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midnight-in-town · 5 months

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My take on Sir Crocodile's past, including the possibility of the CrocoParent theory

(Because I can't help thinking about it, in the midst of Kuma and Bonney's heart-wrenching flashback...)

Crocodile is one of the few Warlords we still hardly know anything about, but we're bound to know about his past at some point (same for Mihawk with whom he's currently working, as well as Moria who stole like half (?) of the Rocks Pirates' corpses), starting with the panel that launched all the theories, back in Impel Down :

Thanks to Kuma's flashback, we know Ivankov used to be a slave to the Celestial Dragons up until God's Valley. As for what happened at God's Valley, we don't know the full story yet but what we know is that...

...the Rocks Pirates were defeated and disbanded by the alliance between Garp and Roger. Some (?) of them were cloned by MADS (like Stussy for a still unknown reason) and Roger then became the next biggest threat of piracy.

Their leader's name was Xebec and other people have already explained that it possibly is related to Sebek/Sobek, an ancient Egyptian deity represented either in its form or as a human with a crocodile head. And, as we all know thanks to the Alabasta arc, Sir Crocodile is strongly associated with Sobek/Sebek too.

From there, it's not a stretch to imagine that Sir Crocodile is Rocks D. Xebec's child and was also present on God's Valley, which is how Crocodile and Ivankov possibly first "met". Ivankov witnessed Rocks' defeat as well as his child's survival...

...probably thanks to Whitebeard. Because, considering how the government tracked Ace and Luffy because of their dads, it's clear that any child of Xebec would be hunted by the government just as much and, like he did for Ace, Whitebeard probably saved and offered shelter to Xebec's kid for a while.

Whitebeard saving Croc as a child on God's Valley could be the reason why Croc seemingly hated Whitebeard so much : Whitebeard saving him instead of avenging Rocks, his captain, on God's Valley and then later probably defeated Crocodile, when Croc decided to become a pirate and went after the One Piece, could explain the animosity that we saw during Marineford.

Anyway, because of God's Valley, this could be the secret Iva knows about Croc: he's the surviving child of Rocks D. Xebec, thanks to Whitebeard.

Whitebeard choosing to save him rather than his Captain and then later defeating him could also explain why Croc has strong issues when it comes to trusting others :

Another hint that Croc is related to Rocks is Blackbeard. A popular theory/understanding in the fandom is that, while Luffy inherited Roger's Will, Blackbeard inherited Rocks' (leading to the idea that Rocks vs Garp & Roger will be paralleled with Blackbeard vs Luffy & Koby). This is especially interesting, considering that Blackbeard replaced Croc as a Warlord after he was defeated and sent to Impel Down, which is when they met :

Crocodile also has a lot of "mannerisms" hinting he's a D. He's strongly interested in the Void Century, poneglyphs and the ancient weapons.

Additionally, upon learning during Marineford about Ace's and Luffy's being hunted by the Government because of their fathers, he intervened to protect them...

These acts, outside of the CrocoParent theory (see below), can be explained by Croc's own experience of being hunted because of who his father was, but also by what Ivankov said to Law, who's also a D :

To conclude, I'm a strong advocate that Sir Crocodile is actually Rocks D. Crocodile and he obviously couldn't keep his father's name, in order to avoid being hunted during his entire life by the Government.

But what about the CrocoParent theory?

Well, as much as I'm an immense and dedicated fan of this theory (full explanation here), a part of me doesn't trust Oda to be brave enough to go down that road, even if I'm also eagerly waiting for him to. :D

Whether Croc was afab or amab though, the theory that he's Rocks' kid still applies. The only difference is that, if Croc was afab, then on top of knowing about who his father was, Iva also helped Croc with transitioning, thanks to their devil fruit.

Of course, it's probably through meeting Iva that Croc then came to meet some members of the Revolutionary Army, like Dragon. He gave birth to Luffy, transitioned afterwards with Iva's help and his actions at Marineford (protecting both Ace and Luffy) are not only because he used to be hunted as Rocks' kid, but also because he just learnt that Luffy is Dragon's son and thus his own child. :))

After all, to quote Dragon in the latest chapter of Kuma's flashback...

... "a child is their parents' weak spot" seems to ring to the same bell as Croc's "if you want to protect something, do it right" (like giving up on raising Luffy and leaving him in a remote village of East Blue, to avoid him being hunted by the World Government).

Anyway, long post, sorry about it! I hope we'll know soon about Croc's past. Let me know if I missed some hints ! :D

#one piece #sir crocodile #rocks d. xebec #monkey d. luffy #emporio ivankov #crocomom #dadodile #monkey d. dragon #portgas d. ace #whitebeard #blackbeard #impel down #marineford #god's valley #op theory #op1101 #my analysis #<- also lmao Dragon being like 'plz don't talk about my kid it's like a threat to me' despite knowing very well who Kuma's kid is #it was immensely funny to me

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oneofstarkskids · 1 month

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"plus...he's adorable"

steven grant x reader, first meeting

warnings: slight age gap?

*not my gif*

finding your passion hadn't been a straight and narrow path. you had no idea how some people just woke up knowing exactly what they wanted to do for the rest of their lives.

in high school you played sports, but they were never something you wanted to do as a career. you recently learned that you love to paint, but it just felt like a hobby. you didn't feel experienced enough to make something of it.

you'd gone to four years of university, majoring in business because it's what your parents wanted. but you were tired. you were so tired and you weren't passionate about anything.

finally, you were sure you were ready to give up. you were in the school library, turning in some text books you'd used, when you just glanced over briefly. your eyes caught the title of a large book.

"If You Are to Love, Love the Moon"

curiosity took over and you picked it up to read the synopsis. by the time you were done, you'd picked out three more books on the subject and plopped them down in front of the librarian.

it took you less than twenty-four hours to finish all of them and you had this burning desire to know more.

which led you here, studying egyptology abroad in london, standing in the national gallery, staring at a poorly constructed pyramid of giza.

"oh bullocks!" you heard a man shout just as something crashed to the ground. you searched for where the noise came from.

your eyes landed on dark brown curls peeking out just above the counter at the gift shop.

nosily, you made your way over. as you placed your hands on the counter you cleared your throat. a man with steven printed on his name tag stood up quickly and gave you a nervous chuckle, "morning."

you suppressed your laughter, "hey there. you alright?"

"me? yeah, fine!" he said unconvincingly. "did you want to make a purchase? i personally recommend the horus figurines. you know, it's believed that he was a benevolent protector in ancient egyptian culture. plus..." he held one up, "he's adorable."

this time you couldn't help but laugh, and thought the same thing of steven himself.

"i'll take one," you said and watched as he rang it up.

he glanced up at you as he put it in a small gift bag, but quickly looked back down when he noticed you'd caught him.

you reached to grab the bag, but paused as your hand brushed his. steven was stunned by the feeling of your hand against his and didn't want you to go.

"do you live nearby?" he asked slowly. you stopped yourself from grinning at the idea of him asking you out.

"uh- because we can ship items in the future," he said instead.

you frowned, "okay. well, have a good day." you took the bag and walked off. the whole thing just made you want to go home.

just as you were stepping out into the street, you were knocked to the ground.

"oh! sorry! i'm terribly sorry, i didn't mean to do that," you heard stevens voice. you got up and dusted yourself off.

"what is wrong with you?" you asked in frustration.

he rambled, "well, many things but that's a topic for another time." you had this look of concern that made steven feel guilty. "okay i'm just going to come right out and say it."

you listened intently. "i would, would you like to- do you want to grab a bite sometime?" he finally got the words out and you giggled.

"i would love to."

steven beamed and nodded, "good. very good." he started to walk away but quickly turned back around, "actually, do you have a piece of paper?"

you searched your purse for a moment before pulling out a small sticky note and a pen. steven took it gratefully and wrote his name and number down.

he handed it to you and you noticed that it read, stev̲en with a v. the v being underlined for emphasis.

you grinned, "see you soon, steven with a v."

#marvel #mcu #fanfiction #avengers #marvel fluff #fluff #steven grant #moon knight #steven grant fluff #steven with a v #cutie #ancient egypt #london boy #steven grant x reader

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marvelsswansong · 2 years

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clumsy

summary: you're extremely clumsy. Steven worries. Marc finds it amusing. Jake gets protective. But they all love you for it nonetheless.

tags: pure fluff, oneshot, boyf!Steven & Marc & Jake, gn!reader (no pronouns/descriptions in place), cute slice of life moments, some comedic humor with Khonshu, bc I am a student in London ofc I had to add in English lingo/London tingz, please do not take as accurate portrayal of DID by any means

☆ word count: 3.5K+ ☆

Steven worries for you. Endlessly.

He knows you’re a capable adult. You’re wicked smart, hard to trick, quick to respond with a sassy comment. But you’re extremely clumsy. He still remembers how the way the two of you first met was because you tripped and nearly fell onto an exhibit piece. Having just finished his shift, Steven was exhausted but his reflexes kicked in as his left arm quickly wrapped around your waist, stopping you from hitting the floor.

Your eyes remained closed, bracing for the harsh impact of the floor, but instead all you felt was… someone’s warm arm wrapped around your waistline.

“A-are you alright?” a soft British voice asked you, your eyes slowly opening to be met with a gorgeous curly haired man with a name tag pinned onto his shirt. Steven, it read.

“I- yeah, thank you. I didn’t mean to fall but I was distracted.” you sheepishly added, looking away from the handsome man’s gaze. You must’ve looked like such a fool, you berated yourself. Unbeknownst to you, he was mesmerized by the way the fading sunlight was illuminating your face, your smile hesitant but pure and your voice even sweeter to hear.

“Yes, the exhibits are truly fascinating-” he started, only to be cut off.

“I was actually looking at the guide dog.” you interrupted, pointing to the golden retriever across the room. “But these ancient exhibits are interesting too! I just wish I had a tour guide or something because reading all this printed information on four hours of sleep is really difficult.” you quickly added, making Steven chuckle.

“I-I could show you around, if you’d like.”

Steven had no idea where the sudden courage came from, but he didn’t want to clamber onto the tube and go back to his empty flat quite yet. He wanted to stay here, with you, listen to you ramble about the most innocuous things. He nervously fiddled with the edge of his jacket, thinking he had perhaps crossed the line, but all you did was smile even wider.

“Really? Are you sure? I mean there’s only half an hour before closing so-”

“It’s no problem, really.”

“Thank you, Steven.”

“No problem….” he trailed off, waiting for you to fill your name in.

“(Y/n).”

“(Y/n). Nice to meet you. So if you look closely upon this carving, you’ll see that it’s a depiction of Anubis. Anubis is the protector of the dead in Egyptian mythology…”

That had been six months ago and now you had moved into his flat, your hoodies carelessly folded over the couch and your mismatched socks stuffed precariously into his drawers. He wouldn’t have it any other way though - being able to come home to you each night and to have your face be the first thing he sees every day (more or less given that both of you had hectic schedules) made even the worst days much brighter for him. It also helped that living together meant he could keep an eye on you more: it wasn’t uncommon for you to have shown up to dates, prior to moving in, with a sprained wrist, a small bruise on your arm, a twisted ankle… All from (badly) doing regular things.

You were just so clumsy and out of them all, Steven worried the most. He carried plasters with him everywhere, in addition to filling one of his drawers to the brim with first aid supplies (which had the additional benefit of being of use to Marc or Jake after a night out, he supposed). He would be the first to drop all his books and come rushing by your side if he heard something drop or shatter, his first priority never being about the damaged item but your wellbeing. He didn’t care that you’d shattered three mugs since moving in or that you’d nearly given yourself a concussion from tripping over a package you were too lazy to pick up. Your clumsiness never annoyed him, though it just made him worry endlessly and be on high alert whenever you decided to do something even remotely dangerous.

“Ah, shit.”

You were sucking on the edge of your slightly burnt thumb for less than two seconds when Steven came rushing into the room, the sound of metal hitting the floor followed by your cursing forcing him to sprint out of bed and come to your aid. His hands carefully cradled your left hand, examining it in the dim yellow light of the kitchen, whilst you rolled your eyes playfully in protest.

“Stevennnnn, the cookies!” you attempted to pull away from him but his grip was iron tight.

“You’re far more important than the sweets, love. Hold on.”

Turning off the oven, he pulled out a pack of plasters from the top shelf, ordering for you to run your thumb under cold water in the mean time. Afterwards, he carefully dried off your finger (being ever so careful to ask you to tell him if it was hurting as he applied pressure) and bandaged it nicely with a soft kiss to your hand. The action made your heart flutter.

“Thanks, Steven.” you kissed him gently, an action which still made him blush.

“No problem, darling.”

“... Are the cookies okay though?” you pouted, pulling away from his embrace to check inside the oven. Steven’s hands quickly landed on your shoulders, pulling you backwards in an instant.

“Hold on, love. Let me get the cookies out, alright? Don’t want you to burn yourself again.” he lightly teased, putting on oven gloves. You sighed - admittedly, that was probably the best thing to do anyways. Steven was the one to carefully take the cookies off of the baking sheet with a spatula as you arranged them neatly into stacks into the plastic container, carefully balancing one of the cookies on top of your palm so you could feed it to Steven. He smiled, gently biting into the dessert, a pleasant hum leaving his lips.

“Any good? It’s a new recipe.”

“It’s marvelous, love. Very sweet. Only second to you.”

“Well it was a team effort, I’d say. I bake and… you make sure I don’t burn the flat down. Or burn myself.” you added, taking a bite of the cookie as well. “Seriously, don’t you get tired of having to treat minor injuries for me so often?”

Steven shook his head sideways, kissing you softly again - his lips still had the remnants of coconut and chocolate, with a hint of raspberry.

“Never.”

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

Marc, on the other hand, finds your clumsiness endlessly amusing.

He wouldn’t hesitate to pull you away from a burning pot or to help you stand up if you fell, of course. But unlike Steven who worried endlessly, waiting anxiously by your side as you cooked or cleaned, he found your daring efforts amusing and fun. Especially when he’d be able to tease you afterwards, see the adorable way in which your face would crinkle up in embarrassment, thereby giving him an excuse to kiss away the sour expression from your face.

Juggling trying to retain whatever was ‘normal’ for Steven with a mercenary’s life and an Egyptian god constantly bothering him in the background, there was something so comforting and normal about watching you. His favorite sight in the world was whenever you’d stay up late waiting for him to get home then fall asleep on the sofa, your face smushed into the cushions, your chest rising in soft breaths as you slept. Being able to carry you back to bed, after arranging the pillows and blankets to be as comfortable as they could, before falling into the sheets with you was how he wished every day could be.

His heart burned for you. And amongst the millions of things he loved about you, above all, it was your heart - your never ending desire to help others, your generosity, your need to always give back to others. He even saw one time that you’d scheduled various anniversaries into your phone, each day color coded and neatly organized - he pretended to have not seen the first month anniversary notification and acted surprised a week later when you pulled out a pair of tickets to a new musical. His right arm never left your waist as you clung to him afterwards, the uneven cobblestoned streets of London making walking (especially as you were drunk) ever more difficult.

“Oh!” you suddenly stopped walking, causing Marc to almost tip over to the side at the suddenness and force with which you stopped walking. Cautious, he quickly surveyed the surroundings, expecting you to have seen something to make you nervous. “Remind me to take out the cake I have in the fridge before Marc gets home.”

His heart was overflowing with warmth as he chuckled quietly, brushing away your hair from your face so he could better see it under the moonlight.

“Baby, I am Marc.”

You simply hummed in response, his reply not seemingly registering in your brain for a few moments before your eyes widened in shock.

“You are! No, now I ruined the surprise.” you dramatically flailed your arms, almost falling over as you took a misstep. Marc’s reflexes were fast, quickly pulling you into his chest as a black cab rushed by.

“Careful, angel. Almost got run over by London traffic.”

Gently walking you towards the other side of the street, Marc was vigilant to keep you away from the side facing the open traffic all the way until the two of you reached the flat. Opening the door took several tries as you insisted on being useful and opening it yourself, but you kept on dropping the key or using the wrong key for the door.

“Just help the little human already.” Khonshu grumbled from the background, his arms crossed and his tone unamused. But Marc didn’t care. There was something so cute about seeing you get frustrated, your eyebrows furrowing in concentration as you tried over and over again to open the door. When Marc eventually stepped in and opened it in one try, you threw your arms around him, kissing his face and calling him your hero, causing him to accidentally knock against the kitchen counter with a mug falling and shattering on the floor as a result.

“My clumsy baby. What will I ever do with you…” he commented against your lips, the pads of his thumbs drawing circles on your face.

“Perhaps you could begin by cleaning up the filth on the floor.”

Marc was about to chastise the god when your head suddenly whipped around to the tall creature.

“Shut it, birdie! It was a mistake.”

“... You can see me?” the god’s voice changed from annoyance to one of surprise, clearly having underestimated your abilities to perceive beyond the mortal world.

“Yes! And you need to stop being so mean to Steven, he’s a good boy.”

The god was baffled into silence as Marc let out a wild laugh at your antics, hugging you closer to his chest.

God, he loved you.

The sound of the door finally unlocking snapped him out of his memories, his thoughts running wild when you finally stepped out of the bathroom, nervously pulling at the ends of the fabric whilst looking yourself over in the mirror repeatedly. He knew you were meeting with your best friend’s fiancee tonight and that you want to make ‘the best impression possible.’ His throat immediately ran dry, his eyes hungrily drinking in your figure whilst you took his silence to be a bad thing.

“Oh no, does it look bad on me? Is it too much? Should I change? I can grab-”

A swift kiss to your lips, firm but still gentle, cut your rambling off.

“You look perfect, baby. Now you have to leave if you want to catch your Uber on time.”

“Right.” you smiled against his lips. Quickly fixing your hair in the mirror one last time and grabbing your bag - quickly shoving your phone inside - you raced to the front door in your socks, knocking over a pile of books that the god had been skimming through for the past few hours.

“I’m so sorry, Khonshu!” you felt horrible, knowing that he’d been skimming over the books for hours, as you dropped onto your knees and began to pick them up one by one. The god let out a displeased sigh - at this point, the god had come to oddly respect you and care for you in his own right. But even so, he couldn’t help but marvel at your clumsiness. It was unlike anything else he’d ever seen.

Marc was quick to arrive by your side, gently coaxing you away from the pile of books.

“It’s alright, baby, you go ahead. I’ll clean this up.”

Apologizing fervently again, you planted one last kiss on Marc’s lips before hurriedly exiting the flat, the force with which you slammed the door causing the flat to shake. Shaking his head sideways in amusement, Marc quickly went about picking up the books as the god watched from above him.

“I sincerely do not understand how one mortal can both perceive the higher realms whilst struggling to maintain basic balance and hand-eye coordination.”

Marc chuckled.

“It’s a mystery to me too.”

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

Jake didn’t worry for you nor did he find your clumsiness amusing.

No, seeing you trip, knock over, cut yourself accidentally or drop things made his protective side kick in, his body immediately wrapping around yours and shielding you from whatever danger was created. It was a bit much at times, causing even Marc and Steven to complain - “they’re London cyclists, Jake, they’re supposed to go a bit fast” - but Jake didn’t care. He hated to see you in pain, to see any markings or discoloration on your pretty skin, so it was primal instinct to be protective around you.

Sometimes you’d pout when he’d seat you away from an open flame or insist on holding your hand in open streets, but he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t the best with words - like Steven - nor with spending quality time with you - like Marc - so his love for you spilled over in his actions. Jake was fiercely protective of you, unafraid to snap, push or get a little violent with people if they could ever hurt you. Or if they flirted with you.

As Jake eyed the menu of the small cafe nestled in the corner of the bookstore, your order memorized like the back of his hand, he missed your figure leaving his side as a certain book cover on the top shelf caught your eye. Having decided what to order, he returned his gaze to his side to ask you if you’d like the usual, before he realized that you were no longer next to him. His eyes quickly scanned the surroundings, seeing that you’d opted to climb up a ladder to reach a book on the top shelf in the historical fiction section.

His brain immediately flashed with numerous scenarios of what could go wrong - you’d fall off the ladder, hit your head on a sharp corner and get a concussion, get a paper cut from flipping through too quickly - and Jake was quick to abandon his place in line, only to be cut off by another man accidentally walking into you as you stepped off the ladder. Engrossed in whatever was written on the back cover of the book, you hadn’t seen the man blocking your pathway who was now apologizing to you profusely.

“I’m terribly sorry for that.” the man kept repeating his apologies, bending down to retrieve your fallen book. Jealousy coursed through Jake’s veins upon realizing that the man was objectively good looking, his brown hair well styled, his prim suit indicating that he probably held a well off, stable job. It was one of Jake’s insecurities - the fact that he (or Marc or Steven for that matter, but especially him) could not offer you a ‘normal’ life free of violence, doomsdays and existential threats. And the way you keep giggling and entertaining the man’s quips caused his stomach to twist and anger to bubble up in his chest, his fists clenching by his sides. Jake wasn’t thinking when he stormed up to where you were standing and pulled you right against him, lacing your fingers with his.

“Mi corazón, we should leave now if we want to catch the bus in time.” his voice was sweet when speaking to you but his glare to the man was deadly, who was now shifting uncomfortably under Jake’s stare. Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Oh, but Spencer was just about to tell me-”

You weren’t able to finish your sentence nor get your book back from Spencer as Jake quickly dragged you away, leaving the brunette man confused and alone with your book. Jake was silent for a few moments, simply dragging you behind him as you hurried your pace in an effort to keep up with him amongst the busy crowds of pedestrians.

“What was that for?” you pouted.

Jake stopped, dropping your hand before letting out a curt sigh.

“That bastardo was flirting with you. Plus, he could’ve hurt you by knocking into you while you were stepping off a ladder.”

The mix of jealousy and insecurity dripping from his voice caused your expression to soften, your delicate hands coming up to cup his face.

“It’s sweet of you to worry, Jake, but I’m fine, see? Also, even if he was flirting, I would never be interested in him. Not when I have the most handsome, caring and amazing boyfriends by my side.”

His anger slowly dissipated, your lips meeting his in a gentle manner, which he was quick to turn into a full out steamy makeout session by pinning you against the brick wall of the alleyway. You laughed against his lips at his eagerness as a small smirk spreads across his lips.

“You’re mine, mi amor, aren’t you?” he growled.

“All yours, Jake... But I did really want to buy that book so you’ll have to make it up to me.”

He kisses you again, his intoxicating mix of sandalwood and fresh leather flooding your senses.

“Of course. I’ll buy you that book. And anything else you’d ever want.”

“Can I open my eyes now?” you whined, the blindfold placed on your eyes having meant you’d been led in complete darkness for the past ten minutes. Based on the attire you were told to wear and the soft feeling of grass and dirt underneath your feet, you had a feeling you were in a hilly area or a park, but you had no idea why you were here or what Jake had planned for date night. Jake simply chuckled in response.

“In a minute.”

A few rustles of paper and the sound of fabric being straightened out, then he carefully took off the blindfold from your eyes, revealing the gorgeous sight in front. A hastily sprung out picnic basket laid out with white and red checkered squares, pinned to the grassy floor with a few glass candles. Two wine glasses and a bottle of wine sat in the middle. It was intimate and small, yet so beautifully done, you felt your heart squeeze in appreciation as you looked up at Jake’s face (which was uncharacteristically shy and withdrawn in this instance).

“Sorry for the... rather messy presentation. Steven and Marc helped with a few things but I’m usually not very good with these things, so-”

“It’s perfect.” you cut him off quickly, grabbing his hands and squeezing them in reassurance. “Thank you, thank you all so much. This is just… the best thing I could’ve asked for on our sixth month anniversary.”

Jake’s shoulders quickly relaxed, a sly smirk appearing on his face.

“Oh, just wait until you see, mi vida, what we have planned for you.”

As Jake sat down next to you, you popped open the wine bottle and began to pour him a glass, accidentally spilling some onto his pants.

“Shit! I’m so sorry-” you quickly placed down the drinks, searching for some tissues and water to help rub out the stain. But Jake simply couldn’t care, choosing instead to admire you: the way your eyes glittered in the moonlight or the way the faint glow of the candles below carved your face in shadows.

“God, I’m just so clumsy, did we bring any tissues? Or I can run down to a nearby-” you continued to ramble, becoming silent only when Jake's hand reached out for yours, wrapping around your wrist and setting you back down on to the floor.

“It’s alright, mi amor. Just sit and enjoy this night with me, okay?”

“Okay.”

And as the two of you sat in silence, the object in his left pocket felt heavier than ever.

“Thank goodness the wine didn’t spill onto the ring.” Steven remarked.

“Though, that would have been very (Y/n)-esque to do.” Marc added.

And as he tore his gaze away from the night sky and onto you, all Jake could think about was how much he wanted to spend to spend the rest of his life with you. Even through all the falls, bruises, wine spills, forgotten items and cuts you’d rack up along the way.

a/n: sooo basically I haven't posted any fics since Aug of 2020. Whew. So posting this is pretty nervewracking for me. Sorry if this fic wasn't the best, I am a little rusty. Not sure if any of my older followers are reading this but if you stuck around, thank you!

As for everyone else, please let me know if you enjoyed by liking/commenting/reblogging - if the feedback is positive I may write more in this fandom :)

❤️ Drink water, nourish your body and be kind to yourself today ❤️

#steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #steven grant fluff #marc spector fluff #jake lockley fluff #moon knight #moon knight fluff #moon knight x reader #marvel reader insert #reader insert #1k #2k #3k #4k

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alatismeni-theitsa · 2 months

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/cardassiangoodreads/722229585723424768/im-just-going-to-say-right-now-that-i-dont-think?source=share

Just curious about your thoughts

The post and the tags because this person has blocked me preemptively - and they're lucky cause I wouldn't shat all over them. This person is a USAmerican very removed from Italian culture.

My Answer:

Ooooo coloniser rhetoric in the 21st century! That's a sight for sore eyes! (Which became sore cause they see such takes all the time).

Funny how this person talks about how objects belonging to Greece right after saying that our heritage figures (like our gods and heroes) don't belong to us. If Greek culture is a global culture why can't foreigners keep the objects? Hmmm I wonder…. They still put the "Greek" or "Roman" to characterise the stories but the moment Greeks and Italians speak up, then all of a sudden "the stories akksuually have no culture, they belong to all of us!" 😂😂😂

I wonder if this person understands what the term "heritage" means, because gods and heroes are definitely part of one's heritage and we never stopped preserving the texts that spoke about them, and they are still part of our living culture.

I'm all for listening to the members of the diaspora but when we are at the point when one of them is regurgitating imperialist points, not only there's a big divide with current opinions in Italy, but I also cannot leave such points unanswered. Also, many Italians, like Greeks, are sick of how their myths are treated but this person didn't even check, they just spoke over them. Because they didn't bother to ask people, obviously.

Ancient Greek heroes and gods still mean a lot to us. They always meant. They were born from visions, dreams, and other sacred methods, or oral traditions from our ancestors, reflecting specifically the ancient Greek culture. It's good that foreigners can access them and relate to a degree but divorcing any folk story from its origin is always negative. Especially when this culture is still ongoing.

Our Christianity is revamped ancient Greek religion, I wonder, does this person know that? Our temples have the same parts. We still have home altars, and divinities presiding over domains. Our hagiography is how we used to paint our gods and creatures. We still have almost the same nature creatures. The customs have remained and have persisted, and I won't have someone who clearly ignores this say "They gave the religion up". Ftou.

Also when it comes to our gods and their symbols (and yes btw we call them "our" gods lots of times), we can deduce things from our local tradition and environment, whereas an Anglophone who worships the gods or is interested in them but doesn't know stuff about the country of origin of those gods has no idea about our history, methods and environment. Example: Foreigner refuses to accept that there's a pine cone on Dionysos' thyrsos (although it looks like a pinecone) because "it doesn't make sense" and very excitedly suggests another plant instead. Greek lets them know that it is actually a pine cone not only because it looks like a pinecone but because the pinecone has been used in our winemaking process forever, and Dionysos also presided over this process. Guess Greece and its environment and it's people are still relevant to the religion, and it also turns out that the symbols of the gods derived from the Greek reality. Who knew!

Now onto another point. Op says that the Greek stories became "global culture" because they got shared everywhere. Them being shared is not a bad thing! However just studying them and be taught about them is not culture. By this logic, and since Egyptians "gave their old religion up", ancient Egyptian gods are now MY ancient gods because I can find books about ancient Egypt at my local bookstore. woww 😂 What about this? Almost every Greek knows 100 and 1 nights. We have made it into a play also. SOO... these are our cultural stories now, right? West Asians and Arabs in general shouldn't speak if they ever see us and other nations being ridiculous about the stories, and stereotypes and changing the characters a lot but still claim we are doing great, right? Got it.

The way this post is written it's like Germans and Brits kept the ancient Greek myths alive since ancient years or something. Greeks themselves never stopped preserving their own ancient texts, and they escaped with them in Europe after the fall of Constantinople, so NW Europeans REDISCOVERED them 1500 years later. They had lost interest by then.

Funny they mention different nations that were Hellenized or became Roman territories because people living in these nations are exactly those who don't speak about Greek and Roman culture as "a global culture". It's always North Westerners who start these discussions, I wonder why…..

People from the aforementioned nations already interact healthily with their ancient heritage - which is not Greek or Roman culture but always a local version with Greek or Roman elements, and that's great too. I haven't heard a Pakistani say "Theseus is our hero too!" or a Tunisian say "Zeus is our local ancient father of the gods!" Because they know exactly how the mix happened and what their national identity is. And I'm getting more and more tired of seeing Westerners erase these experiences too, and just make assumptions for other nations.

I swear I mostly see USians getting butthurt about other people getting conquered 2.000 years ago. The nations themselves don't give a shiiit. Guys, I know our antiquities are the only interesting thing about us in your eyes but Please Make An Effort to understand people from ancient cultures and how we don't give a shit about these conquests cause they happened Two Thousand Years Ago, and we had other tragic stuff in the meantime. Thanks

Also, as I said, these conquests are not why Greek myths are popular today. The conquests were so incredibly old that the average person in these countries (Balkans, the Mediterranean, West Asia) - and Greece - had no idea who built the ancient ruins they saw around! Does this person think Greek myths were handed down from Moroccan grandma to Moroccan grandchild from 300 BCE to 2024 continuously or something?

Greek myths are very popular in most parts of the world today because the West (meaning not Greece, especially at the time when we were "cattle") popularized them non-stop the last few centuries. And they did a shitty job, at that. In fact, Greeks abroad have been cringing about this treatment of our myths since the 15th century but, as usual, we were not being heard.

And what does "global culture" even mean?? As if you see any culture to how the US (because OP focuses on the US and the retellings there, from the looks of it) interacts with our stories. As if they care about the meaning of the story. (There are a few notable exceptions ofc but they remain FEW) People with such arguments just want to feel guilt-free when using our myths out of context. That's why Western academic cycles often run in circles about "what the myths mean" while Greeks have told you exactly what they mean.

The US audience is still not free of the coloniser WASP approach. They see our myths STILL as a product of modern White Supremacy instead of an ancient Greek product, and they often condemn the myths and "better" them by completely pushing them into USian lens to the point they don't look or feel like the original myths anymore. (All the above you don't dare to do with cultural stories and figures from nations you want to respect, by the way.) Is this the cultural "exchange" they're talking about?

I'm done hearing in the international spaces that my culture is "boring" because USians have seen horrible adaptation after horrible adaptation. I'm tired of USians making wild assumptions about how "horrible" our gods are because whoever told them the myths didn't give a simple explanation about our ancient societies. (Don't start crap about accessibility, there are very accessible ways to talk to kids, teens, and adults about other cultures and teach them age-appropriate tales) I'm tired of my heritage being commercialized to that degree. All Greeks roll their eyes in USAmerican movies about our culture and we call them Amerikaniés. And don't worry, I'm getting to the real stuff.

How our ancient culture is treated and how we are sidelined has real consequences on our lives abroad AND inside our culture, on how we are perceived, on how our surnames are perceived, on how we "don't look like Greeks", on how our Greek myth retellings don't get published abroad! They speak in front of us about our own words as if they are magical and mythical and strange! The opinions and perspectives of Greeks are not sought abroad, and you are a masterclass on why this happens. We make y'all uncomfortable. You feel better if you forget about us.

Another exhibit: All the hurtful comments of foreigners who centered the HUGE milestone of same-sex marriage in Greece because all they could imagine - while queer Greeks suffered a lot these last few months - was their wedding in Gay Mykonos and Lesbian Lesbos. This was their first reaction. They didn't possibly think that Greeks were seeing that because we are far away and irrelevant, right?

Obviously culture-mixing is not bad but the West didn't mix our culture with theirs. They just took it for entertainment and their popular culture never saw the depth or the meaning of it. OP speaks about how our stories were spread while actively avoiding speaking in depth about the problematic elements of that spread. They recognize to a small degree how Greeks feel about the matter but they dismiss most of our concerns in such a nonchalant way that all that comes to my mind is "privilege".

And speaking of power… Greeks have less systemic power than the countries of the West. We are the US' puppet, are you kidding me?? Our armies get deployed wherever the US wants. Our politicians don't even fart without a telephone from the US. We are the whores of the German, Belgian and French governments. Greeks abroad still face discrimination for their customs and how they look, and how their food smells, and how our religion is and how our hymns sound, and other ridiculous stuff. Our infrastructure is slowly being bought out by Germans and USians to various degrees. There are different scales to exploitation and bigotry, I agree, but that doesn't mean that only the roughest bigotry cases are worth discussing.

"We could also talk about the additional level of exploitation in how imperial powers used Greek mythology as an argument for the "superiority of the West," while at the same time plundering Greece's resources and treating it like it exists only as a tourist site" They are SO close to getting it, and yet their post says otherwise.

Fetishism of a culture makes the members of the actual culture feel alienated and hurt. As a person of Italian ancestry you should know how this specific "global culture" argument has been used to strip Greeks and Italians of any claims, so the "dirty Greeks" can be separated from the "pure WASP" USian upper class of the time who deemed themselves more suitable to engage with the material.

"Greeks spreading their culture through military force all over (eventually) most of Europe" what the hell?? Sorry, guys, (side-eyes the other Greeks) we conquered Romania??? wow!

Plus, this person doesn't know the difference between the Greek colonisation of Italy and Sicily and the recent European colonisation, and - to say it very politely - they should open a book.

By The Way

You can still interact with the Greek culture without having a colonial attitude! Nobody is barring you! I want to make this abundantly clear!

Most importantly, you don't have to make arguments for "global culture" when it's simple to place the myths inside their original context while interacting with them! You just have to read a bit more books that are on the internet and your library for free! Recognising that a foreign culture is not yours, and that you engage with it because it's just popular, doesn't stop anyone from interacting with it. You simply refuse to interact with them at the proper, deeper level, because you always want to center them around yourself. You want to interact with foreign stories just how the colonisers did it. Congrats.

I'm talking about the majority of cases. Of course people in the US can take all sorts of inspiration from foreign myths and adapt them to their reality. And it's a good result when they're being respectful and have studied the stories beforehand.

All we ask is to engage with the material in context so you can understand what our ancestors wanted to express. If your only view of Greek myths has come from other Americans and NW Europeans then you see them through coloniser lens. That's non-negotiable. I had people from other countries recite to me USAmerican viewpoints about the Greek gods, as if they were fact. Cause it's the only exposure that's happening worldwide right now.

You can interact with Greco-Roman myths whether Greece and Rome touched your country or not, we don't care. But please don't get your source from the pop US culture. These people think that it makes sense for nymphs to look like trees (that's an Anglo-Saxon and Celtic nature creature depiction. Ancient Greece was very anthropomorphic). It's not a crime if you change some stuff in a retelling but why willingly ignore the original depictions and what they have to show you for the ancient people who created them?

Pfff... Thank you anon for bringing this trash to me. I needed to - metaphorically - throw something in the trash. It took me a few hours to answer this but well... I do write a lot and this post was full of shit I had to shovel.

#answered #xenoi doing bs #uscentrism #representation #appropriation #greek myth #greek mythology

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listyhanel · 2 months

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I freaking love Ancient Egypt.

I think the animal-headed gods first drew me in as a kid, and then the whole mummy thing just, fascinated me! And the hieroglyphics are so beautiful. I am totally an armchair archeologist--I have watched so many documentaries and read so many books on the subject.

Many years ago, I went to visit a mummy at the Boston Museum of Art. The mummy was a priest in his life, and they had recreated his tomb around him. And it was not the Book of the Dead that graced the walls--it was the Amduat.

The Amduat tells the story of Ra's journey every night when he--as sun god--descends below the horizon. Each panel is an hour, three on each wall. He and his fellow gods journey down Nile of the underworld and then come to a desert, through which his attendants carry his barge.

And every night, in the Sixth Hour, Apophis comes.

He is the embodiment of death and destruction and evil and the end of everything, depicted usually as a terrible serpent. He rises up out of the sands of the desert and threatens to devour Ra and the entire world as well.

Every night, the gods do battle with this beast. Surprisingly, they are lead in many depictions by Set, himself a chaotic, dangerous god.

And every night they put down the beast, and Ra triumphs, and continues his journey to the East, where he rises once again to bring a new day to the people of the world.

But the outcome is never assured, you see. One night, he just might loose the battle, and be devoured, and the sun will never rise again.

This story captivated me. What sort of people would create such a narrative, one where every night could possibly be the world's last?

On the ride home I had a vision of mysterious figures running through an Ancient Egyptian city, and my own story was born. And I knew even before I knew the plot what the name of the story had to be: The Sixth Hour. The hour when everything hangs in the balance. The hour when failure is just not an option.

I wrote and re-wrote the story several times over the years. I realized that I could never research enough to make a perfectly accurate historical story, so I deliberately allowed myself to take some liberties, to free myself from the restraints of perfectionism. That's why I call this a fantasy adventure based on Ancient Egypt and the lands surrounding it, instead of a historical novel.

A friend enjoyed it so much she drew me some fanart, gave me permission to use it as a cover, and encouraged me to share my story with the world, and so I finally took a deep breath and made the plunge. Honestly, it's terrifying to put myself out there. It is not in my nature.

But I enjoyed writing this little story very much, and I would like to share it, in the hope that you will enjoy reading it, too.

Learn more about The Sixth Hour HERE.

Available through numerous ebook distributors. Thanks, Draft2Digital!

#fiction #writing #Ancient Egypt #ebooks #Ancient World #The Sixth Hour #my books

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thankssteveditko · 7 months

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An overly-simplified introduction to the "Marvel Method"

As I begin to cover Amazing Spider-Man, it's probably worth explaining the basics of this up front for anyone who isn't aware. Over on Thanks Ken Penders, I talk about comics generally made the "traditional" way. A writer writes a detailed script, and then it's handed off to the art team to draw what the script says, with perhaps a bit of interpretive wiggle room. That's what you'd expect, right? But back in the '60s, Marvel developed their own creative method that came to be known as... well, the Marvel Method.

It varied from team to team, but the steps of the Marvel Method (or the "plot script" method) are basically this:

The "writer" comes up with a basic synopsis of the story - not a full script

The "penciller" takes that synopsis and draws up the full story, determining the specifics of what actually happens

Finally, the art is handed back to the writer, who comes up with the dialogue based on what the artist has decided to draw

The argument for this process is that a comic artist should be a strong storyteller as well, and that the artist may know how to break the action down panel-by-panel better than a writer would. In reality, the actual explanation is that Stan Lee was working on way too many comics at once in the '60s, and so he offloaded some of the burden of storytelling to artists Jack Kirby and Steve Ditko because... well, they were Jack Kirby and Steve Ditko.

It should probably not be surprising that the Marvel Method created a lot of problems.

For one, before long, Kirby and Ditko were basically just plotting whatever they wanted for Fantastic Four and Spider-Man, then letting Stan fill in the dialogue... but Stan was still getting full credit as writer, making it seem like the stories were all his doing. (He would eventually start giving them credit for plotting.) Even when Stan did give them plots like he was supposed to, sometimes they'd go do something wildly different anyway. Stan intended to make the Green Goblin an ancient Egyptian demon found in a sarcophagus by a film crew, but Steve basically went "I'm not fucking doing that" and made him a human villain instead. Can you imagine a comic artist going completely rogue like that in this day and age? It's nuts! (But also, Ditko made the right call there.)

Because Stan had the final say when it came to dialogue, this also meant he could directly contradict the intent of the artists. Hilariously, I've found anecdotes about Stan both watering down Ditko's later attempts at giving Peter increasingly Objectivist views and also removing references to the ideology from a Kirby story seemingly intended to make fun of Objectivism. But while these examples are funny when juxtaposed like that, on the whole it's easy to understand how frustrating it is to have Stan Lee swooping in at the last second and completely changing the meaning of your story, then taking the credit for writing it.

Is it any wonder that Kirby and Ditko both felt they weren't being given their proper due at Marvel and left for other companies? Is it any wonder that the Marvel Method isn't used much in the modern age? But, basically, this method and this history of improper crediting are why it's difficult to determine exactly who did what for a lot of these early Spider-Man comics.

#tsd post

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coinandcandle · 1 year

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Bast Deity Guide

Who is Bast?

The Egyptian goddess is known by many as Bastet, her name is transliterated as b-ꜣ-s-t-t and is pronounced as “Bast”. The Hieroglyphs for her name look something like this: 𓎯𓏏𓏏𓁐 or 𓎯𓏏𓏏

She is most notably a goddess of domesticity, the home, cats, and women. Bast was among the most popular Egyptian deities and her cult ran as far as Rome.

Originally she was depicted as a goddess with a lioness’ head instead of a cat, and she was closely related to Sekhmet, the warrior goddess. Bast’s role was that of protector and avenger of Ra Over time Bast’s depiction softened and she became a goddess related to domesticity and the home. However, she kept the ferocious side of her, only ever using it when needed. She was known to be loving and nurturing but also she was a force to be reckoned with. Bastet used this fury to avenge those who have been wronged, carried on through her son, Maahes, the protector of the innocent.

Due to her association as the Eye of Ra, Bast was more of a solar deity before she became conflated with the Greek Artemis.

Parents and Siblings

Ra (father)

Isis (mother, later in antiquity)

Horus (brother, twin brother later in antiquity)

Anhur (brother

Lovers or Partners

Ptah

Children

Maahes (son)

Nefertum (son, sometimes)

Epithets

Beautiful sistrum (rattle) player

The Golden One/The Beautiful One

The Lady of Dread

The Lady of Slaughter

The Eye of Ra - a title held by a group of deities.

Lady of the Ointments

Lady of the East

Goddess of the Rising Sun

Sacred and All Seeing Eye

Notes

Her name also is rendered as B'sst, Baast, Ubaste, and Baset

Though sometimes synchronized with Mut, the goddess Bast was never depicted as fully human. She was always depicted as either a cat or a woman with the head of a cat, lion, or desert cat.

In Ancient Greece, she was known as Ailuros (”cat”) and she was likened to Artemis. Because of this association, she was given a twin brother just like Artemis has: Horus became her twin brother and since Horus is Isis’ son, Bast became Isis’ daughter.

Bast was also synchronized with Sekhmet, Hathor, and Isis and picked up some of their associations throughout time.

The meaning of her name is uncertain though it’s possible that her name meant She of the Ointment Jar (Ubaste). This would also point to her relation to perfume.

The central city of her cult was Bubastis. People would travel to this city to have the bodies of their pet cats who have passed buried.

It’s common for people to view Bast as a sexual deity or a goddess of lust, but she tends to lean more toward domesticity and protection. This misunderstanding likely came from her later conflation with Hathor as well as one account from Herodotus who had observed the festival in Bubastis in honor of Bast.

An annual festival was held at Bubastis where supposedly all constraints on women were released and they would celebrate “by drinking, dancing, making music, and displaying their genitals" (Gerald Pincher, quoting Herodotus). This display depicted the fertility aspect of the goddess as well as being a sign of freedom from societal constraints.

Bast has been depicted holding a sistrum, a musical instrument similar to a rattle.

Bast is one of many gods who are referred to as the “Eye of Ra”, a title that belongs to deities that are protectors or avengers.

She has been known as the protector of the dead as well.

As cats were sacred to this goddess, to harm one was seen as a slight to Bast.

Mummified cats were often delivered to Bast’s temple as an offering.

Modern Deity Work

These are modern correspondences, anything with historical or traditional backing will be marked with a (T).

Correspondences

Rocks/Stone/Crystals

Gold (T) - Cats of royalty were sometimes known to don gold jewelry

Tiger’s eye

Cat’s eye

Bronze (T) - Bronze statues were used as votive offerings for Bast

Herbs/Plants

Ivy

Catnip

Rosemary

Mint (catnip is in the mint family also)

Animals

Cat, namely housecats but all cats could qualify

Symbols

Sistrum (rattle) (T)

Cat (T)

Eye of Ra (T)

Offerings

Cat imagery

Whiskers, claws, and teeth of cats (only if sourced ethically!)

Lapis Lazuli, Turquoise, Emerald, Carnelian, Quartz, Malachite, and Galena were used in Ancient Egypt for jewelry or various cosmetics and could be offered. (The Structure of Crystals. Early historical notes)

Perfume or scented oils

Alcohol (such as wine or beer)

Fruit

Grains

Honey

Incenses or resins (T)

Jewelry

Acts of Devotion

Donate to, volunteer at, or otherwise support cats at shelters.

Pray to her or write poems in her honor

Research her

Honor your mother or the mother figure(s) in your life

Protect and fight for the innocent

Dance!

Play music or curate a playlist in honor of her

Learn about perfume and scented oils and how they were used and made in Ancient Egypt

Take care of your home

Of course, these are only suggestions based on my research but when making offerings to deities it's always best to do what feels right to you. You can also reach out to the deity and ask them yourself if you feel comfortable doing so.

References and Further Reading

Bast - eqyptianmuseum.org

Bastet - Britannica

Bastet - World History

Bastet - ARCE

Per-bast.org (The whole website is informational but this link will send you to their sources page!)

Offerings for Bast - The Gourmet Witch (blog)

Kemetic Offering Guide - The Twisted Rope (blog)

#bastet #bast #goddess #deity deep dive #File: Bast #witchcraft #deity work #Bast deity #Bast goddess #kemeticism

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transgenderer · 10 months

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The Standard of Ur is a Sumerian artifact of the 3rd millennium BC that is now in the collection of the British Museum. It comprises a hollow wooden box measuring 21.59 centimetres (8.50 in) wide by 49.53 centimetres (19.50 in) long, inlaid with a mosaic of shell, red limestone and lapis lazuli. It comes from the ancient city of Ur (located in modern-day Iraq west of Nasiriyah). It dates to the First Dynasty of Ur during the Early Dynastic period and is around 4,600 years old. The standard was probably constructed in the form of a hollow wooden box with scenes of war and peace represented on each side through elaborately inlaid mosaics. Although interpreted as a standard by its discoverer, its original purpose remains enigmatic. It was found in a royal tomb in Ur in the 1920s next to the skeleton of a ritually sacrificed man who may have been its bearer.

The original function of the Standard of Ur is not conclusively understood. Woolley's suggestion that it represented a standard is now thought unlikely. It has also been speculated that it was the soundbox of a musical instrument.[2] Paola Villani suggests that it was used as a chest to store funds for warfare or civil and religious works.[11] It is, however, impossible to say for sure, as there is no inscription on the artifact to provide any background context.

Although the side mosaics are usually referred to as the "war side" and "peace side", they may in fact be a single narrative – a battle followed by a victory celebration. This would be a visual parallel with the literary device of merism, used by the Sumerians, in which the totality of a situation was described through the pairing of opposite concepts.[12][13] A Sumerian ruler was considered to have a dual role as a lugal (literally "big man" or war leader) and an en or civic/religious leader, responsible for mediating with the gods and maintaining the fecundity of the land. The Standard of Ur may have been intended to depict these two complementary concepts of Sumerian kingship.[3]

The scenes depicted in the mosaics were reflected in the tombs where the "Standard" was found. The skeletons of attendants and musicians were found accompanying the remains of the kings, as was equipment used in both the "War" and "Peace" scenes of the mosaics. Unlike ancient Egyptian tombs, the dead were not buried with provisions of food and serving equipment; instead, they were found with the remains of meals, such as empty food vessels and animal bones. They may have participated in one last ritual feast, the remains of which were buried alongside them, before being put to death (possibly by poisoning) to accompany their master in the afterlife.[15]

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ava-does-dumbassery · 9 months

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Translating Nyarlathotep’s names, titles, and epithets into Middle Egyptian for funsies

Middle Egyptian is the version of the Ancient Egyptian language that was spoken from about 2000 BCE (4000 years ago) to 1300 BCE (3300 years ago). I’ve been learning it for several months now, but since I am still learning there are many epithets I just do not know how to translate yet (and I could be wrong even about the ones I think I do know how to translate). Also, I’m pretty sure that the lore around Nyarlathotep is that he was in Egypt in the Old Kingdom, when they spoke Old Egyptian not Middle Egyptian, but I don’t know Old Egyptian so fuck it, we ball.

All the hieroglyphs I’m going to show here should be read left to right, top to bottom. If you want to change them to be read right to left (which is how hieroglyphs were usually read), you just have to mirror reverse them so they face the other way. Hieroglyphs can’t be read bottom to top, however, so you can’t change that. Some formatting changes would be required to change the ones that are primarily horizontal to being primarily vertical, and vice versa.

First off: His name.

Originally, I was going to start this post with a punishingly long explanation of exactly what all this means and why I have all these different variations of the name. I think an explanation like that is necessary to put somewhere on this post, but I don’t want to force people who just do not care to read all that, so I’ve put it at the very end beneath a “keep reading.”

Now for (some) epithets and titles:

“Mighty Messenger:”

Transliteration: wpwty wsr. A way to pronounce it: Weputy weser or uputy user.

“Great Messenger:”

Transliteration: wpwty wr. A way to pronounce it: Weputy wer or Uputy ur.

The “Black Pharaoh:”

There are two ways to write this one. The first is this:

Transliteration: nsw km. A way to pronounce it: Nesu kem.

It means “black king” not “black pharaoh,” but I think it might make more sense to say it this way. The way you’d say “black pharaoh” is like this:

Transliteration: pr-ʿȝ km. A way to pronounce it: Per a’a kem.

This literally means “the black Great House,” since the word “pharaoh” literally means “Great House.” This would be sort of like if Nyarlathotep appeared on earth today in the form of a United States president and we called him “the black White House,” or if he appeared as a Russian president and we called him “the black Kremlin.” The problem with this one is that I’m not so clear on if the rules for stacking adjectives would even allow for you to say this.

Also, fun fact, Ancient Egyptians considered black to be a good colour, since they associated it with the fertile soil beside the Nile. So this title would not be sinister to them. Like if Nyarlathotep appeared as a US president and we called him “the cool awesome White House.”

“Soul (of the Other Gods):”

Transliteration: kȝ kywy nṯrw. A way to pronounce it: Ka keywey netcheru.

It’s hard to just translate “soul” directly into Egyptian because the Ancient Egyptians didn’t just believe in “a soul,” they believed in a bunch of different parts of a soul that all did different things. The part I’ve used for this translation is the ka, because I think it’s the closest to what we might think of when we hear the word “soul.” I think you could make an argument that since Nyarlathotep’s job is to go and enact the Other God’s will for them, he could be considered their akh, but the akh is a very distinctly Egyptian concept and has lot to do with being dead and getting to the Egyptian afterlife, so I don’t think it works well here. You might also argue that he could be their heart (ib) since the Egyptians thought that you did your thinking with your heart instead of your brain, and Nyarlathotep seems to be a lot more capable of thought than the rest of the “blind, voiceless, mindless” Other Gods, but hearts don’t go out and do things for you so I don’t think that one works either.

“Soul and messenger (of the Other Gods):”

Transliteration: kȝ wpwty kywy nṯrw. A way to pronounce it: Ka weputy keywey netcheru.

“God of a Thousand Forms:”

Transliteration: nṯr ḫprw ḫȝ. A way to pronounce it: Netcher kheperu kha.

Also, as a bonus, I noticed while I was looking for epithets to translate that Fungi From Yuggoth calls Azathoth the “Lord of All.” That’s an Azathoth epithet, so I don’t really have an excuse to translate it into Egyptian, but “Lord of All” is also a common epithet for the Egyptian god Horus. If I ever write that thing about Egyptian gods fighting Nyarlathotep then I will find a way to exploit this. Anyway, here’s how you can say “Lord of All:”

Transliteration: nb tm. A way to pronounce it: Neb tem.

Nyarlathotep’s name is kind of a nightmare to try and spell with the Ancient Egyptian alphabet (good for him, he’d probably want it that way). Here’s my long ass explanation of why I chose to write it the ways I did in this post:

Why is his name spelled without vowels?:

In Ancient Egyptian writing, the vowels are usually left out and only the consonant sounds in words are written down (it’s a lot like Hebrew in this way). The Egyptians eventually did create a system for writing vowels, and that was used for words that Egyptian readers wouldn’t already know how to pronounce, like foreign names. Nyarlathotep, coming from outer space, would be pretty foreign to them, but the earliest vocalic writing is from the end of the Old Kingdom. I’m going to use that as an excuse to say it didn’t exist when he was around and just not bother with it, because there is no way to spell his name in any vocalic writing system that isn’t incomplete and/or confusing (there are two A’s in there and one of them is right next to an L and that is An Issue). The Is in the spellings of his names with the eye symbol in them do not count as vowels, because they are actually transliteration symbols for a consonant sound.

The L sound:

The L sound in his name is an issue because Ancient Egyptian languages might have had an L sound in them, at some point, but they might’ve not. Basically: If you’ve ever done one of those things that will tell you how to write your name in hieroglyphs, you’ve probably been told that this vulture glyph 𓄿 makes an A sound. That is only true in certain types of vocalic writing. The rest of the time it made a consonant sound. We don’t know what consonant sound, though, because the Egyptians stopped pronouncing it in the New Kingdom. Our best guess (based on it being used to transcribe words from other languages that we know had L and R sounds) is that it made a sound like L or R, which is why I’ve used it here for the L sound.

Why are there all those variations around the TH sound?:

Ancient Egyptian languages did not have a TH sound, and the Egyptian letter T and the Egyptian letter H did not combine to make a new sound like they do in English. They did have an F sound, so you could just spell it Nyarlafotep instead. However, “hotep” (transliteration: ḥtp) is an actual Ancient Egyptian word. It means “peace.” Many Ancient Egyptian names are the name of a god + ḥtp, for example “Amenhotep” which means “Amen is at peace.” That the Ancient Egyptians would have thought Nyarlathotep’s name meant that someone called Nyarlat was at peace is too deliciously ironic to ignore, and that meaning is lost if you spell it NYRLFTP. The two options to preserve that meaning are to make the T the bread loaf glyph 𓏏 (this would change the pronunciation to Nyarlat-hotep) or to try and keep the TH sound somewhat by putting the horned viper glyph 𓆑 in there (this would change the pronunciation to Nyarlaf-hotep).

What do the variations with the eye sign in them mean?:

The eye sign is a hieroglyph that makes two consonant sounds. These sounds are transliterated ir, but that i does not represent an actual I sound (except in vocalic writing). Usually, i made a glottal stop sound, but sometimes it made a Y sound. This means you could use the eye glyph for the consonants YR in his name (and this is cosmic horror, where we like eyeballs and put them on everything wherever we can). However, this might make the name even more confusing to read, because it makes it easy to mistake the Y in the name for a glottal stop.

Why is his name in a cartouche?:

The names of pharaohs (and only pharaohs) were written inside cartouches. And not just any of the pharaoh’s names. Pharaohs had several different types of names, and only the throne name and birth name were written in cartouches. This means it could be debated wether or not it would be proper for his name to be written in a cartouche. However, Nyarlathotep is not actually from Egypt, he’s from space, and at least one of the stories he’s in portrays him as a showman who uses aesthetic connections to Ancient Egypt as a gimmick to get people to come see his brainwashing prophecies of doom, so I feel like he would not care if it was proper or not and would use it anyway because it’s a very recognizable piece of iconography. But if we found hieroglyphic carvings by Ancient Egyptians that warned of the evils of the god Nyarlathotep, his name might not be written in a cartouche and instead be written with the determinative for god 𓀭 after it.

#nyarlathotep #cthulhu mythos #lovecraft #ancient egypt #lovecraftian horror #cosmic horror #lovecraftian #ancient egypt stuff #ava has thoughts #id in alt #tw caps

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gemsofgreece · 2 days

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do you know the connection between poppies and ancient greece? all over athens and on acropolis there was alot of poppies- then they were depicted in objects at the national archeological museum aswell (crystal staff with poppy ontop). just curious!

Poppies had a lot of significance for the ancient peoples of the East Mediterranean and the Near East, such as the Sumerians, the Egyptians and the Greeks.

Poppies and poppy seeds had considerable presence in early Greek culture, namely the Mycenaean and Minoan civilizations. A lot of this significance survived to the Classical period and up to the Greco-Roman era. The poppy seeds were used in rituals, worship and medication for their psychoactive effects.

Demeter consumed poppy seeds to sleep and forget the abduction of Persephone. Apollo and Asclepius used them for medicinal purposes. Aphrodite was sometimes imagined with poppies, apparently for its seeds generating sensations of pleasure. Hypnos, Nyx and Morpheus, deities associated with sleep, night and dreams respectively, were also often imagined with poppies in their hands. The drug morphine, produced from the poppy seed, takes its name from Morpheus. The name opium, for the basic drug produced by the poppy's seeds, also comes from the Koine Greek name for it όπιον (ópion), and so does even Afyon Karahishar, the Turkish city in which one third of the global cultivation of poppy takes place. Extra fan fact: there was a double lexical borrowing and Greek opion through some modifications apparently towards ophion -> arabic afyun -> turkish afyon -> then returned back to post-Byzantine / old Modern Greek as αφιόνι (afióni). So, in Greek opium is both όπιο(ν) - ópio(n) and αφιόνι (afióni). Even though the old word όπιο is far more common, there is an interesting verb derived from αφιόνι, αφιονίζομαι (afionízome) which means "I go mad, delirious like I am under the influence of opium". Usually used when someone gets angry to the point of not making sense. You didn't ask for etymology and language lesson lol but my point was to show that evidently, even lingusitically, we see that poppies and the psychoactive, hypnotic and medicinal properties of its seeds were widely used in the Ancient Greek and then Greco-Roman world all the way until and beyond the interactions with the Arabs and the Turks, as the Greek words associated to the products of the poppy have travelled both west and east.

Carving of Demeter holding poppy seeds and wheat, Corinth, Greece photographed by Tiggrx on flickr.

Poppy field in Paros island. From DiscoverGreece.

PS 1: Since I made an etymology analysis for opium, the ancient Greek word for the poppy was μήκων (mekon) but the modern Greek one derives from the Latin papaver instead and is παπαρούνα (paparúna).

PS 2: The red poppy and the poppy that makes the drugs are not the same species but obviously all these exist in Greece so-

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kittyofalltrades · 1 year

Text

Office Hours

You get invited to a Frat party, but Professor Grant just might have something to say about it.

CO-WRITTEN WITH @welcometostayingawake

This is the brainchild of Mona and I. We had this bad boy outlined and started in 10 minutes flat. Nothing but shameless self indulgence and filth...

Words: 4210 of pure filth

Rating: Explicit 18+ ONLY MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Beta: both of us this time @welcometostayingawake

Warnings: Power imbalance (professor/student), Age gap (READER IS OF AGE), Profanity, Oral (f rec), PinV, Unprotected Sex (Wrap it before you tap it)

Your Friday evening Egyptian Civilizations lectures with Professor Grant were always your favorite. He was brilliant at his job, captivating the class to make you feel as though you were actually there, experiencing the Gods and Pharaohs for yourself. It didn’t hurt that the man was gorgeous; salt and pepper mop of messy curls on his head, leather satchel sitting on broad shoulders and a pair of gold wire glasses to top off the look. His tweed blazer paired with one of his many neutral cable knit sweaters added to his academic charm while he paced across the classroom, rambling about bartering for the Gods. The thought of how he might smell if you were to press your nose into his sweater made you smile at him as he passed by handing you a paper marked with another perfect grade.

Steven smiled back at you as he handed out the papers. You, his favorite student, as brilliant as him in matters of Ancient Egyptian culture, made his heart pitter patter in a forbidden rhythm. You, always so effortlessly beautiful in your cozy, large sweaters and shapely leggings, pointing out inconsistencies in the homework to him. Then there was that one time you’d come to see him late one evening, dropping by his office with questions about the paper he had just assigned. He had to ask you to repeat yourself after taking in your out of place short skirt and fitted turtleneck. You ended up admitting that your out of place outfit and random drop-in was due to a failed date. He thought you looked absolutely lovely. You always answered his questions during class, exchanging small secret smiles between the two of you. Even turning down party invitations to have him check over your work during his office hours, sometimes bringing him pastries in thanks. You truly were his best student and you should stay that way.

Once the papers were distributed, Professor Grant called out the next assignment and dismissed the class in a flurry of bags and papers. As per tradition, you gathered your things and gave him a wave before heading to the door at the back of the hall, but instead running straight into Tanner. Tall, handsome, belongs to a fraternity but comes from a small town Tanner. He was in a group project with you for this course and didn’t seem too bad, at least compared to his fraternity brothers. A fraternity known for boisterous parties, the likes of which you avoided like the plague.

“Oof! Oh, Tanner. Hi, sorry about that,” you told him with a soft smile as you righted your footing.

“Hey, just the girl I wanted to see,” he told you with a charming smile.

Just the girl he wanted to see? Why? You had a reputation of rejecting the frat boys and if it was classwork related he could have emailed you. You cocked your head to the side and narrowed your eyes at him in suspicion. What the hell did he want?

“So Professor Grant’s last assignment, it sounds like it’s gonna be tough. A whole ass research paper on any other God besides Khonshu because we’ve already covered him in class and he holds a special place in his heart,” Tanner laughed.

“Yeah Khonshu is too easy anyway,” you commented, not liking how he was lining up his shot.

“So I was thinking you could come back to my place tonight and we could work on it together?” Tanner ventured.

Those words made Steven look up from the papers he was shoving in his leather satchel. He saw you with Tanner, his second best student, standing entirely too close to you, grinning wolfishly down at you from the step above and it made his blood boil. Slimy git.

“Isn’t it against fraternity rules to waste a Friday night studying? Your frat bros are going to be partying,” you pointed out.

“Maybe you could join me for the party after we do some research together,” Tanner offered, running his hands down your arm.

You considered it for a second. Tanner didn’t seem like the worst. He hadn’t made any lewd passes at you like some of the other guys and seemed respectable enough. You opened your mouth to accept his offer when Professor Grant stormed past you two in a flurry, drawing your attention away from Tanner completely.

“My office in 10 minutes,” he ordered in a clipped tone. The way he spoke worried you but also sent a shiver down your spine.

Steven turned and swiftly headed to his office in an attempt to calm himself down before he did something drastic. Like failing Tanner for hitting on you, or rather, push him down the stairs for groping your arm.

“You should watch out for him, he gives me weird vibes,” Tanner said once Professor Grant turned a corner.

You rolled your eyes, it was just Professor Grant. He was always a perfect gentleman with you. Even when you’d shown up out of the blue after a miserable dating attempt, he’d kept his eyes either on the laptop screen or on your eyes, not once straying to the large expanse of skin you had on display. You often mused that when you graduated, you were going to ask him out if he was still single. In these little daydreams, he was usually being a lot less respectful with you, but you doubted your attraction was reciprocated.

“I don’t think he gives weird vibes. He’s always been nothing but nice to me,” you respond with a shrug. Professor Grant was actually one of the most polite faculty members, if you thought about it.

“No, really,” Tanner insisted. “He’s always looking at you like you’re the only one in the room. And he’s always smiling when you ask questions. The day you were out sick he was in a terrible mood and I swear he kept glancing at your usual seat.”

You listened to Tanner’s theories in amusement. That simply could not be true.

“And you’re the top of the class,” Tanner finished smugly.

That made the amused smile slide off your face. “You think I’m top of the class only because Professor Grant likes me? You're delusional.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he backpedaled. “It’s just he’s clearly got a thing for you! Be careful. Better yet let me go with you to his office. I’ll prove it,” he reached to take your bag from you but you physically recoiled.

“No thanks. I don’t think I need your help proving anything. See you around.”

You shifted your bag on your shoulder and hurried to Professor Grant’s office arriving with a minute to spare, knocking on the door and hearing him grunt for you to enter. Pushing the door open, you hesitate in the doorway when you find Professor Grant behind his desk staring at you with a dark look in his eyes. He’s leaning back with his fingers tented, giving you a delicious view of him. You drop your bag by the small couch and walk to the end of his desk with a tentative smile, hoping to ease the anger you still feel rolling off of him.

“Well, do you want to explain what the hell that was?”

“What?” You let out, genuinely confused.

“Your little chat with Tanner,” Steven growled, unable to control the anger slipping through his voice. “You’re going to his little frat party? Going to study together?”

“I haven’t really thought much about it.” You lie, to cover up the end of the conversation that you’d really rather not share.

“Are you trying to drive me mad? Tease me with the idea of you going out with somebody else…fucking somebody else?”

“I-I didn’t mean to tease you, Professor. I was just being nice.” Wait, what was that?

That made Steven laugh sardonically, “You were just ‘being nice’? I’ve seen you brutally reject so many others who have tried. But you were just being nice today, right?”

“I’m sorry, Professor.” you hang your head in shame. You had disappointed him and you knew it. Maybe he knew Tanner wasn’t a nice guy and you didn’t want him to think any less of you.

“If you were doing it to get my attention, good job sweetheart, you’ve definitely got it now.”

The words made you snap your head up from where you were distractedly dancing your fingers on his desk to find a dark smile settled on his plush, pink lips.

“My favorite student has no business with the likes of people like that,” he muttered while he unfolded himself from the chair.

“What do you mean, Professor?” you asked softly. This was a side of him you’d never dealt with before and you were treading on dangerous territory.

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you? Good girls aren’t meant to be used by boys who don’t know what they’re doing.” You were gaping at him, you were sure of it.

“They won’t know what to do with you, they won’t know how to take care of you. Not like I do,” he continued, walking around his desk, encouraged by your silence. “By the time I’m done fucking your pretty little pussy it’ll be molded to the shape of my cock and nobody else will be good enough for you.” He finished with lips inches from yours, earning a gasp from you.

Pulling you by your hands to come around the desk, pushing you to sit in front of his chair, he sits back down and trails his eyes over your body.

“Undress for me, love,” Steven orders, quietly but with undeniable authority.

You want this. You’ve wanted this for so long, so you strip out of your oversized sweater and leggings leaving you standing in your pink lacy bra and panties. You’re suddenly grateful to your morning self for choosing a semi-matching set. Another nod from him has you unhooking it from behind your back with shaking hands, and discarding your panties as well, blushing heavily as his eyes glued to the newly revealed skin.

“On the desk, please. I want to get a good look at my beautiful girl.”

You wordlessly climb up onto his cold desk, ignoring the papers that get scattered, leaning back with your hands to spread your legs for him, arousal dripping down your thighs. You never thought you’d be in this position with your professor but the way Steven ran his tongue over his lips slowly before reaching up and pulling off his gold rimmed glasses had you near trembling in anticipation. He took his time folding the legs down and securing them in a side drawer before leaning forward between your legs, hands pushing your thighs apart with a firm grip.

Steven looked up at you from between your legs, licking slowly from your slit upward. He groaned as your slick coated his tongue, filling his mouth with the tangy taste of girl. Steven focused on your clit, experimenting between flicking his tongue and then sucking on the small bundle of nerves to see which you liked best, sending jolts of pleasure through you. Your hand flew to grip his salt and pepper curls while you let loose your first moan.

Steven grinned against your cunt and pulled back to look at you properly and you whimpered at the loss. He didn’t disappoint though, slowly inserting one finger at first, then at your gasp inserting a second to join the first. Fucking you on his fingers with more force with every little breathy noise you made, he watched as your chest began to rise and fall quickly.

Delicately rubbing your clit with his thumb, Steven drove you to the very edge of orgasm before slowing down, leaving you pulsing on the drag of his fingers. Somewhere in the back of your mind you were worried about how loud you were being, but it was all fuzzy at this point. Now this was his favorite part; curling his fingers to reach that spongy spot on your inner walls, slowly rubbing it to make you let out a shuddering whine.

“Who do you belong to?” Steven asked softly. “Who does this pussy belong to?”

You tried to form words through the haze of pleasure but you couldn’t focus. The only thing you could think of was the drag of his fingers in and out of your core. Stretching and filling you and still somehow not enough. You needed more.

“I said, ‘who do you belong to’?” he demanded again, pumping his fingers with more force.

You babbled out an answer, not knowing what you said, not caring if the words made sense at this point. Something along the lines of “professor” and “please”. You were so close to cumming, he was rubbing your g-spot and clit in tandem and you just needed a little push.

“Tell me who you belong to or I’ll stop,” Steven threatened, and you could feel his fingers gliding over your sweet spot just right, igniting the fire in your veins.

“You! Youuuuu, Professor,” you shouted as your orgasm hit you, leaving you mentally drifting away from your body.

Steven pressed a final kiss to your clit, stuck his fingers in his mouth and licked them clean as he stood up, the unmistakable shape of his cock bulging out of his trousers. He pulled off his blazer and sweater, throwing them on the chair behind him. He smiled as your eyes raked over his smooth and toned chest, your fingers grazing the thin trail of hair to where it disappeared into his pants.

“See something you like?”

You nodded quickly in your dazed state.

“You wanna touch me? Think you’ve earned it?” He leaned in as he was speaking, eyes trained on yours.

You wanted to see all of him, to see if your daydreams measured up to the real thing. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth watching while he made quick work of his belt and pants, shyly looking up at him through your lashes. He left his boxers on rubbing his hand over the tent made by his hard cock.

“Say please.”

“Please Professor, I want to see your cock.”

“Good girl, my good girl,” Steven praised and rewarded you by pushing his boxers down, revealing himself hanging hard and heavy between his legs. He plunged his fingers into your cunt again suddenly, making you jump, gathering some of your juices to smear them over his cock before stroking himself gently. He relished in the way your eyes followed the motion of his hand. He was by no means small and he was about to give you every inch he had.

He nudged your legs further apart and stepped between them, this time pressing his lips against yours in a forbidden kiss. To be fair, this whole evening was forbidden but neither of you seemed to be in the right mind to stop. You leaned into him, coaxing his tongue out with yours, while he gripped your jaw tilting your head for better access. He pulled away for air with a small, satisfied sigh, leaving you breathless.

“Do you want me to keep going?” He asked softly, nudging his prominent nose against yours.

“Yes, please,” you breathed out softly, kissing him once more.

That was all that he needed to hear to continue his torment. He tapped his cock against your clit drawing a high pitched whimper from you.

“Beg me for it.”

“Please, professor. Please, I need you to f-fuck me. I’ll be good, I promise,” you rambled to him.

“Say it.” He spread your folds apart to push the tip of his cock into you and stopped, the action earning him a lewd moan. “Who do you belong to?” Steven was feeling possessive tonight and was desperate to stake his claim.

“You, professor, only you.” You wouldn’t deny him this. Not when he was only partially lodged inside you.

Steven’s eyes never left your face as he pushed in further, slowly, inch by inch, crawling into you until you felt like you were splitting at the seams.

“You’re too big, Professor,” You cried out. Sure, you saw his cock but you didn’t really stop to think how much it might hurt until he was already inside you.

“I’ll fit, love. We’ll make it fit.” Just when you thought he was done, he thrusted the last inch into your cunt, giving you a short but heated kiss when you whimpered at him.

“Remember, I want your tight, little cunt to remember only me,” Steven groaned while bottoming out and paused to let you adjust.

You let out a choked out moan when he stopped, he was filling and stretching you out like never before. He wrapped an arm around your waist to hold you tight against him, somewhat distracting you from the stretch, large hands flexing on your back. The thought of him possibly splitting in two you briefly crosses your mind before succumbing to the pleasure of him starting to fuck you slow and deep.

He’s murmuring soft words of praise against your temple while he’s slowly making you lose your mind, dragging out to the tip then thrusting back in hard but keeping a slow pace, leaving you breathless.

Your lungs aren’t working as they should be, his scent is all around you, his hands holding you close, the tendons in his neck flexing in view. You think you’re having an out of body experience. You feel soft and weightless until an upward thrust hits a sensitive spot sending you back into your body with a wave of pleasure as you cum. Steven shifts to hold the back of your head close, kissing down your face whispering “that’s my girl” over and over.

Even though you’d found your release, Steven didn’t seem to be stopping, placing one large hand on your sternum to lay you down on his desk. Grabbing your ankles and throwing them over his shoulders, he picked up speed, fucking you hard and fast, forcing you to take what he was giving you.

“Workin’ so hard for your good grades, aren’t you, pretty baby? Gonna take my cock every night while you study?” Steven groaned. He peppered kisses on the soft skin of your ankles and calves, moaning a little with each press of his lips to your skin.

You nodded your head moaning out a string of yes, yes, yes. Your moans raised in pitch when you felt him marking the sensitive skin of your calves with his lips and teeth.

“Gonna say no to all the stupid boys from now on? Y’like it when I fuck you stupid, don’t you, baby? Your little brain is empty, only know my cock.” Steven punctuated each word with a hard thrust, effectively making his point with each slam of his hips. You couldn’t argue with him there.

“Mhmmmm. No–no boys, only you,” you whimper as the heat in your belly begins clawing its way across your body.

“You’re mine, baby. Mine to fuck, mine to touch, mine to cum in. I’m the only one that’s going to touch you like this, beautiful,” Steven spat out harshly, fucking you harder with each word, pressing the backs of your thighs down toward your chest. Your legs were going to be done for tomorrow but you couldn’t care less.

“Professoooor, I can’t take it I- it’s too much,” you whined weakly, gasping on a particularly hard thrust. You reach for the edges of the table, desperate to anchor yourself against his onslaught, papers flying every which way.

“You can and you will. Fuck, you look so pretty spread out for me like this. After all the hell you’ve put me through these past few weeks, giving me those doe eyes and biting your lip at me in class… this is what you wanted to happen, right? You’re going to take. Every. Fucking. Inch.”

He can’t possibly be waiting for a real response; it feels like he’s in your throat, his hand reaching up to tweak a nipple and you’re letting out a long moan. You’re completely wrecked, coming hard again with a loud sob of pleasure, chest arching off the table. He's relentless, not pausing, fucking you through the waves of pleasure wracking your body, overstimulating you to tears.

“Were you thinking of me then? Thought I would absolutely wreck you right then and there if you teased me hard enough?” Steven demanded and you were quick to shake your head vehemently.

“‘m a good girl for you, professor,” you slur around your heavy tongue, as you feel another orgasm building. You’ve lost count at this point.

“That’s right, now come for me, love, I’ve got you” he told her gently, contrasting his earlier harsh tone.

He licked his thumb before rubbing your clit in tight circles, giving you no choice but to fall off the edge he was hurtling you towards. You came with a loud scream of his name, body convulsing and vision darkening around the edges. Though your body lay completely spent, Steven hadn’t finished yet. He was pushed out of you from the pulsating and quickly fisted himself, coming in seconds with a loud groan, painting your mound and stomach with thick ropes of cum.

You lay there with your eyes closed, trying to even out your breathing with his sticky spend growing cold on your skin until you hear the unmistakable sound of a camera shutter. You lifted your head in time to see Steven with his phone aimed at his work, thoughtfully cropping out your face, grinning at you.

“To show you… in case you forget you’re mine,” he tells you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You felt like the words should bother you, but they didn’t. Nothing that happened bothered you as much as you felt like it should. You knew if you asked him to delete it, he would but you didn’t really want to, secretly thrilled he wanted a reminder of this moment.

The reality of your situation was dawning on you, however; you’d broken the rules and fucked your older, sexy professor. Well, to be fair, he’d fucked you within an inch of your life and you’re certain you’re ruined for all other men now. You didn’t think you’d ever been fucked so thoroughly.

After tucking himself away, he hunted down a box of tissues from his endearingly cluttered office to clean you up. Steven felt a little ashamed that things had progressed to this extent and so quickly but not ashamed that it had happened at all. He really did think the world of you, he thought affectionately, while wrapping you in his tweed blazer and leading you to his small sofa. Steven rushed to turn on the kettle to make you both some tea and offer you some biscuits. After your rather rigorous activities, he was sure you’d need a snack of some sort, quickly preparing two cups and pressing one into your cold hands.

When Steven passed you the cup you turned to him with a sweet smile, which he returned, albeit slightly more dazed.

“That was fucking amazing,” you told him before taking a sip.

“I’m glad you’re satisfied,” Steven said with a chuckle. He would never admit this to you, but he was worried he had possibly taken it too far, having been touch starved for far too long. Hearing your verbal confirmation put his mind at ease in that sense.

“I guess I’m not going to that party after all,” you muttered into your cup.

“Need I remind you of something, love? I have photographic evidence,” Steven chastised with a smug smirk.

The words sent a shiver down your spine and you shook your head ‘no’. He pressed a kiss to your temple, whispering a muffled “good girl” against your hair. The gesture felt familiar and sweet and made you blush prettily.

“Does that mean that this,” You motioned between the two of you, “wasn’t just a one-time thing?”

Before Steven could answer with a reassuring “No!”, the handle to his doorknob rattled, followed by several insistent knocks. You peeked at the clock on the wall - it was still technically Steven’s office hours. If not for both your states of undress, you’d have told him to answer the door so as to not raise suspicion. Another minute passed and the knocking started up again.

“Professor? Professor Grant, are you there? I’ve got some questions,” the unmistakable voice of Tanner called through the door.

You rolled your eyes and held back a laugh at the memory of how your evening began. Tanner was probably here to show you that Steven was holding you back from going to his party, proving he had a thing for you. Turns out, he’d been right but that was neither here nor there. Tanner didn’t have to know that. After another minute, you could hear Tanner’s footsteps retreat and you relaxed against Steven again.

“You know if he touches you again, I’m going to fail him, right?” Steven informed you.

“Fine by me if he can’t take a hint.” You kissed him tenderly, pulling away to see Steven give you a wide smile.

“That’s my girl.”

#Professor AU #Steven Grant #Moon Knight #Steven Grant x Reader #Steven Grant Smut #Moon Knight Smut

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talonabraxas · 4 months

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King Pakal As An Alien Ancient Astronaut

The enigmatic Tomb of Mayan King Pakal has attracted the interest of Ancient Astronaut Theorists like Zechariah and Erich von Daniken who suggest that the carved sarcophagus lid found in his tomb at Palenque depicts Pakal as an Anunnaki Ancient Astronaut.

King Pakal’s sarcophagus lid shows a man tilting backwards surrounded by glyphs and symbols that run along the edges of the lid representing important components of Mayan cosmology.

The mainstream consensus among Mayan experts is that the image on the Sarcophagus does not depict King Pakal as an Ancient Astronaut but instead, the image tells the story of King Pakal’s death and descent into the underworld.

However, an alternative explanation of the engraving of the lid of King Pakal’s sarcophagus was advanced by Ancient Astronaut Theorist Erich von Daniken in his book Chariots of the Gods where he claimed the lid depicted King Pakal riding on a rocketship.

On the basis of Erich von Daniken’s observations in Chariots Of The Gods, Ancient Astronaut Theorists state that King Pakal may have been part of the race of Alien Ancient Astonauts that built Civilization on Earth.

The leading criticism of Von Daniken’s explanation of King Pakal’s Sarcophagus as depicting an Ancient Astonaut criticises his suggestion that rocket power would be the method used by technologically superior Aliens to travel the Solar system.

The idea that Extraterrestrials would use rocket power to arrive on Earth seems anachronistic because this type of technology would be primitive to Aliens.

However, the use of rocket terminology does not in itself disprove Daniken’s argument that King Pakal was an Ancient Astronaut because the carvings on the lid could also be an advanced Reactor eg using antimatter or some other advanced form of Alien propulsion.

King Pakal: The Sumerian-Egyptian Connection

A deeper Ancient Astronaut Theory analysis of the lid of King Pakal’s Tomb based on the works of Zechariah Sitchin’s Earth Chronicles ultimately leads to the Anunnaki Gods of Ancient Egypt and Sumer who may have built an Alien Civilization on Earth.

Zecharia Sitchin’s Ancient Astronaut Theory analysis of King Pakal’s Tomb expanded beyond the self-contained mythology of one particular geographical area in determining the meaning of King Pakal’s sarcophagus lid.

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multific · 2 years

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The Moon to Whom You Belong to

Khonshu x Reader

Summary: Harrow's hatred towards Khonshu was clear, but to hurt you in order to anger the God was a low blow.

You saw him everywhere you went.

He stood on top of buildings, watching you.

He knew what he was doing. He was annoying you.

But you were mad at him.

Who could have possibly thought that dating an ancient Egyptian God would be a bad idea?

Not you. Khonsu was truly magical and even if his last avatar, Arthur, didn't see that, in your eyes, Khonshu never changed.

Arthur hated Khonshu and despised him to the point where he wanted to bring Amit back just to get revenge.

Arthur knew you, he often saw you with Khonshu he knew what you meant to the God. And knowing this, Khonshu was afraid Harrow is going to use you to get back on him.

So, his only logical solution to this problem was to do everything in his power to lock you away.

He found a new avatar, Marc Spector, but you were not allowed to meet him. Khonshu explained to you just how broken Marc was, but never gave you a real reason why he kept you locked in your home.

Of course, you knew it had to do with Arthur and his plan of revenge. Arthur was an easy man to read, and you also overheard many times whenever he was talking to himself about how much he hated Khonshu amongst other things.

So, when you told Khonshu that you didn't need to be locked in a dark place just until Harrow is dead, the God took offence.

He wanted nothing but to protect you, and you knew that, but this was too much.

You decided to go to work, as usual, and carry out your daily things as usual.

And so, Khonshu followed you, every day he watched you, making sure no one would hurt you.

Every time you sat on the bus, as you looked out the window, you saw him, standing there, standing or sitting on buildings.

Just how possessive this bird truly was?

If it was up to him, he would have you in a palace, he often talked about how you need to be treated as a Queen, he would have you wrapped in silks, fed to your liking with no questions asked. He would have you sit on a throne, much like a pharaoh, but he would make sure everyone knew you were more important than anyone else.

And you loved him, you loved even his overprotective and possessive nature. You loved him because he made you feel like no one else ever, he made you feel important, loved and cared for even if he couldn't kiss you, his body language and soft touches proved it all.

You always tried to pay attention, you knew Arthur had many followers. And you were sure you have seen many of them without even knowing.

They could be everywhere, the lady in the store, the new coworker at work, an old coworker at work. Anywhere and anyone could be a follower.

But he didn't have to be so controlling about it. He could have just told you not to go out or just talked with you instead of breaking your door and getting it stuck. He could have sat down and told you to stay safe, you would have called in sick for work. But because of the way he behaved, you behaved just as well.

And here you were now, in the bus stop, waiting while he was watching you from across the street.

"Go home." he would say. But you didn't listen.

And you probably should have.

But he still blamed himself.

You were stubborn as much as he was, but it was still his fault. He didn't protect you, he wasn't there for you.

You had a feeling for a while now that someday something would happen. That one day he will send his people and harm you.

Yet, you weren't prepared.

Khonshu took his eyes off you for a minute. A literal minute and everything went to hell.

You weren't taken, but they sure tried.

If it wasn't for Khonshu and the quickness of his new avatar, you would have been gone. Khonshu would have burned the entire world down to find you, but he didn't have to.

Jake Lockley saved you, and you were back with Khonshu, standing on a tall building. He didn't let go of you. Not even for a second.

"This is all my fault." he said as his finger ran over your wrist, you managed to hurt it when you tried to free yourself, you fell and even fractured the bone. "All my fault that My Little Star is hurt." he said, voice full of guilt and pain.

"I am the one to blame. I should have listened to you and stayed home." you knew it was your fault, your fault for being so stubborn.

You tried to prove to him that you could take care of yourself. You grew up just fine, you didn't need his protection.

But you should have just accepted it, you should have just said thank you and stayed behind. You were weak, and you had to accept that sometimes it was okay to get help from others.

You placed your other hand on his chest and let him pull you close.

"From now on, I will listen to you." you said, promising him to do as he said might not be the best move, but you knew it was the only thing he would accept and calm him.

"Thank you, Stardust. I will also try not to listen that much to my overprotective tendencies. We can find a middle ground I'm sure."

You smiled as he squeezed you against his towering frame.

He used to get smaller when he was with you, still much taller than you but you asked him not to. He didn't need to hide from you.

"I'd like to meet your Knight. I need to thank... them." you looked up at him and he nodded.

"Tomorrow, for now, I need you with me alone. I need your help with a plan. I cannot possibly find what Harrow is looking for, we need to get there before him."

You liked it when he asked your help or opinion on things. But you liked it better that he didn't even let you leave his embrace for the rest of the evening.

You were his Star and he cannot lose you.

He was your Moon to whom you belonged to. Easy as that.

---

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