sansa is my BB lemoncake and I loveee that she was like 'I don't pray anymore.' to Tyrion because like fuck she ain't gonna let him know she's praying for him and his family's death
I mean literally the godswood is HER sanctuary. IT’S THR CLOSEST THING SHE HAS TO HOME.
In AGOT when Ned was in KL he took her and Arya there and they were actually happy and smiling and being normal loving sisters with each other and they feel asleep praying together and sansa dreamed of bran and I think arya did too!!! Fuck my life.
one of my favorite bloggers who doesn’t always tag stuff has become a sansan shipper.
stop shipping sansa with dudes. sandor, littlefinger, tyrion.
sansa and margaery is a little better? but the tyrells still are just like using sansa.
I want to send Sansa to Agnes Scott or something for four years with no cis het men, and she can redevelop the language that surrounds her sense of self and then at the end she’ll have a degree and a life plan that a dude might fit into.
Man, sometimes I forget what the Sansa!dialogue is like in the ASOIAF fandom. I used to be very very heavily involved in it (before Arianne took over my life), but since stepping back and moving more to engagement primarily on tumblr, I’ve found myself more irritated with her stans than detractors (that whole YAHS QUEEN thing feels so out of place, and then many are quite into conflating her with Field Marshel Sansa Snark because it suits their projections).
But holy crap I checked out one thread on westeros and it’s all like “she’s a fundamentally selfish person” and “she’s a moron” and it’s like, good gods, I forgot this hellhole.
Protect Sansa. She’s a character that’s basically defined by her empathy who was thrown into a ridiculously complex political situation without understand most to all of the context, after being sexually groomed her entire life and having very a fucked up understanding of her value and duty.
For wendynerd’s birthday tomorrow, and because we all need happy-fic right more here is an outtake from our story Snake in the Grass:
“Her Grace Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, Queen of Meereen, Yunkai, and Astapor, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Princess of Dragonstone, Slayer of the Night’s King, Protectors of the Realm, called Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, Bride of Fire.”
The entire court bowed and curtsied. Daenerys nodded acknowledgement and settled herself onto the throne. The first petitioners stepped forward.
“Thank all the Gods Aegon is away sulking in Dorne,” Jon murmured in Sansa’s ear. “We would be here until nightfall.”
Startled, she looked at her betrothed. Jon’s eyes were focused on their Queen, but a smirk hovered about the corner of his lips.
How strange, she thought. He looked like the old Jon, the Jon from their youths, not the scarred warrior or the out-of-place prince. How strange … and how sweet.
“Do you wonder if she gets tired of all that?” Sansa ventured, curious to see his reaction. “How many times must she have heard it all?”
“Every time she holds court, or enters a new city, or formally receives an envoy … must be at least three times a sennight. More. You’d think she would cut it down. Just give her empire a name and be Queen of that. Like … Bran, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North. Done. Nobody has to worry about their bladder.”
“I don’t know,” Sansa mused. “So many of her subjects like hearing themselves acknowledged in her titles. They would probably feel she isn’t really their Queen if she makes changes.”
Jon shrugged, but there was a lightness about him that hadn’t been there before. For the first time since their betrothal, Sansa thought, he looked carefree in her presence. So she pushed a little further.
“Maybe you should adopt more titles. Jon of House Targaryen, Prince of the Realm. Doesn’t do much. I’m just saying.”
He looked at her then, and his lips trembled as if he was suddenly trying not to laugh. “Jon of House Targaryen, Dorne-born, called Lord Snow. But not the kind of snow that dogs mess on. Good snow. Teacher of juggling direworlves.”
“You never did.”
“Prove I didn’t. Prince of the Realm. Conqueror of … well, I did short-sheet Robb’s bed once, with a dead frog at the bottom, and he was pretty mad at me. Imitator of ghosts.”
Oh Gods, Sansa thought, desperately trying not to laugh out loud. She had forgotten that day in the crypt, when Robb had led his younger siblings past the stone kings, and Jon had jumped out of the darkness covered in flour to scare them. Don’t laugh, don’t laugh.
“Son of Prince Rhaegar, the irresponsible poser. Scion of House Targaryen, the most fucked up weirdos the world has ever seen, and House Stark, motto “Our Junk is Frozen”. Lord Commander of—“
They both suddenly realized that the court had gone silent. Everyone was looking at them. Missandei was frowning. Daenerys raised an eyebrow.
Sansa gulped and sealed her lips. She could feel the flush rising in her cheeks. She stared at the floor, wishing that it would open and swallow her up. She heard Missandei called the next case.
Next to her, Jon shifted, and leaned in. In the softest whisper, he said in her ear, “Betrothed of Lady Sansa Stark, unexpected troublemaker.”
Strange, she though, as her gaze shifted. She hadn’t even realized when they had begun to hold hands.