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@lastblueroses , your sweet comment inspired me to look through my notes app (all my fics start there 🙈) to find anything I had written for the Sansa POV of So This Is Love and I found several things!
I had thought to call it So This Is The Miracle which are more lyrics from the song that inspired the title of the first fic
and I had a few ideas of what to include in the fic as well as a little bit of writing.
I had started to explain Sansa's coolness upon meeting Jon (would be developed/fleshed out more):
When Sansa learns she is to marry her cousin, she maintains her composure. It is important to her to do so, she’s been trained to be docile, accepting, grateful. She had no idea the king had such a notion, she’d expected to marry a Northern Lord or a son or grandson, but there is something very romantic about this man she has never met, it feels like something from a song, but she knows what her father fears, so she hides this away. It wouldn’t do for him to fear that she too will lose her head over a Targaryen, so she murmurs something obliging at her father’s words, something reassuring to her mother, escapes to her room as soon as may be to calm her beating heart, clasp her hands to her burning cheeks.
and this part (I always type up random snippets as they come to me to compile and rewrite into a whole fic) which would be after Jon returns from the Wall:
Sansa keeps his scrolls, feels a little guilty that her own are so very discouraging, so unworthy of being preserved, but his she traces with her finger, her lips curving with every dip and blot. Leave it to her to be betrothed to a man who can only speak to her by raven wing.
Only that is not true. He speaks to her in many ways.
His silence. The way he creates it, eager to listen, patiently rolling time before her, until she steps forward to claim it.
His watchful eyes. The way they scan the skies as if he’s a Northman capable of searching out its truth, the way they find every bird calling from the trees, the way they find her and linger.
His reverence when he walks through the crypts.
There’s a dragon coiled somewhere within him she thinks, but she has not found it.
He’s a wolf in every way that matters to her.
Thank you again for commenting, I’ve opened the fic's word doc for the first time in almost a year! 🫣
Beach Week: You drink. You hook up. Just not with your brother’s best friend.
Sansa slides into the banquette, cold beer in her left hand and her right splayed out to help her move across the faux leather seat in her still damp bikini and cutoffs with an apologetic smile for the girl already sitting at the far end, staring at her phone. It’s the only seat left in the kitchen and she’s hot from the sun and too tired to stand. Otherwise she’d avoid taking a seat alongside Asha.
It’s hard right now to find an inch of space that isn’t taken up by some sweaty partially inebriated person. It would be too expensive to rent a place with enough room for everyone, so being on top of each other all week is part of the deal. Most the people sharing this house are Robb’s friends and they all treat her like a little sister, which is fine. But Asha is Jon’s friend, and she wants nothing to do with Sansa. That’s not just a guess born out of insecurity: Asha doesn’t even bother to weakly smile over her phone, doing absolutely nothing to conceal how unwelcome her presence is.
“Sorry if I’m bothering you. It’s so hot. I just had to come inside for a while.”
Asha arches her brows at her, as she chucks her phone onto the table.
It felt uncomfortable being ignored in this close of quarters, but as it turns out, being stared at is probably worse. She takes a sip of her beer and shoves her right hand between her thighs.
“You are bothering me actually, because you’re totally ruining Jon’s Beach Week.”
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Until the birth came – and the simple idea of it filled her with immense anxiety –, Arya was set on treating the situation as if Sansa had simply eaten too many lemon cakes.
She had grabbed petunias on her way out, so she could press its fragrance onto her nose and lose herself in the wonders of nature; so she could hide from her human condition. Were she a flower – or even better, a wolf – Arya wouldn’t have to deal with those feelings of inadequacy. A wolf will hunt, a wolf will howl, a wolf will sleep. A flower will grow, will bloom, will wither and die. And what will Arya Stark do?
She would let time tell her, she supposed.
It had been only the night before when she had managed to convince Bran to help her into her half-made plans of following Sansa to wherever she planned on running to. Arya knew it would eventually come back to bite her in the arse, especially when Sansa had so clearly stated that she wished to do it alone, but she couldn’t have done it any other way.
And if anything, she could blame it on their brother.
Chapter 6 of Your Eternal Lies is out! Check it here on AO3.
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“He feels it, the gentleness that escapes them anywhere but here, and just as he couldn’t hold himself back, he knows this moment too will end too soon. In the morning she will be cross and he will feel embittered, and that is simply the way of things.”
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