Thank you everyone for participating in this years Jonsa Week, We will hopefully hold Jonsa week next year the same time as this week. We will be accepting submissions until the 25th of this month. This also applies to our AO3 collection.

ellievsbear
Claire Keane
No title available
Misplaced Lens Cap

pixel skylines

#extradirty
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Not today Justin
Cosimo Galluzzi

oozey mess

JVL
One Nice Bug Per Day
Peter Solarz
tumblr dot com
todays bird

Product Placement

★
noise dept.
$LAYYYTER
we're not kids anymore.

seen from Malaysia
seen from Türkiye
seen from United Kingdom

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States

seen from Germany

seen from Greece

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia

seen from Canada

seen from Japan
seen from Germany

seen from Malaysia

seen from Malaysia

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
@snowstoneweek
Thank you everyone for participating in this years Jonsa Week, We will hopefully hold Jonsa week next year the same time as this week. We will be accepting submissions until the 25th of this month. This also applies to our AO3 collection.
thy love is winged and nameless by wandering_scavenger
chapters: 1/2
rating: M
tags: Fairytale AU, Celtic Folklore Inspired
premise: in which a huntsman saves a fae girl from certain death.
She took a step back when he moved towards her, stopping only when her body was pressed to the wall and he firmly cupped her chin to look upon her face. His grip softened when she flinched. He did not know if he hurt her, but he certainly did not mean to. In the warm yellow candlelight of the cabin, without any chains to bind her and gag to obscure her mouth, he saw that she was more beautiful than any woman he had ever seen in his short life. Her eyes were a deep blue, so vivid that he could drown in them if he dared to look into them any longer. Slowly, he moved his free hand to run his fingers through her hair, all doubt within him fading away as he tucked a curl behind her pointed ear. He recalled Bolton’s words just as he recalled what his mother taught him long ago: the day you tell your name to fair folk is the day you lose your freedom, perhaps forever.
for the @snowstoneweek event ❄️🐺
day 3 (september 11): fairytale 🧚🏻
And From the Ruins, Chapter 4
Snow Stone Week Day 7: A Time for Wolves @snowstoneweek
Read from the beginning HERE.
Sansa sat across from Jeyne Poole, her conversation with Jon from last night burning in her belly. She needed to tell someone, someone who may understand. If anyone could forgive Sansa for choosing to marry her half-brother in order to save herself from a worse marriage, she knew it would be her childhood friend.
“I have a secret,” Sansa whispered, the way they used to when they were little girls.
The last time Sansa had whispered a secret to Jeyne Poole, she had confessed her love for Waymar Royce, a brother from the Night’s Watch. Sansa supposed this wasn’t so different.
Jeyne looked away from the window she had been staring out, something akin to interest on her face. It made Sansa hesitate telling her that she was going to marry Jon that evening, that Jon was supposed to be talking to Castle Black’s septon at that very moment.
“Is it a good secret?” Jeyne asked. “I don’t have the taste for bad secrets anymore.”
“It…Yes. It’s a good secret.”
“Tell me,” Jeyne said, turning fully from the window now. For the first time, Sansa saw her closest friend without horrors shadowing her.
“I’m to be wed tonight.”
Jeyne’s face clouded only slightly.
“To a black knight? I thought their vows forbid it.”
“Stannis reclaimed Winterfell and needs a Stark to hold it. He wants me married to any lord loyal to his claim to the Iron Throne. I won’t allow anyone else to choose a husband for me. They only want me for Winterfell.”
“You’re going to marry before you return to Winterfell. Stannis won’t be able to use your name,” Jeyne murmured. “It’s bold, but a wise play.”
You’ll say too bold, Sansa thought, and maybe more reckless than wise.
“Who have you chosen?” Jeyne asked. “Are there many lords here?”
“No, no, there’s not many lords. But status is no longer a concern of mine. I’d prefer someone kind and gentle and lowborn than a high lord who’s cruel.”
Jeyne nodded again, her gaze drifting.
“I’m to marry Jon,” Sansa said at last.
“Jon? Jon Snow?” Incredulity was ripe in Jeyne’s question.
“Aye.”
Sansa studied the tunic she was mending. Since arriving at Castle Black, she had taken up the task of repairing and stitching any clothes the men would give her. She found it helped to have something to do with her hands.
When Jeyne was silent longer than Sansa could stand, she finally glanced up. Jeyne was not looking at her with outrage and disgust as she had been expecting, but staring out the window again.
“Jon Snow,” Jeyne repeated. “He was kind when I arrived. His hands were gentle and his voice was soft.”
“Stannis offered him Winterfell once. Offered to make him Jon Stark and marry him to some Wildling. Jon told Stannis that Winterfell was mine and rejected him.”
Jeyne nodded as if unsurprised that Jon Snow had turned down Winterfell and being legitimized for her.
“What shall you wear? What will he cloak you in?”
It would be Sansa’s second wedding. The gown she had worn to her first had been beautiful and perfect, fit for a high lady in a song, but the man had been the Imp and the wedding forced. This time, she would willingly marry someone of her choice and not give a damn about what her gown looked like.
“This, I suppose. I have little else. Jon has a cloak still, from when he left Winterfell. It’s black, with a white fur trim. It will serve.”
“It won’t. He should cloak you in Stark colors.”
He’s not a Stark, Sansa wanted to amend. If he were, I would have never suggested this.
“They put me in a white cloak with grey fur. It was the one piece of clothing that—” Jeyne stopped abruptly, causing Sansa’s eyes to snap to her friend. Jeyne’s nails were biting into the pillow she held in her lap. Sansa would have been fearful that Jeyne would puncture the fabric, if not for the fact that she had seen to it herself that Jeyne’s nails weren’t long enough to do damage.
“It was the cloak I wore when we fled. Theon thought it would help convince Stannis that I was Arya, if I were wearing the Stark colors. It’s in the chest, there.”
When Sansa didn’t move, Jeyne unclenched her grip on the pillow.
“Should you want it, I mean. Mayhaps Jon would prefer not to put you in Stark colors.”
He would, though, Sansa knew. And she would prefer it as well. Without comment, Sansa rose to fetch the cloak.
“It’s only fitting. After all, your children will be Starks.”
Sansa started at that. She had not thought that far. Her planning had only gone far enough to ensure no one would use her as a pawn again and that there would always be a Stark in Winterfell.
“Jon is a good choice. He’ll be gentle with the bedding.”
Read the rest of the chapter HERE.
roses from the bastard born king in the north
@snowstoneweek
dreams of home
@snowstoneweek
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
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.
queria participar en el Jonsa Week, pero apenas tengo el boceto del dia uno
"And in a few days I will be there, love Whatever here that's left of me Is yours just as it was"
"A Time for Wolves" - Post-S8 Jonsa AU
"Game of Thrones" Season 8/"A Time For Us" by Andy Williams/"Poldark" Season 2/"As It Was" - Hozier
The Whyte Wolfe and the Grey
The full ballad from chapter 6 of Ladywolfe, now up on Ao3!
In the style of ‘The Bailiff’s Daughter from Islington’ or ‘ True Love Requited’
There was a maid, fair and well beloved,
Of a Northern house ancient and noble.
She loved her kinsman, a baseborn youth,
Who lived in old Winterfell.
She was betrothed, and could not let
On him her heart bestow,
And he went away to the Night’s Watch,
Because he loved her so.
On our maid in the South, o’er the years,
Many misfortunes did fall.
All was lost to her; mother, father, and brothers,
Leaving only her love at the Wall.
She traded her silks for a mean attire,
And straight to the Wall she did go.
A dying horse carried her North,
Towards her true love, the crow.
She rode for miles through the sleet and snow
And prayed ‘neath a great Heart Tree,
‘If he be dead, take me as well,
If not, bring my true love to me.’
She laid herself down ‘neath the weeping tree,
Fell asleep with a heartbroken sigh,
But lo’ as she roused in the moon’s cold light,
Did her true love come riding by.
’Twas not the youth, but a great white wolf,
Ferocious as a winter’s storm.
He laid himself down ‘fore the weary maid,
And offered to keep his love warm.
Their hearts beat as one, in the silent night,
Their fears and sorrows held at bay.
Come morn he awoke, a man restored,
And the maid was a she-wolf of grey.
The ghost wolf stalks his foes in the night,
At sunrise the young Lord strikes his prey.
His lady’s fair face only sees the moon’s light,
The she-wolf hunts at his side by the day.
Someday they’ll return to old Winterfell,
And cast out the Lions and Flayed Men,
Hang the False Lord and his Bastard dog,
When Winter comes once again.
Till such a time, they wonder the North,
Forever caught ‘twixt night and day.
Bound by true love, the oldest magic there is,
The Whyte Wolfe and the Grey.
William Ladd Taylor, Couple Embracing (c.1904)
Read the Rest here:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Reblogging for @snowstoneweek. Day 7: A time for wolves.
Break the Magic that the Devil Made, Chapter 3
Snow Stone Week Day 6: Free Day - Where Will We Go? @snowstoneweek
Read from the beginning HERE.
When it had been the false lord suggesting that Sansa spend the night in the manor, she had been filled with fear. It’s improper, she had said, even though she only stepped foot on the path in the hopes of being his bride. Jon’s curse had mentioned nothing of brides, only a maid showing kindness, and yet she was far more comfortable agreeing to sleep within the walls. It’s only because it’s so late, she told herself, though she wasn’t sure if that was wholly the truth.
There was at least a small part of her that wanted to make sure that Jon was taken care of. He had been living as a wolf for most of his life and didn’t seem too steady on his feet. Her spending the night in the manor seemed more prudent than anything.
“I’m sorry I’m unable to offer you better accommodations,” Jon said. “The rotten, false lord had poison in his blood. I’m loathe to touch anything he may have.”
“Poison…from the food? Did…Did the cook try to kill him?”
Jon was shaking his head before Sansa had finished her thought.
“There’s not another soul in the manor. He was the only one, aside from you. I think…that the poison was meant for you.”
There was something halting in how Jon spoke that sentence. It was different than how he had earlier, when he had been physically unable to force the words out. Now Sansa thought it sounded as though he was choosing them with care, excluding certain details.
“For me…? But he ate the food. He did keep trying to encourage me to eat, but he ate too.”
Jon shrugged.
“Mayhaps he built an immunity, or had a remedy at the ready. Or mayhaps, the poison came from him, his blood, and he put it into the food.”
“If he didn’t want me to break the curse…what did he want with me?” Sansa asked slowly.
She had been so focused on Jon’s transformation, on the truth of the curse, that she had yet to stop and consider how her evening had started under such false pretenses. Was the rotten lord truly going to poison her? To what end?
Read the rest of the chapter HERE.
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.
Jonsa edit inspired by Edgar Allan Poe's poem Annabel Lee
A late entry for the @snowstoneweek event
Day Six: Free Day
But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we- Of many far wiser than we-
[....] And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea.
Angela Carter
A Time For Wolves for @snowstoneweek
Jonsa Week 2023: Day 7 - A Time For Wolves
The Queen and King of the North
JONSA WEEK 2023 ▸ Free Day (NURSE!SANSA x SOLDIER!JON, WWII!AU)
“What are you really doing in the woods, Jon? What don’t you want me to see?”
Jon is a woodsman AU for @minitafan
- "The wolves will come again,” said Jojen solemnly.
- “And how would you be knowing, boy?”
- “I dreamed it.”
George R.R. Martin, A Storm of Swords
For the @snowstoneweek event
Day Seven: A Time For Wolves