Not a lot really. Drabbles as usual for events on this page are between 100 and 1000 words. Tag us @jonsadungeonsanddrabbles and use tags #jonsanewyear2021 or #jonsanewyeardrabbles2021. A collection will also be posted on Ao3 for works to be added.
You can use one or both prompts in one entry or do two entries with one each.
@jonsa-week would like to invite you to participate in our event! All fanworks accepted.
How to participate?
Post your works that relate to any of the below prompts on the relevant day, tag @jonsa-week and also use the #jonsaweek. We will reblog your entry and add you to our master list once the event is over. If you are posting a fic, please post under the jonsa-week collection on AO3 also!
Prompts - Good things come in threes, so we have chosen three prompts for each day of the week!
Day 1 (Mon 18th): Past ~ Present ~ Future
Day 2 (Tues 19th): Quotes ~ Colours ~ Tropes*
Day 3 (Wed 20th): Winterfell ~ King’s Landing ~ Castle Black
Day 4 (Thurs 21st): Songs ~ Myths ~ Lies
Day 5 (Fri 22nd): Dragons ~ Wolves ~ Birds
Day 6 (Sat 23rd): Modern ~ Historical ~ Remix**
Day 7 (Sun 24th): Bastards ~ Royalty ~ Free Choice
Please make sure that you use appropriate warning tags such as nsfw if applicable.
You can create as many or as few entries as you want and you don’t have to try and use all three prompts for each day. Your entries can be as loosely based on the prompt as you wish. As long as you’re having fun and enjoying Jon x Sansa!
* Tropes are recurring literary and rhetorical devices, motifs or clichés in creative works. For example, some of the more popular tropes in fanfiction are ‘there was only one bed’ and ‘they were roommates’.
Obviously, we all love these fannish tropes, but the possibilities are endless!
Tropes that are already present in Jon and Sansa’s respective stories are ‘Princess in the Tower’ and ‘Back from the Dead’.
But there’s also Heroes like Redheads, Arranged Marriage, Salty Teens,…
If you want to read more about tropes, you can find everything there is to know about them right here!
** Have you ever daydreamed about Jon and Sansa as Jack and Rose from Titanic, Cesare and Lucrezia from The Borgias, Willabeth from Pirates of the Carribean or even Jim and Pam from The Office?
Now is your chance to make that daydream come true! The remix prompt gives you the chance to put Jonsa in any of your other favourite pairings’ shoes.
Credit for this wonderful idea goes to the lovely people over at @jonxsansaremix!
Late entries - we will accept late entries, however, if they are posted after the master list, they will be added on as a reblog. We will aim to get the master list up between 1-2 weeks after the final day of the event.
If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask!
@jonsa-week would like to invite you to participate in our event! All fanworks accepted.
How to participate?
Post your works that relate to any of the below prompts on the relevant day, tag @jonsa-week and also use the #jonsaweek. We will reblog your entry and add you to our master list once the event is over. If you are posting a fic, please post under the jonsa-week collection on AO3 also!
Prompts - Good things come in threes, so we have chosen three prompts for each day of the week!
Day 1 (Mon 18th): Past ~ Present ~ Future
Day 2 (Tues 19th): Quotes ~ Colours ~ Tropes*
Day 3 (Wed 20th): Winterfell ~ King’s Landing ~ Castle Black
Day 4 (Thurs 21st): Songs ~ Myths ~ Lies
Day 5 (Fri 22nd): Dragons ~ Wolves ~ Birds
Day 6 (Sat 23rd): Modern ~ Historical ~ Remix**
Day 7 (Sun 24th): Bastards ~ Royalty ~ Free Choice
Please make sure that you use appropriate warning tags such as nsfw if applicable.
You can create as many or as few entries as you want and you don’t have to try and use all three prompts for each day. Your entries can be as loosely based on the prompt as you wish. As long as you’re having fun and enjoying Jon x Sansa!
* Tropes are recurring literary and rhetorical devices, motifs or clichés in creative works. For example, some of the more popular tropes in fanfiction are ‘there was only one bed’ and ‘they were roommates’.
Obviously, we all love these fannish tropes, but the possibilities are endless!
Tropes that are already present in Jon and Sansa’s respective stories are ‘Princess in the Tower’ and ‘Back from the Dead’.
But there’s also Heroes like Redheads, Arranged Marriage, Salty Teens,…
If you want to read more about tropes, you can find everything there is to know about them right here!
** Have you ever daydreamed about Jon and Sansa as Jack and Rose from Titanic, Cesare and Lucrezia from The Borgias, Willabeth from Pirates of the Carribean or even Jim and Pam from The Office?
Now is your chance to make that daydream come true! The remix prompt gives you the chance to put Jonsa in any of your other favourite pairings’ shoes.
Credit for this wonderful idea goes to the lovely people over at @jonxsansaremix!
Late entries - we will accept late entries, however, if they are posted after the master list, they will be added on as a reblog. We will aim to get the master list up between 1-2 weeks after the final day of the event.
If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask!
Bro, We Are Bastards . Its Ok To Cry Around Me . Im Ur Steward . I Love You . … Bro, We Are Kiss ing Now . . No Dont Stop Bro .. Bro … We Are Bastards .. .
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
ring the bells that still can ring
forget your perfect offering
there is a crack, a crack in everything
that's how the light gets in
When King's Landing falls, Sansa marches south, still unaware that the future of the Seven Kingdoms lies in her hands, and that the peace she will broker comes with a price...
Sansa finds herself back in Winterfell, separated from her family by distance, duty and yet another secret, raising another bastard child as she rebuilds herself, the castle and the North.
Jon heals in the True North, finding his own worth again, and discovering that even after being lost, he can find purpose in his own heart and mind again, even burdened by the crippling guilt and resentment which will take him many years to learn how to carry and let go.
Ten years is a long time, but they say time heals all wounds. But what if time only adds more complications? Winter is always coming, and even family, duty and honour are at odds sometimes.
***
A rewrite of episode 6 and what comes after.
"You're leaving," he says as she approaches the Heart Tree. "I'm coming with you."
"No." The word rolls from her lips without hesitation. She won't put another member of her family in danger by letting them go south, not her little brother. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell," she reminds him.
The quirk of a smile he offers her is both indulgent and defiant. "Winterfell will be fine. You can trust the Lady Alys to run the keep in your absence. And Lord Larence will leave a regiment to guard the castle."
She knows this, they made the arrangements together when she told him about her fears.
"Winterfell will be fine," he repeats, "but you will need me."
She wrings her hands, biting her lip in doubt. She's not too proud to accept her brother's offer of help, but keeping him safe is more important.
He waits for her answer, but when it doesn't come he adds: "Jon will need me."
She nods.
***
He is oddly reminded of those first few moments they shared after he came back from the dead more than two years ago now. Seven Hells, has it only been two years? It feels more like an entire lifetime to him.
"I fought, and I lost," he says repeating the words he said to the older man on that day. "I failed again, just like you told me."
"Can't say this is what I had in mind," Davos answers with a deep sigh. "If it's any comfort, you always did the right thing, even if it seemed like there was little honour in it."
Jon would laugh, if he didn't feel so tired. What now, my lord? He knows what he needs to do, but every fibre in his body is screaming at him. Find someone else! It doesn't have to be you!
You know nothing, Jon Snow, Ygritte sneers at him.
I know what it feels like, he wants to object. He knows the shock, the pain, the sting of betrayal, the terror. The cold, the nothingness. He's killed men in battle, so many of them, when it's kill or be killed, but this is different.
In the two week prompting period, we are pleased to announce that we have received a whopping sixty three prompts! That is actually sixty two more than what we were expecting. Come and check them out, you may find one or two that may kick-start your writing drive.
PROMPT DATABASE : CLICK HERE
Reminders:
Claiming and self prompting will start officially on JULY 5, until then the prompts are only up for viewing. Please wait for the forms to be posted, details/instructions will be relayed in there.
Remember the code of the prompt/s you want.
One person for one prompt! Meaning once the prompt has been picked it is reserved for that author.
for all the amazing fic writers that follow me: i thought i’d share!!! and for anyone who wants to dive head first into writing for jonsa - here’s some wonderful prompts!!
Sansa leaned back on Jon’s bed, releasing a sigh that had been building up for a while. After another glance at the door and the candle on Jon’s desk, she started wondering where her betrothed was. He should have been back in his chambers by now.
The fur lining of Jon’s cloak was warm, but it tickled her skin and the naked parts of her body were covered in goosebumps. She decided to go back to her own chambers, where it was warmer, to wait for him.
Wrapping the cloak tightly around her, she hurried to close the short distance between their doors. She opened the door and slipped in. Turning around, she came face to face with a naked Jon, bent over one of her chests, a piece of cloth pressed to his face.
His chin jerked up in her direction and she released the sides of his cloak, folding them back to reveal her nakedness. His jaw dropped and he licked his lips as he attempted to close his mouth and his throat bobbed up and down. Even in the dim light, she could see his face turn scarlet. His hold on the cloth in his hand loosened and she recognized the piece of fabric as a peach-coloured pair of her own smallclothes.
let the reason come in the common tongue of you loving me (2)
Jon isn't sure how Sansa managed to convince Stannis they should have a tourney, but perhaps he doesn't want to know. Sansa has always been a dutiful wife, after all.
Stannis has never struck him as the type who's easily swayed by womanly wiles, but he's also seen Sansa work her magic on him, charm him into changing his mind or even choosing a different course. It sickens him to think of it, this semblance of a succesful, a happy marriage even. He knows it's a lie, but Sansa was born to be a queen, and she plays her part so well.
It shouldn't bother him. Stannis is her king and her husband, and Jon is the interloping bastard seducing her into secret meetings and dalliances. He's the one who’s dishonouring her and putting her in danger.
He's made up his mind. He's going to tell her they need to end this. He'll do it after the tournament, let her enjoy these last few days. He'll take her anger and her pain, because he knows this is what's best for her. Even if he's hurting her, he's only doing so to protect her.
The flap of his tent is lifted, and he hears two voices exchange some words. She steps inside then, as if summoned by his thoughts.
"Good morning to you, Jon," she greets him.
"Your Grace," he nods.
She informs him she sent his squire away. "So we can talk freely."
He arches an eyebrow, watching as she closes the distance between them. Her hand glides up his chest and around his neck, into the hair at the nape of his neck.
His body responds of its own accord, leaning in to capture her lips in an almost bruising kiss, almost, it wouldn't be wise to leave marks. HIs shoulders relax and a sigh of relief escapes from his mouth, disappearing between her eagerly parted lips. His arms encircle her waist as she smiles into the kiss, and she nips at his bottom lip, pulling back with a giggle.
"I have something for you," she tells him, slightly panting as she steps out of his embrace.
"Oh," he manages, he'd rather just have her again.
She laughs at his poor response and reaches into the pocket of her gown, extracting a tiny bundle she unfolds before handing it to him. "I'd ask you to wear it for me in the melee on the morrow," she tells him.
The fabric is smooth in his hands, but slightly warm from being carried so close to her body. It's shaped rectangularly, quartered in sections of black and blue, the two lower ones have a pair of wolves facing each other. Even if her needlework wasn't as skilled and detailed, he would recognize them as Ghost and Lady. The empty sections are trimmed with weirwood leaves, his half has snowflakes scattered across the black fabric, hers yellow flowers across the blue.
He takes a deep breath, resisting the urge to crumple her favour in his fist. "I can't accept this," he sighs, trying to hand it back to her.
She keeps her hands clutched in front of her chest, but her face falls. "Why not?"
His head jerks down. He's not doing this now. "Red on black," he murmurs half-heartedly, knowing she'll easily see through the lie, but he still adds: "It's too dangerous."
She puts her hands on her hips, shaking her head, and it reminds him too much of the girl she used to be, the past they both lost. "Don't be ridiculous. We're the only ones who know. Black is for the Night's Watch, it's still the only colour you ever wear."
Of course he can't fool her, especially when he's not even trying. He shakes his head. It appear he is doing this now. "I don't deserve this."
"Jon, please." She reaches for him, but he turns away, knowing how her touch or even one look from her can make him weak.
"I don't deserve this," he repeats, squeezing his eyes shut as she puts her hand on his elbow. "This is wrong. All the things I did to you, made you do..."
Her grip on his elbow tightens and he's forced to look at her. Her mouth is set in a harsh line and her eyes are blazing. Good, he thinks, give me your rage. He wants it.
"Jon Snow," she begins, nostrils flaring. "Do I need to remind you that I chose you? You never made me do anything. I'm not some silly maid wet with love for you, too young and stupid to know her own heart. You forget that I have been there once."
"Does it matter, Sansa?" he asks her, forcing the question out through gritted teeth. "It's still wrong. Gods, what would your father say?" Perhaps that's not enough. "What about your mother?"
Her eyes ice over. "My mother and father are long dead. They don't get to decide. Life is not a song, Jon, if we want something, we have to take it ourselves, and I want you!"
"You shouldn't."
"Please, Jon," she whispers, her anger fading again. "I don't want to argue. You're all I have left in this world."
"Sansa," he implores her, pinching the bridge of his nose, avoiding her eyes again. "I'm a sick, depraved bastard. You deserve so much better than me."
"I don't care about you being a bastard!" she practically shouts. "In fact, I might prefer you this way! None of my ladies' noble husbands love them the way you love me!"
He glances up at her, arms hanging limp by his side, allowing her to close the distance between them and tuck her favour into the pocket of his doublet before reaching up and cupping his cheeks.
"Please," she repeats with a sad smile. "I don't want to fight, Jon. I love you. I love your sweet face and your true heart."
"I love you," he answers despite himself, because it's the truth and he always wants to tell her, wants her to know she is so loved.
She presses a soft kiss to his lips. She rubs their noses together and sighs: "I love you." His eyes fly open as he senses the shift in her tone, the languid warmth in her body. "And I love your bastard mouth, and what it can do to me."
She kisses him again, licking at the seam of his lips until they part for her, and he groans into her mouth as she curls her tongue around his.
Her voice is needy and breathless when she says: "I love your bastard hands on my body." She takes his hands and puts one on her hip, the other on her breast. He revels in the soft pliant warmth of her, squeezes lightly, and she arches into his touch.
"And I love your bastard cock," she finishes her declaration. She cups him through his breeches, even as her cheeks go red at those words coming out of her mouth.
He's more than a bit shocked, even though he probably shouldn't be. He's usually the one who enjoys whispering filthy endearments into her ear and neck, against her mouth or the swell of her breasts, into the hot wet flesh of her cunt, but she keeps surprising him. Perhaps he should have expected this.
He reaches up to frame her face in his hands as heat starts coiling low in his groin. Her hand squeezes him, ever so lightly, and he can already feel himself dissolving into a panting mess.
"Tell me more," he growls as he bucks into her hand, his fingers spearing into her hair so he can crush their lips together again. She moans, surrendering to the push and pull of his mouth, nipping and nibbling at his lips.
"I love the weight and feel of it in my hand," she whispers as her dainty fingers unlace him. She sighs as she wraps her hand around his length, as if to prove her words.
"I love the way it fills me up and how you fuck me so nice with it," she murmurs against his lips, lightly stroking him into hardness.
"I fuck you nice?" he asks, the hint of amusement in his voice dying on a hiss when she flicks her wrist to squeeze the head of his cock.
She releases him then and sinks to her knees. She presses a soft kiss to the very tip of him and glances up at his face with big, innocent eyes. "And I love taking it in my mouth."
She moans around him as she does so, and his eyes nearly roll into the back of his head. She flattens her tongue, dragging it back along the underside and swirling it around the head, prodding the slit before she takes him in deeper again.
"Seven Hells, Sansa," he groans, a curse he's picked up after so many years in the south. "So good," he babbles. "So good." In the back of his mind, he vaguely registers this is not how that conversation was supposed to end, but he's already too far gone to truly care.
He opens his eyes as she smiles around his cock and the sight of it almost ends him.
He frames her face in his hands again, winding his fingers through her hair. As gently as possible, he starts guiding her, brushing his thumbs over her cheekbones. Her gaze is dark and eager as his glistening cock moves in and out of the enclosure of her warm, swollen lips.
"Wait," he tells her. "Stop."
She sucks him hard before releasing him, a slight frown knitting her eyebrows together.
"We don't have much time. I want to be inside you."
Her lips curl up. "How do you want me?"
Every possible way he can imagine, but one will have to do. He reaches for her hands to help her up. "Get on the cot and lift your skirts for me."
She obeys eagerly, perching herself on the edge of the cot and bunching the layers of her skirts up over her belly, spreading her legs for him.
He goes to kneel in front of her, unlacing her smallclothes and pulling them down and off. The curls between her thighs are glistening and she's slippery when he brushes a finger over her folds.
"Fuck, you're so wet," he groans.
"I always get wet sucking your cock," she answers, bracing herself on her elbows.
He runs his hand up her stocking and then the smooth bare flesh of her thigh, lifting her leg over his shoulder. "I want to have a taste first."
She shudders as he licks up her slit, and even though he doesn't really believe in any gods anymore, he'll never get tired of worshipping at the altar that is her cunt.
He laps up her arousal, tongues the sensitive spot right below her entrance before dipping into it. Her heads drops back when he starts circling her swollen nub. He could do this for hours, but they don't have time, so he closes his lips over it and sucks.
"Gods," she whimpers. "Inside me, Jon, now!"
"As my queen commands," he rumbles into her sensitive flesh, before straightening up. He gives himself a couple of tugs before lining his cock up with her entrance and pushing into her. They moan in unison as he slowly fills her up. He pulls her closer by her hips and she pushes herself up to wrap her arms and legs around him, slanting her mouth over his to kiss him.
As he starts moving, putting one hand on the small of her back, he slips a hand between their bodies to push his thumb to her pearl. He won't last long, and he wants to feel her peak around him.
"Do you like the way I'm fucking you with my bastard cock?" he asks. Her walls spasm around him, and she whimpers. He's not sure why being reminded of his being a bastard arouses her, but he loves it regardless.
"Harder," she tells him, nuzzling his cheek. "Faster."
Being so close to her only feels good, even if it's wrong. Her cunt grips him so deliciously, and he can't be inside her half as often as he'd love to be, so truly, he would like to savour the experience, draw it out as long as he can, but he can't resist her, can't refuse her anything, so he obeys.
He buries his face in her neck and her hot breath ghosts over his ear. "Come on my bastard cock," he murmurs into her skin, and a mewl escapes from her lips.
She's already tightening and fluttering around him, and he can feel the coil in his groin growing tighter, the pressure at the base of his spine rising. He rubs her nub harder, feeling her entire body tense up around his, but he won't make it, he can feel it.
He tries to slow down, pull back, but she whines in protest. "I'm so close."
"So am I," he grunts. "I won't be able to stop."
"Then don't," she answers, her voice high and breathless. "Spill inside me."
"Sansa," he warns her.
"Fuck, please don't stop," she starts to cry out, and he muffles her moans with a kiss.
Her cunt clenches around him, and her peak prompts his, waves of pleasure crashing through his body as his hips stutter and snap.
He goes slack against her, head dropping to her shoulder, as the last tremors of her climax almost stir his softening cock back to life.
"I shouldn't have done that," he mutters as she lowers her legs and loosens her hold on him. "I shouldn't have spilled inside you." It has happened before, but he always tries to avoid it.
She presses her lips to his hair. "It's all right, Jon," she whispers. "No harm was done. I'm already with child."
The soft warm bliss in his limbs is chased away by the ice that instantly spreads through his veins.
ASOIAF meme: 3/9 pre-ASOIAF characters ♦ Jenny of Oldstones and the Prince of Dragonflies
Aegon’s eldest son Duncan, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the throne, was the first to defy him. Though betrothed to a daughter of House Baratheon of Storm’s End, Duncan became enamored of a strange, lovely, and mysterious girl who called herself Jenny of Oldstones in 239 AC, whilst traveling in the riverlands. Though she dwelt half-wild amidst ruins and claimed descent from the long-vanished kings of the First Men, the smallfolk of surrounding villages mocked such tales, insisting that she was only some half-mad peasant girl, and perhaps even a witch. […]
His Grace did all he could to have the marriage undone, demanding that Duncan put Jenny aside. The prince shared his father’s stubbornness, however, and refused him. […] Rather than give up Jenny, he foreswore his claim to the crown in favor of his brother Jaehaerys, and abdicated as Prince of Dragonstone.
Even that could not restore the peace, nor win back the friendship of Storm’s End, however. The father of the spurned girl, Lord Lyonel Baratheon of Storm’s End […], was not a man easily appeased when his pride was wounded. A short, bloody rebellion ensued, ending only when Ser Duncan of the Kingsguard defeated Lord Lyonel in single combat, and King Aegon gave his solemn word that his youngest daughter, Rhaelle, would wed Lord Lyonel’s heir. […] Jenny of Oldstones—Lady Jenny, as she was called by courtesy—was eventually accepted at court, and throughout the Seven Kingdoms the smallfolk held her especially dear. She and her prince, forever after known as the Prince of Dragonflies, were a favorite subject of singers for many years.
dededos
dailybridgerton
janainaart
jacobvanloon
izzy806
kianamaiart
