#cairo map

[filmap]

صراع في الوادي / The Blazing Sun Youssef Chahine. 1954

Mansion El Tahra Palace Square, Kasr Al Tahera, روكسي, Zeitoun, Cairo Governorate 4521110, Egypt See in map

See in imdb

[blitzschnitz]

Obviously T. E. Lawrence aka T. E. Shaw really liked drawing maps of the places he lived in. Above a map of Cloud's Hill and surroundings, below a map of the Carchemish excavation house. Which he actually planned himself.

[illalmusalliin]

We've got many languages represented in Ummah or Dar Al-Salam. I should probably decide which name it gets. Why not both?

We have Arabic, Swahili, Turkish, Bosnian, Persian, Bengali, Urdu, Hebrew, Amazigh, Azeri, Uzbek, etc.

We have the Bukhara Synagogue on Bukhara Street. We have the Maronite Church of St. Mary on Homs Street. We have the Crka Svetos Josipa or St. Joseph Church. We have the Ben Ezra Synagogue on Cairo Street. Dar Al-Salam Park in the middle. Istanbul Woods next to the Qiblah Mosque. It's a diverse neighborhood.

I like to imagine that the citizens of my city are polyglots. And open-minded and respectful.

[fall24iksection]

MAPPING A LAYER IN A CITY - CAIRO

circles are drawn over a figure-ground map of Cairo - the distance for the call to prayer determined the spatial arrangement of buildings.

_ik

[fall23iksection]

MAPPING A LAYER IN A CITY - CAIRO

circles are drawn over a figure-ground map of Cairo - the distance for the call to prayer determined the spatial arrangement of buildings.

_ik

[hislittleraincloud]

Careful mama, he likes to date his starlets 💀

JLaw was 26 years old when they (47 at the time) started fucking. I don't think that neither he nor Tim Burton understand professional boundaries. 🫠✨

Jenna having dinner with Darren Aronofsky. It was a business meeting. Found on the subreddit fauxmoi.

[halfmoonaria]

chasing

pairing: cairo sweet x female reader

summary: cairo finds herself doing something she’s never done before.

wordcount: 3.3k

Cairo always got what she wanted.

She knew how to bend people to her will with a well-timed glance, a dangerous smirk, or a few whispered words that could send chills down anyone's spine.

Manipulation was an art she had mastered, her every move calculated and deliberate. She could sense the shift in a room the moment she walked in, how people instinctively gravitated toward her.

There was something almost intoxicating about the way people danced around her, eager to be on her good side.

So, when you, the new student walked into the room, confident and stunning, Cairo was certain you'd be no different.

She knew she'd have your attention in no time.

However, you didn't fall into line like the others.

You didn't focus on her the way she expected. Sure, you smiled, you were kind, but you treated her just like you treated everyone else.

You were friendly with everyone.

Too friendly, in her opinion. And that didn't sit right with her.

You had a way of floating between conversations, effortlessly charming everyone with your smile, your laugh, that way you had of making people feel seen. It grated on Cairo. Not because she didn't like it—no, she was impressed. Intrigued, even. But you treated her like everyone else.

And Cairo wasn't "everyone else."

She didn't want to be just another face you smiled at before moving on.

From the moment she set her sights on you, Cairo had already mapped out the game plan.

She'd sweep in with a little subtlety, make sure you knew that your attention should be on her. That she wasn't just another person you smiled at and moved on from. But every time she tried to catch your eye, she found herself met with the same warm smile you gave to everyone else.

It drove her insane.

You weren't playing the game right.

At first, she tried to be subtle, thinking she could reel you in with a little charm.

She'd linger near your conversations, leaning in just enough to draw your attention, flashing you a smile that usually sent people stumbling over their words. But you never did.

It irked her more than she'd ever admit.

One afternoon, she caught you at your locker, her presence lingering just a bit closer than necessary.

She didn't need to say much—just enough to remind you she was there.

"You've been busy," she said casually, her voice smooth. "Making friends?"

You barely glanced at her, smiling as you stacked your books in your arms. "Yeah, everyone here's really nice. It's been fun."

Cairo's fingers tapped against the edge of your locker door, her posture relaxed, but there was something sharp in her gaze. "You've got a lot of people's attention," she added, her voice carrying a faint edge, almost teasing, like she was sharing a secret.

But you didn't pick up on it, just continued gathering your books, flashing her that friendly grin she was starting to hate. "I guess so. I just like meeting new people."

She gave a small laugh, a flicker of frustration flashing through her eyes. Was that all it was to you? Meeting new people?

"I don't usually let just anyone into my circle, you know," she said, her tone light, but the hint of something more serious was there, just beneath the surface.

You shrugged, seeming to miss the point entirely. "That's cool. Everyone needs their space sometimes."

Cairo's smile tightened, just slightly. You weren't supposed to treat her like this—like she was just someone else in the crowd.

She wasn't used to dropping hints that went unnoticed, her usual strategies failing to catch your eye the way they did with everyone else. But there you were, treating her like a casual acquaintance, and it drove her crazy.

But she didn't let it show. She wasn't about to throw away her cool, not yet. Cairo always got what she wanted, and while you were making her work for it, she wasn't about to let you slip through her fingers. Not when she knew, deep down, that she was different.

You weren't cowering, you weren't melting into her hands, and it was starting to make her want to prove herself even more.

She wasn't used to it—feeling like she was chasing someone for attention. Normally, people flocked to her, desperate for even a sliver of her approval. But with you, it was different.

You didn't need her, and that was something she wasn't sure she knew how to handle.

But Cairo wasn't going to let that stop her. If she couldn't bend you to her will immediately, she'd find another way. Because in the end, she always got what she wanted.

And right now, what she wanted was you.

And one way or another, you'd see it too.

Although it took longer than she had anticipated.

Cairo couldn't even begin to admit it—not to you, not to herself.

The pull toward you was undeniable, slowly slipping past her walls, making her do things that were beneath her usual pride.

Things like asking for help. Her, of all people, needing someone else? It was almost laughable.

Yet, here she was, waiting in the hallway after class, her stomach twisting in unfamiliar knots, even as she forced that signature smirk onto her lips—the one she knew could get her anything. Anything, except maybe you.

It was after the last bell of the day, the hallways still buzzing with students grabbing their stuff and making plans for the weekend. You were at your locker, sorting through your books when you heard a familiar voice behind you.

"Hey, Y/N," Cairo said, her tone as smooth as always, cutting through the noise around you.

You turned to see her leaning against the lockers, her usual confident smirk in place. "You think you could help me with that English assignment Mr. Miller gave us?"

You didn't think twice, returning her look with the same warm smile you always gave her. "Yeah, sure. When do you want to get together?"

The casual buzz of students chatting and lockers slamming continued around you, but Cairo's focus stayed locked on you, her expression cool as if she had all the time in the world.

That simple, unbothered answer made Cairo's chest tighten in a way she hadn't expected.

You didn't know.

You had no idea that Cairo didn't actually need help.

She was the top student—well, she had been until you showed up. Now she was fighting for her place at the top, something she never had to do before. And she hated it. But she wanted this. She wanted you.

Everyone who knew Cairo would've raised an eyebrow at the request. She had history with Mr. Miller, and all it took was one well-timed request for an A to appear in her gradebook. But this time, Cairo wasn't interested in the grade. She wasn't interested in winning over Mr. Miller.

She was interested in you.

When she arrived at your place later that evening, the sight of you waiting on the porch felt like a sucker punch to the gut.

You looked even better—relaxed, confident, more like yourself. Your hair fell effortlessly over your shoulders, and the casual way you leaned against the railing made her stomach flip.

She didn't understand this feeling. It wasn't like her to be knocked off balance. Cairo was always the one in control, the one with people tripping over themselves for her attention.

But now, she was the one who wanted your attention.

"Hey," you greeted her with a casual smile, holding the door open. "Glad you made it. Wanna head up?"

Cairo nodded, trying to mask the sudden rush of nerves that came with stepping into your space.

Your house was warm and inviting, a little messy but in a lived-in, comfortable way. It felt like you—authentic, with no need to impress anyone.

The smell of dinner still lingered in the air, and the faint hum of music from a room down the hall made it feel all cozy.

You led her to your room, where textbooks and notes were already spread out on your desk. You jumped right into the assignment, eager to help, as always.

But Cairo wasn't paying attention to the pages in front of her. She couldn't focus. All she could see was you—the way your lips moved when you explained something, the way your eyes lit up when you got excited about an idea.

The worst part was how kind you were. It was maddening. You treated her like anyone else, not the untouchable, intimidating Cairo Sweet. And somehow, that made her want you more.

As you sat next to her on the bed, pointing out sections of the text, your knee brushed against hers. It was a small touch, insignificant to you, but it sent a jolt through Cairo's body. Her pulse quickened, heat rising in her cheeks, and she hated it—hated how out of control she felt around you.

But even more than that, she hated how much she liked it.

You leaned in closer to show her a note you'd written, and your breath was warm against her skin.

She barely registered the words you were saying. All she could focus on was the way you smelled, the warmth of your body next to hers, and the soft brush of your hand as you passed the paper back and forth.

She wasn't used to feeling this way—this fluttering in her stomach, the racing heartbeat that accompanied every one of your smiles.

You were turning her on, plain and simple. Cairo wasn't used to being the one who got flustered, but there she was, chasing after your attention, craving every little bit of affection you gave without even realizing it.

And it wasn't just about how hot you were, though that was undeniable. It was the way you treated her like she was just another person—no special treatment, no fear or awe in your eyes. You treated her like a friend, and somehow, that drove her insane.

For the first time, Cairo felt like she was the one chasing after something, and she hated the feeling.

Yet she needed to be closer, to figure out why you made her feel this way—why you made her feel so out of control.

But you were all she could think about.

Even days after the study session, it was still there—on repeat in her mind. Every smile, every move you made. She couldn't stop thinking about you, no matter how much she tried. It was getting under her skin, and she hated it.

Like now, when Cairo sat on the edge of her bed, tapping ash off her cigarette into the dish beside her.

The smoke curled around her, thick and slow, as she took another drag, frustration bubbling in her chest. Ever since that night, she couldn't get you out of her head, and it was starting to piss her off.

From her spot in the corner, Winnie watched, an amused grin tugging at her lips. "You're still thinking about her, aren't you?"

Cairo shot her a sharp glare, but Winnie didn't back down. Of course she didn't; she never did.

"I'm not thinking about her," Cairo said, though the way her words rushed out betrayed her. "I just don't get it. I don't need to think about anyone. People think about me. That's how it works."

Winnie raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying it. "Uh-huh. So why are you pacing around your room, smokin' like it's the end of the world? You've been talking about her nonstop."

"I'm not pacing," Cairo snapped, even though she had been standing and moving restlessly just a moment ago. She sat back down quickly, as if to prove a point. "And I'm not talking about her."

Winnie just chuckled. "Right. You're totally not obsessed with her or anything. Must be why you asked her to help with your English assignment—because you suddenly forgot how to ace essays."

Cairo scowled, taking another drag before blowing the smoke out through her nose. "I didn't forget anything. I just wanted to see what she had to offer. You know, test the competition."

"Oh, totally. You're all about fair competition," Winnie teased, leaning back with her arms crossed. "Except you've always been top dog, Cairo. Why do you care?"

Cairo stood up again, too worked up to sit still, pacing back and forth as she waved her cigarette in the air. "I don't care! That's the point! She's just this—this girl, right? She's new, she's hot, I get it. But so what? So am I. If I wanted her, trust me, Winnie, I'd get her without even trying. It's not like she's some unattainable goddess. I mean, seriously, she's just... just... friendly!"

Winnie snorted. "Oh no, not the deadly sin of friendliness."

"I'm serious!" Cairo shot back. "It's infuriating! She's nice to everyone, and it's like she's not even trying to get on my radar. She doesn't... she doesn't treat me like. You know. Do you know how weird that is for me, Winnie? She just smiles and moves on like it's nothing. And I'm supposed to be okay with that?"

Winnie grinned, clearly enjoying Cairo's meltdown. "Sounds like you want her attention real bad."

"No!" Cairo's voice rose in frustration, and she jabbed her cigarette in the air to punctuate her point. "I don't! I just—if I wanted her attention, she'd give it to me. Trust me, I've done it a hundred times before. But it's like... I don't know. I don't need her to fawn over me, but she should at least... notice me more."

"Sure. Because that totally doesn't sound like you're into her or anything," Winnie said, leaning forward with a knowing look. "You're just mad because she doesn't act like your little fan club."

Cairo groaned, dropping back onto her bed. "I'm not into her, Winnie! God, I can't believe you're even suggesting that. She's cute, I'll give you that, but that's it. That's all it is."

"You sure about that? You've been talking about her for the last 20 minutes."

Cairo waved her off. "I'm venting! That's different. I just don't get how she can walk around acting like I'm no big deal. Like, I could snap my fingers and—"

"—and what, Cairo?" Winnie cut her off, smirking. "You can't force her to like you. And let's be real, you wouldn't even have to try this hard if you didn't care so much."

Cairo took one last drag, stubbing the cigarette out in the dish, her eyes narrowing. "I'm telling you, if I wanted her, I'd have her. She's not some puzzle I can't figure out. It's just... a challenge. That's all."

Winnie shook her head, laughing softly. "Keep telling yourself that."

But even as Cairo tried to convince herself—and Winnie—that she didn't care, deep down, there was that gnawing feeling. The one that made her think of you just a little too often, the one that made her wonder why your smile lingered in her mind long after you were gone.

The next morning, Cairo stood in front of her mirror, staring at her reflection with a level of concentration she wasn't used to.

She had always been effortless—never needing to try when it came to her looks. But now, she cared. A lot more than she wanted to admit.

The black skirt she chose hugged her hips perfectly, the tiny stripes adding just enough detail to keep it interesting. She paired it with a white shirt, left a little loose, and she made the deliberate decision to go braless underneath.

Just in case you noticed.

Her jean jacket hung over her shoulders, completing the look. It was casual but... intentional. And she hated that she was doing this. But at the same time, she didn't stop.

Winnie stood in the doorway, watching Cairo with an amused smirk. "So... this is what it's come to, huh?"

Cairo shot her a warning glance, but Winnie just laughed. "What? I'm just saying. You've been in front of that mirror for the past twenty minutes, and now you're wearing a skirt? Since when do you care about impressing anyone?"

"I don't," Cairo muttered, brushing a hand through her hair, making sure it looked just the right amount of messy. "I just like this outfit, that's all."

Winnie stepped into the room, folding her arms as she watched Cairo fuss over the details. "Sure, sure. And the whole 'no bra' thing? Totally for comfort, right?"

Cairo's eyes flickered toward Winnie in the mirror, a small frown tugging at her lips. "What's your point?"

"My point is," Winnie said with a grin, "you've never dressed like this for anyone. You're trying to impress her. It's obvious."

Cairo scoffed, straightening up. "I'm not trying to impress anyone, least of all her. I just like looking good. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," Winnie teased, leaning against the dresser. "Except you've always looked good without even trying, and now... you're trying. Hard."

Cairo didn't respond, choosing instead to grab her bag and sling it over her shoulder. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Winnie shook her head, still smirking. "Right. Well, good luck with your 'I don't care' look. But if I didn't know better, I'd say you're hoping she notices."

Cairo rolled her eyes but couldn't help the small flare of nerves twisting in her stomach.

She hated that Winnie was right. She was hoping you'd notice. Every time she saw you, your outfits amazed her. Whether it was something casual or a bit more dressed up, you always looked effortlessly put together. It drove her insane how you could look so good without even trying.

And now here she was, doing the exact same thing—hoping her choice of clothes might catch your eye, maybe make you see her in a different light. She was Cairo Sweet, after all. People noticed her. You were supposed to notice her.

As she left the house, Winnie's laughter echoed behind her, but Cairo shook it off. She wasn't doing this for anyone. Especially not you.

But when she saw you that day, dressed in your usual impeccable style, her heart skipped a beat. You looked perfect, as always. And despite her best efforts to play it cool, she couldn't help but wonder if you noticed her, too.

As the day progressed, Cairo tried to play it cool, but the nervous energy buzzed through her.

Each time she caught sight of you in the hall, laughter bubbling around you, she felt that familiar flutter in her stomach. Today, you looked particularly stunning, and it made her second-guess everything.

Finally, at lunch, she found herself sitting across from you, her heart racing as you casually chatted with friends. She watched you, captivated by the way you effortlessly engaged everyone around you. It was infuriating and exhilarating all at once.

"Hey," you said, turning your attention to her. "Nice outfit."

Cairo's breath caught, and for a moment, she felt the world around them fade. "Thank you," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. The compliment, though simple, sent a rush through her, igniting that gnawing feeling in her chest.

You smiled at her, and something inside Cairo shifted. Maybe she wasn't just another face in the crowd to you. Maybe there was something more there—something she had been too scared to acknowledge until now.

As lunch continued, the laughter and chatter faded into the background. Cairo found herself lost in the moment, caught between wanting to impress you and the fear of showing too much. But as you engaged her in conversation, your eyes sparkling with interest, she felt a sense of hope blooming within her.

For the first time, she allowed herself to think that maybe—just maybe—this was the start of something special. Something that went beyond manipulation and appearances. Something real.

And in that moment, as you smiled at her, Cairo knew she was willing to take that risk.

[letorip]

| Welcome Desk

leto (or soren, if we’re cool like that 🤨) ☆ 19 year old ☆ he/him ☆ trying not to suck at writing ☆ fuck the idf ☆ cis straight ally

if you have any questions, click that lil ‘ask away’ button at the top or shoot me a message

REQUESTS: closed until i regain my bearings

| Masterlist

jenna ortega (celebrity)

don't delete the kisses tiny moves maps not allowed j’s lullaby

best kisser character headcanons clingiest character headcanons meeting/first date character headcanons tall reader character headcanons

wednesday addams (wednesday)

somethin' stupid ☆ somethin' stupid [ii] ☆ somethin' stupid [iii] ☆ somethin’ stupid [vi] crimson & clover ☆ crimson & clover [ii] ur so pretty aline the way things go

obsessive headcanons jealous headcanons

tara carpenter (scream)

kiss with a fist ☆ kiss with a fist [ii] ☆ kiss with a fist [iii] ☆ kiss with a fist [iv] ☆ kiss with a fist [v] hot to go! nothing’s gonna hurt you baby

headcanons clingy headcanons

lorraine day (x)

the house on prairie street

headcanons

cairo sweet (miller's girl)

i heard your name ☆ i heard your name [ii] ☆ i heard your name [iii] ☆ i heard your name [iv] intolewd second nature

headcanons

mabel (finestkind)

paper bag

headcanons

vada cavell (the fallout)

headcanons

lucy maclean (fallout)

(you) on my arm accentuate the positive

natalie scatorccio (yellowjackets)

casual ☆ casual [ii] ☆ casual [iii] i bet on losing dogs i'm not in love twin size mattress

headcanons

lottie matthews (yellowjackets)

linger your best american girl always an angel, never a god

[blackstarlineage]

The Mali Empire: An In-Depth Analysis of Africa’s Great Economic and Cultural Powerhouse

Introduction: Mali – The Wealthiest Empire in African History

The Mali Empire (1235-1600 CE) was one of the most powerful, wealthy, and influential civilizations in African history. Located in West Africa, Mali was a centre of trade, scholarship, military strength, and cultural excellence. It controlled vast resources, including gold, salt, and ivory, making it one of the richest empires in history.

From a Garveyite perspective, the Mali Empire is a critical study for Black people today because it proves that:

Africa was the centre of world wealth and innovation long before European colonization.

Black leadership and governance flourished through advanced trade networks, military strength, and education.

Self-sufficient Black nations can thrive when they control their own resources and institutions.

The story of Mali is one of African excellence, Pan-African unity, and Black self-determination.

1. The Origins of the Mali Empire

A. The Rise of Mali from the Ghana Empire

Before Mali, the Ghana Empire (300-1200 CE) was the dominant power in West Africa, controlling gold and salt trade.

After Ghana declined due to internal strife and invasions by the Almoravids (a North African Muslim group), Mali emerged as its successor.

The Mandinka people of Mali, led by Sundiata Keita, overthrew the Sosso kingdom in 1235 CE and established Mali as the new dominant force.

Example: The Battle of Kirina (1235 CE) saw Sundiata Keita defeat King Sumanguru of Sosso, marking the birth of the Mali Empire.

Key Takeaway: African empires rose and fell, but Black leadership continued to evolve and adapt to new challenges.

2. The Golden Age of Mali: Wealth, Trade, and Expansion

A. Mali’s Control Over Gold and Salt Trade

Mali controlled the richest gold mines in the world, located in Bambuk, Bure, and Galam.

The empire became the world’s leading supplier of gold, making it one of the wealthiest states of its time.

It also controlled the salt trade, which was just as valuable as gold because salt was necessary for food preservation.

Example: Two-thirds of the world’s gold supply in the 14th century came from Mali.

Key Takeaway: Africa was the centre of world wealth—colonialism only reversed this by stealing African resources.

B. Expansion Under Sundiata Keita and His Successors

Sundiata Keita expanded Mali’s territory to include modern-day Mali, Senegal, Gambia, Guinea, Niger, and parts of Mauritania.

Mali’s military was powerful, using cavalry, archers, and well-organized infantry units.

The empire established a federal system of governance, allowing local leaders to maintain control as long as they pledged loyalty to Mali.

Example: Mali was twice the size of modern France, proving Africa’s historical dominance in governance and territory.

Key Takeaway: African leadership was highly organized and politically advanced, contradicting Western lies about African governance.

3. Mansa Musa: The Richest Man in History

A. Who Was Mansa Musa?

Mansa Musa (1312-1337 CE) is considered the wealthiest individual in world history, with a fortune estimated at over $400 billion in today’s value.

He ruled during Mali’s Golden Age, expanding trade, culture, and Islamic scholarship.

He built mosques, libraries, universities, and urban centres, making Mali the intellectual hub of Africa.

Example: The Djinguereber Mosque in Timbuktu, built under Mansa Musa’s reign, still stands today as a symbol of African architectural brilliance.

Key Takeaway: Black rulers were some of the wealthiest and most powerful figures in global history—yet their legacies are deliberately erased.

B. Mansa Musa’s Legendary Pilgrimage to Mecca (1324 CE)

Mansa Musa made a famous Hajj (pilgrimage) to Mecca, travelling with 60,000 men, 80 camels carrying gold, and a vast caravan of scholars and officials.

He spent so much gold in Cairo that he collapsed the local economy for years.

His pilgrimage put Mali on the map, leading European cartographers to include Mali on world maps for the first time.

Example: The Catalan Atlas (1375), a European map, depicted Mansa Musa holding a gold nugget, symbolizing Africa’s immense wealth.

Key Takeaway: Africa’s economic power was globally recognized before European colonization, proving that Africa was not “discovered” by Europeans—it was already thriving.

4. The Intellectual and Cultural Power of Mali

A. Timbuktu: The Centre of African Scholarship

Timbuktu was home to the University of Sankore, one of the world’s first universities.

Scholars from Mali studied astronomy, mathematics, medicine, law, and philosophy, making Mali a centre of knowledge.

Over one million manuscripts were housed in Timbuktu’s libraries, proving Africa’s literary and intellectual traditions.

Example: Many of the Timbuktu manuscripts are older than European universities, proving that Africa had a scholarly tradition independent of European influence.

Key Takeaway: Black history is more than just slavery—Africa was the home of some of the world’s greatest scholars and universities.

5. The Decline of the Mali Empire: Lessons for Today

A. Why Did Mali Collapse?

Over time, Mali weakened due to:

Civil wars and internal conflicts among ruling families.

Invasions from rival West African kingdoms (e.g., Songhai Empire).

The shift of global trade routes to the Atlantic, bypassing Mali’s economy.

By the 1600s, the once-great empire had fragmented into smaller states, paving the way for European colonization centuries later.

Example: The Songhai Empire replaced Mali as the dominant power in West Africa, proving that African civilizations evolved and adapted over time.

Key Takeaway: No Black nation can survive without unity, economic control, and military strength.

6. The Garveyite Vision: How to Rebuild Mali’s Legacy Today

Africa must control its own resources, just as Mali controlled its gold trade.

Black education must be prioritized, reviving Africa’s tradition of intellectual excellence.

Pan-African unity is necessary—African nations must stop competing and start working together.

Wealth must be reinvested in Black communities, not given away to foreign interests.

Final Thought: Will We Rebuild the Greatness of Mali?

Marcus Garvey taught that:

“The Black skin is not a badge of shame, but rather a glorious symbol of national greatness.”

Will Black people continue to be economically dependent, or will we control our own wealth like Mansa Musa?

Will we rebuild centres of Black knowledge like Timbuktu, or will we continue to let others define our history?

Will we unite as Africans and members of the diaspora, or remain divided by colonial borders and foreign religions?

The Choice is Ours. The Time is Now.

[naomijoestar]

Hello!! First off I wanted to say I LOVE your writing!! And second, I was wondering if I could please request something for Jotaro? I was thinking of a meet cute between him and reader in Part 3, maybe they run into each other, reader drops something and he picks it up for them, and the rest of the group is left shocked at the uncharacteristic display of niceness from him lol. Feel free to ignore this request ofc if it doesn’t strike up inspiration🫶❤️ oh and any pronouns is fine by me, I’m not picky!! Thank you so so much!!

Masterlist here <3

Hello anon! First of all THANK YOU SO MUCH for the compliment, seriously, Knowing that there is people out there who enjoy my posts means so much to me. Also your request came in at the perfect time I am extremely sick right now so I’ve been blank on ideas but this was so cute I had to write something for you <3 Also I checked my followers and I saw that I have 43??!???? TYSM I genuinely appreciate every single one of you🥹💕 Okay enough with the yapping I hope you enjoy this 💕

notes: GN!reader

Jotaro Kujo scenario

The bustling streets of Cairo were as overwhelming as they were busy. You were weaving through the crowd, eyes darting between the map in your hand and the people rushing around you, trying to keep up with the fast pace. Distracted, you didn’t notice the person walking directly toward you—until you collided.

The impact knocked you back a step, and in an instant, your bag slipped from your shoulder. Its contents; a notebook, pens, and a couple of other small items; spilled onto the ground, scattering across the dusty street.

“I’m so sorry-” you started, kneeling down quickly to gather your things. But before you could even reach for the first item, a hand appeared, already scooping up the notebook for you.

You looked up and found yourself staring into the intense gaze of Jotaro Kujo. His face, usually cold and unreadable, held a brief flicker of surprise as he knelt down beside you, his gloved hands swiftly collecting the fallen items. For a moment, the world around you seemed to blur—here was the last person you’d expect to help, and yet, there he was, silently handing you back your things.

“Here,” he said, his voice low and gruff as he extended the notebook to you. Your fingers brushed his as you took it, and you couldn’t help but feel a small rush of warmth.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, feeling a little flustered. You hadn’t expected someone like Jotaro, who always seemed so distant and unapproachable, to step in so quickly, especially when you had been ready to fix the mess yourself.

As you stood up, Jotaro rose too, towering over you. His eyes lingered on you for just a moment, an unreadable expression on his face, before he turned to walk back toward his group.

Behind him, Polnareff nearly tripped over himself in shock. “…He seriously just helped them without grunting about it.. He wouldn’t even do that for me!”

Joseph, arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe it. Is he actually being considerate?”

But all Avdol and Kakyoin did was smile knowingly, they could see through Jotaro.

Jotaro, overhearing their comments, shot them an annoyed glance. “Yare yare daze… Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

You chuckled softly under your breath, watching him as he tried to shake off the teasing from his friends. Despite his usual tough demeanor, there was something unexpectedly kind about the way he’d helped you without hesitation. You caught his eye one last time, and this time, you swore there was a hint of something softer in his expression—just for a second.

With a quiet smile, you slipped your things back into your bag, feeling a little lighter than before. Maybe that chance encounter was just the beginning.

There it is! I hope this meets your expectations🥹 I apologize if you don’t like it and if you would like anything changed don’t be shy to shoot me a message telling me what I could improve! Have a nice day anon <3

If you enjoyed this make sure to check out my other work! And make sure to request anything you’d like me to write for any jjba characters part 1-7 <3 My only exception is no yandere and if you request something NSFW for an underage character I will not be writing it. Stay safe and take care of yourselves!

[honeycaksy]

Hi!! This is such a tiny, nitpicky question, but I’ve been wondering…do we know where Alphie was born? Like is it Cairo? Alexandria? Or is it just left vague on purpose? I’m so curious, sorry if that’s too specific! I just love your AU so much 🫶🏼

Hiiiiii!!! And thank you for enjoying the AU! 💕 (I am preparing a next post so stay tuned! )

For your question, I actually have the answer ( perks of living in Egypt for a few months )

Alphie was born in the Siwa region ( we can see in the map it’s the west side of Egypt ). It’s a more deserted area, where some non-Arab indigenous minorities live there ( amazighs or berbers if you heard about them even though the term Berber is really pejorative ).

Also, it’s why for example, that Alphie wears some jewelry linked to that place.

We can see he wears sometimes an ankh cross and the ⵣ symbol.

[filmap]

الأرض‎ / The Land Youssef Chahine. 1970

Mosque Al-Rifa'i Mosque, El-Refaey, El-Darb El-Ahmar, El Khalifa, Cairo Governorate 4292008, Egypt See in map

See in imdb

[cippicat]

AC characters Modern AU

What kind of jobs would do the assassin's creed characters in the modern days?

Desmond would continue his bartendering.

Layla Hassan would be an architect. She wants to be like Indiana Jones.

Altair would be an historic. He would wrote books about historical facts that people doesn't know.

Malik woulb be a cartographer. He would fly around the world to create accurate maps for his app (let's be real Google Maps sucks).

Maria would be a self defense teacher. She would teach women how to defend themselves.

Ezio, and his brother Federico would work in the family company. Ezio would take care of the franchise around Italy, China and Turkey. His associates (his protèges) abroad are Yusuf Tazim and Shao Jun.

Petruccio would be a vet specialised in birds care.

Claudia would open a fashion agency.

Both Giovanni and Maria Auditore would be retired in Montereggioni (with Uncle Mario).

Edward Kenway would be retired, but when he was young he owned a bar, The Jackdaw, in the heart of London with his best friend Edward Tatch. With his wife, Tessa Kenway (a stay at home mum), they would work as volunteers at the dog rescue center. Edward's ex wife Caroline Scott would live abroad, and work in human resources.

Jennifer Scott would work with Claudia Auditore in the fashion agency. She would open a franchise of Claudia's company in London, and another franchise in New York (much to her brother annoyance).

Haytham Kenway would be an economics teacher at the New York University. His wife Ziio would be a lawyer for the Native American rights. Their son Connor Kenway would be a forest ranger. His parents are starting to ask him for grandchildren.

Aveline de Grandpré and Elise de la Serre would be fashion stylists. Elise had a relationship with Arno but broke up because it didn't work.

Shay Cormac and Liam O'brien would work as seafarers. They would co-operate with Greenpeace. Shay is married with a son he had when he was very young. He named his son after his two godfathers Liam and George Monroe (much to Liam's displeasure). Shay doesn't know yet but he is going to be a grandfather before 50.

Hope Jensen would work as a flying attendant.

Arno Dorian would open a café littéraire near Montmartre. He has a son, Léon. His father Charles Dorian, and his godfather Pierre Bellec would be in politics. They would co-operate with François de la Serre against Germain, and Chevalier (everyone hates Chevalier).

Jacob Frye would open his own pub, The Rooks, with his brother in law. Like Arno he is a single father. Jacob and Arno have friends with benefits friendship. Evie Frye would work at the university library . Their father, Ethan Frye would work as a literature teacher at the Cambridge University. Since he is close to retirement he often spends time playing with his grandson Emmett.

Bayek and his wife Aya would work at the Cairo's museum as curators.

Kassandra, and her brother Alexios would work in their mom's tourism agency in Athens.

Eivor Varinsdottir would work as a freelance photographer around the world, and will publish her photos in some publications in England. Sometimes she will ask Shay a ride on the Morrigan to photograph the whales.

Juno and Minerva would be software engineers. Persephone and her husband Hades would open a funeral parolours. Poseidon would open a swimming school. Jupiter would be retired with Loki and Havi.

[silver-velvet-860]

From left to right:

Top row: Night Boat To Cairo P1-P4

Bottom row: This Is Halloween P1-P4

These were the last quartets that I needed to make in order to complete JD3’s coaches! Next post will be all JD3 coaches together.

Standout: This Is Halloween P1. This is always the one I pick when I play this map. I just like her design. I had a bit of trouble deciding how to shape the hat and where to place the eyes, but I figured it out eventually.

Difficulty level: 5/10. I had a couple of challenges in this batch, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

Current coach total: 774

[eretzyisrael]

by Peter Baum

Several months ago, I wrote an article in Blitz debunking the Palestinian narrative relating to their claims of being indigenous to the geography that is Israel, biblical Judea and Samaria. These named areas are all according to international law within Israel’s sovereignty. The League of Nations Mandate 1922 endorsed by the United Nations Charter 1945, Article 80, and the international legally binding principles of Acquired Rights, Estoppel and Uti Possidetis Juris confirm, ratify and endorse Israel’s territory inclusive of these areas.

In that previous article I cited the numerous historical invasions – Persian, Babylonian, Greek, Roman, Crusader and Saracen and discovered no Palestinian opposition to that colonization to reclaim their indigenous lands.  Of course, the paradox has to be explained to the pro Palestinians, the Dreyfus mob as I now refer to them.

Despite repeated requests via my articles, social media confrontation, debates, in halls on radio and TV, not one of the Dreyfus mob could enlighten us on historical Palestinian efforts nor name any indigenous Palestinian leaders who fought militarily or politically against any foreign invasion.  Needless to say, the Dreyfus mob could not identify any Palestinian flag nor emblem nor currency the indigenous Palestinians used during their habitation of the geography. There must be some burial sites then surely? None. Okay, okay I ask, what about any historical constructions, either destroyed or still standing built by persons who identified themselves as Palestinian. Of course not.

So, did anyone see these people, this race, tribe, nation or culture who have created fact from mythology. According to my research they must have been invisible as no itinerant scribe ever documented their existence.

It is worth reposting selected paragraphs from my previous post to establish the simple facts that numerous travelers to the geography who diarized their journeys, travels and experiences all seemed to have missed the indigenous habitants we call now the Palestinians.

Abbot Richard of Saint – Vanne, 970 -1046 in his 11th century Pilgrimage to the Holy Land, made no reference to the Palestinians. Jews, Muslims yes, but no collective known as Palestinian.

The 13th century Arab biographer, Yakut wrote:

“Mecca is holy to Muslims and Jerusalem is holy to Jews”. Never in his writings referring to the Palestinians.

Ibn Khaldun, Arab historian and philosopher who died in 1406, wrote in 1377:

“Jewish sovereignty in the Land of Israel, extended over 1400 years and it was the Jews who implanted the culture and customs of the permanent settlement”. Again, not one note alluding to the Palestinians.

Siebald Rieter, 1426 – 1488 penned a series of essays including Maps to Jerusalem (1426 – 1428) describing his journeys throughout the area and naturally no reference to the Palestinians.

Similarly, Bernard Von Breydenbach, 1440 – 1497 in his Pilgrimage, A Travel Report (Peregrinatio in Terram Sanctam) and Sir Richard Guylforde 1450 – 1506 Pilgrimage, during their extensive travels and detailed diaries also seemed to have missed the Palestinian population.

Maybe Felix Fabri, died 1502 in his Pilgrim and Preacher, Peter Fassbender 1450 – 1518 in his Pilgrim Libraries or Martin Kabatnik, died 1503, From Jerusalem to Cairo discovered the Palestinian people. Absolutely not.

Kabatnik wrote, “The heathens (non-Jews) oppose the Jews at their pleasure, in spite of all the tribulations and the agonies they suffer at the hands of the heathen, the Jews refuse to leave the Holy Land that has been promised to them”. The heathens were the itinerant Bedouins.

Let’s now refer to John Mandeville in his Travels published between 1357 and 1371; Paul Walther Guglingen, in his Jerusalem Travels, 1482/3, describes in detail the inhabitants of the area and Arnold Van Hoff ‘s 1471 – 1505 journals , Pilgrimage , surprise surprise – not one reference to a people, race, tribe or culture identifying as Palestinian.

Father Michael Naud, a Jesuit Priest, in his works The Jerusalem Connection, 1674 penned:

“The Jews of Jerusalem were resigned to paying a heavy price to the Turk for their divine right to stay there”.

Just for good measure the following diarists also managed to ignore, forget or missed the Palestinian people during their travels.

Sir George Adam Smith, died 1790, Jerusalem; Edward Robinson, died 1863, Biblical Researches; Alphonse de Lamartine, died 1869, From Marseilles to Jerusalem; and Sir George Gawler, died 1869, Syria and its New Prospects.

The above are just some examples of historical, documented works, diaries and journals of respected travelers to the geography known since time immemorial as Israel and during colonial invasions temporarily called Palestine. None of these written documents alludes to a human collective we know today as Palestinians who claim with the support of many that they are the indigenous people to the geography.

Indeed, no traveler noted the language of the Palestinian nor what any mythical Palestinian called themselves in their mother tongue and in conclusion this requires explanation and elaboration.

The evidence is that Arab militant, political organizations dedicated to the elimination of the Jewish State of Israel were created in the 1960’s through the 1980’s. Their charters are written in Arabic. However, there is no sound for the letter P in Arabic so what therefore did the old, (nonexistent?) Palestinians or do the newly formed Palestinians call themselves in their mother tongue? The letter P in Arabic is pronounced with either a B or F sound, thus they would be calling themselves Balestinians or Felastinians. Well once again history is lacking any such people although the word Felastinian does exist in Arabic and the definition only mocks the Palestinian claims to being indigenous to the geography. You see, Felastinian is the pronunciation for Philistine – an extinct race of people originating from the Greek Islands. The more recent definition of Philistine is uncouth, uncultured heathens. Which definition do you think today’s Palestinians would prefer?

Like silicone breast implants the Palestinians were invented in the 1960’s.

[bradshawshawaiianshirt]

the mummy | part 2

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x reader AU

The year is 1927 and famed archeologist Bradley Bradshaw is running on whiskey and the last of his reputation. His best skill? Charming every woman in the room - until you show up with a sharp wit, zero patience for his ego, and a lead on finding the Lost City of Nefertari. No matter how intelligent you are, it'd be unheard of for a woman to lead an expedition, so you need a front man, someone with money and connections. Luckily (or unluckily) for you, Bradley fits the bill - even if he's more interested in chasing skirts than treasure.

Rumoured to be full of gold, jewels and one vengeful mummy, the city might kill you - or make you rich. The mummy is one thing, but can you both survive each other?

length: 2.8k

masterlist

Egypt, 1927 – The Hotel Continental, Cairo 

The sun climbed early and fast in Cairo, already too hot by the time you stepped into the shaded terrace of the Hotel Continental. You had chosen a table near the edge, half-tucked behind a potted plant, close enough to watch the street but far enough that no one could watch you. 

You ordered coffee. Then tea. Then another coffee, just to keep your hands busy. 

It was 9:06 am. 

He was late. 

Not that you were surprised. Bradley Bradshaw didn’t strike you as the punctual type. Or the sober-before-noon type. And yet here you were, waiting for him – a man you barely knew and had even less reason to trust. 

You smoothed the crease of your skirt, checked your watch again, 9:09. 

It wasn’t the time that bothered you. It was what the waiting meant. 

Because under the carefully constructed shell – the one that spoke with confidence, that looked men in the eye and never blinked – there was a sharp, gnawing truth: 

You were terrified he wouldn't come. 

Bradley was a risk, no question. He was the kind of man who could drink away opportunity, charm his way through disappointment, and vanish the moment things got complicated. But he was also experienced. Connected. And for all his theatrics, his scandal, and the stories trailing him like sand, he knew Egypt better than anyone still drawing breath. 

And if he didn’t come... what then? 

The map you’d found – well, stolen – was real. You were sure of it. But it didn’t matter how right you were. Not in a world that didn’t want women digging though tombs or rewriting history. Alone, you were clever. Determined. Brave, on good days. But not enough. Not without someone to back you. 

You hated that. 

You hated needing him. 

More than that, you hated that he got to be the one who decided whether the future you wanted was possible. 

Bradley had connections, field experience, and enough ego to draw attention away from you if things got messy. But he also had the power to walk away. 

A waiter brought the coffee. You thanked him too politely, then stared down at the cup. 

If he didn’t show, you’d try something else. Go to Luxor. Disguise yourself. Bribe someone. There were always other paths. They’d just be harder, riskier, slower. 

And the truth was – you didn’t have time for slow. Not if you wanted to live the life you desired, the life your father would scoff at. 

Your fingers brushed the edge of the satchel at your side – the one containing the map. You hadn’t shown it to anyone. Not yet. You'd told Bradley just enough to test him yesterday, to see if there was anything left behind the famous name and faded charm. But if he didn’t show – if you’d bet everything on a washed-up drunk with no fight left – then the last thread of your plan might unravel before it even began. 

9:13. 

The sound of boots on stone got louder as he approached you, and a shadow moved across the table. You didn’t look up right away. You didn’t want him to see the relief. 

“You’re late.” you said, cool and clipped. 

“I’m not,” came Bradley’s voice. “You’re just early.” 

You glanced up then. He looked sharper than yesterday – barely. Shaved, clean shirt, but still carrying that well-worn look, like he lived a little too close to chaos to ever look fully polished. 

He sat without asking, and nodded towards your cup of coffee. “Is that one for me?” 

“No.” 

He smirked, eyes roaming over you. “Didn’t think so.” 

You paused, studying him. “You’re hungover. A late night with a lucky lady, was it?” you asked sarcastically, reluctantly pushing your half-drank cup of coffee towards him. 

He grinned and took a sip, leaning back in the chair. “Hey now, I don’t spend all my time drinking and bedding women.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Your collar is askew, and you stink of perfume and whiskey.” 

Bradley’s cocky expression faltered at that. You were observant, he'd have to keep that in mind. He coughed, awkwardly adjusting his collar. “Right. Well, I may have enjoyed myself a bit too much last night.” he admitted, a hint of redness creeping up his neck. 

Your eyes roamed over him, almost judgmentally, before you caught yourself. There was a short pause, until you spoke. “You’re lucky I didn’t leave.”

He sat with that same languid ease from the day before- like he was always halfway between charm and exasperation. “Have to admit, I wasn’t sure you’d still want my help.” 

“I wasn’t sure you’d show.” 

You held each other’s eyes for a beat, and something unspoken passed between you – not trust, not yet, but recognition. Two people who were used to being disappointed by the world, wondering if this would be just another case. 

“I came because you said you had something important,” he said. “And you had that look – like you knew something no one else did.” 

It was the look that had intrigued him most. Sure, you were beautiful, and he could imagine himself trying to flirt with you over a few drinks and eventually end up spending a long night with you. Although, something told him you wouldn't fall for his usual moves.

You hesitated. 

This was it. The moment you could still walk back. Say nothing. Play it safe. 

Instead, you reached into your satchel and slowly withdrew a leather-bound portfolio, worn and scuffed. You opened it carefully and turned it towards him. 

He leaned forwards. And then – went completely still. 

The map. 

Ancient parchment. Hand-drawn glyphs. Compass markings. An outline of a city lost to sand and time. At the top, barely legible: Nefertari. 

Bradley looked up slowly. “You weren’t kidding.” 

“No.” 

“Where did you get this?” 

“I can’t say,” you said carefully. “Let’s just say the British Museum has more crates than curators.” 

His eyes widened slightly, then a sly grin crept across his face. “You stole it.” 

“I recovered it.” 

“Illegally.” 

“Quietly.” 

He gave a low, impressed whistle, his eyes roaming over you from head to toe. “You don’t strike me as the thieving type.” 

“I’m full of surprises,” you said flatly, “You tell anyone, and I’ll deny it. Even if I have to bash your head in with a canopic jar.” 

He couldn't help but chuckle at that, enjoying your quick-wit. He'd never met anyone like you before, that much was clear already. “That’s the most romantic threat I’ve ever received, sweetheart.” 

Your expression hardened. “Let’s get one thing clear, Mr. Bradshaw.” 

The flirtatious smile dropped from his face, if only slightly. 

“If we’re going to work together, we do so as equals. Partners.” you said firmly. “No winks, no innuendos, no clever little lines. I need your expertise. Not your charm.” 

He studied you. It was unnerving and you were almost worried he was about to shut you down, the same way everyone else had, but you kept a straight and firm face anyway, not backing down. 

Then after a beat, he nodded. “Understood.” 

A pause. 

“But for the record...” he added, slowly grinning, “my charm is part of my expertise.” 

You rolled your eyes, stood, and slung the satchel over your shoulder, grabbing the map and tucking it safely back inside. “Then this will be a very limited partnership.” 

You turned, heading toward the lobby. 

Behind you, you heard him mutter with a grin, “No flirting. That’ll be the hardest part.” 

You didn’t look back. 

You couldn’t afford to let him see the faint smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. 

-- 

The car jostled along the uneven track out of Cairo, dust coiling behind you like a desert ghost. You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, your satchel clutched close, one hand gripping the worn leather strap, the other tapping against your knee in a restless rhythm. 

Bradley drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the window frame. He whistled off-key as the city shrank behind you, his hat pulled low to shield his eyes from the sun. 

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going,” you said, narrowing your eyes. 

Bradley grinned. “To see someone who might actually take you seriously.” 

“Oh good,” you muttered. “That's a comfort.” 

He smirked. “You said you wanted a partner, not a cheerleader.” 

You folded your arms, narrowing your eyes slightly. “You didn’t say anything about driving me into the middle of nowhere.” 

“We’re not in the middle of nowhere. We’re going to see Dr Mitchell. Maverick.” he said. “He was my mentor. He was a genius. Still is, probably. Taught me everything I know – before I got clever enough to think I knew better.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Maverick? I know that name.” 

“You’ve probably seen it in obscure footnotes and forgotten library indexes.” 

“I have,” you admitted. “But nothing substantial. His papers were either unpublished or buried. I read a few, tried tracking down one - The Unseen Tomb of Nefertari - but it was missing from every archive that claimed to hold it. Even the museum librarians didn’t know who he was.” 

Bradley snorted. “They wouldn’t. He burned every bridge on his way out of the academic world.” 

“Probably because of his obsession with curses and spirits,” you said, arms folded. “Protective wards and funeral rituals – his work read more like folklore than archeology.” 

Bradley shrugged. “Well, maybe folklore’s what we need.” 

You turned your head to look out the window. “I don’t know,” you said, hesitating. “I’ve come this far on facts and maps. I don’t want to chase stories.” 

Bradley didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed on the road, but his thoughts drifted to your voice – sharp, deliberate, and just a little weary, like someone who’d been underestimated too many times and learned to be sharper than the room demanded. 

“You talk like every university-trained man I ever knew,” he said finally. “Only, they didn’t have your instincts.” 

You blinked, surprised at the sudden... compliment? 

You didn’t respond, but your shoulders shifted slightly – less rigid now, maybe. 

Bradley didn’t say anything else; he just focused on the road ahead. But still, he found himself aware of you in a way that wasn’t quite professional. It wasn’t just your knowledge – it was how you carried it, like it was armour and burden both. He was honestly beginning to enjoy being around you. There was something relentless in you, something he recognised. Maybe even admired. 

He kept that thought to himself. 

Your grip on the satchel tightened. Inside, wrapped in linen, was the map.

You hadn’t meant to steal it. 

But you also didn’t leave it behind. 

Still, you weren’t sure an old man with wild theories was the key to unlocking it.  

But Bradley was convinced and maybe he was right.  

Maybe Maverick could help. 

-- 

Maverick’s house stood quiet beneath the late sun, it’s walls cracked and half-swallowed by creeping ivy. A weathered brass knocker hung on the door, but Bradley didn’t bother knocking. Instead, he pushed the door open and walked straight in. 

Inside, the study was more tomb than home. 

“Still alive, old man?” Bradley called. 

“In body, if not reputation,” came the dry reply. Maverick stepped from behind a bookcase, face sharp, eyes still quick. “You’ve brought company.” 

He seemed wary as Bradley introduced you, “She’s the reason I’m out of bed before noon.” 

Maverick’s gaze lingered. “Well. The English send prettier spies these days.” 

You didn’t blink. “Not a spy. Just persistent.” 

Maverick gave the barest smile. “Come in, then. Let’s see what you think you know.” 

The study was a chaos of scrolls, open books, and strange relics half-swallowed by dust. There was no order - just layered madness in a dozen languages. You moved in without hesitation, stepping around piles with the ease of someone used to being in the way. Bradley watched you, noting how your fingers hovered near one table, drawn instinctively to the oldest pages. You weren’t intimidated – just focused. 

“Sit,” Maverick said. “And show me what you’ve dragged halfway across the world.” 

You glanced once at Bradley, then unslung your satchel and unwrapped the linen bundle. The map unrolled across the table with a sigh of age, the ink catching the last of the light. 

Bradley, standing beside you, found himself watching your face rather than the artefact. There was something in the way your brow tightened – intensity without fear. He’d known scholars who trembled to handle papyrus. You looked like you belonged with it. 

He shook his head a little, clearing the thought, and walked over to the shelf where Maverick usually kept his scotch. He casually poured himself a glass, watching you both as he took a sip, immediately feeling more at ease. 

Maverick’s mood changed the moment he saw the map. The sarcasm drained out of him. “Where did you find this?” he asked sharply. 

Your voice was steady. “In the British Museum archives. A crate labelled 1853.” 

Maverick's eyes flicked up. “And you stole it.” 

“I rescued it,” you said, without flinching. “From a slow death in storage.” 

Bradley hid a grin behind his glass. There was that edge again – blunt, unapologetic. You didn’t care if a man like Maverick approved. You knew what you were worth. 

He didn’t realise how rare that was until he saw it on you. 

Maverick leaned over the table, his fingers hovering, but not quite touching. “This seal is ancient. This... this shouldn’t even exist.” 

“I believe it’s the final burial map,” you said. “For Nefertari. It matches no known tomb, no documented dig. I’ve cross-referenced desert wind patterns, dry riverbeds, and temple star alignments. They all converge here.” You pointed without hesitation. “Kharga Pass.” 

Maverick stared at you. “You’ve already done the work.” 

“I needed confirmation,” you shrugged. “Not instruction.” 

Bradley let out a quiet breath through his nose. He didn’t say anything, but something settled in his chest. This wasn’t luck, and it wasn’t charm. You were brilliant. He’d seen PhDs get flustered by half that information. You made it sound like common sense. 

Maverick stared at you a moment longer, then gave a soft, almost reverent chuckle. “You remind me of someone. Me, when I still thought I could make the world listen.” 

He moved to a stack of yellowed papers and pulled out a worn page full of overlapping translations and annotations. “This,” he said, laying it beside the map, “is the reason I was laughed out of Cambridge. I was sure that Nefertari’s tomb, the one discovered, was a decoy. Ramses was a clever man after all, and her remains? Never found.”   

He pointed to a half-faded line of glyphs. “A fragment from a burial tablet found east of Thebes. It was dismissed as myth. This speaks of a man – Sekhemotep. He was an advisor to Nefertari. A priest. Possibly something darker. The text is vague – intentionally, I think. He betrayed her, stole something precious.” 

Bradley placed his half-filled glass down and leaned forward. “Stole what?”  

Maverick tapped the page. “A jewel – the Heart of Nefertari. A ritual object – possibly to preserve her ka.” 

You frowned. “Part of her soul.” 

“Exactly,” Maverick said. “Without it she couldn't pass to the afterlife. This proved my theory that her remains were buried in a tomb elsewhere. The Lost City of Nefertari. But, as it were, no one would believe me. They called me mad.” 

Bradley and you shared a glance, before he asked, “And this Sekhemotep?” 

“Cursed to guard her tomb for eternity,” Maverick said, like it was the most casual sentence in the world. “Neither living nor dead. Bound to the tomb until the Heart is returned.” 

Your arms folded slowly, eyes locked on the map. Your jaw tightened slightly – but you said nothing. 

Maverick noticed. “You already knew some of this.” 

“I didn’t know the name,” you said, carefully. “But I knew of the legend. The myth. The... curse.” 

Bradley glanced sideways at you, something nagging at the back of his mind. The way you answered. The precision. He didn’t believe for a second this was all new to you. 

But he didn’t call you on it. 

Instead, he asked curiously, “Is there a way to stop it?” 

Maverick nodded. “Only the blood of Nefertari can restore the jewel and lift the curse. That’s what the translation says. The bloodline is the key.” 

His eyes lingered on you, almost tauntingly, as he added, “I had a theory that her bloodline continued, an illegitimate daughter.” He paused, his eyes drifting to the scarab pendant around your neck. “That looks sentimental.” 

You swallowed hard, fingers drifting to the pendant. Your thumb ran over its smooth surface. “From my mother.” you muttered. 

Bradley watched you, his chest tightening with the sense that you were both standing on the edge of something ancient and dangerous – and that you were part of it in ways he didn’t yet understand. 

He wasn’t sure why, but the thought didn’t scare him. 

It intrigued him. 

Maverick finally leaned back.

“You’re chasing something real. But if you’re not careful, it will find you first.” 

---

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@jessevans

@grimpowrrs

@anjautembear