#ghost would be into teeth as previously discussed

[duskier]

new writing challenge: take all of your favorite characters and assign them one of your niche fetishes/kinks

[stormcloudrising]

The Secret Song of Florian and Jonquil Part 10: The Shrouded Lord and a Mermaid's UnKiss

December 24, 2023

Shrouded Lord_AI Generated Image by Nuevoimg_123rf

I ended last chapter with an excerpt from 1 Peter that referenced Christ as the Living Stone and proposed that George was using the legend of the Shrouded Lord in the book to mirror the biblical one. And as I discussed previously, the myth of the Shrouded Lord is in the story to inform upon Jon’s resurrection.  So, with that said, let’s jump right back in to talk about Jon Snow, the Living Stone and the kiss of life coming his way.

JON, THE SHROUDED LORD AKA, THE LIVING STONE

The sound of a kiss is not so loud as that of a cannon, but its echo lasts a great deal longer. —Oliver Wendell Holmes

We first hear mention of the Shrouded Lord in A Dance with Dragon where after the urging of Illyrio, Tyrion boards the Shy Maid to travel to Volantis with Griff and Faegon. While travelling on the Rhoyne, Haldon and Duck regal Yollo (Tyrion) with dark tales of the legendary pirates in the area.

Haldon gave him a thin smile. "If we should encounter the Lady Korra on Hag's Teeth, you may soon be lacking other parts as well. Korra the Cruel, they call her. Her ship is crewed by beautiful young maids who geld every male they capture." This time Duck laughed, and Haldon said, "What a droll little fellow you are, Yollo. They say that the Shrouded Lord will grant a boon to any man who can make him laugh. Perhaps His Grey Grace will choose you to ornament his stony court." Duck glanced at his companion uneasily. "It's not good to jape of that one, not when we're so near the Rhoyne. He hears." "Wisdom from a duck," said Haldon. "I beg your pardon, Yollo. You need not look so pale, I was only playing with you. The Prince of Sorrows does not bestow his grey kiss lightly." His grey kiss. The thought made his flesh crawl. Death had lost its terror for Tyrion Lannister, but greyscale was another matter. The Shrouded Lord is just a legend, he told himself, no more real than the ghost of Lann the Clever that some claim haunts Casterly Rock. Even so, he held his tongue. — A Dance with Dragons - Tyrion III

Four important things are revealed to us with the first mention of this mysterious figure. First, we find out that The Shrouded Lord is a Stone Man who lives in the Sorrows. Stone men are of course those in the last stages of greyscale who live in area of the Rhoyne where a thousand years previously, Garin is said to have called down the curse on the dragon lords of old.

Secondly, Tyrion associates him with Lann the Clever, the ancient ancestor of the Lannisters from the Age of Heroes who was said to have winkle Casterly Rock from the Casterlys with only his wits. Martin is usually implying something when he mentions these ancient figures in the text, and I have a couple of ideas why he had Tyrion think of Lann at this moment. One, I will write an essay on at another time, but the second reason is because I think his plan was to have Tyrion meet The Shrouded Lord, and it would have been Gerion, his missing uncle who disappeared when he went looking for the lost Lannister Valyrian sword, Brightroar.

George did write a chapter where Tyrion met The Shrouded Lord but decided not to include it in the books. Here is what he said about the discarded chapter.

“It’s a swell, spook, evocative chapter, but you won’t read it in Dance. It took me down a road I decided I did not want to travel, so I went back and ripped it out. So, unless I change my mind again, it’s going the way of the draft of Lord of the Rings where Tolkien has Frodo, Sam Merry and Pippin reach the Prancing Pony and meet a weatherbeaten old hobbit ranger named “Trotter.” —George R R Martin

The popular fandom reason for the deletion of the chapter is that there was too much magic in the scene. I think that this is a good take and quite possibly part of the reason for the deletion. George’s writing is centered on the character and the magic is secondary. There will be a big input of magic in the story, but that will be towards the end, and so the chapter with The Shrouded Lord might have been a bit too early.

All of this makes sense but only up to a point because there have been heavily magical scenes in the story already such as the birthing of Dany’s dragons, and her visit to the HOTU. Also, in ADWD, George gave us three magical scenes…Varamyr's attempt to body jump Thistle; Arya’s introduction to the magical faces of the Faceless Men; and Bran’s first visit inside the weirwood net.

That’s a lot of magical scenes in one book and so maybe George thought that Tyrion’s encounter with The Shrouded Lord was one too many. I tend to think that the true reason the chapter was pulled is because George felt it revealed too much about Jon’s resurrection, and he wasn’t ready to show his hand yet. There is also the fact that if Tyrion did meet The Shrouded Lord, Martin would have had to give him greyscale. This is something he may have been planning to do but decided against and chose to give it to Jon Con instead.

The third interesting thing we find out is that The Shrouded Lord will grant a boon to all who will make him laugh. This is important symbolism as it has to do with why there are as many fools appearing throughout the books as they are whor*s. I’m not going to go into the explanation about fools here as this chapter is already extremely long. However, I will again direct you to Crowfood’s Daughter excellent video essay on the subject.

Finally, we find out that the mysterious figure of the Sorrows is known by three names. In addition to The Shrouded Lord, he is also called His Grey Grace and The Prince of Sorrows. It just so happens that I can show you how all these names apply to Jon. His Grey Grace is obvious as he quite likely will be considered a king…at least for a while. I’ve also showed you last chapter why Jon's symbolic color is grey; and if he does get greyscale like I’ve proposed, part of him will have the grey scaly stone like scars of the disease.

So, what about the other two names. Well let’s start first with The Shrouded Lord.

Generally, when I see a representation of The Shrouded Lord in a video or featured in an essay, it’s of the standard fantasy image of a man in shadow wearing a grey cowl like those worn by monks…similar to the one I used for the header image of this essay. But here’s the thing. Yes, a cowl can be loosely considered a shroud but it would be at the bottom of the list of synonyms.

A shroud is more properly defined as, “a length of cloth or enveloping garment in which a dead person is wrapped for burial.” And the most famous one in all history is the Shroud of Turin, purportedly, the burial cloth of Jesus that is said to have his face imprinted or ingrained in it.

Shroud of Turin, Public Domain

Understanding this meaning of shroud as a burial cloth, one can immediately see that the Shrouded Lord is quite possibly dead. Of course, as there is no cure for greyscale once it has reached the point that you are considered a stone man, it may just be symbolism. Also, as he is given the title Lord, one can also extrapolated and say that he is considered the ruler of the dead…a kind of Hades like figure. Or maybe even, regarding the story…a Night’s King like personage.

As he’s using the word shroud, that’s so closely identified with Jesus, one can also assume that George might want the reader to associate this mysterious figure from the Sorrows with his own created Christ like figure…one Jon Snow.

You’re probably saying, interesting analogy, but it doesn’t mean that The Shrouded Lord is meant to tell us about Jon’s resurrection or even has anything to do with him. And to that I say, it gets better. I missed it the first time I read the book but when I re-read A Dance with Dragons several years ago, something hit me when I reached the chapters where The Shrouded Lord is mentioned. In making the association with the Shroud of Turin, my mind immediately wondered whether George was symbolically associating The Shrouded Lord with Christ.

Having already recognized that he had set Jon up as the Christ like figure in the books who would be resurrected, I then considered the strong possibility that he was trying to tell us something about Jon’s resurrection, but I wasn’t immediately sure what the connection could be. The fact that the Shrouded Lord was a stone man and thus had greyscale; and Shireen who for some inexplicable reason, Martin also gave greyscale and then place at the Wall where she was in contact with Jon, told me that I was on to something, but again, what did it mean? And then the memories of my years of Sunday school and sitting in too many Episcopalian church services to remember kicked in and I knew the answer. I remembered.

Christ, the Living Stone!

Jesus was prophesized to be the Living Stone. Here we get the first reference in Isaiah 28:16

16 So this is what the Sovereign Lord says: “See, I lay a stone in Zion, a tested stone,     a precious cornerstone for a sure foundation; the one who relies on it     will never be stricken with panic.

And then again in the Psalms 118:22.

The stone the builders rejected     has become the cornerstone; 23 the Lord has done this,     and it is marvelous in our eyes.

And here in 1 Peter, we get the full prophecy.

4 As you come to him, the living Stone—rejected by humans but chosen by God and precious to him— 5 you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. 6 For in Scripture it says: “See, I lay a stone in Zion,     a chosen and precious cornerstone, and the one who trusts in him     will never be put to shame.” 7 Now to you who believe, this stone is precious. But to those who do not believe, “The stone the builders rejected     has become the cornerstone,” 8 and, “A stone that causes people to stumble     and a rock that makes them fall.” They stumble because they disobey the message—which is also what they were destined for. 9 But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.  10 Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy. —1 Peter 2:4-10 NIV

This is the answer to the question that many in the fandom have pondered. Why did George make greyscale a part of the story? A plague is understandable. After all, his story takes place in a Middle Ages type setting when plagues were prevalent, but why one that turned its victims into living stones.

Now we know! Jesus was the Living Stone who died and was resurrected to save man. In ASOIAF, Jon is the Christ like figure who will die and be resurrected to be the savior of man. And thus, he needed to have living stone symbolism. He needed to be a living Stone and thus, George needed a way to turn him into a stone man.

In the bible, Jesus as the Living Stone is symbolic, but George made it literal for his story. This is why he invented greyscale; gave it to Shireen; and placed her at the Wall.

We now see how two of the three monikers assigned to the mysterious figure known as The Shrouded Lord can be directly connected to Jon Snow, our in-world risen Christ. He is His Grey Grace, and he is The Shrouded Lord. What about the third…the Prince of Sorrows? As George is also using it as a sobriquet for his in-world figure, it must also be connected to Jesus. Let’s look again at the Book of Isaiah for the answer.

2 For he shall grow up before him as a tender plant, and as a root out of a dry ground: he hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him. 3 He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not. 4 Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted. 5 But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed. 6 All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all. —Isaiah 53:2-6 KJV

This passage reminds me a bit of the tale Old Nan told Bran about the Night's King and how all records of him were destroyed and his very name forbidden; and later how Ygritte told Jon that Snow was an evil name. I would say the two are related.

Isaiah saying that Christ was not comely in our eyes also reminds me of Sansa saying that Florian was homely. The bible verse also shows us that Christ was known as a man of sorrows. Not quite the same wording as Prince of Sorrows, but then again, Jesus is also called Prince several times in other books of the bible, and Jon is quite possibly a prince in the books.

13 The God of Abraham, and of Isaac, and of Jacob, the God of our fathers, hath glorified his Son Jesus; whom ye delivered up, and denied him in the presence of Pilate, when he was determined to let him go. 14 But ye denied the Holy One and the Just, and desired a murderer to be granted unto you; 15 And killed the Prince of life, whom God hath raised from the dead; whereof we are witnesses. —ACTS 3 13-15

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5 And from Jesus Christ, who is the faithful witness, and the first begotten of the dead, and the prince of the kings of the earth. Unto him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood. —REVELATIONS 1:5

And of course, he is known as the Prince of Peace. Now that we see how the three monikers connect to both Jesus and Jon, what about Jon’s resurrection? Might the myth of The Shrouded Lord give us some idea about his resurrection? Yes. Yes, it does, because there just so happens to be a resurrection portion of the myth that symbolically plays out with Tyrion, Sansa’s motley attire husband.

The legend of The Shrouded Lord first appears in A Dance with Dragon, the same book where Jon is killed. We first read about Garin and the curse he called down on the dragon lords of old and how the ruins of Chroyane turned into the Sorrows in TWOIAF, which was published two years after ADWD.

Lomas Longstrider wrote of the drowned ruins of Chroyane, its foul fogs and waters, and the fact that wayward travelers infected with greyscale now haunt the ruins—a hazard for those who travel the river beneath the broken span of the Bridge of Dream.

However, that was not the first time the name Garin appeared in the text. It first appeared in A Feast for Crows and is the name of one of Arianne’s childhood friends who participated in her attempt to crown Myrcella queen. After their plot is rooted out by Doran, Garin is initially sent to Ghaston Grey.

During her next bath, she spoke of her imprisoned friends, especially Garin. "He's the one I fear for most," she confided to the serving girl. "The orphans are free spirits, they live to wander. Garin needs sunshine and fresh air. If they lock him away in some dank stone cell, how will he survive? He will not last a year at Ghaston Grey." —A Feast for Crows, Princess in the Tower

According to Arianne, “Ghaston Grey was a crumbling old castle perched on a rock in the Sea of Dorne, a drear and dreadful prison where the vilest of criminals were sent to rot and die.” Sea of Dorne is filled with so much symbolic implications with the potential use of two homonyms on George’s part, Sea of Dawn or even See of Dawn, but that’s a discussion for another day. The name is also likely another homage on George’s part to his favorite fairy tale, Beauty and the Beast, as Gaston, Belle’s proverbial suitor falls to his death in the sea below during his fight with the Beast.

Ghaston Grey does sounds like the perfect symbolic prison to send a prisoner named after the ancient Rhoynar prince who called down the greyscale plague upon the dragon lords. Garin is an Orphan of the Greenblood, the descendants of Nymeria and the Rhoynar who decided to remain on the rivers and not settle on Dornish land. And so, it makes symbolic sense that he was imprisoned in the “sea.” I mentioned Garin because originally, A Feast for Crows and A Dance with Dragons was one gigantic book before it was split into two by the publisher. And so, events in the two books are basically taking place around the same time. This shows that when George introduced the myth of The Shrouded Lord in the book where Jon dies, he was already thinking of Garin and the Rhoynar.

My regular readers probably think it’s boring the number of times I repeat in my essays that George is always consistent in his use of symbolism. I repeat it often because with the depth of symbolism built into the story, it’s amazing that he never drops the ball. And because I felt strongly that Florian and Jonquil were the ancient Night’s King and Corpse Queen, and Jon and Sansa their modern-day counterpart, when I figured how The Shrouded Lord connected to Jon and his resurrection, I was stumped by Florian’s motley armor.

I knew it had to be important because when the Tyrion drowning scene played out in the Sorrows, where he played the role of the Jon/Shrouded Lord character, he was wearing motley clothing. But I was stumped at what Motley might have to do with the Shrouded Lord and stone. That is, until I recently watched one of Crowfood’s Daughter ironborn videos and discovered that she had figured out the answer. Motley represented stone.

You can watch the video, Bless Him with Stone here, but what Amanda figured out is how motley is connected to stone. Motley as we are shown in the text is how the costumes of fools are described, and by connecting this to the real-world Harlequin fool from medieval history, Amanda hit on something interesting.

She discovered that there is a real-world disease called, Harlequin Ichthyosis, that’s very like greyscale. Also called fish scale disease, it got its name from the Greek word, ichthys, which translate as fish.

Harlequin Ichthyosis

With this discovery and the connection to motley and fools in mind, Amanda soon discovered in the text that George compares the scars from Shireen’s greyscale to Patchface’s motley costume.

Grand Maester Pycelle gaped at him, aghast. "Surely you do not mean to suggest that Lady Selyse would bring a fool into her bed?" "You'd have to be a fool to want to bed Selyse Florent," said Littlefinger. "Doubtless Patchface reminded her of Stannis. And the best lies contain within them nuggets of truth, enough to give a listener pause. As it happens, this fool is utterly devoted to the girl and follows her everywhere. They even look somewhat alike. Shireen has a mottled, half-frozen face as well." Pycelle was lost. "But that is from the greyscale that near killed her as a babe, poor thing." — A Clash of Kings - Tyrion III

Mottle as Amanda’s research also showed is from the 17th century and is a back formation of motley. From there, it was then easy for her to make the connection to Florian the Fool.

This morning the puppeteers were doing the tale of Florian and Jonquil. The fat Dornishwoman was working Florian in his armor made of motley, while the tall girl held Jonquil's strings. "You are no knight," she was saying as the puppet's mouth moved up and down. "I know you. You are Florian the Fool." "I am, my lady," the other puppet answered, kneeling. "As great a fool as ever lived, and as great a knight as well." —The Hedge Knight

___

"You hope to buy your way back into her favor by presenting her with me. An ill-considered scheme, I'd say. One might even say an act of drunken desperation. Perhaps if I were Jaime … but Jaime killed her father, I only killed my own. You think Daenerys will execute me and pardon you, but the reverse is just as likely. Maybe you should hop up on that pig, Ser Jorah. Put on a suit of iron motley, like Florian the—" —A Dance with Dragons, Tyrion IX

If George wants us to consider greyscale and motley in the same terms, then does that mean that Sansa’s favorite knight did not wear a motley suit of armor, but rather had greyscale. As soon as I got to this point in Amanda’s video, I knew that I had my answer about how stone connected to Florian, because it had to be if Jon, the modern-day Florian was The Shrouded Lord of the story. Eureka!

One thing I discovered in my research, which Amanda didn’t mention and so I’m not sure if she is aware is that there is a condition very similar to Ichthyosis called Livedo reticularis but more commonly known as mottled skin. It’s not as deadly or life threatening as Ichthyosis, but it does look somewhat similar.

Mottled Skin

Mottled skin causes a bluish-red, lace-like patter under the skin. Also known as Livedo reticularis, this condition happens when deoxygenated blood pools beneath the skin’s surface. This condition has many causes, including cold exposure and chronic medical conditions. —Cleveland Clinic

You can see from the picture below how similar it is to Ichthyosis. You know who else I wondered about when I read this description for mottled skin, Cold Hands. I wonder what his face and the rest of his skin looks like under his hood and cloak. But that’s a theory for another day.

One other thing Amanda’s video showed is that when you pull up mermaids on the wiki, you get a “see also” reference to Ichthyosis. It is called the fish scale disease and so that makes sense, but consistent symbolism people. Symbolism.

A MERMAID'S UNKISS

Now that we’ve discussed The Shrouded Lord, and how his myth is in the story to tell us about Jon’s resurrection as the symbolic risen Christ, let’s finally get to that resurrection and how Sansa will be smacked dab in the middle of it, something I’ve proposed for years.

Melisandre is what I like to call a shiny apple. George’s way of hiding the truth in plain sight. Because Thoros, another Red Priest brought Beric back, the fandom assumes Mel will do the same for Jon…especially as they went that route in the show.

Don’t get me wrong, she’s at the Wall because she has a role to play but it won’t consciously or unconsciously be about bringing Jon back. Although when it happens, other characters will think it was her, and she’ll likely take the credit, but it won’t be her. Mel is at the Wall to burn Shireen which will in some magical way, result in Jon getting greyscale.

I have a broad idea of how it will play out, which I will get into at the end. Mel won’t bring Jon back because what the tale of The Shrouded Lord tells us is that the return of the fiery dragon lord will be a cold one.

I have been saying for years that Jon and Sansa are the modern Florian and Jonquil and that George is telling their story through their interactions with other characters who act as stand-ins for each. In the case of Jon, Ygritte, the lover of songs, and Val, the non-maiden who Jon rejects when she looks like an icy, white hair ice queen, but thinks is loveliest thing he’s seen in a long while when she comes out of the trees of the haunted forest with her hair looking like dark honey and Ghost at her side.

As I pointed out in The Evolution of Val an essay I wrote several years ago, dark honey is dark brown in color with red highlights. A color very similar to the chestnut Sansa has been dying her hair as she hides out in the Vale. But she’s running out of dye and her red hair is symbolically beginning to peek out.

In Sansa’s arc, the role of Jon is being played by the Sandor Cleghane, the Hound. This is the angry Jon that will return with his wolf Ghost now literally a part of him. Jon will be savage like the Hound. This is why Sandor is given the Hound moniker. It’s to suggest a wolf hound…aka Jon.

Sandor’s burnt face also is there to foreshadow Jon’s face being burnt and likely where the greyscale will enter his dead body as I speculated above. This will likely happen in his funeral pyre. In Deep Geek has a great video about something like this happening. You can watch it here. Jon’s face being burnt at some point was also foreshadowed during his first meeting with Ygritte in the chapter that mirrors Sansa and Sandor on top of the Red Keep during the fiery battle of the Blackwater.

It all seemed to happen in a heartbeat. Afterward Jon could admire the courage of the wildling who reached first for his horn instead of his blade. He got it to his lips, but before he could sound it Stonesnake knocked the horn aside with a swipe of his shortsword. Jon's man leapt to his feet, thrusting at his face with a burning brand. He could feel the heat of the flames as he flinched back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sleeper stirring, and knew he must finish his man quick. When the brand swung again, he bulled into it, swinging the bastard sword with both hands. —A Clash of Kings, Jon VI

Sansa calmed the Hounds spirit when she sang him The Mother’s Hymn. And just as she tempered the Hound, she will do the same for beastly Jon, like Belle did to the Beast in George’s favorite fairy tale.

In, Do Direwolves dream of the Weirwood Net, I discussed and showed the textural evidence that suggests the bond mates of House Stark can access the weirwood net. This is important because I believe that when Jon called out to Ghost upon his death, their spirits merged, and Ghost took them into the weirwoods, and it is here that he will encounter Sansa and she will give him the kiss of life. There is a magical component that of course has yet to be revealed by the author, but textural clues suggests that this is what will happen. So, let’s now discussed those clues.

Sansa, like many other characters is an unreliable narrator. One of the biggest pieces of evidence to support this is the infamous UnKiss, as the fandom calls the kiss, she remembers sharing with the Hound.

Alla had a lovely voice, and when coaxed would play the woodharp and sing songs of chivalry and lost loves. Megga couldn't sing, but she was mad to be kissed. She and Alla played a kissing game sometimes, she confessed, but it wasn't the same as kissing a man, much less a king. Sansa wondered what Megga would think about kissing the Hound, as she had. He'd come to her the night of the battle stinking of wine and blood. He kissed me and threatened to kill me, and made me sing him a song. —A Storm of Swords, Sansa II

The kiss Sansa remembers, never happened. We the reader watch the scene play out on the page and we know there was no kiss between her and the Hound. She thinks of the kiss that never happened for a second time later in the book when having a conversation with Myranda.

She thought of Tyrion, and of the Hound and how he'd kissed her, and gave a nod. "That must have been dreadful, my lady. Him dying. There, I mean, whilst . . . whilst he was . . ." — A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

Why is Sansa remembering a kiss that never happened? A fan asked GRRM via email back in 2002, and this was his response.

“Well, not every inconsistency is a mistake, actually. Some are quite intentional. File this one under “unreliable narrator” and feel free to ponder its meaning.” —So Spake Martin

Some in the fandom has taken Sansa’s memory of the kiss that never happened as Sansa having romantic feelings for the Hound. However, I don't think that's it. Yes, Martin, has admitted that he has played with this aspect, but I feel confident it’s not because he intended any romance between the two.

Why do I say that Martin is not going to write Sansa having romantic feelings for the Hound? Because one of the core themes of the story is the evil practice of marrying girls before they are even of age to men old enough to be their fathers and often their grandfathers. Sandor Cleghane is old enough to be Sansa’s father being just a few years younger than Ned. Plus, Sandor assaulted and terrorized Sansa. George is not going to turn around now at the end of the story and create a romance between a child and a grown man who terrorized her.

Also, and this is important, we are shown on the page and told in the text that Sansa prefers boys her age. There is Joffrey before he showed himself to be a monster; Loras, the fake Rhaegar stand-in; and Waymar Royce, the Jon stand-in. And if that is not sufficient evidence, Sansa in her own words tells us that she prefers men close to her age.

"I suppose," Sansa said doubtfully. Beric Dondarrion was handsome enough, but he was awfully old, almost twenty-two; the Knight of Flowers would have been much better. Of course, Jeyne had been in love with Lord Beric ever since she had first glimpsed him in the lists. Sansa thought she was being silly; Jeyne was only a steward's daughter, after all, and no matter how much she mooned after him, Lord Beric would never look at someone so far beneath him, even if she hadn't been half his age. —A Game of Thrones, Sansa III

Jeyne has a crush on Beric, who is almost 22. Sansa who is 12 at the time, the same age she is when the UnKiss with the Hound supposedly took place, thinks Beric is too old, and that Loras, the Knight of Flowers who is 16 and just 4 years older than her would be much better. At the start of the story, Sandor Cleghane is 28. Why would Sansa have romantic feelings for him when she thought that Beric who is 6 years younger than the Hound was too old. Makes no sense. George is showing us that Sansa’s interest lies in boys her age.

However, GRRM has admitted that he’s been playing with the idea of something romantic between Sansa and Sandor, and so one must ask why? I think the answer is because Sandor is a stand-in for Jon, and what Sansa is remembering is not a kiss between her and Sandor but rather one between her and Jon.

In the chapter 8, I discussed why mermaids and dragonflies are symbolic sea dragons and how George has positioned Sansa as representing both. I also covered why Nagga, the sea dragon the Grey King slew was his mermaid wife and how that meant that Elenei, the mermaid wife of Durran Godsgrief should also be considered a sea dragon. However in the Durran/Elenei legend, the mermaid wife likely save her mate from drowning by giving him the kiss of life.

Then I discussed why sea dragons and mermaids represent the missing female greenseers of the story and why Nissa Nissa/Corpse Queen/Grey King’s mermaid wife was the first sea dragon and the first greenseer who was female. All of this led me to revisiting the textural clues that point to Sansa being the mermaid/sea dragon of the story and the missing female greenseer.

Legends say that mermaids or sirens as they are sometimes called often lure sailors to their death via drowning.

"A touch of fear will not be out of place, Alayne. You've seen a fearful thing. Nestor will be moved." Petyr studied her eyes, as if seeing them for the first time. "You have your mother's eyes. Honest eyes, and innocent. Blue as a sunlit sea. When you are a little older, many a man will drown in those eyes." Sansa did not know what to say to that. —A Feast for Crows, Sansa I

However, sometimes they will be a savior as in the case of the Little Mermaid, and Elenei saving Durran.

And now let’s look at what Sansa being a greenseer and the UnKiss might have to do with the resurrection of Jon Snow, the Shrouded Lord of Living Stone.

“We are made of blood and bone, in the image of the Father and the Mother,” said Septa Lemore. “Make no vainglorious boasts, I beg you. Pride is a grievous sin. The stone men were proud as well, and the Shrouded Lord was proudest of them all.” The heat from the glowing coals brought a flush to Tyrion’s face. “Is there a Shrouded Lord? Or is he just some tale?” “The Shrouded Lord has ruled these mists since Garin’s day,” said Yandry. “Some say that he himself is Garin, risen from his watery grave.” “The dead do not rise,” insisted Haldon Halfmaester, “and no man lives a thousand years. Yes, there is a Shrouded Lord. There have been a score of them. When one dies another takes his place. This one is a corsair from the Basilisk Islands who believed the Rhoyne would offer richer pickings than the Summer Sea.” “Aye, I’ve heard that too,” said Duck, “but there’s another tale I like better. The one that says he’s not like t’other stone men, that he started as a statue till a grey woman came out of the fog and kissed him with lips as cold as ice.” A Dance with Dragons, Tyrion V

In one of the myths told to Tyrion about The Shrouded Lord, he is said to have started as a stone statue until a cold kiss from a grey woman awakened or one might say, resurrected him. And as I’ve shown, the legend of the Shrouded Lord in only in the story to tell us about Jon’s resurrection. Thus, Jon’s resurrection should also involve a cold kiss from a woman in grey.

As we see from Melisandre’s vision, there is a mysterious girl in grey destined to connect with Jon. Sansa is this girl in grey. George has also inexplicably written a mysterious kiss into Sansa’s arc that supposedly never took place. I proposed that this kiss, or UnKiss as the fandom likes to call it is the one that will be tied to Jon’s resurrection, and it takes place in the weirwood net where Sansa will temper the savaged Jon and like Elenei did with Durran, save him from drowning in the green sea.

As we’re dealing with the weirwoods where time is circular, the kiss may have already happened, or Sansa could be seeing a future event. Nonetheless, the fact that she has memory of it is another clue that she is a greenseer. However, because she’s traumatized and the kiss is between her and her “brother” whose face is likely burnt, making him look more like the Hound, she has confused his identity in her mind.

I said above that George loves religious myths, but do you want to know what else he loves…fairy tales. And there are abundant references to such tales throughout the text.

Many essays have been written by others in the fandom about this topic, but the two I want to talk about here are Beauty and the Beast, and The Little Mermaid because those two are heavily prevalent in Sansa’s arc and in the resurrection of The Shrouded Lord…especially the mermaid linkage.

The original Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Andersen’s is very different from the Disney version so beloved by children, and George has merged the two in his version of the story. In Andersen’s version, mermaids live for hundreds of years and if the Little Mermaid (in the story, she is not given a name) is able to gain the love of the human prince, she will be fated to live out her days as a human. She will have a shorter life span but will gain a human soul. In ASOIAF, George gives us this tale of the fair Elenei.

The songs said that Storm's End had been raised in ancient days by Durran, the first Storm King, who had won the love of the fair Elenei, daughter of the sea god and the goddess of the wind. On the night of their wedding, Elenei had yielded her maidenhood to a mortal's love and thus doomed herself to a mortal's death, and her grieving parents had unleashed their wrath and sent the winds and waters to batter down Durran's hold. His friends and brothers and wedding guests were crushed beneath collapsing walls or blown out to sea, but Elenei sheltered Durran within her arms so he took no harm, and when the dawn came at last he declared war upon the gods and vowed to rebuild. —A Clash of Kings, Catelyn III

By the way, as I discussed in my Of Sansa Stark and Alayne Stone series, Elenei is a variant of Alayne, the name Sansa is hiding out under in the Vale as the daughter of the Merlin(g) King.

In both Andersen’s and George’s version of the tale, the mermaid saves the man from drowning. The mermaid also saves a man from drowning in the Disney version, but there is also the added detail of a kiss. While the sea witch, named Ursula in the Disney version mandates that the little mermaid must gain the prince’s love in the Andersen tale, the cartoon changes it to a kiss.

Martin has woven a life-giving kiss into his story as well with the tale of Elenei, the ironborn’s kiss of life, and even that of the R’hllorist cult with Thoros life giving the kiss to Beric and him in turn passing it on to Cat. And as we see, George has also woven it into the legend of The Shrouded Lord.

“Aye, I’ve heard that too,” said Duck, “but there’s another tale I like better. The one that says he’s not like t’other stone men, that he started as a statue till a grey woman came out of the fog and kissed him with lips as cold as ice.”

Did you notice Martin’s play on words there? The Shrouded Lord is not like the “Other” stone men.

Unsurprisingly, a stone statue is also a key element in both the Andersen original, and the Disney version of The Little Mermaid. In the original, the little mermaid finds the statue before she rescues the prince from drowning. It’s her first experience with anything from the human world and so, the statue becomes a prize possession. When she later rescues the prince, she realizes that he looks just like her statue, and this is part of what precipitates her falling for him.

On the other hand, in the Disney version, she finds the statue after she rescues the prince and it becomes a sign for her that she should follow him to the human world and this precipitates her visit to Ursula the sea witch.

We see that George has heavily built the tale of the Little Mermaid into his sea dragon and Shrouded Lord myths. So, what does all of this have to do with Jon’s resurrection, Sansa, and The Shrouded Lord?

Funnily enough, the very next Tyrion chapter after we first hear about The Shrouded Lord, the Shy Maid finally makes it to the Sorrows and is attacked by the Stone Men, leading to the near-death drowning experience of Sansa’s motley dressed husband and the answer to the question is provided. Let’s look at this chapter.

Chroyane_by Philip Straub_The World of Ice and Fire

“The Shy Maid moved through the fog like a blind man groping his way down an unfamiliar hall. Septa Lemore was praying. The mists muffled the sound of her voice, making it seem small and hushed. Griff paced the deck, mail clinking softly beneath his wolfskin cloak.” —A Dance with Dragon, Tyrion V

Make note that Griff , *Jon* Connington is wearing a wolfskin cloak, marking him as a symbolic wolf in the scene. This next excerpt is pretty long, but it is needed so that one can see all the symbolism and order of events playing out.

“Just saying a thing does not make it true. Who better to raise Prince Rhaegar’s infant son than Prince Rhaegar’s dear friend Jon Connington, once Lord of Griffin’s Roost and Hand of the King?” “Be quiet.” Griff’s voice was uneasy. On the larboard side of the boat, a huge stone hand was visible just below the water. Two fingers broke the surface. How many of those are there? Tyrion wondered. A trickle of moisture ran down his spine and made him shudder. The Sorrows drifted by them. Peering through the mists, he glimpsed a broken spire, a headless hero, an ancient tree torn from the ground and upended, its huge roots twisting through the roof and windows of a broken dome. Why does all of this seem so familiar?” “Straight on, a tilted stairway of pale marble rose up out of the dark water in a graceful spiral, ending abruptly ten feet above their heads. No, thought Tyrion, that is not possible. “Ahead.” Lemore’s voice was shivery. “A light.” All of them looked. All of them saw it. “Kingfisher,” said Griff. “Her, or some other like her.” But he drew his sword again. No one said a word. The Shy Maid moved with the current. Her sail had not been raised since she first entered the Sorrows. She had no way to move but with the river. Duck stood squinting, clutching his pole with both hands. After a time even Yandry stopped pushing. Every eye was on the distant light. As they grew closer, it turned into two lights. Then three. “The Bridge of Dream,” said Tyrion. “Inconceivable,” said Haldon Halfmaester. “We’ve left the bridge behind. Rivers only run one way.” “Mother Rhoyne runs how she will,” murmured Yandry. “Seven save us,” said Lemore. Up ahead, the stone men on the span began to wail. A few were pointing down at them. “Haldon, get the prince below,” commanded Griff.”

The large stone hand is like the symbolic hand of God hearing Tyrion’s words and passing judgment because just as they pass it, things get a bit crazy as some type of magic kicks in. Rivers only run one way except for in ASOIAF. Even their dialogue as they pass the bridge again is the same, but with differences.

The leap had shattered one of his legs, and a jagged piece of pale bone jutted out through the rotted cloth of his breeches and the grey meat beneath. The broken bone was speckled with brown blood, but still he lurched forward, reaching for Young Griff. His hand was grey and stiff, but blood oozed between his knuckles as he tried to close his fingers to grasp. The boy stood staring, as still as if he too were made of stone. His hand was on his sword hilt, but he seemed to have forgotten why. Tyrion kicked the lad’s leg out from under him and leapt over him when he fell, thrusting his torch into the stone man’s face to send him stumbling backwards on his shattered leg, flailing at the flames with stiff grey hands. —A Dance with Dragons, Tyrion V

Again, the hint of a man getting his face burnt. Tyrion knocked Young Griff down to protect him, but the stone man gets away and goes for the boy again.

“Stand aside!” someone shouted, far away, and another voice said, “The prince! Protect the boy!” The stone man staggered forward, his hands outstretched and grasping. Tyrion drove a shoulder into him. It felt like slamming into a castle wall, but this castle stood upon a shattered leg. The stone man went over backwards, grabbing hold of Tyrion as he fell. They hit the river with a towering splash, and Mother Rhoyne swallowed up the two of them. As he’s dragged to the bottom of the river by the stone man, Tyrion thinks, “there are worse ways to die than drowning.” And then we get this ending passage. I’ll haunt the Seven Kingdoms, he thought, sinking deeper. They would not love me living, so let them dread me dead. When he opened his mouth to curse them all, black water filled his lungs, and the dark closed in around him.

Tyrion, Sansa's motley wearing husband almost drowns in the green sea, and as it happens, he thinks of haunting the Seven Kingdoms as a dead man. I wonder what or better yet, who that might be foreshadowing?

When next we see Tyrion, he’s waking up and remembers dreaming of getting a grey kiss from the Shrouded Lord.

“He dreamt of his lord father and the Shrouded Lord. He dreamt that they were one and the same, and when his father wrapped stone arms around him and bent to give him his grey kiss, he woke with his mouth dry and rusty with the taste of blood and his heart hammering in his chest. “Our dead dwarf has returned to us,” Haldon said. “Tyrion shook his head to clear away the webs of dream. The Sorrows. I was lost in the Sorrows. “I am not dead.” —A Dance with Dragons, Tyrion VI

He then comments on his surroundings and we get this passage.

He was on the Shy Maid, Tyrion saw, under a scratchy blanket that smelled of vinegar. The Sorrows are behind us. It was just a dream I dreamed as I was drowning. “Why do I stink of vinegar?”

Why does he smell of vinegar? This bit is extremely important, and I will tell you why shortly. It’s George and his bloody consistent symbolism and another clue that he’s playing with the idea of Jon as Christ, the Living Stone.

Tyrion discovers that he was pulled from the river by Jon Con, and Septa Lemore then saved him. It was likely her kiss of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation that he mixed up with one from the Shrouded Lord in his dream.

“Lemore has been washing you with it. Some say it helps prevent the greyscale. I am inclined to doubt that, but there was no harm in trying. It was Lemore who forced the water from your lungs after Griff had pulled you up. You were as cold as ice, and your lips were blue. Yandry said we ought to throw you back, but the lad forbade it.” —A Dance with Dragon, Tyrion VI

As Crowfood’s Daughter stated in her video, Septa Lemore is a bit of an exhibitionist who likes to bathe naked in the river in sight of all…kind of like a mermaid; and Jonquil and her sisters when Florian viewed them in the Maiden Pool. Tyrion enjoyed watching Septa Lemore a few times. Thus, she is the symbolic mermaid stand-in for Sansa who gives Tyrion, the stand-in for the Shrouded Lord/Jon the icy kiss to bring him back to life. The fact that Tyrion is Sansa’s husband just completes the symbolism.

Tyrion and Griff are both stand-ins for Jon in the Sorrows scene. We've talked about Tyrion, but let's also look at what happens to Jon Con after he goes into the sorrows to rescue the little Lannister?

The symbolic wolf in the scene who just happens to have the same name as Jon Snow, is the one to get greyscale, the disease which turns one into a stone man.

If my theory that The Shrouded Lord’s purpose in the story is to tell us about Jon’s resurrection, then Jon Con is not just a symbolic wolf in the scene, but also a symbolic dragon. He was also closest to Jon's father Rhaegar as Tyrion mentions. So, it makes perfect sense that he’s the one to get greyscale in the waters where Garin called down a curse on the dragon lords of old.

As we are talking about Garin’s curse, Tyrion’s fall into the Sorrows may have proven that he’s not a Targaryen, because if he was, I think that he would have gotten greyscale. There is something magical about the Sorrows. The stone men ignored the Shy Maid as it travel through the Sorrows, and the pole boat had almost made it out the foggy landscape when Tyrion started talking about knowing that Young Griff was Rhaegar’s son, and the next thing you know, boat seem to be back where it started and they were again passing The Bridge of Dreams and this time, they were attacked by the stone men.

This plays into my theory that the story is about circular time and events are repeating but with differences…almost like different timelines. However, what I want to point out here is that on their second trip through the Sorrows when the stone men attacked, if you read the passage, they went right for Young Griff. It’s almost as if something heard Tyrion’s story and realized that there was someone with dragon blood on the boat.

So, about that vinegar. After all the evidence that shows how the description of the Shrouded Lord echoes that of the risen Christ, would you still be surprised if I tell you that vinegar also plays a part in Christ’s crucifixion?

In each of the 4 Gospels, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, it is stated that the soldiers at the crucifixion offered Jesus sour wine when he said he was thirsty. Sour wine is vinegar. In fact, in one of the gospels, it is said that Jesus is given sour wine to drink while the others refer to it as vinegar because that is basically what sour wine is…vinegar.

they gave Him sour wine mingled with gall to drink. But when He had tasted it, He would not drink. —Matthew 27:34 KJV

36 “And one ran and filled a spunge full of vinegar, and put it on a reed, and gave him to drink, saying, Let alone; let us see whether Elias will come to take him down.” 37 With a loud cry, Jesus breathed his last. —Mark 15:36-37 KJV

36 The soldiers also came up and mocked him. They offered him wine vinegar 37 and said, “If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself.”— Luke 23:36

28 Later, knowing that everything had now been finished, and so that Scripture would be fulfilled, Jesus said, “I am thirsty.” 29 A jar of wine vinegar was there, so they soaked a sponge in it, put the sponge on a stalk of the hyssop plant, and lifted it to Jesus’ lips. 30 When he had received the drink, Jesus said, “It is finished.” With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit. — John 19:28

Sour wine was the only type of wine that soldiers would have had available to them. For this reason, some biblical scholars have argued that as it was the only thing they had to give, it was meant as a succor and not an insult. Others have argued the opposite. The reference to vinegar is not only in the 4 gospels. It is also referenced in Psalms 69.

The Psalms are part of the Old Testament and were written by King David. However, modern biblical scholars have argued that there were other writers of these group of songs. Psalms 69 is a lament, and as it is part of the Old Testament while the Gospels and the life of Christ are distilled in the New Testament, it is also seen as a prophecy of the suffering of Christ, and this is why it is associated with his crucifixion. In the Episcopalian Church, it is recited during Good Friday services, the day of Christ’s crucifixion.

It is too long for me to include, but I do want to post a few lines. You can read the full Psalms here.

1 Save me, O God; for the waters are come in unto my soul.

 2 I sink in deep mire, where there is no standing: I am come into deep waters, where the floods overflow me.

14 Deliver me out of the mire, and let me not sink: let me be delivered from them that hate me, and out of the deep waters.

15 Let not the waterflood overflow me, neither let the deep swallow me up, and let not the pit shut her mouth upon me.

21 They gave me also gall for my meat; and in my thirst they gave me vinegar to drink.

As you can see, in the Psalm that is believed to prophesize the coming of Jesus to save us from our sins, water is used to foreshadow drowning. Although in the Psalms, the drowning is more spiritual in nature. On the other hand, in George’s tale, water is used to symbolize drowning in the green sea/weirwood net, which is what will be happening to Jon as his spirit resides in Ghost and he’s taken into the weirwood net.

It's Sansa, whose symbolic color like Jon, is grey because she is a daughter of House Stark; and thus, is wearing that color in Melisandre’s vision; and who happens to have red Night’s Queen hair, who will save Jon from drowning.

In part 3 of this series, I discussed the textural evidence that suggests the corpse queen was a redhead. However, a non-textural but still important clue to back up this idea is that in western art, mermaids are traditionally featured as redheads. There is no reference to hair color in the Andersen tale, but Disney’s famous Ariel is a redhead.

A Mermaid by John William Waterhouse

Let’s now recap the Tyrion chapters set in and around the Sorrows that occur in ADWD, the book where Jon Snow is killed and his spirit merges with his wolf and goes into the weirwood net as foreshadowed in the Varamyr prologue. We get several chapters that both foreshadows Jon’s resurrection and that he will get greyscale that turns one into a stone like figure.

First, we get the story of the leader of the stone men, The Shrouded Lord that echoes that of the real world risen Christ who was called the Living Stone.  Jon Snow is symbolically set up as the Christ like figure in ASOIAF.

There is also Jon Con, who just happens to have the same name as Jon Snow; and who just happens to be wearing a wolfskin cloak before he goes into the Sorrows; being the one to get greyscale…a disease that turns one into a stone man.

And we have Sansa, who George has strongly set up as a symbolic mermaid/sea dragon and who I argue is the missing female greenseer in the story associated with a mysterious kiss that has already happened; or possibly is still to occur. A kiss that she remembers happening with the Hound, but all evidence points to there not being anything of a romantic nature between them. There is also the fact that Sandor’s story mirrors Jon and he’s set up as the Jon stand-in in Sansa’s arc.

We have the tale of the Shrouded Lord starting out as a stone statue and being given life by the kiss from a grey woman who had lips as cold as ice. This woman’s cold lips and her grey color can’t help but make one think of the corpse/night’s queen. And further to the grey woman who kisses the Shrouded Lord, in the same book, we hear of Melisandre’s vision of a mysterious girl wearing Stark colors and coming to Jon at the Wall.

There is also all the mermaid symbolism in the text of them rescuing a drowning male, and how this symbolically plays out with Septa Lemore saving Tyrion in the scene where he acts as the stand-in for the Shrouded Lord. A scene that also echoes that of Christ’s crucifixion and resurrection with the use of vinegar.

I could go into detail of how Sansa’s interaction with Dontos, the stand-in for Florian in her arc also symbolically mirrors that of a mermaid saving a man from drowning, but this chapter is already overlong. As a result, I will again suggest that you watch Crowfood’s Daughter video, The Grey King’s Mermaid Wife for more details.

Now that I’ve discussed all the clues that suggest Sansa will have a role to play in Jon’s resurrection as well as why the Shrouded Lord is a stand-in for Jon, you might wonder how I think his return will play out.

Well, I think that Melisandre will have a role to play in the events, but she won’t be fully responsible for his return. With her, it will be more of an accident. I think that the kiss between Sansa and Jon will take place out of time in the weirwood net, and it will in some way, magically push Jon back into his body, but he will bring some of Ghost’s savage nature with him.

On the Melisandre angle, I think that she will burn Jon. She keeps asking R’hllor to show her Stannis but all she sees is Snow. She’s seeing Jon both literally and symbolically. Her vision includes a lot of snow which has begun to fall, but as we know, and saw in the TV show, ashes can also look like snow, and that’s what Mels is seeing around Jon.

Stannis tells Justin Massey that rumor may reach them that he is dead. Will that be true or not is not the subject for now, but I think that it’s possible that Melisandre may entertain this idea when she continues to be unable to see him in the fire, and even with his death, she continues to see Jon Snow in the flames.

Maybe this will lead her to recognizes that snow can sometimes look like ashes and then she comes to the realization that she should burn Jon. The Nights Watch and Wildings who will join to dispatch those who kill Jon would want to burn his body in either case to prevent it turning into a wight.

And this is where the prophecy of waking dragons from stones will come in. As far as Melisandre is concern, that hasn’t yet happened, and so in her quest to help the missing Stannis, she may see the burning of Jon as the way to make it so. She asks for Azor Ahai, but the flames keep showing her Jon Snow. Yes, Jon is dead, but maybe she thinks the R’hllor is telling her that the burning of his body will still lead to Azor Ahai, who she believes is Stannis.

Also, while she doesn’t know about Jon’s connection to Rhaegar and that he also has Targaryen blood, the Starks come from a long line of ancient kings and his brother was recently crowned king. Thus, to her, Jon also has king’s blood. But she needs two kings to wake the dragon, and that’s where Shireen comes in.

Shireen is not a king, but she is Stannis heir and has king’s blood. And so, Melisandre has her two kings to wake a dragon. Jon Snow and Shireen. It won’t be very difficult for Mels to convince Selyse to burn her daughter to the cause…especially if it will help Stannis. The queen is a devout fanatic. Does Melisandre think she will be waking a real dragon from stone? Possibly, but who knows. The point is that she’s doing it because she thinks it will help Stannis.

The interesting thing is that the Wildings and the remaining Nights Watch brothers won’t do anything to stop it. The Wildings will be the ones primarily in charge, and as we see from Val, they already think that Shireen should not be alive because of her greyscale. So, they won’t stop Melisandre from burning her.

Where will all of this take place? Radio Westeros has a great theory that Jon’s pyre will be in the weirwood grove of nine where he and Sam said their vows. It’s a great theory and makes a lot of sense, and so, I wouldn’t rule it out. However, I also wouldn’t rule out Jon’s pyre being at the Nightfort.

As I’ve said throughout this series, Jon and Sansa will be this timeline’s version of the Night’s King and corpse queen. As these two ancient figures are so associated with the Nightfort, it seems like Jon’s resurrection should take place there, but I don’t know what reason Melisandre would have to take the body there to burn…unless Castle Black is destroyed.

Shireen and Jon will burn in the same pyre or ones next to each other and while Jon’s body will be frozen initially, the heat will melt it and open the wounds given to him by his murder. And the greyscale ashes from Shireen will enter the wounds, giving him greyscale just as he’s being pushed back into his body and awakens. And, we have the dragon waking from stone.

While the details maybe different, I think that the ideas behind what some will call a hairbrained theory is sound when you consider that Jon must get greyscale if he is to become the Shrouded Lord and personify the Living Stone that was Jesus. The wine at the Wall is even called sour and so I would not be surprised to see that playing a part in his resurrection as well. Maybe Jon’s brothers will have a toast to him and throw some sour wine on his pyre.

The other boys gathered round the eight who had been named, laughing and cursing and offering congratulations. Halder smacked Toad on the butt with the flat of his sword and shouted, "Toad, of the Night's Watch!" Yelling that a black brother needed a horse, Pyp leapt onto Grenn's shoulders, and they tumbled to the ground, rolling and punching and hooting. Dareon dashed inside the armory and returned with a skin of sour red. As they passed the wine from hand to hand, grinning like fools, Jon noticed Samwell Tarly standing by himself beneath a bare dead tree in the corner of the yard. Jon offered him the skin. "A swallow of wine?" Sam shook his head. "No thank you, Jon." —A Game of Thrones, Jon V

Note how Sam who is no longer at the wall and wasn’t there for the mutiny and so won’t be there for Jon’s resurrection is written as separate from Jon and the other boys in the scene. Martin and his consistency.

So to recap, in the same book that Jon Snow, the Christ like figure of the story is murdered, and path to resurrection foreshadowed in the Varamyr prologue, George also gives us the myth of The Shrouded Lord, a stone statues that is brought to life by the cold kiss of a grey woman... a legend which mirrors the resurrection of real world Jesus.

George also places Shireen, the child who carries the greyscale disease that causes men to turn to stone at the Wall next to dragon blooded Jon. ln in the same book, Melisandre also get's a vision of a mysterious girl in grey traveling through the snow to Jon...a girl that strong clues suggests is Sansa. All of these elements that mirror the Shrouded Lord legend coalescing around Jon Snow. Happenstance? I say no.

As we wind things down, let’s revisit the question of why George wrote greyscale into his story? Well, as I’ve just shown, he did it so that Jon, the Jesus like figure in the story can mirror the real world risen Christ as the Living Stone. However, on a deeper philosophical level, I think that he wrote greyscale into his tale to show that organize religion…especially one with a deify figure at the head can be a plague upon the people.

George questions things…especially dogma, knowing that there are often no answers to the universal questions we all ask. While he may no longer believes the religious teachings he was taught in his youth, they have had a major influence on him and his writings. He loves the lore of the Christian faith and various world religions, and that’s why his stories are filled with so much mythology.

Nonetheless, he also recognizes that much evil has been done in the name of religion since the first such organization showed its face upon the world thousands of years ago. It doesn’t matter what the religion has been. Evil has been done in its name. This is because organize religion otherizes people. It creates an us versus them dichotomy.  And if you are not part of the us, then you must be “other,” with all that it implies.

You don’t belong. Your beliefs are wrong. You’re a sinner…etc. This theme about the evilness at the heart of organize religion and the deification of individuals is at the core of ASOIAF. I think it’s what D&D attempted to capture in their ham-fisted way on the show with Dany. Worshiping glorified God-like figures is never a good thing.

However, as I’ve stated, there is a dichotomy to the idea because to be human is to be part of a group…to be part of a community where we recognize each other’s wants and need; where we protect and provide for each other. But to paraphrase Hamlet, here’s the rub, because being part of a group always without fail leads to some form of organize religion. And so, what do you do!

Well, we’ve come to the end of this chapter, and we’re getting closer to the end of the series…probably only another couple of chapters. Next time, we are going to go to some dark places as I show you why what happened to Sansa on the show is not out of the realms of possibility in the books. Not with Ramsay of course; and it may not be physical in nature, but more mental…like what Varamyr attempted with Thistle. However, I do think that dark days are ahead for Sansa before she sees the dawn. I can’t tell you when the next chapter will be here because I must psych myself up to go to that dark place and write it. I also have a lot upcoming in the New Year, and so it might not be for several months, but it will be come.

So what does everyone think of the theory that Jon is the Shrouded; Sansa the girl in grey; and the Unkiss tied to Jon's resurrectin.

All comments welcome. Until next time.

ETA on 12/26 to fix a few typos and grammatical errors and also to add the two recap paragraphs.

ETA 9/6/24 to fix a couple of additional typos and add a couple of highlight to passages.

[thelightsandtheroses]

Call It What You Want: Chapter 2 - let me put my lips to something

Pairing: Frankie Morales x female reader (she’s Tom Davis’ half-sister, however there are no physical descriptions)

Summary: Tom Davis’ younger half-sister never expected to move back to Florida, but eight months after her brother’s untimely death and in the wake of her, in hindsight, ill-advised marriage ending, here she is. Frankie Morales is trying to get it together after his relapse on returning to Florida led to the breakdown of his relationship. His priorities now are finding his own place so he doesn’t need to sleep on Pope’s couch, maintaining sobriety, spending more time with his daughter and getting his pilot’s licence back. So when the two of them end up sharing an apartment, it seems like the ideal solution. However, things are never that simple, are they?

Chapter Warnings: Minors DNI (18+ only), language, discussions of drug abuse and addiction, allusions to a previously abusive relationship (not detailed or specified), discussions of death, PTSD.

Notes – thanks for your patience with this one. The chapter title is from Eat Your Young by Hozier.

Word Count: 4.8 k

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Frankie

Frankie curls his hands around the paper cup, his feet tapping the floor.  He’s been thinking about flying again.

It’s been more than nine months since he flew last and he’s not even sure if he should count Colombia. If the helicopter crashes and everything turns to shit, are those miles you want to log?

If he’d just been firmer, if he’d realised Tom was lost in dollar bills and they were all heading the same way. He was the one who’d been to flight school, he knew the weight was a problem.

He could have stopped it.

He could have been slower to the trigger; he could have done it all differently.

No.

No, this was spiralling. This isn’t healthy. Frankie straightens in his chair, takes a deep breath.

If he was more like Will, he’d probably know exactly what number NA meeting this was now. Whatever number it is, it’s too many.

The meeting finally draws to a close. Finally!

Frankie is not sharing today. He has, in the past, but it’s been carefully selected. Frankie offers a creative reimagining of his relapse that removes all criminal liability from the events of the past year, to protect the people he has left. Besides, how would he even start to explain what had happened to anyone who wasn’t there?

It’s frustrating sometimes. He hears people share about terrible childhoods and difficult upbringings and all these things that somehow don’t legitimatise addiction but explain it.

Frankie Morales grew up with loving, if a little stifling, parents and no deep dark childhood trauma. He supposes the army is where it all started to change.

What a fucking cliche.

Maybe you can never really come back from who they make you. He thinks of Will’s paid speeches, of the way he just owns the fact they’ve been trained to manipulate, assess, take your emotions out of the equation. They don’t die though; they just get locked away and weigh heavier and heavier.

Frankie understands how the meetings help him overall, why they’re important but sometimes they don’t work. Sometimes all they do is make him feel like he shouldn’t be there, or they pull his weaknesses out in front of him like teeth with pliers. It’s bloody, painful, unnecessary. Every one of his ghosts will sit in the room with him on those days, silently judging.

Frankie takes a deep breath, shuts his eyes, and tries to pay attention to the rest of the meeting.

Frankie pushes Gaby on the swing further, waving at Santiago as he approaches.

The meeting this morning was rough, but Frankie’s already feeling better. He has his daughter with him gleefully smiling and laughing in the playground. He has one of his best friends back, things are starting to look up. He’s making it through this.

Santiago walks over, slaps his hand on Frankie’s back. “Oh, I see how it is,” he jokes, casting his eye around the playground which is filled with the usual crowd of mothers and possibly nannies. Like Frankie can tell the difference.  “Hey princesa,” he adds, smiling at Gabby who beams up at him.

“She chose the park,“ Frankie says. 

Santi smirks before asking, ”How’s the apartment working out?”

“It’s good. Glad to have my own bed again, fuck I’m too old to crash on sofas.”

“Tell me about it. Are you getting on okay with Tom’s sister?”

“She has a name.”

“Hey, I like her! Look, Frankie, Molly says she asked questions about what went down with Tom, before she moved out of there so just - be aware of that, okay?”

Rain and storms and too much fucking weight on the helicopter flash through Frankie’s mind. He shouldn’t have listened to Tom; he should have been assertive. That’s always been his problem though, that’s what his dad says, he goes along with the crowd. At school, in the army, with Santi and Tom?

Frankie digs his hands into his pockets. “She hasn’t mentioned shi - anything about it to me, barely mentions Tom actually. I get the sense they weren’t close.”

“Sounds about right. You ever hear Tom talk about her?” Santi scoffs. “Families.”

Frankie looks at his daughter. He thinks of Melissa, how they prioritise Gaby. It hurts, the life he could have had with them and the ideas that died with his relationship. They’re still close to friends though, they look after Gaby. Frankie let both of them down but neither of them have given up on him.

He thinks about what Santi’s just said.  Tom barely ever mentioned his sister, barely ever seemed to even talk to you. It’s weird.

He pushes Gabby on the swing, listens to her happy squeals.

“Can we grab a coffee?” Santi asks, “I’m fu - freaking exhausted.”

“Sure,” Frankie says. He seems to remember the bookstore and coffee shop you work in is a short walk from the park and without thinking about why, he suggests that particular coffee shop rather than the Starbucks down the road. It’s better to support small businesses anyway, right?

It’s different watching you to work to seeing how you are at home. You’re wearing a loose black t-shirt, with a band logo Frankie vaguely recognises but can’t quite place.

When you see the three of them, you smile widely. Frankie’s introduced Gabby to you once when Melissa dropped her off at the apartment. Frankie thinks that she wanted to just verify the apartment was as she hoped, and that she could see Frankie was making the right moves.

He’s trying.

The day after that visit she had texted Frankie to say he could have Gabby overnight there next week if he wanted. He’d spent the rest of his shift beaming and wouldn’t tell anyone why.

You smile at Frankie and Santiago when they walk up to the counter.

Frankie lifts Gabby out of her stroller, balances her on his hip so she can see the counter. Her tiny hands clutch around Frankie’s shoulder and she reaches for Frankie’s cheek.

“Hey guys, and good morning, Gabby,” you say as Gabby giggles and then buries herself in Frankie’s shoulder.

“How’s the bookstore and coffee world?” Santi asks, that wry smile Frankie recognises all too well on his face. His voice is honeyed, his whole face has lit up in a way that Frankie’s watched so many girls fall into blushing giggles over. Frankie’s never quite been able to do that; it’s not that he’s necessarily had issues attracting women, and God that feels arrogant to think, it’s more that of his group of friends, well it’s hard to compete with them sometimes.

“Same as ever,” you say breezily, “Where’d you end up then, the park or the zoo?”

“Gabby chose the park.”

“Atta girl. So, what can I get you?”

“An Americano and then another Americano with one extra shot of coffee, right Frankie, and a-” Santi looks over at Gabby and then Frankie expectantly.

“She’s not even two, Santi, she’s not drinking coffee.”

“Hey, I’ve seen how much coffee you drink, I’m surprised that’s not genetically built into her.“

Frankie laughs, but his hairs stand up on his neck. He’s thought about it a lot already - what if his daughter inherits his addictive personality, how can he do that to her.

“Babycino?” you ask suddenly, breaking him out of his reverie, “I’m guessing she’s too young for hot chocolate?“

“Yeah, yeah, that would be great, thanks.”

“No problem, give me two minutes.”

You turn away and start making the drinks as Santi reaches for Gabby’s hand, smiling at her widely.

“You settling in okay?” Santi asks you as Frankie tries to distract Gabby from the cakes in the display.

“Yeah, things have been good,” you say cheerfully, handing the first coffee to Frankie. “I’m taking it you’re the extra shot, Frankie?”

Frankie nods.

“How much do I owe you?” Frankie asks, placing his cup down so he can reach for his wallet cautiously as Gaby squeezes around his neck. He doesn’t want to disturb her too much, doesn’t want to show how awkward this position is for him.

“It’s fine.”

“No, no, I can -” He can’t take advantage of his roommate like this.

“Eh, roommate and friend discount,” you say casually, handing Santiago his takeaway cup of coffee and Frankie a small cup of steamed milk for Gabby; this must be the babycino, Frankie thinks.

“What about her?” Santiago asks, pointing at Gabby who grins widely from Frankie’s arms.

“Oh, like I could charge her anything,” you reply, smiling back at Gabby and then meeting Frankie’s eyes. “You’ve got a special kid there, Frankie.”

“Don’t I know it,” he replies, kissing Gabby’s forehead. “Say thank you for your - I can’t call this a babycino, seriously. Drink, can you say thank you for your drink, honey?”

His daughter giggles and says her version of thank you. Frankie watches how it makes you smile, how he’s noticed when you it’s genuine, you scrunch your nose.

“We’ve got some new books in that she might enjoy,” you say, “If you want to get any of them, let me know and I can use my staff discount.”

“You’re not offering me a book discount?” Santiago asks.

“I just gave you a free coffee! You can afford to pay full price so I can keep my job. Gabby is too young to have an income.”

“That’s not fair,“ Santiago says.

“Life isn’t,” you say lightly, winking at Frankie and then moving on the next customer.

There’s something about you. It draws him in, makes him want to ask more, know more about you. You seem so light around him, Benny and the others and Frankie knows there’s more to you than that. He can see it.

That’s the thing - you can always see it in others, those matching scars and insecurities. It’s a honing beacon, it’s as visible in a stranger’s eyes sometimes as if you are wearing the same football team shirts. We’re the same, it says.

You’re not though. He knows who he is. Frankie is failure and disappointment and regret, all handily tied together in faded t-shirts and too long hair.

Frankie is why your brother is dead.

Frankie is why the mission failed. Santi needed a pilot, one who would stand up and see if the helicopter was too heavy and not back down, who wouldn’t shoot first.

He can be your friend though, surely?

Santi doesn’t say anything to Frankie until the three of them have left the shop, Gabby clutching a brand new book in her stroller while Frankie pushes her with one hand and drinks coffee with the other.

“You’re in trouble, huh?”

“What do you mean?” Frankie asks, suddenly panicked.

“You like her.”

“I live with her, Pope, it helps to like her.”

“Nah, you know what I mean.” Santi stops and touches Frankie’s arm. “Be careful, hermano, please.”

You

Work has been quieter than usual. You spend your days, idly rearranging book displays and experimenting with the coffee grind and tamping, try and perfect your latte art. Making a good cup of coffee is an art; you must get the grind right, then tamp it with just enough pressure. Steaming milk’s the same; it needs to be the right quality, the right amount of air let in, the right swirling vacuum as the process goes on.

You like the routine now. You like talking to customers and reminding yourself of why you loved books in the first place. Academia taught you a lot, skills you use every day and you’re proud of but overanalysing texts sometimes can make you forget why you loved books in the first place. And yes, perhaps you wish more people were actually buying books in the store, but you’re spending your day surrounded by things you love and that’s a luxury.

And oh, you used to love reading. It was the escape from your parents arguing, from a childhood where you felt like an only lonely child because Tom was older and resented you and didn’t want a sister. At least that’s what you’d assumed over the years.

This new life you’re building in Florida; a new job, new and old friends? It feels right, comfortable even.

So, you don’t even notice when Ella starts trying to set you up with the coffee guy.

And when he asks you out one day, you’re so surprised that he would ask you out, that you find yourself saying yes without even thinking about it.

On paper, he’s everything you would look for surely. He’s passionate about coffee, he’s mentioned books he’s reading idly in conversation, he has a good smile and amazing biceps. So, why not say yes? This is part of building your new life, right?

That’s how you find yourself now, walking back into your apartment after what can only be described as an utter disaster, or at least a complete disappointment.

If this is what dating makes you feel like after a divorce, you don’t want any of it.  Your anxiety has run rampant over the last few hours, along with a deepening and worrying sense that the problem is you.

You’re the one who hadn’t felt the connection after all. You’re the one who held back, who just couldn’t bring up the right feelings like a defective clock.

“Hey,” Frankie says, looking up from the sofa as you walk in. You hadn’t anticipated this - you remembered Benny saying that him and Frankie were hanging out tonight which is why you thought you could get away with just sneaking in and had even scheduled this date for tonight. Crap. This makes it even more humiliating.

“How was Benny?” you ask mildly, shrugging your jacket off and hanging it up.

“Yeah, it was uh-” Frankie pauses, “it was good. He’s training for Friday’s fight, are you coming to that?”

“Yeah, think so.” You walk over closer to the sofa.

Frankie’s staring at you. “Oh god, do I - I look stupid, don’t I?” You self-consciously pull the edge of your dress down, wishing that you’d worn something else instead.

“Not at all,” he says, voice low.

“Thanks,” you say as you walk into the kitchen, “drink?”

“Please. So, how’d it go?” Frankie asks. “I take it you didn’t get dressed up like that just to go hang out with your friends.”

“Hey, I could have.”

Frankie holds his hands up. “No judgement here, sweetheart.”

“It was a date,” you confess finally, “I don’t know. It’s weird. I haven’t had to do small talk for years, I don’t know if I like it.”

“I get that.”

It’s easy with your friends; Danny has known you for a long time, Ella is Ella, Benny and Will just get you and there’s no pressure with either of them, you haven’t known Santiago as well but he’s always consistent. As for Frankie, living with him has been surprisingly easy. He’s calm and even and kind - you like living with him now. It feels more natural than living with your ex-husband ever did.

It strikes you that now you count all four of your brother’s former team as your friends - they were your brother’s first, but now, now you wonder if they might be a little bit yours too.

“So other than the small talk, how’d it go?”

“I don’t know,” you confess, “Hey, how long were you and Melissa together again? I kind of remember her vaguely from Tom’s birthdays and barbecues when I was here.” You hope Frankie will take your oh so subtle subject change without argument.

“Five and a half years. What about you?”

“Me and Melissa?” you joke, causing him to roll his eyes dramatically.

“Ha-ha, you know what I mean. I seem to remember he was always around - it was a long time, right?”

“Ten years, married for nine of them.”

“What?” Frankie looks at you almost in surprise. “That’s longer than I thought.”

You shrug and take a sip of your drink. “My date sucked,” you say after a moment.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.  I think there might be something wrong with me?”

“What did that asshole say? What was his name again? Want me to go beat him up?” Frankie asks, a crooked smile on his lips that really shouldn’t be so attractive.

“He didn’t do anything, Frankie, it’s me. I - I should have felt something, right, I mean he was literally gorgeous, right? I should have wanted him.”

When Frankie doesn’t reply, you glare at him and jab his shoulder until he shrugs.

“What are you saying?”

“That I should have wanted to rip his clothes off, but I didn’t though.” This is humiliating. “I mean, shouldn’t there have been butterflies, or even just good old-fashioned lust, or something? Right, there should have been something there? I just felt like we were going through the motions. There was no - I didn’t feel any chemistry.”

Frankie doesn’t reply for a moment and you take the time to really look at him instead. Sometimes when you look at Frankie, you wonder how he’s still single because he’s a good-looking man. In the time you’ve lived the apartment, he’s never been on a date. He hangs out with Santiago, Benny and Will and he does go out to other places, but you’ve never seen him go on a date or bring anyone back. Thankfully. You’re not entirely sure how you would feel about that.

“Look, maybe he just wasn’t your type,” Frankie says after a moment. “You’re being hard on yourself.”

“He was into coffee and he had perfect arms. We liked the same bands. How the hell was he not my type? What is my type but that?”

“Everyone likes Fleetwood Mac.”

“No, they don’t.”

“It was the wrong guy, that’s all. You’ve been single for a while and is this your first date since the break-up, right?”

You nod. “I couldn’t really date at Molly’s and I thought I should wait a while anyway.”

“Exactly so maybe you’ve just got to, I don’t know, see what works, let things flow a bit? When you know, you know. Did you even like him before the date?“

You think about it for a moment and shrug. Ella had encouraged you and if you were honest, you’d just wanted to prove that you were over Nate, over the trauma of that marriage, that this was the new you. Maybe Frankie’s on to something. You should have fancied the guy, but you hadn’t.

Reassurance flushes through your body. You’re not broken, you’re not.

“I don’t think I did fancy him. I thought I should, but no.”

“Yeah, so it would be a shit date. Next time, date a guy you really like, or something. Oh man, look I am really bad at this sort of talk.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Can we pretend I am?” he asks, nudging your arm as you both laugh. “Can we pretend so we never have to discuss this again because I am so out of many comfort zones right now.”

“It’s practice for when Gabby dates.”

“No, because that’s not happening. I’m going to do the whole cliched, polishing my gun on a porch thing, and she’s not gonna date until she’s at least thirty. Plus, if you think I could be intimidating, you should see Mel. Like, no-one has a chance in hell.”

“Uh-huh, sure, Frankie.”

“Dammit.”

You laugh and Frankie shakes his head. ”Hey, I’ve got an episode of our show saved if you want to watch it?”

“Absolutely.”

He presses buttons on the TV remote, sets up the streaming platform and you lean back against the sofa, exhale and finally feel relaxed.

Frankie has an arm over the side of the sofa you’re sitting and before he presses play, he looks over at you.

“I’m glad we did this,” he says, “that we got this apartment. I like living here.”

You feel it then, the slight tightness in your stomach, the unsettled butterflies flitting around.

Oh.

Oh.

This is going to be a disaster.

After your realisation about Frankie, everything feels different. It’s like the world has just shifted slightly off axis but only you know. Frankie is thankfully oblivious and so the next morning, things continue in the steady routine you’ve both formed.

You drop the milk back from your spoon into your cereal bowl as you notice Frankie join you in the kitchen.

“Coffee?” he asks.

“My hero,” you reply, pushing your empty mug towards him for a refill.

He laughs. It’s almost self-deprecating; the way he looks away when you compliment him.

You notice the way his T-shirt rises as he grabs a mug from the top cabinet, you notice the line of hair on his stomach right down to the grey sweatpants he’s wearing.

You can’t do this. You quickly try and remind yourself of all of his annoying habits; he never remembers to leave the toilet seat down, he smokes which is a horrible habit.

He hands you a cup of coffee, made just how you like it. He is not helping you at all.

“Are you working today?”

“Yep, hopefully people will actually come in and want to buy some books today. I had like three people yesterday who asked for recommendations, so I spent time with them, I curated a list.”

“Curated?”

“I curated, Frankie, I curated a perfect list. You know what they did?”

Frankie winces. “I have a nasty feeling.”

“They said they’d order online, Frankie, online!”

“Heathens, monsters, the lot of them.”

“I thought academia was evil when I was in grad school, but this is just sick.”

“So, what happens with that?” Frankie asks, “Weren’t you partway through when you left?”

“I was,” you sigh, looking away from Frankie and taking a large gulp of your coffee. “It’s difficult. I burned a few bridges by leaving like I did, without notice and in the middle of the semester. I mean I was TAing and - I can reapply here, try and find a suitable supervisor, but I don’t know. If I’m honest, I have no idea what to do right now, I like where I’m working at the moment. I’m not even sure who I was doing the PHD for by the time I left. I love literature, but I don’t know if I was still in love with it when I left - am I even making sense, Frankie?”

Frankie nods. “Perfect sense.” For a moment he looks haunted. You get the sense that there are a thousand things in his mind at that mind, swirling behind those deep brown eyes. He looks haunted sometimes, there’s more to him then you know. It doesn’t surprise you because you remember seeing the same thing in Tom over the years.

 He checks his phone and curses. “Sorry, hon, I gotta go to work, see you later?”

“Yeah, see you later.”

You watch him make his way to the bathroom. Oh, you’re screwed.

Apart from the quiet hum of traffic in the distance, all you can hear is the evening birdsong and the start of crickets chirping. You’re sitting on the small balcony of your apartment, a half-drunk glass of wine on the table next to your book.

In New York, there was always so much noise, so much activity. When you moved there it felt overwhelming at first, then comforting somehow.

You prefer this though.

The sliding door opens and you turn to see Frankie behind you, a bottle of beer in his hand.

“Hey, you mind?” He indicates to the empty metal chair opposite you and you shake your head.

He sighs loudly as he exhales, stretches his legs out.

“Long day?”

“The longest,” he says, “Work was flat out and oh- I need this weekend.”

“Hey, some of us have to still work tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, an apologetic smile on his face as he scrunches up his shoulders. He’s wearing a beaten old t-shirt with a faded logo you can’t quite make out and grey sweats. Frankie removes his hat for a moment, revealing unruly curls that he sweeps back before replacing his hat.

“What’s the story with the hat?” you ask, your curiosity finally getting the best of you.

“Why’s there gotta be a story?”

“There’s always a story, like -” you pull at the familiar necklace around your neck. “This was a graduation present from my Mom and I wear it every day.”

“Cute. I don’t know. I guess I got used to wearing a hat after I joined the army. You have the buzz cut and it gets cold, and then I don’t know - I guess it just feels like me now.”

“I get that.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s cute. I mean, your hair is cute without it -”

“You think my hair’s cute?” Frankie looks up at you, his expression almost childlike with wonder but all you can think is how you’ve definitely ruined everything now.

You stand up and immediately grab your wine glass before moving back inside to the safety of the kitchen.

You down the wine and rest both your hands against the edge of the counter, try and take deep breaths.

In for four, hold for four, out for four.

“Hey, hey,” Frankie says from behind you. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t. You didn’t do anything, I should say sorry.”

“Why the hell would you say sorry?”

“I don’t make things awkward.”

“’S not awkward,” Frankie says in a low voice, gently turning you around to face him. “We’re good, right?”

You nod tentatively.

“So you think my hair’s cute, huh?” he teases.

You shake your head and look down, mumbling his name as you place your hand on his shoulder. You notice Frankie’s hand is still on your waist.

“Don’t tease me,” you say.

“I’m not teasing,” Frankie murmurs, “I’m surprised.”

“Why? You’re a good-looking guy.”

“Oh yeah?” He doesn’t quite sound like he believes it.

“You are.”

He leans in closer to you, his other hand framing your waist now. “You’re beautiful, you know? And smart. I’ve gotta wonder what the hell would you want with me?”

“Frankie,” you say gently, running your hands down in his arms in an effort to reassure him. Is this happening? Is this actually happening?

You can feel the butterflies, feel that warmth of desire and want in your body. You haven’t felt this in years, hadn’t remembered how intoxicating it was to long for someone. Frankie was right, when you know, you know.

Without thinking, you close your eyes and lean in.

“Mmm, this - this is a bad idea, right?” he asks, lips dangerously close to your neck.

“The worst,” you mumble.

He smells like sandalwood shower gel, there’s a hint of tobacco on his clothes and the sharp smell of mint trying to cut through as he moves, his lips just inches from your own.

“We shouldn’t do this.”

“Nope.”

“It’ll make things complicated.” His fingers lightly trace your collarbone to your shoulder and he leans in closer. You swear you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body.

“I’m used to complicated,” you say gently before you meet his lips.

It’s bold, for you, you never initiate, never make the first move normally. It’s only he’s there and you need him.

It’s been months since you were last kissed.

He gently pushes you against the counter, lifts you so you’re sitting on it while never breaking the kiss, deepening it as you open your mouths.

He tastes like hope and promises and new beginnings.

You wrap your legs around his hips, wanting him closer.

“You’re so goddamn pretty,” he says, trailing kisses down your neck to your throat.

“You’re - oh, fuck,” you groan.

“Yeah?” his voice is teasing, lighter than you’ve heard it since you’ve moved in.

“What do we do now?”

Frankie smiles at you, his smile lighter than you’ve ever seen it. “Well, what do you wanna do?”

“I can think of some things.”

“Oh yeah?” He kisses you again, skims his hands down your arm and moves even closer against you. He’s so warm, so solid against you. “Well, we better get started, huh?”

[bismuth-209]

previously on this conversation on wild blue yonder (doctor who) featuring @rowanthestrange, @timetravelingsherlockian and me, we discussed things like "did the creatures turn into the ship?" "why was the tardis there?" "to what extent would the captain's plan have worked?" and mainly exploring the Captain's appearance as similar to the mari lwyd, but this post is trying to move the more creature focused discussion separate

SO.

The Doctor has ended up places where they don't save anyone/instead make everything worse (e.g. the First Doctor expanding the scope of the Daleks,"Waters of Mars", I'm pretty sure Five ended up in a few serials where his job was to witness everyone dying around him). I could see TARDIS logic of "I want those two to spend more time together, so I'll drop you off in a spot where there's double the Doctor and Donna!" Or even "we need you to start emotionally processing what happened with the Flux sometime this century." So it's possible all they were there to do was to hang out with their bestie and witness these beings' destruction. That being said, I'm not sure I'd conceptualize "nothing" as anywhere near "dead". A tree could fall in a forest, and it'd cease being a living tree—but one still would need to step over its trunk, ants would nibble and skitter under its bark, fungi spores would sneak between its growth rings, foxes would huddle under the exposed root ball. The tree would no longer be able to impose its will of "grow as tall as possible for as long as possible and photosynthesize"—yet a new forest would emerge from it. (Forestry experts tell you not to remove downed trees from the forest for this reason.) The fungi spores were there when the tree was alive, but living trees release antifungals to keep them from growing, imposing the tree's will of "protect the living bark and wood" on other creatures. The tree's death releases this will, and the fungi can now prosper from the wood. The problem of the mirror-beings wasn't that they were copies or existed—Doctor Who has loudly and proudly been shouting "clone rights!" for at least 15 years—it was that they couldn't see beyond a mission of destruction of all things. The universe didn't need the edge-beings to stop existing as much as it needed to break the sway of their will—i.e. death.

you are RIGHT saying that death isn't the end. like the being said in the episode: "things keep existing when they're gone". it was a realisation, but i think they might've been like "when i'm gone i keep existing too, so of course the tie itself would too"

the edgebeings want destruction. does that mean eviscerating the trees of the universe? or does it mean cutting them down to let a different form of life take root? to let something else grow?

and @timetravelingsherlockian also said this in the replies of that other post:

I am deathly (pun intended) curious if/how/whether the entities dying relates to the salt (given the ghosts/vampires/undead connotations of the superstition). Your proposition that they could be mirroring the ship itself is still making me crawl through the walls.

which is a GOOD point. the entities got scary teeth after being called vampires etc. would that have altered their mortality as well?

my initial theory that they were a bit of Becoming from the birth of the universe that hadn't Become yet also feels worth mentioning somewhere on this new post.

they also worked with expectations initially. Donna expected to see the doctor walk back into the room, not that soon, but she did, and she expected him to talk.

the doctor expected Donna, and expected her to listen (the most basic function of a companion is to be explained things, even if the doctor knows each is so much more than that, that's the basics), and the edgebeing that was donna said very little.

also something i think is important, wild blue yonder, the song, is a war song, or a jolly exploration song. the doctor sees the universe as something to jolly-ily explore, the edgebeings saw it as war

[melonteee]

Did Sanji ever find out that Kiku was trans? :o I remember dreading it every week while reading Wano that there would be a scene where he finds out and he would be REALLY weird about it but thank god it never came, I love how Oda handled her character and Sanji! tbh it always felt kind of... ooc for Sanji to be so hateful towards the okamas??? Like especially the gag on FMI where he's terrified when he finds out okamas are the ones donating their blood and I was like bro fr 😬 he's supposed to be kind almost to a fault so to make him have weird scenes where he's just a complete asshole, like towards the okamas, his reactions to Kokoro and Shinobu, like how DARE women be old and not fit his beauty standards (they're too good for him anyway), he still treats them well in the end but man, and especially the scene in Punk Hazard where he was ready to just leave the kids and was like "we can't save everybody" and I was just like ???? WHO is this idk sometimes his character really contradicts itself, I know some of these are supposed to be gags and not taken seriously but ugghhhh

I'll be real anon the notion of "but did he KNOW?" when referring to someone being transgender or not is kind of something uhhh not great? Like it would speak more on Oda's part for there to be a scene where someone goes "Did you know THIS WOMAN was born a MAN" in that weird, negative way. And while there was a tiny scene regarding that, the whole point is it ultimately did not matter who Kiku was in the past and wasn't negative at all. It speaks a LOT more volume that Sanji just accepts Kiku and loves her straight up than there being a whole kind of weird "Does he know?" scene which is inherently transphobic in itself. I believe it was extremely purposefully done for Kiku to be fully accepted and loved as she presents herself - and any and all transphobic ideas or jokes regarding her have ALL come from a disgusting side of the fandom and doesn't exist at ALL in the canon material. I understand a lot of people do not like Sanji in regards to past behaviour and jokes, but there has been significant growth in both his character and Oda's writing regarding these topics.

Ultimately, I understand why people gritted their teeth at Sanji being around Kiku, but I feel it's nothing short of fantastic to have Sanji just call her beautiful and powerful and NOTHING else is said or done there. And while he also was AWOOGA with Yamato, he didn't question nor be repulsed at Yamato calling himself Kaido's son, just happily accepted it along with everyone else lmao.

Punk Hazard was also previously weird with his character for me, but upon re-watching the scenes and him discussing with Nami about how they don't actually KNOW what's happening and they didn't HAVE a safe place to help these kids get to, I understand why he was hesitant to help them. He was putting mind over emotion there, but ofc Sanji is still ultimately swayed by emotions of wanting to help Nami and also helping the kids lol.

Also lest I remind you EVERYONE was repulsed at Kokoro in a really negative way lmao, that wasn't just a Sanji bit which was overall urghh in itself. But again it feels as if the writing has matured as Sanji was taken in by conventionally unattractive women in Wano, which BROOK called monsters/ghosts, and Sanji was CRAZY about them HHH.

This is all a big discussion to have and I've had it again and again, especially in my LGBT video. But the tldr is yes, Sanji has done questionable things by Oda's hand, but there's a very clear growth in his writing that I feel is unfair to ignore at the current time.

[allthelittlecreepycrawlies]

With A Flap of Wings, Part 8

As the muttering and whispering resumes, topic decidedly shifted, Wen Ruohan turns his head to see that Nie Haoran has turned ash white, and Nie Linsong is already on her feet and approaching her wife and the children. 

"We didn't banish anything!" Jiang Fengmian's recently-acquired ward protests loudly from behind his legs. "We didn't even get the chance! Lan Zhan just said it should be banished and she went nuts on us!" 

"Ghosts should not be permitted within a sect," Lan Qiren's younger nephew insists stubbornly, even as this time it takes both mothers and her brother to keep the youngest Nie from lunging at him. 

Lan Qiren pinches the bridge of his nose, then goes over and puts a hand on his nephew's head. "Wangji, we have discussed that there are different types of ghosts, have we not?" he asks, gentle and stern all at once. "And that not all of them are to be dealt with through banishment?" 

The boy hesitates, then nods, though his jaw is still set firm. 

"So then this ghost is a Nie family member? You know that for certain?" one of the minor sect leaders speaks up. 

"His identity has been confirmed," Nie Haoran cuts in sharply, causing all eyes to turn to him. "He is our son Huaisang, whom you all know we lost a decade ago, and whom the heavens have seen fit to return to us." 

Wen Ruohan pays little mind to the actual conversation after that. He thinks back instead to the letter Nie Haoran had sent him two years previously to inform him of this very fact. 

The timing of this reappearance has always bothered him. 

At first, still in the throes of anger and jealousy, he had derisively dismissed it as simply being a too-convenient excuse, even considering sending another demand -no, an order- that Nie Haoran come to Qishan. But as the days had ticked by and the fog of roiling negativity had lifted, he had come to realize just how irrational his reaction had been, especially to such a minor slight. 

How... there might have actually been something wrong with him, a concern later proven to be fact after intensive qi testing by a trusted physician assisted by his niece.

If he hadn't had that necessary time... if Nie Haoran hadn't been provided with a reason to stay home... 

Perhaps, he decides as the children are herded back out and the discussions resume, he should meet this son that has brought them all such a drastic change of fortune.

—

Normally, as one of Nie Haoran's oldest friends and closest confidants, The Undying Sun goes where he pleases within the walls of the Unclean Realms. The fact that the guards stop him at all when he approaches the door to Nie Leiyun's favorite garden is a testament to just how badly the family has been rattled by the commotion in the main hall earlier.

But the trust given him is still strong enough that they are easily placated with a promise of mere curiosity, and he walks outside with no further hindrance. 

His gaze is immediately drawn to a soft glow under the branches of the pear tree, floating like a small moon situated amongst its roots, but as he approaches, it rouses itself and rises up to reform into an elegantly pretty man giving him a glare that only a Nie would be capable of, the air between them humming with animosity. 

He can't help but find it amusing, endearing even, this metaphorical raising of hackles or puffing of feathers, and a smile touches his mouth as he continues walking closer. 

The ghost seems taken aback by his reaction, the threat display faltering from outright hostility to confused wariness. 

"You know, don’t you?" Wen Ruohan says, reaching out to lift the surprised ghost's chin. "You know  what you prevented with your miraculous return, Sang-er." 

Nie Huaisang bristles, baring teeth that sharpen with his expression, and the air between them churns with a seething mix of hate, rage, and fear that he can sense is only partially the ghost's own feelings. A shadow crosses the young man's white throat, looking uncannily like bruises left by much larger hands, and Wen Ruohan gets the impression of crackling fire, of shouting voices and clashing weapons. 

Oh, yes, Nie Huaisang knows exactly what Wen Ruohan would have done to his father had Nie Haoran not been diverted from traveling to Qishan, and the many terrible things that would have come about as a result of that trip. 

Wen Ruohan resolutely does not shiver at the heavy weight of emotions that the ghost pushes on him. Instead, fascinated by what he is sensing, he leans even closer into Nie Huaisang's space, tilting his head up even further to keep eye contact. "Self-destruction and self-summoning. Tell me, Sang-er, what other miracles are you capable of performing for this family?" 

Again, the ghost does not answer in words, but Wen Ruohan can understand his response perfectly.

Nie Huaisang does not know what all he can do in his current state yet, but if Wen Ruohan chooses to be a threat to his family again, they will both find out. 

Satisfied with the response, Wen Ruohan chuckles softly and kisses Nie Huaisang on the forehead, earning a fresh ripple of confusion, then pulls away and returns to his room for the night. 

The rest of the conference passes with no further disturbances.

[gggoldfinch]

Can we have a little sneak peek of what you're cooking for from eden sequel? Please?

(if not, then that's ok)

YOU ABSOLUTELY CANNNNN I was hoping someone would ask hehe !!! 🤭 Luckily you've asked at an opportune time bc I just hit 6k words and am prob gonna wrap up the end of the "chapter" at around 8k maybe possibly

She wakes without remembering having fallen asleep and finds herself fully in the ghoul’s embrace. With her back snug to his chest, his hold is almost protective— possessive. It’s the first time she’s awoken in his arms—aside from when she’d dozed on the horse, which didn’t really count as sleeping in the first place—and it makes her stomach flutter despite her persisting bitterness towards him. She manages to turn over beneath his weighty arm, facing him. Morning light streams in golden motes through the broken windows and walls, through the gaping holes in the roof, casting the man’s sunken eyes and hollow cheekbones in heavy shadow. The cattleman hat is put aside somewhere, his other arm folded beneath his bald head like a pillow; her father’s shotgun lays within reach. His eyes remain closed and his body still. She can’t be sure he’s actually asleep, though.  Breathing feels difficult as she observes him in this singular momentary peace. Those eyelashes are the only hint of gentleness across the span of his features. Fingertips ghost over his gaunt cheekbone without making contact with his taut skin and she frowns. His gruesome visage grows increasingly more pleasing to look at with time and it makes her angry. It makes her angry that she wants him inside her again. She wants to hate him, but she can’t. She rolls back over, huffing in frustration.  The arm slung around her middle tightens deliberately just then, sliding from her waist up to her ribs, crushing her back against his hard chest. The ghoul’s face nuzzles behind her ear, growling low and content in his throat. He hadn’t been asleep at all, it seems. “Well g’mornin’ to you too, sweetheart.” He audibly grins, stretching languidly against the length of her body. His rasping voice teases her, stroking her sour disposition into something more agreeable. 

also, from a little later on:

“Where are we going?” she finally has the courage to ask. “What are we doing?” The cowboy has been silent about their journey thus far, and she only vaguely knows his purpose out here past what she’d fleetingly overheard the raiders discussing before he’d slain them all.  “I’m trackin’ a bounty. Yer along for the ride,” he replies after a belated moment, patting her belly in a manner almost affectionate.  She doesn’t know what a ‘bounty’ is, but she has seen him stalking around in the moments when he rests the horse, following signs on the ground and in the brush that her untrained eyes cannot see. She’d thought nothing of it previously, merely chalked it up to him being strange. Now it makes sense. She can see it in his eyes— always focused, always vigilant. He’s hunting.  “A bounty is a person?”  “Yes’m,” he grunts.  “And that’s what you do? Hunt people?” She cranes her neck to curiously gaze at him over her shoulder. His face is close; she can see the minute texture of his fibrous facial tissue and the cavern of his nasal cavity.  One corner of his mouth ticks upward, curving pretty lips; he’s pleased with her deductive reasoning. “Somethin’ like that, sweetheart.” “Why?” His grip around her tightens by a fraction. Unbidden heat pools between her straddling thighs and she must resist the urge to readjust the cant of her hips.  “You sure are askin’ lots o’questions, huh?” Teeth flash in a partial smile. “What’s got you chatterin’, li’l bird?” 

[cljordan-imperium]

WORD SEARCH 2

Another old tag, this time from @ashen-crest

My words are - good, fix, found, and confident.

Another OPEN TAG with the words - grey, tree, ice, ball

GOOD

Thinius opened the door wide before reaching over and flipping on the lights to a sitting room.  The colors were a coral, white, and teal.  Furniture designed in such a way it resembled coral, waves, and sea sponges filled the room, along with smaller touches of sea life and aquatic decor.  “So, what ya think, Princess?  This going to be good enough digs for ya?  Or do ya think that we’re going to have to sweep the bedroom each night for peas that might disturb ya?”

FIX

Cormoran gave his brother a chance to answer her.  It should not have come as a surprise that she would wonder what was going on in the hall.  When Casperius wasn't forthcoming with anything, the elder brother once more took control of the situation to fix things before they could get worse with her.. Shouldering past both Casperius and Horace as he approached the svelte sprite, he swore that Casperius was either going to have to step up and manage his household or things were going to devolve into further chaos and Mattheus was going to get the upper hand at some point.   "Horace just had some upsetting news regarding preparations that Casperius had requested previously.  Let's leave them to finish their discussion.  Now I'm awake and you've been disturbed, I'll give you a tour and show you where the best snacks can be pilfered from."  He was trying to give her a smile and hoped it didn’t look like barred teeth of a predator, he had been told in the past he could be intimidating. 

FOUND

A teasing and playful smirk alighting her lips, her eyes surveyed the room around her.  The decorations were absolutely gorgeous, obviously crafted with care, as there were small details like fish, sea slugs, and other creatures that were expertly added onto each piece in a way that didn’t make them the focus, but did enhance them when found.  “I guess this place won’t be too bad.  I can live with it.  You two aren’t going to let me get too lonely in here too much, are you?”  There was a lilt of sarcasm and tease in her voice.

CONFIDENT

“Little angel, I’ve told you, I shall not leave you alone.”  Leandre’s voice was deep and soft as he reassured her once more that she had nothing to fear.  He wanted her to have confidence that no matter what came in the future, she would not have to face it alone again.  Deacon was quick to offer similar reassurances as well.  Both men knew what it was like to feel alone in facing darkness, which is why Abriella had asked them to help Yael, and why they had agreed.

THE IMPERIUM CHRONICLES TAG LIST - @ceph-the-ghost-writer @kjscottwrites @writingpotato07 @saltysupercomputer @careful-pyromancer @late-to-the-fandom @autumnalwalker @perasperaadastrawriting @fearofahumanplanet @jessica-writes22 @dogmomwrites @mjjune @verba-writing @blind-the-winds @shipping-through-eternity  @outpost51 @inkspellangel @blind-the-winds @sunset-a-story @writingmaidenwarrior @clairelsonao3

[applepi20]

what it's like to be loved

zeke yeager x fem! reader

warnings: age gap, nsfw content, unprotected sex, brief smoking, zeke is kind of an asshole, female-bodied reader

modern au: zeke is rich but it isn't discussed

word count: 1.8k

chapter notes: i think i'm just projecting what i wish would happen to me

this one is kinda short but enjoy! ☾

you stared out the window at the cityscape. the night scene was so pretty and peaceful. the warm bedroom light reflected off of the windows.

wrapped in only a sheet, you glanced over your shoulder at zeke sleeping peacefully in the bed. The post-sex glow had worn off a while ago and now you were left alone with your thoughts. you couldn't sleep and hoped the restless city would help calm you down.

your body ached from the previous activities, but your chest ached more with longing. longing to be more than just a call to satisfy. longing to be loved and longing to be loved by zeke yeager.

in retrospect, you probably shouldn't have agreed to a no strings attached, sex only relationship without considering the possibility that you would get attached and even fall in love. it didn't seem like anything to be worried about at the time. you and zeke had a very tense relationship that made the two of you clash on many occasions. falling in love with him was the last thing on your mind.

you weren't sure how much time had passed since you left zeke in the bed. you startled hearing some rustling and suddenly zeke appeared next to you.

"couldn't sleep?" he questioned.

"no, lost in my thoughts," you answered.

he nodded silently and lit up his cigar.

"do you have to do that now?" he seriously had to find an escape after what we had just done? why can't he just stay in the moment at least until I leave?

"is something wrong y/n?" he stared at you, genuinely concerned.

"it's nothing" lies you were feeding him lies, why can't he open his eyes and see how you feel about him?

zeke continued to stare at you, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"i was just wondering what it's like to be loved" you blurted out against your will, zeke's gaze was too strong to break, you had to submit.

the look on his face was unreadable.

"to be loved? i'm not sure i understand what you mean. are you talking about sex, or just loved in general?" he seemed unsure of how to word things.

"oh it's not important, forget i said anything," you tried to backtrack.

"no no what did you mean?" he pressed, he almost looked urgent for the answer.

"um I guess both, I just- well yeah both." you awkwardly said.

"i could show you," he said so quietly you almost didn't hear him. he was avoiding eye contact.

"w-what?" you mumbled.

"i could show you, what it's like to be loved" he clarified.

you stared at him with wide eyes as he slowly leaned closer. you leaned in as well. "okay?" he whispered on your lips.

you nodded as you connected your lips in a sweet kiss. zeke returned the kiss with a different enthusiasm from before. he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back towards the bed.

"if i was in love with you, first i would kiss you." he kissed you again. "and I'd keep kissing you for a while."

you were stunned all you could do was kiss back. his kisses grew more and more eager and he suddenly pulled away.

you leaned into the ghost of his lips and he smiled at you before kissing you again. you felt like you were drunk on his kisses and you never wanted to stop, these kisses felt different.

zeke moved from your mouth to start trailing kisses down your neck. he came up to your ear and whispered "i would tell you i love you." his hot breath warming your ear and making you squirm away from the ticklish sensation.

"sensitive?" i could hear the smile in his voice.

all you could do was nod, words were becoming hard to form. your whole body felt like it was on fire already, just from kissing.

"i would keep telling you i love you" he murmured and he was back to leaving kisses along your neck.

"i love you," a kiss on your cheek just barely grazing the corner of your mouth.

"i love you," another kiss on your neck.

"i love you," a kiss on your shoulder.

he kept repeating those words as he covered your neck and chest in kisses and small bites that would be gone by the morning, just a memory of the feeling.

you were finding it hard to keep your eyes open as he left feather-light kisses along your breasts and pulled the sheet you previously had wrapped around you off.

"god baby, you're so fucking pretty" he leaned in to suck on your chest leaving a red mark.

under his gaze you wanted to squirm away in embarrassment, but the look in his eyes was tender, loving almost.

he looked lost in your naked body.

"if i was in love with you, i would hold your hand" he intertwined his fingers with yours, hovering over you he leaned down to kiss you. you were still unable to do anything but respond to him and kiss back. you were overwhelmed with the attention you were getting, but it didn't seem that different from past times the two of you had sex.

zeke abruptly grabbed your hips, ripping his hand out of yours and flipped you onto your stomach before you could even process what was happening. he pulled your hips up so your back was arched and your face was buried in the mattress.

"of course i couldn't let you predict anything and i have to be a little rough to keep my baby satisfied," he said with a smirk.

he draped his body over yours and pinned your arms above your head, nipping your ear and making you shiver at the close proximity.

"if i was in love with you, i would hold you close so i could feel every little reaction i'm causing you" his hand moved down, splaying across your belly, pulling your body back into his. you held yourself up on your elbows to meet his movement.

you moaned out as he slowly pushed himself into you and you dropped down into the mattress, your arms no longer able to support you.

when he bottomed out he let out a groan and held your hips steady.

"fuuuck" he hissed through his teeth. he held your hips still despite your squirming and pleas for him to move. " you're so ready for me, you feel so good for me" he rambled almost unable to keep himself from speaking.

as he developed a rhythm, he leaned down and whispered in your ear, drawing you from your thoughts you seemed to be stuck in.

"y/n you feel so good, i love you fuck" you could hear his strained breathing as he picked up the pace. it was like he was unable to control the words that flew out of his mouth and all you could do was take it. all the tender words, the sensations, you could just lie there.

the feeling of his hips snapping against you, the overwhelming emotion and lust, had you shocked as you found your release so quickly and without warning.

"did you just come? my perfect angel" he seemed surprised at your unexpected release.

he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles one by one in time with his thrusts and you moaned in response, incoherent words on your tongue.

as his movements started to slow, you started to panic a little. "zeke keep going, i can take it" you promised, desperate for him to keep going, to fill you with his release. you craved the feeling.

you kept whining until he returned to the previous pace he had set before. you could feel his timing start to become less and less consistent as he chased his own end. there would be bruises where he was gripping your hips and you reveled in the feeling.

both of you were unable of saying anything but each other's names. he kept kissing down your back saying "angel" and "perfect" and your name in between kisses.

you could feel his hips stutter as he finally found his release and he bit down on your shoulder as he came, filling you up with his seed.

he collapsed on top of you and rolled over so you were by his side. brushing the hair out of your face he kissed you again, lightly as if he was afraid he would hurt you.

"angel, you are so perfect" he was looking at you like you were his whole world and it was making you shy away from his gaze.

you felt so loved in this moment until you realized that throughout the whole thing he was saying "if i was in love with you" not " i am in love with you". you decided to revel in the feeling just this once and then decide in the morning to go back to the normal routine of no strings attached.

"hey zeke?" you asked, a bit nervous.

"yeah, angel?" he responded, sounding tired, voice a bit raw.

you were scared to ask. almost wishing you would keep quiet and not ruin what perfect moment the two of you just had.

"you said all of that was what you would do if you were in love with me, but none of it was different than what we did before." you were hesitant, anticipating his answer.

zeke took a moment and took a deep breath.

you almost took it back and your mind felt like it was going a million miles per second. your thoughts and doubts were loud in your ears.

"y/n are you stupid?" he laughed, shaking your body as your head laid on his chest.

immediately, you felt defensive. "stupid? zeke what are you even talking about, forget i asked," you were just talking without thinking, trying to cover your tracks from before.

"y/n i love you," he interrupted. "I've been in love with you for a long time."

his words weren't registering. he WHAT.

"that stupid no strings attached rule was just so I could hide behind it and not face my feelings in case they weren't reciprocated. i've been in love with you since the first time we hooked up. I've always been yours" he continued.

you finally found your voice again. "Zeke Yeager. you've let me think that i was just a fuck toy to you for months?! do you know how many nights i've laid awake heartbroken i could never have you and you're telling me you've been mine all along? i can't believe that-ah!"

he annoyingly shuts you up with a kiss. and then follows the first kiss with two pecks.

"angel, i'm all yours, be mine? you've only made me wait forever" you wanted to kiss that stupid look right off of his face.

"of course I'm yours, zeke. you always show me what it's like to be loved."

[revengeisourlullaby]

If I Never Knew You Pt.2

Pt. 1   Pt. 2    Pt.3   Pt.4   Pt.5   Pt.6

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, arranged marriage plot, kinda royal au, some fighting, secret relationship, angst.

a/n: Here is part 2! I might upload part three tonight. I’m so excited to see where this goes. It seems that the first part is doing pretty good so I might upload them faster. As always requests/asks are open! Just give me little time to get to them. Enjoy! 

Word count: 1.8K

Walking through the town, you felt an inordinate wave of liberation flow through not only you but also through Loki. It felt as if the weight of the world released itself from your shoulders. Confidence and strength soaring through the air. Loki lost his stiffness, his typical carefree nature restored once you became more grounded. 

“See, not so bad, right?”

Shaking your head, a cynical chuckle escaped your throat

“For you maybe. All these eyes on us is kinda gross.”

“It’s only because the most attractive prince has finally decided to show his face.”

You looked at Loki, amusement absent from your face. He laughed, a belly laugh almost. It was a free sound you had yet to hear from him and when you did your face painted your emotions before you had the chance to process them yourself. 

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yes, but you, my dear, tolerate it. So who's really at a loss in this situation?”  

“Well, it’s not me.”

“It couldn’t be me Y/N.”

“Looks like we’re both losers then Loki.”

You were approaching the main entrance of the palace and began to wonder if Loki was considering bringing you inside.

“We lost when we fell in love with each other Y/N. Listening to the heart is the most foolish thing one can do and yet here we are. Charging full speed with our eyes closed hoping we don’t trip over anything.”

Guiding you up the steps of the massive golden structure Loki called ‘home’ your nerves struck up again. 

“Seems to make sense that if we’re going full speed, might as well exploit our courtship in the place where you will eventually be spending all your time in. And with all things considered, sneaking you in is...counterproductive, to say the least.”

Exhaling, you brought yourself together and walked in front of Loki. His hand rested on your lower back escorting you inside. Grabbing fabric in your fists, you hiked your dress up a bit making sure you didn’t step on it. Walking through the main threshold, you realized you were worrying for nothing. The halls were massive, the ceiling stretching higher than you ever imagined.

 It would be a miracle if you were to run across someone you knew in a place so vast.

 You looked around in shock at everything you were being hidden from. The thought of it hopefully being yours to share with Loki in freedom and not in constraint was illuminating. One day to not only be openly in love with him but to call him your husband. Your partner for life was the solace you needed. Everything looked new to you because you had only ever seen the hallways in the dead of night to share evening visits with Loki, being as slick as one could, and it always working in your favor.

“Wow, it looks so different here with the sun shining through. Always felt like a runaway sneaking through the backways and balconies to get to your quarters.”

“And now you get to walk there like every other person in this place. Quite fancy isn’t it.”

“Okay, I didn’t ask for the smart mouth, you ass.” 

“Comfortable, are we?” 

“With you? Always.”

Finally, you two had walked up to Loki’s quarters. Opening the doors he welcomed you in and you welcomed yourself to his bed. Flopping down on the edge of it, the edge of your dress flying up and you went down. Hearing the door shut, you lifted your head up to face Loki at the door, only thing was he wasn’t there. Furrowing your brow you sat up on your elbows and by the time you looked behind you, it was too late. 

“Boo.”

Your body reacted before you could control your response. Your stomach fell to your ass, eyes widening and a sharp inhale all followed one another before you finally shook off the anxiety and realized that Loki had popped up behind you. 

“You asshole! What if I screamed, huh?”

Loki laughed falling over on the bed, your reaction to him obviously something of hilarity to him. You rolled your eyes and pushed his shoulder in and began to pout. He caught his breath and calmed down enough so he could respond back to you. 

“You’re only screaming for one thing and unfortunately, darling, the sun’s still out. So, someone will have to wait, considering they’re so concerned about being caught.”

Loki raised his eyebrow and your mouth was agape. You squinted your eyes and an idea popped in your head. Rolling over on your knee you placed yourself on top of Loki's lap, resting your hands on his chest stealing his smirk for this moment in time.

“I can control myself...you on the other hand, once you start you can't stop.”

To emphasize your point, you rolled your hips into his and brought your body down to level his. Reaching his ear you whispered

“If you can find containment within yourself, a prize will await you this evening.”

You moved from his ear and hovered in front of his face, your lips ghosting one another. You pulled back a little bit to stare into his eyes. They were hypnotic no matter how many times you saw them. Loki’s hand trailed up your backside squeezing the mound of your ass before continuing up your back. His hand finding refuge at the nape of your neck. He pulled you back to his face, a gentleness about the entire interaction, and kissed you. 

There was a different kind of spark in this kiss, it felt electric, coursing through your veins and settling in your brain as a memory you’d never forget. Losing yourself in the thrill of it all, your hips began moving against his. Your building arousal creating a fog between you. The more you ground into the god below you, the more apparent his bulge was. Flipping you on your back Loki now held the reins of the situation. 

“Now, don’t tempt me Y/N. You have a habit of teasing and where does it always leave you?”

“At your mercy.”

“Clever girl. So if you like to save this accolade you mentioned for later, mind your manners, my love.”

He leaned down to kiss you as to punctuate his words, ending the discussion with the pull of your lips between his teeth. Hissing through the pleasure you couldn’t help but roll your hips up towards him, now being the one desperately craving friction. Testing the waters, you wanted to see how far you could push Loki to his limits. Your hand found the scruff of his neck and scrunched his hair. Sucking a breath in between his teeth, he pulled back a light laugh following. 

“I’m aware of what you’re attempting to do Y/N, and I think it would be fair for you to know that it’s a feeble attempt. Reason being, now you’re the one left in ardor.”

Loki pulled off of you but made sure to drive his point home by sliding down your body and resting between your thighs before fully standing up. You lied on the bed in slight agony of your current predicament. You sighed and brought yourself up on your elbows. Looking ahead of you, you saw Loki sitting in the massive throne chair that was in his room. It was gothic in nature yet still regal with the back of the chair rising well up behind him and the arms of it embellished with Asgardian design. 

His position in the chair was more than purposeful. His legs were spread wide, his arm resting on the arm of the throne and his hand propping up his head to look not only at you but out on the balcony. The late evening sun illuminating his eyes, bringing a whole new meaning to golden hour. He looked breathtaking and it was as if you were falling in love with him all over again.

The lust you were previously feeling was now amplified but also accompanied with adoration for your lover. You raised yourself from up off the bed and waltzed over to him. A fire behind your eyes and in your presence but you had yet to act on it. Coming in front of him, you kneeled in front of him and looked up. Two could play at this game. Your hands slid up his legs, paying special attention to his thighs and feather lightly rubbed on this. His eyes were boring through yours and you felt small under his gaze. 

The silence between you was telling, that if you were to continue with your actions there would be no waiting until later. You wanted to enjoy the silence between the two of you, so you turned your back to him now sitting on your behind, and crossed your legs. You leaned your head back so it fell in between his legs, but before fully getting settled you reached for the two books resting on the side table in front of the chair and placed them in your lap. You wiggled your hips and settled into a comfortable position. 

Resting your head back, you craned it further attempting to look at Loki. He rolled his eyes knowing exactly what you were asking for. 

“You know, if I knew how often you’d beg for these I would have never indulged in your initial request.”

“You and I both know this is enjoyable for both parties.”

Loki huffed, a silent agreement without saying explicitly that you were right. Loki began to rub your temples. You closed your eyes enjoying the sensation and the loving intent of his actions. You finally felt calm and safe compared to the rest of the day which was riddled with anxiety and panic and the nagging fear of all the ‘what ifs’ you came up with. You had exhausted yourself and this simple action put you at ease. You opened your eyes for a moment and glanced down at the books in your lap trying to decipher which one was Loki’s. 

Catching a glimpse on the side you realized the one on the bottom was Loki’s current project at hand. Grabbing it, you twisted your arm behind you and slid the book into Loki’s lap knowing that sooner or later you would end up dozing off and you figured that getting this out the way would make it easier for both of you. 

“You are truly something else.”

“And you love me for it Loki.” 

“Can’t argue that one.”

A small smile painted your face before it fell back into its relaxed state and you began to drift off. Every little thing that had happened today made you feel that you were a few steps closer to getting what you so desired with Loki.

[salemsbones]

What You Did Last Summer- Regulus Black Oneshot

TW: implied child abuse, forced scarification/ dark mark

     He had been avoiding me since the middle of summer. It started slowly, like when I began to notice he stopped addressing my letters to "ma cherie" but rather my name. Then the letters became less, only once a week, then once every other week despite the many letters I would send him. When I attempted to come visit him at the Black manor as we had planned just weeks before, I was told he had fallen ill was too sick to see me even though I saw his shadow brush past like a phantom ghost just down the hallway. Eventually my letters were returned to me, completely unopened with a short letter attached stating I was to stop sending letters and if I didn't, they would be used as fire kindling.      School had began again just a week ago and he was never alone, always surrounded by new founded friends who held their noses high in the air and would yell slurs down the corridor as easily as it was saying their names. I knew he enjoyed being alone, I knew those were fake smiles, I knew he hated when one of his new friends would rip the book from his hands and toss it between a few of them as if it was a game rather than a rude disruption of a calm activity he enjoyed. I knew he hated also saying the slurs his friends said so easily, I knew it caused bile to rise in his throat every time he forced the syllables past his teeth.      He avoided me, within one week he had completely rearranged his class schedule so we barely had any classes together, ruining the amount of time we had spent just months before discussing our timetables so we could share as many classes together as possible. And the classes we did have together, he avoided my gaze, his nose stuck to his books or Potions ingredients, sitting as far from me as possible.      He continued to leave his long sleeves rolled down to his wrists despite the unusually warm September weather, constantly pushing them down to keep his forearms covered, unlike his new idiot friends who boasted about their new Dark Marks, and about how they now followed the Dark Lord who would eventually become the new leader of the wizarding world and rid the world of anyone but pure bloods.      The dirty secrets he kept from me about the past summer made me sick, made my stomach churn and my mind race. I know he didn't agree with the ideology of Voldemort or the beliefs his parents had tried to force down his throat his entire life. I knew he was more like his older brother Sirius who had rebelled against their parents but because of how often he heard their disgust and dismay in regard of his brother, that he did not want to disappoint them or make them lose their only remaining heir.      It's tearing me apart, the fake smiles, the forced laughter, the comments about half bloods or muggleborns. I knew this wasn't the real him.      I had somehow managed to corner him after he was leaving the Great Hall with his friends, fellow Slytherins he had previously stated he hated and found idiotic. "Regulus!" I called, quickly running after him. He glanced over his shoulder to look at me and I could see the defeat in his eyes and the slight slump of his shoulders as I got closer to him.      "Addy..." He said quietly, dropping his gaze to the floor, ignoring the calls of his friends who were making their way to their next class.      "Where have you been?' I asked, the anger and confusion that had followed me for the past few weeks that I had somehow pushed down, bubbling to the surface.      "You know where I've been." He said quietly, not meeting my eye.      “I'm sure Orion and Walburga are proud." I sneered nodding to his covered arm.      "Addy please, not here." He glanced to me and then back to his friends. He rubbed the back of his neck with the arm that held his secrets and before he could stop me I grabbed his arm, pushing up the white sleeve of his button up shirt, revealing the twisted black snake ink of the Dark Mark he had tried to cover and keep a secret.      "I know what you did last summer." I say, dropping his arm and looking at him in disgust.      “I didn't do anything." He clutched his arm to his chest, pushing the sleeve back down.      "Just lied to me." I shake my head and go to walk away but he grabs my hand and pulls me down a empty hallway, away from his friends and the concerned stares coming from passing students.      "Addy-" He starts but I cut him off.      "Tell me the truth Reg. Tell me where you've been and don't even think about lying." I say, staring deep into his stormy grey eyes. "I know what you did last summer. Look me in the eyes."      He looks at me and sighs. "They held me down and made me get it. I didn't want it and I tried to fight it but I couldn't."      I stood in front of him for a moment unsure about what to say,      "I wanted to see you over the summer, I promise. I just- I just didn't want to make you upset after you saw it."      "I missed you," I whisper, dropping my eyes from his gaze and shift uncomfortably, feeling like an asshole for accusing him to getting the Dark Mark when he was actually forced to get it.      "I missed you too." He said, giving me a small smile.      "I'm sorry." I say quietly, still avoiding his eyes.      "It's okay, I would've been upset too if I was you." He admitted.      "So what are you gunna do now?" I ask, looking back up to him and he smirks lightly.      "I have a plan,"

[billyspotato]

Stopping You [Part 2] - Michael Gray

Words: 3.261 words

Type: Angst

Warnings: Swearing. Probable misspelling. Some big hatred towards the characters Michael and Gina. There will be scenes of the show in here, but also some made up (this applies to all parts of this future story). No race of the reader is mentioned (therefore, anyone can read this as themselves). Female Reader. (Season 5 Spoilers)

In this particular chapter: Mentions of domestic abuse/violence. Mentions of blood and slight self harm. Mentions of fire arms. 

[Series Masterlist]

A/N: Gif’s not mine :)

You drink the last drop of orange juice from your cup when Polly walks in the kitchen.

“Are you meeting us at the Garrison?” She asks you, and you turn around to wash your cup in the sink.

“Yeah” You answer before turning around, “But I’m most likely to be late” You announce, gaining a glare from Polly.

“Y/N” Polly says with a scolding tone.

“It’s not on purpose, I swear”

You dry your hands on the kitchen cloth and walk over to Polly, kissing her on the cheek.

“I have to deal with something first, but let’s be honest here” You start making Polly look at you in the eyes, “It’s not like he doesn’t deserve it”

Polly scoffs while rolling your eyes at you and you smile at her annoyance. She smacks your arm slightly and tries to bite in her smile.

Why do you always make her laugh when she’s not supposed to?

“I’ll see you at the Garrison” You announce while she walks behind the kitchen counter, probably to find something to eat, “Love ya”

You walk out of the kitchen as the words sound off your mouth and Polly answers back, and you’re quick to grab your keys and jacket, before walking out of the big house.

Your heels click in the pavement and you slide your arms into the expensive jacket, before getting in your car and starting it.

(…)

A rather bumpy ride later, you turn off the engine and walk out of the car, staring at the old but homey-looking house. You walk slowly through the rocky and uneven ground and try to get closer to the front door as fast as you could with heels.

As you do, you knock on the wood of the door and adjust your jacket around your waist, hiding better the gun in your waist.

The door opens in a matter of seconds and the lady you talked to yesterday, stares at you.

“Good morning” You say with a small smile.

“Good morning miss” The lady answer with a shaky voice, making you tense up.

“Did anyone come by your house yesterday?” You question and the lady quickly nods, “And what did they say?”

As the scared lady was about to open her mouth and talk, a man, rather larger than you, appears behind her with a child on his hip. The child looked just like the woman in front of you, and he was around 5 years old.

“How can we help you?” The man asks and the lady jumps slightly, not expecting to hear his voice.

“I’m here to talk to your wife” You say with a fake smile, “Sir” You add while looking at him up and down.

“I’m sure she doesn’t know you” He answers back ready to close the door on your face, but you stop it with your healed foot as soon as he does it.

“Oh, she does. But I’m sure a conversation with you will just be as great”

You invite yourself in with that and the couple looks at you in shock.

You look around the hallway and admire the family pictures hanging on the walls and also placed on top of various types of furniture.

“Why don’t we take the children to their bedrooms?” You ask when noticing two more boys peeking out from an open door at the end of the hallway.

You take your eyes out of the children to look at the man, who doesn’t move.

“What? You don’t want to do it?” You ask and you can tell that angered the man in front you further.

“You don’t give orders in my house” He says, and you smirk.

“Sure” You say while moving your jacket back around your waist, showing him your pistol.

The man’s eyes widen, and you continue to smirk at him as he is quick to give his child to his wife. The woman, without hesitating takes the child from his arms and puts him on the ground, ready to walk away from you with him.

“I’ll go talk to you in a second” You tell her, and she nods before looking back at the ground and walking off to safety.

The man stares at you as you two wait for the bedroom door to close and as it does, you look up at the man.

“A man came here to speak to you yesterday, am I right?” You say, picking up a framed picture of the three boys.

“Yes, he said he was a Peaky” The man says while crossing his arms.

“Guess we have that in common” You add just to let a little more of your venom flow in his system, “What did you discuss about?”

“Something about me hitting my wife” He says, scoffing at his words.

“Is that funny to you?” You ask, making the man lose his smile, “Reality must be hilarious, but I just keep on not catching its joke”

The man opens his mouth to speak but you interrupt him.

“I’m here to give you a warning” You say while playing with your jacket sleeves, “Regarding the abuse-”

“There’s no abu-”

“Didn’t ask” You say, looking up, “Like I was saying” You continue, leaning back on the small wardrobe beside you. “This is warning. I’ve seen and heard enough to believe what has been happening between you and your wife. I’ll be having men checking on her on a daily basis-”

“Your men can’t trespass-”

“Interrupt me one more fucking time” You say with a low tone and clenched teeth.

The man was about to open his mouth and you take the gun off your waist, clicking the safety off.

“If there’s anything broken in this house, new bruises on her, or even a shout towards her while I’m away” You start, “I’ll be making a new visit, and it won’t be this pretty” You say with a fake smile.

The man stays silent and you’re quick to notice him reach something behind him, you aim at his head.

“Try to reach further and I’ll put a bullet through your fucking head” You warn, and his arm continues to move.

“You’re a-”

You fire at the ceiling above his head and he jumps and shakes at the loud noise. He looks up to notice the hole in the wood, and when he looks back at you, you continue to look at him with your head slightly tilted to the side with a smirk.

“This is going to be fun” You whisper as your smirk grows into a smile as shivers run through the man’s back.

(…)

You slide your arms back in the expensive jacket and walk out of the car. You’re late, as expected.

The man took his warning seriously and you also offered to pay for the damage done to the ceiling when checking for new bruises on the man’s wife, who kept on constantly thanking you.

You put your gun back in your waist, since it was previously thrown to your passenger seat by you a few minutes back, and reality starts to sink into your mind. You’re going to see him.

You put your hair back and walk to the Garrison’s doors, already expecting the worse. As you swing them open, all of their heads turn to you.

“Excuse my absence” You say while looking at Tommy, who gives you a small nod.

Your heels sound on the old wooden flooring and you walk over to Polly.

“How did it go?” She whispers to you, grabbing your hand; she was notified by Tommy about what you were doing when she got here.

“Normal” You say before giving her hand a squeeze, “It always takes a bullet to make them listen” You whisper, and she smiles at your words.

Michael’s blue eyes are focused on you as you smile at his mother. You look different. Your walk screams confidence and your sweet expression is now gone, replaced by the resting bitch face this whole family seems to own.

You walk around to stand next to Tommy and you look over at Michael, not saying a word, hoping that your expression reads as much frustration as you feel.

You can’t help but admire how much he’s changed. He looks older. More stressed. Richer too. But that might be because of his beige suit. Which funny enough, matches the fur in blondie’s jacket.

Your heart is starting to speed up as Michael’s eyes continue focused on you and old memories start to come in slowly.

He’s here. The person you prayed to call you back for that whole time is finally here.

“Y/N” Michael starts before clearing his throat. His name even sounds and feels foreign to his lips, “I would like to introduce you to my future wife” He says before looking at Gina, “Gina”

His eyes go back to you as if he is expecting a reaction, and so do Tommy’s, Arthur’s and Polly’s. But the only thing they all got was a short nod and a look of disinterest.

“Y/N, sweetheart” Polly starts, “Before we start. Why don’t you put your gun behind the counter, like everyone else?”

You look at her in confusion and then look back at the grown men beside you. Oh, they did it too.

You pull the pistol from your holster and put it next to Arthur’s, which seemed to be with no bullets left. What in the hell- Oh wait, they’re in the ground... For some reason.

Arthur hides his smirk regarding Michael, which is still expecting a reaction from you. You turn back around and take a seat in one of the highchairs.

“Sit down Michael” Tommy says, standing beside you, to the man that seems to not be able to take his eyes off you.

“I betrayed you” Michael starts, looking at his cousin, but not following his order, “But only in my heart. There was a time,” he continues, and Polly takes a seat in one of the tables. “In America. There was a lot of money in that bank…”

As Michael continues his speech to Tommy, your mind drifts off. You start taking a good look at Gina, which is looking at Tommy as if she saw a ghost. She is the opposite of you. Or at least, the old you. You never had perfect styled hair; it was beautiful as it moved wildly in the wind. You didn’t wear expensive clothing, whatever looked good with your skin color was enough. And her expression, the constant glare, the puckered lips, her chin up. Everything was different. There is no visible softness in Gina, she looked hard as a rock.

Bad thing you’re tougher.

“I told you to sit down, Michael” Tommy says, making you take your eyes off Gina. “Now tell me, what happened on that ship in Belfast harbor”

As Michael starts to explain the witness story and how the certain whiskey men became Scotch men who said Tom’s name. You heard every word in silence, not reacting until you heard the group’s name, Billy boys.

You take a deep breath as Arthur starts to explain to Michael who they really are, and that reaction took interest in Gina. Her eyes went over to you as she leaned back on the pole. You surely were a Peaky, but she’s uncertain about you being a Shelby.

“But you did no deal, Michael?” Polly asks, “You didn’t even know who they were?”

“I was too busy looking forward to giving you the good news” Michael answers, “The reason Gina and I got engaged on the ship was because we think she’s pregnant”

Your jaw clenches as Michael grabs Gina’s hand and you look over at Polly.

“You will probably be a grandmother” Michael announces to his mother.

Polly looks over to you quickly and you shake your head slightly as if you didn’t want to listen to any more of what was going on.

Your heart as finally calmed down, maybe it was over the shock of his words. Your ears are ringing, and the sound became muffled as Tommy started to talk.

“Okay, Michael. I believe you. Welcome home. Congratulations” Tommy says with the most monotone voice of all time, making you force yourself back to normal, “Just remember…” He continues as Michael lowers his gaze as if he was taking in the congratulations, “Your possible unborn child has witnessed what you said. And will be born according to-”

Michael jumps out of his chair while shouting “You fuck” to his cousin and you and Arthur are quick to defend him. You stood up and took a step forward as Arthur held his cousin back.

“Where the fuck are you going, hm? Are you mad, hmm?”

Michael glares at Tommy as if the words keep on replaying on his head and Gina continues to stare at you. You stared at Michael as if you’re bored at his outraged, or even as if he was overreacting.

When in reality, you couldn’t care less about what Tommy was about to say, your mind in too occupied.

“You are free to fucking leave, Michael” Arthur reminds his cousin.

“Fucking bastard” Michael curses.

“But you are not really free, Michael, are you?” Tommy says, with his relaxed tone, “You lost this company a lot of money. I told you to sell… But you held on. And now I want you to pay me back what you owe me. There is work you can do, there are risks you can take. We were close before. Now I want you closer still”

You bite your smirk as you know that the words were branded into Michael’s skull, annoying him further. He was boiling with anger and you just had to love the sight.

Gina sighs when noticing your amusement and leans forward to take a step closer to Michael.

“Michael, honey” She says with her whispery voice and Michael looks away from Tommy acting like her voice had calmed him. He stared back at you for a second. “Look at your cousin”

The couple looks at Tommy, who continued to seem unfazed with all of her and Michael’s words.

“He’s in trouble, uh?” Gina continues, “He needs you”

There is a silence between all of us as she takes a look at her fiancé.

You lean back on the bar as she continues to make Michael look at Tommy.

“Come on, baby, let’s go” Gina says, her hands letting go of his shoulder to grab his hand and pull him away from the commotion and the glares.

Gina’s thick heels sound on the floor loudly and you notice that you’re biting the inside of your cheek. You open your mouth slightly and the metallic taste, comes to your tongue.

The door opens as they step out and Polly continues to glare at Tommy, while walking around the table and grabbing her things.

You two are in different sides of this argument but there’s no hard feelings between you two, and the both of you know it. You just disagree right now. Nothing will change tonight’s plans for your late-night-wine-drinking conversation.

She walks out as well, and you pull your gun from behind the counter before putting it back on your holster.

“Grab three cups, love” Tommy tells you and walk around the bar to grab three clean cups which were next to the sink.

You walk back and put them down at the table, where Arthur turns a chair around for you to sit. You thank him while taking the seat and Tommy serves everyone a even amount of whiskey.

“Mad dog Jimmy. Coming south” Arthur says, remembering the important things of this conversation before the big argument had happened.

You sip your drink and lean back on the chair as it burns the bloody wound of your right cheek. You let it sit there, in your mouth, coming to terms of it.

There is way more pain to come. Might as well start to practice loving it.

(…)

On that same day, Michael sat with Gina at the dinner table of the hotel. Both of them silently eating their meals as today’s meeting replayed of both of their minds.

“Who was that girl?” Gina asks while eating a small bit of green beans.

“Who are we talking about exactly?” Michael asks while smiling at his fiancé, who didn’t smile back.

“The girl at the meeting. Who was she?” She says, now grabbing her tall glass to sip into the expensive wine.

“Her name is Y/N. A poor girl, when I met her” Michael says, looking down at his plate.

“Friends with the Shelby’s?” She asks, interested in getting more information, leaning back into her chair.

“More like having parents who have been loyal to the Shelby’s” Michael corrects her.

“Who are they?”

“Her parents?” Michael asks before sipping his drink slowly, it’s getting too hot in this room.

Gina nods.

“Nobodies” He admits while shrugging making his fiancé smile, “It’s true, they never had money; used to sell fruit at a local shop. And now- From what I know of, no one knows where they are”

“She’s a peaky blinder now?”

“From the looks of it”

Gina takes another sip of her wine.

“You seemed surprised when you saw her”

“Last time I saw her, she was nowhere close to being one”

“Why? Too soft?” Gina says as if she was saying something ridiculous, sharing a laugh.

“Yeah, actually. She was this sweet and loving girl when I left” He adds and then looks back at the ground as if memories attacked him as the words left his mouth.

Gina caught it.

“What was she to you?” She asks, putting down her now empty glass back on the table, but Michael doesn’t respond. “Michael?” He looks back up at her, “What was she to you?”

Michael shrugs while smoothly cleaning to sweat on his forehead.

“We were just friends”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Gina” Michael says before scoffing and taking another sip of his freezing cold whiskey.

There is a silence between the two as your face showed up in Gina’s mind.

“She didn’t seem to like me” Gina says before grabbing her fork and knife once more.

“Yeah, I know” Michael says, deep in thought.

As Gina’s attention changed back to her meal, Michael’s stayed on the ground and in today’s events. You were surely different. Attitude was the most prominent change. You radiate confidence and power instead of love and admiration. You don’t look at him the same. It’s almost as if you truly despised him but at the same time didn’t care for his existence. And that, in some way, hurt him.

He never expected you to welcome him with open arms. He did what he did, and he doesn’t regret it. Not yet at least. What he did had to be done. Maybe this is just a big excuse, but he couldn’t concentrate when you were constantly worrying about him. You even made him worry about himself.

He loved you. Just like you loved him. He also doesn’t hate you now, while you… well, that can be discussed.

But the intriguing part of all of this is that even after this whole time of not talking, you still find a way to interest him, still make his gaze stick to you, make his heart speed up and make his mind occupied with old memories. And all of that when he’s standing right next to his soon-to-be-wife.

He is fucked.

- - - - -

Taglist: @ohhersheybars​ @woodland-mist​ @onlythechicagoway​ @soleil-dor​ @finn-shelbys-bulldog​ @oh-theres-a-woman​ @peakyxtommy​ @ms-reader​ @beautycinders​ @lovemissyhoneybee​ @graceedwards​ @jadesbabylon​ @marvelismylifffe​

If you want to be a part of this tag list comment on this post, or dm me.

🌸✨Sorry, but I’m not writing in this account anymore. Go check out my new one @twinklelilstarkey ✨🌸

[michibikionmain]

Five Feet Apart

As much as I love Technoblade and Connor, they REALLY could not read the scene that was happening between Tommy and Tubbo and lowkey ruined it for me, so I’m rewriting it a bit to be more... emotional. Y’know, with less weird interruptions and what not. Might post on Ao3 but just figured I’d share here.

Spoilers for Dream SMP Exile arc and Tommy/Techno’s most recent plot streams from 12/27/2020

Slight trigger warning for mentions of suicide, panic attacks, and the other themes that have been occuring in this mess of an arc. Not sure what parts exactly could be/are triggering so I’m just gonna say the content level is about the same as the topics of Tommy’s exile arc. If anything from that storyline makes you uncomfy, this is not the story for you.

Tommy really should’ve been expecting this since the first time he and Technoblade snuck into L’manburg. He’d pointed out something along the lines of it to him, sharing fears of getting caught by any citizens of the nation he’d once helped established. Somehow, his mind never explored the possibility of this particular citizen finding him.

Quite Possibly the worst citizen that could’ve found him really.

Hearing the quiet, ever-familiar voice call out his name, like a whisper of a ghost more than a person, Tommy froze in place, causing the piglin man and their hostage to stop and look behind at him.

“What is it? C’mon Tommy, we’re runnin’ outta potions, we gotta keep movin’ if we wanna make it outta Manburg--” Technoblade began, used to the usually inattentive nature of his new companion. He’d prepared to chastise him for moving slowly or trying to start another ridiculous plan in the middle of their latest struggle, sighing as he adjusted his cape. Just like Tommy, however, he seemed to have not anticipated seeing the short, blonde man who stared at them with wide eyes.

Tubbo.

Once Tommy’s best friend, now turned president of L’manburg, Tubbo had hardly changed since Tommy had last seen him and even less since Techno had seen him as they attempted to execute him, but there was a more solemn energy about him. His shoulders were more stiff, his eyes a bit darker. The once bright and cheerful child had lost some of his sweet spark, looking torn between relief and disbelief as he stared at the two men who’d been banned from his country trying to sneak out a hostage.

“T-Tommy? I-is it really you? Surely not... s-surely... surely not. You’ve got to be like Ghostbur, aren’t you?” He stammered out quietly, tears threatening to spill out of the corner of his eyes as he clenched his fists. The president’s breathing started becoming uneven as he sniffled, staring at what... what had to be the ghost of his closest friend. He’d seen the tower himself, after all. And the shape of Logstedshire... Tommy couldn’t have survived whatever had happened there, and while a small part of him clung to the naïve and childish hope that his best friend was still alive somehow, even if he was working with the man Tubbo hated and feared more than anyone else on the server.

Tommy stared back, but instead of relief, there was a sense of betrayal, exhaustion, hurt... anger. A small bit of the colorful teen was happy to see that Tubbo was doing well, not that Tommy expected anything bad to have happened to him. Maybe that would’ve made it easier to swallow the fact that he hadn’t visited Tommy at all. He could chalk it up to injury, or sickness, but he was just... Tubbo. His Tubbo, no, not his anymore. He squeezed the compass in his pocket tightly, biting his lip as he stared forward with unfocused eyes. “Like hell I’mma ghostbur bitch,” He managed to mutter out through gritted teeth, “I’m real. TommyInnit, the biggest man on the planet. Could a ghost have muscles as big and real as mine?” Tommy comfortably slipped into his overconfident persona, determined not to show how scared and upset he was now, though Technoblade could still see how his hands shaked at his side.

“N-no, but... Tommy you... Dream said you were, when I visited you were-” Tubbo began to ramble off as he rushed forwards, the pure joy and relief of knowing Tommy, his Tommy, was still alive overtaking his previous anger and panic as he went to try and pull the man into a hug.

“You didn’t visit me. Not once,” Tommy said quietly and curtly, as he stepped out of the way of the attempted hug, “Dream was-- You never came. I waited for you, Tubbo, I stared at the stupid fuckin’ compass that you didn’t even keep for hours hopin’ you’d come, but you... you fucking left me. You fucking exiled me and left,” He began to rattle on, something about seeing Tubbo so glad to see him leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Tommy squeezed the compass tighter, trying to keep tears out of his own eyes now.

“B-but I did! I did visit! But I wasn’t invited to the party, I thought.. I thought you were mad at me, Dream made it sound like you were so I- I-i waited until I couldn’t! And when I got there you... Tommy, it looked like you DIED!” Tubbo began to sob back, allowing the tears to flow out of his eyes. What was Tommy talking about? Was he still mad at Tubbo? Tubbo would apologize a hundred times over if it would make his friend less angry, anything to bring him back. “W-we had a funeral planned and everything! The craters, the pillar... I thought you’d... done you-know-what!” He continues to sob out his frustrations.

“But you were invited! Ghostbur invited you personally! Every bitch on this fucking server was invited! But no one showed up! You left me because you don’t really care about me, do you? You even threw away the compass-- Oh? Didya think I didn’t hear about that? How you fuckin’ burned it?” Tommy snapped back, pulling out his own compass and holding it out with a death grip as if to emphasize his point.

“I-I didn’t... Tommy, please I didn’t-” With clumsy, shaking hands Tubbo pulled his own pocket, though the glass was heavily cracked and pieces of metal were dented, “I-it was an accident-- A-a creeper came and-”

Technoblade stood silently, watching the pair stare at each other and cry. They needed to be at the meeting place by now for their hostage exchange, in order to get Techno’s tools back, but the thought of interrupting the two friends in a moment like that made the constant anxiety bubbling under his skin only get worse, the voices in his head shouting all sorts of things as he cleared his throat and looked back at the hostage, who seemed to be sharing in his anxiety in this situation. The piglin cleared his throat, perhaps a bit to loudly than the moment called for as both of previously distracted boys turn to look at him.

“Uh... are we completing this hostage trade or not?” He says uncomfortably, shifting on his feet as Tubbo sniffled, wiping his face with his sleeves while Tommy kept his eyes fixed on the president. “Your emotional baggage is cool and all but y’know... we got things to do today Tommy... we’re kinda wanted, y’know-” Techno pointed out as he fiddled with the end of the lead attached to their hostage, who nodded.

“Uh, yeah! Please, I’d really like to be let go! I don’t wanna be here anymore, man! I don’t even live in this country...” Connor, the hostage, expressed with a sense of panic. Their words seemed to snap Tommy out of his anger for a minute, as he pushed Tubbo further away and walked to stand by Technoblade. 

With a sigh, he shoved the compass back into his pocket and wiped his face, not bearing to look at the president anymore as he took the lead from Techno. “Yeah, whatever bitch. Let’s get your fuckin’ show on the road...” Tommy muttered defeatedly. He felt Tubbo’s eyes burning into his skull, clearly more words to be said, but one thing was clear.

They had jobs to do now, living in two different worlds. What remained of their friendship was gone for now as they got to work.

Tommy and Tubbo, the once clingy duo, now stood five feet apart as they used empty words to discuss the terms of the trade.

[nonobadcat]

Warning: Yandere/HIGHLY sexually and mentally abusive relationship. Absolutely not for minors.

Read the whole story on Archive of Our Own

Previously in chapter 17: 

A voice that barely sounded like yours finally said: “You’re... a hero, aren’t you?”

Shimura-san gave an embarrassed laugh. “Yeah… Guess I should leave work at home when I’m on vacation, huh?”

Your brain was in overdrive, running the mental calculations. The longer you talked, the higher the risk that she would find out about your situation. If she found out, All For One would slaughter her. She would try to help you and she would fail and he would laugh as he ripped her into little tiny pieces. No matter how much smiling she did, Shimura couldn’t save you from your personal hell.

...but you could save her from him if you walked away NOW and never told her what was happening to you.

Chapter 23 excerpt:

All Might watched his mentor pace back and forth outside the principal's office. As she chewed her thumb to blood, he got the distinct impression that the gates of hell had been pried open. Her hot tea sat luke warm on the table, the cup still untouched. Gran Torino, her friend, was watching the flighty movements of the pro-hero as she paced like a caged animal.

“Nana,” he growled in his low, whiskey voice. “You’re scaring the kid.”

She jumped at the words. Her startled eyes looking up at her friend’s face as if she was seeing him through a haze. She turned away, brown eyes both as guilty as they were exhausted.

The float hero grasped her face and fixed the two of them with a pale comparison of her never-ending smile. “Sorry, Toshinori.”

Toshinori’s eyes were wide. He waved his hands dismissively. “It’s not a problem! You didn’t look like you were sleeping well on the train. It really worried me.”

Shimura blinked and then snorted in cold laughter, the lines in her brow relaxing. “I’ve been having nightmares every time I go to sleep,” she explained, running her hand through her hair. "They finally stopped this morning." She walking to the nearby window and placed her hand against the cold glass. The city below seemed painfully peaceful. To her, it was like watching a singing bird being stalked by a hungry cat. “Nightmares so vivid that they might just be memories."

“Everyone has those sometimes?” Toshinori offered. His voice wavered.

"Not like this," Shimura replied, shaking her head. The smile on her face was tinged with regret. "That's why I have to know." Her fist clenched. "Because if I left her there with him. If I didn't pick up on how much pain she was in…" She lifted her hand to her head and smoothed her bangs back. Her eyes shone with moisture and her smile trembled. "What kind of useless hero am I?!" She smacked her hand against the window frame. "She had bruises and I just-"

At that moment the door to the office opened and into the room stepped a mousey, black-haired boy with a buzz cut, a grey blazer and forest green slacks. He gulped as his eyes darted around the room. His shaking hands adjusting his tie. Behind him stood a white rat in a black suit.

"Hello everyone!" The rat called in a cheerful, upbeat voice. He raised a flat palm to those in the room. "Sorry to keep you waiting! I had to go pick-up him up from his work study. I felt it best that we have this discussion where prying ears wouldn't hear." The rat smiled at the teenager beside him. "Go ahead, introduce yourself."

"I-i'm Abe Hideki from class 3-B. My hero name is Mental," the boy stammered. His eyes darted from person to person as he tried to meet everyone's gaze. "It's good to meet you." He threw himself into a formal bow.

Toshinori enthusiastically returned the bow to his senpai. Gran Torino just scoffed and sipped his tea. Shimura's smile became less worried and more motherly at the sight.

"Mental," the principal of the school addressed the boy by his professional title. "You'll be graduating in a month. You're a prohero side kick now. No reason to be so flustered."

"YES, SIR!" The boy clasped his hands to his sides and yelled with an eagerness that was more nervous excitement than pride.

"So… Shimura-san, you said you believe there has been a kidnapping in Niigata but all evidence of it was erased?" Principle Nezu stated.

Toshinori and Hideki exchanged panicked expressions. Was that even possible?

Nana crossed her arms and nodded. "It would have been a woman in her mid to late thirties. She grew up on the ocean and yet she nearly drowned this summer. A man saved her, but shortly after all traces of her vanished from the official record. I believe the man that "saved" her was responsible and yet…" She grit her teeth. "I can't find anything about it. It's like she's a living ghost."

Read the rest of this chapter on: Archive of Our Own

[darlingpetao3]

Harry F***s (Harry Wells x Reader)

Rating: M (Smut)

Summary: Cisco and Harry are having one of their famous bickering sessions again. The topic of their argument? Harry claims to be a certain way with you in the bedroom while Cisco calls BS. You set the record straight, but Harry has a point to prove.

A/N: This is a funny, smutty fic-gift for @hwells-ho-train​, who has kicked my writing motivation into high gear. The idea was based on that infamous scene in the Season 4 bloopers, of which we had previously discussed. For purely scientific reasons, naturally XD Plus a big shout-out and thanks to @multiwells​ for being a test reader for me. Please enjoy, everyone!

Tag List: @fandomdancer​ @bluesclues-1234​

Gif made by irishfino, who has done a great service by making this (x)

Surprise, surprise - Cisco and Harry are having one of their famous bickering sessions again. Whatever the topic is today, it must be serious - you’ve not heard them this adamant in their arguing. Turning the corner into the Workshop, you walk right into the heat of battle.

“You do not,” Cisco insists with what appears to be an amused smile on his face.

“I do,” Harry growls. Your boyfriend is probably going to have some severe frown lines after today, wowzers.

“I highly doubt that.”

“It’s. The. Truth.”

“What’s the truth, Harry?” you interrupt, noticing how quiet the room has suddenly become at your appearance. Harry has turned completely silent. His face is tinged red, and there’s the angry neck vein you and the rest of the Team are familiar with. Cisco, on the other hand, dons an evil smirk, seeming pleased that you’ve arrived. The younger man slowly turns to Harry.

“Don’t,” Harry says through gritted teeth.

“Well,” Cisco begins to explain, “it’s a long story of how we got onto the topic, but I’ll bypass all of that.” The engineer waves a dismissive hand. “What it boils down to is your boyfriend here claims that he... ‘fucks.’”

Okay, you’re quite sure you didn’t hear that correctly. You stick a finger in your ear to signify this.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Ramon,” Harry seethes.

“Yeah, this guy claims that he fucks!” Cisco carries on as if he’s feeding off of Harry’s anger. “And yeah, I’ll say it: I don’t believe it one bit. But hey! We have walking, talking testimony right here! You can settle this for us once and for all.”

“Firstly, I don’t see how this is any of your business, Cisco,” you point out. Harry looks like he wants to drop dead but is trying his damndest to hide it.

“And secondly?” Cisco prompts.

“I mean, Hare,” you sigh. You always want to be in his corner, but… “I wouldn’t exactly call what you do,” your voice drops to a whisper, “‘fucking.’ I’d call it more… ‘making love.’”

Cisco’s eyebrows shoot up as if he’s won this twisted victory. “Well, isn’t. That. Just. Sweet. Thank you for settling this for us, (Y/N).”

Harry looks like he wants to protest what you’ve just confirmed, but can’t say anything against your word. Mostly because he knows it’s the cold hard truth. Harry is, at heart, a gentle lover, and has only ever proved as much since you’ve been together. You know that he hasn’t had a certain level of intimacy in a very long time. He takes his time and savours each moment. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and yet, here he is, spluttering nonsensical noises and staring up at the concrete ceiling for help.

“I’ll leave you two precious things alone,” Cisco gives a little wave. “I got a hot date.”

“Yeah, in Hell,” Harry retorts. The younger man blows a taunting kiss at both of you. The moment he leaves, your boyfriend whips his head to you with the wildest eyes.

“How could you say that in front of him?” he nearly shouts. “Do you know that I’ll never hear the end of it now?”

You scoff. He can’t be serious.

“Oh, what? Your male pride has been shot because you don’t, and I quote, ‘fuck’?” Now you’re getting pissed off. How dare he be mad at you at something so ridiculous? “Grow up, Harrison.”

His chest rises and falls under his black T-shirt. You probably shouldn’t taunt the bear, but honestly, sometimes he just needs to hear the truth.

“You don’t think I can, do you?” he asks you as he takes slow steps in your direction.

You frown. “Can, what…?”

He lifts that damn eyebrow at you as if to mean, you know.

Is he really doing this? Is this really happening? Harry is encroaching on your space with every step, stopping at last when he reaches you at one of the worktops. You lean back while he does forward and downward until he’s boxed you in with his hands on either side of you on the desk. You lick your lips unconsciously. Harry smiles.

“You’re about to prove a point, aren’t you?” you ask with what little air you have in your lungs. Harry responds by placing his hand fall to your thigh and letting it roam up your skin under your skirt.

“You better believe it.”

The idea alone is enough to drive you mad with need, but one small problem makes you speak up, potentially setting up Harry’s plan for failure.

“Harry, this room doesn’t have a door…”

“Fine with me. Then they’ll all have proof that I do, indeed, fuck.”

The second the curse leaves his lips - which you can’t take your eyes off of to save your life - you know you’re diving headfirst into both a new world of risk and one hell of a ride.

His fingers venture past your panties, to discover just how excited you’re getting at the prospect of a little bit more roughness from Harry. And maybe it won’t even be a little bit… He makes a small, pleased sound as he feels you, while your hand reaches up to rest on his bicep peeking out from his T-shirt. It’s already as if it’s too much stimuli for your brain - his touch, his body, what’s to come, who’s to come. How are you make it through this?

Good Lord, now he’s peppering kisses under your ear. Does he want to kill you? Your very own Master of Foreplay executes the deadly combo of earlobe nibbling plus swirling his thumb around your clit. Your body shivers on its own accord, and you know he felt it too.

“So, uh…” you try to form those things known as ‘words.’ “When does this aforementioned... ‘fucking’ take place? Not that I’m not happy with what you’re-” You let out a whimper at another one of those effective combos and clutch his arm tighter. “-doing now.”

Harry’s eyes glint in the light as if you’ve given the official okay to get down to business. He brings his lips around to yours and let them ghost yours, curling up in a smirk. Harry is planning something. No, he already has one. He always has something planned.

You feel it before you know what’s happened - the thin fabric against your skin being ripped off your body by his strong, large hand.

You gasp, and Harry tosses your now unwearable panties without looking (and with everyone’s luck, they’ll have landed on Cisco’s workspace). He is an animal, your gentle lover no more.

And you are so ready.

Harry has to know this, has to see this in your eyes, because he reaches down to unbuckle and unzip, which feels like it’s the longest task on the face of Earth-Prime. His very hard and visible desire begs to be unleashed and sheathed where it belongs. It begs to prove a point. It begs to make you feel incredible.

He hikes up your skirt (there really is nothing like the desperate ruffling of this article of clothing) and you’re sure to open your legs for him to move closer. He presses against you, so ready to take you right here, but no matter how much he wants to, he awaits your next go-ahead.

You pull him down by clutching his shirt in your fist. “Prove your point, Harrison.”

Harry curls his lip, and the feeling of him entering you makes you scramble to clutch onto him for dear life. You whine in his ear and let your legs wrap around his waist. He doesn’t start out slow either, as he usually does, but instead finds right away a steady rhythm. Your eyes wander down to watch him thrust inside you.

“You like to watch, don’t you?” Harry says. Holy God, is he talking dirty to you right now?

Feeling the tightness coiling low in your belly, you nod.

“Well, I like watching you,” he continues. Your eyes flick up to see the truth in his. As if switching gears in this stick shift ride, Harry gives a particularly hard thrust into you to signal a slightly rougher and faster speed. Your mouth is open and sucking in the air you so desperately need.

“Harry… fuck…” you fight for your words to be heard.

The man lowers you so that your back is flush against the desktop, his palm flat near the side of your head. He hovers over you, grinning like he’s already won.

You make it your life’s mission to meet his every thrust. Harry growls at your eagerness, his inner animal making itself extremely well-known now. You know you’ll feel where he’s digging his fingers into your skin tomorrow if not later tonight. Eventually, his hips start to move in forward unbridled motions while your back is already arching off the desk and crying his name over and over and over until you’ve both finished.

The entire Workshop is filled with the sound of you both trying to catch your respective breaths. After a moment of revelling, Harry readjusts himself back into his pants as you sit up on the desk. Harry turns to you, cups your face with his hands, and kisses you properly.

As if you weren’t feeling dizzy enough, that kiss nearly knocks you back down. When is one supposed to breathe when this man keeps taking your breath away?

“So...?” he says.

You can’t help but laugh. “You want a gold medal or something, don’t you?”

“Confirmation at the very least would be sufficient.”

“Harrison Wells, you are not only a gentle and thorough lover, but I can officially confirm that you also fuck like nobody’s business. A plus. Five stars. Hot.”

This will for sure go to his head if it hasn’t already. Oh, look, another smug grin.

“You’re damn right I fuck.”

“Do you need me to tell Cisco for you, too, honey?”

Harry pulls you close for another smiley kiss. “Nah. I’m satisfied.”

“Make that two of us.”

[skinsharpenedteeth]

Do you believe in ghosts?

Just a quick little ditty based off the prompt: Does your character believe in ghosts? Have they ever seen one?

A/N: I’ve been writing a lot of smut lately so I’m taking a fluffy palette cleanser. Sweet stuff ahead. TW: Mentions of abuse

                “Do you believe in ghosts?” Alex asked into the crisp darkness of the desert as he stared straight up at the stars. The sky was glorious that night, bright in the way only a clear night sky can be, still and silent in the way only winter could be with things too smart to brave the cold staying in and sleeping until the sun could warm the earth for them. Alex wasn’t smart and didn’t feel particularly brave. He hadn’t told Guerin, but the biting cold of the truck bed was acting as an ice pack for his back which he wouldn’t be surprised to see bruises mottling tomorrow morning. He turned his head as the silence stretched on and looked over at Michael laying beside him. His eyes were closed and he might’ve been sleeping.

              “Guerin,” Alex said his name a little sharply. Michael opened his eyes and turned to look at him, expression serious and solemn. He seemed to be considering the question before speaking.

              “I don’t know. It’s hard to discount it as fantasy the way you do with vampires or werewolves. We know there’s more to this universe than just humans and amoebas out in space somewhere, but ghosts? Ghosts seem like they could be a thing,” Michael answered finally. He shifted onto his side and pulled the blanket that was covering them both higher onto Alex’s chest. They were both fully clothed with double layers, jackets, and warm knit caps for their late-night desert date, but it was still January and the blankets were a welcome addition. Alex stayed on his back, not relishing the stiffness he’d have to fight when it was time to move later. “What about you, love?”

              Alex sighed and turned his eyes back to the sky. He let a small smile tug at his lips as he felt Michael’s warm hand find his under the blankets before pulling it up to hold it against his chest while he waited on Alex to speak. Neither of them had remembered gloves and the cold made their fingers ache and stiffen if they didn’t keep them relatively warm.

              “I want to believe there’s something… science says the energy and heat of our body just dissipates or transfers to other living things… I don’t know if I can accept that completely, but sometimes I want to…” Alex spoke to Guerin as much to himself. He'd been considering what it would be like to not exist a lot recently. He’d wondered if his heat would dissipate, his lifeforce fade into particles meant for other living things, or if he had enough spite in him to hold those parts together and haunt the living.

“Have you ever seen a ghost?” Michael asked and Alex could see him still watching him from the corner of his eye.

“After my mom left. I woke up one night and went to the bathroom and on the way back I thought I saw something in the hallway. It didn’t last long and I could’ve still been asleep, I was only 8, but for a moment I was convinced it was my mom’s ghost. I ran to my brother Greg’s room crying and he let me sleep with him and told me we’d call mom the next morning to make sure she was okay. Turns out she was fine. I have no clue what I saw that night, who that ghost might’ve been, but it wasn’t my mom…it just… it felt like family for some reason,” Alex said the last part quietly, embarrassed and sure Guerin was going to tell him how stupid he was. He wiped at his nose absentmindedly with his free hand and was shocked at how cold his septum ring felt against his skin. Michael stayed silent and when Alex dared to sneak a look at him, he saw that his eyes were distant and his focus internal.

“Hey,” Alex said, pulling his hand free from Michael’s so he could cup his cheek and bring his attention back up to the present. He hated when Michael got too deep in thought like that. It felt like he was losing him. Michael’s eyes immediately darted up to meet his at the first warm touch of his palm against Michael’s cold cheek. He smiled and turned his head, kissing the base of Alex’s thumb with cold lips.

“Sorry. I got lost in my head,” Michael admitted quietly, his smile turning shy as he kept eye contact with Alex. Alex started to shift to turn on his side and hissed quietly as his muscles pulled, reminding him that his night had started with a forceful discussion about house rules and personal conduct. He pushed through it, gritting his teeth and completing the turn onto his side so he could mirror Michael’s body with his own. Michael’s hand slipped under the cover and found it’s way under his shirt to his waist, making goosepimples erupt all over Alex’s skin.

“Ass,” he teased as Michael scooted his body closer to his and wedged his knee between Alex’s. His body warmth was welcome and Alex felt the sigh of contentment roll out of his lungs the second he was cocooned between Michael and the blanket. Michael’s thumb pet the dip of his waist absentmindedly as Alex got through a round of shivers that had been brought on by the change in position, exposing previously warmed spots to the cold fingers of the night air. To distract himself, he pushed his own hands under Michael’s shirt and grinned maliciously as he heard Michael grunt and felt his muscles contract almost violently against his frozen fingers. “That’s what you get for being an ass. Fair’s fair.”

“I guess,” Michael conceded through clenched teeth, but he didn’t push Alex’s hands away. He let them move over his stomach and chest from warm spot to warm spot, jumping only a little when Alex found the places where he was more sensitive to any touch, not just cold, searching fingers.

“So what about you?” Alex asked once he’d found a place to rest his hands on Michael’s stomach. Michael’s muscles quivered under his, but he unclenched long enough to try and answer Alex’s question.

“Me what?” Michael asked a little breathless, a huff of fogged air billowing between them. Alex smiled up at him, pleased that he was letting himself be uncomfortable to warm Alex’s hands. It was so sweet it made Alex’s chest feel tight.

“Have you ever seen a ghost?” Alex asked, wrapping one of his marginally warmer hands around Michael’s back to draw him closer. Michael scooted until there was barely an inch between their bodies and took his hand off Alex’s waist to grab the blanket and pull it over their shoulders. He huddled down as close to Alex as he could be until their mingling breath made Alex’s skin feel warm and damp.

“I have never seen a ghost, but I’ve seen enough demons to last a lifetime,” Michael finally replied, tone light and joking. Alex knew it wasn’t all a joke, however. He’d seen the cross shaped scars on Michael’s forearms and then small cigarette burns that littered his back and shoulders. Before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the hollow of Michael’s throat. He let his mouth stay there, trying to push through his skin onto Michael’s how much he understood what growing up had stolen from him before he pulled away. Michael found a way to worm both of his arms around Alex’s shoulders and he held him closer, letting him keep his face pressed against Michael’s skin and wrapping him in the warmth from their bodies. “We should go ghost hunting someday, just to see if we find anything.”

“Yeah, maybe after high school?” Alex suggested, raising his voice a little to be heard through all the fabric surrounding him.

“Yeah, when it’s warm,” Michael agreed easily. Alex smiled against him and hummed his agreement to the plan. They laid out there for another hour before they became too cold for even Guerin’s unnaturally warm temperature to keep them both from shivering. Alex looked out across the empty, dark desert before Michael turned on the headlights and ruined their night vision. It was so quiet and alien when it was this dark and still, he imagined briefly that they were on an alien planet somewhere, just the two of them. Then he wondered if aliens had ghosts or if the idea of ghosts even ever crossed their minds…