#he does still Have a voice that north associates with him

[lichtluxx]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ Much is said about Lucifer, how he fell from the heavens for rebelling. But little is known about his vast history, so I decided to make a post to comment a little. It's not like I know everything, there's still a lot I need to research, but research is ongoing, so I'll probably update this post as I learn new things about him.

First of all, Lucifer was not always an "evil name". Canonized by the Catholic Church - although many do not know him - Saint Lucifer was a bishop of the Archdiocese of Calhari, in Sardinia. He became well known for his staunch opposition to Arianism, an anti-Trinitarian Christological view held by the followers of Arius, a Christian priest of Alexandria in the times of the early Church.

Arius denied the existence of consubstantiality between Jesus and God, conceiving Christ as a pre-existent and created being, subordinate to God and his son. For Arius and the Arians, Jesus was not God but rather a man who descended from him, like all others who walked the Earth. Therefore, for Saint Lucifer, Jesus was God made flesh, the creator himself manifested in matter.

His name shows that Lucifer was not, at least in the 4th century, a synonym for "Adversary". In fact, the proper name "Lucifer" was not used to refer to the "devil" in ancient times. Before, the word was used only in its common meaning, as something that announced the dawn, the morning star. Nothing more, nothing less.

His name literally comes from the Latin Lux (Light) and Ferre (Bearer).

The word "lucifer" is a common noun, meaning "light-bearer" or "morning star". It is "lucifer" with a lowercase "l", unlike the proper name, "Lucifer". Incidentally, this is not the only occasion in which the term "lucifer" is used with this meaning.

The Vulgate of Saint Jerome includes, in the book of Job, the word "lucifer" (cf. Job 11:17), which is translated as "dawn" in the edition of João Ferreira de Almeida itself.

Saint Peter, when referring to the voice of God the Father confirming the mission of Jesus, asks that the words of the prophecy be held firm, "donec dies illucescat, et lucifer oriatur in cordibus vestris – until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts" (2 Pt 1:19).

"Lucifer," as the entity we know, is not in the Bible. In Isaiah 14:12, the Hebrew word is celestial. Significantly, "star of man," it is clearly a reference to Venus — the planet with which Lucifer is most associated. The text itself is about the king of Babylon and does not refer to the "Adversary" of the Bible.

Jewish sources generally do not identify the figure in Isaiah as being a reference to Satan or any other kind of demonic figure, but later Christian scholars started to interpret it as a reference to Satan, who is elsewhere said to be cast down from heaven, although at first, it looks like they did not see "Lucifer" as a name, but read the passage as being a poetic comparison to the morning star itself.

These interpretations have fallen in and out of favor, but in the Renaissance, it became more popular to use Lucifer as a personal name of the devil.

"Lucifer" is the Latin term that Jerome used in the Vulgate to translate helel. Most moderns believe that Isaiah is using a well-known mythological tale as an analogy to the failure and consequences of the rebellion and king of Babylon.

According to Canaanite history, the morning star is personified as the god Attar, who attempted to occupy the throne of Baal and, finding himself unable to do so, descended and ruled the underworld. The original myth may have been about the lesser god Helel attempting to dethrone the Canaanite supreme god El, who lived on a mountain to the north.

Hermann Gunkel's reconstruction of the myth told of a mighty warrior named Hêlal, whose ambition was to ascend higher than all the other star deities, but who had to descend into the depths; thus, he portrayed as a battle the process by which the bright morning star fails to reach the highest point in the sky before being extinguished by the rising sun.

In Greco-Roman civilization, Lucifer was the name of the planet Venus when it appeared in the morning. It corresponds to the Greek names Phosphorus ("light-bearer") and Eosphorus ("dawn-bearer").

The Latin name of the entity was later absorbed into Christianity as a name for the devil. Modern scholarship generally translates the term in the relevant biblical passage (Isaiah 14:12), where the Greek Septuagint reads ὁ ἑωσφόρος ὁ πρωὶ ἀνατέλλων, as "morning star" or "shining one" rather than a proper name, Lucifer, as found in the Latin Vulgate.

In LaVeyan Satanism, Lucifer is described by The Satanic Bible as one of the four crown princes of hell, particularly that of the East, the 'lord of the air', and is called the bringer of light, the morning star, intellectualism, and enlightenment, which its true. He rules over those aspects and more.

As a name for the planet in its morning aspect, "Lucifer" (Light-Bearer) is a proper name. In Greco-Roman civilization, he was often personified and considered a god and in the Roman version considered the son of Aurora and Cephalus or, in his Greek counterpart, Eos and Helios. At that time, he was represented as a boy bearing a torch.

Regardless of the version, as the Lord of Light and Knowledge, Lucifer is demanding of his followers, but kind and gentle - he has a very cute epithet, which is the sweet prince. Lucifer is nothing if not charming, a protector who always works to help you become better. Growth is constant, Lucifer is the epitome of growth, direct and sweet at the same time, telling you what you need to do and letting you figure out how to do it.

How did such an entity have its image distorted to what we know today?

In the Book of Isaiah, chapter 14, the king of Babylon is condemned in a prophetic vision by the prophet Isaiah and is called הֵילֵל בֶּן-שָׁחַר (Helel ben Shachar, Hebrew for "the bright one, son of the morning"), who is addressed as הילל בן שחר (Hêlêl ben Šāḥar).

The title "Hêlêl ben Šāḥar" refers to the planet Venus as the morning star, and this is how the Hebrew word is usually interpreted. The Hebrew word transliterated as Hêlêl or Heylel occurs only once in the Hebrew Bible. The Septuagint translates הֵילֵל in Greek as Ἑωσφόρος (Heōsphoros), "bringer of the dawn", the ancient Greek name for the morning star.

Similarly, the Vulgate translates הֵילֵל in Latin as Lucifer, the name in that language for the morning star. According to Strong's Concordance based on the King James Bible, the original Hebrew word means "shining one, light-bearer," and the English translation given in the King James text is the Latin name for the planet Venus, "Lucifer," as it was already in the Wycliffe Bible.

The morning star metaphor that Isaiah 14:12 applied to a king of Babylon gave rise to the general use of the Latin word for "morning star/lucifer", capitalized, as the original name of the devil before his fall, linking Isaiah 14:12 with Luke 10 ("I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven") and interpreting the passage in Isaiah as an allegory of Satan's fall from heaven.

Considering pride as a grave sin that reaches its peak in self-deification, Lucifer (Hêlêl) became the model for the devil. As a result, Lucifer was identified with the devil in Christianity, but what really perpetuated his image as king of demons, during the Renaissance, it became more poplar to use Lucifer as the devil's name; it used to pops up in a lot of Christian popular literature, such as Dante Alighieri's Inferno, Joost van den Vondel's Lucifer, and John Milton's Paradise Lost.

Early medieval Christianity made a strong distinction between Lucifer and Satan. While Lucifer, as the devil, is fixed in Hell, Satan carries out Lucifer's desires as his vassal. In true, Satan is a title, derived probably from the word Shaitam, and it means Adversary.

[aspiringtrashpanda]

Thought of Starr the entire time I wrote this. Find the prompt list HERE.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

DAY 22 Prompt: Fallen Angel SPOILERS FOR NB SEASON 3 AND OG SEASON 4

Of all the places within the Devildom’s borders, Raphael believes Meowcao to be the most devilish.

Since the start of his exchange period at RAD, coupled with the previous business excursions on behalf of Michael, Raphael has become rather familiar with the Devildom. He has experienced the blazing moonlight in the scorching sahara of the south, has healed the frostbite from his fingertips in the blizzarding forest of the north. He has participated in festivals and sports games, has immersed himself in Devildom culture just as Michael had suggested. Each time he dips his toes into the cool shallows lurking above Cocytus, the more he adjusts to the shift in temperature. The Devildom as Raphael knows it is, in all honesty, not that different from the human world…or even the Celestial Realm, at that. 

But a city that thrives on gambling in such excess that every day decisions are made with a game of chance? Streets filled with demons who were winning big and lost it all, those addicted to the thrill of the game, those enamored with the bright, flashing lights of casinos? It is a paradise designed to nurture greed. It was no wonder Mammon had chosen to visit such a place as his reward for triumphing over the Science Fair Geography finals. 

It is almost disorienting, faced with demons who dislike not only him, but the group with whom he chooses to associate purely because of Lord Diavolo’s vision to promote harmony between the three realms. 

In the downtown strip, the area between RAD and Purgatory Hall, Raphael is relatively respected, regardless of his angelic status. Shopkeepers maintain a certain level of civility as he trades Grimm for products, and other students at the academy always spare a smile, albeit strained, when he passes in the halls. 

Were the residents of Meowcao real demons?

What is it that makes a demon more or less demonic? Is it the shift to a more selfish outlook? The desire to leave chaos in their paths? Or does Diavolo’s seal of approval provide more rain cover than the average umbrella? Were the demons that Raphael has come to understand only polite under Diavolo’s orders? 

As Simeon scoops his feijoada from the large bowl before him, the steaming bruised beans procured from local farms slopping onto Raphael’s plate, Raphael peers through the unexpectedly delicious haze of demon cuisine to observe his closest friend. 

Simeon wears a soft smile, his celestial teal gaze relaxed and affectionate. The ladle dips into his meal multiple times, returning to Raphael’s plate with more towering atop the spoon than Raphael thought was possible. 

“Why, thank y…” Raphael frowns, blinks through his pause as he watches Simeon tilt his head towards him, that patient expression Raphael knows too well enveloping him in a wave of nostalgia and warmth. It takes a moment to find his voice again, sometime after Simeon has passed Raphael’s plate onto Thirteen, the reaper looking to share some of her meal with her exchange program buddy as well. “Now wait just a second, Simeon. That’s far too generous a portion. You’re left with hardly any for yourself now…

But Simeon simply waves him off, and returns his plate with heaping piles of roasted vegetables and various proteins. It’s more food than he needs, he knows this, but who is Raphael to spurn the sincere kindness of a former angel? He proceeds to eat in silence, choosing to listen to the conversation and light jabs that bounce about the table in lieu of voicing the questions nudging at his ribs. He absently wishes that Solomon had prepared a dish for the meal, even if it would have been impossible. There’s something about Solomon’s cooking that quiets Raphael’s noisy brain. 

It really doesn’t seem as though Simeon has changed at all. He is still gentle, and just, and passionate. He still resembles the kind man who had toured Raphael around the seraphim quarters on his first day in training, all lilting laughter and fluid guidance shaped to a container of hard corners. Raphael had known instantly that he was the seraph to go to when he made a mistake. Simeon would be fair, it was apparent in his smile.

It makes Raphael wonder…What is the point of the exchange program? Is there something that he has yet to understand? Did Michael know that Simeon–clever, wise Simeon who had always bent over backwards for his heart–would fall? Simeon had already been demoted in the aftermath of the Great Celestial War…Was the exchange program a test that Michael knew the former seraph would fail? 

If that was the case, then why send Luke, as well? Was Luke to be witness to Simeon’s mistakes, to be molded into Michael’s ideal angel through scare tactics and fear mongering? And then, why him? Why Raphael? Was he to be the bad guy, the voice whispering in Luke’s ears, peeling back Simeon’s flaws?

Or, did Michael wish to be rid of Raphael? Did he see him as a threat? Was he meant to fail the test just as Simeon did before?

He glances around the massive table in the center of Meowcao’s fanciest restaurant. Barbatos is sharing a dessert with Luke, pointing out the chef’s skill as evident in the candied fruit perfectly sandwiched between whipped icing. Thirteen and Asmodeus take turns spoon-feeding the embarrassed human exchange student. Mephistopheles makes a cat out of the rice pilaf on his plate, shows it to Solomon and Satan with a haughty smirk. Lucifer grimaces as Diavolo sends plateful after plateful Beelzebub’s way, the former pleading not to encourage his younger brother’s poor manners. 

It’s a wholesome scene, all rounded corners and warped by a rose-colored filter. Teeth glimmer in the candlelight, wide smiles only parting for raucous laughter. Raphael notices the way Simeon’s stare sobers as he watches Luke pepper Barbatos with questions, desperate to become an amazing pastry chef to please Michael. 

What is his former brother thinking? Is he wondering the same as Raphael himself? His appetite disappears as he stares down at his full plate, his stomach in knots. For how is he supposed to maintain Luke’s purity if lying is against an angel’s virtues?

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

OBEY ME! MONTH MASTERLIST

[vaestro]

RAM 6.1 - Public Enemy

Translated by: Vaestro

RAM 6 Masterlist

✝ Prologue

Have you found me, O my enemy? – 1 Kings 21:20

The word "ring" referred to the ring road which encircled the center of Vienna, the former capital of the now-defunct Duchy of Ostmark.

The boulevard was constructed after the ancient city walls were dismantled. Various government offices, major trading companies, media outlets and cafés lined the streets like jewels on a lady's ring. On weekdays, the place bustled with government officials, workers and vendors catering to them. On weekends, however, it was a different story.

"Hmm, it seems there's no one inside. I suppose it's an off day after all, Hugue."

Even in Germanicus, where there were many workaholics, Sunday was technically a day of rest. The main street was deserted and the classy café had no other customers other than the priest duo occupying the front window seats. Diagonally opposite the café, a long, narrow building sandwiched between other buildings on either side, was no exception.

There was something oddly intimidating about that building.

Its decorative walls, which imitated the neoclassical style, were bleak and resembled the lair of an evil wizard in fairytales. Countless windows on its walls stared down on the street like vacant eyes.

After confirming that all the windows had their blinds drawn with his binoculars, Abel Nightroad reverted his attention to his companion before him who was reading a newspaper.

"Well, it's Sunday so it makes sense that no one's there… But, this is their stronghold after all. I can't imagine they would leave the building completely unattended."

"The address is correct. Kärntner Straße 3/24 — according to Cherubim's information."

In contrast to the priest, who was muttering leisurely, a gloomy shadow hung over the blond young man's face.

Under his wavy hair, his northern facial features were as well-chiseled as a classical sculpture, but his pale green eyes burned with a dark flame. Father Hugue de Watteau, a handsome man with a melancholic aura, cast a somber gaze towards the building in question and spoke with a voice that resembled a hellhound.

"Furthermore, preliminary investigation confirmed that people associated with the Neue Vatican had paid frequent visits to that building. No, they were not the only ones who had been making contact. The Erin Independence Alliance, the Clermont Preachers, the Camorra Vendina family, the Mithraic Cult… It's like a trade fair for heretical societies and terrorist organizations. There's no doubt about it. The Einherjar Chamber of Commerce is a cover for the Orden."

“I don't think you should jump to conclusions, Hugue."

Abel shook his head in a rare admonishing manner. He threw a damper on the enthusiasm of his companion who was on the verge of leaving his seat to enter the building at any moment.

"Tres and the others will be joining us tonight. We should wait for them before we make a move, it's still not too late by then. After all, this is Germanicus. We best act with caution."

"Especially at a time like this when the king is in Vienna… I know, Abel. I wouldn't go in alone either."

Tapping a slender finger on the newspaper article that reported the visit of Ludwig II, King of Germanicus — also known as the "Tyrant King" — in Vienna, Hugue twisted his lips as if mocking his own incompetence. However, even with that expression on his face, the priest from the north was still breathtakingly beautiful. He sighed wistfully at the waitresses who were admiring his profile in awe and with a hint of suspicion since it was unusual for two men to come to a café like this on an off day.

"But even now, master[1] is stuck in the intensive care unit with a 50/50 chance of survival. Even if he does survive, there is a possibility that he'll be left with some kind of disability... Abel, I can never forgive them..."

"I understand how you feel. No, I feel the same..." Abel heaved a deep sigh as he stirred the red liquid that had once been tea but had now turned into a gel-like "something" after thirteen spoonsful of sugar were added.

A week ago, simultaneous attacks struck both Milan and Rome, resulting in many casualties. One of the incidents — officially reported to have been perpetrated by the remnants of the Neue Vatican — nearly took the life of Caterina, the Minister of Holy Affairs. Although the worst-case scenario had somehow been averted, Alfonso d’Este, who was a key witness, had died. The severely injured "Professor" was still in the intensive care unit in Rome and his condition an uncertainty.

The only ray of hope that could be grasped amidst the disaster was identifying the place that seemed to be "their[2]" base of operations. It was a great accomplishment for the AX since that organization's true nature was barely known apart from the name "Orden". There were no clues as well, up until now. It was no wonder that Caterina, who was currently in Rome, was thrilled to learn that they were in Vienna.

However, the most beautiful cardinal in the world was also the most cautious strategist. It could be a desinformation[3]. Germanicus was already a problematic military nation and Vienna was the former capital of the Duchy of Ostmark which had been destroyed by Germanicus sixteen years ago. To assign a large number of personnel to such a place could, at worst, cause a diplomatic issue. With that in mind, only deputy enforcers[4] were dispatched to Vienna for now.

"So, Abel... How long do we have to stay like this?"

The swordsman tilted his head as he methodically unfolded the social section of the newspaper.

"The King of Germanicus will be staying in the city for another three weeks. I understand that we need to move cautiously, but if we wait for that long, we might end up giving them a chance to escape. Shouldn’t we do something before that happens?"

"No, I don’t think we need to wait for weeks."

Abel shook his head in a particularly optimistic manner in response to his pessimistic colleague. He recounted the latest information he had received when he left Milan this morning.

"Well, it seems Tres, who is heading our way, has somehow obtained a microchip containing this country's state secrets."

"State secrets? Germanicus'?"

"Yes, apparently it contains an order from His Majesty King Ludwig to establish a new intelligence agency. In exchange for returning the microchip, we will request tacit consent for our activities in Vienna — that is Caterina's plan."

"I see... So that's why you deliberately timed our meeting with Father Iqus and the others tonight to coincide with the king’s schedule."

Hugue flicked his long fingers at the newspaper article that reported the king will be gracing the opera house with his presence tonight. However, he was probably already envisioning the moment of revenge in his mind. His green eyes, which were gazing out the window, flickered with murderous intent.

The streets were deserted. Only a few homeless people could be seen rummaging through trash bins on the corners of the main street. At this rate, no one should be around by midnight. All that was left for the priest duo to do was to make arrangements with the authorities. If things should escalate into a big commotion, they wouldn't have to worry about collateral damage. That was their plan.

"Huh?"

Abel suddenly frowned.

He heard voices that sounded like an argument coming from a corner of the street. No, it was a one-sided, intimidating shout. He turned his gaze in that direction and saw a shabby figure pushing a cart — a homeless man who had been rummaging through the trash bins in front of the Einherjar Chamber of Commerce — surrounded by several burly men who resembled ferocious thugs. Abel had no idea what the problem was but they were pushing the homeless man around and kicking the cart he was pulling. 

"Oh, that looks like trouble."

They were probably fighting over something stupid like the cart had hit them, for example. The homeless man, on the other hand, had a hood that covered his head completely so Abel couldn't see his appearance very well, but he was petite and delicate-looking, so it seemed impossible for him to escape those men.

The silver-haired priest knew he should help, but he didn’t want to get into trouble. Not here, not now.

"Well, I'm at a loss. What should we do, Hugue... Huh? Hugue?"

Abel shifted his attention back to speak with the person in front of him and involuntarily uttered a cry. On the table was a neatly folded newspaper and a steaming mug of schwarz[5], but the swordsman's melancholic face was nowhere to be seen. Abel searched his surroundings in panic and spotted the swordsman who had somehow exited the café, and was now striding towards the source of the commotion.

"T-This is bad... Oh, excuse me, may I have the bill please? And a receipt. If possible, please leave the amount column blank."

By the time Abel managed to pay the bill and rush out of the café, his companion had already reached the battlefield. The blond priest called out to the tall man who stood a little further away from the group who was still harassing the homeless man.

"Hey, you there."

"Hm?"

The tall man's lips curled in disgust and that was his final word — the grey metal rod in Hugue's hand moved at lightning speed, and as the man turned around, it gently prodded him in the solar plexus. That was all it took. The unfortunate man collapsed, his eyes rolling back in his skull.

"W-Who the hell are you?!"

"It doesn't matter who I am. Stay away from that person."

The bulky man who seemed to be the leader spat at him, but the swordsman quietly but firmly ordered and twirled the metal rod in his palm. Startled, the men took a step back and the priest spoke again in his usual gloomy tone.

"It's unmanly to gang up and subdue a defenseless person... If you have even the slightest bit of shame, then you should just disappear."

"D-Disappear?!"

At first, the men were shocked at the disgrace of their comrade who had gotten himself defeated so easily, but they soon remembered they had a numerical advantage. They glared at the arrogant, handsome man and the silver-haired priest who had finally caught up to him with a receipt clutched in his hand.

"You bastards! Are you two civilians trying to get in our way?! We won't show you any mercy even if you're a priest!"

"Civilians? N-No, are they low-ranking government officials?!"

Abel’s face blanched at the men's words. So, were these thug-like men soldiers? No, there was something odd about them.

"I see! Could these guys be... H-Hugue, no!"

Abel attempted to stop his colleague but he was a second too late. The metal rod swung horizontally and swept away the legs of the man who was trying to seize the blond priest. The slightly overweight victim thrashed about and screamed loudly. Another man who tried to attack from the side was knocked back by a swift kick that hit him squarely in the jaw. He stumbled heavily backwards and collided into the homeless man's cart which had been repositioned a little further away from the center of the commotion.

"Huh?!"

The very next moment, Abel pushed up his round glasses and gasped.

It wasn't because the victim had fallen in a strange manner, or because he was surprised to see a young woman's face under the homeless man’s hood which had been thrown back amidst dodging.

His eyes were drawn to the contents that had rolled out of the overturned cart on the stone pavement — an object made out of five or six other long, thin, cylindrical objects. At first glance, the short threads sticking out from the ends of the cylinders reminded him of candles, but of course, it was nothing that idyllic.

"Dy-Dy-Dy-Dynamite?!"

"Don’t move!"

Abel's eyes widened at the same time the woman pulled out a black shiny lump of iron from under her patched coat. The lump of metal, composed of curves and straight lines — the bolt of a small crude submachine gun — was released as she continued to scream.

"Everyone, please don’t move! If you move-"

"Hah!"

If she was left unchecked, her trembling fingers might have pulled the trigger, resulting in several casualties, but that was not the case. Hugue, whose back had been turned to her, drew a quick breath and swung his metal rod. His rod-handling technique made it look as if he had eyes on the back of his head as he knocked the submachine gun away and high up into the air.

"Nice one, Hugue!"

Abel praised his colleague's miraculous feat as he caught the falling firearm with unsteady hands.

Why would a homeless person be carrying something as dangerous as a dynamite and a submachine gun? Even if Germanicus was a warlike military nation, surely it wasn't that? It didn't seem like they were planning on starting a territorial war...

The answer to Abel's doubts was given moments later by a deep man’s voice and the stamping sound of countless pairs of military boots.

"All right, that’s enough! Give up, terrorists!"

A man bellowed and several figures came rushing out from the alleyways.

Their grey uniforms and bowl-shaped helmets with a bulge on the back of their heads were unmistakably those of the Germanic army, as were the rifles and military submachine guns in their hands. Why were they here though? And what about terrorists?

"You are the leader of the Resistance 'Edelweiss', Waltraute vön Donitz, and her members, correct?"

One of the thugs who had been knocked down by Hugue groaned in a gruff voice. He dragged his injured leg in pain as he rose to his feet, then changed his rough tone to that of a stiff military man before introducing himself.

"We are from the Ostmark Regiment of the Gendarmerie[6] Corps of Germanicus. Daughter of Baron Donitz, you are under arrest for attempted assassination of the king."

"Resistance?! Attempted assassination?!"

While Abel goggled in shock, the thugs — or rather, those pretending to be thugs — pulled out handcuffs and ID cards. As much as Abel wanted to escape, the soldiers around him had the muzzle of their guns pointed at him and refused to budge. The priest let out a shriek of protest.

"N-no, that has nothing to do with us — we were just trying to save an unfortunate woman who was being harassed! We are nice guys who just happen to be passing by! We have nothing to do with the Resistance, or assassination, or anything like that!"

"Shut up! We know you've been hanging around the Einherjar Chamber of Commerce since this morning! Why would mere priests do that? That organization is notoriously known as an arms smuggling organization that supports the defeated soldiers of Ostmark, 'Edelweiss' included! Don’t make such a pathetic excuse!"

"The priest speaks the truth."

A low feminine voice rebuked the gendarmerie officer who was trying to knock Abel down. The homeless woman, with her hands handcuffed behind her back, groaned as if in resignation.

"I have never seen their faces in the organization before and I don't know anything about the Einherjar Chamber of Commerce. I got these explosives elsewhere."

"Hah! What a stupid excuse!"

The woman's defense only seemed to further solidify the gendarmerie officer's suspicions. His stern face, like that of a military hound, contorted in hatred and he jerked his chin at the three of them.

"We found out that the organization has been selling you weapons and ammunition in secret. They also disguised the delivery as junk scraps... and then Denitz, you showed up. These priests are your bodyguards, aren’t they?"

"I have no idea what you're blabbering about."

After a brief moment of silence, the woman shook her head. She was likely in her mid-twenties. Apart from her slightly close-set eyes, she was quite pretty and her beauty exuded aristocratic elegance. The woman was no mere commoner.

"Besides, there are many remaining retainers of Ostmark in Vienna who bear a grudge against Germanicus. We don't need the help of these unreliable priests." She retorted stubbornly.

"That's your ploy... You probably assumed we’d let our guard down around these guys who seemed hopeless and weak but you're wrong! We'll use all our strength to take down even the most helpless of opponents. We will never let our guard down."

The gendarmerie officer then turned his cold eyes at the priests and issued a command to the armed soldiers on alert.

"All right, arrest these men and escort them to the gendarmerie headquarters! I'll interrogate them thoroughly later. Then, the rest of you, follow me. We're going to search the Einherjar Chamber of Commerce's building. All those who dare oppose His Majesty the King and any remaining people in the building are to be arrested!”

"Jawohl[7]!"

The soldiers saluted in unison, like precision machinery, and began to move at once. They split themselves into squads of about ten and surrounded the gloomy building on all sides. A number of them went to the back door as well. They all looked like knights who were about to set the wizard’s tower ablaze.

"Wait a second, this has gotten out of hand, hasn't it..."

Partially taken aback, Abel sighed. As he slowly backed away from the soldiers who were slowly approaching him with handcuffs in their hands, he whispered to his colleague whose green eyes were shining beside him.

"What's wrong, Hugue? We can’t possibly escape from this many people."

"Not really."

Shaking his head sullenly, the swordsman narrowed his eyes as he examined the number of soldiers surrounding them as well as their equipment.

"An escape is still feasible at this level but if we do that, our audience with the king tonight... Hm?"

Hugue who had been grumbling gloomily suddenly paused. His expression hardened and he lifted his head skywards like a hound who had heard a dog whistle.

"Something the matter, Hugue? You’ve got a strange look on your face... Is something bothering you?"

"No, did you not hear something just now? It sounded like an organ..."

"A sound?"

Abel looked doubtful again upon hearing the swordsman's words. It was a warm, spring day with the blue afternoon sky stretching overhead. If it weren't for the swarm of unrefined armed men surrounding them, it was the kind of weather that would make him want to skip work and go on a picnic. However, there was no sound of an organ anywhere.

"No, I don’t hear anything..."

"I see. I was just imaging it then... Wait what's that sound?!"

Hugue asked again. This time, the "sound" had certainly reached Abel’s ears. It was a deep rumble reminiscent of distant thunder, but it wasn't that. The sound was coming from beneath their feet.

"W-What is this? An earthquake?!"

"W-What... What’s going on?!"

It appeared that the priests were not the only ones who heard the "sound". Cries of shock arose from the handcuffed woman and the soldiers on the other side. They could clearly feel the swirling airflow on their faces. An unpleasant wind that made everyone present nauseous churned, then swelled into a tide, and poured into one place. What laid ahead was-

"H-Hey, look at that!"

The two priests instinctively raised their heads when they heard screams from the soldiers and gasped.

A roar comparable to that of an avalanche and a massive cloud of dust erupted before their eyes. No, that wasn't all. Behind the screen of white dust, the outline of the silhouette of a tall building was slowly distorting. It looked as though a pillar of salt was crumbling.

"T-The Einherjar Chamber of Commerce..."

As the giant shadow collapsed like a rotting tree, Abel could only gape in consternation.

✝ End of Prologue

[1] Referring to Dr. William Walter Wordsworth. [2] Referring to the Rosencreutz Orden. [3] "Disinformation" in German. I'm keeping this intact instead of swapping it to English because it is intended to be read this way according to the written Furigana. [4] Referring to AX agents. [5] Written as black mocha but the Furigana reads schwarz. I believe it means "black" in German and in this context, it refers to black coffee that has no added milk/sugar. [6] The written Furigana for this is "Militärpolizei" which is the German word for "Military Police". I'll be using just "Gendarmerie" for my translations. [7] Here, it means "Yes, sir!" in German. Jawohl is a stronger word than ja and is usually used in a military context as an affirmative answer to an order.

[babytarttdoodoo]

Please (if you want to) expand on what you said about the different ways Roy and Jamie swear because that is extremely fascinating

I mean, I'll start by saying I am in no way a linguistics expert. I also lack the cultural and social background to speak about the swearing habits of Mancunians and Londoners with any authority. (Again, to clarify, I am Scottish.)

However, being familiar with the accents in question, being immersed in British media my entire life, and having had voice training does mean I have an instinctual 'feel' for what sounds right for their characters... or what does for me, at least.

Swearing and rambling under the cut.

Beyond just swear words, the cadence and tones of Roy and Jamie's voices are vastly different.

Jamie talks faster, for one. It is a bit of a trend that the further north you go in the UK, the speedier the speech gets. I slow down a lot, even if I'm just visiting England, in order to be understood by non-Scots.

Therefore, Jamie uses longer words or phrases more casually in conversation (if not always correctly, bless his heart) because the rhythm of his speech allows for it. This also means that if he swears mid-sentence, it's basically just punctuation and comes across as a habit.

Adding adjectives adds emphasis. So when he is intentionally swearing directly at someone, he would call that someone a "big hairy baby twat" rather than just a "twat".

(I will also point out that I think "fucking dickhead" is criminally underused by Jamie in both canon and fanon.)

Roy, on the other hand, has a slower rhythm. He still swears very naturally (obviously) but is more likely to use single syllable words i.e. "fuck", "prick", "shit".

The way that vowels sound in his accent also plays a part here. For example, he says "fah-ck", as opposed to Jamie's softer "foh-ck", which is immediately more tonally aggressive (the different way they draw out the vowels is important too but I can't think of how to describe it).

Roy doesn't need to add on anything extra because the harder tone of his voice gives every swear a weighty impact. However, that's not to say he can't get creative.

Let's take Roy calling the woman harassing Jamie a "nutty arsemonger" in the Protective RoyxJamie fic. I agonised over what Roy was going to say because when he takes a second to think about how he's going to insult someone, things get colourful.

Cultural influence plays a bigger part in these scenarios.

The use of "nutter" is pretty widespread in the UK. "Nutty" as a descriptor, however, is a bit more specific and something I'd personally associate with the South.

That has to be paired with something and, particularly as he's talking to a woman, that makes things complicated.

Now, if I'm being brutally honest, in reality, someone of Roy's background and age would probably have said "cunt". It's very much not as big of a deal over here as I know it can be in the States. Tat said, it still felt a bit harsh to me as something someone in the 'Ted Lasso' universe would say. It's also very gender-charged and if Roy were going to use it, he's more likely to say it to another man.

For similar reasons, I discounted him calling her a "cow" or a "bitch". Less severe, but still not quite right for a man in his (at this point) early 40s who goes out of his way to be respectful to the women he knows. (Moments of idiocy aside, of course.)

That brought me to "arse". Anyone can be one. Great.

But he can't just say "nutty arse" and call it a day. Firstly, because "s" is a soft sound, especially in a deep tone, and the insult sounds incomplete in Roy's voice if he doesn't end on a hard note. Say it to yourself, try out your best Kent impression - it isn't right, is it?

Jamie absolutely could just say "arse" because the "ah" sound is very harsh in his accent and the "s" is more pronounced by his higher voice.

But Roy needs something more to round out the phrase. I landed on "arsemonger" eventually because of the meaning more than anything. (Generally used for someone without class, implies promiscuity.) Introducing that "ger" at the end also sounded a lot better and more natural.

I don't know if I'm making any sense here but hopefully this communicates a bit of what I meant?

If you're looking to delve a bit deeper (without the swearing), a good point of reference might be the Ninth Doctor and Rose's era of 'Doctor Who'. It's not perfect (Christopher is from Salford, Billie from Swindon) but it's another really good example of North/South talking habits.

'Only Fools and Horses' might give you a good idea of the language Roy grew up around, just bear in mind it's more in tune with his parents' generation.

'Coronation Street' is the obvious touchstone for Manchester accents but I haven't watched it in a long time. The kids in 'Waterloo Road' might be a bit more relevant as contemporary examples.

[imaginarianisms]

"You live under the delusion that you can fix everything that isn’t perfect."- Aurane to Laenyra

❝Daorun iksis vok dōre mazilībagon isse dōron, dubazma, yn issa sylvie naejot umbagon lōtirī.❞ Laena spoke to her cousin calmly as the sunlight filtered in through her window, the golden rays illuminating her chestnut brown skin like the fire-gold glow of dawn, her dress of fine blue green silks popped against the deep bronze of her skin, and the sunlight catching her amethyst eyes, a sight many men were in awe of. A gloved hand toys with her necklace of sapphires, freshwater pearls, blue diamonds and a silver seahorse, the sigil of her house.

Laena spoke in Valyrian so as to conceal what they were saying. Ever since the fall of the Targaryen dynasty, the High Valyrian literacy rates had decreased considerably in Westeros, so it was highly unlikely most would understand what they were saying, an advantage she was more than happy to use to their advantage. News of Aurane's whereabouts with Sansa Stark had reached her men, and likely Daella's as well. She had invited her cousin over to break her fast the following morning, knowing they were each other's only solace as the only remaining kin they had in the capital.

Monford had died in the Battle of Blackwater, Monterys was only a six year old boy with Clementine who had just entered womanhood not too long ago as his regnant and she had reluctantly been supporting Stannis as a result of her lord father's death. Laenaera was stuck in the North in the aftermath of the Red Wedding, still supporting Robb Stark despite the Boltons and taking care of the aged Lord Ondrew. Sometimes she wondered if Aurane should have been with the rest of the Velaryons. Aurane would have loved the adventures in Essos. However, her mother, her twin brother Corlys, Daella and Jacaera had taken far too long in their quest across the Narrow Sea known to the rest of Westeros as a mere business trip to the Free Cities, and the longer they stayed away from Westeros, the more questions were whispered at court. As her mother and by by extension House Velaryon's eyes and ears in King's Landing, she could no longer afford any setbacks. As much as she tried to be delicate with her cousin, knowing all too well that the Battle of Blackwater effected him far more than he let on, he and Monford were as close as trueborn brothers, she had to be as stern as her mother was. So she spoke with Lady Shaera's voice. ❝Gaomagon ao daor shifang se hinikagon iksā jigagho īlva lentor isse se skorkydoso dokimare bisa iksis? Konīr issi laesi tolviot. Lentor Velaryon iksis isse hinikagon.❞

Her voice was as sharp as the edge of a blade, but it was necessary at this point. Tywin's eyes were on her back, as were Cersei's. One wrong move, one misspoken word, one word in the wrong ear could put her entire house in jeopardy. And if anyone heard the rumors that Aurane Waters the Bastard of Driftmark was associating himself too closely let alone romantically and sexually to the disgraced traitor's daughter who was already married to Tyrion Lannister, word of rebellion would spread quickly. They both knew Joffrey's wrath knew no bounds, and Tywin Lannister was an even greater man to fear. She shudders. The Red Wedding was proof enough of that. ❝Gaomagon jaelā naejot morghūljagon tolī Edhārd Stārke, Rōb Stārke se zȳhon jelmōñe vali? Se kēlio ēza se zoklīo. Gaomagon daor tepagon Sānsa Stārke tolī mundari dōre qūvir.❞

She pointed at the door, out beyond her chambers and to the Queen's ballroom. ❝The King spared you on a mere whim that night. The Queen is more than fond of you. Everyone says you are Rhaegar Targaryen returned. Tommen adores you as he does Loras. If someone hears of your carnal activities with Sansa, Cersei will cast you aside, House Velaryon would be accused of falling into bed with House Stark and we will all be in danger, if not at most rounded up and executed. Ao gīmigon skoros se dārys iksis. Ao skoros zȳhon vēdros iksis vēttan hen. Ao ūndan skoros ziry gōntan hen konīr. Ziry ivestretan zirȳla emilza zȳhon ñuhoso lēda zirȳla ziksoso isse naejon hen zȳhon qȳbor. Se tolvys sōptas. Tȳhrion Lānistor's vēdros iksis hae zōbrie hae se perzyssy bona Balerion zaltan Harrenhal.❞ There was emotion in her voice and in the way she spoke, feeling the disgust rising in her throat and her heart sinking in her chest, remembering that not one of Joffrey's men, not even the Queen, had stood in Sansa Stark's defense. And Alayaya... poor, sweet Alayaya... Seeing the Summer Islander girl's wounds made her want to weep herself, but as her men escorted her back to her mother, she knew she had to keep to her house words, to remain strong, true and brave despite herself so as not to alarm the younger girl. Lady Laenyra had a very firm word with Tyrion Lannister that day, the rules of polite society be damned.

Westeros doesn't care for girls like Sansa, Arya, Alayaya, Arianne, Prusella, Elia and I.

Aurane had always had eyes for Sansa even when she was betrothed to Joffrey. She remembered that night when Aurane had intended to run up to the Tower of the Hand to declare his intentions to duel Prince Joffrey for Sansa's hand in marriage to Eddard Stark, and to his credit, the Bastard of Driftmark would likely win against that little beast, but Lady Shaera Velaryon made quick work to shut down such follies. Laenyra dipped her head before reaching out to grasp at his hand, thumb rubbing against the back of it in her best attempts at comforting him. ❝Our gods of the Summer Isles see no difference between the birth, status nor love of a bastard and a trueborn lady... but these are not the Summer Isles, this is Westeros, Aurane. Se Stārke riña iksis gevie se sȳz, kessa, se nyke gīmigon ao jorrāelagon zirȳla, se nyke gīmigon Sānsa gaomas jorrāelagon ao, yn issa daor sylvie naejot jorarghugon zirȳla.❞

A sigh escapes her painted lips, shaking her head, voice hushed. ❝I have sent a raven to Maester Harrin at Driftmark gīmēdegon īlva lentor... and soon you will be alone. And I cannot guarantee your safety here. Alerie Hightower briefly broached the topic with me before, and now Olenna Tyrell has asked me to marry her grandson and heir. It is past time I was wed. After Joffrey weds Margaery, I will be marrying Willas Tyrell. I will become Lady of Highgarden, and who else is a better candidate than me? Summer Sea blood runs warm in me and I am one of the most beautiful women of our era. Willas is intelligent, studious, educated, goodhearted, gentle, kind and is one of the most eligible bachelors of our time with the finest hawks, hounds and horses.❞

It was clear in her eyes and in her voice that she was actually very excited to meet her prospect of a new husband. She'd purposely cast aside every marriage offer her way. It had paid off. Laena III Velaryon was very persuasive in more ways than one, in both her words and her body, and she would make him love and desire her. Arianne would be so jealous. Highgarden was going to be hers. Mother wouldn't have to worry about her safety anymore now that she was going to be in good hands among golden roses. It would mend the centuries old wound since the Dance of the Dragons when Hightower and Velaryon were once at war with each other, and perhaps with time she would reveal her family's true whereabouts to win them over for House Targaryen. Valaena Velaryon's grimoire and arcane library in Driftmark had worked well enough. The Bastard of Driftmark's journey, however, was soon going to be far more perilous.

❝I care for you, Aurane, and for Lady Sansa, but I must place House Velaryon first.❞

[daceystvrk]

"easy enough, yes," there was a glimpse of a smile, tired and heavy and devoid of any real amusement. "but not right." brandon had been a guiding light for the starks for a long time ; so long that it was difficult to think of him as anything but infallible, someone who held answers where they were needed. he was not that anymore, nor did she imagine he wanted to be, but old habits died hard.

"i'm sure there are." finding answers would not be the issue, she expected, but finding answers from people she trusted was another matter entirely. it wasn't that she was cynical. if anything, she was naïve, offering more goodwill than was deserved at times, but the list of people she could trust dwindled by the day. she was certain brandon would understand that. you could not go through something like what he had faced and not lose some of your ability to trust.

the facts as dacey understood them were this: alysanne, whether with the best of intentions or not, had dabbled in things best left untouched. alysanne was gone, and there were no clues to unravel, no leads to follow, and no indication she would ever return. alysanne had left behind her remnants of what, in dacey's eyes, was a dire mistake, and the only thing she could do was ensure nobody else had to pay the price for it.

"then i suppose i know where i should start," there was a resigned sort of acceptance in her voice, as though she'd rather be doing anything else but that, and that was because she would. "assuming her associates will make themselves known to me." she had no idea how to circumnavigate that particular snag, but she would cross that bridge when it came to it.

at the mention of jon, something in her seemed to shift. her back stiffened, an anger uncharacteristic to dacey crossing her face. "we were all desperate." what had happened had broke something in dacey, perhaps beyond repair. she understood desperation, but this she could not condone. "there are still lines that should not be crossed. are not meant to be crossed." she understood her view of the world wasn't the norm, too idealistic, to unrealistic, especially for the north, but if this was the depths they were willing to stoop to, did that make them any better than those they would call enemies?

there was logic in what he was saying, but something tugged at the back of dacey's mind anyway. perhaps it was simply the fact she was born with all the caution other starks lacked, too much of it. she'd never been one for kicking a hornet's nest - and the situation at winterfell had never felt so complex. "was," she repeated, more of a musing than anything else.

"yes," she had to concede that, if nothing else, owen would want to know. "and yet you know all you have told me, and don't know if he does. which means you haven't told him, either." it was not an accusation, her words as gentle as they had been since the moment she entered the room. "and i understand our reasons may be different," she added. "but what good would it do? he can't stop her. she isn't here to stop."

♞

there was a level of self consciousness that became clear in the minor details of how she stood before him, and yet there had never been a time where he could not recall her in such a way. "easy to assume." he spoke, referencing the culture of karhold: they were further north than many, with their own dialect. the sun tongue. and dacey before him, had always remained the quiet princess, the soft princess, caught in the middle of the pack: who would ever hear the gnawing of paws upon the dirt of the earth when the others howled over each of her attempts?

"there are many who would be able to provide you with the real answers you seek." the north was rooted in ancient practices, a place so strange he almost forgot - that was until he was beyond the wall, visiting his uncle who remained the current lord commander of the night's watch. the desolate emptiness and the creeping knowledge of what remained beyond the wall, the strange practices that caused a chill to run down the back of his spine.

he could delve further into the information regarding what it was she sought that night, reveal the conversations they had within the wagon or atop horseback through all weathers as they passed through the neck. he was not knowledgeable enough about such practices, though he had gotten her message all too clearly: there was ample risk in what it was she was planning to do. he cleared his throat slightly as the memories of the night flooded back to him, the churning sound of the wind and the leaves beneath his feet as he witnessed her stood by a fire; and when she looked up at him, there was blood running from her nose. with eyes that remained black.

and perhaps he would have backed away rather than forward, if he had not been confronted with what it was the old gods could force upon mortals merely some weeks earlier. he'll never forget the way in which meera reed's body had remained warm, for the days they spent travelling for her to be entombed within karhold. the sight of her eyes as they opened, and she drew in a large amount of breath that sounded like her last all the while.

"i can confirm the princess spent time studying such practices. she had many associates within the woods." the witches, who too worked methods that could be used for good or for evil. brandon firmly believed it was not magic itself that was evil, but how it was to be used. "after the murder of the late prince, she was desperate." and those were all the words he was ready to say on the matter, until she spoke of perhaps not mentioning details to the king.

brandon found himself wondering how he had managed to stumble himself in such a situation - as though he had not sworn the personal matters of the starks was not his issue. and now, the princess admitted to perhaps withholding information from the king - information he knew. "we both know the fixation the king holds on knowing all the facts." brandon responded. speaking objectively about his closest friend, his closest companion: who had once been so much shorter than him. "he would want to know. she was his twin, in the end."

[space-ninja-fashion-show]

Some of the random ppl found around Duviri are...oddly familiar, but only in small, lightning-strike ways, a bit like deja vu or mistaking someone for someone else

I ran into a random NPC today saying something along the lines of "When you're in this business for as long as me, you know things. You're not who you think you are. There is so much more to you than that." which when North randomly hears it just riding by makes them pause, bc for a moment, they could've sworn it sounded like Alden's voice. But the man is nothing like Alden, and his next words sound nothing like him either, so it must just be their mind playing tricks

It happens again and again, not enough to be something to dig into, not enough to be a bother. But through tiny cracks, the ppl North loves seep into the world of Duviri when they aren't looking

[ivoryielded]

multicolored blossoms blooms along the path, the dash of hues a surprise lynara isn't certain what to make of. it is said the north is barren soil, not good for beautiful things to grow in, yet the godswood of winterfell is littered with reds and yellows, blues and greens amongst the whites of winter; flora that has raised on its own accord for centuries, all with a purpose of its own. the flowers planted on beds around the godswood at king's landing seem to fulfill one purpose: beauty; she can almost be certain that they have once been plucked from the vastness of the reach and implanted here. usually, lynara could excuse such an act of vanity — she's always been good with silver linings, turning sour into sweet if the need arises ��� but, even for her, it seems unbecoming for a godswood, or, rather, the mockery of one. would the gods judge the terrain as harshly as she does?

she's lost in the wrong sort of wonderings as she enters deeper into the acre of land, enough not to notice the company that awaits her. her mouth opens to exhale a noise of alarm, but the presence draws her home, to the right godswood, of the scent of earth and snow and winter roses she has come to associate with moments of privacy from the bustle of the keep, of anyone but themselves. technically, it is the same now, but one look at calon tells lynara that it is not truly, no — he has begun to guard himself from her, just as she does from him, and the recognition of that brings an ache that seems to linger. "your whereabouts are a mystery to me." at last, she speaks, and she finds that the gods have not truly abandoned her, for her voice does not seem as meek as she had imagined. 'you could have been halfway to pyke for all i know." not for all i care; she did care far too much, and that was the problem, wasn't it?

"i thought i ought to seek divine enlightenment on how to best serve his majesty." though she does not endeavor through his ways now — boast a bright smile and pretend that things are better than they are, it's the hands of the game she knows he plays — she finds herself resuming approach, unable to still her tongue nor her feet, a sign of nerves she is yet to be able to shake off. "i do not know if our gods have any reign here, not without the trees. what do you make of it?" he has the experience of worship without a temple, after all, the sea is too great a distance from winterfell for him to grow among it. gray eyes seek hazel ones for the response, yet another habit she can not get rid of. it is something she ought to learn, yet another thing, but it is too soon — it always feels too soon to part with him. "do not go yet. stay while i pray." another time, another place, she would have sought out his hold as well as his gaze, but at least that she knows she is no longer entitled to demand. "i shan't inquire you of the subject of yours."

the godswood of the red keep beckoned to him. in search of respite, solace was found within its quiet confines, a refuge from the ceaseless presence or courtly figures either vying for attention or looking to pass judgements. while lacking a true weirwood tree, it still felt like a little piece of the north. something that was welcomed when one's mind simply wouldn't shut off for just a moment. he ventured to the edge of the miniature forest, gazing upon the sweeping expanse of blackwater rush below. the river's currents mirrored the conflicting emotions churning within him— longing and dread in equal measure. feelings he had deliberately set aside throughout the journey to king's landing. solitude does not last long; the crunching of leaves underfoot was unmistakable. a glance over his shoulder reveals lady lynara stark, ( @ivoryielded ) a presence welcomed without reservation. a smile plays on his lips, though it failed to fully reach his eyes— an involuntary response born from the weight of his thoughts. ❝ thought you might be getting ready to meet with the king, ❞ a measured look is promptly followed by the softening of his gaze; he can never be upset at her for the complicated situation they find themselves in. hazel eyes return their focus to the blackwater. ❝ i hope you didn't go looking for me, nara. you have enough going on as is. ❞ if she did, he is glad for it all the same . . . no matter how morose the greyjoy might be feeling at the thought of her marrying another.

[dontbipanicjonsa]

A confusing clusterfuck of thoughts re: Jonsa

Or: why the fuck are Jon and Sansa so compatible if they're not canon, huh?

He saw the Wall shining like blue crystal, and his bastard brother Jon sleeping alone in a cold bed, his skin growing pale and hard as the memory of all warmth fled from him. - Bran III AGOT

So....Jon is going to lose memory of all warmth? I'm going to separate the changes brought about in post-resurrection!Jon here as changes caused by death and changes caused by Ghost. This post is only speculating about the changes caused by death i.e. loss of memory of all warmth.

More foreshadowing for that-

Chunks of coal burned in iron braziers at either end of the long room, but Jon found himself shivering. The chill was always with him here. In a few years he would forget what it felt like to be warm. - Jon III AGOT

"It was. The fort is in a sorry state, admittedly. You will restore it as best you can..." ... You'll sleep on stone, too exhausted to complain or plot, and soon you'll forget what it was like to be warm, but you might remember what it was to be a man. - Jon II ADWD

So, I did a word search for warm and memory and I found some interesting stuff. Read under the cut.

1. Home

Jon- warmth and memory of home

The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north. - Jon II AGOT (thinking about Arya)

The weariness came on him suddenly... So cold, he thought, remembering the warm halls of Winterfell, where the hot waters ran through the walls like blood through a man's body. There was scant warmth to be found in Castle Black... - Jon III AGOT

...Iron Emmett was still urging on his charges in the yard. The song of steel on steel woke a hunger in Jon. It reminded him of warmer, simpler days, when he had been a boy at Winterfell matching blades with Robb under the watchful eye of Ser Rodrik Cassel. Ser Rodrik too had fallen, slain by Theon Turncloak... All my memories are poisoned. - Jon VI ADWD

The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it.-Jon XII ASOS

So, these are the memories of warmth he'll lose? This warmth, that he associates with Winterfell (and the Starks), is the first memory of warmth Jon has.

Dany- memory of home

The door loomed before her, the red door, so close, so close, the hall was a blur around her, the cold receding behind... and all that lived and breathed fled in terror from the shadow of her wings. She could smell home, she could see it, there, just beyond that door, green fields and great stone houses and arms to keep her warm, there. She threw open the door.

"… the dragon …" - Daenerys IX AGOT

Home? The word made her feel sad. Ser Jorah had his Bear Island, but what was home to her? A few tales, names recited as solemnly as the words of a prayer, the fading memory of a red door … was Vaes Dothrak to be her home forever? - Daenerys VI AGOT

..."What shall we talk of?"

"Home," said Dany. "Naath. Butterflies and brothers. Tell me of the things that make you happy, the things that make you giggle, all your sweetest memories. Remind me that there is still good in the world."

Missandei did her best. She was still talking when Dany finally fell to sleep, to dream queer, half-formed dreams of smoke and fire. - Daenerys VIII ADWD

Dany's idea of 'home' changes over the course of the books. In the beginning she uses home for Illyrio's house, or the house with the red door. She very clearly doesn't think of Westeros as her home. After Viserys's death however, there's a sudden shift. Now, Westeros is her long lost home that she must return to someday. It's jarring. Interestingly enough, she pretty clearly rejects the idea of Dothraki khalasars as home, and the only time she calls Meereen home is in her last chapter of ADWD where she's trying to convince herself to return there. But we know that she ultimately rejects that too, in the same chapter.

Sansa- memory of home

Snow was falling on the Eyrie.

Outside the flakes drifted down as soft and silent as memory. Was this what woke me? Already the snowfall lay thick... The sight took Sansa back to cold nights long ago, in the long summer of her childhood. - Sansa VII ASOS

Last of all came the Royces, Lord Nestor and Bronze Yohn... Though his hair was grey and his face lined, Lord Yohn still looked as though he could break most younger men like twigs in those huge gnarled hands. His seamed and solemn face brought back all of Sansa's memories of his time at Winterfell. - Alayne I AFFC

She missed Septa Mordane, and even more Jeyne Poole, her truest friend... She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears. Once in a while, Sansa even missed her sister. By now Arya was safe back in Winterfell... - Sansa II ACOK

Arya coz why not

"Let me tell you something about wolves, child. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths.… Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you …" - Arya II AGOT

Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile. He used to mess my hair and call me "little sister," she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes. - Arya II AFFC

Again, all this (and much more) is stuff that reminds Sansa (and Arya) of home. This is, presumably, shit that Jon is gonna forget. Or maybe he'll retain the memories and only lose the emotions (warmth) associated with it?

2. Suitors or romantic/sexual partners (+Ben Plumm)

Jon

Many a night he lay with Ygritte warm beside him,... - Jon V ASOS

So, Ygritte becomes his second memory of warmth.

When he turned he saw Ygritte.

...cloaked in darkness and in memory. The light of the moon was in her hair, her red hair kissed by fire. When he saw that, Jon's heart leapt into his mouth. "Ygritte," he said.

"Lord Snow." The voice was Melisandre's.

Surprise made him recoil from her. "Lady Melisandre." He took a step backwards. "I mistook you for someone else." At night all robes are grey. - Jon VI ADWD

AT NIGHT ALL ROBES ARE GREY...yea I know, this is a well established connection between the Girl in Grey and Ygritte. Since Jon associates Ygritte with warmth so strongly, I think it's safe to assume that the Girl in Grey might play a role in warming him too (hehe).

… one hears queer talk of dragons."

"Would that we had one here. A dragon might warm things up a bit."

"My lord jests. You will forgive me if I do not laugh. We Braavosi are descended from those who fled Valyria and the wroth of its dragonlords. We do not jape of dragons." - Jon IX ADWD

Yikes.

Dany

"If my queen commands," he (Jorah) said, curt and cold.

Dany was warm enough for both of them. "She does," she said. "She commands...

When he was gone, Dany threw herself down on her pillows beside her dragons. She had not meant to be so sharp with Ser Jorah, but his endless suspicion had finally woken her dragon. - Daenerys IV ASOS

So, here the warmth is because of anger (woken the dragon).

Dany could feel the warmth of his fingers. He was warm in Qarth as well, she recalled, until the day he had no more use for me. She rose to her feet. "Come," she said, and Xaro followed her through the pillars... - Daenerys III ADWD

She remembered Ben's face the last time she had seen it. It was a warm face, a face I trusted... Even the dragons had been fond of old Brown Ben, who liked to boast that he had a drop of dragon blood himself. Three treasons will you know. Once for gold and once for blood and once for love. Was Plumm the third treason, or the second? And what did that make Ser Jorah, her gruff old bear? Would she never have a friend that she could trust?- Daenerys VI ADWD

This is twice that Dany associates warmth with people who use/betray her.

"You're hurt," she gasped.

"This?" Daario touched his temple. "A crossbowman tried to put a quarrel through my eye, but I outrode it. I was hurrying home to my queen, to bask in the warmth of her smile." He shook his sleeve, spattering red droplets. - Daenerys VI ADWD

Dawn always came too soon.

...If only she had the power, she would have made their nights go on forever, but the best that she could do was stay awake to try and savor every last sweet moment before daybreak turned them into no more than fading memories....

Dany wrapped her arms around her captain and pressed herself against his back. She drank in the scent of him, savoring the warmth of his flesh, the feel of his skin against her own. Remember, she told herself. Remember how he felt. - Daenerys VII ADWD

Ok, I forgot how smitten Dany was with Daario. It would be cute if Daario wasn't so horrifying. Girl has some seriously questionable taste.

Interestingly, the phrase 'fading memory' is used four times in the text (as far as I can find) and three of those times are in Daenerys's POV. One is in the above quote, where she's commanding herself to remember her time with Daario before her marriage to Hizdahr, and the other time is while thinking about the red door. Both these are memories that are important to her, that connect her to the hopeful/little/not-dark girl she once was.

Sansa

Gently, he spoke of Braavos, and met a wall of sullen courtesy as icy and unyielding as the Wall he had walked once in the north. - Tyrion VIII ASOS

"I am composing a new song, you should know. A song so sweet and sad it will melt even your frozen heart. 'The Roadside Rose,' I mean to call it. About a baseborn girl so beautiful she bewitched every man who laid eyes upon her." - Sansa VII ASOS

"Alayne." Her aunt's singer stood over her. "Sweet Alayne. I am Marillion. I saw you come in from the rain. The night is chill and wet. Let me warm you." - Sansa VI ASOS

You must be very cold. Let me warm you, Sansa. Take off those gloves, give me your hands." - Sansa VII ASOS

Yea no. Sansa has not had a good experience with people offering to warm her (unfreeze her? melt her?)

Looks like in TWOW there's going to be two people in desperate need of some warming.

It's pretty neat actually. Jon associates memories of warmth with two things primarily: Winterfell/the Starks, and Ygritte. Sansa is both a Stark, and a much (much) improved Ygritte.

Sansa's iciness-wall-armour is a form of protection that she employs against predatory men. The only person who can melt her frozen heart...is someone who is not predatory. Someone who cares for her. Jon.

It fits perfectly. They fit perfectly.

[swordoaths]

Éomer Headcanons

"They are proud and wilful, but they are true-hearted, generous in thought and in deed; bold but not cruel; wise but unlearned, writing no books but singing many songs, after the manner of the children of Men before the Dark Years [...]. It was in forgotten years long ago that Eorl the Young brought them out of the North, and their kinship is rather with the Bardings of Dale, and with the Beornings of the Wood, among whom may still be seen many men tall and fair, as are the Riders of Rohan." The Two Towers

I love this description on the Eorlingas, for it not only provides us details of their countenance, but also of their kinship with others of Middle-earth. So, let’s get into some of this.

First, on their countenance, of which I have already touched upon a bit here and here, we see  Éomer possess many of the above traits and descriptors. If you want to read more on those traits, please do check out the linked headcanon posts. But I have not yet discussed the descriptors of “writing no books but singing many songs” as applied to Éomer. And so, let’s get into that here...

Éomer, like his kin before him, cannot read or write. This is not a sign of a lack of intellect, only that his wisdom and knowledge (as above described) comes from another source. Oral history is the primary source of his kin, and Éomer holds that in high regard. It was how he learned the way of the world, where he came from, and what may lie ahead for his people. He also heavily associates these songs with his parents, whom he lost when he was 11 years old. Upon the death of his parents, Éomer and Éowyn become the last of their immediate family’s song. As such, there is a heavier weight upon them to carry those songs with them, ere they be forgotten. To Éomer, the songs of his family are a way to keep his parents alive, and he does have this acute understanding in his heart his parents only truly die if he and Éowyn die before passing on their song. 

It should also be said that Éomer is quite a good singer. Sometimes, when the Rohirrim is on patrol, he will sing with the other riders, giving a sense of their ancestors riding with them and a driving force to ride forth. Other times, he sings in the night with family for hope and promise. Éomer’s singing voice also calms the horses under his care, especially Firefoot. It has been said that Éomer could still the thunderous hooves of the most distressed horse with his song, for it is in his voice that they hear the future of the Mearas and the Eorlingas and the promise of a Rohan returned to greatness under his eventual rule as King of the Mark.

We also know from the books that they sing during the Rohirrim charge, and their song could not only spur on their numbers and create a sense of unity in their charge, but also evoke a great and terrible fear upon their enemy:

“ And then all the host of Rohan burst into song, and they sang as they slew, for the joy of battle was on them, and the sound of their singing that was fair and terrible came even to the City.” -Return of the King

Now onto the Eorlingas kinship. The Eorlingas come from the North, and as such, they carry ancestral ties with other Northmen, the Bardings and Beornings. Though we see the alliance between Rohan and Gondor in the series, I also want to stress that Éomer holds alliance to his kin found in the Bardings and Beornings. He stands by and with his kin, and when Éomer is King of the Mark, he strengthens those bonds with the Bardings and Beornings through aid in danger, trade, and fellowship. 

[nasirofmanderlys]

✯

nasir manderly sat with a measured calm, his hands steepled under his chin as the room’s tensions ebbed and flowed. the flickering candlelight carved shadows across his sharp, contemplative features. he let the others speak first, as was his habit, allowing their voices to weave a tapestry of speculation and concern. amir’s uncertainty had not gone unnoticed, but nasir had offered no outward reassurance. instead, he waited, letting the weight of his brother’s words settle in the chamber like silt in still water.

he finally leaned forward, his voice soft but deliberate, slicing through the murmurs like the tide against a rocky shore. “gulltown,” he began, “is no idle rumor. jalabhar is right—these whispers have weight. a foothold for the iron bank in the vale would be... significant. and a set back, to most of you.” his gaze swept the table, lingering briefly on tion peake, then on lucerys estermont. "right now, the vale and the north stands united."

he straightened slightly, folding his hands before him. “but amir raises a good point—what can we do, if anything? as tion has offered, a presence in gulltown would help. information is a currency of its own, and knowing the truth of these plans may allow us to position ourselves accordingly.” his words were deliberate, carefully balanced between caution and resolve. he looked toward tion. "does your king have any association with the vale?"

he hesitated a beat, his mind flickering back to the faint memory of lucerys from their shared time at the citadel. "i don't know anything about norbert grafton." was it lucerys, or merely someone bearing the estermont name? nasir could not be sure, but the idea was enough to draw his attention. “luc,” he said evenly, “did you come across him when you were at the citadel? i'm sure i heard somewhere he trained for some amount of time."

@lucerysxestermont

who: @lucerysxestermont, @ryonwyl, @nasirofmanderlys, @jalabharmooton, @tionpeake context: the five great banking families of westeros speak on the rumours of the iron bank opening up a branch across the narrow sea - and the rumours it could be in the vale.

the chamber was dim, heavy velvet curtains muffling the daylight and creating a cloistered atmosphere. amir manderly sat at the long table, feeling out of place despite the rich sea-green of his doublet, the silver merman of his house gleaming faintly in the candlelight. the room reeked of pipeweed and ambition, a combination that made him restless. this wasn’t his usual arena—he preferred the simplicity of a sword’s edge or the honest chaos of a card game.

but his brother nasir sat beside him, calm and composed as ever, a steady anchor in these murky waters. he should be speaking, amir thought, resisting the urge to fidget.

the network was gathered in full today—mootons, estermonts, peakes, wyls, and, of course, the manderlys. the most powerful coin families in westeros, they liked to think themselves puppeteers of economies and alliances. amir wasn’t sure he believed that. the reach of the network always seemed to falter at the vale and the westerlands, and now, with rumors of the iron bank’s expansion to gulltown, it felt like the limits of their influence were being laid bare.

"gulltown...would be an issue, nah?" amir asked, breaking the lull in conversation, though his voice was quieter than usual. it felt strange to speak here, among people who seemed to measure their worth in ledgers and gold. it were not his usual manner of discussion. "it’s just... it’s hard to say what we’re even dealing with. i mean, rumors like this—they can spread like wildfire, but that doesn’t mean there’s anything real behind them."

he glanced at nasir for reassurance but found his brother’s expression unreadable. amir pressed on, unsure if his words carried any weight. "and if it is true—well, what then? what could we even do about it? gulltown isn’t exactly friendly to us. they’d probably see us coming from a mile away." he tapped his fingers against the table, the sound hollow against the polished wood. "maybe," he added after a pause, "maybe it’s not about stopping it. maybe it’s just... knowing for sure. someone should go, figure out what the iron bank’s actually planning. at least then we’d be dealing with facts instead of whispers."

the room was quiet for a moment, and amir felt the weight of the others’ gazes. he shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward nasir again. he’s better at this, amir thought. i can’t just sit here and say nothing. "anyway," he finished with a slight exhale, "that’s all i’ve got for you man." he gave a faint, self-deprecating smile, leaning back in his chair as the discussion moved on.

[bog-o-bones]

Who the hell is CM Punk and why is he “All Elite”?

If you’re reading this post, you’re most likely somebody who’s heard the latest buzz around the wrestling world: CM Punk is back! But who exactly is CM Punk? You’ve probably heard the name before, either in the context of pro wrestling or as part of his time in UFC, and have always wondered what the big deal is about the guy. You’ve also probably seen or heard about All Elite Wrestling, up-and-coming wrestling promotion airing live Wednesday and Friday nights on TNT. But what exactly is AEW as well? That’s where this post comes in. In this long-ass post on Tumblr, you’ll be given a crash course on the history of one of pro wrestling’s most iconic superstars as well as the abridged history of AEW, the premier wrestling promotion in North America, allowing you to (hopefully) understand the significance of Punk’s return to the squared circle as well as give yourself significant knowledge of AEW enough that you can begin to enjoy the weekly shows they put out!

Okay, so who the heck is this CM Punk guy anyway?

To put it simply, CM Punk is one of the most significant pro wrestlers of the 21st century as well as the history of the industry itself. While he’s not on the level of mainstream recognition as Hulk Hogan or Stone Cold Steve Austin, Punk’s contributions to pro wrestling are arguably as important to the industry. To understand Punk’s significance, you need to have a little history lesson about the industry in the early-to-mid 2000′s.

When you think of professional wrestling, you probably think of one name above all: WWE, World Wrestling Entertainment. WWE was, and still is, the most mainstream wrestling promotion ever. People associate all wrestling with WWE, no matter what. But what about what’s below WWE in terms of recognition? The Minor League Baseball to its MLB? To that, we have to look at the independent scene.

The independent scene is, simply put, the underground punk rock of pro wrestling. It’s where the stars make the names for themselves to rise to the success. Indie wrestling is important because it’s where Punk began. CM (the initials jokingly standing for whatever is on his mind at the moment, ranging from “Cookie Monster” to “Charles Montgomery” or “Chicago Made”) Punk began his career in the independent scene around the turn of the millennium. He rose to significant prominence in the promotion Ring of Honor, one of the most premiere indie leagues in the United States. This prominence was brought on by Punk’s oozing charisma and wrestling talent, making him one of the best known “underground wrestlers” at the time. Then, in 2005, Punk signed a contract with the major league: he was WWE bound.

To regale you with Punk’s career in WWE would require an entirely separate post, so I’ll spare you the specifics and get to the good stuff: Punk was over in WWE. “Over” of course meaning the fans loved him. And why shouldn’t they? Big time wrestling fans knew Punk from his days in ROH and to see him rise to be on national television broadcasts and pay-per-view was rewarding. To those who were introduced to him, he was a fantastic talent and provided immense entertainment because of his talent in the ring and outside it.

Later on in his career at WWE, Punk provided one of the most scathing promos of all time, criticizing the company for its horrific decision-making and idiotic management. The promo was a “worked shoot”, wrestling lingo for a promo that seems like it’s breaking character but is all planned out (Punk was allowed to say anything he wanted, no matter if it was in character or not) but it was still extremely satisfying for the fans who agreed wholeheartedly with Punk about the state of WWE at the time. This promo (now known as the “pipebomb promo”) is just one of the many reasons why CM Punk has remained an immense fan favorite. The idea of a wrestler taking the mic, airing their grievances, and showcasing how a major corporation treated their employees with disdain and damnation is utterly unlike anything seen since Stone Cold Steve Austin back in the late 90′s. Punk, to many people, was one of the first of many “indie stars” that WWE had “poached” from the independent scene, turning them into corporate icons, stripping away their unique qualities as a person and transforming them into recognizable brands to sell merchandise with. To see Punk spit back at the WWE made a lot of people realize that enough was enough for them. Punk was the voice of the voiceless, a wrestler echoing throughout the halls that he wasn’t just a brand to slap onto a cheap mass-produced product, that he was a wrestler (in the mid-2000s at WWE, the term “wrestler” was seen as an irrelevant term, the terms “sports entertainer” and “superstar” preferred by management) in this business to prove himself as the Best in the World. And like clockwork, on July 15th, 2014, Punk was removed from WWE’s active roster after he had effectively walked out of the company weeks prior.

One of the most significant events post-WWE with Punk was his appearance on close friend Colt Cabana’s Art of Wrestling podcast. Colt’s podcast was known for featuring “shoot interviews”, basically interviews with wrestlers out of character detailing backstage information and telling stories. Punk’s episode of the podcast is significant as it eventually led to a total legal dispute with one of WWE’s doctors whose misdiagnosis of a staph infection was one of the reasons for Punk’s departure from WWE. Along with that, Punk’s general dissatisfaction with the “WWE Machine” as it’s been coined was another reason, with him even mentioning at times post-retirement that WWE was responsible for him never wanting to wrestle again. And so it seemed, as Punk later on signed with UFC in an attempt to get a MMA career off the ground, that the legacy of CM Punk ended with his tenure at WWE.

Until, that is, the wrestling world got a little...elite...

Okay, so I get who CM Punk is now, but what’s this All Elite Wrestling business?

AEW, All Elite Wrestling and the sole reason you’re reading this post right now, is the second biggest wrestling promotion in North America and quite possibly the world. Its inception begins with a group of wrestlers signed to the aforementioned Ring of Honor and a little bet made with wrestling journalist Dave Meltzer on Twitter.

Meltzer had proclaimed on Twitter that ROH did not have the capability to sell 10,000 tickets to an arena-run wrestling event. ROH-signed wrestlers Cody Rhodes (son of Dusty Rhodes and brother of Dustin Rhodes f.k.a. “Goldust”) and tag team brothers Matt and Nick Jackson (known as “The Young Bucks”) took Meltzer up on the bet and immediately scouted an arena for such an event. Partnering with Ring of Honor along with other wrestling promotions around the world such as Lucha Libre AAA Worldwide, Impact Wrestling, and New Japan Pro Wrestling, the trio promoted the event as All In and managed to sell out the arena in less than 30 minutes, even exceeding the goal by an extra thousand or so, becoming the largest attended wrestling event not held by industry leader WWE since 1993.

Naturally, the success of such an event caught the attention of many leaders in many industries. The idea that an independent wrestling event could create such a huge success in a time where WWE was kingpin of the industry was unprecedented. It was clear that the wrestling world was ready for a change and the numbers didn’t lie.

On the 1st of January 2019, All Elite Wrestling was announced with the running of All In’s sequel event Double or Nothing which would also be the inaugural pay-per-view event for AEW itself. Backing the company financially was Jacksonville Jaguars owner Shahid Khan along with his son and co-owner of the Jaguars Tony Khan, who would lead the company as president, CEO and head of creative. The announcement of the company was peppered with signings of some of independent wrestling’s hottest stars such as “Hangman” Adam Page, Joey Janela, Britt Baker, and Kenny Omega, often cited as the greatest wrestler in the world with multiple 5 star+ matches under his belt. Also announced were some of the most interesting inclusions: former WWE stars Chris Jericho and PAC (f.k.a. Neville) had joined as well. At the premiere event of Double Or Nothing, the most shocking addition to the roster made his debut as well: Jon Moxley, formerly known in WWE as Dean Ambrose, one of the highest-profile stars in recent history had jumped ship from top of the card in WWE to the newest promotion. Ripples in the wrestling world had turned into immense shock waves.

Alright, I kinda know the history now but why is AEW so important?

AEW’s significance today cannot be understated. Before its inception, the world of professional wrestling consisted of two pillars: WWE and the independent scene, and the two could not be less equal. WWE was seen by many as the top of the line, the area where a wrestler could be seen by the most eyes and where they could be paid top dollar moreso than any indie promotion. But it was also seen, as detailed earlier by CM Punk, as a place of dull, corporatized profiteering. WWE does not treat its wrestlers as characters in engaging, eventful stories. To the WWE, the wrestlers are no more than brands, recognizable faces and repetitive phrases that they can slap onto t-shirts and other merchandise to sell for a quick buck. WWE as a company does not care about the world of professional wrestling, even recently going so far as to call themselves not a “wrestling company” but an “entertainment” company. Wrestlers in WWE are not given the opportunity to come up with material they think will best suit the story of the match and appease the fans, they are given pre-written scripts of dialogue to act out as if they were in a movie and storylines meant to tell the story the writers want to tell rather than what the fans want to see.

For many wrestlers, the art of wrestling is a finely tuned craft. WWE’s corporate micromanagement of the whole process is utterly disrespectful and soul-crushing. At AEW, the story is different.

AEW’s creative team allows its wrestlers to do whatever they think the fans will like. While not necessarily allowing the wrestlers full creative control (Tony Khan, after all, has the final say on things), AEW at least allows the wrestlers flexibility to try new things without being railroaded by storylines. This results in characters like Orange Cassidy (see above) a wrestler whose entire gimmick is that he just doesn’t care. In his matches, he’ll lazily loaf about the ring, putting in the bare minimum effort at attacking his opponents except when the opponents REALLY strike back at which Cassidy explodes into an array of athletic fury while simultaneously never losing his cool. And it works! The gimmick worked insanely well on the independent scene, away from the strict guidelines of a major corporation who probably would not understand it, and fans adored Cassidy’s laidback, lazy attitude. And in AEW, Cassidy’s gimmick transfers flawlessly due to the company’s trust in Cassidy to make it work. And so, AEW remains a place where wrestlers can succeed not at the whims of an out-of-touch old man playing with his action figures in a way that satisfies only himself, but at the whims of creative people who believe in the equally creative minds out in the squared circle who themselves believe in the hearts of the audience, understanding full well what it is they want to see when they come to or tune into a wrestling program.

There are a multitude of other reasons AEW is probably the best wrestling promotion on the planet (ease of access, LGBT diversity among the roster) but the creative freedom it allows its wrestlers remains one of the greatest.

Okay, now I kinda get the appeal. So where does CM Punk tie into this?

As with any new promotion heavily allowing for greater creative opportunity for its wrestlers, fans are gonna want to see their big favorites join the roster. Names like Daniel Bryan, Aleister Black, Adam Cole etc. known from their time on both the independent scene and at WWE have been tossed around a lot during discussions in the past as far as who should jump ship to the promotion that will best suit them. But one person has always been the biggest “what-if” when it comes to joining AEW: CM Punk. As laid out earlier, CM Punk’s dissatisfaction with WWE was wholly responsible for his greater retirement from the pro wrestling scene. And when there’s only one really significant promotion on the market, why bother? Punk has been vocal in the past on Twitter, in interviews and many other places that his love for the business of pro wrestling was soured and that something truly significant would be required for him to return. It seemed natural to fans that, should AEW prove to be a significant competitor to WWE that, somehow, some way, it could lead to the in-ring return of one of the best to ever step foot in it. And when AEW announced it would be running the second episode of its brand-new show Rampage at the United Center in Chicago, Punk’s hometown, the rumors began to fly.

Punk himself is known for joking about and debunking rumors, hearsay and other lies about his potential signing with any wrestling-related outlets. So when the rumors began to fly that Punk was signing with AEW...the man himself stayed uncharacteristically quiet. And the wrestling world began to gasp...was it true, then? Teasers were thrown about here and there on AEW programming, small things that could go either way but to hardcore fans seemed to understand were plain as day. Punk himself even got in on the action, posting cryptic videos on his Instagram that fans eventually linked to the United Center and a return for the Best in the World. It’s been known as wrestling’s “worst-kept secret” and today, it was revealed in all its glory.

CM Punk, one of the original independent wrestling superstars, one of the few men responsible for changing the culture of professional wrestling in the 21st century, had finally returned home.

Okay, that was pretty explanatory. So now, where the heck can I watch all this?

Excellent question! AEW currently has three methods of airing content:

- Through their network TV shows aired on TNT

- Through their YouTube channel

- Through pay-per-view events

AEW Dynamite is the company’s flagship show airing Wednesdays at 8:00 EST/7:00 CST on TNT. All the company’s major storylines are told on Dynamite and the show usually runs for ~2 hours. There are over 90+ episodes of Dynamite and its not really required that you see every single one though there are many episodes that have aired in the past that feature matches, promos, and other segments worth checking out.

AEW Rampage is the company’s second show and currently only has two episodes aired. It also airs on TNT, Fridays at 10:00 EST/9:00 CST. Rampage has been given the description of being a little more “action-packed” than Dynamite, with shows only lasting for a single hour and featuring little promo time instead focusing primarily on matches themselves.

The company’s biggest stories tend to culminate in one of its four annual pay-per-view events. AEW pay-per-views are available via WarnerMedia's B/R Live service in the United States and Canada, and on FITE TV internationally. Additionally, AEW PPVs are also available via traditional PPV outlets in the United States and Canada and are carried by all major satellite providers. AEW PPVs generally cost around $50-60 and run for about four hours or so.

In addition to the two TNT shows and pay-per-views, AEW also runs two weekly shows on its YouTube channel, AEW: Dark and AEW: Dark Elevation. Both shows are generally referred to as AEW’s “developmental” shows, created mostly for unsigned or up-and-coming talent to showcase themselves in a taped format that forgoes the traditional network TV deals for easier access online. Dark and Dark Elevation’s differences are negligible but both tend not to crossover too much with the main shows, although some stories definitely do. Both shows run for ~an hour and a half on Monday nights at 7:00 EST/6:00 CST (Dark Elevation) and Tuesdays at 7 EST/6 CST (Dark).

AEW talent also provide a few extra sources of entertainment through their own YouTube outlets as well. The Elite, a popular stable in AEW consisting of current champion Kenny Omega and current tag team champions the Young Bucks, feature themselves in their own weekly travel vlog/comedy sketch series Being the Elite while other individual wrestlers like Sammy Guevara, Allie “The Bunny”, and Ethan Page provide more individualized backstage looks at the company through their own vlogs. These aren’t necessary to enjoy regular AEW programming but they definitely add to the atmosphere and you can tell through each how much the locker room loves and respects each other.

Wow, this was really in-depth and definitely not a small task at all. Thanks for the help!

No problem! If you have any questions, feel free to send me a message, though its doubtful I’ll receive it since I barely check Tumblr anymore! If you know me on any other platforms, the message still applies! Thanks so much for reading! I really do hope this helped you understand the situation a little better. Enjoy wrestling!

[butterflies-dragons]

Do you have any doubts that Sansa is the girl in grey? Is there strong grey imagery around Sansa?

I believe Sansa is the grey girl yes, but only GRRM has that answer.

About grey imagery around Sansa, I wrote about it here and there.

Grey is the main Stark color. Their sigil is a grey direwolf in a white field. Stark men wear grey cloaks, Winterfell is made of grey granite, Grey eyes is a Stark feature, etc.

There are some instances where Sansa actually wears or it is said that she will wear a grey cloak:

1.- Her first encounter with Dontos (false Florian) in the Red Keep's Godswood: "Sansa threw a plain grey cloak over her shoulders and picked up the knife she used to cut her meat. If it is some trap, better that I die than let them hurt me more, she told herself. She hid the blade under her cloak."

It is very curious that Dontos was also wearing grey during that first secret encounter: "He wore a dark grey robe with the cowl pulled forward, but when a thin sliver of moonlight touched his cheek, she knew him at once by the blotchy skin and web of broken veins beneath. "Ser Dontos," she breathed, heartbroken. "Was it you?"

2.- Cersei gave her a white and silver maiden cloak for her wedding to Tyrion. Stark colors are grey and white tho... I think in this case the silver is there instead of the grey of House Stark. I'm not sure if this is a mistake or not. "Cersei Lannister ignored the question. "The cloak," she commanded, and the women brought it out: a long cloak of white velvet heavy with pearls. A fierce direwolf was embroidered upon it in silver thread. Sansa looked at it with sudden dread. "Your father's colors," said Cersei, as they fastened it about her neck with a slender silver chain."

Curiously enough, Tyrion wore Targaryen colors to marry Sansa lol

3.- Littlefinger planned for Alayne to reveal her true identity as Sansa Stark wearing a maiden cloak with the Stark colors grey and white: "Jon Arryn's bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon . . . and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back . . . why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright.

From my answer about certain ship foreshadowing:

What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister?

In the shadow of the Wall, the direwolf brushed up against his fingers. For half a heartbeat the night came alive with a thousand smells, and Jon Snow heard the crackle of the crust breaking on a patch of old snow. Someone was behind him, he realized suddenly. Someone who smelled warm as a summer day. When he turned he saw Ygritte. She stood beneath the scorched stones of the Lord Commander’s Tower, cloaked in darkness and in memory. The light of the moon was in her hair, her red hair kissed by fire. When he saw that, Jon’s heart leapt into his mouth. “Ygritte,” he said. “Lord Snow.” The voice was Melisandre’s. Surprise made him recoil from her. “Lady Melisandre.” He took a step backwards. “I mistook you for someone else.” At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red. He did not understand how he could have taken her for Ygritte. She was taller, thinner, older, though the moonlight washed years from her face. Mist rose from her nostrils, and from pale hands naked to the night. “You will freeze your fingers off,” Jon warned. “If that is the will of R’hllor. Night’s powers cannot touch one whose heart is bathed in god’s holy fire.” “You heart does not concern me. Just your hands.” “The heart is all that matters. Do not despair, Lord Snow. Despair is a weapon of the enemy, whose name may not be spoken. Your sister is not lost to you.” “I have no sister.” The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister? Melisandre seemed amused. “What is her name, this little sister that you do not have?” “Arya.” His voice was hoarse. “My half-sister, truly …” “… for you are bastard born. I had not forgotten. I have seen your sister in my fires, fleeing from this marriage they have made for her. Coming here, to you. A girl in grey on a dying horse, I have seen it plain as day. It has not happened yet, but it will.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VI

Earlier in this chapter, Jon was thinking about Arya and her situation (trapped with the Boltons), and he was frustrated for not being able to help her. Then he remembered Ygritte, he confused Melisandre for Ygritte.

So, reading all the context:

What do you know of my heart, priestess? = This is about Ygritte. He is still hurt and mourning for her.

What do you know of my sister? = This is about Arya and her situation.

This is an excellent example of how GRRM plays with our minds with his tricky words:

“At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red”.  He is introducing us to the Grey Girl and her true identity.

Jon thinks he is seeing Ygritte but he was actually seeing Melissandre.

Melisandre and Jon also believe this grey girl of the visions is Arya Stark, but the person trapped with the Boltons is Jeyne Poole. And later, Alys Karstark was not even wearing a “grey” cloak.

For me the grey girl is neither of them. The answer is hidden in this line: “At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red”.

***

"At night all robes are grey" means all the confusion about the grey girl's true identity: Arya or Jeyne or Alys Karstark.

"Yet suddenly hers were red" means that the girl with the grey cloak will be a redhead, like Ygritte and Melisandre the two women Jon was confusing.

So, Sansa as the grey girl makes a lot of sense, she is a redhead and she is a Stark, and grey is the main Stark color.

And this is not the first time that Jon confused Ygritte with another female. Jon dreamed of a ghastly grey direwolf wandering around the Crypts of Winterfell, that seems to be Lady’s Shade:

The crypts were growing darker. A light has gone out somewhere. “Ygritte?” he whispered. “Forgive me. Please.” But it was only a direwolf, grey and ghastly, spotted with blood, his her golden eyes shining sadly through the dark . .

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VIII

Despite Jon assuming the direwolf was a "he," I strongly suspect it was Lady's Shade. Lady is buried at Winterfell, not Grey Wind. Lady was beheaded with Ice, so her fur would be spotted with blood. And Lady was said to have sad eyes.

So, Jon is always confusing Ygritte with another redheads...

From my Dunk & Jon meta:

Maybe I’m seeing too much here, but the reference to Alysanne Osgrey [Os-Grey] makes me think of Sansa Stark, because:

Sansa shared a lot of parallels with Good Queen Alysanne.

The surname Osgrey has the word grey in it.

Alysanne Osgrey became a Silent Sister.

Silent Sisters always wear grey.

Silent Sisters are known as the Stranger’s wives.

According to Melissandre, the Grey Girl of her visions is Jon Snow’s Sister.

The Grey Girl will probably be Sansa Stark.

Grey is also the color of House Stark, so Sansa is, in a way, a Grey Girl.

Jon is a man that will defeat death and come back to life, like the Stranger that walks between the two worlds.

The Stranger’s face is half animal, like Jon who is a warg, half man and half beast.

From my Jon/Sansa/Winterfell meta:

The stone is strong = The walls of Winterfell = Alayne Stone = Sansa Stark.

Sansa Stark has a lot of stone imagery around her.

Winterfell’s walls are made of grey granite. Grey is also a color of House Stark and I believe that Sansa will be the girl in grey on a dying horse from Melisandre’s vision.

As the Heir to Winterfell, Sansa was practically transformed into a stone castle, Winterfell, and the north itself, since the one that controlled her would obtain all her lands and power. Or, to use the euphemism from the Books, Sansa Stark was the “key to the north.”

Sansa reflects about this objectification in the Books and gives us one of the saddest lines in ASOIAF, especially coming from a girl who yearns to be loved and always dreamed of getting married: “No one will ever marry me for love,” (because everyone only wants her for her claim to Winterfell and the north).

Tyrion associates Sansa’s rejection of his advances as icy courtesy and compared that rejection with a castle wall that he never got to break:

“You hide behind courtesy as if it were a castle wall.” “Courtesy is a lady’s armor,” Sansa said. Her septa had always told her that.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

Sansa’s misery was deepening every day. Tyrion would gladly have broken through her courtesy to give her what solace he might, but it was no good.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion IV

He wanted to reach her, to break through the armor of her courtesy.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

The castle wall that armored Sansa and Tyrion never got to break is a clear reference to Winterfell:

He remembered Winterfell as he had last seen it. Not as grotesquely huge as Harrenhal, nor as solid and impregnable to look at as Storm’s End, yet there had been a great strength in those stones, a sense that within those walls a man might feel safe.

—A Clash of Kings - Tyrion XI

And certainly, Sansa feels stronger and protected within the walls of Winterfell:

Sansa stuck her fingers through the top, grabbed a handful of snow, and flung it full in his face. Petyr yelped, as the snow slid down under his collar. “That was unchivalrously done, my lady.” “As was bringing me here, when you swore to take me home.” She wondered where this courage had come from, to speak to him so frankly. From Winterfell, she thought. I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Sansa feeling stronger within the walls of Winterfell, sounds pretty similar to “the stone is strong” line from Bran quote cited above.

Later, while descending from the Eyrie to the Gates of the Moon, Mya Stone tells Sansa that “a stone is a mountain’s daughter.”

Men come and go. They lie, or die, or leave you. A mountain is not a man, though, and a stone is a mountain’s daughter. I trust my father, and I trust my mules. I won’t fall.” She put her hand on a jagged spur of rock, and got to her feet. “Best finish. We have a long way yet to go, and I can smell a storm.”

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

One of Winterfell’s possible meanings is “wintry mountain(s).” And Sansa Stark is “The northern girl. Winterfell’s daughter”.

As the daughter of Petyr Baelish, Alayne Stone also becomes the Heir to Harrenhal, another great castle made of strong stone. Only dragon fire was able to melt Harrenhal’s stone walls:

Stone does not burn, Harren had boasted, but his castle was not made of stone alone. […] And even stone will crack and melt if a fire is hot enough. The riverlords outside the castle walls said later that the towers of Harrenhal glowed red against the night, like five great candles… and like candles, they began to twist and melt, as runnels of molten stone ran down their sides.

—The World of Ice and Fire - The Reign of the Dragons: The Conquest

Moreover we have the parallels that Sansa shares with Jenny of Oldstones. And Oldstones serves us as an example of the strength of the stone.

Just like Winterfell was the stronghold of the ancient Kings of Winter, Oldstones was the stronghold of the ancient River Kings (House Mudd of Oldstones), both dynasties descendants of the First Men. And if we read about Oldstones, thinking about Winterfell is an inevitability:

They reached Oldstones after eight more days of steady rain, and made their camp upon the hill overlooking the Blue Fork, within a ruined stronghold of the ancient river kings. Its foundations remained amongst the weeds to show where the walls and keeps had stood, but the local smallfolk had long ago made off with most of the stones to raise their barns and septs and holdfasts. Yet in the center of what once would have been the castle’s yard, a great carved sepulcher still rested, half hidden in waist-high brown grass amongst a stand of ash. The lid of the sepulcher had been carved into a likeness of the man whose bones lay beneath, but the rain and the wind had done their work. The king had worn a beard, they could see, but otherwise his face was smooth and featureless, with only vague suggestions of a mouth, a nose, eyes, and the crown about the temples. His hands folded over the shaft of a stone warhammer that lay upon his chest. Once the warhammer would have been carved with runes that told its name and history, but all that the centuries had worn away. The stone itself was cracked and crumbling at the corners, discolored here and there by spreading white splotches of lichen, while wild roses crept up over the king’s feet almost to his chest.

—A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

Despite the pass of time the foundations of Oldstones remained and the stones were even used by the smallfolk to rise new buildings. The stone is really strong.

What also remained despite the centuries was the tomb of King Tristifer IV Mudd, also known as the Hammer of Justice, which immediately reminds me of the crypts of Winterfell and its stone kings sitting on their thrones with their swords across their laps.

And just like songs are still sung about a girl named Jenny from Oldstones who found true love with a Targaryen prince, I’m pretty sure that many songs will be sung about Sansa Stark from Winterfell and her own Targaryen prince.

Finally, is worth mentioning that Stark means “strong” in German. And there’s a theory about House Strong (extinguished) being linked to House Stark.

Stone = Strong = Stark

So by saying the stone is strong, we are also saying the stone is Stark.

Alayne Stone is Sansa Stark.

***

There you have it.

Thanks for your message ♡

[welcome-to-the-cafe]

Extreme Job (2019)

Ahhh, a break from representation issues and super serious artistic films. This was a blockbuster action comedy from South Korea, and according to wikipedia, the second most viewed movie of all time in South Korea as of May 2019, and made back 14X its 5.8 mil$ budge. Does it deserve such accolades?

My opinion: Yes!

It was an awesome and hilarious action flick with a lot of personality within every character. Chief Go the determined but downtrodden and unlucky team leader. Ma the weird but earnest human terminator with many hidden talents. Jang the sardonic almost-serial-killer with a heart of gold. Youngho the only straight man who nevertheless gets sucked into team antics. And Jaehoon, the young and idiotic young buck who wants to do everything and anything to help! Together, can they finally catch the drug lords before their boss disbands their squad for being so inept? Or will the fail by succeeding too well at making delicious fried chicken?

The comedy was delicious and crunchy. My favorite bits:

- Team hiding behind the frosted portion of the restaurant's glass wall. From the outside, all 5 of their shadows are extremely obvious and suspicious.

- Team setting up police surveillance equipment and materials in the lobby of the restaurant. Potential customers come through the door, and they have to dramatically throw all their maps and stuff off the board. They do this a bunch of times before locking the door.

- Team members cheering at their success at making chicken, before the realization hits them what success entails. Cut to them being extremely busy with the restaurant being very popular.

- The whole team complaining about how overworked they are making chicken and questioning whether they are even still police detectives. A customer calls and Chief Go answers "Suwon Rib Chicken, can chicken even be so good?", and everyone immediately goes to make chicken.

- Go presents his wife with a real Gucci bag, filled with money. She screams with surprise. Then unties her hair, and says to him "I'm gonna take a shower."

- When the team finally gets to deliver to the drug pushers across the street from the restaurant, so they roll out in V formation, and each member splits off to infiltrate with that ninja wushu ultra-instinct speed flow. Turns out the drug pushers have moved out already because the restaurant attracted too many people.

- The team being pissed at the drug pushers using their chicken chain, partially because the illegal drug thing but also pissed that they're ruining the brand!

- Final battle with the drug gang, each team member is revealed to be a seasoned fighter, except for the Jaehoon, who is just pain resistant, has a good bat swinging arm, and has just tasted some of the drugs and is now completely insane.

- Ma and Jang making out. The other three: >_>. Youngho to another officer: "Hey, can I have your gun? I need to shoot somebody. Is it loaded? Cmon dude I just need it for a second". Chief Go on the stretcher: "Please....make them stop...."

- The final scene where the team gets promoted, first smile normally, and then smile crazily

There are a lot more subtle jokes that I forget about.

In my opinion, the fried chicken restaurant portion, which only takes up the first half of the movie, was way too short. I really liked the faux philosophical quotes about fried chicken being the food of the Korean people. I felt the movie as a whole was a lot like Korean fried chicken; nothing too fancy and complicated, but very good and delicious, and shows Korean style and character.

Chief Go is played by Ryu Seung-ryong, who looks like a hardass working-class korean dad with thick eyebrows. Apparently he voiced the pimp in the Seoul Station animated movie and is a Japanese general in the Admiral Yi movie. Jang is played by Honey Lee, who was Miss Korea 2006. Youngho's actor is Lee Donghwi, who is handsome even with the mustache; I want to watch his other famous movie, Confidential Assignment, which is apparently another good North-Korean-spy-teams-up-with-South-Korean-cop thriller. Jaehoon is played by Gong Myung, who's younger brother is in NCT? Ma is played by Jin Seonkyu, and he's in Kingdom, the zombie netflix series.

Oh and the writer AND director is Lee Byeongheon. Definitely look forward to more of his work.

I like detective and police stories, but being in the US, I can't shake the racial aspects out of western cop flicks, with Blue Lives Matter and all that gross stuff. I get much less of that from Asian police stories, despite it still featuring police brutality and corruption, it just feels less...idk, disengenuous? Like I don't have the association of Asian cops being 'pigs' like I do for white cops, even if they are equally brutal. Is it just my own racial bias? Regardless, I'd like to watch more.

[annabethy]

under the mistletoe, watching the fire glow: day 1

Day 01/25 Days of Christmas: Charcter A ad Character B, sworn enemies, are chosen to prepare the company Christmas party,, percabeth

“Chase!”

Annabeth doesn’t bother hiding the sneer that forms across her face at the sound of their voice. As Percy slides in front of her, his face is all too bright and cheerful. Her eyes linger on his torso, covered in a green Christmas sweater with plastic ruffles hanging off of it that makes her want to throw up.

“Why the face?” Percy asks. He leans over onto the desk she’s standing behind, carelessly shoving aside her blueprints. She nearly smacks him as she watches the papers go flying. Annabeth’s pretty sure he has a degree in marine biology, so what he’s doing working for an architecture firm, she will never know.

“It’s because I have to look the devil reincarnate in the eyes,” she deadpans.

“Oh, that’s not nice.” Percy grins wider. “I prefer to be called the Grinch. Christmas festivities, and all that.”

“I have a few words I could call you,” she agrees. “The Grinch is generous.”

“So grumpy.” Percy’s fingers wander around her desk, plucking an ornament off of the company’s mini tree. “So I need to talk to you.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I’ll have you fired,” he threatens, but he doesn’t seem the slightest bit upset. Annabeth will never understand how he is able to keep such a calm façade when he’s around her. From the moment he walked into that office, she has hated the arrogance with which he walked, and she had no trouble making it known. There hadn’t been a specific starting point to their rivalry, but it was there, and it burned brighter than the North star.

“What do you want?”

“You see, I was talking to Chiron,” he starts, and the twinkle in his eye has her terrified, rightfully so. “And he mentioned that he’s not prepared for the company Christmas party. I was all oh yeah, I can help out, and he was like you should totally do it, and I was like oh, sure thing, but then, get this—”

Annabeth has an inkling as to where this is going.

“He says you have to help me.”

“Jackson.”

“Yes?”

“Would you like be murdered so close to Christmas? Never get to see your poor mother again?”

“I would not like that, no, but I hardly think you’re capable of homicide.”

“You’d be surprised what I’m capable of,” she says. “Something about Christmas transforms me into Rudolph with rabies. It’s bad.”

“You’re too cute,” he coos.

She is tempted to bite him, and she has to retrain herself from doing just that when he pokes her on the nose.

“Anyways, you don’t have a choice. He said you have to.”

“Why me? Why not literally any other employee here.”

“I have no idea,” he says. “I tried talking him out of it.”

Her eye twitches. “Why do I get the feeling that you didn’t?”

“You always get the feeling that I didn’t, or I did, or whatever the wrong choice is. You just have it out for me.”

She doesn’t think that’s necessarily true. She only points him out when he does something wrong, which is all the time. And sure, maybe she spends extra time pointedly looking for anything she can call him out for, but she likes to call that keeping him on edge. Someone had to keep this kid in check if he wasn’t going to himself.

“So once your shift is over, don’t leave. Meet me in the conference room on the third floor, West wing.” “I will not be meeting you there.”

“Yes, you will because Chiron says you have to.” He suddenly sets the ornament back onto the tree, ever so gently, and leans in close. She is too stubborn to move away so he ends up whispering in her ear, his warm breath tickling her. “You may not listen to me, but we all know that you’ll do whatever he says. So. Five o’clock. See you there.”

Annabeth promises herself throughout the rest of the day that she won’t go. She doesn’t always have to listen to her boss, and it’s not like he’d fire her or anything if she didn’t show — she worked too hard to get where she is, and he is well aware of the rivalry going on between them.

Still, as she walks down the hall to the conference room, she can’t say she’s surprised. Chiron has done so much for her, and if she has to succumb to a few hours of torture to make up for it, then that’s exactly what she’ll do.

As she enters the room, she is met with the sight of Percy in the middle of the room, surrounded by the largest assortment of rainbow lights and garland that she has ever seen in her entire life. For a moment, she forgets about the fact that she is forced to be here. Instead, she focuses on the sparkle and joy she can just feel in the room, and the smile of pure excitement that is on his face.

“Where did you get all of this?” she asks, stepping inside. She has to make her way over a few glass decorations splattered about, but she makes it without completely dying.

“I went shopping,” he says, gleeful. He picks a string of lights up, inspecting it closely before dropping it back down onto his lap. Annabeth sits near him, but still far away that he can’t ‘accidentally’ choke her with Christmas lights.

“You paid for all of this?”

“Stole the company card. Where do you think I’ve been all day?”

And it dawns on her that he really hasn’t been there for most of the day. It’s no wonder it had been so quiet; he hadn’t been pestering her every two seconds.

She hums. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“Desperate to leave?”

“With you here? Of course.”

Percy frowns but doesn’t say anything about it. “Just make this place look pretty.”

She tries her best, but it’s admittedly not very good. It kind of looks like Santa Claus and his elves threw a very messy tantrum. She stands next to Percy to inspect the final product. She can feel her ears tinging red.

“I don’t understand what happened here,” he says, baffled.

“I think my decorating skills were corrupted by your severe incompetence.” Percy smirks but turns to face her. “My severe incompetence?”

“Yes.”

“May I ask what I did this time?”

“What?”

“You’re always insulting me. Why?”

“Because—” She gestures vaguely. “You’re you.”

“I’m me?”

Her mind blanks. “Uh… ugly.”

Percy guffaws, but he doesn’t seem offended. “All this time I thought you hated me, but it’s actually because I’m ugly?” He whistles. “I don’t know whether to feel relieved or depressed.”

“Bit of both, perhaps.” Annabeth knows for a fact that her face is redder than the mistletoe along the edges of the room. Everything she could complain about and has complained about, and she says that he’s ugly? The one thing that he’s actually not? She may not like him, but even she can appreciate his sharp jawline and striking eyes.

“So if I were less ugly, you would stop calling me incompetent?”

“Exactly.”

“Ah.” Percy elbows her, and she squirms. “And here I was, thinking we were mortal enemies.”

“Oh, we are. I can’t be associated with ugly monsters.”

“Damn, Annabeth. Way to put salt in the wound.”

“You could always just insult me back.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You always do.”

At that, Percy faces her again, alarmed. “I do not.”

“Yes, you do!”

“I’m careful with my words. I may tease you, but I have never called you names.”

She tries to prove him wrong, but she suddenly can’t think of a single instance where he’s actually said something blatantly rude. It turns out she’s just a raging asshole.

“Call me ugly.”

Percy blinks. “What?”

“Now you made me feel bad, so say something mean. Make me cry. You have full permission.”

“I wouldn’t want to lie to you.”

It takes a second before she gathers what he’s saying, and she’s suddenly blushing from something entirely different than embarrassment. “You think I’m pretty?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“I— no?”

Percy stares at her for what feels like an eternity. “I’ve been flirting with you since forever.”

She snorts. “I like to poke you on the nose and play with your hair. I wink at you, like, every day!”

“I thought you were just bullying me.”

“I’m sorry, but that does not qualify as bullying.”

“You made Chiron demand I decorate for a Christmas party.”

“Yeah, he never said that. He actually has no idea you’re here right now.”

“You did this!?”

“I wanted to spend time with you?” he tries in excuse.

“But we don’t like each other!”

“I thought we were always messing around. I didn’t know you actually despised me.”

She doesn’t know that she despises him. Strongly dislikes, maybe, but she doesn’t think she actually hates him. Now that she’s here, staring him in his green eyes, feeling like a kicked puppy is staring straight at her, she doesn’t know if she actually even disliked him, or was just too stuck to her pride to acknowledge that he wasn’t a terrible person.

“I don’t hate you.”

He sniffs. “Well now I don’t believe you.”

“Oh, you toddler.”

And somehow, Percy still smiles. She’ll never know how he keeps with the cheer. “So what I’m hearing is that we’re friends.”

Percy is too good for her. She insults him to his face and he just smiles through it. He doesn’t hesitate to reassure her, and now that she thinks of it, he never has. When she’s struggling to walk through the halls, Percy is always the first to help her carry her things, even when she hurls her nasty words his way. And the one time she was sick, he was the one to sit her down and drive her home. He’s always been so generous even when she doesn’t deserve it, and she doesn’t understand why she’s never seen it before.

It’s like something inside of her has shifted, like these few hours spent alone with him have suddenly erased everything she thought in the past. It makes sense, now that she realizes that the past was nothing more than an image she was too stubborn to replace.

“No?” Percy smiles. “I get it. You want to be my girlfriend.” She holds up a hand. “Wait a second—”  

“Even better! My wife!”

She chokes, laughing. She thinks this might be the first time she let herself genuinely smile at something he’s said. It’s a nice feeling. “Let’s start with friends.”

Percy steps forwards, towering over her. “Oh, I’m so going to make you my girlfriend.”

Annabeth wants to protest, but with the look that he’s giving her now, making her legs go weak, she thinks that it just might be possible in this Christmas magic.

“Guess what,” he whispers, now directly beside her.

She trembles, a foreign chill shooting down her back. “What?”

“Mistletoe.”

She looks up, expecting to find the small plant being held above her head, but instead she is met with the sound of Percy laughing. “Made you look.”

She laughs along with him, shoving his chest playfully. “This is why I hate you.”

“Except you don’t hate me,” he says, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her in for a side hug. “You love me.”

“Sure,” she says.

“So you should kiss me then. If you love me, and all.”

If it had been two hours earlier, she would’ve said not a chance, but something’s changed. She isn’t sure what it is or when exactly it had happened between then and now, but something seemed to click. It has her reaching onto her toes to press a sweet kiss to his cheek, right on the dimple that appears as his face morphs into the kindest, gentlest smile.

“There,” she says softly. “A kiss.”

Percy bites his lower lip and shakes his head. There is a look on his face — adoration, she thinks. A voice whispers love. “I’m going to make you fall in love with me, Annabeth Chase.”

It doesn’t take long at all.

[ink-and-dagger]

Dearest Darlings 🖤

Writing Chapter 14 of Drink With Me is turning out to be comparable to wrestling two crocodiles into a single pair of skinny jeans.

It’s going to be a little while longer yet whilst I iron out some kinks (no, not that kind you filthy sluts). But in the meantime… I guess I could share the beginning with you…

DWM Chapter 14 Sneak Peek

[edits may be made in the final draft]

Silco is the bow of a ship; a devastating figurehead cutting effortlessly through the choppy waters of the crowded club.

Which must make you his True North. 

Because the point of his compass is fixed unwaveringly upon you. 

He moves with the utter confidence of a man who knows that people will clear the way for him. And they do. Quickly, and with mixed expressions of terror and awe.

It’s been a few days since you last saw him, and your body is still dappled in pretty shades of mauve and merlot that you can’t help but admire any chance you get. Connecting the dots with your fingertips; retracing the journey he’d taken by touch and memory. The secret smile which graces your lips whenever you do is just as much a mark that he’s left upon you as the bruises are. And it’s one that’s unlikely to fade so fast.

The vulnerability he’d worn when you’d left his office is nowhere to be seen. The man who approaches now is every bit the dynamic, self-assured King of Zaun. Though there’s a quiet shine in his eyes which you suspect is only for you.

You lean your elbows on the bar as he arrives; tucking them together just a little and offering him a lovely view straight down the front of your top. 

But he’s a gentleman, and allows himself only a brief, surreptitious glance at your cleavage before meeting your eyes again with a small smirk. The one that accentuates his slight overbite and makes you embarrassingly giddy.

“What can I get you, handsome?”

His smirk widens.

“I’m not here to drink. I have need of your talent.”

“Which one?” You ask with a suggestive little head tilt. Your back is to Jasper – but you can feel the roll of his eyes all the same.

A flurry of filthy responses flicker through Silco’s mind - you can tell by the way he sucks his teeth slightly in order to keep from voicing them, and he eyes the marks which peek over the collar of your shirt like an artist proudly surveying their work, “I have a meeting in half an hour with a business associate.”

You pout, “Is she prettier than me?”

“He’s a bastard,” amusement colours the drawl of his words, “Regardless. Social etiquette calls for me to offer him refreshment during his visit."

“Well it’s a good job you keep a drinks cart up in your office then, isn’t it?”

His chuckle is low and dark beneath the music, but it vibrates through you just as surely as the bass, “I find myself with a craving for one of those Old Fashions you make.”

“You do, hm?”

He inclines his head in confirmation.

You straighten and plant your hands on the counter. With a little hop, your boots leave the floor and you lock your elbows into place so that you hover eye level with Silco. You hinge your weight forward slightly by bending your knees up behind you. The edge of the bar presses a little into your still bruised hip bones, and your ankles cross casually over one another in midair.

“You know, Silco, sweetie,” you purr, perhaps a little overly brazen with how close you lever yourself towards him, and how openly flirtatious you’re being. But you find that you no longer care. Besides, he doesn’t make any move to retreat, or to hide the obvious attraction in his gaze, "If you want to see me, you don’t need to come up with some bullshit excuse. You can just come and say hi.”

The scar on his lip quirks in time with the mirth that flashes in his eyes. He doesn’t even try to deny it.

“What does your friend drink?”

“Gin.”

You wrinkle your nose, “So he’s a Piltie, huh?”

The club lights catch on a brief flash of broken teeth - accompanied by a chuckle that's spontaneous enough to actually shift his shoulders a little, “Sometimes I forget about that clever little intuition of yours.”

You click your tongue, “Should I be insulted?”

“Never, darling.”

“Pity. I’m a big fan of your method of repentance.”

His only response is a wicked little smirk that has heat pooling low in your belly. You pull your lip between your teeth, and he tracks the movement.

And then he turns and stalks wordlessly away. 

You’re insulted for half a second, until you realise he’s headed out back instead of up to the balcony. And then your indignance is replaced instantly by a giddy fizz of excitement.