Latest Posts by crazykittyycat - Page 2

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!  

WIP | I’m not sure where I am going with this illustration yet but… here is the work in progress for now. Everything is jotted down even the ribbon in Sansa’s hand that she had giving to Lady. For anyone wondering, yes Sansa Stark is my favourite and I currently have a few other illustrations jotted down of her and ready to be worked on. The colours may change and the design may change, however for now this is what it looks like. Thank you so much for all the love and comments I have received on my other illustrations, I appreciate them greatly! 

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.

A 19th c. New York City Jon/Sansa drabble

angst, longing, complicated relationships

The announcement is made--Miss Sansa Stark's engagement to Willas Tyrell--at the party thrown precisely for the purpose of a grand announcement. Raise up the family in this trying time, brush all the unpleasantness under the imported rugs with music and food and the press of a crowd gathered to witness it.

Dany did say it would be an engagement. Swore to it twice as they rode down Fifth Avenue, carriage rocking. She sounded rather too pleased about the prospect when she usually has very little in the way of kindness for his cousin. Jon refused to believe it. Too old for her, Jon insisted, and he still thinks so, as he attempts to grit out a smile and his wife lifts her champagne.

"Raise your glass, Jon," she says, lips barely moving.

He does, but only to bring the crystal rim to his waiting lips. He won't toast the happy couple, nor will he do Dany's bidding. Not tonight. He's in no mood to be agreeable.

Dany does say he's taciturn and overly sensitive, so he might as well play the part the way her opera friends do nightly on a stage lit too bright.

"She's your cousin. Pretend to be pleased."

"I'm happy for her of course."

His hand flexes at his side.

Dany looks sidelong at him, pale brow arched. "Oh yes, very. Listen, try not to murder the man in front of this lot. They'll sue and I'm not sure your confidence would stand up to the task of self-representation."

Her dress is red. Blood red. Her favorite color. She never fades into the background. Not even among these people who whisper behind fans about her. Nor should she, and yet, her bold temperament is perhaps not as well suited to his as he once believed.

She'll insist he dances with her tonight, though he would prefer to hide in the palm room, nursing this damnable ache that's spreading through his chest. Just long enough so that he can pull himself together to congratulate Catelyn on the match. Or Bran if he isn't feeling up to facing the matriarch of the family.

"It's a shame she couldn't get what she wanted. I suppose that's a new sensation for her." Her head tilts, as the musicians begin to play. She brings the coupe to her mouth, covering it as she amends, "Who she wanted. But the Tyrells are climbing like roses, aren't they? She'll add a lovely old-world aura to all that vulgar American newness."

Sansa Stark is America, she's as American as they come, first family and all, but he understands the import. There is the New York of old and what's coming to sweep that all away in a cloud of coal dust.

"That mansion is a monstrosity."

Willas looks down at his bride to be as if she's made of moonlight, twinkling in the Stark ballroom that is half the size of the Tyrell one.

White. Virginal. Untouched.

Just last week Jon spread his fingers until they spanned her jaw and tipped her head back, so her perfectly pink lips parted like an opening bud before she fled from the glass gardens, trailing the smell of hot house gardenias.

Not unsurprising behavior from a bastard relation, even one who pretended to be decent.

His heart throbs.

If only it was just sin tucked in his breast. The right preacher could drive it out.

"I didn't know you had architectural opinions."

Yes, moonlight. Sansa Stark is a moonbeam captured in Willas Tyrell's open palm, as he tows her towards the dance floor where she and Jon have never publicly stepped out together.

He frowns down into his glass and grimaces against the burn of the bubbles as he swallows. "I don't."

"Perhaps they'll let her decorate it in her own style. There's endless money there." Her voice lilts, teasing, prodding at the wound. The right family was important once, now the right amount of money is the only thing that matters. "Or is it the family you object to? Such a snob for one born on the wrong side of the blanket, aren't you?"

"If Old Ned was alive--"

"Yes, he was very fond of you, I'm sure, but Catelyn Stark would have never, Jon. Never allowed it. You could be as rich as Croesus and she'd look down her nose at you. You know that. She's as provincial as they come. You too for some unknown reason."

She's only hissed out the assertion when Sansa's eyes meet his through a gap in the crowd. He might only imagine the fleeting swoop of unhappiness pulling at her features, the same thing he imagined on her pretty face when he returned from Vienna with Dany wrapped around his arm in a silk dress cut too low for Fifth Avenue society.

It seemed a fortuitous event when he met the beautiful widow with old family ties to New York, though Dany had never seen the city herself. There was a hint of scandal about her. But there was about him too, thanks to the circumstance of his birth and his newly acquired habit of staring rather too long at a girl meant for a grander gentleman than himself. What he wanted was outrageous in its presumption, and then the perfect solution to all his pitiful longing presented herself with almost silver hair and eyes like the lilacs that dripped before his mother's dressing window in the spring.

They were happy. But he missed New York. So they boarded a ship.

They ought not to have come here.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he mutters, chest rising and falling inside his starched shirt, as he stares across the ballroom.

"Catelyn Stark despising you or you spending too much time with your dear little cousin? I can expand on both."

"No need," he says, as the gap closes and Sansa's watery gaze is blocked out by tuxedoed shoulders. "But you could lower your voice."

"You ought to be glad people like the Tyrells are rising in this world," she says without paying him any mind. "Catelyn Stark will never allow you to sit at the head of her table, but the new standard won't care about your birth or my two dead husbands."

Only one is dead, but Jon wouldn't think to correct her.

"The new way will only care about what's between your ears and in your pocketbook. I know there's some intelligence in there," she says as her finger trails the shawl collar of his jacket. "If you would only use it."

"I'm sorry my profession isn't impressive enough for you and your aspirations."

She'd like to conquer New York, his wife, though she has the wrong personal history and the wrong husband for it. She imagined she would shine here the way she did in Europe thanks to her beauty and boisterousness and willingness to make a bold bet.

She boldly bet on him too. Her worst gamble.

"Even in the law you could prosper more than you do," she insists still too loudly. It's a well-worn argument between them now. "If you'd make the right connections."

Not the kind of connections Ned Stark would approve. The people she wishes him to befriend hold no appeal.

"I'll do my best," he says, mostly to prevent any further upheaval.

Her cheeks already are starting to heat and Jaime Lannister has turned his eye on them, lip curling in amusement. It's the effect of too much champagne, too much dancing around the truth. And while he wouldn't mind calling for the carriage, making a scene at Sansa's engagement party is not at the top of his to-do list.

What he'd like is to go to her, and profess things he ought not to. He wishes he could sink down on his knees to beg forgiveness. Either for loving her when she is so above his notice or not confessing it before she was lost to him, bobbing away like foam on the sea. He'd beg with his fingers grasping the embroidered hem of her ballgown, wrap his hands around her delicate ankles, kiss up the side of her stockinged calf, and then peel the silk down until his heathen hands touched flesh. He wants her hands buried in his curls.

She would never.

He's mad. Like his grandfather, the one they committed to Bellevue.

Before his misstep last week, he'd never even touched her bare hand since she entered society.

"And there might be hope for us yet, you and me. With pretty little Sansa wed and times changing," she says, lifting her glass, "you might even say our marriage is saved."

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!!!

asoiaf characters who could hack it as a starbucks barista:

— jon. runs that shit like the navy. schedules five minute scream-cry sessions for himself in the supply closet but everyone pretends not to notice bc it kinda seems like its working for him. keeps accidentally charming the regulars

— arya. only ever works closing shift bc if you put her on morning/lunch rush she yells at customers. cleans like a crazy person and leaves the place spotless. WILL put a nick in your car’s tire valve with a box opener if you make her count the till

— loras. makes GREAT coffee and can smooth things over with irate middle aged women very easily. however if ur gay avoid his location bc he cannot stop himself from being catty its in his BLOOD. also:

— dany. hits her (painstakingly decorated) dab pen in her car before work so she’s very zen. however she Is the coworker you sic on asshole customers bc she’s very good at making them feel stupid and also never caves and gives out free drinks

asoiaf characters who could NOT hack it as a starbucks barista:

— sansa. is the aforementioned caver. always turning up the heat because she’s cold even though literally everyone else is sweating like pigs. stayed on a couple months because it turns out mean customers calm down when she starts to cry #prettygirlhack but eventually quits because she hates cleaning the bathroom

— theon. uniquely bad at his job. writes his number on every other cup he hands out even to people wearing wedding bands or ACTIVELY WITH THEIR PARTNER IN THE STORE (has been beaten up like four times doing this). never ties off the garbage correctly. uses too much water when he mops and has slipped in it and twisted his ankle multiple times. is a soundcloud rapper and is always trying to get the manager to play his music in the store

— robb. nobody wants to fire him because hes genuinely a great guy but he takes eighty million years to make one drink and he’s always comping shit for his girlfriend who comes in all the time

— jojen reed. okay at the job but is always saying ominous shit to customers and is passive aggressive to whoever closed the previous night no matter how good of a job they did. quit because someone else got fired for showing up to work high and he didnt want to be next

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

Jon Snow by saikou73

Show!Jon Snow with (Jonsa) baby - requested by anon

Omg yeeeey!!!

oh my god, they were roommates

or,

Robb agrees to let Sansa stay at his place for the summer.

Robb agrees to let his friend Jon stay at his place for the summer.

Robb forgets to tell either of them this.

.

read it on ao3 here

Sansa and Lady

Jonsa kissing cousins ❤️ part 3

part [1] [2]

Game of Thrones by Pablo Olivera

Who wants to get sad about Sansa with me?

Jonsa kissing cousins ❤️

a week of jonsa day 6: endgame

the wedding night

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

Incorrect GoT Quotes - 12/?

“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. 

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

Estimated Sexual Abilities of Austen Men

In no particular order within tier

Top Tier:

Mr. Mainwaring: to have the near undying loyalty of the exceedingly selfish Lady Susan, this man must be a sex god

Henry Crawford: he knows he’s not handsome, he wants women to love him, he’d put in the work. Also one of the only men to be rated by a woman who has had sex before.

Henry Tilney: he cares about things women like, high emotional intelligence, and extremely kind.

Frederick Wentworth: passion and experience (I imagine), also has high emotional intelligence when he’s not being a dufus.

Colonel Brandon: passionate, thinks about other people’s feelings a lot, self-sacrificial

John Knightley: I think there’s a good reason that they keep banging out those kids

Good Tier:

William Price: athletic, cares about his sister a lot (good sign), and gives good presents. He’s only nineteen in the story which is why he has room to improve.

Captain Harville: Obviously

Mr. Morland: dude isn’t even on page, but in my head Mrs. Morland enjoyed making all ten of those children.

Colonel Fitzwilliam: I think he’d be good, but not awesome.

Fitzwilliam Darcy: he’s a bit stiff… I think it might take some time for him to get good at it

Charles Bingley: I get the feeling he’d be on a race to the end, and maybe not the best communicator at first. Will improve.

Mr. Gardiner: Just because he’s awesome and seems to respect women

Captain Benwick: poetry and passion!

Robert Martin: seems like a pretty romantic guy, also works on a farm so probably athletic.

John Willoughby: Mostly because of experience, but he is also pretty passionate. He’s also super hot, Miss Grey knew what she was getting into. But this guy can only go downhill from here.

Reginald DeCourcy: He’s a sweetheart, an occasionally dumb sweetheart

Mr. Bennet: Is he lazy in most domains of life? Yes. But Mrs. Bennet wasn’t just trying for that heir, I’m telling you folks. Maybe he’s just trying to make her unable to talk 😉

Mediocre but can improve tier:

George Knightley: I don’t have a great reason but I’m putting him here. Don’t worry, John will give him some tips.

Frank Churchill: He’s got passion, but he’s so darn selfish and doesn’t seem to send that much time thinking about Jane’s feelings

Edward Ferrars: I just see him being a nervous wreak the first few times, it’ll get better

James Morland: Dude, I’m just disappointed with you in general. Being led by lust, not protecting your sister. I hope you grow a lot before you try to get engaged again.

Charles Musgrove: could be good, but Mary never seems to appreciate the effort he puts in so he kind of gave up

Tom Bertram: Selfish, never has to try for anything, but he did reform so maybe he can get better here too

Edmund Bertram: Repressed and selfish. He needs to actually start listening to what women say if he’s going to improve and there is a whole book of him doing exactly the opposite…

Just bad:

James Rushworth: Maria was not impressed at all, despite how much “taller” he was

Captain Tilney: riding on good looks and money, selfish

John Thorpe: Selfish and he never shuts up. I have trouble imaging him getting a woman to sleep with him without paying her.

George Wickham: selfish and good looking, he’s not doing any work. He thinks you should be honoured to sleep with him.

Robert Ferrars: selfish and not even good looking. There is nothing here. Lucy did not win people.

Mr. Elton: selfish, full of himself, and low emotional intelligence

Mr. Woodhouse: I can’t even imagine, if he didn’t have children I’d say he was a virgin

Mr. Collins: The woman he is trying to please is not his wife.

Mr. Elliot: cruel to his first wife and not even handsome!

Sir Walter Elliot: I don’t think any part of his personality would tend toward being a “giver”, however, if you like mirrors…

John Dashwood: exactly the opposite of a “giver”

No Data: We interviewed Lady Bertram for information on Sir Thomas, but she confessed that with full consent, she has always fallen asleep during sex. Given her personality, we decided that this information has no bearing on Sir Thomas’s abilities. She did say that giving birth was, “Very disagreeable.”

Criteria: In the domain of F/M sex, communication is key, so we need a man who is willing to listen to what women say. Also, selfishness is obviously a negative trait when it comes to a happy sexual partner of either gender. Some of this is just vibes, but I think there is a fair amount of canon information about how much men respect women, especially their sisters. 

Feel very free to fight me in the reblogs. The only hill I will die on is that Henry Crawford’s rating is correct 😉

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.

"I loved a maid as red as autumn,

with sunset in her hair,"

I always think about Sansa when I come across this verse 🥺

Little bird

Winter's Child

Chapter 6: A Harsh Reality

In Westeros, each noble house is known to have an affinity for a particular type of magic. For thousands of years, House Stark was stronger than all of them- holding the north with mages who could command winter herself. When Torrhen Stark knelt to Aegon Targaryen to protect The North from the wrath of dragon flame, however, the Starks forgot the language of winter- their gifts faded into legend. Since then, the children of House Stark have traditionally been born as wargs, or skinchangers.

Sansa Stark is neither- an outcast in her own family, no matter how hard she prays. Years pass, and Sansa’s dreams remain silent, devoid of wolves, while water refuses to rise at her fingertips as it does for Robb. Only Jon, who keeps the secret of his own magic, comes close to understanding. No matter how Sansa wishes she could stay with him, they walk different paths, and she has to travel south- reconciling herself to a life away from Winterfell.

Until they cut off her father's head, and Sansa Stark freezes over all of Blackwater Bay in her grief.

Sansa’s fury awakens in her a power that hasn’t been seen in Westeros since the arrival of Aegon the Conqueror. As a result, the very fate of Westeros is altered.

-

From Essos across the Narrow Sea- from the furthest reaches of the North to the balmy days of the South, the world is a harsh place. Amidst its severity, though, it is filled with wonders beyond even imagination.

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 🤷🏼‍♀️