#the change in jon is gradual (as the process always is) but you can see it happen in real time

[end-enthusiast]

you ever think about how jon is the one avatar we see mature as it’s happening

[dickwheelie]

real quick before pride month ends I wanna post this thing about jon being bi that i've kind of been trying to write for months now. I think I've finally managed to articulate how I feel about jon being bi and how I feel about being bi, and this is very much a melding of the two. a lot of this is very specific to me and I can only hope other people find it interesting, and maybe some of you out there will share some of my experiences. anyway please enjoy, and happy pride all <3

___________

He supposed that there must have been a part of him, deep down somewhere, that had always known. That was how it worked, wasn't it? Something in his DNA, or a hardwired part of his brain; it must have been in there somewhere, all his life.

But of course, in the world he was raised in, he'd never had much of a chance to investigate that sort of thing. Before he went to uni, all he knew was that men liked women, and women liked men, and there was a small group of people somewhere else, off to the side, who did things differently. A strange, exotic group of people that had nothing to do with him.

Uni had been less of a wake up call and more of a gradual rise to consciousness, a slowly dawning awareness that most of the people around him were, in fact, members of that strange group that did things differently. And they were all perfectly ordinary; not exotic at all. Many of them were like him; they went to the same classes, the same pubs, studied the same subjects. He remembered once, in his first year, speaking to a woman he'd sat next to in class for half a semester and being shocked when she mentioned, off-handedly, that she was trans. All he could think for the rest of class was, I had no idea.

He also remembered the first time he'd ever considered that he, himself, might actually be one of these people who did things differently. The thought had never really crossed his mind, despite the fact that he was surrounded by them, and that he felt at home with them, somehow, more than any other group of friends he'd had before. It was shortly after he'd met Georgie, when they were friends but not yet dating, that she was sitting with him in a pub and pointed out for him all the people in the room she thought were cute. She pointed out a couple men, and then a few women, and then someone whose gender was entirely a mystery to him. And then she'd asked him, what about you? And he had looked around the pub, at all the various types and shapes and colors of people, and he'd pointed out a few women, and a couple men, and a handful of people whose genders were a mystery. It was easy, he realized then. He hadn't even had to think about it. It had been there, somewhere deep down, all along.

He didn't tell Georgie right then, but later, when they were together, he'd confess that that was the moment he'd realized. Georgie laughed, kindly enough, and told him she'd been surprised herself. I hadn't pegged you as queer, she'd said, but when you said it I thought, of course he is. I know how to pick 'em.

Which got at one of his problems, post-realization. He wanted people to know, to be seen as part of that group that was once so strange to him, but for the most part, people just . . . couldn't tell. He dressed a certain way, and spoke a certain way, and though he'd never been the most masculine person in the room nobody ever suspected he was anything but a hundred percent straight.

And it . . . hurt, in a strange way. He'd look around at all of his loud and proud friends and classmates, people who dyed their hair and dressed in fantastical outfits and spoke in particular ways, people who you couldn't mistake for anything but who they were, and he would feel somewhat apart from them. Compared to all of their colors, he felt very grey.

He made attempts at flirting with men, but he had never been very good at that sort of thing and none of them seemed to notice. It didn't help that he knew, no matter how good he got at flirting, there was a part of that scene he'd never really belong in. By then he'd discovered that about himself, too, though strangely it was less of a revelation. He supposed some part of him had always known about that, as well.

His attraction to men, he found, was rarer than women, which might have been why he hadn't noticed it for so many years. It wasn't that he disliked men at all, he just found them harder to trust. With men there were certain expectations, of masculinity, of sexuality, of language, even, that Jon couldn't even begin to fathom. It was just easier, with women. He liked the way they spoke, and how they moved their hands as they talked, and all the various ways they'd wear their hair. He wasn't the sort to kiss many people, but when he did get the chance, he liked that their lips were soft and that they often smelled very fragrant.

Of course there were exceptions to all of these things, but in general, he found he was more comfortable with women. He worried, for a time, that perhaps he had internalized some sort of heteronormativity from his youth, that maybe liking men was just a frightening discovery about himself that he was still trying to process.

But liking men didn't frighten him at all. Maybe some men intimidated him, maybe he didn't feel entirely comfortable with some of them, but the idea of liking them was . . . it was nice. It made him feel sort of warm, when he thought of it. He'd daydream sometimes about kissing someone with a beard, or a larger hand holding his own.

He never got the chance to do anything like that in uni. He wouldn't get the chance for many years. Instead he sat quietly off to the side, in his grey little corner, hoping that someone would see him for who he was. It was, he would be the first to admit, a poor way of going about things, but at the time he wasn't sure what else to do. The idea of changing his wardrobe was already too much for him, let alone marching around with a flag in his hands. He wished there was some kind of secret code, known only by those who were like him.

Then he left uni, and suddenly all the colorful people he'd been surrounded by were gone, and the backdrop of his world felt as grey as he was. And that was fine. He was an adult now, he didn't need reassurance or external validation. It was fine.

He was working in research when he met Tim, and suddenly there was color back in his life. Tim was like the people he'd gone to uni with, loud and proud, with the hair and the clothes and everything else. He began to feel that strange longing again. I'm like you, he wanted to tell Tim, have you noticed? Can't you tell? He said nothing, of course. It would be weird to say something, and probably inappropriate.

But then a day came when Tim just . . . asked him. They were getting drinks with a few other coworkers and Tim leaned over and pointed out the bartender. He's cute, right? he'd asked. Are you into guys?

And he hadn't known it could be that easy. But it was. It was the easiest thing in the world to reply, Yeah, I like men. Women, too. And yes, he is sort of cute.

It was easy, but it felt unbelievably warm to say aloud.

It didn't change anything, not overnight. There was still that underlying greyness he felt, that invisibility, when he was on the train or standing by the copier or ordering from a restaurant. But with Tim, and then Sasha, and much, much later, with Martin, he felt noticed, and known.

He never did end up marching around with a flag, or changing his wardrobe. Instead he carried it with him constantly, in the feeling in his chest when he saw a pin on someone's bag and in the way Martin looked at him and in the way his coworkers laughed when he made dry little jokes about liking only two things.

Which made sense, didn't it? After all it had always been there, deep down. It had always been his. And it wasn't going anywhere.

[thevoidcannotbefilled]

One of my favorite things about TMA is the sense of time passing in the show. Not in a direct way, or even in a way that's literally a lot of time passing in universe (while two years isn't an insignificant amount of time, I've seen shorter shows have much more happen in less "time"). However, while I know there's some people who don't like the pacing of TMA (and that's fair!!!) for me, the slow drip pacing of TMA is what keeps me engaged.

I can point to a lot of things, the gradual changes of the characters, the use of real time built up to get plot build up, but honestly, just look at how we as an audience respond to Jon. The post statements? Even the ones in s1 and s2 where there weren't any plot points, Jon is almost always having a snarky comment or some sort of thought process. We get a gradual sense of his character as we get a sense of the world and the workplace.

I don't feel like I'm explaining it well, but essentially: TMA isn't just 100% plot all the time, it lets itself gradually build up. Not all of this buildup is used tbf, but a lot of it is. This gives up a more complete sense of place and world while also fleshing out the characters. It makes us feel attached bc we spend a lot of more irl time with the show.

(And in general, I think there's good advice in here in writing. That depending on the story you want to tell, it's not only okay but necessary to have "filler". Because a lot of the modern way we see "filler" are actually moments where we can see the world and characters in lower stake situations that make the higher stakes situations more important).

[meditativeyoga]

Zazen: The art of just sitting

We are of the viewpoint that equilibrium is needed so that our lifestyle doesn't lead us to exhaustion. We wish to discover the ways to change our way of being so that every aspect of our living interact. And we prefer every one of this to occur 'naturally'-- not with pressure of initiative, yet with emphasis and also tranquility. Being Zen people, we balance the fee of day-to-day living with moment-by-moment existence, and also the key to doing this is meditation.

Zazen is the Japanese name for seatsed reflection-- the term approximately implies, 'resting still, like a mountain.' It is the one typical practice that unifies essentially all Eastern philosophies.

In the West, meditation has been adjusted for Western sensibilities. Jon Kabat-Zinn, for example, has actually established Mindfulness Reflection for use in healthcare facilities. He's taken Zazen from Buddhism, [or the Buddhism out of Zazen!] and is getting excellent outcomes with individuals recovering from cardiovascular disease, surgeries, stress-related illnesses, et al.

This Western method has its focus on using reflection as a 'relaxation tool.' It is therefore an 'include on,' made use of to combat a disease [a dis-ease] Mindfulness Meditation is a little bit like a 'pill wherefore ails you,' as well as is doled out to assist hyper active individuals run also faster.

Our point of view is definitely extra 'typical.' We see the problem as 'imbalance'.

Our view is that 'fast repairs' do not address the deepness of the issue-our propensity to disregard ourselves, and also to bend ourselves right into knots-- in order to fit some pre-conceived idea of just how adults need to act. We get captured in a loophole of excess, and also after that seek ways to respond to the damage.

We think about Zazen to be the structure from which whole, existing, involved, as well as enthusiastic living springtimes. From this perspective, balance is vital, and also being centred takes priority over excess.

In order to understand equilibrium, let's talk Qi [energy]

Qi can be found in two flavours-- Yin and Yang. Right here are few qualities:

Yin is feminine, easy, dark as well as deep.

Yang is manly, energetic, light and shallow.

Qi is like a coin. It cannot aid yet have 2 sides. A coin is 'balanced.' Each side is precisely the same 'size' as its opposite, as well as each represents one 'dynamic' of the whole. It is impossible to assume of [or have!] an one-sided or unbalanced coin. Qi is constantly looking for balance.

The distinction between us and also a coin is that we have the option of exactly what we emphasise, and also since of this, are often un-balanced. In the 21st century, the standard is Yang-ness. The emphasis gets on reasoning, doing, power, aggressiveness. Yin-ness-- intuiting, showing, and depth is frequently viewed of as weakness.

Initial explorations of Qi originated from the Taoists

The name Qi was picked for the 'unnameable, unknowable pressure' that brings the World right into being. When Qi remains in balance, all is well. Understanding as well as focus is required so that equilibrium is maintained.

From this viewpoint, each particular 'flavour' of Qi discovers its balance in the various other, i.e. dark/light. As for energy itself, the activity of yang is always sustained by the deepness and also fluidness of yin. Yin, in the background, offers the framework for all activity, much as a whiteboard [yin] holds exactly what is created [yang] Not a really Western suggestion in any way. The passive 'whiteboard' is considereded as 'simply a device' for the essential stuff. Because of a determined lack of focus on depth and tranquility, individuals operating from this 'modern-day' understanding are often candidates for tension relevant illnesses.

The option is NOT to slap on the 'Band-Aid' of a little bit of meditation. Our company believe it's to re-balance our top priorities by connecting with the circulation of our power itself-- to intuit its nature as well as to alleviate it via any type of blockages. Zazen is a fine method to do this. We sit to establish an unified body/mind/spirit. Zazen is not goal drivened-- it's not actually a task per se-- it's a means of being.

Two misunderstandings concerning Zazen

Zazen is not concerning quiting thinking: That's impossible. Besides, our assumed procedures in and also of themselves do not get us right into trouble. Consider it by doing this. The activity of our mind is to produce ideas, simply like the task of our pancreatic is to create insulin. Assuming is an all-natural task. Difficulty comes when:

We perplex our thoughts with truth, and

When we cling to our thoughts.

Zazen, then, has to do with sitting with our thoughts, without either evaluating them, or clinging to them. Thoughts become like clouds drifting before a blue sky.

Zazen has no point: We do not rest to achieve something. There's an old Zen tale about the trainee who states, with satisfaction, "I have released thinking!" His master replies, "No let go of believing that you have released thinking!"

We sit in order to rest. We take a breath to breathe. As thoughts arise, we watch them float by. If we discover ourselves distracted, we go back to 'simply resting.'

There is no objective. It's not regarding discovering an 'answer,' and Zazen is not a competition. At any time we set up an objective, [the length of time we sit for, exactly how 'advanced' we are, exactly how 'deep' our thoughts are, etc.] our entire emphasis ends up being thinking of our 'score.' We get shed in the act of contrast, even if we are just contrasting ourselves to ourselves.

Here's how to do Zazen

Briefly, there are 4 methods to sit, plus remaining on a chair-- however, chair sitting, to my point of view, is just for the infirm.

The rest of us remain on pillows or benches. In a post of this length, I actually can't define the poses adequately, or reveal you exactly how to use cushions or a bench.

So below's a video explanation including me!

What I can tell you is what every one of the 'poses' have in common

Zazen is a technique, as well as to complete what it achieves, you do the following:

You sit upright. Not ramrod directly, however with a 'stacked back.' Your shoulders are over your hips, as well as you are not tipped back and forth or front to back. In the video, I show you a simple method to accomplish this.

Your head is a little down, eyes open, looking 4 feet in front of you.

Your right hand is hand up in your lap, your left hand is palm up in your right-hand man, as well as your thumbs are touching lightly.

You are breathing with your nose, quietly.

Your attention is 'simply there.' As you sit, you are aware of noises, temperature, physical feelings, etc. You understand as thoughts arise. The key: as you bring your focus on any type of one thing, simply have a breath, and allow go of thinking of it.

you fixate on something [you will!], bring your attention back to 'simply resting.'

If you desire, you could count breaths. Start counting each out and in breath. As you observe you are believing as opposed to counting, go back to counting, starting at "1." You could then start counting simply the out breaths.

Walking meditation

Simply walk slowly, in an upright stance, meticulously placing one foot, then shifting your weight, and also placing another. Hands are folded up across your heart. The concept is to transform your focus to each action, and return to this as your mind wanders.

Living meditation

Meditating on a mat is one point. Living your reflection is one more, and also taking your reflection right into the world is what Zazen is all about.

Once you have practised a little bit, you will observe that your body/mind/spirit reverberates with resting. This vibration could be strengthened by bringing presence right into day to day activities.

Cook: You might, for example, prepare a dish mindfully. When chopping veggies, cut veggies. As your mind wanders, bring it back to the action of 'knife with veggie.' Maintain your mind focussed just on the step of the process that you are doing.

Eat the exact same means. Change to eating a dish a day with chopsticks. Or, if you usually utilize chopsticks, change to one meal with knife as well as fork. Decrease. Eat. Taste.

Do your job in this manner. When doing just what you are doing, quit acting you could multi-task and do one thing. With complete interest, with calm breath.

Eat an orange

Select an orange. Set the orange down before you. Take a look at it. See how the light mirrors off of it. Consider the colour, appearance, and also all the little pores. Actually look.

Now, scuff your finger nail along the skin, and hear the noise. Pierce the skin, as well as start peeling, and direct your attention to the audio of peeling off, then to the sound of separating the segments.

Go back to looking-- seeing how the orange items look.

Bring the skin to your nose, and also scent it. Set it down. Bring a section to your nose, and also smell it. Give it a little press and smell again.

Squish among the sectors in your fingers, and also actually feel the pulp, juice, as well as any type of seeds or pith.

Pop a section into your mouth, and also eat it gradually. See if you could take 5 mins to consume one section. Actually preference it!

Take one more sector, and also rub it on your arm or leg, or simply get imaginative, as well as utilize your body to really feel the orange section.

Now, stop, and go either wash or tube off. [I'll wait till you come back ...]

Think about your experience

These basic games call us to presence-- they aid us to be in our bodies, engaging our power, and sensation intimately what it resembles to be alive.

From this location of visibility, living is not something we do, yet rather is that we are.

This integrity modifications everything.

[spockandawe]

K, N, Z! (Very late)

fasfd i appreciate the ask, because it reminded me that I had to actually respond to these things XD 

K - What character has your favorite development arc/the best development arc?

Hmmm. This... is tricky. On principle, I’m not going to say Zuko, even though it’s divine. I’m having a bit of a hard time with this one, because a lot of my favorite arcs don’t have many big dramatic Moments where you see them making progress, which is something Zuko definitely had, and which then makes him a really solid example of a development arc :P

Let me see. It’s a small book fandom, so I don’t know how many people are familiar with it, but I’ve REALLY had Moon from the books of the raksura on my mind lately. It got pulled extra hard to the forefront of my mind when I saw this tor article about the series (and why it’s a nice read especially in terms of present events). But it is absolutely AMAZING to me when I look at Moon in the earliest parts of the series, and how defensive and untrusting and insecure he is, how unsafe he always feels, and see how far he comes by the end of the series. In a lot of ways, this development arc is more about processing trauma rather than a villain-to-hero-esque change, which is what I tend to gravitate towards, but it’s just... so lovely. I can go on and ON about this series if anyone is curious, but any character who goes from bitterly, unhappily resigned to loneliness to being one of the well-loved centers of a close-knit community, who ADORE him even though he’s not what he would have been if he grew up normally.... Perfection

Apart from that, lessee. Cyclonus is ALWAYS and forever a favorite. He’s so angry and hurting at the beginning of mtmte, and watching him soften and open up is exquisite. Even though Starscream’s arc.... did not end in a way I appreciate, I definitely appreciate how far he brought himself, and the potential for how much further he could have gone. Everything about Jon and Martin in the magnus archives delights me. I do also love Seivarden from the Imperial Radch books, and how she really, really struggles to be less of an asshole, but she works so HARD and makes so much progress. Oh, and you know what, additional shout outs to Sir Francis Varney and Grisaille in the Dr. Greta Helsing books, because I’m also a sucker for characters who go from unhappy, resigned loneliness to gradually feeling like they deserve the happiness they’ve found, and that they want to KEEP it.

N - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice)

HMMMM. I’m always a sucker for fics that are the long side of short and explore kink from an emotional angle. I don’t write nearly as much of it as I used to, so I really ought to be stepping up my game too, but I love the way you can use that to dig deep into a character’s heart and open them up in a really vulnerable way. What else. I’m spoiled by homestuck, but I don’t see NEARLY enough crackshipping these days. Transformers is pretty good, if you dig for the gems, but it’s not the same as writing, like, feferi/meenah/karkat and realizing that eyyy, I’m not the first person to break in that relationship tag. And in general? More meta. I love me some meta. It can be hit or miss, because I’m more likely to get annoyed by meta than I am by fic or art, but I just LOVE being able to dig down into the concept of [a story] and pull analysis out. I’ll do it myself, given a tiny bit of encouragement, but that’s not the same

Z - Just ramble about something fan-related, go go go! (Prompts optional but encouraged.)

Oh god. Uhhhh, to build off the last one, I guess, PITCH ROMANCE. I know I’ve yelled about this before, but it’s been a while! I will NEVER stop advocating for aemula endurae as a transformers concept, now that we’ve got pale and flush romance in at least one canon, but I honestly want this in every fandom I’ve ever touched. It’s a little more embarrassing to yell about the potential of miscellaneous crackships in smaller book fandoms as opposed to something Old and Weird like transformers, but ummm... like, Moon and River have amazing potential, but their relationship is so ADVERSARIAL for ages and they both still dislike each other, but in a background sort of way, and meanwhile River is tackling a half-Fell progenitor to protect Moon, or Moon is barely able to stay upright but is still trying to guard a badly-injured River, and they both think the other is an idiot but still respect each other and uhhhhhh what if they kissed? A lot???

I love love love a good enemies to lovers or rivals to lovers story. But that’s not quite the same as what a pitch romance involves. Like, I’m deeply invested in Loki/Steve Rogers, and if you stick to canon at all, that pretty much has to be enemies to lovers. But in the main fic I follow for them, like, they adore each other to pieces and just got married and are INTENSELY sweet on each other. Or, I’ve been considering going back to my starbladejack verse soon (i want to, badly, my prose engine is just broken), and Windblade and Starscream are romantically involved... and spend lots of time in heated arguments and yanking each other’s pigtails. But if an external threat shows up, they’re going to present a united front. Two parties exasperatedly thinking ‘you’re terrible, you’re the WORST, why do i like being around you so, so much’. It’s a delicate thing to balance compared to a standard flushed romantic paradigm, but there are so many foe yay ships out there where bringing people around to solidly being on the same non-adversarial side strips the spice away from what the ship was originally, and I just think there’s a lot of interesting potential in preserving some parts of that initial oppositional spark inside a stable, caring (pigtail-pulling) relationship.

[ldelreyna]

CHAPTER IV

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“And it's peaceful in the deep 'Cause either way you cannot breathe No need to pray, no need to speak Now I am under all And it's breaking over me A thousand miles onto the sea bed I found the place to rest my head Never let me go, never let me go.”

-  Never Let Me Go, Florence and the Machine

.

.

.

When Jon walked back home, he immediately remembered about the meeting Sansa told him about and that the Lords wanting him there. She was impatiently waiting for him at the doors of the Great Hall. 

"What took you so long?" She asked when she saw him walking slowly to him.

Something was at his hands, she tried to see what it was but the sound of his voice distracted her. 

"I went to see the farmers." He answered.

She was so beautiful.

"What farmers?"

"You told me a great amount of lands was in need of a master. I was trying to fix this problem." Jon smiled when she blinked in silence, glad he was helping her, and he took her hands with his and left a long kiss at Sansa's forehead.

"Thank you." She said when his lips were at her skin, warming that part of her face.

"You look really good today. Did you cut your hair?"

Jon didn't know from where this was coming from, he just had to say it to her.

"Yeah... but not so much."

"I see."

Sansa was overwhelmed by the feeling that that small conversation was making with her… Jon touching her hands and kissing her forehead... She knew it was innocent from him, but the shivers it cause her body was far from innocent.

She wanted to get closer to him. Closer and closer.

"Shall we go?"

Jon nodded and followed her through the doors. The Lords greeted both of them as they stood up, in respect.

"It's really good to have you with us, Your Grace." Lord Cerwyn said to Jon with a warm smile. 

"I am not Your King anymore, my Lord."

Sansa put her hand at Jon's and responded in high tone:

"You'll always be our King.” She paused and then continued. “Can we start?"

Tons of problems were discussed there, Jon shared that the issue with the farmers was fixed for now and he was going to give personal help for them all. The gold was in a great amount and they agreed that a place to give medical support for the Northerners was in need and money should be invested in it. And after all of that, the real reason why Jon was there came from the mouth of Lord Manderley:

"Your Grace, The North is concerned about the future of our lands. We are more than happy and satisfied with the reign of Queen Sansa, but we are not so sure about the future."

"Say your point for once, Lord Manderly." Bran said it. Sansa insisted that he should be there, and nobody was seeing this as a problem, he was a Stark after all.

“We believe your sister should marry and produce heirs. Women or men, we don’t mind, as long as the North remains with the Starks. And independent.” Lord Tallhart words were more honest and direct. 

“And your suggestions are?”

"We have great bachelors, Your Grace. But we do not want someone from south." Lord Reed answered Jon. 

"My sister is the one who is going to share a life with this man, if she chooses to marry. She will have a say as to who she wants or not." Jon was harsh on his words because everything was really pissing him off.

"I will marry and I will produce heirs." Sansa clarifies after a long silence. 

"I know your sister…" Lord Cerwyn said to Jon and Bran "…is the one who should choose but your name was the one we were most comfortable with. Since she's not your sister but your cousin."

"I beg your pardon?!" Jon couldn’t believe what he was hearing .

"You're the only half-stark who remains a loyal friend to the North. You're a great warrior. You're a good man, Your Grace, and the North have you in a high respect."

Jon was in shock. He could not believe in anything he was hearing. He looked at Sansa, remembering when she said she couldn’t tell him what this meeting was about. At his side, she was quiet, embarrassed, she couldn't even look at him. 

"If Jon is Sansa's choice, they have my blessing." Bran said so everybody could hear very clearly.

Jon was trying to process everything in his mind, the things that this come with, all the implications of his union with Sansa. And everybody seems to see this as something really normal, even Bran.

…

"Sansa, I'm sorry, I should not have walked into your room like this ..."

Jon was petrified with the scene he was seeing right in front of him, he was utterly sloppy and inconsequential when he simply opened the door of Sansa's chambers and entered without any ceremony. Her sister was in her bath, immersed in a large bathtub with herbs and perfume, her hair caught in a loose mill above her head, eyes closed and neck lying on the copper curve of the tub.

Sansa, on the other hand, was not frightened. She did not tell him to go away at once, much less was discontent at having him there. Jon was intrigued by her sister's reaction and something inside him was producing tons of adrenaline for that moment. And he repressed it more than anything.

"You want things, Jon, that are already yours. There is nowhere to run. Part of you feels you do not deserve it and the other thinks you are wrong. But there’s nothing wrong in your feelings. "

These were Bran's last words before he left the Great Hall yesterday, after the most awkward moment he ever had in his life.

"Stay." Jon had to redo that scene a few times in his mind after hearing Sansa's words. Did he heard right?

"Excuse me?" He asked, not believing what she had asked him to do.

"Rub my back," she continued, but this time she had a yellow sponge in her hand. "I was waiting for the maid, but I do not think she's coming back. I suspect she's having an affair with one of the castle's guards.” She whispered amusingly, naturally, as if Jon was not there in front of her while she was naked.

His rational side was turned off and for a moment he was pure emotion, he saw himself where he should not be - where his mind said he should not be -, passing the sponge down Sansa's back and gently rub her delicate white skin. Her well-drawn neck was adorned with coppery strands of hair that fell from her messy bun, skin full of freckles ... Sansa's back was beautiful.

He grimaced at the strange thought in his mind.

"Are you going back to the Wall?" Sansa was avoiding that question a lot, but she could not anymore. There was no way, it was stuck in her throat. After the dinner, Bran left in Jon’s hands his pardon letter, signed by King Bran and Queen Sansa. He could stay, Sansa wanted to scream this out.

"No."

She contained the smile it was forming on her lips. His hands had already dropped the sponge on the water, but Jon was still touching her wet skin with his hands, unable to break that moment. 

"Forever?"

He laughed. He seldom laughed with her, they were almost always fighting over some silly reason.

"At least hide your contentment."

She shook her head and turned to look him in the eye. Both still hadn’t discussed what Sansa's council thought was the right thing for both of them: a union. It seemed an absurd word among them two, vulgar even. But instincts pointed their cravings for a different place that night.

"Why would I?"

"Well, I came here for this. To tell you this. I've sent a raven to Castle Black, writing about my decision to stay in Winterfell. With you."

Sansa didn’t think that after so much suffering things would really work for her. Her family reunited, she had her revenge, Jon killed the mad queen, she was crowned queen and today, right now, she heard Jon saying he would be with her at home for the rest of their lives. She couldn’t know what was going on in his mind about the subject of marriage. To her it all sounded half crazy, half absurd, but she could not help a tiny feeling growing in her thoughts ...

Curiosity.

"Get the oil on the table."

"Sansa." His word was an alert. Alerting them both. An alert for to the scenarios that formed in his head. An alert for what Sansa was planning in her head.

All the issue about Jon and Sansa’s union, the two rulers of the North, the perfect match for the desires and needs of the North, had created strange feelings within the two. 

Jon was feeling something gradual, almost imperceptible changes. Sansa started to laugh in a different way for him, her lips had a new rhythm as it moved to speak, her eyes blinked slower and beautifully. But inside of her, it was like a flash of truth coming to the surface, when you realize something that has always been right in front of you.

Sansa was blind but now she sees.

Jon is Jon.

But another Jon. Her Jon. Not Jon, the bastard, son of her father, that her mother made her grow up hating a bit. Jon was the protective man, the warrior who overcame enemies unimaginable by the man. The hero – that somehow - defeated her greatest trauma, beat him almost to death, and allowed her to take her revenge in the way her abuser deserved to have. Jon was the first man who loved her free of obscure intentions or obligation, loved her for being who she was. 

His Sansa.

"The shoulders." She guided him when she saw he was already pouring the liquid through his hands at her request.

The rough skin of his palm hand massaging her muscles was heaven, she felt every nerve in her body activate in a strange way, which made her almost jump out of  the tub.

"Is everything okay?" Jon asked, watching the water fiddle with her sudden movement, he searched her face to make sure Sansa was really there with him, and it was a mistake.

For a few seconds he judged it as a mistake.

He looked into her eyes, the woman with the hair kissed by the fire was no longer his sister. There was a strange aura around Sansa there, alive inside of her. That didn’t stop him from touching her, even when he saw she was taking her hand from the water and running her fingers over his face.

"I like your beard," she whispered.

Jon didn’t have time to think, Sansa was already hanging her face out of the tub and dragging her lips through his beard. The brutality and delicacy. "It’s so rough in my mouth," she commented through her mouth without detaching herself from his face.

"Sansa ... I don’t think ..." Jon tried to gather words with sense that would lead him to a coherent argument.

He failed.

And as she danced her voluminous lips over his skin, he ran his fragrant oil-soaked hands over her soft white shoulders.

"I'm not scared anymore" she whispered in his ear and for seconds he didn’t understand.

He turned his face away from her and looked her in the eye. Brilliant sapphires, jewels. They had a brighter glow that night. Until he understood Sansa's words.

And then Jon made the second mistake.

A single drop fell from Sansa’s eyes, a tear of happiness mixed with Sansa's smile. It made its way from her eyes, down her cheek, neck, slid into the space between her breasts, and joined the large amount of water in the tub. Her nipples, yes, were rosy with the small, reddish halo. Perfect. They were already out of the water, visible and tempting.

"Aren’t you curious?" She asked when she saw he was using the last bit of control inside of him.

Jon knew that at some point he could no longer control himself, he was already on the edge of an endless chasm. And she knew very well where his thoughts lay, judging by the shiver of his skin. His hand answered her question, descended curiously by the shoulders and stroked her hard nipple. Sansa bit her lip and met his eyes.

"It would be foolish."

"What's necessary is never foolish." She replied.

Jon wanted to ask where she got so many methods of trying a man, how she was so good at it. Or if he was only held hostage to the effects she had on his libido. He felt his hard cock straining against his pants in an uncomfortable way and it all got worse when Sansa came back with her lips to his ear, her tongue counting promiscuous secrets in the form of improper thoughts dancing through his mind, he got in there, then a bite at his ear and then she licked right after. Jon's hand now covered her entire breast, squeezing her deliciously and torturously.

Jon could not bear it, as if you were pushing a bag full of grains beyond its capacity and tried to close it, but the pressure exerted there would blow it up. And it exploded. He took Sansa by the waist and laid her back against the bathtub as he knelt in the middle of her legs - in the water - and gnawed her breast with hunger. Sansa bit her wrist so that the cry coming out of her throat did not catch anyone's attention, especially when his free hand found the valley hidden by her coppery hairs and caressed her intimacy. His fingers were huge - and thick – and they were doing a fantastic job. And his lips and tongue playing and sucking her nipples were more than she could ever imagine asking the gods one day.

Until Sansa found herself falling from the abyss without end. His skin was hot, it was trembling, it was on fire. His joints tingled, his head fried. In her throat the moan was muffled by Jon's mouth and he sucked her tongue as the moment pleasure found her. She would not know if she would survive it, but she didn’t care, she would die happy if that was paradise.

And when her breathing calmed and Jon's lips left simple kisses down her neck, she grabbed his shirt, still with eyes closed, gasping for air. A strange aura hovered there, as if the magnitude of her actions had ugly and irreparable consequences.

It was just irreparable.

Jon got up. He looked at a Sansa, fallen and exhausted, naked in the bath, for one last time and went out the door, leaving her more confused and full of questions than ever.

What had just happened there?

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NOTES:

1. The chapter has been revised by the most incredible D. And I love it! And the gif belongs to my bf littlegirlinvisible.

2. I am very happy with all the reach me and littlegirlinvisible is having after the first three chapters. It may not be much for some but for me it’s a lot.

3. Reblog, like and comment if you’re enjoying.

4. You’re all free to give me prompts and ideas. I am also open to request for another works.

My fanfictions have a lot of smuts, really a lot. If you are not comfortable with this, you are warned.

Follow the tag # swan song jonsa fanfic to see the posts and the gifsets whenever you want.

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I sincerely hope that everyone is enjoying it.

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CHAPTER INDEX:

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

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[queen-susans-revenge]

I don’t have time to do it right now but one of these days I really need to write down everything I learned from alt.tarot back in the day Some of it is about tarot but more of it is about how to fight with people on the Internet. I was reminded re-reading the Dickwolf Discourse and how Mike’s hard-won lesson from that is that he could have Just Stopped much earlier. Just Stopping is a great skill that I learned through many bruising fights on Usenet and specifically alt.tarot. See, most people who think they are Knowledgeable About Tarot in fact are Jon Snows to the subject: they know nothing. The received wisdom on tarot is complete garbage; you can easily spend years and read dozens of published books and come away believing things like “tarot was invented by gypsies and contains secret wisdom smuggled out from the fall of the Library of Alexandria.” Insert Luke Skywalker gif: every part of that is wrong. Playing cards were actually invented by the Chinese, reached Europe around 1360, and in the middle of the fifteenth century Italian nobles started using tarot decks to play a trick-taking game resembling bridge. The so-called Major Arcana, or trump cards, were mostly drawn from Petrarch’s poem I Trionfi which translates to “The Triumphs” (triumph=trump). I Trionfi was enormously popular, especially in Italy, and you see imagery from it everywhere during the time period and all kinds of card decks using it. (Looks down at wall of text I have just produced. Whelp. Time for a read-more!)

So almost nobody knows this basic fact, that the structure of the Major Arcana and a lot of the imagery on the cards comes from Petrarch originally. Instead they spend years reading dumb newage books that all regurgitate the same content, like, “Death doesn’t mean death, it means change.” To Petrarch, and to the Renaissance Italians, and to the likes of Waite and Crowley, Death literally meant death. Now they all believed that there were things like Christian faith that could triumph over/trump even death: Petrarch’s poem is structured like a Roman triumphal parade except with metaphysical forces involved, so like the great conquering emperor is brought low by the power of love, and the lovers in turn are brought low by the power of chastity, and the chaste in turn are brought low by the power of death, but death is conquered by fame, and fame is conquered by time, and time is conquered by the eternal Kingdom of God. This is the basic procession that you see in the trump cards. And yes this does mean that tarot was also explicitly Christian, from the beginning, and remained so even as the robes-and-wands set started appropriating Jewish kabbalah and mapping tarot onto it. That happened in the eighteenth century, in France. The two dudes responsible are Antoine Court de Gébelin and M. le Comte de Mellet, two more names that most people who think they know a lot about tarot will never have heard of. The line goes from them through Eliphas Levi, Papus, Wirth, those guys, through to Waite and then Crowley. Now all these dudes were occultists, and occult means clandestine, hidden, secret, so as you might expect they were not at all good at clearly explicating their beliefs. Back on alt.tarot I used to use a Waite quote as my signature: “Superfluities and interpretations notwithstanding, it is directly, or indirectly, out of the recent view, thus tentatively designated, that the consideration of the present thesis emerges as its final term, though out of all knowledge thereof.” (That’s from The Hidden Church of the Holy Graal. It’s all like that.) So, it’s definitely not their fault that most people don’t know about Petrarch and kabbalah and what Crowley really meant when he made such a big goddamn deal about how “Tzaddi is not The Star.” Even when the likes of Crowley or Waite did write books supposedly detailing the meaning of the symbolism of their decks, they threw in lots of misdirection and outright lies “to mislead the uninitiated.” Kabbalah is the key, they’ll tell you, but they won’t tell you that they used it as an athbash--forward and back, just like the Fool’s Journey goes both up and down the Tree of Life; divine power can be called down into Malkuth, the physical world, but one born into Malkuth can also ascend to Kether, unmediated experience of the divine. (So The Star is both Tzaddi and Heh.) Anyway, if you can’t trust the newage books and you can’t trust the occult books, are there any good books on tarot? Yes, there are two: Gertrude Moakley's groundbreaking (and out of print) book The Tarot Cards Painted by Bonifacio Bembo for the Visconti-Sforza Family: An Iconographic and Historical Study, and the equally groundbreaking and equally out of print Rhapsodies of the Bizarre, a collection of essays by Court de Gébelin and M. le Comte de Mellet, with translation and commentary by J. Karlin, the terror of alt.tarot. Jess Karlin was not his real name. He knew more about tarot than, I gradually came to believe, anyone else in the world. He was a jerk, and proud of being a jerk: Thelema is a religion of war, he said, and he came not to affirm but to destroy. He was my teacher, and he taught me a lot, and I tried to repay him both with money and by acknowledging the debt whenever the subject comes up, like now. One of the things he taught me was how to learn from someone who is giving you an actual answer but insulting you while they do it. (Try ignoring the insult and saying thank you, for the answer. They may have more to teach.) I say Karlin knew more than anyone else in the world because the academics after Moakley were disappointing; the field became dominated by playing card historian Michael Dummett, who was so invested in debunking the occultists that he really doubled down on trying to argue that no link between tarot and fortune-telling existed before the French guys came along. Which is stupid, because the links between games of chance and systems of divination have always been super tight--Fate and Luck are the same damn bitch. And you can find (and Karlin did find) very early references to witchcraft performed with playing cards. So because the playing card historians would have nothing to do with the occultists, and Karlin was doing these serious deep dives into formerly-untranslated eighteenth century French occult texts and even earlier stuff, he ended up understanding the iconography and symbolism of tarot way better than the people like Dummett who were much too serious to touch the occult traditions. That was another thing Karlin taught me: that academic consensus can sometimes be just as wrong as newage gobbledegook, and it really is possible, when you start doing deep dives into niche subjects, to outstrip the experts. Sometimes it’s not just possible but frighteningly easy. Anyway, he knew a ton--and he knew it in a field where the vast majority of people think they understand the material, but are very wrong. I think this had the effect of making him quite crabby. Some people came to alt.tarot saying they wanted to learn tarot; and those people, J. Karlin was willing to teach, although he might yell at them some for believing stupid things, if they did. And they probably did--I remember being twenty-one, a shiny new-minted college graduate, proud of my A in an undergraduate Quantum Mechanics For Non Physics Majors class, trying out some “maybe fortunetelling is a quantum effect” angle and getting my ass handed to me, deservedly so. But many, many more people came to alt.tarot back in the day thinking they already knew tarot. And they very much did not want to be corrected. They just thought the cards looked cool and they were perfectly content with their own “I’ll just intuit what I think the cards mean” approach to tarot. And to those people, Karlin was a relentless asshole. Because the symbols did in fact have an original meaning, and it is possible to trace the evolution of the iconography through time, and in fact all those centuries of artists and writers and...I dunno, warlocks and whatnot...working on the cards has created a much, much, much deeper and richer symbolic framework than what most people can make up off the tops of their heads just by looking at a random image from The Tarot of the Cat People or whatever. So that was maybe the first important thing he taught me: there is a truth. Even in symbolic matters, even in stuff that was all “just made up” at some point, it is possible to distinguish what’s important and true from what’s just people spouting off the tops of their dumb heads. And fourth or fifth was that if you argue with someone long enough and you find yourself getting boxed into a corner, fighting desperately to support propositions you’re not even quite sure how you ended up needing to defend, you can just...stop. Usually that’s the cleanest and clearest path. Karlin would not let people save face and he would not let them have the last word: if they were wrong, they’d either have to admit it, or they’d have to flounce off to another Usenet group, orrrr...they’d have to learn how to fucking shut up. It’s a good skill to have. I learned it in alt.tarot, being wrong a lot. I had many fights with Jess Karlin on alt.tarot. But to my knowledge I was the only one from that group that he offered to formally initiate into Thelema. If I have siblings in this lineage I don’t know them; and I never considered myself a Thelemite, even after the initiation. But I have tried to pass on what he taught me. Crowley wrote that the adept “must teach; but he may make severe the ordeals” and I always sort of thought Karlin was living by that principle. At the same time he liked to point out that it’s not necessary to hide your pearls from swine: they won’t take ‘em no matter how brightly you polish and how neatly you letter the sign, FREE PEARLS OF WISDOM, PLEASE TAKE. My worst fights with J. Karlin were always when I was trying to do something nice for him. I still wince remembering when I tried to give him a copy of Alan Moore’s Promethea; that ended with us not speaking for several years. So if he reads this he’ll probably be mad at me all over again but anyway he eventually started using his real name, Glenn Wright, for his Internet writings instead of the Karlin nym. He hops around websites too fast for me to keep track, but as recently as 2015 he had a blog on Tumblr​. Sometimes he offers tarot readings for sale--one card, yes or no question only. I recommend these without question whether you “believe” in tarot or not. (I’ve grown out of my quantum woo days and I don’t now think the cards are anything but a fantastic system for self-reflection). This is super long so I’m gonna stop now. Maybe it’ll do for that “what I learned from alt.tarot” post I always meant to make.

[son-of-alderaan]

SPOILER WARNING: reveals information about some of the script's themes and about a character's transformation that happens gradually throughout the film. Information is given about early plot elements, but no plot details are given about the end of the film.

Tony Grisoni has collaborated on a number of projects with Terry Gilliam. The pair wrote the script for Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas (1998), and then The Man Who Killed Don Quixote. Grisoni and Gilliam performed a rewrite of Ehren Kruger’s script for The Brothers Grimm (2005) and wrote the script for Tideland (also 2005), based on Mitch Cullin’s novel. The pair also worked on scripts for Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett’s novel Good Omens and a project called The Minotaur, although neither of these scripts went into production.

Grisoni’s other feature films as screenwriter include Queen of Hearts (1989) directed by Jon Amiel, In This World(2002) directed by Michael Winterbottom, and Brothers of the Head (2005). In This World won the Golden Bear at the Berlin Film Festival. He also collaborated with Samantha Morton, writing the script for her directorial debut The Unloved (2009).

The writer has also had considerable success in television, with credits including the outstanding Red Riding trilogy (2009) featuring Andrew Garfield, and the acclaimed Southcliffe (2013). His script for The City & The City, based on the novel by China Mieville, screened on BBC2 in 2018.

Grisoni was executive producer and wrote two episodes of The Young Pope (2016 - ), and penned Crazy Diamond (2017), the Steve Buscemi episode of Channel 4’s anthology series Philip K. Dick’s Electric Dreams.

The writer spoke with Philip Stubbs about his work with Terry Gilliam on The Man Who Killed Don Quixote in July 2017, just after principal photography had completed.

Philip Stubbs: Once Fear & Loathing had completed photography, there was a frantic postproduction. During the publicity for the picture in 1998, I remember that Terry said he’d been too tired to start anything else. I think it was towards the end of 1998 that he kicked off the Quixote project with you. Tony Grisoni: People remember Fear and Loathing very fondly, but what they forget is that, when it premiered at Cannes in 1998, it was a total disaster. I think that almost every trade publication trashed us. As a result, that had a huge effect on the distribution of the film. It was seen as being a failure. After going through the blood, sweat and tears that you shed to make the film, you can imagine how tough that must have been for Terry to have faced – guess what, this film is no good. Yet, over the years, students and schoolkids have made it a huge success, because it became the Friday night video.

It was a big seller in Walmart! Yes, huge. It became a very big home video seller, and then the movie became known as a great success. But at the time of its theatrical release, that was not how it was seen. The great and the good in the critical world saw it as trash. It was hard thing to take at the time.

So around 1998 he started talking about Quixote. He had a script from years before that he’d written with Charles McKeown. So we were having these conversations. Terry said, “I want to do something about this advertising executive. He’s really arrogant - he thinks he knows everything. He gets dragged into Quixote’s world. He goes back in time and he becomes Quixote’s sidekick.” Terry was talking about this, and I said, “But it’s not written down.” Terry then said, “It’s all in my head.” It sounded like a weird fusion of Don Quixote and A Connecticut Yankee at King Arthur’s Court by Mark Twain.

In fact Terry had spent six months working on Mark Twain’s novel just after The Fisher King I didn’t know that! So that’s where Terry stole it… now we know! In fact, this particular advertising executive, Toby, did bang his head, go back in time and meet Quixote. In the first drafts that we did together, it was split between the contemporary world - this advertising man making commercials, having betrayed any creative truth that he had, selling out to make commercials to flog cat food or whatever... He gets a bang on the head, and goes back to meet the real Don Quixote and then learns to become a servant to this crazed man. That was very much the early drafts. That balance and how you went into the Quixote world changed a lot, there was a moment I remember where he slipped into the contemporary world for a bit before being plunged back into the past. It very much played with that play between past and present.

In the middle of a previous script, he woke up in a hospital before going back to the world of Quixote. Yes, in one draft he woke up in a hospital. There were many different drafts, versions of this.

Casting your mind back to 1998, early 1999, when you put that script together, what can you remember about the roles you played? I’ve never worked with Terry where anything was distinct at all. Part of the joy is that it is play. What you have to do is to jump in and play. And it is hard play - you do it for a long time. I remember we’d act out scenes in a very natural way. We didn’t stand on a stage performing, but we’d just go through scenes and play different roles. Then we’d swap the roles we played.

By doing this, we understood the sense of the scene, the timing and how the jokes work. We would do that kind of thing, and I would go away with the material. I’d write and then send to him and then we’d meet up again and go over the script - that’s what we do.

Meanwhile Terry would say, “I had a go. I had a look at that scene and I’ve got a new version here,” and Terry would often say things like, “I managed to destroy the work that you did!” Joking aside, sometimes he has! But I say: well you’d better send it to me then. Toss the ball back. Then I have a look at it, and of course he hasn’t destroyed it totally, the destruction always brings a new idea or a new twist or an interesting take on something, or a new element. Then I incorporate that. We talk, we read the script, we have new ideas. I make sure I’ve got many notes, so I could go away and piece it together and do the writing and then come back and do some more. So it’s a very fluid process.

When it comes to putting a script together, the skills you bring in and complement each other, is there something that Terry specifically needs you for? I know that everyone likes the image of Terry being a crazed, out-of-control madman. But he’s not - he’s actually very disciplined. You can’t make a film unless you are disciplined. His take on a script is very, very good. He’s got a very good eye for a script. He understands structure of a script.

I’m in love with structure because I think structure is everything when it comes to a screenplay. It’s all about juxtaposition, it’s all about the transition from one scene to the next scene, and the meaning is in the middle, in that juxtaposition.

The film will be shot to shot to shot. The joy is the same in the script, going from one sequence to another. So to be really blunt about it, if you’ve got a really sad scene, you really want to come in with a very funny scene. The closer you put beauty and horror together, the better the horror works and the better the beauty works. The closer you put funny next to sad, the better the funny works and the better the sad works.

The other thing is that I used to be scared of writing dialogue. These days I really enjoy it. The biggest demon in dialogue is exposition of course. One of the biggest problems is the number of notes I get saying “Can we make it clearer?” In other words: can we tell everyone what’s happening? That implies that the executive understands, but he or she is worried the mass audience won’t.

The best dialogue you write is never about the plot. The best dialogue you write is about something else. The opposite of what’s happening. I enjoy writing that stuff very much.

Terry is a very visual filmmaker. Of course he is. But he’s also a chatterbox. He does a very funny thing with some dialogue: sometimes he’ll start talking non-stop. It’s very funny, very stream of consciousness, and it is great is to integrate stuff like that. I see the script as being my responsibility, that’s what I do. I’m the screenwriter. I want to pull everything back to me, write it and set it down.

This method makes him free to come up with ideas, to write something which is freed of the rigours of the framework of the screenplay, which we can then go over and explore. I can then try and integrate it all so that it works.

That addresses my next question: why does Terry need a collaborator on the screenplay? Because it leaves him freer to invent, when he has a collaborator to work with him? Well, I think that’s a really interesting point. I think what you are describing is the bigger business of filmmaking. A mentor of mine, the great producer - Tony Garnett - refers to filmmaking as being a social act, which it is of course. This isn’t just paying lip service like a great award ceremony where people say what a collaborative art it is - before they then take the gong…

The point is that it is an actual description of the business of filmmaking. It is a social act, and if I am writing a screenplay on my own - do I need a collaborator? Of course I do. It tends to be a producer whom I trust, whose notes are part of an ongoing conversation which is not just for that one film. Does Nicola Pecorini do his cinematography all on his own? Does a designer, a sound mixer, and actor?

No - none of us do what we do on our own. And we really are only as good as the people we are working with. And that applies to directing and screenwriting too. It’s about the dynamic between us all the time. It doesn’t need to be a fixed thing: one person can play the sensible one and the other person can be the irresponsible one. Then you can switch over - you can be free about how you play. It is about dynamic - you can’t have the same roles, because that’s when you don’t get anything interesting. So you need to challenge, offer up an alternative. It’s a debate. Does that sound too dull for you?

No, it’s fascinating insight! The way I work with Terry is unique - totally different from any other way I work. I think what you say about him writing with a screenwriter, partly yes there are many instances where he can be freed because - guess what - my main responsibility is the screenplay, that’s my job. But it’s not the only way it works. I might come up with an idea which is a bit off-piste, to which Terry might respond that it doesn’t really fit. We argue it out. He might have the final say - it’s his brand - but I will still argue. He enjoys a fight - as you may have noticed. The important thing is fluidity. You don’t stop. 

Terry has said himself the two things you need to get films made is momentum and belief. If he had enough knuckles he’d have them tattooed on his knuckles! Those are the two things, the two requirements. That’s all to do with playing. And by playing you avoid the demon of fear.

Momentum and belief is what gets movies into production without full financing! Absolutely, and it’s also increasingly necessary. I can’t remember the last time I went into production on a feature film with a contract all signed and sealed. There’s always something slightly outstanding isn’t there? I think that’s one of the reasons we’re all moving to television.

There was a 1999 attempt to make the film that fell apart, but shooting started in the autumn of 2000. How happy were you with that script going into production? Then, I was very happy. With hindsight, I am not. The first thing is that anything that you wrote a day ago just doesn’t look as good. Anything, let alone something that’s from 17 years ago. At the time you think it’s something of complete genius. And then it doesn’t seem to be quite so genius a week later. You gain a certain objectivity, hopefully you get better. You have new ideas, new ways of putting something together. And after 17 years, you’re not the same person. It’s a very natural thing. Yet at the time, I thought it absolutely felt just great to be getting it out there on the road.

Over the 17 years, I think on average we probably rewrote the script twice a year, maybe more sometimes - depending on the possibility of the film going into production again. Whenever it looked like there was a chance, I’d get the phone call and it would be Terry saying, “It looks like we’ve got Quixote back together again… I read the script and it’s crap!” That would be his way of saying we’re on the road again, let’s have a look at it. 17 years on I think we’ve finally got quite a good script.

One of the big differences is that now there is no time slip: everything is contemporary. That was a very welcome decision in a practical way. It’s also a smarter move because it’s not such a literal thing. As a result of shooting in Spain, we can still have Holy Week; we still have interiors of castles; we still have period costumes for great extravaganzas. So we are in the contemporary world, but we can slip back into a more ancient world in a subtler way, in a way where the old world and the new world are combined.

The other thing was to find a more solid story for Toby, which is what happened to him in the past when he was a young filmmaker- how he was recreating the Quixote myth in Spain using people who are nonprofessional actors, people who had jobs, such as an old man who was a cobbler. A man who is losing his marbles and who becomes convinced by Toby that he is in fact Don Quixote de La Mancha. Therefore Toby feels a responsibility for what subsequently happens.

Toby’s guilt gives him a solid grounding for his transformation. Yes it does. It is interesting if you ask yourself what is this guilt about - because he made something, because he produced something, because people were affected, some people were damaged by what he did? It’s interesting that he has that guilt.

I think Toby’s guilt is about irresponsibility, but to be honest he’s talking about a much younger self. I think his guilt is misplaced to be honest. I don’t think he is in fact justified in feeling the guilt he does feel. I don’t think it’s a true thing.

Making a movie can shake up people’s lives, yet I don’t think that it destroys them. Far from it. Anything you do in this world can affect people. I’ve seen plenty of examples of people becoming involved in films from outside the film world, and it’s only been a good thing. It’s like running away with the circus. People can reinvent themselves; people can throw off an older life. It’s a responsibility because if you are part of this whirlwind, this crucible stirring, of course you are responsible. You can’t pretend that you’re not having an effect, but it is not necessarily a negative thing. In fact most of the time I don’t think it is a negative thing. I think it enhances the world. It’s a bigger world, though a more dangerous world. I would never say that Toby was involved with a cynical misuse of the Quixote myth, and now he’s going to suffer because he’s guilty. Now he may feel guilty, and he clearly does, but I think it’s misplaced. I don’t think he’s thinking straight about it.

The part that really captures me is the tenderness between Toby and Quixote. And I really like that part of the story which is developed throughout, really. Toby does start off to be an arrogant shit, but I really like his gradual taking on of serving Quixote, and what I like about it is – it is two characters of course, but it’s about Toby giving himself up to a crazy idea, something you can’t see, something that is bigger and more extraordinary than the world you touch and see. That’s what he’s really giving himself to. He’s allowing, he saying that he’s not everything. There’s a huge world out there that’s nothing to do with me, and I’ll be in second place to that world. That sounds very highfalutin but that’s what’s going on.

By the way, isn’t that partly the source of his guilt, his being self-centred? As Quixote says to him, “It’s always about you…. me, me, me,” he says. I do think that guilt is about him being self-obsessed. Toby thinks, “It must be me, I caused this.”… I’m not sure - perhaps his real sin is he never lived up to his promise.

Straight after the Quixote collapse you did some work with Terry on Good Omens… The collapse of Quixote and the collapse of Good Omens was a real blow. I started working with Michel Winterbottom actually around that time, and that became In This World. That was a different kind of filmmaking where we were going to people and asking them for their experiences, and making a film guided and informed by that. It was purposefully a different tack. It was in response to those two big collapses. Although Good Omens wasn’t as big a disaster as Quixote, we did a lot of work on that script. And I still feel it would make a really good film. I think we had a good script there.

Tell me about the backstory of Toby’s student film. First of all, remember that we had come through the collapse of Don Quixote, so what was happening there? A filmmaker was making a version of Don Quixote which then collapses because of a great storm. So that’s sitting there. Plus we’ve both had experience of being ambitious young filmmakers. These things are in the ether. Toby’s student backstory grew out of those elements. It’s not: here’s a new idea - we’re going to slap on, it was quite a natural development.

I remember writing the details of it – it just ran, it just went, it was very easy. It felt such a natural progression, but it didn’t come out of nowhere. It comes out of the fact that we are constantly talking about this film, this story and these ideas. I don’t think we ever mentioned: isn’t this like another mirror on what actually happened on the collapsed Don Quixote shoot? I don’t think we even said it.

We have a film where, guess what, we’re making a film with a version of Quixote but as a commercial, and it collapses. We didn’t say: just like in real life. You don’t have to say it. By analysing those things, it destroys them. You’ve got to believe in the story. It’s the story you go to, not the storyteller. You just need that belief in the story, keep going, don’t worry about whose idea it is, just do it.

The script is very funny. Nicola, who clearly was there when it was shot, said that what was shot was funnier than the script, He said that the moviemaking alchemy has made it a very, very funny film. What challenges were posed by having to write humorous dialogue? There are different types of films, and different film projects call for different kinds of dialogue. It’s both a curse and a blessing, working on what is going to be labelled a Terry Gilliam film, because that’s what’s going to happen. One of the freedoms you get is the way that people talk to one another can veer into quite sort of surreal comedy. It allows you to do that. And remember this is co-writing - it’s a to and fro’.

I remember writing Rupert’s dialogue, and really enjoying it because I didn’t plan to write comedy. I planned to write this particular character, and Rupert’s very controlling. He makes a living out of being as close to Toby as possible, as close to power as possible. He’s full of that, ingratiating himself to survive - a bit of a guru, and a fake. All of these things can only be funny if played to Toby as the straight man. Which is what happens - it comes out of character, it doesn’t come out of comic intent. The development of that of course depends on the playing of them - performers picking up on that particular dynamic between those two characters in this instance. And getting it and playing it to the hilt. That’s what happens.

(Tony jokes) Maybe Nicola’s English is not good enough to appreciate out brilliant script. What a cheeky fucker! What Nicola is saying is that his bit of filmmaking is better than my bit of filmmaking. I shall poison his vineyard!

Clearly Nicola is talking about what the actors brought to it enhanced it! Listen, I recently worked with Steve Buscemi. The big danger with Steve Buscemi performing the lines that you’ve written, is that you think: I’m a really good writer. Because you get someone like that, you get Adam Driver, you get these people - they take hold of the lines and make them theirs. It’s a beautiful thing. I always think that writers pretend, and actors become. So I’m very pleased and absolutely believe everything what they have done with this script can only make it better, and thank Christ for that. People can then say, “Really great writing!”

One scene I did see being shot was when Jonathan Pryce as Javier/Quixote and Adam Driver as Toby arrive horseback at the castle. Jonathan Pryce was terrific, the one scene he was particularly good at was trying to please Alexei, while at the same time apologising for Toby’s behaviour and also being angry at Toby’s behaviour. He did all of those things simultaneously. It was hilarious. He’s born to the part or what? What I’ve seen of Jonathan Pryce becoming Quixote is just sublime. People pretend that the writing stops when you go into production, and of course it doesn’t. It continues, and that’s what Jonathan Pryce has done because he has continued the writing of the film. That’s what’s so beautiful. What Nicola’s saying is absolutely right, of course it is, and it’s a great thing when that happens.

Now, did you ever think it was an impossible dream, and did you ever take Terry to one side, and say “Don’t you think it’s time, you’ve tried it 10 times, to be focussing on something else?” I never did say that to Terry, but I did think it. That is the truth. If anyone asked me, as they did on several occasions, “What about Quixote?”, I’d say absolutely we’re going to make it. Absolutely it’s going to happen. Privately, I visited the garden of Gethsemane more than once. That’s my confession. My joy of Terry turning over on the first day was only surpassed by my joy of him turning over on the last day. I’m very pleased for the man.

Did you visit the set of this one? No I didn’t. I stayed away from it. I think that’s why it’s turned out such a success! I almost went to the set, but I didn’t go in the end. It’s a funny thing, Terry used to phone up every now and again, and say something like, “We’re shooting a scene and they’re hiding under the stairs and I need some dialogue.” I said, “Who’s hiding under the stairs - what are you talking about?” He said, “Quixote and Toby are hiding under the stairs - just write something!”

We also had conversations about what song is Adam singing? Lots of little bits and pieces. These missives from the front now and again appeared, and I just loaded up some ammunition and sent it back.

We talked before about Terry’s wild imagination, so you could say that Terry resembles Cervantes’s character Don Quixote, but you also mentioned the side of structure and practicality that you need to get a film made. So to what extent does Terry resemble Quixote, that is, Cervantes’s character? If you watch Lost in La Mancha, we make a big thing of that, and I think we got it wrong. I really do. I think Terry has a love of Quixote, he has an understanding of this old man’s dreams which are so detached from the waking world - yet that isn’t Terry. You can’t make movies like that. Don Quixote would not - could not - make a movie.

So I think the relationship is way more interesting and less literal than a bunch of us, myself included, stated in Lost in La Mancha. It’s much more interesting. It’s a love for Quixote’s detachment from the world, a wish for it as well, but it’s the conflict that makes it interesting, the very worldly process of the business of making a film. You are freest when you are writing, because you’re furthest away from the reality, compared to when you are shooting. Time is limitless when you start writing, up to the point just before you start shooting. And then it reverses out.

It rains; someone falls off a horse; the scene wasn’t as great as we thought it was; we found a different way of doing that scene; everyone was pointing in the wrong direction that day - all of these things, these are practicalities. And Terry is very, very practical.

With analogue film, the actual film was literally physically clicking through the gate at 25 frames per second: every frame costs money. That’s what’s happening when you are making the film, just as John Boorman called his book Money Into Light. That’s the alchemy that’s happening, that’s the magic going on. You can’t be Don Quixote and make that magic. You have to be someone else.

It’s interesting about Terry Gilliam/Don Quixote, because I regret having bolstered that equation. It’s a bit lazy and not close enough to the truth. I think the reality is really fascinating: that tension between recognising the crazed dreamer that is Quixote and recognising that in yourself and at the same time embracing the very practical things that enable you to turn the dreaming into film. It’s a way more interesting equation. In the end the film is Quixote and we are all Sancho.

You mentioned some other projects you have on the go... I’ve had three things all shooting at the same time: there’s Don Quixote (Terry Gilliam), and one of an anthology of Philip K Dick short stories called Crazy Diamond, which Mark Munden has directed for Channel Four and Sony. A third thing is an adaptation of a novel called The City & The City by China Mieville, and that’s a four-parter for the BBC, which is directed by Tom Shankland. They are all now in the cutting room. I am now writing In the Wolf’s Mouth, which is a set of interlocking stories all set around Sicily in 1943. That’s with Andrea Calderwood producing.

[entirebodyexercise]

The Art of Mindful Movement

The variety of things we are 'meant' to do for our wellness can be overwhelming. Workout, consuming tidy, hanging out with our household, obtaining adequate rest, lowering screen time, spending time in nature ... For those people hardly finding the moment to manage exercise as well as diet, this can be discouraging. The idea of resting still for five minutes and breathing appears like a little a waste when there are just 45 mins sculpted out in the day for health-related things. Most of us do not feel like we have time to meditate when a week, not to mention on an everyday basis.

Can Movement Be Meditation?

It is obvious that reflection is helpful. A 2014 study review wrapped up reflection brings about activation in the components of the brain associated with processing, self-regulation, focused problem addressing, flexible behavior, and interoception. It's virtually as though reflection is the remedy to an over-stimulated, go-go-go state of mind. Of course, the constantly on-the-go, over-stimulated individuals would certainly a lot rather do an HIIT workout compared to remain still. A conundrum.

What if including a conscious activity technique elicited comparable feedbacks in the mind as meditation? And also just what if relocating mindfully boosted performance?

Jon Kabat-Zimm, designer of the Mindfulness Based Anxiety Decrease strategy (MBSR), specifies mindfulness as 'the understanding that arises via listening deliberately, in the existing moment, and also non-judgmentally to the unfolding of experience.' Focusing on the job at hand as well as checking your partnership to the task as opposed to considering the next set, the music, or just what your boss said to you at the workplace is mindfulness. This could be done anytime, anywhere, as well as does not need sitting on the floor.

Research also suggests basic reflection techniques could bring about enhanced electric motor control, an enhanced capacity to spot subtle ecological adjustments, as well as much better self-correction to successfully complete a motor task when these modifications occur. These all seem like advantages if our goal is boosted physical performance, do not they?

Increasingly, scientists are stating motion can cultivate mindfulness when attention is routed in a specific way. This readies information for those of us struggling with the idea of meditation. ' Yes! Let me relocate as opposed to sit still! As well as get the exact same advantages!'

It Doesn't Have to Be Tai Chi

Don' t blunder conscious activity for very easy movement. To keep concentrated interest or to practice open surveillance (a reflection method that just suggests to observe what you are experiencing, without judgement) implies lowering interruptions as well as exploring the top quality of the motion, rather utilizing pressure. It becomes much less about exercise and more about curiosity and open-mindedness.

Moving slowly and also mindfully does not exactly match the objective of a conventional exercise. How can mindful activity be integrated without giving up the total objective of fitness?

The good information is health and fitness does not have actually to be compromised, if anything, exploring these concepts will likely boost fitness. The idea of mindful movement could be used in any type of fitness setup using noticing, sensation, and also adjusting.

Sensing describes the concept of taking a moment before your workout to feeling you. What is your physical state? What is your emotional state? Just what are you experiencing? Can you sense your breath? Can you pick up the ground? Taking 2-3 mins before the start of your exercise to ask yourself these inquiries makes you present. It sets you approximately be mentally taken part in the job at hand.

A fantastic means to do this is during joint mobility work. If you actively relocate your joints with numerous ranges of activity before your session, use this as a chance to examine in and also see just how you are really feeling and moving. And also if you do not do joint prep job, including 5 minutes of it could be a rewarding endeavor.

Feeling is the monitoring of exactly how you are doing a motion. As you move with your warm-up, for circumstances, can you feel on your own using unnecessary pressure? Or possibly if you're hypermobile, you do not seem like you're utilizing sufficient control. What can you do to earn the movement smoother, extra fluid? Can the top quality of the task be boosted without giving up ease?

This could also be used throughout the workout itself. If you are fighting with a certain ability, significantly lowering tons as well as moving with the workout gradually is a method to connect with the motion. One concept behind how this works is through the effect this carries the main nerve system. The main nerve system is included 2 branches: the sensory (afferent) anxious system and also the electric motor (efferent) nervous system. Self-awareness originates from the info we obtain from these 2 system.

Adjusting implies utilizing the details you discover from picking up and also feeling making an ability extra reliable. If, for example, you are moving slowly via a light deadlift and also you see (feeling) throughout the concentric phase of the activity you change your weight a little to the right to end up the lift, you can remedy this by telling on your own to remain focused as you do the following few. Your mind sends details to your motor (efferent) system via responses you obtained from noticing your weight on the flooring using your afferent system.

Obviously, just how you do a specific skill or workout is mosting likely to look various when you speed the workout approximately actual time and also load it sufficient to supply the proper stimulus for strength conditioning, but stepping back periodically as well as slowly points down will not lower performance. It might even enhance it.

Don't Price Cut Movement for Recovery

Another means to implement mindful motion into an exercise is to do it on recovery days. There are numerous types of relocating that enhance recognition and urge open monitoring. This is not to be perplexed with vinyasa circulation or a level 2-3 power yoga course with HIIT included. Instead, points like tai chi, restorative yoga exercise, qigong, as well as Feldenkrais are all types of corrective motion that could assist you establish focused attention and also mindfulness without disrupting recovery. They have the added advantage of being 'novel,' or consisting of activities that are most likely outside your typical collection. Novelty calls for focus, which means discovering a martial art, parkour, MovNat, or various other 'edge' exercise techniques breeds concentrate, though they most definitely do not fall into the restorative exercise category.

Focused focus has in fact been revealed to boost discerning and executive focus, or the capacity to concentrate on the task available. You know exactly how often you space out throughout your exercises and also discover on your own considering the meeting you have with your manager later on? The much better your exec focus, the less your mind will certainly wander and also the a lot more existing you will certainly be, not just throughout your exercises, but in life.

' But wait,' you may be believing. 'I don't have time to devote a whole additional hr on my day of rest to slow, laborious techniques created for old and sick people.' The excellent news is, with the net, there are lots of options offered to these forms of conscious motion that do not need leaving the house. Numerous of the on the internet options have courses that differ in length, from 10-60 minutes. Additionally, study recommends these types of techniques boost complete body control. For those of us aiming to enhance athleticism in any pastime or sport, this is possibly beneficial.

Emphasis Inward While You Trendy Down

So far, our choices for integrating conscious activity into our existing exercise program include during the workout, as part of ability job, as well as on day of rest. The last means to incorporate conscious activity into your existing routine is throughout the cool-down. As opposed to taking yourself via a stretching routine, core job, or whatever your common cool-down contains, try making little, straightforward activities that collaborate with your breath. This could be an extremely simple yoga routine, a gentle circulation that takes area on the flooring, or (my personal fave), a handful of somatic motions. Before lifting to leave, invest 2-3 minutes focusing on your breath. Not attempting to change it, just concentrating on it. Feel where your inhale goes, feel just what occurs when you breathe out. If your mind wanders, notification that and also return to concentrating on your breath.

It might possibly be suggested that every workout needs to be mindful, however I do not always assume that's the case. There will certainly constantly be days we require an exterior stimulation to obtain going, whether it's songs, an intense exercise, or brainless cardio. However, if each exercise does not have an element of focus and interest, you are doing on your own a disservice. Attention is like a muscle, it has to be worked progressively gradually for it to ever before boost. And also, like exercise, by exercising just a little of mindfulness in the beginning, over time, you will be able to exercise it increasingly more till it penetrates various other areas of your life.

[shewholovestoread]

Game of Thrones - The Wolf and The Dragon - Speculation and Theories

Okay!!! Speculation time! There were a number of things that struck me about this episode, like there were things that the makers of the show were clearly trying to establish.

1st with regard to Jon and his title: Let’s start with Jon, I think this episode did an amazing job of telling us that while Jon is a good commander, he is not a good king. He wants to do the right thing but lacks the skills to execute them. He only had to make a non-committal statement and he refused to do that. Till then, no one knew that he had bent the knee, you can see the shock on Davos and Brienne’s faces, even Davos did not see this coming. Moreover, he did not need to bend his knee, by then Dany was already on board and supportive of his cause, the fact that he chose to do so regardless is another bad decision and one that will not end well. Saying that the Northern Lords will not be happy with his decision is the understatement of the century. He was chosen to lead the North and the lords can just as easily choose someone else.

Dany: I actually like her this season. The acting has certainly improved and the layers of her personality are more apparent. She is a problematic character, in that there are times when she genuinely cares and wants to improve the social conditions, but there is a more ruthless side to her side as well and she doesn’t listen to reason once she makes up her mind. I actually like her better like this. I don’t know whether she’ll eventually become a villain though that will be lame and simplistic.

Jon and Dany: This episode also tried to sell us the JonxDany ship and frankly I don’t buy it. I don’t have a problem with the ship per se, just that it’s so shoddily executed. The Jon and Sansa scenes had more chemistry than all the the JonxDany scenes put together. The scene of them making love, should have been a climactic moment and yet it was overshadowed by the reveal of Jon’s parentage and his true name, not to mention Tyrion standing outside their door, looking less than pleased. Their sex scene just ended up being so pedestrian and random. There was no foreplay, no build-up, we literally saw them in the middle of the act and cut while they were still in the middle. Sex scenes usually stay long enough to establish climax, both for the scene since it’s usually a gradual build-up and for the characters, here it was glaringly absent. The scene just feels wrong on so many levels.

Also, we know that it’s only a matter of time before the Aegon Targeryen reveal is made public. I think that when Jon finds out, he’s going to choose to tell Dany and Northern Lords, that’s what the honourable aspect of his personality will demand of him. He won’t be able to continue to stay with Dany once he finds out his true lineage and she won’t trust him once she finds out that he has a stronger claim to the throne. It won’t matter to her that he doesn’t want to rule because ultimately it’s not important. She’s smart, she knows that there are people who support her because they believe that she’s the last Targeryen, when they suddenly find themselves with a choice, one who is male, well, the world of Westeros is a patriachal one.... There will be those who will push him to take the throne, sidelining Dany completely. Add to that, he can ride the dragons just as she does which again, will make her vulnerable. She already stated that the Dragons are her children and without them she would be ordinary and Dany doesn’t want to be ordinary. She’s fought tooth and nail and worked hard to get where she is and I wouldn’t blame her for being pissed off that suddenly this guy shows up and has a stronger claim to the throne that she’s been fighting for her whole life. I don’t see the unsullied and the Dothraki supporting Jon, their allegiance is to Dany and her alone, but the other players, who knows. So basically, the ‘Jon is Aegon Targeyren’ reveal will be the death knell for the JonxDany ship.

What’s with Tyrion, Jorah and Dany’s prophecy: Tyrion’s interactions post Dragonpit were curious to say the least. We saw in episode 6 that Dany disregarded his advice and flew up North to save Jon and his crew and lost a dragon in the process. He also saw her agree with Jon in how to proceed North over Jorah’s suggestion, which would probably be safer. From the close-up of Jorah’s face, we know that he is far from pleased. We also saw Tyrion outside Dany’s room while Jon and Dany are having sex. Tyrion has a very casual attitude about sex and for him to have such a serious look on his face is worrisome. From his conversation with Cersie, we know that he hoped that Jon would bend his knee but I don’t think he’s happy with the fact they jumped into bed.

Add to that, we also know that Jorah loves Dany and he never stopped loving her. He’s known her the longest and probably knows her best among all her current advisers. And again, he’s unhappy that Jon, who just showed up, is suddenly so important to her. The prophecy about Dany says that she will be betrayed for love and people are assuming that Jon will betray her but what if it’s not him but Jorah. Jorah who loves and has loved her for a very long time. Her time with Daario did not bother him because he was absent for most of it and then she left him behind. I think on some level Jorah knew that Daario was never a serious competitor but it’s not the same with Jon. Jon is young, he’s powerful and he’s in his prime, all the things that Jorah is not. He sees the way Dany looks at him and while he may not express it, it doesn’t make him happy. He’ll betray her because he loves her and not to her enemies but imagine that he finds out about Jon’s lineage and before Jon can tell Dany, he tells her instead. It’s one thing for Dany to hear it from Jon, it’s completely different to hear it coming from someone else. I’m not saying that this will happen, it’s merely an example of the kind of betrayal that Jorah would commit. Because, ultimately he still loves Dany and he wouldn’t want her to come to any harm.

I’m going to add Tyrion to this mix just on the basis of what I saw this episode. I think both Jorah and Tyrion are concerned about the important that Jon suddenly has in Dany’s life and that his actions, while honourable have the potential to be problematic.

Sansa and Arya: Littlefinger finally played the wrong sisters against each other and paid for it with his life. Having watched the episode, I am not entirely convinced that the sisters were putting on a show for LF’s benefit. I think there was genuine antagonism on both side till Bran sat them down and spoke to them, that obviously happened off camera but it’s not hard to guess that because of what he said in the Great Hall. He’s the one who tells Sansa and Arya about all the ways that he’s fucked with their family and that finally leads to both of them putting aside their differences and uniting. I think we also got to see Sansa as Queen in the North with Arya acting as her hand. Season 8 will out Jon’s parentage and place him not as a Stark but the true-born son of Rhaegar which completely changes the power dynamic in the North. Jon will no longer be the King in the North, Bran is the three-eyed raven and Arya has no interest in ruling, which leaves Sansa. The scenes establishing her as a good ruler were no accident, neither was the scene where Lord Glover and Royce both said that they made a mistake is choosing Jon and they should have chosen her instead. In Jon’s absence, she stepped up in a big way and is the only one who can keep the North united under House Stark while still helping Jon with his quest against the WW. There was a reason when Arya and Sansa repeated Ned’s words there was no mention on Jon, and this is telling when Arya brought him up so many times in their previous encounters. Winterfell is House Stark’s seat of power, there must always be a Stark in Winterfell and Jon, now Aegon is not a Stark at all.

Just as Tyrion pushed Dany to control some of her more impulsive decisions, Arya will do the same for Sansa. Sansa wants to protect Winterfell, her family and herself and that may sometimes cloud her judgement, it’s at those times that Arya’s position as the Hand will be important, she can speak frankly to her sister, in a way that no one else can, not even Brienne.

What does this mean for Jon and Sansa, honestly, I’m not sure. They could get married, a political alliance between House Targeryen and House Stark, to cement the relationship between the North and the South, but if Jon is meant to rule the Iron Throne, then there is a problem because I don’t see Sansa leaving Winterfell. Arya has no desire to be Lady of Winterfell and while Sansa might want to be QitN, she has no desire to rule the Seven Kingdoms. of course, this could be a moot point if the IT no longer exists at the end of the show and there are various theories that support this. Also, judging by Jon’s reaction to the city in this episode, he wasn’t too impressed by what he saw of the crowded, cramped living conditions. He grew up in the North, he’s used to the wide-open landscapes. Plus, he’s also a bit too attached to his fur coat, to the extent where he even wore in Dragonpit and it was clearly hot there. I don’t think he’ll want to move South. So a Jon and Sansa political wedding is still a possibility and certainly more plausible than the Jon and Dany could-be-relationship.

Brienne and Jamie: So Jaime finally stood up to Cersie and saw that she has lost her mind and so blind that she can’t see she is dooming both her city and her unborn child to death. He leaves her and makes his way North. Season 8 will see Brienne and Jaime get together. He will also share the news that Cersie’s promise of her armies marching North to fight alongside Dany’s and Jon’s was a lie. Brienne always brings out the best in him, the man he could be and he finally has the chance to let that side of him rise to the fore. I don’t see him join Dany’s camp because he did see her burn his soldiers alive, but the Lady of Winterfell? Now that is possible. Especially since Brienne is still oath-bound to serve Sansa. But, where does this leave poor Tormund?

This just struck me, with Jaime leaving for the North and possibly joining Sansa’s camp, does it add more weight to the theory that ultimately it’s Sansa who will dethrone Cersie? She was indirectly responsible for Joffrey’s death and now she has Jaime on her side as well, she has “stolen” the one man who always stood by her side. I’ve always believed that the final showdown must be between Sansa and Cersie. LF was one of her abusers, Cersie was the other and just as it was Sansa sentencing LF, it needs to be Sansa who eventually bests Cersie at her own game. Sansa learned from both LF and Cersie and who better to beat her than the the ‘little dove’ that everyone underestimated? They have history while Dany and Cersie do not and it just makes more sense.

P.S. - on a completely unrelated note, I am happy that Sophie Turner dyed her hair red, that wig was atrocious in certain scenes

[cotswoldhypnotherapy-blog]

How To Have A Healthy And Strong Mental Life?

Mental health is becoming more and more at the forefront of daily life. If you are struggling with your day to day emotions whether this is through anxiety, depression, or a diagnosed disorder, it can make living extremely difficult. Many deals with these issues, but do not want to take medications to handle these unwanted thoughts, feelings, or emotions. Luckily, there are natural ways that you can deal with the health issues that can help you rewire your mind.

Those who are struggling with their mental health are great candidates for hypnotherapy. While this can sound intimidating, this is a great and natural way to improve your mindset. Hypnotherapy requires you to work with a hypnotherapist to solve problems that you may be dealing with. These can be a range of issues from emotional, behavioral, or even pain and tension.

You want to find someone who is qualified in hypnotherapy to help you and is using valid techniques to achieve patient goals. The type of hypnotherapists in your area will vary greatly and some areas are not abundant in available therapists. Regardless of where you live, the job of a hypnotherapist is to help clients solve specific problems through sessions. Some unwanted thoughts or behaviors can be dealt with in only one session, while others may take several sessions or ongoing support.

Hypnosis is used to help patients change their mindset when it comes to their daily stress, improving their overall mental health. When you are under hypnosis or a hypnotic state, you are more likely to take suggestions that can change how you think, feel, or behave. Through these sessions, a trained hypnotherapist can help you rewire your thought process and find peace. It can be difficult to trust a hypnotherapist, but many enjoy these sessions and a quality therapist will make you feel comfortable during them.

If you are already on medication for your mental health condition, you do not want to stop it cold turkey to undergo hypnotherapy sessions. However, you can use these therapy sessions to help you better deal with your unwanted thoughts and assist your current method. Ideally, hypnotherapy can help you lower or even quit medication, but this should be gradual over time. You should always work with your therapist and your regular physician to decide the course of action that works best for your needs.

For many, hypnotherapy has worked when other methods have failed. Through these sessions, they can rethink their daily stressors and handle their emotions more adequately. When you work with a professional hypnotherapist, you should feel secure and supported throughout your session. You must do your research when it comes to finding a therapist in your area that can help you fully.

You will want to speak to the hypnotherapist directly before undergoing any sessions to discuss what issues you are suffering from and the results that you hope to see from your sessions. These individuals should be able to give your peace of mind before you begin undergoing sessions. You should never go to a location that does not feel comfortable to you or is not completely professional. Always search online for reviews from those in your area who have had hypnotherapy sessions from the location or ask for recommendations from those close to you who have undergone similar care.

Many who have undergone hypnotherapy sessions have seen an increased outlook on life almost immediately. Even on more stressful or harder days, you should be given the chance to learn coping mechanisms that you can utilize. Your therapist should work with you to get to the root of your issues and help you better manage them.

About Us: Cotswold Hypnotherapy is run by Bobby Jon Hook who is a professional Clinical Hypnotherapist and Psychotherapist. The company offers specialized treatment for much mental health and other disorders like anxiety, depression, weight management, smoking, and more. They service the Cheltenham, Cirencester, and Cotswolds areas. The team uses only modern and well-researched techniques that are backed by brain-based science. They provide hypnotherapy in a safe and client let environment. These services have helped hundreds of past clients manage their daily struggles and better understand how their mind works. To learn more about the services they offer, you can visit the company’s website today https://cotswoldhypnotherapy.co.uk/.

[belphegor1982]

If people are actually reading this, bonne lecture :o)

FAIRY TALES AND HOKUM

Summary: 1937: Two years after the events of Ahm Shere, the O’Connells are “required” by the British Government to bring the Diamond taken there from Egypt to England. In Cairo, while Evelyn deals with the negotiations and Rick waits for doom to strike again, Jonathan bumps into an old friend of his from university, Tom Ferguson. Things start to go awry when the Diamond is stolen from the Museum and old loyalties are tested…  (story on AO3; on FFnet)

(Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9)

Chapter 10: Different Kinds of Apparitions (on AO3 here)

Alex O’Connell usually got up pretty early in the morning. There was always something interesting to do, even – especially – on Sundays, when he was the first awake. For instance, grabbing a stool to try and nick some interesting books from the library, those he was forbidden to read, of course. So far, he’d fallen across a number of books about how to make mummies (see Picture n°3 for details), something about medicine and anatomy that left him wondering certain things for a few weeks before he awkwardly brought it up – and hadn’t that been an interesting conversation – plus a couple of novels about folks doing mushy or yucky stuff with no shirts on. Those had been by far the least interesting. They weren’t even any properly funny bits.

Right now, as he slowly became aware of sounds and things surrounding him, his eyelids still stuck shut by sleep, Alex wasn’t in any kind of hurry to wake up. He was curled up in his bed, breathing deeply, and he felt rather good about it. Now he understood what so many people liked about lie-ins.

It was pretty hot inside the room, he realised as he brushed his fringe, plastered on his forehead by sweat, from his eyes. He didn’t know what time it was, but it seemed that the worst of the afternoon heat had passed; it was dark too, as he noticed, even through his closed eyelids. His mum must have closed the shutters when she had put him to bed last night. Or morning.

Now there was a good question. When had the conversation finished last night? Alex swore inwardly, cursing himself for not staying awake to hear the rest of the conversation. Maybe he hadn’t heard it, but they had actually found a solution. Heck, knowing Ardeth and the Medjai in general, maybe they’d already set up some sort of miracle plan to get his dad and uncle out of whatever place those strange guys had taken them to.

Alex’s eyes popped open as if of their own accord. Maybe his dad was already here. Maybe if he went over to his parents’ room, he’d find his mum and dad sleeping in each other’s arms. Maybe Uncle Jon would then stumble out of his own room, yawning and scratching his neck, walking with his eyes closed and bumping into the furniture until he fixed himself some tea. And he and Alex would grouse in chorus because, as usual, Mum and Dad would hug and kiss and stuff.

For a second, this wild hope turned Alex’s heart upside down, and he sat up quickly, almost expecting all of this to happen. A half-second later, he started when he saw Ardeth Bay sitting on a chair on the other side of the room. The hope that had flared for a second in his chest died down, leaving the boy with a knot in his stomach.

“Good, you’re awake. I thought that you might wake up before your mother.”

Alex made a quick mental note to never laugh at Uncle Jon again when Ardeth startled him by appearing out of the blue, and asked, a bit puzzled, “What’re you doing here?”

Ardeth actually gave a grin. Discreet, but a real one. “This question seems to come back a lot where I’m concerned.”

“Yeah…” Alex ran a hand through his hair. His neck was soaked. “I s’ppose. Sorry.”

“Do not be. I came here to bring some news. And bring back the letter to your mother.”

“What letter?”

“When your mother came home this morning, she found a letter from the men who have taken your father and your uncle. But it is nothing of great importance.”

‘Nothing of great importance’? It was important if it was from the kidnappers! “What’d it say?”

Ardeth looked at him seriously. “It only meant to frighten your mother. But I highly doubt that she would be frightened so easily.”

Yep, he’s got a point there. “Mum?” Alex gave a broad grin. “She’s afraid of nothing.”

“Don’t you think that’s giving me a little too much credit?” came a soft voice by the door. Alex hadn’t even heard his mum enter the room.

She came to sit on his bed and ran a gentle hand through his hair, smiling. And he let her do, because even if it was a tad embarrassing to have his mum fuss over him in front of people, well… she was his mum. And, come to think of it, Ardeth wasn’t ‘people’. Ardeth was Ardeth, almost a second uncle.

“How are you, Evelyn?” Ardeth asked. She rubbed the back of her neck and blinked a couple of times.

“I’m fine, thank you.” She did look tired, though, Alex thought, looking at the shadows under her eyes. “Do you have news? What did you make of that letter? And why didn’t you wake me earlier?”

“Well,” Ardeth said slowly, but firmly, “you needed rest. That as much was obvious. As for the letter…” He stopped and dug the aforementioned letter from a pocket in his robes and handed it to Evelyn. “… There it is. It only proves what we talked about last night – yesterday’s kidnapping has something to do with the Diamond of Ahm Shere. All this letter tells you to do is to wait until they are returned – no ransom demand, no clear instructions at all. According to what I know of kidnappings, this one seems very peculiar.”

It sure did. In every film Alex had seen so far, when people – usually pretty blonde girls – got kidnapped, their kidnappers asked for a nice big ransom. Of course, they never could get it, because the fearless dashing hero always managed to save the girl in time.

Watching movies in theatres was both less and more fun than when the adventure stuff happened to you and your family.

Mum nodded, not looking at anything in particular; then her eyes swiftly shifted back to Ardeth. “So, do you have any news?”

A slight smile slowly made its way across Ardeth’s face. “Yes,” he said. “That’s why I came here. I’ve just heard – word of mouth, again – that Tom Ferguson has been sighted in the village of Nazlet El Samman, near Giza.”

Evelyn’s eyes went rounder. “Then what are we waiting for? If someone can give us any answers, this man can – and now we know where he is!”

Alex jumped quickly out of bed and began looking for his clothes. “Comin’ in a tick!” He was grateful to see his mum and Ardeth going out of the room, no doubt to give him a little more privacy. Or rather, he was grateful that Ardeth walked over to the door and stepped aside to let Mum out; she would surely have wanted to help Alex get dressed, and he was just too old for this sort of thing. He could dress perfectly on his own.

When he ran into the living room to join them, dishevelled, shirttails hanging out of his trousers, and all but dragging his jacket on the floor, they were waiting for him. He only had time to wonder how his mum had managed to change clothes so quickly when there was a knock on the door.

Ardeth turned to Evelyn. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No,” she answered, sounding unsure. She glanced into the bag she was carrying, and Alex saw with surprise – mingled with not a little bit of excitement – that she had brought a small number of Dad’s guns. Had he missed something? Were they going to fight?

She walked carefully to the door, and opened it in a swift gesture.

Alex’s mouth fell open.

On the threshold stood the most extraordinary old man he’d ever seen – and this was saying a lot. He was very lean, but quite tall, and almost seemed to be blocking the light of sunset that came behind him. He wore long black robes embroidered with thin gold thread, a white turban and a long, light white scarf, one end of which fell down on his chest. But the most unusual was his face. The long white beard made stark contrast against the bronzed colour of his face, his cheekbones were high and his nose was long and thin; it was probably his eyes, though, that stood out most. Slanted and black, they seemed to be thousands of years old, with the wisdom that came with long life that Alex had seen when he had met some of the older Medjai. Those eyes made him feel like some sort of ghost from Ancient Egypt was staring at him, hidden in the envelope of a stately old Egyptian man1.

“Good evening,” the apparition said in a low, deep voice. “Are you Dr Evelyn O’Connell?”

Realising he was gawping at the newcomer – and probably not looking particularly smart in the process – Alex shut his mouth and looked at his mum. Evelyn blinked, an astonished expression on her face, then gave a nod, her eyes not leaving the old man’s face.

“Y—yes, I am,” she said at last, gradually regaining her usual assurance. “What… I’m sorry – who are you?”

A small smile – it looked like one to Alex, anyway – stretched the strange man’s thin lips, and he gave a slight bow. “I am Sheikh Sadek al-Nazar, and I dwell at Nazlet El Samman, near Giza. However, I have other, higher duties.”

Glancing at Ardeth, Alex thought he saw something like recognition flash in his eyes.

“Indeed, if I am here to speak with you, it is not as the Sheikh, but as the High Priest of Osiris.”

Right. Curiouser and curiouser, like it said in that book. The whole thing was becoming wilder by the second.

To Alex’s relative relief, his mum looked just as nonplussed as he felt. After a few seconds, though, she stepped aside to let the stranger in.

“I thank you,” he said, in that extraordinarily deep voice of his. “You must be Commander Bay,” he added, turning to Ardeth, who bowed respectfully. “I have heard of your deeds and those of your people. You deserve great praise.”

“I did nothing,” Ardeth said slowly, “but lead a courageous and honourable people to battle while four persons I am honoured to call my friends –” and there was something in his eyes that smiled as he glanced very briefly at Evelyn and Alex “– held the fate of the world in their hands. The Scorpion King was vanquished thanks to them, not us.”

“Really?” Something like a smile twinkled in the dark slanted eyes. “Well, seldom have I seen a Commander so humble. If the nobility of your soul equals your modesty, then the Medjai people is fortunate to have you as their Commander, young Ardeth Bay.”

For a half-second – a quarter, really – Alex thought he saw more colour on Ardeth’s cheeks. Maybe it was just an illusion, because the next second, he looked his usual calm, mysterious self. Still, despite the seriousness of the situation, Alex couldn’t completely suppress a snort at the thought of Ardeth Bay blushing.

The Sheikh glanced swiftly in his direction, and suddenly the boy felt his own cheeks grow distinctly hot. Darn it.

But Sheikh al-Nazar didn’t say anything. Instead he turned to look at Evelyn, who said quickly, “I’m sorry if I sound rude, but – what is the reason of your presence here? Why did you come all the way from Giza to my house?”

“You are not rude at all, Dr O’Connell. In fact, if someone here was forgetting their manners, it would be me.” He spoke an elegant, flowing English, with hardly any trace of accent, although it did sound as if a textbook was speaking instead of an actual person. Kind of like Ardeth, actually, minus the accent. “You were about to go outside, I see, weren’t you?”

Alex saw the dark eyes dart from the jacket he still clutched in his hand to his mum’s shoes. Elementary, my dear Watson.

“Yes, in fact we were,” said Evelyn, sounding a bit desperate. “My husband and my brother have been gone for twenty-four hours now, and we’re looking for a man who might know something about their disappearance – we’ve heard that he was in Nazlet El Samman a little while ago, perhaps you –”

“Calm yourself, Dr O’Connell,” Sheikh al-Nazar said slowly. “If you are speaking of Thomas Ferguson, it was he who sent me to you.”

Alex’s jaw hit the floor for the second time in ten minutes, and it wasn’t the only one to do so. The next thing he felt was a hot surge of anger, one not unlike what had coursed through him when he had heard that Ferguson had been a traitor all along. Oh, he wasn’t going to fall for stuff like that twice.

“You’re with them, aren’t you?” he shouted, making his mother jump slightly. “You’re with those who took them! You –”

“Alex!” Evelyn and Ardeth had both spoken sharply, almost snapped, and while it didn’t make his anger die down, it sure as hell surprised him enough to calm down a bit. Especially considering the double bright glare that went with the words. It was hard to tell whose eyes were flashing hardest.

When there was something in your Mum’s eyes that was not unlike the look the most powerful Medjai Alex knew got in his eyes when he was genuinely furious, you knew you’d got yourself into trouble. Big time.

“Right,” he mumbled in the end, sobered up a bit. Through his blond fringe he looked up at the Sheikh. “Sorry.”

The Sheikh’s eyes looked sterner than his voice sounded when he said, “I understand your tongue ran quicker than your thoughts, young master O’Connell. From the information I could gather about all this, your reaction is understandable.”

While he turned to Evelyn and exchanged a few words with her, Ardeth slipped quietly to Alex’s side, and whispered, “What you must understand, Alexander, is that this man is in his own way more powerful than any king or emperor – he is the last High Priest of Osiris, the Keeper of the Dead, and although he may not appear so, he knows things and can do things that are beyond imagination. And he is very, very old.”

Something in his words struck a chord in Alex. “W–wait”, he said, “Priest of Osiris? You mean, like Imhotep?”

Ardeth looked a tad uneasy, but he nodded. “Yes, He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named fulfilled this duty before he became the Creature. He was the second most powerful man in Egypt, right after Pharaoh, as has every High Priest been before and since. Sadek al-Nazar has inherited the powers and the knowledge of five thousand years. Some even say he was gifted with long life – something I tend to agree with, since both my grandfather and my great-grandfather knew him as he is.”

Whoa… Alex made a mental count, and his eyes widened. “Jeez! He’s not that old, is he?”

“He is,” Ardeth said with a slight smile. “So, as your mother would say if she was listening to us right now, mind your manners when you address him. Not necessarily, as Fahad said yesterday, because you ought to ‘keep quiet whilst the elders speak’ – but simply out of respect for a man wiser than most.”

That was Ardeth for you. One second, he could be all gloom and doom, shoot you down with a single glare, and pull it off thanks to his usual mysterious demeanour; the next, his eyes twinkled, a smile was playing at the corner of his mouth, and you knew nothing bad would happen to you. “Right,” Alex said with a grin. “Well, I’m glad I did apologise. Could’ve turned nasty for me otherwise, couldn’t it?”

“You overreacted because you were driven by anger and concern. I can tell you that having known your family for eleven years I’m not unfamiliar with such a reaction.” Ardeth shook his head. “You truly are your father’s son in many ways,” he added with a real, fully-fledged grin.

Alex grinned back, his chest swelling with pride. The last person who had said that to him had been Imhotep, so it was quite a nice change to hear it coming from Ardeth Bay.

On the other hand… Alex remembered his dad’s reaction when Mum had been kidnapped by Lock-Nah and his men – lashing out at Ardeth as if he was the one who’d brought the guys in red to their house and slamming him against that statue. Oh sure, as Alex understood it, he’d more or less apologised afterwards, but it was also true that Rick never seemed to be really comfortable whenever Ardeth was around. Each time, for the first few seconds anyway, he seemed to be expecting some sort of catastrophe that would eventually lead to the kidnapping of a member of the family, and, incidentally, to the end of the world. Guess you can call that overreacting.

That said, ever since Ahm Shere, Dad had seemed to make an effort not to ‘overreact’ anymore when Ardeth dropped by to say hello when they went to some dig site or other in Egypt – probably, Alex thought, thanks to Mum, who had chided his Dad for being so ridiculously superstitious. The little he’d been able to see of Dad’s face from the staircase he was hiding in when she had told him that had been hilarious.

So the comment was both a praise and a dig. Knowing Ardeth, he should have known.

Alex gave a crooked grin, and the Medjai leader laid a hand on his shoulder briefly before turning to Mum and the Sheikh.

And from what he picked up of the conversation, it was very interesting. Not to mention scary as hell.

.⅋.

Tom Ferguson was back in his small office. After he absent-mindedly finished writing the report he’d abandoned earlier to go and see Jon and O’Connell, he had leant back in his chair, put his feet on his desk, and stared at the ceiling where a fan turned round and round, supposedly to bring some air in the sultry room. The bloody fan had been turning for something like three hours now, and been failing its purpose completely.

He felt sick to the stomach. Literally. And not because of the spinning fan.

He would never, in all the world, have guessed the extent of Hamilton’s ‘projects’. Even if he did have an inkling about why they had taken the diamond and its former owners in the first place – the idea being that the diamond somehow allowed entrance into the Pyramid of Ahm Shere – he had to admit to himself that he had had no clue as to what they would do once inside the pyramid, until the conversation in the basement of a house in Giza a few hours ago.

He would never have guessed that Hamilton wanted to use a legendary army to destroy a whole nation of people!

Jesus.

The fan turned and turned on the ceiling, but it didn’t come even close to the speed Tom’s mind was spinning. The last time he had felt so sick was in the Diamond’s chamber in the Museum, when Baine and his guys had burst in through the door; he’d whirled round just in time to see Jon crumple lifelessly to the floor, like a puppet whose strings have been cut, and Baine standing above him with a smug smile on his grim face, still gripping his gun by the barrel. At that moment, Tom had felt a violent desire to take the sceptre thing Jon had held in his hands and bash Baine’s head with all his might. But he had controlled himself – with an effort – and yelled at Baine, “What’d you do to him?! You just had to stun him, that’s all!”

“I did stun him, Ferguson,” Baine had said, perfectly calm, and Tom fought back once more the desire to strangle him. “I just did what I was told.”

“That’s not called stunning, you idiot,” Tom had retorted sharply. “You nearly smashed his head in, for Pete’s sake!” He walked over to Jon, ignoring the movement in the back of the room indicating that the diamond was being placed in some sort of basket, all the while glaring at his fellow agent. “If he’s dead, then so help me…”

Baine had looked at him with disdain as he put two fingers on his friend’s neck, and couldn’t help letting out a sigh of relief. Of course Jon wasn’t dead. Baine could be a pain in the arse and a downright bastard, but he obeyed orders. But Tom never trusted him. Some other agents he trusted, some even were good friends, but Gabriel Baine… Well, maybe it was the way he seemed to enjoy missions like this one a little too much.

He had stood up and looked around the room, to meet with the gaze of the young assistant, Jamal Hassan. The boy looked at him sadly for a few seconds, then followed the other agents in charge of the diamond up a rope ladder to the broken window and outside.

Tom turned back to Baine, who kept smirking at him. “What’re you lookin’ at?”

Baine’s smirk widened. “Oh, just wondering how it felt to betray someone who thought of you as a friend. The two of you were mates once, right?”

Tom’s eyes flickered down to Jon’s still body for a second, then back up to Baine. “That’s right, you wouldn’t know, would you,” he’d said coldly. “You’d need actual friends to betray.”

Baine’s smirk slipped off and turned into a glare. It had been on this small victory that Tom had allowed another fellow agent to knock him on the head, and his last conscious thought was relief that it hadn’t been Baine.

The fan kept turning, but although Tom’s eyes were still fixed on it, it wasn’t what he was really seeing. Instead, he was picturing an army of jackal-like soldiers devastating countries, slaughtering the inhabitants, and sweeping across the world like dark waves with nothing to stop them. Because Jon did have a point. If the army existed, the god Anubis would be the only one to truly control it, and Hamilton was an established crackpot.

Not that he wasn’t already. God, for all the time Tom thought he was just a control freak with the proverbial umbrella stuck up his –

The chair gave a nasty crack and Tom almost fell over, arms wheeling in an attempt to regain his balance. It worked, and he sprung out of the chair before it gave away for good – honestly, the quality of the furniture they were stuck with in this place left much to be desired – and began to pace the room absent-mindedly.

He had to think of something, and quick.

Of course, the number of options he had was a tad limited.

He couldn’t go back to Jon and O’Connell now. Hamilton had probably made sure that the two agents would not let him in a second time. And he couldn’t go to see Liz, either, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much he worried about her.

Where could he go? To whom? And to say what – that some mad Englishman wanted to raise the mythical Army of Anubis and claim it for his own?

Tom almost kicked in a pile of books in anger, but his respect for the written word and decade-old leather and paper prevented him from actually doing it. Instead, he stopped pacing and took a second look at the books.

The ghost of an idea slowly taking shape in his mind.

He picked up a small volume hidden beneath some bigger others, brushed the dust away with his sleeve, and grinned broadly when he managed to make out the title: A History of the Cult of Osiris in Ancient Egypt.

Gotcha. The bones of the idea he’d had looked a bit more solid now.

Feverishly, he leafed through to the index, found what he was looking for, and read.

“Although the Pharaoh was considered a living god on Earth, the head of state and religion, the High Priest of Osiris had many powers as head of one of the most important cults in Egyptian mythology. Aside from him, the priests under his command could only take orders from the Pharaoh in person. As the Keeper of the Dead, he presided over the embalming and burial of those of royal blood, and was in charge of the two legendary books containing all the rituals in Egyptian religion, the Book of the Living and the Book of the Dead.”

Right, this part he already knew. Tom returned to the index and searched it for something… anything… that might be useful to him right now.

“The High Priesthood was passed on from each dying High Priest to the one he decided was most worthy. No-one knows for sure when exactly the tradition died out. Some say it did during Persian occupation, some others say Greek, others again say Roman, and for some others it disappeared during the Arab conquest of Egypt. A few historians posit that the Priesthood never disappeared, and that there is still a High Priest of Osiris, and that he still has followers, even if they are but a very minor part of the current Egyptian population.”

Tom’s eyes darted down the page.

“The last known traces of a High Priest of Osiris (see Fisher, E., (1922). From the New Kingdom to the Hellenistic Period: Late Religious Practices in Ancient Egypt) go back to the Thirtieth Dynasty and were found near Giza. The necropolis there has stood for millennia as an emblematic place for solar cult[2] and the Great Sphinx, the statue of which stands there, was revered as the sun god Hor-em-akhet in the New Kingdom2.”

[2] The gods Ra and Horus being central solar deities, and Horus being the son of Osiris, showcases the close connection between the world of the living (Horus, the sun) and the Underworld (Osiris’ realm).

His heart now racing madly, Tom put the small book in his pocket and began to rummage about in search of a recent map of Giza. It took him a little while to find one among the mass of files, papers and books lying about, but he finally got his hands on a map of the plateau of Giza and its surroundings.

He all but swept aside the mess on his desk in a swift gesture, and unfolded the map.

The three pyramids – Khafre’s, Menkaure’s, and Khufu’s, the Great Pyramid of Giza – stood in the centre of the map on a diagonal line; the road to Cairo stretched north of the Great Pyramid, east of which was the smallish village of Nazlet El Samman. The Sphinx nearby looked small in comparison with the two bigger pyramids, forming with them an almost perfect equilateral triangle.

Apart from the hotels near the road to Cairo, the only lived-in area was Nazlet El Samman.

Tom Ferguson was not an idiot. He knew perfectly well that, alone, there was nothing he could do to help – but there seemed to be a man whose help he could ask for.

Some more research later, Tom was leaving his office, looking carefully round the corners – he didn’t know whether Hamilton was paranoid enough to put a shadow on him, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He discreetly grabbed a bicycle that was lying about and set off, with the firm intention of returning it later.

He dismounted once in Nazlet El Samman, and headed for the tiny bookshop lost in the midst of similar-looking houses. Abbas, the bookseller, had sometimes got him out of some tight spots, and over the years he had grown a particular fondness for the old man. Also it didn’t hurt that he probably fixed the best damn tea in Giza.

The small room was still the same – dark, hot, with dust flying in the few rays of sun, blinking each time somebody walked in front of the shutters outside. The afternoon light fell on old shelves crammed with Arabic books of various sizes and shapes, but it was too dim to light up the back of the room. Tom started when a hand drew back the heavy curtain at the door to the back shop, making the small copper coins chink.

“Ah, Tom, my friend.” Although his voice was even more hoarse and rasping than it had been last time Tom had seen him, Abbas unveiled his missing teeth in a broad smile. “Is there something I can do for you? Or perhaps you came in here only to pay me a visit?”

“Such was indeed my intention,” Tom replied in his slightly halting Arabic, returning the grin and following the old bookseller into the back shop where he was offered a glass of steaming kushari tea, light and slightly sweet. “Thank you. I wanted to ask you how you were – you didn’t look so well the last time we saw each other, and I see that it’s not much better now. Are you ill?”

“Is old age an illness?” asked the old man, looking at Tom with the intent, cryptic gaze the Englishman had always known him to possess. “If so, yes, I am indeed very ill, my friend. Now, what did you really come to see me for?”

Tom looked down at the table and grinned sheepishly. “All right, I’m sorry… I should’ve known. Well, I did come to see you, but I am also looking for someone I need to find, quickly. I do not know his name, though.”

Abbas looked at him curiously. “Is that so? Tell me, then. If I can help you, I will.”

“I know.” Tom nodded and swallowed the rest of his tea. “Well, I don’t quite know where to begin…”

“I have no need for explanations, my friend. Only tell me whom it is you seek.”

Tom put his glass back on the table, relieved and grateful. “All right, then. What do you know about the High Priest of Osiris?”

Abbas slowly took a sip from his own glass, put it down, and looked at Tom in surprise. “I know not what you are talking about, my friend. Egyptian mythology has not been a living religion for many centuries now.”

He looked quite innocent, with his bright eyes shining out of his dark face, and the white halo of wild thin hair flying around his head. But Tom saw a little colour disappear from his cheeks.

“Come now, Abbas. I know you’re lying. I’m serious – I really have to talk to him! Who is he? And where does he live?”

The old bookseller scrutinised Tom’s face for a while, before saying softly, “You know I’m lying. You must also know why I’m lying. Why do you expect me to tell you the truth when I know that, in lying, I will protect people?”

There was a silence, and Tom answered hesitatingly, just as softly, “Because I’ve been doing some lying too, recently, and it has hurt people. I’d like you to tell me the truth because it might set some things right.”

Another silence followed his words, and the Englishman began to wonder if he hadn’t offended Abbas and made a complete fool of himself, when the latter gave a genuine grin, warm and kind.

“You are a good man, my friend. Very well, I will help you… Wait here for a minute.” He disappeared through the curtain into the shop, and came back with a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbled a name and an address on it, and handed it to Tom.

Tom quickly memorised what was written, having a feeling that he wouldn’t be able to keep the piece of paper; sure enough, after a few seconds, Abbas took the paper back and put it in the fire above which the kettle had been boiling.

“Now that you have convinced me,” he said, turning from the fire back to Tom, “I hope you realise that, if your motivations are by chance not as honest as I think they are, you will not live to regret it.”

Tom swallowed the last of his mint tea and gave a smile. “I’m aware of it, my friend. I just want to prevent a catastrophe.”

Abbas accompanied him to the door; once on the threshold, he gave a slight bow, and said in English, “I like you a lot, Tom Ferguson. Take care. And I hope this catastrophe you speak of will not happen.”

Tom returned the bow, and smiled. “Inshallah3, my friend. So do I.” He picked up the bicycle and looked at Abbas. “And take good care of yourself as well. I might tell you what did happen, someday.”

If we’re not all dead by then.

And he pedalled off into the dust and sand, a small lump in his throat, hoping that it would not be the last time he saw the kindly old man.

After turning a few corners, riding down a couple of streets, and scaring a couple of camels, he dismounted in front of a plain-looking house with a green door and wild grasses around the threshold.

Before he even raised his hand to knock on the door, a deep voice came from the inside. “The door is open, stranger. Do come in.”

Tom blinked. The person inside had not spoken Arabic, but perfect English. He slowly pushed the door open and stepped in.

The room was small and square, with walls of red roughcast and elaborate Arabic window frames, and he walked in on a floor of hard-packed earth, with a big carpet in the middle. In the centre of the room was a low wooden table with a handsome oriental kettle. And behind it, in a wooden armchair that did not look so comfortable, sat a very strange old man drinking tea in a small glass.

Something special emanated from him, from his sharp features and keen slanted eyes, and despite the sober outfit he was wearing. This old man sat on his wooden chair like a king on his throne, with the same majesty and poise. As if he had been doing that for all his life. And judging from his looks, ‘all his life’ must be a very long time.

Impressed in spite of himself, Tom walked to the old man and bowed deeply. “Peace be on you, Sheikh.”

Sheikh Sadek al-Nazar gave a polite nod, and put his glass on the table. “And peace be on you as well, Effendi. What do I owe this visit to?”

His deep, low voice sounded like a bell of bronze. Tom realised he had no trouble at all believing that this man was the possessor of the knowledge of Ancient Egypt. He certainly looked – and sounded – the part.

“Well,” he began, feeling the beginning of a sudden hesitation, “my name is Thomas Ferguson, and I came here to ask for help.”

“If your purpose is honest, and your intentions pure, then help you shall find here.”

“But… It is not the help of Sheikh al-Nazar I have come to ask.”

The Sheikh raised a single long white eyebrow.

“I came here looking for help from the Keeper of the Dead, He who makes the two worlds join.”

There was a long silence, during which Tom found himself under the close scrutiny of a pair of piercing black eyes, almost reduced to slits as Sadek al-Nazar took his time to assess him. The result seemed to be in the Englishman’s favour, because when the long, slanted eyes went back to their usual shape, the Sheikh’s face had lost some of its severity.

“So, Thomas Ferguson,” he said quietly, his eyes not leaving Tom’s face. “What brings you into my humble home?”

“It’s a long story,” Tom replied, feeling a bit uneasy about telling this supremely dignified man everything about the mess going on.

“Then take your time to tell it. And please, sit down.”

Right. He’s got an answer for everything, has he? Tom took the offered chair with thanks, and scratched awkwardly the back of his neck, thinking about where to begin.

“Thank you. All right… Well, eight years ago I became a member of a secret British governmental organisation called the Chamber of Horus, which searches North Africa for potentially dangerous artefacts in order to make them safe – that’s what I was told at the time. Now, two years ago, a very important artefact was retrieved from the lost Oasis of Ahm Shere by a family of Egyptologists, Rick and Dr Evelyn O’Connell. However, they did not keep the Diamond of Ahm Shere, but sold it to the Cairo Museum of Antiquities.

“It just so happened – although I was unaware of it at the time – that the one who made the transaction with the curator, Dr Hakim, about the Diamond, was an old friend of mine, Jonathan Carnahan, Dr O’Connell’s brother.

“A few months ago, in the wake of dark events in Europe and Northern Africa, the Chamber decided that the Diamond of Ahm Shere was no longer safe in Egypt, and had to be removed to England where it could be watched more closely. I understand it, Evelyn and Rick O’Connell were asked by the Government to go to Egypt, negotiate with the Museum authorities, and bring the Diamond back to England.”

Tom hesitated a bit at first, but felt more and more self-assured as he talked and talked, choosing his words carefully and always looking at the Sheikh in the eye. Sadek al-Nazar listened with his eyes half-closed, his long, lean fingers crossed in front of him; however, when Tom stopped to regain breath and think about what to say next, he opened his eyes and politely invited him to carry on.

“I was one of the agents sent here a week ago with my superior, Charles Hamilton, to see to it that the Diamond was in good hands and that nothing would happen. However, what I wasn’t aware of at the time, was that Hamilton had his own agenda concerning both the Diamond and Ahm Shere.

“Last week – last Monday, I mean – I ran into Jonathan Carnahan in Cairo. That was a complete surprise, because I didn’t know he had followed his sister to Egypt, and a welcome one, because I was glad to see him again after all this time. The problem is that Hamilton heard of this chance encounter on the very same day and took the opportunity to act. He gave me orders to take advantage of my ‘good situation’ with Jon and the O’Connells in order to steal the Diamond of Ahm Shere. I refused, of course. Then he gave me the proof that my wife was being held captive in a secret place, and that if I still refused to obey orders, I’d never see her alive and well again.”

Tom stopped again, to try and swallow the lump in his throat. Al-Nazar opened his eyes and gazed at him intently, but did not say anything.

“What was I to do after that? The day after, we – I mean Jon, his sister Evelyn and I – were going to see the Diamond at the Museum. Somebody created a diversion that led Drs Hakim and O’Connell elsewhere, and in the meanwhile, agents broke in the Diamond’s room me and Jon were ‘guarding’, knocked both of us out cold and left with the Diamond. I was rather relieved to think this was the end.

“Three days after that, though, Hamilton sent agents to Cairo, and kidnapped Jon and Rick O’Connell. My cover was blown as I helped in the taking.” Tom felt his voice shake a little bit and waited a short while before continuing, “They were held first in the basement of the British Consulate, then in a house in Giza. I went there to try to talk to them, and Hamilton turned up at that moment and explained his plans to the three of us.”

Okay, the moment of truth. “Maybe you know some things about Germany and its Chancellor, Adolf Hitler. Hamilton is persuaded that Hitler’s going to cause some sort of huge human catastrophe someday, and he plans to go to Ahm Shere, use the Diamond to open the pyramid, and claim the Army of Anubis for his own so that he might wipe out the threat Germany’s leader stands for by, er… wiping out Germany.”

Another silence settled – a different one, though, now that Tom had finished his story. He just sat straight-backed on the wooden chair, feeling out-of-place and staring wordlessly at his still-untouched glass of mint tea that had stopped steaming a while ago. Sheikh al-Nazar stared at him for another couple of seconds, then said slowly, “Why have you come to see me? What sort of help are you asking for?”

Well, that was it, wasn’t it? Tom braced himself and looked up. “Beside the fact that what Hamilton plans to do has to be stopped, I can’t help thinking that he’s got it all wrong. I mean, what are the chances that the Army of Anubis will answer a mortal? He says he’s relying on the legend, but what does the legend say exactly?”

Sheikh al-Nazar actually gave a small smile. Or at least, one corner of his thin mouth crept up slightly. The result might have been pretty scary if his slanted eyes hadn’t appeared to be genuinely smiling.

“Whom do you wish to ask – the Keeper of the Dead, or the Dead themselves?”

“Anyone who can give me the truth about the Army of Anubis,” Tom answered eagerly. The Sheikh looked appraisingly at him for two more seconds, then rose from his chair, picked an unlit torch from the wall, and walked to a door in the back of the room.

“Come.”

Tom followed him out of the room into another, with little light and much rougher walls. There was a trapdoor in the middle of the room, and before the Sheikh opened it, he turned to the Englishman and pinned him with a very serious stare. “From now on, whatever you hear, whatever you see, keep still and silent. One move, one sound – and you are dead.”

Tom gulped with some difficulty, but nodded, and followed Sheikh al-Nazar through the trapdoor.

The two men walked down a long flight of stairs, and Tom couldn’t help but notice that the air around him was getting colder and colder. Maybe it was only a trick of his imagination, but as they went down a narrow corridor – the only source of light being the torch al-Nazar had lit up before they got down the stairs – Tom found himself shivering. It made him wonder exactly how far they were below the surface. To be that cold in one of the hottest parts in the world, it had to be pretty far.

They finally came to another door, which the Sheikh opened slowly. The room inside was rather small, with a low ceiling and stone walls that looked very, very old. Near the opposite wall was a small table covered entirely with a long tablecloth that could have been blue or dark red – Tom couldn’t really tell in the dark. There was a silver censer in front of the table, containing an odd mix of strange small pellets and bits of what looked like coal. The whole thing smelt to high heaven of burnt wood and myrrh.

Sadek al-Nazar beckoned him to stay near the closed door, and brought a thin long finger to his lips. He didn’t need to. The atmosphere felt so strange to Tom that there was something in his throat that choked down any sound.

The Sheikh turned his back on the Englishman to face the censer, the table, and the wall behind it. He began chanting in a language Tom didn’t recognise, his deep, low voice sounding even deeper and lower. Tom felt the air around him change – not only was it turning even colder, if such a thing was possible, but it also seemed to be growing scarce, or heavier. As if the air was sucked in from the room to go revolving around al-Nazar instead, whose black robes were billowing in a wind Tom couldn’t feel.

Both terrorised and galvanised, he watched on, mesmerised, as a blurry figure began to appear as though sketched out on the wall, above the table, as if floating in the air. It was tall, imposing even, and as the outlines grew more definite Tom could make out a dark head like a jackal’s, and a body wearing the white linen robe of Ancient Egyptian priests.

The jackal-headed god Anubis was standing before them.

Tom managed to stop his jaw from unclenching with a violent effort of will, but it was close. He was too terrified by the Sheikh’s words to him to attempt anything that might resemble making a ‘move’ or a ‘sound’. He even tried not to shiver too much and kept his back against the wall, vainly searching for warmth.

An unearthly voice poured down into the room, accompanied with another wave of cold. Tom couldn’t make out one word of it – but then, at that point, he wouldn’t have understood a thing even if it had been speaking plain old English. Tears were stinging his eyes, and he couldn’t feel the fingers he’d stuck under his armpits to keep warm.

For God’s sake, make it stop…

Unlike him, the Sheikh didn’t seem to mind the cold; in fact, Tom wondered whether he felt it at all. He was talking to the tall, somewhat blurry figure floating above the table, otherwise standing completely still, not heeding the small whirlwind around him either.

Then Tom saw him give a deep bow, and the form on the wall vanished. So did the wind, and, he noticed, air seemed to settle back into the room just as the paralysing cold departed, leaving a much more reasonable temperature. He relaxed a little bit, his heart pounding in his chest, and looked around him, bemused. Al-Nazar walked toward him, and briefly lay a hand on his shoulder before opening the door and going through it. Tom followed without a word. His throat still felt too tight to talk.

His legs wobbling, and his mind buzzing with questions he couldn’t even list, he followed the Sheikh back into the corridor, then up the stairs, and into the Sheikh’s living room. The difference in temperatures was shocking.

“Here,” said al-Nazar, handing him a cup of something, “sit down, and drink this. You look like you are in need of both.”

So he did look just as he felt. Great. Tom accepted the cup and held it in a trembling hand, careful not to spill it over the carpet as he sat down. When he dipped his lips in the liquid, he found it to be a well-made mazboot4. He closed his eyes as he drank. The coffee was excellent.

“Do not think that I call upon the gods every day, but now time is of the essence. For it seems that you were right, Thomas Ferguson,” Sadek al-Nazar said as the Englishman put his cup on the table. “There is indeed a mortal willing to claim the Army of Anubis for his own. According to what I��ve learned, he will attempt it in three days, at the coming New Year, which will herald the Year of the Jackal.”

Tom nodded. “That’s what Hamilton said.”

Al-Nazar’s black eyes narrowed at him, suddenly keener. “Does he know that this is not the entire truth?”

Tom’s head snapped up. “I don’t know. What is the entire truth?”

“An ordinary man cannot summon Anubis’ Army and use it for his own purposes,” the Sheikh said grimly. “If a mortal attempts to raise it, the Army will be unleashed in this world, with no master, and no purpose but to kill and destroy. His body and his mind will function only as a vessel for the will of Anubis. He must relinquish both, for without either the link will be shattered and the Army gone.”

Tom gulped. So that’s how you felt when you heard the end of the world was a few days ahead. He couldn’t help but wonder how Jon had reacted, both times – if he had felt so scared and so cold so quickly.

His bet was on ‘yes’.

“But there is another thing you must know. Ahm Shere was created after a pact the Scorpion King made with Anubis. As we speak, Anubis is claiming Ahm Shere. On the dawn of the next Year of the Jackal, it shall be forever destroyed.”

Blimey. “Wait,” Tom stammered, “wait, that – that means –”

“Yes. The New Year starts when the new moon sets.”

Tom’s jaw went slack and something icy and sharp crossed his stomach.

They’re going to be in that bloody pyramid at the exact moment it’s destroyed. Of all the luck…!

There was a little voice inside of him that reminded him Hamilton would probably not have the time to carry out his projects thanks to this particular fault in his plans, and that this was a very good thing. But the major part of his mind was screaming that he ought to do something – everyone who would be in the pyramid at that moment would be killed. Fellow agents he considered friends. O’Connell. Jon.

He must have paled a good deal, because Sheikh al-Nazar was looking at him with something like concern in his slanted eyes.

“Are you feeling well?”

Tom looked around to avoid his eyes, feeling sick and cold despite the heat. “Y—yes, yes, thank you,” he finally stammered absently. Then he took a deep breath and looked up at the Sheikh. “No,” he said, more firmly. “No, I’m not.”

Anger flared up inside him, and he just stopped thinking about what to say next. “Hamilton’s a madman who doesn’t care about killing thousands of people, but the people he’s going to take with him in the Pyramid don’t deserve to die!” Oh, hell. “I’ve friends among ‘em! And I don’t care if Jon thinks I’m just a bloody traitor – I’m not lettin’ him die in there either, dammit!”

Tom had forgotten that he was speaking to what was probably the most important man in Egypt, that he was sitting in his house and drinking his coffee, and that he had just witnessed this particular man having a nice little tête-à-tête with a god from Ancient Egypt. He hadn’t even realised he was shouting. When he did realise that, he felt not a little afraid.

But Sadek al-Nazar didn’t seem offended. Not to the point of doing something that might actually threaten Tom, anyway. In fact, if anything, he looked a little bit amused by the sudden resurfacing of Tom’s accent.

The Englishman took a second or two to calm himself down a bit, then muttered, “Sorry. Guess I got carried away.”

“It certainly sounded so,” al-Nazar said, almost pleasantly. “Now, what do you intend to do?”

What could he even do? Good question. “I’ll – I’ll, ah…”

Oh, be honest with yourself, for once. “Sheikh, there’s nothing I can really do now. Hamilton doesn’t trust me in the least and I wouldn’t put it past him to have me followed. If I try to contact Dr O’Connell in any way, I’ll get locked up and be truly incapable of doing anything this time.”

The Sheikh nodded gravely, and Tom’s heart plummeted in his stomach. There had to be something that could be done to set things right, there just had to –

His heart suddenly skipped a beat. There was something. “The Medjai!”

“What of them?” Sheikh al-Nazar asked politely, with something in his slight smile that would have made Tom think, if he had noticed it.

“The Medjai were there last time the Army of Anubis arose – and their Commander’s friends with the O’Connells – somebody’s got to get them!” He searched his pockets frantically and eventually found a crumpled piece of paper and a pen, on which he scribbled hastily the O’Connells’ address in Cairo.

“If someone could go there – and ask for Dr Evelyn O’Connell, to tell her that her husband and her brother are fine –” there he hesitated a bit “– for the moment. You’ll recognise her easily, she’s a beautiful woman, with dark hair and bright eyes, and she’s very intelligent. Tell her also to go to the Medjai, because if somebody can set things right, it’s them.”

According to what he knew of the secretive desert people, that is.

Tom rose and took a deep bow. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go now if I don’t want to look suspicious.”

“I understand, Mr Ferguson,” the Sheikh said in that deep voice of his. “Dr O’Connell will be informed, and the Medjai alerted.”

“Thanks a lot, Sheikh. Thank you.”

On those words he meant as a parting, Tom headed for the door. However, he stopped there when Sadek al-Nazar’s voice rose again behind him.

“You seem to treasure friendship, Mr Ferguson. That is a noble thing. If your friend values it like you do, you do not have to worry.”

Tom turned his head to look at the stately old man sitting in his wooden armchair, the exact replica of the image he’d seen when he first entered the room. He nodded and forced a smile.

“Thanks.”

Once outside, as he picked up his bicycle and proceeded to pedal like mad to get to Giza in time, he wondered about the Sheikh’s last phrase. He didn’t know why on Earth the old man had said that – surely it was not only to make him feel better, was it? Why would he bother?

Well, maybe Tom was completely wrong. Or there had been some sort of riddle, of hidden message behind the phrase. He didn’t know. Witnessing the summoning of a god from the other world of Ancient Egypt had scrambled his brains just a little in the first place, and he was still reeling from what al-Nazar had told him.

Once thing was certain, though. Whatever the Sheikh might say, it wouldn’t be this easy to make it up with Jon. He could be pig-headed about that sort of thing. When somebody messed up with him one way or another, he often forgot, but never forgave. The exact contrary of Tom, who sometimes forgave, but never forgot.

Tom cringed.

No, it definitely wouldn’t be that easy.

.⅋.

1The character of Sheikh Sadek al-Nazar (coming from [نَظَر], naẓar, “eyesight”, “seeing”, “vision”) was heavily influenced by Sheikh Abdel Razek, a very mysterious old man, seemingly omniscient, in Edgar P. Jacobs’ Le Mystère de la Grande Pyramide (a bande dessinée in the Blake and Mortimer series). This particular comics is a big part of what nudged me to write this story in the first place.

2Everything Tom reads from his book is, to put it mildly, a whole load of bollocks. The High Priest of Osiris resided at Abydos, for instance, not Thebes and certainly not Giza. But the Mummy films play fast and loose with both history and mythology, so *shrug*

3(إِنْ شَاءَ ٱللَّٰهُ) “God willing”

4Medium-sweet Egyptian coffee

[drogonthronedestroyer]

Game of Groans..or at least season 8 was...

Episode 3

Truth…ish…...

“This Red Woman…”

“Kinvara.”

“She…brought Daenerys back from the dead?”

“Why do you look so surprised?” Jon could no longer look at him, instead he turned his attention to Drogon, immediately wishing he had not, for nothing he saw there told him he was wrong, but he could not look back now. Only listen. ���Are you not living proof that those murdered by the blades of treachery can stand tall and wreak revenge once again?” He crossed his arms over his chest. His breath misting in the cold air. “You hung them, didn’t you? The men who killed you?”

Jon once again felt his knees weaken. He could not believe what he was hearing, for how could it be true? The evidence was before his eyes, yet why had no one else in the kingdom heard of it? Not Bran, neither by his visions or by the constant flow of news from abroad which his council would discuss and deliberate? Sansa? Although she would get her news from Kings Landing, or from merchants who had crossed the Narrow Sea. Surely, someone would have known? It seemed impossible. No one would fail to see a dragon and talk of it, for they would be well remembered in Mereen, not to mention the other cities Daenerys had liberated. But then, everyone knew Drogon had survived. Jon himself suspected he would have gone east, to the great grasslands where there would be sheep and goats for him to feast upon, with no one to deny him. Someone could have sent news of a sighting back to Westeros, but it would not be seen as unusual that the dragon had returned to the land he knew best. The land he most probably considered his home. As for the rest…that could have been kept secret, particularly in a land thankful for the freedom they now enjoyed. If indeed it were true.

Truth. The longer he stood in the arc of Drogon’s stare he could not deny it. This boy. This man, was his son.

“What is your name?” his voice cracked hoarsely. Yet he dare not move towards him. Not yet.

“Torrhen.” His expression was thoughtful now, and he didn’t make a move either. Tormund barked gruffly.

“Torrhen Targaryen? She certainly was bloody mad to give you a name like that!”

“I believe,” Torrhen countered smoothly, not even flinching, “it is a Stark name.” His unsettling gaze remained fixed on Jon who swallowed with some difficulty. Time was passing, half the day done.

“What do you know of the Starks?” he asked brusquely, feeling a shiver despite the weight of his cloak. The sun had been gradually withdrawing, the sky turning grey. Grey as ash.

“Everything.”

Jon no longer doubted. The cold, hard truth was staring him in the face. By the time he had discovered his true lineage in the crypt all those many years ago, the seed had already been sown. From that day on, no matter how much he loved her, he had forced himself to resist every temptation, and there were many. It had been easy for her. Her ancestors had been marrying their own blood for centuries. But he had been raised a Stark. He would always, no matter what, be a Stark. Even had he ruled. Only by then, his enforced denial was too late. Tears tore at the back of his throat. She could have had children. She did have children. She had been carrying his child when he slid a blade into her heart. He had not only killed her; he had killed his own child. All three of them, it seemed, had been raised from the dead. “And what do you want?” He found it hard to speak, for this was his son. This…stranger…was his very own flesh and blood.

“I want what is mine.” Torrhen may as well have been discussing the weather, his words calm and measured. “Well, what is yours really. So, I came here first, to see you, to see if things have changed in all these years. She asked me to do that. To find you. To seek you out when I was old enough, and find out if you still lived. Begged me, in fact, for all that you were to each other. She forgave you, in her way, even though she never understood. Never understood how you could contemplate killing her as you held her so very closely, professing your undying love.” His eyes glinted like shards of emerald glass. “Only, it wasn’t your love that was undying, was it father? It was hers.” A heartbeat passed. Then another, before a burst of laughter gusted past him like a gale, whistling across his ears.

“You?” Tormund bellowed. “You skinny, milk-sour streak of shit? What are you going to do? Ride that monster down to King’s Landing and what? Sit down with the king and drink that piss they call wine whilst you ask very nicely if you can have the throne?”

“There is no throne.” Jon’s voice was deathly calm. Torrhen had moved a little closer and Jon could now see the silver clasp at his neck. It was one he had seen many times before, had even held its cool weight in his hands. Three dragon heads. She wore it, always.

“A throne doesn’t make a king.” As he heard those words, Jon began to realise that his son, their son, held a wisdom and composure beyond his years. Tormund’s words and his blustering manner did nothing to discomfort him. He had come for a purpose, it seemed, and nothing they could say would divert him from that path. “That’s a mistake far too many have made. The fabled Iron Throne became more important than those who sat upon it, or aspired to. It is a damn shame they didn’t destroy the thing as soon as my grand-father’s throat was cut, for the throne itself became evil personified. But then, I hear the Lannisters always did like their symbols of grandeur, especially if they saw it as a way to inspire fear. The Kingslayer even replaced his missing hand with one of gold, no baser metal would do, oh no, not for him! They say the Lannisters shit gold, well for certain, the Kingslayer wiped his arse with it!” Torrhen turned slowly and walked over to Drogon, once again reaching out his hand to stroke the animal affectionately, as Jon used to do with Ghost. “It took a greater sacrifice to end that tyranny. That was her true destiny.”

Tormund stared at Jon, his blue eyes wide and blazing. “Are you listening to this shit? Tell him!”

Jon looked back at his friend sadly. Tell him what? That destiny was death’s handmaiden? His next words came with difficulty. He doubted he could stop him, but he could try…

“Even if all of this is true, it makes no difference,” he sighed. “The name Targaryen will never be welcome in the capital. You would be imprisoned before you could draw breath.” He flicked a glance over the slim, fur-clad shoulder. “And he won’t be able to help you. He could cause some damage, probably, but as for clearing your path…”

He didn’t expect the laughter. Torrhen appeared slow to anger and he had cause for anger. Even for revenge. But here stood a man, a boy, who preferred to reason to revenge. Or so it seemed.

“I would indeed be a stupid man if I thought I could fly in there, announce myself to the council and expect peace to prevail! Even if I could persuade you to come south with me and testify to my right! Even if none of the lords there show the barest spark of interest in ruling the kingdom, having seen where that leads. Why has your brother remained king for so many years? The throne poisoned the very act of Kingship. Perhaps your brother was such an attractive proposition to them exactly because he needed no such visible trappings of power.”

“You could be lying!” Tormund growled. “Maybe the red witch enchanted the dragon to let you ride him and you are no more than some whore’s bastard!” He didn’t see Jon flinch at the word but Torrhen caught it and inclined his head.

“He knows I am not.”

Jon took a hesitant step forwards, half raised his hand, his eyes fixed on the silver clasp.

“That was hers.” Torrhen reached up and touched it with tender affection.

“It was.”

“Three dragons. She had it fashioned herself. But now…” Jon looked over at Drogon who was eerily quiet, as if listening attentively to every word, waiting for the slightest sign of something he didn’t care for. The merest hint of a threat to his new…master.

“Oh, this was never about that, not really” Torrhen smiled affably. “Kinvara told me. My mother was mistaken. Three dragons, yes. But not the ones she believed. Her destiny was to put a Targaryen on the throne, which she will still fulfil. She sealed it by meeting you. We… are the three dragons.”

“I take it back! You are her son!” Tormund chuckled roughly. “And just as fucking mad as she was!”

“You may think so.” Torrhen replied stiffly, for the first time showing a glimpse of irritation at the big man’s constant denial of him. Drogon sensed his change of mood and the spiny head came up, eyes glittering dangerously. “But this is my destiny.”

“Where have I heard that before?” Tormund grumbled under his breath as Jon shook his head sadly.

“You are right. Daenerys conquered King’s Landing. She won the Iron Throne, the right to rule,” he was consciously aware of Drogon’s burning stare, “and she lost herself in the process. The very fight to get there corrupted her, step by step, in small decisions she had to make along the way. She didn’t see it at the time, not even when it was too late, that her path had turned her into something she would never have wanted to be.” He felt himself growing angry, an emotion fuelled by hurt. A ripping, gut wrenching pain which tore him apart deep down inside. “Besides, she had the Unsullied. A Dothraki hoard at her back. Three dragons.” He looked at Drogon again pointedly. No matter that he was still a magnificent beast, larger than he had been, and no doubt still capable of inflicting catastrophic damage, one man and one beast could not conquer the world alone. “Go back to Mereen and forget this. Do not become your mother. Go. Live the life she should have had.”

“Or take your dragon south and let them capture you, kill it, and throw your bony arse into a dank stone cell.” Tormund was grinning, enjoying Jon’s dismissal of this foreign upstart, no matter who he said he was. He was only to happy to chime in and words belittle this audacious sprat’s ambitions. Which was harder than it appeared for Torrhen stood his ground, continuing to address all his words to Jon. To converse with the man who was his father.

“I have the element of surprise,” Torrhen remarked blandly. “If you try to send ravens south, we will burn them. I can be at Winterfell well before any message you could send! If I have to, I can burn my way down the country before Bran the Broken even blinks! Don’t you think King’s Landing will remember? Don’t you think they will cower in fear at the mere thought of a dragon’s shadow flying over their rooftops?” For the first time, Jon felt the burn of grudging admiration for he saw a confidence that he, for one, had never possessed. “No. I don’t need to go with an army! Not now.” The words rang out across the crisp, clear air. “I go with my birth right and insist that I am given what is mine in peace!”

Fear took place of pain deep down in Jon’s gut. Now, he sounded like Dany. Like Dany just before his world went mad. Confident. The confidence of a madman?

“When a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin…”

Varys word’s echoed in his ear. Could he stand by and see another life lost to the futile pursuit of power. He stepped forward, barely the space of a hand between him and his son. Their eyes connected, the dark meeting the light. He wanted to reach out. To touch his son. Too curl his fingers around his arm and feel the flesh that was born of his flesh. But he dare not. All he could do was try to reason with him, try to prevent another life being needlessly thrown away.

“It won’t be that…”

Torrhen smiled brightly, interrupting Jon’s attempt to dismiss his plans.

“Are you are about to tell me that it won’t be easy? That your brother will see my intentions? That with his all seeing gaze he will be expecting me? That he will spirit himself into Drogon so that he can neutralise the threat and capture us both? If so, you may be wildly overestimating his ability,” he scoffed. “Yes, he can control other beings but let us consider, what exactly is his count so far?” Torrhen raised one hand, counting with his fingers. “His own wolf. Hardly a challenge to take the mind of a loyal dog. Ravens, not particularly known for their overt intelligence but what does he do when he takes over them? Fly around spying! Useful. For him. But who knows how much of what he sees he actually chooses to divulge. Drogon could take out a flock of crows in one breath! Would he die, I wonder, if the crows he had warged into were burnt to a crisp?” He stepped away from Jon, beginning to pace around in a lazy circle. “Then there was his manservant. Hodor? Well, I rest my case…the man was feeble minded.” He flung one arm out then, pointing to Drogon. “You cannot tell me that any of those compare with taking control of him?”

Jon frowned in astonishment at how much the boy knew! He tried hard to remember exactly what he had told Dany that she had passed on to their son. He didn’t recall telling her anything about Hodor, their lack witted manservant from Winterfell. What had Hodor to do with anything anyway? The last Jon had seen of him was at Winterfell, years ago, carrying Bran around in his arms when he was a child. Although…there was something Sam had said. Something about showing Bran and Hodor through the wall, many years ago, aiding him in his quest to find the Three Eyed Raven. There had been no time back when they waited for the dead to attack, no time for Bran to tell him everything and certainly less for him to tell Dany anything he did. He just didn’t understand. What was worse, Torrhen sensed his confusion and his smile grew broader.

“How do you know all this?” Jon asked gruffly. “The Red Woman?”

Torrhen shrugged lightly, before letting out a heavy, resigned sigh.

“No.” His lips hardened into a thin, unimpressed line and he stopped pacing. Lifting his head, he gave a deep resigned sigh. “I’ve read the books.” His gaze flitted from Jon to Tormund and back. “And seen the show.”

Da da daaaaaaaaaaa! Final ep coming up - and unlike season 8 it won't leave you deflated!

[the-york-report-blog]

The People’s Champion Reflection

Hello Everyone, 

This is T.J. York, of York University reporting in - 

You know I wanted to write up something about my experience this year with the duties I had as a student representative with a lot of important people, a lot of important meetings. I’ve seen the challenges that the University faces, in fact, I’ve seen the challenges that you as students face.

I’ll always say to you its an honor and privilege to be your representative, because together we can make it through this. 

As I’ve stated before, as T. J. York, I’m here to show the impossible is possible. I’m simply one of those kinds of people with determination, persistence, a fighter for only the values I stand by. I know many of you out there are exactly this, you must be. It’s part of who we are as students. This is why I believed being a fighter, having perseverance, overcoming the impossible, It’s entirely something rightfully portrayed in a sense of the anonymously ordinary Jon or Jane Doe, that is, any ordinary T. J York of York University, it’s something attainable by anyone.

I’ve come to understand many of the challenges students of York University face in their studies, and life. What I will say about my experiences with committees, petitions, councils for now is these issues largely reflect society and the issues we study at the University.

Many people who get into positions like mine may go along with the status quo of things, making typical insight to various issues, claims, and problems of the University. I’ve always been a reasonably dissenting voice for the students. I stayed true to my claims - I’m the people’s champion because I naturally have power to be one against the many in the establishment.  

I know that what I need to do in order to help students gain the quality experience I believe every student should have at the University institution. This goes beyond Student Politics and the Establishment. There’s some things I believe are incredibly important for students like our Health and Families.

There’s one thing I didn’t mention to my colleagues in Student Politics that I’m going to mention to you: This isn’t right, I’ve seen some of the challenges that many students face, and although sometimes its just simply life challenges, I believe those life challenges are reflective of larger systemic issues in society.  

It goes back to how much I value the education experience for the student and this is why it hurts me. I would always, I always want the best education experience for all students. It should be that the very enlightenment of education that shines through to eliminate suffering of the human being. The education experience for the student must be one of joyful intellectual exploration, suffering can only hinder the learning experience. 

What can you do ?

After all, the inherent nature of this material reality we inhabit is naturally imperfect. This is why we’re here after all to try and make things better, or at least this is partially my belief. We all face challenges in life we’re strong enough to overcome.

Can the education experience be free of suffering ?

No. We’ll always face imperfection, a challenge, in our journey of learning within this materialistic realm. What we can do as human beings however is gradually bring change to such imperfections, become the countervailing forces to challenges of the human race and human being. We can selectively overcome attainable challenges that we experience, but only with perseverance, determination, and strength in our human character. It takes time.

I’ve chosen a long time ago to share challenges many students face out there. I believe a deeper part of myself chooses to do this because I don’t believe many of you should have to face that challenge. It isn’t fair or right because you're being scammed by “trusted” institutions. I’m not talking about the education institution. In 100 years they’ll say everyone got scammed, but by then it will be too late because everyone from 100 years ago will be gone.

Know this: I’ve shared some of the worst burdens York students have faced, threatening your very future and life, and I’ve overcome those burdens to lead as an example so that anyone can overcome the worst burdens society tells you about. I’ve seen the paths many students have taken, but I did not take them, because I knew where they led, where students and other before me ended up. 

I stayed true to my values and beliefs, once again, in my own independent strength, intelligence, determination, will, and perseverance. I would never let anyone take these things away from me, and I will always tell you never let anyone take these things away from you as a human being. As I’ve often iterated, those values are eternally and inherently part of me, this is one of the things they can’t take away from me ! 

I want you all to succeed like I have, and to become even better in your own ways, because that’s the truth of becoming better people. In truth when we better ourselves its not that we become superior or better than another. Its that we truly define our individual qualities, talents, character, that complete the picture of a society, and humanity.

It especially pertains to my studies in economics - we all have the power of choice. What bothered me in my job as student politician is that people are misled into making not the best choices in life. Greed and unethical behavior in society leads to various levels of fraud and scams that influence people to make the wrong choices. 

I’ve not made it public yet, but I’ve already started calling out these frauds and scams. This was in fact long before I learned about how students face these very same scams and frauds that threaten their futures and lives. To reiterate: I’ve indeed faced some of the heaviest burdens that you as students face, but I overcome it on my own power and ways of being to set an example, to send a warning to the fraudsters, because such scams are an annoyance like spam mail. 

Many students, we need to make the right choices in life, especially when presented with frauds or scams. You got the power, I got the power, We got the power, never give it up. Life, your work at the University, health, does not have a band-aid solution to your situation, don’t expect instantaneous results despite social norms of our consumerist-consumption society. These things rightfully always require determination, perseverance, hard work, for real results, and don’t rely on others to provide for your needs - YOU have the power to provide those needs yourself, and this is what people need to learn. I want you all so badly to take back the power for yourselves like I have. It’s truly the state of activism I feel needs the most attention - yet doesn’t fill a particular niche in today’s popular political scene, now does it ?       

You see I could rail on about how there’s corruption in capitalism or greedy obscure groups controlling industry/society/depopulation, but I’ve arrived at a moment of clarity in the challenges I’ve shared with the heaviest burdens of students. It’s because I’ve realize the only meaningful way we can make change is bringing awareness to the larger number of people these sorts of issues affect, and empowering “the people”. This is the true challenge we face !

More importantly I’ve realized the power it returns to people. Where it’s a whole social and timely process protesting industry and “capitalist elites”, what’s more influential is changing power of the actual people who define the majority. This is what I care about and want to focus on. Together I want us to start making the choices and finding the spiritual, mental, and physical power in ourselves to overcome any challenge. I’m going to slowly bring awareness to the choices we make in habits, lifestyles, environments, our mental states, how we have the power in ourselves to use these things to overcome anything.

I’ve done this in so many ways for myself, for my family, for the people I love, and when I see you all as students face the same kinds of challenges, there’s something in me that calls out, you have to do something Trev. 

These people are like you, they’ve faced challenges like you, but they didn’t know what you knew, and if only they knew, they wouldn’t have to suffer, this is what gets to me. It’s an inescapable feeling and spirit.

It’s one of those reasons I’ll always be here for the York Community in the many different issues I believe the campus, student body, and society at large can overcome. 

[nyangibun]

if you're still taking jonsa prompts: Jon saying "if you so much as breathe on her..." Mafia AU

Mafia AU was an honest challenge but I loved it! Thanks for the prompt!

Hope you guys like it!

Stupidly 

It’s a little like a cheesy over-the-top romantic comedy but with a lot more blood and no one’s laughing, least of all Jon. Even distantly, in the part of his mind that can appreciate how they met for what it was, he still thinks her life would be better off if he hadn’t shown up in her ER with a bullet wound to the shoulder. Now, because Jon couldn’t stop himself, her life is in danger and it’s all his fault. He should have known better. Who he is and who he has to be can never be worthy of someone like Sansa Stark.

But Jon isn’t going to let his despair and regret cloud him from what he has to do. She’s in danger and he’ll kill every last Lannister if he has to. She’s the only thing in his life that’s ever made sense, and if he loses her like he’s lost everyone else, Jon doesn’t think he can live through that.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Edd inspects his gun for the third time in thirty minutes. He doesn’t look up from his meticulous inspection but his head is inclined towards Jon as he waits for his answer.

Jon wants to shout that, ‘yes, of course he has to bloody do this,’ but he knows rationally it’s not Edd’s fault that he’s being questioned for his actions. The Targaryens have had a long-standing truce with the Lannisters for as long as Jon has been alive – all twenty-four years of his miserable existence – and to do this would be to effectively cut those ties off. But this isn’t some overstep from the Lannisters, procuring and selling weapons on the Targaryens’ territory. This is a direct attack on Jon. They know he’s being groomed to take over the business now that his siblings are both dead and his father is dying. They don’t respect that he’s so young or that he’s not a full Targaryen, and normally Jon wouldn’t even give two shits whether a bunch of golden-haired assholes thought he was worthy of leading the Targaryen family, but they took Sansa and Jon’s going to get her back even if it means he’s breaking every rule in the book.

“You don’t have to stay,” Jon says in lieu of answering because Edd knows he has to, but his friend scoffs loudly and shakes his head. “I don’t need more blood on my hands.”

“How do we know they even have her?” Tormund asks instead. He has his feet propped up on the opposite bench with his arms crossed over his chest. It’s the only way the man can properly fit in the back of the SUV without lying down on the bed of the car. “It might not be the Lannisters.”

Edd scoffs again. “Did you see the way that prick Joffrey was eyeing her the other night? Oh yeah, he definitely has her.”

The water bottle Jon has in his hands crackle loudly. He drops it onto the ground, staring unseeingly at its mangled form. “It’s time.”

All three men file out of the car silently. Edd and Tormund make their way around the abandoned warehouse as Jon walks up to the entrance. They’ll be expecting backup but they won’t be expecting how little backup Jon actually has. He doesn’t trust anyone else to understand how much Sansa means to him and he doesn’t trust anyone else to have his back as loyally as Edd and Tormund.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he quickly answers.

“So you found me.”

“Joffrey,” Jon sneers into the phone with as much disgust as he can muster under the circumstances. “Let me in.”

“Uh uh, you’re not in any position to be making demands, or have you forgotten I have your little girlfriend here with me? Say hi, sweetheart.” There’s a muffled whimper and Jon’s heart plummets to the ground. His hands tighten into fists by his side. “She says hi.”

“If you so much as breathe on her, I swear to god I’ll tear apart this warehouse to kill you.”

“Big words for one man,” he laughs, but before Jon can answer, the door to the warehouse swings and a heavily-armed man signals for Jon to come in.

He hangs up the phone and follows. In the centre of the warehouse tied to a chair is a blindfold Sansa. He inspects from where he is, struggling against the urge to run to her and make sure she’s okay, but he is resigned to the consolation that she looks okay. Her hair is tousled and matted to her skin. She looks paler than usual and there is dried blood caking her forehead but her chest rises and falls rhythmically. She’s alive. That’s all that matters for now.

“You have my attention,” Jon says, distinct and clear. “What do you want?”

Joffrey leans against the chair, his hand toying with strands of Sansa’s hair. Jon’s going to kill him. It’s not wishful thinking; he is going to kill him.

“When your father dies, you’ll step back from the business,” Joffrey tells him. “You’ll dismantle the Targaryen family.”

This nearly makes Jon snort because it is now so obvious to Jon that Joffrey has gone behind Tywin’s back. The patriarch would never have bothered with such an asinine plan. He’s more cunning than that; his treachery lies in the seams of an operation. He understands that without a Targaryen family in charge, there’ll be power vacuum and any two-bit drug lord or arms dealer could stroll on in, causing trouble for the Lannisters. The truce they have works because they both respect it. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that.

“And how do I know you won’t just kill us when we leave here?”

“You don’t.” Joffrey presses the muzzle of his gun against Sansa’s temple. “But the alternative is me putting a bullet through her pretty little head right now.”

Sansa jerks her head and he hears something like a growl coming from the woman. It makes him proud that even in the face of possible death she’s defiant to the very end. She’s always been stubborn. It’s one of her most infuriating and endearing qualities. She jerks her head again and begins to speak against her gag.

“Is that necessary?” Jon points to the cloth wrapped around her mouth. “Let her speak.”

Surprisingly, Joffrey unties the gag and drops it to the ground. Sansa lets out another growl before she inclines her head back to look at Joffrey. Her face is startlingly impassive, a firm set of her lips, and blue eyes cold as ice. This is the face she wears in the ER when she’s dealing with particularly unruly patients but as quick as it comes, it can easily slide away to her sweet smile and fond eyes when she meets a young child. The first time he saw it happen, Jon knew instantly that he was stupidly, irrevocably in love with her.

“Leaving an entire section of the city unmanned is not in your best interest,” Sansa says evenly, and Jon’s heart thumps in his chest. He’s never told her about what he does – and that he knows was his first mistake because it’s not like he doesn’t trust her; he was just terrified of her walking away – and Jon can’t fathom what she’s doing right now, but he can see the determination there so he doesn’t interrupt. “People are going to be suspicious and your family will spend months trying to win back their trust.”

Even Joffrey looks impressed, which he tries very hard to hide. “What would you know?”

“My family has been in politics for longer than you’ve been alive,” Sansa spits out. “If you want a change in power, you don’t overthrow the previous regime and expect everything to return to normal. It should be gradual. Start by forming an alliance with the Targaryens.”

“Hmm,” is all Joffrey says for the moment and Jon wants to laugh because the man is clearly not expecting Sansa to be so intelligent and fearless. But Jon did. There’s nothing she can’t do.

“An alliance will increase business on both ends,” Jon adds after the silence has stretched too long, and to show he’s supporting her no matter what. “You can become more involved with us and by the time I step down, no one will be any wiser. No war. No blood shed.” The last he says with bite, just so the message is clear. If Sansa is hurt, there will be a war and Jon won’t care who dies in the process. Love makes people do dangerous things and a lost love can leave a man with nothing left to lose.

Joffrey is stupid but he’s not that stupid and even he can see the merit in this deal, so it’s only five minutes later that he agrees to the terms, cuts Sansa’s ties loose, and then Jon is finally, finally holding her in his arms like she is the most precious thing in the entire world.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into her hair, one hand pressing against the back of her head and the other wrapped around her. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

Sansa laughs, voice muffled against the crook of his neck. He can feel her smile into his skin and he lets out a relieved sigh. “I’m fine, Jon. Let’s… Let’s get out of here, okay?”

He nods as he takes her hand. He’s not sparing Joffrey another glance because he has Sansa back and she’s not pushing him away. If anything, she’s pulling him closer, latching herself to his side like she can’t get enough of him, and that’s okay with Jon. He’d be happy to just hold her for the rest of his life.

Once they’re back in the van with Edd and Tormund, who nod to Jon in acknowledgement as they cram into the front, Jon turns her in his arms and kisses her, soft and chaste, on the lips. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I thought by not telling you about all this I was protecting you but… I got you hurt anyways. I’ll understand if you don’t want to… It’ll be okay if you don’t want to see me ever again.”

Sansa pulls back to look at him. “Will it? Because I won’t be okay if I don’t get to see you again.” She shakes her head, sighing softly. “I’m not happy about how I found out about your… um, family business, but I love you, okay? You’re a broody, stubborn man, but I love you and I’m here if you’ll have me. We’ll figure this out together.”

He surges forward to capture her lips again, turning the kiss from soft and chaste to desperate and needy. She loves him and she wants this just as much as him, and those thoughts are so intoxicating to Jon that he completely forgets about Joffrey until they’re curled up on his bed later that evening watching the six o’clock news.

“Police suspect that the cause of the burned down warehouse in lower Riverrun was due to arson.”

Sansa shifts from her position so she’s resting her chin on his chest. “You did this, didn’t you?”

“It’s a message,” Jon answers easily. “They had a new shipment in the basement so we burnt it all. This way Joffrey knows that he can’t use you as a bargaining chip.”

“Jon…”

“No one was hurt.” Although Jon was thoroughly tempted to hurt everyone involved in the kidnapping but he knows Sansa wouldn’t approve. She may be okay with his family business but she’s a doctor and the taking of lives goes against everything she is. “But if they take you again, I won’t be so kind.”

Sansa huffs but she presses a kiss onto his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“We also might have sent a second message,” Jon admits after a moment. At Sansa’s questioning gaze, he chuckles softly. “We knew his father didn’t know about the kidnapping so we sent a little nudge in the form of a video recording Edd took of the whole conversation at the warehouse.”

Sansa opens her mouth and then closes it. She laughs. “So your business is okay?”

“It’s okay.”

“And we’re okay?”

The slight waver in her voice has Jon sitting up so he can cradle her face in his hands. “I won’t let anyone hurt you for as long as I’m alive, Sans,” he tells her emphatically. “I’ll protect you any way I can, however I can. Even if we’re not… even if you don’t want me anymore, I’ll always be there for you.”

“I want you,” she responds quietly, a small smile at her lips. “Us. This. Even all of your questionable life choices. I don’t care.”

“Are you sure?” Jon has to ask because this is not a normal response and he doesn’t know if he believes her. Maybe it’s the adrenaline of what happened. She might regret it in the morning. He’d let her go if she did but it’d still kill him to do it. “My life is dangerous, Sansa. I do things that I’m not proud of. My family aren’t good people.”

“But you are,” Sansa says instantly. “You’re the best person I know. And…” She ducks her head to rest her cheek to his chest again. “They’re not your family. Edd’s your family. Tormund is. I’m your family.”

“You have too much faith in me,” Jon says but he’s grinning down at her. “I’m going to make bad decisions. Do bad things.”

“And I’ll be there to help you fix it. Get used to it, Jon Targaryen. I’m here and I’m staying.”

“Well,” Jon laughs again and drops a kiss to her hair. “Good. Because I love you and I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“You better,” is the last thing she says before her breaths even out and she’s fast asleep, curled into his side.

Yup, Jon thinks, he’s definitely stupidly in love with her.

[michellelinkous]

‘I wish I’d done this years ago’

At a strapping 6-foot-3, James Root has always been on the move.

As the youngest of six children growing up on a dairy farm in New York, his energetic spirit found an outlet in all types of sports.

He kept active when he went to college—the University of Arkansas, where he earned a degree in industrial engineering. Later he landed in Owosso, Michigan, for a new job.

Even there he found ways to keep moving.

“I enjoyed all kinds of sports,” he said. “And even as I worked for Herman Miller, an office furniture business, I participated in company-sponsored sports, mostly basketball.”

Root, now 62, is in his 10th year at the helm of his own consulting business. He travels the country to help other businesses improve their manufacturing processes.

But that lifestyle came at a cost.

The busier he became with consulting over the years, the less time he had for fitness.

“I became less and less active as I was traveling so much,” he said. “Skipping breakfast, eating late into the night, eating at restaurants. And I loved sweets.”

Gradually, the scale ticked up. At his heaviest, he weighed 390 pounds.

That introduced other health issues.

“No diabetes,” Root said. “But I did have high blood pressure and sleep apnea. And it became hard to go up and down stairs or get in and out of the car. I needed knee replacements, but I couldn’t get them because of my weight.”

Gains and losses

Root tried various diets, but even when he lost weight he invariably found he’d gain it back again—and then some.

“I lost 100 pounds in 2008 in a medically supervised diet at Spectrum Health,” Root said.

By 2018, he had regained that weight.

So he decided to look into bariatric surgery.

He made an appointment with Jon Schram, MD, bariatric surgeon at Spectrum Health Bariatrics.

“It was March 15 of that year that I went in to see Dr. Schram,” Root said. “I was at 49.8 body mass index at that point and my insurance wouldn’t cover bariatric surgery at 50 BMI or over. So I just made it.”

Dr. Schram explained the options to Root, who soon settled on gastric sleeve surgery, or sleeve gastrectomy.

“About 80% of my patients choose sleeve surgery,” Dr. Schram said. “Sleeve surgery—rather than gastric bypass—is less disruptive to lifestyle and it’s easier to tolerate different foods.”

On average, patients who undergo gastric sleeve surgery can expect to lose 50 to 65% of their excess weight, Dr. Schram said.

“During sleeve surgery, which takes about 45 minutes, we remove approximately 80% of the stomach and create a new, tubular stomach that is about the size of a banana,” Dr. Schram said. “After surgery, usually patients can consume 1,000 to 1,200 calories per day. Success rates are high. We do thousands of these surgeries per year at Spectrum Health.”

Prior to surgery, Root participated in six months of classes to learn more about the procedure.

He also had a psychological evaluation to ensure he could undergo the drastic change in lifestyle.

“I also had monthly visits with a dietitian,” he said. “I started on a diet to show that I can lose weight. And I was down to 371 when I went in for surgery on Dec. 16, 2018.”

Downsizing

Root had surgery at Spectrum Health Zeeland Community Hospital, a short hop from home.

“Dr. Schram found that I had a small hernia, too, and he fixed that during surgery as well,” he said. “I was surprised how quickly I recovered. I stayed overnight in the hospital and left the next morning.”

For the first two weeks he kept to a liquid diet that included broth, protein shakes and yogurt.

“I didn’t feel hungry at all,” he said. “In the first three months, I lost 80 pounds. The pounds just melted off.”

His diet tends to place less emphasis on food choice and more on portion control. The smaller, the better.

“The dietitian told me to get 60 grams of protein every day,” he said. “And I drink four to six 8-ounce cups of water per day.”

He admits he’s still not great about eating vegetables—he’s working on that—but he enjoys lean meats to keep up his protein intake, including seafood, filets of beef and poultry.

To maintain his calorie count and his nutritional needs—with a focus on protein—he uses the My Fitness Pal app on his cell phone to track his daily intake.

“My dietitian suggested that before surgery,” he said. “And I liked it so well that I kept using it after. Eventually, the weight didn’t come off as fast as in those first months, but I’m down to 270 pounds now. That’s a loss of 120 pounds in 13 months!”

His goal: 220 pounds.

When traveling for business, Root now often asks for the kids menu at restaurants.

He ignores the raised eyebrows.

At home, his wife, Elizabeth, who favors a vegetarian diet, cooks for him. She lovingly nudges him with an, “I told you so!”

“You should have done this a long time ago,” she says.

Root has taken up sports again, playing basketball, biking and swimming.

He no longer uses a continuous positive airway pressure machine for his sleep apnea, a condition that has since disappeared.

“You know, I’m also a tenor saxophone player,” he said. “A group of us gives performances around the state, maybe 40 or so per year. That’s easier now, too, including the marching in parades with the band.”

And yes, Root agrees with his wife.

“I’ll admit, I was a bit skeptical at first,” he said. “But now I would say I wish I had done this 15 or 20 years ago.”

It’s not cheating—it’s just another tool for weight loss, he said.

“It can be a huge adjustment for the body, but in the long run it’s easier than you think,” he said.

‘I wish I’d done this years ago’ published first on https://smartdrinkingweb.tumblr.com/