#anyway! i have returned from war! funny archives be upon ye

[visit-ba-sing-se]

My dreams are broken (but my promises I keep)

“I see so much pain, cruelty and grief. I see so many lives tossed way. And there is nothing I can do about it. Nothing but watch. And shine my light on them, hoping that they feel I am there.” My humble contribution to the last day of @yuekiweek, a fic for the prompt moon in which Yue and Suki talk a lot and feel less lonely afterwards.

Even the sky was empty tonight. Suki was sitting on the hard floor of her cell, looking up to the small window.  She had been trying to meditate, but the only thing she had archived so far was feeling even worse than before.  “You know, I like it better when I can see you,“ she said into the heavy silence, still staring upward. “It makes me feel a bit less alone. And I am very, very lonely right now.“ 

Suki shook her head. Probably this was it. She was finally going insane. Talking to the moon. Or, more likely, herself. She did not even know which option was worse. She had been trying so hard for so long to keep herself together. She had forced herself to train every day since she knew that it would help her focus, but it had gotten harder and harder to tell what exactly she was training for. In the beginning, of course she had though about breaking out a lot. Made plan after plan, went through possibility after possibility in her head. Only to then damn each of them inoperable. It was not that she minded a risk, but the longer her imprisonment here lasted, the clearer it had become to her that the only way out would be a way into death. And she was not ready to die. Not yet. And then there was this small part of her that still hoped her friends would somehow come and help her break out from here. It was unrealistic, but she had to hold onto it. Even though that got harder with every passing day. Not because she was doubting them, but they did not even know she was here. Also, they probably had way bigger problems themselves. If they were even still alive. Suki had heard that Ba Sing Se had fallen to the fire nation. All the guards had been drunk that day from celebrating. Even the warden had displayed something that could have been called “a good mood.“ And there had been even worse rumors. Normally, Suki was quite good at shutting them out of her conscious. But now, in this strange moonless night, they started creeping back in with a force that they had never had before. “You know, it gets lonely at the sky as well sometimes.“  Suki jumped up instantly, moving into a fighting stance without any conscious thought. She did not even know who she had been expecting to see in front her, but all expectations would have been proven wrong anyway. In front of her stood the most beautiful girl she had ever seen. Only that she was not standing there but…hovering slightly above the floorAnd she seemed to be glowing. Suki had never seen a spirit before, but she was convinced that either she was doing so now, or had started having visions. Could it be…“Yue?“

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you Suki.“ The girl, if you could even call her a girl given the fact that she was a spirit, smiled. “I had wondered if you would recognize me.“ ”Oh, Sokka told me about you. I mean, he told me about a princess from the north who he was supposed to protect. But who gave up her life as human to save her people. And became the moon spirit.“ Suki knew that she was talking too fast, and that she definitely was not saying the right things. Not only was this very unusual for her, she also had no idea how to stop. “And the sky was empty tonight. So I figured that if I have a visitor who is very obviously a spirit due to floating and and shining in a white light, it should be you,“ she therefore continued, and then quickly added: “And I am very happy to meet you too. I just wasn’t aware you could-….“ “Leave the sky?“ Luckily,  Yue was still smiling. In order to avoid saying anything that could change that, Suki simply nodded. “I did not know either, but it seems that during new moon, I can.“ She shrugged. “I am still learning a lot about my role, but also my abilities. It is not like anyone or anything prepares you for this.“ Her face changed as she continued, now with a certain sadness in her eyes and voice. “But I guess that is true for the most of us. No one prepared Aang to be the Avatar and fight the firelord either, but he is doing it as well.”  Despite her serious words, Suki felt something warm growing in her chest. She told herself to not give into it to quickly, but just could not help it. “He is? So he Is alive?“, she blurted out, both afraid of and desperately needing the answer „I heard that Ba Sing Se was taken. And the rumor that Aang…“ Suki could not get herself to finish the sentence. She could not say that, not even in theory. But Yue did not need to hear the words to know what she meant anyway. “You are right that Ba Sag Se fell, but Aang is alive, and so is the rest.“ A small hint of her pretty smile returned. “And Appa is with them again, not least thanks to you.“ “Good. That is very….very good.“ Suki knew that good was a way to weak word to describe what she felt. It was as if a bit of the weight on her lungs had finally been lifted, so much that she could breath again. Of course it was not gone. The war was still there. She and her girls were still in prison. But now, there also was hope again. And the knowledge that it had not been all for nothing. “You know that because you are watching them from above, right?, she asked, with small part of her mind still skeptical. What if Yue was just saying this to make her feel better? “Yes. I can see everything my light reaches.“  “Wow. For someone who spends her day seeing walls and has to trust whatever gossip the guards exchange for news, that sound like a dream. “Yue took a while to respond, long enough to make Suki regret her words. “Yes, it is. In some way.“ She finally said. “In another, it is a curse.“ “A curse?“ “Yes.“ There was such pain in Yue`s eyes as she spoke that Suki wished she could cross the distance between them and embrace her. But she just stood there and listened as Yue continued: “It is not like there are only nice things to see right now. I do not think I have to tell you what the fire nation brought upon this world, you have seen plenty examples yourself.“ Of course Suki knew what she was talking about. A picture of her own home came to her mind. How it had looked after prince Zuko of the fire nation had paid it a visit. “I see villages burning in the night. I see lines of smoke I see mothers crying over their children and children begging their parents to wake up, not yet understanding that they won’t ever do that again. I see so much pain, cruelty and grief. I see so many lives tossed way. And there is nothing I can do about it. Nothing but watch. And shine my light on them, hoping that they feel I am there with them.“ Something else lit up in Yue`s eyes. Determination. Suki could not help but admire her. “Because that is what I owe them, and that is what I do. I see. I remember. I make sure no one dies alone, and no one is forgotten.“ And no one would forgotten. Suki had wondered about when the whole world would have forgotten about her here in this prison more than she ever would want to admit, but now she knew the answer. And she had gotten it without even asking. “Of course, I then also just see ordinary people sing ordinary things and all their tiny joys. And most of the time, I am happy for them. But sometimes…sometimes I just wish I was one of the again.“ Yue looked down onto her hands. It seemed like she wanted to say something else, but wasn’t sure if she should. Suki decide to take a shot in the dark and asked:  “What do you miss the most? About being human I mean?“ Yue looked up at her again, and from her face and the speed of her reply Suki could tell that she had asked the right question. “Well. My family of course. And my best friend. And eating my mother seaweed soup.“ She chuckled, a sound that reminded Suki of the flowing rivers in spring at home. “And many more of those tiny things that you just take for granted as long as your have them.“ Yue looked down at her hands again. “And then, I also miss the things I never had in first place. The things that I could have done, but didn’t.“ She sighed. “I kind of regret that I always did what I was supposed to do. I know it sounds strange, but I tried so hard to be a good princess for my tribe. I studied, I followed protocol, I even was going to marry a man I did not love. Of course, I did those things because I wanted to do them. I love my tribe. But I just never saw the other side of it all. That was least until Aang, Katara and Sokka arrived” . For a moment, Yue seemed to be lost in her memories, and Suki waited patiently for her to continue. “Katara had so much strength and righteous anger, and she  just challenged everyone and everything with no hesitation. She impressed me by a lot. And Sokka was just…Sokka. He funny and smart and just..cared about me. As person. Not as a princess. I enjoyed spending time with him a lot, and it left some impact on me. Even though he seemed to be completely blind for social conventions or protocol. Or rather especially because go that.“ She chuckled again, and  Suki now was convinced that hers had to be one of the most beautiful chuckles in the world. “ Do you know how he asked me on a date?“ “No, how?“ “He asked  if“ Yue paused, obviously fighting the urge to laugh, “if I would want to do an activity together“ Suki could not help but laugh. That really was a classic Sokka. Yue joined her in, and for a moment, things felt alright. For a very small moment, of course. Until Yue continued, again in a more serious voice: §And then, just when I was starting to experience this side of life, I was ripped away from it all. I am sorry, I am sounding completely self absorbed now.“ “No, I absolutely know what you mean.“ Suki protested, and it was the truth. “I was training to be a Kyoshi warrior since I was 8, and I have been their leader now for quite some times. Of course I take pride in that, and I love teaching the other girls and all of us supporting each other. And I believe that our cause, to protect our home and everyone else who cannot protect themselves from violence and injustice is the most important one there is.“ She took a deep breath. What she was about to say was something she had never told anyone before. No one at home. None of her new friends. Not even Sokka. But she felt that now was the moment to do so. “Still, I have always had a secret list of things that I told myself I would once the war was over. Other girls from my town went out to dance while I worked on perfecting a move. I handed out food in a refugee camps instead of spending my afternoon in a teashop with friends. And I told myself that, once the work was done, once I had did my duty, once the war was over, I would do all those things as well. And now I am trapped here in this prison, not knowing if I will ever see anything else but brickwalls again.“ Suki looked Yue in the eyes and saw that she understood. And it felt so good to tell someone who did. “Not that I regret any of my choices. I just wish I would not have had to make them. I do not mind being a warrior. I just wish I had had a bit more time to be a girl, too.“ 

“Don’t talk like that.“ Yue had taken a step toward her, raising her right hand and looking determined.  “You will have that time to do that. You will get out of here,“ she said in a voice that did not allow any protest. “Say it,“ she then demanded as Suki remained quiet.

“What?“ “Say: I will make it out of here.“ Suki wondered if Yue was joking, but everything about her attitude spoke against that. She decided to do her the favor, even if she knew that the opposite was way more likely. “I will make it out of here.“ The words tasted strange in her mouth. But, in a way she did not understand, saying them made them more real. And not just saying them, but saying them to someone. Someone who would care if she would stick to them or not. “I will make it out of here,“ she said again, this time with a firmer voice. Somehow, that felt good.Yue nodded and smiled a smile that alone would be enough to light up the sky not only during night, but also day. “And then you would have to visit the north! You have to see our spirit festival.“ Even though Suki would have believed it to be impossible, her smile got even brighter. ”And our food is good, too! You can ask Sokka about that.“ “You know, I will visit the north. But only if you meet me there.“ Suki grinned, around of her now idea. “Aang told me about the spirt Oasis.“ Yue looked first surprised, than happy. “That sounds like plan.“ “So we have a deal?“ “We have a deal.“ One more small moment that Suki just wished she could capture. And that ended way to fast. “But now, I am afraid that I cannot stay much longer. And you need sleep.“ “Can’t you stay a bit longer? Just a little?“ Suki knew that Yue couldn’t. But sometimes the things you knew and the things you wanted to realize were very far away from each other. Yue shook her head, and Suki could see in her eyes that she wanted to leave as little as she wanted to let her go. Suki told herself to cut it. She was only making things harder fro the both of them. “You are probably right. I just do not want to be so alone“ “I understand that. I do. But Suki, I am with you, always. Even you can’t see me. Please remember that.“ “Yue reached out, and Suki could nearly feel the hand on her shoulder. She wanted to close her own hand around it, knowing very well that that would be impossible. And even if it was, she did not even know if Yue would like that. Instead she just sat there, wishing that this moment would last, while the same time knowing that it would not. “Will you still come back?“, she finally asked, more afraid of the answer than she wanted to admit. “I will. The next time I can leave the sky.“ “Promise?“ “I promise. Now sleep well.“ Suki nearly would have said „you too“, but caught herself quick enough. She wanted to think of something else to say. Something meaningful. But then, in the blink of an eye, her cell was already empty again.

Only that it was not the same, hostile emptiness from before. It was still filled with Yue`s  presence, her words were still hanging in the air. “I am with you, always“, she had said. And Suki believed her. btw it is on ao3, too! (maybe küddos? böökmarks?)

#yueki week #avatar yue #suki #yue #yueki #avatar #Avatar The Last Airbender #avatar fanfiction #please give this some love I worked hard #there is no self indulgence in ba sing se #my writing #also from now on I am gone till next week Monday #if you see me no you did not #still if you better ideas for the title I am being you to tell them #and es I listened to the moonlight sonata writing this #yuekiweek #yuekiweek 2020

[theradioghost]

So I’ve realized recently that I actually really really like podcasts when my audio processing isn’t acting up (thanks tma!) and was wondering what recs you have for completed podcasts. I’m cool with basically any genre and theme, though I would appreciate a warning for tragedy. Thanks for your time!

Of course! I’ll put this one under a cut just so the length is a bit less ridiculous.

Some of my favorite completed shows are

Wolf 359 – a scifi comedy about four squabbling coworkers on a malfunctioning, isolated space station which then takes a hard right into a spectacular, heartwrenching drama. Not a tragedy, but many tears are shed when listening. Probably one of the best podcasts out there tbqh.

Ars Paradoxica – a modern physicist accidentally invents time travel, landing her back at the start of the Cold War and changing the course of history forever. The creators literally described it as “a tragedy” and they weren’t lying, although the finale is sort of hopefully bittersweet.

The Hidden Almanac – a grouchy professor in a plague doctor mask offers bite-sized pieces of history and hagiography from his fantastical world as well as gardening advice, occasionally interrupted and/or dragged off on unwilling shenanigans by his tequila-loving accidental necromancer best friend coworker. Fantasy writer/artist Ursula Vernon and her husband put this 4-minute show out three times a week for SEVEN YEARS, and it’s funny and cozy and poetic and can be found in full here, as there are too many episodes for most podcatchers to display.

Alice Isn’t Dead – lesbian Americana road-trip horror. A cross-country trucker searches for her missing wife while monsters and conspiracies pursue her across the vast empty and abandoned spaces of America. Actually also exists in novel form.

The Bright Sessions – records from the office of Dr. Bright, a therapist who specializes in people with strange and secret abilities. However, her patients aren’t the only ones with secrets. Personally this show never completely absorbed me like some others did, but the character writing is genuinely amazing. The story obviously also deals a lot with mental illness and some other difficult topics and content.

Our Fair City – the eight-season saga of the inhabitants of a post-apocalyptic underground city ruled over by the remnants of an insurance company, featuring mole people, lightning-harvesting sky sailors, giant ants, and a found family of mad scientists among others. Part comedy, part drama, all anticapitalist satire. You kind of have to give it a couple of seasons to find its stride (this was one of the very first shows in the podcast-based audio drama revival) but it is absolutely worth it. Disclaimer that while I am on the final season of the show I have not quite finished it yet.

Jarnsaxa Rising – a unique scifi-fantasy hybrid, in which a vengeful Norse giantess escapes imprisonment with the goal of destroying the gods and bringing about Ragnarok, only to find herself in a post-climate-change dystopian future.

Glasgow Ghost Stories – a Scottish woman begins noticing the many ghosts inhabiting the streets of her city; but the ghosts have begun to notice her too, and not all of them are friendly. Pigeons are involved.

Big Data – an odd little heist comedy about a rogue journalist investigating a spectacular crime in which the “seven keys to the internet” are stolen, leading to a story about hacking in which no actual hacking is involved. There are two fun side notes to it: one, everything that happens in it could technically happen in real life. Two, it involves an absurd amount of cameos from other well-known podcasts (and also Taika Waititi?), which you don’t need to get to follow the story but which make it kind of hilarious on a whole other level when you listen to those shows.

I Am In Eskew – a surreal, intense, disturbingly poetic horror about a man trapped in a shifting, malevolent, impossible city, and a woman on the outside trying to find him. Extremely good but I do recommend thoroughly checking the trigger warnings on this one. (Surprisingly non-tragic finale, although not a typical “happy ending.”)

The Alexandria Archives – half comedy and half horror, in the form of a late-night radio show at Alexandria University, on the edge of North Carolina’s Great Dismal Swamp. Half of each episode is a standalone cosmic horror story set in and around the town of Alexandria. The other half features the antics of the university’s students, including the host MW and her friends who are definitely Canadian exchange students, and not a vampire hiding from his ex and a bunch of stranded space pirates. (A little goofy? Yes, but I love it a ton for all its faults anyway. Also, some of the short stories are genuinely terrifying.)

and also, some completed miniseries!!

The Tower – a gorgeous experimental audio drama in which a young woman decides to climb the mysterious Tower, from which no one ever returns.

Time:Bombs – a comedy by the folks who made Wolf 359 about a bomb disposal squad on New Year’s Eve, trying to survive their leader’s obsession with breaking a record.

They Say a Lot of Things – upon discovering that she can interact with a dropped tape recorder, the ghost of a young girl tells her story, interwoven with the stories of those who have passed through the abandoned house that she cannot leave over the years that she’s haunted it.

Podcaster A. R. Olivieri specializes in microfiction miniseries, ranging from scifi to experimental to fantasy. (Side note, a lot of his work crosses over with the still-running scifi podcast Girl In Space, but you don’t need to have listened to GIS to understand what’s going on in his shows.)

Nym’s Nebulous Notions – a self-declared investigative journalist decides to check out a mysterious SOS signal and finds herself on a mysteriously abandoned ship – or so she thinks. Arguably a tragedy, although not necessarily in the way you might think.

Palimpsest – technically not finished, but each season of this anthology makes up a complete 10-part story, and seasons 1 and 2 are complete. Season 1 is a ghost story about a woman who is suspicious about strange happenings in her new home and her odd new neighbors. Season 2 is a turn-of-the-century dark urban fantasy about a girl who escapes her career criminal mother’s house, taking a job as the companion to what her new employer claims is an imprisoned faerie princess. (Season 3 is ongoing and is about a codebreaker who begins seeing ghosts on London’s streets during the Blitz.) It’s a heartbreaking sort of show, albeit in a very beautiful and moving way.

The Details is a short piece about an office worker who goes in to negotiate for a promotion and finds himself negotiating with the devil himself instead. The number of genuinely surprising and excellent twists it packs into just 45 minutes is really fun.

The London Necropolis Railway – a really underappreciated little fantasy-mystery about a recently-dead detective who refuses to board the train scheduled to take her to the afterlife until one of its hapless employees helps her solve her supernatural murder.

Janus Descending – a scifi horror told in two intertwining perspectives, one in reverse order and one in chronological order, about two scientists who land on a remote planet to investigate the ruins of its lost civilization, only to encounter the thing that killed the former inhabitants. A fantastic story told in a really clever and unique way, but stamp a big old tragedy warning all OVER this one, although because of the structure you technically know how it’s going to end right from the start – what makes this show so good is how you get there. It will make you cry, though.

… and also my show, Midnight Radio, which is about lesbian romance, small towns, old radio shows, the good and bad sides of nostalgia, and ghost stories.

#Anonymous #asks #my posts #podcast recs #bobbie recommends things

[yikes-strikes-again]

rating: gen word count: 2271 tags: angst, hurt/comfort, light on the comfort part, canon compliant, the slaughter, the corruption, season 5 spoilers, episode: e163, spoilers for episode: e163, spooky eye powers             summary: Martin learns exactly what happens if Jon doesn't give his statements. Inspired by a line from episode 177. Takes place between episodes 163 and 164.

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Buried in the wreckage of the blasted wasteland, a typewriter began clicking rapidly.

With soles caked in mud, they crunched through what must have been leagues of the trenches - though, obviously, there was no way to tell. No way to tell how far they had traveled or how far they had yet to go. The Panopticon-Institute remained on the horizon, ever-distant and always looming.

The sounds of war were not far away. Once in a while, artillery fire would tear the silence apart, ripping through the walls of bunkers and causing a throbbing, painful ringing in the ears. Jon and Martin would hold onto each other for support, though often they would still fall into the wet and sloshing ground, caking their clothing in another layer of grime. But here, the danger was less immediate than it was miles ago. Slower, in wounds rather than weapons.

Countless soldiers nursed the bandaged stumps of lost limbs, ones either amputated or blown off. In the case of the former, the procedure rarely prevented infection from spreading through the victim’s veins with each beat of their heart, or cleanly excised the deepest strains of necrotized tissue. They knew this, of course. They knew that they would only get sicker, and the knowledge terrorized them even more than the certain death that lay not a meter above.

Clouds of flies thicker than pudding swarmed around the dead. Well, one hoped they were dead. It was hard to tell when everyone seemed to be on the verge of permanent collapse, either from mortal injury, illness, or an overdose of grief. It didn’t matter why - when someone laid down in this place, they never got up again.

It was calmer on this side of the trenches. Quieter. But in the quelling of the chaos, it gave Martin a chance to process how awful it all was, and that was worse.

He looked at Jon. If he had to guess, he’d say that Jon was faring worse than Martin was. There was a hard set to his shoulders, and he spoke little save to warn Martin of danger or obstacles. When he did speak, his voice was terse and irritable. Martin rarely got a glimpse of his eyes, but when he did, he saw that Jon’s pupils were erratic and searching.

Both of them had been quiet for days, weeks perhaps, ever since Jon had ranted like a madman in that bunker, surrounded by all those catatonic people. Martin didn’t understand  why  he had to do that, why he was compelled to speak of all the awful things that were already upon them, only that something bad would happen if he didn’t. He had made it clear that Jon would find no audience for his ramblings in Martin, and Jon had accommodated that thus far.

Martin stopped at the turn of the trench, finding a more gentle slope of the wall to rest his shoulder upon, though the soil was damp and rancid-smelling. He didn't feel fatigue, but his shoes were not meant for hiking, and they were uncomfortable. He was soaked to the bone, filthy, and freezing cold, and he really wanted to know when he could stop being that way.

Jon stopped so suddenly that his boots skidded on the mud and he had to sway to keep his balance.

“What is it now, Martin?”

There was no resignation to his voice, no apathy or even frustration, unlike before. Just pure, stifled anger, and the cryptic storm brewing from behind his eyes.

Martin looked at him pleadingly. “Can’t you tell me anything about how long we’ve still got to walk? At least until we get out of… this place.”

Jon sighed the sigh of a parent who had been asked “Are we there yet?” by their impatient child one too many times. “Like I said the first two thousand times, time and space  do not exist in the way they once did. When the world was whole and there existed minds who knew not of terror.” He cringed almost imperceptibly, and scrubbed at his temples with his palms. “As much as I hate to hear the phrase myself, we will get there when we  get  there.”

It felt silly to complain about someone’s bad attitude when they were in a literal hellscape, but Martin didn’t like the way he’d started speaking through gritted teeth. He wanted respite from this particular nightmare, yes, but he also wanted to know why Jon was so angry.

Martin didn’t get the sense that it would do any good to ask him, though.

He sighed. “It’s been so long.  What if we never get there? Just wandering in circles in a never-ending trench.”

“Well, Martin, we  will never get there if we keep stopping to burrow a nightmare and ceaseless frenzy.”

He paused to consider that. He figured he’d heard wrong - his hearing was still a bit muted from the gunfire. “What?”

“I said, we’ll never get there if gangrene blisters or sanguine bagpipes.”

“What?  What the hell does that mean?”

Jon made an irritated noise, then spoke slowly as if talking to someone who was very stupid. “Agony bore a bloody sickle for crushing the sleepless.”

Martin stared at him, and narrowed his eyes, gripped by a dawning horror that had nothing to do with the disease and death that surrounded him. “Jon, you’re not making any sense.”

Some of the anger faded from Jon’s expression. Then, suddenly, he clutched at his head with both hands as if in pain. His eyes widened, focusing briefly on Martin before returning to the million things that only he could see.

“Sever,” he said pointedly. And, as if spurred on by something, he continued, both voice and body shaking with intensity. “Limbs metallic see bloated warhead and vicious gas spitting cauterize through. Spleen pale cannon warhead bile where tetanus sinews. And gore and ring and soldier visceral from bodies brother teeth for rancid crimson darkness.” He spoke with such terrible certainty, as if he fully expected Martin to comprehend the meaning of every word.

The corners of Martin’s mouth became taut, but since smiling requires the pretense of happiness, he did not smile. “Listen, Jon, I know we’re both under a lot of stress, but this is a really bad way to try and lighten the mood, okay? It’s not funny. You’re scaring me.” He drew a sharp and shaking breath and released it in a hollow imitation of laughter. “What’s the matter with you, anyway? Are you just taking something out on m—”

“Chaotic laughter and screeching god.” Jon’s eyes were on him, but they weren’t looking at him. They were wild, desperate. Something awful was happening to him, something that caused him to forget how to stand, that ceaselessly filled his mind with secondhand terrors, that stole his voice and gave it to the neverending flood of words that rose like bile from his throat. “Iron hands, jettison liver, with heroic terror bullets and mottled rage buzzing, burning and lungs gone. Necrotized gurney which hell hath nuclear rot aching, whose shivering eye orders and despairs, immobile river filth screaming for prison and tear—”

“Jon, stop!” Martin pushed off the wall and stumbled over to where Jon had slipped onto the filthy earth. He shook him. “Snap out of it!”

“— off running, smoke and cloth the bacteria acrid, with hungry singing comrade forever hidden. Writhing from crater, sobbing but the fever moans flaking to clinging, melting daggers. Helpless pathway churning through exploding infinity—”

Martin was nearing his wits’ end. He dragged Jon, who went limp, into a nearby dugout, so tiny that sunlight still shone across most of its floor. He tried to block out the onslaught of babbled nonsense that somehow evoked a thousand nightmarish images as clear as day, but Jon’s voice had taken on that quality that made it impossible not to listen. He continued to shake him with repetitive, mechanical regularity, but as the words bore into his brain Martin’s movements grew weak and yielding.

Jon lay on Martin’s lap, staring far beyond the dirt ceiling. “Gorging jaws of metal death surround your blood-borne reach towards distant jargon, but surreal enemy adrenaline has harrowed pathological exaltations. Barbed manslaughter. Feeding warfare. Stinging trigger…”

His eyes fell to him for a split second. “Martin,” he said, and Martin remembered to breathe. But the moment was gone as quick as it had come, and Jon was launched into another disjointed tirade.

If the hands of his watch spun as reliably as they once had, Martin might have found that he sat crouched in that dugout for exactly six hours and thirty-four minutes, keeping Jon’s back out of the mud. But, for what it was worth, it felt like years. Jon continued his nonsensical ranting, scarcely stopping to breathe, and from the way he desperately spat the words one got the feeling that he wished he didn’t have to. His voice rose and fell at random, reaching sudden and unpredictable climaxes of raving and shouting before settling back into a listless murmur. Trying to ignore him was an exercise in futility. Every few words a new, terrible image would implant itself into Martin’s mind, and then another, and another, together weaving a tapestry of terror from the thread of Jon’s omnipotent train of thought. He couldn’t stop listening, and Jon couldn’t stop talking, so whenever Martin’s thoughts weren’t drowned out by the bile of the Beholding they were filled with despair.

Would this never end? Were they doomed to rot in this place, their minds slowly unraveled by the power of the Eye filtered only by Jon’s droning voice? Would they never move again, like all the rest in this awful place, locked in a stony embrace like some warped parody of The  Pietà?

Martin couldn’t know. But in between terrors, it was all he could imagine as tears ran down his face.

It was a small mercy that this particular fear of Martin’s wasn't due to come about just yet. The first clue was that the flood of words had slowed to a trickle. The second was that when Jon paused for breath, it was deeper and less hurried than before. His voice had lost its former vigor, and it was all Martin could hope that he had finally started to exhaust himself.

“... never respite from wretched hope… singe a coagulated daylight swarm… justice not for careening wails… farewell… slaughter,” he paused, panting. “Finished” was too hopeful a word, and his voice carried no note of finality.

But there was a blessed silence. Martin expected it to end at any moment, but it stretched on as the seconds passed. There were distant cries of war, and the sound of Jon trying to make up for the breath he’d lost, but it all faded into nothing in the presence of the euphoric silence.

Several minutes passed this way, and it was only then that Martin dared to speak with the expectation that he’d get a response.

“Jon,” he began, finally daring to make eye contact - his otherworldly gaze had been far too intense to meet, before - and found that Jon was seeing him again. “What… happened?”

He blinked at Martin. There was another silence, shorter and more deliberate than the last, but less comfortable. “I—” He cleared his throat. “I think… I just…” He grabbed his temples with both hands and winced, and Martin pulled them both out of the light.

A moment’s migraine, and Jon collected himself. “There’s just… so much. Fear. Everywhere we go, from everyone in the world. I see it all. I  feel  it all.” Martin listened passively, despair replaced by a deep frustration. He knew this, and Jon knew how he felt about being his… receptacle for it all. But he didn’t interrupt.

“We have been through a domain of The Slaughter, and are now passing into one of The Corruption. I’ve been… accumulating more and more of The Slaughter’s fear all this time, and now that we’re leaving it… I suppose it wanted me to let it out. Now or never.” He paused. “And... I  have  to let it out, willingly, or else…”

“This happens.”

Jon sighed. “Apparently.”

Martin considered this, wondering if Jon could see the tear tracks that had left clean paths down his otherwise dirty face.

“Why didn’t you just give a statement? You know…  before  it was forced out of you?”

Jon looked at his hands for a long time. Then, in a small, guilty voice, he said, “I was trying to keep it inside.”

“Keep it inside?  Why?  ”

“I thought…” He covered his mouth in the gesture of one whose face burned with shame. “I thought I could control it, if I just willed it hard enough. These trenches… too long. Too narrow. There was nowhere for you to go. I didn’t want to stop, and I didn’t want to leave you.”

Martin stopped, and he softened. “Jon.” He sighed through his nose, and placed his hand on the back of Jon’s head. Then he brought him up into an embrace. “This was worse.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he murmured into Martin’s neck.

“... I’m just glad you’re okay.”

They stayed like that for an undefinable amount of time, relishing the only avenue of comfort available to them anymore. Then, with Jon clinging to Martin for support, they climbed to their feet, and set out under the sky again, which had at some point shifted from violent red to a sickly yellow. A new understanding dawned on them both, mostly Martin, who resolved to allow Jon his space when he needed to… vent.

He only wished the knowledge hadn’t had to come from personal experience.

Something lurking in the ruins ripped the page off the typewriter, and its keys never made a noise again.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #fanfiction #horror #angst #h/c #tma season 5 spoilers #yikes original tag #yikes tma tag

[broomballkraken]

Title: Kiss Me Again, You Old Fool

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Pairing(s): Hanneman/Manuela

Word count: 3874

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Manuela is struggling with the emotional impact that the battle at Gronder had on her. She finds comfort in what others would call an unlikely source, but to Manuela, she could think of no one else she would want to help her through this difficult time.

It was a brisk, quiet night at Garrag Mach, but the cold winds of early spring could not compare to the icy chill that had settled deep within Manuela’s heart. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she wandered aimlessly through the monastery grounds, with no clear destination in mind.

A few days had passed since they had returned from their most recent march, but the horrors that Manuela had witnessed during the battle at Gronder still haunted her. She was expecting to have another sleepless night, and she thought that it would be better spent moving about outside instead of tossing and turning uselessly on her bed. The extra movement didn’t do much to distract her from her dour thoughts, however.

After wandering for a while, Manuela found herself at the fishing pond, standing at the edge of the dock. Kneeling down on the cold, damp wood, she stared at her tired reflection in the water. As the head physician for the Officer’s Academy, Manuela had seen her fair share of nasty injuries, but had managed to heal most without much difficulty. What she had witnessed at Gronder, however, was an entirely different beast.

Manuela slowly lowered a hand towards the water, her fingers twitching as she dipped them into the chilly pond. She pulled her hand back out, her eyes following the droplets of water as they rolled off of her skin.

She was suddenly back on the battlefield. Her hands were dyed crimson with the blood of a dying soldier, who pleaded with her to save him with his final breath. Screams pierced through the sounds of weapons clashing and magic bombarding the battlefield. The sickening smell of blood filled her nostrils, and the taste of bile rose up in her throat as she tried to keep herself from vomiting. War was a special kind of horror that Manuela had never experienced before, and this particular experience was one that she would have rather gone without. So much pointless death, and so many beautiful lives cut short…

The feeling of moisture on her face snapped her back to reality, and Manuela took a few shaky breaths to try and stop the tears from flowing down her face. It was a wasted effort, and she held her head in her hands, her breath catching in her throat as she tried to control her sobbing.

She didn’t know how much more of this she could take. What if the next battle was worse? Every life lost under her care made her feel more hollow inside, and she was afraid that by the end of this war, she would be left a shell of her former self.

“Manuela.”

A familiar voice hit her ears, pulling Manuela from her dark thoughts. She swallowed thickly and wiped her arm over her face, trying to clear away her tears. She glanced over her shoulder with narrowed eyes to find Hanneman standing in the middle of the dock.

“What are you doing here?” Manuela blurted out, her tone a bit more harsh than she had intended; being caught in this vulnerable position was incredibly embarrassing.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Hanneman said, moving to stand next to her, “I would have thought that you’d be drinking away your sorrows by now.”

Manuela pursed her lips and turned her head away from him. “How incredibly rude, Hanneman. Although, I really shouldn’t expect anything less from you at this point.”

“I...I’m sorry.” Manuela looked back at him with a confused eyebrow raised as she watched him fuss with his monocle. “I, er, meant that as a joke, to maybe help lighten the mood.” Manuela rolled her eyes. Hanneman was always the best at saying the wrong things at the wrong times, but nonetheless she found a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.

“Well, it didn’t quite work, but...thank you for trying.”

“Er, yes, well…” An actual smile spread across Manuela’s face as she watched a light blush settle upon his cheeks. “May I sit down?”

Manuela hesitated only for a moment before nodding her head slightly, and Hanneman sat down cross-legged beside her. They may have a reputation for fighting like cats and dogs, but to be honest, Manuela regarded Hanneman as one of her closest friends and confidants.

To any outside observer, Manuela’s relationship with Hanneman would probably be described as tolerating each other at best, and open hostility at worst. That was a good description of their relationship during their first six years of teaching at Garrag Mach together. It always seemed like they couldn’t have a normal conversation without ending up at each other’s throats for one reason or another, and Manuela didn’t think that would ever change.

She had been wrong about that, however. The school year before the start of the war had been a hectic one, to put things lightly, if her brush with death after confronting Jeritza for kidnapping Flayn and her reckless encounter with the bandits she had mistaken for the Death Knight were anything to go by. Hanneman had been a key part in saving her from both of those situations, and Manuela was surprised each time by how worried he had been about her well being.

Manuela wasn’t one to leave a debt unpaid, so to thank Hanneman for saving her life twice, she decided to make him some warm, homemade meals when she found him working late into the night. On one of those nights, she had finally asked him why he worked so hard studying crests, and his answer had surprised her. He didn’t want anyone else to suffer like his late sister had, so Hanneman had dedicated his life to finding a way for anyone to obtain a crest. Manuela thought that it was a wonderful goal, and after that night, the hostility that they normally showed each other lessened considerably.

“Manuela?”

She was pulled from her thoughts when Hanneman’s voice hit her ears again, and she turned to find him staring at her, his head tilted slightly to one side.

“Er, sorry, did you say something?”

“Yes. I was just wondering if you needed someone to talk to,” he said, his brow furrowing slightly, “You seem rather distressed about something.”

Manuela snorted and turned up her nose. “Oh? What was your first clue? The crying? Or the fact that I’m out at the fish pond of all places in the dead of night?”

His eyes narrowed into a glare. “If you do not want me here, I can leave. I am just concerned about you. You have seemed a bit distant since we returned from Gronder.” Manuela locked eyes with him for a moment before she sighed and averted her gaze.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you, Hanneman. This war is just...taking quite a toll on me.”

Hanneman’s gaze softened and he nodded. “...I know what you mean. If you need someone to listen to your troubles, I am here for you.”

Manuela let out a chuckle and her gaze drifted to the pond. It was an odd thing to admit, given their constant bickering, but Manuela always felt at ease enough to let her guard down in front of Hanneman and tell him anything. It was something that she had missed greatly over these past five years.

During those long years away from the monastery, she and Hanneman had been separated as they were assigned to different groups to search for Rhea. That time had been rough, and had left Manuela with a hollow, lonely feeling in her chest. At first, she had attributed that to the dangerous travels across Fódlan, as well as being ripped away from her life as a professor that she had grown so fond of.

However, the real reason became clear to her when she returned to Garrag Mach, on the day when the millennium festival would have taken place. Seeing most of her former students and fellow faculty members helped to fill the hole in her heart, but when she spotted that familiar gray coat, distinctive facial hair, and silly monocle, Manuela had sprinted right up to Hanneman.

With a firm smack to his arm, she had berated him for not trying to contact her all this time - even though she had been moving around so much that it wouldn’t have been possible anyway - and he retorted by saying that she should have contacted him first if she felt so strongly about it. They fell into their familiar bickering, except that all hostility that had been present in the past had been replaced with a teasing, friendly warmth. The lonely feelings that had been festering within Manuela all those years had dissipated immediately, and were replaced by something...indescribable. That’s what she had told herself, anyway.

Oh, but she knew. She knew exactly what this feeling was, but she was too stubborn to admit that she felt this way about Hanneman of all people. The man who had been by her side through some of the hardest moments in her life, and whose comforting embrace she had longed for the entire time that they had been apart.

Manuela could no longer deny the fact that she was in love with Hanneman.

It was funny really, how she had always lamented about being unable to find the man of her dreams, when he had been right by her side for such a long time. She had been blinded for too long by their constant bickering to see what a wonderful man he was. He was proving it right now, sitting next to her on a wet dock late at night, foregoing sleep to lend an ear to help with what was troubling her.

Manuela swallowed thickly and took in a deep, shaky breath, letting it out slowly to try and relieve the tightness in her chest. She turned her gaze back to Hanneman and finally spoke.

“I…I don’t know how much more of this horrible war I can take. Watching so many people die, including our former students, while being powerless to help some of them survive despite my best efforts. I can’t even imagine what I’d do if I met any of them as enemies on the battlefield…” She paused as she tried to choke down a sob, her eyes squeezing shut as a few tears escaped and ran down her cheeks.

“I wish I didn’t have such a bleeding heart, maybe...maybe then this would be much easier to deal with.” Manuela took a few deep breaths to try and compose herself, and when that didn’t work, she covered her face with her hands, succumbing to her sadness as she broke down crying. A sudden warmth descended upon her, reminding her that she was not sitting here alone.

Hanneman had draped his coat over her shoulders, and the sweet gesture only made her tears fall harder. Manuela threw herself into Hanneman’s arms, ignoring his startled grunt as she curled up in his lap and buried her face into his chest. She felt his arms slip around her and he pulled her closer, and just being held like this was enough to ease the pain in her heart, if only slightly.

“You know very well that is not true, Manuela. I imagine that killing does not come naturally to a dedicated, kindhearted physician such as yourself,” Hanneman said, his voice low and calm as he ran a comforting hand over her back, “And if you did remove your bleeding heart, you would be removing one of the best things about you.”

Manuela’s eyes widened at his words, and she sniffed as she looked up at him, her eyes red and cheeks stained with tears. Hanneman reached under his coat and plucked a handkerchief out of the chest pocket of his shirt, using it to gently dab away the tears left on her face. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming herself enough to muster a reply.

“How do you do it, Hanneman? How do you keep going when everything is burning up around you?” Manuela asked softly. He always seemed so composed, even when in the midst of battle, where he would wreak havoc with his effortlessly casted spells. She couldn’t help but envy his apparent ability to steel himself from letting the horrors of war consume him.

Hanneman didn’t answer her question right away. His eyes drifted from hers and she watched his gaze wander up to the star-filled sky. Manuela was captivated by the way the moon bathed his face in light, accentuating his sharp facial features and adding a brilliant shine to his beautiful blue eyes. He really was a handsome man, and the thought brought a light blush to Manuela’s cheeks.

“It is...hard to keep fighting some days, I must admit,” Hanneman said, turning his gaze back to Manuela, “War is terrible, and a drain on everyone’s physical and mental well being However, I do believe that winning this war will change Fódlan for the better, so I will keep on fighting the best that I can.”

“And…” He paused and closed his eyes, letting out a deep, wavering sigh. “...I cannot hope to change the system that killed my sister if the war is lost.” Manuela’s heart clenched at that; Hanneman’s mood always seemed to sour whenever he mentioned his sister. She couldn’t blame him, though. How awful it must have been, to watch a cherished family member suffer because of her lack of crest.

“I know that I couldn’t protect her, that I failed her,” Hanneman continued, and Manuela felt his hand clench into a fist against her arm, “That is why I will continue to fight, and to conduct my research, so that no one else will have to suffer as she did.”

A small smile crept it’s way over Manuela’s face. She really had fallen in love with a wonderful man. She lifted her hands to cup his face, gently turning his head so that he was looking at her again, his eyes wide and a confused eyebrow raised.

“You’re a good man, Hanneman,” Manuela said, her smile growing wider when his face flushed pink, “I...I really think you’re sister would be damn proud of you.”

Hanneman stared at her for a moment, before he chuckled and placed a hand over one of hers. “I do hope you’re right. Thank you.”

Manuela shook her head. “Really, I should be the one thanking you.” His words had lit a fire within her. She wasn’t going to let this war break her spirit anymore than it already had. She would fight, she would heal, and she would make it through this war to see peace in Fódlan again, and she would do so with Hanneman by her side.

“Okay! I’ve decided then,” Manuela declared, smacking her fist into her other hand, “I’m not going to let anyone else die under my care until we win this godsdamn war! We’ll make it through this, together. So don’t you go dying on me, or I’ll never forgive you!”

Hanneman let out a chuckle and nodded. “Of course. That goes double for you, then. My life would certainly be much less interesting without you in it.”

“Ugh, that’s so cheesy.”

“Excuse me, you started this.”

Manuela giggled at the pout that had crossed Hanneman’s face, and she wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against him. She felt him tense up a bit, but he slowly relaxed and his hand fell unto her head. He seemed to be hesitating a bit, but when she didn’t protest, he slowly brushed his fingers through her hair.

A smile crossed Manuela’s face, and she sighed, finally feeling the weight of her sorrows lifting a bit. “Yeah, yeah.” She turned her head and looked up, her eyes meeting his again. “Thank you, Hanneman, for everything. You really are important to me, you know.” That was a bit of an understatement, if the longing that had settled deep in her heart was anything to go by, and she felt her cheeks heat up when Hanneman smiled at her.

“I am glad to hear you say that, Manuela. You are very important to me as well, despite all of the bickering we seem to do.”

“Oh, it’s all in good fun at this point, right?”

“Heh, indeed.”

A comfortable silence fell over them for a while, but was broken when Manuela shifted against Hanneman as she reached into her cloak. A mischievous grin crossed her face, and Hanneman raised an eyebrow when she pulled out a bottle of wine.

“Want to drown your sorrows with me?” Hanneman stared at her for a moment, before he burst out laughing, causing a familiar warmth to blossom within Manuela’s chest.

“So you were planning on drinking tonight. And you chastised me for saying so!”

“It’s still rude to assume those things, even if they’re true.” Manuela ignored the eye roll that Hanneman directed at her as she popped the cork off of the bottle and took a generous swig. She offered the bottle to him, and Hanneman smiled as he accepted it.

“You do have a point, I suppose,” he said, pausing to take a drink, “Cheers, to a swift end to this horrid war?” Manuela grinned and nodded when she took the bottle back.

“Gods yes! I’ll happily drink to that.”

They passed the bottle between them until it was empty, and before Manuela drifted off to sleep under the stars, snuggled up comfortably against Hanneman’s chest, her heart in a much better state than it had been in a long, long time.

---

The sounds of birds chirping roused Manuela from her slumber, and she yawned as she rubbed at her bleary eyes. It was bright, too bright, and she wondered if she had left a candle lit in her room. She tried to stretch her arms out, but found it hard to move due to the pair of arms wrapped around her. But...she did not recall inviting anyone to bed with her last night...

“Huh?!?” Manuela’s eyes shot open as instinct kicked in, and she flailed her arms against the unknown person holding her. She heard them let out a surprised yelp, and she took the opportunity to push them hard with both hands.

“M-Manuela, what-Ah!”

A loud splash hit her ears, and Manuela quickly rubbed the rest of the sleep from her eyes. She finally was able to focus on her surroundings, and was surprised to find that she was not in her room, but rather sitting on the dock at the fishing pond. Her memories from the night before suddenly came back to her, and her eyes drifted to the angry, red-faced Hanneman glaring at her from the water.

“W-What is the meaning of this?” he exclaimed, and Manuela stared blankly at him for a moment, before bursting out laughing so hard that tears started falling down her face.

“Why you…”

Manuela barely heard Hanneman’s angry mumbling, and that proved to be a costly mistake. Hanneman’s hand suddenly shot up and grabbed her by the arm, and Manuela let out a shriek when he roughly yanked her off of the dock. She hit the cold water hard, and she quickly resurfaced to find Hanneman still in the water next to her, trying and failing to stifle his laughter. Manuela pouted at him, her eyes narrowing into a heated glare.

“Hanneman, you fucking jerk!” Manuela yelled as she splashed water at him, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Hanneman pursed his lips together and splashed her in retaliation. “Me? You pushed me off of the dock first!”

“So? Maybe you should have taken the high ground this time! You know, forgive and forget?”

“Oh, what utter nonsense!”

Their arguing continued as their water fight raged on, but soon their bickering dissolved into uncontrollable laughter. Manuela had to grab Hanneman’s shoulders to keep herself afloat, as her laughing fit had her shaking too much to tread water properly. When they finally composed themselves, Hanneman sighed and shook his head, but a smile remained on his face.

“Well, this is certainly not how I expected to wake up this morning,” he said, another small chuckle escaping him, “You are always full of surprises, Manuela.”

“Oh, am I?” A sly grin crossed Manuela’s face, and before Hanneman could respond, she decided to surprise him once more by pressing her lips softly against his. The startled noise that he made caused Manuela to smile against his lips, but it was her turn to be surprised when he did not pull away and outright reject her bold advance.

Instead, Hanneman’s hands moved up to cup her face, and Manuela watched as his eyes slowly slipped shut. She soon followed suit, and he gently tilted her head so that he could deepen the kiss. The hairs of his mustache tickled her nose, causing her to giggle, and Manuela was kicking herself for not doing this sooner. What utter bliss it was, to finally kiss the man that she had loved for so long, and the warmth that filled her heart in this moment was unlike anything she had ever felt before.

When they finally parted, Manuela took a moment to admire the completely flabbergasted look on Hanneman’s face. It was a very rare look on him, and she couldn’t help but tease him a bit.

“Well? How was that for a surprise?”

He took a moment to muster up a reply, and the stuttering mess of it caused Manuela to giggle again. “T-That was...indeed quite, ahem, unexpected...But not at all, ah, unpleasant, mind you.”

A sly grin crossed Manuela’s face, and she pulled Hanneman closer so that their noses were almost touching. “So, you enjoyed it then?”

Manuela watched him, amused at the fact that Hanneman’s face had somehow turned an even darker shade of red. His mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish out of water, which was funny considering the fact that they were currently in the fishing pond.

“Of course I enjoyed it. I’ve...been wanting to do that for some time now, actually.”

It was Manuela’s turn to be surprised, and her eyes widened at his words. She never would have thought that he would have ever felt the same way about her, and she had never been more happy to be wrong about something.

“Manuela, I...The truth is, ah…” Manuela watched as Hanneman cursed under his breath, and she was relishing in this rare opportunity to see the normally articulate scholar completely and utterly flustered. “Gods! I cannot seem to find the right words to-”

“Words can wait,” Manuela interrupted, twirling a finger in Hanneman’s mustache, before gently tugging him closer, “Just kiss me again, you old fool.”

Hanneman chuckled as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against him. “I suppose you’re right, even if that jab at my age was uncalled for.” Manuela’s laughter was cut short when he kissed her again, and again, in the middle of the fishing pond of all places, but right now, Manuela wouldn’t change a damn thing.

#fire emblem three houses #hanneman von essar #manuela casagranda #hanneman/manuela #hi i care them a lot #fanfiction #jade writes fanfiction

[belphegor1982]

Chapter 2 is up!

FAIRY TALES AND HOKUM

Summary: 1937: The O'Connells are required by the English Government to bring the Diamond taken from Ahm Shere from Cairo to London. Things get interesting when Jonathan bumps by chance into an old friend of his from Oxford, Tom Ferguson…

Chapter 2: Familiar Faces (on AO3 here)

“So that’s your office? I must say, I’m impressed, old boy.”

“Knock it off, Jon.”

The room was tiny and rather stuffy, and Jonathan had to wait a while before Tommy could find a spare chair, in this case a collapsible with a cloth back. The mess was indeed impressive – you couldn’t see even a little bit of desk under all the huge, dusty files lying on it and all the loose sheets. All around the desk, the path was more or less cleared, but you still had to be extra careful not to step on books and files of varying shapes and sizes. The whole floor was cluttered up by cardboard boxes, some still held shut by adhesive tape, most of them open; as Jonathan peeped into one, he saw various items wrapped in protective paper.

Despite the messy aspect, Tommy’s office gave an overall cheerful impression, helped by the sunlight pouring in through the window, high up the wall. Dust danced in the rays and didn’t seem to be willing to settle anywhere.

“Sorry for the shambles, mate,” said Tommy, rummaging through the papers on his desk and starting to tidy everything up. “They made me move in here only a week ago, I haven’t had time to clean it all up.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve seen worse.”

Tommy’s head shot up from the desk, glancing sheepishly at Jonathan. “Y’know, when I told your sister I was one of the chief agents… Well, I might have overstated the thing a lil’ bit.”

“No! You’re not serious, are you?”

Tommy growled at Jonathan’s smirk, and he fell silent, letting his eyes wander here and there. They finally came to rest upon the only thing that seemed tidy enough – a dozen old-looking books resting on a set of shelves.

Jonathan left his chair to get a proper look. Some of the books came directly from the British Museum, and looked as if they were borrowed from the archives – old and worn, with leather covers slightly frayed along the edges. Not to mention the dust. And they smelt like escapees from the City of the Dead.

“I say, that’s some collection you’ve got yourself here,” said Jonathan amazed as he read the date of print of a particularly shabby-looking one. “My God… Evy would go spare if she saw this.”

“I’m sure she would,” Tommy said, emerging from the layers of paper and straightening himself up. “I just love these kinds of old books, you know; there’s a feeling about them you just don’t get with more – ‘recent’ ones. Now, where’d I put that bloody –”

“Looking for something in particular?”

“Yes,” Tommy sighed as he dropped on his chair, only to jump up and remove something before sitting down. “I’m sure what little I’ve got on Hamunaptra is lying ‘round somewhere in a folder – can’t seem to find it.”

Jonathan put the book he was holding back on its shelf and looked at the desk, his hands in his pockets. “No wonder.”

“Oh, that’s gonna help for sure, Jon,” muttered Tommy. Jonathan was about to retort, when his eyes stopped on a small picture in a frame. It was a photograph of a woman, and the longer he stared at it, the more familiar the woman seemed. Finally, it clicked into place: the freckled face with a round nose and pointy chin, the mass of frizzy hair and the sweet, candid smile could only belong to one person.

“Hey! Isn’t that Elizabeth McAlester?”

An uneasy sort of smile crept up on Tommy’s lips. “Yes, that’s her – ‘cept her last name hasn’t been McAlester for some time now.”

Jonathan stared at him blankly for a full minute. Now this, of all things, was unexpected.

“You mean, she’s – you’re –”

Tommy nodded, still smiling.

“How long –?”

“That’ll make it seven years in October.”

There was a moment’s silence, during which this piece of news sank in. Elizabeth McAlester had been a cousin of a common friend, Arthur McAlester – a tall, gangly fellow with glasses constantly perched on the bridge of his long nose, rather bossy but altogether likeable. She was a year or two older than them, and went to Somerville. Jonathan and Tommy had spent their last year before the war wooing her in turn, although it was more of a game for the two boys than something really serious. None of them had really gone too far, though. They valued their reputation as gentlemen – sort of – and she was too much of a nice girl.

Thinking back on it, Jonathan realised that, had things worked out differently, Elizabeth would probably have been the only girl he could have spent some significant time with. She was smart, sweet, and funny when she wanted to. And he used to make her laugh – she had a nice laugh. But there was also the fact that she didn’t really love him.

Perhaps, if he had been a little smarter, he could have won her over. Of course, that would have also meant spending less time in pubs, gambling and drinking; that would have meant growing up, and he was simply not ready for that, especially after the armistice. Most fellows of twenty-five were not, after all, and he’d made it his business to be as carefree as he could to make up for 1917 and 1918. Problem was, he was now forty, and most of people that age were supposed to be settled. Evy was younger than him, and Rick and her had been married for eleven years now. And Tommy and Elizabeth, of all people, had been together for seven years, and he had a picture of her on his desk. Why, they must even have children.

Perhaps Jonathan should have been jealous – but he just couldn’t be. Tommy was a decent fellow, and Elizabeth was a nice girl; they deserved each other. He had had his chance, had messed up, and there was no way to get back what wasn’t anymore. Petty jealousy was simply irrelevant there.

“That’s great news, old boy,” he finally said, with a heartfelt smile. “Congratulations. Wish I could have seen you in a morning suit, though.”

Tommy beamed in return, obviously relieved, and Jonathan felt a pang of annoyance. Did Tommy really think that he was going to be mad at him for that? That was ridiculous.

“Thanks, Jon. You know, that… that means somethin’.”

Dammit. It was still impossible to be thoroughly annoyed with Thomas Ferguson. He may retain his rotten luck, but he still had that innocent look on his broad face that fooled even the most sceptical of all. Even one Jonathan Carnahan.

A somewhat awkward silence passed. Jonathan was glad to end it when he spotted a folder under his chair and bent to take it for a closer look. “Here – wasn’t that the one you were looking for?”

The file was very thick, with a hard cover, and it was held shut by an old belt. On a little bit of yellowish paper was scribbled, ‘Hamunaptra, City of the Dead – Reign of Seti the First, Dynasty XIX.’

Tommy crossed the room in two strides and all but snatched the file from Jonathan’s hands. “That’s it! That’s the one.” His old enthusiasm was back in his voice. “I haven’t looked at it in years, guess it’s been buried under a ton of other things.”

“You can keep it if you want. It’s not that urgent, Evy can wait a bit.”

“No, take it – just be sure to give it back before tonight, someone could ask for it… Though nobody’s asked for it in years, so I can’t see why someone would just now. Except for Hamilton, but even him –”

“Hamilton?”

“Charles Hamilton, my immediate superior. Odd guy, very thorough, very clean. Might be a very likeable fellow if someone took the umbrella off his arse, but that’s just my opinion… Well. Fact is, I’m not really supposed to show that file to anyone, but as it’s you and Dr O’Connell…”

Jonathan couldn’t help but chortle. Tommy looked at him curiously.

“What’re you laughin’ at?”

“Oh, nothing, really – just the whole ‘Doctor O’Connell’ business. Funny thing to hear someone speaking in so high terms about my baby sister… especially you.”

Tommy shrugged and said with a grin, “Well, get used to it. Seriously, mate, I’ve heard of her since I was offered this job at the Research Department, and that was, what – ten years ago or so. Discovering Hamunaptra wasn’t such a big deal, I bet loads of people (poor chaps!) must’ve managed that in centuries past, but –”

Jonathan, whose first sight of the ancient City had been the skeletons and dried-up corpses of previous adventurers, gave a grim smile. Yes, indeed. Loads.

“– But she, her husband and… and you actually got out. Remind me to ask you how you did it someday, ‘cause I still have trouble believing it.”

“I bet you haven’t heard half of the story,” said Jonathan as a sly smile sneaked back on his lips.

“I hope you’ll tell me some time, then. This and that weird stuff with the Scorpion King two years ago.”

Jonathan opened his mouth, quite taken aback. “How d’you know about that, for cripes’ sake?”

“We, Mr Carnahan, know everything,” Tommy said with a mock smug grin, which he then dropped to finish, sounding almost embarrassed, “Well, not quite everything, I guess. In fact there’s still some huge blanks in the story.”

“Blanks you’d like me to fill, eh?” Jonathan chuckled. “I get it, Tommy old chap. I’d tell you the whole story anytime.”

Tommy’s right eyebrow shot up. “Anytime? That would include now?”

“Didn’t you say you had work to do?”

“‘Work to do’? Man, this is what I work on! Gathering pieces of information, I mean. Can I take notes?”

“Yes, sure,” said Jonathan, a little bit dumbfounded. “All right, you’d better take a seat, because this is going to be long…”

.⅋.

“And you told him the whole story of what happened at Ahm Shere?”

“And Hamunaptra, too. He already knew the main lines, anyway.”

Evelyn shook her head. Jonathan could be a wonderful brother at times, but one of his major faults was and always had been his complete inability to keep a secret the way it should remain – secret.

“I can’t believe you did that, Jonathan.”

“Oh, come on Evy, please trust me on this one, will you? Tommy’s reliable. He’s a decent bloke.”

His blue eyes were almost pleading, and Evelyn found her anger ebbing. The only times he had proved so persuasive were when he tried to cover up for one of Alex’s most foolish stunts. Though she could never admit it, such an attitude was very endearing, in a cheeky, annoyingly efficient sort of way.

Then there was this file. She couldn’t decently stay mad at him when he had been thoughtful enough to borrow it for her from this Ferguson fellow. And to tell the truth, she was positively dying to see what it contained. She couldn’t wait to get home to open it.

“Jonathan, it’s very touching to see you standing up for a friend, but you must admit that so far, the people you have entrusted with our, ah – family secrets – haven’t proved very ‘reliable’, have they?”

“Tom is, Evy. I swear. And he works for the British Consulate, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Oh…” Evelyn sighed, about to give in, “if only this was a guarantee of safety…”

“Just because What’s-his-name of the British Museum woke our mummy again and bollixed things up last time doesn’t mean Tommy’s not ‘safe’, old mum. Please –” and there he stopped her in her tracks and looked at her in the eye, “– believe me.”

Aw, dash it… It was still impossible to remain angry with him. She never could resist this unique mix of fake innocence, thoughtless cheekiness, and sincerity somewhere in the middle.

“All right, all right – quit pestering me, and I won’t bother you about this Mr Ferguson anymore.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, that’s a promise.”

Jonathan’s ‘persuader’ expression turned into a dangerous smile, one that his sister knew only too well. As a rule, it meant trouble was on the way. 

“That’s nice, Evy, because I asked him if he wanted to see the diamond while it’s still here in Cairo –” 

No exception to the rule today, it seemed. Evelyn was flabbergasted, but she said nothing… She had promised, after all. 

“– And we agreed that a few minutes wouldn’t hurt, and it’s still my diamond in a way, a little – I mean, I know I sold it and everything, but I haven’t looked at it in ages and –” 

Evelyn let him talk until he ran out of words and finished on a rather lame, “And, well, I – I was hoping you could intercede on my behalf, you see…” 

“You don’t have to ask me,” she said in a deliberately colder voice. “You’ll have to see the curator for that. I wish you good luck convincing him.” 

Jonathan’s face dropped. 

“Evy, please! You’re my sister! I’ve hardly ever seen this bloke, you’re –” 

“I’m far more gullible, is that what you meant to say?” 

“No, it’s not – that’s – cripes, Evy, all I’m asking for is two words to the curator from you. Consider it payback for Tommy, he might’ve got into trouble lending you this secret file for the afternoon.” 

The file. She’d almost forgotten it. Although Jonathan’s last sentence sounded a little like emotional blackmail, ugly as the word was, Ferguson had indeed seemed pleasant enough the day before. There was a cultured man, with a proper job – something of a change from the dubious company Jonathan usually kept – who respected and admired her work. She hadn’t heard praise such as he’d given her in quite a long time. And he trusted her enough to lend her this file.

“Well,” she said eventually, very slowly and reluctantly, “I suppose I could talk Dr Hakim into letting the two of you in the diamond’s room… Not alone, of course, and only for a few moments. I’ll see tomorrow if –”

She started when her brother kissed her on the cheek, beaming.

“Dear, sweet Evy, you’re the best sister any decent fellow would ever dream of.”

“Oh, come off it,” sighed Evelyn, who couldn’t help but smile all the same. 

They found the house empty: Rick had taken Alex to the bazaar downtown. Evelyn quickly sat down on the sofa and carefully put the file on the coffee table in front of her, while Jonathan disappeared into the kitchen. She didn’t wait for him and opened the folder.

It contained mainly sheet after sheet of paper covered in tiny scrawl, and as she ran her eye over them she could tell it was a report of sorts, with dates, names, and more or less precise directions. There were newspaper cuttings, some of them quite old, and also some sepia photographs. She was leafing through them when Jonathan put a cup of tea on the table and sat beside her, a tumbler in his hands.

“So? Have you dug some stuff up already?”

“I guess so, yes… I didn’t know Lord Carnavon had worked on Hamunaptra as well…”

“Good thing he kept it quiet, one curse as cause of death is well enough – didn’t need two,” quipped Jonathan. Evelyn elbowed him and picked up another set of pictures. Her brother’s eyes widened.

“Evy, that’s – that’s us!”

He was right. Though the photographs were old, blurred, and of rather bad quality, the figures on it were unmistakable. They must have been taken shortly after Hamunaptra, because Evelyn saw some shots of Jonathan with his left arm in a sling, and several of herself and Rick, arm in arm, both their faces shining with sun and laughter. She remembered how it was, back then – the slight awkwardness between them, the happiness fluttering in her stomach each time his hand brushed against her, even by accident; it had seemed to her that she was constantly walking on a little cloud, inches above the ground, silly as this comparison may sound.

Of course, she had got down from this cloud long ago – but reality had not been as harsh as her school friends had once told her. Rick was a wonderful husband, and there was never a second of boredom between them. Even after eleven years of marriage, he still took every opportunity to seduce her. Not in the romantic, literary way, with tête-à-têtes and candlelight, but something in the way he looked at her over the table, the twinkle in his eye that was for her and her alone never failed to make her melt. And after all these years, he still managed to make her blush, too. Of course, she protested, saying that it was absolutely ridiculous for a thirty-six year old woman to blush; but he’d just laugh softly, his rich chuckle sending shivers down her spine and making her feel as if she were twenty-five again.

Jonathan often said some people were born lucky. Hers was another kind of luck – she may not have a ‘proper’ social life like acquaintances of hers in London had, but the four men of her life, namely Rick, Alex, Jonathan, and Ardeth – in a very slightly lesser extent, as she saw him fairly rarely – were the four people she loved most, and they were wonderful. Lady Maria Evans and her circle of snobby friends would never know how it felt to die and being brought back to life by her eight-year-old son and her brother. She would never know the overwhelming smell of gunpowder, the ache you get in your shoulder from the recoil, the deafening noise, how it felt to be kissed awake by a three-thousand-years old mummy – but then, had Evelyn been able to, she would have gladly skipped this part. Ew.

“I say, Evy, do you think they’ll mind if we took a couple of photos to put them into frames?”

Jonathan’s voice drew her back from the memories, and she looked at the pictures in her brother’s hands. There was another one or two of Rick and her, one of the three of them – in the streets of Cairo, by the look of it – and a full-length one of Jonathan alone, his hands in his pockets, his nose in the air, and a curious look on his face. There was something funny and rather sweet about this one which matched the involuntary subject’s general attitude: offhand, ironic, foppish, forgetful, but altogether loyal and kind. Evelyn was indeed tempted to keep it, as Jonathan had suggested.

“I agree that some of those would be worth it,” she said, smiling. “But maybe you’d better ask your friend first –”

An odd thought crossed her mind at the mention of Tom Ferguson. When she had met him the day before, he had clearly shown that he didn’t know Jonathan had been a part of the Hamunaptra expedition. But it just would have taken a look at the contents of this file to know that his former schoolmate had been involved – his full name was written in black and white, and the photographs were faithful enough. Besides, Jonathan had not changed that much over the years.

“Jonathan, I’ve just thought of something – Tom knows this file, does he? I mean, you told me he’s been working in the Department for ages, so he must have read it at some point, right?”

“I suppose so, yes. And your point is?”

“Well, perhaps I’m just being silly, but how come he didn’t know you were at Hamunaptra? Your name and your face are all over these papers, look…”

Jonathan frowned slightly, and bent to look at the sheet she held out for him. There was an account of that night so long ago in the Sultan’s Casbah that had started it all, and it was just as Rick had told her when she had asked how her sticky-fingered brother had managed to steal his puzzle box.

“Whoa, Evy… there’s a fair amount of details in there.” She saw his eyes dart from the top to the bottom of the sheet; then he exclaimed, “Oh, of course! That Casbah barman, what’s his name again… Oh yes, Musa. I bet he was the one who gave them such a precise account. Can’t believe he still held that grudge after –” he looked at the top of the sheet again “– two years. Resentful git. It was only a little fight.”

Evelyn didn’t know what made her insist, but she ignored his last remark and continued. “You see? He could hardly miss you. And yet he seemed to ignore completely your part in the trip to and from Hamunaptra. By the way, my name was Carnahan at the time, not O’Connell. I don’t understand why he looked so surprised to see that his famous Dr O’Connell and your bossy little sister were in fact one single person – it’s just not logical.”

There was a short silence, during which Jonathan seemed to ponder her words. Then he turned to face her, and to her surprise, there was something like anger in his voice when he said, “You’re really something, you know, Evy. Stubborn as a mule, I’d say. I told you Tommy was a decent fellow, I mean – you met him, he’s not some sort of conman or something!”

“I’m not saying he is, Jonathan,” Evelyn said gently; she had not expected this kind of resistance at all. “I’m merely pointing out a fact. You must admit that it does look a bit odd, doesn’t it?”

“Well, don’t point. Fact is, you can’t admit that I know someone that you don’t, who’s smart, trustworthy, who works in the same stuff as you, and who also happens to be a damn good fellow to drink with.”

Evelyn raised her eyebrows. “What exactly are you talking about?”

“Just what I’ve said. Leave him alone. I don’t understand why you’re nagging about him. Besides, Tommy adores you – you should hear the way he praises you to the skies.”

“I’m not nagging. Honestly, Jonathan, from the little I’ve seen of him, I like him well enough – he seems to be good company, a funny, cultured, clever fellow. And I’m flattered to hear that he thinks so highly of me. But rationally and logically speaking, there are some tiny details that bother me.”

She had spoken and chosen her words carefully, not wanting to start a row. She hated being at odds with her brother when he wasn’t the one who had started it – it made her feel uneasy and oddly guilty. He had been her only family for a long time, after all, and neither was likely to forget it. They shared something special.

Anger faded from the bright blue eyes, and Jonathan’s expression turned into something that looked remarkably like a pout.

“Can’t you just leave these out for me?”

Evelyn almost laughed. “I won’t say I’ll forget it, but I won’t pester you about it anymore. Just – I know I’ll sound silly again, but don’t be angry with me for that. I don’t like it at all when you are.”

This time, the usual smile was back on her brother’s face, and he sank back into the sofa, his half-empty glass still in his hands. “Ah, come on, Evy – that was silly indeed… You sounded like a kid. Don’t worry, I’m not angry with you… I’m just annoyed that the one time I haven’t done anything, and I mean anything, you still find a way to be suspicious.”

Of course, when you put it that way… Evelyn could understand Jonathan’s touchiness, and respected his faith in his friend, but still. It was only a few minor things, but the logical, scientific part of her mind was puzzled. Of course, it could just be that Tom Ferguson had a bad memory – she had never seen a folder so dusty, so she supposed he really hadn’t opened it in a long time… She’d find a way to chat about it with him some time. Casually, of course, in passing.

Maybe it was her instinct. Or maybe it was just her curiosity. That particular trait had been said many times to run in the family, and Evelyn was forced to recognise that it had proved true in many occasions.

Especially when it came to herself.

.⅋.

(I have a lot of fun writing scenes with Evy and Jonathan. I absolutely love their interaction in TM, and it was something I missed slightly when I watched TMR. When I write them I can’t help writing with my memories of TM in mind. It’s also fun to imagine Evy, having grown from the girl she is in TM into the self-assured, brilliant woman, wife, and mother, inches from running the British Museum in TMR, being childish enough to bicker with her brother. Both Carnahan siblings are big goofs in their own way, Evy just hides it better :P)

#Fairy Tales and Hokum #my stuff #fanfiction #the mummy #the mummy films

[lurkingcrow]

Some of the posts on my dash have reminded me of certain facts. Which of course set of the little cogs within my brain turning with new crack possibilities…

It is the middle of the Clone Wars, and Asajj Ventress has sworn vengeance upon Count Dooku for the way he betrayed her. Her attempt to use Savage Oppress to obtain her revenge has failed, and the assault on Dathomir has taken a horrendous toll on her Nightsister brethren. And yet, Mother Talzin has shown that Dooku’s defences are not impenetrable. As she kneels amid the barren ruins of her ancestral village, Asajj calls upon the ghostly matron for advice.

The spectre reveals that the method she used is not available to Ventress - not only is she not trained in the deeper Nightsister mysteries but she does not have access to a convenient lock of Dooku’s hair, and have I mentioned how desperately I want the story about that? I mean, how the hell did Talzin manage to get it - what self respecting Sith doesn’t take care not to leave pieces of themselves where practitioners of Dark Magics can get them?

Anyway, that’s obviously not an option here, but Ventress needs to find a way to get past Dooku’s not inconsiderable defences. Mother Talzin points out that while she may not be able to target him directly, even a mighty Sith Lord cannot rid himself of all his connections. It is a longshot, but it is possible that a spell targeted at another might still be able to affect Dooku tangentially. All they need is a piece of something tightly linked to one who Dooku is still connected to…

The Jedi Temple has upped security since the incident with the Holocron Vault - patrols around the archives in particular have been increased, and the computer systems themselves not carry some rather impressive surprises for those attempting to infiltrate them. Security measures around the Jedi’s personal quarters however is not tight - oh the creche is well protected, but most of the Jedi are spending greater and greater periods on deployment and there is little need to guard empty quarters.   

Which is why no one can work out exactly what Ventress was after - her infiltrating the Temple was not completely unexpected, even if she does seem to be running freelance these days, but she didn’t seem to leave with anything of value! No military systems were breached, the archives are intact, and while some initiates report seeing a strange “Knight” wandering the halls there were no attempts at kidnapping (in fact if anything Ventress appeared to be taken aback by the appearance of children in the halls - they will never know the parade of might-have-beens that filled her mind in that moment). Ventress is just glad no-one caught her raiding certain people’s freshers. It was traumatic enough as it was without having to explain why she was raiding hairbrushes.

So having acquired the necessary materials Ventress returns to Dathomir and within  a one of its many sacred caverns begins the ritual, using all her skills to call upon the Darkness to bring “Yoda’s last Padawan” (or “Most powerful” depending on whatever canon has decided regarding certain apprenticeships) to her for the purposes of vengeance.

She’s not sure what exactly she’s expecting (the tie between Dooku and his former Master may not be strong enough to do anything, and who knows exactly how the spell will achieve it ) but it’s certainly not the flash of light followed by the sudden appearance of a young, blonde, human male who is most definitely NOT Count Dooku.

Luke Skywalker is having a very strange day. One moment he’s communing with the Force Ghosts about where best to start rebuilding the Jedi and the next there’s a massive shift in the Force as he finds himself falling in front of a rather intimidating woman standing in the middle of what looks suspiciously like some kind of ritual circle.

He wishes he were more surprised.

But according to Ben’s stories this is exactly the kind of thing that happens to Skywalkers, so he brushes himself off and puts on his best smile to greet the strange Force user. Something doesn’t quite feel right about the atmosphere, the Force isn’t responding the same way as he’s used to, but with any luck this is NOT yet another Imperial loyalist looking to avenge the Emperor's death by torturing the galaxy’s most infamous rebel cum Jedi Knight. “Hello there! I’m afraid I appear to be rather lost. I don't suppose you could tell me where exactly I am? Or why I’ve been brought here?”

Now Ventress is something of an expert in appearing unruffled in the face of unexpected circumstances (usually related to the appearance of Skywalker and Kenobi). So on being faced by a remarkably calm apparition politely enquiring about what's going on, she simply cocks her hip, raises an eyebrow and archly responds; “And who exactly are you?”

This of course leaves Luke somewhat taken aback since, A) his face has featured heavily on wanted posters across the galaxy for the last few years, B) his role as “The Last Jedi” is widely known and he is currently carrying his lightsaber openly on his belt, and C) one would assume that the person performing the Dark ritual would have some idea about who they were targeting. So he keeps it simple.

"I'm Luke." He says, smile never dimming.

Great, thinks Ventress - yet another man who thinks he's so clever. Time to show him she’s not a woman to be take lightly.

"Well then, Luke, I'm afraid this seems like a case of badly mistaken identity.” she says, slowly circling her captive. “ Here I was, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the illustrious Count Dooku so that I can brutally and painfully extract my vengeance, and instead the Force gives me you…” with a quick flick of her wrists her blades are at the ready “...a weak and worthless Jedi.”

Oooh, Luke thinks as his surroundings are bathed in red light, Darksider then. Still - at least she's not actively trying to kill him at the moment, so negotiations might still be possible.

He holds out one hand, palm open, while the other remains in reach of his lightsaber.

“I'm sorry I'm not this, what did you say his name was? Dooku? I don't know the name, I’m afraid. But I have no quarrel with you. If you’ll just let me contact my friends I promise I’ll be out of your way as soon as possible.”

Asajj feels her draw drop.

“What do you mean you don't know the name?!” she hisses. “Are you a complete imbecile?”

The Jedi’s mouth opens as if to respond but one look and his jaw clicks shut.

“Good boy. Now I know you Jedi aren't exactly the brightest of sorts, but I’d at least think you’d be able to recognise the leader of the Separatists, the man responsible for starting the war and your precious Order’s own sworn enemy. Which means…” she presses closer, raising her sabers in a swift movement to frame his throat, only to be intercepted by the Jedi’s own green blade. “

... there's more to you than it appears.”

For all his quick reaction to her threat  the Jedi looks rather shellshocked. Something in her words had left him off balance, and that was very interesting.

She takes a step back, gesturing magnanimously with one hand. “Go on then. Explain. My patience is not infinite.”

Luke takes a deep breath and takes a moment to compose himself. And when he speaks, blue eyes locked with her own, Asajj feels compelled to believe him.

“I don't know the name because by my count the Clone Wars ended decades ago, and the Empire was never exactly keen on acknowledging it's defeated foes.”

Well then.

The discovery that time travel appears possible is somewhat overshadowed by Ventress’ amusement that Dooku was apparently betrayed by his own Master and his memory reduced to little more than a historical footnote. Luke doesn't quite see what's so funny, but makes a point to mention that said Master was himself eventually thrown down a reactor shaft by his apprentice and that just sets off a chain reaction of laughter and they end up sitting against the wall or the cavern exchanging stories about the folly of the Sith.

It turns out to be highly cathartic for them both.

When her laughter clears Ventress admits that she has no idea why Luke ended up in the middle of her spell, and she has no clue how to get him back to wherever he belongs and wait… her spell called for Yoda’s apprentice. Does he know the insufferable little troll?

Yes, Luke sighs, yes he does, did, why does time travel make tenses so hard? But no, before she asks, he can't just go to the Jedi. Not without alerting the Sith Lord and…

Luke looks at Asajj. She looks back. He begins to grin widely as he notes that while it's not exactly what she was looking for,  how would she like to join forces for a worthy cause? That being of course the abject humiliation of the Sith and the complete ruination of all their plans for galactic conquest.

“Oh my dear Jeci” she purrs in response “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship!”

And so begins the buddy cop movie we never knew we needed, where Ventress and her time travelling partner set out to foil both Palpatine and Dooku's plans, arguing all the while. Highlights include:

The moment Ventress realises she has voluntarily allied herself with a SKYWALKER and seriously questions her sanity

Luke discovering that apparently it is indeed possible for his sister to yell at him for being an idiot across both space and time, and he will never admit how relieved he is to feel Leia’s presence across their bond. Her knowledge of pre-imperial political history is a secondary benefit.

The time they both end up as impromptu bounty hunters and Luke just cannot get over how tiny Boba Fett is. As it turns out they make a remarkably good team - Luke's raw Force abilities and Asajj’s dueling skills making double crosses an exceedingly bad idea.

Ventress needing to rescue Luke from a dangerous and predatory woman whose intentions he seems not to notice.

Luke getting outraged at the plight of the clones, Ventress getting him drunk, and both of them ranting about slavery while plotting revolution. He wakes up to Leia laughing uproariously in his head which hurts so so much.

Ventress calling Luke “Flyboy” “Kid” “Banthabrain” and just about anything except his actual name.

Luke picking up on the sexual tension between Ventress and Vos and doing everything in his power to encourage it. Ventress would kill him if his foreknowledge wasn't so useful.

Ventress wanting to know who the glowing blue figure that Luke's always talking to is and why he keeps calling her “little sister”

Luke watching his father and Ben in action and being uncomfortably reminded of Han and Leia. Luke watching his father and mother trying to be stealthy and realising why Wedge claims he can't lie for shit. Luke seeing all of them interact and coming to the conclusion that he was meant to have three parents and an older sister and becoming determined to make that a reality in this timeline.

Ventress deciding the kid’s not so bad following a close call with republic authorities and Luke creating an impressively explosive diversion.

Luke hugging Ventress in the ruins of Dathomir and promising they won't be forgotten.

Palpatine wondering why none of his schemes seem to be going as planned and assigning Dooku to find out.

A confrontation in Separatist space where the Jedi become aware that Ventress and her unknown partner are on some kind of secretive quest, and Luke faces Dooku and, much to Ventress’ dismay, decides that he should try to sway his brother-padawan back to the light!

Maul and Savage vs Obi-Wan, Ventress and a very flustered Luke. Could people please stop flirting with his young mentor/uncle/not-father now already?

Luke and Ventress getting caught up in a hostage situation on Coruscant along with several senators and Luke learns why Bail Organa and Padmé Amidala are near legends in the Rebellion - and also that there's no way Mon Mothma hasn't guessed his heritage by now.

Anakin getting irritated that there seems to be someone that he can't outfly and why do they have to be allied with VENTRESS of all people.

And much, much more! 😉

#star wars #crack

[d2kvirus]

Dickheads of the Month: November 2020

As it seems that there are people who say or do things that are remarkably dickheaded yet somehow people try to make excuses for them or pretend it never happened, here is a collection of some of the dickheaded actions we saw in the month of November 2020 to make sure that they are never forgotten.

Nobody was expecting Donald Trump to concede defeat gracefully, but bloody hell, between the completely batshit insane conspiracy theory bollocks from himself and the rancid Trump offspring to Rudy Giuliani making complete fools of themselves even before he had to give a press conference from the parking lot of a landscaping firm as nobody checked which Four Seasons it was, before threatening to outlaw Twitter because people made fun of his little table (yes, that sentence does make sense), nobody could have expected just how tempramental toddlers are now thinking it's a bit much

...although somehow the Tory government managed to have an even worse response, because not only did posting a boilerplate jpeg to congratulate Joe Biden for his victory the laziest response possible, but then it turned out that they only had a celebratory jpeg for a Trump victory and hastily edited it on Paint so that Biden’s name was on there, but did a cack-handed job of it even though a.) Common sense dictates you have one for each candidate ready in advance, and b.) Given they had several days to accept which way the wind was blowing, the fact they did the most cack-handed job says everything you need to know 

Smirking cretin Priti Patel has bullied Home Office staff and, having initially tried to bury the report, the best the Tory government could come up with to try and make this go away was claim that she was bullying her subordinates by accident while proven liar Boris Johnson claimed she had done nothing wrong, numerous members of the Tory government either said that as they hadn’t seen her bullying anyone she must be innocent or tried claiming she was “accused” of bullying instead of found guilty of bullying, and to top it all off we had Michael Gove’s wife Sarah Vine accused anyone calling Patel of being a bully racist while Alison Pearson said Patel can’t be a bully as she isn’t tall enough. Also, did I mention this came out during national Bullying Week?

...and just a thought for Jess Phillips after she decided to weigh in, considering it’s on record that you bullied Diane Abbott (and have gleefully said how you told her to “Fuck off” on various occasions) it's not a good idea for you to try and act as you’re above bullying as you will get called out for your hypocrisy

Murderer Amanda Knox thought it would be a really funny joke to suggest that, no matter what the election result, the next four years couldn’t be as bad as the four years she spent studying abroad.  You know, those four years where she murdered Meredith Kercher and got away with it

So it turns out that the moral compass of the Tory government says that it is fine for Dominic Cummings to be happy to sacrifice the elderly if it protects the economy during a pandemic while displaying that he doesn’t know how herd immunity works, purging 21 MPs from the party for not buying into his No Deal Britait Jonestown, siphoning hundreds of millions of pounds into the pockets of his mates in various dodgy contracts, or flagrantly violating the lockdown rules by driving several hundred miles to Durham (where he owns a house he doesn't pay council tax for) after testing positive for Covid - but as soon as he calls Carrie Symonds “Princess Nut Nuts” he’s out the door...for a staged photo op, even though he is remaining in his job until December, which is when he was going to leave anyway

...and we should mention Laura Kuenssberg bullishly stating that Cummings was going nowhere in the wake of Lee Cain being told he could leave when his contract is up in December but they want to make it look like he is being fired, but within twelve hours saying that Cummings would always be leaving in December as a blog post in January stated, which not only asks if anyone has checked the archived version of that blog in case any edits were made in mid-November, but also how she can justify her £290k a year salary if she can get a story that badly wrong that Cummings’ blog disagreed with her

There’s a reason why Lindsey Graham isn't popular in the Senate and it isn’t because he questions if Biden won the election, it's because he’s telling people to “misplace” the votes for Biden which they are counting so that Trump could claim that he won Georgia instead of losing Georgia, demanding a recount, then losing Georgia

Once again proven liar Boris Johnson demonstrated that lockdown rules apply to the little people but not to him or his inner circle, as he met with fellow Tory MP Lee Anderson in person rather than via Zoom as the lockdown rules state, didn't wear a mask as lockdown rules state, and clearly didn’t social distance as a picture of him with Anderson taken during the meetings shows they are not two metres apart as lockdown rules state, which means that he had to spend two weeks self-isolating as a direct result 

Has anyone told Keir Starmer that The Board of Deputies weren’t on the ballot for Labour leadership?  Because by his performative act of refusing to restore the party whip to Jeremy Corbyn after his performative suspension, which he did after the BoD stamped their feet and demanded the whip not be restored, he’s not doing a good job of demonstrating leadership

First of all it was news that Steve Bannon uses Twitter, as surely he should have flounced off for Parler years ago.  But secondly, the real news is how he used his Twitter account to call for Anthony Fauci to be beheaded - at which point he suddenly couldn’t use his Twitter account anymore

According to Iain Duncan Smith putting the UK into a second lockdown is “giving in to the scientific advisors” as if during a pandemic, which the last time I checked was a scientific matter, you should instead be listening to Julia Halfwit-Brewer, Dan Wootton, Alison Pearson or Isabel Oakeshott rather than people qualified to talk about what to do in the face of a global pandemic 

Nice Guy Rishi Sunak proposed a return of Eat Out To Help Out for Christmas.  You know, the thing which has been directly linked with causing a spike in Covid numbers in August?

Tory arrogance was neatly summed up by George Eustace casually saying that, if Lurpak didn’t want to incur the massive price hikes of Britain crashing out of the EU without a paddle, all they have to do is move their entire base of operations to the UK

The fact that Disney have been trying to justify their refusal to even issue royalty statements to Alan Dean Foster for his novelisations of the Star Wars and Alien franchises and have simply been pocketing the revenue made by the books continued sales by claiming they only purchased the license and not the liability, which is a particularly unique interpretation of copyright law

It was only a matter of time before The Daily Mail started trying to create dirt about Marcus Rashford because he has the sheer gall to say that feeding children is not a bad thing, which they did by reporting the horrors of him...buying a house for his mother

Twitter troll Ben Bradley had a stellar month, first by standing up in Commons and asking why there isn't a Minister for Women while also showing a terrifying inability to understand what equality is, and soon followed that up by quoting Martin Luther King’s “I have a dream” speech by claiming that it was about equality - only for Bernice King to tell him that, no, her father’s speech was about eliminating racism from our society

I think that it's time for The Daily Express to admit that, when they're running articles saying that it’s Remainers who are to blame for Trump getting dumped onto the street, that maybe they have a problem

The Streisand Effect still hasn’t reached WWE judging by their continuing to double down on demanding their employees independent contractors stop earning money via third-party platforms manifested in their releasing Thea Trinidad from her contract in spite her Twitch account always being under her real name and not her WWE moniker of Zelina Vega

It was a coincidence that the Jewish Labour Movement decided to hold their annual conference on the Palestinian Day of Solidarity.  Of course it was...

This month it was Fin Taylor who demonstrated just how far from satire HIGNFY has strayed with his “Bomb Glastonbury and kill all Jeremy Corbyn supporters” joke in response to Joan Bakewell lying about Corbyn breaking the law - and, afterwards, Taylor was generally being a smug twat about it on his Twitter - which also serves to show how Tim Davie is fine with booking comedians whose acts have plenty of questionable content contained within it if it guarantees the Tories escape criticism

This month’s example of Steve Baker making himself a walking punchline with no self-awareness came from him howling that further lockdown measures would be a violation of terms set out by the European Convention on Human Rights - yes, the exact same convention that Baker has a.) Repeatedly accused of meddling with British affairs and is an example of the EU nanny state, and b.) Frowns upon things such as Steve Baker repeatedly voting against allowing child refugees to be reunited with their families

Nothing says “worker happiness” quite like GameStop running a competition for their stores to post Tik Tok dances where the store which is voted the winner receives prizes such as an Amazon Echo, a Visa gift card, and the privilege of working an additional ten hours during the week of Black Friday.  Wait, did I say “worker happiness”?  I meant to say “Dickensian shithousery” where employees are expected to compete so they can work more hours

Of course the “We’re not racist”s of Twitter had an issue with Sainsburys Christmas ad because it didn’t appeal to white men due to having a black family, in much the same way that Compare the Market’s ads don't appeal to white men as they’re not Russian meerkats

Professional victim Laurence Fox thought it would be a good idea to get into a slanging match with The Pogues while lying that Fairytale of New York would be banned from the airwaves.  It went about as well as could be expected

It wouldn’t be Remembrance Day without The Sun or The Daily Mail exploiting it for some obvious ragebait, and this year was no exception with both “papers” posting a photo of Extinction Rebellion posting with a banner in front of the Cenotaph protesting climate change - a photo taken two days earlier, but they held off on posting it until the day itself to get the rage flowing, because they needed something as neither Jeremy Corbyn nor Meghan Markle were within a mile of Whitehall

This month it was Ernest Cline who demonstrated a lack of understanding of the Streisand Effect by ordering DMCA takedowns on anyone who posted an excerpt of Ready Player Two online, which mainly served to help the internet realise which the actual excerpts were and which the parody versions were - because it was pretty hard to tell them apart otherwise...

“I’ve been silenced”, shrieked Suzanne Moore in an interview with the Telegraph, fatally undermining her argument in the process.  Funny how the people who have been “silenced” keep doing that, isn’t it?

Because we haven’t heard anything idiotic from Jake Paul in a while, Jake Paul decided to say Covid isn’t real and flu has killed just as many people.  So I give it a week before his older brother Logan feels he has to one-up this and say the Holocaust was fake...

And finally, not for much longer, is Donald Trump and his complicity in trying to organise a coup - but not a very good coup, as his minions at Fox News had to exaggerate how many people were actually protesting about him losing an election and crying about it - which was further undermined by his inability to tell Michigan and Minnesota apart

#dickheads of the month