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    No,” Tormund interrupts, startling Jon enough to look at him again, only to find that Tormund is grinning ear-to-ear, having clearly come to the correct conclusion. “I don’t believe a pretty thing like you is still a virgin.”

    “I’m not,” Jon denies immediately, but it’s far too late to lie.

    [AU: Benjen takes a group of wildlings to Winterfell to discuss a treaty with Lord Stark. Tormund takes a liking to a certain little lord.]

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    11 Sep 2025

  2. Public Bookmark 13

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    In the long weeks since Jon joined the Wildlings, it's rare he stirs before morning.

    But the True North works him harder, leaves him aching and tired at the end of each long day. Has him dropping off into an exhausted, dreamless sleep nearly the moment he lays down.

    So it's all the more confusing when Jon wakes in the middle of the night.

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    18 Jul 2025

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    “I’ve been suppressed since an early age, ser,” Jon murmured, cheeks heating again. “Said they didn’t want any incidents between me and the Stark children as we grew together.”

    “I see,” Mance nodded. “A cruelty, and I suspected as much. But nevertheless, something must be done about it. You’ll be given to an alpha, one who can aid you through whatever unbinding or collaring that was done to you.”

    Jon’s stomach dropped between his legs.

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    27 Apr 2025

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    ”Finish that up, will you?” Jimmy bids. He’s out of uniform in a somewhat haggard looking bowling shirt, looking as out-of-place as Curly feels, but he’s making the same face he always is. Stern and sharp like jagged metal.

    Jim’s an asshole, he knows, but he’s consistent. Curly likes consistency, he thinks?

    ”What for? Neither of us have anywhere to be for a month,” Curly huffs with a small smile.

    “28 days,” Jimmy corrects with his standard level of flatness. “And It’s your birthday. Your actual birthday. Or did you forget?”

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    29 Oct 2024

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    They’re about halfway through a three-month run, and the air conditioning in the cockpit is on its last leg. The temperature in there hasn't dropped below eighty in about forty-eight hours.

    Jimmy's the same as he left him--white undershirt discarded on the floor in a crumpled heap, jumpsuit buttoned so low on his torso it might as well not be buttoned at all, sweat pooling at the divot of his collarbones. Curly takes this all in through his peripheral vision, eyes locked to the other's face like his life depends on it.

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    22 Oct 2024