#and their first requirement was a diverse cast
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I can understand when people want a minority protagonist, but when it's a diverse cast people look for first when choosing authors, books, or movies it's this certain level of weird in which getting their social justice points in for the day matter more than the actual story. Not everywhere follows the logic of California.
#rambles#to be honest when i wrote original fiction it never occurs to me to write which ethnicity they are or what disabilities/illnesses they have#in my head every character is essentially a gray blob#i wish i were a more visual and concrete person but i am not#which is why reader inserts are right up my alley haha#i really need to go back to sleep haha#but i saw this post on writeblr wanting to follow writing blogs?#and their first requirement was a diverse cast#like if that's your first requirement something tells me that you don't give a damn abt actual writing in the first place
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Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi is, by some measures, the most popular leader in the world. Prior to the 2024 election, his Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) held an outright majority in the Lok Sabha (India’s Parliament) — one that was widely projected to grow after the vote count. The party regularly boasted that it would win 400 Lok Sabha seats, easily enough to amend India’s constitution along the party's preferred Hindu nationalist lines.
But when the results were announced on Tuesday, the BJP held just 240 seats. They not only underperformed expectations, they actually lost their parliamentary majority. While Modi will remain prime minister, he will do so at the helm of a coalition government — meaning that he will depend on other parties to stay in office, making it harder to continue his ongoing assault on Indian democracy.
So what happened? Why did Indian voters deal a devastating blow to a prime minister who, by all measures, they mostly seem to like?
India is a massive country — the most populous in the world — and one of the most diverse, making its internal politics exceedingly complicated. A definitive assessment of the election would require granular data on voter breakdown across caste, class, linguistic, religious, age, and gender divides. At present, those numbers don’t exist in sufficient detail.
But after looking at the information that is available and speaking with several leading experts on Indian politics, there are at least three conclusions that I’m comfortable drawing.
First, voters punished Modi for putting his Hindu nationalist agenda ahead of fixing India’s unequal economy. Second, Indian voters had some real concerns about the decline of liberal democracy under BJP rule. Third, the opposition parties waged a smart campaign that took advantage of Modi’s vulnerabilities on the economy and democracy.
Understanding these factors isn’t just important for Indians. The country’s election has some universal lessons for how to beat a would-be authoritarian — ones that Americans especially might want to heed heading into its election in November.
-via Vox, June 7, 2024. Article continues below.
A new (and unequal) economy
Modi’s biggest and most surprising losses came in India’s two most populous states: Uttar Pradesh in the north and Maharashtra in the west. Both states had previously been BJP strongholds — places where the party’s core tactic of pitting the Hindu majority against the Muslim minority had seemingly cemented Hindu support for Modi and his allies.
One prominent Indian analyst, Yogendra Yadav, saw the cracks in advance. Swimming against the tide of Indian media, he correctly predicted that the BJP would fall short of a governing majority.
Traveling through the country, but especially rural Uttar Pradesh, he prophesied “the return of normal politics”: that Indian voters were no longer held spellbound by Modi’s charismatic nationalist appeals and were instead starting to worry about the way politics was affecting their lives.
Yadav’s conclusions derived in no small part from hearing voters’ concerns about the economy. The issue wasn’t GDP growth — India’s is the fastest-growing economy in the world — but rather the distribution of growth’s fruits. While some of Modi’s top allies struck it rich, many ordinary Indians suffered. Nearly half of all Indians between 20 and 24 are unemployed; Indian farmers have repeatedly protested Modi policies that they felt hurt their livelihoods.
“Everyone was talking about price rise, unemployment, the state of public services, the plight of farmers, [and] the struggles of labor,” Yadav wrote...
“We know for sure that Modi’s strongman image and brassy self-confidence were not as popular with voters as the BJP assumed,” says Sadanand Dhume, a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute who studies India.
The lesson here isn’t that the pocketbook concerns trump identity-based appeals everywhere; recent evidence in wealthier democracies suggests the opposite is true. Rather, it’s that even entrenched reputations of populist leaders are not unshakeable. When they make errors, even some time ago, it’s possible to get voters to remember these mistakes and prioritize them over whatever culture war the populist is peddling at the moment.
Liberalism strikes back
The Indian constitution is a liberal document: It guarantees equality of all citizens and enshrines measures designed to enshrine said equality into law. The signature goal of Modi’s time in power has been to rip this liberal edifice down and replace it with a Hindu nationalist model that pushes non-Hindus to the social margins. In pursuit of this agenda, the BJP has concentrated power in Modi’s hands and undermined key pillars of Indian democracy (like a free press and independent judiciary).
Prior to the election, there was a sense that Indian voters either didn’t much care about the assault on liberal democracy or mostly agreed with it. But the BJP’s surprising underperformance suggests otherwise.
The Hindu, a leading Indian newspaper, published an essential post-election data analysis breaking down what we know about the results. One of the more striking findings is that the opposition parties surged in parliamentary seats reserved for members of “scheduled castes” — the legal term for Dalits, the lowest caste grouping in the Hindu hierarchy.
Caste has long been an essential cleavage in Indian politics, with Dalits typically favoring the left-wing Congress party over the BJP (long seen as an upper-caste party). Under Modi, the BJP had seemingly tamped down on the salience of class by elevating all Hindus — including Dalits — over Muslims. Yet now it’s looking like Dalits were flocking back to Congress and its allies. Why?
According to experts, Dalit voters feared the consequences of a BJP landslide. If Modi’s party achieved its 400-seat target, they’d have more than enough votes to amend India’s constitution. Since the constitution contains several protections designed to promote Dalit equality — including a first-in-the-world affirmative action system — that seemed like a serious threat to the community. It seems, at least based on preliminary data, that they voted accordingly.
The Dalit vote is but one example of the ways in which Modi’s brazen willingness to assail Indian institutions likely alienated voters.
Uttar Pradesh (UP), India’s largest and most electorally important state, was the site of a major BJP anti-Muslim campaign. It unofficially kicked off its campaign in the UP city of Ayodhya earlier this year, during a ceremony celebrating one of Modi’s crowning achievements: the construction of a Hindu temple on the site of a former mosque that had been torn down by Hindu nationalists in 1992.
Yet not only did the BJP lose UP, it specifically lost the constituency — the city of Faizabad — in which the Ayodhya temple is located. It’s as direct an electoral rebuke to BJP ideology as one can imagine.
In Maharashtra, the second largest state, the BJP made a tactical alliance with a local politician, Ajit Pawar, facing serious corruption charges. Voters seemingly punished Modi’s party for turning a blind eye to Pawar’s offenses against the public trust. Across the country, Muslim voters turned out for the opposition to defend their rights against Modi’s attacks.
The global lesson here is clear: Even popular authoritarians can overreach.
By turning “400 seats” into a campaign slogan, an all-but-open signal that he intended to remake the Indian state in his illiberal image, Modi practically rang an alarm bell for constituencies worried about the consequences. So they turned out to stop him en masse.
The BJP’s electoral underperformance is, in no small part, the direct result of their leader’s zealotry going too far.
Return of the Gandhis?
Of course, Modi’s mistakes might not have mattered had his rivals failed to capitalize. The Indian opposition, however, was far more effective than most observers anticipated.
Perhaps most importantly, the many opposition parties coordinated with each other. Forming a united bloc called INDIA (Indian National Developmental Inclusive Alliance), they worked to make sure they weren’t stealing votes from each other in critical constituencies, positioning INDIA coalition candidates to win straight fights against BJP rivals.
The leading party in the opposition bloc — Congress — was also more put together than people thought. Its most prominent leader, Rahul Gandhi, was widely dismissed as a dilettante nepo baby: a pale imitation of his father Rajiv and grandmother Indira, both former Congress prime ministers. Now his critics are rethinking things.
“I owe Rahul Gandhi an apology because I seriously underestimated him,” says Manjari Miller, a senior fellow at the Council on Foreign Relations.
Miller singled out Gandhi’s yatras (marches) across India as a particularly canny tactic. These physically grueling voyages across the length and breadth of India showed that he wasn’t just a privileged son of Indian political royalty, but a politician willing to take risks and meet ordinary Indians where they were. During the yatras, he would meet directly with voters from marginalized groups and rail against Modi’s politics of hate.
“The persona he’s developed — as somebody kind, caring, inclusive, [and] resolute in the face of bullying — has really worked and captured the imagination of younger India,” says Suryanarayan. “If you’ve spent any time on Instagram Reels, [you’ll see] an entire generation now waking up to Rahul Gandhi’s very appealing videos.”
This, too, has a lesson for the rest of the world: Tactical innovation from the opposition matters even in an unfair electoral context.
There is no doubt that, in the past 10 years, the BJP stacked the political deck against its opponents. They consolidated control over large chunks of the national media, changed campaign finance law to favor themselves, suborned the famously independent Indian Electoral Commission, and even intimidated the Supreme Court into letting them get away with it.
The opposition, though, managed to find ways to compete even under unfair circumstances. Strategic coordination between them helped consolidate resources and ameliorate the BJP cash advantage. Direct voter outreach like the yatra helped circumvent BJP dominance in the national media.
To be clear, the opposition still did not win a majority. Modi will have a third term in office, likely thanks in large part to the ways he rigged the system in his favor.
Yet there is no doubt that the opposition deserves to celebrate. Modi’s power has been constrained and the myth of his invincibility wounded, perhaps mortally. Indian voters, like those in Brazil and Poland before them, have dealt a major blow to their homegrown authoritarian faction.
And that is something worth celebrating.
-via Vox, June 7, 2024.
#india#narendra modi#pm modi#modi#bjp#lok sabha elections#rahul gandhi#democracy#2024 elections#authoritarianism#anti authoritarian#good news#hope
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Do you know if there's a chance that someone just... Can't do magic? I feel like none of my spells work despite trying different methods and advice, I've never been chosen by a deity like most practicioners seem to be, I feel like there's something I'm missing fundamentally that means I just can't make magic. How can I check, so I stop giving myself hope and then having it crushed?
Perhaps a bad faith take, but I doubt most practitioners have been chosen by deities. I am of the opinion that many people believe they are supposed to be chosen and then use very lax systems of omen reading to justify that such-and-such god is claiming them.
Over the years, many people have asked me for help getting their spells to work, or solving such-and-such magical blockage.
And unfortunately, just about every time, the end result is that the person really has not done as much work as they think they have done, and they are still more or less on square one (or square zero) of practice.
Here are the sorts of questions I would ask you if we were chatting about this:
Focus
What specific school of magic are you trying to learn? "Witchcraft" and "magic" are not schools. Are you trying to learn Traditional Witchcraft? Lodge Magic? Chaos Magick? Appalachian Folk Magic? Dianic Wicca?
Out of the school of magic you are trying to learn, how many books have you read about it?
Out of those books, how many of them focused on actual technique and theory? As in, explaining the magical theories as to why this system works the way it does.
Do you have a clear understanding of why this magical system works the way it does? Can you describe it to me?
Within the magical system you have chosen to study, is there a clearly laid groundwork for what practitioners are supposed to have to do before they are valid/initiated/adept within this system? If so, have you achieved all of those requirements?
How many months of ongoing study and practice do you think is reasonable until you are ready to move to a new school of focus?
Learning Plan
Witchcraft is a complex and variable skill that, like writing a novel, requires a working knowledge of many diverse skillsets.
What is the specific goal you are working towards at this time? "Getting a spell to work" is not specific enough. "Casting a prosperity spell that is able to generate small amounts of cash, gifts, or benefits within a 2 week period" is the type of thing I mean.
What is your lesson plan to achieve that goal? An example might be, 1) read a book on prosperity magic, 2) study and research 5 accessible plants related to prosperity, 3) learn an energy raising technique, 4) learn how to charge correspondences, 5) learn how to add correspondences to candle spell, 6) learn magical timing techniques.
Even if you do not have a lesson plan, can you name the top 3 things you have been actively practicing to try and become a better practitioner? Examples might be energy raising, visualizing techniques, talking to spirits.
Once you formulate a lesson plan, ask yourself how many hours you think is reasonable to spend on each step. If you don't think you've ever successfully raised energy before, do you think it's fair that you might require 10 hours of practice learning your first energy raising technique before you can do it?
Could you explain to me the steps you believe are required to perform magic? Include how many hours you've spent practicing techniques applicable to each step.
Practice
Think of magic as being like learning to close a restaurant by yourself. You must be experienced in all of the stations, and have in-depth knowledge about the standards required. Do you also have such experience and understanding when it comes to your own craft?
Outside of reading and study, since the start of your practice, how many hours of concerted effort have you put in trying to perform magical techniques? This includes energy work, casting spells, sensing energies, divination, talking to spirits.
Write a list of each specific magical technique you have tried to learn. Not just "energy work" but, "Earth-roots grounding visualization to raise or balance energy into the planet." "Gathering energy into the lungs and exhaling to release excess energy." "Trying to contact the spirits of tarot cards." Be very specific. Next, write down how many hours you think you have spent practicing each technique. Which techniques have you spent more than 10 hours practicing, even if that practice is across years?
Write down every spell you ever remember trying to cast. How many are there?
Of all the spells you've tried to cast, are they from a wide variety of intents (such as prosperity, protection, luck, binding, conjuring), or are they mostly one type (e.g., prosperity)? Write down how many different kinds of spells you've tried to cast, based on intent. Have you practiced at least 5-10 spells in each category?
Technique
You've asked me, so given the way I do things:
How long does it take you to cast simple spells? Do you think it might be reasonable to expect that casting even a simple spell could take 30 minutes or more?
When you work spells, how long does it take you to raise energy? This can also include hours/days spent finding objects/ingredients of natural power. Would you say that you spend at least 10-15 minutes raising magical power for every spell that you cast?
When you work spells, how do you imprint/program energy? How do you stamp it with your intent so you know it's going to do what you want it to do?
When you work spells, how do you deliver them to their target? What techniques and methods do you employ to make sure they can get to where they need to go?
Before you cast spells, how much divination or investigation do you perform to make sure the spell will be effective for your purposes? Even a perfect screwdriver will fail where a hammer is required.
Do you use traditional techniques like aligning your spells to planetary timing, gathering taglocks, casting circles, or calling quarters?
Hygiene
How often do you perform self-cleansing? Otherworldly grime can obfuscate magical power.
Have you ever cast, or had others cast for you, unblocking or unbinding spells to help open the roads of your power?
How often do you engage in managing your personal energy? For example, centering/reclaiming exercises to pull escaped energy back into yourself, or energy gathering exercises to build up personal power.
Resources
Of the people you are asking for magical help, are they all a part of the same group who carry similar worldviews and would tend to suggest the same advice?
Of the people you are asking for magical help, how many of them are able to affirm that they are mentors, teachers, spirit doctors, or consultants qualified to help people with the problem you have?
Do you have a group you can work with to practice skills, such as energy charging and energy reading?
When you cast spells, do you have someone you can send photos of the spellwork to, so they can try to perform readings or diagnosis on what's actually going on?
Reality
Have you chosen a start date for your practice (such as, "I've been a practitioner for 2 years,") but in reality you have only tried to practice magic for a very limited time (say, 1 or 2 months out of that period)? If so, is it possible that you are comparing yourself to the success of a practitioner of 2 years, instead of a practitioner of 2 months?
Does the kind of magic you believe in dictate that rigor and technique are required to achieve results? Or are you more working in the "visualize and believe" arena?
Are you comparing your successes to people who are telling the truth about their practice? Is it possible people you are comparing yourself to are not using rigorous self-assessment when they calculate their own wins?
Are you comparing your successes to people who may have been practicing for decades or more on intensive paths, or who have spent thousands of hours honing their practice within a single area?
Are you being realistic about what actual success looks like? For example, casting a protection spell, something not protected against happens, and then deciding that because something bad in general happened, the entire protection failed.
Anyway Anon, to actually answer your question: no, I don't believe some people just "can't do magic." In very rare circumstances, some people may have serious blockages or entanglements going on that must be resolved before they can do magic. Others may require less intensive spellwork like unblocking to clear the way (like idk, maybe granny prayed over you in the crib that you'd never get involved with all this evil occult stuff).
It's my experience that almost everyone who thinks they can't do magic, if they were being very honest with themselves, would have a hard time coming up with actual lists of things they have done to try to be better at magic; they have perhaps practiced for a handful of hours across several months; they are not learning core skills (like energy work, divination, or trancework); and they are not working off of tried-and-true systems, but are rather setting up camp at the intersection of every possible shortcut (clear quartz, rosemary, and roses are universal substitutes; you don't have to use any physical tools or ingredients; visualization is the same as energy raising; intent is all you need; traditional methods of targeting such as obtaining taglocks are irrelevant; casting a circle is irrelevant; magical headspace is irrelevant; building and consecrating of holy areas such as altars is irrelevant; astrological timing and places of power are irrelevant; going to great lengths to obtain or preserve power is irrelevant).
The other 3% of people pissed on a fairy tree when they were kids and need to spend a couple of months working with a mediator to rectify their relationship with the spirit world.
Do feel free to DM me, if you like.
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Uncensored Genital Photography
The Great Wall of Vulva (plaster casts) and their Labia Library (uncensored photos) Comfortable In My Skin — “Flip Through My Flaps” (vulva) and “Solicited Dick Pics” (penises) Large Labia Project Labia Library Breast Gallery- Nonsexualized Images of real, anonymously submitted breasts Critique My Dick Pic [tumbex archive]- real submitted dick centric nudes
Sex Ed-General
Our Bodies, Ourselves Scarleteen
Trans-General
Trans Bodies, Trans Selves TransBucket- account required, before and after pictures of gender confirmation procedures Trans Digital Archive- historical trans materials r/TransSurgeryWiki -surgery info & reddit-centric link drop DIY HRT Guide
Trans Men/Masc
r/GrowYourTDick (bottom growth) r/Transmascdicks (prosthetic penises) Body Alchemy: Transsexual Portraits by Loren Cameron, which includes images of genitalia in its "Genital Reconstruction" section, page 46. Portraits of clothed trans masculine people other than the author begin on page 34 in the "New Man Series." A Genitoplasty Diary by Lou Sullivan (1984-1987) (no images but fascinating)
Trans Women/Femme
Transfeminine Science r/TransBreastTimelines in-browser recreation of a 90s mac in order to run a 90s trans information CD-Rom
Intersex
InterAct's Intersex FAQ InterAct's collection of informative brochures & guides Intersex Human Rights Australia: Celebrating Intersex Firsts on TV JSTOR: Intersex Narratives: Shifts in the Representation of Intersex Lives in North American Literature and Popular Culture, by Viola Amato Human Rights Campaign: Understanding the Intersex Community GLAAD Media Reference Guide: Intersex People my post with appropriate disclaimers, includes instructions on navigating hostile spaces to view genitalia imagery
Genital Art
The Vulva Gallery for LOTS of educational content, community questions, and vulvas of all kinds, including queer and transmasc people The Body Diversity Gallery for genitals, penises, bellies, bums, bodies, breasts and chests of all kinds conscious_euphoria / Ocean Grove for more queer, nonbinary and transmasc centric content. Similar setup to the vulva gallery with lots of educational content too along with some occasional kink education content (linktree)
#sex education#trans#queer#nonsexual nudity#resources#reference#these are all in a 50k note post roaming tumblr but here they are on their own so i can link them easily
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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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I feel like I should write out some proper thoughts about my opinions on Veilguard, or at least an outline for the much longer essay that is currently calcifying in my heart. It's a mixed bag of a reaction, and I'm not going to compliment sandwiching any of it--this is all just stream of consciousness, so I'm probably going to snag on the negative and spiral down that pretty quickly. Spoilers, obviously:
I liked the battle system. For the first time in a DA game, it actually felt satisfying to play and had its own identity. I do wish the Pokemon element aspect was a little better balanced among the companions, but overall it was great.
That said, considering the length of the game, they needed way more enemy diversity, especially with the bosses. Eventually I was just fighting dragons, and every dragon had essentially the same moveset, one of those moves being "the dragon trips over her own dick and face-plants on top of Rook", which sure doesn't make the fights feel epic. Even very unique characters, like the Gloom Howler, were just reskinned basic demons when it came time to fight them.
The decision to tie companion approval to companion levels was a mistake. A massive and extremely obvious mistake. No wonder there are no disagreements or tension among the group--the game can't let you lose affinity with your team members, because then it would have to account for you leveling them down. The gameplay design here strangled the narrative design in its crib.
Speaking of narrative design: while I appreciate that the modular approach to companion arcs was experimental, it was extremely weird of them to take that approach in the only DA game where all companions are required. The story doesn't have to be written to account for the fact that you might not recruit some of them or they might die early--so why didn't they write one story about Rook and their seven friends instead of one story about Rook and also there are seven smaller, unrelated stories of extremely varying quality shoved in next to it?
The hyperfixation on the companion quests paired with their complete compartmentalization from each other means that each companion basically has nothing going on outside of their own quest and very few opportunities to engage with other characters' quests.
I was so starved for conflict in this game that I went from Solas-neutral to Solas-positive because he was the only character who the game allowed to be a bitch to me, and I respect him for that.
I do like all the horrid little sons the game gives me. I think I would appreciate them more if there was anything bad or tense happening in the story on a personal level that required some comic relief, but I am a sucker for a funky little guy none the less, and Manfred, Assan, and Spite are the perfect trifecta of funky little guys, as far as I'm concerned.
"We're only going to do character cameos if it's important to the plot." *does what they did with Isabela* Okay, devs.
"We aren't importing player choices but we won't override your decisions either." *several codex entries overriding player decisions later* Okay, devs.
I like the companions, generally. I see their potential. Fanfic will do right by them. Harding, in my mind, is the weakest of the bunch, just truly having no personality to speak of and talking like she was written by a Boomer who thinks that Millennials are still teenagers. (Everyone responsible for her uttering the phrase "Awkward..." like she's a character in 2011 quirky girl sitcom should be tried at the fucking Hague, istg.) And while I like Bellara, it was extremely frustrating to have a character that's just "Merrill, again, but with the edges sanded off". Taash and Emmerich are also glaringly the last additions in the writing process, each belonging to one of the two most underbaked factions and neither of them being tied to any of the game's few "big choices". There's promise in this cast, but I don't think any of them came close to realizing their potential.
Davrin and Emmerich's companion quests felt appropriately scoped to the size of the questlines, had good emotionality, good antagonists, and expanded on the lore of Thedas in ways we hadn't seen yet.
Lucanis's companion quest had potential, but it was too unfocused with three antagonists, too much attention to the boring Venatori shit, and not enough examination on Illario's motives or Lucanis's relationships with either Spite or Illario.
Harding's companion quest was fine, I guess (the people are starving for dwarf lore), but Harding could have been swapped out with literally any other dwarven character who wasn't Sandal and nothing would have been different. (Also weird that the whole quest was basically about Sandal while simultaneously fully removing Sandal from the narrative.)
Bellara and Neve's companion quests were just nothing. Just a whole lot of nothing. And Neve's also suffered from what I like to call "machete editing", where it is glaring obviously where things were cut, changed, moved around, and added at the last minute.
I say, from the bottom of my non-binary heart: Taash's companion quest is total ass. Real nice of Mae to come out of hiding and risk being found and executed by the Venatori to give Taash a Queer Theory 101 class, though, I fucking guess.
Is Lucanis's romance bugged? Apparently I'm not the only one who had that thought while I was playing it, so now I'm wondering. Like, there's no way they made it Like That on purpose, right?
Why and how are the Venatori still a force in Thedas, never mind a force with numbers so great (in spite of lacking a central leader) that they were able to simultaneously occupy the two largest cities in Thedas?
They literally didn't even try with the Antaam. The Venatori are at least theoretically still working to try to restore Tevinter to its former imperial might. The Antaam are just invading countries for literally no reason except ill-defined power grabs. Given the racial coding of Qunari, this writing choice sure is...something. (And that something is racist.)
That said, the revelation that the Butcher did a military tour in Europe and fell in love with the culture and just wants to drink wine and visit art museums now is fucking hilarious.
What the absolute FUCK did they do the Crows. I like the Crow characters from Tevinter Nights/the comics, and Zevran is my favorite character in the whole damn franchise, but they completely whitewashed both TN's mafia take on them and their original portrayal in DA:O. But it also doesn't really retcon anything, making it instead seem like the human trafficking and torture and sexual abuse that Zevran suffered at the Crows' hands A) only happened to him individually, and B) are fine, actually??? Even the very few times that characters express reservations about working with Lucanis because he's an assassin, if you play as a Crow, those concerns get immediately backpedaled, so the Crows end up being so ironed out that the game doesn't even let characters say of the Crows, "Murder is bad," lest it hurt a Crow Rook's feelings. That is how conflict-averse the writing is.
So I guess everyone in southern Thedas is...dead now? Several characters survived long enough to get a mention from the Inquisitor, but by the end, it sounds like Orlais, Ferelden, and most of the Free Marches are pretty much donezo. When Epler said the events in southern Thedas didn't matter, I didn't expect that to mean they were going to nuke the damn place. Even having generally enjoyed VG (in spite of all my criticisms here) that, uh...doesn't leave me enthused about the future of the franchise, ngl.
The layoffs of several writers (and other Bioware employees) before the game's release was obviously heinous. But after that secret ending, I'm now of the mind that of the writers that remain, at least a few of them need to be demoted. Like literally what the fuck was that. That was the dumbest plot point to ever appear in a Dragon Age game, and that is a high bar to clear. If you're not going to acknowledge our past choices, then keep Loghain's name out of your fucking mouths.
#dragon age the veilguard#veilguard critical#datv spoilers#veilguard spoilers#i'm sure i'll add more thoughts as i think them
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A little (mostly Dialtown) rant of my own
Ok first of all you all need to calm down, I'm goin on this rant despite not currently being in the dialtown fandom but I was back around when the game first came out. I just feel like I gotta ask you to be calm because I know how agressive people can be online with that shield on anonymity. I also do not hate dialtown or Dogman nor do I blame them for said issues that will be stated.
Dialtown as a whole does pretty obviously have a problem about representation of fem/fem presenting characters especially in the fandom side. As a previous rant stated before most fem characters are either glossed over in favour of male/masc presenting ones, such as with the main dateables. It even extends to side characters which feels rather disheartening. Now I get why its mainly the male/masc presenting ones who get attention, I must highlight the fact that I am a Bi-Ace Transman and I tended to focus on Oliver and Randal over Karen so I was part of the problem on that part. So i get the gender serotonin of drawing them but I hope you can also see how it means that for example, Karen is almost completely overlooked. I would see myself in them because of the shared gender, I really do understand why this has been happening. You are not evil for doing this, that is not what this rant is about in the slightest. Like the previous rant before stated the game doesn't pass the Bechdal test (Which if you are unaware is a media test which requires two fem characters to talk to eachother about anything other then a man, already an extremely low bar to pass) which Dialtown does not pass. It's completely valid to have reservations about that as it is an overall problem with media at large. Media at large is still a white straight cis male dominated space and needs more diversity in all ways. Dialtown as a whole is a good game and has a diverse cast which is wonderful and amazing to see. The only issue is how some are highlighted more then others or demonized in a way that lines up with misogyny (Such as with Mingus' behavior being villainized by the fandom while Stabby and Shooty doing the same thing being ok and lighthearted in the eyes of the fandom which from an outside view just looks like misogyny I am sorry folks. If the only factor in if you like or dislike a characters actions is because they are a woman is misogyny even if they're cis or trans, misogyny is just the word for discrimination in this way) Pointing this out doesn't mean an attack on anyone, pointing out an issue is meant to bring attention to said issue so it can be improved or fixed. The previous person who I have been referencing and paraphrasing here (who I am not going to @ as they don't need more direct harassment) was slightly attacked for having a rant, yes everyone is entitled to their opinion but that does not give either side the right to actively attack the other. Please remain diplomatic.
People are allowed to highlight issues, if we don't then they won't ever get fixed. We're meant to stick together and fix things together, not attack eachother. Thats what people like terfs want us to do, they want us to tear eachother apart so that they get what they want, our destruction. We have to stand together with the things we love. My apologies for how long this ended up being but I just had to get it out of my head. Just my thoughts as a transman/voidrabbit on the topic
#dialtown#dialtown fandom#rant#rant post#mini rant#dialtown rant#my own thoughts#thoughts as a transman#mod cd
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Hi! I really love your memes. Have you already done MBTI types as video games?
Thank you so much!! Honestly, I probably have at some point in the many years, but if I have, it's been a long time, so let's give it a go. I tried to get a mix of old, new, classic, and modern games in, and tried not to give every one a SUPER OBVIOUS game. Hope you like it! 😸
MBTI Types as Video Games
INTP: Slime Rancher
It took everything in my power to not do Portal 2 for INTP, because it seems like the obvious choice and I wanted something other than that. Maybe not as puzzle-oriented, but Slime Rancher captures a different side of INTPs like their affinity for unique experiences through Ne, comfort Si that allows them to organize all their slimes effectively, and their inferior Fe that lets them take care of cute little creatures with minimal risk.
INFP: Minecraft
An instant classic that lets your imagination run wild and live your life the way you think it should be lived, without the limitations of oppressive reality. Build the comfiest home with as many floors, rooms, walls, etc. as you want. Your house wouldn't be structurally sound and is impossible to create in real life? DOESN'T MATTER, it's what the INFP wants, and it what they can have in their own little world.
ENTP: Among Us
A creative and random environment where you have to either find the killer or be the killer terrorizing the space ship crew, interrupted by segments of ARGUING ~*~discussion~*~ about who the imposter might be, followed by voting to eject them into space via mob-mentality? Is there any game more chaotic and perfect for the ENTP to thrive in that I'm missing, here?
ENFP: Skyrim
You are the nonspecific protagonist with unique dragon powers that let you literally scream somebody to death, and, once again, live your life the way you want to live it, as chaotic or lawful as you might want. Become a criminal werewolf who leads a dark, murderous cult by night, and is the dean of a magical college by day? YOU CAN DO THAT.
INTJ: Satisfactory
Slowly and steadily building the most effecient space colony to mine resources and build interesting and novel alien technology? What could the INTJ want more. It won't happen overnight, but the efforts of the INTJ compound with each and every day, and one day, they'll make use of every square inch of the planet's surface for their factory.
INFJ: Coffee Talk
A lesser known game to some, but just as impactful, nonetheless. You're simply a barista in a coffee shop, but you have the pleasure of meeting and hearing the stories of a diverse cast of characters that let you into their unique inner worlds. You'll get to explore their experiences and choose your own dialogue to interact with their lives and offer your input that is tailored to the individual character.
ENTJ: Left 4 Dead
The goal is simple and well-defined: survive the zombie apocolypse. But the only way to do it in this game is to have all 4 players work together in perfect syncronicity as a well-oiled machine to cover all your bases as you traverse each level. It requires delegation of tasks, foresight of what's to come, and just a little bit of quick, thinking-on-your-feet, a perfect combination to engage their Te, Ni, and Se, respectively.
ENFJ: Mario Kart
Everyone knows Mario Kart, and everyone loves Mario Kart. Much like an ENFJ, themselves. Mario Kart has a very low barrier-to-entry so that the majority of people can learn to play quickly, and enjoy time with their friends! It's fun, it's casual, and it requires a bit of that tertiary Se to make some quick turns to finish in first. The game resembles the ENFJ personality itself, and it is a favorite of an ENFJ I know for those same reasons (as she doesn't play many video games).
ISTP: Assassin's Creed
(Couldn't find any good covers with Altair that fit tumblr's format, so I did Ezio, the fan favorite (and also probably an ENFJ assassins which is p cool?))
The franchise has undergone a lot of change over the years, so I do NOT mean the RPG elements, but rather the original elements of the games that made them so great! ISTPs would rather have a more focused way to engage the game, instead of the endless possibilities of an open-world, anyway. Quick reactions to stay hidden, a good grasp of the terrain around you and how to use it against your enemies, and a solid amount of Ti to calculate the most logical time to strike makes for a great way to engage the ISTP's top functions.
ISTJ: Super Smash Bros
Again, the goal is simple, fight your friends and be the last one standing. The rules are simple, in fact, they are completely customizable so you can save your settings to define exactly what kind of experience you want to have, and you know what to expect. You can play it simple with a set number of lives and no items, or you can crank the spawn rate of all items up to the max, if you're in a particularly low-Ne, (low-risk) feeling, kind of mood. Still, the goal is always the same. Hone your strategy, defeat your friends (or foes lmao)
ISFP: The Sims
Introverted by nature, they appreciate being able to spend some time alone without having to give up the things they like about the sensory world, including house and clothing fashion-design. These aesthetics were made to be seen, but sometimes they can only be made in a video game, and sometimes you need a break from real people. It's a realistic enough game that they can connect with it in a more relatable way than more abstract types of games, but they still please the Fi desire to live their personal life the way they wish without the limitations of reality.
ISFJ: Animal Crossing
Again, it's a familiar environment, with just a little flaire to excite that inferior Ne. You've got what seems like endless tasks (in a good way lmao) to keep you busy taking care of your island, and also forming positive relationships with your fellow residents! You get to meet new people, help solve the residents' problems, become a pillar of your community, and at the end of the day, retire to your cozy home.
ESTP: Palworld
It's new, it's weird but somehow familiar, it's Pokemon with guns. It might not be the most "original" game, but it was an inspiration nonetheless for the simple fact that it took all of the known successful elements of gameplay that people enjoy from other games, and put them all into one game that, for lack of better words, "just gives the people what they want". What you see is what you get, and it packs a punch.
ESTJ: Dark Souls
Although it is the more introverted game compared to ISTJ, it requires an incredible amount of strategy in order to champion this game. The medieval themes are familiar, but that's the only comfort the game provides due to its overwhelmingly punishing gameplay style that only the thickest of skin can overcome. What says thick skin like inferior Fi?
ESFP: Rocket League
It's extreme soccor (or football for my friends from across the pond), but instead of playing as people, you play as cars with rockets to propel them. Why, they ask? Because you want to, obviously. Realisitic enough that the concept is still based in a familiar reality, but the mayhem and competetion has been dialed up to 11 simply because it makes it more interesting that way. Again, what you see is what you get, AND IT PACKS A PUNCH.
ESFJ: Tabletop Simulator
It might seem like an odd choice, but hear me out. It's social, it's familiar, it's easy to jump into, and you're not limited to the physical copies of games that your friends have at their houses - you've got, like, any tabletop game you could possibly want to play! It alleviates the limitations we feel in real life when we want to play games with friends, but maintains the integrity of connection and fun you have with them. PLUS, you can flip the table after losing a game for comedic effect without making a mess in someone's IRL home.
#mbti#mbti personalities#mbti types#mbti personality types#intp#infp#entp#enfp#intj#entj#infj#enfj#istp#istj#estp#estj#isfp#isfj#esfp#esfj#16 personalities#16 personality types#ask#tigreblvnc
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Career and Purpose Series - 9th Degree Sagittarius
When I think of the 9th degree, I think of the spark that drove Chris McCandless in Into the Wild. It’s the thrill of leaving, a map folded in the back pocket and a bag packed with nothing more than a few tattered books, a notebook thick with musings, and a passport heavy with the weight of a hundred foreign stamps.
It hums with the spirit of wanderlust and the quest for truth,—a promise of places untold, cultures to be immersed in, and revelations still to be uncovered. It's the energy of turning nothing into something.
This degree is the soul of the seeker. It’s the call of a mountain’s summit, whispering of heights yet to be reached and sights yet to be seen. It doesn’t settle, doesn’t bind itself to tradition or commitment but favors the freedom to move, to shift, and to grow. Like a breeze that changes direction, Sagittarius’ mutable nature ensures that this energy is always in motion, always curious, and never quite satisfied. It has an adventurous mindset, It’s the gaze that lingers just a second longer on a road sign, wondering, Where could this lead?
In its purest form, this energy favors teachers, guides, and spiritual wanderers—even life coaches. Those unafraid to cast their nets far and wide in the search for meaning, eager to share what they gather along the way.
Every barrier faced is met with the silent mantra, Teach me the way, with the understanding that each obstacle is simply a lesson in disguise. They are the ones who willingly step into new worlds, thriving in lands where language is different, the customs unfamiliar, and the faces tell stories of places yet unknown. For them, there’s beauty in the discomfort of newness, in the unspoken knowledge that growth requires stepping outside what’s known.
Careers
Preacher
Life Coach
Teachers
Spiritual Leaders
Entrepreneur in the Wellness Industry
Researcher or Anthropologist
Archeologist or Historian
Philosophical Writer or Spiritual Guide
Publisher / Publishing House
Marketing
Media Correspondent or Journalist
Law Enforcement Officer
Travel-Based Careers (e.g., Flight Attendant, Pilot)
Judge
University Professor
International Relations Specialist or Diplomat
Travel Blogger or Tour Guide
Multiple Professions.
Sag carries with it, BIG marketing energy.
People with Sag or 9H placements tend to be great people to utilize for marketing campaigns.
Career & Purpose of the 9th Degree:
Worldly Respect and Recognition There’s an innate magnetism in those influenced by the 9th degree—a quiet authority that draws admiration and respect. They become seekers, masters in the knowledge they pursue, often casting their influence far beyond their immediate circle. With time, their lives read like stories of expansive knowledge, ever-growing influence, and answers to questions that many dare not even ask. These individuals are often called to serve a greater purpose, to inspire, to uplift, and to lead by example.
Celebrity Energy with Humble Influence
If you’re gonna be internationally famous you HAVE to have a Sag, 9H, or strong Jupiter influence in the chart. These things represent energy that expands beyond the homeland, represents things that are “global”
The 9th degree radiates a quiet fame, the kind of recognition rooted not in performance, but in authenticity. There’s a natural relatability in their pursuits that inspires and uplifts those around them. They invite connection, share openly, and exude the type of wisdom that resonates deeply. Like Oprah’s Saturn at the 9th degree, they carry a grounding humility that amplifies their reach without losing the warmth that drew others to them in the first place.
Global or Cross-Cultural Impact At the heart of the 9th degree is the desire to bridge divides, to seek out and celebrate the wisdom of diverse perspectives, and to find commonality across borders. This degree is a natural fit for roles that traverse nations, languages, and traditions, pushing them to share, connect, and give back on a global scale. They often find themselves drawn to international work, humanitarian efforts, and social justice, where they can bring people together and spark change.
Leveraging the 9th Degree’s Influence:
Engage with diverse communities: Explore beyond your comfort zone and seek out cross-cultural exchanges. Your purpose often blossoms when challenged by new perspectives.
Stay true to your vision: Growth is gradual, and your impact grows with consistent dedication. Don’t let obstacles or doubt divert you from the path.
Embrace the journey of discovery: Challenges are a part of the adventure. Each one offers a new horizon, a fresh possibility, and the thrill of growth.
With planets at the 9th degree, your path isn’t a straight line but an unfolding adventure. Embrace each turn, for every step widens your world, connecting you to the wisdom of the ages, the thrill of new horizons, and the call to live expansively and freely. This is the 9th degree—fueled by wonder, lit by discovery, and bound to inspire.
#astrology#astrology facts#horoscope facts#Zodiac Signs#horoscope#zodiac facts#zodiac signs facts#star signs facts#star signs#Aries#taurus#Gemini#Cancer#leo#virgo#libra#scorpio#Sagittarius#Capricorn#Aquarius#Pisces
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Fairy Tail S-Class Requirments
Also known as: How are Natsu and Gray NOT S-Class at the start of the series?
I just double-checked to make sure, and according to the official timeline Erza became an S-Class Mage at 15, and I know Mirajane was an S-Class mage at least 2 years before the start of the series. So, given what we know of how S-Class mages are selected and what we see of Gray and Natsu, how are they not S-Class by the start of the series? Yeah the two of them aren't as powerful as Erza or Mira, but by the time the story starts Erza has been S-Class for a good 4 years and I highly doubt that when those two are 18 neither are as powerful and skilled as Erza was at 15 or Mira was right before Lisanna was believed to have died. Logically speaking it makes no sense.
Yes I know there is a narrative reason, that the entire point of having the S-Class ranking acts as a way to say which mages are actual threats to the main cast and which ones really aren't, but according to the rules set by the actual story and the events that are showcased to us, both Natsu and Gray are at the required levels of power, skill, and overall magical ability to be S-Class at the very start of the story. So the only reason I can think of for why the two don't already have that ranking is because the previous trials had the likes of Laxus and Erza be the primary judges as the only active S-Class mages around during the trials, and not only are both of them far from normal in terms of S-Class ability but at that point Laxus actively hates most members of Fairy Tail for not being as brutal and dominating as he believes they should be while Erza seems incapable of recognizing that the people she grew up with have changed and grown over the years unless the changes are very quick and drastic.
Don't believe me? She straight up saw that Natsu beat Eragor, who she thought would require both him and Gray to defeat, and later saw him beat an S-Class equivalent from another guild-- Gajeel-- and kick the ass of someone who had just nearly killed her-- Jellal (Though admittingly that one happened with aid from a temporary power boost)-- and yet she still constantly seems to doubt his power outside of the events of Fantasia.
It's just annoying and makes no sense to me.
I asked around on other sites and the responses I got had reasons like needing to know and use more than one magic, having the skill and maturity to lead a team, and being able to minimize the amount of destruction they cause, but the S-Class mages we do see all dispove that by lacking at least one if not several of those qualifications.
Gildarts is the most destructive of the Fairy Tail mages, only seems to know and use one type of magic, and never works with partners or a team.
Laxus does know more than one type of magic but only ever seems to utilize Lightning magic outside of the one time he used projection magic during the Battle of Fairy Tail so I'm not sure if that counts, he does act as the leader of a team but we never see him actually fight alongside them instead of just saying 'go do this while I supervise', and we never see or hear of him being particularly destructive. So he checks more boxes than Gildarts, but not all of them or particularly well.
Erza seems to be just as destructive as Natsu and Gray, has the most diverse use of magic via using different magical elemental and stat boosting armors, and was never was part of a team before the start of the series.
Mira's different transformations seem to mostly just give her different levels of power increases, the team she lead got their asses handed to them the first time she took them on a dangerous quest, her other magics are not combat-ready, and when she does fight she does leave a LOT of collateral damage in her wake.
Finally, Mystogan has the diversity of magic down pat and doesn't seem to cause too much destruction, but he never works with anyone or even has any meaningful social bonds with the people of Fairy Tail during his tenure in the guild.
So in all it really does seem that the only thing that matters when it comes to being in the S-Class is having the combat ability necessary to potentially tackle the dangers of an S-Class fight. So why aren't Natsu and Gray already S-Class at the start of the series at ages 18ish? I really do think they were sabotaged by Laxus being a dick, Gildarts and Mystogan not being part of the trials, and Erza not being able to gauge someone's strength beyond 'more powerful than me' and 'less powerful than me'. It's the only in-universe reasoning that I can think of given the evidence shown to us on how the S-Class exams work and who already possesses the rank.
#Fairy Tail#natsu dragneel#gray fullbuster#erza scarlet#gildarts clive#laxus dreyar#mystogan#S-Class#Fairy Tail Lore#Lore#World Building#World Building Analysis#character analysis#rant#rant post
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Introduction
There are no new ideas. There are only new ways of making them felt.
—Audre Lorde[1]
People who talk about revolution and class struggle without referring explicitly to everyday life, without understanding what is subversive about love and what is positive in the refusal of constraints—such people have a corpse in their mouth.
—Raoul Vaneigem[2]
Do not think that one has to be sad in order to be a militant, even though the thing one is fighting is abominable.
—Michel Foucault[3]
I
This book is an attempt to amplify some quiet conversations that have been happening for a long time, about the connections between resisting and thriving, about how we relate to each other in radical movements today, and about some of the barriers to collective transformation.
There is something that circulates in many radical movements and spaces, draining away their transformative potential. Anyone who has frequented these spaces has felt it. Many (including us) have actively participated in it, spread it, and been hurt by it. It nurtures rigidity, mistrust, and anxiety precisely where we are supposed to feel most alive. It compels us to search ourselves and others ruthlessly for flaws and inconsistencies. It crushes experimentation and curiosity. It is hostile to difference, complexity, and nuance. Or it is the most complex, the most nuanced, and everyone else is simplistic and stupid. Radicalism becomes an ideal and everyone becomes deficient in comparison.
The anxious posturing, the vigilant search for mistakes and limitations, the hostility that crushes a hesitant new idea, the way that critique becomes a reflex, the sense that things are urgent yet pointless, the circulation of the latest article tearing apart bad habits and behaviors, the way shaming others becomes comfortable, the ceaseless generation of necessities and duties, the sense of feeling guilty about one’s own fear and loneliness, the clash of political views that requires a winner and a loser, the performance of anti-oppressive language, the way that some stare at the floor or look at the door. We know these tendencies, intimately. We have seen them circulating, and felt them pass through us.
When we began talking with friends about this, there were immediate head nods, and sometimes excited eruptions—“YES! Finally someone is going to talk about this publicly!” No one knew exactly what it was or where it came from, but many knew exactly what we were talking about. Like us, they had felt it and participated in it. They had discussed it quietly and carefully with people they trusted. But it was hard to unpack, for a whole bunch of reasons. To complain or criticize it came with the risk of being attacked, shamed, or cast out. This phenomenon is difficult to talk about because it presents itself as the most radical, the most anti-oppressive, the most militant. It shape-shifts and multiplies itself: sometimes it appears as one rigid line, at other times as a proliferation of positions, arrayed against each other. How is it that explicitly radical, anti-oppressive, or anti-authoritarian spaces—the places where people should feel most alive and powerful—can sometimes feel cold, stifling, and rigid? What contributes to a climate in which one is never radical enough, where we have to continually prove our radicalness to others? What makes insecurity, distrust, anxiety, guilt, and shame so pervasive? Where does all this come from? What is this thing? Is it one thing, or many? What activates it, stokes it, and how can it be warded off?
We are not the first to try to get ahold of this phenomenon. It has gone by many names—sad militancy, grumpywarriorcool, manarchism, puritanism—each of which emphasizes different elements and sources. In this book, we call it rigid radicalism. Our research and experience lead us to think that its origins are as diverse as the phenomenon itself. Some say rigid radicalism comes from the way heteropatriarchy poisons intimacy with trauma and violence, while separating politics from everyday life. Others point to origins in the narcissistic and guilt-ridden individualism nurtured by whiteness. Or it is the way schooling replaces creativity and curiosity with conformity and evaluation. Or the humiliation of a life organized by capitalism, in which we are all pitted in petty competitions with each other. Or the way cynicism evolves from attempts to avoid pain and failure. Or it is identity politics fused with neoliberalism. And the terror and anxiety of a world in crisis. And the weakening of movements and a decline in militancy. Or it is the existence of radical milieus as such. And the deep insecurity nurtured by social media and its injunction to public performance. Or it is morality, or ideology, or the Left, or the Maoists, or the nihilists, or the moralists, or the ghost of Lenin. Probably there is some truth to all of these: it is definitely a tangled web.
It is important to say, from the outset, that we do not think the problem is simply anger, conflict, or difference. Whenever people name and challenge oppression and violence, there are almost always reactionaries telling them they are doing it wrong, that they need to be polite, nice, reasonable, peaceful, or patient. We want nothing to do with attempts to regulate resistance.
For this reason, we do not believe rigid radicalism can be countered by inventing a new set of norms for how to behave, or setting out a new ideal of what radicalism should be. There can be no instructions. This would just create a new ideal to measure ourselves against. It would just add to a long list of shoulds, dos, and don’ts that reactivates the problem. We hope to help undo tendencies towards regulation and policing, rather than playing into them.
Maybe we are stoking rigid radicalism right now, in writing about it. Searching out its roots and inner workings can recreate a stifling atmosphere where we feel like we are stuck, always lacking, always messing up, with no escape. Pointing to shame, rigidity, guilt, competition, or anxiety does not make them go away, and might make things worse. It is not a question of revealing the fact that we don’t treat each other well sometimes, or that movements can turn in on themselves; we know this already. These tendencies are a public secret: widely known, but difficult to talk about.[4] Tracing origins might not tell us much about what to do here and now. It is not about a few bad apples, or a few bad behaviors. For us at least, it cannot be reduced to those people over there, because we feel it arise in ourselves as well. There is no way to purify our movements of these tendencies, because the desire for purity is part of the problem.
So our project is not about being against rigid radicalism. We have become convinced that rigid radicalism cannot be countered by critique alone. Our critique and interrogation are a way of asking: how can we be otherwise? What makes it possible to activate something different? How to protect the something different once it gains traction? How to share experiences of places and spaces where something different is already taking place—where people feel more alive and capable?
The first step, for us, has been to affirm that we are already otherwise: we all have parts of ourselves that are drawn towards other ways of being. Everyone has glimmers, at least, of the ways that fierceness can be intertwined with kindness, and curiosity with transformation. Every space is a complex ecology of different tendencies. Rigid radicalism is always only one tendency among others. There are—and always have been—many places and spaces where alternatives are in full bloom. Beyond merely diagnosing or combating rigid radicalism, we seek to affirm the multiplicity of ways that spaces can be otherwise.
#joy#anarchism#joyful militancy#resistance#community building#practical anarchy#practical anarchism#anarchist society#practical#revolution#daily posts#communism#anti capitalist#anti capitalism#late stage capitalism#organization#grassroots#grass roots#anarchists#libraries#leftism#social issues#economy#economics#climate change#climate crisis#climate#ecology#anarchy works#environmentalism
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agree in general with the post about character design but Genshin Impact is not just "avoiding friction" with its samey thin character designs but rather is also constrained by its medium and materials cost.
the characters in dungeon meshi don't have to move*, so they can have more distinct facial features, body types, etc. that would normally require much more effort to animate in a dynamic gameplay environment. the moment your guys start moving, especially in 3d environments, flat colors and simple shapes take the day:
*"but dungeon meshi has an anime!" - yeah, more on that later
now obviously, this still allows you diversity in body type (I mean I literally put Monsters, Inc. in this example, just look at Sully, the big blue guy,) but the closer you get to human the less creative liberties you are going to get to take with physics and anatomy.
The Incredibles isn't just a landmark film because Brad Bird managed to sneak an Ayn Rand novel into a 1 hour, 55 minute runtime, but because the art team managed a distinctive cast of human characters who aren't uncanny valley monsters, which was a first for Pixar. I don't think it's a coincidence that the most dynamic action scenes still feature the characters' limbs in largely flat, one-or-two tone uniforms:
(Note that they still kinda cheated by making everyone a tubular homunculus. The Incredibles is a damn good looking film but it's also a good example of how style lets you get away with a lot.)
Even Dungeon Meshi's own anime favors a cleaner, flatter style to accommodate motion (although note that it's still fucking gorgeous and I think most would agree it still captures the spirit of Ryoko Kui's work):
add in that 3d environments with free movement are inherently more complex, and a desire to reuse assets as much as humanly possible to save effort (because sadly artists in games are still treated as loss leaders) and it's no surprise that Genshin Impact has the same 3 body types and faces with different pieces on them
I actually think it's very rare that most commercial character artists are avoiding character design diversity out of fear but rather due to the unreasonable constraints on their work.
My proof? Hoyoverse, the creators of Genshin Impact, wouldn't have given Ben Bigger a bespoke model in ZZZ if there wasn't a character artist in there who wanted more than the bare minimum mass appeal designs:
My takeaway here is not that we should let lowest common denominator design teams get away with a lack of character diversity scot-free, but that we also have to systemically understand the material conditions and medium constraints the works are made under. el problema es el capitalsmo and all that. (assuming you agree with me that it's a flaw, anyway)
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More Patapon specbio stuff! Baby ‘pons, ‘tons and karmen are called chicks because they’re somewhat similar to bird chicks, with their downy coats and all. Although a more apt name would be sprouts or seedlings, since in my head all 3 species are plants.
Text under the cut since I know the patapon font can be hard to read!
About Mater trees and how chicks are made:
Each species has their own ‘Mater,’ which is the reproductive caste of their respective species- think something like a Queen ant. Only the Mater of Patapons can revive the dead through their caps, though the trees of both Karmen and Patapons can produce fully-grown clones. All three trees can produce seeds that hatch into chicks.
Two parents will take tufts of fur or pieces of their caps, plus other materials, and bury them under the roots of the tree. After a while, one of the immature seeds on the tree’s branches will grow into a fertile one and drop off!
Given a few months, this seed will hatch into a chick with a mix of the parents’ genetics (which helps prevent low genetic diversity caused by just cloning or reviving the dead.) If one of the parents was a rarepon, the chick might be too! Species hybrids are also possible.
About chicks:
Patapon chicks are altricial, sprouted with eyes sealed shut and a covering of white down. They can’t walk for the first few months of their lives and require significant parental care. At several years of age a Patapon will shed it’s downy coat to reveal the bristly, stark black pelt beneath.
Zigoton chicks sprout already darkly colored and are precocial, capable of walking mere minutes after hatching from their seed. Their pelt is softer than an adult Zigoton’s, and at several years of age will be shed as they grow into their adult coat.
Karmen chicks are similar to those of Patapons due to both species sharing a recent common ancestor. The biggest differences are eye and coat color- Karmen chicks are a darker grey as opposed to a stark white.
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Lisa Needham at Daily Kos:
Conservative Texas District Judge Reed O’Connor took time out of his packed schedule of trying to destroy the Affordable Care Act to hand down a genuinely unhinged decision. According to O’Connor, American Airlines violated federal law by offering 401(k) plans that included funds managed by investment companies with environmental, social, and corporate governance (ESG) goals. It’s the newest—and dumbest—front in the war on “woke.” The Employee Retirement Security Act of 1974 (ERISA) requires people who manage retirement investments to act in the best interests of their participants. This is a good thing! It means that fund managers can’t put their own financial interests first and must diversify a fund’s investments to minimize the risk of significant losses. This lawsuit arose when a former pilot sued American Airlines in 2023, saying it violated ERISA by mismanaging 401(k) funds. Was it because somehow the company lined its pockets with the hard-earned cash of retirees? Nope. Was it because the company’s 401(k) funds were performing terribly? Nope. It was because American Airlines hired BlackRock, the world’s largest asset manager that oversees trillions of investment dollars, to manage its retirement funds. Several years ago, BlackRock started positioning itself as a leader in its focus on environmental sustainability in investing. In 2021, BlackRock, then the second-largest holder of Exxon stock, cast a proxy vote on behalf of activist investors who wanted climate-conscious directors on the corporation’s board. Lest this make it sound like BlackRock was just one step away from partnering with Greta Thunberg or something, the company still has billions invested in fossil fuels and runs the world’s largest Bitcoin fund. It’s a fund manager, not Santa Claus. BlackRock also spent the last year retreating from its previous support for climate activism, which is unsurprising given that 11 red states recently sued over it. The usual suspects, like Florida, Louisiana, and Texas, have also pulled state assets out of BlackRock, but the American Airlines lawsuit was the first successful attack on ESG investing in 401(k) plans.
[...] Conservatives are treating the elimination of ESG and DEI efforts as if the boot of government is finally off their backs, allowing corporations to finally unleash their true potential. But these sorts of actions—committing to net zero emissions and ensuring diversity and equity in the workforce—weren’t the scary, woke socialist ideas of Barack Obama, Joe Biden, or Nancy Pelosi. Rather, they’re actions that corporations took in an attempt to make themselves appear more attractive within a capitalist, free-market framework. But conservatives are no longer interested in a free market—hence the screaming about “woke capitalism.” With Trump back in office, they’ll get to use the heavy hand of government to reward only the corporations that share Trump’s climate-denying, white supremacist, anti-trans views.
The right’s war on ESG and DEI will have disastrous consequences.
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I PRESENT TO YOU: THE DUNGEON HORDE
Horde mode is a cooperative mtg format. 2-3 players get 3 turns before the horde takes its first turn. The horde deck consists of 60 token and 40 nontoken cards. It reveals cards until a nontoken card is revealed. The horde has infinite mana. All revealed tokens enter play and the nontoken card is cast. All creatures the horde controls have haste and must attack if able. If the horde must make a decision it does so randomly, if it makes a target it cannot target itself or permanents it controls.
Players attack the horde back and damage dealt mills from the top of the horde deck. Players win when the horde mills out entirely.
I designed this horde as a dnd or dungeon based horde, as if players are delving into the dungeon itself. There is a diverse set of tokens with “mini boss” tokens with keywords like trample, regenerate, death touch, flying. There’s a number of effects requiring dice rolls. There’s also a number of iconic dnd monsters and effects in the horde deck itself.
As its dnd themed I’ve added a number of goodies to make games spicy!
First, players may select backgrounds from a random draft based on their deck’s colors. There’s four from each color picked to fit with the horde’s rules. Backgrounds are added to the command zone whether or not your commander has Backstory.
I’ve also added The Undercity/Initiative to the game! In this format if you deal combat damage to the horde you Venture into the Undercity.
Lastly I’ve added two treasure chests to the horde deck! These do not count as nontoken reveals BUT they do allow the players to do one of two things depending on the setup.
Players may roll as if they opened a treasure chest and reap rewards and continue the turn as normal. OR. Up to 4 treasures are revealed for players to each draft one putting the card in their hand or onto the battlefield under their control.
Some treasures require more powerful synergy. Some are just good on their own.
And that’s the dungeon horde! Fully playable, cooperative, with lots of bits and bobs to make games different.
My next project is to develop horde emblems. As players deal damage to the horde the horde gets additional reveals. I want to make emblems where the horde deck gets one reveal per emblem, giving a visual indicator on the power level of the horde. Then I want to make big bad evil guy emblems: special emblems themed around dnd villains like Strahd that enhance the horde deck for optional difficulty. I’ll post when made ^^
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Train of thought:
Drawing Julieta for the first time and I am honestly shocked by how light she actually is, like I went through and color picked from a few scenes and even in the darkest one she just wasn’t as dark as I remember. Probably because she’s always next to one of the lighter people in her family like Agustín and/or Pepa. At the same time her skin tone is so warm and it really puts things into perspective like how Agustín and Pepa are lighter than Julieta, but Bruno is paler. And that got me thinking about how one of the advantages of having such a big cast is that they can show off the diversity of skin tones, especially in the case of a Latino family.
And that got me thinking about that one interview Stephanie Beatriz did where she said when she got cast for Brooklyn Nine Nine, she hadn’t been expecting it because they had already cast a Latina actress and it’s sort of unheard of to cast two actors of the same gender and color unless the story requires it or that color is white. But because Brooklyn Nine Nine had two Latina women they had more freedom to characterize both because they weren’t saying something about Latinas as a whole if Rosa is angry while Amy is anxious, they were saying something about just those characters as individuals.
And that got me thinking about how there being so many Madrigals means there’s technically room for so many different forms of representation. You can headcanon that Camilo and Antonio have completely different relationships with their race, because there being two black boys who have mixed race parents means there’s room to tell more stories about those experiences. You can headcanon Bruno and Pepa as having varying anxiety disorders whether they be OCD or something else, because there’s room for that. You can headcanon that multiple Madrigals are bi or demi or gay and they all have very different experiences when it comes to exploring their sexualities because there’s room for that. And you can headcanon that these characters are dealing with the way their race, their sexualities, and their potential mental health disorders all mesh together to form small parts of their complicated identities because that’s realistic to people’s lived experiences there’s room for that too.
And that got me thinking that Disney probably won’t get into any of that if we get more canon content, because they’re motivated by profit margins. I can sit here and think about how being GNC in a small catholic village would affect Luisa’s relationship to her gender, but Disney definitely isn’t going to give us an episode about how racism and sexism blend together to tell WOC they’re not feminine enough. That won’t sell well in conservative markets. I can sit here and wonder how long it took Camilo to notice that the difference between transforming into a man and transforming into a woman is way less distinct than he thought it’d be, but Disney definitely isn’t going to give us a Pride month special about how biological sex is more of a spectrum than we think and gender is a cultural construct. That won’t sell well in conservative markets. And I can play around with a fic idea about Luisa and Camilo eventually comparing their relationships with gender, but I know Disney is never going to show that sorta discussion happening in one of their IP’s. Because that won’t sell well in conservative markets.
(Wait, my dog needs to go out. Seriously? It’s almost 3 am? If I get murdered taking you on a walk at 3am then you’re grounded from milkbones for a week. Not enough stars out tonight. Hold on, let me pick it up, you might be an animal but I’m not, can’t just leave your mess where somebody might step on it. Ok, let’s go back. No, you don’t get another chicken jerky just because we’re doing bedtime again, the bag says a dog your size should only have one a day. Ready for lights out? I love you too, sleep well.)
And that got me thinking that I sorta hope Disney never confirms any of the Madrigals genders or sexuality. Would it be awesome if Disney took advantage of this giant cast to introduce kids to the sheer variety of experiences life holds? Of course! Do I believe for one second that’s what’s going to happen? Not with the current leadership. If we’re lucky, they’ll give Bruno a “friend” who happens to be a man, and Bruno will hold his hand once right before the show gets canceled because it “isn’t doing well with its target audience”. Then because they won’t have confirmed if he’s bi, gay, sexually fluid, ace and gay-romantic, demi and pan-romantic, or any one of the many sexual identities a person can be when they hold hands with somebody the same gender as them, there’ll be fandom wars over it. I will once again have to see somebody say that saying a character is bi is LGBT erasure because it means you can ship that character in a het ship. And I don’t want to deal with that.
And that got me thinking about all the people that are “not marginalized enough to count”. People who supposedly have passing privilege, people whose gender or sexuality is considered trendy, people whose disabilities are invisible. I’m hungry for discussions about those folks, about people like myself. I don’t think I’m going to find a nuanced discussion about identity on the Disney channel, but I wish that when I was a kid there had been a Saturday morning cartoon that sat me down and said “Someday people might tell you there ain’t a place for you in the mainstream, so you’ll go find other folks who don’t fit, but they’ll tell you you’re too mainstream to belong with them. All of those people will be wrong, almost nobody gets a full privilege bingo, life isn’t a dichotomy between mainstream and weirdos. We’re all shades of gray”. But that’s an incredibly complex thing to teach a kid, and again, it doesn’t sell well.
And now I am thinking about how incredibly nuanced the original movie is, and maybe I shouldn’t be so pessimistic, maybe Disney will let the original creative team take the helm. Sure, it’s still doubtful that we would get to see all the shades of queer on a Disney show, but we might get good representation for mental illness. And if the original creative team is in charge it will definitely have a plethora of fleshed out, complex female characters. Not to mention, while I may not be qualified to judge whether or not they’re giving accurate representation to people of color and folks from Colombia, I did read a lot of happy reviews from people who are qualified to judge that. I wouldn’t have gotten so invested in the movie if the writing team hadn’t done such a good job making believable characters, maybe I should trust them.
My dog is snoring, can’t see her but it sounds like she settled in the bed next to her water. I should sleep too. Good night.
#personal#encanto#stream of consciousness#long post#foggy rambles#I don’t trust Disney#but I also love how much potential the world of Encanto has#Encanto thoughts
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