#my egyptian god

[blinolikiy]

OC

[rainofthetwilight]

EGYPTIAN MIKU ❗❗❗❗❗❗❗❗

[enolezdrata]

Fetket - the butler of the sun god, who provided the king with his drink supply

[moonyflesh]

a collection of my favorite Steven Grant moments because i related to him more than i think is deemed healthy.

[alkiores]

A couple of illustrations for a couple of artbooks (can't show them in full yet) and one future postcard ✨

[sutekh-rising]

good afternoon. a sutekh for your consideration.

[inamindfarfaraway]

The Exorcists’ Masks of Virtue

The vast majority of Exorcists in Hazbin Hotel have a notable design element that other angels don’t: their masks are missing an eye. Specifically, the right eye.

I believe this is a reference to the Bible, Matthew 5:29. Jesus says, “If your right eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell.”

He’s being hyperbolic. Mr Free Healthcare was not pro-mutilation. What he means is that you have to be willing to make sacrifices to prevent sin. The context of the eye metaphor is him condemning adultery and warning that even something as easy, casual and small as a look full of lustful intent can lead to further, worse sin if you don’t notice your sin, hold yourself accountable for it and do the work to not let it influence your decisions. This will probably be hard. It could be very, very painful. Changing your perspective can feel as horrible as plucking out your eye, so many people can’t bring themselves to do it. But although it won’t feel that way in the moment, it’s healthier for our general wellbeing in the long run to abandon traits and behaviours that damage ourselves and/or others.

(You may notice that Jesus’s teaching that you can have sinned, redeem yourself by giving up sin and thus escape damnation is the founding principle of the Hazbin Hotel. You may also notice that it contradicts everything the Exorcists believe.)

The Exorcists seem to follow this idea of painfully excising badness for the sake of the greater good devoutly to the point of placing it above teachings like ‘Thou shalt not kill’, with their job being to remove sin, in the form of sinners, to protect Heaven. Hence the missing right eyes. They’re a declaration of moral righteousness and inability to stumble.

But the truth is that the Exorcists all have their right eyes. Their flawlessness is a facade. Underneath, they are untouched, think themselves morally untouchable and, as shown by their horror and outrage when even one of them is killed, would much rather be physically untouchable too. This perfectly represents their complete unwillingness to acknowledge their own faults, let alone improve. They are never the ones who sacrifice. They force the sinners to sacrifice and don’t compensate it with any salvation. They metaphorically rip out the sinners’ eyes, but still condemn their entire bodies as inherently, permanently sinful. So they’ll just have to do another Extermination to get the other eyes! And another one to cut off their right hands! And so on until there’s nothing left.

The only exception to the rule is Vaggie, both in appearance and character. Her mask has the left eye crossed out instead. Even before her expulsion, she’s set apart to the audience as an Exorcist who has the capacity to, shall we say, see a different side of things. Her mask having its ‘sinful’ right eye reflects her understanding that the Exorcist worldview is wrong.

When she almost kills a demon child, her hateful vision clears. She discards the part of herself that’s an unquestioning, merciless agent of death, terror and grief… and as punishment for what Lute perceives as treacherous weakness, gets her eye plucked out.

Of course Lute leaves her with only the ‘sinful’ eye. It brands Vaggie forever as the inversion, a perversion, of what the Exorcists are meant to be.

You know, all this talk of eye removal in the Bible reminds me of another line - ‘an eye for an eye’. Adam directly quotes it in “Hell is Forever”. He uses it to frame the Exterminations as Old Testament-style punitive justice; the sinners did harm and so they receive it. But putting aside the debate about how ethical the concept of revenge is, the entire point of taking an eye for an eye is that it’s proportional. The punishment fits the crime. If someone cuts your eye out, you shouldn’t murder their whole family in front of them and then slowly disembowel them to death. That would be the sin of wrath. You should just make them pay without excessive pain or collateral damage. This is the fairest form of revenge.

The Exorcists don’t do that! The Exterminations aren’t proportional to the wrongs of all they hurt, nor was Vaggie’s brutal punishment equivalent to her extremely mild insubordination. Lute literally takes Vaggie’s eye, and more, after Vaggie does nothing to her! That’s the opposite of the phrase! Adam and his soldiers are wrathful and cruel, deriving satisfaction from others’ suffering. But they just can’t stop going on and on about how disgustingly evil the sinners are, in total hypocrisy… despite some of the sinners being far better people than the genocidal Exorcists are… it’s like they’re obsessed with specks of dust in the sinners’ eyes when they have massive logs stuck in their own. Oh hey, that’s in the Bible too!

[ylieke]

Anubis

[milky-rozen]

I'm sorry, Set, I'm afraid Ra can't pause his beauty sleep rn but I'm sure he's very proud of you 😂

[vampiresforvergil]

Get a load of this guy (sorry anubis but I'm not drawing feet)

[the-moonprophet]

concept: Riordanverse demigods meeting up (for whatever reason), and they bump into a young man, probably not much older than themselves. He’s dressed casually—just a hoodie and jeans—but there’s something off about him. Not in a bad way, necessarily, but the demigods know enough to be wary of him.

“Should we talk to him or something?” Carter asks.

“He hasn’t done anything, though…” Magnus puts in. Still, they all have a strange feeling they should approach the guy.

Percy’s the first to move. He strides up to the guy, who’s staring down at a book while he waits for the bus.

“Hey,” Percy calls out to him, and the guy looks up. There’s something weirdly magnetic about him—Percy finds himself wanting to stand closer. The other demigods apparently feel the same gravity; when Percy glances over his shoulder, they’re standing right behind him.

“Hello,” the guy responds, his warm eyes studying the group. “Can I help you?”

“Um…” What is Percy supposed to say, exactly? He isn’t even sure why he’s speaking to this stranger.

Recognition passes through the guy’s eyes, and his brows twitch upward. “Oh, it’s you guys?”

Magnus steps forward. “You know us?”

“Of course!” The guy shrugs, tucking his book under his arm. He didn’t even mark his page. “What kind of person would I be if I didn’t know who you are? You’ve all saved the world, haven’t you?”

Some of us multiple times. Percy thinks. Somehow, he’s not surprised by this guy’s knowledge of their heroics (if that’s what you want to call it).

“Well… What kind of person are you?” Sadie asks cautiously.

The guys laughs, and Percy finds himself smiling along with him. “What do you mean?” the stranger asks.

“Y’know,” Magnus shrugs, gesturing around their group. “We’re all descended from all-powerful beings and such.”

Normally, they should’ve been hesitant to share this kind of information. But something about this strange man makes them drop their guard. Suddenly, it doesn’t matter that they know nothing about him, including his name.

The guy grins. “Yeah, we’ve got that in common.”

“Which god is your parent, then?” Percy asks. He finds himself hoping it’s a Greek deity; he would love to bring this guy back to Camp Half Blood. He’s certain everyone would love him.

“God,” the guy says in a thoughtful tone, his fingers tapping the book under his arm.

“Yeah…” Carter says haltingly. “Gods. Like the deities that control different parts of the world?”

The guy chuckles. “No, I know. That was my answer.”

Nobody says anything for a long moment.

Percy breaks the uncomfortable silence. “You’re descended from…”

“God,” the guy confirms with a gracious nod.

“Like, capital G God?” Magnus the Atheist says, looking pale.

“But—isn’t everyone? Technically?” Sadie asks. None of them know much about christianity, but hadn’t all of mankind been created in the Big Man’s image?

The guy laughs again—it’s an oddly healing sound. Any worries that had been swirling at the back of Percy’s mind instantly vanish.

“Well, I suppose if you want to get technical about it,” the guy says with another shrug. “But I myself am the only direct descendant.”

The Kane siblings can do nothing but blink at the man. Magnus looks like he might pass out. Percy seems to be the only one capable of getting more information out of the stranger, but even he feels like his voice is stuck in his throat.

“You mean…” Percy stutters. “You’re—”

The screeching of brakes cuts Percy off. The guy looks up as the bus doors swish open, and he grimaces.

“Ah, looks like our time was cut short.” He shoots an apologetic look at the demigods. “It was nice to meet you all. You’ve done humanity proud. Keep up the great work!”

The words would have sounded incredibly shallow and unimportant coming from anyone else, but when this guy spoke them, Percy felt like he’d been applauded by the president of the United States—or, more accurately, by the prince of the universe.

The guy waves them goodbye and steps onto the bus. No one moves until the vehicle peels away, leaving them gaping at the empty bus stop.

“Was—” Magnus croaks, swallowing hard. “Was that really—”

Percy nods. “The son of God.”

Man, Percy couldn’t wait to tell Annabeth.

[blinolikiy]

My OC

Runeyhar

[pregmothy]

I can't help but think about a corrupt doctor playing aloof.

He was amicable, if not a bit standoffish; he even helped you and your husband with "fertility treatments" so you could get pregnant in the first place; how could you not trust him? He's one of your neighbors and has been a bit of a character since you first moved into this space backwoods neighborhood, only catching glimpses of him in your periphery before finally catching him tending to herbs in his garden and starting a conversation. One thing led to another, and you got close enough to accept his help for your pregnancy. He's affordable, courteous, and, despite being a little... off, he even makes house calls. So, you keep going back while your stomach swells and when your chest grows too big and sensitive for any binders or sports bras.

He's been a big help during your rather difficult pregnancy. You kept falling ill for one reason or another. A weakened immune system causes you to get sick easily, and morning sickness makes your stomach weak. Your body was admittedly frail, and here you were, putting it through the wringer. Still, the doctor always reassured you, even encouraged you, saying your body was a "prime candidate to produce offspring," that's a way to word a compliment. He reliably comes to the rescue with quick remedies and strong medicine to soothe your stomach and mind. More so than your husband was doing, providing almost no help until the doctor arrived and waiting for the doctor to give the ok before immediately leaving you to your lonesome. The doctor had become your biggest comfort at this time, promptly responding to your calls and providing plenty of assurances.

The doctor was rather peculiar, he’s actually pretty shy and despite being experienced, his demeanor was reserved outside of his work. It explains how you haven't been able to get a good look at him before you met, at least. He often stumbled during casual conversation, and his eyes didn't really meet yours. He takes measured gazes when working, but when he’s not, his eyes flicker here and there as if he is trying to avoid looking at something obscene. You would be slightly offended if it wasn’t for the quality of care he gave you, memorizing details to an almost scary degree, practically predicting what ailments you would have before you had them, and swiftly treating you. You had offhandedly muttered about your medication to deal with nausea once, not even talking to him really, and he stopped by the next day with some fresh-grown ginger. He really can be sweet deep down, despite the strange behavior.

With one thing or another, you kept calling and grew accustomed to this somewhat awkward doctor and his equally awkward methods. The medicine he provided worked, and he was the closest help you would get out here, so you weren't going to complain much, but you had to admit, some of his procedures were a bit odd; boy, did you have stories.

He was thorough in his work and examinations, checking you head to toe, in every crevasse, and you mean EVERY CREVASSE. You remember the first time he gave you an in-depth exam, and, surprise, surprise, his hands were cold, causing you to jump slightly. It was strange feeling those cold hands on your oversensitive hole the first time, but you stomached it and allowed him to continue. He had actually stopped when you flinched... how considerate. he even had you alter your wardrobe and check your clothes. No more jeans and stiff fabrics, only loose, thin clothing, even when your bump was relatively small, for better movement and thermoregulation, he said. He followed up on the clothes matter as well, asking how you felt, if you liked them, and if they were accommodating your pregnancy properly. You said yes, they were fine, that was truthful, but it was somewhat difficult to switch to thinner underwear, with your cunt producing more fluid and essentially soaking through them, that was truthful. From then on, the doctor made the, in your opinion, crazy request for a pair of soaked underwear. Increased discharge production is normal, and he wanted to test it to make sure it was healthy. You were incredibly apprehensive at first, the idea of giving a random man your underwear was horrifying, and you made your thoughts known. He then explained that he wasn't some random man but your doctor and provided a long list of all the risks to your pregnancy if he left anything to chance. All of what he said was truthful; he wasn't some random man, and your body was too feeble to risk it, so you relented, giving him a pair of your underwear and watching as he put it in a biohazard bag and tucked it into his work briefcase. At least he was professional about it, but you never got that pair back.

One time, the baby was just too active and made your body sore, so he came over and gave you some light painkillers and even offered a back massage, which you enthusiastically accepted. It was a rare occurrence that the doctor offered to touch you for something outside of medical obligations. He even briefly lifted your stomach to help take the weight off your back. You found yourself back to his chest, so lost in the relief that you almost missed the sound of sniffing behind you. Was he sick? You hoped what he smelled wasn't you; it would be so embarrassing if, after getting so physically close, you smelled bad. He didn't bring it up afterward, and you didn't either. During his next visit, he brought this strange salve with him, saying that since the baby was growing and already so active, the skin on your stomach would become more taut and sensitive, so it was meant to moisturize the skin. He offered to help with the first application, and you accepted, you didnt see why not. You raised your shirt over your bump, just under your new breasts, and that focused gaze instantly turned to your stomach. It sort of startled you how quickly he honed in on you, but you supposed it was his job; what is a doctor if not studious. The salve smelt strange, nothing too strong, subtle, and actually kind of familiar, but you couldn't quite pin it down. He continued, putting a small dollop on your stomach and rubbing it in. he took his time, being thorough and making sure it covered your whole stomach, gaze not straying from it. You felt kind of shy at that. You know he's your doctor, but did he have to look so close? He was usually rather reserved about touching you so closely. You sat as he worked, rubbing the salve into your skin and even massaging your stomach for a bit. Only after a while did you shift in your seat, and this seemed to gain his attention. Promptly' standing up and clearing his throat, avoiding your eyes again, he declared himself done, telling you the proper dosage, and he was on his way. That was... strange. It's not too out of character for the awkward doctor, but you didn't expect him to get so... intimate.

Another time, you found your chest terribly sore. The doctor came over and told you it was fine, just some compacted milk in your newly swelled breasts, which were unused to being so full. Unsatisfied with that answer, you groaned at the strain. It didn’t matter if it was fine, it still hurt. So, you asked if the good doctor could do something. He explained that the milk just needs to be released, either by pump or by hand compression. You didn’t own a pump, and you didn’t know how to get the milk yourself, so you asked for his help. At this, he almost lost it, stuttering out verbal instructions and growing redder in the face by the second. Ultimately, you interrupted and told him you trusted him, he was your doctor, after all. Why get so flustered now of all times?

Flashing some sad puppy dog eyes, you managed to pull him to sit next to you. Pulling off your top, he wraps an arm around you, cupping your breasts and rolling them in his palms. You flinched at his doctor-like frigid hands, the feeling on such a sensitive area surprised you. After they warmed up, he got a gentle grasp on one of your nipples before looking at you for confirmation. You give the affirmative, and he rubs and massages the bud between his fingers, eliciting a soft groan from you, this time not from discomfort but from the strangeness of the feeling. It felt good. Were your nipples always this sensitive? It must have been the pregnancy. He was so warm and so close to you at this moment that you could feel yourself relaxing by the second. He continued his caresses for a bit before pinching at the nipple, drawing out beads of milk. You let out a gasped moan at that, and he stops, letting go of your nipple. Snapping out of your stupor from the sudden lack of sensation, you, a little bit too enthusiastically, ask him to continue, reassuring him that the touch felt good. He continued on like this, massaging, pinching, and milking one breast after the other until the soreness was alleviated. It was warm and comfortable with your back against his chest, it lulled you into a kind of trance. You felt a bit floaty afterward, tingles of pleasure still flowing down your spine, and he offered to make this a regular occurrence since it seemed to alleviate more than just bodily soreness. You accepted, but you had to admit the scenario was a bit weird. The doctor would be coming over weekly to milk you, maybe it's more regular in the practice than you think, he's the medical professional not you.

You grew fond of the touches despite yourself, and you supposed, despite the initial rejection, he was OK with the closeness too, if not a little fond as well. Your husband hadn’t touched you much since your bump really started showing, so you’ve been, admittedly, a little deprived. Despite his cold hands always making you jump for examinations - really, he examined your entire body so frequently you would have thought to have been used to it by now - they were a comfort on your sensitive skin. When they finally warmed up, if he kept his hands on you that long, they were incredibly soothing. You might even say you’ve come to look forward to the touch… maybe… not out loud, though.

Your relationship grew over time, and his checkups became regular enough that he would even stop by on his own occasionally to check in and then promptly leave. He’s rather skittish as well, frequently at your house but never staying for too long, he sometimes leaves before you can make the two of you tea. You can’t say you don’t miss the company, your husband hasn’t been showing you much attention, and you find yourself somewhat starved for interaction. You did whatever you could to keep the doctor a second longer, asking for an additional check, asking him to reach something you couldn’t “with this big belly in the way, after all.” You even invited him to feel the baby kick after a routine checkup once. It's kind of cute how shy he is, his ears turning red when inspecting your belly.

And after a while, it seems like he caught on. Despite still being a bit awkward, he indulged your whims. Stuttering facts about botany, anatomy (yours included), and how his day was when you asked for any conversation. Helping clean up around the house, which you thanked him with a cup of tea. With those intense eyes, he even rubbed your stomach when you invited him and acquiesced to apply the salve for you on occasion, sometimes the baby bucked at his touch. However, he still made sure to keep boundaries on the rare occasion your husband was around. The doctor brought by gifts and trinkets he happened upon in town for you since you were, by his advice, homebound.

He gave you a lovely red scarf and said he thought it complimented your style and that you would like it. While the doctor was handling matters in the kitchen, you were sat in an armchair in the living room, off your swollen ankles, deciding what to do with the scarf and what outfits you could make. Absent-mindedly toying with it, you ended up tying it around your stomach, a nice bow situated on top. While you’re messing with the loops, the doctor steps away from the kitchen, "T-the dishes are all clean and put away. Is there anyth-" he pauses once his eyes land on you, gaze shifting to your stomach and the big red bow on top. You looked down at the bow. “Oh, thank you so much for your help again, doctor. I was just playing around a bit, trying to figure out styles I liked.” You giggled to yourself and looked back up at him, but what you saw startled you a bit. He was still looking at your stomach, unmoving, but his gaze had grown dark. You couldn’t read the emotion behind his stare, but it was a little unnerving. Did you do something wrong?

You cleared your throat. “U-um, doctor? Is something wrong? D-do you not like it?” You meekly question, and it snaps him out of his stupor. He averts his gaze and clears his throat, hiding a blush behind his fist. “Apologies, I’ve got a bit on my mind today, and I just remembered something.” Oh. “Oh, ok.” And that was that. He soon dismissed himself, and you were left alone again. That was so strange, it was almost like he was glaring… You pushed it out of your mind, justifying it as one of the doctor's quirks with eye contact, and never brought it up again. You didn’t want to risk scaring him off or, worse, scaring yourself over what is probably nothing. You liked your dynamic already as it was and didn’t want to lose the company.

One day, when you were about 7 months along, you were lying in bed with a mean stomachache and a light fever. Panting heavily, you're wearing nothing but a thin oversized shirt, overheating and sweating through everything else. Your husband is nowhere in sight, having left for a trip with his friends over the weekend, leaving the doctor to tend to you in your bedroom. Lying on your side, the doctor’s back was facing towards you, writing something you couldn’t see on a clipboard. Your stomach churned again, causing you to flinch and groan. You lift up your shirt, hoping the cool air will do something to soothe the ache, but to no avail. It was so uncomfortable, and your body was so sore. At moments like these, you felt so alone, so vulnerable, so weak. You hated how your body seemed to be capable of almost anything but this, unable to support this one desire. Had the doctor’s assurances been false, could you really go on like this? You open your eyes again and find that the doctor is crouched in front of you, looking at you with that measured gaze.

This time, you meet his eyes again, and it’s once again unreadable and just as dark as before, but they look different somehow as if communicating something to you. The good doctor who has cured your ailments and soothed your stomach again and again. The one who spent time with you, touched you, and cared for you, understanding all of your needs before you even made them known. He’s close, right in front of you, and you’re in need. So fragile in that moment, you whimper and reach out for his hand. He doesn’t stop you, even meeting you halfway, putting his hand in yours, and cooperating when you lead it to your uneasy belly. His cold hands were a comfort to your overheating skin. Understanding your needs like always, he gently rubbed your stomach back and forth, easing it across the sensitive skin. You whimpered again from the soft, calming assurance the reliable doctor always gave. He reached another cool hand up and placed the back of it against your forehead, probably to measure your temperature, but you didn’t care at this moment, leaning into the soothing touch you missed so much at that moment. "There you go," his voice croaked from lack of use. "You’ll be fine. You’ll both be ok with me." you relaxed further into his touch. "Just rest... you’re in my hands now."

[enolezdrata]

Thoth for ARTMIF project

[moonyflesh]

mood.

[insaneption]

Set comm