Feeling a bit philosophical here...
So I think love IS an important part of being human (one of many). Know how the ancient greeks had seven different words for love? (Actually eight, but I'm leaving out obsessive love cause that shit ain't healthy):
Eros - romantic love
Philia - affectionate, friendly love
Agape - selfless, universal love
Storge - unconditional, familiar love
Ludus - playful, flirtatious love
Pragma - committed, enduring love
Philautia - self love
And I think it's beautiful, because it's not a ranking system. If you don't feel certain types of love, you don't have to 'settle' for the rest, because each type is still love and love is no limited recource. And an endless amount of love is enough to fill any life with happiness.
There are so many things to love - people, animals, nature, art, music, stars, rocks, your houseplant, your favourite tshirt, pizza, a trashy tv show. Yourself. It seems so silly that people think that, in this big world, someone couldn't find happiness just because their love isn't focussed on that tiny fraction of the universe that is made of human beings.
Submitted June 21, 2023
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Chosen | Heist x Illinois - The Mummy AU
Chapter 2
MASTERPOST
Warnings: mild body horror
Author's Notes: Ancient Macedonia was where Alexander the Great was from. He invaded Egypt and this led eventually to Cleopatra being ruler there. The Linear B script is the oldest known language of Anicent Greece. Hi my name is Echo and I have an Ancient History degree :).
If it wasn't for the corpse currently staring right at Illinois, he would have thought he was dreaming. Or drunk - but not even whiskey had made him hallucinate a reanimated mummy before.
It's not even like the god damn book had looked that suspicious. Sure, it was deep black with some ancient scarlet symbol around a intricately designed locking system. Sure, the wind had picked up when he'd opened it and Markus had nearly shot his own foot off when there was a creepy voice suddenly echoing through the temple. But no harm ever came from reading a book, right? The situation he finds himself in now provides proof against that statement.
"𐀀-𐀚-𐀨-𐀵"
It's impossible for the voice to come from the corpses' mouth - given that he can see it's throat muscles through the bones of it's neck - but the sound seems to come from the shadows surrounding Illinois, at the same time as it seems to be ringing in his ears, as if it's coming from his own mind.
The professor recognises the lexical composition, reminding him of Ancient Greek. His mind brings back up the scripture of Ancient Myceanean Linear B surrounding the sarcophogus where they'd found the key to the book. He would be extatic, if the corpse wasn't currently walking closer.
Illinois crowds back against the crumbling wall, trying to flatten himself against it. It's like looking at some kind of horror movie come to life; the centuries of decay reanimated like a gruesome puppet. As it moves, he can see the tendons and muscles working to glue the skeletal frame together. Everything screams of the centuries trapped inside a rotting box. Everything, except the eyes. Those are glowing; deep scarlet red like fresh blood - the same faded colour that's swirling around its eye socket like an ancient tapestry. Fear trickles down his spine like the sweat on his forehead.
"Where the hell have you been?!"
There's no question about where that voice came from. Markus runs into view, black gear fading into the darkness of the tunnel he sprints from. Dust gathers around the two men as the thief nearly collides with the wall.
"Hey! Professor Idiot!" Illinois doesn't even move, still trapped by the gaze of the walking dead in front of him, he nods towards it, to which Markus gives him a look with one eyebrow raised.
"What?!" Oh, FUCK" Markus presses himself next to Illinois as he turns around to see the horror story before them. Only, his gut instincts kick in a lot quicker than Illinois.
The corpse is flung partially backwards as Markus shoots a round into its bone and flesh. Illinois feels a hand wrapping around his and pulling, finding himself being dragged along the temple corridors before the mummy can adjust to its, temporary, wounds.
"Don't read fucking cursed books, how simple can it be?" Markus seems to be yelling to himself as the moonlight flashes in from the periodic gaps in the ceiling. Illinois finds his voice, far weaker than it usually is, as the ruin opens out to the surrounding desert.
"Where are we goin'?" He asks, not noticing how tight the hold on his hand still is, even though they've momentarily stopped running.
"Anywhere that's not got reanimated corpses walking about," Markus replies, taking in the scene around him like a hawk, apparently deciding that the best route is to travel towards the campsite outside. That's currently on fire.
"Wait!" Illinois calls out when the thief starts walking with purpose towards the burning light, "Hang on, what's your plan?"
"To get out of the cursed temple, Illinois," He replies over his shoulder, the sarcasm spitting into the air.
Illinois would have had a reply ready, something along the lines of Markus trying to shoot an undead corpse. Unfortunately, his body choses that moment to collapse underneath him.
"I will find you, my chosen"
***
"So what? You're just gonna leave him here, as bait? No fucking way!'
Illinois blinks into the harsh reality of wakefulness, ringing in his ears and the sound of Markus' shouting splitting the already very much present headache.
When his vision fades into something recognisable, he sees the thief standing between him and what looks like two cloaked figures; both in dark robes. One has features that seem extremely generic - almost as if they're trying to be recognisble as anyone - and the other wears a red fez. Both of them look angry.
"Jesus, did you...hit me around the head or somethin'?"
The sound of Illinois' voice makes Markus turn around, face momentarily painted with relief until he gets a hold of his features and kneels down to Illinois' eye level.
"Hey...how you doing?"
"Feel like I've been hit by a truck,"
Markus snorts out a quick laugh, before standing back up and going over to try and discretely yell at the other two people some more.
"You alright there, brother?" The voice of Noir makes Illinois sit up - a bit too quickly - looking at where his brother sits on the chair next to the sofa he's on.
"Hey, you alright? What happened?" Illinois rubs his head a little, blinking a few times, as Noir starts his recount of the story.
"I was running away from some guy screamin' in the middle of the tomb. Saw the exit and ran for it. Then Markus came up to me holding you like a bride, all serious, telling me we need to get out,"
The mental image of Markus literally holding him - all 169 pounds of him - in his arms has, Illinois feeling a particular kind of way he's not ready to explore yet. Luckily, Markus chooses that moment to once again yell.
"That's bullshit!" The man walks away from the other two, pinching his nose and looking to meet Illinois' eyes. He seems to make a decision, walking towards him with purpose.
"You know what happened?" He asks, voice softer than it was.
Illinois tries to remember, to shift through his memories, but all that comes up is seeing that corpse moving towards him. He shivers slightly.
"No...not really. Why, do you?"
"I don't think it would be wise-"
"I'll fucking decide what's wise, buddy," Markus cuts off the guy in the fez, holding up a hand but not looking away from Illinois.
"Listen...I know it sounds crazy. That...guy. The one who came back from the dead. Did he say anything to you?"
Illinois looks from Markus to the two strangers nervously.
"I didn't understand it. Think it was Ancient Mycenaean...why?"
The strangers shuffle and beginning muttering to each other. Markus puts a hand on his knee.
"I'm not dyin', am I?"
Markus smirks.
"That guy...he...turns out we reanimated an ancient god,"
Illinois looks at him like he's just told him Markiplier became President.
"What? What the hell-"
"I know, I know. I didn't believe it either," He gets up to start pacing, "But the two cult leaders over here sold it to me. He's the God of Night, from...a very long time ago. And that's not it..."
The quiet stranger steps forwards, surveying Illinois with an expression that makes him feel like a fictional character being studied by the reader.
"He needs a mortal companion. That is his link to this realm, how he intends to dominate humanity under his dreams."
"And it's you," Markus finishes, looking him in the eye with something akin to fear, "You're his chosen, Illinois,"
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