#because that would spike his count from one apprentice to something like five

[swan2swan]

I think he's pulling the old Belloq Gambit. He stays in the shadows and does his studies while Qimir finds these McGuffins and lures them urther and further into darkness.

Okay I'm pretty sure Qimir has broken off from Darth Plagueis because there is no way that a pair of Force-concieved twins would be running free if Mr. "Defining canon trait is evil life-creating Force experiments" knew they existed. He would have snatched up Osha the minute she left the Order and gotten straight to work on figuring out how the hell she and Mae were born.

[crispyjenkins]

Omg! Dookus padawan au is fabulous! I love it! Although now im curious about how melida daan would go with a more confident obi and a master whos supportive of him and listens

(i originally planned this to be a dramatic harrowing recounting of obi’s time on Melida/Daan, but it did not turn out like that ಥ_ಥ 

thank you for enabling me with this au, anon, i love it so much and i somehow don’t write little-shit-obi nearly as much as i should. i hope this satisfies! ( ˘ ³˘) bonus nield ‘cause he’s dead in dha kar’ta and i got big sad about it)

Alt+R to Quick Reblog on Desktop, Hold the Reblog Symbol to Quick Reblog on Mobile

 "Obi-Wan, did you fuck the Mand'alor."

  Obi-Wan grins at Nield from the cell across from him, sitting in half-lotus like any proper Jedi on a routine kidnapping, and Jango sighs in the next cell over.

  "You overestimate how much either of us would like that," Obi-Wan chirps, even though they all know that's not really what Nield is asking. 

  And he makes his feelings about that clear, leveling Obi-Wan with an unimpressed deadpan that Obi-Wan really doesn't think is warranted. "Is this what you thought I meant when I told you to lay low?" he asks gruffly. "Become the youngest Jedi Master in two centuries and shack up with another Anti-Republic System's leader?"

  Jango slants a look at him. "What do you mean 'another'?"

  "Well, technically, Nield, I never shacked up with you either," Obi-Wan reasons. "And you were only governor for about three days."

  "That still counts!"

  "De'jate werda, this is about the Young?"

  "Language, dear," Obi-Wan chides blandly, and Jango throws his stale roll at him through the bars; it misses him by a foot anyways. "But yes, I'm afraid so. I did tell you the Daan regularly kidnap me for ransom from the Jedi, didn't I?"

  Grumbling, Jango flops against the back wall to scowl. "I was under the impression they had stopped after your Cerasi renamed the planet."

  "They did," Nield pipes up, poking at his own inedible roll. "Since I'm here, it probably still does have to do with the leaders of Tahl, but why they nabbed your boyfriend is beyond me."

  Jango rolls his eyes. "Probably because I was with him when they grabbed him."

  "Don't sound so put-upon, we hadn't seen each other in months." Aside from a single holocall before Obi-Wan had gone undercover with a Mid-Rim diplomatic convoy, both he and Jango had been too busy to take the time off for even a quick visit, and they'd had all of twenty minutes together before their kidnappers had broken into Jango's apartment on Coruscant. They had been in the middle of dinner and everything, and Obi-Wan mourns the tiingilar left on their table.

  Though, he supposes, he had made it with Rodian chillies instead of Mandalorian ones just to kark with Jango, so Maker knows if it had even been edible.

  Snorting, Nield runs his hands through his hair and leans as far over as he can to look down the halls of their cellblock, as if he and Jango hadn't already done that. "I imagine you haven't broken out yet because you're the only one of us in cuffs?"

  Obi-Wan helpfully raises his bound hands to show him the new-fangled force-suppressing manacles that have become more popular over the last few years, what with the sudden spike in number of Jedi. "I’ve never seen them before," he offers. "They're not nearly as strong as Ventress' collar, but I'm afraid I'm of no use to you unless we get them off."

  Nield sighs. "I said to lay low, Kenobi. You were the one to bag Ventress?"

  "I didn't exactly have a choice in the matter, my dear: she rather forced my hand."

  "No, no, we're not glossing over this again," Jango growls, getting to his feet to lean on his bars so he can glare at the both of them. "Why'd you tell him to lay low? When did you tell him to lay low?"

  “I’ve been telling him for years!”

  “But especially since the last attempt on Cerasi’s life.”

  “Ner ca’tra,” Jango sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Do you have a bounty on you again?”

  Nield waves emphatically, as if finally proven right. “‘Again’! What does he mean ‘again’, Obi-Wan?”

  Rolling his eyes, Obi-Wan knows it’s not nearly as bad as they’re both making it out to be. “To my knowledge, no, I don’t think I currently have a bounty out on my head, and Neild, it would only be the second time.” He unfolds himself and pushes upright, stretching his legs before sticking his bound hands through the bars. “Now, if you two would stop nagging, I need you to try shorting out the locking mechanism with your water cups.”

  Jango sighs but still moves to grab the single cup of water that had been in the cells when they arrived; Nield stays at his door and scowls. “You’re not sure if it’ll work?”

  Obi-Wan raises a brow. “No, I’m actually quite confident it will: Quinlan and I have escaped the Daan twice like this. I just wasn’t sure if your arms would reach.”

  “Ha ha,” Jango drawls, sticking his own arms out to try and reach across the narrow walkway between their lines of cells. “Was that before or after you liberated the planet.”

  Nield is absolutely no help, groaning and laughing both as he ducks back to get his own water. “I’ve yet to meet this mysterious Quinlan that you assure me is actually real, but it’s been a decade and a half, ‘Nobi.”

  He sniffs in offense, stretching out as far as he can for Jango to tip his cup over his wrists. “He’s doing it on purpose. Quinlan Vos is never more amused than when he is making my life more difficult, so I’m afraid he’s been avoiding you, my dear.”

  “A likely story,” Nield snorts, and his significantly-longer arms easily allow him to pour his water directly into the locking mechanism. It starts sparking immediately, Obi-Wan jerking to the side to protect his face while Nield yelps and pulls back. 

  Feeling the Force rush back into his bones like a splash of tihaar, Obi-Wan easily snaps the cuffs down the centre and kicks open his cell door.

-

  Obi-Wan wasn't even supposed to be here, but when he's on his way back from Ilum to finally build a second lightsaber so he can move up from the jar’kai practice ’sabers Master Windu has him using, the Force sidelines him by forcing the Crucible into an emergency landing for the first time since Huyang's creation. A problem with the hyperdrive or something, nothing crucial to replace, something easily fixed once planetside, but just bad enough that they have to land on the nearest planet to fix it.

  Where Qui-Gon Jinn just so happens to be already on a mission attempting to rescue another Jedi master. Where there are actual children fighting for control of the capital city. 

  It takes Obi-Wan less than an hour to find Jinn and the Young, and perhaps an hour more to decide he would be sending Masters Tahl and Jinn back to the Temple without him. Master Yan would understand, it would hardly be the first time he had taken advantage of his master’s absence to do what the Force was telling him to.

  He is there a month before Master Yan returns with four Jedi Masters and their padawans, and permission from the Senate to aid the Young until a treaty could be reached. Obi-Wan is frankly too intimidated by his master securing the warrant nobody had managed to in seventy-five years to ask just how he’d done it; and Master Yan doesn’t scold him except to tell him in no uncertain terms that he is never to trust Qui-Gon Jinn’s judgement on anything to do with children. 

  Luckily his following lecture about the faults of jar’kai and the importance of proper dueling technique is cut off by an ambush from the Melida, and he never gets back around to it even after the Young retake the planet. Obi-Wan is still unsure whether he prefers the three days of sexual education he gets instead, when Cerasi admits she had caught Nield and Obi-Wan kissing in the hall after her election.

-

  Yan meets them outside, not looking very surprised to see them simply walking from the brig that had been their home for the last eight hours. Their human kidnappers are cuffed and being processed by a pair of Judiciary Branch clerks Yan had evidently brought with him, which would rather explain why there had been no one to hinder their escape.

  Raising a brow, a million questions in the simple gesture, Yan holds out Obi-Wan’s cloak, waiting for him to put it on before giving him his ’sabers as well. “I fear I must apologise, your honor,” he rumbles like the words simultaneously amuse him and burn his mouth. “My former apprentice still has not learned how to keep others safe from his continued imbroglios.”

  Jango snorts, accepting one of Obi-Wan’s ’sabers to hold until he can get his blasters back; Nield’s eyes almost bug out of his head. “Do we know what they were after?”

  Yan’s lips curl almost-mockingly. “A trade agreement, I believe. President Cerasi and the Delegates of Tahl had already turned them away, so they thought to strong-arm the Melidaan system instead.”

  “So you weren’t even a political prisoner,” Obi-Wan teases a Nield already burying his face in his hands, “just a familial hostage, my dear.”

  “Shut him up before I do,” Nield tells Jango.

  Who simply smirks and holds up his hands. “You overestimate how much control I have over anything he does.”

  “Maker, he really does have you wrapped around his finger.”

  “To be fair, I’ve known Jango far more intimately.”

  “I’m leaving,” Nield announces, spinning on heel to stalk towards the rescue cruiser from Tahl despite knowing Obi-Wan simply means he’s never had visions of Nield, even as far back as the Civil War. 

  Jango leans over and surreptitiously whispers, "Was Nield the bad wall-makeout?"

  "Maker, he was horrible, my dear." 

Mando’a: Mand’alor — “Sole ruler”, contended ruler of Mandalore. "De'jate werda" — "By the Great Darkness", slang from Concord Dawn, used as an expletive similar to "Christ!" or "Good lord." tiingilar — Mandalorian casserole specified to be “blisteringly spicy” ner ca'tra — “my night sky”, intimate term of endearment  tihaar — Mandalorian strong clear spirit made from fruit

*also obi is a master earlier ‘cause of his clairvoyance, since i’m subscribing to the “you become a master jedi when you master a part of yourself” version of the master trials in this. anyways.*

[skullrock]

the partners, chapter seven - Steve x Reader

chapter seven - well I wonder

series summary: you and Steve are police apprentices at Hawkins Police Station in the fall of 1986. you get along famously, but there’s something Steve is hiding, and there is an unknown evil lurking in Hawkins. [friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff]

chapter summary: Steve learns what’s been going on in Hawkins; You head to Bartini to find and rescue him.

warnings: swearing, angst!

word count: 3.5k

a/n: here’s the Spotify playlist that goes with the series, and you can catch up here. would luv to thank @comedy-witch​ again for helping me out bc I was really bout to lose it on this chapter!!! hope yall enjoy :)

===

Steve wakes up with a jolt, gasping. The bright lights in the room make him jerk backwards and cover his eyes. He’s hungover, for sure, and the stark white of the room doesn’t help. He’s on the floor, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. He furrows his brows before it all comes back to him.

After you’d left, he heard the door open again. He thought maybe it was you and threw some sweatpants on, intending on telling you once again to get lost, despite his weak and crying state. But instead of you, he was met with tall men speaking Russian. Steve started to panic, instinct kicking in as he started to fight back. He punched and kicked but they were sloppy and weak. One hit him with the butt of their gun, and he blacked out.

Now he’s here, in a bright room, confused and in pain.

Steve’s confused because he isn’t tied down. He isn’t chained to a chair. He’s free to roam within this large room, equipped with only a table, two chairs, and an ashtray.  There are mirrors everywhere; he knows they’re two-way. His paranoia spikes upon the realization that he’s probably being watched, but he puts on a brave face and starts to shout over his headache.

“Hey, dickheads!”

He pounds on the glass with no response. He goes to the door and tries the handle in vain, then goes back to the glass. “I’m awake, assholes!”

The lack of a response, the lack of violence, makes his head spin. He’s painfully disoriented by every single thing happening – or, not happening. He’s not used to the lack of punches or chaos, and it makes him feel ill. He slips into one of the chairs at the table and puts his head in his hands, trying to breathe deeply. He remembers the process you taught him for when he feels panicked, and he goes through it – five things he can hear, four things he can see, three things he can smell – this one was difficult – two things he can feel, one thing he can taste. He does this as he takes in gulps of air, and he’s soon composed enough to be able to sit upright. Steve’s heart pangs painfully as he remembers your hands on his in his car that night. Back before all of this bullshit happened. Back before he fucked everything up.

The door bursts open and Steve jumps to his feet. Men in green uniforms file in with guns, and behind them comes Chief Edwards, still wearing his uniform from duty that day. Anger flares in Steve, twisting in him sharply. He flinches, fists clenched, but stays still. The men stand beside Edwards, who stares coolly at Steve, hands in his pockets. His back is straight as an arrow and he glares back at Steve.

“Take a seat,” Edwards says. Steve remains motionless, arms crossed. The men stride towards him and Steve flinches as they grab him, pulling him towards one of the chairs at the other end of the room. They throw him down and he winces, pain shooting through his head. Edwards makes a motion with his hands and the guards walk out, clicking the door shut behind them.

Edwards walks towards Steve, continuing their staring contest. He pulls a cigar out and lights it, taking a slow inhale, and exhaling with his eyes closed. He opens them back up and chuckles at Steve’s continued glare.

“You were right,” Edwards starts. He doesn’t take a seat, but paces. “It wasn’t a suicide.”

No shit, Steve thinks.

“You were right about the bar, too. And the napkin. Right about it all.” Edwards turns on his heel and looks at Steve. “Want me to tell you everything?”

Steve stares bitterly for a moment before nodding slowly. He wants to know what happened, what is happening – even if he probably won’t make it out alive, anyway. He wants to know why he isn’t tied up, or beaten, or bloody.

“Bartini was a front, like Starcourt. Signed off and supported by Kline, poor bastard… but built by the Soviets. Normal bar at the top, whole other world at the bottom. That’s where we are now, actually. Not too far down, but down far enough.”

Steve’s brows furrow as he mulls the statement over. Were they in a base like Starcourt had, miles underground? Were they only a bit underground?

“You might remember what happened in 1984. The tunnels built underground.”

Steve leans forward slightly, expecting more of an explanation. But when Edwards gestures around him, Steve gets it. They’re in the tunnels. It makes Steve’s stomach drop and knocks the air out of him, and he clenches the side of the table, making Edwards chuckle again.

“Amazing what can happen in two years, huh? All they had to do was find the farthest corner and build on it. Use the bar as a meeting place, a distraction, and bam!” Edwards claps his hands together and Steve jumps, terrified. He relaxes after a moment, but his jaw stays clenched tight.

“That man didn’t commit suicide. He stumbled into our meeting, too drunk for his own good.”

Steve becomes nauseous and he leans heavily into the table.

“It was easy to get him into a car. Drove to Brimborn and –“ he mimics shooting a gun and Steve shakes, a hand going up to his mouth. Edwards smiles at him. “Don’t worry kid – he didn’t feel a thing.”

Edwards flicks the ash from his cigar onto the floor and brings it up again, taking another long drag. “You weren’t very sly, you know. I know you sent Veronica into the evidence room to get that napkin.”

“Yeah, well, you weren’t so slick either,” Steve mumbles.

Edwards laughs. “He speaks!”

Steve shakes his head and rests it in his hands. His mind is spinning, and he takes some deep breaths to try to calm down. Edwards gives him some time, smoking as he waits. Finally, Steve lifts his head and looks at him. “Why?”

“Why not?”

It’s a simply answer, but one that makes Steve’s blood boil. “No, I want an answer, god dammit. Why did you do all of this? Why are you such an asshole?”

Edwards lifts his chin, looking at Steve in the eyes. “Because I can be. Don’t you remember what that was like?”

Steve feels like he’s been punched, and he recoils from the comment. “You don’t know me.”

“I trained you, didn’t I? Taught you everything you know. I’ve learned a lot about you, Steve. I learned that you’re only here because you’re trying to run away from who you were before. But you know what?” Edwards walks towards Steve, towering over him. “You’re still that same kid from years ago.”

“You don’t know me,” Steve repeats, louder this time. He feels his heart hammering in his chest and his fists clench again, eyes narrowing bitterly.

“And it’s a shame Y/N got involved with you,” Edwards continues. Steve’s breath hitches at the mention of you and his eyes shoot downward in guilt. “She had some real potential before you got her involved in all of this. She was my favorite, you know. I taught her everything. And she let me. But this morning – you wouldn’t believe it. She came in and accused me of having something to do with all this!”

Edwards slams his hand on the table and Steve jumps again before standing and shoving him away, anger and guilt raging in him. “Don’t get her involved in this.” He doesn’t fight Steve back, which infuriates him.

“I don’t think I did,” Edwards says smoothly, poking Steve in the chest with his finger. “I’m pretty sure you’re the one who involved her in this.”

Guilt floods through Steve and he staggers back, sitting again. “Did you hurt her?”

“Me? No. You though….” Edwards smiles sadly. “Should’ve seen her when she came in today. Looked like she hadn’t slept, hair was a mess. Came in defending you to the death… but you couldn’t do the same for her, huh?”

Steve pushes his tongue against the roof of his mouth to hold back the tears. He looks away again, unable to keep eye contact. His eyes train on the tile of the floor while Edwards continues.

“What happened last night, Harrington? Did you break another heart?”

Steve stays silent. The less he says, the better.

“Either way,” Edwards says after a moment. “I fired her. So hopefully she doesn’t come looking for you.”

“You fired her?”

Edwards smiles sadly. “Guess she has you to thank for that, too, huh?”

Steve is stunned into silence. This was probably worse than any physical torture they could have thrown on him. The inner turmoil reminds Steve of the lack of physical torture he's gotten so used to. He weakly asks, “Why aren’t you hurting me?”

“There are other ways to, kid,” Edwards says. He leans over and puts his Cigar out on the ashtray sitting on the table and straightens. “You’ll see soon enough.”

He turns on his heel to leave but Steve stands and grabs the back of his shirt. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll see,” Edwards says, shrugging out of Steve’s grip. “Soon enough.”

When Edwards leaves, the door clicks shut, and the lights go off. Steve is left in pitch black and silence, and he falls into a heap on the floor. Anger and guilt cut through him like knives, quick and sharp and painful. His head aches from more than the hangover. His thoughts race in his mind and he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes to hold back the tears.

He went through this entire investigation just to get kidnapped and probably killed. All that time and energy wasted. All the danger he put you in – for nothing. Steve’s not certain what Edwards meant by his statement, but he hopes it has nothing to do with you. He hopes you’re safe at home, eating ice cream and grieving the happiness he never gave you.

He hopes you’re not getting more involved.

===

“Ready?”

You nod at Robin, trying to steady your hands. You were scared shitless, literally going into this blind, hoping you don’t get shot down the moment you go inside. Luckily you had your gun under the seat and you grabbed it, keeping a firm grip on the handle. You’d never had to use it outside of training, but you weren’t opposed to using it tonight.

“Alright, one more time,” Dustin says. “Robin and I distract the guards –”

“They’re called bouncers.”

Dustin blinks. “Is that really what’s important right now?”

You frown and look away. “No.”

“Didn’t think so.” He clears his throat purposefully and starts again. “Robin and I distract the bouncers by causing a scene. We’re going to shout, throw rocks, whatever. When the bouncers run after us – assuming they do – you sneak in and find out what goes on in there.”

“And you two circle back to the car when you lose the bouncers and we’ll stay in touch,” you add, and they nod.

You’d parked the car about half a mile away from the bar, just to be safe. It was nerve wracking to walk that far to almost certain death, but the three of you had agreed that it was the safest option. Every step felt like a moment closer to the unknown, and the panic rises in your gut. It’s like the Yellow Brick Road to Hell. Dustin notices your nervousness and he loops his arm through yours, Robin repeating the motion on your other side. You smile sadly and laugh.

“At least Steve brought me new friends, if nothing else,” you say with a sniffle.

Robin squeezes your arm. “I’m glad dingus brought us together, too.”

“If Steve lives through this, I’m giving him hell,” Dustin says. “He’s such an idiot. I can’t believe he wouldn’t like someone as cool and as pretty as you.”

“Dustin?” you say weakly.

“Yeah?”

“Now’s not a good time.”

“Sorry.”

“Look,” Robin says, kicking some gravel. “I want to teach you some phrases that might help you down there.”

Your brows furrow. “You know Russian?”

“No time to explain. Listen. ‘No’ sounds like ‘nyet’. ‘Yes’ sounds like ‘da’.”

“Tell her how to say Silver Cat,” Dustin rushes. “That might help.”

“Silver cat?” you question.

“That was the name of their operation under Starcourt, like a secret code. It might help. It’s something like… serebryanyy kot? Am I saying that right?”

“I don’t know, I don’t remember.”

“How don’t you remember? You listened to that tape just as much as me.”

“Look, Robin, my goal wasn’t to learn, it was to –“

“Okay!” you interrupt. “Sabrini cox or whatever.”

“No, it’s like, serebryanyy kot –“

“Yeah, sure Rob, I got it.”

You see the neon lights of Bartini in the distance, and sigh heavily.

“If I don’t call back within half an hour, at any time, call Owens, and get the hell out of here.”

You can sense their apprehension. You stop walking and look at them both, hands on your hips. “I mean it. No sitting around and trying to be heroes. There’s no time for that, alright? If there are actually Russians here, we don’t have time to act like we are bigger than we are.”

“I assure you, we can manage,” Robin says, and Dustin nods beside her.

“You don’t even know half of what we’ve gone through,” Dustin adds. “You know, like, a quarter of it.”

“I still don’t want you playing heroes, okay?”

They both roll their eyes and continue walking. They start to pick up large rocks on the side of the road. Throwing rocks and shouting isn’t the best idea, but it’s all you can think of in a short period of time. Dustin promises he’s got good aim, and Robin agrees.

“It can be surprisingly simple with these guys,” Robin assures. “They’re morons.”

“Assuming they’re Russians,” you mumble, but you’re pretty positive that they are.

You all slip into the tree line as you get closer, hearts pounding and breath hitching. Robin and Dustin seem more relaxed than you; you assume that’s just what happens after a while of dealing with stuff like this.

“Ready?” Robin asks again. You squeeze the handle of your gun and nod. Robin and Dustin share a glance and a nod before taking off, sprinting silently to the other side of the road, closing in on the bar. They duck behind a car on the street and after a moment, Dustin jumps up, throwing a rock at the bouncers. It narrowly misses one and you want to look away, but you can’t. You watch as the bouncers stiffen, then turn towards the road. Robin jumps up this time and throws another rock, and the bouncers take off towards them. You slink back into the tree line more as Robin and Dustin sprint off in the other direction, bouncers on their tails.

“Jesus,” you whisper. “That was easy.”

You slink out from behind the trees and run towards the door, thankful that it’s unlocked. You take a deep breath and step in, gun raised. To your surprise, the room is empty, but it’s filled with cigarette smoke – people must have just left. You lower your weapon and look around for a moment, still stiff. The walls are painted crimson, and the floor is checkered in black and white. A few black couches line the room, and at the very back, there’s a door that blends in with the wall. Your breath hitches and you take a step towards it, but it suddenly opens, revealing a young man in a green uniform.

You both freeze, staring at each other in shock, and then you raise your gun at him. He lifts his hands in surrender, shaking slightly, and you realize he probably has some useful stuff on him.

“Your clothes!” you say, tugging on your shirt. You point to yourself. “Give them to me!”

He seems confused so you twitch your gun a bit. “Clothes!”

He shakes his head and you sigh, stepping towards him. “I’m sorry, man,” you say before pistol whipping him, sending him to the floor. You sigh again – poor bastard – but you quickly start to rummage through his belongings. You pull his uniform off and put it on. It’s a bit big, but it’ll do. You search the pockets and find two key cards. You keep one in your pocket and stare at the other one uncertainly before slipping it into the waistband of your underwear. You figure it’s probably smart to hide one in case you get caught. You grab his hat last and stride over to the door.

When opened, it’s not a door at all; it’s actually a large elevator with red padded walls. You step inside and shut the door behind you. You see a pad next to the buttons and swipe a card over it. It lights up green and you press the only floor button on the panel. The elevator lurches and it slowly starts heading down.

You grab your walkie talkie and hold it up. “This is Juliet, does anybody copy?”

“Goonies speaking, copy that,” you hear Mike say. “Don’t forget to say over when you’re done speaking. Over.”

You sigh heavily. “I know how to use a walkie talkie, Mike, I’m in the force. Over.”

“Good to hear, Juliet. What’s your 20? Over.”

“I’m inside and on an elevator. I think I’m going underground. I’ll keep you updated. Over.”

“Copy that.”

You turn it off and wait for the elevator to stop. You turn the handle and step out into a brightly lit hallway. You soon realize that wherever you are is like a maze, with multiple hallways branching out of one hub. You roll your shoulders back and move forward, not sure what else you could do except keep moving until something happens.

As you walk, you think about Steve. You’re actually kind of pissed that you’re about to break him out, assuming he’s here. You’ve done so much for him: threatened, gotten fired, wasted countless nights in a car staring at nothing, and now you’re breaking and entering to save his ass. The worst part is that you’re not expecting or even wanting an apology – you just want him safe. You want him out of wherever he is, and you want him out alive. You’re still fond of him despite everything, but what difference does it make?

You slip into closets and wait for people to pass before continuing. You’re running blind, each hallway or hub more confusing than the last. But you finally step into a hub that’s different from the others. The lights are much dimmer and it’s filled with many rooms that are locked from the outside. You know immediately it’s got to be interrogation rooms, and you figure it’s your best bet.

“Juliet to Goonies, do you copy?”

“Goonies copy, what’s going on? Over.”

“Dynamic Duo copies too, over,” you hear Dustin say, and you sigh, relieved at their safety.

“I think I found interrogation chambers. Going to check them for… Romeo. If I don’t radio back in fifteen, call Owens. Do you have the number? Over.”

“My mom has it. She’s at standby, but very confused and concerned, over,” Will says.

You sigh and close your eyes. “Tell Joyce what’s going on. Make sure she knows I’m here, and St- Romeo might be, too. I don’t want anyone coming in here, guns blazing, killing us. Do you copy? Over.”

“Copy that,” Will says, although he sounds fearful.

“The Dynamic Duo is ready for assistance when necessary! Over,” Dustin says.

“Thanks guys, I’ll keep you updated as I can. Remember if there’s no transmission in fifteen, call Owens. Copy?”

“Copy that,” Mike says.

“Godspeed,” Dustin and Robin say in unison.

You turn the walkie off again and start towards one door that was locked. You swipe the key card and open. Lights on, empty. Next one – lights on, empty. And the next one – lights on, empty. Each door you open twists your gut a little tighter, and you find it hard to keep looking. The fourth door you try opens and it’s pitch black inside. Brows furrowed, you take a step in, and you’re immediately ambushed. Someone swipes your feet out from under you and tackles you, trying to pin your hands beside you. You kick and twist, but the person is way stronger than you, pinning your legs down as they lay on you.

“Get off!” you shout, and your attacker immediately does so, which gives you whiplash. You sit up and a hand reaches out, running down your face, making you wince.

“Y/N?!” they gasp.

Your heart stops. “Steve?!”

===

taglist (join here): @harrington-ofhawkins​ @wolfish-willow​ @gothackedalready​ @m-blasterrr​ @sourapplebaby​ @harringtown​ @sassisaluxury​ @comedy-witch​ @peanutem​ @mochminnie​  @willowrose99​ @whimsicalwoodlands​ @anerroroccurrrrred​​ @marvels-gurl​ @andyl394​ @ssanjuniperoo​ @davnwillcome​ @darth-el​

[ladytrollfishes]

Dragon Age AU pt 2

Aka Dalish/Daginy’s part, but it got long so it’s part 1 of part 2

Aka Tang Regrets Not Naming These Things More Clearly

tw: child abuse, murder, kidnapping, torture, shit’s bad yall. 

------

Trouble was brewing, and fast.

The clan moves swiftly as it can as you run through it. Elrin and Horath round up the rest of the hunters to roll up the tents as Hahran Kilria ushers the children to the nearest aravel and put out the fires as Poleri leads the halla back in line. Jalran had broken hisleg after falling off a cliff just a week before- Telrali helps him along to get her to safety. Lentlas shoves weaponry at her apprentice as she hurries to pack up her workshop, gathering elfroot and raw ironbark into whatever chests and boxes are at hand.

The humans are coming.

The shemlen had wandered too far near the camp, and the hunters did as they do- they killed one of them as a warning. What they didn’t know was that he was the son of a lord- which Keeper Sariandi explained to you was something like the First of a clan, for the shem, and the Lord would want revenge.

You’ve heard all the stories about how little the humans care for the Dalish- you’re the First, after all, all the stories would be yours to look after one day- and you know the Keeper’s afraid the humans will come to kill you all.

“Daginy! Lethallen!” you hear Lystic call your name and you whirl around. “Aren’t you coming?” he calls.

“Keeper wants me!” you call, nearly tripping over your own feet as you turn back the way you came. “We’ll be there soon!” you call over your shoulder.

This end of camp is all but gone now, nothing but holes in the ground where tent poles used to be. You see Keeper Sariandi standing at the edge, already lifting her staff, brush and ferns sprouting at her feet.

“Keeper!” you call, as you run towards her. She turns slightly, and smiles, and you throw yourself in her arms. “You called for me?”

The Keeper holds you tight, and when you look up at her, her vallaslin traces the worried creases in her face.

“Yes, da’len,” she says. “I will need your help with the concealment spell. It will be faster with the two of us.”

You let her go, bounce back a few steps, and look at the trampled ground.

The concealment spell would grow forest brush, loosen the soil and make it look like the clan had never been here, and thus, much much harder for shem trackers to find you. It wasn’t a spell that took a very long time, but there’s a lot of ground to cover.

You’ve helped with this before, but never with such a tight deadline. You have to keep focus though. Your connection with the Beyond is stronger than Keeper Sariandi’s- you could do it faster, if you could just keep your focus.

Together, you swing your staves and chant, the power of the Beyond flowing through you, through your mind, your body and into the ground, awakening the life that lay sleeping beneath the earth.

You walk forward as the spell activates, watching as ferns and shrubs sprout and grow from underneath your staff. You see sweet briar and ivy, the new sprouts of willow and fir. The forest grows behind you as you and the Keeper hide the remains of your camp.

You’re so focused on your spell, that the noise almost skips past your notice, but the Keeper puts a hand out.

“Wait,” she whispers, ears swiveling and when you listen again, you hear the clink of metal.

It’s the humans. Your heart skips into your throat, and as you jump backwards, humans in armor charge.

“Da’len, run!” Keeper Sariandi cries, already casting. The forest you just created starts tearing its roots out of the ground, wrapping around the shem. You hesitate- you can run, disappear into the earth- but you don’t want to abandon your Keeper, and you hesitate a moment too long because one of the humans with a flaming sword on her chest leaps forward and a wave of energy crashes hard into your chest and knocks the wind- no- not just the wind-

It knocks the Beyond out of you. You’ve never not felt it before and you cry out as your connection shrivels.

You run but you as hard as you try, you can’t reach the Beyond. One of the soldiers barrels into the Keeper, knocking her to the ground. He swings his sword and there’s blood and you sob as a gauntleted hand grabs you and hauls you backwards, and an armored elbow tucks under your chin and pulls you hard against the metal chest of the shem.

These have to be templars. You’ve heard about how the shem keep their mages under lock and key and how they have chantry soldiers trained to counter magic. You never quite believed it until now.

You screech as you struggle, trying to kick at armored shins, yanking on the arms that hold you still.

“Hurry up,” the shem says, her voice clear and cold. “The cleanse won’t last forever and I don’t want to end up holding an abomination.”

An abomination? The shem word for abela lasa, you think. Would you do it? You’ve never ever been tempted, but you’d do it now if you could even reach the Beyond. Keeper Sariandi isn’t moving, even as the blood seeps from her neck and into the ground, and you just want her to pull that blood back in, somehow, and wake up and help you get rid of these shems, and if a spirit could promise that-

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” one of the templars grumbles.

Someone grabs your flailing arm and holds it out. What- what are they doing to you? You can barely see over the templar’s arm but you catch a glimpse of a metal cuff, thin, with inscriptions of some sort written on the inside and terrifyingly, a spike pointing inward right at the clasp.

You kick harder and try to pull your arm away, but the templar closes it around your wrist, the spike piercing skin, and it hurts- it hurts and you can feel it in your wrist, and it’s not coming out, you can’t take it out-

You shriek as the second cuff fastens on, the needle pressing into your wrist, and it hurts and it hurts. They pull your hands together and loop a rope through the metal rings that serve as the clasps and tie your hands in front of you, and finally, let go.

You collapse into the dirt, holding your wrists to your chest as they throb. Why did they do that to you? Chains with spikes on the inside? The shem were really as monstrous as the stories told. The templar holds the other end of your rope, and you wonder for a moment if they weren’t trying to enslave you again.

“Oi, cut me loose here, won’t you?” One of the shems who was downed by the Keeper’s spell still has a root wrapped around his legs. “The rest of them are still around here I reckon and I don’t wanna be trapped down by a damned root if arrows are gonna come slingin through woods.”

They want the clan. You have to warn them, get back to them somehow. You have to get yourself out of this and get help for the Keeper- what would the clan do without its Keeper and its First?

Keeper Sariandi still hasn’t moved, and you scramble closer to her as you can with your limited freedom.

It’s an effort that the templars ignore, and you crawl to her side, ignoring the pain putting weight on your wrists brings them. You put your shaking hands on her bloody neck when you realize her skin is already cold.

She’s dead.

“No no no no,” you mutter as sobs rise to your chest again. You can’t lose Keeper Sariandi. She was like your mother, she still had too much left to teach you, what would the clan do without her?

The templar that’s holding your rope turns her attention back to you, squatting so she can look you in the eye. She has cold eyes, bluer than you’ve ever seen a pair, and dark hair pulled back tightly.

“Where is the rest of your clan?” she asks.

They want your clan- Keeper Sariandi was right, they were going to kill you all. You weren’t going to tell them anything. You’re not going to say a word.

You look around at the human soldiers instead and count- there’s five of them, three of them dressed in rogue armor. It’s just a scouting party- they couldn’t take out the entire clan with just them.

This wasn’t the worst to come yet.

The templar reaches out and grabs you by the chin, and forces you to look back at her.

“Look at me,” she says with a patience that doesn’t quite match up with the strength of her grip on your face. You pull at her arm, lean backwards and you slip out of her grip. You aim a kick at her face and get a glancing hit- she hits back harder, her armored fist crashing into your cheek and knocking you back.

She reaches for you again and this time her armored hand closes around your throat. Not enough to choke you but she pulls you back up and makes you look at her again. You bring your trembling hands up to pry at her grip but you might as well lean on a tree to push it over.

“I won’t hurt you if you behave,” she says. “Now are you going to answer my question or not?”

The templar doesn’t look the least bit uncertain, her cold eyes boring into yours the promise of pain. You’ve never been more scared in your life. You’ve never felt so helpless, or alone.But you’d never give up your clan. You shake your head, the best you can.

The templar sighs, then grabs your finger and wrenches it backwards. White hot pain shoots up your arm as it breaks and you scream. She lets you go and you curl up in the dirt, cradling your hand as best as you can.

“Hey hey Aubade, c’mon,” one of the other soldiers say. “They’re just a kid, you don’t have to go that far.”

“The sin of magic knows no age,” Aubade- her name is Aubade- replies. “Besides, pain is the only thing these Dalish parasites will understand.”

You tremble on the ground as you try to figure out your next move. Can you use your magic yet? Without it, you don’t pose much of a threat at all,

You close your eyes, and catch a glimpse of that familiar feeling again, but there’s nothing. You’re completely cut off. 

What did they do to you? Was this permanent? The templars talked like it was going to wear off- no- if it was permanent the shem would have amputated all their mages long ago.

It had to be- it had to be the metal cuffs. The spikes digging into your wrist- they have to be causing your connection to the Beyond to wither. You’re helpless, until you can take them off.

The templars finish pulling their friend out of the roots when there’s a chorus of whizzes and thuds and arrows sprout from the trunks of trees, clink off plate armor- one of the soldiers collapses, an arrow in the throat. It’s the hunters- they came looking for you.

Aubade lunges for you as you scramble towards them, grabbing you and pulling you up to use as a shield as you struggle, as a row of hunters emerge from the top of the hill, all with their bows drawn.

“Let them go.” It’s Elrin, the lead hunter. She steps forward slightly, her bow trained on the templars. “And maybe we won’t kill all of you worthless shem. Hiding behind a child?”

“They killed her!” you cry out. “They killed the Keeper!”

You see the notches of the hunter’s bows rise and fall as the news ripples through their ranks.

Aubade puts a dagger at your throat, and you still, feeling the point of the blade prick right under your chin.

“A single arrow gets loosed,” Aubade says. “We’ll kill this one too.”

“And then you will all die,” snarls Elrin. “Unless you are foolhardy enough to think you will win this fight.”

“No,” she replies. “But more of us will come, and you will be down both of your mages. Let us go in peace and perhaps you will see this little one again.”

She scores a thin line across your throat and you whimper as you feel blood dripping down your neck.

“Stop!” Elrin says. You can hear the note of fear in her voice. “Stop it!”

The blade pauses, and for a moment the battlefield is silent, then Elrin says, “Fine. But you must release them to us when you have retreated to your city. No further harm must come to them.”

“Agreed,” says the templar, and you watch the line of hunters recede as she drags you backwards into the woods.

As soon as you’re out of sight, one of the soldiers starts cackling. “Oh Maker, I saw my life flash before my eyes,” he says. “I think I need a fresh pair of trousers! Gotta credit you with that cool head of yours, Aubade.”

She ignores him, as she marches you forward blade still at your throat.

“If you try anything, little one,” she murmurs, singsong in your ear. “I’ll slit your throat open and give your corpse back to your people. Nod if you understand.”

You nod, breathless. You know there are hunters following you, watching, and if she follows through on her thread, the party of soldiers will die, but so will you. You don’t think it’s a bluff. You don’t think Aubade bluffs.

You walk for what seems like hours, Aubade never letting the blade stray from your throat. Your broken finger throbs and your wrists hurt and all you want to do is go home, but if you think about Keeper Sariandi- your hands are still sticky with her blood- you’re going to cry, so you just focus on moving one foot in front of another. It’s all going to be over soon.

You’ve never seen a human city before. Keeper Sariandi always made sure to steer the clan far away from known human settlements. You’d only gotten so close to Denerim because you had been trying to reach the fords of Amaranthine.

As it is, you gasp quietly when you see the walls. They’re enormous. You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything so big. They’re as tall as three or four aravels piled on top of each other. There’s stone tents- buildings, the Keeper called them- jutting up out from behind the walls because it’s built into the mountain. You never realized shem could build cities were so big.

You’re hauled out of the forest towards the city when you hear Elrin’s voice again.

“Let them go,” she says. “Run back to your city.”

Aubade whirls you around, clutching you close, the flat of the dagger pressed against your throat. You can’t see the hunters, but you know that they’re there, and that they’re going to do their best to take you back.

“So you can shoot us in the back before we reach the walls?” Aubade says. “I don’t think so. I will release them at the gate.”

“Careful, shem,” Elrin warns. “My arrow will find your throat if you make one wrong move.”

“I will bring up the rear,” Aubade replies. “My companions will go through the gate first, and then I will. Then you can have the child back.”

Elrin emerges from the trees, bow pulled taut, her face tense and drawn. There’s probably a dozen other hunters, still hidden in the trees.

“Then go,” she says.

You meet Elrin’s eyes and hold your gaze as you walk backwards, led by the templar. She paces closer, giving you the slightest nod and glancing up at the wall, which you guess has warriors and archers posted up too.

If only you had been paying more attention- if you hadn’t hesitated- you wouldn’t be endangering Elrin and the rest of the clan now.

The shadow of the wall extends further and further out in front of you as you get closer and closer to it. It’ll be over soon, you repeat to yourself. It’ll be over soon.

You hear the creak of dead wood and the squeal of metal on metal- the gates, you think. Aubade takes the blade from your throat and you brace yourself for a shove forward-

Her arm wraps around your throat instead, and she’s dragging, dragging you backwards as she runs and hauls you bodily with her.

Elrin gives an outraged scream and fires, and so does a dozen other arrows. Aubade grunts as one finds its mark- another one grazes your stomach, leaving a bleeding streak, as she pulls you past the gate and throws you to city streets.

“No!” you scream, scrambling to your feet and hurling yourself towards the gate, but one of the soldiers catches you, looping his arm around your neck, throwing you face first into the ground and pushing you down. You can’t stop from screaming when you land on your broken finger and the cut across your middle, and you sob helplessly into the cobblestone.

It’s not fair, she said she was going to let you go, she took away your magic, they killed Keeper Sariandi, you can’t fight adult soldiers without your magic, this wasn’t fair.

“Shit, Aubade,” says the soldier pinning you down. “Didja ever plan to let the kid go?”

“Of course not,” she says. “The teryn wants that clan exterminated, and they thought I would give them back their greatest weapon?”

They were going to hunt your clan down. They were going to kill them all. You have to- you have to do something, but the most you can manage right now is struggle.

“Well what’re we gonna do with them now?” he asks. “The Circle?”

“They’re young,” Aubade says, reaching a hand back to find the arrow in her shoulder. “I doubt they’re older than eleven. They will adjust.”

You’re not eleven. You’re fifteen, only three years away from getting your own vallaslin, and while getting mistaken for younger normally that rankled you, you think it might have just saved your life. They could have cut you down like they did the Keeper, spilled your blood over the ground. You bite your lip, hard.

You’re not going to beg. These shem wouldn’t give you two copper pieces for begging, and at the very, very least, you were going to keep your pride.

You were still alive. You were going to escape. You were going to find your clan. You were going to make it out of this somehow.

This wasn’t over. 

This wasn’t even close to being over. 

[indiedarlingdujour-blog]

That Was the Year That Was – 1937

Monarch – George VI

Prime Minister – Stanley Baldwin (Coalition) (until 28 May), Neville Chamberlain (Coalition) (starting 28 May)

Britain was experiencing a severe recession as it struggled to emerge from the slump that began in the U.S. in 1929.

With a family of 11, including her husband James, to feed in their Surrey home, Mrs Bonwick counted the pennies by meticulously listing every item with its price.

On August 15, that included a tin of corned beef at 6d (21/2p), a pound of cheese for 8d and a packet of custard powder for 5d. There was also 1lb of butter for 12d – a shilling – and 1lb of tea for two shillings.

Her bill totalled 2411/2d, just over £1 in 1937. The equivalent items would cost £41.88 today.

999, the world’s oldest emergency call service

The 999 service was introduced on 30 June 1937 in the London area, and later nationally. The system is said to have been introduced following a fire on 10 November 1935 in a house on Wimpole Street, in which five women were killed.

Norman Macdonald, a neighbour, had tried to telephone the fire brigade and was so outraged at being held in a queue by the telephone exchange that he wrote a letter to the editor of The Times, which prompted a government inquiry.

When the 999 service was launched in London 79 years ago it was the world’s first emergency phone number. What happened when it rang for the first time?

On 30 June 1937, the capital’s new emergency telephone line was unveiled. A notice in the Evening News advised the public how to use it.

"Only dial 999… if the matter is urgent; if, for instance, the man in the flat next to yours is murdering his wife or you have seen a heavily masked cat burglar peering round the stack pipe of the local bank building.

"If the matter is less urgent, if you have merely lost little Towser or a lorry has come to rest in your front garden, just call up the local police."

A week later, on 7 July 1937, the press reported the first arrest after a 999 call.

John Stanley Beard was woken in the early hours of the morning by a noise underneath his bedroom window in the affluent neighbourhood of Hampstead, north London.

The architect told Marylebone Police Court that he looked out and saw a man’s foot.

He shouted at the man who, on hearing Mr Beard’s voice, ran off down the garden path, jumped over some railings and headed towards Primrose Hill.

Meanwhile, Mr Beard’s wife – referred to in reports only as Mrs Beard – dialled 999.

In less than five minutes, 24-year-old labourer Thomas Duffy had been arrested. He was later charged with an attempted break-in with intent to steal.

In a public relations coup for the new service, the Times reported that Mr Beard told the court that he was pleased to see that his tax money was being put to good use.

"My wife made use of the new signal which we were instructed to use yesterday on the telephone, and as a result of using that signal almost instantaneous connection was made with the police station, and in less than five minutes this man was arrested," he said.

"It struck me, as a householder and fairly large taxpayer, that we are getting something for our money, and I was very much impressed by it."

Not all the calls made to 999 in its first week were as serious as Mrs Beard’s. In fact, of the 1,336 calls made, 91 were prank calls.

Quicker access to the fire brigade was the reason the idea of an emergency number had been debated initially.

The public’s willingness to call on the police couldn’t be more different from their attitude when the force was formed.

"There was a lot of opposition to policing in London when it was formed in 1829. Some people objected to it on cost. Some people saw it as a military force being imposed on London and a great effort was made to try and make them blend in with the public," says Neil Paterson, the manager of the Metropolitan Police Heritage Centre.

"Ironically, at the turn of the century, the police resisted having telephones put in the station. They thought it would be embarrassing for members of the public calling in.

"As soon as 999 was introduced, the success of it showed immediately and it spread out to the whole country and it resulted in arrests and people getting assistance quickly."

The service was introduced in Glasgow a year later, in 1938.

But it wasn’t until after World War II that it spread to other parts of the UK, including Belfast, Birmingham, Bristol, Edinburgh, Liverpool, Manchester and Newcastle. It became available to the entire country only when all the telephone exchanges were automated in 1976.

Dr Chris Williams of the Open University says the introduction of police radios had been the key to the service working, because it allowed real-time communication that then enabled quick responses to emergency calls.

Despite a positive start, there were still some teething problems.

Like today, operators would answer the calls and then transfer them to the appropriate emergency service. Now it is BT and Cable & Wireless who answer the calls.

Back in 1937 when the Post Office ran the telephone network, operators were alerted to an incoming 999 call by a flashing red light and a klaxon.

A 1951 article in the Post Office Telecommunications Journal described fairly chaotic scenes in its call centres during 999’s early days.

"When the raucous buzzer sounded in the quiet disciplined switchrooms a few of the girls found the situation too much for them and had to be carried out. It was even suggested in the press that the buzzers were disturbing other people living in the vicinity of the exchanges!"

Thankfully for the call handlers, technology has led to efficiencies in dealing with a huge growth in calls over the years.

Mobile phone technology in particular led to a dramatic spike in the number of calls made.

When the 999 service was first made available to mobile phones users in 1986, fewer than 19 million emergency calls came into BT annually.

Jet Engine

Frank Whittle succeeded in developing the jet engine in spite of rather than thanks to officialdom. As an RAF apprentice turned officer cadet he faced snobbery from his better off contemporaries; his thesis at Cranwell was a brilliant study entitled Future Developments in Aircraft Design, already moving away from prop engines to the motorjet but the Air Ministry in 1929 had his design ideas evaluated by a rival who not unnaturally found fault with them. Even when his designs came good he was to all intents and purposes cheated out of the fruits of his labours.

Happily for Frank Whittle and posterity the private sector came to his rescue in the form of investment bankers seeking what would (aptly) now be called ‘blue skies’ projects. O.T. Falk & Partners put the money up for his ideas to be reviewed independently, and when the results were positive they provided further funding for Whittle to develop a prototype while he was still studying engineering at Peterhouse College Cambridge . Even then the Air Ministry again used his rival, A.A. Griffiths, to evaluate Whittle’s work, the prize being funding for either Whittle or Griffiths! Griffiths was slightly more positive as regards the Whittle concept, but negative regarding some of the detail. Griffiths got the backing.

Though O.T. Falk gave notice that no more funds would be given to the project, Whittle and his engineering colleagues carried on regardless, and on April 12 1937 they tested the Whittle Unit engine at a facility in Rugby owned by British Thomson Houston. It passed the ground test with flying colours as it were, though the noise generated was so deafening that those not working on the project ran for cover when they heard it. Doors now opened, though there were still funding difficulties, and red-tape that made things more problematic than they should have been. Whittle himself suffered health problems, and his work was so demanding that he used ‘uppers’ to get through a long day and then needed tranquilisers to get any sleep at night.

Eventually Whittle won through, and the first jet plane flew on May 15 1941 from the Cranwell base where he had become an officer in the Twenties. With intelligent support the RAF might have been flying jets before WWII , with who knows what consequences for the shortening or even avoidance of that war.

Royalty

Edward VIII’s younger brother, the Duke of York, was crowned George VI. He and his wife Queen Elizabeth (later the Queen Mother), became inspirational figures for Britain during World War Two. The monarch visited his armies on several battle fronts and founded the George Cross for ‘acts of the greatest heroism or of the most conspicuous courage in circumstances of extreme danger’.

The BBC use their outside broadcast unit for the first time, to televise the coronation of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth. A fragment of this broadcast is one of the earliest surviving examples of British television – filmed off-screen at home by an engineer with an 8 mm cine camera. A short section of this footage was used in a programme during the week of the 1953 coronation of Queen Elizabeth II, and this latter programme survives in the BBC’s archives.

The British Duke of Windsor and American Wallis Warfield Simpson are married in a small ceremony in France on June 3rd . The Duke of Windsor was formerly known as King Edward VIII of Great Britain but had abdicated in 1936 in order to marry American socialite Wallis Simpson. Simpson was already married when they started their relationship which was especially scandalous at the time. Simpson got divorced, for a second time in her life, in order to marry King Edward VIII but the royal family and the British government still thoroughly rejected the idea of her as Queen. After he renounced his throne and her divorce was finalized they promptly married and had remained together until the Duke of Windsor’s death in 1972.

Spanish Civil War: The child refugees Britain didn’t want

When the Spanish Civil War broke out 80 years ago, many people fled their homes for safety, including nearly 4,000 children evacuated to England. Parallels have been drawn with the plight of unaccompanied young Syrian refugees – but how did the Spaniards cope with having to leave their war-torn homeland?

The children docked in Southampton in May 1937 – less than a year after fighting erupted between right-wing Nationalists and left-wing Republicans.

But their arrival followed much debate in the UK over whether to accept them.

Amid fractious relations across the continent, British prime minister Stanley Baldwin was keen to avoid involvement in the conflict and, along with his French counterpart Leon Blum, called for European powers to agree to a non-intervention policy, which was signed in September 1936.

However, signatories Germany and Italy "flagrantly flouted" it, says historian Adrian Bell, by sending military support to Nationalist leader General Francisco Franco, while the Soviet Union – also a party to the agreement – aided the Republicans.

"There’s no doubt at all that the Germans regarded it as a kind of laboratory [for] testing the effects of bombing as a new way to fight wars," he adds.

Public demonstrations were held in British cities by trade unions and the Labour Party, which condemned Franco as "the assassin of Spanish democracy".

Calls were also made to accept refugees, which intensified after the infamous Nazi saturation bombing of Guernica in April 1937.

However, the evacuation of women and children from the besieged Basque Country was seen as a possible breach of the non-intervention policy by some in Whitehall.

The government’s view was that, if people were removed, "then these are mouths, people, that don’t have to be fed – in a way you are helping to prolong the defence of Bilbao against the attack by Franco," Mr Bell adds.

Events

British author J.R.R. Tolkien’s fantasy novel “The Hobbit” was published on September 21st. The book quickly became popular and was nominated for the Carnegie Medal award for children’s literature. This was Tolkien’s first novel and is now considered a precursor to his wildly popular Lord of the Rings trilogy. The book was published by George Allen & Unwin in London. After its initial release the book received positive review and the first edition was sold out within a few months.

Hoover; Durex; Tipp-Ex; and Sellotape: brand names that have entered into common usage in Britain to such a point that they have become generic. Blue Peter may say sticky-tape, but we know they really mean Sellotape.

These products become genericised because they are pioneers, filling needs. When Sellotape was put on sale in 1937 it quickly began to replace string as the method of wrapping parcels, a nice association for the product which in many minds is linked with birthdays and Christmas. It found plenty of other uses of course: during WWII it was seen on just about every window in the land laid in a big X from corner to corner, a basic way of reducing the danger from flying glass in the event of bombs dropping nearby; and what office would be without a reel or two; and which of us spectacle-wearers has not at some point fixed breakages with a turn or two (even Harry Potter?)?

Sellotape was invented by Colin Kininmonth and George Gray, their choice of name derived from the cellophane material on which they had put rubber glue: they had to change the cello- prefix to sello- to avoid trademark conflict. Originally made in Acton in West London , it has for many years been produced in Dunstable , where the Christmas rush begins in the summer.

June 8 – First total solar eclipse to exceed 7 minutes of totality in over 800 years; visible in the Pacific and Peru.

January – Alan Turing’s 1936 paper "On Computable Numbers" first appears in print.

1937 UK news and events

1 January – Safety glass in vehicle windscreens becomes mandatory in the United Kingdom.

Littlewoods, the pools company formed fourteen years ago by Liverpool businessman John Moores, expands to create a department store in Blackpool, Lancashire.

6 February – The BBC Television Service drops the Baird system in favour of the Marconi-EMI 405 lines system.

25 February – UK première of the historical film Fire Over England, providing the first pairing of Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh.

8 March – Prince Edward, the abdicated King Edward VIII, is created Duke of Windsor.

12 April – Frank Whittle ground-tests the world’s first jet engine designed to power an aircraft, at Rugby.

27 April – National Maritime Museum opened at Greenwich in former Royal Hospital School premises.

April – nickel-brass twelve-sided threepence coin first introduced.

May – the Georgian Group is set up as part of the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings in England.

12 May – coronation of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth takes place at Westminster Abbey, London. The BBC makes its first outside broadcast covering the event.

14 May – The BBC Television Service broadcasts a thirty-minute excerpt of Twelfth Night, the first known instance of a Shakespeare play on television. Among the cast is Greer Garson. Peggy Ashcroft appeared in a 1939 telecast of the entire play.

The newly formed social research organisation Mass Observation makes its first survey of social attitudes on this day.

21 May – nearly 4000 Basque (and other) child refugees of the spanish Civil War arrive at Southampton.

27 May – George VI passes letters patent denying the style of Royal Highness to the wife and descendants of the Duke of Windsor.

28 May – Neville Chamberlain becomes Prime Minister after Baldwin’s retirement.

3 June – the Duke of Windsor marries Wallis Simpson in the Château de Candé.

18 June – Broadcast of the spanish Civil War arrive at Southampton.

21 June – Wimbledon Championships (tennis) first shown on the BBC Television Service.

1 July – the 999 emergency telephone number is introduced.

2 July – Holditch Colliery Disaster, a coal mining accident in Chesterton, Staffordshire, in which thirty men die following a fire and explosions.

7 July – Peel Commission proposes partition of the British Mandate of Palestine into separate Arab and Jewish states.

23 July – Matrimonial Causes Act adds insanity and desertion to infidelity as legitimate grounds for divorce.

28 July – assassination attempt on King George VI in Belfast by the Irish Republican Army.

4 August – return of the British Graham Land Expedition from Antarctica.

27 August – Benjamin Britten’s string orchestral work Variations on a Theme of Frank Bridge, Op. 10, receives its concert première at the Salzburg Festival, bringing the composer to international attention.

16 September – Football is televised for the first time. It is a specially-arranged friendly match between Arsenal and Arsenal Reserves at Highbury.

30 September – last issue of The Morning Post newspaper before it is absorbed by The Daily Telegraph.

6 October – the fictional character ‘Mrs. Miniver’ first appears in the column on domestic life written by ‘Jan Struther’ for The Times.

16 October – Jimmy McGrory plays his last match with Celtic F.C., achieving a United Kingdom record of 550 goals scored during his senior career.

11 November – The BBC Television Service broadcasts an adaptation of the World War I-set play Journey’s End by R. C. Sherriff, starring Reginald Tate as Stanhope. Shown in commemoration of Armistice Day, it is the first time that a whole evening’s programming has been given over to a single play.

4 December – the first issue of children’s comic The Dandy, including the character Desperate Dan, is published.

Castlecary rail crash: an express on the Edinburgh to Glasgow line collides into the rear of a local train standing at Castlecary in the snow, due primarily to a signalman’s error; 35 are killed.

16 December – the musical Me and My Girl opens in the West End Victoria Palace Theatre; the dance number "The Lambeth Walk" becomes popular.

December – the Hawker Hurricane enters service with the Royal Air Force as its first monoplane fighter aircraft (with No. 111 Squadron at Northolt).

31 December – 2,121 television sets have been sold in England.

Sport

1937 was the 44th season of County Championship cricket in England and resulted in a 19th championship success for Yorkshire. New Zealand were on tour and England won the Test series 1–0.

Sunderland were the First Division defending champions. Charlton Athletic and Manchester United were promoted to the First Division the previous season.

Posted by brizzle born and bred on 2019-01-27 11:33:58

Tagged: , That Was the Year That Was – 1937 , UK , United Kingdom , Britain , British , 1937 UK news headlines

The post That Was the Year That Was – 1937 appeared first on Good Info.

[horgons-vengance]

Chapter 6

Ken sat in the small, dark chamber alone, breathing steadily, studying every part of the room.

After 20 minutes of studying the room, Ken pulled a bull’s horn out of his coat, and began to describe the room to the horn, down to each tile, and each crack.

This took an hour, and once Ken described the last crack, put the horn away, put his hat on, stood up, and began to move to leave, when the door flew open and hit him in the chest, causing him to stumble back.

“What the hell!”

Davin laughed “Well don’t stand so close to the door, dumbass.”

“Don’t open the door so fast, no reason to try and break our house.”

Ken stood a solid 2 feet over Davin. Not because Davin was short. Matter of fact he was exceptionally  tall for a human.

Kenshiro was a Minotaur, standing at about 7’10.

Massive compared to nearly anyone, Ken was the largest resident of Bronte, and also its Mayor.

     “My mistress wants to see you ‘Mister Mayor’ about your taxes.”

    Ken sighed “Why does this not surprise me that she is upset at a small tax. Lead the way.”

    Davin turned to leave the small room, and stepped into the foyer of the small Castle. Tapestry hung on the walls decrypting the symbol of the succubus, a small pair horns on an attractive woman with a tail in the shape of a heart around her. Mahogany tables with expensive center pieces every 10 feet. Ken looked at them as they passed and thought to himself

  “She’s upset about a Hundred gold a month tax, but has five Ten thousand gold center pieces in one room. I can’t believe this woman.”

  Davin opened a large door at the other end of the foyer into an office, and at the other end of the Office sat a woman, her skin a slight purple, small curved horns sticking out of her head. She was wearing skin tight leather suit that left little to the imagination, and her tail was flicking around, similar in fashion to a cat about to pounce. Her hair was a bright pink, long and Curly. She was staring out the large bay window facing over the town

  “So Ken, what right do you think you have to tax my business such an outrageous amount.” The woman, still looking out the window.

  Ken sighed and said “Well for one, I’m the Mayor, so its kind of my job, and two you are rent free, and you make a hundred gold in about 3 customers. Im making you basically pay chump change.”

 She turned, Her piercing blue eyes squinted angrily. “I shouldn’t have to pay a tax, I let you live here.”

“Listen, Lilith, I’m not the town, you are paying taxes to help the town, not me.”

Lilith got even more upset “ But you made the tax you idiot, and I don’t want to pay it. Now pack your stuff and get out of my house, I’m sick of you and your Taxes and town problems. Come back when you have real things for me to worry about.”

   As Lilith said that, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in” Lilith know only towns folk knocked, and they don’t bother her unless it’s important.

   In stepped Jake, the local mage's apprentice, with a worried look on his face. “My lady, Kenshiro there seems to be a large group of soldiers approaching, with their banners raised. I think it’s the Paladins again.” It had been quite awhile since the Paladins tried to bother them, since last time they killed the goblin that threw bombs at whatever moved and Ken had struck back by cleaving one of theirs in half with his massive axe. They called truce, and said no more blood needed to be spilt, then left.

   A voice behind Jake spoke, like a breeze of wind, soft and quiet and gentle, but at the same time, eerie and disturbing. “It is time. This is the final step to our plan.”

   Ken jumped slightly, startled by the sudden voice. “Ok, we seriously need to put a bell on you Shia.”

   A figure walked in from behind Jacob, wearing a midnight black cowl, with armor so dark that one couldn’t tell if it was cloth or part of the abyss.

      Shia’s face was not visible in the cowl, looking more like a specter then another person. The only thing visible on Shia’s person was the bow on Their back, and the rapier on Their waist.

   “No time, we must meet our guests” Said Shia, Their voice crept out from the cowl, with there being no sign of them saying anything, no movement, just a voice.

  Ken sighed, getting sick of the fact no one in the group had a sense of humor. “Fine, get Balgam and Abraham, and we will finish this.”

    ____________________________________

Ken stood at the edge of the forest surrounding Bronte, now donning his Dark blue Half plate armor and Wielding his Giant great axe, which sparked with electricity.

   Abraham stood next to him, in his blood red gi. Abraham was only other decently tall person in the group, standing at 6 foot 5 inches, though Ken still towered over him.

  Abraham’s hair was spiked back, which, to Ken at least, made him look like a large porcupine.

  His eyes glowed red in anticipation of the battle about to commence. Battle was really the only reason Abraham was there. Not once has he cared about the plan that Shia had in motion, nor did he care about his deity telling him to ensure this plan went through. He just wants a good fight.

 Balgam stood beside him, stirring some sort of concoction. Balgam was a large rat, about the size of a ten year old. One could smell him from 20 feet away and it only got worse the closer they got.

  There were bumps and large puss bubbles all over Balgam, and his fur was stuck to his body with fluids. He quite literally looked like the plague and smelled like it. That’s all he was, a large plague rat that wanted nothing but to spread his own personal plague.

  Lilith stood in the same clothes she was in before because, in her words, “The enemy will get distracted.” though now she held a wooden staff.

  Davin stood next to her, now in black full plate, with a scimitar and a purple tower shield almost the size of him. The tower shield had the same insignia as the tapestry back in the castle.

  Shia stood the same as before, though now with the bow drawn, and an arrow notched.

   Davin decided to break the silence in typical Davin fashion, by asking a stupid question.

  “Where are they? I thought they would be here by now.”

“I already told you, I had my underlings slow them down so you could play dress up.” Balgam responded with a snarl.

  “Would you prefer that I come out here in a sleeveless shirt and Leather pants and just flex at them?”

   Lilith laughed “I would.”

Ken laughed as well then turned his face serious as he saw the approaching band of men. “Time to Focus.”

 There were about 17 soldiers approaching,some with crossbow bolts sticking out of the cracks in their armor and blood on their chest from Balgam’s underlings they had killed.

  “Oh great, now I have to get more.” Balgam said, then fell into a coughing fit.

  Most of the men were in metal armor with four in the back in leather armor and wielding bows.

  One man in the front had bright shining armor that glowed with the radiance of the sun, and a insignia on his shield depicting the sun. His war hammer glowed the same as his armor, and all of it looked clean, even though it was obvious he was just in a battle.

   “Thats our target.” Shia said.

The man in the shining armor held up his hand to stop his men about 100 feet away from the group standing opposite of them. He motioned for something to be brought forward. It was a table and a jug of ale, and had the men bring it to the middle of the two groups, and sat. He motioned for someone of Ken’s group to come forward.

  “So, whos gonna go talk the shiny idiot?” Lilith asked.

  Ken sighed “I’ll go, maybe he will make this easy for us and give up.”

  “Probably not dumbass”

  “Thanks Davin, glad to see you still haven’t figured out sarcasm”

  “Eat me.”

Ken walked to the table and sat down, he could see all of the men in the army become tense as a giant minotaur approached their leader. This is the usual reaction, though Ken was the best negotiator of the group, because he didn’t try to immediately kill them if it doesn’t go his way.

  “So Ken, we meet again.” the man spoke as he approached. “Glad to see they sent the sensible one to come out and talk.”

“What do you want Dan? Im sure you didn’t come all this way to share a drink.”

 “We both know why I’m here Ken, we know you are close to finishing your plan, and I have to atleast try and stop you.” Dan said, pouring the ale into two cups and offering one to Ken.

   Ken took it, and held it up for Dan to clink his cup with him. Dan did, and they both drank.

    “Well, that makes sense Dan. If it’s any consolation, I’m sick of this plan. I just want to continue being a mayor. But if I don't go through with this, It's obvious what would happen at this late into the game.”

“Aye. Well, Best of luck to you in this battle to come.”

“You as well Dan.”

     They both finished their drink and stood. They shook each other's hands and turned to return to their respective groups.

     “You done talking to your boyfriend Ken?” Lilith said as he returned.  

  “Pretty much, lets end this so I don't have to keep talking you people.”

  “Agreed.”

     Ken turned back to face Dan and his men whilst pulling the axe off of his back, and held up three fingers and began to count them down.

  “Three.” Davin shifted his shoulders and popped his neck. Abraham cracked his knuckles and smiled.

    “Two.” As Ken said two, Shia Shot an Arrow at one of the archers and Balgam threw his vial into the main mass of the enemy. Davin and Abraham charged. Lilith just laughed.

Ken just sighed, raised his weapon, and charged, figuring there was no point in finishing the count down.