#arya thoughts

[bastardofharrenhal]

favorite thing in asoiaf is that the stark family tree is just filled with haters in every generation. theon stark brandon snow alaric stark cregan stark even ned's brother brandon and lyanna too. even the current kids jon snow robb sansa and arya all have some kendrick lamar level of beef w at least one person. brandon the builder spawned an entire genre of haters

[daemonwaters]

Arya: I'm going to name my wolf Nymeria because I really admired her as a leader and a woman.

Robb: I'm gonna name my wolf Grey Wind because he's grey and fast.

[gendrie]

"You need to rid yourself of all this," he said of her treasures. Arya felt stricken. "They're mine." "And who are you?" "No one." He picked up her silver fork. "This belongs to Arya of House Stark. All these things belong to her. There is no place for them here. There is no place for her. Hers is too proud a name, and we have no room for pride. We are servants here." "I serve," she said, wounded. She liked the silver fork. "You play at being a servant, but in your heart you are a lord's daughter. You have taken other names, but you wore them as lightly as you might wear a gown. Under them was always Arya."

(Juliet, John William Waterhouse / The Novice, James Sant)

[myastoned]

we always talk about lyanna/arya parallels but what about the lyanna/sansa parallels. What about the girl who believed in true knights so much she needed to become one. What about the girl who ran away for true love only for it to cause the death and destruction of everyone around her. What about lying destroyed at the feet of prophecy and songs and stories. What about having your girlhood taken away because you were a stupid little girl who didn’t know any better.

[ladystoneboobs]

the younger starklings about robb (robb the strong and brave big brother, the perfect heir, the fierce and unbeatable young wolf):

arya

bran

sansa

meanwhile, actual robb (robb the lord and then robb the kitn):

before arya ever promised to be strong by using robb as her benchmark, the definition of stark strength, ned had to remind robb to be strong as the ruling stark in winterfell. (strong for bran and rickon, the brothers he thought he failed by sending their would-be killer away, leading to his great moment of weakness in jeyne westerling's bed.) as his siblings' faith in his ultimate triumph held strong, even after the loss of the north, robb himself was struggling with despair.

as grenn once told sam, maybe everyone is just pretending to be brave, maybe that's how people become brave. robb was faking it to make it too, imitating his father's lordly attitude as bran later tried to imitate robb's. as his younger siblings remembered him as their shining example, robb was trying to live up to his father's example. not the ned who'd been in his circumstances, a teenager unexpectedly turned into a lord and fighting a war to save his family. no, ofc, he never knew that young ned. the ned he knew as his father, the standard to measure himself against, was an adult man in his mid-30s who'd ruled the north for ~15 years. but was that standard for a 15/16yo any more fair and valid an expectation than 8/9yo bran believing he was almost a man grown and holding himself to the standard of 15/16yo robb as robb's heir?

and the only person left close enough to see robb as the boy he still was died with him.

[whppxdit4chi]

EDIT TO ADD:

Just to be clear if anyone cares and because this post kinda blew up and people started dragging me and I’m pretty sure they assumed that I was suggesting anything I said was in some way representative of my beliefs/theories:

I was totally just spitballing shit off the top of my head.

I never intended my word salad to trigger such a heated debate, I genuinely was just hoping for a civilised discussion about what’s right/wrong, what’s most/least likely. I want to understand all this deep stuff and engage with the fandom and hear people’s thoughts. I don’t have the mental capacity to weave intricate theories that tie all strings together like some of this fandom does. This post was incredibly fucking low effort drivel that I tossed out into the universe in the hopes of exploring different possibilities and engaging in conversation about exploring the significance of the differing appearances of the Stark children. Nowhere was it supposed to say I *want* the characters mentioned to fail/succeed. Nowhere was it supposed to imply that I know the significance of it. I just picked up something that was sitting with me and thought aloud about what it could mean and just came up with a random idea of what it might mean without much thought. At least some part of the thought was shaped by the end of Robb’s story and because he failed due to what I interpreted as getting too close to Southern politics and perhaps forgetting the core values he was fighting for along the way. I don’t know. I feel like I shouldn’t say anything else now cause anything I could say feels like it will just fuel the fire.

I’ve confessed multiple times now that what I said was shortsighted, wrong and didn’t consider intricacies that refute what I was saying entirely. Now if people could chill and take the post for what it is, that would be great.

ORIGINAL POST:

Do any of y’all asoiaf homies think there could be some significance to the Stark kids’ appearance?

My brain does not currently have the capacity to explain what I mean exactly but I’m talking in the sense that the majority of the kids look like Tullys not Starks, notably it’s said that Arya and Jon look most like Starks and it just made me wonder whether that somehow foreshadows their failures- in the sense that the rest cannot truly uphold Stark values and therefore ultimately fail? Idk if I’m just pulling shit from thin air and this may not make much sense but I just think that fact might somehow imply that they’ll be the ones to uphold Stark values in the send and ultimately succeed in their endeavours.

Ofc I understand I’m ultimately damning Sansa, Bran and Rickon in this but I wouldn’t put it past GRRM to plan that far ahead and use some kind of magical heritage-related symbolism like that… and ofc nobody is safe in asoiaf so there’s that too.

[aryadelvich]

May the act begins Part 2 - Luigi Mangione x Reader

Summary : You thought that everything was over. Luigi, his family, his ex… over. But things didn’t go this way.

Notes : Here’s a second part since everyone asked me for one— thanks for all your comments—hope this please you !!!!

Warnings : Toxic Luigi, fake dating, jealous Luigi, smut,

Words count : 6,9k (get cosy before reading;))

Updated Masterlist

Yes, Luigi had gotten back together with his ex. At first, it was weird seeing them around campus, but eventually, you just stopped caring. You weren’t going to stay hung up on it—he was nobody to you. It was just a one-night thing and a bit of mutual rivalry. Now? There’s nothing left. Not even the rivalry.

His girlfriend had forbidden him from talking to you, which was honestly for the best—you had no interest in dealing with that clown. That was… until he started blowing up your phone with messages. He needed to talk. He missed you. He shouldn’t have acted like that. He needed your help…

You blocked his number. Problem solved. Or so you thought.

You were quietly studying in the campus library, buried in your notes, when suddenly… he sat down right next to you.

“Hey,” he said, dropping his backpack on the floor.

You shot him a side-eye and said nothing

“Doing okay? Am I bothering you?” he asked, trying to spark a conversation.

“Yes,” you replied bluntly, eyes still on your notes.

“Y/n, listen, I know I messed up, and I’m really sorry—”

“Shh.” You silenced him without looking up.

“I’m not leaving until you say something to me.”

You started gathering your stuff to leave, but he grabbed your wrist gently.

“No, no—please, stay.”

You left anyway. He followed you outside.

“Back off or I’m calling the cops,” you warned.

“Just hear me out once, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“No.”

You walked away; he kept up behind you.

“Remember that favor I owe you?”

You stopped in your tracks. You had completely forgotten about that. You faced him, finally giving him your attention.

“What do you want?” you asked flatly. What really interested you was what he had to offer.

“She dumped me,” he said, embarrassed. “I should’ve ended things properly with you first. I rushed into it.”

“What do you want?” you cut him off. You didn’t need a sob story. There was nothing between you two—it had just been an arrangement. “Spit it out.”

“I… I need your help to make her jealous.”

You laughed, sarcastic.

“Why don’t you go find the last bit of dignity you have left and hold onto it? This is pathetic.”

He said nothing, clearly out of words.

“And by the way, you owe me a favor.”

“I know, but this time I’ll owe you the double, anything you want, right after.”

You stepped in closer.

“Anything I want? Don’t your parents have connections? Someone who could help me get an internship?”

“They do. I can get that for you. Easy.”

“Abroad? All expenses paid?”

He nodded. You paused, thinking about the advantages that he could offer. The decision was pretty easy, and Luigi wasn’t that bad.

“Alright then. What do I have to do?”

“There’s a wedding. Her dad’s getting remarried this month, and since our families are close, my whole family’s invited. I want you to come with me.”

You paused, again. Weigh up the pros and cons.

“Alright. When is it? I’ll clear my schedule.”

“It’s… in the Fijis.”

“…What? You’re that rich?”

That uncomfortable look crossed his face again.

“So you’ll need to be free for about ten days.”

You nodded slowly.

“Fine. Free vacation? I’m in.”

•••

You’ve just arrived in Fiji, and it’s absolutely stunning — especially since the groom went all out and booked an entire hotel for his guests.

“Do you like it?” Luigi asks.

“Like it? This place is heaven.”

The two of you head to your hotel room — it’s massive, which, given the circumstances, doesn’t shock you in the slightest.

“I’ll take the couch,” Luigi offers, then adds with a sly smile, “Unless… you’d prefer some company?”

You give him a deadpan look, tossing your bag onto the bed.

“In your dreams, Mangione.”

Luigi laughs softly, hands up in surrender. “Sorry, I’ve got some flashbacks.”

You kick off your shoes and sink into the bed with a satisfied sigh. The mattress feels like a cloud, and for a second, you forget why you're even here.

“Okay, this might actually be worth it,” you mumble, staring up at the intricately designed ceiling fan spinning slowly above you.

Luigi opens the balcony doors, letting the warm island breeze flow in. “We have a couple hours before the welcome dinner. You wanna go check out the beach?”

You sit up, eyebrows raised. “Together?”

“Of course. Business on the beach. Very professional.”

He flashes you a grin, and you try — really try — not to smile back.

The two of you step out into the golden sunlight, the ocean just a short walk away. The resort is picturesque, all white stone paths, swaying palm trees, and the faint sound of a ukulele playing somewhere in the distance.

“So,” Luigi says as you walk side by side, “how do we want to play this? Holding hands? Subtle glances? The occasional flirty insult?”

You glance at him sideways. “Let’s just… play it natural. Like we’re not trying too hard.”

He chuckles. “Natural, huh? That’s gonna be tough, considering your loathing for me.”

You smirk. “Oh, I don’t loathe you, Luigi. That would require caring.”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay, so natural,” he says. “That means what? We don’t make out in front of her, but we do look like we can’t keep our hands off each other?”

You roll your eyes. “It means I don’t throw you into the ocean the second we arrive at the dinner.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Noted. Low bar.”

“Don’t worry. We’ve already done that.” You reassure him even if you don’t even know how you’re going to do it.

The walk on the beach had been... surprisingly chill. But then you got back to the hotel. You were climbing the marble steps to your floor, still barefoot with your sandals in hand, when the elevator doors dinged behind you.

“Luigi?”

You froze mid-step. That voice. You turned just in time to see her. Luigi’s ex—step out of the elevator in a white sundress and sunburned shoulders, her hand laced with that of a tall, annoyingly handsome guy in linen. Luigi stiffened beside you.

“Oh,” she said, eyes flitting to you. “Didn’t know you were bringing… someone.” She recognized you immediately.

You gave her a small smile. “Hi !.”

Luigi choked on air. Her smile tightened.

“This is Jon,” she said, turning slightly to the new guy, who just gave a lazy nod.

“And this is my new girlfriend—“ announce Luigi, a smug smile on his face.

“I already know her” she cut him off, slightly irritated.

“Cool,” you said. “So we’re all on the same floor, huh?”

“We are, actually,” she said, walking a little closer. “We’re in room 308.”

You and Luigi exchanged a look. “307,” he said slowly. “What a coincidence!”

For a second, no one said anything. The tension hung in the air like a thick fog.

Then Jon chuckled. “Guess we’ll be hearing each other through the walls.”

You smirked. “Guess you will.”

Luigi’s hand brushed yours lightly, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. His ex noticed. Her gaze darted to your hand, then back to your face. “Well. Hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Oh, we will,” you said sweetly.

You put your arm around his and rest your head on his shoulder, never taking your eyes off her. They walked past you to their room, the door clicking shut behind them.

Luigi exhaled hard. “She looked… surprised.”

“She looked pissed.”

You unlocked the hotel door and stepped inside. He followed close behind.

Luigi gave a nervous laugh and ran a hand through his hair. “You were actually amazing. Like, scary amazing.”

You flopped onto the bed with a grin. “Well, buckle up, Mangione. You hired the best.”

It was dinnertime, and the guest list was enormous — a sea of well-dressed, wealthy faces filled the room. You had chosen a light blue dress for the occasion, tucking a hibiscus flower into your hair for a touch of softness and charm. You recognized nearly everyone from Luigi’s family, all except his sisters — they were the only ones you hadn't met before.

“Y/n! It’s been so long since we last saw you!” Luigi’s mother exclaimed warmly, pulling you into a hug, while Luigi moved ahead to greet his father and two sisters.

You offered polite smiles and greetings, introducing yourself to his sisters for the first time.

“Our parents have told us so much about you, Y/n,” one of them said with a friendly tone.

You smiled, but inside, you were a little surprised. How had Luigi managed to keep you a mystery to them for this long?

You slipped into the flow of dinner like it was second nature—smiling when you needed to, making charming small talk with his aunts, nodding like you totally understood the family politics being whispered across the table. It was almost easy to forget the entire reason you were there was to stage a fake relationship. Almost. Luigi, to his credit, was playing his part beautifully. He refilled your glass without being asked, leaned in like he couldn’t hear you over the music, touched your lower back when guiding you through the crowd. A little overkill, maybe—but effective. You caught his ex looking over more than once. At one point, her jaw clenched so tightly you thought she might crack a tooth. You were deep in conversation with Luigi’s sisters— Maria and Luciana—navigating that delicate line between casual and calculated. They were actually pretty funny, sharp-tongued with the same dramatic flair as their brother, though significantly less annoying. But then Maria’s gaze drifted past your shoulder, her smile dimming just slightly. “Huh.”

Luciana leaned in. “Y/n… are you the jealous type?”

You raised a brow, sipping your drink. “Not really. Why?”

They didn’t answer. Not with words, anyway. Instead, Maria nodded toward the far end of the terrace. You turned, and there he was. Luigi. Standing just a little too close to his ex. Hands in his pockets, that tilted smirk of his playing on his face. She was twirling a piece of her hair, laughing a little too hard at something he said. Your stomach didn’t twist, but it… shifted. Just a bit.

Still, you kept your voice cool. “Looks like they’re having fun.”

Maria hesitated. “You don’t find that weird? Him going to talk to her like that?”

You shrugged. “Mmh not really, I trust him.”

Luciana exchanged a look with her sister, then turned to you with something cautious in her eyes. “You know he’s been in love with her since he was, like, ten, right?”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” Maria added quickly, as if ripping off a Band-Aid. “Total childhood crush turned high school obsession. It was kind of a thing in the family.”

“Not that we don’t like you!” Luciana rushed to say. “You’re actually super cool. Honestly, we’ve never seen him bring someone like you around.”

You held up a hand. “It’s fine.”

You glanced over again, just in time to see the ex laughing at something Luigi said, her fingers lightly brushing his arm. He wasn’t pulling away.

•••

The next morning, the group gathered on the beach for surf lessons—part of the long, sun-drenched itinerary planned by the ever-generous groom. The sky was spotless, the ocean glittered like polished glass, and everyone looked annoyingly good in their swimsuits. Luigi, of course, was already waist-deep in distraction, his ex.

You rolled your eyes and turned your attention to the surf instructor—tall, sun-kissed, and charming in that easy, wave-tamer way. His name was Kai. Of course it was. He flashed a blinding smile as he handed you your board.

“First time surfing?” he asked, helping you adjust the strap on your ankle.

“Yeah,” you said, cocking your head. “Think I’ll survive?”

He grinned. “Only if you listen to everything I say.”

You gave him a slow, amused once-over. “I usually don’t, but I might make an exception.”

Kai laughed, the sound deep and warm like he hadn’t been hit on by every girl on the island this week. Across the sand, Luigi looked over—just in time to see Kai guiding your hands on the board, showing you your stance, your posture. You were laughing, hair blowing wildly in the breeze. And for a second, Luigi forgot what his ex was even talking about. You glanced up, catching his eyes.

The group paddled out into the water, boards cutting clean lines through the surf. The instructor, Kai, was right beside you, guiding your movements with patient confidence. You weren’t a natural by any means, but you were having fun—and more importantly, you looked like you were.

Luigi was a few feet away, trying—really trying—to focus on riding the waves. But every time he glanced over, there you were: laughing as Kai helped you balance, brushing your wet hair out of your face, flashing that magnetic smile that had never been aimed at him quite like that. He couldn’t look away. Which was exactly the problem. A decent wave approached, and Luigi, ever the competitor, tried to catch it—too distracted, too out of sync with the rhythm. His board angled wrong. His balance off. The wave caught him, but not cleanly. He managed to stand for half a second before his foot slipped and the board kicked sideways. The impact was quick and unforgiving—he crashed into the water hard, shoulder first. You didn’t see it happen—Kai was helping you try to stand, guiding your stance again—but the commotion in the water drew your attention.

“Wait—was that Luigi?” you asked, shielding your eyes from the sun.

Kai turned, already paddling toward the figure flailing awkwardly near the break.

You followed, heart suddenly pounding.

By the time you reached him, Luigi was grimacing, holding his arm and bobbing awkwardly in the water.

“What happened?” you asked, grabbing the edge of his board.

“I fell,” he muttered, clearly in pain, pride more bruised than bone—for now.

“Can you move your arm?”

“Barely.”

Kai paddled over and helped steady him. “Alright, let’s get you back to shore.”

You stayed close, watching as Kai assisted him, pulling him back through the water. Luigi looked properly miserable. Salt and ego stung his eyes.

Once you hit the beach, Kai helped him sit on a towel while someone fetched ice from the resort.

“You okay?” you asked, kneeling beside him.

“Fine,” he grumbled.

“You don’t look fine. You look like someone who got humbled by the ocean.”

He shot you a look. “Not helping.”

You grinned. “Sorry. You’ll live.”

But something in your voice was softer. You were still watching him carefully, despite everything.

Kai came back with a first aid kit and crouched beside Luigi, inspecting the shoulder.

“Looks like a bad bruise, maybe a strain. You should rest it. No more surfing today.”

Luigi winced. “Yeah. Got it.”

Kai turned to you. “You still wanna try a few more waves?”

You glanced at Luigi, then back at the instructor. “Rain check.”

You sat down next to Luigi instead, the two of you quiet for a beat. The sun baked down, warm on your skin, but the tension between you had cooled just a little.

“You didn’t have to stay,” he said after a moment.

You shrugged. “Yeah, well. I figured someone should be here to make fun of you while you sulk.”

He laughed, despite himself. “You’re seriously enjoying this, huh?”

You smiled faintly, brushing a bit of sand off your knee. “Not gonna lie. A little.”

But what you didn’t say was: seeing him fall—even for a second—rattled you. Not because you cared.

No.

Definitely not because you cared.

“I’m gonna get you some water” you stepped away.

“Okay”

You were gone five minutes—maybe less. When you returned, she was there. Kneeling next to Luigi, her perfectly tousled beach hair falling over one shoulder, sunglasses perched on top of her head like a crown. Her voice was low, intimate. And his expression—tired, maybe caught off guard. You stopped a few feet away, just out of their line of sight.

“I just wanted to check on you,” she was saying. “You’re always so reckless when you’re trying to impress people.”

He exhaled through his nose. “I wasn’t trying to impress anyone.”

She smiled softly. “It’s okay if you were. You’ve always done stupid things when you like someone.”

Luigi said nothing, just looked out at the waves.

“I was worried, you know?” she added, brushing a speck of sand off his good arm. “Even after everything… I still care.”

That’s when you stepped back into view, towel slung over your shoulder and two water bottles in hand.

“Aw,” you said flatly, handing Luigi a bottle. “That’s sweet.”

She straightened up slowly, all wide eyes and innocent posture. “I was just checking in.”

You nodded. “Cool. Now you can check out.”

Her mouth twitched—almost a smile. Almost not. “Take care, Lu,” she said softly, then turned and walked away without waiting for a response.

Luigi didn’t say anything. You dropped beside him in the sand and tossed the towel over his legs.

“She’s good,” you muttered.

He looked at you sideways. “At what?”

“Pretending she’s over it.”

He gave a quiet laugh, leaning back on his sane elbows. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

You turned your head slowly toward him. “You’re lucky you’ve got only one arm”

He smiled, but… whatever.

“So… you and the surf instructor ?”

You raised a brow.

He hesitated, jaw tightening just a bit. “Looked like you were getting pretty friendly… I’m just saying… it didn’t look fake, if that’s what you’re going for.”

You finally turned to face him, eyes playful. “Jealous?”

“No,” he said too fast.

You leaned in slightly, resting your chin on your hand. “Right. So you don’t care that I was flirting with a shirtless guy who had his hands all over my waist.”

He glanced away, exasperated. “Okay, yes, maybe I care a little.”

There it was.

You grinned. “Interesting.”

Luigi looked back at you, irritation giving way to something more uncertain. “I mean, it’s not part of the plan, right? You flirting with random guys while pretending to be my girlfriend?”

You tilted your head, lips curving into a half-smirk. “I didn’t realize there were rules.”

“There are,” Luigi muttered, “when you’re making me look like an idiot.”

You blinked at him, incredulous. “Are you serious right now? I only let it happen because no one important was around.”

“My ex was there,” he snapped, frustration bubbling under the surface. “She could’ve told my parents. It looked—disrespectful.”

You crossed your arms, not backing down. “Well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before dragging me into your little performance in front of your entire family.”

He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again, jaw clenched.

“Right,” you said, voice flat. “That’s what I thought. I can’t believe I have to give some explanation for a fake relationship, that’s ridiculous.”

You gathered your things and walked off without looking back, leaving him alone on the sand. God, he could be so infuriating. Always had to have the last word. And of course, he didn’t miss the chance to throw in that reminder—how much you used to hate him. Good. Maybe that would make it easier when all this ended. No heartbreak. No confusion. Just a clean break. You sank into a chair near the beach bar, dropping your bag at your feet, exhaling hard. The sun was dipping low now, painting everything in gold, and you were too tired to pretend not to care. A gentle hand touched your shoulder.

“Y/n? What’s wrong, darling? You look upset.”

It was his mother—of course. And right behind her, his father. Great timing.

You forced a smile. “We just… had a bit of a fight. Luigi’s not always the easiest.”

“I see,” she said with a sympathetic frown. “Would you like us to talk to him?”

“No, it’s okay. He actually hurt his arm earlier. Maybe just check on him? I think he need to see someone now.” You stood, brushing the sand off your dress. “I’m gonna head to my room. But thank you, really.”

They nodded, concern etched across both their faces as they turned and headed toward Luigi, still sitting by himself on his towel, looking at the sea.

••• A few hours later

A knock echoed through the room, tugging you out of your half-asleep haze. You blinked, glanced toward the balcony. The sky was navy now—stars barely peeking through. Another knock. You rolled out of bed and walked barefoot to the door, peeking through the peephole. Luigi. He didn’t have the keycard. Figures.

“Y/n?” His voice was muffled but unmistakable. “Can you open the door?”

A smile curved on your lips. You leaned against the door, arms crossed.

“I’m actually enjoying the peace,” you replied, just loud enough to tease.

A pause. Then, “Come on. I’m sorry about earlier.”

You stayed quiet for a beat. “Not my problem.”

“Y/n…” He sounded tired. Maybe a little guilty. Maybe even honest.

You tilted your head, cheek still against the door.

“What exactly are you sorry for, Luigi?”

Another pause.

“For being an idiot. For snapping at you. For ruining a perfectly good fake vacation.”

You bit back a smile. A long silence stretched between you.

You paused, thinking.

You finally opened the door. Empty hallway. No Luigi. You frowned, stepping out, scanning both directions. Nothing but dim corridor lights and the muffled hush of the ocean through open windows. Then—you heard it. Clack. The soft click of a door shutting just a few steps down. Room 308. His ex’s room. Your stomach dropped. A beat of silence passed before you let out a dry laugh, barely audible. Of course. You took a step back into the room, closing the door quietly behind you. You shouldn’t care. This was fake, and you were here for the internship, the beach, the free food—not for him. Still, something sat sharp in your chest. You flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun lazily above you. He really went to her room… After that conversation. After knocking on your door, saying he was sorry, asking to come in. He left—and went to her. You hated how much it bothered you. You didn’t even notice when you dozed off again.

•••

Meanwhile, Luigi stepped into the elevator, grocery bag in one arm, the sling awkwardly digging into his shoulder.

“Stupid,” he muttered to himself.

He hadn’t expected to get caught in the hallway, let alone bump into her. His ex had appeared out of nowhere when he left your door to go grab snacks and water.

“Luigi?” she’d said, a little surprised, arms crossed loosely over her chest. “You’re just out here?”

“Yeah. Just heading down for a bit,” he’d replied casually, already moving.

“You sure you don’t want to come in? We could… talk,” she’d offered, eyes softening.

He didn’t even stop walking.

“Maybe another time.”

And then he was gone. Now, juggling a bag of overpriced resort groceries, he was making his way back upstairs—unaware that you had opened the door just after he disappeared… and drawn all the wrong conclusions.

Another knock on the door.

You sighed dramatically and dragged yourself off the bed. You opened the door—and there he was. Luigi. Holding a crumpled paper bag with a bottle of sparkling water sticking out the top, a couple snacks tucked under his arm, and the most confused look on his face.

“Where were you?” you asked, arms crossing before you could stop yourself.

He blinked. “What do you mean? I was getting stuff for you. You didn’t eat dinner.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I heard a door close. From her room.”

He stared at you for a second… and then a slow, smug grin started to spread across his face.

“You disappeared, and then mysteriously, your ex’s door closed. What was I supposed to think?”

“That I ran away in emotional shame? That I couldn’t face your sass and needed to sob into her throw pillows?”

“You would sob into decorative pillows,” you muttered.

“Excuse you—” he lifted the bag slightly. “I risked my life for these chips. My arm still hurts.

You tried not to smile, but it was useless. “You really went to get me snacks?”

“I did,” he said, stepping into the room.

You rolled your eyes, shutting the door behind him. “Well. I guess you’re not completely useless.”

Luigi set the bag down on the bed dramatically. “I’m sorry, again. For all this. »

“Okay… You can start by opening the chips.”

He nodded and flopped onto the bed beside you, careful not to jostle his injury.

“I can’t believe you thought I went into her room,” he said between bites.

“I didn’t think that.”

“You totally did.”

“Shut up and give me the chips.”

He handed them over, still smirking. You both leaned back against the headboard, sharing snacks in comfortable silence.

• Night Under the Stars •

Luigi is far ahead of you, his long strides making quick work of the rocky path. The sun is still high, but the light has already started to soften, painting the trail in shades of gold and orange. You trail behind, breathless but stubborn, refusing to ask for a break. He’s determined to reach the top before sunset — and, honestly, you're starting to understand why. You’re the only one who agreed to come with him. The others either passed on the idea of waking up at dawn or scoffed at the thought of hiking for hours. But when he looked at you that morning, eyes gleaming with that quiet challenge, you couldn’t resist.

Finally, after what feels like forever, Luigi turns around at the top of the hill and grins, breathless. “Hurry up,” he calls out. “You're gonna miss the view.”

You roll your eyes but pick up your pace, your legs aching by the time you reach him. The sun is sinking just beyond the ocean, spilling vibrant streaks of orange, pink, and lavender across the sky. Below, the island is bathed in warm light, with the soft sound of waves in the distance. You both fall silent, soaking it in. The wind picks up as night deepens, brushing against your skin with a sharpness that wasn't there during the sunset. You're both sitting just outside the tent now, wrapped in the silence and starlight, watching the embers of a small campfire crackle low beside you. Luigi sets up the tent and lights the campfire, throwing glances your way every few seconds, like he’s making sure you’re okay.

“You cold?” he asks, concerned.

You nod, and without a word, he digs into his backpack and hands you one of his sweaters.

“It’ll be warmer once we’re inside the tent, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” you reassure him. “I’m with the hiking expert, I’m letting you handle everything.”

He gives you that charming smile you hate finding cute.

You both eat quickly and retreat into the tent. It’s not long before he presses up behind you without warning, wrapping his arms around you.

“What are you doing?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Warming you up. We’re warming each other up,” he murmurs.

“But I didn’t ask for anything,” you point out.

“Why are you always on guard?”

“I don’t know… maybe because all of this is fake? Stupid question.”

“Yeah, but right now it’s just practical. Nothing more.”

“Oh, so you wouldn’t mind if—” you turn to face him. Your faces are inches apart, and his arms are still wrapped tightly around your waist. “—if I face you?”

He studies you closely, and that annoyingly perfect smile of his reappears. The one you secretly love to hate.

“That’s even better,” he murmured.

His gaze dropped to your lips, then slowly rose to meet your eyes again. And in that moment — without warning — your heart started to race. You hated it. Hated how he still had that effect on you. You’d sworn you wouldn’t feel anything for him again. You wondered if he felt it too. If his chest tightened like yours just did. But you already knew the answer — of course not. His heart still belonged to her. He leaned in. And somehow, you were already leaning too, closing the space between you until your lips met his. Both your eyes fluttered shut, and everything else disappeared. His hand slid into your hair, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, slow and searching — like you were both trying to remember something you’d almost forgotten. You didn’t stop until you were breathless, your chest rising and falling as you pulled apart. When you opened your eyes, he was already looking at you.

“To keep warm, right?” you whispered, teasing, your lips still tingling.

“Yeah,” he said softly — and kissed you again.

This time, it was more urgent. His hands roamed your body with an aching familiarity, and each touch left a trail of heat in its wake. Without thinking, you climbed into his lap, your knees on either side of him, your mouths never parting. You felt his hands glide down your back, gripping your waist, your hips. You buried your fingers in his curls, holding on.

“Missed me, huh?” he said against your lips, that familiar arrogance in his voice.

You pause, lips brushing his as you hover just inches above him, your breath still uneven. You watch his eyes—dark, searching, amused. He’s waiting.

“If that helps soothe your little ego…” you reply sarcastically.

Amused by your response, he gives you a little spanking. You stroke his crotch, making your intention clear. You pull his dick out of his shorts and boxers. You can already hear him grunting, his lips tickling your neck.

"You're so good," he says, pulling off your shorts as you take off your shoes. He caresses your clit, you rock back and forth against him, the feeling is too good.

"Luigi" you sigh, the pleasure overwhelms you.

Your hands still on his growth, you meet his gaze and waste no time. He bury himself into you, you can feel him in you and how good it feels. Luigi moans, you start to move on him, imposing your own rhythm.

"Yes baby, you're so good" his encouragement excites you even more.

"Keep bouncing, so good," he continues.

His hands moving all over your body. You feel he's about to let go and so are you.

"Keep bouncing... yeah... keep bouncing baby" Luigi's impressive hands are on your hips, helping you to keep the rhythm.

The tension builds between you, electric and overwhelming — both of you teetering on the edge. Luigi’s eyes lock onto yours, dark and intense, your breaths ragged and uneven.

"Can I cum?" he begs, voice raw, his body slick with sweat, lips parted.

"Yes," you breathe, barely able to speak through the waves crashing over you.

Your climax hits, a soft moan escaping near his ear as your body trembles against his. He follows instantly, groaning your name as he lets go. For a moment, time slows. You melt into each other, limbs tangled, hearts pounding in sync. The only sound is your shared breathing, slowly beginning to calm. You shift slightly, your body sensitive, but Luigi’s arms tighten around you, reluctant to release his hold. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, as if trying to stay in this moment just a little longer.

“Mmh… you made a mess,” you murmur with a teasing smile, glancing down between you.

He smirks, kissing your shoulder. “Couldn’t help it. You feel too good.”

Softly, shifting your hips as you feel the sticky cream between you both — warm, undeniable evidence of your shared release. He groans lightly at the movement, pulling you closer again.

You get dressed and slip into the sleeping bag. Luigi waits until you’re comfortable, then wraps his arms around you. The two of you stay curled up together through the night, wrapped in each other’s warmth. At dawn, you wake to the soft glow of the sunrise, quietly taking in the beauty of the moment side by side. Eventually, you gather your things and make your way back to the hotel. Once inside your room, you stretch a little, still feeling the chill of the early morning.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you say, heading toward the bathroom.

“Make yourself gorgeous—it’s the rehearsal dinner tonight,” Luigi teases with a playful smile.

You roll your eyes with a sigh. “What’s even the point of that?” you mutter as you disappear into the bathroom.

Luigi just chuckles, waving you on before turning to unpack and tidy up the room.

•••

The rehearsal dinner is held in a charming little venue overlooking the sea. Strings of warm lights hang above the outdoor tables, laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. You arrive looking stunning, your dress hugging your curves in all the right places. Luigi's eyes linger on you for a long moment, his lips parting slightly as if to say something—but he doesn't. Instead, his expression shifts, guarded.

As the night unfolds, you lose sight of him in the crowd. You scan the terrace, then spot him near the bar… with her. She’s standing a little too close, her hand brushing his arm casually. She leans in to whisper something in his ear. You can’t hear the words, but you see the look on her face: smug, knowing.

"I know what you're doing, Luigi," she murmurs, her eyes flicking to his with a slight smirk. "Dragging your little girlfriend around, pretending you’ve moved on. You’re just trying to make me jealous.”

Luigi stiffens. "That’s not what this is," he mutters.

But you’re watching. And in that moment, it doesn't matter what he says. It only matters that he's there with her. Something sharp twists in your chest.

You can’t help it—you keep looking over, watching them. Watching her. Your stomach twists every time they laugh or stand too close. But the worst part is when they both disappear, slipping away into the shadows, just the two of them.

And you can’t even be mad. This was the plan. You knew the risks.

People keep approaching you, asking, “Where’s Luigi?” You give polite smiles, vague answers. Thank God his family is there, filling the silence, trying to lift your spirits. But the night wears on, and it feels emptier with every passing minute.

You're with Luigi's family when the music starts playing. Laughter erupts as everyone rushes to the dance floor, caught up in the energy of the moment. You stay behind, leaning against the bar, watching them all having fun. Smiling faces. Joy everywhere. Except where you stand — alone. A man approaches. You notice the way he walks: too confident, too loose. Clearly drunk. He leans in closer than you'd like.

“Wanna dance?” he asks, his tone already too familiar.

“No, thanks. I’m with someone,” you answer firmly.

“Oh, Luigi? Where is he then?” the man smirks. “Come on, he’ll never know. Can’t believe he’d leave a girl like you standing here alone.”

You stiffen. “I said no.”

He tries again, this time placing his hand on your hip. Without thinking, your hand flies up and smacks him hard across the face. The sound echoes. But before he can even react, he's suddenly on the floor — shoved violently by someone. You blink. It’s Luigi.

“Get the fuck out of here, asshole!” Luigi shouts, standing over him, fists clenched and jaw tight.

The man stares at him for half a second, sees the fury in Luigi’s eyes, and scrambles away without a word. Luigi immediately turns to you. His chest is rising fast, like he’s still coming down from the adrenaline. Everyone is looking at you. His family

“Are you okay? Jesus, I nearly lost it when I saw that. Did he touch you? Fuck—he touched you. I should’ve been here. I should’ve—”

“I’m fine,” you cut in, voice calm but shaking just slightly. “I had it handled.”

“I’m taking him off the guest list. He’s done.”

“Luigi!” a familiar voice calls. His ex hurries over, her heels clicking against the floor. “What happened? Is everything okay?”

“Some drunk asshole tried something with Y/n,” he mutters.

“Oh my God,” she gasps. “I’ll tell my dad. He won’t get away with it.”

Luigi turns back to you. “Come on. Let’s go. You've had enough of this night.”

“I’m fine,” you say again, colder this time. “Stay with her. I’ll go back alone.”

“No way. I’m not letting you walk back alone.”

He reaches for your wrist and walk to your room, when you’re finally inside you pull away sharply.

He looks stunned. “What’s the attitude?”

“Because I don’t understand you!” Your voice breaks, and you hate how vulnerable it sounds.

He takes a step back, confused. “What did I do? I’m trying to understand, Y/n.”

“ You fuck me then you go back to her. Then you fuck me and you go back to her again like nothing happened… what’s wrong with you ? I’m not your little toy.”

He flinches, his voice rising. “I thought we had an agreement! I thought we were casual, that this wasn’t serious!”

“But you slept with me, Luigi and it was for real”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, visibly conflicted.

“I thought you didn’t care…” he admits, his voice quiet and vulnerable. “That first night we spent together… it was everything to me. But the way you looked at me, like you hated me — and all those arguments we kept having… I thought none of it mattered to you.”

“Do you really think I would’ve done all that if I didn’t care?” you ask, your voice shaking slightly. “But it doesn’t matter now… this is all going to end soon, and we’ll go our separate ways.”

“Why?” He steps closer. “You want this ? See ? This is what I mean. Can you just tell me, for once, what you really feel?”

You go silent, torn. You want to tell him everything, but something holds you back.

“I’m not good at saying how I feel…” you finally admit, hoping he’ll meet you halfway.

He takes a step closer, again. “So you do feel something for me?” There’s a flicker of hope in his eyes.

“Stop being an idiot… believe whatever you want,” you mutter, crossing your arms and looking away.

“You’re really gonna leave me guessing until the end, huh?” He chuckled.

You don’t answer. Letting him sit in the silence. Then he takes a breath, gathers his courage, and kisses you. You don’t stop him. The moment his lips meet yours, all the anger, all the frustration, melts away. Like magic. He pulls back, that familiar smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.

“I think I’ve got my answer,” he says softly.

[jon-sedai]

I feel so dumb for never having realized this before but I was thinking about the bookend in AGoT between the Others, the dragons, and two heroes: Waymar Royce and Daenerys Targaryen.

While squaring off against the Others, Waymar Royce asks for a dance.

Ser Waymar met him bravely. “Dance with me then.” He lifted his sword high over his head, defiant. His hands trembled from the weight of it, or perhaps from the cold. Yet in that moment, Will thought, he was a boy no longer, but a man of the Night’s Watch.

It’s notable that this scene is eerily silent save for the bits of dialogue. And when Waymar’s dance finally begins, there’s a notable lack of music.

The pale sword came shivering through the air. Ser Waymar met it with steel. When the blades met, there was no ring of metal on metal; only a high, thin sound at the edge of hearing, like an animal screaming in pain. Royce checked a second blow, and a third, then fell back a step. Another flurry of blows, and he fell back again.

I’ve always asserted that Ser Waymar is a failed last hero if we judge his success based off Old Nan’s blueprint.

So as cold and death filled the earth, the last hero determined to seek out the children, in the hopes that their ancient magics could win back what the armies of men had lost. He set out into the dead lands with a sword, a horse, a dog, and a dozen companions. For years he searched, until he despaired of ever finding the children of the forest in their secret cities. One by one his friends died, and his horse, and finally even his dog, and his sword froze so hard the blade snapped when he tried to use it. And the Others smelled the hot blood in him, and came silent on his trail, stalking him with packs of pale white spiders big as hounds—”

Both Ser Waymar and the last hero lost their companions and both had their swords shatter to the cold. Yet Waymar failed to complete one important step: find the children of the forest. The children are also known as “the singers”. So it’s notable that Ser Waymar attempts to dance without any music(ians) to accompany him. And because he does so, his dance ends in failure.

But then we have Daenerys Targaryen in the Dothraki Sea.

As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.

Dany performs a miracle in bringing dragons to life, the first person to do so in centuries. And these dragons sing a song that proclaims her, an exiled young princess and a widow, Azor Ahai reborn - the champion of fire, and warrior of light.

This bookend between the first and last chapters is so poignant. It’s not just that fire has returned to combat Ice. It’s that Dany brought back the music necessary to complete this dance. We start the book with a failed hero and end it with the rise of a true one; also interesting that Waymar’s end comes while he’s down on his knees whereas Dany rises to her feet reborn.

This makes Dany’s identity as the promised prince(ss) all the more impressive.

“He has a song,” the man replied. “He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire.” He looked up when he said it and his eyes met Dany’s, and it seemed as if he saw her standing there beyond the door.

Waymar failed because he didn’t have a song to accompany him. Yet Dany has a song to dance to. A song of fire.

I think this raises some interesting questions regarding the nature of this great conflict. There not only has to be a song to dance to, but it seems that there is a key distinction between the singer and the dancer. Rhaegar Targaryen failed to fulfill the prophecy because he was the singer and not the dancer. His role was to provide the hero’s musical accompaniment. In a way, it’s almost like he as the bard is the herald. And the herald is rarely, if ever, the main character. So notice how Rhaegar heralds the hero, the king, while looking at Dany.

But! - there’s different kinds of songs. Dany has one, made by her dragons. But it’s not be the only one. The children of the forest are heavily associated with the last hero and while Waymar Royce is dead, there lives another: Bran Stark.

Bran found the children, the singers, and is a step closer to completing the last hero’s journey.

Now Bran is an interesting case.

“Go,” Bran whispered to his own horse. He touched her neck lightly, and the small chestnut filly started forward. Bran had named her Dancer. She was two years old, and Joseth said she was smarter than any horse had a right to be.

He has a dancing horse but at some point has to leave her behind. So does that mean that he has to learn to do the dancing in his own way?

And I find it interesting that Bran has a female dancer horse because this creates a neat parallel with Dany, a dancer who may also be the stallion that mounts the world; if it’s not her, then it has to be her mount, Drogon. This is important if we consider that the last hero, Azor Ahai/the promised prince, the Stallion That Mounts the World, etc. are all different yet complimentary manifestations of one heroic legend.

But the issue of songs doesn’t end there because there still exists one Jon Snow, another version of the last hero and promised prince. Jon isn’t a bard but he has been positioned as being adjacent to dancers. I won’t harp on about Jon’s parallels with Waymar Royce because they’ve been done to death. But it seems that Jon, like Bran and Dany, will succeed where Ser Waymar failed.

Because not only does Jon have music to herald him:

That night he dreamt of wildlings howling from the woods, advancing to the moan of warhorns and the roll of drums. Boom DOOM boom DOOM boom DOOM came the sound, a thousand hearts with a single beat.

But he is also positioned as a last man standing among many dead heroes:

“Stand fast,” Jon Snow called. “Throw them back.” He stood atop the Wall, alone. “Flame,” he cried, “feed them flame,” but there was no one to pay heed. They are all gone. They have abandoned me.

And he has a sword that will not shatter against the cold:

“Snow,” an eagle cried, as foemen scuttled up the ice like spiders. Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist.

It’s noteworthy that Jon is the son of a singer, Rhaegar Targaryen. The very singer who sang the song of ice and fire; and notice how Jon is clad in both. Plus he has been mentored by another, Mance Rayder, whom he eventually succeeds.

At a quick glance, it’s very interesting to me that Jon is constantly listening to songs beyond the Wall. There’s the song of the blue winter rose (which in a way heralds his own birth), the song of Joramun and the Horn of Winter, and many others.

It’s also noteworthy just how often giants are mentioned as the subject of songs in Jon’s POV chapters. I bring this up because of the Last of the Giants:

Ooooooh, I am the last of the giants, my people are gone from the earth. The last of the great mountain giants, who ruled all the world at my birth.

I think there is a parallel here between the dragons, the giants, and the children of the forest. These are all dying species, yet they linger on for the song of ice and fire still needs to be brought to completion.

And let’s consider where our heroes fit in all this. Dany commands the dragons, Bran learns from the children, while Jon begins to befriend the giants. All these creatures make musical accompaniments for our heroes to dance to.

Lastly, I’m inclined to think of the Stark girls though I’m not entirely sure where they would fit in all of this. Arya, at some point, trains to be a dancer:

On the way back to his chambers, he came upon his daughter Arya on the winding steps of the Tower of the Hand, windmilling her arms as she struggled to balance on one leg. The rough stone had scuffed her bare feet. Ned stopped and looked at her. “Arya, what are you doing?” “Syrio says a water dancer can stand on one toe for hours.” Her hands flailed at the air to steady herself. Ned had to smile. “Which toe?” he teased. “Any toe,” Arya said, exasperated with the question. She hopped from her right leg to her left, swaying dangerously before she regained her balance. “Must you do your standing here?” he asked. “It’s a long hard fall down these steps.” “Syrio says a water dancer never falls.” She lowered her leg to stand on two feet. “Father, will Bran come and live with us now?”

Now Arya is no singer, but her wolf is.

In another place, his little sister lifted her head to sing to the moon, and a hundred small grey cousins broke off their hunt to sing with her.

On the other hand, Sansa is no dancer but she is known for her ability to sing. And boy does she sing beautifully.

Her throat was dry and tight with fear, and every song she had ever known had fled from her mind. Please don't kill me, she wanted to scream, please don't. She could feel him twisting the point, pushing it into her throat, and she almost closed her eyes again, but then she remembered. It was not the song of Florian and Jonquil, but it was a song. Her voice sounded small and thin and tremulous in her ears. Gentle Mother, font of mercy, Save our sons from war, we pray,

In fact, a lot of Sansa’s songs are prayers for those who dance to the music of swords. Her songs are soothing, calming. And see this during Stannis’ assault on Kings Landing when she is able to calm Sandor and the noble women through the power of song. Hers is not a song to dance to, it’s a different kind though I’m not entirely sure what it entails. I do want to say, though, that Sansa is often paralleled with creates that take flight; various birds and bats. So she is a singer, much like the dragons.

I may have neglected other characters here, but I just thought it was intriguing that our main heroes (Jon, Bran, Dany, maybe Arya) are all positioned as dancers for the song of ice and fire.

[phantomqa]

Hot take:

Okay so, I don't really understand the Sansa slander, especially in the first few seasons. Beauces my girl is a child, can you blame a child for being scared of the queen and the king. Can you blame a child for having a crush and wanting said crush to like them back? I don't think so. The whole Arya is better,oh Sansa is so bad thing ,I don't understand. Both of these characters are great in my opinion and you can't really compare them.

Arya just likes swords and stuff like that, and Sansa likes embroidery and stuff. And I think they have a relatively normal sibling dynamic, cause I remember I was like that with my older sister.

Since it was five years ago for me when I watched the show and I now finished the first book, I can't really understand the dislike for Sansa.

Like she went through shit , in the show. Like watching her father die, getting humiliated as a child, getting married as a humiliation, getting married to a psycho and abused from him.

And one thing I once read in a comment section was "well we don't like her because she didn't trust Daenerys." Well why should she trust someone she doesn't know from the beginning.

I get people disliking characters, but Sansa is just a character I don't really understand why.

Can someone explain to me, because every explanation has been I've seen especially on tiktok, kinda sexist and biased, no offense.

[fromtheseventhhell]

Arya learned the Braavosi language and culture well enough to pass as someone "born and bred" there while interacting with actual native Braavosi, but I'm supposed to think she's going to have difficulty navigating Westerosi noble life...as someone who was actually raised as a Westerosi noble? The way you can tell that people don't think before they "theorize" about Arya will always crack me up

[arte072]

Op was talking about the Stark girls but the problem with this take is that Sansa calls Arya ugly AND would also never die for her lol. In fact, she actively risked Arya’s life/safety multiple times be it the Trident incident, telling the entire court that Arya has traitor’s blood while she herself was a “good girl”, telling Cersei about Ned’s plan, etc etc. and never reflects upon it. She still blames Arya for Lady’s death in A Clash of Kings 😭

I’m sorry but Sansa’s dislike of Arya runs deep. Far deeper than any negativity that might be felt in reverse lbr. And it may not be as bad as say, Cersei and Tyrion, but it also doesn’t have to be for it to still be considered negative.

I’m just so baffled by the insistence that this fundamental aspect of their relationship be denied.

Name one moment of Sansa being selfless for Arya or standing up for her in any way. Name top three moments of Sansa saying or thinking anything positive specifically about Arya! (Vaguely remembering her existence in her idealized memories of Winterfell doesn’t count btw) They both care about each other as family, sure. But where’s the actual love y’all keep talking about?

I think the biggest evidence of the sheer dearth of positivity between these girls is the fact that Arya and Sansa are both POV characters with some of the highest chapter counts in the series, they’ve interacted with each other both in their own chapters and in other’s, and have thought about each other multiple times even after they’ve gone their separate ways. Yet the most ““positive”” quote this fandom has of them is Ned’s “sun and moon” comment. (And for context, this quote was said by Ned after Arya was angry at Sansa for victim-blaming Mycah for his own murder so…..lol)

In the combined 50 something chapters these girls have, the fact that the “Stark sisters LOVE each other!!!! 🤬” crowd has just that one quote spoken by their dad who was basically giving his daughter a lecture and nothing from the girls themselves is just…. sad tbh. Imagine if we were constantly told of the strength and love between Jon Snow and Arya’s relationship and the only evidence was Theon’s “Lord Stark’s sullen bastard has always been fond of his half-sister Arya”.

Sad.

There used to be this trite, overused comeback made by Sansa/Stark Sisters fans that went:

“Umm if Arya knew you were saying anything bad about Sansa she would fucking HATE you!!!!!”

and maybe so! Arya’s very empathetic and has been shown to defend Sansa and get upset on her sister’s behalf multiple times! But would the reverse be true?

Would Sansa hate me if I said negative things about Arya? And if so, where are the textual evidence for this? Because Ned’s “sun and moon; you share dna” is not cutting it I’m afraid 😔

[witchqueenvisenya]

no no no the arya is ackshually ugly and everyone should accept it argument is WILD because really that girl is for one not fully grown up she's not been around WOMEN who could understand her (except her mom because even catelyn was a bit of an outdoors child but she's a married highborn ladymom now who is happy that one of her daughters will have absolutely zero problems securing a quality marriage, like it's just easier it's simpler to have a highborn female child like sansa than arya) she's not had the experience of female acceptance AT ALL when she was growing up in winterfell and for another the people that constantly put her down and bully her are somehow taken as more honest at their word than the people in text that are unbiased and who have no stakes in this stupid argument, because it is a stupid argument for all anyone knows twow may never be released and we may never know arya's grown-up self EXCEPT WE DO KNOW because arya is constantly compared to lyanna who was famously called a 'child-woman of surpassing l o v e l i n e s s' by ned and who had a 'wild beauty' according to kevan lannister and if you just keep wanting to put george's explicit description of brienne and subtextual AND textual description of arya in the same category that's on you. that's you wanting to extract something from the text in favour of your preferred character in place of what's actually there.

[myimaginationplain]

I like to imagine that despite its dark color, Arya's hair is the same thick texture as Catelyn, Robb & Sansa's, which is part of why it tangles so easily & so often. Bran's hair is stick straight just like Ned & Jon's despite him getting the red Tully color. Rickon is the only one whose hair really & truly curls naturally, & he absolutely hates having it brushed.

[amaltheas-garden]

nothing will ever convince me sansan shippers actually like Sansa, and I get especially peeved when people act like its already canon and that Jonsas are the problem for wanting her to be with a guy who is nice. The bar is in hell.

"And the little bird, your pretty sister, I stood there in my white cloak and let them beat her. I took the bloody song, she never gave it. I meant to take her too. I should have. I should have fucked her bloody and ripped her heart out before leaving her for that dwarf." -Arya XIII, ASoS

"If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us." -Jon V, ASoS

[visenyaism]

Coming into the fandom late, absolutely loving Sansa, and seeing the general fandom consensus on her was so jarring

this random middle school girl is just a lightning rod for every nasty thought people have ever had about girly girls being ontologically cruel and stupid. which is also what people do to her in the text it’s almost like the author was trying to Say Something? no. glitter eyeshadow just makes you evil

[hipsternumbertwo]

um, excuse me???