#Jonsa Week

[sailorshadzter]

a fairytale all our own

@snowstoneweek

When Jon finally takes to the stairs that will take him up to his chamber, he’s beyond exhausted. 

It has been a long, trying day of meetings and arguing. There was a land dispute between two of the Lords and it had come to blows the day before between them, leaving one with one less ear than he’d started the fight with. Jon sighs, thankful that the day was over and thankful that they had finally come to a resolution, even if it had taken all day. 

As he approaches the door to his room, he pauses before he reaches for the knob for from inside he hears a softly speaking voice. Quietly as he can, so he can’t disturb the occupants, he pushes open the door a crack simply so he might peek inside. And there in the grand bed, with three children snuggled around her, Sansa sits propped up against the pillows, a book open in her hands. “And then…” She’s reading, her voice lyrical as she tells the story from the pages, the story one he remembers her reading often when she was a small girl. “The princess gasped as the prince rode through on his beautiful white stallion, sword in hand, all so he could save her from the evil king!” At her left elbow, even Robb listens carefully, though he had only just a few days before declared himself far too old for such nonsense, despite being but six years old. Then there’s little Lyanna, tucked between her mother and Ned, while her big, Stark colored eyes blinking sleepily as she surely tries to stay awake to hear the ending. And then, Ned is at her other elbow, reading ahead over his sister’s head, for he’s giggling at something there on the page his mother has yet to even read aloud. 

Jon can’t help but stay there a moment longer, listening in on his family, something so precious to him, something so dear, that he can’t even put it to words. But he knows the story is coming to a close, so as Sansa reads the final page, he pushes open the door and slips inside, quietly as he can so as to not disturb them. But of course, Sansa’s eyes are upon him at once, knowing her she knew he was there all along. “Papa!” Lyanna’s sleepy vocals bring a smile to his face as he sinks into the available space at the foot of the bed.

“Father!” His boys cry in unison, scrambling over their mother’s legs to reach for him, and Jon finds himself laughing as they climb him like a tree. “Tell us about the fight Lord Royhe had!” Robb exclaims, having heard snippets of the conversation brought to Sansa and Jon early that morning.

“Your father is tired and it is well past your bedtime,” Sansa cuts in and both boys sigh dramatically, though they’re slipping off the bed without much hassle. Sansa follows after them, Lyanna in her arms, though the small girl leans over so she might kiss her father, earning one back in response and a little tug on one of her dark braids. Sansa’s eyes say it all as she casts a quick glance his way before she’s shuffling the boys from the room, only after they’ve both called out a good night to their father. 

When the room is quiet and empty, Jon kicks off his boots and strips off his doublet, before climbing into the space Sansa and their children once occupied. He glances left and sees there on her side of the bed, the book she’d been reading from, so he reaches for it, unable to help but to run his hand across the well worn cover. Once glossy letters have gone matte with age and there’s a small tear at the bottom corner. Jon imagines Sansa as she had once been, a small girl tucked into the bed Lyanna now sleeps in, reading this very same book, dreaming of a prince she would hope to meet and love with all of her heart. He chuckles, recalling how he and Robb would laugh over such a dream, but even they had once sat up in bed listening to Catelyn reading to them from a book of tales, though it had been of the Dragonknight and his many fights for the realm. 

The door opens again and in comes his wife, a smile on her lips. “Do they sleep?” He asks as she sinks down beside him, her body offering warmth and comfort as she shifts a little closer. 

“They do,” she says with a laugh, thinking of Lyanna’s quiet snores before they had even reached her room. The boys had climbed into their beds without trouble, certainly asleep before their door had even swung closed behind her. She looks down at the book in his hands and chuckles, reaching for it, her hand running across the cover just as his had done a few minutes ago. “It feels like a lifetime ago when mother and father gave me this book,” she had been Robb’s age, a gift for her nameday that year, one of the only things she still has from those days so very long ago. To think that book she once read as she drifted off to sleep each night, she now reads to her own children… It was unlike any feeling she’d ever felt before. The fairytale life she had once wished for, hoped for, was certainly hers now, even if it had taken time to become hers. Once she had dreamed of a golden prince, but in truth, she had found no happiness at all in that prince. Rather, it had only been misery. Slow as it was, time brought her to who she was meant to be with, that gentle, brave knight who her father had promised to her. “I love you,” she murmurs as she leans her head in, placing it against his shoulder, her hand sliding over his atop the furs. 

“I love you,” he whispers back, his chest tightening, the warmth he feels threatening to overflow. 

This was their fairytale.

[estherruth-jonsatrash]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Ghost | Jon Snow's Direwolf/Lady | Sansa Stark's Direwolf Characters: Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, Ghost | Jon Snow's Direwolf, Lady | Sansa Stark's Direwolf, Howland Reed, Meera Reed, Jojen Reed, Ned Stark, Arya Stark, Bran Stark, Catelyn Tully Stark

An entry for @snowstoneweek jonsaweek2023 day 7: A Time For Wolves

The girl seems bonded to Lady but she is just as affectionate with Jon’s wolf, the feel of her fingers brushing softly and indulgently through his fur, her little giggles at the contented growls Jon’s wolf and his sister Lady make.

After a little while, Sansa sings to them in a voice as pretty as she is. It is strange to think he’s never felt more content than in this moment.

But it is only a dream.

Isn’t it? --- Jon Snow, Howland Reed's bastard son, has only ever lived in the Neck. But he starts to question who he is when he begins dreaming of a direwolf at Winterfell, and the girl who cares for him.

[fistfuloflightning]

Winterfell

[jonsaslove]

I posted the second chapter of dragonfly kisses! This was originally only going to be two chapters but I've realized it needs to be three lol.

If you haven't checked it out already it's a season 6 au where Jon rescues Sansa from Winterfell and sets to making her Queen in the North.

[wulfhalls]

someday someone is gonna write paulalia fic (affirmations so I don't kill myself immediately)

[mkstrigidae]

🌹

Thank you so much for the ask and for playing along with this ask meme! (I am a million kinds of sorry for how long my response has taken). This one is from a Mermaid!Jon, Marine Biologist!Sansa AU that I haven't published yet!

“Is she going to be alright?” the fire was large- larger than any Jon had ever seen- he could feel the heat on his scales even from this distance. “I think so.” Rhaenys murmured, pressing her wrist to the girl’s forehead. “She’s a tough one- I can tell.” he eyes softened as they fell on Jon. “Who is she?” He stared at her sleeping face, ignoring the way his tail had begun to dry and feel uncomfortably tight as he put off going back into the grotto's pool. “A scientist, I think.” he told his sister. “She arrived a few moons ago with a group of others- they wear the equipment that lets them breathe in the water.” “SCUBA gear.” Rhae nodded. Her lips curled up into a secretive smile. “What’s her name?” “I-“ Jon blinked. “I don’t know.” he admitted, embarrassed. “We’ll have to ask her when she wakes up.” Rhae murmured, stroking back the girl’s hair. Jon took her hand where it had fallen from the blanket, holding it in his own. “You can still go back, you know.” He didn’t respond. her skin was getting warmer as he held onto her hand. It was soft- smooth in a different way than his own scales. “Can I?” he finally asked, looking up at his sister. “You can.” She promised him, gently, walking over to press a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll tell father that I was the one who rescued her, and if she saw one of us, I’ll tell him it was me. You won’t be blamed.” “But-“ Jon shook his head. “But what?” his sister asked, perching next to the girl. “But then I won’t get to learn her name.” he said, rather pathetically.

for every “🌹” received in my inbox i’ll post one random sentence of a random WIP i’m currently writing

[peachdues]

I don’t think y’all understand — Jon and sansa’s reunion in season 6 was my Roman Empire

@thedovahqueen

GAMEOFTHRONESDAILY’S 10 YEAR ANNIVERSARY get to know the members (@elena-gilbert) Favorite Dynamic + JONSA ღ touches

[sailorshadzter]

roses from the bastard born king in the north

@snowstoneweek

She doesn’t dare believe that she’s here. 

It’s only been in her dreams that she returns to Winterfell, to her home, and yet… Here she was in the courtyard, sliding down from her gray mare, swallowing against the rising tide of emotions within her. Everything was as she remembers it to be and it fills her with such warmth, such comfort, that she thinks for a moment she might fall to her knees in relief. Prayers she once believed could never be answered, have been, and she finds herself longing to see the godswood, to perhaps say a prayer of thanks to the gods for finally listening to her pleas. 

“Daughter…” The voice prompts her back into the present and she turns to face the man that now stands at her elbow, reminding her that even if she was home, she must pretend it never belonged to her at all. “Are you ready?” Lord Baelish asks with that sick, sinister smile of his and she lets out a long, deep breath with a single nod. “Come then…” He offers her his arm, which she takes, and allows him to steer her away from their horses and up the steps that would lead them inside and out of the cold.

“Welcome to Winterfell, my lord, my lady,” a man she doesn’t know greets at the door, his accent one she cannot place, but with a warmth to his face that brings her some comfort. “The King has been awaiting your arrival,” he continues on, gesturing back towards the double doors that would lead into the great hall, where night after night she had dined with her family as a child. Those days felt like a lifetime ago, in truth, days so far away it was almost as if they had never even happened. “I am Davos Seaworth, Hand to the King.” The older man continues on and now she knows who he is, for Lord Baelish has explained him to her in the days leading up to their journey North. “Come…” He turns and they follow after him, down the short distance to the doors and through them into the hall.

Her heart skips a beat at the sight before her- there, sitting behind the head table, is her family. Well, two of them, at least. Little Rickon sits at Jon’s elbow, his once unruly curls now secured in a fashion similar to the brother he sits before. She’s plunged into a memory then, of little hands tugging on her skirts, of a baby brother she had loved unlike all of the others. A baby brother she loved as if he were her very own. The memory fades and she is careful to keep her face impassive as she and Baelish approach the table, sweeping this King in the North a curtsy she hopes he does not recall from childhood. 

From where he sits, Jon watches as the pair enters and approaches him there at the table. Lord Baelish is an ugly man, he notes, with dark, wild eyes that gives him the impression that he is up to something more than he lets on. But the young woman at his side…? Jon is awestruck by her beauty, with dark hair so long it sweeps across her lower back as she moves, her blue eyes looking up at him from beneath her lashes as she sinks into a curtsy far better than even the most noble of women he’s met. “Your grace,” Lord Baelish speaks, drawing Jon’s attention back to him, though he could easily stare at the young woman for far longer. “Thank you for receiving us, we are grateful for your hospitality.” He continues on with a smile that speaks the same as his gaze; Jon will remember well not to trust this man. It was strange enough, he supposes, that of all people Lord Baelish would wish to meet him- he had pegged him as a Lannister man, after all. “To have a Stark back in Winterfell is a welcome sight indeed.” His eyes glance at the little boy seated to his side, noticing that the child is staring not at him, but at the girl beside him. Baelish had counted on the boy being too young to remember his sister, but perhaps he had been foolish to think so. “This is my daughter, Alayne,” he pushes onward, gesturing towards her, urging her forward another step or so. “We are eager to pledge ourselves to you, my king.” There is that sickly smile once more, sending chills down his spine. 

Jon’s gaze shifts back to the young woman, wondering why now he’s struck by the notion he knows her from somewhere. It’s like a long lost memory, something he’s forgotten, coming back in pieces to him. The way her lips curve when she offers a smile… The soft sound of her voice when she finally speaks… Your grace… It has never sounded sweeter. “It is a pleasure to meet you both,” Jon says, turning back to Baelish. “I was surprised to receive your letter as I thought you were in King’s Landing,” he speaks plainly, without hesitation. “But, if you are here to support the North, then I welcome you to Winterfell.” 

“I was in King’s Landing for a time, but considering the circumstances there…” They both know what he speaks of- the death of Joffrey and the crowning of his kid brother, a boy who would be little more than a puppet king for the Lannisters. “I decided it best for me to return home to my daughter and the Vale. My ward, Robin Arryn you know is but a boy himself, I must see to his bringing up.” 

“Aye, I recall hearing of his mother’s sudden death,” Jon points out and Baelish looks down, as if overcome with grief at the mention of Lysa Arryn. “She was my siblings' aunt, so we mourned her well here in Winterfell.” Beside her father, Alayne stirs, as if struck by what he’s just said, but quickly as it comes her face becomes solemn once more and Jon must wonder if he’s only just imagined it. “You must be tired from your journey North, let me have you shown to your chambers.” Jon goes on, to which Baelish gives a nod and another bow, ever the courtier. 

When they have gone, Jon turns to his little brother at his side, a boy of just eleven now, with eyes that remind him of Sansa and hair that reminds him of Robb. “What is it, Rickon?” Jon asks, noting his brother’s silence and frowning lips. He thinks that perhaps even this child has seen through Lord Baelish’s charms and has an unsettling feeling in him that he doesn’t quite understand. 

“It’s just…” Rickon begins, but trails off with a shake of his head. Only when Jon encourages him further does the boy speak. “I thought I might know her, Lady Alayne I mean.” Jon blinks, startled by these words, for had he not thought the very same thing? “I cannot place her, but she is familiar to me, like a long lost dream I once had.” The boy turns those blue eyes upon him and Jon pats his head, offering him no solution, for those thoughts were one and the same with his own. 

But, Jon knows one thing was for certain- he wanted to speak with her alone. 

[ x x x ]

As the sun rises above the horizon, casting daylight across the snowy landscape, she’s already in the godswood. 

It is surreal to be beneath the canopy of weirwood trees once more and she feels the sting of tears in her eyes as she sinks down beneath the heart tree. How often had she found her father in this very place, his dark eyes closed, his lips pursed in thought? She and her siblings had played among these trees, had run and laughed and spun with excitement as only children could do. After all her time in King’s Landing, she had quite forgotten what it felt like to feel at home and the rush of this emotion has her wiping tears from her cheeks before long. 

If only the rest of her family could be here… If only the family that was there could know who she really was. That thought alone was enough to diminish the warm feeling in her chest and she sighs, wishing with all of her heart that things could be different. To embrace Rickon… Jon… It would give meaning back into her life. Even if it were just once… It would be enough to get her through the rest of her life without them. 

Across the way, Jon watches her, having come down for his usual moment of silence before the day begins. Like her, he thinks of Ned Stark when he’s here, he thinks of a past he misses dearly, of family he’s lost to death and time. His breath escapes in a cloud of white- it was exceptionally cold this morning, but she seems to be right at home there in the snow, her wool skirts gathered around her where she sits, nothing but a simple cloak draped over her shoulders. He decides he cannot stand there staring any longer, so he approaches, the snow crunching beneath his boots signaling to her his arrival. She looks up and for a moment, he thinks she means to jump up, but he shakes his head. “Stay as you are,” he says with a grin, gesturing towards the open place beside her. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but if I may…” She blushes crimson but gives a single nod, scooting over just a bit, giving them an appropriate space between them as he sits down beside her. “How are you enjoying your time in Winterfell so far, my lady?” Jon asks, shifting so he can face her, only to find she’s already looking his way. “You seem unbothered by the cold.” 

A laugh escapes her before she can stop it and when she speaks, she’s still smiling. “It is true, I don’t mind the cold at all,” she replies, folding her hands in her lap as she tilts her head, dark hair tumbling over her shoulder. “It does snow in the Vale, though it isn’t nearly as cold.” She knows she shouldn’t be here, talking with Jon like this, but now that he was there before her, she couldn’t walk away. “It is beautiful here, your grace,” she goes on, thinking of what Alayne would truly say in this moment. “I am eager to see more, my father told me of the famed blue roses your gardens grow. I would like to see them.” 

Jon chuckles, knowing well of the roses of which she speaks, winter roses that only grew in the coldest freezes. In truth, the gardens were full of them even now, at the very start of the cold season. “See them you shall do then, my lady,” he says and she’s smiling again, a smile that reminds him of the glow of the moon. 

“You know, you needn’t call me lady, your grace,” the word is like a knife to her heart, thinking of her beloved wolf, dead all these years now. “I am but bastard born.” 

“Aye and so am I,” he replies with a shrug, as if it means little to him. “Yet you and all the others still call me king.” Her blue eyes widen with surprise and then her features soften, her lips parting as if she means to say something more. But from somewhere in the distance, they both hear the morning call finally ring out. 

“I should go,” she says, suddenly jumping to her feet, as if she’s been spooked by the sound.

 Jon follows after, catching her by the hand before she can turn to go. “Alayne,” he calls her by just her given name, surprising her once more, as he draws her hand to his lips for the softest of kisses, as if she were the queen and he the subject. As her hand slips away, the warmth of his lips remains, even long after they’ve parted ways.

[ x x x ]

When supper comes and she steps into the great hall with Baelish at her side, she’s greeted by the dozens of lords and ladies that have come to dine with their King in the North. She’s once more reminded of childhood, of days when her parents would host dinners for the lords, for even the King himself; nights of laughter and warmth, of ale and good food, of music and perhaps even dancing. 

At the head table Jon sits once more, wearing black as he always had done, curls slicked back with a coronet of black resting on his brow. Beside him, Rickon is handsome in blue wool, his hair style once again matching his elder brother’s. She smiles at the sight of it, wondering if Robb was still alive, would Rickon wear his curls loose as he had once done? “Your grace,” Baelish greets the king and his brother as they come to stand before the table. “It is as if Ned Stark sits before me once again.” Most Northerners did not trust this man, Jon has come to find out, and certainly his father would have been among them. 

However, Jon smiles for the compliment, but merely nods in response. “Before you take your seats,” Jon holds up a hand and the man in Stark colors that stands at the back door, one which she knows leads to another corridor, pushes it open so someone can come through. “For you, my lady,” he says as a maid comes forward, holding in her hand a wreath of beautiful blue roses. He rises up to his feet, taking the roses into his own hands, leaning over the table so he can crown her head with them himself. She’s blushing crimson as her hands come up to gingerly touch the silky soft petals, the weight of the crown she now wears somehow comforting. Jon offers her a smile and she remembers herself, sweeping him a curtsy before she allows Baelish to lead her towards the table where they would sit. 

And that night, even when she returned to her rooms, she would still have that crown of blue roses perched upon her head.

[elena-gilbert]

SANSA WEEK 2024 → Day 4: Love/Marriage Jonsa feat. The Five Love Languages

[kitnjon]

JONSA WEEK 2023 - DAY TWO - REUNITE + SNOWFLAKES

[jonquilsnow]

OMG IT'S FINALLY HERE

My Maid of Stone

Later she would remember this day mostly as metals. Silver of the valley. Iron of the rocks and the clouds. Zinc of the evening storm in its full fury. Rare gold of the sky as it chose now to break open. Her silence matched her stillness, until at last, there, out of the mist: marching men. A rough army moved steadily forward with the beginnings of a gale, hardened against nature by moons, nay years, of fighting. In their hands their weapons hung heavily, their eyes fixed on something straight across the plain. From high up above, they appeared to her almost like the hare on the mountain, having emerged unexpectedly from the rocks and stones, small amidst the spectral landscape, though growing larger and larger, more human, with every forward trudge they took. Out of the mist, these marching men. And in their midst a name Alayne Stone hardly dared speak.

Chapter one is finally here! 🗻🌨️🐺

[leulahart]

jonsa week day three: fairy tale

inspired by la belle dame sans merci by frank dicksee

[vivilove-jonsa]

Tales from the Jonsa crypt 🎃

I’m not active in the fandom much anymore but I was saying yesterday how this time of year always brings that rush of Jonsa back to my heart.

I’d had the entire summer of 2016 to watch and rewatch season 6 and reread the books after that and kept circling back to the way Jon and Sansa made me FEEL whenever I saw them together and what I pictured for their arcs in the show and books.

When that wasn’t enough, I found shippy videos on YouTube and then started reading and eventually writing fic that fall. By Halloween, I was fully immersed, checking the ao3 tag multiple times a day and spinning out chapters to share with a friend.

I wouldn’t find the courage to post my works for a few more weeks but I’m forever thankful I did. Not only did Jonsa eventually lead me to original writing but I was blessed meeting so many Jonsa fans and creators , many of whom became dear friends.

So, this is me just rambling but also wishing any Jonsa folks who dig this up, new and old fans alike, a Happy Halloween and lots of forehead kisses 😘 🎃

[jonsaslove]

In other news, while I was on holiday castling the king passed 50k hits and is nearly at 1000 subscriptions…which is utterly insane. Writing has never been about the stats for me but seeing those milestones is just so humbling, thanks to anyone who has given this fic a chance!! 🥹 I’m so excited to get back to writing it as we gear up for the endgame of the story.

A year ago I hadn’t even posted the first chapter and I was just getting deep into fleshing out the possibility of writing a Robb lives AU (even though it was something I toyed with since I started writing) and now it’s turned into this huge project that I love with my whole heart.

Again, thank you all, seeing your support makes my day!!

[kellyvela]

“It’s interesting because you have to turn up looking like whatever your latest role is,” he explains of the buzz cut and beard he’s currently rocking in preparation for The Dreadful, a mediaeval horror movie he’ll begin shooting with Sophie Turner in Cornwall next week. “It’s like going back six years,” he adds, before insisting that the parts the pair play are radically different to members of the Stark dynasty.

IT'S HAPPENING!!!!

voguecouk/article/kit-harington-christmas-party-secrets-loro-piana

🚨🚨🚨 The Dreadful 👹 UPDATE 🚨🚨🚨

Kit Harington confirms he will begin shooting The Dreadful 👹 with Sophie Turner in Cornwall next week!!!!!!!!!!

Read more here:

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The Dreadful 👹 producer that tagged jonsa on his IG stories about the movie has arrived at London!!!!!!!!!!

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The Dreadful 👹 director is summoning . . . . 👀 👀 👀

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¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡It's happening!!!!!!!!!!

[mkstrigidae]

Unwillingly thrust into a realm full of beauty and danger, filled with beings who aren't supposed to exist, Sansa is exhausted, terrified, and desperate to return home. But with the secret of her heritage- heritage she hadn't even known about- revealed, these immortals aren't about to let her leave. Not when she holds something they want. Something valuable. Something in her very blood.

-

“Can’t we get the police involved?” Bran pleaded. “Get someone else to help find her?” “I wish we could.” She told him, reaching out to squeeze his brother’s hand. “Well why the hell can’t we?” Rickon snarled, his fists clenched so tight around his mug that Robb was amazed the cheap ceramic hadn’t shattered yet. “Because, right now, Sansa isn’t in this world.” Brienne wearily admitted.

Chapter 2: Salt and Steam

Sansa wakes up, alone, horribly injured, and stranded in a strange environment, desperately trying to figure out where she is, amidst the slick, black stone. While she tries to find her way out, someone- or something- else finds her first.