#when i say dark ages i mean medieval dark ages

[grimoirguestbook]

Book of Bill Website Codes

(Organized by category with notes)

Here's my list of inputs that work on the website :)

Hopefully the read more works like I think it does and I don't accidentally spoil anybody

That being said by clicking read more you will see All of the codes I have found so far

Please be mindful and try not to spoil anybody else with this information. So please be careful if reblogging

I got everything I have collected/found on here, it's a bit messy right now but After I take a small break I'll reorganize and add notes but for now everything's on here, please so check out the posts linked in the log as once I lost all leads I looked to their post for other inputs :)

Also feel free to put any you know of that Aren't on here in the replies I'm sure there's some missing

I will be updating as I find more so check back in if you can! :)

Thank you!

They'll be categorized by

Neat Tv text- Nothing special the tv just gets some text to it

Tab pages-brings you to another tab/website

Audio/video- Audio/video clip plays

Readables- A picture will pop up on screen that you can read

Printables- You can print them :D!

Other- Hard to categorize

Note:

If an * is next to a name that means that you can get different results for the same prompt

(Any personal notes will be in parenthesis)

-> An arrow means that the Passwords are found in the previous page

ex- Page with code that translates to "dork"-> Dork

Slashes/mean/that/any/of/the/prompts/listed/will/take/you/to/the/same/page

Blue text with an underline is a link! Haha! would you look at that! it works!

Will Keep this updated as I find more and will Note the logs at the end of this post

?????

For the mason page anagrams I know WHO they are I just don't know WHAT to do with them, i know it says cryptogram codex at the bottom i think i have to do something with the anagram results but I'm unsure what that is. Stanford Pines Stanlie Pines Gideon Charles Gleeful Preston Northwest Pacifica Elisa Northwest

Notes to Dipper Prompt: (Unsure why- Maybe going to Blind eye page and blurring it but changes from dipper being told to stare at the sun to "I THINK ITS WORKING! STARE HARDER! HARDER!" and the page looking burnt I Think it has to do with how many input codes you enter, It now says "you've almost solved it" and is even more burnt than before, it is now full black)

Neat Tv text-

Pines

Blendin

*Triangle

Axolotl

Ducktective

Book of Bill

TJ Eckleburg (Great Gatsby)

Nothing

Something

*Ciphertology

Deer Teeth

Scalene

Scrimbles

No

Fortnite/skibidi/ohio/rizz/crypto/elon/gyatt/Doge

Life

Death

Portal

Question

Answer

Euclid

*Well Well Well Being

Reality

The Universe

Journal 1

Journal 2

Journal 3

Theyll see/They'll all see/I see

Filbrick

Disney/Disneyland/Mickey Mouse

CIA/FBI/NSA

333 Sundapple Lane Cozy Creek IL 60714-94611

Season 3

Season 2

Season 1

Caryn

Euclydia

Skeleton

Who are you

Burnside

Family matters

When will I die

Multilevel mark/caesaratbashvigenere

Scientology

Easter egg

Sevral times

oh yes they both

Am i Blanchin

Bye gold

Youre insane

History

Hologram

Scalene

Euclid

Titans Blood -> Owl Trowel

Text Chain (You get questions who's answer is another password)

Riddle->Yes -> Mountain Dont -> Lyre Liar -> Harolds Ramblings -> Union Made -> 29121239168518 -> Grebley Hemberdreck -> Rat -> 3466554 -> Tinsel Snake -> Torture Mentally -> Xgqrthx -> 333 sundapple lane cozy creek IL 60714-94611-> MutliLevel mark->emmaline butternubbins->Dispense my treat

What i thought it was (with answer sources):

Riddle->Yes -> Mountain Dont -> Lyre Liar -> Harolds Ramblings -> Union Made -> 29121239168518 -> Grebley Hemberdreck -> Rat -> 3466554 -> Tinsel Snake -> Torture Mentally -> Xgqrthx -> Titans Blood -> Owl Trowel

Answers found in TBOB- Don't Know, NA, Mcguckets dream page, Medieval page, Anti-Cipher Section- tonic page, Anti Cipher Section- Newspaper, Top Secret page, Textbook page- Skin, Dark Ages Page, Anti Cipher Section-Epilogue, A winter break- footprints page, Book of Bill Cover options page, Never trust a wizard page, Have you dreamed this fellow ad (references informercial in show)

Tab pages-

Abuelita

Dippy Fresh

Alex Hirsch/Alex/Hirsch

*Stan/Stanley (his outfit in ebay searches plus a READABLE with SICK music mind you-Check readable section for more info)

Grunkle Stan

*Gideon (second option unlocked after fully "mableizing" the room)

Waddles

Mcgucket/ Old man McGucket/Fiddleford

Bill/Cipher/LLIB/LLIBREHPIC

Bill Cipher/Rehpic

Zyler (Goes to same place as Craz)

Craz (Goes to same place as Zyler)

Toby Determined

Gravity Falls

Mystery Shack

Not a phase

Blanchin

Peak

Cray Cray

Fixinit1

Meow

Fuck alex/Fuck you alex

Globnar

Monster

Audio/video-

Babba/Discogirl

*Gideon (unlocked after fully "mabelizing" the room)

Tad Strange

Pinata (DEFINATELY WORTH WATCHING)

Vallis Cineris (Found on wall when lightning strikes)

Hey Nerd

Weird (Love him)

Spookemups/Spooky/Scary

That's just a/Theory/Gametheory/Matpat (<3)

One Eyed King-> Naitsuaf (Morse Code) ( early years page)

Forget the past

Im still on your mind

Dorito/Nacho

Just fit in

Rubberhose

Love/Boyfriend

Hectoring

Conspiracy

God/Frillium/Help me

Burned inside

Kook

Kubrick

Small/audio log/music (nothing showed up at first, turned off tv and strange audio played, needs to be reversed)

L is real 2401 (soos my boy)

Readables-

Mason (Dippers real name)

*Dipper (personal notes in ???- keep opening the card to get different results)

Pacifica-> PlatinumPaz

Ford/Standford/Sixer

Wendy

Robbie (def worth a look IMO)

Soos-> Pinata

Cursed (Translated from candle in background)

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Blind Eye->Theyll see (Will blur if clicked on, cannot un-blur, may change dipper?)

Weirdmageddon

Lies

Sorry

Booberry (Decoded from popsicle stick)

Even his lies are lies (Front paper)

Tantrum ( code on Bills Mugshot page)

Suck it Merlin

Shave your Grandma (leads to dippy fresh page)

Baby Bill/baby/lalalalala/daddy/mommy

Owl Trowel

Hotxolotl->Seven eyes-> r34lity

Love ya bro

Fuck/Shit/Fuckyou/bitch/slut/sex

Baaaa-> Black Sheep

naitsuaf (click are you ready-> Sign "pleasure doing business with you -candle light turns blue- OR be a coward (losing sound effect plays)

oroborous-> Frillium

Glass sand beach

math/trigonometry/

horror/creepypasta

destruction is a form of creation

unreality

you can't kill an idea

virus

Occurremusiterum

*Stan (click multiple times to get-once there click "how he beat me several times)

Card

Theraprism

Dionarap->stod eht tcennoc

Printables-

Tyrone/Clone/Paperjam

Curse Wittebane (translates runes on page about witches)

Paper is just book skin ( BE WARNED: automatically downloads a photoshop file and crashses the cite)

Irregular (has code on it)

Divorce/breakup

Other-

Mabel (You get fun stickers and a popping sound :) )

*Giffany ( You put her name in multiple times and it forcibly downloads pictures of her and a text document to your computer, scared me a little Not gonna lie here)

Kings of New Jersey (downloads "secret code" font)

cryptogram codex (downloads cryptogram fonts)

dispense my treat-> Kook (downloads a bunch of cool wallpapers)

Log:

One hour after posting: Added 17 new words

Found by me: Booberry, Mountain Dont, Xgqrthx, titans blood, lyre liar, haralds ramblings, union made

Accidentally found by looking at a post: Sorry

Gifted by replier (Thank you!): MATPAT, yes, no, Fortnite, life, death, portal, question, answer

30 minutes after last update: 9 Words added

Found by me: Theraprism, 29121239168518, Grebley Hemberdreck, Rat, 3466554, Tinsel Snake, Torture Mentally, Fordtramarine, Gun (shocked that worked It was a joke- "bill cipher has A GUN")

Like THREEEEEEE ish hours later?

Found by me: one eyed king, well well well being, shave your grandma, paper is just book skin, even his lies are lies, forget the past, irregular, euclid, tantrum, suck it merlin

Like 12 hours later

Found by me: Reality, Baby Bill, Reality, The universe, Giffany (why is it two Fs, Blarg) They'll see, I'm still on your mind, Journal 1, Journal 2, Journal 3

Gifted to me by a replier (Thank you!): Owl Trowel

Idk- Later

Found by me: hotxolotl, lova ya bro, kings of new jersey, fuck, just fit in

Found on twitter(JasonRitter): Dorito, Blanchin'

Gifted to me by Replier(Thank you!): Gideon's option knowledge

Even MORE later:

Me: Seven eyes, r34ality, filbrick, disney, skibidy, rizz, ohio, love, cia, fbi, rubberhose, 333 sundapple lane cozy creek il 60714-94611, bahhhh, black sheep, naitsuaf, oroborous,theyll see, theyll all see Frillium, occuremusiterum (some of these i gave myself because i was really close but just missed a small detail/spelling)

Taken from here and Here Because I got stumped: Season 3, Season2 , Season 1, Glass shard beach, caryn, Euclydia, Peak, Theory, Cray Cray, Help me, mickey mouse, hectoring, divorce, breakup, skeleton, math, history, monster, gyatt, who are you, fixinit1, conspiracy, riddle, cryptogram codex, horror, creepypasta, trigonometry, god, boyfriend,baby, lalalalala, scary, trigonometry,just blendin, morality, burnside, family matters, when will i die, elon, multilevel mark, goodnight sally,paper jam, tourist trap,the duchess approves,shape, scientology, meow, nacho, crypto,sevral times,easter egg, oh yes they both, daddy, mommy, burned inside, destruction is a form of creation, i see, unreality, you can't kill an idea, am i blanchin, fuck alex, fuck you alex, fuck you, shit, bye gold, nsa, globnar,disneyland,kook, kuibrick,virus,that's just a, you're insane

Next day

Found online: Dionarap, stod eht tcennoc, dispense my treat

[saradika]

— just can’t say goodbye

bodyguard!din djarin x princess!reader

rated e - 4.8k

tags: sorta medieval vibes, references to antiquated societal expectations, mentions and references to virginity, arranged marriage, technically infidelity because of said arrangement, light angst, sneaking around, first time, fingering, PiV, creampie

this is for the 1500 kisses event for @janaispunk! I got din + wedding! Jana, thank you so much for hosting this awesome event & for the gorgeous moodboard! 💖

“Take me,” You beg. It’s pathetic, no more than a whimper, “Take me, and then take me away from here.”

He’s been in your bed since the second your maidens were dismissed. You won’t sleep until dawn, not if tonight is all you have.

“You cannot mean that.” It’s harsh, almost a growl as it buzzes from his helmet.

"I have never meant anything more.”

(or - a final night is spent in the arms of your bodyguard, before your arranged union the next morning.)

You'd always known your duty.

What was expected from you, of you, drilled deep from an early age. Borne with pride - you were the eldest daughter of the king, after all - until you were wise enough to see that perhaps your obligations and loyalty were as much a chain as they were an honor.

Your life followed a well-worn path. Absorbing the lessons. Hours spent in learning about those before. Women like you - the graceful neck beneath the head of another lord, another king.

Support them, love them, bear them children.

It hadn't bothered you. You hadn't known anything else.

Not until him.

The Mandalorian had been assigned to protect you three years ago. A renowned knight, his allegiance first pledged to your father. And then, you.

Your bodyguard is not from your planet. It’s something you clung to - an endless source of information about things you've never seen or known, when his lips finally loosened.

But you had always seen him for more than just your bodyguard. That it was more than duty that bound you to each other.

Over time, during those hours spent with his back facing your door - a steadfast barrier between yourself and the cruel outside world - you had started to see between the cracks.

To read into his minute movements. Catching the tilt of his head and cock of his hip. The dry comments that slip from beneath his helmet.

Pretending he doesn’t care which of your handmaidens were caught in a dark corner with Ser Shand.

But you know better.

You think that perhaps you were doomed from the start. That it was always going to turn out this way between you.

Because when you had finally reached out to touch temptation - to sink your teeth into that sweet, ripe fruit - he had let you.

And at first - with the way he had allowed your hand to flatten against his armor, fitting into her personal space - you had wondered if it's because he wasn't able to.

People do not often tell you no. You've grown up in a carefully-carved mould - your requests are rarely things to be denied.

The thought had you shrinking back, the flat of your palm pulling back to fingertips.

Until his hand had closed around your wrist, tracing up to map the back of your hand. Bringing it back to smooth against his chest, right above his beating heart.

It had you realizing that perhaps he was just allowing you to take the first desire that has truly been yours. That your hopes and wishes had not been alone.

That all this time, he had simply been waiting for you to come to him.

Hours are spent together since, stolen between dusk and dawn. The near-silent wandering of hands and mouths.

That beskar armor nearly always fixed in place. It’s as much a part of him as flesh and bone. The edge of his helmet only lifting when he gets desperate. Sealing his mouth to yours. Deepening the kiss, until he’s all you can taste.

So much of him is still a mystery, but he’s come to know you as well as the back of his hand. Knows just how to make you bend, and then break.

Working his fingers between your thighs, until you’re shattering his arms. It will be enough to hold him over, until next time.

It has to be.

In the months since that first night, you’ve never tried to push. You’ve long known that you don't need to see his face - to strip him bare - to love him.

Determined not to ask him for more than he can give.

That is - not until tonight.

You've tried to hold on as long as you can. Always had been good at pushing things down. Grinning and bearing - with that polite, learned smile.

The dread you’ve been holding back crashes into you now, a charging lance against a shield. Splintering, and you can feel the ache in your ribs as if truly struck.

You cling to him. Stripped bare, his armor a welcome chill as your fingers slip between the fastenings of his armor.

Tonight, he allows you to loosen them. The room pitch-black, as the moon hangs full against a blanket of stars.

His helmet set carefully on your side table. Too dark to see him, a way around his creed. Trust woven in his actions, and you thank him with the soft press of your lips.

Against his throat. Teeth nipping skin as he groans.

He can’t leave a mark on you. Not a single thumb-print bruise - not with the way you’ll be stripped and scrubbed tomorrow.

So you leave ones on him. Reminders he can keep, until you can manage a moment alone again.

Desire swirls hot in your belly. Your own palm slipping down to tuck against his front, cupping him. Another part of him that he’s denied you fully.

“Take me,” You beg. It’s pathetic, no more than a whimper, “Take me, and then take me away from here.”

The potential wrath of your family pales in comparison to the thought of being bound to another. The reality of your situation sets everything in sharp contrast, the pretty veneer you’ve been living in cracking at the seams.

Din’s breath is harsh in your ear - fingers stuttering where they circle against your clit at your plea, coated in your slick.

He’s been in your bed since the second your maidens were dismissed. You won’t sleep until dawn, not if tonight is all you have.

“You cannot mean that.” It’s harsh, almost a growl as it buzzes from his helmet.

You might have thought he was angry, if you did not know him so well. If you couldn’t hear his own desperation, woven into each syllable.

It has your hips canting into his touch. Each word panted out, as your fingers stroke where he strains.

"I have never meant anything more.”

Your fingers pluck at his belt, but he eases them gently away. Catching your wrist with his spare hand, pinning it to the bed. His thumb sweeping against your skin, soothing as you squirm against him.

The fingers at your clit slip down to press just inside you. As if he’s thinking about it for just a moment, giving you what you’ve long desired.

But instead there’s a finality to his words, as his touch slips back up. Increasing the pressure until you’re moaning into your pillow, the tightly-wound stream about to snap.

His words, murmured into your hair, as you come undone.

"I won't let you throw your life away."

But how can you live, knowing that he won't be yours?

Not in the way you want him to be.

The man you’ve chosen to marry - a high-born Mandalorian from another clan - is kindly enough, but he is not your knight.

No one could be.

Your only solace in this union is that Din is going with you, honor-bound by his own sworn duties.

A blessing in spite of everything. You do not think you could do this without him.

But it does not make the lead-weight of your feet any lighter. The room spins in front of you, stretching long and think as your hearing fades out to white noise.

It's only the grip of your fingers into the King's bracers that keeps you upright. Nails digging into steel, as you take one step at a time.

Your wedding is as beautiful as it should be. As you've always dreamed - your dress in pretty layers of white and gold. Up since daybreak, primped and pampered.

It's enough to almost, almost, have you regret meeting Din. If you had not known a love such as him, you might have been content for a marriage like this.

But of course, it's no more than a fleeting thought. Immediately shut down.  

Better to know and grieve, than to not know at all.

You're still as stone, at the end of the aisle. All the movements practiced the night before - the events that had sent you rushing into Din’s arms after.

It hadn't seemed real until then.

Your lips feel carved into that smile. Hewn since the day you were born, your true feelings hidden in the dull sheen of your eyes.

Disconnected, as they drift. Annoyance flickering deep in your mind, when they slide over your groom.

His armor is ill-fitting. The leather straps at the shoulder stretched to their limits, hooked on the last notch. Too much space between the plates of his cuisses, and his poleyn.

You've spent weeks preparing for this, and he couldn't even dress in his finest for the ceremony. It feels like an insult, after everything.

Maybe if you blur your eyes, you can pretend it's him. Just until this is over.

The Cleric chants the words you’ve known since childhood. Repeating the phrases as your palm presses against your groom's. Each phrase bringing you closer to the end.

Only propriety and decades of lessons keep the quaver from your voice. They sound just as you practiced as they slide from you, even when repeated through muted lips.

There's a crackle of energy at the joining words. A golden string, glimmering.

Only now does your hand twitch. Resisting the urge to pull away. If you don't right now - right this very moment - then you will not get the chance again.

Your groom feels it. The slight tremble - his grip tightening around yours. The barest sweep of his thumb against your knuckles.

The movement startles you.

Just long enough for the string to loop around your joined hands, and then tighten.

It's too late now. Bound forever, until death do you part.

“You may now kiss your bride.”

Your eyes go to his helmet, as the ceremony winds to an end. His finger and thumb catching on the hinge, as his head tips towards yours.

You can’t bring yourself to meet him. Not until his lips press to yours. Not until there’s an intimate familiarity to them.

The gasp that slips from you is quiet. A hushed thing, breathed into the chaste kiss. There’s scruff on his jaw where his skin should be smooth shaven.

The height is off, too - something you’re only just now noticing.

It’s like your heart remembers how to beat again. Confusion and hope swirling in you in equal measure.

You squeeze the hand in yours, as the kiss breaks. Eyes shining as you both turn towards the crowd, life finally flickering in them agin.

It’s here, that everything begins to fall apart. Almost fool-proof.

With a bang, a man stumbles through the arched door at the end of an aisle. The pale blonde of his hair is mussed - eyes wide and red-rimmed as he shouts, a finger pointing towards the pulpit.

“Stop them!” It’s a high, hoarse thing, “He’s an imposter-!”

There’s a rippling murmur, gasps and cries as the man’s voice carries.

But your husband’s hand is is tightly grasping yours.

“Trust me?” He mumurs, and you’re nodding.

Following behind him as he darts to the side, making for the hallway. Your skirts bundled up in a fist as your heartbeat pounds behind your ribs.

There’s voices behind you. The stomp of feet, though the guests and the hired protection do not know the castle the way the two of you do.

Ducking down one corridor, and then another. News hasn’t spread fast enough - there’s murmurs from guards that you pass, but they’re not quick enough to stop you.

The sky bleeds red when you burst outside. A ship waits, engines roaring - the same one you watched drop out of the sky years ago, with his first arrival.

“Su cuy'gar!” A voice calls from inside - another Mandalorian hailing as he rushes down the ramp, “You’re late. I’ll stall, but you need to go.”

It's one you recognize as a member of your Father's own guard, hand-chosen. Boba Fett's reputation for ferocity and loyalty preceeding him. Only now do you realize just where that loyalty truly lies.

“Vor entye, ner vod.” Din clasps his arm, a farewell woven into his thanks.

“Ret'urcye mhi, princess,” Boba’s head dips in a nod, “We’ll handle things from here.”

You’re whisked inside, and ship takes off just as guests begin to pour from the door. Boba blends into the crowd as you watch the scene from above, becoming no more than another bystander.

They grow smaller. Doll-sized, and then ants, and then the stars are streaking as the ship makes the jump - shooting you out into hyperspace.

It’s here that your legs finally give out. All that tension building up until it snaps, until you’re collapsing into the co-pilots chair.

Din’s hands are on you in a second. Gloves shucked with his teeth, discarded on the floor. Warm and familiar as they cup your face.

“I am sorry,” His voice is rough. Still distorted beneath your betrothed’s helmet, but you know it’s him, “I couldn’t let you marry him.”

“I know,” You head turns, lips pressing into the palm of his hand, “I was so afraid. I wanted to run, I almost did-”

He feels how you tremble. A ragged breath as his touch turns soft - smoothing over your cheeks, knuckles brushing your neck.

Your name is breathed out, as you relax against him. As your hands start to wander, tugging at the edge of his cuirass.

“I don’t like this on you.” Your voice sounds thick, in your own head. Biting through the emotions that threaten to choke you, “It’s not yours.”

“No.” He hums, and it sounds like a laugh, “Though as my wife, you may remove them now. If you wish.”

Din’s words makes you ache with want. His wife.

You wonder if he’s teasing you, or if all that he said is true. He’s never allowed you to remove more than a piece or two before.

“Is your armor here?”

“Mine is in the bunk. Along with your things, I had them packed while you were getting ready today.”

You smile then. Relief in knowing that this was planned. That he had put the ball in motion, in those few hours you shared before dawn.

Maybe he had daydreamed about it for even longer. Knowing he could not, but still unable to help thinking through things. How he would always choose you, if only you were to ask.

And you finally had, at the very last second.

He lets your hands slip across his chest, mirroring that first night. New, in the way you slip the leather straps free, until pieces are left stacked on the floor.

The flightsuit beneath is his own. Your fingers have traced the stitching night after night, patterns you know by heart. And for the first time, he lets you tug at the zipper under his chin. Guiding it down with you, exposing tanned skin beneath.

It leaves you greedy. Fingers mapping every inch that appeared. Tracing over old battle wounds and scars from a lifetime ago. A pounding in your heart as each second stretches to the next.

Expecting him to take this back. To wrap himself away again, hiding from your eyes.

Soon, only his helmet and small clothes remain. Your fingers drifting to where he’s half hard, another part of him you already know well.

But his hands wander as well. Plucking at the ribbons that weave up the back of your dress, encasing you.

“Are you fond of this?” He’s asking, just as a fingers hooks beneath. The sharp tug that follows the shake of your head has the seams splitting. That ribbon starting to fray, and then snap.

Your gasp is almost as loud, as the fabric rips. The straps drooping down your arms as the dress starts to pool around you, dragged down by the layers of tulle.

“I’ll get you another,” Din rasps - watching, as you wriggle free.

Seeing the layers of lace beneath, meant for another man. Deep down, knowing it was always meant for him.

His bare hands catch at your hips. Sliding over skin, then up.

"I'll marry you again, cyar'ika. Properly,” Din’s words make you shiver, as his touch drifts across your arms, “As many times as you want, as long as you're mine."

“Yours.” You echo.

Reminding you about binding rituals of the ceremony - all the excitement of the escape almost making you forget.

But when his fingers catch yours, dragging your hands to the curve of his helmet, it’s impossible to think of anything else.

Intent in his movement. The tip of his head towards you, the muscles in his chest going tight as he holds his breath.

“Are you sure?” The beskar is cool beneath your touch.

You know what he offers you. Something akin to the vows you recited, something spoken in his own language.

“Yes,” He echos, “I’ve never meant anything more.”

There’s a weight, one of which you’ve never known. That this wasn’t just to save you. That he’ll wind up right back here as many times, until you believe him.

The lift of your hands is slow. Revealing the stubble on his neck, then chin. You’ve seen bits with the tip of his head. A knowledge that the hair is dark, but then there’s the soft curve of his lips.

Ones that you know the shape of, tracing yours fingers over them in the darkness. Pressed against every part of you, night after night.

There’s a patch of hair missing against his jaw. His nose, and you resist the urge to press your lips to it. A hint of curls, grey-flecked at his temples.

And then his eyes.

He needs the mask, you realize. You would have fallen immediately, looking into eyes like that. Warm and dark, as brown and pretty as his hair.

Everyone would have known what you meant to him, if that had caught him looking at you like this.

The exhale of your breath is low. Only a heartbeat until your mouth is pressing to his, insistent.

Hungry, unleashed fully for the first time. His hands slide up your hips, as the helmet hangs from your fingertips. Curling around your back, pressing you to him.

He’s dreamed of taking you countless times. Your own desires mirroring his - something flickering in your mind, now. A thought that maybe, you should move.

Down to his bunk, perhaps.

But there’s something about here. The cockpit, the streak of stars behind you. His strong thighs spread and bare in the seat before you, as you stand between them.

It’s easy to crawl into his lap. To straddle him, your clothed core already damp when you fit yourself against him.

You can feel groan in his chest as your palm flattens against him. One of his real ones - not modulated through metal.

“Please,” It’s hushed, whispered against his mouth. A rock of your hips, grinding against him.

He catches your hand, dragging it down again.

“It’s yours,” He husks, “It’s always been yours.”

Pleasure blooms low in your belly. Your fingers cupping against his length, before they slip beneath the fabric to curl around him.

Eagerly easing him out. His hips lift so you can shove his small clothes down. The weight of his cock trapped between your belly and his, as his own fingers trace the damp fabric at your core.

“I need you,” You breathe, arching into his fingertips. How they press and rub at you through the lace. It’s far past want.

Want was those early days, stolen glances from beneath your eyelashes as your solemn guard. Finding excuses to make him laugh, so sure he must be smiling beneath the helmet.

Din wears his expressions so openly without. His own desire shown in the grit of his jaw. Those lips that part on a groan, as your fist gives a slow pump.

The lace at your hips tears as easily as the ribbons that held your dress together. A pivot of his chair until he can lay you back against the metal panels of the dashboard, chilling fevered skin.

You whine at the distance that now stretches between you, but his hands only tighten where they grip at your waist.

“Shh, cyar’ika. I’m not going anywhere.” He soothes you, as the reason he moved you suddenly becomes clear.

It’s easier for his fingers to fit into you this way. The flip of his hand, as it faces palm-up. The tip of one stroking against bare skin. A familiar stretch as he slips to the first knuckle.

And then, as a shallow gasp slides from you, he sinks further than he’s ever been.

Had to hold back, before. Give you just a taste of what you’ve been wanting. This - the feel of him nudged so deep inside you.

“I know,” Your husband soothes, as his thumb nudges at your clit - distracting you.

From the slow plunge of his finger. How that quick twinge of discomfort bleeds into a pulsing throb you know well.

It’s not long before your hips are lifting. Your breath growing shorter, as a second fingers slips in to stretch you out. Getting you ready.

His cock is heavy where it rests on your thigh, the tip sticky against your skin. Flushed and swollen - making you realize that maybe you had been too hasty, thinking you could take him before.

Your own hands drift - and this time, you watch. Catching how dark and blown-wide his eyes get. The peek of his tongue between his lips when your fingers pinch at your nipples.

The way he inhales, when he feels you clench down around him. Back arching off the console, as his fingers curl against a spot that you never knew existed inside you.

“There,” You moan, as nudges against it again, “Din, please-”

His jaw grits, his voice low, “Yeah? Are you close, ner riduur?”

You’re used to the pretty names he calls you - a hidden way to show his affection. But never like this, with the soft purr of his voice. The way the words slide so easily from his tongue.

It must mean something special.

“Yes,” Your fingers pinch harder, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Biting back the panting gasp of your breath, as his thumb presses against your clit.

“Come for me.” It’s a command, but there’s a razor edge of need in his words, “Always sound so fucking pretty. Let me hear you.”

You’ve always had to hold back. Muffled into pillows, his palm of his hand as it clamps over your mouth.

The cry rips from you today, as you reach your peak. Eyes fluttering shut as the star-lines streak across your bare form - still bright, even as your vision darkens.

Your nails scrape against his skin, as he leans into you. Din’s mouth sealing to yours as you’re hauled into his lap, his thick fingers slipping free.

The kiss is messy, your mind still swirling as you reach down. Desperate for more, now that you’ve had a taste.

He pants into your mouth, “Don’t have to, cyare. This is-”

The words breaking off with a groan, as your fingers squeeze around him. His own need evident with how he throbs against your palm.

“‘s not enough,” You’re breathless, the dregs of pleasure settling low in your belly, “I’ve waited, we’ve waited-”

“Long enough.” He rasps, a flash of teeth in the darkness when you lean back.

Your nod is sharp. Determination in the pull of your shoulders as you lift up, angling his cock between your thighs.

A breath, and then you’re lowering yourself. The pressure you felt before is nothing compared to now - a muffled cry, as your nails bite into his shoulders.

As he stretches you open, even with how slick and ready you are. His own hands tug at you, trying to keep you from dropping down too quickly.

But you take him. You were made for him, after all. You decided that long ago. Even if you had joined with another, you’d never be theirs like you are his.

And you always were a quick learner. That competitive streak in you takes over now - figuring out just how to move in the cramped space.

That sting easing into pleasure, with the roll of your hips. The movement is familiar - you’ve sat astride him before, just never like this.

Never feeling this full, when your thighs are finally flush against his. Din’s hands guiding you like they often did - grasping at your waist, keeping your rhythm steady.

Even as it threatens to stutter, with just how good he feels. The angle you ride him sends him across the place his fingers found. Each drop of your hips sending you higher, eager to follow his murmured encouragement.

“You feel so fucking good,” It’s ragged and low - close to the tone he has when he comes, spilling across your belly, “Been waiting so long so have you like this-”

“Yours,” You sigh, again. Finally able to say it aloud, “I’m yours, we can have each other any time we want.”

Din groans at that, his hips bucking into you.

“Mine.”

It’s possessive. The hairs on the back of your neck standing up, as his fingers slip down again. Needing to know just how it feels to make you come around him, after imagining it for so long.

Your rhythm goes sloppy with his touch. Unable to figure out how to keep moving with your mind so clouded with pleasure. Chasing his touch as you bounce, head tilting back as his lips press against your throat.

Up, and then up, until he’s kissing you again. Your arms twine around his shoulders, curls tucked between pinched fingers as he brings you over the edge again.

Sharing a breath, as you moan into his mouth. His cock filling you as you clench down around him, almost as if trying to keep him inside as your orgasm pulses through you.

Din used to worry about monsters and beasts darkening your doorstep, never knowing he’d create one in you. Hungry like you’ve never known, eager for more even as your energy slips from you.

With his own desperation, he’s not far behind. Not with how you tight you are. Ready to give you everything, now that he finally can.

His jaw grits as he buries himself in you. Doing most of the work now, your legs leaden in your afterglow. Rutting his hips against yours, notching himself deep into where you’re wet and warm.

“Princess-,” Din rasps, like he used to. A low huff of a breath as you correct him.

Your lips at his ear, as you croon, “Riduur.”

“Fuck,” He groans at that, his voice dropping low, “Riddur, where do you want me?”

It makes you moan, the rough tone in his voice. How that name in his native tongue affects him just as much as you.

Your hips begin to move in earnest, skin slapping against skin. Those dark eyes on yours as you answer - finally able to express your hearts desire, after all these years.

“I want to feel you.”

His breath grows harsh, as your hips roll.

“Come in me. Please, Din.”

There’s no need for you to beg. He’s already there - a rough grunt as his hips near lift off the seat. Tugging you down and flush against him as he spills inside you.

You can feel him throb, as his warmth floods your walls. Threatening to spill from you, to leak onto thighs that are already sticky with your release. Sweat-dewed with exertion.

That heady ache of need fades, when you both come back down. It’s just bliss now, warm in your limbs. In his embrace. For the first time in weeks, you feel like you’re able to breathe.

The stars streak across his skin, illuminating pieces of his face. So like the stained glass back home, each feature split and soldered with darkness.

“Do you regret it?” His voice is low, barely audible over the hum of the engine, “Leaving with me?”

Your head tilts back, as you look at him again. A sight that you cherish, one you hope you can indulge in, but never take for granted.

And after all the questions that led to today - this one has been the easiest to answer.

“No,” You catch his hand, pressing it to your heart. Mirroring his words earlier.

“It’s always been yours.”

In every world - you would have gone with him.

Sometime amongst the late hours, you wind your way downstairs.

Fitting together in the narrow bunk, not minding the small space. Drifting off with a hand cradled against his neck. Thumb brushing his cheek, loathe to leave the warmth of his skin.

Soft dreams swirl in the moments you do sleep. In between the times when you wake - reaching for each other. Another hour spent twined together, re-learning every inch.

Not fearing the dawn, this time.

Because for once... your life is yours.

thanks for reading! and jana, thank you so much for hosting this event, I was so excited to celebrate with you! 💖

Su cuy'gar! - a friendly greeting (lit: "still live," i.e. "so you're still alive.")

vor entye - thank you (lit: "I accept a debt")

ner vod - my brother

ner riduur - my spouse / wife

ret'urcye mhi - goodbye

[celaenaeiln]

in like a one person gets one, who would dicks soulmate (platonic or not idk) be? i’ve asked this to several ppl and the answers are usually wally, donna, or jason though i’ve seen some ppl say slade, roy, and bruce.

Anon your ask has literally been haunting me at night. I thought I knew the answer but then you hit me with a Donna!! But between Bruce and Donna, I can't decide so I'll just present a case for both.

Bruce

Bruce and Dick are soulmates on a cosmological scale. The DC universe ordained them to always find each other because they're quite literally a fated pair.

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight Issue #23

Bruce: The only regret is that I'm out there alone. It felt good having someone at my back, being part of a team...but no sense wasting time wishing for something I'll never have.

Dick: He's cool, dad...d'you think we'll ever see him when we play Gotham?

The universe literally brings them together no matter the circumstances.

Convergence Issue #4

"The bond between you and Bruce Wayne echoes in every reality."

I don't think there's any stronger evidence for Dick and Bruce being soulmates than this.

But if that's still not enough I have more-

The Multiversity: Guidebook

In Bruce's world he lost Dick and in Dick's world he lost Bruce, but still in the end they somehow find each other. In every universe that has Batman, if someone is his partner it's always Dick.

In the medieval ages world-

Batman: Dark Knight of the Round Table Issue #1

The world of "A Christmas Carol" with Ebenezer Scrooge -

Batman: Noël

In a world where Bruce is a doctor at Arkham -

The Batman of Arkham

Dick is always there as his second.

Here's another interesting but depressing fact: In worlds where Dick Grayson has died as Robin, Bruce Wayne has never taken in another Robin.

This is because on top of the fact that Dick and Bruce as fated to meet, Dick means the entire world for Bruce. Like sometimes Bruce will come across a case with a child involved and the first thing he'll think about is Dick.

Batman: City of Madness Issue #2

Bruce's mind and life is literally consumed by Dick Grayson on a cosmologically spiritual level.

Donna

Donna is Dick's soulmate on a twin-sister spiritual level. Dick and Bruce are two halves of a whole, yin and yang. Dick and Donna though are one person. Their relationship is like taking paint and mixing it together to get something new. Like in those comics where two people look at each other and there's a "zing!" and suddenly it's an instant connection. That's them.

Titans (2016) Special 1

additionally:

Titans (2016) Special 1

New Titans (1988) Issue #89

Dick and Donna have no secrets. They're like a jigsaw puzzle, their pieces fall right into place.

He's always there for her-

The New Teen Titans (1980) Issue #38

They're so special and integral to each other that when an evil witch erases Donna from everyone's memories, there is only one focal point for her. One focal person for her throughout the years. Even though he doesn't remember her, Dick literally goes back in time with his future daughter Mar'i to help Donna, his soul-sister-

The Titans (1999) Issue #25

In every. single. moment of Donna's past Dick appears again and again to comfort her and be her pillar from Robin to civies to Nightwing. In the "Who is Donna Troy" Arc, as the story goes from the origins of Donna to the present, it becomes very clear that Dick is her centerpoint.

They're the definition of soulmates.

She knows him better than anyone else and he knows her. She even had him walk her Donna the aisle for her wedding. He was given that honor because of who they are to each other.

Tales of the Teen Titans Issue #42

I...

just-

Tales of the Teen Titans Issue #50

to love like that...

They're made for each other.

[pangur-and-grim]

something I’ve learned from querying: everything has a million subcategories, and it is crucial to actually learn then.

like when I first started, I thought an agent listing ‘speculative fiction’ in their interests was enough to give me a shot! but now it’s like ok. but does that actually mean fantasy (as opposed to science fiction or surrealism)? and if it does, is it constrained to one of the following:

high fantasy

low fantasy

grounded fantasy 

magical realism

etc.

and if fate is smiling on me and it is high fantasy, what sort do they like? because mine starts as a medieval George R R Martin clone before morphing into a post-apocalyptic sci fi, so they have to simultaneously be alright with a) cliched shit and b) experimental weird shit.

and say everything aligns, and that genre works for them - even then, they often accept it only in one or two age categories. there’s mg, ya, na (middle grade, young adult, new adult) and adult. mine is adult, which is a huge strike against it given the genre. 

AND THEN! AND THEN! say everything else is perfect. they love high fantasy with elves and unicorns, they want it for adults, they’re cool with genre bending, but in their profile is a phrase I’ve learned to dread: “HEA (which stands for happily every after) required”. I love my little book, but it is dark and full of terrible people.

and then I also have to hope that they’re into queer romance, on top of everything else! it’s a hard process.

currently I have 45 queries sent, 15 rejections, and 30 unknowns, and I think a good portion of those rejections are because I didn’t initially understand that ‘accepts speculative fiction’ shouldn’t be taken literally.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Consequences | Prologue

Summary: Only nine and ten, she does not know much about the world and when she acquires a job at the Red Keep as a maidservant, she catches the dark and ominous attention of the One-Eyed Prince. Unsure if she even wants it, she may realise that the realm is not so kind to lowborn women, regardless of the situation they find themselves in | Word Count: 1.4k~ | Warnings below the cut!

Series Masterlist

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, dark, medieval-canon sexism, dub-con, mean Aemond, manipulation, gore, blood, violence, major angst

A/N: This is intended to be a dark one, so please read all the warnings before continuing. Warnings will be highlighted when needed. Aemond’s gonna be pretty mean, self-serving and not at all very nice in this one! Basically a spoilt prince reaping the benefits, so beware. You know me, I love a bit of angst.

She liked being early to rise.

It meant that for a few small moments, she could pretend that the hallways were all her own. However brief they were. It was a small slither of peace for the young maidservant. 

That was at least until the Red Keep began to wake. The murmured whispers of the staff to one another, organising the various meals for the royal family, making sure their clothes were ready and prepared, ensuring that their rooms were neat and tidy for their arrival back to their chambers and drawing their baths at their behest.

It was tough work at times, but it was good, honest labour and for her services, she was paid much more than she could have even dreamed of. That said, most of it was sent to her younger siblings where she could spare it, but it was still entirely novel and rewarding to earn her own coin.

It was a fine, clear day like any other. The servant’s quarters were bustling with busy maidservants, rushing around after their allocated jobs. Most of the other maidservants were of a similar age, but their temperaments fierce away from the forced politeness they were obligated to offer the royal family. It could very often get catty. And sometimes it was best to say little at all, where it could be helped. People talked, gossiped and made fun for themselves in the dreary, everyday lull of being at the behest of King and Queen. She did not blame them for making fun, but perhaps it was naïve of her to believe it could be done without cruelty.

One particular girl, not much older than her, assumed a role akin to a elder sister amongst the little band of maidservants. She had chestnut hair that was braided like the other staff, in plaits and pulled behind the head, stuck with pins and out of the way. Her name was Hedi, possibly short for something, but she dare not ask.

“Ah, there you are,” Hedi smiled in a sing-songy way, gesturing for her to come and join them, “you are to go to Prince Aemond’s rooms and take his clothes with you. He will be expecting his old bedsheets to be taken away,” she instructed, oblivious to the way the little maid servant's eyes widened. 

“Hedi, I have never-”

“Better you meet him now and get it over with, child,” she responded, pushing the bundle of clothes into her hands, ignoring the unsure look on her face. 

She had heard many things about the One-Eyed Prince. Aemond Targaryen. The second son of King Viserys and Queen Alicent.

Since her employment at the Red Keep only a few moons ago, she had rarely seen any of the royal family with the exception of infrequent refills of their wine decanters at the dinner table. And even then, it was rare she could get a proper look at any of them as the halls were dark and lit only by candles at the table, obscuring some of their faces.

She had only heard stories of them.

Upon employment, Alicent had instructed Hedi that the new staff were not to be around her first son, Prince Aegon, by any means necessary. And though at the time, Hedi was not given any more information, she told the rest of the maidservants that she surmised that some wrongdoings caused the previous staff to leave King’s Landing altogether, moon tea in their bellies and a purse of gold dragons to keep their silence.

This did nothing to calm her nerves though, for she sometimes saw him walking around the Keep. Though she was advised to not spare a glance, she felt the weight of his eyes on her, and the other maidservants said the same.

Princess Helaena was a sort of anomaly. Nobody ever really saw her. Or perhaps she just made less of a fuss compared to her brothers. The few times she had seen the Princess at the table, Helaena had been staring forward at her plate, murmuring things under her breath.

That only left him, the One-Eyed Prince everyone so fondly called him. 

She had seen him only once, to her knowledge, at the aforementioned feast. He had been sitting at one end, his seeing eye downcast, looking anywhere but at the individuals he called family at the table before him. He seemed to not move an inch throughout, as if deep in thought. 

She took a deep breath and walked the long, winding path to the main halls of the Red Keep, along the corridor where Prince Aemond’s chambers would be. She whispered to herself that it would be alright, that the other maidservants were just trying to rile her up with fear for the man, for they’d said that he frightened them terribly. 

Willing the shake out of her breath, she stared at the door for a while, thinking that perhaps if she waited for a moment it’d be easier. But it just sent her heart racing even more. Her small fist gingerly knocked. 

“Prince Aemond,” she called softly. 

There was a moment of silence and muffled rustling inside the chambers, presumed to be his bedsheets. 

“Enter,” a groggy, male voice called out in return. 

Without thinking on it for another moment, she quickly slipped inside and though she did not mean to, her eyes briefly looked upon the Prince in his bed, halfway through sitting up tiredly. But her eyes were quickly drawn away once she had realised that there were no clothes on his person, and so with dusted cheeks she darted to the chair and placed the clothes atop it, making sure everything was there for him before drawing the curtains. Feeling somewhat flustered and out of sorts, she brushed the wayward curl from her face that had fallen loose from her braids and felt that hot annoyance as it continued to tickle her face. 

She ties the curtains together to keep them drawn and her heart quickens when she hears him get out of bed, stretch with a tired groan and pad over to the table near the fireplace. He pours himself a drink of water and is quiet for some time. 

“You are not my usual maid,” he says and when it is clear he is speaking to her, she turns around finally, offering a small nod. 

He is tall, almost unnaturally so. He wears only his nightclothes on his bottom half and leans against one of the armchairs, regarding her with an indescribable look in his one good eye, the other has a sapphire wedged inside, and she thought it must be uncomfortable to sleep with it. For a moment, she swallows nervously, he is broad and strong looking, but not in a burly way, and on the fair skin of his bare chest she can see several scars, all silver from age and hairline thin.

“No, your grace. I was sent to attend to you today,” she responds, shockingly evenly, clasping her hands in front of her before nervously smoothing her hands over her apron.

She sees the way his tongue pokes at his cheek, seemingly annoyed, “Hm,” he responds as he sips his water, “will you be attending to me from now on?”

Her tongue wets her lips nervously, “I am not sure, your grace.”

He seems like he wants to say more, but he just stands there, across the room, looking at her and enjoying the way she continues to shrink under his gaze.

She pushes that stray hair behind her ear once more as she moves to strip the bed, working quickly and without looking back towards the quiet prince. She can tell however, how his gaze never seems to leave her, watching her with interest. 

“What is your name,” from his lips it almost doesn’t sound like a question, more a demand.

Wound tight with anxiety, she tells him her name, which only makes him turn one side of his lip up in some form of a smile.

Once she has all the sheets folded and ready to take away, she stands with hands clasped, “is there anything else I can do for you this morning, your grace?”

He taps his finger against the glass he’s holding, as if in thought. And it’s extremely difficult to avert her eyes from the firm planes of his chest, but for the sake of politeness and her position, she forces herself to.

With a soft shake of his head, she gathers the sheets in her arms and makes for the chamber doors and her hand barely brushes the handle before his voice calls out her name.

“Yes, your grace?” she answers, a dusty pink covering her cheekbones with her nerves.

With a genuine, mischievous looking smirk, he strides widely towards her and her eyes never leave his face, feet planted firmly where she stands.

“I want you to attend to me from now on.”

General Aemond Taglist (DM me if you want to be removed)

@risefallrise​

[irish-dress-history]

Did the ancient Celts really paint themselves blue?

Part 2: Irish tattoos

Clockwise from top left: Deirdre and Naoise from the Ulster Cycle by amylouioc, detail from The Marriage of Strongbow and Aoife by Daniel Maclise, a modern Celtic revival tattoo, Michael Flatley in a promotional image for the Irish step dance show 'Lord of the Dance'

This is my second post exploring the historical evidence for our modern belief that the ancient and medieval Insular Celts painted or tattooed themselves with blue pigment. In the first post, I discussed the fact that body paint seems to have been used by residents of Great Britain between approximately 50 BCE to 100 CE. In this post, I will examine the evidence for tattooing.

Once again, I am looking at sources pertaining to any ethnic group who lived in the British Isles, this time from the Roman Era to the early Middle Ages. The relevant text sources range from approximately 200 CE to 900 CE. I am including all British Isles cultures, because a) determining exactly which Insular culture various writers mean by terms like ‘Briton’, ‘Scot’, and ‘Pict’ is sometimes impossible and b) I don’t want to risk excluding any relevant evidence.

Continental Written Sources:

The earliest written source to mention tattoos in the British Isles is Herodian of Antioch’s History of the Roman Empire written circa 208 CE. In it, Herodian says of the Britons, "They tattoo their bodies with colored designs and drawings of all kinds of animals; for this reason they do not wear clothes, which would conceal the decorations on their bodies" (translation from MacQuarrie 1997). Herodian is probably reporting second-hand information given to him by soldiers who fought under Septimius Severus in Britain (MacQuarrie 1997) and shouldn't be considered a true primary source.

Also in the early 3rd century, Gaius Julius Solinus says in Collectanea Rerum Memorabilium 22.12, "regionem [Brittaniae] partim tenent barbari, quibus per artifices plagarum figuras iam inde a pueris variae animalium effigies incorporantur, inscriptisque visceribus hominis incremento pigmenti notae crescunt: nec quicquam mage patientiae loco nationes ferae ducunt, quam ut per memores cicatrices plurimum fuci artus bibant."

Translation: "The area [of Britain] is partly occupied by barbarians on whose bodies, from their childhood upwards, various forms of living creatures are represented by means of cunningly wrought marks: and when the flesh of the person has been deeply branded, then the marks of the pigment get larger as the man grows, and the barbaric nations regard it as the highest pitch of endurance to allow their limbs to drink in as much of the dye as possible through the scars which record this" (from MacQuarrie 1997).

This passage, like Herodian's, is clearly a description of tattooing, not body staining or painting. That said, I have no idea of tattoos actually work like this. I would think this would result in the adult having a faded, indistinct tattoo, but if anyone knows otherwise, please tell me.

The poet Claudian, writing in the early 5th c., is the first to specifically mention the Picts having tattoos (MacQuarrie 1997). In De Bello Gothico he says, "Venit & extremis legio praetenta Britannis,/ Quæ Scoto dat frena truci, ferroque notatas/ Perlegit exanimes Picto moriente figuras."

Translation: "The legion comes to make a trial of the most remote parts of Britain where it subdues the wild Scot and gazes on the iron-wrought figures on the face of the dying Pict" (from MacQuarrie 1997).

Last, and possibly least, of our Mediterranean sources is Isidore of Seville. In the early 7th c. he writes, "the Pictish race, their name derived from their body, which the efficient needle, with minute punctures, rubs in the juices squeezed from native plants so that it may bring these scars to its own fashion [. . .] The Scotti have their name from their own language by reason of [their] painted body, because they are marked by iron needles with dark coloring in the form of a marking of varying shapes." (translation from MacQuarrie 1997)

Isidore is the earliest writer to explicitly link the name 'Pict' to their 'painted' (Latin: pictus) i.e. tattooed bodies. Isidore probably borrowed information for his description from earlier writers like Claudian (MacQuarrie 1997).

In the 8th century, we have a source that definitely isn't Romans recycling old hearsay. In 786, a pair of papal legates visited the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms of Mercia and Northumbria (Story 1995). In their report to Pope Hadrian, the legates condemn pagans who have "superimposed most hideous cicatrices" (i.e gotten tattoos), likening the pagan practice to coloring oneself "with dirty spots". The location of the visit indicates that these are Anglo-Saxon tattoos rather than Celtic, but some scholars have suggested that the Anglo-Saxons might have adopted the practice from the Brittonic Celts (MacQuarrie 1997).

A gloss in the margin of the late 9th c. German manuscript Fulda Aa 2 defines Stingmata [sic] as "put pictures on the bodies as the Irish (Scotti) do." (translation from MacQuarrie 1997).

Fulda Aa 2 folio 43r The gloss is on the left underlined in white.

Irish Written Sources:

Irish texts that mention tattoos date to approximately 700-900 CE, although some of them have glosses that may be slightly later, and some of them cannot be precisely dated.

The first text source is a poem known in English as "The Caldron of Poesy," written in the early 8th c. (Breatnach 1981). The poem is purportedly the work of Amairgen, ollamh of the legendary Milesian kings. In the first stanza of the poem, he introduces himself saying, "I being white-kneed, blue-shanked, grey-bearded Amairgen." (translation from Breatnach 1981)

The text of the poem with interline glosses from Trinity College Dublin MS 1337/1

The word garrglas (blue-shanked) has a Middle Irish (c. 900-1200) gloss added by a later scribe, defining garrglas as: "a tattooed shank, or who has the blue tattooed shank" (Breatnach 1981).

Although Amairgen was a mythical figure, the position ollamh was not. An ollamh was the highest rank of poet in medieval Ireland, considered worthy of the same honor-price as a king (Carey 1997, Breatnach 1981). The fact that a man of such esteemed status introduces himself with the descriptor 'blue-shanked' suggests that tattoos were a respectable thing to have in early medieval Ireland.

The leg tattoos are also mentioned c. 900 CE in Cormac’s Glossary. It defines feirenn as "a thong which is about the calf of a man whence ‘a tattooed thong is tattooed about [the] calf’" (translation from MacQuarrie 1997)

The Irish legal text Uraicecht Becc, dated to the 9th or early 10th c., includes the word creccoire on a list of low-status occupations (Szacillo 2012, MacNeill 1924). A gloss defines it as: crechad glass ar na roscaib, a phrase which Szacillo interprets as meaning "making grey-blue sore (tattooing) on the eyes" (2012). This sounds rather strange, but another early Irish text clarifies it.

The Vita sancti Colmani abbatis de Land Elo written around the 8th-9th centuries (Szacillo 2012) contains the following episode:

On another time, St Colmán, looking upon his brother, who was the son of Beugne, saw that the lids of his eyes had been secretly painted with the hyacinth colour, as it was in the custom; and it was a great offence at St Colmán’s. He said to his brother: ‘May your eyes not see the light in your life (any more). And from that hour he was blind, seeing nothing until (his) death. (translation from Szacillo 2012).

The original Latin phrase describing what so offended St Colmán "palpebre oculorum illius latenter iacinto colore" does not contain the verb paint (pingo). It just says his eyelids were hyacinth (blue) colored. This passage together with the gloss from the Uraicecht Becc implies that there was a custom of tattooing people's eyelids blue in early medieval Ireland. A creccoire* was therefore a professional eyelid tattooer or a tattoo artist.

A possible third reference to tattooing the area around the eye is found in a list of Old Irish kennings. The kenning for the letter 'B' translates as 'Beauty of the eyebrow.' This kenning is glossed with the word crecad/creccad (McManus 1988). Crecad could be translated as cauterizing, branding, or tattooing (eDIL). McManus suggests "adornment (by tattooing) of the eyebrow" as a plausible interpretation of how crecad relates to the beauty of the eyebrow (1988). The precise date of this text is not known (McManus 1988), but Old Irish was used c. 600-900 CE, meaning this text is of a similar date to the other Irish references to tattoos.

Kenning of the letter 'b' with gloss from TCD MS 1337/1

There is a sharp contrast between the association of tattoos with a venerated figure in 'The Caldron of Poesy', and their association with low-status work and divine punishment in the Uraicecht Becc and the Vita. This indicates that there was a shift in the cultural attitude towards tattoos in Ireland during the 7th-9th centuries. The fact that a Christian saint considered getting tattoos a big enough offense to punish his own brother with blindness suggests that tattooing might have been a pagan practice which gradually got pushed out by the Catholic Church. This timeline is consistent with the 786 CE report of the papal legates condemning the pagan practice of tattooing in Great Britain (MacQuarrie 1997).

There are some mentions of tattooing in Lebor Gabála Érenn, but the information largely appears to be borrowed from Isidore of Seville (MacQuarrie 1997). The fact that the writers of LGE just regurgitated Isidore's meager descriptions of Pictish and Scottish (ie Irish) tattooing without adding any details, such as the designs used or which parts of the body were tattooed, makes me think that Insular tattooing practices had passed out of living memory by the time the book was written in the 11th century.

*There is some etymological controversy over this term. Some have suggested that the Old Irish word for eyelid-tattooer should actually be crechaire. more info Even if this hypothesis is correct, and the scribe who wrote the gloss on creccoire mistook it for crechaire, this doesn't contradict my argument. The scribe clearly believed that eyelid-tattooer belonged on a list of low-status occupations.

Discussion:

Like Julius Cesar in the last post, Herodian of Antioch c. 208 CE makes some dubious claims of Celtic barbarism, stating that the Britons were: "Strangers to clothing, the Britons wear ornaments of iron at their waists and throats; considering iron a symbol of wealth, they value this metal as other barbarians value gold" (translation from MacQuarrie 1997). If the Britons wore nothing but iron jewelry, then why did they have brass torcs and 5,000 objects that look like they're meant to attach to fabric, Herodian?

Brass torc from Lochar Moss, Scotland c. 50-200 CE. Romano-British trumpet brooch from Cumbria c. 75-175 CE. image from the Portable Antiquities Scheme.

Trumpet brooches are a Roman Era artifact invented in Britain, that were probably pinned to people's clothing. more info

Although Herodian and Solinus both make dubious claims, there are enough differences between them to indicate that they had 2 separate sources of information, and one was not just parroting the other. This combined with the fact that we have more-reliable sources from later centuries confirming the existence of tattoos in the British Isles makes it probable that there was at least a grain of truth to their claims of tattooing.

There is a common belief that the name Pict originated from the Latin pictus (painted), because the Picts had 'painted' or tattooed bodies. The Romans first used the name Pict to refer to inhabitants of Britain in 297 CE (Ware 2021), but the first mention of Pictish tattoos came in 402 CE (Carr 2005), and the first explicit statement that the name Pict was derived from the Picts' tattooed bodies came from Isidore of Seville c. 600 CE (MacQuarrie 1997). Unless someone can find an earlier source for this alleged etymology than Isidore, I am extremely skeptical of it.

Summary of the written evidence:

Some time between c. 79 CE (Pliny the Elder) and c. 208 CE (Herodian of Antioch) the practice of body art in Great Britain changed from staining or painting the skin to tattooing. Third century Celtic Briton tattoo designs depicted animals. Pictish tattoos are first mentioned in the 5th century.

The earliest mention of Irish tattoos comes from Isidore of Seville in the early 6th c., but since it seems to have been a pre-Christian practice, it likely started earlier. Irish tattoos of the 8-9th centuries were placed on the area around the eye and on the legs. They were a bluish color. The 8th c. Anglo-Saxons also had tattoos.

Tattooing in Ireland probably ended by the early 10th c., possibly because of Christian condemnation. Exactly when tattooing ended in Great Britain is unclear, but in the 12th c., William of Malmesbury describes it as a thing of the past (MacQuarrie 1997). None of these sources give much detail as to what the tattoos looked like.

The Archaeology of Insular Ink:

In spite of the fact that tattooing was a longer-lasting, more wide-spread practice in the British Isles than body painting, there is less archaeological evidence for it. This may be because the common tools used for tattooing, needles or blades for puncturing the skin, pigments to make the ink, and dishes to hold the ink, all had other common uses in the Middle Ages that could make an archaeologist overlook their use in tattooing. The same needle that was used to sew a tunic could also have been used to tattoo a leg (Carr 2005). A group of small, toothed bronze plates from a Romano-British site at Chalton, Hampshire might have been tattoo chisels (Carr 2005) or they might have been used to make stitching holes in leather (Cunliffe 1977).

Although the pigment used to make tattoos may be difficult to identify at archaeological sites, other lines of evidence might give us an idea of what it was. Although the written sources tell us that Irish tattoos were blue, the popular modern belief that woad was the source of the tattoo pigment is, in my opinion, extremely unlikely for a couple of reasons:

1) Blue pigment from woad doesn't seem to work as tattoo ink. The modern tattoo artists who have tried to use it have found that it burns out of the person's skin, leaving a scar with no trace of blue in it (Lambert 2004).

2) None of the historical sources actually mention tattooing with woad. Julius Cesar and Pliny the Elder mention something that might have been woad, but they were talking about body paint, not tattoos. (see previous post) Isidore of Seville claimed that the Picts were tattooing themselves with "juices squeezed from native plants", but even assuming that Isidore is a reliable source, you can't get blue from woad by just squeezing the juice out of it. In order to get blue out of woad, you have to first steep the leaves, then discard the leaves and add a base like ammonia to the vat (Carr 2005). The resulting dye vat is not something any knowledgeable person would describe as plant juice, so either Isidore had no idea what he was talking about, or he is talking about something other than blue pigment from woad.

In my opinion, the most likely pigment for early Irish and British tattoos is charcoal. Early tattoos found on mummies from Europe and Siberia all contain charcoal and no other colored pigment. These tattoos range in date from c. 3300 BCE (Ötzi the Iceman) to c. 300 CE (Oglakhty grave 4) (Samadelli et al 2015, Pankova 2013).

Despite the fact that charcoal is black, it tends to look blueish when used in tattoos (Pankova 2013). Even modern black ink tattoos that use carbon black pigment (which is effectively a purer form of charcoal) tend to look increasingly blue as they age.

A 17-year-old tattoo in carbon black ink photographed with a swatch of black Sharpie on white printer paper.

The fact that charcoal-based tattoo inks continue to be used today, more than 5,000 years after the first charcoal tattoo was given, shows that charcoal is an effective, relatively safe tattoo pigment, unlike woad. Additionally, charcoal can be easily produced with wood fires, meaning it would have been a readily available material for tattoo artists in the early medieval British Isles. We would need more direct evidence, like a tattooed body from the British Isles, to confirm its use though.

As of June 2024, there have been at least 279 bog bodies* found in the British Isles (Ó Floinn 1995, Turner 1995, Cowie, Picken, Wallace 2011, Giles 2020, BBC 2024), a handful of which have made it into modern museum collections. Unfortunately, tattoos have not been found on any of them. (We don't have a full scientific analysis for the 2023 Bellaghy find yet though.)

*This number includes some finds from fens. It does not include the Cladh Hallan composite mummies.

Tattoos in period art?

It has been suggested that the man fight a beast on Book of Kells f. 130r may be naked and covered in tattoos (MacQuarrie 1997). However, Dress in Ireland author Mairead Dunlevy interprets this illustration as a man wearing a jacket and trews (Dunlevy 1989). Looking at some of the other figures in the Book of Kells, I agree with Dunlevy. F. 97v shows the same long, fitted sleeves and round neckline. F. 292r has long, fitted leg coverings, presumably trews, and also long sleeves. The interlace and dot motifs on f. 130r's legs may be embroidery. Embroidered garments were a status symbol in early medieval Ireland (Dunlevy 1989).

Left to right: Book of Kells folios 130r, 97v, 292r

A couple of sculptures in County Fermanagh might sport depictions of Irish tattoos. The first, known as the Bishop stone, is in the Killadeas cemetery. It features a carved head with 2 marks on the left side of the face, a double line beside the mouth and a single line below the eye. These lines may represent tattoos.

The second sculpture is the Janus figure on Boa Island. (So named because it has 2 faces; it's not Roman.) It has marks under the right eye and extending from the corner of the left eye that may be tattoos.

I cannot find a definitive date for the Bishop stone head, but it bears a strong resemblance to the nearby White Island church figures. The White Island figures are stylistically dated to the 9th-10th centuries and may come from a church that was destroyed by Vikings in 837 CE (Halpin and Newman 2006, Lowry-Corry 1959). The Janus figure is believed to be Iron Age or early medieval (Halpin and Newman 2006).

Conclusions:

Despite the fact that tattooing as a custom in the British Isles lasted for more than 500 years and was practiced by at least 3 different cultures, written sources remain our only solid evidence for it. With only a dozen sources, some of which probably copied each other, to cover this time span, there are huge gaps in our knowledge. The 4th century Picts may not have had the same tattoo designs, placements or reasons for getting tattooed as the 8th c. Irish or Anglo-Saxons. These sources only give us fragments of information on who got tattooed, where the tattoos were placed, what they looked like, how the tattoos were done, and why people got tattooed. Further complicating our limited information is the fact that most of the text sources come from foreigners and/or people who were prejudiced against tattooing, which calls their accuracy into question.

'The Cauldron of Posey' is one source that provides some detail while not showing prejudice against tattoos. The author of the poem was probably Christian, but the poem appears to have been written at a time when Pagan practices were still tolerated in Ireland. I have a complete translation of the poem along with a longer discussion of religious elements here.

Leave me a tip?

Bibliography:

BBC (2024). Bellaghy bog body: Human remains are 2,000 years old https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-northern-ireland-68092307

Breatnach, L. (1981). The Cauldron of Poesy. Ériu, 32(1981), 45-93. https://www.jstor.org/stable/30007454

Carey, J. (1997). The Three Things Required of a Poet. Ériu, 48(1997), 41-58. https://www.jstor.org/stable/30007956

Carr, Gillian. (2005). Woad, Tattooing and Identity in Later Iron Age and Early Roman Britain. Oxford Journal of Archaeology 24(3), 273–292. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1468-0092.2005.00236.x

Cowie, T., Pickin, J. and Wallace, T. (2011). Bog bodies from Scotland: old finds, new records. Journal of Wetland Archaeology 10(1): 1–45.

Cunliffe, B. (1977) The Romano-British Village at Chalton, Hants. Proceedings of the Hampshire Field Club and Archaeological Society, 33(1977), 45-67.

Dunlevy, Mairead (1989). Dress in Ireland. B. T. Batsford LTD, London. 

eDIL s.v. crechad https://dil.ie/12794

Giles, Melanie. (2020). Bog Bodies Face to face with the past. Manchester University Press, Manchester. https://library.oapen.org/viewer/web/viewer.html?file=/bitstream/handle/20.500.12657/46717/9781526150196_fullhl.pdf?sequence=1&isAllowed=y

Halpin, A., Newman, C. (2006). Ireland: An Oxford Archaeological Guide to Sites from Earliest Times to AD 1600. Oxford University Press, Oxford. https://archive.org/details/irelandoxfordarc0000halp/page/n3/mode/2up

Hoecherl, M. (2016). Controlling Colours: Function and Meaning of Colour in the British Iron Age. Archaeopress Publishing LTD, Oxford. https://www.google.com/books/edition/Controlling_Colours/WRteEAAAQBAJ?hl=en&gbpv=0

Lambert, S. K. (2004). The Problem of the Woad. Dunsgathan.net. https://dunsgathan.net/essays/woad.htm

Lowry-Corry, D. (1959). A Newly Discovered Statue at the Church on White Island, County Fermanagh. Ulster Journal of Archaeology, 22(1959), 59-66. https://www.jstor.org/stable/20567530

MacQuarrie, Charles. (1997). Insular Celtic tattooing: History, myth and metaphor. Etudes Celtiques, 33, 159-189. https://doi.org/10.3406/ecelt.1997.2117

McManus, D. (1988). Irish Letter-Names and Their Kennings. Ériu, 39(1988), 127-168. https://www.jstor.org/stable/30024135

Ó Floinn, R. (1995). Recent research into Irish bog bodies. In R. C. Turner and R. G. Scaife (eds) Bog Bodies: New Discoveries and New Perspectives (p. 137–45). British Museum Press, London. ISBN: 9780714123059

Pankova, S. (2013). One More Culture with Ancient Tattoo Tradition in Southern Siberia: Tattoos on a Mummy from the Oglakhty Burial Ground, 3rd-4th century AD. Zurich Studies in Archaeology, 9(2013), 75-86.

Samadelli, M., Melisc, M., Miccolic, M., Vigld, E.E., Zinka, A.R. (2015). Complete mapping of the tattoos of the 5300-year-old Tyrolean Iceman. Journal of Cultural Heritage, 16(2015), 753–758.

Story, Joanna (1995). Charlemagne and Northumbria : the influence of Francia on Northumbrian politics in the later eighth and early ninth centuries. [Doctoral Thesis]. Durham University. http://etheses.dur.ac.uk/1460/

Szacillo, J. (2012). Irish hagiography and its dating: a study of the O'Donohue group of Irish saints' lives. [Doctoral Thesis]. Queen's University Belfast.

Turner, R.C. (1995). Resent Research into British Bog Bodies. In R. C. Turner and R. G. Scaife (eds) Bog Bodies: New Discoveries and New Perspectives (p. 221–34). British Museum Press, London. ISBN: 9780714123059

Ware, C. (2021). A Literary Commentary on Panegyrici Latini VI(7) An Oration Delivered Before the Emperor Constantine in Trier, ca. AD 310. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. https://www.google.com/books/edition/A_Literary_Commentary_on_Panegyrici_Lati/oEwMEAAAQBAJ?hl=en&gbpv=0

[redsamuraiii]

In every fandom, there will always be those that are quick to use the word "misogyny", in this case, some fans calling Toranaga misogynic. Either they have not been really paying attention or do not understand what the word really mean. So allow me to explain.

"Toranaga killed Mariko".

Mariko had always wanted to die since her family was persecuted. Possibly wanting to reunite with her family. And she sure as heck is not going to die for Buntaro or even with him. So Toranaga offered a death that satisfy her, a death for the greater cause which will save thousands, while getting her revenge against Ishido, a trusted vassal of the late Taiko that wiped out her entire family.

She was given a choice which she could refused, but she accepted it. Because she's a Samurai. She accepted her fate and responsibility to save others instead of running away to save herself. (Buntaro look down on Ishido for running away to save himself in Korea). Toranaga never intended to sacrifice her but had to as a last resort when he failed to get the loyalty of the Christian lords.

Crimson Sky cannot take place as he cannot siege Osaka with the enemy behind him (Christian lords from Nagasaki) or he'll be sandwiched between them and Ishido. That's when he resorted to an attack from within, with the help of Mariko. She expose Ishido's true intentions and make a fool out of him by showing everyone that he is no man to hold the women hostage and to even kill a woman.

"Toranaga killed Fuji's family."

Fuji's husband is a Samurai and knows his place, so when spoke out of turn when he shouldn't, the mistake was his. He not only show Ishido that Toranaga could not control his own men but he also show contempt to Ishido who would use it as a pretext to wage war on Toranaga and his supporters, as he's been waiting for an excuse to wipe them all out in a war that will kill thousands.

And to ensure that the child will not grow up to avenge the father's punishment, causing another civil war, the child was ordered to be killed, along with the father. Two lives sacrificed to save thousands, something a Daimyo (Lord) was to supposed to do, protect his people from war, if it can be avoided, which is what Toranaga have been striving for, to end conflicts without a war.

But who is to say, Fuji would not want to avenge the death of her family too? So instead of having her killed, he gave another form of punishment, to be a consort for the barbarian, Anjin-san, for a period of time, after which she is allowed to live but as a nun. Historically, many Samurai were pardoned provided they became a monk, as temples have no political affiliation that would pose a threat.

So it is not something that is exclusive to women, but to men too, which is common in the feudal era, not just Japan, but all over the world. That's why the medieval period is called the "Dark Ages" because things were messed up, that's how feudal system works. The right thing to do may not be the moral thing to do.

"Toranaga is hungry for power."

Well, yes. I mean how else can you end the senseless civil wars that have been going on for years without taking control of the country to unify it? If you do not become Shogun, someone else will. Someone else worse than you. Yes, they're all evil but Toranaga is the lesser of all evil. He does what he can to avoid a war while others like Ishido is constantly looking for excuses to start a war.

The Dictator killed monks, nuns and children. The Taiko invaded Korea, killing many and lost. Toranaga went to war once and he won. That's when he realized the horrors of war and is determined to avoid it. What if it means sacrificing your vassal and his family to save the rest of your followers and the people you're supposed to protect? The Dictator and Taiko took control because of greed.

Toranaga takes control because he wants peace.

The Dictator takes power because of greed, that he sees everyone as a threat that he starts killing innocents and even disrespects his own vassal, Akechi, Mariko's father which cause him to betray the Dictator to stop his madness. The Taiko takes power because of glory, he wants to show others that a peasant like him can achieve greatness to invade Korea and China.

There is a difference between taking power for thrill and glory, and taking power to protect your people from more wars.

[novembermorgon]

Kinda wanna know more about Ysabel’s daughter with Aemond

hi anon ... <3 sorry this one took a hot sec to get down on paper .

i mentioned already her name is aelora - she's born innnn. ...? ill say 127 ac meaning she's approximately the same age as maelor . she has a cradle egg that hatches - in typical bolton esque fashion she names it something edgy idk i didn't think this far . name that thing skinstealer . i like to think it's born with dark scales and becomes white with time kind of like a baby horse

she grows up with an extremely strained relationship to her mom because in all honesty ysabel doesn't want a daughter . after her brother is born ysabel isn't really in any state physically to care for her children so she spends most of her days doting on her son to whatever extent she can while aelora is raised mainly by her wetnurses and whoever's hanging around the castle which makes her very independent and kind of distant emotionally. girl who stares at you with her big dead eyes etc

she's definitely 'closer' to aemond in the sense that she idolizes him pretty heavily and idealizes a lot of their relationship . the timeline is a bit different here but regardless she's young when he dies so she has a few scattered memories of a dad that cared for her and in turn she grows up wanting to be like him and wanting to emulate all the things she knows about him through stories and whatever she pieces together from herself . there's that ever present thread of medieval misogyny in asoiaf that kind of carries over everywhere and i think with aelora it's that sense of being everything her parents could want in a child but it doesn't matter because she's also a girl. scratches my chin.

after the war ... after her brother dies i think she grows up and starts to really resent ysabel. understands in concept why things are the way they are but will never quite grasp why she was put aside the way she was and how she as a mother could pick and choose which of her children to love . humm. twisted family dynamics at a ruined court etc

in my mind it would make sense for a maelor marriage for her but because dot dot dot. well. there are bumps in the road so idk (scrambles my brain) i like to think she's kind of fond of jaehaera and then viserys ii when she grows older and i'll leave it at that . this is further than ive pondered properly

[angelsworks]

I love your work! Especially for the last kingdom!

I was wondering if you could write about a historian that somehow got stuck in the past and to them it’s time travel but for Uhtred and everyone else they see as a gift from the gods since she knows about 9th century England. Which helps Uhtred gain what he wants.

Our Gift Uhtred x reader

Type: Headcannon

Summary: After being sent to the past, a Dane takes an interest in your knowledge

Warnings: 18+ Yandere themes

History was your passion.

Specifically the time period you now found yourself in.

When you woke up in a small hamlet you recognised your surroundings; the home design, the clothes people wore, the way people spoke and acted.

You were in the medieval age. One you’d spent years studying.

At first the people in the hamlet thought it odd that a stranger had somehow appeared. Your knowledge of the time meant that you were able to blend in quickly.

You planned to continue your research of the medieval period in the quiet of the hamlet. Offering knowledge from your own time to help the people around you.

Your plans changed when a Uhtred and his men moved through the town. They stayed at a local inn as they made plans to attack a local fortress.

While they drank in the tavern you watched them quietly. Uhtred was one of the men you’d studied. So you knew a lot of his battles and defeats, his highs and lows and his inevitable downfall.

You knew that the attack on the fortress would fail miserably, with casualties of some of his closest men.

So you told him. In hindsight, you really shouldn’t have. That action not only altered the course of history but started Uhtred’s obsession with you.

At first he thought it odd that a woman who looked somehow out of place with the others around him, was giving him tactical battle advice.

But as he mulled it over he saw no wrong in taking precautions. Those precautions were to take a separate group of men and exact your advice.

After all he’d seen he shouldn’t have been shocked that what you said would happen, happened.

After celebrating with his men he returned to that same village. Ready to find you and see if you had anymore advice for him.

Yet he didn’t find you there.

In the time he’d left you had realised the possible consequences of your actions.

When Uhtred - granted he was still alive - realised you were right you had no idea how he would react.

The history books didn’t record Uhtred exact personality or how he reacted when women knew things they weren’t supposed to.

It did make you think of what happened to women who could supposedly see the future. They were treated as witches and burned at the stake.

Not a future you desired. So you fled. On to the next hamlet or village you could reach by foot.

You did your best to stay unnoticed in your new home. Helping others occasionally and continuing your research quietly.

You heard from some associates a sick woman was in need of your help. Current healers had apparently drawn a blank with her case. She wondered if you could help.

When you arrived to the small hut on the outskirts of the village you were surprised to find it near abandoned.

You imagined the woman was extremely ill and weak. Any upkeep of her home had been long forgotten. A sight that was sad to see.

When you knocked you had no reply, so you let yourself in.

There you were grabbed from behind and the once dark room was lit to reveal Uhtred and his men. Having been concealed in the dark as they waited for you.

“I have followed you far Seer. You hide well.” Uhtred states. His demeanour remains unchanged, hidden from your eyes.

You say nothing. Outnumbered and unsure of the intentions of the men around you.

“I know now what you say is true. You are too valuable for me to leave behind. So I offer you now to travel with me, help me to conquer.”

You let out a laugh of disbelief, telling Uhtred that one good piece of advice doesn’t mean you’ll be able to give him anymore.

“It’s a risk I cannot take. Pack up your things we ride tonight.”

It was hard to argue with the intimidating Dane sat before you, or his three friends that surrounded him. So you didn’t.

From then on you were practically forced to travel with the men. You rode for many days, learning little about them as you made your way to Uhtred’s home.

When you got there you met with a woman named Brida.

After some questionable rituals and candle lighting she had concluded you were a seer. You saw the future or glimpses of it.

She told Uhtred that you would be extremely valuable to him.

From then on any freedom you had was taken.

You were no longer able to walk the village on your own. Either Sihtric or Finann had to accompany you. They weren’t awful company but when you wanted to be alone it became annoying.

Uhtred’s interest in you only grew. Whenever he could you’d be sat near him, stood near him, riding on his horse with him.

It wasn’t long before Uhtred was convinced you would make a good wife for him.

With no one around him to tell him no, his desires were unchecked, let to run wild.

During Uhtred’s battles he keeps you close. Always consulting you on his plans and viewing your opinion with high regard.

Your knowledge of both history and a range of battles gives you a plethora of strategic plans and possible tactics of war.

Uhtred knows what an asset you are to him. He knows how much he can conquer with you by his side. He won’t ever let you go.

[adarkrainbow]

Is it just me, or Americans and Europeans depict the standard, stereotypical fairy tale setting differently?

In my opinion, Americans depict the fairy tale setting as closer to the middle ages. The Fairy Tale Setting is often just a more colorful standard, almost Tokien-like, Fantasy Setting.

Meanwhile, in actual European adaptations of said tales, the stereotypical fairy tale setting is closer to the 18th, 19th century, with the architecture being the only thing vaguely medieval

Yes, I actually do believe as such. Mind you, I cannot speak for all of Europe - mainly France and a handful of other countries I am vaguely aware of adaptations (like England or Germany).

And I believe it is due to two specific things.

A) The very "American" view of fantasy. I mean, we have been repeating and endlessly talking about it for decades now - but for Americans everytime there is something fantasy or magical it is either "standard European medieval setting" either "modern-day America". And when I say "standard European medieval setting", it is this sort of idea and phantasm American built of a vaguely European setting which mixes various countries of Western Europe (Americans only have taken recent interest in other parts of Europe, such as Northern or Eastern, due to the success of things like "Midsommar" and folk-horror and whatnot), and various eras of the Middle-Ages (the Middle-Ages were divided into three specific period quite different from each other), with a good handful of things that were not from the Middle-Ages (like the witch-hunts, for example, they were Renaissance, not medieval).

Of course it is due to a mix of general ignorance about Europe (or any part of the world that is not the USA), and of not actually caring about the original setting since their point is either to parody/reinvent the fairytales in lighter/darker ways, or prove that theses stories are "timeless" and can invent outside of any specific context (which does greatly benefit Americans since like that they can snatch anything they like). Mind you it isn't something universal - take the Disney movies for example. They might not be quite exact, but at least they made a neat effort to evoke different cultures and different eras of Europe. It is very obvious that Disney's Snow-White, Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty take place in various points of Europe's history and in different countries (Snow-White's visual influence by German furniture and statues versus the nods to French culture in Cinderella ; Sleeping Beauty's medieval illumination visual versus the more modern royal outfits of Cinderella, etc...). But it is an effort that got completely lost through time (and I think it can be shown in how, when Disney made "Enchanted", their fairytale setting was turned into a random fantasy setting outside of time and space - it did reflect quite well how people saw the fairytale world at the time).

And you know what is even worse? This "random medieval setting" you speak of is NOT even Tolkien's! Tolkien setting was not medieval in the slightest, and doesn't look like your usual "medieval setting". Just look at the visuals of the Lord of the Rings movie, compare it with some "random fairytale setting" and you see the huge gap. If anything, Tolkien's world is more of a "Dark Ages" (you know, this unknown gap between Antiquity and Middle-Ages) feeling than anything, due to mixing Ancient Scandinavia with Ancient Greece and Dark Ages Arthurian Britain.

But... when you think about it, that the Americans would create such an unclear and artificial setting for their fairytales make sense, since this is literaly what "their" fairytales were compiled as. I'll explain: when you ask an American to list you fairytales, when you see the fairytales used in the American media, it is a Frankenstein-creature. You've got the brothers Grimm and Charles Perrault and Andersen and Joseph Jacobs and nursery rhymes and some Asbjornsen and Moe fairytales... Their exposition to fairytale was by compilations of stories literary and folkloric, from different centuries and different countries, mixed together as one. As such... it makes sense for them a fairytale world would look like a pile of mashed-potatoes in terms of history-geography. Because they have to build a world that mix all of these stuff as one... (Plus something-something about the Americans being fascinated by the Middle-Ages because they did not have one?)

B) The Europeans are very "conscious" about fairytales. I will almost say "self-conscious".

Europeans are bound to always test and try various time-eras, fashions and context for fairytales due to a set of three reasons.

1) We have centuries of "traditional medieval imagery" that the Americans lack. Since our fairytales were published between the 17th and 19th centuries - some even by the 20th - Europe already underwent the whole "Random medieval setting" phase through popular imagery and children book and whatnot. America just begun it from the 19th/20th century - we have been at it for two, three more centuries. So today we are moving forward (and in general, while there are many aspects Europe is "late" compared to the USA, in many other ways Europe is "in advanced" compared to the USA, just because of how "young" this country's history is).

2) We are aware of the context of our own fairytales. Due to the language barrier, for example, we know every time a story comes from somewhere else. We have folktales compilations classified by countries and regions. And everytime we bring up a specif set of fairytales, we bring up the life, job and time-era of the fairytale tellers (Perrault, Grimm, Andersen, which are our "national treasures" - unlike Americans for which they're just "yeah little foreign guys we see in the distance"). As such when the French talk about Cinderella or Puss in Boots, the very images of Renaissance are brought up, the same way a German will immediately think of the Napoleonian wars and the post-Napoleon era when thinking of the Grimms - even though the fairytales are supposed to be in the "pseudo-medieval" setting.

3) Europe has been flooded and dominated by the American media when it comes to fairytales. As such we are very aware and accustomed to the "pseudo-medieval" setting popularized by America, and when Europeans try to do their own thing, they usually try to set themselves apart from it, due to knowing how cliche and Americanized this already is. Something very similar happened with French fantasy literature for example - French fantasy books are always trying to stand away from the "cliche American fantasy book" precisely because we are flooded with them and they form the bulk of our fantasy literature, so as such we are very aware of the flaws and stereotypes and expectations coming with the genre... It also doesn't help that most of the castles and "old-fashioned" architecture around Europe is not medieval per se (or that the medieval architecture is for example very impractical when it comes to filming movies), and we have much more Renaissance buildings and the like. In France for example most castles are Renaissance-era. "Real" medieval castles (as in medieval castles not "remade" by Renaissance or modern designers) are much rarer, or not as well preserved as the Renaissance ones.

Anyway this post got way bigger than I intended, but if you ask me some of my thoughts, here they are - mind you they are just my thoughts and I can't speak for every European. I am just one little eye and one little mind in a big big world... But that's the things I am led to believe.

[sgiandubh]

Sunday sounds: farewell to May

Such a gorgeous month, in Europe. Such a dangerous month, too - especially in Paris: you never know when you can fall in love, right there. Perhaps a cliche, but a very effective one - I am living proof of it, yet it did not last. This kind of extemporanea never do.

Anyway. To say good bye to May and soon hello to summer (and there is a particular, rather surprising tune, that always announces summer to me - next week), I have chosen a very old Medieval troubadour tune.

Kalenda Maia (which simply means 'the month of May') was written in langue d'oc, the French dialect of Provence still spoken today, by Raimbaut de Vaqueiras, sometime around 1200. He was one of those extraordinary characters we know very little about, who were successfully peddling their craft all around the Mediterranean. A lifelong friend of Boniface, the marquis of Montferrat, Vaqueiras followed him along his successful campaign against the rich Byzantine city of Thessalonica. Boniface became king and the troubadour was killed in an ambush by what is supposed to be Vlach shepherds. Somewhere in the dark, deep forests of the Greek Rhodope mountains.

The canon, universally acclaimed, version is Martin Best's. But for totally sentimental reasons, I will always prefer Angelo Branduardi's sumptuous adaptation. Few people are able, nowadays, to show us the exuberant colors of what we wrongly call The Dark Ages. Branduardi is one of them.

[bloody-cupcakes]

Joe Goldberg x yandere/dark! reader; you kidnap him after he finds out about your secret

Tw: yandere/dark content, gender neutral reader, mentioned murder, kidnapping, obsessive and possessive behavior displayed by the reader, restraints in the form of a literal ball and chain (medieval, I know), implied Stockholm syndrome, whump elements (there's some gore/violence. it's up to you to interpret whether it was accidental or not)

He wasn't supposed to find out about the killings you'd committed for him. Unfortunately for you, he did.

You knew about his, of course. You knew everything about him, all of his dirty little secrets that he so desperately tried to hide from you.

You knew about him stalking you, about him stealing your things to keep as trophies, yet you still accepted and loved him for who he was. So why couldn't he do the same thing for you?

When he told you he was going to leave is when you knew you had to act fast. You didn't want to knock him unconscious, but what other choice did you have?

It was a lucky break for you that he already had a glass cage constructed to keep people in, though you were quite certain he never in a million years expected to be trapped in there himself.

Joe was determined to get out, even if he didn't know how yet. In the meantime, he thought that maybe by using his expert manipulation skills he could convince you to set him free. He was sorely mistaken.

You had absolutely no intention of letting him go, as he quickly realized, but you still couldn't help teasing him, making him think that one day he might get the chance to leave. Yeah, right.

Was it cruel of you to mess with his head like that? Maybe, but you just couldn't help yourself. After all, he was so cute when he begged for his freedom.

"Let me go," he demanded as he banged his fists against the side of the glass cage, clearly desperate.

"Knock it off, Joe. You're not coming out right now." It was initially adorable to listen to his whining, but after a while it started to get old.

One thing you'd done that he hadn't was adding a ball and chain, quite literally. It took you ages to get everything set up perfectly in his new little home, and that aspect was certainly no exception. It was completely worth it, however, because it meant that you could leave the door to the cage open so you could come and go as you pleased without having to worry about him slipping out.

Like now, for example. He'd recently torn up his blanket during one of his little fits, so you had to get him a new one. "Stay in your corner, Joe," you commanded as you unlocked the door and grabbed a blanket to take inside.

Just because he was restrained didn't mean he couldn't still be aggravating. You knew that from all the times he'd grabbed onto you and refused to let go until you threatened him with solitary confinement.

He reluctantly did as you said, sitting in the corner with his arms crossed as he watched you make his bed. You put the new blanket down after picking up the shredded pieces of his old one, tsking lightly in disapproval.

"I should really make you go without one so it'll teach you not to misbehave," you mused out loud as you got together the old blanket scraps and put them in a garbage bag.

He didn't say anything in return, too busy pouting. You could tell he didn't like being scolded from the way he crossed his arms and glared at the floor.

"There you go, good as new," you announced once you'd fixed up his little room. "I don't want you to tear up your bed again, do you hear me?"

He was about to reply with a snarky comment when he saw you getting ready to leave. "Where are you going?" He asked suddenly, seeming a little panicked.

"I'm going back upstairs for right now. You don't deserve to have company after the mess you made." Before you could leave, however, he lunged himself forward, falling on the floor as he grabbed onto your ankle.

"Please don't leave me," he pleaded as he looked up at you with a pitiful expression. "I'm sorry, okay? I won't do it again."

Joe wasn't usually this clingy, but he also wasn't used to not having the freedom to do whatever he wanted. Not to mention his anger towards you for putting him there was starting to fizzle out, slowly but surely being replaced with a twisted form of love, one that was even more codependent than the one you guys had previously.

"I know you are, but that still doesn't excuse your behavior. Now, let go." Your tone was firm and cold, one that you only ever used when you were truly upset with him. He knew you didn't like it when he tried to physically keep you down there, but his desperation for human contact was currently outweighing his better judgement.

"Please, I'll do anything. I won't mess up my room again, just don't go." His undeniable neediness would've been cute if it wasn't so annoying.

"Let go of my ankle, now. I'm not going to ask you again." Any other time he would've listened to you, but not this time. This time he flat out refused, determined to get you to stay.

"Please-" He started to beg again before being quickly cut off.

"I said, let go."

When he didn't listen, you brought your foot down on his face, hard. There was a loud, sickening crunch followed by a sudden scream of agony. Blood streamed down his face and pooled into his hands, which he was using to cover the injured area. In one swift movement, one single act, you'd broken his nose.

At least it had the desired effect that you'd hoped for. You'd successfully gotten him to let go of your ankle.

"Goddamn it, Joe," you sighed as you watched him whimper on the ground in pain. "Now look what you've done."

[vvritingmf]

RP Partner Search | 21+

Hello.ᐟ.ᐟ I go by V or my pen name, VV. I got recommended tumblr through a friend who also role-plays, so I’m here to see if I can meet some awesome writers. I’m 22 and prefer my partners to be around the same, however, as long as you are 18+, I’ve really got no qualms.

Experience details listed below:

I’m a very flexible person when it comes to writing, however I cannot say I am great at all. My main weaknesses are probably action and superheroes, but these are just some of the few topics I have done otherwise.

Fantasy

Tropes & Themes that I love or correlate:

Greek Gods, Goddesses, Deities

Mythology

Bestiary/Faeries/Demi-Humans

Sci-Fi, Futuristic, Dystopian, Cyberpunk, Bionic

Opposites attract: Light>Dark, Sun>Moon, Fire>Water, Healer>Destroyer

Merfolk, Sirens, Pirates

Hunter>Hunted

Historical

Tropes & Themes that I love or correlate:

Southern small town horrors: (20’s-80’s)

Medieval Evils: witch hunting, wounded>healer

Westward Expansion/Wild West: Bounty Hunter>Outlaw, Loner>Wanderer

Ancient Egypt/Japan/Rome/Greece: Assassin>Victim

WWI-II/Other: star-crossed lovers, enemies to lovers to enemies, woman guised as militia>unknowing comrade/enemy (mulan moment⚔️)

Mafia: 90’s realistic only, bodyguard>daughter/son

London High Society: Arranged marriage, Klutz>Pessimist

(While all of these are great, I am a sucker for new tropes and ideas, so please introduce me to some of your interests!)

General

More info about me and my preferences!

Dead Dove; Do NOT Eat — As much as I love writing goody-two-shoes characters, sometimes I simply want to write someone morally grey, or perhaps even a bit psychotic… Those who are familiar with dead dove know that it includes mature and sensitive topics, such as non-con, NSFW aside! That being said, I will never abuse this right and all topics are sure to be discussed with my RP partner before hand.ᐟ.ᐟ

Gender Preference: I often find myself writing male leads as opposed to female, but this is solely because I am having to compensate and or carry a plot by myself majority of the time. With male characters, I simply find arrogance easier to strike up interactions with, however I would love to actually be able to play a female character; it depends heavily on the plot. I’m predominately MxF, but with side characters I am open to MxM and FxF, (romance awakening/forbidden love subset mainly.)

NSFW: I am not strict on many of my rules but substituting plot for smut is not tolerated. I am willing to write it but in order for any sort of NSFW, things need to progress naturally. I would prefer a partner who prioritizes world building and plot planning first and foremost.

Requirements: As I am not daily active on discord, I am looking for a lax but serious role-play partner who is literate novella minimum. I frequently exceed the discord message limit, sometimes even four times over. However, this is not a standard for myself; I simply tend to write a lot when I am invested in a story. By no means do you have to match this; I simply ask that you give me something to work with and I will do the same in return. Trust me, I’m not always in the mood to meet a word criteria, I wouldn’t expect you to be either! I need a long-term partner who is willing and understanding of schedules and writers-block. These are two things I struggle with often, but I am writing this ad because I truly want to get on the grind again and meet someone who will bring fresh ideas to the table, as well as still pick up after a week of inactivity… :)

Other: I will not always use face claims, because sometimes celebrities and acclaimed actors just don’t do characters justice. Regardless, I will always give a description in writing or perhaps find some oil art or sketch that best represents my OC. I’m probably not very traditional in the sense that I do not follow all usual discord RP rules; I don’t even know half the jargon. Some more general tropes I love include age gaps, tragedy ending, anti-heroes, redemption, apprentice/mentor to mentee, & unique character impairments.ᐟ.ᐟ

Friend my Discord if you’re interested! (1x1)

(Ive a two role-play maximum so that way I am able to focus. Full currently but if you’d like to be friends I’m so down.) Current: 2/2

[sailor-aviator]

Sailor-Aviator's Blog Survival Guide

Because I saw another blog do this, and I think it's a good idea now that I'm gaining more followers who may not have heard of me before. So, here's a little guide about me, my works, what you'll find on this blog, and how to navigate!

RESIDENT SURVIVAL MASTER: SAILOR-AVIATOR AKA LIZ

Millenial, 27(going on 28), She/They

THINGS LIZ KNOWS WAY TOO MUCH ABOUT

Pop Culture, Folk Tales, Fairy Tales, Languages, Religion, Cryptids, Space, Tornadoes, Cultures, Vikings, Medieval/Renaissance Studies, Mythology, and more!

IN THIS SURVIVAL GUIDE YOU WILL WILL FIND:

✨ MY COLLECTIONS: My writing

✨ MY TIPS AND TRICKS: Rules for my writing

✨ MY DECREES: My blog rules

✨ UPCOMING EVENTS: What I'm currently working on

✨ CLASSIFICATIONS: What tags I use

✨ MY LORE: More about me

※ My Masterlist

Where I keep all of my writing and moodboards.

✨My FAQ!

✨ I currently write female reader-insert fics as well almost exclusively AUs (Alternate Universes). I try to make my fics as inclusive as possible, but I understand that I will fall short of this at times. The moodboards I make for the heroines of my stories are based off of vibes only, but the reader characters themselves will not have physical attributes save for something like hair length.

✨ I mainly write for Jake "Hangman" Seresin, but I write for other TGM characters as well from time to time. I have also started writing for the Twisters fandom, and have been thinking about venturing into writing for the MCU.

✨ Writing Updates: I do not currently have a posting schedule. This is mainly because my job/life are pretty hectic and I never know when the mood or time to update will strike me.

✨ Taglists: I no longer do taglists. If you would like to be notified of when I post fic updates, drabbles, moodboards, or polls, please head over to my sideblog: @sailoraviator-library and turn on post notifications!

✨ Requests are currently: Open! Feel free to send them in at any time, but please know that it may take me a little while to get to it.

I will write: Smut, Fluff, Angst (within reason), light, soft!dark, dark!, AUs (there's not much I won't do), age difference (both adults), threesome, reverse harem, dubcon, consensual non-consent, Dom/Sub, cockwarming, praise, praise and degradation, breeding, chase, power imbalance, choking, knife play, bondage, edging, overstimulation, A/B/O, and I'm sure there's more. Just ask!

I will NOT write: Real Person Fic (RPF), age regression, pedophilia, bestiality, necrophilia, incest, race play, underage scenarios, scat play, piss kink, cheating between "main" couple, accidental pregnancy, miscarriage, Taylor Swift inspired fic.

Who I'll write for:

✨TGM Characters: Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Javy "Coyote" Machado, and Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia

✨ Twisters Characters: Tyler Owens, Boone, and Scott

✨Marvel Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rodgers, Peter Parker

✨Misc. Characters: Soldier Boy, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, and more to come!

✨ My blog is 18+ only!

✨ I sometimes write smut and some of my stories contain elements of sexual assault and non-con, so please heed the warnings posted at the top of fics and proceed with caution!

✨ Hate, racism, transphobia, homophobia, and misogyny will not be tolerated. Take your mean anons elsewhere, please and thanks.

✨ While I thirst over characters and celebrities and I'm happy to receive positive asks about them, I'm not a gossip blog.

✨ This is my safe space. I do my best to be kind, but don't take advantage of it.

✨ SUPPORT WRITERS AND THEIR HARD WORK THAT YOU ENJOY FOR FREE. If you struggle with what to say when commenting/reblogging, check out this post for ideas/help.

About My Inbox and DMs

✨ Please read my FAQ!

✨ When it comes to ask games and chatting (whether about my fics or in general) I'm pretty quick to respond. However, I'm a little slower when it comes to requests, so please keep that in mind when sending in asks.

✨ Inbox is open for positivity, thirsting, fic and writer asks, personal shares (within reason), and more! I will happily accept gifs, photos, and videos as they make my day.

✨ Please ask before trauma dumping. While I don't get triggered easily, asking beforehand is appreciated. Should I agree, please add a trigger warning when you send the next ask.

✨ If you ask for my advice, please keep in mind that my word is not law and I may not have the answer you're looking for.

WHAT I'M WORKING ON AT THE CURRENT MOMENT

✨ TOP GUN FICS: Fool's Fare, Foul is Fair, By Its Cover, and Road to Perdition

✨ TWISTERS FICS: We Abide and an unnamed Anne of Green Gables!AU that has yet to be released

ABOUT MY TAGS

✨ Liz's personal tag - Posts where I talk about things going on in my life. Could be light-hearted, could be darker. Both will fall under this tag.

✨ Liz writes - Used typically when I'm posting a sneak peek or a drabble of some kind.

✨ Liz speaks - Posts where I say something that’s not long, just a little blurb or something.

✨ Liz rants - Used when I'm complaining about something or other.

✨ Liz rambles - Posts where I'm on a tangent of some kind. Usually complaining about something or just talking about a topic and the post got long.

✨ Liz creates - Posts pertaining to my art projects!

✨ Long post - My answer/rant/post got long.

✨ Poll - Used on posts where I've created a poll.

✨ Hey Nonny Nonny - Anonymous asks that have been answered.

✨ Answered - Answered asks.

✨ Beloved Mutuals - Posts pertaining to my mutuals.

✨ For the Followers - Posts I make that are exclusively for my followers to participate in.

✨ Fic rec - A fic I've reblogged that I recommend.

✨ Hey Hangman. Queue look...good. - My tag for when I've queued things.

And last but not least on this long ass poll, some info about me!

Hi, my name is Liz. I'm 27 years old, and I blow the candles out on September 3rd of every year. I graduated with a Bachelor's of Art in Linguistics and I had two minors: One in German and the other in Medieval and Renaissance Studies. Because I unfortunately can't afford to pursue more education, I joined the work force upon graduation! During school, I studied abroad twice: Once for a year in Germany and the second time was for a month in Ireland!

I've always loved stories, ever since I was a little girl and my dad would read the original Grimms fairytales to me. I've been telling stories ever since I could remember, but I didn't start writing them down until I was around nine years old.

My dream has always been to be an author, but I only recently started writing fanfiction in September 2023! A lot of my fics are story ideas I've had over the years that I've wanted to tell, but I always like to see how they'll do before I commit to them, so don't be shy about telling me what you think! I live for feedback of any kind, and likes just simply won't cut it for me. I want to know your thoughts! I promise you will never annoy me with them.

When I'm not writing, you can usually find me binge watching TV shows and/or movies while I cross-stitch, embroider, play video games, or paint! I also love painting pottery and reading in my spare time. If you want to know more details, feel free to check out my About Me page on my Navigation post!

Thanks for sticking around this long!

[miirshroom]

Elden Ring: a cross between Absurdism and Surrealism

Upon reflection, I'd say the genre of the base game is pretty decently rooted in the theatre of the absurd. One of the main themes of that movement being the failure of language to clearly communicate ideas, leading to confusion and loss of direction.

Skimming over some articles on traditional absurdist literature, the three responses to the absurd are termination of the self (Frenzy Flame), turn to religion or some other higher purpose (any Elden Lord end), or rebel against the absurd. Which is to say embrace and accept the profound meaninglessness and go on anyways (Age of Stars). The Blessing of Despair is perhaps also an acceptance of the absurd, only it's with bitterness from a more narcissistic nihilism viewpoint when contrasted again Ranni's path. Space is cool, stars are cool. Even worms and dirt are cool, but not with the attitude the Dungeater has.

The DLC is something else entirely, and in fact I'd speculate that it's a genre shift from absurdism to surrealism. The aesthetic framing of the cocoon entry point itself was a play on Salvador Dali's “Geopoliticus Child Watching the Birth of the New Man” so the inspiration is right there in the open. There is indeed a difference between those two movements, as described by someone who has read the relevant literature more thoroughly and recently than I have:

"Absurdist writing focuses on the inherent purpose of life being elusive or questioned, can use dark humor to comment on the human condition, and explores themes of existentialism and purposelessness. Surrealism is marked by disjointed and occasionally fantastic imagery, irrational juxtaposition, and can be dreamlike"

Notably, the Shadowlands is another contrast against the Age of Stars in that it's a dead end that reflects upon the motifs if the past but offers no path forwards. It examines the ascent to "God and Lord" at a high point of the map and the Frenzy at the lowest depth and all of the other bits sandwiched between those two extremes.

Basically, the Lands Between is absurdism with the aesthetics of surrealism and the Shadowlands seem to show what it means to dive into surrealism while maintaining the theme of breakdown of communication that is characteristic of absurdism. Surrealist writing would be vague and cryptic and evocative of imagery. Absurdist writing is about people saying perfectly coherent words, but still talking past each other because they are asking the wrong questions and can't establish a common ground. In this sense "clarity" is a trap - the truth that you think you understand is not always what was said.

Similar to Demon's Souls, Dark Souls, and Bloodborne, the gothic medieval fantasy is a thin veneer for whatever philosophical or artistic movement FromSoft feels like exploring at the moment.

[arandomdai]

Beyoncé: My Echoville Theory Part 3

Easter Eggs I've Noticed

1.)In the Protector Lyric Video, It is a comic book that says "MOVE!" And underneath the title, it looks like it says "All Above..." or "All About...", but above or about what? Also, the painting of a horse in the middle of a western town. This could highlight the possibility Beyoncé just trolling or showing that all acts are tied together. Also it looks like it's metal object behind the horse 👀

2.) On the AMERICA HAS A PROBLEM single cover, there are red, white, and blue pills shaped like the american flag. Red pill blue pill is a reference from the movie "The Matrix". But what does white pill mean? When I did my research, everything started to make sense. She is saying there are different types of people in the world (and in America). Some wanna hear or learn the truth even if it's hard to hear, some wanna stay ignorant regardless of whatever, and/or some wanna hope for the better in the future.

Red pill= Learning a difficult truth

Blue pill= Staying blissfully ignorant

White pill= The choice in believing that things can get better.

3.) In the TYRANT lyric video, there is a beer that says "Hangman" lying on the ground. A man that later walks by is Travis from the film "Paris,Texas". In the film, Travis talks to Jane about an older man and a young woman who fell in love, got married, and had children. He then tells her that after she gave birth, she then went through postpartum depression and wanting badly for escapism. But the now alcoholic husband would stop her from doing so. He would tie a cowbell to her ankle or foot so he would know if she's leaving. She would put socks in the cowbell that way he wouldn't hear her. Soon after, the husband finds her and drags her back into the home and ties her up to a stove and he goes back to sleep. When he wakes up, he sees the fire (she started) and notices the children along with the wife are gone. The reason why he tells Jane this story is because no matter how difficult circumstances are, he still loves Jane and wonders if Jane feels that way about him in return. TYRANT could be about...

How Beyoncé still loves her partner and wonders how the hangman (the beer) never makes his victims feel remorse or feel things period. People drink alcohol to numb the pain they feel (emotionally and mentally). She's trying not to feel heartbreak.

Tyrant means a ruler who is cruel and oppressive. The beer could be the TYRANT who controls him (her partner) and turns him into a different person. It feels as if she's battling for his attention due to the tyrant being is number 1 choice.

Also it could highlight that she wants escapism too?

4.) The machine she uses on the "HEATED" poster sticker is a 70s TV Control machine while she holds a phone. This goes back to "Who Controls The Media, Controls The Mind". It can be The Motherboard or her goons who controls people by broadcasting. Also pointing out that one of her characters is the news reporter and the hypnotist. This could mean there are more ways to control people.

5.) During the RENAISSANCE Tour, a robot cowboy pops up during ALL UP IN YOUR MIND, AMERICA HAS A PROBLEM, and on the DELRESTO single cover. I think there's more of them in the film. When I looked up "robot cowboy movie", Westworld (1973) popped up, and everything started making sense. The movie was about how the guest would pay a fee to this artificial reality amusement park. The park consist of 3 different themed worlds like Westworld ( Wild West), Medieval (or Dark Ages), and Roman World (Ancient Rome). The robot does what the programmers tell it to do, but it becomes more violent when the system goes haywire and gains consciousness. The main characters picked Westworld. This can explain why it's a metal object behind the horse on the 1st Easter egg, because the Wild West in act ii isn't a normal one, its more futuristic western (she is not beating the Sci-Fi Afrofuturisic Horror allegations). But they're some interesting things i wanted to point out...

In Westworld, it's a park and cooperation called Delos. Delos means ( in ancient Greek) apparent or appearance and was considered a sacred island. Maybe Echoville is sacred and nobody knows until they are captured by the echoes and sent there.

In the movie, the robots are there to fill someone's desires like love, kill, talk to, etc. Maybe the robot cowboy is there for a purpose until otherwise 👀

There is a sequel called Futureworld (1976) and it's about how the androids become clones of other people. Could this be the reason why all of her characters are in different places?

People are looking at the park through a broadcast system (which I pointed out on Easter Egg #4) to see the park everywhere and control the robots that are on the park grounds. I pointed this out my Part 2 Echoville Theory where I said that the Motherboard could have eyes everywhere.

6.) In the RENAISSANCE Tour Book, there's a picture of her with a target on her face that says "PROBLEM". She's a problem ( to The Motherboard) because she's not controlled and she wants everyone to have freedom physically, emotionally, and mentally.

7.) So going back to My Echoville Theory Part 2, the base of the town does look like the power symbol and the alchemy symbol of the sun tied together. However, the construct might look like a labyrinth. One of her photoshoots for RENAISSANCE, she's wearing a bull body suit. This can refrence the Greek story of Theseus and the Minotaur. If you don't know, the story was about the young prince who was to slay the minotaur before the people were to be sacrificed to it. The moral of the story is don't let celebration make you forget thoughtfulness and good judgment. She's telling people don't get distracted or let things slip by you. Theseus made mistakes along the way, but was able to defeat the monster to save his people. Maybe in the film, she might make a mistake of giving in to the temptations of Echoville, and show how she can still defeat the The Motherboard.