The legend of the green children of Woolpit concerns two children of unusual skin colour who reportedly appeared in the village of Woolpit in Suffolk, England, some time in the 12th century, perhaps during the reign of King Stephen.
The children, brother and sister, were of generally normal appearance
except for the green colour of their skin. They spoke in an unknown
language, and the only food they would eat was beans. Eventually they
learned to eat other food and lost their green pallor, but the boy was
sickly and died soon after he and his sister were baptised. The girl
adjusted to her new life, but she was considered to be “rather loose and
wanton in her conduct”.
After she learned to speak English, the girl explained that she and her
brother had come from Saint Martin’s Land, a subterranean world
inhabited by green people.
Between Two Worlds (study for a recurring dream of ichor baptism fashioned as a portico fresco cartoon), 2016
I have experienced the vision twice so far: in my childhood (around 1984) and last autumn.
I enter a concealed pavilion and immediately hear a soft female voice speaking an unknown language. There is something about the timbrе that robs me of my will power and I gradually lose control over my body. The sermon brings me to my knees and pulls towards an imposing figure of a pitch black priestess - her features and details of her attire flattened by uniform blackness. I realize before long that the voice is no more and the scene is now drowned in a solemn silence. The lady tends to a peculiar suspended vessel and places it directly over my head. At her slightest touch it tilts and a warm, living substance pours down upon me. It covers me whole and eventually locks my body in this hard resin shell. Panic surge is quickly replaced by the most glorious sensation of myself imploding within the shell and falling endlessly through the soul’s looking glass into the unknown.
Acrylics on paper mounted on prepared hardboard, 23.7 x 22.5 cm
English was such a dense, tight language. So many hard letters, like miniature walls. Not open with vowels the way Spanish was. Our throats open, our mouths open, our hearts open. In English, the sounds were closed. They thudded to the floor. And yet, there was something magnificent about it. Profesora Shields explained that in English there was no usted, no tu. There was only one word—you. It applied to all people. No one more distant or more familiar. You. They. Me. I. Us. We. There were no words that changed from feminine to masculine and back again depending on the speaker. A person was from New York. Not a woman from New York, not a man from New York. Simply a person.
Cristina Henriquez, The Book of Unknown Americans
Rudyard Kipling was fired as a reporter for the San Francisco Examiner. His dismissal letter was reported to have said, ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Kipling, but you just don’t know how to use the English language. This isn’t a kindergarten for amateur writers.
For over 150 years, a series of mysterious notes in a medieval copy of Homer’s “Odyssey” left scholars baffled. The handwritten annotations were all over the margins of the 500-year-old manuscript, and were written in a language none of the scholars recognized. Although historians were pretty sure the notes had been made in the mid-1800s, nothing else was known—until the Internet got involved. After collector M.C. Lang offered a $1,000 reward for anyone who could decode the text, amateur cryptographers from across the internet and around the world set to work cracking the code.
The prize was won earlier this year by Italians Daniele Metilli and Giula Accetta. They figured out that the “unknown language” was an obscure form of shorthand invented by Jean Coulon de Thevenot in the late 1700s. The decoded text was actually in French, and appeared to be an amateur translation of the Greek text of the “Odyssey.” As you can imagine, figuring out which obscure European script the notes were written in was quite a task. Metilli is quoted as saying, “If I didn’t have access to online sources such as Google Books, the Greek Word Study Tool of the Perseus Digital Library and the French corpora of the CNRTL, I probably wouldn’t have won. What great times we live in!”
1. Astronomy. a. a group of stars. b. a constellation.
2. Mineralogy. a property of some crystallized minerals of showing a starlike luminous figure in transmitted light or, in a cabochon-cut stone, by reflected light.
3. three asterisks printed to draw attention to a passage it precedes.
Origin: Asterism derives from the Greek term asterismós meaning “a marking with stars.” It entered English in the late 1500s.
“Everything focused toward the north; every curve and asterism of the glittering sky became part of a vast design whose function was to hurry first the eye and then the whole observer onward to some secret and terrible goal of convergence beyond the frozen waste that stretched endlessly ahead.” - H. P. Lovecraft, The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath
What she means:But what happened to Reggie the Royal trumpet player from Shrek 2? Did he ever pursue his career and passions or is he still stuck as a royal trumpet player unable to be who he really wants? Where is he now?
Symptoms include: erratic behavior, hearing voices, seeing things. Eye witness account of possession (victim spoke in an unknown language, voice changed, face looked “demonic”, temperature drop and wind during the event, no smells) victim reports that the entity is harassing them and possibly trying to harm them. Also could this be a demon? I don’t think it is very likely but I would like a second opinion.
From a settlement in southeastern Turkey, an unknown language was discovered on a tablet in an ancient palace ruins. Archaeologists suggest that it was form a group of people originally residing in the Zagros Mountains between Iran and Iraq who were deported by the Assyrians.
There was no sun when the radar blip appeared, overcasting clouds seemed to be an omen of the new pilot’s arrival. Not much was known about the company’s addition to the squadron besides her natural analytical skills and fighting abilities. The YF-23 “Black Widow” came in for a landing after receiving clearance. As it taxied down the runway anyone on the tarmac would see the strange art painted on the left rear stab of her aircraft. The scene depicted a sea blue gem surrounded by rust colored butterflies and a phrase in an unknown language underneath it. Her cockpit opened slowly after the engines of her aircraft went into shutdown and a figure in a jet black flight suit begins stepping down her extendable ladder.
During Christmas season my job gives out gift boxes and my register ran out of them fast. So I’m ringing a woman up and she asks me for a box and I tell her I don’t have any at my register and I ran out and she tells me okay and I ring her up and tell her have a nice day. A few minutes later she returns fussing me out saying that I’m liar and that we do have boxes and she went to another register and they had them and I just told her that I don’t have anymore and she tells me she knows I’m lying. I say I’m not and she just storms off fussing in a language unknown to me. Bless her soul.
(A/n) This is a sequel to Cursed so if you haven’t already read it, please do!
Next, I’d like to say that I hope that in this chapter and the next, it clarifies any confusions about Yoongi, but if there’s anymore questions then go ahead and ask. This is kinda short too whoops, less than 2k aha~
Warnings: Implied death?? and sort of smut lol it gets steamy okay
Somewhere in the world, a cottage existed, perhaps it was part of Earth and hidden very discreetly from the public eye, or maybe somewhere in another dimension connected to the human world by a portal. The cottage was built sturdy with dark wooden planks, windows that never let light in but darkness. The rooms inside were illuminated with flickering old bulbs, creepy crawlers gathering around the light.
In one particular room of the cottage, there was a wall lined with shelves consisting of books upon books, the titles printed on the spines written in an unknown language no one but the occupant of the cottage could understand. Tables were pushed up against the wall opposite of the door, the tops layered with more books, parchments, and mason jars and flasks and beakers containing specimen and liquids of various kind - some seemingly glowing an odd color. In the middle sat a large obsidian cauldron, empty but somehow excreting a peculiar fume from its opening.
On the last wall, adjacent to the door were more shelves, but not containing books, instead they were home to a hoard of mason jars. Each jar held a wisp, a soul, a burning sphere of spiritual flames.
On each cover you could make out hastily scribbled handwriting scrawled on the metallic lids with a black marker, on each lid labeled with only three or two letters. One in particular has the letters: MYG written in bold charcoal letters.
“Mm.. What’s wrong?”
He pulls away albeit reluctantly, frowning at your question with a slight tilt to his head. His fingers detangle from your hair, hands moving down to cup your cheek and grip at your hip. Leaning up, he presses a kiss into the side of your neck, right beside a rather large welt he’d left earlier.
“What do you mean?” he whispers, voice husky and dripping with honey, something you’d definitely missed during his absence of over six months.
Even after all that trying to move on and working hard to forget, you let yourself welcome his return wholeheartedly, only caring about the fact that he was here now and sure as hell going to make up for lost time. And that’s how you found yourself missing work for a day with your long lost lover to catch up, and eventually leading up to night of passionate love. Yoongi felt bad about his disappearance upon hearing about your condition, his apologies consisted of hand squeezes and tender kisses that made your heart flutter to life - a contrast from its dead state during his absence.
Laying your eyes upon Min Yoongi for the first time since he’d dissolved right before your eyes was heartbreaking and yet so reparing in a way, you wanted to hate him and push him away for all the pain he’s left you with, but you can’t help but let yourself forgive him and welcome him back home.
Looking down from where you hover over your lover, straddling his lap and sensuously rotating your hips just to grace your ears with the erotic and yet so endearing sound of his husky groan, you smile widely and thank whatever god there was for the return of this gift.
Silver hair is all ruffled and messy from your fingers, his lips swollen and slick with your saliva, cheeks flushed from the heat, and his eyes - oh god his eyes - were the epitome of darkness, pupils blown wide with lust and passion but not without the hint of adoration as his palms run down your bare body. His eyes skim over your form, focused as though he were branding this image of you sweaty and writhing above him in pleasure in his memories, pink appendage sliding over his puffy bottom lip teasingly.
“I mean… What’s wrong? Pretty simple question I guess,” you shrug, tone playful as he pinches your hip with a furrow of his brows. “Something’s been on your mind, I can tell, did something happen after you disappeared?”
“A lot happened kitten, but I’m not sure if this is the right time to talk about it… I’m not sure if you’d even look at me the same…”
The cottage shook with an eerie groan, as though the building itself were alive, old and rustic. Heels clicked on the wooden panels of the main room, echoing in the pindrop silence before a long yawn and thump of a broom stick landing haphazardly on the floor.
Porcelain fingers, snow white and slender, gripped at the hat sat upon her head, flicking it off and uncaring of its whereabouts once she entered her study. The hinges screamed and cried, the door pushed open and inside were the messy tables and filled shelves.
“Hello my lovelies~” she cooed to the mason jars containing the wisps of souls she’d collected. And to one in particular, marked with MYG, she giggled and picked it up, raising it to eye-level, “A pleasure to have you a part of the collection Suga.” The wisp sparked, a sign of emotions flaring, but she paid no heed and placed the jar back on the shelf at the edge.
Months passed with Yoongi now a part of her collection of souls, and it was truly entertaining to watch the pain you were put through. She’s witnessed quite a hand full of heart breaks, creating similar bets with the other men she’s got in those jars alongside him, but there had to be something so invigorating about your little split.
Turning her back to the shelf, she busied herself with the items on one of the desks, her fingers flipping the pages of a book until she stopped. The pages of the books were old and foxing at the edges, a musty scent reaching her nose but she paid it no mind and skimmed over the fading words.
She worked diligently, fingers flying with a flick and snap, mixing and combining liquids and specimen in flasks and adding them to the cauldron behind her.
If only Jinri had paid more attention to her surroundings, or maybe if she’d just turn her head a little more to see from her peripheral vision a wisp repeatedly clashing against the wall of its jar. It never ceased until the jar tipped over the edge and shattered on the wooden planks.
A figure rose from the remnants of the mason jar, quickly raising their arms to swipe across shelves.
Her beady black eyes widened, locking on the hardened chocolate of Min Yoongi’s.
“I-I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have asked… I-I’m just worried and…”
Yoongi smiled softly, the tips of his finger tracing over the rosy apples of your cheeks, traveling down to glide along your jawline and then your lips. Catching your chin in between his index and thumb, he pulled you down for a chaste kiss. His lips smothering the mewl tumbling from your throat as he gently flips you both until he’s hovering above you, lips still tangled.
“I’ll tell you later,” he assured you, dropping his hips to press against you sensually, “For now, we have six months to catch up on kitten.”
“Who knew it’d be so easy to escape?” Yoongi sneered, stepping over the broken glass, avoiding anymore shards. One by one each jar was broken and the men she’d trapped were set free.
Despite being completely bare, he paid no mind and inched forward towards her. Eyes narrowed, he cocked his head, a sinister smirk curling at the ends of his mouth.
“You don’t know how to get back,” she says defiantly, muttering an incantation under her breath before flicking her fingers in his direction to which he dodged. One of the recovering men froze, petrified, their body slowly eroding into nothing but dust.
He blinked, cursing under his breath as the others yelped and tried to hide their nudity.
“So there is a way back?” he confirms, glancing around the room for anything, something to finally rid of Jinri.
“Are you not intimidated?” he asked casually, gesturing towards the hoard of naked men behind him, “You’re outnumbered, or maybe… you’re turned on aren’t you? You dirty witch, excited by the amount of naked men you have trapped here.”
Another spell missed him by a hair, and yet another man crying out in surprise as he slowly dissolves into nothing. Quick on his feet, he snatches her wrists, seizing her arms behind her back.
“Ever read any children fables?” he asks, watching as other men slowly catch on and search the room, others opening the door to access the rest of the cottage, “Or maybe watched movies while you were walking on human soil, shall we test out how to kill a witch?”
You sigh in bliss, thighs continuing to tremble with the aftershocks of your high. Your chest heaves with every breath, laying boneless while patiently waiting for Yoongi to return from his trip to the bathroom to discard of the condom and retrieve a wash cloth.
The mattress dips under his weight, the springs groaning as he hoists your legs onto his lap, fingers kindly massaging your worn out thighs. His smile is nothing short of loving and sweet, pressing a kiss to your temple before he wipes up the inside of your thighs and your sex.
Once he’s finished your arms reach out eagerly, pulling him into you and curling up against one another under the sheets.
“I love you Yoongi,” you say, holding your breath in anticipation for his answer.
The smile on his face widens into a full on toothy grin, upper lip peeling back to reveal his gums in that way you missed. Nuzzling his nose into your neck, he whispers back without hesitation, “I love you more (Y/n).”
It’s not until later into the night, you’re both slowly falling under the spell of sleep, does Yoongi speak up suddenly.
“Do you want to know?”
You turn over, facing him but his eyes are averted to avoid locking gazes with you.
“Do you want to know what happened after I disappeared?”