jonsnowbackwards

[jonsnowbackwards]

// hey everyone! i decided to get this blog up and running again, but since i originally made this blog as a side blog, not knowing the limitations of one, in my attempt to revamp, i am moving jon to his own blog. i am keeping the url the same tormentinhonor, sso feel free to follow me there. thanks!

[jonsnowbackwards]

ooc:

Atm, everyone has a RPin partener (family reunion etc) and I am sitting here like:

ooc: I don't have any either right now D:

[jonsnowbackwards]

ooc; hullo everyone, due to a death in my family, i've been missing in action and i wanted to apologize to everyone i've left hanging. if i owe you a post or a response of any kind, please PLEASE PLEEEEASE send me a message as a reminder! i'll get back to everyone this week, thanks~

[jonsnowbackwards]

chapter two.

It was nearly midday when Samwell lumbered toward him, his footing tentative up on the fringe of the Wall, despite the rocks that were regularly laid to balance one's footing. He was terrible at lying, his oversize face reddened and his chins jiggling as his gaze stayed cemented on the ground, "Y-you must come at once," was all he could manage. He was lead to the maester's keep, to the long hall of quarters where patients were customarily held. Jon's dark brow creased as he threw a contempt look at Sam, who only motioned toward a room roughly two-thirds of the way down the hall, its door closed. If it had not been for the pleading look in Sam's eye, the bastard would have demanded more information, but he gripped the brass handle all the same. The quarters were small, more compact than even his own, and blazing hot. Flames slashed at the wood, teeth gnashing their supper, their tongues dancing white hot. Immediately, Jon peered toward the patient bed and felt unsure of who limply lied across the pillows. The girl was beautiful, though not fiercely so; she held her beauty daintily, even in slumber. Long strands of rich brown hair cushioned her head and arched over the pillow beneath her neck; her lips, slightly parted were a bright shade of pink, though still shone faintly purple. She must have been found nearly frozen to death, he suspected. It took him a moment to even realize Maester Aemon perched in the corner, his papery shin flushed in the hearth's warmth. "Maester." He started forward slowly, careful of the noise his heavy boots were making. "Lord Snow, I'm glad you've come." His voice was brittle, frail as he was. He remained silent, though his head swam with questions, and waited for the old man to continue. "This young woman was found, quite close to death with cold on the outskirts of Castle Black." He paused again, wetting his lips. "She is with child, but we have nursed her into stability." Jon frowned, his heavy brows sinking downward on his face. "But what does this have to do with me?" Aemon chuckled, "I know not why… but until falling unconscious, the only thing she had to say was your name." He paused again. "Spend some time here, discover what you can, will you help me to the door?" Jon did as he was bid and settled in the place Maester Aemon had occupied, a worried frown set on his mouth.

between two lungs | jeyne & jon

[jonsnowbackwards]

The room was frigid, though the air had the thick aroma of hearth. His dark hair wagging in his eyes, Jon moved to tend the choking flames. He chose a few slim logs from the pile beside the door and laid them atop the smoldering flakes of ash. With practiced fingers, he fed the coals with kindling and coaxed the slender flames upward until they licked the wood, painting it with streaks of black. The creeping warmth simmered in the Northern air as it slunk gradually along the floor and up the walls. It was rude to keep a lady waiting, but the pit of dread that was rooted in his stomach made Jon linger unnecessarily. He swung his leaden cloak from his shoulders and hung it on the cast iron rack near the door. His gloves lined with rabbit fur came next, one after the other as he plucked them from each finger. They were gingerly tossed onto the bed as he flexed his burned hard, the pale veins of scar tissue still plainly mapped the back of his hand. With a silent inhale, he settled into the chair's mate, his standoffish nature kept him politely apart from her, his stern face lined with confusion.

Ghost felt his uncertainty and treated her with similar wary, even as she offered the beast slices from her rabbit. The way she twisted bloody the flesh of the creature somehow eased Jon, she was clearly of the North, that much he could tell. Though it was hard to deny that she looked shockingly like Eddard, and especially like Arya; they had same thin lips and lean face, the same grey eyes, the same coldness in her movement. As she began to speak, Jon watched her with mirrored features, his mouth a thin line. He had heard the story of Lyanna from his father a handful of times, it was known in Winterfell. A great tragedy, but never questioned. The woman before him spun a tale slightly different, Jon listened, but said nothing, even when she paused.

Black magic was something even Maester Luwin was hesitant to mention, the workings of sorcerers were notably evil. His pale skin prickled, even beneath his padded wool jerkin and Jon shrugged his shoulders upward as he resisted a shudder. Her explanation henceforth was vague, it left the bastard crow musing on what sort of tasks they graced Lyanna Stark with, but reigned his thoughts before his imagination wandered too far. She brushed the details beneath the rug before continuing, her face grave as she gingerly fed Ghost another strip of meat. Jon's frown deepened as he readied himself to speak, his voice low when the sound was finally coaxed forth. "Only that her name was Wylla, she was a lowborn woman who he bedded while at war with Robert Baratheon." The words sounded oddly stale and a tickling fear began to crawl up Jon's chest, his jaw clenched as he silently urged her to continue.

She loosely tied her stallion to the bench Jon had been sitting on, and went to her packs. She pulled a rabbit out and secured her packs again. Tucking the rabbit into her coat pocket she followed Jon, who was ten steps in front of her. The distance gave her time to study him. He was lean, and taller than her, but he walked like a man weighed with a heavy burden. Her heart lurched, the burden of a bastard. There was purpose, ideals, in him too. Mayhaps even hope. It was all clouded with confusion, currently. 

He led her to his room motioning to the table and chairs, "Please, sit." She did as he asked, and waiting for him to settle. While he closed the and moved to the bed, she pulled the rabbit out along with a dagger and ripped into it, offering the first of several pieces to his wolf, who stared at her wearily. He finally moved from Jon's side and gingerly took the rabbit leg from her fingers.

She hummed for a second as he looked at her, expecting her to speak. "It's all rather complicated, and I will try to explain the best I can..." she started. She paused for a second, reflecting on whether or not he would hate her for the choices she made. "Robert was kind, he believed that Prince Rhaegar stole me away. He protected my honor in that way. But, that isn't how it happened. I left with Rhaegar, very willingly. I loved him." Her head a mess, she was trying to figure out how to say everything neatly. However, this wasn't a neat affair. She looked toward Jon, still expecting, waiting patiently.

She half smiled, "On my death bed, I made a deal with a maegi. I don't know if you know what that is, but they are very powerful sorcerers. I would do her bidding and she would... recreate me. So I died, and entered the shadow world. It's an odd place. You're not quite dead, but not quite alive either. The tasks I had agreed to took time, and in the shadow world, time is infinite... but, I was recreated at last. I never realized it would take 15 years though." She looked at him again, and he was a stone statue, much like hers in the crypts.

"Jon, did Ned ever tell you of your mother?" She asked carefully, and cut another piece of rabbit for his wolf.

[jonsnowbackwards]

between two lungs | jenye & jon

The residual ache of duty had seeped deep back into his marrow. After tasting the potent tang of freedom, the mundane life along the Wall was dull. His body still throbbed, every muscle groaned in protest as he forced himself from his bed. The wound in his thigh thumped with a pressing ache; the pain shot intermittently out along his hip which elicited a guttural whine from between clenched teeth. Ghost's pale ears pricked to attention as his crimson gaze followed Jon intently as he struggled to walk with his usual gait. The great beast hefted onto lithe paws, his skulking form an ivory shadow alongside his master. Jon's lifted a calloused hand, and rustled the wiry fur; the skin was webbed with bleached scar tissue, the memory of its origin formed a bitter taste in his mouth. With particular care, Jon shrugged into fresh small clothes and dark trousers that hugged his muscled thighs tighter than he would have liked. An insulating doublet came next, and an unadorned black jerkin afterward, the boiled leather was nicely fitted, but was worn to pale grey on the creases and uneven along the edges. He laced heavy boots up to his knees and swung his weighted wool cloak lined with silver fox fur uneasily over his shoulders and fastened it with a plain iron brooch. Finally, he buckled his bastard longsword, Long Claw, high on his left hip. Jon was finally of height to carry it hoisted on his waist rather than slung across his back. The air chewed familiarly on his stoic features, the frigid gusts set the creases long on his square jaw. His face had grown lean, and his dark stubble into a coarse tangle of a beard. His grey eyes were deep set and as fierce as the North itself, his nose long and slim. He finally looked a Stark man. With Ghost padding beside him, Jon motioned to break his fast in the Great Hall along his brothers. The meal was relatively silent, the bastard crow was eager to consume himself in his daily toils. He departed as immediately as he had come, and lingered along the outer structures of Castle Black, an intent look etched on his face.

[jonsnowbackwards]

SERIOUSLYPLEASE

Even More Drabbles

Leave a “Amuse Me” in my ask, and I will write a funny drabble about my character trying to cheer your up.

Leave a “Break Me” in my ask, and I will write an angsty drabble about our characters.

Leave a “Call Me” in my ask, and I will write a drabble about my character asking for yours [be it at the brink of death/in a battlefield/knocking on the front door wounded, feel free to specify.]

Leave a “Drink Me” in my ask, and I will write a drabble about my character taking shots with yours.

Leave a “Enamor Me” in my ask, and I will write a fluffy drabble about my character trying to woo yours [be it out of the blue/Valentines Day,feel free to specify.]

Leave a “Fight Me” in my ask, and I will write a drabble out my character fighting with/or against yours.

Leave a “Get Me” in my ask, and I will write a drabble about my character saving yours.

Leave a “Haunt Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character watching over yours[as a ghost, watching from a distance, or otherwise, feel free to specify.]

Leave a “Invite Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character asking your character to

Leave a “Join Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character giving your character an offer [be it a proposal for an alliance, asking them to join them in an activity (you can get dirty if you want), feel free to specify.]

Leave a “Kill Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character killing yours.

Leave a “Love Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a fluffy drabble about our characters.

Leave a “Mourn Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character mourning your character’s death.

Leave a “Nurse Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character healing yours.

Leave a “Offer Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character giving yours a gift.

Leave a “Paint Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character drawing a picture of yours [like one of your french girls~ be it painting them or drawing them, maybe offering a picture of them as a gift, feel free to specify.]

Leave a “Quiet Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character trying to calm yours down [be it from crying, from lashing out, feel free to specify.]

Leave a “Remember Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character trying to get yours to remember them [be it from an accident, meeting them after years apart, feel free to specify.]

Leave a “Shag Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a dirty drabble about our characters.

Leave a “Tell Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character confessing something to yours [be it a love confession, a secret, feel free to specify.]

Leave a “Unbind Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about your character freeing mine, or the other way around, or something among the lines [be it freeing them from jail, from handcuffs, from a trap, from a curse, feel free to specify.]

Leave a “Value Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character telling yours how they feel about them.

Leave a “Wed Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about our character under the subject of wedlock [be it my character proposing to yours, or marrying yours, feel free to specify.]

Leave a “X Me” in my ask, and I will write whatever it is that you wish, [specify.]

Leave an “Yahoo Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about our characters celebrating something [feel free to specify.]

Leave an “Zip Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about your character dressing mine, or the other way around [this can also be used for shutting them up as well, but feel free to specify.]

[jonsnowbackwards]

Her words were arrows with heads of Northern ice, raining down in a flurry of confusion and disbelief. His dark brows knotted together, his eyes squinting slightly in skepticism. "How..?" He began, but her reassurance quieted the Wolf Boy. He felt an odd kinship with this woman that had naught to do with her confession before him. Jon was hesitant, wary of being taken as a fool, but his Brothers were beginning to gather in curiosity and the moment would soon be lost.

"Yes, my Lady. Come with me." He gave Ghost a curt nod and the creature lept to its feet gingerly and padded along on Jon's heels. The stonemason had not done Lyanna justice, she was far fairer than the woman that perched below Winterfell, stoicly guarding the halls of her kin. They wound their way through Castle Black and up a flight of rotting wood stairs to Jon's personal chambers. There was a lowly burning hearth in one corner of the room, a meager set of two chairs alongside a matching table, and on the far wall, a small bed littered with tattered furs on a thin straw mattress. "Please, sit." And closed the door behind them.

She didn't notice the huge white wolf beside him. No, it wasn't a wolf, could it be? A direwolf? It had to be. She felt his ruby eyes surveying her, and she pulled her hood off, her long dark curls blowing in the wind. They had the same look, the Stark look, could he see it?

She half grinned at the bow, it had been a long time since someone bowed to her. Her manners were lost along with all the timidity of meeting Jon. He was strong, Northern. He would fair the news well. "I am Lyanna, of House Stark. Sister to Brandon, Eddard, and Benjen Stark," she could not help but add, "You might recognize me from the statue in the crypts of Winterfell."

His face turned to a puzzled look, and before he could open his mouth she said, "It's a long, complicated story. I'd like to tell you it, but perhaps some place more private." She nervously looked over her shoulder at the now emerging men bundled in black. 

[jonsnowbackwards]

As it were, he wasn't ranging along the Wall this morning, Jon instead was honing his blade against a whetstone, his face grave, Stark. Long dark curls fell in tumultuous bundles from the outcrop of his head, they curtained his attention onto his work, allowed his thoughts linger on the unimportant trifles of the day past. The enormous Direwolf was perched beside him, his lithe form curved as he lay in the dirt and his pale ears erect though his crimson eyes were shut.

It was Ghost who harked the Lady's arrival. His nose twitched, ears flickered to and fro before his scarlet eyes shot open and his head lifted from the ground. He sounded a warning growl, to which Jon looked up as a vaguely familiar woman swung down from her horse. Immediately, he shifted his attention back to his blade, Long Claw, before she spoke.

His head twisted to take in her innate beauty, dark curls, grey eyes, a long, slim face... there was something fiercely familiar about her that Jon could not place. "Aye, I am Jon Snow." I was odd that she heralded his connection to House Stark, he was a bastard and had not the respect to carry the name of such a proud House, being the product of dishonor. He bowed to her, and turned to sheathe his sword. "Forgive me, but I know not who you are." Yet somehow, he felt he did.

She watched him from afar, tightly clad in a thick black cloak. Her cloak matched his. His bound in honor, hers bound in blood. Would he forgive me, she thought. Probably not, but she had to take that chance.

Her bay pawed under her, his breath steam in the cold. He was not the same steed, but he was hers. She raised him, as she wanted to raise Jon. She was robbed of that chance, but she vowed to make it right. She took a breath of courage as she asked her stallion to trot toward the man she desperately needed to call her son.

As the yards closed, she frantically tried to think of an opening line, something to say. Clearly, “Hi, I’m your mother. You were never Eddard Stark’s bastard, but my bastard,” wasn’t going to work. Well, it could, if she really wanted to damage and freak out the poor boy. Man, she corrected. He was a man now, a man on the Wall.

She stopped a few yards from him, dismounting fluently. As she gave her horse a pat, she clearly said, “Are you Jon Snow, of House Stark?”

[jonsnowbackwards]

Jon growled, his wolfish grin curving the edge of his mouth. He sprung from his seat and wrestled her to the ground. "Careful now, Sister."

( Bored with a case of Can't sleep )

Jon threw her a scheming smirk, “I’d be careful, if I were you, little one. I have no qualms showing you who’s boss.” His tone is light, for once, playful.

[jonsnowbackwards]

Jon threw her a scheming smirk, "I'd be careful, if I were you, little one. I have no qualms showing you who's boss." His tone is light, for once, playful.

( Bored with a case of Can't sleep )

Hello, dear sister, are you well?

[jonsnowbackwards]

He sighs and shrugs, smiling coyly at his sister. "Tired, if truth be told."

( Bored with a case of Can't sleep )

Hello, dear sister, are you well?

[jonsnowbackwards]

Hello, dear sister, are you well?

( Bored with a case of Can't sleep )

[jonsnowbackwards]

I don't know, I've been reclusive as of late...

ooc: I'm working on your post, my life is kind of exploding right now

Where did everyone go?

[jonsnowbackwards]

ooc: D'aww

Blood

[for tormentinhonor. Completely AU of course.]

Jeyne had been relieved to find that she was not the only woman at the wall. Her healing skills had been put to work right away. She had welcomed the work and found that with each wound she healed, the wound in her heart closed a little more.

Pounding on her door woke Jeyne from a sound sleep. She rose and wrapped herself in a thick wool robe before opening the door. When she saw who it was, she opened the door wide and ushered them in.

Within minutes the candles were lit, water and bandages were ready, and Jon’s torn and bloody shirt was on the floor. As soon as the fire was lit and wine was set to boil she shooed the other men from the room. Sitting next to him at the table, she examined the wound in his arm. He pouted, as he usually did. She smiled.

“What’re you smiling about?” he asked, looking through his haphazard curls.

“This is how I met Robb.” The same arm. The same small but deep wound. The same blood flowed in Jon’s veins that had through Robb’s. Stark blood.

Jon reached a bloody hand down and placed it on her belly, swollen with child. The tiny one inside her kicked, as if Jon’s blood called to it. They too would share the Stark blood, if not the name.

[jonsnowbackwards]

He is caught off guard by her coy flirting, heat rising to his cheeks. "I-I, yes it is, but it isn't looked upon with respect as it once was, but rather with amusement." His cheeks are a pale shade of pink beneath his dark beard. "Thank you my Lady, you are much too kind.. I fair from Winterfell, in Westros, but now I fair from Castle Black, which is much further North. And you my Lady? Tell me about yourself."

ooc: oh wow I am dumb hahaha.

My apologies, your grace. I do? That is very interesting. My name is Arya, pleasure to meet you.