"I Loved A Maid As Red As Autumn,

unironically love the phrase “but I’m being so brave about it” because truly, like, what other choice do we have in this wretched existence? what a beautiful way to remind yourself to keep going, even if only out of spite

Lady Sansa Stark finding solace in the Godswood in Kings Landing.

will i ever find love 😔

That's like saying “will I find atoms” or wanting a blanket in a crowd of threads, stop looking!!! It's already everywhere around you, and even better you are a machine built to produce love! Pet cats, make tea, cry during sad movies! Stop waiting for someone else to make art for you when you already have a paintbrush!!!

HELP

Please reblog this if fanfiction has been beneficial to your mental health.

Jonsa kissing cousins ❤️

So obsessed with the fact that Sansa looked at a direwolf, an untamed beast of legend capable of maiming and murder, and went “hmm needs a fancy little ribbon.” My darling child. My baby. You are so right.

Little bird

I feel like I know what some of these might be, but I'm curious what "the telephone hour" is??

So this is the abandoned intro to One Last Kiss.

I had originally envisioned it as a multi chapter fic, and was I was going to focus a bit on Sansa’s home life and school life before we got into her winning the letter writing contest. I had imagined writing out the whole story with Sansa and Jon falling in love on their date etc. but it would have been way too long — and I’m already a slow coach so I never would have finished it in time for Valentine’s Day. As is it was still a day late 😅

The final chaotic breakfast scene is much better without the intro, but I liked it so I didn’t delete it. I don’t think I’d be able to use it else where.

Also Harry was the boyfriend initially — but it s a lot easier to hate Joffrey.

Here it is.

The Telephone Hour

There were two telephones in the Stark house — the comfortably sized, white clapboard, centre hall colonial, at the top of Weirwood Lane. The first was a stately looking piece of equipment of black Bakelite, located in the study, and used exclusively by the paterfamilias himself, Ned Stark. The second was a buttercream yellow wall mounted model in the kitchen, that had once primarily been the province of Mrs. Castelyn Stark, but was now increasingly monopolized by her three teenaged children. In order to keep the peace, the young Starks adhered to a strict telephone schedule. Dinner, which was promptly served at seven, was naturally off limits, and nobody called after eight, unless someone was bleeding or dead.

The hour before dinner belonged to Robb, the Golden Boy of Winterfell High — the senior class president, the Homecoming King, and captain of the football team, who had a new girlfriend every couple of months. He would usually spend his entire hour, whispering sweet nothings into the receiver pressed tightly to his ear, phone cord pulled taught between the kitchen and the dim vestibule, where he might have some privacy from his eavesdropping siblings doing homework around the formica table.

The hour after school, four to five, was reserved for Arya who was in the ninth grade, and never received more than one or two calls an afternoon. They were mostly short exchanges about that evening’s homework, or marching band practice, or last week’s epidisod of Twilight Zone. Her two older siblings had each petitioned to commandeer some of Arya’s extra phone time, but Mr. and Mrs. Stark were unmoved.

The middle slot, five to six was for Sansa, who was a Junior, and very popular. She was editor of the school newspaper, secretary of the prom committee, co-captain of the tennis team and the debate club, Master of Laws on the model small council, to name a few of the extra carriculars which occupied at least half of her telephone time. The rest was devoted to standard, teenybopper gossip with her closest friends; Jeyne Poole, first and foremost, Margaery Tyrell, little Beth Cassel, and Tall Brienne Tarth. Lately there was a third subject that ate into her telephone hour — boys. Well, one boy in particular, her boyfriend, Harry Hardyng. Every one of her allotted sixty minutes was carefully accounted for, but Harry’s calls were gradually encroaching on the rest.

As you can see, it would have been way too long. We must kill our darlings I suppose.

Thanks for the ask!

We Run the Gamut (Let's Run Away)

boy and girl meet. live parallel lives. and, one day, they start to come together. scenes inspired by all the different types of love for the @jonsa-valentine event 2024.

AGAPE

love for everyone

"Hello? Is anyone home?"

Jon looks up from where he's been sulking in the dark to see one of the Stark girls — the redheaded daughter — standing outside the front door to the guest house. She'd knocked once already, but Jon had ignored it, thinking whoever it was would just go away. Now, he can see she's still out there, silhouette illuminated at the top of the stairs. The porch light catches copper highlights in her hair and makes them glow.

He wonders if she's annoyed she has to knock instead of just letting herself in. Maybe she used to spend a lot of time in the apartment over the Starks' detached garage. Or maybe she never came out here. Maybe her bedroom in that fancy old house is already so big and private she never bothers to explore anywhere else.

"Hello?" she calls again. "Mrs. Snow?"

When Jon finally answers the door, flicking on the living room light as he goes, he sees that the girl — Sansa, he thinks — hasn't come empty-handed. In her arms is a ceramic dish full of some sort of baked good, little tarts or custards with cooked lemon slices on top.

read the rest on ao3