#coming soon to a holmes near you

[finalproblem]

Doyle came to hate Holmes and killed him off in print only to be forced to revive him upon public demand. In documentary series “Killing Sherlock: Lucy Worsley on the Case of Conan Doyle” (3 x 60′), historian Lucy Worsley investigates the love-hate relationship in a parallel biography of Holmes and the man who created him.

To accompany the series, “Sherlock” creator Mark Gatiss, who has a tradition of adapting ghost stories for the BBC for Christmas, has adapted Doyle’s short story “Lot No. 249” (1 x 30’), starring Kit Harington and Freddie Fox. It revolves around a group of Oxford students, one of whom undertakes research into the secrets of ancient Egypt which become the talk of the college.

[fandomtrumpshate]

Anyone interested in some numbers?

Signups have been open for roughly 29 hours. In that time, 223 creators have signed up to offer 312 auctions in 88 listed fandoms, and 76 write-in fandoms.

And? 42 creators are willing to work in ANY fandom!

Our creators are once again tending to leave the choice for where to donate up to their bidders. Among those who selected specific nonprofits to support, the top spots went to:

77 Middle East Children's Alliance 65 Sherlock's Homes Foundation 54 Never Again Action 51 In Our Own Voice 49 National Network to End Domestic Violence 48 Civil Rights Education and Enforcement Center

We so far have 34 offers for fan labor, including 6 folks offering translation (in various combinations of English/French/German/Spanish/Vietnamese, and limited help in Russian)

Top of the rankings for listed fandoms:

41 K-Pop * 28 Good Omens 22 Red, White, & Royal Blue 18 Sherlock Holmes * 16 Marvel *

And over in the unlisted fandoms? The leaderboard looks like this …

5 Yu Yu Hakusho 3 Ace Attorney 3 Bungou Stray Dogs 3 Dragon Ball 3 For All Mankind 3 Realm of the Elderlings - Robin Hobb 3 The Goblin Emperor Series - Katherine Addison

... so far.

Stay tuned for a more in-depth dive into the listed and unlisted fandoms in a post coming soon to a screen near you!

And jsyk, I've had to revise this post 3 times during the drafting as new signups come in. It's a good problem to have :)

Signups are OPEN!

[helloliriels]

There had never been anyone before.

None who stayed.

Sherlock's mind was racing, despite his best intentions to keep it together today. The wedding.

John's suit fit like a glove. Tailored to perfection. Sherlock had made certain of that.

The corsage was of a green carnation, and a soft pink rose bud.

Soft. Suble. Unobtrusive,

And spoke volumes.

Sherlock felt the tears coming to his eyes, and told himself to breathe. Just breathe ... still he could feel his courage slipping, as he began to hyperventilate ...

Then he felt the firm hand Mycroft placed on his shoulder like a steadying rock.

He could get through this.

Eyes closed ... he thought of the relationships of his past ... "friends" who had one by one moved on to calling him "freak"

And wondered ... would John have stayed?

"Brother dear ... open your eyes ..."

Mycroft's voice invited him softly, breaking his fearful torrent of thoughts, "... your husband is waiting?"

Sherlock took a deep breath,

Opened his eyes

And saw him ...

John Watson.

Here. Ready. Willing. Having accepted Sherlock's proposal upon his return from the dead. It was reality? He wasn't dreaming?

Sherlock had lied to John. Hurt him. Cut him more deeply than any man should ever wound a friend, let alone ... a lover ... and still John said 'Yes' ...?

As Sherlock held out his hand, and John took it ... he knew.

Yes. He would have stayed.

He did stay.

And now Sherlock would to. Until death parted them. And only then.

"Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband ... to have ... and to hold..." John squeezed his hand and smiled up at him, reassuring and oh, so real ... "... til death do you part?" The minister asked.

Sherlock felt something unfurl in his heart. Something that felt like hope. The hope now reflected in John Watson's deep blue eyes ...

"You know I do, John," he whispered to his soon-to-be-husband. The thought made him shiver with anticipation ...

The minister carried on ... "... and do you John Hamish Watson, take this ..."

"Handsome? Brilliant? Oh, so charming man ...?" John was whispering over the ministers scripted words to Sherlock's wonder. Neither could take their eyes off each other.

At last they felt the minister pause with his question aired?

"Oh God, yes," John nearly giggled replying. His would-be-husband blushing in response.

"You may now kiss-"

They crashed together. Their kiss was all but chaste, and only broken by Mycroft’s tap to Sherlock's foot, and a gruff clearing of his throat.

Sherlock stole the ministers next role, proudly puffing his chest as he announced loudly to the small assembly:

"I am both astonished and humbled to have the pleasure of introducing you to ... Mr. John Hamish Holmes," Sherlock paused, holding the weight of those words, "and the luckiest man on earth-"

"- and also the cleverest" John interjected. Sherlock grinned from ear to ear, "Mr. Sherlock William Scott Watson."

At that John laughed heartily, the crowd cheered; Mrs. Hudson cried.

Sherlock snuck another kiss near John's ear, whispering "you know you do that out loud?"

"You could always stop me like this?" John teased, pulling Sherlock down for another good snog.

Lestrade shouted impishly at their antics, "Oi! Get a room you two!!"

"Already booked!" Sherlock countered ... as John took his hand and raced down the aisle with him.

The start of a new adventure.

@johnlocky @chinike @fluffbyday-smutbynight @rhasima @chriscalledmesweetie @totallysilvergirl @whatnext2020 @safedistancefrombeingsmart @masterofhounds @mrb488 @purplevatican @gregorovitch-adler @gaylilsherlock @lisbeth-kk @sarahthecoat @calaisreno @raina-at @kettykika78 @khorazir @dragonnan @wizama @ninasnakie @egregiously-chuffed @impalaparkedat221b @marta-bee @sgam76 @janetm74

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 11

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

“You're back.” I pointed out the obvious with a warm smile. I was genuinely ecstatic to see him so soon. I just hoped he wouldn’t get the wrong idea about me being in his billiards room.

“I've got some, uh, good news and some terrible news.” He walked slowly in my direction in dramatic fashion. When he approached where I stood he ran his fingers through the hair that fell near my face and maintained the slightest smirk.

“I guess you're supposed to ask for the bad news first, right.” I was just relieved he hadn't asked what I was doing downstairs.

“The bad news is that school got shut down again on my ride in.” He hesitated, looking down and then back up at me. “Body of a another woman was found not far from the first one on campus.”

“What?” I felt my face grow hot and my stomach sank. I hadn’t realized I placed my hand on my cheek until Dr. Miller put a hand over mine. When our fingers entwined I squeezed his hand.

“Were there any details? Is this a serial killer?” I felt a lump form in my throat.

“Nah. You have to knock off a couple more to get that title.” He grew slightly more serious. “But, honestly, I don't think you should be alone - anywhere right now.”

I nodded in agreement. “ Okay.” I let out a deep breath. “What's the good news?”

He smiled and began stripping the tie from his shirt. “I got to come home.. to you.”

I knew I was glowing. There was no sense in trying to hide it. I wasn't embarrassed or coy.

Dr. Miller's kisses would never get old. When he leaned down to touch his lips to mine, I melted into him with closed eyes and a thirst for his touch.

“Let me make you breakfast,” he whispered against my lips before pulling back a few inches.

“I should be making you breakfast.”

He tapped under my chin with his first two fingers. “What kind of host would I be if I allowed that.” Our lips met another time and he wandered around the island while offering me a seat facing a flat top stove.

Dr. Miller removed a pan from a lower cabinet and set it on the island. “After breakfast I'll take you down to check out another floor of the house.”

I swallowed hard and felt my body tense. The blueprint in the H.H. Holmes book immediately came to mind. I got a chill wondering what the maze portion of the house plans were. Without allowing my active imagination to run amuck, I simply nodded in agreement and smiled.

“Okay.”

Did he see me checking out his bookshelf? He has cameras doesn't he? He must have seen me with the blueprint.

Dr. Miller leaned across the way as far as he could. I met him halfway and pecked his lips before he whispered again. “I think you're going to like it.”

…

“Is there anything you can't do?” I asked, wiping the corner of my mouth with a napkin. “This might be the best French toast I've ever had.”

Dr. Miller sat beside me at the oversized kitchen island, smirking as he sipped on his coffee. He turned his body, slightly to face mine.. “My mother has all the best cooking secrets. I thankfully inherited them.”

Despite feeling full, I swirled the last bite around a pool of syrup on the plate and forked the final piece into my mouth.

“You should stay here,” Dr. Miller said, taking the conversation to a one-eighty, drawing my gaze back to his eyes. “Until all this blows over.”

“All what?”

“The murders.”

I felt guilty for letting that colossal event all but slip from my mind. “Oh, yeah.” I shook my head.

“You don't have to, but I would feel better knowing you're here than in a house with no alarm system that anyone could get into if they wanted to.” His eyes could have turned me to stone. They appeared as if they could quite literally pierce my mind and see what was going on inside of my head.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” I wanted to stay. “I’d love to stay.” I smiled, “I feel safe when I'm with you.”

Dr. Miller gave a nod and eyed the floor for a second or two before staring back up. “If this is all too much, let me know. I'm working on not being so demanding.”

“I don't mind that.” I shook my head and continued to look him directly in the eye and rested a hand on his knee. “And it's not too much.”

Dr. Miller looked down and back up. He lifted my hand, squeezing my fingers before placing a single kiss across my knuckles. “Let me show you the lower level.”

“Okay.” I pulled him in for a kiss. I simply couldn't help it. “Mmm.. you taste like syrup.”

Dr. Miller chuckled, sending vibrations across my lips. He stepped down off the high chair and held a hand out to help me down.

“So, you’ll stay?” he asked.

I nodded, “I’d love to.”

“Do you want to take the stairs or the old elevator?” He turned with a smirk, knowing how impressive that must have sounded - not that he needed to do anything else to impress me. That ship had sailed.

“I'll have to go with the old elevator.”

“Come on.” The warmth from his palm as towed me by the hand made me sigh. It was all so new to feel like this and every little touch felt like fireworks, even the innocent ones.

We wandered down a short hallway past another closed door, and hidden in a little nook was the elevator. I would have never guessed that was what it was until Dr. Miller gave a tug on a lever on the wall.

There was some clunking around from behind the wall and then suddenly the noise stopped and he reached for a worn, silver handle by the floor, yanking a rectangular door upward like a garage bay.

I glanced inside the small dark space. In the center of it was a rope that I could tell acted like a pulley system. When I glanced back at Dr. Miller, he nodded toward the opening.

“Get in.”

“In there?” My eyebrows must have raised as high as my hairline.

“We can both fit.”

When I hesitated he winked at me and crouched down to make his way inside. I took a deep breath and followed him. We were only an inch apart; face-to-face. There wasn't much room to move.

“You okay?” Dr. Miller asked.

I nodded, looking down as the floor creaked beneath us. “Is this going to hold our weight?”

“We’ll find out.” He closed the door and pressed a red button on the wall, leaving us with a fiery red glow inside.

The old elevator thrusted me forward, making my body collide with his. He caught me and I looked up at him, partially anxious, partially content. I felt like my emotions were constantly tugging me in different directions.

“Relax.” Dr. Miller held me against him and I felt his chest heave in a deep breath. “We can take the stairs back up later if this bothers you.”

I closed my eyes, inhaling his scent in the darkness as the side of my face pressed against his chest. My anxiety dropped with the gentle stroking of his fingertips down the center of my back.

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

We descended to what felt like the center of the earth before the elevator came to a halt. I only separated myself from Dr. Miller in order to let him yank the door upward again. He then motioned with his arm toward the exit.

“After you.”

I let out a deep sigh and stepped out onto white, tiled floors. And then my eyes extended beyond the tiles onto the teal, blue water that sat still in an oversized swimming pool.

Well, this is not what I expected, I thought.

I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't this. This wasn't the maze from the blueprint, or some secret room. It was a lavish, indoor swimming pool.

My eyes traveled to a jacuzzi at the far end of the pool as well as a sauna and a clear, see-through shower side-by-side.

When Dr. Miller’s hand touched my shoulder I jumped, making him pull back almost immediately.

I huffed a laugh and put a hand over my chest. “I'm sorry,” I said to him. “The ride down got my heart rate up.”

“I know this is probably a lot.” He nodded. “I'm sorry.”

“Sorry?” I shook my head and looked around. “You've been so generous. My brain just hasn't caught up yet to all of this.” I motioned with my hand around the room and looked at him. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being.. such a good host.” I smiled. “For making me breakfast.. and taking care of me.”

“You can make it up to me by staying awhile.” He looked down and reached for my hand again.

“I can do that,” I said with a nod, adding, “No work until Monday.”

“And what are we going to do until then?” Dr. Miller's eyes squinted and he smirked when I giggled.

“This really is amazing,” I gushed as we walked beside the pool. “I feel stupid saying this but I feel like I'm in a movie.”

“I know you probably have questions,” he acknowledged, “Like how can I afford all of this.” Dr. Miller's eyes found mine.

“It’s none of my business.” I shook my head.

“I’ll explain,” Dr. Miller assured me, and then added, “One day.”

“Okay.” I nodded and managed a little smile, seeming to ease some of the tension that harbored in the muscles of his neck. It was enough for now. He unfastened the top few buttons of his shirt and his smile grew wider.

“Care for a swim?”

I wanted to, especially with Dr. Miller; but I had an embarrassing confession.

“Yes,” I told him and then eyed the body of water beside where we stood, “But I might have to stay in the low end.”

He chuckled and placed his hands on his hips, “Why’s that?”

“Because I.. I can’t really.. swim.”

Dr. Miller’s eyebrows raised, “You can’t swim?”

I shook my head. “Not really. I always used to just.. doggy paddle.. and then I’d kind of sink.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at my childish revelation, and I giggled right along side him. I gave a shrug and he looked me up and down. Dr. Miller began to undo the rest of his shirt until the center gave a view of his chest. Without warning he reached for the zipper on the gray hoodie he’d given me to wear and slowly let it run down past my breasts toward my belly button before it finally separated down at my hips.

I chewed my bottom lip and swallowed hard as tingles ignited through mg body. I hadn’t put on a bra and he gave an appreciative sigh as he drank in my figure, clearly at least a little surprised that I hadn’t put the undergarment back on. “I can show you how.”

“How to what?”

Dr. Miller pushed a laugh out of his nose and a smile crept on his face. “Swim.” He continued to undress.

“Do you have a bathing suit?” I immediately felt like it was such a stupid question, and my face reddened. He was undressing. Why the hell would I ever want him to put clothes on.

He laughed again, heartier this time as he purposely began to undo the belt on his work pants. “In about thirty seconds I intend for the two of us to take our clothes off, and then not put them back on until Monday morning.”

I opened my mouth to speak and then glanced down as he unzipped the fly of his pants. Coming from anyone else, the line wouldn’t have worked. I probably would have laughed, or thought it was funny to some degree. But, shit, I was way too enticed and attracted to Dr. Miller to even crack a smile - because I knew he was serious. And him being serious would continue to fulfill my ever growing fantasy.

I don’t know why I was suddenly shy. He wasn’t. An aching pulse began to thump between my legs when he freed his heavy, semi-erect cock from his pants. I couldn't look away. A second later Dr. Miller was stepping out of his shoes as his pants fell down to his ankles. He then peeled off his socks and slunk into the pool before resting his arms on the side, staring up at me.

“I promise I’ll go slow,” he teased, looking me in the eye, “We’ll start in the shallow end.”

My heart was racing and I took a deep breath before separating the zip up sweatshirt with my fingertips and letting it fall onto the tile floor beside Dr. Miller’s clothes.

“That’s my girl.”

His girl. I loved that already. I shoved my pants down and was suddenly thankful for the dim lighting as I attempted to confidently pace the length of the pool like a runway until I reached the little staircase that descended beneath the water. My heart was racing, moreso with each step. I wasn't at all confident enough to freely walk in my bare skin, especially in front of someone else.

When I reached the far edge of the pool, relief filtered over me. It was like a giant, soothing bath; perfect temperature without a hint of a chill. I let out a sigh as Dr. Miller made his way to me, pulling me into his arms. All anxiety drifted away. All I could focus on was his touch.

I linked my arms around the back of his neck and we kissed a long, deprived-of-each-other kiss as if we hadn’t been in each other’s company for months. He was addicting.

“My life is in your hands,” I whispered, smiling as I did.

“I won’t let you go,” he said quietly back.

Dr. Miller opened up his eyes and kept them open as he pecked my lips once more, before taking my hands and repositioning them so they were on his broad shoulders. I then felt his hands pushing up at my torso just below my breasts so my body was horizontal. He held me firmly in place and began to tread water, edging backwards deeper into the pool.

“Kick your feet,” he encouraged amidst a series of short, choppy breaths, still holding my body for support.

I did as he suggested and fully recognized when we had left the area where I could stand. I huffed a breath, feeling my anxiety climb again and he tried to put the fire out with more encouragement.

“I got you,” Dr. Miller promised again. “Just focus on me and keep kicking.”

“Don’t let me go,” I said, managing a nervous laugh.

“I won’t.” He breathed heavier, the deeper we went but never faltered. I never felt like he wouldn’t be able to keep me afloat.

“Let me know if you’re tired.”

“I’m okay.” Dr. Miller continued to tread backward and I was tempted to look over my shoulder to see how far we’d gotten, but I didn’t. From what I could see of the other side, we were getting close to halfway across the pool.

I breathed in and out, allowing him to lead me safely across. When the other end finally came within an arm’s reach, Dr. Miller planted his back against it and pulled me the rest of the way to him.

My body floated back down so we were both vertical and he placed a hand on my lower back so I pinned him against the side.

“That was a little bit of a rush,” I admitted with a deep breath and a chuckle.

Dr. Miller smiled back. “I’d rather be here teaching you how to swim than teaching the classes down at Woodbridge.” He let out a deep exhale and we kissed again. When he flipped us so my back rested against the side of the pool I giggled a little more freely.

“Well, you got your wish,” I told him, finding his lips again a second later. I felt his intensity heighten as he aggressively penetrated my lips with his tongue as his hand cupped the left side of my buttocks.

“Mmm..” he huffed a breath into my mouth and his eyes were still closed as he spoke, “You have no idea.”

I rested a hand on the side of his face. “Yes, I do.”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @amyispxnk @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @readingiskeepingmegoing

[make-me-imagine]

A New Years Kiss

Part One: A Christmas Rose

Plot: After an agonizing wait over the holidays, you finally get to see Sherlock again at the Tewksbury family New Years gathering. Will you find out if the rose was truly meant for you?

Pairing: Cavill!Sherlock Holmes x Gn!Reader

Words: 2.2k

A/n: In Victorian times they did not celebrate New Years as heavily as we do today. The rich families would often be the only ones to hold parties or they had "open houses". So this is based around that a bit. With a little modern New Years kiss theme thrown in.

-

As you stepped down from the carriage, your eyes ran over the Tewksbury's residence. You often forgot just how large it was.

People mingled outside, greeting each other before slowly making their way inside. Your heart beat was heavy as you took a deep breath and made your way towards the house.

Spotting Enola lingering outside, you approached her. As she spotted you, you saw her smile.

"Y/n, thank God, I was afraid I would have to go in alone."

"Isn't Tewksbury greeting you?"

She sighed "No, alas he is busy hosting, he has to greet everyone with his mother."

"Everyone? I do not envy him"

"No do I." She sighed as she looped her arm through yours. "Come, lets go inside."

As you began entering the house, your eyes cast over the crowd. You wondered if Sherlock was here yet. Was he still coming? It had been torture for you having to wait until this party to see him.

You had given in once, a few days prior and went to his apartment. But he was not there. So you had to wait. But you could not help but worry that he might not come tonight. How long would you have to wait to see him then?

What if he did not leave the rose after all, and your anxious waiting meant nothing?

Shushing your own thoughts you looked over at Enola. "Is it true your brother is coming?"

She nodded "Oh yes, apparently he has a very important reason to be here, though he wont tell me what that is exactly. I can't help but think it is about a case he is working on. He is here somewhere." She glanced over at you "He asked if you would be coming as well."

You tried to hide any emotion you might be feeling "Did he?"

You saw something akin to curiosity cross her face, but it quickly faded when she spotted Tewksbury motioning for her to come over to him.

Looking over at you, you nodded "Go ahead. I'll be around."

Smiling, she darted off to go to his side, and you smiled at them. They made a cute couple. Looking around, your heart began beating a bit faster as you wondered where Sherlock was. You wanted to look for him, but feared you might be getting in his way if he was really here working on a case.

Saying hello to a few people you knew, you grabbed a drink and stood at the edge of the room, your eyes casting over the art pieces the family had set out for people to admire.

When some time had passed and you had yet to see Sherlock, you started to doubt he was still here. Maybe something happened and he had to leave.

As people began filing into the large dancing hall, you followed, continuing to stand at the edge of the room.

As Sherlock entered the large room, his eyes found you almost immedietely. You were dressed in an elegant outfit that suited you very well. You looked slightly nervous as you stood among the crowd.

Ever since the day you exchanged gifts, he was tormented with thoughts about how you found the rose. Did you immediately think he left it? Did you return his feelings? Did you even find the rose within the pages?

Walking through the crowd and around the room, his eyes remained on you as he grew closer. A dance would be starting soon, he did not dance often, but with you, he would very gladly do so.

As couple after couple made their way into the middle of the room, including Enola and Tewksbury, you felt an odd sense of jealousy. You were not much of a dancer, but you would like to experience the thrill of dancing closely with someone you had feelings for.

As if on queue, a voice spoke near your left ear, taking you by surprise.

"Would you like to dance?"

Looking over, you saw Sherlock standing close behind you, leaned over to speak softly to you. His hand was placed out for you to take, and a small smile on his face as he met your eyes.

You felt at a loss for words for a moment, but you smiled and nodded "I would love to" You finally muttered out shyly.

His smile grew slightly as he took your hand in his and lead you to the dance floor.

You were not unaware of the mutters that followed as people saw Sherlock Holmes leading a mostly unknown person out onto the dance floor. But you didn't care about their opinions, much.

Your heart was fluttering, and your chest was tight as Sherlock pulled you closer to him to prepare for the dance. Your eyes met and he still held the familiar soft smile on his face.

As the music began, you quickly fell into rhythm with everyone else on the dance floor. There was a silent moment between you, before Sherlock spoke.

"I was glad to see you were able to make it."

"Oh yes, wouldn't miss it." There was a hint of sarcasm in your voice that made his lip quirk. "I was still a bit surprise you came yourself. Enola said you were here for something important. A case perhaps?"

His smile changed almost to a soft smirk and you felt small jolt from your heart.

"The reason I came is important, but it does not have anything to do with a case"

The way his eyes studied you made you think he meant you were the reason. But you feared you may be hoping for too much.

"And what reason is that, may I ask?" Your voice was soft.

Sherlock could tell what you were hinting at, and this was enough to tell him what he wanted to know.

Spinning you around to the music, he pulled you close to him again your back against his chest, as his voice spoke softly in your ear.

"I wanted to know what you thought of my gift."

You felt a shiver roll through you as his lips just brushed your ear. Twirling you back around to face him again, your came chest to chest, your face hovering just in front of one another before you stepped back and continued with the dance.

"The book? Or the other gift within it?" You didn't say explicitly what it was, but your word were obvious enough.

He smiled at your choice of words "Both." He said simply.

"I adore the book, and I've already read it front to back twice." His eyebrow quirked and you smiled. "And the other-"

Pulling you close to him against, his face hovered close to yours as you moved around the room in dance. You were sure there were eyes on you, but you didn't care.

"I loved." Your voice came out softly.

"Loved?" He repeated, his own voice soft.

"Such a beautiful color. And the meaning-" You seemed to be losing your train of thought as his face remained so close to yours.

"Is returned, I hope?" He finished, just as the music ended.

You stopped as everyone else did, but remained locked on each other before you pulled your eyes away to clap for the musicians. Sherlock did the same, his own chest tight as he looked back at you.

He was unable to say more before a group of men started to make their way over to him, already speaking loudly, asking questions and trying to gain his attention.

He saw you step away, somewhat alarmed by the interruption. Gently grabbing your elbow he leaned in to whisper in your ear. "Meet me on the balcony at Midnight."

Stepping away again, he was almost swallowed by the group of strangers, most of whom you assumed were reporters or politicians.

Making your way away from the crowd, you looked back, only able to see glimpses of his face. You felt pity for him, knowing he hated this kind of attention. And you felt anger, for being interrupted at such an important and intense moment. Looking at the clock nearby, you noted it was nearly forty minutes to twelve.

You sighed as you looked back to here Sherlock had once been. You assumed he had been dragged off by the group of people. You dd not envy him, but you wished you had someway to help him.

"You and my brother seemed to be deep in conversation during that dance."

You jumped slightly at Enola's voice. Turning, you saw her standing beside you, having not even heard her approach.

You cleared your throat lighlty "Yes."

"Did he tell you about the case?" She asked with obvious curiosity in her tone.

You shook your head "He is not here for a case." Your heart jumped slightly. Should you tell her more? What would she think?

Her smile widened as she moved a little closer "Well that confirms the other thing I had a feeling about then."

"Feeling about what?"

"That he was here to see you."

Your eyes glanced to his last location before you looked back at Enola. "Why would you think that?"

She rolled her eyes slightly "Because ever since I introduced you, he always asks about you, wants your opinions, and his eyes follow you everywhere, every time you are around, it's obvious he has feelings for you. "

You felt heart rise up your neck and ears.

"Sorry was that too much?" She asked as she noted your change in demeanor.

You smiled and shook your head "No, I just...didn't know it was obvious."

She smiled "Well your feelings for him were obvious too. But, surprisingly I don't think they were obvious to him."

Deciding to tell her vaguely about what happened between you and Sherlock, she kept you company asking questions and going on long rants about how cases might work after you and Sherlock got involved. You simply listened, too overwhelmed by her ideas and thoughts to say anything.

After some time she tapped you aggressively on the shoulder and pointed at the clock.

"It's nearly midnight."

"Oh!" You said with a jolt "I should go."

She nodded her head hurriedly as she ushered you away, watching as you made your way towards the balcony.

Stepping out onto the balcony, you looked around for Sherlock. Seeing he had not come out yet, you let out a soft breath and wandered over to the balcony's edge. You looked out at the property, seeing groups of people scattered around. The night was brisk, and the stars were bright in the sky.

"Y/n." Your voice was spoken from behind you, causing you to turn around.

Sherlock stepped out and smiled at you, closing the doors behind him. "I hope I did not keep you waiting."

You shook your head "I've only been here a few moments. "

As he approached you, you felt jjttery and nervous.

"I'm sorry all those people bombarded you, I'm sure you did not wish to deal with that tonight."

He smiled "No, I did not. But it was not as bad as it could have been. Though I very much would have preferred being able to spend the time with you."

You smiled as you looked down towards your feet. He smiled at your familiar bashfulness. Stepping forward, he reached into his jacket and pulled something out

"I got this for you."

Looking up, you half-expected to see another purple rose. But instead, he was holding a beautidul dark red carnatin flower.

As your eyes lit up at the sight, Sherlock felt a jolt in his chest. You gingerly took the flower from him and met his eyes.

"You read the book front to back, yes?" You nodded softly and he smiled "What does it mean?"

You looked down at the flower again as you tried to recall the section on carnations.

"White carnations symbolize purity and luck, pink are for gratitude, light red for admiration, and dark red for love and affection."

He nodded softly and took a step closer to you. Reaching out, he gently touched the petals.

"Love, affection, dedication, and passion. Red carnations in general express that-" he paused as his eyes locked onto yours "-my heart aches for you."

You felt a shiver roll through you and your breath seemed to catch in your throat as he stared deeply into your eyes. Slowly, his hand rose and cupped your face, his fingers gently caressed you as he moved closer.

His face hovered just in front of yours as his eyes drifted down to your lips. There was thick tension in the silence between you, that was abruptly interrupted as fireworks shot into the sky from the yard below.

You let out a soft gasp as you and Sherlock looked over to see the bright explosions in the sky. Letting out a soft laugh, you looked back at Sherlock who had an amused smile on his face.

His fingers gently held your chin as he pulled you closer "Happy New Year Y/n"

"Happy New Year Sherlock."

His lips met yours softly as his hand slowly trailed from your chin to rest at your neck as he deepened the kiss. His hand then slowly moved to cup the back of your head as he pulled you closer. His other hand rested at your back, as he held you close to him.

As one of your hands held the carnation, the other reached up and wrapped around his neck as you leaned in and relished the kiss.

xx End xx

I'm really bad at ending fics lol, but I hope you liked it!~

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @onuen, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry

Sherlock Taglist: @will-grammer, @multifandomfix-recs, @readingbookelf

[daisyblog]

Trust

Our Story Masterlist Summary: YN and Harry take the next step in their relationship. Warning: protected sex, first-time sex

They are celebrating Harry’s 18th birthday in Holmes Chapel with all his family, where they would be staying for the weekend while Harry had a break from touring. They had already celebrated with all his friends as he arranged a huge party earlier this week. They all went to an Italian restaurant that YN had learnt was a favourite of the Styles family. As well as Harry’s Mum, Stepfather and sister, Gemma, Harry’s uncle, auntie, and cousins joined. As they sat at the long table, Harry's Auntie had asked how LA was, as the band had just returned. “Yeah..it was so much fun, we couldn’t believe how many people knew who we were." Harry explained. “Nice to be home though?". “Yeah…it’s nice to have Mum running around after me.” Harry joked, making Anne roll her eyes playfully. “It’s okay YN..I made him tidy up his room before you arrived today…honestly you should have seen it” Anne spoke from her seat opposite Harry and YN. “Aww it’s okay…I’ve lived with Louis all my life..nobody can be as messy as him.”. YN attempted to joke about how disorganised her brother is. “He’s the messiest one of the band…you should see his bed on the bus…literally just full of random stuff” Harry described. “That’s what his bedroom looked like.”. YN added, agreeing with Harry. “I bet you miss him YN.” Harry’s Auntie spoke again. “Yeah I do so much…I suppose I’m lucky though having four sisters so me house is still crazy." YN laughed. Conversation flowed for the rest of the time at the restaurant, YN chatted with Gemma and Ella, Harry’s cousin, about hair, fashion and makeup. Harry and his two cousins were talking about football and trying to arrange a time when they could go and watch Manchester United play. Before travelling back to Harry’s childhood home, everyone hugged everybody goodbye and a ‘hopefully see you soon’.

Once they arrived at Anne’s house, Harry and YN changed into comfier clothes, YN opting for a pair of pyjama shorts and one of Harry’s hoodies and Harry changed into shorts and a plain t-shirt.

After sitting in the lounge chatting, drinking tea, and watching a movie with Anne, Robin and Gemma, everyone decided they were ready for bed and called it a night. After brushing her teeth and wishing everyone goodnight, YN made herself comfy in Harry’s large double bed. After a few minutes, Harry appears in the room, closes the door behind him, and takes off his t-shirt and shorts, leaving him in a black pair of Calvin Klein’s. “You comfy there babe?” Harry laughed as YN was tucked into his duvet and pillows, with just her head popping out at the top. “Very…now get your ass in here with me.”

Harry pulled the duvet open and slid in next to her .”Come here.” he hinted for her to lay her head on his shoulder so he could wrap his arm around YN's shoulder. “It’s so nice to have you home…even if it is for a little bit.” YN admitted, as she reached up to play with the curls near his neck. “I missed you so much.” he spoke as he ran his fingers through her hair. “I even thought about cuddling up with one of the boys to fall asleep.” he joked. YN moved her hand from his curls up to his cheek and cupped it gently. “I missed you more”, she whispered as he lowered his head to the crook of her neck and grazed his nose up along her jaw. At the feeling, YN's eyes closed voluntarily and as his lips reached hers, she tilted her chin slightly. As their lips meet, YN can feel herself melt into his arms as he brings his hand up to cup her cheek.

Their lips stayed as one, not wanting to break apart. Harry's hand that once held YN's cheek roamed down her body and lifted her leg so it hooked over his hip and his hand found its way to hold her bum. As their lips got ahead of themselves, they parted briefly and caught their breaths. “Do you want to stop?” Harry broke the silence and not wanting to cross any boundaries too soon. “I-I…no..but I haven’t..you know before.”. YN nervously stuttered, aware of how vulnerable she was in this moment. “It’s okay…we can stop if you want to” Harry reassured YN, not wanting to pressure her into anything she wasn't comfortable with. “No..I want to..I’m just nervous.”. “We can take it slow…and if you change your mind we’ll stop okay?”. Harry sympathised and pecked her lips in a quick motion, as YN nodded her head, grateful for Harry not putting pressure on her. Their lips met again and Harry’s hand found her bum, and as time passed he began to squeeze and pull at the skin covered by her shorts. Harry rolled from his position so he was hovering over her and began to slowly lift YN up so she was sitting. Harry held the hem of his jumper covering YN's body and asked if he could take it off. As he pulled it over her head, YN couldn’t help but feel conscious about her body.

It was like Harry had read her mind. “You’re so beautiful”, Harry whispered, before reaching down to pull YN's shorts and underwear down her legs. Nerves were forming in YN's stomach, not knowing what to expect or how to feel. He hovered his body over hers again, his face in line with YN's. “You okay..do you still want to?”. Harry continued to make sure YN was happy. “Yeah..I’m okay”. YN said with a slight shake in her voice. “I-is it okay..if I..um touch you first..you know to get you relaxed so it won’t be as painful.”. Harry reluctantly asked. To which YN nodded her head to let him know she was okay with it. Harry's lips found YN's, and they moved together in a slow and sensual motion. After a few moments, YN felt his hand move from her cheek down, over her breast, lingering around her hips and then slowly reaching down until he stopped when he found his destination. YN gasped at the sudden feeling of his fingers touching the spot. His fingers circled the area in a slow but steady motion, whilst his lips left wet kisses on her neck.

YN's hand found its place in his curls and as his fingers circled, YN's hand would tug slightly making him grunt. As time went on, his fingers travelled down where YN felt him carefully push two into her, making her tense and push her hips into the mattress underneath them, from the new sensation. “You okay?” he checked. “Yeah I’m okay”. YN once again reassured Harry that she was okay and he could continue, and realising how difficult this was for him too. Slowly as he could, Harry moved his fingers in and out and then moved back to the sensitive spot and switched from one movement to the other. Once Harry was satisfied with YN's excitement and thought she was less tense, he moved back up to hover above her and reached over to the draw sitting beside the bed and picked out a foil packet. “You still sure, you want to do this?”. “Y-yeah..I trust you”. YN nautically gulped, as she realised this was actually happening. Harry got up from his position and rolled his boxers down, so he was now completely bare, making YN take in the view in front of her. He opened the foil packet easily and threw the wrapper to the side and YN watched as he slid it down his length. He climbed back onto the bed and hovered above her. Harry's lips found YN's once more and they moved together in a needier and lustful way.

YN could feel Harry’s hand move from her cheek and slid in between them as he lines himself up to her entrance. YN takes a deep breath at the new sensation. The seconds feel like minutes, but he finally pushes himself forward and his tip slips in and YN couldn’t help but stiffen at the feeling. Harry pauses to check on her once again and YN nods her head to let him know to carry on. The further he pushes himself in, so YN's eyes shut tighter as the pressure increase and the pain appears. YN didn’t realise she was holding her breath until she hears Harry’s voice “Baby..breathe”. Harry's movements were slow and YN could tell how painful this was for him too, from his shaky breath as he held himself back. YN reached up to cup his face and bring his lips to hers. YN needed something to distract her from the pain, and Harry’s lips were the thing to do that. YN felt his hips meet hers as he kisses her with passion, and he slowly pulls out and thrusts his hips to meet hers again. Without realising a whimper leaves YN's lips at the movement and Harry hushes her lovingly and whispers “You’re okay..just keep breathing..you’re doing so well baby”, and leaves small lingering pecks up her neck.

His movements were gentle, almost like he thought he was going to break her. Low, grunts and moans were leaving his lips every time his hips met YN's, and she knew it was killing him not being able to move faster. When his thrusts become sloppier and his lips were no longer on hers, YN looked directly at him and the sight in front of her was breathtaking. His eyebrows frowned with concentration and his lips parted as he left out soft shaky breaths. YN's hand moved to gently touch his cheek and the words fell out of her mouth for the first time “I love you”. “I-I love..you too..baby..so much” Harry's out of breath voice spoke.

A moan escaped his lips as he closed his eyes and pressed his hips against YN's and slowly he let go of what he was holding back on “Uhhh…fuck..I’m comin’”. After collapsing his body on hers and smiling down at YN and leaving a kiss on her mouth, he pushed himself up and pulled out of her and removed the condom from his length.

As Harry moved around the room, YN felt cold and almost weak. Harry announced he was going to the bathroom to clean himself up, and picked up his boxers from the floor to put them back on before leaving the room. Whilst he was gone, YN slid her shorts back up her legs and Harry’s hoodie over her head and snuggled herself back under the duvet and against the fluffy soft pillow, trying to ignore the dull ache between her legs.

Harry returned and YN noticed two blue mugs in his hands. “I’ve made us some tea..I thought it would help you a bit”. He placed the mugs down on the side table next to the bed and he climbed in next to YN, like routine his arms slipped around her and held her in his arms as her head found his chest. “I love you forever.”. “I love you always”.

Tag List: (let me know if you would like to be added) @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @harrys-flower @platinumbarbie143 @frickin-bats @harrysbbyh0ney

[a-cup-of-earl-grey-please]

Beg For Forgiveness (BBC Sherlock x Fem!Reader)

Word count: 2,436 words

Pairing: BBC Sherlock x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your fiancé, the great Sherlock Holmes, comes back from the dead—just when you were ready to move on. Can you forgive him?

Warning: semi-heavy angst, description of dealing with grief. references to the Reichenbach fall, failing to "move on," suggestive themes towards the end

Note: this has been in my drafts for so long and i'm not completely satisfied. but hey, i really needed to get this off my mind! so i hope you like it.

It was one of those nights where you felt like you were absolutely over Sherlock’s death. You felt fine. You did the dishes. You ate dinner on your own—Mrs. Hudson was out on a date. You felt okay. You finally brought yourself to send his coat away for laundry last week—even though you knew it wouldn’t smell like him anymore. There was one step left in your “getting over Sherlock” project: letting go of the engagement ring on your finger. You fiddled with the ring, slipping it way down to the tip of your finger and back down. The ring felt like it was heavier than an elephant, yet lighter than a single snowflake landing on your eyelashes. You grit your teeth together and pulled on it once more, and it came near your fingertips—

Knock, knock.

You sighed, your breath strained. You hastily slipped the ring off your hand and held it tightly in your hand. You could feel the jewel biting into your palm, but you didn’t let that undo all your efforts to erase him from your narrative. As you went down toward the door. Your padded footsteps softly echoed through the stairwell.

“Who is it?” You absentmindedly said as you glanced up toward the door. Your breath hitched—caught in your throat in incredulousness. That silhouette was all too familiar. But you knew it couldn’t be. It really, truly couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be him turning up his coat collar against the November winds—the very coat that you sent out for laundry last week and hadn’t picked up yet. It couldn't be that very man who put that very coat around your shoulders when you shivered in the winter—tutting at you for trying to impress him with your skirts and blouses. 

He’s dead. You bit down on your tongue. This is all a cruel joke. I’ll punch them square in the face. That’ll teach whomever it is to not kid about things like that. No, they have no right to his death. You clenched your fists and opened the door in one angry move.

“You don’t get to joke about—“ Your chastising screams were stopped at the sight of him. Him. It was Sherlock Holmes. The curve of his lips, his pretty cheekbones, his fluffy hair, and oh, his eyes. 

“Hello, Y/N, my darling fiancée.” He gave her a smirk and a little wave. And his voice, his stupid voice. The rich voice you had tried for years now to rub clean from your memories. Oh, how every single thing he said to you had ruined you after his fall. A boiling anger surged through her and you slammed your clenched fist against his firm chest. He barely staggered, as if he had expected the blow. “I get the sense that you are mad—“ He said, his voice awfully clipped for a man who just had his chest slammed with a fist. Of course, it was not hard enough to bruise—but it was hard enough, oh yes, it was hard enough. A smug thought surfaced through your blinding anger. 

“Is it really you?” You cut him off. 

“Yes, Sherlock Holmes. Looking into the eyes of soon-to-be Mrs. Holmes.” He said, smug as always. So sure of your forgiveness. Watching him rub his chest—where you hit him—made you mad. Angrier, if possible. 

Your left fist still rested on his chest, just below his right shoulder. And you, seething with anger and sorrow, knew just what move would hurt him. Hurt him—let him feel a fraction of what the past few years had been for you. You looked him straight in the eyes. His eyes swirled with hope and desperation—as if he knew anything about desperation. Yet.

You unclenched your fist and dropped the ring—the precious little silver thing. It hit the ground with a small, yet cruel cling onto the doorstep. Sherlock flinched at the sound. He knew exactly what you had dropped, even without having to spare a glance. He was the greatest detective in all of Britain after all. You could see tears forming in his eyes—oh great, you reduced the supposed heartless man to tears. Tears welled in his eyes—daring to drip. Drip down those cheekbones you loved to caress. Maybe even graze those lips you loved to kiss before he left the flat in the morning. But most importantly, it magnified the emotions in his eyes. The hundreds of layers of feelings he always hid behind a cold curtain were all exposed, vulnerable to your attacks. 

You opened your mouth to speak—to spit the devilish words that you could come up with easily in your rage. But you couldn’t. You knew him too well. You knew how his mind carefully stored every word that had ever been spoken to him. Especially yours—you knew how he treated your words. A passing comment on a shade of blue you liked in a flower made him go on a wild goose chase for a dress that had the exact same shade once—just to see that smile on your face. A compliment on one of his shirts—yes, the purple one—had made him save it for special days. He remembered all your “icks” and avoided them, deliberately and lovingly. He learned all your childhood bedtime stories just so he could recite them to you when you suffered from nightmares. He knew your comfort meals and even attempted to cook them when you were feeling down. He knew you. And you knew him. Too well on both sides. 

You knew how to break his heart, and the knowledge scared you.

A ring was easier to let go of; the promise was easier to break than the love it represented. 

The ring was only a mere symbol for that night when you shoved all the furniture to one corner of the room and made him waltz with you in a drunken frenzy. It was just a reminder of the day he kissed you for the first time in a basement with a tied-up serial killer next to them—at least the serial killer cheered for you two. The ring was barely even representing a fraction of what you both felt on the day he knelt down on one knee to propose—he followed an obscure superstition from East Asia that love comes true on the day of the first snow of the year. He had carried around the ring box for a month in his pocket—just to make sure he did not miss the first snow because he was unprepared. The ring was just a shard of what you had seen in his eyes the first time you two met—surprise, curiosity, sharp intellect, and a warm heart. 

The ring was easy to drop, but it was not easy to let go of all that. When he left, all you had were the remnants of him. And they all slowly faded away. His clothes—you left all of them in the drawers—only opening it sometimes to feel his scent engulf you, only that faded away as well. His phone was already cracked during the fall. You left it on the mantelpiece— it lay there forgotten, collecting dust.

The last one to go away before your ring was the mug John convinced Sherlock to buy you—#1 Girlfriend in a pink, barbie font—you dropped it by accident one day. 

The mug cracked and so did your heart.

Stupid—you thought as you felt hot tears race down your cheeks, a sharp contrast to the cold outside. 

“I had no other choice—besides, I foolishly thought our relationship was strong enough to survive a few months. I was naïve—it took me this long to resolve everything. I think it’s fair though, I must admit, that I would say that you don’t love me anymore, judging by how you literally slammed me in the chest and proceeded to drop the most socially noticeable signifier of our relationship onto—well, a slab of concrete. That was your engagement ring—our engagement.” His words were harsher than the winter winds whooshing past them. His voice was unwavering despite visible tears rolling down his cheeks. His eyes were wounded,

“Don’t lecture me about our relationship, love, if that word still means anything to you after 2 years of being dead? Do you know how many nights I’ve spent, touching that ring—imagining that it was actually your face? I couldn’t send your coat—which you’re wearing right now, heaven knows how—for those 2 years just because I was scared I would lose your scent in the flat!” You shoved him away, and this time, he stepped back, shocked.

“I hate you so, so much. Why did you have to do this to me? All this time, seriously? Are you kidding me? Surely you’re kidding me. Surely. You couldn’t even bear to talk to me, huh? To give me even the slightest hint that you were, you know, not dead?” Pedestrians were staring as they walked past, keeping a safe distance away from the surely maniacal you. You started sobbing uncontrollably. You wanted to turn around and slam the door in Sherlock’s face. But you also wanted to kiss him—feel him, remind yourself of that fading sensation. Kiss him square on the mouth until both of you couldn’t utter anything but sweet nothings and ardent confessions of love. You wanted to bang your fists against him, but instead, you ended up burying your face into his coat—oh, he smelled just the same. Sandalwood and a delightful touch of old books. Focus. You’re angry—you reminded yourself.

“Forgive me, Y/N. It was for your safety. I’m sorry. I really am. How can I make it up to you?“ He tearily whispered into your ear, caressing your hair. To your heartbreak, you could feel his tears dripping down his face, onto your forehead. Your anger dissolved—it would be a lasting grudge, just like how his “death” would be a lasting scar in your heart, but for now, you couldn’t do anything but fall for him once again. You cried into his chest—you could hear his heartbeat. You grabbed his coat lapels and brought his face down to your face—now just barely a centimeter away. His eyes were overflowing with love and fear. You didn’t like that look in his eyes. You wanted them to be full of the former only.

“Kiss it away. Kiss it better. Kiss me, Sherlock. Kiss my scars away. I love you and I hate you—so kiss my hatred away. Simple math: we’ll be left with just love.” You murmured. 

His mouth attacked yours with its familiar swiftness and accuracy. Your lips, salty with tears, answered with equal enthusiasm. His tongue grazed over your bottom lip—he was unsure if a kiss of passion was appropriate in that moment. Screw his manners. You needed physical confirmation. 

“You know, faking your death wasn’t so gentlemanly either.” You cheekily said into his mouth—only to gently push your tongue into his mouth, capturing his mouth just like you longed to do for the past 2 years. Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open in surprise. He reciprocated the action, cupping your face with his hands—and oh, you could melt into his touch and stay there forever. The door creaked open behind you as his body pressed against yours, causing both of you to stumble backward into the building. 

He let out a needy breath as he—quite forcefully—slipped your ring back on your left hand. Heaven knows how he picked it up without you noticing. You hummed against his mouth. Taking advantage of the situation, you caught his hand—now retreating from your left hand—and pulled him flush against you. You did not want to allow a single inch between you two. Your hands were tangled up in his hair, pinky wrapped around a curl. Desperate to confirm each other’s physical presence, you two were hugging each other so tight that it was a surprise both of you were breathing—actually, you weren’t sure if you were breathing. 

All you could focus on were his warm lips on yours—the universe could have easily orbited around you two at that moment. As your heel touched the base of the stairs, he broke the kiss. He held you by one hand still entangled with your left and the other one on a suggestive spot near your waist. As you struggled to catch your breath, Sherlock opened his mouth once again. 

“Y/N, I thought about you every day, all day, even with the most dangerous criminals in the world—pressing a knife against my throat—all I could think of was you. But I couldn’t let my love come in front of your safety—you could’ve died. One text from me, and a sniper might have shot clear through your skull. Forgive me, Y/N. I love you so much—and I understand if you want me to go away, but please forgive me. I beg you.” Oh, how you couldn’t stay mad at this man for once. His sincerity bled through his usually sharp eyes, flowing down in teardrops over his cheekbones. You wiped his tears away and smiled through your own tears. 

“Sherlock, I’m not mad at you anymore—that doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you. But hey, at least I’m not mad at you anymore,” You let out a little laugh. “These are tears of joy. Of incredulousness. Of hopes and thankfulness.” You said, touching his face as if it were the most precious thing to ever exist in this world. Touching the curve of his nose. Following it down to his lips, wet from his tears and the kiss you just shared. All the way down to his chin. 

“I love you so, so much. Y/N. You do know that, right? Never doubt that, never. I don’t like saying never, as a detective, but this is the one time I’ll allow myself. Never doubt my love. Even when yours waver, mine won’t.” Sherlock hugged you tight, so tight you were afraid that you two might just become one—from what you felt, his coat was welding into your sweater and his ribcage was touching yours. 

“I love you more.” You said, a teary laugh falling from your lips. 

“That’s impossible.” He simply stated, holding your hands—leading you up towards your flat—your shared flat. The soon-to-be Holmes flat—as your ring, once again on your finger, reminded you.

“Be a sweetheart and beg for forgiveness again in the bedroom, won’t you, Mr. Holmes?” And it’s safe to say that he definitely begged for something in the bedroom—and not just forgiveness. 

[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

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"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.”

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

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.

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.

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 3) Chapter Sixteen

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Sixteen: Near-Death Imaginings

Summary: (Y/N) attempts to stay alive in their mind palace.

            “You need to stay alive.”

            (Y/N) lay on their back. The skies above them were stormy and grey. The grass around them was damp as rain began to fall. They blinked and tried to focus.

            Sherlock—(Y/N)’s interpretation of him in their mind—leaned over. “Good. You landed on your back. Gravity and the bullet with control the blood loss.”

            “That’s what’s going to kill me,” murmured (Y/N).

            “Yes,” said Sherlock. “But you fell.”

            “I did it right,” said (Y/N). The storm clouds flashed with lightning, a warning. “What’s…happening now?”

            Sherlock knelt beside them. “You’re going into shock. That’s the next thing that’s going to kill you.”

            “What do I do?” asked (Y/N) as he supported them to stand.

            “You have to stop yourself. You can’t go into shock. Being unconscious is bad enough. You need to calm down,” said Sherlock.

            “How?” said (Y/N). “I can’t—I can’t regulate my emotions.”

            “Find a memory,” said Sherlock.

            (Y/N) stumbled towards the plants around them. Memories, memories, memories. I need something to calm me down. The vines reached out and pulled them into their memories.

l

Years ago…

            “Welcome, (Y/N). I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time here.” A smiling face, too wide. Even young (Y/N) had known when the adults were lying.

            Not that one.

            Arriving at the home wasn’t a pleasant memory. It was so soon after their mother’s death. It was lonely. It didn’t have Sherlock.

            Sherlock.

            The memories fast forwarded, running through all the loneliness and discomfort around people unwilling to understand them or let them be themself. It was exhausting and stressful to see.

            It all slowed down, and (Y/N) stood inside 221B.

            “This is my flat,” said Sherlock. “There’s a room for you to the right, and the kitchen is to the left. Don’t take anything out of the refrigerator or freezer. I’m running experiments.”

            (Y/N) nodded and looked around, holding the trash bag with their few belongings to their chest. Their first time in 221B. The first moment with Sherlock. The first moment they felt accepted. Sherlock treated them like another person instead of a strange creature or freak.

            (Y/N) walked to their room and put down their bag. They unpacked the clothes and went back down to the main room.

            “You’re done,” observed Sherlock, sitting in his armchair.

            (Y/N) nodded.

            “Good. We have work to do,” said Sherlock. “I have a case to get to.”

            “You’re bringing me?” asked (Y/N), but their present self knew the answer.

            “Obviously. It would be a waste to leave your mind bored,” said Sherlock. “You have a lot of potential.”

            (Y/N) straightened at the compliment. No one had ever thought of them as anything more than a bother, an emotionless kid who couldn’t connect with people.

            “Are you coming?” said Sherlock, standing and pulling on his coat.

            “Right,” said (Y/N), and they followed him out. The London chill hit them, and Sherlock glanced down.

            “We’ll need to get you a coat,” said Sherlock.

            “It’s alright,” said (Y/N), not wanting to be a trouble.

            Sherlock raised an eyebrow and just pulled off his scarf. He threw it over (Y/N)’s head to protect their neck from the cold. They blinked in surprise.

            “There,” said Sherlock, turning away.

            (Y/N) watched him before touching the scarf, smiling, and following him.

            (Y/N)’s present-day self let out a breath. They were calm. The first time they had felt accepted—their first moment in 221B—that was what they needed to fight off the shock of getting shot. After all, Sherlock had saved them and given them a home. That was what they were fighting to stay alive for.

            Pain shot through their stomach, and (Y/N) doubled over.

l

            The memory faded away, and (Y/N) fell to their knees in the grass of their Mind Palace again.

            “Without the shock, you’re going to feel pain,” said Sherlock, crouching next to them.

            “Right,” said (Y/N), grimacing.

            “You need to control the pain,” said Sherlock.

            “I need to control the pain,” repeated (Y/N), but the sensation was too much. It rose up like a tidal wave. “I need to control—”

            The ground opened up beneath them, and like Alice, (Y/N) fell to a wonderland nightmare of pain.

            They landed on rough stone. The cave around them was cold and dark, and the pain in their stomach was too much. They rolled over and curled in on themself, groaning.

            “You’re weak.”

            (Y/N)’s blood chilled as a familiar face stepped into their view.

            Moriarty smirked down at them and crouched by their head. “Pathetic. You can’t control your pain at all.”

            “I should’ve…made you feel pain,” spat (Y/N) through their agony.

            Moriarty grinned widely. “I’m dead. I can’t feel anything.” He patted their head, and (Y/N) shivered. “Don’t worry. You’ll be dead. Pain. Heartbreak. Loss. No more. Just death.”

            (Y/N) coughed, and the cave crowded in around them as their energy abated.

            Moriarty laughed. “It’s raining, it’s pouring, (Y/N) is boring!” he sang. “I’m laughing, I’m crying, (Y/N) is dying.” He leaned over (Y/N). “Just die, (Y/N). Just give up. It’s so easy, and your life is oh-so-hard,” he pouted.

            “I can’t…not when…family…danger.” (Y/N) blinked, trying to stay aware of their own mind.

            “Oh, right, right. The dear doctor, his wife, the Iceman, the inspector, the housekeeper, and lovely little Sherlock himself,” jeered Moriarty. “It’s so hilarious I might laugh myself to death again! You pathetically dying while danger eats the rest of them right up!”

            (Y/N) blinked, and their vision focused. Sherlock, John, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, even Mary—(Y/N) couldn’t let any of them get hurt. Especially not if it was what Moriarty would want. (Y/N) had to keep fighting.

            “I don’t care how hard it is,” said (Y/N), turning and pressing their palms to the ground. “I have to…survive.”

            Moriarty raised a brow. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to live.”

            (Y/N) pushed themself to their knees. “It’s my life.”

            “Oh, god, making speeches now? Pathetic,” said Moriarty.

            (Y/N) pushed themself to their feet and glared at Moriarty. “Yeah, well, it’s my mind.”

            Vines erupted from the ground and pulled Moriarty down with them. The cave around (Y/N) opened up to the blue sky.

            “And dying or not, I rule here.”

l

            (Y/N) heard the beep of the heart monitor before their eyes opened. They coughed and blinked.

            “(Y/N),” breathed a relieved voice. Sherlock appeared at their side, gazing at them in worry.

            “Dad,” said (Y/N), voice croaking with the effort of speaking.

            “Here, here’s water,” said Sherlock, holding out a glass he had held ready for them.

            (Y/N) took a drink. “How long…how long has it been?”

            “A day,” said Sherlock. “I’ve been here the entire time.”

            “Thank you,” said (Y/N). “I needed you.”

            Sherlock reached out and squeezed their shoulder. “I thought I was going to lose you. It took everything in me to stay here and not…handle who caused this.”

            (Y/N) sat up and instantly winced. Sherlock supported them carefully.

            “It’s not Mary’s fault,” said (Y/N). “It seems it was Magnussen’s.”

            “She shot you,” said Sherlock. He was furious. His kid had almost died, and it was Mary’s fault. He wouldn’t forgive her so easily. Even if Magnussen had something on her—obvious enough now—he couldn’t just let Mary off the hook.

            “She was aiming for a non-vital spot on you,” said (Y/N).

            Sherlock frowned. That was true, but that wouldn’t get rid of his anger. “But she got you hurt.”

            “I know, but I decided to push you out of the way,” said (Y/N).

            “(Y/N), you were hurt—” said Sherlock.

            “I know,” said (Y/N). “But, please, I—I managed to come back because of what I care about.”

            “What you…care about?” repeated Sherlock.

            “Knowing you and John and Mary and everyone else is in danger, I knew I had to, you know…not die,” said (Y/N) quietly. “I want to help you all. Especially since, I assume, Magnussen is still alive.”

            “He is,” said Sherlock.

            “Then I want to help,” said (Y/N). “We need to know everything.”

            “(Y/N), you need to rest,” said Sherlock.

            “No, Dad, I need to help,” said (Y/N) quietly.

            “…You’ve got so much spirit,” said Sherlock. “It’s impressive and worrying.”

            “Well, I had a strange dad raise me,” said (Y/N), smiling. They frowned and looked down at their medical equipment. “Now, can you help me out of here?”

            “…Fine,” said Sherlock. He was worried, but (Y/N) wasn’t going to let up.

            It didn’t take much work for their intelligences to figure out a way to get out of all the equipment without setting off alarms. Sherlock had brought clothes for (Y/N), so they got bundled up, and he supported them as they walked towards the exit.

            “Do we tell John?” asked (Y/N) as they went.

            “I don’t know,” said Sherlock.

            “…I think he should get to know. He needs to decide what to do himself. He deserves the truth,” said (Y/N).

            “He does,” admitted Sherlock. He’d give up his warpath to help (Y/N). Even if he was furious with Mary, he’d support (Y/N)’s decision. (And once logic ruled his mind again—difficult in the face of (Y/N)’s pain—he would know that finding out Mary’s true identity was the right decision).

            “We can’t see John until we figure it out, though,” said (Y/N).

            “He’ll be worried about you. He wanted to see you, but I kept him and Mary out,” said Sherlock.

            “John is always worried about us,” said (Y/N).

            “We have given him reason to, it seems,” said Sherlock.

            (Y/N) smiled and leaned into their dad. “Yeah, but he forgets we have each other.”

            Sherlock smiled softly. “We do.” He was (Y/N)’s father. He’d always been there to protect them and help them. That was his duty. That was his proud duty.

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

@awsedrftgyhujikol

@lxserthxngzzz

@forever1313

@mentallyunstablemanlover

[beneathashadytree]

Hello! Can I request prompt 16 with mycroft from mtp? I hope you have a nice day!

FIRSTS - MYCROFT HOLMES X READER

Warnings : none I think, this is not proofread, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : fluff n puppy love

Word count : 0.6K words

Additional notes : Hi nonnie! This was a very sweet request, and felt like a breath of fresh air. Hope you like this as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it!💗

Prompt : “You were my first kiss.”

Tip jar if you’d like to buy me a Ko-Fi!

Masterlist

The gloved hand that was stroking their waist oh-so-tenderly, and the other calloused one that gently tilted their chin upwards, couldn’t possibly distract them from the fact that they were being kissed by none other than the man they’d fantasized about for the past nearly 3 years.

Even in their most fanciful dreams, they had never quite imagined the softness of his lips brushing at theirs, barely there at first, before pressing more surely as they melted into the kiss—and his careful embrace. They hadn’t ever dared to picture how his shuddering breath would mingle with theirs, or how his touch burned in its wake, or how his blue eyes would look, darkened as his emotions swept them up altogether.

But there they were, actually kissing Mycroft Holmes, and not a single coherent thought remained in their head.

Stunned, they’d stilled at the start, before his warm lips and the affectionate look on his face completely robbed them of any other thought than to follow his lead. They hadn’t the faintest idea what to do, but to try and kiss him back by mirroring his actions was their best shot.

It felt far too soon when he pulled back, though they could understand that it was done under the guise of propriety. Only when he’d left a few inches of space between them could they finally dare to exhale, though that gave their body enough time to register the fact that their knees had suddenly grown wobbly.

“Oh dear,” they faintly said, stumbling a little as they tried to regain their balance. Mycroft looked a little alarmed, and his fingers fell from their chin while his grip on their waist grew tighter—a fact that only served to make their tummy flutter harder.

“Are you alright?” His deep voice was too near, and too much all at once. They could feel their face burning more with every second that passed, and knew that they must’ve been a rather embarrassing shade of red.

“Yes,” they managed to say, leaning on his rather muscular arm for a few beats, just so they could straighten up. “Yes, I’m only… a little overwhelmed.”

Mycroft frowned at that, an expression it seemed he was so scarcely without—though they, who knew him better than anyone else, knew that to be quite untrue, for they’d seen him smile so gently more than enough times than was good for their heart.

“Have I misread something?” His question was quiet, but direct. “Was this unwanted?”

“No!” they were quick to exclaim, before growing embarrassed by their outburst. “No, it just… you were my first kiss.”

A look of understanding came on his face, before being replaced by one of faint amusement. “Ah.”

“Ah indeed.” They sounded vexed as they brushed the front of their crisp shirt, though that was probably directed at their own self. “I’ve embarrassed myself, haven’t I?”

“Why on Earth would you have?”

Scoffing, they glanced back up from the imaginary flint. “Come now, it was abundantly clear how inexperienced I was. With kissing, I mean.”

“I hadn’t noticed, actually.” At their look of incredulity, Mycroft insisted. “No, really.” He looked painfully awkward for a half-second, before he cleared his throat. “Perhaps it’s because it was my first kiss as well, and I was too… distracted to notice.”

Dumbfounded (and probably even left gaping) by his revelation, they could only splutter out one question. “Uh, you…? I mean, what distraction? That is, what had you distracted?”

Another awkward clearing of the throat. Dark eyes met theirs soon enough, and the hesitation on his face might’ve even been counted as bashfulness. “It might have something to do with the fact that I’d been wanting to do this for quite some time now.”

Lightheaded at yet another shocking revelation, they shakily breathed in, voice coming out smaller than they’d anticipated. “Ah.”

“Ah indeed.”

Taglist : @sherlockscumslut @lilias-highlights

[willowpenguinwritting]

Roses--- Enola Holmes oneshot short thing.

Enola was on a walk with Tewksbury to "clear her head" at his suggestion. So far he had already stopped to smell five flowers, examine six and stroked at least two and they had only left 5 minutes ago.

It wasn't that Enola was specifically counting but she wanted the walk to be over and get back to thinking about her case. It was an interesting one and not quite what she expected.

Tewksbury stood up straight again after smelling another flower, "It was a petunia I had to." he tried to explain.

Enola shook her head, "Save it, I did not come on this walk for you to go on about flowers and expect me not to want to think about my case."

They walked a bit more, Enola was ahead and not speaking a word. Tewksbury was failing to cheer her up despite his desperate attempts his funny faces and voice impressions hadn't worked. Enola continued to lead and didn't seem to notice when Tewksbury stopped to admire a dandelion.

Enola paused in her path to look at some roses, "It's full of thorns."

"Well there are two ways to see it, you can be grateful that thorny plants have beautiful roses or ungrateful that roses have sharp thorns." Tewksbury smiled as he pulled out some gardening gloves from his back pocket.

She sighed, "I need to get back to my case." she said filling with agitation.

"Oh you need to get back to your case." mocked Tewksbury with a laugh.

Enola's response was simple and easy, jokingly punching him in the arm, "Oi, I am trying to pick you some nice flowers here."

"I have enough flowers from when you got me some this morning," Enola complained.

"If we still have spare vases we can have more flowers," Tewksbury said as he began to smell the petals.

Enola scowled "Last time you said that you used glasses and mugs and we had no drinking vessels other than bowls."

Tewksbury turned his puppy dog eyes to try and convince her.

"Stop looking at me like that," Enola said confused.

Tewksbury grinned, "Like what?"

"Like you're about to kiss me as if it will solve everything."

He grinned wider before leaning in to kiss Enola's cheek and gradually planted kisses along her cheek before reaching her mouth. It still felt as if there were fireworks exploding every time they kissed and for the marques of Basilwether, it was perfect.

Enola couldn't help but find herself smiling as they pulled away, exchanging grins filled with more happiness they lighted the fireworks again whilst kissing for a good few more minutes.

"Come on," Enola grinned, "I really do have to get back to my case now I've had my walk."

Tewksbury shook his head, he poked her nose gently before kissing her for a bit more. The firework show began to end as he knew Enola would only get more fed up if she wasn't to return to her case soon.

Enola held her hand out which Tewksbury took and together, hand in hand they headed back to the flat. It wasn't their flat as they didn't live together. It was Tewksbury's yet somehow Enola spent almost every day and night there.

When they arrived back on the doorstep were Tewksbury's seeds from his plant newspaper he was subscribed to. Enola smiled as she saw that they were roses. She was full of joy that her rose didn't seem to have thorns.

Enola set instantly back to her case board and finished off adding the string when she saw something had been added. It was a small piece of paper right in the middle with the words I love you written on it. It was in a cursive that couldn't belong to anyone but the Vicount Tewksbury, her Vicount Tewksbury. However, if her mother asked he was still a useless man. Well, it was still only a man on occasion. There were most certainly times when he would seem like a toddler hyper from too much sugar, which mostly occurred when they ended out near any sort of flower show.

Well, my previous Enola Holmes thing kind of went insane so I felt obliged to write another. I don't know if I quite got the character's mannerisms quite right but I tried to. I hope you enjoyed reading this!!

[finalproblem]

I DID A BAD GOOGLE, YOU GUYS

It started out totally normal, just @silver-boots & I talkin' about vampire!Holmes in The Giant Chat of Sumatra. As you do.

Then I made the life-altering decision to Google "Sherlock Holmes Santa."

LOOK WHAT WAS RELEASED IN ITALY EXACTLY ONE MONTH AGO:

Sherlock Santa (2023)

Starring: William Baldwin, Tom Arnold, and Elva Trill Santa Claus is suffering from a mysterious disease. He lies in bed and only repeats one word: Lebanna. The elves are desperate and don't know what to do anymore. Christmas seems lost when Santa's assistant Annabel uses magic and summons the greatest detective on earth to the castle. The man who appears in front of her doesn't seem very smart but she [sic] claims to be the great-great grandson of the great Sherlock Holmes. Annabel entrusts him with the case and an assistant to her, her son Sam. Will the two be able to solve the Lebanna mystery despite Sherlock being allergic to Christmas? Maybe the solution lies in some Arctic Friends cartoons that Santa watched as a child?

This sounds like it has the potential to be AWFUL, and I must find it.

If anyone has a lead on if / when / how this movie will be available in the US / the English language, please please drop a reply to this post. 🎅

[starkraivennemad]

Mycroft Alexander David Holmes stood near the Pilgrim Path admiring the view. It is late in the day, and he knew there would be no one else coming this way for some time because of the tides.

That part he flirted with, but still timed well.

The distant storm most certainly was not planned, but he will not frown upon unexpected help from Universe. It is rarely that lazy after all.

Nothing in his line of vision gives hint of the turmoil within himself or the man he holds on the Pilgrim’s Way.

Now would be a good time.

“Zealots talk of dying for their country, but never a word of the lives they take for their country. Is this just?” coughs the man beside him.

“I am not a believer, let alone a zealot.” Mycroft corrects, “I am only what you once were – a patriot. Finding a new deity was your right. Becoming an enemy of England was flirting with death. Betraying us was signing your death warrant. You are a traitor.”

“Patriot/Traitor” The traitor gives his opinion of the word with the vile phlegm spewed to the  ground. “It depends on which side one views of the coin.”

“Sun Tzu states ‘Anger may in time change to gladness… But a kingdom that has once been destroyed can never come again into being.’ He also states, ‘The greatest victory is that which requires no battle’.” Mycroft’s eyes narrow, carefully watching the ominous skies. “Your actions nearly caused a war. My actions here avoided it. I would say my view is just enough.”

“So, your country will label you a hero, but mine will make me a martyr.”

“The place you now call your country will think you a deserter. We have seen to that. The dismantling of your reign of terror against us has already started – after all, the breadcrumbs I left are what brought you here.” Mycroft half shrugs. “As for me? Only the five people who sent me to get you will know. The rest of my countrymen will remain ignorant and at peace, blissfully unaware of what transpired here.”

“Those five people have been trying to get me for years. Only you found me. You are impressive.”

“I know. I am better.”

“At what?” the traitor snorts, but it costs him as winces in increasing agony.

Mycroft does not even think to hesitate in his answer. “Everything.”

“And modest.” The traitor coughs a very wet cough and spits again. Mycroft is not surprised by the blood in the spittle.

Now would be a good time.

“I simply know who I am. Modesty has naught to do with it, nor changes the fact of it.”

“Enjoy your peace for now you bastard. There will be others.” The traitor says with conviction.

“I will.”  Mycroft replies with equal conviction. “And I will make it my job to stop those others before it comes to necessary actions as this.”

Mycroft had been looking at the expanse in front of him over the traitor’s shoulder on purpose, avoiding what was happening. Now he looked directly at the man himself as he gurgles, beyond caring of the bloody spittle staining his chin.

The traitor, a former member of Ultra, was once known as Eric Kimberly Gladwell, the name he called himself now soon to be rendered irrelevant. 

Now would be a good time.

He waits until he’s sure the traitor’s hazel irises that had stared at him no longer saw anything.

Only then did Mycroft remove the blade from the man’s lung.

The traitor did not expect the attack from the young agent who broke the man’s femur immobilizing him. Mycroft then stabbed him with the blade between the ribs and held it plunged.  

The poisoned blade – the blade that would have been used on Mycroft – was the traitor’s trademark in the kills for his adopted country. The traitor might have survived the physical stabbing, but there was no recovery from the poison.

Assured the traitor is dead, Mycroft does what is necessary. He knows the high tide will claim the body, but he was not taking chances. He grabs a piece of driftwood and shoves it into the wound even deeper than his original stabbing. Even if it is found, no one will bother to look past the obvious presented. The traitor will be some unfortunate soul who did not heed the many warnings for the tides and was swept away.

----------

His uncle Rudy looks at him carefully when he returns to headquarters. He knows his uncle has deduced him and knows what he has done…

Mycroft paraphrases the end of a famous quote by Aeschylus “And home I come, to claim your welcome, but not as ashes in an urn.”

In several months his uncle will inform him of the bloated decayed body that washed ashore near Lindisfarne. A large broken piece of driftwood between its ribs. Too much of the sea battered remains were destroyed to make identification possible.

His uncle raises a brow and responds with his own paraphrasing of the beginning of the Aeschylus quote and gives his nephew a curt nod of acceptance. “We sent forth a man to battle, but no such man returned.”

Mycroft silently agrees as he takes a seat. The man before his uncle was not the same man Ultra had sent out on assignment.

The traitor was not Agent Mycroft Holmes’ first kill; but it was his first murder.  He is nineteen.

----------

Ten Years Later

Mycroft returns to the island to mark the occasion.

No longer a field agent, but a member of Ultra itself.

Ten years after that Mycroft returns again.

A member of Ultra and starting tomorrow morning he will be the head of it. He has a new three-piece suit for the occasion.

It’s about time. Read on AO3

@flashfictionfridayofficial

[gavinsdeviant]

What weekends would be like with...

David

He wouldn’t get up in the weekends unless Angel wakes him

They kiss his cheeks, then his nose, and if he still isn’t awake by then, they kiss down his bare chest

Them being a tease wakes him up real quick

He’s flustered but pretends like he doesn’t care

They stretch as soon as they get out of bed and he normally takes a second to compose himself enough not to drag them back against him... He just watches, for the most part

He normally makes breakfast while they wait in the doorway, bleary eyed and still sleepy 

He loves watching them watch him, lazy in the early morning light coming through the windows and wearing his shirt

Some mornings, after they eat, he likes doing their hair for them and they don’t complain (their hair’s a mess most of the time anyway-- he doesn’t seem to mind)

He likes to work with them in the garden but if he’s feeling fancy he takes them out to a restaurant, maybe a club

Sometimes they have dates on the couch where they sit near each other, either catching up on a little work or reading-- just doing mindless things in each other’s company

Maybe he plays a game while they watch, or maybe while they’re drawing

“Let’s go to bed, Angel. Oh, no one said anything about sleeping.”

Maybe after doing some... aerobic exercises, they relax in each other’s arms and eventually fall asleep

Ash

He’d nuzzle his face into Babe’s neck until they wake up giggling

Then he’d carry them to the bathroom (though he knows they prefer walking on their own) to help them with their skincare routine

He’d help them get ready, picking outfits and maybe- if Babe agrees to it- help do their make-up

On a weekend, he’d probably hop in the car with them and drive to nowhere -- yet they’d still end up at the most beautiful spots

When they have more time in their day, they go to cities near Dahlia just to explore

Sometimes they don’t have to be doing anything but be near each other, in the quiet holding one another

“I love you, Babe. So much.” 

Then they’d drive back home, maybe stopping at the beach to watch the sunset

If they’re really tired, Ash would carry them to the couch and watch a movie, cue Cuddling on the Couch With Your Sweet Werewolf Boyfriend [Sleep Aid] But if they aren’t they try and make dinner together (even when they both suck at cooking)

Ash likes humming to Babe when they’re stressed or anxious and they fall asleep almost instantly

He likes to explain how much he loves them when he thinks they’re asleep-- they hear every word and their heart swells at his words. They do the same to him, fully knowing he’s not asleep

Milo

Aggro probably wakes Sweetheart up first (They go let him outside whenever he wakes them up on the weekends because of them having to get up at like 5 am for their job)

Then Milo wakes up and isn’t impressed when they slide back into bed cold and still really tired from the week. So he just wraps them up tight in his arms so they can’t escape again

After a while of sleepy cuddling, he’d wake them up and remind them to take their meds and wash off the make-up they’d left on the night before

They take the pills while he carries them to the bathroom to help

He draws them a bath after so he can wash their hair and make them feel taken care of

He tries to take care of Sweetheart a lot over the weekends since they have such stressful days in the week

Their weekends mostly consist of resting and maybe going out for brunch 

They may also try to take Aggro for a walk (keyword- try)

After probably nearly losing all the skin on their hands, they walk home, hand in hand with the cat in Milo’s other arm

When they get home, Sweetheart will probably want to take a nap

While they’re asleep Milo sets up a beautiful candlelit dinner for them, the moon beaming down through the window

And they’d end the night with nice food and them swaying to music playing in the background- dancing in the kitchen

@thesunandmoons-blog @daveysangelsposts @sherlo-ck-holmes​

[imagines--galore]

FRIEND Hello!! It's been a while since I visited your inbox lmao. How's it going? Good I hope!

I have ✨️questions✨️. Not particularly requests but little funny questions

1) which characters you write for- are more likely to forgo a wedding, and instead secretly sign the papers with their s/o and see how long it takes for their friends/family to realize they got married

2) which characters you write for- would goof off and make husband/wife jokes with their s/o pre-marriage or even pre-relationship. (Ex. My friend and I played It Takes Two, where you play as a husband and wife trying to talk to their daughter and we call each other by husband/wife. And whenever we want to play the game we text "hey wanna try talking to our daughter?)

3) during roadtrips, which characters would roll down the windows and scream sing to music no matter the weather. Or who would be embarrassed about their s/o doing that?

4) which characters would dress up with their s/o to see the new spiderverse movie, or barbie movie

I'm doing alright and I hope you are too!

Most likely to forgo a wedding and just sign the papers

Alright so for your first question thats a tough one! But if I had to pick I would pick a couple of them. First one being Sherlock Holmes, I mean come one, he would find it hilarious when people figure it out that he married his s/o because NO ONE would've expected that of him. Also he would just simply want to get it over with because secretly(something he will NEVER admit) he can't wait for his s/o to take his last name. hehe. So the second one would be Taichi Kamiya from Digimon. Not a lot of fans for this character but I adore him. And his s/o is actually an oc of mine called Hidemi. And I think the both of them would forgo the wedding because they wouldn't want the hassle that comes with planning everything. And given their LARGE group of friends, it would be really funny to see them loose their minds that he went out and actually got married given his think before you act nature. And the final one is Spock. He would find it logical to just sign the papers and be done with it. Though I have a sneaky suspicion that he wouldn't be opposed to a small wedding ceremony later, especially if his s/o asks for it. hehe

Goof off and make husband/wife jokes before a relationship or marriage or engagement.

And moving on to your next question! The first character that comes to mind is definitely Roy Mustang from FMAB. I mean he is a flirt and has a teasing nature, and yeah their s/o would be taken by surprise at first, but would soon join in. Which would also drive their team nuts because why do that have to act like that so openly when they're not even in a relationship. And yeah, NO ONE will be surprised when they actually get together. I mean, has anyone seen how they look at one another? Also Vax from Vox Machina! I have a feeling he would be the same with an s/o who is confident and sure. The S/o would have to start flirting like that first, and Vax would catch on pretty quick and start flirting back. Would probably take a near death situation for true feelings to come out. haha For Clark aka Superman, I think things would pick up after an engagement. Pet names and calling one another by their last names sounds like something he would do.

Singing during road trips and who would be embarrassed about it.

Oooooooo Spencer Reid! He would be a little embaressed at all the attention but once he realizes just how happy his s/o is, he will just sit back and stop worrying about everyone else. Red Arrow aka Roy would be pretty embarrassed about it as well. Their s/o would be singing really loudly with the rest of the team, since they would all go on a team trip and yeah he would wish he had never come. But his s/o would just kiss his cheek and force him to join in at the chorus at least. Though he REFUSES to sing anything Taylor Swift.

And finally who would dress up with their s/o to see the new spiderverse or barbie movie

Peter Parker MCU version would DEFINITELY dress up as someone from the barbie movie with their s/o to go see it. And Michelangelo from TMNT would dress up to watch spiderman because that movie is epic. No question and no competition.

[starkidlabs]

Question for the Court part 2

Genuinely I really need to know if this is normal behaviour because I’ve never experienced someone like this and it kind of makes me uncomfortable. Here are his behaviours:

He texts me on average 30 times a day. He always initiates the conversation (I never do).

He sends me morning and good night messages (this is something that even my ex and I didn’t even do). His messages often say things like ‘Good night. Have beautiful dreams of yours greatest desires.’

He’s been telling my sister (who he’s friends with) how excited he is to play a certain board game with me. Even though I have never said I will play a game with him. Then he told me last night how he had found 2-3 people so we can play a different game together. I haven’t said I wanted to play this game with him. I do not know these other people at all. So why is he asking people that are strangers to me to play a game with ‘us’ when I haven’t even asked him to?

He is overly complimentary to the point of it being just weird. So for example I wrote a review of a play. He responded with 3 whole paragraphs essentially reviewing my review but only with positive feedback. Like “I smiled to myself when imagining you watch the play” etc. like obviously I don’t mind someone saying ‘oh wow that’s a good review’. But three paragraphs reviewing my review is very ????

He had come up with a nickname for me that I do not like but he won’t stop calling me it even though I have never positively responded to.

He’ll often send me paragraphs expanding on something he’s clearly interested in. Then I’ll say ‘ah that’s cool but that’s not really my thing’ and his response will always be ‘yeah I hate that thing too’.

Now this is the thing that kinda weirds me out the most. So I have very particular interests. As soon as I mention I like a thing quite a bit he suddenly becomes obsessed with them too. So 3 examples.

I love musicals. I talked to him about musicals at one point. He went from only having watched Les Mis to asking me to send him a musical to listen to every single day. Then he spent an entire weekend watching musicals, sending me images of the musicals he was watching to kind of prove that he was watching them.

I told him I like the Frogwares Sherlock Holmes games. He suddenly went out and bought them all, and play the Awakened in one sitting. Then he went out and spent near to £100 on Sherlock Holmes games and novels, even though he clearly has never had any interest in Sherlock Holmes past bbc Sherlock. (I mean if he did wouldn’t these be purchases he made before?).

I talked to him about starkid two days ago because he asked me what it was. He has now donated £50 to their new kickstarter even though he has yet to watch a single show. He sent me the receipt to prove it.

Now the thing is I know he does often display some of these behaviours towards other people. My sister said how one time her and two other people were discussing rollerskating then this guy went out to buy rollerskates even though none of them had actually planned to go rollerskating yet (and they never ended up planning a trip). And while I think thats sort of similar behaviour to my last point I think the difference is that this was a thing he did because he clearly wanted to go out with this group of people. Where as with the last point with me there is no end goal of going out - like clearly buying a tone of Sherlock Holmes novels doesn’t lead to a Sherlock Holmes outing in the same sense. Instead I think it’s sort of clear he is intensely getting into the things I like to impress me, but in a way that no person would unless they have become obsessed with said person.

And I also know that he actually sort of became obsessed with this other person I knew to the point where he would hang around at her desk everyday, until someone else had to speak to him about leaving her alone. When I mentioned that I think he’s doing the same to me, my sister implied that the circumstances were entirely different ( I think they might have gone out on a date or two and decided to just be friends - but the guy was still obsessed with her). But still I think it might be a similar situation.

It’s just I feel like I’m going crazy because everyone I tell who knows this guy keeps underplaying like ‘ah that’s just what he does’ but I definitely think this is more intense than what he normally does.