Chapters: 15/?
Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Petyr Baelish & Sansa Stark
Characters: Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, Petyr Baelish, Davos Seaworth, Melisandre (A Song of Ice and Fire), Tormund Giantsbane, Edd Tollett
Additional Tags: Dark Jon Snow, Smut, Sibling Incest, Cousin Incest, Canon-Typical Violence, Warning: Ramsay Bolton, Past Harrold Hardyng/Sansa Stark, Jon Snow's Name is Aegon, BAMF Jon Snow, BAMF Sansa Stark, Political Jon Snow, Political Sansa Stark, Littlefinger plots
Summary:
Alayne Stone marries Harry the heir, becomes Sansa Stark and re-takes Winterfell. Inside, she finds horrors beyond belief, and a letter informing her of the death of her older half-brother.
She tries to re-build Winterfell, but is stricken by grief, all the while Littlefinger lurks.
Not long after she re-takes Winterfell, Jon arrives, back from the dead. But he is not the boy she remembers, who left for the wall, full of idealistic dreams. Instead, he returns dark and angry. Only Sansa can calm him down. Sansa starts to trust him more than anyone else she's ever known. However, Littlefinger is spewing vile hints about Jon into her ear. Sansa turns to Jon for protection, but her feelings for him are not what they should be.
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Jon/Sansa AU: Regency era/Emma AU
“For years now, we seem to have been doing this dance- this endless, interminable waltz and I have done nothing but let you lead because I loved you and following you has always been enough for me. No, I love you. I love you and I would follow you anywhere, and so no matter how many times you run away or spin out of my grasp, I will still be waiting here, for you, because I swore I would. - Any other man would have given up by now, I hope you’re aware. - That may be true, but I’m not any other man. I’m a man of my word and the one you happen to be in love with... if only you weren’t so scared to confess it. - And just what makes you think that my feelings for you are in any way similar to yours for me? - You’ve told everyone in town!”
— 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊, a love story
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Jonsa AU - Tangled (for @broodybluebird ♥ )
@jonsaexchange Round Six - Creator’s Choice
Jon as Flynn, Sansa as Rapunzel.
“I've been looking out of a window for eighteen years... dreaming about what I might feel like when those lights rise in the sky. What if it's not everything I dreamed it would be?”
“It will be.”
"And what if it is? What do I do then?”
“Well, that's the good part I guess. You get to go find a new dream.”
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Jonsa Fanfictions #2: Targaryen!Jon
In all of these, Jon is either an acknowledged part of the Targaryen family, or he has embraced his heritage. There are some arranged marriages thrown into the mix. Also, be on the lookout for “how ruthless are the gentle” because the idea is really promising and the writing is good, but it features past semi-romantic Jonerys, and current really close-platonic Jonerys, so if you aren't in to that like I am not, feel free to skip it.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/19771888?view_full_work=true
https://archiveofourown.org/works/19161658?view_full_work=true
https://archiveofourown.org/works/18154100/chapters/42929162
https://archiveofourown.org/works/19245436/chapters/45764926
https://archiveofourown.org/works/19158583?view_full_work=true
https://archiveofourown.org/works/19071721/chapters/45305497
https://archiveofourown.org/works/19209181?view_full_work=true
https://archiveofourown.org/works/10451103?view_full_work=true
https://archiveofourown.org/works/19003570?view_full_work=true
https://archiveofourown.org/works/15528021?view_full_work=true
https://archiveofourown.org/works/19040047?view_full_work=true
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Hey Jonsa fam.! Have you seen this! It's a Jonsa AU.
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JONSA!KINGMAN → " Since 1849, Kingsman Tailors have clothed the world's most powerful individuals. In 1919, a great number of them had lost their heirs to World War I. That meant a lot of money going uninherited. And a lot of powerful men with the desire to preserve peace and protect life. Our founders realized that they could channel that wealth and influence for the greater good. And so began our adventure. An independent international intelligence agency operating at the highest level of discretion. Without the politics and bureaucracy that undermine the intelligence of government-run spy organisations. A suit is the modern gentleman's armour. And the Kingsman agents are the new knights. ”
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Me: you can't write that JonsaAU. You never finish your stories, you writer's blocked loser. Don't set us up for this kind of self-loathing.
Also Me: *downloads five new songs for a JonsaAU playlist*
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Jon/Sansa AU: The Legend of Sleepy Hollow
“The Visitor and the Talebearer,” a soft horror fic (partially) inspired by the story will be coming soon.
“Sir, am I to presume this quaint little village of which you speak may very well be haunted? Or visited, rather.”
The older man smoothes a couple of fingers over his upper lip then, rough skin callously scratching against the graying whiskers there. There’s an ashiness to his coloring; beard several shades lighter than the thinning hair of his head but warmer still than the prickly little strands he’s twisting and plucking at now.
Stark parts his lips for just a moment, tongue dashing out to cure them of dryness ever so gingerly before he returns, “Well, that would depend on what you consider a visitor, Mister Snow. We haven’t known no company ‘cept for ghosts and headless men riding horseback for some years now. Three almost.”
“Headless... men?” The collar of his shirt scolds hot against his flesh at the thought. Jon pulls at the cotton in discomfort, material pressed tightly between sweat-drenched fingers. “Men with no heads, you say.”
“Aye. Only one, mind. One man, one horse-”
“And only a single head between them.” Jon clarifies, “I see. And have you… seen this man for yourself, Mister Stark?
“I haven’t, no. But my missus is half-convinced he visited her in our own bed several moons ago. And my daughter—my eldest—says she saw him out by the Weirwood just the other day.”
“I should speak with your family then. If you would permit me, that is.” With a nod of approval, Jon reaches down to retrieve his bag, the thick, worn leather handle clutched so tightly in his fist his knuckles whiten. “And this Weirwood-”
“Aye, the Tree. We townsfolk always liked to think it was connected to God, but the truth is it’s prolly just as ungodly as the headless rider. Ghastly thing to look at in the winter, too. Nobody here has prayed for days.” Taking several steps toward the door to the entryway, Stark turns sharply on his heel to address the young man. “I do have to wonder how you plan on ridding us of this evil. We can’t have no more deaths around here.”
He doesn’t say it outright, but he needn’t have to. The skepticism in his voice is laid out plain; it’s laced into his words like poison, like a snake slithering down a rabbit hole ready to release its venom in self-defense. He doesn’t trust Jon—his abilities, rather—and wants it to be known that the people come before the stranger.
“Rest assured, Mister Stark, my sole mission here is to chase away any stranger who lurks in your woods and preys upon your women. As it always is, As long as nothing distracts me, I should be out of your hair in a matter of days. A couple dozen at best.” Jon could mention that he was invited to this town by this very same man who now seems to doubt him so. But he doesn’t. Instead, he lets the words sit on the tip of his tongue and hold on tight as he plasters the limpest of smiles on his face—ever so passive. “Now, your family.”
“Aye. Upstairs.”
Stark pushes the door open an inch, and suddenly there’s a flurry of russet hair breezing into the room. The girl is about twenty, eighteen years old at a push, and she has a basket full of what looks to be rags in her hands. “There you are.” She’s talking to Jon.
“Mister Snow, meet my eldest.” Stark waves a hand about, though the other remains behind his back. Jon can see his fist clench, unclench, repeat in the broken mirror against the wall. Perhaps the man is fatigued, tired of his daughter “Eldest daughter, that is. She’s second, elsewise.”
“Father, I’m sure our dear horseman-hunter here doesn’t care much for pleasantries. He doesn’t… look the type.” She argues, shooting a look up and down the young man in the room.
Suddenly a single sharp brow hitches on her face and Jon feels under scrutiny, “See? He looks fed up already.” She pushes the basket—made up of wicker and rope. Very neatly wound, plainly handmade—into her father’s chest, waiting for him to grab ahold before she lets go. “I’m sure my father has already told you about me, Mister Snow. I had a run-in with the headless man, you see, and I’ve been the talk of the town ever since.” She extends her arm, holding out a lace-clad hand for him to shake—or kiss. Who could say? “Sansa. Shall I begin, or would you rather settle in to your rooms first?”
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