jon blank

I even thought that I was gay. I thought that might be the solution to my problem. Although I never experimented with it, I had a gay friend and then my mother wouldn’t allow me to be friends with him anymore because she’s homophobic. It was real devastating because finally I’d found a male friend who I actually hugged and was affectionate to and we talked about a lot of things.
—  Kurt Cobain, Blank on Blank (1993)
Twist of Fate

For @jonxsansafanfiction​‘s Valentines Challenge!
Day 2: Sharing a Bed
Summary: Modern AU: Sansa is forced to spend the holidays with her brother and his friends at a remote cabin in Scotland, but when Jon comes back from a walk injured, Sansa volunteers to stay behind and look after him. 

Sansa didn’t want to be here. She was supposed to be skiing, not stuck in a cabin with Robb and his stupid little friends, and she wouldn’t be if it wasn’t for Arya and her stupid little mouth. Now Joffrey was up there without her and Margaery was going to get her well-manicured paws all over him. It wasn’t fair. She was seventeen; what was so wrong with a co-ed trip? It wasn’t as if they were all going to be sharing a room and bathing naked together. Her parents were just overreacting. Sansa was positive Robb had gone on his first co-ed trip with his friends around her age. This was sexism!

“Are you still pouting about your dumb trip?”

The door slammed shut, letting in a blast of cold air. Robb walked the four steps from the door to the kitchen island and plopped himself on a stool in front of her. Sansa recoiled from the proximity, still furious with her brother, and pulled the bowl of cereal with her.

“Sans, c’mon,” Robb said, pleadingly. “It’s not that bad. It’s better than being alone over Christmas.”

Sansa fixed him with her darkest scowl. “I’d rather be alone.”

“You’re being unreasonable.” Robb rolled his eyes at her antics and crossed his arms over his chest. “This is the best out of a bad situation.”

When she didn’t offer up a response, Robb sighed and walked past her towards the corridor adjacent to the open kitchen. She heard his room shut softly with a click. Distantly, she could admit he was right, but with her current mood, Sansa refused to acknowledge anything Robb was saying. She didn’t care that the rest of her family had pre-booked a holiday to Spain for the holidays, excluding her since she was supposed to be in Switzerland. She didn’t care that realistically there was no way Eddard and Catelyn Stark were going to let their seventeen-year-old daughter stay home alone in a big manor. She didn’t even care that Robb had graciously offered to let her tag along with him and his friends to a cabin in the north of Scotland and that one of his friends had relented his own room to let Sansa have a bed.

No, at this moment, Sansa didn’t care about anything. She was mad; she was bored; she was so unbelievably cold she could hardly feel her fingers. Where was the heating in this bloody place?

The door opened again and several more people filed in. Sansa recognised some, childhood friends of Robb, but the others she assumed must be people from university that she didn’t know. A couple of girls smiled at her before disappearing down the same corridor Robb had gone down only moments ago. But two remained and they walked up to the island.

“Morning,” Theon said, leering, which made Sansa want to throw up her cereal right then and there. She smiled tightly in greeting. A second later, after realising she wasn’t going to offer him anymore, Theon sighed. “Right, I’ll just go then.”

Her shoulders relaxed as soon as he was gone. Sansa looked towards the last remaining person.

Jon was busy typing something into his phone but sensing that she was staring, he looked up, grey eyes meeting blue. “Sorry. That’s rude of me.” He pocketed his phone and offered her a sincere smile. “Coco pops?” At her blank stare, Jon chuckled softly. “Your cereal.”

Sansa looked down at her bowl. “Oh. Yeah, coco pops.”

“Good,” was all Jon said for awhile, then he smiled again. “I knew those were your favourite. Made Theon grab them when we found out you were coming with.”

That took Sansa by surprise. She stared, unblinkingly, at Jon for a long second, before her brain finally caught up to her. “How do you know that?”

Jon shrugged. “I’ve had enough breakfasts at your house to know.”

“But I doubt Robb even knows that.”

“He wouldn’t know if a horse wandered into your house if it’s early enough,” Jon told her, and just like that, she laughed. For the first time in days since her parents forbade her to go on the Switzerland trip, Sansa truly, truly laughed. It was so freeing and so jarring because of who had made her laugh that she blushed involuntarily.

Jon smiled again and stood up. “We’re going for a walk down by the lake if you want to join.” But they both knew she wouldn’t join. “Anyway, enjoy your coco pops.”

He walked towards the corridor and was almost out of sight when Sansa suddenly spoke up again, much to her own surprise. “Thank you, Jon, for the room. I know the couch isn’t ideal so… thank you.”

“It’s no matter.”

A second later, a door clicked shut.

Their walk around the lake took much of the afternoon, that when they eventually returned, the sun was already beginning to set just beyond the white-dusted mountains. Sansa was sitting in a cocoon of blankets, reading, when they all walked in, trailing dirt and twigs into the cabin, but instead of being disgusted, making some snide comment to Robb, Sansa’s eyes widened when Robb and Theon assisted Jon in through the door. He looked a mess with snow in his hair and all over his coat. His face was contorted in pain, cursing loudly when the two boys unceremoniously dropped him onto the couch in front of Sansa.

“What happened!”

“Slipped down a mountainside, didn’t ya, sunshine?” Robb laughed, poking Jon on the shoulder. He earned a colourful swear word and a kick to the shins for that.

“One minute he was there then, woosh, he was gone,” Theon added with a dramatic flourish of his hands.

Sansa rolled her eyes at this. She began to reach forward for Jon’s hand when she stopped herself, wondering why she would want to do that. Instead, to avoid any repeat momentary lapses, Sansa placed her hands on her lap, wrapping them tightly around her book. “Are you okay?” she asked instead.

Jon shrugged, wincing as he did so. “I’ll be fine.”

“Aye and I’m the Queen of England,” Robb snorted. “You took a right tumble there, Jon.”

“I’m fine,” Jon said, emphasising each syllable with exasperation. His eyes hardened and he tried to stand to show he was, in fact, fine, but Robb quickly pushed him back down on the couch.

“No, you’re not, and you won’t be moving again for the rest of the night,” Robb said, all traces of humour gone. “We can stay in tonight.”

It occurred to Sansa that watching Jon fall down the side of a mountain must have wrecked Robb’s nerves in the process. They were more than just friends; they were brothers. Something she had seen firsthand when Jon had lost his mother and Robb had been there for every moment of that horrible time. Sansa was twelve then, too young to understand what loss really meant, but Robb was there, always there, and likewise, Jon was always there for Robb.

So Sansa stood up, letting the blankets pool to the floor, and closed the small distance so she was stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her brother. The time for spoiled, bratty Sansa was gone; she was loyal above all else, even if it rarely showed, and she cared a far greater deal than she let people know about the welfare of others.

“It’s okay, Robb,” Sansa said, placing a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “I’ll look after him. I’ll make sure he doesn’t move an inch from the couch.”

Robb glanced at her with a speculative frown. “Are you sure, Sans? It’s okay, you know. We can just go into town tomorrow night. I’ll ring Jeyne and Lysel and tell them to come back.”

“No, don’t be silly.” Sansa placed her hands on her hips. “Go. I’ll look after him.”

“You both realise I’m sitting right here, right?” Jon grumbled.

Robb placed a hand on his head and patted. “Shhh, the adults are speaking.” Jon jerked his head but winced again from the sudden movement.

“Go, Robb,” Sansa immediately said to avoid her brother’s indecision. It took a further twenty minutes to finally coax both Robb and Theon to leave, but finally, they were alone, and that knowledge made her suddenly very aware of Jon. This didn’t escape Jon either as he shifted uncomfortably, glancing up at her and glancing away again.

“Look, Sansa, you don’t have to… I’ll be okay here,” he mumbled awkwardly and raised one hand to rub at the back of his neck.

Sansa chewed at her bottom lip, debating on what she was going to say next, but the pain on his face was enough to convince her to just do it. “I lied to Robb,” she announced quickly before she lost her nerve. “I am going to make you move from this couch.” Jon tilted his head in adorable confusion and it drove all the doubts from her mind in one breathy chuckle. “I’m moving you to the bed, Jon. You can’t sleep out here when your back is clearly in pain… and don’t bother arguing because I won’t have it. C’mon.”

Jon opened his mouth anyways to speak but she shook her head adamantly, angling her body so she could shoulder most of his weight. He hesitated for a second but sighed, placing an arm around her. The warmth from his body made Sansa flush for reasons she’d rather not examine right now and she was glad for the curtain of red hair that shielded her from his gaze. Together, they moved, slowly, but steadily to her bedroom. She gently helped him under the duvet and placed it up to his chin.

“Now stay here and I’ll go make you some dinner.”

Once the somewhat slightly burnt pasta was consumed, Sansa took their bowls and got up from the chair she had been sitting by his bedside to leave. She didn’t look forward to sleeping on the couch but she wasn’t going to subject Jon to that either. Only when Sansa tried to walk away she was abruptly tugged back by a hand around her wrist.


This time, there was no hair to hide her flushed cheeks. “What? Jon, you’re…”

“I’m fine,” he repeated. “And I wasn’t raised to let a girl sleep on the couch when there’s a perfectly good bed here.”


“We’re just sharing a bed,” Jon assured her. “I promise I’ll keep to my side.” A faint smirk played on his lips and that made her blood run hot under her skin. Did he do that on purpose? Was he being oblivious or was he toying with her?

As Sansa settled in on the other side of the bed, body frozen with fear and anticipation, she realised she was the oblivious one, because somehow over the past couple of years, Jon had grown from the awkward, gangly boy she knew to a very broad, very strong man. A man who looked at her like she was as precious as a ruby. A man who made her feel wonderful, terrifying things in the deepest parts of her body, and lying in bed with him was, quite frankly, torture. Sansa shifted to her side, back towards him, then when that didn’t lure her to sleep, she shifted again to stare up at the ceiling. When Sansa tried to shift again for the third time, a hand wrapped around her forearm.

“Sansa,” Jon breathed out, the only sound in the whole cabin. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she whispered. “I can’t sleep.”

There was a beat of silence, before, “are you uncomfortable around me?”

“No, no, that’s not it, it’s just –” Sansa sighed. “Yes. A little.”

“Would you rather sleep on the couch?” Jon turned so he was facing her; she only knew that because she could feel the bed move underneath him and the warmth of his gaze on her face.

Sansa turned too and searched for his grey eyes in the dark. She took a deep breath and forced herself to say, “no.”

There was another beat of silence before she felt his thumb stroking the curve of her cheekbone. Sansa inhaled sharply, feeling her heart quicken and body tighten with that same exhilarating sense of anticipation.

When Jon spoke next, she could feel his breath on her skin. “Am I making you uncomfortable now?”

She shook her head, belatedly realising he might not be able to see her. “No.”

The feel of his lips on her cheek startled her but when they travelled in light, feathery kisses along the line of her jaw to her already-parted lips, Sansa was ready. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, not wanting to jostle him too much, and leaned into the kiss as best as she could. It was altogether too much and too little for her body to handle. Sansa wanted to throw every jittering nerve, every confused emotion and frightening hope into the kiss, but he was injured and that thought was enough to sober her from pushing him too far.

“Comfortable now?” Jon asked. She could hear the smirk on his lips so she leaned forward and answered him with another, softer, quicker kiss. “Guess you are,” he chuckled. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into his chest, so she was lying with her head tucked underneath his chin. “Good night, Sansa.”

“Night, Jon.”

Best Game of Thrones Moments

Because occasionally this show takes a break from boobs, balls, and blood, and gives being cute and comedic a try.

  • Anytime Lyanna Mormont is onscreen
  • Jon Snow giving Arya Needle because he’s the best big brother you could ever ask for. 
  • Podrick losing his virginity to a bunch of prostitutes, but they refused payment because he was apparently that good 
  • Nymeria being shit at following directions
    • Arya: Nymeria, gloves! 
    • Nymeria: *Blank stare*
  • Jon Snow Knows Nothing (About Sex)
    • Jon: I’ve never been with a girl 
    • Sam: You didn’t know where to put it? 
    • Jon: No! I didn’t want to get her pregnant with a bastard like me 
    • Sam: So you didn’t know where to put it. 
  • Yara Greyjoy being a shameless flirt
    • Dany: And your offer comes with no demands of marriage? 
    • Yara: I won’t demand, but I’m up for anything ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
  • Tormund Giantsbane trying to sexually eat a chicken leg and Brienne looking at him like he’s lost his mind
  • Stannis Baratheon has better grammar than you (x)
  • Arya, an eight-year-old child with no training in swordplay, disarming Prince Joffery, heir to the throne, and throwing his sword into a river.
  • Every time Tyrion tries to speak High Valyrian.
  • Every time Tyrion slaps Joffrey.
  • Edmure Tully trying to light his father’s funeral pyre with a flaming arrow and missing. Twice Three times.
  • Shireen teaching Ser Dadvos Davos how to read.
  • That one scene where Tyrion drags his chair across the floor for two minutes
  • When Tywin Lannister’s horse takes a dump onscreen before entering the Throne Room (x)
  • That one scene where Pycelle sharts himself on screen.
  • Missandei and Grey Worm not getting jokes in the cutest way possible. 

Perhaps I’m beating a dead horse but I’m rereading A Game of Thrones and I’m struck by how the circumstances of Jon leaving to take the black tell a profound story of adult failure, not only on Ned’s part but also on Benjen’s and Maester Luwin’s. It’s not a matter of why Jon took that decision (which has probably been discussed ad nauseam ) as much as it’s a matter of how and when that decision was expressed, accepted and acted upon.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Is there way Catlyn could treat Jon better without adopting him as her own? Like the distant but kind way a foster mother could? Naerys, Myriah, and Rhaenys the queen who never was were able to be affectionate but firm with the bastards they raised.

Right, so, I can’t find my copy of TWOIAF (it’s in a box somewhere), so please forgive me for not addressing the direct comparisons? I’ll speak a bit more generally as to why Catelyn chose to treat Jon as she did

There are a few contextual differences between some of those women and Catelyn - the big one is the pre- and post-Blackfyre Rebellion divide. The generations of war would be an object lesson for how a bastard whose only mark against his social acceptability is his bastardy could make a lot of trouble for a legitimate half-sibling. Catelyn was born only four or five years after the War of the Ninepenny Kings. She grew up knowing the potential worst-case long-term consequences of legitimising bastards.

We know Catelyn was keeping the Blackfyres in mind with Jon, because she brings them up specifically to Robb. And the only social mark against Jon is his bastardy. He looks Northern. He worships Northern gods. He’s an able-bodied male. He’s got Ned’s stamp of approval as a son, and Ned favours him in a way hardly any ruling lords favour their bastards when they have heirs to think of. Robb, while also an able-bodied male, looks like a Tully. While Robb worships Northern gods, Catelyn certainly doesn’t. If Jon or Jon’s children ever attempted to supplant Catelyn’s children, they would attack their “Northernness” as a starting point.

The reader also knows, though we do not know if Catelyn knew, that Ramsay Snow was quietly suspected by the Ryswells of killing his legitimate half-brother Domeric Bolton.

The second major contextual factor is the way in which power is handed down in Westeros, and the extent to which these women cared about their political legacy.

Catelyn relies politically on her husband and her sons. She has as much power as she has influence with her male relations. If she builds a dynasty, it will be in someone else’s name, and only hers in that she literally gave birth to it. If she wants lasting influence, any amount of agency in her widowhood, and a political legacy, she needs her children to inherit Winterfell.

Both these factors combine with the general perception of bastards as inherently treacherous. Westerosi culture does not treat child Jon as a blank slate. No. Catelyn’s predisposed by her education to think of him as more likely to screw over her kids than not. This is neither fair nor correct, of course, but that’s how the prejudice operates.

None of this makes the way Catelyn treated Jon okay. I certainly see her behaviour to Jon as child abuse.

Rather, these factors go to illustrating how crappy the system is. The prevailing interpretation of recent history and current political logic, which Catelyn is aware of and interested in, plus the general prejudice against bastards, say “isolate and abuse that child, there are serious risks attached to treating him well and making him feel welcome and equal.” 

So basically, yes, she could have treated Jon Snow better than she did, but that would involve taking on a lot of perceived risk to her person and her children, and required her to reject a lot of her education. Not everyone can make that sort of leap, none of GRRM’s characters are saints, and in this case Jon suffered the most for it.

You want to know the meaning of life? This is your highest calling: You are called into the dynamic co-creation of the cosmos. This breath is your canvas and your brush. These are the raw materials for your art, for the life you are making. Nothing is off limits. Your backyard, your piano, your paintbrush, your conversation, Rwanda, New Orleans, Iraq, your marriage, your soul. You’re making a living with every step you take. So when you make a living, do not merely make money. Why settle for cash when joy is on the line? You feel a thrill when you dance, when you sing, when you finish your poem; even when you sweep the room you see order pressing back against the chaos. So when you create, never settle for making a living – at least not the way that the world might define that phrase. When you make a living, you are speaking a new world into existence. You are creating grace within the confines, you are co-signing God’s blank checks.
—  Jon Foreman