It’s Actually A Wip For Someone Else And The Finished Product Will Be Different But Here Ya Go, Little

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

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 😉

Sansa: I kissed Jon. Margaery: You kissed Jon? Sansa: In the elevator. Margaery: Why’d you kiss him in the elevator? Sansa: I was having a bad day. I am having a bad day. Margaery: This is what do you do on your bad days, make out with Dr. McBroody?

@jonxsansafanfiction remix free day meredith grey x derek shepherd (grey’s anatomy)

Winter's Child Preview WIP (Surprise!)

Some of the pieces I have written for Winter's Child are more edited than I realized, so I thought I'd share one here as a treat for all of you who have stuck with the story through my accidental hiatus. We start reeeeally getting into some of the lore I've developed for the story going forward, and I'm excited to hear what you think of it!

“It’s so dark, father.” Sansa shuddered as her eyes flicked around her and she clutched tight at her father’s hand. She was all of eight years old, and had never been this far back into the crypts. Her other hand was firmly ensconced in Bael’s fur as she held onto his leg. “Why must our kin rest in such a- a lonely place?”

Her father chuckled, the sound echoing in the cavern.

“’tis not lonely, child.” He told her, easily lifting her up onto his hip. “Our crypts hold our kin- the history of our house. Hard men and honorable men and men who survived many winters. Can you think of better company for us in death?”

Sansa had to admit that this made sense. she snuggled closer to her father, tucking her head in his neck. Lady seemed wary as well, sticking close by Bael’s side. She was still tiny, next to the massive adult direwolf, and kept darting under him, eyes flicking around at the stone figures.

“You’re freezing already, sweetling.” Her father frowned, putting a hand to her cheek. “Your skin is like ice.”

“I’m not cold.” Sansa insisted, stubbornly. She didn’t want to go back yet. The crypts frightened her, but it was so rare that her father’s attention was focused on her and her alone. “Why are our crypts underground?”

“Where should they be?”

“Mother’s family lay their kin to rest in the rivers.” She murmured, playing with a lock of her father’s dark hair. “The Targaryens burned their dead, Maester Luwin said.”

Her father smiled at her.

“Would that your brothers paid half as much attention in their lessons.” He shook his head. “We return to the embrace of the earth- to rest under the roots of the weirwood and the eyes of the old gods.” he was quiet for a moment as they reached her aunt Lyanna’s tomb. “The old gods grant us the privilege of their power while we live.”

“Our gifts.” Sansa murmured. “The direwolves.” Bael leaned his head down, nuzzling at her dangling feet and she giggled.

“Yes, sweetling.” her father murmured, his eyes flashing for a second. “We return that gift to the earth when we die. The stone keeps in our bones, but our ancestors rest on the earth itself.” he gestured towards the older tombs, overrun with great, twisting white roots. “We feed the weirwood in death, allowing her to take back our magic.”

“Old Nan told me that the crypts are deep enough to keep our wild magic in.” Sansa told him. “Especially the Starks of old. Before Torrhen. The kings of winter.”

“Perhaps she is right.” Ned murmured, setting Sansa down to stand next to him in front of Lyanna’s statue. His gaze was indecipherable as he looked on her stone face. She had been beautiful, Sansa knew. Everyone always said so. She was beautiful even in stone, her companion, Alya, carved beside her. “The gift granted to the Starks of old was different from the wolves, sweetling. Harsher, wilder- more dangerous. Those who could call winter to their fingertips do not rest easily.”

“Why not?”

“To hold sway over winter was to call and command death itself.” Her father told her, his voice soft. “To live with one foot in the world of the gods. It was a wild gift, Sansa, and not one to be taken lightly.”

She nodded, solemnly. She had read the stories of the Stark kings of old. She wasn’t sure she would ever want to meet one, even if they were kin. One question kept tugging at the back of her mind, though.

“Father?”

“Yes, sweetling?”

“Why did the gods take it from us? The winter-blood gift, i mean.”

“I wish I knew.” Ned told her, his gaze not directed towards her, but rather to his sister’s face. “But none but Torrhen Stark and his immediate kin would know, and his bones remain silent. They hold no answers for us here.”

The two were silent for another moment.

“Do you think the gods will ever give it back to us?” Sansa asked, softly.

Her father’s face momentarily crumpled into a deep grief before he seemed to steady himself, digging a hand into Bael’s thick fur.

“Perhaps.” he murmured, laying a wreath of evergreen atop his sister’s tomb. There were snowflakes etched up and down the stone. Sansa had always thought it oddly beautiful for something so grim. “We can only wait on the gods, sweetling. One day, they may answer your question.”

a week of jonsa day 6: endgame

the wedding night

not to stan on main but i honestly love everything about sansa stark?!?!?! seriously, even at her most controversial moments i still love her. like “she wasn’t nice to tyrion when they were married” so?? she was a political prisoner and child bride, next. “she lied about the nymeria incident” um an 11 year old made a decision on the spot while being grilled by the queen to appease a tyrannical douchebag and maintain the alliance between stark and baratheon. “she fights with her sister” please point me to a pair of siblings who have never fought in their lives. “she didn’t fight her way out of king’s landing” and? if she had tried to stab everyone she would have immediately got her throat slit???? “she likes stories about knights and princesses” bitch me too tf.

i think there’s something so beautiful and relatable about a soft-spoken and observant teenager who made some silly teenage decisions but rolls with the punches and rejects the teachings of corrupt mentors in a time when everyone around her is morally bankrupt. i love how some people immediately love her and for some she’s an acquired taste. i love how her mental activity becomes more and more thought-provoking as she develops and she de-romanticizes court life. i love how she’s an excellent foil for arya, her likeness in all the ways that matter. on the outside she appears complacent as people mock her and the starks but on the inside she’s becoming a powerhouse of empathy and refining her sense of justice.

Can we have a ficlet for your arranged marriage period fic? Pretty please (or some info about it, I understand if you do not want to share too much)<3

The Duke of Dragonstone paid his stablehand three pounds for the pups, as it was just enough for him to purchase a new hound of quality to whelp in order to ensure that such a circumstance as the one he found himself in now could never happen again.

“You will feed them yourselves, clean up after them yourselves, and once they pass, you will bury them yourselves.” He had said that afternoon with a severity the three ladies of the manor did not care to note, as they were too busy squealing, jumping up and down and fawning over the basket he held in his hand.

An hour later, they remained enamored with the two latest additions to their household on the floor of the parlor, and Jon Targaryen had a sneaking suspicion that before long, he would be happening upon one of the chambermaids picking up dog droppings from the hardwood floors.

The albino pup they’ve christened Ghost is shyly edging out from underneath a bookshelf, coaxed by Daenerys and Shireen. At his feet, the Duchess sits holding the pup she has christened Lady to her cheek. She cradles the mass of gray and white fur to her chest as if it’s a babe.

“Is she not the most heavenly thing you’ve ever seen?” sighs Sansa, beaming up at him.

Were she just a bit more heavenly, she’d be six feet underneath a patch of dirt right now, and he would have three more pounds and a quieter house.

“I can hardly stand it,” He remarks dryly, flipping his newspaper.

To his left, old Uncle Aemon releases a cough that sounds suspiciously like a chortle.

Deep down, Jon knew that it isn’t about the money, for he has more than enough. It was more the principle. He had lost count of how many times his wife had swindled a yes from him after he provided her with a firm no. Even Daenerys and Shireen had taken note, and knew that if they could present their case to the lady of the house, then all was not lost yet. Though they knew not how she always managed to convince him.

Jon didn’t know either. It always happened before he could manage to stop it. One minute, she was in front of him in her prettiest dress and the most damnable request, and the next, her face was lit up like an inn on a winter night, hand on his inner arm, forehead to his.

He’d tried saying no to her on at least three occasions. Afterward, he always felt awful. He decided quickly in their six months of marriage that a short bout of irritation was leagues better than that.

Sansa sat the pup down on the carpet, and though it lingered for a moment, it scurried into Dany’s waiting arms at the sound of her encouraging coos. She nuzzled into her cheek, face bright.

Sansa rested her chin on his knee. His sarcasm was not lost upon her, he knows, but the way she gazed up at him was a chastisement enough.

It was always so much gentler, so much warmer, so much kinder than he deserved.

“Ghost will be a good hound for you, your grace.” She quipped, then. “You two are of a similar disposition.”

The albino pup poked a wary head out from underneath his shelter, and Jon could not tell if she was calling him shy, unsociable, strange, or all three. Then, he thought of the way it had nosed its way into Sansa’s décolletage only seconds after she picked him up and he came to the conclusion that he perhaps had more in common with the pup than he previously thought.

And he had been called worse by others who did not sleep beside him at night.

He still scowled, and he was glad he did, because it made her laugh.

“Uncle Aemon,” She said, voice still high and sweet from mirth, “How was I so fortunate to marry the most generous of gentlemen in all of London?”

At that, Uncle Aemon laughed; long and hardy.

“My dear, I suspect many would say otherwise.” He remarked, affectionate.

“They would be speaking nonsense.” She replied.

After dinner, Jon retired to his study to share a drink with his uncle; and they both listened to the mingled shouts of both amusement and dismay as the ladies of the house tried their hand at bathing their new pets.

“I’m afraid we share a home with the three silliest girls in all of London,” He muttered, more to himself.

Once again, his uncle laughed.

“And what would you do without your silly girls?” He asked.

Utterly lost, he knew. Of that, he was completely certain. But Jon did not say so. He did not need to.

Instead, he wondered if his silliest girl would join him in earnest in bed tonight.

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

Twenty weeks old Gray wolf pups (Canis lupus) from the Sawtooth pack

Pictures by Jim and Jamie Dutcher

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