#i preferred the egyptian ones over either of those but

[moonyinpisces]

idk if you read either of the follow up series to PJO but i did and its making the show so much funnier to me. the main conflict being that the gods are deadbeat parents and this angers the demigods versus the knowledge that apollo stays actively involved with chb and knows all his children's names and sends them birthday gifts and actually answers their prayers and visits them. it sucks to be in literally any cabin other than cabin seven i guess

children of apollo we STAY winning!

[password-door-lock]

Mystictober Day 19-- Healing

SE Saeran reflects on his healing journey on a visit to your favorite museum (788 words).

A year ago, Saeran would never have been able to do anything like this. It would surely have upset him too much to be confined on all sides in this kind of space— a museum would only have reminded him of his guilt, the marble floors too similar to Magenta’s and the old photographs on the walls too similar to V’s. But he’s made strides with his therapist since then, and he’s excited to be joining you for an afternoon alone together at your favorite place. 

“I love big buildings like this,” you admit, “Especially if the lighting is bad.”

“That’s a joke,” Saeran observes, not laughing. Sometimes, the strange things you say are funny to him. Other times, not so much. Either way, he won’t lie to you about how he feels.

“No, I really like places like this,” you assure him, fiddling with your wristband. “Is yours too tight? I haven’t been here in a while. Last time I went, they were doing ticket stubs, not wristbands. I didn't know they were gonna give us these, honestly, otherwise I would’ve—”

“It’s fine,” says Saeran, because it is. True, the pressure on his wrists isn’t something he’s experienced since he wore stacked leather bracelets as Unknown, but he’s easily able to separate this experience from that one. He’d be hard-pressed to convince himself that he’s back at Magenta when you’re here by his side, and it’s difficult to believe that he’s a monster when you’re so gleefully walking in step with him. 

“Okay.” You grab two maps, one for yourself and one for Saeran. It’s these simple gestures in consideration of his autonomy which make it clear to Saeran exactly how safe he is with you. It’s not just that you look out for him, it’s that you do it without thinking. “Where to first? My favorite is the Ancient Egyptian wing— there’s no live mummies there, unfortunately, but they have a couple masks, some statues, and one pretty cool coffin.”

“Maybe another time,” Saeran is okay hearing the word ‘coffin,’ but having never seen one in person, he’s not sure how he’d respond. “Sorry. And aren’t mummies dead? So there wouldn’t be live mummies.”

“For now,” you reply with mock solemnity.

Saeran can’t help but snort at that while he studies the map. “What’s this furniture collection?”

“Oh,” you nod, “Yeah, that’s with the Korean art. Basically, a bunch of antique cabinets and stuff. A lot of them are really interesting because they’re made with persimmon wood, so the grain naturally makes super cool patterns. If you like dark wood, you’ll love it.”

Saeran wrinkles his nose. “I don’t think about wood colors.”

“What?” you grin, “Saeyoung explicitly told me that he was giving you culture. He didn’t say anything about interior design?” You’re joking, of course. If Saeyoung had said anything about interior design, he probably would’ve launched into such lectures as How Much Checkerboard Print is Too Much Checkerboard Print? (Trick Question) and The Artful Placement of Chip Dust, Crumbs, and Decommissioned Traffic Lights.

Saeran smirks. “He made me watch those superhero movies.” 

“Oh,” you seem to consider this. “Did you like them?”

Saeran shrugs. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay, good. Correct opinion,” you nod solemnly, in yet another attempt to make Saeran laugh. “I’m just kidding. I don’t care what kinds of movies other people watch. Or what their interior design preferences are— although, last time I came over, your brother had clothes all over the floor, and he told me they were decorative, which I do take issue with.” When you try so hard, you can be a little bit awkward, but Saeran doesn’t mind. He enjoys your company.

“Hm,” Saeran confirms his understanding. “I got rid of those.” 

You snort, but elect not to take the subject any further. “Well, anyway, here’s my plan, and you can take it or leave it,” you pivot, “I say we come through here and look at the furniture and whatever else you want to see, then we loop through the rest of the museum like this.” You trace your finger across the map, showing a path through blocks of color, presumably representing different exhibits. “And then if we come back again, we could do the south wing, since we probably won’t have time to see that part today. Thoughts?"

“Okay,” says Saeran. He trusts you, after all. “Let’s go,” he decides, reaching for your hand. It’s a good day for him, and he’s feeling comfortable with that level of contact.

“Let’s go,” you agree, accepting his hand and leading him into the museum. Saeran can’t believe how easy and natural all of this feels. He really has come a long way since leaving Magenta.

[rems-writing]

Is Mingi the God of Death?

》 Pairing: mortal!Mingi x former Moon Knight!reader

》 AU: Marvel au

》 Wordcount: 3,198 words

》 Rating: nc-17

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society @othersideoutlawsnetwork @illusionnet

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

The happiest of birthdays to my one and only soulmate. Song Mingi 🥰🥰🥰 ilysm. Thank you for entering my life as my ult. You have changed me for the better 🩷🤍🖤

Lately, Mingi has been having weird nightmares. It ranged from strange ceremonies that involved welcome people into a golden field filled with thin plants to people bowing down before him as they offer things like food, wine

Sacrifices 

Sometimes, the so-called sacrificial offerings would be struggling to break free from these followers. Other times, the sacrificial offerings would cut out their own hearts and place it on a scale. Mingi would find himself judging those people and either send them to that strange field or the sand dunes, where people turn into sand statues and remain that way for eternity. 

The nightmares progressively got worse as months passed. It was bad enough that Mingi saw people cut out their own hearts and seemingly plead to him for mercy. It got worse from there. 

His previous nightmare involved him embalming someone and wrapping them up like a mummy before encasing them in a coffin. He almost hurled at the sight of the different organs that were bloodied and placed in cracked and faded urns. He didn’t know how it escalated into that since his nightmare started off as him taking care of a person like he was a nurse. He found himself speaking gently to this person as he took care of their wounds.

It was ironic since the person was actually dead.

He didn’t know how to explain all of this to a therapist he was seeing. He never sought out a therapist before, but due to the increasing number of nightmares he had, he was left with no choice but to talk with a professional about it. What made things worse was that he felt guilty for seeing someone to talk about this with rather than his significant other. 

He didn’t want to burden his beloved after seeing you struggle with trying to reign in Sekhmet. 

He knew how much you despised being the avatar for Khonshu, the Egyptian god of justice and the moon. He wanted to make sure that you live a carefree life without having to worry about the old bird popping up out of nowhere.

Which is why he kept this to himself. 

He knew it was wrong to keep secrets, especially since he might get his ass beat by your twin brother. Marc was someone he didn’t want to mess with, especially with his dangerous alter. 

Jake Lockley

In the few times Mingi encountered Jake, he was almost scared away by him. Due to his love for you and his support from both Steven and Marc, he was able to persevere through Jake’s ‘protective’ antics and get him on the young man’s side. 

It also took some convincing from you as well since Mingi would often see (and try not to snicker at) you hit Jake with a slipper. 

My love <3: Hey! Marc is currently over rn and he demands coffee. 

Mingi was currently wrapping up his latest session with his therapist. As he shook his therapist’s hand, he couldn’t help but feel like someone was watching him from afar. Deciding to brush it off for now, he let go and bid his therapist goodbye before leaving to go home. After a harrowing day at work, he just wanted to snuggle up against you and listen to you ramble about normal life. Speaking of which, you messaged him about something. 

Mingles: lol are you sure it’s Marc and not Steven or Jake?

My love: Steven only drinks tea while Jake prefers ‘the blood of his enemies’ or whatever tf he meant

Mingles: so basically… a cup of milk coffee

My love <3: lol pretty much :P

Mingles: LMAO XD

Mingles: ok bet. I’ll stop by the cafe near our flat and I can get Marc his coffee. Do you want anything?

My love <3: Just your love and affection

My love <3: and maybe an apple fritter. I’m obsessed with those lately. Blame Layla lol

Mingles: Now see if I do that, Marc might beat my ass lol

My love <3: I’ll protect you. I have the power of the slipper! XD

Mingles: You’re so fucking cute. Ok I’ll get those rn. Ily

My love <3: ilyt

Mingi looked up and flinched when he saw the barista looking lifeless. She had white blurred eyes, sunken cheekbones, a jaw that was hanging on for dear life, and a body that was basically a skeleton if you didn’t see the paper-thin skin attached to the bones. He blinked and rubbed his eyes before looking at the barista once again. He was relieved when he saw a healthy-looking woman in lieu of the dead version of herself patiently waiting for him to pay. 

Mingi sighed dreamily as he put away his phone and walked to the cafe. There was no line and there weren’t a lot of people inside, so he was able to get the items quickly. As he took out his wallet, he casually asked how much he owed. He was not prepared for the answer given to him.

“I will offer you my soul.”

“Sorry. I must’ve been distracted. Been thinking about home and work and stuff.” Mingi sheepishly explained, to which the woman waved him off politely. 

“No worries. It’s totally fine. Anyways, $10 is your total.” 

Mingi nodded and pulled out a $20 bill. “You can keep the change. Have a good day.” He said quickly and politely before he gathered his things and walked out of the cafe. With your apple fritter and Marc’s coffee in tow, he walked briskly back to his flat, barely missing the way that some citizens looked with the same lifeless look in their eyes. As he patiently waited for the crosswalk sign to change, someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and almost dropped the items in his hand when he saw a dead man looking at him. His head was bent at an unnatural angle, and he spoke in a hollow voice. 

“You left us. You left your true home to be amongst the humans. You are a selfish god. You want to be human so bad? Then you will die like a human!” 

Mingi jumped out of the way as the dead man launched himself at the taller man, only to crumble into pieces when he crashed to the floor. Panic consumed Mingi and he ran for his life when the crosswalk sign changed. He dared to look back. 

He wished he hadn’t. 

A wave of mummified humans came barreling at him with lightning speed, all speaking in an ancient tongue that he somehow understood. The panic turned into fear when he felt someone’s bony fingers brush up against his ankle in an attempt to trip him and drag him away. Temporary relief washed over him when he saw a familiar building a few feet away from him. Picking up speed, he sprinted towards the entrance of the building’s lobby and inserted himself into the closest vacant elevator. He pressed the ‘close doors’ button rapidly as his peripheral vision caught onto the mummies scrambling over one another to get into the elevator. He breathed out a heavy sigh of relief as the doors closed in time and it started going up to his floor. Mingi slid down the wall and exhaled loudly as he patiently yet anxiously waited until it stopped. 

“Mingi.”

An eerie whisper of his name sounded in the air and Mingi flinched at the sound. He slowly got up and looked around to see who called him. As far as he knew, he was the only one in the elevator. 

“Mingi.”

The whisper grew louder and Mingi was able to detect a voice. It sounded soft and gentle, yet he knew better than to trust that easily. The lights in the elevator flickered and he looked around anxiously. It didn’t help that there were mirrors surrounding him as well. 

“Over here.”

Mingi looked to his left and his face paled. He was somehow expecting a dead version of himself to be looking at him through his reflection. 

He was not expecting an entirely different man to look back at him. 

As Mingi walked closer to the mirror, he set his things down and looked at his reflection. Whenever he raised his hand, the man would as well. Whenever he bent his head, the man would as well. It went on for a while until Mingi looked up and almost let out a scream. 

The man’s head had an outline of a jackal surrounding him. 

“Who the fuck are you?!” Mingi screamed. 

The man chuckled quietly as he stepped out of the mirror and stood before him. He was dressed similarly to Mingi, but it looked like he went through hell and back. His white dress shirt was torn at the bottom so his abs and slim waist were on display. His black dress pants had chains dangling from the belt loops, his black dress shoes were caked in sand and blood, and his crooked fingers were covered by black fingerless gloves that reached to his elbows, leaving his forearms to be covered as well. His black tie hung loose around his neck and his silver hair was more of a dark and ashen gray. His hair covered his eyes slightly, yet Mingi was able to see through them. The man reached out and grabbed his hand, holding it tightly as he stared him down. 

“I am you.” 

---------------------------------------------------

“Mingi, wake the fuck up!” 

Mingi heard your worried voice loud and clear, and he sat up straight on the couch, looking around rapidly before settling his eyes on you. Standing beside you were Layla and Marc. Layla looked worried as well while Marc was stoic and had his arms crossed. 

But he too was worried. 

“W-What happened?” Mingi asked hoarsely. His voice was lost due to the scream he let out earlier after that encounter with that strange man. 

“We got a call from the landlord saying that you passed out as you tried to exit the elevator once you reached our floor. I practically sprinted out of our flat as soon as she said that. Mingi, something is going on with you! You’ve been looking paler every day and you’re always so fidgety. Not to mention that you also wake up in a cold sweat and breathe heavily. Even in the darkness of our room, I can see you clutch your chest. Please… talk to me. Talk to us!”

Mingi couldn’t take it anymore. He broke down crying in your arms and told you everything. From the nightmares to the therapy sessions, he vented on and on. While you were consoling him, Marc and Layla shared a knowing look. Yet they stayed quiet as they observed you cradle his face in your hands and kiss his forehead gently. 

“It’s ok, Mingi. It’ll be ok. We will do our best to help.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to be involved with the gods again. If that even is the case.”

“You’ve helped me cope with adapting to our new lifestyle. And for that, I thank you every day for coming into my life. Let me repay you for all you’ve done.” 

Mingi nodded shyly and you smiled before looking up at Layla and Marc. 

A few hours later, you and Layla were discussing amongst yourselves the predicament that Mingi was in while he was in your room with Steven, who fronted after hearing about the nightmares. 

“So you’ve had nightmares that involved dead people, mummification, and the Field of Reeds. Am I correct, lad?”

“Yeah pretty much. And as I said to Y/N, it felt like my nightmares were coming to life. I saw a barista looking lifeless and say that they’ll offer me their soul while another random man called me a selfish god and tried to attack me. Lastly, a huge group of mummified people came running at me.”

“Right… but then what about the encounter you had with that man? He wasn’t dead right?”

“No. He looked more human. He wore a tattered version of the clothes I’m wearing right now yet I know for a fact that he was an entirely different person than me.” 

“Here. Let me sketch him as you describe him.” 

Mingi then proceeded to describe what the man in the mirror looked like to the best of his ability. He probably messed up on a few details since he was gripped with fear as he saw him. Steven finally finished up his sketch and a worried look was on his face as he looked at it some more before he turned the sketch pad around. 

“Is this who you saw?” 

Mingi’s face paled once more as he saw the sketch. 

“Yeah… that’s him.” 

“Oh bollocks. Lad, I think you might have encountered the Egyptian god of the dead himself.”

“Osiris?”

“No… Anubis.”

---------------------------------------------------

Mingi found himself on a plane to Cairo. He was nervous as hell and couldn’t stop bouncing his leg. You placed a hand on his knee and looked at him with reassurance. “It’ll be ok, Mingi. We’ll see what he wants, and he’ll leave you alone after that. He’ll listen to me.” 

Mingi nodded rapidly as he listened to your confident words. When they landed, they quickly got off the plane, grabbed their bags, and booked it to the hotel they were staying at. Once they were checked in and settled down, they immediately headed towards the pyramids. 

You and Marc were once again back inside the temple of the Ennead. They hadn’t been back here since they trapped Ammit inside Arthur Harrow’s body. As much as you wanted to escape so badly, you knew that if you didn't do this, Mingi’s nightmares would never end. 

“So I just… lay here?” Mingi asked as he pointed to a stone table. You nodded and helped him lay down. Due to his height and big body chock full of muscle, it was a struggle at first. Finally, he was able to lay down properly. His long legs dangled off the table and he cringed when he felt a strange liquid be painted on his forehead. 

“This is just us preparing you for the ceremony. We need to put the symbol of Anubis on you so we can properly communicate with him. Don’t sweat it.” Marc explained and Mingi nodded. Once the preparations were complete, the chants started. 

The more the three of them recited the incantations, the more Mingi felt physically uncomfortable. He was sweating a lot, he clutched his stomach, and he let out painful screams. The screams soon turned into growls and his back achingly arched off the table as black and gold mist escaped his mouth. The mist soon took shape into an all too familiar figure. The figure was hunched over and stood up slowly as the mist dissipated. His eyes glowed brightly before settling back to brown. 

Mingi scrambled off the table as he stood behind Y/N while the man, clad in a black tank top and blue jeans, brushed off his shoulders and looked around. His wavy black hair dangled in front of his eyes.

“Ah. It seems I’m back in this dreadful place.”

His voice, albeit soft, held power. He settled his eyes on Marc and Layla before smiling gently at them. “It’s so good to see you two. How has life been for you guys?”

“It’s been… alright.”

The man nodded before turning to you. His eyes were filled with love and sadness as he walked towards you. He reached out and gently held your face in his hand. Mingi wanted to step in and tell him to fuck off, but for some reason, he knew this needed to happen so he just stood there and watched. 

“My love… I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Seonghwa.” 

‘So that’s Anubis’s human name.’ Mingi thought to himself as he observed the exchange between you and Seonghwa. 

“I hope Mingi is making you happy. Otherwise, my departure from the Duat would have been in vain.” 

“Wait… you left? Why?”

A quiet sigh escaped Seonghwa’s plush lips as he explained everything to you, Marc, Layla, and Mingi. 

“I am a selfish god. I couldn’t bear to be without you. So I left behind everything I once was and entered the mortal realm in a new body. Hence, how Mingi came about.” 

It all made sense now. 

Mingi wasn’t having nightmares.

He was experiencing his past life. 

“Mingi, I am so sorry that you had to go through those visions. I never meant to make you and Y/N suffer. I didn’t realize the consequences of leaving the Duat until they came to fruition. Please forgive me.”

Mingi couldn’t help but feel bad for the past version of himself. All Seonghwa ever wanted was to be with you, no matter the conditions. Mingi gave a small grin to the ancient god and patted his shoulder. 

“It’s ok. I understand. I honestly would’ve done the same thing if I was in your position.”

Seonghwa smiled gratefully and brought the mortal into a hug. Your heart soared at the sight of your past lover and current lover embracing each other like family. As Seonghwa let Mingi go, they connected their foreheads together. Seonghwa placed a delicate hand over Mingi’s broad chest so he could feel the man’s heart under his palm. 

“I will try my best to make sure you guys will not suffer anymore. In return, I simply ask that you keep loving Y/N in the same way that you always have since the first day you two have met.”

“You can count on me, Anubis.”

Seonghwa nodded gratefully and turned to you before pulling into one last hug.

“Until we meet again, my love…”

Seonghwa let go of you and waved goodbye to Marc and Layla before he disappeared in the same black and gold mist. His ghostly silhouette floated around the temple before coming down upon Mingi, who groaned painfully as both of their presences combined. A light shone brightly around the young man momentarily before it dimmed. The three of you uncovered your eyes. Layla gasped, Marc had a half smile on his face, and you were practically drooling at Mingi’s new look. 

Instead of long silver hair, he had black hair swept back to reveal an undercut and his eyebrows were no longer bleached. He wore a black tank top, light blue jeans, and black combat boots. He had sunglasses perched on the tip of his nose and one of his arms revealed a tattoo of Seonghwa’s symbol. 

It was a significant mark of Mingi’s past life as Anubis. 

He smirked as he saw you shamelessly checking him out. He walked over to you and lifted you up in his arms before carrying you bridal style. 

“Come on, babe. The night’s still young. The four of us should go on a double date.”

You simply giggled like a schoolgirl as you admired the confidence Mingi had. You two walked out of the temple while Layla quietly laughed to herself and Marc sighed heavily. 

“Oy vey.” Jake said to himself in Marc’s head. 

[victorluvsalice]

Happy Birthday Nebby!

@nebbychan -- As per your suggestion of doing something with your Modern AU takes on Dan and Kiya from MediEvil (specifically "Maybe the two chatting at a museum about their favorite time periods (Dan can brag about his minor degree in Medieval Studies and Kiya can do the same with her Egyptology studies)"), here's the pair at a museum, specifically chatting about Medieval European and Ancient Egyptian weaponry! Because, to be honest, the first things that popped into my head when thinking about the prompt were these two posts on wacky polearms by prokopetz. XD Hope you enjoy!

--

“...and that one, right there? That’s a Bohemian Ear-Spoon.”

Kiya raised a suspicious eyebrow at him. “You are definitely making that one up.”

“Nope,” Dan told her with his biggest, toothiest grin. “Completely real. Check out the label.”

Kiya squinted at him, then turned her attention to the identification tag plastered to the case. A moment later, her eyes went wide. “What even,” she declared, standing up straight.

“I know!” Dan said, laughing. “And you know what? That thing is not nearly the weirdest polearm out there. I’ve seen one that looked like one of those fancy pointy spikes you see on top of churches with a blender attachment on the side.”

“Seriously? European weapons are bizarre,” was Kiya’s opinion on that. She glanced up at him. “So – did they tell you in uni why that one’s called an ‘Ear-Spoon’ of all things?”

“Oh, this is one of those weird ones where the original name doesn’t translate well to English,” Dan explained. “But most people think it’s ‘cause they call those two triangular bits forming the guard the ‘ears.’”

“Ah – well, that’s better than what I originally thought.”

Dan tilted his head. “Do I want to know?”

Kiya made a motion like she was jamming something into her ear while pulling a face. “I think you can guess.”

Dan grimaced, his very teeth seeming to flex with the motion. “Yeah...kind of prefer to avoid that kind of ear-spooning,” he said, absently brushing his bangs a little more over his eye patch.

Kiya winced. “Yeah, I – sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Dan assured her, holding up his hands with an awkward grin. “Shit happens, you know? It’s not a big deal or anything. I definitely don’t want it spoiling our date.”

“Me either.” Kiya took one of his hands, smiling warmly. “I’m having a really good time. I didn’t expect learning about the fifty million polearms Medieval Europe invented would be so interesting.”

Dan snorted. “Well, I gotta make sure someone other than me gets some use out of my minor,” he said, smile much more genuine now. “And it is pretty neat that they came up with so many different variations. You wouldn’t think there would be that many ways to change up ‘sharp pointy metal bit on stick.’” He regarded Kiya curiously. “You get anything like that with Ancient Egyptian weaponry?”

“Not really – Ancient Egypt honestly had something of a problem making any effective weapons until the New Kingdom period,” Kiya said, slipping into “curator” mode. “And even then, they mainly advanced because they’d been conquered by the Hyksos – foreign rulers who slipped into power while the main Egyptian dynasty was crumbling – and they were able to pilfer a lot of knowledge of arms off them before they drove them out.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Mainly, using bronze tips on their spears to help them hold an edge better and longer,” Kiya said with a little chuckle. “Though they also created the javelin in that time, and they used that to pretty great effect in their later campaigns. Honestly, though, my favorite Egyptian weapon from that time period is the Khopesh.”

“Oh?” Dan leaned in, intrigued. “What’s that? Guessing not a spear?”

“Nope – a large curved sword that looks something like a sickle,” Kiya told him, grinning. “Only with the sharp edge on the outside. Pharaohs from that time period are often depicted wielding it because it was known as a very dangerous and powerful weapon – one more than fit for a king.” She giggled. “And like your Ear-Spoon, the name might come from a body part – some scholars believe it was derived from the Egyptian word for ‘leg’ because it looks vaguely like a haunch of beef.”

Dan laughed. “That’s great!” He looked around the room. “You think they might have one of those here? I know they’ve got an Egyptian exhibit...”

Kiya linked her arm through his, face bright. “Let’s go and find out.”

--

Bohemian Ear-Spoon On Wikipedia

Ancient Egyptian Weapons: The Evolution of Warfare

Khopesh On Wikipedia

[foxyanon]

Smoke Cleansing

One thing you will find virtually every practitioner talk about is cleansing your space of negative energy. In fact, smoke cleansing not only clears negative energy from your house, it can also clear up your mindset. Having a calm and clear space has been linked to much more positive outlooks on life, which in turn can help your mental and physical health.

Smoke cleansing is the the act of burning incense or dried herb bundles with the intent to remove negative energy from a person or space. In nearly every culture dating back to the Ancient Egyptians, smoke cleansing has long been believed to remove negative energy, heal, protect and boost defense against disease. Smoke cleansing is not the same as smudging done amongst the Indigenous peoples or saining done amongst the Scots, as they are specific rituals and should only be practiced by those within those practices because they are CLOSED PRACTICES. A closed practice doesn’t mean only those with that background can practice, it just means you have to be initiated and accepted by that community to learn these rituals.

The most common way to smoke cleanse your space is with a sage bundle, however there are other methods as well. As I stated before, incense and dried herb bundles of any variety are effective as well. Do be careful with what you are using, as it can either be an over harvested one or simply toxic to any animals you have. Before you ask, yes. White sage is used specifically by the Indigenous peoples of America, so unless you are growing your own, DO NOT USE IT. Palo santo is not a gatekept tree, but understand that new age withcraft and consumerism is destroying the rainforest where it grows. This means the cultures that have been using palo santo for centuries are having a harder time getting it. Instead, I am going to give you some alternatives to use in your own practice so you can still practice and be respectful at the same time.

*Please be careful when burning anything.*

Some basic rules when smoke cleansing your house are be mindful not to light your incense or herb bundle near anything flammable, open your windows and be careful when waving the incense or bundle around as embers can set things on fire. I use an abalone shell to catch the ash and embers from my bundle whenever I smoke cleanse. Always have a fire extinguisher or water nearby whenever you are smoke cleansing.

(I know this seems like common sense knowledge, but as someone who has received ACTUAL firefighting training in both the civilian and military sectors, you’d be surprised how many people don’t understand the fire triangle.)

So when should you smoke cleanse your space?

This will vary from person to person so pick a day and time that works best for you, however you should aim to be cleansing your space on a regular basis. Some prefer to do it on the first of the month or around sabbats/holidays. I prefer to smoke cleanse my house around the lunar cycle (so on the new/full moon). I recommend doing it at least once a month, but you can do it as often as you feel like.

What should I use?

This is also another personal preference based on what you enjoy and can afford. Incense sticks are just one method and you can buy these online or in an actual store. They come in a variety of sizes and smells, just find the one that connects to you the best. As I mentioned before, nearly any dried herb can be used for smoke cleansing. A good alternative to white sage is common sage, rosemary or even lavender. Do not use lavender if you have pets, it is toxic to them. Don’t want to use one of those and prefer something like palo santo? Juniper and birch are good alternatives. PLEASE DO YOUR RESEARCH TO MAKE SURE YOU ARE NOT ACCIDENTALLY BURNING SOMETHING THAT IS POISONOUS! I personally use common sage dipped in dragon’s blood (it’s a tree resin and has a POTENT smell to it, definitely not for those who don’t like spicy smells).

I am a firm believer in supporting small businesses, so check Etsy or your preferred website if you prefer to shop online. Just be careful to read the description of the product, some businesses will have white sage mislabeled as regular sage. Wanna actually go into a brick-and-mortar store? Check to see if there are any metaphysical shops in your area. You can also find different witchcraft groups on Facebook that will share info based on the city, town or state you live in. While I don’t use it often, I am a part of a FB group that shares different shops in various places across the state I live in so if I travel to one of those places, I know where to go.

[papirouge]

I’m pretty sure Matt Walsh is one of those American conservatives who were a failed entertainer/musician turned to conservative media for a paycheck. Someone posted a video about a girl who used to work for those far right spaces and she would say that these personalities online were failed actors and musicians and went to the right of politics for a check since all they need to do is talk. They don’t believe what they say and will ignore the power of the tongue constantly. It doesn’t matter how hypocritical or backwards the message is. If they say it, they get paid. So I take nothing they say to heart. Walsh and his kind had bashed Halle and the little mermaid remake so much, but when someone decides to make it an Asian girl, Native girl, gay girl or trans (or someone else they don’t like), then they’ll come back to Halle’s Ariel and praise it for being accurate. These type of people I find to be lost souls without a higher purpose no matter how much they praise Christian beliefs. I don’t feel Christ is in their hearts as much as the love of money and power and influence. The things that Satan temped Jesus with in the desert.

Yeah, there's nothing more dangerous than people with failed dreams because they are so bitter and hateful against everyone. I think Ben Shapiro is a failed screenwriter and Candace Owen tried to create an app to signal hate crime when she was still a liberal 💀 oh and let's not forget Andrew Tate and his career as an MMA player (heard he was not bad at it but it was kinda nipped into the bud). Miles Cheong (an infamous Musk bootlicker) was a video game reviews and got splashed by the gamergate scandal. I remember when Musk started beefing against Rockstar game/GTA VI (probably tweaking on ketamine) on xitter, Miles went to his defense saying he never played a GTA game, and he got fact-checked with a community note explaining that since he was a game reviewer, he most likely already played that game 😭💀

And conservatives seething at Ariel being Black over the "she's looking like Ariel" really show they hypocrite selves because when Margot Robbie (who was a perfect barbie lookalike) got casted in Barbie, they still had a problem with that cast because she was too old (which is INSANE because barbie can literally be any age), or ugly (which is peak delusion), etc etc... They will always find excuses....

That being said, I don't think conservatives would have have much a problem with an Asian barbie bc Asians (at least easterners) are still pale, Asians don't have the same history as they do with black Americans so rightoids don't have the same deep seated guilt(?) that breeds that resentment & defensiveness whenever they see black people represented in media. I'll never forget how gamerbro got mad at Jade being Black in the new Mortal Kombat game, but didn't have much of a reject reaction when a significant part of the cast got turned into Asians (Syndel, Raiden, Smoke, etc.).. of course you had idiots asking why ninjas were Asians (???) and how they would rather be "Mediterranean" LMAO As if Mediterranean was an ethnicity (Italians and Egyptians are technically both "Mediterranean" - they still are different ethnicities). But it was a failed attempt to act sleek and not straight up say "I prefer those characters to White" ....a mEdiTeRrAneAn ninja wouldn't still make anysense anyway 💀

And yeah, none of these conservatives are Christians. They are modern day pharisees or zealots. It's not coincidence that Jesus rebuked both of these sides. In the desert, satan tempted Jesus with 3 leverage : materialism/desire of the flesh (asking him to turn stone into bread), greediness (asking him to bow before him to have all the glory in the world), and prideful recklessness (asking him to self harm/throw himself over a cliff arguing nothing will happen to him anyway bc he's the son of God). When you think of everything happening in the world, it HAS to fall in either of those category. Satan keeps using those tricks cause they work.

[moonxsuncelestials]

Realized that I never did explain the whole Omega thing and how it works on all blogs. 

So it is canon that omegas, both male and female, are extremely RARE especially among the dragons and those of draconic lineage. Magic can be used for those who are in homosexual relationships but it’s seen as extremely dangerous. Jinhai for example, could have gotten a womb via magic to produce Shangti’s heir, but with great possible risk of losing one or both Jinhai and the child’s lives, Shangti decided that it’s far too dangerous. In other verses, Siming rectifies this by blessing Jinhai with a womb since they are aware of his desires to carry the baby.

Within the case of the demons, were-communities, and the Demon Lords, but it has gotten to be more a recessive trait among them. In fact for the were-communities, the male omega is seen to be more of a rare recessive gene thus why they are even rarer among the communities. Even with magic, male omegas are still pretty uncommon and seem to only pop up a few centuries. Asmodeus is the only known demon lord who constantly switches two and from ‘Alpha’ to ‘Omega’ given he is the Demon Lord of Lust.

So using this (x) post as a guideline, I’m going say that the male omegas do have the seminal vesicle but their sperm count is pretty low; as in it’d be a miracle to father a child with someone.  ***Hence why with @thelazyeditor​ Makoto was only able to father one kitten so far. But that is also because of the trauma he’s suffered, making his womb barren.

Now Yun is going to likely be a special omega case given that he is also a first or primal dragon reborn-meaning he is THE MOST POWERFUL dragon of Hell. His sperm count is a tad bit higher than usual, almost close to a beta’s but he’s also far more fertile than he likes to admit; it’s a miracle that with how much sex/love-making he does with Beelzebub, that he only has two biological kids in his canon verse.

With that being said, the terms ‘Alpha, Beta, Omega’ are used loosely among the werebabies over on @werekxnglives​. Most modern day packs use these terms to mostly identify their sexual prowess when around humans and some packs that are more traditional sadly use this to identify their ranks; so far only the Ambrose Pack aka The Death Dealers, are the ones to use this to the extreme. 

And finally among the Gods/Deities it all depends on their preference. Most stick to the usual male/female reproductive systems, especially my Egyptian Pantheon, but they too can decide whether to have both reproductive systems or not. The only known Deity so far who is theorized to have both male/female reproductive systems, is Siming the Deity of Fate from the Chinese Patheon.

***One should note as well that the Gods/Deities can also curse/bless someone to have either both reproductive systems or just one. Or even none.

[weidaoduzun3]

About Me (For Twitter)

So for some odd reason, over 3000 of you knuckleheads decided to follow me. I reckon a new “about me” is in order then. I’ll never delve my name or face on socials. Just a personal preference. I’m 25 years old. Will be 26 in September 2023. I grew up in the southeastern part of the US and have lived all over my state. I am 2 years and 5 months sober from drug abuse. Technically I’m “California Sober,” meaning I still partake in the consumption of hashish oils (wax, dabs, or whatever the kids call them now). A lot of what I post and how I approach my walk with spirituality is heavily painted by my past from living as a drug addict. I got hooked on the dragon at age 18, but was already addicted to the lifestyle, fast money, and opiates & benzos from a very early age (age 14).

Essentially, I center my beliefs and praxis around the Corpus Hermeticum and other various Hermetic tractates. Though I’m also a syncretist and my beliefs and practice are highly unorthodox, to say the least. The core of my spiritual practice is meditation, exercise, theurgy, yoga, reciting aphorisms, and hymning to the gods of old. I worship Levanite Greco-Egyptian deities; I syncretize Asherah and Isis, YHWH and Amun, and worship many other gods and goddesses. I also dabble in the Arbatel and PGM often enough, but not so much since school started for me this summer. You could consider me a Platonic polytheist, a Hermeticist, or just a child of faith. The latter is what I prefer. I also venerate prophets and heroes. The main ones being Jesus Christ and Lao Tzu. Hermes Trismegistos is a whole other conversation. To me, he’s a god, a hero/prophet, and a master magician. I will not defend why I believe what I believe in this thread but I am happy to answer any questions on how or why I think what I believe.

I’m currently working my way through Iamblichus’s Platonic reading list. Currently on the Sophist. I also adhere to the Pythagorean idea that we do not need to escape or transcend this world but rather harmonize with it.  Also, I am getting more into Daoism these days. I am incorporating the Three Treasures into my theurgy/silent prayer. Eventually, I would like to become a disciple under a Daoist master and formally learn Daoism and its praxis and how that can benefit me and my understanding of myself, God, and everything in between. Also delving into Musashi Miyamoto’s philosophy, whose influence comes from Japanese Buddhism.

I also dabble in (capital S) Stoicism. So no, not the 1940s-1950s American trope of what a “stoic” man is. But this is not an apologetics thread for Stoicism. All I’ll say is that the philosophical school is highly misused and taken out of context to promote either nasty things or to completely misrepresent the philosophy negatively.

To the nazis, trans/homophobes, and “trads”:  This is not the page for yall. I believe race mixing is a great thing, and gender is a societal construct. I will not express any political beliefs or feelings other than to shit on the above-mentioned groups, and even then, most of the time, I’ll block that kind of crowd and not let them use my page as a platform to spread hate. I am apolitical. Recently had to renew my license, and I told them I do not want to register to vote. So, judge me how you will be based on that, I guess. I don’t police my followers, so if any of you good people see that I’m mutuals with someone that belongs to those above-mentioned groups, please kindly DM me and I’ll handle it. Meaning I’ll block the account. No drama, No BS, just cutting chaff from the wheat.

The content I post, are quotes from my readings, the ancient hymns I study, and dashingly long threads summarizing what I read, and just general esoteric rambles. I’m not afraid to be wrong or look ignorant anywhere I go on social media, so if you see a mistake in my rambles, quotes, or whatever, please kindly let me know! I love you all, and I hope we can all learn something from one another. Gods bless you all.

[apaise]

with dani still at the pattons’ beck & call and emily on medical leave ( aka, lounging in bed with pippa and eating bonbons ), cleo ends up tackling the graveyard shift alone. yet she prefers working the odd hours anyway, the desk much quieter with most of the guests either out partying or snoring soundly in their egyptian cotton sheets. she’s able to work on some of the schedule for next month instead -- noting a few vacation requests, and rotating the housekeeping shifts while listening to her favorite podcast. 

as much as this disruption in her sleep cycle would annoy her tomorrow . . . cleo would have to admit there’s a strange peace to working these hours, too. with the lobby hauntingly vacant and the shadows scattering beneath the chandelier, it’s a fitting ambience for listening to weird occurrences. as izzie’s voice hums tales of european horror in cleo’s airpods, she can almost imagine her life is a little more fascinating than streamlining budgets and ordering floral arrangements. with luck, maybe izzie would cover italy one day. 

till then, cleo would return to one of her favorite episodes on the netherlands. she’s deep into one of the interviews with the locals when the phone rings, surprising cleo for the late hour ( and for the rude disturbance of her liminal space ). she answers with the usual emily-mandated professionalism, all while continuing to log away hours in the computer. thankfully, it isn’t a difficult request; room 1608 just needs some more printer paper. cleo supposes it’s nice to know she’s not the only one working hard at this hour. 

grabbing a stack of paper from the back cabinets, cleo heads over to the guest’s room. when she arrives, however -- the door’s already cracked open. it would’ve been ominous if not for the music banging away inside, immediately having cleo question who this guest is and what they’re doing at this hour. but the sooner she delivers the paper, the sooner she can get back to her podcast. cleo knocks on the door, but doubts it’s audible with all the noise ( luckily the walls of the red orchid are thick enough for the guests to party as they like ).

against the nagging emily voice in her head, cleo steps inside, half-expecting the room to be trashed in a sort of rock-and-roll spirit. instead, she finds something much more exhilarating: the wall of the dining room had been completely transformed, decorated in not art but photos of the red orchid staff. cleo included. she would’ve thought she had stumbled on the ramblings of a potential murderer if the picture in the middle wasn’t immediately recognized: adam h. mcleod. he was the man who had been found floating dead in the pool last year, the killer still never identified. 

. . . which means all those red strings connected to his photo are for . . . potential suspects?

right off the bat, cleo can imagine a few who should be eliminated from the list of the accused. herself, of course ( although she’s torn between finding the suspicion insulting or flattering ) and maddy fisher. as hilarious as it would be to interrogate her, maddy doesn’t belong on the wall; her employment schedule doesn’t line up. before she can stop herself, cleo begins unpinning maddy’s string, placing it on the desk with her paper just as the guest enters. she’s much younger than cleo would’ve expected, a twenty-something year old blonde in a sweatshirt. it throws cleo off for a second, but then she jabs a thumb towards maddy’s photo.

❝ i wouldn’t put it past her -- ❞ cleo starts explaining her reasoning for messing with the strings. ❝ -- but she wasn’t working here yet. still in her tiny hometown. ❞ with that covered, cleo’s curiosity now turns to the guest. it’s completely inappropriate for cleo to be intruding on her space like this, but . . .  she’s intrigued. ❝ are you a journalist? ❞ ( @feveredblurs​ )

[roleplayolyhedrons]

Simulating the World (Pt. 1)

I might as well confess from the beginning that I did not grow up playing tabletop (pen and paper) role-playing games. I was a war gamer from an early age. I played behind grand armies, rolling dice to decide the fate of entrenched enemies, and even my soldiers, for that matter. I came to role-playing games at a critical juncture in my own life—a time when I was bored with war games and needed some form of mental stimulation that went beyond what television and video games could offer me at the time. Role-playing games, to me, signify a significant step in a process of self-exploration through games and gaming—a sort of natural progression from one gaming genre, such as war games, to the next, role-playing games.

Mage Knight

I roll the dice—they’re high numbers—what exactly, I can’t recall after nearly fifteen years. Probably a six and a five on the six-sided dice. All kill shot, I remember. I also remember the ugly orange carpet of the room and the dozen or so people crammed into the tiny spare room in my junior high school. My opponent’s face, a fuzzy, easily forgotten face, scowls at the loss of her Mage Knight miniature, her prized soldier on the battlefield. She removed the plastic warrior from the table, which is decorated with sand table terrain—i.e., stone masonry structures, such as fortified walls, square towers,m and sagging buildings with thatched rooves all of which are fashioned from painted soda box cardboard. I’m winning at a game that is, at its heart, very much like chess, although it’s different. In other words, it’s hard to say it tastes like chicken, when, in fact, it isn’t chicken, doesn’t even come close, in many respects. The endgame is the same as chess: Kill off your opponent’s pieces until s/he capitulates. It’s a game my pubescent self prefers over chess because of the options available to one playing the game. No more strict movements on an undecorated board. The pawns of war move in ways that chess pieces only dream of, duking it out over neatly modeled sand table terrain. Dice rolls act as the great equalizer, as much as a good strategy. (And good strategy doesn’t hurt either.) Chess, after playing Mage Knight, feels anachronistic and tastes bland.

There’s a catch to playing Mage Knight: I have to keep it secret because it is one of those things forbidden in my household. It’s far too similar to a game called Dungeons & Dragons in my father’s eyes. When he finds out that I want to play this game with my friends, and on a Sunday of all days, he flips out. My old man decides the best punishment is to force me to read aloud Bible passages. He thinks, hopes, that this activity will purge, scrub away with an intellectual version of a wire brush, any interests I have in such games. My father hands me an old Bible and says, “Here, read this. Make sure I can hear you reading this from in the living room.” I ask him why. He says, “Because I told you to. Now read!” My father truly believes the rumors and theories surrounding the connections between devil worship and suicide among those who play games like Dungeons & Dragons. This is strange to me. My father doesn’t treat my younger brother in the same way. He can play with his friends on a Sunday, and so can my sister. Instead of playing with my friends, instead of playing a harmless game of Mage Knight, I read from Judges, and the fantastical stories from this part of the Bible only serve to kindle my interest in playing out such stories in game form. I can almost imagine reenacting the battles with my miniatures, bought with earned and stolen quarters, all in the name of G-d.

War Games

Military modeling and simulation is the technical term for what hobbyists call war gaming. M&S, as it is more commonly known, has been around for millennia. Human beings, from ancient Egyptian pharaohs to Mesopotamian kings to Prussian military officers have all tried to simulate combat without the risk associated with actual warfare. The answer to this dilemma of simulating a part of the real world was not what we would call LARP-ing—live-action role-playing—, complete with mock swords and shields and cheesy acting to boot. Instead, ancient and modern civilizations alike developed board games using intricate and not-so-intricate playing pieces, along with wooden, clay, or stone boards. What started as a training tool for the ruling and military elite soon became a pastime of those who had little interest or knowledge in the affairs of war and peace.

War games are a permanent staple of modern-day gaming hobbies. Popular war games fill the shelves of big box stores and hobby and specialist shops alike. Entire conventions are dedicated to the wargaming hobby in the civilian world. Names like Avalon Hill, Games Workshop, and Fantasy Flight Games (FFG), conjure up images of miniature warriors duking out over sand table real estate. Players rely on dice and pre-established statistics to determine the odds of combat and movement on the board. In some cases, war games are quite elaborate, with miniatures, realistic, war-torn landscapes, and complex formulas as part of the overall gaming experience. However, other war games are quite simple, with said games being fashioned from inexpensive cardboard cardstock or plastic tokens. Nevertheless, whether it is elaborate war games or cheap cardboard ones, many civilians know war gaming simply as a hobby they love and spend countless hours on. Few know about the origins of war gaming, the grandfather of role-playing games, especially when it comes to its political and military origins.

War games have been around for as long as human beings have fought wars against one another. Such games offer players a chance to experience combat against an opponent without the risks associated with real war. War games, like chess and Go, have become permanent fixtures of the civilian world, as ultimate games of strategy, patience, and mental endurance. Entire libraries have been written on games like chess. However, the war game as we know it is a relatively modern invention. The wargaming hobby is in debt to the likes of Prussian military strategists, who first developed and used the game Kriegsspiel (i.e., literally “war game”) to train military officers in strategy and tactics. This pedagogical method is pregnant with possibilities and problems. Officers, and even the political elite, are better able to get a grasp of combat, which is fraught with unknowns, unknowns that must be anticipated by the commander in question. These same games, however, can create a sort of myopia within those who play them, allowing the officers in question to believe they are best prepared for the situation at hand, when, in fact, they haven’t.

Jackson Kicked My Ass

I’m at my friend’s, Jackson’s, house, an old riverfront Victorian. Jackson is this tall, lanky character, with combed hair, a goofy smile, and the mouth of a sailor on shore leave. We’ve brought together a collection of Warhammer 40K miniatures my grandmother, on my father’s side, bought for me, along with some old hardbound books, clean coffee mugs, and a handful of six-sided dice. The books and cups serve as ad hoc terrain, the best we can come up with, considering the circumstances. Cups serve as towering mountains, and the books are grand mesas, tableland on some alien desert world. The books and cups are organized in such a way that the middle of the table is the narrowest point, with the top and bottom ends widening out enough to allow for our troops to be placed in their start positions. I play a small squad of Space Marines. Jackson plays a squad of Tyranids, an alien insectoid-like race. We’re using our own rules this time because I’ve forgotten the rulebook at home, which is hidden from my father’s prying eyes. I position my Space Marines in a firing line, just before the narrowest point on the table, getting ready for Jackson’s insectoid swarm. Once it’s his turn, he unleashes his horde, charging toward my Space Marines. Both sides are equally matched, considering. It’s my turn again. I roll to fire on the Tyranids, killing three off the bat. Jackson curses under his breath. It’s his turn again. His alien horde attacks my Space Marine line, full force. He rolls and kills two of my Space Marines. It’s my turn again. I find that my Space Marines are in an optimal position. Jackson’s troops are being bottle-necked by the terrain and my soldiers are ready to take them on. I decide to roll an attack against Jackson’s troops. I roll low, really low. So low, it is laughable now that I think about it, some fifteen years later. Jackson laughs. It’s one of those laughs that sounds like monkeys fighting one another over forage. He knows his troops are safe, for now. It’s his turn. He rolls for attack, and he manages to kill four of my courageous Space Marines. I wince as this takes place. Jackson feels victory coming.

“You ready to surrender, bitch?”

“Fuck you, man,” I retort.

“You kno’ I’m gonna fuckin’ win,  bro. Just admit it.”

“Fuck off, Jackson.”

It’s my turn. I roll. Again, the numbers aren’t in my favor. I don’t manage to kill or wound any of Jackson’s horde, which appears to be more ferocious than it did a few minutes ago.

I move my Space Marines back some, giving myself breathing room. Jackson moves closer. I roll for an attack, and I only manage to kill one of his hordes. I feel the sweat dripping off my brow, my hands are shaky, and my heart rate is through the roof. I can’t let this cocky fucker win, I think to myself. Jackson moves in for the kill. He manages to finish off the remainder of my Space Marine squad. In my mind, I can hear the shrill screams of grown men being torn apart by an alien horde. They cry out for their God-like emperor to save them, but their cries fall on deaf ears.

Jackson’s smiling at the end, all of his front teeth, pearly whites even in the dim light, are showing. He reaches over to shake my hand. I take it.

“No hard feelin’s, bro?”

“Sure, no hard feelings.”

“Another round, dude?” Jackson asks.

I nod, and we begin setting up our soldiers on opposite ends of the table for another battle.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Stress Relief Part One

Masterlist | Next Part Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only Notes: The first few chapters aren't explicit, so I'll add the necessary labels when they're needed. Chapters are also going to be shorter just in general. I've been sitting on this one for a w h i l e.

Not beta-read

Warnings: Me pretending to know anything about art crime, art forgery, or the FBI, or Ptolemaic art. Don't get me wrong, I did some research but uhhh. Ya know.

Summary: Marcus Pike was an optimist by rights and a realist when necessary. You were a realist by rights, and only allowed yourself to be an optimist in your dreams—and hardly ever then.

Anyone would agree that Marcus Pike was, by and large, the kindest supervisor in the D.C. office. That didn’t mean that there were never any problems—within his task force, or the department. A genial nature didn’t guarantee a conflict-free environment. More often than not, you and Marcus locked horns.

It came down to how you each tended to handle your cases. Neither of you did it in a way that was wrong, but your styles were, on the surface, so incredibly different. Marcus liked to round into the work, to check and double-check with the victims and witnesses before moving on to the hard facts. You tended to go right to the paper trail, the art, the provenance, and forensics. As those things developed, you did the legwork, went over the soft details, followed up with the victims and witnesses.

Marcus Pike was the more senior agent, you were the more junior agent.

Marcus Pike liked early mornings. You preferred late nights.

Marcus Pike liked to believe that every case that crossed his desk could be resolved cleanly. You were rarely so certain.

Marcus Pike was an optimist by rights and a realist when necessary. You were a realist by rights, and only allowed yourself to be an optimist in your dreams—and hardly ever then.

So you were already sort of dreading getting assigned a case with the golden boy head of your task force. You’d been working it alone for the last few months. It was slow going, but that was no fault of your intel or your methods—it was just the nature of the case.

If you thought art thieves liked to sit on a stolen Rembrandt or a Vermeer—fuck, you had not been prepared for how long it takes to move a Ptolemaic relief of Cleopatra V. Either the sellers were holding it as collateral, had no idea what it was, or couldn’t move it. 

The relief fragment had been in transport from the National Museum of Egyptian Civilization to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It had landed in New York, placing it on American soil—but before it could leave the airport, it had been snatched. Six people—at least one male, though the rest were presumed to be as well—dressed entirely in black, brandishing guns. It was possible that they’d been planning on simply snatching the silver and emerald diadem that was meant to be shipped over as well, but it had been held back from being shipped with the relief. 

The guards of the relief had all been witness to the heist. One had attempted to go after the robbers, but had been clubbed over the head with the butt of a rifle and knocked unconscious. Only one of the assailants had spoken—the one that had instructed the guards to back away from the crate containing the piece. The same man had ordered the guard to let go of the crate when he’d refused, and ordered one of his accomplices not to shoot. 

Pike hadn’t even asked for your files first. He asked for the list of witnesses, victims, and suspects. You’d given it over willingly—hell, you’d had it ready. But you'd felt a little less willing when you saw interview invites flooding your mailbox. Pike invited you to join in person—he insisted on it. You understood, in a sense; you knew that, having interviewed them before, this would ease them into the idea of Marcus working on the case, and having you in the room to reassure them could shake loose the odd new detail. You knew why it was helpful. You just hated retracing your steps like this. You could be working on valuable leads in this time, but no—

--

You did have to admit that Pike was adept with witnesses. He was soft-voiced, gave easy smiles, offered people time and space to answer questions, giving encouraging nods and soothing little, "Great. That's great, that's so helpful,"s every now and again. He worked you into the conversation, referenced details that you had ‘mentioned’ to him, helped you coax additional details from the witnesses. 

And you had to hand it to him—throughout the course of the conversation, he'd unearthed a couple of additional leads.

Whether or not you liked him, or his methods, Pike knew what he was doing. 

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ;  @paintballkid711 ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @nolanell ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @writefightandflightclub ;

[searidings]

Lena definitely just lets Jess walk into her office without knocking and that has definitely led to her walking in on Lena in Supergirl’s arms

Jessica Hoang’s job pays well.

Like, really well. Like, buy-your-mother-a-new-Valentino-purse-every-Christmas well. Surprise-your-boyfriend-with-a-trip-to-the-Bahamas well. Rub-your-success-in-your-high-school-nemeses’-face-at-the-reunion-but-like-in-a-classy-way well.

And it’s not that it’s exactly unreasonable. Being Lena Luthor’s assistant is no cake walk. Jess has been shot at. She’s been almost blown up on more than one occasion. She’s worked all the hours god sends and then some. Hell, she’s got the chief detective of NCPD’s major crimes unit on speed dial.

She has, at various times and with varying degrees of success, played the roles of bodyguard, nutritionist, nurse, therapist, and drinking buddy. She’s seen Lena in every shade and hue of human emotion; coaxed her through crisis after crisis with warm words and a kind smile and never once let her miss a meeting.

So, Jess doesn’t really mind accepting the generous salary. Has even made peace with the borderline obscene bonuses Lena likes to toss her way around Christmas, or her birthday, or any time Jess introduces her to a new kale recipe.

She’s not arrogant, but she’s not prone to under-selling herself either. She knows Lena values her, knows she’s integral to keeping L-Corp’s CEO afloat and thus, to the running of the whole operation. And more than that, she knows her own worth. Takes pride in the work she does.

So she’ll take the paycheck, and the late nights and the missed meals and all the other things that come part and parcel with employment in National City’s most conspicuous company.

And if those other things come to include a front row ticket to the tragicomedy of her boss’ relationship with a certain blonde reporter, so be it. She’s not about to quit, after all. Once she’d gotten a taste of sleeping on Egyptian cotton bed sheets, there was no going back.

-

It started with the unrestricted office access.

Actually, it started when Lena allergic-to-the-press Luthor first asked her to put in a call to the biggest news outlet in town to request a private meeting with one of their junior reporters, but Jess lets that one slide.

(She’s got her own hunk of a man to go home to every night, yet even she’s not immune to Miss Danvers’ button down and slacks combo, to her earnest blue eyes and eager charm. Lena can’t be blamed for falling under that spell, nor for the hypnotic allure of the muscles straining beneath those demure cardigans. She’s only human, after all.)

But adding Kara Danvers to the list of people to be waved straight into her boss’ office with no checks – or rather, creating said list, which to this day consists of precisely one name – was what really sealed the deal. It was portentous in every sense of the word, a harbinger of what was to come.

Since that fateful day, Jess has seen more of Lena and Kara’s relationship than she’s sure any of the three of them would ideally prefer.

At first, it was the interviews. They’d been fishy enough in themselves; sure, Lena Luthor is objectively interesting. But three separate articles in the span of two weeks? No one’s that interesting.

After the interviews, it was the lunch dates. The first time she’d interrupted one of those she’d almost fallen over her own feet in shock. The sight of Lena Luthor – the same Lena Luthor that Jess had, on more than one occasion, needed to actively bribe into ingesting anything other than espresso and scotch in a fourteen hour workday – licking burger grease off her fingers and happy as a clam, had thrown her off for the whole rest of the day.

(Lena had long since instructed Jess to just stick her head into her office without knocking if she needed her. “Things can go to hell far too quickly around here to waste time with buzzers and intercoms,” she’d said with a self-deprecating smile.

If only Jess had known then what she knows now, she might have put up more of a fight on that front.)

The lunch dates had gotten longer, and more frequent, and decidedly more intimate. A year after the reporter’s first appearance at L-Corp it had become commonplace for Jess to walk into her boss’ office to find the two of them slanted close together on the couch, Lena’s heels discarded, her stockinged feet tucked beneath the blonde’s thigh.

Then, Kara started showing up at 7pm to drag Lena away from her desk at a reasonable hour. Started dropping by on her way to Catco before work too, fumbling coffees and pastries in her blushing grip.

(She always brought a latte for Jess along with Lena’s regular order. Of all the developments, that was certainly one of the most welcome.)

She got to know Kara, as the years went on. Was pleased to discover that she truly was as delightful as she seemed. And it was nice to finally have an ally in her ongoing battle to regulate her boss’ shockingly unhealthy work habits. She and Kara could tag-team their efforts, trading off caffeine duty and playing bad cop to get Lena to leave the office before midnight. It meant that Jess had finally, occasionally, gotten a day off.

It didn’t escape her notice that Kara was always there on the bad days. She showed up like clockwork after every ruthless smear campaign against L-Corp, every stock market plummet, every assassination attempt. She would enter the office to find Lena crying and she would leave with the dark haired woman tucked securely against her side, if not smiling then at least calm. At least hopeful.

And Kara was there on the good days, too. The mergers and the product launches and the prototype successes; she celebrated every one of Lena’s triumphs as if they were her own. And Lena, Lena lit up when Kara was around. Bloomed like a rare flower beneath the megawatt glare of Kara’s sunshine devotion.

Her boss never said so in so many words, nor did Jess ever walk in on anything directly incriminating. But it was clear to anyone with eyes exactly what was happening between the two women, exactly where it would lead.

And then one day, Kara wasn’t there anymore.

-

The effect was as obvious as it was immediate.

Lena started coming in early and staying late, if she left the office at all. She barely ate. Her face was pale and drawn, and Jess would often enter her office to find her boss’ eyes red-rimmed.

It became glaringly, painfully obvious that without Kara dropping by at all hours of the day and night, no one was coming to visit Lena.

Her boss became closed-off and withdrawn, more so even than when Jess had first started at L-Corp. Gone were their weekly gossip sessions about the crotchety old men Lena couldn’t yet oust from the company’s board. Gone was her boss’ openness about her own life or her interest in Jess’, her frequent requests for photos of her cats or updates on the master’s in computer science she was studying for in the evenings evaporating into thin air.

Lena did not want to talk about it. Jess was informed of this emphatically and repeatedly whenever she would tentatively reach out, and slowly she stopped trying.

The closest they ever came to acknowledging the elephant in the room was the night of L-Corp’s annual fundraiser at the Luthor Children’s Hospital. Once the gala was over, Jess had run back to the office to drop off the donation paperwork in the company safe only to notice a faint light beneath Lena’s office door.

She’d entered to find Lena hunched on the floor of her private bathroom, heels kicked off and hair falling out of its intricate updo, mascara streaking her cheeks as she sobbed into her hands. Jess hadn’t hesitated for even a second before sinking down beside her.

Wrapping a secure arm around her boss’ shoulders and smoothing the flyaway hairs from her flushed face, she’d tried her best to convey the support and reassurance that Lena had so consistently shown to her. But the young woman had brushed off her platitudes even as the tears had continued to fall.

“It’s not okay,” she’d hiccupped against Jess’ shoulder, the scotch evident on her breath. “She’s gone. I won’t ever get her back.”

And that’s all she would say on the matter. Eventually, the tears had dried up and the exhaustion had set in and Jess had chaperoned her all the way back to her apartment and into bed.

Lena had shown up for work the next day in a pair of oversize aviators, clinging to her triple shot extra-large americano like a lifeline. She’d dropped a latte on Jess’ desk with a rueful smile, and that had been that. They never talked about it again.

-

That whole dark period only cemented the strong protective streak Jess had been cultivating over her boss ever since the very first attempt on her life.

It’s just that Lena is strong, and smart as hell and unfailingly kind and utterly undeserving of the punishment the world keeps foisting on her for her family’s sins. And worse, she’s not prepared to fight back. She just accepts it, internalises the hatred and the burden and the blame and Jess cannot, will not watch it happen. So sue her if she’s a little hyper-vigilant, a little possessive.

And so when Kara Danvers had shown up again one unassuming Tuesday, Jess intercepted her trajectory at Lena’s office door with narrowed eyes and a suspicious glare.

It must have been effective – she’d learned from stone cold boardroom killer Lena Luthor, after all – because the reporter shrank back a little beneath the force of her stare. Kara cleared her throat nervously and Jess had been a split second from launching into a what are your intentions with my girl speech ripped straight from a bad 1980s teen movie when the door opened behind her and Lena appeared.

“It’s fine, Jess,” her boss murmured and she had, reluctantly, stepped aside to let the blonde pass. Not before fixing Kara Danvers with one last pointed glare, though. If Lena wasn’t going to protect herself then Jess would just have to do it for her.

But there was no shouting, no screaming, no audible arguments. And when the blonde left a half hour later and Jess stuck her head through the office door to very unsubtly check on Lena’s wellbeing, there was no trace of red-rimmed eyes or tear stains. Lena simply offered up a small smile, a soft smile and once again, that appeared to be that.

Slowly, Kara Danvers became a regular fixture in L-Corp again, alongside the fancy espresso machines in every break room and the ever-present whiff of soldered metal.

Jess remained wary, a fact which did not seem to go unnoticed by the reporter. In fact, Kara redoubled her efforts to win her over, including new pastries and other sweet treats with the lattes she still regularly delivered.

“I can’t be bought, you know,” Jess had said once, taking the offered apricot Danish anyway. Her loyalty wasn’t up for auction, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t capitalise on the spoils of a bidding war.

Kara had only smiled sadly. “I know. I’m glad.” At Jess’ inquisitive stare she’d just shaken her head, reaching up to adjust her glasses. “I’m glad she has you.”

Jess had hmphed rather ungracefully, licking a stray flake of pastry from the end of her finger. She may have broken her boss’ heart, but no one could deny that Kara Danvers had great taste in desserts.

“I’m not looking for her forgiveness. Or yours,” Kara had continued, so surprising that Jess had inhaled a healthy gulp of latte directly into her lung. The reporter had waited until she’d finished spluttering before she continued. “I don’t deserve it. But for what it’s worth, she has me, too. Again, I mean. For as long as she wants me.”

Jess had narrowed her eyes, searching for any trace of insincerity in that earnest, handsome face. Finding none, her feelings toward the reporter had at last settled somewhere in the ballpark of grudging respect.

And there they’ve remained. She still watches the blonde carefully, still keeps a wary eye out for any sign that things may crumble into dust again. But Kara is true to her word. She shows up, she keeps showing up, and she sticks around.

And slowly, achingly slowly, the light comes back to Lena’s eyes.

-

It’s just another regular unassuming Tuesday when everything shifts again.

Kara Danvers hasn’t yet shown up for lunch and her boss’ conference call was scheduled to have ended a half hour ago, and this stack of expense reports desperately needs Lena’s signature so Jess doesn’t bother knocking as she shoulders open the office door.

A lesser assistant might have shrieked. They’d definitely have dropped the gargantuan stack of reports all over the floor. But Jessica Hoang was trained by Lena Luthor herself. She’s got dignity and composure for days.

Even so, it takes every ounce of poise she can muster not to let out so much as a squeak at the sight of her boss hovering a solid five feet above the floor of her office, enveloped tightly in the arms of a fully kitted and caped Supergirl.

It’s an unavoidably intimate embrace. Lena’s stockinged feet perch lightly on the toes of the hero’s red boots, her arms wrapped snug around the Kryptonian’s neck. Their foreheads are pressed together and they’re just gazing into one another’s eyes, Supergirl’s arms slung low around Lena’s waist as she drifts them in lazy mid-air circles.

For one horrible, stomach-churning moment Jess is faced with the mind-boggling possibility that her boss is, for all intents and purposes, cheating on her reporter gal pal with the city’s superpowered sweetheart.

But equanimity isn’t the only talent she’s picked up from Lena. Her problem solving skills aren’t bad either, or so her boyfriend is fond of grumbling when she steals the Sunday crossword out from under his nose.

Jess uses the split second before they react to her presence to appraise the scene with a critical eye.

At this proximity, there’s something decidedly familiar about those blue eyes and flowing golden locks. But the real clincher doesn’t end up coming from Supergirl at all. It’s the softness in her boss’ expression, the gentle slant of her features and the unguarded love in her eyes in the brief moment before she registers the interruption that really seals the deal.

Jess has, after all, seen Lena in every shade and hue of human emotion. The list of people her boss would look at like that, much like the list of people with unrestricted access to her office, consists of precisely one name.  

Two heads snap towards her in perfect tandem, two jaws hitting the floor in quick succession. Lena gasps and shoves herself away from Supergirl like the woman has suddenly become radioactive, apparently forgetting that she’s not currently abiding by the laws of terrestrial gravity and almost plummeting five feet to the ground.

She’s saved by the hero’s lightning fast reflexes, strong arms snapping out to catch her around the waist and pulling their bodies snugly back together into an embrace somehow even more intimate than the original.

Jess smirks. Lena’s cheeks are redder than she’s ever seen them as Supergirl floats them both gently back to the ground. “This isn’t— we were just— she’s not—” Lena tries half-heartedly as the superhero shuffles her feet at her side, blushing like a chastised schoolgirl.

Jess bites the inside of her cheek, calling upon every last shred of her professionalism to keep from laughing. “Your two o’clock is here,” she says gently, gracing her boss with a genuine smile. Jess may be proud of her own bullish protectiveness in front of others, but she’s a simple girl at heart. If Lena’s happy, she’s happy.

Both women are still staring at her slack-jawed. It appears no response is forthcoming any time soon.

Jess decides to put them out of their misery. “Just buzz when you want me to send him in, Miss Luthor. Miss Danvers,” she nods in acknowledgment as she ducks quickly back out of the room. Not quick enough, though, to miss the choked sounds of shock from behind her, nor the heated stage-whisper of how does she know, Lena? that follows her out of the door.

Jess shakes her head. And she doesn’t even have superhearing.

-

Lena Luthor has many strengths but subtlety, apparently, is not one of them.

That’s the conclusion Jess has no choice but to land on as she stares down at her phone. The extra 10k that has materialised in her bank account without warning or explanation could hardly be more obvious if it had come with the payee reference hush money right there in black and white.

Well. If Jess hadn’t been sure before, she certainly is now.

She shakes her head fondly. As if she would ever sell out her boss on anything, much less on what is very clearly a matter of the heart.

After all these years working together, she knows Lena trusts her. But she can also picture clear as day the scene that must have transpired in the office behind her just moments ago. Lena and Kara, panicking about being discovered. Lena falling back into her Luthor conditioning, deciding to clean up the mess by throwing money at it. The instant regret as she realises she’s just confirmed that there is in fact something to be covered up.

For a certified genius, her boss sure can be dense.

Jess chuckles. Taps out of her banking app and pulls up her messages. Your super secret’s safe with me she types, grinning. I’ve never told a soul that you were drunk as a skunk at the annual board meeting three years ago, and that was without a single dollar in bribes. Why would this be any different?

Hitting send, she swears she actually hears the sigh of relief her boss lets out despite the three inches of solid oak door separating them. She shakes her head again, biting her lip.

I’m happy for you, Lena she sends, warm affection swelling in her chest. Smiles when her screen lights up a moment later with a single red heart.

She locks her phone and squares her shoulders. Skims a critical eye over the weekly schedule she already knows by heart. Ushers in Lena’s two o’clock at her boss’ signal and settles back at her desk. Pulls up a new browser tab and searches up the cost of last-minute flights to the Maldives.

Just because Lena’s hush money was unnecessary, that doesn’t mean it can’t be put to good use.

[usergreenpixel]

JACOBIN FICTION CONVENTION MEETING 29: NAPOLEON’S PYRAMIDS (2007)

1. The introduction

Well, hello again, dear Citizens! Welcome back to Jacobin Fiction Convention because it is now back in session!

Okay, first I will get one thing out of the way. I’m doing much better than I did in summer, hence the decision to resume my reviews. And what better way to make a comeback than to get the promised things out of the way first?!

On that note, I introduce to you the topic of today’s meeting: “Napoleon’s Pyramids”, a novel in the adventure genre set in the Egyptian campaign. Now, Directory years don’t have a good reputation in the Frev community, but technically those years are still officially Frev, hence my decision to include this book in the Jacobin Fiction Convention category.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure some people in my audience already know it, but I LOVE adventure stories, so when I stumbled across this book on a quest to find more Frev/Napoleonic media to review, you can bet your ass that I got excited!

Also, its resemblance to an Indiana Jones story initially drew me in, as I used to like the first Indiana Jones movie as a kid (not so much now) so there is some nostalgia involved here as well.

Luckily for me, I managed to find the book in pdf format here:

Then I did more research and it’s available in Russian too, mainly online and sometimes in paperback form, so my fellow Russian speakers who aren’t good at English can find the Russian version!

Is it worth looking for though? Well, let’s find out.

This review is dedicated to @mamelukeraza .

2. The Summary

Here’s the summary from Amazon and, apparently, the back cover of the book:

What mystical secrets lie beneath the Great Pyramids?

The world changes for Ethan Gage—one-time assistant to the renowned Ben Franklin—on a night in post-revolutionary Paris, when he wins a mysterious medallion in a card game. Framed soon after for the murder of a prostitute and facing the grim prospect of either prison or death, the young expatriate American barely escapes France with his life—choosing instead to accompany the new emperor, Napoleon Bonaparte, on his glorious mission to conquer Egypt. With Lord Nelson's fleet following close behind, Gage sets out on the adventure of a lifetime. And in a land of ancient wonder and mystery, with the help of a beautiful Macedonian slave, he will come to realize that the unusual prize he won at the gaming table may be the key to solving one of history's greatest and most perilous riddles: who built the Great Pyramids . . . and why?

By all accounts, this book should have been right up my alley! I mean, we have adventures, ancient artifacts, mysteries and clues! What could possibly go wrong?!

(Spoiler alert: A LOT. More on that later.)

3. The Story

First of all, I didn’t really like the beginning of the book, mostly because the narrator (Ethan Gage) really takes his precious ass time to dive into his backstory and explain how he ended up at a table playing that fateful card game. I’m talking about two pages of backstory before finally getting to the fucking point!

Don’t get me wrong, a proper introduction is important to me personally, but maybe my problem is the fact that I prefer to receive a character’s backstory over time, bit by bit. Otherwise it gets a bit too distracting for me, especially when Gage stops narrating to crank out a few pages of his damn autobiography before returning to the actual events at hand.

Also, unfortunately for this book, the comparisons to Indiana Jones don’t imply anything good here. It simply reads like an extremely predictable adventure story that desperately tries and fails to be engaging and fun while treating really old orientalist tropes like a checklist (mysterious Egypt, hot slave girls…). Even the cliffhanger ending is predictable as shit.

Moreover, there is almost no suspense. Gage either conveniently shoots his target or gets conveniently rescued all the time. In short, he always wins, which is not what should happen in a good story because most people get bored with heroes who always win.

Last but not least, too many coincidences and everyone being connected to the point where my suspension of disbelief just went right out the window.

At one point Ethan Gage randomly encounters Sidney Smith, for example. Also he gets rescued by Nelson after a naval battle. And in a later chapter it turns out that the Romani with whom Gage had to hide at one point were the ones who alerted Gage’s future allies in Egypt about his arrival. Very fucking believable.

At this point, this book may as well be a soap opera where all the heroes are somehow connected!

Speaking of heroes…

4. The Characters

I don’t like Ethan Gage. He’s basically a knockoff Indiana Jones crossbred with a Mary Sue. Perfect sharpshooter, womanizer, spy, adventurer, apprentice of Benjamin Franklin. He has a lot of skills and connections and not enough justification for having them.

Trust me, even the fact that he’s a Freemason wasn’t enough for me to justify the fact that he just HAPPENS to know a bunch of important people.

Other than that, he starts out as a typical lone adventurer with no family who enjoys gambling and the company of sex workers. I was half expecting him to go full James Bond and be an alcoholic too, but luckily it wasn’t that cliché.

The Macedonian slave mentioned in the summary, Astiza, is a slightly more interesting character, even though she’s not free from clichés. Starting out as a beautiful mysterious slave girl, she is revealed to know more than she lets on and has a knack for practicing magic. Also she is later revealed to have known the villain of the book… Welcome to Santa Barbara, folks!

As for the villain, Count Alessandro Silano is presented as this master manipulator and a looming threat who wants to harness whatever secrets the ancient secrets and/or powers this medallion can potentially provide. In reality, however, he’s more of a hammy movie villain who likes to monologue, has no positive traits whatsoever has the same ability to survive the impossible as Gage does. Or maybe they both can just respawn, I dunno.

Unfortunately, “cliché” and “flat” are the best adjectives to describe most original characters in the story. Gage’s friend, Antoine Talma, is your typical intrepid reporter but at least he’s more relatable than Gage; Ashraf, a Mameluke Gage captures, is just a loyal servant who is there to conveniently swoop in and rescue Gage Deus ex machina style, etc.

It’s basically modern clichés served under the “sauce” of the Frev setting.

By the way, Napoleon is there as well and he gives me the same vibes as the Nazi villains in the first Indiana Jones movie. He only cares about people who are useful to him, doesn’t give a shit about his troops and also wants to harness the abilities that medallion potentially can provide so he can use those powers to CONQUER THE WORLD!

Most other historical figures only have minor roles, but I’m glad we got cameos of people like Kléber, Vivant Denon and other military men and scientists who were actually part of that campaign.

5. The Setting

Unfortunately, even the descriptions of settings leave a lot to be desired. They’re just blander than stale bread and I’m not even sure how accurate they are. Probably inaccurate as fuck though, if I’m being honest…

Paris is this city of vices like brothels and gambling houses and this setting is hyperbolic like we’re in a noir detective story.

Egypt is a treasure trove of orientalist clichés - a land of mysteries, cruel people, beautiful women and wise scholars who may or may not dabble in magic. That being said, I liked the fact that the book took a sledgehammer to clichés about harems.

6. The Writing

Ooh boy, I have some complaints here too. Aside from the distractingly long backstory tidbits I already ranted about, that is.

For example, basic French grammar and spelling have clearly left the chat because there are characters whose last names are spelled d’Liberté and d’Bonneville (de is only turned into d’ before vowels or the letter “h”) and at one point there’s a hotel called Le Cocq instead of Coq (rooster). The book was written in 2007 so it’s not like the author couldn’t look up the words and basic grammar that I learned in fifth grade!

These may seem like tiny mistakes, but if the author didn’t bother to look up the basics, then this makes me concerned about other mistakes in the novel that I probably missed. So yeah, take everything in this with a grain (or a barrel) of salt.

Last but not least, this:

This is where General Dumas and General Desaix make a cameo. Now, it seems fine… except there’s no prior mention of them being present in this scene at all before they speak their lines so… did these two just randomly poof into existence or something?

Also, these two suffer from Delayed Introduction Syndrome ™️, which means we don’t find out who the fuck these men are until a few chapters later and we don’t get any descriptions of them before that either.

Why is this an issue? Well, other minor characters in the book do get a proper introduction and a brief description IMMEDIATELY or SHORTLY after being mentioned, so there is an inconsistency here, especially since some minor characters get TOO MUCH time dedicated to their descriptions despite the fact that they are not part of the main cast (d’Liberté in particular gets too much attention).

Also, some descriptions in the book are unintentionally funny, like a part where Gage compares a woman’s nipples poking out of her cleavage to soldiers sticking heads out of a trench. Yes, this is the real comparison in the book and it fucking cracked me up.

One thing I appreciate, however, is the fact that the narrative doesn’t shy away from describing gruesome injuries like traumatic amputations and sometimes the author does have the balls to permanently kill off an important character (said characters has a really gruesome death btw). I don’t mind blood and gore like this, but trigger warning just in case you’re more squeamish than me.

7. The Conclusion

All in all, instead of being a cool swashbuckling adventure, “Napoleon’s Pyramids” comes off as an Indiana Jones ripoff with clichés stacked onto one another like Jenga blocks, a cast of bland characters, mistakes that could be easily corrected by a few Internet searches and inconsistent writing.

Do I recommend it? ABSOLUTELY NOT. Please don’t waste your time on this novel.

Okay, with that said, it’s time to conclude today’s meeting of the Jacobin Fiction Convention.

Please stay tuned for updates on future reviews and stay safe.

Love,

Citizen Green Pixel

[drinkingwithkhonshu]

EXACTLY LOL

But also imagining the Moon Boys with Khonshu's baby...oh my god. I'm sorry for rambling but I'm chasing a plot bunny haha. I tried to keep it brief but trust that I have oodles more thoughts running rampant in my mind oh lord! Thank you for the brain worms, Arch!

(Also don't mind me...imagining Khonshu with a baby girl...ssshhhh don't look at me I'm totally fine. I'm fine.)

Steven being very conflicted between "BABY!!!" (bc I can totally see him loving kids of all ages as long as they're not unrighteous twits lol) and "...Khonshu's baby???" for a long time, but you and he get along well and you're always so nice and by the time the baby actually arrives he's just absolutely smitten. Should you appoint him (and the others) as godfather, there is nothing he would not to for that child. They're basically his, even if he's not actually related to them. Sometimes he actually forgets and gets lost in the domesticity of it, since he craved it for so long...and Khonshu doesn't really mind.

Offers to babysit all the time. Any time he's available and you need a break, all you have to do is text him and he's there. Whether you drop the baby off at the flat (which...might be advisable when they're a little older since it's not exactly babyproof lol) or he comes over, he will go into full mother-hen mode. If the baby gets sick, he will show up without prompting with soup and medicine. If you're tired, he'll take over seamlessly and send you for a shower and a nap. He'll even cooperate with Khonshu if it means that you'll be able to relax in the absence of their frequent (perhaps more amicable, in this case) bickering.

Also will fuss incessantly over you, as if having the god of the moon looming at all times isn't enough. He's the most vocal about it, anyway, and he has a bit of a different set of knowledge than Khonshu might about how humans actually work (since Khonshu's technically alien and would only really have textbook knowledge, for example, at least in my personal headcanon). Helps you make grocery runs and to make lists of things you need. Layla "officially" throws your baby shower, but Steven has a huge hand in it.

Suggests names, and they're Ancient Egyptian-inspired, of course; and while Khonshu would never ever admit it, he actually is pleased by many of the options Steven offers. They're thoughtful and researched and Khonshu is secretly touched that Steven would go to such efforts to pay homage to the culture he helped to shape for so long. (Though you have to put a hand up when they're a little too on-the-nose like "Merykhons" bc you cannot afford to beat up all the kids that will inevitably bully ours, either of you.)

Spoils the baby rotten. Buys things for them all the time. He keeps candy in his pockets all the time and indulges them a little too much when they stay with "Uncuh Steeben".

Loves them to death. Will fight for them to the death. Steven is pacifistic by nature and prefers violence as a last resort, but any onlookers (and especially those that know him) would be terrified to see how cold and calculated he would be if something happened to the child. No one touches any baby, much less one of his family; never again. His precision is a mighty sight to behold.

Marc is very quiet about the entire affair, although he's caught between being immensely amused by the whole affair (and mildly disgusted, if he's honest with himself - he never wanted to even imagine Khonshu doing the do, much less whether he could to start with) and also slightly concerned. By this point he knows Khonshu just about worships the ground you walk on, which has changed the lunar deity for the better. But he still remembers how manipulative Khonshu was when they first met, and he does pull you aside and checks in at one point when his nerves grow too intense to bear; you assure him that Khonshu's not trying to baby trap you and that you want the baby as much as he does, that nothing is remiss, and after that Marc is all in - which surprises Khonshu far more than you.

Is far more quiet about his concern than Steven, but is equally as worrisome. He sticks to you like a shadow when asked, and Khonshu trusts him enough to look after you when the moon god can't or is too busy. Texts you several times a day when he's not around, very brief "u ok?"s peppered while you work or w/e. They're brief and blunt at times but you can tell he cares, else he wouldn't bother to start with. Leaves you packed snacks sometimes, and while the contents aren't conventional, it's the thought that counts.

He asks Layla for info rather than researching like Steven would. Anything from what your symptoms might be to gift ideas. She tattles on him when the two of you hang out, her eyes twinkling as she shares the silly little things he asks out of genuine curiosity or concern, and while you never rib him about it all directly, you do tease him about acting like it's his own kid to a certain extent. His pent up paternal feelings leak out in droves, and you pick on Layla about actually giving him a baby if that's something they ever discussed/planned on. She's just as surprised by his behavior as you are, but she does think about it.

Once the baby arrives, though, he shuts down for a while and stays on the sidelines. He doesn't want to touch them. He doesn't even want to hold them. But it's just because he's terrified; and after you and Layla work with him through that initial fear of hurting the baby accidentally, he cries a bit the first time he does hold them. He appreciates the both of you not mentioning it and kindly looking away and discussing other things in soft tones while he gazes at the innocent little face and marvels at the tiny fingers wrapped around his own index. He murmurs promises to them and kisses their forehead and almost tells you no instinctually when you take the baby back to breastfeed; he blushes a bit, embarrassed, and awkwardly sidesteps by saying that you can just let him know when you need a break. (Watch out Layla, he might most definitely be getting baby fever.)

Refers to them with nicknames almost exclusively, but on meaningful occasions he says their name and tears up a bit every time, much to his chagrin. Offers to handle the "earth-dad" aspects of raising a child (bc let's be real, Khonshu doesn't know how to change oil in a vehicle). He fights with Jake and Steven a bit over those sorts of things, tbh, but they acquiesce when they realize that it's actually helping Marc to heal some of the old wounds from Elias never really stepping up when Marc needed him most. If the child ever asks for his help, calls on him for emergencies, or anything of the sort, it makes him feel ten feet tall and bullet proof - and that maybe, just maybe, he's done something worthwhile with his life, to be able to offer safety and comfort to someone.

Will tear up if you ask him to be a godfather, and it takes him a minute to respond bc he doesn't want his voice to crack. (It still does.) Promises you that he'll protect the baby with his life if it comes down to it, and is deadly serious. He never wants to see another child close to him suffer in any capacity, and there will be hell to pay if there is. Never again.

Jake acts flippant and joking about it all externally, but inside he's actually kind of excited like Steven, but he keeps his distance since he likely has next to no experience with kids of any age (so he'll probably do better once the kid is a little older tbh, and then he'll be the fun but reliable uncle). He's not as concerned as Marc about yours and Khonshu's relationship, but that's partially because he has full confidence that he could take Khonshu out if need be. (Don't ask him how. He won't share that information with anyone. That old bird had just better take care of you and the baby, or else.)

Stays on the sidelines during your pregnancy for the most part, usually letting Steven or Marc handle it since they know better, but he pops in to help at the most unexpected times, usually with exactly the solution or product that you need to alleviate your problems. He once even offers to take the weight of your belly when Khonshu's out and can't do it himself. He's quiet and resolute, but when he feels the baby kick against his hand he's done for. Add another person to his "protect at all costs" list.

Would actually probably be the one most calm during your labor. I imagine even Khonshu would be fretting, in his booming, agitated way; meanwhile Jake's as calm as a cucumber carrying the baby bag into the hospital helping you updating the nurse on how far apart your contractions are. Lets you hold his hand when they hurt and doesn't even complain when his knuckles grind. He'll tease you a little about your grip strength to get you to laugh a little though.

Where Marc refused to hold the baby at first, and Steven was really anxious about doing it right, Jake just clicks into business mode bc you're asking him for help while recovering and doesn't even really think about it. He's a natural, despite his internalized worries. Eventually, if he fronts while babysitting, he'll sing to the baby to help lull them to sleep, soft Hebrew or Spanish lullabies from memories Steven and Marc hardly even remember. He even gets Layla to teach him Arabic ones, too. "Gotta start 'em early on speaking; don't want them lost in conversation, wherever they go."

Never calls them by their real name unless it's serious. Very fun, if unusual, nicknames, mostly in Spanish. Definitely the one the kid would call in the middle of the night to bail them out of situations without a word spoken for the rest of their lives. He'd rather them call him if they're drunk and need a driver than be afraid of asking. (He's definitely doodling on their face while they're passed out though.) Teaches them to curse way too early. And if Khonshu's being a hardass about something, Jake's the only one that can talk him down out of it and get him to pull his head out of his ass to apologize and readjust his decisions more mercifully.

He assumes you're going to ask him to be a godfather, tbh, and isn't surprised...but deep down, he's still flattered and touched that you would trust him that much with your baby. Will kill at the tip of a hat for the kid. (Probably has, tbh, but that anybody but Khonshu would know. Never again.) He's the one that has the most impact on guiding Khonshu, though, since he sort of had to fill the paternal void in the system. Khonshu eventually even goes to him for advice.

Layla doesn't really show it, but she's so excited. Almost as much as Steven. She definitely threatens Khonshu to his face, though...and actually succeeds in intimidating him a bit, since she has the power of Tawaret on her side (being a patroness of mothers and children). Tawaret definitely consults Khonshu (without him asking), too, and offers her assistance whenever they should need it. (Please let her and Layla babysit, she would have so much fun.)

Will be there with you every step of the way. If there are any intimate, lady-related things you need help with that you don't feel comfortable asking the boys or Khonshu about, she'll do it without question nor hesitation. She helps you get all the medical stuff straightened out; appointments, arrangements, classes, etc. You can tell her anything, even the negative thoughts and stuff, and she won't breathe a word of it to anyone if you ask her to be discreet about it.

I imagine her having a big family tbh, so perhaps she has more hands-on experience than the others do. She's your rock when you get anxious, bc let's be honest; the men don't always fully grasp what's going on. She keeps you steady and calm and talks you through whatever you're going through with a level head. "Women have been giving birth for thousands of years," she assures you, "so you are by no means the first, and you will most definitely not be the last." (Something my grandmother has said when I've fretted about it being so scary in the past lol)

She's the one arguably most intrigued by the idea of the baby being a demigod, seconded only to Steven. She peppers Khonshu with questions about whether any such cases existed beforehand (bc in the scant mythological records, there hadn't been). Even he has to admit that he is uncertain as to what kind of child will result out of your union. They'll probably have supernatural abilities, but he isn't sure whether they'll be "immortal/godlike" like native Heliopolitans are. She's the only one he'll admit that he's a bit nervous about that to, not knowing what to expect on that front. If he has women-related questions, he goes to her. She only teases him a little in repayment.

Where he consults Jake with matters pertaining to fatherhood, he asks her about the more gentle side of parenting, as well as trying to get second opinions on how you handle certain things (bc let's be honest; he is an alien, he's not going to fully understand how human parenting works, especially when you take in to considering what your own individual culture might entail...he's not doubting you, he sometimes just wants clarification and doesn't want to seem foolish in front of you bothering you about details). He appreciates Layla's honesty and lack of sugarcoating things, especially when it comes to clinical matters.

Doesn't cry about being asked to be a godmother, but it's a close thing. She smiles so big and thanks you. Add her and Tawaret to the list of people that have the child's back. I imagine Tawaret might transform into something fucking scary if the baby's ever hurt by someone, too; maybe taking on a more monstrous form, and Layla's barely able to hold her back from tearing the world apart...but Layla kind of wants to let her do it, honestly.

Khonshu Pregnant S/O Headcanons

Khonshu x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: SFW and NSFW Headcanons. Fluff, Pregnancy kink, lactation kink, fingering, size difference, might be some mythological inaccuracies because I can't remember if he fathered and other gods etc

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Had an iffy day today and this just popped into my head. Have fun alshlsh

SFW:

He isn't associated with fertility for nothing. When you forget to take your birth control (as of that'd work against a god's seed anyway) and you two overindulge in one another on the peak of a crescent moon, a child was inevitable.

Protectiveness amped up to 100000%, the old man will follow you around even during the day.

Also low-key jealous. You have that beautiful glow about you, especially in the early days of your pregnancy. When the light hits you, it's as if the world around you stops to admire you.

And.... so do other men. Your breasts swelling, your figure becomes alluring to them. Perhaps an effect of the divine child growing within your womb? Either way he isn't above knocking shit off grocery store shelves and hurling them at the men who try to flirt with you.

When he feels the fools aren't getting the message... Khonshu will don his lesser-seen human form.

A hand on your back, a cold glare, and a subtle "Love" tends to intimidate them. Even if he may not look to threatening in just a plain white suit.

Finds any excuse to touch your belly. Whether you're one week into your pregnancy or well into your second trimester, he will touch your baby.

The life inside of you is precious, as this would be his firstborn. One he never thought he would attain.

Always reaches the top shelf for you, will not let you climb a step ladder, even if it is just one or two steps. Can't risk a fall.

Will run you nice baths with oils and incense to help you relax; washes your body with the most gentle touch many would assume he didn't have.

Lets you curl up in his lap to sleep, especially if your back hurts and you need to sleep sitting up.

Will massage you as best he can as your pregnancy progresses, will totally rub your swollen ankles as well.

Did I mention his big ass hands?

The old bird can and will lift your belly up to ease the strain off of you, and hold it as long as you are comfortable.

The best way, you've noticed, to get him to stop lecturing Marc, Steven and Jake is to gasp loudly, acting as if the baby has kicked you too roughly.

You wink at the boys and silently urge them to flee while Khonshu is distracted with checking your belly out for any anomalies.

NSFW UNDER THE CUT:

With pregnancy, comes changes to your body that he both anticipated and... not. This includes your raging hormones and how needy you became when they raged within you.

Is definitely down to have sex with you. However, he will not risk it in his godly form, so if you want him inside of you, he would don his human one instead and take you that way.

When he isn't in his human form, his hands will do nicely, they fill you and stretch you wonderfully and make you ache in the most pleasurable ways.

Massages the hell out of your breasts. A little too much, you'd argue, but the ease of the ache in them is too much to ignore.

And once your milk starts flowing, the man will want a taste of you. In every. Sense. Of. The word.

Him latching on to drink from you is far more relieving than him simply massaging you.

"It will help you grow accustomed to the feeling when you feed our child." He tells you.

Yeah right. Bullshit, especially with how he will either fuck you or curl and thrust his fingers inside of you as he does this.

He rarely finishes inside of you when you're pregnant. He almost always prefers to finish on your belly, as if to mark you.

As if carrying his child and the bruises he leaves on your hips didn't mark you enough already...

Cradles your belly when you are laying on your side and he is thrusting lazily into you from behind, whispering sinful words of praise into your ear until he has you coming undone with the most lurid of cries.

He won't admit it, but he does like to take you from behind while you are pregnant, his hand smoothing up the curve of your spine.

Definitely prefers it if you are on your back, looking up at him so he can admire your face and changing body.

Another thing... he loves it when you ride or grind on him. He will guide you with his hands, making sure you aren't going too fast or rough, he will roll his hips to meet you as gently as possible.

But this position in particular he likes because it allows him to touch you because he doesn't need to constantly hold you to ensure comfort.

His hands will roam you; your face, your chest, your belly, your hips; he will even stimulate your clit for you to make you cum faster, because he loves watching how your eyes roll back and the pleasure overtakes your face.

Oh... And you're crazy if you think he wants to stop at one. Even if it pisses off the other gods; your body is too delicious a temptation to resist filling with his seed again and again.

[bloodmoon-bites]

The Moon’s Shadow |:| A Khonshu x reader fic |:| Part 2

Warnings: Swearing, Angst

Summary:  You are the reincarnation of the god of shadows (yes I am aware that kek exists but for sake of this fic, kek does not, and you are in his place), you had a past with a certain moon god. A past you were certain was left there, but when you run into him and his avatar you’re pulled into an adventure that you are sure you’re ready for. Who knows how it’s going to go, let’s see if you two can stand each other long enough to get done what needs to be done.

Word count: 870 Info: Y/N = your name Y/G/N = your god name

N/N = nickname

F/C = favorite color

E/C = Eye color

'Aeiduk = I promise in Arabic “Long time no see,” I said I looked over at the god, who looked shocked, frantic almost before chuckling slightly and shaking my head at him. My eyes wandered over to his avatar, who looked very confused, then back to him

“So, what have you managed to do this time bird boy?” I said crossing my arms and I heard him scoff

“So you come back from the dead and all you can say is ‘So, what have you managed to do this time bird boy?’ well then, looks like some people don’t ever change,” he said shaking his head, to which I scoffed

“Look who’s talking! You haven’t either,” I scoffed and let out a quick, short-lived, chuckle “I was a fool to think you may have gotten better, maybe changed, but no, you’re still the same asshole that I left eons ago!” I yelled at him, feeling tears begin accumulating in my eyes, the scenes of our fights running through my head

He sighed and shook his head again “as much as I would love to fight with you about the past we have bigger things on our hands… my previous avatar has taken to ammit. He is trying to revive her, pull her from her tomb, and now, thanks to this idiot,” he said pointing to his avatar “he now has the scarab! So now he’s going to know exactly where she is!” he said growling slightly out of anger

“Well have you tried talking to the others? Maybe bringing it up? Calling a meeting?” I asked crossing my arms again, wiping my eyes. He shook his head and sighed

“Listen, a lot has happened since you died okay? Long story short, I got banished, and I doubt they’d listen to me” he said sighing, cooling down a little, before I could reply I heard a voice interject

“I’m sorry, but who the hell are you?” I turned around the see the avatar “Y/G/N, the Egyptian god of shadow and chaos, and you are?” I said raising a brow

“Marc, Marc Spector.” the man, Marc apparently, said looking me over quickly, “and excuse me, but you don’t look like a god,” he said motioning to khonshu, I chuckled lightly and shook my head

“I’m a shape-shifter, I just prefer a more human look, rather than a more, animalistic one,” I said smirking before slowly fading into the shadows, making him shoot he had around trying to find me, before appearing behind him and leaning into his ear 

“Boo~” I watch the man jump and I started laughing smiling before looking over to khonshu and disappearing before reappearing in front of him

“Well then, looks like I’ll have to help you with your ammit problem hmm? Just try to stay off my ass will you?” I asked sighing, “and try not to argue about every little thing okay?” I said placing a hand on the hand he was using to hold his moon staff. The wind blew my F/C jacket out of the way revealing the old moon necklace he had given me all those years ago. I saw his head move to look at it and then at my hand. 

                                                   3rd person pov

If he could smile he would, but he was trying to keep a more neutral expression, trying to not let y/n know he had missed them dearly, hell he even missed their fight, just their voice alone was so much that he wanted to wrap them up in his arms once again. he looked up at them, and offered a small nod, looking into their E/C eyes and watching as their H/C hair was messed around with by the wind, a few strands flowing with it. It was all so much for the god, he looked over to his avatar

“Marc, may we have a moment alone?” he asked staring the man down. Marc simply nodded and turned a corner to walk off leaving the two gods alone to talk. 

Khonshu slowly turned to place his staff against the wall and he turned back to the god in front of him before sighing, trying to make sure his voice wouldn’t waver or stutter

“God, how I’ve missed you…” he said taking them in his arms and pulling them into a tight hug. Y/n stiffened at the touch before small tears began welling up in their eyes as they returned the hug

“I’m truly sorry for what I did, I’ve realized what I did wrong, and I’m sorry… please, just come back to me” Khonshu let his walls down for once, something he did rarely even around you, and only raw emotion flowed from him “I caused you pain, and I tore us apart, and for that, there is no amount of apology I can give to fix what happened”  Y/N looked up at the moon god, offering him a small smile “Promise me, promise me you won’t let your anger get the best of you again… then, yes, I’ll come back to you” Khonshu nodded “'aeiduk” and laid his forehead on Y/N’s. They leaned up and placed a small kiss on his bird skull beak “Love you, birdboy…” Tags for the people who liked my post saying this was coming out: @wlfia @prophecyflame @1storminsummer @beautifulweaselranchgarden @urleftball @poeticine @strangersomeone @sporadicoafshepherdpainter-blog @memento-mora @acceptedbyace @instantalien​

[a-wanderin-whirlybird]

I'm sick with a stomach bug so while I'm laying in bed Batfam headcannons

If anyone in the mansion gets sick Alfred makes them take a break until they are at 100 percent again

Yes even you Master Bruce

You can't bribe Alfred he will make you stay home

Everyone has their own sick meals that the others make for them those who aren't sick usually run to get supplies while Alfred cares for the sick ones

Jason does help make the soups occasionally if he isn't sick

But more often than not Jason and or Dick and Damien are on Guard duty to ensure the patient doesn't try to go on patrol.

As for everyone's go to sick foods

Bruce always wants the classic chicken noodle soup if his stomach can handle it. It's an old Wayne recipe and one of the many he has memorized and has made for his own kids. Alfred always makes it for him when Bruce is sick.

Said chicken noodles soup is made from a bone broth, The household has a habit of keeping the bones from meals to make broths and chicken is no different. The bones are stewed with meat, fat and cartilage still clinging to it for several hours at a low simmer. Adding in celery salt, garlic, onion powder, oregano and a dash of ground ginger the broth itself is super comforting. Alfred adds back in any leftover chicken from the carcass or a previous dinner and adds lightly sautéed onion. Carrot and celery. Finally adding in to the serving bowl a healthy mound of egg noodles and the soup is ready

Dick wants goulash if he can handle it, the recipe was one his father used to make for him when he was sick as a little kid. Slow simmered beef chunks in a tomato based broth with soft flavorful onion and garlic and served over a Maize porridge.

Alfred spent years when dick first arrived piecing the recipe back together from Dick's vague memories of helping his father make it. When the recipe was completed it was spot on to how Dick remembered it.

Jason wants toast with peanut butter that's it. He is prone to stomach bugs and does not want anything too heavy. On occasion when he is sick but can eat more he wants The Wayne's chicken noodles soup.

Barbara likes Rice when sick. Too many flavors never helps her feel better so the plainer the better. She may add a tiny bit of butter but not much else

Tim wants tomatos. That's it. This boy only wants tomatoes when sick but can't exactly get away with only tomatoes so he usually has a tomato soup. He is banned from caffeine when sick and it usually only makes ot worse (briefly) before the headache passes.

Stephanie wants Irish Potato soup and toast when sick. Fatty ham fried until slightly brown and them drowned in a light chicken broth with potatoes. It always makes her feel better. It's salty too, so she knows she is staying hydrated with how much water she downs when eating it.

Cass didn't get sick days growing up and is still unsure what she would prefer. Usually Bruce makes her the Wayne family Chicken noodle soup, but she usually doesn't want to eat when sick.

I Honestly don't know what Duke would ask for when sick. But it would be warm and feel like a Hug. I still don't know much about Duke and I will circle back to him as I get a better feel for him I promise!

Damien wants either lentil soup or Congee. His Grandmother was Arabic and Chinese, and Talia would give him either Congee when he needed something bland, or Lentil soup if he needed nutrition. (Good Mom Talia only in this house) the first time Damian got sick at the manor Bruce contacted Talia and asked for the recipes. She came over and taught him and The other Bats (mainly Jason and Stephanie since they can actually follow a recipe) how to make not just those dishes, but several others Damien loves.

When Bruce ended up sick later that month Damien insisted Alfred taught him how to make the Wayne Chicken noodle soup, but added a few tweaks (cardamom and Colocasia aka Egyptian Taro) Bruce loved it and the recipe was added to the Wayne family recipe collection

Now when Alfred is sick, The Batfam all stay in, calling in friends and allies to cover their patrols. Alfred takes care of them they take care of him. He prefers simple chicken broth if he is truly bad or Eggs and soldiers if he is feeling OK.

Note, when Alfred is sick the Nats split up his duties based on who can do what without giving the man a heart attack. This means

Jason, Stephanie, Duke and Damien have the kitchen. They cook for everyone but especially Alfred

Dick, and Cass clean any mess that happens.

Bruce, Tim and Barbara do paperwork duties and errands

If the Bats absolutely have to go out on Patrol they fight over who stays behind to care for Alfred. One from each of the sections remains behind. More often than not it ends up being Jason in the Kitchen, Dick cleaning, and Barabra doing errands ect.

If all of the Bats are sick (Alfred included), Diana and Clark usually drop by to make sure both the Bats don't set themselves on fire/try to work, and that Gotham stays protected.

The day Wonder Woman showed up and kicked Joker's teeth in was documented by many a confused hostage and one Overjoyed and very Flustered Harley Quinn.

When the press asked why Wonder Woman was in Gotham she said the Bats needed a sick day and it was duly noted by all of the rogue Gallery.

If Wonder Woman of superman is on patrol and no Bats in sight, take a day off. They have no qualm with killing and Wonder Woman is terrifying