#Not a Mummy Movies Fusion but heavily inspired by them

[satashiiwrites]

Snippet Sunday

Six No it’s SNIPPET Sunday because I can’t help myself. 

Tagged by the lovely @radio-chatter.  Tagging (unless they’ve already been tagged today) @quietborderline @imsupposedtobewritting @tkwritesdumbassassins​ @missanniewhimsy​ @outtoshatter​ and anyone else who wants to play along. No pressure as always, we’re just having fun.

Title: Death, Rebirth and the Jackal, Untitled Chapter VII: Scott’s POV

Fandom: Mass Effect Andromeda, The Mummy, snippets/ideas inspired by American Gods and Moon Knight

Pairing: Mredyer as always 🙃

Tags/warnings: first draft. Scott being impossibly dense (or not?). 

Scott’s dream had changed last night after he’d struck the deal with the Krogan.  

For so many years he’d had exactly the same dream  and the slightest change was disorienting as well as mildly upsetting.  There was still the call of the jackals over the sand but now instead of the sunrise being over the Nile he now stood on a cliff overlooking a canyon.  As the sun touched the horizon an ancient city had materialized as if by magic as the sun’s rays hit stone, carving it into recognizable forms, sand sweeping away like fog. 

The city was as if it had been abandoned yesterday, palms swaying in the morning breeze as they lined the stone road before him that led toward the center of the city, the columns of the temples soaring into the air to greet the sun as it rose higher and higher, watch fires lit upon the city walls. The gates had inscriptions etched into them that were as familiar as his own name.    

Hamunaptra, City of the Dead. Beware all who enters the gates of Anubis.  

The Jackal God’s statue rising high from the center of the city, visible from Scott’s perch above the road below. 

He blinked and his perspective changed. 

Somehow he’d moved so he was standing atop the ramparts but he was not alone.  

The familiar toned body wrapped around him from behind warming him against the cool of the morning air, a strong arm encircling his waist as an unshaven cheek brushed against his making his eyes slide closed as he relaxed into the embrace. “My Scott,” the voice whispered lowly with that taunting accent that he just couldn’t place after he awoke—both familiar and yet strange. “My golden wolf of the desert.”

A name was on the tip of his tongue. A name that mean safety and peace. A name that made him think of long limbs entwined with his, bodies melting into one another as they twisted in the bedclothes with the scent of cypress oil and male musk heavy in the air from their coupling. 

He’d awoken aroused and unfulfilled as always. A few strokes was all it took and he was shuddering through an orgasm, hands clenching the bed frame so they wouldn’t go searching for his missing bedmate. 

Why was he plagued by these never ending dreams?  Why did he have no interest in anyone else other than his dream lover who he’d pasted on the vague semblance of the prisoner—Vidal—for lack of any other reference?

It wasn’t like Vidal was really like his dream lover.  His dream lover was well groomed and had only a five o’clock shadow on his cheeks to tease him with compared to Vidal’s unkempt beard that looked like it could have a rat nest in it not to mention his unruly and oily long hair. 

Scott let himself have only a minute or so of self-pity as he caught his breath before making himself get up for the day. 

Vidal wasn’t his dream man—he was just a new and convenient face to picture instead of carefully avoiding picturing anyone else

[satashiiwrites]

Death, Rebirth and the Jackal, Ch VI: Déjà Vu

Posting early as my week is looking a bit too busy to post on Tuesday. 

Title: Death, Rebirth and the Jackal, Chapter VI: Déjà Vu

Fandom: Mass Effect Andromeda, The Mummy 1999, influences from American Gods and Moon Knight

Pairing: Eventual MReyder. 

Other tags/warnings: were-creatures. Borrowed ancient Egyptian mythology/history, not an outright fusion of the movie, no knowledge of Mass Effect necessary to enjoy—we’re way off from canon here. Alternative universe. 

Fic summary: The jackal wakes when his master returns. 

Chapter summary: Dreams and the waking world begin to collide for Scott. 

Read it here on AO3

[satashiiwrites]

Death, Rebirth and the Jackal, V: A Deal is Struck

Title: Death, Rebirth and the Jackal V: A Deal is Struck

Fandom: Mass Effect Andromeda, The Mummy 1999 with influences from American Gods and Moon Child

Pairing: Eventual MReyder. 

Fic Summary: The Jackal wakes when his master returns. 

Chapter Summary:  The Krogan has seen much in his time but few things are as puzzling as Reyes Vidal or his visitors. 

Other tags/warnings: borrowed Egyptian mythology, set roughly ~1905, not a fusion with the mummy movies, no librarians were harmed during the writing of this, i am my own editor (this is a warning).  TW this chapter for hanging. No knowledge of source material needed for enjoyment. 

Read it here on AO3

[satashiiwrites]

WIP Wednesday—sneak peek edition

Title (Tentative): Death, Rebirth and the Jackal, II: A Puzzle Piece

Fandom: Mass Effect Andromeda, The Mummy Trilogy, elements also from American Gods, Moon Knight and other random fandoms 

Pairings: Eventually MReyder

Other tags: First Draft. Shifting POVs, Abuse of Egyptian Mythology and Google, Not quite a fusion retelling of the Mummy, Somebody is a Shifter, Every story is better with a Cowboy and this one has Cora as one.  This is likely to be my MReyder week output if I can finish it i’m just going to ignore all themes and just finish this. Period specific attitudes—set early 1900s in Egypt. I have done research but it’s not exhaustive people so i’m going to get some things wrong and it might even be on purpose occasionally. 

Special thanks to @tkwritesdumbassassins​ for allowing me to talk at them.

Cairo is a cacophony of sound and smells.  Everything jumbled up and louder and smellier around each and every corner and alley.  The snake charmer plays his flute, the stall owner hawks his wares trying to draw the passer by into their stalls, the cry for prayer comes from the minaret. Sara was supposed to be sitting at her small desk stuffed in the back corner of the research office but she’d escaped to get get some air and had decided to take a stroll through the marketplace to shake off the late afternoon doldrums. 

People passed her by making no note of her in her simple Western dress and lack of headscarf that the local women all wore.  Instead she relied on a jaunty wide brimmed hat she’d purchased with a bit of her pin money as a small luxury.  Scott had even liked it and he never paid any attention to fashion in the least.   Or at least he hadn’t blanched at the cost.  It’d been her money she’d spent so he’d had no cause to comment but he’d at least said she looked good in it. 

She did look good in it—the mirror told her that much even as she had to tuck a few flyaway hairs back up into the neat twist she always wore her hair in. Her skirts were hiked up just a bit so they didn’t drag in the dirt of the street and her sensible boots didn’t slip on the uneven stones. 

The heat of the late afternoon baked everything it touched, making the air seem to shimmer despite the dry wind that came out of the south that gave just enough relief to make the heat bearable. Taking a left through the maze of the market, she was examining a few old books on the corner of the table while the stall owner inspected another man’s items.  The man was wearing the local military uniform but he had an indolent sloppiness to him.  His whiskers were unshaven and his breath smelled of something rotten-likely the yellowed teeth that he spat through into the dirt between his unpolished boots, unmindful of the presence of a female just feet away.  

“I can pay ten,” the shop owner said after a moment poking around in the leather satchel. A black octagon shaped stone box caught Sara’s attention.  There were beautifully etched hieroglyphics on the sides but she couldn’t make out the inscription as the man set it aside to riffle through a selection of clothing, a long knife with a bone handle and a standard military field kit. 

What an odd collection—where had the box come from?  Surely she would have heard if a new dig had discovered something so odd and beautiful looking?  It would sell very well on the antiquities market unless it was a fake? 

It likely was a fake.  A well made fake but still a fake.  However it was unlike anything she’d ever seen and she had access to most new discoveries as she was responsible for cleaning them and indexing them.  She was a glorified secretary she knew but it was still fascinating work and it was real academic work like she’d always wanted. 

Just like Mom had been with Dad. Her thoughts wandered, turning the odd box’s appearance around in her mind as the stall owner asked a few questions about the rest of the items in the field kit. 

She wondered where the soldier had gotten the satchel.  It looked like military issue but not his—the leather did not match his and she could see the US cavalry insignia stamped into the strap. 

American—even more unusual and interesting.

“Ten?” The man exclaimed in disgust. “I can get three times that in any other stall!”

The stall owner was shrewd and unmoved. “Then take it there—this is a dead man’s belongings.  Perhaps he isn’t even dead yet Azim?”

The soldier—Azim—opened and closed his mouth soundlessly, his face turning an ugly reddish purple as he blustered out a response and the haggling began in earnest. “Twenty five!”

“Ten.”  

They continued to haggle, the stall owner not budging from his offer of ten pounds.  The leather satchel itself was probably worth at least that as it was in good condition she supposed. 

Checking her own purse, she counted her money.  “Twelve pounds fifty pence.”

The stall owner looked at her in disbelief.  “He stole these things,” he informed her urgently, hand making a jabbing motion at the soldier.  “You would buy the belongings of a dead man?”

Sara hadn’t missed that her offer had yet to be actually accepted or denied and, well, what was the difference between buying antiquities that were thousands of years old versus ones that hadn’t yet seen their first decade? She wanted to see how they’d made the box—it was a good fake. Gesturing towards the really obvious fake statuary on the shelving behind them she shrugged. “You sell dead things too.”

The shopkeeper glanced at the shelves, frown deepening in suspicion before he shrugged. “I suppose you are right. Still he came to sell them to me.”

“But I’m making the better offer,” Sara firmly insisted before turning to the soldier.  “So do we have a deal?”

The soldier was clutching the satchel to his chest, looking her up and down and noticing that her skirts were pulled up high enough that the entirety of her boot up to mid calf was visible which made him lick his lips as a smarmy smile began to creep across them. “What else will you—“

“Twelve pounds fifty.  Take it or leave it.”  

The men seemed both stunned into silence by her boldness. Really they were so silly to let their minds be turned by a flash of a woman’s booted ankle but she was going to use it to her advantage. 

“Well?”

Nodding dumbly, the soldier held out his hand for her money which she handed over.  He took time to count it thrice before holding out the satchel for her to take.  It was unexpectedly weighty but she slung it over one shoulder to keep the open top in front so no wandering hands might take something without her noticing. Pickpockets were a real problem in the market if you weren’t careful.

Neither man spoke further as she left them behind.  She wanted to get back to work and see what she could make of her new box. Plus the satchel would be good for carrying around the few books she took home each week to read (and allow her brother to also read).

[satashiiwrites]

Death, Rebirth and the Jackal: Prologue

for @tkwritesdumbassassins for letting me rant at you about the Mummy Trilogy movies and Egypt-related things. 

Title: Death, Rebirth and the Jackal

Fandom(s): Mass Effect Andromeda, The Mummy Movies (1999), various bits from other media like American Gods and Moon Knight

Pairing: Eventual MReyder

Other tags: Alternative universe, slow burn, lots of Egyptian myth/lore/history, mishmash of genres, way off from canon, we’re having fun alright?

Summary: The Jackal wakes when his master returns. 

Read it here on AO3

[satashiiwrites]

Wip Wednesday

Title: Death, Rebirth and the Jackal

Fandom: Mass Effect Andromeda, The Mummy 1999 trilogy, heavily influenced by others (American Gods, Moon Knight etc)

Paring: eventual MReyder

Other tags/warnings: first draft. Shifting POV. Alternative Universe—you need to know very little about MEA to read this. OOC. Egyptian Mythology abuse. 

Now with bonus cover art! Cut for length. 

Today had started like any other day.  He’d woken up falling out of bed like usual, a name on the tip of his tongue that he could never quite get out.  In his dreams he always awoke just as he was about to turn and face the person behind him whose arms had wrapped around his waist.  

Scott knew it was another man. 

Scott also knew he must never mention this to anyone ever—even Sara. 

He’d had the dreams for as long as he could remember. 

The beautiful golden sunlight that warmed his skin, the whisper of the wind as it swept through the field of grain like a living sea to make the thin stalks brush against his skin as he was just wearing a shendyt. The linen was smooth against his thighs and his torso uncovered as they embraced.  The press of the other man’s chest against his back and the touch of a pair of tender lips to the side of his neck made his breath catch, the other’s strong arms wrapping around his waist and a pair of hands that held him close bore no rings but there were hieroglyphs that spoke of rewards and the afterlife inked onto golden skin that seemed to shift every time he tried to focus and read them.  A pair of gold cuffs around the wrists were warm under his fingers. 

His name was called, the accent odd and he never was able to place it. A burr to the accent that made him think of whiskey and late nights. Of bodies twining together in passion. 

Scott…. My Scott…

The dream always ended before he could face his companion. 

Always. 

Usually with him falling out of bed. The brief flailing of limbs before he connected with the cold floor.  He wished he still slept in a tent like he had when he was little—there wasn’t far to fall when you were sleeping on a pallet atop a rug set on sand. 

He had slept more now that they were back in Egypt but he still woke every morning the same way.  His elbows and knees were constantly bruised from his falls. 

Scott explained it away by confessing that he was just clumsy which made Sara frown at him but she didn’t press. 

His twin didn’t buy his explanations because she knew he didn’t sleep well. She knew but she didn’t say anything, allowing him at least the appearance of the deception working. 

He had his pride if little else. 

Scott’s days usually followed a predictable rhythm. The abrupt awakening, breaking his fast quickly after dressing and helping to open up the museum.  He and Sara had rooms in the dorms behind the museum that were reserved for students studying here—most were as yet unoccupied as the museum had just expanded two years ago.  Scott had no doubt that in another two they wouldn’t have been able to get the rooms they had for so little. 

Doctor Henry Carlyle—the Director and Head of Research for the museum had known their parents and collaborated with them on digs when Scott and Sara were little.  Because of this fondness, he had been persuaded by their Uncle—Lord John Shepard—to find a place for Sara to research as she wanted to have a bit of adventure before marriage which was highly unusual but not unheard of in their family.  Sara had her position as second research assistant and Scott had tagged along for lack of anything better to do and charged with looking out for her by their Uncle. 

Sara worked in the office and Scott… Scott did other things to make himself useful and earn some money to keep them fed and give Sara a bit of pin money as her position was unpaid. He opened the museum in the morning and walked the galleries playing security guard and occasionally answering questions by those that toured them, his language skills coming into use frequently.  Other days he was tasked with manning the small curiosities shop that sold reproductions of the artifacts that were much better than the fake artifacts sold in the markets.  He hated those days as standing still usually meant he was much easier to corner by the young daughters that wanted to flirt. 

He hated flirting. It all seemed so pointless and he didn’t want it to happen again.

What was it that he referred to?  

He had jokingly been referred to by his Uncle as a black widow that didn’t wait for marriage.

Three women he’d been fond of had died after being even just superficially attached to him. Three beautiful, charming girls that he might have even tolerated getting to know enough to make a marriage proposal to and fulfill the family expectations. He’d been in no rush, he had time.  He wasn’t like Sara with an artificial expiration date attached to his bachelorhood. 

If Sara wanted to spend all of her life hidden in the library or out in an archeological dig he’d make sure she got it.  His twin was much kinder than he was and he wanted her to be happy no matter what society might try and demand of her. If that meant she was a researcher instead of a debutante?  He would make it so.

His own life seemed unimportant in comparison. He had his night time companion that kept him preoccupied in secret. 

After the museum closed, he would set to work cleaning it.  There was always an impressive amount of dust and dirt that the tourists managed to drag in on their shoes and he found sand in the most interesting and odd places. Janitorial work was theoretically beneath his position as his Uncle’s heir but he hadn’t inherited yet and hopefully wouldn’t for many years. 

He actually found cleaning soothing for the most part and it didn’t hurt that when he moved on to cleaning the research department.  Scott usually found time to read the books that weren’t allowed to be borrowed and indulged whenever he had a spare few minutes.

The library was one of the finest collections of rare and obscure books and papyrus scrolls to be found anywhere.  Not perhaps as great as the famed Library at Alexandria before it was lost but he liked to think it was pretty nice. There were old copies of Ovid’s poetry in latin, Socrates in greek and latin, Tacitus’ histories, Marcus Aurelius’ meditations and even older works.  He daren’t touch the older papyrus scrolls other than to replace them in their containers after others had used them but he read each one he could while they were being used and rolled out on the worktables. 

They told beautiful tales of the Cult of Osiris as the researchers had taken to calling it.  Scott’s favorite bits were the funeral rites and the passages about the passage to judgement and the Hall of (Two) Truths. His eyes always lingered perhaps a bit longer on the jackal faced god Anubis, his hands outstretched as he guided the souls of the dead to have their hearts weighed against the white ostrich feather—Ma’at. 

Today had been typical but he’d noticed Sara slipping back in with a new leather bag over one shoulder that he’d never seen before.  She was wearing that hat of hers that she was so proud of too and ignored his silent plea for help with a small shake of her head as she passed him by. 

Eventually the girls had left when he wouldn’t give them any encouragement although it was close to closing time.  Doctor Carlyle stopped by to ask him to make sure the books got reshelved as they’d been accumulating over the weekend and Freddie had left a mess before he left for the dig in the Valley.   

Freddie was Doctor Carlyle’s mistress’ son and Scott had theories that he was in actuality Carlyle’s son but he wasn’t going to dig himself into that hole by asking but Freddie got away with dodging work and making messes more than anyone else.  Scott mostly disliked the other man because he was always dumping his own work on Sara. 

After hours, when the museum grew quiet, was his favorite time of day.  He quickly finished up the cleaning and then headed into the research office and gathered the books to put them away. 

He’d just taken a moment to read a bit from the last one when Sara found him, up atop a ladder in the Roman Empire section and was contemplating his favorite meditation:

The others obey their own lead, follow their own impulses.  Don’t be distracted. Keep walking. Follow your own nature, and follow Nature—along the road they share.

Distracted by his thoughts, she managed to startle him quite bad by calling his name. He was perched and just precisely balanced in a way to make sure he didn’t put too much weight on the shelf and tip it. 

His startlement was just enough to start a chain reaction. 

The booming collision of shelf into shelf, books tumbling out to hit the flagstone floor in a parody of a waterfall made of books instead of water. He fell with them, the impact of landing on the uneven spines pushing all the air out of his lungs as he watched in horror as the mess spread. 

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Shelf hit shelf and continued the effect around the oval room. 

For a brief moment he hoped that one shelf would withstand the force of the other but none did. 

Then he realized he needed to move or he would be buried with the books and he scrambled to his feet and vaulted over the mess to the center where Sara was holding onto the desk to keep herself upright as the floor shook underneath her at the weight of the books and shelves thundering down around her. 

He really should have been dusting as he went along he idly thought as dust clouds from the books covered the room and caused them both to start coughing. 

“Scott?”  Sara’s voice was strong but worried. 

“Are you alright?” he asked as he reached for her. 

Sara’s eyes locked on his, wide as she took in the disaster around them.  “I’m okay,” she said faintly. 

Before he could say anything, Doctor Carlyle arrived in a righteous fury. “What did you do?!?” He snarled as he took in the destroyed library. 

Swallowing down his sudden nerves, Scott moved slightly in front of Sara.  This was his fault. He’d take all the blame.  He shouldn’t have startled. “Doctor I—“

“Do you have any idea how valuable some of these books are?” 

“Yes sir—“

“How rare and special they are?”

“Sir—“

“If your parents were alive to see the mess you just made they would be horrified.”

[satashiiwrites]

Death, Rebirth and the Jackal, III: A Mess is Made

Title: Death Rebirth and the Jackal, III: A Mess is Made

Fandom: Mass Effect Andromeda, The Mummy 1999

Pairing: eventual MReyder

Other tags: Egyptian mythology, mish-mash of other influences including American Gods and Moon Knight, Alternative universe, not a movie fusion but heavily influenced by The Mummy (1999). Werecreatures. Slow burn. 

Fic Summary: The Jackal wakes when his Master returns. 

Chapter Summary: Today is not Scott’s day. 

Read it here on AO3

[satashiiwrites]

Death, Rebirth and the Jackal, IV

Title: Death, Rebirth and the Jackal, IV: The Man Who Death Cannot Keep

Fandoms: Mass Effect Andromeda, The Mummy (1999), inflences from Moon Knight to American Gods

Pairing: MReyder (eventually)

Other tags: not a fusion of the mummy but heavily inspired, Egyptian mythology/gods, roughly set 1905ish, shifting POV, slow burn, Werecreatures

Read IV here on AO3

[satashiiwrites]

Death, Rebirth and the Jackal, II: A Puzzle Piece

Title: Death, Rebirth and the Jackal, II: A Puzzle Piece

Fandom(s): Mass Effect Andromeda, Mass Effect, The Mummy 1999, also bits from American Gods, Moon Knight, others. 

Pairing: Eventual MReyder

Other tags: AU (far off the canon homestead people), not an exact fusion, Egyptian mythology, roughly set ~1905. Slow burn. Shifting POVs. Werecreatures (eventually)

Fic Summary: The Jackal wakes when his master returns.

Chapter Summary:  Amid all the fakes and knock offs a real piece of treasure is found.

Read it here on AO3