#ᵛᵉʳˢᵉ ✻ ᵗʰᵉ ⁹⁹⁸ᵗʰ ˡᵒʳᵈ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵃᶰᵈᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᶰᶤᵍʰᵗ'ˢ ʷᵃᵗᶜʰ

[killthebxy]

@freefolkbeauty // cont.’d

          a warrior princess, indeed, Jon couldn’t help but think as he watched the ruckus at the training yard; Queen Selyse would likely not be pleased but, then again, she never seemed pleased about anything at all as it was --- and if it took a so-called wildling princess to go and show his own recruits how to properly handle a sword, then he definitely wouldn’t complain about it. Val reminded him immensely of Ygritte, this much was undeniable... the fire in her, the courage, the spirit that was naturally so free and wild to the bone. even if, on the outside, the two could not have been more different, it was still difficult for him to not look at her and feel a pang of the deepest ache in his heart; wrong to love her and wrong to leave her.

          no amount of guilt-stricken reminiscing would bring her back, however, nor would it magically have his work done for him --- which was, precisely, what the young lord commander was trying to avoid by coming out of the old armory for a breath of fresh air, instead. he couldn’t remember Lord Mormont’s desk ever being so filled with parchments back in his steward days... though it was also true that, during such days, the Dead were still well-behaved and would not come walking in the night. again, silly musings that only got interrupted when Val’s sweet but strong voice addressed him; apparently, he’d been staring without meaning to, to which the bastard answered with a bit of a sheepish smile.

‘ just wondering if i should make you my new master-at-arms, rather than Leathers. ‘

[killthebxy]

send ‘pain is weakness leaving the body’ for a randomly generated outcome (alternatively, send it + reversed) // accepting 13. Cersei finds Jon blinded temporarily, ft. @longmayshereignxcersei

          you have a good heart, Jon Snow. it will get us all killed. might be he would live longer, after all, if he listened to Ser Alliser for once... though, in realistic appraisal, his current affliction wasn’t deathly in itself, but that didn’t make him any less distressed by the prospect of having lost his eyesight --- the closest to terrified Jon had been in a long time, all truth be said. how could he not? one moment he was perfectly fine, and, next thing he knew, the world had been plunged into complete darkness with no trace of light or color or shapes left in it. the only common denominator he could find for it was the cup of spiced wine the queen had so (clearly not) generously offered along supper and, if she commanded a maester ---or sorcerer, who knew--- talented enough to provoke such outcome, then all he could do was to lament his own childish naivety. just like a crow walking willingly into the lion’s mouth.

          even lamenting would do him no good, at this point, yet there was little else left as an alternative. if anything, he must admit he was fortunate to still be in the guest room assigned to him rather than a cell, but Longclaw had been apprehended and the door was well locked and barred. then again... deprived of his sight, would he have managed to get far at all, in the maze that was this trice-damned Red Keep? questions that would have no answer, certainly not now that the door had just been pushed open and then closed again --- and Jon instinctively turned his head in the direction of the sound, holding his breath to find out who it might be.

[killthebxy]

@thedolorous // cont.’d

          apparently, the duties of a lord commander’s steward include not only fetching said lord commander from the ground and half-drag him away when he’s still trying to go back for a bag of dragonglass, but also help him to patch up after. and, apparently... a lord commander’s duties include slaying Others; Sam isn’t the only one anymore, and for this much Jon is GRATEFUL --- if he and Longclaw can ever spare such horror to any of his friends, it is one he’ll do more than gladly on his own.

          which doesn’t make him any more or less than human, as testified by the long gash left open and bleeding on the right side of his face, that Edd himself finished cleaning a few minutes ago --- as much as by the cracked ribs that resulted from being knocked off from atop a second floor, and that he is still finishing to bandage; only to not bother yet with getting fully dressed and, simply, tossing his black cloak over his shoulders. all of this pales in comparison to what they left behind... five thousands of men and women and children crumpled up at Hardhome, and they are returning with scarce a fifth of the number. and, for this, Jon’s mouth tastes of nothing if not bitter failure and regret.

          suddenly, however... there is literally a very different taste, and it honestly takes him a full moment to process what is happening; what just happened, as it seems to come and go as fleeting as a falling star. did Edd just...? left wide eyed and looking like a child who just saw a wolf for the first time, then, all he can do is to act on INSTINCT of his own --- reaching to grab with his burned hand for one of his friend’s, as to not let him move away.

‘ ...wait--- ‘

[killthebxy]

--- @thedolorous ---

          at long last, his body had stopped trying to melt itself into sweat --- still slightly warmer than normal, but nothing anywhere close the angry fever that had taken it for the good part of the past two days. then again, was the body to be blamed, or he who would put it through such dire situations as to lead to this outcome, to start with? some questions were better left answered, it seemed. these were the silly thoughts currently running through Jon’s head, as he absently stared at the ceiling of his cabin. the sea was calm enough, which was a blessing in itself, and they should be arriving at Eastwatch before the week was over... and yet, thinking of the results of this mission, he was hard-pressed to call it SUCCESSFUL nonetheless.

          right there and then, however, there was one topic that consumed his mind further than anything else --- and it was the dark clouds that loomed above himself and his steward, ever since that very surprising, to say the least, clash of lips. save for the polite good morning and do you need anything, they’ve practically not exchanged a word since... and, while it was also true Jon had spent the bulk of that time either sleeping or delirious with fever or both, still it had DRAGGED for far longer than he was willing to accept --- and now was a moment as good as any to try and make things right once more. therefore, while waiting for Edd to finish replacing the bandages around his ribs, he breathed in and tackled the subject.

‘ do you have anything else to keep you busy right now? i would have a word, if you can. ‘

[killthebxy]

send ‘pain is weakness leaving the body’ for a randomly generated outcome (alternatively, send it + reversed) // accepting 13. Jon finds Allison blinded temporarily, ft. @lightcreators

          Jon is someone who has experienced many hardships since birth, many negative moments, endured many sorts of pain and discomfort inside and out --- yet, this much, he can’t claim the gods were cruel enough to ever put on his path. it’s nostalgic, in the sense it brings back memories of sweet maester Aemon... and how he misses the old man, even if times now are for peace and rebuilding. nonetheless, there’s nothing lighthearted nor carefree about the situation, and words fail him to express how sympathetic he feels about his good friend; truly, who would have expected that, with the Others gone, there would still be such dangers lurking in the woods beyond the Wall? a lesson well learned, no doubt, and he only laments it was at the cost of poor Allison’s well being, to say the least.

          on the bright side... if it is a poison’s doing, this means there must be AN ANTIDOTE --- and, again, he wishes maester Aemon was still here, for likely he would have known exactly the proper mix... but, playing with the means they have, patience will be needed, till a raven returns from the Citadel with any possible answers. which is easier said than done, as the lord commander is well aware Allison will remain greatly limited in her independence until then --- a fate ironic indeed, for a lady ever so self-assured and hating the passive role imposed on most women. he shall try his best to be helpful, therefore --- right now sitting with her in the peace and quiet of the room he’s provided for the time being.

‘ are you sure you don’t want to stay in my room instead? it would be much simpler, should you need anything. ‘

[killthebxy]

hums quietly and starts braiding jon’s hair. (thedolorous)

— @thedolorous​ —

          it takes him a good while to notice — proof of how ENTERTAINED he currently is with the little task at hand, of finishing this inventory of materials and supplies to be shipped to the Long Barrow. a lord commander has no friends, he’s mused to himself more than once back in the day, and has little rest either.  whereas the latter seems to continue mercilessly however, if not grown twice as dire, the former has definitely shifted to the seemingly opposite extreme; if anything, now between some sort of god that cannot be killed and the most popular choice regarding the next King-Beyond-the-Wall, what is difficult is to find time alone with himself — not that he is complaining, to be sure.

          it does leave little time for the plainest mundane things as well, and one of them is as simple as tending his hair — ever a form of awe for others, it seems to be, giving them an excuse to label him as “pretty” and causing the bastard to roll his eyes so hard one day they risk popping out of the sockets. it’s stayed untouched since his return to Castle Black, and by now it’s almost doubled in length… usually kept well and away from his face in that by now characteristic bun, and that’s all he needs of it truly. and yet…

          eventually coming to feel the gentle tugs and pulls, nimble gestures breaking through his flow of focus over a stream of paperwork that at times feels as ENDLESS as the Wall itself, Jon blinks and glances over a shoulder — dark greys widening as he finds Edd not only this close absent his awareness, but also busy with… playing… with his hair…? soft laughter spills from his lips then, unbidden and carefree, and he refrains from moving much further and possibly ruining whatever is taking place at the moment.

‘ what are you doing…? and when did you get here?? ‘

[killthebxy]

send 😘🍺 to drunkenly kiss Jon Snow; platonic smooches also accepted (accepting) // @northaernr​

          there are places where time stands still, and the Wall ---massive, looming, impressive--- is perhaps the prime example; being back here, BACK HOME, it’s as though he never left. it’s as though he’s still that same immature, bratty boy who arrived thinking himself better than the rest of the world, and whose chest was still clean from deathly scars. and it is as though the Old Bear is still around... watching over them, guiding them, treating like own children men who returned his loyalty and dedication with a literal knife to the back; come to think of it, it’s become the lord commander’s curse, as of late.

          a cloak and title he bears once more, now more willingly and, hopefully, more sagely --- yet Jon can’t help but find the latter still quite debatable, at the best of times. but her presence lingers as well, and makes the memory of her father all the more vivid... and it’s easy to forget the horrors both of them have been through, when simply sitting together by the fire and enjoying a careless, carefree chat along with a flagon of the ale that still tastes just as foul. a habit of theirs, isn’t it? same way, it also seems she’s still more talented when it comes to holding up in the face of such excess... though, for the time being, still comfortably settled in his seat, Jon isn’t about to complain at all; if anything, absolutely CONSUMED by this feeling of sheer relief upon realization that the Dead are gone, finally. once and for all.

          what isn’t gone is Jorya’s presence, and drawn very close at this point instead; in his personal space as it is, and again --- the lord commander has little cause to refuse it. when their lips meet, however, and the gesture grows from borderline innocent to threatening to start a fire in his lungs, the call of newly-sworn VOWS comes knocking at the back of his head and has him pulling away or at least attempting to; burned hand still tangled in the dark of her locks as he murmurs, ‘ your father’ll come t’ haunt me for this... ‘

[killthebxy]

send 😘🍺 to drunkenly kiss Jon Snow; platonic smooches also accepted (accepting) // @faunabones

          it’s RARE to see both of them spending time together --- or, at least, willing so; hours wasted under the former master-at-arms’ fury whilst clashing wooden swords with fellow recruits do not truly count. and yet... both have come such long way from such days, both scarred terribly inside and out --- are they so different, at this point? Jon feels back home at last, now once again clad in black from head to toe, and Alliser’s company is not one he’ll shun immediately; not anymore. not until the older man gives him motives for it, which is guaranteed to come as morrow does follow after every night. as dawn did follow after the Long Night they all endured and conquered (thanks to HIS LITTLE SISTER, of course, and no one better ever forget it).

          for the time being, however, the spell stays unbroken and the silence that lingers between them is oddly, surprisingly comfortable; a silence only punctuated by the crackling of flames by the hearth, and the filling and refilling of their cups with the Watch’s infamous ale that still tastes like dog piss and that Jon wasn’t aware he’d missed so much. come to think of it, mayhaps this is why the moment is unfolding so well... for there’s nothing like a clouded mind and inhibitions lowered for life-long enemies to be turned into unlikely friends for one night. it doesn’t matter, anyway, and he’ll cherish it for as long as it lasts. nevertheless, no amount of drinking could have prepared the bastard for what ensued --- namely, the sudden leaning closer of his companion and the even more sudden pressing of chapped lips to his forehead, in a manner as unskilled as it is genuine. accompanied by curt but heartfelt words of PRAISE Jon never expected to hear uttered by this man, of all men the gods have fashioned to roam this earth. so baffling it is that, for a long instant, he shows no reaction other than the rapid blinking of sheer confusion --- mind trying to wrap itself around what just happened; till, eventually, a faint smile breaks through.

‘ ...should i be concerned that now the world will end for real...? ‘

[killthebxy]

// @justheirs

          A VIPER among the snows was a sight worth seeing, or so his brothers seemed to think --- his men now, who’d elected him to hold their fate on his hands and trusted him to be wise enough to guide them. was the venom of serpents truly so different from that of men? most of them were gathered at the yard nevertheless, watching the gate open to bring within the new recruit-to-be; everything ended at the Wall: family bonds, family names and titles, past crimes, even the world itself. and yet, Jon couldn’t help but feel a pang of SYMPATHY for Oberyn Martell, as he exited the old armory to go meet him.

          by far, Castle Black wasn’t the best place for gossip --- far too isolated from pretty much the rest of the world, always getting news late and stale like bread after three days. this one had spread like wildfire however, of the legendary trial by combat demanded by Tyrion Lannister ---a man Jon himself once called FRIEND, and still remembered as so for the most part--- that opposed the Red Viper of Dorne to the Mountain That Rides. one he would have enjoyed watching, all truth be told, yet the young lord commander was well aware he ought not to bring such personal fancies to the chat that was about to happen. with the old raven suddenly perched atop one of his shoulders, squawking for corn as usual, he ignored it and stepped forward to meet Oberyn.

          ‘ welcome to Castle Black, your grace. ‘ still a prince --- at least until the moment of speaking his vows, and Jon was merciful enough to let the man keep this last remnant of DIGNITY.

[killthebxy]

“Here, try this. Maybe it’ll help you sleep.”

fatigue & sleep starters (not accepting) // @hctpie

          it is the raven who greets the boy, before Jon even has a chance to react — taking flight off his work desk, only to go perch his grumpy self atop Hot Pie’s shoulder where he starts demanding CORN, and CORN, and more CORN. which has the lord commander smiling, despite himself; despite how his eyelids feel heavy as bricks, despite the burning of his eyes that has them slightly teary and puffy, despite the thick layers of fatigue he’s been wearing like a second skin as of late. despite all this, he makes himself stand and stretches his arms above his head with a grimace of pain to his features, only now realizing how his arse is so close to becoming square after sitting on it for so long. that and to take a look at the tray Hot Pie so proudly is bringing along.

‘ i’m afraid i’ve yet to finish the ones you brought me this morning… ‘

[killthebxy]

😘🍺

send 😘🍺 to drunkenly kiss Jon Snow; platonic smooches also accepted (accepting) // @winterslcdy

          she’s got every motive to seek COMFORT at the bottom of a cup of ale, he has no doubt; even if said ale is bitter and bleak as the wilderness beyond the Wall. one cup that multiplied, and by now Alys has told him pretty much her entire life’s tale — from childhood to the night right before her escape from Karhold, with nothing but a horse and the clothes she had on and a loaf of stale bread to last her through the journey. he’ll be lying, however, if he says her presence besides him isn’t both bitter and sweet… though she’s not to blame for not being Arya, of course, yet it proves impossible, at least for the time being, to look at her and not feel like he was DECEIVED; that this should be his little sister instead. the Others take that red woman and her lying fires and fake promises.

          and it is taking the best out of the lord commander, to remind himself of what should be obvious — that it is not Alys’ fault, that she owes him nothing, that she has suffered enough and must now be comforted rather than given cold stares and colder words. so much easier to think such thoughts in his head, than to feel the corresponding emotion in his heart… a heart so heavy with grief and sorrow and disappointment, yet he cannot help but SMILE when she, in her drunken rambling, ends up leaning in for the sake of leaving a kiss of gratitude on his cheek. suddenly, she just made it much simpler.

‘ you have nothing to thank me for. would that i could do more. ‘for you. for Arya. for everyone.

[killthebxy]

Gives Jon a kiss on his brow and offers one of her leaves to him. "If you brew it into a tea, it eases aches. Some, it'll take away completely."

// @treesprung

          he ought to thank her — one, out of politeness, for a proper lord ever acknowledges a lady’s kindness and is grateful for it. two, for the actual kindness; at a time where half his men seem incredibly uneasy with a castle filled to the brim with wildlings and their food cut down to winter rations already, it is a breath of fresh air to come across someone who actually looks at him through such caring eyes. and three, for the practical value — considering how often he’s been falling asleep at his work desk and waking up with neck and shoulders stiff as a wooden board, a tea that can heal aching sounds like a gift from the gods themselves. and yet… none of this comes out, rather hastily pushed to the back of the lord commander’s mind as a cherry pink blush takes over his features when such supple lips touch his skin. how very unexpected.

[killthebxy]

@tymptir // cont.’d

          would that some sort of SALVATION could be found among these volumes; books and rolls of parchment and letters, some old and some older and some ancient to the point of turning to dust as soon as you touched them --- Jon’s burned hand was still spotted here and there by the yellow of once-pages, yet he did not bother to wipe it clean. it was no place for the newly appointed lord commander to be found, certainly not with so much to do and so much to solve and so much to decide... yet it was, precisely, why he felt in need of a moment’s respite; of looking at a face kind and amiable, one Jon held as blood brother much as Robb before him.

          and he made no effort to get Sam to stop babbling and take the matter seriously, out of mercy as much as it was out of a sort of AMUSEMENT he barely recalled he could still feel. they’d left Castle Black as boys, both green and foolish in their own way... and returned bruised and scarred inside and out. the disgraced son of Randyll Tarly had been turned to unlikely, unintentional slayer from the looks of it, and Jon himself... a brother butchered under the cape of guest right, a sister forcefully married to Tyrion Lannister only to desert the capital right after, a little sister ---the light of his eyes--- lost long ago and presumably dead, two little brothers scorched alive and Winterfell put to sack and plunder... and Ygritte, of course. dead and dying in his arms, an arrow that might well have been his; in dreams, it was ever his. wrong to love her, wrong to leave her. was Ygritte the reason why he now teased Sam so, under the excuse of needing him to look up records about the dead and their army?

‘ if you don’t see it, you ought to give your eyes to the maester. he’ll make better use of them. ‘

[killthebxy]

@fircandfury // cont.’d

          staring at her tasted nothing if not BITTERSWEET. the young woman who’d once almost turned him into a man, as he lied on her bed and cowered in the last minute and ran out of the room like a scared pup with tail between his legs... but also the girl he grew up with, her mother helping Gage fill the kitchens with heavenly smelling dishes as Ros herself served them to lords and ladies alike. she smelled of home, looked like home.

          but then there was her hair --- kissed by fire as Ygritte’s had been, though her mane far more unkept and tangled up in a mess of tresses and waves. the same mane tucked under his chin not that long ago, as he clung miserably to her lifeless body quickly growing cold. had the gods sent Ros over just for the sake of mocking him further? watching her from behind, with the moonlight shining on her hair, it’d be so easy to mistake one for the other. far too easy. yet a lord commander’s life ought to be everything but.

          the title still felt wrong as it was; like wearing clothes far too large on you, that drown you and hinder your movements as you go about your day, and threaten to accidentally strangle you in your sleep. Jeor Mormont was supposed to be the lord commander, not himself... and Benjen Stark was supposed to be first ranger, and Eddard Stark was supposed to be Warden of the North, and none of the TRAGEDY that befell Winterfell was supposed to have happened. but what could he do about any of that, other than to carry the weight and see his duty done? to her heartfelt words, then, Jon answered with stoicism of his own.

‘ this is my home, now. and my family. i have nowhere else to be. ‘

[killthebxy]

“You have known pain, and loss.” ( from gilly ! )

Spartacus starters (accepting) // @scldsouls

          somehow, he feels like LAUGHING at her remark — a bitter laugh, for how they fail to capture the real magnitude of the grief he feels in him; it’s like saying the Wall is big — it’s not just big, it’s humongous and gigantic and impressive and breathtaking. the same Wall he’s been staring at for the past quarter of an hour or so, in company of his wolf only and bathed in the silent moonlight; simply staring and reminiscing, thinking about everything and nothing, as though at least one of the blocks of ice might take pity on him and tell him the secret to resolve all his doubts and struggles.

          instead, it is Gilly who approaches him with ever so gentle tone, causing Ghost’s ears to perk up in interest first and foremost. Jon himself doesn’t move just yet, dark hair and black cloak ruffled by the chilly night wind as he wonders what is her purpose to be out of bed this late in the night; mainly, because a woman wandering Castle Black on her own at such time is like a shipwreck begging to happen. yet, when he finally speaks, his words carry him somewhere else entirely.

‘ so have you. ‘

[killthebxy]

“You shall always be remembered in the hearts of those who yearn for freedom.”

Spartacus starters (accepting) // @rosauream

          young she might be, though still slightly older than himself, but this queen clearly had a talent to captivate hearts and favors alike. make no mistake, Jon felt as happy at King’s Landing as a pig would feel walking towards the slaughter house, but one thing the lord commander must admit: she was trying her best to make him feel welcome, and he wasn’t about to be ungrateful towards such KINDNESS. forcing a brief smile to come to his lips, therefore, he offered a curt nod of his head in appreciation.

          ‘ your grace is too generous. i but do the duty my men trusted me for. ‘and if you could convince little Tommen to give me decent new recruits to take back north, i’d take that faster than any honeyed words.