#jonsadrabblefest

[annawoodhull]

jonsa 2020 week | may 12 - legends|beyond the wall (outlander au)

@jonsadrabbles Okay, this time I went 79 words over the 500 limit. I’m sorry. I tried!!

“You’ll be safer,” Jon murmured softly. “Back in your time.”

Staring up at the stones, Sansa swallowed hard. She knew very well his words rang true. Ever since she had fallen into Winterfell, she had done her hardest to make sure she got back to the stones. And now that the stones were in front of her, within her reach, she hesitated.

“I know,” she whispered. She swallowed once more, her throat tightening with emotion. She turned to him now, the man who saved her when she had first arrived in Westeros, the man who married her to protect her against capture. The man who ultimately captured her heart, body, and soul.

He reached for her then and drew her close. He looked as if he would close his eyes but refused in fear that she would disappear. “I never doubted what you told me. But to see it now.” He turned his gaze towards the stone, staring at them as if they were his greatest foe, and his greatest ally. “This is the stuff of legends. Are you certain you’re not a fairy?”

Even through her heartbreak, Sansa laughed, blinking back tears. “I’m pretty certain I’m not.”

After she had confided in him about who she really was, where she had come from, Sansa had been amazed by his willingness to accept her. Jon hadn’t understood any of it – neither did she – but he believed her. He even joked that he never set foot beyond the wall, let alone through time.

It was difficult to imagine, going back to her time, 500 years into the future. Going back to her position as a history grad student. Oh, how it would haunt her. The memory of his beautiful face, his sensual touch, the strength of his character, his heart… She didn’t want to leave him, leave what they had.

Jon kissed her then, long and hard. They drank each other in, knowing it might very well be the last time. She cried as she returned his kiss, hear heart breaking even more as she felt his tears mingling with her own.

The moment broke apart far too soon. Jon stepped back, sniffling and then exhaling shakily. “I’ll be here, making sure no harm comes to you, until…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the words and turned to head down the hill. Sansa watched him go until he disappeared over the hill then slowly returned to the stones.

Sansa could hear the buzzing, growing louder and louder the closer she approached. She had told him as much when they had first arrived. By instinct, she lifted her hand to touch the stone…

Was she ready to do this?

At the last possible moment, she withdrew her hand and took a breath. She made her choice. It took some time, but she found him a little ways down the hill, looking every bit as heartbroken as she’d felt. With her heart thumping wildly inside her chest, Sansa called out to him, “On your feet, Lord Commander.”

Jon’s head jerked up at the sound of her voice and staggered to her feet. “What… what are you doing?”

Smiling widely, Sansa replied, “I’ve made my decision. I’ve studied history for years, but I think it’s time we make our own history.” Before she knew it, she was being swept into his embrace. She wrapped around his arms around him, squeezing him as he squeezed her. Neither wanted to let the other go.

Jonsa Week 2020 Original Post!

[zoyaalinas]

rosa suburbia

written for @jonsadrabbles

day 1: prompt ~ linger

summary: sansa's world is glossy pink. jon wishes she'd let him nurse his heartbreak in peace. he also wishes she'd let him stay.

“Can I work here for a bit? Robb’s so bloody loud I can’t hear myself.”

A listless shrug. “Sure.”

“Thanks. I’ll be quiet.”

She nods, and says it again, sure, her rs clipped off like dead lobelias to make space for drags. Sometimes he wonders what Sansa dreams about when she’s perched this way- looking out a window with the secrecy of a sniper at a periscope, cigarette dangling from the left corner of her mouth. It’s how Jon finds her every morning on his way downstairs, seeking six o’clock supplies (hard-to-ration things: dental floss, Xeroxes, coffee, mental peace). A ritual viewing to keep balance: Sansa Stark in her too-pink bedroom wearing too-pink lingerie staring at too-pink sunsets, although on retrospection, sunsets here are never quite as brilliant as his idea of them.

Most things aren’t.

Outside, it’s summer. In the canon of atmospheric literature, there is something artificial about the way summer is described. Sunshine and great bursts of leaves. Air that smells of crushed fern. Summer in the foothills isn’t half as proprietary; it arrives in silence and gets into crevices like beach glass and thoughtless exchanges made in the heat of a single moment. The air, in fact, hadn’t smelt like crushed fern when Val had slammed the door upon his face in a hot blaze of tears and told him he had developed a pathological affinity for self-centeredness. It had smelt like the wine they’d drunk before.

That was two months back. Jon Snow lost two months to an error of judgement, though some of it was probably the wine too.

Anyway. Non, rien de rien, non, je ne regrette rien.

Thump, thump, thump. Insane acoustics. When Jon is sad, he drinks a lot and rhapsodizes on the lines of Richard Siken. When Robb is sad, he plays Post Malone. From the looks of it, Jon’s roommate must be fucking devastated today, but one can only endure Rockstar so many times before one feels a burgeoning need to pop in half a Percocet and seek refuge in the room of a greater, more tranquil being for the first time in forty days.

Thump.

Or, maybe he’s beating shit up? The Stark kids are a weird lot, Jon has come to realise from his time playing hanger-on: they keep to themselves and operate strictly on an eat-or-be-eaten policy, running on cool crisp cocktails of narcotics and self-hatred. Combinations vary: Arya punches jocks; Bran plays Ted Bundy podcasts during morning yoga sessions. Etcetera.

“What are you writing?”

Nothing to be exact, not since he got distracted from self-pity an odd minute back. More of guilt than anything else, Jon shuts his laptop. “Nada.”

 “You working on that novel?”

“Trying.”

“Feel you.” She taps on a fissure in the cool granite of the sill. “When Harry dumped me, I locked myself into a room and watched Elizabeth Taylor movies for 72 hours. Naked.”

“Sounds terrific.”

“The binging or the nudity?”

“Both. Invite me next time.”

“Alrighty!” this in a sing-song lilt, like playing Harley Quinn. “Bring your best Arbor Red and we’ll watch Gone with the Wind.”

“Don’t forget the other half of the pact.”

Sansa pulls a silly face, and he thinks, Percocet-hazed, funny girl. Conversations should’ve been initiated before, but she wasn’t, well, Val. Embarrassing.

“Here, have a whole drag. Cleanses your mind.” She proffers the cig at him, rolling-paper stained by a very bright, very bubblegum-pink lipgloss. Jon manages to complicatedly maneuver accepting the cigarette without making contact with Sansa’s fingers, a feat he’d thought impossible for any human in hypothetical pick-me-ups.

Not that he minds. Not that he’s-

“Close the laptop darling, if the angst doesn’t come in fifteen minutes it sure wouldn’t materialize in twenty.”

Not used to being told off by anyone in a camisole, Jon does, indeed, close his laptop.  It’s a very becoming camisole, objectively. In fact all of Sansa’s room has the strange congruity of an organized film set, there’s clutter, but it’s organic, prettily messy, an 80’s pinup-girl-dorm with the mandatory young Leo poster behind the door. The one in the floral shirt.

Jon looks at her again. Funny girl, yes, but also quite lovely, objectively, with that shock of red hair falling all over her face and big blue eyes with liquid flourishes at the creases that probably have a cosmetological name Jon doesn’t know. He watches her reapply her lipgloss in the dresser mirror. That particular pink would look atrocious anywhere else but somehow it looks just correct on her mouth. Glossology- proclaims the tube in bright gaudy silver letters. Shade 245: Rosa Suburbia. Christ above.

His phone buzzes. Val, says the ID, with the two blue hearts she’d added the day they’d swapped contacts. Jon hesitates, delaying the imminent. Lingering. Just another five seconds.

Mirror Sansa looks at him and flashes a dazzling smile. He smiles back only to realise she’s checking her makeup. Bit of an idiot move, classic Jon.

Another buzz.

“You better get that, Johnny,” Sansa chimes in her Harley Quinn voice.

Summer is untyped sentences waiting to be born, a room plastered by Vogue cutouts, a bed strewn with nail polish bottles, lacy underthings and empty boxes of dessert crumbs. Summer is ugly pink lipgloss and ridiculously lovely blue eyes and the epiphany that Gone with the Wind is that movie you’ve been planning to watch your whole life but simply never got around to.

“It’s probably dad, checking in. I’ll call him later. Listen, you want to go out on the terrace or something? It’s too smoky in here.”

“Shit, you just asked me on a date to my own rooftop?”

“Wait, what?”

She laughs.

The glow on Jon’s phone screen informs he has three missed calls. They can wait.

Being with Sansa is good. Being with Sansa works a bit like holding a red hot iron tong to an open flesh-wound. It’s overwhelming, and sometimes the bite in her words is hostile, but it heals. It cleans. If it were upto him, he would be cauterized by Sansa Stark every time the Percocet didn’t dissolve.

Outside, the summer too, lingers.

Inside, the room is thick with nicotine and Rosa Suburbia.

(follow the notes to read this on ao3)

[pax-2735]

Summer Storms (Jonsa Drabble Fest)

@jonsadrabbles​

Day 1: Linger

Brothers and Sisters

He sits in the Great Hall far past anyone else, only the scurrying of servants as they clean and shoot him dirty looks as they long for their own beds disrupting the silence that has fallen after everyone has retired for the night.

The faint sound of footsteps echoes on the stone floors and he hides a grin underneath a tankard of ale. He has drunk plenty this night but the haze has long since dissolved from his brain and he’s glad of it. He doesn’t wish to be drunk. Not for this. Not for her.

She enters the hall with her chin held high, a true queen in everything but name. Her steps are sure as she makes her way towards him, as she stops in front of the table that serves as a barrier between them now.

“Brother.” There’s a reproachful tone in the way she says it, a hint of scorn in the bite of her tongue, as though the word offends her personally. He wonders why. The gods know he has stopped caring about the meaning of such words long ago, long before he knew the truth he has yet to share with her.

“Sister,” he answers, and she raises a brow as the corners of her lips curl in the beginnings of a smile. She makes her way around the table, a finger dragging across the polished wood as she keeps her eyes lowered to the ground.

“I was wondering where you might be,” she says. Her tone is soft and demure but, as she makes her way slowly to his side, her eyes flicker up to meet his and there’s a hint of steel there, one he reads with ease. I thought you were with her.

He wants to reassure her. He wants to tell her that that’s over, that now that he’s back here, with her, he cannot think about anything else. He wants to share with her the truth he has just learned, how this thing between them, this living, breathing thing doesn’t need to be hidden anymore.

His hands find their way to her hips easily and give her a harsh tug. Her blue eyes flit nervously around but the servants have finally left now that their lady is here to deal with him, and they are blissfully alone. He pulls her down onto his lap, one hand secure around her waist as the other makes its way slowly under her skirts until he can touch smooth, warm skin. Her hands spear through his curls as she brings him closer, their lips only an inch apart when he murmurs, “There are things I need to tell you.”

“Tomorrow,” she breathes against his lips and he happily complies.

Tomorrow he and his cousin will talk. But tonight he wants to fuck his sister one last time.

[jade-masquerade]

Jonsa Drabblefest Day 1: The Lady Bird and the Winged Wolf (Linger)

Written for @jonsadrabbles Day 1: Linger

There was something strangely familiar about all this, something that rang a bell from a story she heard long ago, about a knight with a laughing tree shield and a secret concealed by armor, a story Sansa had never paid much attention in her younger years as it lacked her favorite elements of handsome princes and fancy castles and pretty dresses.

 And there was something familiar, too, in another way that seemed to resonate in her bones, something that seemed to draw her in, about this knight who bore a white shield with a device of a blue winter rose and wielded a sword of Valyrian steel. They said he hailed from the windswept islands of the Bite, this man who never removed his helm, while others whispered he was a wildling come over the Wall based on his fighting ways, or more still suggested he hailed from Essos, an exile from a failed sellsword company.  

 Even if he was unconventional, no one could say he was unfair, and Sansa found herself riveted as all the rest when he took to the lists. She was certain she knew no one of any of those sorts, but there was something recognizable all the same in the way he rode, how he dismissed his defeated opponents with honor, the strength and bravery he charged down the lane with tilt after tilt.

 And now, as she followed him outside while the feast continued back inside the great hall at the Gates of the Moon, the realization struck her.

 His hair had grown long and he wore it tied back, his beard had thickened, and he was taller and well-built, but when he turned and she caught his eye, there was no mistaking that grey. She knew why he chose to seat himself far from the dais, why he had avoided her eye all evening—there would be no way Littlefinger could miss the face of Ned Stark in his hall, or close enough.

 “Jon.”

 He gave a nod but spoke no words. Instead he drew his eyes from the black of her hair to the chain of the necklace she wore about her neck to the mockingbirds embroidered on her dress.

 “Jon, you’re not…” Her voice faltered at the intensity of his expression, a darkness there that was dangerous, different, but she was not afraid. “Are you a knight now?”

 He smirked. “No. But neither are half those who sit below the salt.”

 “Do you intend to serve in the Brotherhood of the Winged Knights? Or you merely hope for the gold?”

 “No. Neither.”  

 “Then why…”

 “For you, Sansa,” he said, with a roll of his eyes as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

 Revelers spilled out of the hall, music at their backs, seeking the privacy of the night. Myranda Royce came among them, a bevy of handsome suitors at her side, most of them as commonplace as Harrold Hardyng and his brothers who’d been lost when they’d been fool enough to wage war against the mountain clans.

“Alayne!”

 Reluctant, Sansa turned and left Jon there on the terrace, but she would not be forgetting any time soon the way she felt his gaze linger.

[wildflower-daydreamer]

Linger - a Jonsa drabble

@jonsadrabbles​  Day 1 - Linger

Linger (inspired by the chorus of The Cranberries’ Linger)

She lingered in his solar. They both knew, as the Queen in the North, she had plenty of important tasks to handle. But still, Sansa stood next to him in front of his hearth after they finished discussing the training of the new guards, seemingly not wanting to leave. 

After Jon had come back to Winterfell from his now-pardoned banishment to the Wall, he had been at Sansa's every beck and call. Of course, she was his Queen. But it was much more than that. He loved her—more than the familial bond they shared. He realized it during his time at the Wall and beyond. Her loyalty to the North, to her family, her fiery demeanor, intelligence, tenacity, stubbornness, and strength - he longed to be around it, to be back in her presence. 

His pardon came, along with a scroll from Sansa; her pretty handwriting bringing the deep-rooted feelings he had for her to the surface once more. She asked him to come home. He readily obeyed. 

Jon could feel something kindling between them in the year since they reunited. And he knew she could feel it too. It was unspoken. But the looks that fluttered between them, the lasting touches that nobody noticed, the way her lips would slightly part when she looked at his own - it all had to mean something. He felt like he was making his feelings known, without speaking the actual words. And he would do anything for her. He'd be her fool if she wished it.  

With all the awfulness in her past, he knew Sansa needed to be in control. He would not push her. Jon wanted her to come to him, to let him love her, whenever she was ready. If she wanted him, he would remind himself. But he knew he would wait an eternity for her, no matter how painful. 

He looked towards her once again. Her lips parted ever so slightly as her eyes lingered on his lips. When she realized she had been caught staring, she quickly looked down at the floor. Some of her fiery red hair fell in front of her face. With no reluctance, Jon moved it back behind her ear, his fingers grazing her soft cheek.

"Jon." It was more of a breath than a spoken word. He caught her crystal eyes once again. "The suitors are getting restless. I do not think I should make them wait any longer."

Fiery rage built up within Jon at the thought of the other men and the possibility of losing Sansa to one of them.

"I don't want them." 

Those were the sweetest words he had ever heard.

Sansa closed the distance between them. Jon could feel her breath on him as she took a deep breath. "It's you. It's always going to be only you." 

No, those were the sweetest words he had ever heard.

Without another thought, Jon's hand cradled Sansa's face, bringing her lips against his own. 

[acourtofhopeanddreams]

Happy Friends

Written for @jonsadrabbles​ Jonsa Drabblefest Day 1. Based on the prompt CAMPFIRE or LINGER

Jon is a scouts leader and he convinced Sansa to join him for the weekend. And even though she doesn't like sleeping in tents, she does love watching Jon being the best version of Jon ever.

Scouts AU // Modern AU

Sansa smiled. Even though she was out of place. Even though she was not exactly looking forward to sleeping on an air mattress in a tent tonight. Even though entertaining the young boys around her for an entire day had been exhausting as hell.

Right now they were gathered around the campfire and around the handsome boy with the guitar. None of them were particularly good singers and yet they seemed not ashamed of singing along with one silly song after another.

“Come on, San.” Jon looked up from his instrument and the flames reflected in his dark eyes. “You have an amazing voice. You should let them hear you.”

A blush warmed her cheeks and Sansa took a deep breath. “I might have a nice voice, but I’m afraid I know none of these songs. I have never been much of a scouts girl.”

If Jon hadn’t asked her to come with him to see for once how he spent all his Saturdays and some of his entire weekends, she wouldn’t have been here.

“What do you think, boys?” Jon cocked his head. “Shall we teach her one of our songs?”

He seemed so different surrounded by all of these boys. More natural. More relaxed. Maybe he was more himself here than Sansa had ever seen him anywhere else. He was at ease and the boys looked up at him and admired him. To them he wasn’t just their scouts leader, he was their idol and for most of them probably also their best friend.

“SING! SING! SING! SING! SING!” All the boys around her chanted and they had those determined looks on their faces.

Jon shrugged. “Can we teach you a song, Sansa?” He stood up from his place on the other side of the camp fire and walked towards her. “Can I squeeze in here?” He nodded at the two boys next to Sansa and quickly they made room for him to sit. “What kinda song do you wanna learn?”

“A nice and kind one without swear words or other vulgarities.” Sansa raised her eyebrows.

Jon placed a hand on his heart. “Sansa!” He widened his eyes and dropped his jaw. “We’re good guys! We only have nice and kind songs!”

The boys around them chuckled.

“What do you guys think about teaching her our clubsong?” Jon looked at all the boys, making eye contact with them, acknowledging them, seeing them. Really seeing them. He was probably the best thing in some of those lives. “Would that be okay?”

“If she comes more often!” One of the boys yelled, his voice echoing through the night.

Jon turned towards her and she saw the pleading look on his face.

The things one did for love.

“Fine.” She pecked Jon’s lips and ignored all the giggling surrounding her. “I hereby promise I will accompany Jon more often and that I would love to learn the clubsong.”

The screaming was deafening when Jon kissed her back.

[durgas]

carpe diem

written for @jonsadrabbles

day 1: prompt - linger

summary: sansa stark and jon snow were determined to make the most of this moment in time.

She tasted the tang of snow upon her tongue, cold with a creamy bite, as she kissed Jon surrounded by the half frozen trees of Winterfell. 

She had waited for this moment for several years, now she would savour his rough lips against her own and the prick of his beard itching against her face. 

“Jon.” She said with reddened cheeks and ice blue eyes. 

“Aye, Sansa?” He kissed her again, feeling the chill creep into his bones mingled with the heady pleasure of lust. 

Their bodies were snugly pressed against each other, warmed by the desire shot through their veins and yet their skin felt the attack of biting winds and frigid snowflakes. Even their thick fur coats could not protect from nature’s chill though they did not feel the cold as such, they were too engrossed in each other. 

“I will ask the old gods and the new for this moment to be ours for the remainder of our lives.” She said meeting his dark eyes which held just a hint of mischief. “Will they grant it?”

“We’ll make sure they will, Sansa.” Jon said brushing away a stray tendril of her flame red hair, the silkiness still so unexpected. 

She liked the way he said her name, drawing out the A’s as if he wished it to go on and on forever. “We shall make it so we cannot be parted.” She looked at him, handsome with his mess of hair, and wished that they could remain like this without an end in sight. 

‘How do you suggest we do that, my lady?” His tone was teasing with a lightness she had not heard in many years. 

The corners of her mouth turned up. “I’m sure you are aware, my lord.” She winked, feeling the cold frost of the winter settle upon her. “It will keep us warm, no doubt.”

[graceverse]

Day 01: Campfire

For the @jonsadrabbles

They are sitting around a campfire, the first summer night, as promised by Bran, is warm. Warmer than anything he could remember. Winter feels like a dream. A different life. But the half burnt Winterfell, a slumped shadow, a slumbering animal lying against a sky filled with stars is proof enough that winter has come and with it the Night Walkers, the Dragons, the end of the Targaryens.

War has taken lives and homes. The losses have been staggering, but the Starks have always endured and so on the first sign of spring, the wolves returned. Bran from King’s Landing, Arya from her adventures beyond the Narrow Sea and Jon exiled from Beyond the Wall, pardoned by Bran, summoned by the Queen in the North.

The Queen in the North

Jon has not seen her in so long. The tension between them throbs, like a heart suddenly beating back to life. He sits across from her and between them, the fire dances, leaps, flickers. The play of shadow and light does strange things to her face. It softens and blurs her for a moment and then the next, she becomes a sharp outline. She is bird boned, delicate but the shine in her eyes is feral, like a wolf lurking in the shadows, patiently waiting for her prey. A dove and a wolf. A Queen and a cousin.

A flame jumps up. It lights her whole face. She is looking at him, brave and nervous, defiant and shy. Her lips are slightly parted and Jon feels the dryness of his mouth as he flicks his eyes up to meet hers. The red of hair changes and it reminds him of Ygritte.

Jon is no longer young and naïve. He acknowledges this wound that had festered and poisoned him for a while. It had healed but he carried it with him still: Ygirtte's loss.

It is like an arrow wedged inside his heart. The pain of it will never go away, would not be forgotten; but it will fade, like her memory, like everything that they have shared together.

It is already fading.

Jon shakes his head, tries to ignore the way his heart lurches at this revelation. Everything that had happened before he had died and was brought back to life, it all feels muddled somehow. Unreal.  He hates the Red Witch for stealing that from him; the redness of Ygritte's hair, was it like the flames of the fire? Or darker? Like the afternoon sun already dipping down from the horizon?

He cannot truly remember all he knows is that it isn’t like the copper shine of Sansa’s hair. Which he likes very much to wrap around his fist. He wonders if his time Beyond the Wall, without his family, neither Stark nor Targaryen, not a King and not a Brother of the Night’s Watch – just Jon – if it is enough. If he is already forgiven. If it is time to ask her: shall I steal you tonight?