#like those were their epithets

[astrababyy]

Tamlin and Nesta for the character bingo!

tamlin and nesta in order :DDD

[username8746489]

So what is Sylvie and Rick's relationship? What made them connect

I'm gonna be honest, I 100% know little to NOTHING about their canon relationship

There was this period of time like a week ago where I drove myself insane trying to look for the confirmation that Sylvie and Rick were gonna be the POV investigation duo of Horizontal Pilot Command (The fifth novel in the series) because there was nothing listed in the wikis and I was staying up until 2am every night listening to streams to find it (This is relevant for later).

At 2:51:55 in the Prison of Plastic - CAST LIVESTREAM [PART 2], the Sylvie and Rick POV duo is brought up. A little while later, their dynamic is described as

Sylvie: Follow me, I know exactly what to do! (Has watched a lot of Detective Conan and is going to do his best)

Rick: Ah, okay! I have no idea what I'm doing but will copy you exactly!

During the period of time when I was trying to find that, I resorted to straight up closing my eyes and trying to skim through the Anime Campaign wiki without spoiling myself upon which I learned their relationship was meant to be brotherly but they didn't really get to explore that.

So from that, I assume that'll carry over into epithet erased, but there is the possibility that it won't.

[riggedbones]

see the thing about the explosion of indie animation that’s happening right now is that it still isn’t really… like. with a lot of indie games things are often more “retro” because the increase in tools and processing power etc means that making a simpler game like that is a lot easier nowadays and can be reasonably accomplished with a small team. animation however has always been very resource intensive in ways that have often just switched out for different strategies that may lessen that workload in some ways but be just as intensive in other ways or just depend on context. so just being “retro” and making something that comes off as just a bit older and not as advanced doesn’t really do much. so in order to lessen the cost and workload instead something new has to be done and while that does happen occasionally, it’s not the sort of thing that’s catching on atm

[blackvahana]

[lostandbackagain]

I don't know if I can continue reading sp atp because it's very clear valkyrie is never going to fully understand that skulduggery's the reason for almost everything bad thing in her life

[astrogre]

Aphrodite(1388) Beauty Indicators

What counts as Aphrodite(1388) beauty indicators:

Aphrodite in 1st house (YOU are appealing, this asteroid is simply who you are as this house represents you as a whole, physically and personal identity)

Aphrodite in 10th house (this is how you publicly appear to others at large, so if you have an asteroid here it kind of shows those themes come to mind in general when people think of you and what your reputation is associated with, imagine yourself as a concept, you perceived as a brand)

Aphrodite Conjunct Venus (your beauty and the way you style express yourself, you express your love and sense of beauty in similar ways, Venus also shows where we are most beautiful therefore the things that make you most beautiful are like Aphrodites)

VERY Strong indicators:

Aphrodite Conjunct ASC (it further amplifies because you become the physical embodiment of Aphrodite, no longer just a hint but may even be mistaken for her your form of expression and how you come across to all and most importantly yourself is just like Aphrodite)

Aphrodite Conjunct MC (same as 10H however it’s even more prominent, your Aphrodite characteristics may manifest or be needed for the job you do as well)

Aphrodite conjunct is at 0-2 orbs. Closer the orb more exactly like your appearance. 0 orb means Aphrodite is YOU to a T. Your physical appearance/public image/expression of oneself, if described with an adjective would be the asteroid itself.

2 or more of any of the previous Aphrodite indicators this asteroid is far too prominent in your chart to be an adjective to describe your beauty, it’s more like an epithet.

What kind of beauty you have:

- You embody the ideal beauty standards

- You shapeshift to appeal to the senses and pleasures of individuals who look at you

- People may struggle to define you by your appearance because you come across so differently to each person

- The allure (the buzz and positive talk of you) stands out more than what you put out to reality especially for Aphrodite asteroid in 10H/conjunct to MC

- You’re beauty is so rare that it’s unbelievable, people that hear of you described by others who know you may think you’re a myth or not real like a catfish or someone pretending to be real. Eg someone looking at your instagram may think you’re not real or if a guy is explaining you to his friends you sound too good to be true especially from the male gaze. That is until they meet you and realise you live up to their expectations and then the rumours of you further amplify as even MORE talk of you. If you start dating around jumping from man to man, people will gush over you

- You may pretend to be modest, demure and coincidentally sexually attractive yet your sexual attractiveness is purposefully intentional

this is based on aphrodites Greek and Latin scholars who wrote about the famous statue at Knidos on which it is based, says that Aphrodite’s facial expression and gesture show ‘false modesty’. She purposefully displays false modesty to look like her nudity and sexual allure is unintentional and just happens to be on her

- You show your beauty through your clothing perfumes and hair accessories. Aphrodite wore perfumed and silken garments, a crown of gold or flowers in her hair, and had expensive jewellery covering her body

- As time goes on you are more sexualised, no joke if you guys made a sex tape in your elder years you’d be like a trending milf dilf, especially with Capricorn, Saturn and 10H Aphrodite

Aphrodites depictions were always fully clothed until as centuries progressed the men that idolised her wanted to make her wear less and less, become sexier and sexier, they project their lustful thoughts on her and Aphrodite viewed it as compliments

- No matter what people may say about you, they cannot shake or change the fact that you are beautiful, they may also bring that up when talking about you behind your back if in 12H conjunct ascendant

- You have feminine curves which are shown best through draped clothing, you look best in clothes that drape to your skin and hug your curves

- No matter what you wear people will always see you nude or want to, they may sexualise you and you may subconsciously enjoy it because you feel desired and it feels good to know you’re making others feel pleasure just from looking at you

- You look best naked, your breast and hips may be most prominent and something men recognise you for and what garners admiration from women too. Women may look up to you as the standard and what they wished the looked like

Source: the idealization of womanhood in all her femininity; the Aphrodite sculpture, Praxiteles was mainly responsible for establishing the type-sensuous in its soft curves and voluptuousness.” (Morford 180). As told by Morford, the exaggeration of body parts, breasts mostly, became Aphrodite’s spotting mark in art

- You could have long hair, or your hair can be styled in a different way to other women, very distinct, it can be different from what others expect, your hair may be “immodest” like it looks like it’s uncovered, not domestic, you may put a lot accessories on it or do something specifically that makes it stand out and look better, it’s kind of “unintentionally” erotic.

- You look best in bodies of water, playing with your hair in water, when you’re showering, wringing your hair dry, you may get a lot of stares when you go to the beach just relaxing, or if you’re swimming. It’s something people could watch for a long time

- You love to accessorise excessively

- Men change the way they see you physically from your body to your face and hair, all just to fit their imagined ideal beauty standards. For an example: say a man may prefer brunettes, if you’re blonde, that man will imagine you with brown dark hair and romanticise it, from that point onward he can no longer see you as blonde no matter how blonde you are because the fantasy of an idolised you is so overwhelming

- Men fantasise about you a lot, women too. You invoke fear/admiration into women because of your appearance

- You represent the most ideal physical traits, you can be compared as the standard for others and people may put you on a pedestal so high that makes others want to be where you are but knowing they simply cannot as it’s not in their nature. Because competing against you would destroy them and they do not compare

- You may make people feel ashamed of themselves because you’re so uplifted and idealised by many

- You can adapt to the taste of the target/person you’re trying to seduce

- Your clothes and the way you style yourself enhance your features and make you look like someone who is wealthy and important of high status/nobility

- You are one of the most physically desired people to others

- Your physical appearance isn’t the only thing that makes you so beautiful, it’s the fact that everyone finds you desireable no matter who is looking.

Honestly when I think of Aphrodite I think of someone who is overly sexualised by men. Like they collectively came together and said THIS is what we like. She is the image of sex and desire because they put her there. And she likes it, which is probably why she is labelled as the god of sex, pleasure, love and beauty, it’s because she accepts all kinds of admiration from anyone. No matter how degrading or intensely it manifests. Do you too also accept love no matter how sexually degrading or intense it is? Do you have a tendency to expect to be glorified?

Source:

Link to the historical study of Aphrodites physical appearance

Homer, for example, said that the goddess could be recognized by her shining eyes and “desirable breasts.” Other writers gave her the epithet “Smile-Loving,” indicating that she often had a happy expression. More often, writers described Aphrodite’s beauty through her clothing. She wore perfumed and silken garments, a crown of gold or flowers in her hair, and had expensive jewelry covering her body. most of what we know about Aphrodite’s looks must be drawn from the art of the period.

gain, the representations leave much room for interpretation. The one aspect they have in common is that, fittingly, Aphrodite was shown as beautiful.

This usually meant that she had feminine curves, which were often accentuated by closely-draped clothing. When she was dressed it was often only partially, but the goddess was just as often shown in the nude.

She usually had long hair that was left at least partially down, in contrast to the more demure, covered hair of matronly and domestic goddesses. A favorite subject of classical artists was the emergence of Aphrodite from the sea, in which she was sometimes shown wringing the water out of her long hair.

Sculptors had more freedom than painters to imagine the goddess in different poses and situations. Often these poses emphasized her feminine shape and attractiveness to the male gaze. As the goddess of beauty, she represented the most desirable female form possible.

She often changed her appearances to suit her purposes.

This shape-shifting also allowed artists to portray her in a way that reflected the physical idea of their own time and place. Aphrodite could have dark hair in one place and be blonde in another.

Thus, our modern interpretation of Aphrodite has been filtered through the ideals of female beauty from not only Greece and Rome, but long after as well. Medieval artists gave her a high forehead and Renaissance painters showed her with flowing blonde hair because those were the ideals of their times. The written descriptions of Aphrodite were open-ended enough to allow artists to show her in a way they thought was beautiful for centuries. While later artists were influenced by the paintings and sculptures of Rome and Greece, they had the license to show the goddess of beauty in a way that made sense within their own cultures.

Most often, Aphrodite’s clothing and jewelry were described in greater detail than her body or facial features. The richness of her garments and adornments both enhanced her features and signalled her nobility.

The lack of written detail meant that artists were able to portray Aphrodite in a way they felt was beautiful. While these typically followed certain conventions, these conventions could vary between regions and time periods. Aphrodite/Venus was therefore shown with certain marks of beauty that had persisted from the ancient world, but also with the features and clothing considered ideal in the artists’ own times. She could be recognized not by a specific feature, but by her desirabilithy.

[thekatebridgerton]

HAVE YOU SEEN WHAT THEY DID TO MICHAEL STIRLING?!

I haven't seen part 2 yet but I definitely saw the spoilers on my dashboard. And for all that its worth, I'm really sad about it right now.

I've seen a lot of posts invalidating the feelings of book fans by saying things along the lines of 'if you don't like Michaela Stirling you're ...you guessed it a #BadPerson' and I'm trying to process which person's feelings matter and don't matter in a world where those same people preach acceptance and support. I want my feelings to matter, I want to be allowed to be sad about the fact that this character I was looking forward to seeing is no longer going to be on screen. But the truth is a lot of people keep saying that my sadness and sorrow is invalid shaming people who feel like I do with all the self righteousness of a pastor in church. because apparently not liking the genderbeding of Michael Stirling makes me a #RaginghaterOfMinorities.

And lets be clear, everyone can say what they want, but book Michael Stirling is not going to be on screen, his story was too emeshed with the gender roles of the era, for a genderbent take to not strip and reorder the character's motivations and major plot lines in order to make him a woman. Michaela Stirling is for all intents and purposes a new and improved character. More power to her.

Still that doesn't take away the fact that I am sad and disappointed that Michael Stirling won't be on screen and that it will take me time to process this in a healthy way.

So in case nobody has said this to the crowd who is heartbroken over the genderbeding of Michael Stirling, those who feels upset and disappointed over the loss of a beloved character and don't feel brave enough to express it. Let me be the first to tell you that your feelings are valid, disliking the change in direction that was taken for a fictional character doesn't make you racist or homophobic or anti feminist or any other of those ' you are a raging hater of minorities ' epithets. ( Some of you may even be the kindest people I've met on the site) In my opinion, those feelings just make you human, and you should be allowed to feel it and process the loss in a healthy way without being told youre selfish and a bad person.

Does being heartbroken over this give anyone the right to go and harass actors like Masali Baduza for doing a job they were hired and paid to do? No. Does it give anyone the right to go send nasty harassment anons to people who actually liked the change? Also no. In fact it doesn't give the right to people who have a different opinion to harass you either. Boundaries are a two way street. Don't harass others and don't consent to receiving harassment is a rule we should all follow

But it does give you the right to feel your emotions, process them, accept the change and move on with a healthy mindset.

Its going to take me a while to get there myself, but that's what I'm doing.

And that's the tea

[mochiajclayne]

Marineford Law is no question interesting to me because he pulled off a surprise, motherfucker moment and the timing was so good to the point that both pirates and marines least expected it.

Before I proceed with this self-indulgent lawlu meta post, I will go ahead and say that everything that happened between them in Marineford is a catalyst of establishing their connection later on in the future arcs. I am a firm believer that those feelings™️ started to truly bloom in Punk Hazard and went downhill in a good way in Dressrosa.

Long post ahead. Enjoy!

When I was rewatching Marineford arc, the part where Buggy was already carrying an unconscious and injured Luffy and Jimbei, their conversation sparked my interest.

Highlighting the bit where Buggy was confused about Law's verbal tic of using the suffix -ya in referring to anyone, overall doubting him, then asking for Law's name. Don't forget that Law is a little shit (affectionate) so he proceeded to ignore all of those questions to say this:

Interestingly enough, this part is tricky to translate. I found two translations that closely encapsulate what Law wanted to say here but mind you, and I will sound redundant about this with everything that has got to do with Trafalgar Law's speech patterns: he likes speaking in runarounds, purposely using terms with double meanings and connotations on them, and he's both reticent and cryptic. (I wouldn't say not to trust on his words but don't take them at face value.)

Law described his connection with Luffy as 悪縁 (akuen) which directly translates as evil destiny or connection.

Forgive me for a bit of sidetracking but the kanji used for akuen is the same with Robin's epithet which is "Demon Child" (akuma no ko). To further elaborate, 悪 (aku) means evil--both as intent and violating a moral code. It is also used to refer as the direct opposite of good.

Going back to 悪縁 (akuen), in true Law fashion, this word doesn't only mean evil destiny or connection. Depending on the context, it can also mean unfortunate love.

(It sounds tragic coming from him, isn't it? If your mind was blown after this part, no worries, I am too. This part gave me so much whiplash when I was researching about it.)

So, considering these two interpretations of 悪縁 (akuen), that begs the question, what is Law's connection with Luffy?

On surface-level, they are enemies as Law said so himself. They're rivals when it comes to One Piece. Their common ground, which is only known among people that Law trusts the most, is sharing the same secret name of D. However, I will take one step ahead and say that they both went through the same tragic fate of losing their loved ones, for being weak and powerless to protect them. They were both involved in circumstances where if they were capable enough, they could've saved the person they loved the most. Doomed by the narrative and subjected to trauma that breaks their heart and spirit should they be lesser men to handle such misery and grief. It is unfortunate, disastrous, and cursed to love fully knowing the fact that the other person could die like the ones before them but these two have the biggest heart.

Of course, Law will never say it directly. Thus, settling for 悪縁 (akuen).

It gets better. He did say 悪縁も縁 (akuen mo en) and 縁 (en) itself means fate or destiny (especially a mysterious force that binds two people together). Additionally, も (mo) is also a particle that is used for emphasis.

The implication, in turn, of what Law said to Buggy can be translated this way: Strawhat-ya and I (will) eventually be enemies, but an evil connection is (the futuristic possibility of Luffy becoming his enemy) is fate (that binds them).

Law made sure to emphasize that their "evil connection" is fate: specifically, that mysterious force brought them together and compelled him to be there, that he was meant to sail to Marineford, and help Luffy escape.

These two translations are the closest that I found to be accurate but it's still scratching the surface of what Law said:

This entire panel between Ivankov and Law makes it funnier because he clocked him IMMEDIATELY.

Ivankov asked if he's friends with Luffy to which he replied: no.

He also emphasized that that he doesn't have any obligation to help him but then went on to say this:

親切 (shinsetsu) means kind, generous, gentle, considerate. 不安 (fuan) refers to anxiety, uneasiness, worry, apprehension. These are surprisingly direct words but of course, Law had to go back and be cryptic again when he followed up with 理屈 (rikutsu), which could mean two things: theory, reason, logic or (unreasonable) argument, excuse.

I think this panel did a good job for translating it.

Law himself is providing Ivankov here the benefit of the doubt. To reiterate, Ivankov beats him to the punch which makes their entire interaction so funny.

Again, brilliant translation for directly calling out Law's bullshit. Lmao. Ivankov says 直感 (chokkan) here. It means intuition, instinct, hunch. Please take the next statement that I will say with a grain of salt but "instinctively moving your body" is usually associated with the context of being reckless to the point of directly exposing oneself to danger, consequences be damned, in order to protect someone.

Even Law himself acknowledged that he's not obligated to be there, so why?

Unfortunately, this is the elephant in the room that Law will never address. Several characters even made sure to point out that he helped Luffy two years ago and he purposely dodges that topic.

One thing I can guarantee is that Law never did it to get Luffy to agree for the alliance. Hell, he thought of the alliance after reuniting with Luffy! He adjusted his plans by then. Additionally, he never used the fact that he saved Luffy's life as his bargaining chip and leverage to get him on board the alliance.

Lastly, this is too much for saving a life on a whim, isn't it, Law?

[cherry-cakee]

Hi fellow Epithet erased fans! To celebrate Prison of Plastic’s one year anniversary I’ve decided to bless you with a nightmare I had about Epithet erased that will forever haunt me as a person.

The dream started off really normal, not that off putting until I opened youtube and saw that there was a flood of a shit ton of Epithet erased related content. Like. DIGITAL CIRCUS LEVELS OF VIRAL. It got so bad to the point people started making content farms and dumb thumbnails. (Artistic rendition by me below)

So yeah, that was insane right? But it gets worse. I go look up Epithet erased merchandise right? Instead of plushies as i expected there were actually plastic bootleg figurines that looked like the stuff of nightmares. It reminded me of those dumb looking redbubble tshirts and shirts. [Shown below + artistic rendition of terrible made figures, i promise my art is better than this…]

Fortunately before it escalated even more I woke up from that hellish nightmare and am now thankful we dont have to deal with LORELAI VS MOLLY SLIME CHALLENGE!

(Thumbnail Images for your amusement)

[sunshinescribes]

Between Your Name and A Prayer

Pairing: Dracule Mihawk x Fem!Reader

Rating: EXPLICIT (18+), MDNI!

Summary: There are few who can say they elude Dracule Mihawk, and even fewer who have held his heart. You’ve done both, and it only serves to complicate things when Mihawk seeks to collect your bounty…or so he tells himself.  

Warnings: SMUT! Ex!Mihawk, Angst, Yearning, Fingering, Emotional Sex, Rough Sex (PinV), Reader is a little petty/bratty

Mihawk knows he shouldn’t be doing this. Not again.

He shouldn’t be slipping through a sleepy port town in search of you.

He tries to blame it on your wanted poster, a reminder that you continue to evade the world government—evade him, but the lie is hardly convincing.

Not when he had spent more time than necessary staring down at your new wanted poster, his sharp eyes following the curve of your playful smile and catching on to your eyes, as bewitching as he remembers, and with that familiar glint of mischief shining in them. The look you give is reminiscent of the one you used to grace him with, just before you stole a kiss, or persuaded him back to bed—what feels like a lifetime ago now.

Mihawk tries to shake the aching feeling that blossoms in his chest. Your bounty has gone up significantly. Vice Admirals hiss your name over snail responders; wonder why you haven’t been caught yet. Mihawk is quick to retort sharply that he isn’t at their beck and call, despite what the Admirals might think, and that they can send someone else to catch you, or better yet, find her yourself.

He knows they won’t. It’s as difficult for them to track you down as it is for him, maybe even more so. Besides, they have an…inkling of an idea of what you two once shared. Feelings once held that they think he can use to draw you from the shadows. If only they knew how wrong their assumptions were.

He may be a hunter of sorts, but you are no prey. Mihawk has come to realize that he only finds you when you let him. You leave little clues—hints dripping with nostalgia. You tease him, dare the world’s greatest swordsmen to come and find you, and he accepts the challenge every time with the eagerness of an undisciplined child.  

He has only found you twice, and on both occasions, you looked far too pleased, not surprised in the slightest to see his dark figure slipping from the shadows. You had smiled and teased him in a way only you (and a certain red-haired pirate) would be brave enough to.

You finally showed up, Hawk Eye.

Mihawk despises the epithet from you—the distance it creates, but it’s necessary, isn’t it? It makes it easier to fall into a night of ravenous bliss without considering that you two once shared a home and your hearts.

Mihawk continues to shift through the lifeless town, the chilly midnight air working like a balm to his tortured soul, allowing him a moment of respite as his eyes flit between dimly lit shops. This venture started nearly a week ago with Mihawk idly flipping through the newspaper, curious to see what troubles were brewing in the Grand Line. Little caught his interest as he read, but when he turned to the last page, his eyes lingered on a single photo. An unexpected offering.

You, disguised well and hidden in a crowd, your face was obscured by the hat you wore, similar to the ones donned by those beside you. To anyone else, you were nothing more than another spectator, but the necklace that rested against your collar screamed your identity—the same one Mihawk had placed around your neck a year prior.

What fun you must have finding new ways to reel him in.

The first time Mihawk sought you out, he had been certain of catching you. His objective left him the second your warm eyes fell on him, and your mouth ventured where his body had missed you most. The second time, he had sworn he would not be tempted, but his will had shattered easily. Mihawk lost himself as he pressed you up against the wall of a cramped room in a seedy hostel, your nails digging into the flesh of his bare back while he took you apart as he had done so many times before.

What would he do this time? Mihawk had tried to reason that he would not be so weak-willed—so foolish as to let you reduce him to a man incapable of thinking beyond the flesh—but the certainty he once held was steadily slipping out of reach with each encounter.

A frustrated sigh escapes Mihawk’s parted lips as he stops in front of a shabby tavern. His eyes follow the curves of the poorly painted sign, faded and scuffed from lack of proper upkeep. It’s lifeless. No music pouring out the doors or cheery carols of drunken men. No heady scent of rum or grog. The tavern is completely devoid of life, save for the soft, flickering candlelight that paints the windows in a warm orange hue, and a single slippery patron Mihawk knows is inside.

He ignores the warring voices in his head as he pushes the door open, and there you are.

You sit perched on the counter, legs crossed, and head tilted slightly as you cradle a bottle in your hand. You hum a soft tune, your eyes downcast and far off in thought. Mihawk thinks perhaps your thoughts might be of him, because he recognizes the melody. It’s the same one he used to whisper against your skin in the dead of night, ushering you into a peaceful sleep—just as it had been used for him, back when he was young and hopeless in the arms of a tender-hearted nun.

Your hushed singing halts when the floorboard creaks under the weight of his boots. Your eyes lift, and the somber expression on your face is gone so fast that Mihawk thinks he might have imagined it.

An impish smile graces your features, and your eyes lower as you take in the sight of his lean body, shameless and hungry.

“And here I thought you’d stood me up.”

You’re always quick to crack a joke, dispelling some of the uncertain tension that always brews at the beginning. You want this to be as uncomplicated as possible.

And Mihawk realizes suddenly that he complies, says little beyond your name, and takes what you offer, lying to himself that it is enough—that he will hunger no more afterwards…but his appetite is endless, vicious in how much it craves something it can never have again.

Mihawk takes a step forward, and you uncross your legs instinctively, spreading them in a way that would make the nuns he grew up with faint. Ramera, they would whisper harshly, before slipping into prayer. They would surely have some choice words for him as well.

Your smile slips when he settles on the stool beside you, instead of between your parted legs.

You want this to be uncomplicated, and Mihawk can oblige, as he always does—he can steel his unruly heart and silence the voice that reminds him of better days, sweet and silent moments in a drab castle that seemed to burst with life with you in it. He can do all this, but why should he give you what you want right away?

You sigh disapprovingly, before taking a swig from your bottle.

“So, you’re here to collect my bounty, then?”

Your voice is flat and unamused. Mihawk can’t tell if it’s a display of false bravado or if you believe he wouldn’t be able to manage it.

“I haven’t decided,” he lies.

Of course he has. He always decides. Before he even sets off to find you—before the clues bare themselves before him—deep down, he knows he’ll never raise Yoru against you. Never bring you to the admirals who have hunted you for as long as he can remember. He can play the part of the heartless hunter, but he never truly fulfills the role.

Your sly smile returns. You lean towards him, positioned in a way that makes your collarless shirt dip, exposing the soft flesh of your breasts. Mihawk is quick to look away, but you’re just as perceptive as him. Your eyes catch everything, no matter how minuscule.

You reach for his hat, placing it on your own head.

“How can I convince you to spare me?” You ask sweetly, setting your drink aside.

Stop running away.

The words catch in Mihawk’s throat. He knows why you’re running, why you won’t come back to him, not even if he swallows his pride and asks. The moment the words pass his lips, you’ll pull away. Stop being a warlord, would be your quick reply, and it would spiral into the same argument that had created the impossible distance between you two.

Neither of you would let up. You both would tear open tender scars. It would complicate something already too fucking complicated—shatter the delicate peace you both allow in moments like this.

It will do no good to start a fight he can’t win.

Instead, Mihawk lifts from the stool, reaching to unsheathe Yoru. Your eyes go soft for the briefest of seconds when they fall on the decorated black sword—such a stark contrast to others who have seen him wield it. There’s always fear, sometimes envy, but never fondness. Then again, only you know his sword as intimately as he does.

“You don’t need to convince me,” Mihawk starts, leaning Yoru against the counter, far enough so that it doesn’t become a nuisance. “You only need to take what I give you.”

You raise a curious brow. You’re used to leading these little liaisons, quick to chase pleasure you’ve been deprived of, but this time Mihawk needs something different. He needs you to want just as badly as he does, to see you as helpless as you make him feel.

“And if it’s not enough?” You taunt, always so eager for a reaction.

Mihawk doesn’t humor you with a response. Instead, he positions himself between your spread legs. A myriad of images flash in his mind—delicious ways to break you apart that almost make him shudder in anticipation.

He notices your pert nipples through your collarless shirt, untended. Desire takes him hostage, makes his hands almost shake as he works quickly to unclasp the delicate buttons that keep your skin hidden from him.

“Someone’s excited.”

Mihawk rolls his eyes when you chuckle, low and lovely. You think you have him in the palm of your hand, and you’re not exactly wrong for believing so. Though you’ll learn soon enough how easily he can turn your smart remarks into desperate pleas.

You let out a shaky gasp when you feel Mihawk’s warm mouth kiss your collar, slowly trailing down while his rough hands cup your exposed breasts, kneading the soft flesh. He whispers your name against your skin—perhaps a warning or a promise—before he takes your sensitive nipple in his mouth. A pretty moan rips from your throat when he adds the soft pressure of his talented tongue.

You try not to picture Mihawk between your legs, lapping at your needy cunt with fervor. If the wetness between your thighs is anything to go off of, you’re doing a piss-poor job.

Mihawk breaks away from your tit, a string of saliva following him as he tends to the other. It’s a lovely sensation, but you want more.

You snake your hands downward, attempting to unbutton your pants and slip your fingers where you need them most, but Mihawk denies you. His hands catch your wrist the second you finish with the buttons. Your breast falls from his mouth, and he fixes back to his full height, peering down at you with those piercing eyes of his.

“Hard of hearing, are we?” Mihawk arches a sharp brow, ignoring the murderous expression you wear. He can feel the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “What I give you. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

You glare up at him like a petulant child…such a shift from the confident, easy smile you displayed only minutes before.

Mihawk revels in it for a moment longer before choosing to be altruistic.

He leans close, his soft lips grazing your ear as he whispers, “If you want my fingers inside of you, you’ll take off those pants. Quickly.”

He practically purrs in your ear, his voice richer and deeper than you remember it being. You want so desperately to defy him. His words drip with arrogance that makes you want to bare your teeth at him, regain a modicum of control, but you also burn with such torturous lust—and maybe something sweeter.

You school your emotions, look as irritated as you can manage when you slide down from the counter, quickly pushing your pants down the length of your legs. Mihawk mirrors you, peeling his black coat off, before neatly placing it near Yoru.  

Damn him and his stupid, perfect body.

You kick your pants to the side, tossing his hat along with it for added measure—just in case he thinks you’re happy to do as he says.  

Your faux frustration dissipates the second you’re back on the counter, and Mihawk’s fingers glide across your cunt, coating his digits with your slick. You hear the words he doesn’t speak when he pushes a finger into your hungry hole—who’s excited now?

You shake, eagerly watching the way his finger disappears inside of you.

“Mihawk—”

He shushes you before adding another digit. You hiss—oh god—andhe pushes a little deeper, fucks you a little faster, desperately seeking that soft spot inside of you that makes you see stars.

Mihawk curls his fingers suddenly and knows he found it, because you make the most wrecked noise he thinks he’s ever heard.

Your lashes flutter, sharp curses spill from your plump lips, incoherent and crude. Magnificent…Mihawk muses, transfixed on your micro-expressions—the way your brows pinch together, the subtle tremble of your bottom lip after each pretty sound.

You clench around his fingers, teetering on the edge of your release. Mihawk’s free hand moves as if it has a mind of its own, finding your neglected clit.

Your fingers weave into his hair, pulling him closer. "Fuckfuckfuuuck," you practically cry into his shoulder. You shudder beneath him while a pool of pleasure builds in your core, so dangerously close to bursting.

“More,” you choke out.

The tortuous circles that he rubs against your aching clit are divine, but it isn’t enough. You want to feel full—fuller than his fingers alone can provide.

“Wanna c—hmmmng—c-come on your dick.”

You’re thankful you catch the plea that tries to crawl up your throat.

Mihawk swears under his breath, pulling his fingers out of your sopping pussy. His eyes are heavy, his expression is like that of a drunken man as he glances downward. He groans, watching the way you clench around nothing.

Mihawk doesn’t make you wait long. He’s quick to undo his dark trousers, works with speed even he might not know he possesses to free his aching cock—it’s so lovely, pale with the prettiest shade of pink dusting his thick head. Evidence of his own arousal pours from the slit, mixing with your own slick when he wraps his fingers around the base.

You watch him pump into his hand, getting his dick nice and wet for you. It’s such a beautiful sight, so fucking obscene. You can’t stop the desperate moan that pours from your lips. Can’t stop yourself from calling his name with a hint of urgency in your tone.

“Impatient—” Mihawk hisses, finally lining himself up with your entrance. He gives no warning as he buries himself in your soaking heat. You all but shriek as you feel the brush of his wet fingers against your clit again. “You have what you want. Now come.”

You try to hold out—you don't want him to think that he can make you shatter with a simple command, but your body betrays you. Pleasure rips through you before you can even consider a snide remark, making you cry out loud and cling to his lean frame. You shudder through your orgasm, curse between gasps, and Mihawk can’t look away—can’t stop the way his hips jerk reflexively when your walls flutter around him.

It feels so good, it almost makes him lose what little self-control he has left. Mihawk stills, grits his teeth painfully until his desire becomes just a little manageable. He won’t let this be another quick, meaningless fuck.

Mihawk lifts you with his dick still buried deep inside you. It almost takes you by surprise until you remember just how strong he is. He wields Yoru as effortlessly as one wields a dagger. He has taken down entire fleets with a single attack. Maneuvering from the bar counter to a booth is hardly work.

And you’re thankful for the change, feeling the cushion beneath you. It’s not the softest you've ever felt, but it’s certainly more comfortable than the damn counter.

Though it hardly matters, you don’t get much time to relish it once Mihawk cages you in with his powerful body.

“Missed me—” He thrusts into your heat, his pace downright brutal as his hips slam into yours. “Oh—OH, can’t you feel how much you missed me?”

God, you hate how right he is. Despise the way your cunt sucks him in and clings to his length. You feel the sweet spasms that wrack through you with each vicious thrust—how your walls pulse with a need to be filled in more ways than one.

It feels so fucking good—always does with him—and you’re past trying to deny it. Would you even believe yourself if you tried?

You blink up at him, watching the way Mihawk’s face contorts with pain and pleasure. How his long, dark lashes flutter. The way his delicate lips part and a sound that goes straight to your core escapes. He’s so beautiful—it almost drives you mad thinking about how effortless it is for him, as if he is something divine and otherworldly.

Is this the same way he sees you? When his eyes linger and he looks a little dazed?

His golden eyes lift suddenly, finding yours. Your breath catches at the expression you see hidden in their depths—the unguarded adoration. It’s so different from how he looks at anyone else—a gift only ever meant for you.

Mihawk slows the roll of his hips, moving his hand from where it’s positioned near your head. You can’t anticipate what he’s planning—can’t think beyond the tender look in his eyes.

And then you feel it.

The warmth of his palm as his fingers laces with yours. 

The act is intimate, full of loving intent.

Your heart bursts as you blink up at him. Countless emotions flood through you—unceasing affection that you try to bury, the pain that still lingers, loneliness, frustration, desire—it’s overwhelming in its intensity, chases away the unrelenting conviction you’ve nurtured for months.

“Mihawk,” you call out desperately, “kiss me.”

Mihawk stills, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips. He considers it for a moment, leans in ever so slightly before pulling away, cursing in his mother tongue.

He tries to focus on the feeling of you beneath him. Your warm skin, the rhythm of your erratic heart—but your request snags his like a twisted vine. It takes every ounce of defiance to deny you this.

Not unless you tell me you still love me.

Not unless you come back home.

“Mihaawk…”

You hate how your voice comes out in a low whine, but the need to feel his lips against yours is paramount. One final request to satisfy your heartsick soul.

“Too much.” His voice is tight, pained. “You want too much.”

His golden eyes find yours again. You expect his notorious glare, maybe even a sneer for good measure, but you receive neither. His eyes are soft…and a little sad, as if he wishes he could give you everything you desire, but to what end?

Hot, frustrated tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You try so hard to blink them away, but they fall without your permission, running down your cheeks all while Mihawk watches, his sharp brows lifting slightly in surprise.

“I hate you,” you whisper, but there’s no venom in your voice, no spite. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate yo—”

You taste his lips before you feel them—ripe plum from a silver chalice, salt from the sea.

Mihawk melds his mouth with yours, reminding you both of just how perfectly you always fit together. You melt into him, feel lightheaded when he pries your mouth open with his tongue, desperate and hungry, as if he’s trying to siphon the air from your lungs.

Your nails scrape against his scalp, tufts of his dark hair curl around your fingers, and Mihawk breaks.

He rocks his hips suddenly, harshly fucking into you with renewed fervor.

“I hate you,” you say again when he finally breaks away, a string of glistening saliva still connecting you two. The sight alone rips a breathy moan from his throat, and he nods.

“I know,” he dips down, pressing phantom kisses to your lips.

Mihawk knows what you really mean. What you won’t allow yourself to say aloud.

You still love him. You never stopped loving him.

He tries to show you how much he still loves you, pushes himself as deep as he possibly can. Mihawk nearly collapses from the way your velvety walls hug him—so tight and snug that it almost hurts. He knows he’s hitting something delightful inside of you—something that makes you convulse and sob beneath him.

“Please, please—” he hears your voiceless plea.

Mihawk groans, resting his forehead on yours as he pounds into you. He hits so deep that the head of his cock collides with a gummy cluster of nerves, and you tip over the edge with a sharp cry.

Mihawk captures your lips again, swallowing your moans. You tremble, fresh tears slipping from your eyes, while your second orgasm rips through you, so violent and demanding that it feels like it wants to take your soul along with it.

“My heart—” Mihawk grits as your walls massage his tortured cock, take him hostage until he’s pushing impossibly deep. “fuckI’m—"

Mihawk doesn’t finish his sentence—barely even starts it before he’s flooding you. He comes hard, pumping your sweet cunt full of his seed, filling it like it deserves. Your walls squeeze him, milking him for all he’s worth. It’s too fucking much. He shakes through it, euphoria splitting through his body until every ounce of strength is drained from him.

Mihawk collapses, as boneless as you, though he does his best to refrain from resting his full weight on you. He offers you sweet praise. A soft kiss on the corners of your lips, your cheeks, your chin.

“I love you,” Mihawk murmurs against your skin, so low you nearly miss it.

You’re too spent to react, though you’re uncertain of what you would do even if you could. You want the warmth of his touch, his kisses, and honeyed words. You want that fond look in his eyes and the tender care he offers only to you.

But are you willing to forgive? To forget how you two ended up here?

You ignore your mind’s inquiry. You allow yourself to crave, to fall deeper into this pleasant mirage as your eyes grow heavy.

When the sun rises, you will have to face this, but for now, you let yourself slip into a fantasy where you can love him without consequence.

divider credit @/cafekitsune

[littlesparklight]

Got the (foolish lol) idea to go through some of the works I know give physical descriptions of at least some Trojan war characters and collate them. They aren't in alphabetic order, sorry, but the works/authors are colour coded, at least!

I'll do this in two parts; this one for Achaean characters, the next one for Trojans. Watch Philostratus fanboy over Palamedes and Protesilaos (why????) and marvel, when compared to basically everyone else's description, across all works!

Helen The Iliad: 'terribly does she seem like the immortal goddesses to look on' (spoken of her, not narration), divine/shining/noble among women In Hesiod and other works she is given the xanthos = blond/auburn/etc epithet Dares: Helen resembled Castor and Pollux. She was beautiful, ingenuous, and charming. Her legs were the best; her mouth the cutest. There was a beauty-mark between her eyebrows. (Castor and Pollux: they were twins, blond haired, large eyed, fair complexioned, and wellbuilt with trim bodies.) Malalas, Chronographia: full-grown, well-dressed, with fine breasts, white as snow, with beautiful eyebrows, a beautiful nose, shapely, curly-haired, blonde-ish, with big eyes, charming, with a beautiful voice, a formidable sight among women. She was 26 years old. Tzetzes, Antehomerica: white, with soft skin and beautiful eyebrows and nose. Her skin was so white and bright as if it was made of snow. She had lovely breasts and a pretty face; she had languishing and large eyes and a melodious charming voice; she had long, curly, blond hair; she was well-behaved and perfect in everything she did; she was a lot more beautiful than all the other women, just like the moon is brighter than all the stars in the sky. At that time she was twenty six years old.

Agamemnon The Iliad: '[…] tell me the name of this gigantic man. […] To be sure there are other men even greater in height, […] handsome, nor so majestic, for he seems a kingly man.' Dares: blond, large, and powerful. He was eloquent, wise, and noble, a man richly endowed. Philostratus, Heroicus: Agamemnon and Menelaos were alike neither in appearance nor strength. […] He looked majestic and magnificent and like the sort of person who offered sacrifice to the Graces. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: white, big, of a wide chin and dark hair. He was well-bearded, well-educated, resembling the blessed ones.

Menelaos The Iliad: xanthos = blond/auburn/bright, 'standing towered with his broad shoulders. Dares: moderate stature, auburn-haired, and handsome. He had a pleasing personality. Philostratus, Heroicus: Agamemnon and Menelaos were alike neither in appearance nor strength. […] [he] wore his hair boyishly long, as was the Spartan custom, and the Achaeans made allowance for him when he was visiting, since they did not mock those who came from Euboea even though their hair was ridiculously long. He says he conversed most easily and very concisely, mixing pleasant speech with his discourse. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: the bodily frame smaller [than Agamemnon]; he had a breadth, though. He had a red skin, dense beard and blond hair.

Odysseus The Iliad: 'lesser in height than Agamemnon […], but he seems broader in the shoulders and chest.' (Also shorter than Menelaos.) Dares: tough, crafty, cheerful, of medium height, eloquent, and wise. Philostratus, Heroicus: extremely skilled in public speaking and clever, but he was a dissembler, a lover of envy, and praised malice. His eyes were always downcast, and he was the sort of person who engages in self-examination. He appeared more noble than he was in military matters; surely he was not well versed in preparing for war, in commanding naval battles and sieges, or in drawing of spear and bows. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: middle-aged, pot-bellied, white, with plain hair, nose looking down and fiercely glaring.

Achilles Dares: a large chest, a fine mouth, and powerfully formed arms and legs. His head was covered with long wavy chestnut-colored hair. Though mild in manner, he was very fierce in battle. His face showed the joy of a man richly endowed. Philostratus, Heroicus: For Achilles' physique appeared startling and divine […] When he became an ephebe, a brightness radiated from his face, and his body was beyond natural size, since he grew more easily than do trees near springs. […] hair is thick, lovelier than gold, and becoming no matter where and how either the wind or he himself may move it. His nose is not quite aquiline, but almost so; his brow is crescent-shaped. The spirit in his eyes, which are bluish-gray, casts off a certain eagerness even when he is still; when he is rushing on, they spring out along with his purpose, and then he seems more lovely than ever to those who cherish him. (long hair until Patroklos dies) Tzetzes, Posthomerica: tall, of a beautiful chest, graceful in everything, white, of blond curly and thick hair. He had a big nose, melodious voice and the eyes of a woman. His glance was terrible, in a race was swift-footed; he had long legs and scanty beard.

Patroklos Dares: handsome and powerfully built. His yes were gray. He was modest, dependable, wise, a man richly endowed. Philostratus, Heroicus: Patroklos, although he was not much older than Achilles, was a divine and sensible man, […] In size and bravery he was between the two Ajaxes. He fell short of the son of Telamon in all things, but he surpassed both the size and bravery of the son of Locris. Patroklos had an olive complexion, black eyes, and sufficiently fine eyebrows, and he commended moderately long hair. His head stood upon his neck as the wrestling schools cultivate. His nose was straight, and he flared his nostrils as eager horses do. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: middle-aged, potbellied and well-bearded. He had blond hair, red skin and lovely face.

Ajax, the son of Telamon The Iliad: 'outstanding among the Argives in height and broad shoulders' ; repeatedly called only second to Achilles in everything but looks. Dares: powerful. His voice was clear, his hair black and curly. He was perfectly single-minded and unrelenting in the onslaught of battle. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: brave, great, quick, with a nice nose and curly hair; He had a dark skin; he was well-bearded and grim-looking. He was more beautiful than everybody, except for Achilles.

Ajax, the son of Oileus The Iliad: lesser [than Ajax the great] by far, for he was a small man […] Dares: stocky, powerfully built, swarthy, a pleasant person, and brave. Philostratus, Heroicus: appeared less intelligent [than Diomedes and Sthenelus] […] looking fierce, and throwing his long hair back Malalas, Chronographia: tall, strong, tawny, squinting, good nose, curly hair, black hair, thick beard, long face, daring warrior, magnanimous, a womanizer. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: tall and had bright eyes. He was nice, had long face and dark curly hair.

Diomedes Dares: stocky, brave, dignified, and austere. No one was fiercer in battle. He was loud at the war-cry, hot-tempered, impatient, and daring. Philostratus, Heroicus: steadfast and having eyes that are blue-gray and not black at all and a straight nose; his hair was woolly and dirty. […] modest upon rebuke, checked the eruption of his anger, and refused to insult the troops or to be disheartened. He himself considered it appropriate for an army to appear unwashed, and he commended sleeping in any opportune place; his provisions consisted of what was available, and he did not take pleasure in wine unless troubles came upon him. Diomedes and Sthenelos were the same age. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: [he had a] body that was worth of four young men. He was in good shape with a flat nose, narrow neck and blond hair.

Sthenelos Philostratus, Heroicus: a good size and towering, gray-eyed, with an aquiline nose, fairly long-haired, ruddy, and hot-blooded. […] lacked Diomedes' insight, his power of speech, and his patient endurance which belong to both soul and body. He gave way to anger, was contemptuous of the throng of battle, was savage upon being rebuked, and was prepared for a more delicate lifestyle than was needed for a military camp.

Nestor Dares: large, broad and fair. His nose was long and hooked. He was a wise adviser. Philostratus, Heroicus: (statue, but also the real man?) with a beard that is majestic and well-proportioned; his ears display what he went through at wrestling school, and his neck is restored to its strength. In truth, Nestor stands upright, not defeated by old age, with black eyes and without a drooping nose. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: big, had a nose looking downwards and a fiercely glaring. He had a long face, flame-coloured skin, blond hair and he was wise.

Antilochos The Iliad: Younger than the rest. Philostratus, Heroicus: Because Antilokhos was still young and not mature enough for war when they assembled at Aulis, his father did not agree to his wish to serve as a soldier. (he arrives in the fifth year.) For Achilles' physique appeared startling and divine, but that of Antilokhos seemed to all to be pleasant and gentle. […] Antilokhos resembled Nestor, but that he was swifter, trim in physique, and paid no attention to his hair. He gave me the following details about Antilokhos: He was most fond of horses and hunting with dogs. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: younger than the other Achaeans. Almost a boy, he was white, with a beautiful neck and a big nose. He was storm-footed, provoked fear with his eyes and a beard just sprouting. He was blond with beautiful hair and grey eyes.

Neoptolemus Dares: large, robust, and easily irritated. He lisped slightly, and was good-looking, with hooked nose, round eyes, and shaggy eyebrows. Philostratus, Heroicus: he was good-looking and resembled his father, but was inferior to him in the same way that beautiful people are inferior to their statues. Malalas, Chronographia: of good stature, good chest, thin, white, good nose, ruddy hair, wooly hair, light-eyed, big-eyed, blond eyebrows, blond beginnings of a beard, round-faced, precipitate, daring, agile, a fierce fighter. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: red hair, that's why many had called him Pyrrhus. He was of young age, white or somewhat grey, the colour of the milk; He had beautiful nose and chest, hair curly and was daring; He hadn't ever been hurt, embittered, reckless and of a too wild temper; Thin tiny hair was growing from his beard.

Palamedes Dares: tall and slender, wise, magnanimous, and charming. Philostratus, Herocius: So then in height he was the same as the greater Ajax; in beauty, Protesilaos says, he vied with Achilles, Antilokhos, Protesilaos himself, and with the Trojan Euphorbus. His soft beard was springing up and with the promise of curls; his hair was cut close to his skin; his eyebrows were noble, straight, and came together above the nose, which was perfect as a square and stately. The resolve of his eyes appeared unshaken and fierce in battles, but when he was at rest their gaze was full of comradely affection and affable; he also is said to have possessed the most marvelous eyes among mortals. And in truth, Protesilaos also says that when he was naked, Palamedes weighed halfway between an athlete and a lithe person, and that he had a toughness about his face that was much more pleasant than the golden locks of Euphorbus. Tzetzes, Antehomerica: He was tall, white, with his hair blond and filthy; he was slim and had a long face; he was a servant of wisdom and of Ares. His hair was blond and visibly dirty, because he didn't trouble himself with stupidities like his hair.

Podalirius Dares: sturdy, strong, haughty, and moody.

Nireus The Iliad: the most beautiful man to come beneath Ilion of all the Danaans, after blameless Achilles. Iphigenia in Aulis: repeats the 'most beautiful after Achilles' description.

Machaon Dares: large and brave, dependable, prudent, patient, and merciful.

Idomeneus The Iliad: Older than most of the rest, gray-haired. Malalas, Chronographia: above average height, dark-skinned, good eyes, well set, strong, good nose, thick beard, good head, curly hair, a berserker when fighting. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: quick, had a dark skin, of middle age. He had a short curly hair, wide chin and beautiful nose.

Meriones Dares: auburn-haired, of moderate height, with a well-proportioned body. He was robust, swift, unmerciful, and easily angered. Malalas, Chronographia: shortish, wide, white, good beard, big eyes, black hair, curly hair, flat face, bent nose, quick-moving, magnanimous, a warrior. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: short; he had wide shoulders and beautiful curly hair. He was white; he had crooked nose, nice chin, wide face.

Philoctetes Philostratus, Heroicus: his hair was gray because of age (he was about sixty years old), he was more vigorous than many of the young men, his gaze was most fearsome among mortals, his words most brief Malalas, Chronographia: a good height, well set, dark skinned, eyebrows meeting, brave, good eyes, good nose, black hair, hairy, sensible, accurate archer, magnanimous. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: tall, beautiful, of dark skin and with meeting eyebrows

Protesilaos Dares: fair-skinned, and dignified. He was swift, self-confident, even rash. Philostratus, Heroicus: He is about twenty years old at most. Because he sailed to Troy at such a young age, he has a full, splendid beard and smells sweeter than autumn myrtles. Cheerful eyebrows frame his eyes, which gives him a pleasant, friendly manner. When he exerts himself, he looks intense and determined. But if we meet him at ease, ah, how lovely and friendly his eyes appear! He has blond hair of moderate length. It hangs a little over his forehead rather than covering it. The shape of his nose is perfect, like the statue's. His voice is more sonorous than trumpets and comes from a small mouth. It is most enjoyable to meet him naked, since he is well built and nimble, just like the herms set up in race courses. His height is easily ten cubits, and it seems to me that he would have exceeded this had he not died in his early twenties. Tzetzes, Antehomerica: a lovely face and courage in his eyes; his hair was blond and long; his skin was smooth and dark; he was bold, graceful, with beautiful body and beard; he was vigorous, although much younger than Antilochus.

Calchas Malalas, Chronographia: short, white, all grey, including the beard, hairy, a very fine seer and omen-reader. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: small, white, thin and shaggy-haired. He had his hair grey in the front and white the rest of it.

[lilac-5ky]

The one where he carries you home after a fight (Toji xFem!Reader)

A/N: My 7AM sleepless demons wrote this, not me.

warning: mentions of alcohol

Series Masterlist

“Thanks for coming, Toji. She wanted us to hit Roppongi next.”

“No problem.” Toji mutters as he lifts your limp body over his shoulders—arms thrown over his neck and knees buckled around his torso.

He nearly winces at the overwhelming stench of tequila emanating from your breath, praying that the wetness seeping through his shirt is drool and not vomit, though that’s more like wishful thinking. You are wasted. Completely and utterly drunk out of your mind to the point where you can’t differentiate the setting or those around him.

“Mistah, drop me off at the next station,” you slur with your eyes closed, pointing somewhere on the horizon before nodding off again. This was the third time you repeated that motion.

“How much did ya make her drink?” Toji doesn’t ask so much as accuse the two women, who are quick to shut him down with the dirtiest of looks. Nothing new. Your friends never liked him, and the feeling’s mutual.

“Make her?” Utahime huffs, rolling her sleeves over her elbows. “She’s the one who dragged us out on a Tuesday night. If anything, you’re the one to blame—you pushed her to it!”

“Senpai, calm down already.” Shoko lowers her friend’s fists. Out of the two, she’s the better one at acting like she tolerates him. “What did you fight over, anyway?”

“She didn’t tell you?”

With the way you stormed out the door in your finest high-heel shoe, black party dress, and red lipstick combo, he’d expect your lovers quarrel to make headlines by midnight.

However, they both shake their heads negatively.

“Who knows?” Toji flashes an oblivious smile before he gets you going. You were so angry at him earlier, and in all honesty, he did cross a line or two, but it doesn’t feel all that important now. Come tomorrow, this will become just another entry in your record of petty arguments to look back on and laugh at.

You’ve made it halfway up the slope that leads to your crappy apartment building when he catches you flailing around on his back like a fish fresh out of water. He slots his hands into the crevices beneath your thighs, applying enough pressure so that you won’t fall.

“Rise and shine, sleepy-head.”

Your slow blinks turn rapid the second you realize your feet aren’t touching the ground and you’re piggybacking on a stranger. “W-Who are you?”

“Ya don’t remember?” Toji rolls his eyes with a loud tsk. “What was it again? Mister Taxi? Mister Killjoy? Or Mister Buzzkill?” He goes through the different names you bestowed on him in your sleep.

“Mister… Buzzkill?” Your jaw drops slack on his shoulder, only for your palms to clap at his chest in excitement a minute later. “Mister Buzzkill, I remember! You kidapped me from my friends and spoiled our fun!”

“More like your friends got sick of your ass and called me to pick up the pieces.” He argues. “Hold on tight if ya don’t wanna fall. Climb’s steep from now on.”

Strength returns to your arms as they cage his neck. “Where are you taking me, Mister Buzzkill? Are we going to party?”

“Don’tcha think you’ve had enough partying for one night, princess?” He grunts. “We’re goin’ home.”

“Home? Whose home?”

Toji’s starting to miss the you that nags him about not soaking his dirty dishes. Alcohol always chips away at your mental capacity, and while he wants to be understanding, he can’t understand that which he’s never experienced for himself. “Our home, dummy.”

The epithet doesn’t faze you in the slightest. “Are you going to exploit me?”

“Prospect makes you happy?” You hum in return. “Fine. You can pay for the ride once we make it home.”

“But…” And you sound so sad that he cocks his head to peer at your face, glassy, puppy eyes welling up with fat tears that make him wonder whether he said something hurtful again. “I don’t have any money. My husband said we’re out of money ‘cause he—he gambled it away.”

The cogs in his brain are put in reverse, reminding him of the cash he snatched from your open wallet with the intention of waging it on a guaranteed victory and the little white lie you took at face value. You didn’t even give him the chance to explain that the bills were still in his pocket because the race was called off, and he let you run off to your friends without offering a single apology.

“I’m sure we’ll work something out.” Toji squeezes your thighs reassuringly. “Ya can pay me back in kind, too.”

“But my husband—”

“Your husband is a shithead.” He spits out, hoping that his remorse registers without leaving behind any actual trace of his words.

“You are so kind, Mister Buzzkill. Unlike him—my Toji.” The fingers of your one hand pull on your wedding band until it comes off. “Wanna marry me again, Mister…Toji?”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Toji catches the wedding band right before it slips from your fingers to the street. Part of him wants to scold you for being a scatterbrained nuisance, but the part of him that finds even your plastered form endearing comes out on top.

He slides the ring around the ring finger of his ring-less hand and pieces your hands together, holding onto them until you finally reach the front door and you’re sober enough to call him by his name.

“A’right, we’re here.” Toji declares once the key’s inside the hole.

He calls out your name and shakes you softly, but there’s no answer coming from you other than a single embarrassingly loud snore. He lets go of your legs and slowly puts your feet on the floor before hoisting them up in the air again, shifting to carrying you into bridal position. Your hands reach around his neck on their own volition, and he swears your lips curl into the softest smile when your nose pressed against his shirt.

He sighs, parting the hair that’s fallen inside your agape mouth.

“What am I gonna do with you?”

[saphstories]

one bed trope sonamy

As You Wish

The heavens would prove unkind tonight, she regretfully mused, wincing at the booming thunder that shook the skies and the carriage. “Not a fan of storms, Lady Amelia?”

Amelia Rose sighed and smiled awkwardly at her companion, sitting across the carriage from her. His emerald eyes were inquisitive, searching hers, while his posture was relaxed, chin in his hand, appearing almost bored. “Not when they impede the procession home, Lord Silas.” She replied, drawing her burgundy cloak tighter around her shoulders.

Silas snorted. “Aye, especially when I can run faster than the carriage.”

Amelia’s ears perked up. “Is that so?” She asked.

Silas nodded, a bit of a smug smile on his peach muzzle. “Aye, milady. I’ve obtained quite the moniker for my speed. My friends call me ‘Sonic’, and I overhear many of the townsfolk refer to me as ‘The Blue Blur’.”

“Sonic,” Amelia tested the epithet on her tongue, and smiled at him. “I must say, it suits you.”

Silas grinned at her, and warmth spread from Amelia’s stammering heart to her cheeks. “If milady wishes, you may address me so.” He encouraged.

Amelia smiled, and the carriage jolted and skidded to a stop. Amelia squealed and grabbed the upholstery to hold herself steady, alarmed at the slew of voices shouting amid the thunder and downpour outside. Sonic’s hand reached for her but hesitated from touching her. “Alright, Amelia?”

“Aye.” Amelia bobbed her head quickly. “What do you think’s happened?”

Sonic’s brow furrowed, a deep frown pointed towards the carriage door, his lithe body coiling tight as a snake. “Hopefully just a bumpy road, milady.” He lightly rested his hand on the sword at his hip, his thumb gingerly stroking the top of the golden circular cross guard. He shifted on the seat, angling himself towards the carriage door and creating a shield between it and Amelia, his hand now curled tight on the blade hilt. The carriage door creaked open. Sonic unsheathed his sword, the silvery blade somehow gleaming in the low light. “Keep behind me, Amelia. I will not let them harm you.” He whispered.

“I am not exactly helpless, Sonic!” Amelia hissed back, her cheeks flushing scarlet indignantly.

“Don’t I know it.” Sonic muttered to himself. Amelia frowned. The carriage door burst open.

“Sonic!” An echidna raised his mittens in surrender, his scarlet fur and bronze armor splattered with mud and soaked with rainwater.

“Chaos, Knuckles!” Sonic exclaimed, shaking his head and sheathing his sword. “You’re lucky I didn’t cleave you in two!”

Knuckles snorted. “I would like to see you try!”

Sonic rolled his eyes. “Perhaps now would not be the time, Knucklehead. What’s happened?”

“The storm has caused a flood in the valley; the carriage will not make it the normal routes, at least not tonight.” Knuckles grimly reported. “We spotted a tavern just a few minutes ride whence we came; it would be safer course if we took shelter for the night and resumed our travels at first light.”

Sonic considered those words and nodded. “Very well then, Knuckles.” The echidna dipped his head to Amelia and shut the carriage door, shouting at the others, and Sonic settled back into his seat as the carriage began moving again.

“Do you know the tavern Knuckles spoke of?” Amelia asked curiously.

Sonic shook his head. “It has been some time since I traveled this direction, milady. I just hope there are enough rooms for our company.”

#

“Well, if hopes were rings,” Sonic chuckled nervously, scratching a hand through his damp blue quills. Amelia’s cheeks blazed as rosy as her long quills, shifting nervously as she eyed the compact room outfitted with creaky wooden floors, a tiny wooden wardrobe, and one moderate singular bed in the center, outfitted with one singular ratty quilt. Sonic cleared his throat and gestured to the door that led to the washroom. “Ladies first.”

Grateful and flustered, Amelia fled, her decorum preventing her from slamming the door outright in her embarrassment. She covered her face with her hands and whined, practically vibrating with her nerves. This was not how it was meant to happen! She and Sonic may be betrothed and set to marry in a day’s time, certainly, but they weren’t meant to be in such close quarters yet! They should have arrived in Sonic’s villa by now, Amelia should have been formally introduced to his family as his chosen bride, and the preparations for their union were due to begin in the morning! But now, because of poor luck and a terrible monsoon, all that time meant to prepare her for-for intimacy with Sonic was forfeit!

Amelia took a deep breath. “Pull yourself together, Rose.” She muttered to herself. “’Tis only a small delay, and you are to be united with him at sunset tomorrow, what is one night early?” She nodded to herself and discarded her sopping cloak, reaching for a towel…only to find them missing. Lovely. She sighed and opened the door, poking her head out. “Sonic, are there-oh!” Amelia slapped a hand over her mouth, her cheeks now a permanent shade of red…but her traitorous eyes refused to look away.

Sonic faced away from her, his soaked shirt wringing out in his hands, ruffled blue fur glistening with mist in the candlelight. Strong but lithe blue shoulders gave way to thick blue spines glinting and sharp down a nimble back to narrow hips and a pert blue tail, still covered by sopping wet trousers.

Amelia shook herself and slammed the door, flushed and embarrassed and ashamed. What was she to ogle a man like a hound would a scrap of meat? Her mother would have her hide for such! Amelia sighed and shimmied out of her dress, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the chill. At least her chemise was mostly dry; it would have to do for tonight. She hung her dress and cloak over the tub, then faced the door nervously, biting her lip. She huffed, lifted her chin, and marched out.

Sonic froze when he saw her, his emerald eyes wonderstruck, raking over her before he cleared his throat and refocused on her face with a tinge of pink on his peach muzzle. Amelia wasn’t much better, her gaze locked on the white shirt Sonic bore, the neckline a deep v that showcased the peach fur of his chest and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the length barely long enough to cover his thighs. “Y-You take the bed, Amelia.” He gestured. “I’ll take the floor.”

“What? No, Sonic, that is unnecessary.” Amelia protested, stepping forward.

“Amelia-,”

“Sonic, we are to be married in one day.” Amelia crossed her arms. “As unpleasant as these circumstances are, it is what we are contended with. And since you are my husband to be, and we will be sharing a bed permanently by tomorrow, I see no harm in doing so tonight when there is no other reasonable option.”

Sonic’s ears tipped back, and he nodded. “As...as you wish.”

Amelia pulled back the ratty quilt and slid into the bed, wincing at the lumpiness. Sonic dithered at the opposite edge of the bed before quickly climbing in, putting his back to Amelia. She tried to swallow the lump that left in her throat and turned away also. “Goodnight, Sonic.”

“…Goodnight, Amelia.”

Amelia laid there, watching the shadows dance on the wall. “…Sonic?”

“Aye?”

“Thank you…for preparing to defend me in the carriage.”

“…I will always defend you, Amelia. I need no thanks for it.”

Amelia bit her lip and sighed.

“Amelia?”

“Aye?”

“…I…regret that you think the marriage arrangement is unpleasant. If you so wish, we could…negate the contract and I shall escort you home at first light.”

Amelia nearly shot up out of the bed. “What?” Sonic refused to turn over and look at her, but Amelia was no mere damsel, and so grabbed his shoulder and forced him to meet her eyes. “Sonic, why would you assume I think such nonsense? If I thought it unpleasant, I wouldn’t have agreed!” She exclaimed.

Sonic furrowed his brow. “But, just a moment ago, you said-,”

Amelia flopped onto her pillow and groaned. “I meant the unpleasant circumstances of the storm delaying us here and forcing us to share close quarters before either of us were ready, silly man.”

Sonic’s eyes brightened, and a half-smile formed on his peach muzzle. “Oh. I see.”

Amelia snorted and smiled at him. “Do you not know better than to assume what a lady thinks, milord?”

Sonic laughed. Stars appeared in Amelia’s eyes. “I admit, my experience with the female mind is woefully lacking.” Amelia giggled, and the smile that flourished on Sonic’s muzzle fluttered her heart. “You truly are the most beautiful in all Mobius, Amelia.” Sonic whispered reverently, gingerly smoothing an errant pink quill out of her eyes.  

Amelia’s cheeks once again matched her name. “Is-Is that why you chose me?” She mumbled. “For my beauty?”

Sonic’s smile turned sad. “I chose you for your heart, Amelia. Your compassion, your grace, your courage, and your strength. After all, it was those things that saved a starving young boy with two apples fifteen years ago.”

“Apples? Oh!” Amelia gasped.

She remembered that day all too clearly. It had been raining then, too, but little six-year-old Amelia hadn’t been bothered, dancing in the downpour with a smile and muddying her fine dress. It was on one of her twirls that she’d spotted him, a tiny blue hoglet in rags, shivering and pale, hiding behind a post…but watching her all the same with inquisitive emerald eyes. Her heart had clenched for him, especially when he whimpered and clutched his belly, and she immediately snatched the first things she found: two bright red apples off a cart just a pace away. Amelia had thrown them to the hoglet and beamed at him when he picked them up despite their landing in the mud; went to throw him more…but had been caught and humiliated by her mother’s scolding. When she turned back to look back and beg her mother to take him home with them...the boy had vanished. Amelia had never seen him again.

Until tonight. “I would have starved if not for you, Amelia.” Sonic whispered, gently stroking her cheek with his thumb. “You inspired me to become the man I am today: the man that protects those that cannot protect themselves, a man that shows compassion to those burdened, lost, and alone, a man that has strived to be worthy of your heart…because since that day, you have had mine.”

“Oh, Sonic,” Amelia threw her arms around Sonic’s neck and buried her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking with sobs even though her heart sang with joy. His arms encircled her, his fingers stroking her quills, his lips whispering words of love in her ear. “We-We need to go to sleep now.” She declared, beaming. “We need to sleep so tomorrow will come and we can be married as soon as possible.” Sonic tipped his head back and laughed. Amelia giggled and pushed him down to snuggle into his chest, her arms tight around him. He pressed a kiss to Amelia’s forehead, closing his eyes with a loving smile. “As you wish.”

[kaeso4ka]

You've learned something about Cybertronian culture. You got to have a nasty conversation with Optimus

Pairing: yandere Optimus Prime x reader

The thought that kept you awake was, of course, the theme of freedom.

The theme of freedom permeated every inch of your life: your core, your essence, your mind. You were woven from the desire to be free. Just like any other person who has been held captive.

But thinking about it always led you to strange paradoxes. Unsolvable paradoxes. Like this one.

You sat on the platform, sawing the back of the working Optimus with your gaze, and couldn't decide where to begin your claim.

You had many complaints about Prime, but this one in particular...

You've never noticed Optimus Prime's arrogance. Quite frankly, you were the more arrogant of the two of you. By right of forced servitude, you tried to respond to Prime's superior strength with aggression.

And yet there was a much deeper issue. Unresolved, making her feel even more insecure.

“Optimus.”

“My Spark?”

“We need to have a serious talk,” it just so happened that you rarely spoke to Optimus. Usually he did the talking. Or you yelled at him. But this wasn't a conversation. It wasn't a discussion, and you knew - according to Megatron - that Optimus was hellbent on talking.

Prime didn't need to be told twice to have his full attention on you. Optimus lowered himself onto the platform next to you, his whole demeanor radiating a willingness to listen.

But instead of starting, you stared at Optimus for a few seconds. It was as if she were trying to find answers to her questions without voicing them.

“I'm not a slave,” the subject opened with a direct statement. You didn't like to voice the obvious, but you had to often, “do you agree?”

Optimus' optics flashed brighter. Prime was almost confused. Almost.

“Y/N...”

“Answer. Do you agree with those words?”

“Yes. You are not a slave,” Optimus accepted the rules of the conversation: he decided to wait for clarification.

“Good,” it became easier. At the very least, “indeed, I am not a slave. I am not a pet. Is that right or wrong?”

“Yes, my Spark. You are not a pet,” Optimus tried to find answers in your gaze, but you weren't looking at him. You weren't looking at anything.

“You're not above me...” you splayed your hands, ”physically, of course I am. But not socially. You're not my king, you're not my God. Your word is not more important than mine. I am your equal. Are you?”

Now Optimus was slow to answer.

“I don't want to lie to you, but let me ask you this: where are you going with this conversation?”

“Ratchet recently shared some articles with me... Cybertronian science articles. He told me to embrace my future culture. And I learned a lot: both that organics up until the war - and even now - were considered almost animal-like; and that Prime always towers over everyone... Even his own Bondmate,” you could barely contain your anger. The disgusting epithets bestowed upon billions of sentient metal fools in their pseudo-scientific articles were infuriating, “I understand my perspective perfectly well. I will be with you. You have and will continue to limit me. But I will not allow you to carry around in your CPU the idea that you are above, better, and more in charge than me. And it's not about the strength of your guns or the processing power of your CPU.”

The fact that Cybertron society has always been divided into stupid classes because of altmode didn't bother you... Until you admitted to yourself: one day you yourself will live in that society. You'll live, but you won't let anyone look down on you from the height of your own ignorance.

On Earth, that was easy. On Cybertron, hardly at all.

“I understand,” Prime's mechanisms sounded quieter, calmer. Even the tone of his voice became even more subdued, “I know how important this is to you. I have always treated you as an equal. Even if there were disagreements between us.”

“Disagreements.” You always had other terms for that, but there wasn't time for them now.

“That makes me happy,” you actually felt better. It would be doubly unpleasant if, somewhere inside, Optimus thought of you as nothing more than his toy. You longed for an equal confrontation, “I was relieved.”

The revelation burst out and hung in the air with a pleasant understanding silence. For the first time in forever.

[alneedssleep]

Headcannons about Apollo pt.1 

PSA: This is mythology Apollo stuff but most of this applies to Percy Jackson Apollo as well. 

Apollo loves no sibling more than Artemis, but he is closer to Athena. They bonded over being the favourite siblings, gods of knowledge/wisdom and the fact Athena was somewhat in charge of teaching/raising him when he first came to Olympus. 

Apollo is the only other god besides Zeus to have the epithet ‘Moiragetes’ meaning ‘Leader of the Fates’. There are also only two moments of fate being averted in the entire mythos – once when Zeus swallows Metis and then again when Apollo tricks/convinces the Fates to extend Admetus’s lifespan. I imagine this means they are both capable of altering fate, it is just usually not worth the trouble. 

Adding on to the previous hc, I also imagine Apollo has pure white eyes. As in, no pupils or irises. This is a trait I imagine the Fates share as well. Zeus would as well if he had gift of prophecy, but he doesn’t. 

Apollo has the epithet ‘Lycegenes’ meaning ‘born of wolf’ or ‘born of Lycia’. Both work since his mother spent some time in a form of a wolf while pregnant in some versions and she is also a prominent goddess in Lycia. Lycia is in modern day Turkey, so I imagine Leto, Apollo and Artemis have some Turkish features. Specifically, they all have an aquiline nose (though you also see that in Greece), darker skin and (in the PJ universe aka the modern day) all three occasionally wear head scarfs. Not hijabs obviously since those are religious, but sheer fabric with a bunch of different designs relating to their sacred symbols wrapped around their head and hair. 

Apollo was less of an older brother and more of a parent to Hermes, Dionysus and even Hebe when they were young. It was only once they were much older that Apollo started treating than more like siblings but will occasionally fall back into old habits. 

Hera and Apollo have a better relationship than expected. They, along with Athena, mostly bonded over their shared woes of dealing with Zeus (who is not as bad as PJ Zeus but is still, you know, a king. And kings are rarely great.) 

Apollo is the most all-knowing of the non-primordial gods. He has the domains of truth, prophecy and knowledge and, once he gains the sun in roman times, can also see anything that happens during the day. This makes him stupidly well informed. Even his cousin Hecate, Aunt Asteria, Grandmother Phoebe and Grandfather Koios are not as well informed since they only have the domain of prophecy and, even then, only have a specific kind while Apollo, seemingly, has access to every kind of prophecy. 

Apollo (and Artemis) are Gods of Youth and, in Apollo’s case, he even has an epithet explicitly denoting him as an eternal child: ‘Acersecomes’ meaning one with unshorn hair. Boys in ancient Greece grew out their hair and generally cut and dedicated their hair to Apollo after reaching adulthood. As a result, Apollo not only has long curly golden hair, but is also unable to age any older than 15 since 16 was the age of adulthood back then. I imagine this would be the same for Artemis as well. (If we are including the PJ universe here, then they would be able to age up to 17). 

[maverick-werewolf]

Mythology Fact #1 - Sobek, Egyptian Crocodile God

NEW SERIES! Mythology Facts will explore many elements of world mythologies, but with a particular focus on Greek, Egyptian, and Norse, especially at the start.

Easily the winner of the first poll about this new series as held on my Patreon is Sobek, the ancient Egyptian crocodile-headed god!

Head of a limestone statue of Sobek, as previously on display at the Met as part of a special collection; Met info on the statue head here

In ancient Egypt, like many ancient cultures, the most fearsome of beasts were highly regarded for their awe-inspiring endurance, power, and ferocity - a concept often little-understood today, as animals are now often seen as obstacles to be conquered or put out of the way, hence why it can occasionally be difficult to detail to the modern mind the relationship between men and wolves throughout history (but I'm not on that right now, so I'll stop). The people of ancient Egypt held great reverence for many animals, not least among them being the obviously very dangerous crocodile.

An integral part of life in ancient Egypt was the rise and fall of the Nile. Sobek was a centerpiece of the Nile life - crocodiles were abundant, a testament to their fertility and virility, and they were fearsome, strong, and enduring. Sobek's nature is intensely complex and his "domains," as we so often think of deities as having, were extensive, including but not limited to fertility, virility, illness, health, strength, pharonic power, military might, protection (especially protection from, essentially, bad luck), and the dangers and wonders of the Nile. By nature, he was considered animalistic, unpredictable, strong, protective but dangerous, and highly sexual, aspects frequently associated with the most powerful predators in a given region (notice all those things are also associated with wolves). Sobek was depicted variably as a crocodile and a crocodile-headed man, and holy crocodiles were kept in his name.

Given his association with the Nile and so many other things, Sobek was and mostly remained a very important figure, especially with his later fusion with/association with both Horus and Ra, two extremely important deities...

This is quite the lengthy post! More under the cut.

Among many other things, Sobek was said to have power of the fertility of the Nile's soil, as well as its waters, and thus also had great power over disease, as the Nile could also cause illnesses. Like so many ancient Egyptian deities, Sobek also had an association with the dead, being called upon to bring them sight and return their senses in the afterlife, as well as to assist in protecting them (along with many other deities, including but certainly not limited to Isis, Nephthys, and Anubis).

Sobek's strong association with fertility is found in his many epithets and even the name we use for him most - "Sobek" is thought to perhaps even come from a causative of "to impregnate" (though some scholars contend it instead means "to unite," especially in relation to the pieces of Osiris). Perhaps the first instance we have of Sobek in a text comes from the Pyramid Texts, in which a spell refers to Unis (the pharaoh) as a living incarnation of Sobek - the pharaohs were very often living incarnations of assorted deities at various times - and says that Unis "will copulate" very specifically and that he is the lord of something that would probably get this post censored, "who takes women from their husbands to the place Unis likes according to his heart's fancy."

Mummified crocodiles found in the Temple of Kom Ombo; we have found mummified crocodiles of all ages, even including fertilized eggs

Now let's talk about a thing called the petsuchos. Mummified crocodiles served as images of Sobek in various forms, one of which being Petsuchos, meaning "son of Sobek." It is thought one crocodile in particular took on the aspect of the petsuchos and was kept in Shedet, replaced by a new petsuchos whenever the previous died. Following the death of a holy crocodile, a great ritual took place to mummify the creature and then put it on display, as it remained ever sacred. Living crocodiles were sometimes kept in other temples and holy places, even including outdoor pools. They were adorned with gems and fed delicacies; some were even considered attractions, as feeding the holy crocodile brought good luck, given Sobek's apotropaic nature. There was even a divine crocodile breeding center established by Amenhotep III (who pushed the Sobek cult quite energetically).

There are many depictions of Sobek found throughout what we have of ancient Egypt, including many of its time periods. He is perhaps one of the oldest gods of ancient Egypt, having appeared as early as during the reign of King Narmer in the first dynasty. His importance during the Old Kingdom, as well, can be found in the Pyramid Texts. The entire region of Fayum was a cult center of Sobek, so great was his importance, the seat of which was - of course - the capital, Crocodilopolis or Shedet.

Also very worthy of note is Sobek-Ra, a combination of the gods Sobek and Ra, that appeared in very late-age Egypt in the New Kingdom (1150-1069 BC), and even continued into the Ptolemaic Period (around 332 BC to 390 AD). Sobek-Ra (or Sobek-Re if you want to go that way) may have first appeared during the reign of the first king of the Middle Kingdom, Montuhotep II, as addressed in the Coffin Texts used during the Middle Kingdom (in which Sobek is addressed as "he who rises in the east and sets in the west"). As a combination, depictions thereof often had the head of a falcon but the body of a crocodile, often wearing the solar disc and uraeus (cobra).

He combined aspects of both deities, which is also perhaps thanks to Sobek's association also with Horus. When Horus took on the aspect of a crocodile during his retrieval of Osiris's bodyparts, Sobek became associated with him, even considered an aspect of Horus. Likewise, however, Sobek also was said to have assisted Isis during Horus's birth. Such deity fusions, aspects, and deities becoming an aspect and/or appearing in various myths in nebulous forms were not uncommon in ancient Egypt, and Sobek was also combined with Horus at assorted other points. All of this continues to point to the association between Sobek and kings (pharaohs), especially when you reach the point of learning about Sobek of Shedet-Ra-Horus, but I won't go into all that here due to time constraints.

So, obviously, there's so much more to say that it's, frankly, crazy and almost overwhelming. The study of ancient Egypt is a complex undertaking, hence why we have an entire field called Egyptology. So, consider this very much a simplified overview. Hope you enjoyed the post!

And stay tuned for news and updates on a major [werewolf/fantasy/adventure/horror/epic] book release later this year! Likewise, if you enjoy mythology in general and Egyptian myth, be sure to check out my other works of fiction, including this one here--also available on Amazon.com and many other retailers. Sequel coming next year.

If you like my blog, be sure to follow me here and elsewhere for much more folklore and fiction, including books, especially on werewolves! You can also sign up for my free newsletter for monthly werewolf/vampire/folklore facts, a free story, book previews, and my other sundry projects and works.

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