#also: my dis has an extremely beautiful giant beard

[arofili]

@oneringnet alternate universes event ♔ QUEEN UNDER THE MOUNTAIN

And the lady Dís wept for her fallen kin but raised her head and spake: Crown me here and now Queen Under the Mountain, for I claim the right as sister to the King and mother of his Heirs. And thus she sat upon the throne of Erebor and ruled Durin's Folk until the days of the Ring, where she fell defending the gates of her queendom, and the crown passed then to Thorin III Stonehelm, her cousin's son.

#oneringnet #tolkienedit #hobbitedit #dis #tolkiensquad #my edit #tefain nin #th #queen under the mountain #queen dis #*shows up 1 day late with edits* whats up yall #also: my dis has an extremely beautiful giant beard #but its very hard to find pix of beautiful ladies with beards...that also look like how i imagine dis....

[hoaryoldbitch]

as i stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge (5)

Jon

Would you love me? That was what she had asked him. Their conversation in the mess hall, the things she had said up on the gallery, they had all led him to believe she might be receptive to a promise that their marriage could become more than duty if that was what she wished. She had also said that she hoped he would be better than all the men who came before him. Had he disappointed her by trying to kiss her? For a couple of moments, he had been certain that she was going to let him, and she hadn't seemed too upset as she'd walked away from him.

None of it truly mattered though. He needed to keep his eyes on the prize. Marrying Alayne was meant to seal an alliance with the Vale, an alliance the North desperately needed. Their personal happiness was not the aim of their marriage. But he liked Alayne, even though he had only known her for a short time, and he had allowed himself to hope that they could have more.

He had another meeting with Lord Baelish around noon and the man seemed pleased that Jon was getting along so well with his daughter. There was something odd about the way he praised Alayne's beauty, wits and courtesy, even going as far as waxing poetic about her eyes, which he claimed were as blue as a sunlit sea. For a moment, a vile suspicion started to creep up on Jon, but he decided to shrug it off. He had no reason to presume Lord Baelish might be guilty of such foul desires or deeds, even if he distrusted and disliked the man.

He convinced himself it was yet another way his mind kept forcing the newfound knowledge on him about his true father's family, who had an unsavoury history with such practises. The Lord Protector must simply be pleased to have found an even better match for his bastard daughter than Harrold Hardyng, and his tendency to exaggerate when singing her praises must stem from an uncertainty whether the wedding would actually take place, so he assured the man that he was pleased with the arrangement and was looking forward to the wedding.

Baelish surprised him by being extremely generous in terms of what he was willing to sell, give and lend the North and the Watch, but Jon was sure he wasn't offering any of it out of the goodness of his heart. Soon enough, he started talking about lasting alliances between the noble houses of the North and the Vale.

"More marriage alliances?" Jon asked him.

"Ser Albar Royce is still unwed, and the Lady Myranda has been a widow for too long," the Lord Protector told him. "And there are more nobles in the Vale who would be glad to strengthen ties with the North."

"I am happy to discuss possibilities," Jon conceded. "But I have to warn you I am not the kind of king who will force these marriages on any of my bannermen. I will hear them before I make any final decisions."

"Of course," Baelish agreed with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I do have one suggestion we might be able to come to an accord on today."

Jon nodded to indicate he was listening. 

"I have heard your sister escaped from the Boltons and came to you before the battle."

Jon clenched his jaw and his hands curled into fists.

Baelish' eyes flitted down, telling Jon he hadn't missed his reaction. He stroked his beard. "I understand your... reluctance, Your Grace, but Ser Harrold is a good man," he assured him. "I believe you can imagine I wouldn't have considered him as possible husband for my own daughter if I believed he wasn't. He would treat your sister well, especially after the horrors she's been through."

He should tell Lord Baelish that the girl who had been saved from the Boltons' claws was not Arya at all, but he didn't. Instead, he nodded again, and let the Lord Protector explain more of his ideas. 

  That afternoon, Jon learned how quickly news travelled at the Gates of the Moon, when Myranda Royce came marching up to him with a scowl on her face and her hands on her hips. She gave him the courtesy of a smile and a proper greeting, but then she started shaking her head.

"And here I was thinking I would be thanking you by now, Your Grace," she sighed dramatically.

"I'm afraid I'm not following you, my lady," he said, not feeling in the mood for one of her games.

"My Harry was finally free from Alayne," she explained, "but now I hear he is supposed to wed your sister?"

Jon narrowed his eyes at her. "How..." He let the question trail off.

She smirked up at him. "I am the Lady of this castle, Your Grace. I hope you did not imagine I was unaware of anything that happened inside these walls?"

Jon didn't like the sound of that at all. What else did Lady Myranda know that she wasn't supposed to be privy to? Had he said or done anything compromising since he had arrived here? "The possibility of a betrothal between Ser Harrold and my sister Arya is still on the table," he told her through clenched teeth. "Nothing has been decided yet."

"Ah, so all hope is not lost yet," she answered with a grin.

"I reckon it's not, Lady Myranda," he said. "You may still get your Harry." You're welcome to him, he added mentally.

Jon slept fitfully that night, until the early hours of the morning, when he dreamed he was out in the woods, running around on all fours. He could see the mountain and the castle from the forest, so when he woke up, he knew that Ghost was close. He'd discovered that there was a forest beyond the postern gate of the castle, and from what he had seen through Ghost's eyes, he suspected that was where his wolf was.

   After breaking his fast, he headed out to the forest, rewarding the guards who opened the gate for him with a coin of silver each. He walked up the path leading into the trees until he was surrounded by them, and silence fell over him, but he had only walked a short way, when he heard a woman singing.

He had heard her perform before, so it didn't take long for him to recognize Alayne's voice. He stood staring into the treeline for a moment, wondering what he should do. After all the things he had seen, he wasn't quite sure he still believed in any gods, but he did think it odd, eerie even, how it seemed as if they kept meeting each other by chance. The Gates of the Moon was a large castle, and yet they kept running into each other.

He decided to follow the sound, as he didn't truly have a reason to be avoiding her, and wherever she was, would be as good a place to start looking for Ghost as any. When he stepped into the small clearing where Alayne was singing, he discovered that his direwolf was there as well.

Jon's lips parted and he was sure his mouth would have fallen wide open if he hadn't immediately closed it again. But then a smile tugged up his lips at what he was witnessing.

Ghost was sitting on his haunches, his giant tongue lolling out of his maw and his eyes half-closed in bliss, as if he was simply an over-sized dog and not a direwolf. The cause of his enjoyment was sitting next to him on her knees, still singing to herself, but more softly now, and she was brushing out Ghost's matted fur, rubbing his ears or the underside of his chin while she worked out the knots and gnarls. The sun happened to appear from behind a cloud, bringing out the red in her chestnut hair, and Jon thought he may have never seen a lovelier sight. 

“He likes you," he called out to Alayne. She looked up at him and offered him a grin. 

“Of course he does. He’s a good boy.” She pressed a kiss to the side of his muzzle and patted the same spot with her hand. 

"His name is Ghost. He's a direwolf," he told her, trying not to linger on the fact that she had kissed the wolf, but not him. 

She nodded and smiled up at the wolf, who pushed the side of his muzzle into her hand. As he turned his head, Jon noticed that she had braided colourful ribbons into the fur covering the direwolf's neck.

"This isn't the first time the two of you have been here together?" he asked.

"No," Alayne admitted, leaning against Ghost's side. "I found him here yesterday, and I promised to come back for him. Didn't I, Ghost?"

Jon stared at the sight before him. Ghost seemed to be enjoying Alayne's attentions, which he understood, though his wolf's behaviour was a bit unusual. He would very much like to be on the receiving end of those attentions. It was Alayne who baffled him. Most people were frightened by the mere sight of the white direwolf with his fierce red eyes, yet here she was, treating him as if he was a lady's lapdog. He had never seen anyone react to a direwolf in such a way.

But then, as memories of happier times started coming back to him, of a girl he had once called sister and a wolf pup who had died a long time ago, it hit him that he had. He stood frozen, his mouth half-open in shock, and when she looked up at him, the cheerful smile slipped from her face.

"Sansa?" he whispered, staring back at her in shock.

She pursed her lips and nodded. "You shouldn't call me that here though. Someone might hear."

His body was startled back into motion, and his hands came up instinctively as he started shaking his head. "I don't understand."

"It's a long story," she muttered, staring down at her lap. Ghost hadn't left her side.

He shook his head again. "I'm not sure I want to hear it right now."

A true Targaryen, aren't you? a voice that sounded suspiciously like Lady Stark's mocked him as he stumbled away from his half-sister--no, cousin. But she didn't know that. Now it made sense to him why she hadn't let him kiss her. But then why had she allowed him all the rest? What was wrong with her?

He was certain he would get an answer soon enough, but right now, he was too confused, too angry, and too disgusted with himself to face her again. 

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fic #jonsa ff #my writing

[inspector2ndclass]

The Mechanisms as Random Birds I Found on the Internet

Did anyone want this? No. Do I know anything about birds? Also no. Anyways, here’s a shitpost I spent way too long on.

Jonny d’Ville: Northern Mockingbird

First and foremost, here’s Jonny! An asshole! A bastard! An all around terrible person! He shall be a northern mockingbird. This fucking bird has no redeemable qualities other than that it is pretty and a GREAT singer. This is a very aggressive bird. Very territorial. If it had opposable thumbs, it would probably shoot you in like the foot or something. I don’t think these birds are very smart. Just like a certain “captain” that we know. The state bird of Texas, among all places. Never trust a texas. In true Texas fashion, the 1927 legislation declaring the Northern Mockingbird the state’s official bird stated that the species is “a fighter for the protection of his home, falling, if need be, in its defence, like any true texan.” Now Jonny burned down a Texas - maybe not this Texas but whatever. I read somewhere that a mockingbird could peck someone’s dick off, and honestly? Valid.

Gunpowder Tim: Southern Cassowary

Okay, hear me out. This bird is a little bitch - or rather a b i g bitch. In a good way. Look at this fucking bird. It’s majestic. Doesn’t it look just SO trustworthy. What a trustworthy man. And very pretty. Pretty, pretty bird. Who could squash you like a fucking ant. This is one Violent bird. Tim is one Violent person. The cassowary makes a low roaring sound like a fucking dinosaur. I love dinosaurs. DID I MENTION IT LAYS GREEN EGGS. Now you might say, well Tim is a human and humans don’t lay green eggs. Fuck you. It’s never explicitly stated that our very own Gunpowder Tim doesn’t lay green eggs. Also comes with a built-in helmet. As everyone except Tim and the southern cassowary says, safety first! Strikes me as a very egotistical bird. If the cassowary weren’t a bird, I don’t think it would wear a seatbelt.

Ashes O’Reilly: California Condor

Okay, so. This is a cool fucking bird. Just look at it. M a j e s t i c. Do you know who else is really fucking cool? Ashes. They have so much power. Also condors are beautiful birds. Oh my god. California condors are very graceful fliers. For Ashes, I almost went with the brown falcon - one of “Nature’s arsonists”, but other than arson, it’s a rather boring bird. Just brown. And a falcon. BUT THE CALIFORNIA CONDOR. Now that’s a cool bird. The god of the sky. Actually, in the “research” for this post I found a blog post in 2011 from someone who has genuinely worshipped condors as gods since they were a teenager and honestly? Valid. (disclaimer; I am aware that many native cultures worship animals and nature, however I don’t feel qualified to talk about that. I don’t mean any harm by this post.)

DrumBot Brian: Shoebill Stork

Well. I did have a rather difficult time finding a bird that has a complex set of moral values. Who would’ve thought?? I did almost use a praying mantis, just for a little variety. I’ve never met someone who wouldn’t rip off the head of their lover. BUT ANYWAYS. Here we have Brian the Shoebill Stork. He looks so nice. But he will not hesitate to decapitate your baby crocodile. Also very patient!! Like a dinosaur! This bird has the most complex set of moral values of any bird I could find in about thirty seconds. If Brian didn’t decapitate so many young crocodiles there would be much too many! Too many crocodiles! The horror! I’ve also seen a gif of Boring Brian delicately picking up a duckling and placing it back down. Dunno what happened after, though. Don’t ask. Apparently the shoebill stork makes “machine-gun noises” which I think Jonny would enjoy fucking around with. A place that I forgot to write down reportedly called the bird “Abu-Markhub” meaning “father of the slipper” which,,,, yeah.

Raphaella la Cognizi: Kea

Also known as the “clown of the alps”, the Kea resides in the mountains, as the only alpine parrot. Pretty cool. I want to be a clown. But like, a cool clown - not one that hides in a sewer and eats children… Anyways, I’m getting off topic. The kea is the smartest bird I could find. Raphaella is the science officer of the Aurora so it seemed fitting. Look at this photo. That’s science at work! Kea can use basic tools! And reportedly have the intelligence of a four-year-old child! That’s pretty smart! Also it has wings! Raph has wings! Apparently kea enjoy attacking sheep, dogs, horses, etc. and just generally fuck around with people. Imagine what this bird could do with opposable thumbs…

Marius von Raum: Victoria Crowned Pigeon

My criteria for Bird Marius was essentially a stupid looking bird with a ridiculously long name. I was originally going to go with the King of Saxony Bird of Paradise solely for the name (just look at it! It’s so dumb! Who the fuck is the king of saxony!) however it bored me. So! Here we have Doctor Baron Marius von Raum as the Victoria Crowned Pigeon (also sometimes referred to as the Blue Crowned Pigeon). Genuinely, this was my favourite bird as a child. I fucking love this funky little bastard. Apparently, it’s the largest pigeon species in the world and can grow to be the size of a turkey. A turkey! What the fuck! This bird thinks it’s all that. (I mean, it’s not wrong). It was named after Queen Victoria but like,,,,, Fuck The Monarchy. Also eats a lot of figs. The bird - not the queen. Or maybe the queen I dunno. Marius seems like the kind of person who hates figs but eats them anyways so he doesn’t feel inferior to the Fig Lord. How the fuck is this bird not extinct yet.

Ivy Alexandria: Common Raven

Ivy Alexandria, the Common Raven. Ravens are extremely smart! Like seriously - near where I live, there’s an animal shelter with a raven and you can hold a conversation with it. It’s amazing! They also have great memories and hold grudges - so don’t mess with them. Oh! They can also use hand gestures, which for birds is insanely cool! They are the literal “birdbrain”. Sometimes they collect little trinkets, which I think is really sweet. Now, I don’t believe ravens can read but like,,,,, I dunno. I read an article recently about ravens doing “weird things with ants”. Apparently they like to play with them. Ravens have been known to sit in an anthill and let ants crawl all over their feathers for no apparent reason. Now, while nothing has been canonically stated involving Ivy and ants, you can’t prove Ivy doesn’t go sit and hang out with a bunch of ants.

Nastya Rasputina: Andean Potoo

The Andean Potoo is the most mysterious breed of the seven or so potoo species; almost nothing is known other than their vague appearance and their stomach contents (large insects like beetles and grasshoppers, if you were interested). While we do know quite a bit about Nastya, I thought this bird fit her pretty well. In answer to the question “Are potoos friendly?” a website said: “The short answer is ‘no’. The slightly longer answer is ‘it depends’.” This sounds like Nastya and her lesbian spaceship girlfriend. Potoos are VERY good at camouflage; like Nastya in Aurora’s veins?? I dunno, might be a bit of a stretch. They are shy, secretive birds. Sounds fun. Potoos are also VERY good at catching insects and shit. This point might not be relevant, but whatever. Andean potoos might mate for life; scientists don’t know. Let’s say that they do. If Nastya were this bird, she could be eaten by a weasel. Weasels said fuck Nastya rights. Fuck weasels.

The Toy Soldier: Atlantic Puffin

OH MY GOD. I love the Toy Soldier. The Atlantic Puffin. I don’t have many reasons for this one other that IT’S ADORABLE. This is my favourite bird. Just look at it!!! Hnnnnnnn. Baby puffins are called pufflingssssss. Oh my god. Also look up the bird call of the atlantic puffin; it is the best thing ever. Puffins are very sociable birds and live in like giant flocks or something. They’re very neat birds and also waterproof! Like wood! They shed the outer layer of their beaks once a year! Like wood! They live in burrows! Like wood! They can hold a fuck ton of fish in their beaks! Like wood! They have a really fucking wierd tongue! Like wood!

BONUS: Dr. Carmilla: Lammergier (Bearded Vulture)

Do I know anything about Dr. Carmilla? Nope! I think she’s a vampire but like???? Anyways, just look at this bird. It’s pretty self-explanatory. The Lammergeier is one Badass Bird. It is one of the largest old-world vultures. I don’t know what that means. It can grow up to four feet tall, though! And has a wingspan between seven and nine feet. That’s a big fucking bird! They have no natural predators, much like a certain immortal vampire (maybe???). It eats primarily bone and bone marrow and has a nasty habit of carrying off lambs, calves, and dead children. Remind you of the Good Doctor and her Band? Probably not. I bet Jonny has eaten at least one dead child, though. The lammergeier can also live up to the ripe old age of 45 (old in bird years?). Supposedly a lammergeier killed the greek playwright Aeschelus by mistaking his large bald head for a rock and dropping a turtle on it. Sounds very Carmilla. BUT WAIT I HAVEN’T GOTTEN TO THE BEST PART. This bird dies it’s fur the colour of blood to look more intimidating! Supposedly this is a mark of status, as well. That’s one badass bird!!!

WELL THAT WAS AN ADVENTURE. A useless adventure, sure. Fuck you. I had fun.

#the mechanisms #jonny d'ville #gunpowder tim #ashes o'rielly #drumbot brian #raphaella la cognizi #ivy alexandria #marius von raum #nastya rasputina #the toy soldier #dr carmilla?? #birds??? #i dont know what the Fuck this is

[gabriel4sam]

The weeping stone, a little crossover, the Mummy x Star Wars

 Beta-ed by @wrennette, a little fic The Mummy x Star Wars. 

Under the cut; the fic:

Our story started a long, long time ago and in a galaxy far away and never really ended. There was just a pause. A long pause. Eons passed.

And then it started again, just like that: 

Two men, alone and desperately human, fighting against abominations from the dawn of civilisation. Monsters with a taste for human flesh. One favoured his left side. They made their last stand at the forgotten temple of a forgotten goddess, erased from human memory with great care by Ptolemy III Euergetes, his mages and what would become the Medjai, more than two centuries before the modern era. A forgotten goddess now trying to make a comeback heralded in blood, famine, and other happy events.

Those men should have never left the scene, or only in very, very, very tiny bits.

Sadly for the beasts, that sort of situation had become terrifyingly normal for Jonathan and Ardeth.

Not everybody can have exotic dancers as a bad habit, like most of Jonathan’s Oxford friends.

With a yell like a woodsman putting the last axe wound in a giant tree, Ardeth cut in two the latest giant crocodile with two heads. The left head, apparently not the quickest to apprehend new circumstances, continued to flail a moment. Ardeth watched it carefully, with an air clearly meaning: Try it, if you dare.

Since no one glared like Ardeth, the left head wisely died, instead of incurring his wrath again.

“These things definitely don't conform to the traditional representation,” Jonathan remarked, with the blasé attitude of a man who had become sadly used to giant animals with too many heads, resurrected priests and other fun ways to pass the time in the charming country of Egypt. If he didn’t go bankrupt every time he put a foot on the soil of the Mother country, he would have refused to leave England. There, dead things stayed dead and even if Arthur had risen, Jonathan was sure the lad would have been much more amiable than Imhotep.

Perhaps it was a question of the soil temperature…. Would dead English sovereigns rise if transplanted in Egypt? Or Scottish ones? The Scottish ones seemed more fun.

“Carnahan, stop dreaming and come help,” Ardeth ordered and Jonathan thought of protesting. Harvesting hearts of two-headed magical creatures was gory and smelly. Even if it was to stop a giant wave of drought which would devastate Egypt and probably cause a lot of deaths. But Jonathan had seen enough death during the Great War; deaths he could never forget, no matter what new horrors Evy and her brand new husband Rick, and Ardeth, half friend half pain in the ass in Jonathan’s opinion, discovered every day.

“Life was so much simpler without the supernatural,” Jonathan grumbled, but it was weak and he went to help. The sooner they had the hearts, the quicker they could leave, and supposing Evy and Rick had successfully harvested the brains of their own two-headed monsters, they could stop the drought, leave their third lost temple this year and go back to Jonathan favourite way to pass life: searching for a way to earn money.

Preferably without the dead rising, for once.

They stayed with the Medjai for the night, since it would have been pretty stupid to try returning to the city after dark. The night was beautiful, all stars and an enormous moon and Jonathan was finding himself quite enamoured with life. His sister and her husband disappeared into their tent and he hoped they remembered they were not alone and currently surrounded only by cloth.

The Medjai were extremely pleasant hosts, even Ardeth for all his glaring, and whatever the pastries and strange herbal tea they were distributing were almost making Jonathan not care they didn’t drink alcohol… or that Ardeth took Jonathan’s secret stash at the beginning of their current adventure to prepare a makeshift bomb.

Against a giant Mesopotamian…thing, because evidently the local monsters and undead weren’t enough. Some had apparently been imported too.

Jonathan let himself fall into the nest of covers loaned to him for the night. He was sore, but not too bruised, and the satisfaction of saving people had an edge even a cynic like him couldn’t deny.

“You know, the only thing missing is gallant company. Not that yours isn’t charming, old chap, but nothing beat a scandalously clothed lady. With the bosom, you know,” Jonathan said, gesticulating to illustrate.

Ardeth grunted and didn’t answer.

“But perhaps there is a Mrs. Bey in one of the tents? Or several? Are your people polygamists? Because that’s something I could get behind. Never too much of a good thing, you know, even if I always asked myself how it worked. I mean, some men must go without riches for other to have more? Very capitalistic and –“

“Carnahan, stop babbling. And no, there isn’t a Mrs. Bey, as you say. And if there was, you would be literally the last person in this country I would introduce to her.”

“Rude!”

“Sleep, Jonathan. We leave at dawn and I don’t enjoy having to throw water at you to force you to rise.”

“No need to grumble. Also, you totally enjoy it! And I’m sure you’ll find the perfect Mrs. Bey one day and sweep her off her feet. Very heroically, probably. There will be fireworks, old chap! ”

“Thanks, I suppose. But this isn’t…. My friend, there is-“

A snore interrupted him.

Ardeth turned to the side. Jonathan Carnahan had succumbed to the exhaustion of the day. Ardeth snorted, amused despite himself, and happy his confidences to his grating, but strangely attaching, friend had been stopped just in the nick of time. Some words couldn’t be unsaid. And he liked the Carnahan and O’Connell trio, despite their habit of stumbling exactly where they shouldn’t. He went on his last stroll around the camp, saluting the sentinels, as was his habit before sleep, and didn’t think any more of this conversation. Sadly, the sudden interest of Jonathan about his love life distracted him enough – should he tell him the truth or not, the English could be very strange about that – that he forgot for a moment a bad habit of Jonathan, where he pickpocketed everything shiny like an overgrown Oxford-educated magpie, and didn’t go through his pockets like he ought to after one of their expeditions.

Therefore, Ardeth missed the amulet in Jonathan’s vest, found in the temple of the day. And he missed the crystal, strange, shining, definitely nothing he had seen before, embedded in it.

***************************************

A woman was leaning down over Jonathan. She wore the strangest headdress he had ever seen, with two long tails of bizarre material, blue and white, and it was also crowning her, giving her a royal air, despite the blood running down her face. There was something slightly wrong about her face, like the proportions were slightly different from what they should normally be in a human.

“I’m sorry,” she was saying. “I’m sorry, Master, this is the only way to be sure he doesn’t get you too. Someone will come find you. The Alliance has our coordinates, they will find you.”

An older man stepped up behind her and he was bleeding too, the left part of his face a terrible wound, which had taken one of his eyes. The blood congealed on his beard and he used the wall to stay upright. The still intact eye shined with determination despite the probably terrible pain.

“Ahsoka, there isn’t time left,” he said and something sharp came to mask the despair on the woman’s face.

“I know,” she said. She took something from around her neck and it was the strange crystal in the amulet Jonathan had found. She leaned down and placed it on Jonathan.“Anakin’s crystal,” she said. “May you use it more wisely than him.”

She pushed a metal cover over Jonathan and it seemed so much like the lid of a sarcophagus. Jonathan wanted to yell for help but he was paralyzed. The last thing he saw was the woman turning, two swords of white flame in her hands, then whatever he was lying on went far away. There was an acceleration, like a plane taking off, and Jonathan knew nothing but the cold light of stars.

***************************************

Jonathan woke up shivering, his mouth already open to cry out. Ardeth was on the other side of the campfire, getting it going again for the morning tea.

“First time I've seen you up without help,” Ardeth smiled, but his smile died when he got a better look at the other man’s face.

“Jonathan?”

“Just…just a nightmare.”

Ardeth wisely nodded. Even he, who had been trained all his life to protect humanity from what was laying underneath the sands of Egypt and the neighbouring countries, would sometimes be visited in his dreams by the horrors he was regularly exposed to.

In silence, Ardeth offered his water skin for Jonathan to rinse the bilious taste of nightmares from his mouth.

***************************************

The woman was there again. The one with the strange headdress going down on either side of her head. The headdress was smaller and the tattoos on her face smaller too, like they hadn’t been finished. She was silently watching the cold coffin Jonathan was in, agony on her face.

“Oh Master,” she only said. “If only you were there… Really there. More than ever, I need your help.”

A man entered the room. He had brown skin, brown hair too long for even Cambridge and smart eyes.

“The Ghost is leaving in ten minutes, we can’t afford more.”

“I’m ready, tell Hera I will be on board.” The woman with the headdress said. Jonathan wanted to yell at her to take him with her, that he wanted to help, that it was his responsibility to help, but his mouth was cold and his tongue dead inside it, like a block of ice.

***************************************

 “Don’t you think your brother is…you know?” Rick asked one morning and Evelyn’s eyes left the reproduction of a Nekhen tomb painting she was admiring, realized she was about to put marmalade in her tea, took her glasses off and turned to her husband. Rick hadn’t put his shirt on yet, a fact she deeply appreciated.

“There are many answers to that question and some of them are about secrets I swore to take to my tomb when we were teenagers, so I will need you to elaborate, darling.”

“Don’t you think your brother is strange?”

“Did he try to convince you to invest in a bar in Casablanca again?”

“If I was trying to start a business with him, I would be the strange one. No, I mean, don’t you think he’s stranger than usual?”

As one, they turned to the patio of the decrepit house they were renting in Damietta.

It was eight in the morning and Jonathan was up.

That itself was strange.

Not that Jonathan couldn’t, in crisis time, wake early. But when they were still recuperating from their latest adventure, he liked to only get up at what he called “the crack of dawn,” meaning something like thirteen o'clock.

Eight in the morning, and he was awake, seeping tea slowly, and trying the meditation Ardeth had once tried to teach him, before pronouncing him totally inept. That itself was strange. The tears slowly flowing on his cheeks were making it unreal. 

Jonathan hadn’t shed a tear since coming back from the trenches of the Great War. What he had lived through there had used up all the tears for one life. After, there was only room for laughter,  sometimes slightly hysterical, alcohol, and women of ill repute, with the occasional supernatural menace.

“I think the last mission we accompanied Ardeth on was particularly difficult for him.”

“Nobody died!” Rick protested. “Nobody didn’t even almost died!”

“Dear God, we’re setting the bar quite low those last months….”

Rick turned again to Jonathan. At the beginning of his marriage to Evy, he had seen Jonathan more as an unfortunate consequence of Evelyn, someone to endure, until they had bonded with their experiences from the war. Some things they had shared with each other, they hadn’t even told Evy, the most important person in both their lives.

“I’m taking him for a drink tonight with my old  buddies from the Legion,” Rick decided. “Mano a mano.”

“That really doesn’t mean what you think it means,” Evelyn smiled and Rick couldn’t resist that smile, never had, and he swallowed an impromptu Latin lesson with a tender kiss, which lead to other things, and Evelyn quite late in her morning program for the study of the Nekhen tomb paintings.

 ***************************************************

There was a demon, more frightening than Imhotep himself. It was black, prowling in the shadows around Jonathan. The only thing Jonathan could perceive of it, a noise like lethal gas escaping its canister. The thing, the monster, the nightmare, carried a sword made of blood and at its feet lay the bodies of everyone Jonathan had ever loved.

Lost.

All of them were lost, because Jonathan had not been enough.

The despair should have a taste but Jonathan hadn’t tasted anything in years. There was just the cold, the after taste; spicy, of the last thing he had tasted, long ago, months ago, years ago, centuries ago, before laying down in his tomb, silent, vigilant witness of the end of everything and the rise of darkness.

****************************************************

Rick and Evelyn were waiting for him when he got back from his nightly walk. He had exchanged his usual nightly shenanigans in bars for slow walks across the landscape. By day, the sounds of so many people had become a torture and even at night, it was like Jonathan could feel them pressing around him. Only in the empty surroundings of Damietta could he find peace now, following the stars, which always seemed wrong to him, like they were in an incorrect configuration.

“Evy?” Jonathan asked, surprised, because they were always in bed when he came back.

“This is an intervention,” his sister said.

“Oh come on. I swear to you, I haven’t started using again. I know the effect of Forced Marche on me, I wouldn’t…"

“I know, darling,” Evy said with warmth, taking his hand in a gesture of comfort. “I know you wouldn’t do that to me, or to yourself again. But, you have been…you haven’t been yourself, those last weeks. At first, I confess I thought you were, how do I say it-“

“Hitting the bottle pretty hard,” Rick completed with no tact at all.

“But I remembered when you started to change and I called a specialist.”

There was a movement behind Jonathan and he turned and Ardeth was there, his face harder than Jonathan had seen in a long time. And in his hand, cradled like the simple contact was dangerous, was the amulet with the crystal Jonathan had found weeks ago, abandoned on the red sandstone altar in a temple of a forgotten goddess in Latopolis.

“That’s mine,” Jonathan yelled immediately, his hands raising to seize the jewel, but Rick’s arms were around his shoulders, as hard as steel.

“I failed you, my friend,” Ardeth said gravely.

“Ardeth, that’s mine!” Jonathan said again, already suffocating on tears, “That’s the only thing I have left!”

Another Medjai was there, one Jonathan didn’t know, and a foul-smelling cloth was across Jonathan's mouth, and he struggled, but Rick was stronger, and Ardeth was there too, helping Rick contain his thrashing, and the last thing he heard was Evelyn crying.

Beyond his eyelids, for a second, he would have sworn Evelyn’s silhouette was different, her belly round as the sun, and shining too, shining like a newborn star, but it made no sense and he lost himself to the dark of drugged sleep. 

********************************************************

The woman was there again. There was a man with her, blond hair, brown skin, a hand on her shoulder, comforting her as she put her two hands on the lid of Jonathan’s sarcophagus. Behind them, there was a man with darker skin and a dash of yellow across his nose and even if Jonathan had never seen him in his life, he wanted to beg him to take care of her, of her and the first man, the blond one, because if Jonathan himself couldn’t, this man with the yellow markings was almost him, brother, support, friend.

********************************************************

Jonathan woke up in a tent. Someone had tied his ankles together, not tight enough to stop him from walking, but tight enough to stop him from running. Ardeth was there, offering him a cup of tea, and even if Jonathan wanted to throw it to his face, his throat was parched. He accepted it.

“Was it poisoned?” Jonathan asked, voice hard with anger, once he had drunk everything.

“No, it wasn’t, and this is perhaps a question you should ask before accepting a drink.”

“Well, not like I can stop you, as the last hours demonstrated!”

“I understand you’re angry.”

“Well, you’re so brilliant to decipher emotion, if Medjai doesn’t work, perhaps you could become a disciple of Mister Freud.”

“We’re here to help you.”

“You have a strange way to show it,” Jonathan pointed out.

At that moment, the flap of the tent opened. Jonathan’s heart jumped in his chest. It was Evelyn and Rick and the sense of betrayal went higher. Ardeth was a friend, a good one, yes, but still only a friend. Rick and Evy were family. Family wasn’t supposed to betray each other. 

Ages old grief rose. Older than Jonathan, older than twice cursed Imothep, older than every temple in Egypt, and he choked on the wave of anguish. The infinite sadness was the only thing in his soul and it went higher, plugging his lungs, crushing his heart. On his cheeks tears started to flow again and he would have died of this pain, it was impossible to survive such sorrow.

Hands found his own. Darker hands with tattoos. Ardeth’s hands, scarred and dependable, hands which had saved Jonathan’s life countless times. 

A head was against his. Dark hair, the same as his, and their mother perfume, and the embrace of blood, a link he only had with Evey now, their English family dead and buried, but Evy, Evy was there, his beloved sister, and they had survived so much together, from their parents’ loss to the countless disappointments of life. 

Strong arms around his shoulder, his waist and the scent of that awful cologne. Rick. Rick, who made Evy happy, Rick who had seen the trenches too, Rick, the brother their parents didn’t have the time to give him.

Jonathan crashed into his body and into reality with all the grace of a drunk camel trying to run across a dune.

“What’s wrong with me!” He yelled, quite strongly, into poor Rick’s ears.

There was some fussing, a fortifying potion poured by Rick into Jonathan’s tea, despite Ardeth’s opinion that alcohol really wouldn’t help Jonathan, then they congregated around the fire with stew and explanations. Jonathan was famished. It was like he had survived only on tea and slow walks across the Egyptian landscapes for days.

“It was a very long time ago,” Ardeth explained. “During the Thinite Confederacy, before even the First Dynasty. One day a great fire fell from the sky into the desert. The tribes which formed the Confederacy sent an expedition to follow the trail of the fire and they found a great stone at the centre of a dune entirely crystallized, like an intense fire would have done. They brought back the stone to the city. Little by little, the members of the expedition who found it began to have visions. They could predict other tribes attack, they could sometimes know where a venomous snake was waiting in a bush, they knew where to go for good game in the hunts…”

“Seems like a pretty friendly stone,” Rick commented. “Very useful stuff.”

“But their new talents had a price,” Ardeth continued, like Rick hadn’t interrupted him. “The ones with the most talent, the ones who could sometimes heal wounds or ease a birth for example, were the most touched. They wept during feasts, they yelled into the night, they were taken apart by-“

“Sadness,” Jonathan said. “Infinite sadness.”

Ardeth nodded. Evelyn’s hand found her brother’s own hand and pressed on it.

“Most of them took their own life, at the end. A temple was built, coming from a vision one of the men touched by the stone had and the stone placed in the sanctuary. Once a year, young people were send to it to earn its wisdom.”

“That’s…that’s quite cold,” Evely shivered, “They were sacrificed. Fated to kill themselves or go crazy.”

“Yes, they were. Officially, they were designed by the oracles, but of course, most were chosen as a way for the most powerful to strike down their enemies.”

“Charming.”

“Some of them survived. They endured and went to become great souls, leading their people, or taking the places of advisors of the proto-kings. They said Menes, the founder of the first dynasty was one of them, that used what he learned from the stone to unify Egypt. They also said that the stone stopped talking to him because of the bloodshed, and that is why he was killed by a hippopotamus, because he had gotten too close to the beast, confident in a gift which had been taken back. They also said that Menes was the only one ever succeeding in opening the stone, and that he never said what was inside. Simply brought back that strange crystal in the amulet Jonathan stole.”

“Liberated, thank you very much,” Jonathan interrupted.

“All of this is fascinating,” Evelyn admitted. “But if we need the stone to help Jonathan…” Her brother was quite touched. For Evy, Evy! To interrupt Egyptian story time like that….

Ardeth nodded again.

“Yes, we need the stone and, praise Allah, I know where it is. The temple is in Thinis. Some said the weeping stone contributed to the abandonment of the city for Memphis as a capital.”

“Then we have a problem,” Evelyn realized. “Nobody has ever found Thinis.”

“The English haven’t,” Ardeth said with half a smirk and Evelyn made the same noise Rick made when he found a scorpion in their bathroom.

“We had this conversation before,” Rick immediately intervened, before Evelyn lost herself in an archaeological rant. “Ardeth certainly doesn’t have to tell you everything his people know and keep from the scientists.”

He kissed her pout. Knowledge was Evelyn’s grail and she could become a little insensitive to indigenous peoples' reasons for keeping secrets in her quest., Nobody was perfect, neither she or he or Ardeth, and their friendship could endure some friction.

**********************************************************

The woman had come back again. On Jonathan's coffin, she placed a strange helmet, white and half burned…

“Cody,” she said, then a long silence and she added: “He was himself at the end. He called for you.” And, in his coffin, Jonathan’s heart wept, like another wound had been added to his burden.

**********************************************************

Jonathan woke up kneeling, his face close, too close to the dying embers of the campfire. Ardeth hands, steel strong, the only things stopping him from burning himself.

A grief too big to bear pulsed in his heart, something so immense he couldn’t swallow it. He turned to Ardeth and saw in his friend’s eyes compassion and support. He didn’t deserve that man’s friendship. Friends could be taken so quickly, died in a flourish of a blade, Jonathan should….No, no, those thoughts weren’t his. Ardeth was a dear friend, yes, but he was in no danger of any blade.

It was such a freezing thought to realize the inside of his own brain weren’t exactly his own anymore.

“How far away is this city again?” Jonathan asked.

***********************************************************

Later, when Jonathan, pale and with too deep shadow beneath his eyes, had been put to sleep by a few drops of a potion made by one the Medjai specialist, Ardeth, Rick and Evelyn divided the hours of day and night between the three of them.

Jonathan couldn’t be left alone.

They left the camp at dawn, escorted by ten of Ardeth’s men. Jonathan was trying very hard to put his persona on, like a mask, and Rick was keeping him company at the moment, so Evelyn guided her camel next to Ardeth.

“Are you here to grill me about Thinis' secrets?” Ardeth asked and she made a face.

“I’m sorry,” Evey admitted. “Sometimes I lose myself in my desire for knowledge and I act harshly. I wouldn’t want you to think your friendship is only a means to me.”

“I know the truth of your heart, Evelyn O’Connell,” the Medjai simply said. “You are a good person, if not a very patient one. Which is a surprise for a woman capable of speaking ten dead languages.”

“Only nine,” Evey corrected and everything in her tone confessed she found it a terrible shortfall on her part.

He smiled and didn’t admit to her he spoke more. Instead, he told her old tales of the lost city of Thinis, stories of the beginning of Egypt, when the Medjai were simply one tribe of several, before the rise of the united country, before the Pharaohs. Evelyn listened, eyes shining. In return, she recited the Culhwch and Olwen to him, translating on the fly from middle Welsh to English and Ardeth was in turn fascinated.

“When Jonathan is healed,” Ardeth said, refusing to entertain the idea that his friend could die. “I think I would like to see your country.”

“I would like to be your guide,” Evelyn answered, “and to guide you to its secrets. Even if we are sadly lacking in lost magic cities.”

“Perhaps we will find them together,” Ardeth said. “Perhaps there are Medjai in your country, keeping its secrets, like my brothers and myself are keeping the secrets of Egypt.”

***************************************************************

There was a child. A small, strange child, with green skin and a bizarre headdress. She was a girl, and young, so young, and Jonathan knew that one day, she would have been his to teach. He had always known and she had too, and sometimes, when he could, he had visited her and the other children, happy to see her grow safe and happy, like every child should.

But a shadow entered the room. A shadow with a cowl obscuring its face, but Jonathan knew. He knew that shadow had been his child too and if his lips were sealed by cold and death, his heart yelled and cried and raged, as the shadow cut in two the one who should have been his sister.

***************************************************************

Thinis slept under the sand but the Medjai knew a way. They always knew a way, custodians of so many secrets. Ardeth guided their small expedition and they started to dig, taking turns, to excavate the entry to the lost city.

“How long since you last dug it out?” Rick grumbled, as he was on the team excavating the sand. “It seems that door hasn’t seen the light of the sun since it was built, with all this freaking sand on it.”

“We haven’t come back since the sixteenth century,” Ardeth explained. “The amulet was stolen from a group of Medjai at that time, and we tracked the buyer, and tried to save his son who had touched the crystal.”

“And did it work?”

Ardet’s grimace told everything of the answer.

“Perfect, just perfect,” Rick growled and he started to work even harder.

Once the path to the door was cleared out, Ardeth left half his men outside on guard with Evelyn and Rick, and entered the city with Jonathan and the rest of the Medjai. Evelyn had protested, and Rick too, and it was Jonathan’s own voice that finally had convinced them. How could he fight the despair in his soul, if he was afraid for his family?

“You’re going with Ardeth!” Evelyn had protested and the Medjai had been touched by this casual inclusion in their family.

“Sometimes attachment isn’t enough,” Ardeth had told the young woman. “We have been trained since childhood for this. We won’t fail your brother. We won’t fail our friend in his time of need.”

The Medjai had been trained for this. To protect the world from everything that slept under the sand. To stand guard, silent, vigilant, between the people of Egypt and the different horrors the past had left. Ardeth thought about that as they progressed. It was his duty and also his honour, but even he found the slow walk into the city buried under the sand difficult.

Not physically.

Here, there weren't any of the traps or undead abominations which had marked his first adventure with Rick and company, when together they had stopped Imothep.

No, the difficulty was in all their hearts and it didn’t come from their own feelings. It was a song of despair, of infinite sadness, a grief which tore them apart and still asked for more. But where men of the past had succumbed, the Medjai didn’t. Perhaps the only ones who wouldn’t. 

Duty. A life offered to duty. The desire to protect, even the people who didn’t understand them, who would have spit on their way of life. That was the Medjai way. And whatever was waiting for them in the heart of the city understood that, perhaps more than anything else in the world.

Perhaps even more than infinite sadness.

Duty, even in the time of grief.

For this, the warriors and Jonathan arrived alive at the ruined temple. Gritting their teeth against despair, but alive, if slightly dusty. Ardeth left his men there and guided Jonathan further in. The Englishman couldn’t walk anymore, despite courageous effort. Ardeth, a hand around his waist, dragged him into the sanctuary, and almost let go of him the moment they entered. In the light of the torch, the stone glittered in a way no stone should.

Slowly, Ardeth helped Jonathan to the base of the steps. When Jonathan was sitting down, he went closer to examine the stone. It was no stone, something his ancestors hadn’t included in their reports, perhaps for fear to seem insane.

Ardeth touched it.

It was metal, he was certain of it. A metal he couldn’t identify, but a metal. And there, at the base of it there was….

There was something deformed by heat, by time, by the shock of a crash in the desert centuries ago, but that a modern Medjai could identify where pre-pharaonic and fifteen centuries Medjai couldn’t.

Some sort of handle.

Some sort of door handle….

Ardeth, in a moment of dumb courage his Medjai teachers would have walloped his behind for, turned the handle. It was stuck, but with a bit of effort…

A hiss, stale air, and it opened.

On the stone floor, Jonathan had passed out.

Ardeth looked inside the stone which wasn’t a stone.

There was…there was some strange statue. A man. Certainly not Egyptian, but no people he could identify. Simply a man, very realistic, but only three-quarters of him could be seen, the rest lost in the mass of stone, or metal, behind him, like the sculptor had been interrupted. On the side, there was some metal contraption with lights, all red, and blinking like crazy. And one by one, they were going out.

Ardeth had half decided to throw Jonathan across his shoulders and start running, because he didn’t want to be there when the last one went out, when suddenly all of them failed and went dark.

There was a light, a noise, liquid falling on the floor, and a man stepped out of the statue, into Ardeth’s arms.

“Ahsoka,” he said, opening eyes as blue as the sky in the desert, and then he passed out. At the same time, a fog of grey lifted from Ardeth’s heart and he understood that whatever spell had come from the stone, the…thing, it was forever a thing of the past.

To say the Medjai, Rick and Evy were surprised to see half their team coming back with an extra member was an understatement. Their usual was more: 'sudden monster trying to eat their heart and liver,' not: 'mysterious human with red hair stepping out of a statue.' Nevertheless, camp was established, and Jonathan was examined from head to toe, then the man.

“He looks…normal,” was the very helpful diagnostic.

And he did. Only one head, blue eyes, red hair, red beard.

“He would seem more at his place in England, if not for the strange armour,” Evelyn commented, and then forget a little about their guest, because Jonathan had woken up. A little hungover, exhausted, but definitely himself.

And the stranger slept. Days after days. As they stayed in camp the time necessary to let Evelyn visit the ruins, which was both the sweetest gift the Medjai could give her, and the cruellest. The sweetest, because her soul thirsting for knowledge saw and learned things no archaeologist had ever dreamed off. The cruellest, because she could never talk about it, or publish about it, or even use the knowledge gained. Then they hid the entry of the city again and departed.

Every day, the sleeping stranger was tied up to Ardeth on his camel. Every night, they moistened cloths in milk and water, pressing them between his lips to nourish him. Every day, the stranger’s skin lost a little of his pallor as his health seemed to get better.

Jonathan helped the Medjai care for the man with a patience he hadn’t demonstrated in years. He felt a strange kinship with this stranger who had almost caused his death. How could he blame him when he remembered the depth of his sadness? 

Sometimes, late in the night, when the memory of his pain was too much on his heart, he searched for Ardeth. He didn’t remember exactly what had happened in the temple, but he knew the warrior had saved his life and his sanity and he remembered his arms around his shoulders, his silent protection. Late in the nights, they talked. 

They talked about Medjai training and Oxford. They talked about what they had seen of the world. They talked about their family, Ardeth’s grandfather and uncle who had led the Medjai before him and his father whom he hadn’t known, killed in battle before his birth.They talked about Jonathan and Evelyn’s parents and how their English family had never quite accepted this union and the children resulting…

One night, Ardeth even talked about why there never would be a Mrs. Ardeth Bey, something no person outside the Medjai had ever known, and Jonathan had thanked him for his trust and admitted some  youthful indiscretions, in the terms used by his Oxford peers. This night, there was no more talking but every night they sat a little closer and neither the Medjai or the O'Connell interrupted their time together, happy to see the slow progress of their dance, the seed of happiness.

************************************************************

Obi-Wan woke up.

It was the strangest thing. It felt alien, unreal. Things were definitely quite jumbled upstairs, his brain as scrambled as if he had spent a weeklong bender with what the clones pretended was alcohol, but he knew it had been longer than that, far too long. He knew he had spent more time in carbonite thant he was supposed to for their infiltration of the Citadel. Images were rushing around in his mind, and pain and anger and grief and Padme yelling and Ahsoka, tall and proud, everything a Jedi should be, and Rex’s blood on the floor and Anakin’s eyes a sickly yellow and nothing, nothing made sense.

Obi-Wan called to the Force and pushed himself into healing with the rest of his strength.

He passed out.

The next time he woke up, he could perceive people around him.

Strangers, not Force sensitive, but…friendly? Or at least, not unfriendly. But his body was still terribly weak and again, Obi-Wan called to the Force.

The third time waking was the good one.

Around him, Obi-Wan knew it was night, all souls at rest save one, at his side, and others further away. Guards, probably.

Carefully, he pushed a little in the Force and perceived no other Force Sensitive around, so he latched onto the closest person and slowly, very slowly, tipped them into sleep.

Only then did Obi-Wan open his eyes.

A stranger, dressed for the desert. Human, or humanoid…no, human.

Obi-Wan carefully stood up. Even with the healing, his steps were hesitant. How long….

He stepped out of the tent, silent as only a Jedi could be. Someone had taken his armour, and changed his clothes. He was dressed in blue like the stranger he had sent to sleep. He needed to find his armour and where he was.

But first, and most importantly, his lightsaber. He concentrated, searched into the Force, encountered a sleeping man next to the embers of a dying fire and stopped.

In the Force, not only could he perceive his own kyber crystal in his lightsaber, in another tent, but also Anakin’s lightsaber. Anakin wasn’t there, of that he was sure, the sun of his power would be impossible to miss.

Obi-Wan found his lightsaber easily and his brother’s kyber, not in Anakin lightsaber but in a strange necklace. With a shrug, he put the necklace around his neck. Evading the place where he could feel the guards, Obi-Wan stepped out of the camp.

He had only trekked two dunes when he felt Ahsoka. Strange, more powerful Ahsoka, but definitely Ahsoka. He had already understood time had passed, so when he broke into a run, he thought he would find his Grand Padawan all grown up, regal and powerful, a Knight of her own. Perhaps already a Master!

When he saw her, it was a shock.

Blue and transparent and shining, waiting for him across the dunes, compassion written on all her being.

Obi-Wan had always known he was fated for infinite sadness and he understood the time he had waited for all his life had come for him.

***************************************************************

Ardeth was the one who found him.

It had been easy to track his steps across the sand, once he had found his cousin asleep next to the covers of their strange guest, instead of standing guard.

The man was kneeling in the sand and crying. Ardeth, who already had his knife out against what he was sure was a trap, hesitated.

The man looked up and, like in the sanctuary, the Medjai took the blue of his eyes like a shock. He saw the man shoulder his pain and shake himself, with the fortitude of one who had borne too much burden too often. Then the man stood up and touched his chest.

“Obi-Wan,” he said.

“Ardeth,” the Medjai answered and Obi-Wan bowed politely.

Ardeth designated the direction they had come from, like a question, and Obi-Wan obediently started the trip back. Side by side, they walked, Obi-Wan lost in his thought, and the Medjai observing him.

It had been this man’s pain that had resonated from inside the stone.

What sort of grief could be so terrible….One day, perhaps he would know.

For now, tea and food, for the stranger and for their expedition.

They had time.

As they were approaching the first tent, Obi-Wan turned a last time and saw Ahsoka. She bowed and disappeared, probably going back to the Force, or to the New Republic, which Anakin’s children had made happen, and then his grandchildren, great grandchildren, countless generations while Obi-Wan had been prisoner in the carbonite, the module damaged, stopping him from  waking up.

Across the stars, far, far away, there were still Jedi, but what could he do, for people who thought his name was an old legend? People who weren’t even sure Anakin’s Fall and the End of the First Republic hadn’t been a legend for children, with how long ago it was?

Obi-Wan, resolutely, turned to the camp. He knew the world. Whatever the strange planet he had winded up, he was pretty sure there were people to help and things to learn. Starting with their language!

A man whom Obi-Wan had never seen but who was definitely strangely familiar, like Obi-Wan knew the shape of his soul, was running to them and he threw his arms around Ardeth, before babbling something the Jedi couldn’t understand, going beet red. Ardeth answered something, his tone firm, and put an arm around the other man’s waist in return, not letting him turn away. The other man went ever more red. 

Obi-Wan smiled. Yes, people were people, whatever the species or the era. 

The other man turned to Obi-Wan and again the Jedi had this strange impression of a resonance in the Force. The man wasn’t Force Sensitive, of that Obi-Wan was sure, but he almost could have been tipped in this direction, with just a small nudge from fate. What stayed was a strange connection, when their eyes met. 

The man bowed in a fluid movement, ceremonial and old, which was pure Jedi, like he had learned from Obi-Wan himself better than Anakin ever learned it, not interested as he was in protocol, or even in being polite. 

“Jonathan,” he said and Obi-Wan gave a bow in answer and said :

“Obi-Wan,” and the man smiled and said something he didn’t understand but which, Obi-Wan would have bet his lightsaber, meant some variations of ‘I know’.

At the side of the two men, the Jedi entered the camp and stepped into his new life. 

#star war #the mummy returns #ardeth bay #jonathan carnahan #obi wan kenobi #the clone wars #crossover #my fics

[gnarlykickflip]

just got back from star wars! spoilers below, nothing about specific events but some vague impressions and similarities to other movies if youre interested.

okay i know readmores dont show if you are scrolling on my blog so just to be sure

star wars spoilers below

alright so the movie was great imo! there was a lot packed in there… the pacing and narrative structure was creative so i expected an ending a bit earlier than what happened. there were a lot of parallels to empires yoda training scenes as expected, but without directly parroting and introduced some new spins on the force, which showed that luke had developed beyond what we last saw in return of the jedi. there were major parallels to return of the jedi that were a lot more heavy-handed, but resolved in a different way.

very beautiful visuals for much of the scenes, and i think they used some actual practical effects for some of the aliens which was gr8. outfits were good, new character designs were good.

all in all the plot was a lot less silly and more grim than the force awakens, but i would not say less optimistic, and has a similar tone to empire strikes back in that regard, which is fitting for its place in a trilogy. new problems were introduced that had not been explored before in star wars movies, which explanded the list of genres (or subgenres if youre being pedantic) that star wars represents or is influenced by.

a lot of doors were closed and loose ends tied off, but new opportunities for other characters/subplots to pay off in the next movie. some new folks were introduced who will probably become/stay relevant, and some other characters were hinted at who may appear next time.

because one conflict’s resolution was already addressed, and at least one major character died, i really dont know what to expect from the third film. i would have anticipated one of the confrontations that occurred in this movie to be the likely trilogy climax, but i feel that it was strongly closed at this point in time. i feel like they wont be able to try it again, but if they do it will be almost impossible to pull off and probably ruin the movie.

the last jedi was extremely heavy in character development. there was also occassional cussing and lowkey gore? a comparitively dark film compared with the force awakens. i do not think that someone would be able to watch it without seeing tfa, but is still watchable without seeing any of episodes 1-6.

also i had seen a pic from some art book about some alien walruses that luke harvests milk from but i expected them to be something that only appears in the background. not only did i have to watch him squeeze a giant walrus titty, but i had to watch its nasty green milk dribble down his nasty hermit beard. what the fuck. worst part of the movie.

9/10 reminded me too much of battlestar gallactica

#star wars #star wars spoilers #the last jedi #tlj #star wars the last jedi

[creativesage]

(via Solomon Darwin Takes Corporate Innovation to Rural Villages in India)

The UC professor, born into the so-called group of India’s “untouchables,” thinks one great idea can change rural lives, and is proving it with his Smart Village Movement.

By Patrick Hoge

Solomon Darwin was born in a rural village in southeast India to a family of so-called “untouchables,” a group of people designated by the Hindu religion as cursed because of sins in former lives and thus historically subject to poverty, discrimination, and oppression.

Darwin nevertheless went on to successful careers in U.S. banking and academia after his family converted to Christianity and moved to California, where he was able to get an education. He’s now a UC Berkeley professor.

“America has been extremely beautiful for me,” said Darwin, an unassuming man with jet-black hair, bushy eyebrows, beard, and mustache as well as jarringly intense eyes and a kindly voice. “The equal opportunity which I experienced in America brought me into prominence because it has given me the chance to prove myself. It’s a place where hard work can be rewarded.”

A life of comfort and ease, however, was not Darwin’s reward. Instead, Darwin has embraced personal sacrifices and threats from Hindu extremists to spread prosperity in his former homeland, particularly for those at the bottom of society.

As an academic, Darwin has become an increasingly influential promoter of U.S.-India ties, meeting with government officials up to India’s president and prime minister, and becoming the leader of a Smart Village Movement that aims to bring technological and economic development to India’s rural villages. There are some 650,000 such villages in India, and they are home to nearly 70 percent of the country’s 1.3 billion citizens.

Though virtually all of his extended family long ago emigrated to the United States, Darwin has also consistently gone back to his native village of Mori Podu on the Bay of Bengal, a town of 8,000 where he built and runs a school, an orphanage, and a hospital, all of which serve the poor and outcast, regardless of religious persuasion or social status.

“We are all blessed because of him,” said Harish Pindi, a 27-year-old Mori native who attended Darwin’s Riverside International School. He recently graduated in computer science from California State University, Northridge, and now lives in Fremont. Pindi recalled Riverside as an egalitarian oasis, and said Darwin counseled him to success when he   almost failed college.

Darwin explained his motivation to help others by quoting Abraham Lincoln’s adage that almost anyone can go through life’s challenges and succeed, but gaining power will truly test a person’s character.

“I see lot of old friends, even my own relatives, and they are so forgetful and lacking in gratitude now in America. Remember where you came from,” he said. “Even to today I am always remembering.”

This year, Darwin published two books. One, The Untouchables: Three Generations of Triumph Over Torment, is about his own family’s journey over three generations to escape caste oppression. The other, The Road to Mori: Smart Villages of Tomorrow, is about his campaign to digitally empower villages, which, over the past couple of years, has been officially adopted by two Indian states and received support from numerous universities and tech corporations like San Jose’s PayPal, Google in Mountain View, and Ericsson, Sweden’s networking and telecommunications giant.

PayPal chief technical officer Sri Shivananda, for example, dispatched staff to work with Darwin’s students in Mori interviewing local citizens about how to help them sell saris, cashews, and other goods over the internet.

Ericsson in May was touting how it has developed applications of sensor technology in Mori to help shrimp farmers improve harvests and improve water distribution.

Those efforts have already produced tangible benefits for Mori’s residents, and last year the state of Andhra Pradesh approved funding to help Darwin spread similar innovations to the rest of its 470-plus villages, said Venkatesan Ashok, India’s consul general in San Francisco.

“We saw how the villagers were thriving with the improvements that had come in,” Ashok said. “We need many Solomon Darwins to make change in India.”

Andhra Pradesh has given Darwin the honorary title of chief innovation officer. In June, the state of Arunachal Pradesh near the Himalayas in the northeast followed suit with its own deal to develop Smart Villages, shortly after Darwin hosted state officials in the Bay Area and introduced them to executives at PayPal’s headquarters. Darwin is now planning a trip with UC Berkeley students for next year.

Throughout, Darwin has continued to raise money for his school, hospital, and orphanage he started in Mori, relying heavily on church and service groups, like Rotary clubs, which have provided cash, materials, and volunteer services.

Vivek Wadwha, a distinguished fellow at Harvard Law School and Carnegie Mellon University’s College of Engineering at Silicon Valley, said what Darwin has accomplished both personally and professionally is “incredible.”

“These are complete extremes,” said Wadwha, who met Darwin about a decade ago through another academic but did not know until recently that Darwin was born into India’s Hindu underclass. “You are talking about going from the poorest of the poor in India to the height of academia in Silicon Valley. How does that happen? He didn’t hit the lottery. He worked his way to where he is.”

Darwin was born a member of India’s scavenger caste, the members of which have historically been expected to take jobs like cleaning public toilets and sewers, burying the dead, or working virtually as indentured rural slaves. Such “untouchables,” also called Dalits by activists, are among an estimated 200 million people that the government designates as “scheduled castes,” and though affirmative action programs exist and discrimination was officially banned when India adopted its constitution in 1950, prejudice remains, economic opportunities are often limited, and incidents of oppressive violence continue. Deaths of Dalit men manually cleaning out sewage equipment have been commonplace in recent years, for example, even though the practice was outlawed in 2013, and inter-caste marriage provokes killings.

Fortunately for Darwin, he had a remarkable role model of resilience and entrepreneurism in his grandmother, a woman known as Subbamma, who rejected caste distinctions, converted to Christianity and ran restaurants, a lace-making export business and a community bank while also acting as schoolteacher and midwife to countless local children.

“Entrepreneurship is a liberator. That’s what my grandmother proved,” Darwin said.

Opportunity proved nonexistent for Darwin’s academically inclined father, however. He could not find a job despite completing an advanced degree in marine science — a fact he attributed to caste discrimination.

Incredibly, Darwin’s father eventually got hired by the Scripps Institution of Oceanography in La Jolla, and after four years’ separation, Darwin and his mother joined him in La Jolla. The family later relocated to San Bruno.

Equipped with at best a fifth-grade education, Darwin was overwhelmed by culture shock and depression. He tearfully pleaded his way into community college, working as a janitor at the school. Three years later, he transferred to San Francisco State University, where he got a bachelor’s degree, proceeding then to get an MBA from Golden Gate University in San Francisco.

Darwin got a job as a financial analyst for Motorola Inc. in San Mateo, worked at a bank in Tulsa, Okla., and then got a job at Glendale Federal Bank in Southern California working as a cost accountant in a crowded basement in a warehouse-like building. In his spare time, he wrote a report identifying how to cut costs.

The report made its way to the bank’s president, who pulled Darwin from obscurity and sent him to Harvard University for an executive training program. When Darwin returned in 1984, he was named corporate controller for GlenFed and given a corner office with a stunning view of the Glendale hills and spreading metropolis.

Darwin bought some nice suits. He worked a lot, went to church, bought a large new house.

Then, in 1988, Darwin’s grandmother died, and the trajectory of Darwin’s life again changed dramatically. Subbamma had come in her twilight years to live near relatives. In her final days, she asked Darwin to take her body back to Mori Podu for burial. Darwin told her he could not commit to making that journey, as he was very busy, but his boss urged him to go.

S

o in 1988, Darwin traveled with Subbamma’s embalmed body by airplane, rail, truck, rickshaw, and finally in a small boat poled by hand across the Godavari River.

Darwin had not been back to Mori Podu since the age of 15. When the boat carrying Subbamma’s casket landed at the water’s edge, hundreds of people were waiting for her arrival. One held a sign in Telugu reading “Subbamma, a friend of the poor.”

Upon returning to the United States, Darwin sold his big house and moved into a communal home for Christian missionaries in Pasadena, where he shared a room with four other men. He sent his savings to Mori to begin rebuilding Subbamma’s mud hut school.

On the professional front, Darwin continued to advance, ultimately becoming a senior vice president of corporate finance for Bank of America in San Francisco. But when the bank was sold to NationsBank and the headquarters was moved to Charlotte, N.C., Darwin resigned. He had fallen in love with a ballet dancer of Swedish descent whom he met at his church, and the two got married and moved to Mori to supervise construction of the school and an orphanage on land Darwin bought when an upper caste farmer had a heart attack and needed money. It opened in 1996 and today serves nearly 800 students a year. The nearby medical center Darwin built similarly sits on land from which Darwin recalled being chased as a child by an upper caste man who yelled that he was unclean.

Darwin moved back to Southern California when his wife was going to give birth. He was broke and exhausted, but one day received a call from former Harvard Business School professor Ken Merchant, who had tracked him down to offer him a teaching position at the Marshall School of Business at the University of Southern California. Elated, Darwin worked at USC for nine years, where Merchant said he was an outstanding teacher, before joining the faculty at UC Berkeley.

Today, Darwin and his wife, with whom he has three children, live in Pacifica. He is executive director of the Garwood Center for Corporate Innovation, part of Haas’ Institute for Business Innovation.

From that perch, Darwin teaches about business innovation, hosts conferences to promote U.S.-India commerce, the most recent being in September, and supervises student research aimed at using technology and global trade to develop villages around the world, where 3.4 billion live.

“I’m very excited about the work I’m doing. Otherwise, I would be depressed. Most of my life, I’ve had a lot of setbacks. At times, I have not wanted to live anymore,” Darwin said. “At this moment, God has blessed me to a point where I can give something back.”

It’s not all roses, Darwin is quick to point out. Caste and intersectarian tensions in India remain, with violence and other outrages occurring regularly. Despite his own accomplishments, Darwin feels discrimination from Hindus in India and in the Bay Area.

Darwin’s name has even appeared on a Hindu radical target list.

As a result, Darwin said he is careful about broadcasting his whereabouts when he’s in India, and his goal is never to inflame opposition, though he has taken stands at times to ensure staff at his school treat students equally regardless of caste.

“I want to live peaceably with everyone and work with everyone no matter who they are,” he said.

[Entire article — click on the title link to read it at Oakland Magazine.]

***

We’re glad that “new Silicon Valleys,” or place-specific innovation centers, are growing all over the world, at least in terms of innovation and the development of creative economy ecosystems — and we would love to visit them all! We all learn best by exchanging ideas across cultures and industries. We fully support complete diversity in the workplace, and overcoming the inequality challenges that are still too prevalent in our world.

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At Creative Sage™, we design high impact, customized creativity, innovation, and leadership programs, and we are now offering related tours, events, corporate retreats, and workshops in wonderful urban and rural settings that will spark your imagination — and your team’s — to come up with brilliant ideas and plan how to implement new innovations in services, products, your organization’s business model, operations, or in any other area. We also design programs for specific areas and markets, such as health care and health-related travel.

We use the latest in value-tested creativity and innovation techniques and processes; and we select world-class facilitators and partners to help your organization gain lasting value from your experience working — and playing — with us. Creativity and innovation processes could include design thinking, business model canvas, arts-based, interactive creativity activities, lateral thinking, gamification, World Cafe, or other proven methods.

We also work on workplace culture issues, leadership challenges, handling transitions, and building resilience in organizations and individual clients. You’ll be able to see first-hand how Silicon Valley companies create a culture of creativity and innovation, and you’ll be able to talk with their leaders. We’ll arrange a customized tour for you that addresses your organization’s issues.

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***

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[cult-of-death-blog]

Garden Dwarves and House Spirits by Claude Lecouteux

The impression that we have of dwarves from fairy tales is essentially based upon nineteenth-century folk literature. In fact, once upon a time they were a fantastical people that lived in wild and uncultivated regions, some of whom entered into the service of lords or heroes.

According to the Poetic Edda, dwarves were originally born out of the decomposing body of Ymir, the primordial giant, although the traditional accounts are hardly unanimous. These children of Ymir who created a race in their image were named Móðsognir and Durinn. They were not the only ones, however, since the gods took Ymir’s skull to use as the celestial vault, set it atop four columns, under each of which they placed a dwarf. These dwarves bear the names of the four cardinal points: Norðri, Suðri, Austri, Vestri.

In the tenth century, the various Germanic terms for a dwarf—such as Old High German zwerc, Old Norse dvergr, and Old English dweorg—were portmanteau words that concealed all manner of figures from folk mythology. The names designate elves as well as nightmares, howlers, fauns, satyrs, ogres, goblins, and brownies. The dwarf’s own image suffers as a result of this, and a number of its actions can only be explained in the light of such conflations.

The first dwarf turns up in medieval German literature between 1023 and 1050, but other non-literary evidence exists to show that dwarves were present long before this. As a result, it becomes apparent that the medieval romances drew upon folk traditions, among other things.

In this same geographical region, the Heldenbuch (Book of Heroes), printed in Strassburg around 1483, puts a Christian spin on the earlier mythological material when it relates how God peopled the earth that he had just created. God first made dwarves to develop the earth; afterward he created the giants whose duty it was to protect the dwarves against the then teeming population of dragons. But the giants turned treacherous and began oppressing the dwarves, at which point God created heroes to restore and keep secure His order. Another very old text, the thirteenth-century Middle High German translation of the Magnificat, says: “God distributed the demons among the entire earth. In the waters and mountains lived the Nixies and the Dwarves, in the forests and swamps the Elves, the Thurses, and other spirits.” We should note that an Icelandic tale collected in the nineteenth century, Huldumanna genesis (The Origin of the Hidden Men), made dwarves the children of Eve. Because they were unwashed, Eve hid them from the eyes of God, who then decreed: “Whatever should be hid from my sight should also be hid from that of men.” These children were therefore invisible: they dwelt in the hills and mountains, in holes, and among the rocks.

Illustration by Helen M. Armstrong, from “The Peasant and the Brownies,” Swedish Fairytales, 1901.

There are three major types of dwarves in the Germanic regions. The first is the old, bearded figure, who is somewhat rare but whose existence is attested to by the figure of Alberich in the Nibelungenlied; this type of dwarf is ubiquitous in folktales and, much later, in European gardens. Next, there is the extremely beautiful child, a type for which the sole evidence is found in the thirteenth-century epic romance Ortnit, but this depiction actually corresponds with that of an elf. Finally, there is the figure of the dwarf knight, which appears quite frequently and is a diminutive version of a human hero.

Dwarves reside in hollow mountains, have hierarchical systems and families, and their society is similarly structured to that of humans. Like human beings, dwarves fall prey to their passions, wage war, become jealous, and so on.

Originally, the dwarf had no set size, but rather could transform at will to whatever size he desired. Furthermore, we constantly come across expressions in the Middle Ages like “little dwarf” or “miniscule dwarf,” as if it was necessary to indicate that a given dwarf was a small or tiny figure. The small size of the dwarf undoubtedly stems from the influence of the scholarly tradition regarding the pygmies, which were called Trispithames because they measured three spithames, in other words, around three feet tall. Generally speaking, dwarves measured between two to four feet in height.

The dwarf possessed the strength of twelve to twenty men, which is sometimes explained by their ownership of magic objects such as a belt, a helmet, or a ring.

As a cave dweller and a subterranean inhabitant of wild and rocky places, the dwarf knew all the secrets of nature: the virtues of plants, waters, and minerals. For this reason, he is an excellent smith, although the weapons that he manufactures under coercion—often after having been captured—turn out to be malevolent in nature. He can go wherever he pleases in the blink of an eye, knows the future, is the keeper of great wealth, and sometimes kidnaps women to be his brides. His hereditary enemies are dragons and giants. In Germanic mythology, dwarves and giants often bear the same name, and giants have dwarves for sons. A figure like Regin, the smith who took in the young Siegfried, was even described as a giant with the size of a dwarf. Again it becomes apparent that “dwarf” and “giant” do not connote the size of the creatures they designate; these are the generic names of mythological races.

Names That Speak

Thanks to the names of dwarves, we are able to see that these creatures are regularly confused with elves—one is named Gandálfr, for example, which literally means “Elf with the magic wand.” Elves are typically craftsmen and more especially smiths, and we find dwarves with names like Sindri (“Spark Sprayer”), or even simply Brokkr (“Blacksmith”). The harmful nature of dwarves is evident from names like Alþjófr (“Master Thief”), Ginnar (“Deceiver”), Þráinn (“Threatener”), Dori (“Damager”), Eitri (“Poisonous One”), or Mjǫðvitnir (“Mead Wolf”). They know magic, as is evident in such names as Galarr (“Enchanter”) or Finnr, Fiðr (“Finn,” i.e., Sámi or Laplander, a people who were regarded as sorcerers). Their physical nature is displayed in such names as Dúfr (“Twisted”), Bǫmburr (“Fatty”), Hárr (“Hoary”), and Blindi (“Blind”). This last name refers to a very specific characteristic of dwarves: the sun blinds and petrifies them. Undoubtedly even more interesting are the names that clearly show that dwarves represent a mythical vision of the dead, or, at the very least, that they have a very close bond with the dead. 

Here are several of them: Dáinn (“Died”), Nár and Náinn (both meaning “Corpse”), Frosti (“Cold”), Funinn (“Decomposed”), Dvalinn (“Torpid”), Hornbori (“Pierced by a Horn”), Haugspori (“The One Who Enters the Burial Mound”) and Búinn (“Ready for- Departure,” i.e., for burial). To this list we can also add Nýi (“Dark”) and Niði (“New Moon”), since this planetary body is that of the deceased, and Ái (“Ancestor”), which clearly indicates the transformation of the dead into dwarves. Furthermore, the natural habitat of the dwarves is the lithic realm, which is of course that of the deceased. We should note that the malevolent dead (those who experienced a premature, violent, or unusual death) become dwarves and revenants. The good dead, as I have shown in another study, Fantômes et Revenants au Moyen Âge, become elves. One final detail is that whoever follows a dwarf into his kingdom never returns, as is related in the legend of the Scandinavian king, Sveigdir, and, with a subtle difference, in the legend of King Herla in England, the leader of the Infernal Hunt, which is also known under the name of Mesnie Hellequin.

Freya in the cave of the dwarves.Illustration by HLM, Asgard Stories, 1901.

Dwarves are fabulous artisans who forged various instruments and objects owned by the gods: Thor’s hammer, Odin’s spear, Njord’s boat, the ring Draupnir, and Freyr’s boar. All of these items are magical. But it was dwarves, too, who crafted the grate that seals off the underworld, Hel, and the chain that shackles the wicked Loki. When they forge things for men, their wickedness comes to the fore: the weapon is baleful. As for their treasures, whoever makes off with them will die, the best example being the cursed gold in the legend of Siegfried. In short, what is predominant among the “true dwarves” is their sly and ill-scheming nature, a quality that reappears in the romance literature. It is this character attribute that distinguishes them from elves.

Household Deities

Garden dwarves have adopted some of their traits from goblins and from spirits of the mines: their red caps come from the former and their lanterns from the latter. The beard is an old attribute intended to represent their great age and therefore their erudition and wisdom. The pipe is an element that was apparently added to this figure during the nineteenth century. But the garden dwarf has another, much more profound meaning, in that it actually represents the household deity: a creature that oversaw the proper functioning of the house and the well-being of its inhabitants on the condition that they granted it their respect, gave it regular offerings of food (broth or dairy products), and made sure never to set foot in the territory reserved for it, such as a corner in the attic. There is a spirit that lives in the main house, and others reside in the outlying farm buildings. All of these spirits have various names in the Germanic countries and are characterized by their physical aspect. Names referring to objects are not uncommon, such as “Piece of Wood” (Poppele) or “Block” (Butz); these beings were originally amorphous and gradually were given human features. In earlier times they were certainly idols. Their generic names may also refer to anthropomorphic features., such as Junge (“Youngster”), Kerlchen (“Little Fellow”), Männchen (“Little Man”), or, in the case of Grieske and Schrättli, connote the idea of deformation. They can refer to their color (which may be gray, white, or red), or a distinctive feature of their dress, such as Hödeken (“Little Hood”), Blauhösler (“Blue Pants”), or Stiefel (“Boots”); or simply their vague and indefinite nature such as Umg’hyri (“Disturbing Monster”) or Spuk (“Phantom”).

The majority of these spirits are of male gender and their names, which are quite often diminutives, suggest the notion of their small size as well as that of familiarity and affection. Beyond the aforementioned sorts of names, we come across those that simultaneously designate spirits, deities, and the dead who are predisposed to smoothly running households.

A house can have one or more spirits. When they are numerous, a family of spirits may be involved, although this notion seems due to a contamination with the dwarves. A Frisian account relates how a poor peasant finally managed to finish building his house thanks to the gifts from his neighbor. To ensure his good fortune, he invited the Puke [spirits] to live with him. They soon arrived to inspect the new house, and danced about it until one of them, about three inches high, decided to stay there and chose a hole in the beam for his home.

Typically, each individual building of a homestead is inhabited by its own spirit. This explains the multiplicity of names that we find for these spirits in a single geographic area.

These spirits that we see today, frozen in our gardens and reduced to the status of simple decorations, are the misunderstood vestiges of a former time when they were vitally alive and participated in the lives of men. They have lost their names and are now little more than generic dwarves. Since men no longer believe in them, and because our habitat has profoundly changed, they have abandoned us—they no longer perform any domestic duties, and, with their disappearance, part of a dream has vanished.

(Translated by Jon Graham)

A version of this article originally appeared in La Grande Oreille 35 (2008): 52–55. For publication in English, it has been slightly expanded in collaboration with the author.

Selected Works by Claude Lecouteux on This Theme:

Claude Lecouteux. Nos bons voisins. Nains, elfes, lutins, gnomes, kobolds et compagnie, textes réunis, présentés et annotés. Paris: Corti, 2010. ———. Les nains et les elfes au Moyen Âge. 3rd edition. Paris, Imago, 2004. ———. Eine Welt im Abseits. Studien zur niederen Mythologie und Glaubenswelt des Mittelalters. Dettelbach: Röll, 2001. ———. “Zwerge und Verwandte.” Euphorion 75 (1981): 366–78

[izloveshorses]

Alrighty so while I’m thinking about it here’s basically every element from Beauty and the Beast that I adored

can I say how surreal it was to be in a theater packed with young girls of all ages wearing yellow dresses with their Belle barbies 

not to mention all the adults and people my age who’ve been singing Be Our Guest for eternity were all so excited 

it was almost like when The Force Awakens came out and Star Wars was alive again and everyone, old and new generations of fans, gathered together.... ya know what I’m talking about? where everyone in the room is buzzing with anticipation

the CGI wasn’t as terrible as y’all thought, y’all need to have a little faith sometimes lol

the casting was excellent!!

i know people have mixed feelings about Emma Watson playing Belle but I honestly wouldn’t have casted it any other way. She’s always been a women’s rights activist, a bookworm and a thinker, and a strong role model for young girls. and her favorite princess was always Belle I mean come on. and her singing voice was so incredible!! that was what I was most looking forward to in this movie and it did not disappoint

she also said in a buzzfeed interview that she imagines Belle would open the Beast’s library to the public and start a school!!! How rad is that?? HEADCANON ACCEPTED 

shout out to Dan Stevens for waltzing in 10 inch stilts while wearing a 40 pound body suit 

ok Luke Evans and Josh Gad must’ve thought they were in Dirty Dancing because they had the time of their lives

and Luke was pretty attractive. just sayin

overall, the cast was really diverse! not one but two interracial couples! and in general there were a lot of poc in the village featuring a wonderfully sweet librarian dude

Everything about Belle’s character was fantastic I’m not kidding

i think the town had such a consistent routine that she could precisely time when the morning rush started?

despite the village blatantly gossiping about her she was still so nice and polite to everyone

so??? much??? sass??? it was unreal??? When Gaston asked why she wouldn’t go out to dinner with him he assumed she had plans but she was just like “No...” and she didn’t even explain further how freakin savage she shot that boy down

(a few more examples bc this girl was on fire) “Why would I be startled? I’m talking to a candle” and “Is that a joke? are you making jokes now?” and my fav “’Maybe you just haven’t met the right man?’ ‘It’s a small village Gaston, I’ve met them all’”

this is Elizabeth Bennet level Jane Austen would be proud

they touched on how women were expected to have kids in their late teens/early 20s and she’s like “screw that” yeah girl smash that patriarchy

how on earth did it take me 17 years to realize she’s considered odd because she’s the only literate girl in the whole village???????? how did I, a history buff obsessed with the French Revolution, never make that connection before???? this isn’t specific to the new film but still I applaud it good job disney

she was an inventor!!! i don’t know if i’ve ever been happier than when i saw her solving equations and tinkering and making a washing machine so she can read and get chores done simultaneously. emma totally had something to do with this decision absolutely no doubt

she doesn’t ride her horse sidesaddle and that was like a huge faux pas for ladies back then (again, smashing the patriarchy one step at a time)

SHE WAS TEACHING ANOTHER SMOL GIRL HOW TO READ!!! THAT’S SO IMPORTANT AND PRECIOUS I’VE BEEN UNABLE TO THINK OF ANYTHING ELSE SINCE THAT MOMENT

she planned to escape the castle from the beginning and was really creative about it, and no matter what she always found some sort of weapon lying around lol (a random stick, a chair, a pitcher Belle what would you do with that) but she was always prepared to defend herself with somewhat of a plan and attempt at thinking ahead

She was really curious about the curse and asked questions about it to figure out this mystery herself

she was always problem-solving and trying to find a solution to situations and that was so cool girls need to see that strong female leads aren’t always the ones that can fight, but girls with wit and bravery

there was lots of nice background info on characters that otherwise wouldn’t exist, like Belle’s mom’s death, why Maurice chose to stay in that boring village and Adam’s dad being a jerk and turning him into a monster (no pun intended)

Mrs Potts giving us a reason why the entire castle was cursed, not just Adam. They didn’t do anything to stop Adam’s dad from corrupting him and man that’s some heavy stuff

I feel like each character, especially the servants, were so much richer and stronger and more complex, and the stakes were higher bc each time a rose petal fell they became less and less human

even the enchantress had a name and she was gorgeous?

they went pretty dark in this one... like something caused that tree to fall in Maurice’s path and back into an upright position. the wolves wouldn’t cross the gates because of some boundary. the way the whole castle shuddered with each drop of a pedal. i could go on... and the added character depth really helped that dark stuff too

THE MUSIC!!!! WAS SO GOOD!!! I’ve had the album on repeat for.... four days now and I’m not sick of it yet?? please send help

seriously, they did an amazing job. it was perfectly balanced w both old an new songs, and neither of them overshadowed the other. each song got it’s spotlight, they honored the old ones while including new original ones that were awesome (cough forevermore cough cough)

Gaaaaaastonnnnnnnnnnnn omg that sequence was awesome. honestly i think everyone in the theater tapped their foot when he was stomping and dancing on the tabletops

Belle was really good too to me because i’m a nerd for that set design

Days in the Sun is extremely underrated!! but yes, Forevermore is breathtaking it’s growing on me more and more each day

lots of rotating cinematography and spinning i’m a nerd i love it

the costume and set design.... holy crAP it’s stunning

i read somewhere that Belle’s casual getup has large pockets for her books and she has part of her skirt pinned up so she can ride Philipe easier and that’s beautiful

each scene was packed with tiny details that most movie makers overlook and I’m so impressed???? not just visually but there were so many sounds that truly made it feel real like in the village I’d occasionally hear a crying baby or a dog barking or just constant chatter and that’s stuff you’d expect to hear in a crowded village square

the little twinkling lights during the ballroom dance was probably my favorite i may have cried

No one ever say anything bad about Belle’s dress again IT WAS SO GORGEOUS it floated across the floor like a bundle of sunshine

and there were so many details in that scene? did anybody notice her gold earrings she wore they were wonderful

her hairstyles throughout the whole movie were so cute (esp at the end with that updo!! and that pretty flower dress I need it)

the historical accuracies??? unreal??

so much baroque architecture with all of the elaborate gold designs ahhh i love it

half of it looked like a rococo painting, the other half a neoclassicism painting

girls weren’t allowed to be educated so that’s why Belle was hated so much--and so cool--and ohhhh my mind is blown why did i not understand this until now

lol a giant chunk of France was illiterate at the time too so LeFou realizing that halfway through trying to spell Gaston was hilarious

actually the mob song in general is scarily accurate. what starts with a small discomfort turns into irrational fear which turns into extremism in crowds and they did the stupidest things like “hey there’s a monster that we’ve never seen or heard of and it’s never attacked us before but LETS KILL IT” seriously the French loved mobs

they included a lot more intimate moments w Belle and the Beast to build up their relationship more carefully 

Belle almost in tears when she was in that library because honestly same girl

my favorite moment in the entire movie, although small, was when they were in the library during “Something There” and she just kept grabbing book after book and he was walking behind her holding this massive stack that was so cute

honorable mentions: when the Beast shook his head like the horse omg. and I freaking cackled when he threw that giant snowball at her face

when they were in Paris, and Belle figured out that her mother died of the plague and she said “let’s go home”

she just rode off while still wearing her ball dress

“no time to change gotta go save my pa i’m keeping this btw”

and then she strips down to her undergarments because they’re about to go after Adam and that’s the final straw nobody messes with him under her watch she has to save him and, sorry, but she won’t let a big bulky dress get in the way of that despite how beautiful it is

Belle participated in the climax fight scene she was not taking any of Gaston’s crap

and then Adam was like “stay there I’m coming” and she completely ignored him so she could step in if he needed her

“I am not a Beast”

the transformation scenes were amazing

LeFou’s character arc was surprisingly great! and I support him and his boyfriend

that one growl at the end... you know the one... I’m very confused why was that so sexy is that bad

there were so many moments where i got goosebumps and sudden tears from the swelling of the orchestra or a certain chilling line and i was just so moved by this movie

in every showing that i went to there was a massive applause from the crowd and i love it you deserve it disney

I'm running out of adjectives

There was hardly an aspect that I disliked. Maybe more of Mrs Potts would’ve been nice, maybe Belle asking Adam to grow a beard was a little strange, maybe Ewan could work on his French accent a little more (don’t get me wrong I love this man but it could use a little more work... other than that his acting was superb). my complaints stop there! I honestly loved this film so much and I’d been pumped since I first heard about it back in 2015. It didn’t disappoint! that means a lot coming from a person who had insanely high expectations for it.

#I'm sorry i saw it 3 times in one weekend so i had a lot of time to think about this and the list kept growing #but if i see another person calling belle a furry or saying she has Stockholm syndrome will fight #i think I've listened to the entire album at least 20 times today #AND I KNOW SHE'LL NEVER LEAVE ME #EVEN AS SHE FADES FROM VIEWWWW #i think i'm going insane #batb #batb spoilers #disney #emma watson #I'm sorry again bc my thoughts are a jumbled mess lol so it's not quite in complete chronological order #beauty and the beast #beauty and the beast 2017 #batb 2017 #personal