#it was a conversation between two ancients in multiple languages

[fishluring]

i dont even have to come up with ocs they just come to me in dreams and visions

[m3tr0n0m333]

So I DID actually end up writing a Huey centered fic while I was on the airplane and I think it is. bad. but I will post it anyways

I was supposed to start off with a oneshot but it's. um. probably gonna end up with multiple short chapters for the sake of organization + me getting used to the ao3 formatting?. Like 5, maybe. I've already written two. I think it is oneshot length, though, my writing isn't particularly descriptive or long (I am working on that)

Okay enough rambling here it is

Huey Duck Fails a Test and Freaks Out 👍(title pending)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65817286?view_full_work=true#main

Huey checks the clock on the wall again. Every single tick of the second hand moves closer to 3:15, where the bell will ring.

Huey knows how to manage his time on a test. He's learned to calculate how much time he has on each question just in case he spends too long on one. It's a smart strategy he picked up along the way, not only to make sure all questions are answered, but also for a little more control over his test taking experience.

He's running out of time.

He feels his mind buzz as he reads the question in front of him. It's vague, as if the answer he's supposed to get is shrouded in a confusing mist. Or maybe it's not vague. He just doesn't understand. Why doesn't he understand?

He spent the night yesterday studying for this test. The teacher had attested that this unit was a particularly difficult one for most, but Huey is not 'most'. He's better than 'most'. He's supposed to be better than 'most'.

Huey scrunches his face, pressing the palm of his hand in between his eyes. He bites back a sigh so he doesn't disrupt the testing environment. Even after re-reading the question a few additional times, he can not decipher it.

He, who has rewired the Gizmoduck armor, unscrambled complicated riddles or ancient puzzles with languages most do not even recognize. He can not figure out what this question on this science test is asking for. It's not even in a foreign language, so why is he having such a hard time with it? He's supposed to be the smart one.

He should not spend too much time thinking about what he's supposed to be. He has to prove it. Surely, this is what the question is asking for, and that is the process he needs to use to get to it. This variable, that method. This choice, that explanation.

He barely realizes he's chewing on the edge of the pencil, leaving dents into the wood and wearing it down— not unlike his deteriorating confidence. The hand not holding the pencil is scrunched in his head, tugging at the creamy white feathers as if he could pull the information out of his head that way.

Did he not study enough? He made sure he understood the concepts and memorized the material and the equations and the conversions— what is he not getting here?

Huey recalls, with a pit digging into his stomach, going to sleep after a half-hearted study session that only lasted till 10:00. They had gone on a quick family excursion moments before, so Huey believed that the exhaustion that resulted from it was a good excuse for him to sleep at a reasonable time. He told himself that this would be enough to get himself through the test with an appropriate score. He was wrong. Hubris is the downfall of man, and Huey realizes he's become a victim of it.

The bell rings. His heart spikes. Huey recognizes the adrenaline burst he would more commonly get on a life-threatening adventure. Tests are not life-threatening, but his breathing quickens and his vision tunnels because the body does not care.

The teacher announces giving them five— five more minutes to finish up the exam. He would be more grateful for the extension had he not realized he has five minutes to get through eight more questions he had failed to answer. He has never screwed up a test this badly before, and he feels the heat pounding in his head and heart make his eyes water and chest tighten.

He's not fragile. He cries the least out of all of his brothers. What would send Louie bawling when they were children, such as scraping up a knee, to more serious wounds on their recent adventures, like a sprained ankle, did not make Huey cry. Often, he would take care of the wounds himself, as that is what his circumstances had taught him. Emotionally, too, Huey has prided himself in keeping himself levelheaded in stressful situations where others have cracked. Looking at everything objectively has its perks, as he can avoid taking the wrong step in a path obscured by emotion.

But as he leaves the classroom, he feels a bubbling tightness in the back of his throat and sees his vision blur with unshed tears. These feelings, a result of his failure, are choking him, closing up his throat and creates a struggle to get the proper amount of air. He shuts his eyes and counts in his head, facing the wall so no one can witness this pathethic sight. He is not pathethic, and he surely shouldn't sob over feeling unsteady on a test. It's not even graded yet, so he can still hope for the best result and hope his doubts are a false alarm.

He wipes what humidity is left from his eyes with the back of his hand, making sure no evidence of his struggle to keep together is left, and trudges out to the front of the school.

[her-satanic-wiles]

Masterlist ⛧ Lost in Translation Masterlist ⛧ Ao3

Words: 12.4k.

Reading Time: 50 min.

Warnings: begging, cock warming, creampie, cunnilingus, dry humping, fingering, hair pulling, marking, mentions of masturbation, mild pain kink, mild salirophilia, moderately underprepared penetration (but no pain), multiple scenes, nipple play, penetrative sex, praise kink, so much whimpering omfg, unprotected sex (cover the bone to slide it home, bro), vaginal fingering, vaginal sex

Taglist: @zombiesnips-blog @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @ellenokumura @thew0man @sodoswitchimage @the-real-eggplany @deathmimedream @love-is-all-you-need-13 @kadedoesthings @rosyerato @xshadylady @popiaswife @perpetratorwithaquill @punkiy50 @onlyhereforghost @kaijukimchi @copiaspet622

As the newly appointed Cardinal Copia struggles with the weight of a looming prophecy, a resilient scholar challenges the narrative, uncovering a conspiracy that reaches beyond the walls of the Ministry. The emergence of a forbidden love ignites a rebellion against a power-hungry Sister, whose thirst for control threatens to reshape the very foundations of the Church. Will the revelation of those schemes lead to liberation or plunge the Ministry into chaos?

Previous Part ⛧ Next Part

🔞 MDNI 🔞

One moment you were in the peace and tranquility of the Ministry’s library, the next you were in the Ministry’s personal plane getting ready to land in Heathrow Airport, with Cardinal Copia by your side. The flight from Rome to London was wonderfully short, ticking in at just two and a half hours long. Plenty of time for you to go over the notes you made at school on Hebrew, more specifically the ancient Hebrew that you required in order to translate Abrahamic texts to Ministry-standard levels.

Ancient Hebrew was much more difficult for you to learn, given that it was an entirely different alphabet to the one you were used to. The script used during ancient times, particularly during the First Temple period, had a more pictographic nature, not entirely unlike Ancient Egyptian. During the 1st century CE, the Hebrew language was undergoing a significant transformation and coexisted with other languages in the region. Biblical Hebrew was more akin to modern day Hebrew which allowed you some crossovers in your day-to-day studies, but it was still very different in most aspects.

The Ministry, as it was open to everyone from all walks of life, held so much diversity between its unhallowed walls, it was beautiful. There were languages spoken from all over the world, but in order to unify everyone and make communication easier, Italian was the main language, followed by Latin, then English, then other denominations. The Church revelled in the chaos created by such a diverse cast of characters - and for a long time allowed everyone to just play the conversation by ear. In essence, you’d watch someone open their mouth and pray to Lucifer that they were about to speak in a language that you understood. It wasn’t until Mama Ardens II reigned in the late 15th Century that she introduced the official language of Italian. This was challenged by some members of the clergy as it was “too Catholic”, but there was a reason her name was Ardens and she shut the clergy up pretty quickly.

During the flight, you could feel the weight of the Cardinal’s eyes upon you, burning through you like Hellfire upon the skin of the worst sinners. The majority of the time, you’d catch him looking at your papers, as if he was refamiliarising himself with Ancient Hebrew too. But there was the odd occasion when your eyes locked with his, and he panicked and turned away, pretending as though he was looking at something else behind you. The act itself made you so, very aware of your appearance. What could he possibly be staring at? And why? You found yourself wiping something from your face just to be sure you didn’t have anything on it.

“Scusi, Sorella.” The Cardinal said, interrupting your studying with a gloved tap to your shoulder. You looked at him, the haze of the ancient world fading with each passing second. “This is Hebrew, sì?”

You stared at him blankly for a second before answering. “Yes, Your Dark Eminence.”

He nodded. “It looks like Ancient Phoenician.”

“You know Ancient Phoenician?”

“A little. I went through a phase in my teens where I wanted to be different. Everyone else knew Latin and Greek, I wanted Latin and Phoenician.”

You laughed. “I think everyone goes through that phase when they’re a teen.”

“Probably. The alphabets are the same, no?”

“No, actually. They’re very similar, but they’re not copies of one another. What modern historians refer to as the “Paleo-Hebrew” alphabet was used by some of Abraham’s children. The Phoenician alphabet and the Paleo-Hebrew alphabet were pretty much the same alphabet, despite possible tiny differences in the letterforms, but every language spoken by the Canaanites shared this alphabet. Even the Arameans made use of it. It wasn’t invented by the Phoenicians or even by Abraham’s children. Most likely it was a group of early, unnamed Canaanites that we’ve no evidence for… yet.”

“Does it function the same way?”

“I don’t know enough about Ancient Phoenician to tell you either way, but,” you picked up your sheet of paper that helped translate the Hebrew to the Latin alphabet and handed it to the Cardinal, “you’re more than welcome to figure that out for yourself.��

He perused the sheet in front of him for a short while, getting to grips with the look of it. Every now and then, little hums of understanding would spill involuntarily from his lips, each one making your heart soar with adoration.

The world’s impressions of the Cardinal often exaggerated his behaviour. He demonstrated a sweetness that spoke to his true nature, far from the menacing figure many had imagined.

The Cardinal was an introverted man who took comfort in his own company, just like you. Even though he was capable of being an ambiverted position when called for, it was obvious that he valued solitude over social interactions. It felt as though he was choosing to be alone, and it went beyond simple preference to suggest a deeper, complex side to his nature.

The truth, sadly, appeared to be a little grimmer. Sister Aisha, who was known for her direct and sometimes sarcastic comments, did not hold back when she called the Cardinal “a creepy old man.” And made no attempts to hide any contempt she held for him, but she was one of many who felt exactly the same way.

The daily peeks into his life revealed an odd habit: a Ghoul snatching his meals from the kitchens and slipping them into his office. His life of isolation not only shielded him from the Ministry’s scrutiny but also added to the mysterious atmosphere that enveloped him.

People often treated their future leader with a certain amount of condescension, either not realising his potential or brushing it off completely. They were unable to see his character’s depth and his hidden strength. It was as if they only saw the surface—a man who didn’t fit the Ministry’s stereotypical image of power.

You would see the eye rolling, the dismissive gestures, and the sporadic scoffs aimed at him. The insensitive treatment looked to be the result of ignorance, an inability to realise the importance hidden behind his modest demeanour. The Cardinal had to deal with the disdainful attitudes of those around him in his earlier days, while others in similar positions might have commanded immediate respect.

But there was something about him which you saw that others missed. You had a gut feeling that there was more to this modest person than first appeared. Feeling sympathy for the Cardinal and believing he deserved better than the casual remarks and sidelong looks, you watched the irritating treatment take place.

The Ministry had no idea that hiding beneath that seemingly ordinary man was the potential for a strong leader. The future Cardinal Copia would eventually triumph over the criticism and unpleasant treatment, demonstrating that genuine strength frequently hides in a person’s depths, ready to be revealed when the time was right.

And a different Cardinal showed up in those moments when he wasn’t burdened by the duties of leadership and he allowed himself to converse. His kindness came through; his soft-spoken manner revealed the fragility beneath the surface of power. It became clear that the Cardinal was a complicated person who was oversimplified in the eyes of the world to be a stoic, unapproachable figure.

Being in the background gave you the opportunity to observe the Church’s internal drama, the shenanigans, and the power struggles without taking an active part in them. It was a position of quiet strength, where your biggest advantage became your understanding and awareness of the inner workings of the Ministry.

The Cardinal’s lack of notice meant freedom from unnecessary attention. You could spend your time reading the ancient books, exploring the archaic library, and performing your tasks without having to deal with the spotlight. The shadows offered a certain safety, a place where you could pursue your curiosity without being distracted by people.

In quieter moments, among the centuries-old books and dimly lit hallways of the Ministry, there was a faint longing, a yearning for a relationship that went beyond the pages of forbidden knowledge. There were times when you wished the Cardinal would give you that elusive, uneven smile, even though you cherished the safety of anonymity and the cover of darkness.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you dreamed that the Cardinal would acknowledge you in a way that went beyond the standard Ministry exchanges. You yearned for some small act that displayed a great deal in the calm language of desire, something that would bring back memories of old-fashioned chivalry.

You imagined a moment when the Cardinal, freed from the restraints of rank, would hold your hand with a tenderness suiting the moment. You’d read about such actions in the romance books that lined the library’s shelves: a gentleman’s kiss upon a lady’s hand, as a sign of affection and a modest declaration of a relationship that went beyond the everyday.

However, these moments remained unattainable since the intricate web of the Cardinal’s ascent to importance and the manipulations of the Ministry. The reality of your job as an archivist at the Ministry’s library clashed regularly with the dreams that danced in the corners of your mind. Your dreams were tucked between the shelves like a bookmark between book pages.

It was enough to send previous incarnations of yourself into a near-coma of shock to learn that the Cardinal was not only aware of your existence but actively seeking your aid for a mission to London. A storm of emotions mixed disbelief and excitement at the thought that your unnoticed presence had attracted the attention of the Church’s leader. It seemed like a strange transition from being a quiet observer to a major role in a clandestine mission—a story arc that went against the expectations of the once-quiet guardian.

As the jet streaked through the sky, carrying you and the Cardinal into to the fascinating depths of London, you found yourself suddenly drawn away from your usual scholarly pursuits. Rather than immersing yourself in the ancient Hebrew texts that waited for you in the city, you were chatting with the Cardinal informally, like you were the closest, lifelong friends that could ever be.

You were sitting side by side in the cramped plane, and you pulled out a notebook with Hebrew idioms and symbols in it. The aircraft’s steady hum provided a unique setting for this unusual classroom, where the Cardinal—who wasn’t exactly famed for his mysterious charm—became a passionate learner.

You patiently explained the complexities of the old Hebrew language to the Cardinal. As you clarified their meanings and intricacies, the characters—each bearing a history and resonance from millennia ago—took on new life. With a mixture of passion and nervousness the Cardinal tried to imitate the characters in his trademark clumsy charm. That was to say, he got things wrong… a lot.

The unexpected language lesson had led to a moment of shared laughter, a welcome respite from the weight of ancient texts and scholarly pursuits. After one particularly amusing mistake, the laughter gradually subsided, giving way to a comfortable silence. In that quietude, an unspoken connection lingered in the air.

As you glanced over your notes, the Cardinal’s gaze shifted, and when you looked up, you found his eyes fixed upon you. The atmosphere seemed to shift, charged with a subtle energy that transcended the boundaries of mere camaraderie. His gaze, softer and more contemplative than before, held an unspoken sentiment that eluded easy definition.

His eyes traced the contours of your face with a newfound tenderness, and there was a momentary pause, as if time itself had hesitated to acknowledge the shift in dynamics. A gentle intensity lingered in the air, and his gaze descended to your lips with a soft, unspoken longing.

Unaware of the subtle shift in the Cardinal’s demeanour, you continued to meet his eyes with an easygoing smile. The shared laughter had forged a connection, and the silence that followed seemed to amplify the unspoken nuances lingering between you.

For the Cardinal, the moment held a depth of emotion that he struggled to articulate. His eyes conveyed a silent contemplation, and in that fleeting silence, there was a desire—subtle, yet palpable. The notion of a kiss hovered in the unspoken spaces between you, a sentiment that had yet to find expression in words.

As the plane continued its journey toward London, the Cardinal’s gaze remained soft, a reflection of the newfound connection forged in the unexpected intimacy of the language lesson. Little did you know that this unspoken exchange would linger as a subtle undercurrent, shaping the course of the journey that awaited you in the heart of the ancient city.

The announcement of the impending landing interrupted the quiet exchange between you and the Cardinal. With a shared understanding, and an awkward clearing of the Cardinal’s throat, you both began the task of clearing away the notes, neatly organizing the scattered papers that documented your linguistic exploration. The air hostess moved through the cabin, her voice announcing the approaching descent and the estimated time until landing.

As the plane touched down in London, the anticipation of the journey ahead resonated in the air. Your bags, along with the majority of the Cardinal’s Ghouls—Swiss, Aurora, Cirrus, and Phantom, as you noted—were efficiently handled and transported to the hotel. The remaining Ghouls accompanied you and the Cardinal, ready to delve into the mysteries held within the Crimson Archives.

Exiting the airport, the chill of the London air greeted you, a stark contrast to the climate you had left behind. The Ghouls maintained an eerie silence as they efficiently guided you and the Cardinal toward the awaiting vehicle. The journey to the Crimson Archives unfolded, the city’s landmarks passing by in a blur of history and modernity.

The Crimson Archives, a repository of knowledge and secrets, awaited your exploration. The Cardinal, his curiosity undiminished, glanced toward you with a glint of excitement in his eyes. The Ghouls, ever vigilant, maintained a discreet presence, their loyalty to the Cardinal evident in every step.

As you approached the entrance, the imposing facade of the archives loomed overhead, a testament to the weight of the knowledge contained within its walls. The building itself was designed in the typical Edwardian Baroque fashion, a classic from the 1600s that had made its way all across Europe to decorate the streets of the well-to-do, adding a sense of grandeur. The white exterior was profanely white, as though someone was out with a toothbrush every single day, cleaning the brickwork and repainting it to hide any and all blemishes.

The monochromatic exterior was interrupted only by the double-doored entrance, a vivid splash of red staining the wood. The crimson hue, reminiscent of dried blood, served as a stark reminder that beyond those doors lay the repository of forbidden knowledge—the Crimson Archives.

As you approached the entrance, the weight of anticipation hung in the air. The Ghouls, their presence silent and imposing, flanked you and the Cardinal, their loyalty a reassuring presence. The red doors creaked open, inviting you to step into the enigmatic world that awaited beyond.

Crossing the threshold, you entered a realm where time seemed to stand still. The interior, bathed in a muted light that filtered through stained glass windows, exuded an air of reverence. The scent of ancient parchment and weathered leather permeated the air, as if the very essence of knowledge clung to the surroundings.

Rows of towering bookshelves lined the expansive space, each shelf bearing the weight of countless tomes. Dust motes danced in the filtered sunlight, adding a touch of magic to the ambiance. The hallowed halls echoed with the whispers of the past, inviting you to unravel the secrets concealed within the carefully preserved volumes.

As you and the Cardinal ventured deeper into the Crimson Archives, the architectural beauty and the solemnity of the surroundings intensified. The knowledge held within these walls spanned centuries, and the building itself stood as a testament to the reverence bestowed upon the pursuit of wisdom.

Every step further into the archives felt like a journey through time, a pilgrimage into the mysteries that lay dormant, waiting to be unearthed. The building, with its timeless design and meticulous preservation, stood as a guardian of the secrets you sought, a silent witness to the ebb and flow of history that had left its mark on every page within.

The interior of the Crimson Archives continued the theme of elegant austerity with a predominantly monochromatic palette. An airy atmosphere that encircled the room in a timeless hug, was created by the towering bookshelves’ shadows dancing across the white walls.

The black accents, whether in the form of wrought-iron railings or the dark frames of portraits lining the walls, added a touch of sophistication to the otherwise pristine interior. The interplay of light and dark accentuated the architectural details, casting a mysterious allure that beckoned those who dared to explore further.

Crimson red, the color that lent the archives its name, punctuated the surroundings like droplets of blood against a canvas of parchment. The rich hue adorned draperies that framed arched windows, lending a warm contrast to the cool tones dominating the space. Plush rugs underfoot absorbed the echo of footsteps, muffling sound and enhancing the sense of reverence.

Wooden furnishings, stained with a reddish tint, added to the overall warmth of the archives. The bookshelves, meticulously organized and towering towards the ceiling, featured rich, dark wood that cradled the weight of centuries-old knowledge. Each shelf, each tome, seemed to radiate history, promising a journey through time with every page turned.

The two of you stood before the unattended front desk, the absence of any library staff adding an extra layer of mystery to the already cryptic atmosphere. The desk, pristine and uncluttered, awaited the presence of a librarian or archivist to assist in navigating the vast sea of knowledge housed within the Crimson Archives.

All was vacant save for the single silver bell that guarded the area. Gleaming like a beacon in the poorly lit surroundings, its smooth surface reflected the surrounding light. Beside it was a plain note with a clear instruction in exquisite script, “Ring for assistance.”

“What kind of cult have we walked into?” You asked, taking in your surroundings.

The Cardinal noticed your unease, and rested his hand on your shoulder. “This sounds like the beginning of a very bad joke, no? Two Satanists walk into a cult’s archives…”

You chuckled, feeling a little calmer. As you reached for the bell, a faint sense of anticipation hung in the air. The Cardinal observed with a mix of curiosity and amusement, perhaps intrigued by the prospect of unraveling the secrets within the hallowed halls of the Crimson Archives. With a gentle tap of your finger against the silver surface, a melodious chime echoed through the silence, resonating with the reverence of ages past.

The sound lingered for a moment before dissipating into the air, leaving a quiet expectancy in its wake. The hushed whispers of pages turning and the distant creak of aging wood filled the void, creating an ambiance that seemed to resonate with the very essence of the written word.

Eventually, a Lord Worthington waddled forward, his ample belly preceding him. He was indeed bald, with a shiny forehead that reflected the overhead lights. His round face was flushed, and beads of perspiration adorned his bald pate. Despite his portly appearance, there was an air of joviality about him. He sported a finely groomed, gray mustache that curled at the ends, giving him a somewhat eccentric air. Lord Worthington was the founder of the Crimson Archives - essentially a personal collection of ancient artifacts and texts belonging to a man with too much money in his bank account.

“Your Dark Eminence!” he exclaimed, extending a plump hand towards the Cardinal. His fingers were adorned with several ornate rings, and he wore a cream-colored waistcoat that strained against the girth of his belly. Each word he spoke seemed to be accompanied by a cough, as if his excitement and his respiratory system were engaged in a perpetual tug-of-war. Lord Worthington’s eyes twinkled with a mix of reverence and genuine enthusiasm as he quickly shook the Cardinal’s hand, hard enough to shake his entire body. “It’s an absolute pleasure to have you here at the Crimson Archives, sir! What a delightful encounter. I suppose you’re here for that Eden book, yes?”

“Sì. If you could take us to it, that would be helpful.”

Lord Worthington beamed, his excitement undeterred by the Cardinal’s succinct response. “Of course, Your Dark Eminence! Right this way!”

He led you and Cardinal Copia, and by extension, the Ghouls, through the labyrinthine corridors of the Crimson Archives. The air was heavy with the scent of aged paper, and the occasional cough from Lord Worthington punctuated the quiet rustle of unseen activity. You couldn’t help but marvel at the vastness of the collection and the meticulously organized shelves that seemed to stretch into infinity.

After what felt like a journey through time itself with the Lord talking to you both about the history of the archives, Lord Worthington stopped before a particularly ornate set of double doors. The crimson theme persisted here, with intricate patterns etched into the dark wood. He produced a set of antique keys, each one adorned with a different emblem, and selected the appropriate one to unlock the doors.

“Here we are, Your Dark Eminence, Sister,” he announced, ushering you into a room that seemed plucked from a forgotten era. The smell of aged parchment was more pronounced here, and the room was illuminated by the warm glow of antique chandeliers. Ornate bookshelves lined the walls, each one crammed with dusty tomes that bore the weight of centuries.

“In this chamber, we keep some of our most prized possessions. May I present to you, Eden’s Veiled Chronicles,” Lord Worthington gestured towards a display case in the center of the room. Inside, under the protective gaze of glass, rested an ancient manuscript bound in cracked leather and adorned with faded symbols.

The Cardinal’s eyes lit up with anticipation. “May we…?” he began, gesturing towards the display case.

“Of course, Your Eminence! Feel free to examine it as closely as you’d like. It’s an honor to have you here,” Lord Worthington responded, his voice filled with genuine reverence.

As you delicately extracted the Chronicles from its protective casing, a sense of reverence settled in the air. The ancient manuscript, veiled in the passage of time, revealed itself in all its glory.

The cover, made of cracked leather with an otherworldly patina, cradled the secrets within. Faded symbols, once vibrant, adorned the surface, telling a story of eras long past. The leather, though aged, retained a certain suppleness, a testament to the craftsmanship of a bygone age.

Upon opening the cover, the parchment pages unfolded like the petals of a timeworn flower. The script, a dance of ink on the vellum, told the tale of Eden’s secrets. The language was fluid, an intricate dance of ancient Hebrew, and the illustrations, though faded, spoke of a world unseen.

The Chronicles bore the marks of countless hands that had touched its pages over the centuries. Annotations in different hands adorned the margins, an ongoing conversation across the ages. Fragments of commentary in Latin, Aramaic, and even Phoenician wove together a tapestry of understanding and interpretation.

The illustrations, a blend of artistic expression and symbolic representation, depicted scenes from the Garden of Eden not commonly known. Angels, serpents, and enigmatic figures danced across the pages, each stroke of ink telling a story lost to common narratives.

As you turned the pages with the utmost care, the scent of ancient wisdom, a mixture of parchment and the faintest whisper of long-gone eras, wafted through the air. The Chronicles seemed to exhale the secrets it held, secrets waiting to be unveiled to those who sought knowledge beyond the veil of conventional understanding.

The Cardinal leaned in, his eyes tracing the ancient words and symbols with a mixture of awe and curiosity. In order to get as close as possible, you felt his hand on the small of your back, then his fingertips dancing towards your waist, pulling you closer to him. Ordinarily, this would infuriate you, but as it was the Cardinal’s hand clutching onto your body, you found your cheeks flushing. Lord Worthington watched, his coughs momentarily silenced in the presence of such historical significance.

“It’s extraordinary.” The Cardinal said, enthralled by its enigmatic histories that he was unable to decipher.

“It’s so well preserved, Your Dark Eminence,” you told him, equally magnitised, “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“How long do you think it would take you to translate it?”

“I couldn’t say - maybe a few months. But I’m so excited to get started. Look here,” you pointed to a passage that you were the only one able to understand, “it’s the story of Lilith and how she fell from Yhwh’s graces!”

“Straordinario! What’s the story?”

“Well, it starts how we’re used to reading it: created from Adam’s rib, refused to be subservient, was kicked out of Eden. But we never truly learned what happened to Her afterwards. There’s something in here about the Dark One finding Her, reviving Her with water, and taking Her to Hell with Him - but I’ll need my notes to understand the specifics. It sounds more like a love story than anything else. I’m so excited.”

You finally looked up at the Cardinal, whose eyes were fixated on your face again. His pupils were dilated significantly, as he stared at your face - eyes lingering a little to long on your lips. His hand, which was still around your waist, had tightened its grip and subconsciously pulled you closer to him. You could feel his rapid heartbeat through his cassock, feel the heat of his nervousness emanating from him like a radiator. You felt lured to lean in closer, to feel his warm breath on his cheek, to taste his lips that no doubt still tasted like the coffee he drank earlier. Your eyes were searching in his for something, anything - maybe even a bit of confidence to do what you’d been longing to do the moment you saw him. You did. You allowed your head to lean in just a tad. You were so close to him.

His breath.

His hand.

His -

A cough brought you out of whatever spell the Cardinal had put you under, and you both backed away from each other as quickly as you could. The Cardinal’s eyes were shifty and nervous, while your lips were caught between your teeth in disbelief. That was the closest you’d ever been to him, and the pull of something more was so unbearable it almost clouded your judgment.

You were about to kiss your boss’ boss’ boss, in an archive that didn’t belong to you, holding a 1500-year-old text about the creators of your faith. Your cheeks filled with embarrassment at the thought of Lord Worthington watching this happen right in front of him, and being the one to wheeze his way into breaking up the spectacle.

Naturally, a man who held a lot of money wouldn’t let something so valuable go out of the kindness of his heart. The British Aristocracy had no idea what kindness even meant - everything they did was for the good of their bank account. The Chronicles belonged in the Ministry and the Ministry’s archives. It was an important piece of religious history that needed to be with its siblings and on display for everyone to see, not just the obscenely rich. It took a lot of negotiating to get Lord Worthington to agree to a price that didn’t absolutely bankrupt the Church, with a little extra intimidation provided by Mountain in order to sweeten the deal. But, this important piece of history now belonged to the Ministry, the acquisition was finalised, and the next day you’d both be returning back to Rome.

The hotel, an opulent sanctuary nestled in the heart of London, exuded an air of grandeur that resonated with the city’s rich history. As you and the Cardinal entered the lavish establishment, the grand foyer unfolded before you in a symphony of elegance.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a soft glow that danced upon the intricately patterned carpets below. The walls adorned with historical tapestries whispered tales of the past, and the subdued lighting added a touch of mystique to the atmosphere.

The concierge, clad in a tailored uniform, greeted you with a courteous smile before he led the way through ornate corridors adorned with classical artwork, creating an ambiance that blended the contemporary with the timeless. You marveled at the seamless fusion of luxury and tradition, a setting befitting the dignitaries and scholars who sought refuge within its walls.

In the quiet solitude of your room, you took a moment to marvel at the view from the window. The city lights twinkled in the distance, a testament to London’s vibrant energy. The bed, adorned with plush linens, promised a night of restful repose.

You took off your veil, rolled up your habit’s sleeves, and combed your hair back from your face. Lying on the polished desk like a quiet oracle waiting to reveal its secrets was the text, a relic of antiquated wisdom, persuading you to get straight to work. Bathed in the soft light of well-placed lamps, the room filled you with the anticipation of discovery.

You didn’t realise that time had passed you by in all the hours you spent hunched over your desk. You only noticed it was dark outside when a gentle knock at the door pulled you out of your work, and you’d already translated the first two chapters. You stood and opened the door to reveal the Cardinal standing there, awkward as ever, holding a plastic bag in his gloved hands. “Ah, Sorella!” He greeted. He was about to say something when he saw your appearance. His Adam’s Apple bobbed as he felt his mouth go dry. There was something so intoxicating about your dishevelled appearance and sleepy, work-tired eyes, he found it difficult to string even the simplest of sentences together. “Y-you had disappeared for a few hours, I assumed you had begun working on the text, sì?”

“Oh, yes, Your Dark Eminence. Sorry, I lost track of time.”

The Cardinal smiled. “I thought you might. And, call me Copia, please. Only if you want to, of course. The last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfortable. But I would prefer you to call me Copia.”

“Copia.” You said softly, feeling the name on the tip of your tongue and getting used to it. You opened the door. “Please, come in.”

“Ah, sì, grazie. I have brought, uh, Chinese food. I thought you might be hungry. I brought some for myself, too. I was, uh - I was hoping to join you. But, i-if you don’t want me to then I’ll get my stuff and go - nessun problema.”

“No, I’d like that… you to join me, I mean.”

Copia smiled and let out a soft and breathy laugh. “Okay.”

“Okay.” You said, copying everything he just did without realising. For some reason, you felt nervous at this exchange. Your heart was light yet pulsating quickly in your chest as you set up the coffee table with the food.

“After dinner,” Copia began, “I was hoping to see what you’d completed so far. Is that okay?”

“Of course, Your Dark… Copia.”

Copia laughed at the way you corrected yourself.

Once the table was set up for dinner, the two of you began to tuck in on the feast. You didn’t realise until the first bite just how hungry you actually were.

The warmth of the Chinese food filled the room, accompanied by the quiet clinking of cutlery against porcelain. The atmosphere shifted from scholarly concentration to a more casual friendly conversation as you and Copia shared the simple pleasure of a shared meal. The fragrant aroma of the dishes mingled with the heady scent of ancient texts, creating an eclectic symphony that defined this unique moment in time.

Copia, despite his position as a Cardinal and leader of the dark congregation, displayed an endearing awkwardness. His genuine attempts at conversation and the occasional nervous laughter drew a smile from you, making the evening feel remarkably relaxed. It was a side of him that few were privileged to witness, and you found yourself appreciating the authenticity beneath the ceremonial robes.

As you both enjoyed the meal, conversation flowed effortlessly between bites of food and sips of tea. Copia’s inquiries about your progress with the translation prompted you to share the revelations from the Chronicles. The text, a silent witness to millennia, now whispered its secrets to those willing to listen.

After dinner, you guided Copia to the desk where your translation work awaited. The dim light cast a gentle glow on the pages, and as you began to explain the nuances of the ancient script, Copia listened with an attentiveness that transcended his usual awkwardness. His eyes, normally obscured by the dark recesses of Cardinal makeup, displayed a genuine curiosity that mirrored your own.

The Cardinal’s presence brought a new dimension to the room, and the collaborative effort to uncover the mysteries of the Chronicles continued. Together, you and Copia navigated the labyrinthine passages of ancient knowledge, forging a connection that transcended the formalities of your respective roles within the Ministry.

Copia leaned over the desk, his eyes scanning the carefully translated pages of Eden’s Veiled Chronicles. His expression shifted from curiosity to genuine admiration as he perused your meticulous work. The dim light accentuated the lines on his face, adding a touch of vulnerability to the Cardinal’s usual composed demeanour.

“Sorella, this is exceptional,” he exclaimed, his voice a blend of surprise and appreciation. “Your dedication to this translation is truly commendable. It’s not an easy task, and yet you’ve navigated the intricacies of the text with such finesse.”

A warmth spread through you, a mix of pride and the satisfaction of receiving acknowledgment from someone whose opinion carried weight within the Ministry. Copia’s genuine compliments were like rays of light breaking through the shadows of the ancient library.

“I… thank you, Copia,” you replied, a hint of bashfulness in your voice. “I’m just doing my part.”

He nodded, a genuine smile playing on his lips. “You’re more than just ‘doing your part.’ You’re preserving knowledge, bringing to light the hidden narratives of our beliefs. This text could hold secrets that reshape our understanding of our faith.”

The compliment, spoken with such earnestness, made you appreciate the significance of your work even more. The connection between you and Copia deepened, forged by a shared reverence for the knowledge contained within the Chronicles.

The air in the room seemed to thicken, a charged atmosphere swirling around you and Copia. His eyes, a captivating blend of intensity and vulnerability, met yours with an unspoken question. The uncharted territory of desire loomed between you, and the words hung in the air like a forbidden incantation.

“Sorella,” Copia began, his voice a soft murmur, “I want to kiss you. May I kiss you? If not, that’s okay, I’ll understand.”

Your heart fluttered, caught between the pulse of curiosity and the gravity of the moment. A gentle nod from you granted permission for a connection that transcended the scholarly pursuit of knowledge. Copia approached slowly, bridging the gap with a careful reverence.

His gloved hand brushed against your cheek, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. He leaned forward, and the warmth of his presence surrounded you, capturing the silent anticipation of the room. The kiss, tender yet laden with unspoken emotions, sealed a connection that reached beyond the confines of the Crimson Archives.

Time seemed to stand still as you shared that stolen moment, the world outside the hotel room fading away. Copia’s kiss held a delicate balance of longing and restraint, a testament to the complexity of emotions that bound you together. The quiet intimacy unfolded, painting a tapestry of shared desire and the unspoken connection that had blossomed amidst the ancient texts.

As the kiss lingered, a myriad of emotions played out in the silent spaces between breaths. It was a dance of vulnerability and acceptance, the uncharted territory explored with a shared understanding. When the moment finally released its hold, a soft whimper escaped Copia’s lips.

He tried to pull away for a moment, but you didn’t want to. Your hands pulled at his cassock pulling him impossibly closer, refusing to let him disappear too soon. A desperation filled you, a need that had been bubbling under the surface for years and years until it had spilled over between the walls of a beautiful, London hotel room. Copia’s whimper elicited your own, which in turn, did something to him that he hadn’t felt in years, something he thought he’d never feel again.

His own gloved hands tugged at your waist as his tongue slid into your mouth, welcoming him willingly. Warmth pooled in between your legs when he pushed you against the edge of the desk and trapped you between his plush body and the wood. You could feel him growing hard beneath his robes, his centre now flush with yours and rocking against you slightly. He didn’t realise what he was doing until he was mid thrust, and he pulled back from you as though you’d electrocuted him. “Sorella,” his voice was breathless and low, almost growly, “you have to tell me you don’t want this now. Otherwise I won’t stop until I’ve had you.”

The black of his top lips had been completely smudged off, originally from the grease of the Chinese food, but finished by the friction against your lips. His cheeks were flushed purely pink from the embarrassment of his desperation for you, but also from sheer want of your body against his.

“Please don’t stop.” Your voice matched his, except for the little whimper that punctuated the end of the sentence.

Immediately, he attached his lips to yours, a little rougher than before but no less enjoyable. You wrapped your arms around him like a koala clinging to a tree, eyes closing and whimpering at the feeling of Copia’s clothed cock grinding against your sensitive clit. You gripped onto him stiffly, hair standing on end as you felt his lips travel down to the corner of your mouth, then land on your neck and began to lick and kiss at the sensitive spot there.

Copia’s mind forced him to move, despite all the blood being rushed down south and making it difficult to think. He removed his right glove, and dipped his now bare hand under the skirt of your habit. Naked fingertips stroked against a naked thigh, and travelled all the way up to your panties, now soaked with your need for Copia. Those fingers hooked around the gusset of your panties and pulled them to the side, before running along your folds and gathering up your slick. You were dripping for him. So wet you coated his fingers as if he’d just put his fingers into a lake. He’d pulled his cock away from you momentarily so that he could check to see how ready you were for him, but found himself humping against your thigh in his need for pleasure.

“Mi dispiace, amore. I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

You reached for his cassock and began undoing as many buttons necessary in order to free him. “Please,” you begged, your voice muffled by the kisses you were giving him, “give it to me. I need to feel you, Copia.”

As soon as he was free, he lined himself up and pushed inside. As soon as he entered you, you watched as his eyes rolled back and his mouth hung open. He was slow at first, aware of the fact that he hadn’t stretched you out before hand and curbing his need for you long enough to not hurt you. But even so, it was a battle against his body. Your nails dug into his clothed shoulders, gripping firmly at the pressure in your cunt, and relaxing around the intrusion. He felt divine, as though he were a puzzle piece slotting into the right place on the board. As though he were made specifically for you. He was long enough to hit your cervix when he’d bottomed out, and thick enough to stretch you, but none of it hurt.

As soon as he’d halfway, he stayed still, capturing your lips in another kiss and licking into your mouth like a starved man; borderline crazy and frantic with his actions. It took him a little while to get the wherewithal to speak, and once he did it was through a breathless and strained voice where he was clearly trying to not cum too soon. “Merda!” He hissed, feeling your tight, wet heat comfortably wrap him. “You are the reason men sin.”

The gravity of his words had you clenching around him, earning a delicious whimper to fall from his lips.

“Non fare così!” He exclaimed through pained laughter., dropping his head back to the crook of your neck. “I don’t want to cum too soon.”

“Copia, please.”

Copia pushed the remainder of his cock inside you, slamming home involuntarily and making both of you moan out in surprised pleasure. Your toes curled at the feeling of the tip of his cock kissing your cervix, and you teethed at his jaw.

His hips began pistoning in and out of you, each thrust slow and hard, driving into you with precision and force. His hands moved to your hips for leverage, creating just a little space between your bodies allowing him to fuck into you like you both needed. His cock filled you so nicely, your back arched and your shoulders rested against the cold wall, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you clutched onto his shoulders as though your life depended on it.

The noises Copia was making as he pumped into you were things you’d only heard in your fantasies under the cover of night when you were touching yourself, dreaming of this exact moment. His whimpers; the grunts and groans that escaped him along with the breathy moans and the strings of Italian expletives that made your cunt squeeze around him so impossibly good, dribbles of drool were beginning to spill from the corners of his mouth.

“That’s it, amore.” Copia said breathlessly as he continued to rail you. “St-stretching around my cock. You’re doing so well for me.”

The desk groaned beneath you from the force of Copia’s thrusts and the weight of you and all the desires the two of you harboured for one another. It smacked against the wall repetitively as Copia released all those pent-up feelings and poured them into your soul. His eyes travelled up and down your body, taking in the sinful sight of your clothed breasts bouncing beneath your habit. Your dishevelled appearance that had him blush when he first saw you now had him feral and dying for you with each thrust into the utopia that was your cunt. He could feel himself get more and more addicted to the feel of you. As long as you allowed him, he’d have you every single day.

“Wanted you for so long!” You hurried out, confessing your sins like you were in the booth in the Basilica di Lilith.

“Yeah?” Copia reached down and began playing with your clit. “Is this everything you wished for, amore?”

“Feels so good! Fuck!”

“Pretty little thing, taking my cock so well.” He leaned forward and began kissing and licking at your neck again, pressing himself as close to you as he could without hindering the movements of his fingers against your clit. His bare fingers stroking over your folds sent shivers down your spine. That coupled with the pounding he was giving you and you didn’t stand a chance. It was a matter of minutes before you came all over his cock, seconds if he moved just a little bit faster.

You suddenly became hyper aware of the papers below you, strewn about across the desk messily. Thankfully the Chronicles were safe on the other side of the desk, but your translations were at risk of flooding if you didn’t say something. But the words died in your throat when you tried to ask Copia to move. They couldn’t leave your mouth because the angle he was hitting you at was just so good, it left you gasping for air and loudly moaning into his ear.

“So beautiful.” Copia said, muffled by your skin. By now his words were slurred and his thrusts were erratic, his fingers the only appendage responding to their fullest capacity because your orgasm was on the line. “I want you to cum, amore. Cum on my cock. All over my fingers. You’re already so nice and wet for me. Let’s see if you can get wetter.”

“Fuck, Copia!”

“That’s it - say my name.”

“Copia!”

“Again, amore!”

“Fuck! Copia! I’m gonna cum!”

“That’s it. Such a good girl. Cum for me.”

The knot in your stomach finally snapped and you came harder than you had in Lucifer knew how long. Touching yourself to the thought of Copia turned out to be nothing like the real thing - the way his body slotted so perfectly between your legs was nothing short of a curse, because you knew now that nothing else would ever be the same. Nothing else would make you feel as good. No one else could ever take care of you the way he could. As you came around his cock, he talked you through it, planting kisses on your exposed skin and holding you close to him, all the while not letting his fingers rest until you pushed him away from you.

Then, it was his turn. With a strangled groan that poured into your mouth like the sweetest nectar, he emptied himself inside of you. He whimpered pathetically with each thrust, almost silenced by your tongue in his mouth. The hand that remained on your hip sturdy with its grip and clasped onto you to stop himself from tumbling over with the sheer force of his orgasm. Yeah, he could quickly get used to this.

After a few moments of staying where he was, kissing you just as passionately as he had moments before, he finally pulled away and rested his forehead onto yours.

“Ciao.” He said softly.

You rolled your eyes at the reference to the Black Mass so long ago, but your mouth shaped into a brilliant smile, with eyes that beamed to happily, Copia was almost blinded by them. “Ciao.” You responded, a giggle catching in your throat and distorting the word ever so softly.

“Ah, amore, we have a problem.”

Your stomach sank. “What?” You asked, preparing yourself for the worst.

“I came inside you.”

You sighed in relief. “Oh, it’s okay. The Ministry provides birth control for all those who want it - I wanted it.”

“Ah, sì. That I know. But… my cock is the only thing stopping my cum from escaping. And you’re sat on some papers.”

Your eyes widened, remembering your want to move locations just moments ago. Your mind went blank. “Shit! Oh, no, no, no!”

“It’s okay! There are tissues-”

“On the other side of the room!”

“Okay, I could pull out and-”

“Then your cum would get all over my translations!”

After some back and forth, it was decided that you would awkwardly lift and wiggle your hips so Copia could reach underneath you and pull the flimsy paper out from beneath you. Every time you did, you would accidentally clench down on his softening cock, and he would hiss or scream out in, what sounded like pain, but it was mostly just sensitivity. That, and he knew that one more clench from you would have him chubbing up inside you again, and he was too tired for round two. At least immediately, anyway.

Once you were both certain your hard work had been saved, Copia placed two gentle taps on your thigh. “See? No harm done. All is well.”

“I may have cried if my work was destroyed.”

Copia pulled out of you, causing both of you to whimper at the sensation. But, Copia placed a kiss on your forehead and stroked your cheek with his gloved hand. “I would never be the reason for your tears, amore.”

You leaned into his touch, but removed the glove before you did allowing you to feel his bare skin on yours. You placed a soft kiss to his hand, finding comfort and solace in his touch. You believed him. You knew he would never do anything to hurt you. “Grazie.”

Copia smiled, looking at you with pure adoration in his eyes. “Prego! Now, I think we should clean up, don’t you?”

You nodded and allowed Copia to help you off the desk and lead you into the bathroom.

You had never showered or cleaned up with another person after sex. Your conquests at the Ministry had usually been either ritual-based or so casual, your partner barely stayed after the fact. But Copia was leading you to the bathroom with his own hands, and turning on the water as hot as possible to get it nice and warm for you when you both were ready - and by Lucifer, did that man take care of you.

He started by brushing your hair, picking up each section gently and working out any knots in it until it was silky smooth and primed and ready for washing, all the while making low conversation with you, his tenor, nasally voice reverberating around the bathroom and bringing comfort to your ears as he worked away at your hair.

He then unzipped your habit, and helped you out of it, folding it neatly to place on the counter so that it would be ready for the next time you wanted to wear it - or pack it, he wasn’t sure.

Bras were tricky garments for Copia, usually when he was too horny to function and wanted access to his partner’s chest. But right now, he was able to take his time with the evil thing, and place soft kisses on your exposed skin to distract you from how long it was actually taking. But, once your breasts were freed, your bra joined your habit on the bathroom counter. He took a moment to appreciate your naked form, drinking in the way you looked completely bare to him. He tried not to stare too long, lest you become uncomfortable and ask that he left - which he would, but he didn’t want to.

You were stunning. So beautiful he almost wanted to put you in a museum and marvel at your work. You’d put Michelangelo’s work to shame if you were placed next to it. You would embarrass the classic artists of old with your beauty. He picked up your hand, “One day, amore, I will worship you so well it will make the gods jealous,” and placed a gentle kiss to the back of it.

He couldn’t be real - there was no way that a line like that came out of a man like him in your overpriced hotel bathroom filled with steam, so quickly after getting to know you. It was like he had come straight from the pages of a book, complete with all the right lines and gestures to make you fall in love with him.

The Cardinal’s words, a blend of poetic elegance and genuine emotion, painted a canvas of longing and passion spoken in one of the least romantic spots on Earth yet it had your heart racing violently in your chest. The weight of his gaze and the timbre of his voice wove a spell, binding you in a moment suspended in the tapestry of time.

His own clothes took less time to remove, as though he were that one particular scene of the movie Bruce Almighty, where his clothes are just ripped from him and he’s ready to do… well, whatever task one might need to do when naked. The sheer speed of the man, launching his cassock and robes all around the room and making you laugh with the absurdity of it. His salt and pepper hair, a mess from his hat and his Cardinal’s paints a small mess from the exertion of before.

You both got in the shower and washed away the mess of the day from each other’s bodies, lathering soap and rubbing it all over each other, removing each other’s paints and make up and washing each other’s hair. Copia took extra care around your vulva, making sure to clean you thoroughly but as gently as he possibly could so as not to cause you any pain. A thorough lover in all aspects - you wanted to keep him forever.

You dried yourselves off, being silly with the hairdryer before he gave you a gentle kiss and the two of you headed into the bedroom. He picked up his robes and was about to dress himself until you stopped him and told him to join you in bed.

As you and Copia curled up in the softness of the comfortable cushions, the room’s soothing glow from the bedside lamp created a peaceful cocoon. The blankets, a sanctuary of warmth, held the heat that radiated from your joined bodies. He gestured for you to lie on his chest, where your fingers danced and stroked over his hairy torso, drawing the lines of his tattooed “666” over his heart, his chubbiness acting as the ideal pillow. You had only ever seen it in the Ministry’s stained glass windows and, later, in stage replicas of the same stained glass during his performance in the Ghost Project. You didn’t think it was real, but there it was, faded from years of age and hidden partially beneath brown chest hair. The abs in his stained glass replica certainly weren’t real, but there was something about his jiggly tummy that made you happy.

In your hotel room, a soft calmness consumed the two of you, like your own private sanctuary. The authentic connection that formed between you and the Cardinal seemed to eclipse the problems of the day, the weight of your responsibilities, and the Ministry’s norms and regulations.

As you lay side by side, the vulnerability caused by the openness of the conversation and the tenderness of the dim light highlighting your faces. Copia’s comments resonated deeply with a man who had taken solace in the carefree moment’s simplicity, akin to the lines of a lovely song.

The Cardinal’s unbridled, sincere laughter permeated the room, a soft refrain that broke between the calm discussions and times of mutual delight. The walls that usually covered the complexity of your lives came down during this quiet talk, and you two were able to get to know each other on a level that would never have been possible. He was Copia Emeritus, the youngest son of a man who had once performed the same role as him, and an innocent boy who had grown up in a difficult environment. He was more than just the Cardinal and the Head of the Satanic Church. And you were able to lay your soul bare to a man who could understand your troubles in a way not many people could. A rare connection, but a real one.

The soft rustle of the blankets and the soothing rhythm of breathing created a lullaby of comfort,wrapping both of you in a gentle touch of the night. His arm wrapped around your naked body in a hug of protection, drawing you as near to him as he could, as if you were his own.

A fresh day looming over London, sincere conversation, warmth between you and Copia, and a bedroom filled with the soft murmuring of dreams were the small things that brought you comfort in life. With its gentle wings, the night captivated you both, trapping you in a dreamlike world and a soundless melody of hearts interwoven in the unholy.

The throb of excitement and the rush of unexpected intimacy blended with the ashes of dreams that twirled on the brink of awareness, and you fell asleep hardly comprehending the position you were in, but committing it to memory, nonetheless. In order to get a good night’s rest, you made sure to quell the fear that he’d be gone in the morning, and you’d come to the horror that this was all a dream - a fantasy your brain concocted to cope with the idea that you were so close to him.

The soft glow of morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm embrace upon the room. As consciousness gently reclaimed its hold, you stirred, expecting to find Copia’s presence beside you. However, the realization that the bed was empty washed over you, accompanied by a subtle undercurrent of disappointment.

For a fleeting moment, doubt crept in—had the encounters with Copia been nothing more than the whimsical product of a dream? The vividness of the previous day’s events felt like a mirage, and a sense of yearning lingered in the room, echoing the emptiness left by his absence.

You sat up, the sheets cascading in gentle waves around you, and surveyed the room with a mix of hope and uncertainty. The memories of the shared Chinese dinner, the playful banter, and the intimacy of being cradled in Copia’s arms seemed almost too fantastical to be real.

As you rose from the bed, the lingering scent of Copia’s presence surrounded you, a subtle fragrance that whispered of the shared moments. A pang of longing accompanied the realization that, regardless of the dreamlike quality of the encounters, there was a void in the room that mirrored the absence of the Cardinal.

Attempting to dispel the lingering doubt, you moved through the room, still as naked as you were when you fell asleep the night before, half-expecting to find traces of him—the imprints of his presence, a forgotten belonging, anything that would validate the reality of the connection. The room, however, revealed no such evidence, leaving you in a state of quiet contemplation.

In the silence of the morning, you grappled with the uncertainty, a delicate dance between the threads of reality and the ephemeral nature of dreams. The longing for Copia’s company lingered, an echo of the intimate moments shared, and the room retained a faint resonance of the enchantment that had unfolded.

“Ciao, Sorella,” Copia greeted, his eyes brightening as he entered, the subtle rustling of the bakery bag in his hands adding a touch of mystery to the moment. The relief that washed over you was palpable, dispelling any lingering doubts about the reality of the connection forged the day before.

“Good morning, Copia,” you responded, a genuine smile gracing your lips as he approached. The aroma of freshly baked goods wafted through the air, a delightful accompaniment to the morning sunlight that bathed the room. He hung the bag from his wrist and used his free hands to cup your cheeks, pulling you in for a passionate kiss before you had the chance to protest at your morning breath.

“I thought breakfast from a local bakery might make for a pleasant start to the day,” Copia explained, presenting the bag as if it held a treasure trove of delights. His demeanour, a blend of awkward charm and genuine warmth, echoed the sincerity of his actions. “I wanted to surprise you, but you’re out of bed.”

“I’m sorry… would you like me to get back in it?”

He nodded. “Sì. This isn’t my bed or yours, and we’re leaving in a few hours. Let’s be heathens and eat pastries under the duvet!”

As he began to unveil the contents of the bag, an array of pastries and bread emerged, each one tempting and inviting. The simple act of sharing breakfast became a moment of connection, a continuation of the unspoken understanding that had woven its way through the shared experiences of the previous day.

You climbed back into bed, watching your fully clothed Cardinal do the same - paints and all adorned on his face as though you hadn’t already seen his bareness the night before. He was chipper - even more so than before. It was nice to see him so relaxed.

The room filled with the comforting scent of fresh bakery delights, you and Copia began to enjoy the morning repast. The ambiance shifted, the initial uncertainty dissipating in the face of this shared moment of simplicity and warmth.

The conversation flowed effortlessly, a mixture of lighthearted banter and genuine interest in each other’s thoughts. As you nibbled on pastries and sipped coffee, the room seemed to come alive with the easy friendship that had developed between you and the Cardinal.

Breakfast finished slowly, lazily. Your time distracted with continuing your conversation from last night before you both fell asleep. The conversation only stilled when Copia returned to the bed, sitting atop the sheets and stroking the hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. Then, his lips were on yours.

He didn’t intend for the kiss to be anything but sweet and chaste, but soon enough, his body was positioning himself over yours and forcing you to lie back against the pillows, one hand propping him up over you, the other roaming over the sheets that covered your body. It was deep and delicious, and made your body tingle with want and your legs spread in anticipation, a silent plea for him to touch you again just as he had the night before.

When he’d removed the duvet from your body, a struggle considering he was on top of them, and had situated himself between your legs, he allowed his hands to wander all over your body as though they were trying to find a destination but kept getting lost. As more and more of your body became exposed to him, he allowed his lips to voyage across your curves, open mouthed kisses leaving trails of saliva in their wake as proof that they’d been there. Your breaths were heavy, allowing your breasts to rise and fall with the exertion. Your lips, kiss-swollen and tantalising, he just wanted to run his tongue over them and taste you in your entirety.

His lips fell upon your chest and worked their way down to your nipples. He tongued the left one, first - fingers pinching the right while he licked and sucked at the bud, groaning as if the taste of you was the most delectable dish he’d ever had the honour of eating.

“I wonder,” he began, lying on his stomach, his hands moving to your thighs and spreading your legs wide enough to slot himself between your thighs, “why Lord Lucifer kept you from me all this time?” He kissed your thigh. “Why he wasted my time on other conquests when the sweetest prize was right under my nose the whole time.”

He groaned at the sight of you; your glistening, taut heat spread and open for his personal viewing, ready and waiting for his tongue to ravish you as you deserved. He kissed up your thighs, and as he did so, you took the opportunity to pick up his hat and toss it across the room. This earned you a chuckle.

One of his fingers ran up and down your folds, catching on your clit once or twice and making you shiver and jolt with anticipation. Then, those fingers that had gathered your slick slipped into his mouth, and his eyes fluttered shut in delight. “Time to make good on my promise and make the gods jealous of you.” He told you, before diving into his newfound faith enthusiastically.

Your hands immediately flew to his hair, digits locking around his mouse-brown strands as your back arched against the wall and completely off the desk. Copia immediately went in, tongue swirling roughly around your sensitive clit and intermittently sucking at it to get those divine noises to spill from your lips. You had no thoughts of quietening yourself, not when his tongue felt like your whole world could collapse at any minute.

It didn’t take long for your hips to start bucking into his face, chasing the pleasure that he was generously giving you. His moustache scratched against your labia as his lips moved, occasionally hitting the right spots and having you clench around nothing. However his cock and his fingers felt last night, was nothing compared to the way he sucked your clit into his mouth, causing loud, uncontrollable moans to spill from your mouth into the cold morning air.

“Copia - fuck!” Your toes curled beneath you as you let out a scream, Copia still flicking his tongue quickly over your folds.

The heat inside the room rose rapidly, making it almost unbearable and causing a sheen of sweat to form on both of you. Copia trapped you in the position he so desperately wanted by firmly pressing your body down and wrapping your legs around his head. He used one arm to keep your hips pressed down while his fingers on the other were sucked into his mouth to wet them with his saliva before they were mercilessly pumped into you.

He adored the sounds you made the night before, but these sounds were entirely different. Brand new. They were boosting his ego and his confidence so much more, allowing him to get a little rougher with his ministrations, stretching you out to fit him beautifully, just as you had before.

Copia moaned as your fingers tugged at his hair, sending vibrations through your heat and throughout your cunt. The sounds that flooded the room were overshadowed by the sinful squelch your wetness made as his fingers worked up and down against that spot. Those fingers reached the parts of you that his tongue was unable to penetrate as he continued to lap at your folds. His fingers felt even better than his tongue, and that fucking moustache was going to send you to an early grave.

As he moved his face, all you could feel was the tickle of prickly hair brushing against your incredibly sensitive spot. You could feel his moustache every time he moved due to his erratic and fast his movements that had your back arching off the matress and your eyes tightly squeezing shut. You were a loud, sweaty mess completely at the mercy of Copia’s actions, and he was fully aware of his actions.

His tongue moved more quickly as you started hitting your high, and his fingers pumped harder, curling to find your favourite and most responsive spots. With his moustache, it didn’t take him long to bring you to your release. Before long, your back arched and you let out a scream as he continued to pump his fingers through your release. You clung to the bedding, needing something to vent your annoyance on. You felt filthy and unholy, Lucifer. It felt so damn good. Copia took his time caressing your folds and surrounding your cunt, savouring every last drop of your exhaled breath as you laboured to breathe. He was enamoured with you. He could never get enough of you.

“Così delizioso,” he told you, pulling back from your core, “could do this forever, amore.”

He crawled up the bed and locked his lips to yours in another desperate kiss, and you groaned at the taste of you on them. As he was on top of you, your hands began working at his robes to get him just as naked as you still were. You needed to feel his skin, needed him against your body otherwise something bad might happen. His robes were a fight and more frustrating than anything else, causing him to stand on the floor and remove everything as quickly as he could on his own, but the whole endeavour ended in a fit of giggles from the both of you as he dived back on top of you, fervently kissing you.

His cock dragged through your folds as he rubbed against you, giving himself just a little respite from the intense feeling and making you shiver with sensitivity below him. “So wet, amore. All for me, sì?”

“Yes, Copia.” You whispered, your breaths ragged and strained. “Only you.”

His cock jumped at the thought. Were you really considering giving yourself to him forever after only one night together? Were you so willing to belong to him so soon? He loved the thought - the idea that you were so enamoured by him that you just couldn’t refuse; that you didn’t want to refuse him.

“Amore, I could tell you all the things I love and adore about you and stuff your pretty cunt with my cock all day and night. You want that?”

“Yes!” Your fingers dug into his shoulders as his cock kept rubbing against your clit, now sopping wet with your juices.

He moved his hips back and, without moving his hands, lined up with your entrance. “Do you want it, amore? Do you want my cock?”

“Yes!”

“Tell me how much.”

“So much, Copia, please. I want your cock to fill me up so fucking good. Please give it to m- oh, fuck!”

He pushed inside of you before you could even finish the sentence, apparently more needy for your cunt than he thought. There was a brief ache from his pounding last night, a twinge that had your eyebrows furrowing, but your mouth hanging open at the pleasure of the stretch.

His kisses traced the same areas they did the night before, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he tried to not cum too soon, especially with the way your cunt was fluttering against him. You were twitching, as if you were begging him to move or do something. But the way he was riled up combined with the way you felt was a terrible combination that would only end in him spoiling the fun before it had even got started. You were truly delectable in every sense of the word - an addiction forming with no hope of relief. Not that he would ever be willing to quit.

“Sathanas,” he whispered into your skin, “this cunt!”

He tested the waters, thrusting once, twice, then three times before deeming his body recovered enough from the initial invasion to pick up the pace and start taking what he needed from you.

“Ah!” Each time those noises fell from your lips was when he thrusted particularly deep inside you, the head of his cock kissing your cervix beautifully and forcing the involuntary sounds to escape.

Copia was draped over you, covering you entirely; pinning you against the mattress with his full weight. There was no way you could move, no way you could think independently of the pleasure that he was putting your body through. You just had to lie there and take it with your legs wrapped around his hips trying to keep him as deep as possible so he’d keep giving you the pleasure you were desperately craving.

“Amore, you’re doing so well,” he panted, “you’re so gorgeous all wet and screaming for me. Merda! Giving yourself to me like this. An honour.”

The position he was in on top of you, and the way he pinned you down with the whole weight of his body, meant that his pubic mound was grinding against your clit, stimulating you with each grind of his hips. Your nails dug into his back and ran down it, creating red welts that Copia knew he’d wear proudly for weeks until they disappeared entirely. The feeling of your nails digging into him did something that drove him to the brink of insanity, and he found himself moving much faster than before.

You were close to cumming, but so was he. A mere few thrusts away before he was cumming deep inside your tight, wet heat, losing himself in your body as he had the night before. You felt divine - like sin itself had come alive just to torment him. He couldn’t believe you’d been there all that time and he’d not noticed you until that Black Mass a mere month ago. Yet here he was, balls deep inside you a second time, fucking you within an inch of both of your lives and needing to just… bite.

“Cumming!” You yelled, your voice high-pitched and straight out of a porno.

“That’s it, amore. Just like that. Cum all over this cock.”

Your second orgasm, just as powerful as your first, had your legs locking around Copia’s hips and forcing him deeper, restricting his wriggle room and making him take the full attack of your fluttering cunt as you spasmed beneath him. Your toes curled, your body arched as much as Copia would allow it to, and your eyes screwed tightly shut from the force of it all.

This triggered his own orgasm, cumming deep inside you and gripping onto your body so firmly, he’d leave a bruise. His face was buried in the crook of your neck, mouth attached to the skin and muffled groans emanating from the area as his hips shook with his own force. His body responded similarly to yours - as in, it was completely out of control. It wasn’t until your legs unlocked him and you allowed him some freedom to pull away, he’d noticed the hickey he’d left on your neck.

“Amore,” he said breathlessly, “I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?”

“Not at all,” you replied, brushing his sweaty hair out of his face.

He poked the hickey - it only hurt a little, as a fresh bruise usually would.

Despite being free, he fell back on top of you, using your entire body as a pillow. He was too tired to move now - too comfortable, too happy. He couldn’t possibly think about the horror that was coming… having to leave this cozy room and soft bed, the warmth of your arms, to get on a cold plane where he’d have to pretend he wasn’t utterly enamoured (and horny) by your presence alone.

But reality called, and work awaited.

This time, however, he’d have you by his side, or even underneath him, whenever he wanted.

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[historicity-was-already-taken]

This morning I picked up my paper copy of the New York Times and I was greeted by an extremely graphic article about rape as warfare in Israel/Palestine on the front page. I put the paper down, but it got me thinking about the value of reading about violence. When is reading these testimonies bearing witness to history, and when is it masochism? How do you discern between productive discomfort and unnecessary anguish?

I don't expect you to have the answer to these because they are such immense questions and also things vary from person to person, but I am interested to hear your thoughts on the issue as a historian who is outspoken about the effects of secondhand trauma through genocide research. My degree isn't in history, but I'm an aspiring museum professional (if the job market isn't too cruel, lol. I'm open to other careers but I'm passionate about weaving archival materials into public storytelling so *gestures vaguely*). I also have a really thin skin. I tend to avoid graphic depictions/descriptions of violence, but sometimes I wonder what I'm missing by avoiding that.

Anyway! Feel free to answer this privately, publicly, or not at all if you're swamped with other things. Thank you for running such an informative and interesting blog!

Hi! Sorry this was buried in my inbox.

It's a good question, and I'm not sure how to answer it in regard to contemporary, ongoing events, vs. history. I do think that the 24/7 news cycle has exposed us all to an amount of suffering and stressful information that we're not like...designed to be able to handle.

So I'm going to answer you like a museum professional, and use that shared language. Back in 2009/10 I was a Collections Management Intern at the 9/11 Memorial and Museum. This was before it opened to the public. While I was mostly cataloging, the staff was great about letting us listen on on ongoing higher level conversations.

I'm putting the rest of this under a cut, for reason which will be clear when you read what's under said cut.

Now, two of the (imo) most traumatic aspects of the history of that day, is 1) the photographs and footage of people who jumped from above the impact zones; and 2) the audio from phone calls and voicemails made from inside the planes, inside the towers, etc.

The museum handled those by making them optional. You want to listen to the last thing a woman in an office above the impact zone will say to her child? Ok. You have to make the choice to pick up audio mechanism, and press play. You want to watch footage of people jumping to their deaths to avoid burning to death? You have to make the specific choice to walk into a cordoned off vestibule, and view that material.

If you choose not to listen, or watch, you're not ignoring those histories or refusing to bear witness. You're fully cognizant of the fact that they happened, and you're simply choosing not to expose yourself to traumatic content. Bearing witness doesn't mean traumatizing yourself for the sake of bearing witness, you know?

I think it's enough to know that certain horrific things happened. Going that next step, looking at them, that's not necessary, and can't be rushed. When I was in undergrad I chose to focus on Ancient Near Eastern History as opposed to WW2 and the Holocaust because I know I wasn't ready to look too closely. I wasn't even really ready in grad school. It's really in the last 5/6 years that I've been able to do it. And I still don't think I'll ever be able to engage with detailed material about medical experimentation. But I know it happened. I know it was horrifying, and that's enough.

So, back to news media. I didn't see/read that article, but what I can say is that I appreciate when newspapers decline to put certain kinds of images on the front pages, and give the reader the option to look or not to look. I also appreciate when you're reading articles online, and you have to click multiple times to explicitly consent to view disturbing images.

[thinkingimages]

A Derek Jarman film with music by Throbbing Gristle Derek Jarman used some of his 70s home movie footage to produce this wonderful piece of exploitational avantgarde cinema. Actually the original material has been slowed down to a speed of 3-6 frames, then Jarman added colour effects and the pulsating, menacing score by Industrial supergroup Throbbing Gristle The result is a piece of art not to dissimilar to Jarman’s painting work in using found footage as elements of memory and mind that resemble ideas reflected in the Cabala and in C.G. Jung`s writings about an archetypical past that is hidden in everyone of us. The first, In the Shadow of the Sun (1974-80), was originally put together by Jarman himself in 1974 from re-shot Super-8 material including footage from The Art of Mirrors and Journey to Avebury, amongst several others. The film was eventually blown-up to 35mm and premiered at the 1981 Berlin Film Festival. The focus on ritual, mysticism and obscure alchemical symbolism links it with the work of Anger. However, Jarman’s preference for the work of Carl Jung and the “white” magician John Dee, is quite distinct from Anger’s invocations of the “black” magician Alistair Crowley. – Jon Behrens

Extending the recent pagan theme, Ubuweb posts Derek Jarman’s determinedly occult and oneiric film, In the Shadow of the Sun (1980), notable for its soundtrack by Throbbing Gristle. This was the longest of Jarman’s films derived from Super-8 which he made throughout the 1970s between work as a production designer and his feature films. He never saw the low resolution, grain and scratches of Super-8 as a deficiency; on the contrary, for a painter it was a means to achieve with film stock some of the texture of painting. Michael O’Pray described the process and intent behind the film in Afterimage 12 (1985):

In 1973, Jarman shot the central sequences for his first lengthy film, and most ambitious to date, In the Shadow of the Sun, which in fact was not shown publicly until 1980, at the Berlin Film Festival. In the film he incorporated two early films, A Journey to Avebury a romantic landscape film, and The Magician (a.k.a. Tarot). The final sequences were shot on Fire Island in the following year. Fire Island survives as a separate film. In this period, Jarman had begun to express a mythology which he felt underpinned the film. He writes in Dancing Ledge of discovering “the key to the imagery that I had created quite unconsciously in the preceding months”, namely Jung’s Alchemical Studies and Seven Sermons to the Dead. He also states that these books “gave me the confidence to allow my dream-images to drift and collide at random”. The themes and ideas found in Jubilee, The Angelic Conversation, The Tempest and to some extent in Imagining October are powerfully distilled in In the Shadow of the Sun. Jarman’s obsession with the sun, fire and gold (which spilled over in the paintings he exhibited at the ICA in 1984) and an ancient mythology and poetics are compressed in In the Shadow of the Sun with its rich superimposition and painterly textures achieved through the degeneration “caused by the refilming of multiple images”. Jarman describes some of the ideas behind In the Shadow of the Sun:

“This is the way the Super-8s are structured from writing: the buried word-signs emphasize the fact that they convey a language. There is the image and the word, and the image of the word. The ‘poetry of fire’ relies on a treatment of word and object as equivalent: both are signs; both are luminous and opaque. The pleasure of Super-8 is the pleasure of seeing language put through the magic lantern.” Dancing Ledge p.129

John Coulthart

[attichoney4u]

hii!! it's a me, whitecat! I really wanted to ask you stuff about your fics! (the fic post you reblogged)

1, 5, 8, 11, 18, 24

(And for all the questions that are *insert fic*, that fic is "To The Beautiful Perikles" obviously😜)

Hello there! Since the question is in English, I'm gonna answer in the same language.

1. What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

I'd recommend them my most recent one, Στα κρύα του λουτρού, which is a para 5 fanfiction about Dahlia and Lefteris, her ex, because it's my current love and I spent several months writing and editing it, so I believe my writing skills are at their peak. I'd recommend them my Good Intentions series, which is a Crossover between Hazbin Hotel and Good Omens with Charlie having to face the Archangels from Good Omens, instead of Adam, Ωιμέ! Φωτιά με φωτιά!, the first ever Sto para pente x Of Constantine and of Helen x Savvatogennimenes crossover (and the first ever Of Constantine and of Helen fic), where I believe my wriring skills are supreme and I even attempted to add jokes, Μια γουλιά από τον Μαγικό Ζωμό, a Harry Potter x Asterix Crossover, where Getafix attends Hogwarts and I adore it because Asterix is my childhood and one of my favorite things ever (there's also the english version) and I'm so happy for the positive reception it received, and I also have a soft spot for My best wishes, Themistokles, despite not achieving the reception I expected, but it's still a personal favorite of mine (mainly because Themistokles is one of my all-time favorite historical figures from Ancient Greece and I find it funny how he ended up in Persia, despite having fought against them multiple times in the past).

5. What do you wish someone would ask you about [insert fic]? Answer it now!

I have mixed feelings about the fanfic that you chose 'cause it's an idea that I wrote down solely because it was on my mind for months and just wouldn't leave me, like it usually happens, but regardless I love it as something I have created, and thus, I'll answer your question.

So, the question is: "Were you drunk when you wrote it?" Just kidding.

One of my main inspirations for the fic was the first installment of "The Golden Age" series by Conn Iggulden, which features Perikles and Kimon prominently, and I'd love to be asked more about this book, even though I have only read snippets and these snippets feel like the most cliché ancient period Hollywood blockbuster ever. But there's heart to it, I can feel it, and it's always enjoyable to read historical fiction set in Classical Athens.

The question I'd love to receive is: "Omg I thought I was the only one who sensed homoerotic tension between these two!!" And then, we'd burst into a full conversation, analyzing every single interaction with these two and what it symbolized.

8. What song would make a great fic (to either write or read)?

A tricky question, 'cause when I listen to music, I don't normally associate it with fics and stories. Heck, I don't even create playlists for my fics or my characters! However, I'll settle for "Heroes" by Måns Zelmerlöw, because I believe you can do a lot with the "We are the heroes of our times, but we are dancing with the demons in our mind" line and because I'm currently in my Eurovision era and I'm relistening to some past songs.

11. Are you partial to a certain character/pairing or are you more equal-opportunity? If you are partial to any character/pairing, why do you think that is?

I guess the ask is referring to the characters/pairings I love to write about, not if I generally have anyone. The answer is no. Since I haven't written that many fics and most of my interests don't tend to last long, I'm not particularly partial to any character or pairing, and even if I do, I tend to stick to my one-shot formula and be done. When I revisited my relationships filter on ao3, I was surprised to see that I only had four pairings in all of my stories, one of which was about non-romantic interactions and the other two being Canon, so I was obligated to add them to my stories.

18. If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it involve?

As I said above, I tend to stick to one-shots, so the idea of writing a sequel to that fic has never crossed my mind! Maybe if I get to read "The Golden Age" in its entirety, it may reinstall my interest and I may expand a scene that I found interesting, but that's all I can promise. For now.

24. Are there any easter eggs in [insert fic], and if so, what are they?

Not that I can think of. It's just historical facts and events from the book brought together with the help of my sloppy English writing skills.

@whitecat2049

[lenorethequietbookkeeper]

Can't believe this never dawned on me before. Do any of the holders speak another language? Have new languages developed over the eons?

Very excited to talk about this one cause I've always wanted to discuss demon language specifically!

But!! I'm getting ahead of myself! I'll answer the first part quick!

John- Basically nothing outside of English. Knows some individual words, but often mixes up what languages they come from, and even what they mean.

Charles- A bit of Standard Chinese, but not enough to hold a conversation. Some Greed-Variety Demontongue, just enough to handle business contracts.

Ferris- A decent amount of Spanish, although he doesn't use it a whole lot due to lack of opportunities. Basic Demontongue, mostly dumb pickup lines.

Daniel- Literate with French, Egyptian, Standard Chinese, and a decent amount of Basic and Pride-Variety Demontongue, is unable to speak any of these.

Jeagar- Very knowledgeable regarding Hebrew, literate with several ancient dead languages, especially Latin, Sanskrit, Biblical Hebrew, and Akkadian. Also literate with all varieties of Demontongue and Angelchirp. Can speak most of these on an intermediate level.

---

Now!! Regarding languages in the ZoP universe! In general, at least on Earth, I don't imagine humans or undead have really created new languages. That being said, I do imagine the degradation of borders and interactions between undead/humans from other cultures has led to the development of multiple sub-languages all around the world. I won't get into every single one here, it's just something I'm laying out.

There are two languages exclusive to ZoP itself I'd like to discuss; Angelchirp and Demontongue, those being the native tongues of angels and demons of course.

---

NOTE: Just for context, the words from these languages take snippets from other words of whatever speech they're being translated into (ex; "fivfinlim", which takes bits from the words "five", "finger", and "limb", means "hand" in Basic Demontongue). The words in my writing will be based on the English language for my convenience. That being said, Angelchirp and Demontongue are very complicated in their original forms, so they need to be heavily localized for humans to even understand them as languages (and literally not explode while trying to speak them).

TLDR; The translated versions of these languages I use in ZoP are not the only versions that exist.

---

OK WITH THAT IN MIND, Angelchirp is pretty universally similar for all angels. There may be some dialect differences for the higher-ups, but that's about it. When translated, it often uses bits of words related to emotions and the spiritual. It also acts as the base for all languages in the universe, including Demontongue.

Speaking of, Demontongue is far more complex and insane than to Angelchirp. While most basic nouns/verbs are universally the same, a lot of words can be totally different depending on what species of demon is speaking. So uh...yeah...prepare for a beefy ass read lmao.

---

Gluttony/Wrath/Lust-Variety (also called Basic): The first and most common rendition of Demontongue. Quite similar to Angelchirp in its original script due to being a direct descendent from when Hell was first created. Where it differs is that when translated, it uses snippets of words related to the physical, usually regarding nature and flesh.

---

Greed-Variety: A more complicated version than Basic, originally invented by greed demons as a form of code to prevent outsiders (including other demons) from prying into their affairs. Not really spoken in casual conversation, mostly used to encode secret messages. Often rely on the words of numeric systems when translated.

---

Sloth/Envy-Variety (also called Simple): An odd version of the language that predominantly appears in magic-related material written during humanity's Dark Ages. Origins coincide with the era when Sloth and Envy Demons terrorized humanity. Most notably the easiest variety to translate due to being more similar to the Greek alphabet than demonic runes (the progenitor for Basic Demontongue). Because of this, magidemics believe Simple was actually created by early human sorcerers as a tool for what would become spell crafting.

---

Pride-Variety: The most difficult and complicated of all varieties of Demontongue created during the peak of the Pride Demon's culture. Infamous for having some of the most convoluted, long, and difficult to pronounce words, perhaps in all of the universe (ex: "crekmahogoakbireverbarkflorfon", which means board). Hell-based historians argue this is to increase the magic potential of Pride Demon spells, although adept sorcerers believe this was done so the noble class could gatekeep their brand of magic from the "common rabble". Regardless, due to the outbreak of the Affliction, there is the very real possibility that this dialect might become a dead language in the not too distant future, which brings worry to the magic world, but relief to those tasked with translating demonic scripture.

---

-From Biblically Accurate Producer!

[talenlee]

There Are No Baby Ogres

I’ve mentioned the category of the things called Erd, but that is ‘I mentioned why I have it, it two years ago and never followed up on what it means and just kept using the term freely.’ Instead of explaining what it was I just used it as a tag to indicate some things in a generalised way, over there, because it is a narrative wastebasket for something in a game mechanical context, and that something is contentious for a lot of people especially when they approach games and fictional spaces as 1:1 maps between reality and exploratory play spaces.

Art Source

Let us then talk about the defining difference of the Erd, and their relationship to the way almost all other life in Cobrin’Seil works.

Glossary Note: Conventionally, the term used in D&D for this mechanical package is race. This is the typical term, and in most conversations about this game system, the term you’re going to wind up using is race. For backwards compatibility and searchability, I am including this passage here. The term I use for this player option is heritage.

The thing that kicked this off is the way that multiple languages, usually of, well, for lack of a kinder word ‘savage’ heritages presented in D&D are linked by a language form. Orcish is written in ‘Giant’ Script. This is true for a bunch of other cultures that nobody cares about, but the core of it seems to be that Orcs don’t even get to define the language they use, it’s instead linked to someone else, who is for some reason, a bigger (hah) deal. This tended towards the idea of a ‘giantkin’ category, of barbaric and powerful individuals with a lot of physical prowess and maybe even magical power that was all stemming from extremely powerful individuals who maybe were even linked to ancient ideas and a lost empire.

Boo on those things.

This is an idea I dislike, which is referred to as palingenesis; the idea that the world is awaiting a rebirth into a greater, superior, purified form that reflects the way it truly used to be. This idea is fundamental to a lot of fascist thought and a lot of Christian ideology, but I repeat myself. Palingenesis is a thing that I always grow suspect of and even when I want some of the effects of big impressive imperial or colonial structures in the world of Cobrin’Seil, I think the world is more interesting by having us as outside observers able to point to things in it and not have an inevitable line of threads pulling towards a message that everything was better for the cosmopolitan now where characters get to be cool and have all the genders they want before bedtime. Basically, you can have a world spanning empire in the history that had impressive works in it but also it needs to be clear the reason they’re not around any more is because those impressive works weren’t actually enough to stop the empire from sucking ass and failing.

What’s more when you present old lore or ancient setting information that’s there to inform the philosophy of the rest of the worldbuilding there comes a risk of this being stuff player characters know rather than stuff the players know. Sometimes this will be phrased as ‘ancient lore’ or ‘rumours’ and as we all know that means to players: here is factual truth and your character can know it and believe it!

The Erd, then.

The Erd is a category that represents humanoid body plan creatures that live outside of the established sapient cultures, linked together through loose cultural signifiers. Erd are, to most people, the ‘I know ’em when I see ’em’ category of monster people. Erd is however a cladistic term from its origin point, which is to say, the Erd are the people who first took up cannibalistic blood magic to self-augment, and in the process created what they at the time called the Empire Of Perfected Flesh. That is, to underscore, Erd are humans who messed up their bodies with magic that requires the killing and consuming of other humans. Now, you can make a case about ethical magic and the morality of spell systems, but there’s a very limited application for ‘this type of magic specifically requires me to destroy you to change me.’

Consider how weird and creepy Necromancy gets and understand that Necromancy is one of the styles of magic that gets to be taught in universities and Erd magic does not.

Erd know what Erd are. They know them because Erd know that they’re Erd. The Erd perspective on the world is one twisted through self-augmentation but it’s very important to understand that Erd are extremely old. The Ogre that strides through a forest swinging a tree as a club is not a young, stupid Giant that struggles to understand the harm it’s doing. That Ogre is probably more than a century old, and has in that time consumed a lot of people to sustain the magic that lets it have the body it does. An Ogre knows that a Bugbear and Bullywug and Grimlock and a Hobgoblin are all the same kind of thing as they are, configured differently. Over their lifetime they may have been all of them, though the mindset of the Erd does tend towards a hierarchy with the Ogre-Magi at the top.

There are no baby Erd because if two Erd who have not yet completely honked up whatever they would use to reproduce have a kid, the resultant child is a completely normal human. And Erd do sometimes raise children like this, trying to teach them that they’re small and growing into what they are. Sometimes it’s with a culture of lies around them, doing rituals to transform them as they grow, and by the time they are ‘grown’ into their Erd body, they have even lost a full familiar vision of how they used to look and don’t see the similarity in themselves and humans when they finally encounter them.

But here’s the other thing: Erd choose to remain being Erd.

An Erd who stops consuming human blood to fuel the magic slowly, but surely, reduces a little in mass and scale. They lose a connection to the transformation of their body and mind. Eventually, with enough time, or interrupted from the consumption before they understand its importance, they just become an odd-looking, oddly-shaped human. This is one of the reason young Erd are so rare: Erd find this potential risk of losing effort and blood magic foolish when the human resources required to make new Erd that way are more usefully spent killing the human and using the magic of them to make something new. Like a bud.

Oh yeah, budding? The reason you can encounter a Hobgoblin encampment with like, twelve interchangeable Hobgoblins that act like The Same Guy is because they are. That’s one Erd, who reproduced their own body through consumptive magic. They’re not networked mentally or anything, but each of them is presented with the choice of ‘continue being Erd or not’ and they choose to persist. The result is an alignment of values.

Erd that choose to stop being Erd are no longer considered Erd by other Erd. The magical rituals are such that if you stop doing them you forget them and that means if you leave you need to do something amazing to come back. Most Erd won’t let you come back, because part of this consumptive, corrupting, consume-at-all-costs mindset is to treat defectors as weakness and therefore, more resources to be consumed. After all, Erd can use Erd to do Erd magic. It just requires, you know, murder.

Erd magic is even good at polluting your mind. The reason Ogres have ‘terrible intelligence’ is because they don’t test well to human science and magic tests, and that’s because the Erd magic they’re holding onto in their brains is sitting on all the processor power that could be used for anything else.

Erd had an empire, once. It wasn’t as good as they want you to remember. They built monuments and made a big deal about it, which were as much insurance against its collapse. Now, the vision the Erd have of things is very much simplified: Erd are a hierarchy of monstrous races, oppressed by the non-Erd cultures, and justified in their violence against them. They’ve forgotten many of the old things because they’re doing a lot of huffing blood magic that rots the brain. But they’re not addicts. They’re imperialists who believe that their survival and promotion is such a fundamental good that it’s worth whoever they literally eat to justify that worldview.

They are the meat Nazis of Cobrin’Seil, and they exist in fractured, tiny pockets and use the power they have to make themselves fit an aesthetic of power that they think should win in the war of ideas, but it doesn’t. Because they suck, and they’re assholes, and all the people who cooperate will always beat them.

Heck, it’s not even like eating people is a dealbreaker, Hecsenfore has got that on lock.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[daveinediting]

It starts with a conversation about Shakespeare that triggers an old lesson about how humans only used spoken language for a long time before pictographs, hieroglyphics, and written language as we now know it. So in all that time you couldn't just write things down...

You had to remember them.

You had to accurately memorize them.

It turns out our ancestors memorized insane amounts of information through the spoken word. They had to develop that ability in order to pass acquired knowledge between communities and generations.

Memory was their only storage device. An organic storage device.

Once I got thinking on language... I remembered another lesson about the translation of languages and how sometimes one language maps multiple words onto one word in the target language. For example, eight words in ancient Greek onto the one English word, love. As in

I love my wife.

I love hamburgers.

Yeah. Awkward.

Another imperfect memory later and now we're being taught that the Lincoln-Douglas debates of 1858 lasted hours. Crowds gathered at these debates to listen, to engage with them also for hours. As in an hour-long opening statement by one candidate, an hour and a half-long response by the other candidate, and a half-hour rebuttal by the first candidate. The debates attracted crowds of up to 20,000 people including reporters and stenographers who covered the hours upon hours of debate.

Hours?

Yeah. Hours.

Woof.

I point these things out because they’re what made me wonder how different our historic predecessors must have been. After all, they could commit so much acquired knowledge to memory. Their brains were trained on the written word and the way in which the written word forms our understandings of the world. The resulting abilities ushered in deeper human understandings as well as sustained attention to the constructions of reasoned arguments.

I wonder how different these people might be who understood the world around them this way. I wonder how different their predecessors were whose tradition was spoken, whose knowledge was sustained and perpetuated through brute force memory.

How different were they, these people whose abilities are so far removed from our own?

I used to wonder if those abilities made our historical predecessors more capable than us in some way. After all, their oral and written traditions demanded much from them. Definitely their time. Definitely their mental bandwidth.

They exercised their intellects in ways we don't. Because we don't have to. The ways in which we now communicate and perpetuate knowledge bear lighter demands.

Which brings me back to Shakespeare.

Recently I heard a conversation with a professor challenging him to justify reading Shakespeare as a high school or college requirement when we can now understand Shakespeare through ChatGPT. We can generate fifty-word summaries and two hundred-word analyses of Shakespeare with AI and thus know and answer all there is about Shakespeare and his writing.

So why read him?

Seriously. Why?

That's just the tip of the argument, of course. Follow it all the way: Why should we be required to read anything? Novels. Short stories. Essays. What actual purpose does reading even serve when ChatGPT can boil it all down in seconds.

Is there a benefit of deeper knowledge on any subject whether it's a book, a short story, or an essay? And what do we get in exchange for our efforts to achieve such deeper understanding and knowledge. Does that effort, does that understanding, transform us in any objectively measurable way? And if not, does that understanding transform us in some perhaps more fundamental way.

Does it change us? Swap out our abilities like people who communicate primarily through 140 characters whose abilities replaced the abilities of people raised on radio then television whose abilities replaced the abilities of people raised on the written word whose abilities replaced the abilities of people raised on the spoken word.

What’s the actual prize for putting in the time and effort to read what someone else has committed to paper or screen? To deep dive into another human being's mind?

Because the oral tradition required it.

Because the written tradition demanded it.

And now?

Well? Is it or is it not simply good enough to just know what we need to know on demand?

Is access to knowledge the same thing as a deep understanding of that knowledge? And is there a difference that actually, you know, makes a difference?

Is the quality of our understanding really something to strive for anymore? Or is the tradition of study simply a mindless one that's made obsolete by knowledge on demand?

Ultimately, is there some advantage to a more muscular brain? One that’s gotta work harder, be more engaged in order to process the spoken and written word, on ideas and concepts and hypotheses and arguments on its way to understanding?

And.

Are we replacing that specific way of mental processing with something that makes our brains more muscular? More light weight? Or something in-between.

Is it that our mental abilities are now better tallied by the weight (such as it is) of our current mental musculature plus whatever exterior processes augment it like computers and smartphones and AI?

So we shouldn't sweat what we were formerly capable of and can't do now?

Is our resulting intellectual prowess, however it adds up, sufficient for successfully and sustainably navigating our stormy Present that’s seized in a constant state of rapid and relentlessly whirling transformation?

Or is it essentially a product of that change.

And.

Are we fine-tuned for this age of human existence…

Or are we not.

😕

[noteguk]

any way you want it | kth | m

— summary; in which your best friend, Taehyung, finds out about your unsatisfying sexual experiences and decides to put an end to that track record himself. 

— contents and warnings; smut, childhood best friends, Taehyung x reader, bigdick!tae, breast play, oral (f receiving), dry grinding, dirty talk, tae has a praise kink, unprotected sex (be responsible!!), rough sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, Taehyung takes things personally but he has good intentions, this is what happens when mutual thirst gets suppressed for years of friendship 

— words; 6.6k

— author’s note; i have no idea why but this fic was so fucking hard to put down into words??? I felt mentally constipated the entire time but it’s finally here 

Taehyung wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when you called him at almost two in the morning, complaining about your newest nightmarish date and practically begging to come over. Like the good friend that he was, he made sure to tell you that you would be more than welcome to join him in his newest documentary marathon about aliens, and wondered if you could bring him some takeout on your way over there. Like the bad friend that you were, you said no. 

To be fair, the nearest takeout place was across the city from his apartment (about thirty minutes away and in a bad neighborhood), and you were already having a horrible night as it was. Besides, you refused to take part in Taehyung’s search for a high blood pressure and cholesterol levels, arguing that it wasn’t the right time to stuff his face full of hypercaloric noodles. 

But you did pity him enough to comply with his second request: a big pot of vanilla ice cream, which you were sure you’d end up consuming too. You were in a crisis.

As if to prove that the gods above were laughing at you, during the walk of shame to Taehyung’s apartment, it had started to rain (because of course it did), and your umbrella was only able to save you from the shoulders up before it crumbled and flew away from your gasp, rolling on the asphalt like a ball of dirt in a Wild West movie. By the time that you dragged yourself to his front door, you were completely soaked (and not in the way you had planned for that night to end), and about to break down crying. 

Taehyung, like the angel that he was, helped you with your heavy coat and talked you into taking a warm shower before you got sick. He took the supermarket bag from you (where the ice cream had probably already melted) and walked you to this bathroom, excusing himself so he could grab you some dry clothes — and you only saw the ones he had picked when you got out of the shower. 

With a silly smile dancing on your lips, you fumbled with the black booty shorts that Taehyung had jokingly gifted you that past Christmas — one that read “daddy’s juicy butt” in big, bold, neon pink letters over your ass — and then decided that your dignity was already dead by that point, so another kick wouldn’t hurt. Taehyung had also given you one of his favorite band shirts, which he only revealed during desperate times. 

Your heart melted with the thought of your best friend trying to comfort you, and pulled the fabric close to your face so you could take a deep inhale, drowning in his scent. It smelled of that stupid cologne that Taehyung had used ever since he hit puberty, and a bit of fabric softener. 

The two of you had an extremely close friendship, to the point that it got kind of strange at times. Ever since childhood, it was joked that you and Taehyung had been long lost soulmates — doing everything together, from going to school to laughing at the same exact jokes during movie marathons, often at the same moment and for the same amount of time. Before puberty hit (and the hormonal rage took over your first teenage years) you couldn’t remember disagreeing with him even once. You two had always been in sync. 

But the uncomfortably close part only hit after you two went to college, and your anxiety for being a virgin in a sea of starving sharks got the best of you. After long conversations, you had managed to convince Taehyung to help you learn a thing or two about the art of naked wrestling. 

Apparently it was weird to give your best friend a handjob and a blowjob for the sake of education. Go figure. 

Regardless, your friendship wasn’t affected by any of that — even if you two had agreed to never mention any of it ever again — and you could always count on Taehyung to catch you when you fell. 

Even if it was at two am on a Tuesday, after one of your nightmarish dates. 

You threw yourself on the couch next to him, hugging your knees against your chest to form a barrier between you and the divine providence that had taken you to that point. You had half-assedly dried your hair, but pools of wetness had started to build on the back of Taehyung’s shirt. 

Instead of accusing you of ruining his favorite piece of clothing, Taehyung reached for the remote and paused his documentary just as the narrator was starting to explain how hieroglyphs were actually part of an alien language. “Just tell me how bad it was,” he said, a mustache of ice cream melting over his top lip.

You took a peek at the bowl of melting vanilla on his center table, and decided that you would probably pass the desert for the night. 

You glanced at him sideways, voice coming out monotone. “You sure you want to go down that path?” 

Taehyung licked his sweet mustache off and nodded, clearly intrigued. “Yeah, hit me with it. You look like you need all the help that you can find.” 

You sighed, turning around on the couch so you were facing him — legs still against your chest. “Okay so… I went to his place...” 

“Yes…”

“And... we had dinner, talked for a bit.”

“How was the talk?” He asked. 

You shook your head, trying to kill the memories inside. “He didn’t let me say a word. He just went on and on about this new website he’s working on, and how expensive his wine glasses were.” You scoffed, angry at yourself for ignoring the clear red flags of an arrogant douchebag. That was what the desperate need for immediate human connection could do to someone, you thought. “Apparently it’s supposed to be the next Facebook or something. Or twitter. I honestly wasn’t paying much attention.”

He chuckled. “Starting off strong.” 

“That wasn’t even the main issue,” you said, lowering your forehead so it was touching your knees. You just wanted the world to end at that moment, so you wouldn’t have to go through those experiences again. “After that, we sat on his couch and started watching a movie. And you know how that goes, we started kissing, he pushed me down and got on top of me…”

“And?” He instigated. 

With a sigh, you raised your head, meeting your friend’s gaze. Taehyung thought he had never seen you look so dead inside. And he had seen a lot from you. “And he humped like… my lower abdomen for about three minutes and came in his pants.”

Taehyung cringed visibly, taking one hand to cover his mouth. “Oh, man. That’s bad.” 

You nodded, strangely relieved at his reaction. Part of you was worried that you were the evil witch in that scenario, that maybe you had done something wrong. “The worst,” you agreed. “Wanna know what else?”

“What? There’s more?”

“He didn’t even ask me if I was satisfied with whatever the hell that was.” You told him, bitterness dripping from your tongue. In the grand scheme of things, that was something silly to get mad over, but the fact that your date didn’t even have the guts to ask if you had gotten something out of that was ridiculous. “Not that I could possibly be. But it’s like he didn’t care and I was just a pillow for him to hump like a… sexually repressed religious teen, I don’t know.”

Taehyung only nodded, realizing that there wasn’t much that he could say to fix the situation. “Was he a good kisser at least?”

You sneered. “I think he was trying to crush my face with his.” You glanced at your friend, only half of his face bathed by the yellow and orange shades coming from the television. Maybe a documentary about ancient history and alien expeditions wouldn’t be so bad. Worst case scenario, it would knock you out, and you wouldn’t have to think about that mess anytime soon. “Also, too much tongue, just… the amount of saliva…”

“Got it. You can stop there.” Taehyung raised one hand, his eyes closing for a second. His palm lowered and met one of your knees, standing there in a silent attempt at consolation. “I’m sorry about your terrible date experience, dude.” 

“If you could even call it that.” You ran one hand through your hair, suddenly overtaken by a wave of anger. “God! I was just… so… ugh! Like… ughhhh!!” 

Taehyung, bless his heart, sometimes couldn’t understand the random neanderthal sounds you threw his way. “So... what?”

At last, your makeshift protection came crumbling down, and you collapsed on the couch dramatically, legs dangling off the edge. Taehyung thought that you were being possessed for exactly two seconds before you started talking again. “I did a full body shave for this night, Taehyung. Do you realize what that means?” His lips fell open, but, before he had the chance to answer, you continued. “It means that I really wanted to get railed tonight. Actually, I wanted to find a guy who actually knew what he was doing for once in my life.”

Taehyung chuckled, trying to disperse the tension in the room. “Come on, the dating pool can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, it’s bad,” you said. 

He wasn’t giving up that fast. “How bad?”

You raised your head to look him dead in the eyes, a silent threat, before finally uttering, “Try no-man-has-ever-made-me-cum bad,” and crashing your head back against the sofa. 

If you weren’t so hyper-focused on your own sexual melodrama, you would have noticed the thick silence that fell between the two of you, Taehyung’s face contorting into fifty different emotions within a few seconds. He thought that he had heard it all — from the secrets hidden in Machu Picchu to the obvious extraterrestrial influence on earthy religion — but no amount of bad documentaries could ever prepare him for that revelation. That didn’t make any sense. 

“Wait. Seriously?” He finally found his voice and managed to push his doubt out of his throat. “You’ve never had an orgasm before?”

You chuckled, humorless. “Oh no, I’ve had plenty of those. Just not from another person.” 

“How’s that possible?” he asked. 

“I ask myself that every single day.” You sighed, forcing yourself to sit back up. Taehyung was staring at you like you had just grown two extra arms, and you wondered what an amazing sex life he must’ve had for that confession to get him so confused. “Guess I’m just really bad at picking partners, who knows.”

There was a soft grunt on your throat as you fixed your position on the couch, suddenly feeling the exhaustion of your entire day piling up at once. Your gaze mindlessly traveled to the TV — a big plasma monstrosity that Taehyung had bought compulsively during a Black Friday sale — looking at a white-bearded man pointing maniacally towards a specific, round-shaped hieroglyph. You didn’t even need to hit play to know that he was making it seem like it was an UFO, but curiosity got the best of you. 

“Can you pass me the remote?” You asked, pointing at the small device that laid beyond Taehyung’s body. “I kinda wanna see what—”

“I’ve made tons of girls have orgasms,” Taehyung interrupted, looking at you like he had just clicked out of a transe.  

You laughed at his monotone voice. “I’m happy for you, Tae.” You leaned over his legs so you could finally reach the remote. “That wasn’t a jab at your masculinity, I’m sure you’re a very caring partner, and I’m sure there’s tons of guys out there that—”

“I can make you cum too, if you want.”

You had just grabbed the small piece of plastic when his sentence hit you like a smack in the face, making you drop the remote back on the couch, eyes widening. “You… what?”

He suddenly broke eye contact, taking one hand to massage the back of his neck. “Did that sound as creepy as I think it did?”

“A bit, yeah.” You forced out a light chuckle, trying to break the ice. There was no sign of mockery in his voice, and you didn’t know how to react. You could not say that the offer wasn’t tempting (you’d be lying if you claimed that you didn’t think Taehyung was attractive), but his proposal was so oddly-placed that it sounded like a joke. “What are you talking about?”

Taehyung sighed, turning his head to look at the television. “I just think it’s really unfair that no one has ever made you cum before.” 

You smiled. “That’s very nice of you, but…”

“And I want to help you with that.” He looked back at you. Oh, he was being a hundred percent serious. There was no longer a single ounce of doubt in your mind. “We’re friends, it’s not gonna be weird. We’ve done similar stuff before.”

“We were a lot younger, though.” You didn’t know why your mouth suddenly felt so dry, your fight or flight response kicking at full strength. You could tell that Taehyung was also trying to convince himself about the strangeness of the situation. “It’s gonna be kind of weird, yeah.”

“Not if we don’t make it weird,” he threw back. Was it bad that you were actually considering it? Maybe it was the piled-up exhaustion combined with the years of sexual frustration, maybe you were finally out of your mind. But you were really considering it. “I don’t wanna pressure you, alright? Just making a friendly offer. If you don’t want it, that’s fine.” 

You kind of wanted it, though. There was too much accumulated libido inside you from years and years of unsatisfying partners, and you trusted Taehyung with your entire heart. It sounded like a safe enough bet: if all went to shit and it got too awkward, you two could just stop, no hard feelings. Besides, you knew that Taehyung cared about you, which was more than you could say about all your dates in the past couple years. 

And the more you stared at him, probably looking like a deer in the headlights, the more you grew soft under his presence. At once, you were hit with desires that you had never considered before: you wanted to kiss those soft lips, wanted to know how his large hands would feel around you. You really, really wanted to know how it was to have a good sexual experience with someone, and you couldn’t think of a better candidate than your best friend. Even if you still thought it could be seen as a little bit weird. 

But you also kind of didn’t care. 

You licked your lips, finally finding your voice after a long moment of silence. “How… how would you do it?” 

Taehyung turned his head and looked at you, noticing the expectation in your eyes. “How would you want me to do it?” He asked. 

You tried to think, but your mind was completely blank. What did you want him to do? What did you like? Suddenly you weren’t sure about anything anymore. “I don’t know,” you admitted, glancing down. 

Taehyung smiled at your nervousness, one of his hands moving to your chin and tilting your head up. “How ‘bout I start by kissing you?” He questioned, gaze flickering to your parted lips. “Is that alright?” 

There were no words in your throat, so you simply nodded, closing your eyes as he leaned in. 

Taehyung’s mouth tasted of vanilla and you thought, even for a moment, that you were in paradise. The second that his tender lips met yours, your anxiety melted away, giving space to a newfound flame of desire. Taehyung kissed you softly, sensually, taking his time caressing your mouth and drowning in your heat. His hand moved to the back of your head, pressing you closer to him and leaning your head to the side so he could deepen the kiss. 

He sighed heavily into your mouth when your tongues met, his other hand moving to hold your waist. The position on the couch was kind of awkward for kissing, with the two of you sitting side by side, so it wasn’t an unwelcome surprise when Taehyung tugged you onto his lap, making you straddle him. 

The kiss was starting to get hungrier, messier, a small whimper dying in your mouth when his palms traveled down to cup your ass, pressing you down against his semi-hard cock. Taehyung sighed and groaned at the feeling of you on top of him, loving the way that your fingers played with his hair, your body so perfectly tight against his. If there was any hesitation before, it had completely vanished by that point. 

It caught you off guard when he suddenly broke off the kiss to ask you, “Do you like any pet names?”

You blinked, taken aback. “Hm? What?”

He placed a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You know, you want me to call you by something?”  

You realized that Taehyung was really taking that personal service to a different level, and you couldn’t say that you were let down by it. If any of your past partners had the dignity to ask what you liked, you wouldn’t be in that position in the first place. “I… like being called ‘baby’,” you told him. 

Taehyung smiled. “That’s cute. Baby it is.” 

Before you had a chance to respond, Taehyung’s lips were back on yours, a dreamy sigh leaving his mouth as your tongues met once again. Only a few seconds passed before he shifted his weight to lay you down, never breaking the kiss as he positioned himself between your legs, hovering over you. Taehyung started trailing a path of kisses down your neck, his large hands slithering beneath your oversized shirt and caressing the skin of your stomach. 

“Can I take this off?” He asked, tugging at your shirt. 

You agreed and, within a heartbeat, that piece of clothing was already on the floor, and Taehyung was diving in to kiss the valley of your naked breasts. You moaned timidly when one of your nipples was wrapped by his lips, his tongue coming out to play with it. Taehyung’s other hand was occupied fondling your other breast, tugging and pressing down on it, and the sensations were taking over your mind. 

“You have great tits,” Taehyung mumbled against your skin, switching to mouth your other nipple. 

“I’m glad you like them,” you teased, playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. You were letting out these cute little whimpers that were making him lose his mind. “Feels really good.” 

“Yeah?” He asked, moving back to kiss his way up your neck. His tongue was hot and heavy as it danced on your skin, and you knew that those sucks he was giving you were surely gonna leave a few marks on your flesh. But you didn’t really care. “Gonna make you feel even better, baby.” 

Your eyes fluttered shut at the pet name — it sounded heavenly when Taehyung used it with his deep, honeyed voice; his warm breath hitting your neck as he continued with his ministrations. 

He kissed his way to your cheek, placing a small pec on your lips before saying, “Can you do something for me?”

You nodded. “What is it?” 

Instead of responding right away, Taehyung’s gaze fell to your lips, and he was once again attacking them. That time, you weren’t able to hold back the whimper that you let out, your panties already glued against your core with how much he was turning you on. 

One of his hands had trailed down your exposed abdomen, teasingly playing with the hem of your shorts. You held your breath when he tugged them down, bringing your underwear with it and throwing them somewhere in the living room. Taehyung grunted loudly when his fingers slipped past your folds, digging into your heat. His brain almost short-circuited because of how wet you were. 

He broke the kiss and looked you deep in the eyes. “I want you to sit on my face, baby,” he said, and his request shot straight to your core. “Let me take care of you, okay?” 

“Are you sure?” You asked. You had never done that before.

But Taehyung wasn’t sharing your reluctance. “Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse and eyes darkened. “Wanna taste you so bad. Sit on my face, please.” 

And you didn’t need any more convincing than that. Taehyung helped you get up from the couch so he could reposition himself on it, laying flat on his back and watching as you settled yourself above him, thighs on either side of his head. The couch was the exact size for that, a little smaller and you’d have one leg dangling off the edge.

Taehyung took his hands to your thighs, running them up to your hips. His eyes were focused on your pussy, and you never felt so exposed when he started pressing you down lightly, guiding you closer to his mouth. 

You held the back of the couch for support and did as he requested, lowering yourself until Taehyung had you flat on his tongue. Your breath trembled and caught in your throat when he licked a thick stripe from your entrance to your clit, humming around the taste before doing it again. Taehyung was an expert at erasing your worries because, with a few more licks, he had you fully losing yourself in his sinful ministrations. 

It wasn’t long until you were whining out his name, your folds lazily dragging against his tongue as you started to grind on his face. “God, Taehyung!” You called out, hand coming down to tug at his hair. Taehyung grunted in satisfaction, the vibrations of his deep voice sending shockwaves through your pussy. “That’s… that’s really nice. You’re really good at this.” 

He moaned in response, closing his eyes at your words. Taehyung was eating you out like his mouth was made for it, like he was starving for your taste and you were all that he could think about. He licked you from your entrance to your clit, playing with your sensitive spots and enjoying the tremors of pleasure that ran through your thighs, his hands locked tight around your hips. You sobbed and cried over him, making special effort to keep your legs steady as you rocked yourself on his tongue. 

It was only when he decided to suck on your clit that you realized how absurdly close you were. You clenched your teeth and whined out, yanking his hair harder. “Do that again, please,” you asked and Taehyung, like the good friend that he was, was quick to comply. Taehyung wrapped his mouth around your clit in a way that had you trembling over him, licking and sucking on your sensitive nub like his life depended on it. “Fuck, that’s so good, Tae. Feels so good…” 

He moaned again, more desperate this time, and some part of your mind understood the pattern that he was presenting you: Taehyung really, really liked your compliments. And you had no problem giving away any more of them. 

“You’re licking me so well, Tae, you’re gonna make me cum like this,” you told him,  meaning every word you said. Taehyung was a Greek god beneath you, staring up at you with those dark, focused eyes as if he dared you to cum on his tongue. “God! You’re so good for me.”

And then your praises ran thin, because your mind was gravitating somewhere else — seeking for the high that was dangerously close. It was only when Taehyung started toying with your entrance, brushing two of his fingers on it, that you came undone, crying out his name like it was a personal prayer. 

There was a smirk on your mouth as you came down, a flooding relief that overtook you. You never thought that you could come so hard in your life, especially when it depended on another person, and you were so, so happy to be wrong that you could cry. 

With shaky legs, you removed yourself from Taehyung’s face, straddling his lap and watching as his lips glistened with your arousal. His pink tongue came out to lick them, a hum on his throat as he took in your fucked-out expression. 

“You did so well, baby,” he said, placing one of his hands on your waist. “Come here.” 

Obedient, you leaned in and sighed as his mouth met yours. This time, Taehyung didn’t wait to eagerly insert his tongue inside your mouth, making you taste yourself on him. 

He pulled away leisurely, his voice hoarse. “Can you taste how sweet you are?” He asked. “I loved making you cum on my tongue, baby. You looked so pretty.” 

Taehyung breathed out, planting kisses on your neck, one hand trailing down to squeeze your ass. You whined at his tight grip and pressed yourself down on him, feeling his hard cock poking out against the fabric of his sweats. 

Taehyung groaned at the stimulation, pressing down on your asscheek again. You rolled your hips on top of him, wincing in sensitivity as his member brushed your clit. “Loved your pussy so much, baby,” he continued, sounding like he was lost in a daydream, “I can’t wait to be inside you. Bet you’d be so tight for my cock, hm?” 

“Yeah,” you managed to speak. Even if you had just reached your orgasm, you were still aching to feel something inside you. You wanted Taehyung more than you could understand. “I want you to fuck me, Tae, please.” 

He breathed out, his hands tightening around your flesh as you rolled your pussy against his cock once again. Taehyung looked like he was one heartbeat away from completely losing his self control, and hearing you beg for him to fuck you wasn’t doing him any favors. “Gonna need to lie down for me, baby,” he asked. 

With a few more shifts on the couch, Taehyung had you beneath him once again, your legs open for him as he removed his shirt and pants. It wasn’t long before his cock sprung free from its confinement, standing erect. You licked your lips at the lustful sight, pussy clenching in anticipation as you took him in — Taehyung was big. Bigger than anyone you’ve ever had, that’s for sure; long and thick and already leaking for you. 

You would’ve cried out in need if he didn’t interrupt you. “What are you looking at?” Taehyung asked, the ghost of a smile creeping up on his lips. 

Your stare oscillated toward his own. “That’s why you have such a good track record, your cock is huge.” You bit your lip, thinking about how good he would feel inside you. You didn’t know how it was possible, but you were pretty sure the last time you’ve seen his cock — back in the dark ages of your freshman year of college — it wasn’t as big as that. Or maybe you just didn’t have anything to compare it to. 

“Hey, I just used my tongue on you, don’t ignore my efforts,” Taehyung teased, wrapping one of his hands around his member so he could pump himself a few times. The playful atmosphere swiftly shifted back, and, when he spoke up again, his voice was deeper. “You think you can take it?” 

“Yeah, I can,” you said. You couldn’t be sure, but you were sure going to try. 

Taehyung hummed, moving a bit closer so he could brush his tip against your pussy, coating it with your wetness. You closed your eyes in expectation, knowing that you’d love the stretch he would give you. 

“You want it?” He asked, a touch of desperation covering his words. Taehyung was nearing his breaking point, and the fluttering of your pussy on his cock was making him go insane. “Want my cock inside your tight little cunt, baby?” 

You nodded, frantic. The brushing of his thick tip on your hole was becoming too much, your walls clenching around nothing, seeking for something to fill you up. “Yes, fuck, I want it so bad.” 

“Are you tight for me, baby?” He was trying to prolong that moment for as much as he could, keep the pretty face you made when you pleaded for him to fuck you burned in the back of his head. Making you cum once was a victory he would take forever, but making you cum around his cock might as well be his life’s biggest achievement. “Ready for me to fuck you?” 

You cried out when he started pressing himself inside you, guiding his crown inside your pussy, then stopping. “Yes, Tae, just put it all in, please,” you whined, hands fumbling for support on his broad shoulders. Taehyung already had you clenching around nothing, you didn’t know what else he wanted from you. “Please, please, fuck me.” 

Taehyung chuckled, looking down at where you two met. He was only human, and his self control was short lived. “Since you asked so nicely…” 

Your back arched off the sofa as you felt the delicious drag of his large cock inside you, opening you up gradually, taking its time before filling you up to the brim. You gasped and sobbed at the overwhelming feeling, nails digging on the skin of his back as Taehyung groaned besides your ear. 

“Fuck, that’s so good.” He let out a shaky breath, and you swore you never heard his voice get so husky before. “I just slipped right in. You’re so fucking wet.” 

Your mind was an apocalypse of confused thoughts and forgotten exclamations, eyes fluttering shut as you dove into the sensation of Taehyung inside you — his hips angling backwards, tilting up just enough so he could move himself away from you core, only to come slamming back inside. The stretch of his cock was amazing, it was making you drunk, and all that you could think about was how much pleasure it was giving you. 

“So-So big—“ you muttered, half aware that the words actually left your lips. 

“How do you like it, uh?” Taehyung asked, his voice dripping sin and hunger. You could tell that he, too, was getting carried away by the feeling, his hips rutting themselves against you at a lazy pace. “Gonna give it to you any way you want it, baby.” 

You bit your lip, a small moan leaving your mouth when Taehyung leaned closer to you, distributing hot kisses on your neck. You swore you’d be happy if you died then. “I like it rough,” you answered. 

He groaned, apparently satisfied with your response. “Whatever you want.” 

Taehyung got to his knees on the couch, deciding to put one foot on the ground for support, his hands raising your hips to help him reach even deeper inside you. Faster than your brain could compute, the shallow, lazy pace he had sat was being replaced with a harsh, fast pumping that made you cry out his name, eyes closing in sheer bliss. 

“Tae! Yes, yes, just like that,” you sobbed, running one hand through your hair. You felt like your body was floating, every cell of your body overheating with the amazing pleasure that Taehyung was giving you. You never had someone fucking you so hard, his cock pistoning inside you, your body bobbing up and down on the couch. 

Taehyung’s eyes were glued to the bouncing of your breasts as he continued to fuck you, a deep groan leaving his chest. “That’s it, take it,” he moaned out, quickening his pace even more. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, mouth opening in a silent scream.  “Gonna make you cum so hard around my cock, baby. Gonna fuck you until you cry. Want that?” 

“Yes, yes, please,” you moaned. “Feels so good, Tae.” 

“You like my cock, baby? Like it filling you up?” He asked and you could only nod pathetically, your entire body too fucked out to even respond. “F-fuck, your pussy is so good. Tell me that you love my cock.” 

“I love your cock,” you whined, feeling like a complete hot mess under his thrusts. “I — fuck! — I love your cock so much, Tae, it’s so big.” 

Your words motivated him to fuck you even harder, his member hitting even deeper inside you. Taehyung was getting lost in the stretch of your pussy around him, the glorious sounds you were making, the lust that coated your face every time you called out his name. 

“Shit, I don’t know how anyone could look at you like this and not want to see that pretty face cum.” He was breathing out hard, grunting every time your cunt tightened around him. Taehyung wanted to see you like that forever, taking his cock like a good girl, creaming all over him and begging to do it again. You were wrapping around him so perfectly, taking all of him so well, that he didn’t think he’d manage to move on from that anytime soon. “So fucking hot.”

Taehyung chased after your high like a starving man looking for food, experimentally changing the angle and force of his thrusts to see what would get the best reaction out of you. At last, after a pathetically loud cry from your part after he raised your legs up, it seemed as if he had found it. “I bet you’d be so tight cumming around my cock, baby,” he was thinking out loud at that point, trying to make sense of the pretty sounds and expressions you were giving him so eagerly. He wanted nothing more than to see you cum — it was personal at that point. “I wanna feel you cum around me, baby. Wanna feel it so bad.” 

“I’m c-close.” Your nails dug into his shoulders, eyes closing tightly. There was a light heat in your cheeks and sweat on your forehead that was making Taehyung wonder if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “You’re so good, T-Tae, you’re fucking me so well…” 

Taehyung thought that he could cum right then and there, pushed over the edge with those sweet words alone. He loved being good to you, loved making you feel things that no one else managed to before. He was intoxicated by that sense of superiority, drowning in your praise. He wished that he could fuck you forever. 

“Cream my cock, baby, come on,” he pushed you on, his words hanging somewhere between an order and a breathless plea. You were getting so tight around him that it was making him crazy, your wetness coating his cock and dripping down between your legs like his own personal brand of aphrodisiac. “You can do it, come on. I wanna see you cum so bad.” 

You smiled at him, a cute, fucked-out smirk that made Taehyung go to heaven and back. “So good for me, Tae, you’re so big,” you said, your voice so needy and high-pitched. Your orgasm was looming over you, pressing down on your lower body and making you see stars. It was only a matter of time before Taehyung got you crying out his name, back arching off the couch and mouth falling open in delirium. “Tae! Fuck! Don’t stop, please, I’m gonna—“ 

But your warning came a second too late, because you were already spasming around his length, body shaking as Taehyung thrusted hard inside you. Just as expected, you were absolutely fucking gorgeous when you came — all quivering lips and rolling eyes —, and Taehyung was beyond satisfied to know that he was the only one who saw that pretty face of yours. 

“That’s it, baby, fuck.” Taehyung was starting to feel his own high approaching, called by the delicious tightening and releasing of your pussy around him. His thrusts were messy and harsh; his sweaty hair falling over his eyes like a cascade. “Can I cum inside you, baby? Can I fuck you full of my cum?”

You noticed the desperation in his tone and, with the throbbing of his member inside you, you knew that he wasn’t far. “Yes, please,” you said. “You were so good for me, Tae, you can cum wherever you want.” 

And it was that final taste of praise that pushed Taehyung over his limit; waves upon waves of cum filling you up as he rode out his high. “God— fuck!” He cried out, drunk on the feeling of your walls milking the last drops of cum out of his cock. A few lazy pumps later, and he was collapsing on top of you with a mumbled, “F-Fuck.” 

There was an instant of silence after his orgasm, the quietude only filled by Taehyung’s heavy breathing. You took one hand to his head, caressing the strands as a smile blossomed on your lips. “Well, I believe you now,” you said playfully. “I’m sure you made a bunch of girls orgasm.” 

Taehyung chuckled, breathless. “Thank you, I try,” he said, looking up at you. The darkness in his gaze was gone, and it was just your best friend staring back at you. “You alright?”

“I’m great,” you admitted. You never felt so good in your life. “You?”

“Fantastic, thanks for asking.” He leaned back so he could sit up, running one hand through his disheveled hair before saying, “I’m gonna grab you a towel, hang on.” 

Taehyung left you for a couple minutes before coming back to clean you up, tenderly wiping away the mess you two had created. After he was done, he discarded the towel on the floor and crawled back to rest on your chest once again. 

There was a comforting quietude that floated in the atmosphere, only filled by the muffled buzzing of his freezer and the vague sound of raindrops drumming on the window. You didn’t really know how to deal with that entire situation, didn’t know how things would stay between the two of you. But, at that point, you made the decision to keep those worries for the following morning and, instead, just enjoy his warmth radiating all around you. 

The glorious silence, at last, was broken when Taehyung started mumbling against your breasts.  “Hey, ___?” He called. 

“Yeah?”

“How many dates have you been on?”

You hummed, thinking for a moment. “Ever?”

Taehyung made a clicking sound with his tongue. “I don’t know, like, this past year.”

“Uh… like… five or six? I think?” You answered, looking down to meet his gaze. You knew that wicked expression very well. “Why?”

He smiled. “Because we have a lot of shitty dates to make up for.”

[aro-is-gay-af]

Slavic Names in Twilight | Meta

This post is going to be long, so if you don’t have time, I advise you to come back here later (or not come back at all, up to you).

Honestly, I have no words for Smeyer anymore. I, probably like most of us, read the books while being an adolescent. When I was 12 I didn’t see a lot of things that happened to be in the books and were:  a) misogynistic  b) sexist c) abusive d) racist and that the story itself was bound to Mormons (sick!). 

If you want to read about it a little bit more I strongly recommend this post by @stregoni-benefici​ and @carlislesscarf​ 

This post isn’t going to be about how Smeyer treated The Quileute Tribe, indigenous people, people of color or women. This post is going to be about how lazy Smeyer exactly was while creating this story and how her prejudices influenced and created false image of yet another culture. 

Why am I making such a fuss because of this? A few days ago I was reading something about Garrett on Twilight Wiki page. By sheer luck, I clicked on Kate’s character and, what I saw there, outraged me to the point where I needed a little while to calm myself. 

I was 12 when I first read the books. I never bought official twilight guide, I only used Twilight Wiki to keep myself up to date. I clicked on Kate’s character and saw that she hails from Slovakia. Forgive my utter confusion, when I remembered other sisters’ names. Tanya and Irina. Also, Kate was created by Sasha, who also created Vasilli (an immortal child), which is why she was executed in the first place. 

While the story is charming, WHY THE FUCK DO THEY HAVE SUCH NAMES?! 

To understand my rage, I need to elucidate the matter a little bit for all of you. This will be the historical part. 

According to Twilight Wiki, Sasha was changed before 1000 AD. Then, she created Tanya, and not very long after, Kate and Irina. And now. What were the historical odds while it happened? 

Before 1000 AD, Slovakia wasn’t Slovakia but Great Moravia. Great Moravia lasted about a century - the time span here is approximately circa 820 AD to 906 AD. When Great Moravia no longer existed, territory was taken by Hungarians (Magyar tribes also referred to as Hungarian clans) and the development of future Kingdom of Hungary began. Then, around 1000-1001, King Stephan was crowned as the first King of Hungary. Some elements from the former Great Moravia were acquired by The Kingdom of Hungary. 

King Stephen managed to establish eight counties within his kingdom. Around 1015 some territories of today-Slovakia were acquired by Boleslav I of Poland (later king of Poland), however, King Stephen managed to recapture the territories in 1018. Wikipedia isn’t consistent here - while on History of Slovakia we have these information, the History of Poland during the Piast dynasty says: 

From 1003 to 1004, Bolesław intervened militarily in Czech dynastic conflicts. After his forces were removed from Bohemia in 1018, Bolesław retained Moravia. 

and:

[translation here is mine as the site is in Polish] Between 1003 and 1025/1031 the lands of today's Slovakia were part of the Kingdom of Poland after being conquered by Bolesław Chrobry. The Polish-Hungarian Chronicle described that "The Polish borders stretched as far as the banks of the Danube, to the town of Ostříhomia, then to the town of Eger, and further to the river called Ciepla [Topl'a] as far as the town of Salis, and there the borders between Hungarians, Ruthenians and Poles ended". 

Than, probably around 1031 AD the territories were acquired back. King Stephen died and his kingdom fell into internal conflicts. Soon, in 1042 AD emperor Henry III mingled to acquire some lands for himself (he was the Holy Roman Emperor). Anyway, then came 1048 AD and that’s what happened: 

In 1048, King Andrew I of Hungary conceded one-third of his kingdom (Tercia pars regni) in appanage to his brother, Duke Béla. [...] During the following 60 years, the Tercia pars regni were governed separately by members of the Árpád dynasty. [...] The dukes accepted the kings' supremacy, but some of them (Béla, Géza and Álmos) rebelled against the king in order to acquire the crown and allied themselves with the rulers of the neighbouring countries (e.g., the Holy Roman Empire, Bohemia).

The history of the Tercia pars regni ended in 1107, when King Coloman of Hungary occupied its territories taking advantage of the pilgrimage of Duke Álmos (his brother) to the Holy Land. Although, Duke Álmos, when returned to the kingdom, tried to reoccupy his former duchy with the military assistance of Henry V, Holy Roman Emperor, but he failed and was obliged to accept the status quo. 

Source for the two quotes above. 

You may ask, why on Earth did I just present to you part of history of Slovakia, Poland and Hungary. Because I want you to understand how completely ridiculous and simultaneously offending are the names of characters that Smeyer gave within this coven.

History shows us that, even though, these times weren’t exactly peaceful, there wasn’t an ongoing war. We have Hungarian tribes and the part, when some territories were acquired by a Polish king. What I mean by that, is that probably names around 1000 AD varied as to where your family lived, what was your social status, and probably were influenced by newly adopted Christianity. It is more likely that people on this lands were named with names of Hungarian origin than Russian. And I still think the majority of names were of Slavic origin, only with some local variations going on. 

Now, a little bit of common knowledge. People who descend from Poland, Slovakia, Czech Republic and Hungary are best buddies for life, even if they never saw each other. We have mutual respect for these countries and for ourselves, as our history brought us together multiple times (bad times and good ones). Russia IS NOT a part of this “mutual respect pact”. Mostly due to events that happened during both World Wars (i.e. Katyń Massacre), as well as other ones (Partitions of Poland, Eastern Bloc - communism). 

Most of the names used by Smeyer are of Russian (or Greek, or Hebrew) origin. Not Slavic origin. And while Russia is also the part of Slavic languages, there’s a significant distinction between West Slavic Languages (Slovakian, Czech, Polish language), East Slavic Languages (Belarusian, Russian, Ukainian) and South Slavic Languages (i.e. Serbian, Croatian, Bulgarian). 

It makes difference to the point that if I go to Slovakia or Czech Republic I'm able to communicate with people in my native language (Polish) while they can answer me in their native language. Not everything is going to be the same but you're able to maintain a conversation mostly about every topic that you'd like to discuss. It isn't impossible to do so with Russian or Ukrainian but it's much harder and there are more differences, and sometimes you aren’t able to communicate this way. The same goes with i.e. Croatian or Bulgarian.

Don’t get me wrong, dear friends from Russia (if anyone from Russia will ever read this). I’m pissed off because even though Smeyer created not one, but four characters with SLOVAKIAN origin, she didn't use at least one name which fully originated in that territories (and probably was used) around 1000 AD. She went for Russian names because, sure, let's do that, there's no big difference anyway and it’s easier. To add to that, Smeyer used Russian names which are widely used NOWADAYS, not ones which were probably popular (or just used) thousand years ago. 

Now, quick briefing on very popular names from that time (c. 1000 AD) in Slovakia and Czech Republic. 

Here’s the full article on Slavic names.  

While some of these names are used today, some of them aren’t at all or are used in a different, more evolved form. 

Now, to the names of our characters. The most explainable and justified name here is Kate’s name. In Twilight Wiki we can find that her actual name was Katrina and that her preferable name now is Kate. Let’s see the origins of the name Kate. 

Full article here. 

While we can read that variations of that name in Czech are: “ Katka, Kateřina, Kačka, Káťa, Kačenka, Káča, Kačí, Kačena” and in Slovakian “Katka, Katarína” still the origins aren’t Slavic. 

Next, Irina. 

As Wikipedia says:

Irina is a feminine given name of Ancient Greek origin, commonly borne by followers of the Eastern Orthodox Church. It is derived from Eirene (Ancient Greek: Εἰρήνη), an ancient Greek goddess, personification of peace.

Diminutive forms in Slavic languages include Ira, Irinka, Irinushka, Irisha, Irka, Irochka, Irinochka.

Here, we also don’t have Slavic origin. While it’s better than with Kate’s name because origins here seem to hugely blend, the proper origin of Irina’s name is Ancient Greek. I will never believe that a peasant girl from around 1000 AD was named Irina.

Here’s the full article. 

Next, Vasilli. 

Wikipedia doesn’t say much, except it’s a RUSSIAN NAME with Greek origin.

Full article here. 

Now, finally, we’ve two names left. First, Sasha. 

Finally, first one, which has Slavic origin. And while this name has many variations in many languages, I don’t believe that anyone in Slovakia prior to 1000 AD would name their child Sasha. This name gained popularity in 1970s, and I believe that it would be used rather as diminutive of a name in 1000 AD than a name itself. 

Full article here. 

Last, but not least, Tanya. 

Here, also, it isn’t a full name. Full name is Tatiana, and Tanya, especially in Slavic it is used as a nickname implying intimacy with the person OR used for baby talk. 

Full article here. 

What’s my point here? Even though two of these five names are partially Slavic in origin, they sound like Russian names. Not Eastern Slavic in one fucking bit. Sure, Smeyer could do a simplification and say that, yeah, girls acquired other names as centuries passed. Agreed, even strongly. 

BUT

Smeyer never said anything like this. Also, I’m under the impression that this names were meant to sound Russian. And, people, don’t get me wrong, I really hold nothing against Russians, but because of doing such thing Smeyer has perpetuated certain patterns and beliefs that have become firmly established in US culture and West culture in general by now. 

No wonder why some people never distinguish between Russia, Slovakia, Poland, Czech Republic or Ukraine, or other countries from Easter Bloc. How can they, where in majority of mass media they’re taught that IT IS EXACTLY THE SAME THING. Why should they bother? 

I have many friends among Slovakian people. Slovakia is like a second home to me. I also have a few friends from Czech Republic. And before, I’ve never been bothered by this name thing because I was a child. Today I couldn’t be silent about it. 

It’s sad that another culture and fantastic history was just blended in with Russia because why not. I don’t understand why in Western movies or books all people from former Eastern Bloc need to be Russian. 

I am Polish and to me it’s just extremely sad. We (and I think I can count in here Slovakia, Czech Republic, Hungary, but also Croatia or Serbia) have fantastic culture and very long, eventful history. People from these countries are welcoming and share great hospitality. 

I don’t know why Smeyer did something like this, but I suppose it’s just a thing she does to everyone. Rip away their culture and pretend she didn’t do it. 

I am grateful that this fandom is a lot wiser than the creator of the books. This is what I said in the beginning of this post. Smeyer could’ve gone to library and read a little about the history and the names. I mean, If she didn’t found it on the Internet, because it was 2006, I believe, so she could research it. If there was nothing on the Internet, I’m sure a library would do. 

She did a poor research or didn’t do it at all. And that’s what happened. Was it worth it? I don’t think so. 

***

Everyone, please, comment, but be kind to each other (and to me xd). I wrote what I felt. As I’ve told you already, I’m Polish and I really felt that I should write this meta/disclaimer from a point of view of a person who lives in Slavic-origined country and has many Slavic-origined friends.

I still feel triggered because of this. Reblog this so others could see and say what they think. 

[ninjakitten1699]

More Oni headcanons that I wanted to add on

to @ambrosial-tea post but I forgot until now!

There are different tribes of Oni as stated in the last post. Aka Oni (Red), Ao Oni (Blue), Shiro Oni (Pale/White), and our Kuro Oni (Black/Dark).

We don’t know too much of the Dark Oni we got but we do know that Oni were originally intended to be guardians between Material Plane and Spirit World when the two began overlapping (possibly The Grasslands/Departed, and Cursed Realm before they began separating). Put a tribe of Oni on the Material Plane for a couple years and they’d splinter into subraces of Oni and become more corrupted by the years. Dark Oni became one of the tribes corrupted.

Aka Oni are the most common type of Oni with their dark red colors, large size, and toughness. They’re slightly bigger than the rest of their kin, more violent, unfocused, and pursue immediate satisfaction, disregarding long drawn out plots and schemes. They’re mostly known for strength too.

Ao Oni are known for their unnatural cunning and aptitude for magic, smaller than their red kin but larger than pale, and have different shades of dark blue. They’re the ones you’d catch calculating and meticulously pursuing lofty goals like power and knowledge.

Shiro Oni are known for their aloofness and connections to the spirit realm. They’re the smallest of the main three tribes and the fewest of members. They vary from pale white to light gray. (They may as well adopt other Oni who share their colors and hopefully teach them their ideals.) Pale Oni would rather keep things in balance between the material plane and spirit world as the ancient Oni intended. They guard their locations but will adventure for artifacts of the spirit world and mend balance. If we take that into account perhaps they are another reason why Realm travel is difficult to Oni who try to cross through the any of the realms involving afterlives.

While Oni have no concept of gender since they have both reproductive organs, they also have no concept of sexualities either. Honestly they just didn’t have a name for it when one didn’t feel the need to have sex or when another felt more attracted to the same sex aspects of their partner. (If anything, their type of relationships or way of thinking would be looked up upon because they felt closer to their spirituality and their true selves.) Again they sometimes don’t mate for reproduction but just for the vibes of their partner.

They probably didn’t have a name for having multiple partners at the time either. If one Oni wanted to be a part of what the other two had and they were content with the feel of them, then it was okay. Plus more hands to help raise the cub personally. (Essentially that’s what PolyGarm would basically be. They make Garm happy, they’re happy with him, and Lloyd would basically have more than two parents. At this point Lloyd would just have more dads and Koko is just the one good mom he deserves.)

The second Oni learn what kisses are and how they work, they find it just as addictive as they do with other acts of affection.

Oni are more closer to their family than they are to strangers because in most Oni’s belief, strangers brought suffering to the family. In turn they displayed their family’s name first before their own, showing pride in them and hoping to intimidate any strangers with ill intent towards them.

Speaking of Oni names, they don’t usually have any but when they do their names would be what positive traits the parents wish the child to take on. For example, a son could have “Akihiko”. “Aki” meaning “bright” and “hiko” meaning “boy/prince”. They could want him to be someone brighter than they ever hoped for. For a daughter, “Asuna” with “asu” meaning “tomorrow” and “na” to “greens” or “apple tree”. Maybe the parents are hoping the Oni daughter would lead them to a more plentiful day. And then there’s the family names. The most famous ones are “Hideyoshi” and “Ishikawa”. We’ve heard of these names and the history behind them, I wouldn’t want to come across any of their descendants that carry their name with honor.

Ironically “Harumi” is actually a name for a female Oni in some home brewing lore. One of her meanings is “govern/rule” and “beauty”. Goes to show how far she would take her name literally.

Shiro Oni/Pale Oni don’t have names, but it’s because they don’t want to be too close to the material plane while they guard the spirit realms. They would refer to themselves and each other as “that/this one” instead like how gargoyles in the old days would. If they come up with names, it’s for the sake of working with others on the material plane, but even then it only happens when they really trust the people around them.

Oni have a large appetite that could put the Pythor and the Anacondrai to shame. They could honestly compete against the Great Devourer and other wyrms.

An Oni’s pair of horns are a sign of honor. No pair of horns are alike, not even the closest siblings’ horns look the same. They all have their differences. Their horn length is their pride. Having them sawed off is quite literally shameful to the owner of them but they did do something to deserve it.

It’s possible that some Oni were confused at Garm’s horns not being there at first but they hear about the first time they grew out of his head he quite literally broke them off and bled for a good long while to the point of passing out. (Blood vessels actually go throughout the antlers/horns in animals which is why they aren’t busted right off easily. Why wouldn’t they to Oni horns?) Come to find out it was the FSM’s hate for Oni that made Garm hate himself and how he looked so Garm had them filed down to his scalp or small enough to hide in his hair. It honestly almost hurts the Oni’s look on the FSM even more but hey who hasn’t he hurt? It takes a couple more decades and some therapy before he finally let’s go of his internalized self hatred and trauma that he grows out his horns and finally has pride in himself like most Oni already do.

So it’s not uncommon for Oni to live among other races, whether secretly or not, due to their shapeshifting abilities, however sometimes they’re immediately shunned when their true form slips out. Unless they proved otherwise to the most accepting of inhabitants, they’re allowed to stay. By then they’d have a hybrid appearance with their horns out, either out of their kindness to ease the others’ fear of them or for their own personal benefit.

Oni that do live on their own choose to live in the wilderness or in the mountains. If living in society but still wanting some sort of solitude, they’d either be closer to the outskirts or deep in the downtown where you’d either have to ask directions to specific people to find them or already know where they are. Hence Mistaké with her small tea shop and Wu being able find her.

As stated before Oni have no problems with Half-Oni at all. They’re just welcoming another cub into the pack and it’s just the fact that they are a child of an Oni who fell in love with another humanoid. Although there are some cases of Oni being chased out by the other race with their cub in their arms and they just run until they find the closest tribe. They’d be welcomed into the tribe and the cub is basically adopted by them.

Again half Oni isn’t a problem to them, but they do have a problem with any particular wizards experimenting on Oni breeding with any other humanoids. The know it’s not the parents’ fault neither is the cub’s. If neither parent want nothing to do with them, then the half Oni cub is taken off of their hands by another Oni who was grieving at a loss of a cub (or the realization they couldn’t have any) or a pairing who wouldn’t mind another. The cub won’t have a terrible environment, the parents won’t have to unwillingly interact with the child until they resolve their own issues or they wish to visit and see them grow.

Meanwhile, those wizards will never know peace again until the day they die, even other tribes, who they could be at war with, will catch wind of what happen and help in taking them out. By the time those wizards die, even the Pale Oni who have no ties with Omega or any other tribes won’t be forgiving to them. They won’t do anything too harmful to them, but they will lead them to the terrible part of the Cursed Realm and those wizards proceed to stay there until they fade out of existence entirely.

Enough angst there and let’s go back to fluff. I bet Oni would love dice. Like not even for games but for the click-clack sound. (“Lloyd. They’re metal dice. You cannot have—.” “Shiny sparkly metal bits make pretty sounds! :D” “Garmadon please tell your son not— Not you too!” “Wha~ It does sound pretty.”)

Y’all know how like adult lions play with their babies? They pretend to be hurt and that the cub is super strong to help build up their confidence. Hear me out, Oni do that too. Big goddamn Omega really be taking hits from tiny little cubs, Mistaké be playing with little Garmadon and playing dead on him, then Garm just does the same thing for little Lloyd. (“Koko, sweetie, help. It’s the battle of the century in here. Help, save me. He’s too powerful!” “*tiny war cry*”)

Someone makes a baby Oni cry one time and boy it’s absolutely over. It’s on sight for that person. I’m telling you On Sight!

Oni can purr loud enough to the point where it rumbles in them like a motor and that’s how cubs feel their parents’ purring. Then there’s baby Oni just babbling and the adult Oni just pretend to have a whole conversation with them. Don’t get me started on them playing soft flute music to help the toddler Oni sleep.

We probably only got a few words out of Omega when they first appeared because we were hearing them through human ears. Lloyd’s Oni brain would click on and translates what he knows while Garm in full Oni form can get full sentences out of Omega.

Oni are willing to learn a different language if it helps others understand them and their intentions. Now let’s just think of Lloyd connecting to his Oni side of the family (since let’s face it, the Oni are going to be around longer than most of his friends are) through teaching them sign language.

They also try to teach him their Oni tongue but he can only grasp a few words at a time easily. When he finally learns the language, next thing you know he’s going to be cursing and only Oni will understand. Some (aka Mistaké) want to scold him and others (*cough*Garmadon*cough*) find it hilarious.

Garmadon’s Oni-Dragon hybrid brain wants him to decorate his significant others and now I think of Oni just sharing the precious items they hoard with their mate. Wait till they figure out they can make jewelry and have their significant other wear it.

[kalinara]

Dream Show 2.0

It’s time for the second annual “Dream Show Challenge”!

The rules are a little different this year: we were given someone else’s dreamshow cast from last year and asked to make a new show.

Since it’s very possible to end up with a cast list full of names we don’t recognize, we were allowed one trade.

This is my cast:

Jeff Goldblum, Jennifer Connelly, Alan Tudyk, Mandip Gil, Lee Pace, Elliot Page, and Matt Berry.

Since at the time I started this, I had no idea who Matt Berry was, I decided to trade him out for a different white British comedian: Jack Whitehall.

So now I present to you:

The Gates of Kallipolis

Synopsis:  When Lydia Nowlan receives an invitation from her estranged uncle, she has no idea what to expect.  She had no idea that she had an uncle.  And she certainly had no idea that he had invented a working time machine.  

But Dr. Nowlan called her for a reason.  Time is behaving strangely, and there are people scattered through time who need their help to get home.

Characters:

Lydia Nowlan - Jennifer Connelly (2021 CE): For as long as she remembers, Lydia Nowlan never had much in the way of a life.  She worked, she slept, and she worked again  She had no time for things like friends or family, even pets.  But now her work is completed and she has no idea what to do next.  Fortunately, a mysterious letter from a long lost uncle comes at just the right time.

Dr. Mark Nowlan - Jeff Goldblum (2021 CE):  Lydia’s estranged uncle.  An experienced time traveler with a temperament that makes Lydia look like a people person, Dr. Nowlan is in over his head.  But fortunately, he’s not in this alone anymore.

Bibi Khunza - Mandip Gil (c. 1550 CE):  Widow of a king, mother to another, Bibi Khunza knows how to fight and how to rule.  But as to how this sixteenth century Indian warrior princess ended up at the center of a witchhunt in seventeenth century rural England is a really interesting question.  Especially since she’s not the only one lost.

Augustus Cole - Elliot Page (1875 CE):  The life of a chimney sweep in Victorian London is a hard one, but Augustus Cole knows exactly how to translate those skills to something a bit more lucrative: cat burglary.  And never let it be said that the man will miss an opportunity: a futuristic sailing ship is the perfect place for a bit of breaking and entering.  But what’s that about an iceberg?

Xavion Knox - Lee Pace (2320 CE):  Grown in a lab, built for war, Xavion Knox has known very little except violence.  He hasn’t cared much about anything since the death of his partner, but perhaps that will change now that the man’s stuck in the distant past, reliant on a couple of barely competent time travelers to get home.  Wherever that is.

Zeta-5 - Jack Whitehall (2440 CE): An Alien.  Zeta knows his science.  He knows his technology.  He knows the intellectual capability of humanity, and he damn well knows that time travel is impossible.  But try telling that to Mark and Lydia Nowlan.  (He has.  Many times.)

Grok - Alan Tudyk (c. 190,000 BCE):  The manservant of Dr. Nowlan, and human being who predates any recognizable culture or society.  He may even predate the development of spoken language, or at least any language that the translator can recognize.  Because of his communication difficulties, he has yet to provide Dr. Nowlan with sufficient information to get him home.  He seems happy enough where he is, and well, good help is hard to find.

--

Important Concepts for the Show:

The Reese-Hartnell Effect:  It is impossible for a living being to be in two places at once.  Because of this, it is very important that a time traveler never “cross their time stream”, meaning they should never visit a time when they themselves are alive.  If at any point, a time traveler ends up in the same time period as their past or future self, they will merge together.  

In the best case scenario, the knowledge and memories of the future self will remain with the past self, allowing the time traveler to make any desired changes to his own future.

In the worst case scenario, the time traveler’s mind is completely obliterated.

The Ultimate Translator: Lydia Nowlan’s life work.  The great translator is somehow able to take spoken language from any point in time and enable it to be understood by any time traveler in the vicinity.  Because of his origins, Grok is unable to use the translator.  Instead, he communicates through gestures, pictures, expressions, and occasional broken English.

Origin Time: In order to return a lost time traveler, the machine must be calibrated with the exact time and place that the traveler disappeared from, down to the nanosecond.  Too soon, and the time traveler risks the Reese-Hartnell effect destroying their mind.  Too late, and the resulting gap of “non-existence” could create catastrophic effects down the timestream.  

The Time Machine: Dr. Nowlan’s invention.  The Time Machine is not a ship, but rather a stationary set of silver gates that open into a pre-set location.  The gates can be concealed but not closed while the machine is in use.

--

Episodes:

Episode 1 -  Witchhunt (1645 CE)

Lydia Nowlan, linguist and engineer, has just finished her life’s work.  She unwinds by answering an invitation from her estranged uncle.  When she arrives, she finds a surprisingly high tech laboratory, a strange device and her uncle nowhere to be found.  She is startled by the sudden appearance of Grok, her uncle’s assistant, and accidently activates the device, which turns out to be a time machine.

Lydia finds herself in medieval England, where her strange appearance and even stranger knowledge quickly makes her the target of a witchhunt.  But she isn’t the only time traveler at risk.  She meets fellow prisoner, Bibi Khunza, and the unlikely allies work together to escape.  Lydia’s uncle, Dr. Nowlan, comes to find her, bringing with him a time-lost space marine and a lot of questions.

The foursome, assisted by Lydia’s invention, agree to work together and find out what’s causing all these time disturbances and try to find a way to return everyone home.

Episode 2 - the Titanic (1911 CE)

Lydia’s invention continues to facilitate communication between our heroes, with the exception of the caveman, Grok.  They investigate another anomaly, this time aboard the HMS Titanic, where they meet the Victorian, Augustus Cole.  Khunza encounters some racism, which does not end well for the racists, while Lydia repeatedly attempts to warn about impending doom, and learns the regrettable lesson that some things can’t be changed.  She is introduced to the concept of the “Reese-Hartnell Effect” which prevents any time traveler from being able to make multiple attempts to influence the timestream.

As the now fivesome return back to Dr. Nowlan’s lab, they meet Zeta-5, an alien from the far future, who is very armed, and very insistent that he be returned home.

Episode 3 - Ancient Greece (399 BCE)

A comedy of errors involving Zeta-5’s weapon (actually a zoological inseminator) and the time machine sends most of the crew to ancient Greece.  Dr. Nowlan has an interesting conversation with Socrates, while Xavion gets to punch Plato in the face.  Khunza and Augustus find unlikely common ground as they solve a Philosophical Conspiracy.

Meanwhile, back home, Lydia, Zeta-5 and Grok have to find a way to repair the time machine and get the others back.

Episode 4 - Utopian Dreams (3505 CE)

The concept of utopia comes up again, when Dr. Nowlan takes the crew to the futuristic city of Kallipolis.  The peaceful surroundings inspire introspection: Khunza revealing her desperation to reunite with her young child, while Augustus and Xavion admit that they don’t have much of a home to return to.  Lydia has a cryptic encounter.

Nowlan’s plans to access the Kallipolitan Hall of Records is thwarted when a sudden insurrection scatters the crew to the four winds.

Episode 5 - Dystopian Nightmares (3505 CE)

Loyalist factions capture Lydia and Xavion.  Augustus gets to plan the heist of any number of centuries to get them out, while Zeta-5 discovers his inner revolutionary.

Lydia’s interrogation has some particular after effects that lead to some shocking revelations: namely, both she and her “uncle” were members of the Kallipolitan Time Agency, but her mind had been destroyed by the Reese-Hartnell Effect.  Dr. Nowlan had set everything up in an attempt to restore her to herself.

Episode 6 - Finale (???)

Dr. Nowlan has fled into the timestream having accomplished his goal but at the cost of his career and reputation, and possibly his life, should the Time Agents track him down.  Lydia and the others race to find him first, engaging in a merry game of chase and sabotage against their rival pursuers.

Dr. Nowlan does ultimately surrender himself into Lydia’s custody, but reveals that his notes have been destroyed in the chaos, meaning that now he genuinely can’t return anyone home.  Lydia must reconstruct his work, which she does, with some unexpected assistance: the caveman Grok.  He had observed most of Dr. Nowlan’s work and actually comprehends a lot more than anyone realizes.  The crew are finally sent home...for the most part.

Bibi Khunza returns to her kingdom and her son, and is able to resume her Regency without much incident.

Augustus Cole does not return home to Victorian England.  Instead, seeking a new challenge, he appears in Khunza’s court and is welcomed as a new “foreign advisor.”

There was a “miscalculation” and Xavion Knox is not returned to his own time, but rather six months earlier, to the incident of his partner’s death.  Due to the Reese-Hartnell Effect, Xavion has an opportunity to save the man that he loves and he doesn’t intend to waste it.  And this time, he won’t be alone.

Zeta-5, citing his race’s long lifespan, decides to go to Xavion’s time instead of his own.  He realizes that there is a very good chance that the Reese-Hartnell Effect will come into effect in about fifty years, but it might be interesting to live his life again from infancy onward.

Dr. Nowlan is serving out his sentence at the Kallipolitan Time Agency.  He’s treated well and receives many visitors.  He is, by all accounts, quite content.

Lydia Nowlan has received tacit approval to continue her linguistic studies across the timestream.  She is accompanied in this effort by her new partner, Grok.

--

Bonus:

As this is a Rip Chat challenge, of course I have slipped Arthur Darvill in here somewhere.  He has been cast as Dr. Pierce Draxton, head of the Kallipolitan Time Agency.  Because the man’s played a rebel.  Now I’d like to see him actually in charge.

[oc-name-database]

10 Tips and Tricks for naming characters (and places) in fantasy settings

naming characters can be hard, but thankfully your favorite name expert is here to give you some advice on naming characters! keep in mind these are just the things that work for me, so you may have other methods that work for you and that’s totally fine too! if you would like to share them in the comments, this is a place to do so. we’re all here to help each other out!

1. mash up two names together just stick two or more names (common or otherwise) together almost like you’re making a ship name. this is also possible to do with words instead of names. for example, i have a character called Brenneth who’s name came to be when i put Brandon and Kenneth together. what started as two regular names became a cool fantasy name super quick. 

2. spell words backwards this one is a little harder to make work, but if you can find a good one, it’s worth the extra trouble. for example, i have a character called Avon, which is nova (as in supernova) backwards. 

3. look at street names this one works especially well for naming places. you never know what street names you’ll come across, so it’s always worth it to check them out while you’re in the car (or you can explore on a gps). i’ve found this works especially well in residential areas. for example, i have a city in my world called Evonvale, named after a street in my hometown. 

4. keep a list of names i keep a list in the notes app on my phone of names i like. i have a lot so i keep multiple lists separated by meaning and gender in one folder. i make note of the exact meaning and pronunciation of each name i write down, just to stay organized. we here at @oc-name-database have a ton of names for you to add to your list and are constantly adding more, so check us out to see what names you can find! 

5. use nicknames! characters always feel more real and genuine when they have nicknames. you can either shorten a name you already have for a character, or if you feel your character’s name is too short or informal, you can expand upon it to create a longer name. for example, the name Seraphim could be shortened to Sera. conversely, a name like Ana could be lengthened to something like Illiana. 

6. look up names on baby naming websites there are plenty of baby naming websites that have search functions and filters to allow you to search for names with specific meanings, genders, and origins. this is very useful for writers who want names with significant meanings or names from a certain region or ethnicity. 

7. keep it simple it can be very tempting to choose an interesting and complex name, but usually this makes it difficult for others (or even yourself) to pronounce. try to stick with names that roll of the tongue easy and make sense when seen in written form. a great way to check this is to say the name aloud yourself to see how it feels or to ask a friend or two to read the name aloud without first telling them how. this will give you an idea of the difficulty of the name.

8. add/change prefixes/suffixes on names by adding or changing the beginning or ending of an already existing name, you can create something unique for your character. for example, i have a character called Tirally, which is the name Ally plus three letters at the beginning. 

9. change certain letters of names similar to tip 8, changing letters of preexisting names can make a unique and special name while maintaining the familiarity of the original name. this tip works best for changing only consonants or only vowels, and not the two together. for example, i have a character called Katariva, which is the name Katarina with one letter changed. 

10. make the names have some sort of coherence between them this is especially important for fantasy settings with different races of people. you don’t want your orc names to sound just like your fae names, which sound just like your mermaid names. each race of people should have a unique way of naming themselves which will have to do with their culture and language. this applies to places as well; you also wouldn’t expect Tokyo to be down the street from Paris, even if you didn’t know better. for example, in my world, one race has names derived from ancient greek myths (such as Daydelus, Ariadnee, Miduesa, or Brysius) while another has last names that always include an english word (such as Meeks, Rainless, Keye, or Mireson). 

[serenegaldr]

ancient language hcs

((I’ve been thinking of doing this ever since it was mentioned in a thread, and I realized I’ve never really thought that much about what the Ancient Language (abbreviated AL) was supposed to be like, spoken. The soundtrack for the Galdr of Rebirth renders it as backwards Japanese, and I will take that into account, but I also have some thoughts of my own! My thoughts are also ridiculously long so have a read more cut:

First, according to the FE Wiki:

The ancient language was first devised by the beorc of Tellius, and for a time saw wide use among all of the land's people. However, its complexity proved to be a significant obstacle for it to be learned by laguz, and so the modern "Tellius language" was created and soon supplanted it as the continent's dominant tongue.

So the Ancient Language is supposedly ‘complex’. However, it is also the language the Galdrar are sung in, which means bird anatomy alone is capable of making the full range of these sounds. Thus, I propose that the AL has these following qualities, when compared to the Modern Tongue:

Phonetics: The production of sound (phones) in AL is, as stated above, extremely simple, allowing for its production by the tongues of multiple different types of animals. ‘Backwards Japanese’ is actually quite simple to pronounce, since like forwards Japanese, a lot of their words end on vowels, but I did wonder if the glides or fricatives wouldn’t be too much for them, so I looked up a bird utterances paper online, to which I found that the sounds available to them in song are probably slightly different from the sounds available to them in speech. There are probably some replacements when they sing, but at the same time they are Magical Birbs (TM) so their range of available sounds could well be much larger than your garden-variety bird. Do keep in mind that other species also use AL, and I did not go and look up a ‘wolf utterances paper’, so my hc does not take into account the other Laguz :’D Also related, I do firmly believe that speaking MT is not feasible to them in their Laguz form; for stuff like battle cutscenes, regardless of what the graphics render, I think they talk first, and then transform to fight.

Phonology: Tonal changes, differing stress and syllable onset all play a large part in differentiating the subtle intent behind words, at least in the spoken language! In song, that’s often replaced by vowel shifts, some of which do not naturally occur in speech, so it’s a music-only feature of the language, which might have something to do with seid magic. If you disregard all the subtle phonology changes, you’ll get the general gist of what they’re saying, but miss a whole load of nuances behind it, similar to, say, the way sarcasm is used in MT.

Morphology: The absolute bulk of AL’s ‘complexity’ stem from morphology! Every single word is tagged with all the information, including but not limited to: tense, aspect, mood, gender, case, number, and even things like ‘relative degree’, ‘relative status between speaker and listener’, or ‘special emphasis’ and the like. Perhaps there used to be more variance, or maybe there still is for other ‘dialects’ of AL (will the Herons and the Wolves really speak the exact same language after being separated for centuries? Unlikely), but at least the Herons’ version of AL is extremely ordered (get it?), and there is basically no irregularity in the application of morphemes. Learn all the intricate rules exactly once, and you’re all set for life, but there are a lot of rules. It’s interesting that the wiki mentioned it was more complex for Laguz - later on I think it’s said that, however, eventually the Laguz’ long lifespans allowed them to master the language better.

Syntax: Think Latin, but even freer than that, since there is no such thing as emphasis through position and everything is indicated in tones and by the morphology. Any word can go anywhere in the sentence and it’ll make perfect sense and mean exactly what you want it to mean, which is great for these birb singers! Very few headaches about how to fit lyrics to make sense :’D This, however, is the main reason Leanne pauses so much when speaking MT! She knows her grammatical options are severely more limited there than in AL, so she needs to think about how the sentence is supposed to be structured before she says it. And while I am biased towards making her replies actually make sense to the other person, she probably does make weird grammatical mistakes every so often.

Vocabulary/Semantics: This is probably the part I’ve mentioned the most in posts already, but AL has a relatively small pool of vocabulary, with differences in nuance indicated mainly by morphology and tone. For instance, ‘walk’ and ‘run’ would be two different words, but ‘jog’, ‘run’ and ‘sprint’ would be the same word with a slightly different indicator for ‘relative speed’. I actually have not consciously taken to doing this (yet), but in practice, Leanne, as an unexperienced speaker who still thinks mostly in terms of AL, would tend to prefer using simple words with additional adjectives/adverbs (e.g. ‘run fast’ or ‘run slow’ instead of ‘sprint’ or ‘jog’) when speaking MT.

Pragmatics: If you have a good grasp of the phonology and morphology and what they entail, you’ll generally understand what the person is trying to say, but if not, then a lot of their conversations will appear to not follow any known rules of conversation at all. As AL is a very old language, I figure a lot of the pragmatics side has strong ties to basic instincts and body language, which animals are often better at reading than humans are, so a lot of that plays into AL conversation as well!

Ok, but then why can Leanne understand everything but not speak well? As I mentioned before in the hcs channel on discord, I hc that Bird Laguz are born in their bird form, before going through Laguz Puberty at a later age, whereby they gain and are then locked into their humanoid forms as their default form. This, for Leanne, probably happened during her time asleep in the forest, so she was a baby bird for her entire time alive before the Serenes Massacre, which happened when she was about 2.5 years old in equivalent Beorc age, since Reyson calls her an ‘infant’ during that time. Now, 2.5-year-olds don’t normally understand everything you tell them! However, and this actually is a gripe I have with a lot of long-lived characters with a long infancy period, this is really not the same as a human situation. I briefly looked this up, and a baby who is considered ‘spoken to a lot’ might hear about 15,000 words a day. For Leanne, who had 6 siblings and 2 parents and a whole forest of other playmates, I might even think she’ll have heard more, but some of that was AL so probably about 15,000 words of MT a day sounds about right. But unlike a 2.5-year-old human baby, she’s been getting that for a whole entire 47 years. That means, before she even has the capability to speak a single word of MT, she’s already heard way more words spoken at her than the average adult Beorc, certainly more than one of her mental age of 18. Thus, while she’s still struggling to learn to produce the language, listening is usually no problem to her, unless the interlocutor in question speaks very quickly, or uses unfamiliar figures of speech / very difficult vocabulary! Like, Leanne probably won’t get anywhere talking with Awakening’s Miriel, but she can probably understand any average speaker just fine.

TL;DR because this is really long: the ‘complexity’ of AL is mainly in its vastly intricate phonology and morphology, which also results in a rich and confusing-to-outsiders system of pragmatics, while phonetics and vocabulary are very simple, and syntax is basically nonexistent. Certainly a very different kind of language from MT, which is why Leanne struggles when speaking, despite being receptively fluent!))

[bestworstcase]

farran rereads lost lagoon: chapters 7-8

- re: romance novel: chapter seven opens with rapunzel defending cass to eugene, including saying that she’s “never been more sure” about anything (except him, added as an afterthought). it feels equal parts aggressive sunny optimism and rapunzel has a serious crush because, it bears repeating, at this point she has exchanged maybe fifty words with this girl. the sum total of their relationship is a chance glimpse of cass in the field and then two stilted conversations cass did her damnedest not to participate in. then she kicks eugene out and passes on their ‘nightly stroll’ so she can meet cass alone lol.

-  lagoon eugene continues to have an actual work ethic and ambles off to ‘catch up on’ his readings in diplomacy. when could tts eugene ever,

- i have decided that i lay most of the blame for the ‘cass is emotionally walled off and refuses to communicate at all ever until rapunzel drags her out of her shell’ fanon at the feet of lost lagoon because this is just… ridiculous. tts cass firmly but politely and clearly spells out her boundaries with rapunzel as early as beginnings and emotionally opens up to her within a matter of days. lagoon cass acts like a sulky brat and again does this monosyllabic thing with her and literally sits in dead silence glaring while rapunzel chatters on. but especially in cassunzel circles lagoon is SO popular and has SO thoroughly infiltrated the popular fanon that cass’s normal state of being is so emotionally constipated that she can’t even admit she likes sweets is now the standard assumption. –__–

- unlike the writers of tts howland actually understands what a lady-in-waiting is. good job ms. howland.

- i say this with love. because i too have made historical poems a key plot point in bitter snow which means i have to actually write said poems and i am suffering, so i relate. but this poetry is really quite bad. ⭐ you tried ma’am

- as the self-appointed president of the saporian!cass au club i feel the need to reiterate that it is not canon that cassandra speaks saporian and ‘cass knows saporian in lost lagoon!’ cannot actually be used in support of cass having saporian heritage because she does not, in fact, know or speak saporian. she is able to recognize the second language in the book as saporian, but she can’t read it. she learns saporian over the course of lost lagoon, with materials provided by xavier. there are textual arguments to be made from lost lagoon to support interpreting cassandra as saporian but this is not one of them and i’m tired of seeing ‘cass speaks saporian!’ tossed around as the primary bit of ‘evidence’ that comes up when saporian!cass gets discussed. /pet peeve

like i approve and wholeheartedly support and personally agree with headcanons that cassandra is fluent in saporian for whatever reason, most especially that she is herself saporian, but i think it is important to emphasize that that’s not canon and that lost lagoon directly contradicts this idea.

- anyways,

“Hundreds of years ago, Corona was two different lands—Old Corona and Saporia. The fact that this is written half in Saporian means that this book is genuinely ancient. No one speaks Saporian anymore except a few scholars.”

i’ve ranted at length about how the sudden death of the saporian language in a matter of centuries suggests some very unpleasant things about the ‘unification’ of these two countries and the suppression of saporian culture that likely accompanied it so i won’t get too much into it again. but it is worth noting - while ‘hundreds of years’ is equally as vague as tts’s ‘centuries,’ the (sigh) english portions of this book are written in very modern english, which suggests that the language of Old Corona was quite similar to the language currently spoken, which in turn suggests an upper limit of maybe three hundred years between the unification and now. yes, the worldbuilding is thin enough that howland may well have intended this to be thousands of years in the past and the modern english poetry is just a suspend your disbelief thing, but… i’m not inclined to be that charitable. especially when, if i’m remembering right, this book rapunzel found is said to be an original first edition of the poems which, like, that straight up isn’t possible if it’s supposed to be from many hundreds of years ago.

plus… this is an american book written for an american corporation by an author i can only assume is american, and americans love to pretend that a couple hundred years qualifies something as ‘ancient’ so… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

we’re filing this one under ‘clear evidence that corona conquered saporia and then aggressively sanitized that history by calling it a love story’ and just… moving on now.

- cass grabs the book and bounces, fully convinced that the vague poetic ‘directions’ in the poem can guide her to the lost lagoon and the mystical hidden source of power it allegedly conceals. she stays up all night mapping out a path (because it’s inconceivable that the terrain has changed that much since the poem was written: another strong point in favor of the 200-300 year timeline on the corona-saporian war and unification) and then heads out.

- she heads west, which is impossible, because corona is situated on the western coast, 

- this is the one bit of the book i’ve read multiple times and fuck me but i still don’t have any idea what this place looks like. cass scales a boulder, which… splits open at the top, with water running between the two halves. then there’s… a gulch? and at the end of that the two halves of the boulder(?) connect again. cass… crabwalks along the gulch or possibly the split halves of the boulder somehow. it’s unclear whether the direction of this gulch/boulder crack/river is perpendicular or parallel to the direction of travel cassandra was moving in when she climbed the boulder in the first place. it’s also described as a ravine but it’s so narrow that cass and rapunzel can both crabwalk along it and the whole thing is contained inside a boulder apparently and it’s so shallow that they can just hop down into the water and i do not understand what is going on with the geography here!!! help