#i need to write an essay about her. a book perhaps

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

aita for watching a horror movie on a plane?

the long and short of it:

i (20m) had the middle seat on a 3 hour flight. my mom was to my left, a stranger (30s-40s? f) was on my right

i’ve been wanting to rewatch the 5th scream movie to write a critical analysis essay on it. i figured i’d do it on this flight since it was a bit of a longer one. i bought wifi for my laptop so i could watch it while having my notes on the side

the woman next to me seemed to only have a book and her phone as her means of entertainment. i tried to intentionally not acknowledge her, but i could tell more often than not she was watching my screen. what i couldn’t exactly parse was how she was feeling about what i was watching; a few times i saw her shake her head and try to turn her attention to her book, but i couldn’t tell if it’s because she was upset or if she just didn’t like being distracted.

my mom confirmed when we got off the plane that she seemed to be pretty dismayed about the movie. i’ll admit there’s some fairly gory kill scenes in that movie, but i was hoping having my notes visible would make it a bit more clear i have a legitimate reason to be watching it, perhaps for a school assignment (although i’m not actually in school), and i’m not just watching it for the sake of possibly make people around me uncomfortable because i can tolerate movie gore.

i know not everyone feels the same about horror movies— they’re meant to be scary, after all, and like i said before, some of the scream 5 kills are pretty wicked— but admittedly, i did kind of expect that whoever would sit next to me would have a bit more for themselves as far as personal entertainment goes (and like… not have their nose in my business the whole time either? when i had to put away my laptop for landing, i started watching something different on my phone for the last half hour, and out of the corner of my eye i could see her watching that too).

i’ve had to sit next to people on flights watching fox news, which is pretty dismaying for me as a trans person, so i know what it’s like to have to sit next to people watching stuff i don’t like on planes, but in the past i’ve just tried to ignore it and tend to my own stuff. on that note, asking someone to turn off something like fox news is almost guaranteed to start shit, but i wouldn’t have minded if she asked me to turn off my horror movie.

i do feel bad if i wound up making her uncomfortable, that’s the last thing i want to do, i know it’s pretty difficult to not see what the person next to you is doing on a plane, but i’m not sure if it’s something i need to worry about at this point since she didn’t say anything to me. is it a social faux pas to watch scary movies on planes? is it something i need to be mindful of when i fly in the future?

What are these acronyms?

[7-wonders]

To the world we dream about (and the one we live in now)

Calliope & Reader, Morpheus/Dream of the Endless & Reader

Summary: Being in the right place at the right time turns everything you thought you knew on its head when a woman, imprisoned and battered, is literally thrown into your life. Left with no choice but to do the obvious, you offer her shelter and support in her time of need.

Unbeknownst to you, said woman is a powerful and ancient being who now belongs to you in accordance with the old laws. This situation definitely won’t become complicated, right?

Word Count: 14.5k

Author's Note: A couple of months ago, I received an ask, seen below, and have not been able to stop thinking about it since. After a lot of brainstorming with the wonderful sender of the ask (not sure if they want to be named!), I finally sat down to write it.

So, here we are! This story took on a mind of its own the longer I wrote (perhaps the Muse Calliope paid me a visit haha), and it's genuinely something that I'm so proud to have produced. It's not necessarily an x reader fic—right now, though depending on reader reaction there may be future parts (including a Calliope/Morpheus POV of these events)—so I absolutely understand if you choose not to read, but I hope that you do. In the end, this is truly Calliope's story.

A story of empowerment, friendship, freedom, and self-discovery.

Content warnings for this work include allusions to sexual assault, general trauma, Richard Madoc, vomiting, kidnapping, realizations of inadvertent kidnapping, mentions of death, and Nightmare!Morpheus. Reader discretion is advised.

The man standing at the front of the room taps his fingers along the edge of his lectern, savoring the enraptured faces that stare back at him. For those in his class, this is expected of him—he always gets a dramatic air about him when he’s on the verge of making the point that he had been working towards for the entire lecture and looping it back to the thesis statement from the beginning of the hour. Though it was routine by now, practically tradition, the students still ate it up every time.

“The theme between all of these authors–the Fitzgeralds and the Hemingways, the Tolkeins and the Orwells–is that their words carry power and strength. While they may look like mere letters strung together on a sheet of paper, when read together, these words have a weight behind them. They can conjure up worlds, inspire the masses, make readers think critically; it’s a type of magic when you really think about it.”

He checks his watch before clapping his hands together in finality and smiling out at the room.

“Well, my friends, I’m afraid that’s all the time we have today. Thank you very much for joining me, and please make sure that you have your essays on the influences of World War One and its aftermath on the literature of the time ready for our next class. See you then!”

When your university announced that world-renowned author Ric Madoc would be a visiting professor for the semester, you immediately jumped on the long list of students interested in taking one of the three classes that were going to be taught by him. You had absolutely no hope that you would get into the class, not when it seemed like half the student body was also signed up, but you had to at least try. The Spirit Who Had Half of Everything was one of your favorite books of all time, and you’d be remiss not to attempt to learn from the master himself.

Somehow, much to your surprise, you had received an email informing you that you earned a spot in Madoc’s “Great Works of the 20th Century” class. The class had lived up to the hype so far and you were thoroughly enjoying it, even though it wasn’t exactly related to your field of study. In fact, you enjoyed it so much that you normally stayed behind with a group of students to continue having a discussion with Madoc about the aforementioned great works. Today, unfortunately, you couldn’t, having to rush out immediately after class was over to make it to your group project meeting in the library on time.

Of course, it’s difficult to get any sort of work done when one happens to be randomly paired with their best friend, but you’re trying your hardest.

“Psst.” You don’t look up, choosing instead to try and finish the sentence you’re writing, but a balled-up gum wrapper hits you smack in the center of the forehead. “Hey!”

After you’ve finished typing, you look across the table at Evie, your best friend. “Can I help you?” you ask.

“Do you wanna come out with me and a couple of others tonight?”

“It’s Thursday.”

She shrugs. “So?”

Points were made, and who are you to resist a good argument? “Convincing. I’m in! I just have to run home real quick and get changed.”

As you search through your bag, you start to feel your heart plummeting in your chest as you realize that you can’t find your keys. Digging through the contents furiously in the hopes that they’ll turn up yields no results, and neither does patting at the pockets you know are empty. With horror in your eyes and fear in your heart, you look back up at her.

“Fuck, I lost my keys.”

“Shit, dude. Do you remember where you last had them?”

“Um.” 

You have to think for a moment, mentally retracing your steps until you can definitively pinpoint the last time you saw your keys. They were with you in the parking lot, because you remember locking your car twice just to be sure that you did. From there, you would have been holding them in your hand as you walked to Madoc’s class. Considering you went straight from class to the library, there are limited options for where they could be. Either you left them in the lecture hall or you dropped them somewhere on campus. For your sake, you hope it’s the former.

On the syllabus, Madoc had given the class his work cell phone number in case of emergencies like being unable to make it to class or an act of God destroying your homework. Though you doubted you would need it at the time, you still saved it in your phone to be on the safe side. Now, as you pull up his contact and start a new conversation, you thank past-you for having such good foresight.

You: Hey, great class today! Did you happen to find a set of keys left behind in the lecture hall? I’m missing mine.

After a second of contemplation, you send another text with your first and last name when you realize he probably doesn’t know who it is texting him. It only takes a couple of anxious minutes before your phone chimes. 

Richard Madoc: Hello! Would these happen to be the keys in question?

Richard Madoc: Attachment

The keys are immediately recognizable as yours, thanks to the keychain of a possum wearing a cowboy hat that’s attached to them. You sigh in immense relief before glancing up at Evie, who’s been watching with bated breath the entire time. “I left them in Madoc’s class.”

“Oh thank god!”

You: They are! Any chance you’re still on campus so I can swing by and grab them?

Richard Madoc: I’m afraid I’ve already left for the day, but I live pretty close to the uni if you’d be willing to pick them up from my flat.

He sends an address in the following text, which you promptly input in your maps app so you can see where said address is located. It’s maybe a five-minute drive from campus and conveniently located in the direction of your apartment.

You: Will be there in a bit! Thank you :)

“He already left, I’d have to pick them up from his place,” you explain.

Evie immediately fixes you with a look, one that says she’s seen this particular move before (and she didn’t like the ending). “Do you want me to come with you?”

The unspoken words hang in the air between you: Do you feel safe going to an unfamiliar man’s house alone? Should I come to make sure nothing bad happens? It’s very thoughtful of her, and you consider saying yes for a moment.

But Evie lives in the opposite direction of you, and she doesn’t have a car. While you don’t know Madoc well, you’re also not expecting him to try anything on you, especially when it’s still light out. 

“I should be okay,” you say.

“You’re sure?” Evie double-checks, and you nod. “Call me before you get there, okay? Just…have me on the line, in your back pocket. It’d make me feel better about letting you go on your own.”

How did you get so lucky to have such a great friend like Evie? Of course, you would do the same for Evie in a heartbeat, but it’s so nice to have found a kindred spirit, someone who truly understands you and all your little quirks, so early in your adulthood.

“You’re not letting me do anything,” you tease. “But yeah, I’ll call you when I get there.”

“Thank you,” she says sincerely, sliding her papers and her laptop into her backpack. “Now let’s go. The sooner you get your keys, the sooner we can go and get drunk.”

It feels a little dumb to be driving such a short distance, from the campus to the address that Madoc had given you. You’re exactly the type of person that’s killing the planet with unnecessary carbon emissions when you could just as easily walk, you chastise yourself on the way over. 

But you had driven to class this morning, that being a distance actually too far to walk, and it would be stupid to walk to Madoc’s, get your keys, walk back to campus, and then drive home. So here you are, beating yourself up over something stupid and inconsequential while you try your best to parallel park in a respectable manner in front of Madoc’s little townhouse.

It’s exactly the type of lodgings you’d expect a university professor to have, yet almost the opposite of what you envisioned as a successful author’s home; a small, yet stately, townhouse with a little fenced-in front yard. Plants try their hardest to survive in the patch of dirt that’s probably supposed to be a garden, and there’s a small chair and table perfect for Sunday mornings sitting on the front stoop.

The gate creaks when you open it, and even more when you close it behind you. At the last second, you remember that you promised to call Evie, so you pull out your phone and do just that. 

“Hey, you there?” Evie answers her phone.

“Yeah, just got here. Putting you in my pocket now.”

Even though the idea felt a little like an overreaction, you can’t deny that you feel safer now knowing that Evie’s listening on the phone.

You knock on the dark blue front door once, twice, three times before taking a step back and waiting patiently. After about thirty seconds, you start to worry that Madoc’s not home. But no, that wouldn’t make sense; you talked to him maybe half an hour ago, and he knew that you were on your way to pick up your keys. Frowning, you knock again, followed by holding your ear to the door to see if you can hear anything.

He’s definitely inside. Though the sound is muffled, you can hear what sounds like him yelling at somebody through the door. Who the source of his ire is, you can’t say, because there’s nobody saying anything back to him. Maybe he’s having a really heated conversation on the phone? If that’s the case, it’s a pretty inconvenient time to launch into a virtual argument.

You don’t want to be rude and knock for a third separate time, but you really do need your keys, and you’d prefer to not be kept standing out here waiting. Begrudgingly, you knock yet again, putting a considerable amount of force behind it this time. 

“Mr. Madoc?” you call through the door, raising your voice enough that you’re sure he’s heard you. By the way that he suddenly falls silent, you’re assuming that you’ve been successful. Pulling back from your position right up against the door, you wait for him to appear.

When the door is yanked open, you’re shocked at what you see. Gone is the confident lecturer who stood at the front of your class this afternoon. The man in front of you looks positively haggard. His eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed, and his bottom lip quivers almost as furiously as his hands shake. His hair is a mess, as though he’s been pulling at it, and his shirt is weirdly rumpled like he fell asleep in it.

You take a big step back when his eyes land wildly on you without really seeing you. Your hand goes to your back pocket, hovering just above your phone in case this encounter goes south and you need to have Evie do…something. Call the cops? Yell at Madoc through the phone? Scream? Whatever it is, though, she’ll do it for you.

“Hi. Um, you–”

Madoc shakes his head back and forth and begins to mumble something, completely ignoring you and your presence. He reaches one of his hands further inside the house, grabbing at something unseen. Your body tenses, preparing to fight this man that, up until two minutes ago, you had believed to be completely sane and rational.

His hand comes back into view, tightly gripping a woman’s upper arm. She’s barefoot and clad only in a thin silk nightgown, and you can see the goosebumps already appearing on her skin.

“A city in which the streets are paved with time,” he mumbles a little louder, allowing you to hear what he’s rambling about. “A train full of silent women, plowing forever through the twilight. Heads made of light. A small piece of blue cardboard. A plum, sweet and tart and cold.”

“Mr. Madoc, are you alright?” 

Instead of answering you, Madoc throws the woman across the threshold and towards you. You catch her in your arms, both of you stumbling backward, but you let go when you notice how she immediately tenses at your touch.

“She’s your problem now, I can’t do this anymore!” Madoc begins to pull at his hair, so hard that you think he might end up pulling it out of his head. “I refuse to be tortured any longer!”

“What are you talking about?” 

He’s lost his damn mind, you think to yourself as he continues to spout the most random of ideas. You thought that you had properly calculated the risks of coming over here on your own, but apparently, you’re bad at math.

“A were-goldfish who transforms into a wolf at full moon. Griffins shouldn’t marry. Vampires don’t dance.” Madoc shakes and smacks himself multiple times as if to try and snap himself out of whatever he’s gotten into. “A man who inherits a library card to the library in Alexandria. A rose bush, a nightingale, and a black rubber dog collar!”

You’re so thrown off by what you’re witnessing that you don’t even realize he’s closing the door until the sound of it hitting the doorframe reminds you why you’re here. You bang your fist against the door and yell at him, “Hey! Give me my fucking keys!” 

Madoc opens the door just enough to throw your keys at you, which you fumble and nearly drop until catching them by the stupid cowboy possum keychain, before slamming it shut again. From within, you can hear several locks clicking shut loudly in quick succession.

The speed with which this entire interaction has occurred leaves your head spinning, and you have to take a moment to realize that yes, what you just experienced was real. Even then, you stare at the door bemusedly. “What the fuck?”

“I do not believe he will be coming back,” an accented voice says from behind you.

You can’t stop the little scream of surprise that leaves you when you whip around to face the woman who, until this moment, you forgot had been kicked out of Madoc’s house. She stares at you, just as warily as you’re probably staring at her.

She’s otherworldly beautiful, with olive skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. But what stands out the most is just how visibly scared she is. She watches you like you’re a predator readying to attack. You hate it because you’d never do anything like that to anybody, but especially her. What had Madoc done to cause her to have this reaction to a stranger?

Evie’s voice rises tinnily from the phone in your back pocket, loud and panicked, and you remember that she’s been on the phone this whole time. You pull your phone out and hold it up to your ear, having to put a little distance between it due to how she’s yelling.

“—I swear, I’m two seconds away from calling the cops! Please just let me know you’re okay!”

“Evie, hey, I’m here,” you say, making her cry out in relief.

“Oh my god, are you okay? I was scared when I heard yelling!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright. Pretty sure I just watched Madoc have a mental breakdown?” Is that what that was? You can’t say for certain, considering this is your first such occasion.

“Seriously? Well, did you get your keys, at least?”

“After he finished rambling about were-goldfish and plums.”

“Jesus Christ. Are you going to call somebody?”

“Who would I call? And anyway, maybe this is normal for him.”

“If that’s normal, I’d hate to see what abnormal is.” She sighs. “So, I’ll see you soon?”

“Um,” you trail off, looking at the woman. “Y’know, I might take a rain check, if that’s okay. I’m a little shaken up by everything that just happened.”

“I bet, that sounds like it was really scary. We’ll miss you, but take care of yourself. If you do decide to come out, just text me and I’ll tell you where we’re at.”

“Thanks, Ev. I’ll, uh, talk to you soon.”

You hang up the phone, and now you and the woman are left awkwardly staring at each other. How are you supposed to approach a situation like this? Sliding your phone back into your pocket, you hold your hands with the palms facing out so that she can see you’re not holding any weapons and decide to just start from the beginning.

“Hi.”

She nods back in greeting, trying to hold herself with as much dignity as she can in this situation. The chill of the night and her lack of proper clothing leave her trembling in front of you, though some of that is likely from fear too, and you can see bruises in various shades of healing up and down her arms. Worse, there are visible fingerprint-shaped bruises ringing her neck. Though you’ve never been particularly violent, you’re tempted to break down Madoc’s door and do unto him what he’s obviously done to this woman.

“Are you cold? I have a spare jacket if you want it.” You point the hundred or so feet to where your car sits. “Here, let’s go over to my car, I’m just parked on the street right there.”

The woman attempts to gauge you and, presumably, your intentions. Though this is her decision to make, you give her a friendly smile in the hopes of convincing her that you have no ill will toward her. After a moment, she nods hesitantly.

You take the lead as you walk down the front path to your car, mainly to show that she holds the power here. There will be nobody sneaking up on this woman or trying anything, and she’s free to run far away from you if that’s what she chooses. 

Still, she follows you, and waits patiently while you dig around in your back seat until you finally come up with the light jacket that you had tossed back there after an outdoor movie night. You hand it to her and she shrugs it on, holding it tightly around her and trying to hide within the cotton fabric.

You don’t want to ask the question that’s on your mind, but you know that you have to. You need some sort of context for the situation. “Was…Madoc keeping you locked up in there?” She nods, and you feel your stomach roil with sick nausea. “Okay. We need to call the cops, so they can come and arrest him.”

“No!” she says firmly, a departure from how soft-spoken she previously was. “Please, I beg you, no authorities.”

“But…” 

Maybe he hadn’t kidnapped her like you found yourself assuming at first. Perhaps this is a severe case of domestic violence? Regardless, she looks like the poster child for abused women, and you’re not about to disrespect her wishes when this is probably the first choice she’s been able to make for herself in a long time.

“Okay,” you agree. “No cops.” 

“Thank you.” She sounds so relieved that it makes you want to cry.

An idea begins to form in your head, but one that you’re not sure how to begin to broach. After all, the woman in front of you has absolutely no reason to trust you. “I’m guessing you don’t have anywhere to go?”

She shakes her head. “No, I have…nowhere, and nobody.”

That settles it. You’re not about to leave a battered, formerly-trapped woman to fend for herself on the streets. “So listen. I have a spare room at my place, and you’re completely welcome to it for as long as you need.”

“Oh, I could not impose.”

“You wouldn’t be!” you assure her. “Please, it’s the least I can do. At least until you get back on your feet.”

She studies you again. Though you don’t know what she’s looking for, you can tell that she’s the kind of intuitive person that sees beyond that which is only skin-deep. Finally, she says, “Alright.”

You grin and open the passenger side door, gesturing for her to get in. “Alright.”

After getting the car started and the heat turned up all the way, you watch as the woman fiddles with the airflow of the heater until it’s blowing directly on her delicate hands, which she holds in front of her to warm up. She looks at you as if realizing for the first time that you could betray her trust much in the same way as Ric Madoc had. To prove to her that you won’t, you unlock the doors when they try to lock automatically in response to you putting the car in ‘drive’.

You tell her your name, and for the first time, she smiles. It’s a small thing, barely a quirk of the lips, but it’s there. “I am Calliope.”

“Oh cool, like the Muse!” Her smile widens until she’s actually smiling, leaving you delighted. “Your parents were into Greek mythology, then?”

“Something like that, yes.”

As you drive to your apartment, Calliope turns in her seat and watches as Madoc’s apartment grows smaller and smaller behind your car. Even after it’s disappeared behind turns and other buildings, she still watches, perhaps waiting for him to come back to his senses and come after her. But there will be none of that tonight, or ever again. Not as long as you have anything to do about it.

When you get home, you continue the routine of taking the lead and allowing Calliope to decide whether or not she wants to follow you. Calliope lingers in the entryway of your apartment, taking her time carefully cataloging everything that she can see as you work at getting the lights turned on and trying to clean up a little bit—after all, you hadn’t exactly expected a houseguest when you left for class this morning. 

She runs her fingers along the walls and the frames of artwork that you’ve acquired at festivals and flea markets. She feels the coats on your coat rack, and her dark, inquisitive eyes scan over the battered toaster and soft fruit in your kitchen. As she walks further into your home, she takes care to take up as little space as possible until she reaches where you stand in front of a closed door.

“My old roommate moved in with their girlfriend a couple of months ago, and they don’t know what they want to do with her furniture, so they’re just storing it here until they can figure it out,” you explain as you open the door and flick on the light switch to reveal a bare bedroom. It’s sparsely furnished, with just a full bed, a nightstand, a dresser, and a desk and chair. “Now, it’s yours.”

“Mine?”

“For as long as you need it,” you repeat.

Hesitantly stepping inside, Calliope looks over the room before nodding in satisfaction. You can only hope that she had a space of her own in Madoc’s house, but by the way that she looks around like she’s never seen something so wonderful as an empty bedroom before, you’re left with a sinking feeling that this wasn’t the case.

“So! I’ll grab some sheets and a blanket from the linen closet and get the bed made up for you. Um, all of the doors lock on the inside, so feel free to keep yourself and your space private. Do you want to take a shower? Because you definitely can. Avery—that’s my old roommate—left some of the clothes they didn’t want behind, and they’re about your size, I think.” You’re rambling, but you just want to make her feel as welcome as possible. 

“A shower would be…nice,” Calliope decides.

“Awesome! The bathroom’s right through here, c’mon.”

In the bathroom, Calliope watches as you grab a couple of towels from the closet, along with the sheets and blanket you mentioned earlier. You set the towels down on the closed toilet lid next to the shower.

“Feel free to use any of my stuff here, it’s totally fine,” you explain, pulling back the shower curtain so Calliope can see your haircare products and body wash.

Instead of looking over that array, she simply stares at the chrome of the shower faucet in confusion.

“Oh yeah, the shower’s a little weird here. All you have to do is turn the handle, and then pull the plug on the faucet for the shower.” You show her as you explain it. “Turn the handle left for hot water, and right for cold. Got it?”

“I believe so.”

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it, then. Just yell if you need anything from me.”

You close the bathroom door behind you and after a long moment, you finally hear the lock turn.

Good. In the meantime, you’ll make a quick meal for her, in case she’s hungry. Plus, you need to keep your hands busy. It will help take your mind off of the horrors you’re trying desperately to forget that you witnessed.

•••

Four days later, Evie runs up to you on campus when she sees you and wraps both of her hands around your upper arm before pulling you towards her. “Did you hear?”

“What?” You’re more focused on not falling over your feet at the sudden change of pace you’ve been forced into than you are wondering what you did or didn’t hear.

“You were right. Mr. Madoc had a complete mental breakdown! Somebody called in a welfare check on him, and the cops found him curled up in a ball mumbling gibberish. He hadn’t moved for days. You know the worst part, though?” 

You shake your head. 

“He covered every single wall of his house with the most random words and phrases, and they were all written in his own blood.”

You reel back. “Jesus!”

“I know, totally gory.” By her laugh, you can tell that she enjoys the gore.

It’s at this moment that you realize that you haven’t told Evie anything about what happened after you hung up with her that night. It certainly wasn’t deliberate; you’ve just been so caught up in the sudden change in your living arrangements that you haven’t had the time to text or call her about what you went through.

With that in mind, you say, “I have something to tell you.”

Evie’s eyes immediately light up at the prospect of gossip. “You do?”

You nod. “That night, when I went to his house? He grabbed this woman from inside his house and just threw her at me, saying that she was my problem now. She was all bruised and wearing nothing but a nightgown, and he treated her like she was his property. Evie, she said he kept her trapped there.”

“What the fuck.” Evie stares at you in horror. “Is she okay now?”

“Physically, yeah. She’s staying with me.”

“At your apartment?”

“Where else? Her name’s Calliope. I’m letting her stay in Avery’s old room until she gets back on her feet again.”

Evie whistles lowly. “I can’t tell if that’s kind of you or stupid of you.”

“Probably both.”

“Yeah, probably.” 

As you walk, an astute observation comes to your mind. “Y’know, it makes sense that he’s such a piece of shit. Now that I think about it, the only authors we ever discussed in class were white guys.”

“Hmm, typical white man.” Evie rolls her eyes before she grins. “Hey, can I meet her?”

“Calliope?”

“Who else?”

You have to think about that for a minute. Would she be comfortable with meeting new people and putting herself out there? While you think that your friends are great, especially Evie, you just don’t want to force her into anything before she’s ready.

Evie seems to sense this hesitation, and explains, “She just seems like she needs some friends. A support system might be good for her while she tries to get her life back!”

“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll ask her if she wants to do something like that.”

“That’s all I ask,” Evie says. “In the meantime, is there anything that I can do to help? Like, does she need clothes? Kiara’s aunt owns that boutique, and she would probably be willing to help out.”

That’s a good idea and one that you hadn’t even considered. Obviously, Calliope’s going to want some clothes of her own instead of Avery’s hand-me-downs. It’ll probably help her to feel more like a human being, one with choice and agency over herself.

“Oh, would you ask her to talk to her aunt?” you ask. “That’d be great.” 

Evie nods. “Definitely. I feel like that’s, like, the least I can do.”

“I wish there was more that I could do,” you admit.

“You’re doing what you can, and that’s what matters. Hell, most people wouldn’t have even offered to let a woman in Calliope’s situation stay with them. You’re a good person, you know that?”

“Thanks.”

“Eh, what are friends for, if not to reassure you that taking in a random woman on a whim is the right idea?” You huff in mock anger, and Evie laughs. “Anyways, you’ll never guess what the university is trying to do about the whole Madoc situation now…”

•••

Calliope doesn’t come out of her room when you’re around, not that you blame her. If you had gone through even an ounce of what you suspect she had, you’d want to be safe and alone for a long time, no matter how nice your new roommate is (and you like to think you’re pretty nice). You hear her sneak around when she knows that you’re in your own bedroom, as quiet as a mouse, and every night without fail, she takes a long shower. Other than that, it feels like you’re still living alone.

Since you don’t know how often she’s eating, and she doesn’t leave dishes or any sort of indication that she’s getting food for herself, you leave meals out in front of her door for her, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Sticky notes accompany them, because you have things that you want her to know and this is the only way to communicate with her right now.

“Feel free to grab food from the kitchen whenever you want!”

“I have great books, and you’re more than welcome to them.”

“If you find yourself wanting to watch TV, the remote is on the coffee table!”

Each message is signed with a smiley face, and each one is gone when the empty tray is returned outside her door.

The empty trays and, eventually, the books that go missing from your bookshelf are the only signs of life that you receive from Calliope. 

When Calliope finally emerges while you’re home and not in your room, it’s six days after Ric Madoc threw her into your arms. You’re sitting on your couch reading fanfiction, a random YouTube video playing in the background when Calliope’s door creaks open and she peeks her head out hesitantly. Immediately you pause the video, smiling brightly when she notices you looking at her.

“Hi!” you greet.

“Hello.” She slowly exits her room clutching the book she’s been reading, as skittish as a feral kitten, and you slide over on the couch before patting the now-empty other side in invitation.

“You can come sit if you want. I’m just reading.”

“What are you reading?” Calliope asks, perching on the edge of the cushion as though she’s preparing for escape at any moment.

The smile freezes on your face. Just because you’re happy your new roommate is here doesn’t mean you’re about to out yourself as a fanfiction reader. “Oh, just a fantasy book.”

“Why do you have that…television on, then?” Calliope says this as though she’s still unfamiliar with the concept of television.

“I like the background noise of putting on shows that I’ve already seen. Helps me focus.”

She looks at you like that’s one of the oddest things she’s ever heard. Maybe it is, but it’s your little habit, and it has been for so long that it’s normal now. You hit play again, and Calliope starts a bit as sound comes through the speakers on the TV. Funnily, even though she seems to not understand your reasoning, the sound itself helps her to relax enough that she’s sitting on the couch with you instead of hovering like she’s preparing to bolt at any moment.

You don’t say anything, not wanting to make her think that you’re dictating what she can and cannot do. Eventually, Calliope decides to follow your lead and open her book, though she keeps getting distracted by the TV and eventually forgoes the book entirely in favor of watching the show.

“The tall one does not believe in ghosts, but the little one does?” Calliope asks out of the blue. You swallow down your laugh at her description of the hosts and nod.

“Mhm, and that’s what makes the show so good, is that dichotomy between the two hosts. One is so serious about everything they do, every noise that they hear, and the other is just dancing around and begging the demons to possess him or whatever because he thinks they’re not real and so saying this stuff can’t hurt him.”

She watches silently for another few minutes before asking, “Why are they searching for ghosts in the first place?”

“Well, because people love trying to solve the unsolved. And I think ghosts and the question of their existence is one of the ultimate unsolved mysteries.” She nods in satisfaction and turns back to the show, and you decide to turn off your phone and join her.

Calliope, as it turns out, enjoys television, if only for the strange concepts of some of the shows. You’re more than happy to show her all of the strangest and best shows, with the bonus of getting to see them anew through her eyes, which seem to be watching everything for the very first time.

•••

It’s mid-afternoon, and instead of being outside on what’s turning out to be a beautiful day, you’re stuck doing homework.

Everybody had assumed that Ric Madoc’s classes would be canceled after his abrupt admission into the Saint Dymphna Mental Health Hospital. The university, however, not wanting to just give out automatic passing grades without merit, had scrambled to try and find professors to teach Madoc’s classes. Somehow, they had succeeded, and you were now once again immersed in the world of 20th-century authors. Though your new professor didn’t have the ability to truly capture a room in the same way Madoc had, she was a fine replacement, and she devoted a good chunk of class time to women authors.

It’s too nice of a day to not take advantage of, though. That first true spring day after a long, harsh winter has finally arrived, and you won’t let it pass you by. All of the windows are open to allow the stale air of the apartment to dissipate, and as you write, you listen to the birds chirping and people doing yard work. Maybe, if you finish quickly enough, you’ll be able to take a walk yourself. 

Calliope would probably enjoy that as well, you think.

The woman in question knocks on your open bedroom door, and you look up at her with a smile from your desk. She clocks the computer and the notes spread around you and grows sheepish.

“I’m sorry, you are busy. I’ll–”

“No, don’t worry! Just finishing up an essay for a class. Got a crazy burst of motivation for it, and ended up knocking it out in a couple of hours. It’ll be good to look away from the screen.” 

Calliope gets that funny little smile on her face, the one that says that she has found something amusing but is going to keep it to herself. She waits patiently as you stretch, wincing when she hears the way that your shoulders pop and crack after hours of stagnancy.

“What’s up?” you ask. “You seem like you want to ask me something.”

Calliope points out of your bedroom. “What is out there?”

You stand so that you can see what it is she’s referencing, and find that she’s pointing to your sliding door.

“Oh, it’s a little balcony. I don’t go out there much right now, still a little too chilly, but it’ll be nice to sit out there once summer comes. Here, I’ll show you.”

It’s the first time this season that it’s been nice enough to have the door open, which is probably why she’s only just now realized it’s there. You open the screen door and lead her out onto your balcony. It’s small, but you spent last summer adding to it and making it a comforting place to relax. Now, there are lights strung up above your heads, and there are two chairs with a table in between them. Planters sit lined up along the iron of the balcony railing, ready to be filled when planting season comes around.

Calliope gasps, and you’re about to ask what’s wrong (part of you is worried that a snake managed to find its way up to the third floor), when she tilts her face up to the sun, leaning over the railing to try and get as much of the light on her as possible. She looks like a painting come to life, probably with a name like “Muse Bathed in the Sun”, because truly, Calliope seems like the type of person to inspire every person lucky enough to make her acquaintance. 

“Helios,” you hear Calliope whisper reverently. 

It’s obvious that she isn’t aware that she said that out loud, and you start to feel embarrassed before she turns back to you with a true smile and tears running down her face.

“I have not been outside in the sun in so long.” 

She explains this simply and factually, as if she’s talking about why the sun is where it is and not about all that she was deprived of during her captivity. Madoc didn’t even let her go outside. It’s a good thing that he’s under secure watch 24/7, because there have been many times over the almost-three weeks that Calliope has lived with you that you have wished to be able to go and inflict upon him a modicum of that which he did to Calliope.

Now tears are running down your face too, and you wipe at them harshly with the backs of your hands. This is Calliope’s moment, Calliope’s joy, and you won’t have her feeling sorry for making you experience such happiness and broken-heartedness by watching her.

“It’s here no matter what. Even if it’s a little cold, bring a blanket out and sit whenever you want. Soon, we’ll be able to plant some stuff. You can help me if you want!”

Calliope’s back to facing the sun directly, but she still nods to let you know that it’s a good idea. Quietly, you back up into the apartment and close the screen door behind you, letting her have this time of reconnection to herself.

Most mornings after this rediscovery, you find Calliope already sitting on the balcony by the time you wake up, a blanket around her shoulders, a mug of something hot in her hands, a book on her lap, and the sun bathing her skin.

•••

“Y’know what, I’m gonna give that one a three.”

“A three?” Calliope tuts. “That is cruel. His performance was at least a six.”

“C’mon Cal, you’re just saying that because you see the best in everybody! The rest of us saw a douchey frat bro drunkenly singing ‘SexyBack,’ which earned him a three. And that’s me being generous.”

Calliope and your friend Ethan are, of course, judging the karaoke performances of the bar patrons brave (or stupid) enough to sing in front of others. They, along with your friend Kiara, take this tradition very seriously. For every performance, the three of them have detailed notes and a rating out of ten to go along with it. 

You had finally given in to Evie’s pleadings and decided to broach the subject of going out in public to Calliope. Much to your surprise, she accepted when you first invited her to karaoke night with your friends at the group’s favorite bar. She accepted when you offered to bring her to trivia, and she accepted when your friends finally got around to doing a book club meeting—which was mainly just drinking and eating appetizers while you talked about the books you’d read, but it still counted. 

(Taking Calliope to her first drag show quickly became one of your favorite and most cherished memories)

She took to your friend group like a duck to water, and in return, they embraced her wholeheartedly. Now, none of you could imagine a life without her in it. 

And slowly, it seemed as though Calliope began to start to heal. With every bar meetup, movie night, or random coffee date, you saw a bit more light return back to Calliope. Flashes of the woman that she once was, vibrant and funny and elegant and wise, begin to become more frequent as the days pass. Every time she allows for a hug or every time she smirks into her glass after saying something that has the group erupting in laughter, she becomes more and more herself.

“Oh my god, it’s our turn!” Ethan yells suddenly after the karaoke emcee calls his and Evie’s names. He stands and holds his hand out to Evie, who happily takes it and jumps up with him. “Let’s go knock some socks off.”

This will either go one of two ways. They’ll either perform their serious song, “Bennie and the Jets,” which they’re surprisingly good at, or they’ll go funny and perform the Sharpay and Ryan version of “What I’ve Been Lookin’ For” from High School Musical, which they’re also really good at. By their tipsy giggles, you’re guessing it’s the latter.

The second they both start doing the Sharpay and Ryan hype-up routine, Kiara sighs and grabs her drink and phone.

“I promised these dumbasses I’d film them the next time they performed this,” she explains before going to work as an unpaid videographer.

Throughout their entire routine, Calliope’s enthralled, as she should be. It’s a good performance, of course, but Evie and Ethan together are a true comedic duo. The matching jazz squares during the instrumentals truly bring the whole piece together, and you’re in tears from laughter by the end of their routine. When they return to the table after a rousing standing ovation from the patrons of the bar, Calliope gives them her own round of applause and beams.

Naturally, she bestows upon them the highest ranking one can receive during karaoke nights. “Now that was a ten.”

Ethan bows as Evie kisses Calliope’s cheek. “Thank you, m’lady,” he says proudly.

“When do you get the time to practice this?”

“Nights like this, usually,” Evie explains before Ethan interrupts.

“Though we have been known to skip a class or two when we were trying to work out the kinks in our performance.” Ethan picks up his drink before frowning when he sees there’s nothing but melting ice cubes in the glass. “Well, apparently I need another drink. Anybody else?”

Everyone at the table shakes their head, but Kiara reaches into her jacket. “No, but I am gonna go hit my pen.”

“Ooh, I’ll come with you,” Evie volunteers cheerfully.

“Weed thief,” Kiara teases.

“Are you telling me no?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“That’s not a no!”

Your friends go their separate ways, leaving you and Calliope to sit alone at the table. The next singer has already started, and you grin when you hear what it is.

“Oh, I love this song,” you tell Calliope before singing along. “‘Cause I’m dreaming of you tonight, ‘til tomorrow I’ll be holding you tight!”

Beside you, Calliope grows a little gloomy. She’s frowning a bit; even if it’s barely there, you can always tell because it completely transforms her beautiful face into something so sad. You stop humming and look over at her, watching as she slowly swirls her straw in her drink repeatedly to give her something to do.

“Having fun?” you ask, slightly worried at the sudden melancholy that seems to have draped over her like a shroud.

“Yes,” she tries to assure you, but it sounds clipped, like she’s holding back.

“You know you don’t have to come just because I invited you, right? You can do whatever you want.” You never want her to feel as though you’re forcing her to do anything, and even though she’s been having fun up until now, there’s still that anxiety that tells you that she’s just going along with it because she feels like she owes you.

“I know,” Calliope assures. “But I enjoy you and your group of friends. You make me feel…welcomed, and accepted, in a way that I have not felt in a long time.” 

“They’re your friends now too. Pretty sure they decided that the second they met you.”

“I consider them friends as well. I consider you a friend as well, though I hope you know that by now.” She smiles down at her drink. “Besides, I quite like the karaoke nights.”

“I can tell. You never sing with us, though.”

“I don’t need to, I just enjoy listening. The people singing, and enjoying themselves, it reminds me of my son. He, too, loved to sing, and he was gifted with such a beautiful voice.”

“You have a son?” This takes you by surprise. Though Calliope seems to be very maternal, she’s never mentioned anything about a child until now. The fact that she talks about him in the past tense has your heart sinking into your stomach from the implications.

Calliope nods. “My sweet boy, my Orpheus. He was beautiful, and heartbreakingly sweet. He had a voice that could bring even the gods themselves to tears. He was taken from me…far too soon, and I miss him every day, with every fiber of my being. Being here, among so many people happy and making music—I see his face in all of theirs, and it brings me some sense of peace, to know that I can find pieces of him here, in the most unlikely of places..”

It’s sweet that she kept the Greek mythology theme going with her own son, you think, though it’s tragic that he suffered the same fate as his namesake.

“He was so lucky to have a mom like you, Calliope. Any child would be.” You lick your lips and taste the sweetness of alcohol on them as you ponder what to say next. “His life might have ended too soon, but he knew that he was completely and truly loved until the very end, which is such a gift.”

Tears well up in Calliope’s eyes, and she dabs at them with a napkin grabbed hastily from the table. “Thank you,” she chokes out. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

“Ah, now you’re gonna go and make me cry too. Can I hug you?” 

You always, always ask for permission before hugging her or touching her. She doesn’t seem to mind anymore when friends do it without asking, but you can’t break yourself of the habit. 

Not after seeing what you saw the night that you met her.

She doesn’t give you an answer in the form of words. Instead, she simply falls into your arms, both of you clinging to the other.

From behind you, Ethan whispers, “Uh, are we interrupting something?”

•••

Evie has a date tonight and is naturally freaking out about it. She doesn’t know what to wear, she doesn’t know what she’s going to say, she doesn’t know if she’s even going to like the girl. Though you can provide her with all of the moral support in the world, there’s only one problem that you can currently help her with, which is how she ends up rifling furiously through your closet on a random Wednesday night.

You and Calliope sit on your bed, watching as Evie grabs different outfits and either critiques them herself or holds them up for you to do so. This is a tried-and-true routine for you, but Calliope’s experiencing the joys of helping a friend in need pick out a first date outfit for the first time. As a result, she puts far more thought into her responses when Evie asks for an opinion.

“You know, I believe I may have just the shirt for you in my room,” Calliope says after the outfit rejections have reached double digits. “Come.”

Calliope has truly made her room her own in the almost two months that she’s lived here, which makes you so happy to see. She’s decorated with items found antiquing (Calliope always manages to come out of an antique store with a haul—you think it's her superpower), and her room has an actual personality now.

She goes to her closet and begins searching through it before finding what she’s looking for; a white blouse with bell sleeves and delicate embroidering along the cuffs and collar. It’s beautiful, and exactly what Evie was looking for. Her attention, however, is drawn to something else in the closet, and she grabs at one of the hangers after approving Calliope’s choice. To your surprise, Evie comes up holding a cream-colored, silk nightgown.

“Wait, Cal, you still have the nightgown you were wearing the night you got away?” you ask.

It would be cruel to say anything more than the most vague descriptions regarding Calliope’s imprisonment. Nobody particularly wanted to remind her of that dark time in her life, so great care was taken to make it the least bit triggering as possible when it needed to be brought up.

She nods. 

“Why?”

Calliope thinks about that for a moment. “I am not sure, to be honest. I certainly do not want to keep a relic of such a terrible time, but throwing it away does not feel…right.”

Evie perks up. “Ooh, y’know what we should do? We should burn that bitch!”

Calliope looks perturbed. “I thought you said that he is still in a mental hospital? Besides, I believe that immolation is still a crime.”

You and Evie both laugh when you realize that Calliope thought she was talking about Madoc.

“Not that bitch, though you’re giving me great ideas. I meant that we should burn the dress. I saw it on TikTok; these friends did a ‘burn and release’ ritual. They had a fire going in their backyard, and they all wrote down and talked about things that they wanted to release before burning it and physically releasing themselves of that. It looks like it’s super empowering, and it might give you the closure that it seems like you’re looking for.”

She doesn’t say anything, but you can tell that she’s intrigued. 

“We’d participate, too,” you chime in, Evie nodding along with you. “I think we all have things we want to burn so that we can give ourselves permission to move on.”

“I would like that, I think.”

Evie smiles. “Perfect. Leave it to me.”

It only takes Evie a couple of days to coordinate everything. Her parents live just outside of town, and they happily offer up their backyard to their daughter and her group of friends. When you and Calliope arrive, there’s already a fire pit set up with a ring of camping chairs surrounding it. Kiara waves from one of the chairs, a bag of marshmallows sitting in her lap, as Evie works at getting the fire going.

“Yay, you made it!” she says when she can finally trust the fire to not go out the moment she looks away from it.

Calliope nods graciously. “Thank you for hosting us this evening.”

“You’re so formal sometimes! If anything, I should be the one thanking you for going along with my crazy idea.”

“I do not think it is crazy at all,” Calliope assures.

“We’ll see, won’t we? Anyways, pens and paper are over in the empty chair next to Kiara, and there will be drinks and snacks momentarily.” Evie turns to you. “Wanna help me grab said drinks and snacks? I need an extra set of hands.”

After helping Evie with procuring and setting out a few bottles of wine, plastic cups, and a bunch of different snacks, the four of you each pick up a pen and paper and begin to write. Calliope writes furiously, her pen seeming to fly over the paper as she jots down her thoughts, and is done first as a result. The rest of you take a bit longer to write, needing to stop and think about what you want to put down before you do so.

In a group chat, you, Kiara, and Evie had decided that one of you would automatically go first, to make Calliope feel comfortable about participating. When you’ve all finished writing, Kiara stands and clears her throat.

“Well, guess I’m first up,” she says.

In hindsight, you should have guessed how emotional a night of talking about things that you need to release and then burning them as a physical manifestation would be. Still, the teary eyes from everybody when Kiara finishes reading her letter to her ex-best friend and tosses it, along with a small box of mementos, into the fire catch you off-guard. Though you said that everybody had things that they needed to release the night that Evie first brought this up, you just didn’t realize that everyone was carrying their own burdens that, to them, are just as heavy as Calliope’s is to her.

You volunteer to go next, reading about how you release all of the expectations that you’ve had about your life and where it’s meant to go. Even before Calliope arrived in your life, you struggled with the idea that your life was not going according to the plan that you had in mind. You weren’t hitting milestones that you had plotted out, and your life “schedule” kept imploding time and time again. Now, you hope to be rid of that, and the constant feeling that you’re failing yourself and your life. 

As you watch the paper burn in the flames, you try to convince yourself that all of those feelings are burning along with it.

Evie follows, with a big “fuck you” to her biological dad, who she recently found out only tried to form a relationship with her so that he could get money from her. It’s such a terrible situation, and though she’s handled it with her classic brand of humor, you can all see the hurt that she carries with her. Her letter is funny and biting and makes you all laugh, but she’s openly crying by the time she tosses it into the fire, and she gets a long hug from each of you after.

Finally, it’s Calliope’s turn, and she takes a long moment to stand. She’s been holding your hand since you finished reading her letter, and you give her a comforting squeeze before letting go so she can properly hold the letter. After taking a deep breath, she looks around the fire at the encouraging faces before her before she begins.

“I have often lived my life in the service of others, though most of the time, it was something that I willingly and happily did. That choice was removed from me when I was stolen from my home and bound to a truly vile and horrid man. He took everything from me. My thoughts, my inspiration, my—” Calliope’s voice breaks. “My body. Nothing was mine anymore, and I was told that that was how it should be, that it was the natural order of the world. He beat me down, physically and emotionally, to the point where I started to believe it. 

“Though I had long since lost hope, I prayed for some sort of salvation, and I prayed to whomever I could think of. Nobody answered, either because they could not or would not, and I believed myself truly alone. Eventually, my former lover, Morpheus, was the only one who could, or would, help me, and even then, there was only so much that he could do. I do not fault him for that, because he did the most that was possible for him to do.

“And then one day, somebody knocked on the door of my prison and demanded their keys back.” She looks at you with a wobbly smile, and you sniffle in an attempt to hold back tears. “I know not why that was the tipping point for my captor, and frankly, nor do I care. He threw me out like trash, but I was not really in a place to question a gift such as this. And it truly has been a gift for me. In the two months since I escaped captivity, I have been able to heal, slowly but surely, even though I did not think such a thing was possible. I have found my laugh once more. I am free to do whatever I want, whenever I want. To sit in the sun, or read a book, or be with my friends.”

Calliope picks up the nightgown from where it sat next to her chair. “With this, I release every last hold that my captivity has had on me. From now on, when I think about that time, I shall think about survival, and how I refused to be kept down. I am free, and I shall remain forever free.”

She tosses the dress and the letter into the fire, watching intently as the flames catch the fabric and begin to work through it. Then, she laughs. Her laugh is beautiful and like the peals of bells, and it’s infectious too. Soon you’re all laughing, and you all have the same idea to hug Calliope. It turns into a group hug, the four of you laughing and hugging and watching as the smoke of the fire carries away that which you do not want to carry with you any longer.

•••

Calliope takes her time getting out of the car when you arrive back home, still basking in the euphoria of emotional release. When she turns to look at you, you already know what she’s going to say.

“Go in without me.” She sighs happily and looks up at the moon. “I wish to remain outside for a moment longer.”

You squeeze her shoulder before letting go. “Alright. The door’ll be unlocked whenever you decide you’re finished.”

You hum while unlocking the door, kicking your shoes off and hearing them thump against the wall of the entryway. Fumbling, you curse under your breath as you try to find the light switch—really, you’d think that after living here for almost a year, you’d be able to turn the lights on on the first try.

Light finally floods the room, and your humming resumes as you head into the kitchen to grab a drink. There’s a chill in the air, more figurative than literal, that causes goosebumps to rise on your skin. Your heartbeat quickens as you remove a glass from the cabinet, like your reflexes are trying to warn you of some unseen danger. Nervously, you hum a little louder while filling your glass up in the hopes that you’ll feel better. 

You don’t. How could you, when you look over the kitchen island into the living room and see a figure standing silhouetted against the back door? In fact, you feel much worse than nervous; now, you’re scared out of your wits, enough so that you scream upon realizing that there’s actually a man in your home, a man who is most definitely not supposed to be here.

You scream.

“Hello.” 

The man’s voice is deep, deeper than you think you’ve ever heard before. If he wasn’t currently in the act of breaking into your home, you’d think about how nice of a voice it is. Right now, it’s simply disturbing.

His eyes seem to twinkle in the darkness before he takes a step toward you, thus putting himself in the light. He’s paler than any living being you’ve ever seen, with long, unkempt black hair and cold blue eyes that seem like they can tell everything about you just from looking at you. He’s dressed in all black, with a long black coat completing his ensemble.

He’s not human, that much you’re sure of. You’ve spent enough time around Calliope in the past couple of months to guess that she is something more, and this stranger is the same. Power radiates off of him in waves, the same as it does with Calliope. Both are ethereally, sharply beautiful, in a way that lets lesser beings know that these are the true apex predators.

Even though it probably won’t help (now that you have the barest idea of what you’re dealing with), you pick up a kitchen knife from the dish rack and brandish it in front of you, thankful that you had cut up an apple last night and thus had needed your largest knife to do so. 

“Get the fuck out of my apartment!” 

He doesn’t move, choosing instead to just keep staring at you with those piercing eyes. You come out from behind the island, still holding the knife towards him. 

“Seriously, leave or I’m calling the cops,” you threaten, pulling your phone out of your pocket with your free hand.

This decision quickly has the situation going from bad to worse. The man seems to cross the entire room in a single step before slamming you against the wall, one hand wrapped dangerously tight around your throat. You gasp at the sudden violence, as well as the strength that he possesses under his lean figure, and both the knife and the phone fall from your hands as you try to figure out what to do. 

“Be quiet, mortal,” he spits venomously, his hand flexing around your throat. You attempt to grab at his hand to get him off of you, but he doesn’t budge. When you try to kick at him, he just leans more of his weight against you and renders you virtually immobile. “You are keeping a woman here, against her will. You will release her immediately, or suffer the most dire of consequences.”

“What? No, I’m not!” you argue.

Is he talking about Calliope? If so, he’s about two months too late in coming to her rescue. The only one that was holding her against her will was Ric Madoc, and he’s facing his own set of consequences for what he did.

Speak of the devil. Calliope chooses this moment to come in from her nighttime sojourn. You and your attacker both stare at the door as Calliope enters the apartment. She’s humming, much as you had when you first came in, completely in her own little world.

“Cal!” you cry out helplessly in an attempt to warn her, the only sound you can make before the man’s hand tightens again and cuts off all but a bit of your air supply. If given the chance, you’re not sure if you would tell her to run or ask for her help.

She takes stock of the situation before her with calculated eyes. Instead of surprise, shock, or fear, Calliope just looks…angry. Her bag drops to the floor next to her feet, and she makes sure to shut and lock the door behind her.

“Let her go, Oneiros,” Calliope commands, her hand landing on his shoulder.

Wait, Calliope knows him? Internally, you chastise yourself; obviously, she knows him, she called him by name! Still, you find yourself confused. She hasn’t mentioned having any contacts in the area. In fact, you distinctly remember her saying that she had “nobody” that first night you met her.

The intruder—Oneiros, apparently—does as Calliope asks, and you slide to the floor without his interference keeping you upright. Calliope slides down with you, landing on her knees in front of you as she looks you over with her big, brown eyes.

“Are you alright?” she asks, using her thumbs to wipe away your tears, tears that you weren’t aware you were shedding.

You nod. “I–I think so.” 

Despite your reassurance, your hand goes to your throat, and you try to rub away the soreness that’s already settling beneath the skin. When she begins to rub her hands up and down your arms, you realize that you’re shaking violently. Calliope stands and briefly leaves the room, leaving you and Oneiros in awkward silence until she returns with a blanket, which she gently wraps around you.

After she’s completed this task, Calliope wheels around to point accusingly at the man. “You are a fool, and you allow yourself to act without first thinking far too often.”

“Calliope–” he tries to interrupt, but Calliope shakes her head.

“What are you doing here?” she demands.

He scowls. “You called for me again, did you not?” 

“I did no such thing!”

“Really?” he questions with a raised eyebrow. “You did not write my name down prior to burning it?”

Calliope falls silent, because apparently that’s exactly what she did.

“I thought that what I had done to Richard Madoc worked, Calliope. Why did you not come to me sooner to tell me that he had sold you off instead?”

“Nothing of the sort has happened!”

“Then how did you end up bound to yet another mortal?”

“It is not what it looks like, Morpheus.”

“Explain it to me, then,” he pleads.

As the two continue to bicker above you, you feel increasingly like you’re interrupting in your own home. You shift uncomfortably, and Oneiros—Morpheus? Seriously, how many names does this guy have?—turns his sharp gaze upon you.

“You. How did you come to bind the Muse Calliope? What spell have you used to bewitch her?” He demands answers that you don’t have, and your shaking becomes worse under the full brunt of his stare.

“What?” You scramble to your feet so that you can at least pretend to be on the same ground as the two others here. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please, let us sit down and discuss this civilly,” Calliope interrupts, gesturing both of you towards the living room. 

After a moment of consideration, Oneiros/Morpheus nods tersely and walks in the direction that Calliope had pointed as though this is his home and not yours. You try to get your legs to move, but they steadfastly remain stuck to the spot you’re standing in. Calliope notices this and loops her arm through yours before gently guiding you into the living room.

“Why did he call you a Muse?” you whisper to her.

She presses her lips together in a thin line. “I will give you answers, I promise. It is…complicated.”

Though you’re not exactly satisfied by this answer, you trust Calliope, so you nod and silently agree to wait.

You don’t have to wait for long. Once everybody is seated (you in the chair perpendicular to the couch, with Oneiros/Morpheus on the couch and Calliope sitting next to him while simultaneously acting as a buffer between you), Calliope takes a deep breath and begins to explain everything. About who, and what, she is, how she came to be bound by a writer named Erasmus Fry, and how she was basically bartered for by Ric Madoc. She explains what they wanted from her, and she explains, unflinchingly, what they did to her to get it. Though it’s horrific, you listen to all of it. After all, if she’s willing to give, it’s only fair that you be open to receiving.

Calliope’s words seem to hang in the air long after she’s finished. The three of you sit in silence; Oneiros/Morpheus with a stony expression, you crying (you think you’ve cried more today than you’ve cried in a long, long time), and Calliope waiting calmly for you both to digest what she’s said.

In the end, it’s you who speaks first. “So you’re a goddess?” you ask.

“A Muse, yes,” she says.

“Like, of the Greek variety.” You need to confirm this for some reason, even though you already know the answer.

She laughs. “Yes.”

“A literal Muse is my best friend and roommate?”

You think that you might be going into shock right now

Oneiros/Morpheus scoffs, and you glare at him. “You have something to say?”

“You say that Calliope is your best friend. Then why do you not set her free?”

“Set her free? She’s a person, she’s free to do whatever she wants.”

“No, she is not. Calliope is bound to you, by the old laws.”

“Morpheus,” Calliope says sharply, a warning, but the man continues.

“You are enslaving a goddess and calling it friendship.” The disgust is clear on his face. “How can there be any sort of friendship when she is unable to leave, to do anything, without your say? You have complete and utter control over her, and you force her to pretend that it isn’t so. This farce that you’ve concocted must end now. I implore you to free her before I am left with no choice but to take further action against you.”

The room begins to tilt, and you shake your head in disbelief. “No…”

“They don’t know, Morpheus!” Calliope snaps.

“Cal, you—” 

You feel sick, and you genuinely think that you’re about to throw up. All this time, you thought you had helped to free her from her prison. Instead, she’s remained trapped, bound to you just like she was bound to Madoc and, as you’ve now learned, Erasmus Fry. These men took everything from an unwilling goddess, a Muse, and you’re basically no better than them. 

Swallowing down the bile that rises in your throat does nothing, so you close your eyes to take a couple of deep, shaky breaths in an attempt to calm down. That doesn’t work either, and you rise shakily to your feet before rushing over to the trash can in the kitchen and throwing up the wine and snacks that you had eagerly partaken in at Evie’s.

It’s humiliating, doing something as base and human as retching in the presence of two godly creatures. Everything about this situation is humiliating, if you’re being honest with yourself. You’ve unknowingly extended Calliope’s incarceration and deluded both of you into believing that it was friendship. How could you be a part of such a heinous act? Truly, are you no better than Madoc?

When you’ve finally thrown up everything in your stomach and then some, you’re full-on sobbing as you clutch at the trash can. Your knees give out, but Calliope catches you as you fall to the ground and wraps you in her embrace. She soothes you and murmurs words of comfort as she runs a hand through your hair, letting you cry in her arms when it should be the other way around. You don’t deserve her comfort, you think to yourself.

Once you finally have enough breath in your lungs to be able to talk, you gasp out between hyperventilating, “I’m so sorry. I–I didn’t know, and if I did, I would have never–”

“Shh,” she hushes you, grabbing your hands in hers. “My sweet friend, you have done nothing wrong.”

“But I–”

“I am the one who chose not to tell you. I trusted you in the beginning, and I trust you now. You have not failed me or abused me, or been a captor to me. Do you hear me?” She holds your face in her hands to make you look at her, and she waits until you nod to hug you once more.

“How do I free you?” you ask her. “Please, let me free you.”

“You must say that she is free,” your uninvited guest speaks up, making you remember that there’s a whole other person here. “And mean it.”

“Calliope, you’re free. You’ve always been free,” you say immediately, looking at her earnestly and hoping that she can see in your eyes how sorry you are.

Nothing physically changes. No burst of light envelops her, and she doesn’t undergo any sort of transformation. Yet, something in the air changes and becomes lighter. That inner glow that Calliope’s always carried seems to beam brighter now. Her shoulders look less weighed down now, no longer burdened by her forced captivity.

“Thank you,” Calliope says profusely.

“Don’t do that,” you say, feeling sick all over again. “Don’t thank me for something I should have done the second that Madoc threw you at me. I should have been smarter, more observant than I was. God, you deserve so much more than anything I can ever begin to give you.”

She’s not happy about your self-deprecation, but you will not be the source of her rage tonight. No, as she helps you once more to stand, her anger lands squarely on the man who barged in here and turned everything on its head.

“Apologize. Now,” Calliope demands. “What you have done here tonight is completely unacceptable and a new low, even for you.”

After thinking for a moment, perhaps to consider if he did transgress against you, he nods and stands like some sort of gentleman to properly address you. “The lady Calliope is right. I have acted deplorably towards you this evening, when you have done nothing but offer shelter and companionship to one needing it. I sincerely apologize for the pain and anguish that I have caused you.”

You nod warily, still tucked into Calliope’s side. “Thank you,” you say quietly. 

Truthfully, you do appreciate the apology. If he’s as powerful as you think he is, then he could have just as easily decided that you weren’t worth the breath it would take to form words, and that would be well within his right.

“Well, now that we’re all close to being on the same page here.” Calliope gestures to the man. “Allow me to introduce you to Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams and Ruler of the Nightmare Realms, et cetera, et cetera.”

“You’re a god too?” you ask.

“Not a god. I am Endless, one of seven anthropomorphic personifications of natural forces. I am far older, and far more powerful, than any god, and will remain long after all of your gods are dead and gone,” Morpheus explains.

You try to ignore the fact that one of the most powerful beings in the universe is currently sitting in your living room, lest you start to have an existential crisis in front of him. Now that Calliope’s told you his name, it rings a bell. “Wait, is he your ex?”

Morpheus looks at you both in surprise. “You’ve told her about me?”

“Only tonight,” Calliope assures him. “When I…accidentally summoned you.”

The longer that you can think clearly without the threat of bodily harm, the more the puzzle pieces keep clicking into place for you. “He’s Orpheus’s dad, isn’t he?”

Calliope nods, and so does Morpheus, though he’s far more reluctant than she is. You don’t notice that, though, too caught up in your thoughts.

“Ha, Morpheus and Orpheus.” Maybe all of the crying has made you dehydrated, which in turn has left you a little delirious. That’s the only reason why you say this train of thought out loud. “What, if you had a daughter were you going to name her Alliope?” 

Calliope snickers at that, though Morpheus doesn’t share her amusement. “His name fit him perfectly, even though it was quite the coincidence that it was one letter off from that of his father’s.”

“God, I’m so stupid,” you bemoan. “How did I not know you were a goddess? I literally said, ‘Oh cool, like the muse’ when you introduced yourself! You must have thought I was an idiot.”

“It is difficult for the mortal mind to comprehend that which it believes to be fake. To you, that was the only connection that you subconsciously deemed possible,” Morpheus explains. Though he does it to make you feel better, it feels a little patronizing when it comes from someone as powerful as him.

“I wish you would have told me. Did you think that I wouldn’t have freed you? Because I would have!”

“I know that,” Calliope says. “Truthfully, I…forgot to tell you.”

“You forgot?” Morpheus says in disbelief.

At the same time, you ask, “How the fuck do you forget to tell someone that you’re accidentally bound to them?”

“At first, I was scared. That it was a trap, that you would be worse than Madoc. Of course, that lasted about twenty minutes.”

“What made you realize I was different?”

She smiles. “When you told me that the doors only locked from the inside. You cared about my privacy and that I was feeling safe, and I figured that you had no clue about anything that had happened, or about who I was. From there, it just wasn’t something that I thought to bring up. I was too frightened to leave the apartment, and I had been cut off from the world for over sixty years. Frankly, the idea of going out without you terrified me. As I began to regain control of my life and heal, it just became something that I thought about less and less. You are my best and dearest friend, and we do everything together, so why would I think about a bond other than the one that formed naturally?”

It’s very sweet of her to say, but you still have questions. “So you were just going to continue to live like this?”

“I did not have a plan, but I suppose so. I was happy here, with you.”

“Okay, but what happened if I got married one day, or like, had kids?”

“I would just be the fun aunt that lived with you and your family?”

“Jesus Christ,” you groan before sitting up suddenly. “Wait, is Jesus Christ real too?” 

Calliope and Morpheus share a look, and you’re suddenly frightened of the answer.

“No wait, don’t tell me, I don’t wanna know.”

You really, really don’t want to have an existential crisis until you can be alone in the comfort of your room.

Thankfully, Calliope and Morpheus take over the conversation from there, because you don’t think you have the mental capacity to try and further any conversation right now. They obviously have a lot to catch up on, since it seems like the last time they saw each other was when Calliope broke down and asked him for help escaping Madoc.

Instead, while they converse, you take a moment to zone out and try to process just what has happened in the past hour. The stranger that broke into your apartment turned out to be the powerful, eldritch nightmare king ex-husband to your roommate, who’s actually a goddess that was unintentionally bound to you. For reasons beyond your comprehension, he thought that she needed rescuing, and that you were the one that she needed rescuing from.

Your thoughts chase each other like a cyclone, and you try not to panic as you think about all of this. God, you need a drink right now.

When Morpheus and Calliope both rise, with Morpheus saying that he really must return to his kingdom, you rise with them. After all, how will you ever feel at ease if you don’t ask him what’s on your mind?

“Are we good now?” you ask. “Like, you’re not gonna hurt me or curse me? I promise I had no idea about any of this.”

“Yes, I know that now,” Morpheus says. “I will not harm you. If anything, I should be offering you a boon, for being such an immense help to one such as Calliope.”

“You owe me nothing. Neither of you do.”

Calliope leans in and kisses Morpheus on the cheek, so gently that you wonder if she even made contact. “Fare you well, Morpheus.”

He bows his head. “Goodbye.”

Between one blink and the next, he’s gone as though he was never here at all.

•••

That night, you dream, and for the first time, you’re aware of the fact that you’re dreaming.

You don’t know where you are, but it’s the greenest, lushest meadow you’ve ever seen. Wildflowers dance lazily in the breeze, and you can hear the low rush of a river behind the treeline. You’re tempted to lie down in the impossibly soft-looking grass and watch the clouds drift overhead, but before you can, you see them standing next to you.

Morpheus looks just as he did when you saw him in your apartment, only a lot less like he’s ready to murder you. The main difference is that he now sports robes fit for a king instead of his coat. His eyes, you also notice, are black pools of stars.

On the other hand, the Calliope you see before you is a complete departure from the Calliope you know and love. She’s wearing a white chiton that’s belted at the waist and her hair, which normally falls in curly waves, is braided back intricately. She shines, in a way that you’ve never seen, looking every bit the goddess that she is.

“Is this real, or am I dreaming?” you ask.

“Dreams are real,” Morpheus says with the slightest of smiles.

“Of course, my bad.”

Though it’s a picturesque dream, it’s stained with strokes of melancholy. On some level, you know what’s going to happen, and what Morpheus has brought you here for.

“You’re gonna leave, aren’t you?” you ask Calliope.

Selfishly, you’re hoping that she’ll say no. That she’ll tell you that your home is her home and where she’s meant to be. Yet even as you foolishly hope, you know that your ordinary apartment, your ordinary life, is no place for a goddess. No, she deserves far greater than that.

She smiles sadly, and that’s all the confirmation you need. “I think I must, at least temporarily. There is…much for me to do, back home on Olympus. I wish to reconnect with my sisters, for one. And though it is lofty of me, I wish to change the old laws so that we may never be enslaved on the whims of mortals ever again.”

“If anyone can change laws that are thousands of years old, it’s you.”

“Thank you…for everything these past two months. Truly, I do not know how I can ever properly thank you for what you have done for me.”

“You don’t have to do anything; just knowing that you’re safe and happy is enough for me. I’m so proud of you for taking your life back after everything you went through. You deserve all of the happiness and goodness that the world has to offer you.”

“I would not have been able to do it without you, you know. No matter how we came to know each other, I am glad that we did. You saved me.” She says it so earnestly, needing you to truly understand your impact on her recovery.

“You did that yourself, Cal. I was just along for the ride.”

“You have my utmost respect,” Morpheus says. “Not many would have taken in a stranger needing help from off the streets with nothing but the purest of intentions, and fewer still would have offered them friendship. Your bravery and kind heart shall not be forgotten.”

“You have my respect too, for what it’s worth.”

He looks at you in surprise. “Why?”

“Calliope told me that you didn’t end things on the best of terms. But still, when she called for help, you answered with barely a second thought, and did all you could to help.”

He stares for a moment before nodding and turning to gaze out across the meadow. To your unabashed delight, his cheeks tint a light lavender in embarrassment, unsure of how to take your compliment. You bite your lip to stifle your laugh and decide to not tease the King of Dreams…for now.

Though you’ve been putting it off, some sixth sense tells you that your time here is nearing an end. You turn to Calliope again, who already is trying desperately to keep her tears unshed. When you meet her eyes, she holds out her arms to hug you, and you gladly accept.

“I’ll miss you,” you mumble.

Calliope kisses your forehead before pressing hers to yours affectionately. “I shall miss you as well, more than you can even imagine.”

“Call me if you need anything, okay? If–if your sisters are ganging up on you, or if you need someone to watch the best movies of the two-thousands with you, or if you’re missing going to karaoke with the gang. I’ll drop everything and go to Greece, just say the word.”

She laughs, the sound uninhibited and joyful. “I know you will.”

“Goodbye, Calliope." You have no choice but to finally, reluctantly say the words you've been dreading to say. If you weren't to do it now, you know you'd never let go of her.

Calliope pulls away just enough so that she can look you in the eye. “May fortune go with you, my sweetest friend.”

•••

Calliope’s gone when you wake up, her belongings the only sign that she even existed here in the first place. Though you cry, they’re not tears of sadness; rather, they’re happy tears, because how could you not be happy for Calliope? She’s found her freedom and the strength to return home, to try and make a better world for herself and her fellow gods and goddesses. Truly, this is all that you ever wanted for her.

On her nightstand sits a folded-up note, your name written on the front in Calliope’s ornate script. You open it up to read it, and when you finish, you hold it to your heart.

I will always be close by in your heart, as you will always be in mine. No distance can change that. Should you need me, you need only pray to me, and I shall hear you. Continue to make the world as bright as you.

-Calliope

[myntrose]

ׂׂૢgenshin characters as meet-cutes!ׂׂૢ

ft: Tighnari, Diluc, Ayato x gender neutral! Reader (separately)

cn: modern au!, kinda academy au!, a lot of head-cannon dumping lol, prob grammar mistakes, a tiny bit ooc, fluff :D

a/n: hello:D im trying to get back to writing lol o/ also, for the meet-cute statements, reader would be "A"

word count: 826

*ೃ༄meet-cute: an amusing or charming first encounter between two characters that leads to the development of a romantic relationship between them.

Tighnari

*ೃ༄when A and B reach for the same book at the library

His footsteps were quick and rushed, each being more anxious than the last. It wasn't uncommon to see Tighnari in the library during the most obscure hours of the night. What was different was that, unlike his usual studious self, forgot to include a whole paragraph of research in his latest essay. Who could blame him? He was so busy with mentoring his underclassmen, and conducting all sorts of new projects that this particular one had completely left his mind. He skims through the shelves looking for a specific book. "The researchers guide to foreign fauna" (he had already read this one), "The sun's effects of nocturnal plants" (he had not read this one, maybe he should borrow it as well) and, ah! "The safety handbook vol. 1: caring for variegated plants" Just the book he needed. Instead of reaching out the grab the books spine, his hand collides with that of your own. He looks straight at you, the gears in his mind immediately clicking. Ah, looks like you need the same book. While he fights a conflicted battle of being a gentleman and giving you the book, or to just snatch and run, you realize that both your hands are still touching. You quickly retract your hand away, opening your mouth to start bargaining with your life as to why you really need this book for your research topic. Your convincing falls sort when Tighnari makes a slight cough.

"Heh... it looks like we both need this book. You can have it first, I don't mind..."

He pulls out his phone, opening up his contacts.

"...But please, the moment you have no more use for it, call me so I can pick it up."

If it hadn't been for the library's dim lights, perhaps you would have noticed the slight blush that brushed across Tighnari's face.

Diluc

*ೃ༄A is forced to attend a fancy party, gets seated next to B, who they complain about how lame the party is. B is the party host (A is unaware of this)

It's almost rare that Diluc could get a breather away from his own party. It came the time that it was the young heir's birthday once again. While his fellow classmates could only dream of having such an extravagant celebration, Diluc couldn't help but dread it. After all, he knew close to no one here, most being business partners, or the families of his fathers friends. He grabs his cup of grape juice, watching from the corner of his eyes as someone interrupts his silent bubble. Dread fills Diluc as he prepares a half-lived smile, ready to talk to whichever business owner had the nerves to ask for a collaboration-

"It's nice to see that someone else looks bored as hell in this party."

...?

He turns his chair to get a better look at you. He doesn't exactly know you. Maybe a child of one of the many CEO's present? You look like you're supposed to be at this party, dressed according to the theme and such. But he makes quick to recognize the slight scowl on your face. The look of, if-one-more-person-talks-about-economics-with-me-I'll-snap. You turn to fully look at the person you sat next to.

"Hey, I was thinking of leaving early and getting some takeout. Wanna come with?"

Maybe you were the breath of fresh air he needed.

Ayato

*ೃ༄A thinks they found their friend, giving them a surprise hug from behind. They hugged B. Their friend watched the whole thing happen.

Maybe Ayaka should have mentioned that she had a brother. Could all the blame be put on her, though? Yes, they did have very similar hair. But surely anyone could have realized that on height alone that the person you so very excitedly hugged wasn't her, but her much taller brother.

After class had officially ended, you spotted your dear friend at the end of the hallway. You were extremely tired as it is, with the only thought in mind being to regain energy through your very positive friend. Sleep made its way early to you, so when you bear-hugged your friend it took long to realize how you were actually cuddling.

On the other side of this, Ayato was deep in conversation with Thoma, before turning his head to see one of his juniors practically squeezing the life out of him. Thankfully, he sees Ayaka walk up to him, reaching to his ear and whispering what had just happened. Ayato couldn't help but let out a light-hearted smile. Ayaka taps your shoulder, causing your eyes to flutter open.

"Ayaka, please let me rest"

...

"Wait, how are you standing in front of me if-"

Maybe Ayaka should properly introduce you to her brother.

[stormcloudrising]

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

December 24, 2023

Shrouded Lord_AI Generated Image by Nuevoimg_123rf

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

JON, THE SHROUDED LORD AKA, THE LIVING STONE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shroud of Turin, Public Domain

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

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

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

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

Christ, the Living Stone!

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

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

And then again in the Psalms 118:22.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harlequin Ichthyosis

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

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

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

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

___

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

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

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

Mottled Skin

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

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

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

A MERMAID'S UNKISS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chroyane_by Philip Straub_The World of Ice and Fire

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

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

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

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

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

Tyrion knocked Young Griff down to protect him, but the stone man gets away and goes for the boy again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Mermaid by John William Waterhouse

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All comments welcome. Until next time.

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

[intotheseas]

Hello 👋. I hope you take requests. I have just a little tiny one. I would give my arm and leg to see someone being brave enough to call us a MUDBLOOD in a way Ominis and/or Sebastian could hear. Ahhhh, the angst and drama would be perfect for a crippling insomniac reader (like myslef) Thank you so much in advance. Love your work btw

One, I'm honoured you'd say that, so thank you! Two, absolutely! Writing violence is kinda foreign to me, so this is short and I'm sorry if it's awful haha. Also, I hope you don't mind but I took this as an opportunity to play around with present tense a little. Here's what I came up with. Hope you like it! :)

Tainted - 1,014 words - contains graphic violence, read below the break or here on AO3.

The library’s floor-length windows cast the last of the sun’s light across Sylvia’s table. The dusty smell of books and sound of pages turning surrounds her, lulling her into a stupor. She’s yawning, diligently scratching the last of her essay onto parchment. Plans for a night spent by the fire with her friends Ominis and Sebastian form in her mind when a malicious voice speaks behind her.

“Can’t believe they let that filthy Mudblood into Slytherin. It’s like this school doesn’t stand for anything anymore. What’s the point of being proud of your house when they’re allowing any old trash in now?” The voice is cruel, mocking. Clearly, he wants her to hear. 

The bitter words cut at Sylvia like a blunted knife. Mudblood? Yet another thing to learn about this strange new world. Compared to the orphanage she spent her life in, Hogwarts is another beast entirely. Coming in as a fifth year has been intimidating enough, but the politics and prejudices of wizardkind mystify her. She assumes she’s supposed to feel insulted, but it’s difficult when she doesn’t even know what the word means.

Sylvia turns around to see two older Slytherin boys leering at her and sniggering. Probably seventh years, she guesses. She meets their eyes, an eyebrow raised. “Sorry, Mudblood? Care to explain?” 

They stop laughing and glare. “We don’t speak to subhumans,” one retorts. Venom drips from his voice, and Sylvia’s a little surprised at the overt malice in his eyes. She hasn’t spoken to them once, yet they clearly hate her. “Do all of wizardkind a favour and go back to the muggles. Your kind isn’t wanted here,” the other boy says. They rise from their seats, passing her in a huff, the latter knocking his bag roughly against her shoulder.  

She stares after them, bemused. Insults are nothing new to her; she’s more than used to hearing things like “worthless”, “peasant”, and “pity case” from muggles. They stopped hurting a long time ago. Growing up in an orphanage quickly taught her to fend for herself and stay out of petty arguments. Sylvia shrugs, returning to the last words of her essay. 

Later, she relaxes in front of the fire with Sebastian and Ominis. The warmth is comforting as they joke and share a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. Sylvia has a soft spot for Ominis and picks the nastiest beans out of his pile, furtively puts them in Sebastian’s for a laugh. His expressions when he tastes the earwax flavour are all the reward she needs. It’s a comfortable dynamic the three have built in the months since Sylvia came to Hogwarts, marked by a love language of banter and trust. 

She’s about to open another box when a hand grips the back of the sofa, knocking against her shoulder. “Dirty fucking Mudblood, already getting cosy with Slytherin boys, huh? Bet you’re as easy as your blood is filthy.” She turns back, meeting the eye of the older boy who taunted her in the library. She’s about to tell him she doesn’t know what a Mudblood is, but Ominis is already on his feet and facing the boy, his wand out. His face contorts into a livid scowl.

“Pardon? Care to elaborate, Williams? Or perhaps you’d prefer to fuck off.” His voice is icy. 

Williams sneers. “No surprise that the Gaunt blood traitor would defend the Mudblood. Is it just the two of you, or do you share her with Sallow?” 

Sebastian barks out a laugh. His arms are crossed, a defiant look on his face. “Why? Are you interested in joining?” 

Sylvia leans over to Sebastian, whispers. “What on earth is a Mudblood, anyway? He called me that earlier in the library, too.” He looks back at her, the humour gone from his eyes. 

“It’s pretty much one of the worst things you can call someone,” he mutters back. “Means someone who has magic but was born to muggles. It’s supposed to imply their blood is dirty.” 

Sylvia laughs. “Wait, that’s supposed to be hurtful?” She turns around again, tilts her head up proudly and meets Williams’ eye. “Why should I feel insulted by something I have no control over? If you wanted an excuse to talk to me, you could have just said hi, you know.” 

Williams’ jaw clenches, his eyes narrowed. “Know. Your. Place. Mudblood,” he spits. His fists shake at his side for a moment, and then he slaps her, hard. The crack of his open palm against Sylvia’s face stuns her for a moment, and when she gathers her wits, both Ominis and Sebastian are already on top of him. 

Ominis holds the boy down by his robes while Sebastian lands blows on Williams’ face. “Call our friend a fucking Mudblood, will you? How’s this feel?” William’s head smacks against the stone floor with a loud crack as Sebastian lands one last punch. Blood trickles from his mouth, bruises already blooming across his cheek.

Sebastian stands up and spits on him, his face a mask of utter disdain. “It’s filth like you that taints the name of Slytherin, not muggle-borns. Fucking disgusting.” He looks at the crowd gathering to see the spectacle. “Anyone else want to call anyone a Mudblood?” 

No one speaks.  

He kicks Williams’ side and returns to the couch, grabbing the box of sweets from Sylvia. Ominis joins them. “I’m sorry you had to witness that,” he murmurs. “Utter pettiness. If that happens again, come to us. We’ll take care of it.” 

Behind them, Williams crawls toward the exit to the common room. Sebastian turns his head casually. “By the way, Williams, you tell anyone about this and they’ll hear all about what you’ve been calling Sylvia!” he sings. “Hope you have Wiggenweld handy!”

“You guys really didn’t need to do that, but…thanks,” Sylvia says. She feels warmth spreading in her chest. It’s a little foreign to her, but not unwelcome. Maybe it isn’t so bad to depend on others, she thinks. She picks out the grossest beans from Sebastian’s pile and tosses them into the fire.

[imwall-e]

W&TWS || Doubts

Summary : He is a super-soldier of more than 100 year old, struggling to find a place in this new world. She is a young student of 23, struggling with life. But they know they can find comfort and help in each other.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings : a bit of angst and anxiety, also fluff and always Bucky being the best

A/N : I am back to writing this fanfiction. It is more a journal to me, but it feels good to write like that and to share the story of Bucky and Willow. I hope you love it !

Series Masterlist

May 10th 2021

The exams had started the week of her birthday. Willow had barely revised, but was still doing her best to answer the questions and write good essays. She had a feeling, however, that it wouldn't be enough, but she was at peace with that. After all, this degree no longer suited her. All she had to do was make a decision: try her luck at the catch-up exams (because yes, she would definitely have to go), or give up altogether.

Strangely enough, her reflections led her to William. They had only been dating a few months, and she had taken just as long to get over what he had done to her. The wound still hadn't completely healed. A new question came to mind: was it a good idea to start a relationship with Bucky?

True, they had only exchanged a kiss, but perhaps everything was still moving too fast? Perhaps she needed to take her time? She wrote down all her anxieties on the paper she'd used for drafts, and promised herself she'd tell Bucky about them the next time they called.

He had gone back to New York a few weeks earlier, and it was difficult for them to communicate. She knew that a long-distance relationship wouldn't work in the long term. Especially in two different time zones.

She didn't want to get too attached like in her previous relationships. But Bucky seemed so kind. So thoughtful. However, bad times in the past forced her to be wary of many things, and many people. Even Bucky.

The teacher supervising the exam indicated that there was still an hour to go before the end of the exam. She glanced at her paper: barely four pages... She sighed, gathered her things, handed in her paper and went home.

The journey seemed long. Longer than usual. When she arrived, she was greeted only by her dog Dino. Her mother must still be at work. She took the opportunity to relax a little: take Dino for a walk, have something to eat, continue reading a book. Around 6pm, she took a shower and fell asleep a few minutes after getting into bed.

May 11th 2021

When she woke up, it was past midnight. The house was quiet. Her bedroom door was closed, probably by her mother who had preferred to let her sleep in. She reached for her phone and was blinded for several seconds by the brightness.

A few notifications from her group of friends told her that she wasn't the only one who had failed the exam. Dysariel's plan was holding up, which surprised none of them, after all he always got the best marks.

However, it was two other notifications that caught his attention. They were from Bucky:

Bucky Bear At 10.30pm: Hello Sunflower, I hope your day went well and that you managed to pass your mid-term. Give me your availability for tomorrow, I want to call you for your birthday. At 00:00: If my clock in New York is telling the right time for you, it's time for me to wish you a very happy birthday, my Sunflower. I haven't heard from you, so I assume you've fallen asleep. Thinking of you. PS: I also have a surprise for you that should arrive later today.   Sunflower At 00:15: Thank you, Bucky Bear! I'll be available from midday. I don't have any exams in the afternoon. Do I get a hint about my surprise? I'm thinking of you too. Bucky Bear  At 12:16am: Sorry, but if I tell you, it won't be a surprise! I've got to go to one last meeting. Go back to sleep, you need your rest. I can't wait to see you again.

His messages made her smile. He hadn't forgotten her birthday. He was going to surprise her. She had to concentrate on the positives. She wished she could go back to sleep now, but she knew she wouldn't be able to. So she grabbed her computer, plugged in her headphones and started watching videos. 

She was woken up by her seven o'clock alarm, just two hours after going back to sleep. She nearly fell asleep on the train journey to university. 

This morning she had an English grammar exam from nine to noon. However, she already knew that she would get out early because it was the subject she had mastered the most. Two or three exercises were more complicated and she could guess that she wouldn't get all the points. The most important thing was that she would at least pass the subject.

Zephyr, Dysariel, Axel and Ophélia went out more or less at the same time as her. They stayed another hour to eat together at one of the local fast-food restaurants. They talked about everything and anything. And Bucky.

"So," asked Dysariel, "how are things going with your handsome soldier?"

"Fine," replied Willow, blushing. I'm just a bit scared..."

"Of what?"

"That it's going too fast. Besides, the age difference is great, I mean he's over a century old."

They laughed together and all advised her the same thing: they were sure that what was between her and Bucky was special, but she had to take her time and think about her well-being.

Then came the time to go home. Zephyr went first, his parents being stricter about his going-out times. Then it was Ophélia's turn, as she had almost two hours by train to get home. Dysariel had things to do and wanted to revise for the hardest exam on Thursday: US history. Axel and Willow were the last to leave.

They had barely taken a few steps out of the main building when Axel remarked to Willow, "Look who's here." Indeed, Bucky was coming towards them, in a superb black suit. "I've got a train to catch and I think you deserve some time with him. Happy birthday again and see you on Thursday!" Before Willow could reply, Axel had already crossed the pedestrian crossing. When she turned her head towards Bucky, he was standing next to her, a bouquet of sunflowers in his hands.

"Happy birthday, Willow. I hope you don't mind that I came unannounced, I definitely wanted to surprise you." He looked tired but happy to see her again. As for her, she couldn't say a word because she was so surprised. She could only throw herself into his arms.

He held her close. Her long blonde hair smelt of monoi, the scent they both associated with summer. Bucky could already see himself taking her on holiday to the beach, or to New York to meet the people he considered to be his family.

Together they got into the car. "I was thinking we could go for lunch somewhere?" Bucky suggested.

"We've already eaten with the others. Maybe tonight?"

"Yes, of course. Say, I've booked a hotel room for the week, at the park where we spent our first date. We can also spend the day there tomorrow. Are you interested?

"Why not."

Bucky noticed that Willow didn't seem as cheerful as usual. He gently stopped the car at the side of the road, and turned to her, "Is everything all right?" Worry showed on his face and Willow couldn't help crying. There was the stress of the exams, the happiness of seeing Bucky again, the fears that were interfering with her thoughts.

So she told him about all the doubts she had about their relationship. She apologised several times. Bucky took her face in his hands: "Willow, look at me. It's all right, I'm not angry with you. Unless you never want to see me again, we'll take our time. We'll go at your pace. I promise you that. Now, I just want to know if we spend the afternoon and tomorrow together, or if I drop you off at your place?"

"I think I'm scared because of what happened with my old boyfriends."

"Willow, you don't have to tell me about it. Only do it if you want to or if you're ready."

"I am."

"Then we'll talk about it, but let me take you out for dessert. I know when you get really anxious and it calms down, you get hungry right after."

The fact that he remembered little details like this warmed her heart, and a big smile lit up her face. Bucky started the car again, one hand resting on Willow's thigh. Willow put her hand on his. She was already feeling a little lighter.

I hope you love this chapter, I'm writing the next one ! Do not hesitate to like, comment and reblog if you feel comfortable to do so !

[mauriceclivealec]

ok- so i just finished the novel and i had a thought. some people, typically religious traditionalists, would view clive as the true hero. what do you think of this? in all honesty, i think the novel was unbiased; in which (to me) maurice still reigns as the hero. in the film, it’s clear the bias was for maurice… i mean the score “clive and anne” was heart wrenching, presenting the tragic fate of clive. i mean- of course the novel was biased to some extent (the name of the book lol) but it’s difficult to say whether or not clive truly regrets his decisions in the novel. if clive had no regrets, would a traditionalist say he was able to surpass his sinful desires and frame clive as a hero? strange thoughts :/

You say you have read the novel in full – so I hope you have also read the author E.M. Forster’s ‘Notes on Maurice’ at the end (written in 1960 when Forster was 81 years old). If not, I urge you to do so.

If you understood the novel, my feeling is that you already know that the answer to your question is ‘No’. Clive is emphatically NOT the hero. Forster’s novel was NOT written to promote an anti-sex/purity or anti-gay agenda. Unambiguously, Forster’s purpose was the complete opposite.

Regarding Clive, in the novel teenage Clive rejects his devout Christianity (i.e. the Church of England: Edwardian England’s religious establishment, the church of the state) and replaces that faith with Hellenistic beliefs drawn from the Ancient Greeks. Forster does not write, or suggest, that Clive reverts to Christian faith later on (in Parts 3–4). Clive’s marriage to Anne – who is active in the Church of England – signals his social conformity: it’s a social convenience, not a return to Christian faith, reflecting social/class expectations on Clive.

In Maurice’s very last paragraph, Forster tells us that, the older Clive becomes, the more he dreams of the Maurice of ‘the May term’. The Maurice of Cambridge on their perfect day out in the Fens becomes physically present for the older Clive when, in reality, Maurice has gone from him for ever. This is not the dream of someone who has overcome their ‘sinful’ [sic] desires. This ending is Forster’s punishment to Clive, who chooses social conformity as a convenience (as an upper-class landowner, he is about to become a Conservative MP in a safe/uncontested Parliamentary seat) while living a lie. (‘He never saw her [Anne] naked, nor she him. ... Secrecy suited him, at least he adopted it without regret.’ – Maurice, Chapter 33)

Perhaps you need to re-read Maurice for a fuller understanding. I would also suggest you read around and about the novel and its history. There’s a very good academic paper, ‘Maurice and religion’ by Krzysztof Fordonski (2012), which you might find interesting.

You don’t clarify who/what you mean by ‘religious traditionalists’. There are many religions, many ‘traditions’, and a spectrum of Christian positions on same-sex attraction and sex. (From your Ask I infer that you might be an American fundamentalist anti-sex Christian.) As you might be aware, same-sex couples have had marriage rights in the UK since 2013, with church marriages conducted by some Christian denominations (including the Anglican Church in Scotland but not England). Self-evidently, LGBTQ+ Christians exist, around the world. Most want acceptance – not to have to live chaste or secretive lives.

Forster was from a family who were important members of the Clapham Sect (Christian social reformers and prominent anti-slavery abolitionists in the UK) but was himself a secular humanist. His 1939 essay ‘What I Believe’ – written against rising totalitarianism at the start of WW2 – is his best-known piece of non-fiction writing.

I’m guessing from your wording, however, that your motive for this Ask is that you yourself are (i) a ‘religious traditionalist’ (American? anti-sex?) and (ii) (for reasons which aren’t clear) very keen to appropriate – or twist – Clive and Maurice to serve a ‘traditionalist’ Christian anti-sex, anti-gay agenda. If that’s correct – why?

There’s no shortage of Christian literature and anti-sex puritanical literature in the world. So I do wonder what your motive is for wanting to impose this reading on a pro-gay, pro-happiness novel by a gay author (and one of the 20th century’s greatest novelists), filmed in 1987 by gay filmmakers. If you don’t approve of Forster’s purposes and beliefs as expressed in his novels, why not just stay away?

(Endnote: Some Forster fics have also recently appeared on ff.net which seek to ‘Christianise’ several of Forster’s novels in ways which miss and disrespect the point of the originals. Again, I wonder why.)

[no-where-new-hero]

@gogandmagog gifted me with this incredible essay by Mary Rubio and I haven't quite finished it yet but I need to screech about this very provocative passage:

When Emily finally accepts the jilted Teddy, no idyllic atmosphere is restored. In fact, the tone is almost elegiac against the backdrop of a dark hill and a sunset, as Teddy and Emily prepare to move into their grey house which, significantly, has always been called "The Disappointed House." Montgomery tells the reader that the "grey house will be disappointed no longer," but the reader knows that Emily's creativity will sink into grey domesticity within. The vivacious outspoken Emily-heroine with the accomplished and witty pen is dead, and the trilogy can end: she is no longer interesting or full of promise as a writer. She is ready to be a supportive wife whose husband's profession comes first. (30)

I once read a blog post (or perhaps a more scholarly article, it was a long time ago) that stated similarly that Emily would likely not continue writing after marrying Teddy. This insulted me greatly at the time because writing seemed so linked to Emily's nature that it seemed impossible that she should ever give it up. And it contradicted what I found to be the fundamental reason for Teddy being the better match: he would have loved and encouraged her own artistry (we assume) where Dean belittled and gaslit. Yet if the outcome would have been the same--then the difference between them grows narrower.

I can't believe Rubio the Montgomery Scholar could have fundamentally interpreted the end of the series so differently from how I've always thought LMM suggested it: that Teddy, and Emily's love for him, will be always kind of eternal wellspring of inspiration for her, made even stronger by their marriage. But there ARE suggestions that perhaps Emily wouldn't be able to write--one, which I noticed only recently, was that her writing life is so intensely linked to New Moon and PEI that going off to live in Montreal might fundamentally change her own relationship to her creativity. And LMM also makes sure she shows Emily's literary success before Teddy returns with his declaration, as though to assure us that Emily *did* make a decent career of it before her "retirement."

So I'm very curious to know other people's thoughts about this. Also, the article might interest the blue castle book club too, since Rubio analyzes The Blue Castle's subversiveness in addition to that in the Emily series!

[bookreviewcoffee]

Virginia Woolf "A Room of One's Own."

The essay was published in 1929. Almost a hundred years have passed. Surely all the problems that Wolfe talks about have been resolved and there is no point in talking about them? Unfortunately no. I had no idea what this book was about. For some reason, I was sure that this was Virginia Woolf’s autobiography, in which she talks about her craft. But it turned out that this was an appeal in the name of justice. First of all, this concerns the infringement of women's rights. How women were not respected and not valued is very difficult to read. Women were forced to write in attics when they had a rare 30 minutes, to hide them at the slightest rustle, and published works under a male pseudonym. The girls were allowed to write prose, but no lyrics. It was believed that women could not think. In general, girls in Victorian England, if they were lucky, were taught languages at home, since college was closed. They had to stay at home, knit, cook, raise children and serve their husbands. It’s interesting, by the way, what Virginia Woolf said about female composers of classical music. They simply don't exist! More precisely, I personally could not remember a single one.

I had to look. I've certainly found a few of these, but none of the names are familiar to me! But I read some interesting information:

    “Fanny Mendelssohn

During her lifetime, the sister of the famous composer was known only to her family. She was constantly encouraged to write music, but... Then give what she wrote to her brother. It is known that he published several of her works as his own. She died young, from a stroke, at a concert rehearsal, where, along with other people's works, she wanted to openly play her own. The inconsolable widower did everything so that Fanny would posthumously receive her calling. Her correspondence, diaries, notes were published, her works were given her name back.”

Virginia Woolf believes that these men were simply afraid of smart women. They were afraid to show themselves in an unfavorable light compared to them.

In general, the essay is not limited to the topic “women and literature”, it touches on the general position of women, the topic of how important equality is for us. Although it is a stream of consciousness, the book is easy to read. In the process, the author gives us food for thought. “A room of your own” makes you think about how important personal space, income, and education are. Who is the creator? Why have we lost perhaps great works? Why is equality necessary? Why were women belittled? Why do women and men creators need their own room? And much more.

This was my introduction to Woolf,and now I am very eager to get to know her further.

@litterascriptamanet @coffeeacademia @chaoticelegant @silverystardustt @betryl @arcanewraith @ancientsstudies @abernathyvalois

[midnightrings]

Still trying to collect my thoughts after watching the final episode, but here’s some stuff I’ve been thinking about while watching it.

(spoilers, obviously)

I really, really loved Hawk and Tim’s dynamic in the 50s scenes (and 80s scenes too, of course, but we’ll get to that). I feel like this was also a point in their lives where there was at least a slight chance that they could’ve made it work – until Hawk screwed it up again. They’ve both clearly grown (especially Tim), their relationship appears quite well-balanced and there wasn’t that much baggage between them yet.

Looks like they kept a good amount from the book. Hawk did report Tim, preventing him from getting his dream job as well as barring him from government work altogether. Similar to what I suspected, Lucy was pregnant and Hawk realized that he needed Tim out of his life. It was overall awful but not as bad as I expected – though maybe only because I already knew it would happen.

It’s heartbreaking how Tim has realized time and time again that he needs to let Hawk go – including writing that letter to him, which I guess Hawk never found out about. Tim even told him that there were no expectations on his part, yet Hawk desperately wanted him in his life, only to push him away in the most horrible way shortly after it.

At least Tim did know the truth and, surprisingly, Hawk let him know himself (through Mary). I really thought Tim would find out about it sometime before ’86. It makes a lot of sense though, considering the scene of Tim in the hospital, watching baby Jackson. Tim clearly realized himself that he doesn’t have a place in Hawk’s life. This explains why Tim was constantly urging Hawk to be there for his family, but also why he wasn’t as hostile towards Hawk as he should have been. I mean, there was definitely some resentment on Tim’s part after ’57, but it wasn’t as big as I expected it to be after Hawk’s betrayal – which is why I always assumed Tim didn’t know the truth. But while Tim might have felt betrayed by Hawk’s actions, he probably did understand his reasoning in the end. Which makes it even sadder, because Hawk could have easily talked to him – perhaps Tim would’ve left by himself, realizing that working together would not end well for either of them.

Now, the 80s … I really love how we finally saw more affection between Hawk and Tim. I got teary eyed (while simultaneously having the biggest smile on my face) when Hawk lay down next to him in the hospital bed – this was so sweet and I was hoping for a moment like this. As I said before, I don’t mind that Hawk never told Tim that he loved him – even though I’ve been hoping it would happen at some point. But I feel like there wasn’t a point where a love declaration like this would have fit in, and Hawk kissing Tim publicly was a way better confession of his feelings than any “I love you” could have been. Tim was clearly at peace with himself, and I also believe that he knew that Hawk loved him – which is the only thing that matters in the end.

I guess that Tim’s “wrenching decision” really was a red herring of sorts. Love that they had him fight until the end, and also that we never really saw his death. We all knew that he would die, and letting the audience know through the AIDS quilt and Hawk telling his daughter that he loved Tim was perfect.

Also, Jerome? My sweet baby … that scene between him and Marcus in the gym made me bawl my eyes out. “You’re innocent” – “I’m innocent” … kill me now please.

Also, I’m so glad that I was right about Lucy leaving Hawk. She deserves to find happiness.

Hawk’s storyline was definitely something I was looking forward to the most (and I could probably write entire essays about his character). But I like that they still have him trying to protect his family, ready to leave if Lucy wanted him to. It just makes more sense for his character than to have him suddenly blindly choose Tim. At the same time, he did everything he could for Tim. I never expected Hawk to come out, but I love how he clearly found comfort within his love for Tim – getting him into that gala, confronting that guy (forgot his name, I think it was Dave?), kissing Tim publicly and confessing his love for Tim to his daughter. It was all a bit too late, but also not really – Hawk making the decision to fly to San Francisco and to then stay with Tim definitely helped him grow for the better. He lost everything in the end, but maybe he can finally find peace as well. Perhaps it even needed Tim’s death for Hawk to come to terms with his love for Tim. It’s sad but their story was always meant to end this way.

I’ll probably make a million posts about this show – I have so many thoughts and can’t wait to rewatch it all.

[cavernofstars]

PLEASE go on an hour long rant about vylad

Ask and you shall recieve, hope you dont regret that you asked. I did spent over a hour writing this btw. Good luck.

If you want me to do this for any other characters, i can do it for practically any of them. Especially Laurance lol.

Essay under the cut, obviously minecraft diaries spoilers.

Vylad Ro'Meave is so heavily forgotten, but the ENTIRE story cannot be told without him. Despite his few and far in between appearances especially within season 1, he was the cogs of every major event.

He was the one who brought Aphmau to Phoenix Drop in the first place. If he hadnt done that, or had brought her anywhere else the story would be different from the very beggining. It was his deep rooted love for his family, his brother, that brought him to leave her there. An excuse, to watch over his brother despite knowing he himself could not reach out.

We dont know a whole lot about how Shadow Knights work, but we know they are fundementally no longer human. Shells of what once was perhaps, but no longer functioning on the needs of a human. How long would it take to forget those needs when one has no such urgency for them?

Despite his lack of need to eat, rest, to simply be human, Vylad single handedly took a baby halfway across the Ru'aun region. Which is over a weeks journey when Aphmau made the same trek in search of Levins mother, AND she had a horse for part of it, which effectively evened out the time she spent with the crime scene in the neopolitian villages along the way.

Vylad did it in the shadows, hiding and sneaking the whole way there. While tending to a nearly newborn baby, despite never doing so before and not being human enough to have the same needs. He managed to do that, extending the length it probably took, just to bring Levin to Aphmaus door.

He gave up years of freedom for the story.

When Aphmau and Laurance entered the shadow realm in search of saving the chicken shaman, they only just made an escape. Laurance stayed behind, but Vylad was the one who saved Aphmau and Castor. He was the one who shut the portal. He couldnt do anything for Laurance then, but he did everything he could.

He suffered for that choice. He was imprisoned, and tortured for sealing the shadow realm off from the mortal realm once more. Vylad was sent to rot in that cell, with no one to his side but Laurance.

Laurance had been the only visitor who still saw Vylad as something other then a traitor, and saw him as a person. He made a promise to get Vylad out of there, but ultimately Ungrth came to save Laurance, leaving Vylad to continue to lay waiting.

We know that time works differently between the realms, the shadow realm/nether has a slower passage of time then the overworld, but not as slow as irenes dimension. A overworld day is several weeks in the shadow realm, prolonging the true amount of time Vylad remained prisoner.

In season 2 Zenix's rampage of the shadow realm began, and thus gave way to Vylads escape. We dont know if he had been out of his cell before that or not, presumably not, but he was the only one known to leave the portal- as he stayed guard in the abandon werewolf village outside it from the day he escaped.

We can presume he spent the whole 15 years imprisoned, multiplied by the time passage difference, he effectively spent over 200 years imprisoned for helping Aphmau escape.

And upon Aphmau finding him there, her first instinct is to lie to him when he asks about Garroth. And tells him hes dead.

Her first full conversation with him, and she sends him into a full blown mental breakdown in the first 5 minutes.

Of course after Aph tells him the truth, and about the portal, and everything else going on, Vylad chooses to go with her. He finally begins to hold more presence in the story, but still is commonly off screen.

Such as in Nahakra village arc, he isnt around until the very end when the group is forced to flee. He is seen burning any maps and books containing information on Phoenix Drop, aside from the Ru'aun map they take with them. While everyone else was hurried and running, Vylad was doing what he could to keep Tu'la from knowing about the other side of the region, to protect Phoenix Drop as best he could.

Vylad fades into the background again, until the journey to find a new home for the phoenix alliance begins. It is when they arrive at the island that he really makes a pivotal scene, being the one to confront Laurance.

Its a mostly off screen development, Vylad seeking out Laurance to help him. No one asked him to, but he saw Laurance struggling between his remaining humanity and the calling of his shadow knight being. He was also the one who followed Laurance when he started to go awol, keeping a silent watchful eye on him.

When things went from bad to worse, he went to Aphmau to tell her about Laurance. At the same time as Aaron died and Garroth was free from the irene dimension. Although a awkward revelation, Vylad and Garroths short reunion is one of the most important scenes to me in the story.

Two brothers who cared deep for family, reunited for the first time in atleast two decades.

On the journey to the new home of the phoenix alliance, Vylad had told Aphmau he died by murder, stabbed in the back. Heres my theory, that i always tell anyone who will listen.

I believe Zane is the one who is at fault for Vylads murder.

Zane was always corrupt, as in Garroths recollections of his younger brother, and simply in every single action we see Zane take. We know by Vylads retelling, Zane despised his half-brother. He never saw Vylad as his family, he thought of him as less than dirt and often didnt acknowledge him.

Either Zane himself was the one to stab and kill Vylad, or he had been the one to hire someone to do it. Both are likely, he would do it himself for the pure enjoyment of disposing of Vylad, or hire someone else to do it just to ensure everything went to his wicked plans and the world would be none the wiser to the truth of his demise.

But despite his death and rebirth as a shadow knight, he kept that deep-rooted love for family that he should have casted aside.

He has 0 hesitation when he follows Garroth to O'Khasis when he finds out about thier mothers impending execution. The two of course went on a rampage to free her, and after end up going to Hyria's to learn more of the past history.

Thus, when the others learn of Vylad bringing Aphmau to Phoenix Drop.

One prominent fact about Vylad that is shown so clearly, is his hyppocracy.

When hes telling Aphmau about how Laurance was struggling because of his clinging to his humanity and his emotions, hes acting as if he himself has truly rid himself of emotions.

But he did not. His love is deep within him, his caring and his kindness. That is why he continously fought for his family, protecting his mother and elder brother with his everything, risking his life and his freedom for near strangers.

Yet, he thinks of himself as a bad person.

" One good deed does not fix a thousand wrongs done. " he had said, but he has a list of good deeds he has done.

He did follow the demands of the Shadow Lord when he first became a shadow knight, but at the same time he was already branching away from orders.

He is also the only shadow knight whom we know never attempted to gain immortality, or felt the urge of it. (Aside from Amethyst, the old woman from Pikoro, who we dont know much more then she is no longer a active Shadow Knight.)

Even Laurance left because he felt the calling too strong, and as stated by Sasha at the end of season 2, Aphmau would be killed if Laurance tried to see her again.

In what was made of the third season, Vylad has gone off screen once more. We were told about Garte escaping into Tu'La, and Vylad went after him.

We dont know precisely why Vylad went after his so called adoptive father, but my hopes and theory is that he was playing executioner. He should be the one to hold Garte accountable for the crimes he had done to his people, and for his misstreatment of family.

After all, if Garte had been a good man, Vylad would never have been born. But his neglect of his family had led to Zianna's affair, and Vylads birth. Even then wasnt enough to bring Garte permanently out of his tyranny.

If Vylad were to be the one to kill Garte, he supposedly should gain his immortality. To kill a lord, who is also family. Though Vylad could never claim to love Garte im sure, and he never would even before his death. But the lordship may be enough to give Vylad immortality.

We know that gaining immortality is not a immediate end for a kind shadow knights good heart, as Vincent has his immortality, and yet Cadenza trusts him fully; and he is absolutely devoted to protecting his home, his people.

Vylad gaining immortality, would overall be a good thing for him. He out of everyone knows how good people do not live forever, while the evilest in the world live with longevity. With his immortality, he would rewrite his sins, atoning for them by living a eternity fighting against the monster from which he was reborn.

[prongsiepotter]

down bad | j. potter

summary: you're so in love with james potter but he's a little too good at giving you mixed signals that it might actually ruin you

pairing: james potter x reader

warnings: angst, a little fluff if u squint, and so much longing & yearning. omg so much of it

a/n: i am unfortunately completely obsessed with taylor swift's new album, so everything i'll write in the near future will be based on one of the ttpd songs (yey!) & this one's based on 'down bad.' feel free to send requests if u want pick the next song for me x

──────── 𑁍︎ ‧₊°

"So he just said no?" Mary all but hisses. Marlene shushes her, glancing around the classroom before leaning down from where she's sitting on your desk.

"Are you sure it didn't mean something else?" She rests her hand on yours. "Maybe it was just a misunderstanding. He wouldn't…he just wouldn't, right?" You smile weakly at her, then shake your head. She squeezes your hand.

"The note was pretty clear," you say with a soft sigh. The sentence rolls off your tongue with unhidden bitterness. "Sorry, can't. Need to catch up on some assignments."

You would show it to them, so they could see for themselves and maybe divert their sympathetic gazes from you. But you had set it on fire right after reading it, just like the other two notes friendly rejecting you. You still aren't sure why you did it. After all, you did just tell Mary and Marlene that you're fine. At least you will be. You should not be this devastated over some guy.

Even if that guy is James Potter.

James who is now strolling into the room with his mates, looking as invincible and full of life as he always has and always will.

Quickly, you force a smile at the girls and pull out the chair next to you. Marlene, bless her, gets the hint and lightly shoves Mary's shoulder to have her take the seat. You're going through your book bag, pulling out your inkwell when four bodies make their way past your desk.

"Ladies," comes Sirius cheerfully loud voice as he bows at the waist because, of course, he does. Peter and Remus aren't as dramatic with their greetings. The latter, however, does take the time to slow down in front of you until you look up and return his kind smile. Belatedly, you realise perhaps you shouldn't have done that. You lock eyes with James, who's right behind him.

He sends you an easy smile and a wink. Like he's letting you in on another one of his rare secrets. You're not sure if you're smiling back, but it's almost a given that you are.

He takes his seat behind you, laughing blithely at a joke Pete just told, and it's all so painfully charming that you want to die. You fear he will always make you feel like this. Like you're somehow the chosen one. It's such a sickening feeling, you can't help but whip around and look at Mary, pleadingly. Though, you're not sure what you're pleading for anymore.

She shoots you another unbearably sympathetic smile, looking like she's close to cooing at you. You sigh, hiding your face in the crook of your arms.

You can't help but think how easy it would be to just cry right here. It's embarrassing to admit, but you've done it plenty of times over the weekend after you had seen James out at Hogsmeade with the others. Miserably, you had realised that he was, in fact, not too busy working on his assignments. He just didn't want to spend time with you.

You almost let out a sob.

A hand rubs your back and you know it can only be Mary, but you let yourself believe that it's the universe consoling you, as if to say there, there because there's nothing fair about this and she knows it, but there's nothing she can do it about now, can she?

History of Magic passes in a blur. Before you know it, you're in the library, pouring all of yourself into an essay that you normally couldn't have cared less for. But you're willing to do whatever it takes to keep yourself busy. You know your thoughts will stray the moment you're lying quietly in bed anyway, awaiting another sleepless night.

You finish the sentence and look up, satisfied with your work. Apparently it's been a while since you've torn your gaze away from the parchment before you, seeing how stiff your neck is. You knead at the uncomfortable knot in your shoulder while looking around the library. It's relatively full today with every other seat being taken.

Which makes it all the more irritating when your gaze snatches on a figure sat at the other table right across from you. He's not even looking up, head bent over a book, but you would recognise that mop of unruly dark curls anywhere. James must've seen you when he came in, but that might have just been your hopeful self speaking.

Begrudgingly, you resume your writing and it takes everything in you not to look up every few minutes. To glimpse the slight furrow in his brows and the small pout of his lips as he's carefully reading every paragraph. You know he's likely looking for something to prepare for a prank. Normally, you would simply go over and ask him what he's up to. You know he'd happily tell you. But you're glad to have at least a little bit of pride and dignity left that keeps you rooted in your spot.

Seemingly not enough though since all you can think about is that there's no way he doesn't know that you're right there. It really does make you want to bang your head against the table. Maybe that would finally catch James' attention.

Pathetically, you glance at him only to notice that he's packing his things to leave. The tip of your feather goes back to the parchment so fast, it almost pierces it. You haven't got a clue what you're writing, too busy tracking James' movements from the corner of your eyes.

You watch him stand up, walking down the length of his table towards the door down the hall on his right. Then he stops. You hold your breath. James seemingly hesitates before fixing the strap of his bag on his shoulder. He turns left and walks towards you. You're staring at your hand as it writes illegible words, completely out of your control, when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

"Hey," James whispers when you look up, giving you a familiar grin and small wave. It's an innocent gesture, sweet, but there's almost something hostile about this encounter. Like you have no choice but to let him occupy every single one of your senses. You stare up at him, a matching smile sweeping over your lips before you can think better of it.

That's when you notice the scarf he's wearing and its frizzled ends. It's yours. You know it is.

Did he not give it back to you after one of your nights out together on the stands? After you had flown on your brooms, so close to the sea of stars that you could've dipped your fingertips in them? You could almost hear the echoes of your windblown laughters as the memory pushes itself into the foreground of your mind.

James is sitting still, rosy-cheeked, watching you with curious eyes while you babble on about the Leo constellation. He had just told you that you could do whatever you want to him—another quite maddening thing to casually say to someone—and now he's apparently keen on staying true to his word by letting you wrap your scarf around his neck.

It took some convincing before he'd finally accepted it from you. You promised that you wouldn't be cold with your high collared sweater, but James only gave in when you had accepted his wool hat in exchange.

He had carefully put it on you, smoothing down your hair and pulling out some loose strands to frame your face, mumbling something about how much lovelier his hat looked on you than on him. You told yourself that he surely must've known what it did to you when his knuckles brushed your cheeks. Right? Surely.

James pokes your side, chuckling, as if he sensed that your mind was drifting elsewhere. He cracks another joke, saying that if you were the one to teach him Astronomy, he might actually pay attention in class. He says it like it's a deal and you feel inclined to do whatever it takes to hold up your side of the bargain.

You laugh helplessly, feeling drunk on a little bit of everything; the stars above, James' gentle laughter, the familiar smell of broom wax and crisp winter air. This must be cosmic love, you think to yourself. Your breath clouds in front of you, becoming one with his. All the while, you're too aware of James' shoulder bumping into you, his leg pressed against yours. There's no one out here but you two.

You have all the room in the world, but James chose to sit this close to you. Probably close enough for him to hear your heart pounding. Did he do it for a reason? You'd love to know.

"You don't need me to pay attention in Astronomy," you find yourself saying in response, something daring laced in the drawl of your voice. His eyes flashes, bright and a bit wild. It's the same look he gets after you challenge him to a race on your brooms. His grin grows wide, carefree, and oh so lovely.

"Please." His face comes impossibly closer and you lean in without another thought, eager to take whatever it is James will give you. You feel his breath on your lips.

"I will always need you, Y/N."

Somehow he makes it sound genuine.

Then he winks and leaves you a horrid, forsaken mess. Somehow he makes that feel like a nice gesture too.

Incredulously, you stare at him as he leans back, elbows resting on the seats behind him. James Potter, you think weakly, what are you doing to me? Not for the first time you ponder what you would do if you can't have him. You almost double over from the striking pain in your chest.

Then he points out another constellation and you nearly forget all about yourself. He's good at that. Never ceasing to show you that the world is bigger than the two of you. Making you forget and remember that you might be in love. Because what if you were in love?

James cups the back of his neck, then points towards the door of the library, almost shyly letting you know that he's leaving. You nod slowly, still dazed. A small smile crosses his lips before you watch him round the corner, his back disappearing from your sight.

You blink, letting out a ragged breath. You feel like you got the wind knocked out of you. Like you just lost your twin. Someone who knows you like no one else ever will. Someone who might just be your better half. Someone who sometimes makes you feel like they want nothing to do with you.

It's ridiculous, you think bleakly to yourself, you're so down bad.

And James Potter makes it feel like a curse and a blessing.

[gogandmagog]

Thanks to some friends at the Lucy Maud Montgomery institute (what up, University of PEI), I was recently put on to the ‘100th Anniversary Scholarly Annotated Anne of Green Gables,’ and you guys… you know how the Grinch’s heart ‘grew three sizes’ that one Christmas in Whoville? Well, similarly, my little brain grew three sizes by the time I was even a quarter of the way through that book.

I cannot recommend it enough, to any dedicated Anne fans. I’s guess I personally still need several months, to fully process everything.

Lucy Maud!!! She was so so so… deep, and thoughtful, and capable of weaving together stories of such intricacies that one scarcely can begin realize what seeds are being planted. The stealth feminism that is so natural and abundant, because feminism is natural and abundant.

In the annotated book (so many contributors to credit, I’ll update this post for sure when it’s somewhere less than midnight), we learn so much. You see things you provably never saw before.

And a major disclaimer right here, before the cut, because I’m doing by best here to summarize a level of absurd genius that is not necessarily easy to grapple, and HEAVY quoting the brilliance of this piece, and other essays others have written on this piece, so pls understand that 0% of what’s coming was borne of my own insight. Just straight up copy/paste behavior here. And also, consider doing yourself a favor at this point by sitting down or holding on to something.

From the jump, the ‘100th ANNEiversay Scholarly ANNEotated Book’ outlines Montgomery's evolution of the first Anne text drafts to make very deliberate and clearly feminist points.

For example, as they say, it is one of the first (perhaps the very first) bildungsromans about a woman who comes of age in mind and spirit as well as in body and community. “In traditional European symbolism, men get associated with sky and spirit, women with earth and body.” In the long, lyrical passages that describe the beauty of Prince Edward Island, Montgomery begins with the trees and the flowers -- which she scoured Canadian and American sources to find feminine vernacular names for -- like "Lady's Slipper." Masculine flower names, such as "Bachelor's Button," are changed out for "aster" or for feminine alternatives. Anne usually gives them feminine personal names too, "Snow Queen" we are looking at you. Sometimes LMM writes the masculine name in her first-pass manuscript and later comes back with a neutral or feminine alternative. She was purposefully locating the feminine in the flowers and then -- in just about every passage describing flowers at length -- she expands the focus to the sky. Sunsets, stars, sunrises, clouds, all of that symbolically extends Anne from the bodily world of the earth into the spiritual and intellectual world symbolized by the sky. A traditionally masculine world. It's deliberately transgressive. She isn't just waxing poetic about the vast beauty of Canada; she's locating Anne within a symbolic structuring of the world where Anne, crucially, has an emotional and intellectual life that is put on an equal plane with traditional masculine coming-of-age stories ... but without denigrating the femininity of the earth. She also applies flower words to the sky itself, describing its colors as "marigold" and "saffron" and so on. The down-to-earth stories of women doing women's work is a feminist point, that Anne can dream and learn and love and go to college and teach, but she can also sew and weave and care for children and become a wife and mother. She uses a symbolic structure of Earth Mother/Sky Father that dates back to Plato and that reaches its full flower in the Romantic poets that Anne loves -- in order to subvert it and locate women and men on an equal footing, and to make the claim for young women reaching for the profoundly-metaphorical stars.

Anne appears in spring, like Persephone, and starts bringing Avonlea to life -- and almost the first thing she does in Avonlea is wear live flowers into the church. HEY SYMBOL OF PATRIARCHY, HAVE SOME FEMININITY IN UR TEMPLES. The actual Prince of Wales College in Charlottetown becomes Queens College -- COLLEGE IS FOR LADIES, YO.

Quotations in Montgomery are never JUST the apt point to the moment, but virtually always point to the larger work the quotation comes from and, if you know the reference, underlines her themes or make deeper points about the characters or situations. (Like referencing the masculine romantic epics that Anne loves, to make the point that Anne is going through the same quest, just like a boy.) Names too -- Biblical Anne is the mother of Mary -- Marilla -- who in the book is a virgin-become-mother, who both mothers Anne and is mothered by her as Anne helps give birth to Marilla's long-repressed true self. Rachel Lynde, as in Judaism, stands for fertility, the mother of Avonlea, a symbol of plenty and fecundity and earthy women -- it's no accident she's fat and poor love-starved Marilla is thin. Diana is a pagan, sensual girl, who is always described as wearing (or eating) something red, and is the only character in the book to get drunk. Her physicality is sometimes set against Anne's spirituality -- but not too much, because this isn't a book about either/or but about both/and when it comes to the physical and spiritual.

It's a book about mutually-supportive relationships between and among women and how that love helps them self-actualize. There's only ever room for one man at a time in these novels -- not until Matthew dies can Gilbert enter Anne's life, because men are so secondary to the narrative in Anne, which is about the webs of support that women weave to support and uplift each other, to hold together communities, to make it possible for women to become fully self-actualized, spiritual, intellectual, bodily people.

I think, in some ways, it would have been a bit of a cheat for Anne to become a famous writer, because a large point the novel makes is not that women can be just like men, but that women are fully-actualized human beings as women and don't have to imitate men; that the world of women is rich and valuable, and that women are not thereby less intelligent or less spiritual than men. Having her become a wife and mother, as most women of that era did, and leading a rich, fulfilling life in that role is probably a more fit ending to Anne's story than if she'd been "exceptional," since Lucy Maud Montgomery's (hereafter to be known as literary Beyoncé) entire point is that it's not just the rare, unusual woman who has a rich interior life -- it's all women.

[imabitchforjemcarstairs]

I'm assuming (again pls correct me if i'm wrong! :D<3) that ur fav shadowhunter character is Jem!

Would you mind indulging me as to why u love him and his character arc throughout the series? 😊

I am finally attacking this question. I took some time answering it because I wanted to give it justice. Now, bear in mind, that it’s been a while since my last read of TID/GotSM, and I forgot a lot about the series. I will try to give my best answer (and probably come back to this when I will do my huge reread of the whole series before TWP). 

First, I want to clarify that Jem is one of my favourite characters in the series, but not the only one. I could write the same about Will and Tessa. Like, I’m a real herongraystairs trash and the main reason why I continue with the series. I don’t know why, but they stuck with me. I think it’s assumed that Jem is my only fav because of my username, but no, the username was a joke that stuck, and I don’t mind, because I am his bitch, and it made CC giggle when I told her, and according to her, aren’t we all😭

Now, before going to the essay, I would like to say contrary to a lot of the fandom (who like Jem or dislike him), I do not think we have a lot of him. I think he is the most present character, yet, we still know so little of him.

Hear me out, he is the only protagonist with zero POV, in his series, (we got Cecy’s POV in CP2, and she arrived in the epilogue of book 2). Even in GotSM, which is supposed to be a book about Zachariah, and his mission to find the lost Herondale, he still gets sidelined to follow the stories of other characters (Matthew, Anna, Tessa, Celine, Jace, Alec, Livvy and Janus). Zachariah is used as a vehicle to tell us about the other characters' stories, and sometimes we get a glimpse of what he thinks and feels. I would argue that the only real story where we dive into his head, and get to know him is Learn About Loss. Add to the fact that in TID we only see him through the eyes of Will and Tessa, yeah, he’s the character with the most cameos with Magnus, yet what do we know about Jem, other than he is the 3rd person in a love triangle, Will’s parabatai, and Tessa’s second love interest, AND that he is the kindest, selfless character in the series? Practically nothing. 

Like I said above, in TID, we only see him through the eyes of Will and Tessa, who literally see him as this perfect, angelic person. Tessa because she arrives at the institute after 6 weeks of torture, and is in need of kindness and friendship, and eventually falls in love with him. And then we have Will, who sees Jem as his opposite, everything that is pure and kind, and everything that he is not. And because of the inevitable death of Jem and his curse, this bond is what keeps him alive, and he will cherish it like hell (one day I will write an essay on the terms and conditions Will put on his “curse” when he was a kid). So yeah, we have a series written through two protagonists, who see the third as this precious thing, that needs the utmost protection against the world, but also against themselves; see Tessa once she arrived, she started talking about finding cures and defending him against Will, in CP1: 

-      “You should,” Tessa said softly, “think about the way the things you do affect Jem.”

Will rolled his head back against the leather of the chair and regarded her. He looked drowsy and tired and beautiful. He could have been some Pre-Raphaelite Apollo. “Is this a serious conversation now, Tess?” His voice still held humor but was edged, like a gold blade edged in razored steel.

Tessa came and sat down in the armchair across from his. “Aren’t you worried that he’s cross with you? He’s your parabatai. And he’s Jem. He’s never cross. 

“Perhaps it’s better that he’s cross with me,” said Will. “So much saintlike patience cannot be good for anyone.”

“Do not mock him.” Tessa’s tone was sharp.

“Nothing is beyond mockery, Tess.”

“Jem is. He has always been good to you. He is nothing but goodness. That he hit you last night, that only shows how capable you are of driving even saints to madness.”

“Jem hit me?” Will, fingering his cheek, looked amazed. “I must confess, I remember very little of last night. Only that the two of you woke me, though I very much wanted to stay asleep. I remember Jem shouting at me, and you holding me. I knew it was you. You always smell of lavender.”

Tessa ignored this. “Well, Jem hit you. And you deserved it.” […]

“No, you don’t,” Tessa cried in frustration. “Do you think he cares about the danger? Do you? His whole life has been destroyed by this drug, this yin fen, and there you go off to a warlock den and drug yourself up as if it doesn’t even matter, as if it’s just a game to you. He has to take this foul stuff every day just so he can live, but in the meantime, it’s killing him. He hates to be dependent on it. He can’t even bring himself to buy it; he has you do that.” Will made a sound of protest, but Tessa held up a hand. “And then you swan down to Whitechapel and throw your money at the people who make these drugs and addict other people to them, as if it were some sort of holiday on the Continent for you. What were you thinking?”

“But it had nothing to do with Jem at all—”

“You didn’t think about him,” said Tessa. “But perhaps you should have. Don’t you understand he thinks you made a mockery out of what’s killing him? And you’re supposed to be his brother.”

Will had whitened. “He can’t think that”

“ He does,” she said. “He understands you don’t care what other people think about you. But I believe he always expected you’d care what he thought. What he felt.”

That is just an example, but the whole series is like that when it comes to Jem. Them defending him to each other when they fuck up, or defending him against the world, because for them he is that almost angelic person. And that’s cool and all, but what about him as a person? As a whole entity, and not an addition to the other two. (but then I read TLH, and TDA, and I think CC does not know/or doesn’t want to write the three separated from each other, but that is for another discussion, because these three always come in a package deal, and can’t be separated, I guess)

Now, that this is out in the clear, let’s get to the question, why is he one of fav characters? Well, for everything we don’t see, and know about him. And from the little we can get of him in the books. The minimum info on him is so freaking interesting, it just pushes us to read between the lines and do a lot of character study, (academic style) to get to his head.  

Even though the surface-level reading of the character is that he is very kind, empathic, helpful and selfless. Now, that’s normal because Jem is a very discreet character, and in contrast, we have Will, who is very loud, very look at me (because of his curse). At some point, Tessa observes that Jem is like the owner of a very annoying dog. So, in a way, on a first read, he is kind of overshadowed by funny/clown Will. However, the man is funny as hell: 

-      “Jem gave her a wistful look. “Must you go? I was rather hoping you’d stay and be a ministering angel, but if you must go, you must.”

“I’ll stay,” Will said a bit crossly, and threw himself down in the armchair Tessa had just vacated. “I can minister angelically.”

“None too convincingly. And you’re not as pretty to look at as Tessa is,” Jem said, closing his eyes as he leaned back against the pillow.

“How rude. Many who have gazed upon me have compared the experience to gazing at the radiance of the sun.”

Jem still had his eyes closed. “If they mean it gives you a headache, they aren’t wrong.”

-      “A demonic worm,” said Jem, pausing to peer cautiously around a hedgerow. “A great serpent. Would that help your inappropriate humor?”

He is also very eloquent when he wants to be (see Lily in GotSM), in his proposal, his apology to Tessa in CP2, him comforting Charlotte in CP2, etc…

And we also see his flaws, in the series, but there is no emphasis on them. His selfishness. Now, I know, he is a teenage boy, who knows that he is dying, but in that scene in CP2 when he threw Yin Fen in the fire, with no regard for the other members of his family, and how they do not want to lose him. We can also read that he is a very scared person. One because of the trauma he went through, but also because he will not live for a long time. Ex: his rushed engagement to Tessa.

This leads to one flaw we rarely talk about when it comes to Jem, which is his insecurities. His insecurity over his body, hell, even in After the Bridge, which is 100 years later, he was still insecure about his scared body. His insecurity about not being enough to Tessa, and that she deserves the best like his crazy consumption of Yin Fen to be perfect for her in CP2. 

And all of this could have been explored if we had his POV. It would have added depth to his character. In TID, he is a teenage boy who is trying to survive in a country so far from his own. I would have loved to see his feelings over his trauma. I mean he saw his parents die, was tortured, and is still being tortured by what is keeping him alive. I would have loved to see his feelings about being in a way abandoned by his family (Elias) in a foreign country. Being alone at twelve, with no support system. Navigating his new life as a child, the mental and physical toll of having to take the Yin Fen in order to survive, but also how it will eventually kill him. The mental toll of believing and defending his only best friend who was fucking it big during that time, (same for Will, and how mentally draining it must have been to know your only best friend is dying as a child, especially after witnessing the death of his sister but that is for another post). I wanted to see his insecurities regarding his body, in contrast with the body of Will, especially because they are living in a very able-body culture, and how being a Shadowhunter is all they have, and their noble cause. I wanted to see his feelings of how limited he is physically compared to the other Shadowhunters of his age, and how he felt about the critics and remarks the other said about him. And when he was engaged, his feelings about not living for a long time with Tessa, and only giving her little. 

 And later in GotSM, I wanted to see how he felt about his life as a silent brother, and how he was cheated of his death. How he was present in the life of his loved ones, yet not very. I wanted to know how he felt when Elias said that he did not want him to be part of his family. 

Anyway, this is getting too long. But, yeah, my love for Jem is for all that is not written, and what we can deduct from the multiple rereads of the series. I will probably come back to this post when I reread everything, and add stuff to it. 

[s-2345]

For black history month, I’d like to shed some light on some of my favorite queer people of color. 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈💗

1). MARSHA. P JOHNSON ✨

Marsha. P Johnson was an American drag queen born August 24th 1945. Johnson was known for being a prolific queer and trans right advocate. She was also apart of the stone wall riots which sent of a wave of LGBTQ rights and protests. A quote by her:

“Darling, I want my gay rights now. I think it’s about time the gay brothers and sisters got their rights… especially the women.”

2). LUCY HICKS ANDERSON.

Lucy Hicks Anderson was a transgender pioneer for marriage equality. She was known as Americas first ever prominent trans women. Lucy was married to her husband, and paved the way for marriage equality. A quote by her:

“I defy any doctor in the world to prove that I am a woman.”

3). BAYARD RUSTIN.

Bayard Rustin was a gay civil rights activist. He is heavily recognized as being a key part in the civil rights movement. He was a prominent gay man during the civil rights movement when there was no space to talk about lesbian and gay issues. A quote by him:

“If we desire a society of peace, then we cannot achieve such a society through violence. If we desire a society without discrimination, then we must not discriminate against anyone in the process of building this society. If we desire a society that is democratic, then democracy must become a means as well as an end.”

4). AUDRE LORDE

Audre Lorde was a lesbian poet. Who made lasting contributions to feminist activism and history. Being known as a fierce advocate for queer, black, and women’s rights. Among her most notable works are “Coal” (1976), “The Black Unicorn” (1978), “The Cancer Journals” (1980) and “Zami: A New Spelling of My Name” (1982). A quote from her:

“I write for those women who do not speak, for those who do not have a voice because they were so terrified, because we are taught to respect fear more than ourselves.”

5). JAMES BALDWIN

James Baldwin was a American writer and social critic. He is perhaps best known for his 1955 collection of essays, "Notes of a Native Son," and his groundbreaking 1956 novel, "Giovanni's Room," which depicts themes of homosexuality and bisexuality. Which broke social norms and showed that queer people had a place in the books they read. James spent most of his career educating people on black culture and history. And taught more people about homosexuality in a good light. A quote by him:

“Everybody’s journey is individual. If you fall in love with a boy, you fall in love with a boy. The fact that many Americans consider it a disease says more about them than it does about homosexuality.”

————————

Thank you to everyone who read this all the way through! I can’t donate money to organizations but try to do the best I can. We need to start recognizing the wonderful things that have come from the black queer community. 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈💗I hope I can do a little bit to positively help.

[ro-is-struggling]

Hi hi, can you write James Potter with “Now I accidentally know that you're in love with me too, oops, baby, I love you” (Oops by Little Mix) please, please?

The reader is a little bit flirty and has a crush on James. And one day the reader found out that James has a crush on/is in love with them and then they start to flirt with him and he likes 😳😳😳😳😳 (bc they were never flirting with him before and they're so shy to flirt with him) this James is a little bit shy uhhhh. Fluff please, thank you🙇

Hi! I loved this concept so much but I suck at flirting so idk if I I did it justice. I tried my best so I hope you like it anyways! It's really fluffy so I hope that will balance it out

Oops || James Potter x Reader

Summary: You've had a crush on James since the first time you saw him but never said anything for fear of being rejected. Until one day you accidentally overheard a conversation between the marauders that changed everything.

Based on prompt 58. from this prompt list: “Now I accidentally know that you're in love with me too, oops, baby, I love you” (Oops by Little Mix)

Warnings: fluff, mutual pining, James is kinda shy on this one, reader has a flirty personality or at least I tried to make her be that way, I think that all but if I missed anything let me know!

English is not my first language!

Word count: 2700+

You had been struggling to complete the Transfiguration assignment for hours now. It was your last remaining unfinished assignment and you were beginning to regret putting it off until last. It was a long essay and you were beginning to doubt that you had enough time to finish it. You closed the book in front of you with more force than necessary, visibly frustrated and tired from all the reading. You leaned back against the back of the couch as you thought about what excuse you could give McGonagall so she wouldn't scold you for not turning in the essay on time. You hated it when she scolded you. As stupid as it sounded, she was one of your favorite teachers and you didn't like disappointing her. But you really didn't feel mentally capable of reading another page. 

Just when you were about to give up, opting to fake your death to get out of handing in your paper, the solution to all your problems presented itself in the Gryffindor common room. The marauders settled into one of the armchairs opposite you, laughing amongst themselves about who knows what. Your eyes lingered on James for a moment, admiring his beautiful smile illuminated by the light from the fireplace. Your heart raced as you watched him arrange his hair, fighting the long uncontrollable strands to shape it. You loved his hair and loved watching him run his fingers through it, but right now you had more important things to do. So you took your eyes off him against your will and stood up from your seat to approach them. Sirius had his back to you and you took the opportunity to hang onto his back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and resting your head next to his.

"Hey gorgeous!" you greeted him in a flirtatious tone."Please tell me you did the transfiguration essay."

"You haven't done your homework, Y/N? That's bad, McGonagall is going to be very disappointed in you" he mocked you with a fake tone of disapproval.

"I know! That's why I'm asking the smartest and cutest student in all of Hogwarts for his help."

"Mmmm I don't know, darling. What if Minnie finds out and fails us both. I don't know if it's worth it."

"Come on, Sirius! I'm not gonna be that stupid. I'm not copying your homework I just need a little help to finish mine, that's all" you tried to convince him, even though you knew he would help you eventually. This was all part of his fun. "I'll owe you one. You can ask me whatever you want and I'll do it" you added in a suggestive tone. You were just playing along. You two were good friends, but nothing more. Your heart belonged to another marauder, one who wore glasses and was looking at you strangely. Was it annoyance you saw in his eyes? Perhaps a hint of jealousy? You weren't sure and you didn't have time to find out now.

"Whatever I want, huh? Are you that desperate?" he asked, amused.

"You have no idea" you answered with honesty. "So do we have a deal or not?" Sirius nodded and you planted a noisy kiss on his cheek before releasing him so he could look for his homework among the thousands of messy parchments he had in his backpack. When he found it, he handed it to you, making some clarifications, which you listened to attentively as you scanned the parchment in your hands. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" you exclaimed happily, giving him a quick hug. "You're the best, I love you."

You didn't give him time to answer you before you ran off to get your stuff and rushed upstairs to lock yourself in your room to get your damn homework done. You heard him laugh and mumble something as you walked away, but you were too excited to pay attention to him. Luckily for you your roommates hadn't come up yet, leaving you with the room all to yourself. You sat on your bed, propping up everything you needed to start working. 

You read Sirius's essay a couple of times, mentally organizing what you would take from it to add to your paper and the words you would use so that it wouldn't be obvious that you were copying yourself. When you had a general idea of how to structure your essay, you grabbed your feather to start writing before the ideas escaped your mind. But then you realized you were missing your quill. You looked all over the room for it with no luck, so you came to the conclusion that you had forgotten it in the common room. Annoyed by your clumsiness, you went downstairs once more hoping that no one had taken it by mistake. You walked at a hurried pace, desperate to get back to your room to finish your homework. 

However, your feet stopped dead in their tracks at the bottom step of the stairs when you heard your name being mentioned in the conversation the marauders were having.

"I don't get it, if you like Y/N so much then why don't you ask her out?" you heard Sirius speak with a frustrated tone. Your eyebrows rose to your hairline in surprise, and you perked your ears to hear the conversation better. You knew it was wrong, you weren't supposed to be hearing those things. But curiosity was stronger than you. You wanted to know who was the marauder who seemed to fancy you.

"Because she doesn't feel the same way and I'm gonna end up making a fool of myself."

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of James' voice. You stood completely paralyzed for a moment as your brain tried to process the information it had just received. James Potter, the boy you had been pining for over the past two years, the owner of your heart, had a crush on you. It couldn't be real. This had to be part of a dream. You began to wonder if maybe you had fallen asleep while reading for Transfiguration and this was all a product of your imagination. But as the conversation progressed, you realized it was all real.

"You don't know that, James," Remus encouraged him in a soft voice."She might feel the same way."

"Are you kidding me? She likes Sirius, it's obvious."

"Me!? She doesn't like me!"

"Then why does she keep flirting with you?"

"Because that's just the way that she is. She flirts with everybody, it's not that serious."

"No she doesn't. She never flirts with me."

James wasn't wrong. You never flirted with him, but it wasn't because you didn't feel anything for him. On the contrary, you were afraid of being too obvious. It was easy to flirt with Sirius or Remus or any other boy at Hogwarts because you didn't feel anything for them. But James... He was different. He had captured your heart from the first time you talked to him, joking around in first year Charms class. He was the only boy you really cared about, the only one you wanted to share your life with and create a future with. But you didn't know if he felt the same way about you and you were afraid to find out, so you had kept your crush hidden. 

But now everything was different. Listening to that conversation was wrong, but at least now you had confirmation that he had feelings for you too. James liked you and was sad that you didn't flirt with him. And that was something you could easily change.

The days that followed were spent correcting your mistake. You started with simple things, giving James smiles when your eyes met, winking flirtatiously at him, and creating situations that would lead to "accidental touches" between the two of you. You tried to be subtle so it wouldn't be so obvious that you were flirting with him, but even that seemed to throw him off. He looked at you with surprised eyes and flushed cheeks every time you smiled at him, and that only encouraged you to continue. He looked adorable, but as much as you loved his shyness, you were starting to get impatient. You thought that maybe showing interest in him would help him come out of his shell and encourage him to make a move on you, but with each passing day James seemed to become even more shy. It was strange considering that in every other area of his life he was anything but shy. So you decided to take it a step further in the hopes that it would help speed things up.

"Is this seat taken, pretty boy?"

James lifted his eyes from his spell book to look at you with a surprised expression, as if he didn't expect to hear those words coming out of your mouth. It took him a few seconds to answer you, his brain struggling to form a coherent thought after hearing you use that nickname on him. "N-no, no" he mumbled with flushed cheeks.

"Mind if I sit then?"

"No, go ahead" he was quick to say, shaking his head frantically. You gave him a smile and settled in the chair next to him, pulling your spell book out of your backpack to get ready for class.

"But I was going to sit with James," you heard Peter mutter under his breath, before being shushed by Sirius, who pushed him towards the desk in the back.

Class started not long after that, interrupting you before you could continue with your plan. However, you didn't let that stop you, getting a little too close to James to ask him any questions and pretending not to understand the position you had to hold your hand in when it came to doing the spell Professor Flitwick had told you to practice. Your skin tingled under the touch of his fingers as he helped you place your wrist in the correct position. Your eyes never left his profile, admiring his face and the light tint of pink on his cheeks.

"I need your help with something" you said suddenly, taking advantage of the fact that the whole class was distracted by the spell that no one seemed to be able to perform correctly.

"Oh really? With what?" he asked you curiously, looking away from his wand to focus on you.

"It's about something personal, but I desperately need a second opinion."

"Okay, you piqued my interest. I'm all ears."

"It’s about a guy that I like," you began, your eyes never leaving his face."He's the cutest and funniest guy I know, the only one that can make me feel nervous when he's around."

"Do I know this guy?"

You smiled. "Yes, you know him very well." James' gaze dropped to the floor in sadness, convinced you were referring to Sirius. He didn't want to hear you confess your love for his best friend, but it was too late to back out now, so he remained silent. "Anyway, I had a crush on this guy for so long, but I never had the courage to tell him about it" you continued, hoping that as you explained yourself he would be able to take your hint. "That was until a couple of days ago. I accidentally heard him talking with his friends about me and he kind of admitted to having feelings for me too. The problem is that he doesn't do anything about it."

James looked at you with a subtle frown on his face as he tried to remember a time when the Marauders had had a similar conversation. So far he had been pretty sure that you were talking about Sirius, but he couldn't remember a time when he had confessed to him that he had feelings for you. And unless he had been talking to other friends about feelings he kept hidden even from the marauders, James was beginning to doubt it was him. But if it wasn't Sirius, then who was it?

"I've been trying to get his attention" you said, snapping him out of his thoughts. "But he doesn't seem to take the hint. Do you think I should be up front and talk to him about it or should I wait for him to make the first move?"

"Well" he said, struggling to find his voice. There was something about the way you looked at him that felt different. A special sparkle in your eyes that threw him off, but in a good way if that made any sense. "If you really like this guy I think you should just talk to him." James tried to ignore how ironic it was that he was giving you that advice when he didn't follow it himself. His friends had grown tired of repeating those words to him every time he talked about you, but he never listened to them, always finding excuses to keep his feelings for you hidden.

"You thinking so?"

"Yeah, I mean why not? You said you already know he likes you so there's nothing to lose."

"You're right. Thanks, James" you said with an innocent smile.

"Don't mention it" he muttered, returning his attention to the class. He couldn't help but feel a little hurt at thinking that he had practically thrown the girl of his dreams into the arms of another boy, but despite the sadness he knew he had done the right thing. It wasn't his place to get in the way of your life and happiness.

"Hey, James" he heard your voice once again. He loved the way you said his name so even though he felt like crying he turned to see you anyway, charmed by your beautiful voice. "I was wondering if you would like to go out with me sometime."

Your words left him completely shocked. Were you asking him out? No, it couldn't be true. You had just confessed to him that you were in love with someone else. Someone he knew very well and who also had feelings for you…

Suddenly the conversation he had had with his friends in the Gryffindor common room resurfaced in his head, the dialogue replaying in his mind over and over again. He had admitted out loud that he was in love with you that time. Could that be the conversation you were referring to? 

James didn't have time to keep on wondering, because a sharp kick from Remus–who was sitting behind him and apparently listening to the conversation–brought him back to reality.

"Uumm yeah, yeah I'd like that" he finally mumbled, fighting the blush on his cheeks.

"Great!" you exclaimed with a smile. "And just so you know, I never flirted with you because I was scared it would be too obvious that I liked you."

"Y-you like me?" he said as if he still couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Yes, James I like you. A lot, actually" you replied with a chuckle. "And I kinda accidentally heard you say that you like me too, so I thought it was time to do something about it// we did something about it."

"Well, normally I'd say it's wrong to listen to other people's conversations, but this time I'm glad you did," he said with a smile that quickened your pulse.

"Oops, my bad" you faked innocence. "In my defense, you guys were being loud."

You burst out laughing, earning curious looks from the students around you and a scolding from the teacher, but you didn't care. At that moment only the two of you existed. You had both individually fantasized so much about the day when you would finally dare to express how you felt about each other that now that it had happened it seemed to be part of a dream. It was hard to keep your composure in class when all you wanted to do was scream and jump for joy at finally discovering that your feelings were reciprocated. 

"We could go to Hogsmeade together this weekend" proposed James, remembering the excursion he had marked on the calendar for weeks.

"I'd like that."

"Any place in particular you would like to go to?"

"Not really," you muttered with a shrug. "Being there with you is more than enough."