‘Morning Stretching’, Watercolor By ENDRE PENOVÁC

it’s got season again, so I’m drawing my fave asoiaf gals. here’s my girl sansa. 

HELP

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

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

Moodboard for A Past Worth Having by @mkstrigidae

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

I know everyone is on the pp train as they should but what’s happening with politician Jon? Anything worth sharing?

Calculated Risk

Pairing: Jon Snow x Sansa Stark

Rating: M for mature audiences

Word count: 521

Tags: politician Jon, journalist Sansa, established relationship

He is 33 years old and doesn’t know how to tie his own tie.

He is 33 years old and insurmountably aware of how pathetic it is that he doesn’t know how to tie his own tie.

However, no one can say that shame isn’t a legitimate motivator, because it keeps the tie on his neck as much as the drill sergeant beside him does.

“Stop scowling,” says Sansa, fingers pressing into the inside of his arm.

“I’m not scowling,” Jon mutters back, “This is just my face.”

She beams over her shoulder at the Hornwoods, holding up a single finger, before she turns back toward him. 

“Make it not your face,” She says, through shiny, straight teeth.

At the urge to pull at his tie, Jon takes a swig of too sweet champagne, swallowing the taste as well as the wince that follows. He craves beer. The cheap shitty kind that comes in a twelve pack and never fails to make him wish that he was dead the next morning.

“I’m starving,” He says under his breath. “You said there would be food here.”

“There is.” She turns around, plucking from a passing tray. She lifts a tiny little skewer to his mouth with glossy, manicured fingers, “Have a cucumber sandwich.”

“Real food,” Jon just barely gets out, before she takes the opportunity to pop the whole thing in his mouth. It’s cool, bland, and watery in his mouth. He’s about to tell her so when she raises a single eyebrow.

He finishes his food rather than talk and chew at the same time.

Sansa dabs at the corner of his mouth with her pretty little thumb, her approval as condescending as that of someone in possession of a newly house trained puppy.

As soon as they get home, he’s going to spank her. 

“This is my event,” He says now, irritable, “Shouldn’t I get to dictate what food we serve?”

“And what would you have everyone eating?” Her head tilts to the side, “Baby back ribs? Brisket? Philadelphia cheesesteaks?”

This time, he does scowl, a flush crawling up his neck.

“At least everyone would leave full.”

“You eat like a teenager. Smile.”

Before Jon can open his mouth to argue, she cuts him off with a smile of her own, white and blinding. 

“Smile. Or you’re not getting laid tonight.”

“Bet you I will,” he says, but through a baring of his teeth that feels a lot closer to a grimace than a smile.

Sansa ignores him.

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it silly boy?” She kisses him on the lips lightly. “Keep smiling. Here comes Mr. Manderly. Don’t forget to ask him about his boats.”

She calls over to Mrs. Hornwood, who makes an exclamation of delight at the sight of her. She leaves him to the wolves—one huge, barrel chested congressman that goes by the last name Manderly in particular—without so much as a second glance. 

For the millionth time, he wonders why on earth he wants to marry her. But it won’t be long before she reminds him.

Jon wakes to a pounding at his door. The cabin is dark, the only light from the banked fire. Jon was warm beneath his covers, but when he sits up, chilled air slips beneath, making him shiver. The pounding comes again, and Jon swings his legs out of bed, his stockinged feet meeting the cold hardwood. He barely feels it, all his attention on the door, and who could possibly be seeking him out in the dead of the night. Or what, his mind whispers, but he shakes that out. Jon is not a superstitious man,

for the @jonsa-halloween event day 1: witch

read it here on ao3

Oh oh oh!! Another word: lady👀👀👀

Another good one! :) From Winter's Child:

Because Lady was collateral damage- an acceptable loss since she wasn’t bonded to her- Sansa’s curse was going to kill an innocent because Lady had never hurt anyone.

Thanks so much for the ask!

Send me a word, if it’s in my wip document I’ll answer your ask with the sentence that it appears in