#I mean I kinda lied here I use him a lot in raids/strikes

[evilpol]

Divinity Reach's golden boy

aka I saw that cape and just had to get it

[babbushka]

Blue Moon (3/?)

New York, 1987. The air was filled with smog and the streets were ridden with crime. Just another day in paradise. Your quiet life turns upside down when a striking man moves in across from you. You’re falling, fast, into a love that could never, ever, happen…or could it?

Pale x Reader (Can also be interpreted as modern!kylo for those who don’t know Burn This!)

Hello friends this chapter is so so long, I hope it hold you all over for the week until I can post again. 

This chapter (and all the other chapters that have come before and will come after) is dedicated to the one and only @adamsnackdriver who even though she says otherwise is absolutely instrumental to this monument of filth! Please go follow her if you haven’t already, her blog is an absolute gold mine!!

Minor character spoilers for Pale!

Word Count: 8200 (I’m sorry lol)

Warnings: Mild angst, minor violence, sm*t, language, drug use

Chapter 3: Chains

It went like that for days. He got off work, he found you, he fucked you, he left. It was easier that way, wasn’t it? It had to be. He was busy, you were busy, he couldn’t stay. This wasn’t romantic, this wasn’t tender, you were a good place to relieve some tension, that’s all.

He had been relieving his tension a lot, but that was nobody’s fucking business. He went to work, he got high, he blasted through the fucking day, and then he came to your door. You either opened the door or you weren’t home yet, but you always opened. Always let him in, never kicked him out when he broke in if you weren’t there. He was spending more and more time at your place, your shitty apartment just one street away, how’d the universe fucking figure that? He never stayed. You always let him in, and he always left.

He was on his way to you now, just got off work too fucking late, so late it was early. So late that the sun was already coming up over the fucking skyline and the 9-to-5 schmucks were already polluting the fucking streets. You were probably asleep he figured, you had the day off so why shouldn’t you be asleep? What was better than getting fucked first thing in the morning, nothing, right?

He parked his fucking car behind his apartment building and walked over to yours, jaywalked and yelled at the fucking cars who had the nerve to keep driving. What the fuck ever happened to pedestrians had the right of way?

He managed to catch the door to the stairwell just as the mail-man was heading in. That was lucky, he’d been getting lucky lately, getting into the stairwell. Sometimes he had to climb the fucking fire escape just to get in.

“Hey!” He called, and the man stopped. “You got any mail for 5C?” He asked. His pulse spiked when the mailman nodded.

“Yeah, a couple things.” He said, rifling through his bag.

“I’m headin’ up that way now, been waitin’ on a real important fucking letter.” He lied. He wanted to know your name, desperately, wanted to have something to shout out when he fucked his hand when you weren’t home. “You ever look through people’s mail? I would, all the fuckin’ time if I were a mail-man. Bet you’d see some pretty juicy fuckin’ stuff. You know my uncle used to be a postal worker, he dealt with shipping and handling, I know the hours fucking suck – hey do you happen to know – ” Pale said around his cigarette, only shutting up when the mail-man shoved a pile of letters into his chest.

“Here you go pal, I got a long route.” The man said, making Pale frown.

“Well fuck me, sorry for trying to make some fucking conversation.” He scoffed, but deciding it wasn’t worth it, not with you right upstairs.

(Y/N). There it was, printed right on the fucking envelope. A little bent and had some water damage, thanks to the fucking post office, but there it was. He had been trying to figure out your fucking name for weeks, you being the smart-ass you were not telling him. It was driving him fucking off the walls not knowing your name, but he finally fucking had it in his hands.

(Y/N). Right in black ink.

Past Due. Stamped in red ink next to it.

“What the fuck?” He frowned, not giving a shit and tearing open the envelope right in the middle of the fucking stairwell.

They had shut off your heat, those fucking bastards. He was going to make them fucking regret that – he got all wound up until he saw that you had missed the deadline by almost three fucking weeks. No wonder it was freezing all the fucking time in your apartment, he thought.

It wasn’t even that much, he had more than your bill was in his fucking pocket.

He went back down the stairs to the little deli. Marty was there, and he wasn’t too fucking happy to see Pale, but he never was. Who gave a shit? He had to fix your fucking bill before they shut the water off too, which they were fucking fixing to do if they didn’t get their money by Sunday. Jesus, he thought, it was like the fucking mob, these damn utilities.

“You got a pen?” Pale asked.

“Fresh out.” Marty sniffed.

Big fucking mistake, Pale thought.

He grabbed Marty by the front of his shitty apron, pulled him flush to the fucking glass counter, and plucked the clearly visible pen from right out of his apron pocket, and let him go. Marty was rearing up to swing a fucking fist at him, when the bell to the door opened, and a hungry customer walked up to the counter asking for a half dozen bagels with lox.

Pale used the distraction to fill out the fucking form and return envelope the utilities people sent you, slapped the pen on the top of the counter and went back outside. He unrolled crisp hundred dollar bills, enough to pay off the next couple months.

It was about to get real fucking cold here, with the holidays coming up soon. The weather man on the radio said snow should show up in the next day or two, he didn’t need you fucking dying from exposure in your own fucking apartment.

He licked the envelope and shut it, shoved it in the blue public mailbox on the side of the road, and made his way back up your fucking stairs. He was angry, hands clenched into fucking fists as he climbed up the stairs two at a time. His mind started spiraling, thinking of all the bad fucking things that could happen – no heat, no water, no electric, what the fuck were you thinking?

He jostled your fucking lock and barged into your apartment, pissed off. Even more so because you were standing in your fucking kitchen, in nothing but your fucking panties, looking like a god damned angel, making some breakfast. 

Like you didn’t know you were in trouble.  

“Morning.” You smiled at him, all bright and lit from the sun, but he wasn’t fucking having it, he put your mail on the table with a little more force than was probably fucking necessary.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you were behind on your fucking bills?” He didn’t bother saying hello, he was too mad.

Your smile fell, you turned away to look at the pan on the stove. You knew you were in trouble now.

“It was just the one. I was going to handle it.” You said.

“You were going to handle it? When the fuck were you gonna handle it, huh? That ain’t fucking good enough doll, you can’t go doing shit like that. You know how people get sick? You see them fucking folks dying out there? It’s because they do shit like this, you can’t go fucking doing this shit.” Pale started pacing the kitchen, running a hand through his hair and punctuating the air with the other.

“Don’t yell at me.” You immediately got defensive, and that made Pale more pissed off.

“I’m not yelling! I’m not fucking yelling, okay?” He yelled, taking a deep breath and trying but failing to calm the fuck down, “If you got a problem, you tell me about it. That’s what the fuck I do, okay? I solve fucking problems. Cook doesn’t show up, I’m the fucking cook. Shipment don’t get delivered? I gotta fucking go pick shit up. I got twenty fucking years of solving problems, next time you fucking tell me. Don’t go not telling me bullshit like this!”

His voice got louder and louder, until he realized he was shaking. He realized you were shaking too. Regret burned in his throat like acid.

“Pale – please I don’t – I – ” You hiccupped, and in a fucking instant he was trying to make himself not the least fucking bit threatening as he went to you, felt like he was having a heart attack with the way your eyebrows pinched and your fucking chin wobbled and the way he saw wetness in your pretty fucking eyes.

“Oh shit, wait – no,” He said, real quiet, burning burning burning, “Fuck, no, come here. Don’t cry, okay? Come here.” He wrapped you up in his arms, and you tucked your face into his chest.

“I was gonna – ” Your voice cracked, but he just tilted your head up and kissed you real long, real gentle, trying to apologize.

He kissed you slow, calming you down and him down at the same time. He licked against your mouth, but then pulled back and pressed a couple chaste kisses to your lips too, holding you tight.

“Shh, don’t.” He said soft, “I didn’t mean to yell, I just gotta make sure you’re fucking taken care of, okay?”

“Okay.” You nodded, your eyes searching his.

“Lemme kiss you, huh? Gotta warm you up, you’re freezing.” He said, and you nodded, tilted your head up to kiss him some more. He dusted a few stray droplets off of your cheek, kissed the corners of your eyes. “No tears, okay?”

“Okay.” You sniffled. You shifted closer to him, rubbing yourself all over his clothes, sighing at how the fabric felt against you. Pale could feel your hard fucking nipples through the cotton of his shirt – his mouth watered.

“I was hoping you’d come by, I was making breakfast for us.” You gestured to the pan that had apparently just finished heating up some butter.

“I can’t fucking believe I’m saying this but go put a fuckin’ robe on. It’s cold.” He kissed you one more time before letting you go, “I’ll finish breakfast.”

“I was making pancakes.” You said with a smile, walking into your bedroom.

Pale surveyed the situation, what kinda fucking pancake recipe was this, he thought, raiding your cabinets and fridge – that was another fucking thing he was gonna have to deal with at some point, getting you to have more than just one shelf on the fridge filled. He wasn’t gonna bring it up.

“What the fuck is that?” He asked when you came back, flipping flapjacks like no fucking problem.

“It’s my robe.” You said, posing with a goofy grin, tears all gone. You were trying to be sultry like some girl in a fucking magazine.

“No it ain’t.” Pale shook his head, couldn’t help but fuckin smile at you, you looked so wrong in something that ratty. It was once a bathrobe in a previous fucking life, but it was discolored and worn out, too many washes.

“Well unless you stashed a different one in my closet then yeah it is.” You pointed out, making him lick his teeth.

He had hidden a bunch of shit in your apartment, guess you were going looking for it then huh? He would have to take you up on that and go out and get you something you should be wearing, something soft and warm.

“Eat your fucking pancakes.” He said, and you did.

He ate you out after you finished, while the pan was soaking in the sink. He fucked you after that, made you cry for a whole different fucking reason, and then he went across the fucking street to pass out. You told him he could stay, but he knew he couldn’t, he shouldn’t. So he didn’t.

He missed you.

He was gonna find you when he got off work, take you out to a nice fucking dinner. He wanted to give you something, the little something that had been burnin a hole in his fucking pocket for a week now. Wanted to push you up against the wall and make you come for dessert. God knows he fucking deserved it. Everything and everyone was pissing him the fuck off.

Fucking phone kept blowing up, he wanted to yank the power cord outta the fucking wall. How many fucking times did he gotta yell at these people before they figured out how to do their fuckin’ jobs? He was stressed, he was aggravated, he was –

“Pale, someone here to see you.” Joey, one of the busboys stuck his head in the door.

“I don’t fuckin’ want to see anyone.” Pale frowned, didn’t these fucking losers know he was busy?

“What, so you can show up at my job but I can’t bother you at yours?” You asked, making his eyebrows shoot up as you walked into the office.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me.” He whistled.

You looked good, wearing that shitty coat and those scuffed heels and your hair all done up.

Apparently that wasn’t the fuckin’ reaction you were hoping for, and you scowled at him. What, was he supposed to be some kind of mind reader?

“I can go if you really don’t want me.” You said, already ready to get defensive.

“Get the fuck over here.” He shook his head, beckoning you with a hand. You immediately went to his lap, like it was your favorite fuckin’ place to be. “What? You wanna get fucked in my office? That it? Slut.”

“Uh huh.” You said with a smile, already kissing at him, rubbing your cold nose against his cheek.

“Go and lock the door.” Pale said, smacking your ass when you shimmied off his lap and clicked the lock.

You hesitated by the door for a minute, like you were waitin’ for something, and Pale was just about to ask what when you untied the thick leather belt and popped open the big metal buttons that held it together.

It had only slid down a couple of inches before Pale figured out you were almost naked under there, and was outta his seat in a heartbeat.

“Jesus, you really are a slut, ain’t ya?” He said, crowding you against the door.

He was blindingly hard, his cock begging him to get in you, once he saw the scraps of black lace you figured counted as lingerie.

“Let me warm you up, huh?” Pale said, licking his lips as the coat fell in a pool of fabric on the floor.

You were standing there, tits out, only wearing some lacy black panties and stockings held up by garters. God what a set of legs you had, he thought.

You whined into his mouth when he manhandled you, picked you up and sat your ass over on his desk that had piles and piles of fucking papers all over it, pushed your knees apart. He felt like he couldn’t get his cock out fast enough.

“Pale, please, fuck me.” You ran your hands over his shoulders, was pulling him to lean over you, was kissing his cheek, his neck.

He couldn’t say no to that.

He pulled your underwear down off your legs, stuffed it in your mouth.

“You gotta be quiet you whore, alright?” He said lowly, dangerously. “Can’t have folks out there enjoying their lunch hear a slut get fucked, alright?”

“Mmhm.” You hummed, muffled by the lacy. Filthy girl, he thought, adrenaline spiking.

He rubbed his cock at your slit for a minute, savoring the feeling of it like some of those cocksuckers out there might be savoring their hundred dollar bottle of fucking wine, before shoving his way into you. He always liked the surprised face you made whenever he first thrust into you, like you had never felt like that before. He could almost get drunk on that fucking face.

“We gotta make this fast, okay?” He couldn’t take his time with you the way he wanted, not with people knocking on his fucking door every twenty minutes at this fucking place. But twenty minutes was enough to get you off if he did his job right, and fuck if he wasn’t gonna deliver.

You bit down on your own underwear and nodded, nipples hard, so fucking hard. Pale sucked one into his mouth, bent you back far enough on the desk that he could reach without having to stop the rhythm of his hips. The desk creaked under the two of yous, iron legs scraping against the floor bit by bit as his hips smacked yours.

You were makin’ all sorts of pretty fucking sounds, sounds that made him sweat. He was wearing all his clothes, they were gonna smell like sex after he was done with you. He never wanted to wash them.

He licked his teeth, pushed you flat against the desk, pulled one of your legs over his shoulder, drove into you hard and rough. He shoulda bound your wrists, but you were doing a good job keeping them above your head, gripping the edge of the desk.

He thrust over your g-spot, that made you arch up a little. He licked his lips, did it again. He was gonna say something stupid, something like how good you looked, how pretty your lips were, how he wanted to spit into your mouth and make you swallow it. He bit on your other nipple instead, thrust against you and rubbed at your clit.

You said something that sounded like his name, and you were clenching down on him, making him come.

“Fuck, shit – ” He fucked you through his orgasm, making sure you got off too, fucked you hard and rubbed your clit and sucked on your nipple until you threw your head back and came.

He tugged the panties out of your mouth, stuffed them in his pocket. He was breathing hard, you wiped the sweat from his forehead and rubbed it all over your chest. Pale was still pushing his come into you, he could feel it, feel the way it was throbbing into your cunt. You were breathing real hard too.

You didn’t seem to mind, looked all too comfortable on his shitty desk in his crappy office, lookin like the cat that got the cream, even though he was the one who did all the hard fucking work. You just had to lay back and take it, seedy princess. You took it well, he had to fuckin’ admit.

He pulled out of you, watched his come ooze out of you. He pushed it back in, fucked his fingers into you until you were squirming from it being too much, and then he did it some more. You smiled.

He stepped away from you just enough so that you could get off the desk.

“Hey I was thinkin,” Pale said, something in his chest beatin like nervousness. You had slipped between his legs, licking up the last bits of come, cleaning him off. He detangled his fingers from your hair, tucked it back behind your ears. “If you ain’t busy, the two of us go out to dinner tonight.”

You sat back, wiped your mouth with your hand, looked up at him through your lashes. He tucked his cock back into his trousers before he could think about fucking you again.

“Where’re we goin?” You asked with an easy breezy smile, as if you weren’t just biting down on your own underwear to muffle your cries.

“You like steak?” He asked, mind already running through the best fucking places in New York to take you.

“I like steakhouses.” You said, and he didn’t know what the fuck that meant, but he nodded.

“Then we’ll go to a steakhouse.” He decided, and you smiled, looked around for your coat. He watched you cover up those perfect fucking tits, it made his mood sour. He wanted to get one last good look at you. “Take the subway into Manhattan, then to Brooklyn. You take the subway a lot?” He asked.

“Not really.” You shrugged.

“Don’t go expectin’ nothing fuckin’ fancy.” He said, right when the phone rang. “Get outta here, I’ll come get you after I get off work.” Pale sat back in his chair, picked up the phone and started talking. “Yeah – what the fuck do you need now?...”

You nodded with a smile, leaned over to kiss him. He pinched at your nipple, covered the receiver of the phone with his other hand.

“Don’t go getting into any trouble.” He said, and you nodded.

It was gonna be a long fucking rest of his day, he thought, watching you walk away like that.

Pale didn’t bother waiting for you to answer the door, he had a schedule to keep and he’d be damned if he didn’t make it. He shook the door handle enough that the lock popped open – that made him frown, how the fuck was anyone supposed to stay safe in this building? – and let himself in.

“Train’s in twenty minutes.” He announced himself.

“You could say hello.” You said with a smile, walking into the living room from the bedroom. You were dressed up real pretty, Pale thought, you looked like a million bucks. Well, maybe closer to a hundred bucks, but it was still nice. Better than that fucking apron and hat you always wore at the fuckin diner.

Pale had you naked so often he almost forgot how good you looked all covered up. Not that anything beat the fucking way you looked all blissed out in bed.

“Hello.” He said dryly, took his finger and tapped his lips.

You smiled, stood on your tiptoes to give him a kiss. He wound an arm around you, groped at your ass and gave it a light pat before handing you the fuckin bouquet of lilies.

“You brought me flowers.” You said, surprised.

“Yeah go put them in a fuckin’ vase somewhere. It’ll liven up the place a little.” Pale sniffed, god your apartment sucked.

“What, you don’t like exposed walls and absolute lack of flooring?” You joked, going to the kitchen and pulling out a big glass cup.

You stuck the flowers in there, filled up the cup with water. Didn’t you have a fucking vase? You had to be kidding him.

“It was getting too fuckin’ depressing fucking you here.” He shrugged, stuffing his hands in his jacket pocket. He tried real hard not to say anything about the glass, about the flowers, about anything. He just wanted to take you out to dinner and fuck your brains out.

“You could fuck me at your apartment if it bothers you too much.” You pointed out, and he almost wanted to laugh. Almost.

He did roll his eyes, and you smiled, knowing that was probably as close as you were gonna fuckin get.

“Don’t be a smart-ass.” He said, pulling you to him, kissing you deep. He liked the way his hand was so fucking big on your face, he liked the way you kissed at his palm, licked at it. “You look real nice.”

“Yeah?” You asked, sounding nervous.

“Yeah.” He said, tugging at your sleeve. “I ain’t seen you wear this little number yet.”

“I’ve been saving it.” You tucked some hair behind your ear, smiled at him.

“For what?” He asked.

“An occasion.” You shrugged. That was fucking stupid he thought, and said as much.

“You don’t need an occasion to look good.” He said, “Look at me, I run around all fucking day, spend most of my fuckin time in the office or in my car going somewhere, looking for fucking parking in this sewer of a city. I don’t got no fancy fuckin people I’m meeting, but I still like to look good. These are snake-skin boots, almost three hundred fucking dollars they cost me. You don’t need a fuckin’ occasion, sometimes it’s good to just look good. You look good.”

He was getting worked up, fuck why did you always fucking do this to him?

“I was hoping you’d like it.” You grinned, and he shook his head – you knew what you did to him, you fucking menace. That’s what you were, a menace.

“You did good.” He kissed you one more time, real hard, hand still on your face, “Let’s go, we’re gonna be late and they fucking hate it when people are late to their reservations.”

 Pale walked with his arm around you to the train station, held you close. He didn’t like the way some of the fucking guys on the street looked at you when he watched you from his apartment – didn’t like the way he could practically fucking hear what they were thinking. So he held you close, a warning to anyone who saw that you weren’t up for grabs, unless it was his fuckin hands.

You didn’t say anything about how gross the subway was, Pale liked that. He liked a girl who didn’t give a shit about shit like that. There was graffiti all over the fuckin place, so much that Pale couldn’t even read any of it, what a fucking waste of paint, he thought.

There was trash in the whole car, broken glass and old newspapers that had gotten wet with something and dried all crusty. He didn’t want you sitting in any of that shit, not looking so good.

“Sit on my lap.” Pale said, finding a clean seat and tugging you down onto him. “You’ll get your skirt all dirty.”

“We’re all alone.” You said, coy.

“Yup. Will be for half a fuckin hour, looks like.” He tipped your chin up, slid his tongue along yours.

He liked the way it felt when you slipped your arms around his shoulders, he tightened his grip on your thighs, dug his fingers right into the bruises that he knew where there, the bruises he fucking put there himself.

“Yeah?” You sighed into his mouth.

“Yeah there’s no fuckin’ stop until ours.” He didn’t bother looking outside the subway windows, you were in the tunnels now, and it was dark anyway. The shitty broken lights flickered in the subway car. You kept kissing him.

“I’m starting to think you just like keeping me close.” You said, teasing. The biggest fucking understatement of the century. He didn’t know what the fuck was happening to him, how he let you get under his skin like this, the way you had.

“Gold fuckin’ sticker sweetheart.” He grumbled, sneering at you when you started smiling all triumphant. “Don’t go fucking looking at me like that, keepin’ you close is the easiest way to get my hands on you, get you ready for me. I don’t like to wait, you know.”

“I know.” You smiled.

“Why don’t you be a good girl and ride me, huh?” He asked, sneaking a hand in between your thighs. God he was so fucking thrilled to find you already wet, always so fucking eager for him. He owned this pussy, whether you knew it or not this was his to fuck whenever he wanted, and shit if he didn’t want to fuck it now.

“Okay.” You nodded, shifted around a little.

You held onto the silver handrail pole while you balanced on your knees as Pale got his dick out of his jeans. He reached under your skirt again, tugged aside your panties – lingerie again, he was pleased as all fuck to find – and slid in.

It was rough and bumpy, being on the fucking train. Any time the god damned subway made a turn, you were falling into him, losing your fucking balance. You were lucky you had him to hold you still, Pale thought, as he thrust up into you.

“Pale!” You moaned loud for him, the sound almost getting swallowed by the rushing noise of the subway in the tunnels.

“That’s it sweetheart.” He licked his lips, leaned back in the hard metal seat and watched you go to work.

He wanted to tear your fucking clothes off, wanted your tits in his face. He settled for letting one hand wander up to grab at your chest, grunting and groaning as you worked your hips over him.

“My good little whore.” He couldn’t help but give you praise, especially when your cunt was so good and hot and wet for him. He shoved a couple fingers in your mouth, you sucked on them right away, laved your tongue over them, over his wedding ring. His stomach tensed at that. “Dirty.”

“Good?” You asked, and he gripped your jaw, clicked his teeth against yours.

“You know it fucking is, slut.” He growled, making you smile against his hand.

Attention all passengers, the next stop is... The PA voice over the intercom sounded. You moaned loud, Pale almost didn’t hear what the fuck she said, Estimated time of arrival, fifteen minutes.

“You fuckin’ hear that princess? You got fifteen minutes to make me come before we get off this fucking subway car.” Pale grabbed a fistful of your beautiful fucking hair and pushed your head down closer to his, so he could kiss at your neck and suck marks into your throat.

You nodded, whining against him. Your hands were braced against his chest, fisting at his shirt. It was gonna wrinkle the fucking fabric and he was gonna have to iron the fucking thing but it was worth it to feel you lick at the pulsing vein in his neck.

He couldn’t help but fuck up into you, couldn’t help but hold your hip and your hair and grind his cock hard into you, not with the fucking way you looked, sounded, felt. It was enough to make a guy go crazy, he thought, the smell of your fucking perfume filling his nose as he breathed hard and fast.

The subway jostled and bottles clanked as they rolled around on the floor, but you were moaning and panting and your thighs were squeezing his tight and your cunt was hot and he couldn’t help but fucking think it was magic that made you look like that, in the flickering fucking lights.

He shoulda had you blow him instead, wouldn’t have gotten him this worked up. He didn’t know how he was gonna sit through a fucking dinner with you, not looking like that.

You moved your hips in these tiny fucking circles that had Pale clenching his jaw it felt so fucking good, he wanted to kill whoever you had to practice on, didn’t want anyone to ever get to feel this good from you again. No one else ever let him fuck them like this, he didn’t want to fuck anyone else like this.

You were kissing him, god he felt like he couldn’t get enough to breathe with how much you were kissing him, how much he was kissing you back, all hard bites and sloppy.

“Come in me,” You told him, and his brain tripped up.

“Jesus.” He bit down on your shoulder and came.

Slowly he released the tension in his fist in your hair, had a hard time opening his fucking fist he had held it so tight. You were approaching the station, the lights flickering faster and faster. People were standing waiting on the platform as the subway zipped past – but it was slowly starting to come to a stop.

“You did good.” He pinched at your cheek. You didn’t look too thrilled. “What?” He asked, lifting your hips enough to slide out of you, tuck himself into his pants. He’d clean up once he got your ass to the restaurant.

“I didn’t get to come.” You pouted, and oh no, no fucking way was he indulging you in that one, not right now. He was entirely too susceptible to your charms and you were dangerously close to missing the fucking reservation as it was. He’d fuck you after.

“We’ll have a nice fucking dinner and then I’ll blow your fucking back out, how’s that sound?” Pale kissed you, kissed you and kissed you a-fucking-gain until you were smiling against his lips, squirming in his lap. “Hm?”

“Promise?” You asked, standing up when the subway brakes screeched to a harsh stop.

“No fuckin’ promises.” Pale said, a possessive hand on the small of your back that made you smile again.

The two of you walked off onto the platform at the station. Pale smirked, smug as all hell, all the fucking strangers walking onto the subway were none the wiser.

The restaurant was nice, the nicest in Brooklyn, and one of the oldest too. He knew the guys who worked there, being in the business. He knew the guys in the business too, that worked in the restaurant. It was all the fucking same, he thought. He walked with you right up to the host and didn’t even have to give his fucking name, that’s how friendly he was with this place.

“Pale this is too much.” You whispered, hanging off his arm like the best piece of fucking candy there ever was.

“What do you mean?” He asked as the two of you followed the host. He seated you in a real secluded section of the restaurant. Pale slipped him a hundred bucks, no one would be sitting anywhere near you for the night.

“I mean I can feel your come sliding down my thigh and I’m pretty sure that glass of champagne cost more than this whole outfit.” You said, self-conscious.

“Just relax would ya? We’re gonna have a real nice time.” He kissed your cheek, let you pick which side of the booth you wanted to sit on.

“Sit next to me?” You asked when he made a move to step around the table.

He looked at you for a second, at your earnest fucking eyes and slid into the booth next to you, pulling you real close to him. You smiled real wide. It made him want to burn down half the fucking city – in a good way. Was there a good way for that?

He stretched an arm around your shoulders, was pointing out all the interesting fucking things he could think about the steakhouse. You laughed at his jokes and made some back, he thought you were fucking funny when you weren’t being such a brat.

“Good evening, what’ll it be?” The waiter asked, appearing out of nowhere.

Pale didn’t even bother asking you what you wanted, just ordered for you anyway. Ordered the wine, ordered the appetizer, the dinner, and dessert. He had other plans for dessert, but he wanted you to have the full fucking experience.

He didn’t take his hands off you the whole fucking time, didn’t even bother to open up the menu, just wanted to keep his hands on your shoulder, on your thigh.

He didn’t take it off when the food showed up either, delicious and sizzling hot. Didn’t bother to give the finger to the fucking waiter who shot him dirty looks as Pale groped at you while he poured the wine.  

“What do you like to do for fun?” Pale asked, suddenly desperately curious.

“Fun?” You asked with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t know, I don’t really get much time for fun, outside of being with you.” You shrugged.

“You have fun when you’re with me?” Pale asked, shocked. That was probably the first fucking time anyone had ever said something like that to him.

“Yeah, you make me laugh, I like spending time with you.” You said, again with that fucking honesty.

Pale didn’t know what to do with that, didn’t know what to say to that.

“You like it?” Pale asked instead, as you were happily chewing your dinner. You washed it down with a sip of wine, and smiled.

“Yeah, it’s really good.” You nodded, dabbing your lips with a napkin. He wanted to kiss you.

“I thought you would. That’s my fucking recipe by the way, gave it to the chef something like five fucking years ago, it’s the most popular fucking dish here. I should be collecting royalty checks or something. I wanted you to enjoy tonight, you know? You deserve to enjoy things, you work hard too. It’s a fuckin’ shame you don’t get paid good. You know what I think? I think it’s fuckin funny we work in the same ‘biz. Go fucking figure.” Pale said, taking a sip of wine himself.

“I have something for you. Before you go getting all fucking lovey-dovey eyes on me, it’s a practical fucking gift. It ain’t a grand fucking gesture or nothing like that, I just want you to have it. If you want it. You don’t have to fucking want it if you don’t want it, but – Just go ahead and open it.” He fished the long rectangular box out of his inside jacket pocket, handed it to you without any ceremony.

You hesitantly opened it up, covered your mouth when you saw the way it glittered.

“It’s beautiful.” You held up the gold chain, almost pure fucking gold, the same kind of chain that Pale wore.

“I was in the fucking city at three o’clock in the fucking morning if you can believe that, and all the fucking shops are getting ready for the holidays. Christmas is such a bullshit holiday, you ask me. People buying shit to just buy shit. Anyway so I go into the fucking city at three o’clock in the morning and I see all these fucking windows of all these stores and I think to myself, why the hell not, buy something nice for someone. And I think, who the fuck am I gonna buy anything for? I send my kids shit, whatever they want, whenever they fucking want it, they call me up and I ask and I send it and that’s it. You don’t ever fucking ask for anything, you know that? And you don’t got a lot of nice shit. People get real judgy over people who don’t have nice shit, I didn’t want you getting judged. You’re not a two-bit whore or nothing – you like it?” He asked, taking another sip of wine.

“I love it, put it on me?” You asked him, looking up with those lovey-dovey fucking eyes anyway. Didn’t he just fucking tell you it wasn’t no grand fuckin gesture?

“If you put that on, you can’t go takin it off.” He said, something fierce and possessive deep in his belly, he stared at you, watching you when he asked, “Got that?”

You got it, he could tell you got it from the way you smiled at him, handed him the chain, turned around and held your hair off your neck.

He willed his hands not to shake as he clasped the chain around your neck, felt something in his chest seize up when you turned back around to face him.

“How does it look?” You said, all shy.

He did kiss you then.

He kissed you when you ate your dinner, kissed you on the subway ride home, kissed you as you were walking backwards into your apartment.

You walked away for a minute to turn on the light, a single floor lamp that made the whole room soft and orange. You pulled off your clothes, he was mesmerized by the way the shadows hit the curves of your body.

“Get over here.” He said, hands searching his pockets. Where the fuck did he put it? Oh, there it was, little plastic baggie tied off at the top.

“How do ya want me?” You asked, already straddling his thighs, already wantin’ to be near to him. Pale clenched his jaw, his heart racing, going a million miles a fucking minute. The light glinted off the chain, he’d been aching for you. He couldn’t believe you were wearing it, that you wanted to wear it.

“Just like this for a fucking second.” He kissed at your neck, undid the tie on the baggie before pulling you closer to him, pushing your knees into his side. It didn’t even fucking matter, he was gonna be over the moon in a minute anyway.

He popped the clasps of your bra, yanked it off. He grabbed at your tits, pushed them together. He had to stop himself from just fucking pressing his whole face in your cleavage, breathing in the smell of your soap and your sweat there, licking up the taste of you. God he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you.

He closed his eyes against the feeling of your hands in his hair, right at the base of his neck, curling your fingers there, you kissing his cheek, you breathin deep, expanding your ribcage, pushing your tits into his hands.

He tipped the smallest little bump out onto your tits, the way they were pushed together like that held it long enough for him to snort it right up, let go of you for a second to pinch his nose and blink a few times, breathing out, he could already feel it working.

“Pale.” You moaned into his ear, makin him break out in goosebumps, what a fuckin’ mess, he thought.

“What, d’ya want some?” He asked, but you shook your head.

“No thanks.” You said sweetly, god you were too fuckin sweet to him, he thought. He wanted to jump you, he was all over the place, he wanted to hold you down and fuck you and kiss you and make you shout his name and make the neighbors bang their fucking fist on the fucking wall. He wanted to make you feel good, make you make him feel good.

You were impatient, it made him smile -- your hands were shakin. Why were they shakin? He was the one shakin for you. You pushed his jacket off his arms, he smiled, bit at your lips as you worked to get him even a fraction of naked like you were. He pulled the jacket off, yanked the shirt off his neck, you pulled open the buttons on his pants, you were desperate for him.

He pulled his cock out, you immediately wrapped a hand around it, gave it a good squeeze. He thought about a symphony in his head, had the urge to scratch it out with a shitty piece of charcoal and a scrap of paper, maybe the receipt from breakfast at the diner. You looked too fucking good in that shitty uniform. The music kept going and goin in his head, he wanted to fuck you.

He wrapped a big arm around you, steadying you and standing up, taking you with him. You instinctively tucked your legs around his waist, he carried you to your bed, kicking off his pants and underwear on the way. He threw you down on your bed, makin you laugh. The light from the streets outside glinted off the chain he gave you.

“Fuck.” He growled, he was seeing stars, sparkles coming off of you, off the chain.

He pried your legs open and slid in, easier now, now that you were getting used to him, to his cock. He liked the thought of that, thrust into you hard.

“Oh!” You gasped, grabbing at his back, wanting him closer.

“You look so fucking good, you know that? Remind me of a fucking amusement park – the lights. You know that? You ever been to Coney Island? You look like all the lights, all at once. Fuck you for that, for lookin’ so good. I want to fuck you up on the fuckin’ wonder wheel, kiss you real hard, make you squirm up there lookin’ over all the fuckin’ lights.” He talked and talked, he had so much to say, couldn’t stop, wanted to tell you everything all at once.

You moaned for him, moaned and gasped and pinched your face real tight when he fucked the air out your lungs. “Look so good taking my fucking cock like that. You like that?”

You were havin a hard time talkin, the way he was fucking you. That made him feel good, the burn in his muscles as he rammed into you made him feel good. God your cunt was so hot and tight around him, he could live there, dive in headfirst and fucking live in your pussy. He grabbed your jaw, held your face steady as he licked at your teeth, bit down on your tongue.

“You like it?” He asked, needing to hear, wanting you to like it.

“Yeah, I like it.” You said with a big smile, and he pinched at your cheek, at your nose, wanted you to stop being so fucking sweet.

His hips worked you into the mattress, headboard smacking against the wall. You filled the air with your noise, the way you gasped for him made him want to yell.

“You don’t even fuckin’ know what you do to me huh? You get me all riled up, just by fuckin standing there looking good. God what a slut, you’re a perfect fuckin’ whore, ain’t you. Making me all riled up.” He smothered you, buried his face in your neck, rammed his dick into you.

“You got me, don’t you?” You said, licking your lips, hand fisting in his hair. “I’m here, ain’t I?” He could tell you were close, you were making that little fucking face you make, he fucked you right on your g-spot, made you cry out, made you clench down around him, made you come.

“Yeah you are, you better fuckin’ better be.” He was losing it, he was gonna come, he didn’t want to, not yet, wanted to keep going with you forever, “You better be, you’re mine, you know that? Jesus.”

“I know, I am – I’m yours.” You panted into his mouth.

He came, shut his eyes real tight, actually fucking saw stars. You did that to him, you made him like that. His heart was racing, he felt like he could run a marathon.

He took a minute to catch his fucking breath, rolled off of you. You settled close to him, didn’t care that he was sweaty. He was coming down, starting to lose the high.

Maybe he would go run, he could run away right now – leave.

“Hey,” He said, pinching your arm to get your attention. You were starting to fall asleep, your head resting on his chest – he should go. He knew he should leave, he always left, he had to leave. He got your attention to tell you he was gonna fucking go.

“You ain’t fucking anyone else, are you?” He asked instead.

“Why does it matter?” You asked back, not even bothering to lift your fucking head up and look at him. He didn’t like that, didn’t know why you had to be so god damned difficult all the time. The chain glittered in the moonlight.

“It just does.” He said, real serious. He didn’t know why, he didn’t know how to fucking explain it to you, he just needed to know. You were wearing it, he needed to know.

“I know you are.” You said, finally looking up at him. He frowned, didn’t like the assumption.

“You don’t know shit about me.” He said, and you rolled off of him, settling down next to him on the bed.

He wanted to kiss you. Your shampoo smelled nice. He had to fucking go.

“I’m clean, if that’s what you were really asking.” You said, and he scoffed. Were you always gonna be like this?

“It wasn’t, but so am I.” He said seriously, and you nodded. He wasn’t gonna let you off the fucking hook that easy. “Now tell me.”

“I am not fucking anyone else.” You said, looking at him like you meant it.

Good, he thought. That was good. He wanted to scream.

He checked the time, it wasn’t even two in the fucking morning yet, he could still go if he wanted.

“Are you gonna keep breaking in like that?” You asked, stretching out on your fucking mattress, looking delicious. He let a hand slide across your stomach, curled just his index finger into your cunt. You smiled.

“Maybe. Probably.” He swallowed hard, “Yes.”

You nodded, arched your back a little. Your tits looked good like that, real fucking good. Maybe he’d stay, get to fuck you in the morning. You were good for him tonight, he could repay you in the morning. Maybe you’d make him breakfast again, like that first night all that time ago, the night that started this whole fucking thing.

He’d fuck you over breakfast.

You went quiet again, did you fall asleep? He wished he knew what was going on in your head, what you were thinking. He wished you would put your fucking head back on his chest. He was losing it.

“How do you spell your name?” You asked, catching him off guard.

His name? What did that have anything to do with anything?  

“P-a-l-e.” He said, rubbing at your clit with his finger, making you sigh all happy. “Like the bucket.”

“That’s p-a-i-l.” You laughed brightly, smiling at him too honest.

“Who gives a shit?” He asked, ghost of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

You put your head back on his chest, he figured you figured he was staying. That meant he had to stay. He let himself wrap an arm around your waist, and the other around your shoulders. Your skin was chilly, all the sweat from when he fucked your brains out cooling. You sighed happily, he was warm, always ran warm. A hundred and ten fucking degrees the doctors said.

You were warm, he couldn’t go now. He was fucked.

He fell asleep.

  That’s it for this chapter!! Please come yell at me your thoughts and thots, i’d love to hear them :)) <3 

Tagging some pals! As always, if you’d like to be added or taken off the list please just shoot me a message!  @fullofbees @spinebarrel @oh-adam@dreamboatdriver @bad–bad–man @thecurlycaptain@bourbonboredom @driverficarchive@aweirdlookingtree@rosalynbair@redhairedfeistynerd@adamsnackdriver @glitzescape@arwarz @adamsnacc-kler @kyloxfem@fallin-for-youreyes @kylo-renne @attorneyl

[mr-meekers]

January Book Reviews

Hopefully, once a month, towards the end of the month, I’ll sit down to type out little reviews for all the books I’ve read this month. It’s my goal this year to read more, and, equally as important, finish more books (even if I don’t like them.)

So let’s get started!

1. Loveboat, Taipei by Wen

I initially started reading this book to participate in a book club coming up in February. I didn’t think I’d like it much as it lies pretty far out of my wheelhouse being not only contemporary fiction but also a teen romance. Now, I can definitely get into these things, but my problem with those genres is that they fall so so so easily into the usual tropes that are, honestly, just very annoying. Like, love triangles and love at first sight and “there was a misunderstanding that occurred that one small conversation could clear up but I’m gonna stew about it for the rest of the book” kinda tropes. I’m just tired of them and can’t stand them anymore and I know the genre can do better.

Loveboat does. It really does. I’m still surprised I liked it so much.

Basically, the story centers around Ever, who is the eldest daughter of Chinese immigrants. Typical story ensues- her parents want her to be a doctor, and basically guilt her into following their life plan for her while never really giving her a choice and making all her decisions for her. But Ever wants to dance and this is what sets up the main conflict in the story: what Ever wants vs. what her parents want for her, and all the hard choices and consequences that come from such a conflict. The majority of the story takes place at a summer school in Taipei where a bunch of fancy, high achieving Asian kids go to not only make connections, but make connections~~~ if you catch my drift. Ever is convinced she’ll hate it- her parents forced her to go, signed up for all her classes for her, and even snuck a bio textbook into her luggage with a not so subtle hint to study. So, our main conflict begins. Ever decided to break every ridiculous rule her parents ever set for her. And the plot unfold from there.

Yes, there are two love interests. I’ll hive ya that. But the relationships in this book aren’t based in convenience. They feel real and well thought out and genuine. A lot of great themes are explored, from the good ol’ “finding yourself” meme to the different kinds of burdens our families can put on us, and whether or not we decide to carry them forever. The characters felt deep and by the end, I was truly happy for them. Loveboat, Taipei gets a 4 out of 5 from. Definite recommendation.

2. The Guinevere Deception by White

A new take on the Arthurian legend has us following Guinevere instead of the Once and Future King. I’ m not a fan of Kiersten White’s other books and stopped reading them before I could finish them, I did thoroughly enjoy this one. I’m a sucker for a good fantasy with a strong female lead and this is just that. We all kinda know the legend of King Arthur already, and White does a good job of adding in elements from the original story but then twisting them to make them her own. Despite the lack of romance (something else I also thoroughly enjoy) for most of the book, I still found myself hooked on the plot and guessing and wondering what would happen next.

The plotline starts pretty simply, but with a major twist. We start with Guinevere being escorted to Camelot to wed Arthur. But, it is soon revealed that this is not the real Guinevere. The true princess is dead and buried (I forget the CoD) and this girl, the daughter of Merlin, has been disguised to take her place. No one can know who she is, for magic is banned in Camelot, and she is a witch herself. Merlin has sent her to Arthur’s side to protect him from a mysterious magical threat he sees coming. But that’s all he will tell her about it. Now, Guinevere must protect a king and his city and so much more. I can’t say much more without spoiling it, but even if it may seems a little bit dull at first, I did truly enjoy myself by the end. I’m excited for the second book.

Again, I give this a 4 out of 5. Certainly worth picking up.

3. The Rogue King by Owen

This is a fantasy romance I picked up for shits and giggles. I am of the opinion that most fantasy romances are cringey, tropey, and just downright awkward. I have a very, very difficult time finding ones with actual plots and characters that feel more like people that convenient transportable genitalia. But, I must say, Abigail Owen’s Rogue King was none of those things... for the most part.

The story centers around Kasia, a phoenix shape shifter, and Brand, a dragon shape shifter. Now, there’s a lot of shifter politics to unpack, but the basics are that dragons and phoenixes usually mate because they both revolve around fire. Phoenixes then bless their mate’s clan and make that dragon the king of all kings and clans. It’s, like, a big deal. So Brand is out for revenge against the reigning High King and if he delivers Kasia to the Blue Clan king, he can finally have his revenge. And we go from there.

The thing I liked about this book was that it did have an actual plot. There were things going on besides focusing on the two leads going at it and falling in love. I mean, they still do, but there’s stuff in between that matters this time. In fact, the love making was the thing I mostly had a problem with. Kasia and Brand’s relationship felt too forced. It’s played off as “they’re mates and it’s destiny” but it just feels rushed and awkward and at times, random.

The second book comes out later this year, but I’m not sure I’ll pick it up. Still, it gets a 3 from me. Not the worst thing I’ve ever read.

4. The Wallflower Wager by Dare

Too cute. It was too cute. Yes, it was your typical 1800s London high society “fall in love with this duke and pretend you know what the word “rake” means” kinda story but still! It was good!!

We follow Penny, a young woman who has taken to caring for stray animals that no one seems to want, including (but not limited to) a dog with no back legs, a goat that is definitely certainly entirely not pregnant she assures you, and a parrot from a whore house that says “Fancy a fuck, love?” all the time and is genuinely funny. Her new neighbor, the notorious Gabriel, is renovating his new house to sell for profit and having a menagerie next door is not helping his property value. The two must work together to find suitable homes for all of Penny’s beloved creatures before the month is up, or else she’ll be forced to move out.

Obviously, they fall madly in love in this month. And their romance does seem natural and heart warming and the sex is fantastic. The ending made me tear up it was too gosh darn sweet. I can’t spoil it for you, but know that it was wholesome AF. It gets a solid 4 from me. I desperately wish there was more.

5. The Merciful Crow by Owen

Just my cup of tea. A good fantasy story with a strong female lead and wonderful romantic interest. The not so subtle themes of classism, racism, and the way the privileged avoid holding themselves accountable are very topical for the day, but also timeless in their application. Other themes like the cost of selflessness, going after what you want, balancing your needs with those of others, and being the first to strike change are all heavily applied, as well, and beautiful done.

The story follows Fie, a Crow girl destined to be beaten down by her own countrymen for the simple act of existing. Crows are the only caste in the country of Sabor immune to the Sinner’s Plague and thus are the ones who deal with the bodies. For a price. When Fie and her clan collect two dead lordlings from the palace, she certainly didn’t expect them to still be alive. Turns out, the prince is on the run from a queen who wants him dead. If the Crows can deliver him to his allies, he swears a Covenant Oath to grant them protection from the Oldeanders, not-so-subtle references to the KKK in their white sheets and nightly raids on Crow camps, killing as many of them as they can before dawn. It’s a deal too good to pass up, so Fie’s Pa, their chief, agrees.

This story is just... so many things. Before I forget, though, I want to congratulate Margaret Owen for the fantastic LGBT representation. Within the first few chapters, we already have non-binary/gender non-conforming character in Madcap, who uses they/them pronouns. The prince is gay. Tavin, his bodyguard, is bisexual. The kingdom’s master general is not only pansexual but polygamous. Fie is the only character of importance who seems straight, but even then we don’t really know as there are no other women her age around (there are other women, but Crows mingle only with Crows, and their bands are small). The romance here, while some may say is too hasty, I say felt just right. It’d been building and building and building and then finally happened and it was like letting out a breath. But even more satisfying was Fie’s character arc, and the Prince’s too, maybe even more so. So much happens and there is so much growth that I really just need you all to read it for yourselves and see.

5 out of 5 for me.

Thanks for reading this far! Hopefully there will be more reviews up in another month!

[thebluelemontree]

What does GRRM mean with this: "Q:[Will Sandor and Sansa meet?] A: Why, the Hound is dead, and Sansa may be dead as well. There's only Alayne Stone". Because what he says doesn't add up in the actual text from AFFC. In the Alayne chapters 'Alayne' still has a lot of 'Sansa thoughts'. I don't see any indication that Sansa is 'dead' no more than that Arya is 'dead'. I know The Hound isn't dead either, but he is supposed to be but his comments about Sansa/ Alayne confuse me a bit.

Don’t we all want to know what that means exactly!  It’s a very cheeky answer that GRRM is want to give when he wants to skirt around spoiling something yet to unfold.  Very observant reading by the way.  More under the cut because this will be long.

Sandor’s part of the quote is a lot easier to understand.  The Hound is dead, but Sandor lives.  Obviously this isn’t about literal death.  His duality and struggle with the Hound persona was already well-established.  In hindsight, we can see this end to this persona is coming what with “a hound will die for you…”  Later when he’s mortally wounded, all his options to return Arya and find a way back to Sansa have dried up, and not until he’s completely broken and stripped down does he finally confess his regrets and take full responsibility for his moral failings.  This is the Hound’s death rattle.  This is Sandor getting back in touch with his humanity and noblest self.  

His time as the gravedigger is a direct confrontation of and penance for the Hound’s callous attitude toward human life.  Remember all that blustering about being a butcher and everyone else is meat?  Remember “if you can’t protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can?”  Oh boy, is he going to eat those words.  As the gravedigger he must labor for the innocent victims.  He must look them in the face all day long.  They were murdered by Rorge and Biter, two men who represent the Hound totally without conscience and gone fully broken man.  One is wearing the Hound’s helm while raiding the Saltpans for Pete’s sake.  Not only that he must serve food and clear the table for the penitent brothers.  These are people the Hound would have mocked as stupid and weak lesser men.  They believe in the gods, they openly acknowledge their trauma, and have chosen a life of nonviolence.  The villagers and the brothers are the kind of people knights are supposed to protect.  Now Sandor has to STFU, be respectful, and serve them on the humblest level.  Sandor is being rebuilt from the ground up.      

So “Sansa may be dead.”  That’s a lot less definitive than his statement about the Hound.  Like the Hound, we’re talking about the life and death of an identity, but which one will die in the end?  Alayne or Sansa?  You are right to notice that she has plenty of Sansa thoughts while being Alayne.  Sansa Stark isn’t dead, but she’s not in the driver’s seat either.  Hence why George might say “there is only Alayne Stone.”  It’s more like she’s dormant or sleeping for the time being.  The question is more like “will Sansa sleep for so long that she never wakes up again?”

Think of the snow castle scene in the Eyrie’s godswood where the statue of Alyssa lays broken in two and half-buried in snow.  That’s a metaphor for where Sansa is in the story.  Split in two with one half gone to ground.  As a “Stone,” she is in danger of eventually petrifying into a cold, stone statue if she abandons all of Sansa’s empathy and idealism and adopts Littlefinger’s cynicism and cold-hearted selfishness instead.  This also has applications to Catelyn turning into LSH. The Alyssa Arryn of legend was cursed by the gods to never know rest until she could openly weep for her dead family.  Specifically, her tears must fall upon the Vale of Arryn below where her loved ones are buried.  The waterfall known as Alyssa’s Tears turns to mist and is blown away by the wind before it can touch the valley floor, which is where the Gates of the Moon is located.  Sansa does weep for her loved ones, but only when she can’t help it and it’s always in private.  She actively tries to suppress thinking of them because it cracks her wide open.  Alayne Stone has no family except Petyr and she must be Alayne all the time.  Its clear though that Sansa’s tears have a direct relationship to her Stark identity.  More on Alyssa’s Tears toward the end.  

Before I get into the pitfalls, there is some good to be mined out of Alayne for Sansa’s character growth.  Petyr may have given her the name and the backstory, but Sansa has fleshed out Alayne into the person she wants her to be.  There’s a lot of fake it ‘til you make it going on here.  Alayne is older and more mature.  She’s pretty, but more practical and isn’t given to wearing too fine of gowns and jewels.  She’s had the bastard’s hard knock life, so she’s got grit and determination to not be crushed by the worlds scorn.  Alayne doesn’t take shit from Harry the Heir.  She doesn’t cry in embarrassment or blame herself for his rude behavior.  She doesn’t blush like a pomegranate over everything.  Alayne is clever, more world-wise, and self-confident.  Where Sansa was all cool and proper courtesy, Alayne is warm and engaging.  Can you picture early Sansa impulsively hugging a shabby sellsword like Lothor Brune?  No way.  The very idea would have been appalling.  Most importantly, Alayne looks straight ahead and unflinching at the path that lay before her.

“Coming up, Mya had warned her to keep her eyes on the path ahead, she remembered. “Look up, not down,” she said … but that was not possible on the descent. I could close my eyes. The mule knows the way, he has no need of me. But that seemed more something Sansa would have done, that frightened girl. Alayne was an older woman, and bastard brave.”  – Alayne II, AFFC.

And as long as Sansa can convince Petyr that she has fully embraced Alayne, it lulls him into trusting her enough to let some of his guard down and trust her with more freedom than she had in KL.  By constantly emphasizing their father-daughter relationship, it helps mitigate some of his unwanted sexual advances.  

The danger lies in becoming his daughter in her heart, suffocating Sansa out in all but name.  Petyr’s philosophy and skill in dealing with adversity is seductively attractive, leading to conflicting feelings within her.  She isn’t comfortable with how he operates and she’s constantly pushed past her boundaries by him.  Yet “he is so bold. Sansa wished she had his courage.”  She mistakes his fearlessness for courage.      

And yet the thought of leaving frightened her almost as much as it frightened Robert. She only hid it better. Her father said there was no shame in being afraid, only in showing your fear. “All men live with fear,” he said. Alayne was not certain she believed that. Nothing frightened Petyr Baelish. He only said that to make me brave. She would need to be brave down below, where the chance of being unmasked was so much greater. Petyr’s friends at court had sent him word that the queen had men out looking for the Imp and Sansa Stark. It will mean my head if I am found, she reminded herself as she descended a flight of icy stone steps. I must be Alayne all the time, inside and out. – Alayne II, AFFC.

Of course this would seem appealing to girl who has been powerless, afraid, abused, manipulated, and wanted for regicide.  Petyr is never afraid.  He’s never the victim or helpless.  No one hurts him.  He deftly handles his enemies before they can strike, leaving them impotent.  He always knows what to do.  Petyr is the magic man that makes everything go his way and he’s going to show Sansa how to do the same.  All she has to do is become as cynical as he and be willing to use other people.  He teaches her the world is divided into players and pawns and you do not want to be a pawn.  Think of how this is reminiscent of Sandor dividing the world into butchers and meat.  Yeah, Sansa is being tempted by the warm, safe blanket of absolute freedom from conscience and all it’s “benefits.”  She might as well be handed the Hound’s helm and put it on herself.  As Lem Lemoncloak says when he explains why he took up the helm:  “the sight of it will make my foes afraid.”  If that happens, all of Sansa’s goodness might truly die along with her Stark identity.  Now I’m confident Sansa will find her back from the brink, but for the story’s sake, the danger and drama has to feel real and present.  As a writer, GRRM has definitely pulled off that feeling as there are many readers who are convinced Sansa has already checked out completely no matter how many of those Sansa thoughts she has. :/

Back to Alyssa’s Tears and bear with me as I go on a tangent.  I’m a subscriber to the theory there will be an avalanche on the Giant’s Lance.  My gut feeling says Alyssa’s Tears will come into play and here’s how those “tears” might finally reach the valley floor in a very appropriate way for Sansa’s arc.  We’ve already established the metaphoric connection between Sansa’s tears, identity, and the statue and legend of Alyssa Arryn.  In winter, the waterfall freezes and becomes 20 foot long icicles pointed straight down toward the Gates of the Moon.  That seems kinda ominous; however, the passage where they are mentioned is interesting.

The snow-clad summit of the Giant’s Lance loomed above her, an immensity of stone and ice that dwarfed the castle perched upon its shoulder. Icicles twenty feet long draped the lip of the precipice where Alyssa’s Tears fell in summer. A falcon soared above the frozen waterfall, blue wings spread wide against the morning sky. Would that I had wings as well.              

Like that falcon soaring above the waterfall itself in the glorious light of dawn, I think Sansa will fly away and escape again, just as she did King’s Landing.  Icicles are likened to weapons in the Eyrie and we’ve heard the phrase “tears are a woman’s weapon” often enough.  Lysa used Tears of Lys as a weapon, but Sansa’s tears may be very different.  I think we’re meant to make a connection between those 20 foot icicles and Ned Stark’s longsword Ice, an instrument of justice and her father’s philosophy.  Recall that Ned was beheaded with Ice, likely because Littlefinger influenced Joffrey to change the plan from Ned taking the black.  If one of those bad boys were to crack and crash to the ground, not only could it cause said avalanche that would effectively “behead” the mountain’s peak, but “Alyssa” would finally be set free from her “curse.”  Not that I’m saying Petyr would literally die by getting impaled by an icicle, though that would be nice.  I think it means his time as her father is quickly coming to an end.  Sansa’s tears, her best weapon against Littlefinger’s psychological hold on her, is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.  She needs to be brave, dispel the web of lies that binds her to him, and openly reclaim her identity despite the risk of capture.  

Now I don’t think the Alayne persona really needs to die completely so Sansa can live.  It’s possible she synthesizes the two into a newly remade Sansa, one who possesses the best traits of both identities.  Sandor isn’t going to take vows and devote himself to quiet and celibate contemplation.  Stranger is kicking down the stable walls and refuses to become a gelded plow horse.  Some of Sandor’s old ferocity and his moody temperament will still be there, but he’ll definitely be changed by his experience as the gravedigger.  It think it will be the same with Sansa.  She’ll keep Alayne’s courage, strength, brains, and feminine wiles, but Sansa’s core values will guide her choices and actions.