Who Wants To Get Sad About Sansa With Me?

Game of Thrones by Pablo Olivera

i’ve made a mistake guys i photoshopped kit into the princess diaries poster and i can’t stop laughing help me

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

Later Nights

an Olympic Broadcast AU Jon/Sansa fic, rated E by justadram

Her husband, Jon Snow, might be in his off-season--blessedly. But with the Summer Olympics around the corner, her late-night Olympic show producer, Tyrion Lannister, hasn't forgotten about the unlikely Team USA star and their recording-setting ratings in 2022. He has his sights set on a triumphant rematch between the newlyweds any way he can get it.

Sequel to Late Night

sneak peek of wc pls pls 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

—sneak peek of chapter 2 of workplace casual (aka the greys au) coming Thursday/fridayish

Sansa knows where his office is, but not in a creepy way. 

She’s scarcely been to the neuro ward since her trauma rotation has started, but she’s been here enough for scut work that she knows where it is. She didn’t make a note of it, or anything. Sure, the ward is big, but the door with his name on it really isn’t that hard to miss.

She knocks tentatively. The answer from the other side of the door comes faster than she expects it to. She almost jumps out of her skin.

“Come in.”

Her hand lingers on the doorknob for a couple seconds, then she twists it open. 

He’s sitting behind his desk, staring blankly at one of his screen monitors. He’s wearing glasses too, wire frames she’s never seen before in her life, as rubs at his jaw. His gaze moves over her once, passively, before he looks at her again. This time, he straightens up suddenly, as if his brain has finally registered that she is here.

“Hi,” Jon clears his throat.

Sansa is still staring at his glasses, then she isn’t, because suddenly she finds it incredibly difficult to do so without…reacting. Internally, thank god. 

Wait. Nope. Her face feels hot. That’s great. That’s actually more than great, and exactly what she needed—

“Hi,” she says, a little too loud and a little too quick. “I was just—”

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” She says, maybe emphasizing the word a little harder than necessary. “I’m fine. I was just—I was in the break room putting my stuff away and I found it.”

Sansa holds the yogurt parfait in front of her like it’s a bomb.

Jon stares at the yogurt, then her, unfazed. 

“Right,” He says.

He doesn’t say anything else.

Sansa exhales so hard, so bracingly through her nose that she can hear it whistle. 

“It has my name on it—”

“It does,” He agrees, “Because it’s yours.”

So,etching in her stomach does an ugly lurching motion that makes her toes wiggle.

“I told you that you didn’t have to do this stuff anymore,” she says, words crammed into an inhale, “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I already forgave you, and it really is—”

“And I told you, we’re friends,” He’s picking up a file, dismissing her entirely. Those stupid glasses are slipping down his equally stupid nose. “And friends make sure friends eat their breakfast—

“Can you stop interrupting me?” snaps Sansa, hands on her hips. “I’m not gonna faint again.”

“You won’t if you eat that,” Jon says, stubborn. 

She briefly thinks about explaining how yesterday happened underneath extenuating circumstances, but this situation is already embarrassing enough.

Jon sighs, as if he’s the one being inconvenienced by this conversation. He closes his folder, eyes meeting hers. 

“It was barely four dollars. I was getting something for lunch this morning, and I saw it and I thought of you.”

Oh.

The word gets stuck inside of her throat, and she rubs her palms against her pants, trying to ignore the sound of her pulse in her ears.

He averts his eyes quickly, clearing his throat. “And your awful eating habits.”

That’s…decidedly less heartwarming, 

“Oh.” She says, this time aloud, and a little flat. 

Another knock sounds at the door, and without thinking, Sansa takes a step back from the desk, even though she really isn’t that close anyway. 

Jon notices this, gaze unreadable. A muscle in his jaw twitches, and he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Come in.”

The door clicks open. Benjen of all people appears in the doorway, and Sansa has to actively mind her eyes so that they don’t bug out of her head. She discreetly tucks the yogurt behind her back.

“Sansa,” His brows raise at the sight of her, "Hello.”

“Hi,” she says back, and by some miracle, it isn’t the same octave as a squeak emitted from a chew toy. 

She doesn’t dare look at Jon behind her. 

“Will that be all, Stark?” She hears him say.

His voice is quiet and toneless, and she hears the clicking of his computer mouse, and she knows that he’s trying his best to make it seem like he’s busy. Like they were busy and not…doing whatever it is that they were doing.

Being friends, apparently.

“Yes sir,” She says quickly, “Thanks again.”

On her way out the door, Benjen gives her a look; subtle, appraising, and thankful, because little does Jon know, that’s exactly what’s been asked of her. Sansa didn’t even remember until this very moment. 

Friends. 

She gives him a pained, close lipped smile of her own, shutting the door. 

And then she all but runs down the corridor, putting as much distance between the three of them as possible.

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

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!

Quick, spontaneous, definitely non-sober sketch of APWH Sansa Stark. Fuck that buccal fat removal nonsense- she is TWENTY and has ROUND CHEEKS because she is a BABY

“Daddy?”

“Find Jon,” Ned said frantically as the capital guards hovered. They only had minutes before she’d be shoved onto the train.  

“Jon? I don’t understand,” Sansa said, frantic.

Ned held his daughter’s face in his hands. “Jon. He’s my sister Lyanna’s. Do you remember her?” 

How could Sansa not remember. Lyanna Stark was the only District 12 tribute to have ever won the Hunger Games. Every child in District 12 knew her name. She’d returned home after her victory only to announce that she would marry her primary sponsor—a man from one of the most prominent families in District 1. Ned had always suspected she’d been coerced, but suggesting as much would have only endangered her life. Why do that after everything she’d already survived? 

“Her son is the tribute for District 1. Seek him out. He’ll help you.” 

“He’ll kill me,” she sobbed. “I’m going to die.”

“Find him, Sansa. Find a way.”

—–

Jonsa Hunger Games AU in which the Starks live in District 12, where Ned is a leader and once upon a time, a young Lyanna was reaped and went on to win the games. Years later, Sansa’s name is called at the reaping, and as she’s carted off, Ned reminder her that his sister’s son—a District 1 tribute raised to win the games—will be in the arena with her and might help keep her alive.