hi yes– i was writing a starter and then i refreshed my dashboard and just. now there’s a super typhoon down my face, thanks.
SEND ☼ TO HEAR THE WORDS THAT MY MUSE WOULD WHISPER TO YOURS ONLY WHEN YOUR MUSE IS FAST ASLEEP
”You’ll be okay without me. You’ve lost
me once. I know you can survive it..”
Arya rolls her eyes and looks
away, choosing to glare at her
hands instead of her sister.
”I am listening, Sansa.
Just don’t like what you’re saying is all.”
:: 〖 ❣ 〗――— ::
s i l e n c e.
Sansa sets down her mug of tea.
"If you get hurt–“
Arya rolled her eyes and shoved at her sister again.
“I’m not gonna get myself killed, alright? I know what I’m doing.”
:: 〖 ❣ 〗――— ::
Well, o w. Sansa, of course,
with all the maturity of her years,
shoves back.
“Stop that.
It doesn’t make it any less dangerous,
you know. I can’t let you do it.”
For a moment she freezes up in
her sister’s arms. Affection isn’t
something she’s had much of in
the last thirteen years and it takes
a moment for her muscles to
remember how to move, to remind
themselves of where to put her arms
and hands. But it only takes a moment
before Arya hugs Sansa back, burying
her face in copper colored hair just
like their mother’s. When they pull
away and Sansa cups her face, Arya
smiles a bit and tries not to think of
their mom. It’s a hard thing, though.
“Don’t be sorry. Thought a lot of
things too. But listen, I know Bran
and Rickon are still alive. Robb’s
in jail and Jon’s doing another tour
but Sansa—— we’re all still here.”
Just scattered, the way their father
had warned against. Her own hands
move up to cup her sister’s face too
and she can’t help but grin now
because finally finally she gets to see
her again. She feels stupid for every
dumb little fight they ever had, feels
horrible for not having reached out
to her sooner. “I would’ve gone to
you but everything was a mess and
I didn’t even know where to look for
you. Who taught you how to drop
off the grid like this??”
:: 〖 ❣ 〗――— ::
It is… it’s too much. She has so
many apologies, so many things she
wants to say. To A S K. Do you know
where they buried mom and dad? When
did you grow so thin? Oh, Arya I’m really
really–
"–They’re alive?“ The words are
choked, not quite able to slip past the
stone in her throat, unyielding and hot
with tears unshed. Her brothers, her
younger brothers. Oh, she’s been duped
so thoroughly. Fair cheeks turn a shade
of red, damnable hope glittering in those
sapphire eyes. The pads of her fingers
are no longer smooth, unworked, and yet
she holds her sister so gently, so infuriatingly
tender as though fearing she might just…
ｆａｄｅ ａｗａｙ.
”Don’t lie to me Arya, I swear to God.
They told me– he told me–“
A s h a r p inhale. Be it anger or just
overwhelmed, Sansa finds herself furiously
blinking, her hands letting go of her sister’s
face only to encircle her bony wrists. ”Petyr.
Petyr Baelish. Mom’s friend, you remember?
I– I didn’t know where else to go.“
#this is how I picture sansa finally losing control omg. #if only if only. #lbr sansas got it all down that’s her thing. #and aryas just like CALL THEM ALL FUCKERS DO IT THEY’RE ALL SUCH FUCKERS SANSA AND YOU KNOW IT.
#i now imagine the aftermath of sansa’s tantrum and she’s like ‘i called them fuckers .-.’ #'arya you dont /understand/. i called them fuckers’
Locks don’t keep her out. Give her
a minute or two and Arya can open
just about any door, so long as it’s
simply a lock in her way. And the
one on this door is particularly
simple. She slips inside and locks
the door behind her, and breathes.
This is where her sister lives. Her
flesh and blood. There isn’t much
to see, even in the dark. Nobody
had any family photos of the Starks.
They were all burned when the
house was. But she does have
other little things, bits and pieces
she’d picked up over the years.
She even still had the doll their
father had given her years ago.
She’s holding it in her hands
when the door opens, fingers
suddenly clutching the old frayed
fabric a little too hard. It feels like
she’s gone and swallowed her
own heart, along with her tongue.
“Kill—— Sansa, it’s me.”
She steps forward, into the bars
of orange light filtering in through
the windows, pulls her hood down.
“Arya.”
:: 〖 ❣ 〗――— ::
It’s been a while since she
calls herself Sansa. Since she lets
the name mean anything more than
a headline to her. She is Alayne Stone
trying to make do in this wretched
world. She is Alayne Stone, a pretty
redhead working arduous shifts to
make rent. She is Sansa Stark buried
under trauma and loss, abuse and tears.
The spoken name cannot make her
whirl fast enough, her usually composed
expression breaking down at the onslaught
of surprise and recognition. Blue eyes dart
from hair to lips, the dark hoodie she wears
the way she’s grown. She’s still so small, in
some ways, she is like the Arya Sansa left–
in others, she is unrecognizable.
{ but if anyone is adept at losing
themselves it’s Sansa and she recognizes
the distinctly Stark center of the woman in
front of her. }
"Ary– oh, God. I thought you’ve
died!“ She thought everyone’s died, that
knowledge has been her nightmare for
years. And yet, here she is. Exhausted
arms throw themselves around her sister.
She cus her face and stares into those
grey eyes, trying to read them. ”I thought–
i didn’t know, I’m so sorry.“
nxymria
:: 〖 ❣ 〗――— ::
Her apartment is shabby but
it isn’t in a bad part of town– she
has Baelish to thank for that. But
thanking him makes her skin crawl
and her throat constrict and her
body feeling dirty in places she can’t
reach. Her apartment is shabby but
Sansa Alayne can’t complain. She’s
too busy coming off a double shift.
It’s dark as she pads through
the apartment, heading straight for
the fridge– but there is a glint, in her
periphery and it speeds her heart up,
double time. The silence just seem to
overwhelm her. She doesn’t turn.
"Are you here to kill me?“