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

[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

[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

[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.❞

[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. 

[influencermagazineuk]

Three men have come forward with allegations against Sean “Diddy” Combs, claiming the hip-hop mogul drugged them and sexually assaulted them while they were unconscious. The accusations, detailed in lawsuits filed in New York on Thursday, add to the growing legal troubles for the music icon, who is also facing federal sex trafficking charges. The anonymous lawsuits filed under the names John Doe, which detail alleged incidents that happened between 2019 and 2022, paint a disturbing picture. A former employee said Combs drugged and raped him in 2020 after they met at the InterContinental Hotel in Times Square to discuss overdue payments. Another accuser testifies that in 2019, he met Combs at a Manhattan nightclub and was subsequently invited to an afterparty at the Park Hyatt Hotel. There, he testified, he was given a drink laced with a drug, rendering him unconscious, and was then assaulted. He testified he tried to struggle before he lost consciousness from the effects of the drug. The man testified he was handed $2,500 by someone who had been recording the assault after the attack. Arthur from Westchester County north of NYC, USA, at Arthur@NYCArthur.com, CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0, via Wikimedia Commons The third man claims that he was drugged and sexually assaulted at Combs' East Hampton mansion during a party attended by associates from the mogul's record label in the summer of 2020. The three men's lawyer, Thomas Giuffra, said that the lawsuits are an important step toward empowering the victims. This is a long overdue opportunity for the victims to take the power back after carrying the burden of the assaults in silence for several years," Giuffra said in a statement. "While a lawsuit will not undo the wrongs done to them, it enables the survivors to regain the power and dignity that was stripped from them by Sean Combs. The lawsuits claim that Combs exploited his influence and wealth to victimize the accusers, silenced them through fear, threats, and manipulation. Each of the plaintiffs is seeking a jury trial and unspecified financial damages. Combs' defense team has vigorously denied the allegations. Those complaints are full of lies," his lawyers said. "We will prove them false and seek sanctions against every unethical lawyer who filed fictional claims against him. These lawsuits mark the latest in a line of legal challenges for the 55-year-old founder of Bad Boy Records, accused of orchestrating years of sexual abuse. Prosecutors say Combs coerced people into participating in what they describe as "Freak Offs," elaborate drug-fueled sexual events featuring male sex workers. The accusations include not only sexual violence but also other forms of intimidation, such as blackmail, physical beatings, arson, and even kidnapping. Combs has maintained his innocence and pleaded not guilty to the federal charges. He has been in custody since his arrest and remains in a federal detention center in Brooklyn. Last month, his third attempt to secure bail was denied, leaving him behind bars as he awaits trial scheduled for May. These lawsuits bring a moment of reckoning for many across the music industry, peeling off the veil off allegations of abuses of power. Of course, they remain to be seen; still, these cases have already encouraged public discourses on responsibility and culture of silence meant to hide such powerful figures long. While Combs' attorneys continue to dismiss the allegations as baseless, the accusers and their legal team are determined to fight for justice. "This is about more than financial compensation—it's about giving these survivors their voices back," Giuffra added. "They deserve their day in court to expose the truth and begin the process of healing." Read the full article

[animal25]

Bombay Cat: Size, Teeth, Adoption, Personality, Price & Special Food

Bombay Cat is a simple, yet energetic cat. She does well in quiet apartments where she is the center of attention as well as in lively homes with children and other pets. He’ll talk to you in a different voice, and you’ll find him in the warmest place in your house, whether it’s in the sunlight from the window or curled up under the covers in bed with you.

Bombay cat origin: USA

Weight: 6 – 11 pounds

Lifespan: 12 – 15 years

Size: Medium, with males weighing 8 to 11 pounds and females weighing 6 to 9 pounds

Association Recognition: CFA, ACFA, TICA

Breed Characteristics

Cats are known for being independent, but it seems Bombay cats “missed the memo.” Bombay craves human company. If you work long hours away from home or travel a lot, Bombay may not be the best breed choice. They just need a lot of interaction and will get depressed if left alone.

Because they are outgoing and sociable, Bombay will greet strangers with curious interests and are happy to play with children as long as they are polite. Bombays also get along well with friendly dogs and other cats, especially when raised together.Lap Cat: 4PointIntelligence: 4PointEase Of Training: 4PointGrooming Requirements: 2PointShedding: 2PointGood With Children: 4PointGood With Dogs: 4PointChattiness: 3Point

Bombay Cat History

Bombay was started in 1950 by Nikki Horner. it wanted to develop a cat that looked like a Burmese but with a sleek black coat and copper eyes instead of brown fur and yellow eyes — like a pint-sized panther. She named the breed after Bombay, India, the land of the black leopard.

She found a black American Shorthair male with the eye color it wanted and crossed him with one of her best Burmese.

After much trial and error, Horner finally produced the results he was looking for: a cat with the body type and short polished coat of the Burmese, and the copper-colored eyes and black color of the American Shorthair.

However, Horner soon learned that creating a race as attractive as Bombay did not mean recognition or acceptance. It was not until the 1970s that the breed was accepted for registration by the CFA.

Bombay is considered an Asian self-colored shorthair. Although still uncommon in both the United Kingdom and North America, the breed has a dedicated following.

Appearance

The Bombay has a stocky, muscular build and round head, resembling a small leopard or jaguar. Its ears are medium size, and its large eyes range in color from rich gold to copper. The coat is fine and short, with a satin-like texture and a lustrous, patent-leather sheen.

Temperament

The Bombay personality tends to be highly social, marked by a strong attachment to families, and characterized by a craving for attention. As a breed, they are therefore very suitable for children.

Personality

If you can provide a separate, independent identity, this link is not for you. The Bombay is a love ling: playful, affectionate, docile, and will agree to any suggestion from their family, especially if it involves cuddling or cuddling on the verve.

Because of their crossbreeding, the Bomberé is a happy balance between the American Short and the frisky, vocal Burmese. However, today the American Shorthair is more like the Burmese than the less famous Bombay American Shorthair.

They are very intelligent and people-seeking (thanks to their Burmese background), but won’t talk to you every second of the day (thanks to the American Shorthair). However, if you have to give importance to what they feel, and that hypnotizing you can definitely, and to some extent you can trust them to watch you until you give them your full attention, and turn on the messages.

They should be given due attention, and your informants are clever in their efforts. When you sit down, don’t be surprised to see your Bombay sitting next to you after a while.

Bombays are very personable with their families and love the whole family rather than one person. Some say they are especially good with good children. For their curiosity and second intelligence, the bird chooses the bomb object, the whole being explained by them. They monitor every move and choose help in every task. This doesn’t get the job done quickly, but it’s decent fun.

more details:https://animalatoz.com/bombay-cat/

[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."

[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.

[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.

[moonbaby26]

Title: The Village

Pairing: Loki x Goddess!Reader

Summary: Story set nearer the Viking Age. You were a Greek sea goddess who crossed paths with the god of mischief. Continuation of previous chapter. Loki returns again, this time manipulating you into becoming involved with infighting between mortals. Yet with some goals of his own fulfilled in the end results. Guest appearance in this chapter by the god Eros.

Warnings: *Smut near the end of the chapter* Beginning and end of smut is marked in red within the chapter for those who wish to skip it.

Chapters: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: @rosaline-black , @lawfeys , @loveableasshole , @insanitybyanothername

My Masterlist

——————————

It was a little over three weeks later before anything else had happened. But you’d tried very hard to remain reasonable with your daydreaming in the time between. Because Loki owed you nothing after all.

It would have been far easier to write off your experience with him as just brief acts of lust that any two beings could experience. Yet, you’d found yourself thinking just as much about those quiet hours sitting beside him with a book in your hand as you did that very physical night in the cave together. The parts were equal in your mind. You desired to have both again, because all of it was him.

The real surprise was still there though when word finally reached you that he’d again returned to the ocean’s edge. You could not take a moment for granted. And you wouldn’t, even as each time he came you found your excitement only grew. That warmth that rose through you at just the sound of his name only came quicker and lasted longer every time.

Yet today had also been the first where he hadn’t called from that southern beach where you’d met all the times previous. This fourth meeting actually came in the north. From the lands you would have more associated with the legends of his family to begin with.

Even though the bifrost could open wherever he asked it to you supposed, your curiosity still swelled predictably as you stepped out of the icy waters onto these more foreign black sands. It was rocky, and the sky only grey above as you first saw him standing there near the water’s edge.

And you did stare, seeing his normal black and green leather now replaced with golden armor and a flowing emerald cape. He was in full adornment this time, including that horned helmet you’d only seen in artists’ renderings from the books you’d studied before.

It suited him well, though making a stark contrast between the two of you you were sure as you only stood before him barefoot and dripping wet in one of your usual dresses.

“Are you off to battle?” You asked in genuine question, still taking that view in.

He just smirked though, seeming to be staring at you as well. “Don’t you ever get cold running around so uncovered like that?”

“I feel the cold, yes. But it doesn’t harm me.” You answered simply, though still looking at him expectantly as he’d ignored your own question.

He just turned after another moment though, beginning to walk back up the bank. “I’m only here on an errand for Father. Normally this foolishness would be something I’d decline. But with Odin and brother both off battling in Alfheim, it left Father no choice but to send his second option of course.”

You were already walking as well then, following him without even being asked. He made it all sound so uninteresting though. And if he didn’t even want to be here, then why would he have called you as well then?

A path cut between the cliff face that edged the shoreline, and before you could ask anything further, you were surprised to see a large mortal village coming into view further up the path. You stopped immediately, hesitating at the sight.

But he noticed as you did so, only looking back at you tauntingly as he paused as well. “Don’t tell me you’re shy now?”

What was he planning to do? You tried to keep your contact with mortals limited save for whatever your own father asked you to do, as directly interfering in the wrong ways could sometimes lead to serious consequences. You honestly shirked the attention, often not even letting them lay eyes on you unless you were under the guise of something else.

“Are you planning to make yourself known to them?” You asked a bit incredulously.

“Well of course. How else should they know who to thank when we’re done here?” He answered as if it was only the most obvious thing in the world before he just continued ahead without you.

His stride was so confident. Not a trace of feeling out of place at all even as you couldn’t bear it any longer, transforming yourself into an osprey just to fly nervously along up above him before you could be seen.

Yet he didn’t seem surprised, only a slight smugness in his expression as he glanced up at you briefly in your new form.

That was before the mortal soldiers erupted out at the edge of the settlement anyway. Their yelling brought Loki’s attention back to the path, and you circled in the sky, trying to interpret the words.

Their tone was so much gruffer and faster, harder for you to translate in realtime.

But Loki’s elegant, almost indifferent tone of response you understood far better as he only answered back in that same Nordic tongue.

“Unleash those arrows upon me, beasts, and you’ll find them quite wasted. Are you really so inept as to not recognize your own savior now standing before you?”

With that, he extended out his arms in a grandiose gesture of self importance. Yet the movement proved to be more than just empty posing as you then saw all their arrows fall to the ground as writhing snakes.

The illusion was extremely convincing, even these burly men startling in surprise at the sight.

“Sorcery!” One of them called, though rightly looking no more trusting at the revelation.

“What clan do ye hail from? State your purpose here, sorcerer!” Another said.

Even from this distance, you could see the brief look of exasperation as Loki rolled his eyes. “Has my brother really been away from Midgard so long that you now fail to recognize the house of Odin at all? Such disrespect.”

It was only the mention of Odin’s name that brought an all new nervousness to the men’s body language.

And that edge of newfound fear clearly pleased Loki. “Oh, now things are finally coming together! But seeing is believing, isn’t it boys?”

In an instant then, there was not just one of him, but multiple as replicant images of Loki suddenly surrounded the men. His voice echoing as it came from each, “Odin the Allfather has answered your prayers, I, Loki, god of Asgard shall spare your clan and this village from your enemy’s approach.” His cold smirk returned. “But I require your full allegiance in return of course.”

The fear was really evident in their faces then, but in your own mind you doubted the duplicate images were anything tangible. They likely couldn’t harm the men, only the real Loki could. But the trickery was sufficient as in your surprise, you saw the men fall to their knees one after the other.

And the most genuine grin you’d ever seen on Loki’s face spread instantly at that. He actually chuckled, an honest, happy sound as the men’s heads also bowed.

“Forgive us, Loki, god of mischief.” The oldest looking of the men spoke humbly then. “No one here has laid eyes on a god of Asgard in our lifetimes. We only know the legends our ancestors have taught us, of your victories at Odin’s side across the nine realms. Our loyalty does still lay with you, son of Odin.”

“Finally, a wise man speaks.” Loki answered, still pleased before continuing. “You must be the clan chief. Listen to your elders, boys. And remember it was only Loki who came here today. Not Odin, not Thor. Me. That should be noted in your carvings from now on. Those little hammers embellished on your shields gave you no help today. Mjolnir hears not your pleas.”

And still circling above in your bird of prey form, it was only then that you did notice those emblems on their shields as well. It was clear no details escaped Loki.

“Thor forgets you, too occupied in the happenings of the other realms, but I, merciful as I am do not.”

You may have sighed at that, if you’d been physically capable anyway. He was clearly enjoying this now. But out the corner of your vision, something else caught your eyes as you turned sharply back into the wind.

Sails. Large white sails approaching over the ocean’s horizon. You suddenly remembered Loki’s comment then about sparing this place from their enemy’s approach. But now your nervousness only returned full force as you swooped back down towards him.

Did he really plan to interfere in a coming battle here? Maybe he had permission to do so, but you absolutely did not!

You chirped sharply, but realized quickly he could not understand you in this form. Not like the nymphs could. He seemed amused though at your evident agitation as he offered his forearm. You landed awkwardly on his arm, talons closing around the armor there as you spread your wings to maintain your balance.

He leaned his face in slightly though, speaking only to you in your native Greek. “Was it that many boats then? They’re only marauders. I’m sure your father won’t mind if you kill a few. All you’d need say is that these Norse folk had shown you hospitality, and then these other fools attacked. What else were you to do? And regardless, I’ve already promised our protection to them.”

Our? Your eyes stared holes into him at that. You had promised nothing. This was beyond ridiculous. Yet even in your annoyance, you knew deep down that there were still rules of etiquette that had been bred into you. Ones that couldn’t be ignored when it came to dealings with other gods. If he told them he would do something, while expecting your help to make it happen, and then you let him fail...it could only make them lose further faith in all your kind.

Which even Zeus himself would have admitted that lack of respect as a worsening problem with every successive mortal generation. They believed less and less.

“If you let their boats reach the shore, they’ll happily kill every last man and child on this soil. Only the younger women would live, albeit would they really wish to once they’re sold off like livestock?” Loki added, almost chipper even in those dark words.

You gave the side of his helmet a good, harsh peck, making him turn his face away in reflex before you finally took flight again.

God of mischief indeed. What were you really getting yourself into if you only kept showing him that you were here for whatever use he saw fit?

Though you had somewhat told him that hadn’t you? Back on the beach that day. That whatever kind of relationship he desired with you, you would address the needs as you came to them. You’d more meant in the sense of possibly becoming closer than friends of course. More like that night in the cave. But this...what in Gaia’s name was this?

You pumped your wings hard, then flying back over the sea as you neared the boats and quickly counted them. How many would you have to destroy in order to break their morale?

The quicker you could get this done though, the better. Any kind of prolonged battle may only attract more onlookers, increasing the chances of you having to explain these uncomfortable motivations with your father soon.

Tucking your wings in, you dove suddenly, the only difference between you and a real osprey being that as soon you hit the water, you didn’t surface again. You regained the form of a woman once more, sinking beneath the boats even as you raised your arms towards them.

It took real concentration, especially when your emotions were still all over the place. But the previously calm seas did eventually start to churn. As you clenched your fists, the whirlpools began to tighten around first one, then two, then three of the longships

That should be well enough you thought to yourself. Even from below you could hear the wood snapping as the hulls began to give. Once the boats listed past the point of no return, the masts began to snap as well, the large canvas that was the sails crashing down to the water below and billowing out.

The sunlight cut through the fabric, making the strangest shadows as you swam back from under it. You noted that these men were fairly capable swimmers as well as the fallen began to make their own ways back to the surface.

You left their survival to chance, not trying to pull them any further down, but not helping them either as they swam for rescue towards the remaining boats.

The nymphs that had followed you to this shore also kept things hands off, merely watching in a mix of awe and confusion from beneath the water. But you didn’t have time to explain, only nodding your acknowledgement towards them. They would have to wait.

But you weren’t sure what you were really going to tell them either as you only changed back into the osprey then, breaking the surface before you flapped hard enough to leave the water entirely. You simply glided back towards shore once you caught the wind again.

Loki now stood expectantly on the beach, far more men than you had seen earlier gathered behind him. Dumbstruck expressions graced all the mortals faces as that prince of Asgard only offered you his arm once more.

You landed on his forearm again, making sure to fluff your wet feathers hard enough to throw some seawater on him. Just because you’d done what he’d wanted didn’t mean your frustration was at all over. Conversations would definitely be had.

But he only smiled even as that bit of cold water ran back down his neck and beneath his armor, further annoying you before he whispered then. “Quite a performance. But don’t act as if I won’t be rewarding you later. The day is still young.”

Yet you could only ponder the meaning behind such words, as you were then the one who had to endure several more hours of the village’s praises for Loki instead.

When the marauders had indeed retreated, fading back from sight, all the mortals had come out to rejoice. The ones who had witnessed it all firsthand, recounted the events with excitement again and again to all those others who came to listen.

You’d ended up in their mead hall, candles burning in the dim structure as it filled with the smell of cooked meat and the raucous noise of the townspeople. Men, women, and even the children all filled the hall in celebration.

Loki of course sat at the head of the long feast table as the guest of honor, quite comfortable you thought in their most ornate chair as you only perched on one of its armrest beside him. In the candlelight, the shadows danced around the edges of his face and helmet.

Even in this bird form, you thought he caught you staring at him a few times though. But what else did you have to do? You couldn’t speak, and you still didn’t want to reveal your true self to these strangers. You kept hoping he’d have his fill of the attention at some point, where you’d finally be able to leave again.

But that was wishful thinking surely. Though you did put your attention back to the mortals as the clan chief had made his way to the both of you.

He bowed respectfully, “Prince Loki, I wished to inform you that I have spoken to our carpenters and they believe the building you requested could be finished within two months time.”

Your confusion may have even translated through your body language then as your head tilted and your feathers ruffled. The what?

But Loki didn’t add any elaboration to the subject, only seeming pleased. “Good.” He said simply.

And before you could show any further displeasure at being left in the dark, you saw that mortal leader then looking at you specifically with curiosity.

“If it is not too much a question, prince...” He started, yet treading carefully. “I have heard the stories of the Allfather and his ravens Huginn and Muninn. But I did not know you too possessed a bird, and of such ability. What is its name? It’s quite beautiful.”

His words were unexpected, but the greater surprise was the feel of Loki’s fingers then down your neck and back, physically petting you as if you really were just some adored companion.

You startled, chirping as you turned your head to nip his hand in reflex.

Loki only grinned once more though, moving his fingers out of your reach just as quickly. “Oh, she’s quite proud. Which she should be. Father’s birds are only spies. This bird you see here is...” Loki gave you a sly look, as if teasing that he would reveal you in that very moment. But he didn’t, just glancing back to the man instead. “I call her Kærr.”

Who? You stared. So he was just making up names for you now? And you didn’t even recognize the word as you racked your brain to try and remember a meaning for it in the Norse words you’d read.

But you couldn’t. It could mean fool for all you knew. Little fool who just followed Loki, letting themselves be used in all the dumbest ways.

——————————

At last, the festivities had finally begun to wane and Loki had stood. The mortals all praising him once more as he’d made some speech about needing to return to Asgard, but now being a protector of this town as long as they kept their loyalty to him.

You were truthfully tired by now. Not so much physically, but mentally from the run of emotions you’d had to deal with in silence over the last several hours.

It was fully nighttime when he’d finally walked out of view from the village, now deep in some dark forest, probably heading towards wherever he planned to reopen the bifrost.

When you were confident that no mortals had followed though, you at last landed on the forest floor in front of him, changing back into your true form of a woman.

“Start talking. Now.” You breathed. The anger you’d wanted to express earlier though just sounded like exasperation. But you had so many questions.

He paused, the bits of moonlight that broke through the tree canopy, now glinting white off his armor as he grinned.

“You do have patience, goddess. But I didn’t ask you to trap yourself in the form of a bird all day, let’s remember that firstly.” And he only walked closer to you at that, seemingly all too confident that you wouldn’t attack him just in spite now. “Secondly, I did this for the both of us.”

“For us?” You asked incredulously.

“Well you were too shy to take proper credit of course, which again, not my fault. But I told them this town was under our protection-”

“And you’ll just go back to Asgard and leave me to deal with it! If a god goes back on their word, you know how that makes us all look. I didn’t ask to adopt a village today!”

Yet he was unbothered even as your voice rose. “You’ll do wonderfully. Don’t pretend you don’t have a weakness for these creatures. I’ve seen how you pity them. Consider them your new pets, my gift to you.”

But you scoffed, still so disbelieving. “You’re mad. And really, did Odin even send you here? Or was that more fantasy as well?”

Yet the more flustered you got, the more amused he started to look. “Well, the village leader’s great, great, great something or other ancestor actually was a friend of my Father’s. They fought side by side once. But no, Father doesn’t know I’m here. He’s in Alfheim, as I said.”

But Loki knew it’d give you more inclination to go along with things surely if Odin’s name was attached. Didn’t he? “And the marauders?” You asked as your questions only continued.

He just smirked. “That probably would have happened on its own eventually. There’s a lot of bad blood there apparently. But I’m not as patient as you. That did need a little goading.”

You sighed. “Which you provided I’m sure. Did you pass word to them that this village was preparing to attack them?”

“Oh, something like that.”

“Okay, but why? They say you like chaos, but I haven’t seen you do anything yet that wasn’t for a reason.”

“I already told you. This is for us.” He only reiterated.

“And I still don’t believe it. What building was that man talking about making? A shrine to you? A temple?”

“A house.” He corrected.

“A...what?” You stared.

“Well, not what I’d consider a real one. It had to be quite small unfortunately, or else it’d take them a year or more to build. But nearby, up on this hill actually is where it will be. I told them we’d need a place to stay when in the mortal realm. And if they kept it well maintained, our protection would continue.”

You were finally silent for a few moments then, thoughts spinning furiously. Madness was right. Did he really...did he really plan all this for just this reason? “So, is that why you did all this?” You asked at last.

“I’d prefer not to just meet in wet, muddy caves for the foreseeable future if it’s all the same to you.” He answered with a little air of haughtiness returning.

But you weren’t ready to trust yet. Not where it really counted. “And should I be flattered? Or is there a ‘house’ like this in every realm for you?”

For those words though, even in the moonlight you could see a greedier look come into his eyes as he tilted his head, examining you once more. “Hmm. That’s new. But as fetching as jealousy is on you...you’re wrong. My only other bed would be in Asgard. And I don’t waste my time trying to fill it.”

Jealous? Is that what he thought? You opened your mouth as if to retort, but realized anything you could think to say in defense would only make him sound more correct.

“This is ridiculous.” Was all you finally said. Not knowing how to really express anything further.

“And what else would you really have done so important today if I hadn’t come?” He smirked, reaching a hand out.

He held your chin lightly then, making you realize how close he’d really moved to you in the time you’d been talking.

“You already forgot what I promised didn’t you?” He asked more quietly then.

Your look in return said that you clearly had before he just continued.

“Your reward.” He spoke, before leaning in to kiss you.

You tensed, but didn’t pull away. Such arrogance you still managed to think though, him acting as if his touch alone would erase every negative feeling and upset of the day.

But life was now more complicated than you’d ever known before. Even if this didn’t make everything alright and forgiven...you didn’t want him to stop either as you eventually returned the kiss, leaning further into him. After his hand let go of your face, you felt his arms slide around your waist next, pulling you to him tightly.

It wasn’t as fully desperate, as hungry as that night in the cave. But there was still a clear need there, tasting him all over again as he kissed you again and again.

“I have to return to Asgard.” He breathed eventually though, yet looking at you with body language that didn’t at all match his words as he hadn’t loosened his grip at all. “But speak up, goddess. Would it be more insult just to leave, or to only be quick this time in taking something we both want?”

“Are you, are you asking me...” You were trying to catch up with his thought process. It was late in the night, and he’d already been gone from his kingdom all day. He may be lying still, but it was very possible he had already overstayed whatever time he’d intended to be here. Especially if Odin and Thor really were in another realm right now. Loki’s absence would only be that more evident to his people. So he was about to leave, but he wanted to know if you wanted him to...jump to the finish before he left you?

“Why is it so hard for you to say?” He pushed, moving his hips against you slightly to further his intention.

“I will not be your whore, Loki. That much must be understood.” You replied. Not angrily, but still serious enough to show your sincerity in that statement as you found your voice again.

Yet he just laughed, a genuine one at that. “Just when I think you can’t surprise me any further...you go and say something so foolish.”

But he’d already grabbed your wrist before you could slap him, then continuing. “Calm your temper. I only laugh because you keep assuming so much. If there’s a whore here tonight, it would only be me of course.”

The resulting confusion in your eyes only seemed to encourage him too as he smiled again. “I know it’s not just fucking you want. And there will be more time later to explore that. But gods, woman, I left an empty throne sitting there in Asgard today just for a chance at this. How else could that not make me a whore tonight?”

You really didn’t know at this point, if all his words were only meant to manipulate you further, or if he was actually being truthful right now.

“You make my head hurt.” You grumbled at last, just running your hand down the armor on his chest until it reached his waist.

“You make my...well, I think you can assume what part of me hurts right now.” He just smirked at your resulting expression, his hands starting to bunch up your dress a little. “What? Too crude? I could change into a woman just as easily you know, if you rather something a little different.”

“I thought you said you wanted to make this quick.” You retorted. As in your mind, working up a woman to full arousal would be far more time consuming if your own body was any indication. While men were up and ready at a moment’s notice weren’t they?

“You imply that I can’t have you trembling just as fast then?” He said, seeming to accept the challenge when you didn’t stop him from further raising your dress.

* SMUT STARTS HERE

*

*

You’d only expected to feel one of his hands back between your legs next. So when he abruptly dropped to his knees in front of you instead, you were truly shocked.

You felt his hands on your bare waist, keeping your dress bunched up and out of the way as he glanced back up at you briefly, a wicked look in those blue eyes. How someone could look so predatory, even while on their own knees, you did not know.

All you could do was gasp as you felt his mouth meet your opening roughly, sucking you before his tongue quickly flicked out, so much like a snake against the sensitive flesh.

It was so surreal really, the cool metal of the horned helmet also brushing and scraping against your skin as its master moved obscenely in his attempts to unravel you.

Reflexively, your hips also tried to squirm away from his pressing mouth, so sensitive to the roughness as he went back to sucking what was already becoming swollen. But he’d allow none of it. He only gripped you harder, fingers digging into your soft bottom to keep you against him.

He was going to win. How this had even become a contest, you were not sure. But pride or not, your legs were already feeling like jelly. He would win.

“Loki,” You pleaded, nothing to really brace yourself against as your own knees started to bend.

But he didn’t stop, no. He only pressed even faster at your desperation, tongue flicking and probing over and over, mouth sucking for what felt like ages. But you knew it really couldn’t have been that long at all. Embarrassingly short even before you shuddered harshly, the orgasm cutting through you.

Even in those little aftershocks though, you could feel his teeth as he smiled against you. But he didn’t let go of you, helping you stay upright even as he stood back up himself. “Was that fast enough for you?” He taunted lowly, lips still clearly wet in the moonlight from you before he moved you almost gently backward.

Your back found a large tree trunk behind you, the bark gladly smooth as it helped further support you while he pushed your dress back upward again.

Your eyes met again as you felt him abruptly slide into you at that. He was still fully dressed, but at some point as he’d stood, he’d opened just his pants, that hard flesh now fully sheathing back inside of you before he began to thrust.

It was steady this time, slower, but still forceful as he watched your expression every time he reached that deepest point.

“Do you think you could get used to this?” He asked, breath still a bit labored, likely just from his own arousal.

You knew your own heartbeat was still pounding in your ears, so you could only imagine that his was now doing much the same as you kissed him again.

The taste was strange, still the remnants from you of course, but you didn’t mind it.

“I could.” You did answer though when you pulled back slightly again.

But you didn’t know how this would really work. Would you just keep meeting here now whenever he wanted to see you? The mortals would make some sort of cabin? Room? What have you, for you to stay in? Is this really what he wanted? Wouldn’t he only grow bored of the novelty eventually?

Either that, or one of your families may end up intervening. This couldn’t be kept just to the two of you indefinitely. Heimdall already knew of you of course.

There were still so many questions.

Yet he only seemed focused on the here and now as he finally shuddered against you as well and you felt that tell tale wetness of his cum overflowing slightly down your thigh.

His hands ran up under your dress still, not seeming to want to let go even as he continued to watch you as his own orgasm dissipated.

“...It may be a while before I can return. The mess in Alfheim I don’t see as being resolved soon.” He spoke after a few more moments, breaking the silence.

And he did slide back out of you then, covering himself back within his pants once more after his hands finally let go of you to let your dress also fall back down around your legs.

*

*

*SMUT OVER

He continued though, not leaving your side just yet. “Father’s already been gone over a week now, brother too. Technically putting the kingdom in my care for now. I used the excuse of those marauders attacking this village with old connections to Father as a reason to come check on Midgard today. I don’t quite think Mother believed my motives either. The two of you would likely get along well in your odd combination of suspicion yet fondness for me you know.”

Fondness he said. That was some kind of word for it. But you weren’t sure it was the right one. “If you’ve never had much interest in my world before, then yes, I’m sure anyone would be doubtful.” Of course he’d never spoken of his mother to you. Maybe eventually you could learn more. But not tonight as you realized time was finally up.

As he pulled away, his hand only brushed yours gently, that green cape moving behind him as he walked away. “Goodnight, goddess.”

There was a clearing in the distance, evidently carved earlier from the bifrost as he stepped into the opening and called up to Heimdall.

It was only at that moment though that you remembered one more thing. You yelled out to him suddenly, so he would still hear you at this distance. “Wait, what does Kærr mean!?”

But even from this far you could still see his smug smile spreading before the light of the bifrost overtook him and he was gone.

“Dammit.” You said to no one. This would cause you a whole new trip to the library on Olympus you were sure. All for one simple word.

——————————

It wasn’t until days later that you did make it back to Olympus though. You’d had to apologize to a couple of the nymphs, asking them to keep an eye on that town for you. Your apparent new charity project that Loki had left you with.

Now in the library you’d been pouring over the few more detailed Norse language texts you could find. It’d been much easier the last time you’d been here, when you’d just been trying to learn the gist of Asgard’s history and the very basics of their language. Trying to find the definition of one specific word however proved far more tedious.

But you did finally come across it.

Kærr: Dear, of great value or excellence, precious, beloved-

And you couldn’t read any further, a strange emotion flaring as you’d exclaimed, “Oh, bullshit!” instantly closing the book back shut, then sitting there a moment as this new information settled over you.

He had to be kidding. Just a flippant joke to him surely. And yet, why did it bother you so much? You really had expected the name to have some sort of negative definition, some kind of taunt or insult that he’d be able to laugh about later whenever it’d finally dawned on you.

But this was far worse. It was cruel if he didn’t mean it. Yet...somehow maybe even crueler if he did. Because what were you supposed to do with this knowledge? What could you do?

“Hello, stranger.” A soft voice called as you heard footsteps approaching though.

You looked up in time to see a bit too beautiful god pull out a chair across from you, just sitting at your library table as well then with a friendly smile.

“Hi, Eros,” you said reflexively, still sounding a bit not yourself. He was just your cousin after all, well cousin once removed anyway.

But when he didn’t say anything immediately back, just giving you a sort of sympathetic look instead, the real threat of his presence hit you at once like a lead weight as your eyes widened a little.

“No...no, no, no.” You said quickly, lowering your voice as you leaned in towards the god, not knowing what other ears may be listening. “Eros, I literally just met him. Four times total!” You counted out four fingers from your hand, waving them in front of him for emphasis.

He tilted his head. Yet only answering gently, “Cousin, I sensed you as soon as you arrived here. Are you okay?”

You sighed, but knew you could trust him to keep this revelation to himself. It was part of his job frankly. “It wouldn’t matter would it? I mean, I know you haven’t met him. But he’s not going to feel the same. I’d think at most it would be some kind of possessive thing. He is...well, he’s very self important. Honesty is also not a preference of his.”

But to this Eros just smiled. “No one is perfect, especially among our kind. I can tell you with full certainty though that the biggest lie ever told is when someone claims to not desire love. I’ve seen the hearts of the cruelest dictators all the way to the homeless peasant in the street. They all beg me for it deep down. Even if they can’t always admit it to themselves.”

You rested your elbows on the table, just looking down again. “But that doesn’t mean he’d want it from me necessarily.”

“Love is never a given. It wouldn’t be so valuable otherwise. But you can’t lose hope too soon just because you’re new at something. You need to see it through. That’s the only way to ever find out.”

You looked back up at him wryly, knowing it would be foolish not to accept a little relationship advice from the god of love himself. But as he’d said there was no guarantee this would end up working either. “So if everything goes horribly wrong, I can just blame you, right?”

He shrugged, a bit of a wise ass himself to be true. “Might as well. Everyone else does.”

——————————

(Continued in next chapter here)

[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 ♡

[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.

[jacqcrisis]

(fallout au) Charon did not always know Hermes was a synth as Hermes is keeping it secret from just about everyone. But the day he did find out his associate's secret is one he'll never forget.

It’s a slow day, no one’s around, and Charon’s fixing up his automated turrets when Hermes comes stumbling down the road, carrying his left arm that’s been ripped off at the shoulder, and holding it against his torn open abdomen to keep his internal systems from becoming his external systems. Charon freezes, too much information coming in at once as Hermes starts jabbering, synthetic blood leaking everywhere, voice glitching out as he claims he doesn’t have time to explain much before he shuts down into emergency mode, stating only that he needs Charon to take him to a set of coordinates north of Asphodel to someone who can repair him.

Charon doesn’t even question it, just puts up a sign that he’ll be out for a few days, sets his sentries to guard, and gets Hermes on his smaller, speedier boat to head up the river. Hermes shuts down just a few minutes into the trip, but thankfully Charon’s got an idea where they’re headed based on his stuttering descriptions and the coordinates. They dock a few miles from Asphodel, and Charon carries the unconscious Hermes for the rest of the hours’ long walk to Patroclus’ farm, a place and a man Charon hasn’t seen in a long time.

It’s night again by the time they make it, but Pat opens the door quickly, and has barely a word to say as he leads Charon to his cellar that he’s stuffed all his operating gadgets into from a previous life. Charon’s got questions, keeps getting in the way, is panicking (in his own quiet, just kind of 1000 yard staring way) more than he thought. He has to be given a sedative to calm down while being essentially locked out of the cellar so Pat can work in peace to put Hermes back together. Despite his size, his ghoulness, and the fact that he just learned his friend/the person he might be love with is actually a robot who very nearly died, whatever Pat made Charon take knocks him out for the night.

In the morning, Pat tells him Hermes will be fine; the damage was completely fixable and he’s patched him up, taken him out of emergency mode. Hermes will just need some time for his synthetic healing capabilities to kick in once he’s charged back up to regrow his skin over the exposed wiring. He congratulates Charon on getting Hermes here so quickly, and says he can go if he wants, but doesn’t object when Charon sticks around until Hermes is upright again. Nor does he question Charon sleeping in the cellar next to Hermes just to be sure he’s around when Hermes wakes back up in a day or two.

And Patroclus certainly doesn’t say anything when he comes down to the cellar and see’s Charon sitting by a still unconscious Hermes, gently holding one of his hands between his own as he waits for Hermes to open his eyes again.

[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.