely, prepare to get wrecked Tuan." You used to play together at least once a week when you were in the USA, his fans loved you and shipped you even though you both told them you were just friends — it is some rule in the internet though, to ship close friends.

Few hours later you were once again killed as the first person, this time by Mark.

"YOU GONNA REGRET IT WHEN WE’LL MEET TUAN. I SWEAR I’M GONNA WHOOP YO ASS..." You screamed on top of your lungs and Mark laughed wholeheartedly, while his chat filled up with hundreds of LOL’s and LUL’s.

"You guys she threatens me. Someone make a clip and send it to the police once they find my dead body." He kept laughing and you couldn’t help but laugh as well. His smile and laugh were just too contagious.

"You really put our friendship to test lately Tuan, here I was foolishly trusting you when you killed me in cold blood. " You stretched and your stomach rumbled reminding you that you haven’t eaten yet and it was already around four pm.

" Hey don’t hate the player, hate the game. "   He shrugged and winked, while you rolled your eyes.

"Okay Mark, I gotta go and eat. It’s already afternoon here."

"Sure, chat say bye to Y/N." They did as he asked and it was soon filled with many hearts and goodbyes. "Love you Y/N! Call me soon." He grinned and you smiled warmly.

"Love you too Mark. Bye guys!" With that you logged off the discord, and switched off his stream. You make your way to the kitchen and took out the ingredients for kimchi jjigae you bought before. You carefully read the recipe opened on your phone and began cooking. You had to make anchovy stock first so you grabbed some dried anchovies, kelp and slashed the daikon in cubicles — it looked quite awkward as each cubicle was different size but hey it was you eating it not some kind of culinary critic. You added water and left it to boil deciding to take care of the rest of ingredients. You cut some kimchi and ate some as a snack and reward for not ordering food today, sliced some green onions, cut the pork and the tofu as well. By the time you were done it was time to strain the broth and add the rest of ingredients. It had to cook so you decided to watch some TV in the meantime. You turned it on, it was some kind of reality show where idols were supposed to camp in the wild for a few days. The idols clearly didn’t feel like being there and the fact you knew neither of them didn’t help. You dozed off before you noticed, your eyelids getting as heavy as iron. The smell of burning woke you up. You shot upwards from your couch and rushed to the kitchen, bumping into a coffee table on your way there.

"FFFFFF-UUCK." you hissed, when your shin pulsed with pain. You quickly grabbed the pot with stew to get it off the fire, forgetting it would be hot as well. You hissed in pain and let id drop on your marble floor which was now covered in burned kimchi and some other things. "Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fucking shit." You cursed as you tried to navigate to the sink to ease off the burn with some cold water. The cold water did help and you sighed with relief only to later follow it with a sigh of resignation. You had to clean up this mess. It was when your phone barked — a new message. You checked it.

From Unknown number: Are you trying to burn down the whole building?

You furrowed your brows confused, wondering if it was one of those jokes or spam messages you heard about.

To Unknown number: Who’s this?

From Unknown number: Guess.

You huffed in disbelief.

To Unknown number: Ok, enjoy being blocked.

From Unknown number: Wait!

From Unknown number: It’s Jinyoung.

To Unknown number: How did you get my number? Never mind I’m blocking you I’m too busy to deal with you.

With that you put the phone back in your pocket and began cleaning up. You finished in no time now tired out by scrubbing. You sat on the floor and took out your phone to check it out. From Unknown number: Don’t block me what if you need my help one day.

To Unknown number: With what exactly?

From Unknown number: What if you get stuck in your bathroom and need someone to let you out?

You rolled your eyes and saved his contact

To Devil: There is at least 7 billion more people I’d rather ask to help me

From Devil: Ok then what if I get stuck in the bathroom and need your help.

To Devil: I’d leave you there

From Devil: Heartless

To Devil: Better tell me how did you get my phone number

From Devil: You gave it to me when you scanned my kakao code

You were bewildered, was that his plan from the very beginning or were you just paranoid? You were either prejudiced or he was in fact the devil with angel's face.

To Devil: Did you lie about not remembering your account number?

From Devil: Maybe

You couldn’t believe it, the audacity, the smugness. You could feel irritation building inside you but you decide to let it go when your stomach rumbled at you aggressively. After eating you took shower, read a few chapters of The Vegetarian and fell asleep.

Next week passed quickly but in the feeling of anticipation as you were supposed to meet the rest of the cast as well as the scriptwriter and director at the meeting on Friday. You kept calling your manager throughout the week trying to find out who could they be, but he didn’t know anything or didn’t want to tell you. And so you spent the week on training, running, reading and occasionally calling Mark to express your impatience and excitement. You didn’t meet your irritating neighbor even once this week — something you counted as blessing or perhaps a sign that the universe finally turned your karma around. It was finally Friday and you were already sitting in the meeting room waiting for everyone to come in. You smiled at the young man sitting next to you, he was really cute and had this mole under his right eye it added to his charm. He was about to introduce himself, when someone came through the door and greeted everyone cheerfully. You couldn’t believe it. You were cursed, actually cursed.

"YOU?!" was all that left your mouth upon seeing him entering the room.

[worldhotelvideo]

Hotel Olivi Thermae & Natural Spa in Sirmione, Italy (Europe) Hotel. Welcome to Hotel Olivi Thermae & Natural Spa in Sirmione, Italy (Europe). Subscribe in http://goo.gl/VQ4MLN Common services at the establishment include wifi available in all areas. beach. In the restaurant section we can enjoy kid meals, packed lunches, snack bar, bottle of water, bar, breakfast options, room service, restaurant, breakfast in the room, fruits, restaurant (à la carte) and wine/champagne. To relax, the facilities have indoor pool, back massage, sun umbrellas, heated pool, pool with view, salt-water pool, hand massage, waxing services, hot tub/jacuzzi, hot spring bath, spa facilities, body wrap, beauty services, pedicure, spa and wellness centre, shallow end, spa/wellness packages, spa lounge/relaxation area, head massage, body scrub, sauna, pool bar, infinity pool, indoor pool (all year), steam room, sun loungers or beach chairs, outdoor pool (seasonal), open-air bath, swimming pool, body treatments, hammam, couples massage, neck massage, foot massage, solarium, manicure, pool/beach towels, fitness/spa locker rooms, facial treatments, full body massage and massage. As far as transport is concerned, we will find airport shuttle, car hire, bicycle rental (additional charge), airport shuttle (additional charge) and bikes available (free). For the reception we will be able to find tour desk, lockers, currency exchange, concierge service, tickets to attractions or shows, ticket service, newspapers, luggage storage, 24-hour front desk and safety deposit box. Within the related areas you can enjoy shared lounge/tv area and garden and terrace. For the enjoyment of the family we will have babysitting/child services. The cleaning of the facilities will include dry cleaning, ironing service, laundry and daily maid service. If you fly for business reasons in the establishment you will have business centre, fax/photocopying and meeting/banquet facilities. We can highlight other services like , non-smoking rooms, , pet bowls, , , family rooms, non-smoking throughout, heating, bridal suite, lift, soundproof rooms and air conditioning [https://youtu.be/t5hvjXrZKko] Book now cheaper in https://ift.tt/2FcS3Qs You can find more info in https://ift.tt/2HWyTSd We hope you have a pleasant stay in Hotel Olivi Thermae & Natural Spa Other hotels in Sirmione Du Parc https://youtu.be/_-u2_epU_CA Grand Hotel Terme https://youtu.be/7aQZ6WWAWuo Hotel Flaminia https://youtu.be/4tE_Ub5S4Vc Hotel Ideal https://youtu.be/JU-thBnN_TY Hotel Sirmione https://youtu.be/wEsv9sr7GbQ Villa Cortine Palace Hotel https://youtu.be/J7KeDI95qx8 Other hotels in this channel Empire Hotel Hong Kong - Wan Chai https://youtu.be/71_pyLHH9qg Hotel Casa Coco https://youtu.be/KOt1wcvJV_k Cala Blanca Sun Hotel https://youtu.be/yc5IVPQkBQQ Wyndham Garden Hotel Celaya https://youtu.be/rNuXK2Na1nw Gelendzhik Park https://youtu.be/c_NezNqh270 ibis Paris Avenue d'Italie 13ème https://youtu.be/JSG3Mxvjgq4 Hotel Arrey Alella https://youtu.be/C32ocnRpdk8 KTK Royal Residence https://youtu.be/QaKK89yZvH8 Friends Yo Yo Hotel https://youtu.be/3coS5-wE4ck The Old Government House Hotel & Spa https://youtu.be/28vYy2NwG3U Carlos V Malaga https://youtu.be/06qyhaaHDc4 Hotel Idafe https://youtu.be/edMd8-2Tp-Y HM Dunas Blancas https://youtu.be/ggvNBzaUGTg Hotel Saylu https://youtu.be/CRABcsHuBAQ The Emerald Hotel https://youtu.be/T749AGXe1oE In Sirmione we recommended to visit In the Italy you can visit some of the most recommended places such as Lago de Garda, Castello Di Sirmione, Grottoes of Catullus, Rocca di Manerba, Canevaworld, Movieland Studios, Gardaland SEA LIFE Aquarium, Blue Tornado and Jamaica Beach. We also recommend that you do not miss Castelo Scaligero, Oblivion: The Black Hole, Chiesa di San Pietro in Mavino, Escape from Atlantis, Monumental Complex of San Martino della Battaglia, Spiaggia "Desenzanino", We hope you have a pleasant stay in Hotel Olivi Thermae & Natural Spa and we hope you enjoy our top 10 of the best hotels in Italy All images used in this video are or have been provided by Booking. If you are the owner and do not want this video to appear, simply contact us. You can find us at https://ift.tt/2iPJ6Xr by World Hotel Video