#The Further Adventures of Indiana Jones | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

atlasthegreatest · 1 month ago

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A Game of Hearts and Ruins / Lara Croft x Indiana Jones! Male Reader

Which, Lara Croft crosses paths with Y/n Jones, a charming archaeologist and long-time rival, while both pursue the same ancient artifact.

Word count: 4788

The midday sun blazed mercilessly over the dense jungles of Cambodia, where the ancient ruins of a forgotten temple slept beneath layers of tangled vines and centuries of dust. Lara Croft crouched low on the edge of a broken stone pillar, her eyes scanning the scene ahead. She’d heard rumors of rare artifacts hidden within these ruins—legendary relics of power that would be a thrilling addition to her private collection. However, she wasn’t alone in the pursuit.

The soft crunch of a boot on fallen leaves caught her ear. Without looking, she smirked, already knowing who it was.

“Late as usual, Croft,” came a smooth, confident voice behind her.

Lara rose to her feet, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face. “If I were late, Jones, you wouldn’t have needed to follow me here.”

Standing a few feet away was Dr. Y/n Jones—a fellow British adventurer and archaeologist with a devil-may-care grin, ruffled hair, and an insufferable twinkle in his eyes. He wore a worn leather jacket over a white shirt and khaki trousers, looking every inch the reckless explorer he was. His belt was loaded with tools, and a coiled whip hung from his hip, further adding to his roguish charm.

Y/n’s grin widened as he tucked his hands casually in his pockets. “Follow you? I was here first, love. Just wanted to see how long it’d take you to catch up.”

Lara tilted her head, arching an eyebrow. “You’ve always been a terrible liar, Jones.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm. “And you’ve always been terrible at admitting when you’ve met your match.”

Lara felt the spark between them, that familiar current of playful rivalry. This wasn’t the first time they’d crossed paths on an expedition—nor the first time their competition had made things complicated. They both thrived on adventure, danger, and the thrill of outwitting each other. It was a game they loved to play, though neither would ever admit just how much they enjoyed the other’s company.

“Still planning to raid the temple alone?” Y/n asked, sauntering closer. “Or do you want to call it a truce and split the prize?”

“Please,” Lara replied, crossing her arms. “I don’t need help. Besides, we both know you’d try to take the lion’s share.”

Y/n grinned. “Of course. It’s what I do best.”

Lara turned on her heel, making her way deeper into the ruins without another word. Y/n followed, as she knew he would. They were drawn together like magnets—constantly orbiting, occasionally colliding, but never fully able to walk away from each other.

Inside the temple, the air grew cooler, filled with the scent of damp stone and ancient decay. The maze of narrow corridors twisted in every direction, and both explorers moved in practiced silence, each determined to outpace the other.

Lara was quick, slipping through narrow gaps and climbing crumbled walls with the grace of a cat. Y/n stayed close, his every move fluid and calculated, as if he were waiting for the perfect moment to make his move.

“Tell me something, Croft,” Y/n said as they entered a massive hall, its ceiling carved with faded murals of long-forgotten gods. “What’s your fascination with these relics? Is it the history, or just the thrill of stealing them before anyone else can?”

Lara shot him a sideways glance. “And what’s yours? Looking to get rich or just eager to impress me?”

Y/n chuckled. “Can’t it be both?”

She rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched in amusement. Y/n’s charm was infuriating, mostly because she found it oddly… endearing. But she wasn’t about to let that distract her. They reached the center of the hall, where a large pedestal stood. On it rested a golden amulet, glimmering in the dim light. Both of them stopped at the same moment, eyes locked on their prize.

“Shall we call it a tie?” Y/n suggested, his voice low and teasing.

“Not a chance.”

In a blur of movement, both lunged for the amulet at the same time. Lara’s fingers brushed the metal, but Y/n’s hand was already there, closing over hers.

“Not so fast,” he whispered, standing far too close.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved, their faces inches apart. Lara could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek, and the intensity in his eyes made her heart race in a way that had nothing to do with the chase.

“Careful, Jones,” she murmured. “You’re playing with fire.”

“I always do,” he replied, his voice a husky whisper.

For a moment, the tension between them shifted. What had started as playful competition now felt like something far more dangerous? It was as if all the stolen glances, the teasing words, and the shared adventures had been leading to this exact moment.

Then, with a sly grin, Lara twisted her hand free and snatched the amulet. “Better luck next time.”

Y/n blinked, momentarily stunned, then laughed—a deep, genuine sound that echoed through the ancient hall. “You’re impossible, Croft.”

“Thank you,” she said, slipping the amulet into her pouch.

Y/n shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “You know, one of these days, I’ll beat you to it.”

“I doubt that,” Lara shot back, her expression smug but playful.

They made their way out of the temple side by side, their footsteps light and their conversation even lighter. For all the rivalry between them, neither could deny the thrill they felt in each other’s presence—the way their hearts raced not just from the danger, but from the sheer joy of being together.

As they reached the jungle clearing where they’d first crossed paths, Y/n gave her a sidelong glance. “What do you say, Croft? Same time, same place next month?”

Lara smiled, a rare softness in her eyes. “We’ll see. If you can keep up.”

Y/n reached out and brushed a stray leaf from her shoulder, his touch lingering just a second too long. “I always do.”

And with that, they parted ways once again—two souls bound by adventure, rivalry, and something neither of them was quite ready to name. But as they disappeared into the wilderness, each knew the truth: the next time they met, it wouldn’t just be artifacts they were chasing.

————————

Several weeks later, the humid jungles of South America set the stage for their next encounter. Lara had tracked down rumors of a jade mask—an ancient relic tied to a pre-Columbian civilization, said to grant prophetic visions to its wearer. The mask was hidden somewhere deep within a forgotten temple, buried beneath layers of rock and a thick rainforest canopy.

As she approached the vine-choked entrance, a voice echoed through the foliage, smug and familiar.

“You know, Croft, you’re starting to make this too easy.”

Lara turned to find Y/n Jones leaning lazily against a tree, arms crossed, his whip coiled at his side. His grin was as infuriatingly charming as ever, and the sun caught the mischievous glint in his eyes. He had somehow beaten her to the site—again.

“Following me across continents now, Jones?” Lara asked, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize I had an admirer.”

Y/n pushed off the tree and strolled closer, his expression full of playful arrogance. “Who says I was following? Maybe I just know you better than you think.”

Lara gave a scoff, though her lips curled into a slight smile. Their rivalry had become a dance—one they both enjoyed far more than they admitted.

“Then you must know I don’t intend to let you take that mask,” she said, brushing past him toward the temple entrance.

Y/n’s grin widened as he followed at her side. “Tell you what—how about we make things interesting this time? Whoever gets the mask first wins.”

“And what’s the prize?” Lara asked, giving him a sidelong glance.

Y/n leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur. “Winner picks the next adventure. Loser buys the drinks.”

Lara let out a quiet chuckle, her heart skipping a beat despite herself. “Hope you’re ready to part with some cash.”

Y/n’s laugh followed her into the darkness of the temple, a deep, infectious sound that made her chest feel annoyingly warm.

Inside the temple, they fell into their usual rhythm—both racing against each other and the ticking clock of hidden traps. The ruins were riddled with dead ends, collapsing pathways and intricately designed puzzles meant to keep intruders at bay.

Lara slipped through tight spaces with feline grace, while Y/n used his whip to swing over bottomless pits and climb crumbling walls. They traded banter along the way, their words light but carrying the weight of something unspoken.

“You know, Croft, one day your luck is going to run out,” Y/n said, watching her disable a complex trap with practiced ease.

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Lara replied, glancing back at him with a playful smirk. “Just skill—and better instincts than yours.”

Y/n chuckled, adjusting the strap of his bag. “We’ll see about that.”

They reached the heart of the temple at the same time—a grand chamber with towering statues and an altar at the center, upon which rested the jade mask. It gleamed under a shaft of sunlight that cut through the darkness, casting long shadows across the stone floor.

Both adventurers slowed their pace, eyes locked on the artifact. For a moment, neither moved, as if testing the other’s resolve.

“Ladies first?” Y/n offered the smirk on his lips suggesting he was anything but sincere.

Lara scoffed. “Chivalry doesn’t suit you.”

And just like that, they were in motion—both of them darting toward the mask. Y/n’s whip lashed out, aiming to knock the artifact into his hand, but Lara anticipated the move and dodged. With a roll and a leap, she reached the altar first, fingers grazing the jade surface.

But Y/n was faster than she expected. His hand closed over hers—just like before—and they both froze, breathing hard from the sudden burst of adrenaline.

Lara looked up, meeting Y/n’s gaze. His face was inches from hers, and for a moment, all the teasing banter, all the playful rivalry, melted away. She felt the steady rhythm of his breath and smelled the faint scent of leather and earth on his jacket.

“You’re predictable, Jones,” she whispered, her voice softer than before.

“And you’re impossible,” he murmured in return, his hand still resting lightly over hers.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity—caught between the thrill of competition and the pull of something deeper. Neither was willing to admit it aloud, but in these stolen moments, the game they played felt less like a rivalry and more like something… inevitable.

Y/n’s lips quirked into a slow, teasing smile. “You always this competitive on dates, Croft?”

“This isn’t a date,” Lara replied, though the amusement in her eyes betrayed her.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

And then, before she could think twice, Lara made her move. She shifted her weight, used Y/n’s balance against him, and twisted free with the jade mask in hand.

“Better luck next time,” she said, throwing him a playful wink as she tucked the mask into her satchel.

Y/n stared after her, half-exasperated, half-impressed. “You’re going to be the death of me, Croft.”

“Maybe,” Lara called over her shoulder, already heading for the exit. “But you’ll enjoy every second of it.”

Y/n laughed, shaking his head as he followed her out of the temple. As they emerged into the bright sunlight, the jungle buzzing with life around them, he caught up to her once again.

“So,” he said, falling into step beside her. “Since I lost, I suppose the drinks are on me.”

Lara shot him a sidelong glance, the corners of her mouth curling into a rare, genuine smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Y/n grinned, something warm and knowing flickering in his eyes. “And next time?”

Lara gave a light shrug, though her heart was already racing at the thought of their next adventure. “Same stakes. Same rules.”

“Good,” Y/n murmured, his voice laced with promise. “Because I have a feeling our best adventures are still ahead.”

And with that, they disappeared into the jungle once more—two rivals bound by danger, drawn together by something far more powerful than either of them could resist.

——————-

Lara and Y/n didn’t part ways for long. Just a few weeks later, they found themselves standing in the shadows of the Atlas Mountains, on the outskirts of a Berber village. Their latest quarry was the Scarab of Anhur, an ancient amulet believed to bring victory in battle. A collector in Marrakesh had offered an obscene sum to acquire it, but neither Lara nor Y/n needed the money. For them, the scarab was just another excuse to outmaneuver each other—and perhaps, neither of them could stay away.

They stood together near the entrance of a remote tomb, surrounded by jagged cliffs and the endless stretch of desert sky. The sun was sinking low, casting long golden beams across the rocky landscape.

“So, what’s the plan this time?” Y/n asked with a grin as he adjusted his whip. “We race to the artifact, you leave me in a pit, and I show up at the bar later like nothing happened?”

Lara smirked, brushing dust off her cargo pants. “That does sound familiar.”

“You wound me, Croft.” Y/n placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. “I thought we were building trust.”

“Trust?” Lara echoed, raising an eyebrow. “This isn’t trust, Y/n—it’s foreplay.”

The words hung between them, thick with implication. Y/n’s smirk faltered for just a second, his eyes darkening with something that wasn’t entirely amusement.

“Careful,” he said, his voice quieter now, “or one of these days, you might get in over your head.”

Lara leaned closer, a dangerous glint in her eye. “I doubt it.”

They stood like that for a moment, caught in the web of tension and teasing that had been growing between them since their first encounter. There was no denying it now—their rivalry was more than just a game. It was a dangerous dance, one that neither of them knew how to stop.

Inside the tomb, the temperature dropped sharply, the cool air heavy with centuries of silence. The walls were adorned with faded carvings of ancient battles, and the narrow corridor stretched deep into the earth. They walked side by side, the sound of their boots echoing in the stillness.

“So, why do you do it?” Y/n asked after a while, breaking the silence. “Chasing after these things. The artifacts, the temples… What’s the endgame, Croft?”

Lara shrugged, her flashlight beam dancing over the walls. “It’s not about the end. It’s about the journey. The discovery.”

“And the thrill of beating me to the prize, I imagine?”Y/n teased, though his gaze softened as he looked at her.

Lara glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “That’s just a bonus.”

They reached a large chamber, the heart of the tomb. At the center, atop a pedestal carved with intricate hieroglyphs, lay the Scarab of Anhur. The golden amulet shimmered faintly, untouched for centuries.

Lara’s pulse quickened.

Y/n, ever-watchful, moved closer. “Shall we flip a coin this time, or are we sticking with ‘winner takes all’?”

Lara shot him a sly grin. “What fun would a coin toss be?”

Without another word, they both moved toward the pedestal—two shadows racing against each other through time.

Y/n was quick, but Lara was quicker. She reached the scarab just as Y/n lunged forward, and once again, their hands collided over the artifact. For a moment, they stood frozen, breathing hard, faces close enough to feel the warmth of the other’s skin.

“Déjà vu,” Y/n whispered, his voice low and rough.

Lara looked up, her eyes locking with his. This time, there was no witty remark, no teasing banter. Just the steady hum of adrenaline and something far more dangerous—something that had been building between them for too long.

And then, before she could stop herself, Lara leaned in and kissed him.

The kiss was brief, but it was electric. The moment their lips met, the tension that had simmered between them for so long ignited into a blaze. Y/n responded without hesitation, his hand cupping the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

When they finally pulled away, both were breathless, their hearts pounding in unison.

“Well,” Y/n said, his voice husky with surprise, “that was… unexpected.”

Lara’s lips quirked into a rare, genuine smile. “Maybe. But it’s been a long time coming.”

Y/n’s grin returned, softer this time. “No arguments here.”

The scarab glimmered between them, forgotten for the moment. The prize didn’t seem quite as important anymore—not compared to what they had just discovered.

Lara cleared her throat, stepping back but not breaking eye contact. “So… what now?”

Y/n shrugged, his grin turning lazy and affectionate. “We could fight over the scarab. Or…”

“Or?”

“Or,” Y/n said, slipping an arm around her waist, “we could call it a draw. Just this once.”

Lara chuckled, a rare sound that made Y/n’s heart skip a beat. “You’re getting soft, Beckett.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just realized that beating you isn’t the prize I want.”

Lara looked at him, the amusement in her gaze giving way to something deeper. For the first time, the lines between rivalry and affection blurred beyond recognition, and she found she didn’t mind.

“Come on,” she said, tugging his hand lightly. “Let’s get out of here before we both regret this.”

Y/n grinned, following her toward the exit. “Regret? Never.”

As they made their way back through the tomb, side by side, the weight of the scarab in Lara’s satchel felt lighter than it should have. For once, the artifact wasn’t the victory she cared about.

And maybe, just maybe, the adventure they’d found together was only just beginning.

Bonus chapter:

The bonfire crackled warmly in the moonlit desert night, casting flickering shadows over the sand. Lara sat cross-legged on a blanket, sipping whiskey from a battered flask, the glow of the fire soft against her bronzed skin. The day’s adventure—their narrow escape from collapsing ruins—had left them both exhausted but exhilarated. Across from her, Y/n Jones reclined against his rucksack, his leather jacket thrown carelessly aside, hair mussed, and a satisfied grin playing on his lips.

“This almost feels… domestic,” Y/n teased, raising a brow as he accepted the flask from Lara.

Lara gave him a smirk. “If your idea of domestic includes dodging spike traps, solving ancient riddles, and nearly being buried alive, then sure—domestic.”

Y/n chuckled, the sound low and easy, sending a warmth through her chest that had nothing to do with the fire. He tipped the flask to his lips and took a slow drink, the firelight dancing in his eyes. “It’s not exactly Buckingham Palace, but I’d say it’s the perfect evening. After all, I’ve got the stars, good company…” He shot her a playful look. “And the fact that I didn’t lose—entirely—today.”

Lara arched an eyebrow. “You didn’t win either, Jones.”

Y/n leaned closer, close enough for her to smell the whiskey on his breath, that familiar spark lighting between them once again. “Well, if it’s a draw, I say we call it a victory for both of us.”

“Ever the optimist,” Lara said, though there was no bite in her tone.

They lapsed into comfortable silence for a while, the night wrapping around them in a quiet embrace. The stars stretched endlessly overhead, and the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the distant whisper of the wind against the dunes.

For once, Lara wasn’t thinking about ancient artifacts or dangerous tombs. She wasn’t planning her next move or trying to stay one step ahead. For once, she was simply here—sharing the moment with someone who understood the same restless hunger for adventure, the same need to keep moving, always chasing something just out of reach.

“Do you ever think about it?” Y/n asked suddenly, his voice low and thoughtful.

Lara glanced at him. “Think about what?”

“Stopping,” he said, tilting his head back to gaze at the stars. “Walking away from all of this. The treasure hunts, the danger, the endless competition.”

Lara considered the question, surprised by how serious it sounded coming from him. She’d spent her entire life running toward the next adventure, always searching for the next discovery. But now, sitting here with Y/n, the idea didn’t seem as foreign—or as impossible—as it once had.

“And do what?” she asked softly.

Y/n shrugged, his smile lazy but genuine. “I don’t know. Open a bar in Marrakesh? Start a museum somewhere quiet?” He gave her a sidelong glance, his eyes warm and knowing. “Maybe find someone to share it with.”

Lara’s heart skipped a beat, but she kept her expression cool. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

He grinned. “I’m full of surprises.”

She shook her head, amused despite herself. “And if you had to bet on it—how long do you think we’d last in that quiet life?”

Y/n laughed, the sound rich and full of mischief. “A week. Maybe two.”

“Generous,” Lara said with a chuckle.

Y/n leaned back on his elbows, watching her with a gaze that made her feel as though he could see past every wall she’d ever built. “But we’d have fun trying, wouldn’t we?”

Lara smiled—a real smile, not the half-smirks she usually gave. “Yeah, Jones. We would.”

They stayed by the fire long after the flames began to die, sharing stories from old adventures, moments they hadn’t told anyone else. Y/n told her about the time he’d gotten trapped in a Bolivian cave with only a compass and a bottle of rum to his name. Lara recounted a narrow escape from pirates off the coast of Madagascar.

Somewhere along the way, the space between them disappeared.

Lara didn’t remember exactly when Y/n shifted closer, or when she stopped pretending to mind. All she knew was that his hand brushed hers, and for the first time, she didn’t pull away.

The kiss that followed was slow, unhurried—different from the adrenaline-fueled kiss they’d shared in the tomb. This one was deliberate, a promise made under the open sky, without the pressure of stolen moments or looming danger.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/n rested his forehead against hers, his voice low and rough. “I hate to admit it, but I think I might be falling for you, Croft.”

Lara’s heart hammered in her chest, but she met his gaze without flinching. “Then you’d better keep up, Jones.”

Y/n grinned, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Always.”

Morning came too soon, and with it, the pull of the next adventure. The fire had burned down to embers, and the cool dawn air nipped at their skin.

Lara rose first, brushing sand from her pants and adjusting her gear. Y/n followed, slinging his pack over his shoulder with an easy grin.

“So,” he said, falling into step beside her as they made their way across the dunes, “where to next?”

Lara glanced at him, her eyes sparkling with that familiar glint of mischief. “There’s a legend about a lost temple in the Himalayas. Supposedly, it holds a relic that grants eternal youth.”

Y/n chuckled. “You think we’ll beat the odds and live forever?”

Lara gave him a playful smirk. “I wouldn’t bet against us.”

And with that, they set off into the rising sun—two explorers, two hearts bound by adventure and something far more precious than any treasure they could ever find.

Because for Lara Croft and Y/n Jones, the real prize wasn’t the artifacts or the glory. It was the journey. And as long as they had each other, the adventure would never end.

———————

A month later, the frigid winds of the Himalayas howled around them as they clung to a cliff face. Far below, jagged rocks peeked through a blanket of snow, promising a swift end to anyone careless enough to misstep. But the danger was nothing new to Lara Croft and Y/n Jones.

“Still think eternal youth is worth it?” Y/n called over the roar of the wind, his voice muffled by the scarf wrapped around his face.

Lara smirked, planting her ice axe into the frozen rock. “You afraid of a little cold, Jones?”

Y/n huffed. “No, just making sure you don’t lose your edge.” He swung his body forward, driving his own axe into the ice next to hers.

They had chased the myth of the Temple of Shambala through ancient maps, local rumors, and narrow escapes from rival treasure hunters. Now, only a few hundred feet separated them from the summit—and the legendary temple said to be hidden beneath the glacier.

Y/n reached the ledge first, pulling himself up with a grunt. He turned and offered Lara a hand. “Come on, Croft. I’d hate to have to rescue you at the last minute.”

Lara raised an eyebrow but took his hand, letting him help her up. “You’ll never let me forget it, will you?”

Y/n grinned, tugging her close for just a moment, their faces inches apart. “Not in a million years.”

The entrance to the temple was hidden beneath layers of thick ice, but Lara had spotted faint carvings—indications of a doorway. Together, they set to work, their ice axes clanging rhythmically against the frozen surface.

When the ancient stone door finally cracked open, a rush of warm, stagnant air escaped from within, a sharp contrast to the biting cold outside.

“After you,” Y/n said with a mock bow, sweeping his arm toward the dark passage.

Lara rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “So much for chivalry being dead.”

The temple was vast, its cavernous halls shimmering with ancient ice that glowed a ghostly blue. Enormous statues of forgotten gods lined the walls, their faces serene as they gazed down on the two explorers. The floor beneath their boots crunched with frost, and the air was heavy with centuries of silence.

“This place is unreal,” Y/n whispered, running a hand along one of the statues.

Lara nodded, captivated by the beauty of it all. But she knew better than to let awe distract her for long. “Keep your eyes open. If the legends are true, there’ll be traps.”

As they ventured deeper into the temple, they found more signs of its ancient purpose—symbols of renewal, carvings of stars and moons, and murals depicting pilgrims drinking from a golden chalice. At the heart of the temple, beneath a dome carved with constellations, they found what they had been seeking.

The Chalice of Shambala sat atop a pedestal, glowing faintly with an otherworldly light.

Y/n gave a low whistle. “That’s it?”

Lara approached it cautiously, her eyes scanning the room for any hidden mechanisms. “Be careful. If the myths are right, that thing grants eternal youth—but only if it deems you worthy.”

Y/n raised a skeptical brow. “And what happens if it doesn’t?”

“Let’s not find out,” Lara murmured.

They approached the chalice together, their hands brushing as they reached for it. Neither spoke, but the weight of what they had shared over the past few months hung between them.

Y/n broke the silence first. “You know, Croft… If this thing works, we could keep doing this forever. Adventure after adventure. Just you and me.”

Lara looked at him, her expression softening. “Forever, huh?”

“Think you could stand me that long?” Y/n asked, his grin playful but his gaze sincere.

Lara hesitated, her hand hovering over the chalice. For once, the temptation wasn’t the treasure—it was the thought of what came next. She realized she didn’t want a life without him, whether it lasted fifty years or five centuries.

With a small, mischievous smile, she pulled her hand away. “I think I’d rather grow old with you.”

Y/n blinked, momentarily stunned. Then his grin returned, warmer than the firelight on a desert night. “Well, Croft, that might just be the best treasure I’ve found yet.”

Lara rolled her eyes, though her heart swelled. “Come on, let’s get out of here before this place decides to kill us.”

Y/n grabbed her hand, lacing his fingers with hers as they turned toward the exit. “Lead the way, Croft. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

And with that, they left the chalice untouched, their footsteps echoing through the ancient halls as they walked hand in hand toward the next great adventure—one filled not just with danger and discovery, but with each other.

Because in the end, they realized, it wasn’t the promise of eternal youth that mattered. It was the journey—and the person they chose to share it with.

#tomb raider #indiana jones!reader #male reader #lara croft #lara croft x reader

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kchasm · 1 day ago

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Ryu Number: Albert Schweitzer

Albert Schweitzer was a German-born philosopher, theologian, and physician. His personal philosophy was based around the idea of "reverence for life": He believed that there was nothing of the objective world itself that evinced any innate meaning or ethical quality, and that the world was composed of life seeking to sustain itself, which occurred at the expense of other lives. Schweitzer proposed a system of ethics founded on a thoughtful and constant awareness of the reverence for life—all living things—from which should result the effort—through actions—to strengthen and develop it. In short: It was good to maintain and further life and it was bad to damage and destroy life, and one ought to commit to the former as much as possible while minimizing the latter as much as could be managed.

…Did I explain that all right? I don't feel like I got that all right, not really. I suspect I'm mangling the guy's principles here in some way, and I can't do a lot more than apologize. I might not have failed my philosophy classes in university, but I can't honestly say I aced them, either. Just sort of floated through while managing to keep my head above water,

Anyway, praxis manifested itself notably in his running of a hospital in French Equatorial Africa (later Gabon)—founded originally in 1913 before World War I broke out and, as a German citizen in French territory, he was removed. He returned to the hospital in 1924, and headed its operation until his death in 1965.

Yeah, all of that was really heavy, wasn't it? If you want to take a moment before crossing the readmore, I totally understand.

If you didn't already know, here's where you learn that both Ryu and Darth Vader show up as guest fighters in Brawlhalla. There's always someone who doesn't know about Brawlhalla, and I love letting them know that Brawlhalla exists. (Rayman is there too.)

Lego Star Wars: The Complete Saga includes a trailer for the then-upcoming Lego Indiana Jones video game. Watch it, and you can buy Indiana Jones from the shop. And then play as him, of course.

Dude's a bit clean-shaven, but it's him. He's got the whip and everything.

The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles was a TV show based on, uh, well, the chronicles of young Indiana Jones. These semi-edutainment stories would usually see Indy getting tangentially involved with real-life historical events and meeting momentarily with real-life historical figures. The episodes were later edited and released across three DVD sets as The Adventures of Young Indiana Jones, each the sets including a DVD-ROM that let you install a slightly more educational computer game version of one of the stories in the set.

Quality-wise, these games are a little, uh.

Also Indiana's really blond in these for some reason.

Still counts, though. Including the parts where questionably drawn Indiana gets to meet the various questionably drawn historical figures.

(Incidentally, for his work, Albert Schweitzer got the Nobel Peace Prize in 1952. This makes him one among a surprisingly large number of Nobel Peace Prize laureates with Ryu Numbers. Larger than you'd think, I'd mean. Or at least larger than you'd think if I asked you to guess how many Nobel Peace Prize laureates had Ryu Numbers and then told you you had only five seconds to answer.)

(It's more than ten, anyway.)

#ryu number #ryu #brawlhalla #darth vader #lego star wars: the complete saga #indiana jones #the adventures of young indiana jones: special delivery #albert schweitzer

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sorceresssundries · 7 months ago

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Gale sketches by @orangekittyenergy <3

CHAPTER 1 (of 2)

LINK TO CHAPTER 2 - NSFW

Pairing: Gale x Fem Tav

Summary: Set post-game where Tav did not feature in Gale's troubles in Baldur's Gate. A whip-cracking, fedora wearing, Indiana Jones inspired mini-adventure - where Professor Dekarios is tempted out of the classroom, and on yet another perilous quest. (Chapter 2 out soon)

Warnings: Chapter 1 is SFW, Chapter 2... less so.

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: Just a bit of a fun based on the Gale as Indiana comparisons. Also, he looks like a young Harrison Ford, how could I not? This is not the stuff I'm used to writing! But it's been enjoyable and nice to try something new.

Her forest was dying. Thaes’yána, a sacred patch of overgrowth within Elltavia’s home, had been under protection for so long that the Rangers of the forest no longer knew the reason why. Its guardianship had been passed down from mother to daughter for generations, and all Elltavia had known since being a girl was that entry was forbidden, and it was to be protected from outsiders.

But now, an arcane rot had settled deep within, and was infecting further and further outside of its bounds. Animals, once serene, were being driven to madness if they got too close for too long. Among the forest-dwellers, whispers of unrest travelled, tales of violence and theft staining the once peaceful community. The responsibility had fallen to her to find help, and she had travelled far to ensure she got it. Just like her beloved forest, if the end was near, she would not be going gently.

Her quest had led her somewhere unexpected, to the shadowy recesses of a sprawling lecture hall. She was nestled in the farthest corner, seeking refuge from the professor's unrelenting enthusiasm. From her observations, his class appeared to cleave into two distinct factions: the diligent scribes, feverishly scribbling down every word that spilled from his lips, struggling to keep pace with his monologuing, and the other group, who seemed utterly disinterested in the lecture material. Their pens lay dormant as they indulged in a different kind of attention; lingering onto his every subtle gesture and every inflection in his voice with wide-eyed fascination. There were a number of Tieflings in the class whose tails were swishing with telling enthusiasm. She imagined if she looked into their notepads, they would be laden with love hearts and romantic doodles.

She knew who Gale Dekarios was, of course. Word travelled, especially when one had command over birds to receive and deliver news from across the realm. Even as far away as she had been from the chaos and fire of Baldur’s Gate - she had taken up moonlit vigil to pray to Mielekki that the heroes' aim be true and their hope evergreen. And now she was sitting here, staring impatiently at one of the very people who had pervaded her prayers. He was more… academic that she’d expected, in his tweed blazer and bow tie. Rounded glasses perched on his nose, occasionally slipping down during moments of particular ardour, prompting him to deftly push them back up with his finger.

His talking seemed to go on for an extraordinary amount of time, but maybe it just seemed that way because she could feel each precious second slip through her fingers like burning sand. Eventually, the class poured out with a mixture of yawns and giggles and she approached his desk as he scribbled frantically on the blackboard.

“Your dates are wrong.” she said. He flinched slightly, making the chalk jump.He sighed and wiped away his slip, having lost his train of thought.

“Excuse me?” He turned to face her, his scholarly face frowning and making the lines between his eyes more pronounced. He looked much older when he was frustrated, she thought with amusement.

She pointed at his scribbles; “The fighting ended in 1421 sure, but the peace treaty wasn’t finalised until the following year.” Her eyes met his, and she was struck by the depth of them. “You may want to correct your students' next lecture. Well… the ones who were actually taking notes.”

She briefly cast her eyes over the picture frames on his desk. There was one of a formal looking woman with his tanned skin and warm eyes sitting on a sunlit balcony by the sea, and another of an unimpressed looking Tressym perched atop a pile of books.

It was the larger group photo that caught her attention, frozen in a moment of chaos.

In the centre of the frame, a flame-red Tiefling woman was mid-laughter, proudly displaying a crudely drawn portrait of a white-haired elf, the illustration nestling within an odd-shaped gap amongst the group. Behind her, a slight woman with a silver braid, was in the midst of being lifted by a huge, tattooed wood-elf, their collaborative efforts evident in their attempt to fit her into the picture. Next to them, an older woman in druid armour gestured animatedly, seemingly scolding a large, bald man who was earnestly attempting to position what appeared to be a hamster at the forefront of the group. Meanwhile, Gale, with his finger poised mid-sentence, was engaged in conversation with a handsome, horned man who stood with arms folded, seemingly annoyed. Amidst the chaos, only a Githyanki woman remained composed, her unsmiling gaze fixed directly on the camera, unaffected by the surrounding mayhem.

They were the heroes she had seen in the papers, but here they looked less like champions of the Gate and more like a dysfunctional, loving family. She much preferred this version of them.

“I was not aware I was being monitored today.” He took in her appearance, her dark braided hair was pulled up and away from her face, and she wore travelling robes and a worn cloak. She definitely wasn’t an academic, he thought. Though she certainly seemed knowledgeable on history. Her eyes looked much older than she did - They were the colour of summer leaves slipping into autumn and sparkled when she spoke. With her being an elf, it made sense that she was probably a lot older than she appeared.

“How can I help you, miss…”

“Elltavia Kidd’Alka.” Her tone was brusk, efficient. “I won’t waste time with small-talk. I’m here to request some assistance on an urgent matter.”

He sighed and rubbed his forehead, as though this was a regular interruption to his workday. “Ah, well you can tell the guild..

“I’m not with the guild.”

His frown deepened, “Fine, the harpers…”

“Nope, not them either.”

“Then please Miss Kidd…

“I’m a ranger stationed in the High Forest. My home is being infected by a blight which threatens the lives of many who live there. It is believed the cause is of arcane origin. I need your help to fix it.” She dumped a heavy, jangling pouch on his desk. “I think you’ll find this should be adequate payment.”

This woman did not mess around, he thought. She was refreshing, although he would probably like her more if she actually let him speak.

“I am a professor, not a hireling. I’m afraid I cannot help.”

“Completely understandable, Professor.” She offered warmly “After everything you’ve been through I can understand why you would prefer a quieter, more relaxed lifestyle. Besides…” She said with an exaggerated, compassionate sigh. “You’re not getting any younger.”

This appeared to have touched a nerve. “Listen, Miss Kidd’Alka - I'm sorry for your troubles, but my answer is no. Now if you’d excuse me, I have much to do before my next class. Apparently my dates need amending” He gestured with his arm for her to leave, and she tilted her head with curiosity. She was enjoying him flustered, and she did not move.

“You must feel very lucky to have such a comfortable position here at the academy. Especially with the influx of ancient artefacts that have been added to its custodianship since your arrival.” Her lips tilted at the sudden stiffening of his posture.

He remained silent, eyes narrowing as she sat down in his chair and put her muddy boots up on his desk. She removed a knife from a strap at her thigh, flashing her toned, supple skin and began to peel an apple which had been left for him by a particularly devoted student. He felt a familiar, but dusty feeling stir within him at the flash of her leg. His hand automatically flew to his chest, before remembering that was no longer necessary. Old scars run deep.

“It’s so strange how the discovery of these artefacts always seems to coincide with your sabbatical leave.” Her tone was playful, innocent, but her eyes were mischievous. She slowly let the peel fall away, her blade so sharp she barely had to stroke the fruit with the edge of it. She wasn’t even looking at what she was doing, her gaze was fixed fiercely on him.

“Your implication is wasted here, I can assure you.”

“My apologies, Professor Dekarios. I meant no disrespect.” She took a sharp bite of the piece of apple speared at the end of her knife, and he watched with fascination and derision as she swallowed, the juice trickling down to her chin. “I just thought the rumoured artefact causing the problem may be of interest to you and your academy. But, never mind. I hear there’s a ex-Sharran cleric who is fond of adventuring, maybe she can help me out.” She could practically hear the thoughts bouncing around in his head as she stood up to leave.

She was almost at the door when he gave a loud sigh.

“Wait. Take a seat. I’ll see if I can get my lectures covered.”

She turned to grin at him, and threw the rest of the apple across the room and into a bin with alarming accuracy.

“Leave some milk out for your cat, professor. You may be gone a while.”

The journey back to her forest had been arduous, mainly down to the fact Gale could not get the elvish pronunciation of her name right and so had resorted to calling her ‘Kidd.’ Frustrating for a woman who was one hundred and forty years older than him. Luckily, his useful knack for teleportation meant that at least the journey was shorter than expected.

They made it to the forest by the following morning, and Elltavia finally relaxed as the sound of songbirds and swishing trees soothed her tired feet and weary soul. She was home again. The plush canopy above them provided respite from the sun, but not the heat, and it wasn’t long into their journey before Gale had switched his slightly faded wizard’s robes into something more appropriate.

He now wore a loose, tan coloured shirt, unbuttoned enough to display a smattering of chest hair and what looked like a faded, circular scar. His tight brown trousers were tucked into leather boots held up by a belt laden with supplies and potions, and he had a satchel slung over his shoulders. Atop his head was a weather beaten fedora. Typically, she was not a fan of men in fedoras, but the way it kept his hair back off his face and shaded his handsome features was an unexpected and pleasant contradiction to the professor she had first met. But, it was the sinuous coil of a whip holstered at his side, its braided leather worn smooth by countless flicks and flourishes, that caught Tav’s attention the most.

“A whip?” She asked curiously, trying not to let any of the thoughts it inspired creep into her voice.

“An enchanted whip.” He replied smugly. “Much more useful than a staff, comes in handy from time to time.” To make his point, he unhooked it from his belt, swished it around his head once and then cracked it at a low hanging branch ahead of them. The tail of it curled around tight and sparked with electricity, zapping the dry wood into flame. It fell to the ground with a burning crash. He looked very pleased with himself as he extinguished the fire with a quick blast of conjured water.

“Well…” She said in the smoky silence. “That was completely unnecessary”

The mood shifted as they got deeper into the humid, overgrown forest. Leaves and foliage that was lush green and danced in the breeze suddenly became duller, the air stagnant and unbending. Birdsong had hushed, and the once vibrant heartbeat of the forest had suddenly stuttered and stopped.

They reached the centre of the blight, hidden amidst the greenery, to find an ancient temple almost completely swallowed by forest. Its crumbling skeleton had merged with creeping moss. Vines twisted round it like the lithe bodies of a hundred snakes, gripping and squeezing out any remaining life, pushing their way through the stone work until it was prised apart to fall to the forest floor. It once would have been grand, but now looked hollow and haunted. Elltavia grabbed Gale’s arm before he got any closer.

“Wait.” she murmured, crouching slightly. She drew out the sinuous bow from her back and notched an arrow. Her ears flicked like that of a cat surrounded by too much silence. There was something stirring, she could almost hear motes of threatening magic slinking together through the blighted air. Like heat gathering to form a storm. She could practically taste the thunder that had yet to crack.

“Expecting trouble?” Gale asked, hand now hovering over the whip at his belt.

She did not have time to answer before a skeletal figure, clad in tattered monks robes lunged at them from the shadows. His hollowed out eye sockets glowed with an eerie blue light, and his bony fingers clutched an ancient staff, carved with runes that pulsed faintly with dark energy. As it moved, the sound of creaking bones and whispers of necromantic incantation surrounded it like diseased air.

With a raise of its staff, a surge of necrotic magic crackled towards them. Gale dove to the side, rolling behind a fallen log, while Elltavia nimbly leaped into a nearby tree, her bow in hand.

She released an arrow in one swift motion. It whistled through the air and struck the skeleton in the chest. For a moment, the blue light in its eyes flickered, but it remained standing - unbroken and unfazed.

The guardian turned its hollow gaze towards her and began chanting in an ancient, guttural language. The ground beneath the tree where she perched started to rot and decay. With cat-like agility, she jumped to another tree just as the first began to crumble.

Gale seized the moment, sprinting forward and pulling his whip from his belt. With a flick of his wrist, the whip wrapped around the monk's legs, pulling it off balance. The skeleton crashed to the ground, the blue light in its eyes dimming as it struggled to free itself.

The ranger leaped into action, her bow discarded in favour of a pair of daggers. With feline grace, she landed above the guardian and plunged her daggers into its eye sockets, and the dimming light was finally extinguished.

“Nice whip work. You get much practice with that thing?” Elltavia approached him, breathless and sweating, and blew away some dust which had settled against his neck.

“Not as much as i’d like, Kidd.” He said, brushing away some blood from her lip with his thumb. “I’m just making this up as I go along.” There was a moment where their ragged breaths mingled, and their eyes held each other before she turned with a smirk, and headed towards the entrance the skeleton had been guarding. Gale realised, watching her sheath her daggers and count her arrows, that he was in more trouble than anticipated. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he wasn’t sure the fight was the cause of it.

They made their way down ancient, crumbling stairs flooded by spectral light from an imperceptible source, and Gale started to feel queasy and breathless. It was as though something beneath his skin, in his bones, was being sapped from him. It was a feeling he recognised.

“Sussur” he murmured, and he noticed vein-like ridges running along the walls, thin and faintly pulsing with a moonlight-blue glow. He ran the pads of his fingers over them, and felt a dull burning sensation on his fingertips.

“it’s in the walls. Incredible. It is no ordinary magic emanating from this place.” He held his hand out flat and attempted to conjure a small flame in his palm. There was a crackle, but nothing more. “My magic won’t work here.” For the first time since meeting Elltavia, he felt unsure of himself. It had taken time, patience, an orb of devastation and a mind flayer tadpole for him to even consider that he was of any use to anyone with his spellcasting ability. It had taken his friends to talk him down from martyrdom, and then Godhood. They had prised his own destruction away from him and cast it into the Chionthar. They had saved him, but some damage is irreparable, and some wounds will always scar.

“I didn’t come to you for your magic.” Elltavia offered behind him. “I sought you out for your knowledge, and bravery. I wanted the professor, not the wizard.”

He didn’t turn to meet her eyes, but his heart fluttered slightly at her words. He steeled himself, thought of the bravery of the Ranger who was fighting for her home, and pushed open the stone door at the foot of the staircase to reveal a giant, circular chamber. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and aged stone. The walls were smooth, carved with meticulous precision by hands long gone. Covering every inch of the surface were runes and writing, each symbol etched deeply and filled with a faint pulsing luminescence that danced over their skin.

“Amazing”

As Gale worked his way around the room, he took out a pair of glasses to help study the variety of texts carved about the place. "I’ve read about this before. A long time ago. An order of ancient monks, secretive and nomadic in nature," he mused, and Elltavia observed the delicate dance of his fingers tracing the inscriptions, as though seeking enlightenment through tactile communion. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow, causing his spectacles to slip, and the subtle readjustment sent a shiver down her spine.

“Like the one outside?” She tried to draw on what little knowledge she had. She had limited experience with monks in her many years. Certainly she had never come across any in the forest before.

“Not like that one.” He said frowning in concentration. “That one was dead. Re-animated, as a trap.”

He explored the ruins with an elegance befitting a sage, a paradox of scholar and adventurer, warrior and pacifist, man and mage. She found him fascinating. Turning, he caught her in the act of studying him, her curiosity laid bare.

“Something caught your attention?” His gaze was burning, and his mouth was a cocky smile.

She did not blush, Elltavia never blushed, but she did pause long enough for him to move on without hearing her sharp answer.

"They are custodians, seekers of wisdom, guardians of ancient lore, and protector of magic" His voice was low with reverent contemplation. “There are very few of them, and legend has it the ones left are immortals. Chosen by the Gods to protect and serve the precious arcane knowledge which so often gets corrupted or destroyed.”

For a brief second, his hand instinctively moves to his chest, to rest on the faded scar. He suddenly felt like a heretic defiling a sacred temple.

“You seem to know a lot about it.” She folded her arms with suspicion.

“Well.. I didn’t get tenure for nothing, Kidd.” His eyes flash at her with confident assurance. “These texts imply that they dedicated themselves so completely to their cause, to their life of protection, that they completely cast out all other distractions. They undergo a Rite, to prove their single-minded dedication. Apparently very few passed it.” He tried not to let creeping agitation wrap itself into his voice, if there was a test or a challenge to be taken for proving worth - he felt as though he was the wrong man for the job. He had cast aside the most luring and precious of temptations mortals could ever dream of. It was a test he’d taken twice, and only passed once. He didn’t want his weaknesses laid bare in front of him again.

“What happens if they failed?”

His answer was simple, but he feared what would come next would be less so.

“They died.”

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale fanfic #gale fanfiction #Indiana Dekarios #Spotify

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bad-comic-art · 1 year ago

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Indiana Jones and the Oversized Hand

(Art by Steve Ditko from The Further Adventures of Indiana Jones, Vol. 1, No. 33, January 1986)

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submitted by @triplicate-s

#indiana jones #marvel #comics #comic books #marvel comics

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found-family-tournament · 1 year ago

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Found Family Tournament Round 2 Part 1 Group 2

Propaganda and further images under the cut

Quentin, Eliot, Alice, Margo, Julia & Kady

Idk man, they go through a lot of shit together. And, oh my god, I adore the musical numbers.

Librarians

Imagine a magic library appoints some guy to be its keeper, then after a while realises the task has made him a strange and lonely man whose only friend is a sentient sword. Aiming to fix this, the library appoints a gaggle of likeminded yet very different people for him to interact with. The cast consists of: Flynn Carsen, the afformented man whose best friend is a sword and who thinks a day without an Indiana Jones style adventure is a day wasted. Eve Baird, a woman raised to be a soldier suddenly thrown into a world of wonder, magic and dangers she knows nothing of, now tasked with keeping 4 eccentric, genius minds from being killed by their curiosity. Cassandra Cillian, a math whiz genius who's lived an isolated life from being put on a pedestal as a child, who has since been diagnosed with brain cancer and is desperately trying to live life to the fullest for as long as she can. Dresses like Ms. Frizzle. Jacob Stone, yeehaw cowboy dude who publishes his groundbreaking art and architecture history papers under a pen name because he knows his yeehaw cowboy family wouldn't approve. He's got the brains AND brawn. Ezekiel Jones, Australian techie and professional thief. The guy lived the Carmen Sandiego life before being recruited. Tries to act tough and morally grey but is genuinely the least selfish out of them all. Youngest Sibling Vibes are Off the Chart. Jenkins aka. the actual sir. Galahad from the Arthurian legend is here also. He's just some grumpy immortal grandpa don't worry about it. They're all just a bunch of nerdy adults who didn't have any friends or loving families growing up who find themselves living the life they dreamed about as children and it doesn't take long for them to consider each other, and the library, home.

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balu8 · 2 years ago

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The Further Adventures of Indiana Jones #3

ny Denny O'Neil; Gene Day; Mel Candido; Bob Sharen and Janice Chiang

Marvel

#marvel comics #the further adventures of indiana jones #gene day #denny o'neil

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blackswaneuroparedux · 1 year ago

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Anonymous ask: What do you think of the new Indiana Jones movie? And of Phoebe Waller-Bridge?

In a nutshell: From start to finish ‘Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny’ is watching Indiana Jones being a broken-down shell of a once great legacy character who has to be saved by the perfect younger and snarky but stereotypical ’Strong Independent Woman’ that passes for women characters in popcorn movies today.

I went in to this film with conflicted feelings. On the one hand I was genuinely excited to see this new Indiana Jones movie because it’s Indiana Jones. Period. Yet, on the other hand I feared how badly Lucasfilm, under Kathleen Kennedy’s insipid woke inspired CEO studio direction, was going to further tarnish not just a screen legend but the legacy of both George Lucas and Steven Spielberg. The cultural damage she has done to such a beloved franchise as the Star Wars universe in the name of progressive woke ideology is criminal. The troubled production history behind this film and its massive $300 million budget (by some estimates) meant Disney had a lot riding on it, especially with the future of Kathleen Kennedy on the line too as she was hands on with this film.

To me the Indiana Jones movies (well, the first three anyway, the less we say about ‘Kingdom of the Crystal Skull’ the better) were an important part of my childhood. I fell in love with the character instantly. Watching ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’ (first on DVD in my boarding school dorm with other giggly girls and later on the big screen at a local arts cinema retrospective on Harrison Ford’s stellar career) just blew me away.

As a girl I wanted to be an archaeologist and have high falutin’ adventures; I even volunteered in digs in Pakistan and India (the Indus civilisation) as well as museum work in China as a teen growing up in those countries and discovering the methodical and patient but back breaking reality of what archaeology really was. But that didn’t dampen my spirit. Just once I wanted to echo Dr. Jones, ‘This belongs in a museum!’ But I happily settled for studying Classics instead and enjoyed studying classical archaeology on the side.

I couldn’t quite make sense why Indiana Jones resonated with me more than any other action hero on the screen until much later in life. Looking like Harrison Ford certainly helps. But it’s more than that. I’ve written this elsewhere but it’s worth repeating here.

‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’ is considered an inspiration for so many action films yet there’s a very odd aspect to the film that’s rather unique and rarely noticed by its critics and fans. It’s an element that, once spotted, is difficult to forget, and is perhaps inspiring for times like the one in which we currently live, when there are so many challenges to get through. Typically in action films, the hero faces an array of obstacles and setbacks, but largely solves one problem after another, completes one quest after another, defeats one villain after another, and enjoys one victory after another.

The structure of ‘Raiders’ is different. A quick reminder:

- In the opening sequence, Indiana Jones obtains the temple idol only to lose it to his rival René Belloq (Paul Freeman). - In the streets of Cairo, Indy fails to protect his love, Marion Ravenwood (Karen Allen), from being captured (killed, he assumes). - In the desert, he finds the long-lost Ark of the Covenant, only to have it taken away by Belloq. - Indy then recovers the ark only to have it stolen a second time by Belloq, this time at sea. - On an island, Indy tries to bluff Belloq into thinking he’ll blow up the ark. His bluff fails. Indy is captured. - The climax of the film literally has its hero tied to a post the entire time. He’s completely ineffectual and helpless at a point in the movie where every other action hero is having their greatest moment of struggle and, typically, triumph.

If Indiana Jones had done absolutely nothing, if the famed archeologist had simply stayed home, the Nazis would have met the same fate - losing their lives to ark’s wrath because they opened it. It’s pretty rare in action films for the evil arch-villains to have the same outcome as if the hero had done nothing at all.

Indy does succeed in getting the ark back to America, of course, which is crucial. But then Indy loses the ark, once again, when government agents send it to a warehouse and refuse to let him study the object he chased the whole film. In other words: Indiana Jones spends ‘Raiders’ failing, getting beat up, and losing every artefact that he risks his life to acquire. And yet, Indiana Jones is considered a great hero.

The reason Indiana Jones is a hero isn’t because he wins. It’s because he never stops trying. I think this is the core of Indiana Jones’ character.

Critics will go on about something called agency as in being active or pro-active. But agency can be reactive and still be kinetic to propel the story along. It’s something that has progressively got lost as the series went on. With the latest Indiana Jones film I felt that Indiana Jones character had no agency and ends up being a relatively passive character. Sadly Indiana Jones ends up being a grouchy, broken, and beat up passenger in his own movie.

Released in 1981, ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’ remains one of the most influential blockbusters of all time. Exciting action, exotic adventure, just the right amount of romance, good-natured humour, cutting-edge special effects: it was all there, perfectly balanced. Since then, attempts have been made to reproduce this winning recipe in different narrative contexts, sometimes successfully (’Temple of Doom’ and ‘the Last Crusade’), usually in vain (’Crystal Skull’).

What are the key ingredients of an Indiana Jones movie? There are only four core elements - leaving aside aspects of story such as the villain or the goal - that you need in place before anything else. They are: the wry, world-weary but sexy masculine performance of Harrison Ford; the story telling genius of George Lucas steeped in the lore of Saturday morning action hero television shows of the 1950s; the deft visual story telling and old school action direction of Steven Spielberg; and the sublime and sweeping music of the great John Williams. This what made the first three films really work.

In the latest Indiana Jones film, you only have one. Neither Lucas and Spielberg are there and arguably neither is Harrison Ford. John Williams’ music score remains imperious as ever. His music does a lot of heavy lifting in the film and let’s face it, his sublime music can polish any turd.

This isn’t to say the ‘Dial of Destiny’ is a turd. I won’t go that far, and to be honest some of the critical reaction has been over-hysterical. Instead I found it enjoyable but also immensely frustrating more than anything else. It had potential to be a great swan song film for Indy because it had an exciting collection of talent behind it.

In the absence of Spielberg, one couldn’t do worse than to pick James Mangold as next best to direct this film. Mangold is a great director. I am a fan of his body of work. After ‘Copland’, ‘Walk the Line’, ‘Logan’ and ‘Le Mans 66’ (or ‘Ford vs Ferrari’), James Mangold has been putting together a fine career shaped by his ability to deliver stories that rediscover a certain old-fashioned charm without abusing the historical figures - real or fictional - he tackles. And after Johnny Cash, Wolverine and Ken Miles, among others, I had high hopes he would keep the flame alive when it came to Indiana Jones. Mangold grew up as a fanboy of Spielberg’s work and you can clearly see that in his approach to directing film.

But in this film his direction lacks vitality. Mangold, while regularly really good, drags his feet a little here because he’s caught between putting his own stamp on the film and yet also lovingly pay homage to his hero, Spielberg. It’s as if he didn't dare give himself away completely, the director seems too modest to really take the saga by the scruff of the neck, and inevitably ends up suffering from the inevitable comparison with Steven Spielberg.

Mangold tries to recreate the nostalgic wonder of the originals, but doesn't quite succeed, while succumbing to an overkill of visual effects that make several passages seem artificial. The action set pieces range from pedestrian to barely satisfying. The prologue sequence was vaguely reminiscent of past films but it was still a little too reliant on CGI. The much talked about de-ageing of Harrison Ford on screen was impressive (and one suspects a lot of the film budget was sunk right there). But Indiana’s lifeless digitally de-aged avatar fighting on a computer-generated train, made the whole sequence feel like the Nazi Polar Express. Because it didn’t look real, there was no sense of danger and therefore no emotional investment from the audience. You know Tom Cruise would have done it for real and it would have looked properly cinematic and spectacular.

The tuk tuk chase through the narrow streets of Tangiers was again an exciting echo of past films, especially ‘Raiders’, but goes on a tad too long, but the exploration of the ship wreck (and a criminally underused cameo by Antonio Banderas) was disappointing and way too short.

The main problem here is the lack of creativity in the conception of truly epic scenes, because these are not dependent on Ford's age. Indeed, the film could very well have offered exhilarating action sequences worthy of the archaeologist with the whip, without relying solely on the physicality of its leading man. You don't need a Tom Cruise to orchestrate great moments but you could do worse than to follow his example.

Mangold uses various means of locomotion to move the character - train, tuk tuk, motorbike, horse - and offers a few images that wouldn't necessarily be seen elsewhere (notably the shot of Jones riding a horse in the middle of the underground), but in the end shows himself to be rather uninspired, when the first three films in the saga conceived some of the most inventive sequences in the genre and left their mark on cinema history. There are no really long shots, no iconic compositions, no complex shots that last and enrich a sequence, which makes the film look too smooth and prevents it from giving heft to an adventure that absolutely needs it.

And so now to the divisive figure of Phoebe Waller-Bridge.

It’s important here to separate the person from the character. I like Phoebe Waller-Bridge and I loved her in her ‘Fleabag’ series. She excels in a very British setting. I think she is funny, irreverent, and a whip smart talented writer and performer. I also think she has a particular frigid English beauty and poise about her. When I say poise I don’t mean the elegant poise of a Parisienne or a Milanese woman, but someone who is cute and comfortable in her own skin. You would think she would be more suited to ‘Downton Abbey’ setting than all out Hollywood action film. But I think she almost pulls it off here.

In truth over the years Phoebe Waller-Bridge, known for her comedy, has been collecting franchises where she is able to inflict her saucy humour into a hyper-masculine space. I don’t think her talent was properly showcased here.

Hollywood has this talent for plucking talented writers and actors who are exceptional in what they do and then hire them do something entirely different by either miscasting them or making them write in a different genre. I think Phoebe Waller-Bridge is exceptional and she might just rise if she is served by a better script.

In the end I think she does a decent stab at playing an intriguing character in Helena Shaw, Indy’s long lost and estranged god daughter and a sort of amoral rare artefacts hustler. Phoebe Waller-Bridge brings enthusiasm, charm and mischief to the role, making her a breath of fresh air. She seems to be the only member of the on-screen cast that looks to be enjoying themselves.

To be fair her I thought Waller-Bridge was a more memorable and interesting female character than either Kate Capshaw (’Temple of Doom’, 1984) and Alison Doody (’Last Crusade’, 1989). She certainly is a marked improvement on the modern woke inspired insipid female action leads such as Brie Larson (’Captain Marvel’), or any women in the Marvel universe for that matter, or Katherine Waterson (’Alien Covenant’). Waller-Bridge could have been reminiscent of Kathleen Turner (’Romancing the Stone’) and more recently Eva Green, actresses who command attention on screen and are as captivating, if not more so, than the male protagonists they play opposite.

To be sure there have been strong female leads before the woke infested itself into Hollywood story telling but they never made it central to their identity. Sigourney Weaver in ‘Alien’ and Linda Hamilton in the ‘Terminator’ franchise somehow conveyed strength of character with grit and perseverance through their suffering, while also being vulnerable and confident to pull through and succeed. Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s character isn’t quite that. She doesn’t get into fist fights or overpowers big hulking men but she uses cheek and charm to wriggle out of tight spots. She’s gently bad ass rather the dull ‘strong independent woman’ cardboard caricatures that Marvel is determined to ram down every girl’s throat. If Waller-Bridge’s character was better written she might well have been able to revive memories of the great ladies of Hollywood's golden age who had the fantasy and the confidence that men quaked at their feet.

What lets her character down is the snark. She doesn’t pepper her snark but she drowns in it. All of it directed at poor Indy and mocking him for his creaking bones and his entire legacy. It’s a real eyesore and it is a real let down as it drags the story down and clogs up the wheels that power the kinetic energy that an adventure with Indiana Jones needs. ‘The grumpy old man and the young woman with the wicked repartee set off across the vast world’ schtick is all well and good, but it does grate and by the end it makes you angry that Indy has put up with this crap. I can understand why many are turned off by Waller-Bridge’s character. As a female friend of mine put it, we get the talented Phoebe Waller Bridge’s bitter and unlikable Helena acting like a bitter and unlikable man. But it could be worse, it could be as dumb as Shia LaBeouf‘s bad Fonzie impersonation in 'Crystal Skull’.

I would say there is a difference between snark and sass. Waller-Bridge’s character is all snark. If the original whispers are true the original script had her way more snarkier towards Indy until Ford threatened to leave the project unless there were re-writes, then it shows how far removed the producers and writers were from treating Indy Jones with the proper respect a beloved legacy character deserves. It’s also lazy story telling.

Karen Black gave us real sass with Marion Ravenwood in ‘Raiders’. Her character was sassy, strong, but also vulnerable and romantic. She plays it pitch perfect. Of all the women in Indy’s life she was good foil for Indy.

Spielberg is so underrated for his mise-en-scène. We first meet Marion running a ramshackle but rowdy tavern in Tibet (she’s a survivor). She plays and wins a drinking game (she’s a tough one), she sees Indy again and punches him (she’s angry and hurt for her abandoning her and thus revealing her vulnerability). She has the medallion and becomes a partner (she’s all business). She evades and fights off the Nazis and their goons, she even uses a frying pan (she’s resourceful but not stupid). She tries on dresses (she’s re-discovers her femininity). Indy saves her but she picks him up at the end of the film by going for a drink (she’s healing and there’s a chance of a new start for both of them). This is a character arc worth investing in because it speaks to truth and to our reality.

The problem with Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s character is that she is constantly full on with the snark. Indy and Helena gripe and moan at each other the entire film. Indy hasn’t seen her in years, and she felt abandoned after her father passed, so there’s a lot of bitterness. It’s not unwarranted, but it also isn’t entertaining. It’s never entertaining if the snark makes the character too temperamental and unsympathetic for the audience to be emotionally invested in her.

I think overall the film is let down by the script. Again this is a shame. The writing talent was there. Jez and John-Henry Butterworth worked with James Mangold on ‘Ford v. Ferrari’ and co-wrote ‘Edge of Tomorrow‘ while David Koepp co-wrote the first ‘Mission: Impossible’ (but he also penned Indiana Jones and the ‘Kingdom of the Crystal Skull’, and the 2017 version of ‘The Mummy’ that simultaneously started and destroyed Universal’s plans for their Dark Universe). I love the work of Jez Butterworth who is one of England’s finest modern playwrights and he seemed to have transitioned fine over to Hollywood. But as anyone knows a Hollywood script has always too many cooks in the kitchen. There are so many fingerprints of other people - studio execs and directors and even stars - that a modern Hollywood script somehow resembles a sort of Ship of Theseus. It’s the writer’s name on the script but it doesn’t always mean they wrote or re-wrote every word.

Inevitably things fall between the cracks and you end up filming from the hip and hoping you can stitch together a coherent narrative in post-production editing. Clearly this film suffered from studio interference and many re-writes. And it shows because there is no narrative fluidity at work in the film.

Mads Mikkelsen’s Nazi scientist is a case in point. I love Mikkelsen especially in his arthouse films but I understand why he takes the bucks for the Hollywood films too. But in this film he is phoning in his performance. Mads Mikkelsen does what he can with limited screen time to make an impact but this character feels so recycled from other blockbusters. Here the CIA and US Government are evil and willing to let innocent Americans be murdered in order to let their pet Nazi rocket scientist pursue what they believe to be a hobby. But to be fair the villains in the Indy movies have never truly been memorable with perhaps Belloq, the French archaeologist and nemesis of Indy in ‘Raiders’, the only real exception. It’s just been generic bad guys - The Nazis! The Thugee death cult! The Nazis (again)! The Commies! Now we’re back to Nazis again which is not only safer ground for the Indy franchise but something we can all get behind.

However Mads Mikkelsen’s Dr. Voller, is the blandest and most generic Nazi villain in movie history. At the end of World War II, Voller was recruited by the US Government to aid them in rocket technology. Now that he’s completed his task and man has walked on the moon, he’s turning his genius to his ultimate purpose, the recovery of the ‘Dial of Destiny’ built by Archimedes. Should he find both pieces of the ancient treasure, he plans to return to 1930s Nazi Germany, usurp Hitler, and use his advanced knowledge of rocket propulsion to win the war. In a sense then he was channeling his inner Heidegger who felt Hitler had let down Nazism and worse betrayed Heidegger himself.

So there is a character juxtaposition between Voller and Indy in the sense both men feel more comfortable in the past than the present. But neither is given face time together to explore this intriguing premise that could have anchored the whole narrative of the film. It’s a missed opportunity and instead becomes a failure of character and story telling.

Then there are the one liners which seemed shoe horned in to make the studio execs or the writers feel smug about themselves. There are several woke one lines peppered throughout the film but are either tone deaf or just stupid.

“You trigger happy cracker”- it’s uttered without any self-awareness by a black CIA agent who is chaperoning the Nazi villain. Just because white people think it’s dumb and aren’t bothered by it doesn’t make it any less a racial slur. If you want authenticity then why not use the ’N’ word then as it would historically appropriate in 1969? The hypocrisy is what’s offensive.

“You stole it. He stole it. I stole it. It’s called capitalism.” - capitalism 101 for economic illiterate social justice warriors.

“[I’m] daring, beautiful, and self-sufficient” - uttered by Helena Shaw as a snarky reminder that she’s a strong independent woman, just in case you forgot.

“It’s not what you believe but how hard you believe.” - Indiana Jones has literally stood before the awesome power of God when the Ark of the Covenant was opened up by the Nazis, and they paid the price for it by having their faces melted off. Indy has drunk from the authentic cup of Christ, given to him by a knight who’s lived for centuries, that gave him eternal life and heal his father from a fatal bullet wound. So he’s figuratively seen the face of God (sure, he closed his eyes) and His holy wrath, and has witnessed the divine healing power of Christ first hand. And yet his spews out this drivel. It’s empty of any meaning and is a silly nod to our current fad that it’s all about the truth of our feelings, not observable facts or truth.

For me though the absolute worse was what they did to Indiana Jones as a character. Once the pinnacle of masculinity, a brave and daring man’s man whose zest for life was only matched by his brilliance, Henry Jones Jr. is now a broken, sad, and lonely old man. Indiana Jones is mired in the past. Not in the archaeological past, but in his own personal past. He's asleep at the wheel, losing interest in his own life. He's lost his son, he's losing his wife. He's been trying to pass on his passion, his understanding to disinterested people. They're not so interested in looking at the past. He remains a man turned towards the past, and then he finds himself confronted by Helena, who embodies the future. This nostalgia, this historical anchoring, becomes the main thread of the story.The film tries to deconstructs Indiana Jones on the cusp of retirement from academia and confronts him with a world he no longer understands. That’s an interesting premise and could have made for a great film.

It’s clear that the filmmakers’ intention was for a lost and broken Indiana to recapture his spirit by the film’s end. However, its horrible pacing and meandering and underdeveloped plot, along with Harrison Ford’s miserably sad demeanour in nearly every scene, make for a deeply depressing movie with an empty and unearned resolution.

By this I mean at the very end of the film. It’s meant to be daring and it is. There’s something giddy about appearing during the middle of siege of Syracuse by blood thirsty Romans and then coming face to face with Archimedes himself. The film seems to want to justify the legendary, exceptional aura and character of Indy himself by including him in History. Hitherto wounded deep down inside, and now also physically wounded, Indy the archaeologist tells Helena that he wants to stay here and be part of history.

It's a lovely and even moving moment, and you wonder if the film isn't going to pull a ‘Dying Can Wait’ by having its hero die in order to strengthen its legend. But in a moment that is too brutal from a rhythmic point of view, Helena refuses, knocks out her godfather and takes him back to the waiting plane and back to 1969. The next thing Indy sees he’s woken up back in his shabby apartment in New York.

I felt cheated. I’m sure Indy did too.

After all it was his choice. But Helena robbed him of the freedom to make his own decisions. She’s the one to decide what’s best. In effect she robbed him of agency. Even if it was the wrong decision to stay back in time, it’s so important from a narrative and character arc perspective that Indy should have had his own epiphany and make the choice to come back by himself because there is something worth living for in the future present - and that was reconciling with Marion his estranged wife. But damn it, he had to come to that decision for himself, and not have someone else force it upon him. That’s why the ending feelings so unearned and why the story falls flat as a soufflé when you piss on it.

‘Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny’ feels like the type of sequel that aimed to capture the magic of its predecessors, had worthwhile intentions, and a talented cast, but it just never properly materialised. In a movie whose pedigree, both in front and behind the camera, is virtually unassailable, it’s inexcusable that this team of filmmakers couldn’t achieve greater heights.

The film was a missed opportunity to give a proper send off to a cinematic legend. Harrison Ford proving that whatever gruff genre appeal he possessed in his heyday has aged better than Indy’s knees. He may be 80, but Ford carries the weight of the film, which, for all its gargantuan expense, feels a bit like those throwaway serials that first inspired Lucas - fun while it lasts, but wholly forgettable on exit.

I wouldn’t rate ‘Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny’ as the worst film in the franchise - that dubious honour still lies with ‘Kingdom of the Crystal Skull’. Indeed the best I can say is that I would rate this film at the benchmark of “not quite as bad as Crystal Skull”.But it’s definitely time to retire and hang up the fedora and the bull whip.

For what’s worth I always thought the ending of ‘Last Crusade’ where Indy, his father Henry Jones Snr., and his two most faithful companions, Sallah and Marcus Brody, ride off into the sunset was the most fitting way to say goodbye to a beloved character.

Instead we have in ‘Dial of Destiny’ the very last scene which is meant to be this perfect ending: Indiana Jones in his scruffy pyjamas and his shabby apartment. Sure, the exchange between a reconciling Indy and Marion is sincere and touching. But that only works because it explicitly recalls ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’. That's what Nietzsche would call “an eternal return”.

I shall eternally return to watch the first three movies to delight in the adventures of the swashbuckling archaeologist with the fedora and a bull whip. The last two dire films will be thrown into the black abyss. Something even Nietzsche would have approved of.

Thanks for your question.

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