#proto flow

[bobnelson]

PROTOFLOW - ((⛔WARNING FOR YOU!⛔)) - Protoflow Review - Protoflow Review...

[fierykitten2]

I’ve seen a few Pokémon OCs that are fusions and for the past few months I’ve really wanted to make my own (not necessarily a fusion) OCs and I’m currently obsessed with the Proto Beasts and Neo Swords so honestly there’s probably nothing stopping me from lazily just being like “yep, red/orange/gold Beast fusion called something dumb like Scarlet Beast Walking Wake and purple/blue/silver Sword fusion called something dumb like Violet Sword Iron Leaves, that’s it”. Idk where I’m going with this

In unrelated news I swear one of the main reasons Masters is more popular than Unite is because the people get cool outfits rather than the Pokémon and the average fan hates furries

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

please understand my vision

ok more seriously

calliope's species canonically only experiences pitch attraction and are specifically drawn to those that remind them of the half they lost in predomination

hussie mentions multiple times in the book commentary that many of eridan's personality and character traits were hazy ideas that eventually became caliborn, and frequently lumps eridan in with caliborn as a sort of proto-caliborn. also eridan literally named himself cal, caligulasAquarium. he also shares riflekind with caliborn and wandkind with calliope

adult cherubs have wings in the shape of the hope symbol, and mating forms that resemble massive serpents, and eridan is the prince (destroyer) of hope, as well as an angel killer (with angels being massive winged serpents in homestuck)

eridan is associated broadly with the number 11 (aquarius being the 11th number in the zodiac) and specifically 311; calliope sometimes types things 11 times for emphasis and ophiuchus would make her the 13th zodiac sign

eridan at one point rants about his kismesistude with vriska being the "kind you don't see in 10,000 sweeps" that will feature "rainbow rivers flowing through star streams all nebulizing and shit" which is basically what cherub mating is like

their . their personalities . they

[actual-changeling]

We always talk about Aziraphale discovering secrets about Crowley's fall in heaven, but have you considered the opposite?

Do you think Aziraphale ever walks through heaven's endless archives, trying to find something, anything to help stop the wheels that have been in motion for millennia? If he does, one day he might find a pile of dusted files, all of them marked with a name that is nothing more than a smudged ink blotch. He knows now that every fallen angel's name is erased like that, their identity wiped away like a fingertip drawn through wet ink; the rough evidence of their existence remains, the shape of a black hole where grace should be.

Aziraphale is alone in the stretching corridors, there is no one else around, and even if another angel were watching by chance, nothing about what he is doing is forbidden.

(He would not care if it was.)

So he opens the file and pulls out its contents, only to find himself surrounded by ink-black darkness. Electricity crackles through him, sharp but oddly familiar, and he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Seemingly out of nowhere, an angel clad in white with hair like fire appears next to him. Aziraphale does not remember their name, but he would know this face even if it were wiped from his memory; the elegant features are both fragile and powerful, and so, so loved. When one of his hands reaches out on its own accord, the memory flickers as it goes straight through their face, and with a sense of broken, golden loss, he cradles it against his chest.

They are holding a flickering light within their palm, a proto-star, one of the very first designs, and with a soft blow of air from them, it takes flight. Spinning slowly, its light spreads and spreads, taking most of the darkness with it, yet even as the bleached sterility of heaven begins to shimmer through at the edges, the Starmaker's smile is bright enough to drown it out.

"You're beautiful," they whisper, their hair moving like a flame in the wind as the star expands and nears its collapse.

Aziraphale does not notice the tears flowing down his cheeks as he watches until the star goes supernova, until the Starmaker turns and takes in the glittering clouds of spacedust, their smile and eyes wide and alive, until the memory fades slowly like a dream in cruel morning light, and he is left alone with a scratched-out name and a hollow grief in his chest.

[dedalvs]

Hey! Sorry if you’ve answered this before or if it’s a bit above your paygrade for a Tumblr ask, but how do you imagine the dialect of Low Valyrian spoken in Lys to differ from High Valyrian (primarily in terms of phonology)? I know GRRM described it as a “musical, flowing, liquid tongue,” but that’s a bit too vague for my purposes, haha.

This is a big ask, because Lyseni and High Valyrian are different languages. They're related, but they're different in the way that Latin and French are different. I haven't given it careful thought you because it's potential future work for some potential future ASoIaF series. I hope to one day be able to create it. If I don't, I hope it'll be a fun exercise for a future conlanger.

Incidentally, if these GRRM books have lasting interest (assuming society lasts that long), it may be the case that these things are rebooted or expanded upon again and again in the future. Consider what's happened with Star Trek since the very first series aired. If some day after I'm dead they really start exploring the rest of the physical territory on Terros (so help me if you come at with "Planetos" I will block you), I hope a future conlanger finds it fun to use High Valyrian as a proto-language. They can, of course, always decide to ditch everything I did and do something new, but if it were me, I would find that fun, given that there is significant material that has been faithfully documented, to the best of my ability. That is, I was trying my best to get everything down. I'm sure there's mistakes (I correct them as I come across them), but it's better than the lack of records that exist for other things. I'm not saying they won't curse my name a few times for some of the absurd choices I made, but I hope on the whole, the experience would be a positive and rewarding one.

Anyway, I think it'd be fun to do a good chunk of the daughter languages of Valyrian, but I'm not sure I'll ever get the chance. Here's hoping.

[matau-the-228th]

Rahaga Nokama of Ga-Wahi.

Outside of protecting the Matoran under her care from aquatic Rahi, her primary duty is the recovery and translation of records from the sunken Water Sector Universities.

She is often seen in the waters beside the walkways of Ga-Koro with a small entourage of assorted Matoran doing their best to both take notes on her lectures and begin restoration of the materials she brings to the surface. She has invited me to participate a few times, but as Historian, I think I'm better suited to simply write about what records have been found.

It is a very rare sight to see her on land when she is not attending a meeting with the other Rahaga, as her legs degraded into fins after giving up her Toa Energy. But she can be incredibly stubborn about it, once having walked unassisted into Onu-koro to ensure the safe delivery of a relic to the restoration Archives.

One of Rahaga Onewa's projects is attempting to restore and expand the surviving Metru-era aqueducts to key points in the other Wahi to allow Nokama to travel more easily. (Though he keeps claiming that the other Wahi just need multiple supply lines as part of the reconstruction efforts)

She hypothesizes that the primary Rahi attributes that the Hordika Venom has infused her with come from Dermis Turtles and Proto Drakes

Songs: Perchance to Dream (Halo:CE OST), Floating Huts (MNOG), Achenar's Theme- Channelwood Age (Myst OST), Orinoco Flow (Enya)

[ukfrislandembassy]

Ok like nobody seems to have noticed but Juliette Blevins has recently put out a case that Great Andamanese might actually have been Austroasiatic all along (to complement Jarawan possibly being an Austronesian relative). There's some stuff that's certainly suggestive, but it'll be a bit more work needed before I'm ready to accept these 32 proposed correspondences as anything more than chance, particularly after the Indo-Vasconic debacle. Still, below the cut I'm going to try and give this a fair review.

All of this is from 'Linguistic clues to Andamanese pre-history: Understanding the North-South divide', in The Language of Hunter Gatherers, edited by Tom Güldemann, Patrick McConvell and Richard Rhodes and published in 2020 (a free version of the chapter can be found on Google Scholar).

Looking through the data, it actually seems relatively rigorous as a set of comparisons; she's done a shallow reconstruction of a Proto-Great-Andamanese from wordlists (seemingly a relatively trivial exercise, though with caveats noted below) and is seemingly comparing these to reconstructions from the Mon-Khmer comparative dictionary.

Many of the correspondences are basically identical between the two reconstructions with at most minimal semantic differences, e.g. (in the order PGA~PAA respectively) *buə 'clay' ~ *buəh 'ash, powdery dust'; *muən 'pus, dirt' ~ *muən 'pimple'; *cuər 'current, flow' ~ *cuər 'flow, pour'; *cuəp 'fasten, adjoin' ~ *bcuup/bcuəp 'adjoin, adhere'. However, I wonder if the Proto-GA reconstructions here have been massaged a bit to fit the Austroasiatic correspondence more closely; in Aka-Kede for example, each of these words shows a different vowel; pua, mine, cor(ie), cup. It's not fatal by any means (in fact if the correspondences could be shown to be more complex than simple identity that would actually help the argument), but definitely annoying.

There's a couple of PGA items which are presented as having a straightforward sound correpondence in PAA where the semantics is close but doesn't quite match, but also alongside a semantic match that differs slightly in sound, e.g. by a slightly different initial consonant, e.g. *raic 'bale out' ~ *raac 'sprinkle' /*saac 'bale out'; *pila 'tusk, tooth' ~ *plaaʔ 'blade'/*mlaʔ 'tusk, ivory'; *luk 'channel' ~ *ru(u)ŋ 'channel'/*lu(u)k 'have a hole'. I think there's possibly a plausible development here, with perhaps one form taking on the other's semantics because of taboo, or maybe due to an actual semantic shift (she notes that the Andamanese use boar tusks as scrapers, which could explain a 'blade'~'tusk' correspondence in itself).

There's an item which seems dubious on the PAA side, e.g. she proposes a correspondence *wət ~ *wət for 'bat, flying fox' but I can't find a *wət reconstructed anywhere in the MKCD with that meaning, not even in Bahnaric where she claims it comes from (there is a *wət reconstructed but with a meaning 'turn, bend'). Meanwhile, *kut 'fishing net' ~ *kuut 'tie, knot' seems wrong at first, as search for *kuut by itself only brings up a reconstruction *kuut 'scrape, scratch', however there is also a reconstruction *[c]kuut which does mean 'tie, knot'.

There's an interesting set of correspondences where PGA has a final schwa that's absent from the proposed PAA cognates, e.g. *lakə 'digging stick' ~ *lak 'hoe (v.)'; *ɲipə 'sandfly' ~ *jɔɔp 'horsefly'; *loŋə 'neck' ~ *tlu(u)ŋ 'throat'.

More generally, a substantial proportion of the proposed correspondences are nouns in Great Andamanese but verbs/adjective (stative verbs) in Austroasiatic, some of which are above, but also including e.g. *cuiɲ 'odour' ~ *ɟhuuɲ/ɟʔuuɲ 'smell, sniff'; *raic 'juice' ~ *raac 'sprinkle' (a separate correspondence to 'bale out' above); *mulə 'egg' ~ *muul 'round'; *ciəp 'belt, band' ~ *cuup/cuəp/ciəp 'wear, put on'. This also doesn't seem too much of an issue, given the general word-class flexibility in that part of the world, though there don't seem to be any correspondences going the other way, which could perhaps be a sign of loaning/relexification instead.

I mentioned that a lot of these seem to be exact matches, but of course what you really want to indicate relatedness are non-indentical but regular correspondences, and here is where I can see the issues probably starting to really arise. We've already noted some of the vowel issues, but we also have some messiness with some of the consonants, though at the very least the POA matches pretty much every time (including reasonable caveats like sibilants patterning with palatals and the like). However, that still leaves us with some messes.

The liquids and coronals especially are misaligned a fair bit in ways which could do with more correspondences to flesh out. Here's a list of the correspondences found in initial position in the examples given.

*l ~ *l: *lat ~ *[c]laat 'fear', *lakə 'digging stick' ~ *lak 'hoe'

*l ~ *r: *lap ~ *rap 'count' (*luk 'channel' ~ *ru(u)ŋ 'have a hole'/*lu(u)k 'channel' could be in either of these)

*r ~ *r: *raic 'juice' ~ *raac 'sprinkle'

*r ~ *ɗ: *rok ~ *ɗuk 'canoe'

*t ~ *ɗ: *tapə 'blind' ~ [ɟ]ɗaap 'pass hand along'

*t ~ *t: *ar-təm ~ *triəm 'old' (suggested that metathesis occurred, though to me there probably would need to be some reanalysis as well to make this work)

I invite any of my mutuals more experienced with the comparative method to have a look for yourselves and see what you make of the proposal as it currently stands. It would certainly be an interesting development if more actual correspondences could be set up, though I do have to wonder if more work would also be needed on Austroasiatic to double-check these reconstructions as well.

[thydungeongal]

I can't believe you'd just drop that Rolemaster has "very unique metaphysics" and leave it like that. Could you talk a bit more about it?

So okay. At the heart of Rolemaster there's the fact that it was made by a bunch of guys who thought D&D wasn't crunchy and "realistic" enough. These people also thought that D&D clearly didn't have enough stats. They were also obsessed with symmetry. Now that I've laid the foundations, let me go further in depth:

D&D was clearly unrealistic because it only had six stats. There needed to be more. The way they decided to go about this was to divide each of D&D's stats into two pairs of closely related stats. They first paired off Strength and Constitution, and then went to work: splitting Dexterity into Agility and Quickness, Intelligence into Empathy and Reason, Wisdom into Intuition and Memory, and Charisma into Presence and Self-Discipline.

Now, at this point in time it had already been established in D&D, that Intelligence was the stat related to Magic-User and Illusionist spells (which would later come to be known in D&D as Arcane magic) and Wisdom was the stat related to Cleric and Druid spells (which would later come to be known in D&D as Divine magic). Rolemaster implemented those types of magic, calling them Essence (the "Magic-User" type magic, the rawest form of magic in the fiction of Rolemaster, its governing stat being Empathy [a really weird name for a stat that actually is, like, how well you're in tune with the world?]) and Channeling (the "Cleric" type of magic, magic that flows from the divine, and magic closely related to life, its governing stat being Intuition).

At this point one of the designers probably went "Wait a minute this fucking sucks: why isn't there a third type of magic that is governed by the Presence stat?" After the dust settled following what must have been a pretty epic brawl between Coleman Charlton and Terry Amthor, Amthor was tasked with coming up with a realm of magic tied to the third stat pair. He came back with Mentalism, which is kind of like D&D psionics, but also not really.

So okay, Rolemaster has three different realms of magic, and not only are the mechanics of how their users gain their spells explained differently and their spell lists unique, they also come with unique sets of restrictions. The flow of Essence is disturbed by dead matter, including metal and leather. That is why Essence users need to go unarmored, wearing heavy robes at most. Channeling, being the magic of life, can't flow properly through metal, so Channeling users need to eschew metal armor (which became hilarious once they introduced the Paladin profession and needed to come up with a way for the knights in shining armor to still be able to cast Channeling spells). Mentalism, being mind magic, flows from the brain, so Mentalism users can't cover their heads.

There are some other interesting specifics: in the versions of the game where they've gone even deeper into distinguishing the three realms of magic by the actual gameplay mechanics Essence users have benefited the most from flamboyant gestures, 'cause the best way to throw fireballs is to do cool firebending motions; Channeling users have benefited from SHOUTING while casting their spells, because I guess the gods can hear you better that way; and Mentalism users have been unique in that their spells require no movements or words, just thoughts.

It's wild! And this is only scratching the surface of it, because there's also stuff like the very specific demon types in Rolemaster, evil spell lists being their own thing, hybrid spell users who combine two realms of magic, and Arcane magic which is like ancient proto-magic from which all the other three types of magic come from.

[kallie-den]

True Renaming

A lesbian witch makes a mistake and accidentally summons an incubus instead of a succubus... but decides that she can fix "him" with just a few tweaks to the demon's true name

This force-feminization story was written for my patrons, based on the results of one of the polls I regularly run on Patreon!

If you like my writing, please consider supporting me on Patreon!   For less than the price of a cup of coffee each month, you can get   immediate, early access to everything I write - along with exclusive stories and the ability to vote on what I write next. Your support helps  me keep writing and is greatly appreciated   <3

---

Ardat, incubus, took a moment to stretch as the brimstone smoke cleared, savoring every little sensation that came with being incarnated in a physical body - the cool air, the sound of his own heartbeat, the little strains of exertion as he experimentally lifted his arms. It had been too long. Far too long. Ardat had existed for eons, but summonings were becoming rarer and rarer. Now, finally, he was free to roam and corrupt the Earth once more.

Well, not free. Not yet. He had been summoned into a magic circle; a ring of symbols and salt that kept him bound to the spot. But that was merely a minor inconvenience. All Ardat needed to do was convince his summoner to lower their guard a little, and he had plenty of experience with that.

He was, after all, a sex demon.

Now that the smoke had almost cleared, he could just about see them. Ardat stroked his goatee, attended to his short, tufted, black hair, and plastered a winning, charismatic smile on his perfectly formed face. He struggled to keep it there when he noticed the expression his summoner was wearing.

Overwhelming frustration and disappointment.

That was a surprise. Ardat had been greeted in many ways - with awe, lust, shock, self-righteous contempt. But who would be disappointed with a sex demon they’d bound to their will and summoned from the bowels of hell itself?

A woman, for one. A goth, for another. The look of utter, icy disdain on her face looked like it was fixed there permanently, accentuated by her jet-black lipstick and thick, immaculate eyeliner. She had long, silky, black hair - plainly dyed - with layers of deep blue visible underneath, and her clothing was all fishnets, lace, and asymmetrical, flowing folds of black cloth. Her look was - in Ardat’s opinion - a little tacky, but she undeniably carried it off well, and her figure was on the softer, rounded, better-endowed side. Aradat certainly liked that. More for him to enjoy.

“Master,” Ardat said, his voice a low purr. He offered a low, theatrical bow. “Might I have the pleasure of your name? All the better to serve you, of course. Although I must confess a slight, ulterior motive. I desire to confirm my suspicion that your name is just as lovely as you are.”

It was a good line, and one that had made many would-be witches blush throughout history. So, Ardat had been hoping for a better response than an angry, disgusted: “Tch.”

He tilted his head, confused. “Excuse me?”

“It’s Lenora,” she said, with an air of clear reluctance. “I guess.”

“Have… I done something to offend you, master?” Ardat asked cautiously.

Lenora groaned and made a gesture like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re an incubus.”

“Of course.” Ardat took a moment to refresh his grin. “I am Ardat of the Second Circle. I am accomplished in pleasures far beyond the average mortal ken - and I am at your disposal, body and soul.”

Lenora simply rolled her eyes. “You don’t get it. I’m a lesbian.”

Ardat’s smile immediately faltered. “Then… if I may ask… why did you-“

“Because you were meant to be a succubus!” the witch exploded. “I wanted to get my mind blown, and I found an old grimoire talking about this ancient sex demon. ‘Ardat of Ur’. A succubus! And now I get… you.”

“Ah,” Ardat said awkwardly. “Well, gender and grammar in ancient proto-Sumerian can be a little tricky.”

Lenora glared daggers at him. “Now what am I supposed to do?”

“Master, I’m sure you know that labels are just words,” Ardat attempted, making his voice a thrilling, husky growl and arching his back to present his bare, sculpted chest to the witch. “Whatever you may consider yourself, why not try allowing me to please you? I’m sure I could find a way to change your feelings. Everyone’s a little flexible, under the right circumstances. Maybe you just haven’t found the right man.”

From the look on her face, he immediately knew he’d chosen the wrong tactic. “Gross,” Lenora spat, even more disgustedly. “Try that again, and I’ll banish you before you can blink.”

“Wait!” Ardat said hurriedly. “Don’t send me back! Not when I… when I have so much to offer you, that is.” He tried to sound simpering and pleasing; maybe she’d like that more. “I could easily help you to summon a demon a little more fitting for your tastes. Now, if you’ll just let me out of this magic circle, I’ll-“

Lenora snorted a laugh. “Nice try. But no. Part of the reason I’m so pissed is that, as you well know, I can’t attempt this ritual again until the next lunar-venusian conjunction. Which is also the reason I can’t afford to send you back to Hell.”

Hearing that gave Ardat the twinge of hope he needed. “Then, surely there must be some service I can perform for you, master,” he purred. “Simply name your heart’s desire, and I will happily provide - for the right price, of course.”

“I don’t think-“ Lenora abruptly broke off, and then started thoughtfully at Ardat. Hope swelled in his demonic chest. “Actually,” she began thoughtfully, “maybe there is something I can do with you.”

“Yes?” Ardat asked, cautiously optimistic.

“I do have you here, even if you’re not quite right,” Lenora mused, pacing across the room. “And I do still have an itch I could do with scratching.”

Ardat let out a filthy laugh. “I’d be more than happy to assist, master,” he purred. “I knew you would prove to be open-minded.”

Lenora threw him a dangerous look, but it faded from her face almost immediately, replaced by a wicked, satisfied smirk. Somehow, that worried Ardat much, much more than her anger.

“Open-minded? No,” Lenora said. “I’m just going to fix you.”

“F-fix?” Ardat’s worry was growing.

“Fix,” Lenora confirmed, grinning. “Succubus, incubus, how different can they really be? Anyway, that whole thing is way too binary to be real. I’m sure it can’t be so hard to turn one into the other.”

“Turn into-“ Ardat let out a nervous, incredulous laugh. “Very funny, master.”

“Oh, I’m not joking.” Lenora’s grin was steadily taking on a crooked, malevolent quality. “I’m a witch. A damn good one. You wouldn’t believe what I can turn people into.”

“That’s not the problem,” Ardat explained, sighing. “Demons aren’t like people. Who we are - our bodies, our personalities, our genders - aren’t, for want of a better word, malleable. They are unchanging; ontologically fixed to specific lingua-symbolic entities - better known by your kind as our ‘true names’.”

It was a little surprising that a witch capable of summoning a demon didn’t know that much, but Ardat wanted to make sure to nip this absurd notion in the bud. He needed to guide Lenora towards something he could truly tempt her with.

“Your true names, huh?” Lenora laughed and reached for an old, leather-bound book resting on a nearby table. “Like, for example… this?”

She flipped it open to a bookmarked page and held it up for Ardat to see. It sent a cold shiver down his spine. His true name was written in the pages.

Most people wouldn’t have recognized it as such, or as a name at all. It wasn’t in words - English words least of all. Instead, it was a complex, intricately-interwoven symbol, expanding to fill an entire page of a huge grimoire with headache-inducing artistic and geometric figures. And yet, it was his name. ‘Ardat’ was the corresponding vocalization, although, from a demon’s perspective, it was crude to the point of ugliness in how little information it truly conveyed. The symbol on the page in Lenora’s book told and defined everything about the incubus, from beginning to end.

Which was very, very bad.

Knowledge was power, both figuratively and literally. It didn’t mean Lenora could pull off the kind of insane transformation she seemed to be set on, but knowing Ardat’s true name meant there was plenty she was capable of. He was going to have to tread extremely carefully.

“Where did you get that?” Ardat hissed.

“It’s from ancient Sumeria,” Lenora answered, throwing him a smug, nasty look. “You see, my ancient proto-Sumerian is actually fucking great. I just misinterpreted one little part of your true name. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again. I had to pay a pretty penny for this grimoire, though. Time to see if it’ll all be worth it.”

“That…” Ardat sighed, exasperated. “You still can’t turn me into… well, into anything! That isn’t how this works. True names might be written in ink, but I can assure you, they’re metaphorically set in stone. There are only a handful of artifacts in existence with the power to change them.”

“C’mon.” Lenora started giggling. “You can’t just set me up like that twice in a row.”

Ardat’s heart sank. “S-surely you don’t-“

This time, she reached for a small, wood-carved box and opened it. Inside was a candle that looked ordinary at first, but when Lenora lit it with a well-used lighter, the wax started to glow with an unnatural, purple phosphorescence.

“An ur-candle,” Ardat whispered reverently.

Fuck.

“Let’s take it for a spin, shall we?” Lenora said. She set the grimoire bearing Ardat’s true name down on the table and lifted the ur-candle menacingly towards it.

“Wait!” Ardat called out in alarm. He’d only heard whispers about what was about to happen, but those alone were enough to terrify him. But he fell silent once Lenora tipped the candle, and allowed a little of its wax to drip onto his true name.

Ardat froze. He could feel something; an unnameable sensation that held him in its grip and made his head feel like it was going to split open. It was as if something was touching his very soul, especially when Lenora picked up an iron stylus and used it like a pen to move the molten wax around on the page. Disconcertingly, the ink underneath it, dried for thousands of years, started to bubble up and move with it. And just like that, his reality was rewritten.

It only took hold slowly, with the first changes beginning after the wax on the grimoire’s pages had already set, but its pace quickened rapidly after Lenora held up the book for Ardat to inspect. His true name, the sigil that was the incubus’s very being, was different now. The changes were slight and subtle, and to most people they would have meant nothing. But to Ardat, it was everything.

Only, that was no longer his name. The sigil now sounded out as something different. It would be-

“Aridat,” Lenora pronounced, in a strong, clear, commanding voice. “Your name is Aridat.”

Aridat’s head sheared, and they shook their head in futile denial. “N-no.”

“Your name is Aridat,” Lenora insisted.

“My name,” Aridat grunted through gritted teeth, straining to hold on to at least this, to at least the word, “is Ard… Ar… Ari…”

“Your name,” Lenora repeated patiently, “is Aridat.”

“My name is Ari… dat,” Aridat found themself agreeing, a pained look on their face. “No, it’s… my name is Aridat… Ard… Aridat.”

The new sound was such a small thing, like a breath, and that made it so poisonously easy for it to slip in between the consonants, making its presence felt only in how much softer their name suddenly sounded as it left the incubus’s lips.

“Aridat,” Lenora nodded. The grin on her face was now one of lurid, sadistic fascination. “Good.”

“My name is… Aridat?” Aridat was losing their conviction. It was hard to remain defiant when reality itself had turned against them. They could feel an immense pull toward acceptance like a lead weight on their shoulders.

“Aridat,” Lenora repeated again. The witch tilted her head, amused. “You’re even starting to look like an Aridat.”

Her comment drew attention to something Aridat had been trying to convince themself wasn’t real: the way their body suddenly seemed just as molten and pliable as the wax of the ur-candle, ready to be changed, reshaped, remolded. The sensation was almost imperciptible, though. So subtle it was almost like nothing was changing at all. Aridat had to force themself to truly notice what was happening to them. Their face was softening and rounding out, and their goatee fell from their face in wisps as it disintegrated into nothing. Aridat’s hair had grown inches in seconds, and their body lost its overbearingly masculine silhouette as their shoulders narrowed and their hips widened. They even became shorter.

Ardat had been manly. Strong. A straight woman’s fantasy brought to life. Aridat, it turned out, was androgynous. Even elfin.

It just went with the name, somehow.

“My name… is Aridat,” they said slowly. This time, Aridat’s voice was heavy with acceptance. It felt good to embrace it, just like it felt good to breathe after forcing yourself to stay underwater.

Their name was Aridat. It just was. And they were a them, apparently.

“Fuck,” Lenora breathed. “That was so hot.”

Aridat, still recovering from having their identity rewritten on a spiritual level, was shaking with rage. Reality had changed but, crucially, history hadn’t. They still remembered what they’d lost. They’d been Ardat. They’d been manly and strong. Now, just looking down at their body was accompanied by a hot lick of bitter humiliation. And it was all because of this accursed witch. If not for the magic circle marked on the ground, Aridat would have had their hands around her throat.

“Aridat,” Lenora said, “how do you feel?”

The worst part, the very worst, was the way their new name being called felt. It made their ears prick up and instinctively caught their attention. Aridat was their name now, and like it or not, they answered to it.

“I… feel…” Aridat replied slowly. How did they feel? It was impossible to say. Their head was a swirling mass of contradictions. Memories that didn’t match reality. Old instincts that didn’t match their new personality, which seemed somehow more passive. More pliant. “I… don’t know.”

“That makes sense.” Lenora nodded thoughtfully. “It looked wild. I’m sure feeling it is even crazier, even though I was trying not to scramble you too badly. Although…” She looked Aridat up and down pointedly. “Maybe I wasn’t ambitious enough.”

Hearing that made Aridat’s blood run cold. “W-what?”

“Don’t get me wrong!” Lenora held up her hands in mock sincerity. “You look great, really. Normally I wouldn’t be so picky. I can roll with androgynous. But tonight I was really looking for something more on the ‘succubus’ end of the spectrum.”

“Fuck you,” Aridat hissed.

“I’m sorry!” Lenora’s grin was already breaking through her face. “This isn’t an exact science, you know. But now that I’ve tested it out, I think it’s safe to say that we can push this just a little bit further.”

“Wait!” Aridat begged as she lifted up the ur-candle again. They couldn’t let her change them any further. This was bad enough, but at least their old identity, their old name, was still within sight. “Stop, you can’t-“

Lenora ignored them, and tipped more enchanted wax onto their true name.

Aridat immediately felt it again; that terrifying sense of displacement as their true name began to flow like fresh ink. It was ice-cold and shockingly intimate, and made them uncomfortable aware of all the ways they were being changed. It made them feel thin; so thin that they’d fold like paper under their own weight.

The sensation doubled when Lenora took her pen to the molten wax. This time she was more daring and less careful, streaking the wax and ink across the page in huge strokes. Aridat felt each one in their soul, even as they felt that name, newly-given, already beginning to slip away.

Once she was done, Lenora looked up. She was clearly proud of her penmanship, and looked at the incubus thoughtfully.

“Your name,” she said, in that slow, deliberate way, “is Aridata.”

Aridata’s heart skipped a beat. “C-c’mon,” she whined. “It’s n-not.”

“Your name,” Lenora said again, more firmly, “is Aridata.”

As futile as it might have been, Aridata couldn’t help but try to fight it. “My name,” she struggled. “Is… Ar… Aridat.”

Even that, though, was surrender, and they both knew it. Aridata still remembered the name ‘Ardat’, but she couldn’t bring herself to claim it. Not anymore. It wouldn’t feel right. She wouldn’t sound sure enough. But hearing her insist she was ‘Aridat’ now brought a maddening smile to Lenora’s face and made the demon feel weak.

And the way it came out of her mouth was just as bad. ‘Aridat’, but with a new openness at the end; a hint, a wisp, a breath of something yet to be sounded out.

“Your name is Aridata,” Lenora insisted simply.

Her words rippled over Aridata, making her shiver with their rhythm. “My name is Ari… Aridat… a… Ari…”

She was on the brink. Both of them knew it.

“Your name is Aridata.”

“My name… my name is… A-Aridata.”

As before, it was an incredible relief to say it. Aridata. That was her name. A-ri-da-ta. It sounded so different now. So light. That treasonous little ‘a’ appended to it, a whole syllable of femininity, opened up the entire name, making the harder consonants before it a mere prelude.

Aridata. It was a girl’s name.

Aridata knew what that must mean. She reached up and touched her face, and found it different. It was her face, and it wasn’t. It wasn’t changing; an old, defunct reality was simply washing away, revealing a newer reality that might always have been there. Aridata’s face was softer now. Less angular. She had wider eyes, petite brows, and a far less pronounced jawline. But that was absolutely nothing compared to what was happening to the rest of her body. Suddenly, Aridata had wide hips and curved thighs and, most distractingly of all, the distinct swell of breasts on her chest.

“Wow,” Lenora commented, wolf-whistling. “Now that’s more like it.”

“Fuck. You!” Aridata spat, and was shocked at how girlish her voice sounded. She couldn’t manage the same level of vitriol and spite as she had earlier.

“Maybe, soon.” Lenora giggled. “You know, that outfit suits you much better now.”

Aridata looked down at herself and almost choked. She was wearing the same clothing as before - black, tight-fitting, leather pants, and nothing else - but with her appearance it felt very different. She had gone from suave seducer to something much more butch, or perhaps tomboyish. Her hair, now mid-length, fit with that too. The whole thing felt like a pointed mockery, and that should have made Aridata violently angry.

Instead, it made her blush.

It was something about her chest. Having breasts, even small ones, made being topless feel very, very different. It made Aridata feel exposed; she was suddenly conscious of the air on her skin, and even more conscious of Lenora’s gaze on her body. Everything about it was undignified. Even succubi preferred tempting, alluring, suggestive clothes to simply going topless! Instinctively, Aridata moved to cover herself and started looking around for a stray item of clothing she could use. Only the look of mirth in Lenora’s eyes stopped her.

What was she doing? Aridata wasn’t some kind of blushing maiden. She was… a man? That didn’t sound right, even in her own head. But she knew she had to try and keep hold of that version of reality.

“What’s the matter?” Lenora teased. “You weren’t shy like this before. Isn’t that interesting?”

“Hey!” Aridata huffed. “That’s not-“

She broke off. She’d huffed. Since when did she huff? That wasn’t like her at all. Except it was now. Even her mannerisms were suspect. The things Lenora could do with her candle and Aridata’s true name went far beyond the superficial. Her mannerisms, her personality, her memories - all of them could be rewritten with no more than a stroke of a pen.

“Don’t worry,” Lenora said mockingly. “I enjoy you being more ladylike.”

“I’m. Not.” Aridata had to fight to keep her voice deep and even. “I-I’m a man.”

Lenora just looked at him pityingly. They both knew how false it sounded. Aridata’s voice was too high, too light, and the inner convictions of her nature were telling her otherwise, robbing her words of their conviction.

“Uh-huh,” Lenora replied, deadpan. “And who’s gonna believe that?”

“I…” Aridata spluttered. “I…”

“Then again,” Lenora added, making no attempt to hide her mockery. “Maybe you have a point. This look is good, but it’s not really what I was after. It’s more ‘female incubus’ than ‘succubus’, if that makes any sense.”

Aridata’s blood ran cold yet again as she realized what Lenora was hinting at. “N-no, wait!”

She wasn’t expecting Lenora to tilt her head and look thoughtfully at her. “OK. I’m waiting.”

“I…”

Aridata found herself speechless. She doubted anything she might say could dissuade Lenora, but there was too much at stake not to try. However, she wasn’t going to beg. She wasn’t. Aridata - Ardat, Ardat, she reminded herself - never begged. She tempted, she offered, she bargained, but she never begged. That just wasn’t how this was supposed to go. So… what could she offer? There was only one answer, however stomach-churning and humiliating.

The former incubus did her best to strike an alluring pose that showed off all her feminine assets. It came to her worryingly naturally, and she was effortlessly able to bend forward, back arched, chest pushed out, hips swaying, and put something approaching a suggestive half-smile on her face.

“I…” Aridata said falteringly. “I could… please you. Like this.”

She just had to hope that would be enough for her lesbian captor. Perhaps it almost was. Lenora had the look of someone flipping a mental coin. Once she made her mind, though, her eyes glinted wickedly, and Aridata knew she’d lost.

“Close,” Lenora conceded. “But I think we can do better.”

Before Aridata could argue, she once again tipped the ur-candle’s wax onto Aridata’s true name.

This time, Lenora didn’t even wait for the wax to settle and congeal before she started speaking. There was eagerness in her eyes, put there by unquestionable arousal.

“Your name,” Lenora announced, “is Aridatya.”

As she spoke she made it so, using her stylus to draw the wax across the grimoire’s page in big, thick strokes, obliterating the reality Aridatya had only just been growing accustomed to and replacing it with another.

“It is not!” Aridatya tried to insist. “My name is… is Ar… Ari… um… Arida…”

It was getting harder and harder to fight it. Her head was a swirling morass of different names, all of them so similar, all of which felt right and all of which felt wrong. But a new one had just appeared, echoing like a gong, sounding more and more right with each passing moment.

“Your name is Aridatya,” Lenora repeated. She sounded so firm, so sure, whilst Aridatya wasn’t sure about anything.

“My name is… Aridatya?” it came out like a question, and so Lenora nodded in agreement.

“Your name is Aridatya.”

Aridatya found herself nodding too. “My name is A-Aridatya.”

She just couldn’t bring herself to say anything else.

“That’s right.” Lenora’s stylus was still moving across the page, etching details in ink and wax, inscribing all the details of Aridatya’s soul.

“Aridatya…” Aridatya said it slowly, testing how the name felt on her tongue. Her name had become so long, so luxurious. That little ‘y’ made it sound even more feminine, and somehow fancy. Perhaps even exotic.

And… that was her, wasn’t it? It seemed to suit her perfectly, even though she would have struggled to say why. Did that mean she was exotic? Fancy? Feminine?

No. No, of course not. Ardat had never been those things, and that should have settled the question. But it didn’t. Ardat wasn’t real. Not anymore. There was just Aridatya.

Aridatya balled her hands into fists and scolded herself. She couldn’t let herself think that way. She was an incubus. A man, as remote as that now seemed. She had to remember that. She had to remember that none of this was right. She had to.

“It’s quite a name,” Lenora remarked, finishing her handiwork with a flourish. “Aridatya. I think Aridatya is very, very confident in her femininity. Don’t you? Aridatya sounds like a real girly girl to me. The kind of succubus who really revels in it.” Her smirk turned crooked once more. “At least, that’s how it looks in my handwriting.”

“W-what?” Aridatya was stunned as she felt changes washing over her. Nothing was more unsettling than feeling her reality alter. The changes themselves kept slipping beneath her notice; rather than experiencing the transformation directly, it was like she was always noticing the way reality had always been.

In this case, that meant noticing that her hair was longer, and that she was now wearing something different - a long, flowing nightgown, tailored to accentuate a body that was far, far more feminine than she remembered. Those were Aridatya clothes, apparently. It meant noticing that her face was slender and lips full, and her eyes adorned with smoky, sultry makeup. But more than that, it meant noticing how she felt.

It meant noticing that she liked it.

“No!” Aridatya cried out, desperate to give voice to her disgust before it fled. “That’s not right! I hate this.”

“You do?” Lenora feigned surprise, but couldn’t hide her amusement. “But you’re so pretty now.”

The heat, the warm glow of praise that Aridatya immediately felt, was dangerous. Preening was instinctive, as was posing pleasingly and shifting her weight from side to side to accentuate her hips. It took precious seconds for Aridatya to catch herself and plaster a scowl over the thin, devilish smile that had come naturally to her face.

“S-shut up,” Aridatya snarled, torn between forced resentment and reflexive pride.

“C’mon,” Lenora wheedled. “Aren’t you everything a succubus is supposed to be?”

That was a potent compliment, poisonous and sinister in how affirming it was. A succubus was supposed to be beautiful, feminine and seductive, and Aridatya felt like all of those things. So it was undeniable, wasn’t it? She was everything a succubus was supposed to be. The only thing telling her was the faint memory of deeply-buried false reality, fading by the moment.

“I’m an incubus,” Aridatya tried to insist. “Not a succubus. An incubus!”

“Aridatya,” Lenora said pityingly, “do you think anyone seeing you now, anyone at all, would believe that?”

The succubus’s cheeks turned crimson. She looked away and cast about for anything she could use as ammunition. There was precious little left, but Aridatya’s thoughts quickly turned to what was between her legs. It had always been the very pride of her manhood.

“Oh, I see.” Lenora giggled. “You’re thinking about that, are you?”

Now, Aridatya paled. Had it been that obvious?

“I was thinking of letting you keep it, you know,” Lenora remarked, lifting the ur-candle again. “But if you’re going to be difficult about it…”

Aridatya truly turned as white as a sheet as she watched one single drop of wax fall onto the page.

Compared to before, it was nothing. Lenora was careful and subtle with her stylus, too. All in all, the change she made didn’t even amount to a single letter. It was an accent at most; a simple change in pronunciation, barely audible. Aridatya was still Aridatya. But it was enough, and after several horrid moments of anticipation, the succubus felt a new reality wash over her.

And it brought with it a cunt between her legs.

Aridatya gasped and whimpered at the sudden, aching loss which drove home just how much dignity and power she’d lost. Her name, her face - those things were precious, yes, but losing a part of her body that was so symbolic and fundamental for an incubus was even more of a violation. With her hips and thighs still shifting to accommodate her new anatomy, Aridatya squeezed her legs together, hoping to feel something solid between them. Instead, she just felt a sharp, shock of pleasure race up her spine from the unfamiliar stimulation to her new, sensitive pussy.

It was humiliating, and worse, the demon couldn’t suppress a low whine of pleasure. Lenora, of course, just laughed at her plight.

“My, my,” the witch commented. “Enjoying yourself already?”

“Shut up!” Aridatya huffed. She was incandescent with shame and rage, and she couldn’t do anything about it. She couldn’t hide. Couldn’t flee. Couldn’t stop what was happening to her.

“C’mon,” Lenora giggled mockingly. “Don’t you kind of like it?”

Aridatya had to look away because the truth was that, on some level, she did. Somehow, having a cunt instead of a cock just felt right. It made her feel more like herself, perversely; desirable and sexy in all the right ways for a succubus like her. Knowing that she’d been an incubus minutes ago and had a dick seconds ago didn’t help. It made her seethe with rage and burn with humiliation, yes, but it didn’t make having this body feel any less deliciously affirming.

So, instead, the contrasting emotions inside Aridatya - new and old - were forced to curdle and mix together as reality fought for a stable configuration. They became complimentary, mutually-reinforcing. Her humiliation became a pleasure all of its own, sinful and tempting, spiking her arousal even higher. Her anger, directed so singularly at Lenora, twisted and became a very different kind of craving, one that was predatory and carnal.

A succubus’s hunger.

It was a heady, dizzying cocktail of feelings to be struck with, and it made keeping Aridatya’s identity straight harder than ever. Instinct was taking over. It infested her body language, making her pose and preen and smile, directing all of her hellishly tempting appeal straight at Lenora. The witch was clearly amused and enticed in equal measure.

“Wow,” she remarked, cocking an eyebrow. “Maybe that was the magic ticket. Feeling a little more agreeable now?”

“Absolutely,” Aridatya replied, her voice a vicious purr. She was desperate. She couldn’t let this go any further. She needed Lenora to let down her guard.

“Fascinating,” Lenora breathed. For a moment, occult curiosity took over, although the color in her cheeks made it clear her interest was far more than just academic. “I suppose it is the lynchpin of the succubus/incubus distinction - in some schema, at least - so it makes sense it would have rather dramatic ripples.”

“Dramatic,” Aridatya echoed pleasingly. She bent forward, showing off her new assets. Her tits had become impressively large and pert, and it was dawning on her that she could use that. That she knew how to use that. “Hey, so how about that itch you needed scratching?”

“Yeah?” Lenora couldn’t help but stare, Aridatya noticed with pleasure. “You’re interested.”

“Oh, I just can’t wait to sink my teeth into you,” Aridatya cooed. She giggled. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

The plan, of course, was to seduce her, and then, once she released Aridatya from the magical circle, subdue her and force her to undo all the changes she’d made. At least, that was what Aridatya was telling herself. In truth, it was rationalization as much as anything else. Beneath it all was a simple, heartbeat-drum of need and desire, driving her towards Lenora’s warmth.

"Wow,” Lenora breathed. She wasn’t so quick-witted now. Aridatya could tell she was succumbing to her own desires, now that her summoned demon was in a form far, far more agreeable to her tastes. “But… sink your teeth into me? That sounds a little…”

“C’mon.” Aridatya tried to affect a high-pitched, feminine voice. It came effortlessly, and she was as dismayed at that as she was pleased with her success. “You can trust me. I just want what you made me want.”

Lenora almost went for it. Almost. But in the end, she pulled back and shook her head. “I wish. This version of you is pretty great, if I do say so myself. But… I can tell this isn’t going to be a good idea.”

“N-no.” Aridatya’s smile faltered.

“Perhaps I’ve been going about this the wrong way,” Lenora mused. “It’s not enough to make you a succubus. Not anymore. You’ll still remember what I did, at least a little, and you’ll still want revenge. I need to address that.”

“My… memories?” Aridatya was aghast. How could she fight that?

But Lenora shook her head. “No. Something deeper: your past.” She lifted the ur-candle and toyed with it in her hand, an egomaniacal smile playing across her face. “A true name is such a potent thing. It contains everything about you. Even your very history. Change that, and there’s nothing to remember.”

“Wait!” Aridatya called out, as Lenora started to tip the candle, but she already knew that wouldn’t stop her. Her next word tasted like bitter tears. “P-please!”

She didn’t beg. For all that had changed, that remained true. But this was her limit. This was the end. And so, Aridatya begged.

It didn’t matter.

This time, the way Lenora altered her true name was anything but subtle, even if it was artful. Using her stylus, she worked wax and ink all over the grimoire’s page, inscribing a fresh pattern that seemed to make the entire sigil shift into a bold new configuration.

“And,” Lenora murmured as she worked. “Why not push a few other things a little further, too?”

The sight made the succubus’s head throb, especially when Lenora looked up at her and said:

“Your name is Arideniya.”

“My name is… is Arideniya.”

This time, Aridenya didn’t bother to fight it. She just let her new reality wash over her, and accepted whatever her new self turned out to be.

It felt good, as it turned out. Arideniya couldn’t even perceive the changes as they occurred. Each one etched itself into her memory and her past, as if things had always been that way. Aridenya was left completely, blissfully ignorant of the fact that once, maybe, for a different version of herself, things had been very, very different.

Her tits had always been this huge. Her cunt had always dripped enticing wetness down her thighs when she was turned on and hungry. She’d always been a succubus, a woman, an embodiment of female sexuality, ready to feast on any mortal who came within reach. And when they were around her, they wanted to be feasted on so very, very much.

Arideniya didn’t just feel feminine. She felt powerful, and she took to her power like it was second nature. She stood tall, practically filling the room from floor to ceiling. Her horns were a crown upon her head, and her clothing was royal robes, no less revealing and suggestive for their grandeur. As the wax dried, Arideniya looked down at Lenora like a queen looking down at someone presenting themselves as tribute.

“Master,” the succubus purred, her tone anything but submissive. “Allow me to show you true pleasure.”

Lenora started to sweat from sheer temptation. Her magic circle offered scant protection against the raw, mind-bending power of Arideniya’s presence. She was overwhelming in every sense. She was any mortal’s fantasy given form, and Lenora was far from immune.

“W-what,” the witch struggled to say. She was drooling, but her mouth sounded painfully dry. “This isn’t… I didn’t mean to…”

“Oh, yes, you did,” Arideniya countered. “This is exactly what you wanted. Exactly what you summoned. I’m all your handiwork, Master. It’s time to enjoy me. Time to take down this silly little circle.”

Lenora twitched abruptly, like she was struggling not to obey. Temptation was overriding her reason. Arideniya’s wicked grin widened. She had no particular animosity towards this mortal - but she needed to feed, and she liked to drink deep.

“I don’t u-understand how…” Lenora stuttered, flustered. She took a single step towards Arideniya, taking her perilously close to the magical circle’s boundary, before something seemed to click in her head. “Oh. Oh! I know what I did wrong.”

She stepped back, and hefted the objects in her hand - a leather-bound grimoire and a strange-looking candle. Arideniya’s eyes flew wide as she noticed it. The object seemed to trigger a memory from another life.

“Is that a-“ was all she managed to say before Lenora once again tipped the candle wax all over the grimoire.

This time, Lenora wasn’t artful or sparing. She poured as much wax as she could, obliterating almost all of the succubus’s true name in a single gesture. The succubus was rooted to the spot as a strange, unearthly sensation swept through her, making her mind flash white and robbing her of all sense of self and purpose. The sensation only grew stronger when Lenora started writing with her stylus in wax and ink, replacing some of what had been blotted out and altering what remained.

“It was obvious, really,” Lenora murmured as she worked. “I was too focused on what I wanted to change. Lost sight of the big picture. I was adding, each and every time. More letters, more sounds, more changes stacked on top of changes. I made a name that was impressive. Magnificent. Powerful.” She grinned. “But I think this will do the job just fine instead.”

The succubus standing before her just stared, dumbfounded, struggling to comprehend the meaning of her words.

“Your name,” Lenora told her, slowly and deliberately, “is Aria.”

“My name…” Aria echoed, “is… Aria!”

She brightened as she said it. It felt so right, and the rightness of it made her giggle a pretty, air-headed giggle. Aria licked her lips and arched her back, and reached up to jiggle her own, massive tits experimentally. Doing that made her giggle even harder.

“Maaaaster,” she drawled, pouting. “Don’t you wanna, like, fuck me?”

Lenora laughed. “No need to worry about hidden agendas now, I think,” she said. “So - time to make a contract?”

“A contract?” Aria snorted. “That stuff is soooo boring. Um… let’s see… I’ll give you whatever you want if you’ll, like, make me feel good?”

“Deal,” Lenora announced. She stepped forwards and used the tip of her shoe to erase the boundary of the magical circle on the ground. As soon as it was broken, Aria bounced on her, kissing and squeezing and groping with overeager lust.

Lenora laughed, and her laughter soon turned to moans. It was time to get that itch scratched.

---

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[fr4gtpgaming]

Something I tossed together real quick just because 🤷🏽‍♂️

Umbra X Proto X Zato

Music: Black and White by Free Flow Flava

[blood-orange-juice]

Ok, there was a post I never got to write so now I don't get to post a HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT update. But I want to write it anyway.

TMI, weird personal symbolism, etc.

There's a type I rather dramatically call "people of dark water" and it's usually women. Very rarely represented in media. Almost-tricksters with some kind of important personal truth if I try to boil it down to a sentence. Something deep and dark but pure in its essence.

They usually have been wounded by something most people never notice (canary in the mine situation) or have the privilege never to encounter, and then made it into a strength somehow.

(watch me fall for someone like that every time)

I came up with the term when I learned that in Old Irish and in Proto-Indo-European there was a distinction between clear flowing water (danu) and dark deep water (dubros in PIE, dobur in Old Irish specifically). You can still see it in places' names across Europe (Danube, Dover, etc).

In part, Childe excites me so much because he's that. He's like all the women I've ever loved except that he's a guy.

There's also a Jim White's song Still Waters which is exactly about a person of that type if you look at the lyrics. The tone of the music doesn't match at all though. His still waters are Louisiana swamps, not sea or lake depths.

And I always wondered what would a character or an irl person of that type look like.

And when Aventurine came out I sort of nodded to myself and decided that yeah, that's it. He's that type. Nice to finally have an answer.

"Still Waters" became my Aventurine song.

So imagine my surprise when I used Aventurine's overworld skill and saw a "Still waters run deep" status appear.

*pauses for a moment of incoherent shouting*

A coincidence and something about archetypes, I know. It's a popular proverb, it fits him well and there's no way someone in Hoyo even listens to Jim White. Even Americans don't know him, he's a musicians' musician.

Also I'm not sure whether a similar phrase even exists in Chinese and maybe this parallel happens only in English translation.

Still, I feel like reality just glitched ot something of that sort.

Don't you know there are projects for the dead And there are projects for the living Though I must confess sometimes I get confused by that distinction And I just throw myself into the arms Of that which would betray me. I guess to see how far Providence Will stoop down just to save me.

[whencyclopedia]

Frodi

Frodi (Old Icelandic: Fróði) is the name of legendary Danish kings in Norse mythology. There is a whole range of kings bearing the same name, pointing to fascinating traditions in both Old Icelandic and continental Germanic storytelling. Frodi features in Snorri Sturluson's Skáldskaparmál, the Ynglinga saga, and Saxo Grammaticus' Gesta Danorum, among other sources.

The Golden Age of Frodi in the Skáldskaparmál

In his Skáldskaparmál, part of the Prose Edda, the 13th-century Icelandic chieftain and author Snorri Sturluson explains the origins of many complex metaphors or kenningar. He mentions that one of the terms for gold is the flour of Frodi (Old Icelandic: Fróði), elsewhere the meal of Frodi, and goes on to explain the origin of this metaphor, where he fancifully links Odin to the history of Denmark and partly Sweden. Thus, in Snorri's story, a son of Odin, Skjöld, the founder of the dynasty, had a son, Fridleif, who in turn has a son Frodi. Chronologically, this would have been during the reign of Roman emperor Augustus (r. 27 BCE to 14 CE) and his pax romana. There are some historical elements to this, such as trade between Romans and proto-Danish speakers, with members of the aristocracy forging their prestige through contact with the Roman Empire, but a great unified land certainly did not exist.

Snorri tries to draw a parallel to Jesus Christ in what he tells next, and he also tries to prove how naive pre-Christians were in that they attributed the peace reigning in all northern territories at the time to Frodi. We have a bit from the myth of a golden era, with no murders or thefts. Frodi meets King Fjölnir from Sweden, and he purchases two slave women at the same time two gigantic millstones are discovered, which have the ability to grind anything. So Frodi tells the slaves to grind gold and prosperity and gives them very short breaks, only as long as a song, which is why they name the poem they are chanting Grottasöngr, after the name of the magic mill. The maidens deplore the inability of the king to foresee the consequences of his deeds, because what they in fact ground is an army against Frodi. A sea king called Mysing comes, plunders, and kills Frodi. Mysing orders them to grind salt, which they do until the ships sink, the seas flow into the mill hole, and they become salt.

Snorri probably got these very precise details from the Grottasöngr of the Poetic Edda, which he cites after retelling this story. In the poem, it is revealed that the girls are descendants of mountain giants, and they are the ones who had shaped the grindstone, but Frodi remains ignorant of their lineage, thus losing his seat at Hleidra (Lejre). So, historically, there might have been a reference to the first leaders here; Lejre (also bearing the name Fredshøj or Peace Barrow) had settlements dating back to 500. Dated to c. 650, the remains of a princely burial were excavated down by the river in a barrow called Grydehøj. The man and his grave goods had been cremated, but a profusion of melted bronze and gold, as well as sacrificed animals testify to his wealth. Snorri, however, interprets it from a Christian temporal and mythical perspective. Most probably, it was a saga of the Skjöldungs from which Snorri adopted this notion, as suggested by a 17th-century paraphrase.

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[the-hermit-at-midnight]

Awen: The Spirit of Inspiration in Druidic Tradition

The concept of Awen is a fundamental element in modern Druidry and Celtic spirituality. It represents a divine inspiration or creative spirit that flows through all things, fueling artistic expression, wisdom, and spiritual understanding. Rooted in ancient Welsh traditions and widely embraced by contemporary Druids, Awen encapsulates a profound connection between humanity and the natural world, the divine, and the realms of creativity and knowledge.

Historical Origins and Etymology

The term "Awen" originates from the Welsh language, where it literally means "inspiration" or "muse." Its earliest recorded usage appears in the medieval Welsh literature of the 6th century, notably in the works of the bards and poets. The concept of Awen is closely tied to the figure of the bard in Celtic society—those who were the keepers of history, lore, and cultural wisdom through their poetry and music.

In the Welsh Triads and the works of Taliesin, one of the most renowned bards of the medieval period, Awen is depicted as a divine force that grants poets their insight and creativity. The word itself likely derives from Proto-Celtic *aweno-, which means "inspiration."

Awen in Druidic Tradition

Modern Druidry, which saw a revival in the 18th and 19th centuries and continues to evolve today, places Awen at the heart of its spiritual practice. Druids view Awen as a sacred flow of inspiration that comes from the divine and permeates the universe. It is not only a source of artistic creativity but also a spiritual force that brings wisdom, clarity, and a deep connection to nature.

The Three Rays of Awen

A common symbol associated with Awen in Druidic tradition is the three rays of light. This symbol typically consists of three parallel lines or rays, often depicted radiating from a single source. Each ray represents different aspects of inspiration and spiritual illumination:

1. **The First Ray:** This ray symbolizes the spark of inspiration or the initial creative impulse. It represents the beginning of an idea or the seed of wisdom.

2. **The Second Ray:** This ray stands for the process of development and growth. It is the journey of bringing an idea to fruition, the unfolding of creative and spiritual insight.

3. **The Third Ray:** This final ray signifies completion and manifestation. It is the realization and expression of inspiration in the material world, whether through art, writing, or acts of wisdom.

The Invocation of Awen

Druids often invoke Awen through rituals and ceremonies to seek inspiration and guidance. The chant "Awen" is commonly used, either sung or spoken, to open oneself to the flow of divine inspiration. This practice serves as a meditative and spiritual exercise, aligning the practitioner with the forces of creativity and insight.

The chant of Awen is said to attune the mind and spirit to the deeper currents of the universe, allowing for a clearer reception of inspiration. It can be a solitary practice or part of communal rituals, and it often accompanies other elements of Druidic ceremonies, such as the celebration of seasonal festivals and rites of passage.

Awen and the Arts

In the realm of the arts, Awen is seen as the driving force behind all forms of creative expression. From poetry and music to visual arts and storytelling, artists in the Druidic tradition seek to channel Awen in their work. This creative process is not merely about personal expression but is viewed as a way to connect with the divine and contribute to the cultural and spiritual enrichment of the community.

Awen and Nature

For Druids, nature is a primary source of Awen. The natural world, with its cycles, beauty, and mystery, is a wellspring of inspiration and wisdom. By observing and interacting with nature, Druids believe they can tap into the flow of Awen, gaining insights and understanding that transcend ordinary perception. This deep connection to nature is reflected in the reverence for sacred groves, stones, and other natural sites that are often central to Druidic practice.

Awen remains a central and inspiring concept in modern Druidry and Celtic spirituality. It embodies the divine spark of inspiration that fuels creativity, wisdom, and a profound connection to the world around us. Whether through the arts, nature, or spiritual practice, the pursuit of Awen is a journey toward deeper understanding and harmonious existence with the universe. As Druids continue to celebrate and invoke Awen, they keep alive an ancient tradition that enriches the mind, spirit, and culture, connecting them to a timeless source of inspiration.

[katherynefromphilly]

A while ago some wonderful Merlin fans asked me for a pronunciation guide for the “Common Brittonic” words that Arthur and Merlin use in “And like the cycle of the year, we begin again”.

I put the name Common Brittonic in huge quotes there, because basically I translated English to Modern Welsh, then researched the Consonant and Vowel Shifts that occurred to the related Proto Indo European languages in the Proto Celtic family, and tried to reverse-engineer the spelling. After that, I threw in a bit of Cornish influence and Manx spellings, you know, as one does, just for fun.

If you’re interested in the actual state of Brythonic Linguistic Reconstruction, there are many scholarly articles about it. Take some headache pills before you read them though. The topic gets very deep, very fast, and that particular rabbit hole has no bottom.

Anyway, here’s what the words sound like in my head — more Cornish than Welsh, with a flowing Latin influence.

Chapter 5:
“Pwy ydysw swhi bobl?” - “Who are you people?” - “Pwee DIH-SIHW swih bow-bull?”

“Bedh syon diwydd yma?!” - “What is happening here?” - “BETH-see-on dih-WHEETH-ee-mah”

“Merlin, a ywn schi?” - “Merlin, is that you?” - “Merlin, a-EEWAN she?”

“Nizh zhwi yn breuzhwetio?” - “Is this a dream?” - “Nizz ZWEE-een brayz-WET-cho?”

“Na, nizh ythych yn breuzhwetio” - “No, this is not a dream” - “Nah, nizz-HEETH-itch ee-in brayz-WET-cho”

Chapter 13:
“H’ud oyr awyr ar daear?” - “What on earth is it now?” - “Huh-DOE-ee-arr aweer arr-DAY-arr?”

“Merlin! Ble edech c’hi!” Damniasech, ble wyt ti!” - “Merlin! Where are you? Damn it where are you!” - “Merlin! Bled-ECK chee? Dahm-nih-sech, bleh WIT-tee?”

“Rydw i yma! Fod yn dawel!” - “I’m here! Be quiet!” / “Ree-DWEE-mah! Fow-DEEN dah-well!”

Chapter 14:
“Galwch barhau idal mi en avr, ni galweh shi?” - “Can you understand the words I’m saying” - “Galwich bar-how-ih-dall mee-in aver, nih gal-weh she?”


Chapter 18:
“Ror gora idos silus arnint!” - “Stop staring at them” - “Roar GORRIDOS sillus ar-nint.”

“Nid spi oed inos silus arnint!” - “I’m not staring at them” - “NID spy-oh-wed innohs sillus ar-nint!”

Chapter 29:

“Rhifegh ahn gifarweh.” - “Familiar yet strange. Known yet unknown.” - “RIFF-ehh gahnn gih-FAR-wehh”

[wolfythewitch]

Hi Wolfy! I'm curious, if zombie apocalypse Phil's infected arm was cut off immediately after he was bitten (think TWD style), is there a chance that he would have survived? Or does the infection travel too fast through the bloodstream for it to really make a difference?

Hmmmmmmm honestly the infections in this au are pretty fast, like faster than Phil's was in the fic

I think the only reason he had to time to get to the trailer is because of his weird proto immunity thing

In theory, you might be able to sever the blood flow to stop the infection, but you'd have to be really really fast. If you do manage to cut off the infected limb, you'd have to make sure that all signs of infection are gone, because even if there's a little left, it'll still be fatal. Slower, but no less lethal

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

Whenever there's a story about a secret society or a shadowy quasi-government organization that pulls all the strings and controls the entire world and regularly defeats apocalyptic threats against humanity, I always wonder who the hell's paying for it all? The Men in Black, Hellboy's Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense, the Assassins, the Templars, they all have blank check budgets and carte blanche to do whatever they need to, whenever, wherever, however. Need to go to an archeological site in Baghdad that may be the literal Garden of Eden? No problem, you'll be on the next flight alongside all your friends and co-workers, and all their supplies and guns and computers, you know, all the stuff that's really easy to ship across international borders. The Kola Superdeep Borehole is actually a portal to hell? I'm sure the Russian government won't mind us checking it out. Area 51 is about as impenetrable as the backstage at a rock concert; sure, some burly guy in a STAFF t-shirt or full combat gear may shout "HEY" and start chasing you, but you can give him the slip real easy and go about your business without him ever alerting a superior.

BORING.

Give me the shadowy agency that has had regular budget cuts since the 1980s. Their power and influence ebbs and flows every 2 years depending on which party controls congress. There's so much red tape and so many roadblocks that the 10,000 year old cult which was once the dominant global superpower is now just a rump echo chamber; they've preserved their ancient Proto-Indo-European language, the mother tongue of about half the world's population, but there was so much infighting over the millennia that they broke into countless warring factions that basically don't do anything anymore. "We're the People's Front of Judea, not like those wankers in the Judean People's Front."

Agent Kay once said "there is always an Arquilian battle cruiser or a Corilian deathray or an intergalactic plague about to wipe out all life on this miserable little planet, but the only way these people can go about their happy lives is they DO. NOT. KNOW ABOUT IT!" Surely they drop the ball from time to time.

"Hey, where's the Archduke? Aren't you part of his security detail?" "I thought that was your job!"

or

"When you disabled the alien ship, you set the autopilot to crash into the Pacific, right?" "The Administrator told me to aim for the Arctic." "Why the hell would he tell you that?!? Its orbit was nowhere near the Arctic! Where is it now?" "Apparently it's about to enter the atmosphere over Chelyabinsk, Russia. Whoops."

or

"A rematch?!? That wasn't the plan! Why don't the higher ups ever give me a warning before they go off book? Do you even know which campaign you're supposed to sabotage? Everyone already hates them both!"