#anti jongritte

[rise-my-angel]

Would you say Jon would be more of a soft!dom? Also do you think Jon would be dominant in bed? Been reading so many people say that Jon would actually be submissive in bed and its been throwing me completely off :/

Listen I am a FIRM believer in Dominant Jon. I am on here with my smut to dismantle the sub Jon headcanons for good.

He is an intense man with very raw emotions and painting him as some good boy sub in bed is crazy to me. Now he would be a soft!dom, but that does not at all indicate he has any sub tendancies.

A soft dom is simply a dominant who is more gentle with their words, more romantic and less harsh. A soft dom is a little less kinky but they are passionate and intimate. Which is Jon. I think if you watch who Jon really is as his own individual you'd realize he is a dom, he always has something clawing at his chest to take control and when he does he is a very natural firm leader.

Jons sub headcanons come from one place, and it is the cave with Ygritte scene. Now I have made my opinons on that scene clear, that Jon is a victim of rape at Ygritte's hands and thus I put NONE of my theories of his sexual inclinations towards dom/sub dynamics as being based off of that. Most people who argue for sub Jon tend to also be people who don't think Ygritte is a rapist and thus base their headcanons on that scene. Which I think is gross and insulting to Jon, since it's pretty blatantly rape once you get passed the really dishonest way the show tried to frame it.

So, if you think Jon is a dom, my smut is the place for you. I have never seen a submissive Jon smut that doesnt suddenly turn him massively out of character just to suit that narrative.

Jon is a man who within a few short months of being in the Nights Watch, tried to STAB A COMMANDING OFFICER TO DEATH when said man insulted Jons fathers honor. That is not the actions of someone who is a sub in bed. That is a man who at his core is a protector, and that includes the bedroom.

Jon isn't mean in bed, and he isn't a hard dom, but being a soft dom is absolutely nowhere close to being a sub. Jon has been looked down on and walked all over his whole life and we know he hates that.

So I do not grasp why anyone thinks he'd also want to be treated that way in the bedroom. Why would he want a woman in bed to treat him the way he hates being treated in real life? Jon craves to be in control in his life, he would never want to be ordered around and told what to do in the most intimate of scenarios.

Sub Jon headcanoners are wrong. Sorry, but they do not know Jon Snow. They are wrong. Jon is a dom. A soft dom, but 100% a dom.

[izzy140105]

I WOULD LIKE TO REMIND EVERYBODY THAT JON WAS SHOT WITH ABOUT THE SAME AMOUNT OF ARROWS THAT ALMOST KILLED ROBB AT THE RED WEDDING. HAD JON NOT GOTTEN TO CASTLE BLACK HE COULD'VE DIED.

If Ygritte didn't shoot to kill him the and there, she certainly shot him enough to intentionally leave him for dead. Which is the same thing at the end of the day. She shot Jon with the assumption either way that he would not survive. Jon only lived because he had a fucking horse.

"she loved him ☝️🤓" NO SHE DIDN'T!! SHE USED HIM!! IT IRKS ME TO NO AVAIL THAT PEOPLE STILL SHIP THEM!! As you said - HE COULD'VE DIED!! IN WHAT WORLD WOULD YOU CALL THAT LOVE??

[tartheanmaid]

can anyone recommend some jonsa fic with an arya pov? i have a craving

[dipperscavern]

it saddens me that the only play jon snow ever got was an abuser and his aunt

bro deserved better 😔

#ygrittehater4L

EXACTLY. THE ONLY PLAY JON SNOW RVER GOT WAS DOUBLE AA BATTERIES okay sorry. but seriously a man that broken and good looking?? and that’s the only play he got?? a crime on a federal level

#YgritteHater4L

[esther-dot]

"Gently, he spoke of Braavos, and met a wall of sullen courtesy as icy and unyielding as the Wall he had walked once in the north. It made him weary. Then and now."- Tyrion(ASOS VIII).

"I hate this Wall," she said in a low angry voice. "Can you feel how cold it is?"- Jon(ASOS IV)

"I almost fell," she said, with tears in her eyes. "Twice. Thrice. The Wall was trying t' shake me off, I could feel it." One of the tears broke free and trickled slowly down her cheek."- Jon(ASOS IV).

Tyrion and Ygritte feeling weary of the Wall and hating the Wall.

Oh, 👀👀 Years ago I wrote this:

We also have all those references to her courtesy being a wall (I’ve been collecting them to write about it sometime) and Tyrion wishing to get around it but he can’t. I’ve mentioned before how it’s fitting that Sansa, who bled for the North’s freedom as a prisoner in KL, would secure the North’s freedom, but I forget how Sansa’s refusal to have sex with Tyrion, her refusal to let him in, isn’t cruel, isn’t just about sex, it’s a decision that is protecting the North. I know the fandom likes to use Tyrion’s decision to not rape her as a sign of his virtue, but Sansa builds a wall to protect herself, and with it, Winterfell. A shame that’s not appreciated more. (link)

So I'm very interested in Sansa's wall and Jon's declarations of the Wall is mine which happen throughout ASOS and ADWD, especially as his struggle between his vow/the Wall and desire for Winterfell is decided in his declaration that Winterfell belongs to Sansa, a contrast to Tyrion who wishes to use Sansa to take Winterfell. Tyrion being pained and frustrated by his child bride (who was a prisoner of his family!) not opening up to him has got to be one of the most self-absorbed moments in the story. I’m just incredulous each time I read it but moving on

There are many intersections between the ASOS Jonsa chapters, and this one seems pertinent as it is another connection between Tyrion and Ygritte:

Jon is in a similar position with Ygritte (a captive being forced into a "marriage") as Sansa is with Tyrion. And, in addition to the general similarities, when they both are “married” (Sansa officially, Jon by giving in and having sex) there is this: "Two hearts that beat as one. Mance Rayder's mocking words rang bitter in his head. Jon had seldom felt so confused." (ASOS, Jon III) "'Here in the sight of gods and men,' he said, 'I do solemnly proclaim Tyrion of House Lannister and Sansa of House Stark to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them.'" (ASOS, Sansa III) Those lines in the chapters with similar considerations mimic each other as a mockery of Jon and Sansa’s romantic ideals, their dreams, what they would want a marriage to be. (link)

Sansa is greatful for what she deems Tyrion's kindess to her, her feelings never develop beyond that although he does respect her boundary on the wedding night and opts not to force her to have sex with him. Jon on the other hand develops deep feelings for Ygritte, so her lines about the Wall trying to throw her off are fascinating to me if we're reading it as more than her experience with the physical Wall. We could read it as references to Jon's attempts to prevent her from sleeping with him, his feelings immediately after she forces the issue or his mixed feelings later once he eagerly participates in the relationship. Once I wrote this:

Another way to look at this is the idea of what the characters represent. I’ve mentioned how Ygritte is representative of the FF for Jon, spending time with her is about learning the culture, coming to care for the people, realizing that they have some sympathetic grievances, but if Ygritte is the FF, we might look at Jon as the people of the North, as someone whose boundaries are disregarded, the things he attempts to use to protect himself circumnavigated, and his person violated. (link)

which is an interesting thought paired with how Ygritte views the Wall. Her anger at the Wall's existence makes me think of this passage where she wants to...well, kinda violently possess Jon:

Ygritte had looked so angry he thought she was about to strike him. "All of us," she said. "You too. You're no crow now, Jon Snow. I swore you weren't, so you better not be." She pushed him back against the trunk of a tree and kissed him, full on the lips right there in the midst of the ragged column. Jon heard Grigg the Goat urging her on. Someone else laughed. He kissed her back despite all that. When they finally broke apart, Ygritte was flushed. "You're mine," she whispered. (ASOS, Jon V)

[forzaazzurri]

Lycanthropy - Jon Snow

Dead Man

Pairing: Jon Snow x oc (Aela of the Weres) Length: 5.2k Rating: M for Mature Warnings: gore, graphic depictions of violence, violence, parental violence against child

The hearth in Aela's chambers had burned low, embers glowing faintly in the dim light. She had fallen asleep wrapped in her furs, the weight of recent days pressing down on her. The room was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of wood. Outside, the icy wind howled, carrying with it the scent of snow and pine.

In her dreams, she was no longer in her chambers. She stood in the shadow of the Frostfangs, the mountains looming vast and stark against a steel-gray sky. The snow swirled around her, yet she didn't feel the cold. She felt something else instead—his presence.

It had been at least two moons since his visit to the Were Caverns with Tormund on behalf of Mance Rayder to treaty. 

Jon emerged from the haze of snow, his furs blending into the storm behind him. He looked tired as if the weight of his choices had worn him thin, but his gray eyes met hers with a familiar intensity.

"I didn't mean to disturb your rest," he said, his voice steady yet filled with uncertainty.

"You never disturb me, Jon," Aela replied, stepping closer. Her heart ached at the sight of him, yet she didn't reach out.

Jon hesitated, his gaze shifting to the ground before returning to hers. "I've been thinking... My time with the wildlings is over. I've done what I can for them, but I have to return to the Wall. To my brothers. They'll need me when the time comes."

Aela's brows furrowed, sensing the turmoil beneath his words. "You're afraid."

"I'd be a fool not to be," Jon admitted. "Leaving won't be easy. The wildlings don't forgive easily, and Mance... he'll see it as betrayal." He paused, the wind whipping his cloak around him. "There's more. I broke my vows once more—with Ygritte."

Aela's chest tightened, but she said nothing, letting him continue.

"I had no choice," he said, his voice quiet now. "It was the only way to gain their trust, to survive long enough to learn their plans. Tormund knew something happened between us, and Ygritte was suspecting it too. I didn't think about what it meant until it was too late. I can't take it back." He met her gaze again, searching for something—judgment, perhaps, or forgiveness.

Aela's lips curved into a small, sad smile. "You think this would hurt me."

Jon didn't answer, but the flicker of guilt in his eyes spoke volumes.

"It doesn't," Aela said gently. "I understand why you did it. You chose what you had to, for the sake of your survival. But you must be careful. Escaping won't just cost you. I've... I've had a feeling, a shadow over what's to come. I fear for you."

Jon frowned, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. "What do you mean?"

Aela shook her head, the words eluding her. "I don't know. It's just a sense that something is waiting for you—something dangerous."

He stepped closer then, his face inches from hers. The warmth of his breath reached her cheeks, despite the cold. "Aela... If I make it out, I'll need to find safety. If something happens to me—"

"Tell me where you'll go," she interrupted.

Jon hesitated before nodding. "The Shadow Tower. It's the safest place to rejoin the Watch."

Aela placed a hand over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "Then I'll find you there if I can."

He didn't respond. Instead, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. For a moment, the storm faded, leaving only the two of them standing in its wake.

And then the dream dissolved.

Aela awoke with a sharp intake of breath, her brown eyes snapping open. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of dying embers. Her heart raced, the dream lingering vividly in her mind.

She sat up, running a hand through her dark hair. The sensation of Jon's presence clung to her, as real as if he had been there. But the words he had spoken weighed heavily on her.

The Shadow Tower.

Aela swung her legs over the side of her bed, her bare feet brushing against the cold stone floor. Her father, Harvald, had returned just days ago from the north, bringing with him news of wildling movements and tensions with the Watch. He had warned her—again and again—that their kind could trust no one outside their pack, least of all a Crow. Weres stayed away from the Wall. It was paramount that it remained that way.

But Aela had made her decision before she even realized it.

She dressed quickly, pulling on thick layers and fastening her cloak at her throat. She grabbed her pack, filling it with food, water, and a small blade for protection. She could imagine her father's voice in her mind, stern and unyielding. "Aela, you will be chieftain someday. Your duty is to your people, not to some outsider."

Yet Jon wasn't just some outsider.

As quietly as she could, Aela slipped out of her chambers and into the night. The guards camp outside the gorge entrance was still, the guards at the perimeter appeared unaware of her departure. Her breath misted in the cold air as she made her way quickly out of sight. It helped she planned the perimeter for guards at this hour of the night.

Her steps were quick and she remained alert as she navigated her way through Were territory. She felt the knot of apprehension in her chest tighten in her chest. If her father discovered she had left, his wrath would be swift. But she couldn't let that stop her.

"I'll find you, Jon Snow," she murmured under her breath, "And may the Old Gods protect us both."

Without another glance back, Aela fled into the, the trees swallowing her as she made her way south.

----------

The forest was dense and eerily silent as Aela crept through the snow, her breath visible in the frigid air. Moonlight filtered through the skeletal branches, casting pale shadows across the frozen ground. She crouched low, her sharp eyes scanning the treeline for any movement.

In her werewolf form, Aela was a shadow of muscle and fur, her senses sharper and her body more agile. She had tracked Jon's path south, using what little information her dream had given her and following the faint trails left by the wildlings. She had crossed into the Gift, south of the Wall, through an icy gorge—a perilous path few dared to take.

Now she was closer, her instincts pulling her toward him like a magnet.

The faint scent of smoke reached her sensitive nose. She stilled, her ears twitching as she listened. The crackle of a fire and faint voices drifted through the trees. She shifted slightly, her massive paws silent against the snow.

Wildlings.

Aela approached the edge of the clearing, where she spotted the flicker of firelight. A small group of them sat huddled around the flames, their laughter harsh and grating against the quiet night. They had set up camp not far from a crumbling farmhouse, its roof sagging under the weight of accumulated snow.

She sniffed the air again, searching for Jon's scent. It was faint but unmistakable, carried on the breeze. He was close—closer than she had hoped.

Aela retreated into the shadows, the fur along her spine bristling. Her heart hammered in her chest as she considered her next move. Jon had told her in the dream that he intended to leave the wildlings, but if they discovered his plans—or her presence—there would be blood.

The moon hung high in the sky when Aela finally stopped to shift. She found a secluded grove surrounded by thick pines, far enough from the wildling camp to avoid detection. She crouched low, her fur rippling as her bones began to shift and crack. The transformation was swift and fluid, the pain a fleeting echo of what it had been when she was younger.

When it was over, she knelt in the snow, shivering slightly as her human form emerged. Her breath came in sharp gasps, and she pressed a hand to her chest, steadying herself.

Her mind raced. She was so close to Jon now, but what would she find when she reached him? Would he even want her here? Would the wildlings see her as an outsider, a threat?

No time for doubts now, she thought. She retrieved her pack, which she had hidden in a hollowed-out tree, and quickly dressed in her furs. During her transformation, she carried her pack around her neck, finding it easiest to carry that why while running on all fours.

She set out again, her steps purposeful as she followed the trail of smoke and firelight.

The farmhouse came into view just as the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon. Aela kept to the cover of the trees, her sharp eyes scanning the area. She spotted several wildlings moving about—gathering firewood, sharpening blades, and speaking in low voices.

Her heart clenched when she saw Jon among them. He was seated on a log near the fire, his cloak wrapped tightly around him. His hair was damp with melted snow, and his face was drawn, as though he hadn't slept in days.

Aela's instincts screamed at her to approach him, to close the distance between them. But she held back, knowing the risks. If she exposed herself now, the wildlings might see her as a threat—or worse, use her against Jon.

She crouched low, waiting for an opportunity to approach unseen.

----------

Jon sat silently by the fire, his hands wrapped around a steaming cup of broth. The warmth did little to chase away the chill that had settled deep in his bones. He glanced around the camp, his mind heavy with unease.

He had been with the wildlings long enough to know their ways, their tempers. But his heart wasn't with them. It never had been. He thought of the Wall, of the brothers he had left behind. Of Ghost, who had disappeared. And of Aela, whose face lingered in his thoughts more often than he cared to admit.

A rustling in the trees caught his attention. Jon's eyes narrowed as he scanned the treeline, his hand instinctively moving to Longclaw's hilt. He stood slowly, his movements careful as he stepped away from the fire.

"Something wrong, crow?" Tormund's gruff voice broke the silence.

Jon shook his head, his gaze still fixed on the trees. "Probably nothing," he said, though his gut told him otherwise.

As the camp began to stir, Aela seized her moment. She waited until the wildlings were distracted, most of them preoccupied with preparing for the day's journey. Moving swiftly and silently, she skirted the edge of the clearing, keeping low to the ground.

When she was close enough, she crouched behind a snow-laden bush and let out a soft, low whistle—a sound she hoped Jon would recognize. She had done it once or twice in their dream meetings.

Jon froze, his head snapping toward the sound. His hand tightened on Longclaw, but then his eyes widened slightly, recognition flashing across his face. He didn't move, didn't speak, but his shoulders relaxed minutely.

Aela held her breath, waiting for him to acknowledge her. When he gave a subtle nod, she exhaled and retreated back into the trees.

Jon turned to Tormund, his expression neutral. "I need a moment. I'll catch up."

Tormund grunted, unconcerned. "Don't take too long, crow. We leave soon."

Jon nodded and slipped away, his steps quick and deliberate as he followed Aela's trail into the forest.

----------

Aela stepped out from the trees, her form blending seamlessly into the morning mist. She approached Jon cautiously, her brown eyes scanning the camp behind him for any signs of pursuit.

"You shouldn't have come," Jon muttered, his voice low but firm. Worry shown in his stormy eyes as he stared at the young woman in front of him.

"I dreamed of you again," she whispered, closing the gap between them. Her breath was visible in the frigid air, and though her face was calm, her eyes betrayed her worry. "You were in danger. I couldn't ignore it."

Jon's jaw tightened as he glanced back toward the camp. The wildlings were preparing to move south, unaware of Aela's presence. He reached for her arm, his grip firm but not unkind.

"You need to leave," he said, his voice carrying a weight that brooked no argument. "I can't protect you here."

"I didn't come for your protection," Aela shot back, her voice steady but soft. "I came for you."

Jon sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You don't understand. This is my battle, my mistake to resolve. If they find you, it won't just be me they'll hunt—it'll be you, too."

Aela stepped closer, her breath mingling with his in the cold air. "I won't leave you to face this alone."

Jon grabbed her by the shoulders, his dark eyes boring into hers. "You have to," he said, his voice low and fierce. "Listen to me, Aela. I need you to go north, toward the Wall. There's a spot a mile out from here where it's safe to wait. I'll meet you there when it's over."

She shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. "And if you don't?"

His grip tightened, his hands trembling slightly. "Then you'll keep going. You'll find safety. You don't owe me this."

"I owe you nothing," Aela replied quietly, her gaze unwavering. "But I choose to stand by you."

For a moment, Jon said nothing, his expression softening as he studied her face. Then, without warning, he pulled her close, his arms encircling her in a fierce embrace.

"I can't lose you," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

"You won't," she promised.

Jon pulled back, his hands lingering on her arms. "Go," he said firmly. "I'll find you."

Reluctantly, Aela nodded. She turned and disappeared into the forest, her figure swallowed by the mist.

----------

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon when Aela spotted the rider. At first, she thought it was a trick of the fading light, but as the figure came into view, her heart seized in her chest.

Jon slumped forward in the saddle, his body barely upright as his horse trudged through the snow. Blood stained his cloak, and arrows jutted from his back and shoulder like cruel markers of his defeat. A third was sticking out of his calf.

"No," Aela whispered, breaking into a run.

The horse came to an unsteady halt as Aela reached its side. Jon's head lolled, his face pale and slick with sweat. His eyes fluttered open briefly, and he tried to speak, but no sound came.

"Easy," Aela murmured, her voice trembling as she steadied him. She carefully pulled him from the saddle, her strength bolstered by the adrenaline coursing through her veins. He groaned in pain as she laid him on his stomach on the ground, her hands moving quickly to assess the damage.

The arrows had pierced deeply, and his breathing was shallow. Aela's hands hovered over the wounds, her mind racing.

"Stay with me, Jon," she said urgently.

He blinked at her, his lips forming a single word: "Aela."

Her heart clenched at the sound of her name. "I'm here," she said firmly. "I'm not leaving you."

Aela glanced around, her sharp eyes searching for shelter. She spotted a crumbling shack a short distance away, its roof partially caved in but its walls still standing.

Summoning her strength, she hoisted Jon onto her shoulders, her muscles protesting under his weight. In human form, she was much weaker. She staggered toward the shack, her breaths coming in labored gasps as she fought through the snow.

----------

The shack was cold and dark but better than the open forest. Aela laid Jon on a makeshift pallet of furs on his side, her hands already working to remove the arrows.

He hissed in pain, his body jerking as she snapped the first shaft and pulled it free. Blood welled from the wound, and Aela pressed a strip of cloth against it, her hands steady despite the panic clawing at her chest.

"You're going to be fine," she said, more to herself than to him. "You've survived worse."

Jon's lips twitched in a faint, pained smile. "Have I?"

She met his gaze, her expression softening. "You will," she said firmly.

One by one, she removed the arrows, her hands slick with blood. She worked quickly, her movements efficient but gentle. When she was done, she cleaned the wounds with snowmelt and bound them tightly with strips of cloth.

Jon's breathing steadied slightly, though his face remained pale. He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze with a weak but grateful look.

"You shouldn't have come," he murmured.

"And yet, here I am," Aela replied, her voice soft.

Jon's lips parted as if to argue, but the effort was too much. He closed his eyes, his body relaxing into the furs.

Aela sat back, her hands trembling as the adrenaline began to wear off. She leaned against the wall, her eyes fixed on Jon's face.

----------

The small shack was deathly quiet save for the soft crackling of the fire Aela had managed to build in the crumbling hearth. Jon lay on the makeshift bed of furs, his face pale and damp with sweat, his breathing shallow but steady. His fever had set in late the previous night, leaving him restless and murmuring in his delirium.

Aela sat beside him, her knees drawn up and her back resting against the rotting wall. Her brown eyes never left him, scanning his features for any sign of change. She'd barely left his side since dragging him to the shack, only slipping out once at dawn to fetch fresh water from a nearby stream.

When Jon groaned softly, his head shifting against the fur beneath him, Aela leaned forward. She dipped a cloth into the bowl of cool water beside her and pressed it gently to his forehead. His skin was hot to the touch, the fever burning away whatever strength he had left.

"It's all right," she whispered, her voice low and soothing as she stroked a hand through his damp hair. The strands were thick and unruly, curling slightly at the ends. "I'm here, Jon. You're safe."

He mumbled something incoherent, his brows furrowing as though he were trapped in a dream.

"Shhh," she murmured, her fingers continuing their rhythmic motion through his hair. "No one will hurt you. Not while I'm here."

But even as she spoke, Aela's sharp senses remained on high alert. Her ears picked up the faintest noises—the distant rustle of leaves, the creak of snow-laden branches—and her nose twitched at every unfamiliar scent carried on the cold wind. She was ready, poised to act at the first sign of danger.

And if it came to that, she would kill them all.

The thought came unbidden but resolute. She knew the wildlings wouldn't hesitate to kill Jon if they found him, and she wouldn't hesitate to stop them. Not Tormund, despite his grudging kindness. Not any of them.

And certainly not Ygritte.

Aela's jaw tightened as she thought of the red-haired woman. She had seen the way Ygritte looked at Jon—possessive, almost predatory. She hadn't spoken of it to Jon, but she knew it was Ygritte's arrows that had done the most damage. There was no doubt in her mind.

Her fingers paused briefly in their motion through Jon's hair, her claws threatening to extend before she caught herself. The image of Ygritte's face flashed in her mind, and Aela felt a surge of malice so strong it startled her.

She would tear her apart.

The thought came swiftly, and for a moment, Aela didn't question it. But then, as the heat of the emotion faded, she sat back, frowning. Why did she care so much? What was it about Jon that had roused such fierce protectiveness—and, if she were honest with herself, jealousy?

She glanced down at him, her gaze softening. He looked so fragile now, so far removed from the quiet strength he usually carried. Seeing him like this made something deep within her chest ache, a feeling she couldn't quite name.

Jon stirred again, his lips moving without sound. She leaned closer, her sharp hearing picking up the faintest whisper.

"Wall... I have to... Wall..."

Aela frowned, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "You're not going anywhere yet," she said softly.

His eyes fluttered open briefly, glazed with fever. For a moment, they locked onto hers, and he tried to speak. "Aela..."

"I'm here," she said quickly, taking his hand in hers. "Rest, Jon. Just rest."

His fingers weakly squeezed hers before his eyes drifted shut again. Aela held his hand for a moment longer, her heart twisting.

----------

The hours stretched on, and Aela remained by Jon's side, feeding him small sips of water when he could manage it and cooling his fever as best she could.

Her mind wandered back to her earlier thoughts of Ygritte. The intensity of her emotions unsettled her. She had always been protective of her kin, her people—but this was different. This was personal.

The realization made her stomach twist. She cared for Jon, more deeply than she wanted to admit, and the thought of losing him—or of him choosing someone else—cut deeper than she had expected.

She shook her head, trying to clear the troubling thoughts. This wasn't the time for such feelings. Jon needed her focus, her strength.

Her hand brushed his hair again, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "You're not allowed to die, you know," she said, her tone light but with an undercurrent of determination. "Not after I've come this far for you."

Jon didn't respond, but his breathing seemed to ease slightly as if her presence was enough to comfort him even in his fevered state.

Aela leaned back against the wall, her eyes never leaving him. Whatever it took, she would see him through this.

While Jon rested, Aela wrestled with her own thoughts. Her decision to escort him to the Wall was final, but the implications weighed heavily on her. Returning to the Were clans after such an act of defiance would not be easy. Her father, Harvald, would not forgive her easily for abandoning her duties, even if it was to save a life.

And yet, the thought of leaving Jon alone, wounded and vulnerable, was unbearable.

She glanced at Jon, his face peaceful in sleep. The feelings he stirred in her were unfamiliar, a mix of fierce protectiveness and something deeper, more vulnerable. She didn't fully understand it, but she knew one thing with certainty: she would see him to safety, no matter the cost.

And if the wildlings came, she would be ready.

----------

The fire had burned low, the glow of embers casting faint flickers of light across the cramped shack. Jon stirred on the pallet, his breathing no longer labored but still shallow. His fever had broken during the night, though the wounds on his side and shoulder remained raw and tender.

Aela sat on a stool near the hearth, sharpening her blade in slow, deliberate strokes. Her keen ears picked up the shift in Jon's breathing, a telltale sign he was waking. She set the blade down and moved to his side, her brown eyes scanning his face.

Jon's eyes fluttered open, their familiar grey finding hers. He blinked, his gaze sharpening despite the lingering haze of exhaustion. "Aela," he murmured, his voice rough.

"I'm here," she replied softly, kneeling beside him. "How do you feel?"

"Alive," he muttered, attempting a wry smile that faltered as he winced. "Thanks to you."

Aela's lips quirked, but her expression remained serious. "Don't thank me yet. You're not out of the woods." She reached for the water bowl, soaking a cloth to dab gently at his brow.

Jon sighed, the cool sensation easing some of his discomfort. "How long... before I can move?"

"A fortnight," Aela replied firmly. "You'll be well enough to make the journey to the Wall by then. I'll escort you before I journey home."

Jon's eyes widened slightly, alarm flickering across his face. "You'd go back through the gorge? Alone?"

Aela nodded, her tone calm but resolute. "It's the only way. The way I came."

Jon shifted, trying to prop himself up, but Aela's hand pressed lightly against his chest, urging him back down. "You shouldn't have risked that for me," he said, his voice low but laced with emotion. "It's too dangerous."

"I would've risked more," she admitted, her gaze steady. "I couldn't leave you to die, Jon. Not after..." She trailed off, her voice softening. "Not after what we've shared."

Jon's expression wavered between gratitude and something deeper, though he didn't yet have the words to name it. "I've no right to ask this of you. Your people—"

"Will understand," she interrupted firmly, though the slight hesitation in her voice betrayed her uncertainty. She glanced away, the weight of her decision settling heavily on her shoulders. "This is something I must do."

Jon studied her, his brow furrowed. "Aela..." He hesitated, then reached for her hand. "Thank you. For everything."

----------

As the days passed, Jon's strength returned bit by bit, though the pain in his wounds reminded him of how close he'd come to death. Aela remained a constant presence, tending to him with a quiet determination that left him both comforted and unsettled.

He couldn't shake the memory of her confession—that she had risked her life to save his. It wasn't just the danger of crossing the gorge that haunted him, but the fact that she had chosen him, a southerner (considered by those beyond the wall) and a crow, over her own safety.

At night, when the fever dreams receded, he would watch her as she kept vigil by the fire. Her profile, sharp and fierce, seemed almost otherworldly in the dim light. She was unlike anyone he'd ever known—strong, selfless, and deeply loyal.

Jon found himself drawn to her in ways he couldn't fully understand. It wasn't love—not yet—but there was a bond between them that felt strong. He couldn't help but think that maybe in another lifetime she'd be his. He could only wish it and dream it.

----------

South of the Wall

The woods were still, the faint rustle of leaves barely audible over the sound of Jon's labored breaths. Aela dismounted first, her boots crunching softly on the frozen ground. She turned to steady Jon as he swung his leg over the saddle and eased himself down with a grimace, his injuries still far from healed.

"Careful," she murmured, her hands on his arms to keep him steady.

Once he was steady, Aela took the reins of the mare and led her a few steps away. She patted the mare's neck, her fingers brushing through the thick mane as if to soothe herself. The Wall loomed in the distance, the black gate barely visible through the frost-laden trees.

Jon stared ahead at his destination. His grey eyes scanned the Wall's towering expanse in the distance, the black gate barely visible from their vantage point. Relief and apprehension warred within him.

Aela stepped back, stroking the mare's mane as if to distract herself. Her brown eyes, shadowed with exhaustion, lifted to meet his. "This is where we part," she said quietly, a soft smile curving her lips though her gaze was heavy with sadness. "It'll be safer for you if I don't come closer."

Jon nodded, though his jaw tightened. "You'll have a perilous journey back. I should..." He hesitated, his voice trailing off. The Wall needed him, but his heart pulled in another direction. "I should go with you."

Aela shook her head, her smile faint but firm. "We both know the Wall needs you more than I do, Jon. Your brothers will need every hand they can get for what's coming. And I'll manage."

The thought of her navigating the brutal winter, hostile wildlings, and worse—White Walkers—made Jon's chest ache with a worry he couldn't express. "I don't like leaving you to face this alone," he admitted, his voice low.

Aela stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. "When the time is right, I'll reach out again. We'll meet once more."

Jon's lips pressed into a thin line. He glanced back at the Wall, then at her, the conflict clear in his eyes. "Take the horse," he said abruptly.

Aela shook her head, stepping back and placing the reins in his hand. "No. You'll need her more than I will. She'll get you to the Wall faster, and you're still not strong enough to make the journey on foot."

Jon looked down at the reins, then back at her. "You're risking your life for me, and now you're giving me the only chance you have to make it easier on yourself." His voice dropped to a near whisper. Jon's expression softened, though the weight of their parting was evident in his eyes. "You've done more for me than I deserve, Aela. Thank you." His voice carried the quiet sincerity that was unmistakably his.

Without another word, he mounted the horse, wincing as the movement jarred his injuries. He urged the mare forward, casting one last look over his shoulder at Aela. She stood still, her figure framed by the trees, watching him go.

Only when he disappeared into the distance did she turn and shift into her werewolf form. The transformation was swift, her limbs elongating, fur sprouting along her skin. With one last glance toward the Wall, she sprinted into the forest, heading toward the gorge.

----------

Were Caverns

The warmth of the Were Caverns was a stark contrast to the biting cold of the wilderness, but Aela felt no comfort as she was summoned to her father's chamber. Harvald sat in his carved wooden chair, his broad shoulders tense, his face a mask of barely restrained anger.

"You've returned," he said gruffly, rising as she stepped inside.

"Yes, Father," Aela replied, her voice steady despite the unease coiling in her chest.

"Close the door," he ordered.

The heavy wooden door shut with a dull thud, and for a moment, silence reigned. Then Harvald turned to her, his eyes blazing.

Aela didn't flinch, meeting his gaze with quiet resolve. "I did what I thought was right."

"What you thought was right?" Harvald echoed, his voice incredulous. "You left the Caverns, crossed the gorge, and risked your life for a crow. A southerner."

Her silence only seemed to enrage him further. "The world out there took your mother," he said, his voice breaking slightly, "and your brother. Do you think it will spare you?"

In a rare, impulsive outburst, he raised his hand and struck her across the face. The sound echoed in the chamber, sharp and loud.

Aela staggered but did not flinch. Tears welled in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks, but she remained silent, her head bowed.

Harvald's breathing was uneven, his hand trembling as he realized what he had done. Guilt and regret flashed across his face, but he quickly masked it with a gruff demeanor. "Go to your chambers," he ordered, his voice quieter but no less firm. "You are not to leave the Caverns. Not to patrol, not to hunt. Nowhere."

"Father—"

"You think with your heart, not your head," he interrupted, his tone heavy with both anger and sorrow. "You risked everything for a crow." His voice softened as he added, "I'm trying to protect you, Aela. And I will."

Without another word, he turned his back to her, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his emotions.

Aela blinked back more tears as two guards entered to escort her to her chambers. She followed them without resistance, her mind spinning with thoughts of Jon, her father, and the path she had chosen.

[mutter-of-dragons]

Usually I'm okay with manips and all, but this comes from a fandom who loves shitting on the same characters they are stealing from, while claiming that their ship will be endgame. Had it been a crack shipping thing, they would just go unnoticed like any normal crack/rare pair would. The moment they use edits and take themes from Arya and Dany while badmouthing them from the same things it's just bizarre. I can't even understand this level of brainrot from Jonsas.

well, folks, it's about that time again...

For Jonsas to steal content from "rival" ships again.

Cut out Jon's head and cloak, slim down Jon's jaw, rotate downward (lmao), add some leather arm in a bit of an awkward place, up contrast, play with layer blend, done!

But haha, remember how Jonsas claim that in the scene this was stolen from, Jon is just manipulating Dany because:

he's sTrAtEgiCaLlY turning her back facing Drogon so she won't see his flames and won't see anything coming!!

he's closing his eyes just to make her believe he's into it!

because he's using Dany as a human shield against Drogon's flames guys!!!

as a teeny tiny petite human shield against Drogon's flames!!!

because Jon is trying to kill Dany here guys!!!

or he's afraid the dragons would try to murder him here suddenly?

like Dany would allow that? but why??

he's been around the dragons and Dany enough

AND JUST RODE A LITERAL DRAGON

where would the political advantage for Dany even be there?

like she wants more war before the literal apocalypse she's HERE TO FIGHT?

and wasn't Jon actively trying to die like daily since resurrection? (my headcanon is he's trying to get away from sansa's nagging and is giving dany's suggestion of a 1000-year vacation a lot of thought :))

and if he's trying to kill Dany....

who would control Drogon and who would the Unsullied and Dothraki listen to when there's still a war against the zombie apocalypse to be fought...? And wouldn't that realistically cause a problem for the FACTION (IE. THE NORTH FACING AFOREMENTIONED APOCALYPSE) THAT JUST MURDERED HER?!?! but none of that matters to Pol!Jonners because:

you can totally tell Jon iSn'T in LoVe WiTh DanY bEcAUSe He SAiD ThEY'D Be Old iF ThEY StAYED tHeRe fOR 1000 YeARs!!!!!!!!!! So UnRoMaNTiC Of TyPiCALlY rOmAncTic "IM NOT A BLEEDING POET" JoN SnoW riGhT!!!!

AnD hE KEpT HiS EyE oPEN (because being nervous of your gf's 6-year old dragon son watching you kiss his mom is the height of not in love and definitely not a play on the Kids Watching trope :( )

But I guess the above was not enough to keep Jonsas from stealing it for their ship :) :) :)

As an additional treat, there are ✨seventeen✨ examples of Jonsas and Stansas stealing from Jonrya, Jonerys, Jongritte, Arya, and Dany under the cut! :) (Some are my own captures, others are not, namely the phone & instagram screen caps -- if you see your screenshot and would like credit, please let me know! 💖)

First, a Jonsa kindly assures us they're not stealing Jonrya foreshadowing ❤️ 

The promo shots of Jon and Dany that Jonsas called "un in-love" and "not protective" when they were released. Well...

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Yikes.

[snow-blower]

3lisia's Intro Page !!

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✧⁠*• Minors DNI, occasional NSFW posts ahead.

✧⁠*• I'm 19 and retaking my GCSE's, so if I don't post a lot, I'm busy tryna not fail my classes.

✧⁠*• Janitor ai requests are closed whilst I get through kinkmas and the requests I have!

✧⁠*• Fic requests are currently Closed.

✧⁠*• Anti Jonsa, Jongritte, and Jonaerys. Also, if you're one of those dany stans, begone.

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Hey, you! Yeah, you! You stalking my blog? I don't mind, truly. But since you're here, you may as well add your balls to my collection on Deco My Tree. You can send a simple, anonymous message to me that I can only open in Christmas day! Awesome right? It's like my ask box, but ✨ Christmas ✨.

Feel free to follow this link and add a silly little Christmas message to my tree. And, whilst you're there, you can make your own tree! Send me the link and I'll send you a very merry Christmas message, filled with love and probably lust for the Starks. :)

[kellyvela]

I am also baffled by people saying that Sansa and Lyanna's parallels are not pointed out in the text, because they are? 'everyone only compares her to Arya' is blatantly false. In fact, Sansa is likened to Lyanna in text as many times as Arya is. The following are all the times either girl is mentioned having any similarity to her:

1) Sansa is the first one to be likened to Lyanna, by Robert, when he proposes a Baratheon marriage for her.

2) Ned compares Sansa's pleading for Lady's life and being haunted by it, to Lyanna's pleading for Jon's life.

3) Ned compares Arya's wildness and potential for sword fighting to Lyanna's, and says she even looks like her.

4) Ned says Lyanna was 'dead before her time', a phrase that is only ever mentioned once more, when Sansa decribes herself feeling as such.

5) Harwin compares Arya's horseriding skills to Lyanna's.

6) Bran compares Benjen and Lyanna playing swords to himself and Arya. Lyanna also uses Arya's catchphrase 'stupid' here.

As we can see, in text parallels for both of them are fairly equal. But the sisters also share other parallels with her, some in subtext and some not exactly spelled out. The main difference between the type of parallels, as we can clearly see here, is that Lyanna and Arya have similar looks and personality and interests. However, her story from the very start is compared to Sansa's. (GRRM using the phrase 'dead before her time' for only Sansa ever again should have hammered it home)

If you are interested in this subject:

[rise-my-angel]

Referring to laying with a wildling girl as the thing which gives Jon the "oathbreaker" title is WACK, when the thing that he did to make them think he wanted to betray the Nights Watch was KILL Qhorin Halfhand and join Mance Rayders army.

Because even though this was all Jon directly following the Halfhands orders to do whatever needs to be done to gain information inside Mances army, it's all still directly breaking his oath. It's what weighs the most on Jon's guilt because orders or no he had to lie and murder and side with the enemy to obtain that information for the Nights Watch.

I guarantee, rangers have slept with wildlings many fucking times. Clearly that is not the biggest offence Jon committed out there. It was murdering a brother and joining the enemies army. Orders or no, its still going against his vows.

Almost like Jon breaking his oaths, narratively, matches up far closer to Jaime by killing a superior in what looks like cold blood against the side your sworn too but for the greater good. Not, Jaime sacrificed his reputation and risked being executed for Kingslaying to protect the innocents of Kings Landing, and Jon having sex with a woman.

Just...can we please stop citing the cave incident as what broke his vows, it is completely disregarding the sacrifices Jon made in the first place.

[maid-with-sunset-in-her-hair]

Thank you for replying my queries with patience. I was thinking about Jon and Ygritte relationship. It seems like when he slept with her first time it's under pressure and threat. For him it's for his protection. Ygritte named it like she is helping him. I feels like Jon had no agency in this and it feels icky. Later he enjoyed physical aspects of their relationship. Do you think their relationship is toxic and abusive?

Hello Dot!! No problem, I like answering your questions! Yeah, of course I think their relationship is abusive. She didn’t give him the option of not being in a relationship with her, his options were agreeing to fuck her or dying, and that’s not a choice. The books themselves repeat again and again that oaths and promises done at swordpoint aren’t valid, and the same applies when it comes to consent for sex. The fact that he later enjoys the sex means nothing because sex is supposed to be enjoyable, is like saying someone didn’t get raped because they orgasmed from the stimulation.

The reality is that Jon can’t cope with the fact he’s being physically and morally violated, that he could be forced into fathering a bastard, so he twists the relationship around and tricks himself into believing he actually wanted it. This is why Jon’s descriptions of Ygritte are so contradictory after he manages to escape. There’s the real Ygritte, who is cruel and proud, and then there’s the ideal woman that Jon would love, who is warm, funny and gentle. Once he convinces himself that he broke his vows for love, he has to think about what kind of woman would he love, and then project that ideal into his rapist. But once he escapes her, reality tries to overpower his fantasy coping mechanism.

Ygritte getting herself killed unfortunately stopped this healing process, because now he feels guilty about her death. My hope is that learning about what happened with Lyanna will help him process his own trauma.

[winterrose527]

Jon x Ygritte?

Don’t Ship It

Why don’t you ship it? - The age & power imbalance is so gross to me. I think the show made it a lot more difficult to discern that, but in the books it's really clear. Jon is a prisoner, a virgin, and a child. Ygritte completely took advantage of the position of power she had over him, and whatever he 'grew' to feel for her doesn't erase that.

What would have made you like it? - If the circumstances were entirely different, maybe, but even then I really don't like Ygritte as a character so...

Despite not shipping it, do you have anything positive to say about it? - I think it really sheds light on how people gloss over the ramifications inappropriate sexual relationships have on boys, using the excuse that because they ultimately enjoyed the sex that it was okay. But otherwise... no

[esther-dot]

I really annoyed by You know nothing, Jon Snow quote. Yes he didn't know about Wildlings culture before he went there as undercover. But that doesn't mean that Jon is fully unaware. Besides this quote can apply to Ygritte too as she herself don't know thing other than Wildlings. I hate that people put her as some kind of role model for Jon.

It is an insulting thing to say, isn’t it? It feels like Ygritte is constantly accusing him of being stupid when he simply had no exposure, no way of knowing what she knew about her people and way of life. And, you’re right, he does make an effort to understand her perspective, chooses to evolve his worldview while she soundly, violently at times, rejects his. If we want to feel better about it, I think I can argue that some of the repetitions highlight wonderful things about Jon, and criticize Ygritte:

"Why are you weeping?" Jon asked. "It was only a song. There are hundreds of giants, I've just seen them."

"Oh, hundreds," she said furiously. "You know nothing, Jon Snow. (ASOS, Jon II)

Jon seems painfully naïve here, but like the good-hearted kid he is, he tries to set himself right:

"I … my lord, the men would never … giants eat human flesh, I think … no, my lord, I thank you, but I do not have the men to watch over such a creature, he …"

Jon Snow was unsurprised. "As you wish. We will keep the giant here." Truth be told, he would have been loath to part with Wun Wun. You know nothing, Jon Snow, Ygritte might say, but Jon spoke with the giant whenever he could, through Leathers or one of the free folk they had brought back from the grove, and was learning much and more about his people and their history. He only wished that Sam were here to write the stories down.

That was not to say that he was blind to the danger Wun Wun represented. The giant would lash out violently when threatened, and those huge hands were strong enough to rip a man apart. He reminded Jon of Hodor. Hodor twice as big, twice as strong, and half as clever. There's a thought to sober even Septon Cellador. But if Tormund has giants with him, Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun may help us treat with them. (ADWD, Jon VIII)

He learns about the land, tunnels that go under the Wall (ASOS, Jon III), he has sex for the first time (ASOS, Jon III), Ygritte tells him about stealing and he rejects the notion that he stole her, their conflict of worldviews playing out in their interpersonal dynamics (ASOS, Jon III; Jon V), and then it comes up in the context of their relationship, Jon’s feelings, knowing himself and what he wants:

"We should." Her breasts bounced as she stood on one leg to pull one boot, then hopped onto her other foot to attend to the other. Her nipples were wide pink circles. "You as well," Ygritte said as she yanked down her sheepskin breeches. "If you want to look you have to show. You know nothing, Jon Snow."

"I know I want you," he heard himself say, all his vows and all his honor forgotten. She stood before him naked as her name day, and he was as hard as the rock around them. He had been in her half a hundred times by now, but always beneath the furs, with others all around them. He had never seen how beautiful she was. Her legs were skinny but well muscled, the hair at the juncture of her thighs a brighter red than that on her head. Does that make it even luckier? He pulled her close. "I love the smell of you," he said. "I love your red hair. I love your mouth, and the way you kiss me. I love your smile. I love your teats." He kissed them, one and then the other. "I love your skinny legs, and what's between them." He knelt to kiss her there, lightly on her mound at first, but Ygritte moved her legs apart a little, and he saw the pink inside and kissed that as well, and tasted her. She gave a little gasp. "If you love me all so much, why are you still dressed?" she whispered. "You know nothing, Jon Snow. Noth—oh. Oh. OHHH." (ASOS, Jon III)

Interestingly, Ygritte uses as a deflection, not acknowledging her own feelings/vulnerability,

"The worst is behind us." Jon tried to sound confident. "Don't be frightened." He tried to put an arm around her.

Ygritte slammed the heel of her hand into his chest, so hard it stung even through his layers of wool, mail, and boiled leather. "I wasn't frightened. You know nothing, Jon Snow."

"Why are you crying, then?" (ASOS, Jon IV)

It is even used to highlight that in some things, Jon knows better, and it is Ygritte who was naïve, stubbornly refusing to accept reality,

It was a fine brave boast, but it rang hollow. Jon glanced back to make certain the Magnar was not in earshot. Errok, Big Boil, and Hempen Dan were walking a few yards behind them, but paying no attention. Big Boil was complaining of his arse. "Ygritte," he said in a low voice, "Mance cannot win this war."

"He can!" she insisted. "You know nothing, Jon Snow. You have never seen the free folk fight!"

Wildlings fought like heroes or demons, depending on who you talked to, but it came down to the same thing in the end. They fight with reckless courage, every man out for glory. "I don't doubt that you're all very brave, but when it comes to battle, discipline beats valor every time. In the end Mance will fail as all the Kings-beyond-the-Wall have failed before him. And when he does, you'll die. All of you." (ASOS, Jon V)

"We'll go back to the cave," he said. "You're not going to die, Ygritte. You're not."

"Oh." Ygritte cupped his cheek with her hand. "You know nothing, Jon Snow," she sighed, dying. (ASOS, Jon VII)

It's an interesting progression, or, more accurately, as Jon has been right about a few things all along during their relationship, a continual undermining of Ygritte’s dismissal of what Jon does know.

He keeps thinking the phrase after her death, so we haven't escaped it yet, but sometimes it's paired with the idea that he has learned (ADWD, Jon I; ADWD, Jon VII). Sadly, it also comes up as self-doubt, self-recrimination, with a deep sense of hopelessness. It definitely is grating if you aren’t a fan of Ygritte, but some of its appearances are interesting if you can see past that, and think of the positive things it says about Jon.

[forzaazzurri]

Lycanthropy - Jon Snow

Parting Ways

Pairing: Jon Snow x oc (Aela of the Weres) Length: 2.2k Rating: M for Mature Warnings: gore, graphic depictions of violence, low-self confidence Jon Snow

The pale light of dawn crept into the room from the balcony overlooking the city below. It cast soft golden rays across the room. Jon stirred awake, his senses coming alive with the warmth beside him. Aela's dark hair spilled across the pillow, her face turned toward him, serene in the quiet stillness. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to take it in—the unguarded peace she wore in sleep.

Then the weight of his thoughts settled heavily on his chest. He sat up slowly, careful not to wake her, and ran a hand over his face. Memories of the night before surged through him, vivid and undeniable. It wasn't the first time Jon Snow had crossed a line that his vows forbade, but this was different. This wasn't for survival or strategy. This had been a choice.

The thought unsettled him. Had he dishonored her? Was this another mistake—one he couldn't take back?

Aela stirred, her lashes fluttering before her brown eyes met his. A small, sleepy smile touched her lips. "Good morning," she murmured, her voice soft and unguarded.

Jon swallowed, his throat dry. "Good morning." He tried to sound casual, but his tone betrayed him, strained with uncertainty.

She sat up, the fur blanket slipping slightly from her shoulders as she reached for him. "Jon," she said gently, "you're troubled."

Jon hesitated, his jaw tightening. "I'm thinking," he admitted, his tone measured.

Aela smiled faintly. "That much is clear. What's on your mind?"

Jon pushed himself up slightly, resting on his elbow. "What we did..." He swallowed hard. "I don't know if it was wise. Not for me, and not for you."

Aela tilted her head, studying him. "You regret it?"

"No," Jon said quickly, surprising himself with the sharpness of his reply. "But I fear what might come of it. If I've... if I've gotten you with child..." He faltered, his voice thick with unease. "I'll leave soon, Aela. I can't stay here, and I don't know what the Weres would do if they thought—"

Jon pushed himself upright, the furs pooling around his waist. He couldn't meet her eyes at first. "What we did..." His voice wavered, his thoughts chasing one another like ravens in flight. "I don't know if it was wise. Not for me, and not for you."

"Do you regret it?" Aela asked, her tone calm but curious.

"No," Jon said quickly, the word escaping before he could second-guess it. His cheeks flushed, and he ran a hand through his unruly hair. "But I fear what might come of it. If I've..." He swallowed hard. "If I've gotten you with child..." His voice dropped to a whisper, the shame unmistakable. "I'll leave soon, Aela. I can't stay here, and I don't know what the Weres would do if they thought you carried a bastard."

He forced himself to look at her, to see how his words landed. "I know what it's like to grow up that way. To bear that mark. I wouldn't wish it on anyone, least of all a child. Least of all you."

Aela sat up, her bare shoulders framed by the flickering light of the hearth. There was no anger in her expression, no rebuke—only a calm, unshakable resolve. "The Weres would not turn on me," she said, her voice even but firm. "I am their leader. They follow me because they trust me, Jon. That trust doesn't break so easily."

Jon's brow furrowed. "You said yourself they're wary of outsiders. If they thought—" He broke off, shaking his head. "I won't be here to protect you."

"You think I need protection?" Aela asked, a flicker of amusement softening her tone. "Jon, I saved you from the Thenns. I tore them apart before they could kill you. Do you truly think I can't handle this?"

Jon opened his mouth to argue, but her words struck him silent. The memory flashed before him—the blood-soaked snow, the snarling wolf, her fierce eyes bright yellow in her transformed state. She had saved him, and not just then. Time and again, she had proven her strength, her resilience.

"I know you're strong," he admitted, his voice low. "Stronger than I am. But that doesn't mean I don't worry for you. You deserve better than this, Aela. Better than me."

Aela reached for his hand, her fingers warm against his calloused skin. "You don't need to fear for me," she said softly. "And there are ways to prevent a child. Teas and herbs that I know well. I will brew some this morning."

Jon exhaled slowly, the tension in his chest easing. But the guilt lingered, heavy and unrelenting. "Why risk this, then? Why risk your people's trust for me?"

Aela's expression softened. She reached up, her hand resting gently on his cheek. "Because I trust you. I've trusted you since the day you stood your ground against the Thenns. You were ready to die, but you didn't flinch. That was the day I knew there was something more to you, something worth standing beside."

Jon frowned, her words stirring something deep within him. "But it wasn't me who saved you that day," he said quietly. "It was you. You turned into the wolf and tore them apart. You saved me."

Aela smiled faintly. "And perhaps that's why we're tied together. I can't explain it, Jon, but I feel it. Like the Old Gods are guiding us. Like we were meant to find each other."

Jon looked away, her words unsettling him. "Tied together," he repeated, his voice uncertain. "You sound like you intended this."

Aela shook her head. "I didn't plan it, Jon. When you came to my solar last night, I only knew that I wanted to... to be close to you. I didn't mean to seduce you. But I won't pretend I didn't want what happened."

Jon ran a hand through his hair, his mind a storm of conflicting thoughts. "I've broken my vows," he said quietly. "Not for the first time, but this feels... different." He turned to her, his gaze earnest. "If I've brought you harm, Aela—if this leads to more harm—"

Aela silenced him with a hand on his cheek, her touch gentle but firm. "You've brought me no harm, Jon Snow. Last night wasn't about oaths or duty. It was about trust. And you trusted me, just as I trusted you."

Jon held her gaze, the storm inside him momentarily quieted by the steady warmth in her eyes. Gods, he thought to himself, she was beautiful.

She shifted and the furs fell further down her body, now pooled at her waist, exposing her upper body fully to the cool air in the room.

Jon swallowed and turned away, running a hand through his hair. "Come south with me," he said suddenly, the words escaping before he could stop them. "Leave the Weres behind. Come with me to Mance's camp. It's safer for you there."

Aela smiled faintly, her resolve unshaken. "The Weres are my people, Jon. I can't abandon them."

"But it's not safe here," he argued, his voice rising. "Not with what's coming. The White Walkers, the Night's Watch—there's a storm on the horizon, and you'll be caught in the middle of it."

Aela reached out, her hand resting gently on his cheek. Her touch stilled him, her warmth grounding his spiraling thoughts. "I know the risks, Jon," pain flashed in her eyes as if she was thinking back to something awful. "But I belong here. My people need me, just as yours need you. We have our own paths to walk."

Her resolve would not break, Jon realized bitterly. There was nothing he could do to bring her south or convince her people to join Mance's cause. He should be glad, he thought to himself with confliction. Wildlings alone will bring hell to the Wall. A thousand or so Weres (a sizeable portion of which could transform into werewolves) would be an added layer of mayhem.

He thought back to what Tormund had said on the trek to the Were Caverns. These people would not bend a knee or leave their homes. Even if faced with ultimate death. Jon wanted to chalk it up to stubborn pride and arrogance. Yet, in the brief time he'd known Aela, he realized that this place was more than just a physical location - it was the one place that was theres - uncontested and unchallenged.

Jon looked at her, truly looked at her—the fierce, beautiful woman who had saved his life and stood steadfast in the face of danger. There was a pull between them, undeniable and inexplicable. He couldn't put it into words, but he felt it, like the tug of the North in his blood.

Before he could second-guess himself, he leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that was both tender and urgent. Aela responded in kind, her touch light but sure, as though anchoring them both in the moment.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the quiet. For now, the world outside could wait.

------------

The air was crisp as Jon and his companions prepared to depart the Were village. The morning sun cast long shadows over the snow-packed ground, and a quiet tension lingered in the camp. Jon stood beside the sled, tightening the straps on their provisions, his gloved hands steady despite the roiling in his chest. He could feel Aela's presence nearby, even before she spoke.

She approached with measured steps, her fur-lined cloak sweeping over the snow. Aela held herself with the dignity of a leader, her expression calm and composed. In her arms, she carried a wooden crate.

"Tormund," she said, addressing the red-haired wildling with a small, polite smile. "A parting gift."

Tormund looked up from securing his axe to his belt, his eyes narrowing in curiosity. "What's this, little wolf?"

Aela opened the crate to reveal several bottles of brown liquid. "Cider, brewed by my uncle. He told me once your fermented goat's milk was... memorable." Her lips twitched with faint amusement, but her tone remained formal.

Tormund burst into laughter, the sound booming across the clearing. "Ha! Memorable, she says! Aye, little wolf, you've got wit about you. I'll take your cider gladly, though I'll wager it won't be as strong as my milk!" He reached for the crate, his grin wide. "You're a sharp one, just like a she-wolf should be."

The nickname didn't ruffle Aela; she simply inclined her head. "Safe travels to you, Tormund. May your journey be swift and uneventful."

Jon's chest tightened as Aela turned her attention to him. Her brown eyes met his, cool and unreadable, a stark contrast to the warmth he had seen in them just a few hours ago. She didn't step closer but held her ground a few paces away, as though keeping the distance would fortify the barrier between them.

"Jon Snow," she said, her voice steady and formal. "May the Old Gods watch over you. Your path will not be an easy one, but you carry strength and purpose. That will see you through."

Jon felt the sting of her formality, though he knew it was necessary. He straightened, his jaw tightening as he inclined his head. "And may they watch over you and your people, Aela. You'll need that strength as well."

Her expression softened for the briefest moment, so fleeting that Jon almost doubted he'd seen it. But she said nothing more, turning to nod at Ygritte, who stood a few steps away by the sled, her expression dark and stormy.

Ygritte crossed her arms, her lips curling into a scowl. "Aye, well, we'll be on our way, then. Don't want to overstay our welcome."

Jon shot her a warning glance, but Ygritte was already muttering under her breath, her eyes darting between him and Aela.

"Not much of a farewell, is it?" she said loudly enough for Jon to hear. "Chieftain's all polite now, but she's got the look of one who's hiding something. Reckon she's no better than the highborn ladies you hate so much."

Jon's temper flared, but he kept his tone calm. "Enough, Ygritte."

She glared at him, her cheeks flushed with irritation. "Oh, I've said enough, have I? Funny how extra quiet you get when she's around. Seems I'm not the only one with secrets."

Aela didn't rise to the bait. She stepped back, her gaze sweeping over the group one last time. "Good health to you all," she said evenly, her voice carrying a quiet strength. "And may the winds favor your journey."

Jon climbed onto the sled, his heart heavy as the sled dogs stirred, their breath misting in the cold air. He glanced at Aela one last time, his eyes searching hers for something—anything—that might give him the courage to speak the words he couldn't. But she held his gaze with quiet dignity, giving him no more than the parting she had already offered.

As the sled began to move, Ygritte's grumbling filled the air, but Jon hardly heard her. His thoughts lingered on Aela, on the warmth of her touch and the strength of her resolve. He knew this was the way it had to be, but that knowledge did little to soothe the ache in his chest.

Behind them, Aela watched until the sled disappeared over the horizon, her expression unreadable as the winter wind tugged at her cloak.

[phoenixja123]

The long epistles explaining why you ship what you ship...

I’m grown ok. I can ship whatever I want. Got no ‘splaining to do. Wanna be mad be mad.

I shipped dany and drogo cause she fine and he fine, ya mad?

I didn’t ship Jon and Ygritte cause those two couldn’t light a fire in hell ( was flabbergasted when I found out that they were a real LIFE couple. Like wtf?)

I ship Jon and dany cause... I just do. Ya mad?

ETA: I can’t believe that JONGRITTE is an actual tag. Like wtf.

[oldstonedjenny]

My GoT ship tier list ranking