#those who rule egypt

[ccazimi]

The Contendings

cw: incest (sister!reader x brother!sukuna), noncon/dubcon, ancient egyptian mythology au, period typical sexism, blood/violence/gore, degradation, angst/tragedy, purposeful intoxication, coercion, oral (fem receiving), piv sex, creampie, etc., DDDNE wc: 8.1k a/n: so. this is kind of based on the myth of horus and set - in this story, reader plays the role of horus and sukuna plays the role of set

songs i listened to while writing:

the world is not enough - garbage

push the limits - enigma

You suppose you were created to be Sukuna’s antithesis from the very beginning.

He is the desert storm—violent, chaotic, unrelenting. You are the sky left in its wake, all sunlight and silence, casting light where he once tore through.

So perhaps, when he finally did the unthinkable—murdering your parents to seize the throne—it was inevitable that you’d end up here, shaped by nothing but the need to oppose him.

And despite the blood he spilled in his lust for power, the Great Ennead did not strike him down. They couldn’t.

Because it’s true: Sukuna—merciless, monstrous, insatiable—was the only god fierce enough to stand at the prow of Ra’s boat and face the serpent each night.

Without him, the sun would not rise.

And so, his destruction became divine necessity. His violence, a pillar of balance.

And you?

You never asked to be here, never wanted to stand as his rival.

Because despite the blood he’s shed, he was, once, your older brother. The one you admired as a child, the one who taught you how to fight.

He made you what you are, made you his equal whether you ever wanted it or not.

Yet fate had it so that in the end, you were reduced to your existence as a woman. And on that fact alone, the so-called ‘Great’ Ennead of Heliopolis hesitated.

Because how could a woman be king? And it was a king, they claimed, that Egypt needed to flourish.

Sukuna’s sin was a divide patricide and matricide, while yours was your femineity. He tore the world apart for a chance to sit at the table, and you were made to bleed for simply daring to sit beside him.

Numerous trials and proceedings just to deliberate over this—all culminating in a competition between you and Sukuna—who could last the longest underwater within the Nile River.

Three days of slipping in and out of consciousness, drowning in those murky depths where the water felt like the belly of the world itself, suffocating and closing in on your lungs. Nothing existed except his blood-red eyes, glowing like the hellfire of some ancient beast, watching, waiting beneath the surface.

But tensions had been rising long before this. The debate had gone on for so long because no one could agree. Some of the Ennead still believed Sukuna, with his raw chaos and brutal force, was meant to inherit the kingship, while others—like Shu and Tefnut—insisted you, the righteous daughter, the rightful heir, should rule Egypt.

When the copper harpoon pierced the murky waters, sinking deep into Sukuna’s flesh, and the river ran red with his blood, you knew without a doubt that someone had grown impatient and made their choice. It was one of the gods, you imagined, growing desperate as they watched Sukuna fight the current, staring those glowing eyes into the darkness as if the river could be conquered by will alone.

Three days of drowning just for that competition to be annulled because of tensions. How exhausted, enraged, frustrated you were when you’d learned that another sort of competition would have to be held — especially since you were sure you had a good chance of winning.

In your rage, you stalked off West, leaving the gods to bicker among themselves, seeking reprieve from the tangle of emotions threatening to choke you.

Soon enough, you came across it.

Waves of gold and bone-white sand stretched out like something alive, the very landscape seeming to breathe. And there, rising from the earth as though summoned by some unseen hand, was the oasis. It shimmered before your eyes, unreal and green, like something out of a dream.

A cluster of date palms swayed in the hot wind, their long, thin fronds casting graceful, almost hypnotic shadows on the ground, like dancers caught in a moment too perfect to last.

The pool of water below them was so still it seemed a part of the sky, glinting under the oppressive sun like liquid glass. It smelled faintly of minerals, and life—distant and ancient, like the memory of something lost.

Birds nested in the palms, their calls soft and muted as if hesitant to disturb the peace. Tiny insects buzzed lazily over desert flowers that seemed to bloom just for this place, their delicate petals swaying gently in the breeze.

Here, the earth was darker, fertile in a way the desert had long since forgotten. Reeds and grasses grew thick around the water’s edge, some trampled under the soft prints of foxes or jackals that came to drink at dusk. The air was cooler here, quieter, thick with the scent of dates, salt, dust, and something sweet.

It was a fragment of paradise.

So, under the shade of a date palm tree, you lay down to rest.

Just a second to escape it all.

The weight of your parents gone, their lives ripped from you by the one person you had always trusted—your brother.

You try to recall the days before the bloodshed, the times when you had convinced yourself that they were away, tending to some business, something important. You had been worried, of course, but you asked Sukuna and he told you it was fine, assured you they were likely attending to something important, that all was well.

It was only when you found fragments of their butchered bodies—your mother’s severed hand, your father’s disfigured nose—floating down the Nile, the very river that had once been a lifeline, that you started to piece together the truth.

The truth you had been so blind to, the truth that had never let you see him for what he truly was.

But right now? You rest. Soon enough the idyllic atmosphere of the oasis lulls you off into a calm, dreamless sleep.

You awake to pain, sharp and stinging across your cheek, your eyes opening to find Sukuna above you, his face contorted in rage.

A gaping wound mars his side, the linen of his kilt stained red from the spear he must have had to pull out himself.

He grabs you by the collar of your dress, shaking you violently as his breath hisses through clenched teeth.

“You fucking bitch. You goddamn cheater—” he spits, his words venomous.

“I had no idea, I didn’t fucking ask anyone to do that! You think I’m scared to take on you myself, Sukuna?” you yell back, thrashing beneath his grip, feeling the soft grasses beneath you being crushed under the violence of his rage.

He sneers, his grip tightening. “Wretched, shitty fucking sister. Why won’t you just accept your goddamn place?” His eyes burn with an intensity that’s almost palpable. “You? Fit to be a ruler? The land needs someone strong, someone willing to spill blood and get their hands dirty—”

He shakes you again, his teeth bared like a wild animal. “Not some stupid, righteous ass bitch who’s too blinded by her ideals of ‘good.’”

The words hit like a punch to your gut, but before you can retort, he leans in closer, his breath hot against your face. You can feel the weight of his eyes, flitting about in anger as if searching for something to destroy. The collar around his neck flashes in the midday sun, the gold carnelian stones catching the light. It almost burns in its brilliance, as if a symbol of his twisted arrogance.

“Egypt needs a man,” he growls, the words spat like acid. “Not a dickless woman to guide it.”

His voice dips lower. “Do you hear that, sister? You’re just a little girl with ideals. And you know what? It makes you weak. Weak.”

His height and strength to tower over you, trapping you in the shadow of his rage, and soon his hand moves from your collar to the back of your neck, fingers digging into your skin, pulling you towards him.

“You were always so perfect in their eyes, weren’t you?” he taunts, his voice low and dangerous. “So pure—so fucking untainted—but that's not what this land needs. The gods don’t want some innocent little girl playing queen. They want a king. Someone who knows how to take what they want.” He leans in closer, his lips just grazing your ear. “Someone like me.”

The words feel like daggers, the way they cut through the fragile remnants of your self-worth.

“You think you’re fit to rule? Hah.” He scoffs, his grip on your neck tightening just enough to remind you of his power. “You’re not a king. And you never will be. You’re just a fucking woman with delusions of grandeur.”

His body presses into yours in a twisted mockery of intimacy, and every word is like a blow to your chest, one that’s impossible to block.

His eyes never leave yours, full of anger, of jealousy, of a deep-seated need to tear you down. And in that moment, you feel something shift—something cold and terrifying. You are no longer just his rival —you are his target.

"Do you get it now?" His voice is a low rasp. "You don’t get to be the one they admire. I am the one who will rule this land. Not you. Never you."

You can feel his fingers digging into your skin, his grip tightening with every word, and your pulse quickens with the panic that rises in your throat.

And the bile, the disdain, the bitter resentment you hold for him flows from the tip of your tongue as you stare him dead in the eyes.

“You should be glad that they annulled that competition because of someone else’s interference," you hiss, your voice sharp with venom. "Without it, they would’ve seen you lose to me, without any fucking excuse."

There’s a momentary calm, an unsettling stillness as he just stares back at you, silent and unreadable. His hands lock around your face with sickening force, and then—

Pain.

Henna-stained claws dig into your right eye first, the agony so intense it clouds your mind. For a split second, your vision goes completely red, and the world is swallowed by a violent haze. There’s a horrid squishing, squelching sound as he digs deeper, and fire bursts through every delicate nerve in your eye, making you scream, shriek, thrash under his hold.

The pain seems endless, the air thick with it. For a second, there’s just him, and the sharp, unbearable pressure.

And then half of your vision goes black.

Plop.

One of your eyes is thrown on the ground, splattering against the grass like a plucked fruit, turning the vibrant green into something sickening and red.

Your screams are raw now, desperate. But he's beyond rage. His fury has cooled into something worse— a detached, calculated cruelty. This isn't about justice anymore, or any twisted concept of right.

There is one goal here, and that goal is breaking you.

You, the only one who could ever challenge him. His only equal.

His voice is flat and detached as if he's already moved past any semblance of empathy. As if he’s done this before, as if it's nothing personal. Even as chaos rages around you, the blood rushing to your head, the heat of the desert sun scorching your skin, Sukuna’s presence is chillingly calm. His bloodied claws dig into your second eye. "I’ll take your eyes. I’ll take everything. You were never meant to challenge me."

You scream again, but it’s different now—please, just stop Sukuna, I’m your sister—the words barely form, the panic choking you as your face twists in agony. Your body jerks with the instinctive will to escape, but it’s futile. The world is consumed by pain, your mind reeling, each second lasting an eternity.

Then—nothing.

He leaves you there, your cries echoing, but fading into the soft rustle of the palm trees above you. The oasis is no longer an oasis., nothing more than a mirage.

It’s an emptiness so complete, so suffocating, that it steals away everything you were holding onto. There’s no darkness, no light. There’s nothing at all.

And you’re alone, under the palm tree. Blood running down your face, dripping into the earth that once seemed alive with peace.

Only the sound of your ragged, broken breaths fills the nothingness.

In the relentless heat of the desert, the world has never felt so cold.

You don’t know how long you’ve been lying there, crumpled in the sand, crying, screaming — drowning in the void where your vision once was.

Sukuna takes. It’s all he knows.

The most painful part is that despite your rivalry, despite the fact that he orphaned you, you would never do this to him. You would never mutilate him like this.

And then you hear it.

Soft footsteps in the sand — gentle, even, like something divine. The faint smell of incense, the warmth of her presence wrapping around you like an embrace.

Hathor.

She’s merciful, pitying you. With her hands, she catches a gazelle, milks it, and kneels beside you.

“Uncover your face,” she commands softly.

Warm milk drips onto your wounds, and instantly, the pain begins to dull.

“Open your eyes,” she says, a quiet command.

You do, though your swollen, torn lids barely lift — revealing the hollow, empty sockets underneath. With delicate hands, she pours more milk into them, running into the raw flesh, and you feel the sting of it, like a faint echo of life.

The nothingness is gone, and though you blink, the world is still dimmed — but before you, her face: a serene mask of compassion, golden headdress catching the sun’s dying light.

It’s a miracle. You have your eyes back, but no magic can repair what’s truly broken within you.

The taste of his cruelty, the memory of his hands ripping into your face, lingers on your tongue like bitter ash.

When Hathor returns to the encampment and tells the Ennead what Sukuna has done to you, the ruling is immediate. He is disqualified for violating sacred conduct — his assault is seen as a disgrace not only to the competition, but to the gods themselves.

Ra summons you both before the assembly. You stand in the golden light of dusk, your wounds still fresh beneath the miracle of Hathor’s healing, while Sukuna stands opposite you, arms crossed, face unreadable.

“This feud ends now,” Ra declares, voice echoing like thunder through the gathering. “The throne belongs to you, daughter of Osiris.”

A hush falls over the gods. The battle is over.

But Ra is not done. His gaze hardens. “For the sake of Ma’at, balance must be restored. The war between you must cease. And to prove it—” his eyes flick between the two of you, “—you will share a tent tonight. There are many gods, not enough shelter. Let this be a symbol of peace between siblings.”

You want to protest, you want to scream. But before you can speak, Sukuna gives a small, sharp smile.

“Of course,” he says smoothly. “We’re family, after all.”

He looks right at you when he says it, eyes gleaming like blood in the light.

The celebration of the feud’s resolution begins at sunset.

The sun has long slipped beneath the horizon, but the desert air still hums with warmth as the banquet begins. Beneath a canopy of linen and woven reeds, the gods gather in finery—lapis and turquoise glint at their throats, sheer linen robes perfumed with rare oils, gold flashing in the firelight.

At the entrance to the pavilion, basins filled with warm water and aromatics are set out—infused with blue lotus, crushed jasmine petals, and moringa blossoms. Attendants pour it over the hands of each guest, steam curling upward like incense, purifying and sweet.

Perfumed cones of scented fat—jasmine, blue lotus, and blossoms of myrrh—rest atop the heads of revelers, slowly melting in the heat, releasing their fragrance in soft trails of smoke. Lilies are handed out, and the air thickens with the rich sweetness of flowers, clinging to skin and linen like a second perfume.

Musicians play—low, slow notes from harps and flutes, tambourines trembling like windchimes in the desert breeze. Dancers move barefoot on the sand, anklets chiming, their hair braided with golden thread. Low tables are spread with roasted fowl, honey-glazed dates, pomegranate seeds like rubies in alabaster bowls. Jars of dark, spiced wine are passed from hand to hand, their scent mingling with cinnamon and thyme.

But you taste none of it.

On Ra’s orders you sit by Sukuna, on finely crafted linen cushions atop a thick, embroidered mat that separates you from the dusty earth beneath.

Sukuna lounges with a casual air, his legs stretched out on a cushion, dressed in his finest— the large gold wesekh with carnelians against his throat like drops of blood, golden cuffs on his arms and wrists, the girdle draped around his hips holding the soft linen kilt. He holds a cup of wine, sipping and watching dancers with those sharp eyes rimmed with kohl as dark as the tattoos that adorn his body, looking like every bit of the god that he is.

You suppose you must look the part too — winged kohl lining your malachite powdered eyes, lips painted a deep ochre, your linen dress falling around you and cinched at the waist by the beaded girdle, accented by your gold jewelry, the wesekh around your neck inlaid with deep blue lapis lazulis — a direct contrast to Sukuna’s fiery carnelians.

Then Sukuna claps his hands once, sharp, commanding. “Bring us something worth watching,” he drawls, eyes never leaving yours. “My sister and I have earned it.”

Dancers appear moments later — veiled, gliding like whispers across the sand, golden bangles clinking faintly as they move. They sway their hips in time to the music, spinning in slow, sinuous circles, bodies glowing in the torchlight.

“Relax,” Sukuna says, nudging your cup closer to you. “Why so tense? You’ve won, haven’t you?” He leans in, voice low and smooth like honey over steel. “There’s no need to be afraid of your own brother.”

His smile is all teeth.

You refuse to look at him as you reply coldly, “You tore out my fucking eyes. ‘My own brother.’”

He only grins wider, laughing softly. “My apologies, sister. I got… carried away. But you did get your pretty little eyes back, didn’t you?”

He moves closer. You instinctively shrink back, but his hand wraps around your waist, pulling you in.

“And you got the throne, too. So relax,” he says, lifting his own cup to your wine-stained lips. “Drink a little more. For tonight, let me just be your big brother.”

You’re still stiff, your body pressed against his sun-warmed skin.

But you did win. So you part your lips just enough for the rim of the cup, letting him pour the wine into your mouth.

“There you go,” he murmurs, feeling you begin to soften against him. “My good little sister…”

The wine seeps into your veins as the sweet incense and rhythmic music lull your mind into a haze.

Just for a second, you let yourself forget the crown, the violence, the mutilation.

Just for a second, you are not the Daughter of Osiris. You are only Sukuna’s younger sister.

After all—despite it all—he’s the only one you have left.

You finish drinking, and he lifts the cup away, passing it to an attendant for a refill before settling deeper into the cushions—pulling you with him.

“Remember when we were younger?” he asks, almost wistful. His hand skims your waist, nails brushing softly along the cloth, a gesture that might’ve once been fond. “The way you used to look at me—all wide-eyed, like I was your protector.”

His fingers trail lower, resting on your hip. “You followed me everywhere. Mother and Father used to call you my tail.”

At the mention of them, your throat tightens as you reply tightly, “You don’t get to speak of them.”

He laughs, soft and mocking. “Why not? I killed them, didn’t I? Surely that makes them mine to remember however I please.”

You breathe deeply, chest rising with the effort of not crying. The stinging behind your eyes only sharpens your voice. “Don’t… I can’t do this. Not with you. Not—”

You push against his chest, trying to get up. “Not after what you’ve done.”

“Now, now, sister,” he croons, yanking you back down into his side. “Wouldn’t want to upset Ra, would you?”

Tears well in your eyes, blurring your vision as you refuse to look at him.

Sukuna sighs, caressing your cheek before gently turning your face to him. “Do you think I’m evil because of what I did to them? I didn’t have a choice. You know that.”

You shake your head. “No, no I don’t know that brother. Of course you had a choice.”

“I never wanted to be the monster you think I am.” His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing along your lips. “I did it for us to rule together. I thought…maybe you’d understand. Maybe you’d want it too.”

You look at him incredulously through your glossy eyes. “Want it? Why would I ever want that?!”

Sukuna sighs again but this time it’s a bit harsher, like he’s getting exasperated. The hand on you hip tightens a bit as he presses his thumb into your mouth. “Father and mother didn’t have what it takes to rule. They never had the power to turn this land into what it can really be. So much potential, wasted.”

You watch him silently, brows pulling together a bit when the look on his face changes, eyes shifting to something like sparks in the fire.

“They did do one thing right, though…” he murmurs.

You peek up at him through your lashes, feeling warm all over, perhaps not just from the alcohol.

“And what’s that?” you whisper.

“They made you…” His hands dip lower as he gazes at you with that sultry look in his eyes. “And this perfect body.” He leans forward, hand finally trail down to settle on your rear. “Have I ever told you what a lovely ass you have, sister?” He abruptly gives your butt a sharp squeeze.

You stiffen, shame burning hot across your face as a soft, involuntary sound escapes your throat. You hate the way he smirks at it.

You try to pull away again, but his grip holds fast, fingers splayed possessively over your flesh.

"Don't touch me like that," you whisper, but your voice trembles—too thin, too breathless to carry the weight you want it to.

Sukuna leans in closer, nose brushing along the curve of your cheek, his breath warm with wine and smoke. "You didn’t seem to mind a moment ago," he murmurs, the words dripping with mock affection.

The attendant returns silently, head bowed, presenting the freshly filled cup of wine in both hands. Sukuna takes it without a word, his fingers brushing the rim as he turns back to you, expression unreadable.

“Thirsty, little sister?” he asks, voice syrupy and low.

You don’t answer. Your lips are still parted slightly from the last time he touched you, the warmth of his hand lingering on your skin like the fading sting of a bruise. But the moment your eyes meet his, the glint behind them gives you away—fear, confusion, a flicker of something darker.

He smiles again.

“Drink,” he says, the cup already at your lips, the sweet scent of spiced wine thick in your nose. “It’ll help you relax. We still have the whole night ahead.”

You hesitate, breath hitching as your gaze drops to the cup, then flicks back to him. He’s waiting. Expecting. His other hand still rests heavy on your body, fingers drumming lightly as if keeping time with the music, a quiet reminder of who’s in control here.

Your body tenses… then loosens. Just enough to part your lips. The wine flows into your mouth—rich and heady, cinnamon and sun-ripened fruit, darker than blood.

You swallow.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, tipping the cup higher, making you take a second, deeper drink before pulling it away with a satisfied hum. “See? Much better.”

The alcohol burns slightly on the way down, but it also dulls the edge of the terror thrumming in your chest. The haze thickens, and for a brief moment you forget where you are. Who he is.

He pulls you closer again, your back pressed to his chest now, the cup held lazily in his hand. His breath brushes your ear.

Your mind muddles further, confusion, shame, anger, affection and desire pulsing through you all at once.

Because part of you remembers the boy you’d followed like a shadow as a child, who’d carried you through reeds on his back, who smiled like the sun itself lived in his chest. Part of you still sees him in there under the blood, gold, his chaos and perversions.

You shift slightly, realizing his hand is still splayed across your rear.

“Sukuna,” you breathe nervously, uncertain about anything right now.

You try to move his hand up from its inappropriate placement but he grips your flesh tighter.

“Hm? What’s the matter, sister?”

You tense at the question, blood thrumming in your ears. His tone is light—mocking, as always—but there’s an edge behind it, something darker curling beneath the surface like smoke.

“I told you not to touch me like that,” you say again, trying to make your voice firm. It only comes out soft.

Fragile.

He hums low in his throat, hand still firmly palming the curve of you. “You keep saying that,” he murmurs, “but your body doesn’t quite agree, does it?” His thumb strokes over the fabric of your wrap, slow, almost absentminded. “Or is it just the wine making you honest?”

You flinch, but the heat in your face betrays you. You hate that your body reacts at all—to the wine, the music, his warmth pressing behind you. You hate the way his presence scrapes against your memories, dredging up things you buried long ago.

“I haven’t changed,” he murmurs into your ear, as if reading your thoughts. “Not really. You just stopped looking.”

You swallow, feeling a certain hardness forming under his kilt, perfectly aware of what’s happening right now, caught in it. Yet you don’t resist, not really.

Unsure.

Torn.

Your brother’s potent sexual appetite is well-known, a characteristic of his that adds to his reputation of chaos, sin, and darkness.

“I was never looking” you want to protest. But maybe the alcohol isn’t letting you hide from uncomfortable truths anymore — there’s always been a sort of tension between you, one that’s only grown as you both became older.

His lips twitch, amused at the emotions warring on your face, before skimming his fingers upwards along your leg. “Or maybe… you tried. How successful has that been, sister?”

You don’t answer, you don’t have to.

He sees it—drinks it from the flicker of emotion in your eyes, the way your thighs press ever so slightly together, the way your shoulders tense and then slacken, like surrender dressed up as fatigue.

Your head swims in a haze of heat, the thick scents of incense and perfumes — resinous, floral, sweet, redolent in the air, but deceptively so with a certain bitterness underneath, like something sacred that’s rotting away. Time is melting at the edges, and somewhere beyond in the large expanse of the desert stars twinkle over ancient truths, yet here in this circle of shadow and perfume and indulgence, there’s only you and him.

Only the now.

Sukuna leans down, brushing his nose along your temple, lips grazing your skin without ever really kissing it.

“Come,” he says, voice saccharine sweet.

A single word. A command cloaked in gentleness.

He rises from the cushions and offers you a hand—not rough, not demanding, just… expectant.

You stare at his hand for a moment, hesitating.

And then you take it, fingers intertwining with his as he helps you to your feet, the ground swaying a bit underneath them.

He leads you through the dark, past the veil of hanging beads that shimmer like bones, past attendants who bow without looking up.

The tent is not far, but it feels like you walk forever. The moonlight bathes the sand in silver, and the torches flicker like dying stars. Your heart beats like a war drum in your chest.

You finally arrive, passing through the parted flaps of the tent. The inside is rich with silks and shadows, oil lamps casting golden light over thick furs and gilded ornaments. It smells like rosewater and something deeper—metallic, almost coppery. The smell of old blood beneath perfume.

He guides you in.

The tent flap falls shut like the seal of a tomb and the air shifts immediately—warmer, heavier, laced with incense, myrrh, and the faint animalic musk of fur and smoke. Outside, the celebration dulls to a ghostly thrum.

In here, there is no music. No sound at all, save for the soft crunch of sand underfoot and your breathing—too fast, too shallow.

Your vision tilts as though the floor beneath you has changed shape. Before you can protest, your knees give, and you collapse onto a bed of cushions. They swallow you whole—thick, perfumed, decadently soft—exotic furs brushing against the backs of your thighs as your linen tunic rides up. Cool air grazes your exposed skin, but you feel flushed, burning from the inside out.

You look up at him through lidded eyes, your head swimming. The wine sloshes inside your stomach like something alive. You don’t feel drunk—you feel poisoned.

Sacredly, intimately, poisoned.

He stands above you, quiet. Watching. His silhouette haloed by the flickering oil lamps that make everything shimmer—walls, skin, memories.

Too much. It’s too much.

Nothing has happened, but it’s too much.

Your body feels like it’s floating wrong—limbs light, head heavy, the edges of your mind curling inward like paper in fire.

“I’m sleepy,” you murmur softly.

He kneels beside you.

The motion is slow, deliberate, like a predator savoring the moment before striking. The warmth of his body presses against the cool of the cushions, the space between you charged with something utterly sinful.

His fingers brush the loose strands of your hair back from your face, tender, a strange sort of gentleness in his touch. His thumb skims over your cheekbone, his voice a murmur, smooth and low, “Sleepy, sister?”

You nod lazily, the exhaustion in your body making you feel like you’re sinking deeper into the cushions, deeper into the fuzziness of the wine. His hand travels lower, tracing the curve of your jaw, a gesture too soft for the man you know him to be.

For a brief second, you think it’s genuine. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the haze around your mind, but his touch is soothing—comforting, even. You almost let yourself close your eyes and sink into it, but then his grip tightens around your wrist, pulling you back to the present, to him.

"You won’t sleep yet." His voice is calm, but there’s an edge beneath it, like the steady pull of a rope around your chest. “Not until you understand.”

You blink, the words unclear, the room tilting again. But you can’t tell if it's the wine or his gaze that makes your pulse quicken. He shifts, moving to straddle the cushions beside you, looming over you like a shadow. The scent of wine and smoke clings to his skin, intoxicating you further.

His fingers dip beneath the fabric of your tunic, fingertips brushing the exposed skin of your thigh, a trail of heat left in their wake. The gentle, almost affectionate touch makes your stomach lurch—some part of you wants to pull away, but the alcohol and the weight of your exhaustion make you too heavy to move, too willing to stay.

"I know you’re confused," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. “You’ve always been confused—but you’ll understand soon enough.”

Your body stiffens, dread rising in your chest like something sharp, but before you can voice your protest, his other hand is gently cupping your chin, tilting your face up to meet his.

“Just relax, little sister. Relax, and trust me.”

You want to shout at him, tell him that this is wrong—that he’s wrong—but your voice catches in your throat. The words seem so distant, so irrelevant in the face of the suffocating pressure in the air. You don’t want to feel this, but you do.

"You always wanted to trust me, didn’t you?" He smiles, a cold, knowing smile that twists at the corners of his lips. "You always followed me, always looked up to me."

His words echo in your mind, fragments of the past slipping through the fog. The boy you followed. The brother you trusted. But you know now—he’s no protector. He’s everything they say he is.

You shiver, but it isn’t from cold.

You try to pull away, shaking your head as your breath hitches.

"Stop," you whisper hoarsely, but even your voice seems distant, swallowed by the heavy air of the tent. Your hands, trembling, push weakly against his chest, but the motion is futile.

He doesn’t budge. If anything, his grip tightens, steady and unwavering.

Sukuna’s eyes glint but his tone remains smooth, almost tender. "You’re the queen now, sister. The new queen of Egypt," he murmurs, almost coaxingly, as if the words themselves hold some sort of spell over you.

"Look at you." His fingers trace the line of your collarbone, like he’s memorizing you. "A queen should be revered, adored, …worshiped."

You close your eyes, a choked sob catching in your throat.

You want to argue. You want to tell him that this—this isn’t the kind of reverence you wanted, that this is a mockery of everything you’ve worked for. But it’s hard to find your voice, hard to even summon the strength to push back.

His hand moves lower, brushing against the curve of your breast, squeezing it slightly, and you suck in a sharp breath, heart racing. "You’ve earned your crown, sister," he repeats, as if that should somehow excuse everything. "And the crown must be honored... mustn’t it?"

You can’t find your words. You can’t even find your strength.

His fingers slide beneath the fabric of your tunic, the soft pressure of his touch spreading heat through your skin. And still, he coaxes, his voice a low hum in the back of your mind, urging you to let go, to surrender to the moment.

The tips of his fingers caress your inner thighs, and you twitch just slightly, suddenly feeling more and more unsure.

“I don’t know about this, brother,” you protest softly.

Then, you try and pull away from him.

Instantly, his hand clamps around your thigh, eyes swimming with something cold, and dangerous.

The feeling of being held down activates the panic that bubbles up through you and your eyes widen a bit, trying to thrash about. But your body is weighed down with alcohol, and all you do is flail futilely.

“Don’t worry. You’ll know soon enough,” he says calmly, before bunching the hem of your tunic.

You suck in a sharp breath, trying to crawl back away from him, but it’s too late, the cloth is yanked up, exposing your glistening sex to him.

“S-Sukuna!” you cry out, squirming as he just manhandles you effortlessly, laying down in the cushions and draping your legs over his broad shoulders.

“I’ll show you what it means to be a queen,” he murmurs lowly and then his mouth is on your inner thigh, kissing and biting as he makes his way up, ignoring your pleas for him to stop.

Suddenly a new sensation shoots up your spine — his tongue on your folds, licking a strip across your clit.

“Oh!” you squeak, instinctively trying to jerk your hips away as he begins lapping at your cunt with the most lewd noises.

You want to tell him to stop again, but with the alcohol in your veins and his tongue on your clit, the words fall away in favor of a breathy moan.

He hums against your slit, eyes closed as he eats, really eats you out like a man starved. Your pussy feels simultaneously hot from his tongue, and cold from the air brushing on the slick mess of fluids dripping between your thighs.

You’re not fighting him anymore, just drowning in the sensation of him, and you cum soon with an arch of your spine and incoherent words falling from your lips.

The fog in your mind is even thicker now, as you lay there just half awake while he pulls away, chin and lips glistening with your juices.

Sukuna licks his lips, eyes admiring the mess he’s made between your legs and soon he’s pulling his kilt down to reveal his length hard and leaking at the flushed tip, while a golden band glimmers at the base of his cock.

“Just lay there and relax.” He pumps his cock before positioning it in front of your dripping entrance. “Let me take care of you.”

You watch as he holds your hip in place with one hand, the other pushing the tip of his cock into you. There’s a stretch, even a bit of pain from the sheer size of him, and you wince softly as he continues sliding into you, splitting you open on his length.

“Shh. Almost there, sister,” he coos, voice a bit ragged as your heat envelopes him until he finally bottoms out.

For a second he looks at you, at your cunt stretching to accommodate his cock.

Then he leans forward, lips pressing into the hollow of your jaw, and starts thrusting his hips. You gasp as you feel him move, the fullness disappearing for a second and then coming back as he slides inside you again, brushing against a spot that makes you whimper.

In and out, in and out.

He looks into your eyes as he fucks you before leaning down to capture your lips in an almost tender kiss.

You wish that it was dirty, hard, rough — but it’s not. It’s disturbingly intimate, which is worse.

He begins fucking you harder, the ring around his cock sliding in and out of your cunt as wet sounds of skin hitting skin fill the tent.

“Good sister,” he pants against your skin, lips sucking and nipping at your neck as you moan his name. “You’ve always wanted to be a good sister to me, haven’t you?”

“Not like this”, you want to say.

But you don’t.

Instead you just nod desperately, hands crawling up his muscled back as tears start to well in your eyes for some reason.

“I missed you,” you whisper, and in a twisted way it’s true — you haven’t felt this close to your brother in years, especially not since he did what he did.

“I know you did,” he breathes, wet, open mouthed kisses trailing up from your neck, across your jaw and cheek.

Those hands roam your body, hands that murdered your parents. Tears flow from your eyes, dripping down your face.

“I miss Mother and Father too,” you sob pathetically, burying your face into his neck. “Wh-Why did you do it, brother? Why?!”

Something in him shifts.

His hands tighten their hold on your body and suddenly he’s thrusting into you faster, harder, the tip of his cock ramming into your cervix over and over again, making you wail and your whole body rock with the motion.

“God do you never stop thinking about them?” he hisses, “I told you — I did what I had to do. You don’t get it, do you, sister?”

“They wanted you to rule the -hah- world, but me?” He leans down, folding your legs up to hit the deepest spots inside of you, knocking the breath from your lungs as he nips at your lobe. “They wanted to chain me to its side.”

You just cry harder as he keeps going, words now laced with bitterness.

“Osiris, Isis. Saints in your mouth, rotting in mine,” he growls in your ear.

Sukuna's hand tightens, almost possessively, as you tremble beneath him, still clinging to his body despite the growing hatred within you. Your sobs turn ragged, breath coming in sharp bursts.

"You think I did it for them? For you?" His voice lowers, becoming cold and venomous. “Silly girl. I did it for myself. I earned it. I deserved it." His grip on your waist tightens painfully, as he fucks you so hard it almost hurts, pain blending with depraved pleasure.

You gasp, eyes blurred with tears, but your voice shakes with defiance. "And what about me, Sukuna? What about what I deserve? I never asked for this... I never asked for you to take everything away—”

“Stupid sister!” he snarls, “You got the goddamn throne and you’re complaining about everything being taken away?!” He leans down to murmur darkly in your ear. “And this…this is why I’m going to take it back. Show you what it really looks like when I take everything…”

Horrid realization dawns on you, making your eyes widen and your mind clear with disturbing clarity. Realization on what he’s really doing.

Because there is one thing he has that you never will — a cock. The corrupting power only a man can have.

He’s going to defile you with his semen, desecrating you so that you can no longer have the throne.

You scream, trying to push him off with all the strength in your limbs still lethargic with alcohol — that goddamn wine he filled you with.

“Get off me, get the FUCK OFF ME YOU DISGUSTING BASTARD—”

He keeps you pinned down effortlessly, one hand forcing your neck to twist, smushing your cheek into the fur beneath you as he fucks you harder and harder, with brutal intensity.

“Don’t -hah- think so sister,” he snickers, leaning down to stick his tongue out and lick a long wet stripe along the tears streaming down your cheeks, leaving behind dark stains with the messy kohl. “What’s the matter now? I thought you missed me?”

You thrash under his hold, nose wrinkling in disgust when you feel his warm saliva on your face. “D-Don’t cum inside, you c-cant—”

“Don’t cum inside?” he repeats, that horrid, evil smirk on his lips as he thrusts turn messy. “Aw, but I want to, sister. Don’t you think I’ve earned that much?”

He ignores your threats of murder, the way your walls clench trying to push him out, and it only gets him closer. “You know how long I’ve thought about this? How many times I’ve imagined filling your little cunt with my seed?”

“You’re sick, don’t you fucking dare do it—”

To your horror, those words seem to push him over the edge, and in one suspended moment his hips still a bit.

And then, warmth.

You scream and cry as you feel his hot, potent cum flooding your hole, ropes and ropes of white liquid just continuing to spurt into you. And somehow the sensation sends you over the edge and you cum along with him as you curse his name, cunt gushing and clenching as your eyes roll back.

By the time he’s done, all the fight has faded from you. You’ve given up, just crying softly as he collapses on you, his softening cock still plugged up inside you.

“Why, why, why…” you sob over and over.

And then the bastard kisses you, swallowing your broken cries as he pulls out of you, sitting back on his haunches to look at you. You lying there like a broken creature, body still twitching, skin flushed, his cum dripping out from your hole.

“It’ll all be okay sister,” he murmurs. “You’ve been so good, I might even let you sit beside me as I rule…”

“Go to hell!” you spit, between cries.

The humiliation is unbearable the next morning when Sukuna brings you forth before the Ennead, proudly announcing that he has “performed the labour of a male” on you.

And of course, the wise gods of Egypt, they look at you with revulsion and disgust, cursing you and spewing words of venom.

Ra denounces your spot from the throne, and thus Sukuna is instead hailed the next successor of Egypt.

The words of the Ennead echo in your mind as you kneel before them, the weight of their scorn pressing down upon your chest. The gods' looks are unforgiving, their expressions twisted with contempt as Sukuna stands at your side, his presence cold and domineering.

“See?” Sukuna boasts, a dark smirk spreading across his lips. “I’ve taken what was destined for me. And now, I’ll have it all. Even you, sister.” His voice is triumphant, but there's a coldness in it—a void where his humanity should have been.

Maybe where it once was.

You can barely lift your head. Your spirit, your hope, has been shattered. The world you knew is gone, replaced by a reality you never asked for, never wanted.

What’s left of you? What’s left of that girl who once dreamed of ruling with honor, with grace? She is gone, replaced by the woman kneeling in front of gods who now turn their backs on her.

Ra’s voice booms through the chamber, harsh and unforgiving. “You are no queen. You are no heir. You are nothing but the vessel of corruption.”

The gods, those who once represented the promise of divine order and protection, now curse you. Your bloodline is tainted, your destiny undone. Sukuna, the one who betrayed you, who stained your very soul, stands beside you, unrepentant.

And you realize the truth—the thing you’ve been denying all along.

There is no redemption. There is no reclaiming what was lost. Sukuna has taken everything from you, including your place in the world, your identity, your purity.

You are a shadow of the woman you once were.

The gods will forget your name. The people will never speak of you again. But somewhere deep within, you remain. The queen who was never crowned, the ruler who was never allowed to reign.

But as Sukuna stands triumphant, his form casting a long shadow over your broken body, you feel it—the faintest stir of something within you. A flicker, a breath of life that refuses to be extinguished.

He may have the throne now, may have destroyed everything you held dear, but there is something wild within you, something that cannot be chained, cannot be broken.

Even if the world has turned its back on you, even if the gods have forsaken you, one thing remains undeniable: You are still his sister.

And that bond—however twisted, however corrupted—can never truly be severed. Not by a throne, not by power.

Your gaze flickers upward, meeting his once again. He may see only a pawn now, a symbol of his victory, but you know better. His eyes are filled with ambition, yes. But they are also filled with something else. Something darker, something that feeds on the struggle between you, something that still needs you in his own twisted way.

You feel it in the air, a tension that will never dissipate. He is not your king.

Not yet, not ever.

“Enjoy it while you can,” you murmur, your voice quieter now but still filled with the weight of defiance. “You’ll never have peace with the throne. Not with me still here.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrow, his lips curling into a sneer “You think this ends here, sister?” His tone is dripping with mockery, but there’s a flicker of something deeper, something undeniable between you both.

“No,” you whisper, feeling the last vestiges of hope slipping away like sand through your fingers. “But it will never be what you think it is.”

And with that, you silently vow that your battle is far from over. Not as a queen, not as his pawn—but as something else entirely, as what you were always meant to be.

His equal.

For as long as the desert storm rages, the promise of clear skies will endure.

a/n: some context - in ancient egyptian mythology, semen was considered such a corrupting substanc, that it was likened to poison or venom

in the original story when set cums in horus, horus actually catches it in his hands, so that it only touches his hands. when he goes to show his mother afterwards what set has done, his mother screams and chops off his hands and throws them into the nile river (because that's how bad the defilement of semen was considered). anyways, after that she jerks him off and collects his cum and then puts it on some lettuce (set's favorite food), which set then eats. the next day when set tells the ennead that horus cannot rule because set has "performed the labour of a male" on him, and the ennead basically cuss out horus and spit at him. but horus just laughs and says that his cum is in set's stomach. so they sort it out by calling out to the semen, and it responds from inside set - humiliating him, and making horus the ultimate winner.

[the-official-ceo]

The thing I love about DIO is that throughout Part 3 he's treated as this inhuman, larger than life menace whose very existence cannot be sanctioned. He's talked about by other characters as if he's some terrifying, almost Lovecraftian force of pure evil. A monster whose very presence is a threat to the entire world.

Yet for the life of me I cannot tell you what his evil machinations are. Dude became a vampire, killed some people, stitched some human heads onto cats for some reason, and vaguely said he was gonna rule the world, then got stuck in a coffin at the bottom of the ocean for a calendar century and popped out, somehow made it all the way to Egypt, and just sorta vibed out in his big dramatically beshadowed vampire mansion. So far as I can tell all he did in that timeframe was scam people into being his henchmen and have no less than 5 illigitimate children. The only reason Jotaro has beef with him is cause cosmic forces were somehow making his mom sick, which I never got the impression that DIO was even aware was happening. Yeah the whole "heaven" thing was established later but as far as his actual presence in the narrative he has absolutely no master plan or end goal, he's just kind of a stinker and wants those damn Joestar boys outta the picture.

Still somehow the most iconic, show-stealing villain in the series. An unforgettable big bad who was 100% carried by a great design, one sick fight, and Aura™️. Your fave antag could never.

[sayruq]

The Occupied Palestinian Territory is enveloped in a spiral of unstoppable violence, with stories Palestinians and other witnesses relay adding new depths to atrocities the world has witnessed since the beginning of Israel’s assault on Gaza over six months ago, the UN Special Rapporteur on the Occupied Palestinian Territory, Francesca Albanese said today. “The pace and intensity with which this violence has spread to the rest of the occupied territory confirms that no Palestinian is safe under Israel’s unfettered control,” Albanese said, concluding a visit to Egypt and Jordan. The Special Rapporteur said Israel had once again arbitrarily denied her access to the Occupied Palestinian Territory, compelling her to report on the situation of Palestinians under occupation from neighbouring states. Albanese said her visit demonstrated that the situation in Gaza is worse than previously assessed, with serious and multi-layered long-term implications. Most victims she met had endured catastrophic injuries, witnessed family members killed and experienced the effects of Israel’s destruction of Gaza’s health infrastructure, even after 26 January 2024, when the International Court of Justice (ICJ) issued a ruling ordering Israel to prevent genocide in Gaza. Patients that previously arrived in Egypt primarily with explosive and war injury-related symptoms are now joined by patients with chronic diseases and/or malnutrition, especially children, arising from Israel’s intentional humanitarian catastrophe in Gaza. “Photos from a mere eight months ago show a chubby-cheeked 8-year-old Hamid, now rake thin and spending his days in excruciating pain due to pancreatitis developed through the harsh conditions of the siege,” the Special Rapporteur said. “Those who have left Gaza come out fractured and wracked by ‘survivors’ guilt’ and severe trauma,” Albanese said. “Just 50 kilometers away from the Gaza Strip, crucial, life-sustaining aid and goods, including water desalination equipment, first aid kits, oxygen cylinders and portable toilets – paid for by taxpayers across the world – languish in warehouses, barred entry into Gaza on the pretext of use by combatants.” “Humanitarian measures implemented so far – airdrops and maritime corridors – are a mere palliative for what is desperately needed and legally due,” the expert said. “These measures are grossly inadequate to alleviate the humanitarian catastrophe that Israel’s assault has created.” “At this point, Israel has reneged on its international obligations to a degree that warrants a call for sanctions,” Albanese said.

[weemietime]

i am asking this in good faith

If the Bosnian Genocide is has been ruled a genocide and the death count was 33,071 people, how is what is happening in Gaza not a genocide when the number has been surpassed

Because genocide is not about the number of people being killed. Genocide is a specific legal term, and it has to have two components: 1) obviously people have to be murdered -- but this must be done systemically, as a policy (either written or unwritten) of the belligerent party. AND 2) there has to be genocidal intention to murder said people. Genocidal intention means that Party A (Israel) murders Party B (Palestinians) specifically because those people belong to Party B (Palestinians). There is no evidence that Israel has a genocidal intention. In fact, the October 7th massacre was actually a genocidal act on behalf of Hamas - Hamas committed the genocidal action and has been committing genocidal actions for over 20 years, because they specifically want to murder Jews for being Jewish. They also meet the first criteria because this is a systemic policy that is present in the Hamas Charter.

This is very important to distinguish because whilst genocide is a war crime, not all war crimes are genocide. Israel has committed war crimes, including murdering civilians, and even intentionally allowing civilians to be killed (such as bombing a house with a Hamas member in it and killing his family members). But this is not sufficient to rise to the criteria of genocide. We could make the argument that there is ethnic cleansing, because the vast majority of the people being evacuated are of a single ethnicity, Palestinian. However, again, ethnic cleansing alone is not sufficient to rise to the definition of genocide.

Crucially, the ICJ has not ruled that there is a genocide ongoing. They have ruled prima facie that 1) South Africa has the right to accuse Israel of genocide, and 2) that the ICJ itself is fit to hear and rule on the accusation. They have also ordered Hamas to release the civilian hostages, so if Hamas is saying they want to abide by the ICJ, they have already disregarded the ICJ ruling.

Genocide is not based on vibes. It's not based on bad feelings. It's not based on videos and images of dead kids, or destroyed rubble. Genocide is a specific legal term that can only be applied to the above scenario, and it cheapens our language when we levy it in circumstances where it does not apply. It especially cheapens our language when we engage in Holocaust inversion by claiming Israel is doing to Palestine what Germany did to the Jews, which is categorically false.

Beyond this, it belittles the groups that are involved in this conflict, particularly Hamas, to treat them like they are innocent civilians when they are in fact a very well-outfitted military brigade and the official armed forces of the Gazan government with over 40,000 fighters strong, who repeatedly and loudly say "death to Israel, we want to annihilate Israel, we will commit October 7th again and again until Israel is destroyed." They are being funded by the IRGC, they are being used as a proxy for Iran, and innocent Palestinian civilians are suffering as a result. Hamas has openly said that the "blood of martyrs fuels our resistance," they have openly said they hope Palestinian civilians die in droves while they steal aid and resell it at absurd mark-ups, while they flee to Egypt and Qatar so that they don't have to get their hands dirty. They recruit and brainwash young children to fight their "holy war" to murder as many Jews as possible.

And in terms of the death toll, you have to understand that this war is being fought in an urban environment where the belligerents are embedded purposely in the civilian population, in tunnels all throughout the civilian infrastructure. Violating the Geneva Conventions by using hospitals and schools as military bases, refusing to wear uniforms, and intentionally shooting their own people and blaming Israel.

These people even play tapes pretending to be hostages shouting in Hebrew "don't shoot," which is one of the reasons why a hostage was accidentally killed by the IDF, which is then turned around to show how evil the IDF is without understanding the context that these events happen in. In normal urban warfare the ratio of civilian to combatant death is around 9:1. In Gaza, the ratio is, according to Hamas's own numbers, 4:1. Literally twice as low as the average. So, yeah. War crimes are happening. Yes. Absolutely. Genocide is not happening, at least, it's not happening to the Palestinians.

[kerryshifts]

omg i loved your “shifting to Italy” post and was wondering if you could do one for ancient egypt? xx (you don’t have to ofc just a suggestion!!)

shifting to ancient egypt? gotch ya.

ancient egypt was a cradle of civilization concentrated along the lower reaches of the nile river in northeast africa.

act i. when are you?

based on your time period, you will have very much different experiences. i’d suggest you to research which one you are more interested in shifting.

predynastic ( c. 6000-3150 BCE ) preceding recorded history, saw the development of early settlements and the emergence of distinct cultures in the nile valley.

early dynastic period ( c. 3100-2686 BCE ) marked by the unification of upper and lower Egypt, the first and second dynasties ruled during this time, establishing the foundations of the egyptian state.

old kingdom ( c. 2686-2181 BCE ) a period of great power and prosperity, characterized by the construction of the pyramids and the establishment of the pharaoh as a divine ruler.

first intermediate period ( c. 2181-2040 BCE ) period of political instability and fragmentation following the decline of old kingdom.

middle kingdom ( c. 2040-1640 BCE ) period of reunification and renewed prosperity, with advancements in art, architecture, and literature.

second intermediate period ( c. 1640-1550 BCE ) another period of instability, marked by the rise of the hyksos and the fragmentation of egyptian rule.

new kingdom ( c. 1550-1070 BCE) a period of great expansion and military power, with powerful pharaohs like hatshepsut, akhenaten, and ramses ii.

third intermediate period ( c. 1070-664 BCE ) period of decline and fragmentation, with various dynasties vying for power.

late period ( c. 664-332 BCE ) period of foreign rule, with egypt ruled by the assyrians, egyptians, and persians.

roman period ( 30 BCE - 641 CE ) egypt became a province of the roman empire, marked by roman administration and culture.

act ii. who are you?

you are in the middle of a society who has a strict social structure, and where your status will shape your daily life and power. you are born with it, and only scribes, soldiers and artisans could rise. from the most protected to the least one:

pharaoh. used as a title for absolute monarch since under the new kingdom, often called horus on earth. had control over laws, military, religion, and land. lived in luxurious palaces with servants, and wore a double crown ( pschent ) to symbolise his status as ruler. the most well-known are tutankhamun, ramesses ii, and akhenaten.

pharaoh’s family. wives, children and sibilings had high-ranking positions in the government and religion.

nobles. were high-ranking government officials, including the vizier ( the pharaoh's chief advisor a.k.a prime minister, who oversaw taxes, justice, and administration ) and nomarchs ( governors, controlled egypt’s provinces and managed local social ).

priests. they played a crucial role in religious ceremonies and rituals, and they held significant influence in society.

high priest: appointed by the pharaoh, held the highest authority within the priesthood, performing the most important rituals and managing the temple's affairs.

wab priests: carried out essential but mundane tasks, such as preparing for festivals and maintaining the temple complex.

other priests: who read funeral liturgies ( hery-heb ) who read incantatory formulas from the book of the dead ( khereb priests ) and those involved in mummification ( paraschists, taricheutes, and colchytes ).

priestesses: women could also be priests, with their roles varying depending on the specific cult or deity.

scribes. highly respected, literate individuals who held important administrative and clerical positions, responsible for recording and documenting everything from daily activities to royal decrees. part of the elite 1% of the population that could read and write. they used reed pens, black ink made from soot and gum, adding red oxide to make red ink, and palettes.

artisans. they lived in special workers villages ( deir el-medina ) and included stonecutters, painters, carpenters, sculptors, jewelers, and metalworkers. they created tombs, statues, temples, furniture and luxury goods.

farmers. made up the majority of population and they walked in fields, growing wheat, barley, flax and vegetables. during flood seasons they usually worked with artisans.

slaves. prisoners of war, debtors and criminals. they worked in nobles households ( cooking, cleaning, taking care of children ), temples, mines and quarries; some could earn freedom and better positions over time.

act iii. where are you?

where you live will shape your experience drastically. normal houses were built of mud-bricks with floors made from earth, and they had living rooms, kitchens and bedrooms, and many of the large objects that we can move around ( like seats and ovens ) were built into the house. there was no gas or electricity, meaning that food was cooked in stone ovens, using a fire for heat. to keep food, pits were dug and food was stored below ground level.

cities, they were the heart of the civilisation. center of political activity, religion, and economic powers. in the cities lived pharaohs and nobles ( pharaohs lived in the ‘great house’ or “per ‘aa. palaces were lavish, with evidence suggesting sprawling complexes with large dining rooms, and other amenities reflecting the pharaoh's status ) priests and scribes ( temple complexes, government departments, and even private households, depending on their specific duties and employers ) artisans and merchants ( often lived in distinct workmen's villages like deir el-medina, located near the valley of the kings ) slaves ( lived in simple dwellings, possibly separate from their owners' homes, or within the same household as servants ) but…… what cities? here some examples.

memphis. the capital of the old kingdom. full of loud markets, stone temples, and busy workshops. the most notorious thing are the white walls, the great temple of ptah, statues, palaces ( huge monuments of pharaohs ) craftsmen’s quarters ( people making gold jewelry, statues, and linen ) the nile docks ( ships unloading grain, wine, and goods from nubia and the levant ) …. one of the official religious centers as it was the worship center for the holy triad of the creator god of ptah, his wife sekhmet and nefertem.

thebes. the city of the gods. religious and cultural powerhouse, full of priests, scribes, tomb builders, and travelers. you’d see karnak and luxor temples ( giant temples with sphinx-lined roads ) street performers, food vendors, and boat festivals on the nile. markets full of incense, perfume, and imported goods from the red sea trade.

deir-el medina. there were around 68 houses, made of mud-brick built on stone foundations. letters, legal documents, statues and tombs tell us about family and working life. many of the men and women could read. women baked bread and brewed beer. the village had a court of law and everyone had a right to a trial. there was a local police, the medjay, to keep order. the people of deir-el medina also had medical treatment. they could get prescriptions of ingredients, prayers and spells from the physicians.

act iv. how is your social life?

we are talking about a very social civilisation….. if you were rich. their daily lives revolved around family, work, festivals, and entertainment, and they knew how to balance duty and pleasure ( fun fact: for them sexuality was sacred ).

marriage. frequently arranged by parents, they were a primarily a social and economic arrangement, not a religious or legal ceremony, where couples were considered married once they started living together, often after a party or celebration. while divorce was possible, it was difficult, and women were often protected from divorce by marriage contracts that placed financial burdens on men.

friendship. was significant aspect of life in ancient egypt, strong bonds and social obligations between individuals, including the idea of ‘friends’ being part of a broader social circle beyond immediate family.

banquets. they were lavish celebrations featuring large gatherings of family and friends, music, dance, and copious amounts of food and drink, frequently held near tombs to facilitate communication with the deceased. they were hosted by wealthy families and nobles. entertainment consisted in harpists, flutists, dancers, acrobats. the food ?? roast duck, fish, bread, figs, wine and beer. the banquets were often held in tents or colonnaded spaces, which were sometimes depicted in tomb. fun fact : particularly during banquets and celebrations, people wore scented wax cones on their heads, which melted and released a pleasant fragrance.

public festivals and religious celebrations. the most well-known festivals were: opet festival ( in thebes ) was a celebration of amun and mut’s marriage, statues was paraded through the streets. hathor festival is a wild party with drinking, music, and dance. wepet renpet ( new year’s ) is a huge nile-side festival with feasts and fireworks, celebrated mid-july. beautiful festival of the valley is a state festival, initiated by mentuhotep ii, and celebrated the bonds between the living and the dead, with citizens strengthening their bonds with the deceased. wag festival involved making paper boats containing shrines to souls and setting them out on the river nile to float towards the west, commemorating the death and rebirth of osiris.

markets. like today, bustling marketplaces were a social hotspot. the steet vendors sold jewelry, makeup ( kohl eyeliner and scented oils ) fine linen clothes, sandals, spices, perfumes, and exotic imports.

music. they usually played harps, flutes, drums, and lyres at parties and religious events while women, were often professional dancers, were hired for feasts and ceremonies.

act v. what are you eating?

bread was a fundamental part of the diet, made from emmer wheat or barley. it was eaten at every meal and was considered a basic element of human life.

beer was a common beverage.

vegetables. were a regular part of the egyptian diet, with a variety of options available, including onions, garlic, lentils, and cucumbers.

fish was a readily available and nutritious food source, it was prepared in various ways, including frying, smoking, and boiling.

fruits like figs and dates were also part of the ancient egyptian diet and were often included in offerings to the gods.

oils were derived from ben-nuts, sesame, linseed and castor oils. honey was used as a sweetener, and vinegar may have also been used. seasonings included salt, juniper, aniseed, coriander, cumin, fennel, fenugreek, and poppyseed.

meat. the wealthy would enjoy pork, mutton, and beef.

poultry, such as ducks and geese.

dairy products, like cheese, butter, and cream.

wine was a product of great importance, offered in funerary rituals and in temples to worship gods and consumed daily by the upper classes during meals and parties.

act vi. what are you wearing?

reflected both the hot climate and social status, with the wealthy adorning themselves with finer materials and elaborate jewelry.

linen. the primary fabric, made from the flax plant, was favored for its breathability and comfort in the hot climate.

wool. while known, wool was considered impure and primarily used by the wealthy for overcoats, but was forbidden in temples and sanctuaries.

jewelry. gold, lapis lazuli, turquoise, and other precious materials were used to create elaborate jewelry, including necklaces, rings, bracelets, and amulets.

women’s clothing. they wore full-length dresses with one or two shoulder straps, which could be pleated or draped. the wealthy often wore flowing, sheer dresses layered with colorful shawls or capes.

men’s clothing. kilt-like skirts ( schenti ) are a wrap-around skirt, tied at the waist, with variations in length depending on the era and fashion trends. loincloth and headdresses.

children’s clothing. they wore simple garments, often loincloths or short kilts for boys, and simple linen dresses for girls.

cosmetics. ochre for lips and cheeks, henna for fingernails, and kohl for outlining eyes and coloring eyebrows.

hair. men and women often shaved their heads, and instead they used wigs.

sandals. while many went barefoot, sandals were sometimes worn.

makeup, particularly black kohl eyeliner, was used by both men and women for both aesthetic and practical purposes, with ingredients like galena and malachite used to create pigments, and cosmetics were also seen as having spiritual and protective significance.

kohl eyeliner. a dark, black eyeliner made from ground galena (lead sulfide) and other ingredients like soot, which was used to outline the eyes. it was believed to protect the eyes from the sun's glare and to repel insects. applied in a distinctive style, with lines drawn above and below the eyes, sometimes slightly arched at the ends.

red pigments. red ochre, a clay that was dried in the sun, was used for blush and lipstick and it was also used to stain nails with henna.

green eye shadow. a.k.a malachite, a copper-based mineral, was ground and mixed with water to make a green eyeshadow.

oil and creams. scented oils and creams were used to moisturize the skin and mask body odor. ingredients included myrrh, thyme, marjoram, chamomile, lavender, lily, peppermint, rosemary, cedar, rose, aloe, olive oil, sesame oil and almond oil.

lipstick. red lipstick was made from red ochre and other pigments, theredder the lips, the higher the social status.

note: don’t forget to script safety things!

[girlactionfigure]

The Quantum History of Palestine

The Palestinian struggle for freedom is as old as time itself. Actually, it’s outside of time. I’ll explain.

Look at this poster from 1947.

That’s a Zionist poster.

Fine, but how can you not shed a tear at this plea from 1940?

Dang it! That’s also a Zionist poster!

Okay, but this exhibition from 1925 must be…

Oh crap. Tel Aviv. Totally Jewish. Totally Zionist.

Yeah, fine, okay, whatever. But this poster from 1919…

Damn! Zionist!

Fine! But this iconic poster, used by Free Palestiners everywhere is surely…

…the work of Zionist artist Franz Krausz, created to encourage Jewish immigration to Mandatory Palestine.

Turns out that until recently “free Palestine” was a Jewish motto.

You see, the word “Palestine” was first used as a political term by Roman Emperor Hadrian in order to punish the rebellious Jews by renaming Judea after its ancient enemies, the Philistines. Sort of like if someone renamed modern Israel “Naziporkistan.”

While the name was used by both the Roman Empire and the Arab Empire, it wasn’t used by the Islamic Ottoman Empire, which ruled the region from 1517 to 1917.

So how was this region called for half a millenia? Well, It wasn’t called anything. Instead of being a single province like in Roman and Arab times, it was split between the Beirut vilayet, the Jerusalem Mutasarrifate, and the Hejaz vilayet, which also included parts of Egypt, Arabia and Lebanon. The people who lived there had no more national identity than the people of Madison county. 

They were just Ottoman subjects.

So the British didn't conquer Palestine in 1917. They created it.

If you look at the UN partition map from 1947, you’ll see that Mandatory Palestine is divided between Jews and Arabs. No mention of a Palestinian people.

If you called an Arab living in mandatory Palestine, “Palestinian,” he’d be either confused or offended. For example, in the First Congress of Muslim-Christian Associations which met in Jerusalem in 1919, the following resolution was adopted: 

"We consider Palestine as part of Arab Syria, as it has never been separated from it at any time. We are connected with it by national, religious, linguistic, natural, economic and geographical bonds."

In 1937, the Arab leader Auni Bey Abdul-Hadi, told the Peel Commission: 

"There is no such country! 'Palestine' is a term the Zionists invented! There is no Palestine in the Bible. Our country was for centuries part of Syria."

In 1947, the representative of the Arab Higher Committee to the United Nations submitted the following statement to the General Assembly: 

"Palestine is part of the Province of Syria… the Arabs of Palestine were not independent in the sense of forming a separate political entity."

A few years later, Ahmad Shukeiri, first chairman of the PLO, told the Security Council: 

"It is common knowledge that Palestine is nothing but southern Syria."

Okay, so no Palestinians in British times, just Arabs who wanted to make Syria great again. 

Contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t Israel who first occupied Gaza and the West Bank. It was Egypt and Jordan. 

This means that between 1948 and 1967, Gaza and the West Bank were under Egyptian and Jordanian control. The Arabs had also “liberated” these regions from the Jewish communities who existed there for thousands of years. This was followed by 20 years of Judenfrei Arab rule.

What happened to the Palestinian dream during those years?

In 1950, Jordan upgraded its occupation to an outright annexation. Surprisingly, no one had a problem with it. In the words of American diplomat Stuart W. Rockwell:

"The union of Arab Palestine and Jordan had been brought about as a result of the will of the people."

During these 20 years, the hundreds of thousands of Arabs who fled Israel were never resettled by the countries who accepted them (unlike the nearly million Jews expelled by the same countries or the Arabs who remained in Israel). If these people were indeed Palestinians and Gaza and the West Bank were Palestine, why not resettle the Palestinians in this Palestinian territory? Why deny them and their children and their grandchildren citizenship even as their compatriots who stayed in Israel became citizens?

We’re in the ‘60s now. This is still an imperialist struggle by Arab colonizers to reconquer a small bit of land from the unruly natives… except it’s not the kind of story people like to hear so the Palestine Liberation Organization is formed in Cairo.

Its goals include “Arab Unity” and the “liberation of Palestine”. Interestingly, it makes no territorial claims over the West Bank or Gaza, making us wonder what exactly “liberation of Palestine” means?

Here’s a quote from the first speech by its first leader:

"It is either us or the Israelis. We shall destroy Israel and its inhabitants and as for the survivors – if there are any – the boats are ready to deport them."

Only after Israel gained control over Gaza and the West Bank, suddenly they became part of the future Palestinian state. It’s almost as if the borders of Palestine change all the time to correspond exactly with the borders of Israel. If Israel disappeared, Palestine would disappear. I wonder… If Israel moved to Alaska… 

But we digress!

In 1995, prominent Arab anti-Zionist activist and politician Azmi Bishra said:

“I don't think there is such a thing as a "Palestinian nation", I think it's a colonial invention, when were there Palestinians? Where is it? I think there is an Arab nation.”

In 2012 Hamas Minister of the Interior and of National Security Fathi Hammad said:

"Half of the Palestinians Are Egyptians and the Other Half Are Saudis."

Seems that in order to understand Palestinian history and geography, you have to be a time traveling 4D chess player. Nevertheless, I’ll try to summarize: the Palestinians were invented in the ‘60s because imperialism went out of fashion and indigenous struggles became fashionable… but only in the West. This required a degree of chameleonism. 

When talking to a Muslim audience, they’re part of the great Arab nation fighting to reclaim lost Islamic territory. When speaking to a Western audience, they’re an oppressed indigenous minority that existed since dinosaur times.

In short, Palestine is a masterpiece of doublethink!

URI KURLIANCHIK

[athenaeum-of-the-herald]

• Blackness and the Worshipping of "The White Man's God" •

TW/CW: Racism, anti-blackness, religious trauma

With my next few posts, I wanted to dig into some far deeper, more emotional, and personal topics that I feel I haven't seen discusses in the helpol community. Please understand that these new few posts come from my personal lived experiences and don't apply to everyone, but I feel like are topics that should be discussed and seen.

There is something to be said about growing up in religion, as many young black girls do. Even more to be said when we leave the faith we grew up with behind.

From a young age, I was taught the Christian God. Warned that leaving his side meant damnation. Taught that to leave God and even learn other religions was condemning myself to a life of sin. And this isn't just a young, black experience, as every race deals with the intensity of religious trauma spread throughout generations in the form of tradition. But in the black community, this feeling suffocates. It is ingrained in our very being, as our ancestors who were slaves were made to pray to a God that wasn't ours until we forgot what ours looked like. Until too many generations had folded their hands on their knees in pews forcibly carved by their fathers. Their grandfathers. Their great grandfathers. And that's not to say the black community is indoctrinated, but maybe it is.

No, indoctrinated isn't the right word. We simply pass down what we were taught, as our parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins were.

I remember when my church swapped out the photo of Jesus for a black one. I remember looking at it and wondering where the Jesus with lighter skin and blue eyes and wavy brown hair went. It was only when I began developing a sense of self that I had realized blackness meant not serving "the white God." Jesus was black. Every black person knew that, and to deny it meant you yourself weren't black.

Yet we still worshipped him in buildings modeled after those built by our great grandfathers who worshipped a Jesus with lighter skin, bluer eyes, smoother hair.

To be black is to be Christian. Catholic if you can afford the gas to drive to the bigger, nicer churches. And to leave Christianity is to be exiled from the community that you spend your whole life with. Your family. To not believe in God means you have the devil in you. Even the gang members that lived on my street had Bible scriptures tattooed on their bodies. Men I would see at church every Sunday in suits with their grandmothers and mothers. Folding their hands and praying for their friends that had been gunned down by other black men earlier that week. I'm sure the men they gunned down the week prior did the same thing. Funny enough, I remember as a little girl, when the shootouts would happen, my dad would have my brother and I get low to the ground in the house, and pray. So that in the unfortunate event that a stray bullet found its way into one of us, at least God would take us.

Even steeped in sin, to be black is to worship God.

Leaving Christianity was hard. It wasn't an all at once thing. It happened slowly. Starting with an interest in Greek mythology and Egyptian gods. I read Heroes of Olympus in middle school in secret, my dad would've thrown away my books if he knew I was reading about the Greek gods. My history class did a segment on ancient Egypt, and I studied every book on Anubis in the school library. I never checked them out, I was afraid they'd be found.

Maybe there was a taboo to it. To be black and interested in other religions. The spiral away from Christianity started there.

It was only in tearing my eyes from black Christianity that I began to notice that there were 2 paths of religious blackness. Christianity, or ancestral. You either worshipped the one and only God and no other, or you worked with your ancestors and respective black deities and rejected any other. Two very opposite paths, both with one similar rule.

You do not worship the white man's god or gods.

A black hellenic polytheist isn't some strange anomaly. Some rarity that's impossible to find. But it feels that way. I have met a handful of black helpols, and funny enough, we all typically come from previous religious backgrounds.

Of course black hellenic polytheists exist. But it could be considered that the vast majority of those within the religion are of lighter skin than we are. To announce yourself as a black follower of Greek gods tends to be met with off-putting looks from other black people. At best, a light laugh and a "sure". At worst, condemnation from the religious. Blackness means worshipping black gods. Or the capital G. Gods forbid your skin be lighter like mine is, where you'll be met with "that's that white in you."

On the other hand of this, you have non-black/poc worshippers with their own racial biases. Those who consider this religion theirs and not something for the black community to taint. I've been told plenty of times, "You have your own religion."You have closed religions and practices already. Why can't we have this one?" Mind you, none of these people were of Grrek descent. Simply ignorant children and adults with no understanding of themselves or how religion works.

So where does that leave blackness in hellenic polytheism?

Well, sometimes I don't know. But I find comfort in the gods I worship. In the gods I revere. Perhaps my blackness will always be a source of religious contention internationally. Perhaps externally.

But within the community I find in diverse spaces, there will always be acceptance of my blackness, and I pray that any black hellenic polytheist reading this feels the same.

Xaire the deathless gods, who do not see the color of my skin, but the beauty of my offerings ♡

[floatyflowers]

Dark Husband! Alexander The Great x Reader

You were favored concubine of Darius, and held a high position in Egypt for such a title.

All it took for you, is to seduce him with your youthful looks and body.

Adding to that your high intelligence which attracted him to you.

It was going smoothly, as you planned to cause a revolt against him and take over.

But that all went to waste, When Alexander the Great conquered Egypt.

You quickly switched sides to save yourself, but never expected that Alexander would fall for your witty attitude.

And also your connection with the high priests whom you convinced to make the people trust Alexander and believe that he was sent by Amun to save Egypt from Persia.

When he proposed for you to marry him, you were surprised, but accepted.

Which was a huge mistake.

You expected that he would leave you in Egypt and continue his conquests but instead he took you with him.

"I'm your husband, so you are obligated to accompany me and attend to me whenever needed"

Also, your influential connections were cut off as Alexander refused that you speak or send letters to anyone.

Anyone who was against the marriage, Alexander would execute them.

He made sure to execute your relatives, so you will have no one but him.

Even though, Alexander has two other wives, and a harem, but it's you who he always spends most of his nights with.

Most of those nights, you would try to persuade him to sleep with others.

With the excuse that they will give him a better experience.

But he argues that he only wants you, and wants to get you pregnant as soon as possible.

Fortunately, Alexander gets ill, and you stay by his side until he passes.

Your happiness of freedom doesn't last, because Ptolemy I Soter decides to rule Egypt and take you as his wife.

So, you become the ancestor of Cleopatra VII

[ducksido]

Egyptian yuu, please? 030

Grim:

"So you're telling me your ancestors worshiped CATS? You were destined to be my hench-human!"

Loves that Yuu knows about the importance of felines in ancient Egypt.

Confused but intrigued by Egyptian desserts. "Why is this basbousa so sweet?! I NEED MORE!"

Crowley:

"Ah, Egypt! A land of kings, magic, and… curses?"

Pretends to know everything about Egyptian history but gets half of it wrong.

Tries to convince Yuu to build a pyramid at NRC for “historical enrichment.”

Crewel:

"Egyptian fashion is stunning—gold, bold colors, flowing linen. You certainly have taste."

Thinks Yuu's jewelry choices are elegant and approves of kohl eyeliner.

Asks Yuu to teach the class about perfumes, since Egypt was one of the first to make them.

Trein:

"Finally, a student who respects history!"

Fascinated by Yuu’s knowledge of hieroglyphs and ancient Egyptian scripts.

Talks about cats with Yuu. They bond over the Bastet statues.

Vargas:

“Wait, you guys invented wrestling and archery competitions?! Let’s put that to the test.”

Tries to make Yuu run under the desert sun like an ancient warrior. They tell him he’s crazy.

Sam:

"Egyptian spices and herbs? You KNOW I already have those in stock!"

Already has karkade (hibiscus tea) in his shop. Insists it's his best seller.

Tries selling Yuu a "cursed amulet." They immediately recognize it as fake.

Heartslabyul

Riddle Rosehearts:

"Ancient Egypt had strict rules, and yet, its people embraced feasting? Interesting."

Yuu tells him about the elaborate laws surrounding food and dining in ancient times. He’s fascinated.

Tries ful medames (mashed fava beans) and surprisingly loves it.

Ace Trappola:

"Wait, wait—so your country’s mythology is full of betrayal, curses, and godly family drama? Sounds like a soap opera."

Immediately starts calling Yuu “Pharaoh” as a joke.

Tries fooling Yuu into thinking his cheap jewelry is “Egyptian gold.” Gets smacked.

Deuce Spade:

"So your ancestors had chariots and rode into battle? That’s so cool!"

Respectfully listens when Yuu talks about Egyptian warriors.

Accidentally mispronounces the names of Egyptian gods.

Trey Clover:

"You mean to tell me that you guys INVENTED bread? I owe Egypt my whole career."

Loves learning about Egyptian pastries and sweets. Tries making kunafa.

Thinks hibiscus tea is underrated. Drinks it constantly now.

Cater Diamond:

"So you guys have big festivals with music and lights? That’s a WHOLE aesthetic."

Uses golden Egyptian motifs in his Magicam posts.

Thinks ankh necklaces are trendy.

Savanaclaw

Leona Kingscholar:

"Your country has legends about lions? Heh, smart people."

Thinks Egyptian tomb traps are cool. "Maybe I should install some in my room."

Lowkey fascinated by the story of Sekhmet, the lioness goddess of war.

Ruggie Bucchi:

"Wait, your people eat every part of the animal? Respect."

Loves how Egyptian cuisine doesn’t waste food. Immediately wants to try koshari.

Thinks scarab beetles are creepy.

Jack Howl:

"Your gods had the heads of animals? That’s actually amazing."

Finds Egyptian wolf myths cool.

Tries eating like an Egyptian warrior. Immediately regrets it.

Octavinelle

Azul Ashengrotto:

"A civilization built along a river? How fitting…"

Wants to strike a deal with Yuu for exclusive access to Egyptian spice blends.

Thinks the concept of the Weighing of the Heart judgment is terrifying.

Jade Leech:

"You have stories about desert spirits and jinn? Tell me more."

Finds Egyptian myths deeply fascinating.

Would 100% explore a tomb if given the chance.

Floyd Leech:

"SO, YOU’RE SAYING THERE’S A GOD WHO EATS PEOPLE WHO FAIL THE JUDGMENT TEST?!"

Loves the chaos of Egyptian mythology.

Immediately starts calling weak students “food for Ammit.”

Scarabia

Kalim Al-Asim:

"Egypt is SO CLOSE to my homeland! I bet we have a lot in common!"

Loves Egyptian hospitality and respect for guests.

Wants to throw a festival based on Egyptian traditions.

Jamil Viper:

"Finally, someone who understands how important spices are in cooking."

Respects Egypt’s history of cunning leaders and strategists.

Lowkey scared of Egyptian curses.

Pomefiore

Vil Schoenheit:

"Kohl eyeliner was worn by both men and women? Iconic."

Thinks ancient Egyptian fashion was peak elegance.

Uses honey-based Egyptian skincare remedies.

Rook Hunt:

"Ah, the land of mysteries and golden deserts! How enchanting!"

Has probably read every book on Egyptian history.

Disappears for a week. Comes back fluent in Arabic.

Epel Felmier:

"Your country has a history of strong warriors? That’s badass."

Likes Egyptian fruit juices like sugarcane juice (asab).

Struggles to pronounce Egyptian Arabic words but tries anyway.

Ignihyde

Idia Shroud:

"You’re telling me ancient Egyptians made board games? Respect."

Loves that Egypt had actual tabletop games like Senet.

Terrified of the idea of being cursed for disturbing tombs.

Ortho Shroud:

"Your civilization made some of the first robots? That’s incredible!"

Excited to learn that Egypt had complex automaton technology.

Wants to visit the pyramids.

Diasomnia

Malleus Draconia:

"Your ancestors revered dragons? I see they were wise…"

Intrigued by the concept of ancient Egyptian magic.

Wants to see the pyramids. Yuu warns him not to wake any mummies.

Lilia Vanrouge:

"I knew an Egyptian warrior once! Fearless and skilled."

Loves Egyptian battle tactics.

Cooks an “Egyptian dish” that absolutely isn’t Egyptian.

Silver:

"Your myths have creatures that guard tombs? They sound… familiar."

Wants to see real Egyptian horses.

Probably gets wrapped up in bandages by accident.

Sebek Zigvolt:

"Your people worshiped crocodiles? EXCELLENT!"

Fascinated by Egyptian respect for the Nile.

Insists that Sebek is an Egyptian name (it’s not).

RSA & Noble Bell

Neige:

"Egyptian fashion is so glamorous! I want to wear something like that."

Thinks Yuu’s traditional clothing is beautiful.

Chenya:

"So, your people thought cats were sacred? I KNEW I liked you."

Pretends to be a sphinx to scare people.

Rollo Flamme:

"Your festivals are far too extravagant."

Secretly fascinated by Egypt’s fire-related myths.

[whencyclopedia]

Weapons in Ancient Egypt

The ancient Egyptian military is often imagined in modern films and other media as a heavily armed and disciplined fighting force equipped with powerful weapons. This depiction, however, is only true of the Egyptian army of the New Kingdom (c. 1570-1069 BCE) and, to a lesser extent, the army of the Middle Kingdom (2040-1782 BCE), when the first professional armed force was created by Amenemhat I (c. 1991-1962 BCE). Prior to this time, the army was made up of conscripts from different districts (nomes) who were enlisted by their respective governors (nomarchs). Although this early army was certainly effective enough for its purpose, it was not a group of professional soldiers equipped with the most effective weaponry. Egyptologist Helen Strudwick notes:

Soldiers of the Old and Middle Kingdoms were fairly inadequately equipped. The only development in weapons since Predynastic times had been the replacement of flint blades with those of copper. (464)

Weaponry in ancient Egypt developed in response to its necessity. The early bows, knives, and axes of the Predynastic Period in Egypt (c. 6000-c.3150 BCE) through the Old Kingdom (c. 2613-2181 BCE) were sufficient in putting down local rebellions or conquering neighbors on the border, who were similarly armed but were not the most efficient. As Egypt expanded its influence throughout neighboring regions and came into conflict with other nations, they needed to make a number of adjustments; one of these was in weaponry.

Early Egyptian Weapons

In the Early Dynastic Period in Egypt (c. 3150-c.2613 BCE), military weaponry was comprised of maces, daggers, and spears. The spear had been developed by hunters during the Predynastic Period and changed very little except, like daggers, the tip changed from flint to copper. Even so, the majority of spear- and arrowheads from the Old Kingdom of Egypt seem to have been largely flint. An Egyptian soldier would have carried a spear and dagger, and a shield probably made of animal hide or woven papyrus.

These weapons were supplemented during the Old Kingdom by archers who used a simple single-arched bow with reed arrows and flint or copper tips. These bows were difficult to draw, were only effective at close range and, even then, were not very accurate. The archers, like the rest of the army, were drawn from the lower-class peasantry and would have had little experience with a bow in hunting. Egyptologist Margaret Bunson describes the Old Kingdom army:

The soldiers of the Old Kingdom were depicted as wearing skull caps and carrying clan or nome-totems. They used maces with wooden heads or pear-shaped stone heads. Bows and arrows were standard gear, with square-tipped flint arrowheads and leather quivers. Some shields, made of hides, were in use but not generally. Most of the troops were barefoot, dressed in simple kilts, or naked. (168)

Weapons, and the military in general, did not begin to develop significantly until the Middle Kingdom of Egypt. When the central government of the Old Kingdom collapsed, it initiated the era known as the First Intermediate Period of Egypt (c. 2181- 2040 BCE) in which the individual nomarchs had more power than the king. These nomarchs would still send conscripts to the government when called upon but were free to exercise their own power and extend it beyond their districts if they wished.

This is precisely what did happen when Mentuhotep II of Thebes (c. 2061-2010 BCE) elevated his city from just another nome in Egypt to the capital of the country. Mentuhotep II defeated the ruling party at Herakleopolis c. 2040 BCE and united the country under Theban rule.

Continue reading...

[cryptotheism]

What we would recognize today as alchemy started in the Ptolmeic era. For those that don’t know, that was the period of time when Alexander the Great finished slaughtering and conquering his way through Egypt, and died. The new ruler would be a guy named Ptolemy. (You can read about him in a different book.) The Ptolemaic dynasty would last from around 305 BCE until around 30 BCE, when an Alexander the Great fan club called the Roman Empire would try their hand at slaughtering and conquering Egypt. This probably sucked for the Egyptians, but had its upsides for us. The Ptolemies loved themselves some libraries. If you’ve ever heard of the Library of Alexandria, you can thank the Ptolemies.

The Ptolemies set down a rule: Any book that entered Alexandria’s big fancy port would be taken to the Library and copied. You would get your book back when the Librarians were done copying it. This made Alexandria an excellent place to be if you liked to learn things, or if you were a librarian who enjoyed bullying merchants.

discussing the origins of alchemy on patreon!

[mania-sama]

Mondstadt and Its Religious Implications

One thing that I will NEVER get over about Genshin Impact is the iconography used in the designs for Mondstadt and the implications it has. Now, don't get me wrong, as a rule of thumb, Hoyoverse has done a really good job in creating unique environments for Genshin's nations that more or less accurately portray a real-life cultural region. Liyue is based on China, Inazuma on Japan, Sumeru on India and Egypt, Fontaine on France (and Australia, if you squint), and Natlan on African and Native American tribes.

Mondstadt is based on Germany. More specifically, many of the designs and icons seem to resemble the Holy Roman Empire. Now, an important thing to note is that most of Western and Southern Europe was some denomination of Christianity at this time, with some exceptions due to various holy wars that occurred kind of all of the time. Anyway, the point is that the Holy Roman Empire was an established Catholic nation (and Germany still is predominantly Christian in modern-day). One thing about the Catholic denomination is that they proudly display religious symbols anywhere they can or in ways that they can carry with them, usually coming in the form of a rosary or a cross. When it came to specific places of holy worship, they would obviously spend no small amount of effort to completely embellish the place with gold, art, and symbols. Catholic churches are known to be the most extravagant of the denominations for a reason.

When a design team looks at The Holy Roman Empire, they will see this religious imagery everywhere. Namely, they will see the cross, because that is kind of, you know, THE Christian symbol. So it makes complete sense for them to note that down and underline it in red; for a mostly-accurate portrayal of the region they are taking from, a church and crosses HAVE to be included.

Places of worship are obviously not unique to Christianity, nor is the "cross" as a religious symbol even born from Jesus Christ. There are a few cases from different regions in which crosses and cross-like images were used for their gods. HOWEVER, with the specific cross that Mondstadt displays, and with the fact that not only is it based on Germany/Holy Roman Empire but that it is the ONLY Genshin region to use the cross in its designs (along with the usage of distinctly Christian/Catholic roles like nuns)... it is safe to assume that this is representative of the Christian cross.

You can see the issue we are about to have.

The fact that Mondstadt displays crosses as a religious symbol in CHURCHES and on the KNIGHTS' ARMORY (because most knights were historically Christian), that characters like Barbara are seen wearing in their designs, implies two things:

Crucifixation is/was a method of cruel execution in Mondstadt's history.

SOMEBODY of high esteem and worship had to be crucified, and thusly held up as the ultimate symbol of religion...

For the first point, while it IS still crazy to think that Genshin would imply this, I can, indeed, believe it to be true to canon. Why? Well, Mondtadt's history is already rife with the same abuses as Europe's actual history. From slaves to gladiator fights to rebellion to cruel monarchs, Mondstadt has not had a pretty life. Crucifixion honestly fits right in. I can imagine, in failed revolts against the aristocracy, those rebels who survived were later crucified. Other victims may be those who try to falsify gods or improperly worship Barbatos in a manner that the ruler doesn't agree with, those who commit treason, etc. etc..

Is it insane? Perhaps a little. But if we really get into it, Hoyoverse has done some crazy things with their lore so it's not really out of place, no matter how cruel the actual punishment is.

The second point is a little more complicated. Let's first rule off Christianity being a thing in Genshin - while you could consider the most of the nations to be monotheistic because they technically worship one god, the respective one of their nation, they most certainly do not obey/follow one god holistically, nor is there one mortal representative that god, nor is there a specific spirit that lives on in every believer who follows that god. So, there is no Holy Trinity; no Jesus Christ, no Holy Spirit, and there is no God, so to speak. No Christianity.

However.

One thing about Genshin Impact is that it takes from biblical mythology heavily, for some reason (and I say mythology because modern denominations don't consider the demonology stuff canon). For example, Paimon is the name of a demon who was more or less a servant of Lucifer (interpretations may vary). It is well known that the Archons are based on demons from biblical demon mythology. Even in the latest Natlan Archon Quest, Ronova, the Ruler of Death, looks unnervingly like Ophanim, the one everyone draws when they make "biblically accurate angels" or whatever.

Mondstadt accomplishes biblical references in two ways: one, that Barbatos, the demon, had four main kings/knights that rode with him. This can be seen represented in the Four Winds. Two, that these Four Winds can be viewed like how the Catholics would view a saint. Saints were, in simplistic terms, mortals who achieved great things and helped many people, and were then canonized after the death (usually). The church essentially declares them a Saint and worthy of worship. Idols and imagery are produced of these saints and hung like one would a cross or other images of Jesus Christ.

The most clear representation of that in Genshin would be in Venessa, who is a mortal who dies and then ascends to Celestia. She then becomes the Falcon of the West, one of the Four Winds of Mondstadt. So, a saint, essentially. Even though Mondstadt isn’t Christian, it certainly is Catholic.

The reason why I am going over all of this is to say that, well, it may not be necessarily implying that Venti was the one who was crucified. That is the popular opinion when discussing the crosses - that somewhere along the way, Venti was crucified. I am here to say that that really might not be the case. While the Holy Trinity is interpreted by many denominations to all be one and the same as each other, it is still a fact that it was Jesus Christ who was crucified, not God Himself. Jesus is the son, not the God.

Which is to say that it could be anyone, really. The most clear "child" of Barbatos that comes to mind is Venessa, who we could interpret as someone who could have been, at one point, crucified (though she was not). Rulers and people of high esteem also claim her titles and name like monarchs would claim holiness and divine right in Europe. Again, the problem with this is that she was not crucified and lived a very successful life post-rebellion.

The other option that comes to mind is the Unnamed Bard. He also could have been crucified. Even though we know he died in battle, it is not unreasonable that his corpse would have been strung up by pissed-off nobles upon the defeat of Decarabian. But, again, the problem being is that a. the timelines don't match up (Barbatos was not yet the Anemo Archon), and b. they won the rebellion so he still probably wasn't crucified.

So, it could be someone we haven't heard of, or someone deep in Genshin lore that I don't know about. Or, you know, perhaps Venti really was crucified. I don't know.

THIS is what Hoyoverse is implying. AND I DON'T LIKE IT (it's fucking hilarious).

[melanie-the-artful]

Genshin Character Names` Meanings Pt. 4

Tighnari | Most likely a reference to Arab Muslim botanist (as well as traveler, poet and physician) Al-Tighnari (born in village Tignar), who wrote a treatise on Middle East agriculture

Collei | Uncertain, but there seemingly is a Persian name Collei that means «Aware», «Sentimental», or «Noble»; Also literally «Lost» in Welsh

Cyno | Originates from Cynopolis, an Egyptian city which used to be centre of Anubis cult, and as we all know, Cyno is based on Anubis

Sethos | Most likely references Seth, the God of deserts, storms, disorder, violence and foreigners in Ancient Egypt. Known to have accompanied Ra on his barque in repelling Apep, but in the Osiris myth depicted as the usurper who murdered and mutilated his own brother, who is Osiris himself

Dori | Literally «Shining», «Glowing» in Persian, also derived from the word dor (دُر) which means «Large Pearl»

Nilou | «Water Lily», «Lotus» – Persian Name

Candace | «Clarity», «Whiteness» – An ancient title derived from word Kandake, once used by queens of Ethiopia; has Latin roots

Dehya | «Leader of Soldiers» – Algerian Amazeigh/Berber name, which refers to Kahina Dehya, the female Algerian priestess, who was a religious and military leader

Layla | Literally «Night» in Arabic

Faruzan | «Luminous», «Shining», or «Resplendent» – Persian Name

Alhaitham | Haitham is a first name and it means «Young Eagle» or «Young Hawk». Meanwhile Al is a prefix usually used in Middle East last names before the name of the family/tribe itself. Basically, it is a definite article, like 'the' in English. He is also most likely named so after Hasan Ibn al-Haitham (Latinicized version of his name also sounds like Alhazen) who was an Arab mathematician, astronomer and physicist during the Islamic Golden Age

Kaveh | «Of Royal Origin» – Persian/Iranian Name; Might be based on Kaveh the Blacksmith from Iranian mythology, who launched a national uprising against the evil foreign tyrant Zahāk and re-established the rule of Iranians

Nahida | «Delightful», «Gentle», «Kind», «Soft» – Persian Name. Another version – Nahiya, means «Advisor»

Kusanali | Derived from the Pali words «kusa» (kusa-grass, a sacred plant used in Hindu ceremonies) and «nāḷi» («a hollow stalk or tube»).

Buer | Comes from Governor Buer, the 10th of Goetia Demons 

Rukkhadevata |  रुक्खदेवता – "tree-goddess" in Shaivism is a Yakṣiṇī who is worshiped as the goddess of wealth or the guardian spirit of practitioners. The Yakṣiṇīs are the female counterparts of the Yakshas in Hinduism and Buddhism, and also appear in Jātaka literature, where they are considered as local deities living in trees and sometimes referred to individually as "rukkha-devatā".

Cuilein-Anbar | Literally «Darling Amber». Cuilein (directly translating to «pup/cub») is a Gaelic term of endearment commonly used for young animals, equivalent to «darling», while anbar is an Arabic word meaning «amber».

Mehrak | «Like the Sun» – Persian Name

Faranak | Derived from the word پروانه (parvâneh), which means «butterfly» in Persian

Dunyarzad | Likely named so after Dunyazad (دنیازاد in Persian), who is the younger sister of Queen Scheherazade from One Thousand and One Nights

Sorush | Originates from Zoroastrian divinity of «Conscience» and «Observance», with its name having those two exact meanings 

Apep | Based on an ancient Egyptian deity of darkness and disorder, also known as Aphoph or Apophis, who also was often depicted as a snake

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

........Hi

Not even gonna make up excuses this time, just want you to know that I do have an intention to finish these series, it`s just that God knows when I actually will

In any case, I wanted to add Jeht as well, but I couldn't find a reliable source that would tell me where her names comes from, so I would be grateful if anyone knowledgeable helped me out here. I think I saw a version that says it's an Arabic name meaning «Freedom Lover» or «Scholar», but I'm not sure if that's right??

Anyways, see ya soon, hope you'll have a great year, take care of yourself, stay hydrated and bye.

[cat-in-a-mech-suit]

Transmasculinity Throughout Time: Hatshepsut

Kicking off this first post in what I hope to be a long series by saying that I am just a guy who likes obsessively researching things and I am absolutely not a historical expert, and in this case, not an Egyptologist. My perspectives and interpretations are my own. You are welcome to have other ones.

Hatshepsut is known as Egypt’s first and only female pharaoh, and is discussed as such throughout almost all material about them. I will be nonetheless using they/them pronouns to refer to them, but during their life they used both masculine and feminine pronouns. The tendency to project modern ideas onto historical figures is common. Especially in the case of people who exhibited signs of transmasculinity, it is common for their entire lives to be reduced to “women who cosplayed as men for power” which is problematic for obvious reasons. Cis men coveting masculinity for the pursuit of power in a patriarchal society is never a reason they are actually women, yet it is okay to do this with historical transmasculine people in the name of feminism? There is a clear double standard. So, I will be using gender neutral pronouns because we can’t really know if Hatshepsut was alive today whether they would identify as a woman, trans man, nonbinary or as none of those identities. I am simply going to be discussing the history and some of my interpretations.

In the context of ancient Egypt, the pharaoh was a living embodiment of the masculine god Horus. Hatshepsut embraced this role after coming to power, ascending from the position of queen regent alongside a child king once their former husband Thutmose II had passed, to “his majesty the king herself.” As their rule progressed, they were depicted as more and more masculine in statues and reliefs, using the same ceremonial fake beard as male pharaohs, muscles, and other masculine signifiers. They didn’t stop wearing makeup and jewelry when presenting as a male king though, which some historians take as evidence to support a female gender identity - it could mean that, but it could also just mean they liked to be fashionable and didn’t subscribe to restrictive gender roles!

Like kings before them, Hatshepsut emphasized their connection to the gods by telling a story to justify their rule. However, the story they told had to be exceptional - and it was. Hatshepsut’s throne name, Maatkare, translated to “truth is the soul of the sun god.” This demonstrated a connection to the sun god, Amun or Ra, and to Maat, the tradition of maintaining harmony in ancient Egypt. The story was that Amun had appeared to their mother who had conceived Hatshepsut for the purpose of being king, commanded by the god of creation Khnum, to “fashion [them] better than all gods” with “the great dignity of a king.” In carvings, Khnum created Hatshepsut as a little boy. This explanation for their lineage is especially interesting because it emphasizes their connection both to their mother’s bloodlines and to being the child of Amun, not ruling as just a queen regent, but as a king.

During their rule of 20 years, Egypt’s trade flourished and there was an immense period of construction during which countless buildings and statues were created, and temples renovated. Unfortunately after their death, extreme measures were taken by Thutmose III to erase all records of Hatshepsut from existence in order to preserve the line of male kings. These efforts were primarily successful, and much of their history has been lost to time. There are many things about Hatshepsut that we will never know.

[city-of-ladies]

"The prominence of female divinity in Minoan culture might well have reflected the prominence of Minoan women in daily life. In Shang dynasty China, the authority of goddesses such as the Eastern and Western Mothers was echoed to some degree by the authority of women in elite society and even the army. Fu Jing and Fu Hao, wives of King Wu Ding, led men into battle before being honoured in death with monumental tombs containing the victims of human sacrifice, battle axes, knives and arrowheads. In Egypt, many of the images of Hatshepsut were destroyed or defaced after her death when her name was removed from the official list of rulers by her male successors, who sought to claim direct descent from her husband. It is possible that images of powerful Minoan women were subject to similar mistreatment.

While there is no evidence that Minoan women ruled in the same manner as Hatshepsut, or joined battle like the women of Shang China, the sheer number of artworks depicting them centrally placed and on a larger scale than men has prompted some historians to speculate that Minoan society was matriarchal or matrilineal. ‘Neopalatial Crete,’ writes one scholar, ‘presents the best candidate for a matriarchy – if one ever existed.’ There is nothing to say that the position of Minoan women was in any way secondary to that of men. 

Minoan women were certainly not confined to the weaving room. Sculptures show them playing lyres, flutes and zithers, sashaying in flounced chevron-patterned skirts and raising their arms in the air in ecstasy. In the ‘Grandstand Fresco’ from Knossos the women are more carefully delineated in paint than the men. Each woman has her own identity, her own style. The women appear to occupy the main rooms of the palace while the men congregate as an anonymous mass beyond. Women depicted seated – a sign of divinity or authority – are often being approached by men or animals. A highly enigmatic fresco at Thera (Santorini), for example, features a woman wearing large hoop earrings, a snake in her hair, and a neck-chain of ducks, sitting on a dais with a griffin beside her while a blue monkey pays her court.

 On a gold ring, a female deity, we may presume, is seated beneath a tree, where she receives flowers from two women. A smaller figure of a man with a double-headed axe over his head hovers between them.  By depicting the man beneath the axe, and on a smaller scale than the women, the engraver of the ring perhaps hoped to convey that he was a divine vision, almost a thought-bubble, originating in one of the female worshipper’s heads. Trees, as Arthur Evans recognised, were sacred in Minoan culture, and were perhaps believed to be capable of inspiring divine visions in those who honoured them. Such artworks contribute to the picture of Minoan women exerting considerable religious authority in the palace complexes and society more widely. 

Minoan women also played a crucial role in ritual. The early Minoans sometimes interred their dead twice by exhuming the bones of their family members and resettling them later in jars. The more usual custom, however, was to bury the dead in chamber tombs or stone beehive-shaped ‘tholos’ tombs, clay sarcophagi or, in the case of infants, under the floorboards of the home. The colourful paintings on a rare limestone sarcophagus from Hagia Triada, circa 1400 bc, show three men carrying young animals and a model boat to the deceased, who stands in front of his tomb, ready to receive his provisions for the afterlife. There are also three women present, the first of whom pours a libation into a cauldron placed between two upright axes mounted by birds; the second carries further vessels; the third – darker skinned like the men and thus possibly of lower social status – has a lyre. On the other side of the sarcophagus the women assist in the sacrifice of a bull on an altar. Other wall paintings show women involved in rituals of their own involving blood.  A fresco from Akrotiri features a group of women, one of whom sits beside a sunken room or ‘lustral basin’ with a bleeding foot. A tree also bleeds. It is possible that lustral basins were used for purification by women during or after menstruation."

The Missing Thread: A Women's History of the Ancient World, Daisy Dunn

[cheshitora]

ETERNAL SUNSHINE

[ the death of your friend took your close knit group of friends by surprise and shock. you were prepared to move on and grieve your loss by your lonesome.. until he suddenly reappeared in your house again. ]

on the air :: mikey x gn!reader

any warnings? angst, fluff, sfw, crying, mentions of d3ath, mentions of su!c!de, acceptance of d3ath, kissing (it's like one kiss tho), mental breakdown (nothing too serious except you kinda lash out)

word count :: 3.5k, not proofread (sorry for the bad writing)

host's final input :: welp, i dont know what to say. this was not the original intent for this work. i wanted it to be fun and a bit more morbid ngl but it just turned out sad. im still okay with the end result and might end up writing the original ver of this fic since thats how i originally wanted it. but thanks again for reading

“You’re still here?” Your words were laced with venom, spitting at the blonde seated with a bowl of cereal at your dinner table, mouth full of the marshmallow candied food.

“Huh?” He replied, clearly oblivious to your apparent disdain of his current presence in your home.

“I said, you’re still here?” You squint your eyes at him, irritation flaring at his lack of comprehension, eyes piercing shards of glass into his empty shell of a head. He seemed unbothered, unperturbed to your irritability. It was like any other day, the same as it had been for the past few months.

He would get up, make a mess in your house, expect you to clean up after him and deal with all his other needy and whiny demands. It had become a new routine for you and one you despised with every fiber of your living being. So why were you putting up with him when it was just as easy to kick him out?

Four months ago, unbeknownst to you, you’d be plagued with the unfortunate company of your endless misery, an everlasting purgatory of unwanted memories - Mikey had randomly popped into the comfort of your home out of the blue on a Tuesday morning. Normally, on a regular day or occasion, his turning up wouldn’t have affected you much, except he was dead. And he showed up the day of his funeral.

Approximately four months ago, Sano Manjiro threw himself out of the window of a 10 story high hotel room, his death ruled a suicide. The news of his death had brought a wave of turmoil and distress amongst you and your friends, each of you grieving in your own way at the sudden news of your friend’s passing. The funeral came and went, the crowd in attendance mostly consisting of close friends and relatives, those who knew and were closest to the golden haired boy.

Mikey had once played a relatively small part in your life, the two of you remaining as just ‘friends’, acquaintances at best, though his death had still taken you by surprise, your days seemingly less bright than normal.

You weren’t complete strangers to him but not close enough to be ‘besties’, as he would often put it. Still, every now and then, you would hear your phone ‘ping’ with a notification, a message from the blonde with a random picture of a rock saying, “that’s you”. It was strange, dumb but slightly endearing, a small smile curling on your lips as you replied back, “throw me in a lake”. He would then send a video of himself “drowning” you in a puddle of water, the sound of his hearty laugh echoing in the background.

Perhaps you thought you weren’t close to him as you perceived but your friends around you knew otherwise. “Denial is a river in Egypt,” Emma once playfully jabbed at you, in an attempt to prove you actually cared more for Mikey than you led on, though you’d never admit it, not out loud and definitely not to his sister.

So when his untimely passing was brought to your attention, the realization of his absence in the world shattered you, your mental and physical state falling apart at the seams. It dawned on you that you would never be able to proclaim to the Toman leader your admiration for him, his strength and leadership qualities. You’d never be able to let him know how much you looked forward to his arbitrary messages at 2am, whether it was a picture of a bird he believed looked like you or an opinion about an asinine topic he “just needed to vent about” that would carry on for hours into the early morning hours. But most profound of all, you’d never be able to confess how fast your heart pounded in your chest in his company, your denial of your true feelings a remnant of the one that got away.

Well, not entirely.

As you traveled back home after the conclusion of his funeral, you were determined to lay in bed all day and mourn, having no energy to do much else but grieve the loss of the one you loved. Stepping into your house, a wave of familiarity washed over you, your eyes scanning the vacant living room at the sound of footsteps trudging near. Your head snapped to the left when you heard the sound of an all too familiar voice, your heart dropping to the pit of your stomach as bile rose in your throat.

It was Mikey, standing in your dining room, a bowl of your leftover takeout from the day prior in his hands, a gleeful smile on his face.

“Mornin’. You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he joked, taking a bite of the steaming food.

It’s safe to say you fainted, your body falling onto the hard surface of your tile floor - I mean, how could you not? Just a mere 3 hours ago, you had witnessed his casket being lowered into the ground, tears coursing down your face in a river, the sounds of mourning reverberating in your ears as you painfully accepted his passing.

But now, he was here, in your house, alive? Maybe? Well, he wasn’t, as he would later explain to you. He was, in fact, dead but stuck in purgatory, limbo, to say the least. According to whatever, or whoever, he spoke to in the afterlife informed him of some “unfinished business” he needed to attend to before he could rest.

It didn’t make sense. For as long as you knew the delinquent boy standing before you, he had one set goal in life - to bring about a new age for delinquents, a feat he had accomplished already with the help of his now disbanded gang. Perhaps there was more to Mikey than you anticipated, but if he truly had another task to tackle before his eternal rest, why was he here, in your house? What did you have to do with his objective, a question he couldn’t answer himself, or so you thought.

In just the subsequent week of his reemergence, you’d hit a break in your mental health. What if you were just going insane, hallucinating the image of the blonde male in your grief? It was common for the bereaved to conjure the sight of their recently deceased loved ones as a coping mechanism, so maybe you were experiencing the same thing.

But as the days turned to weeks and weeks to months, that logic had long since flown out the window, leaving you to come to terms with your new house companion. At first, the Sano boy was a pleasant addition to your daily life, almost elated to have him back in your world… almost.

Mikey hurriedly overstayed his welcome and you wondered how Emma and Draken handled him on a day to day basis. He was needy, clingy and just flat out annoying. What did you see in him again? You were perceiving a new, or rather unseen, side of Mikey that was masked by his stance as Toman’s leader, his reputation as “the Invincible Mikey” casting over the whiny little boy attributes he had yet to grow out of.

By the fourth month of his return, your patience had run out, finally having had enough of his exasperating existence. You stared down as he sat with his bowl of cereal, chewing nonchalantly as he processed your irked mien, raising an eyebrow.

“You really thought I’d be gone after four months? I thought you were smart,” he jested, your anger flaring up again.

“I want you out of my house. Now.”

“No can do. I can’t leave, remember?”

Unfortunately, to your displeasure, as long as Mikey sought residency in your home until his task was completed, he could not leave, lest he wanted to reap the consequences, an option he pondered over on a few occasions when he particularly pissed you off beyond belief.

You groaned, your annoyance for the younger boy peaking.

“Get out of here.”

“I wish I could.”

“Get out now,” anger laced your voice, raising your tone as tears pricked the ducts of your eyes.

“What part of ‘I can’t’ don’t you get?”

That was it - the limit. In a brash and bold move, your arm slid across the table, effectively causing the bowl to skid off the table, porcelain shattering as it hit the hard, tile floor, milk splattering and soggy cereal coating the once spotless ground. Mikey’s eyes widened in shock and disbelief, half expecting you to act out in rage but not expecting his cereal to be the victim of your lashing out.

“Why did you have to come bother me? Why me? Why?”, you pleaded, your desperation for answers evident in the way you begged him to give you any solution, any remedy for the aching in your head and heart. In this moment, you held on for too long, tears spilling as your chest heaved, your sobs bouncing off the walls of closed space.

He sighed, a deep breath of air escaping his lungs as he gazed into your defeated, tear soaked eyes, his own softening at your distressed appearance. He knew his presence became harrowing the longer he stayed. Sure, it may have been only four months, but it was four months of reliving those painful memories of his life before death, anguish washing over you in waves as you replayed the exact moment you were called on your phone, Emma’s broken voice cracking into the phone as she brokenheartedly relayed the news of Mikey’s suicide.

It was a memory you dreaded reminiscing, the sight of his friends gathered around his casket at his funeral forever etched into the walls of your mind. Even when he somehow magically reappeared before you, your loaf of a brain would endlessly rewind those echoes of the past, the good and the bad, a bitter reminder of those untold feelings you harbored for him, for the blonde sitting in front of you at your dinner table.

Neither of you spoke, the silence deafening as you calmed yourself, soft sniffles emitting from you every few seconds, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand. As you did, Mikey stood from his chair, the wood sliding against the hard surface as he stood, taking a small step towards your trembling form, encasing you tightly in his arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

The sudden gesture was unusual to receive from the blonde, and it occured to you this was the first time you ever embraced him, since he wasn’t the type to issue out hugs to just anybody. You let him hold you, the feeling of his cold arms wrapped around you sending a shiver down your spine, a subtle reminder that the boy holding you close to his still heart is, in fact, dead.

Before you could say anything, finally finding the words to speak, Mikey scooped you up in his arms, a small yelp fleeing from your lips as he held you up, his strength imminent even in death. Leaving the mess of your outrage behind, he stepped out from the dining room, trekking towards the couch. Your eyes never left his face, his expression unreadable as per usual, stoic but his thoughts racing.

He placed you gently against the soft cushions of the couch, sitting down next to you, leaning back as he stared up at the ceiling, eyes vacant as mind continued to run, your eyes still glued to his face.

“You’re staring,” he said blankly - monotone. You averted your stare to your fidgeting hands in your lap, a rush of heat spreading on your face from being caught staring at your friend. You sat in silence again, the only sound of your mingled breathing heard as the morning turned to afternoon and afternoon to night.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable but there were unspoken words itching to be said as the two of you sat in relative quiet. Having had enough, you turn your head slightly, ready to speak when your face flushes again, your eyes meeting Mikey’s as you turn. You hadn’t noticed his lingering gaze this whole time, hadn’t felt it on you. He had no reaction to your blush and you couldn’t decipher whether his lack of expression bothered or relieved you. You were unable to tell what he was thinking but in that moment, you both had a silent, mutual understanding of what needed to be said and done.

You shifted closer to Mikey, your orbs staring into each other as you inched closer to his still form. Your bodies were nearly touching but not quite, faces centimeters apart, breaths intertwined, heart hammering against your chest. With a burst of confidence, you closed the distance, lips sliding against his in a soft kiss. Your eyes fluttered shut, his half lidded with uncertainty before closing, meeting your lips with caution, his unspoken feeling pouring into the delicate kiss.

His hand slowly wrapped around yours, fingers intertwining as you deepened the kiss, your need for him expressed through the heated gesture, a quiet, barely audible sigh seeping into his mouth before you pulled away, slow and steady, savoring the feel of his warm embrace.

A subtle pink hue colored your cheeks as you tilted your head up, meeting the blonde boy’s half lidded gaze, his brow furrowed slightly, his once expressionless face now conveying vulnerability, a rare sight for you to experience but you understood.

Another silence came over you both, your body tilting forward to rest your head against his chest, your hand fisting his hoodie as you listened for a heartbeat, though none could be found. Tears threatened to escape your eyes as you rested on his chest, hands trembling, afraid to let go.

In a gentle motion, Mikey wraps his arm around you, your body unwinding in his hold, a warmth cascading over you despite his cold body temperature. Without warning and without hesitation, he spoke quietly, a soft whisper laced with tenderness.

“I love you..”

Your heart stopped momentarily, a single tear running down as you replied, your heart swelling at the sound of his long awaited confession.

“I love you too.”

His grip on you tightened, holding you close to his frigid body, as if he were afraid you’d slip away from him, as if you’d disappear. And suddenly, it hit you, the dawn arising at his tightening grip, the worry present in his eyes.

“Is that why you’re here?” you questioned, waiting for a response you feared he wouldn’t say.

Mikey had known all along why he’d been denied eternal rest. His unfinished business was you.

At the time of his death, his dying thoughts were of you, your smile, your kindness and your friendship, how he longed for you to be more than his friend, his acquaintance. He wanted you to love him the way he loved you, though his own fears and hesitance refused to allow him that satisfaction. Suppose he had confessed his hidden feelings and you reciprocated, he feared he wasn’t right for you, that he’d mess up or be too unattached for a working relationship.

The last thing he wanted was to hurt you, to push you away more than he already had. Deep down, he knew he wasn’t right for you, knew there were bigger issues he needed to handle before he could have your heart. In the end, it was for the better to let you go, and perhaps it was the very reason he couldn’t continue living, on top of all the other demons he was internally fighting.

But when he thought he could finally be free of you, he found himself in the vicinity of your home, his funeral taking place the same day he was assigned this task: to confess the love he truly felt for you.

The task itself couldn’t be done so easily. He couldn’t just say “I love you” to you and expect to disappear. It had to come from the heart and as dire as it was for him to confess, you had to make your confession to him as well, whether his love was reciprocated or not, at least he’d find peace.

And now, here he was, holding you in his arms, too scared to loosen his grip on you, his time with you coming to a close. He placed his hand on the side of your head, stroking your hair as he stared up at the ceiling.

“Yeah.. that’s why I’m here.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” you questioned again.

He lets out a deep exhale, running his free hand through his golden strands.

“I wouldn’t have been a good boyfriend. We both know that,” he explained, truth in his words that even you were aware of.

You knew to some extent the truth behind his confession, how unattached or despondent he could get at times and it was a risk he wasn’t willing to put you through.

“I’ve loved you for so long, dammit. I wish.. I wish you would’ve said something sooner.” You fought back tears as you clung to him tighter, knuckles turning white from the sheer tightness of your grip on his hoodie.

“I know. I should’ve but.. I didn’t. This is what I get.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at you, your grip tightening as you bury your face into his chest, wishing you could go back in time to stop him from ending it all.

He tilts his head down to look at you, gripping your chin gently, maneuvering your head to peer up at him, his usual cheeky smile on his face, as if to brighten your mood and mask his vulnerability.

“I guess I’ll see you on the other side?” he joked, chuckling lightly as you did. His smile. You’d commit it to memory every time he smiled at you and this time would be no different, though more significant.

You rested your head against his chest once more, his hand raking through your hair, the gentle motion lulling you to sleep. As you yawned, your eyes becoming heavy again with sleep, he mumbled something inaudible under his breath, your tired haze clouding your thoughts as you shut your eyes, your breathing coming in small huffs as sleep overcame you. He looked down at you, another small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, pressing a light kiss to the top of your head, closing his eyes.

His time was up. He loved you and you loved him. That’s all he wanted to know. He smiled, his eyes closed as he envisioned your smile, your radiance. It was all he could do now, waiting for the night to turn to day, waiting for the light to take him away.

Sunlight blared through the open curtains of your living room, the air cool and stuffy as you pried your eyes open, your body stiff and rigid from sleeping on the couch. You arched your back, stretching your limbs as you let out a deep yawn, rubbing your eyes as they adjusted to the bright lighting.

Your head whipped around the room, searching for the blonde boy you fell asleep on, the couch cold without him. You stretched your legs out, standing upright, legs wobbly as you explored your empty house, that air of familiarity no longer present as you desperately searched for Mikey.

After a few more minutes of relentless searching, you wound up back in the living room, the pain of your heart breaking coursing through your body, your sobs the only thing audible as you accepted your fate, his fate. He was gone and this time, for good.

You curled up on the couch instead, choked sobs and hiccups reverberating in your muted home. After some time, you exhausted yourself, becoming tired of crying, though the pain lingered, having lost the boy you loved for a second time, his second death more painful than the first. As you laid on the couch, you thought back to all of your happiest memories with Mikey, most being when you were young kids, running amuck without a care in the world, oblivious to the world around you as you basked in the glory of your youth.

If only you knew back then where he’d end up now, you would’ve told him long ago how much you loved him, how your heart ached for his love. If you could turn back time to any day before you began falling away from him, you’d hold him for as long as you could and plead for him to stay. Maybe then, he’d still be here. Maybe then, you’d be cradled in his arms, heart swollen with love and affection for the blonde boy, in the care of the one who loves you the most, in the warmth of your eternal sunshine.

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