cat-stark reblogged
cat-stark reblogged
We never should have left Winterfell. Don’t you wish we could go back to the day we left? I want to scream at myself, “Don’t go, you idiot.” How could we know?
cat-stark reblogged
“This is not Winterfell’, he told him as he cut his meat with fork and dagger. ‘On the Wall, a man gets only what he earns. You’re no ranger, J o n, only a green boy with the smell of summer still on you.”
Anonymous asked:
your updates are well worth waiting for! would you be so kind as to post a small snippet? i'm so eager to read what you have in store for us!
sure thing, love! here’s a bit from sansa ii of oh you fool, there are rules (the reckoning begins)
The words seemed to echo through time and space as Sansa Stark opened her eyes, letting her gaze rest on Jon - her cousin - who had gone stock still across from her, staring at Bran with a wan, thunderstruck expression. Sansa suspected her own face had looked similar, when Bran had fixed his pale eyes upon her, and delivered the truth as if was nothing more than the latest movement of troops from the South. Even that would be information that Sansa cherished, but nothing could quite compare to the great and terrible truth of who Jon truly was.
She didn’t like to look into her brother’s eyes, the truth be told. Whether he was white-gazed or bright-eyed, expressionless or restless with truth nearly bubbling out of him, he made her nervous. He was the something Other, but he was still the man brimming with everything and the Bran that had nearly been lost to them all. Sansa feared at times, that his body was not enough to hold both Bran and the memory of the world, as he had taken to calling it. More often than not, he seemed to be the strange creature who claimed the Three-Eyed Raven as his name, his voice odd and stilted, his attempts at connection paltry and terrifying. Sansa repressed a shiver at the memory, refusing to allow her mind to stretch back even further, to a night under the weirwood leaves, in which she had been dressed from head to toe in white - white as the Dragon Queen who rode into Winterfell with her imperious head lifted high.
It had been snowing then too.
cat-stark reblogged
Four relationships → Sansa & Jon - “Oh, it would be so sweet to see him again”
cat-stark reblogged
We need to trust each other.
wolvesofspring
And it’s finally done!
After reading so many amazing metas about how Jon’s and Sansa’s journeys are incredibly similar, I decided to make this gigantic fanart. I tried to merge some book descriptions to them, like Jon’s age at the first drawing and the fact that he used to carry Longclaw on his back (because he’s too short in the books).
Hope you like it!
cat-stark reblogged
my shadow in my art is one way i trace who i was and where i have been. my shadow and i have been on a journey for quite a while now. +angela cartwright
Source: c-sand
cat-stark reblogged
Jonsa S8 AU – dedicated to all my followers
“i wrote this for you,” - ian thomas
Source: cerseilannister
1.01 | “Come on, Tommy, shear him good. He’s never met a girl he likes more than his own hair.”
cat-stark reblogged
Heyoo! Here are some fall-inspired Jonsa headers I stayed up till 2am making 😅
Per usual, pls like/reblog if you use one
Hope y'all enjoy Happy fall! 🍁❤
reign-of-sapphire
its beautiful! Thank you
wolves without teeth ch. 8
Chapter(s): 7/17 Pairings: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Ned Stark/Catelyn Stark, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters Summary:
It was a common saying in the North, in the endless stretch of years following the Long Night, and the after. The pack survives, whispered the North. A time for wolves will come again.
Not like this, Sansa thought desperately.
- or -
Five years after the destruction of King’s Landing, Starks emerge from the godswood of Winterfell.
Starks who should be dead.
preview:
Sansa took a deep breath, and nodded.
It was the subject she had been dreading since her own shock had worn off, and she had played out the thousands of scenarios in her mind. There were infinite ways matters could unfold. After all, they hardly seemed to be playing by any known rules, considering the gods themselves had been responsible for bringing back the Starks. Sansa had seen her father's head removed from his body, and yet he stood before her, as tall and unmoving as the walls of Winterfell, also risen again. Sansa had managed very little sleep the night before, too consumed with all of the possibilities and potential catastrophes she could see emerging from the miracle of her family's resurrection. There were no less than a dozen different ways it could end in war, and Sansa simply could not allow it to happen. Nor would she see her family shatter under the weight of a new world, not when she had just managed to get them back. She was grateful to the gods, she would finally admit, though not aloud, lest her voice be heard, and the miracle be snatched away as quickly as it had been given. Sansa was grateful her family had been returned to her, but it complicated matters.
Sansa could not even begin to think of the South and the impending arrival of their delegates, though it was of utmost importance, and would require careful planning and forethought. She couldn't begin to unravel the messy, tangled strings Bran's death and now resurrection would cause to the other kingdom, for she needed to sort out her own first. Sansa had spent the better part of five years doing everything she could to defend and stabilize the North, and it was quite possible that it would all crash down around her, with the blessed arrival of the Starks that had died.
Two former kings and the Warden of the North, all three of whom had a strong and powerful claim to the seat Sansa now occupied.