Sneak Peek Of Wc Pls Pls 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

hi!! :) i love all you fics i was re reading your princess diaries au and i was wondering if you had any plans on continuing? if you did i’d love to see the aftermath of jon missing his date with sansa and how upset arya is too! and the ball scene!! ily <3 :)

hi!!!!!!! this is really good timing asking this because i've actually been working on it a lot lately!!!! (@cellsshapedlikestars even helped me noodle my way through a part where i was stuck xoxoxoox)

i'm not sure if the next chapter will be the last or if i'll need to break it into two more (maybe a sansa pov??? not sure) but i've got at least one more jon bit coming that should cover at least some of that!!!

aaaaaand because i am so delighted to get a lil anon message about it, here is a sneak peek!!!!!

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“What happened to my romantic little boy?” she tuts, and Jon drops his head back to groan at the ceiling. 

“Mom, I’m not a little boy anymore.”

“I know, I know,” she says, and when he glances over, she’s haphazardly folding all of his tees into a messy little pile. “You’re all grown up now and ready to lead some foreign country, but when I look at you, I still see that same little boy who swore up and down that he was going to have a foot-poppin’ first kiss.”

“Mom!” He can feel the way his face flames hot, flushed, even though there’s no one there to witness his embarrassment other than the woman dead set on causing it. He wonders if he could get away with pretending he doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but he’s pretty sure that wouldn’t stop her. 

“What?” she asks, mock innocent. “I’m not allowed to talk about what a sweet boy you were?”

“Can you just… not?” he begs again. “Please?”

The thing is, he does remember. They’d been watching some old movie, one of those black and white ones where everyone spoke in an inexplicable accent, and when the hero had grabbed his girl and kissed her, one of her feet had lifted off the ground as if it had a mind of its own. He’d been determined to have a first kiss equally as powerful, equally as passionate — and his mom had laughed. And then, when she’d seen how serious he was, how struck he was by her laughter when he was not joking, Mom, it’s not funny, she’d assured him that of course he would have a foot-popping first kiss one day. He guesses now that she already knew then not all princes were made out of fairytale stuff, but he’d been young and starry-eyed and determined to be different than his parents. And then he’d gotten older and reality had set in for him, too. 

“Besides,” he grumbles, “I already had my first kiss years ago, and Ygritte wasn’t exactly a ‘foot pop’ kind of girl.”

‘Morning Stretching’, watercolor by ENDRE PENOVÁC

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)

if you’re still taking prompts……..i would love to see more regency au, like the first time they met/saw each other

It was Rhaenys who steered him over in the end with a long brown arm threaded through his, like a mother pulling her son by the ear. He told her he would approach her in his own time, but his sister would not hear of it. Jon tried to struggle without causing a scene, but it was all in vain, because as soon as they were in view, his old friend saw him almost immediately.

Then so did she.

“Dragonstone,” His voice carried.

At his side, Rhaenys beamed smugly. Oh, if she were a house cat she would have purred. And if they were still children, he most certainly would have tried to drown her.

“Winterfell,” He said back, swallowing down his nerves. The taste of contempt does not ease the way.

Robb Stark, the Marquess of Winterfell, approached him with the shade of a grin that used to get them into all sorts of trouble in their youth, accompanied by his party of three. He gave him a firm handshake, and a squeeze of his arm.

“Old friend,” He said, “But a stranger if I have ever seen one. Dukedom becomes you.”

They kept in touch after Oxford, through frequent letters and the occasional night out in the Ton when he visited during the season. But Jon loathed staying too close to home, every second that passed another where his father could sink his claws into him and conjure a reason for him to stay.

That was never Robb Stark. Eddard Stark died three years ago, but it did not take his passing for his son to come home and do his duty. Rhaegar Targaryen could not say the same.

It was why Jon loved him. It was why he envied him.

“The duke of Dragonstone, is it?” The older woman at his side broke in.

This, of course, could be no one other than the Marchioness—if her coloring did not give this away, her demeanor did, for he was now well acquainted with the behavior of pushy social climbing mamas.

It was unfortunate for her that he decided to dedicate the rest of his life to ignoring her daughter only a half a minute prior.

He refused to give Rhaenys the satisfaction.

“Forgive me. In my excitement, I forgot myself,” Winterfell said, though he did not look pleased to be interrupted. “Dragonstone, this is my mother, Lady Winterfell.”

“Your grace,” She curtsied minutely, graceful. Jon bowed his head.

“Our ward, Miss Poole,” Winterfell said, of the girl with the eyes of a young doe.

“Your Grace,” Her curtsy was more practiced, a bit grand. She immediately tucked her hands behind her afterward.

Winterfell gestured to the far left, “And my sister, Lady Sansa.”

Jon was left with no choice but to finally look at her.

Pearls scattered her hair like stars, gleaming pale against the autumnal fire. Thin tendrils cascaded from her chignon down her slender neck. Her gown was a shade of ivory adorned with tiny pink roses. She curtsied as gracefully as her mother, lashes lowered demurely, before she met his eyes. Summer blue.

“Your grace.” She said, voice a touch lower than he expected it to be. The voice of a woman,

She was even more striking up close.

Beside him, Rhaenys cleared her throat delicately.

Jon flushed, he hadn’t even bowed to her, he was so struck stupid, but there was nothing to be done about that now. He could feel a stammer on the tip of his tongue, so he had no choice but swallow and take more time.

“This is my sister,” Or, as he would have liked to call her in that moment, the bane of his damned existence. “Lady Highgarden.”

“A pleasure to meet you all,” She said with a smile he was most certain had its root in his current discomfort, “You most of all, my lord. I have heard a great many of things.”

“I hope all of them were great,” Winterfell said with a laugh, but he was charmed, as most men were when it came to her.

Rhaenys chortled at that, “Oh, indeed.”

It should have been something that warmed his heart, his two of his favorite people in the entire world finally meeting and sharing a laugh, and perhaps it would have been if he had not made a complete bumbling fool of himself at his sister’s insistence just seconds before. He was already coming up with an excuse to leave, searching for Dany’s silver gold head in the crowd, anything to avoid those damn blue eyes, when his sister launches her scheme first.

“I was just telling my brother that I simply could not dance another step,” She shook her head, as if regretful, before she smiled once more. “Would you be so kind as to take my place, Lady Sansa?”

Jon nearly choked on his own dread and disbelief.

Miss Poole inhaled sharply, overjoyed, as if she’d been asked to dance herself and Lady Winterfell glowed with pride and Lady Sansa—

She blushed, and it was the sweetest thing he ever saw.

“Since when do you dance?” Winterfell demanded of him, no longer charmed, not having it in the slightest.

“She would be honored,” Lady Winterfell interjected before her son could object entirely. “Wouldn’t you, dearest?”

“I would, your Grace,” Lady Sansa said, still blushing.

Shyly, she met his eyes again, her gloved hand a tentative offering.

Winterfell stared, appalled, and Rhaenys stood beside him, self-congratulation rolling off of her in waves, and his heart pounded in chest so hard that he could taste it in his throat.

Her hand was small and soft in his, and he made a new promise then, to be gentle.

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

Sansa and Lady

quick sansa sketch to try out new brushes