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The Secret Song of Florian and Jonquil- Part 9: The Grey Ghost and the Girl in Grey

December 23, 2024

This latest chapter was meant to be in one part, but it has turned out so long, I’ve decided to split it into two. Thus, today you are getting first part titled, The Grey Ghost and the Girl in Grey. Tomorrow, I will be posting part 2, and as a preview of what we will be covering, it will be entitled, The Shrouded Lord and a Mermaid's UnKiss. And so, without further ado, let’s begin.

Jon and Sansa by Arantza Sestayo for the 2023 ASOIAF Calendar

I begin this chapter with a question. Can a dead man get Greyscale?

A strange and provocative question to be sure, but I think it’s an important one that has not been but should be considered by the fandom. I say this because while I’ve seen an abundance of videos and read numerous essays about why greyscale is in the story, none seem to ask what I think is the most important question surrounding the topic, and that is why is Shereen at the Wall? More importantly, why does she have greyscale?

Why is Shireen being at the Wall important? Well, greyscale is said to be a curse called down by Garin on the dragon lords of old Valyria, and there are three dragons of note in the series. Dany, Faegon (whether he’s truly Aegon’s son or a Blackfyre descendant, he has dragon blood), and Jon. Let’s also include the Baratheons in this mix, as they also have dragon blood, which could be one of the reasons why Shireen has greyscale. But there may be a more important one.

The Volantenes and their Valyrian kin put them to the sword—so many that it was said that their blood turned the great harbor of Volantis red as far as the eye could see. Thereafter the victors gathered their own forces and moved north along the river, sacking Sar Mell savagely before advancing on Chroyane, Prince Garin's own city. Locked in a golden cage at the command of the dragonlords, Garin was carried back to the festival city to witness its destruction. At Chroyane, the cage was hung from the walls, so that the prince might witness the enslavement of the women and children whose fathers and brothers had died in his gallant, hopeless war...but the prince, it is said, called down a curse upon the conquerors, entreating Mother Rhoyne to avenge her children. And so, that very night, the Rhoyne flooded out of season and with greater force than was known in living memory. A thick fog full of evil humors fell, and the Valyrian conquerors began to die of greyscale. —The World of Ice and Fire - Ancient History: Ten Thousand Ships

Curiously enough, all the dragon blooded in the story are tied to the greyscale arc. Faegon via Jon Con, who has the disease; Dany is not directly tied to it yet, but she will be when her story intersects with Faegon and Jon Con; and then there is Jon who is connected to greyscale via Shireen Baratheon who is a survivor of the disease and has the marks to show it.

So again, why is Shireen, who has greyscale at the Wall. She’s Stannis’ daughter, but obviously there’s no need for her to have greyscale. No need that is, unless George needed someone with the disease to be in contact with dragon blooded Jon Snow, and so the question again becomes why, and can a dead man get greyscale.

Obviously as I’m proposing the question, I think the answer is yes, a dead man can indeed get greyscale. And obviously, I’m not talking about any dead man, but rather the special snowflake of the series who has been foreshadowed to rise from the dead, one Jon Snow. This is because Jon Snow is the Shrouded Lord and Shireen is at the Wall to give him greyscale and make him, the “Living Stone.”

Do I mean that Jon is the mysterious man of legend that lives in the Sorrows. Absolutely not. While Martin once intended to have Tyrion meet that figure, I don’t think that he will ever appear on the page. No, what I’m saying is that the legend of the Shrouded Lord from the Sorrows is in the story to inform and clue us in on Jon’s resurrection.

You are no doubt saying that this is a ridiculous theory and that the myth of the Shrouded Lord has nothing to do with Jon. I say that it and the inclusion of greyscale in the story has everything to do with Jon Snow, and I think that by the end of this chapter, many of you may come to agree.

This latest chapter has been six years in the writing. I started writing the theory 6 years ago, even before I wrote the first chapter of the Florian and Jonquil series. It’s one of many essays I’ve started but have not completed because once I started the F&J series, I realize that most of the half-written essays tied into the Florian and Jonquil mothership.

Some I’ve completed as earlier chapters in the series and a couple I’ve written as standalone essays. Still, I always knew that the chapter about the Shrouded Lord had to be part of the F&J series, because it’s a key part of the legend of the original characters and their modern-day counterpart, Jon, and Sansa.

I don’t think that I must go into the reasons Sansa is the Jonquil of the story because it should be obvious to all. There are also many clues that point to Jon being the modern-day Florian, including the fact that George obviously named the character after Saint Florian, the Roman soldier who became the patron saint of firefighter, who was killed when a rock was tied to him and he was thrown into a river to drown. As you continue to read this chapter, you will see that the stone and drowning aspect of the Saint Florian legend will be of major symbolic importance to my theory.

It makes perfect sense that George named his Florian after the man firefighters view as their patron saint because textural evidence suggests that the ancient Florian also fought against fire and it’s strongly hinted at in the books, that a returned Jon will lead the forces of ice against that of fire.

If you are still not convinced that Jon is the modern Florian of the story, consider this other real-world Florian whose story is strongly echoed in Jon’s arc.

Florianus (Marcus Annius Florianus; died 276), also known as Florian, was Roman emperor in 276, from July to September. He was the maternal half-brother of his predecessor, Tacitus, who was proclaimed emperor in late 275, after the unexpected death of Emperor Aurelian. After Tacitus died in July 276, allegedly assassinated as a consequence of a military plot, Florianus proclaimed himself emperor, with the recognition of the Roman Senate and much of the empire. However, Florianus soon had to deal with the revolt of Probus, who rose up shortly after Florianus ascended the throne, with the backing of the provinces of Egypt, Syria, Palestine, and Phoenicia. Probus took advantage of the terrain of the Cilician Gates, and the hot climate of the area, to which Florianus' army was unaccustomed, to chip away at their morale. Because of this, in September 276, Florianus' army rose up against him and killed him. —Wikipedia

Does this story about Emperor Florianus remind you of anything? Florian became emperor after the murder of his half-brother, and ruled for just three months before he was killed by his men. Except for the different circumstances, this is basically Jon’s story with the murder of his “half-brother” Robb; and him rising to be Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch before he like Emperor Florian was killed by his men soon after he takes on the leadership role.

I mentioned Florian and Jonquil at the onset of this chapter because this series is obviously about them, but their identity and symbolism is especially key to this chapter. However, before I get deep into the explanation of why Shereen is at the Wall to give Jon greyscale and why Jon is the Shrouded Lord of the story, let’s first discuss Jon’s symbolic color.

JON SNOW, THE GREY GHOST

Grey Ghost by René Aigner

Color is important in ASOIAF. George uses color over and over to give clues to his monomyth at the heart of the story. This is primarily done though sigils. However, characters are associated with colors as well, and that often has meaning in the story.

There is what I think is a mistaken theory from some in the fandom that Jon’s symbolic color is black. It is not. Jon’s color is tried and true Stark grey. It’s understandable why some may think his color is black. After all, he’s a black brother of the Night’s Watch and when he first leaves to join that order, he has this conversation with Robb.

Robb looked relieved. "Good." He smiled. "The next time I see you, you'll be all in black." Jon forced himself to smile back. "It was always my color. How long do you think it will be?" "Soon enough," Robb promised. He pulled Jon to him and embraced him fiercely. "Farewell, Snow."—A Game of Thrones - Jon II

Sadly, this moment was the last time Jon and Robb saw each other alive. In the passage, Jon tells Robb that black was always his color, but we know that’s not what he wanted. All Jon ever wanted was to be a Stark. He wanted to stand and represent the grey wolf of the house. And he wanted to follow his “father” as Lord of Winterfell. Yes, he loved Robb and would never have done anything to hurt him, but in his heart of hearts, he wanted what Robb had.

The thing is that George shows us over and over that Jon is more Stark-like than any of Ned’s kids. He looks the most like Ned and the ancestral Starks. He has Ned’s disposition, and he has the matriarchal genes of the Starks through his mother Lyanna, where Ned’s kids’ matriarchal heritage come from the Tullys. Most importantly, Jon has Ghost, the white wolf. And who is Ghost?

When he finally put the quill down, the room was dim and chilly, and he could feel its walls closing in. Perched above the window, the Old Bear's raven peered down at him with shrewd black eyes. My last friend, Jon thought ruefully. And I had best outlive you, or you'll eat my face as well. Ghost did not count. Ghost was closer than a friend. Ghost was part of him. —A Dance with Dragons - Jon III

Over and over in the text the connection between Jon and Ghost is emphasized. It’s the same for the other Stark kids and their direwolves bond mates. The human and the direwolves are two sides of the same coin once the bond is made.

Jon wondered where Ghost was now. Had he gone to Castle Black, or was he was running with some wolfpack in the woods? He had no sense of the direwolf, not even in his dreams. It made him feel as if part of himself had been cut off. Even with Ygritte sleeping beside him, he felt alone. He did not want to die alone. — A Storm of Swords - Jon V

When Ghost and Jon are separated by the Wall, Jon feels as if a part of him had been cut off. Even Ygritte beside him couldn’t lessen the loss of Ghost because Jon and his direwolf are one. They are one, and they are grey. This is one of the major symbolic reasons why Martin gave Jon the white direwolf.

Yes, Ghost’s name foreshadows Jon’s death and return, but his color in combination with Jon’s black brother symbolism make the two who are one, grey not black. So, while I understand why some in the fandom think of Jon’s color as black as an echo of Drogon, thus marking him as Dany’s mate, that is the wrong interpretation. Jon is the Grey Ghost.

If you doubt that Jon’s color is grey, consider the story that Martin gives us in The Princess and the Queen, which was further developed in TWOIAF about one of the wild dragons on Dragonstone.

Dragonstone’s three wild dragons were less easily claimed than those that had known previous riders, yet attempts were made upon them all the same. Sheepstealer, a notably ugly “mud brown” dragon hatched when the Old King was still young, had a taste for mutton, swooping down on shepherd’s flocks from Driftmark to the Wendwater. He seldom harmed the shepherds, unless they attempted to interfere with him, but had been known to devour the occasional sheepdog. Grey Ghost dwelt in a smoking vent high on the eastern side of the Dragonmont, preferred fish, and was most oft glimpsed flying low over the narrow sea, snatching prey from the waters. A pale grey-white beast the color of morning mist, he was a notably shy dragon who avoided men and their works for years at a time. The largest and oldest of the wild dragons was the Cannibal, so named because he had been known to feed on the carcasses of dead dragons and descend upon the hatcheries of Dragonstone to gorge himself on newborn hatchlings and eggs. Would-be dragontamers had made attempts to ride him a dozen times; his lair was littered with their bones. —The Princess and the Queen

Grey Ghost, sometimes referred to as “the” Grey Ghost was one of the three wild dragons on Dragonstone during the previous Dance with Dragons. He along with Sheepstealer and Cannibal were considered wild dragons because they were never ridden. Also, doesn't the use of the in front of his name almost seem like a title...something similar to "the Stark," "the Ned,” “the Great Jon,” or “the Night’s King."

While Sheepstealer was said to have hatched during the youth of King Jaeherys and some of the small folks said Cannibal was on Dragonstone prior to the arrival of the Targaryens, there is no information given on the birth of the Grey Ghost. However, all indication is that he was a young dragon because of how he met his demise.

It was about this time that a battered merchant cog named Nessaria came limping into the harbor beneath Dragonstone to make repairs and take on provisions. She had been returning from Pentos to Old Volantis when a storm drove her off course, her crew said … but to this common song of peril at sea, the Volantenes added a queer note. As Nessaria beat westward, the Dragonmont loomed up before them, huge against the setting sun … and the sailors spied two dragons fighting, their roars echoing off the sheer black cliffs of the smoking mountain’s eastern flanks. In every tavern, inn, and whorehouse along the waterfront the tale was told, retold, and embroidered, till every man on Dragonstone had heard it. Dragons were a wonder to the men of Old Volantis; the sight of two in battle was one the men of Nessaria would never forget. Those born and bred on Dragonstone had grown up with such beasts … yet even so, the sailors’ story excited interest. The next morning some local fisherfolk took their boats around the Dragonmont, and returned to report seeing the burned and broken remains of a dead dragon at the mountain’s base. From the color of its wings and scales, the carcass was that of Grey Ghost. The dragon lay in two pieces, and had been torn apart and partially devoured. —The Princess and the Queen

It is at first believed that the Grey Ghost was killed by Cannibal because the black wild dragon was known to eat dragon eggs and kill and eat smaller dragons on Dragonstone. However, in this instance, Cannibal was innocent of the crime. We later find out that the dragon that was guilty of killing Grey Ghost was none other than King Aegon’s Sunfyre.

And there Aegon might have remained, hidden yet harmless, dulling his pain with wine and hiding his burn scars beneath a heavy cloak, had Sunfyre not made his way to Dragonstone. We may ask what drew him back to the Dragonmont, for many have. Was the wounded dragon, with his half-healed broken wing, driven by some primal instinct to return to his birthplace, the smoking mountain where he had emerged from his egg? Or did he somehow sense the presence of King Aegon on the island, across long leagues and stormy seas, and fly there to rejoin his rider? Some go so far as to suggest that Sunfyre sensed Aegon’s desperate need. But who can presume to know the heart of a dragon? After Lord Walys Mooton’s ill-fated attack drove him from the field of ash and bone outside Rook’s Rest, history loses sight of Sunfyre for more than half a year. (Certain tales told in the halls of the Crabbs and Brunes suggest the dragon may have taken refuge in the dark piney woods and caves of Crackclaw Point for some of that time.) Though his torn wing had mended enough for him to fly, it had healed at an ugly angle, and remained weak. Sunfyre could no longer soar, not remain in the air for long, but must needs struggle to fly even short distances. Yet somehow he had crossed the waters of Blackwater Bay … for it was Sunfyre that the sailors on the Nessaria had seen attacking Grey Ghost. Ser Robert Quince had blamed the Cannibal … but Tom Tangletongue, a stammerer who heard more than he said, had plied the Volantenes with ale, making note of all the times they mentioned the attacker’s golden scales. The Cannibal, as he knew well, was black as coal. — The Princess and the Queen

During the period of the Dance, Sunfyre was described as a young dragon. Like Grey Ghost, the year of Sunfyre’s hatching is not mentioned in the books. However, even though he was described as young, he had to be bigger in size than the Grey Ghost as even with injured wing, he was able to kill the wild dragon. This tells us that Grey Ghost was likely younger than Sunfyre. Thus, Grey Ghost can be considered a young dragon as Jon would be as well.

As he was a young dragon and born on Dragonstone, he had to have been of the same lineage as the other Targaryen dragons. However, and this is of symbolic importance, he was wild. He was never ridden by a Targaryen, and so while he was “of them,” he was not “one of them.” This is of vital importance when you consider that he met his demise battling a Targaryen dragon of the same lineage.

Jon Snow is the Grey Ghost dragon. Like his animal counterpart, he is of Targaryen lineage, but will never be one of them. Grey Ghost’s battle with Sunfyre, a Targaryen dragon during the first Dance is also a key clue that Jon and Dany, the current Targaryen in the story will be in conflict. The rumor that Cannibal was the dragon that killed Grey Ghost may also foreshadow Jon facing off against that dragon or one like him in the future, but that’s a tinfoil theory for another day.

For now, let’s just acknowledge that George wrote the story of Grey Ghost into the story to point to Jon and what he represents in the story. His symbolic color is grey, not black and like the Grey Ghost, we will discover, that he also has a penchant for fish, because George didn’t just add that little bit to the legend by mere happenstance.

©HBO Game of Thrones

SANSA STARK, THE GIRL IN GREY

Among her many symbolic representations, Sansa Stark is also a symbolic fish. This symbolism she gets from her mother’s Tully heritage. As I discussed in the previous chapter, she is also a symbolic sea dragon, and in the story, when George talks about sea dragons, he’s talking about mermaids and vice versa. And again, I’m not talking about actual mermaids and sea dragons, but rather the symbolic representation of the female greenseers who first ruled the green sea or what the fans called the weirwood net. There is so much sea dragon/mermaid symbolism surrounding Sansa in the text, that it’s not even funny.

Petyr absconds with Sansa on the galley, the Merling King with a golden-crowned merman blowing on a seashell horn as the figurehead. Littlefinger seems to own the galley as his man Oswell Kettleback is the captain and Petyr seems to use it on a regular basis. Thus, when he and Sansa depart Kings Landing on the galley, Petyr is the symbolic merling king in the passage. Then he gets to the Vale, and makes Sansa pretend to be his daughter Alayne Stone thus making her the daughter of the merling king.

George then does something genius in the Vale arc to reinforce the symbolism. He has Petyr kill the merlin queen and usurp her rulership, which she was carrying out in the name of her son. What made Lyssa, the merlin queen you ask? Well note that that I didn’t say that she was the merling queen. I instead said that she was the merlin queen. Merlin without the g.

This is because the merlin, as in the blue falcon bird is the sigil of House Arryn. This is one of the genius ways George uses word play to emphasize his symbolism. Petyr is both the symbolic Merling King of the sea, and the Merlin King after he kills Lyssa and takes over as the Lord Protector in the Vale. This is also why Ursula Upcliff the ancient Vale figure, who is named after the character from the Little Mermaid can have said that she was the bride of the Merling King. She was likely for however brief a time married to one of the Kings of the Vale.

There is even a myth in the Vale of the Winged Knight, their ancient ruler being a friend of mermaids.

There is an overabundance of frozen sea dragon/mermaid symbolism in the Vale, and George for whatever reason, plopped Sansa who some in the fandom ridiculously argue is not that important a character right smacked in the center of it. Let me now discuss the girl in grey.

There is a popular theory in the Jonsa fandom that Sansa is the true girl in grey Melisandre saw in the fires coming to Jon at the Wall. While Mels did not have the vision on the show, they did merge Sansa’s storyline into that of Jeyne Poole and Alys Karstark and had her reunite with Jon at the Wall.

As I’ve stated on prior occasions, I have several problems with this theory playing out as proposed. First, Sansa being the girl in grey at the Wall would be a case of Martin pulling that rabbit out of the hat one too many times, and that’s not the way he writes.

First, the girl in grey was thought to be Arya. We the reader knew that it was not but Jon didn’t. Then Alys Karstark showed up and he thought she was the one that Melisandre saw in her vision. Stannis now thinks that’s Jeyne is Arya and he’s sent her to Jon at the Wall, and so you have another girl showing up. I don’t think George’s writing style leads to him going to that well for a 4th time.

Another reason that I don’t think the girl heading to the Wall is Sansa is because in the books, there will be no such merging of storylines like on the show. Also, when Sansa leaves the Vale, she will be taking the Knights of the Vale with her as she heads north. She won’t need to run to the Wall to Jon to for protection. Finally, part of Sansa’s arc as the Persephone of the story is to be stolen by the northern Lord of the Underworld, the symbolic Hades of the story.

Now having said all that, I’m going to surprise you by saying that I do think that Sansa is the girl in grey from Melisandre’s vision. I’ve confused you, haven’t I? Well, let me try to explain.

In the past when I’ve been asked my opinion about the girl in grey theory, I’ve tried to keep my answer to the part of the theory that had to do with her reunion with Jon at the Wall. I’ve done this because saying, “I don’t think she will reunite with Jon at the Wall, but I do think she is the girl in grey” would have required me to go into detail on what I meant.

This is something I was not prepared to do, because I was not quite ready to discuss the Shrouded Lord theory. However, now that I’ve finally gotten to this specific chapter of the series, I can reveal my thinking because Sansa being the girl in grey is central to the theory.

Melisandre often misinterprets her visions, as we see with the one about the towers by the sea.

Visions danced before her, gold and scarlet, flickering, forming and melting and dissolving into one another, shapes strange and terrifying and seductive. She saw the eyeless faces again, staring out at her from sockets weeping blood. Then the towers by the sea, crumbling as the dark tide came sweeping over them, rising from the depths. Shadows in the shape of skulls, skulls that turned to mist, bodies locked together in lust, writhing and rolling and clawing. Through curtains of fire great winged shadows wheeled against a hard blue sky. _____ "We've had a raven from Ser Denys Mallister at the Shadow Tower," Jon Snow told her. "His men have seen fires in the mountains on the far side of the Gorge. Wildlings massing, Ser Denys believes. He thinks they are going to try to force the Bridge of Skulls again." "Some may." Could the skulls in her vision have signified this bridge? Somehow Melisandre did not think so. "If it comes, that attack will be no more than a diversion. I saw towers by the sea, submerged beneath a black and bloody tide. That is where the heaviest blow will fall." "Eastwatch?" Was it? Melisandre had seen Eastwatch-by-the-Sea with King Stannis. That was where His Grace left Queen Selyse and their daughter Shireen when he assembled his knights for the march to Castle Black. The towers in her fire had been different, but that was oft the way with visions. "Yes. Eastwatch, my lord." —A Dance with Dragons, Melisandre I

As many in the fandom have deduce…especially after the release of the Forsaken chapter, the two towers in Melisandre’s vision are the ones in Oldtown, which Euron will soon be attacking. She has seen Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and knows that those towers look different from the ones in her visions. However, because she misinterprets things and thinks the vision is about the Wildings attacking, she quickly agrees with Jon when he asks if the towers were at Eastwatch.

She also thinks that Stannis is the Azor Ahai figure from her visions even though her visions show her Jon when she asks. She’s convinced herself that it must be Stannis because he was the Lord of Dragonstone, and all the discrepancies don’t sway her. She’s also making assumptions in her thinking of the girl in her vision, but more on that in a moment.

Alys’ arrival at the Wall does seem on the surface to fit the vision describe Melisandre, as she arrives on a horse almost dying under her. This is exactly how Melisandre described the horse in her vision, and so Jon assumes it’s Arya when he’s first awoken and told of Alys’ arrival at Castle Black.

“Arya. Jon straightened. It had to be her. “Girl,” screamed the raven. “Girl, girl.” “Ty and Dannel came on her two leagues south of Mole’s Town. They were chasing down some wildlings who scampered off down the kingsroad. Brought them back as well, but then they come on the girl. She’s highborn, m’lord, and she’s been asking for you.” “How many with her?” He moved to his basin, splashed water on his face. Gods, but he was tired. “None, m’lord. She come alone. Her horse was dying under her. All skin and ribs it was, lame and lathered. They cut it loose and took the girl for questioning.” A grey girl on a dying horse. Melisandre’s fires had not lied, it would seem. But what had become of Mance Rayder and his spearwives? “Where is the girl now?” —A Dance with Dragons, Jon IX

However, George does something strange when Jon visits Alys in that he never tells us the color of her clothing even though it was such an important point in the vision. He has Jon note them in a wet heap on the floor, but he doesn’t have him comment on the color, which is strange when “the girl in grey” is all that’s been in his thoughts.

“Maester Aemon’s old chambers were so warm that the sudden cloud of steam when Mully pulled the door open was enough to blind the both of them. Within, a fresh fire was burning in the hearth, the logs crackling and spitting. Jon stepped over a puddle of damp clothing. “Snow, Snow, Snow,” the ravens called down from above. The girl was curled up near the fire, wrapped in a black woolen cloak three times her size and fast asleep. She looked enough like Arya to give him pause, but only for a moment. A tall, skinny, coltish girl, all legs and elbows, her brown hair was woven in a thick braid and bound about with strips of leather. She had a long face, a pointy chin, small ears.” —A Dance with Dragons, Jon IX

This omission of the color of her clothing seems deliberate on George’s part…especially as he made them wet. As we know, some colors can look different when wet. For instance, reds can appear brown or black depending on the shade; and it can be difficult to tell if grey is black or vice versa. This seems as if George wants the reader to wonder whether Alys were indeed grey.

Another possible clue that the girl in the vision wasn’t Alys is the location of Karhold in relation to Castle Black. Karhold is Southeast of Castle Black. The fastest route for Alys to take would have been a straight shot east of Last Hearth through the Gift, up to Mole’s Town and over to Castle Black. It makes no sense for her to go out of her way to travel west to approach Castle Black from Long Lake as Melisandre says about the girl in the vision.

The Long Lake route would only make sense if Alys was indeed coming from Winterfell, but as she isn’t Jeyne and was coming from Karhold, that approach would make no sense. Plus, to get west of Long Lake, she would have had to cross the Last River, go through the Lonely Hills, and then also cross the lake to get to the western shore. This is a long way to travel when one is trying to reach a specific destination quickly. Plus, how exactly would Alys have crossed the Last River and the Long Lake.

There is also the fact that she was found by the Night’s a couple of miles south of Mole’s Town. This is proof that she came the route I suggested would have been the most direct to take from Karhold, and thus could not have been the girl in grey from Melisandre’s vision because as you can see from the map, the landscape looks nothing like what Mels described to Mance.

“Did your fires show you where to find this girl?” “I saw water. Deep and blue and still, with a thin coat of ice just forming on it. It seemed to go on and on forever.” “Long Lake. What else did you see around this girl?” “Hills. Fields. Trees. A deer, once. Stones. She is staying well away from villages. When she can she rides along the bed of little streams, to throw hunters off her trail.” He frowned. “That will make it difficult. She was coming north, you said. Was the lake to her east or to her west?” Melisandre closed her eyes, remembering. “West.” “She is not coming up the kingsroad, then. Clever girl. There are fewer watchers on the other side, and more cover. And some hidey-holes I have used myself from time—” He broke off at the sound of a warhorn and rose swiftly to his feet. All over Castle Black, Melisandre knew, the same sudden hush had fallen, and every man and boy turned toward the Wall, listening, waiting. One long blast of the horn meant rangers returning, but two … —A Dance with Dragons, Melisandre I

Melisandre tells Mance that the girl was Jon’s sister and she was escaping from Winterfell. Based on how she described the landscape, Mance made what he thought was the correct assumption because the girl in grey supposedly was coming from Winterfell. If the girl in grey is not Alys, might it have been Jeyne Poole who did indeed escape from Winterfell? Well, no!

First off, from the moment she escapes, Jeyne is never alone. She escapes with Theon and is soon captured by Mors Crowfood and sent to Stannis in the Wolfswood. Then as we see in TWOW preview chapter, Stannis in turn sends her to Jon at the Wall with 7 of his knights, Alysane Mormont, 12 horses, and several Black Brothers. Thus, there is no way that Jeyne is the girl in grey of the vision.

Stannis nodded. “You will escort the Braavosi banker back to the Wall. Choose six good men and take twelve horses.” ______ “Oh, and take the Stark girl with you. Deliver her to Lord Commander Snow on your way to Eastwatch.” Stannis tapped the parchment that lay before him. “A true king pays his debts.” Pay it, aye, thought Theon. Pay it with false coin. Jon Snow would see through the impostesure at once. Lord Stark’s sullen bastard had known Jeyne Poole, and he had always been fond of his little half-sister Arya. “The black brothers will accompany you as far as Castle Black,” the king went on. “The ironmen are to remain here, supposedly to fight for us. Another gift from Tycho Nestoris. Just as well, they would only slow you down. Ironmen were made for ships, not horses. Lady Arya should have a female companion as well. Take Alysane Mormont.” —The Winds of Winter, Theon I

I supposed Justin Massey and the other men travelling with him could be killed as they travel to Castle Black and Jeyne escapes and must make it the rest of the way on her own, but then one must ask what thematic purpose would that serve? I don’t mean what storyline purpose does it serve for Jeyne to arrive at the Wall. They are several. Rather, I mean what would be the purpose of her arriving alone and being the girl in grey…especially as Alys has already arrived at Castle Black and been mistakenly thought to be the girl in grey by Jon. No, Jeyne is not the girl from Melisandre’s vision.

Can the girl the true Arya Stark? Doubtful as she is halfway across the continent in Braavos, and all clues in the text that when she returns to Westeros, it will be to the Riverlands. This makes it very doubtful that she will reunite with Jon or any of the other Starks before A Dream of Spring, the last scheduled book in the series.

So, if the girl in grey is not Alys, Jeyne or even the real Arya, who is she? I say that it’s Sansa. However, just as she misinterpreted events in her vision about the two towers by the sea to be about Eastwatch, Melisandre is mistaken about the vision being about someone coming to Jon at the Wall. Rather, I think that she’s seeing events surrounding Sansa in the Vale as she tries to escape unfolding events after the Tourney of the Winged Knight.

Why is the vision not Sansa going to Jon at the Wall but of her in the Vale? Well for her to be going to the Wall, so many beats of the story would have to play out first, and like with Arya, it couldn’t happen before A Dream of Spring. Also, when Sansa goes north, she will not be travelling alone. She will have the Knights of the Vale with her, and so like Jeyne Pool, even if she goes to the Wall, she won’t be alone. And there is the fact that the Wall will likely have fallen by then.

Remember I said that Melisandre was making assumptions. What I meant is that she made it seem to Jon and Mance as if she had several visions of the girl in grey, when in fact, she had only one quick brief vision.

She came up with her own reasons of why the girl in the vision was Jon’s sister…likely because she wanted the Lord Commander to owe her a favor. She as much as thinks this. She also came up with a reasoning why the girl in grey was staying away from villages, and riding along the beds of streams. It’s not that she is necessarily wrong in her reasoning, but it is another example of how she puts her spin on things and often misinterprets the meaning of her visions.

The girl. I must find the girl again, the grey girl on the dying horse. Jon Snow would expect that of her, and soon. It would not be enough to say the girl was fleeing. He would want more, he would want the when and where, and she did not have that for him. She had seen the girl only once. A girl as grey as ash, and even as I watched she crumbled and blew away. —A Dance with Dragons, Melisandre I

White Walker Queen Sansa by AmyArts93n_DeviantArt

While I don’t think in Melisandre’s vision the girl in grey is approaching the Wall, there is one way, I think it could be the case, and that is if the vision is of Sansa and Jon reuniting in the weirwood net. Their reunion could be at the Wall in the weirwoods because after all, Old Nan did tell Bran that the Nights King first saw his corpse queen from the top of the Wall.

George has incorporated several Chekov guns into Sansa’s Vale arc that will go off in TWOW…most during the Tourney of the Winged Knights. There is the collapse of the Giant Lance causing an avalanche to descend on those attending the tourney at the Gates of the Moon. George has foreshadowed this happening from as far back as the Tourney of the Hand in the first book, and Oberyn’s battle with the Mountain in A Storm of Swords.

Lucifer Means Lightbringer also has a great theory that the Long Night was cause by the red comet knocking one of the previous two moons, in this case, the fire moon out of alignment and shards of it descending as meteors. This is what led to the Qartheen myth Doreah told to Dany.

LML proposes that the returned red comet heralds the coming of a similar event, which will cause the new Long Night, and there are strong textural clues to support this theory.

"A trader from Qarth once told me that dragons came from the moon," blond Doreah said as she warmed a towel over the fire. Jhiqui and Irri were of an age with Dany, Dothraki girls taken as slaves when Drogo destroyed their father's khalasar. Doreah was older, almost twenty. Magister Illyrio had found her in a pleasure house in Lys. Silvery-wet hair tumbled across her eyes as Dany turned her head, curious. "The moon?" "He told me the moon was an egg, Khaleesi," the Lysene girl said. "Once there were two moons in the sky, but one wandered too close to the sun and cracked from the heat. A thousand thousand dragons poured forth, and drank the fire of the sun. That is why dragons breathe flame. One day the other moon will kiss the sun too, and then it will crack and the dragons will return." —A Game of Thrones, Daenerys III

This time around, the shards to impact Planetos will be from the icy moon, which is the lone remaining moon in the sky. However, the icy moon won’t break up or be pushed out of alignment as was the case with its fiery sister, but pieces of it will descend to Planetos and cause the new Long Night. The icy moon can’t be destroyed because that would also mean the destruction of Planetos. As I queried in Why are the Others Back, the fact that the icy moon remained in the sky while the fire moon was destroyed is probably what protected Planetos from total destruction during other Long Nights, and maybe of symbolic importance in regard to the Others.

It's still to be determined whether returning comet or the meteor shower will be a natural occurring event or something precipitated by magical means. As this is a fantasy story, and the red comet has already moved away from Planetos, I suspect there will be some type of magical event that will call it back.

Unlike LML, I think a shard of the icy moon will hit in the Vale with impact on the Giant Lance, precipitating the avalanche. As I discussed in previous essays, descending from the Eyrie via the three waycastles of Sky, Snow, and Stone is like riding down on a meteor with the vaporish tail at the top (Sky), the icy snowy interior/middle (Snow), and the stony head (Stone) that will impact on Planetos.

You can view LML’s Long Night theory at on his YouTube channel here. And to read more about an avalanche hitting during the Tourney of the Winged Knight, please read Sweetsunray’s essay here. While her interpretation of events is different from mine, I think that she hit the nail on the head regarding the foreshadowing of the avalanche, and it was from her that I first picked up on the idea.

Other Chekov’s guns slated to go off are Petyr having Harry the Heir killed during the tourney; the revelation that Alayne Stone is Sansa Stark; Shadrach attempt to kidnapped Sansa; and of course, the Mountain Clans attacking during the tourney. Keeping all that in mind, let’s again look to see whether there is anything in Melisandre’s vision that might point to the girl in grey being Sansa.

Funnily enough, the description that Melisandre gives that Mance interprets to be the Long Lake area, could be a description of the Mountains of the Moon in the Vale. In fact, if you look at the area around Long Lake and the MOTM on a map, you will see that they look very similar as both are mountainous fertile regions.

Hills. Fields. Trees. A lake. Unlike in the North and other areas of Westeros, we have not yet been given the names of any of the lakes or rivers in the Vale. However, we know from the map that there are plentiful. Plus, as the Vale is one of the most fertile places in Westeros, and produces much of the area food, we know that they must have an abundance of water.

There is certainly a lot of water flowing from Alyssa’s Tears before it’s frozen during the winter months. Legend tells us that the water from the waterfall turns into mists before it reaches the Vale proper, but we know that can’t really be the case, and somewhere in the mountains…and likely through a cave system, water flows down from Alyssa’s Tears to the valley below.

Aside from the area around Long Lake being similar in terrain to that of the one around the Mountains of the Moon, you might be asking, what else in Melisandre’s vision suggests it might be of Sansa in the Vale?

Well, there is the curious mention of stones. Why stones? The area in her vision, which supposedly looks like Long Lake is a mountainous terrain as the northern mountains are to the east. However, Melisandre already mentioned there were hills in the vision, and while not quite the same as a mountain, the word is sometimes used as a stand-in. Mance himself makes this connection with his belief that she’s talking about the Long Lake area.

Might she be talking about mountains when she mentions stones? It’s not out of the realm of possibilities but is certainly a weird turn of phrase when hills were mentioned previously. So, if not hills or mountains, to what might stones refer?

Could the word be a hint to Alayne Stone, the pseudonym that Sansa is currently using while she pretends to be Petyr’s bastard daughter? I think that is certainly part of the answer. You’re probably saying that Melisandre refers to stones as in the plural form, not singular as in one person, which would be the case if it was about Sansa. To that I would say that all the bastards of the landed gentry in the Vale are referred to as Stone, and that could be where the plural reference comes in.

Nonetheless, there is one possible additional explanation for the Stone reference.

"Little boyman," Shagga roared, "will you mock my axe after I chop off your manhood and feed it to the goats?" But Gunthor raised a hand. "No. I would hear his words. The mothers go hungry, and steel fills more mouths than gold. What would you give us for your lives, Tyrion son of Tywin? Swords? Lances? Mail?" "All that, and more, Gunthor son of Gurn," Tyrion Lannister replied, smiling. "I will give you the Vale of Arryn." A Game of Thrones - Tyrion VI

Tyrion has armed the Mountain Clans with steel. It’s why they are more brazen in their attack, and why they have become the woe of the Vale.

Littlefinger stroked the neat spike of his beard. "Lysa has woes of her own. Clansmen raiding out of the Mountains of the Moon, in greater numbers than ever before . . . and better armed." "Distressing," said Tyrion Lannister, who had armed them. "I could help her with that. A word from me . . ." —A Clash of Kings, Tyrion IV

Winter is coming for everyone, including the Mountain Clans, and they must prepare. With their new castle forge steel, they are raiding more in preparation, and the upcoming tourney provides them with a perfect opportunity to test out their new weapons against some of the leading warriors of the Vale and gather provisions for winter at the same time.

His dream of selling Arya to Lady Arryn died there in the hills, though. "There's frost above us and snow in the high passes," the village elder said. "If you don't freeze or starve, the shadowcats will get you, or the cave bears. There's the clans as well. The Burned Men are fearless since Timett One-Eye came back from the war. And half a year ago, Gunthor son of Gurn led the Stone Crows down on a village not eight miles from here. They took every woman and every scrap of grain, and killed half the men. They have steel now, good swords and mail hauberks, and they watch the high road—the Stone Crows, the Milk Snakes, the Sons of the Mist, all of them. Might be you'd take a few with you, but in the end they'd kill you and make off with your daughter." —A Storm of Swords, Arya XII

With steel in their hands, the clans have united in ways they never did before, and it just so happens that one of the leading ones, led by Gunthor son of Gurn are the Stone Crows, and so we have another explanation for reference to stones in Melisandre’s vision.

One of the members of the Stone Crows was Shagga who along with Timett of the Burned Men and Chella Black Ears were Tyrion’s guards. They all would recognize Sansa. Shagga and the other Stone Crows who travelled with Tyrion to the capitol remained in the kingswood after the Battle of the Blackwater and Tyrion’s later downfall. They may still be there or they may have made it back to the Vale.

Whether Shagga has returned to the Vale or not, Timett, Chella, and other members of the Burned Men and Black Ears have and they will recognize Sansa when they see her at the tourney and during the fighting afterwards. They will know that she is Tyrion’s wife and know what she represents. And if they recognize Sansa, she will know them in turn.

As the clans seem to be working together more, even if Shagga is not present, the news of Sansa’s identity will likely be shared with Gunthor and the Stone Crows as he seems to be one of the central leaders of the clans and was the one who brokered the deal with Tyrion.

Is the Mountain Clans a threat to Sansa? At the end of the day, I don’t think they will be. I suspect that they will end up being her guards as foreshadowed in A Clash of Kings.

It was as if her face were an open book, so easily did the dwarf read her hopes. "Do not take Oxcross too much to heart, my lady," he told her, not unkindly. "A battle is not a war, and my lord father is assuredly not my uncle Stafford. The next time you visit the godswood, pray that your brother has the wisdom to bend the knee. Once the north returns to the king's peace, I mean to send you home." He hopped down off the window seat and said, "You may sleep here tonight. I'll give you some of my own men as a guard, some Stone Crows perhaps—" "No," Sansa blurted out, aghast. If she was locked in the Tower of the Hand, guarded by the dwarf's men, how would Ser Dontos ever spirit her away to freedom? "Would you prefer Black Ears? I'll give you Chella if a woman would make you more at ease." "Please, no, my lord, the wildlings frighten me." He grinned. "Me as well. But more to the point, they frighten Joffrey and that nest of sly vipers and lickspittle dogs he calls a Kingsguard. With Chella or Timett by your side, no one would dare offer you harm." "I would sooner return to my own bed." A lie came to her suddenly, but it seemed so right that she blurted it out at once. "This tower was where my father's men were slain. Their ghosts would give me terrible dreams, and I would see their blood wherever I looked." —A Clash of Kings, Sansa III

Sansa turned down Tyrion when he made the offer of having the members of the mountain clans protect her, but I suspect her response will be different in the future, because just as Jon is brokering a peace between the Northern Houses and the Wildings, Sansa will do the same for the Mountain Clans and the Houses of the Vale.

Jon also could be a part of Melisandre’s stony mystery, but the answer to that will come later. And what about the deer. Martin didn’t just have Mels mention that name for no reason, and so, what might that name have to do with Sansa.

Well, as George has used anagrams on many occasions in the text, one can look at deer and see that it’s reed spelled backwards, and so could potentially hint at Howland finally appearing on the page. There is a fandom theory that he is Shadrich, but there are too many holes in that premise for me. Plus, nothing we’ve seen of the Mad Mouse fits the father described by Jojen and Meara. If Howland Reed is in the Vale to help Ned’s daughter, he’s not Shadrich. However, as the theory is out there, I had to mention it.

As I proposed in Ser Shadrich of the Shady Glen, the Mad Mouse is a Faceless Man…possibly even wearing the face of the first of their kind. And I do think that it’s quite possible that the deer Melisandre saw in her vision could be referring to the Mad Mouse. How you ask?

It so happens that there is a mammal called a mouse deer, but I don’t think it’s that type the text is referring to. A mouse deer is a cute fawn like animal. No, I think that George is quite possibly using the deer in Melisandre’s vision to refer to deer mice, the little rodent so named because its fur looks like that of a deer. As I discussed in the Shadrich essay, Faceless Men are compared to mice over and over in the text.

Now that we’ve discussed why Jon’s symbolic color is grey, and why Sansa is the girl in grey, let’s briefly talk about Martin and his love of Christian myths.

GRRM, THE LOVER OF CHRISTIAN MYTHS

The Episcopalian Church is the American offshoot of the Church of England (Anglican Church). It formed after the American revolution because priests in the newly independent nation were still required to swear allegiance to the British monarchy as head of the Anglican Church. Today, the ruling British monarch is still the head of the Church of England as they have been since Henry VIII split the church off from the Catholic Mother Church so that he could divorce and remarry whenever he wanted.

Unlike the Catholic Church which has a Pope who rules over the worldwide congregation and is considered the head of the Christian faith, the Church of England have regional bishops and archbishops who are leaders of their region and unlike catholic cardinals do not have to report to a central head. However, there are different tiers of leadership, and the most senior ranking member of the English church is the Archbishop of Canterbury who reports to the ruling monarch.

The structure the American Episcopalian Church is very much like that of the Church of England with a presiding Bishop as its titular head, but of course without the monarchy above him. It, like the Anglican Church is also very steep in the tradition of the Catholic Church. However, there are differences in the two churches and their Catholic counterpart from which they formed.

The most obvious difference is that in the Anglican and Episcopalian churches, the clergy are allowed to marry. Women are also allowed to be priests while only men are granted that honor in the Catholic church. One other major difference I want to mention is that the doctrine of the Catholic church is heavily centered around the Holy Mother, while Jesus the son, is more the focus of the Anglican and Episcopalian branches.

Other than those major differences, the Catholic and Episcopalian churches are similar in their pageantry. Both called their baptism into the faith, confirmation; both have kids as acolytes; the Catholic church has the Breviary while Episcopalian uses the Book of Common Prayer; the prayers for the different holy days are also very similar…the Apostles Creed vs the Nicene Creed among others.

I went into a brief discussion of the Catholic vs Episcopalian churches because George was confirmed and raised as a Catholic when he was young. He is no longer a practicing Catholic and could be described as more of an agnostic than an atheist. In fact, I may have heard him in an interview described himself as such, but I’m not positive if I’m remembering such an interview or if it’s just my opinion based on reading his writings.

However, it’s obvious in his writings that he loves religion…not necessarily the religious aspect or the wars that have been fought in the name of various religions. Rather, I think that he loves the myths around which all religions are based.

As George was confirmed and raised as a Catholic, I was confirmed and raised as an Episcopalian. I wasn’t an acolyte, but my brother and sister were. Every Sunday, the three of us had to attend Sunday School, and although, I no longer go to church every Sunday—and truthfully only attend services a few times a year, I’m still a member of the Episcopalian church, and can recite by heart all the prayers and homilies I learned as a child. When people ask me about the difference between the two churches, I don’t go into the detail explanation I just gave you. I basically describe being an Episcopalian as being Catholic without the guilt. That’s pretty much it in a nutshell…LOL.

Being an Episcopalian is one of the reasons that I recognize George’s heavy use of much Catholic doctrine and biblical myths in ASOIAF. This includes myths recognized and discussed by the fandom over the years such as the doctrine of the seven who are one of the Faith of the Seven mirroring that of the Trinity of the Christian faith; the ironborn’s legend of the Grey King descending to sit at the right hand of the drowned god just as in Christianity, Jesus is said to have ascended to sit at the right hand of God the Father.

In Part 1 of, Do Direwolves Dream of the Weirwood Net, I even discussed how Petyr’s killing of Joffrey echoes that of Samson’s killing of the young lion. There are other examples I’ve discussed in different essays, and some I’ve recognized but have not touched upon. However, what I want to discuss now is how one such biblical myth is baked into the legend of The Shrouded Lord as the representation of Christ in the story.

Again, I don’t mean the figure Tyrion is told about while sailing through the foggy stretch of the Rhoyne called the Sorrows. I am talking about Jon Snow, the true Shrouded Lord, aka the Prince of Sorrows, aka, His Grey Grace.

There is no character as much the focus of the Christian symbolism at play in the story as Jon Snow. He is the risen Christ of the story. It’s the reason for his grey symbolism, and I think it’s why George added the legend of the Shrouded Lord to the tale in A Dance with Dragon, just as Jon was being killed. It was to foreshadow and set up his eventual resurrection.

Aside from the foreshadowing of Jon’s resurrection George layers throughout the books, one of the most popularly accepted clues by the fandom that Jon is the Christ figure of the story is of course the legend of the Last Hero and his 12 companions, which mirror the real world one of Jesus and his 12 disciples. On the show, they also had Jon and a gang of 12 go behind the Wall on the wight hunt. I highly doubt that anything even similar will play out in the books, but there likely will be an event involving Jon and a group of 12, and maybe even a 13th, which will become clear shortly.

However, there is one scene that I don’t see discussed that is symbolically very important to the foreshadowing of events surrounding Jon’s symbolic resurrection, and it is the magical scene that takes place outside of Craster’s keep. I discussed it previously in Part 5 of my essay series, Of Sansa Stark and the Glass Menagerie and in a shorter excerpt in Waking in a Winter Wonderland. For expeditious purposes, I’m going to copy a bit of that essay here.

He woke to the sight of his own breath misting in the cold morning air. When he moved, his bones ached. Ghost was gone, the fire burnt out. Jon reached to pull aside the cloak he’d hung over the rock, and found it stiff and frozen. He crept beneath it and stood up in a forest turned to crystal. The pale pink light of dawn sparkled on branch and leaf and stone. Every blade of grass was carved from emerald, every drip of water turned to diamond. Flowers and mushrooms alike wore coats of glass. Even the mud puddles had a bright brown sheen. Through the shimmering greenery, the black tents of his brothers were encased in a fine glaze of ice. So there is magic beyond the Wall after all. He found himself thinking of his sisters, perhaps because he’d dreamed of them last night. Sansa would call this an enchantment, and tears would fill her eyes at the wonder of it, but Arya would run out laughing and shouting, wanting to touch it all. “Lord Snow?” he heard. Soft and meek. He turned. Crouched atop the rock that had sheltered him during the night was the rabbit keeper, wrapped in a black cloak so large it drowned her. Sam's cloak, Jon realized at once. Why is she wearing Sam's cloak? "The fat one told me I'd find you here, m'lord," she said. A Clash of Kings - Jon III

There is so much symbolism in the above passage and I wish that I could unpack it all, but I’ll have to give you the crib notes version. Jon wakes to aching bones…almost as if he was awakened from the dead. He notes that Ghost is gone from besides him and then pulls back his cloak (a symbolic door) to go outside. Jon is the Christ like figure in the story and so the cloak he hung over the “rock” is symbolic of the stone that sealed Jesus in his tomb, which of course will take on additional meaning later when Jon is killed and returns to the land of the living.

Jon crept beneath the stone, symbolic of Christ existing the tomb and stands in the realm of the afterlife. His brothers/disciples are still asleep because it is not yet their time to join him in the icy afterlife. He is alone in this icy landscape and thinks that there is magic beyond the Wall after all. He then thinks of his sisters and how they would react to the scene. Arya would run out laughing and wanting to investigate everything, but Sansa, she would cry at the wonder of it all. I’m going to come back to Sansa’s reaction later, because it’s very important, but for now, let’s talk about what happens next. It turns out that Jon is not alone in the icy landscape of the early morning.

Jon hears someone call his name, but they don’t refer to him by his name of Jon, but rather by the moniker of Lord Snow mockingly assigned to him by Alliser Thorne. Note how Martin italicizes Lord Snow for emphasis. This is because in the scene, the title positions Jon as the risen Christ like figure. He is the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

He turns and sees Gilly wearing a black cloak sitting on top of the rock that sheltered him during the night. Symbolically, it is as if Gilly sheltered him while he slept. It also implies that potentially, she could have been why he awoke. Maybe she made a sound; maybe she willed him awake because she needed to speak to him.

Jon wonders why Gilly is wearing a cloak so large it almost “drowns” her. He then realizes it’s Sam’s cloak and wonders why she’s wearing it. I’ll tell you why Jon. It’s because in the scene, Gilly is the symbolic Mary Magdalene who was the first to know that Christ had risen from the dead. Her wearing Sam’s cloak positions her as a female member of the Night’s Watch as Mary Magdalene was said to be Christ’s 13th disciple.

It of course also positions Gilly as a symbolic Nights Queen/Persephone/original blue winter rose to Jon’s Nights King/Hades character. Even her name has icy Night’s Queen connotations as we discover when she tells it to Jon.

"I don't even know your name." "Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower." "That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her. "Is it Craster who frightens you, Gilly?" A Clash of Kings - Jon III

Here is a description of the gillyflower from the wiki.

Matthiola incana is a species of flowering plant in the cabbage family Brassicaceae. Common names include Brompton stock, common stock, hoary stock, ten-week stock, and gilly-flower. The common name stock usually refers to this species, though it may also be applied to the whole genus Matthiola. The common name "night-scented stock" or "evening-scented stock" is applied to Matthiola longipetala. —Wikipedia

As we see, the gillyflower is also known as night-scented stock or evening-scented stock. Another name for it is also hoary stock. Very icy and almost most straight out of the Long Night. Sounds like the perfect flower stand-in for the blue winter rose in the scene. Notice also that Sansa’s name comes up for the second time in the chapter…this time when Gilly tells Jon about her icy sounding name.

Considering the association flowers have with romance, and the fact that the gilly flower is also called night and evening scented stock, one can argue that the name also has lady of the evening connotations. I will return to this and the hoary nature of Gilly’s name shortly but for now, I want to talk briefly about a scene that echoes the Jon magical one…this time from Sansa’s viewpoint.

Several times in the text, George writes mirror scenes for Jon and Sansa. These includes Sansa’s scene with the Hound on the top of the ramparts during the Battle of the Blackwater as they look out over the burning of the city. In the scene, the Hound puts his sword to Sansa’s throat. In the very next chapter, we get a re-enactment of this scene from Jon’s POV when he first meets Ygritte and the “flowering” of the Winter Rose. The emphasis is again put on fire, and this time, it’s Jon who puts his sword to Ygritte’s neck. And of course, in the Sansa scene, the blue rose Daughter of Winterfell flowers for the first time.

Another mirror scene is when Sansa is interrogated by the Queen of Thorns and in the very next chapter Jon is interrogated by the King Beyond the Wall. The elements and content of the two chapters perfectly matches up. It’s almost as if the Jon chapter is a continuation of the Sansa one. Or rather, it’s as if Jon’s chapter gives you the answer or at least some of them to the question raised in Sansa’s. I discussed both the scenes with the Hound and Ygritte, and Olenna and Mance in Sansa and Sandor, and Jon and Ygritte. It’s one of my earliest essay series, and while I’ve since come to different interpretation of a few of the points, overall, I’m still behind the basic theory.

I mentioned these scenes to draw attention to the Sansa one that mirrors the one Jon has in the magical realm beyond the Wall. They don’t follow each other as with the two I just mentioned and in fact, occurs in different books, but George does write them to mirror each other and obviously wants you to think of them in unity.

When she opened the door to the garden, it was so lovely that she held her breath unwilling to disturb such perfect beauty. The snow drifted down and down, all in ghostly silence, and lay thick and unbroken on the ground. All color had fled the world outside. It was a place of whites and blacks and greys. White towers and white snow and white statues, black shadows and black trees and dark grey sky above. A pure world, Sansa thought. I do not belong here. Yet she stepped out all the same. Her boots tore ankle deep holes into the smooth white surface of the snow, yet made no sound. Sansa drifted past frosted shrubs and thin dark trees, and wondered if she was still dreaming. Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover’s kisses, and melted on her cheeks. At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground, she turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams. ASOS Sansa VII, Chapter 80

As he does with so much of their character arcs, GRRM wrote this Sansa scene to echo Jon’s from the haunted forest. In a way, it’s a continuation of that scene because where Jon stopped short of seeing Sansa enter the death realm, here she steps out into it. Both wake from having dreams of their family. We don’t learn much of either dream except that both included Arya. We’re told that Jon’s dream included Sansa as well and so we’re left wondering whether hers also included him or even if possibly the two were of the same event. We also know that for both, it is a dream of home.

In Jon’s scene, he wakes, notes that Ghost is gone from besides him and then pulls back his cloak (a symbolic door) to go outside. I’ve already discussed the symbolism of him exiting from under the rock and so won’t do so again. Sansa on the other hand, opens a real door to enter the garden and is greeted by a ghostly silence as the snow falls. GRRM’s brilliance shines through here as he ties the two scenes together as soon as Sansa enters the garden.

Ghost is the silent direwolf who never makes a sound. In fact, the words ghost and silent appears together in 21 paragraphs in the various books and each time, the reference is to Jon’s direwolf. And so, Martin connects Jon’s frozen forest scene with Sansa’s winter Eyrie wonderland by making it seem as if Ghost has symbolically left Jon’s side to be at Sansa’s. But Ghost is not just a direwolf, he’s Jon as well and he brings the snow with him, which brushes Sansa’s face as soft as a lover’s kiss.

Martin continues the kiss imagery as Sansa describes feeling the snow on her lashes and tasting it on her lips. It’s almost as if she’s receiving butterfly kisses. The melting snowflakes on Sansa’s cheeks also echoes the tears that Jon mentions she would shed if she saw the magical icy realm beyond the Wall. In fact, Sansa’s reaction to the similar scene in the Eyrie, is just how Jon thought she would react.

She didn’t want to step out, which makes sense because she’s the Persephone character and while the time for her to descend is approaching, it’s not quite here yet.

I referenced the Sansa Eyrie scene not just to show the connection between Jon’s in the haunted forest, but also to show that there has been an idea of a kiss between the two percolating in background of their arcs. This is very important as I believe that when it happens, it will play a role in Jon’s resurrection. However, before I get to that bit of the theory, let’s briefly revisit Mary Magdalene.

Mary Magdalene in a landscape by Annibale Carracci

There are different versions of the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ in the four gospels but the common denominator in all is the presence Mary Magdalene at his death, burial and as one of the first witnesses of his empty tomb.

In some telling of the story, Mary is one of the three women who discover the stone removed from the tomb of Christ. They enter to find the body gone and the presence of an angel who tells them that Christ has risen and they should go and spread the word to his disciples. In two other gospels they don’t enter the tomb but an angel rolls away the rock and tells them that Christ has risen. Jesus then appears to them and tells them to go and notify the disciples that he has risen and to meet him in Galilee. And in the Gospel of John, Mary goes to the tomb alone and it is there that the Christ appears to her.

According to John 20:1–10, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb alone when it was still dark and saw that the stone had already been rolled away. She did not see anyone, but immediately ran to tell Peter and the "beloved disciple," who came with her to the tomb and confirmed that it was empty but returned home without seeing the risen Jesus. According to John 20:11–18, Mary, now alone in the garden outside the tomb, saw two angels sitting where Jesus's body had been. Then the risen Jesus approached her. She at first mistook him for the gardener, but, after she heard him say her name, she recognized him and cried out "Rabbouni!" (which is Aramaic for “teacher"). She tried to touch him, but he told her, "Don't touch me, for I have not yet ascended to my father.” Jesus then sent her to tell the other apostles the good news of his resurrection. The Gospel of John therefore portrays Mary Magdalene as the first apostle, the apostle sent to the apostles. —Wikipedia

Mary Magdalene like the 12 disciples is a major part of the Christian myth about the Christ. Like with the tale of Christ’s resurrection, there are many different versions to the biblical myths surrounding Mary Magdalene—including the earlier belief that she was a repentant prostitute. She is often conflated with Mary of Bethany or the sinful woman who washed Christ’s feet as referenced in the Gospel of Luke. And there are some biblical scholars who believe that there was some type of romantic relationship between Christ and Mary.

Another woman of whom Mary Magdalene is confused is Mary of Egypt, the prostitute who later became a saint. In fact, in some Medieval paintings, Mary Magdalene and Mary of Egypt are rendered in similar manner with a skull to signify their penitence, which no doubt contributed to the confusion between the two.

Whores play an important role in ASOIAF. They show up over and over in background scene but also in central roles as with Shae, and Tasha, Tyrion’s offscreen wife. Female characters are also often assigned that derogatory moniker. As a woman, it can sometimes be uncomfortable to read. However, I don’t think that George is doing it to be controversial or that he’s a sexist writer.

There is a symbolic and very important purpose behind all the reference to whor*s in the story. I think George is playing off the rumors about Mary Magdalene. House Darry from the Westeros forum and the once hopping Twitter myth-head fandom may have discovered the symbolic importance of whor*s in the story. He may have discovered why George has Tyrion asked the question, “where do whor*s go?”

House Darry proposes that often when George references whor*s, he is playing with the word hoar as in hoarfrost and icy. And ultimately, it’s to tell us something about the Others. Figuring out the answer to Tyrion’s question may provide an answer about what happened to Nissa Nissa and the Night’s Queen. You can read the thread on the forum here. I fully endorse his theory and advise reading as the thread as it contains some thought-provoking ideas.

This I believe is why George named Gilly after the gillyflower, which as we saw is also called hoary stock. The Matthiola longipetala, species of the flower, is called evening or night scented stock because its blooms and gives off their fragrance at night and wilts during the day. It’s also cold resistance. Gilly is not the Nights Queen of the story, but George often symbolically writes her as such to provide clues about the true NQ character and so it makes sense that the flower from which her name comes is cold resistant and associated with the night. This is GRRM, as I always say, being consistent with his symbolism.

Many in the fandom often joke about George having a thing for redheads in real life and that’s why there are so many in his stories. I think that he may even have jokingly acknowledged this in an interview, pointing out how his wife is a redhead. In his stories, his leading female characters are often redheads and this is true in ASOIAF as well. But here, he goes one step further and often makes his background characters redheads as well…especially the whor*s.

There is an abundance of female whore*s who show up in the background of scenes who are described as redheads. In part 3 of this series, I discuss this phenomenon, and the clues in the Hedge Knight and other books in the series that point to the corpse queen being a redhead, as well as the first blue winter rose of House Stark. Funnily enough, as seen in the above image, in classical art, Mary Magdalene is usually depicted as a redhead. You can see several representations of Mary in art at the Fitzwilliam museum.

An interesting image of Mary is not a full fledge painting but the charcoal drawing by Dante Rossetti, he of the perpetual redheads in his painting. It is titled, Mary Magdalene at the Door of Simon the Pharisee. While done in charcoal and not paint, one can immediately see Dante’s style and recognize that if done in color, he would have painted Mary as a redhead as he did most of the women in his art.

Mary Magdalene at the Door of Simon the Pharisee by Rossetti

Rossetti rendered Mary who is wearing a garland of roses that she pulls from her head as a prostitute trying to reach Christ and being blocked by others. What is interesting is that Rossetti was also a poet and he wrote a poem to accompany the drawing, the words of which suggests that while he might have been describing a spiritual love, it’s possible that he also believed there was a romantic relationship between Christ and Mary.

Oh loose me! Seest thou not my Bridegroom's face That draws me to Him? For his feet my kiss, My hair, my tears He craves today: – and oh! What words can tell what other day and place Shall see me clasp these blood-stained feet of His? He needs me, calls me, loves me: let me go!

According to Wikipedia, Mary Magdalene is mentioned by name twelve times in the canonical gospels, more than most of the apostles and more than any other woman in the gospels. In several of the gospels left out of the bible at the Council of Hippo, a closer relationship between Mary and Jesus is described in a way that may or may not have been romantic. For brevity’s sake, I’m copying and pasting the excerpt from the Wiki, including the passage from the Gospel of Phillip, which is one of the ones left out of the bible.

The Gospel of Philip uses cognates of koinônos and Coptic equivalents to refer to the literal pairing of men and women in marriage and sexual intercourse, but also metaphorically, referring to a spiritual partnership, and the reunification of the Gnostic Christian with the divine realm. The Gospel of Philip also contains another passage relating to Jesus's relationship with Mary Magdalene. The text is badly fragmented, and speculated but unreliable additions are shown in brackets: And the companion of the [saviour was] Mary Magdalene. [Christ] loved Mary more than [all] the disciples, [and used to] kiss her [often] on the [–]. The rest of the disciples [were offended by it and expressed disapproval]. They said to him, "Why do you love her more than all of us?" The Saviour answered and said to them, "Why do I not love you like her? When a blind man and one who sees are both together in darkness, they are no different from one another. When the light comes, then he who sees will see the light, and he who is blind will remain in darkness." —Mary Magdalene, Wikipedia

Whether the kisses Christ gave to Mary were different from those given to the other disciples, and thus possibly signifying a romantic relationship between Mary and the historical Jesus will never be known but it is clear why over the centuries, there have been many who have considered it a strong possibility. However, I do believe that George is playing with this idea in the text regarding the Nights Queen and the very strong possibility that she was a redhead. He has folded the myth of Jesus and Mary Magdalene into ones about mermaids, sea goddess and a kiss of life.

In the last chapter, I discussed how the legend of the Grey King and his mermaid wife mirrors that of Elenei and Durran Godsgrief with both being about a female greenseer and her husband. In the Grey King version of the myth, he killed his mermaid/greenseer wife to access the green sea/weirwood net. On the other hand, the legend of Durran Godsgrief and Elenei, his mermaid wife is just the opposite. In it, the wife saves the husband from drowning in the green sea with the kiss of life.

All these myths about mermaids, sea gods, and the kiss of life are in the story to inform us not just about events during, and leading up to the last Long Night, but also about the same leading up to the next one. And as Amanda from Crowfoods daughter showed in her ironborn video essay series, the myths are also tied to those of the Shrouded Lord.

Amanda did such a great job with the theory that I’m not going to go over it again, but will simply provide the link to ironborn series so that you can watch the videos yourself.She talks about the influence of the Little Mermaid on the legends in question; Tyrion’s near death in the Sorrows; Florian and Jonquil; and the Shrouded Lord amongst other topics.

Now, I will show you how all these myths in question are about Jon’s resurrection and Sansa’s involvement in it, because as I’ve been saying this entire series, they are the Florian and Jonquil of the current tale.

However, that will have to wait until the next chapter because this essay has grown so long, I must split it in two. But I will leave you with a preview of Jon Snow the risen Christ in the story with this excerpt from 1 Peter 2:4-6 that describes Jesus as the Living Stone.

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.”

Next chapter, we will look at the evidence that shows that George is using the myth of the Shrouded Lord to mirror that of Christ the Living Stone and why Jon is the representation of both in the story.

ETA 12/24 to reflect the updated name for the next chapter from "the Infamous UnKiss, to a Mermaid's Unkiss.

#sansa stark #jon snow #asoiaf #jon x sansa #house stark #asoiaf meta #my meta #sansa stark meta #florian and jonquil #the shrouded lord #the living stone #girl in grey

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seafearing · 4 months

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@palmviolet this question was just too good (and difficult bcos of it) which is why i have been thinking about it for like six days. so sorry for this absolutely unhinged essay you are getting, feel free to. ignore lol

1 in the bleak midwinter, season 2, episode 6

this takes the number one spot because it's one i really remember hitting me upon watching it for the first time. his grave that's been dug out for him for the whole episode without him realizing it, then the acceptance in the mud and the field, the sequence where he actually falls into the grave with the dead bodies on top, i did fucking think he had died for a second there. and then he has to crawl out of it, and. then the realization that he has to keep going is what breaks him, and how that tells so much about his character and how it gets built up on and mirrored constantly the coming years.

oops this got long sorry i am entirely normal about this television series

2 did polly send you, season 6 episode 6

i can't not have this scene high up here. the symbolism throughout, with the crow, the fire, and the horse, his hallucination of his daughter and at this moment, imagining polly as well despite saying that polly would never visit him in his dreams again, that torn ugly heart of family, love and brutality, betrayal

and the sentimentality of spreading all these mementos of his loved ones in the caravan where he intends to die, like a kind of perverted version of him saying to campbell "i have my family". and alfie asking him, when will he stop, and "when i find the man i can't defeat", and that turned on its head and being manipulated into becoming the man he can't defeat, myself talking to myself about myself truly, as well as, most glaringly, the whole mental illness of it all. and, just i don't know i found it good storytelling not to have the main character that's struggled with mental health and suicidal ideation for the entirety of the series, die of suicide at the end for a shock ending of sorts. like i am so very glad that wasn't the twist in it all.

and then the continuation of this scene to the end. him with the gun in his hand once again, that addiction where he feels like god. and this time he doesn't pull the trigger, but it was never about pulling the trigger, it was having the power of being the one to choose. and they end it with him riding away with the white horse encased in fire. the obvious symbolism with how everything started with him arriving on the black horse, and also the mirror of how he blew up his house and walked away from it, repeated at the end. like sorry but this is poetry to me.

3 now you've seen me, season 1 episode 5

this was such a brutal and haunting scene that i really remember well from those early seasons. one of the few times we really see tommy lose it like this. used by the police much like he was used in the war, and then he snaps. and that betrayal, again. they were supposed to come, but they didn't come, the cavalry. and the vulnerability that he has afterwards, you see that it breaks him. that unavailable, closed off man he's become after the war, and you feel like, this is what was hiding underneath it all, these raw guts, the splattered, caved in skull. "now you've seen me," he says to grace, but he's also saying that to the audience. i do really like that their romance as well is always marked by them seeing this violence, the brutality in one another. "this one looks like it was killed by a wild fucking animal," and she marries him.

4 what fucking line am i supposed to have crossed, season 3 episode 6

i can't also not-mention this. i really enjoy pretty much all the characters in peaky blinders, but alfie is truly a wild one. he's sold tommy out again, and this huge rant he goes on after being confronted about it, it's just simply beautiful and so multi-layered that i feel too stupid to analyze it. just something about him unleashing this self-justified anger at tommy thinking he's above it all, and then to go, more softly: "i did not know about your boy, though." also the propensity of tommy always going back to him for more betrayal, just like he went back to grace after she betrayed him. this season, it doesn't even occur to him that alfie might have betrayed him (again): he interrogates his family, first. insane.

5 he just listened. and now he has no face, season 5 episode 4

god i love season 5, and this episode in particular. this whole sequence where the swan dies, in this episode where tommy keeps seeing his dead wife. the whole sequence is just, encapsulating love, betrayal and violence. lizzie going to hold tommy's hand as they watch the ballet, aberama proposing to polly, the reveal of linda and her raw confrontation of the violence and control, fuck. and then polly being the one to pull the trigger, and the swan, she does die. and the whole sequence that unravels afterwards with linda on the table is like something! out of a fucking renaissance painting!! it makes me unhinged!!

nooo and i didn't even include that sequence at the dinner table in s6 where the camera swiwels between the participants, just the cinematography and decisions they make in this show. prove it with your body. wait let me redo this whole thing i'm not doing it justice nooo who cares about season 1 (i do)

#transferred this ask from the dead blog!#thank u this was Such a question also... sorry #random pb thoughts #ask #palmviolet

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secretsofthewilde · 26 days

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Sexual intimacy in seasons 1-3 of Buffy The Vampire Slayer - continued

@girl4music asked me to write a section on Willow, so here is my very quick initial look into Willow's relationship with sexual intimacy in the first three seasons of Buffy. okay wow this ended up much longer than intended

The original post with my points briefly covering Buffy, Faith, and Cordelia is here (x).

Willow Rosenburg

As I touched upon in my actual essay, I think that the introduction of Tara marks a difference in how gender norms come into play in the depictions of sexual intimacy in the show. For this section, as with the others, I am going to be sticking to the first three and how they depict Willow's relationships.

When first introduced to Willow she is a shy and often meek character, who we know has a heart of gold and are supposed to sympathetic towards. Comparatively to Buffy and Cordelia, Willow could be seen as the true "good girl" of the Scooby for the most part. While she attempts to emulate Buffy's confidence or more risk taking tendencies, when it comes to her role in relationships in the first two seasons she still defaults to gendered stereotypes for the most part.

Upon the very first episode of the show we are introduced to her as having an unrequited and rather hopeless crush on Xander. Despite the fact that it's puppy love she feels for him, we are meant to still view her love for him as pure and good. When Buffy urges her to try seize the day in those first episodes, she then decides to go against her heart and goes out with a boy she just met at the Bronze, who is then of course revealed to be a vampire. This first attempt of Willow's to seek an intimate relationship is one she is punished for (though it may not stick out to us, it is an important moment for her), because it doesn't have the emotional connection that the show requires of it's female characters to have.

I'm not going to get into Moloch (the demon that possesses a computer) too much, but I will just quickly say I think that an argument could be made that the relationship between them was punishing Willow for attempting to form a relationship with someone through means that went against the norm for teenage girls at the time. Obviously the key theme of that episode is a sort of 'Online Stranger Danger' but at the same time it's interesting that Willow's key strength (the supposedly feminist aspect of her early character) lies in her computer skills in these early seasons, but she is unable to use those skills in order to establish an intimate relationship.

Her relationship with Oz is arguably presented as the most healthy of the Scoobys' relationships at this time. He respects her and routinely informs her that he doesn't want her to feel the need to change herself or present a certain way in order for him to remain interested in her. His more mellow personality and constant praise towards Willow often makes us forget the dominating traits he has in the relationship - i.e. his age, experience, and the fact that he is a werewolf. I also think it's interesting to note that due to his werewolf status that we see her falling into a more submissive feminine lover role; she is a beauty who loves the beast and believes that the power of her love is strong enough to perhaps tame him one day. When she does initially attempt to initiate sex into their relationship, Oz rebuffs it, suggesting that they take their time with introducing sexual intimacy, as he believes she is primarily initiating it out of her personal insecurity at her lack of experience. He primarily makes the decisions in how they move forward in their relationship, but because we know that Willow is intellectually superior to many of her peers and Oz presents himself as not at all domineering, we don't question whether it's right for him to speak for her as to whether she really feels ready to have sex yet.

When it comes to Willow and Xander cheating on their respective partners for one another... I'm not going to rewatch that story line just for this post, so this will be based off of my memory (about a year a two since I've last rewatched). While we are made to understand that Xander and Willow are both in the wrong for their emotional affair, the show does constantly remind us that Willow has held love for Xander for several years and in doing so it tries to make us more sympathetic towards her actions. While Willow is (from my memory at least) the one who initiates and pushes them to continue their behavior, she is the one the show expects us to be forgiving towards. This brief dominance she displays with Xander breaks her usual passiveness and in doing so also appears to be playing against gender roles in their relationship. However, when the pair are caught kissing by their respective partners they quickly revert to their expected roles; Willow becomes a passive and submissive partner to Oz again, wracked by the guilt of her actions and wanting to repent. While she isn't granted instant forgiveness by Oz, it's relatively quick that the two resolve their conflict and go back to being the Scooby's representation of a "good relationship". It is very interesting to note that the show forgives Willow for her cheating behavior, whereas it could be argued that Cordelia is punished for not forgiving Xander for his behavior. This reinforces the idea that Willow is supposed to be a passive participant in her relationship, as we see Cordelia, who refuses to do so, gets exiled from the Scooby gang and narratively punished.

The first time that Willow has sex in the show is with Oz and it's one of the rare times we see sexual intimacy being portrayed as both loving and without punishment for the women during these early seasons. As Buffy and Angel's first time was presented as being a reflection of their love, so too is Willow and Oz's. One could argue that the show even rewards Willow for returning to Oz and submitting herself to him sexually. At the end of season three their relationship, the one which appears to fit gender roles, is the only one that remains. From this we can see that though Willow attempts to contest gender roles through the same strengths that grant her position in the Scooby gang, when it comes to relationships and intimacy she is often pushed into the role of being the token "good girl" of the group; even when she does navigate contesting this role, such as in the case of cheating with Xander or expressing the desire for sex casually, we will see her revert back into a more submissive characterization afterwards.

To draw this all back to my original post; the female characters are able to challenge gender roles in many ways in the first three seasons, however this isn't extended to sex. Willow is allowed to desire sex and even enjoy it, however it is on the provision that she fulfills certain heteronormative conventions, or is at least perceived to do so during these times.

#im not touching on vampire willow being sexually aggressive and obvs queer bc this is already too long but uhh its definitely interesting #as its s4 onwards that her relationship with sex becomes more problematic i actually found this kind of hard to critique esp from my memory #btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #willow rosenberg #pre season 4 she just... is infantilized? for the most part #wait fuck post cancelled i need to come back and rewrite this through the lens of the writers infantilizing her #my meta #buffy studies #buffy meta #media studies

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biblioflyer · 3 months

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Rediscovering Discovery: just what was that show?

Once upon a time I set myself a task. A task that was actually kind of the original inspiration of this blog. Namely to rewatch and analyze Star Trek Picard in pursuit of an answer to the question: Did Picard turn the Federation into a Dystopia? A series of essays I intend to revisit now with the benefit of season three pointing the way to where the show was headed.

I didn't fully succeed at the rewatch. Its still a "bucket list" item but I got 6/10ths of the way through the first season and I felt comfortable saying "no." Its a darker show and one that emphasizes character arcs, character experiences, and the performance of emotion over the stoic, proceduralist, "competency porn" that marked the TNG era. There has definitely been a pulling back from some of the conceits of TNG: that 24th century humanity was radically altered in some core way, almost genetically from us (at the time) 20th century brutes, and that the Federation was almost supernaturally wise and virtuous.

Empirically speaking, both of these concepts were always memes. Oh to be sure, we were seeing a civilization that avowed a particular set of values that resonated very strongly with a particular sort of 1990s secular humanist and generally behaves relatively virtuously if your preferences are wired towards amiability over conflict. Yet it wasn't without its blindspots. My Roman Empire is that the Federation's superpower is not that it is perfectly just and wise at all times and places, its that it is a society whose acculturation process creates people who are somewhat less egotistical, more curious, and less impulsive under stress with the end result being that as a civilization, its superpower is responding to new information with openness and alacrity.

Thus, while there are judicious complaints about Picard: I am not a fan of using the Federation abdicating responsibility for a fellow sentient species, even one it has been hostile with for centuries, as a metaphor for disowning the victims of far flung conflicts and cataclysms in the real world. I'm okay with a flawed Federation that needs to confront its own failings, but this was pretty extreme. Well mostly extreme. There are at least two times Picard had to be talked into saving a prewarp civilization from certain doom because something something Prime Directive even though the Enterprise could do it with trivial effort and with minimal chance of overtly disrupting the society in question. Data's penpal and Worf's brother's preindustrial people.

Overall, I land that Picard doesn't alter the setting beyond recognition, beyond being a setting where justice ultimately prevails, or beyond being fairly labeled "Star Trek."

So what about Discovery?

Now that its over, its as good a time as any for a retrospective. My intent is to watch the first season over again, because its been a loooong time. I've always tried to watch the show in a charitable spirit, much as I have Picard. I try to be radically self aware in that I know my opinions are subjective, that my preferences are rooted in my own values and experiences, and that other people could read the same situation in different ways.

In addition, there are always at least two ways to analyze Star Trek. There's the literal way: which is what is happening and what that tells us about the people and the universe (sometimes called Watsonian) and the Doylist: the "meta" aspects. What is the show actually trying to do from a storytelling standpoint? What symbols is it invoking? What storytelling shorthands is it using? What messages or themes is it trying to convey and, if these really are the correct messages, how well is it actually selling those themes?

To be frank, I've often not been the biggest fan of Discovery from a technical standpoint. I've often felt that its internal logic is sloppy and that, like Picard, it frequently undercuts the messaging I believe it is trying to convey with that very same poor internal logic or by relying heavily on "telling" rather than "showing" us what to think.

Star Trek as a franchise loves to look straight at the camera and lecture us primitive 20th/21st century apes on our failures. Maybe its the nostalgia, but Discovery and Picard have generally both felt like they are less trusting of their audience to interpret the correct moral of the story. Of course I could be parroting a popular complaint about modern fiction that emphasizes "progressive" themes that is itself very likely a perpetual complaint about fiction that emphasizes "progressive" themes, and of course grandpa TOS was the victim of "OG cancel culture" in the form of various networks in various localities threatening to or even outright refusing to air the episode with the Kirk/Uhura kiss.

So in no particular order what I want to investigate is:

Is Discovery "pedantic"? Pedantic being highly subjective. One quirk about me is that it makes me irritable to feel like I'm being lectured on appropriate conduct and beliefs by someone who I share beliefs with, but is articulating those beliefs in a way that makes me feel pandered to (as in I'm not sure the source is as committed as I am) or feels superficial, flattening, or essentializing.

Is Discovery a deconstruction of Star Trek? As in it subverts core ideas in a way that would irk people who are committed to those themes. If so, which themes and is this a good thing or a bad thing?

Are the augmentations, contradictions, and retcons from "established canon" interesting and worthwhile story devices? I'm not anti-retcon and I'm not a canon purist, Star Trek by virtue of having many, many, many contributors is better interpreted as a mythology than a wholly coherent setting; but retcons can and should be judged on their merits.

Is Burnham a "Mary Sue?" This is an almost useless question because of its subjectivity. Its extra useless because in Star Trek, almost every Starfleet character is a polymath capable of inventing entire new fields of science on the spot out of rocks and vibes. There's also a layer of sexism and colorism to it. To the fullest extent possible, I want to frame this question in terms of what are the consequences to the story and worldbuilding from having a main character and less on whether or not that main character has merit.

To some extent this will also address whether Burnham's narrative arcs have robust narrative logic or if there are "too many cooks in the kitchen" resulting in a character who presents as incoherent from episode to episode and successful by fiat. This is definitely something that I think was smoothed over in seasons 4 and 5, starting with what I think was an intentional shift in her characterization as early as season 3.

Its possible my own preference for the more measured tone of network TV era Trek may lead me into the same minefields as the trolls in comment sections across the internet, but I'm hoping to keep my self awareness vivid.

My intent is to go for the full first season. I'm looking forward to it because my memories are extremely fuzzy and I authentically would be delighted to find delights that I had forgotten about.

#star trek #star trek picard #star trek discovery #discovery rewatch #michael burnham #star trek the next generation #star trek analysis

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theacadcemicwriters · 1 month

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rbnjo · 1 year

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Helmut Lang Spring 2024 Fashion Show

Peter Do’s Helmut Lang Revival

Helmut Lang, known as a designer’s designer, quit at the tip of his career after alleged disputes with Prada Group's CEO Patrizio Bertelli on how the brand should be continued. And after Mr. Lang had sold his remaining shares to Prada in October 2004, he left his label in January 2005. The high-end luxury brand was later acquired by Fast Retailing and went into several changes.

The appointment of Peter Do earlier this year, a designer hailed as one of America's most exciting and promising new talents, signaled the company's ambitions to make the brand relevant. Now Do is filling the shoes of one of the most famous and influential designers of the past quarter of a century.

Peter Doe was overcome by the "A's" syndrome, he wanted to be Helmet Lang's best student ever. Do used several archival references in the show, although he insists it is all from scratch, yet it is noticeable in the collection – slim suits, bubble dresses, indigo denim, tank tops - he made sure to incorporate elements of his background as an Exotic Vietnamese-American designer. Yet, the collection was a bit flat and lifeless IMO. Nevertheless, it is well known that the first collection is always a sketch, a libretto. Debut shows tend to be a bit superficial. That is normal. Hopefully, by next season, Do will find the strength to put the method book aside and start doing it the way he feels it should be.

The show's highlight and emphasis were on tailoring. The collection's sharp suits, clean shirts, and rugged denim create a foundation that Do will build upon as he continues to make his mark on the heritage brand.

In lieu of show notes, Do offers a poem by his friend the Vietnamese poet Ocean Vuong, in which he muses about things like cars, the American dream, and family — One of the models also carried a book by Ocean Vuong. A series of crisp white poplin shirts and T-shirts were printed with snippets of an original poem. In the show, every five models wore one of the stanzas, some printed in Vietnamese. Do said that they sampled 30 different poplin shirts to find the right fabric.

The set was a minimalist industrial space, empty except for excerpts from Vuong's essays projected on the runway before the show. Earlier this week, the brand introduced the show with taxis displayed with Helmut Lang's logo (he was the first designer in the '90s to advertise on taxis). Do also photographed the famous Helmut Lang taxi advertisement and turned it into a print on sheer shirts.

#fashion

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dawn-moths · 3 years

Text

“Life is Like Tetris, My Time’s Precious”

CHAPTER 1

Tomura x Female Reader

part 1 * part 2 * part 3

word count: 12,400+

(A quirkless college AU where there’s been some sexual tension between you and a classmate you’ve had a crush on for quite some time. But despite your frequent interactions over the years due to your similar class schedules, you aren’t quite sure if Tomura Shigaraki is actually into you. When he finally invites you to hang out in his dorm while his roommate is away however, you have quite the experience and learn even more about the boy who you’ve been trying to get closer to for so long.)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ sexual content! minors dni! Tomura is actually kind of sweet to you in this but he’s also a sad boy, touch starved/virgin Shiggy, Touya/Dabi cameo ‘cause i couldn’t help myself lol, title taken from “Hoodie Up” by MISSIO.

***

The brisk coolness of early fall swept through your college campus, forcing you to trade the shorts and crop tops of the fading summer for jeans and oversized sweaters, cute pleated skirts paired with college crewnecks and ankle boots. The leaves on the trees lining the main path were beginning to change too, the pale greens and bright yellows of last season merging into vibrant sunset oranges and sultry crimson and plum.

Though, despite the dwindling warmth of September that bled into the first few weeks of October, you were excited for the new season, even if it did mean you were closer to having to bundle up in as many layers as possible and trek to class in the snow. Because a new season meant a new semester, new classes, new chances. And you’d gotten lucky to end up in a computer science class with your favorite acquaintance.

As you practically skipped to the lab where rows of monitors were lined up with big, bright glowing screens, you couldn’t shake the giddiness that filled up your chest at seeing him again, the emotion like a blend of sweet honey and spicy cinnamon.

You’d had at least one class with Tomura Shigaraki since freshman year so, while the two of you weren’t quite friends, per se, you did know each other well enough to pick seats next to each other during lecture or for you to slide into a booth in the cafeteria if you saw him sitting alone, exchange some small talk here or there, little interactions like that.

He’d let you copy some of his notes a few times and you’d helped him edit some essays, never really gotten much further than school assignments or the occasional mutual complaining about a particularly hard professor. But even so, you held onto every interaction you’d ever had with him, the memories and conversations piling up over time.

You hadn’t always had a crush on him. Nothing like love at first sight or anything like that.

In fact, the first time the pale boy with the disheveled hair and dark clothing made eye contact with you during your freshman intro class, you’d actually been quite intimidated.

But over time, once you’d actually talked to him (you’d been the first one to break the ice, of course), gotten to know him a little better, that harsh outer exterior decorated with scratch marks and scars had become softer in your vision, maybe even charming in his own awkward kind of way.

You’d learned that Shigaraki was actually pretty shy, just used his aloof aura to his advantage because he was afraid to get too close to anyone. He wasn’t mean or scary or any of those other things you’d speculated him to be upon first glance, though he could be pretty reactive when someone tried to overstep his boundaries.

Being touched in particular, especially by strangers, seemed to set him off like nothing else.

You’d only witnessed it once during these past three years, but that single incident had been enough to leave an impression.

And it hurt you a little bit, the thought that, even if he maybe did like you back, you might never be able to touch him, that he might never let you.

But you’d brushed fingertips before while exchanging class handouts. You’d bumped elbows next to each other in the computer lab.

Maybe, just maybe, there was some hope.

But time was running out.

Because this would potentially be your last year together. And when you realized that you might never see him again after graduation, a little crack began to splinter in your heart.

You found yourself overthinking every interaction, every conversation or greeting nod he directed towards you when you passed each other on campus, every crooked smile or sarcastic chuckle you could pull from him even when he tried so hard to keep his emotions contained.

It was like you were trying to make sure things were perfect, even if they were just meaningless encounters in his eyes, because once he was gone that would be it.

You’d only have the fleeting memories.

But you couldn’t get hung up on the fear, on the what if’s and why didn’t I say or do this sooner’s.

You had to make this next year— these next months— count for something.

So you continued to play this odd game of mental tetris with yourself, trying to rearrange the pieces so that everything would fall perfectly into place before the time ran out and it was game over.

“Hey,” you greeted Tomura with a smile as you approached the monitor next to the one he was already seated at.

He nodded his head at you once without looking your way and replied with a muttered, “Sup,” already pulling up the latest assignment that he would most likely be finished before the end of class.

That was ok though. Once he was done with his then you could have him help you with yours, if you caught him before he grabbed up his bag and scuttled out of the room to go wherever it was he sought refuge in between classes.

“God, you’re fast,” you breathed out in awe as his fingers flew over the keys, punching in code line after line on the screen. His hands had always looked pretty to you— long, lithe fingers and alabaster skin, free of the rust tint that was sometimes caked under his short fingernails today, though you could see a few fading reddened stripes peeking out from under the sleeves of his black hoodie on his wrists and neck.

“S’cause it’s easy…” Tomura replied with a quiet drone, vermillion gaze stuck lazily on the computer screen, darting back and forth in minuscule motions as he typed.

“For you, maybe,” you responded through a gentle chuckle, continuing to watch him work while you waited for your computer to boot up. “I’m not even halfway done.”

“Well that’s why I’m a video game design major and you’re not,” Tomura smirked, bloodshot eyes still glued to the screen.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever nerd,” you shot back playfully. If it were anyone else, you’d lean over and nudge them with your elbow, forcing them to look you in the eyes for a split second and notice your sly grin. But with Tomura, you played it safe and kept your distance.

“I’m almost done,” he then sighed, confirming your earlier assumption about his progress. “I’ll help you after.”

Your smile widened, though the moment of joy was short-lived as the professor walked in, flicked off the lights, and began the day’s lesson, only the brightness from the monitors illuminating the surrounding area. But even in the dim, cool light you tried to sneak glances at Tomura beside you, the silvery waves of his hair cast with soft hues of cyan and pearl.

It only took Tomura about ten more minutes before he was done with his assignment, but he kept to his promise to help you out, discreetly taking your mouse in his hand and sliding your keyboard closer to him before correcting a few mistakes you’d made along the way before straight up doing your work for you, not even trying to hide the fact that he knew you wouldn’t be able to finish on your own.

You didn’t complain though. Honestly, you only took this class because it was the last requirement you needed to graduate. Well, that and the fact that you knew he was taking it too.

You didn’t really pay attention while the professor spoke and directed the other lost students step by step over the big projector screen at the front of the room. You were too mesmerized, both by the lightning speed of Tomura’s fingers over the keys and the way his scarlet gaze was so focused on the task before him.

It was like second nature to him.

Computers— and just electronics in general— had always been something he could understand easily. The way they’re put together, the way they come apart. It was the most intimate relationship he had, the certainty in which his fingers tapped on the keys with one hand while the other rested on the mouse, cursor zipping back and forth across the screen.

You caught yourself staring at his hands again, noticing a short stint of silence when he took a break from all the typing to scratch at one of his wrists, the sound of his nails raking across his skin setting you a little on edge.

You wish he wouldn’t do that. All the scratching all the time.

If it wasn’t his neck or his wrists that were marked with streaks of red, sometimes so deep you could tell the tracks had definitely been bleeding recently, then you were sure that the discomfort must be written on other parts of his body as well, places you couldn’t see, but would like to, given the chance.

You wanted to reach over sometimes when you caught him doing it absentmindedly and clasp his hand in yours, give his fingers something else to find purchase in rather than his own flesh.

But again, you knew you couldn’t.

He’d surely reject you, maybe even get mad at you like he did to that one kid the time he placed a hand on his shoulder after class, entire body flinching away violently and slamming into the painted over cinder block of the hall, eyes gone wide and wild as his chest rose and fell with frantic hyperventilation before he told the guy off and stalked away in a rage.

You always wondered what had made him that way, why touch was so hard for him, but again, you didn’t ask. Because, whatever it was, you figured that he probably didn’t want to talk about it, especially with the likes of a classmate that he’d only ever really hung out with because he was forced to via matching class schedules.

And soon, your computer science class was over, the lights were flicked back on, momentarily blinding you as you squinted through the harsh brightness of the fluorescent bulbs running along the ceiling, and students began to file out.

You thanked Tomura for his help, offering to treat him to coffee sometime as payment for the favor, and then you expected him to just grab his stuff and leave like he usually did, maybe give a weary “See you” on his way out.

But that time he didn't.

Instead, he lingered in his seat a little longer, watching you as you slowly gathered your things. And then, just before you were about to be the one to give the obligatory farewell before you went on your way, he stopped you.

“Hey, uh…” he began, nervously scratching at the back of his neck, tangling his fingers into tufts of pale hair as his scarlet gaze flicked away from your own. “Do you, uh… Do you maybe wanna hang out sometime? Like, outside of class?”

You almost couldn’t believe it. Your ears rang a bit with all the blood that was rushing to your head, hoping it wasn’t showing too much on your face while your heart hammered in your chest and your cheeks burned.

“O-of course!” You finally replied with a nervous smile, breaking from your daze. “Is there a particular day or time or…?”

Tomura asked if you’re around this weekend, Friday evening specifically, as he would be done with his classes around three in the afternoon. “My roommate’s gonna be out for the weekend,” he added, then caught himself and corrected it by saying, “I mean, not that that matters, but I’m just saying— You could come over to my dorm, if you wanted…”

And then you knew your face was reddening, the mere thought, the idea of being alone with Tomura filling you to the brim with pure joy and nervous excitement. You tried to play it cool though, telling him you’d check your schedule and text him later to let him know even though you’d already decided any and all plans that you may have already had were going to be postponed because you might never get another chance like this.

“Cool…” Tomura replied with a nod as a nervous smile began to spread across his lips, tongue darting out to lick at them where they were chapped.

You said you’d see each other soon and then you headed out, Tomura still staying behind for a moment after you exited to collect his nerves, letting out an exhale of relief that you actually accepted his offer, though still felt stupid for making the comment about his roommate. Though, he was glad that the two of you would be alone. The last thing he needed was that guy stirring up trouble with the girl he’s had a crush on all these years.

And you, well, you beelined it for the nearest bathroom, locking yourself in the stall all the way at the end until you could get your big, goofy smile under control. Because you were happy. You were so, so happy. Because maybe, just maybe, he liked you back after all.

Maybe all the months and days and moments of stolen glances and fleeting smiles exchanged between the two of you had actually been amounting to something, however painfully slow.

And he’d looked so flustered at just asking you that simple question, at inviting you over.

It was adorable to you, his sheepishness at a task that was all too familiar to you. You had to fight hard to suppress a series of giggles that were trembling through your chest, face buried into the palms of your hands regardless of the fact that no one else could see you.

You took a few more deep breaths before you emerged from the stall, studying your face in the mirror to make sure that all the rosiness of your glee had disappeared for the time being, though you were sure once you were back in the safety of your dorm room and got to texting him the inevitable “hey, so I checked and I’m free on Friday” that the color would return to your cheeks.

And so, after you received Tomura’s reply of “Ok, how about you come over around five then” and you instantly replied with a “See you then!” you were left to lay back on your bed and clutch your phone close to your chest, your smile lingering for hours as you daydreamed about what Friday would behold, what opportunities it would present for the both of you.

And you felt like, somehow, someway, maybe you were getting a hang of arranging the pieces of this mental tetris game you’d been playing. Maybe, if you were lucky, you’d be able to look at the final image and see that it all lined up perfectly, in the end.

***

Friday had felt like forever away, especially since you and Tomura hadn’t had any other classes together that week after your Thursday one had gotten canceled and you’d been cooped up in your room or the library to finish as many assignments as you could so you would be free to enjoy the weekend without worry.

But now that it was here, you were starting to wish you’d had a little more time. Because it was four o’clock, just one hour before you were set to meet Tomura at his dorm— one of the senior apartments on the edge of campus— and your elation was quickly melting into a thick, sticky mire of dread and anxiety.

What if things were awkward? Or what if you overstepped somehow?

What if Tomura didn’t actually like you like that after all and you’d gotten all worked up for nothing? What if you made a fool of yourself and he never wanted to talk to you again?

What if you arranged all the pieces incorrectly and screwed up with just one wrong move?

Stop overthinking, you reminded yourself sternly through a long exhale. Everything’s going to be fine.

But what were you going to wear? What kind of look would Tomura like? I mean, he’d seen you on a weekly basis for just over three years now, give or take the months out of the summer and winter when you’d both returned home for break and hadn’t been around each other. Would it be too obvious that you were trying too hard if you showed up all decked out? Would that make him uncomfortable?

You didn’t even know what the two of you would be doing. If you were just going to be sitting around and chatting or playing video games or watching TV then you would probably want to be comfortable. Tomura didn’t seem like the type who went out much. Not unless he had to, of course. And for as much as a party-goer you’d been in your underclassmen years, you hadn’t run into him at a single event.

He usually dressed pretty casual— a black long sleeve or hoodie over a pair of jeans and the same red converse every single day— so did that mean you should match his level of nonchalance?

But you wanted to look cute, for him and for yourself, especially since a nice outfit always helped boost your self-confidence and calm your nerves.

You tried on a few different options before making a final decision of one of your pleated skirts— a white one— paired with a baby blue sweater, some delicate gold jewelry to accent the outfit and a pair of black combat boots.

It was nearing 4:45 by then, and you carefully surveyed yourself in the mirror to make sure you really were satisfied before grabbing your purse and heading out the door, knowing it took about twenty minutes to walk across campus to where Tomura’s apartment was, fifteen if you walked fast.

The evening air was chillier than the atmosphere that covered campus during the day, golden sunlight that spilled over the neatly manicured grounds in amber and honey shades now sinking behind the main student center building and soon disappearing below the horizon.

You held your skirt down as a gust of wind blew past you, sending a shiver through your body and causing you to pick up the pace a bit, the senior apartments coming into sight from down the hill.

You cut across the lawn and, only a few more strides from his front door, slowed your steps, taking in a few more deep breaths before convincing yourself that you were ok, that everything was going to be fine, and then knocked on the door, stepping back and wrapping your arms around yourself to further attempt to keep out the cold.

“Hey…” Tomura answered, looking down at you with a slightly mystified stare, vermillion eyes shining in the low light of the little sconce above the entrance.

“Hey,” you replied with a timid smile, approaching to walk through the door and feeling instant relief at escaping the autumn winds that seemed to be picking up by the second.

“Glad you could make it.” Tomura closed the door and then took the lead up towards the second floor of the apartments where his dorm was located. After a few steps upward he began explaining, some fading irritation laced into his tone, “So, my roommate’s still here. But he’s on his way out. If he says anything weird, just ignore him. He’s kind of an asshole, but…” But he didn’t finish that particular thought, punctuating it with a lazy shrug.

“Don’t worry,” you giggled, easing a little bit of Tomura’s concern. “I can handle it.”

Tomura muttered something about how he knew his roommate was going to do this— was going to be late in making his exit even though he’d assured Tomura he’d be out long before five— just to see exactly who his loner of a roommate was inviting over.

“Is it a girl?” the roommate had pressed after Tomura had informed him that he’d be having company on this particular day at this particular time. Tomura hadn’t indulged him, just sighed and said that it didn’t matter. “Well if you’re gonna fuck ‘er,” he’d gone on crudely and with a hint of sinister satisfaction in making Tomura uncomfortable, “just don’t do it on the couch. I don’t wanna have’ta sacrifice the best seat just ‘cause you got cum all over it.”

Tomura had scrunched his face in disgust and then told his roommate that any situation where that would even be remotely possible wasn’t going to happen, so he could stop worrying about it.

“I mean, shoot your shot, dude,” he’d teased Tomura. “Just don’t do it in a shared space.”

Tomura had ignored him after that, just retreated to his room and shut the door, getting lost in one of the many virtual worlds that he liked to use to forget reality and responsibility for a little while.

But now, as he was about to lead you into his apartment where you were most definitely going to come face to face with his cocky asshole of a roommate, he wished he’d just agreed to meet you somewhere until he was sure that guy was gone.

The moment you passed through the doorway, a set of sapphire eyes snapped over to scan you up and down, onyx hair sticking up in tousled spikes and a devious grin playing on his lips, two tattoo sleeves wrapped around his arms with all kinds of black inked designs and numerous piercings lining his ears.

“Uh…” Tomura began awkwardly as you stood between the two boys. “This is Touya, my roommate.” Tomura then informed Touya of your name with much reluctance.

“So it was a girl after all,” Touya said through a devilish smirk, taking a few lazy strides towards you where he could tower over you better, take in the sweet sight of your innocent little eyes staring up at him. Then, with a dangerous amount of audacity, Touya leaned down a little closer to you and said, as if it were a secret, though loud enough that Tomura could clearly hear, “If you get bored with this one, well, I guess you know where to find me now.”

“Alright, ok…” Tomura raised his voice and rolled his eyes, coming to stand beside you, as if in claim or protection, and scowled at his roommate. “Shouldn’t you be leaving, Touya? Would hate for you to get stuck in traffic.”

Tomura wanted to put an arm around you, to pull you closer to him to further accentuate the fact that you weren’t up for grabs as easily as Touya thought any girl on any given day was, but he didn’t. Couldn’t, was more like it. Because he was afraid to freak you out.

He was afraid to freak himself out too, and something as simple as a touch was such an easy trigger.

“Yeah, yeah, alright, I’m leavin’,” Touya replied with petty attitude as he slung his bag over his shoulder and pulled his car keys from the pocket of his ripped black jeans. “Just remember, Shigs…” he cooed condescendingly as he passed Tomura, reaching over to pat his shoulder twice and gaining a damn near evil glint in his eyes when Tomura tensed and sucked in a hiss of a breath at the unwanted contact. “Keep it PG in here.” Touya looked over his shoulder and winked at you, clicking his tongue twice and then heading out the door, letting it slam behind him.

And then it was just the two of you. Just you and Tomura— who was still tense long after Touya’s hand had left his shoulder— standing in the silent dorm and going through two very different waves of emotion at the guy who’d just made an unforgettable intro and exit in one fell swoop.

“Shit, you weren’t kidding…” you finally said, trying to lighten the mood with a smile, even if it was crooked and uncomfortable. “That guy really is an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, sorry ‘bout that…” Tomura glared towards the door, as if Touya were still out there and waiting up to listen to the reactions he’d stirred in you two. “I’ve tried to get a roommate change, but I haven’t been able to find anyone else…”

You could tell that Tomura was actually really bothered by Touya, especially the comment made towards you and the whole touching his shoulder thing, but you wanted him to know that it was ok. Or, at the very least, that you weren’t bothered by it, if that were actually a concern of his.

You opted to change the subject, maybe turn Tomura’s attention back to the task at hand rather than that anticipated altercation by asking him to show you around. Luckily, he took the bait, snapping out of his simmering fury and looking back at you with a softer stare, stuttering through an, “O-ok, yeah, sure…” before giving you the short tour of the apartment.

There was minimal decor, as was expected from two college boys. Just a couch in front of the TV and game consoles, a bean bag chair off to the side, a small kitchen area with a table and two chairs and dishes piled high in the sink (Tomura muttered something about how Touya was never cleaning up after himself). The bathroom looked clean, at least, though there were products strewn across the sink counters in disarray.

Tomura let you peek into Touya’s room, which was across from his, and you weren’t surprised to see Tarantino posters adorning the walls. There was also a big, blue lava lamp which hadn’t been unplugged casting the room in a soft cobalt light, school books scattered across the desk next to the bed which was barely made, covers just thrown over the mattress hastily and without care, and a leather jacket hanging over the back of the desk chair.

Next, however, was Tomura’s room. He’d clearly straightened up before you’d arrived, no doubt kept his space in controlled chaos the rest of the time. But it was nice that he’d cared enough to clean up before you came over.

His room was much more modest than Touya’s, which did surprise you a bit with how much time you’d figured he spent in it given his antisocial personality. Besides his main gaming PC, which contained three monitors, there were just some classic horror movie posters and dark indie comics piled on one of the shelves.

“So, yeah…” Tomura said at the end of the tour. “That’s pretty much it.”

“It’s nice,” you nodded. It was a vague compliment, if not a considerate lie, but you weren’t here for the interior design. You were here for Tomura. He could’ve lived in a cave and you still would’ve arrived to sit next to him in the damp and the dark.

“Yeah, so, uh…” he began again nervously, hand reaching for his neck before turning into a fist, stopping himself from retracing the already visible red marks. “I was thinking we could maybe order some food and just chill… Whatever you want, really.”

You told him food sounded nice and when he asked if you had any preferences you said that you weren’t picky. As the two of you reemerged out into the living area with the couch and bean bag chair, you took a seat on the latter and took note of his game consoles.

“Lemme guess…” you speculated with a mischievous narrowing of your eyes and upward quirk of one eyebrow. “PlayStation is yours and Xbox is your roommates?”

“Yeah,” Tomura replied through a tiny breath of amusement, picking up a controller and tossing it your way, flicking on the TV to the already in use PlayStation where a video streaming app had been left open. “Why don’t you pick us something to watch while I order us something to eat?”

Before you could form an answer, Tomura walked out of sight and into the little side kitchen to deal with the food. You were left sinking into the bean bag chair a little further, controller held in your hands as you stared blankly at your options.

Again, you were trying to rearrange the pieces to fall perfectly into place before your time ran out, wondering what Tomura might like, besides old monster movies like the posters on his walls clearly suggested. Surely rom-coms were at the complete opposite end of the spectrum for him, but to be honest you weren’t usually crazy about those types of things either. Maybe some kind of dark drama or mystery would suffice. Or maybe he liked fantasy.

But when you spotted your favorite movie tucked deep into his to watch list, you knew exactly what to choose.

“Hey, food’s all ordered,” Tomura informed you as he headed back into the living room, sorting something out on his phone real quick before powering it off and slipping it back into his pocket. “Did you find something for us to—”

“Have you seen this before?” you asked, your excitement cutting him off along with that cute smile adorning your face.

Tomura’s eyes flicked to the movie pulled up on the screen and then back to you. “Uh… No, actually. Not yet. Have you?”

“Uh, it’s only my favorite movie ever!” you exclaimed like it was obvious.

At this, Tomura found himself beginning to smile involuntarily again, the expression becoming strangled on his face as he tried to keep his emotions at bay like he was so used to doing.

“Well then, guess we know what we’re watching.” He took a seat on the couch and you suddenly found yourself regretting your choice of the bean bag. To fix this, however, you made the excuse of going off to use the bathroom before the movie started, taking a seat next to him— but not too close— on the couch once you returned.

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen this before,” you went on as the production credits began to roll, the intro music and sounds beginning to fade in. You wondered if Tomura was the type who liked to talk during movies or stay silent. Given his track record of not being known to be too chatty you figured your viewing experience would consist mostly of the dialogue and score of the film, though you wouldn’t be able to help but make comments during certain parts where you knew fun behind the scenes facts or bits of trivia.

Tomura didn’t seem to mind though. In fact, he actually liked your inserted pieces of commentary that were peppered throughout the movie in a hushed voice, as if you two were sitting in a theatre and not just on his dorm’s couch.

Pretty soon though, his phone dinged, letting him know the food had arrived, and he paused the image on the screen to retrieve your dinner, carrying in two bags of take out from his favorite local noodle place that he thought— hoped— you liked. Luckily, you actually recognized the logo on the bags, perking up and pointing out how you loved that place too.

You sauntered over to help him sort through and place everything on the table in front of the couch where you could eat and watch at the same time.

“No way…” you chuckled once you realized what he’d ordered. “I’m not even joking, this is actually my favorite thing from that place.”

Tomura’s scarlet eyes widened a bit, appearing to be caught off guard by you again until he averted his gaze and replied through a crooked smirk, “R-really? Well, guess we have the same favorite then.”

You smiled through your next bite and Tomura pressed play on the movie, the scene jumping back into motion while the two of you watched intently through the rest of your meal. However, once your bellies were full and the takeout containers lay empty on the table, you felt your eyelids starting to get heavy with an oncoming food coma.

Tomura noticed this, as he’d been sneaking glances at you here or there while you were distracted with your favorite film, and anxiously asked, “Are you tired?”

“Hm?” you perked up a bit and looked over at him. “Oh, no, I’m fine,” you tried to assure him, readjusting your position on the couch from a slumped position to sitting cross-legged and upright to keep your attention focused.

And, god, how Tomura wanted to be closer to you.

He wanted so badly to slide over and press his thigh against the bare skin of yours, to put his arm around you and let you lean in and rest your head against his chest. To run his fingers through your soft hair, to let his fingertips graze your tender skin.

He wanted you so badly but he didn’t even know where to start when he was so terrified of how he might react against his own will, of how you might view him as a freak with the way he struggled to accept the sensation of touch.

And you, well, you still weren’t entirely sure what Tomura’s intentions were in inviting you here.

Did he just want to be friends? Did he want to be more than that? Had you already screwed up somehow and now the game was doomed to be lost?

But maybe that was the problem both of you were facing right now.

You were thinking about this in binary terms, in a scenario where there were only two options.

To win or to lose.

To touch or to stay away.

To be friends or lovers.

Maybe you both just had to reinvent the code, reprogram the ending.

And to Tomura’s own surprise, he was the first to make his move, sliding just a little closer to you as he nervously cleared his throat, trying to swallow down all the fear and past traumas that had kept him away from you for so long when all he’d really wanted was to be by your side, to feel the weight of your body on his as he cradled you in his arms.

You flicked your gaze up to meet his, that sweet and innocent doe-eyed expression making him even more nervous as he was afraid that his body would start to act out against his own will and expose how he really felt about you before his words had the chance to explain.

“Is… Is this ok?” Tomura asked as he inched just a tiny bit closer, heartbeat hammering beneath his scarred chest while he nearly held his breath in anticipation for your approval.

But when you smiled and nodded with a cutesy little hum of mm-hmm he was able to breathe a little easier, letting out a sigh of relief as some of the rigidness his figure usually carried melted away.

That was step number one, he thought to himself. Now if only I could just…

Tomura took a chance and slowly raised the arm that was nearest to you to first rest on the back of the couch, his fingers close enough to brush against the baby blue fabric of your sweater if he wanted to reach out and touch it. Close enough to apply enough pressure to feel the shape of your shoulder in his palm, if he could find the courage.

With another careful inhale and exhale, a calming breath, Tomura initiated the first physical contact he’d had with another human being in he didn’t even know how long. His arm came to rest over your shoulders and when you willingly snuggled in closer to him, rested your head against his chest just like he’d fantasized about, he almost didn’t know what to do with himself.

He felt like he could black out any second now, the feeling of another human being so foreign, so frightening against his body that he was sure you could feel his entire being drumming to the beat of his frantic heart.

But if you were aware of Tomura’s nerves on any level, you didn’t let it show.

Instead, you were too occupied by the fact that yes, this was actually happening. Tomura was actually touching you, actually letting you lay your head against him and curl up to his side.

You imagined you really could fall asleep now, a certain kind of trustworthiness emanating from him that you usually didn’t feel from other guys.

Maybe it was because you’d known him for three years and he hadn’t tried to make a move on you. Maybe it was because, unlike the other frat boys or sports proteges who usually flirted with you or tried to make a move before they could even learn your name, it felt like Tomura actually cared for you.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” you asked him eventually, neither of you really paying attention to the movie anymore despite your stares being stuck to the screen.

“Uh…” Tomura began, recalling the memory easily though not wanting to let you onto the fact that he held it so preciously. “I think so. It was the first day of freshman intro, right?”

You nodded, and Tomura had to fight hard not to tense at the motion of your head against his chest. Getting used to the pressure of the contact was becoming easier, but the feeling of movement was still an entirely different thing for him.

“You were sitting in the back by the corner staring out the window,” you recounted, picturing the memory in your head like your own film of fondness.

You could still remember the way his silvery hair caught your attention through the crowd of eager new students, the way the sun casting through the glass panes painted half of his pale face with the warmth of late summer light.

He’d looked bothered by something as he gazed out at the campus landscape or, in the very least, deep in thought. You’d figured you ought to keep your distance from him, that you needed to make friends and he most definitely wasn’t going to give you the time of day.

But then something made the scarred-skinned and bloodshot-eyed boy turn his head to look at you, his bright crimson stare widening even more once he caught you staring back, quickly looking away to hide his embarrassment at being noticed, and by a girl as pretty as yourself at that.

“And I remember wondering…” you continued with an almost dreamlike lilt to your tone, “I remember wondering what exactly it was that you were thinking about before you looked over at me. You looked so deep in thought, like you didn’t even notice anyone else in the room.”

“I noticed you,” Tomura said, the words just sort of slipping out and making both of you tense for a moment. But when you looked up at him again he somehow found the courage to continue. “I mean, it’s just— You just caught my eye and…”

Tomura then let out an exaggerated sigh and removed his arm from around you momentarily to run his hands down his face, growing frustrated with his confined emotions and the lack of ways to express them.

But what he was really doing was talking around this.

He was avoiding what he actually wanted to say.

Because Tomura had known back then that he’d liked you and he definitely knew now that those feelings were even stronger.

And it was so hard to convey that to you without telling you everything, without opening years worth of old wounds, most of which he’d inflicted upon himself at this point, and risking scaring you away with all the odds and ends of his emotional baggage.

But he wanted to tell you.

Because he wanted you to understand.

He wanted you to understand that it wasn’t you— was never you— that had caused him to drag this game out for so long, getting stuck on this level of being nothing more than classmates or acquaintances.

Once Tomura realized that the only boss he had left to battle before advancing to the next stage was himself though, he gathered all the weapons in his arsenal and prepared for battle.

Because he was going to complete this game and he was determined to get a good ending.

“I’ve liked you for a really long time,” Tomura finally admitted, trying to keep his voice from breaking upon such a bold confession. But his bout of newfound confidence was short lived, the fear creeping up on him with its looming shadow, causing him to start stumbling over his words again as he choked out, “And I-I guess I just— Well, I mean I—”

“Tomura…” You sat up and turned your body to face him better, forcing him to look into your eyes while his mouth clamped shut and frowned slightly, scarlet gaze wide when he saw the sympathetic expression you were casting upon him.

Then, ever so carefully and with a featherlight touch, you reached up with both hands to gently cup his cheeks in your palms while you smiled at him with an unfamiliar sadness that he wasn’t used to seeing on your usually cheery face. He only flinched a little upon the initial contact but soon found that he liked the feeling of your soft skin against his, your little hands warm from being balled up in your sleeves and causing him to lean into the touch and close his vibrant eyes with calming comfort.

Because with you, Tomura realized he felt safe.

With you, Tomura felt loved.

“I’ve liked you for a really long time too,” you told him, and his eyes snapped back open like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, just staring at you in a daze for a few more moments until you added through a slightly nervous giggle, “Too bad you didn’t invite me over sooner.”

At this, Tomura couldn’t help but crack a crooked smirk, his expression softening a bit and then morphing into something a little sadder.

Because you were right.

Why hadn’t he invited you over sooner?

Well, the obvious answer was that he was always so terrified of getting close to someone and then messing it all up, of having any relationship he got lucky enough to form crumble to dust in his hands the moment he was able to finally feel like he was getting a grasp on it.

But ever since the beginning, you’d been different.

Unlike everyone else Tomura had come across during these past three years, you’d never expected anything of him other than for him to be exactly who he was, even if that was just a quiet, awkward loner. And, sure, he’d done you favors before, helped you with assignments you struggled on (especially ones involving computers) but you’d never tried to cozy up to him just so he’d let you cheat off him.

And you’d always returned the favor somehow, whether it was by bringing him a coffee during an early morning class you shared or offering to help edit his essays.

And the fact that he was just realizing this now, when the time felt like it was almost out…

Well, the notion brought him both a strange kind of relief and a little panic in knowing that yes, these next few months carried more weight than merely being a series of four weeks beholding different names.

“I… I’ve never really…” Tomura tried to explain, seeming to grow rigid again as you pulled your hands away to fidget in your lap while you continued to stare up at him with those adorably innocent eyes of yours. He let out a small sigh through his nose, again growing frustrated with his lack of direct communication.

It was like there was a gate inside his throat that would close every single time the words tried to slip through. It didn’t matter how many gaps in the perimeter they found, they’d be shut out every time until they were dragged back to the cell of his mind and locked away.

Stop being such a coward, he scolded himself mentally. Just fucking say it.

“Are you ok?” you asked him, pure concern falling over your features now.

Tomura’s gaze snapped back to meet yours as he quickly tried to salvage this moment, “Yeah, sorry, I’m fine. It’s just…” He paused, hoping— praying— that his words could finally escape from the prison he’d kept them in for so long. Maybe he’d forget to lock the gate. Maybe, as their warden, his back would be turned when the searchlight fell upon them. Then they’d be free. He’d be free.

“Can I admit something really embarrassing to you?” he asked, trying to suppress a nervous smile.

You giggled again, the sound giving Tomura more of that feeling again, the one he was afraid of most of all. The one that he had to be careful not to let you see. You said, “Sure. Of course.”

Tomura took in one long, shaky breath, exhaling in the same way until he felt like he’d finally found the right order to arrange his words in their newfound freedom.

And then he told you everything.

He told you about his childhood and his trauma and his trust issues.

He told you how, not only had he never been with anyone, but didn’t even know how to be with someone. He told you how hard it was for him to watch others be happy as couples together, that this idea of singularity was the only one he’d ever felt comfortable with but was still curious as to what it might feel like to experience what he knew hundreds— thousands— of other people did on the daily.

“I thought it was just touch that was stopping me this whole time…” Tomura confessed, unable to look at you. Still though, when you’d placed your hand on his knee in an attempt to console him, he hadn’t flinched away. “But I think it’s maybe something more than that. And I’m just afraid that…” He flicked his vermillion gaze back up to meet yours for just a moment until averting it again, and now it was your turn to think about how cute he was, how innocent he seemed right now, how vulnerable. “I’m afraid that maybe no one’s ever gonna love me and no matter how hard I try I might never…”

You feared he might try to distance himself from you, mentally or physically, so you reached up to cup his cheek in your hand again since he seemed like he liked that last time, this time sliding your hand further around the back of his head to gently tangle in his fluffy hair, which was a lot softer than you’d expected it to be, twisting his loose curls around your fingers while you spoke quietly, as if to a sleeping child, and assured him, “I’ve known people who don’t deserve love. But, Tomura…” Your eyes were locked and this time neither of you dared to look away, both equally transfixed, mesmerized by the way the colors in each other’s irises caught the changing light of the movie still playing in the background. “You’re not one of them.”

Tomura wanted to cry and, for a moment, he was afraid tears might really be welling in his eyes. Because he’d gone his whole life being told or convinced by others or himself that there were so many things that he didn’t deserve. So many things that he could never have. But you’d just broken all those bad memories, shattered them like millions of tiny pieces of glass, reduced them to a state so small that they blew away like sand in the wind.

Because, for once, he believed what he was hearing.

Tomura believed that he deserved love.

“I know that things may seem scary sometimes,” you continued, readjusting your position to lean in a little closer to him. “We all have things about ourselves that we’re afraid others might think are weird or wrong if we show them. But I think you’d have to be kidding yourself to be convinced that everything about you is perfect. Even people who seem like that on the outside, who are super confident or cocky or whatever front they’re putting on. They have insecurities too.”

Tomura let out a strangled sort of chuckle, his chest shuddering with the sound as the back of his throat tightened, those tears threatening to break through the gate like his confession just had. “I just don’t wanna lose you…” he whispered as his forehead came down to rest against yours, the touch so gentle that you almost didn’t feel it until pressing into him a little harder, giving him a second to adjust to the contact.

“You’re not gonna lose me…” you whispered back, combing through his hair with both hands now and causing a few hitched breaths to escape through Tomura’s clenched teeth. “And I want you to know that, when you’re ready, I’m willing to help you try, if you still want to…”

Tomura was sure his heart stopped for a beat then.

Because yes, he really, really wanted to.

And he wanted it to be with you.

God, he wanted it to be with you.

It was a scenario he’d only seen in his dreams, in a place where he could touch you and be touched without really feeling it, though if he could handle it he could only imagine what it would feel like. What you would feel like.

“Is this ok?” you asked as your careful little hands drifted down to clasp around the back of his neck. When he nodded his head you gently stroked your thumb along his skin, tracing the raised line of a scar you could feel while trying to meet his timid gaze again as his own shaking hands lightly gripped your waist.

You slowly positioned yourself to straddle his lap, watching as his adam’s apple bobbed with a particularly thick gulp at seeing you like this. Feeling you like this, your legs spread over his lap as the weight of your thighs rested against the tops of his own.

“How ‘bout this…?” you whispered, your face reddening a bit as your own heartbeat picked up speed.

“Y-yeah…” Tomura replied shyly, his hesitant fingers digging into your hips a little more, so close to where the hem of your sweater and the waistband of your skirt could part to expose your soft skin. “Is… Is this ok?”

You let out a soft giggle then, which made Tomura blush, nervous that maybe he’d overstepped somehow, but when you drifted a little closer, wrapping your body around him in a tender, loving embrace, he felt a little more at ease, actually returning the gesture once he’d gotten used to it.

The two of you sat like that for a little while, the weight of your body pressed against his so warm, so welcoming to him despite his inexperience. And he allowed himself to gain a little more confidence, his hands traveling down your back and towards your hips again until they drifted even further and made contact with the bare skin of your thighs, which were still comfortably spread open on his lap.

He could feel that sensation within him building again, anxiety accompanying it the more he realized he could basically feel the outline of your sex against his own through the material of his jeans.

Would you think it rude of him if he got hard under you right now?

Well, he couldn’t exactly control that, but he didn’t have the first clue about what girls were really into, what they might consider gross or what might freak them out.

But then again, you wouldn’t have straddled his lap like this if you didn’t want to feel something…

“Can I…” Tomura began cautiously, his tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips as he nervously concluded the question of, “Can I kiss you?” And god, the sight of your sweet, innocent little smile that he imagined was reserved just for him was killing him, sending sparks shooting through his blood with white hot electricity.

“Course you can, silly,” you assured him through another adorable giggle.

And Tomura, who’d only ever fantasized about kissing you, knew that he didn’t have time to be a coward right now. He leaned in closer as your eyes closed, your lashes looking even longer than he’d noticed them to be before when he saw them lay flat against your cheeks.

So pretty, he thought as his own eyes fluttered closed and he felt his rough lips brush against your sweet, soft ones, hesitating only a moment before completing the gesture. She’s beautiful…

You tried to help guide him by the time both your mouths were open and your tongues met, taking in the taste of each other as several satisfied hums escaped from both your throats.

For Tomura’s first kiss, he wasn’t all that bad. You’d chuckled when he’d apologized for his teeth tapping against yours, but you told him not to worry about it, further directing him and allowing him to keep trying until he got it just right.

He was a fast learner. You had to hand it to him for that.

“A-Are you sure you’re still ok?” Tomura asked you during a break in your kiss. “I mean…”

“I’m ok,” you nodded, voice a sultry whisper. “As long as you are…?”

Tomura nodded as well, and when you slightly shifted your position on top of him, he felt a certain breed of dread turn cold in his veins.

Because he was completely hard now and both of you knew it.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, I just—” he began to frantically apologize, instantly self conscious and unsure of what to do while you were still on top of him.

But you cut him off with an unbothered, “Tomura. Don’t worry, it’s fine,” before you actually pressed down harder on his growing erection, pulling a sudden and completely involuntary gasp from the boy underneath you at the pleasure and the surprise.

“Fuck…” His breath shuddered in his chest as he took in the sensation of you rolling your hips to grind against him, your panties getting wetter with every repetition of the motion, rubbing yourself in just the right spot and causing a melodic moan to sound out from your throat.

His grip on your hips tightened, eventually hard enough to make you wince, but you didn’t mind. You liked a little bit of pain if you trusted the person enough. And you trusted Tomura. You trusted him more than any of the other boys you’d let fuck you before. Because to them, you’d just been a body, just some place tight and pretty for them to stick it and get off with oftentimes zero regard for your own pleasure.

And those other guys, they’d talked about how many girls they’d had and how often they had them only to finish within five minutes or less once they were inside you.

So, for a virgin, Tomura wasn’t doing half bad.

In fact, he was already doing better than the other fuck boys that composed your body count. And you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself a little bit at the thought of all your exes seeing you walking around campus hand in hand with Tomura Shigaraki and looking happier and more satisfied than you’d ever looked with them. Because it would eat them alive, the thought that, for all the time and effort they claimed they put into their basic appearances or how much they could bench press at the gym, that none of that had ever mattered.

Not to you, at least.

“T-Tomura…” you whined as you pressed against him particularly hard, your own tightly coiled arousal twisting further inside of your core. And your mewling nearly had Tomura’s vermillion eyes rolling back in his head, such beautiful sounds coming from a gorgeous girl that he still couldn’t believe was on top of him right now.

“What…?” he exhaled, trying to focus on you a little more as his vision shifted in and out of a blurry haze of pleasure.

And when you whimpered out the most helpless, pathetic little, “Touch me…”

Well, Tomura almost lost his goddamn mind.

The more his hands explored your body, the more he was getting comfortable with the feeling of your skin against his. In fact, he actually really enjoyed touching you. It was more so you touching him that still put him a little on edge, though he was going to work hard to try and keep himself together when that time came.

His short nails grazed up under your skirt as he continued to kiss you, going a little deeper each time and feeling relief when you returned his level of passion. By the time his hands found their way up under your shirt though, he gave pause. However, instead of asking if you were ok again, he just looked at you and waited for you to nod, which you did, and then he gently pushed under your bra to cup your breasts in his palms, this skin even softer and more tender than where he’d touched you before.

“Here…” you muttered as you began to pull your sweater over your head, Tomura attempting to assist you where he could until your bare torso was exposed to him.

He couldn’t help but stare at the delicate lace of your bra, the way your chest rose and fell with each breath you took. When you said his name again he was pulled from his trance and picked up where he’d left off. You went to reach behind you to undo your bra but when you unsuccessfully fumbled with the clasps for a second, Tomura actually took initiative and unhooked it in one try to both of your surprises.

You both stared at each other for another long beat and then you shrugged your bra off entirely, discarding it to the floor and placing a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself as he began to knead your supple flesh in his hands, noticing how you reacted with another whine when he pinched your already perked nipples.

And he was pretty good at taking your auditory and bodily cues when it came to discovering places that you liked to be touched, your neck and ribs being two of your favorites so far that he’d been able to find.

Eventually, Tomura had ended up on top of you, finding himself once again not entirely sure where to go from here now that you were laying underneath him and looking up at him with those big doe-eyes of yours.

“D-do you want me to stop?” he asked you, praying that you wouldn’t nod your cute little head this time.

“Why would I want you to stop?” you responded, partially dumbfounded.

But that was all Tomura needed to continue, leaning down to kiss you again as one of his hands slipped under your skirt and brushed against the damp lace of your panties. You twitched at the gentle, ghosting touch but were desperate for him to keep going.

He was desperate too, though was trying to keep his need for you under control lest he become too over eager and scare you away.

But still, he couldn’t help but have a little laugh to himself inside the private confines of his mind.

Because Touya could go fuck himself.

Tomura would have sex with you on the couch out of spite for the comments his roommate had made earlier.

And if Touya gave Tomura shit for it once he got back, Tomura would just have to tell him tough luck.

And the fantasized altercation just felt all that much sweeter when Touya would inevitably realize that you’d given yourself to Tomura willingly, not falling for the rehearsed, backhanded pickup lines or sly smirks that the inky haired bastard thought he could use to lure in any girl he set his sapphire sights on.

So Tomura thought he ought to try and pull as many of those pretty little whines and moans from your throat as he could so he’d have more to replay and savor in his memory later or just whenever Touya tried to remind him what a pathetic virgin he was— well, used to be, after all was said and done tonight— and to help keep him company during his loneliest of evenings when you weren’t around to curl up by his side in person.

Tomura slipped his fingers under the side of your panties, slowly gliding them along your soaked slit and reveling in the way your back arched when his ministrations fell upon your most sensitive spot.

He started massaging slow circles onto your clit until you breathed out, “Faster,” and he instantly obliged.

In return for him being such a good listener, you rewarded him with those cute little sounds he liked so much, the frequency of your breathy moans and whimpers picking up along with the speed of his fingers.

When he finally dipped his digits inside of your tight, fluttering hole, he felt himself getting painfully hard, his cock aching as he got his first taste of what your walls would feel like when they clenched around him.

He let out a stifled groan and then a short, strangled yelp when you reached down to palm his erection that was pushing out from his jeans, waiting for a moment to make sure he was alright to proceed before your little fingers fumbled with the button and zipper.

“L-let me help you…” you offered, now reaching under the waistband of his boxers and wrapping a fist gently around his twitching cock, causing his entire body to tense and shudder as you slowly stroked him, motions getting faster and more intense until—

“S-stop! Stop…” Tomura gripped your wrist and stilled you, eyes wide and wild as he tried to catch his breath.

“I-I’m sorry…” you meekly apologized, feeling tears threaten to well as you were afraid he’d reject you now. “I-I didn’t mean—”

Tomura dropped his head to rest in the crook of your neck, feeling his breath on your skin, the trembling of his body on top of yours.

“It’s not… I don’t…” he mumbled, trying to calm himself down.

Because what he really wanted wasn’t for you to stop.

What he really wanted was to be inside you when he came.

What he really wanted was to go all the way. Or at least, as deep as he could without hurting you.

“What is it…?” you whispered as your fingers gently tangled in the fluffy, silvery tufts at the back of his neck again, trying to keep him close to you and assure him that everything was still ok.

After another second of attempting to regain his composure, Tomura lifted his head and met your worried gaze, silently pleading with you to continue to be patient with him, promising to get this right if you just gave him a little extra time with those bright crimson eyes.

“Can I take this off of you?” he asked, lightly tugging at your skirt. You nodded and then helped him slip it down from your hips, kicking it off to join your other clothes on the floor and left in nothing but your lace panties now.

And, god, Tomura had never seen anyone more beautiful in his entire life.

Even among the perfectly crafted and expertly coded virtual women displayed throughout the copious amount of video games he’d played during his lifetime, none of them could compare to you.

Because he could actually touch you.

And you could touch him back.

And Tomura was starting to crave the sensation he’d once feared so much, so long as it involved you in some capacity.

“What about you?” you inquired, lightly gripping at his pullover hoodie. “Are you gonna…?”

And for as much as Tomura had been excited to see what your body really looked like underneath all those cute outfits you always put together, you were equally as curious to see what lay behind the shield of his black long sleeves and jeans.

You wondered if his pale skin would be marked with more of those scratches he usually showed up with during a particularly stressful exam week, or maybe slashed with scars similar to the ones that peeked out from his collar and shirt sleeves.

You didn’t care what imperfections his body had sustained. You just wanted to see them, to know them, and to remind him that sometimes the most beautiful things in life are those that aren’t perfect.

So after a moment of hesitation and mental debating on whether he should show you the parts of him that even he didn’t like to see, Tomura pulled his hoodie over his head and tossed it over the back of the couch, revealing himself to you through the dimness of the living room where the movie screen cast an array of pale light over his skin as the scenes changed, the film nearing its end.

And, similar to what you’d predicted, Tomura did have countless scratches and scars and even a few freckles marking his otherwise flawless body.

But you liked him like that.

Because, unlike any of the previous guys you’d slept with or dated, Tomura was who he was. He wasn’t trying to be anyone else. And you’d been waiting a lifetime to come across someone like him the same as he’d been waiting to come across someone like you.

A chill ran through the both of you and you let out a small chuckle, suddenly unable to take things too seriously but loving that you could laugh about it in front of him. And when he asked you what was funny, a crooked grin quirking up on one corner of his chapped lips with the question, you simply replied, “Nothing. You’re just cute,” which made his face blush so red that his skin nearly matched his eyes.

“S-stop it…” he grumbled as he averted his gaze from you. “That’s not true.”

You clasped your fingers around the back of his neck and gently pulled him down a little closer, forcing his eyes to snap back to meet yours as he continued to blush and said, “It is true. Not my fault if you don’t believe it.”

Now both of you were giggling a little bit, even if Tomura’s laughter was more from nerves than actual amusement.

After you kissed him again and you both tried to find where you’d left off before his hoodie had found a new home on the floor, Tomura began to shift his position over you so that his head could lower between your thighs, both of you working together to remove the thin piece of lace that was left covering you until you were wearing nothing at all.

And if his fingers had been too skilled for a virgin, then his tongue was damn near masterful.

Maybe all those lonely nights spent slumped over in the dark watching porn on his phone had finally amounted to something, had finally paid off, because as he lapped along your glistening arousal and teased at your clit and hole with the tip of his long, slippery tongue, you had the strongest reaction to his touch that you’d experienced yet.

“T-Tomura!” you yelped when the teasing became too much. He stopped then and looked up at you with concern from where his head was still slightly lowered, tongue swiping along his lips to collect the lingering taste of you.

You reached out for him, beckoning him closer, to reassume his place overtop of you and he took the cue.

But now what?

Did you really want him to…?

“Take these off too…” you instructed, tugging on his already unzipped jeans. He quickly mumbled out a, “Oh right, yeah, ok,” as he hopped up off of you to shed his remaining clothes.

And you saw that, like his chest, his legs were also adorned with an array of scars, though not as many as his upper half. You wanted to ask him what happened, how he’d come to be like this, but that was a conversation that would have to wait. Because you were starting to feel bad when you once again noticed how hard he was.

Tomura had been focused on pleasuring you for several reasons— some being his want to impress you and also because he found it easier to touch you than to let himself be touched— but now you wanted to return the favor a little bit. At least, as much as he would let you.

You offered to perform the same treatment on him that he’d just done on you, but he actually politely denied it, knowing there was no way he would last much longer, especially if he even so much as envisioned your cute lips all puffy and swollen as they wrapped around his twitching cock.

So he just reassumed his position overtop of you and asked you one more time if you were ok, if you really wanted to do this, with him, and you pulled him down for another kiss, this one a little rougher than he was expecting, telling him once it broke that you appreciated his concern but you wanted him inside of you already, a sly little smirk playing on your lips as you knew such a confession would make him blush.

So, despite Tomura’s reddening face and shaky hands, he trusted your lead and began to stretch you, scissoring his fingers inside of you like you’d instructed him until you told him you were ready. He lined his aching cock up with your pretty little hole and almost came on the spot the moment the tip was inside, feeling your walls pulsing and clenching so relentlessly around him that for a moment he was afraid he’d lost control.

But he was able to hold on, his body nearly convulsing as every muscle of his being tensed and his breathing hitched.

Because, god, you felt even better than he ever could’ve imagined.

Once he was fully inserted, he waited a second for you to adjust, and then began thrusting, slowly at first, but soon enough he couldn’t help himself. He had you moaning and whining out his name every time he pounded into you, hips snapping against your inner thighs as he sunk even deeper.

It was total ecstasy, this feeling that he’d denied himself for so long.

But it would’ve never been the same without you.

Never the same…

“S-slow down, Tomura…!” you pleaded through a whimper.

But he knew you were right, as much as he wanted to continue with the vicious pace.

Because if he didn’t slow down a little bit then it would be over soon.

And he wanted to draw this out as long as he could withstand, just in case maybe this would be the first and last time you’d want to do this with him.

But you were getting close, once he found a pace that was good for the both of you, and Tomura couldn’t take his gaze off you once your eyes finally rolled back and your neck craned, spine arching as your body trembled and you gushed all over his cock, walls constricting tighter than ever and causing him to sputter out a shaky, “Fuck…” as he filled you to the brim with his hot, sticky cum.

And then you both huddled together in a harmony of heavy breathing and shivering limbs, feeling the warmth emanating off each other’s skin. You reached around the back of his head to lightly tangle your little fingers into his soft, fluffy hair once again and he kissed the side of your neck, causing a cute little hum of satisfaction to vibrate in your throat when he sucked a gentle love bite into your flesh.

“Not bad…” you giggled after the haze of lust had cleared a little from your mind, Tomura continuing to take in your embrace, the scent of your skin and hair as he nuzzled his face closer into the crook of your neck. “You sure this was the first time you’ve done this?”

Tomura couldn’t help but scoff, his cheeks turning slightly pink again as a crooked smirk curved up on his lips.

“Shut up…” he chuckled, lifting his head to look you in the eyes, now gently weaving his careful hands into your hair like you’d done to him so many times.

After the two of you caught your breath, you jumped into the shower together, Tomura unable to keep his hands off you now that he knew he didn’t have anything to be afraid of, kissing a constellation of lilac and navy across your neck as he nipped at your skin, his hands trailing over every part of your body until he was sure he’d memorized every inch, every curve.

And he was addicted to you now, hooked on this feeling, this sense of safety and love that he’d never felt with anyone else before. He didn’t want to let you go. Didn’t want anyone else to be able to put their hands on you like this. And you, well, you definitely wanted this time to be the first of many. You figured, with a little guidance, he’d only get better over time, if he’d been that good on his first try.

That night, after you’d both gotten clean and changed into more comfortable clothes, you borrowing one of Tomura’s hoodies to sleep in, you curled up under the thin covers of the narrow dorm bed and cuddled together through the night, Tomura’s hands inevitably snaking up under the hoodie to softly stroke down your back or lay at rest over the dip of your waist.

And the entire time that he was trying to fall asleep, the only regret about tonight Tomura could find was that he’d waited this long. Waited this long to tell you how he’d really felt about you for all these years, waited to find enough courage to touch you and allow you to touch him in return, waited to kiss you, to taste you, to sink deep into you while you whimpered out his name like it was the only word you knew.

Because all of the pieces had finally arranged into precise placement for the tetris game that the two of you had been playing, the end screen nothing short of perfection as you fell asleep in each other’s arms.

***

(Hello! Hope you enjoyed if you made it all the way to the end lol

I usually tend to write long but damn I really overindulged myself with this one haha

Honestly I’ve been wanting to write a Tomura fic for a really long time and had come up with a list of ideas but this just so happened to be the first one I decided to tackle. So in other words, expect more to come in the future.

Anyway, just wanted to say thanks again for reading! I feel like there’s probably other things I could do with this particular college AU Tomura so maybe more related one-shots will pop up over time.

Ok, bye for now~)

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heartfullofpony · 2 years

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POSEY THE KAREN

WARNING: (Spoilers in this essay).

When My Little Pony: A New Generation come out, it did something totally different and totally new for MLP. It explored racism - not just in terms of individualistic fears like Ponyville's terror of zebras. It dug deep and gave a bold commentary on actual systemic racism. Season 8 had touched on the subject with Chancellor Neighsay, but even then, it was all about the personal prejudices of individuals in power, not systems of power in action, nor deep rooted cultural fears.

I've written about this in multiple essays since MLP:ANG dropped last September - how, in Maretime Bay, hatred and paranoia are actually an industry - a foundation for a society - an economy of fear.

In the latest special, Make Your Mark, we get to see just a little bit of how that culture continues to linger, even after magic is restored to Equestria. Here, prejudice is painted as a type of petty jealousy hiding behind a faux concern for public safety. A unicorn filly accidentally ruins an earth pony's sandcastle with an umbrella that she couldn't hold on to with her unstable magic. Pegasi drop from the sky, hurting earth ponies. And there's bitterness. Resentment. And something of a grass roots anti-immigrant movement fomenting.

The whole dynamic takes on fascist undertones as Posey galvanizes this general discontent into a rallying cry against magic itself, and the foreigners who use it. To understand fascism, you have to recognize that it's not simply emperors like Sprout commanding from on high - it's also an invitation for members of socially dominant groups to actively engage in the repression of marginalized groups. This, historically, takes the form of violence, discrimination, ostracization, and cries for the state to intervene with yet more violence.

Posey is hardly charging down the street with tanks, or breaking windows, but we still see in her the tyranny of everyday people, and her actions should be hauntingly familiar to anyone paying attention to the state of America today.

Posey is a Karen.

She routinely insists upon appealing to societal authorities to enforce her personal prejudices. The most horrific example of this is when Posey flat out goes to the police station, demands to fill out a report, and attempts to bully Hitch into blaming the entire unicorn race on her misfortunes.

In real life, this kind of behavior has lead to wrongful imprisonment, police harassment of minority groups, and even lynchings. To list both the historical and recent examples of this modus operandi would require me to exceed the character limit of this platform, but suffice it to say that it has happened thousands of times over, and continues to happen right now. Posey's actions mirror our current reality in the most horrific way possible.

In the end, of course, everypony forgives everypony else. Bitterness resolved. Magic restored and stabilized. Even new forms of magic are discovered!

But I think the figure of Posey bears serious discussion nevertheless, as an example of everyday tyranny that doesn't go away the second that the Emperor Sprouts of the world are deposed.

MLP deserves praise for daring to go there.

Discuss.

-Sprocket

If you enjoy my essays, please consider Supporting Me on Patreon.

You can also Follow me on Fimfic

#my little pony: make your mark #g5 #brony #analysis #social injustice #my little pony

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glassessence · 3 years

Text

Elriel Hint and Analysis - includes analysis of Feysand & Nessian (ACOSF Spoilers)

I’m pretty new to the fandom, but I am currently obsessed with Elriel. This is my ship and I will go down with it until the day I die. As a fairly casual reader, I honestly had zero doubts the next book would be Elain’s and that the couple would be Elriel.

Then I discovered the existence of the extra POV chapters and Azriel’s threw me in for a bit of a loop. Especially with the ending (which I genuinely believe is a red herring. I lean very heavily into the lightsinger Gwyn theory).

However, stalking Tumblr made me come across this again:

Life and death and rebirth

Sun and moon and dark

Rot and bloom and bones

Hello, sweet thing. Hello, lady of night, princess of decay. Hello, fanged beast and trembling fawn.

Love me, touch me, sing me.

And then my brain accidentally vomited an essay on the symbolism in each sister’s journey...

Life and death and rebirth so clearly symbolise Feysand’s journey. Feyre leaves behind her life of poverty for a brand new one with Tamlin. She journeys Under the Mountain for love of him and ultimately succeeds in saving not just him, but all of them. In the process, she dies. Not just in the physical sense, but spiritually too. Feyre the human perishes, giving rise to Feyre the High Fae. In a purely physical sense, this is definitely a rebirth. But it’s stilted, incomplete. She’s the newly born phoenix - young, fragile and yet covered in the ashes of its fiery death. Her spiritual rebirth lags behind her newly changed body. Like a bird in a cage, she is trapped in Tamlin’s realm, unable to finish developing, to spread wings and fly.

That all changes when she is whisked away to the Night Court. She learns to read and some of the ash falls from her body. She makes friends and some more ash is brushed away by the Inner Circle. The final remnants of ash are blown away by the taste of freedom and the kiss of wind, and Feyre’s rebirth is finally complete. Spiritually and physically, she is changed. She becomes Feyre the High Lady. From life back to life, she is returned through the power of love. Take note that while love is important in all the sisters’ journeys, it is the focal point and highlight of Feyre’s. She is someone who has never been loved in that wholesome, selfless way Rhysand loves her. Tamlin was possessive and abusive; Nesta was barbed and sharp. Elain was fragile and ethereal. Love was something she had never really known and consequently something she desperately, desperately needed. That’s why the phrase that symbolises her is love me.

Sun and moon and dark refers very much to Nessian. Nesta is the sun and she is burning. Has been burning for a long, long time. She is aflame, nothing but ashes inside, and her words are fire. She scalds anyone who dares approach, just as everything melts before the sun. Like Feyre, she has had her physical rebirth, but not her spiritual one. She is trapped in her own head, locked behind her own self-hatred, her own raging inferno that yields to no one. Like Feyre, she is also a phoenix, but one whose fire never stopped. In that sense, she has never died. Her spiritual rebirth is not simply incomplete; it has never happened.

Until she starts training with Cassian. Until she starts befriending Emerie and Gwyn. This is what marks the death of Nesta the human and the emergence of Nesta the High Fae. (I use the term ‘human’ loosely here, mostly as a way of conveying my point about her spiritual journey rather than the state of her physical being). She loses her solar flare, that inner blaze that was killing her and blackening her soul. She mellows from unapproachable sun to a softer moon. It’s here that she stays a while, seeming to progress and regress in her healing journey as the moon waxes and wanes. It’s not until the hiking scene that she finally breaks. She weeps despite Cassian’s expectations to the contrary. Through her tears, she finally extinguishes the long-raging fire and hatred that has been destroying her. No more blazing sun, no more wavering moon. Only darkness to cradle her, and acceptance. Through Cassian’s ceaseless efforts and her friends, her journey reaches its apex. She finally becomes Nesta the Valkyrie.

Her journey hinges heavily upon the fact that nobody could reach her through the flames. Nobody had kept trying after getting burned again and again. Nobody except Cassian. He reaches out, time after time, even when she hurts him. Even when she burns him. Until he succeeds and touches her soul. That’s why the phrase that symbolises her is touch me.

Of course that leaves only the last line: rot and bloom and bones. I wonder who this could symbolise! Surely not the Archeron sister who is associated with roses and has a complicated romance dilemma with someone from the Autumn Court (rot) and someone else from the Night Court (bones)! Surely not!

Jokes aside, I strongly believe this line reveals Elain’s journey. If we continue thinking of the words as a progression, I think it makes a lot of sense. Keeping in mind the theme of life, death and rebirth, this is how I think of it:

Life / Rot / stagnation, the start of the journey

Death / Bloom / change, the start of healing

Rebirth / Bones / ascendance and acceptance, the start of the future

There are several interesting things to note about the sentence:

The word bloom is nestled among rot and bones

Elain’s two potential love interests both have strong associations with those words

I’ll address each point as we delve into Elain’s analysis.

Let’s start with Elain the human. As previously established, this is when the character is at their worst, blind in the dark before the dawn. I see this as Elain’s forced transformation by the Cauldron. Everything she knows is ripped away from her and her marriage crumbled to dust. She is thrust into a world both unknown and at war. She emerges changed and cursed with powers she cannot control and does not understand. Her life, once a slow-blooming flower, has just rotted into nothing. She is lost, confused and deeply depressed. Her physical rebirth may be complete, but her spiritual rebirth cannot begin until she gathers the shattered pieces of herself back together.

This happens slowly. So slowly, in fact, that it’s hard to notice and easy to dismiss. She befriends Nuala and Cerridwen. Begins gardening again. Talks to the Inner Circle and buys them gifts for Solstice. Slowly, so very slowly, she is starting to piece herself back together. Off-page, she quietly unravels Elain the human and emerges from her cocoon as Elain the High Fae. Like a wilted flower that has dropped its petals, a new season has come, bringing with it new buds. She is blooming, opening herself to new possibilities for companionship, love and for a new self to rise to the surface. But blooms are fragile, newly born things. Elain hasn’t dealt with the full force of her trauma, of her lifelong lack of choice (I’m not going to delve into this as there are so many amazing analyses out there!). She is a trembling fawn, still trying to learn how to walk.

But her spiritual rebirth will remake her. Bones. It’s so different from the previous two words that it really leaves an impact. Blooms rot and fade. Flesh breaks and dies. But bones are strong, the frame that holds up our entire beings. Bones are unyielding and solid, taking no other shape like blood nor bruising like flesh. I see this as Elain standing up for herself, unswayed by external forces that have always governed her life and breaking away from the fragile flower people have always thought she was. By cutting away the rotting flesh, she will reveal the backbone beneath and ascend as Elain the Kingslayer/Seer.

Of course, closely tied to each sister’s personal growth arc is her love interest. For me, I don’t see it going any other way than Azriel.

SJM chose rot not only to represent the ‘life’ section of Elain’s personal journey, but also to represent Lucien. He has connections to the Autumn Court, a season that is often associated with decay and rot, but also with harvest and bounty. Highlighting the negative aspects of autumn invokes a strong sense of wrongness. Lucien is not right for her. Not to say anything bad about his character; he’s just not right for Elain. His presence in the books eats away at her newfound boldness; he rots away the path she is trying to carve for herself.

On the other hand, Azriel is closely tied with death, with blood and bones and shadow. He’s not only Rhys’ spymaster, he’s also his torturer. His association is with bones, a word that invokes a sense of everlasting, of persevering beyond death. Bones is also used to describe the ‘rebirth’ section of Elain’s personal growth arc, the final aspect that leads to ascendance, and acceptance of one’s past and present. Meanwhile, bloom represents Elain herself and the ‘death’ portion of her story, the aspect that heralds change and healing.

Rot, bloom and bones represent both her personal journey and her love interests. It’s all intrinsically linked. Lucien is ‘life’ and stagnation, Elain is ‘death’ and change, and Azriel is ‘rebirth’ and acceptance. As a progression, this is how I interpret the sentence:

By rejecting the bond with Lucien, she is stepping into herself and forging something everlasting with Azriel.

Lastly, let’s not forget that the phrase symbolising her is sing me. This didn’t make much sense to me until I read Azriel’s bonus POV. In it, he confesses to Gwyn that he does sing. Why include this if it’s not a subtle callback to this prophetic paragraph in ACOMAF? It feels like a treat to hardcore fans who like finding all the little connections (since they’re the ones most likely to have read the bonus chapters). The fact that Gwyn also sings signals to me there’s an important plot point regarding song. Maybe homegirl Elain will be forced to throw a hardcore metal concert to save Az XD Wouldn’t that be a plot twist HAHAHA.

I don’t know when SJM started planting seeds for Elriel in any serious capacity, so perhaps I am reading WAY too much into this. Either way, I am super keen for the next book!

Please feel free to comment and let me know your thoughts! I am desperate for Elriel right now hahaha. Thanks for reading!

OH, BUT ONE MORE THING.

The greetings are really interesting. Sweet thing obviously refers to Feyre. Lady of night and princess of decay are clearly meant for Nesta.

Fanged beast and trembling fawn are left for Elain. It’s easy to write this off as being about her LI and herself, respectively, but I don’t know. The sentences build upon each other. A single moniker grows to two - the first separated by a comma, the second expanding to use an and. It’s something you see a lot in poetry, generally used to emphasise a point. I’m not entirely sure what the point is; it might just be a nice writing flourish, but wouldn’t it be interesting if both those statements were referring to Elain herself? Wouldn’t it just be juicy?

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kookings · 3 years

Text

red hot ice [preview 2]

“I thought your powers were cryokinesis and not charm.”

PAIRING -> cryokinesis!jungkook x fem!reader/pyrokinesis!reader

GENRE(S) -> magic au, rivals au, fluff, action, fantasy, suggestive, angst, crack

SUMMARY -> There’s a very good chance you may not graduate; one, because your Elementals essay due first period is currently frozen solid, and two, because you’re ass at Elementals — a fact that Jungkook only discovers when you storm into his room and reign hellfire upon him for freezing your entire dormitory.

However, using this knowledge to his advantage, he strikes you a deal: beat him in a sparring match and he’ll help you pass Elementals.

Lose, and you’ve just bought yourself a one way ticket to the Formal. With Jungkook as your date.

WARNINGS -> profanity, semi-suggestive content, sword fighting, magic fighting (?), graphic depictions of blood and injuries, graphic depictions of pain, minor enemies-to-lovers, jungkook is a hot mf even tho his powers are ice manipulation, oc is also hot but like literally, because of her fire manipulation oc blushes a lot, oc’s nickname is Firestorm bcs i cannot for the life of me write ‘y/n’, lots of banter, lots of repressed feelings, lots of stupidity, more to be added!

WORD COUNT -> updated to around 20-30k

TAG LIST -> @soobmint @hyuckworld @jenoentry @junepops @aliceu @yanithem @cupidtaes @kookaine @oerangdoongi @ggukkieland @shatzkrinslinzki @geniejunn @maplecornia @travelleratheart101 <3 (let me know if you’d like to be tagged as well!!)

AUTHOR’S NOTE -> hellooo this is the second teaser to this upcoming fic!! (first one can be found here!!)

You make it halfway to the door before he says the words that stop you in your tracks.

"Unless you don't want to graduate, I suggest you hear me out."

You stiffen.

You can study and learn and breathe Elementals until your eyes bleed, but does that mean you'll pass? That you'll get a final grade high enough to tip the scales in your favour? At this point, you honestly don't know. You've been studying and learning and breathing Elementals all semester and yet you're still floundering just below a passing grade. Jungkook's edits to your essay will definitely help to your advantage and might even garner you an A — an A which will definitely pad your grade. But it doesn't guarantee a safety net, and exam season is fast approaching. A knot forms in your stomach.

He's right. You might not graduate.

You're still not sure what the Formal has to do with your mark in Elementals, but you begrudgingly decide to hear him out. For the sake of your grade, of course.

Pivoting on your heel, you fix him with a glare that could burn empires. "You have five seconds to make your case."

His smirk says it all.

"That's a bit much, don't you think?" He saunters over to you; a predator closing in on its prey. "I could recite the whole Elementals textbook and still have time to—"

"Three, two—"

"Lose-to-me-in-a-sparring-match-and-you-have-to-come-to-the-Formal-with-me."

You can't help it— you laugh in his face. "Lose to you in a sparring match? You've got to be kidding me."

"Ah, but I've been practicing. I stand a fighting chance now."

It's true that Jungkook's gotten better in the ring. You've noticed him training more often, his competitive streak driving him to be the best at everything, including sparring. He's filled out more too, evident in the way his shirt now stretches taut across his chest and emphasizes the strong cords of muscle. The added strength paired with his honed skill makes him that much more lethal. Sometimes even, he comes close to beating you.

"You sit a fighting chance, and even then your odds are slim." You cross your arms. "Just tell me why it's so important I go to the Formal with you."

Jungkook stands before you now, and the way he's peering at you from beneath his lashes makes you almost scared of his answer. You can handle hearing his sick, twisted plans to humiliate you, handle knowing he's kept up this pursuit for the sake of his pride.

You can't, however, handle whatever it is that swims in his eyes now. Looking so real and honest and raw.

Jungkook opens his mouth as if to say something.

He thinks better of it with a shake of his head.

"Because," he finally says, "it's high time we bury the hatchet. I think we can go one night without trying to commit homicide, don't you? Besides, it's our last year and last Formal." He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Last chance for me to whisk you off your feet for the best night of your boring, pathetic life."

"So it's the thrill of the chase, then." Something sour fills your mouth. "Last year, last chance for you to secure me as a trophy on your shelf."

"Something like that." He shrugs. Then he grins in earnest. "Admit it. You can't wait to see how good I look in a tux."

You snort. "I'll sever your throat with your tie."

"If I didn't think you'd make good on that threat, I'd say you're blushing."

"Many would pay generously for the Jeon heir's head."

"I have been told I'm rather spectacular in bed."

"You foul mouthed pig!"

You'd honestly meant it as a mere slap to his arm. A teasing one at that, nothing more.

Jungkook, however, somehow reads your stance as full fledged war, and you are none the wiser.

He blocks your hand with staggering ease, sending a swift jab to your gut in retaliation before kicking your legs out from underneath you. The ground slams into your back, hard and solid, knocking the air from your lungs. You're confused and more than a little annoyed, and this clash of emotions drives you to tuck into a roll, twisting back onto your feet and prepared to strike—

Only to be slammed into the wall by Jungkook, your hands pinned on either side of your head, his cold body flush against your own.

A familiar, throbbing ache begins at the base of your skull, though it's nothing you haven't endured before and certainly not the worst you've encountered. In fact, you're more focused on how close Jungkook is and just how wildly your heart is racing. His face is inches from your own, hands still encircling your wrists, and you can feel the lines and dips of his body pressed firmly against your form.

Your magic goes haywire.

He’s too close.

Close enough for you to lose control.

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jockpoetry · 4 years

Note

supernatural sees women as a tool for development and strengthening of narratives/motivation and dean sees his body as a tool. is that anything?

When I saw this ask I really made the 🥴in real life. So, yeah anon, I do think there’s something to this.

Quick Disclaimer before I actually launch into my thoughts™: A lot of my read of Dean stems from my experience as both an oldest daughter and a transman. Being the oldest daughter was an experience I lived for many years, but I am also a man. I wasn’t raised as a man, I wasn’t socialized as a man, and even though once I came out upon reflection my masculinity was obviously there. Like I was a man™ before I knew I was a man. Even when I actively tied my identity to femininity for a long time! A lot of my prideful moments were based around statements like: “I was the only girl who (fill in the blank).”

So I am just putting that out there before I launch into my spiel about Dean/Gender/Tool because they all interlock for me.

I am also going to apologize in advance because I know this has fully gone off the rails and I’m not even done writing it yet. If this is incomprehensible ! Well, happens to the best of us.

First off, most importantly I guess before we discuss womanhood and Dean and the way both are utilized on the show I need to say that I personally don’t subscribe the whole Dean is female coded thing.

It’s a read I can absolutely understand. But for me..he’s not.

He’s a hypermasculine man to the point that when (and because he is written as a punchline, as the stupid™ brother, as the whore™, as the mother/father™, as daddy’s blunt instrument™, etc) Dean deviates from the pre-accepted definition of hypermasculine it’s Wrong.

It’s Instantly Feminine.

I think the internet has made the world very black and white, or blue and pink maybe. This point, I think, colors a lot of these discussions. Dean cooks, he cleans and so therefor he’s female coded. When that really just feeds back into the whole toxic masculinity loop. You can’t be masculine and cook and clean and cry. That’s for feminine people only.

I get the argument! I do, I just think that Dean’s actions are not inherently feminine, it’s just in the vacuum of Female and in the Absence of Traditional Masculinity it makes sense to assign him female coded and move on.

IN FACT the way that Dean is the action hero of the show, the Masculine™ one on the show - but he cries, and he rages, and he cooks (Again and Again) and cleans (Again and Again). The fact he’s macho and confident but he has so little self esteem. Is frankly insane to me. You have this blaze of glory character who is so depressed that they have him kill himself. Twice. In explicitly “I hate myself, I hate hearing all the things I hate about myself, I want to destroy myself” ways.

On just a regular ol’ network show that is just ungodly bad at times. They let their Male Hero cry - all the time (if I linked every example of this the essay would be...longer than it already is, but just take my word for it). Dean tears up and grieves and shows more than just Angry Horny Violent™ (he shows plenty of that, don’t get me wrong) but he’s Emotional (Again and Again and Again). In many different ways!

I mean, beyond even just tearing up, they make their Male Hero™ face sexual violence in pretty, uniquely horrifying - and queer! - ways.

Let’s make it clear, they did a lot of this unintentionally.

Or they do it as a joke.

Off of dean for a moment to say women are plot devices in this show. I could probably count on one hand female characters who have sincere depth to them that have roles outside of progressing plot, filling a filler episode, and who are still alive. Like even characters such as Charlie who are wholly developed, and interesting, are only remembered/mentioned/utilized to progress plots or fill an episode out - and then she dies. For pain™ for plot™ for no other reason than to traumatize a character.

Which let’s also make it clear Dean’s trauma is also only used as a plot device (as is Sam’s but in a different way, and Cas’ trauma is a whole other barrel of fish we’re not gonna dive into right now). Like wholesale full stop they don’t actually care about what happened to him. Unless it’s relevant in an episode.

Oh that boys home he was left at when he was 16 for months? Sure we’ll sprinkle that in in the back half of the series. Oh he was covered in bruises and said it was from a hunt (when it’s clear contextually they were from his father but saying the fantastical but true is easier than saying the uncomfortable but true). As Dean says though the story became the story, he was sixteen. He just went along with what John said.

We only see Dean ever truly rage at John, by the way, when either Dean is dead (when he’s between life and death and he rages at John, right before John “apologizes” for traumatizing him, for putting too much on Dean’s shoulders, and fucking dying) or John is dead (the Djinn episode where Dean is straight™ and John is dead™ and he goes to his grave and just yells and rages like he should have to his father in the real world).

Dean’s trauma from being both tortured and torturer in hell? Yeah, we don’t talk about that after it’s Relevant™. Even though it’s clear - especially in the demon!dean, mark of cain era, all those years later - Alastair still has his hooks inside of Dean. I stopped watching originally after s8 ended. I was fed up with the show, and with this whole renaissance I’ve been doing a rewatch and I’m into season twelve now and it really has never come up again.

Even when he had the mark of cain and he was tasked with questioning and accused of torturing it was “the mark has changed you” and not “you were victim and victimizer in hell for forty years, which is longer than you’ve been alive on earth” (and, was about as long as he wound up living. Which is desperately sad.

Because we talk about Sam’s desire for a “normal” life but, Dean wanted out too. He was tired in the first few seasons of this show, he never had a chance to taste freedom (we don’t count the boys home, because that was a different kind of regimented life, and it was a false freedom) the way that Sam did in Flagstaff with Bones or at Stanford with Jessica. Love for Dean is sacrificing, it’s putting himself/his happiness/his well-being last.

Because Dean only knows love in the context of violence (like all of these fun examples, for starters) is a phrase that I’ve said a lot both in private chats and on here, and I absolutely think it goes to him being a tool (a blunt instrument, a plot device, so both textually and metatextually) instead of a person. Which Cas sees Dean’s shame/guilt and sees that side of Dean because he touched his soul, and saw more than just the Righteous™ man, more than just the tool, he saw A good man, not a machine.

On the other side though you have how “bad guys” view Dean: Desperate, Sloppy, Needy, Dean’s hole (Again), which is again so wildly counterintuitive to the story of a Macho Man Hero™. You’re using vocabulary that is both queering him and feminizing (and I know this a meme format, but sincerely it is done in a derogatory way it is feminizing. It’s breaking him down to bare parts, to a sloppy hole).

My whole rewatch I have been absolutely fascinated by how identity and free will is utilized/conceptualized on this show. Castiel has been my main focus, but Dean and how he is framed by himself and others is...fascinating - and frustrating. The writers inconsistency lends itself not only to this unintentionally queer character, but also one that again is incredibly easily read as a non-traditionally masculine character.

As a feminine character.

This show has so few female characters that of course it had to foist the roles/behaviors/plots that a female character might have onto a male character. Which I think is part of why reading Dean as trans (either transmasc, or transfemme) is so easily done like.

Half of these are shit posts, but you can find trans allegories/textual evidence in this show again, again, again, again, and again. And this is unintentional, they don’t want you to look at Dean and see woman, former future or present. Like a lot of these I’m sure are punchlines for them, because women/queer folk are punchlines to them.

Sometimes the only women in an episode are random witnesses who get two sentences of dialogue, and then the main guest character is a man. Who flirts with Dean, and Dean is receptive to it.

They paint themselves into a corner, there are female Rabbi. So easily could Aaron have been a woman instead of a man, but they made the choice to play up the HaHa Dean & Men card.

Because, again, Dean has filled the slot of Woman™ of Female Lead™ and the flirting would’ve been straight if Dean was a woman. It’s a plot device, they needed to have the guest character be disarming, be cute, make the main character flustered.

It’s just the main character is a man, because they’re allergic to women. But they still need those female plots, tools of femininity, to move their show forward. I mean I am a big subscriber to transmasc Jo (no idea if anyone else is with me on this one, but let me explain). Jo is in love with Dean (concept) not Dean (actuality). Which, we’ve all had our eggs cracked by someone like that. We were in love with them until we realized we just wanted to be them.

He loved her like a little sister, she loved him like a lost idol. He’s a golden calf and she dies for him, because she believed in him, she was the original character dashed at the altar of the Winchesters.

I fully believe if she had lived and if this show had a crumb of actual good writing Jo could have been a deeply compelling transmasc character. But I also think she’s a fascinating inversion of Dean. Dean is a Masculine Character who subverts Toxic Masculinity, Jo is a Tomboy™ she’s not your (if you take it straight, literally and metaphorically) average female love interest. She’s angry, she’s not soft at all, all edges and corners and thorns. She isn’t helpless, she’s stubborn but not in a “you’re going to get punished for this” way. She’s right when she’s stubborn. She’s helpful, she’s a martyr.

I could do a whole other essay just on Jo (and Ellen, and Ash, what a fucking trio!) but needless to say Jo was one of the first...plot device feminine tools sacrificed to this show. She was a regular, she was unique, she was an engaging character, and she still died (to progress the plot? no. for man pain? yeah, for like three episodes maybe, and then it’s forgotten just like the rest of Dean’s trauma, as we mentioned above).

Dean and Women and Love is a very interesting tool used too because. Boy they sure try to make Dean love women and it fails in small ways, and in big, meaningless, failed het domesticity (again) ways. Not to mention whatever Lust (in the form of a woman) having no effect upon him, when they could have used that moment to assert his Masculinity and Heterosexuality. He behaved normally? And...also...whatever the fuck the Adios thing was!

Like they have these opportunities to make him Traditionally (toxically) Masculine, but make the choice to...not? To soften him. Because it’s a tool. He’s their female lead, textually he had to take on the role of mother(/father) to Sam, but...I mean this is a million miles long already. I know, but we absolutely can’t not talk about his Paternal/Maternal behaviors. (Which appear again and again again and again, outside of his relationship with Sam even/especially). He’s the mother hen, sage, safety net, beacon, home to so many side characters they meet.

I mean in many ways Jody is also a Dean comparison. Lost her family. Found a new family. She is non-traditionally feminine, but easily flustered and Silly™ (let’s just drop the entire sex talk over family dinner scene with Alex and the boys and looking to them for help, even though she was already a mother, and she’s a cop, and a hunter and this confident no nonsense individual.... She’s not). We are meant to see her as this hard ass, but she makes extra food for the boys to take back to the bunker. She’s deadly in a fight, but also still easily overwhelmed and put into damsel mode, and she cares so much even in the face of adversity.

It’s also fun to see how Jo | Jody are reflections of Dean at different points of his life. Younger, cocky | Older, settled.

Even when the text tries to tell us that he’s not.

When it reminds us that he’s violent. That he is his father, even if he says that Sam is more like John (which was reflexive, which was angry because of Adam and how Sam was behaving like Dean in that episode, and yes there are parallels to be drawn between Sam and John, the show barely dives into them). Instead we’re told that Dean is John (Again and Again and Again and Again).

So intensely that a fanfictionalized version of the Winchester Gospels makes it an entire fucking musical number.

And yet, despite the texts insistence to make Dean Macho Man Father Reborn™ We get this Dean who is silly (and directly compared/contrasted to the female character in this scene), soft, in heels, nagging, and... Sully (you know Sam’s imaginary friend who has the same Haircut Dean has, who is a softer, shorter, friendlier, campier, version of Dean who was a replacement For Dean until the real one let Sam back in? That? Sully?) it’s hard to take them seriously.

Hell, even when he was A DEMON? What did they do? They had him sing off-key drunken karaoke, they had him doing this ! Like that’s your hero, unhinged, free to be as bad as he could be, and you put him in a cowboy hat in a romance with the king of hell.

The Female Lead, everyone. Who’s biggest betrayal(s) comes at the hands of his love interest (again, a man even though it was an angel who could’ve taken any vessel! who could’ve been recast, who canonically dies admitting his love to Dean - that one), who he tries so hard to be loyal to.

The contradictions of his character are laughable. He is so emotional, but if he is engaged about his emotions? He shuts down, or he’s exasperated about being asked about them. It really is Female Lead/Only Here For The Plot disease, because everything is more important than him. How’s he doing? Doesn’t matter outside of the context of how x character is doing or that y character is dead. Or his emotions only matter if they’re done in penance.

They also really do frame him as Pretty Boy™ in a violent way, or in a derogatory manner. They’ll give us homoerotic shots like this or these and never really acknowledge how these are gay shots. Sorry the gun scene is a a straight up sex scene, the beer sip spilling out over his mouth is oral, the scene where Cas fills up Dean’s glass with whisky is also a sex scene, they do this shit on purpose but accidentally queer it up. If Dean was a woman these scenes wouldn’t even matter. They’d be passing moments, but because he is not just a man but A Man™ they’re insane to see.

Not to mention all of these scenes and all the ones I haven’t linked where Dean dresses up. He performs masculinity, but he performs femininity too. He’s a plot device that is slotted in to whatever role they need. He’s Super Straight Butch Man™ but coaches the lesbian on how to successfully flirt with a man. He’s Action Hero™ who sits through a montage with the same lesbian and yays and nays her outfits, and enjoys himself.

Fuck he loves dressing up, he feels better in these costumes because performing a character is easier than being himself. Because who is Dean? He’s a tool, both textually and metatextually. It is exactly how the women and because of the women on the show that Dean is the way that he is. If there was a more steady female presence Dean would not be half as much of a plot device or half as camp/gay/feminine/non-traditionally masculine/queer coded as he is.

In conclusion....

#dean winchester #supernatural #spn meta #spn #gender #anon #replies #messages #my writing #ANYWAYS PHEW okay anon i don't know if i even fully got to your point but i woke up at like 3:30 to this ask and i've been fixated on it #HOPE THIS IS EVEN JUST a little bit coherent #the way i meant for this to talk so much more about transness and eldest daughter syndrome and just FORGOT #oops #oh well

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