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#jon snow #gots7 #game of thrones #got #spoilersMore you might like
-an old love of mine (i)
Request: Hello there, I just wanted to know if you got my previous request: Could you please write a Jon Snow imagine the reader grew up with the starks and formed a romantic relationship with Jon during that time, but she had to leave winterfell because her father married her off to some northern lord (one of the reasons why Jon decided to take the black), fast forward to Sansa and Jon trying to gather allies for battle of the bastards, they meet again and they realize their feelings only grew
a/n: hope you enjoy the first part!
“Married!” the outrageous cry of disbelief rings clear and high throughout the room. It seems the syllables are the only sounds for moments after, for the great and hulking lord that sits before the raging woman remains silent and tight lipped.
Sons had been hard to raise alone. Daughters were harder.
The theory had proven correct when his daughter had been born wailing and thrashing into the world, the whole of Torrhen’s Square and possibly the entire north witness to her rage. She was fearsome to behold then, a small and tiny thing full of her mothers despair. And now was the same; discontent and unadulterated anger flashing in her eyes and the light of the candles hanging from the walls bouncing off her face and making it all hollow lines and sharp angles.
There is an anger in her that is both wild and beautiful, and is something Lord Tallhart has been witness to only a certain amount of times. But it is not common for members of his house to hide such carnal rage within them. She should not be so familiar with such wildness. Perhaps being raised among the Stark children has finally made her into one of them, and now she holds in her an undomesticated vexation akin to a wolves.
“I will not be married father!” she is pacing now and the clink of her boots and the steel sword by her hip ring off the stone walls of Lord Tallhart’s chamber. Y/n had never been content with posing as a lady, and her attire that would rather be suited to a male made that fact all too clear to any one who set eyes on her. But her hair is still kept long and her face is far too beautiful to be kept behind the walls of Winterfell.
“You are a Lady and therefore you will fulfill your duty and marry a Lord. I have received almost close to thirty marriage proposals and suggestions from every corner of the North, and even one from Lord Randyll Tarly who suggests a fine and strapping young son Dickon as a husband for you” his words are quick and rough, and they do not comfort her in any way but rather irritate her further.
“I will not be sold to someone named Dickon! Or anyone for that matter” she is a graceful whirl of thick hair and clinking steel as she rushes towards her father who sits watching with eyes that are dimming with age each day “please father, you can’t make me. I want to stay here at Winterfell”
“You can not!” the words are harsher than he had intended them, but there is a truthful anger in them that he knows he has been holding back. His daughter may be young, perhaps a year or two younger than most are when married, but a union with someone of high birth is almost paramount at this stage.
Jon Snow watches with those black eyes that are deep with a love Lord Tallhart can not bear when he sees him watching his daughter, and it is this reason he must sell her off to someone of legitimate birth. Jon is not the only one who has a deep buried desire that seems to radiate from ever crevice of his being when he eyes y/n. Tallhart’s daughter seems to reciprocate the feelings that the Stark bastard all too plainly displays while in crowded rooms and beneath weirwoods at prayer; their eyes always meeting no matter the place.
“This is my home, and I belong here!” y/n cries, the barrier between childishness and maturity blurring as she yet again becomes a little girl in front of him. He wishes she were small enough to cradle and kiss and young enough to believe in stories and in her fathers promises. But she is not a child any longer but a woman, graceful and beautiful and fearsome to look upon and she must fulfill her duties.
“Torrhen Square is your true home, and when you are married some castle or holdfast will be your new one” her Lord Father tells her and there is a flash of something so sad within her eyes that he is reminded of her mother all too painfully.
“I never asked to be raised here, but you brought me here for Lady Catelyn to foster alongside Robb when mother died and when you went and fought with the King. You made this place my home by sending me here” she tells him, a dangerous softness replacing her tone of anger that had previously seeped her words with rage “but I do not wish to leave it”
“If it pleases you I will let you read these letters” her father gestures towards the now crinkled and folded letters that are covered in different scrawls all in black ink. Y/n can notice some of the sigils that are marked on them with wax, and some are too obscured for her to recognise, but she does not care. Names and sigils and house words do not matter to one that is already in love and marriage proposals are altogether shunned from her mind if it is not one from the only man she wishes to marry.
But you can never marry a bastard.The words are seething and sharp as they are whispered in her ear by her demonic, stalking conscious and she imagines a cloaked and hooded figure standing behind her with a cutting grin put there by her inner torment.
Jon Snow is all that matters but he is all she can not have. He is what the gods promise all maidens and what her mother would have wanted for her since he is so gentle and honest and good. But the gods have not listened to her prayers in years and her mother is dead. She can not imagine clearly her face anymore and can not begin to remember if Jon Snow would have been the type of man her mother would have wanted by her daughters side.
“I do not want to read them” her voice is rough and thick with Stark stubbornness. Sometimes she thinks the direwolf is the real sigil of her blood, but then she is reminded when everyone calls her Lady Tallhart, and whenever her father reminds her. Perhaps wanting to be a Stark so much is just another commonality she and Jon share; another lie they can convince themselves of every time they kiss. Like how they convince themselves they’ll somehow end up as man and wife.
“It would ease your mind a little if you were to read them, my dear. Some of the young men sound promising, if you were to read them yourself then you could choose more easily”
“I do not wish to choose any man because I have already chosen someone” there are tears upon her cheeks now that trail from her eyes in the utmost betrayal. Her eyes weep sadness from them as a weirwood weeps its blood red sap, but unlike a weirwood tree the person before her weeping eyes is not bowed in prayer. He is a raging figure of a lord; a shadow of the kind eyed man she used to cry for whenever he rode to battle. She will not weep for this man however; for his eyes are filled with too much rage.
He stands now, rough and huge hands placing flat on the table as they push himself from his chair. His shadow is large against the stone walls as the candlelight throws it against the grey and white like paint on an artists canvas. His eyes are bright and dangerous and she is suddenly filled with a great desire to stare at them as hard as she can manage, but he is much better at it than she is.
“I will not have you choose any man without my consent, and especially a man with such low birth as the one I know you are thinking of. You defy me by consorting with him in the godswood night after night to play out whatever fantasies you may still cling onto. You loved him as a child, I saw that I did, and I regret not stopping it sooner. But boys and girls tend to strike up feelings at that age that often temper with maturity. I recall young Robb once declared you his true love at the age of eight, but that changed and I had hoped Jon’s feelings would have too” there is a kindness in his tone at the end that contests with the anger on his face but she does not stop staring at him with discontent.
“But they haven’t” she tells him, her words wavering and flickering just like the candlelight as it burns around the room. Her fathers shoulders slump then and his grey eyes narrow as they drop to look upon the heavy oak desk that is littered with her marriage proposals.
“No they haven’t” Lord Tallhart once again looks at his daughter, her ethereal beauty magnified by the light of the room, but the sword at her hip contests with any claim she has to ladylike traits.
“Bastard or not father, I love him” she is pleading now she knows, something that she detests more than crying in front of people but is yet another thing she is doing as she feels the hot tears leak from her. She wipes them hurriedly from her face but it is of no use, they come as fast as she rids them “I won’t love anyone else”
“Your mother did not love me, she did not love me for many years in fact. She bore your brother out of duty for our marriage and even after he was born I could tell she only loved me a small measure for making her son. I loved her from the moment I saw her, red hair and a smile men would kill for and a heart just as sweet” he does not look so grim and formidable when he talks about her mother, and it softens her somewhat to hear it “but she did not love me, not until Benfred was four and was taken with a fever and was almost lost to us. I stayed with her by his bedside for almost a fortnight, and after that she loved me something terrible. What I am trying to tell you is that you may not love the man you are married to but you can learn to”
“I will never learn to love any other man” her words are ice; the very frost that coats the grounds of Winterfell and it is hard and dangerous and everlasting. Winter has come in the shape of her promise, and she knows as she looks at her father, that she can never take it back.
a/n: this is short and jon isn’t in it yet but he will be! more parts to come! and please send me in requests. at the moment I only write for Jon, Robb or Jaime so send requests for them please!
ghosts from long ago
Anonymous said:hello, i was wondering if you could write a jon snow imagine where the reader travels to The Wall with Sansa and Brienne and reunites with Jon and they have a very sweet,touching and fluffy moment once they are alone. Btw your blog is amazing ❤️
& Anonymous said:Could I have an imagine where the reader is the Starks cousin and is married to Ramsay instead of Sansa and she has the whole reunion moment instead? love the blog btw
a/n: thought putting these requests together would be a good idea! who else is so pumped for season seven? as always enjoy! and if you have a request just send it in!
pairing: jon snow x reader
He was saddling his horse when she found him, her breath rapid and her legs wobbling as she ran towards him. The sun was shining on the grounds of Winterfell and in more ways than one the gods had fashioned it for a beautiful day. But underneath the glow of summer was a bitter cold that chilled the Arryn girl to the bone.
Robb Stark was marching her way, his eyes glassy and the plump bottom of his lip quivering slightly. He had said his goodbyes already. That fact was certain in his face. He tried to regain his composure as he caught her eyes, blue on blue, the iciness of their image beautiful against the beaming sun.
“He’s doing what he thinks is right” he told her, gently grabbing her arm as she strode past. Her eyes flickered to his face and in a moment he felt his heart falter inside his chest. This was what true pain looked like, he thought, this was what a broken heart looked like.
All month that’s all that anyone had told her. Her Aunt Cat had tried explaining why such a thing should happen, and even Sansa had stressed the fact why it was so important. The only other person who seemed to share the same rage and pain was Arya, but she was too young to understand just how much this would change everything.
“It’s not right” she told her cousin, shaking her head and causing the inherited Tully auburn hair to bristle against her waist.
“You just don’t understand” his voice wasn’t condescending or harsh, but it stung her nonetheless. No, you don’t understand. The words were on her lips she knew, but she held them back. He had told the same thing to her often enough these past days, but she was tired of their repetition. No one understood how hard this was. But Robb stayed quiet and just let his eyes linger on hers for a moment, all his unsaid things swimming in them.
She just pulled her arm away from her cousin and made her way over to where the black haired boy was fiddling with the straps on his horse. It felt like her feet were stuck in tar as she walked, each step heavy with a burden she knew she’d carry for a lifetime.
“Jon” she called to him, her voice wavering and shaking more than the leaves of the weirwood that shook in the summers breeze. He stopped what he was doing then, leather gloved hands stalling their movements as he heard her voice. She swallowed thickly, her mouth feeling dry with each hammering beat of her heart and she thought it would altogether stop when he turned those coal black eyes to hers.
“Lady y/n” he replied deeply, that honest courtesy trickling from his voice. She hated it. The way he said it made her feel like she was better than him in every way, but she wasn’t.
“Jon why are you doing this?” she asked him, balling her skirts in her hands and not caring that her shoes were now kissed with mud as she stood closer to him. She could see it in his face, that exasperation, that impatient mask settling over his handsome features.
“I’ve told you already. My place isn’t here, it’s with my uncle Benjen. At the Wall” he didn’t look at her when he said it because deep down she knew he didn’t really believe it.
“The Wall is no place for a highborn like you” the girl told him, jutting out her chin in defiance, but all Jon done in response was stare at her with a sadness in his eyes that she had learned was permanent. He was a young boy, nearly a man grown, but he carried more weariness and troubles than most his age. He’d never felt accepted here, not really, and somehow he thought that his place lay with the black crows of the Night’s Watch.
“I’m not a highborn” he told her, pulling the strap of the saddle roughly once more and then he turned to her “it seems that you’re the only person in the whole North that forgets that I’m a bastard”
“I hate that word” y/n told him with all the disgust clear in her tone.
“It doesn’t matter whether you hate or love it, that’s who I am. That won’t change” Jon said, his black eyes looking deep into hers and the wild dark curls atop his head rustled in the breeze. He already had the darkness of the Night’s Watch within his features. But his heart was not black. His heart was wild and untamed just like the North. Just like Winterfell.
“You belong here. You belong with your family” she was pleading she knew, but deep within her nothing cringed at the desperation of it.
“Lady Catelyn cannot stand the sight of me, and Sansa refers to me as her half brother every chance she gets. I am not a Stark, nor will I ever be. I do not fit in, and no matter how many times I hunt along with father or Robb, no matter how many times I play with Arya and Bran and Rickon I will never be one of them” he said “one day we will all have to grow up. My Lord Father will pass this legacy to Robb and his children will grow strong here. Not mine, not me”
“Think about what you’re giving up. The Wall is full of rapers and thieves and murderers, you’re made for more than that Jon” those Tully blue eyes he dreamed about filled with tears, and they alone would have made him stay if his mind had not been so concrete.
He hated hurting her, and leaving her was harder than leaving Arya or even Robb. He loved Winterfell, he loved every grey and ancient brick that held it together. He loved every horrible and fascinating smell that accompanied it, and every twist and turn of the wolfswood. He had always loved the summers here, when Lady Lysa’s eldest child had come to visit, just like she had done this summer after her fathers death. She now stood before him with her lips trembling so much she had to bite them to stop.
Gods he loved this place. He loved her. But it had never been home, not really. It hadn’t belonged to him like a home should. Maybe somewhere deep in his mind he knew his real home wasn’t those grey bricks, but the heart that beat beneath the blue silk of y/ns gown. Maybe his real home was cherry colored lips and red hair. Leaving all of that behind was harder than anything.
In a perfect world, one where the gods had never created the idea of bastards, he would have liked to marry her. He would have taken her as his wife and they could have been happy, just like she had made him happy the first time she had kissed him under the weirwood tree.
Jon was going as far North as he could go, but no time nor distance could ever make him forget that moment. He would live in that moment for the rest of his days.
“I’m not giving up anything” he lied harshly, taking up his horses reins and attempting to steer his gelding across the yard but y/ns pale hand came out and pressed against the horses neck, prompting him to stop.
“You don’t have to hide away for the rest of your life just because you think it’s better for everyone else. I don’t care if you’re a bastard. I don’t care if you’re name is Snow. I don’t care”
“You’re a Tully of Riverrun and an Arryn of The Vale. You’re father was Hand to the King, you’re mother now sits in The Eyrie. You’re highborn, and someday you’ll marry some lord or a prince. Not a bastard” Jon told her, giving her a look that meant he was done with arguing, and her face fell in defeat at the sight of it. He gave a deep sigh as he looked at her, praying to the gods that his memory would be sharp enough to sustain the image of her in his mind forever. He could feel the memory of her kiss on his lips, feel the trace her fingertips had left on his skin as they feathered against his cheeks.
She was already a memory. Already a ghost, just like him. Two ghosts from long ago and time hadn’t even passed yet. He contemplated his next words, trying to battle with saying them aloud. They would hurt too much he knew, but what did it matter when she was hurting so much already?
“I love you” he spoke gently “I know I’m only a boy, but I know I love you. But I can never give you what you need. I can’t marry you or give you children because they’ll be bastards too. I have to go, my place is with the Night’s Watch now and your place is here”
Your place is here. He had said it, and she had said nothing. He climbed onto his horse when he saw the rest of the men mount theirs. Lord Eddard looked on his bastard son and his niece with a contemplating look as he sat on top of his horse. So like Catelyn, he thought, and Jon so much like me. But he knew their story wouldn’t have the beginning he and Cat had. Jon would leave today, but he would not return for her.
“I meant the words I said” Jon spoke from atop his gelding “and I’ll always mean them”
As the back of his horse rode away it was like all the years ahead of her rushed forward. She saw herself older and fairer, a woman grown just like those ladies at court. It was strange to imagine the future without Jon Snow, to know that one day she would look for him and he would not be there. He would be guarding the realms of men from terrors beyond the wall. But what terrors would she face without him? When she was a woman what would happen to her without him? What was her life without him?
Something inside her answered, deep and sorrowful, and then she knew no matter what happened, nothing would ever hurt more than this. How can something break me when I’ve been broken for so long?
The gate had seemed so foreboding in her dreams. It had loomed up high and vaulted, with skulls of crows and wildlings spiked at the top. She had imagined the pale and hollow faces of men in black cloaks guarding the gate with eyes like the darkest pits. She’d had nightmares about Castle Black for years, and it still haunted her. It was the place the only man she had ever loved had gone and hidden away. This place had taken him from her, and in her dreams she had hated it.
It didn’t look like that in waking life however. The gate was high, and vaulted with iron, but no skulls rested on top of it. It was not unapproachable, and dead like men did not guard it.
Brienne of Tarth rode behind her, and Podrick Payne was on her right, both with pursed and tight expressions. No one knew who waited behind the gates, no one knew if they’d be welcomed. A ghost from her memories haunted Castle Black, and her blood was cold at the idea of seeing him again.
Almost everyone she had ever loved were ghosts now. Her Lord Uncle Ned, her beloved Aunt Catelyn whom she had loved more than she had ever loved her own mother. The Lady Lysa was a ghost now too, but she had not grieved for her like the others, not like she had grieved for Robb or for her grandfather.
She was haunted, yes, but she carried on. She had done the same thing when Petyr Baelish had taken her from The Eyrie and back to Winterfell. How she had been so naive to think she was going to be safe, but instead she’d been married to a monster.
They can not break me, she had told herself, not when I’ve been broken for so long.
Somewhere in the distance there was a shout behind the walls, and the deafening creak of the gates sounded among the snow as it opened for them. For the first time in so long, hope rang clear throughout her fragile body. She was no longer within reach of Ramsay, she was far away from his abuse.
Her horse was slow, clumsy with tiredness as it rode in ahead of Brienne and Pod. Everywhere she looked eyes were on them, and curiosity and intrigue seemed to light up every pair. She looked for him in her hazy state, euphoria and a heavy relief making her drunk as she sat on her horse but he was not there. He’s a ghost, she thought, maybe he never existed at all. It had been so long since she’d seen him.
She fell from her horse on wobbling legs, holding onto the saddle to steady herself and her eyes looked around for him. The world seemed grey and white, and then all of a sudden there he was, like a raven against the falling snow.
He stood atop a balcony, his face and eyes holding every whisper of disbelief that he had buried within himself. He stood still with those eyes locked on hers. She had expected a ghost, but Jon Snow was very much real as he made his way towards her.
Maybe she was in a dream and not really here. Maybe she had fallen asleep under some tree or other on the kingsroad and was tormenting herself with imagining Jon. But she didn’t care, because it felt real and a dream would be better than the harsh reality she had lived in for so long.
They looked at one another as she stopped in front of him, and she was allowed to see how different he had become. He was broader, and taller and his crow black curls were pulled back in a leather string. He looked like his father, proud and strong, and he was more handsome now than ever. But in all the ways that mattered he was still the same Jon Snow who had left her all those years ago.
And it was that Jon Snow she ran to now.
She threw her arms around him and he held her tight in his, their bodes pressed together like the snow pressed against the earth. He was warm despite the ice in the air and for the first time in months she felt warm, and safe. In that moment all the tragedy that had befallen her family did not weigh on her mind. She did not grieve for dead loved ones, or weep with worry for her cousins that were missing. The fear that her husband had caused her, and all the aching bruises inside and outside her body that he had put there seemed to vanish. There was no war, no Iron Throne.
Just her and Jon.
She had been broken so long ago, but as Jon Snow held her against him all those broken pieces mended themselves in his arms.
note: it is late here and I had no energy to proof read this so apologies for any mistakes! Also tell me what you guys think, and maybe another part is in order?
Saviour (part two)
read part one here
pairing: jon snow x reader
tagging list: @shayna-winchester @fridafalconxoxo @kilisfreundin @shyspacecaptain @foxie-monster @mac-lovesfashion @xceafh @shankrunner @the-girl-who-always-believed (if I have forgotten anyone who wanted to be tagged or if anyone wishes to be tagged in imagines just let me know)
Saviour (jon snow x reader)
request: Hey, could you please write a Jon Snow x reader where Jon saves the reader from Ramsey.
warnings: violence, death, the sickening Ramsey Bolton……
a/n: gods I was waiting for someone to request this!! Loved the request anon and I hope you enjoy it!! <3 (this is also really long by the way) and this is my first ever Jon imagine so it’s probably not good but bear with me <3
The sound of it nearly deafened him, the charging of the horses as they surged towards him like a sea of deadly beasts, ready to trample him into the dirt, forever making him a permanent part of the North, his blood ingrained in its soil forever.
*whenever a man in westeros mentions sansa’s name*
Jon:
things I loathe from ep5
1. Okay so we’re about to have Joffrey 2.0
2. Arya Vs Sansa is disgusting and it needs to end
3. People in westeros can teleport
4. Littleprick is somehow outsmarting an assassin
5. Arya is now suspicious of Sansa’s motives despite the fact she defended Jon AGAIN
6. Jaime needs to wake the fuck up and smell the wildfire because his sister is evil
7. Daenerys is evil and is the Mad King 2.0
8. Dicksa RIP
9. NO ONE MENTIONED ARYA
10. Jorah and Dany should’ve had a better scene
11. Sam and Jon not knowing about Dickon and Randyll
12. TELEPORTATION
13. Jon traveling to Eastwatch before Winterfell even after knowing Arya and Bran were back
14. THE DISRESPECT OF ELIA MARTELL HOW DARE THEY
15. Jaime again needs to wake the hell up and get away from Cersei
16. Nobody mentioned Rickon
17. Brienne was not in this episode so therefore the episode was invalid to me
Me at the end of S07 EP04 of GOT: