#Source problems in antiquity

[merchen-aeravellae]

A Yandere Through Time

Yandere Time Traveler x Royal Reader

Warnings: stalking, kidnapping, forced confinement, obsession

No one knows who created it, but every owner of the mysterious mirror has met a fate so tragic it chills anyone to the bone. The mirror appeared out of nowhere, wandering from hand to hand, from life to life. At first glance, it seems like a blessing, but in reality, it is a curse in disguise. If you cross paths with it, beware: it offers you your deepest desire, but the price is your sanity.

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Yandere Time Traveler who is dedicated to collecting antiques, a passion that has been passed down through generations in his family since the famous Rosa Era. Each member of his lineage has their own personal museum. His collection not only includes legally acquired pieces but also artifacts that the world does not know exist and are in his possession.

Yandere Time Traveler who is mainly dedicated to purchasing items from the Roja Era, not because it is his favorite time period, but because his favorite person lived during that time. The fifth child of a king who ruled what is now his city, the castle where they lived still stands proudly on the outskirts of the city, now converted into a museum that he visits weekly as a way to be close to his beloved

Yandere Time Traveler who has been intrigued by your story since childhood: a member of the royal family beloved by his family, the common people, and even his enemies. One day, you disappeared from your own home, and no one ever heard from you again. Everyone searched exhaustively for decades but never found you. A group of people tried to exploit the situation by impersonating you to gain all the luxuries and privileges that rightfully belonged to you. Only one person resembled you both in appearance and manner of speaking. The only problem was that nearly 70 years had passed since your disappearance, and this person was too young to be you. In the end, their husband had to clarify that they were suffering from mental issues, and as a result, no one took them seriously.

Yandere Time Traveler who feels like a lunatic: how could he be in love with someone who lived nearly two hundred years ago? However, he has always felt a connection to you, and the only way he finds to be near you is by acquiring all your belongings through illegal auctions. Selling and buying items related to you is prohibited in his country; museums tirelessly search for all your belongings across the continent to display them alongside those of your family. But he is faster and acquires everything before the museums can get their hands on it.

Yandere Time Traveler who, of all your belongings, has searched the black markets most fervently for your hat. In the Roja Era, royalty did not use crowns to show their lineage; instead, they used special and unique hats to demonstrate their noble position. The hats of your sisters and brothers are in the castle museum, but yours was never found. The theory is that you wore it the day you disappeared, and wherever you are, the hat is with you.

Yandere Time Traveler who acquired a mirror from an antique shop during a sale. He didn't know what era it was from, but its beauty convinced him to place it in the room dedicated to you. The mirror carried a dark legend: all its owners ended up losing their sanity or disappearing without a trace. However, he was not intimidated, believing it was just people's tales. He was sure you would have been fascinated by it, imagining you using it to admire your reflection while trying on clothes.

Yandere Time Traveler who, one night, woke up startled by strange noises coming from a nearby room. With silent steps, he approached to discover the source of the sound, but his concern grew when he realized the noises were coming from the room dedicated to his beloved. He immediately thought someone had broken in to steal something from his valuable collection. Wasting no time, he grabbed a bat he had purchased a couple of weeks ago, perfect for defending himself against an intruder. Upon entering the room, he found no one, but the mirror looked different. Strange figures were forming on its surface, and he couldn't resist the temptation to touch it. It was as if the mirror was calling to him. However, the moment his fingers brushed against the glass, he lost consciousness.

Yandere Time Traveler who woke up with a terrible headache. As he opened his eyes, he realized he was lying on a wooden bed that creaked with the slightest movement. The room was unfamiliar, filled with objects that didn’t match his home. The walls were made of wood. Various items adorned the space, from wooden toys to old tools, along with portraits and simple household decorations. As his vision adjusted, he noticed a small window allowing the morning sunlight to illuminate the room. The smell of wax, burnt wood, and a faint scent of food filled his nose.

Yandere Time Traveler who panicked. He tried to get out of the bed to figure out where he was, but only succeeded in worsening his headache from the sudden movement. He heard footsteps coming toward him. Fear took over as he desperately looked for something to defend himself with. But before he could act, the door opened, and an old woman entered the room, calmly looking at him.

Yandere Time Traveler who discovered that he was in the house of an elderly couple. They had found him unconscious at their doorstep and, out of compassion, had taken care of him ever since. Maybe he had gone mad because nothing made sense. The date on the calendar in their house showed that it was 200 years before his own time. It wasn’t possible that he had traveled to the past. Maybe he had hit his head, and all of this was just a delusion, a hallucination caused by the injury. Perhaps he was in a hospital, in a coma, dreaming a nonsensical fantasy.

Yandere Time Traveler, unable to find a way back to his own time, was now trying to adjust to his new life. The elderly couple who had taken him in gave him work in their small antique shop and allowed him to live in their home. In return, he had to handle the heavier tasks, like feeding the animals, repairing anything that broke, and keeping the shop in order.

Yandere Time Traveler was organizing some items in the shop when he heard the bustle of a crowd outside. The voices and shouting filled the street, but he didn’t even bother looking out the window. He didn’t care what celebration or festival was taking place outside. Everything went quiet for a while until the shop bell rang. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone, but it was his job. With a fake smile, he greeted the customers who had entered.

Yandere Time Traveler was startled to see a familiar face. It wasn’t someone he had met in person, but someone he had seen in portraits—it was the crown princess of Adrionia. Adrionia was the name of his city when the monarchy still existed. Although he knew he was in the Roja Era, he never imagined he would meet a member of the royal family in a place like this. The heir was about to speak when a pair of voices interrupted from the hallway in front of them.

Yandere Time Traveler who was shocked to see the rest of the royal siblings there. His heart swelled with longing; if they were here, it meant that you must also be here. He couldn't help but search for you among the crowd, but he couldn’t find you. His hope deflated into sadness, until someone emerged from one of the back hallways, holding a trinket in their hands.

Yandere Time Traveler who wanted to die right then and there—you were standing before him, the love of his life. As you asked your sister to buy the trinket for you, he couldn’t help but admire you. You were even more beautiful in person; the paintings didn’t do you justice. He wanted to leap over the counter to be closer to you, but he knew if he did that, he'd be thrown into the dungeon. All he could do was watch you from where he stood, his heart pounding at a thousand miles an hour.

Yandere Time Traveler who felt you so close, yet so unattainable. As he rang up your sister’s purchase, he never took his eyes off you for a second. He watched you with a mix of fascination and desperation, knowing that this might be the only time he’d ever be so near you. And just as you had appeared, you left. His world crumbled with each step you took toward the exit, moving further away from him.

Yandere Time Traveler who couldn’t stop thinking about you after that encounter. His heart filled with yearning to see you again. Now that he had seen you in the flesh, he couldn't allow everything to end with just one brief meeting. He needed to see you once more, needed you in his life in a more permanent, closer way. But he knew he couldn’t just approach you without a plan—and for that, he needed to scheme carefully.

Yandere Time Traveler who decided to use his knowledge of the past to his advantage. He began calling himself a prophet and would go out to the town square to “predict” events he already knew would happen soon. At first, people looked at him with skepticism, and many called him crazy. But when his predictions started coming true with eerie accuracy, everything changed. Word spread throughout the kingdom about his visions, and people gathered in the square to hear him speak. It wasn’t long before the royals heard of him and summoned him to the castle. Everything was going according to plan.

Yandere Time Traveler who was tested by the court, but he was ready for whatever challenge came his way. He “predicted” the betrayal of a court member, and a week later, a respected and seemingly unblemished noble was discovered stealing large sums from the royal treasury. The impressed kings offered him a permanent position at the castle. His goal was now within reach. Every day, he grew closer to you. He knew you better than you knew yourself and was confident that soon you would fall in love with him.

Yandere Time Traveler who, over time, befriended the royal family, but you were different. You seemed deeply distrustful of him. Every time he tried to approach you, you fled. If he entered a room through the door, you left through the window. The more frequent these encounters became, the more frustrated he felt. He left you gifts, but you discarded them. The letters he sent, you burned in the fireplace. And every time he tried to speak to you, you ignored him. Couldn’t you see that destiny was bringing you together? Why did you run from him as if he carried some contagious disease?

Yandere Time Traveler who knew he had to be patient, but every moment away from you felt like a blow to the heart. Then, during a casual meeting with your brothers, everything he had worked for unraveled. Without meaning to, your brother let it slip that you were seeing someone in secret—a mere guard, someone far beneath him. He had to keep his composure; he couldn’t afford to break his facade in front of them. But all he wanted to do was rush out and bury that filthy man deep in the earth.

Yandere Time Traveler who now understood everything. You had always rejected his efforts because you already had someone in your life. The idea of you being with someone else was unbearable. Every touch, every word shared between you and that guard ignited a wildfire of jealousy within him. Just thinking about it made him feel sick. He needed to devise a new plan, so he decided to accuse your lover of trying to seduce you to rise in high society. The kings were furious with both you and your lover. The execution seemed imminent. However, something unexpected happened. On your knees, you begged your parents, saying it was all a misunderstanding. At other times, he would have loved to hear your voice, but at that moment, he wished you'd be quiet. You were ruining his plan and breaking his heart as he watched you plead for another man.

Yandere Time Traveler had to leave the castle for a few days; the whole situation was overwhelming him, and he feared he might do something that would compromise his facade. He returned to the shop where he had worked at the beginning. The old man greeted him cheerfully, happy to see him after such a long time. While the older man talked about everything that had happened in his absence, he wandered around the shop, looking at the new antiques that had arrived, hoping to distract his mind. Suddenly, something caught his attention: a mirror that seemed too familiar, sitting in a corner. He now knew how it had ended up in the couple's home. As he stared at it, an idea formed in his mind: "If I couldn't have you in your world, maybe I could in mine." With that thought in mind, he decided to buy the mirror, flashing a disturbing smile.

Yandere Time Traveler returned to the castle with his new treasure, eager to figure out how it worked as soon as possible, though it was easier said than done. It was during a fit of rage that he grabbed the bat he had brought with him to smash objects and vent his frustration. You had convinced your parents that your lover was a good man, and they had allowed you to marry him. He should have been that man, the one who would marry you, but his place had been taken. After breaking several objects in his fury, he left the bat leaning against the mirror and stormed out of the room, not noticing that the reflection in the mirror had begun to change.

Yandere Time Traveler who could only watch as you prepared for your wedding felt as if you were mocking him. Unable to bear it any longer, he retreated to his room to devise a plan. He would not let anyone else have you. Upon entering, he found something magnificent: the portal in the mirror was in all its glory. He gazed at the bat and suddenly, the idea of how it worked came to him. He had been so foolish; the answer was so simple, and he hadn’t seen it before. Now, you would be where you belonged, by his side, living in his own time, where you could never escape.

Yandere Time Traveler who sent you a letter pretending to be your brother to get you to the library. If you had known it was him, you never would have gone to meet him. The mirror was positioned in such a way that you couldn’t see it at a glance, and he would ambush you from behind. Hearing your footsteps approaching down the hallway, you entered and called out for your brother. He stood momentarily stunned, witnessing something he never thought he’d see: you were wearing your hat, the object he had longed to see all his life. But that feeling quickly faded when, angrily, you yelled at your "brother" to come out of hiding because you had a date with your fiancé and needed to leave immediately. The mention of the other man and the fact that you wore something as significant as your hat just to see his rival gave him the strength to push you into the portal, following closely behind.

Yandere Time Traveler who woke up on a floor that seemed familiar, was back in his own home. He watched as you lay unconscious beside him, and since he had already gone through the experience of the portal, he managed to get up before you. He reinforced all exits to ensure you couldn’t escape and then let you rest in what would now be his shared bedroom. Hours later, he heard a blood-curdling scream. He rushed to his room, but you were not there. He found you in the room he had dedicated exclusively to you. You tried to escape, but seeing such a room had frightened you so much that you couldn’t help but scream.

Yandere Time Traveler who pretended everything was fine for a while. You stayed at home while he went to work. It didn’t matter that you did nothing all day; he believed your hands weren’t meant for work. He preferred to do everything himself to keep you content. One night, upon returning from work, he noticed something strange: the house felt too silent. Although he was convinced there was no way you could have escaped, his home felt empty. He searched every corner, but there was no sign of your presence. As he pondered where you could be, his gaze fell on the mirror.

Yandere Time Traveler who had underestimated you. You had managed to find a way to use the mirror while he was away, but he already had an idea of where you might be. Using the mirror, he traveled 70 years after the date of your disappearance. True to his assumption, he quickly found you; everyone knew you for trying to claim that you were the missing royal member, even though that was now impossible. He approached you slowly from behind while you were talking to a couple of people, trying to convince them of your identity. He placed an arm around your shoulders, noticing how your skin prickled. He was too angry to care about the effect he was having on you. With a fake worried look, he explained to the people that you were his fiancée, but that you were suffering from dementia. The people left, leaving the two of you alone.

Yandere Time Traveler who took you back to his time, determined not to make the same mistake. With the bat he had used earlier, he gathered all his strength and smashed the mirror into pieces while you screamed for him to stop. His rage was relentless; he hit the mirror so many times that it became irreparable. When he finished, he embraced you while you cried out loud, knowing that your only escape had been destroyed. He tried to comfort you, whispering soothing words, but his attempts at calm only had the opposite effect. Every whisper and every caress only heightened your desperation, reminding you that you were now trapped with a lunatic, with no hope of returning.

Yandere Time Traveler "No matter what era you're in, I will always find a way to find you."

[mcflymemes]

AS SAID BY JASON TODD/ROBIN/RED HOOD *  assorted dialogue from multiple dc universe sources, adjust as necessary

i did it once for dramatic effect and it just got to be a habit.

you can't tell, but i'm dozing off under this mask.

a whole night in paris... and i managed to not kill anyone. not bad.

you made the same mistake everyone does when it comes to me.

i want to warn them... but i know i can't.

don't know, don't care. i got my hands full.

do you remember the last time we were together?

looks like you guys could use a hand!

i'm looking for someone.

i'm afraid it's about to get much worse.

the angry, reckless vigilante bit is my thing.

i'm not good or bad. i'm just practical as hell.

you and i are more alike than you realize.

i get it. starting over is scary as hell.

i don't even need to turn around to know that's you.

thanks for thinking of me. i'm happy to help. honored, even.

i generally have several madness-inducing hallucinations before breakfast.

nothing in the real world can be as frightening as what we can imagine... right?

you don't think i understand what it's like to be abandoned? forgotten?

i'll be damed if my best friend is going to die... because he was dumb enough to trust me.

i'm sorry. i'm never going to be the hero you want me to be.

next time i see you, i'm going to kick your butt for this dying crap.

you have ten seconds to walk way. nine... oh, screw it.

there are better ways to spend your energy.

that looks like it's gotta hurt. well, i say that like i'm speculating or something. i know it hurts.

we chose to be a family.

if there's hope for us... there's hope for everyone.

you still haven't figured it out?

life's just a game... and this time, you lose.

i seem to have made myself an enemy of all the bad guys.

it's too late. you had your chance.

i'm just getting started.

hard to forget that night, huh?

in a way, this was the site of your first great failure.

ah... memories.

you can't stop crime. that's what you never understood.

you want to rule them by fear, but what do you do to those who aren't afraid?

i'm doing what you won't.

i'm taking them out.

now tell me... how does it feel?

is that what you think this is about?

i don't know what clouds your judgement worse. your guilt or your antiquated sense of morality.

i forgive you for not saving me.

he took me away from you.

i am no one's son.

what do you think this was all about?

welcome to planet earth, baby.

fear isn't the answer.

you son of a bitch.

we were friends, helping each other pick up the pieces of our lives.

it might not be a popular thought, but not everyone wants to be alive.

can you hear it?

funny, i actually escaped death.

the past keeps dragging me back.

they're not monsters. they're victims of programming, abuse, and trauma.

they can change.

fact is, they're just like us.

we became something else.

you hurt a lot of people.

we don't discriminate here.

sometimes you don't know what you want 'til you learn what you don't.

trust? you? i'll give it a try. but i'll tell you right now, i'm probably going to screw it up.

guys like us? the life we lead? we're never truly alone.

i have no idea who you people are.

you pompous ass.

before i kill you, i want the truth.

i'd like to think i'm an open-minded guy.

sure it was fun. but does that mean it was right?

sometimes i wonder if i'm just part of the problem.

i'm not doing one more damn mission with them unless you get me someone i can trust to watch my back.

knew you couldn't do it.

it's official. class is in session.

[mask131]

The gods of Gaul: Introduction, or why it is so hard to find anything

As I announced, I open today a series of post covering what some can call the "Gaulish mythology": the gods and deities of Ancient Gaul. (Personal decision, I will try avoiding using the English adjective "Gaulish" because... I just do not like it. It sounds wrong. In French we have the adjectif "Gaulois" but "Gaulish"... sounds like ghoulish or garrish, no thank you. I'll use "of Gaul", much more poetic)

[EDIT: I have just found out one can use "Gallic" as a legitimate adjective in English and I am so happy because I much prefer this word to "Gaulish", so I'll be using Gallic from now on!]

If you are French, you are bound to have heard of them one way or another. Sure, we got the Greek and Roman gods coming from the South and covering up the land in temples and statues ; and sure we had some Germanic deities walking over the rivers and mountains from the North-East to leave holiday traditions and folk-beliefs... But the oldest gods of France, the true Antiquity of France, was Gaul. And then the Roman Gaul, and that's already where the problems start.

The mythology of Gaul is one of the various branches of the wide group known as Celtic mythology or Celtic gods. When it comes to Celtic deities, the most famous are those of the British Isles, due to being much more preserved (though heavily Christianized) - the gods of Ireland and the Welsh gods are typically the gods every know about when talking about Celtic deities. But there were Celts on the mainland, continental Celts - and Gaul was one of the most important group of continental Celts. So were their gods.

Then... why does nobody know anything about them?

This is what this introduction is about: how hard it actually is to reconstruct the religion of Gaul and understand its gods. Heck we can't ACTUALLY speak of a Gaulish mythology because... we have no myth! We have not preserved any full myth or complete legend from Ancient Gaul. The pantheon of Gaul is the Celtic pantheon we probably know the least about...

Why? A few reasons.

Reason number one, and the most important: We have no record of what the Gauls believed. Or almost none. Because the people of Gaul did not write their religion.

This is the biggest obstacle in the research for the gods of Gaul. It was known that the art of writing was, in the society of Gaul, an elite art that was not for the common folks and used only for very important occasions. The druids were the ones who knew how to read and write, and they kept this prerogative - it was something the upper-class (nobility, rulers) could know, but not always. Writing was considered something powerful, sacred and magical not to be used recklessly or carelessly. As a result, the culture of Gaul was a heavily oral one, and their religion and myths were preserved in an oral fashion. Resulting in a great lack of written sources comng directly from the Gallic tribes... We do have written and engraved fragments, but they are pieces of a puzzle we need to reconstruct. We have votive offerings with prayers and demands inscribed on it - and while they can give us the names of some deities, they don't explain much about them. We have sculptures and visual representations of the deities on pillars and cups and jewels and cauldrons - but they are just visuals and symbols without names. We have calendars - but again, these are just fragments. We have names and images, and we need to make sense out of it all.

To try to find the explanations behind these fragments, comparisons to other Celtic religions and mythologies are of course needed - since they are all branches of a same tree. The same way Germanic mythology can be understood by looking at the Norse one, the same way Etruscan, Greek and Roman mythologies answer each other, the mythology and religion of Gaul has echoes with the Celtic deities of the Isles (though staying quite different from each other). The other comparison needed to put things back into context is reason number 2...

Reason number two: The Romans were there.

Everybody knows that the death of Ancient Gaul was the Roman Empire. Every French student learns the date of Alesia, the battle that symbolized the Roman victory over the Gallic forces. Gaul was conquered by the Romans and became one of the most famous and important provinces of the Roman Empire: it was the Gallo-Roman era.

The Romans were FASCINATED by Gaul. Really. They couldn't stop writing about them, in either admiration or hate. As a result, since we lack direct Gallic sources, most of what we know about Ancient Gaul comes from the Romans. And you can guess why it is a problem. Some records of their religion were written in hatred - after all, they were the barbarian ennemies that Romans were fighting against and needed to dominate. As such, they contain several elements that can be put in doubt (notably numerous references to brutal and violent human sacrifices - real depictions of blood-cults, or exaggeratons and inventions to depict the gods of Gaul as demonic monstrosities?) But even the positive and admirative, or neutral, records are biased because Romans kept comparing the religion of the Gauls to their own, and using the names of Roman deities to designate the gods of Gaul...

Leading to the other big problem when studying the gods of Gaul: the Roman syncretism. The Gallo-Roman era saw a boom in the depictions and representations of the Gallic gods... But in their syncretized form, fused with and assimilated to the Roman gods. As such we have lots of representations and descriptions of the "Jupiter of Gaul", of the "Mercury of Gaul", of the "Gallic Mars" or "Gallic Minerva". But it is extremely hard to identify what was imported Roman elements, what was a pure Gallic element under a Roman name, and what was born of the fusion of Gallic and Roman traditions...

Finally, reason number three: Gaul itself had a very complicated approach to its own gods.

We know there are "pan-gallic" gods, as in gods that were respected and honored by ALL the people of Gaul, forming the cohesion of the nation. But... Gaul wasn't actually a nation. It was very much like the many city-states of Greece: Ancient Gaul was unified by common traditions, a common society, a common religion and a common language... But Gaul was a tribal area divided into tribes, clans and villages, each with their own variations on the laws, each with their own customs and each with their own spin on religion. As a result, while there are a handful of "great gods" common to all the communities of Gaul, there are hundreds and hundreds of local gods that only existed in a specific area or around a specific town ; and given there were also many local twists and spins on the "great gods", it becomes extremely hard to know which divine name is a local deity, a great-common god, a local variation on a deity, or just a common nickname shared by different deities... If you find a local god, it can be indeed a local, unique deity ; or it can be an alternate identity of a shared divine archetype ; or it can be a god we know elsewhere but that goes by a different name here.

To tell you how fragmented Gaul was: Gaul was never a unified nation with one king or ruler. The greatest and largest division you can make identifies three Gauls. Cisalpine Gaul, the Gaul located in Northern Italy, conquered by the Romans in the second century BCE, and thus known as "the Gaul in toga" for being the most Roman of the three. Then there was the "Gaul in breeches" (la Gaule en braies), which borders the Mediterranean sea, spanning between the Alps and the Pyrenean mountains, and which was conquered in the 117 BCE (becoming the province of Narbonne). And finally the "Hairy Gaul", which stayed an independant territory until Cesar conquered it. And the Hairy Gaul itself was divided into three great areas each very different from each other: the Aquitaine Gaul, located south of the Garonne ; the Celtic Gaul located between the Garonne and the Marne (became the Gaul of Lyon after the Roman conquest) ; and finally the Belgian Gaul, located between the Marne and the Rhine. And this all is the largest division you can make, not counting all the smaller clans and tribes in which each area was divided. And all offering just as many local gods or local facets of a god...

And if it wasn't hard enough: given all the sculptures and visuals depictions of the gods of Gaul are very "late" in the context of the history of Gaul... It seems that the gods of Gaul were originally "abstract" or at least not depicted in any concrete form, and that it was only in a late development, shortly before the Roman invasions, that people of Gaul decided to offer engravings and statues to their gods, alternating between humanoid and animal forms.

All of this put together explains why the gods of Gaul are so mysterious today.

[whencyclopedia]

Hippocrates

Hippocrates was born on the Greek island of Kos in the 5th century BCE, and he became the most famous physician in antiquity. He established a medical school on the island, wrote many treatises on medical matters, and is, through his systematic and empirical investigation of diseases and remedies, credited with being the founder of modern medicine.

Biographical Details

Information regarding Hippocrates is patchy and unreliable. He was perhaps born c. 460 BCE, but details of his life were speculated upon even in ancient times. One of the oldest sources is the Life of Hippocrates credited to Soranus of Ephesus, himself a physician, who lived in the 1st and 2nd centuries CE. Soranus' method of quoting from now lost earlier texts has been an invaluable source of information on ancient medicine. He states that Hippocrates knew several 5th-century sophists, notably Gorgias of Leontini, and was taught medicine by both his father and Herodicus of Selymbria, a gymnastic trainer. We also know that Hippocrates set up and ran a school of medicine on Kos.

Plato mentions Hippocrates in his Protagoras, suggesting that he worked for fees and believed the body should be treated as a whole (Phaedrus). The Roman scholar and medical writer Cornelius Celsus claims that Hippocrates was the first to separate medicine from philosophy, and other ancient sources also suggest that Hippocrates believed in the importance of diet and exercise for a healthy body. Soranus goes on to inform us that Hippocrates travelled throughout his life and died at Larissa in Thessaly, c. 370 BCE.

In antiquity, many legends arose of Hippocrates' great talents but most of these are likely pure invention. He reportedly discovered that King Perdiccas II of Macedon's health problems were down to lovesickness, he eliminated the plague that hit Athens in 430 BCE by burning fires everywhere, and he treated the philosopher Democritus whom everybody thought mad (not without some justification). Hippocrates had three sons who carried on his work - Thessalus, Dracon, and Polybus.

Continue reading...

[cilil]

Headcanons, re: Melkor's and Manwë's origins and relation

So when it comes to Melkor and Manwë I find myself in a bit of a "headcanon dilemma". On one hand, I really like the idea of them being twins, but on the other hand, a lot of stuff that I personally hc regarding their interpersonal dynamic and conflict rests on the basic assumption that Melkor is older than Manwë - not too much, as in not on the same level as I hc for the Fëanturi (with Námo practically raising Irmo), but a noticeable, significant amount. Enough for Melkor to have spent some time alone with Eru, let's say.

(Side note: I am aware of that one line stating they were coeval. What I'm going to say next will address how I'm trying to solve that conflict and afterwards I'll cycle back to it to explain why I felt like deviating from it/not taking it as literally.)

I've been rotating this back and forth in my head for a while, trying to figure out how I can fit these two ideas together, and what occurred to me now are two things:

The Timeless Halls. Timeless. Time doesn't exist as we know it there ("Then those of the Ainur who desired it arose and entered into the World at the beginning of Time" - Valaquenta)

Ainur are made from Eru's thoughts ("and Eru made first the Ainur, the Holy Ones, that were the offspring of his thought" - Ainulindalë)

With this in mind, as well as the fact that Ainur are spirit beings in general and exist outside of most "biological realities" (for lack of a better term) that inform the relations and interactions between incarnate beings, I think that Ainur twins don't have to be the same age. While coeval is defined as "of the same or equal age, antiquity, or duration" (source: Merriam-Webster), therefore having a clear temporal dimension to it, I would say that, under the above mentioned circumstances, such a notion would be more vague, have less clear boundaries.

(Personally, I see all of the Aratar as more or less "coeval", with the non-Arata Valar being a sort of "second generation" or "later additions" if you will, and the Maiar being made some time after them. My headcanon is that Eru had no plans to raise every single Ainu individually and only did so for the oldest Aratar, later relying on them and subsequently the other Valar and older generation of Maiar to raise and teach the young Ainur (and yes, parentification is a thing and yes, in real life it's a problem).)

Now cycling back to my original "issue" with the coeval line (not really, but just the reason why I wanted to read it a little differently), I felt like it was a bit... strange? thematically. Again, the part of Melkor and Manwë being essentially the evil and good twin is a dynamic I really like, but they're "made" from rather different "blueprints".

While Manwë has a special position as the Elder King, the other Aratar are his peers ("Though Manwë is their King and holds their allegiance under Eru, in majesty they are peers" - Valaquenta) and he's very much like any other Vala in the sense that he has one particular domain that informs his nature and where his talents lie and outside of that he relies on cooperation with his fellow Valar.

Melkor on the other hand (though don't get me wrong, he wasn't supposed to never go without any sort of collaboration or support) is special in the sense that he has a share in the other Valar's domains ("To Melkor among the Ainur had been given the greatest gifts of power and knowledge, and he had a share in all the gifts of his brethren." - Ainulindalë) and he's so vastly more powerful that he was able to hold his own against everyone else for a long time:

"Melkor must be made far more powerful in original nature (cf. 'Finrod and Andreth'). The greatest power under Eru (sc. the greatest created power).(1) (He was to make I devise I begin; Manwe (a little less great) was to improve, carry out, complete.) Later, he must not be able to be controlled or 'chained' by all the Valar combined. Note that in the early age of Arda he was alone able to drive the Valar out of Middle-earth into retreat." (Melkor Morgoth, Morgoth's Ring)

In my mind, it doesn't really "fit" for Eru to make this twin pair of Valar, born at the same time and presumably first, before all the other Ainur, and have one be this super powerful, not domain-bound Vala and the other being significantly less strong and very much domain-bound, as well as further restricted by not comprehending evil ("For Manwë was free from evil and could not comprehend it" - Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor).

What it does fit into is this idea prevalent in a lot of medieval narratives (broadly speaking) that the eldest son is special and usually the "greatest" and "most powerful", according to whichever metric is important in any given context. This idea can be found in Tolkien's works as well, one notable example being Fëanor.

Therefore I like to hc that Eru made Melkor first and, dare I say, made him in his own image as well. But then he quickly realized Melkor's potential for evil/his shortcomings/wasn't fully content with how he turned out/wanted to course-correct and "continued the thought" Melkor had come from, adding Manwë as his twin brother to balance him out; not in power, but in nature and purpose.

And the reason why Manwë knew that Melkor was like him originally, but at first failed to see what he turned himself into ("and he knew that in the beginning, in the thought of Ilúvatar, Melkor had been even as he; and he saw not to the depths of Melkor’s heart, and did not perceive that all love had departed from him for ever" - same source as last quote, sentence continued) is because Manwë came from that same thought.

~

So yeah, just my two cents and I want to stress again that these are my headcanons and my currently preferred reading and understanding of the above lines; the goal is never to say "you can't have your headcanons and here's why".

[irish-dress-history]

Irish dress history sources online:

A list of sources for Irish dress history research that free to access on the internet:

Primary and period sources:

Text Sources:

Corpus of Electronic Texts (CELT): a database of historical texts from or about Ireland. Most have both their original text and, where applicable, an English translation. Authors include: Francisco de Cuellar, Luke Gernon, John Dymmok, Thomas Gainsford, Fynes Moryson, Edmund Spenser, Laurent Vital, Tadhg Dall Ó hUiginn

Images:

The Edwin Rae Collection: A collection of photographs of Irish carvings dating 1300-1600 taken by art historian Edwin Rae in the mid-20th c. Includes tomb effigies and other figural art.

National Library of Ireland: Has a nice collection of 18th-20th c. Irish art and photographs. Search their catalog or browse their flickr.

Irish Script on Screen: A collection of scans of medieval Irish manuscripts, including The Book of Ballymote.

The Book of Kells: Scans of the whole thing.

The Image of Irelande, with a Discoverie of Woodkarne by John Derricke published 1581. A piece of anti-Irish propaganda that should be used with caution. Illustrations. Complete text.

Secondary sources:

Irish History from Contemporary Sources (1509-1610) by Constantia Maxwell published 1923. Contains a nice collection of primary source quotes, but it sometimes modernizes the 16th c. English in ways that are detrimental to the accuracy, like changing 'cote' to 'coat'. The original text for many of them can be found on CELT, archive.org, or google books.

An Historical Essay on the Dress of the Ancient and Modern Irish By Joseph Cooper Walker published 1788. Makes admirable use of primary sources, but because of Walker's assumption that Irish dress didn't change for the entirety of the Middle Ages, it is significantly flawed in a lot of its conclusions. Mostly only useful now for historiography. I discussed the images in this book here.

Chapter 18: Dress and Personal Adornment from A Smaller Social History of Ancient Ireland by P. W. Joyce published 1906. Suffers from similar problems to An Historical Essay on the Dress of the Ancient and Modern Irish.

Consumption and Material Culture in Sixteenth-Century Ireland Susan Flavin's 2011 doctoral thesis. A valuable source on the kinds of materials that were available in 16th c Ireland.

A Descriptive Catalogue of the Antiquities in the Museum of the Royal Irish Academy Volumes 1 and 2 by William Wilde, published 1863. Obviously outdated, and some of Wilde's conclusions are wrong, because archaeologists didn't know how to date things in the 19th century, but his descriptions of the individual artifacts are worthwhile. Frustratingly, this is still the best catalog available to the public for the National Museum of Ireland Archaeology. Idk why the NMI doesn't have an online catalog, a lot museums do nowadays.

Volume I: Articles of stone, earthen, vegetable and animal materials; and of copper and bronze

Volume 2: A Descriptive Catalogue of the Antiquities of Gold in the Museum of the Royal Irish Academy

A Horsehair Woven Band from County Antrim, Ireland: Clues to the Past from a Later Bronze Age Masterwork by Elizabeth Wincott Heckett 1998

Jewellery, art and symbolism in Medieval Irish society by Mary Deevy in Art and Symbolism in Medieval Europe- Papers of the 'Medieval Europe Brugge 1997' Conference (page 77 of PDF)

Looking the part: dress and civic status and ethnicity in early-modern Ireland by Brid McGrath 2018

Irish Mantles, English Nationalism: Apparel and National Identity in Early Modern English and Irish Texts by John R Ziegler 2013

Dress and ornament in early medieval Ireland - exploring the evidence by Maureen Doyle 2014

Dress and accessories in the early Irish tale, ‘The Wooing of Becfhola’ by Niamh Whitfield 2006

A tenth century cloth from Bogstown Co. Meath by Elizabeth Wincott Heckett 2004

Tertiary Sources:

Medieval Ireland: An Encyclopedia edited by Sean Duffy published 2005

Re-Examining the Evidence: A Study of Medieval Irish Women's Dress from 750 to 900 CE by Alexandra McConnell

[thegrapeandthefig]

Calendar manipulation in Ancient Greece

This really isn’t a topic I’m thrilled to tackle, but since the Theogamia there has been so much talk about calendar discrepancies that it looks like the right time to bring this up. Don’t expect this to be eloquent, I’m writing this while absolutely knackered.

I’m not going to focus too much on the problem of modern calendar reconstructions, what I’ll be going into here is the historical evidence we have about how awfully inconsistent the ancient Athenian calendar could be, either by nature or by human intervention over time.

The problem of the new moon

In theory, the Athenian calendar and other Greek calendars are lunar and each month begins on the new moon. Sacha Stern, in Calendars in Antiquity, tells us that the writer Geminus (1st c. BCE), states that the Greek month began when the new moon crescent was first sighted but Geminus also states that the new moon can sometimes be sighted on the 1st of the month, but sometimes not until the 3rd. This statement is interesting, because it implies that, should the moon not be visible (clouds), there was a mathematical basis to the calculation of the months that still made the month begin regardless of what the sky looked like.

There comes also the problem of conjunction (aka when the moon in orbit passes between the sun and the earth, making the moon invisible). The traditional ancient assumption is that the day of conjunction is the last day of the month. However, the interval between the day of conjunction and of the new moon is usually around two days; so if the month began when the new moon was first sighted, conjunction should have been typically on the penultimate day of the previous month.

Those difficulties, along the fact that other authors, such as Aratus give conflicting information leads Stern to say this:

Modern scholars have generally accepted Geminus’ statements that the Greek month began at first visibility of the new moon. However, it is clear on Geminus’ own evidence, as well as on the evidence of the other passages just mentioned, that this rule was not strictly followed, and indeed, quite possibly, that it did not constitute a rule. Moreover, we do not know of any procedure that may have been used, and indeed that would have been necessary, for such a rule to be enforced. There is no evidence, for example, in the whole of Graeco-Roman literature of anyone sighting the new moon.

And this leads us to the rather uncomfortable idea that, in practice, a lot of the calendars simply might not have been as well aligned with astronomical moon phases in the way we conceptualize it today.

Francis M. Dunn, in an article titled Tampering with the Calendar, lists passages from ancient Greek sources that seem to corroborate this idea:

Thucydides 2.28 in a passing mention of a solar eclipse […] distinguishes the astronomical "new moon" or conjunction, at which eclipses must occur, from the conventional "new moon" or noumenia, which followed the first visible crescent. The historian, in other words, is aware that there is an astronomical "new moon" or conjunction which is different from the first day of the civic month.

Man-made adjustments

Because calendars impacted the religious, civic and political lives of each city-states, it wasn’t uncommon for city-states to make adjustments to them.

The type of modification we’re most used to is the addition of intercalary days or month that aim to realign the calendar with astronomical reality. But we have evidence that this isn’t the only motivation.

For example:

In the 430's (SEG XXXVI 12), 420's (SEG XL 12) or 410's (SEG XLII 17), in connection with offerings at Eleusis, the demos instructed the archon to add a second Hekatombaion.

In 228/7 a second Hekatombaion was added to the civic calendar.

Between 294 and 288, in connection with a tour by artists of Dionysus during Lenaion, four cities in Euboea made provision for the archons to add months as necessary.

At the end of the fourth century, probably in 307/6, two days were apparently added near the end of Gamelion.

In 271/0 four days were added in the first decade of Elaphebolion.

As we can see, additions and subtractions of one or several days, if not sometimes months, could happen. They were often added either at the beginning of a month or at the end of a month, which makes it easier to imagine that it could be done to readjust the calendar to the moon, but in the cases where it was linked to a festival, it was clearly done to schedule said festival:

”Of the three cases of intercalary months, two are explicitly related to religious festivals (the dedication of first fruits at Eleusis, IG I3 78; and dramatic festivals in Euboea, IG xii.9 207”

“The evidence therefore supports an assumption that most adjustments were part of the normal operation of the civic calendar - ensuring that the calendar was roughly in phase with sun and moon, and ensuring that festivals would take place at a necessary or convenient time.”

An insoluble debate

The problem of ancient Greek calendars as a whole has been a point of contention among scholars for so long, for the simple reason that it makes dating anything difficult. The most notable example is the one around the differences between the Athenian calendar and the Spartan one when it comes to dating something like the battle of Marathon. Plutarch tells us it was on the 6th of Boedromion, but Herodotus tells us it was during the full moon (and therefore later, if the calendars matched the lunar cycle). This is where the issue of inter-city calendar alignment emerges, since each city-state functioned in their own independent ways, they could resort to calendar adjustments at any time they wanted and further misaligning themselves with one another.

But scholars don’t necessarily agree! Some, like Pritchett believed that the calendars were irregular no matter what, while others like Meritt believed they were regular, and that the evidence of irregularity was due to exceptional circumstances. The problem at this point is that it is much harder to prove regularity than the opposite.

So where does it leave us?

The reconstructed calendars we use today as modern worshippers are all based on some form of regularity, but we need to remember that none of them are a direct continuation of the ancient calendars. For the most part, they are based on the metonic cycle and on the other luni-solar calendars in use today by various faiths and cultures around the world. In fact, a lot of the reconstructions of Athenian calendars are using the same mathematical model as the Hebrew calendar. And that, in a nutshell, explains why different reconstruction have different results when it comes to placing specific days and festivals. So it really comes down to personal choice. Choosing a calendar that is more “popular” might be more appealing to you for particular reasons, while others might choose their calendar based on entirely different criteria. I guess the point I’m trying to get to is that, there won’t be a “standard” calendar without some kind of wide decision to stick to a precise model, and as long as there is no religious authority, the calendars will remain ever so slightly different, because they never really were regular in the way that we understand our solar Gregorian calendar to be.

[rebeccathenaturalist]

So in writing the history of identification/taxonomy chapter for The Everyday Naturalist, I spent a lot of time poring over scans and reprints of very old western European natural history books. This included a lot of medieval bestiaries, which were usually illuminated manuscripts with the colorful, stylized artwork so common from that era. It wasn't until the European Renaissance that you started seeing more of an emphasis on realistic artwork, and by the time you get to the transitional period between the late Renaissance and the Enlightenment engravings based on original drawings were very common for illustrating books on animals and plants.

A lot of the images passed around as "antique scientific illustrations" stem from the mid-17th century Historiae Naturalis written by John Jonston and illustrated by Matthäus Merian the Elder. By this point in history numerous European nations were sending ships around the globe to bring back resources, which included a significant number of natural history specimens. The sheer variety and biodiversity represented by these gave naturalists in these countries an overwhelming amount of fodder for study, classification, and publication.

However, there was still the perennial problem that not everyone writing or illustrating these seemingly exotic species could access them in person. Medieval bestiaries, and their predecessor the Physiologus, tended to mix natural history with religious allegory, and often the writers had never actually seen the species they were describing. Since they had to go on secondhand (or thirdhand, or fifteenthhand) information, things sometimes got lost in translation like a big game of Telephone. And the situation was still the same by the time Jonston and Merian were working on the Historiae Naturalis.

Which is why that venerable attempt to catalog as many of the animals in the known world as possible includes, amid pages of real animals like molluscs, deer, and bats (categorized with the birds!), you also had descriptions and engravings of six different unicorn species. Jonston did remark that he was going entirely on the word of others and cited his sources wherever he could, but it seems as though most of them were treating the unicorn as a separate beast from the rhinoceros or antelopes. (You can find a scan of the entire Historiae Naturalis de Quadrupedibus here, if you want to read for yourself.)

This is probably the last major natural history work in which unicorns and other mythical animals would be presented as equally real as flesh-and-blood animals; once the Enlightenment got into full swing, the sciences sought empirical evidence, and hearsay was generally no longer considered good enough for publication. So there's something a little charming about this text that bridges the gap between the ancient bestiaries with their blurring of fact and fiction, and the modern emphasis on chasing down the truth behind the myths.

[lysenfeu]

Devil in the Details •Part 1•

Captain John Price is pushed to extreme lengths to make up for his massive failure in the field.

Rating: Mature

Eventual John Price x F!Reader

1.1k Words, Slow Burn, Drabble/Short Form Writing

CW: Angst, Grief, Dark themes, Mentions of death, Supernatural

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The mission was a catastrophic failure. Everything went wrong and John made it home by the skin of teeth, barely alive and the only one left. The boys, his boys, were gone. He knows it should have been him, not them. He should have been dead and buried in that desert and his boys gotten home safe. They didn't deserve this ending, they had so much more to live for. But not anymore, their promising careers and futures were cut short because of him.

The brass put him on leave, didn't even ask him about it. Just ordered him off base for a few weeks, doubled it when he wouldn't put the whiskey bottle down long enough to make it into his office. He fucked it up and now he's stuck here without them. Broken and alone, haunted by ghosts of the men he let down and lost.

He won't accept it.

Can't accept it. There needs to be a way he can fix this. To turn back time, bring them back, whatever it takes. His duty wasn't really to the military, it was to his team. And as long as he still lives, that duty will remain.

There must be a way.

So he spends his time reading and researching. Trying to find a way to solve this problem. That's what he does best, solve problems. And what's three bodies in the ground if not a fucking problem? He latches on to anything he can, no matter how farfetched, that promises him salvation. He chases thin threads of information, whispers of rituals and summonings, things that grant wishes at a cost.

Finally, he gets restless and goes out hunting. Trawling occult shops, new age bookstores, antique dealers, anywhere that might have more information or the tools he needs. He ends up in places he shouldn't, asking questions he really shouldn't. He's mostly met with concerned glances and cautious half-answers. But the shopkeepers politely dodging his requests for more and more obscure and dark texts doesn't deter him in the least. Eventually, some indulge him. Tell him fanciful tales of beings with immense power, ones that have control over life and death. Creatures that can grant him his deepest desires, for a price.

He knows what he needs to do.

One day, he gets lucky in a little pawn shop a town or two over, with a flair for the spooky and macabre. The owner found the book in a box of junk they sourced from an auctioned-off storage locker. It was stuffed between fake crystals and low-quality bone jewellery, the lot worth almost nothing. The owner thinks it's just a prop, a total fake like the rest, but they knew Price was willing to pay for this type of thing so they gave him a call. John's there in less than an hour. He opens it, thumbs through a few pages and cracks a smile for the first time in weeks. He thinks this might have the answers he needs.

With a plain, unassuming cover of simple brown leather and various stains (he's very much hoping are tea) on a number of the pages, the whole book is scrawled top to bottom and front to back with messy handwriting in a variety of inks. Drawings break up the text, sketches of different plants and flowers mixed with carefully labelled diagrams showing various shapes and runes in different configurations. There has to be something of value here.

The pawn shop owner is getting antsy about his purchase, so with a strong poker face and some pointed mentions of military discounts, he deftly haggles his way through the transaction and rushes home with his new acquisition.

He flies into his study the moment he arrives and dives into the book. It's well-preserved and filled with notes, John quickly learns the author has a fondness for herbs. After a hundred pages of interesting but not quite useful information, and about a dozen too many sketches of different stalks of mugwort, he's falling back into that despondent mood that seems to increase by the day, the smile long since dropped from his weary face. He's nearly done flipping through the entire thing when something catches his eye. Right at the end of the book, there's a nearly empty page. It contains only a single detailed sketch and a handful of words in blood-red ink.

His heart starts to race as he stares down at the images. A picture of a circle sits in the middle of the page, containing a twelve-pointed star with several tiny smaller symbols on each point. Some are easy to decipher, there's a sun, moon and skull drawn quite clearly. A dagger and a scroll, perhaps that one might be fire or a very odd-shaped leaf, sitting next to a set of horns. The rest are just scribbles to him and he frowns at the unfamiliar pictures.

There's one image larger than the others sitting in the dead centre of the star that he easily recognizes as a set of scales. There's something about them that makes him stay and linger, unable to pull his gaze away. He brushes a hand over the ink and a tingle runs down his spine. The scales glitter faintly under his touch, trying to draw him in, and he suddenly knows what he needs to do.

A small smile finally returns to his face.

This is it.

This is how he'll get them back.

Adrenaline is pumping through his veins as he pushes himself up from his chair and races to gather supplies. He pays no mind to the text at the very bottom of the page, too eager and overwhelmed by his discovery of the ritual circle to take heed of the single sentence in large block letters.

“DANGEROUS - DO NOT ATTEMPT TO SUMMON”

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(Part 2)

[ne0nic]

Our Game

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ Wriothesley x f!Reader ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

MDNI

ִ ࣪𖤐 Word Count: 5.2k

ִ ࣪𖤐 CW: NSFW, Dom!Wriothesley, Thief!Reader, Mentions of Human Trafficking, Drugged Tea, Slight Bondage

ִ ࣪𖤐 No use of Y/N, Never use of Y/N

The game is lively tonight and you expect to enjoy it in full. 

With effortless grace, you move in and out of the shadows around the Court of Fontaine, becoming a phantom of the night. The deserted streets are a ripe playground, businesses closed, doors and windows locked, and the guards drowsy and inattentive. It's a realm of exhilarating opportunity, just waiting for you to claim.

Your destination is the side door of the antique jewelry shop, known as the last source of pride for an elderly proprietor. Your knowledge of every shop in the city is impeccable, following a mistake where you learned that it's unwise to steal from a Fatui-owned establishment; it's akin to pilfering from the Tsaritsa herself.

With a few deft movements, you manipulate the lock, and the door swings open without a sound. The shop's interior is as silent as a tomb, its owners having long retired for the evening. You enter, your eyes alight with anticipation.

You navigate the shop's layout like a child in a candy store, your gaze drawn to the glass cases showcasing a myriad of jewels, each one casting a beguiling shimmer. With nimble fingers, you open the case and select a ring featuring a sizable ruby. You slip it onto your finger, admiring the deep red luster. The ring itself is far from delicate, clearly designed for a more masculine hand – someone like…

You quickly remove the ring, tossing it into your bag. No point dwelling on such thoughts; it's time to collect your treasures and make your exit. You work swiftly, carefully placing necklaces and bracelets into your waiting bag, ensuring the displays remain untouched.

The unmistakable sound of heavy boots approaching makes you freeze in place, listening to the resonant thud of leather shoes and the subtle jingle of chains and cuffs. It's time to depart. You wrap up your mission with meticulous precision, and as swiftly as you had arrived, you vanish into the night. Peering from the safety of an alley, you remain silent, unable to spot the approaching figure. Even worse, you're uncertain of the direction from which he's drawing near.

Taking on the rooftop is undoubtedly the better choice. Climbing up the copper gutter pipe, you gain a sweeping view of the city from the high vantage point. From here, you can easily traverse the rooftops, leaping across buildings and making swift progress. As the immediate danger lessens, you descend to the streets below.

Suddenly, that distinct sound returns, the one signaling his presence. How did he catch up to you so fast? It's time for plan B. You snatch a dark cloak from a nearby stall and quickly drape it over yourself, making a dash for the nearest stationed Garde.

"Oh! Garde! Monsieur!" you implore, rushing up to the uniformed soldier. The young man, evidently new to the force, turns his attention to you with an eager desire to assist.

"Madame? What's the problem?" he inquires, clearly willing to help.

"I was just at the tavern getting a drink, and I think a strange man is following me! Please, help me!" You plead, ensuring fear reflects in your eyes.

"Do not worry, ma'am. I will take care of this," he assures, stepping around you to face the direction of the approaching footsteps.

"Oh! Thank you so much, Monsieur," you say, masking your sly grin as you slip away.

The guard stands firm, ready to protect the innocent young woman who has placed her trust in him, aligning with the oath to safeguard all citizens of Fontaine. His excitement is palpable.

A shadow emerges in the dimly lit street, advancing slowly. The young Garde stands at attention. "You there! I'd like a word with you!" he calls out.

The approaching figure steps into the light, revealing a large, menacing man. He possesses piercing blue eyes, is adorned with chains and has a pair of handcuffs hanging at his side. His coat is casually slung over his back, and a scar stretches from the base of his neck, disappearing under his clothing.

The young Garde recognizes the man and instantly locks up. "Y-Your Grace! My apologies! I mistook you for a suspect!"

"Suspect? What gave you that idea?" the man inquires, tilting his head gently.

"This young lady, she—" The Garde turns, only to find that you've vanished. "Where'd she go?"

"A woman?" he asks.

"Y-Yes, a woman. She claimed a man was following her," the Garde explains. The man, who moments ago wore a serious expression, breaks into a smirk and chuckles softly.

You've successfully ascended the tower, fully prepared to make your getaway into the cover of the night. Luckily, tonight's escape had proven effortless, and you hadn't even needed to trigger an alarm to elude the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide. He must be accustomed to your flamboyant tricks by now. The two of you had been engaged in this thrilling game for so long that you constantly had to innovate new ways to lead him astray. However, you'd come to find that the simplest tricks were the most enjoyable, especially after the sheer madness you'd put him through as you slipped away.

As you make your way toward freedom, a hand wraps firmly around your wrist, pressing your back into the wall. He looms above you, an unamused expression on his face. The way his stunning eyes seem to gleam in the dim light sends a shiver down your spine.

"Hello, darling," you taunt.

"Give it up. I'm taking you in," he declares with unwavering determination.

"That's what you always say," you mutter, causing him to grit his teeth.

"The bag," he demands, extending his hand.

"You're no fun," you pout, pulling the strap over your head and placing it in his palm. Wriothesley keeps you cornered as he opens the satchel, only to find it empty—no jewels, necklaces, or even a few coins. "Trouble?" you ask with a smirk.

"Where are the jewels?" he asks bluntly.

"What jewels?" you play innocent. He grabs your arms, pressing you firmly against the wall.

"I'm not in the mood for this today," he growls.

"But I'm completely innocent, Your Grace," you say with wide, doe eyes. "Little old me? A thief? Isn't it wrong to accuse someone without any evidence?"

"Enough!" he snaps, pushing you closer, your chests almost touching. You can feel the way his heart races, how you make him nervous. It sends a thrill through you.

"Or was there a different reason you followed me tonight, Your Grace?" you inquire, leaning forward. Your lips are mere inches apart. He tries to hide the way his breath hitches, but your smirk widens. "Did you want me all to yourself? You could've just asked. I'd never refuse." You tease him with expert precision, knowing precisely what to say and do to provoke him. You close the distance even further, his eyes locked onto your lips. Your breaths mingled so closely that your lips could touch if either of you moved even slightly. And just when it seems like he can't take it any longer, you pull away. "Forgive me, Your Grace. Sometimes I forget you're a man of the law, dedicated to your work. Surely, you're far too busy for me to take up any more of your time."

"Shut up," he snaps, closing the gap between you in an instant. He captures your lips, instantly stealing your breath away. His kisses are demanding, his desire to take the lead palpable, and you willingly submit to his commanding presence. His teeth graze along your bottom lip, eliciting a breathy, barely audible moan from you. You press your thighs together, utterly captivated by the way this man has the power to make you unravel. His longing for you has always had the ability to make you tremble, particularly in moments like these, when the game between you two reaches its zenith, when he finally catches you, and both of your desires hit you without reserve. 

His hand raises to the back of your neck, tilting your head up, giving him more of you. He's going mad. He has to be. There must be some kind of spell or pheromone that you've cast over him, that makes him need you desperately. Everytime you're before him like this, his morals fly out the window, and his lust becomes so thick he can't resist. He's well aware of the moral dilemma that plagues him. You're a true criminal, through and through, and he's fully cognizant of the wrongdoing of his actions. However, he never feels the exhilaration of the chase as intensely as he does when it's with you.

The tranquil sound of water churning brings you back to the present moment. Regrettably, it's time for you to make your exit. Your fingers slide over his vest pocket, and Wriothesley's brow furrows as you withdraw from the kiss.

"Gotta run," you murmur, slipping out of his grasp and collecting your discarded bag. Wriothesley's brows knit as you head toward the boat.

"Wait!" He attempts to step forward but is abruptly pulled back. He turns, only to discover that you've cuffed him to the service pipes. With a frustrated grunt, he struggles against the cuffs, and something falls out of his pocket. He gazes downward, finding a jewel necklace on the ground. Lifting his head to you again, you turn back to him with a playful smile.

"I had fun."

"Dammit!" He curses, his bracers materializing on his hand as he strikes through his own cuffs. Finally free, he makes a dash toward the boat. But the ferry has already set off, and he can only huff in frustration as you slip away. 

Again. 

Your fingers trace over the ledger, where rows upon rows of names denote inmates at the Fortress of Meropide. However, none of them match the one you're seeking. You can't help but wonder how many trivial offenses landed people in this imposing place.

Infiltrating the fortress itself was a relatively straightforward affair. They treat their prisoners well down here, making escape seem an improbable feat. Most inmates are cowed by the mere sight of the glass barrier that separates them from the relentless ocean outside. However, gaining entry was an entirely different challenge. Infiltrating the Duke's office, that's where things get tricky. Luckily, your familiarity with the office makes the entry a minor concern, especially when you have a duplicate key at your disposal.

"I'm assuming you didn't come for tea," a voice intones behind you. His hand closes the ledger's cover and rests atop it. Veins course through his arm and hand, and his knuckles are rough and calloused. You push away the inappropriate thoughts that threaten to surface.

"Should I even ask how you got in?" he continues, but you maintain your silence, choosing not to respond. Playing along with him today is the last thing on your mind.

"Who are you looking for?" he gets straight to the point.

"An...associate of mine went missing a few days ago. I was merely curious if he happened to be in your custody," you reply. He picks up the ledger and moves to the other side of his desk to set it down.

"Associate, huh? I thought you worked alone."

"I do," you confirm.

"His name?"

"As if I'd give you that. I'm not here to further incriminate him; I need to secure his swift release."

"Then it seems I can't help you," he states.

"You've never helped me," you correct, to which he chuckles.

"Touche."

"I brought you more of that blend you like," you say, gesturing toward the cabinet.

"Paid for with the proceeds from the jewels?" he questions, a hint of darkness in his tone. You smirk.

"I don't recall any jewels. It's simply a friendly gift, a favor for a favor," you reply, reveling in how his eyes narrow at your words.

"And what favor have I done for you?" he inquires, already knowing the answer. He's trying to ensnare you with your own words.

"I'll prepare a cup for you, dear. You seem weary," you offer, turning toward the cabinet. He's beside you in an instant, gripping your wrist.

"I wouldn't trust you to make anything for me," he snaps, making you smirk.

"Do you truly believe I'd do anything to harm you?" you ask in a feigned tone of surprise. You notice the tension in his jaw and your gaze drifts lower to the scar on his chest, which barely peeks above his clothing, triggering memories of that fateful day. "...Anymore?"

"Go sit down," he orders, and you pull away from his grasp.

"Yes, Your Grace," you say as you step over to the table. Outside the window, the vast expanse of the ocean unfolds, with creatures moving freely, seemingly unconcerned with the curse that hangs over the people of this nation.

You can't help but envy them, particularly after the arrival of that blonde-haired traveler, which marked the beginning of a downward spiral.

"I would like—"

"Three sugar cubes, I know," he interjects, causing a subtle smile to play on your lips.

"What time will the Iudex be arriving? I'd hate to be a bother," you inquire, knowing full well that you've committed his schedule to memory. He sighs, realizing there's no use concealing it from you.

"He won't be. Monsieur Neuvillette had a sudden trial, so he's rescheduled for next week," he admits, an air of candor coloring his response.

"What a shame. That blend is best served fresh," you murmur, your gaze drifting back to the water. A few moments later, he joins you at the table, the gentle clinking of teacups and saucers filling the air. You eagerly pick up your cup.

"I must admit I only ever have tea with you," you confess.

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow as he settles into his seat. He observes you as you bring the cup to your lips and take a sip. Only then does he feel comfortable enough to indulge in his tea.

"It's true," you affirm, setting the cup down. "I always believe tea deserves to be enjoyed in good company."

"You don't have any other good company?" he inquires.

"None quite like you," you reply with a smile.

"Your clever quips won't get you out of here, you know."

"You think I'm clever?" You tease with a playful glint in your eyes.

"I don't intend to just let you walk out of here."

"You never have, not until I was properly sore and had trouble walking the next day," you taunt, taking another sip, causing him to gulp down his tea. His hands clench as you speak.

"Enough. This... arrangement we had is over. I'm taking you in. I'll inform Neuvillette of your transgressions, and you'll face justice," he declares, his tone stern.

"And then I'll find myself right back under your vigilant watch. Is that what you desire? To keep me close? Ensure that we'll never be apart again?" You tease. His jaw tightens. "I thought you relished our little game as much as I did."

"Game?! You're stealing from people!" His anger is palpable now.

You roll your eyes, reaching into your jacket and producing a document, which you slap onto the table. He leans back, perplexed. "And what is this?"

"The justification you seek. The part of you that yearns to believe I'm not entirely malevolent, this is your evidence."

"I don't understand."

"You will," you assure him. The grandfather clock in the corner begins to chime, marking the appointed time.

"It's time for me to go."

"What?" he blurts out.

You rise from the table with alacrity. "Thank you for the tea. I had a lovely time." You begin to walk away, and he suddenly springs to his feet. However, dizziness overtakes him, and he barely catches himself as the world blurs around him. Overwhelming drowsiness renders his legs wobbly, and he finds himself on his knees, struggling to resist it.

"When?" he manages to mumble.

"It was your teacup. You always use the same one," you giggle. He exhales in frustration. You draw closer.

"Don't worry. I'd never harm you. You're just going to have a short nap."

His hand grasps your wrist. "Don't go," he pleads, his desperation evident. It ignites a spark in your heart, prompting you to sink to your knees, cupping his cheeks.

"Well, when you ask so sweetly like that, how can I resist?" you murmur before pressing your lips to his. "Listen to Siegewinne, dear. You've been appearing quite exhausted lately. But I hope you'll feel better when you awaken. And on top of that," your gaze drifts toward the document, "you might see me in a different light the next time we meet."

After a lengthy and exasperating lecture from Siegewinne, Wriothesley finally returns to his office. It appears that you were telling the truth; it was merely a sleeping drug, and by the time he awoke, you had vanished. He didn't provide Siegewinne with many details about your encounter, nor did he delve into any in-depth discussion about you.

He sinks back into his chair, holding a cool washcloth to his forehead. You had been here, well within his grasp, and yet, once again, he found himself incapable of fulfilling the very duty he had sworn to uphold. It frustrates him to no end. Every time you make an appearance, it catches him off guard. However, when he saw you inspecting his office, for a brief moment, he had hoped you were there for him alone. Alas, that's never the case.

To make matters worse, you've infiltrated his dreams. Every time he closes his eyes, there you are, bare beneath him, your cheeks adorned with a charming flush. Your hands tenderly caress his face, and he takes you with a gentleness and passion that starkly contrasts the reality of your late-night rendezvous. Normally, he's rough with you, mirroring your intensity rather than expressing love.

The thought of you alone is enough to stir his desires, and he curses himself. You had drugged him not long ago, yet he's back to square one. Removing the washcloth, he stares at the ceiling, hoping his little problem will subside on its own. He replays the recent events in his mind, striving to rekindle his anger instead of his lust.

"You might see me in a different light the next time we meet."

What did you mean by that? How could he perceive you differently? His gaze drifts to the desk, where the document you left behind rests. He leans forward, scoops up the folded papers, and breaks the wax seal. As he peruses the contents, his heart sinks.

The elderly man who owns the jewelry shop was using it to launder money from human trafficking sales. You appraised numerous items and recorded their selling prices. You even managed to gather evidence of the boats at the marina being involved in the conspiracy. Photos, evidence—everything is meticulously compiled within these documents. This alone must have taken you weeks. A small note is clipped to the last page, the page itself revealing the location where the captors are holding their victims.

Without jewels, there are no sales. I have bought you time, Warden. Do not disappoint me.

He rises from his desk, his mind racing with thoughts of what to do next.

The entirety of Fontaine's police force is mobilized for this operation, simultaneously raiding all the identified targets. Wriothesley, however, personally takes charge of the most significant arrest. With a sense of duty, he apprehends the elderly man, promptly handcuffs him, and pushes him toward the exit.

Outside, the ever-dramatic residents of Fontaine have congregated, forming a boisterous audience to witness this spectacle. The vigilant Gardes work diligently to keep the curious onlookers at bay as he escorts the man outside. His eyes inadvertently scan the crowd. 

A sudden pause overcomes him as he catches sight of you. A sly smile graces your lips as you knowingly meet his gaze, and then, with your characteristic grace, you disappear into the crowd, leaving him with a sense of intrigue. 

About a week later, following the court's verdict and the subsequent exile to the Fortress, you make a return. Leaning casually on his desk, you patiently await his arrival. As he trudges up the steps, his demeanor brightens in pleasant surprise at the unexpected sight of you. There's a trace of solemnity in your smile as your eyes meet his.

Setting his report down, he approaches you, his curiosity evident in his tone. "You've been gone for a while."

"I had some important matters to attend to," you explain. "The victims who were kidnapped are now under the care of the Spina di Rosula. Most of them are just awaiting reunions with their families. Convincing a few to testify during the trial was a bit challenging, but I'm relieved it's come to a favorable resolution. The Spina di Rosula has pledged to hunt down the buyers, and I've provided them with all the information I could gather."

"Why not have the Spina di Rosula collaborate with the Garde?" he inquires.

"You and I both know that would never happen."

"What now?" he asks.

"My job is done, and I've cut my few remaining ties. All that remains," you say, raising his cuffs, "is you, Your Grace." He takes the cuffs from you, studying them with furrowed brows. As you lift your hands toward him, he glances from the cuffs to your wrists.

With a resounding clack, the cuffs land on the desk. The gravity of this decision settles upon you, hiding within it the unspoken message he wishes to convey. Slowly, you lower your hands as he fixes his gaze on you, drawing dangerously near.

"You're making a mistake," you caution.

"I know," he responds before pulling you closer and capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. 

In a matter of seconds you both burst into his bedroom, lips locked, jackets falling to the floor. Your nimble fingers are quick on the buttons of his vest as he backs you towards the bed. He pulls your shirt upwards, his rough hands riding up your front. Once one hand finds your breast you moan into his mouth. His ice cold touch electrifies you. He rids you of your shirt and pushes you down onto the bed. His gray vest falls to the floor leaving him looking seductively disheveled in just his black button up. 

The tip of your nail fits between your teeth as you devour him with your eyes. "You're going too slow," you whine, reaching a hand out. Your fingers trail over his shirt, feeling every curve of his muscles just beneath the fabric. It has you aching for him. He reaches up, tugging his tie free from his neck. You light up, obediently offering your other wrist to him too. 

"If I didn't know any better I'd think you'd liked being my prisoner," he says, leaning closer as he ties the red fabric around your wrists. 

"Don't threaten me with a good time," you tease, leaning in as well. His gaze falls to your lips before lifting your arms over your head and guiding you to lay on your back. From there he spreads your thighs, fitting himself between. Pressing your lips tight together, you resist the urge to beg. Even a small bit of friction would be heavenly, but it doesn't come. Instead he slowly strips your bottom half, taking his sweet time to admire your panties before just snapping them off your hips. 

He sinks to his knees, lips caressing your inner thigh. Your hands find their way to your mouth trying to muffle your own weak whimpers as he trails towards your core. Where you want him the most. 

Just as his breath ghosts over your aching cunt he stops. Suddenly his hand wraps around the tie and shoves it upwards again. "Do not move them again, if you do you can forget about my earlier mistake. I'll take you in, right now, like this," he threatens in a husky voice, eyes boring into yours. You smirk, lifting your thigh to rub against his hip. 

"Like this, Your Grace? How scandalous," you tease. 

"Do you understand?" he demands. 

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" He snaps. 

"Yes, sir," you say, your voice growing weaker. 

"Good girl," he praises, and you know you're soaked down there. Cheeks tinged red and heart racing as he sinks back down your body. He lifts your thighs over his shoulders before tugging you in one last time. Torturously slow he gives a chaste kiss to your clit. You resist the urge to pull your arms back down as a groan leaves your lips, your body involuntarily twitching. Wriothesley smirks at the display. It's as if he's trained your body to fall apart at just his touch, something he carries with pride. 

His tongue dives between your folds, and you throw your head back with a sinful moan. The man below you is terrifyingly good with his tongue and fingers which makes his next move a damning one. 

Two fingers easily slide into you, but he makes sure not to curve them into the place you like. Instead he watches the way you writhe, almost trying to force his fingers that way, the pleasure making you dizzy. Pathetic moans and whimpers pass your lips, music to his ears. 

"Please… fuck— mh." 

"What was that?" He mutters. "I couldn't hear you." His fingers slow to a cruel rub. 

"I wanna cum. Please," you beg. 

"Really?... I don't know if you deserve to," he says, his voice dropping a few octaves. The voice change drives you, making him smirk as he feels you tighten. "After all, you didn't tell me what you were up to. You worked outside the law, you could've gotten yourself hurt. Now, that… I just can't seem to forgive." He crooks one finger up slightly, sending you spiraling. 

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry! I won't do it again," you promise. He slowly rises to his feet, fingers still deep inside you. Wriothesley leans over your trembling frame. His hand caresses your cheek with a tender touch. The coolness of his fingers on your burning cheek is practically bliss. 

"Now, how can I believe you? You've broken every other promise you've made to me," he says tauntingly. Fuck! You hate him. You know what he's trying to do, and he knows how desperate you are, enough to agree to any of his demands. He brings your diverting gaze back to his. 

"No more secrets," you agree, making him sigh. 

"Now, was that so hard?" He asks, pressing right there making your head go fuzzy. You gasp in surprise as his fingers pull you apart all over again, the familiar sensation pooling within you. Wriothesley presses his lips to yours, tongue forcing its way into your mouth so he can still hear your gasping moans. "Cum, pretty girl." Your body shudders in the wake of your orgasm, and he doesn't relent, driving you oversensitive in a matter of moments. Your hands grab his wrist, stopping him as you still ride out the end of your orgasm. He smirks and pulls his fingers out. You feel the tie release your wrists. 

He's gentle as he lifts your face, seeing the dazed, blissed out expression you wear. His lips peck around your cheeks, to your neck, to your collar, and them to your shoulders by the time your high fades. 

"Back with me?" He asks lifting your chin, you nod and he slots his lips against yours while opening your legs again. He fits himself between them and pulls on his belt with one hand, something you don't mind helping him with. He chuckles as he feels you desperately pull his pants open. His aching cock springs free hard and hot in your palm as you stroke him. His forehead sinks to your shoulder as he shudders, slightly thrusting into your touch. "Shit." 

"Hurry," you urge. Lifting himself up he positions himself so the head just barely brushes against you. You press your lips together. 

Wriothesley reaches upwards, his hand sliding down your arm until he can fit his fingers between yours. Then he thrusts. His other hand grips your hip so tight you pray there will be a bruise. He stretches you open, forcing you to take his size, your eyes roll back into your head. 

"Fuck!" You cry out as he bottoms out. He starts with slow shallow thrusts but his patience quickly wears thin. In no time he's snapping his hips forward, rocking the bed, shoving himself deeper inside you. It's predatory, the way he heaves, the way he takes, the way his fingers grip your hair and hold your head up to make you watch him fuck your brains out. 

In practically no time at all you're cumming again, but he doesn't slow down, his own orgasm approaching as he feels you clench down on him. The continued force of his thrusts sends you right into a second orgasm and he follows suit. Your cunt milks him for all he's worth. Every drop belongs to you. 

He belongs to you. 

"Just fucking be mine already," he groans. His words break through your hazy mind in an instant. 

"What?" 

"Fuck," he mutters. "You're gonna make me say it outright, aren't you?" He leans over fingers brushing over your cheek. "Stay with me. Be with me." 

Your heart feels as if it may beat out of your chest as he says it. His cold eyes are now strikingly warm and tender. But you don't know what to say. 

Instead you reach up, hands pulling his face down to yours. He complies easily. You kiss him sweetly, whispering against his lips, "I'm yours." 

Your confirmation makes his heart sing as he kisses you with more fervor, growing hard inside you once more. The first thrust catches you by surprise but you're loving it. This time there's nothing rough about the way he holds you. He treats you softly, like you'll break if he's any harder. He holds your body in tight to his, burying himself deep inside you, until you're seeing stars. 

The clock chimes, marking the hour as Wriothesley opens his eyes. To his dismay the spot next to him is empty. He rubs his face, already stressed that you've disappeared like usual. Unfortunately, maybe he was foolish enough to hope for something more from you. 

Sitting up he finally notices the weight on his finger. A ring, a gigantic red ruby within a thick band. The metal is dark and the design is intricate. Honestly, it truly seems like something he'd wear. 

Peering over to your side one more time his eyes widen as he sees a folded up paper. With one hand he retrieves it and flips it open. 

My secrets come at a cost, Your Grace. So, if you manage to catch me Thursday night, I might consider telling you one or two. Preferably over tea. 

I'll be expecting you. 

He laughs to himself, "So, the chase is still on, huh? Better make it interesting."  

[yamayuandadu]

do you have any sources on the worship of the goddess inanna/Ishtar during the Seleucid/Hellenistic period to the Parthian period? i dont recall stumbling upon anything talking about her.

even though from what I've been reading mesopotamian deities were still popular (like bel-marduk in Palmyra and nabu in Edessa or shamash in hatra and mardin or sin in harran etc etc.. ) i dont recall reading anything about her or anything mention her worship (other than theories of the alabaster reclining figurines being depictions of her)

A good start when it comes to late developments in Mesopotamian religion is Religious Continuity and Change in Parthian Mesopotamia. A Note on the survival of Babylonian Traditions by Lucinda Dirven.

Hellenistic Uruk, and by extension the cult of Ishtar, is incredibly well documented and the most extensive monograph on this topic, Julia Krul’s The Revival of the Anu Cult and the Nocturnal Fire Ceremony at Late Babylonian Uruk, is pretty much open access (and I link it regularly here, and it's one of my to-go wiki editing points of reference as well); it has an extensive bibliography and the author discusses the history of research of the development of specific cults in Uruk in detail. The gist of it is fairly straightforward: her status declined because with the fall of Babylon to the Persians the priestly elites of Uruk decided it’s time for a reform and for the first time in history Anu’s primacy moved past the nominal level, into the cultic sphere, at the expense of Ishtar and Nanaya. Even the Eanna declined, though a new temple, the Irigal, was built essentially as a replacement; we know relatively a lot about its day to day operations. An akitu festival of Ishtar is also well documented, and Krul goes into its details. All around, I don’t think the linked book will disappoint you.

An important earlier work about the changes in Uruk in Paul-Alain Beaulieu’s Antiquarian Theology in Seleucid Uruk. There’s also Of Priests and Kings: The Babylonian New Year Festival in the Last Age of Cuneiform Culture by Céline Debourse which covers Uruk and Babylon, but there is less material relevant to this ask there. Evidence from Upper Mesopotamia and beyond is more fragmented so I’ll discuss it in more detail under the cut. My criticism of this take on the reclining figures is there as well.

The matter is briefly discussed in Personal Names in the Aramaic Inscriptions of Hatra by Enrico Marcato (p. 168; search for “Iššar” within the file for theophoric name attestations). References to a deity named ʻIššarbēl might indicate Ishtar of Arbela fared relatively well (for her earlier history see here and here) in the first centuries CE. The evidence is not unambiguous, though. This issue is discussed in detail in Lutz Greisiger’s Šarbēl: Göttin, Priester, Märtyrer – einige Probleme der spätantiken Religionsgeschichte Nordmesopotamiens. Theophoric names and the dubious case of ʻIššarbēl aside, there are basically no meaningful attestations of Ishtar from Hatra, but curiously “Ishtar of Hatra” does appear in a Mandaic scroll known as the “Great Mandaic Demon Roll”. According to Marcato this evidence should not be taken out of context, and additionally it cannot be ruled that we’re dealing with a case of ishtar as a generic noun for a goddess (An Aramaic Incantation Bowl and the Fall of Hatra, pages 139-140; accessible via De Gruyter). If this is correct, most likely Marten (the enigmatic main female deity of the local pantheon), Nanaya or Allat (brought to Upper Mesopotamia by Arabs settling there in the first centuries CE) are actually meant as opposed to Ishtar. 

Joan Goodnick Westenholz suggested that Mandaic sources might also contain references to Ishtar of Babylon: the theonym Bablīta (“the Babylonian”) attested in them according to her might reflect the emergence of a new deity derived from Bēlet-Bābili (ie. Ishtar of Babylon) in late antiquity (Goddesses in Context, p. 133)

In addition to Marcato’s article listed above, another good starting point for looking into Mesopotamian religious “fossils” in Mandaic sources is Spätbabylonische Gottheiten in spätantiken mandäischen Texten by Christa Müller-Kessler and Karlheinz Kessler; Ishtar is covered on pages 72-73 and 83-84 though i’d recommend reading the full article for context. The topic is further explored here.

In his old-ish monograph The Pantheon of Palmyra, Javier Teixidor proposed that the sparsely attested local Palmyrene goddess Herta (I’ve also seen her name romanized as Ḥirta; it’s agreed that it’s derived from Akkadian ḫīrtu, “wife”) was a form of Ishtar, based on the fact she appears in multiple inscriptions alongside Nanaya (p. 111). She is best known from a dedication formula where she forms a triad with Nanaya and Resheph (Greek version replaces them with Hera and Artemis, but curiously keeps Resheph as himself). However, ultimately little can be said about her cult beyond the fact it existed, since a priest in her service is mentioned at least once.

I need to stress here that I didn’t find any other authors arguing in favor of the existence of a supposed Palmyrene Ishtar. Joan Goodnick Westenholz mentioned Herta in her seminal Nanaya: Lady of Mystery, but she only concluded that the name was an Akkadian loanword and that she, Resheph and Nanaya indeed formed a triad (p. 79; published in Sumerian Gods and their Representations, which as far as I know can only be accessed through certain totally legit means). Maciej M. Münnich in his monograph The God Resheph in the Ancient Near East doesn’t seem to be convinced by Teixidor’s arguments, and notes that it’s most sensible to assume Herta seems to be Nanaya’s mother in local tradition. He similarly criticizes Teixidor for asserting Resheph has to be identical with Nergal in Palmyrene context (pages 259-260); I’m inclined to agree with his reasoning, interchangeability of deities cannot be presumed without strong evidence and that is lacking here.

I’m not aware of any attestations from Dura Europos. Nanaya had that market cornered on her own. Last but not least: I'm pretty sure the number of authors identifying the statuettes you’ve mentioned this way is in the low single digits. The similar standing one from the Louvre is conventionally identified as Nanaya (see ex. Westenholz's Trading the Symbols of the Goddess Nanaya), who has a much stronger claim to crescent as an attribute (compare later Kushan and Sogdian depictions, plus note the official Seleucid interpretatio as Artemis for dynastic politics purposes), so I see little reason to doubt reclining figures so similar they even tend to have the same sort of gem navel decoration are also her, personally.

A great example of the Nanaya-ish statuette from the Louvre (wikimedia commons). To sum everything up: while evidence is available from both the south and the north, the last centuries BCE and first centuries CE were generally a time of decline for Ishtar(s); for the first time Nanaya was a clear winner instead, but that's another story...

[apollohears]

Care to share some facts about the ROs?

without spoiling much here are some other silly things that could go along with the romance character bios I've already posted!

Pavlos:

✸ character inspo song: Goodbye Yellow Brick Road — Elton John. ✸ he refuses to learn how to read written music and, having taught himself how to play the lute when he was younger, has perfect pitch, which makes it simple for him to perform music entirely by ear. ✸ adores satin and lace shirts, especially those with a cute ruffled cuff hem and a silk robe with an eye-catching pattern. His mother's closet serves as his sole source of fashion inspiration; he won't part with any of her items and finds comfort in dressing in the same robes he remembers her wearing as a child. ✸ cannot even save himself by throwing a punch or fighting without somehow hitting or harming himself in some way.

Rune:

✸ character inspiration song: Abbey — Mitski ✸ has a very bad staring problem, it doesn't help while their always wearing that damn helmet. ✸ they appear to have an odd and profound fascination with nurturing outside wildlife and bugs, for whatever reason. ✸ their stance is so rigid and firm that it appears as though they were born with the heavy, bulky metal armor on.

Annette:

✸ character inspo song: When Will My Life Begin (reprise) — Mandy Moore. ✸ her favorite genre besides poetry and fantasy to read is nonfiction biographies written by mad men since she lives for a good conspiracy theory. Her second favorite genre is horror, especially horror stories about creatures and supernatural sightings. Her favorite thing to do before bed is light a candle and read tucked away in her pillow fort. ✸ her collection of knives and daggers is derived from antique weapons that she would conceal from her brother's belongings. Nestled amidst her heaps of vintage writing journals is a small trunk that houses a great assortment of more than twelve. She developed an obsession/hobby when she was younger after reading a tale about a female knight. She also secretly trains herself in swordplay and knife skills by observing her brothers in action during their training. ✸ she detests it when her maids are told to do anything with her hair. Her mother believes that her hair is embarrassing, even though Annette simply loves to have her curls out and feels most beautiful when she isn't wearing her mother's tight, pulled-back styles.

Silas/Sophia:

✸ character inspo song: Gilded Lily — Cults. ✸ just might be a sadist with how many times they get into fights with complete random people, doesn't help that they have a very cocky mouth. Insulting someone like it's almost like second nature, they refuse to have a filter. Their favorite word being "fuck" with how many times they say it in a sentence. ✸ almost every creation and weapon they have ever made has a name and a personality, and they expect you to be familiar with them all as well. ✸ has an issue with overworking themselves to the bone, pulling all-nighters, and refusing to give up on projects since they like to sit down and get everything done in one sitting. will be hyper-fixed on everything, revolving around whatever they are working on until they move onto the next thing and start the cycle again.

[cobalt-knave]

Supernatural Fiction Podcast Recs

Happy halloween! I wanted to put together another rec list to get out today.

Supernatural fiction includes some fantasy, some horror, and something all on its own. Here is a rec list of some audio dramas I enjoy in this genre.

The Antique Shop

The audio journal of Maya, a university student who takes a job at an antique shop. The shop contains strange and magical and cursed items. It also contains Madam Norna, who can help people with supernatural problems but there is always a cost, and the Madam must work with fate and not against it-- something Maya doesn’t agree with. There is also a great enemies (or acquaintances with animosity between them) to friends relationship that makes me happy.  

What follows is the strange stories of those that come to the shop and the slow corruption arc esque change as Maya becomes closer and closer to Fate and the role of the Madam.

The Bridge

Watchtower 10 sits in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, keeping lonely watch over the Transcontinental Bridge. Our main character Etta broadcasts stories, often strange, that happened on the Bridge. Meanwhile, some of her backstory begins to be revealed, and the sea creature in lower level 3 has people coming after him.

Etta and the other people who work at Watchtower 10 are all delightful characters.

McGillicuddy And Murder’s Pawn Shop

The podcast is set in 1921 taking the format of the diary belonging to Melinda Maudie Merkle. Maude has a terribly boring life as a typist, and one of her only sources of joy is going every so often to a pawn shop, McGillicuddy & Murder’s. One day, she comes across a broken piece of china with a blue eye on it. After coming home with the eye, strange things begin to happen, and she finds herself immersed in a world of wonder and horror and magic. An adventure, at last. Though perhaps not quite how she imagined it.

A lot of healing into a new person, leaving behind bad relationships, and surrounding one’s self with trusted friends and community. And, of course, adventure.

The McIlwraith Statements

15 years after the fact, Sarah McIlwraith is making her statements regarding the infamous IPP study. The IPP study was a psychology-focused scientific study into mediums, hauntings, and the paranormal. It lasted three years before it was revealed to be a hoax, ruining the careers of those involved. Sarah was a phd student working on the study. But here is the thing: the study never found anything, but Sarah has always been able to see ghosts. And many of those haunted locations were indeed haunted.

Sarah is a great character, and the stories she tells are all very interesting as you hear about how the study worked, the ghosts she met and helped, the mediums that always seemed to be faked. Meanwhile, Sarah is looking into the mysterious funding the projects got, which keeps a good meta plot going.

Kane and Feels

Lucifer Kane and Brutus Feels, paranormal investigators. These two are chaotic, absolutely insane, and fantastic. Great use of narration with both characters alternating narrating. They are buddies, your honor. Horror! Weird things! Dream logic! If it’s a demon, Feels will probably punch it. The little one helps, and the big one makes tea.

The Hidden People

More on the urban fantasy side than the horror side, this podcast follows Mackenna Thorne. It’s very self-aware and has a lot of fun bringing in other genre bits (the hacker, the funny guy, a fair amount of Buffy references I enjoy immensely). Mack’s parents are murdered, apparently by none other than Mackenna Thorne. As this mystery unfolds, a world to the hidden people (the unseelie court) is opened.

Mack has such an incredible character arc.

There is a demonic narrator who is constantly amused by everything the characters do wrong.

The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality

Let the AI Audio Tour Guide take you on a tour of the museum. Hear the stories - some horror, some soft, some strange, and some tragic - of the various exhibits. If your Audio Tour Guide is behaving... strangely, you should deposit your audio device in the nearest incinerator.

The Audio Tour Guide gets so much character development, and it is an utter delight.

Beware the man with a voice like honey and chocolate and coffee all at once.

Jar Of Rebuke

Dr. Jared Hel works at the Enclosure, which studies cryptids (for lack of a better word). Jared works there after having amnesia, and he only remembers the past two years. And always wears a key on a necklace. They have one skill that makes him very useful for studying cryptids: he can die and revive.

[deargodsno]

Two thousand years ago, a volcanic eruption buried an ancient library of papyrus scrolls now known as the Herculaneum Papyri. In the 18th century the scrolls were discovered. More than 800 of them are now stored in a library in Naples, Italy; these lumps of carbonized ash cannot be opened without severely damaging them. But how can we read them if they remain rolled up? On March 15th, 2023, Nat Friedman, Daniel Gross, and Brent Seales launched the Vesuvius Challenge to answer this question. Scrolls from the Institut de France were imaged at the Diamond Light Source particle accelerator near Oxford. We released these high-resolution CT scans of the scrolls, and we offered more than $1M in prizes, put forward by many generous donors. A global community of competitors and collaborators assembled to crack the problem with computer vision, machine learning, and hard work. Less than a year later, in December 2023, they succeeded. Finally, after 275 years, we can begin to read the scrolls. Grand Prize​ There was one submission that stood out clearly from the rest. Working independently, each member of our team of papyrologists recovered more text from this submission than any other. Remarkably, the entry achieved the criteria we set when announcing the Vesuvius Challenge in March: 4 passages of 140 characters each, with at least 85% of characters recoverable. This was not a given: most of us on the organizing team assigned a less than 30% probability of success when we announced these criteria! And in addition, the submission includes another 11 (!) columns of text — more than 2000 characters total. The results of this review were clear and unanimous: the Vesuvius Challenge Grand Prize of $700,000 is awarded to a team of three for their excellent submission. Congratulations to Youssef Nader, Luke Farritor, and Julian Schilliger! Runners up​ Of the remaining submissions, the scores from our team of papyrologists identify a three-way tie for runner up. These entries show remarkably similar readability to each other, but still stand out from the rest by being significantly more readable. Congratulations to the following teams, each taking home $50,000! Shao-Qian Mah. GitHub Elian Rafael Dal Prá, Sean Johnson, Leonardo Scabini, Raí Fernando Dal Prá, João Vitor Brentigani Torezan, Daniel Baldin Franceschini, Bruno Pereira Kellm, Marcelo Soccol Gris, and Odemir Martinez Bruno. GitHub Louis Schlessinger and Arefeh Sherafati. GitHub

What does the scroll say?​ To date, our efforts have managed to unroll and read about 5% of the first scroll. Our eminent team of papyrologists has been hard at work and has achieved a preliminary transcription of all the revealed columns. We now know that this scroll is not a duplicate of an existing work; it contains never-before-seen text from antiquity. The papyrology team are preparing to deliver a comprehensive study as soon as they can. You all gave them a lot of work to do! Initial readings already provide glimpses into this philosophical text. From our scholars: The general subject of the text is pleasure, which, properly understood, is the highest good in Epicurean philosophy. In these two snippets from two consecutive columns of the scroll, the author is concerned with whether and how the availability of goods, such as food, can affect the pleasure which they provide. Do things that are available in lesser quantities afford more pleasure than those available in abundance? Our author thinks not: “as too in the case of food, we do not right away believe things that are scarce to be absolutely more pleasant than those which are abundant.” However, is it easier for us naturally to do without things that are plentiful? “Such questions will be considered frequently.” Since this is the end of a scroll, this phrasing may suggest that more is coming in subsequent books of the same work. At the beginning of the first text, a certain Xenophantos is mentioned, perhaps the same man — presumably a musician — also mentioned by Philodemus in his work On Music. Richard Janko writes: “Is the author Epicurus' follower, the philosopher and poet Philodemus, the teacher of Vergil? It seems very likely. Is he writing about the effect of music on the hearer, and comparing it to other pleasures like those of food and drink? Quite probably. Does this text come from his four-part treatise on music, of which we know Book 4? Quite possibly: the title should soon become available to read. Is the Xenophantus who is mentioned the celebrated flute-player, or the man famous in antiquity for being unable to control his laughter, or someone else entirely? So many questions! But improvements to the identification of the ink, which can be expected, will soon answer most of them. I can hardly wait.” Scholars might call it a philosophical treatise. But it seems familiar to us, and we can’t escape the feeling that the first text we’ve uncovered is a 2000-year-old blog post about how to enjoy life. Is Philodemus throwing shade at the stoics in his closing paragraph, asserting that stoicism is an incomplete philosophy because it has “nothing to say about pleasure?” The questions he seems to discuss — life’s pleasures and what makes life worth living — are still on our minds today. We can expect many more works from Philodemus in the current collection, once we’re able to scale up this technique. But there could be other text as well — an Aristotle dialog, a lost history of Livy, a lost Homeric epic work, a poem from Sappho — who knows what treasures are hidden in these lumps of ash.

[whencyclopedia]

Druid

Druids were a class of individuals in ancient Celtic cultures known for their great wisdom and knowledge of traditions. Not only priests who managed all religious rituals such as sacrifices (including humans), druids were able to give practical help by interpreting events of nature, divining the future as soothsayers, and making medicinal potions, especially using sacred plants like mistletoe.

In addition, Druids were repositories of the community's history and may also have been required to cast taboos (or, less accurately, spells) on people, ensuring compliance to the society's rules. Evidence that women were druids in antiquity is scarce, as is information on druids in general which has led to much speculation and often fanciful assumptions in later periods. Druids and Celtic religion declined following persecution by the Romans in the 1st century CE and then the arrival of Christianity across Europe.

A Note on Sources

Not a great deal of ancient written material is available concerning druids, and what there is comes either from Greek and Roman authors or medieval literary sources such as Irish mythological poems. The consequences of this are a lack of consideration for Celtic cultures other than in the British Isles and Gaul, and an absence of information prior to the Roman period when druidism was already in decline. Another problem is the confusion and inappropriate comparisons made by ancient writers between druids and other men of wisdom in other cultures such as the magi of Persia, Greek Pythagoreans, and Indian ascetics. Nevertheless, works such as the Gallic Wars by Julius Caesar (c. 100-44 BCE) provide invaluable information on this mysterious class of priests who left no information themselves on their beliefs and practices.

Continue reading...

[ink-flavored]

Writing Share Tag

tagged by @noblebs, thank you!

The last thing I wrote before I went on vacation was an outline for one of my anthologies.... so I'll share part of that!

Gargoyle Adoption The carver is a middle-aged dwarf woman, with her beard braided back into her hair so it doesn’t interfere with her work. The adoption center looks like an eclectic curiosity shop or antique store, since all the “animals” are basically just living statues. All the gargoyles are loose around the store, but they don’t move until people get near them. The door is big enough for the biggest creatures with several smaller-sized doors within it. Begins with the dwarf carving a gargoyle that will go up for adoption in the shop; their personal pet gargoyle is bugging them—it’s noticeably decorated with gems and engravings. She waves it away, telling it to go eat its food that she set out for it Is forced to stop carving when a customer/potential adopter comes into the store (rings the bell at the counter?). The customer is a very serious-looking elf in fancy elf clothes. Can’t decide on gender. Dwarf asks what she can do for them. They ask if she’s open for Specially Commissioned Gargoyles. She says she is, but that her work doesn’t come cheap. They say no problem, I’m good for it. Elf produces a lovingly detailed sketch of the commission they want. It’s very complex, they’ve obviously thought a ton about this design. The dwarf looks over it, impressed, but not without misgivings. She compliments the drawing, but reminds the elf that a gargoyle is a living creature, as unpredictable as any animal. It may appear as though she can mold it to act however she wants, but the gargoyle has its own personality and preferences. If the gargoyle she carves doesn’t bond with them, she can’t help. She’ll refund the price of the adoption fee, but the commission money itself won’t be returned. The elf hesitates, but ultimately agrees to those terms. Payment is exchanged, the elf leaves, and the dwarf sets aside her first project to get started on the commission. Her office/workspace is a complete mess except for the spot where she carves the gargoyles. She has a specially organized set of tools, magnifying mirrors, magical and mundane light sources, etc. It’s very professional She starts with a solid block of the magical stone that all gargoyles are made of, chipping away at it once piece at a time. Her pet gargoyle hangs around. The more she carves the elf’s design, the more it seems like a kid’s drawing iterated upon by adult perspective, trying to make realistic something imagined from youth. This gargoyle design must be a childhood dream pet they’ve been aching to make a reality She can’t help but hope it likes them, even though she knows there’s no guarantee. Thinks about some of the gargoyle commissions she’s done where it hasn’t worked out. Starts talking to the in-progress gargoyle as she carves, which is something she normally does, but this time it’s more directly about how great it is to be someone’s companion animal. About all the things she and her gargoyle do. Her gargoyle lands on the desk and agrees (it can't speak but you know. animal sounds) with how great it is. She hopes this is enough to convince the magic in the stone to agree.

What happens next!!! A thrilling cliff hanger only to be answered whenever I write this thing for real!

Tagging: @foxys-fantasy-tales @noblebs @ceph-the-ghost-writer @auntdarth @damageinkorporated @srjacksin @void-botanist @vacantgodling @duelistkingdom and anyone else who wants to share something!