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  1. Public Bookmark 20


    szamanita asked:
    Jonmund! 02

    Jon's still shy about PDA. Tormund's over it.


    24 Nov 2021

  2. Public Bookmark *


    Jon Snow lives.


    Jon Snow dies.


    In between he makes mistakes, finds love and loses it, helps save the world and then almost lets it burn. He goes South and finds only pain where there was supposed to be joy, goes North and finds happiness where there was supposed to be punishment.


    It’s… not a good life, perhaps, and he would change so much if he could do it all again, but it’s his.


    And then it’s over.


    And that should be the end of it.


    22 Nov 2021

    Bookmarker's Notes

    “I’ve known you for entire lifetimes, lived them beside you and died with your face the last thing I saw and I’ve loved you for just as long.” She squeezes her eyes shut, wills her ears to stop working, wills herself into Ghost so she doesn’t have to be here. Be human. Be such a fool.

    There is a long silence. “You want me?”

    He waits. Eventually, she nods.

    “You want to steal me?” There’s a soft joke in it, a little tease and she has the mental image of trying to steal him, easily twice her size, thrown over her shoulder in the dark. The soft chuckle at her back makes it easier.


    “What else?” he wants to know.

    “To grow old with you. To raise the girls together. To be safe and warm and free. To be happy.”

    “Just the girls? No babes of your own in that place? Or am I such a shitty husband, I fail to put some in your belly?” He rumbles another laugh and Jon, involuntarily, cringes away from the one memory she has of pregnancy. The one time –

    “Shhh, hush, what is it, little wolf?”

    “Only once,” she manages, eventually. “Wasn’t yours. Wasn’t –“

    “Ahhh,” he interrupts. “The fucker I need to kill.”

    Big and brute and so, so clever. “No babes, then?”

    “Yes!” she shouts, suddenly, because now the idea’s taken hold, she wants it. Wants babies with her hair and his freckles, babies who know nothing of their mother who was king, of life below the Wall, of kings and queens and dragons and monsters. Children with only love in their lives and freedom.

    “Yes! Children.”

    He laughs and, just like that, he declares, “Alright then. I’ll be yours and you’ll be mine and if your dreams hold true, we’ll be just fine. But first, little wolf, we need to be safe. And you can make us safe.”

    “My plans always fail. They always go wrong and people die. If I don’t make them, we’re better off.”

    “You’re already making them every time you tell us nay. You’re making plans and you’re fucking the rest of us right off. So tell us. We’ll fix ‘em so we don’t all bite the dirt, aye?”

    He’s mocking her, gently. Softly.

    She nods again. “What if we won’t?”

    “Won’t what?”

    “Be fine? You barely know me?”

    “I know you love my daughters. I know you’re a good hunter and a fierce fighter and a clever wolf. I know I’d like to fuck you, one of these days. And I know that if you and I don’t work, we’ll split and survive and still have warm memories on cold nights.”

    “Just like that?”

    “Aye. Just like that.”

    Just like that.


    Six months later, Jon stands in the courtyard of Castle Black, Mance half a step in front of her, Tormund half a step behind, and her father and oldest brother across from her.

    She can feel the shock cross her face, the awe, the surprise. She expected one, or both of them to be dead by now, expected – oh, but she can see it all unravelling now. A missing child, a lost daughter, a postponed trip.

    “I need to find my daughter, Robert. I need to find who took her and why.”

    Ned would have refused to go and the South would have collapsed without any Stark blood spilled. Arya, Sansa – safe. Catelyn, Bran, Rickon, alive and at Winterfell. All of them.

    The one life she did not try to keep her family alive is the one life where, unwittingly, she did. The irony of it makes her giggle, pressing a hand to her face.

    She can see the moment both of them register her, hears Rob’s cry of, “Jon!” and, automatically, takes half a step back into her husband, who puts a hand low on her hip, where her belly is just starting to curve.

    Beside her, a chained wight howls. In front of her, the future unspools.

    Jon steps forward to meet her family.

  3. Public Bookmark 28


    As summer finally comes around beyond the wall, Jon and Tormund venture off on their own to find an old pass through the Frostfangs, and a place for the remaining Free Folk to settle. Unspoken things become impossible to ignore, and Jon and Tormunds relationship will never be the same.


    30 Oct 2021

    Bookmarker's Notes


    Jon obeys, depositing his pack next to Tormunds by a tree. He crosses his legs underneath him, waiting. He keeps his eyes locked on the ground, tracing the shape of the tree roots beneath the dirt. He feels Tormund sit in front of him, feel his gaze searing holes into his skin. He doesn’t look up.

    Tormund gives a long sigh, letting it trail off. They sit together quietly for a bit longer before Tormund finally speaks.

    “Jon,” Tormund starts, “Please look at me. Please.” His breath catches in his throat. When had he ever heard Tormund say please? Biting his lip, he somehow manages to raise his head. He can’t quite meet Tormund's eyes, but he’s able to focus on a spot to the left of his head.

    “Okay, fine, that’s good enough. Now you listen here Snow,” Jon braces himself for the pain he’s sure will come. “I...I don’t know exactly how you feel about me, but I need you to know...I need you to know how you make me feel.” He jerks his head, finally able to face Tormund's gaze, hope daring to spark in his chest. Could it be possible? That Tormund wanted to be with him too?

    “I won’t lie, Jon, I’m not good at talking about my feelings. But you deserve to know how much you mean to me, and I’m sorry I haven’t said it before.” He can’t breathe. Was he breathing right now? “When you kissed me earlier, I- I didn't know how to react at first. I didn't pull away because I didn't want it, I pulled away because I didn't know you wanted it. I was shocked, but I promise, it wasn’t you .” Jon blinks, mind empty. His heart, however, is thrumming under his skin, so fast he thinks it might burst from his chest.


    “I’m not done yet. I'm sorry I made you wait all day to discuss this too. I just needed a little time to find my words. So uh, here they are,” Tormund swallows, and Jon watches the movement of his throat.

    “I’d be content, and happy, to spend the rest of my nights and days with you, Jon Snow. Even if all we do under the furs is sleep. I like that your voice is the first thing I hear in the mornings and the last thing I hear at night. I like the smell of your hair and how you always tie your boots twice,” Tormund seems to become frantic as if he were worried Jon wouldn’t let him finish. “And even though I like my sleep, I know how much you love watching the stars so I promise that whenever you want me to I’ll stay up with you. I’ll give you anything Jon. Everything.”


    Something hits him on the forehead, and his eyes snap open. He looks over to see Tormund grinning at him, propped up on his arm.

    “What did you just throw at me?” Jon laughs. Instead of answering Tormund just opens his palm to reveal a pinecone.

    “I could tell you were thinking again, Snow. What’s on your mind?”

    “I-uh-well. Do you remember that night after we took Winterfell? In my old room?” Tormund squints lightly, tilting his head.

    “When you scampered off before I woke up? Yeah, I remember. What about it?”

    Jon turns on his side to face him, “Why...why did you stay with me? You didn't need to-”

    Tormund reaches and claps a hand over Jon’s mouth. “Let me stop you right there, boy. I know I didn't need to, I wanted to. I stayed with you because you asked me to, Jon. And if you actually need something bad enough you ask for it -cause gods know you don't do that often enough- I’ll never say no. Never.”

  4. Public Bookmark *


    Jon finds himself wandering. His feet carry him to one of the battlements, snow coming down in soft-feathered waves that dust the rooftops. Winterfell is alive with light, windows glowing and chimneys smoking, and Jon can't remember the last time he saw it so full of life, walls still standing tall.

    This Winterfell has never seen a Bolton occupation, has never witnessed the march of the dead, the wrath of dragon fire. It is eight years before the fall of the Wall, and it feels like a dream. Jon still can't bring himself to completely believe it. Mance Rayder is not yet King Beyond The Wall, the Free Folk have not yet begun to gather, and what stories there are of White Walkers and the dead that walk are still only that, just stories.

    It has not yet begun, Jon thinks, dread sinking in his stomach.

    And then-

    It has not yet begun, Jon thinks again, the thought taking on a new turn in his mind.


    Jon has been given a second chance, a chance to change everything.


    26 Oct 2021

    Bookmarker's Notes

    "How do you want it, sweet thing? I'll fuck you so good, however you like, however you want."
    "Not going to kneel for me again, little crow?"
    "Should have known not even death would be able to keep you down. You keep fucking doing this, little crow, and I really will have to get on my knees and start calling you a god."
    "You're here. I thought you were gone, I thought you didn't remember- Tormund, I thought you were gone-"
    "As if I'd ever leave you. Told you, didn't it? I'd follow you through the gates of hell its-fucking-self. Look at you, fucking riding north, bet you were going to take on the fucking Ice-Ones all by your lonesome, you damn idiot."

    Jon lets out a hiccupped laugh, burying his face in Tormund's neck. His hand clench in Tormund's furs, fingers clawed, scared that if he loosens his grip for even a second it will all turn out to be a dream. For all his light words, he knows Tormund is feeling the same, can feel it in the way he squeezes him tight, in the rough catch in his voice as he talks, the sheen to his eyes. He hadn't been sure Jon remembered either, Jon realizes. The last time they'd seen each other it had been as Jon was dying, breathing his last in a desolate forest almost twenty years from now, and Tormund hadn't known if he'd remember.

    All of a sudden Jon can't bear the distance, can bear to be this close and not touch, fingers scrabbling on fur as Jon leans up and kisses him. He's shorter now, a good inch or two under his final height, and he has to crane up, but it doesn't matter, because Tormund meets him halfway, fingers catching in Jon's hair as he crushes them together. It's not a tender kiss, not soft or sweet or gentle, they're both too desperate for that, reaching for each other like drowning men who have only now caught sight of land. It is rough and biting and messy and Jon doesn't care, because its still the best fucking kiss he's ever had, because it's Tormund. It's Tormund and he remembers. He remembers.

    "Sweet thing," Tormund breathes, his forehead pressed to Jon's. "As if I'd ever let you go. As if I'd ever let you be alone."
    He looks wild like this, teeth set in a snarl and face slick with sweat, hair a mess from Jon's reaching fingers, and god Jon loves him. He fucking loves him.

    Finally Tormund bottoms out one last time, grinding his hips in, and then he's slumping, his full weight coming to rest on Jon as he pants, the hard length of him still a throbbing pressure inside him. Jon presses a kiss to his sweaty temple, pressing their heads together and smiling at Tormund noise of quiet appreciation, little more than an exhausted rumble. They're both breathing hard, slick with sweat, bodies aching where they're joined, and Jon can already feel the sting of it, the sharp pain that comes with going too hard, too rough, too soon, but gods he could kiss Tormund for it. So he does, leaning their heads together in a slow, quiet kiss, slick and wet and leisurely.

    "You're going to be the death of me, little crow. Never met someone so keen on wringing me dry with their fucking ass. You fuck like a god."
    "Don't think this sort of worship would be allowed at the temples down south."
    "Think they'd learn something from it. Think they could learn a thing or two from learning to fuck their own wives from watching us. Doubt half those southern ladies take a cock even half as nicely as you, little crow."
    "Or moan half as nicely as you when you're taking it up yours." Jon replies, which makes Tormund laugh. He grins, eyes glinting, and the next thing Jon knows he's being dragged down on top of him, the two of them falling together in a tangle as Tormund hauls him down.
    "If I were years younger, I'd fuck you all over again just for that. I'd put you on your knees and make you feel it, sweet thing, then turn you over and make you repay the favor."
    "You are a few years younger."
    "And so are you, baby crow. Still, you've got to ride that pretty little horse of yours tomorrow. Next time, when we're at Lowforge, just the two of us and my bed on one of the days Norna has the brats, then I'll take my time, fuck you good and slow and hard and leave you wet and wanting, so you'll turn me over and fuck me good. Can't be leaving you a virgin in giving cock either, baby crow."
    "I'll hold you to it."
    Jon reaches up one hand, brushing his thumb along Tormund's cheekbone where the skin is now conspicuously bare, absent of the black runes that had marked their marriage. "I miss them." Jon says, meaning his own as well. "When this is all over, we should get them again."
    "Aye. I'll marry you properly. Again. Woulda stolen you properly this time too, if you hadn't come looking for me first. Maybe I'll let you steal me, make it a real love story."

  5. Public Bookmark 65


    "Tell Giantsbane I'll do it. I'll meet him in the Dragonpit." Jon turns away from his aunt as her smile grows sly and knowing. "But don't expect anything! He's a legend, Dany, a legend."

    "I never said I expected anything!"

    Jon spins about to walk backwards, arching a brow at the white-haired Marshal. "I know you, I could feel it. Don't give me that look."


    23 Oct 2021

    Bookmarker's Notes

    “You bring the audience, Snow?” His blue eyes look almost cerulean in the harsh lights.

    “Fuck, no.” Jon glances to the small huddle. “But you tend to make waves. I’m sure you know that.”

    “You want me to make them leave?”

    This takes Jon a little aback. He narrows his eyes up at the Wildling, who lifts one sharp brow. His tone was sincere, almost familiar, as if Jon had confided in him that he’d rather this all remain under the radar – which, he sort of does, but there’s something about the eyes that rove over them that also makes him feel as if he’s a little bit of a god.

    “You’d tell the Marshal of King’s Landing to beat it?”

    “The only ones that matter in a fight are the ones getting hit.”

    “Please don’t infuriate my aunt.”

    “The others?”

    “Also my family. Won’t be moved.”

    Giantsbane’s mouth twitches.

    “They always did say the Starks were like wolves. Alright, Snow. Your pack stays.”

    After a beat, Jon is about to step back, but a linen-wrapped hand suddenly catches his chin and his heart all but launches into his mouth. Those piercing blue eyes zero in on him and he can’t seem to catch his breath.

    “You stay here,” Giantsbane orders quietly, and Jon’s brow furrows. “Nothing outside this ring exists. Stay in the fight, Jon Snow. Distractions do not bring down gods, and when you step inside one of the metal giants, you will become one.”

    Jon holds that stare for a moment longer, then nods. Giantsbane’s lips curve and then he’s stepping back, twirling the bo-staff with ease, as if it’s an extension of his own body as he moves to the edge of the mat.


    Jon thinks he might be sick – and then there’s a hand cupping his chin. He lifts his gaze; technicians hover nearby with their helmets, stayed by Giantsbane’s hand as he watches Jon with all the intensity of a hawk about to dive for prey.

    He looks magnificent, Jon thinks wildly, and his brow is beading with sweat as he craves the burn of steel around him. Giantsbane looks magnificent, with his sleek tapered beard and long, wild red hair laced with braids and beads, dressed in an armor that seems to suit him better than the skin underneath.

    “Stay in the fight,” Giantsbane says, somber and quiet, only for them. Jon feels it, too – feels it when the moment becomes theirs, when the world seems to freeze just for this; “stay in the fight and stay with me. You’re about to become a god, Jon Snow. Distractions don’t bring down Gods.”

    Jon bites down on his own cheeks and gives him a curt nod, tongue too numb to try and move. Giantsbane seems to understand him nonetheless – as he has these past few days, always has, even in the middle of painting bruises across each other with fists and staves – and after flashing another clever grin, he steps back to take his helmet.


    “Giantsbane,” Jon says thickly then, before he can lose his grip on the thin, wheedling courage that winds through him, “not to be a total prat, but if you don’t kiss me I’m going to throw something.”

    The low chuckle the ranger gives is enough to ignite his spine, is enough to send gooseflesh down his arms. Tormund leans close, so close, and Jon is about to clamber into his lap when his mouth just barely grazes over Jon's.

    “Liked Tor better,” the man murmurs, and Jon’s breath hitches in his throat.

    “Fine,” he says archly, and Jon doesn’t think his heart was going this fast even when they were facing down three kaiju and certain they were about to die, “Tor.”