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Sup, it's your secret Santa!

Oooo Hello! Thank you for being my Santa, I’m so excited for what ever I receive, I’m sure it’ll be wonderful! :)

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The Untouchable Princess

@jonsadrabbles

Day 2 - Touch

Can blessings also be curses? Sansa certainly thought so once she’d flowered and it was found out that she is touch-bound.

When she were a silly little girl, her head was filled with the old romantic tales of rare lovers who’s hearts were so belonging to one another, that if anyone else were to touch them, they would feel a jolt of pain most severe coursing through their bodies. Meaning that, from once they matured and until their union was blessed with children, the only touch they would know would be loving and from each other.

At first, when her maid had screeched and writhed on the floor first thing in the morning, Sansa had been confused and afraid. But then, as it dawned on her what this meant, she had been elated; the Gods were truly smiling down on her impending marriage with Prince Joffrey! They were meant for one another and no other! They belonged.

Keep reading

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ASOIAF ladies: Elia Martell

“Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit.” - Barristan Selmy

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JONSA SECRET SANTA 2018

Hi Everyone!

Now that it’s November we figured it was a good time to start thinking about a Christmas-themed Jonsa event, and since these Secret Santa exchanges are pretty popular with the wider asoiaf/GoT community and other fandoms, as well, we decided it would be fun to do one for our beloved Jonsa fam, too. If anyone is in need of a little good will, it’s us, right? ;) So, although this is probably a little late in getting started, I hope many of you will join us in spreading some positivity and Christmas cheer this year!

Because this event is all about spreading the love in our fandom, we wanted to make it open to anyone who wants to get involved. And so, if you’re not a fic writer, artist, vidder, giffer, edit maker, fanmix creator etc, don’t worry about it. If you want to join in, your gift can be a kind of ‘Christmas Letter’ to the person you are assigned, a personal message of positivity and appreciation which we hope will put a smile on their face. It’s not about what you can give in the exchange, it’s just about the taking part, the coming together as a community, getting involved and making another member of the Jonsa fam feel loved and appreciated this Christmas.

If you’re interested, take a look at our rules and guidelines below: - 

HOW TO PARTICIPATE>>

Reblog this post

Follow this blog

Fill out >>this form<<

Wait to be assigned your person

Post your GIFTS using the tag #jonsasecretsanta starting from Dec. 22nd

Make sure to @ the person you are making a GIFT for so they will be notified

We will reblog all GIFTS to this blog so that the fandom can see all of the creations as well as share in the messages of positivity and appreciation even if they were unable to take part

Keep your eye on your own mentions so that you don’t miss the GIFT somebody else has made for you

Deadline for GIFTS will be Dec. 27th - we will stop reblogging and adding to our queue on this date (exceptions may possibly be made if there are extenuating circumstances and you need a slight extension. In this case please DM us [HERE] or at our personal blogs [links below])

We’ll put together a masterpost of all submissions on the 28th to close out the year

RULES/GUIDELINES>>

Sign up will be closed on Nov. 17th and Secret Santa’s assigned no later than the 20th. Keep an eye on your inboxes for our little elves ;)

We realise that this is a short sign-up period so please let us know if you want to take part sooner rather than later

Everybody that sends a GIFT will receive a GIFT as well

As soon as you know who you are making a GIFT for you’ll have around a month to come up with something - we hope this will be enough time for the content creators and writers who may need a little longer to work on their submissions. We also hope the decision to limit the exchange to one GIFT per person instead of a week’s worth of prompts may make it easier for more people to take part

The theme of your GIFTS can be whatever you choose - as long as they are centered on the Jon x Sansa ship. So, AU’s, canon compliant…anything goes. Just be creative. It’s all about celebrating the ship and making another Jonsa smile

It may help to scope out the blog of the person you are assigned to to get a better feel for what they may appreciate - perhaps incorporating their other fandom’s and interests into a Jonsa creation would be a fun idea? But it’s completely up to you!

If you’re writing a Christmas Letter, try to make it as personalized as you can? And try to aim for at least 100 words

As mentioned above, this event is pretty vague and open in terms of topics, themes and content just to make it easier for everyone, especially since we know we’re starting later than a lot of other Secret Santa’s, so we don’t want you to be beholden to certain prompts. But if you feel like getting into the Christmas spirit, we would encourage that too. This is, after all, a Christmas event -  so if you want to go FULL FESTIVE, go for it! :)

Make sure to specify in the SIGN UP sheet whether you are open or opposed to smut/NSFW content, so that we can link everyone up with the right people and make sure that nobody is getting something they may possibly find offensive or uncomfortable

More specifically, it’s important for us to know about any trigger warnings you may have so that we can make sure to notify the person who is assigned you in the draw

Also please specify whether you are open or opposed to other twists on the Jonsa dynamic - such as Dark Jon/Sansa, ménage à trois etc. We know some people are not so keen on some of these tropes and takes, and this way we can point those who are more into that kind of thing towards each other and avoid any unhappy surprises.

Please try to get your GIFTS posted by Dec. 27th. We will start reblogging submissions on the 22nd and continue throughout the Christmas period, up until the 27th. After which we will compile all GIFTS into a masterpost on the 28th. Any GIFTS posted after the 27th will not be reblogged to the blog or included in the masterpost. So please make sure that you get them in by that date. As mentioned, we will personally start reblogging all submissions on the 22nd. But by all means, if you want to post your GIFT to your own blog sooner, feel free.

Remember to @ the person you are making a GIFT for, and use the tag #jonsasecretsanta so that we can find it to reblog when the time comes

If you have any further questions about the exchange, drop us an ask [HERE] or message ★Laura★ or ★Ada★ over at our personal blogs. We’ll be open to helping anybody with their GIFTS, whether it’s technical advice or ideas of what to make for a certain person. We’ll help as much as we can! As long as you haven’t been assigned either one of us, which, in that case, probably best to look to the other for advice lol :)

Thanks for reading! I hope to see lots of you taking part! 

SIGN UP IS OPEN NOW!

This is an admittedly short sign-up window, so please get back to us as soon as you can. Thank you!

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the Jonsa fandom when casual fans finally realise we were right all this time :

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Where Thieves Walk

Summary: Jonsa, Scottish clans AU. Jon refuses to give in to his desire for Sansa - until Sansa’s husband forces him to.

Read it here.

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Jon knows. Jon has always known.

—

Part IV here.

—

Jon is thirteen, and everything’s harder than he thought.

Jon is thirteen, and he’s halfway through the Riverlands - Tully land - and he’s calling himself Jon Storm now, because it’s a good name, the one his false-father chose, a forgettable name - Jon. But Ned Stark’s reach is long and far, so Jon chops off his hair close to his scalp, and wishes he could grow a beard, and soaks in the sun like a cat, and calls himself Jon Storm, and hopes no one comes looking.

No one does.

Jon makes his bed in a hayloft, punches the straw into something resembling a pillow, pretends he isn’t cold, isn’t scared, isn’t lonely and desperately tired and miserable and alone.

No one comes looking for him, for a bastard boy born to a king, and Jon can’t fall asleep even though he’s so weary his teeth hurt, and he curls his hands into fists so tight his nails draw blood. It’s okay. It’s okay. He licks the blood away like a feral cat, and curls into himself, tucking his knees against his chest. It’s okay.

—

He works when he can - the odd job, or two, enough coin to keep traveling, keep moving South. The Vale is Arryn territory, Jon Arryn’s territory, but it’s the House of Royce that holds sway in the absence of their liegelord, still serving as Hand to the King. Jon starts to breathe easier when he’s left the Riverlands behind, though navigating the treacherous terrain is difficult, scary, his heartbeat crashing at every narrow bend whittled into the face of its mountains, skittering when he looks down, and sees the earth fall away beneath his feet. He sells his horse off, the swift-footed destrier he’d nicked from Winterfell’s stables all those months ago, his only steady companion since they left home, trades it in for extra rations and a steady, plodding mule.

His hands are tougher now, scabbed over and hard. There’s hair on his jaw, on his chest, wispy. Soft. Jon plucks at it curiously, restlessly, walking beside his mule down a long, shadowed lane because he wants to stretch his legs, the solid weight of his sword clanking against his hip. It’s been quiet, so far, his journey southward. The kingdoms are fat in the purse, the grain plentiful and the people content. He meets generous innkeeps, who let him stay for a night in their stables, if he’ll muck them out and see to the horses, barmaids and wives who cluck and coo over his skinny arms and his shy smile, push steaming bowls of stew his way, and great big tankards of ale, tell him he’s a handsome lad and that he’ll be breaking hearts soon enough, and then belly-laugh in pleasure when he turns red right down to his toes. Nobody cares that he’s a bastard. Nobody cares that he’s lowborn, worthless, a broken little castaway boy with nowhere to call home.

And every time they ask, Jon ducks his head, and says, “Where am I headed? Oh, to my uncle’s. He has something of mine. A little inheritance that needs collecting.”

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GREAT HOUSES OF WESTEROS

If you like my work, please, consider supporting me as I need to pay for my education. Thank you!

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark Characters: Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, Robb Stark, Ned Stark, Ramsay Bolton, Joffrey Baratheon Additional Tags: World War I, German Jon, Scottish Starks, Scotland, Jonsa Historical Event, you’d think uni would teach me to meet deadlines, I failed, Ramsay is his own warning, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Jon might be dead, he might have been delayed coming home, I was going angsty tbh, but if you want to think he came back thats cool too, Sexual Content Summary:

When she had been a little girl she had loathed the island she had lived on her whole life. Instead of being trapped here, with the sea surrounding her and the few people she had known her whole life, she had wanted to be on the mainland where everything was buzzing and lively, where she would be more likely to find love.

But when war broke out, she became grateful for the seclusion the Scottish Isles of Orkney provided.

The morning, when a German soldier washed up on the beach, pulse slow but still going, she had been even more grateful. The islanders were rarely bothered by the officers of the army who looked for deserters and traitors. And the Starks had always been a good, law-abiding and charitable family. Having a good name and being from a small island where visitors were few and far between was actually an advantage when it came to hiding an injured German soldier.

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The Good Place + popular text post meme (1 of ???)

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Jonsa Smut Week 2018: 30th July-5th August

Details under the cut…

Keep reading

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42. Doesn't my love mean anything?.... for Jonsa. Ps. Would love it if Sansa is the one saying this

August 1914

She looks out of place here among the trees and the dirt- Jon’s small stone cabin nothing compared to the grand house that lies across the hill. She wears her fine laces and silks now, an ivory dress draped across her elegant frame, a string of pearls across her neck. Lady Sansa is a vision of privileged England, and Jon is her father’s gamekeeper.

He eyes her underneath the peak of his tweed cap, a dark black curl hanging in one eye and he swings the axe he had been using over his shoulder. He does not wish to speak to her now, and before she can lock eyes with his he looks away. He brings the axe down onto the block of wood- hard and angry.

She looks so out of place here- yet she always finds a home in his bed late at night when the house beyond the hill sleeps.

“Jon” her voice is angry, and for one moment Jon believes that if he turns around it won’t be her storming across the wooded path, but the Lady Catelyn. He expected her anger of course, but he is the one who has every right to be angry.

“Sansa” he greets her after she huffs her way beside him. It’s not Lady Sansa to him- not anymore- not seriously. He can’t bring himself to address her as such, not after she has spent almost a year writhing under him late into the night. Not after they tell each other their deep confessions of love. He’s loved her since he was a boy, since he was a young stable hand and she the privileged lady. Her standing has not changed at all even though his has. He no longer looks after fiery horses but hunts and manages the Stark land. He does however, manage a fiery woman, the very one who stands before him with a glaring look in her eyes.

She’s been crying- he can tell as he looks into those crystal blue eyes. Some small part of him feels guilty but he swallows it down. The axe is swung over his shoulder again as he turns away from her; his strides longer than hers.  

“My father tells me you are to leave for France” her voice is soft and gentle, with that deep rooted accent of privilege in her tone that Jon should despise. But he doesn’t- he loves the way she speaks- the way she says his name.

“Your father is correct” he keeps walking towards his stone house, the flimsy door swung open by one kick of his foot. There’s not much in here save for a table that holds a wrapped up loaf of bread and a vase of wildflowers- flowers that Sansa picks for him. His bed is old but sturdy and he throws the axe onto it with a great thud. He keeps the bible by his bedside table even though he does not believe in God, and within the pages are pressed thistles- the very first flowers she had picked for him when he had moved onto the grounds of this forest.

“You promised me, Jon Snow. You promised me you wouldn’t enlist” Sansa is a whirl of pinned red curls and ivory lace as she ascends on Jon. Her eyes and voice are frantic and he tears his own grey ones away from her, not able to look at her. He sits down on the edge of his bed then, his cap thrown from his head onto the grey blanket.

“Aye, I promised” his voice is rough with a Northern accent- so different from hers “but I can’t stay here while all the other men go out and fight”

“You sound like my brother, like Robb, and he’s dead now Jon. Robb is dead, buried somewhere in France like some forgotten hero. Do you want that to happen to you? Do you want to leave me here mourning you for the rest of my life?”

“Mourn me?” he scoffs as he shoots her a dark glare, his eyes taking in each flicker of her face as it falls. She is beautiful in all her agitation, and each pout of her stubborn lips makes Jon want to kiss her. But he will not bring himself to kiss her- not now- not after hearing the news that had broken his heart.

“You seem inclined into thinking that I would not mourn you if you perished on the battlefield, is this true?” she smells of lemons and of heather, and when he looks at the hem of her skirt he can see the small flecks of the purple flower stuck to the lace from when she’d walked here.

“You’d forget about me, Lady Sansa” Jon rises from the bed- her title a sneer on his lips, and he pushes past her and out the door, the tiny cabin growing claustrophobic.

“Forget about you?” Sansa all but whispers as she follows the broad shouldered gamekeeper from his cabin “I love you. More than anything in this world, and you think I would forget that love so easily? Doesn’t my love mean anything?”

“It means nothing!” Jon turns on her, furious and fiery and he can see the tears begin to well in her crystal eyes, but he can not bring himself to feel any guilt.

“Jon….” the eloquent Lady stutters out, now not able to articulate any sort of sentence.

“Doesn’t my love mean anything?” he repeats her question now, his voice shaking the same way his hands tremble by his sides “I’ve given you my heart and you throw it away! All for Joffrey Baratheon!”

Sansa freezes then, her heart ceasing to beat in her chest and she can feel the blood drain from her body slowly. Jon stands before her with his grey eyes full of something she saw in her own this morning- it’s a look of desperation and she knows if she was to hold a mirror to herself she would look the very same.

“You thought I wouldn’t hear how the Lady of Winterfell House is set to marry the most eligible Lord in all of Britain? I may be of common folk, your ladyship, but I am not as dim minded as you may assume” her small body is close to his, and he can almost feel her shaking against him. Her breath is light and fast- just like how the trees that surround him shake with the morning breeze. There is a red curl that has escaped her elegant upstyle and the hands that rest by his sides ache to push it behind her ear- but he doesn’t touch her.

He’s been fortunate to call her his for a time, even if it has been in secret. But she does not belong with men like him- men that are worn from work and hardship and who have seen the worst possible version of life. She belongs to summer while he is eternally in winter, and men like Joffrey who are privileged and rich can make her more happy than Jon ever could.

“I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how” she pleads with him, her soft hands coming to grab one of his. His eyes look down at them- her hands white and clean and his rough with labour and stained black from his day of work “I never asked for this to happen Jon, I swear to you. I do not want to marry him but my father has arranged it. I don’t love him, Jon”

“You’ll grow to love him. He’ll give you children, and a fine house and money. What can I give you?” he pulls his hands away from her and once again walks past her, his feet taking him along the forest path.

“You’ve given me everything already, Jon Snow” she trails after him as he absentmindedly checks the traps he had set along the forests edge, the task something to distract himself from her. But it does not work.

“We can run away together. Go somewhere and never come back” she speaks of fairytales, Jon thinks, of things that are unattainable in this world. He can not keep her because she was never his to begin with, and perhaps that is why he has enlisted to fight in a war that has killed so many men. A quick death on a battlefield in France would be kinder than a long life without her in his arms.

“What could I give you? What would you do without all your finery?” he stands up and asks her, storm grey eyes boring into ocean blue “I can’t give you the life that he will”

“I would love you as I do now, and that would be enough. I’d be richer than I am now if I was able to love you for a lifetime” her sun stained cheeks glisten with a fresh track of tears as she blinks, and Jon’s gut twists in agony at the sight of her “just please don’t go to France”

“You’re better off without me” is what he tells her as her small hands wrap around his arm. He does not look at her as she attempts to pull him back with a whimper- but the heart inside his chest breaks even more.

“You think it but you’re wrong” Sansa cries to him “I will die without you”

And I will die for you, he thinks to himself, to rid you of me once and for all.

“I leave tomorrow. Goodbye Lady Sansa” he rips away from her, her nimble fingers trying to cling onto the sleeves of his shirt in vain.

She tries to call after him but he does not turn around- it’s easier this way. He can not seem to forgive her for being engaged to another man, but he is more angry at himself for deciding to love her. He has no right to be jealous or angry, and he certainly should not have a desire to become as far away from her as possible. But how can he stay here and know that she is married to someone else? That some other man holds her and loves her? He cannot bear it, and somehow the raging promise of bullets and Germans seem easier than dealing with heartache.

He hears his name being called in that sweet way again, but it fades as he disappears into the trees and the beautiful Sansa is left standing alone- waiting for him to come back. But he doesn’t. 

The echoing call of his name is the very thing he hears when he is lying in a deep trench in France, blood spurting out of his body- even then he can not seem to hear anything else. Just her voice. Just his name.

It is sweet music to his ears, and her voice is the last thing he hears before his eyes close- his body falling asleep for the last time.

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Toying with a modern Jonsa AU; here’s a snippet.

Jon wakes to sharp, rhythmic pounding and scrambles for his gun.

It takes falling to the floor of his studio apartment before he remembers where and when he is. Chicago. Not Iraq. He doesn’t have a gun. He hopes to never touch one again.

He can taste blood and sand in his mouth and it almost makes him gag as he swipes a hand over his face and rises into a squat. The room is cast in shadow, a cool breeze ruffling the faded curtains that’d been there when he’d moved in almost a year ago and which he hadn’t bothered to replace. Moonlight fluttered along the sharp lines of his bed and across the rounded curves of his couch, glowing faintly against the screen of the second-hand TV he almost never turned on.

Ghost whimpers then growls softly as the knocking begins again. The sound wavers between uncertain and desperate, as if whoever stands outside his door isn’t certain how they ended up there. Disoriented and angry -it’s three AM for Christ’s sake- he stumbles across the room, unlocks the door and yanks it open. He freezes, angry words dying on his tongue.

“I d-didn’t have anywhere else to go,” Sansa Stark says through a swollen, bloody lip, a pair of sunglasses perched on her nose that don’t completely hide a black eye.

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Master List - Fairy Tales & Mythology Round

Fan Art

Labyrinth of the Minotaur AU by @baelerion

wherein prince jon marries lady sansa by @doomeric

Robin Hood AU by @goodqueenalys

Wolf Fairy Tale AU by @lyannaestark

Tristan and Isolde AU by @sardoniyx

Fanfiction

Sister & Sister rated T by @acourtofhopeanddreams (read on AO3 here)

The North Wind doth blow rated M by @aknightfornawt (on AO3 here)

Midnight rated G by @alienor-woods (on AO3 here)

Swing me your bones rated E by @alittlestardustcaught (on AO3 here)

Red rated M by @amymel86 (on AO3 here)

The Dragonknight rated M by @aneternalfangirl (on AO3 here)

A Song of Stars and Outlaws rated G by @azulaahai (on AO3 here)

i love him as much as queen naerys loved aemon the dragonknight by @brienne (on AO3 here)

A true hero rated T by @captainbee89 (on AO3 here)

Visions are Seldom all they Seem rated T by @darkmagyk (on AO3 here)

this is the map of my heart, the landscape after cruelty rated M by @dialux (on AO3 here)

New Year’s eve at the Black Mill rated G by @fedonciadale (on AO3 here)

A witch, an unkindness rated M by @glubefics (on AO3 here)

The Absence rated M by @geekprincess26 (on AO3 here)

quite a tingling resemblance rated T by @miazeklos (on AO3 here)

Tin, Paper, Snow rated G by @mimiofthemalfoys (on AO3 here)

Time With Wolves Not Rated by @mollyraesly (on AO3 here)

Still Waters rated T by @ritzintherabbithole (on AO3 here)

Howl rated G by @zip00198704

Thank you so much to @framboise-fics and @thatgirlnevershutsup who offered to be our Pinch Hitters. We’re endlessly thankful for you being on standby.

Also, a massive thank you to everyone that took part. We hope you’ll join us again for Round Five, so please make sure you’re following us to be kept in the loop for August signup dates.

Your Mods,

Hannah, Lagardère & Sarah

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By FDASuarez

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OH MY GOD one of our tigers did this (and it isn’t stuck on his head; one of the keepers went in to see if he needed help and he undid this and redid it on his own a few times) but oh my god hE’S PRETENDING TO BE A LION IM GONNA DIE

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Jon when he returns north & can finally eat Sansa out again: