#the forgotten pharaoh

[theshadowrealmismyhome]

Had a dream that Atem and The Pharaoh were separate people, and so Atem’s found by Yugi and is trying to get back to The Pharaoh and it turns out he’s (The Pharaoh) kind of a dick and I’m so mad I forget how the rest of the dream went because I remember it being super interesting, but it somehow ended with Atem getting a physical body that Kaiba finds, and Yugi’s separated from them but making a promise that he’ll find Atem again no matter what

[sparklee-gem]

“A vessel no more, instead a crown bearing deity.”

I got really into Cult of The Lamb, and my brain did what it did best and smashed together my other major hyperfixation and the idea of Atem as The One Who Waits and Yugi as The Lamb would NOT leave my mind.

I initially drew up a quick sketch back in August of LAST YEAR,, and my motivation died out back when I wasn’t able to finish anything. It would stay an unfinished sketch…

Except the super amazing @book-keeper loved the crossover idea so much that they wrote a twoshot for it, and my motivation immediately came back to life.

It only took a year and some change, but I’m so grateful to them for bringing my motivation back to finish it 💖

Go check out their fic A Vessel No More ; my sketch isn’t a one-to-one match with their depictions in the fic, but it’s my initial drawing that I was able to finish and dedicate to this fic in return :]

No background vers and no color/linework vers under cut

[headspacedad]

Little Red Riding Hood - Sam The Sham & The Pharaohs

[scoopsofthestupid]

Never forget 9/11. 1857 shall forever be a year tainted in history.

[suzumori521]

𓀚𓀛𓀜𓀝𓀞𓀟𓀠𓀡𓀢𓀣𓀤𓀥𓀦𓀧𓀨𓀩𓀪

※ The following is all fiction.

🐕When Anubis usually looks so dignified and noble, but if you roll up some bandages and toss them, he gets all excited, chasing after them with joy, sliding and frolicking.

Along the way, Bastet swipes the bandages from him and gives him a good cat punch, leaving him to retreat with his tail between his legs.

He tends to hide things he doesn't want taken, like favorite toys or treats, in the Underworld, but he often forgets where he hid them. When he stumbles upon a forgotten toy in the Underworld, the Deceased urge him to throw it to them (and most of the time, the Deceased gladly catch it).

🐈‍⬛ While the Pharaoh briefly stood up from the throne, it looks like Bastet took the opportunity to claim the spot. The Pharaoh had no choice but to sit on a nearby small chair.

Bastet always comes to sleep on the Pharaoh's lap, at their feet, or on the desk. While thinking that it's a bit of a bother, the Pharaoh moves around to not disturb Bastet (but whenever they move, Bastet comes to another inconvenient spot).

🦅I'm imagining that Horus always sleeps in a place where Bastet can't come (maybe humans have created a safe spot with a special perch), and I'm mostly ignoring the relationships and power dynamics between gods in my portrayal.

[johnbrand]

The Stages of Arabization

With @next-pharaoh

“Jeez, it’s so bright here,” Henry oriented his phone up in front of the sun, hoping to block out a few of the direct rays.

“Well, you are closer to the equator,” his boyfriend, Alex, joked. “Dubai is a bit farther south than Boston.”

Henry rolled his eyes, “What would I do without that intelligence of yours?” 

“Too bad you don’t have your own.” They both laughed at that remark. The pair had started dating in graduate school, with Alex venturing down the path of mathematics and Henry following the racial trends of Sub-Saharan Africa. Everyone joked it should have been the other way around, given Henry’s geeky, pale exterior fit the math nerd stereotype better than Alex’s lanky, darker frame. But Henry loved his studies, so much so that he had been invited to a conference in the United Arab Emirates to talk on them.

Suddenly, Henry received an email notification from one of his sponsors. “Dang, looks like I have to get back to work. Just received an essay to review before the next presentation.”

��How long do you have?”

“Barely 30 minutes.”

“Well forward it to me,” Alex replied. “We can tag team it. I know this isn’t my strong suit but at least I can help cover more ground.”

Henry thought that was a great idea. Without a second thought, he redirected the email and wished his boyfriend goodbye. Alex would send his thoughts over text when he had finished.

“‘The Stages of Arabization’,” Henry recited aloud. He was planning to head inside to read–gingers burnt way too easily in the direct sunlight–but he noticed the writing was pretty short. Barely even a page. Henry was surprised to realize the essay was in Arabic, but he quickly utilized a translator app to resolve the issue.

Stage 1: Islamization  Islam becomes the majority religion or state religion.

Strange formatting, but Henry understood the statement as rather truthful. The historically successful Arabizations of Morocco, Algeria, and Egypt had followed a similar suit. Even some of the countries he had studied had shown signs of this progression.

Stage 2: Linguistic Arabization Islam brings fixation on Arabic language, thus the Arabic language becomes central to the society's identity. Arabic becomes the state language.

Henry found this statement agreeable as well. There was something so methodical about the Arabic language, how it melodically ebbed and flowed in such a way that it twirled through the hearing canals directly into the brain. Anyone who listened to it almost became entranced, as if captured by its beauty and awakened by its fluidity. Henry closed the translator app before continuing on. 

Stage 3: Cultural Arabization Arab cultural practices become common due to Islamization. Own cultural heritage is deemed closer to ages of ignorance and thus gradually forgotten and replaced with Islam.

Henry had followed this trend through his research. Many of the countries he had analyzed over the years had demonized their traditional practices once introduced to Islamic culture. It was like watching a child being given a new toy; the original quickly discarded for one deemed far more superior. These assimilations had even started to appear in Henry’s life. Thobes were the new fashion craze among his fellow researchers, midday prayer rooms had taken over labs, and even the cafeteria had become completely halal.

Stage 4: Ethnic Arabization Planned migration of many Arab tribes and deliberate suppression of the numbers of natives, consequently major demographic shift. Media encourages Arabs to multiply and mix.

This too had arrived in the workplace. Rapidly, it had become obvious that the university was prioritizing hiring Arab and Arab-American employees. Political discourse on abortion had suddenly disappeared, instead dropping birth control from medical insurances and advertising “Reversion Through Fertilization���. Luckily, Hussein had not been influenced much by this change. In fact, he almost felt as if he was somehow a part of it.

Stage 5: Fully Arab State Arabs and the Arabized become elite and majority. Non-Arabized are shunned and pressured to revert until no opposition remains.

Hussein smiled with pride, closing the essay he was sure to give high remarks to. His best friend Ali had a similar response, a text from him glowing with praise about the truth in the writer’s words. The essay was eloquent, thought-provoking, and would become mandatory literature at his lab, and soon throughout the reverting world. It reflected the future, similarly to his own phone screen: masculine, virile Arab men. Hussein felt a divine sense of conformity with Islam, one all were soon destined to see.

[m1male2]

The largest sundial in the entire ancient world: The “Horologium Augusti�� or Augustus Sundial, built in the year 10 BC, commissioned by the emperor himself to the architect Facundus Novius.

Solar Clock was built on a large circular square of travertine marble that occupied about 160 m by 75 m and was located on the Campus Martius, between the Mausoleum of Augustus and the Ara Pacis. The gnomon (the element that casts the shadow) was nothing more than a 30 m high red granite obelisk, brought from Heliopolis (Egypt) and which had been erected by Pharaoh Psammetik II between 595 and 589 BC.

It was crowned by a bronze orb or globe and projected its shadow, depending on the position of the sun, on a quadrant with lines and letters of inlaid gilded bronze, which indicated the months and seasons.

It was placed in such a way that the shadow fell on the center of the Ara Pacis on September 23, the birthday of Augustus himself.

The obelisk of the Augustus Sundial stood between the 8th and 12th centuries, when it was broken and practically buried and forgotten. Rediscovered at the end of the 18th century (1748) it was restored and re-erected by Pius VI (1792). Today we can admire it in Piazza de Montecitorio, in front of the current headquarters of the Italian Parliament.

[fanaroff]

DP Prompt: Incarnations

Sometimes gods forget they are gods in the reincarnation process. We’ve seen this proven already by Tucker, the reincarnation of a Pharaoh god. After so many times, you want to forget your stories just to have a life without the constant thoughts of your past.

What if Danny and Sam are incarnations that have forgotten as well?

The possibilities for who they could be are endless.

Sam could be The Morrigan, Demeter, Pan, etc.

Danny could be Hades, Loki, etc… or even Kronos. Who’s to say he hasn’t already met himself? Who’s to say he may actually be the first incarnation and he himself set his own creation into motion?

Who’s to say Sam hasn’t either? Vortex could very well be another incarnation as well.

~~

Random underformed thoughts

[themareverine]

Toy Soldiers | part one | worst!wolverine x namelessfem!OC

synopsis: He was just a one of those fast food kid’s meal toys from 1993—key word, was. now he’s Hugh Jackman incarnate, standing in the master bedroom of her midwestern apartment, lost in time and infinity. she’s gotta get him back to his world, where he’s the worst Wolverine, where he belongs—or, maybe not?

warnings: Indian in the Cupboard themes (iykyk), fluff, AU, not entirely sure what else at this point, nameless!femOC with blue eyes could be interpreted as reader, mentions of a best friend named Rose, etc, literally based on this silly little toy I rescued and now have crafted extensive lore for.

a/n: i didn't ask for this to become a multi-chapter thing. i really didn't, ok? this got away from me, but i really love these two so much already. this was fun to write, and she's a fun character to develop. worst!wolverine is just occupying too much brain space.

MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

Dreaming in color is a pro, when you weigh it against the cons—usually.

She’d been dreaming in movie-like quality since she was a kid, could pinpoint almost to the exact timespace when she first realized her dreams were akin to Hollywood flicks roving about her brain like Spielberg classics.

She’d been six, maybe seven. A hopeless crush on Wednesday night’s Steve Irwin had somehow twisted the innocent power of her brain—the only, almost divine dreamstate visit to Australia she’d ever taken. Still she can taste the hot air, thick with sweat and arid desert, from the back of an obscure Land Rover, jostled and bouncing along forgotten roads and who-knows trails. Eyeballing open sky and endless outback sands, the Crocodile Hunter and his darling wife, Terri, vivid imaginations to a childhood fantasy yet, mostly, unlived. 

And ever since this God-granted, she’d always assumed it was a gift and thus titled it so, she’d been dreaming vividly most of the last twenty four years. Forgetting her dreams was the exception, black and white—unheard of. Tasting, speaking, reading, touch was wrapped up in REM and weighted blankets, vicarious life she’d never, really, lived in her waking moments—everything from the supernatural to gut-wrenching. Martial bliss and familial tragedy. Combat she could only ever hope wasn’t accurate. Fame and fortune. R rated filmstrips that left her stomach light and fluttery every morning, promptly, at 4:45—alarm shrieking in her ear, viscerally ripping her back to the land of the living with frothing teeth, the Greatest Showman custom alarm all but a slap in the face.  

It’s, as usual, dark when the numbers on her phone roll over to 4:45—sucked out of a dream like the vacuum of space itself lays claim to her soul, her eyes flutter open heavily to stare at the alarm. Hugh Jackman would never be so unwelcome as he is now, blaring from little iPhone speakers—she manages to lift a noodle-esque arm to slap at the noise hanging out in the darkness around the vicinity of her nightstand. 

Fingers locate the smooth screen, swipe away the prompt for snooze. Roll over. Hand over her eyes—it’s Saturday The day after Friday, her first day alone all week. World beyond is closed away behind walls and empty schedules, priorities otherwise left-fielded for such days as this.  

Warmth simmers beneath heavy weighted covers, trapped against her body. Clawing up through her mattress, threatening to pull her back into oblivion. Pharaoh’s hadn’t been so mummified, entombed as she is now, but that’s the beauty of a queen mattress left unshared—solidarity. Armies only wish they held such control over real estate as she did these sheets, this bed frame—very little could remove her from the ecstasy that is this Eden, the one place that did not require compliance, performance, untenable perfection.

Here she could rot for hours, engage in adventure that the earth would never understand—that man would jeer. 

Heaving a sigh melts her deeper into her astronaut-designed mattress, stomach suddenly flatter than it’s ever been as gently fingers tease at the strip of skin exposed. Back arching, stirring nearly-paralyzed muscle. Toes skip over warm satin sheets as she navigates to her side, arm tucking beneath her pillow. Drawing blankets to her chin, another deep breath closes her eyes, shuts off her brain—all but ready to return to dreamstate, the screen on her phone illuminates again—diiiiing.

Light explodes, lighting up the area of her nightstand just enough to give purpose to her surroundings. 

Nose scrunching in an effort to unhear and forget the notification, her eyes slowly pull open as she considers the phone. It’s her best friend, she knows it is—Rose is up early. All the time. Taking care of her little family at the base of the Teton mountains, as if this is Little House on the Prairie and such things were the norm.

Her inability to ignore anything from Rose props her up on an elbow, has her reaching for her phone—thumbs the passcodes. Opens the text, eyes scanning the message from last night. 

It’s a photo message. She’d sent it last night, proudly showing off the latest addition to her childhood nostalgia collection—a thrift store find, the little McDonald’s toy is hardly noteworthy. Scuffed and worn, it had seen adventures, surely, in its pre-her-possession life. Surprise had knocked her between the eyes like a stone when she’d managed to spy 1993 printed on the little action hero’s foot, in barely-there legalese. 

At thirty-one years old, one may have expected the little five-cent made-in-Taiwan to end up in the landfill, rotting alongside near-radioactive diapers or kill-the-turtles plastic straws.

Nope, not this one—Marvel’s very own little Wolverine. Dolled up in a cute little sci-fi bronze suit, ready for a fight. Retractable claws, the hardly-scuffed cowl, a proud encircled X in all its glory—wrapped up in a little sandwich baggie marked down at the thrift. She’d almost felt sorry for him in that cute aggressive way. 

And almost giddy at the fluke cocktail of age and condition, she’d pocketed the little guy. A pleased smile, her very own little Wolvie nestled in the leathers of her jacket, then the bottom of her purse. He’d adventured to work with her accidentally on Friday, plastic eyes watching her pass the time at the office from his little perch beside her keyboard and Starbucks. Almost had forgotten him, poor thing—he’d landed on her nightstand among the other needs-put-away items for the weekend, proudly standing in his posed little battle stance.

All he needed was matching Sabretooth, maybe Magneto, and he’d be good to go. 

Looky who came home with *me*, shot over to Rose with a little thrill, a Snapchat-like photo of him perched alongside her night cream and phone charger. More of a proud sentinel guarding her bedside table than anything, she’d regarded him playfully, like a child—had told him to close his eyes when she’d undressed. Had asked him about a movie to watch in bed as she managed hip-opening exercises, relaxing breathing techniques. All but kissed him goodnight, promising to get him settled among her other collectable childhood wonders in the morning.

After coffee and cardio, wouldn’t Hugh be proud. 

Rose’s LOL text all but smiles back at her, and she’s a little cross-eyed from the brightness of her phone. It improves when her eyes skate away from the phone, to the little Wolverine—wait.

Brow furrowing, his absence from the nightstand sparks more panic than she’d be willing to admit in therapy—she bends over the side of her bed, fingertips skating the floor in search of her little plastic wonder. Nothing but plush carpet, abandoned laundry she’d failed to relocate to her drawers—her phone slips from her hand as she hauls herself over the bedside, to peer beneath.

It’s dark, duh, and she fumbles upside-down with the flashlight on her phone. Sun levels of intense light, she makes arching passes beneath her bed, but no dice. Nada. Zilch–zippo on the Wolverine toy. 

“Well this is just a little ridiculous,” her mumble rolls off a dry tongue, from messy hair as she works herself back up from hanging over the bedside. 

Forcing off her weighted blankets has never felt more urgent, importance spiking her blood with ill-placed adrenaline she doesn’t understand—why she cares so much about a little three-decade-old McDonald’s toy she’ll never understand, but the thought of him lost in the abyss of her house is more unsettling, again, than she’d admit in therapy.

Legs swinging over the bed, she plucks her glasses from the tray on her nightstand, grabbing for the light robe dragging the floor from one of the nightstand’s knobs. 

Wrestling a steer would’ve been easier than un-inside-outing the garment, still hazy and half-asleep and wholly uncaffeinated, but she manages. Another scout under her bed reveals that, no, little Wolvie isn’t among the dust bunnies and lint of her carpeted under-bed floor.

Brow furrowing, her glasses slip down her nose as she hauls herself back to her feet, sleep-stiff muscles protesting as she massages the back of her neck. 

Hands on her hips, she reaches for her phone. “Had I known you had teleportation powers, little Lo, I’d have sold you off to NASA—come on,” Triggering the flashlight on her phone again, she dives to check between the headboard and mattress, to see if her Logan lookalike decided to magically dive headfirst into the almost-abyss—

“—you make a habit of talkin’ to open air, girlie?” 

Two things happen immediately in her body. 

First. Alarm jumps up in her chest like a devil, deep claws sinking into the meat of her chest only to rip away any sense of safety taking up residence behind her ribs, in her bones. Heart forgetting to throb, blood all but stands still in her veins, asystole in her arteries—she can feel the lining of her stomach twist into a viper-like coil so cold, she fears frostbite has set into her organs.

Fear knocks hard on the door of her sternum, ripping the wind from her lungs. Terror opens up her vocal cords and bludgeons a song from her throat, but it’s so dry in her apartment that the fleshy membranes of her mouth have all but become cragged Sahara sands. Tongue swelling to the size of her fist, she fears she’ll choke on it. Forces it against the back of her bottom teeth, jaw clenching with enough force to break open the world. 

Legs somehow managing to propel her up onto her mattress, across the bed, to the farthest corner of the space. Cold sweat raises to a dance across her skin, satin sleeping pants clinging to the flesh of her thighs as sapphire eyes attack the figure cutting through the threshold of her door—hands low and open, in placating surrender.

Brow furrowed with canyon deep lines, dark eyes flick over her frame as she takes a step back for each of the ones he cautiously makes into the room. Invading her privacy, an unwelcome intruder. 

“Easy, sweetheart,” early morning gravels his words, which hang low in baritones not at all unfamiliar, “‘m not gonna hurt you. You breathin’ ok?” Genuine concern passes through his eyes, deep and alive, but—not in a bright way. The corner of his lip tips up, “Don’t mean to scare ya, pretty.” 

Pretty? Sweetheart? Who the hell is this—?

Any familiarity his face holds is lost to the bite of adrenaline, slavering teeth trenching into the back of her brain. Seeming to lap at the spinal fluid all but bubbling down the length of her back. Chest heaving with effort, she fears her ribs might break. Cardiac muscle behind her chest bones all but explodes with every heavy heartbeat, reminding her to stay alive. That she, still, is living. 

Stomach sour, twisting like corded steel, she lunges for the foot of her bed—snatched the first thing she can retrieve. Face all but a blazing inferno of heat, nails all but pike into the soft plush of a stuffed animal. Her favorite. Or, rather, was—now little more than a weapon, it stands between her and the invasion like a fortress. 

“What the hell are you doing here,”she challenges, taking a half step back. Memories of kickboxing classes, somewhere in her youth, escape through the fingers of memories in the back of her head. More boxing posture than anything, she lifts her arms to chin level. Fingers tear into the stuffie like it’s a lifeline, like it’s protection. And for now, it is. 

Not giving him the chance to answer, his mouth hangs open in muted response, “This is my apartment—you can either leave or I’ll–I’ll forcibly remove you.” It would take a 911 call—it would mean grabbing her phone from the nightstand, punching the emergency button, and staying away from him during response time. All unlikely, given proximity. The size of the apartment. How he blocks the only damn exit with his huge-ass frame. 

Jaw snapping closed, a thick brow pops up. He chuckles. He think this is funny, “Whoa, take it easy, bub—” 

“—shut up! Stop talking!” Pointing a strong finger at him, she shuffles back on light feet. Bobbing as best she can, trying to appear light. Prepared. But everything in every manual in the world wouldn’t have prepared her for home invasion—all those home defense classes. The hours shooting clays and targets with her father. Worthless. 

I am so going to die. 

Another step into her sanctuary, holy of holies. “Quit moving, damnit!” 

The stranger stops mid-stride, brows arched in surprise at her tone of voice. Squinched nose, and tightly shut eyes add to what must be a comical look on her face. Coupled with crimson cheeks and the shake setting into her hands, she surely looks—well. A sight, if little else.

Realizing nothing short of an eternity has lapsed in the cool peace and blissfully ignorant darkness of closed eyes, hers pop open. She watches has near-pawlike hands, mapped with raised veins and pronounced callous, drop to his sides for all of a minute. Her heart cuts against her ribs like an ax laid to roots, willing to break something loose—he chuckles. Laughs. Some faraway light catches the darkness of his eyes, brightens his face in a way that only ever seemed so Hollywood, but is now real. 

And he laughs with his entire body for all of a few seconds, wrinkles at either side of his eyes deepening into canyons that seem to fill with his amusement, at her expense.Mind short circuiting, her toes curl into the carpet, calluses on her heels catching frayed fibers as she does her best, again, to stay light on her feet. Nothing about her is light, certainly, and she attempts to calculate distance, how many seconds it would take her launch her body forward, toward the door. Past him, into the corridor, out the front door.

 HIs hand extends, palm up. Waving her forward, as if she were some thing to beckon—

—until her stuffie chucks directly at his face, a blur of hot-pink fur and fluff. 

The moment she arched her arm and sent Mr. Hearts on his first-ever attempt of flight, her feet springboard off the carpet, launching her forward at a speed she never thought possible. Adrenaline jumpstarts every one of her cells, lacing through her veins like rocket fuel—and the world spins by in a blur of color, her chest racked with pain as her heart racehorses behind bones that are no less than temperatures akin to magma. 

Tunnel vision blocks out the world, save the nearly sparkling promise of the room’s exit. Tears bubble up on her lash line, hot and intruders on any clarity of brainspace she’s trying to will forward. Hot, breathy fear closes her throat, nothing but blood rivers through her ears—nothing except the ache of her throbbing heart, the painful push and pull of her lungs expanding and retracting. 

They say hearing is the last thing to go when your soul begins to fade into death, but it’s a lie—she can’t hear a damn thing. And she’s more than alive.

Missing completely the soft snikt!, the what-would-usually-be unmissable split of skin, there’s a muffled tearing of fabric as once beloved Mr. Hearts suddenly becomes two halves of himself. Puffy stuffing explodes into the air, faintly she can feel her beloved stuffed animal hit the floor mutedly. In some back door of her brain she knows what’s happened, but survival carries her feet—pumps her arms. Zeroes her gaze on the door, blocks out anything other than the gut instinct to run, run, run hard. 

Finger reach to grab the doorway, hurl herself around the corner—but it’s too late. Electric movement snaps through the air, a microsecond passes before a thick, heavy arm catches her around her waist. Hauls her backward, sucks her from the door like something from  Star Wars, the world spinning by in a Picasso of color and tears as she’s manhandled, forced back. Kicking her feet into the air, she wills him to break, throwing her body mass back, against him. Arches her back. Wrangles and claws at the hair on his arm, the muscle that is taught against her rebellion.  

Throat splitting with a shriek, she’s silenced when his enormous palm claps hard over her mouth. It feels like centuries have passed, but in reality, it’s been seconds. Breaths and heartbeats. Tears trailblaze hot down her face, her throat all but reverberating with sobs. Body heat wraps around her, butter down her spine as the arm around her middle pulls her tighter. Closer. Keep your enemies close—

And he’s tall, legs anchored behind her. Like a brick house. Snot begins to empty her sinuses in a slick, sticky mess. Her mouth attempts to open behind the palm of his hand,all saliva and spit. Doesn’t seem to do much. Digging her heels into the floor, her foot skims the floor. Looks for one of his. Finding it, she slams her heel against would-be soft bones, and he hisses. Grunts like an animal.

“Knock it off,” his baritone rumbles, a dangerous growl over her ear, “not here to hurt you, darlin’.” A lie. She doesn’t believe him, digs her heels farther into the soft flesh of his feet. Buries her nails into his muscle, the soft flesh of that tender spot under the wrist. Veins, lots of blood there. 

Something obscene slips past his lips. Fighting back more stinging tears, his fingers curl around her wrist bruisingly, and with herculean strength, he whips her about-face, suddenly chest-to-chest with her as his fingers fist in her hair. Pulls sharply, “fuckin’ hell—calm the fuck down,” his fingers fall from her hair, instead grab her chin with an almost bruising grip, “stop bawlin’, for Christssake,” 

Her nails milk as they dig into his wrist, deep red lines canyon the hand holding her face with a patience lost to most members of his sex. Hard, dark eyes hold hers with a fierceness that numbs her intestinal tract. For a moment, an arctic swirl is born and dies in his gaze, resurrected instead a hint of grief and—empathy, maybe. A lostness she can’t describe. Confusion punches lines between his knitted brows, etching deep into ruddy, masculine features a kind of unwordly handsome, had he not been sent to kill her. 

Oh God, please—Shaking, her eyes pinch closed again, unwilling to let him see any more of her soul. More snot and tears, saliva pearls between the seam of her lips as she tries, and fails, not to blubber. Knees buckle. Hangs there, full weight of her body supported on her chin between his fingers, jaw suddenly alive with inferno pain. It lasts seconds before he lets her go, and she sinks to the floor, slackdoll and sobbing. Staring across the floor, her cheek burns against the harsh fibers of the floor. 

Her belt. Abandoned, on the floor last night after a work dinner. It’s the only thing, and her brain conjures images of just exactly how she’d use it, suddenly Jackie Chan or GI Jane or some shit she’s seen a thousand times on film, has never executed. Hiccuping in short breaths between sniffles and sobs, tears leak into the carpet off her cheek. Her heart pumps blood that may as well pool into her chest, leak between the cracks in her confidence. 

Stepping back, he looks at her. A cocktail of surprise and irritated, he sinks to a crouch. Shakes off red marks that still linger on his arm, wipe her snot and saliva on his-–are those yellow?-–pants. No time to notice, to care—her nails catch against the fibers of the carpet. Begin to push her bodyweight up, on an elbow. 

Unburdening a sigh, his hand scrubs his face as hers darts across floorspace. Snatching the belt with a speed she’s never fostered, he doesn’t even have time to put two and two together before the leather snaps like a whip, thick silvers from a rodeo buckle landing fully on the bone of his jaw. Cuts a deep line that flashes scarlet, rips open flesh like a fillet knife. 

“Fuck!” it’s harsh, bestial.

Reeling back, she finds time to scramble to her feet like a clumsy foal, looping the belt around her fist once as he pops tall. Backpedaling away from arm’s length, she pistons towards the door, on fire and pumping adrenaline like a sieve. 

And she flies. Out of the bedroom. Down the corridor. Somehow she manages to find her keys on the kitchen table as his heavy, earthshaking feet pump down the hall. Fumbles over her own feet at the front door, slams into it hard, bounces off. Fingers suddenly unable to communicate coherently with her brain, the chain lock on her apartment door is all but burning as she tries, and fails, to work it just so. 

“Come on, come on! Work, you piece of shit—” she’s never sworn more in her life than she has now, and it’s sour, like bile splashing up on her back teeth. But it rips from her throat all the same, bitter and hot, as she mutters fuck, fuck, fuck me! under short, airy breaths that do nothing to put oxygen back into her body. May as well be a drowning soul, the way she sucks in air. Gasps for breath. Drowning or an emphysemic. 

Ignoring the hard breathing behind her is impossible. Whirling around on the ball of her foot, he’s close enough to lock her against the door. Her head falls back hard enough to knock against the door, rattle her teeth. And as her vision begins to settle from the bouncing in her cranium, she sees the three blades bury to the knuckle—the knuckle?—in her heavy, pristine oak front door. Rattles the wall, splits the sheetrock. 

Pupils blown wide, she can feel all the blood leave her body. Terror locks her spine between slavering, hungry teeth. Gaze welded to the blood pearling from fresh wounds between white knuckles, the hinge of her jaw fails. Her mouth opens mutedly, enough for him to count her teeth if he so desired. 

And maybe he does. “Goin’ somewhere, honey,” it isn’t a question. That grin is animalistic. “Stay awhile, huh?” 

He closes in. Her head snaps forward to find him. Nose to nose, he sneers at her, and her eyes think to move to the fillet of open flesh her attack has left on his jawline—or, had. No evidence of even so much as a mark on the sharp line of his jaw, just dark facial hair and sweat that’s bubbling up on his skin, angry red that fans up his neck. Swearing to God she can see the vein in his temple throb with blood, her grip on the leather belt tightens before reality sets in. 

Ohmygod, ”You’re—” her stomach resurrects up her throat. ”—Jesus,” and it isn’t so much a curse as it is a prayer, a hope. A lifeline—grasping at straws, praying something sticks.

Reality begins to fall away, through boneless fingers. Feeling the belt slip from her control, her throat suddenly constricts to the point of oxygen deprivation. Gaping like a fish, her tongue swells to a thick cotton she can no longer feel. 

Numb—everything buzzes with that painful, white-noise needling. 

And she does the only thing her body can manage. Shoves past him just enough to upset a chair—

—-and throws up. 

still working on my taglist but: @thevoicefromanotherworld @sidkneeeee @misscrissfemmefatale @eternallyfrustratedwriter and those who showed interest: @ayamenimthiriel @pandapetals @theoreticalfreak @definitely-not-chill @ghostytoasty17 @werewolfpilar

[walkswithmyfather]

Genesis 50:20 (NLT). “You intended to harm me, but God intended it all for good. He brought me to this position so I could save the lives of many people.”

Genesis 50:20 (ICB). “You meant to hurt me. But God turned your evil into good. It was to save the lives of many people. And it is being done.”

“All for Good” By Wendy Richmond:

“Sometimes when you are going through difficult things it’s hard to see the good. What good can come out of a bad situation? Surely that’s what Joseph was thinking. Things started out quite innocent. He was just a 17-year-old boy with a dream when his brothers threw him into a pit and then sold him into slavery.

For the next thirteen years, Joseph experienced one difficult situation after another. He was lied about, thrown into prison, and forgotten. But God’s favor was on Joseph and the Lord gave him a special ability to interpret dreams.

At the age of 30, Joseph was summoned from prison to interpret Pharaoh’s dream. Because God gave Joseph the ability to interpret the dream, he was made second in command in all of Egypt. Then the famine came.

Enter Joseph’s brothers. They came to Egypt looking for food and bowed down to Joseph just like they did in the dream he had as a youth. You would think Joseph would have been furious. They were the ones responsible for all his hardships. It was their actions that landed him in prison.

But instead of being angry, Joseph recognized the sovereignty of God. “You intended to harm me,” Joseph tells his brothers, “but God intended it all for good. He brought me to this position so I could save the lives of many people.”

Even though God did not cause the difficulties in Joseph’s life, He used them for good and for His glory. You may not see the good right now but don’t lose hope. God turned things around for Joseph and He can turn them around for you.“

[kill4luvina]

"Meant 4 You"

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Bf!Luffy x Black!Reader

Summary : Luffy and Y/n go on a date to the carnival with their friends, only for Y/n to accidentally tease luffy until everyone leaves, and luffy takes it out on you in the car. (Lowkey based off the last story w/ luffy)

Warning : SMUT, Porn with plot, Luffy's Hispanic, Luffy calls reader mama, not proofread, car sex, public sex (i lost all motivation to write this mid way thru.)

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"MAMAS!!" "LUFFYY!!" You'd both yell in sync as the two of you would run from opposite sides of the parking lot jumping into eachother arms. Luffy carrying you as your arms were wrapped around his neck and legs around his torso, as you took in his intoxicating aura you missed. His Yves Saint Laurent cologne mixed with a earthy weed aroma completely drowning your senses. He'd hold you tightly as you laughed at him planting kisses all over you face telling you how much he missed you. His eyes softening when you told him you missed him too, before he finally gave you a kiss on the lips making you smile into it when you feel him playfully bite your lip. You'd pull away jumping off of him as your friend group stare at the both of you some annoyed (law & luvina..) others in awe. The both of you had totally forgotten this was a 3 man.

"Y/n... If you and this nigga don't get a fucking room." Your Bestfriend Luvina would roll her eye walking over to one of luffys friend's Law aka her bf as the two walk to the line and start talking. You and luffy following behind them along with the other two friends of yours. As the day progressed, it was 5:38, and the 6 of you were there for about 30 mintues before the other couple wandered off leaving you with Luvina, Law and Luffy. You 4 deiced to go off and play some carnival games to pass some time. You had already gon on one ride, the Pharaohs Fury and Law had basically cried after you and Luffy forced both luvina and him to sit in the backrow. "Luvi.. Why'd you let them make me do that.." You'd hear law in his most vulnerable state ever as he hid in the crook of luvina's neck silently as she whispered kind words of affirmation to him. "Aw their so cute!" You'd smile as your boyfriend looked over and smiled too before pointing at one of the basketball games. "2v2?" He'd ask both you and the other two as you nodded in excitement and luvina nodded too.

Walking to the game you finally took a moment to really look at your boyfriend, like he really put his outfit on. He was dressed in a White shirt with a pair of Red Graphic Shorts you had bought him off a tiktok brand and white forces. He additionally had a Silver chain and watch the tie the whole fit together. "Damnnnn, Luffy you really put that shit on!!" You'd tell him as he smiled thanking you before saying, "fr tho, i really did put this on!" "Yeah, in the dark." Law would say in the background making You and Luvina luagh as Luffy gave him a side eye. "Atleast I'm not- atleast- uhm." Luffy would look for a comeback making law roll eyes as he walked past him. "You can't even come for him because he came out lookin sexy asf." Luvina would say watching her man walk up to the basketball game. "Girl.." You'd look over at her before looking law up and down giving a nasty look, even though his outfit actually ate up.

You 4 would start, the timer counting down from 5 minutes. Luvina and Law would start off strong, in complete sync. Law would make a shot and luvina straight after. Luffy started off strong too but you on the other end, you were struggling real bad. Slightly annoyed you start just throwing the basketball at the hoop, luffy looking over at the timer that was at 4:30 before quickly coming behind you and grabbing a ball. He'd put the ball in your hands before putting your body in the correct stance and pushing your arms up as the ball flew into the hoop easily. "There you go, jus like that mama." He'd whisper in your ear making your face feel hot from slight embarrassment, he'd help you like this a few more times and you got it in each with his guidance. So caught up in the game you didn't realize you were subconsciously grinding into him. "stop.." he'd huff, beads of sweat starting to form on his face.

Looking back, you'd notice your boyfriend was blushing as he held you hips. His dick was practically jumping out of this pants at that point as you felt his complete length agasint your ass. He'd pull himself away quickly before going back to the game and completely locking in so the two of you had a chance of winning. Not much longer the game would end and the score was 53-54, a very very close tie and shockingly you and luffy were the ones that won. "Ya'll had to have cheated.." Law would say annoyed as he watched you pick out the prize at the booth wishing it was Luvina instead. "Yoo, can we go on a ride?!" Luffy would say excitedly pointing at the biggest ride there. "Sure why not" "Yeah I'm down" "Only if luvina's going."

"Why the fuck did I agree to this." Law would mutter, keeping a blank expression even though he was actually in tears. He didn't understand how he found himself on the biggest ride in the carnival, in the back row between the 3 of you. After the ride, You and Luffy couldn't help but die laughing at the fact Law was genuinely afraid of heights so badly, to the point where he was frozen completely through the full ride. "Baby, you okay?" no response. "law, cmon snap outta it." still not response. Luvina was getting worried, he's never been like this and she had no idea what to do. "Uhm, guys.. I think he just needs some rest, we'll see you guys tomorrow." Luvina would wave bye to you guys as she held laws hand guiding him back to the parking lot. "baby? answer me please?" you'd both hear her asking as they soon disappeared in the crowd. "Aw.. Poor law." you'd say feeling bad that you guys had in a way peer pressured him into the ride. "Right.." Luffy would say, he was still hard, trying his best to not just bed you over right there and then. "I think, we should go home too." Luffy would add as your agreed.

Little did you know, you had just walked into a trap. You don't understand how or when but your found yourself in the backseat of luffys Black BMW i7. Eye's rolling back as you feel your boyfriends fingers deep in your pussy feeling his eyes on you as you tried to push him away. Usually he'd love watching you struggle but after today, he wasn't in the mood. "Touch my head again and i'll stop," He'd say firmly watching your hands slowly pull away as he brought himself down and started eating you out. You'd cover your mouth as you caught yourself starting to moan a little too loud, head falling back as soon as he found your g-spot. "FUCK!" you'd moan loudly, muffled between your hand. Subconsciously, the hand on your mouth flew to his head feeling your orgasm wash over you. Feeling your toe curl as tears started to fill your eyes, you'd bite your lip as your eyes rolled back once more and you came in his mouth squirting.

"Your so good to me." You'd hear him mumble into your pussy licking up all your juices overstimulating you. He'd bring himself up giving you a long sloppy kiss as he'd pull his shorts and boxers down pushing his dick agasint your entrance. Teasing you as he'd rub agasint your slit making you moan into the kiss before he pulled away finally pushing it in. "Luffy- Fuck!" You'd moan as you felt his hands on your thighs keeping your legs spread as he slowly started pounding into you. His eye focused on where the two of you connected as he let out soft moans, you'd notice making your whimper because you loved when he got venerable with you. Only thing was you didn't understand why it had to be in the car, in the parking lot of a carnival at 7:50 pm. You'd almost start crying as you felt him speed up leaving hickeys all over your neck as started hitting places you never new existed when he pushed you legs farther back.

"Mhph!" you'd cry covering your mouth as you looked down noticing a creamy ring appearing around his dick. "D-doing so well mama." He'd say before hiding his head between you neck giving you more kisses to try and stop himself from moaning. "Too much!" you'd cry out as your hands flew to his back, starting to scratch him with your pretty nails he had paid for the other day. Leaving red scratch marks as you feel yourself getting thrown off the edge, having another overwhelming orgasm crash you as your body shook. You'd close your eyes tightly, feeling yourself squirt again, but not only that but this time you'd feel a warm liquid fill you. Leaving you feeling so cozy and content as you feel your boyfriend hug you giving you soft kisses. He'd slowly pull out before pulling his pants back up, before laying you down more comfortably pulling out a blanket & pillow from the small basket he had in his car just for you. cleaning you up with some baby wipes that were also in the basket, giving you a kiss before going into the front seat.

just know when yall got home, he ran you a warm bath and spent time in it with you before taking you to his room and watching a movie til yall fell asleep. luffys the best boyfriend <3

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[threehazelnuts]

As the Queen’s horsemen appeared behind them, the Fat Fellow coughed up a little remnant of the Red Sea, which he had forgotten to put back.

The soldiers were caught in a swamp and narrowly escaped the same fate as the Pharaoh’s army.

[simvanie]

Fawzia for @thebramblewood's vampire casting call

Always thought vampires from the Victorian era were old? Or maybe Medieval vampires? Then what about an actual ancient vampire? Fawzia, or Princess Fawzia, was the daughter of one of the pharaoh's in ancient Egypt. She was second in line to become pharaoh if something would happen to her brother, who was the direct heir to the throne.

(More of her backstory under the cut).

Since Fawzia is a few thousand years old, she's had a lot of time to optimalize her vampire powers and to learn how to exist among humans as a vampire.

She has traveled a lot and has connections all over the world, especially within the higher circles of the vampire community.

Her time and experiences on earth have made her very wise and extremely charismatic. Therefore, it is common for other vampires to ask for her insight or advice if they have a problem or need help with something.

She still uses the sarcophagus she was buried in to sleep in.

There is almost nothing that catches her off guard since she has seen and experienced it all which causes her emotions to be a bit dampenend.

Fawzia is very observant and likes to sit back preferably with a glass that is filled with a drink of choice in her hand. She lets others make their own mistakes even though she already knows it will be a mistake, because she has experienced that it's an inevitable way of learning.

Fortunately for Fawzia, the way people express themselves through fashion has become increasingly individualistic in recent decades. This means she can now incorporate historical pieces from the era she grew up in into her modern look, without looking too much like an outsider.

She currently resides in Forgotten Hollow because a vampire can't live in the same place for too long. It's a relieve for her to live somewhere where the neighbours don't turn their heads when you feel like you want to walk around with red glowing eyes and your fangs on display.

She realized early on that the only person who would take care of her was herself, which made her very independent. She lives with the attitude that she lives for herself and does whatever she wants, whenever she wants. This doesn't mean that she is impulsive, on the contrary, she always has things well thought through.

She gave up on actual romantic relationships a long time ago, but this does not mean that she doesn't occasionally fulfill her need to have a night full of pleasures with a suitor of her choice.

One of the only fears she has, is to get stuck in a room she can't escape. It has happened more than once that she woke up in a panic because she had nightmares about it.

A very long (and very tragic) backstory 😁

For Fawzia's backstory, we have to go all the way back to the 18th Dynasty in Al Simhara, Egypt. She grew up in the pharaoh's palace with her parents, siblings, members of the royal court, and staff. She was a very intelligent kid and had a happy childhood without too much worries. This changed in the years leading up to her brother being crowned as the next pharaoh. There were rumors among the citizens that someone else would have more right to the throne than Fawzia's brother. As Fawzia found out later, these rumours were started by her father's close advisor, the Grand Vizier, who wanted to become ruler of Egypt himself. The unease among the citizens eventually led to a coup by the advisor and his following. Fawzia still remembres that the whole city was on fire the night it happened.

Fawzia lost track of her family in the chaos as they tried to escape the palace. She was convinced that she wouldn't make it to the morning or that she would be captured by the advisor and forced to marry him to legitimize his claim to the throne. With luck on her side, she managed to get away from the center where the uproar was happening. While she could hear the screams in the distance and her heart pounding in her ears, she quickly made her way through one of the empty personnel hallways. She was almost near the door that would lead her to a secret passage when she stopped abruptly as she came face to face with a pair of red eyes that patiently watched her from the shadows blocking her only escape.

If there is one thing about vampires, it's that they thrive during moments of chaos and bloodshed. They are cunning and smart while they operate from the shadows. No one thinks twice if another body falls to the ground in an event were dozens have already died. Fawzia had never encountered a vampire in her life, let alone that she knew of their existence. But this all changed during that dreadful night.

After the coup, the bodies of the royal family were quickly collected by the surviving members of the court, staff, and supporters of the king that had made their way to the palace. They were secretly brought to the priest who was also the royal embalmer, to be mummified before they were brought to their final resting place. As the priest began to prepare Fawzia's seemingly lifeless body for mummification, he got a strong feeling that something was wrong. The priest, who was very spiritual, decided to perform some rituals and prayers to to get answeres from the Egyptian gods in the hope to figure out what to do. Ultimately, he decided to follow his instincts and put Fawzia in her sarcophagus without mummification for the time being while he continued working on the rest of her family first.

The mummification process normally takes up a very long time, but since the safety of the bodies under the reign of the new pharaoh was not guaranteed, it was decided that it was better to get the royal family to their respective tombs as soon as possible. This was much to the dismay of the priest, because he could no longer check on Fawzia's remains to further inspect her and to see if he maybe had made a mistake in case she still needed to be mummified. Running out of time, the sarcophagi were placed in the royal tombs, which were then carefully sealed.

The stories about the tragic incident at the palace faded into the background as more time passed. Eventually, the throne was reclaimed by a relative of Fawzia a couple of decades later as the Grand Vizier had passed away and his son, who he had named as successor, was legally forced to give up the throne. Meanwhile, the everyday life in Egypt continued. Including that of some grave robbers who one day decided to see if anything of value could be found in Fawzia's tomb. As they finally made their way through the entrance of the burial chamber after a long day of digging through stones and sand, they were terrified when they realized they looked straight into the princess' red glowing eyes, filled with a look of insatiable thirst. It was the moment the grave robbers wished they had never entered her tomb.

[dcdreamblog]

Sorry to bother you, but what the fuck is going on with the hawks?

My grandpa from ST Roch used to tell me about them and how they were egyptian hawk people thing.

But then they appear and they are aliens???

Does this mean that the egyptian gods are aliens?

I'm genuinely confused and every time i search for more info i get more confusing stuff that say angels, the dark multiverse and some hawkgod are all involved?

But also Hawkgirl and Hawkwoman are different people????

I'm so very lost so i decided to ask the profesional.

I'm gonna get variations on this question a lot aren't I? Ok, let's rock.

The confusion comes from there being two sets of Hawks who are very similar in their general costume design and aura. They're probably the hardest to tell apart at a glance if you don't know what you're looking for.

(Fanart of the Golden Age Hawkman by TytortheBarbarian on Deviantart. Note the full face mask, lack of chest emblem and that his wings are attached to the straps of his harness)

(Photograph of the Modern Hawkman. Note the exposed lower half of the face, the black chest emblem and that his wings grow naturally from his upper back)

The original Hawkman and Hawkgirl of the Golden Age were archeologist Carter Hall and his partner Shiera Hall (Nee Sanders) who discovered upon the unearthing of a long forgotten tomb in the Valley of the Kings that they were the reincarnations of Pharaoh Khufu and his consort Chay-ara of the Egyptian Old Kingdom.

Finding relics formed of a strange alien metal within the tomb, the duo used these artifacts and the inspiration of the Egyptian god Horus to become Hawkman and Hawkgirl. Carter was a founding member of the Justice Society and both Hawks served with distinction in the wartime All Star Squadron.

Carter was present at the infamous HUAC trial that disbanded the JSA and the duo vanished for decades.

It was in those following decades that two more heroes would appear and step into the Hawks' boots.

Lawmen lost and many light years from their native Thanagar the two would take up the mantles of the Hawks, raptorial imagery considered sacred symbols of honor and duty on their native world. It just so happened that their alien technology and the motifs of the Golden Age Hawks were near identical which, after the two pairs met helped to uncover the shocking secret in their shared past.

The artifacts that had empowered the original Hawks, assumed to be magical were in fact also technology scavenged from a crashed Thanagarian ship by the ancient Egyptians. (No they didn't use it to built the pyramids. The already working technology and reforging the craft's Nth metal hull were the extend of the technology's use which allowed for the vast expansion and prosperity under Khufu's reign)

The second Hawkgirl changed her name, eventually stating she "did not like the implications of the word "girl" on this planet" and has ever since gone by Hawkwoman.

The original Hawkgirl lost her life during the Zero Hour crisis and has since been embodied in the new Hawkgirl, assumed to be a resident of St. Roch, Louisiana because it is around her appearance that the Hawks began to split their time between St. Roch and their traditional roost in Midway City.

So, in total, as of this moment. There are two Hawkmen, golden and modern ages. Hawkgirl is the younger partner of the original Hawkman and Hawkwoman is the partner of the second. The second pair of Hawks also have a sidekick named Golden Eagle. There is also a new Thanagarian on the scene calling himself Changeling who seems to be related to the second pair of Hawks somehow but no one yet knows exactly how.

As far as superhero families go they are nowhere near as expansive as the Flash or Batman's general cadre but they just look so similar that its very easy to be confused. To the point that they are all consistently misrepresented as one another whenever they show up in the media and it drives me UP A WALL.

[avaleigh16]

Once upon a time, in the depths of the thick jungle, a Yautja named Ap roamed the vast expanse of his hunting territory. Known for his strength, agility, and honorable nature, Ap was truly a force to be reckoned with. As he maneuvered through the dense foliage, he stumbled upon a hidden temple shrouded in mystery.

Drawn to its ancient aura, Ap cautiously entered, mesmerized by the ornate hieroglyphics that adorned the walls. It was there that he found a secret chamber, guarded by a life-sized statue of an Egyptian pharaoh. At the center, laying atop a golden pedestal, was a glowing artifact, emitting an enchanting aura that beckoned him closer.

Unbeknownst to him, the glowing treasure held the trapped soul of an Egyptian princess named Y/N. An unwilling pawn in her father's political games, she was betrothed to a power-hungry nobleman. But destiny had different plans for her.

Caught in a never-ending slumber, Y/N's spirit was awakened by Ap's arrival. Curiosity melded with a strange kinship as she watched the Yautja move with grace and elegance. As Ap approached and laid eyes on the glowing artifact, a connection formed between their souls, like two lost fragments of a forgotten love story.

Ap's heart, once indifferent to the touch of another being, now yearned for Y/N's presence. He began to visit the hidden chamber often, talking to her as if she could hear him, sharing tales of his hunts and victories. His voice flowed with affection, his words laced with the adoration he felt for the sleeping princess.

In time, Ap couldn't bear the thought of Y/N remaining bound to her betrothed, away from his protective embrace. Driven by love, and partially driven by his hunt for the ultimate challenge, Ap devised a daring plan – he would kidnap Y/N and take her to a realm where they could be together.

Silently and stealthily, Ap retrieved Y/N from her dormant state, gently cradling her in his strong arms. As he carried her away from her gilded cage, his heart filled with both excitement and trepidation. He knew that he was taking her against her will, but he believed that true love would find a way to prosper.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months as Ap courted Y/N in his own peculiar Yautja way. He listened to her every word, learning about the beauty of her homeland, the wonders of the pyramids, and the strength and resilience of its people. In return, he shared stories of his own hunts and his deep-rooted honor code.

Gradually, Y/N began to understand Ap's intentions. She saw beyond the fierce mask that cloaked his visage, recognizing the tenderness within. Her heart, too, began to yearn for his touch, for his unwavering loyalty, and for the feeling of being truly seen and cherished.

In an unexpected turn of events, Y/N's heart blossomed with love for Ap, casting away any lingering doubt or fear. The clandestine affection they held for each other couldn't be denied any longer, and their souls became inseparable.

As time passed, Y/N and Ap decided to embrace their love fully. They exchanged vows in a hidden grove, under the watchful eyes of the jungle's creatures. United in love, they created a legacy together, giving birth to a litter of mighty and noble Yautja descendants.

Their love story, defying the boundaries of time and space, became the stuff of legends. The tale of the Yautja warrior who journeyed across galaxies to free his true love, a princess who braved the unknown, eventually culminating in a destiny where two worlds became one.

And so, in their embrace, Ap and Y/N proved that sometimes, even the most unexpected love stories can conquer all, forever etching their names in the tapestry of the universe.

[vintagerpg]

Desert of Desolation (1987) is another supermodule, collecting the well regarded trilogy of Egyptian adventures, I3: Pharaoh, I4: Oasis of the White Palm and I5: Lost Tomb of Martek. These were initially conceived as a trilogy by Tracy and Laura Hickman and Philip Meyers, so collecting them together under one cover was a good choice. Sticking them behind that gorgeous Keith Parkinson cover painting was another inspired decision. William John Wheeler, who compiled the book, also took great pains to increase its usability. Not that the originals were bad, this book just makes conscious decisions about organization that I don’t think were on folks minds back in ‘82 (and really, as some of the first narrative-focused modules, the originals broke plenty of ground already).

What’s weird is that this book is retrofitted into the Forgotten Realms. It is, in fact, the first RPG product to bear the FR logo (Darkwalker on Moonshae, Douglas Niles’ novel, debuted the label; the box set would appear a month later). Even if the logo is on the back (and bears the lie “designed for use with” above it). To accomplish this, a pretty sizable amount of work went into renovating the original modules. For starters, you never got a real view of the setting region as a whole, which is rectified here. There’s a lot of lore and history added in to connect it to the Realms as detailed in the soon to emerge campaign box. Is that necessary? Ehhhhh. Probably not. But it doesn’t really take anything away, not even space — this book feels pleasingly overstuffed. Coupled with its overhaul of scenario presentation, that probably makes this the best of the reprint supermodules.