#this is literally the best archaeological find... ever

[procrastinatorrex]

v.

There were dozens of them. Lizzie was reduced to inarticulate noises and waving her utterly unremarkable geophys results whenever someone commented– oh so sweetly– on how unfortunate it was that they couldn’t have identified all these burials a month ago when they’d started the dig. Inside the neat circle marking out Dr. Ambrose’s imaginary island, where they found absolutely nothing on geophys, there was a genuinely staggering number of burials. 

Gwaine was a little wild-eyed when Percy called him over for an update on the skeletons. He had some dirt on his cheek, he didn’t seem to have noticed. He waved the paper he’d been taking notes on. “There’s– I can’t tell you how many individuals we have yet– but it’s a lot. So far we’ve got seven more or less intact pelvic girdles, four of them are distinctly female, two are male and one we’re not sure yet, but I’m thinking male, possibly in late adolescence. In G5, over there,  we have two left femurs that both show pretty much no fusion in the growth plates– We don’t have the mandibles yet, but they must have been young.” 

“This is nothing like the knights they buried on the shore. This is a community.” Leon stared around in amazement as Professor Sur pointed to the nearest burial. “In this area, we’ve got what looks like some dogs, too, we’re pretty sure. I’ve asked Guy about calling in a specialist to see if we can get more information.” The bioarchaeologist grinned, “I do have something you’ll want to see immediately, though.”

Directly in the middle of what was now obviously an island, a huge stone lined burial was being carefully excavated. The contents of the burial were concealed by a miraculously intact lid that someone have carefully engraved with symbols that peeked out under layers of dirt and clay. Even before cleaning and preservation, it was clear that it was a magnificent, labor-intensive burial. 

Fit for a king.  

“He’s done it again.” Percy shook his head. “I can’t believe it. No one is this lucky. There was nothing here to indicate this cemetery.”   

“Dr. Chevalier! Doctor! Come quickly!” The voices came from the treeline, where a team of mostly graduate students were finishing cleaning up and documenting the last of the knight burials they’d been working on most of the summer. 

Percy stepped carefully around the archeaology being uncovered around him and then sprinted across the grass. When he got to the treeline, Nic, his lead grad student, was standing triumphantly with one palm outstretched. “Look!” It was all he needed to say. In his palm there was a small round coin. Most of the surface was obscured by a layer of dirt, and what was visible was badly scuffed, but along one edge the dirt had broken away and a few letters were just visible, stamped into the surface. Wthyr

“Uther” Percy breathed it, barely daring to hope– it was too perfect to be true. Nic was beaming, “it was in the primary burial layer, about a foot away from the remains. It looks like it was dropped when the first of the individuals was interred… it could date these burials.” 

“To the reign of King Uther, or just after, possibly.” Percy carefully indicated the ragged edge of the coin, “See here? It looks like it’s in pretty bad shape, it might have been knocking around in pockets for a while.” Percy shook his head. “That’s impossible.”

Lee came over, wearing dirty coveralls and a huge grin. “I’l be damned, Percy. You were actually on to something– we’re going to have to cover this and come back next season; there’s years of work to be done here.” 

“It’s Ambrose,” Percy shook his head. “Well, he’s going to be pleased.”

“No living with him at all after this,” Lee agreed, laughing, “gotta give it to him, though, he’s a damn wizard.”

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, & Part 4

[iishmael]

god im having a day where im very disillusioned with the human race as a whole (re: my research)

[thetriumphantpanda]

be my Venus of the stars | general marcus acacius

Summary | He's been visiting you for months, fresh off the battlefield, to be cleaned and reborn, but this time, something is different, this time, he might finally touch you back.

Pairing | General Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Word Count | 2.8K

Warnings | Set in a bath-house, it is suggested that reader is a sex worker, The General™️ is dirty and needs a bath, as historically accurate as I could make it, use of Latin terms of endearment, explicit smut, handjob, fingering, oral sex (f), unprotected PiV, creampie, marking during sex, mention of ancient roman methods of.... not getting pregnant, no use of y/n, reader is a blank slate but does wear a dress.

Authors Note | Listen, I know we know literally nothing about this man, but what I do know is that he looks like a needs a bath and a nice lady to help him destress... so here we are. Leave it to the archaeologist to fall head over heels for the roman general, right? Whilst my ancient archaeological interest has always been Greece, you best believe this is right up my street. We won't talk about the amount of academic papers I read to make this as historically accurate as possible. I hope you love this, and if you do, please consider reblogging, commenting and screaming with me in my ask box!

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Divider by the ever wonderful @saradika

He’s weary, his body drooped from the weight of his armour, but you suspect there are other things that are weighing him down too.

He’s been gone a while, sent away to some far-fought battle, never knowing if the view of his back when he leaves will be the last you ever see of him or not.

As he always does, he drops a coin purse onto the table, sliding it across to the bathhouse owner, before he turns, eyes scanning the room until they land on you. Always you, only you, he’s never paid attention to anyone else in this damned place and he never will. His face is covered in dust, dirt and grime, his clothes in no better shape - you know you have your work cut out for you, but you find that when it’s him, you don’t mind at all.

It’s a familiar dance, how he follows a few steps behind you, the clinking of armour filling the hallway as you lead him to the private bath. You do as you always do, and open the door, letting him move inside as you let the door click shut behind you.

The hour is late, candles the only source of light, the sounds from the street below filling the silence as you ready the water for him. Warmed already, you drop a few rose petals into the water and pick out the oil you know he likes. It strikes you then that he’s not undressing, something he normally does himself. Instead, he stands at the window, staring out into the darkness.

“It is ready, sir.” You speak softly, motioning your hand to the bath when he turns around.

“Come,” he all but whispers, “Help me.”

You step closer, following his lead as he starts to undo whatever straps keep his heavy armour in place, dropping his hands when he knows you’ve got the hang of it. You take it off, piece by piece, setting it gently on the ground until he’s just in the under layers he wears.

Night is falling, and the candles in the room and the orange light from outside bathe him in gold as he motions for you to do the rest. Your hands, trailing up his body, lifting the tunic he’s wearing under his armour, over his head. There’s a hiss of pain as he lifts his arm, then a sigh of relief his tunic is gone, and it’s at this moment, that you realise he hasn’t stopped looking at you.

This man, born and bred for the fight, with brown eyes softer than you’ve ever seen staring down at you as you undress him.

“You can touch me.” You offer.

You look at him, eyes through eyelashes, as his roam across your body, draped in cotton and pinned in just the right place to accentuate every inch of you - it was a gift from a wealthy customer many years ago, a traveller who had taken to you, promised to take you with him but left you with nothing but a nice dress.

He goes to reach out, but stops short of touching the material, “It is such a pretty dress,” he muses, stepping back from you to let the final garment he’s wearing drop to the floor, “I must bathe first.’

You aren’t shy in the way you look at him, you’ve seen him without clothes more times than you care to admit, you’ve touched him, made him sigh, made him cum more than once, but he’s never once reached out to you. But there’s something different tonight, something charged, and as he walks towards the bath, muscles in his back rippling as he does, you wonder if tonight might be the night you finally know what it is to be touched by him.

He lowers himself into the warm water, groaning as he settles his back against the metal, warm from the water and from the fire lit to keep it that way.

You do as always and kneel beside it, picking up the small bowl on the table next to you. You scoop some water into it and let it drain across his curls, his head tipped back because he knows this dance. Fingers run through his wet hair, freeing his locks from the weeks of dirt and sand and blood and fight, until the water runs clear.

Then, you move onto his body. It’s arguably your favourite part, letting your hands run across his skin. He rests his arms on the lip of the bath, a well-rehearsed dance now, and lets your pour the scented oil onto his skin. You massage it in, thumbs digging in where his armour has left marks, easing weeks of tension with firm presses. You use the strigel to scrape the oil and the dirt off until his skin is clean.

Only once you have used your hands to rinse him off do you consider moving lower. You always do, run oil soaked hands up and down his legs under the water, feel his muscles tighten when you drag them higher, which is how it always ends up with your firm hand wrapped around his cock. Your fingers dip below the water but his strong fingers grip at your wrist as they go to drift lower to his legs.

You let him guide your hand, your eyes meeting his own chocolate-brown orbs, which are blown wide and dark, as he shows you what he really wants. No preamble this time, as your fingers meet the skin of his semi-hard length.

“I haven’t finished.” You purr at him, letting your fingers close around him anyway.

“I find I don’t care,” He speaks back, tone low, “I have been gone for weeks, this is all I want.”

You watch as his head tips back and his body lowers into the water when you start the languid pumps of your hand up and down his cock, gripping tighter when you reach the tip, loosening when you move down. You’ve seen him for years, you know how he likes it, slow to start with, faster to bring him over the edge.

There’s something different this time though, of all the years he’s seen you, he’s never once touched you, only ever a tight grip on your arm as he comes, or a drag of his thumb across your cheek when he leaves. His grip tightens around your wrist enough to still your movements, then, he’s dragging your hand away. You wonder for a moment if you’ve done something wrong, until he shifts and stands.

You’ve seen him without his clothes enough times to know every dip of his body, ever mark and scar that he’s accumulated, but as he stands now, water dripping from his skin, cock hard and heavy in front of you, he looks nothing short of God-like. All the statues in all of Rome could never compare to this man in front of you.

Standing from your place on your knees, you watch as he steps from the bath, water pooling on the floor as he walks towards you. He lets a hand drape across your waist, palm flat against your back as he pulls your body to his own, wet skin against dry garments, head dipped so his mouth is a whisper away from your own.

“Tell me I can,” He asks, “I want to kiss you.”

You let your hands entwine at the back of his neck, wet curls locked between fingers, so you can drag him closer to you. When his lips finally meet yours, all the years of wondering what it was like prove worth it. They’re chapped, dry from whatever battlefield he’s been within, but it’s perfect, as they slant across yours and he pulls your body tighter to his own. He’s gentle, unlike other men, his tongue is tentative as it drags across your bottom lip, mouth opening against your own as his tongue melds with yours behind your teeth.

There is movement that you only register at the last moment, when the backs of your knees hit the bed in the corner of your room. You tumble down upon it, lying and watching as he watches you, fist tight around his own cock as you start to undrape your dress from your skin. His eyes rove across your body when you finally reveal yourself to him, spreading your legs for him, letting your hands cup your breasts.

“You do this for everyone?” He asks quietly, settling himself between your open legs, his cock resting against your mound.

“Maybe,” You respond, “But you’re the only person I want to do this for.”

“Do they treat you well?” He murmurs, laying his body across your own, the weight on him on top of you making your cunt pulse.

“Some do, some don’t.” You shrug, cupping his face with your hands.

“Any of them make you come?”

You shake your head against the bed, “They come here for their own pleasure, sir.”

“My pleasure is your pleasure,” He whispers against your ear, “Tell me, has anyone ever kissed you here?”

One of his hands drags down your body, his hips lifted enough to let his hand cover your cunt.

“N-no,” You choke, the heat of his hand stifling against you, “They h-haven’t.”

“Would you let me?”

You nod, words failing you, as he lets his mouth drag down the naked skin of your body until his broad shoulders are settled between your thighs, pushing them apart, spreading you obscenely wide for himself.

His mouth is hot as it kisses the skin of your pussy, soft feather-light touches to every inch of skin. His thumbs pull your folds apart, baring every intimate inch of you to him, and then it’s all ecstasy as that wonderful mouth clasps around the bundle of nerves that you know so intimately of yourself, but others seem to forget.

It makes you buck your hips into his mouth, pressing further into the feeling of absolute bliss as the tip of his tongue flicks fast and then slow across it in undeterminable patterns. One of his hands splays across your stomach to keep you still, as he switches from the tip of his tongue to the flat. You can hear the slurping from between your legs, can feel your slick leaking from your cunt at his ministrations, the moans he lets out when his tongue dips lower to taste you - he’s enjoying this just as much as you are, a man committed to making you feel good before anything else.

There a knots twisting in your stomach, a fire that you know only from your own hand spreading across your lower body, you’re close, and you think he knows it too.

He brings his mouth back to your clit, lips enveloping it whole as he sucks it into his mouth, rolling his tongue across it as you feel two of his fingers slip inside your wet cunt, curling upwards almost immediately.

“Gods,” you breathe out, letting fingers tangle in his quickly drying hair, “I’m- oh fuck - so close.”

He continues just as he is as your body starts to convulse. Your eyes clamped shut, sweat pooling in crevices you didn’t know you had, until his tongue flicks just right and you’re snapping, coming undone. Body arched into his mouth as your cunt clamps tight around his fingers, as pleasure bursts across every inch of your skin. His tongue doesn’t let up until you whimper quietly that it’s too much, chest heaving and vision blurry.

His body clambers atop yours once more, hot skin against hot skin, his lips at your neck as he fumbles between your bodies, hand guiding his heavy, hard cock to nudge at your leaking centre.

“Tell me it’s okay,” he breathes against your skin, “Tell me I can have you like this.”

You moan, hips moving upwards into his own, heavy arms wrapping around his neck, “I’ve wanted this for so long,” you whine, feeling the tip of his cock right where you want it, “Please,” you beg, “Please, put me out of my misery.”

One of his hands grips your chin, turns your face to his. He’s so close, his eyes burning with lust you’ve never seen before, his forehead pressed to yours.

“Look at me,” he begs, shaking your head a little when you close your eyes at the feeling of him starting to push inside, “I want to see you when I do this.”

So you do, eyes open and boring into his own as he slips his cock into you. He’s big, bigger than you think you’ve had before, your mouth drops open as he slowly feeds every inch of himself into your cunt, stilling and sucking in his breath when he can go no further.

“I have dreamt of this,” he speaks softly as he drags himself out of you, “Wondered what you would feel like,” then he pushes back in, all at once this time, “It is nothing like I imagined.”

His face is buried in the crook of your neck now, his hips pulling back only to push back in again, tip of his cock brushing against that spot inside you that makes you keen, fingernails digging into his arms as you hold on.

“Is it better, General?” You ask in his ear, “Am I all your dreams come true?”

He answers with a hard thrust of his cock, causing a shrill shriek from your throat as the tip bruises at the very depths of you.

“It is everything I wanted and more, carrisima.”

He pushes himself back from you, cock still buried deep, and gathers your legs, hooking them over his arms before he presses forward again, bending your body in a way you know will make you ache tomorrow.

His hips pull back, before the slam back into you, his heavy balls slapping against your ass, as he sets a pace that you’re not even sure the God’s could keep up with. The room filled with nothing but the sounds of his skin slapping against yours, the wet squelch of your cunt sucking him in on every thrust, and the hot pants and moans from the two of you.

You let your arms reach around, palms against the toned muscles of his ass. You squeeze and dig fingernails into skin on each bruising thrust, head thrown back to let him press forward enough to suck at your neck, teeth nipping and tongue soothing. No-one but him would get away with marking you.

“I’m close,” he manages to choke out, “Tell me I can fill you.”

You’ve waited too long to feel him like this to deny him. You would go to the healer in the morning for a cyreniac balm, but all you wanted right now was to feel him claim you, to make you his in every possible sense.

“Fill me, General,” you moan, “Let me feel you, please.”

It does take long, his hips faltering, stilling into your on one final thrust. He growls into the night air, his cock throbbing within you, the feeling of his seed painting your walls makes you hungry for more. He collapses on top of you, softening cock still deep inside you, as you wrap your arms around him, run comforting fingers through his hair as he recovers his breath.

Finally, he slips himself from your heat and rolls onto his back, dragging you with him to drape across his chest, one hand on your lower back, the other placed atop yours on his chest.

“I go back to war soon,” he speaks quietly, mouth pressed to your forehead, “I-“ he stutters for a moment, “I’m not sure I will make it back this time.”

You lean up and press a soft kiss to his jaw, “You are lucky, Sir,” you speak, “I think the Gods look upon you.”

“I feel a premonition,” he explains, “I couldn’t go back without knowing what it was to have you.”

You move the hand you have on his chest to entwine your fingers with his own, “You must come back, I cannot live without you now I know you like this.”

He smiles a little, shifts the two of you so you are both led on your sides looking at each other. His big palm traces down your side, resting at your hip.

“I will try, mea columba,” he whispers, kissing the tip of your nose, “But for now,” he rolls you gently to your back, fingers trailing back through your folds, slipping inside you, gathering his come and your slick on his fingers, dragging it up to circle your clit softly, “We must make the most of the time we have left together.”

[autisticgirliesbracket]

What makes Nico Robin from One Piece the autistic girlie ever of all time? Here's what the people have to say:

Robin-related asks/reblogs: x This post will be updated after each round!

Image ID in alt text and under the readmore.

[Image ID. White slide with a screenshot on the right of Nico Robin where she is thinking about cats. She is surrounded by text boxes which read,

"she's sooo autistic coded, she has a special interest for archeology and world history, and is very scholarly. robin is the most quiet and reserved character in the cast- clearly having trouble connecting to others and reading the room, as she even makes dark comments about situations that frighten her friends (like "oh i hope that we don't die horribly right now") but she's actually just really silly- like she enjoys ugly-cute things and thinks about silly cats."

"She like me for real"

"She got a PhD at age 8 and then the government made her special interest illegal. She is very emotional but usually has a blank affect. She says concerning stuff only she understands to show she likes someone. I love her dearly and I'm autistic so she is too"

"She's so wonderful! Her life's mission is to find out the 'True History' of the One Piece world, and she's been fixated on it and archaeology since childhood, making her extremely knowledgeable on the subject. She has a very dark sense of humour that can come across as out of touch to people, and she's very to-the-point when she acts and thinks, but the crew adore her for it :>"

"Highly skilled in dead language, martial arts, and devil fruit application; outside of that she is a bubbly mess of single minded self destruction. So on the whole stoic that it took an overtly treasonous action by her six best friends to get her to express any emotion at the prospect of being executed. Her trauma can make her more subdued on average compared to the other autistic members of the Straw Hat crew, but her experiences shouldn't be invalidated by finding her people."

"idk, just a vibe"

"she literally looks like the autism creature to me"

"OK. OK. FIRST OFF. OSTRACISED BY OG COMMUNITY. SECONDLY. BECAME AN ARCHAEOLOGIST AT AGE 8. THIRDLY. them eyes. Also bc shes hot."

"She has the Autism Stare. Like, a blank expression. Barely emotes. Doesn't talk often. Has a special interest in archaeology, but also most morbid things. Has a morbid fascination with death. Likes to be alone, but doesn't mind being in a group. Less than average empathy, shown by the fact that she doesn't flinch at torturing people in the slightest." End ID.]

[chaotic-archaeologist]

Hi Reid, I just finished my undergrad in archaeology and want to go into CRM work next field season (doing odd jobs/volunteer stuff in the meantime) - but I never actually got around to asking anyone for help with setting up my resume, so here goes - What would you say is important to put on one, and how should I generally set it up? Thanks for anything, your blog rocks!

Hello! First, I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get to this. I was busy finishing up the semester and then getting to my summer internship. Thanks for your patience.

To be upfront, my experience is more with academia and CVs rather than resumes, but I'll try to pass on what I know. I'll also tag my favorite CRM people @midden-maiden @archaeologysucks @archaeo-geek @buckets-of-dirt @archaeo-beard and @wafflelovingbatgirl.

Unlike a CV, which is literally everything you've ever done, a resume should be extremely tailored to the job you are applying to. Any field experience you have should be front and center, especially any field schools you've done. CRM companies will want to know who trained you so they can assess what kinds of skills you're likely to have.

If you have any experience doing outdoor manual labor like landscaping, that might be worth putting down too. CRM is physically demanding work, and part of getting hired is proving you can handle it.

Beyond that, the best advice is to go out and find a template online. Choose something that's clean but not too flashy. Organize your work experience from most to least recent. Make sure to have references lined up (the prof who taught your field school would be a good reference to have).

May the dirt be with you, -Reid

[hunxi-after-hours]

(paper anon) hunxi!! i know ur no longer active but it felt wrong to not give you this (probably final, since i dont wanna spam up your asks) update. first year of chinese finished!!! got the best % in my year for spoken chinese 🫡 written kicked my ass. next semester we have a class for reading literary texts and poems, i think you'd enjoy that haha. and also east asian general history!! all the fun stuff. its hard work but i love it. i hope you're also doing well and im sending you all the positive vibes :) <3

i know ur long non active on this hellsite (good for you!) but i just felt super nostalgic and wanted to send the ask anyway. im halfway done with my chinese degree and ive just finished translating an article about the statistics of tourism economy in china post modern reforms and its just. Huh. Huhhhh since when can i do that. (ive actually thought abt dropping out a lot.) i miss being as excited as i was in your ask box about studying this, but i think my love for chinese language is now a lot deeper, even without the pink glasses, now that i experienced first hand how fucking difficult studying it academically is. easier times dude. anw i hope ur well if u ever relog in and see this ^^^ (paper anon)

(checks time stamp, winces) ok so HOW WAS THE LITERARY TEXTS AND POEMS CLASS??? did the class skim through the literary tradition, or did you linger in any time period in particular? was it a Joy of Life episode 27 best hits of the chinese literary tradition kind of highlight reel? (ty for the excuse to rewatch this scene, I swear it gets funnier every time) and, most importantly — any favorites??

taking classes on chinese literature and poetry was honestly some of the most humbling and 劝退 uhhh disheartening classes to take... because then you really come face to face with the truly massive body of the tradition. what do you MEAN there are so many poets and they all reference each other. how am I supposed to catch up. how am I even supposed to summon the motivation to move forwards, knowing that I've 早就输在起跑线上

and like, I don't have a good answer — as someone who literally dropped out of the field upon graduation (I've flirted with the idea of going back to grad school but quite frankly I don't think it'd be worth it), I don't have any inspirational stories to tell about level-grinding my way up the Chinese tradition or overcoming academic hurdles to attain sagely academic enlightenment. I don't even know if such stories would be helpful, because each person's journey through the Chinese language learning experience/tradition is so unique and personal. all I can say is find that thing that you love, that spark that makes you come back for more, be it this one specific poet or this one archaeological collection, a particularly trashy webnovel or a niche music genre. find that something that sparks love for you, and hang onto it for dear life, because if that spark catches flame, it'll be the light that guides you toward the road that you're meant to walk

[dairedara]

hi, i hope you're doing okay. i'm sorry to ask this - but considering you made a switch from hellenic to brythonic/irish paganism, i was wondering if you had any advice for me. i'm worshipping many hellenic gods, and my shrines are overflowing with statues and devotions build up over many years. and yet i feel the pull of welsh deities - i have had one in particular reach out - and i find myself overwhelmed. i want to explore this new path, without the old feeling either 1) abandoned, 2) unworthy of my attention, or 3) forced if i can't beat the anxiety of the former 2 options. How did you tackle this? What was your experience? Thank you for your time.

Ooo this is a good question!

Alright, so, my main switch happened during a pretty sizable break I was taking from religion in general, when I was very burnt out and stressed, but I did incorporate some Celtic deities into my practice before that switch happened— namely Arawn, who I found out had been a presence in my life since I was young but I hadn’t been able to name him, and also the Dagda and the Morrígan.

My advice to incorporating these new deities is to get into the mindset of an ancient polytheist. When a Roman soldier went to Brittania and sacrificed to the new gods he met, he wasn’t abandoning his old ones— he simply made more room for them on his altar. Also, he didn’t necessarily have a super deep complex relationship with every deity he ever honored. He may have offered or prayed a few times to one for a specific reason.

The reason we associate gods with different concepts or things is because we need them in different spheres of our lives. We, as humans, are always growing, always changing, and as pagans we are going to naturally gravitate away from certain gods and go towards new ones. We may return to the old ones eventually. The gods understand this. I always think about it like my relationships with other humans. I have childhood best friends that I grew apart from, whether because of circumstance or because we just naturally parted, but despite the fact I don’t talk to them I still think of them fondly and appreciate the memories of them because they helped make me who I am today. One thing I did to ease the process was to do a new moon ritual where I thanked my “old” gods for all they did for me before I formally welcomed my “new” hearth cult.

One advantage of moving towards celtpol as a helpol rather than something else is the fact that there is… pretty much zero way to correctly practice celtpol from a reconstructionist perspective. If you are used to a certain style or process of ritual and/or worship, you can keep doing that. There’s no need to replace a working part of your practice when there is literally nothing to replace it with, lol.

Just some general advice for dealing with Celtic deities: you will have to rely on UPG a lot. Read the Mabinogion, read the Irish Cycles, wherever your deities are found. Read them multiple times, take notes. Eventually you will start to associate certain things with them. The archaeology just isn’t there like it is with classical religion, so there’s much less academic stuff out there if you’re used to that sort of thing. You will have to do a lot of extrapolation and put in the work.

One helpful resource I enjoyed from a contemporary perspective was Morgan Daimler’s Irish paganism books, she is one of the only Celtpol authors I trust and enjoy. Unfortunately there’s not really a Brythonic equivalent for her stuff, although maybe we’ll get one someday.

In terms of celtpol community, you’ll find it’s a lot lonelier than the helpol community. There’s just simply not many of us, and also we all just have radically different beliefs. There’s basically nothing that’s agreed upon. You’ll have celtpols who are very regionalist, anti-woo, etc. and you’ll have celtpols who are hyper-syncretist, very woo-y and whatnot. I’m in America, so it might be different for real-life communities in Ireland/the UK if that’s where you are.

Thank you so much for the question, nonnie <3 I wish you good luck on all your journeys, and please feel free to reach out again with asks or DMs if you have any other questions!

[catt-nuevenor]

Deórling

No funny w's to confuse matters this time round. You might already be able to guess the meaning of this word from trying to sound it out, though it may also surprise you to find its origins in the Old English language.

As with all compounds, let's break it down:

There are, unfortunately, a few competing spellings at work here. I'll start with the one I used for the title.

Deór - animal, beast (usually wild) or deer, reindeer or brave, bold or heavy, severe, violent

Deóre - expensive, precious, costly, valuable or dear, cherished, beloved or worthy, respected, noble, glorious

Bit mixed there. Let's try an alternate spelling:

Dýrling

Dýre - dear, beloved or dear of price, costly

Interestingly, in one of my dictionaries (full details of them at the end of the post) dýre is treated as a simple alternate to deór (not deóre) with no alternate definition.

The spellings dér-, diór- and déor- also pop up, but they are considered a bi-product of a lack of standardised spelling and regional dialect.

Right, now let's look at -ling:

-ling - ...

We're going a little off piece here as the dictionaries give quite academic answers and examples that might not translate to tumblr well. Basically, -ling is a suffix, or an ending you stick on a pre-existing word to change its meaning, that typically denotes something smaller, lesser, lower in a social or professional hierarchy, younger, or subordinate.

For example:

Eorþling (Ýrðling) - husbandman (horses), farmer, farm labourer, ploughman

Eorþe (Ýrð) - ground, land, earth, globe, world or ploughing, tilling or arable land or standing corn, crop, produce

Literally Earthling

Hæftling - prisoner, captive

Hæfte - bond, fetter or captive, slave, servant or bondage, imprisonment, affliction

There are many other examples, but I think that's enough for our purposes.

So, what does all that mean for Deórling?

There are typically, but not always, two ways to look at translations; context meaning, and literal meaning. Context and interpretation relies on how it is used in a sentence and wider piece, poetry and its translation often falls the most foul of this. Here, new words are made from compounds rarely if ever found in alternate source material. Take two separate words and push them together to give an enforced or sometimes more nuanced meaning. This type of compound is called a kenning. This tends to be the translation you find in glosses and dictionaries, and to quote one of my go-to books on the Old English language:

The best glossaries will give you both a literal of a kenning and an interpretation of it... But you must be on your guard, for some glossaries supply only an interpretation. To do so, of course, is to rob poetry of much of what makes it poetry. If you suspect that the definition of a compound is not literal but rather an interpretation, got to a dictionary and look up its elements separately.

P S Baker. Introduction to Old English. Third Edition

I always try and break compounds down into their component elements regardless of context, my archaeology background still haunting me into digging deeper.

Finally, after all that, we get back to our word.

Interpretive meaning:

Deórling - darling, favourite or minion or household god

Literal meaning:

Deórling - little beast, brave little one, fierce little one, beloved little one, cherished little one, dear little one, etc

I hope that proved interesting!

P.S. By the by, I've tried looking into what is meant by 'household god' from the Clark-Hall's dictionary, but unfortunately the entry is devoid of details and I've yet to find the context from which that definition hails. I'll put up another post if I find anything.

---

Dictionaries used: Bosworth and Toller Anglo-Saxon Dictionary online. A Concise Anglo-Saxon Dictionary by J.R. Clark-Hall. Old-English Translator by Blue Engine Web Development

[fulcrum021]

hi, i’m not sure how but the words “chernobyl graphite kicking contest” came into my life— i want to say it was from a yt video on archeology in the section on radio metric dating but i cannot say that for sure. my best guess is i misheard something he said while half asleep and my brain filled in the rest. I tried researching what the chernobyl graphite kicking contest is but i found nothing except for information or the biorobots, and you. i made a tumblr account for settle this impass in my life, the chernobyl graphite kicking contest is the funniest thing i’ve ever heard and yet i literally cannot understand it, i am completely obsessed with how vague yet vivid all the implications of these four words are. my point in all of this is: what is the chernobyl graphite kicking contest? can i be a part of it? where did it come from? thank you so much for reading any part of this.

Holy shit I didn’t realize I had asks in my inbox lol. Anyways.

I forgot where I stole it from. I also feel like I got it from an archeology YouTube video too but I don’t remember and now it’s kind driving me crazy…part of me wants to say it’s from Miniminuteman but I feel like that’s not right??? But yeah idk if it’s something you wanna be a part of but sure you’re invited.

Also I LOVE that you made an account to ask this and I’m sorry I can’t answer, I’m gonna see if I can find it tho and if I ever do I’ll add it here!

Edit: it IS from Miniminuteman on YouTube. Video is Awful Archaeology Ep. 4: Creationists Footprint Conspiracies at 17:39!

[hiccanna-tidbits]

@jackunzel-time

Jackunzel Month Week 3 - AUs Librarian Assassin AU

Jack Overland-Frost is your typical, run-of-the-mill slacker--he gets a computer program to file all his taxes for him, he gives 50% at work, and perhaps worst of all, he never returns his library books. For years he’s been hopping from library to library, moving from city to city--exhausting his supply of free books in every metropolis before flying the coop to avoid the overdue fees. For over a decade he lives life as a nomad, working odd jobs and blocking the email of every disgruntled librarian naive enough to confront him. With a loose blue hoodie, a head full of bleached hair, and a devil-may-care attitude, he’s easy to dismiss as just an average lowlife ne’er-do-well.

When the High Council of Librarians find they’re no less than $95 in debt because of this white-haired punk, however, they decide this cannot go on. They send out one of their best, an unassuming but dangerous young librarian named Rapunzel, to collect the late fees. Her mission is simple: Hunt down Jack Frost and bring back the libraries’ dues, whatever it takes.

When Jack chats up an interesting-looking blonde in the seedy part of his newest city, the last thing he expects to find is that she’s a bounty hunter assassin sent after him. After narrowly escaping a vicious bar fight, the two fall into a ruthless cat-and-mouse game, Jack now on the run from his overdue fines in a more literal sense than he ever imagined. He never dreamed simply not feeling like returning every library book he’s ever checked out would land him in such a heap of trouble, and yet...here he is, life on the line and always on high alert for flying knives and swinging batons.

Rapunzel, meanwhile, is loathe to admit she’s starting to feel conflicted. Years of schooling have taught her absolute loyalty to the library above all else, and absolute ruthlessness against all the library’s enemies. However, when given a collection of overdue book receipts to help track Jack down, she realizes the young man she assumed was a lazy good-for-nothing bum has a very similar taste in literature to her. Books on astronomy, folkloristics, geography, archaeology, and sociology. Her favorite fantasy and sci-fi novels. Even the exact type of “guilty pleasure” romance novels she likes. Deadbeat or not, she and Jack Overland-Frost could have some truly fascinating conversations.

Against his better judgment, Jack can’t help but be captivated by the librarian out for his blood. Ruthlessly intelligent and armed with about 15 different ways to kill him, she’s far from the frumpy, middle-aged bespectacled women he’s used to. Her undying devotion--both to her cause and to his hunt--draws him in, making a strange part of him look forward to the next time he sees her. Which, given Rapunzel’s apparent talent for following the scent of overdue books, is never long.

Both hunter and hunted soon find themselves in a battle against their own wiles and hearts as much as each other. One thing is for sure--whether the High Council of Librarians gets their $95 back in the end, they’ve set something in motion that they may not be able to handle.

A lil something-something I made based on this post, which I found in the wild a while back and immediately went “Jackunzel AU!!! Jackunzel AU!!!” Like who else could pull off an angsty enemies-to-lovers AU, but in the most obscenely hilarious way??? Forbidden romance over something so very stupid my beloved <3

That, and Rapunzel being a librarian assassin blends her bookworm nerdiness and her smarts and her utter badassery in the literal perfect way. Besides, Jack absolutely would have like 200 overdue books and absolutely no shame about it and you can’t change my mind. He’s always struck me as nerdy enough to be a pretty avid reader, but rebellious enough to just. Purposely break rules tied to reading (like the library system lmao) solely out of pettiness, because like hell The Man or whoever can tell him what to do XD The perfect blend of irresponsibility and a desire to create mild to moderate problems on purpose.

“Hey, free books are free books!”

“That’s not how it works, Jack--”

“FREE BOOKS ARE FREE BOOKS”

RIP to the High Council of Librarians, I hope they get their $95 back one of these days </3

Actually very very pleased with how the moodboard came out! The assassin!Rapunzel pics I found have no business fucking as hard as they do :O Like the star stocking with the terrifying-looking knife on them??? LITERALLY PERFECT. And Rapunzel is canonically an astronomy nerd!!! Like she charted the entire night sky for fun!!! As for Jack, I mean...he spends too much time (at least in canon) flying around the sky and talking to the moon to NOT be an astronomy nerd, so I will argue ‘til I’m dead that they bond over this XD

And the library pics, like??? I spent HOURS looking for the prettiest ones with precisely the right Vibes, and it paid off <3

As always, pic credits available upon request!

[non-fantasy]

What is the proffesor layton polycule? who are the characters? <- same anon who asked about professor layton game

wiiwaoihuuuwuuuuaaaaarrghhhhhhhhhhaaaAAAARRGGGHHHHHH

spoilers spoilers spoilers please look away if you actually wanna play the games but like

okay so when professor layton was 17 and not a professor yet used to live in this town called stansbury and he befriended. randall. and randall's girlfriend. and randall's friend/servant/it's complicated henry. and the thing is the love and loyalty they all feel towards randall is literally the theme of the game.

like let's explore professor layton's personality at age 17. he. doesn't actually like archaeology or puzzles all that much.

and like, you're going what? right? because his entire thing is loving puzzles. you know him as a professor of archaeology. what do you mean he doesn't like puzzles or archaeology? what happened?

and you look over and. it's randall. he's the one with all the love for ruins and mysteries and puzzles. he's talking excitedly about all the things he's been studying and what he wants to do and the historic discoveries he's going to make. he hides puzzles in layton's room and around town because he loves them that much. and the thing is, layton and angela and henry adore that love and passion. angela smiles and says she loves how passionate he is about what he loves, so she doesn't mind listening to him when he gets excited. henry does his best to help randall go on his archaeological adventures. layton, despite not liking archaeology or puzzles, solves the puzzles randall gives him and goes on an adventure with him.

but. it's a flashback. to 18 years ago. and in the present.

layton and angela and henry are there. but randall isn't.

his absence is so heavily felt throughout the entire story. there's so much palpable grief every time they dance around randall's absence. and the thing is that professor layton games are really good at building things up. this question mark of not knowing what happened to randall in the past combined with everyone's grief surrounding him in the present, combines to make this sense of dread when you're playing through the flashback portions. you know something bad is going to happen to randall, that his absence will destroy everyone who cares about him, but they don't. randall is so excited about the future, one where he's uncovered all these ancient treasures and he's married to angela and this joy of his is juxtaposed with the present.

the present where the people who knew him are hurting and mourning and screaming at each other--

"You left left Randall for dead and ran off to London! You betrayed your best friend's memory!"

"You stole the treasure! You stole Angela! YOU STOLE RANDALL'S LIFE!"

and it's just. oh. ohhhh they loved him so much that his absence has left a hole in their hearts.... ohhhh they were all so filled with regret...

you know that randall's doomed before he ever set foot in those ruins but it hurts to see randall and layton so... excited about it. they start to have fun triumphing over the danger in those depths. and then...

and then the ruins start to crumble.

and layton catches him, but.

he can't hold on.

because randall can't let go of the treasure that led him down this path in the first place, the treasure that haunts this whole game, because randall insists on layton letting him go and solving the puzzle in his place.

and randall falls.

layton solves the final puzzle in the ruins and opens the final door. he finds a room full of gold and coins and gems, more than he could possibly carry, beyond enough to make him extravagantly rich for the rest of his life...

and he looks at it and says--

"...this was the treasure you were trying to reach. A pile of metal and gems. Was it worth your life?

...I want no part in this."

he returns home alone. no treasure, no glory, no pride. angela and henry are happy to see him return, until they realize that randall isn't with him.

angela screams. she begs layton to tell her what happened, why randall isn't with him. layton apologizes to her, because he broke his promise to take care of randall for her.

you can probably guess why angela and layton are in this polycule. tragic love for the same boy, right? but i've barely mentioned henry. that's because henry's motivations are a mystery for most of the game.

how did he go from a servant to a rich family to a rich mayor of a casino town in the desert? why did he marry angela? how is he connected to the mysterious villain threatening the town?

the answer to all of those questions is love.

he went from a servant to a mayor because the town was built around his desire to see randall again. the first building of the town was the reunion inn, an inn built near the ruins where randall disappeared, so explorers looking for him could have easier access to the search area. the reason explorers flocked to the inn was because henry kept posting large rewards for anyone who could help find randall. when henry found the treasure randall was aiming for, he put that money to use taking care of randall's parents, increasing the rewards for anyone who could find randall, and expanding the town so randall could have the perfect home to return to.

he didn't marry angela to steal her from randall, but because her parents were pushing her to get married against her will, and his proposal was 'will you wait for randall with me?' they are united in their mourning, their understanding, their grief, their love....

and the reason he's connected to the villain is because randall doesn't know that.

because randall survived, but he returned home to find a ghost town. his home empty. his girlfriend, his family fortune, his treasure, all in henry's hands. he didn't realize that the town was abandoned because his death changed its people irreparably. he didn't realize how henry was taking care of his parents. he didn't realize that angela and henry were in a fake relationship. he didn't realize henry didn't care for the treasure he found.

he just saw someone he trusted stealing his research, his money, his love, his life.

randall is manipulated into evil because he does not realize how much he is loved.

but henry and angela and layton won't let him forget it.

"After all these years, there's no way I'm letting you get away from us that easily!"

"Henry didn't take anything from you. He preserved everything for you."

"We always knew you would return. We just didn't think you'd take so long."

henry and angela and layton welcome randall back without thinking. it doesn't matter what he's done, what matters is that he's home. he's finally home.

the ending is just... musing that the town henry made was just... built on a foundation of love. the credits are mostly the stansbury group getting along....

but the postgame... has a system where you can go back to the places you went on your adventure to see anything you miss. what's the explanation for you being able to go back to stansbury, a town 18 years in the past?

layton is reminiscing about the past, what happened right after randall disappeared.

layton is... despondent, and everyone can tell. his mother delicately tries to tell him that "these things are hard, but we need to do our best to move forward, one step at a time," and cheer him up with his favourite foods. his father tries to tell him how proud of him he is. the townspeople talk about how much the town was impacted by randall's disappearance, how they're relieved at least layton came back alive, how they couldn't believe randall was gone. they're careful around layton's feelings, not wanting to make him upset when he's so hurt.

this small town where no one needed to lock their doors and everyone knew each other was heartbroken at this. angela's locked herself in her room. henry refuses to hear that randall is dead. a classmate of theirs talks about how randall's disappearance has hurt everyone in town, saying:

"I don't think he realized how much everyone cared about him."

and he didn't. he really didn't, did he?

even though it's so hammered in by every line of every character in this town, by the plot of the game, by the themes, and even by the game design and professor layton himself

when you return to randall's room and examine everything, you find that layton's dialogue changes. it's something that's out of the way and completely optional, but you see it. you see layton musing on words randall said to him, randall's research, and when you look at randall's collection of archaeology gear, he says--

"Randall, I've been thinking of studying archaeology."

the reason professor layton is professor layton is because his love for randall has changed the course of his life. just as everyone's love for randall has changed the course of theirs.

[rockislandadultreads]

Picks for International Cat Day!

The Cat's Meow by Jonathan B. Losos

The domestic cat—your cat—has, from its evolutionary origins in Africa, been transformed in comparatively little time into one of the most successful and diverse species on the planet. Jonathan Losos, writing as both a scientist and a cat lover, explores how researchers today are unraveling the secrets of the cat, past and present, using all the tools of modern technology, from GPS tracking (you’d be amazed where those backyard cats roam) and genomics (what is your so-called Siamese cat . . . really?) to forensic archaeology. In addition to solving the mysteries of your cat's past, it gives us a cat's-eye view of today's habitats, including meeting wild cousins around the world whose habits your sweet house cat sometimes eerily parallels.

Chicken Soup for the Soul: My Clever, Curious, Caring Cat by Amy Newmark

The magic of cats! They keep us company, provide unconditional love, share in the ups and downs of our lives and make every day an adventure.

How do cats do it? They’re surprisingly clever, ever curious, and so caring about their human staff members. When we rescue them, they rescue us back. They brighten our days, act as our therapists, and become our best friends—without saying a word.

You’ll find yourself laughing a lot, tearing up at times, and nodding your head in recognition as you read these tales about the magical experience of sharing life with a cat. From hilarious to heroic, mischievous to miraculous, and everything in between, you’ll enjoy a wide variety of entertaining stories in these chapters:

• My Very Good, Very Bad Cat • Life Lessons from the Cat • Cat-astrophes • Miracles Happen • Cat Sense • Four-Legged Therapists • Who’s in Charge Here? • We Are Family • I Knead You

Sit in the Sun: And Other Lessons in the Spiritual Wisdom of Cats by Jon M. Sweeney

As a spiritual pilgrim for more than half a century, Jon Sweeney has practiced with teachers of many religious traditions. He's gone looking for wisdom, beauty, and truth wherever it can be found. But recently he's found himself learning closer to home--from the teacher-cats he lives with.

What he discovered is that our greatest spiritual teachers are at our feet. Literally. They are the cats we love and treasure. Nearly 60 million cats live in US households today. These feline teachers have much to offer us about living in the present, loving unconditionally, approaching life with a sense of playfulness, and trusting others, all the while being independent spirits.

Jon Sweeney, beloved scholar and author of The Pope's Cat and numerous books about Saint Francis, offers a beautifully illustrated, playful, gentle, informed meditation on the many spiritual truths and practices our feline companions provide if we but pause and pay attention.

Bake Me a Cat by Kim-Joy

Feline fans will love this collection of 50 a-miaow-zing cat-themed creations. Bake Me a Cat showcases the cutest bakes you will ever see, all celebrating our favorite pet. With brand new recipes for cakes, cookies, desserts, breads and more, it's the kitchen essential for every kitten-cuddler. Kim-Joy is an expert in creating gorgeous animal-themed bakes, and her adorable feline characters have a purrsonality all of their own. Catering for a range of skills levels, whether you fancy baking Tiger Buns, Meow Bao, Kit-tea Scones or a Happy Purrrrthday Cake, bring joy to your cooking and a smile to every cat-owner's face with Bake Me a Cat!.

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Do You Want to Rediscover a Lost Civilization? Because This is How You Accidentally Rediscover a Lost Civilization. (This Post is Spoilerific. Be Warned.)

Normally I don't do spoilerific posts, but this one is spoilery because I genuinely had no idea how to talk about Marie Brennan's incredible Lady Trent memoirs without spoiling the thing. You could almost call this post "What Happens When a Naturalist and Archaeologist Have Overlapping Fields of Interest" because that is literally what happened, and it's how they accidentally discovered a pocket of an ancient civilization that had long been considered lost. Oh, and there is some absolutely WILD human blood and dragon egg rituals in there too, so keep on reading.

Isabella, the Lady Trent, previously Dame Isabella Camehurst, nee Isabella Hendermore, loves nothing so much as natural history and dragons, and her professional and personal exploits are relayed in appropriately victorian detail in these five memoirs. Isabella begins with simple experiments that headbutt the field of dragon naturalism forward, but still bump up against the archaeological mysteries of the Draconeans.

Having finished this series, the peices scattered throughout the books, even that first one, are stunning. The Vystrana fire stones, Draconean ruins, and the *maked dead from page 1 but I completely missed it because I have a PhD in English* Jacob Camehurtst all play out over the subsequent four books and are all absolutely crucial to the steps that lead not only to Isabella finding the last pocket of Draconean society, but also discovering the morphology and breeding program that allowed bathing dragon eggs in human blood to create the hybrid Draconeans.

But wait, you say. Lady Trent is a dragon naturalist, why does she even care about the Draconeans? Well, that would be a combination of literally bumping into them everywhere--and when life is trying that hard to show you something, you sit up and pay attention--and Suhail.

Once poor, doomed Jacob takes a knife to the gut and passes away in book 1 (Y'all, I warned you twice there would be spoilers, so nobody gets to be mad right now), Isabella is supported by Tom Wilker, who is the best research colleague ever. But he is firmly a platonic friend, despite the emotional intimacy of their relationship. Then Suhail struts onto the scene. The entire vibe I got here was if Numair from Tamora Pierce's Tortall books had been transplanted more or less wholesale into Marie Brennan's work. And yes, that is entirey meant to be a compliment; in this house we stan Suhail.

Suhail and Isabella are, first and foremost, a partnership. Partners in life, in love, and absolutely in research. Suhail is an archaeologist who studies the Draconeans, and the pair accidentally bump into each other when their literal research sites overlap and everything just spirals from there.

What I love most about Isabella and Suhail is that they respect and support each other's research interests, even the bits that don't explicitly overlap. If there was ever an academic romance--and not in the modern sense of academia, but the deeper sense of two academics who love research for its own sake--this is it.

There's no magic in these books, but the overwhelming sense I had while reading them was a feeling of magic. In this case, however, it was the magic of discovery, and of being so good at what you do--and so lucky in your friends and colleagues--that something that is completely justified and scientifically sound in-universe feels like magic.

[grimmywrites]

10 Things About Me

I was tagged by the talented @patiently-burning. I’m happy to welcome you to the Ghostsoap brainrot, especially with @valiants amazing art. My favorite Ghostsoap artist! Their work makes me feral; I’d kill for them -- or at least write for them. Below for random facts about me!

1.) I double majored in Archaeology and Creative Writing in college. I idolized Lara Croft and Indiana Jones and then, luckily, fell in love with the *actual* science of archaeology and Roman history so I’ve managed to stick with it. 2.) I’ve lived on and off in Italy (semesters where I taught abroad) since 2017; and a couple times before that for my own study abroad program and archaeological digs/dives. 3.) I’m a runner! I usually run an hour, but sometimes I run up to 9 miles a morning not only to stay in shape but as meditation. I listen to audiobooks while I do it!

4.) I worked as a dog bather for a couple years to get money to go to grad school and then in a dog ‘boutique’ because I love dogs so much. I love all animals, dogs just happen to be my favorite.

5.) I’m a huge Resident Evil fan. I’ve been playing the games since they first came out (I was a little kid and had no clue what I was doing lol). I can literally rant on and on about the lore and timeline; og re4 and re2 are the best but I love the remakes and all the new fans!

6.) I’ve been published for scholarly writing, but it’s my dream to write fiction, primarily historical fiction.

7.) I’m an oddball who likes nerdy things *and* sports - I played varsity softball in high school and I’m still on an adult co rec team!

8.) I stopped writing fanfiction for a couple years while working on my thesis for grad school. I started writing again for Nellis because I reread some of my old stuff and wondered why I ever stopped with these characters. Writing them feels like slipping on my most comfortable shoes or a favorite shirt. After I read that stuff I got metaphorically slapped upside the head with the idea for Retread (the ending in particular)... and let’s just say it’s grown a lot from what I had envisioned; but I’m a gardener writer, so that makes sense.

9.) Besides RE, my favorite game in the world is an obscure RPG called Shadow Hearts. It’s a Lovecraftian horror game set in China and Europe just before WW1 breaks out - it deals with horror, the occult, and some zany characters. I cry every time I play it and its sequel (Shadow Hearts: Covenant). Most people like the second game better, but I find the first one to be creepier, have better music, and the characters are more interesting. The sequel IS a good game, though.

10.) I secretly wish I had more time! I often feel guilty because I’m more of a writer in fandom than a reader because I’m so busy with life smacking me every which way. I also wish I could output more, but alas, we can only do our best, right?

Thanks so much for tagging me! I’m not apologizing for the love of Soap or Ghost. That was a well written campaign! I’m going to tag more than one person: @peculiarreality-main and @ohlookapan!

[deathlessathanasia]

“Mount Olympus is the most prominent mountain of the Iliad. It is a place utterly apart from human presence: the poet's powers of imaginative access through the inspiration of the Muses are the only exception. No human treads on the summit to sacrifice to the gods. Is it possible that the Greeks of the eighth century would have seen it as different from other mountain summits, perhaps as a place where the gods really were in residence in some physical sense? On the face of it that seems unlikely. Going up to mountain summits for sacrifice was such a familiar activity in archaic culture that it is hard to believe anyone would have taken Homer's vision of the gods feasting in ornate palaces literally. It is striking, however, that the finds from the Agios Antonios peak on Olympus are much later than for most other peaks where we have archaeological evidence for mountaintop ritual, where the evidence usually stretches back through the archaic period even to much earlier centuries. By contrast the Olympus evidence, as we have seen, is Hellenistic and then late antique (with a gap of many centuries between the two). Olympus is also unusual in that two of its three highest peaks--Mytikas and Stefani--are jagged rock formations which stand above the grassy slopes of the rest of the mountain and are not easily accessible on foot. Mytikas is not known to have been climbed before 1913, and Stefani not before 1921 (although the certainty with which that "fact" is usually reported is of course misleading , and typical of the way in which modern accounts of mountaineering exploits tend to ignore any possibility of premodern precedents). These days the climb to Mytikas is relatively straightforward: you can scramble over the rocks without a rope, following the paint splashes that mark the best route. It would have been perfectly possible to get animals up there for sacrifice: the dogs from the Agapitos Refuge sometimes follow walkers up over the rocks all the way to the summit, and so presumably a goat would have been able to manage just as well. But there is no evidence that anyone ever tried it: no ancient dedications or remains of sacrifice have ever been found on the Mytikas summit. Maybe the special role of Olympus in the Iliad does reflect an archaic perception that there was something different about this mountain, something that made it especially well suited to be free of human footprints, as a separate place for the gods (although as we have seen there is a precedent in Mount Lykaion for using a lower summit as a centre of cult worship).

The Iliad itself certainly avoids describing Olympus as a mountain which could be accessible to human presence. In some passages Olympus is described with adjectives appropriate for a mountain; there is even one passage (Iliad 14.225-30) where the poet does seem to be envisaging a geographically accurate Thessalian location for Olympus, in describing Hera's journey from Olympus to Pieria, Emathia, Thrace, Athos, and Lemnos on her way to Mount Ida. Elsewhere, however, we can lose sight of the fact that this place of the gods is on a mountain summit at all: some passages refer to the home of the gods as "heaven" or "the sky" (Ouranos), either instead of or in combination with "Olympus". The poem's vivid but rather vague descriptions of the palaces of the gods are almost unconnected with any realistic mountain topography.”

 - The Folds of Olympus: Mountains in Ancient Greek and Roman Culture, by Jason König

[fenrisisms]

10, 24 and 25 for alas because who else would i ask abt <3

i literally just closed my reference tab of the questions u asshole... love you so much thank you for asking i will of course yap about your specialest meow meow ever for your entertainment. putting on my little jester shoes rn let's go

10. are they good horse riders?

before the inquisition? not really. he's never had much of a reason to ride a horse that wasn't trying to jump onto a wild one in competition with his brother (yes he did that while not actually knowing how to ride a horse. come and get your son in law please) but you know how he is. once the inquisition makes it clear he's expected to ride horses well. alas would rather blow himself and the entirety of skyhold up than not be good at something in front of a) solas and b) orlesians so it becomes a matter of personal pride. also he likes Critters and once the inquisition gives him a hart to ride well. you cannot tell that man shit. he has a literal manifestation of his high horse now and he WILL talk down to you from it.

which is to say he's never gonna be doing dressage or anything but he's adept. well. at least he is now.

24. what languages can they speak?

obviously he's got that trade tongue SWAG and he can speak elvish, he's also pretty familiar with starkhaven slang thanks to those clan soran roots, but aside from that he doesn't really speak anything else. he does start learning tevene when he and dorian get together but dorian knows it's just so he can read tevinter texts so he can find out what dalish history they might be hiding in there. he is not fooled into thinking this is a romantic gesture.

25. what did they plan for their life to look like before the events of the game happened?

my guy had a pretty solid grasp on exactly who he was and what he wanted from life. alas is pretty heavily defined by a thirst for knowledge, and in particular to arm the dalish with knowledge. he has immense pride in his heritage and love for his people, and the way he feels he serves them best is by discovering new things and bringing new information to them so that they can grow and change.

pretty much he knew the keeper wasn't really on her way out any time soon, and now that he's an adult who she doesn't have to worry too much about babysitting anymore, the plan was that she would train a second and a third and he would go off seeking knowledge of their history and spend some time as a lone keeper before returning to the clan. his first stop was meant to be the forests of arlathan and then he was going to join up with some of his friends from clans who roam rivain to basically go do some archaeology there but when the keeper heard about the conclave she sent word to him to change direction and go there instead. so there he went.

and while part of that was kind of based on his own desires, a bigger part of it was also that the clan was having troubles with templars sniffing around their mages, and alas was worried that his own little sister would manifest her magic, so the line of thinking was that if he left for a bit that might take the heat off them a little, especially since he's uh. liable to pick fights with templars. anyway aside from his Job and nerd hunting i don't know that he really put much consideration into whether he wanted a partner or a family, but even if he didn't plan for it his relationship with dorian & arihs and their children are so important for him that even though he mourns the idea of that life sometimes he would never ever change it because if he did then he never would have met his husbands! and he wouldn't have had his beautiful children! and he could simply not live in a world where that didn't happen