#and how the british wanted to invade our land and make us british too

[girlactionfigure]

I had to backup quite a ways, because understanding the Arab Israeli conflict without the wider context of the Cold War makes no sense. 

Yeah, so, after World War 2, the former big swinging dick countries of the world were too stressed out to manage any of their colonies. So they threw up their hands and walked away. Power hating a vacuum, the US was prevailed upon to take over, though having an empire seemed like a lot of bother to us. Meanwhile, the Soviet Union was sucking countries close to them into their stupid-ass idea that if we all pool our resources and sing Kum-By-Ya, everyone will get rich. This idea was invented by a Joo, Karl Marx, number one crime of the Joos of all time. 

I could go on for a bit about how stupid this idea was, but let's just throw out the tidbit that they didn't have any weekends for 11 years. 

One of the things the British "owned" was this area formerly "owned" by the Ottoman empire, that had about 17 different names. Because the British Foreign office was a hot-bed of the flavor of anti-semitism that believes Joos were secretly running the world, they felt if they proposed this area as a "homeland" for the Joos, the secret masters, the Joos would favor them. (See The Peace to End All Peace, a boring ass book, but explains a lot of why the Middle East is all screwed up.)

So after WW2, there were a bunch of Joos and some Arabs living in this area. 

In the meantime, the Arab nations in the Area, annoyed at the presence of these Joos on their doorstep, looked at their own Joos and said "See Ya, oh and leave all your shit behind, so we can give it to some of the Arabs after we take our cut". Some more Joos came from Europe, but not as much as you might think. They said See Ya to some of their own Arabs too, but the Arabs got to keep their stuff, and got some of the Joos stuff (I'm a little fuzzy on where the Palestinians came from exactly, but it seems like everyone is.) It was sort of the reverse of Exodus where the Joos are leaving Egypt and the Egyptians give them a bunch of stuff to get them to leave faster, except this time it was the Joos giving stuff to the Arabs. 

The Joos and the Arabs didn't like the British being in charge, so they started doing shitty things to each other, and the British. The British had at that point decided that "owning" this particular patch of dirt wasn't worth it, it was a bunch of desert with no resources, except this one spot that had a magic rock that someone touched, but you had to leave the magic rock there. 

So they went to the UN, the newly formed revision of the League of Nations, and said "Hey, get us out of here". So the UN came up with a plan that gave most of the Arabs in the area most of the land. The Arabs in the area didn't like the deal, because they figured they could kill all the Joos when no one was looking. Except at this point, the local Joos were pretty stubborn and pissed off at being robbed by Syria, Egypt, Saudi Arabic, etc., and they had an influx of Joos from Europe, so you can imagine that "pissed off Joos, willing to die where they stood" versus a bunch of spoiled Arabs who had been told "Just go over there, and we'll give you free stuff", didn't go so well for the Arabs.

So the British leave, the Joos take over after killing a few Arabs, and they declare independence. The US got on the Israel side early, because we're suckers for folks that say "Hey, we want to be a democracy like you, you're our hero.". Israel gets invaded by all the Arab nations around her, and fights them back, because they're all pretty grumpy, and they feel cornered. 

Meanwhile, the Soviet Union, they want to get people on their side. They don't really care about truth, because if they cared about truth, they'd have to admit this idea of Karl Marx, the Joo, wasn't working out so well. Turns out when everyone pools their resources, well, who decides how to divide it up? Also, they didn't believe in God, so they were obviously not very observant. 

So the Soviets want the Arab nations on their side, so they went up to the Arab nations and said "Hey, the US is on Israel's side, we want you to be on our side, we'll sell you weapons and stuff, those US folks are colonialist, they just want more colonies." This sounded good to the Arabs, not realizing that as hard core atheists, the Soviets had no shame about lying. So the Soviet Union traded some obsolete weapons to the Arabs, told them they were the best weapons ever, and got the Arabs to give them cash. 

Ironically, in the meantime, Israel starts transforming large swatches of the desert into usable land, by organizing farms around a system very similar to that Joo Karl Marx's idea, but it was local, tied to a single extended family, and didn't extend to the whole country, just one farm. The Joos from Europe who went to the US instead of Israel send them money, which helps, though that's strictly voluntary and unofficial. But American's like people who work hard so they even get some money from non-Joos in America. 

The Arabs get some money too, from the other Arabs, but mostly their leaders steal it. 

Time passed, eventually the Arabs got bored or something and decided to invade Israel again. Or maybe, the Soviet Union encouraged them? I dunno, never made much sense to me. I was a baby, don't remember. 

Meanwhile, the Soviet Union had recruited a prominent Egyptian, Yasser Arafat, living among the Arabs in Israel. Having a real sense of history would be too confusing to get the Israeli Arabs to rally behind, so the KGB, past masters of making shit up, came up with this whole imaginary history for the Palestinians so that Arafat, despited being from Egypt, could claim history in Israel, and so the Palestinians could whine about how mistreated they were.  

The Arabs learned the hard way "buy American" when their fighter planes wouldn't work because the planes the Russians had sold them actually needed a part they stole from America, because they couldn't make it themselves. So after 6-days, the second war was over.

The imaginary history the KGB had written stuck around, even though Arafat eventually died as we all must someday. It's taught to Palestinians so they can feel properly victimized and oppressed. Though its easily disproved if you browse around Wikipedia for a bit, with a skeptical mind.  

Did that help?

#Israel #KGB #palestine #History

[anonymoosen]

ZIMPAI SHIZPOST STORY PART 5: REALISATION 🤯⁉️

(WE’RE GETTING REAAAL CLOSE TO THE LAST PART GUYS-)

(THE LAST PART WILL BE RLLY SHORT CUZ THIS ONE IS PRETTY LONG KSSKDK)

Our lovely majestic tsundere green lizard boi ELEEEGANTLY pranced over to Dib-chans house with the cherry blossom petals blowing as intensely as ever.

“DEEEB-STINKKK BAH-KAAAHH!! I HAVE RETURNED AND- BLEHHH WHY DO THESE PINK FLOWER THINGIES KEEP HITTING MY FACE!?!”

Dib-chan immediately crashed through his own window from his room and landed on top of Zimpai, “accidentally” pinning him to the ground like that romantic move a lot of people use in movies.

The big headed boy giggled cutely with the usual sparkles in his eyes, “Ooooh woopsiess!! I totaaally didn’t know this cliche romantic trope would happen!!”

The alien rolled his and blushed deeply from the close proxZIMity and the way his crush’s voice sounded like the most adorable thing in the whole world— even cuter than their old class pet hamster, Peepi! (hehehehe peepeepoopoo)

Wait- NO! This is a disease! A CURSE!! The Dib-thing wanted me to fall prey into his hands this whole time!! Zim immediately shook his head and pushed Dib away. Dib-chan looked to the ground and wondered worriedly if he had gone too far in invading the invader’s personal space.

(HELP I JUST DOODLED THIS ON MAH PHONE SO BADLY 5 MIN AGO-)

Zim-kun tried not to feel bad about Dib looking a bit saddened and growled, “GRRR YOU’LL NEVER CURSE ME WITH THAT STYOOPID FEELING!”

Dib sighed and tried to hold back his once again returning sparkling anime tears. Of course it was one sided. Of course he got rejected by even the most annoying alien in the world. Who would even want some creepy weirdo like Dib?

Meanwhile, Gaz was eating popcorn while the whole cheesy but slightly angsty in a way Fanfiction scene played out. “Why are they acting even stupider than usual?” The whatever-colour-her-hair-is girl asked out loud. The question was then answered by a familiar British voice. “Innit!” Gaz blinked.

“Uh- what?”

“WAIT WHERE DID THAT BRITISH STEREOTYPE OF A WORD COME FROM- I MEAN-” The dark purple / indigo / dark blue (HELP IM BAD AT COLORS) alien girl continued, “Ahem, I meant that this whole anime stupidity Fanfiction scene was all part of my revenge plan! MuahahahAAHAHAAHHA!!”

Gaz face palmed. Was the hideous not-so-new girl, Tak, the one who she once viewed as the biggest threat to earth, THIS pathetic??

“Dude- you’re STILL plotting your revenge on these idiots? And you’re doing it by zapping them with some in-real-life-anime gun thingy??” Gaz asked, trying not to sound slightly intrigued by this. Tak saw the undeniable interest in Gaz’s eyes and smugly nodded. The shorter of the two gave up and shrugged. At least she had some show to watch! (even though it was too cheesy and stupid for her liking sometimes)

Back to the main drama going on, Zim noticed Dib trying to hold his tears and gulped. Why the heck did he even feel bad about his ENEMY?? He’s supposed to HATE that big headed dork! The dorkiest dork ever! The cutest- WAIT-

The alien tried to look away. However, it couldn’t be helped. The so-called ‘curse’ was too strong, like the big-headed boy was a magnet pulling Zim’s eyes to look at his adorable face.

Could it beeeee… that the feeling Zimpai was feeling…

WASN’T a curse?!11!1?! hOW ShoCKiNG-

NO!! (Z)IMPOSSIBLEEE!! Invaders needed NO ONEEEE!

…But no one is perfect, and Dib can be his no one-

“LIEEESSS!” The alien desperately screeched out loud on the top of his lungs (or whatever aliens had). Dib raised an eyebrow in confusion, distracting him from the overwhelming sadness he was trying to hide. “I…uhhh- didn’t say anything…?”

———

WELP ZIM IS SLOWLY (SO FRIGGIN SLOWLY) REALISING HIS FEELINGS FOR DOBBLE DIBBY BOO BOO BEAR MIGHT BE REAAL!1!1!1 HOW UNEXPECTEDDD!1!1!

(HELP ME IM RUNNING OUTTA IDEAS SO IM MAKING THIS A VERY VERY SLOW PROGRESS FOR THEM FIRKFK)

———-

FIRST

PREV

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#invader zim #dib membrane #zim #zadr #my art #moosenarts #anonymoosen #zimpai story #invader tak #gaz membrane #ZIMPAI #DIB-CHAN #ZIM-KUN

[thatmissfit]

Day 37 - lando.jpg

Waking up to the darkness of my room only illuminated by my phone’s alarm going off for the second time. All I can think about is how good of a time my friends and I had on our last night in Mexico. Stretching my whole body out like a starfish and rubbing my eyes at the crust that filled them in the night, sometimes I wish I didn’t have to wake up early. But being in this job for a couple of years now I quickly get ready while barely opening my eyes but I do make sure my hair isn’t looking fluffed out. When I get there my fellow flight attendant is waiting by the British Airways check-in counter.

“What a night, babe,” Kira says exaggerating her words with a slight dreaminess in her voice. 

“Don’t I know it? I’m definitely coming back here for vacation.” She hands me one of the two coffees sitting on top of the counter. Let me tell you something, anyone who brings me a drink or snack is in my better books.

“Here’s your fuel for the day, four sugars, four milks just the way you like it.” The aroma of the drink invades my senses as she hands it to me and I take a small sip.

 “You know me too well,” I say with a loopy smile savouring the smooth creaminess of one of my favourite drinks. We walk towards our gate catching up on last night's activities with the other members of the crew before flying back to London. 

Even though Mexico was amazing I’m ready to be home, sleeping in my own bed. Typical flight things go on such as greeting the passengers, baggage load up and as the flight goes on taking naps because everyone was somewhat tired from last night. Finally, we start the landing procedures and all the passengers load out, one little more slowly than the rest. 

He comes up to me and asks me, “do you watch F1?” Confused by the randomness of the question by this handsome stranger I laugh heartily and respond with, “is that some new pickup line people are using now?”

“Nah, it’s not like,” he scratches the back of his head and continues with, “I’m sorry for being weird but I was wondering if I could take a picture of you and maybe any other flight attendants?” 

“Now what a strange request from a complete stranger.” Realizing his honestly, strange request to a stranger, even though she is stunning still might be weird. But he wants a funny picture for the fans and maybe a little for himself. 

“Remember how I mentioned F1, I happen to be a driver…for McLaren actually,” he reaches his hand out to shake mine. “The name’s Lando Norris.”

Lando Norris, the perfect name for this now-named stranger. Just repeating the name in my head and shaking his hand gives me butterflies in my stomach. “I’m y/n,” I turn on my heel to gesture to the woman behind me, “and this is Kira.”

Grinning widely, Lando now can put a name to this beautiful woman. “So now that we’re not strangers, how about a picture? It’s for my spam account, I try to post daily and I think you’re what I need-.” His eyes widen, realizing what he just said and quickly tries to recover from what would seem like flirting.

“What the fans need, I mean” 

Slightly smirking at him I say, “I’m down.” Then looking towards Kira to see if she wants to as well. 

“I’m not trying to get a hit on my record, you do you babes. ” I didn’t even think about what might happen if our boss found out what happened. But honestly, I don’t think it’d be bad and who even says that British Airways would actually see this?

“Besides you’re the one who’s needed,” right after she walks away probably to gather her stuff.

I look back to Lando and instantly knowing how I should pose for this. If this guy is really an F1 driver then he’s probably got tons of fans so if I’m doing this then I want to look good, maybe more for his sake.

“Okay then, I’m gonna need some help with what I’m trying to do.”

So Lando and I walk several rows down to what I and the crew thinks is the strongest overhead baggage holder. I gesture for Lando to crouch down and help spring me up so I can climb inside. Afterwards, settling into a comfortable position and smiling down at him I ask,  “so how do I look?”

“Beautiful,” and you could tell by the glimmer in his eye that he meant it and wasn’t embarrassed. 

I don’t take less than a beat to respond with, “just promise me, you’ll actually post this”

“With the effort we just put in I will. Just let me just get your insta after.”

Later that night when I got to my apartment I get several pings signifying my phone connecting to wifi. I drop my bags onto the floor as I plop down on the couch with an exhausting huff. Unlocking my phone I see a new follow from lando.jpg, smiling softly I follow him back and a few minutes later I see his new post. 

Liked by lewishamilton, charles_leclerc and 324,544 others

lando.jpg Day 37. I promised I’d post her

view all comments

british_airways These are your best yet 📸

f1fan all the beautiful people are british, this shit isn’t fair

landolove nice shot! Be my photographer

y/username this just made my day 😊

lando.jpg glad to be of service 🫡

Just as I closed my phone I get another ping from Instagram; seeing it was a dm from Lando I get intrigued as he already responded to my comment. I open it to read:

You seemed really cool not to mention gorgeous, so I was wondering if you’re free this week for dinner?

Smiling hard at my phone I send back, “How’s Friday sound?”

#f1 #f1 x you #f1 fic #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #lando x reader #lando norris #f1 x y/n #lewis hamilton #lando norris x reader #f1 imagine

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Little Fall of Rain

D’Artagnan x Reader (The Musketeers)

Words: 2897

Summary: The youngest musketeer learns the harshness of the job when the woman he loves makes a tragic sacrifice. 

Notes: I couldn’t not make a Les Mis inspired imagine for this boy. I know they aren't from the same time period, but a British show in Paris… come on. Plus, it’s my favorite musical and I wanted to make myself sad by combining them. 

Warnings: Violence, angst (if you know the song, you know)

Find more Musketeers: HERE

-

Shoved and set aside, you’d had enough of chivalry for the day. You weren’t going to sit idly by as the village you grew up in was attacked. Woman or not, you could fight just as well as the men before you. For heaven’s sake, they were the ones to train you. 

“D’Artagnan,” you huffed. “Give me a weapon.” 

He hardly even glanced in your direction. “Stay where you’re hidden. We’ll have them overtaken soon enough.” 

You both glanced out at the swarming band of ruffians heading your way. They had guns and plenty of them. 

“D’Artagnan,” you said again, firmly in a tone he couldn’t ignore. He glanced over at you. You held out your hand. “Give. Me. A. Weapon.” 

He took a deep breath, looked again at the invading group, and nodded. The young musketeer plucked one of his pistols from his belt and handed it over to you. Though his heart ached for you to flee to safety, he knew they could use all of the hands they could get, especially ones as capable as yours. 

“Just…” He sighed. “Stay low, please?” 

“I will if you will,” you snapped back, a small teasing smile creeping onto your face despite the circumstances. D’Artagnan helped you atop the makeshift rampart. His hand lingered on your waist, holding you close to him. It made your skin alight and your breathing hitch. In a different place and different time, you would have let him hold you there until neither of you could stand anymore. 

“Get down!” Aramis shouted just before a new round of shots popped over your heads. 

Porthos growled. “How many of them could there be?” 

The musketeer’s marksmen sighed woefully. “Enough.” 

“Have we sent all of the women and children to safety?” You asked, the gunshots still ringing in your ears. 

“Almost all of them,” D’Artagnan muttered. You glared. 

“Y/N, what are you still doing here?” Aramis’s wide eyes peeked around the younger man and landed on the weapon in your hands. 

“I will not sit by while the place I grew up in is destroyed.” You held your head high and set your shoulders back. Aramis looked from you to D’Artagnan, back to you, and shrugged. 

“Try your best not to miss,” he said with a slight wink in his eye. 

“Don’t worry,” you nearly breathed a sigh of relief. “I won’t.” 

D’Artagnan glowered, but made no other protests. He did, however, keep his hand close to your arm, ready to pull you from danger. 

You took a deep breath, narrowed your sights on a quick movement behind one of the trees, took aim, and fired. The assailant slumped over, unmoving. An excited laugh puffed from your lips. 

Aramis raised an impressed brow. Even D’Artagnan couldn’t help but smile. The moment was brief, however, with another round of shots interrupting your small victory. A bullet whirled past your ear. D’Artagnan yanked you down, pulling you to his chest. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked, a hand on your cheek. 

“No, no I’m alright.” 

Porthos grinned over at you. “I guess they aren’t as good a shot as our fair lady, eh?” 

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” you breathed, popping back up to fire a newly reloaded shot into the chest of one of the attackers. As his body fell, the forms of his comrades disappeared into the trees. You turned to Athos. “Are they retreating?” 

The musketeer peered into the foliage skeptically. “Or planning a different means of attack.” 

Regardless, the break in the chaos was enough to allow the men to reload and regroup to discuss the plans going forward. The baker you grew up visiting every morning worked with the blacksmith your father once took on as an apprentice. A farmer whose daughter you treated as a sister. Every face held a memory. 

D’Artagnan followed your gaze around the village wall. Your eyes glittered with familiarity and nostalgia. He found himself unable to keep from smiling. 

“This seems like a lovely place to grow up,” he noted, drawing your attention back to him. 

You beamed. “It was. The people are kind and wonderful.” You breathed in the fresh meadow air. “It’s always quiet.” 

“Why did you leave?” D’Artagnan asked. The way he smirked at you made your heart flutter. 

“It’s always quiet,” you laughed. 

“Ah,” he chuckled, the sound lighting something in your chest. “And you’ve never been one for the quiet.” 

“A woman after my own heart,” Aramis chimed in, passing by to check everyone’s supply of powder and bullets. 

“Exactly,” D’Artagnan said. He nudged you teasingly. “Neither of you knows when to keep your mouths shut.” 

Your jaw dropped. Aramis raised a brow. You turned to the other musketeer with a false scowl of offense. 

“Permission to hit him?” 

“Permission granted.” Aramis tilted his hat and continued down the line. You slammed your hand against D’Artagnan’s chest, eliciting a quiet ‘oof’ from his lips and a look of playful betrayal from his eyes. 

“I should give you the silent treatment for a comment like that,” you huffed, still snickering. “See how you like it then.” 

He smiled. “You know I could never bear a world of your silence,” D’Artagnan said. His smile turned mischievous. “An hour or two, though…”

You smacked him again and this time, he caught your hand, bringing it to his lips. How you wished to press his lips to yours instead. What an inconvenient time to remember your feelings for the young musketeer. As if you needed reminding. 

You hastily pulled your hand away. D’Artagnan pondered your sudden change for a moment, not understanding what he’d done to make you uncomfortable. After all, the two of you often teased each other like this. Of course, on his part, it was due to the feelings he’d harbored for you for as long as you’d known each other. Perhaps the notion of his affection repulsed you. 

“Y/N?” He said. 

“We should ready ourselves.” Your jaw tensed with your now indifferent words. “They could be back at any moment.” 

He nodded, disheartened. “Good idea.” 

A silence fell over the men. The trees stood in a mocking quiet, without movement or any indication of the attackers within. Porthos stared over the clearing with narrowed eyes. 

“I don’t like this,” he muttered. “Where have they gone?” Everyone looked warily at the seemingly empty forest, but you turned and looked at the village. Buildings blocked most of your view. 

“Hold my legs and don’t let me fall,” you instructed, using D’Artagnan’s shoulder to lift yourself up onto the wall. All four musketeers reached to pull you back down.

“What are you doing?” D’Artagnan hissed. “Do you want to make it easier for them?”

“They aren’t there anymore.” You peered over the roofs of the buildings you’d known since you were a child, searching for any weakness, any spot they might be able to break through. There, at the other end of the village, was the barn beside the lake where the women and children of the village were hiding. And gliding across the water were boats that held the enemy. 

“The barn!” You shouted, jumping down. You likely would have lost your balance if D’Artagnan hadn’t caught you. “They’re going after the others!” 

One group stayed behind while the rest charged toward the barn with you right along with them. You arrived just as the group of mercenaries and thieves came to shore. Shots and swords clashing took over your world, casting everything into chaos. You lost sight of Athos first, then Aramis, but D’Artagnan never left your side. 

An attacker saw you and sneered, lifting his sword to strike while you were distracted by another. D’Artagnan ran him through in one, swift motion. 

The size of the attacking party began to dwindle. The more men died, the more others started to retreat back to their boats. Others surrendered completely. Still, a fair number fought on, crossing their swords with your waiting blade. You lost count of how many you cut down in your path to get to the barn where the woman and children of the village waited. 

Few remained now as Porthos tossed one man over his shoulder, throwing him back to the ground with enough force you heard bones crack. D’Artagnan struggled with his own opponent, almost losing his footing in the mud. Out of the corner of your eye, you just caught the flash of the barrel now aimed at the heart of the man you loved. 

“No!” 

Your hand flew out in front of you and latched onto the burning metal, yanking it back and away from its former mark.

The shot rang through the air, along with a single breathy gasp, and the dying cry of the man D’Artagnan had been engaged with as he plunged his sword into his chest. He turned to you, smiling. 

“We’ve got them,” he cheered. His moment of excitement, however, quickly faded. 

“D’Artagnan…” His name left your lips like a plea. You took a step forward and stumbled into his waiting arms. 

It started to rain. 

-

“Is he watching?”

D’Artagnan rolled his eyes. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” you smirked, “I want him to witness your defeat.” You brought your smaller sword up, clashing it with his. The motion took him by surprise long enough for you to strike again. Above you, Treville leaned on the rail outside of his office, observing the practice. 

“You don’t have to keep proving yourself, you know,” D’Artagnan said. “He already let you stay.” 

“I don’t just want to train with you,” you scoffed. “I want to become one of you, D’Artagnan, which is not a simple task for a woman.” 

“You seem to be fairing alright.” He advanced now, making several blows which you blocked expertly. 

But you were too focused on his weapon to realize he was backing you into the stairs. Instead of taking a step up, your foot caught on the wooden plank. You toppled backward and felt the heat of embarrassment rise in your cheeks. 

D’Artagnan stuck his sword into the step beside you, leaning on it with a coy smile. “Best two out of three?” 

“Y/N! D’Artagnan!” Treville called from overhead. You raised your eyes to meet him, more shame burning on your face. He smiled. “Try not to wear each other out.” The captain chuckled and gave you an approving nod. “I’m afraid you might be too much for him to handle.” 

D’Artagnan’s jaw dropped in mock offense and Treville went back into his quarters. 

“I think he was watching a different duel,” D’Artagnan huffed, though you could see a smile on his lips. He held out his hand.

“Or he just knows talent when he sees it.” 

You let him pull you to your feet, pulling you close to his chest. Your faces were inches apart and, for a moment, you thought he might kiss you. For a moment, you wanted him to. 

D’Artagnan had been the first to welcome you into their group of noble, if not raucous, soldiers. He’d swiftly become your best friend and had just as quickly made his way into your heart. 

Unbeknownst to you, his heart was just as enraptured. Every waking moment, he wanted to spend by your side. You consumed every thought when you weren’t with him and you set every nerve on fire when you were near. 

D’Artagnan leaned, wanting nothing more than to confess his feelings for you at that moment by pressing his lips to yours… but stopped himself. 

“Treville is right,” he said. “We should call it a night.” And just like that, he pulled away, leaving a cold, empty space between you. 

-

He tried to cover it, to stop the red seeping from your shirt, but it was everywhere. He pressed his hand to the wound and felt the hot crimson against his palm. You cried out from the sharp pressure and he tried to soothe you with his other hand on your cheek. 

“You’re okay,” he said, panic lacing his voice. He looked up, the man who’d shot you stood over him with his blade ready to strike. 

An expert shot took him before he could bring the weapon down on D’Artagnan’s skull. 

The youngest musketeer searched the field.

“Aramis!” He cried. “Help me!” 

“It’s okay,” you muttered weakly. You somehow managed a smile. “It doesn’t hurt.” 

“Aramis, do something!” His scream rang through the now-empty battlefield as his friend rushed to your side. 

“Are-” You sucked in a breath as Aramis replaced D’Artagnan’s hands with his own. “Are the women and children alright? Did any of those brutes make it inside?”

Aramis shook his head, giving you a reassuring smile. “They’re all fine, thanks to you. If you hadn’t caught them as soon as you did, I’m sure there would have been more casualties. You saved lives today.” 

“Then it’s all worth it.” 

D’Artagnan took your hand. “Don’t talk like that.” He cast a desperate look at his friend. 

Aramis shook his head with a heavy heart and sorrow in his eyes. D’Artagnan reached over you, grabbing him by the lapel. 

“There must be something you can do,” he pleaded. 

“You have no idea how much I wish there was.” Aramis felt your heart weaken beneath his hands. He leaned over and kissed your forehead, muttering a prayer against your lips. Aramis lifted his eyes back to D’Artagnan. “Tell her.” 

D’Artagnan paled. “What?” 

Aramis stared daggers at him, not in anger, but in desperation. “This is your last chance, D’Artagnan.” He laid a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, keeping one holding yours. He brought the two of your hands together and, though slicked with your blood, it sent sparks through your fingertips. “You will regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t.” 

He gave you a final, affectionate smile, though the look in his eyes was nothing short of mournful. Porthos and Athos stood to the side with the same looks upon their faces. 

“Look, D’Artagnan,” you said, holding out a weak hand to the moisture in the air. “Isn’t the rain lovely?” 

“Yes, it is,” He winced as though it pained him to speak. He still pressed against your wound in a vain attempt to stop the blood pouring out of your chest. He expected you to cry out from the pressure, to jerk away or beg him to stop, but you merely looked up at the sky with a glossy kind of wonder. 

“I am glad,” you breathed, “to have felt it one last time.” 

D’Artagnan held back a sob. 

“Please don’t go.” He pulled you closer to him. Aramis was right. He had to say it. “I love you.”

Your eyes found his again, though they were fading quickly. 

“And I you,” you smiled. 

“I love you, Y/N,” he cried. “I love you. If I could close your wound with these words, I would. I love you. Please.” He held you so closely now it should have hurt. It didn’t. It was wonderful. 

Your hand slipped from your side and landed amongst the grass and the budding plants. A wildflower had begun to bloom. 

“The rain, D’Artagnan…” With the last of your strength, you plucked the flower from its root and brought it to him. “The rain makes flowers grow.” 

Your hand, and the blossom, fell for the final time. 

“...Y/N?” D’Artagnan held your face and searched your eyes for something. Anything. But their blank, lifelessness reflected only the darkened sky. “Please, God, no.” 

He couldn’t tell where the rain ended and his tears began. 

“I love you.” He repeated it again and again as if the chant could breathe into your lungs and force your heart to beat again. 

No one knew how long he knelt there with you pulled tight against his chest, his tears wetting your already rain-soaked hair. But eventually, the clouds parted and the sun returned. The final drops from the sky landed on your lips and he kissed you goodbye. 

-

The entire village came to pay their respects at your grave. Aramis, Porthos, and Athos all worked on preparing the burial before sundown. Words of thanks and sorrow filled the air between the villagers and the four men. They came and went, many having to repair the damages to their homes that the thieves have caused. 

D’Artagnan stayed by your side, even after you were placed and covered with earth. He remained after the others prepared the horses, though none moved to rush him. He moved only once to a small grove of white and yellow blossoms. 

He picked a small but lovely bouquet and set it upon the mound of dirt where you took your final rest. 

Then, he turned to the three men waiting for him. Aramis stepped forward first, taking him in his arms with a brotherly embrace, his own grief clear on his face. The others joined, putting their arms around D’Artagnan’s shoulders to remind him they were there and they always would be. 

The four men left the village, but it remained in their hearts and minds for the rest of their lives. D’Artagnan thought of you often and, eventually, it gladdened his heart to be reminded of you- your smile, your persistence, your beautiful, loving heart- every time spring rains brought a new, colorful wave of flowers.

#d'artagnan x reader #d'artagnan #the musketeers #bbc musketeers #the musketeers imagine #aramis #porthos #athos #luke pasqualino

[funnefox]

I wrote an entire mini fanfic in the comments of this one obscure Gorillaz video that I don't want to go to waste so I'm sharing it with you

March 7th, 2006, approximately 10:00 AM British time. The windmill island, seen in the worldwide phenomenon that was the music video for "Feel Good Inc.", is attached to Kong Studios as out steps from it not its' owner Noodle, but her bandmate, Murdoc Niccals, cracking his back after hauling some boxes onto it.

"Alright, lass" Murdoc greeted what looked like an ant-sized Noodle from his perspective. "All your stuff's just about ready there. When this shoot ends you can go out into the world and do your own thing for a while." The shoot he was referring to was to be for the final single off of their band, Gorillaz', second album "Demon Days". Murdoc planned a whole action movie-like sequence where Noodle and her island would be gunned down by helicopters and blown up as commentary for the terrorists that have invaded the world since the Iraq war started. To Murdoc, it was a perfect end to a perfect album cycle. To the other members, however, this was seen as something that was gonna be gruesomely sad for all of them.

"I-i'm having second thoughts, Murdoc" Noodle spoke up, sniffling a little bit. "This video isn't good for me"

"Whadaya mean, Noodle?" Murdoc asked his asian partner "We all agreed on this, you know what you're getting into. Plus, this could mean a whole lot for you"

"I know" Noodle admitted "It's just... it's just..." Instead of finishing her thought, the 15-year old music master broke down in tears, crying on Murdoc's blue jeans. "I don't wanna do this. This could be a disaster and end our careers and..and..." She broke down again, leading to the other two members, 2-D and Russel, coming outside to see the commotion

"We started shooting yet? I've been setting up these walkie talkies all day" 2-D started, holding one of the devices in his hand. Russell saw Noodle in her position and piped up "Hey noodle, what's up?" Noodle looked at the 2 boys, still with tears running down her face, and promptly ran up and hugged both of them, commencing more waterworks. "Russel, 2-D. You don't understand how frightening this is."

"I know noodle, it's tough doing stuff like this" Russel said hugging back, surprisingly gentle for a guy his size "I had my fair share of episodes when I first lost Del"

2-D joined the hugging "me too, even during video shoots. When we were making 'Dirty Harry' I had so much heat stroke I could've cried for weeks"

"T-this is different though." Noodle interrupted while still keeping her hug's grip "Murdoc planned something that frightens me. I'm thinking about all these scenarios in my head. What if the island goes out of control? What if the helicopters land on top of me? What if I... die?"

"DIE?!" all 3 boys asked in unison, with Murdoc seeming the most loud. "Listen Noods,you know papa Murdoc always has your best interest in mind."

"That goes for all of us" Russel added "Y'know we always keep you happy in scenarios like this. Remember when you first joined and we got you the best room in Kong."

"Or when we got you a new pet after your dog went missing" 2-D continued.

"Or when we loved your demos so much. We turned it into an album." The typically egotistical Murdoc finished.

Noodle started to calm down a bit from those words "Y-you think this is just another one of those?" She asked

"Positive, lass" Murdoc answered "I would never kill anyone including you and excluding 2-D"

"Yeah, that's ri-wait, wot?" 2-D piped up as he realized what Murdoc said.

Noodle sniffled happily at that remark before simply stating "Arigato. That helps".

"You're not gonna miss us for too long anyway. We'll be giving cues for you on these walkie talkies" 2-D instructed

"Yeah, all you gotta do is listen to the three of us and the whole shoot will be over before you know it" Russel said in his street connotation

"You promise it'll be that simple?" Noodle asked.

"Promise" all 3 boys responded

"Noodle! Hurry up!" A voice belonging to director Jamie Hewlett screamed "the video was supposed to be shot yesterday"

Noodle, still a little nervous about the video despite the pep-talk, climbed onto her island using the rope that it was tied to.

"You won't forget about Mike while I'm out there, will you?" She asked before making it all the way on

"Will never be outta sight" Murdoc answered "I'll give him plenty of fluids"

"That's Shaun! Mike's her Monkey" Russel corrected

"Right, right, of course" Murdoc murmured, the alcohol from his box lifting starting to kick in

"See ya later, Noodle. Good luck in the video" 2-D happily waved.

"Sayonara for now, 2-D. Don't forget to talk" Noodle waved back as she fully stepped onto the island.

With that, Noodle went to the anchor mechanism at the back of the Windmill island and turned the crank on it. It was soon unleashed from its' shackles at Kong, floating off into the british sky. The last thing Noodle heard before she fully left the studio's vicinity was Murdoc's pet raven, Cortez, cawing at the island.

#Fanfiction #Gorillaz #Phase 2 Gorillaz #2-D Gorillaz #Murdoc Gorillaz #russell gorillaz #noodle gorillaz #El Manana #in my mind this is the last interaction Noodle has with any band member before she finds Russell at the end of the On Melancholy Hill video #Also lost some sleep over making this yesterday #Youtube

[tillywhim]

A 12-MONTH RECONCILLIATION & OTHER SUBJECTS

When Harry and Meghan decided to "step back" as "senior working royals" in January 2020, it was agreed by HM Queen Elizabeth II and the then Prince of Wales, HRH Prince Charles and HRH Prince William that a 12 month review of this decision would take place in January 2021. The fact Our Lady of Perpetual Victimhood is letting it be known in the press and popular media that the Sussex family is willing to reconcile with the rest of the family following the death of Her Majesty, but giving it a time scale of 12 months is testament to her pettiness. Not for her a press release saying "times like this make you realise how important family is..."

Her shallow, peevish, point-scoring, one-upmanship, mentality practically screams out for satisfaction, for revenge. This is why the Montecito Moanarchy has put a 12 month timescale on the reconciliation.

Harry, his memoir and Netflix. Poor old Harry, hey. What's a poor, misunderstood, downtrodden, hounded Princeling to do? Fed up with life in the goldfish bowl/Truman Show world that is the British Royal Family, he ups sticks with his wife and baby son, and, with the blessings of his family flees to that well known bastion of privacy and solitude, California.

Yes, after a decade spent playing call of duty doing his duty as a serving soldier in HM's army, followed by a stint as the 3rd wheel to the Prince and Princess of Wales, Saint Henry of the Wounded Ego, fed up to the back teeth of the constant hounding of the press and paparazzi of himself and his beleaguered girlfriend/wife made the very wise and impossibly grown-up decision to do what she tells him and they returned to her home state. They wanted to get away from all the intrusions and as Meghan said, they don't have tabloids where she comes from!

So, Harry wanted his privacy, as did Meghan. On their terms. This is the story of their lives. Everything has to be on their terms. Meghan has no problem giving interviews to Oprah, Ellen and now it seems every cut-rate gossip mag masquerading as serious journalism. Harry is willing to invade his own privacy as long as the price is right. Worse, if the price is better than he was expecting, he is quite happy to invade the privacy of the family he left behind in the UK.

His paymasters at Netflix and Penguin Random House have shelled out multi-million $$$ for the inside stories of the "Standing Out With the Sussexes" and "Harry Windsor - How I went From Spare to Hero to Handbag" and they want their pound of flesh. As we've seen, Harry is learning self-promotion well, people are already talking about the book, it's being insinuated that a chapter here and there is being either heavily edited/rewritten or even taken out and allusions are being made to the affair that never was between William and Rose Hanbury. Simply by doing that, he's garnered interest for the book and conversely for the series.

Another year, another paid for "humanitarian" award? Meghan's jealousy really does know no bounds does it?

On the anniversary of the moon landing, 20 July 2022, Boston was announced as the host city for this year's Earthshot Awards. Inspired by President John F. Kennedy's "moonshot" challenge, it seems fitting to have the second award here in his home city. Working with The John F. Kennedy Library Foundation and the city of Boston, the awards will be broadcast to a global audience. Ambassador Caroline Kennedy (JFK's daughter) said, " “There is no more important Moonshot today than repairing the planet and no better place to harness the Moonshot spirit than the City of Boston.”

Which brings us back to Meghan because of course it does. It always does. Suddenly a few days ago, along with President Zelensky of Ukraine, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex were late announcements for the Robert F. Kennedy "Ripple of Hope" awards 2022. See? William is parterning with the Kennedys, America's answer to the royal family? Well, gosh, darn it! Meghan and Harry are going to do something with the Kennedy's too. So there!

Now, I'm not saying they paid for this award. I'm not 100% certain they could afford to pay for a table looking at the prices if the rumours of their financial situation is to be believed but, I'm also not not saying they paid for this award. They have a track record so, make of it what you will. Click on the photos of the other recipients and you get a short bio of who they are and the work they do (why they're getting the award). Click on the photo of the duplicitous duo and you get the photo credit. And yet, according to Kerry Kennedy, daughter of Robert F. Kennedy, the pair were made aware they had been awarded the prize back in March. To me, that speaks volumes.

#Our Lady of Perpetual Victimhood #Saint Henry of the Wounded Ego #Privacy Pays #Will Sell Out Family For $$$ #You get a Kennedy I get a Kennedy

[aria-i-adagio]

Thrift Shop Vikings premise, part 2

@atypicalacademic, @hoochieblues, @motherofqups

The plot edition....

Let’s go back to that map. Specifically, this part of the map. See that nice river basin, surrounded by mountains? This is our stage. I am quite terrible with geographic names. For the moment, we’ll refer to this as the Riverlands. The relatively isolated Riverlands are divided into three principal kingdoms. The real world model is the British Isles post the decline of the Roman Empire, because we definitely needed another fake Britain. Culturally, it's a backwater, but not “barbaric.”

The economic system is primarily agrarian. The more mountainous regions do engage in some amount of mining and metalwork, but the depths which have to be reached to acquire ore limits this activity. Primary exports are animal and plant fibers, a limited amount of metals, and paper, which isn’t really relevant at this stage. Both kinds of hemp are popular crops and the fun kind is the ‘cash crop’ so to speak.  

The surrounding mountains limit outside incursions. The past 2-3 generations have been remarkably peaceful and cooperative within the Riverlands with all the primary ruling families intermarried to a greater or lesser extent. Brivonia (highlighted), in particular, has developed solid economic ties with trading cities along the definitely Not!Mediterranean-esque coast. They have enough goods people want to make it worth the effort of travel, but not enough to bother with invading for land or wealth. (Assuming you’re one of the significantly wealthier countries to the south.) 

All of the above leads to a high degree of complacency regarding defense. And the people of those islands? Yeah, they’re a bit short on land resources for farming (did too good of a job getting those population numbers back up). About forty years ago, this might have been solved quite amicably, as there is more arable land than what is being used in the Riverlands. Unfortunately for the Riverlands, about thirty years ago power within the islands was consolidated by a female alpha named Synnove, who believes that she’s rediscovered the old, true gods and is destined to conquer on their behalf until she reaches the point where the sun rises over the ocean. She has a very high charisma stat and truly believes in her bullshit. Combine that with inadequate resources on the island themselves as motivation for people who aren’t entirely sure about this whole ‘old gods’ thing and fun times can be had by all.

Brivonia is targeted because Synnove, et. al., know that they are in a weak position defensively and were further weakened by two waves of plague in the past six or so years. The relative security of the river basin is also seen as a good place to build a base of support on the mainland, build up resources, and gather information about the geography and politics further inland. (And Synnove is just crazy enough that she might believe she’s going to live until her destiny is fulfilled, so while she wants to get moving, she’s willing to play a long game.)

And this, dear reader, is how Evyn, Prince of Aldenchester, ends up having definitely seen better days because “No surrender, we die like men” only works when you’re consistently classed as man.

...record scratch... Now we’re going to back up again...

Evyn has spent the twenty-odd years since he could form coherent sentences trying very, very hard to NOT BE PRECIOUS. This is very hard when one has six siblings between six to seventeen years older than oneself and then there was another six-ish year gap before the actual baby of the family was born. It is further complicated when one is an omega and therefore, by default, precious. (Two successive wives in this scenario, but the older children actually quite like their stepmother, who had the good sense to let them define the relationship.) Evyn is also the clever, conniving sibling. Not the one you actually want to leave alive to use as a puppet, but how was Synnove supposed to know that?

Evyn is also in many respects, the best connected of the siblings because he spent several years studying in the southern cities. (And he’s a grade A nerd, so studying did happen; along with a lot of ‘frivolity,’ as one does in one’s late teens and early twenties when far from home.) He was recalled home when his father died and has since largely been trying to put off an arranged marriage by being incredibly useful to the eldest brother on the administrative side of running a kingdom.

He also briefly crossed paths with Sindre, who of two sons Synnove has with her, several years, without either one knowing who the other actually is, and rather liked the big, sweet, slightly sad, sailor who was contemplating running the fuck away from whatever was going on in his life. So when he gets the ultimatum of “you’re either letting one of sons take you as a mate, or I’m going to kill in a very creative fashion,” a very clearly extremely pissed about this entire situation Sindre is the obvious best of the bad choices. (To the extent that anyone other than Synnove has any choice in this scenario.) 

Sindre (Asdason,sometimes referred to as Synnovarson) would prefer to be a gentle giant in peace. He is one of Synnove's older children, who she sired on a male omega, Asdi, who was married/mated to her during her conquest of the islands themselves. Sindre's grandfather had enough sway to keep both Sindre and Asdi within his settlement. (Asdi, as a male omega, has specific religious duties associated with protecting the boundaries of the settlement, death rituals, etc.) Sindre recognizes Synnove's depravity, but he has always believed there is nothing he can do about it. She controls Sindre because he believes, correctly, that if he challenges her or even simply breaks away it will be his family and his community that pays the price. He could be described as in a constant state of low key dissociation.

Much of Sindre's internal conflict boils down to pressure to be ‘manly’ or ‘alpha’ and the very meaning of those concepts. His grandfather and Synnove are opposing models. He feels inadequate to meet his grandfather's expectations. Other themes are honor/dishonor/atonement for what he has and hasn't done. Sindre is religious, but his religiosity has been picked up entirely from Asdi. Polytheistic, a touch of animism, a lot of superstitious beliefs. The injunction “Do not offend the gods” is real enough to him that he does somewhat fear Synnove's, even though he doesn't buy into her claim that they are supreme, and he quite frankly thinks they are cruel and unworthy of worship. Worship and fear are distinct.

Synnove thinks that ‘giving’ Evyn to Sindre will give her more control over him.

Now, dear readers, I hope we have a premise for the plot.

TMI/full confession: There’s some kink meme out there with conquering warlord/whoever they just vanquished as a prompt. That notion plus the madness of Nanowrimo are how we ended up here. Somewhere, at some point in fictional character land, Evyn, Sansa Stark, and June Osbourne are asked to leave the same therapy group because they are all a little too into revenge.

#thrift shop vikings #writing process #world-building #ask memes answered

[theorangelifeofriley]

Honolulu: Pearl Harbor, Punchbowl

July 24, 2021

We were to meet our driver at 8am this morning for our day at Pearl Harbor and the Punchbowl. There was much confusion about what to pack, since Pearl Harbor doesn’t allow bags at all – except maybe a small clear sandwich bag. I brought my home made wristlet – made out of a clear sandwich bag and some duck tape. We all packed things in my little wristlet for the day.

We got down to the little sitting area next to the pull-through driveway and our group was congregated with our guide for the day, Olav. Olav told us that we didn’t actually have anywhere to be until 1:30pm, so we had some time to make sure that we all had what we needed. And also that he would be with us all day and we’d be in the same car all day. He also strongly recommended hats and water bottles. We made several trips back up to the room to grab things. We also learned that Olav is unvaccinated, doesn’t believe in COVID-19, and is a staunch Republican who believes in his “Constitutional rights.” He is also an incredible font of knowledge about Pearl Harbor, and only occasionally threw in some of his slanted views. There is no way I’m going to be able to capture, or remember, all the information he told us – it was a continuous stream of knowledge for about 8 hours.

Eventually, we had all of our stuff, and we walked to the 15-passenger van, parked on the street behind the hotel. After we got settled, Olav took off through the city to the Punchbowl. The Punchbowl is a volcanic crater in the hills surrounding Honolulu. The center is a bowl – the crater – and they punched a hole through one of the crater’s rims to allow entry into the bowl. Hence the name – Punchbowl. Inside the Punchbowl is a national cemetery. There’s a monument at the end of it, and on the steps up to the monument is where Hawai’i holds memorial services for Veteran’s Day and Dec. 7. We’re not allowed to get out inside the Punchbowl, but we can drive through. Lining the driveway in the Punchbowl are Banyan trees donated to the US from China. China was our ally during World War II, and we helped to defeat the Japanese who had invaded and were conquering China. There are 48 trees, which represent the 48 states at the time of World War II. They’re beautiful trees that have been groomed to prevent additional roots from taking root.

The area is quiet and calm, and beautiful. There are no traditional white headstones like in Arlington. Instead, the headstones are flat. They used to be white wooden crosses but were changed to flat stone headstones to respect other religions – and allow for easier maintenance.

From the Punchbowl, we drove to Pearl Harbor, and to the USS Missouri BB 63, which is now a museum. As we drove through the city, Olav pointed out a neighborhood that burned when a bomb went astray on Dec. 7, 1941. He also described in detail what happened on Dec. 7, 1941 – the day Pearl Harbor was attacked. We learned about the SS Cynthia Olson which was sank en route from the mainland and Honolulu by a Japanese submarine on the morning of Dec. 7, 1941. The passenger ship was carrying two soldiers to Honolulu but was a passenger ship. There’s a photo of the Cynthia Olson as it was sinking taken by a Japanese soldier on the submarine. The Cynthia Olson got a may day call out, and another passenger ship heard the call. That second passenger ship confiscated all the passenger’s binoculars and assigned watch duty to the passengers. When that ship landed, the USA government confiscated all of their radio records and logs. Olav believes the records were confiscated because they show the time of the Cynthia Olson’s may day call. If that call happened before the bombing at Pearl Harbor, but was ignored, it would look very bad for the US military command.

As we entered the Pearl Harbor base, we drove to a parking lot and Olav left us to get an officer who cam back and searched our van for bags. Once that was done, we drove over the bridge to Ford Island and the USS Missouri BB-63. BB-63 stands for Battle Boat 63 – the 63rd battleship the US built. This is necessary because there have been four USS Missouri’s. The current USS Missouri is a submarine that was also docked at Pearl Harbor today. Of course you can’t call it BS-63 (battleship 63) – so battle boat 63 it is. The BB-63 was the last battleship built in the world, the most powerful, and the last one to retire. It was launched during World War II, saw battle in the Battle of Okinawa, was where the Instrument of Surrender was signed by the Japanese to officially end World War II, served in the Korean War, was decommissioned in the 60s, then refitted in the 80s, saw duty in Desert Storm, before finally being retired in the early 90s, then being made into a museum. Its parked in Battleship Row – where all the Battleships were anchored on Dec. 7.

Olav told us a lot about how the Pacific Fleet came to be in Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7 – but then he seemed to contradict himself. The first story was that FDR ordered the Pacific Fleet to all be at Pearl Harbor as a “show of strength” to deter the Japanese. The Admiral of the Pacific Fleet thought this was stupid, because normally the Pacific Fleet rotated between several locations, and there was not enough of a supply chain, let alone docking berths, to allow the entire fleet to be in Pearl Harbor. He resisted, basically told FDR he was dumb, and lost his job. He had worked on the supply line, though, and worked on the docking situation too – which is how Battleship Row came to be.

As he told this story, I gathered that the next Admiral did as FDR wished and assembled the entire Pacific Fleet in Pearl Harbor. Olav made a point to say that FDR ignored the military advisors, and his Admiral, and all their knowledge to demand the fleet be in Pearl Harbor. Later, he told us that every year, the Admiral of the Pacific Fleet was required to inspect the fleet in Pearl Harbor. This always occurred on the Monday after the first Sunday in December. In 1941, that was Dec. 8. The Fleet was required to report to Pearl Harbor 24 -48 hours in advance of the inspection. Which then means that the fleet was assembled in Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7 in preparation for the inspection on Dec. 8 – which doesn’t seem to have a lot to do with FDR.

The deck of the Mighty Mo is covered in teak, which they did to preserve the steel deck, to lower the temperature inside the boat, and to provide a natural nonslip surface. The teak on the deck has been replaced three times, all using different processes. One time they messed up trying to save money by putting 1 inch of Douglas Fir below 1 inch of team (instead of 2 inches of teak) – not realizing that Douglas Fir rots faster than teak.

During WWII, the Missouri was attacked by a Kamikaze, which was captured perfectly on camera. We saw the place where the Kamikaze’s wing impacted with the Missouri. We also saw footprints on the deck where our personnel stood as they buried the Kamikaze pilot at sea as directed by the Missouri’s captain.

We toured the inside of the ship, which was interesting. They had several displays with stuff from the Missouri, the history of the Missouri, remnants from the Kamikaze attack, etc. We walked through the galley, the kitchens, the offices – including the dental office – the food lines, including the donut shop, the fast food line, and the Truman line, so called because the Truman family visited and used that food line. There were crew quarters everywhere – berths stacked 3 high, and each sailor’s locker. The kitchens were crazy – the appliances were huge, and they had everything you could want! Well, all the kitchen toys you could want. The Missouri was the first ship to have a network of interconnected computers which they called MO-Net. This was all before the internet was created. The inside of the Missouri was extensive – it seemed to go on and on. We saw throughout the ship ammunition chutes. And a couple of places that would be vulnerable to armor piercing rounds which can pierce through 16” of steel – so these areas were outfitted with 17” think steel. The guns on the ship were huge and could take out a target 25 miles away. The guns had to be fired over the water, because the rounds were fired at twice the speed of sound, and the concussion would tear the ship apart if the guns were fired over the ship. Missouri, the state, was responsible for providing the fancy silverware and place settings – which is interesting. There was a great map that showed where all of the different USS Missouris served. We saw the Chief’s lounge, and the Captain’s lounge, which was also used as a war room, and the tables can be used as operating tables in a pinch. It was a great insight into what the ship would have looked like while it was in service.

When we were finished touring the inside of the boat, we went to the deck, and then to the Quarter Deck. On the Mighty Mo, the Quarter Deck has been renamed the Surrender Deck, because it was where the Japanese surrendered to the Allied Forces to end World War II. Olav told a story about how MacArthur stepped out of the navigation bridge to walk down to the Quarter Deck but noticed that the Japanese contingent hadn’t arrived yet. So he went back inside, saying, “I’m not going to wait for them. They will wait for me.” He also told us that the British brought a fancy table they wanted to use for the signing, but the papers they were signing were too large to fit on the table. The Missouri’s Captain ordered a seaman to grab a folding table from the ship, and they used that. One of the Japanese had a false leg, and as he was coming up to sign the papers, he stumbled and hit one of the legs of the folding table. The crew, who knew it was a folding table, held their breath for the rest of the ceremony – hoping that the table didn’t collapse. (It didn’t.)

On the Surrender Deck, there is a plaque where the table was and the documents were signed. There’s also a display with replicas of the documents. On the replicas, you can see that the Canadian representative signed on the wrong line on the first document. There’s a picture of someone making sure that he signed on the correct line on the second copy!

They’ve positioned the Missouri so that the bow of the battleship points to the bow of the USS Arizona. The ship that started the US involvement in WWII and the ship where WWII ended pointing to each other.

We finished on the Missouri, went to the gift shop, got some Dole Whip, and then drove to the Pearl Harbor Memorial area for lunch. Lunch was at a permanent food truck outside, and was decent, although Meg and Marie didn’t like their nachos or hot dog. After lunch, we went to watch a 20-minute movie about the attack on Pearl Harbor, before making our way to the ferry to the USS Arizona Memorial.

Olav detailed how the attack happened but of course I’m not going to remember everything. There were three waves of attacks – the dive bombers, the torpedoes, and the other type of bombers. Eek. They came from different directions, and in two separate waves. There were about… or over?... 300 planes in total. The battle lasted for 2 hours. Most all of the ships that were sunk were eventually retrieved and put back into service, except for the Arizona, the Oklahoma, and the Utah. The Japanese adjusted bombs? Or torpedoes? With an additional fin that allowed them to fun in the shallow waters of Pearl Harbor and hit Battleship row. I think Olav also indicated that the aerial bombers were not the ones that caused the most damage, generally – it was the torpedoes.

The ride out to the memorial was quick – the warnings about not misbehaving on an active Navy boat were almost as long as the ride itself. Once the ferry docks, we disembarked, and headed back to the back room. The memorial itself is a white concrete building. The architect was a survivor of the Nazi concentration camps and wanted to build the memorial to remember the lives that were spent to save and free so many across the world, including in the concentration camps. The structure is a loose U-shape. The low point in the middle represents initial defeat at Pearl Harbor. The inclines on either side represent the slow climb to victory in Europe and the slow climb to victory in the Pacific. There are seven cut outs along either side and the top, which were for structural integrity, but have later been said to represent a 21-gun salute. The structure is situated across the middle of the sunken USS Arizona – the ship heaviest hit by the attack on Dec. 7. 1,177 seamen were lost with the Arizona and never recovered. Another 41 of the survivors, or relatives of those lost, have chosen to be interred in the Arizona.

As soon as I set foot on the dock, I smelled the oil or gasoline from the wreck. You could see it on the water, too. There is oil still leaking from the ship and will continue to leak for decades more. There were a lot of people at the memorial, but it was mostly quiet, as is fitting. We walked right back to the room where the names of those buried here are displayed. It’s made of the same marble as the headstones in Arlington. The room is beautiful but somber.

Just outside of that room is a hole in the floor of the structure that is situated over a part of the ship. I didn’t see much there. Outside, on either end of the structure, there are two white buoys that represent where the bow and the stern of the ship are. There are also pieces of the ship, like the gun turrets, and the flag staff, that are still sticking out above the water. It was a moving experience.

After the ferry back to the main site, we went and toured the USS Bowfin – a retired submarine that is only 27’ in circumference. It was tiny, and holy cow does it seem miserable to have served on it. They call it the Silent Service – the work of the submarines. The Bowfin was launched on Dec. 7, 1942, and was therefore nicknamed The Pearl Harbor Avenger. The kitchen was tiny, and only had minimal toys. Olav tells us that the food was cooked on the mainland, frozen, and placed in the submarine’s freezers.

The worst thing was hot bunking. There were only 36 bunks on board the submarine, but about 86 sailors on board. So they rotated beds – multiple people shared a bed. With the temperatures on the submarine running in the 90s or 100s, the beds were wet with the other guy’s sweat. Yuck.

The doorways between the areas of the ship were so small and short too! It was a workout to squat and contort myself through the doorways.

After the Bowfin, we drove back to the city Olav was kind enough to drive us to Costco. This Costco is the busiest on in America. I didn’t go in, but the parking lot was crazy! Anne, Aimee, and Marie went in to get food for the next few days, and they did a great job! Then, it was back to the hotel, and our time with Olav was over. He is a knowledgeable, talkative tour guide to be sure!

Back in the room, some of us split up for naps and downtime until dinner at 6:30. Rileys, Drew, and Todd stayed at our place to watch the Olympics and drink the 5th of rum we bought the night before. Todd made us a whole series of frozen drinks that were great, and did the job! We had a raucous good time watching Men’s Street Skateboarding, where the athletes wiped out more than they landed tricks. It was brutal!

We had tacos for dinner, and continued watching the Olympics, and the activity on the ocean. From our view from the living room and our balcony, we can see all the hundreds of surfers always hanging out on the water, and the couple that actually make surfing runs. There’s a lot of boat traffic, including a lot of boats that go out to watch the sunset. There’s also a surprising number of large cargo ships that travel pretty close to this beach. It was a great time tonight!

#alohabeaches #july24 #2021 #hawaii #honolulu #pearl harbor #punchbowl

[echo-three-one]

Whatever It Takes

Sequel to A Forgotten Memory

Back at the base, the team desperately hopes to find MacTavish but is surprised by uninvited guests.

Chapter 12 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

Previous Chapter : The Berlin Tower

Uninvited Guests

Gary "Roach" Sanderson

Task Force 141 

Task Force 141 Base - Infirmary

It's been 18 hours since the heartbreaking news, everyone already lost hope but a few comrades still clung on a little string of possibility.

The nurse guided Gary's left arm and slung it over his shoulders and told him he was good to go. He got his injuries assisting INTERPOL in Paris, along with Ghost in hopes of finding Augutus. Gary initially handled the situation but one bad sidestep caused him to fall on his arm, and good thing it's only considered minor damage.

But enough of him, he thought to himself. He had to address the elephant in the room. John 'Soap' MacTavish was M.I.A.

When Ryder's team got back from Berlin, France's face was plastered with despair, she held back tears all throughout the ride and ran to Gary as soon as they cleared their report.

Gary helped being a sponge to absorb her sadness and a shoulder to cry on, France is really a tough lass, but she opened up on how Soap not making it home felt a different level of hurt. Gary assumed she already got attached to the guy, but kept it to himself, especially that Simon was with them helping her cope up with her burst of emotions.

"I should've…" she sobbed. Gary rubbed her back and empathized with her, as they coped up with the loss of a comrade.

"He survived." Gary spoke, Ghost and France looked at him, their faces looked puzzled but hopeful at the same time. France couldn't help but hug the determined soldier as Ghost agreed in the background. They should put their faith on him, Soap will survive.

"Come on now. Show us that smile." Ghost nudged, making France smile a little and wiped off her tears. She was too lucky to be teammates with them and they were there when she needed them the most.

The wholesome moment stopped as soon as soldiers in battle gear jogged across the hall, one soldier opened the infirmary door and yelled.

"We're under attack! Grab these and help us defend against the intruders!" he said, tossing assault rifles to the soldiers. Ghost caught them and immediately checked his gun. Gary held his on one hand, it could work but he has to account for the recoil.

"Under attack? By who?" Gary asked as they shuffled to exit the infirmary. 

"Guess we'll find out." Ghost said as they followed the wave of soldiers exiting the building. Above them, the clear blue sky was filled with small dots that gradually grew huge, they parachuted from the sky down to the forest near the base.

"No bloody way." Ghost said as a loud sniper fire ringed their ears making them look toward the source.

"Let's get a move on! Defensive stances everyone. Don't let them get our HVI's! Hold until they're safely extracted!" Captain Price yelled, firing another bullet, hitting falling parachuters dead before they even touched the ground.

The trio immediately ran to the weapons cache and equipped their gear, positioning themselves for an all out attack. Gary's heart raced, this wasn't what he expected to happen here at the 141, but here they were.

"Careful out there." Simon told the two as they nodded in unison. His sniper skills were needed to significantly reduce their defenses. Gary winced in pain as he threw his sling away, holding the gun with two hands, trying not to mind the pain from his broken arm. There was no room for error, he must make his every bullet count.

"141, this is Alex. Our HVIs are safe inside the bunker. Extraction team ETA is in 30 minutes." Alex muttered over the comms. 

"First wave of tangos spotted emerging from the trees!" One of the soldiers reported. The comms continued informing everyone else about the situation requesting back ups and reporting sightings. Roach and France set themselves on the front of the base overlooking the river. The same exact place where he saw Soap and Price sneak out to smoke cigars.

"This place…" France muttered.

"It gives a perfect view of what's beyond the river. That's where the extraction team's going to land." Gary noted, noticing France's change in expression. Something about this place must've bothered her. And Gary stayed alert on his surroundings.

"Sightings on the East." one soldier noted behind the noise of the gunfire. Gary and France crept slowly, looking for a place to cover a wider angle. 

"Is no one going to assist us here?" France asked unaware that she broadcasted her question which was supposed to be only for Roach.

"From the looks of it, none. Looks like Nero's already starting his first move." Captain Price replied.

"141, this is General Shepherd. Looks like our friend's ready to face us head on. Secure our HVIs to safety, I've got bigger fish to fry as he's starting an assault on New York." he interjected, leaving command to the British Captain. 

"So it begins, huh?" Gary muttered.

"All right lads and lassies, you heard the big guy. Defend and retreat." Price stated, as everyone else nodded in agreement.

~

The initial onslaught was quite tolerable. None of the invaders made it out near the gates as snipers already crippled half of the defenses. Despite the enemies being known for their usage of EMP-based weaponry, the comms and radars were still working fine. Maybe it was too heavy to carry all the way to the UK.

The force almost felt confident that they'll make it, the airdrop already stopped and most troops are probably in the forest, regrouping and prepared for something bigger. That's where Gary's group comes in.

Their tiny group is to recon any activity inside their drop zone. France reported that almost half of the parachutes were decoy dummies and most of those who made it out of the forest were the only real ones. 

Static filled their ears while France was reporting and they braced themselves for what's going to happen next. 

Raising his rifle, Gary once again winced and endured the pain of his supporting arm and tracked down his sights. He didn't see anything but his gut was telling him something sinister is going to unfold very soon.

The ringing grew louder until he's forced to take off his earpiece, as he slowly crept into the forest and stayed alert for any movement. The team splitted up earlier to get a wider coverage for recon, so shooting at sight is not advised. Gary knew a clearing was going to be there on the far end of the forest and theorized that it's the place the remaining soldiers would most likely regroup.

He circled around and hid behind the tree as he heard clanking metal and busy shuffling by the clearing. His heart sped up as he peeked half of his head to the clearing and saw about five people working on assembling something, three armed people circling around three of his comrades who were bound and silenced. That meant that he was alone.

The assemblers happily cackled as they built their machine. That was their plan. Mannequins or decoys carried the parts while some of the assemblers and defenders were mixed along with the drop so they could sneakily create an EMP machine without suspicion. Nero's one smart son of a bitch.

A full magazine. Gary noted as he checked his weapon. It isn't suppressed and he's worried some defenders are still creeping into the jungle. He's glad the three aren't killed yet, for reasons unknown to him.

One of the assemblers approached the defender, saying something. Gary couldn't make it out but his body language says distress.

"One of.. the pieces are missing… Look for them near your base… we'll be behind you watching your every move. Do something else and we will shoot you, and once these guys hear a gunshot, your friends will say goodbye. Not returning in five minutes and I'll also shoot these two and they do the same to you" he said loudly, Gary gulped as France nodded, guns pointed at her were used to push her forward as they searched the forest for the missing piece.

Two guards were with her, a silent takedown meant that one will still be able to hear him and could fire his gun, and the clearing was too open for him to sneak in and kill the remaining guard. Gary pondered about his choices, he could look for the missing piece and stall them but the five minute timer would be the second problem.

The machine menacingly hummed and Gary's earpiece still isn't working. He needed help and hoped that reinforcements would arrive just in time for the five minute mark.

"Uninvited Guests"

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Task Force 141

Task Force 141 Base - Rooftop

Ever since Roach's squad stepped into the forest for some recon, they fell silent. Price tried to contact them multiple times but they didn't reply. Simon's hunch is that there may be an EMP machine with them, but he knew full well that only humans dropped from that excuse of an air assault.

His eyes scanned the vast greenery, looking at rustling leaves, flying birds and crawling animals, wishing that the next set of movements were from the recon team. 

Or France's…

Simon liked her determination since day one, he wanted to tell her a lot of things but she's always preoccupied and never had the chance to talk to her alone. Sometimes he wished he was the one that caught that blast so that they could bond together by the infirmary. It's almost sad to think that he wanted that. Gary already told him multiple times to actually express what he felt, but that just doesn't go that way. It's easier said than done. What hurts more is that she looked awfully devastated at Soap being M.I.A. the kind of sadness you feel when you lost someone you loved and he was sure that she loved him more than that of a friend.

Leaves rustled by the forest and France emerged from it. She was weaponless and her face looked troubled, she looked scared. 

"You seeing this, Sir?" he muttered to his Captain.

"Aye. Hold still, looks like she's on a situation down there." Price replied. France's hands signaled hold fire, she almost predicted that the team might locate someone behind her and took the initiative of warning them. She picked up a piece of metal on the ground and slowly proceeded back to the forest.

"Bollocks! She looked like she's in trouble. Go assist her, Ghost." Price ordered and Ghost immediately went down the rooftops, switching his gear to stealth mode and dashed through the forest.

"ETA in 15… tes…" static crackled across his earpiece, making him remove the equipment and proceed with caution. That's why they weren't responding, the whole forest is actually jammed. That meant that the piece of metal is part of the machine. He must get it before it's too late, his mind started to lose focus and worry about France, so he ran, he ran far enough that he saw movement by a large tree near the clearing. He aimed his sights and crouched, aiming the person's head.

That head… it was Roach's. He was safe.

Simon slowly crept and went to Roach's aid. He was fine but he looked lost in thought.

"Roach, you okay?" he asked. Roach looked at his watch. 

"Thirty More seconds and they're dead." he whispered as noise filled the clearing once again, making the two peek.

"Wow. Just in time!" he clapped and tied France back to her group. The machine was complete and the assemblers quickly finished their job.

"There we go. All complete." he pointed his gun at the three, as Ghost angrily gripped his weapon.

"Thank you for your service." The man muttered and laughed, his head immediately burst before he could make the shot.

Everyone shuffled and the assemblers panicked, Roach fired the other runners while Ghost finished off the rest of the armed enemies.

"Let's get out of here, now!" Roach quickly untangled the rest of his team as they made a run for it, away from the machine as possible.

Midway through the jungle a huge pulse of air pushed them as the machine emitted a loud ring, making them kneel and cover their ears.

Their comms were down. They had no idea what's going to happen next. When extraction will arrive, are the two HVIs still safe. All of those questions will remain unanswered until communication is restored or they could confirm it by seeing for themselves.

Next Chapter : Alex and Augustus

Notification Squad my beloved

@beemybee @enderio @whimsywispsblog @smokeywhalee @samatedeansbroccoli @ricinbach

#horRAYfic #whateverittakes #gary roach sanderson #john price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #alex echo 3 1 #juju on that beat

[moviemunchies]

Alright listen up folks: Raya and the Last Dragon is a fantastic animated fantasy film and I’m a bit disappointed that it did not become more of A Thing. Pretty much everything I would have wanted from this movie when watching the trailer is what I got in this movie.

So, here we go:

Raya and the Last Dragon tells the story of Raya in the land of Kumandra. Kumandra had water dragons that made everything great by providing water and helping people. But then these creatures called the Druun invaded, and had this nasty habit of turning humans and dragons into stone. The last dragon, Sisu, used her magic to create the Dragon Gem to banish the Druun. But people’s greed for the gem’s power makes them divide into different feuding tribes living on different sections of the river that runs through Kumandra (which happens to be shaped like a dragon, so they’re named after different parts of the dragon).

Raya’s father, the chieftain of the Heart tribe, holds a meeting to try to get the tribes to work things out. This meeting goes… badly, the Gem gets broken and divided among the tribes, the Druun come back, and six years later the only hope Raya has is to chase after the rumor that Sisu is still out there, and hope that she can recreate the miracle of the Dragon Gem and stop the Druun a second time. Except Sisu isn’t… quite the miracle worker everyone thinks she is.

And so Raya and Sisu go on a quest throughout Kumandra to collect the Dragon Gem fragments while avoiding the Druun, and fighting Namaari, the princess of the Fang tribe, who has a personal vendetta with Raya.

First off--fight scenes in this movie are dope. I do not recall a CGI animated film that had fight scenes as good as what we see in this movie (maybe I have and I just don’t remember). They’re fun to watch, imbued with a unique energy that makes it stand out. Raya’s sword is one of the coolest movie weapons I’ve  seen.

Second: this movie does a wasted fantasy setting really well? Many times when people want to convey a desolate landscape in a fantasy setting, they’re just bare of cities and frightened peasants are everywhere. One of the things we see fairly early on in this film is the places where there are just statues of people turned to stone, and plenty of the dwelling places have just been abandoned because of the invading Druun. We never see any statues get smashed or worn down, but it’s still eerie because you have hundreds of people that are just… gone because they’ve been turned to stone.

The movie’s got well-done and likable characters, good dialogue, and it’s beautiful to look at. There’s also the added plus that, as far as I can tell, it doesn’t have this now-annoying “We’re not like other Disney movies!” thing that has become almost standard in Disney animated films of late.

There is this weird thing about the movie in that it’s very obviously based off of Southeast Asian culture in its design and language. Sisu, for instance, looks like what you’d get if you crossed an East Asian dragon with a naga. Except the voice cast is mostly made up of performers of East Asian descent? It’s a bit weird that for Moana Disney made a point to hire a cast of Pacific Island descent, and Coco has a Hispanic cast. With this film, at best it feels like a bit of a missed opportunity, and at worst it seems as if perhaps the people at Disney doesn’t know the difference.

Mind you, Hollywood is like that sometimes. Hispanic performers of every nationality tend to get cast as every Hispanic nationality. And British actors get cast as Americans and vice versa all the time. Still, representation matters, and it would have been nice to see more accurate representation in the cast. The cast we do have for this movie is very talented though, and I want to emphasize that I don’t mean this as a criticism of the cast that we got. They did a fantastic job.

The pacing for this movie felt a bit too fast at first. There’s the journey for the gem pieces, and the first couple it seems to breeze through. But I understand that having a drawn-out set of sequences for each piece would make the movie much longer than it needed to be, and I can’t say I mind that the Plot moved forward in a way that didn’t sacrifice character development.

Another problem that I think audiences might have with the film is that it’s pretty heavy-handed about its message. The problem of the world and its characters is lack of trust; if people trusted each other instead of assuming everyone else was only out for themselves, they wouldn’t be in this mess. This will be hammered into your skull over and over again by the end of the movie. And I don’t mind so much--we live in a world where much of our conflict is based off of the assumption that the other side wants to murder us and that leads to people taking extreme reactions. And that has disastrous consequences. I think it’s a good message, but I think it could be a bit more nuanced in its delivery. Mind you, it does bring up that it’s not always as easy as just trusting people you don’t like, because that can also lead to disaster. But I get how this might be grating on some viewers.

Overall I think this is a fantastic fantasy film that has a unique design to it and excellent fight scenes. I watched this movie pretty much enjoying every scene. I can’t imagine anyone actually disliking this movie, but I think I’d get why some people might not have as much fun as I did. It’s a great addition to the Disney animated canon, and like I said, I’m a bit bummed that this movie didn’t pick up as much of a following as other entries did.

#Raya and the Last Dragon #Disney #Raya #Sisu #Movie Munchies #reviews

[pinkysfaultorbrainsfault]

pinky and the brain - s1e6: brainania

i’m running on like the barest dregs of energy let’s fucking do this leeroy jenkins

episode summary: brain needs to build a Very Big Tumbly Drier. he needs a lot of money to build a Very Big Tumbly Drier. he decides the best way to do this is to.... invent a country and scam the us out of a foreign aid cheque.

hm.

the rundown:

it’s acme labs!

there it is.

as we zoom in a little, we hear pinky laughing maniacally at the very mention of tom ruegger, while a couple of women are dead on the floor.

hm.

SPEAK TO ME, PHYLLIS, SPEAK. as it turns out, things aren’t quite as dire as previously thought, as pinky affirms that brain looks “simply fetching.”

narf.

“these are the only garments i could obtain. and besides, you are no helen of troy yourself.”

ignoring the fact that he chose to wear the hat and the gloves as well, brain moves onto explaining his latest plan--

but not before giving pinky a static-y poke for his crimes.

“to generate global static cling, we shall construct a massive clothes dryer.”

BEHOLD.

THE TITANOCYCLE FOUR THOUSAND, WITH THREE SPEEDS AND AUTOMATIC WRINKLEGUARD. this will surely allow brain to.... trap everyone in their clothes via static cling and. uh. allow him to seize power...... somehow......... by putting everyone in a really big tumbledryer?????

it costs fourteen billion dollars.

“oh, i have it!”

“we build a huge tooth, leave it under a huge pillow, and then fairies will leave us lots of money!”

brain tells pinky to stop eating paint chips. it’s a well deserved response to pinky’s insane, bullshit idea, not nearly as dignified and scientific as Everyone Goes In The Big Tumbly Dryer By Brain Age Two And A Half.

as he heads off to ponder an Equally Sensible idea to get a lot of money, pinky assures brain that he will not “be a bother.”

“brain.”

“if i ate a hundred jelly rolls, would i explode?”

i don’t know why pinky is sticking his ass out. maybe that’s where the jelly rolls go, in the sense that whenever i used to eat cakes around my dad he’d often say something like “a minute on the lips is a lifetime on the hips”. (also? pinky is british, so what he actually means is jelly rolls, and that sounds disgusting.)

so anyway brain gives him a piece of paper and tells him to try origami.

BUT WAIT.

“pinky! are you pondering what i’m pondering?” “i think so brain, but why the bitch stacey foreign aid office is giving chad all the money while i’ve always been a nice guy and showed her a basic level of human respect is beyond me. narf.”

no i’m sorry. he didn’t say that. pinky respects women. also apologies to the residents of the actual country of chad. big ups to all of you. lol. (he actually says “but pantyhose are so uncomfortable in the summertime”, which is wild, considering this episode was aired in november.)

brain doesn’t want to wear the pantyhose.

well, maybe he does, but not right now. instead, he suggests that they form a bogus nation and demand reparations from the united states, which is, of course, easier, saner, and far less work than Really Big Tooth. as he folds the Chad Newspaper into a vague key shape (the Virgin Tabloid never had a chance) pinky points out that, uh

you can’t just invent a country, brain. “won’t people know we’re not a real country?”

“the average american’s grasp of geography is pitiful. they’ll think we’re part of the former soviet union.”

“or canada.”

so they pick a random, tiny island on the label of a Science Chemical and set off on the boat to Being A Coloniser Town.

a long sea voyage awaits us! and at the end, we shall found a nation! and that nation shall be called!

BRAINANIA.

“can’t we call it pinkyland? or eric?”

“don’t vex me, pinky, or i shall turn on you.”

so they get on the S.S FATTY LUMPKIN and bugger off to Island X.

“i haven’t seen anybody yet, brain. i guess we’re alone here.”

“excellent, pinky. it’s time to flesh out the terrain.”

“that volcano will be mount brain.”*

“this clearing will be brain flats,”

“and that water over there--”

“very well.”

“the fjord of pinky.”

and they hoist their adorable, homemade flag, while pinky doots them a little themetune.

(*perhaps when they’re not in the middle of the jungle.)

how lovely!

less lovely.

significantly less lovely. still, it got brain to make the little O:O face, so it’s not all bad.

as the mice are scooped up onto a sphere and presented in front of this presumably-maori gentleman, brain decides to put his White Gay From Los Angeles skills to the test, and reassures pinky that he will communicate with them in the Primitive Argot Of The South Seas.

ME NUMBER ONE FELLA. OTHER FELLA NUMBER TEN. CATCHY ALL SAME SAME. YOU SAVVY?

“good day, mate. d’you speak english?”

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

anyway apparently this has happened often enough that these guys learnt english. from all the times it happened. and then they ate the guy they learnt english from and shrunk his head, but to be honest, i don’t blame them.

this is alan. “hello, alan.” says pinky.

“i would be pinky! and this is prime minister brain.”

“who is IN CHARGE OF THIS ISLAND AND EVERYTHING YOU SEEEE.”

“narf.”

sneaky bastard knows what he’s doing.

alan isn’t too happy with that, because the island belongs to the volcano god, whanganui,

WHO PROTECTS US FROM EVIL AND HAAARM AND WHAT ALL ELSE.

(i can find no evidence that whanganui is actually a god, as opposed to just A Bit Of New Zealand. if they are, i’m more than happy to go back and edit this as would be religiously considerate.)

this is the face of a man who knows he has fucked up.

still, brain decides yet again that his pride comes before any kind of rational decision, so he decides to tell them that whanganui sent him to the island to rule over them,

as proven by his fire powers.

(ETA: i missed this last time. why is brain carrying a lighter around? that episode isn’t for a good few more seasons yet.)

alan is unimpressed.

I CAN TRAP YOUR SOULS INSIDE THIS GLASS

“i can make bubbles with my spit!”

apparently this is a real talent on the island. who’d have thought. (they do not believe it to be a sign of god. it’s just really cool.)

so brain gets a hand building brainania.

it has everything one could possibly need.

actually pretty much as soon as the airport and the gift shop are built, brain heads to washington, so evidently he holds the strong opinion that this is everything a country could possibly need. odd. still, maybe he plans on adding stuff once he becomes world ruler, or whatever.

so with that established, The Most Exalted ned limpopo gets out of the car. hassan lembeck is also here. he is attempting to make an origami bird out of a newspaper.

no bird for you, mr lembeck. no bird for you.

they wander off to go and see mr bisck, who is currently playing with a little toy plane.

he reacts to the news that the prime minister of brainania is here to see him with “oh great, more moochers,”

and does not seem to take kindly to having tiny mice on his desk, even if they are reasonably exalted.

though a quick database search tells him said mice have no record of financial trouble, or, indeed, a credit rating, so. he tells them to go away.

“go away.”

okay. hassan doesn’t take this well.

as Exalted Ned Limpopo gently tries to persuade mr bisck that he could “harm negotations” between brainania and the us (a lot more politely than he usually explains things to people, may i add) hassan chimes in with a haven’t you people ever heard of bold claim that brainania, if slighted, will INVADE YOUR LANDS

GO BOOM BOOM BOOM

AND MAKE YOU ALL OUR PATHETIC SLAAAAAAAAAAAAVES.

mr bisck does not like this idea, it seems.

as he rushes off to tell the UN, brain informs pinky that he has

“just created an international incident.”

“oh, thank you, brain.”

“in the words of the immortal yogi bear, this is dejavu all over again.”

so the boys turn up on PUNCHLINE, WITH FRED FLUBBLE.

there he is. “perhaps you gentlemen would care to climb up on the desk?”

they make it, just about.

and sing a fun little song about brainania’s war victories, i guess.

WE WILL FIGHT AND NEVER QUIT

FIND ME A ROOFTOP AND I WILL SPIT. NARF

this is not well recieved by the us military.

unfortunately, as the US press secretary points out, the us cannot go to war with a country it can’t find,

(wuss.)

so instead the mice are invited to dinner at the white house.

“in a few short hours, pinky, we shall have our foreign aid loan, and then the world!”

“birdy birdy birdy! narf!”

“i sense much of this historic moment is lost on you.”

at the white house, a very bored looking individual introduces The Most Exalted Ned Limpopo (feat. hassan lembeck), and bill clinton shakes his hand.

“me number one fella. other fellas number ten. catchy all same same. you savvy?”

“i speak fluent english.”

“eyyyy. haha. sure you do.”

“all brainania ever wanted from the US was friendship. friendship, and fourteen billion dollars and fifty nine cents. the friendship i will treasure. the money i will spend on polo ponies and cruise missiles.”

brain has a brief discussion with hilary clinton over the advantages of strontium ninety versus uranium two-thirty-eight,

bill clinton pulls this face and tells them it Sounds Smart,

and the mice bounce merrily back to mr bisck to get their foreign aid check.

“you better not lose it, buster!!! i just erased your records!! you won’t get another one from me!!!!”

HA.

“one should be enough. thanks and farewell, “

“you niggling bureaucrat.”

conclusion:

upon returning back to brainania, The Most Exalted Ned Limpopo finds a letter from alan addressed to him. it’s also mouse sized, which is adorable. apparently, whanganui,

WHO PROTECTS US FROM EVIL AND WHAT ALL ELSE

is “blinking mad”, and the volcano is going to explode.

brain, obviously, does not believe in whanganui, and is mostly just mad that he’s lost his workforce. still, as pinky points out,

“at least we've still got brainania!”

“i sense life has taken another sardonic twist.”

still, they do, barely, have enough time to reach the shoreline and start swimming away from the imminently exploding volcano. perhaps it should have been, yknow, a pretty decent sign that the natives cleared out. historically, people who live in these places tend to know about them, but what of that when brain is number one guy same same you savvy.

🙄

anyway the karmatic response to all of that previous racism is that a tidal wave sweeps them back onto the volcano,

which then blasts them into space.

(okay not literally space. but they do end up on a little raft in the middle of the ocean. don’t ask me where the raft came from. i have no idea.)

oof.

“mother nature has slammed her unmerciful fist on our fair isle, pinky.”

“do you know what this means?”

“birdy birdy birdy!!!!”

brain does not appreciate Birdy Birdy Birdy.

“blast it, pinky!”

“i said, do you know what this means!!”

“it means you just ripped up our foreign aid cheque.”

one should be enough, huh?

brain: 7 pinky: 7 outside influence: 13

like, i don’t know. maybe pinky shouldn’t have been making oragami birds out of the foreign aid cheque. but, while silly, it’s not like it did any harm. brain.... brain just needs to chill.

“well, aren’t you the tiniest foreigners i’ve had in here all morning. i’m mr appleby, can i help you?”

“yes. we would like to have relations with you. and steal some milk duds.”

“we wish to establish diplomatic relations with the us. i am the prime minister, and this is my minister of finance.”

“brainania--? oh, i remember you. you used to be a.... suburb of prague.”

“can you prove you’re a nation?”

“yes! we have postcards.”

“that’s the fjord of pinky.”

“you foreign folk sure have your own.... queer little ways.”

#patb #pinky and the brain #i did not like this episose much but. i suppose it was like thirty years ago #bizarrely it's actually more respectful to the natives than a lot of cartoons at the time were which is #even worse actually.

[bluekaddis]

Today is 11/11 which marks 101 years of Poland regaining independence and I thought it is a perfect time to publish a post that I’ve been working on for a while. 

Ferelden from Polish Perspective aka Why We Can Relate to Dog Lords So Much. 

This is a sort of compilation of my own thoughts I had while playing the games and various talks with my Polish friends. It is not supposed to force any ideas or teach others how to interpret the game. I just thought it could be entertaining for anyone interested in history and culture. I was trying not to elaborate too much on the subject here but it still ended up being A Very Long Post TM. To make this post a little neater to read, I divided this post into 4 sections:

1. History

2. Fashion and Food

3. Politics

4. Relationships with Other Countries

I will be very happy if you find a minute or two to read some of my points. If you have any additional questions or comments feel free to leave me a message :)

And once again - enormous thanks to @aeducanka​ for proofreading. I would be a poor mess without you. 

DISCLAIMERS

1. Yes, I know that Ferelden is based mostly on Anglo-Saxon England and I have no problem with that. True, I may be a little disappointed that the game includes references to so many European cultures and countries (France, Byzantine Empire, Venice, Roma culture etc.) and yet practically ignores Central and Eastern Europe completely, BUT this post is not meant to be a “Where is my representation?!” rant. If I wanted a game with Slavic culture vibes, I could always play the Witcher trilogy again. We are doing alright. 

2. I am in no way an academic specialist on culture or history, even these of my own country. I did some research, but most of facts and figures can be easily found on wikipedia. You can treat this as just some observations and headcanons of a 29 y/o Polish woman, who has grown up and lives in Poland. 

3. The main focus of this post is Poland in different moments of history. However, when talking about fashion and political system I will mostly refer to Polish culture between the 16th and 18th century. During that time Poland and Lithuania formed a dual state known as The Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth. So, whenever I refer to this particular period, I will use the term “Commonwealth” instead of “Poland”. 

PART 1 – HISTORY

The country’s name origin

Ferelden means „fertile valley” in Alamarri tongue [WoT vol. 1], Poland most probably comes from the Slavic word „pole” meaning „field”. They both refer to land that can be cultivated.

History of unification

Ferelden lands were divided between many tribes until they were unified by Calenhad Theirin. He fought and defeated other Alamarri tribes’ leaders, proclaimed Andrastianism as the new official religion of his kingdom and started the Theirin dynasty.  

A similar story can be told about Mieszko I of Poland – the leader of the Polans tribe (one of many Slavic tribes of that time) who, by means of war and diplomacy, united many Slavic tribes and created the Polish country in 965. In the same year he was baptised, abandoning native paganism in favour of Christianity. Mieszko started the Piast dynasty which ruled Poland for over 400 years. He never officially became a king, though – his son, Bolesław, was crowned king in 1025.

Also, Ferelden is a relatively young country compared to countries like Orlais or Tevinter. Even if Poland has over 1000 years of history as a country, it has to be noted that some Western European countries have a longer history (eg. the Carolingian Empire or the Visigothic Kingdom). Polish lands have also never been a part of the Roman Empire. 

Fun fact – the half-legendary sword of the first king of Poland, Szczerbiec, was stolen by Prussian troops during their invasion on Poland in 1795. Calenhad’s sword, Nemetos,was lost during the Orlesian invasion on Ferelden [WoT vol. 1].

Ostagar

Now, I will tell you a story. It is about a young king (in his twenties), a little reckless, wanting to be the leader who stood against the great invading threat to his country, a little blinded by the perspective of glorious victory. Just before the battle one of his allied forces betrayed him and did not provide the promised aid. The enemy army was too strong, too large. The king’s army was defeated, the king was killed in battle and his body was taken by the enemy. The king did not have children and his younger brother had succeeded him.

No, I’m not talking about Cailan, this is the story of Władysław III of Poland.

PART 2 – FASHION AND FOOD

Fashion

All cultures in Thedas have their own style and fashion. Ferelden is supposed to be this “We like fur and warm fabrics” culture, opposite to the extravagant Orlesian style. However, I have few problems with how Fereldan fashion is shown in the game.

1. It is too early-medieval looking. I know, it is a fantasy, you can mix ancient Egypt with steampunk and nobody should care. But we see, from cultural and technological perspective, that Thedas in Dragon Age is more renaissance/baroque than your typical medieval. Heck, some elements, like the infamous Formal Attire, look like clothes from 18th or even 19th century! In comparison, outfits like Arms of Mac Tir or Robes of the Pretender (though good looking) look like something from the Vikings era.

2.  We do not see many good looking Fereldan outfits in the games. I like Alistair’s royal outfit and some of Fereldan armors and clothes from DA:2 but remember this?

Or this?

Yeah, Dog Lords can do better :/

And that’s why I like to headcanon Fereldan fashion as something more resembling the Commonwealth fashion between the 16th and 18th century. It was an interesting mix of European and Asian influences and I think it would work perfectly with canon Ferelden because:

1. People LOVED fur elements in their clothing. Fur lining on coats, fur caps decorated with feathers, pelts of wild carnivores (lions, wolves, bears, etc.) on armour  - fur was everywhere.

2. It is simple but regal. The quality of materials and patterns were more important than volume and the number of layers. A typical male noble outfit consisted of a long garment (żupan), a long, ornate sash, one of two types of cloak (delia or kontusz) and a fur cap decorated with feathers and jewels. If you compare it with the baroque fashion from France it is less extravagant and more practical. No wigs, no flounces, no man tights. 

Compare these two dudes – the older one is dressed Commonwealth style, the younger – in French style. 

The Deluge, 1974

Of course some wealthy noblemen who spent a lot of time in France or other Western countries tended to adapt their style, but from what I know it was not that common. Women, on the other hand, tended to dress more similar to their Western counterparts (especially when they wanted to look fashionable) but their everyday dresses were not that much elaborate. They also wore kontusz (though the female version was shorter) and fur caps when outside. 

Below I post some more costumes to better illustrate my point. They all come from Polish movie adaptations of H. Sienkiewicz’s novels (I looove both the books and the movies).

With Fire and Sword, 1999

The Deluge, 1974

Fire in the Steppe, 1968

And I could not NOT to mention the wonderful interpretation of Fereldan armor and clothing for my OCs drawn by @ankalime​ - I still can’t get over how beautiful they look :3

Food

From what we know, Fereldan food is very similar to traditional English cuisine (lamb and pea anyone?), HOWEVER, I can totally see some traditional Polish dishes on Fereldan tables. Let us look at this part of Alistair’s banter with Leliana:

“Now here in Ferelden, we do things right. We take our ingredients, throw them into the largest pot we can find, and cook them for as long as possible until everything is a uniform grey color. As soon as it looks completely bland and unappetizing, that's when I know it's done.”

Dishes like bigos, flaki or goulash (mostly associated with Hungary but also present in various forms in Slavic countries) totally fit this description. Tasty and hearty but I know some foreigners see them as totally unappetizing :P

Poland is also culturally more into beer than wine  (high five, British Isles!), so Fereldan ale fits this image, too.

PART 3. POLITICS

When I first played DA:O and heard about choosing the new queen/king on Landsmeet I was like “omg, they have wolna elekcja!”

The canon Ferelden is a feudal country, however, there seems to be less focus on the king's absolute power – instead, the nobles can choose the king they like, the hierarchy inside this particular social class is also less striking than one can expect. 

And this brings me to the concept of Golden Liberty. (I will quote Wikipedia here, I am not that smart to explain this well in English on my own).

The Golden Liberty was a unique political system of the Commonwealth – a mixture of monarchy, oligarchy and democracy. The most distinctive elements of that systems were:

- All nobles regardless of rank or economic status, were considered to have equal legal rights (and you did not have to own a town or two to be considered a noble – a large part of the nobility owned nothing more than a farm, often little different from a peasant's dwelling, and some did not even have that much). The rights were, for example:

-  Neminem captivabimus ("We shall not arrest anyone without a court verdict").  

- right to vote – every nobleman, whether rich or poor, could vote. Of course if someone was rich, they could bribe others to gain more political influence, but it is the same as today. 

- religious freedom – unlike many other European countries of the time, people in Commonwealth were legally free to follow any religion. The Commonwealth became a common refuge for people who were persecuted for religion in their homelands. The religious freedom was not restricted to nobility but to all social classes. 

- rokosz - the right to form a legal rebellion against a king who violated nobility freedoms.

- the monarchy was elective, not hereditary, and the king was elected by the nobility. That “democracy” was not, of course, perfect, as only male noblemen had the right to vote and elect the king. However, it was still between 10-15% of the population who could vote. In comparison, “in 1831 in France only about 1% of the population had the right to vote”

The Landsmeet in DA:O is basically the free election (well, maybe minus the duel :D) and I would say the Fereldan nobility does not feel obliged to be obedient 100% of the time. 

PART 4. RELATIONSHIPS WITH OTHER COUNTRIES

Orlesian occupation

We know from the game that Orlais invaded Ferelden in 8:24 Blessed and occupied it for decades. The Fereldan forces were rebelling against the occupant and finally, under the command of Maric Theirin, they won their freedom.

Again, it is a huge topic, so to summarize: Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth suffered a similar fate in 1795 as it was conquered and divided between Habsburg Austria, the Kingdom of Prussia and the Russian Empire. For 123 years Poles have been trying to regain their country, have started several uprisings and lost many lives in their fight for independence. Finally, at the end of WW1, independent Poland reappeared on the map of the world. Then came the WW2, probably the most tragic event in Polish history – the cities were razed to the ground, a vast part of national heritage destroyed or stolen, and over 6 million people (1/5 of the pre-war population) were killed.

So yeah, a country invaded and occupied for decades by its neighbour sounds way too familiar to be ignored. 

Ferelden in the eyes of Orlesians

The Fereldans are a puzzle. As a people, they are one bad day away from reverting to barbarism. (...) They are the coarse, wilful, dirty, disorganized people [DA:O Codex Entry: Culture of Ferelden].

Yeah... this, unfortunately, sounds familiar. I fear that the stereotype of a drunk, stupid, poor, thieving Poles (and other Slavic nations), which originated from WW2 propaganda, is somehow still alive in the West. I will not dive deeper in this subject because I want to believe my followers have their own brain cells and I do not need to explain how hurtful and offensive those stereotypes are.

My point is – I could identify easily with a fantasy country that is located east from the “centre of culture and civilisation” and is unfairly believed to be more barbaric.

So – for all two of you who bothered to read the whole thing - thanks for coming to my TED talk.I really appreciate the time you spent here :)

#dragon age #my writing #ferelden #headcanon #heavy slavic breathing #finally! #it took so long #but i am really happy i can post it here

[thedoctorcried]

Runaway - Part Seven

~Masterlist~

Concept: Hazel Richards is a twenty-year-old woman living in London. When she meets a mysterious time-travelling alien known only as the Hunter, she’s thrust into a world of wonder she could only have imagined.

Warnings: swearing, follows S1 of Doctor Who.

The Hunter's face twisted in agony as the electricity lanced through her body, but she managed to raise her left arm, ripping the ID card away telekinetically, and shoot it across the room against the collar of the revealed Slitheen, causing both it and Green to be enveloped with the electricity. "Deadly to humans, maybe. But I bet you don't like it much either." She ran out to where the armed police were waiting at their posts. "Oi! If you want aliens, you've got them. They're inside Downing Street. Come on!" They followed her as she ran back in, only to find Asquith back in his skin suit, Green looking outraged.

"Where have you been? I called for help. I sounded the alarm. There was this lightning, this kind of, er, electricity, and they all collapsed!" Green shouted.

The police checked the bodies. "I think they're all dead," one reported.

"That's what I'm saying," Green agreed. "She did it! That woman there." He was pointing straight at the Hunter.

The Hunter glanced at the policeman nearest to her. "If I were to tell you the Prime Minister is an alien in disguise, would you believe me?"

The man shook his head. "No."

"Fair enough." She sprinted off, but didn't get far before two sets of the armed police cornered her.

"Under the jurisdiction of the Emergency Protocols, I authorise you to execute this woman," Asquith commanded.

"Well, yes, uh, you see, the thing is, if I were going to execute someone by backing them against the wall, there's just one teeny tiny thing I would've done differently," the Hunter told them. The lift dinged behind her, and she stepped in. "Don't stand them against the lift!" She pressed the button and the doors closed before the police could open fire.

***

Meanwhile, Harriet and Hazel had their own problems. Chased by another Slitheen, they just barely saw the Hunter as the lift doors opened before they raced past the distracted Slitheen, slipping into a sitting room. "Hide!" Hazel instructed, hiding behind a curtain in the window. Harriet opted to crouch behind a draught excluder screen. The girls held their breath as they heard Margaret the Slitheen enter.

"Oh, such fun. Little human children, where are you? Sweet little humeykins, come to me. let me kiss you better," she crooned. "Kiss you with my big, green lips." Hazel made a face, even as she heard two more enter. "My brothers," Margaret greeted.

"Happy hunting?" Green the Slitheen asked.

"It's wonderful," Margaret replied. "The more you prolong it, the more they stink."

"Sweat and fear," Asquith said, sniffing deeply.  

"I can smell an old girl," Green stated. "Stale bird and brittle bones."

"And a ripe youngster, all hormones and adrenaline," Margaret sniffed. "Fresh enough to bend before she snaps." Margaret pulled back the curtain, and Hazel screamed.

Harriet ran out from her hiding place. "No! Take me first! Take me!"

The Hunter burst into the room, spraying the Slitheen with a fire extinguisher. "Out, with me!" Hazel pulled the curtain over Margaret, then she and Harriet joined the Hunter by the door. "Who the hell are you?"

"Harriet Jones, MP for Flydale North," the woman replied.

"Nice to meet you," the Hunter said, telekinetically shoving the Slitheen back before throwing the empty fire extinguisher at them.

"Likewise," Harriet agreed, and the three of them ran out.

"We need to head for the Cabinet Room," the Hunter exclaimed, leading the way.

"The Emergency Protocols are in there," Harriet stated. "They give instructions for aliens."

The Hunter grinned. "Harriet Jones, I like you."

"And I like you too," Harriet returned.

***

As they entered the Cabinet Room, the Hunter grabbed a decanter of alcohol from the side, hovering it above her silver palm while pointing her sonic screwdriver at it with her other hand. "One more move and my sonic device will triplicate the flammability of this alcohol. Whoof, we all go up. So back off." The Slitheen took a few steps back into the outer office, and the Hunter nodded. "Right then. Question time. Who exactly are the Slitheen?"

"They're aliens," Harriet supplied helpfully."

The Hunter sighed. "Yes, I got that, thanks."

"Who are you, if not human?" Green questioned.

Harriet frowned. "Who's not human?"

"She's not human," Hazel answered.

"She's not human?"

"Can I have a bit of hush?" the Hunter asked, rolling her eyes.

"Sorry," Harriet muttered.

"So, what's the plan?" the Hunter demanded. She laughed a little when the Slitheen remained silent. "Come on. You've got a spaceship hidden in the North Sea. It's transmitting a signal. You've murdered your way to the top of government. What for, invasion?"

Asquith snorted. "Why would we invade this God-forsaken rock?"

The Hunter's expression didn't change. "Then something's brought the Slitheen race here. What is it?"

"The Slitheen race?" Asquith repeated.

Green snickered. "Slitheen is not our species. Slitheen is our surname. Jocrassa Fel Fotch Pasameer-Day-Slitheen at your service."

"So you're family," the Hunter nodded.

"A family business," Green agreed.

"Then you're out to make a profit. How can you do that on a God-forsaken rock?" the Hunter questioned.

"Ah, excuse me?" Asquith interrupted. "Your device will do what? Triplicate the flammability?"

The Hunter blinked. "Is... Is that what I said?" she asked, shrugging.

"You've making it up," Asquith accused.

"Ah, well. Nice try. Harriet, have a drink. I think you're going to need it." The decanter floated around to the woman.

"You pass it to the left first," Harriet reminded her.

"Sorry," the Hunter muttered, not taking her eyes off the Slitheen as she floated the alcohol back round to Hazel.

"Thanks," she muttered as it landed in her hands.

"Now we can end this hunt with a slaughter," Asquith smirked.

"Don't you think we should run?" Hazel suggested, taking a big gulp of the alcohol.

The Hunter shook her head. "Do you know, Downing Street had a fascinating history. Two thousand years ago, this was marsh land. 1730, it was occupied by a Mr Chicken. He was a nice guy. 1796, this was the Cabinet Room. If the Cabinet's in session and in danger, these are about the four safest walls in the whole of Great Britain. End of lesson." She lifted a small panel by the door, and pressed a button. Metal shutters crashed down over the windows and doors, sealing them in. She turned back to the others. "Installed in 1991. Three inches of steel lining every single wall. They'll never get in."

Hazel nodded. "Art?"

"Yeah?"

"How do we get out?"

There was a pause. "Ah."

***

Later, the Hunter dragged Ganesh's corpse into a small store room, next to the body of the Prime Minister. "Sorry, Indra," she muttered, before heading out and closing the cupboard, going over to Hazel and Harriet at the table. "Right, what have we got? Any terminals, anything?"

"Nope," Hazel shook her head. "This place is antique. What I don't get is, when they killed the Prime Minister, why didn't they use him as a disguise?"

"He's too slim," the Hunter answered. "They're big old beasts. They need to fit inside big humans."

Hazel frowned. "But the Slitheen are about eight feet. How do they fit inside?"

"That's the device around their necks." The Hunter pulled off her beanie and ruffled her hair, slipping the hat into one of many pockets. "Compression field. Literally shrinks them down a bit. That's why there's all that gas. It's a big exchange."

"Wish I had a compression field. I could fit a size smaller," Hazel joked. The Hunter rolled her eyes.

"Excuse me, people are dead!" Harriet looked horrified. "This is not the time for making jokes."

"Sorry," Hazel bit her lip. "You get used to this stuff when you're friends with her."

Harriet blinked. "Well, that's a strange friendship."

The Hunter frowned. "Harriet Jones. I've heard that name before. Harriet Jones. You're not famous for anything, are you?"

"Oh, hardly," Harriet shook her head.

"Rings a bell. Harriet Jones..."

"Lifelong backbencher, I'm afraid, and a fat lot of use I'm being now," Harriet sighed. "The Protocols are redundant. They list the people who could help, and they're all dead downstairs."

"Hasn't it got, like, defence codes and things? Couldn't we just launch a nuclear bomb at them?" Hazel suggested.

Harriet looked at her weirdly. "You're a very violent young woman."

"I'm serious," Hazel raised her eyebrows. "We could."

"Well, there's nothing like that in here," Harriet shrugged. "Nuclear strikes do need a release code, yes, but it's kept secret by the United Nations."

"Say that again," the Hunter requested suddenly, looking up.

"What, about the codes?"

"All of it," the Hunter nodded.

"Well, the British Isles can't gain access to atomic weapons without a Special Resolution from the UN," Harriet repeated.

Hazel snorted. "Like that's ever stopped them."

"Exactly, given our past record. And I voted against that, thank you very much," Harriet said, before turning back to the Hunter. "The codes have been taken out of the government's hands and given to the UN. Is it important?"

"Everything's important," the Hunter replied.

Harriet sighed. "If only we knew what the Slitheen wanted." She laughed a little. "Listen to me. I'm saying Slitheen as if it's normal."

"What do they want, though?" Hazel wondered.

The Hunter shrugged. "Well, they're just one family, so it's not an invasion. They don't want Slitheen World. They're out to make money. That means they want to use something. Something here on Earth. Some kind of asset."

"Like what, gold? Oil? Water?" Harriet asked.

"You've very good at this," the Hunter complimented.

"Thank you," Harriet smiled.

"Harriet Jones," the Hunter mused. "Why do I know that name?"

Hazel jumped as her phone beeped. "Oh, that's me." She pulled it out.

"But we're sealed off," Harriet protested. "How did you get a signal?"

"She zapped it. Super phone," Hazel replied, not looking up.

"Then we can phone for help," Harriet suggested. "You must have contacts."

"Dead downstairs, yeah," the Hunter snorted.

"It's Mike," Hazel muttered, opening the text, her eyes widening when she saw the picture he'd sent.

The Hunter rolled her eyes. "Oh, tell him we're busy."

"Yeah, no," Hazel shook her head, showing her friend the picture of a Slitheen Mike had messaged. When the Hunter's eyes widened, Hazel dialled. "Mike? That was one of them aliens, yeah?"

"No, no, no, no, no. Not just alien, but like, proper alien," Mike told her. "All stinking, and wet, and disgusting. And more to the point, it wanted to kill us!"

"I could've died!" Jason cried in the background.

Hazel winced. "Is he all right, though? Don't put him on, just tell me."

The Hunter grabbed Hazel's phone telekinetically, ignoring her squeak of surprise. "Is that Spike? Don't talk, just shut up and go to your computer."

"It's Mike, and why should I?" Mike questioned.

She sighed. "Mikey the Pikey, I might just choke before I finish this sentence, but, er, I need your help." The Hunter started giving him instructions to hack into the UNIT website.

"It says password," Mike stated.

The Hunter plugged the phone into a conference speaker. "Say again?"

"It's asking for the password," Mike repeated.

"Buffalo," the Hunter replied. "Two Fs, one L."

"So, what's that website?" Jason asked.

"All the secret information known to mankind," Mike told him. "See, they've known about aliens for years. They just kept us in the dark."

The Hunter rolled her eyes. "Mike, you were born in the dark."

"Oh, leave him alone," Hazel sighed, smirking a little despite herself.

"Thank you," Mike said smugly. "Password again."

"Just repeat it every time," the Hunter replied, sitting on the table. "Big Ben - why did the Slitheen go and hit Big Ben?"

"You said to gather the experts, to kill them," Harriet stated.

The Hunter snorted. "That lot would've gathered for a weather balloon. You don't need to crash land in the middle of London."

"The Slitheen are hiding, but then they put the entire planet on Red Alert," Hazel mused. "What would they do that for?"

Jason scoffed. "Oh, listen to her."

Hazel glared at her phone. "At least I'm trying."

"Well, I've got a question, if you don't mind. Since that woman walked into our lives, I have been attacked in the streets, I have had creatures from the pits of hell in my own living room, and my sister disappear off the face of the Earth," Jason complained.

Hazel rolled her eyes. "I told you what happened."

"I'm talking to her," Jason clarified. "Cause I've seen this life of yours, Hunter, and maybe you get off on it, and maybe you think it's all clever and smart, but you tell me. Just answer me this. Is my sister safe?"

"I'm fine," Hazel said weakly, seeing how the Hunter had frozen in place, curling some of her hair around her metal fingers with a haunted look in her eyes.

"Is she safe?" Jason questioned. "Will she always be safe? Can you promise me that? Well, what's the answer?"

"We're in," Mike stated, and just like that, the Hunter was back to normal.

"Now then, on the left at the top, there's a tab, an icon. Little concentric circles. Click on that," she ordered.

"What is it?" Mike asked as sound started playing from his laptop.

"The Slitheen have got a spaceship in the North Sea, and it's transmitting that signal. Now hush, let me work out what it's saying." The Hunter closed her eyes, crossing her legs on the table top, concentrating.

"She'll have to answer me one day," Jason muttered.

"Hush!" Mike hissed.

"It's some sort of message," the Hunter murmured, not opening her eyes.

"What's it say?" Hazel wondered quietly, sitting next to her on the table.

"Don't know. It's on a loop, keeps repeating," the Time Lady replied. Her brow creased as Mike's doorbell rang. "Hush!"

"That's not me," Mike stated. "Go and see who that is."

"It's three o'clock in the morning," Jason protested.

"Well, go and tell them that," Mike suggested.

"It's beaming out into space, who's it for?" the Hunter sighed, putting her head in her hands.

"It's him!" Jason shouted. "It's the thing, it's the Slitheen!"

"They've found us," Mike exclaimed.

"I need that signal," the Hunter muttered, only half listening.

"Never mind the signal, get out!" Hazel cried, making the Hunter open her eyes in realisation of what was happening. "Jace, just get out! Get out!"

"We can't," Mike told her. "It's by the front door." He paused. "Oh my God, it's unmasking. it's going to kill us."

"There's got to be some way of stopping them," Harriet implored, looking at the Hunter. "You're supposed to be the expert, think of something."

"I'm trying!" the Hunter snapped.

"I'll take it on, Jace," Mike said bravely. "You just run. Don't look back. Just run." The door splintered.

"That's my brother," Hazel whispered, her eyes wide.

The Hunter sighed. "Right, if we're going to find their weakness, we need to find out where they're from, Which planet. So, judging by their basic shape, that narrows it down to five thousand planets within travelling distance. What else do we know about them? Information!"

"They're green," Hazel supplied.

"Yep, narrows it down."

"Good sense of smell."

"Narrows it down."

"They can smell adrenaline."

"Narrows it down."

"The pig technology," Harriet suggested.

"Narrows it down," the Hunter nodded, closing her eyes.

"The spaceship in the Thames, you said slipstream engine?" Hazel remembered.

"It's getting in!" Mike shouted.

"They hunt like it's a ritual," Hazel added.

"Narrows it down."

"Wait a minute," Harriet said. "Did you notice? When they fart, if you'll pardon the word, it doesn't just smell like a fart, if you'll pardon the word, it's something else. What is it? It's more like, er..."

"Bad breath!" Hazel realised.

"That's it," Harriet agreed.

"Calcium decay!" the Hunter nodded. "Now, that narrows it down!"

"We're getting there, Jace!" Hazel called.

"Too late!" Mike yelled.

"Calcium phosphate," the Hunter thought aloud. "Organic calcium. Living calcium. Creatures made out of living calcium. What else? What else? Hyphenated surname. Yes! That narrows it down to one planet. Raxacoricofallapatorius."

"Oh, yeah, great. We could write 'em a letter," Mike scoffed.

"Get into the kitchen!" the Hunter ordered, opening her eyes.

"It's going to rip us apart!" Jason cried as they barricaded the kitchen door.

"Calcium, weakened by the compression field. Acetic acid. Vinegar!" the Hunter cheered.

"Just like Hannibal!" Harriet smiled.

The Hunter grinned. "Just like Hannibal. Mike, have you got any vinegar?"

"How should I know?" the man asked incredulously.

"It's your kitchen!" the Hunter raised her eyebrows.

"Cupboard by the sink, middle shelf," Hazel supplied.

Judging by the proximity of his voice, Jason had taken the phone. "Oh, give it here. What do you need?"

"Anything with vinegar!" the Hunter replied.

"Gherkins," Jason muttered. "Ugh, pickled onions. Pickled eggs."

The Hunter shared a glance with Hazel. "That's disgusting."

The end of the fight was the sound of the door breaking down, Jason throwing the mixture at the Slitheen, and the thing exploding.

"Hannibal?" Hazel raised an eyebrow.

"Hannibal crossed the Alps by dissolving boulders with vinegar," Harriet explained.

"Oh, well, there you go then." The ladies toasted the moment with a glass of port from the decanter.

***

Later, Mike had turned on the TV for a broadcast from Green. "Listen to this."

"Ladies and gentlemen, nations of the world, humankind," Green greeted. "The greatest experts in extra-terrestrial events came here tonight. They gathered in the common cause, but the news I bring you now is grave indeed. The experts are dead, murdered right in front of me by alien hands. Peoples of the Earth, heed my words. These visitors do not come in peace. Our inspectors have searched the sky above our heads and they have found massive weapons of destruction capable of being deployed within forty five seconds."

The Hunter sat up, narrowing her eyes. "What?!"

"Our technicians can baffle the alien probes, but not for long. We are facing extinction, unless we strike first. The United Kingdom stands directly beneath the belly of the mother ship," Green stated. "I beg of the United Nations, pass an emergency resolution. Give us the access codes. A nuclear strike at the heart of the beast is our only chance of survival. Because from this moment on it is my solemn duty to inform you planet Earth is at war."

"He's making it up," the Hunter growled. "There's no weapons up there, there's no threat. He just invented it."

"Do you think they'll believe him?" Harriet asked.

"They did last time," Hazel pointed out.

"That's why the Slitheen went for spectacle," the Hunter sighed. "They want the whole world panicking, because you lot, you get scared, you lash out."

"They release the defence codes," Hazel continued.

"And the Slitheen go nuclear," the Hunter finished.

"But why?" Harriet frowned.

The Hunter stormed over to the shutters, opening them to see Margaret standing outside, back in her skin suit. "You get the codes, release the missiles, but not into space because there's nothing there. You attack every other country on Earth. They retaliate, fight back. World War Three. Whole planet gets nuked."

"And we can sit through it safe in our spaceship waiting in the Thames," Margaret smirked. "Not crashed, just parked. Only two minutes away."

Harriet frowned. "But you'll destroy the planet, this beautiful place. What for?"

"Profit," the Hunter told her. "That's what the signal is beaming into space. An advert."

"The sale of the century," Margaret agreed. "We reduce the Earth to molten slag, then sell it piece by piece. Radioactive chunks, capable of powering every cut-price star liner and budget cargo ship. There's a recession out there, Hunter. People are buying cheap. This rock becomes raw fuel."

The Hunter glared at her. "At the cost of five billion lives."

Margaret grinned. "Bargain."

"I'll give you a choice," the Hunter stated. "Leave this planet or I'll stop you."

"What, you?" Margaret snorted. "Trapped in your box?"

The Hunter nodded confidently. "Yes, me." She closed the shutters on Margaret's laughing face and took a deep breath before turning back to the others.

Jason sighed, having heard it all via the phone. "All right, Hunter. I'm not saying I trust you, but there must be something you can do."

"If we could ferment the port, we could make acetic acid," Harriet suggested half-heartedly.

"Mike, any luck?" Hazel called.

"There's load of emergency numbers," he replied. "They're all on voicemail."

"Voicemail dooms us all," Harriet sighed.

"If we could just get out of here," Hazel frowned.

"There's a way out," the Hunter stated suddenly.

Hazel blinked. "What?"

"There's always been a way out," the Time Lady admitted.

"Then why don't we use it?" Hazel asked, raising her eyebrows.

The Hunter looked towards the phone, a sad look in her eyes. "Because I can't guarantee your sister will be safe."

"Don't you dare," Jason shouted immediately. "Whatever it is, don't you dare."

"That's the thing, if I don't dare, everyone dies," the Hunter told him.

"Do it," Hazel ordered.

"You don't even know what it is," the Hunter frowned at her friend. "You'd just let me?"

Hazel nodded, a small smile gracing her lips. "Yeah."

"Please, Hunter, please," Jason begged. "She's my sister. She's just a kid."

"Do you think I don't know that? Because this is my life, Jason. It's not fun, it's not smart, it's just standing up and making a decision because nobody else will," the Hunter stated, her voice hollowing.

"Then what're you waiting for?" Hazel wondered softly.

The Hunter looked across at her, a tiny smile turning up her lips. "I could save the world, but lose you."

"Except it's not your decision, Hunter. It's mine," Harriet interrupted.

"And who the bloody hell are you?!" Jason demanded.

"Harriet Jones, MP for Flydale North. The only elected representative in this room, chosen by the people for the people. And on behalf of the people, I command you. Do it."

After a moment, the Hunter nodded. "So how do we get out?" Hazel asked.

"We don't," the Time Lady replied, floating the Emergency Protocols over to the table in front of her. "We stay here." She sat next to the phone, giving Mike instructions as she scanned through the protocols.

***

Awhile later, Mike asked for a password, and Hazel looked up, curious. "Use the buffalo password," the Hunter told him. "It overrides everything."

"What're you doing?" Jason questioned, sounding tired.

"Hacking into the Royal Navy," Mike replied casually. "We're in. Here it is. HMS Taurean, Trafalgar Class submarine, ten miles off the coast of Plymouth."

"Right, we need to select a missile," the Hunter stated, her face showing little emotion, just concentration.

"We can't go nuclear," Mike reminded her. "We don't have the defence codes."

The Hunter shook her head. "We don't need it. All we need's an ordinary missile. What's the first category?"

"Sub Harpoon, UGM-A4A," Mike answered.

"That's the one," the Hunter nodded. "Select."

"I could stop you," Jason muttered.

"Do it, then," Mike challenged.

"You ready for this?" the Hunter asked.

Mike paused, eyeing Jason. "Yeah."

"Mikey the Pikey, the world is in your hands," the Hunter told him, sighing. "Fire." All they heard was a mouse click, but it was enough.

"Oh my God," Jason whispered.

"How solid are these?" Harriet wondered, patting the wall.

The Hunter shook her head. "Not solid enough. Built for short range attack, nothing this big."

Hazel blew out a breath. "All right, now I'm making the decision. I'm not going to die. We're going to ride this one out. It's like what they say about earthquakes. You can survive them by standing under a doorframe. Now, this cupboard's small, so it's strong. Come and help me. Come on." She and Harriet started clearing out the cupboard while the Hunter stayed with the phone. Although she could have easily emptied the cupboard in seconds telekinetically, she thought it best to give them something to do to keep their minds off the fact that a missile was heading right for them.

"It's on radar," Mike reported. "Counter defence five five six."

"Stop them intercepting it," the Hunter ordered.

"I'm doing it now," Mike stated.

The Hunter nodded. "Good boy."

After a moment he spoke again. "Five five six neutralised." The Hunter unplugged the phone and joined Hazel and Harriet where they were now sitting in the cupboard, closing the door behind her. She handed Hazel's phone back to her, having ended the call, and the trio grabbed each others hands.

"Here we go," Harriet breathed. "Nice knowing you both. Hannibal!"

Hazel closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall. As the missile hit, she curled in on herself, glad of the comfort of the Hunter's cool metal arm pressed against her skin, even as she closed her eyes in fear.

***

The Hunter pushed the steel door off with her metal hand, and staggered out into the rubble, followed by Harriet and Hazel. All three women winced as the sunlight hit them.

"Made in Britain," Harriet nodded, looking back at the steel container they'd been in.

A soldier ran up to them, looking horrified. "Oh my God. Are you all right?"

Harriet showed him her ID. "Harriet Jones. MP, Flydale North. I want you to contact the UN immediately. Tell the ambassadors the crisis is over. They can step down. Go on, tell the news."

"Yes, ma'am," the man hurried away.

"Someone's got a hell of a job sorting this lot out," Harriet sighed, kicking a broken bit of chair half-heartedly. "Oh, Lord. We haven't even got a Prime Minister."

"Maybe you should have a go," the Hunter suggested, smirking a little.

"Me?" Harriet snorted. "I'm only a back bencher."

"I'd vote for you," Hazel told her, grinning.

"Now, don't be silly," Harriet admonished. "Look, I'd better go and see if I can help. Hang on! We're safe! The Earth is safe!" She jogged off towards the soldiers. "Sergeant!"

"I thought I knew the name," the Hunter nodded as she and Hazel made their way down the rubble, waving away paramedics. "Harriet Jones, future Prime Minister. Elected for three successive terms. The architect of Britain's Golden Age."

***

Jason and Hazel hugged in their living room as they reunited, watching Harriet Jones on the TV. "Harriet Jones," Jason snorted. "Who does she think she is? Look at her, taking all the credit. Should be you on there." He nudged her. "My sister saved the world!"

Hazel rolled her eyes, smiling. "I think the Hunter helped a bit."

"All right then, her too," Jason nodded grudgingly. "You should be given knighthoods."

"That's not the way she does things," Hazel told him. "No fuss. She just moves on. She's not that bad if you gave her a chance."

"She's good in a crisis, I'll give her that," Jason admitted.

"Oh, now the world has changed," Hazel's eyes widened. "You're saying nice things about her."

Jason shrugged. "Well, I reckon I've got no choice. There's no getting rid of her since you're infatuated."

Hazel blushed. "I'm not infatuated!"

"What does she eat?" Jason asked thoughtfully.

"How do you mean?"

"I was going to do shepherds pie. The three of us," Jason told her. "A proper sit down, cause I'm ready to listen. I wanna learn about you and her and that life you lead. Only, I don't know, she's an alien. For all I know, she eats grass and safety pins and things."

Hazel giggled. "She'll have shepherd pie. You're going to cook for her?"

Jason frowned. "What's wrong with that?"

"She's finally met her match!" Hazel joked.

"Oh, you cheeky bitch!" Jason exclaimed, trying - and failing - to hide his smile. "Get out of it!" He changed channels as Hazel got up to answer her phone.

"Hello?"

"Right, it'll be a couple of hours, then we can go," the Hunter told her from the TARDIS.

Hazel laughed a little. "You've got a phone?"

The Hunter scoffed. "You think I can travel through space and time without a phone? Like I said, couple of hours. I've just got to send out this dispersal." Hazel heard the flick of a switch. "There you go. That's cancelling out the Slitheen's advert in case any bargain hunters turn up."

"Er, Jace is cooking," Hazel said, biting her lip.

"Put him on a slow heat and let him simmer," the Hunter advised absently.

"He's cooking tea," Hazel corrected. "For us."

"I don't do that," the Hunter stated quietly, suddenly concentrating on the conversation fully.

"He wants to get to know you," Hazel pleaded.

"I've got better things to do," the Hunter lied.

"It's just tea. And he's my brother. Please?" Hazel sighed as there was silence on the other end of the line. "Artemis, please. Jace really does want to get to know you." More silence. "I think you're scared. I know you haven't really had anything like a family since the Time War, but that doesn't mean you have to be alone now. Just... come have tea with us, and then we'll sail off into space again. I'm not saying you have to treat him like your own brother... but I think maybe Apollo wouldn't have wanted you to be alone." She sighed again, ready to hang up. "Just think about it, okay?"

The Hunter spoke up, just in time. "Wait! I'll come. The TARDIS will repair herself. Thank you, Hazel."

~~~

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Doctor Who: Why Does Everyone Keep Forgetting the Daleks?

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A scene that did not appear in New Year’s Day’s Doctor Who Special, ‘Revolution of the Daleks’.

SCENE: EXT. 10 DOWNING STREET, A PRESS CONFERENCE IS BEING HELD

PRIME MINISTER JO PATTERSON: …and so I introduce to you, our new, fully automated defence drones!

A “DEFENCE DRONE” GLIDES INTO VIEW.

JOURNALIST (RAISES A HAND): Hello, Jeff Typeface, Daily Exposition. Sorry but, um, isn’t that just a Dalek?

PM: A what?

JOURNALIST: A Dalek? About twelve years ago they transported the entire planet through space then rounded humans up in the streets and exterminated them?

PM: Hmmm. Doesn’t ring a bell.

ANOTHER JOURNALIST: Yeah, and a few years before that a bunch of them came flying out of Canary Wharf?

PM: Sorry, I’m completely drawing a blank.

JOURNALIST: Come on! They murdered one of your predecessors!

PM: Excuse me, but you can’t honestly expect me to remember every single British Prime Minister that suffered a violent death over the last two decades. We all know this job has the life expectancy of a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

PM’S ADVISOR: Actually, Prime Minister, talking of your predecessors, Winston Churchill did try this exact same plan with a very similar looking contraption during the War, and I hear that went badly.

PM: I mean, I’m sure I believe you. I’m just saying this is all news to me.

JOURNALIST: Very well. Moving on, how will these “Defence Drones” help us deal with the Covid-19 pandemic?

PM: See, now you’re just making words up.

Doctor Who has always been a series that points and laughs at fans who want to try and piece together a consistent continuity across all its stories, but even by Doctor Who standards, forgetting an entire global invasion barely more than a decade ago (y’know, just before most of the show’s viewers were born, you absolute fossil you) might seem like a stretch.

Of course, the real reason Jo Patterson couldn’t remember the Daleks is that unlike say, the MCU, where weirdness layers upon weirdness to create a world that almost counts as alt-history, Doctor Who is, on some level, always reaching to be set in “our” universe. The key conceit of the show is that you might turn a corner, find a blue box, and suddenly be whisked away through space and time to a world of adventure. Which doesn’t really work if the British town squares of the Doctor Who universe all feature memorials to the victims of the Daleks and diet pills have to be tested for Adipose DNA.

But at the same time, Doctor Who just loves a great big Hollywood space invasion, and making these two core ingredients of the show mesh is a nightmare for continuity.

Let’s, for instance, take a look at the life of recently departed Doctor’s companion, Ryan Sinclair.

Life of Ryan

Ryan was born in 1998 or 1999. As a child, he attended Redlands Primary School at around the same time London was hit by a “terrorist attack” when shop windows dummies started shooting people. A year later a spaceship crashed into Big Ben, although this was later dismissed as a hoax. That Christmas Day, when Ryan was around eight years old, every human with O negative blood got up in a trance and went and stood on a tall building while a gigantic spaceship hung over London.

Still Ryan is a kid, he doesn’t watch the news, maybe nobody in his family is O negative and let’s face it, news of a lot of this stuff probably doesn’t get as far as Sheffield.

However, even in Sheffield he would have seen the regular “ghost shifts” that appeared all over the world, and at nine years old he would have been traumatised to have his home, like so many others, invaded by Cybermen before they all got sucked away by something.

His family make the wise decision not to turn on the news that Christmas, so he doesn’t hear about the “Christmas star” attack, or later that year a hospital being teleported to the moon, and while he probably remembers grown-ups getting very excited by Harold Saxon getting elected, fortunately most of his tenure as Prime Minister was erased from history.

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Ryan would have noticed when CBBC was replaced by a giant eyeball shouting that “Prisoner Zero Has Escaped”, and, shortly after turning ten, he definitely would have noticed when the entire sky was set on fire to prevent a Sontaran invasion.

And then of course, the Earth was teleported across space, planets filled the skies, and Daleks roamed the streets rounding people up. He would have been about the same age as future astronaut and Mars colonist, Adelaide Brooke at this time, and she was profoundly affected by the experience.

After that it’s possible the government may have rounded up him and his classmates to offer up to the 456.

To round the year off, Ryan actually turned into Harold Saxon for a bit. This was probably, on balance, the worst Christmas of the lot.

2011 was largely uneventful except that nobody could die.

Ryan went on to see the Tenth Doctor light the flame at the 2012 Olympics, was briefly into that whole “mysterious black cubes” craze before they got banned for some reason, and while he was in high school the entire Earth was covered in dense forest overnight but that disappeared, and nobody ever mentioned it again. The Cybermen invaded again. Then, not long after Ryan left school, the entire world was taken over by a species of really gross looking mummified monks who claimed to have always been in charge, before they also disappeared overnight.

Not long after that, Ryan met the Doctor for the first time and was shocked, shocked, to discover that aliens exist.

Cracks in Time

Steven Moffat did give us one handy explanation for why nobody in Doctor Who remembers the Dalek invasion, or the giant steampunk Cyberman that invaded Victorian London, and probably much more. In ‘Victory of the Daleks’ the Doctor tries to persuade Winston Churchill that using his own force of Daleks to secure the country was a bad idea, and he turns to Amy, who would have seen that invasion, to back him up. She has no idea what’s he’s talking about.

Later it’s revealed this is because the TARDIS explodes, destroying the entire universe with it. The cracks in time left by that explosion erased all kinds of events from history, including, handily, anything that would cause the human view of the universe to deviate too far from the real-world status quo.

Of course, that does leave some problems. Adelaide Brooke, again, clearly remembers the Dalek invasion and it was a moment so formative and influential on her eventual Fixed Point In Time that even the Dalek she saw (who, I remind you, was working on a plot to destroy literally all existence) didn’t dare exterminate her because of its influence on the timeline. And since it’s not implied the crack in time could bring anyone back from the dead, it does make you wonder what history says happened to Harriet Jones (former Prime Minister) and all the many others killed by the Daleks.

But maybe you don’t need a giant retconning Crack in Time?

Because while the Doctor has often waxed lyrical about humanity being indomitable, creative, and curious, there is also a lesser innate human quality the Doctor sometimes mentions: our absent-mindedness.

The Forgetfulness of the Daleks

As well as the Dalek incursions in ‘The Stolen Earth’ and ‘The Army of Ghosts’, there was another Dalek visitation of Earth in the ironically named ‘Remembrance of the Daleks’, which was set in 1963. During this adventure then-companion Ace points out she doesn’t remember anything about Daleks invading in the 1960s. The Doctor replies, “Do you remember the Zygon gambit with the Loch Ness Monster? Or the Yeti in the Underground? Your species has an amazing capacity for self-deception.”

Likewise, nobody remembers dinosaurs invading London, or the other time shop window dummies came to life and started killing people, or when the Earth encountered its exact twin. Without any cracks in time hanging around, Doctor Who falls back on an old staple of fantasy and sci-fi- that humans just ignore anything that doesn’t fit into their worldview.

As we’ve already mentioned, this turns up a couple of times in the new series as well. In ‘In the Forest of the Night’, the entire planet is overnight covered in forest for reasons that we’re not going to go into too closely because that story’s a bit of an embarrassment to be honest. As the forest disappears at the end of the story the Doctor says it will be forgotten outside of fairy stories, because that’s “a human superpower”.

It can even work two-way. In ‘The Lie of the Land’, the entire Earth is taken over by the gross-looking and mysterious “monks”. Using a psychic link, the monks convince humanity that not only are they humanity’s generous benefactors, but also that the monks have always been here, guiding human evolution. This is of course a lie, as the monks are actually one of the very few aliens not to have guided human evolution at some point.

After the Doctor does his thing and the monks’ statues are torn down, someone passes by the ruins of one and wonders what it was. Already, people are forgetting.

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Which, if you think about it, is a Doctor Who story in itself. Imagine being an alien visiting Earth. Humanity must seem like the Silence, but in reverse- as soon as they stop looking at you they forget you exist. The Doctor really ought to take a look at that some time.

The post Doctor Who: Why Does Everyone Keep Forgetting the Daleks? appeared first on Den of Geek.

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