I’ve Made A Mistake Guys I Photoshopped Kit Into The Princess Diaries Poster And I Can’t Stop Laughing

uh oh.

An office romance fic where Jon and Sansa share a 'hot desk' situation (during certain hours he uses it, when he's working from home/on the road, she uses it and vice versa- but they're never in the office at the same time).

Sansa leaves girly shit on the desk and in the desk drawers and it pisses Jon off. He's lost count of the amount of times he's had to use a pink fluffy pen because all it's all that there is to hand (it's pretty annoying that the fluff smells incredible too but he'll never admit to that).

She's got a notepad that she obviously doodles on while on calls. He does not ever go through it to look at the doodle - nope, not him, uh-uh. (He also does *not* add to said doodles sometimes.)

But when he comes to work one day to see that she's left this little pep talk memo to herself on their shared monitor?...

... he decides he needs to finally meet this girl because FUCK, he might be in love already 🤷🏼‍♀️

jon kissing sansa’s forehead and then looking at her lips reblog if u agree

a week of jonsa day 6: endgame

the wedding night

Jonsa kissing cousins ❤️

@cellsshapedlikestars basically all of your fics are my favourites❤❤ But I especially love the bachelor AUs, signs (it's sooo lovely) and loves's not a competition!

Reblog if you're a fanfic writer and you wanna know what your followers' favorite story of yours is ❤

get vaccinated so we never have to see CNN talk about an omega variant

if you’re still taking prompts……..i would love to see more regency au, like the first time they met/saw each other

It was Rhaenys who steered him over in the end with a long brown arm threaded through his, like a mother pulling her son by the ear. He told her he would approach her in his own time, but his sister would not hear of it. Jon tried to struggle without causing a scene, but it was all in vain, because as soon as they were in view, his old friend saw him almost immediately.

Then so did she.

“Dragonstone,” His voice carried.

At his side, Rhaenys beamed smugly. Oh, if she were a house cat she would have purred. And if they were still children, he most certainly would have tried to drown her.

“Winterfell,” He said back, swallowing down his nerves. The taste of contempt does not ease the way.

Robb Stark, the Marquess of Winterfell, approached him with the shade of a grin that used to get them into all sorts of trouble in their youth, accompanied by his party of three. He gave him a firm handshake, and a squeeze of his arm.

“Old friend,” He said, “But a stranger if I have ever seen one. Dukedom becomes you.”

They kept in touch after Oxford, through frequent letters and the occasional night out in the Ton when he visited during the season. But Jon loathed staying too close to home, every second that passed another where his father could sink his claws into him and conjure a reason for him to stay.

That was never Robb Stark. Eddard Stark died three years ago, but it did not take his passing for his son to come home and do his duty. Rhaegar Targaryen could not say the same.

It was why Jon loved him. It was why he envied him.

“The duke of Dragonstone, is it?” The older woman at his side broke in.

This, of course, could be no one other than the Marchioness—if her coloring did not give this away, her demeanor did, for he was now well acquainted with the behavior of pushy social climbing mamas.

It was unfortunate for her that he decided to dedicate the rest of his life to ignoring her daughter only a half a minute prior.

He refused to give Rhaenys the satisfaction.

“Forgive me. In my excitement, I forgot myself,” Winterfell said, though he did not look pleased to be interrupted. “Dragonstone, this is my mother, Lady Winterfell.”

“Your grace,” She curtsied minutely, graceful. Jon bowed his head.

“Our ward, Miss Poole,” Winterfell said, of the girl with the eyes of a young doe.

“Your Grace,” Her curtsy was more practiced, a bit grand. She immediately tucked her hands behind her afterward.

Winterfell gestured to the far left, “And my sister, Lady Sansa.”

Jon was left with no choice but to finally look at her.

Pearls scattered her hair like stars, gleaming pale against the autumnal fire. Thin tendrils cascaded from her chignon down her slender neck. Her gown was a shade of ivory adorned with tiny pink roses. She curtsied as gracefully as her mother, lashes lowered demurely, before she met his eyes. Summer blue.

“Your grace.” She said, voice a touch lower than he expected it to be. The voice of a woman,

She was even more striking up close.

Beside him, Rhaenys cleared her throat delicately.

Jon flushed, he hadn’t even bowed to her, he was so struck stupid, but there was nothing to be done about that now. He could feel a stammer on the tip of his tongue, so he had no choice but swallow and take more time.

“This is my sister,” Or, as he would have liked to call her in that moment, the bane of his damned existence. “Lady Highgarden.”

“A pleasure to meet you all,” She said with a smile he was most certain had its root in his current discomfort, “You most of all, my lord. I have heard a great many of things.”

“I hope all of them were great,” Winterfell said with a laugh, but he was charmed, as most men were when it came to her.

Rhaenys chortled at that, “Oh, indeed.”

It should have been something that warmed his heart, his two of his favorite people in the entire world finally meeting and sharing a laugh, and perhaps it would have been if he had not made a complete bumbling fool of himself at his sister’s insistence just seconds before. He was already coming up with an excuse to leave, searching for Dany’s silver gold head in the crowd, anything to avoid those damn blue eyes, when his sister launches her scheme first.

“I was just telling my brother that I simply could not dance another step,” She shook her head, as if regretful, before she smiled once more. “Would you be so kind as to take my place, Lady Sansa?”

Jon nearly choked on his own dread and disbelief.

Miss Poole inhaled sharply, overjoyed, as if she’d been asked to dance herself and Lady Winterfell glowed with pride and Lady Sansa—

She blushed, and it was the sweetest thing he ever saw.

“Since when do you dance?” Winterfell demanded of him, no longer charmed, not having it in the slightest.

“She would be honored,” Lady Winterfell interjected before her son could object entirely. “Wouldn’t you, dearest?”

“I would, your Grace,” Lady Sansa said, still blushing.

Shyly, she met his eyes again, her gloved hand a tentative offering.

Winterfell stared, appalled, and Rhaenys stood beside him, self-congratulation rolling off of her in waves, and his heart pounded in chest so hard that he could taste it in his throat.

Her hand was small and soft in his, and he made a new promise then, to be gentle.

It’s actually a wip for someone else and the finished product will be different but here ya go, little birdie as a baby. as a little kiddo. i wanna kiss her wittle nose. her hair is redder than canon bc it’s needed for the request. u will all see.

sorry for not drawing you often girlie i swear i’m just busy

Commissions are open!  

quick sansa sketch to try out new brushes