#as catelyn loses her grip on reality

[atopvisenyashill]

IF YOU LIKE THIS ASOIAF CHARACTER, I THINK YOU’LL LIKE THIS FARSCAPE CHARACTER

i did a “all gays” thing for my birthday last year but i was too lazy this year. instead here is my opinion of farscape & asoiaf characters, comparing characters i think are similar.

if you like theon greyjoy…i think you’ll like john crichton (he’s the main character).

Conga Line Of Trauma

Very loose grip on reality

Struggles with choosing between the family he’s been kidnapped into and the family he was born into

Top Two best story arcs about male victims of sexual trauma imo

Copes by imagining himself as a character in a story rather than face his reality

Pathetic wet cat of a man

if you like jaime lannister…i think you’ll like aeryn sun

theyre hot shit and everyone knows it even though they hate it - the ☀️ radiant aeryn sun☀️ and “was there ever a man as beautiful and terrible”

Well known for being good at their job (which is killing people)

Idealist that got that idealism beaten out of them

constantly repressing emotions

an arc that is very romance centered but atypical as a traditional romance

if you like brienne and/or sandor…i think you’ll like ka d’argo.

Young, experienced but not too experienced military type

Struggles with idealism and what being a soldier/knight should mean

Not forthcoming about backstory

Struggles with temper

Cool And Important Weapon And Mount

Considered mindlessly violent by many

Very weird about romance and sex

if you like catelyn stark…i think you’ll like pa’u zotah zhaan

religious and maternal

pacifist tendencies but also will cut a bitch if pressed

Infamous for being unpleasant

Traumatic death scenes

Questionable relationship with the concept of dying and staying dead

MILFs

if you like sansa and arya stark…i think you’ll like chiana

Their Series’ Hottest It Girls

Idolizes rebellion leading older brother (who ultimately abandons her in favor of his rebellion)

Desperate for family

Holds emotions close, but highly emotional

Taste for finer things in life

Baby of the group

Struggles with grief and anger

Spunky go getter

Questionable taste in romantic relationships

if you like tyrion lannister….i think you’ll like scorpius

mother died birthing him and he struggles with this immensely

tormented by a crazy ruthless woman in power

feels betrayed by a lover of a lower social status just trying to get by and gets real violent over it

The Anti Villain - has very good reasons to be insane but holy shit is he insane

Always survives despite all odds against him

If you like Joffrey Baratheon…I think you’ll like Dominar Rygel XVI (hear me out!)

Absolute ruler who faces civil war

Wildly misogynistic weirdo

Weak grasp on morality

Turned into a violent, selfish asshole as a trauma response

Hates women yet his deepest, most profound and intimate relationships are with a woman he’s not even fucking

Remains selfish and violent throughout the story but also, if you talk shit about him i will throw hands

if you like samwell tarly…i think you’ll like Pilot.

Couple of sweet fools

Underrated for being a bad ass

Intimate relationship with a Very Cool Lady From A Bad Situation (gilly/moya. moya is a living ship btw).

Just wants to be a nerd and hang with his gf (again, gilly and moya)

Doesn’t believe in himself the way he should

if you like stannis baratheon…i think you’ll like bailar crais.

Is he a hero? is he a villain? is he an anti villain? is he an anti hero? you decide!

loses his everloving mind after his brother dies

sad traumatic childhood backstory

an arc focused on what service and leadership means

[SPOILER REDACTED]

HE thinks he’s the straight man in a circle of freaks and he thinks this while being objectively the biggest freak there

and last but not least let’s go to my babies!!!!

if you like bran stark…i think you’ll like stark.

Overwhelming magical abilities

Connects magically in intimate, voyeuristic ways

Potentially unkillable

Considered a sweetie by Local MILF (his mom/zhaan)

Struggles processing a personal loss

A narrative focus on the importance of bodily autonomy

Doesn’t have as much screentime/page time as he deserves

[bisexualgendryas]

the eye of the storm // a jon-centric asoiaf/got au

Ned had been glad for Howland’s company for the entirety of their trip, but never quite so dearly as he was while they headed back to King’s Landing, Lyanna’s babe - Robert’s firstborn bastard son - ensconced in the arms of his wet nurse, who rode behind them in a carriage that had been intended for Lyanna.

Lyanna was there, in a more surface truth, but it was her body and not her soul, and it ate Ned up inside every moment of her presence, turning his stomach as it dragged him through the feeling of the loss over and over again. And every time Ned seemed to lose his grip on reality and on his reins, Howland would speak again, quiet and understanding. He’d guide Ned towards thoughts of Winterfell, of Benjen, of Ned’s own wife and son - the latter even younger than his sister’s boy.

Ned always returned to his grief, but he knew he could not live in it long, as soon he’d return home and act a lord rather than a boy playing at lordship, and someday he’d teach his son to be much the same. Sons, perhaps, if Catelyn thought well enough of the idea of more children. Along with the guilt Ned felt at replacing Brandon in her marriage bed, he felt little compulsion to deny his wife, should she decide they ought to lay together again. In fact, he found himself rather fond of the possibility that his own desire was mutual. Brandon had been so handsome, so fierce, it seemed unlikely that Catelyn's affection for him could shift to Ned, but in time, perhaps - as she became comfortable at Winterfell, and they learned each other more deeply, and their son grew.

Anger at Robert having such a chance at fatherhood with the infant in the carriage surprised Ned - being more fitted to Robert than he, as it was in his own words claiming such fury. Yet, a child of Lyanna’s was the only chance Ned had to be with his sister, to care for her, even if the only reason such a tragic thing was true was because Ned’s own dearest friend couldn’t keep his breeches laced long enough to actually be wed to his intended.

“You could insist on taking him North,” Howland suggests softly at some point, and Ned realizes perhaps he’s been babbling more of this time than he’d thought. “Robert probably still has to marry, besides. Wouldn’t do a bastard much good to be kept in the Red Keep, would it?”

Much less if the wife in question was to be Cersei Lannister, and Ned can only imagine her father having made the suggestion of a marriage after finally coming around to their side of the war. Ned would not, could not, trust the Lannisters with his nephew, even if they’d joined their family with the nephew’s father. Even if said father was his friend.

Ned sighs. “I’ll hope Jon agrees with you. That might be the only way I wrench this child away from Robert.”

[yougottalovegameofthrones]

Almost Home Pt. 8 (Robb Stark x Reader)

A/N: Ooof. The ending is kinda shitty. But this one was an interesting one to write. XD. I’m hoping to update much sooner than I did with this one after Part 7, but we’ll see how school goes. I have the basic outline all ready,so all I have to do is write it out. :) Anyway, hope you enjoy!

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Rest did not fall easily on me that night.

Despite being held close in Robb’s warm embrace as the hours of night faded away, the intensity of my fear of us being together made sleep an impossible reality. Instead of letting my eyes rest, even for a minute, I stared up into the ceiling praying that we would not have to get up from this bed and encounter the monster that waited before us: Catelyn Stark.

I could not even begin to imagine how awful today would be. The bitter resentment that would last between mother and son after this conversation would not be easily forgotten, and it was all because of me.  Everything wrong… was because of me.

The bed frame moved slightly as Robb began to stir, and I closed my eyes, hoping he didn’t notice that I was awake. But the soft touch of his hand on my waist attempting to pull me closer and the nuzzling of his face in the crook of my neck signified otherwise. “How long have you been awake?”

“Not too long.” I lied quietly, smiling as I felt his lips press gently against the skin of my neck before moving to press against mine. His Tully blue eyes gazed into mine for several moments, before he spoke again.

“You were restless the whole night.” Robb’s hand moved from my waist to cup my face gently. “I could feel it. What troubles you?”

“I think you know.” I whispered, the lump in my throat preventing the words leaving me lips any louder than they had. His eyes flashed with understanding and he sighed gently.

“You have nothing to fear anymore.”

“What if she sent out the letter?” I could feel myself beginning to tremble, and I bit my lip to hold back my tears.  “I am as good as dead. I-“

“Do not repeat those words ever again.” Robb’s voice was a gentle, but stern murmur as he gazed down at me.  “Remember what I promised you last night? I won’t let anyone take you away.”

“What if its out of your control?”  My eyelids fluttered shut as his scruff gently brushed against my face as his lips touched my forehead.

“I will do anything in my power to make sure that it will always be in my control.”  I opened my eyes to find his eyes locked on me, soft but serious at the same time. “I can’t afford to lose anymore people that I love. I couldn’t save my father, but I most definitely will keep my family, and especially you, safe and sound. And that is a promise.”

“I know you will, Robb Stark.” I whispered, my eyes watery with tears before leaning in to kiss him once more.  Before another word could be spoken, a harsh knock broke the two of us apart.

My heartbeat began to pick up, my mouth going dry and my hands starting to tremble once more. Robb kissed my forehead once more reassuringly before standing up and dressing in a appropriate manner before opening the door, to find no other than Catelyn Stark standing before us.

Her eyes immediately found mine, but to my surprise, I couldn’t find much anger or shock in her gaze. She pushed past Robb into the room, shutting the door behind her. I sat in the bed anxiously, my fingers clenching the bed sheets as I waited for her to speak.

“I can’t say I’m that surprised to see you here.” Catelyn’s voice was clipped, but calm, slight disgust on her face.  “I am just disappointed… especially in you, Robb.”

“That’s enough, Mother.” Robb interjected, his tone also calm but stern as well. “You cannot control her anymore.”

“Excuse me?”

“Y/N tells me of the letter you wrote to her family, telling that she ran to avoid marrying the other Lord  and found refuge here. The death sentence that you have used as motivation for her to follow your order to stay away from me.”

A slight smile cracked at the corners of her lips as she stared at me, and I couldn’t help but tense as she walked towards the bed before stopping to stand a few feet away from me.

“Is that she told you?” I shuddered at the sweetness in her voice, a thin veil over the venomous words that she really wanted to say. “I did not write such letter.”

“Are you accusing her of lying?”

“Are you accusing me of lying? Your own mother?”

“Y/N would not lie about something this serious!” Robb scoffed, moving to stand between his mother and myself.  “Tell me, and do not lie to your King: Did you write this letter?”

The room was silent for a moment, before Catelyn sighed and spoke once more. “It was precaution that was much needed, Robb. You cannot marry her, no matter how attached your feelings are for her.”

“But  somehow it is your right to toss her life away like it is nothing?” Robb’s body was beginning to tremble and I could sense how angry he was. “Where is the letter now, mother?”

For the first time in the months I had resided amongst House Stark, I witnessed fear and hesitation in Lady Stark’s eyes.  And that was all it took for Robb to know the answer to his question.

“You didn’t.” His voice was bleak with disbelief and fury, and I stood to grab his arm to prevent him from moving closer to his mother. Robb shook his head before continuing. “When did you send the rider?”

“Robb, I did what was-“

“I said, When did you send the rider?” Robb nearly snarled, frightening both myself and his mother. I had never seen him so angry before, and apparently based on her reaction, neither did Catelyn.

“Late last night.”

“Oh no…”  My grip on his arm relaxed, as my body slowly melted back towards the bed, my eyes focused on the floor as my control slowly evaporated. My heart was thudding rapidly, my throat closing up  and eyes watering as I realized the reality of what was happening. My family was coming for me, or rather…. Ser Larris Smallwood. And I terrified of what he would do to me the moment he lay eyes on me again.

“Mother…” Robb shook his head slowly as he looked at Catelyn. “Since your actions these past few months have been extremely inappropriate and unpredictable, you are to remain in your bedroom at all times until I see fit. And to make sure you do so, I will be posting one of my guards at your door. “

“Robb…”

“I mean it, Mother.” His eyes were hard and his tone dark. “You have put Y/N’s life in danger by sending that letter, and you knew that. Until I know you can be trusted again, that is where you will stay.  And now, I think it would be best if you would leave.”

With no more words to say, Catelyn Stark opened the door and left the room, the door shutting rather loudly on the way out. I closed my eyes as I heard Robb walk closer to where I sat, before kneeling down in front of me. Warm hands touched my own, causing my eyes to flash up to his own. His expression nearly caused me to burst into tears, which were only a few seconds away from appearing. Robb squeezed my hands gently before speaking. “You know that I truly meant what I told you earlier, right?”

“About keeping me safe?” I whispered, the highest volume I could speak without my tears spilling uncontrollably.

“Yes.”  One of his hands moved to cup my face gently, and I leaned into his touch. “He won’t lay one single finger on you. And if he does, he will have to face me.”

I nodded slowly, before a tear trickled down my cheek, which were soon followed by more. I quickly ducked my head to hide them, but his finger tilted my chin up, keeping our eyes connected.

“You don’t have to hide from me.” Robb whispered softly, and wiped away the tears as they fell. “Not anymore.”

“I know.” I sniffled, before leaning in and pressing my lips against his gently. Our lips moved in sync for a few brief moments before he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close to him. My arms wove around his neck, and for the next few moments, we remained still.

Little did we know, that it would be one of the last moments of peace that we would have in a long time.

[multi-fandom-fanfiction]

The start of something beautiful

Requested will not say who for protection of there privacy

Eddard Stark was sitting in front of a campfire drinking a goblet of mead with his men when one of his men came running up something small wrapped in a blanket. The man was frantic and hollering. Ned stood up and greeted the man in his hunting party. "What is the cause of your panic," Growled the warden of the north. "My lord I found this babe in the woods she was in a basket with a note that said her name is Y/N," Explained the panic lord. The Lord looked down at the baby. She was blue and close to death. He instantly jumped into action gripping the baby in his arms and raising towards his arms. The new lord tried to be as careful as he could be as he climbed on top of his horse and galloped towards the stone castle. His hair whipped in the wind and face was full of stone and concentration. The gate was immediately opened seeing there lord. Catelyn who was watching there one-year-old toddle around Winterfell while a wet nurse played with his bastard son Jon ran to her husband in worry as he yelled for a master wet nurse for the babe. Ned stayed with the babe till she was fed and nursed back to health and put to bed. "Is that another bastard Ned," Growled his wife. "No she is a babe I found dieing in the woods," Answered Eddard as soft as possible. "What will you do with her then," The Tully women asked calming after the reassurance. "I will raise her here and when she is old enough she will be your ward," Answered the young Stark. "Ok Ned," Answered Catelyn surprisingly agreeably. That was sixteen years ago now that little babe is a girl of ten and six. A woman grown and truly stunning with beautiful soft clear Y/S/C (Your Skin Color) skin and stunning Y/H/L (Your Hair Length) Y/H/S (Your Hair Style) Y/H/C (Your Hair Color) hair paired with inticing Y/E/C (Your eye color) eyes. Her name was Y/N snow. She was sassy, witty, fearless, wild and rebellious yet she was also smart, kind, compassionate. She was the perfect lady but yet much more. She loved to nit, sing, and dance but she could wield weapons and plan battles better than any man. She was Catelyn Stark's Ward and practically Lord and Lady Starks eldest daughter. She was like a sister to Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon, and Jon. Theon and she did not get along at all. Yet the person she was closest to was Robb Stark. The two were practically attached inseparably from the moment they both could waddle around the castle and courtyard. And that amazing woman was you.

Robb waited patiently for you to join him in the training yard watching you walk with Jon, Bran, and Rickon. You burst out laughing. Your laugh was like a beautiful song. The gorgeous smile that was etched on your face made his heart skip a beat. He would be lying if he said you weren't the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The breath was knocked from his lungs as if he someone punched him in the gut when he watched Jon wrapped an arm around your shoulder and you reached up and kissed his cheek. He turned to towards the targets picking up his bow. He couldn't help but think to himself, "Why am I feeling like this sure she is beautiful but I don't have feelings for her do I?" He could hear her boots hit the muddy courtyard. "Robb," She squealed jumping on to his back. He couldn't help the happiness that filled him when she embraced him. "I have missed you wolf," She whispered in his ear causing a new chill to run up his back. "And I you snowflake," He replied as she slid off his back. The young wolf felt almost disappointment no longer having physical contact with you. "What was happening to me," Robb wondered coming to the conclusions these new feeling for this goddess for y/n snow for his snowflake for his best friend were either going to be the death of the young lord or they were going to be the start of something beautiful.

Jon took Bran and Rickon to get bows while you greet your best friend. You slid off of the eldest son of lord Starks back and he turned to you. You saw a smile but it wasn't a real smile. Not the knee-weakening smile that made your heart race. "Is everything okay," You asked concern etching on your face and lacing words. "yes, of course, I'm with you," He answered jabbing you with his elbow playfully. "I don't believe you," You tease poking his cheeks and pulling his cheeks into a smile. Your playful antics caused the half Tully half stark to let out a chuckle that melted your heart. A real smile grew on his face and a sparkle appeared in his ocean blue Tully eyes. Robb was your best friend but you had long ago realized just like every other maiden in the castle or village you had fallen head over heels in love with him. Everything about the young wolf was perfect. He made your heart race or skip a beat. He made your head spin and make you dizzy. He made your knees weak and your stomach swarm with butterflies. "Y/N," You heard Jon shout. You turned from the beautiful man in front of you and face the white wolf. You saw him throw you a bow at you. You caught it with ease and the arrows that barreled through the air after. "I bet you five gold coins I can hit the bullseye more than you," Challenged the auburn-haired lord to you. "Challenge accepted," You accept with a cocky smirk placing a kiss on his cheek and lining yourself up from a target. The challenge was simple you both shot till one of you miss the middle. You one a shot five and cheered. "Ha I beat you now pay up," You cheered. Applause coming from Arya who at some unknown point and the two starks and bastard behind you. Robb pulled the gold coins from a bag in his pocket in his tunic but as you went to grab the money you accidentally slipped. Robb hand flew out to try to help you but when you grabbed it the mud caused him to slip and fall on top of you. When he went to stand his hands slipped and his lips hit yours. Instead of either of you pulling away. Your soft lips moved in sync with his calloused ones. The world around you disappeared for a moment before reality appeared in both of your minds. You pull away a red tint on your Y/C/S cheeks. Robb stood up and helped you up. A newfound awkwardness settling between you. "Umm, I should go" You chocked out before running off. You ran to the godswoods where you prayed to your gods as tears fell from your eyes.

Robb sighed and ran his hands through his hair and down his face frustratedly. "You have to go after her," He half-brother scolded him. "I can't brother," The young wolf answer helplessly. "Yes you can you stupid fool you love her you may not know it yet but that kiss shows you do you don't kiss your friends like that and don't tell me as of late your feelings for her haven't changed I can see it in your eyes and she has been helplessly in love with you since she was two and ten that I know for sure go after her brother or you will regret it and you will lose her," His fathers bastard ranted. "Your right for the first time ever but you are right I have to go," Robb admits. "Do you need help finding her," Asked his little sister from behind there brother. "No I know where she is" He answered taking off towards the godswoods.

You didn't know how long you were there for. Your tears had seized leaving you with puffy tear stained cheeks and bloodshot swollen eyes. You were perched on a rock legs crossed hands intertwined and head facing your lap until you heard a twig snap and heavy boot steps. Jumping from the rock you quickly pulled out a dagger from your boots. "WHO GOES THERE," You holler firmly? "Relax it is only me snowflake," You heard the familiar voice that made your heart race before he appeared. You slipped the dagger back in your booth. "If your hear to pray I can leave," You mumbled. "I'm not here to pray I am here for you," He answered softly stepping closer. "Oh Does your mother need me," You asked confusion. "No I came to talk with you Y/N," Your blue-eyed best friend answered softly taking a seat on the rock and motioning you over. You sat down next to him crossing your legs like you were taught. "What do you want Robb I have came here to be alone," You answer not looking at him. Not wanting to get lost in the endless oceans of his captivating blue eyes. Not wanting to melt into the puppy dog look he gave you that melted your heart and your will to say no or hold your composure. "Please look at me," Pleaded the future Warden of the North. You turn your head to him with watery eyes from sadness and frustration. He extended his rough calloused hand out towards your cheek and gently caressed it using his thumb to wipe away the tear that slipped from your eyes. The future lord of Winterfell took his hands from your tear wreakened face to your soft femine hands before spilling his guts, "Y/N Snow the orphan girl from the woods ten and six years ago, My mothers Ward, My snowflake, most importantly my best friend yes I admit I was pig headed all these years I saw you as a girl not a woman a sister I guess but as of late you are the only girl I can think about you are the most beautiful girl imaginable I crave the chance to hold you close to me or run my fingers through that beautiful Y/H/L (Your Hair Length) Y/H/S (Your Hair Style) Y/H/C (Your Hair Color) hair or to get lost in your breathtaking Y/E/C (Your Eye Color) eyes You are alwasy on my mind I can't help but smile when you smile I would do anything to bring out that smile that makes my heart skip a beat or that laugh that is music to my ears I love and admire everything about you and you love my stupid foolish pigheaded ass no matter what I say or do your th eonly woman I can be myself around You are my bestfriend but I have fallen in with you and I don't know what is going to come of this but I know that back there this right her is the start of something beautiful." "Robb I," You start but are cut off by his lips pressing against yours. He sucked the air out of your lungs and made your head spin you placing your hands on his shoulders. Lips moved in sync with his while his arms wrapped around you pulling you closer to him. You pulled apart panting breathlessly. "Please believe me I want you I want to be with you I want no I need the honor of being yours and you being mine," The auburn haired future lord begged. "Of course Robb I love you," You answer gripping his face and kissing him again.

Message to the requester I hope you like it. It was a lot of fun to write. If you don't like it there are a few things I can do. 1. I can rewrite it completely 2.I can rewrite certain parts (If there is a certain part you don't like it) 3.I can add detail (If detail is the problem) 4. I can write you something else other other than that I just wanna say your feedback is greatly appreciated and I would love to hear what you have to say good or bad. Thanks for the request hope you enjoy it.

[theladyofhouseslytherin]

What i find interesting and curious

What i find interesting and curious are Jon's reaction to Ramsay, LF and Theon and how Jonsa gives 'this' feeling to me that should have been given by j0nerys if they are the ones who would be the endgame.

We saw the very very very angry Jon. That was the only moment where we saw Jon filled with so much rage and punch someone like that. But then, he stopped when he saw sansa. Its like he calmed down and had a chance to grip back on the reality.

When he was in the crypts. That was the first time we saw Jon getting annoyed by someone that much. Like his face screams "fuck off bitch" or "tangina mo". But he remained still even though LF already mentioned he loved sansa. And then baelish said that he loves Sansa as he loved Catelyn, there he loses his shits. He growled, choked and gave him a threat. When baelish said that, there and then, Jon knew that this man doesnt love Sansa as a daughter or how a mentor loves his student but he loves him romantically. And he says he loved Sansa but he sold her to the Boltons, bullshit baelish bullshit. And catelyn is a big part of Jon's life, he wanted her recognition. And bringing her name with Sansa and all the bullshit that you did to her lays underneath? Too much.

And then Theon. Where jon told him that the only reason he wouldnt kill him is Sansa. He betrayed Robb, killed innocent farmer boys, he beheaded important and remarkable people, and you wouldnt even make him bleed? What did he do to Sansa since sansa is the only reason why Jon would do something to him? He helped her escape, oh yes, but if Brienne didn't come i dont wanna think about what Ramsay could have done to them. If it wasnt for brienne sansa would make it to castke black. Its one thing. It might br a big thing yet it still doesnt pay off everything for jon to not hurt him. Unless there is something in jon about sansa that is deep and developing.

Idk i cant explain what I want to say but what jon did in these scenes are a bit too much for me to be platonic. I have bros and sissys but if i was to put into jon's shoes, i'll kill ramsay with my own hands, wouldnt growl and choke LF but i will only threaten even if i am so annoyed/angry with him, and I might have made Theon bleed. Yes I am far from Jon but when I asked my one of my bro and one of my sister (i gave them the situations, changed names and didnt mention anything about these scenes are from a series and they havent watched got) their answer was almost the same as mine. The only difference my bro will imprison theon as punishment for what he did to the boys and for the unreasonable beheading.

For me, its like Sansa hold Jon's sanity. It's like he remains human because there is a reason. He stopped breaking Ramsay's face because of Sansa. He gave both LF and Theon the chance to still live and its because of Sansa. Also, we saw that jon feels meaningless, he was confused why he was brought back from death. He was willing to leave everyone behindㅡthe wall, his oath, his brothersㅡto find himself. He was tired of fighting. Until Sansa came and gave him purpose again. She gave her a reason to fight again. For home as in home home. Sansa gave her the recognition he always wanted, to be a Stark and feel like a stark. Sansa is important to Jon not because he is her 'sister' it was because Sansa is Sansa.

I also think that being apart as kids is an important note. They are different from what they were before. Like they have transformed into someone better. Someone far from the mistakes they made. It was amusing for both of them to see who and what they are now. They valued each other for that. It was like a new start. It was like as if they met each other for a first time. If they would have been close as children like jon to robb/arya, it will totally be platonic since the bond they had will still be strong and they will view each other as the continuation of their childhood who learned many things in their journey. Its just like a change, notba transformation. It wouldnt be like a new person, it will only be an upgraded version.

Idk man idk. Its just too wonderful and curious for me to be platonic and how it was filmed was too much to be platonic too. I was a j0nery shipper that time (who kinda feels disgusted with jonsa) and i kept asking why does jon and sansa feels like a couple why do they have 'this' tension even with the smallest of things; why do they give this feeling like they like/love each other but suppreses it because it doesnt seem right? And why was j0nerys isnt like this when in fact it was them who should be giving this feeling to the viewers if its really them who will be the endgame. Why are the ways they were filmed didnt gave me 'that' feeling? Why did 'that' feeling is felt with jonsa and not j0nerys? It should have been j0nerys that shows 'that' feeling, why was it felt with jonsa?

I am not a professional in explaining so excuse my ugly post. Im just curious and interested ya know.

[mon-blanchetts]

There was something certain, final, about the thought of letting go—except it really never was as simple as that, after all. Jon is desperate to find meaning in one of Sansa’s mysterious possessions, even at the expense of his own peace of mind.

My contribution to Round 2 of the Jonsa Gift Exchange for the lovely @aknightfornawt!

Sansa sleeps constantly.

It didn’t bother him earlier on, when she was newly-arrived from wherever she escaped from, exhaustion painting her features, her blue eyes as worn out as the rough spun cloak she wore. No, Jon wasn’t worried then, like he’s worried now; he can’t shake the idea that she’s desperate to lose herself in sweet dreams than face the reality that stretches before her when she’s awake, but in such thoughts lay a darker apprehension: what is she trying to forget?  

For all his worries, Jon envies her, if he’s to be honest with himself. It takes a couple drops of Milk of the Poppy to quell his mind long enough that he can sleep through the night without the ghosts creeping towards him, but there are days when the dreams are so real, so vivid, he wonders if they’re images wrought from his mind or something or other he’s forgotten. They come and go, his memories, like the ravens in the maester’s rookery, sometimes carrying grave news, sometimes nothing at all.

Her handmaiden comes back to him with the same news day in and day out, of her mistress sleeping through most of the day, unless a visitor comes knocking. It’s disheartening to hear, and he knows he can’t let her go on like this. A part of him wants to let her escape, let her bury her head in the sand until she comes out of her own accord, but the uncertainty that she’ll eventually come around is too real to ignore now.

“Do you think you might add something to this tunic?” he asks her one afternoon, after her handmaiden informs her that he’s here to see her. Sansa has only ventured out of her room a handful of times, always with her sworn shield shadowing her, sometimes even with Arya, who is just as perplexed about her sister’s condition as he is. Familiarity should have coaxed her out of this shell she hides in, but it has not; Jon hopes that maybe a familiar activity will prove more fruitful. A small design, he explains, perhaps a direwolf, if she’s willing to stitch one, just over his heart. “Here, I think,” he says tapping his left breastbone with a finger. Her eyes linger at the spot he gestured to, her face unreadable. Jon can make out the girl he remembers in her reserved manner, but the haunted look in her gaze is proof that she is no such thing.

If she wonders why he’s asking her, or if she suspects his motives, Sansa doesn’t voice them. Hope flutters in his chest when she nods wordlessly; Jon tries to hide his eagerness from her as he unlatches the buckles at his shoulders, shrugging out of his worn tunic before setting it gently in her lap as she beckons him to. She traces a long finger over the garment, as it mapping out what she might do; his hope rises just a little more, until his eyes catch sight of something vibrant near her hand, a familiar piece that makes his hear deflate, but he doesn’t know why—not in its entirety, at least.

The first time he noticed the ribbon tied around her wrist, Jon mistook it for blood; it set him off in a panic, until he realized what it was. He doesn’t know where it comes from, and she never mentions it. They don’t mention a lot of things, and it and makes them even more foreign to one another. Oddly enough, it is something Sansa would have done, in some distant, convoluted past—she had tied a ribbon to her direwolf’s collar, he remembers. He can’t recall what the color had been, but he knows it wasn’t red, knows that it wasn’t like the background of the Lannister’s sigil. Jon would like to believe she wears the ribbon as tribute to her lost familiar, but he knows it’s not, though he’s never asked. Instead, he watches her silently while she begins work his tunic, the only sound between them the snap from the fire. He’s only touched her once, when he wrapped his arms around her to welcome her home, and her own response had been slow, hesitant. She wanted to come home so badly, but now that she was here, it was like she didn’t know what came after. Did any of them?

There is no redemption for either of them, no chance of rebirth through water or flames; all they can do is push on, hoping they don’t stumble any more than they did while seeking this point in time. They’ve all suffered enough, and now, at least for the time being, they have each other.

Maybe he’s wrong to assume her dreams are sweet, though; for all he knows, they are ladened with the graves of hundreds and the blood of those she can’t forget. Maybe Sansa doesn’t know how to. 

*******

Tell me what happened to her.

Sansa will not talk, but he hopes her sworn shield will. Brienne of Tarth is grand, capable, and beyond anything he’s known in a woman south of the Wall, her loyalty unshakable.

“There isn’t much I can tell you,” is her answer, eyes fixed on the landscape that stretches out before them. “Of course, there are plenty of stories, but…”

“But there’s only a grain of truth to them,” he finishes, crestfallen. The winds are harsh this morn, eager to topple something, someone, but he has stopped expecting anything less. “I want to help her, my lady. Can I do that if I feel like I’m wandering in the dark?”

His companion pauses. “It might not be your place to help her,” she tells him. His stare must be overbearing enough, because she turns her head to look at him. “We all have our own weight to bear, no matter the good intentions of others, but not everyone is looking for someone to lift their burden. She probably isn’t the person you remember, but she never will be, again.”

“I know that,” he insists. “But she can’t exist the way she’s been existing.” He desperately wants to believe that, even though he’s far more level-headed. Pain dulls, eventually; fear dissipates. It’s harder for him to believe, when he watches her, Sansa, she who looks but never sees. Her state of mind, her demeanor, it all leaves him feeling helpless, as if someone’s tied his arms to his sides and he can’t do anything. Jon has watched her wandering the castle with no real intention, like she’s drifting, a leaf in the wind with no destination in mind. So often he wants to talk to her, yet everything he thinks to voice sounds hollow, meaningless.

“This goes without saying, but too much expectation can lead to disappointment.”

Was he expecting too much, though? Was it wrong, selfish of him, to hope for something better for her?

Jon doesn’t respond to Lady Brienne, if only because he doesn’t trust himself to speak further, not while his mind is preoccupied.

What is the red ribbon about?

It’s possible she doesn’t know, of course; Sansa might have been wearing it long before her sworn shield found her, but there’s no doubt in his mind that Brienne has her own theories. And yet, Jon can’t bear to ask her in any direct terms; his tongue grows heavy in his mouth, his throat clogged with some questionable emotion he can’t explain. He wants to know, but he doesn’t. 

*******

Jon is not the only one preoccupied with the red ribbon. Her grey gowns make it hard to conceal; many times she’s unaware that it’s coming apart until just the last minute, so it trails after her, like a leash with no master holding onto the other end. The thought is unsettling to him, but he represses his worries. What harm can a piece of ribbon do?

“She doesn’t even take it off when she bathes,” Arya points out, shaking her head. She’s been speaking with the servants, who, it turns out, have more romantic notions surrounding the ribbon. “They think some handsome lord gave it to her in a tourney before he died in the Long Night, and she wears it as a tribute to the man she’ll never have.”

It isn’t a far-off notion, had Sansa been the girl she was before she went south; there’s a tragic ring to it, but it’s still easy for him to swallow, if he could. “Is that what they think?”

Arya shrugs. “The younger ones, yes. I’ve heard a few others, though—some are wilder than the last.”

“Have you ever asked her?”

“Yes.”

He grips the handle of his tankard with anticipation. “What has she told you?”

Arya studies him for a moment, but he knows how eager he must look for answers. Just like the servants in their household, Jon has his own thoughts about the ribbon; to him, Sansa’s closed off behavior is inextricably tied to the ribbon she holds so dear to her. He’s full of tales, like everyone else around him, but he can’t make any of them fit to his liking.

“She won’t tell me anything,” she divulges. Arya finishes the last of her ale, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “You know, maybe there’s nothing to that thing. She could just be wearing it because she really, really likes it.”

“Do you actually believe that?”

She smirks. “No, I don’t. People do like stories though, don’t they? What a disappointment it would be, finding out that there is none.”

Jon doesn’t know if the ribbon bothers Arya the way it bothers him; whenever he thinks of Sansa he remembers the thin piece of fabric, about how much it reminds him of blood, a rivulet of crimson that keeps him awake at night. 

******* 

It’s only a little while after dinner when her handmaiden comes to him with a panicked look in her eyes to tell him about a row between two sisters that grows worse by the moment. They are still too different for each other’s liking, Arya and Sansa; the handmaiden’s news strikes enough fear in him to worry.  

Jon can hear voices echoing against the stone walls as he quickens his steps, but Arya is already marching out just as he arrives, her face hard, eyes burning with anger, frustration; his own eyes are probably deceiving him, but he thinks she might break into tears.

“What’s happened? What have you two done?”

Arya glares at him. Jon realizes just how much like Ned he sounds—or is it Catelyn?

“Oh, piss off,” she hisses, before storming off towards the stairs, leaving him amidst a sea of confusion and curiosity. Jon calls out to her, but his efforts are useless. The heavy, oaken door to Sansa’s room is wide open, but silence is the only thing that drifts through. Did one of her outbursts go too far?

Jon walks in without a second thought, looking for signs of conflict, of violence. To his dismay, he finds it: an upturned chair, lying carelessly on the floor. It reminds him of a corpse, one of thousands, if not more, that littered the snowy grounds he once fought on. He swallows, trying to force the images away. Not now.

Sansa is sitting on the floor, right in front of the fire that burns in the hearth; if he didn’t know any better, he would have thought her a statue, oddly placed in the middle of the room. Still, if he thought he would have better luck with her than he did with Arya, he’s wrong. Sansa does not respond when he says her name, nor does she take her eyes off the fire burning in the hearth. This sister does not tell him to bugger off, at least, until Jon realizes there’s no consolation there; in Sansa’s eyes, it’s like he’s not even in the room. She hasn’t tried to run off, though, so he joins her on the cold, stone floor, hoping that might stir something within her. He glances at the upturned chair again. The air is still heavy with tension, but there is a measure of sadness that he can discern, too.

“Did she hurt you?” he asks, studying the profile of her pale face, her hair. He nearly misses it while he’s inspecting her, pale skin laid bare to him. Naked.

It all comes together now. Jon shoots a glance at the fire, but there’s nothing to see but dancing flames, wooden logs disintegrating. It would have melted long ago, the ribbon, a thin, tired piece like that. He can recall too well her reaction when Arya once tried pulling it off, how Sansa had gasped and yanked her hand towards her, affronted, scared, like she would break at the seams if it came undone. The ribbon is certainly gone now, forever destroyed, but the tears and heartache he was expecting do not come.

Sansa does not cry. Her eyes remain locked on the fire, mesmerized, but there is no other reaction. Jon barely knew how to behave around her when she was younger, has been struggling with her presence since she came back home, but this…it casts a different light, one he can’t shy away from. There is something in himself here: broken like glass, emptied out—puzzles with missing pieces to them, but he makes do by shoving them together where he can, damn the consequences. He sees the horror and the spite and the sadness, and suddenly he wants to flee in desperation. He won’t, though. He can’t.

It’s on the tip of his tongue, to ask her if she’ll be all right, but he knows there isn’t any point. So he just sits there, a silent comfort, because it’s all he can be. 

*******

The transformation is slow, like a melting candle, but it’s there for him and everyone to see, the way she unravels.   

******* 

He finds her a new ribbon in the winter town—a blue one this time, and not just because it was the only color available. Then again, he’s not looking to replace what was lost to her in the fire; Sansa’s come out so much better since then, a tinge more animated than she’s ever been, but from time to time he catches her studying her right wrist pensively, like she knows that something used to be there but she can’t remember what. He holds his breath each time, fearful that she’ll fall back into the same abyss she managed to rise out of, but when Sansa let’s her arm drop and lifts her head, hope comes rushing back. No, he thinks, studying the ribbon he’s gotten for her; it’s not about reminding her of what she once was, but what she’s been strong enough to come out of, what she possesses within her that continues to grow and thrive.  

When he presents it to her, together with a plate of lemon cakes—a generous supply of fruit arrived from the south only a few days ago, thanks in part to his aunt’s generosity—he’s surprised by the nervousness he can’t shake off, unsure of her reaction. She might hate it, the ribbon and the cakes, because he’s making assumptions again about who she was and who she is, but he’s desperate for her to be happy.

Sansa stares at the lemon cakes he holds before her, pink lips slightly ajar. For a moment he’s sure he’s done wrong, is desperate to drop the platter and disappear, no better with women now than he was then. But when she lifts her eyes to look into his, blue like the ocean but bright like stars, Jon thinks that maybe, maybe, things will be all right.

“There’s something else I want to give you,” he begins, watching her carefully as she finishes a second lemon cake. He’s still hesitant about his offering, not sure if he’s making it all worse, despite his own persuasions. Nothing on her face strikes him as worrisome, though; he’ll just have to takes his chances, instinct driving him forward. He pulls out the blue strand from one of his pockets, holding it out towards her with an outstretched hand, one end of the ribbon dangling off the edge of his palm.

“I know it’s not the same color,” he mentions, in response to her silence, “but, I…I thought you would like it. I thought perhaps you might put it in your hair.” Even if she chooses to tie it around her wrist again, at least it won’t remind him of blood.

When she reaches forward to take the ribbon from his hand, her fingers are as cool as the piece of fabric he wants her to have. Sansa studies it like it might be a rare jewel, rubbing the ribbon between her digits. Goose pimples rise at the back of his neck and arms; what would it feel like, fingers like hers against his skin?

His heart deflates when she hands the ribbon back to him. Jon stares at it before fixing his gaze on her face. He realizes, a beat later, that she’s smiling nervously.

“I want you to keep it.”

Before he can say anything, Sansa reaches for his hand. Captivated, Jon watches as she wraps it around his wrist—it doesn’t go around as many times it would have on hers—before finishing it with a knot.

“I want you to wear it,” she insists.

“Forever?”

“It will wear out by then.”

A smile breaks out on his face. The ribbon looks ridiculous on him, a touch too soft against his dark linen and leather, but he knows he can’t deny Sansa anything.

“It’ll be up to you to find me another ribbon when that happens,” he warns, touching the fabric with his other hand.

Her smile is genuine. “I’ll tie it in your hair, next time.” 

*******

He keeps the ribbon on, just like she asks him to, pairing it with the tunics she has fashioned for him, all of them embroidered with a direwolf over his heart. Sansa smiles when she catches sight of it; even more engrossing is the way she reaches for his wrist, as if wanting to revel in the smoothness of it. Someday he hopes she’ll be emboldened enough to take his hand; if she does, he hopes she’ll never want to let go.

Jon doesn’t know the story behind the red ribbon, but he knows the story behind this one, and maybe that’s fine. 

******* 

One day, he thinks, after he strips them both of their clothes, he’ll lay Sansa on her bed and wrap the ribbon loosely around her neck, so that the ends dangle in the valley of her breasts. And he’ll kiss her there, he’ll press his mouth against each and every one of her scars, before he’ll make her forget where they are and what they’ve done. It would take them the rest of their lives to heal, but fools they would be, if they didn’t try.

 *******

AN: So Round 2 of the Jonsa Gift Exchange was “Milestones,” but my recipient didn’t want grand milestones or fluff; I decided that the hope of moving on and letting go, rather than a big epiphany, could work. I hope it’s okay?

Some parts of this story bears resemblance to “i dream a highway back to you,” so I’m pointing this out now to avoid plagiarism.

Finally, the title from “Border Crosser” by Trails and Ways.