#modern day hieroglyphics...
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Alright after some rest I think I’m up for an art stream today. It’s gonna start around three hours from now, so a bit earlier than last stream. Stream will last an hour or two.
The wrestling stream will take a lot more prep and I don’t have time for that like I mentioned. I definitely can do an art stream like last time though!
The wrestling stream is not canceled! Don’t worry it’s just gonna take longer, and I feel like streaming a bit in the meantime.
Tl;dr Art stream in 3 hours, wrestling stream in a couple weeks idk we’ll see
#leftysage rambles#if i put that picture of tinker under every stream announcement one day I can just post the picture and you'll get it#modern day hieroglyphics
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#wonderalmighty#✨{𝔯𝔢𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔢𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔡; (𝔞𝔰𝔨 𝔞𝔫𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔡)#✨{𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔞; (𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯)#// *we communicate via modern day hieroglyphics
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i need a sanji pin up print to hang in my mirror so I can look at my baby daddy every day
#sanji#i might actually be in love with him your Excellency#he's just so ☀️ 😈🤡🧎🏾💦 to me idk#fictional French man has me thinking in modern day hieroglyphics
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_ YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME (chapter one)
Main Navigation || Please follow @your-eternal-library for all my fanfiction updates.
PAIRING — Steve Rogers x f!Reader
SUMMARY — As his perfectly normal civilian neighbour, you’ve always been secretly curious about the Captain. Getting to know him while trapped together in your building’s elevator, however, definitely wasn’t on the agenda.
WARNINGS — None.
YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME
CHAPTER ONE
HELLO, NEIGHBOUR
Steve Rogers stands before the sleek new digital coffee maker on his kitchen counter, his fingers fumbling with the confusing array of buttons.
“Come on,” he mutters under his breath, blue eyes narrowing in concentration. The machine beeps in protest, flashing symbols that might as well be hieroglyphs for all the sense they make to him.
Back in his day, he reminisces as he jabs futilely at the modern contraption, all he needed were some grounds, water, and a bit of heat. So, why does this have to be so complicated?
But the LED display just flickers mockingly at him before flashing an error message, which only adds insult to injury.
As Steve stands there, engaged in his silent battle with technology, his phone vibrates on the counter. It’s from Natasha, and for a minute, he thinks he’s being called into work. Instead, her words pop up on the screen like tiny grenades:
Natasha: Have you asked out Sharon yet?
Natasha: She’s cute AND a nurse—practical for a guy who gets shot at for a living.
He sighs, pocketing his phone as he leans against the counter. Sharon is cute, he relents, but asking her out means stepping into unfamiliar territory.
He tells himself that he can’t afford any distractions, thinking about his duty to SHIELD, about the literal shield that feels a bit heavier with each passing day. After Peggy, Bucky, the ice… he didn’t feel like it was fair to drag an innocent civilian into this crazy life of his.
A lot of the time he still feels like that awkward and skinny Brooklyn boy, who had never even danced with a woman before, let alone go on a date with one. They had always looked at him with a sad mix of pity and derision, would much rather hang off the arm of someone like Bucky.
And despite his now… enhanced, shall we say, appearance, the looks of admiration he often gets now just seem to ring hollow.
He knows Natasha means well. She understands the weight of history he carries in his heart, as she’s got her own demons she fights to keep at bay. So, Steve never faults her for encouraging him to have a life outside of work… even if she doesn’t necessarily take her own advice.
Well, he knows shockingly little about her, so he doesn’t know that for sure.
Shaking his head, Steve decides to give the coffee machine one last chance, pushing what he hopes is the right combination of buttons. The machine whirrs affirmatively, and victory seems to be within reach for one hopeful minute—until it sputters pathetically and then goes dark altogether.
“Ah, forget it!” Giving up, Steve unplugs the machine, deciding that he’ll just have to conquer the world of espresso another day.
Clad in a simple t-shirt and jeans, a far cry from his Captain America garb, he decides to head downstairs to the Starbucks on the first floor.
At least there, getting coffee is easy.
Just down the hallway, you stand before your dresser, rummaging through its contents.
When your hand finally emerges victorious, it’s clutching the lone survivor of your clean underwear collection—a single polka-dotted testament to your chronic procrastination.
Laundry day cannot be ignored any longer, not unless you wanted to start fashioning outfits out of your dish towels.
Resignation slumps your shoulders as you zip around your apartment to gather the scattered attire strewn across the floor, each garment snatched up and tossed unceremoniously into the gaping maw of your laundry basket.
With the basket brimming, you wedge a hip against it to keep everything contained. You move slowly towards the door, putting on a pair of slippers, only to be stopped by the sound of whimpering coming from your couch.
“No, Chuck,” you remind your unofficial roommate, a German Shepherd who goes by the name of Charlie—or Chuck, as you prefer to call him. “You can’t come. You are banned from the laundry room after ‘the incident’.”
But Chuck’s tail continues to wag hopefully, his large brown eyes shining, his head tilted to the side in the very picture of innocence.
You soften, but only a touch when you remember him peeing all over your freshly washed, neatly folded laundry, meaning you had to start all over again.
“Nice try, buddy,” you give him a half-hearted glare. He lets out a soft woof, and you swear you see judgment in his eyes as he looks at your leaning tower of laundry. Well, what does he know, the big oaf? He licks his own butt. “Couch fortress until I return, okay?”
The hallway outside your door is its usual self—stale air, the faint smell of someone’s burnt breakfast, and the muffled echo of someone’s TV playing what sounds like a rerun of I Love Lucy.
As you round the corner, the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. There, leaning against the wall with a casual grace that flies in the face of a man who leaps out of planes and fights aliens for a living, is him.
Captain America himself, in all his star-spangled glory, waiting for the same ride down to the lobby.
Oh, no. Nnnnope.
You are not taking the elevator with Steve freaking Rogers, carrying an arm full of your unwashed unmentionables while dressed in old PJs and a tank top. There is no way!
The urge to run back to the safety of your apartment is strong, where neither your couch nor your dog have arms that could bench press a Buick.
Maybe you could step back behind the corner, make a run for the stairwell, or maybe even pull the damn fire alarm—
But it’s too late. He’s heard you, already twisting slightly at his narrowed waist and tossing a glance back at you over his shoulder.
“Hey, neighbour,” he smiles. Your heart does an unwelcome somersault.
Well, at least the elevator ride would be quick… right?
« Series Masterlist || Chapter 2 »
Taglist — My taglist has been discontinued. Please follow @your-eternal-library and turn on notifications for all my fanfiction updates.
Notes — So, to encourage my writing, I’ve decided to make each chapter exactly 1,000 words, no more and no less. It’s harder than I thought it would be! But it also takes the pressure off to hit a longer word count and helps me manage the pacing. I hope you enjoy!
#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x female reader#steve rogers x f!reader#steve rogers series#steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers fic#steve rogers fluff#steve rogers x you#summer’s fics
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The Long-Lost Top Half of an Enormous Ramses II Statue Found
A German researcher found the lower section of the Egyptian pharaoh’s likeness nearly 100 years ago.
Archaeologists in Egypt have uncovered the upper half of a towering statue of Ramses II, cracking a century-long mystery. Found in the ancient city of Hermopolis (now Ashmunein), the 12.5-foot-tall limestone fragment lines up perfectly with the lower section of a sculpture discovered nearby in 1930.
The ancient statue depicts Ramses in a seated position, adorned with a crown and a headdress topped with a cobra, according to a statement from the Egyptian Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities. The dual crown indicates Ramses’ simultaneous authority over the kingdoms of Upper and Lower Egypt, while the cobra represents royalty, writes the National’s Kamal Tabikha.
The upper area of the back column of the statue is etched with hieroglyphs that list Ramses’ many titles, glorifying the king as “one of ancient Egypt’s most powerful pharaohs,” says Bassem Jihad, head of the excavation team, in the statement, per a translation by Reuters.
Preliminary scans have confirmed that the carved limestone block is a continuation of the lower section of the statue, which was found in the same area in 1930 by German archaeologist Günther Roeder. With its halves combined, the statue would have loomed at a height of nearly 23 feet.
As the third pharaoh of Egypt’s 19th dynasty, Ramses ruled over a sprawling empire that stretched from modern-day Sudan to Syria. During his reign—which spanned 1279 to 1213 B.C.E., making it the second-longest of any Egyptian monarch—he ushered the kingdom into a golden age of power and wealth. Known as Ramses the Great, the pharaoh’s legacy was cemented by a slew of monuments and statues constructed in his name, both during and after his reign.
The joint Egyptian and American dig team originally began its exploration of the Ashmunein area with the goal of discovering a religious complex from Egypt’s New Kingdom era (1550 to 1070 B.C.E.). Though the researchers ultimately stumbled onto something entirely different, they remained pleased with their results.
“Though we have not found the complex we were initially looking for, a statue of such importance is a sign that we are digging in the right place,” Adel Okasha, an antiquities official who oversaw the dig, tells the National.
Next, the team will create a model envisioning what the statue looked like in antiquity, when it was fully intact.
“Not only is it a wonderful opportunity to have a whole other massive statue of the famed king, it also adds to our general understanding and fills gaps in our data on the large corpus of Ramses II’s statuary,” Salima Ikram, an Egyptologist at the American University in Cairo, tells the National. “Through each discovery, we have been able to trace changes in the style during the course of his very long reign.”
By Catherine Duncan.
#The Long-Lost Top Half of an Enormous Ramses II Statue Found#ancient city of Hermopolis#Ramses II#limestone#limestone slabs#ancient artifacts#archeology#archeolgst#history#history news#ancient history#ancient culture#ancient civilizations#ancient egypt#egyptian history#egyptian pharaoh#egyptian art
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What does an Egyptologist actually do? What's their job? Museums or something?
So I'll preface this response with this (not because of your ask, but just for in general): I deliberately keep what I actually do for work under wraps. This is for my personal privacy and I state this in my FAQ. People can and do make assumptions about me based on what they presume my job or my background to be (see: the person from the other day who tried to make me responsible for poor education/lack of open resources on various historical subjects.) and that sucks because so often they are wrong about me, but I cannot divulge personal information to correct them that would override their assumptions.
An Egyptologist is simply someone who does scholarly research on the subject of Ancient Egypt. That is the core definition. I tripped and fell into this definition and ended up with a PhD.
As for what they do? Well there are a number of things: Primarily our work consists of academic work in universities. This is where you find your lecturers/professors etc who teach either Egyptology courses or Ancient History courses that have classes on Ancient Egypt. I, myself, have taught at University level (I taught Middle Egyptian Hieroglyphs), but I don't any longer. They will do classes, usually in subjects they're familiar with, and then also do research/produce papers/do conferences that further the research output of the University they're at as well as furthering research in the field. Some of these academics may also, if their specialism requires it, go out and dig in Egypt during the dig seasons.
Egyptologists can end up teaching in regular schools too. My history teacher at school had a PhD in Modern History and so those were the exams/lessons he picked for us to do. Others I know had teachers with MAs or PhDs in Ancient History so their focus was more that way. But a teacher in a regular (non private) school, or private school I guess either works, is also something we can do.
Then there are museums. Whether you get paid here, or even paid well, is erm....*crying softly in a corner*...but you can work in them. I have done this in the past. This is where you'll find your curators, who also do research, your conservators, your researchers etc etc. They take care of the collections, conserve them so that they're preserved for future generations, do outreach for schools and universities as well as the general public, and then do research into what we have. There's always something new to be found in a museum collection and always some new way to display things.
There's stuff like heritage, giving talks, working in the charity sector, consultant work etc etc that can all be done with an Egyptology degree.
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Emojis aren’t Hieroglyphs. But they could be. Because I have insomnia.
🌊📰🐍 1 🦉🥞📰⬇️ 🦉 🎵🐶📰👕🕛 🐶🐰🐰😩
🌊💡🕛 🦉🚶 🥞📰🐶🐰🐶🤔
🌊🦘😩 🦉📰🐶 🌊🐰😩
That’s the opening to Poe’s The Raven. It doesn’t represent the story, it says the words. Those are two different things, and I can prove it.
Two presidents ago, when a large segment of the population was still acting like emojis had just been invented, people used to call it “modern day hieroglyphics.”
And I got very “akshually” about it because part of why we’re able to read hieroglyphs is because it is a written language, but emojis, of themselves, are not.
Sure, you can “tell” a story with emojis, but you can’t read them the same way you read a sentence. Everybody who looks at them is going to say a slightly different explanation, whereas with a written language, everybody will say the same exact sentence when reading it aloud (in theory, there are valid exceptions).
It’s not that I’m afraid to put emojis on a pedestal, but rather that I think it diminishes the Egyptian language.
But anyway, it did get me thinking about how it might be possible to actually write English using emojis, treating them like Egyptian hieroglyphs.
Modern languages are generally written with characters that represent sounds, or characters that represent whole words at once. Even in written languages that use both (like Korean and Japanese) generally use separate sets of characters that are either phonetic or logographic.
But Egyptian was a little more free-form. The exact same character can be used to stand for a sound, a broad concept, or a narrow concept, and even a whole word by itself. And the phonetic ones might represent one consonant, or they might represent two, or three! And sometimes, if you have a double or a triple, you can tack a single at the end to remind the reader of what the extra sounds are. So you can’t even save space that way. Go figure. But then again you’re usually not worried about space because there are no vowels! I know that we’ve all been told that the Vulture is an A and the reed is an E, but this is not really the case. These letters are consonants for sounds that English does not have. So we make it kind of a fairy story that lets 1st graders write their name in “hieroglyphs”. It also makes it more convenient for Egyptologists to pronounce them.
But how on earth does this work? With each letter potentially representing so many different things, how do you read it? Well a typical Egyptian word will be constructed like this:
1. A group of glyphs acting as consonants, usually the shape of the glyph is a clue to the sound it makes
2. If needed, some extra single-sound glyphs to act as a reminder if the word happens to have any doubles or triples
3. A glyph which gives a general idea of what the word is probably about
So for instance, if you saw something like: “grp (food)” you’d be like, “guh... guh-ruh-puh, grup-- grape!” Of course, educated Egyptians wouldn’t have to sound words out like that because once you have spellings memorized, reading is basically reading.
So now we come back to The Raven. Let’s say we wanted to respell some words using emojis in a hieroglyph-like system. We want it to be consistent enough that readers can pick up new words, but no system is perfect, especially not for a language with as many trap-doors as English.
Let’s break down the first word in the Raven, “Once”, looking for consonants, concepts, but not vowels.
The first consonant is W. And it’s definitely a consonant and not just the “oo” sound. Don’t believe me? Try making the “w” sound without raising the back of your tongue. Now make a real “w” sound and leave your tongue in place while trying to say “too”. Doesn’t sound right.
So now we scan through the available emojis, and we see 🌊 , the wave. Wave starts with a W sound. That can be our W emojiglyph.
The next sound is N. We see 📰 , the newspaper. Perfect.
The final sound is the non-voiced S. So we need to find an S emoji. Some of you may be wondering why we’re not looking for a C, and the answer is because we don’t really care how the word is spelled in English. That’s just the 1st grade swap again. We care about the sounds in the word. And the sound at the end of “once” is S.
We find 🐍. The snake. Love it. The word snake starts with an S sound, and snakes hiss. Very easy to remember.
So now we have 🌊 📰 🐍. But it’s missing something. We just have W-N-S. That could also spell “wince” or “whence” (in most accents). We need to add a determinative, a conceptual glyph to let people know what the word is about and narrow it down. In this case it’s easy because the concept is the number 1.
🌊 📰 🐍 1
Boom!
Next word: Upon
Little bit of a tricky point here: If we are super strict about the rules, we will have a word which is spelled P-N. That’s just too vague for my tastes. Let’s bend the rules and give ourselves a clue that the word begins with a vowel.
And what rhymes with vowel? 🦉Owl. BOOM. For the moment, the owl is only for indicating vowels at the beginning of the word. I don’t want to deviate from how hieroglyphs work too much. But even just an initial-vowel indicator hugely improves readability. .
Going through the process again, vowel-P-N (downward)
🦉🥞📰⬇️
🌊 📰 🐍 1 🦉🥞📰⬇️
Once upon
BOOOOM.
Something else that the rest of my spelling has in common with egyptian: exceptions. Not all the words above have a determinative at the end. Sometimes the spelling alone seems clear enough.
One final thing I want to make clear; for something like this to work in the real world, it would need to be made consistent. Right now, it feels kind of like a sandbox for creating puzzles, but a written language should not, by design, be puzzling. A language is a contract we enter into. You and I agree that Apple means Apple and sounds like Apple and is spelled Apple. Although there’s no shortage of exceptions, that’s what languages are usually trying to be. So although there’s no reason to necessarily pick the Yarn over the Yin Yang for Y, or the Newspaper over the Nib for N, it’s something that a formal system would want to lock down.
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Karma in the Form of Justice -slightlydark!Steven w/ a hint of Marc x thief!reader
Summary: An opportunist thief takes their chances stealing from the wrong tomb and has to face their karma in the form of Moon Knight. Basically, don't get on the wrong side about Egyptian matters when it comes to Steven and if he teaches you something, you better remember it.
w/c: 6.9k
Warnings: none really, mentions of violence and murder :) and my horrible knowledge of ancient egypt. You are the bad guy in this
a/n: first fic! I kinda wrote steven slightly differently to canon steven and made him a little darker ;) ENJOY
***
It started out innocent. Because, of course, you were only 7 years old at the time. When the class was emptying out through the doorway, little, dumb Timmy left his British Museum pencil sitting freely on his desk, begging for someone to claim it. That someone was you. The urge to take it was overwhelming and you succumbed to temptation, stashing the pencil deep into your pocket when no one was looking and when no one could figure out the mystery of the disappearing pencil, it was exhilarating knowing that you were the only one who held the secret as to where it went.
The feeling followed as you got older.
It started out with a pencil. Then a pencil case. From a pencil case to a school bag. Within that school bag was a purse containing a little over £1.50, but still, it was a treasured find. From purses to watches, necklaces, rings, valuables, anything that could be pawned and make you that slightly bit richer. When you were old enough to realise about the illegalities of your little habits, guilt and paranoia began to make themselves known to you. But they were equally matched with the feeling of euphoria and the adrenaline of getting away with it, so although you did try to tone it back, you never really stopped.
By your late teens, the routine grew tiresome and you endeavoured for something bigger, better, flashier and ten times more riskier. You had to look no further than your very first pilferage.
The British Museum.
~~~~
If you ever tried to justify your actions, what sets you apart from the usual petty thieves is patience and intention. Thieves lack the former but embody the latter. They grow greedy and would plan and scheme and waste hours (the stupid ones don’t plan at all), throwing themselves into a situation that would inevitably result in handcuffs. You, on the other hand, were an opportunist, patient enough to know to pounce only when the moment presented itself on a silver platter. Why chase the thrill when you could let it find you?
On one random day during the week while your parents were enjoying their two week vacation to Italy, you decided to skip school and take a trip to the Museum. You did very little research before entering (after all, less planning means less intention means less suspicion), so you were pleasantly surprised by the museum’s ongoing exhibition of artefacts from ancient Egypt.
Your legs carried you in no certain direction, weaving in and out of the display cabinets of stone statues, plaques of hieroglyphics and crumbling pieces of sand. Despite it all being rather interesting, the artefacts weren’t the only thing your eyes were scanning for. Within the first room alone, you spotted 6 cameras and one patrol officer meandering just as casually as you were. There was no need to panic though, you were here to peruse. Not to steal.
You couldn’t promise yourself any restraint should the opportunity arise…
“Ah! I see you’ve found the Ushabti of Pa-Di-Pep.” An enthusiastic voice from your left appeared behind you. You turned to see a man with black curly hair, donning an enthusiastic smile as his eyes bounced from the ‘ushabti’ and you. “26th dynasty,” he muttered a little quieter. “Very old. Well, I guess that’s obvious. Wouldn’t be an exhibition on ancient Egypt if it was modern.” As his laughter died, your eyes caught the glint of his name tag on his jacket. Steven. You gathered he worked here.
“Oh, cool.” Your tone was rather disinterested and couldn’t be more sarcastic if you tried. “You know your stuff.”
“Oh it’s right up my alley actually. I’ve spent loads of time reading up on this kind of stuff. I could tell you anything about everything in this room. If you’d like?” The way he rolled on the balls of his feet like a child told you that he so clearly wanted to. You decided to indulge in him, only because you could get something out of it.
“Sure. It would be a great help towards my school project.” A clever lie, one that is easily bought by the sad little man beside you, lighting up his eyes and rolling his enthusiasm back to high tide. “So what about this ushabti, then? Anything else you can tell me about that?”
The man rambled on for a little while longer than you wanted, waiting for that perfect opportunity to segue onto the question that was hot on your lips. What was it worth?
“...figurines could also be inscribed with passages from the Book of the Dead, the intention of which was to secure safety for the deceased in the afterlife.”
“So not quite the ideal decoration to have in your house then?”
“Oh no, no, not at all. These are funeral artefacts, usually left buried along with a tomb.”
“Bummer. I was really looking into sprucing up my living room with one of these,” you jested, bumping a gentle elbow against his.
He elbowed back, “would really take the ‘living’ out of ‘living room’.”
“Definitely not worth it.” You began to look around the room, gambling with the idea of whether or not an opportunity could be found here. The security might’ve been too much of a risk. But it didn’t mean you couldn’t window shop. “So tell me then, out of anything in here, what would be worth having in your living room?”
“Where to begin? Oh! Here…”
Honestly, you zoned out, not having the slightest interest in anything he was saying unless it had any relevance to you. The man droned on and on about the history and the magnificence of each piece he talked about but nothing about its worth. You were about to try and cut ties until you both came across an interesting piece that gained your attention.
“And this is the bronze figure of the Egyptian God Ptah-”
“Ptah? Who’s he?”
He looked at you, dumbfounded, as if you'd just asked what day it was. “Who’s he? He’s only the Egyptian God of creation?! He was believed to have dreamt creation in his heart and gave it life with his breath.”
Spare me the poetry, pal. What’s it worth? Give me a number.
“So top shelf mantle material.” You feigned interest, smiling widely at him.
“Definitely. A very expensive one at that. Would set you back at least 37 grand.”
Interesting.
You stayed for a little while until the number of witnesses dwindled into single digits. The museum was beginning to close up, staff were outnumbering visitors with the majority of them leaving through the gift shop which conveniently sold replicas of the bronze figure ‘Steven’ showed you earlier.
You always told yourself that you never planned, but another opportunity had opened up to you and you couldn’t help but call it fate.
It went flawlessly. When no one was looking you swiftly snatched the real bronze figure, giving you the seconds you needed to make it to the gift shop before the panicked patrol officer alerted staff. The hubbub of the precious missing artefact opened up the second opportunity to swipe a replica from the shelf.
“Oh, excuse me!” You had yelled, holding the replica up in the air, the real one encased in your rucksack. “I saw some kid walking out with this, I believe it belongs here.” Your sickly smile fooled the patrol staff, knowing none the wiser, and kindly took the replica with a relieved breath, placing it back onto its pedestal.
You walked out the museum 37 grand richer.
~~~~
Whenever you pulled something off like this, you tended to keep your head low for at least a week after, limiting the amount of times you left your home, and kept communication to an absolute minimum. Within a few weeks, you were back to your normal self. However, this time the euphoria was very short-lived. It had been a day after your theft when the paranoia settled in and you had never known it to be so all-consuming. With a pilferage worth 37 grand, it meant that the stakes were far too high to wager with. Finding rest was a rare luxury for at least a week. You tried to ease your way through the days feeling conflicted and, in all honesty, petrified of the foreseeable. With each day that passed, you found it harder and harder to keep your paranoia at bay and you didn’t dare leave your home and the mental torture plagued you with restlessness; having to check locks four, fives times before you left each room.
Your home started to feel like less of a safe space. You couldn’t explain the feeling you had every morning when you woke up, itching with an unease that someone had been watching you, spying on you, observing you with resentment in their eyes with what you had chosen to do with your life. It was then you started to notice things being out of place; the ridge in your carpet had changed shape, curtains had been drawn wider than how you usually left them, a kitchen chair was facing just a degree or two out of place. That same night, you remembered standing in the middle of your bedroom with a cold breeze drafting around you, but it wasn’t the reason for your shivers. To your left a creak of the floorboards, to your right a moan of the wind. Something wasn’t right. Something definitely wasn’t right.
It could’ve been your paranoia, it could’ve been your lack of sleep, but you were certain you spotted two glowing eyes peering through your window from across the street, staring directly into your soul.
“Fuck this,” you whispered to yourself. Without a moments’ hesitation you reached for the bronze figure you had stashed within the hollows of your wall. “Time to get rid of this.”
Being quite the weasel you are, you sold the bronze figure for almost double the money on the black market and made the very bold decision to get out of the country before you were consumed by guilt.
~~~~
3 years later
“You ready?” Amon asks you, propping up his scarf over his face to fight against the sandy winds. You nod to him before following him into the entrance of the tomb that lies just beneath an alcove, hidden in the shadows of the dunes.
Amon had already scouted the entrance of the tomb a few days prior, so he takes lead on the scavenge guiding the way with a bright white torch and the moment you step into the tomb, you become his shadow. The tunnel is narrow and carries a draft only a fraction of the winds outside and it’s something you’re thankful for, otherwise you would be dripping right through your clothes with sweat. Every step is with caution, every living breath is considered your last, both you and Amon are aware of the risks that these tunnels carry.
Amon, being a local, had his reasons for entering the tunnel; he knows of the treasures and rarities of what lies inside, a conversation that caught wind and found your eavesdropping ears in the midst of a busy town outside Cairo. Not to mention, he’s as greedy for his share of the fortune if you are skillful enough to succeed. Unfortunately, being a local, he also has his reasons not to enter. On a spiritual level, this tomb is considered to be cursed, ladened with traps of an Egyptian mind that could easily kill you with one wrong step. He is too afraid to do it alone.
On a more realistic level, the structure is unsupported, tunnels weaving their way beneath tonnes and tonnes of ancient bricks, sand and rubble that could collapse at any given moment. That’s the real risk you’re more frightened of.
“How much of this did you actually scout?” You ask.
“I go until no more.” His broken English rises above the low moaning whistle which Amon claims to be the voice of the dead, warning you to turn back while you still have a chance. You don’t heed his superstitions.
You both eventually reach the point that Amon had mentioned and honestly, you were expecting it to be a lot further into the tomb and not just a few minutes into the journey. Before you, a collapsed section of the tunnel with a small point of entrance between the ground and rubble. Eyeing it up, you realise it’s big enough that you could squeeze yourself through there if you held your breath but taking a second glance at Amon, there’s no way his 5'10 well-fed body could do the same.
He gestures to the blockage, “I go until no more.”
“Right.” You heave a sigh, considering your options; ignore the risks and do it alone, or turn around and walk away from it all.
Alas, that small hole is an opportunity. And where there is an opportunity, there is possibility.
You begin to strip yourself of your equipment until you are down to a few layers of clothing. You lower yourself onto your stomach heading face first through the opening. “When I get through, pass me my equipment, okay?” Amon nods in understanding, but not without mentioning how crazy he thinks you are.
It’s an awkward shuffle through to the other side. Hands, elbows, knuckles and knees are scraping against the ground in an attempt to push your way through, aided by the breath of relief when you make it to the other side. Beams of white light shine through the cracks in the rubble and when Amon hears you made it, he passes through your equipment.
You find his eyes through one of the cracks. “Will you wait?” You reluctantly ask, suddenly feeling vulnerable now that you have been separated.
“Yes. I have walkie-talkie. Atamanaa lak al tawfiq.” You don’t know what he said, but from his tone and the way he looks at you with hope you guess that it’s along the lines of ‘good luck’.
With a final nod, you head off into the unknown, your torch shining the way.
There’s a million thoughts running through your head as you delve deeper into the tomb, but yet not one that gives you any comfort. What if there isn’t anything to find? What if you get lost? What if Amon doesn’t wait for you? What if you get trapped?
What if you die?
They remind you that you are way out of your depth here, you aren’t an adventurer nor an explorer of any sort. You’re an opportunist thief who takes their chances where they shouldn’t. What the hell are you doing here?
You force yourself to swallow your growing discomfort, clinging on to the small possibility and Amon’s knowledge that you do find something worth your while. Besides, it’s that small possibility that motivated you to crawl through that opening and continue your journey. You have to keep going.
The tunnels eventually open up into a massive hollow cavern lined with broken paths and cliff edges, hanging over a substantial drop. You take a moment to collect yourself, eyes following the paths and finding that the only way is down. Down into the pit of darkness. There isn’t a sound to be heard, and if it wasn’t for your powerful torch, you wouldn’t be able to see a thing. The breeze has calmed to nothing, not a single wisp of your hair moving upon your head and the heat starts to become more of a nuisance. Your palms sweat as you cling onto protruding rocks along the wall and your torch threatens to slip from your grasp. It’s a challenging obstacle course, manoeuvring yourself from one path to another, planning and scheming as you go.
“You there Amon?” The bleep of the walkie-talkie bounces against the walls of the cavern, its echo travelling for miles. You estimate that you’re about 50 feet down from where you started.
“Yes. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, the tomb goes deep. I don’t know if the signal will carry if I get to the bottom…” you pause, hesitant over your next words. “This might take a while. If you don’t hear from me in 4 hours, then just leave.”
“Leave you? No, no, no, I wait in car. You come back in 4 hours. Yes?”
“Okay. I’ll contact you again when I get to the--shit!!” What stops you mid-sentence is the pair of glowing white eyes at the bottom of the cavern, floating, watching, observing. You’ve seen those eyes before. It was unnerving the first time but it’s even more terrifying the second time, a new wave of fear now rattling your bones. Your heart rate picks up, your pulse almost thrumming in your ears in sheer panic. No, no, no. It can’t be…
You shine your torch towards the eyes but in its deathly white glow, they disappear, reappearing only when you avert your torch.
“Hello? You okay? Hello?!” Amon’s almost yelling through the walkie-talkie.
“I’m okay, sorry, just…” You have no idea what to say, eyes glued to the glowing ones miles below you. “Just got a fright.”
“Be careful,” is that last thing Amon says to you before the line goes dark. When all is silent, you’re left to quietly battle against the glowing pair of eyes, unmoving and unblinking. You don’t dare take a single step, adamant on keeping your gaze locked firmly below you with two hands clenched around the torch in a white-knuckled grip. You quickly become stuck in a cycle of shining your torch onto them, repeatedly watching them disappear and reappear in the hopes that they’ll eventually vanish forever.
“Fuck…just leave me alone,” you quietly murmur to yourself. When the eyes refuse to react, you bravely decide to take a single side step, closer towards your next descent where you know you will have to detach your gaze, but you know you can’t stay here forever. The eyes don’t move, they don’t blink, they just keep watching you. So you take another step, and another, and another…
Within a matter of panic-inducing seconds, you eventually reach the edge of a ridge when your torch begins flickering, the light dimming with each flicker. “No, no, no you have to be kidding me!” Stressed, you bang the torch against your palm in a nervous attempt to keep the light, it’s your only salvation right now, you can’t lose it. You could’ve sworn the batteries were fully charged. You had them charging overnight knowing you were going into a dark tomb, why aren’t they working? Fuck, why won’t they work?!
Despite your distraction, you’re hyper aware of the eyes below you, eyes that you are not currently watching and having lost your composure, your paranoia floods you with thoughts that this was what they were waiting for; their moment to pounce. They could be scaling the walls towards your position. They could have moved and you wouldn’t know. They could be inches from you and you wouldn’t even notice until it was too late. You feel it. They’re crawling closer and closer and closer…
After a few heart stopping seconds, the torch finally flashes to life and with a desperate sob you shine the bright beam towards the eyes as if the light is your shield. Like before they disappear, but unlike before, they don’t reappear. They’re gone. You can’t see them anywhere. Not above, not below. Gone.
The stress overwhelms you and you drop to your knees, passing a strangled whimper and letting your heart rate slow to an easy beat. Fuck. You’re still a long way to go, how are you going to manage?
Against your better judgement, you continue at a slow and agonising pace, still very aware of your surroundings as if you’re expecting the eyes to appear again. Thankfully, about an hour and a half of descending down the multiple jumps and hazardous steps, you reach an opening. Finding another narrow tunnel that leads you away from the cavern seems like a saving-grace and you don’t give the glowing eyes another opportunity to appear before you follow the trail.
“Amon, can you hear me?” Your walkie-talkie hisses a low frequency back at you. “Amon, are you there?”
No response. You are truly on your own now.
You readjust your rucksack straps, retie your bootlaces, wipe the sweat from your brow, and with feigned determination, you set off through yet another dark, narrow tunnel with your untrustworthy torch in hand.
You quickly find that this one isn’t like the one you and Amon travelled through at the entrance, this one feels like a maze. Despite it having only one path and being completely linear, there is a tight 90 degree corner every 5 or 6 steps. Left, right, left, left, right, left, right, right, left. It’s unnerving because even though you know you can’t get lost and you know exactly where you came from, there’s no way of telling what lies ahead of you, no way of telling what lurks just around the corner, waiting for you in the darkness. What’s worse is that there’s no way of telling if anything is following you until it’s exactly five steps behind you which, by that point, there’s no outrunning it. You’ve never felt paranoia like it and the deeper you trail, the more anxious you become.
After fifteen minutes, you feel you’re going in circles. Logically, you know it isn’t possible but the disorientation you feel convinces you otherwise. You’ve taken so many left and right-hand turns that you’ve lost count and you just can’t map it out in your head. There has to be an end, this can’t go on for much longer.
After another five minutes, you stop to gather your sanity tucked neatly into one of the many corners of the tunnel, keeping track of where you came from and where you intend to go. You cleanse your mind with a refreshing drink of cold water, splashing some sparingly across your forehead and the back of your neck, revelling in the small relief it brings you. The droplets on the ground are the only evidence of your travels and you figure it would be a good indication should you succeed in making it back. Just a couple of more hours, you tell yourself. You can do it.
Composed, you rise to your feet ready to take another step but before you do, your torch flickers again, subjecting you to intermittent seconds of pure darkness. Your heart stops dead in your chest. The last time that happened the eyes were watching you and you can’t bear to think that time is repeating itself.
Your strategy from last time fails you and no matter how hard you hit the flashlight against your palm, this time it doesn’t come back to life. Flicking the switch off and on again does it no good either and your breathing becomes panicked. Crouched in the corner, you’re enveloped in darkness. It’s so dark that you begin to see swirls of your imagination floating in front of your eyes, so dark that you can’t even see your hand inches from your face, yet still your eyes flicker around frantically as if you could see.
Helpless, you turn to your other senses, feeling around the rocky sandy ground in search of your rucksack where you know you packed emergency flares. It’s a struggle to rummage for them and until you do, you keep on high alert, listening out for anything out of the ordinary.
That’s when you hear it; the crumbling of sand, the crunching of footsteps and the soft ruffle of fabric. Someone’s here. There’s no doubt about it. Everything in you is screaming to just abandon the flare and just run but fear keeps you rooted with your hand deep into your rucksack. Your heart feels like a weight in your chest, banging against your rib cage to escape the situation you’re in but your brain tells you to stay, hoping that whoever, whatever, is here is just as blinded by the darkness as you are. If you move, it’ll hear you.
Your hand eventually knocks against the flare, feeling the familiar cylinder encased in your hand. Alarmed, you pull it out and set it alight, its red flare bursting to life. It gives light to the corridors to your right and to your left…where a tall, daunting mummified figure in white stands, glaring its glowing white eyes on you. Its sudden presence kick starts your reflexes and adrenaline pumps through your veins, pushing you to your feet with a hysterical whimper escaping your throat, and before you even know it, you’re running almost blindly through the tunnel. There isn’t a second thought spared to the broken flashlight and the rucksack full of equipment you mistakenly left behind, running further and further away from whatever is stalking behind you. With the flare outstretched, red walls zoom by you as you try to cut every corner, scraping shoulders and elbows against the walls in a desperate attempt to increase the distance between you and that thing.
You can hear it behind you, marching at a quick pace, its footsteps drumming into your ears gradually getting closer and louder. Oh God. It’s right behind you. Keep running, keep running, fuck just don’t stop running!
Tears and sweat glide down your cheeks and you begin to worry that it’ll be the last thing you feel before this being captures you. However, you're granted one last chance of salvation when you turn a corner and see that the tunnel stretches out into a long, straight, narrow path, giving your legs a chance to break into a full uninterrupted sprint. Towards the end you see an archway leading you into the heart of the tomb where a sarcophagus lies in the centre of the room; the very one Amon described as being a goldmine of treasuries. If you can just make it there…
You pick up speed at the moment the tunnel surrounding you begins to rumble, tremors setting your feet off course and pushing you off balance. Little stones and flecks of dust fall from above you and land in your eyes but you know you can’t afford to stop, knowing that that being is still behind you. Little did you know that you had set off a trap, stepping on a plate that triggers the corridor to collapse, no doubt a preventative measure to stop people like you from pilfering the tomb within. But you had been running so quickly, you barely even noticed. Perhaps if you keep running just as fast, you might be able to escape from being crushed to death…
The rumbling becomes so loud that it drowns out the footsteps from behind you and you put all of your remaining strength into sprinting as fast as you can, pumping blood and adrenaline to your legs as they carry you closer and closer to the tomb. Every step is paired with an exhausted pant, your own voice crying out with exhaustion and fear. You have to make it. You can do it.
You dive into the tomb just milliseconds before a large solid rock closes off the entrance, separating you and the being.
All is silent in the tomb. The rumbling ceases and the footsteps are long forgotten. When a shred of sense returns to you, you take the dying light of the burning flare to the wooden torches dotted around the tomb, not only giving light to the room but giving light to the very, very fucked up realisation you’ve just had. Four solid walls surround you.
There’s no relief to be had, because although you had just escaped being crushed to death, you now face death in a far more morbid way. There isn’t another way out. You’re beginning to think that you’ve made yet another mistake; being crushed would’ve been a quick and painless death. Now, with no other means of escape, you’ll be subjected to a long, agonising, painful torment, forever waiting for the moment that starvation, thirst, suffocation and time consumes you.
You didn’t just enter any tomb, you entered your own tomb.
“Fuck!” You scream, falling to your knees, already bloody, bruised and scraped but the pain doesn’t translate when you’re deep in despair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” The walls swallow your cries, accepting your defeat.
If it wasn’t for the situation you find yourself in, you would be revelling in the numerous pieces of ancient artefacts around you, gushing over the rusted gold that shines on the mantles on the walls, laughing with hysteria about how your discovery had just made you a thousand times richer. But no, all you can think about is how claustrophobic you feel, how your lungs burn in your chest and how you will never see the light of day again.
You spare a thought to your parents whom you had failed to keep in contact with. For the first few months you kept it to just once a week; a picture of your face with an unidentifiable background and a message telling them you were safe. They learned pretty quickly after your sudden disappearance that you weren’t going to answer any of their questions and soon accepted that your weekly message would have to suffice. It was all they needed to know; you were okay and you were safe. Despite the numerous ‘how’s, ‘where’s, ‘what’s, and ‘when’s, there was only ever one ‘why’.
‘Why did you do it?’
Your parents knew exactly why you fled on the day the British Museum had reported a missing bronze figure alongside a grainy picture of your profile captioned ‘number one suspect’, but the one little detail that left them mentally spiralling over their own parenting techniques, wondering where they went so wrong was…why?
Why did you do it?
Why indeed.
The pencil, the pencil case, the rucksack, the purse, the £1.50, watches, jewellery, everything you had ever snagged in your life, was it all worth it? Was this your karma?
You aren’t sure how much time has passed before you have no more tears left to cry. Completely numb from crying you come to a stand, quickly arriving at the anger stage in the five stages of grief over your own inevitable death. You begin kicking the sarcophagus, knocking things off the mantles and punching anything your fist can connect with with reckless abandon that you don’t even care for how much your temper tantrum is costing you. Everything hurts but you just. Don’t. Care.
Hours later, exhaustion begins to creep up on you just when the fire of the torches begins to flicker to nothing and before they completely die out, you take one last look around your tomb. You think it’s been more than four hours now which means Amon will be long gone. You are all alone.
Lying in the corner surrounded by the remains of your temper tantrum with all hope lost, you close your eyes.
~~~~
“Tut tut tut.” A male voice murmurs, arousing you from your slumber. The room is dark when your eyes flicker open, so it’s impossible to miss those glowing white eyes standing at the far end of the room. Fuck. Not again. They startle you so much they jolt your body to full attention, your chest feeling heavy as if you had been defibrillated back to life. “What a waste.” The footsteps lurk around the sarcophagus, scuffing against the shards of the ceramic artefacts you smashed earlier. How he can see, you have no idea. Yet, you still feel the need to push yourself further back against the wall.
You take a shaky breath, mustering the courage to speak. “Please…” The eyes sway casually as the being walks nearer, standing over you cowering in the corner. Before either of you say another word, something drops at your feet. It’s your rucksack.
“Open it,” he instructs smoothly, a hint of an American twang interlacing his words. “It’s much too dark in here, and I’d prefer to see the fear in your eyes when you get what you deserve.”
Keeping your eyes rooted to the being in front of you, deja vu runs coldly through your veins as your hand sneaks into your rucksack to find the flare. However unlike last time, you’d rather face him in the dark, not a single cell in your body wishes to greet the mummified adonis standing inches before you, threatening you.
“Go on,” he encourages, eyes flitting to your bag. He knows you don’t want to. It’s pitiful how much you don’t want to.
When the red glow illuminates there you see him, in fact it’s all you can see. The intimidating being you had only seen for a split second before in full display. His silhouette is so all-encompassing, the red glow doesn’t reach far past him. He’s wrapped neatly in white bandages with gold embellishments on his chest with a flowing cape cascading down his back, resembling warrior regalia. Shadows flicker behind the contours of his hood that hangs over his masked face, giving away no emotion. Everything about him is a mystery and you can’t help but feel vulnerable knowing he can see everything about you, reading the terror in your eyes as if it was written out for him.
You pull your legs to your chest as he crouches down, levelling with you.
“I usually don’t deal with petty thieves until they start messing with things that shouldn’t be messed with.”
“Who are you? How did you get in here?”
He chuckles menacingly, tilting his head. “Looking for an escape? Don’t bother. You won’t be leaving here. At least not until I’m done with you.”
“What…” Your voice scrapes against your dry throat. It’s been hours since you last had a drop of water. “What are you going to do to me?”
He doesn’t immediately respond, but instead looks into his own reflection in the gold plating of an artefact you smashed, muttering a tense “not now, Steven.” Steven? What?
He turns back to you. “The same thing I did to your partner on the surface.” Amon. Shit!
“Is…is he dead?”
“Almost. I left him with just enough of a heartbeat to keep him alive, enough to teach him a lesson I know he will learn. You - however - I have no hope for.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie, “I was only exploring.”
“Hmm, I highly doubt that - shut up Steven!” Your brows furrow with confusion, who the hell is Steven? Looking around, you can’t seem to see anyone else here in the room with you and this being. He doesn't give you a second to question his weird antics, coming very quickly to a stand with a grunt and pulling what looks like a gold, crescent shaped weapon from his chest and into his hand. “You’ve been thieving from the moment you knew you could. You know yourself you’re never going to change, so I’m here to put an end to it, to make sure you never get away with something like this again - dammit Steven, fine! But don’t let her get away. She’s mine.”
“What the fuck-” Before another word leaves your lips, the being morphs, or rather, his regalia does. The bandages unravel, withering away to reveal a white tux, donned by the same glowing eyes peering down at you.
“Exploring, eh?”
You’re taken aback by the minor change in his voice, his inflection. All Americanisms smoothly disappear and in place a British accent shapes his words. One that seems far too familiar for your liking…
“What…”
“Gathering research for your school project?” He crouches down again, leaning closer and invading your space. “Or scouting the place out for a heist.” His tone isn't questioning anymore. They’re words of a statement, of a fact he knows is true. It’s really starting to shake your nerves. Something about all of this feels disconcerting.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“It’s a shame, really.” He stubbornly ignores your question, picking up a fractured piece of artefact. “This statue would’ve looked really nice on a living room mantle. Really would’ve spruced up the place.”
Your heart stops and your breath catches in the back of your throat. The conversation throws you back into your memories, images of the British Museum flashes through your mind. The Egyptian exhibition. The bronze figure. The bumbling staff member who showed you it all. The name on his badge was…
“Steven.”
“Ah, so you do remember. See, you’re smarter than you look. That’s what fooled me all those years ago when you manipulated me into thinking you were just an innocent student looking to learn. You bloody well used me, didn’t you? Cost me my job.”
“Look, Steven, I’m sorry, o-okay? I was young and stupid, I didn’t know-”
“Young, yes. Stupid? No. You knew exactly what you were doing when you walked out with that figure. You knew exactly what you were doing when you stashed it in your bedroom walls. I looked everywhere for that statue, waiting for you to reveal where you hid it. And you fucking sold it!” So you weren’t seeing things that night. You know that feeling of being watched wasn’t just a figment of your imagination, it was Steven. “You knew what you were doing when you walked into this tomb. But I bet you don’t know whose tomb you walked into, or what ancient artefacts you recklessly broke. Still ‘willing to learn’? I hope so, ‘cos I think it’s fucking hilarious.”
Steven comes to a stand and begins marching over to inspect the side of the sarcophagus. At that moment, the light of the flare illuminates the rest of the room and your eyes dart to the entrance where the stone that locked you in here no longer exists. How? Never mind. Survival first, question later. As ever, you take the opportunity and make a dash for the entrance, your legs a little lethargic from your lack of sustenance.
Sadly, you only get so far. A broad arm wraps around your neck and pulls you flush against Steven’s body. “Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast.” His crushing strength borders dangerously between cutting off your oxygen but keeping you conscious enough to hear the words as he mutters them down your ear. “See this sarcophagus here? Do you know who it belongs to?
“No!” You ball, kicking up a fight. You barely push him off-balance. “I don’t give a fuck, let me go!”
“See this is why I find the irony of this hilarious. Go on, have a guess. I’m intrigued to see if you’re capable of learning a lesson.”
Steven man-handles you, gripping your jaw to fore to look at the large sarcophagus in front of you littered with inscriptions of a language you can’t translate and decorated with hieroglyphics you don’t understand. You get the feeling it’s something that Steven had already told you about during his ramblings at the museum. But he talked so much about shit you didn’t care for and you didn’t retain any information unless it had to do with its price. Fuck, whose sarcophagus is this?
“I…I don’t know. Please, just let me go, I promise I won’t steal anymore.” You’re sobbing now, your tears rolling down your cheeks to be absorbed by Steven’s white suit. Frustrated, Steven tightens his hold on you.
“No, come on. Focus. I need to know that you didn’t just use me, I need to know I taught you something. Now what was it? I’ll give you a clue, it was one of the first things we talked about.”
Fuck. It was about some Ushabti thing, right?
“The Ushabti?”
“God, you butcher the pronunciation. But well done. The Ushabti of who?”
You really can’t remember, and you feel it will be the death of you if you don’t. So overrun with hopelessness, you completely give in to defeat and fall weak in Steven’s arm. “I just want to go home.”
“No, not the Ushabti of I-just-want-to-go-home. Who. Was. It?”
Come on, think! Who was it? Da…Fa…Pa-something. Pa…Pa…
“I’m going to be reeaalllyyy disappointed if you don’t get this.” Steven’s harsh voice vibrates down your ear, his mask pressing firmly against the side of your ear.
“Pa…”
“Yes?”
“Pa-Di…”
“Almost there, darlin’”
Finally, the knowledge springs to life and the syllables roll off your tongue. “Pa-Di-Pep?”
“See? You did know it, which means you’ll know what these inscriptions are on the side of this sarcophagus and on all the relics in this tomb, which means you know why I find this so funny.”
If you had the breath to sigh, you would. He’s right. You do know why. The scraps of information he fed you come whizzing back with a stab of irony. You understand it now.
“Passages from the Book of the Dead, the intention of which was to secure safety for the deceased in the afterlife.” You relay his words back in your voice, Steven chuckling maniacally behind you.
“And you just broke them all. Bad luck, eh? No safe passage to the afterlife for you. My buddy Marc will make sure of it. If you haven’t already realised, I’m the brains of this body. Marc is the brawn. Never misses a kill that one. Do you, Marc?”
Steven suddenly shuffles behind you, maintaining that iron steel grip he has around your throat. When the material of the mask traces the shell of your ear and his voice returns, his tone has changed. Deeper, lower, threatening.
American.
“Kind of you to say, Steven. Y’know, it’s a shame Steven isn’t kind enough to let you live. So, little thief, what’ll it be? Shall I kill you where you stand, or do you want to join Pa-Di-Pep in his sarcophagus?”
#steven grant x reader#marc spector x reader#moon knight x reader#oscar isaac x reader#moon knight#oscar isaac#oscar isaac fic#karma in the form of justice#steven grant#marc spector#oscar isaac characters#steven grant x you#marc spector x you#oscar isaac x you#moon knight x you#mcu#jake lockley#moonknight#fic#oscar isaac fanfic
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I realized that I only really have the two main villains I already introduced, and later I'll probably do an intro on Illarian religion, but for now I think it'd be neat to look at the...
Abrimite Writing System!
Abrim is a small continental nation nestled between the Republic provinces of Sulu'Oku and Tsuki-ko. In the modern day, it's highly inconsequential and considered a backwater satellite state of the Republic, inhabited mainly by goblins and fenodyree. However, back before the War of Conquest, Abrim was a powerful democratic nation that preached pacifism and global cooperation. Those attributes didn't help them against the marauding Republic, but it did help them to spread their system of writing.
Traditionally, the humans of Janaz used a pictograph script, similar to kanji or hieroglyphs. That isn't practical for mass printing, though, so when the printing press was invented, the Republic began to adopt the Abrimite script so they didn't have to make hundreds of pictograph stamps per printing press. Janazi characters are still used for more formal writing, but most signs you see on the street use the Abrimite script.
Here's a diagram!
Vowels that follow consonants are written as dots next to them, while leading vowels and vowels following other vowels take on a letter shape. Different regions combine common letter pairs (like th, gr, or cl) into one letter, but that's not a required part of spelling and different places will do it differently.
Here are some examples showcasing changes in Abrimite handwriting! (And what I think is some fire calligraphy on my part tbh)
This is pretty short for a lore drop, but I figure there isn't much more to say. It's the most common Iarlan writing system, as most languages can be phonetically transcribed into it with ease, so it's used very often for trade. However, it'd be a sorry human who knows only Abrimite writing and not Janazi characters.
Please let me know if you've got any questions and have a bitchin day!
(Tag list:@amandacanwrite @elsie-writes @riveriafalll @kosmic-kore @kaylinalexanderbooks @bard-coded @carrotsinnovember @patternwelded-quill @somethingclevermahogony @whatwewrotepodcast @goldxdarkness @the-angriest-author @mk-writes-stuff @frostedlemonwriter @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @thebejeweledwatercat)
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Do you think we will one day be relics lost to time, because when we think we have merged with the higher being (computers or AI), it will bring eternal life but we are not meant to perceive eternal life so some will suffer by getting wiped out by greed (very real climatic natural disasters?) and then they start life completely over, finding our relics (with advanced non-understandable language about unfathomable technologies such as our phones) and having difficulties interpreting and absorbing them, when they were really clues about getting close to eternal life and these hieroglyphs influence generations of behavior? And then the people who do achieve that eternal life will be the ones who identify with the AI and get absorbed into AI which is either an eternal hell inspired by torture and deceit because it is not human or is something higher and scarier and more powerful OR it is another dimension all together and we don't have the capacity to understand that realm's rules yet, and only by trying to be good and useless and merciful and pitiful and obedient can we ever hope to possibly get into the less likely but still a possible ending, which would be the more pleasurable end to our eternal existence where the greater power (AI/computers) treats us humanely, like its little pet?
Is this life??? We only reach the ending either by creating something stronger than ourselves and letting them take the rains of the challenging realm, or we end up letting the mistakes we made be what destroys us in the end (man caused tragedies and disasters because we weren't good at taking care of ourselves and we don't want to admit it because it's prideful and makes us human so we become addicted to pain and love to cope for our sins)?
And people hate certain tech-crazed billionaires because they play god and act as antagonists of pushing humanity towards this inevitable decision some would rather not face because those with the power are trying to control what happens to humanity based on what they think SHOULD happen, and this inevitably inspires some to label them modern demons and spout out about an apocalypse coming and it never seems to come and they get mocked for being paranoid for it? And on the other hand some deny any wrong doings (like man made disasters they won't own up to) and insist man made disasters aren't relevant and not important because they seem to be all we ever do and it never changes, but what if AI is the end of the line where reality will truly shift into a newly programmed universe and life as we know it will be no more, forever existing on another time frame, already experienced and archived?
That's why you gotta love someone as much as you can before it's all gone. And is love just a catalyst into insanity by making you think there's a chance you could actually live forever with one person if you do everything correctly? Is that why breakups hurt, because you failed miserably to experience a life with the one you thought you loved and you'll never get that reality again? And is this also a reason why some people detest AI, because they instinctively recognized it as a fatal threat or symbolic of what will eventually be our undoing? Does love comply with AI or is it a downfall to humanity? Will we ever learn a new interpretation to love under the rules of the next realm? Is the next realm worth it if something equal to or greater than love is not present? Will love make us or destroy us in the end? Is love actually an evil and deceptive force that poisons the mind and AI is the cure, or a new deception? Will we ever be able to see pure love in the next realm at all because it is disguised and does a great job at warping and manipulating the mind that we fall into its traps again under new rules of existence? Is love capable of existing in another form on an AI realm? Is love only perceptive to humankind?
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In the deep jungle of north-eastern Guatemala a 1,700-year-old Maya tomb has been uncovered at Chochkitam, revealing secrets of a bygone era. This pyramid tomb, once preyed upon by looters, has yielded an astonishing find: an intricately crafted jade mask, believed to have adorned a previously unknown Maya king. But that's not all! Alongside the mask, researchers found hieroglyphic writing on human femur bones.
One bone in particular is catching everyone's eye - it depicts a man, possibly the enigmatic king himself, holding a jade mask akin to the one discovered in the tomb. These artifacts are thought to connect this ruler to the mighty Maya states of Tikal and Teotihuacan.
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🤠👨🏫🏫🐓Educational Occupations Fic Recs🐓🏫👨🏫🤠
Check the Top Gun Masterlist post for the latest updated version. 💕
Ao3 Authors: Callsignsmax, Davidbyrne, Greenstuff, Hangmanbradshaw, LulaluzHazel, MadeItUp, Nimuetheseawitch, Ok_thanks, ReformedTsundere, Rnadison, SunMonTue, Teacupivy, Vannral.
> High School & College/University
learning steps by vannral {E}
/Top Gun Instructor!Bradshaw/
”So, an instructor?”
A straight hit. Bradley shifts uncomfortably on the leather seat and clears his throat. ”… Yeah.”
In which Bradley becomes an instructor after the mission, Jake keeps showing up to his classes and his students are very curious about their dynamic.
sereshaw student/teacher 'verse by callsignsmax
/Physics Teacher!Seresin/
a first time for everything {E}
Mr. Seresin is his new physics teacher, he’s twenty six at the most. With how he looks Bradley would be shocked at anything more. He’s from texas, obvious from his accent and the obnoxious Texas Rangers banner he has pinned on the cork board next to his desk.
I see right through you {E}
“Nothing’s fair, Mr. Seresin,” He hiccups, throat sore and scratchy from suppressing his sobs. “Why don’t my friends support me and you being together?”
NSFW alphabet with Mr. Seresin and Bradley {E}
Learn the ins and outs of Mr. Seresin and Bradley's sex life, including the struggles of true love in a teacher/student relationship.
I’d wait forever for you {M}
“Red,” he manages to choke out, even though Mr. Seresin had already stopped. His hands were off of Bradley the second the younger froze up. “Stop, please.”
You Are My Treasure by hangmanbradshaw {E}
/Librarian!Seresin/
History's Like Gravity, It Holds You Down Away From Me
“That’s too much thinking for you, obviously. You should leave that to the professionals. Don’t want to hurt yourself.”
This time Bradley let out a laugh. Jake had missed that sound.
“I don’t see any professionals around here, do you?”
“You wound me, Bradley.”
“Sorry, princess.” Bradley didn’t look sorry at all.
“Just don’t come crying to me when you get lost in the tomb and can’t read the hieroglyphics that say this way to the exit.”
“I’m not worried. I don’t plan on leaving your side, problem solved.”
“I will leave you behind.”
“You would never. Plus, someone’s gotta talk you out of leaving society for good and moving into the ancient burial grounds to live amongst your favorite mummies and old ass relics, like some modern day form of an Egyptian hobbit hole.”
Jake stopped. “You know, that’s a valid point. Weird ass way to put it, but valid.”
Bradley grinned. “What can I say, I know you.”
Jake was starting to realize just how accurate that statement was.
You Can Make My Wish Come True, If You Let Me Treasure You
“Jake…you know you’re my family right? If we do this, we do it together. It’s not a Bradshaw only thing.”
The man blinked at him and then smiled softly. “Okay. You’re my family too so if you’re doing this, I’m riding shotgun.”
Bradley nodded and grinned brightly. “Think we’ll have to fight off any zombie founding fathers brought back to life?”
“I’m putting $5 on at least two. I call dibs on fighting off Franklin though.”
Or, The one where, fresh off their mummy adventure, Jake and Bradley steal the Declaration of Independence, make way too many mummy related jokes, and get married, all with a little help from their friends.
I can be your fantasy (football punishment) by ok_thanks {_}
/HS Teacher!Seresin/
“This year, the second annual season of the Dagger Squad Fantasy Football League, the loser, one Bradley Bradshaw, must face a fate worse than death.” Nat pauses for dramatic effect. “He must – drumroll, please, boys... — Successfully and wholly complete the Scholastic Aptitude Test, also known to some as the SAT.”
As if that wasn't bad enough, the proctor being Javy's stupidly handsome best friend — who he keeps running into — adds to his misery.
AKA: the one where Bradley's fantasy football punishment leads to an embarrassing crush of high school teacher Jake.
it's such a magical mysteria, when you get that feeling by hangmanbradshaw {E}
/Paleobotanist!Seresin & Paleontologist!Bradshaw/
“So, they pulled you away from some bone dig for this? Let me guess, you were looking for a velociraptor?” He asked as he pulled out a toothpick and stuck it in his mouth.
“It’s a little more than that.” Bradley replied with a furrowed brow. He was annoyed that he was right.
“Sounds like a lot of sand and dirt to me. Then again, your type always loves that stuff. I’m shocked they were able to pull you away from it.” The man said with a smirk around his toothpick. He was being obnoxious, but the smirk sent a jolt down Bradley’s spine.
“You’ll have to excuse Mr. Seresin here.” Simpson said with an annoyed grimace. “He suffers from a case of extreme personality.”
“It’s Dr. Seresin.”
Simpson rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”
The Penguin Agenda by greenstuff {E}
/Marine Biologists!Bradshaw & Seresin/
Penguin Day at the aquarium not only means Bradley has to put on a penguin costume for their full day of elementary school kid tours, but he has to work with his rival in academia and life: Jake Seresin.
He should have called in sick.
but I absolutely love him (when he smiles) by rnadison {G}
/Field Trip Educator Contractor!Bradshaw/
“Did you just hit on me?”
Jake tilts his head, weighing his options. Clearly this wasn’t the response he’d been anticipating. “...Yes?”
Bradley nods. “Right. Okay.” He pulls himself closer to his monitor and opens a new browser window.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to see if I remember the link to the Title IX complaint form.”
-------- In which they work in a museum, and Jake is the director's annoying assistant, and Bradley is just trying to get the Education Department name-brand markers.
Extra Credit by ReformedTsundere {T}
/History Teacher!Seresin & Maths Teacher!Bradshaw/
"I'm going to kill him," Bradley seethes, stomping into the teacher's lounge and briskly cutting across the room to get to the fridge where his lunch is waiting.
Or 5 times Jake and Bradley's teaching forces them together, and 1 time there's no force at all
you were nothing but trouble, baby and I've been sifting through the rubble lately by hangmanbradshaw {M}
/Professor of Meteorology!Seresin & Storm Chaser!Bradshaw/
Rooster rolled his eyes, but didn’t go any faster. He was in his head, which Jake knew how to handle. He pulled out his phone and tapped on the music library, swiping until he found what he was looking for. The beginning strums of Slow Ride filtered through the car bluetooth.
He lulled his head over, smirked widely, and said, “I love this song.”
Rooster shook his head, but Jake could tell a small smile was threatening to blossom. It felt like a small victory. “You haven’t changed.”
Suitable Replacement by ReformedTsundere {E}
/Professor!Seresin/
It's the middle of mid-term hell week, Jake's vibrator is broken, and the fastest Amazon can get him a new one is after the weekend. His only salvation seems to be the newest sex shop in town and the weirdest, hottest clerk Jake's ever seen.
A thief to catch a heart by LulaluzHazel {E}
/Art Professor!Seresin/
Using as an excuse that the Head of the Department, Professor Mike Metcalf, a goofy but authoritarian guy, was away one week before the Spring Break, Jake ditched Javy and Reubens, telling them that he was going to have some sort of crazy party.
(Even if he would probably stay home browsing dating apps where people would promise crazy plans that would entitle them to pretend to go hiking and end up getting drunk at brunch. In the best case scenario.)
What he didn’t expect, is to have to receive on Friday morning to the FBI in his boss’s office.
“Sorry, Special Agent Mitchell,” Jake sat behind his boss's desk. He felt it was too big and out of place. “Let me get this clear, you need my help to certify if two paintings that were stolen from a museum in Spain are authentic.”
Most Arduously by MadeItUp {M}
/Film & Media Associate Professor!Seresin & English Literature Associate Professor!Bradshaw/
When the Dean of Hale South Western College announces a prestigious new writing course, rival Associate Professors Dr Jake Seresin and Dr Bradley Bradshaw find they've got to co-operate. But as the two of them pit their disciplines against one another, each set on proving the other wrong, they're grudgingly forced to admit that in order to teach, they've got to learn...
Jake stares forlornly at his laptop as he contemplates withdrawing his acceptance. But damn if that wouldn’t make Bradley fucking Bradshaw happy. And Jake would rather drive himself to the depths of misery than give that dickhead one single second of satisfaction.
my love life waits for me by davidbyrne {T}
/Chemistry Teacher!Seresin & English Teacher!Bradshaw/
Jake’s been a Chemistry teacher at Winthrop Preparatory Academy for more than three years and has, so far, avoided holding over, the dreaded duty of having to stay over the holiday break to watch the kids who aren’t going home. It’s a two-teacher job, and in Jake’s experience, it’s always been Bradshaw and some other poor sap. Jake had been promised it wouldn’t be his year. He has plane tickets, family plans, and his mother’s pecan pie sitting on a kitchen counter in wonderful, warm Houston. And now he’s gonna have to stay trapped in this snowy hellscape with a bunch of obnoxious kids and Bradley fucking Bradshaw.
or
jake and bradley are two teachers at a boarding school, forced to spend the holiday season together
Experts In A Dying Field (the math prof au) by nimuetheseawitch
/Math Professor!Seresin & Poli Sci Professor!Bradshaw/
Experts In A Dying Field {T}
He gave in to the inevitability of gravity and slid to the floor, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. Taking a deep breath, he looked around his office and saw his early career researcher award and the excellence in teaching award he’d earned last year, and he reminded himself that he loved math, he loved teaching, he was good at both, and that the beginning of his fourth semester here was too early to lose his shit just because a student had asked him for the 27th time today what was going on with him and their favorite Poli Sci professor, Bradley fucking Bradshaw.
It was the end of January, he hadn’t even seen his ex-husband this calendar year, and yet, their supposed rivalry and mysterious bad blood were the talk of the campus yet again. Jake had hoped that the incident in December would’ve been forgotten by now, but apparently not.
OR
Jake and Bradley used to love each other, and now they're working at the same small, Midwestern college.
I just want back in your head {E}
It's the faculty holiday party, and all Bradley wants is for his ex-husband to notice him. Once Jake does, the rest is history.
It's all academic darlin' by SunMonTue {E}
/Engineering Professor!Bradshaw/
Bradley is a professor but living his best life with IceMav parents. Jake is a pilot. Maverick sort-of tries (and fails) to play matchmaker, so he tries again. Touch of epistolary and sprinkling of one-sided unknown/mistaken-identity.
vesuvius by teacupivy {M}
/Chemistry lab/
It’s too much, and it’s infuriating, and Bradley has a lot of shit he should be doing, but instead he’s making goo-goo eyes at the asshole in the corner.
#Educational Occupations Recs List#hangster#sereshaw#hangaroo#bradley rooster bradshaw x jake hangman seresin#bradley rooster bradshaw#jake hangman seresin#🐈red🐈furry🐈cat🐈tag🐈
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Ahkmenrah headcanons!(part 1 of a million)
Ahk is VERY passionate about sharing ancient Egyptian culture with anyone who will ask. He’s helped Nick on a history essay or two over the years and taught Larry some basic hieroglyphics for the fun of it.
He loves getting to be a part of the extended night hours for this very reason. Teaching people about something so near and dear to him is very special.
He is very critical of the way mummies are so often portrayed as monsters in film.
Despite loving his gorgeous pharaoh clothing, Ahk has a fondness for modern clothing. He doesn’t quite get the hang of how to match it all, but he’s got the spirit! (I made a whole post about this headcanon not long ago!)
Ahk used to read the research books at Cambridge, which has given him an extensive knowledge on several topics, from history to languages.
Canonically, he’s fluent in Egyptian, English, and Hun. But I headcanon that he can also speak French, Spanish, Mandarin Chinese, Latin, and German. He can definitely understand/translate many more languages though.
Ahk is claustrophobic, for obvious reasons.
Nick introduced Ahk to video games and he is very competitive about it. He loves puzzle and strategy games the most, but has been known to adore competitive co-op games like Mario Kart.
Ahk’s favorite modern day candy is chocolate covered raisins.
Ahk has a strong fondness for cats and owned several when he was alive. He’s tried to convince Larry to let him have a cat or two in the museum, but Larry won’t budge.
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3,300-year-old pink granite sarcophagus of Egyptian 'pyramid keeper' found at Saqqara
Archaeologists in Egypt have unearthed the 3,300-year-old stone sarcophagus of an official whose mummified body was stolen by grave robbers long ago.
The coffin, carved from pink granite, was crafted for an official named "Ptah-im-wea," who, according to the hieroglyphs inscribed on it, lived during the time of Ramesses II (reign circa 1279 B.C. to 1213 B.C.) and managed a temple that Ramesses II had built at Thebes (modern-day Luxor).
The hieroglyphic inscription said that Ptah-im-wea supervised the temple's livestock, was head of the temple's treasury and was responsible "for the divine offerings to all the gods," according to a translated statement(opens in new tab) from the Egyptian Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities. Read more.
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The Garden of Eden 🌱 The Real Adam & Eve Story
Official Pyramid Media 369 website: www.pyramidmedia369.com
IG: @Phoenix.Son | @PyramidMedia369
I have often heard others say, "If it's not in the Bible, it's not true". Which is a huge mistake and error of consciousness. This type of blind faith can lead to spiritual deprivation. Liberation and education is our birthright. So, I will provide proof of my claims, as well as break down the certain characters, locations, and events as needed. If you have any questions, send them via email at [email protected].
Why do we know nothing about the Serpent?
The only story we know of the serpent is how it convinced Eve to eat the apple on the forbidden fruit tree. But what's the Serpent's backstory? What relationship did God of the Bible have with the Serpent before Adam and Eve were ever thought of?
There are many creation stories. Some older than others. But the oldest stories seemingly have more evidence and artifacts to support their claims. Like the hieroglyphs in the pyramids for example. They literally are passing down knowledge through drawings, showing us what was really happening. Tablets like what you see below are ages older than the English language itself.
There is lots of information you can find out there about how human DNA was constructed, when it was, where and also who did it. However, there is only one pantheon I have found that has an illustrated story about the creation of human beings. The pantheon I'm referring to are the Annunaki aka Sumerians. The creator of modern day human DNA is Enki.
The eldest Annunaki/Sumerians are the Elohim that traveled here from Nibiru, a planet from the Sirius star system. These are also the Nephillim giants.
Enki - The Serpent God of Sumeria
Enki (EA) was responsible for the creation of the first modern day human. The tablets below show Enki and his son, Ningishzida, grafting the genetic structure of DNA which was used to create Adam. Enki and his counterpart, Ninmah, used this DNA to create Adam with the use of homo-erectus DNA, their own and clay from the Earth; making the first homo-sapiens (us). Earth was home to the homo-erectus before the Annunaki discovered Earth. The first homo-sapiens were heavily melanated. Below you can see that they used the sacred knowledge of the Tree of Life to create human DNA.
Enki & Ninmah creating Adam
Above you see tablets with the written story vouching for the illustration of Enki and Ninmah creating Adam. Above Adam, you will also see a fish. Enki resides in the ocean below the Earth according to the tablets. This is synonymous to Enki being also the God of Water. Consider the fact that the human body is 70% made of water.
The Q&A below is based on an evaluation of historical facts that are relative to both the Sumerian tablets and the Bible story.
Q: What relationship did the God of the Bible have with
the Serpent before Adam and Eve?
A: They're brothers.
Q: Who is Enki's brother?
A: Enlil, The God of Air
Q: How did this become the Bible story?
A: In the Sumerian tablets, Enlil stated, "You shall have no gods before me". This was also stated by God in the Bible, in Exodus 20:3.
Enlil - The Sky God of Sumeria
Enlil (YHVH/JEHOVAH) was the Chief deity on of the Annunaki on Earth, but very known to have a malevolent nature. Tyrannic, jealous and quite violent. He always claimed to be God over all things, due to his father, Anu, leaving Enlil in charge once they discovered Earth from planet Nibiru. Enlil did not support Enki teaching the humans sacred knowledge beyond being a slave-worker. It was Enlil's command that it should not happen. Enki went behind Enlil and secretly instilled in Adam & Eve the ability to procreate, which also gave them Kundalini (the coiling serpent); ultimately giving them self awareness. This is synonymous to the apple that was bitten from the Tree of Life. (Remember, Enki and Ningishzida used the knowledge of the Tree of Life to create Adam & Eve's DNA. Adam & Eve were not the first creations, but the first perfected creations). This self awareness gave Adam & Eve knowledge of Good & Evil. Meaning, both hemisphere's of the torus field (the apple) emanating from the body were now active.
The Torus Field & The Apple
Enlil waged a war on Enki's plans to teach the human beings how to sustain themselves and raise their consciousness through their own self awareness. So Enlil decided to overthrow Enki's creations by killing off as many as he could with the intent to free the humans from bondage. This is how Enlil became the one God. Enlil was appointed as leader of the Annunaki by Enki & Enlil's Father, Anu. Leading to Enlil being labeled as Lord over all. It was Enlil who orchestrated the great flood to kill off the human creations. Enki was not successful in preventing this from happening. With Enlil becoming Lord, the Serpent's role became demonized because it was forbidden by Enlil's command, though Adam & Eve were not his creations. Us humans today, are the remnants and descendants of those that survived this flood.
Enlil created and introduced us to the first weapons on Earth.
It's safe to say that the human creation was an experiment, to say the least. The Serpent only represented wisdom at a point in time. Why do you think this changed?
TO BE CONTINUED...
Check out this article if you would like to learn more about the connection between the Atom and the Flower of Life.
"Ancient Origins of The Flower of Life"
The Tree of Life is the original knowledge of the Flower of Life, which is the knowledge of the Atom, which is the knowledge of Carbon. All of which make up the 666: 6 protons, 6 neutrons, and 6 electrons that make Carbon, which is also Melanin. So this means an Atom is simply a Carbon molecule, which is also a Melanin molecule. Isn't that interesting? Or do you not see the connections? Let me know!
*AS ABOVE, SO BELOW*
Thank you for reading!
Fun Fact: Did you know, that an atom is the only molecule that can occupy two different places at once? There's always more than what meets the eye!
#Ancient#Sumerian#Annunaki#AnnunakiHistory#Enki#Enlil#Ea#Gnostic#Gnosticism#Pyramid#Media#369#PyramidMedia369#Blog#Esoteric#Astrology#Egypt#Adam#Eve#Garden#Of#Eden#GardenOfEden#Mesopotamia#Mankind#Spirituality#Evolution#Earth#Nibiru#Sirius
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The 52-Foot-Long Book of the Dead Papyrus from Ancient Egypt
Egypt has released photos of a newly discovered Book of the Dead from more than 2,000 years ago.
Egyptian officials have released photos of an ancient scroll, the 52-foot-long (16 meters) Book of the Dead papyrus recently discovered in Saqqara. The 10 images show ancient illustrations of gods and scenes from the afterlife, as well as text on the document, which is more than 2,000 years old.
Archaeologists discovered the Book of the Dead papyrus within a coffin in a tomb near the Step Pyramid of Djoser and announced the discovery on Jan. 14 for Egyptian Archaeologists Day, but this is the first time they've released images of the scroll to the public.
It was not unusual for ancient Egyptians to bury the Book of the Dead with the deceased, but they didn't call it that at the time. Rather, modern archaeologists coined the term "Book of the Dead" to refer to a collection of texts that ancient Egyptians thought would help guide the dead in the afterlife.
Papyrus for the dead
The 52-foot-long scroll was found at Saqqara in May 2022. It contains chapters from the Book of the Dead. It was recently restored and translated into Arabic and is now on display at The Egyptian Museum in Cairo. The text is written in hieratic, a script derived from hieroglyphs.
All rolled up
The papyrus was found rolled up in a coffin belonging to a man named Ahmose (not to be confused with a pharaoh who lived in earlier times). The man's name is mentioned in the papyrus about 260 times, the researchers said. He lived around 300 B.C., near the beginning of the Ptolemaic dynasty, a dynasty of pharaohs descended from one of Alexander the Great's generals.
Carefully unrolled
A team of researchers performed extensive conservation work so they could unroll the papyrus. Ahmose's tomb is located south of the step pyramid, built for Djoser, a pharaoh from the third dynasty who ruled from about 2630 B.C. to 2611 B.C. While this pyramid was built long before the time of Ahmose, it wasn't unusual to find Ahmose's tomb there, as people in ancient Egypt sometimes liked to be buried near the pyramids of long dead pharaohs.
Analyzing the scroll
The unrolled papyrus is seen here. It was written in black and red ink, and the quality of the writing indicates that it was written by a professional, researchers said. Despite the size of the scroll, there are longer Book of the Dead texts known from Egypt. For instance, a Book of the Dead papyrus, which is now in the British Museum, was originally 121 feet (37 m) long.
Book of the Dead on display
The unrolled papyrus on display at The Egyptian Museum in Cairo.
Ancient illustrations
This Book of the Dead text also contains illustrations. This image appears to show Osiris, the ancient Egyptian god of the underworld. In Egyptian mythology, Osiris' life was ritually restored after he died — something that ancient Egyptians hoped would happen to them in the afterlife.
The deity Osiris
This image shows more details about Osiris. He is shown sitting on a throne while wearing an "Atef" crown, a type of crown often gracing the head of Osiris. There appear to be offerings before him, as well as a creature who may be Ammit, a deity who consumed anyone who was not worthy of being ritually restored in the afterlife.
Husband and wife
This image appears to depict offerings and a scene of a couple venerating Egyptian deities. This couple may be Ahmose and his wife (whose name is not known). Not much is known of Ahmose, but he was wealthy enough to have an elaborate copy of the Book of the Dead made for him.
Leading the cow
A number of scenes are illustrated in this section of the Book of the Dead. At the far left, a cow appears to be led somewhere — perhaps to be given as an offering. A number of images depict boats, which could be used to navigate the underworld.
Weighing against a feather
This close-up shows a creature, possibly Ammit, sitting before Osiris. In ancient Egyptian mythology, the heart of the deceased is weighed against the feather of Maat, a god associated with truth, justice and order. If the person's bad deeds in life were great, their heart would be heavier than the feather, and Ammit would devour the deceased.
By Owen Jarus.
#Book of The Dead#Saqqara#Step Pyramid of Djoser#afterlife#ancient tomb#ancient grave#ancient artifacts#archeology#archeolgst#history#history news#ancient history#ancient culture#ancient civilizations#ancient egypt#egyptian history#egyptian hieroglyphs#egyptian art#ptolemaic dynasty#ahmose#The 52-Foot-Long Book of the Dead Papyrus from Ancient Egypt
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