#i live and breath for women being nice and encouraging to arya

[sailorshadzter]

in the darkness i was afraid, until i saw your light.

again, this is entirely because of @amymel86 & @orangeflavoryawp

you guys can expect a chapter two at SOME POINT lol

anyways here is a Jonsa au set where Rhaegar lives and Jon lives as the heir to the Iron Throne. 

i like to think of this jon as brooding & moody, prone to outbursts, but sansa will both calm him & push him in ways no one has ever pushed him before. dont ask me about a future plot because I DONT KNOW except i want them to angrily make out asap lmao 

OK HERE YOU GO. i hope you guys all enjoy! 

"We're going South."

Every face in the room swivels upwards, surprise written on every face that stares back at him. Ned Stark clears his throat, casting a quick glance to his lady wife who has already heard these words but a few days prior. "To King's Landing?" Robb, his oldest boy asks, his dark hair the only sign of his Stark lineage. Like all of his children, save for Arya, he looks more Tully than Stark, but he is as proud of them as only a father could be. "All of us?"

This is when Ned shakes his head, turning his eyes to his first born child, his son that will someday take over his role as Warden in the North. "Nay, not all of us." He turns towards his two daughters then, settled into their respective places across from one another. Sansa, his second born and oldest of his girls, stares back at him with her wide, Tully blue eyes. She is a young woman of seventeen, grown tall like a willow tree, with ivory features far too beautiful for the world in which they live. Arya is every bit different than her older sister, wild, like the wolves in the forest; she wears no gowns, she runs with the boys and swings a sword as well as the best man in Winterfell. He is as fiercely proud of her as he is Sansa, as he is all of his children. "Just Sansa," he says after a moment, turning his gaze to his oldest daughter, who's eyes widen with her surprise.

"Me?" She questions, a perfectly sculpted brow shooting upwards. "Why, father?"

Ned smiles, a smile which his three sons have been bestowed with, and nods. "I have heard word from Rhaegar Targaryen." Though he once fought against the Targaryen rule, Ned offered fealty to the new King of the Seven Kingdoms twenty something years ago when Lyanna begged it of him. His beloved little sister who died giving birth to her only child, a son that lives in King's Landing as the heir to Rhaegar's rule. "He finds it is high time that his son and heir marries." Something like recognition ripples across his daughter's face and she squares her shoulders with this new knowledge that rocks her. "He has proposed a bethrothal between Sansa and Aegon."

From where she sits, Sansa is silent, though her mind is a whirlwind of thoughts. Marriage, she thinks, to Aegon Targaryen? She has always known she would marry eventually, but she thought perhaps to Theon Greyjoy, heir to the Iron Islands, or perhaps even a Dornish prince, not the heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Though she believes in stories of love, stories of handsome, brave knights, she knows her duty is to her family. She will do as she's bid, of course, even if there was a part of her that has always longed to marry a man for love and little else. "Does the thought of becoming queen not please you, daughter?" Sansa blinks, realizing only then that her father has spoken to her. Rather than speak against him, she puts on a brave face, I am a Stark, so I can be brave, she thinks as she smiles radiantly for her father. And then she speaks:

"It pleases me, father."

[ x x x ]

King's Landing is nothing like the North.

Though, she supposes she should have known that already, she's surprised all the same. In the weeks leading up to their departure, her mother had ensured she was well prepared for both the journey and the meetings she would endure upon arrival. Everything else... Sansa knew. She knows to curtsy, to smile prettily. She knows how to play the high bells and even the harp, her voice soft and sweet enough to make even the roughest of men smile. Sansa knows how to please men in a court, she knows how to be a lady, she's been one since three.

But nothing in the world could truly prepare her for the man she is about to meet in the crown prince, Aegon Targaryen.

"This way," the man leading them speaks, bringing her from her thoughts. The touch of a hand to her elbow is her father's and she sucks in a breath, holding her head high as they face a set of double doors that lead them into the throne room. It is empty, thankfully, aside from the man that sits upon his throne and the younger man that stands just behind him, lurking as if he wishes to be anywhere else. Together, she and her father approach the dais, though he is the one to step all the way forward, bowing low to the King that sits before them.

"Welcome to King's Landing, Lord Stark." Rhaegar Targaryen speaks in a voice that is deeper than she anticipated, his silvery locks tied back with a sapphire ribbon that matches the doublet he wears. "I trust your journey went well." The king smiles but something tells Sansa it is not the most sincere of smiles.

"Aye, your grace, it did. King's Road is easy to travel at this time of the year." Ned replies, offering a smile of his own. Regardless of his feelings inside, this man was his king and if he were to truly leave his daughter in his keep, then he would have to play nice.

"Is this your daughter?" Rhaegar asks, his violet eyes suddenly falling upon the girl that stands behind Ned. "She is a beauty." He compliments, smiling for her. "Come closer, child. Let me look at you properly." He encourages and with the touch of her father's hand, she steps ahead of him and sinks into a low curtsy.

From where he stands, Jon watches the girl come forward; though his face did not betray his inner thoughts, he's mesmerized by the sight of her. Hair like the color of a sunset, crimson yet gold, a fiery twist that leaves him breathless. She's dressed in a gown of the lightest shade of blue, it's sweeping sleeves embroidered with the famed winter roses of Winterfell. It's a modest cut gown, quite unlike those worn in King's Landing, though he finds he likes it more for that reason alone. Her gaze flicks from his father to him and their eyes meet, suspending time around him. "Rise up child. Aegon, stop being so rude. Come greet our lovely guest." Rhaegar speaks and Jon stumbles, having forgotten there was even anyone else in the room besides her. Clearing his throat, Jon does as he's bid, stepping foward so he might bow to the young woman and her father below him. "You must excuse my son, Ned you would think he to be yours, with how brooding and moody he is."

Ned lets out a chuckle, though he knows what Rhaegar says is true. There is not a single trace of Targaryen in the boy, he is Stark through and through. He is Lyanna's son, looking more like Ned's own child than nephew. "He is like his mother in that." Ned says, which brings a small smile to the king's lips; he knows as well as anyone that his only living son is more like his mother than him. He is like Ned, in that fact, for Rhaegar has heard the rumors that all of his children but one favor their mother rather than him. "My youngest daughter, Arya, she is so like Lyanna you might think her to be hers, not mine." The men share a smile, mutual love for the long dead Lyanna Stark perhaps the only thing they truly have in common.

[ x x x ]

When she wakes in the morning, it's from a dream of wolves and laughter.

Though the images fade as she rises up from the bed, she cannot shake the strange sensation of familiarity from her mind. A maid comes in and helps her dress- the woman curtsies and speaks with her as the servants spoke to her own mother in Winterfell. Something felt strange about that, to be spoken to like a true lady, like something more than the daughter of a noble lord.

When she's dressed for the day and her hair plaited into braids, she slips from her rooms, intent on exploring the palace that's to become her home. Or so her father says. A sigh escapes her and she pushes thoughts of marriage and the future from her mind, rather she focuses upon her new surroundings. The Red Keep is noisy even so early in the morning, bustling about with servants and courtiers alike. Rhaegar Targaryen keeps a full court, though there is no queen to keep it orderly or enforce any sort of etiquette, so some say it feels more like a town brothel then a royal palace.

She takes her leave of the corridors and she steps out into the morning sunshine; it's far warmer here than in the North, even in summer. Her gown, though made more in a Southern fashion, still feels far too heavy for the heat. Now she understands why the women in King's Landing dress in silks and lawns and fine lace. Her footsteps lead her down stone steps and into a garden that stops her in her tracks. It's full of fresh, sweet smelling blooms in dozens of colors, dozens of styles. In fact, she's never before seen such a wide array of flowers and for a moment all she can do is swivel her gaze from left to right, taking in the sights all around her.

But then she's on the move, making her way to the first bush that grows flowers in the softest shade of pink. When she leans in, it's so she can inhale their sweet, but subtle scent, a smile spreading across her face as she makes her way to the next bush and then even another one after that. In the distance, she can hear the sound of a fountain running and she decides that once she sees this final shrub she approaches, she might take a walk towards it instead. And so she leans over the bush that's littered with tiny white flowers, their scent surprisingly strong for flowers so small.

From where he stands, Jon can't help but to watch her.

She's dressed in a gown of pale green, one which compliments her in a way that threatens to steal the very breath from his lungs. It is a gown of material unlike what they wear in King's Landing and he imagines her to be quite warm in it, despite the skin she dares expose. Unlike yesterday's blue gown, this one shows off her long, slender arms and when she turns her back to him, he can see it cuts low upon her back. Though he would very much enjoy watching her from afar, Jon finds his feet lead him in her direction, unable to help but wish to speak to her. And so... He does.

"They are nothing like the blue roses of Winterfell, eh?"

Jumping at the sound of the voice, Sansa spins around and finds herself face to face with the prince, who's Stark colored eyes are meeting hers without hesitation. "Prince Aegon," she greets softly, dipping him the appropriate curtsy for a man of his rank.

"I prefer to be called Jon," he snaps, wishing he could push away the thoughts of her beauty. He's thought of little else since meeting her only the evening before. "I mean... My father is the only one who calls me Aegon." He clarifies when she flinches as if struck, so he's softer this time, feeling somewhat remorseful for his sharp tone. "I have heard the roses bloom even in the winter." She's raising up from her curtsy and her blue-eyed stare is intense, so much so that for a moment he must cast his own gaze skyward.

"They do," she speaks softly, in a voice that reminds him of honey, sweet and slow. Her Northern accent is not so pronounced, not like her father's, and he attributes that to her strict, noble upbringing. He returns his eyes to her and finds she's smiling, her head tilting ever so slightly, which sends her red hair cascading across a shoulder. Yet again, he's stricken by the sight of it, wishing for a moment that he might reach out and touch it. He longs to know what it feels like against his fingertips. "My father says that even in the coldest of winters they've bloomed." She's smiling faintly, turning from him to reach out, gingerly brushing her fingers along the white petals of the blooms they stand before.

"They were my mother's favorite flowers." The prince speaks and Sansa turns back to face him, blue eyes sympathetic in their gaze. "Or so I've been told."

Sansa smiles, nodding her head. "They were," she confirms, thinking of the stories and memories her father has shared with her over the years. "My father says my younger sister Arya is quite like her, though only Arya is bold enough to refuse to wear gowns." Jon laughs at her words and she's surprised at how the sound warms her, fills her with a strange sense of happiness she can't really explain. "You look like her," she goes on, pinning him with those eyes of hers as she takes a single step closer. "You look like Arya and so you must look like your mother." It was true, there was not an ounce of Targaryen in him, though Jon could not say because up until these last two days, he's seen very little of his Stark family. Ned Stark made the rarest of trips South and Jon couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen his uncle in King's Landing.

For some reason though, hearing Sansa say such a thing brings a happiness to him that he's never felt before. "Would you like to see the fountain?" He asks, rather than thanking her for her words, trying his best to play his role as well as she. Jon isn't stupid and he knows his father plans to see the two of them wed- though he's always thought to marry a woman for love someday when he was king himself, he knows he must do as his father bids. Just as she does. "It is one of the best spots in all of King's Landing." The truth was... He spent quite a bit of time out there in the gardens, one of the only places he could find a moment to himself.

"That's where I thought to go next," she admits with a nod, falling into step beside him as they make their way down the path towards the center of the garden. "Wow," she murmurs as they approach the great stone fountain, it's height towering over the both of them. Water sparkles in the pool beneath and Jon watches as she leans over the edge to dip her ivory hand into the cool water, a smile curving on her rosy lips. Yet again, he finds himself enthralled by the sight of her, even more so in the bright summer sunlight. The South agrees with her, that is for certain. "It's beautiful," she says, straightening her spine and turning back to face the prince that stands beside her.

"It is..." Jon agrees, softly, unable to stop the words before they slip from his lips. As if she understands, her cheeks turn red as the roses that grow behind them and she turns away, staring up at the fountain as if it truly is the most interesting thing in the world around them. "I hope you enjoy your time here in King's Landing," he speaks finally, the only words he can bring himself to say in the aftermath of the ones from before. She turns to him then, blue eyes widening ever so slightly. But then she smiles a dazzling smile, a radiant sort of smile that sends shivers down his spine. For a single moment, he sees the future, one of gold crowns and howling wolves. One that is happy, despite it all.

"I think I might," she says after a moment and then Jon is smiling, too.

[ x x x ]

When she wakes the following morning, it is to a new handmaiden who is quick to smile at her lady, her brown eyes kind in her face. "Good morning, my lady," the woman says, turning from where she lays out Sansa's gown for that day. "My name is Shae," she continues, coming closer to the bed where Sansa now sits up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "The prince bid me to attend to you, if it pleases you." Sansa blinks, perhaps surprised, but she can't help but feel the draw to the woman. Shae has a face of someone she can trust, someone who would look out for her. She can't say how she knows, but Sansa knows Shae will be far more than just a handmaiden to her. "Ah, he also sent a gift," Shae says, reaching for what Sansa sees is a bolt of fabric in a beautiful shade of gray, a quality silk that she's never set her hands upon in all of her life.

For a moment, she's speechless.

Running her hands along the soft fabric, she sucks in a breath, already able to imagine the beautiful dress that she could make with such a fabric. She squeezes it against her chest, eyes closing as she reminds herself that this is in fact, real life. "Will you... Will you send him word of my thanks?" She asks her maiden, raising her gaze to meet Shae's as she slips from the bed, the bolt of silk still clutched to her chest. Shae is smiling when she nods, turning from her lady to do as she's been asked, wondering if the young woman knew what sort of face she wore when speaking of the prince. She can't help but to wonder what the brooding prince would say if he knew how soft and sweet his future bride looked when thinking of him.

Left alone in her chamber, Sansa gently sets the fabric aside and moves to the window that overlooks the city of King's Landing. Along the horizon, the sunrise is streaks of pink and red against the blue backdrop, though she notes it is not unlike the sunrise she's used to in the North. Perhaps... Living in the South would not be so bad.

Down in his own chamber, two floors beneath hers, Jon too stands at the window.

He watches the same sunrise as she, though fully dressed and prepared to escape the confines of his rooms. All night long he had dreamed of red hair and pale moonlight, of blood red leaves and bright blue eyes. Now that he's awake, Jon finds himself longing to be near her again, to talk to her, to feel the soft touch of her hand against his. He recalls his thoughts of only a few days prior, determined to hate yet another of the potential brides paraded before him. But there was something... Something far different about Sansa Stark that he couldn't quite understand.

But he wants to, he finds that he wants to know everything there is to know about her. He wants to know what makes her happy and even what makes her mad. Every little piece of her that she was willing to give to him, he wants, and he will accept. For better or for worse, he supposes, after all she was to be his bride in the end. And so he turns from the window and slips from his rooms, hoping his feet might just lead him to his destiny.

[mollyraesly]

Time with Wolves -- Chapter Twelve

They didn’t have sex that night in the Glass Gardens. Part of her wanted to, particularly when his mouth was on her collar bone and his fingers were curling inside her. But she wasn’t ready, and he said that was fine and that they had plenty of time to do other things—which were quite pleasurable in themselves.

Preoccupied as they were, they didn’t have sex until several months later in December, after Edric had met both her parents, come to dinner nine times, learned several new tricks about moving on wheels from Bran, lost seventeen rounds of rock, paper, scissor to Rickon, met Robb once, and had accompanied Sansa to three of Arya’s fencing tournaments. When they did have sex, it was in his bed while his mother and stepfather were away on a trip. She could tell he’d spent extra time making the bed and had cleaned up his room. Sansa had asked her mother weeks before if she could go to the gynecologist and start a birth control prescription; it had been a difficult conversation for them both. But Edric has used a condom anyway.  He’d had it planned, just as she had. Sansa liked that. And she liked how earnestly he’d whispered in her ear how stunning she was when he entered her the first time and kissed her hard to distract her from the pain. She liked that he waited patiently until she told him to move and that he held her hand as he did so. She liked that he did his best to go slow, and that he’d gotten her off before they began. She liked that when they were done, he held her close and asked if she was okay. She liked that when they had sex the next few times, he watched her closely to see what she responded to the most and made sure to keep doing those things. She liked that he tried to make sure she came first and was honest about his preferences, just as he encouraged her to be the same. She liked that they didn’t just have sex every time they were together and that he still came to eat dinner with her family. She liked that he didn’t take it for granted that they would just go to junior prom together but asked her formally and then brought her flowers, wore a tux, and told her how stunning she was in her dress. She liked that when she told him he made it herself, he asked if he could look at it letter to sketch a design. She liked that he presented that sketch to her in a box with a bow on a random Tuesday, but remembered it was the day they first started working at the restaurant together. She liked that he continued to give her his drawings and would still surprise her sometimes with dessert. She liked that when his mom got transferred back to King’s Landing their senior year, they mutually decided to break up, as she was headed off to college and he wanted to find work in a mechanic shop and take art classes. She liked that the last time they had sex, he told her how much she’d meant to him and how he’d always remember her fondly—that he valued what they had together. She liked that she could say the same. And when he left Winterfell, she liked that she cried, not because she loved him, but because she wished she had. She’d liked a lot of things about Edric Storm, but she was never sure that like had ever fully become love. She’d never known romantic love before, so she wasn’t quite sure. But she was nonetheless grateful that his leaving didn’t break her. That fact alone maybe was enough for love. When she thought of him, she only wished him well and found herself smiling at the remembrance of his lips. She finished her senior year by joining the debate team and learned she had a surprising knack for politics. She volunteered more at the wolf reservation. She took Arya, a sophomore, as her date to senior prom, and they took the best photos she had ever seen. Slowly, she let her hair transition from blonde to strawberry back to red. She had to ditch the red lipstick, but it was worth it to look in the mirror and see an older but familiar image of Sansa Stark again. The summer before leaving for college, she spent more time with Robb than she had in a couple of years. She found she missed him, and it was nice to benefit from his experience as she was about to leave home for the first time. Robb had stayed somewhat close, attending Winterfell University. Part of her was surprised that Robb didn’t come home more—perhaps to get their mom to do his laundry every other week. But the more time she spent with Robb, the more she realized how much more mature he’d gotten. He worked more, went out with girls less, helped their father. He was even growing a beard. She liked talking to Robb again. She missed him when she left for school. It’d been a very teary goodbye when her parents left after helping her get settled in the new dorms. Despite her poor skills in math, she’d been accepted to Citadel University, very old and very prestigious, as well as King’s Landing U, both of which she’d turned down. She also, after many pro/con lists, had turned down Winterfell University and opted to go to Twins College in Riverrun, where her mom had gone. It was far enough away that she felt that she was experiencing something new but close enough that she could still come home, even if just for the weekend. At least, that’s what she told Ghost when she visited him last. She was paired up to room with a girl named Meera Reed. Meera wanted to study engineering; she had incredible drive, fierce loyalty, and fantastic curly hair. She reminded Sansa of both Arya and Bran, whom she missed dearly. Meera was outdoorsy, and she loved to hear Sansa’s stories about Ghost, whose picture she had framed and on her dresser along with other family photos. Sansa, in turn, pestered Meera for tales of her adventures with her little brother Jojen, whose antics made her laugh and helped dull the ache of not being with her own siblings. Sansa also, though surprisingly, befriended her dorm’s RA Brienne Tarth. Brienne was a junior and played on the rugby team. She was quite unlike Sansa in many ways: physically tough where Sansa was soft, blunt where Sansa was politely euphemistic, and unapologetic where Sansa was people-pleasing. But they were both quite tall for women, and that was enough to bond them in the beginning. Sansa liked spending time with Brienne—and her friend Podrick, who always blushed when she was around. She had nice friends and chosen interesting first courses on civil wars, history, writing, and gender studies—so grateful to be done with math. The workload was more than she experienced before, but she bought a lot of flashcards and made it through her midterms—without even needing to really on coffee. She’d always preferred lemon tea. Coming home for Thanksgiving was a blessing and a curse, as she wanted nothing more than to spend time with her family and yet knew she couldn’t lose focus or she’d never finish her final papers on time. Somehow, she managed both, and was feeling quite proud in mid-December as she packed up to go home for the winter break. She’d done it—lived on her own for months—and she’d done well. She only had the one exam left—which she knew she’d pass with flying colors—and plans to have a celebratory dinner with Meera. She was putting on her earrings when her phone rang. “Arya!” she sang into the phone. “I’ve only got a few minutes before Meera and I are going to gorge on the last of our dining points for the semester. I hope they have those little cakes I like. I plan to eat forty of them. But I’m so glad you called! I miss you! I can’t wait to come home. Just three more days! How are you? Did Gendry finally take his head out of his—” “Sansa—“ Arya heaved a sigh. “Hey? What’s wrong?” “I’m not sure I should tell you.” “Is it about my Christmas present?” Sansa asked with a laugh as she grabbed a sweater from her closet and put it on. “Cause you never can keep that secret. Remember when—“ “No—it’s not—it’s—it’s about Jon.” “Oh.” Sansa sat down on her bed. “I know it’s against the rules—to bring him up—when you didn’t ask.” “Yes,” Sansa agreed; her eyes flirted to her picture of Ghost, but her eyes felt too out of focus to see him clearly. “Sansa—you there?” “Yes, sorry. I’m here.” “I wasn’t sure I should say anything—but I wasn’t sure—you still have exams—but I thought maybe you’d like to know—I—“ “Arya,” Sansa interrupted, doing her best to keep her voice calm. “What is it that I should know about Jon?” Arya didn’t answer right away, and Sansa repeated her name insistently. “Jon’s been wounded. I don’t know how bad, but his mom says he’s in intensive care and unresponsive, so...” Sansa didn’t need her to say the rest. She was clutching the phone so tightly that her fingers hurt. She switched hands. “Does his mom know anything else?” “No—not that I know of at least.” Sansa nodded. “Will you tell me—if—when she does?” She could hear Arya crying on the other line. “Of course. As soon as I hear something.” “That’s—that’s good. How—how long has he been in the hospital?” “Three days.” “Three—gods—wow—okay. Do—do you know what happened?” “He was stabbed.” “Stabbed?” “Multiple times.” “Where?” Sansa croaked. “In the chest—near the heart.” The news made Sansa feel as though she’d been dealt the same wounds. She felt tears fall down her cheeks as she listened to Arya’s hoarse explanation. When she finished, Sansa felt like she couldn’t breathe. Meera, back from the bathroom down the hall, came into the room then. “Hey, wolf girl, you ready?” Sansa wiped away her tears. “Arya, I have to go,” she stammered. “Will—will you call me? As soon as you hear more? I mean, the minute you hear—I want—I need to know.” “Of course.” “I love you.” “I love you, too.” Sansa didn’t eat anything with Meera; she barely spoke for the next three days. She didn’t study, didn’t pack, didn’t brush her hair. Meera tried to get her to go outside, but Sansa refused. She just stayed in her room and waited by her phone. Until finally, it rang. “Hello?” she answered raggedly. “Sansa.” “Arya?” “Sansa, he’s awake. He’s gonna be okay.”

[jo-the-schmo]

Traveling...Ch.1

Masterlist (you’re gonna need this if you want anything to make sense)

A/N: Hello, everyone! I finally finished the first chapter of the sister series to Breaking! This first chapter may be a bit rocky because I only need it to establish what’s about to happen but I can’t wait to keep working on this! I’ll try to have chapters out as soon as possible and I hope you guys like this! 

Before you read: Remember, this story takes place after the end on the main story AND after the Alex end. A lot of stuff is going to rely on knowledge of the first series so if you are knew to this, I do encourage you to reading the entirety of Breaking first! It is long but it will be essential to understand what’s happening. Thank you so much!

Wordcount: 1315

Warnings: Cursing, that’s all for now anyway!

Tags: (I will be tagging everyone from the original series, tell me if you no longer want to be tagged! I will also be tagging some of the new people who were asked to be tagged!) @midnightokieriete @renae-writes @deltablue202 @literally-melonkitty @meunicorn @favouritefighting-frenchman @demigod-runner-who-potter @gum-and-chips @sweaterkitty-fluff @littlemissshortcakes @pinkyiger7 @unprofessional-inhumanbeing @fandom-panda-221 @hummusandchips @spoopy-piineapple @ashwolfcub @myself-and-the-madman @sweet-fate @superwholockbooknerd526 @frozengal2013 @itsmikayblr @sarmar29 @arya-durin-51 @phantastic-fandoms @hoshihime98 @shinigamired @martapetrovic @robotic-space @tayahqr @asprinkleofmermaids @satellitesuga @rose-coloured-nihilism @okie-dokie-artichokeme @pandartist @apandawithcookies @kitcatgirl2016

Traveling Back

“Miss Titania, you act as if you have seen a ghost, perhaps my friend and I may help you? What is a lady doing so far out here?” Alexander looked at you with a cautious expression. What do I do? What do I say? I can’t give him the same story, it doesn’t fit! I feel so drained…Think Y/N, think! Keep it simple, keep your story straight.

“I..I ran away...” Nice save, me. Way to use personal experience.

“You ran away? Why on Earth would you do such a thing?” John asked.

“I had to! I... didn’t belong there.” Subconscious, could you maybe stop making me say these things?! John and Alex both stared at you quizzically, you continued. “I was a servant, until I left. I-I’m sorry I’m not explaining myself very well, I’m just…” What the hell is wrong with me? Why is the room spinning so much? What the hell am I supposed to do? How did I even get here? I don’t know what to say! I can’t breathe, I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t! You were hyperventilating, you couldn’t figure out why. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, images and voices started to flash around your mind. A man with dark skin, wearing blue, busting through a door you recognized. He shouts, “HERCULES MULLIGAN!” with a huge smile on his face. You sucked in a huge gulp of air and opened your eyes. Your vision began to stabilize itself, your heart rate calming down a bit. That’s when you took notice of the fact that you were laying down, arms wrapped around you, two faces looking down at you.

“Miss Titania, are you well? You started shaking uncontrollably!” John exclaimed.

“I have seen Myles do the very same thing, my dear John. Perhaps it is more common than what we first perceived.” What the hell was that? It was like...a VHS being sped up...or rewound? That’s when you realized something, you could see it in your head, as if it were a memory. You remembered the children, Alex’s children, being excited about the man in the door. You remembered the man picking you up and running around the room. You remembered it, but you knew it didn’t happen. You don’t remember seeing that man until just now.

“Forgive me...this happens sometimes.” Alex helped you to your feet.

“No, no, please forgive us. It was rude for us to try and pry, but we only wish to help.” John explained.

“Um, this is going to sound really odd but...where are we?” You asked. Maybe I can figure out what year it is.

“We moved out of Valley Forge a few days ago.” Alex answered. Either Pennsylvania or New Jersey. It’s clearly not winter…so it must be 1778? I went back twenty years? That explains why Alex is so young, why John is...alive, and what all these tents are. Living quarters for the soldiers. I’m in the Revolutionary War. I need to figure out what I’m doing, they’re gonna ask me to leave because women and wars, ugh right? I can’t exactly leave them, there was never really a surplus supply of ways to survive as a woman until World War I, again ugh, right? Also, there’s no telling what my existence has changed to this timeline, I could’ve changed the entire course of how his war ends...Alex could die because I showed up...I need to stay and watch after him, make sure everything stays on track. At least, that was the excuse you gave yourself.

“Miss, perhaps you would like us to escort you to town? This is no place f-“John started.

“No! You can’t send me away! I can help!” Why did I say that?!

“How so?” Alex questioned.

“I…I can tend to wounds, a nurse. I am a supporter of the revolution, I would like to offer my assistance.” Alex stared at you suspiciously.

“I’m sorry, but we already have plenty of nurses, I believe it-“ Fuck! He doesn’t trust me, say something! Anything!

“I have information!”

“You have what?” John inquired.

“I have…information…I can tell you anything you need to know about the battles ahead.” Anything, tell them anything they need, gain their trust. John and Alex looked at each other, as if they were having a silent conversation. They both nodded and turned to you.

“Prove to us that you have information of value.” Alex requested.

“You are currently moving out northwest, correct?”

“How did…”

“Right now, troops are moving out to stall the British forces from moving up to New York City. They evacuated Philadelphia, while we the American’s persistently harass them to slow their pace. Has General Lee already been sent out ahead or is that still being strategized?” John ‘s eyes fixed on you.

“Alexander…we have to take her to the General…now!” John insisted, although Alex didn’t seem to be listening.

“Who’s the General in charge of the group moving Northwest?” He asked. He was testing you, your eyes slanted.

“Clinton, General Clinton.” You answered, he looked oddly impressed. He nodded, a small smirk on his face as he motioned for you to follow.

“This way.” The three of you made your way out of the tent, untying the string around your neck to take off your cloak and folding it into your arms. Men were filing in from all directions, laughing and celebrating. They were all wearing the same clothes as John and Alex, they were soldiers, coming back to base after successfully cutting down the enemy’s course. Whenever they passed by John and Alex, they’d stare at you with confused eyes. They didn’t recognize me, outside women were not allowed on the base. You were too focused on the stares for a while and didn’t realize the two men leading you were talking.

“When do you think he’ll head back out to England?”

“A few more months at the earliest, he needs to lie low for a bit longer until he can go back. He still has to wait for Cato.” Cato? Why does…that sound so familiar?

“Aren’t I always the topic of conversation?” Another voice interjected, you turned to where you heard it come from. It was the man you saw in that ‘memory’ You could feel the cells in your brain pulsate. His bright smile lowered slightly when he saw you, but it was still pleasant. “Hamilton, you didn’t tell me we had a new nurse coming in!” He approached you and held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my name is-“

“Hercules Mulligan.” You weren’t sure why you said that.

“Haha, it seems that my reputation proceeds me!” He chuckled, his charisma was very apparent, quite charming, you couldn’t help but smile back at him. Alex rolled his eyes.

“Mulligan, please, this is not the time!” He said with slight annoyance.

“Oh! That reminds me! The General wants to see you to discuss the next plan of attack.” Herc pointed over his shoulder towards one of the larger tents. Bingo, he must be in there! You gathered up the skirt of your dress in your hands and began to full on sprint to the tent. I need to talk to him first, try to get to him before the opinions of the other two. I need him to trust me. Alex and John called out to you, you could hear them running after you. But they weren’t fast enough.

You skirted to a halt, the mud on the ground pushing into the straight lines of your heels digging into the Earth. You pushed back the fabric of the tent and practically threw yourself into the illuminated interior.

“Mr. General! My name is Titania Taylor, and I would like to offer my self to the efforts of the revolution, sir!”

I am determined, the world won’t know what hit her!

[gossipnetwork-blog]

'Game of Thrones' Season 7 Episode 6 Recap: A Major Fan Theory About Daenerys' Dragons Was Just Confirmed

New Post has been published on http://gossip.network/game-of-thrones-season-7-episode-6-recap-a-major-fan-theory-about-daenerys-dragons-was-just-confirmed/

'Game of Thrones' Season 7 Episode 6 Recap: A Major Fan Theory About Daenerys' Dragons Was Just Confirmed

Quick Q: You’re stranded on a deserted island (more of a small rock than an island) with water all around you. The water is covered in a thin layer of ice that may or may not hold your weight. Oh, you’re also trapped on all sides by an army of undead soldiers. Who would you choose to take with you?

If you didn’t answer Jorah, Tormund, Beric, and Jon Snow…well, you’re wrong. The big action on Game of Thrones this week took place north of the wall and it covered air, land, and sea. So, let’s dive into this extra long episode, shall we?

Let’s start with the fact that things were never going to be great for our merry band of misfits adventuring north of the wall in this episode. We open on them trekking and bonding; Gendry has never seen snow, Tormund reveals how Wildlings keep warm up there, and Beric defends selling Gendry to Melisandre. It would be endearing if we weren’t over here waiting to find out what will go wrong during this misguided expedition—but we don’t have to wait long.

The crew is caught in the winds of winter (not George R.R. Martin’s unreleased sixth book, unfortunately). Visibility is about zero, except they spot that a black blob in the distance is a bear, and Gendry is able to see that the bear has the blue eyes of the dead. That is some good eyesight. They don’t have much time to ponder before a group of undead bears descends. It’s not quite the enemy we expected for this crew, and we meet our first casualty: RIP, Thoros. Your ability to resurrect the dead will not be forgotten.

The group moves on and spots their first two-legged White Walkers near the arrowhead-shaped mountain The Hound saw in his vision. It’s a small traveling group. Team human baits them with a fire. Ultimately, Jon’s Valyrian steel sword is able to defeat most of the group of White Walkers by taking out the leader, which is a pretty nifty fact we learned during this struggle.

Jon dispatches Gendry to Eastwatch to send a Raven to Daenerys (he makes it back to the wall in bad shape, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Gendry has had his fill of snow). The rest of the team essentially has no choice but to forge ahead. The men wrangle their undead loot to bring back to Cersei, and a thundery noise from behind lets us know that the terrifyingly large army of mobilized White Walkers is upon them. Their choice becomes clear: death by ice cold water from the frozen lake in front of them or death by violent undead humans behind (and also in front and on the sides). They opt against certain death on the ice lake and make it to the tiny rock island in the middle, surrounded. It seems like they’re SOL until the weight of the walker army cracks the ice and and large numbers begin to plunge through, which gives pause to the hundreds left on shore. The two sides are caught in a sort of standoff/staring contest and our men don’t seem to have a plan. After a chilly night stranded in the middle of the lake, The Hound kills time by throwing a rock at a jaw-less skeleton man, which provokes him to shuffle over to rock island now that the lake is re-frozen over. His emboldened, undead friends follow—and the epic penultimate episode clash really begins.

Down south, things are a little calmer (and warmer). Before the raven from Eastwatch arrives at Dragonstone, Dany talks to Tyrion about how heroes don’t interest her (heroes do stupid things, then they die), nor does the petty one-upsmanship of men who try to win her heart—and she uses Jon’s quest as an example. Tyrion echoes Jon from a few episodes before talking about being a different kind of ruler and taking things slower and less violent to avoid a “brittle” power. He’s thinking about the long term and who can succeed her as a ruler. Dany is done thinking it seems, and she blames Tyrion’s long-term planning for their early losses. She wants to get on the throne and be part of the action, and she’s fed up with Tyrion giving her shoddy counsel and worrying about old Lannister loyalties. She gets Gendry’s raven, and, if anything, Tyrion’s suggestions and talk push her to take to the skies. He pleas for her to stay and do nothing, which she’s not interested in doing again. This time she flies in a super-chic winter coat version of her go-to look, and with all three of her dragons.

Back north, where she’s headed, the plausibility of the small group of men holding off this giant army for as long as they did is weak at best. Still, we’re cheering for the good guys here, so it was nice to see them prevail. There’s minimal carnage on the living side (as in no major characters die after Thoros), and just when the tables start to turn, we get our first real taste of what’s truly a song of ice and fire. Dany comes in and warms things up with some fire breath, taking out a lot of the army in the process. I had been wondering if dragons were all-weather animals. The answer is a resounding yes.

The crew is about to make a great escape with the team on dragonback, but Jon has to play the martyr and fight off every leftover skeleton coming his way. That leaves enough time for the Night King to whip out his premium version of Cersei’s dragon spear crossbow completely undetected. He nails one of the dragons circling overhead right in the chest like an Olympic javelin thrower (I’m unclear as to which one it was). We now know of something that can definitely kill dragons. This death was a hard one to watch, even for the characters on screen, right down to the slow, tortured slide into the water.

The Night King is ready to lock and load again as Jon considers facing him. He takes one for the team by telling Dany to GTFO. He doesn’t reach the Night King, but he DOES get mauled by a couple of undead soldiers and knocked into the freezing water. Things don’t look great for our King in the North, but you heard Beric: There’s a reason the God of Fire brought him back, and it wasn’t to just die by drowning at the hands of two white walkers. Dany and friends manage to miss the next ice spear as they fly away, almost at the expense of Jorah. The army of the dead begins to retreat and Jon somehow emerges from the lake next to his sword, his wet clothes freezing fast. More walkers are headed his way and things don’t look good. That is, until he’s saved in the eleventh hour once again when his Uncle Benjen comes in on horseback swinging his fire ball chain thingy. He sends Jon and the horse back to the wall, but doesn’t join and save himself because there’s “no time” (which was a little confusing, two people could definitely have gotten on that horse). Jon arrives at the wall much like Gendry, alive, but barely. Nothing a little Ikea rug can’t fix.

When Jon comes to, Dany is at his bedside and she’s been crying. Jon feels awful about her dead dragon (but she’s crying about YOU Jon, duh), and she explains how they’re her children and the two have ~ a moment ~. Hand holding, staring, and nicknaming is involved. They kept it PG, though the show is fully teasing us now, even if Jon is “too little for her.” I can’t say I’m mad about it, even though I maybe should be because we should not be encouraging aunt/nephew relations.

Anyway, Dany can no longer deny Jon’s warnings about the army of the dead. She saw it with her own eyes and agrees they will team up to fight this shared enemy whether he bends the knee or not. She is out for blood…or whatever is going through the Night King’s veins after his savage takedown of her dragon child. Jon knows the way to Daenerys’s heart and calls her queen. So, they both got what they wanted and gave what they thought they wouldn’t. Cute.

A massive white walker battle isn’t the only drama we saw up north this week. We got some icy scenes in Winterfell, and I’m not just talking about the weather. We first see Arya reflecting on a happy moment from childhood, when she got to practice archery with Bran’s bow “against the rules” while Ned watched on and encouraged her (remember those season one days?). It would be sweet if she didn’t have an ulterior motive. She doesn’t wait long to bring up the letter she found to Sansa and insists on reciting the traitorous piece of parchment back to her. Sansa is visibly upset, but Arya truly doesn’t care and cuts her down pretty badly. She’s Ned’s daughter, and she can’t understand a world where a Stark wouldn’t rather die than write a letter turning on her family. They argue about who had it worse in their long journeys back home and shared suffering isn’t enough to bridge the gap between their differences.

PHOTO: HBO

Sansa retreats to the counsel of Littlefinger, who likely has her where he wants her, which is seeing Arya as a stranger. He reminds her Brienne is here to protect both her and her sister and plants a very dangerous idea by casually mentioning the two Stark women harming each other. With this conversation in mind, Sansa sends Brienne away in her place when she receives a summons by Cersei. She will not face the woman who caused her so much suffering. Instead, she’ll send arguably her only completely loyal ally in her place. Brienne protests—she doesn’t trust Littlefinger. Sansa makes it very clear she doesn’t need looking after. We’ll see about that.

Littlefinger’s words still in her mind, she sneaks into Arya’s room like a true sibling. She goes for her sister’s luggage under the bed and finds F***ING FACES INSIDE. Sansa is, understandably, freaked out. Arya sees her sister snoop and is happy to explain the world of the Many-Faced God and the Game of Faces. Sansa is now officially terrified by what both of her only living (real) siblings have become. Arya teases Sansa about wearing her face and becoming “someone else,” a.k.a. Sansa. She picks up her new fancy Valyrian steel knife but instead of attacking her sister she hands it to her and walks out, leaving Sansa petrified.

We end the episode where we began: north of the wall. The army of the dead have found big ass chains somewhere to recover the dragon from the depths of the frozen lake. Once he’s back on solid ground, our Night King graces the dragon with his magic touch, and we get an echo of this season’s poster images: a single blue eye as it becomes a zombie dragon. This is a game changer and one of the show’s biggest cliffhangers (and a popular fan theory). There’s no known precedent for an undead dragon and what type of fire (or ice) it might breathe. It would seem that in addition to a fatal ice spear, the living dragons now have another looming threat. Let’s cling to the hope that even in death, Dany’s dragon might stay loyal to its mother. I have a feeling we’ll find out whether or not that’s true the hard way.

And some things we can’t forget:

-MVP for this episode go to those badass fire swords. Imagine if every battle on this show had those?!

-The moment between Jorah and Jon about Jon’s sword Longclaw was so nice. Jorah’s father meant so much to Jon way back when, and it’s a nice gesture for Jon to offer the sword that’s been synonymous with him to it’s “rightful owner.” It’s hard to argue with family lineage, but I’m happy to see the sword stay in Jon’s possession. It’s basically an extra limb for him at this point.

-Arya has some girl power moments this episode. Her angry talks with Sansa are heavy with identity themes, and when she’s recounting her archery story, about how the rules said she couldn’t shoot and be a knight, she says, “the rules were wrong.” Later, she returns to this thought in her room with Sansa and says, “The world doesn’t let girls just decide what they’re going to be.” Arya was the right person to say these quotes, but that doesn’t meant they don’t apply to both women in the conversations. Sansa followed the rules, and they weren’t right for her either. She definitely didn’t get to choose what happened to her.

-Is Jon so sad about Dany’s dragon because of the dragon friend he made last week that might have stirred up some Targaryen feels? TBD. Beric also mentioned that Jon doesn’t look like Ned. This whole season basically has been ‘Will Jon Find Out Who He Really Is Watch 2017’.

-Speaking of Beric, his “death is the enemy” conversation with Jon is a pretty great double meaning for this episode/season/show. So is his “we’ll all be right behind him unless the Lord of Light is kind enough to send us a bit of fire” eulogy to Thoros, which was actually major foreshadowing.

-Am I expected to believe that Jon survived a winter wind storm, a very physical fight with an army of dead men, a fall into a frozen lake, a fast ride on horseback through the frozen north of the wall, almost dying of cold, and his man bun stays in place? Can we get a hair tie recommendation from this guy?

-For the zillionth time this season, I got major Harry Potter vibes from the battle. Remember when Harry and Dumbledore go into the cave in book six and have to fight of a lake full of bewitched corpses with fire after Harry is dragged under? Sound familiar?

-Also, when Jon kills the white walker leader it felt like this moment from the last movie:

-It’s 2017 and we don’t have high speed air travel, but Dany has the best transportation in Westeros. Can we get a dragon please?

Miss our other Game of Thrones recaps from this season? Check out:

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