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ineffable-suffering · 1 year ago

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Ceci n'est pas une plume.

(from this doc of all of Neil's answered asks)

The meta goes a little like this: I like nerdy stuff about language (and also Good Omens), so I wanted to elaborate on why Angels and Demons don't actually ever speak any language except their own. They simply have the ability to flick a translation switch and (make anyone) understand what's being said in whatever other language.

Also, I end up making a way deeper point of it and why it's so telling that Aziraphale would learn French (and magic) the hard way, in the end.

Find out with me under the cut!

(Word count: 1820 | Reading time: ~8 minutes )

Aziraphale and Crowley's exchange in front of Marguerite's restaurant started me down this path and I'm pretty sure that this is actually how it works. Because it ties together a few other loose strings that have been floating around in my head about the whole langue deal in Good Omens.

Let's structure this by the questions Neil has already answered about it.

The Lead Balloon

I feel like the "in the beginning"-scene in S2 showed us that Crowley did not actually have much of an idea what exactly the plan for Earth and the humans were (instead, Aziraphale did). He might have found out later still, after asking his questions, but I feel like the second part of that answer is more likely to be true, since they both seem to understand this metaphor. This is further supported by:

Ergo: They're speaking in the language of Angels but we understand it in English (or whatever language we selected on our Amazon Prime). Automatically translated for us because Crowley and Aziraphale wanted us to understand them.

"Ciao. It's Italian. It means Food."

They sort of are, yes. Idiots who either forgot to turn on their own auto-translator, or idiots who aren't aware that they have one for other languages except English, or idiots who were miffed that Crowley actually knew-knew a word in another language and didn't want to admit that they didn't.

Où est la plume de la jardinière de ma tante?

Right, so. The exchange that fuelled this meta. First of all, as a funny side note, the origin of that peculiar sentence:

La plume de ma tante ("my aunt's quill") is a phrase in popular culture, attributed to elementary French language instruction (possibly as early as the 19th century) and used as an example of grammatically correct phrases with limited practical application that are sometimes taught in introductory foreign language texts. As Life magazine said in 1958, "As every student knows, the most idiotically useless phrase in a beginner's French textbook is la plume de ma tante (the quill of my aunt)." The phrase is also used to refer to something deemed completely irrelevant. [link]

So basically, it's historically the most nonsensical and dumb phrase any student of the French language gets taught. And yet Aziraphale has been "wittering on about it for the last 250 years". Even looking smug about it, to this very day. Gave me a good chuckle.

Also:

In the 1973 horror film The Exorcist, Catholic priest Damien Karras interviews [...] a girl believed to suffer from demonic possession. While Karras probes to determine whether the possession is a hoax, the demon Pazuzu—who has possessed the girl—speaks in Latin and French, languages presumably unknown to the girl. When Karras demands "Quod nomen mihi est?/What is my name?" in Latin, the demon exclaims "La plume de ma tante!", using the phrase as a non sequitur to mock and evade Karras' line of questioning. [link]

Using that particular phrase to avoid answering a question you're being asked? Like: "You speak every language in the world perfectly ...

Neil, Neil, Neil, *shakes head fondly*, is there anything that you don't give layered meaning to, ever? No. No, of course you don't. And I adore you for it.

The whereabouts of the aunt's gardener's pen questioned, Aziraphale then says "But you still understood me" when Crowley calls him out for his bad French.

This is curious and affirming of my auro-translator theory for two reasons:

1) Aziraphale wouldn't have said this if he'd uttered this sentence in the language of Angels and simply hit the auto-translate button. Because if he had done it that way, of course Crowley would have understood him. But the reason Crowley understands him is not because Aziraphale used his language auto-translate, but because, again, Aziraphale, for two hundred and fifty years, has been wittering on about the plume of his imaginary tante.

2) Point one is further proven by a tiny French nerdy fact I can provide because I actually did learn and graduate in French back in school, lol. Because Crowley actually makes a mistake while trying to not-automatically translate the sentence. He says:

But "jarndinère" is actually a female gardener (le jardinier = male, la jardinière = female). So, when Crowley says "he doesn't have a pen", he actually gets it wrong, which further proves to me that he (as well as all other angels and demons) doesn't actually understand the phrase like someone does who has learnt the language in a human way.

Crowley doesn't have the automated translation on in this moment, so he doesn't translate it correctly. Because he doesn't actually speak French. At least not in the sense that us humans interpret "speaking a language".

Comment ça?

Basically, what I'm trying to get at is: Would you say that Google Translate speaks every language in the world? That it's native and fluent in every tongue ever spoken? Or is it simply a program that can access all the language knowledge its been fed and as soon as you hit enter, it translates any and every language back to you?

Google Translate never learnt any language, it never sat down and went through the onslaughts of vocabulary and grammar that studying a language comes with. It never got frustrated with seemingly nonsensical sentence structures, subjonctifs (French-learnes, you know what I mean) tenses and conjugations. It never spent ages trying to understand different dialects and accents, never spoke with natives to figure out the hidden slangs and sarcasms that would never be translated on paper. It never went to night classes where the teacher wittered on about pens and gardeners and aunts.

No. Google Translate is being told a sentence and it soullessly, programatically recognizes the language through its binary coded translation filter and mirrors the equivalent in whatever other language you want it to.

It's furthest any-a thing could be from speaking a language.

And exactly like that.

Exactly like that is how angels and demons "speak" every language in the World. Hitting an imaginary auto-translate-and-auto-recognition button.

Aziraphale and French (and magic)

Just like with Aziraphale being giddy about the idea of human magic, of learning card tricks and pulling coins out from behind ears, Aziraphale chose to never hit his translate button when it came to French.

Why does Aziraphale learn magic the human way? Because he knows how to do it the ethereal way but that's "no fun."

And why does Aziraphale learn French the human way? Because he knows how to do it the ethereal way, but that's "no fun".

Let me recap real quick: Two of the very base principles of any angel's job and/or purpose (on Earth) is to 1) do miracles for humankind to ensure their souls will at some point be added to Heaven's tab and 2) be a being of Love and love all of Her creations.

Or, the condensed version: Magic and Love.

And what are the two things Aziraphale finds no fun (= boring and unsatisfying) to do the way it was intended for all angels?

Magic and (the language of) Love.

Aziraphale chose to try and learn magic as well as the language of love organically, without the God-given ability and the binary coded translation system Heaven provided his corporation with.

He wanted to learn it the human way. The hard way. The fun way.

Neil: "It's like magic tricks, which he is terrible at but loves to do, and miracles, which are no fun, but which he does very well."

Because that's the point, isn't it? Most of us think: "Wow, wouldn't it be great to be able to do actual magic? Simply snap your fingers and have any-a wish come true? Speak every and any language in the universe and never have to pick up a dictionary ever again?"

Sure, for the first few exciting moments, miracles and conversations maybe. But sooner or later, it renders everything meaningless. Soulless. Flavourless. And who loves flavour more than Aziraphale?

It's somewhat similar to why typing a sentence into Google Translate is never going to be as exciting as being able to finally translate it yourself after years of practising. Or why telling an AI to conjure up a picture of a beautiful landscape will never, ever be the same as working years on your own painting skills to one day finally be able to paint it yourself.

Heaven (and ultimately Hell) don't care about the process. The hardship. The pain and passion of putting work and effort into the journey. They only care about the end result. The means to an end.

Crowley: "They don‘t care how it gets done, they just want to know they can cross it off their list."

Want to speak any language in the world? There you go, automatic translator. Want to ensure humans will be added to the Heavenly/Hellish soul tab? Boom, you can do real magic. Get to work, then!

So, for Aziraphale to choose to learn the two things he was provided with to do his Heavenly work in the most efficient, soulless and flavourless way possible the human way instead, really says it all, doesn't it?

But he learnt the most important one the hard way, without his auto-translator.

The one language all angels are supposed to know fluently and wordlessly anyway.

The one language that makes an angel.

The language of Love.

Except that when it's programmed into you with the intent to only ever work as a means to and end instead of the beautiful journey it is, it will never be the real, organic, passionate, hard and wonderful thing it was meant to be.

And Aziraphale knows this.

Which is exactly why he learnt magic and French the real, human way.

***

Small addendum that I couldn't really fit into any paragraph up there: I think it's also really telling that Aziraphale only properly committed to learning French the right way by going to Monsieur Rossignol's (for those who haven’t seen it yet: rossignol means nightingale in French) night classes in 1760 after the first time we see Crowley rescue him (Bastille, 1739). There might have been a time before that where Crowley got him out of a precarious situation, but for all we know, it was the first one where Crowley really showed up for an angel in need who was absolutely swooning over it. Time to let the nightingale to teach you how to become fluent in Love!

#good omens #good omens meta #my own meta #good omens season 2 #good omens 2 #gos2 #go2 #good omens s2 #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #language #good omens language #why?#love #aziraphale is a romantic #and also the only good angel out there #and all of it because of a god damn pen

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have-a-hiddles · 6 months ago

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Within Your Heart, A Story To Be Told

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

Pairing: Cardinal Copia/F!Reader

Words: 4.5K/16.4K

Warnings: Vague reference to suicide, but no such act occurs. Intense bullying both verbal and physical. Reader is a Sister of Sin and is written to be quite plump. Lots of swearing, both in English and Italian.

🔞 MDNI 🔞

A/N: I’m keeping Primo, Secondo, and Terzo alive. Because I fucking can. However, Sister Imperator is still the only one aware of Copia’s familial connection. Copia knows Imperator is his birth mother, but not that Nihil is his father.

Everything takes place circa 2018-2019 between Terzo getting dragged off-stage (30 September 2017) and Copia being anointed as Papa IV (March 2020).

Tucked away in a short hallway that only led to a janitor’s closet, hiding among discarded crates of merchandise, you struggled to breathe without sobbing. It was not the first time you’d had to utilize this barely frequented hiding spot. You’d been with the Ministry for nearly five years; yet you still remained unable to find your place. It seemed to be a lifelong fault of yours; never fitting in.

Your earliest memory was of being picked last for recess sports in elementary school; of stern-faced priests telling you to stop crying, stop being so sensitive. Boys will be boys and boys like to pick on their classmates. Maybe if you didn’t present such an irresistible target, they’d leave you alone. Always turning a blind eye to your skinned knees and bruised arms.

Middle school was no better. In fact, it was worse. Now, the girls got in on the bullying too. They mocked your chosen hobbies; reading, drawing, singing. The one time you got a solo in the school choir for a special Mass for some important visiting Cardinal, they made farting and oinking noises behind you, whispering and laughing just low enough that the Sister didn’t hear them. You’d faltered in your singing, trying desperately not to cry, your cheeks flaming red. You had worked so hard on this part! It was your favorite hymn! Sister had yelled at you and berated you for not practicing enough on your own. In the end, she took the solo away from you and gave it to another girl who wasn’t as good a singer as you were but was vastly more popular.

And high school? High school was pure torture. Everything that sucked about middle school, but now with hormones and heartache mixed in for a toxic cocktail. Other students now sought to humiliate you by dangling a mirage of hope. Some bold joker would sidle up to you to say something along the lines of: “Hey, my friend over there thinks you’re super cute. You should ask him out.” And naturally, naively you did, hoping against hope that said boy was telling the truth.

Said boy never was.

University life hadn’t treated you much better, although the overt bullying ceased. You tried to keep a low profile. Went to social events even though you were an anxious wreck the whole time; house parties that your exasperated roommates might drag you on, street festivals for arts and crafts by local artisans, concerts in crowded and often smoky clubs.

It was at one such concert that you first saw the band Ghost and had something of an epiphany. If the so-called “good” people were so horrible to you; then maybe the so-called “evil” people would treat you nicely. Twelve years of Catholic school with its mean nuns and creepy priests had soiled much of your interest in faith. You hadn’t been to Mass since graduating from Saint Hubert’s. Not even for Christmas or Easter. When you’d flat out refused to attend a Catholic university, your family had all but disowned you. And sadly, that changed very little for you. They’d never been much interested in you.

Then Ghost had returned to your city, now as their own headliner instead of an opening act. You’d ponied up the money for general admission tickets to the Haze Over North America tour even though the idea of being jostled around by a bunch of sweaty strangers made you feel nauseous. You’d queued up before anyone else even got there. You’d even caught sight of the band and roadies arriving, although you wisely did NOT rush over to them even though you really wanted to. You very briefly caught sight of Papa (still Secondo at that time!) in his full robes heading from a black SUV into the side of the venue.

You’d been all but clinging to the stage, watching them and, more importantly, listening. Secondo liked playing to the pit, often making eye contact with various individuals. He had a reputation of being something of a man whore and you could see where that idea had come from. Despite his papal robes and miter (or maybe because of it?), he exuded a dark and very tempting sexuality. Still, he didn’t see you, his mismatched gaze always seemed to go to someone just to your left or right.

Then came the encore, Monstrance Clock. The quieter instrumentals reminded you of that long ago choir that you had loved so much. You had closed your eyes to take it all in, your heart feeling as though it was expanding to press against your ribs, a shuddery sensation going through you. You were a virgin, yes. But you knew what an orgasm was; and although not quite the same, this feeling was very similar. Distantly, you remembered that many paintings and sculptures depicting a spiritual awakening often called them an “ecstasy”.

Hypnotizing horns of ram Paralyzing pentagram And the eerie sound of the monstrance clock Singing

Come together Together as one Come together For Lucifer's son

You then felt as though you were falling, but you weren’t scared at all. The sensation of a dark and heated cloak being draped gently over your shoulders, wrapping you in warmth and safety, made you feel completely protected and loved. It was a feeling you had searched for all of your life and never expected to find at a metal concert! When you finally opened your eyes, Papa was kneeling on the stage right in front of you with his eyes boring into yours. And despite his very stern and somewhat scary expression, you weren’t afraid. He’d narrowed his eyes briefly then nodded at you, claiming one of your hands and brushing his lips over your knuckles. When he rose to his feet, he looked to one of his ghouls and jerked his head in your direction.

When you’d stayed put long after everyone had left the pit, that same ghoul had darted out to you, explaining that Papa wanted to see you. To say you’d been surprised was an understatement. Backstage, Secondo had already removed his skull paint, although the absence did not lessen his presence. Under the watchful gaze of the Nameless Ghouls, he explained the Ghost Project and the Ministry. As Papa, he had a few subtle quirks that sometimes helped him find those who would be excellent additions to the faith.

And apparently Satan had singled you out. During Monstrance Clock, when you’d been so overwhelmed by the music; that had been something of a test. A test to see how you reacted to His Light, His Presence. A test you passed with flying colors by not panicking or blaming the feeling on some physical malady caused by the festival environment, by accepting the warmth of the Father of Outcasts.

Did you want to join their faith? You would be sheltered and cared for. You would be protected. You would have a job for which you would be paid. You would take classes to further your knowledge. And, oddly enough, your Catholic upbringing would prove to be an advantage. You already understood the ritual and hierarchy and language. You knew enough Latin to easily understand what the prayers meant. You understood nebulous concepts like transubstantiation and substance–attribute theory.

You’d agreed with almost no hesitation.

Everything after that was a blur. You’d packed up your few belongings and quickly been instated as a postulate in the New York ministry. You’d had very high hopes after being lauded for your intelligence and organization skills. You were set up as an assistant in the library, which also gave you plenty of time to study up even more on this new path you found yourself on. As such, for the first few months, you mostly kept to yourself, your hyper-fixation on learning temporarily replacing the bleeding need for companions. When you did try to make friends, swallowing down your fear as best you could, things did not go as planned. Attempts at jokes only got you blank looks. Trying to join in on conversations or activities only seemed to make others around you uncomfortable.

After two years, it was decided that you didn’t fit in at the New York ministry. And while they weren’t kicking you out, they thought you might do better in a different location. One year in Los Angeles later, it was decided you didn’t fit in there either. So, you’d been moved again, this time to the main Ministry in Sweden.

Two years into your life here and you were still longing for that feeling of belonging that you’d experienced for a scant few moments at the festival while Secondo had sung. Secondo had “retired” and it was Terzo’s turn under the miter. He was wildly successful; more personable with audiences than Primo or Secondo, more confident and charismatic. You’d never spoken to him directly. The handful of times you’d made eye contact (during Black Mass or on-site rehearsals) he had smiled and winked at you. But you knew full-well that he did that to everyone. It was a band-aid over a slit wrist, but it was better than nothing.

Abruptly, that had all changed too and now there was no Papa, but a Cardinal was “filling in” while he was also schooled in being the new Papa. You’d only seen him a few times, his red cassock drawing attention amongst all of the black and white of the habits you and your Siblings of Sin wore. He always seemed to be off in his own world, muttering to himself in Italian, probably going over prayers or sermons. Most people thought he was a tad weird. You, however, found him a bit fascinating.

Most of the other Siblings fawned over Terzo, which you could hardly blame them for. He was incredibly popular. Cardinal Copia, though? Something about him struck you with warmth whenever you did catch sight of him or overheard him at rehearsals with the band. You found him very handsome in an off-beat kind of way. Whenever he led Mass, you were more attentive than you ever were for any of the previous Papas. Something about him just called to you.

Whatever that something was, it was obviously one-sided. The Cardinal had never so much as glanced in your direction.

You were still working as a librarian, but no longer an assistant. You were the scribe of the ancient texts; carefully going through delicate parchment of dense Latin and digitizing them so they would never be lost. Being one of the younger members in the Ministry scholary, your grasp of technology was far and away better than that of the other librarians.

You didn’t know what you’d done to draw attention to yourself; but less than a month into your time in Sweden, you were re-living junior high school. A trio of your fellow Siblings; Kaser, Lynx, and Cantata, had decided that you were a fun target to torment; with plenty of ammo at their disposal. You were still awkward and anxious. You’d developed something of a nervous stutter and struggled more than ever to put your thoughts into words. Worse, your body had decided that freshman fifteen was meant to be a challenge; as you had gained thirty pounds, so you were much chubbier than most of the others; wide hips, a sizable ass, a rounded belly, and tits that refused to be contained by most bras. Like the long-ago middle school boys, they liked to painfully snap your bra strap. Or they would trip you in the hallways. Shove you into walls. Tug off your veil when they knew Sister Imperator was near so that she would scold you for having it off.

Their favorite thing, however, was to harass you about the fact that you’d been a postulate for five fucking years! Most postulates became novices within a year and then a full Sibling at three. Were you too stupid to pass the exams? Were you such a loser that even Satan didn’t want you? Were you afraid that Papa would turn you down?

That last one was closer to home than they knew. Part of a postulate’s “graduation” into a novice was to have sex with Papa; sometimes in private, sometimes on the altar in front of everyone. You simply couldn’t stand the idea of any of the Papas taking one look at you and deciding that he was not going to put his cock in someone as pathetic as you. It had never happened before to your knowledge (and you’d looked it up!) so there was no reason to fear such a thing. But fears are nothing if not irrational.

All of which led to your current predicament, sitting on a crate of Ghost merchandise near a janitor’s closet, hiding from your triad of bullies behind a double-stack of the same crates. If the closet hadn’t been locked, you’d have been in it. You sputtered and coughed, choking on your own tears. Were you always going to be so painfully lonely? You prayed as hard now as you ever had as a Catholic… and, like God, Satan was now frustratingly silent. Perhaps it was just time to accept that you didn’t fit in anywhere and never would. Maybe you’d ask to transfer to another Ministry just to escape your abusers; but you’d stay with the church since at least your work was satisfying.

Footsteps approached, prompting you to cover your mouth to silence yourself, not wanting another round of abuse if it was Kaser, Lynx, or Cantata. You curled yourself into the tightest ball you could, cursing your extra weight for making that very difficult.

“Eh, hello?” a soft voice, lightly accented in Italian. Oh, fuck… had they lied to Sister that you’d done something wrong to get you in trouble? They’d done it before; blaming you for something they’d done. Fucking hells bells, what had they done that would prompt one of the elder Italians (of which, there were many) be addressing you?

“I’m sorry!” you burst out, covering your face with your hands. “I was just, um… j-j-j-just… ah, taking a… m-m-moment-.“ Curse that idiotic stutter!

“No! N-n-n-no, sorella. It’s… ah… okay. I only… I mean I just was passing and I h-h-heard you.”

The foreign sound of someone else stuttering made you look through your fingers. At first, all you saw was red. A long, red cassock and black gloves.

The Cardinal.

You were so shocked by the revelation that the man who would soon be Papa was apparently a bit anxious and awkward too, that you didn’t say anything for a moment. You merely stared at him, your cheeks still stained with tears, but at least you were now breathing somewhat normally.

“You’ve been c-crying,” he pointed out as if it wasn’t obvious.

“It’s… it’s nothing, Your Eminence,” you shook your head, finally remembering your manners and lowering your gaze, wiping hurriedly at your cheeks. “You needn’t worry about it. You must have many more important things to do!”

A long silence followed, both of you seeming to size the other up with caution. Strange, he was so confident and eloquent when he performed Mass or gave sermons. And now he seemed genuinely lost as to how to talk to someone one on one.

“C-congratulations, by the way!” you finally blurt out. “If… if that’s the proper thing to say. I’m sure you’ll make a wonderful Papa. I’ve overheard some of the rehearsals and you sound amazing.”

That was at least true. The Cardinal had a beautiful singing voice and a powerful stage presence.

“Oh! Eh, grazie… thank you. It’s a great honor,” he smiled slightly, his black upper lip curling up at the corners in a way you found immediately endearing. “Not to be, eh, too forward, b-b-b-but… what has so upset you?”

“It’s… it’s nothing. It’s stupid. I just… I feel like… I don’t really…” you paused, closed your eyes, and took a deep breath. “I’ve never really fit in anywhere…and even though I’m trying so hard… I don’t seem to fit in here either. Square peg, round hole.” Woah, that was the most pulled-together thing you’d said in months!

You silently prepared yourself to be told to try harder, not be so sensitive, don’t be so weird, or some other variation of unhelpful advice that authority figures always tossed at your feet.

“Sì, it’s very difficult. I understand.”

You snapped your eyes open to meet his uneven gaze head-on.

He continued, “Some people just seem to effortlessly be adored and others… others must work tirelessly to be accepted by even a few.” He sounded contemplative, even a touch sad. “It… it can be overwhelming, I know.”

“Are you saying that… you’ve had t-trouble fitting in? But you’re terrific on stage and at Mass! In fact, every time I’ve heard you talk, you’re always so sure of yourself!” you exclaimed.

He gave an ironic smile. “It helps, sorella, to have a sc-script. At the microphone, I already know what I’m going to say or s-s-sing. I don’t have to anticipate the questions or comments of others because I’m the only one expected to t-talk, sì?”

“Oh,” you said with a note of surprise. You’d never really thought of it that way. “I’ve not really ever spoken to an audience. Or sung. Not by myself anyway.”

“You sing, sorella?” he perked up, the motion making something warm slide over your heart.

“Yeah, yes. I mean… I used to. I sang in choir all through school and I was in the Mass choir in Los Angeles. I’d like to join the choir here, but they aren’t accepting new singers right now,” you shrugged, biting your bottom lip.

“The choir at the L.A. ministry?” his eyebrows rose. “You must be talented then, sorella. The choirmaster there is very exacting.”

You smiled, despite knowing that your cheeks were flaming red. That had been one bright point of the last few years. The confirmation that you did still have a good singing voice had meant a great deal to you. “He is. The rehearsals were grueling sometimes, but I loved it just the same. Music is just so… powerful. I can’t think of a better word. Even ‘powerful’ feels inadequate. It’s what brought me to the Ministry in the first place. I saw Papa Secondo during the Haze tour and, I don’t know… something just clicked in place.”

“Papa Secondo, eh? Small wonder, he was quite the commanding presence when he was Papa. Still is, actually. But, wait…” he paused, looking up and muttering in Italian. “Papa Secondo hasn’t been Papa since, what 2013? That was five years ago. You’ve been a postulate for that long?”

Motherfucking Christ on a popsicle stick, why did you have to mention Secondo?

“Um… yeah. It’s just… never felt like… the timing was right. And… if I’m honest, I’m scared,” you swallowed tightly.

“Scared?” he repeated with a cock of his head. “What is there to be scared of?”

“If I may speak plainly… it’s the whole… um… sex thing..?” Your words came out more like a question than an answer.

“You’re scared of… sex?” he said, seeming to only want to confirm that he had heard you correctly.

“Not exactly. I’m not afraid of the act. B-b-but I’m afraid of… it’s-s-s-s-stupid of me, I know… but I can’t help but be sc-sc-scared of being… rejected…” you managed to strangle out, eyes glued to your hands folded in your lap. “No one’s ever wanted me before. Why would this b-b-b-be any different?”

“Sorella, it’s not stupid. Fears like that are very… d-difficult to shake. However, being as currently said deed would fall to m-me, I can promise you that I will not be rejecting such a lovely soul.” His voice had gone a little lower and he drew closer to you, kneeling down so you were at an even level, although you didn’t look up at him.

A black leather glove obscured your view, curled fingers tucking up your chin, coaxing you gently into looking up at him. “Sorella, I promise it. I would be more than honored to help you complete your… eh… training, if that is the word.”

You chanced looking up and meeting his gaze. Even at a distance, it was obvious that the Papas and Cardinal all had one ghostly white eye. But this close, you could see that his other eye was a rather pretty shade of green. You’d always liked green eyes.

Apparently, your momentary contemplation of his eyes made him a little nervous, because he looked down, cheeks slightly flushed. “I-if-if you like, of course… I’m not… I mean… eh, Sathanas, no pressure? Is that the, eh, the phrase? If you don’t want to have me as your initiator, it’s eh… it’s o-o-o-okay. One of the other Papas would be happy to serve in my place. I know most people seem to like T-T-Terzo the best. And if I know him, he would never turn down an initiate,” he rambled slightly.

Under any other circumstances, you would have assumed that he was agreeing to make you feel better and then trying to pass you off to one of the former Papas to get out of the chore. But something about the Cardinal’s anxious patter convinced you that he was only trying to give you options, not avoid the task.

Completely on impulse, you clutched at his nervous hands, holding them still. This also served the purpose of stilling your own hands. “You don’t need to advertise the others to me. It will be you, Cardinal.”

He looked up from your joined hands with a half-smile. “It will, eh? Does that mean you’ve decided to go through with becoming a novice, sorella?”

Your breath stopped. You had just implied that hadn’t you? Shit. Shitshitshitshit! “I guess it does, Your Eminence.”

“Bene, sorella. I look forward to it,” he smiled, though his gaze returned to your hands. A small shift and he was able to press your hands into his, palm to palm, with your fingers entwined. The motion reminded you of something…

-Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.

The Cardinal chuckled softly under his breath, a rather deep sound that gave you delightful goosebumps. “Shakespeare, sì? Hmm, let me think…”

Fuck! Had you said that out loud? You must have! Random Shakespeare was not going to get you anywhere and of course you’d choose a passage rife with Catholic imagery.

- Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?

Holy shit on a shingle, he was reciting Romeo’s part now? Oh Satan. Lucifer. Lilith. Hecate. Kelly Clarkson! What was the next bit?

-Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.

-O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray: grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

-Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.

-Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take.

You’d both been leaning closer to each other and now were barely a breath away. You licked your lips nervously. That small gesture apparently spurned him on. He completed the connection, kissing you so sweetly that you thought you might actually pass out. You’d been kissed before; but those previous kisses felt nothing like this! Your lips felt as though they were burning, the familiar heat of arousal curling low in your belly.

-Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.

How could he even remember the next line after that! It took you a decent minute and a half to recover your thoughts and remember the next line.

-Then have my lips the sin that they have took?

He smiled, nearly grinned, teeth very white against his black upper lip.

-Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.

You were ready this time, meeting his kiss with one of your own, tenderly mapping the sensation of his lips and the searing path of want as it spread in your veins. Fuck, you already had a little crush on Copia; this would inevitably push it into full-blown infatuation.

-You kiss by th’ book.

You practically moaned that last line as you both paused, foreheads pressed together, hands still palm to palm. He was panting ever so slightly, as were you.

“You understand what I mean about having a script, sì?” he whispered softly. “Neither of us stumbled or hesitated even once. Not what you were thinking when you began reciting, I know. But, for myself at least… I would not yet have had the nerve to kiss you. But with the Bard’s words to encourage… it felt very natural to kiss you.”

You felt your cheeks grow hot, although for once it was not from humiliation or shame, but from pleased embarrassment. The way he was looking at you! No man… hell, no person or ghoul or whatever… had ever looked at you the way Copia was looking at you. There was a hunger in his eyes that made your stomach do flips. But under that desire lurked a sweet, longing kind of affection.

A beeping noise interrupted your thoughts. “Cazzo!” he hissed and pushed back the sleeve of his cassock to reveal an old digital watch. “Perdonami per favore; I seem to be running late for rehearsal. Had I the choice, I would not be leaving you so… eh… abruptly,” he apologized with sincere regret.

“It’s OK,” you replied somewhat dreamily, still feeling a bit floaty from his kisses.

“I will look for your… ehm… initiation papers and authorize them. Then you n-n-nneed only set the date,” he assured you as he rose to his full height. “I must go, sorella.”

“Oh! Yes! Right. Don’t let me keep you. Rehearsal’s important,” you nodded hastily, not wanting to come across as needy even though you wanted to bury yourself in his chest and cling to him like a koala.

“It is, si,” he allowed, before looking down on you with a fond expression. “But you are important too, no?”

He turned to leave and was almost around the corner before he stopped and turned back to you. “Eh, mi scuzi, but… I didn’t get your name, sorella.”

“Huh? Oh! It’s Y/N, F/N L/N,” you replied perhaps a bit louder than you should have.

“Y/N… lovely,” he echoed with a small smile. “Arrivederci, Y/N.”

What? Just? Happened?

FOR THE LOVE OF (deity of your choice) PLEASE LIKE AND REBLOG! COMMENT! VISIT ON AO3 AND LEAVE KUDOS AND COMMENTS!

I NEED FEEDBACK!

#ghost #the band ghost #ghost the band #ghost fan fiction #AO3 #cardinal copia #copia/reader #reader insert

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nightsidewrestling · 2 years ago

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D.U.D.E Bios: Judith Ibarra / Judi Marino

The Second of Damien's Hounds Judi Marino (2020)

The sister of Billie and one of Damien's Hounds, Judith Ibarra (Née Marino), is a very powerful woman. Judith is a wrestler and a third generation wrestler, being part of the youngest generation of wrestlers in the Marino family.

"Rule four of wrestling, street fights mean street clothes, be inconspicuous."

Name

Full Legal Name: Judith Martirio Ibarra (Née Marino)

First Name: Judith

Meaning: From the Hebrew name 'Yehudit' meaning 'Jewish Woman', feminine form of 'Yehudi', ultimately referring to a person from the tribe of Judah

Pronunciation: khoo-DHEET

Origin: English, Jewish, German, Dutch, Swedish, Norwegian, Danish, Spanish, French, Biblical

Middle Name: Martirio

Meaning: Means 'Martyrdom' in Spanish.

Pronunciation: mar-TEE-ryo

Origin: Spanish

Surname: Ibarra (Marino)

Meaning: From Basque place names derived from 'Ibar' meaning 'Meadow' (Marino: Derived from the given name 'Marino' which itself is the Italian and Spanish form of 'Marinus'. 'Marinus' comes from the Latin word 'Marinus' meaning 'of the sea')

Pronunciation: eye-BARR-ah (ma-REE-no)

Origin: Basque, Spanish (Spanish)

Alias: Judi Marino

Reason: Ring name

Nicknames: Jodi, Jodie, Jody, Jude, Judi, Judie, Judy, Jodene, Ma, Mar, Mari, Ti, Tiri

Titles: Miss, Mrs, Ma'am

Characteristics

Age: 31

Gender: Female. She/Her Pronouns

Race: Human

Nationality: Cuban

Ethnicity: Hispanic / Latina

Birth Date: January 30th 1989

Symbols: Rings, Sticker Sheets

Sexuality: Bisexual

Religion: Catholic

Native Language: Spanish

Spoken Languages: Spanish, English, Portuguese

Relationship Status: Married

Astrological Sign: Aquarius

Theme Song: 'That Girl' - Maxi Priest, Shaggy (2009-)

Voice Actor: Josie Loren

Geographical Characteristics

Birthplace: Bayamo, Granma Province, Cuba

Current Location: On the road / bayamo, Granma Province, Cuba

Hometown: Bayamo, Granma Province, Cuba

Appearance

Height: 5'7" / 170 cm

Weight: 150 lbs / 68 kg

Eye Colour: Brown

Any Specific Diet: None

Hair Dye: None

Body Hair: N/A

Facial Hair: N/A

Tattoos: (As of Jan 2020) 5

Piercings: Ear Lobe (both)

Scars: None

Health and Fitness

Allergies: None

Alcoholic, Smoker, Drug User: Social Drinker

Illnesses/Disorders: None

Medications: None

Any Specific Diet: None

Relationships

Allies: N/A

Enemies: N/A

Friends: Sabina Volkov, Zinnia Turner, Brighid Pritchard, Eithne O'Hannagan, Tydfil McFarland, Gwen McDermott, Branwen McCormick

Colleagues: Too many to list

Rivals: N/A

Closest Confidant: Xavier Ibarra

Mentor: Florencia Marino

Significant Other: Xavier Ibarra (32, Husband)

Previous Partners: None of note

Parents: Yago Marino (57, Father), Florencia Marino (58, Mother, Née Palomo)

Parents-In-Law: Tácito Ibarra (58, Father-In-Law), Narcisa Ibarra (59, Mother-In-Law, Née Nasato)

Siblings: Bienvenida Marino (37, Sister), Urbano Marino (34, Brother), Quirino Marino (28, Brother), Natividad Marino (25, Sister), Macario Marino (22, Brother), Rosaura Marino (19, Sister), Isaac Marino (16, Brother)

Siblings-In-Law: Hortensia Marino (35, Urbano's Wife, Née Lozano), Valerio Ibarra (38, Xavier's Brother), Oriana Ibarra (39, Valerio's Wife, Née Muraro), Wilmar Ibarra (35, Xavier's Brother), Purificación Ibarra (36, Wilmar's Wife, Née Muggia), Yoel Ibarra (29, Xavier's Brother)

Nieces & Nephews: Emperatriz Romero-Marino (17, Niece), Antonio Huerta-Marino (14, Nephew), Triana Santos-Marino (11, Niece), Lorenzo Marino (14, Nephew), Paz Marino (11, Niece), Alcides Ibarra (18, Nephew), Rocío Ibarra (15, Niece), Benigno Ibarra (12, Nephew), Sol Ibarra (9, Niece), Cruz Ibarra (6, Nephew), Tamara Ibarra (3, Niece), Damián Ibarra (15, Nephew), Virtudes Ibarra (12, Niece), Emilio Ibarra (9, Niece), Yurena Ibarra (6, Niece), Fulgencio Ibarra (3, Nephew)

Children: Casilda Ibarra (11, Niece)

Children-In-Law: None

Grandkids: None

Great Grandkids: None

Wrestling

Billed From: The Underworld

Trainer: Sabas Marino, Yago Marino, Tercero Marino, Ramiro Marino, Pastor Marino, Olegario Marino, Nicanor Marino, Jair Marino, Heliodoro Marino, Gonzalo Marino, Facundo Marino, C.R.C Wrestling School

Managers: Florencia Marino

Wrestlers Managed: None

Debut: 2009

Debut Match: Judi VS Brighid. Judi won via pinfall

Retired: N/A

Retirement Match: N/A

Wrestling Style: Grappler

Stables: The Lucifarians (2009-)

Teams: The Hounds (Judi & Bano / Quirino / Natividad / Macario / Rosaura / Isaac)

Regular Moves: Big Boot, Diving Clothesline, Sitout Rear Mat Slam, Electric Chair Drop, Electric Chair Facebuster, Flapjack, Half Nelson Bulldog, Inverted DDT, Missile Dropkick, Spinning Heel Kick, Somersault Senton Plancha, Sharpshooter, Sitout Powerbomb, Crossface, Spinebuster

Finishers: Leg Hook Reverse STO, Spear, Lifting DDT, Standing Arm Triangle

Refers To Fans As: The Watchful Eyes

Extras

Backstory: Judith is the second eldest daughter of 'disgraced luchador' Yago Marino, wrestling is in her blood and she grew up around luchadores. She joined the Lucifarians as one of Damien's hounds in 2009, being a hound means she's mindless and does everything Damien orders her to

Trivia: Nothing of note

#D.U.D.E #original character #Marino #Ibarra #C.R.C Wrestling School #C.R.C Wrestling Promotion #Los Marinos

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aviculor · 2 years ago

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I'm giving The Pope's Exorcist a watch, and I really wish the closed captioning gave a little more than "[speaking Italian]" when the entire opening scene is in Italian.

...Scratch that, it's more like "a significant portion of the dialogue is in Italian and they started adding Spanish too". You'd think there would be an English translation added onto the film itself but no, I guess we're just not meant to understand entire conversations that are clearly meant to be important. And again, the closed captioning on this site is a joke but that's neither here nor there.

It gives a certain The Conjuring vibe which is unsurprising since they're both dramatizations of a real person's life that portrays them as some demon-hunting hero and glorifies the Catholic church. This Gabriele Amorth is more or less a special ops agent who is given case files on demonic possessions by the pope himself. Meanwhile, the real Gabriele Amorth said yoga and Harry Potter are satanic and Hitler was possessed by the devil.

I see this film wants to be The Exorcist. But it cannot be The Exorcist. It lacks the narrative themes and subtext that made The Exorcist good. This is not a priest with a crisis of faith struggling with the relevance of the Catholic Church in modern society and psychiatry gaining ground as a legitimate field of science. The Pope's Exorcist lacks substance. I do like the way it looks, like it has excellent cinematography and effects. I'd even go so far as to say that I hope the upcoming Exorcist sequel looks like this. But even if this is good, it can't be great if all it does it imitate a different film's visuals without the soul behind it. And also if the soul it does have is "this real guy who actually lived was a total badass with mystical powers from Jesus".

There's also a fictionalization of an actual teenage girl who went missing, which according to Amorth (as in, the real one) may have been part of a sexual abuse scandal within the Vatican. Which circles back around to how I compared this film to the Conjuring-verse with how they glamorized actual people and events. It's not exactly uhh copacetic.

Ah, yes. There is a deep, dark secret being covered up by the church. There's been a sinful, sordid act literally buried here that they hope no one finds out about. It is...The Spanish Inquisition.

Oh. The Spanish Inquisition itself happened because the devil possessed Alonso de Ojeda (the historical friar who convinced Queen Isabella of the need for an inquisition) and tricked the church into performing atrocities. That's very hmm that's very convenient.

That's not how you tie a noose.

#horror #the pope's exorcist

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asteriasfallingstarsandtears · 7 months ago

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My mother was reading through Baby Name books up until I was born, maybe even after.

I was very nearly named for my grandmother's, who have a very traditional Danish name or a very traditional English name.

She was just so determined to not name me for a Saint like she was named for because the Priest who baptized her told my grandparents that they couldn't call her what they had chosen because it wasn't in the Bible so he gave her a biblical name that was close to what they chose.

Somehow, this Portuguese and Norwegian girl ended up with an Italian name.

(Hilariously, I think there is a saint with my name)

For the purposes of this poll please just stick to birth names! I'd like to do another poll for names people chose themselves later in life.

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impossibleperfectionnerd · 1 month ago

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2 weeks timeframe. For the bank CEO. No girls. No provincial feel. Capable of getting along with English speaking people.

TOEFL- at least 85

IELTS (British English)- at least 7

Seminars on British & American & Filipino culture. Trade. Economic matters. Intellectual property matters. Treaties. Executive agreements. War tribunal matters (NATO). War games.

NATO & FTAF & OSCE values & seminars on collective defense, anti terrorism, no to Russian aggression, deterrence, anti crime.

Talks abt the New Vatican state - Beda & UST boys & are priests & monks

peacekeeping missions of NATO & the New Vatican state

ODAN seminars (not obvious)

Must be graduates of city universities. secular & non secular schools with ties to the New Vatican state are preferred. Extensive work experience. Very good English speaker. Adaptive to change. Dominican (Italian) & Benedictine (British & German) & Norbertine (British & Luxembourg) religious orders. Franciscans (Italian).

#New Vatican state #NATO stories

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dizzygirlfriday · 10 months ago

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notes of a restless girl.

I could write a book...

I should always listen to my gut instinct on employee situations. That is all I'm going to say about that.

My husband says the shows I watch he can write them. Like Virgin River for instance, he knows what's going to happen. So do I but he likes to brag about it. ha-ha. I still watch them.

When my phone rings and it's an odd number or it says scam likely on it. I always answer it and just sit quiet... until I hear Noice in the background like telemarketers or they hang up. Sometimes I speak in a different language. Is that bad? I know a few things in Italian, Spanish, and French. I should know full on Spanish, since my mother is. But she never taught us. I cringe when I say that. I took it in School, but I can't fluently speak it. My grandmother spoke broken up English... but I understood a lot of it. I have a best best friend, that is Italian, and lives in Italy. She's actually like a sister to me. Her uncle was our family priest, and she use to come to America and visit him as a teenager and she would stay with our family. She used to be a flight attendant for Italiano Air, and fly into America quite frequently but when they shut down during covid, she lost her job, and is currently going back to school to be a pharmacist. I haven't seen her in three years, but hopefully I can make my way to Italy soon. I do miss her. When she first came to America her English was very broken up, that was back in 1995. Now... she is really good. She has that European flare...

Reading back some of my old poetry, makes me want to write again. I crave it. I can't explain it, but I do. My last entry was a couple of years ago. But I can't for the life of me think why I said, see you in August, on my last post. I probably was so busy I wasn't going to emerge again. That was the year, I got fired, then was place on Admin leave for 7 months. My father was really sick and passed away. A mystery.

#never stop doing your best

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famousinuniverse · 1 year ago

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Histoire de ma vie

Book by Giacomo Casanova

Histoire de ma vie is both the memoir and autobiography of Giacomo Casanova, a famous 18th-century Italian adventurer. A previous, bowdlerized version was originally known in English as The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova until the original version was published between 1960 and 1962

Originally published: 1822

Author: Giacomo Casanova

Adaptations: Fellini's Casanova (1976), Casanova Variations (2014)

Giacomo Girolamo Casanova was born in Venice in 1725, back when the city was a hotbed of vice, famed for its gambling, its courtesans and its carnival. There’s a reason it was such an essential stop for well-to-do youths set loose on their Grand Tours, and it didn’t have much to do with St Mark’s Basilica.

Casanova was born in Venice in 1725, when the city was a hotbed of vice and pleasure

Giacomo Casanova Was An Adventurer, Libertine, And Child Molester

Giacomo Casanova's memoirs are celebrated for their thorough depiction of life in 18th-century Europe, but they also detail the escapades of a serial rapist.

Travelling widely, he associated with European royalty, popes and cardinals, along with luminaries such as Voltaire, Goethe, and Mozart.

He spent his last years in the Castle Dux in Bohemia, as a librarian in Count Waldstein’s household; where he also wrote the story of his life.

His autobiography guaranteed Casanova an enduring reputation as a womaniser on a heroic scale and he was not immune to the attraction of his own sex either; but there was much more to him than that.

Portrait of Giacomo Casanova, via The Times of London; with map of Casanova’s travels

Forced into exile in 1756 from his native Venice, Giacomo Casanova traversed Europe in search of adventure, wealth, and of course, women. Find out more about Casanova’s legendary travels.

Eighteenth century Venice was a city of twisting canals, deceptive masks, seductive music, mysterious fog, cutthroat politics, and dreaded prisons. For a place nicknamed La Serenissima, or serene, the Republic of Venice conjured a fair amount of unease.

He was born in April 1725 to two actors, Gaetano Casanova and Zanetta Farussi.

Young Casanova: The Youth Of A Libertine

When he was nine years old, little Casanova was sent 20 miles inland to Padua — for the drier air, and to receive an education.

After a flea-bitten start in Padua with a neglectful landlady, Casanova roosted with the schoolmaster-priest Dr. Antonio Maria Gozzi. Thanks to the priest, the boy grew familiar with theology, classical languages, and music. Above all, he became acquainted with Bettina, Gozzi’s pretty teenage sister.

Bettina cared for his hair, brushing out the vestiges of neglect from the Paduan landlady.

“She washed my face and neck and chest,” Casanova later recalled, “and gave me childish caresses which, since I was bound to consider them innocent, chided myself for letting them trouble me all the more….She aroused the most intense emotions in me.”

Casanova’s encounter with Bettina awakened a lifelong pursuit of women in the world’s most notorious womanizer.

“I was born for the sex opposite to mine,” Casanova later reflected. “I have always loved it and done all that I could to make myself loved by it.”

A rake’s progess

Returning to Venice, he took holy orders and lost his virginity – to two sisters of the non-religious kind. The gambling continued and mounting debts eventually landed him in prison. Shortly afterwards, scandal chased him from his position as a cardinal’s scribe. He then joined the army but by age 21, had decided to become a professional gambler – another short-lived career move. Next came violinist.

Returning to Venice from Padua as a young man, Casanova’s course was set when he won patronage from a Venetian nobleman

Throughout all, he dabbled in dalliances with myriad young women, from serving girls to musicians, to sisters and nieces of friends.

Two such instructive examples were Nanetta and Marta, sisters of his sworn — at the time — love, Angela, all Dr. Gozzi’s relatives.

One night, sharing a bed, he turned to one sister — he wasn’t sure which — and deflowered her. He turned to the other and did the same, losing his own virginity in a lascivious, quasi-incestuous ménage.

Thus the career of this libertine was conceived, born, and nursed in the lagoons of Venice. His sexual travels stretched the whole of Europe, from the alleys of Rome to the Domes of Constantinople, whether on a Pope’s pretext or to satisfy his own wanderlust.

One evening during the carnival of 1745 Casanova and his friend notices a beautiful commoner from St Giobbe who was drinking with her husband and two other friends, and thought it best to organize an incredible hoax. They stood by them as public officials and imposed her husband and friends to follow them to the island of St Giorgio, in the name of the Council of the Ten, leaving the unsuspecting woman alone in Rialto.

Rialto Bridge-Bridge in Venice, Italy

After abandoning those poor fools in St Giorgio, Casanova and his friend returned to Rialto and led the woman to the 'Do Spade' inn where they had dinner and enjoyed themselves with her all night; after which they sent her home.

Cantina Do Spade

Inside Cantina Do Spade, bacaro and restraurant Venice.

A 600-year-old trattoria in Venice where Casanova once dallied with his girlfriends

Now in the capable hands of Martina and Sebastiano and their young staff, Cantina Do Spade is still going strong after 595 years.

A few years back, Giorgio Lanza expanded to full osteria status this venerable little cicchetti bar, which was first documented in 1415 and named "two swords" after a long-forgotten duel between noblemen on a nearby bridge.

Here’s four more minutes of fun! This episode of Quattro Minuti con Casanova tells the story of what happened at the Alle Spade (now called the Cantina Do Spade), a restaurant and former inn where Casanova spent a night during the Carnevale season.

Unforgettable Henriette

On one of these jaunts through Europe, Giacomo Casanova met his match.

While in his 20s, Casanova encountered a lovely young Frenchwoman disguised in men’s clothing and escorted by a Hungarian officer. In his memoir, he called her “Henriette.”

Her seductive mélange of wit and polish belied her masculine weeds — this was clearly a noblewoman on the run. Some have posited her true identity was Anne Adélaïde de Gueidan, daughter of a French aristocrat and government official, though no one knows for sure.

Anne Adélaïde de Gueidan and her sister. Anne is suspected of having been Casanova’s precious “Henriette.”

Casanova followed this fugitive lady, and as she slowly peeled back layers of herself, such as her aptitude for music, he grew more and more in love with her.

“They who do not believe that a woman is capable of making a man equally happy all the twenty-four hours of a day have never known a Henriette,” he wrote. “The joy that flooded my soul was far greater when I conversed with her during the day than when I held her in my arms during the night.”

Casanova’s Hitchcockian love inspired him to turn inwards — it was during this time that he learned French, the language of choice of European courts in the 18th century.

The love between a libertine and a noblewoman was ultimately doomed, but it would become a pattern of Casanova’s to fall for an ultimately unattainable woman in trouble, help her, seduce her, and say his goodbyes.

Ultimately, this is what happened with Henriette. When the star-crossed lovers reached Geneva, she informed Casanova it was time for them to part ways. She left nothing behind but a 1700s-style “Dear John” letter, etching “Tu oblieras aussi Henriette” — “You will forget Henriette too” — onto a windowpane using a diamond ring Casanova had given her.

She was wrong. He’d never forget Henriette.

He did move along, first to Paris, where he became embroiled in the court of King Louis XV at the sumptuous Versailles, setting the king up with one of his cast-off lovers, the Irish-descended Marie-Louise O’Murphy.

But like pigeons circling the piazzas and cross-hatched canals, Casanova always found his way home to Venice.

Marie-Louise O’Murphy, one of Casanova’s cast-off lovers who later became a king’s mistress, captured by French painter François Boucher, c. 1752.

Casanova’s Arrest in Venice

On a sticky night in the summer of 1755, Casanova was arrested for nearly every 18th century vice imaginable: blasphemy, cabalism, gambling, astrology, and Freemasonry.

His sentence included a stay at the dreaded I Piombi prison, high in the attic of the Doge’s Palace, so named for the lead roof that crowned the building. In summer, the roof attracted the hot Venetian sun, transforming the cell into an oven. In winter, it attracted the cold maritime drafts. Year-round, the cells attracted fleas and vermin.

Giacomo Casanova, libertine, dreamed day and night of his liberty.

Escape From The Prison At Doge’s Castle

Illustration from Story of My Flight

Thirty years later in 1787, Casanova wrote Story of My Flight, which was very popular and was reprinted in many languages, and he repeated the tale a little later in his memoirs

From there Casanova continued his wanderings, first to Paris, where he helped establish a lottery to enrich France’s coffers — as well as posing as a magician, opening a silk factory, and having sex with about every woman he encountered.

Casanova, the wolf of women, was on the lam. He drifted to Amsterdam and Dresden, finally finding his way to the Castle of Dux, in the coal country of modern-day Czech Republic where he was employed as a librarian.

From his own account, he had 120 sexual partners and sexual victims — nuns, underage girls, possibly some eunuchs. By his own account, he even impregnated his own daughter, Leonilda, years after he engaged in a threesome with her and her mother

Giacomo Casanova lived from 1725 to 1798. He was born and raised in Venice, later moved to Paris, and lived the last 15 years of his life in Dux – Duchcov in today’s northern Czech Republic. He is famous for his escape from the prison in Venice, but more so for his erotic adventures. His name has become synonymous with Ladykiller, and he’s one of the most famous Italians of all time.

Final years in Bohemia: , he became the librarian to Count Joseph Karl von Waldstein, a chamberlain of the emperor, in the Castle of Dux, Bohemia (now the Czech Republic)

The last years of the 18th century. In the Castle in Duchcov in modern-day’s northern Czechia, on the border with Germany, an old man sits at a wooden desk. The room is of considerable size but dark, and the walls are covered with bookshelves from floor to ceiling… It’s the library. The desk is lit by a single candle.

Wrinkled fingers protrude from under the heavy fabric. They’re holding a pen. The man is writing. To his left, full-written pages pile up, and to his right, a stack of white papers are eagerly awaiting the continuation of the story. Despite the crooked shape and the tired posture, the figure is vital and energic. The pen moves quickly and the words fill up the sheets… A river of stories, tales, and myths.

The man is Giacomo Casanova, and what he is writing is his memoirs… A 3700 pages giant book in 12 volumes… Histoire de ma vie – The story of my life. And this book will make his name live forever. He will be remembered as the greatest lover and the most successful seducer of women of all time.

But let’s leave him there in the library before his arthritis gets too painful, and the memory fails him, and go back to Venice, where this extraordinary story begins…

When he left Venice, he was almost sixty. His health was still good, but his capacity as a lover and socialite was considerably reduced. He felt old and the world he knew was slowly changing.

He went to Trieste. Then continued to Vienna where he stayed for a while working as a secretary for the Venetian ambassador. He reconnected with some of his old friends, but when the offer came to become a librarian at the Castle of Count Waldstein at Dux, Bohemia, he had kind of run out of options and accepted. His life as a rake was definitely over.

Castle of Dux, Bohemia, via Radio Prague International

In Dux – Duchcov, he witnessed from a distance the French Revolution and the fall of the Venetian Republic. Venice was seized by Napoleon Bonaparte in 1797. Casanova died the following year. He was 73 years old.

His world crumbled, and he died on June 4, 1798.

His last resting place is unknown.

“I have never been able to understand how a father could tenderly love his charming daughter without having slept with her at least once,” he wrote.

A portrait of Casanova in 1788, when he was 63 years old.

Casanova wrote about the purpose of his book:

I expect the friendship, the esteem, and the gratitude of my readers. Their gratitude, if reading my memoirs will have given instruction and pleasure. Their esteem if, doing me justice, they will have found that I have more virtues than faults; and their friendship as soon as they come to find me deserving of it by the frankness and good faith with which I submit myself to their judgment without in any way disguising what I am

Giacomo Casanova was many things in his life, including an inveterate traveler. Best known for the numerous women (and, according to some, a few men) who he seduced in addition to some who beguiled him, he was also a lottery organizer, spy, silk producer, violinist, con man, philosopher, prisoner, duelist, author, playwright, gambler, military officer, Freemason, poet, priest, lawyer, and more. Casanova lived in an era when few people traveled, and when they did, it was usually with a destination in mind or for a single grand tour of the Continent. It wasn’t until several years after his death that the first parts of Casanova’s memoir were published. When the first modern, complete edition of History of My Life was published in 1960, the full extent of his resourceful and cosmopolitan character became known to the general public.

Auguste Leroux’s illustrations for Giacomo Casanova’s Story of My Life.

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thewahookid · 10 months ago

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Miracles at the National Shrine and Grotto of Our Lady of Lourdes in Euclid, Ohio (I)

The Sanctuary of Our Lady of Lourdes in France has a connection to a Lourdes shrine in Ohio; 64 years after Our Lady first appeared to St. Bernadette, the National Shrine and Grotto of Our Lady of Lourdes in Euclid, Ohio, had its beginnings. In 1922, on pilgrimage to Lourdes, 3,986 miles away from Euclid, the mother superior of the Good Shepherd Sisters was inspired to build a replica of the grotto on the land donated to the congregation 10 miles east of Cleveland.

On May 30, Trinity Sunday, the nuns promised God they would build the shrine. Four years later, in 1926, again on Trinity Sunday, Archbishop Joseph Schrembs of Cleveland dedicated the Euclid shrine. Two years later, the grotto was named a national American shrine. Then, in 1952, the Sisters of the Most Holy Trinity — the Trinitarians — took over the work of the shrine.

In France, a Dominican priest asked the sisters if they could help with the English-speaking pilgrims. “As a thank you, he gave them relics that they brought back,” recalled Sister Phyllis Ann, today’s shrine administrator, to the Register. One is a piece of the rock that Our Lady stood upon when she appeared to St. Bernadette. “That’s where you see the pieces of stone that the water flows over at the Grotto; there’s also one embedded in a piece of marble on the side so that people can actually put their hands on it.” Near the statue of the Immaculate Conception, the slivers from the Lourdes stone are embedded in a sculptured marble book that looks like an old Communion book. And a third piece of the Lourdes stone “is in the gift shop,” along with “a little piece of St. Bernadette’s shoulder bone.”

“We are considered a satellite of Our Lady of Lourdes in France,” Sister Phyllis Ann explained.

“There was an apparition of Mary here. It’s part of the story that over the years has been pushed back or forgotten,” she added, before recounting the story. “This used to be a grape farm owned by the Harms family, very good Catholics. Julia Harms was married to the eldest son. And every day, she and her friends would go at noon to where the grotto [now] is, and they would say the Rosary there while she was pregnant. One day, Mary appeared to her and said that she would give birth and that the child would live, but that she, Julia, would pass away. Lo and behold, she gives birth to a little girl. Before she does, she tells her husband about the apparition and makes some promise that if the family should ever let this property go that it would be for a religious purpose dedicated to Mary.” Two weeks after she gave birth, Mrs. Harms passed away.

In 1919, when the Sisters of the Good Shepherd brought girls they cared for from Cleveland to the farm to pick grapes, the superior considered this a good place for the young women to live amid the peace of the outdoors away from the city. She got the property from the Harms family, and it was dedicated to Our Lady of Lourdes.

For some long-forgotten reason, the sisters were not able to continue overseeing the shrine; but, providentially, the Trinitarians arrived in the United States to teach Italian immigrants. They have administered the shrine since 1952.

Throughout the years, the piece of Lourdes stone embedded in marble at the feet of Our Lady in the grotto, with a steady stream of water flowing over it, has become more than a replica of the healing spring in France.

Joseph Pronechen, October 22, 2023

Adapted from www.ncregister.com

Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you; blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.

Amen.

#love #jesus loves you #jesus christ #blessed mother mary #mary #peace #prayer #church

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chaoticpuff17 · 4 years ago

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A Dangerous Game

epilogue

masterlist

Here it is my darlings! The epilogue! I fully expect you all to come for my head, but enjoy! It’s been a pleasure to write it!!-- chaotic puff

Y/N enjoyed the August sunshine as she wandered the market. Her life had been peaceful since coming to the Italian countryside taking on a new name, a new life. She had taken a job at a local restaurant and found them a small house bordering one of the olive orchards that littered the countryside where Mark was able to find a job. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was freedom, blessed freedom.

Italy had been good for her. There was no JB, no Namjoon, no mafia to worry about. No one knew her here. It was the fresh start she needed after her time in Korea. Here she was a Canadian woman from Quebec by the name of Alice Morin living with her husband of a year Matthew, also from Quebec. It was quiet. The only unexpected thing had been the baby.

The baby had been a rather rude surprise. She’d only just escaped Namjoon when she’d begun to show early signs. It had been a doctor in Prague, one that she was not entirely sure was practicing medicine legally, that had given them the news. She was several weeks along in a pregnancy that she had never wanted to begin with, but she was determined to make the best of it, even if the child was Namjoon’s.

She could remember turning to Mark with panicked eyes once the doctor had given them the news. They were on the run. They were trying to start a new life. They were both still grieving the death of a dear friend, more than one on Mark’s part. But Mark had taken her hands in his and smiled at her and told her that it would all be alright, that they could do this. It would be her tiny miracle, not Namjoon’s. He would make sure of that.

Eventually they’d made their way to Italy, establishing themselves in the northern countryside. It was a good life, more peaceful than she had ever known. The village was out of the way, vineyards and olive trees and above all sunshine. She loved it there, and for the first time every she was able to enjoy a pregnancy.

She’d been almost too scared to acknowledge the baby at first. Mark had been more invested than she had worrying over the constant movement and stress it would cause to her and the little buddy as Mark called him. They didn’t actually know the sex of the baby. Because of the restraints on both funds and access to proper medical care, Mark had chosen the remote Italian countryside, and had settled on using the local midwife to deliver the baby when the time came which left them with no clue of the baby’s gender.

Little by little, she had been able to become more excited about the baby. The nonnas of the village were more than happy to help with the pregnancy teaching her how to knit and sow, helping her put together the nursery, teaching her how to make proper Italian food. She couldn’t say how many times, she’d heard her boss being scolded by the local nonnas about letting a pregnant woman work so much. Mark also got his fair share of scoldings from the nonnas.

They’d melded into the village quite well after being there for so long now, they had their own routines and rituals, a peaceful life. Part of which included her weekly visit to the local church to light a candle for Jackson.

The church was one of her favorite parts of the village. It was small but beautiful, like so many other things in Italy. The local priest was always kind enough to say a few words to her before he left her in peace to grieve and contemplate in silence. She’d never been particularly religious before, but this brought her comfort. After her trip to the church, she’d go to the market before she walked home.

“Buongiorno, bella donna!” An old man she bought flowers from every week called out as she came into view of his stall.

“Buongiorno, signore!” Her smile was bright, happy as she walked over “Come stanno i fiori oggi?” She asked looking over the flowers he had laid out.

“Oggi abbiamo bellisime dalie. Il tuo italiano sta diventando motto buono.” He complimented with a wrinkled smile already preparing the dahlias he had just mentioned. It was their tradition. Every week she would ask about the flowers, and he would tell her what he thought was the most beautiful that week and prepare a bunch for her.

“Grazie.”

“Come sta il bambino?” He asked motioning to the rather large swell of her belly.

“Calcia come un giacatore di futbol.” She replied with a tired but happy smile looking down at her belly with playful exasperation. She swore that the little one was trying to kill her from the inside out sometimes or at least enjoyed using her organs as a punching bag. “Sono pronto per la sua nascita.”

“Quanto tempo fino alla nascita, Alicia?” He asked handing her the bunch of dahlias.

“Sei settimane.”

“Cosí presto!” He cheered as she paid for the flowers. “Non veds l’ora di incontrare il piccolo. Io e mia moglie ci piacerebbe averti a cena quando nasce il piccolo.”

“Grazie. Mi piacerebbe molto. Ciao, signore!”

“Ciao, bella donna!”

She continued through the market stopping at stalls and bopping into the bakery to pick up some fresh bread all the while oblivious to the dark gaze that followed her movements. He watched as she laughed with vendors and smiled at the Italian boys that paid her compliments. His blood boiling. That was his wife, and she was pregnant with his child, and yet she was here with Mark. He was getting to play the father to Namjoon’s child.

He’d been searching for her for months. Her disappearance had wreaked havoc on the manor, had wreaked havoc on him, but here she was perfectly alive and well and happy, and with another man no less. The entire organization had gone through an in depth cleansing, and GOT7 had been dealt with for good, all in preparation to bring her home. There was only one more pest to take care of.

Namjoon had never once doubted that he would find her. There was nowhere in the world she could hide from him, though he was impressed by how long she had managed to hide from him. It had been eight months since he had last seen her, eight torturous months, but that would all be over soon.

It took every ounce of his self-control not to take her right then and there, but there were too many people there now for her to take her now. She would be in his arms soon enough though, and then she would never leave him again. To say he was shocked when he’d received news of her with a picture of her swollen belly would have been an understatement. He hadn’t even known she was pregnant at the time of her escape, but both she and their child would be home soon. From the look of her, it wouldn’t be long until they welcomed their little one into the world. Namjoon had immediately started preparations for both her and the baby as soon as he’d found her. Everything would be perfect for her and their child. All that was left to do was to bring her home. Her pest was already on his way back to Korea to suffer a slow and torturous death by Namjoon’s own hand.

Namjoon followed her home carefully following her in watching from the shadows as she clipped the stems of the flowers and arranged them in a vase in her kitchen humming softly as she did.

“Hey, Tono.” She cooed as a cat jumped up on the counter next to her. She smiled down at the creature gently rubbing it behind the ears. “How did you get in here? You don’t live here, silly kitty.”

She didn’t seem bothered though by the cat’s presence even if it wasn’t hers. She continued about her business arranging the flowers in their vase occasionally cooing at the creature in a mixture of Italian and English. Eventually moving into singing silly Italian children’s songs to the cat as it basked in the sunshine on her kitchen counter.

The cat knew something she didn’t though his hair standing on end and hissing before jumping out of the open kitchen window much to her confusion.

“Tono?” She asked moving over to the window to see where the cat went.

“Hello, jagi.” He cooed coming up behind her wrapping his arms around her waist so that his hands rested against her belly as he breathed her scent in. “Did you miss me?”

She gasped dropped the vase to the floor as she spun around to face the man who still haunted her nightmares. “Namjoon.” She whimpered backing up until she was pressed back against the counter. “Don’t come any closer!” She yelped grabbing a knife and brandishing it in his direction. “Where’s Mark?”

“Put the knife down, jagi.” He sighed approaching her slowly. “You’re already in enough trouble don’t you think?”

“Get away from me.” She whimpered keeping the knife pointed in his direction her eyes flashing wildly as she looked for an escape. “What did you do to Mark?”

“It’s time to go home, jagi.” He cooed growing increasingly annoyed by her asking after the other man.

“I’m not going back there.” She hissed inching her way towards the door.

“You don’t have much choice, jagiya.” He chuckled darting forward and grabbing her wrist, He pulled her closing putting pressure on her wrist to an almost painful amount until she released the knife with a clatter. He wrapped her in his arms again pulling her into his chest tightly though keeping her belly in mind, not wanting to hurt her or the baby.

“Stop fighting me.” He hissed holding her still even as she struggled against him. “It isn’t good for the baby.”

“You son of a bitch.” She hissed continuing her struggles.

“That’s no way to talk to your husband, jagi, especially not after the trouble you’ve caused.” He growled tamping down his annoyance at her continued defiance. Didn’t she know that there was no escape for her now? “Think of the baby, jagi.”

It was those words that ceased her struggles as she hung in his arms. She couldn’t risk hurting the baby even if it meant she had to go with Namjoon.

“That’s my good girl.” He cooed moving his hands to rest against her belly again. “It wasn’t very nice of you to hide our baby from me, but it will all better once we’re home.” He assured her

She shuddered but didn’t fight anymore as the baby stirred uncomfortably responding to her distress. “Wait!” She yelped pulling against his hold again as he began to drag her out of the house. “Please wait!”

His gaze was annoyed as he looked back at her. “I have waited. Seven months is a long time, jagi.” He spat tugging her forward again.

“Please, I just need to grab something. Please, it’s for the baby.” He quirked a brow at her curiously as she looked up at him with desperate, frightened eyes. “Please.” She begged again eyes watering as she pulled against his hold.

“If you’re lying to me, jagi…” He warned but released her wrist and following her closely as she moved through the little house to the bedroom where a crib was situated by the window. The village had made that for them when she’d first started to show. Placed carefully over the edge of the crib was a blanket hand knitted with love for the baby.

She picked up the blanket folding it against her chest tightly almost like a shield. “I made it for the baby.” She breathed out with a shuddering under his harsh gaze.

He nodded lips set in a grim line before placing a firm hand against her back and leading her out of the house, shuffling her into the car that was waiting outside her home. They drove through the village to what she assumed was an airport waiting to take her back to her gilded cage, back to their game, and it was time to decide what to do, now that the chips were down.

to be continued...

Italian translation: May not be entirely accurate. My Spanish is much better than my French (which is dismal), and my Italian is practically non-existent much to the shame of my godfather.

good morning, beautiful lady.

good morning sir. How are the flowers today?

we have beautiful dahlias today. Your Italian is becoming very good.

thank you.

how is the baby?

he kicks like a futbol player. I’m ready for him to be born.

how long till the birth?

six weeks

so soon! My wife and I would love to have you for dinner after the birth. I can’t wait to meet the little one.

thank you. I would love to. goodbye sir.

goodbye, beautiful lady.

#bts #bts fic #yandere bts #bts rm #bts namjoon #namjoon #namjoon x reader #mafia namjoon #yandere namjoon #yandere #soft yandere #rm x reader #rm #mafia #mafia au #dark romance #fanfic #a dangerous game

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opera-simplified · 2 years ago

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Opera Simplified #7: Les Huguenots—Notes for Act V and an Appendix!

Notes:

** For some bizarre reason (possibly a combination of length and the fact that this act does not portray the Catholic Church in a good light at all), it was surprisingly common performance practice for a very long time (although not anymore) that this act would be cut entirely and the opera would end with Raoul getting shot outside Valentine’s house at the end of Act IV. If you’re scratching your head too...yeah.

*** Partly because this scene is often seen as not really necessary for the main plot and partly because it primarily consists of an extremely difficult tenor aria, this scene is frequently cut.

**** The version of the aria given in the main text is the version commonly performed; due to a combination of cuts and censorship of anti-monarchical content, the aria here is much shorter than originally written. Below is an English translation of what was to have been an additional verse of the aria and would have been inserted after this line:

RAOUL

When he [Coligny] was alive, they did not dare look upon

this noble face honored by victory without paling—

and in death, they insulted him!

Friends, here is his blood!

Do you still doubt?

And these are Frenchmen!

And these are Christians

who claim their support from Heaven and the royal throne for this!

Roving and full of fury, cursing their torture,

I ran to the Louvre, running through the danger,

to plead with King Charles! What a crime! May he be cursed!…

I saw the King himself shoot down his [Huguenot] subjects,

whom he is supposed to protect, from the top of his balcony!

Everywhere, murder and fire!

Everywhere, furious priests

proclaiming the wrath of Heaven!

And alas, no one, not even

the young girl in prayer

or the baby at its mother’s breast,

escapes their blows!

Will we helplessly watch this blood flow

when it cries out for vengeance?

It is waiting to be avenged! And they will have that vengeance from us!

***** The Louvre Palace was the royal palace of France prior to the building of the Palace of Versailles. It did give its name to the art museum now partially housed within it, but to be clear, Valentine is not telling them to take refuge at an art museum.

****** Props to Olivier Py (director of La Monnaie De Munt’s 2011 production) for apparently being the only director with enough common sense to let Nevers die onstage.

******* The ending of the previous scene is often modified so that this and the previous scene take place in the same setting.

Appendix:

so as you may have guessed, there was a shitton of research and online articles and things used in the making of this very long, very detailed project!

the following are some of the resources used in the making of this Opera Simplified:

-Wikipedia

-Google Translate

-Collins French-English online dictionary

-Wiktionary

-five (5) different libretti:

Google Books previews of Giacomo Meyerbeer: The Complete Libretti

Nico Castel’s word-for-word English translation

this webpage of Eugène Scribe’s original libretto before Deschamps (and others) made changes to it

this French/Spanish libretto

and this French/Italian libretto

-a piano/vocal score and a full orchestral score both available on IMSLP

-this delightful post from my dear @monotonous-minutia

-this post i wrote over two years ago

#opera #opera tag #les huguenots #notes #source appendix #meyerbeer #giacomo meyerbeer #augustin eugène scribe #émile de saint-amand deschamps

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miraculouswolf99 · 4 years ago

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I Put A Spell On You (Song Fic)

My first miraculous salt fic. Doubles as a song fic and a Halloween fic. Features the best song from the best Halloween movie of all time. Hocus Pocus.

youtube

*****

Adrien was happy. No one else in class knew why he had been smiling all day. Chloe was probably the only one in the room that knew why he was so happy today. But she was not going to tell anyone and ruin his day when Liar Rossi would would just use it to make up some more lies and ruin his happiness.

Things had not gotten better since the lying Italian had joined the class. Even though now that Marinette had transferred to Mendeleiev’s class, things had not gotten better. If anything, things had gotten worse since now Lila thought that she could not freely lie and manipulate almost non-stop with no one there to attempt to expose her.

The class was now half and half with who believed the liar and who doesn’t. The ones that don’t believe her being Adrien, Chloe, Nathaniel, Kim, and Juleka. Sabrina was decided to be a neutral part and not take a side. She listened to Lila’s tales, but normally stayed by Chloe’s side. Alya, Nino, Alix, Max, Ivan, Mylene, and Rose were all firmly on Lila’s side and nothing could ever change their minds.

Adrien had finally been starting to stand his ground against the liar since he had seen her chase Marinette away. He was reaching his wits end with her constantly hanging on his arm and never letting go when he asks or even demands her to. Adrien had managed to convince Bustier that he was too bust with his schedule to tutor Lila and that he would be better off sitting in the back with Nathaniel since it was more quiet than being next to Lila “never shuts up” Rossi.

“What are you so happy about today, Sunshine,” Nathaniel asked his friend.

“I have some friends coming today,” Adrien answered. “They were visiting their grandparents in the United States and decided to stop in France on their way back to their home in Greece. Their names are Lyon and Vallia Garden.”

“You know Greeks, cool,” Nathaniel said. “When did you meet them? Obviously it wasn’t a time close to now since you have not left the country and no Greeks have showed up here either, to my knowledge.”

“I met them about a year before my mom disappeared,” Adrien says. “Their family owns and operates an incredible animal and nature sanctuary that almost takes up the entire island they live on. They host a lot of charities there. Concerts, celebrity birthdays, auctions, art shows, even cooking contests. I was there with my parents for a charity fashion show.”

“Do you speak Greek or did they speak French,” Nathaniel was curious since he did know that Adrien already also spoke Mandarin and English.

“They speak French,” Adrien says. “They were the only ones there that were my age, so I was glad to have someone to talk to. We’ve kept in contact ever since.”

“Sounds great,” Nathaniel smiled at his friend. “Do they know about... everything going on?”

“Dear god, no,” Adrien stated. “Lyon is fiercely protective of his friends. He is a master archer and when he caught poachers trying to break into the sanctuary, he actually shot them all before calling the police.”

“I am not sure whether to be terrified of him when they come or in awe of him,” Nathaniel admitted.

“Nothing wrong with both, as Vallia would probably say,” Adrien chuckled. “I do admit that they can be pretty scary. Especially since when they help out at their family sanctuary, Lyon seems to have a way with their wolves and Vallia seems to be a lion whisperer.”

“I am both terrified and looking forward to meeting them,” Nathaniel nervously laughed. “I just hope Marc doesn’t faint when he learns this stuff about them. I love him, but we all know he is naturally timid.”

“I know,” Adrien chuckled. “Remember when he first met Kagami?”

“I will never let him live that down,” Nathaniel smirked, loving it when he is able to tease his boyfriend.

Before the two could continue their conversation, there was sudden yelling from outside the classroom and coming from the courtyard. It sounded like four people arguing, two of them not sounding like they were French.

“What is that,” Nathaniel wondered as they stood up.

“I’m a little worried to find out,” Adrien stated.

The two had stayed behind to chat after the bell rang and everyone else left for the day. They immediately left the classroom and looked over the railing and into the courtyard. They were soon joined by Marinette, Marc, Kagami, Aurore, and Mireille from Mendeleiev’s class, who had also heard the yelling.

“What’s going on,” Marinette immediately asked.

They all look over the rail. They see two people arguing quite loudly with Alya and Lila. They certainly were both unique-looking teens.

The first was a girl that was quite beautiful and had a grace and elegance to her style. She had long blond hair braided with roses and butterflies and had pink streaks. Her eyes were a stunning silver that you could see, if you were close enough, had specks of blue in them. Her style was a red, pink, and purple dawn colored dress with gold flats. On her wrists were diamond rose cuff bracelets, a butterfly on the one on her right wrist.

The boy next to her gave off a very icy exterior that also screamed honor and loyalty that only a knight would have. A tall boy with hair that was actually black with streaks of white and blue in it, coming to the length of Adrien's. His eyes were the opposite of the girl's, blue with silver specks. His outfit of choice was a sky blue t-shirt under a white jean vest, matching the blue pants with white boots. On his hands were white fingerless gloves. Around his neck was a sword and shield pendant as well as a white cloak only going down to his knees.

“Lyon, Vallia,” Adrien gasped.

“Those are your two friends from Greece, Adrien,” Kagami asked, Adrien having told her during their last fencing practice.

“Yeah,” Adrien said. “Their plane must have landed earlier than expected and they decided to come here.”

“Why are they arguing with Alya and Lila,” Mireille wondered.

“If it has something to do with that liar, it’s probably her fault,” Marc, of all people, stated.

It was a pretty open secret in the school that literally everyone but most of Bustier’s class, plus Bustier herself and Damocles, were all aware that Lila was nothing but a manipulative liar. In fact, most of them were shocked that the class, teacher, and principal believed her outlandish lies in the first place.

“Maybe Lila tried to cozy up to them and they caught her in a lie,” Marinette guessed.

“Lyon and Vallia do come from a rich family,” Adrien said. “Not only is their family known for their sanctuary, but they also have the largest jewel collection in the world. Like the medallions on their foreheads.”

They all looked and saw that the two did indeed have crystal medallions on their foreheads. Vallia’s was a rose quartz butterfly and Lyon’s was a sapphire wolf.

“What is up with that book that Lyon has,” Kagami noticed.

They all looked and saw that Lyon was holding a pretty large book that looked very old. It was bound with brown leather that had Frankenstein-like stitches all over it along with old silver metal on the cover as well. It also had a very large buckle.

“They did say they wanted to show me something,” Adrien said. “They went to the US to celebrate Halloween with their grandparents so maybe they got some type of prop and wanted to show it to me.”

They all quickly started to get into the courtyard and make their way over to the four. In a city plagued by a terrorist that uses negative emotions, arguments usually lead to someone getting akumatized.

“My brother does not worship the devil,” Vallia shouted at Alya and Lila.

“That book is a Book of Shadows,” Lila pointed at the book in Lyon’s hands. “It’s a tool of witchcraft, which is all about worshiping the devil. I should know. My great uncle is a world renown priest back in Italy.”

“Not all witchcraft is devil worship, you pathetic liar,” Lyon sneered. “And there is no world famous priest in Italy since the last well-known one was arrested five years ago for killing people using fake exorsisms.”

(Reference to an episode of Criminal Minds.)

“Lila is not a liar,” Alya yelled. “You are, you devil witches.”

“This isn’t even a real spellbook,” Vallia screamed at them. “It’s a movie prop out grandparents won in an auction. They knew we loved Halloween, so they got us a prop from out favorite Halloween movie.”

“See, that proves you worship the devil,” Lila accused. “Halloween is a devil cult holiday, my great uncle proved that years ago but America rejected his facts and still celebrates it.”

“It is not,” Lyon yelled. “You are the worst liar I have ever come across. You should be ashamed to insult an entire holiday just because you don’t like it. Pathetic, just like all you other mythology copying Italians.”

(Reference to the Roman and Greek rivalry from Percy Jackson.)

“How dare you,” Lila screamed.

“Lyon, Vallia,” Adrien called. “Calm down.”

But it was too late. A black and purple butterfly already came flying down. It went inside of the book Lyon was holding. The butterfly outline appeared over his eyes.

“Your favorite holiday and your culture insulted all at once,” Hawkmoth says to him. “Hocus Pocus, I am giving you the power to right this wrong. All I ask is for the miraculous of the ladybug and black cat in return.”

“I will show this liar some real magic,” Lyon said, transforming.

“What the hell,” Vallia gasped, backing away.

Lyon had changed into an almost male version of Winifred Sanderson. He was in a mostly green outfit with a green leather vest and pants with black leather boots that matched the black silk shirt under the vest. He also wore a long and shiny green cloak with a hood. He was still holding the book.

“Is it wrong that he actually looks hot in that outfit,” Adrien let slip, then instantly covered his mouth.

“Okay, we will come back to Adrien’s crush later,” Marinette stated. “For now, let’s run.”

Adrien immediately rushed forward and grabbed Vallia.

“Adrien,” Vallia was confused and worried. “What’s going on? What happened to Lyon?”

“Hawmoth is a terrorist here in Paris,” Adrien gave a quick explaination. “He takes advantage of negative emotions to turn normal people into his mind controlled villains.”

“Someone is mind controlling my brother,” Vallia was pissed. “When I get my hands on him, Hades will look like a puppy in comparison.”

“Maybe later, but we all need to hide so that Ladybug and Cat Noir can save your brother,” Adrien said.

Hocus Pocus then opened his book. He smirked as it glowed.

“Wicked ways beneath the skin, let all who taste it now join in,” he cast.

(Reference to Descendants 2.)

Out of the book came magical glowing chocolates. They all shot around the school and into the mouths of multiple people. It forced them to eat the magical treats, including Vallia, Nathaniel, Marc, and Kagami. Music then started playing out of nowhere as Hocus Pocus smirked again.

“Oh crud,” Adrien swore, running away along with the few students and staff that managed to avoid the chocolates.

He transformed and was soon on the roof of the school. Ladybug soon joined him. But they were shocked that the school was now in a full-blown musical moment. Hocus Pocus took “center stage” with Vallia and Kagami as his main back-up singers.

“I put a spell on you And now you're mine You can't stop the things I do I ain't lyin'.”

“It's been three hundred years Right down to the day Now the witch is back And there's hell to pay.”

“I put a spell on you And now you're mine!”

Hocus Pocus seemed to have used the chocolates like mind control treats. Everyone that eaten one had was now dancing around the courtyard in very Halloween-like manors. Some even seemed to be doing Micheal Jackson’s Thriller moves.

Alya and Lila, who had not gotten chocolates, were not allowed to leave as the dancers forced them to stay in the courtyard.

“What the heck in going on,” Ladybug was so confused.

“I guess whatever movie his akuma form is based off of had a musical number in it,” Cat Noir guessed.

“I put a spell on you And now you're gone (Gone, gone, gone, so long!) My whammy fell on you And it was strong (So strong, so strong, so strong!)”

“Your wretched little lives Have all been cursed 'Cause of all the witches working I'm the worst.”

“I put a spell on you And now you're mine.”

Hocus Pocus walked around the courtyard as he sung, Vallia and Kagami making amazing back-up singers. Alya and Lila still looked terrified even with the catchy song playing around them.

“Even as a back-up singer, who would have thought that Kagami could sing,” Ladybug said.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Cat Noir agreed.

“(Watch out! Watch out! Watch out! Watch out! She ain’t lyin’)”

“If you don't believe, You better get superstitious.”

“I put a spell on you... I put a spell on you...”

“Ah say into pi, alpha maybe upendi!”

“In comma-coriyama"

“In comma-coriyama”

"Hey hi, say bye-bye-i-i-i-i-i-i-i"

"Bye, bye"

The song ended with a pose from Hocus Pocus and his two back-up singers. He still had his menacing smirk on his face.

“I think it’s time our little liar had her own spell placed ob her,” Hocus Pocus stated. “Like... a truth spell, perhaps.”

Let’s just say that the heroes were petty and decided to let the liar’s kingdom fall before defeating the akuma. And Adrien was certainly glad to have his friend back and a really cool book from their favorite Halloween movie. He just wished that the name of the movie would stop slipping his mind. Oh well, gives him an excuse to talk with Lyon more.

#lila salt #Lila exposed #ml salt #halloween #akumatization #original character #original akuma #hocus pocus

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venussheglows · 4 years ago

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TGWDLM/Black Friday as shit the shreklets have said

Emma: babies don't even pay taxes what's their purpose

Bill: i cried at a chili’s while mr brightside played

Ethan: i didnt know wafflehouses were real until last year

Ted: we're all fat moods rn and I think that's very sexy of us

Wilbur Cross: My jeck my jack my jussy and my jrack

Hidgens: i’m sitting on the counter to commemorate the 1.5 year anniversary of me falling off this very counter while listening to legally blonde and getting too into the bend and snap

Charlotte: i have done a lot of sitting on counters and crying today

Wiggly: YOU HAVE BEEN CONVERTED TO CATHOLICISM. NOW VORE JESUS

Lex: I'm going to drop out of school and become the village disappointment

Emma: i have one foot in wine aunt territory and the other in babey territory

Mr. Davidson: i was going to say something and it has gone out of my head and gone splat against the window of my never ending thoughts

Kris Kringle: welcome to my school, where in English class one half is discussing gender roles and the other is arguing if Scrooge is hotter than the onceler

Gary Goldstein: Perry the Platypus railed me in a walmart ✌️

Alice: my hands are so cold they would be so much warmer if a pretty girl with big hands maybe held them

Linda after Feast Or Famine: chile my hair is wet my forehead is all torn up and there’s mascara where mascara shouldn’t be

Emma: don’t call me a bitch😡 my preferred insults are harlot or whore😎👍

Ethan and Lex: thunk is the noise that it makes when we headbutt each other. it is hollow

Gary Goldstein: i’m dummy thicc and the clap of my ass cheeks keeps making me forget where i put my glasses

Deb: i don’t want a gf because that means i have to share the large ikea bear plush and i am not ready for that commitment

Becky: I can handle g minor scales. You know what I can't handle? Bitches.

Jingle and Jangle: who wants to eat mozzarella out of an Italian sink with me

Hidgens, letting the gang into his house: lmao y’all are coming over to my loud no electricity house we’re gonna eat canned goods and wear studded collars

Man In A Hurry: I’m kin with george of the jungle

Becky and Tom during Do You Want To Play: Arsenic? We're feeding you something that all pedophilic priests love

Bill: my autobiography will be titled: knees giving out unexpectedly in the kitchen section of ikea

Sherman: beating you over the head with a fifteen chord Oscar Schmidt autoharp (ASMR)

Hidgens: the last time i threw it back was absolutely catastrophic

Hannah: sure you may be “cool” or “successful” but can you eat an entire bag of rainbow goldfish in twenty minutes?

Lex: sometimes i remember im older than billie eilish and i have to take a moment

Hidgens: if i’m ever on broadway i hope i do a show at the lyceum so i can meet the ghost of bob fosse

Bill: tired go sleep night night dream dreams of glitter and dancing

Tom: my body is a prisoner and my brain is also a prisoner and they’ve gotten into a scuffle and are now beating the shit out of each other

Ethan: this time yesterday i was tripping balls

Emma: i have two aesthetics and it’s old timey romanticism vs tokyo drift neon district post apocalyptic vaporwave city

Charlotte: (tearfully) HEWWO???? HEWOOOOO???????

Sherman: Nothing compares to taking a shit in a camper while listening to 1812 overture on repeat

Linda: ginger men are disgusting they smell like mustard

Alice: You best bet i was hatching hella eggs in pokemon go

Becky: i am a vegetarian but. i will cook biphobes and feed them to the gators in my backyard

General MacNamara: can’t spell kaleidoscope without kale

Ethan: i’m simultaneously baby and a 73 year old man living in a lighthouse with nothing but his monthly shipments of bourbon and his leather bound journal

Hannah: i pinned my two braids to my head and immediately i feel like a pious unmarried woman of russian nobility

Lex: i have two trucks having sex in one ear and moscow great comet in the other

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sayitaliano · 4 years ago

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625 words to know

Italian version (English explanation and more resources here)

• Animali: il cane (dog), il gatto (cat), il pesce (fish), l’uccello (bird), la mucca (cow), il maiale (pig), il topo (mouse), il cavallo (horse), l’ala (wing), l’animale (animal), la zampa (paw)

• Mezzi di trasporto: il treno (train), l’aereo / l’aeroplano (plane), la macchina / l’auto / l’automobile (car), il camion (truck), la bici / la bicicletta (bicycle), il pullman / il bus (bus), la barca (boat), la nave (ship), la ruota (tire), il carburante (gasoline), il motore (engine), il biglietto (ticket), i mezzi di trasporto (transportation)

• Luoghi: la città (city), la casa (house), l’appartamento (apartment), la strada (street/road), l’aeroporto (airport), la stazione (train station), il ponte (bridge), l’albergo / l’hotel (hotel), il ristorante (restaurant), la fattoria (farm), il campo (court - sport), la scuola (school), l’ufficio (office), la stanza (room), la cittadina (town), l’università (university), il club (club), il bar (bar), il parco (park), il campeggio (camp), il negozio (store/shop), il teatro (theater), la biblioteca (library), l’ospedale (hospital), la chiesa (church), il mercato (market), la Nazione / il Paese (country (USA, France, etc.)), l’edificio (building), il terreno (ground), lo spazio (space (outer space)), la banca (bank), la posizione / il posto (location)

• Abbigliamento: il cappello (hat), il vestito (dress), il completo (suit), la gonna (skirt), la camicia (shirt), la maglietta (T-shirt), i pantaloni (trousers /pants), le scarpe (shoes), la tasca (pocket), il cappotto (coat), la macchia (stain), i vestiti / l’abbigliamento (clothing)

• Colori: il rosso (red), il verde (green), il blu (blue), l’azzurro (light blue), il giallo (yellow), il marrone (brown), il rosa (pink), l’arancione (orange), il nero (black), il bianco (white), il grigio (gray), il colore (color)

• Persone: il figlio (son), la figlia (daughter), la madre (mother), il padre (father), i genitori (parent (= mother/father)), il neonato (newborn) / il bambino (baby), l’uomo (man), la donna (woman), il fratello (brother), la sorella (sister), la famiglia (family), il nonno (grandfather), la nonna (grandmother), il marito (husband), la moglie (wife), il re (king), la regina (queen), il presidente (president), il vicino (neighbor), il ragazzo (boy), la ragazza (girl), il bambino (child (= boy/girl)) (la bambina, girl), l’adulto (adult (= man/woman)), l’essere umano / l’umano (human (≠ animal)), l’amico (friend), la vittima (victim), il giocatore (player), il tifoso / il fan /l’appassionato (fan), la folla (crowd), la persona (person), la gente / le persone (people)

• Lavoro: l’insegnante (teacher), lo studente (student), l’avvocato (lawyer), il medico (doctor), il paziente (patient), il cameriere (waiter), il segretario / la segretaria (secretary), il prete / il sacerdote (priest), il poliziotto (police man), la polizia (police), l’esercito (army), il soldato (soldier), l’artista (artist), l’autore (author), il manager / il dirigente (manager), il reporter / l’inviato (reporter), l’attore (actor), il lavoro (job)

• Società: la religione (religion), il paradiso (heaven), l’inferno (hell), la morte (death), la medicina (medicine), i soldi (money), il dollaro (dollar), la banconota ((dollar) bill), il matrimonio (marriage), il matrimonio / le nozze (wedding), la squadra (team), la razza (race (ethnicity)), il sesso / il rapporto sessuale (sex (the act)), il sesso (sex (gender)), l’omicidio / l’assassinio (murder), la prigione (prison), la tecnologia (technology), l’energia (energy), la guerra (war), la pace (peace), l’attacco (attack), l’elezione (election), la rivista (magazine), il quotidiano / il giornale (newspaper), il veleno (poison), la pistola (gun), lo sport (sport), la gara (sportiva) (race (sport)), fare esercizio (to exercise), l’esercizio (exercise), la palla (ball), il gioco (game), il prezzo (price), il contratto (contract), la droga (drug), il cartello (sign (traffic)), il simbolo (sign), la scienza (science), Dio (God)

• Arte: la band / il gruppo (band), la canzone (song), gli strumenti (musicali) (instrument (musical)), la musica (music), il film (movie), l’arte (art)

• Bevande: il caffé (coffee), il té (tea), il vino (wine), la birra (beer), il succo (juice), l’acqua (water), il latte (milk), la bevanda (beverage)

• Alimenti: l’uovo (egg), il formaggio (cheese), il pane (bread), la zuppa (soup), la torta (cake), il pollo (chicken), il maiale / la carne suina (pork), il manzo / la carne bovina (beef), la mela (apple), la banana (banana), l’arancia (orange), il limone (lemon), il mais / il granoturco (corn), il riso (rice), l’olio (oil), il seme (seed), il coltello (knife), il cucchiaio (spoon), la forchetta (fork), il piatto (plate), la tazza (cup), la colazione (breakfast), il pranzo (lunch), la cena (dinner), lo zucchero (sugar), il sale (salt), la bottiglia (bottle), il cibo / gli alimenti (food)

• In casa: il tavolo (table), la sedia (chair), il letto (bed), il sogno (dream), la finestra (window), la porta (door), la camera da letto (bedroom), la cucina (kitchen), il bagno (bathroom), la matita (pencil), la penna (pen), la fotografia (photograph), il sapone (soap), il libro (book), la pagina (page), la chiave (key), la vernice (paint), la lettera (letter), l’appunto (note), il muro (wall), il foglio (paper), il pavimento (floor), il soffitto (ceiling), il tetto (roof), la piscina (pool), la serratura (lock), il telefono (telephone), il giardino (garden), il cortile (yard), l’ago (needle), la borsa (bag), la scatola (box), il regalo (gift), la carta / la tessera / il tesserino (card), l’anello (ring), l’attrezzo (tool)

• Elettronica: l’orologio (clock), la lampada (lamp), il ventilatore (fan), il (telefono) cellulare (cell phone), il network / il lavoro online (network),il computer (computer), il programma (program (computer)), il laptop / il portatile /il computer portatile (laptop), lo schermo (screen), la fotocamera (camera), il televisore (television), la radio (radio), l’elettronica (electronics)

• Corpo: la testa (head), il collo (neck), la faccia (face), la barba (beard), i capelli (hair), l’occhio (eye), la bocca (mouth), il labbro (lip), il naso (nose), il dente (tooth), l’orecchio (ear), la lacrima (tear (drop)), la lingua (tongue), la schiena (back), il dito del piede (toe), il dito (finger), il piede (foot), la mano (hand), la gamba (leg), il braccio (arm), la spalla (shoulder), il cuore (heart), il sangue (blood), il cervello (brain), il ginocchio (knee), il sudore (sweat), la malattia (disease), l’osso (bone), la voce (voice), la pelle (skin), il corpo (body)

• Natura: il mare (sea), l’oceano (ocean), il fiume (river), la montagna (mountain), la pioggia (rain), la neve (snow), l’albero (tree), il sole (sun), la luna (moon), il mondo (world), la Terra (Earth), la foresta (forest), il cielo (sky), la pianta (plant), il vento (wind), il terreno (soil/earth), il fiore (flower), la valle (valley), la radice (root), il lago (lake), la stella (star), l’erba (grass), la foglia (leaf), l’aria (air), la sabbia (sand), la spiaggia (beach), l’onda (wave), il fuoco (fire), il ghiaccio (ice), l’isola (island), la collina (hill), il calore / il riscaldamento (heat), la natura (nature)

• Materiali: il vetro (glass), il metallo (metal), la plastica (plastic), il legno (wood), la pietra (stone), la roccia (huge stone), il diamante (diamond), l’argilla (clay), la polvere (dust), l’oro (gold), il rame (copper), l’argento (silver), il bronzo (bronze), il mattone (brick), il materiale (material)

• Matematica/Misure: metro (meter), centimetro (centimeter), chilogrammo (kilogram), pollice (inch), piede (foot), libbra (pound), metà (half), il cerchio (circle), il quadrato (square), la temperatura (temperature), la data (date), il peso (weight), il bordo (edge), l’angolo (corner)

• Nomi vari: la mappa (map), il punto (dot), la consonante (consonant), la vocale (vowel), la luce (light), il suono (sound), il silenzio (silence), il rumore (noise), il buio (darkness), sì (yes), no (no), il pezzo (piece), il dolore (pain), l’infortunio (injury), il buco (hole), l’immagine (image), il motivo / la fantasia / il disegno (pattern), il nome (noun), il verbo (verb), l’aggettivo (adjective)

• Direzioni: sommità (top), fondo (bottom), lato (side), davanti (front), dietro (back), fuori (outside), dentro (inside), sopra (up), sotto (down), sinistra (left), destra (right), dritto (straight), nord (north), sud (south), est (east), ovest (west), la direzione (direction)

• Stagioni: l’estate (Summer), la primavera (Spring), l’inverno (Winter), l’autunno (Fall), la stagione (season)

• Numeri: 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 30, 31, 32, 40, 41, 42, 50, 51, 52, 60, 61, 62, 70, 71, 72, 80, 81, 82, 90, 91, 92, 100, 101, 102, 110, 111, 1000, 1001, 10000, 100000, milione (million), bilione (billion), primo (1st), secondo (2nd), terzo (3rd), quarto (4th), quinto (5th), il numero (number) [ HERE ]

• Mesi: gennaio (January), febbraio (February), marzo (March), aprile (April), maggio (May), giugno (June), luglio (July), agosto (August), settembre (September), ottobre (October), novembre (November), dicembre (December)

• Giorni della settimana: lunedì (Monday), martedì (Tuesday), mercoledì (Wednesday), giovedì (Thursday), venerdì (Friday), sabato (Saturday), domenica (Sunday)

• Tempo: l’anno (year), il mese (month), la settimana (week), il giorno (day), l’ora (hour), il minuto (minute), il secondo (second), la mattina / il mattino (morning), il pomeriggio (afternoon), la sera (evening), la notte (night), il tempo (time)

• Verbi: lavorare (work), giocare / suonare / recitare (play), camminare (walk), correre (run), guidare (drive), volare (fly), nuotare (swim), andare (go), fermarsi (stop), seguire (follow), pensare (think) parlare / dire (speak/say), mangiare (eat), bere (drink), uccidere (kill), morire (die), sorridere (smile), ridere (laugh), piangere (cry), comprare (buy), pagare (pay), vendere (sell), sparare (shoot(a gun)), imparare (learn), saltare (jump), odorare (smell), sentire (hear (a sound)), ascoltare (listen (music)), assaggiare (taste), toccare (touch), vedere (see (a bird)), guardare (watch (TV)), baciare (kiss), bruciare (burn), sciogliere (melt), scavare (dig), esplodere (explode), sedere/ sedersi (sit), stare in piedi (stand), amare (love), odiare (hate), passare / oltrepassare (pass by), tagliare (cut), combattere (fight), distendersi (lie down), ballare (dance), dormire (sleep), svegliarsi (wake up), cantare (sing), contare (count), sposare / sposarsi (marry), pregare (pray), vincere (win), (perdere (lose), mescolare (mix/stir), piegare (bend), lavare (wash), cucinare (cook), aprire (open), chiudere (close), scrivere (write), chiamare (call), girare (turn), costruire (build), insegnare (teach), crescere (grow), disegnare (draw), nutrire (feed), prendere / prendere al volo / afferrare (catch), lanciare (throw), pulire (clean), trovare (find), cadere (fall), spingere (push), tirare (pull), portare /trasportare (carry), rompere (break), indossare (wear), appendere (hang), tremare (shake), firmare (sign), battere / picchiare (beat), sollevare (lift)

• Aggettivi: lungo (long), corto (short (long)), alto (tall), basso (short (vs tall)), largo (wide), stretto (narrow), grande (big/large), piccolo (small/little), lento (slow), veloce (fast), caldo /bollente (hot), freddo (cold), caldo / tiepido (warm), fresco (cool), nuovo (new), vecchio (old (new)), giovane (young), vecchio / anziano (old (young)), buono (good), cattivo (bad), bagnato (wet), asciutto (dry), malato (sick), sano (healthy), rumoroso (loud), tranquillo / calmo / silenzioso (quiet), felice (happy), triste (sad), bello (beautiful), brutto (ugly), sordo (deaf), cieco (blind), carino (nice), meschino / cattivo (mean), ricco (rich), povero (poor), spesso (thick), sottile (thin), caro / costoso (expensive), economico / conveniente (cheap), piatto (flat), curvo (curved), maschile (male), femminile (female), stretto /aderente (tight), largo / allentato (loose), alto (high), basso (low), morbido (soft), duro (hard), profondo (deep), superficiale (shallow), pulito (clean), sporco (dirty), forte (strong), debole (weak), morto (dead), vivo (alive), pesante (heavy), leggero (light (heavy)), scuro (dark), chiaro (light (dark)), nucleare (nuclear), famoso (famous)

• Pronomi: (I) io, (you) tu, (he/she/it) lui / egli (m.), lei / ella (f.), esso (n.) (we) noi (you) voi (they) loro / essi (m.), loro / esse (f.), loro / essi (n.)

** go check @sayitalianohome to find more vocabularies’ and grammar posts

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