#enjoy playing Better Than Wolves in real life

[rainbowgod666]

Yeah so... checked back with the guys back in the medical wing. You have Tumblr

I got to hold a 500,000 year old hand axe at the museum today.

It's right-handed

I am right-handed

There are grooves for the thumb and knuckle to grip that fit my hand perfectly

I have calluses there from holding my stylus and pencils and the gardening tools.

There are sharper and blunter parts of the edge, for different types of cutting, as well as a point for piercing.

I know exactly how to use this to butcher a carcass.

A homo erectus made it

Some ancestor of mine, three species ago, made a tool that fits my hand perfectly, and that I still know how to use.

Who were you

A man? A woman? Did you even use those words?

Did you craft alone or were you with friends? Did you sing while you worked?

Did you find this stone yourself, or did you trade for it? Was it a gift?

Did you make it for yourself, or someone else, or does the distinction of personal property not really apply here?

Who were you?

What would you think today, seeing your descendant hold your tool and sob because it fits her hands as well?

What about your other descendant, the docent and caretaker of your tool, holding her hands under it the way you hold your hands under your baby's head when a stranger holds them.

Is it bizarre to you, that your most utilitarian object is now revered as holy?

Or has it always been divine?

Or is the divine in how I am watching videos on how to knap stone made by your other descendants, learning by example the way you did?

Tomorrow morning I am going to the local riverbed in search of the appropriate stones, and I will follow your example.

The first blood spilled on it will almost certainly be my own, as I learn the textures and rhythm of how it's done.

Did you have cuss words back then? Gods to blaspheme when the rock slips and you almost take your thumbnail off instead? Or did you just scream?

I'm not religious.

But if spilling my own blood to connect with a stranger who shared it isn't partaking in the divine

I don't know what is.

[onmyyan]

Been playing so so much baldurs gate and wanted to submit DND considerations for your OCS, please share your thoughts on the vibes:

Caspian: cleric all the way baby. can hit things real hard AND won't let shit hurt a loved one, but if it does get past him, he'll patch you up <3 healing touch on darling so he can cradle their face all lovey dovey. Could also see a paladin, but maybe one with a very unique understanding of his oath to protect others. Maybe even secretly broke the oath but doesn't care; if he's sworn to protect life, surely the oath should understand that he WAS protecting darlings life by violently ending another one?

Gabe: barbarian, obvs. himbo energy, big and tall, flies into a rage when need be, likes and enjoys violence with as little armor as possible. Tries to drink everyone under the table in every town and usually wins, but also usually ends up in a bar fight when his drunk competition ends up a little too mouthy abt darling for his liking. Will throw darling over his shoulder when they need to run

Ricky: wizard pondering his orb but in the snarkiest way possible towards everyone but his darling. "Are you that fucking stupid??? Are you illiterate?? Why get in the direct and literal line of fire when I'm casting. You deserve that scar" vs "if I ever accidentally singe even a hair on your head, I'm going to throw myself off a cliff". Likes to read to you in your tent bc it's "easier to focus", but just thinks you're so cute when you're falling asleep listening to him <3

Marcos: rogue, baby!!! He's stealing shit off anyone that annoys him, pulling darling out of the way of traps and into cozy little nooks with him while the others scramble out of the way. The party gets stopped at a toll house and he pickpockets the guard, then undoes their trousers and ties their boot laces together for good measure.

Manny: warlock but some real freaky shit, eldritch horror type beat. He's flickering at the periphery of your vision and you SWEAR he's got tentacles coming out of his face but when you look directly at him he's all :3c . his patron doesn't come around too much, Manny picked one that specifically wouldn't be too intrusive, bc he's been planning this shit out since the moment Ricky first cast a spell. He's always wanted magic but didn't feel inclined towards the scholarly pursuit of it so much as the "deal with a devil" thing. Is trying to figure out ways to bend the deal to benefit him and darling through powers beyond mortal comprehension

Diego: druid, no question. Affinity for wolves over everything else but makes a very cuddly lap dog too when the need strikes. Probably hangs out with darling as a literal stray first and then accidentally shifts one day, ending up directly in the lap of a now very freaked out darling

Ash: long-suffering ranger in a party of city dwellers. "Put that down" "don't eat that" "for the love of- no, you cannot pet the owlbear". Secretly enjoys being the only one in the know when he gets to show off for his sweet pea and may let the others do stupid stuff knowingly if it means he looks better by comparison.

Darling could be some adventurer or innkeeper who crosses paths with one and then all of the party, who just has to go with them to finish their quest or stay safe from the town that's suddenly overwhelmed with monsters. Or maybe HER party was wiped out by some shadowy threat, and she never figures out that her new pals know more about that tragedy than they let on.

This is absolute perfection??? How did you know I been playing baulders gate huh?? How'd you know this would scratch my brain in a perfect way??

[macsimagines]

I enjoyed the last headcanons a lot! Can I ask for some with Yandere Bonten!Mikey and Manila!Izana with a detective darling? Someone who decided to use them and get close once they shown interest in them for the sake of trying to bring their gang down?

(Thanks so much for the kind words! I hope you like this one too it was fun to write! please send in more asks anytime!)

ASK BOX IS OPEN

Bonten!Mikey

-Maaaaaaan this darling had better be the bravest darling in the world to try this tactic.

-What attracted Mikey to you first? Was of course your beauty. In the beginning the undercover job was just to retrieve some information as a cocktail waitress, but that quickly escalated when Mikey, the primary target, had taken a keen interest in you.

-Of course S/O tried to keep things sweet and simple, only humored him for the sake of the investigation, but you playing hard to get only furthered his interest

-Usually women threw themselves at him, and what was purely professionalism on your part he though of as you being a pure hearted person.

-Soon you were being pressured by your superiors, an despite your better judgment relented to Mikey's courting.

-At first you were caught off guard by how genuine he seemed. It was a complete 180 compared to what the case files had said about him and you returned his kindness as much as you could.

-Mikey was quickly falling in love until a little birdie (Kisaki Tetta my problematic fave) told him the truth about you.

-When he finds out he's sure he's going to kill you. He'll make you pay for playing with his heart, and make sure that you disappear without a trace.

-Until you actually beat him to the punch and confessed yourself. Another detective working on your case, Naoto Tachibani, had his own little birdie and warned you that your cover was blown.

-Instead of listening and going into hiding, you decided to give the Mikey you had been getting to know a chance to do the right thing, and told him the truth. You begged him to turn himself in, to be the man you knew he was and not the monster the world was making him out to be.

-And that's when Mikey decided you were it. The one good thing he was going to covet all for himself. He was prepared to ruin you forever and feed you to the wolves, but you weren't even begging for your life, you were begging for his. He couldn't kill you like he did so many others.

-Although, after he's done punishing you for your betrayal and training you to be his picture perfect bride, you're gonna wish he'd just decided to murder you...

Manila!Izana

-First of all, he was on to you the second he saw you. Say what you will about Izana, but he wasn't a fool when it came to the law. You were probably a newbie detective looking to prove yourself and he was ecstatic to get to break you in.

-He humors you, pretends to fall for your tricks, and just when you start to get a little comfortable he jumps on you.

-What he hadn't been expecting was for you to put up a good fight. He was shocked more so that you actually fought tooth and nail rather than your skill set.

-You got away and Izana wasn't really worried about it at first, he was sure he could track you down and have some real fun with you when he got you back, but then to his utter shock you actually came looking for him.

-That's when the obsession really starts. You confront him with no fear and pursue him relentlessly. You want him like no one in his life ever had before.

-You're obsessed with this case, but Izana is obsessed with you. He commits heinous crimes for his organization for your sake, constantly teases at leads and breakthroughs for your attention.

-Little do you know that each and every time you confront him was orchestrated by him. And this little flirting song and dance you have is making Izana feel so alive.

-But he's getting tired of this cat and mouse game. He thinks he's over courting you and decides to give you what you both want.

-He lets you think you've got upper hand one night, lets you put him in cuffs, listens to you read him his rights. Its his gift to you. The he reveals he was never really in any danger and the one in trouble was you all along.

-Soon you're the one in cuffs and he's finally capturing you. This whole time you'd been chasing after him when you should've been running for the hills...

-Now a new game starts and Izana can't wait to see how hard you struggle to leave him, not that you'll ever get the chance...

[ask-the-dweets]

Dwight "Pizza" Fairfield

(Also known as Paisley in other AUs) Pronouns: He/him Gender: Trans male Sexuality: Bi Age: 24 Height: 5'10" (179cm) Time in the fog: Just over a year

Pizza's main build: Bond, Head on, Quick & Quiet, Flashbang

His perks are more used for self-defense than for being aggressive, although this build would be very good for an aggressive survivor. A cornered animal is bound to bite, Pizza mainly uses his abilities to get away rather than grief, though the killers may not always think it that way.

Flashbang is still a relatively new perk to Pizza so he's pretty clumsy with it, it's very interchangeable with urban evasion

Pizza's other available perks: Urban Evasion, Spine chill, Fogwise

Urban Evasion is often switched out with Flashbang. Spine Chill isn't used very often anymore because it tends to make Pizza panic more than actually be useful. Fogwise was gained after he came back from being a killer

Playstyle: Immersed He’s still the baby of the three and gets spooked very easily but now he can be surprisingly decent in a chase!!... sometimes…. It’s really hit or miss. Head on and Flashbang are mainly used for self defense but can oftentimes make his chases a lot stronger than expected. Mostly he’s a gen jockey and does his best to stay out of chase, because he’s still normally weak at them, and instead works on gens and unhooks when he’s able.

Favoured item: Any repairing toolboxes, especially if they have a brand new part

🍕Get to know Pizza under the cut! 🍕

Dwight was an only child living with his mother all of his life, his father was never in the picture. He got a job as soon as he could in highschool to help his mother pay bills and so that he would have spending money for things like school supplies and snacks. He was never very good at school or sports but managed to make some friends through work.

He started fully transitioning after highschool and took on more jobs to pay for it. His mother was fully supportive of his decision but had little money to help him with his procedures so he took on multiple jobs.

During one of his extremely rare moments of free time he went out to a bush party with some of his coworker friends. It was a party in the woods since some of the attendees were underaged and were hiding from their parents. He had a lot of fun with them and everything was going great but some of his drunk buddies at the party thought it would be funny to pull a prank on Dwight because he spooked easily.

While Dwight was overly intoxicated they led him a little deeper into the woods and told the other attendees he had headed home for the night. When in actuality he had passed out in the woods. The other party goers had full intentions on picking Dwight back up, it was sincerely just a prank, but he was never found.

--

5 songs I associate with Pizza:

(warning: this is at the mercy of mod's music tastes :P) Main song: The Wolves - JJ and The Pillars Walk - Saint Chaos/Sam Tinnesz, Nightmares & Flare Guns - Seb Adams, Brave as a Noun - AJJ, Be Calm - fun.

Pizza’s been there for over a year now and knows most of the ropes, this doesn’t mean he’s very good at them but he’s experienced enough to know better in some cases

He had a decent life experience in the real world compared to the other Dwights and may reminisce sometimes, unfortunately the homesickness can sometimes trigger mood swings and his mood can sporadically shift.

He'd take working himself to the bone doing three jobs over being murdered constantly any day.

He’s also quite energetic and spunky when not completely scared out of his mind, he can be excitable and enjoys jokes and socializing. If he weren’t so easily spooked he’d likely be the most adventurous of the three too, he’s quite curious but knows better than to explore

He can also easily be flustered

He’ll do his best to save you but it’s unlikely he’ll be doing any crazy plays or body blocking for you.

He doesn’t like being alone and prefers to buddy-up with others, in and out of trials

He also can’t sleep on his own, though he does try on occasion, he can normally get some rest if he’s cuddling with someone else.

His perk “Spine Chill” has a habit of giving him panic attacks mid-trial so he rarely uses it now

Since he's been stuck in the same outfit for over a year, he feels rather uncomfortable without his hat and gloves, especially his gloves.

His nervous habits are biting his nails (can’t because of his gloves but you’ll normally see his hands near his face) he also tends to awkwardly hold his hands in front of himself and hunch/slouch inwards to make himself look smaller

He also has a stutter that’s always present but can get far worse with strong emotions be it fear, anger, embarrassment, etc.

Trans and proud! He's the most likely of the three to show some skin, though he's still rather self conscious too.

Pizza is Bi, male leaning, and isn't completely quiet about his tastes. He's definitely the most open about his interests in comparison to the other two.

Currently crushing on David King

Mainly because he thinks David's very strong, capable and cool.... The muscles help too.

In-Game reference: See me now cap, First job shirt, Brown slacks

[coffeebooksrain18]

HARRY POTTER MATCHUP TRADE WITH @sugutoad!!! I'M SO EXCITED TO DO THIS WITH YOU GIRLY!!

I match you with...Draco Malfoy!!!

HEADCANONS

seeing as you two are both purebloods and from wealthy and influential families it was clear to your families to have you two marry once they saw how close of friends you are. you both enjoyed pranking people together. though it was more Draco who enjoyed this compared to you but you enjoyed it nonetheless.

when you got to Hogwarts Draco never left your side as he knows how much you hate crowds with people you don't know. he held your hand until he was sorted. when you were sorted to Slytherin no one cheered as loudly as Draco, he knew he would stay your friend even if you were in a different house, even Gryffindor. but when he saw you got into the same house as him he was overjoyed as he gets to have you as close to him as possible now.

it wasn't until 5th year that you two were an official couple. though you had kissed, made out, and even groped each other, but that was all in good fun, this was real now. and you best believe Draco shoved it in everyone's faces that you were his and his alone now. it wasn't uncommon for students to catch you two in the halls playing tonsil hockey, or the two of you walking around with dark hickys on your necks (you more than him). lets just say you were acting like two hormonal teens in love.

when the battle of Hogwarts went down Draco didn't care about anything other than your safety. he killed cousins, uncles, and aunts, just to make sure you stayed out of harm's way. when you asked if he regretted it he said. "are you breathing? is your heart still pumping? are you alive?" and you noded "then no, I have no reason to regret anything if it means your safe and sound by my side."

HOUSE

I put you in house Slytherin, they match our ambition and resourcefulness. like a Slytherin, you take what is owed to you and won't let anyone take it from you. Strangely you are liked by most of Hogwarts as even though you are a Slytherin people know you are kind, giving, and understanding of others. but just like every Slytherin, no one tries to wants to cross you as you are not afraid to show them that though you are kind, you are still a Slytherin.

SHIP TROPES

childhood friends to lovers arranged marriage sun (You) x moon (Draco)

SHIP SONG(S)

Don't Blame Me by Taylor Swift Night Changes By One Direction

PATRONUS

I give you the wolf as your Patronus. Wolves represent Loyalty, Intelligence, strength, freedom, individuality, and a strong sense of family. all of these traits make you as a person, and I can't see any other animal matching you better.

OTHER RELATIONSHIPS

Hermione Granger and you were close friends, you two were study buddies. you met in first year in the library, she had the book you were looking for and when you asked if she could give it to you after she was done she looked at you then your house robes and asked "are you not jsut going to demand it of the "mudblood'? to which you said "I had not known ypur parents wee mud monsters. but if you mean the slur people use for muggle borns, no, your a witch just like me no matter how much magic linage you have." this shocked her and had starteeda friendship that would last a life time. Pansy Parkinson and you never got along she wanted your man, your boyfriend, and she didn't even have the decency to hide it. she would always try and out do you trying to catch Dracos attention, one night you got fed up and lets just say our made sure she heard you and Draco while you were in your room that night. (yes is is a spicy head canon) Professor Snape treated you the same way he treated Draco, like royalty, though your family is pretty much wizard royalty. But it was more than that, you studied diligently, worked hard, and treated your professors with great respect. it was these reasons that you became his favorite student of your year, every year your parents would hear of how wonderful a student you are from him. lets just say, the other students were nice to you, if only in potions class so they could get a in with the rude professor Snape.

MOONBOARD

[crouton-knight]

Cringe is dead, let's do fic recs for our friends and our selves. I'll start.

DF Fics written by my friends (and me) that I still think about all the time:

By @oddeyesight ((Ao3 account))

ya'aburnee (General)

Notha and Uaanta find an interesting object, digging around Notha's previous lab.

The song + the fic are simultaneously very sad and very sweet. The buildup to the ending in particular, the crescendo and then the quietness of it.

chiaroscuro (Teen and Up)

Hero talks about their adventures in HHD, and Notha is reminded of an unpleasant meeting that happened so long ago.

And on the complete other side of the spectrum: Fear! Terror! Orpheus and Eurydice themes! Still kind of about grief but in a distinctly more "I'm afraid to lose you" way. 10/10 I go feral every time.

~!~

By @valorousowl ((Ao3 Account))

Dive Deep (General Audiences)

Notha Ly'Ehr is determined to save her friend. Remthalas is determined to trick their friends into killing him. Whatever it takes, this time would be different.

I keep coming back to this because the emotions are very sharp and real in a way that I can't quite describe here; you really have to read it for yourself. Notha's entire characterization is tragic, but in a way that I find deeply compelling.

Unspoken Names (Mature)

Aegis is well acquainted with Pandora. It isn't hard for him to suss out who Aspar actually is. He'll keep his mouth shut, for a price. Aspar may be desperate and lonely enough to pay it.

Overall lower stakes than my usual fare, but still packs a real whallop of emotional resonance, especially the part where Aegis tells Aspar that he's the one who should know better. I am physically incapable of being normal about Aspar and the softness and sadness of Aegis trying to be nice to him.

~!~

By @7yd1a ((Ao3 Account))

Return, Dear Light (Explicit)

This one is about Jaania living in the tower with the rest of the Villain Rehab Club, but really it's about her learning to feel again, and to forgive. Also she bones (haha) Alexander with an icicle; pretty fun use of healing ice magic I think! I don't know if there will ever be a continuation, but the characterization and the speed at which information about the characters is effectively conveyed is a lot of fun to watch unfold.

~!~

By @mismagireve ((Ao3 Account, though they are pretty much done with DF as a fandom.))

Somewhere Ages And Ages Hence (Mature)

According to Swordhaven's record systems, shortly after you fled into the forest, you were beset upon by wolves, and your remains were found hours later by a Rose researcher who had been on his way into the city for work that morning when he stumbled across the grisly scene of your demise. You are, for all intents and purposes, free of everything that was plaguing you now that you're dead and gone. You can't help but wonder if your new life hiding in the woods pretending to be dead and playing nanny to a Rose cultist's child could be counted as freedom.

I'm always up for stories about normal people in completely bonkers situations treated as, if not normal, then at least livable; I think this, even in its unfinished form, is one of the most fitting for that theme, and I really, really enjoy Syn's characterization of Lynn and Valen as people, and how the Reader-insert is most definitely their own person even while being, well, Reader-insert.

The Importance Of An "O" (General)

He got a letter from a faraway village.

This one isn't as immediately present in my mind as some other fics, but every time I see Galanoth (and tbh the word "dragoon") I do think of it, so it's definitely left an impression!

Words Spoken In Wormwood (Mature)

Among the bars in Swordhaven, there was an unspoken rule: if you serve Rose members, you don't let anything they say leave the building. So when one night at the bar, a few Rose members were discussing some secrets regarding one of their own— Well. Go ahead and ask anyone who was there that night. That conversation never happened.

This inspired several headcanons about Valen/Amadeus himself of the "they'll never believe you" sort so this is as good as canon in my heart.

Fine (General)

He was never good with people, and never made many friends, so whenever he lost one, it always hit hard. Tomix finds himself missing the hero.

This one gets a special mention even though I only read it today because I WILL be thinking about this for a long time.

~!~

By myself

Sutures (Explicit)

So You Found Out You're A Masochist: A Beginner's Guide or Tomix gets injured and learns he has a kink.

It's got some gore, fair warning for that. But I keep thinking about it because of the uh, applications of intangible spirit hands, and also the nature of Tomix's unraveling.

In Vain (General)

A child's first brush with death.

This and the ask where I mention Ogenos Dessert Sausage are constantly on my mind because I'm stuck on thinking about lost cultural treasures and how they affect those who knew them and then lost them as time went by. I should post that ask on Ao3 maybe.

The Masochism Tango (Explicit)

"They feel like normal lungs. Spongy, surprisingly resilient, but so fragile at the same time..." She said, in a whispered, reverent tone he almost missed. She'd never sounded like that before, not that he knew. The silence stretched on a little longer than could really be accounted for, without the sound of her tools as she vivisected him. Notha's eyes went dilated and faintly mischievous above her mask. What did you find? ~!~ There isn't a lot of existing documentation on abyssal elf biology, so if Notha's going to make clones for herself and Remthalas, she needs to take some notes.

I would be lying if I said this one didn't live rent free in my head. Notha kissing his heart, especially.

~!~

Feel free to reblog with your own fics or other fics from this fandom that you enjoy!

[immacaria]

Ten Books to Know Me Better

Rules: Name 10 (non-ancient) books for people to know you better or that you really like

I was tagged by my dear wife, @galacticstingray, and I want you to know there's only two ancient books here. Bear it with me, okay?

1. Heroes of the Olympus by Rick Riordan

Listen, I love the original series, but Heroes of the Olympus will be always my favourite, no one can convince me otherwise. It's about the found family, about people finding each other caring for others, the family that grows between people from the most different places and cultures and choose to stick together. It's the shared grief, it's the 'You don't have to do this alone. You won't do this alone'.

2. Women that run with the wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estés

This book is simply amazing. The way Ms Estés weaves the stories and analyses it so beautifully, the way she talks about the different aspects of the human mind, specially the woman mind, taking the aspects from the stories she says. I love this book so much, it's also the longest time I have spent reading one book (More than two years, I think)

3. The cat that saved books by Sosuke Natsukawa

I would like to say to everyone that loves books that this book is exactly this. A cat that saves books because he loves them. There's more to the story of course but spoilers, right? I'm physically uncapable of talking about this book without talking about the plot and giving spoilers. Just read it, okay, read it and you will understand.

4. Faust by Goethe

I have read this when I was fourteen/fifteen I think? I remember having to reactions to it: Either bored out of my mind or incredibly interest on what was happening. All I know is that the vibes of this book played a big part on what I am know and most of my interests. I plan to re-read this one and some moment this year and see what I think of it this time.

5. O palhaço e o psicanalista (The clown and the psychoanalyst) by Christian Dunker

This one made me understand so much about listening and truly being open to others, the tiny, almost invisible line of being entirely too serious or too much of a clown. It teached me how to reach that middle and how to use that around me, this book is amazing, I swear and, to any Brazillians out there seeing this, please read this. You won't regret it.

6. From Here to Eternity by Caitlin Doughty

Death and funeral rites, do I need to say more?? I love all of the books by this woman, this woman is amazing and I love her very much. This one was the first one I have read and I'll be forever grateful at my sib for being this one for me.

7. Smoke Gets in Your Eyes by Caitlin Doughty

I told you, anything by this woman is my favourite. Please, read this one as well if you want, it's just her answering a bunch of questions and talking about her travellings and experiences as a mortician.

8. Will My Cat Eat My Eyeballs? by Caitlin Doughty

(Can you see that I will push this agenda on anyone, all the time, anywhere?) Read it, people, it's all amazing

9. The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman

For someone who is called a sunshine by most of her friends and incredily crazy by her family, I have a strangely sober taste on books, but sincerely? It's being this "close" to death, it's this desire to deeply know it that makes me able to enjoy life. Death is a place of comfort to me, something that, at the end of my life, will receive me with open arms and a big smile. It will give me coffee and bread and will ~chisme~ together about my life and the ones I left behind until it's time for me to be alive again. This book, in particular, taught me graveyards are not strange or scary, that they can be comforting as well and, as strange as it might be to others, it's freeing to me.

Now, finally, 10. Frankstein by Mary Shelley

It's not a good Macca's favourite books if Frankstein is not there. Frankstein was the first gothic romance I read for real, even before Faust. It were my parents that gave it to me and I devoured it. I remember being so freaking angry at Victor for what he did to Adam, I remember turning to everyone who called Adam Frankstein and saying "His name is Adam and you should remember it", I remember looking at Victor and thinking "You are gay. You are gay and a coward". I remember a lot about this book and I probably should give this book a re-read this year as well because sincerely, it's amazing and it made me who I am today as well.

This should be done a long, long ago, but, eh, life happened. Anyways, I'm tagging @questing-wulfstan, @aquilathefighter, @virgo-dream, @mathomhouse-e, @quillingwords, @academicblorbo, @the-cloudy-dreamer, @pintobordeaux, @arialerendeair and @honeyteacakes. One for each book lmaoo, now you fight to decide which one is yours.

[demonsclub]

CHARACTER STUDY

BASICS

Name: Tyler O’Neill.

Nicknames: Ty, Hacker Boy, Cobie, Ace, King of the Road 

Age:  22

Date of Birth: October 30th, 2000  

Gender: Male

Orientation: Straight.  

Profession: Majoring in Computer Engineering

Pinterest: Here 

PHYSICAL ASPECTS

Hair: Dark and tousled.

Eyes: Hazel.  

Skin: Tan.

Tattoos/scars: He has a rune on the side of his neck, it was his first tattoo, and just an act of rebellion. The second tattoo he got was a broken compass on his forearm with the word “home” written underneath. Then he got small birds flying across his ribs which was meant to symbolize the desire of “flight” and wanting to get away. His  fourth tattoo is the italian proverb, “Il lupo perde il pelo ma non il vizio,“  which means a wolf cannot change its nature. His fifth tattoo is his favorite. It’s a full moon on his triceps, he got the tattoo with Brooke Maddox, who he was falling in love with at the time. It was meant to commemorate their night together, spent under the moonlight, acting like teenage lunatics. After they “broke up” and went their own way, Tyler added a little wolf howling beneath it. The idea behind the howling wolf was to say he still thinks of her and wishes they could be together again. Wolves mate for life. As for scars, he has a lot on his hands from fighting, a few on his abs, back, and chest, and a distinctive scar over his eyebrow which was split open from a car accident when he was fifteen and running from the cops.

FAMILY

Parents: Tyler was raised in foster care and has no idea who his real parents are. They’ve always been a mystery to him and are one of the many reasons why he’s so emotionally damaged.

Siblings: He has weird deja vu memories of having a sister in the orphanage, or maybe they’re just dreams, or maybe she was just a friend of his. He’s not sure.

Grandparents: His grandfather Eli O’Neill is still alive and the head honcho of a gang. He came into Tyler’s life when he was seventeen and offered him a position in the gang, and although Tyler accepted it at the time, he’s since disbanded from them.

Pets: He has a pet snake named Venom.

SKILLS

Abilities: Tyler is a natural-born athlete. For years, he belonged to a boxing club, played lacrosse and football, and used to make a killing in illegal street races. His greatest ability though is his skills behind a computer. He can hack into anything, and uses the popularity of technology to his advantage. He’ll often sell his tech-savvy services for a price.  

Hobbies: He enjoys skiing and snowboarding in France, playing pool at the Billiards Club, racing cars, experimenting with drugs, starting fights, and he’s currently designing a new slasher VR game.

TRAITS

Most Positive Trait: Although he’s troubled, Tyler has a very mature side to him with more life experience than most people his age. Therefore, he’s very experienced and has a lot of wisdom to share.  

Worst Negative: He often resorts to self-destruction. He pushes people away, can be very private and standoffish, sarcastic and mean. He’d rather a person hate him than love him because he’s more comfortable with that. It’s better for him not to get his hopes up. Trusting people has always been a mistake.

LIKES

Colors: Black

Smells: Gasoline, coffee, fresh-cut grass, fireplaces, the woods

Foods: Double cheeseburgers, salted fries, Quiche Lorraine

Drinks: Black coffee, alcohol, energy drinks, vitamin water

BAD REPUTATION

Smokes: He smokes cigarettes and pot. 

Alcohol: Vodka. There’s a cocktail he frequents called the Mind-Eraser which is vodka, club soda and coffee liqueur. He enjoys cold beer too. He’s always been too poor to care about labels.  

Drugs: He’s tried almost every drug out there, but prefers ecstasy and pot.

Been Arrested: He’s spent two years in juvie for stealing a car when he was fifteen which led to a police chase and then resisting arrest. He was arrested again a few months after for hacking into government files. And then in and out of jail for fighting, street racing, and public intoxication.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

Friends/Best Friend: Tyler doesn’t have many “real” friends. He never let himself get too close to people. However he has met plenty of acquaintances throughout his time in foster care and juvie and all the schools he attended throughout his adolescence. Therefore he has managed to make a few lasting connections. One of them being his best friend, she was a social butterfly who accepted him for all his flaws and mistakes. She was an inspiration for him to change and though he hasn’t changed, she has stuck by him through thick and thin. 

Family: Tyler doesn’t know much about his family. According to him he doesn’t have any. But he does faintly remember a girl from the orphanage who he thought might’ve been his sister. Then there’s his uncle Eli who’s the leader of a gang. Eli will remain a NPC but if someone wants to play gang members who are eager to pull Tyler back into the crime world that would be fun. 

Exes: Tyler has tons of exes but his most memorable one is the one he had in high school. He dated Lakewood’s hottest, meanest, most popular girl for two years before they broke up for good. They were always off and on and cheating on each other and playing vicious games to see who cared less. The games ended when Tyler cheated on her with her best friend Brooke Maddox and no one holds a vendetta quite like her. 

Rivals: Tyler has made quite an amount of enemies throughout his lifetime. He’s always running his mouth, getting into fights, hustling people out of their money, and sleeping with other people’s girlfriends. He’s always involved in something shady whether its gambling, illegal street racing, underground fight clubs, and drugs. Therefore meeting and making enemies with other shitheads is just part of the deal. 

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

251 of 2023

What is your favourite dinosaur?

I don’t care about dinosaurs.

Would you rather live with wolves or tigers?

I think tigers, I prefer cats.

Have you ever forgotten what a certain kind of pain felt like?

I wish. Some things are impossible to forget.

Do you prefer water from the tap or bottled water?

I prefer no water, thanks.

Do you actually use any of the shampoo hotels provide?

No, but I take the bottles with me.

What do you remember the most about your childhood?

Playing outside with friends.

Do you feel as if someone has robbed something from you?

Yeah, my innocence. I was a teenager then.

Have you ever stared at the sky and wondered if it was all worth it?

No, I have better things to do. Wait, maybe it happened once or twice.

Would you rather have a pet dinosaur or have mythical creatures be real?

Can I just keep my cats instead?

What age did you get your first hair cut?

Who remembers that?

Do you have a favourite toy from childhood still?

No, I don’t.

What are your thoughts on the end of the world?

I don’t give a fuck, there were way too many “ends of the world” already, even during my lifetime.

Which sports do you enjoy watching?

Basketball, if ever.

Would you ever have a breed of dog that is considered aggressive?

I’m not much of a dog person in general.

Have you ever made bread?

Yeah. Turned out pretty good.

Would your childhood self be disappointed?

No, he would be proud.

Do you think in the future you’ll have done yourself proud?

The future is now.

Did you read The Great Gatsby before seeing the movie?

No, and I haven’t seen the movie either.

What do you feel about movies made from books?

I don’t care about movies.

Has anything ever fallen asleep on you?

Yeah, my older cat.

Do you have to use the bathroom?

Not right now.

Is the above question too invasive?

Nope, but any sexual question would be.

What do you feel about surgeries? Do they worry you?

Last time I had one I was uncoscious, and they were saving my life. So I’m rather grateful for it.

Do you have a tumblr?

Where else am I typing now?

Would you rather have an open book shelf or one with doors?

Open because I want to see all the titles.

Do you need a large or small place to live comfortably?

I’d prefer big space and lots of natural light. Big kitchen, definitely.

Would you ever consider moving to another country?

I’ve been living in another country already.

Have you ever dropped everything and reevaluated?

Kind of, but it depends on what you mean by this.

Do you play minecraft? if so, feelings about servers?

No, I don’t play Minecraft.

Do you long for easier times?

Sometimes. When life was more carefree.

Do you believe that life gets easier or we just get stronger?

We get stronger. Not all of us, though.

Does it weird you out to think that humans are just more advanced animals?

No, because it’s true. Not more advanced, though. We just can speak languages, but we’re in no way smarter than other animals.

Do you ever wonder why religion came about?

I guess the aliens invaded Earth and showed people miracles, and people started worshipping them. Might be wrong, though. It’s just my theory.

Would you ever consider shaving your head?

I had my head shaved for surgery and nobody asked my opinion about it. Consciously, I wouldn’t. I like having hair.

Would you rather belong to a cult or a religion you feel is wrong?

No.

Have you ever considered murder?

LMAO what a question lol.

Kill a man or a woman?

Kill no one.

Would you like to live in a realm where the zombie apocalypse is possible?

Everything is possible these days.

Are you afraid of any animals? Reason?

Snakes, I don’t trust them.

Someone knocks on your door three times right now, do you answer?

We have a doorbell for a reason.

Do you read creepypastas?

I do, just for fun. I like such things.

Can you sleep afterwards?

Why wouldn’t I?

[virtueofsanityx]

sometimes, reggie wonders if it's only him that notices the inherent romance and ambiance of the cabin. the way that the fire cracks and spits in the otherwise quiet room, the way it dances and casts shadows across the walls and the floor, the silent beauty of the snow falling outside almost too damn picturesque to be real. the way it bubbles inside of him, fills him with all sorts of desire, the passion that it bleeds into his very soul, all while feelings he knows he can't act on curl in his chest like a sticky hot mass, threatening to overwhelm and consume him.

he looks at dmitri with too much longing to say that they're just friends, though the rational part of his mind understands that the other man would probably say exactly that. the way that the fire flickers across his face, makes him look almost ethereal in the quiet cabin, is like a personal form of torture to reggie, who has to shift a little on the fur beneath him, playing the movement off as a bid to simply get more comfortable. more comfortable indeed, though he isn't thinking about the implications of it. that's a dangerous path, the kind that leads to wolves and hard life lessons in fairytales.

a moment passes where he isn't sure what to say, because he's afraid that saying anything is simply going to lead to a massive word vomit of feelings that could have him kicked out of here and sent home, cold and alone and sadder than the longing leaves him. eventually, after clearing his throat a little, he manages. "thanks, man." so simple in word, but the tone in his voice, soft and fraying at the edges, reveals just how desperately he means it. because there are few things in life that reggie takes more seriously than abuela, the woman raised him and it seems only fitting that he do everything in his power (or in this case, someone elses power) to help her now.

it's his constant fight. a battle more trecherous than even rushing into a burning building. holding on to that last sliver of family. "she wants to meet you, by the way." he adds it after a beat, a pregnant pause in the air that follows a heavy silence as reggie pulls himself together. he finally turns to look at dmitri again, to allow himself those few moments of soaking him in, of eyes roaming around his face, taking in each and every feature as if they aren't all burned into his memory already, committed to his mind with perfect clarity. they roam, too, further afield, enjoying the look of strong arms and a strong chest hidden under fabric that honestly does the man a disservice, though that's reggie's private opinion, before he looks up again. "abuela. wants to meet you. i talk about you enough."

and though the offer is genuine, reggie knows better than to actually take him to meet her. because abuela's the chatty type. the kind that would spill a secret crush the man is harboring like he's fifteen and getting heart eyed in the locker room.

as dmitri speaks again, reggie wonders if the other man will notice the slight tightening of his jaw, the way that his eyes flash with something that could only be called jealousy for a moment before he turns his head to look straight up at the ceiling again. he laughs, the kind of laugh that sounds jovial in the quiet of the cabin, but that is definitely more than a little forced. "burboun, i can do. not sure i'm willing to bring you a pretty boy for christmas." or ever, though that's the kind of thought that stays inside. he doesn't elaborate, though, and the moment is plagued by another long silence as he thinks.

is there something i should be wanting?

reggie doesn't know how to answer that without tipping his hand. fingers that rest against his chest tap out a rhythmic pattern. thoughts swirl in his head, plenty of them, answers to that question that are tiptoeing into places he's trying to avoid like a mine field. "i dunno, man. i think that's one of those life questions that only you can answer. in your heart of hearts, the deepest pits of desire, what is that one thing that would sooth the clawing beast inside your chest... or whatever. if you can answer that, i guess that would be the answer to your question. for me, i think, cheesy as it sounds, that thing is love. a real, whirlwind, romantic, knock you on your ass and takes your breath away love that's recriprocated. not just this one sided, falling in love with some guy who doesn't even notice thing i've been doing."

The cabin exhaled peace in every detail: the soft furs brushing beneath Dmitri’s calloused fingers, the vast silence beyond the frosted windows, the snow falling like whispers, blanketing the trees until they looked like something out of a dream. But the tranquility wasn’t complete without Reggie. He filled the space, his voice tender and smooth, each word curling into Dmitri’s chest like a prayer, easing the jagged edges of a heart too familiar with damage.

Dmitri wasn’t one for softness, not really. His life had been a battlefield, sometimes literal, sometimes not. The underground fights his family had thrown the younger him into for cash hadn't left room for much tenderness. But looking at Reggie, his friend who spoke with so much conviction and love about his family, Dmitri couldn’t help but admire him. A pang of something bitter and yearning twisted inside. That kind of unconditional love, that instinct to protect and care for someone as if they were fragile and precious----- that was foreign to Dmitri. Alien and irresistible.

The amber glow of the flames danced over Reggie's skin, drawing Dmitri’s eyes like gravity. He forced himself to look away, pretending to fumble with his phone, composing a quick text to one of his many Nutritionists. The message wasn’t about Dmitri or his needs; it was about Reggie’s abuela. He’d find someone to help, a home health aide, whatever was needed. Reggie had brought it up, and Dmitri wasn’t the kind of man to ignore something like that.

He set the phone down and shrugged as if it were nothing. “Don’t worry about it, man. I’ll take care of it. Easy Christmas present, right? Wish everyone was that clear about what they wanted.”

As Dmitri’s hands sank into the soft furs beneath him, grounding him, he cast a smile at Reggie---- warm, a little dreamy, and far too revealing if Reggie cared to look closely. The quiet of the cabin wrapped around them, the world outside muffled by snow. It wasn’t just secluded; it was intimate, in a way that left no room to hide.

Is it wrong to want love for the holidays?

Reggie's voice lingered in his head, uninvited and impossible to ignore. A ‘man who has it all.’ ...Was that really how people saw him? Well, he could understand why. He'd made it, for one. Earned all his riches by pretty much beating the shit out of the competition until the UFC handed over those hefty million dollar paychecks. Everyone from the company to the crowd was willing to pay top dollar just to watch Dmitri obliterate some poor soul, not to mention how he flexed it, blatantly. Carried himself like a King because he damn sure deserved it.

But still... it wasn’t enough. Not really.

Something was missing, and Dmitri hated admitting it, even to himself. He blamed those damned Hallmark movies, the ones clogging up every channel this time of year. They had him thinking about things he didn’t usually let himself dwell on---- love, family, connection. Shifting his weight, his gaze fell back to Reggie, whose skin seemed to glow in the firelight. Dmitri’s throat tightened, his usual confidence faltering. “I want…” He trailed off, the words catching somewhere between his chest and his tongue. Nervous? Seriously? Him? A man who’d stood toe-to-toe with the meanest goddamn opponents without flinching was now stumbling over his own thoughts.

He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing as he forced out a laugh, trying to mask the vulnerability creeping in. “I dunno, man. You know me---- pretty easy to please. Get me a pretty boy and a bottle of bourbon, and I’m good.” But even as the words left his mouth, they felt hollow. Safe. Another bullet dodged, perhaps. “Is there something I should be wanting?” he asked, deep velvet tones quieter this time.

[generalfoolish]

Part Two: Tequila Truth or Dare

Part Two Summary: In which Vigilante seeks you out again

Pairing: Vigilante (Adrian Chase) x F!Reader

Warnings: *All of my works are M for mature so 18+ please; language, language, language, canon typical violence, sexual themes (changed my mind), drinking, moral contemplation,

Word Count: 3.9K

A/N: The way this man has me in a *chokehold* I feel like I've read every single thing about Adrian Chase on Tumblr/AO3 so if anyone has anything they'd like to share with the class, gimme. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy! If you want to join the tag list there's a link below, or feel free to message/comment <3

Masterlist | Taglist | Part One | Part Three

You inhaled deeply and breathed out slowly through your mouth. Engulfed in the deep woods, the fresh, earthy smell overtook you. It was a balm to your soul, and the main reason you had taken this job in the first place. Not many people would purposely separate themselves from the outside world to stay in a secluded cabin, immersed completely in the wilderness for months on end. But then, you weren't most people, and the seclusion had helped you separate and manage difficult emotions from, what you had deemed, your real life.

That is, until Vigilante had shown up. It had been a little under a week since you had spent time stitching him back together, but it was all you could think about. He engulfed you with more vigor than even the woods. Standing miles deep in the forest, with only the rustling of wind through leaves and the occasional call of a hawk, you were transfixed on him. Surrounded by beauty, immersed completely in nature, and your thoughts raced back to his offer: "I'll tell you everything." It was an intoxicating offer, one you'd been drunk on for days. You found yourself wanting to know everything about him. You daydreamed in black and teal. When you saw something remarkable, some breathtaking view, you imagined it covered in a red filter.

You shook your head to try and focus. You had actual work you had to do today, and losing your mind, over someone you'd never see again, for the fourth day in a row just wouldn't do. You grasped the straps of your pack, and walked forward with purpose.

You made it a few hundred yards before you realized you were being followed. Or, at least, watched. You tried to shake the feeling of dread that washed over you, and attempted to remind yourself that you were constantly watched by curious creatures. But that only served to quicken your heartbeat more, you were watched all day by wildlife, and this felt nothing like that.

Fumbling, only slightly, from nerves, you reached for your pistol. It was a standard issue; it was for protection. Once it was in your hand, you felt better. Another layer of protection against whatever was trailing you.

Your mind raced, trying to figure out what could be following you so closely. Your laugh startled you as it bubbled up. The only predator in your woods were the wolves, one of them must have clocked you. Your primitive instincts must have clocked them, and sent you panic spiraling.

You laughed for another second, feeling ridiculous, until a hand fell on your shoulder. You screamed, and raised your gun to fire. You pulled the trigger, and dread overtook you as you realized you had left the safety on. The muted click alerted the attacker to that same information, and they swatted the gun down.

"What the fuck?" Vigilante asked, clearly annoyed. "You scream so loud." You groaned and slumped down, your legs literally giving out. The damp forest floor was welcoming to your pounding head and thundering heart. You thought you might be having a heart attack.

"You scared me, asshole. Ever heard of speaking up?" You grumbled, playing with a leaf.

"Ever heard of the element of surprise?” He asked, incredulous. He tilted his head, pausing, before continuing. “Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." He held his hand out to you, helping you off the ground. You took it quickly, the worn leather warmer than you expected in your hand.

“What’re you doing here?” You asked, brushing the leaf litter from your pants. Vigilante stayed quiet, despite your direct question.

“Okay, then. How’s your gut?” You tried again, placing your hands across your chest. You could see him visibly tense, and he fidgeted with his gloves.

“How do you know Gut? That’s so weird. I don’t even know why we’re talking about this, that’s such a weird name for someone to have. I don’t know anyone with that name. Like at all. You said you did? Weird.” He rambled, his words a panicked mess.

“What? I don’t know anyone named Gut. I meant your wound, Vij. How’s your stab wound?”

“Oh, that. Totally fine, like I said. No problem at all.” You eyed him suspiciously. He was a surprisingly bad liar for someone who spent half his time in a mask.

“Vij, do you know someone named Gut?” You asked, watching him bounce from foot to foot.

“No.” He told you quickly, too quickly.

“More super secret identity stuff?” You teased, nudging his shoulder and turning to walk away from the clearing you found yourself in.

“I can’t tell you that.” He said, emphatically.

“Okay, okay. Sorry. I’m just interested in you.” You told him, raising your hands in defense, stepping over a fallen tree as you led him deeper into the forest. You noticed him falter behind, losing step with you. You glanced back and saw he was tense again.

“Really?” His voice was small, almost needy, and it made you be more earnest with him.

“Of course. I want to know everything.” You shrugged, realizing it was easy to be honest with him.

“Oh. Well, maybe I can be vague?” He asked, closing the gap between you.

“Are you Vigilante all the time?” You wondered, thinking back to all of the thinkpieces you had read about Evergreen’s resident “antihero.” You were thinking about his morals and convictions, but were interested in whatever he wanted to say about it.

But there was a long silence, and you cleared your throat awkwardly. You wondered if you’d pushed too far too quickly.

“You don’t have to–” You started to retract as he answered at the same time.

“Yes.” It was resounding with finality. A fact, you, surprisingly, were okay with.

“Oh.” Was all you said, absorbing the answer.

“Yeah.” The awkward silence that filled the space between you was uncomfortable, so you tried again.

“Do you have another job?” It seemed safe enough, something that could be vague.

“Uh…I’m not sure that I should say.” He answered, rubbing the back of his neck. You wondered, not for the first time, how he wore his hair.

“Police?” You ask, laughing lightly at your joke. It would be pretty funny, actually.

“Shut up. No.” Vij grumbled beside you, helping you over a fallen log. “That’s so fucking dumb. Hashtag ACAB.” You laughed again, having pulled the perfect reaction from him.

“Dude, I won’t know. I rarely go to the city. I’d never even see you, but if I did, I’ve never seen your face, so how would I know?” You argued, focusing on the issue at hand.

“I work in a restaurant.” His answer surprised you, but then you realized it was kind of perfect. When you had worked as a waitress, you’d kept late hours. It would be easy to slip out after your co-workers to go fight crime. You wondered if he had ever killed his co-workers for smoking weed at the job, but kept the question to yourself.

“Nice. Solid work, sucks though.” You said finally, settling on a neutral answer.

“Yeah, it’s the worst.” He told you, laughing loudly. You smiled at it, the sound intoxicating.

“Do you have any hobbies?” You asked, trying to stay superficial.

“Not really, no time.”  He explained, plainly. You supposed crime fighting was a pretty big hobby.

“Friends?”

“Oh yeah, well you know Peacemaker is my BFF, and then there’s Eagly, he’s a close second. You’re making a run for my new third best friend, if I’m honest.” You smiled dumbly. It was the last thing you had expected to leave his mouth.

“Eagly?” You asked, glossing over his confession.

“Dude, fuck yeah, he’s hardcore. Saw him eat someone’s eyeball once.” You balked, the mental image you had of Eagly just did not compute with what Vij was saying.

“Jesus. Is he like, half man and half eagle?” You asked, brow scrunched in disgust.

“Ha! No. He’s an actual eagle.” An actual eagle, named Eagly? You rolled your eyes.

“Really? Dude, it’s illegal to have an eagle.” You told him, expecting a big reaction to the news.

“What?” His whole stature dropped in on itself.

“It’s a whole thing, yeah.” You told him, apologetically, placing a hand on his shoulder. He tensed under your hand, which was just on his shoulder. You removed it quickly, and cleared your throat.

“Fuck.” He exclaimed, pulling himself back up straight. “Do you really care about this stuff?” He asked, visor trained on you. In the daylight, you could make his eyes out behind the red filter.

“Eagle protection? It’s kind of low on my list, honestly.” You stated plainly.

“No, about me.” He clarified, tilting his head at you, voice soft.

“Oh, yeah. That’s easy, you’re super interesting.” You explained, resting your thumbs on the straps of your backpack.

“You should really tell people, if you’re being sarcastic. That way they know you’re being funny. Ha! Haha!” He told you, a fake laugh bursting from his lips, his tone laced with venom.

“I’m not being sarcastic; I really am curious about you, Vij. Why wouldn’t I be?” You made clear, coming to stop beside him, pulling your eyebrows together in confusion.

“Oh. Well, you called me a murderer last time.” He mumbled quietly, looking at the ground.

“You are, aren’t you?” You asked, willing him to look up.

“Yes. It normally turns people off. That or my personality, I’m told it’s ‘a lot.’” You stared at him for a moment, feeling anger to the people that had made him feel like he wasn’t worth knowing.

“I watched one of your fights.” You finally said, pulling his attention back to you.

“Why?” He sounded genuinely surprised, and you wrangled the words to explain how much he had invaded your brain without saying that you were straight up obsessed with him. Though, you felt obsessed. Your cheeks burned as you fumbled to explain, the embarrassment creeping up from your chest.

“I told you, I’m curious about you. You fight…I mean it’s remarkable. You move so…lithe and fast. So fast. What’s your power? I never asked, and I couldn’t find anything online.” You managed, struggling to get the last question out.

“Power?” His head was dramatically tilted to the side, and you breathed heavily through your nose. You couldn’t form a fully coherent phrase and he was still being so damn cute.

“Yeah, like your super power or whatever you call it.” You offered, waving your hand.

“I don’t have one.” He told you easily, perking back up.

“Really?” You asked, incredulous.

“Really.” He answered, simply.

“I saw you take out like twenty people, and get shot, and then literally skip away. You lost so much blood the last time I saw you, and you weren’t even woozy. That isn’t really something you can train out, Vij.” You had run it back a thousand times, it made no sense.

“I did. It was easy. Fighting is easy. Killing is easier. I never take a long time to heal, I told you, it was fine.”

“Okay, don’t tell me. Look, I enjoyed seeing you again, but I actually have some work to do.” You told him, gesturing to the blackberry bushes growing on the edge of the clearing.

“That’s why I’m here!” He chirped, excitedly. You narrowed your eyes at him, and realized that you weren’t getting anything done.

“Really, you’re here to help me clear out invasive bushes?” You countered, and he placed his hands on his hips.

“No, okay, I came by because I thought we could get wasted! It’s my day off!” He held up his hand with his thumb and pinky sticking out and pretended to chug.

“It’s not mine.” You told him, shaking your head. He repeated the motion, but with his shoulders sagged.

“I came all this way though.” You rolled your eyes.

“It’s like twenty minutes to the town, Vij.”

“Yeah, but the Vigilante-mobile is not good on gas.” He whined.

“Vigilante-mobile? Like the bat-mobile?” You asked, in complete disbelief.

“No, not like that. Anyway, I Ubered here and everything.” He explained, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You tried not to notice how broad he was, you really did.

“You Ubered? Dressed like that?” You indicated his suit, but continued ogling his arms.

“They don’t care, and besides, I wouldn’t be driving home drunk. That’s against the law. And, then I’d have to kill myself.” He told you, ending his rant with a sing-song voice.

“Fine, but I do have to do a few things, and then maybe I’ll call it a day early.” You offered, walking away from the blackberry. It was an area you’d been clearing for a while, it could wait one more day.

“Yes! I’ll help!” You eyed him, and sighed.

“Let’s just get back to the cabin, I noticed you limping.” You told him, leading him back through the woods. He huffed behind you. You actually wouldn’t mind another set of hands, but he was clearly not healed from the last time you’d seen him, and probably had another few wounds he wasn’t disclosing.

“I’m not.” He argued, and it made you smile. His insisting that he was fine was growing more and more ridiculous.

“You’re favoring your left foot.” You pointed out, coming to a stop again. He was leaning on his left side, and you watched him noticeably shift to the right and then wince.

“I’m really not.” He assured you, hands on his hips. You leaned in closer to him, and poked the spot you had stitched. He crumpled immediately, grabbing the spot.

“That hasn’t healed at all, I thought you recovered fast?” You snorted, teasing him.

“I lied. I thought you wanted me to have a power or something.” He groaned out, like you had punched him rather than poked him.

“Come on.” You told him, sighing and helping him straighten up. He tensed under your touch again, so you pulled away again, cursing yourself for doing it again. Fuck. You really wanted to touch him.

“It’s not far.” You promised, taking care to slow your normal pace and pick a path that had as few obstacles as possible. Vij was quiet on the walk back. When your cabin came into sight, you quickened your pace, anxious to get out of sight. You weren’t supposed to have anyone over, and you had a feeling that management would have serious concerns about Vigilante.

“What’s your poison?” You asked, hoping to draw him back out. You found yourself endeared to the near constant chatter, and devastated by its sudden loss. You pulled the door open, ushering him in. He stepped around you, his broad form taking up most of the door frame. You bit your lip, trying to focus on anything but his expansive back. Your eyes drifted down to the curve of his ass, and you regretted it immediately. It was too good.

“Polonium.” His answer cut through your thoughts, which you were sure were written on your face when he turned to you.

“That’s a literal poison, isn’t it?” You asked, not recognizing that as any kind of alcohol.

“Yes, just a seven trillionth of a gram is enough to kill a healthy adult human.” He told you, taking his gloves off and settling at the table. You laughed, and threw your pack down.

A real fucking poison, this guy.

“What do you want to drink? Like to “get wasted”?” You clarified, a dumb smile on your face.

“Oh, I thought we weren’t doing that. Since you’re working, technically.” He explained, confused, a frown clear from his tone. You just wanted him to push his mask up again. You were like a raw nerve, hoping for a sliver of skin.

“Fuck it. I got tequila?” You asked, reaching into your freezer and holding out the frosted bottle.

“Fuck yeah!” He exclaimed, shoulders lifting. You wanted to see his smile again. It had beamed so perfectly at you, he had beamed at you.

You filled two cups with a healthy splash and walked to join him at the table. He took one from you, as his visor tracked your movements.

“Drinking game?” He asked, rolling his mask carefully to his nose. Your thought scrambled immediately. If you didn’t kiss him soon, you thought you might actually explode.

“Sure, which one?” You asked, taking a deep drink from your cup. To calm the nerves, you told yourself. You swallowed the burn down, it was a smooth tequila, but it still burned the back of your throat.

“You’re so hot.” He blurted, smiling brightly at you.

“Afraid I don’t know that one, Vij.” You teased, hoping the red from his visor disguised your rapidly warming face.

“Sorry, I just looked at you again. That's all I can think about.” You bit your tongue, trying to keep from smiling like a maniac, you only let up when a sharp metallic taste flooded your mouth.

“You’re too hurt for sex.” You scolded him, trying to remind yourself of why it would be a bad idea to fuck him. You were running out of self-restraint.

“I’m not.” He argued again, and your heart fluttered mercilessly in your chest.

“The game?” You asked, changing the subject back to something more neutral. You had another drink, the tequila burning the new cut on your tongue.

“I don’t know, we get drunk and fuck?” He mumbled, grumpy, and it made you laugh.

“You know of so many different drinking games that I’ve never even heard of.” You teased.

“Was that sarcasm?” He asked, and you rolled your eyes.

“Yes. It was.” He took a drink. “Questions, then?” You asked, and he nodded.

“Truth or dare?” He asked, changing the game.

“Truth.” You told him, staring at the way his fingers flexed around his cup. You wondered how they’d feel against your throat.

“Do you want to see my face?” He asked, breaking your thoughts. It took you by surprise.

“That was a waste of a truth. Of course, I do, you know I do.” You told him, taking a sip of your drink. “Truth or dare, Vij.”

“Dare.” You stared at the red visor, behind your own reflection you could see his eyes. They were distorted, the colors askew, but the shape was distinct. Your gaze roved down to his bare mouth, which was parted. His lips were wet from the tequila, and red from his teeth. You watched him bite into his lip again, and any coherent thought you had fled you.

“Kiss me.” His hands were on you before the words were out, hauling you to him, pulling you into him. Your mouths met in a clash of teeth, sharp and biting, against the soft pliant skin of your lips. You couldn’t tell if the cut on your tongue was the cause of the iron taste, or if one of your lips were busted, but you didn’t care. His mouth was pressing against yours in an all-consuming heat. You settled against him, straddling his hips, and felt his hands wander up your body. You pushed his head back, baring his throat to you and you sank your teeth in before sucking the spot. He moaned under you, loudly, the sound tearing from him. You moved back to his mouth, slotting yours against his, slipping your tongue in. He met you with equal ferocity, the kiss more of a battle than a languid meeting of mouths. Neither of you wanted to give ground, but both of you were desperate for it. You whined into his mouth when he rutted up against you, too many layers separating you from him. He laughed into yours, and roughly squeezed your ass.

You pulled away, and he followed you up to nip against your jaw, lathing his tongue down your neck, before biting you as harshly as you had him.

“Truth or dare?” He mumbled against your throat, sucking deep bruises into the thin skin. You shivered at the feeling, as he focused on your pulse point.

“Dare.” You answered breathlessly, surging forward to kiss him again. You kept it chaste, pulling away again quickly, pressing open mouthed kisses down his cheek to his throat, licking up his throat to his ear. He threw his head back, moaning, giving you access.

“Take my mask off.” He demanded, the urgency not lost on you. You pulled away, though. The instruction was clear, but the intent was not. You stood up off of him completely, and took a step back to get distance between you and his skin.

“No.” You managed to get out, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

“The fuck do you mean, “no?” That’s the dare? I thought you wanted to see me? What the fuck?” Vij demanded, leaning forward on his knees. The skin you could see was flushed, with noticeably darker spots blooming where you had bruised.

“You can’t just show me your face.” You chided, putting your hands on your hips.

“I want to. Do you only want to fuck Vigilante?” He asked, his voice wavering, the confident tone lost.

“No, of course not. But you don’t know me, Vij. You can’t trust me.” You explained, agitated. Agitated that you were once again the only reason you weren’t having sex.

“We just made out! It was so hot! You can’t stop now!” He demanded, but he stayed in the chair. You realized that he wasn’t going to force anything. It made you want him that much more, but you knew it wasn’t the right call. When he cooled down, he’d feel the same, you were sure.

“That doesn’t matter. You have to be careful. Do you show everyone you make out with?” You implored, growing genuinely concerned for his safety.

“I don’t make out with anyone! If I have sex with random hotties as Vigilante, the mask stays completely on. Even when I had that threesome.” You chose to ignore the threesome comment, but realized he was being honest. When he spoke succinctly, you knew he was telling the truth.

“You don’t know me.” You repeated lamely, the words stiff in your ears. He exhaled shakily, and drained the last of his cup.

“Truth or dare?” He asked again, and you huffed out a sigh. You took a moment to consider your real options.

“Dare.” You decided, crossing the floor to where he sat.

“Take off my mask.” He repeated, and before he was done, you had lifted your hands to the rolled edges. You pulled slowly, trying not to pull his hair, and trying to not show how badly your hands were shaking. You gasped softly when you revealed his eyes, and your favorite shade of green stared back at you. You focused your attention on his eyes, the ones you’d seen behind the visor. They were the shade of the forest in the morning, soft golden flecks embedded in the crisp green. You tugged his mop of curls, and kissed him again.

“Beautiful.” You murmured against his lips, and they pulled up into the brightest smile you’d ever seen.

“I trust you. You saved my life. I want to know everything about you too, I mean that’s why I came back.”

“Sick.” You told him, breaking the tension, teasingly. He laughed and pulled you to his chest tightly.

tagged: @michi-reads

[its-deputy-caleb]

Hiii, could i have a request for how the gang members would react to meeting a historian or explorer in the wild?? thank you! I love your blogs sm!!

anon ily <3333 i went wayy overboard with these but i regret nothing bc this was soo cute and fun to write. I hope u enjoy and i made it gn for everyone. I only did the VDL boys for this but if enough ppl like it i might do the girls with something similar idk yet?

Dutch Van Der Linde

Dutch first laid eyes on you when you were hanging off the edge of a cliff after slipping when you got too close to the edge. He immediately ran over to you, helping you off the cliff and getting you settled back on your feet.

He seemed genuinely concerned and agreed to help you safely record the rock carving that was on the side of the cliff face, keeping you from falling.

You were a historian and had been studying these mysterious rock carvings after meeting an equally mysterious man, Francis Sinclair.

You didn’t see much of Dutch Van Der Linde after that until you ran into him again in Saint Denis in the saloon. He remembered who you were instantly and started up a conversation about your work where you chatted away for hours.

You became very close after that and he often accompanied you to Museums and fancy fundraisers that you were invited to.

He’d always get dressed up and complimented your finer outfits which was such a difference to the field gear you’d have on. You’d spend all night chatting away over nice champagne and dancing together before actually engaging with other guests but you didn’t have a care in the world with Dutch in your life.

Arthur Morgan

Arthur finds you standing in the middle of a field, flipping over rocks and staring numbly at what appeared to be a map in your hands.

When he approached you he soon learnt you were a young amateur explorer about to get your big break with a treasure hunt but you couldn’t find the gold bars for the life of you.

Arthur gave you a heart warming smile and held up a gold bar after retrieving it from his satchel having felt a little bad that he’d discovered it not a week before you.

The two of you laughed about it, calling yourself a fool for trying to find it for so long when it was clearly missing— the thought that someone took it clearly never crossed your mind.

Arthur was always a gentleman however and promised to make it up to you. After taking you to dinner and getting to know him better, you spent the next few days camping out and finding a new treasure together.

You travelled through caves and through valleys of flowers to find this treasure. Sometimes it was so beautiful that the two of you just stopped by a stream to let your horses rest and enjoy the scenery.

When you finally found the treasure you gave Arthur a big hug in excitement which caught him by surprised but he happily returned. He let you keep the treasure and wished you luck with more exploring but of course that wasn’t the last time you saw Arthur again.

Charles Smith

Charles meets you one day while you’re out surveying wildlife. You specialised in conservation, wanting to study and protect animal species.

Fresh out of the university from Saint Denis you’d been dying to get out of the confining city and explore the heartlands. That’s where a kind gentleman named Charles Smith had offered to protect you and show you around the herds of bison you’d taken to studying.

You spent days together riding the over the hills and following the herd as they travelled. While you were Charles told you all about his family and the respect and love they have for the beautiful creatures.

It was amazing the array of knowledge Charles knew about bison and you couldn’t stop the smile on your face as he told you about the characteristics of the bison. You rushed to take notes in your journal, knowing that all that he told you would help you study and protect these animals.

“Do you think it’ll actually do any good? The work you’re doing?”

“One can only hope Mr.Smith but I will do everything in my ability to protect such beautiful creatures.”

Even when you had to return to the city for study you constantly wrote to Charles, staying in touch and keeping him updated with all your work. It was hard to say goodbye to someone you’d grown close to but you made regular visits to each other long after that.

John Marston

You first found John in the saloon after a long day at work, in desperate need of a drink. Being a zoologist you instantly noticed the scars on his face and would’ve guessed a wolf was the animal that caused the damage.

The two of you instantly started up a conversation and shared all kinds of stories. He told you about being up on the mountain while you showed him the scar on your arm from your run in with a cougar.

You were collecting a compendium of all the animals across the heartlands and during the months you worked on it, you ran into John more than once.

He was always curious about your work and you often spent time together in the afternoon sun, showing him the animals you’d found so far.

“What about the stray dogs in town or do you only deal with cougars and wolves?”

“Well they’re animals too aren’t they not?”

Even though you couldn’t see John all the time, he often came along with you to see the wildlife and covered you when you were around particularly dangerous animals and you enjoyed every second you had with him.

Micah Bell

When Micah met you he had absolutely no idea what you were on about. In his mind the whole idea of a palaeontologist is ridiculous and made up, much less the fact that you chose to read books and study in your spare time.

At first he doesn’t do anything but mock your work but after running into you time and time again he finally started to come around.

He grew more and more curious when he saw the drawings in your sketch books of dinosaurs and even more so when he laid eyes on the fossils. But knowing Micah, he’s still incredibly stubborn.

“Ain’t no way that thing is real.”

“One needs an open mind to comprehend what’s prehistoric Mr.Bell. It requires a certain practice.”

Every so often on your work you’d run into Micah who’d be riding around on his horse, just passing by. By now you’d consider him a friend and your face lit up as he pulled a small ammonite fossil from his bag.

It wasn’t really your area of expertise but you could tell he wanted to impress you and seemed almost nervous as you examined the fossil. Nonetheless you could tell it was real and you let him keep the small fossil as a reminder of you until the next time you saw him.

Javier Escuella

Javier meets you when you’re down my the docks, trying to capture the sunlight and noticed him fishing.

Not wanting to disturb him you kept out of his hair until you heard him cheer loudly at a catch he managed to pull in. In your particular interest in animals, you couldn’t help but ask if you could take a photo of the fish he’d caught.

From then on the two of you became friends, often running into each other as you tried to capture landscapes and wildlife.

You’d always spend the day together and you’d show him how to use a camera while he showed you how to fish and play the guitar.

When you spent time apart you’d often write to each other to fill the gap. You’d always send pictures with little writing on the back of them while he sent you poems and songs that he wrote for you, promising to play them for you next time you’d meet.

In your personal journal you have the first picture you ever took of Javier, kept safe between the pages. He’s standing along the docks, facing the away from the water as he holds up a large sturgeon and a large smile.

You and Javier always stay in touch and after he told you of his chaotic and dangerous time in guarma he made light of it by telling you about all the different wildlife he saw while he was there.

Bill Williamson

Bill stumbles upon you in the wild by accident. He’s out scouting a lead when he ended up getting lost through the shrubbery and found you examining flowers closely.

When you told him you were a botanist he looked as if you’d just spoken a different language to him because he didn’t have a clue as to what that meant. Bill always made you laugh fondly at the confused look when you told him all the scientific names of flowers.

In Bill’s mind, a flower was a flower. There was purple flowers and blue flowers and even red ones but they didn’t have their own names.

The next time Bill ran into you he brought you what he thought was a bouquet of white flowers. Instead they were actually a species of weed that was poisonous when eaten but it didn’t stop you from smiling and hugging him which was the intended purpose.

In light of that incident Bill was actually curious about some plants, trying to learn about them more. When Bill went exploring with you he pointed out some of his favourites and you picked a few to put them in the brim of his hat for him to take him back to camp.

When you run into him again Bill tries to give you another flower, this time actually understanding the plant he’d picked was a Vanilla Flower Orchid or the Vanilla planifolia but he never learnt how to pronounce it unlike you.

With a high blush Bill placed the flower behind your ear and you pulled him into a hug, being careful not to crush the beautiful flower.

[princecharmingwinks]

Sterek Fic Rec - May 2021. New rec list for you. Hope you enjoy these delightful reads featuring our favourite werewolf and human dorks <3

May I Interest You in an Apology Muffin? by Leslie_Knope (1/1 | 1,478 | Teen)

“Wait, seriously? Who is it? C’mon, just tell me.”

“Uh…,” Stiles said, buying for time while he looked around as surreptitiously as possible. “That guy over there,” he whispered finally, jerking his chin toward the dark-haired guy three tables over, a guy so hot that Stiles’ only chance with him would most definitely be in an imaginary scenario.

Scott looked over his shoulder at the guy and got that determined glint in his eye that Stiles recognized, just about three seconds too late. Scott was gonna do something that he thought was heroic but was actually dumb.

“Scott!” he hissed, grabbing for his backpack and nearly knocking over their coffee cups in his haste to follow him. “Oh, holy shit.”

you all over me by Poe (1/1 | 3,705 | Explicit)

The thing about Stiles is, Derek thinks, is that he has no idea how enthralling he truly is. He’s easy to overlook, right up until the point he isn’t, and at some stage, Derek started looking, and now, it’s all he can do.

(or: the one where the pack is happy, healthy and alive, and Stiles and Derek are sort of inevitable)

a bad case of the wilds by kaistrex (weishen) (1/1 | 6,446 | Explicit)

“I could smell you all over town,” Derek growls.

Stiles squints back at him, trying to parse what Derek wants from him with that statement. An apology?

“Okay?” he says instead, which, as with everything else he says around Derek, seems to be the entirely wrong thing to come out of his mouth.

Derek’s eyes go red and Stiles bolts upright in his chair, trying to scoot backwards, banging into his desk.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

“Get away from me, Stiles,” Derek bites out, hands clenched into fists.

Stiles rolls his head on his shoulders. “Dude, this is my room. You get away from me.”

–

Basically, I wanted Derek fucking Stiles up against his bedroom window on a full moon with the blind up, so I wrote it. Happy Valentine's Day!

Cabins, Confessions, and Cockroaches by Nutellargh (1/1 | 4,009 | Teen)

That's how Stiles found himself in the middle of a forest, trying to grab the one bag of clothes and a bajilion bags of mystical powders, liquids, books and weapons, and instantly dropping them as he spotted the cabin dude.

Derek Hale chopping wood with an axe while shirtless was not a sight Stiles was prepared for.

the rescue by EvanesDust (1/1 | 860 | Teen)

Stiles has spent every moment of the last four months tracking the hunters who took his mate. Now that he’s found them, nothing will stop Stiles from taking back what’s his.

A Crooked Way to Fly by andavs (1/1 | 14,980 | General)

“We can’t just leave him here to die.”

“He’s an emissary, Scott.” Derek tried to make his tone empathetic, but Scott’s tendency to fight back on everything always grated on his nerves. “His pack is gone, he won’t survive more than a day or two either way.”

“Then we should stay with him.”

Derek sighed as he studied the man for a moment; he was too pale against the fur rim of his hood, almost grey from lying out in the snow, and his cloak was stained with dark dried blood around a protruding arrow shaft. It was unlikely he would even last the night. They would probably be able to carry on in the morning with little time lost, if any.

It wasn’t a horrible idea, Derek decided reluctantly. They hadn’t been able to set up a real camp for a few weeks in the open foothills, and they were all on edge from sleeping in exposed areas. A defensible place to sleep would be good for them, even if they were surrounded by death. They would be able to give the pack proper burials, at the very least.

“Fine. One night,” Derek relented, already moving away to check on Isaac. “He’s your responsibility.”

Big Bad Wolves by NotThatIWillEverWriteIt (1/1 | 1,144 | General)

"What's one more canine?"

But it's better when it's you by Tails89 (1/1 | 9,707 | Mature)

Shuffling slowly towards the front door, Stiles throws it open.

“What?”

Stiles’ brain short circuits - just a little - because standing in front of him is Derek Hale.

He hasn’t seen Derek in almost four years and now he’s standing on his doorstep, in shorts and a tank top with a canvas bag clutched in one hand.

Teen Wolf Fic Fest Prompt: Someone breaks a bone and someone unexpected winds up on their doorstep with a bag full of groceries

My Soul to Keep by jacyevans, Jmeelee (7/7 | 18,660 | Teen)

Stiles came with a whiteboard, and blue dry erase marker, flapping it over his head like a white flag on a battlefield.

"Come on," he coaxed. "You must want to say something. You've never gone this long without telling me to shut up." He waggled the marker in Derek's face. Stinging alcohol and pungent polymer singed Derek's nose hairs.

His fingers itched to pick up the board, and not because he wanted to tell Stiles to be quiet. He enjoyed the babble that filled the apartment every few days, the hearty food, Stiles' particular, reassuring smell: maple sugar buzz, spicy-sweet deodorant, milk-sour frustration, floral shampoo, and spring grass at night. It soaked into Derek's couch, his bed, his skull.

If any of it were real, Derek would take the board and write: thank you.

Lost Without You by ash_mcj (1/1 | 7,799 | General

Derek made a deal. A very stupid, no-good, mortifying deal because he couldn’t bear to tell his idiotic (secret) mate no. -- “You guys didn’t know that Derek plays piano?” Cora asked, her eyebrows furrowed. “He’s played since before I was born.” “He was good,” Peter recalled. “He used to sing, too. Put on little concerts for the pups.” “That was a long time ago,” Derek clipped. “Doesn’t matter now - I don’t play anymore.” "Derek," Stiles whined childishly. He scooted closer to him and grabbed onto his arm to gently shake him. “C'mon, Sourwolf, my life will never be complete until I hear you sing. I’ll do anything. I’ll streak across the lacrosse field during our final match, if you perform for us right now.” "When you graduate," Derek relented. --- And then Stiles graduated. And Derek had to perform for him. And then the fact that Derek saw Stiles as his mate wasn’t a secret anymore. ---

(For~ Sterek Valentine Week 2021; Day 3 and 4: Secret Crush and Love Song)

**Songfic to "Lost Without You" by Freya Ridings

princecharmingwinks special mention (i have never read a merman AU for sterek and this was a delighful introduction to the trope! Also it has meddling erica which we all know any mention of her is my weakness!)

Beacon Gills by kitsunequeen (1/1 | 4,226 | Teen)

“Derek,” Erica singsongs loudly. Rather than knocking on the rather flimsy-looking piece of driftwood, she grabs a coconut filled with seashells and shakes it violently. “We’ve got a surprise for you!”

“I hate surprises,” Derek answers, voice slightly muffled through the door. “Aren’t you supposed to be out exploring the caves with Isaac?”

“He has some special guests tonight,” Boyd says. “And so do you.”

Derek doesn’t answer right away, and Stiles can almost imagine him sighing.

“Come in,” he yields finally. “You know it’s unlocked.”

Erica flings the door open, nudges Stiles inside, and slams it behind him.

“Surprise!” she yells, and then Stiles can hear her and Boyd’s footsteps quickly retreating.

Oh, shit.

---

When Stiles accompanies Scott on a trip to his uncle's beach house, he gets more than he bargained for after running into a pack of mermaids with a particularly attractive leader...

And that’s it for the month folks! Thank you to the amazing fandom always giving me so much content to enjoy, sterek fandom is the best fandom ;) 

[cinnamonest]

Razor (Genshin Impact) - Yandere Profile

@bleachlemon

I'm glad you are ok with it because oh boy do I have some very very n a s t y noncon-y thoughts about our wolfboi. We love a dense boy, not a single thought in his empty, horny lil brain. Head empty, just horny for y/n. 

I also have the big horny™ for any cross between boys and canines... Does smth for me. As if my favoritism wasn't obvious by how much I've written below lmao

tw: general yandere content, violence, mentions of n/sfw

tw below cut: breeding, heavy  noncon, like jfc this is nasty, misogynistic

----

What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

The biggest issue with Razor is his complete and total lack of restraint. He sees no need for it, he has no real concept of social norms. Wolves don't really practice restraint on... anything. When they see something they want to kill, they kill it, when they see something they want to have, they have it, when they're mad, they attack, when they're hungry, they eat.

So in a way, he's perfectly lucid, but doesn't act as a normal lucid person who understands social norms would do. He knows that you give him some burning, fluttery feeling, and that he enjoys having you around, and that he gets sad when you have to leave. He's perceptive enough to know it's the same urge that drives humans to form their long-term mate partnerships. If that's what they refer to as "love," he'll readily adopt that term as a way to describe what he feels. What he doesn't get is everything between point A and point Z. No point in all the "courtship" and "marriage" and other human customs -- he doesn't need to "date" to know you're the one, and he doesn't need some signed paper to signify he loves you. In his mind, it's perfectly logical to expect you to immediately come live out in Wolvendom with him. You did accept all his courtship signs, after all.

Wolves are very straightforward with it, you see. Their courtship includes going for walks side-by-side, close to each other, which you did when you let him guide you through the woods. Wolves will rest their head or legs on the other, and you let him rest his head on your shoulder (even if you flinched with surprise when he did, uncomfortable but too nice to say anything). He even when to the extent of engaging in human mating rituals -- you accepted all those gifts he hunted down, and you smiled when he said nice things about how pretty you are, how nice you smell.

So in other words, you've basically already accepted him as a mate. That's what he's perceived, and changing his initial perceptions is not easily accomplished.

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

One of the most likely, and definitely the fastest. Possibly after meeting you a single time. He can't take the risk of you not coming back.

He won't be very subtle or sneaky about it either, not tricking you into walking right into captivity, nor drugging you or taking you in your sleep. It's very straightforward - it's not like there's anyone in Wolvendom to hear you, so he has no problem just slinging you over his shoulder and carrying you off. He kinda gets why you'd panic, so he reassures you that no, he's not gonna eat you or anything, you're just going home.

Don't worry about the pack - they won't eat you either, or even hurt you. He's already told them not to. He gets why you might be frightened by the massive, snarling creatures and their massive teeth and eyes that shine in moonlight, but he'll make sure you get used to them and accept them as your family, just like he has.

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape? 

That depends. Can you fight off two 180-pound masses of claws, teeth, and muscle? If so, sure, it'll be easy. If not... you'll have some issues.

He's lucky to have such a loyal pack that will help him with these things - they don't exactly understand why you'd want to leave, but they know you're not supposed to. Even when he has to leave you, which isn't often, he'll leave a few of them around to watch you. To make sure no one comes and steals you or anything - and of course, the implication that it's to make sure you don't run away, either. He doesn't really get why you would, but he's come to the realization, based on what you've tried to tell him, that you miss your family and friends. And he gets that, he really does, but in the end, he's selfish at his core, and his empathy for you isn't enough for him to just let you go.

He sleeps latched onto you, arms wrapped around you, so it's not a good idea to try. Your best bet is to wait for a time he's gone and distract the wolves with something, which isn't too hard, and run for it. But even if you do manage to escape, you won't be for long. They can smell you from a mile away and will use your scent to pinpoint you down within a few minutes. They don't exactly have any gentle ways of taking you down and bringing you back, either. They're basically going to have to use their teeth, so it's better if you don't struggle - you'll just hurt yourself.

If he catches you, though, he'll just get huffy and angry, and much like when initially taking you, he'll just pick you right up and bring you back. He's not opposed to stealing ropes and the like from the passing knights, and tying knots isn't too difficult to figure out.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

Poor boy is very easy to lie to and manipulate. Head empty, not many thoughts up there. However, you'll have to be clever about it, because most of the time, even if he believes you, he doesn't care. Sure, you can easily convince him that it's normal for human couples to sleep separately... But that's not going to stop him from curling up with you, because that's what he does. That's what wolves do.

He will, however, be somewhat easily manipulated into getting you things you want, if he thinks it'll make you happy. However, obtaining things you want will almost definitely come in the form of theft, or worst case scenario, the body of a passer-by that just so happened to have something you wanted visibly on their person.

If he finds out you lied to him on something, he'll get pouty and grumpy. It's not pleasant, but it's better than the rage reaction of some yanderes.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

His life revolves around you, and yours should revolve around him. That's how mates are. You can go for walks in the woods! You can take naps in the sun together! You can spend literal hours mating! Why would you need anything else?

That being said, he's always had a uniqueness from the wolves in that he's awake more - wolves sleep about 14 hours a day, him only about 8 or 9. You'll definitely be getting a lot more sleep than you would back home, but you'll have a few precious hours to yourselves. It makes him happy - it used to be time he spent all alone, a reminder of how he didn't truly fit in with humans nor wolves. But now, you have that time together! He's willing to do most anything you want, so long as you're together. He's always had some adaptative differences he practices by himself - making fires, cooking food on them, wearing clothes. If you want to go exploring, you can do that, if you want to make food, you can do that too. He'll even accommodate you if you want to do useless things, like your insistence on teaching him to read, or practicing his speech.

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

It's fairly simple. Don't leave. That's really the one big one.

He's actually not one to make a rule against fighting him - he'll see it as you wanting to play fight, wrestling, which wolves do all the time. It's fun, even if it's easy for him to win. And it's exciting when you fight back, in a weird way.

Don't make contact with other humans, if you see them. Oh, and he'll want you to report to him everything you did or saw while he was gone hunting.

Generally, if he gives you a command, which isn't too much, he expects you to follow it. In his mind, he's the male, he's supposed to tell you what to do. Isn't that how it usually works with humans too?

If you're too disobedient, he'll get grumpy. Honestly, his most likely form of dealing with it is to wrestle you to the ground, and essentially hold you down until you comply or agree to whatever he wants.

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

Rip.

But seriously. No, they're not going to last. He's one of the more paranoid ones, because deep down he's aware of how little he understands. For all he knows, every human male that talks to you could be doing what you call "flirting." Hell, didn't some girls like other girls too? How does he know which ones do and which ones don't? That means everyone is a threat, and he can't let threats get in the way.

He's not one of the ones to be subtle or try to hide it from you. He will probably try a little bit if he knows it's one of your family or friends whose blood is soaking his clothes when he comes back to you, but if it's random, he might even be proud. Look at that, he took down a whole search party that came looking for you all by himself! It's proof of his strength and dominance, and you should be happy that you have a strong mate to protect you! And he doesn't really empathize well - if you're upset, he will explain exactly that to you, and insist you change how you see things. Humans are so strange, being upset that your mate is able to protect you. You'll see why it's a good thing eventually, he's sure.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

He gets frustrated pretty easily. It's usually just a lack of understanding, in his mind, you're being unnecessarily difficult almost all the time. He has told you a million times he doesn't care about whatever is normal for humans, yet you continuously bring it up, and that's a bit irritating. He'll huff and sigh and clamp a hand over your mouth if you're going on about it, and if you really refuse to shut up about it, there are a variety of ways of making you quiet - or distracting you from complaints.

He's got an immature streak, as he never really had anyone around to teach him otherwise. So he gets very pouty, a little bit aggressive and forceful when it comes to being upset over something or getting his way. If he wants attention and you're not giving it to him, he won't hesitate to just take whatever you're holding and focused on of your hands and toss it to the side.

On the positive side, he's never going to be passive aggressive. He's always straightforward and has no hesitation to tell you exactly how he's feeling.

If he's genuinely, truly furious, he can get violent. He'll probably apologize and definitely feel bad, licking all the little wounds. He wouldn't try to do anything so bad as bone breaking or severely hurting you, but might accidentally lose control of his own strength.

Do they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

More or less an equal. Not much to say here, as, to be honest, that sort of thing hasn't really crossed his mind. He doesn't waste time with thoughts of relative value, he just knows he loves you and wants you.

Subconsciously, it would be slightly below. Due to a very natural upbringing, he automatically associates males as being the leaders and alphas, while females are... Well, puppy-making machines. Don't try to accuse him of any sort of sexism or anything - he can't even really wrap his head around the concept, much less understand why it's wrong to acknowledge how much weaker you are than him. If you need proof of that, he can easily wrestle with you and prove it.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

Pretty highly determined. He mistakes a lot of things as signs of love, though. You might be only complying out of fear or exhaustion, but he won't be able to tell, he's not good with facial expressions, so he thinks it's a sign you're accepting him.

Honestly, he's one of the ones that, albeit unintentionally, will kind of guilt you into acceptance. You inevitably feel bad for him, you can tell how lonely he really is, and how desperately he loves you, wants you to love him. His intentions aren't malicious, and it's actually difficult to truly resent him, unlike some yanderes. Ironically, it reaches a point where rejecting him sometimes really does feel like kicking a sad little stray puppy in the rain - it makes you feel awful when he gets sad and quiet.

While there are a lot of yanderes who would be a lot more earnest and striving to serve and please you, which he doesn't really do, he's probably one of the most patient yanderes when it comes to this. He doesn't care if it takes the rest of your lives. He'll never give up or just settle for having you with him, he'll be loving you and trying to be reassured of your love till the day he dies, if that's what it takes.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

Primarily, it's hard to emphasize how significantly his lack of human socialization impacts his yandere behaviors.

Most yanderes are forced to acknowledge the inherent wrongness of their actions - some will accept it and not care that it's wrong, some sadists enjoy knowing it's wrong, some will delude themselves into justifying it, some will try their best to act within moral boundaries or make up for their wrongness somehow. But all in all, they all have to face the reality of the situation and understand that what they're doing is considered wrong.

Razor's not like that. He doesn't really take the moral aspect into consideration. To him, the whole idea is simply a human thing entirely. It doesn't matter what humans do. He views the world in a very black and white sense. Morality is a more abstract concept, what's more important is how things are relative to himself - what he wants.

Tends to communicate in strange ways. Excess emotions, too much happiness or anger or whatever can make him forget his words, so there's a lot of subtle communication through grunts, whimpers, growls. Over time, you learn how to distinguish between the various noises and body language and what they mean.

Will lick you. It's weird. It's kinda gross. But it's just how he shows affection. He tends to get carried away with kisses, ending up lapping at your lips, licking your neck and collarbones, nuzzling his head into you.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

Scientifically speaking, male sex drive is heavily boosted by testosterone. Testosterone can be greatly increased by heavy physical activity, eating high amounts of meat, sun exposure, and is even directly correlated to spending large amounts of time outdoors. 

You see where this is going.

Very high drive, very touchy, and no reservations, no shame. Thank whatever deity you care to recognize in Tevyat that you're isolated from other people out in the woods, because he has no concept of norms or appropriateness, and trying to get him to understand is a fruitless effort. You're wasting your time trying to explain the idea that groping and touching out of the blue is considered rude, or that most human men take issue with being very visibly, very noticeably hard and would likely try to conceal it, not just sit there with the blatant bulge poking forward... His response will only be that you're far away from humans, so it shouldn't matter. He's just trying to show you he loves you, that's why he insists on grinding into you all the time, staring at your body, humping you when you're curled up together quite ironically like a horny dog.

Unfortunately, he basically just does not know how to be gentle or slow about it. He can start off trying to be slow and soft if you beg for it, but once you're actually laying there and he's in you, he gets caught up in instinct and the heat of the moment, and just kinda... forgets about that whole "slow and gentle" thing, opting to just rut you as hard and fast as possible.

He doesn't talk much during sex. He already has some trouble forming sentences in normal times, you can't expect him to when he's fucking. You won't get a lot of words besides the occasional, "good, feels good," or little commands, but you will get a lot of animalistic noises - possessive growls, little whines of pleasure. He doesn't have any sense to hold back on his noises.

He's also the least likely to care about things like shaving, periods, or imperfections. Which is good, but you also can't use those things as an excuse to not fuck, it'll go in one ear and out the other.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

It's not so much an intentional disregard for your willingness, so much as a combo of not really considering it, and thinking it's just something you'll change on. If he's human, and he has the urge, that means surely you do too. Sometimes humans need emotional connections before they want to mate, right? So he just needs to express his love to you. The looping problem there is that fucking you is pretty much his primary way of expressing love. It'll work out in the end, he guesses.

His limited knowledge of humanity also will lead him to certain conclusions. From what he understands, human society often shames females for having sex and wanting sex, right? That's dumb. But their mentality is probably ingrained in your brain, isn't it? That's why you act like this. But don't worry, he's not like the human men. Wolves don't feel that way. You'll understand that with time.

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

Biting/Scratching/Marking

It's a natural reaction to him. If he's balls deep in you, mounted on and pounding into your body, thrusting so hard that your body is lurching forward with every movement, he wants a way to hold you still, keep your body in place so that each pounding goes deeper and harder. It's second nature for him to just sink his teeth into your jugular, your neck, your shoulders. As an added bonus, he likes seeing the marks it leaves behind, in addition to how his fingernails that dig into your hips leave little indents in your skin.

Breeding

He doesn't know how to not cum in you. You can't honestly expect him to pull out of you, you're so warm and wet and soft, it would be torture not to reach a climax buried inside that tight heat. You can go on a rant about not wanting to get pregnant, but it'll go in one ear and out the other. He doesn't get it - you're supposed to want to have his pups. Do you not think he's a suitable mate for reproducing? You'll be halfway through explaining why kids aren't in your current agenda before being flipped over and pounded into yet again with his newfound determination to prove his strength and dominance to you. Once you understand that, surely, you'll want all the puppies you can possibly make.

Predator/Prey

This applies mostly to escape attempts. He'll be mad, but it triggers something in him, something instilled by years of hunting down poor little prey animals. The desire to hunt you down, find you, and ruin you. Instead of ripping you apart like he would boars, he can't think of anything but just fucking you up against the nearest tree, the ground, anything. The faster you run, the more afraid you are, the more exciting it is. It's a very primal urge, one that commands all sorts of predators, both in feeding and breeding.

Forced Orgasms

As with many human things, he makes certain discoveries with time about sex. The first time you fuck, it'll probably be too rough for you to really cum, but it'll only be a few days in before your body adjusts to the girth that's frequently inside of you, and you end up spasming all over him - and he's just got this shocked expression, watching with amazement when you clench down and quiver under him. Wait, you mean human females can orgasm too? Not just the men?

From that point forward, he's determined to fuck, lick, grind, and force every orgasm out of you as physically possible. It makes him feel a weird sort of pride and contentment. It's one of the few things that makes him a big smug. Even if you feel like you can't possibly cum any more, he'll try anyway.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

It's your purpose! He has learned that human girls only have one baby at a time, sometimes two, which is nothing compared to how many pups wolves usually have in one litter. That means that you'll have to make up for the lack of quantity of pups with quantity of pregnancies, which means constantly breeding and breeding and making sure every last drop stays inside of you. He doesn't understand why humans would even want to prevent pregnancy, it's the best thing that can happen, it's the whole reason you're alive, and it's a sign that you're his. Like with most things, he knows eventually you'll come around. Once you actually have the pups there in front of you, you'll love it. He knows you will.

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

He's a little lacking on the thought process behind punishing. If he's mad, it tends to cloud his thoughts, reverting to a more animalistic state, and he's not gonna have the complex thoughts required to really think through punishment, so it's not gonna be anything complex.

Doesn't really matter, if he's mad, just fucking you is going to feel like a punishment, with him slamming you into the ground, a tree, any rough surface nearby and just rutting you, claw-like fingernails digging into your skin and teeth sinking into your shoulder to hold you in place, a hand clasped around your throat. Fucking is basically the primary outlet he chooses for his emotions, happiness, love, stress, and anger alike, a simple, primal form of expression. If he's mad, he just needs to take it out on something, release all of that force and energy into rough, brutal motions. Normally when he's angry, he'll go hunt down some animal, taking all that anger out on the kill. But, recently he's learned he actually quite prefers to release his anger this way. It's more satisfying and enjoyable, and it deters you from stepping out of line, too. It's not just your average slightly rough fucking, no, it's the kind of fucking that will genuinely hurt you, rutting you over and over until your insides are burning from friction, your walls and cervix so completely bruised and abused you'll feel the  throbbing soreness with every movement for days, hands leaving massive bruises all across your hips and shoulders. Not that that's any excuse to not fuck more, no, no soreness will get you out of normal daily routine.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

He has a thing for breasts. They're very unique to humans, it's something he hasn't had the opportunity to see or understand, and he'll spend a lot of time just burying his face in them, licking and sucking. Big or small, doesn't matter. He just likes them.

One more nasty HC i can't not talk about

wait, you mean humans have sex... Facing each other? There are positions other than doggy? It's all he's ever seen. Porn and the internet don't exactly exist in this world. The whole concept blows his mind. He can fuck you AND see your face while he does? He'll nearly faint right then and there, and you'll regret bringing it up once you've gone numb from the repetitive pounding. He'll start asking you what else exists out there, his brain will start thinking of all the different ways to fuck he's never thought about. Once he learns you can ride him, he's in heaven, even if it's not so much riding so much as you sitting on his cock and him bouncing you up and down with such ferocity you can't even move your legs.

Speaking of things he doesn't know about, if you're smart, you make sure he doesn't find out about blowjobs. He'll love it, and it won't be a blowjob so much as him literally fucking your throat, grabbing your head and hair and just wrecking your mouth.

None of it is him trying to hurt you, really. He just doesn't understand how to be gentle. He might get better with time, but he's got a predator-born ferocity, a primal roughness that will always be a part of his nature.

(yes i did research on wolf courtship/mating rituals for this bc i suffer for my art)

[novelconcepts]

YELLOWJACKETS

the moment - 1881 words; in which Van has strong opinions about the most romantic bit of a movie

it ain't me (but it's wearing my skin) - 4796 words; in which lovers come together in the wake of the S2 finale

only the stars - 2450 words; in which it’s just Tai, Van, a stolen joint, and a shitload of stars

armor  - 1459 words; in which Tai reflects on wearing Van’s clothes

forgiveness - 1444 words; in which the Hunt claims another victim

magic in that road - 2257 words; in which the Yellowjackets lose a game and Van takes Tai on a date

as it was (and ever shall be) - 10k words; in which Van and Tai watch movies together over the years

give me a world (you have taken the world i was) - 2192 words; in which Jackie knows only how to haunt

where we begin and end (i'd still know you) - 4783 words; in which Tai needs Van to reassure her about what is real

shoot a silver bullet (point-blank range) - 8508 words; in which the wolves turn Van into something more

like cigarette smoke - 1888 words; in which Lottie reassures Nat she was chosen

feels like the last time (i fell in love with you) - 6394 words; in which Van and Tai take Shauna’s wedding by storm

coronation - 3371 words; in which a strong team engages in sharing the crown

the teenage lesbian's guide to not helping at all with a friend's crush - 1889 words; in which Lottie goes to the only gay person she knows for advice

a kiss with a fist is better than none - 2445 words; in which Shauna still has rage, and Lottie gives her a place to put it

want me to love you in moderation (do i look moderate to you?) - 24.6k words; in which sex is a game, and Tai always wins (which means Van wins, too)

bein’ reckless and young (is not how the damage gets done) - 4156 words; in which the Yellowjackets enjoy a party before Nationals, and Tai and Van prank the town

i can hear the sirens (but i cannot walk away) - 3814 words; in which the Wilderness will make them girl-gods, for a price

once you stop, stop looking (it’ll hit you in the face) - 21.8k words; in which the Yellowjackets embark on a camping trip filled with bonding and gay panic

honey, you’re familiar (like my mirror years ago) - 40.6k words; in which the teenage versions of several Yellowjackets come face to face with their adult futures in a bid to set things right

i’m starving, darling (let me put my lips to something) - 7173 words; in which the biting starts as an accident, but Van’s still not ashamed

wanted my heart (but i gave her my soul) - 55.6k words; in which Taissa doesn’t believe in vampires, but here she is all the same

are you down (to be a distraction, baby?) - 5013 words; in which Tai finds New Years Eve is best spent on a roof with her crush

flirting with the line (and then i crossed it) - 12.4k words; in which Van rolls up to the class reunion, and Taissa takes the opportunity to plunge over the edge of appropriate ex-girlfriend conversation

a lifelong love letter - 6844 words; in which it isn’t quite the wedding Van would have planned, but it is the one she gets to choose

carve your name on arrival (don’t pass go)  - 2,375 words; in which the team plays together in life...and haunts together in death

what doesn't kill you (doesn't kill you) - 6,281 words; in which Tai and Van have a post-break-up date to see Bend It Like Beckham

tell 'em i'm a good kisser  - 58k words; in which Van is rescued by a beautiful stranger who only needs a fake girlfriend for a “little while”

am i gonna lose myself again? (i quite like the person that i am) - 19.6k words; in which Van makes an ill-advised visit after her mother’s funeral

one goal - 2,975 words; in which Van is an exceptional goalie, and Taissa is exceptionally exasperating

open the past and present now (and we are there) - 11.1k words; in which a love story cares little for “should”

if you wanna play it like a game (come on, come on, let's play) - 6409 words; in which a crush on the goalie turns Taissa into an utter goober

(don’t care if it hurts) i wanna have control - 4778 words; in which, twenty years later, Tai and Van have new discoveries to make

bury it and rise above - 8642 words; in which Van and Tai join the mile-high club (technically)

fleeting - 6807 words; in which Van’s pretty used to having crushes on her friends

come and find me (dancing all alone)  - 6502 words; in which it’s hard to tell a girl how much you like her (so Taissa throws her a private Prom instead)

playing favorites - 3890 words; in which a bored eldritch nature god loves some of Its toys more than others

don’t you ever tame your demons (always keep ‘em on a leash) - 30.8k words; in which the Wilderness replaces Van’s voice with tooth and claw

it’s not faith (if you use your eyes) - 8777 words; in which Taissa ascends to godhood

yield - 5271 words; in which the Yellowjackets start a fight club in the woods

babe, i know that it's your soul (could you bottle it up?) - 10.3k words; in which Tai and Van don’t need to talk about what they’re doing

don't know if it's right (but i know that i'm having fun with you, baby)  - 11.3k words; in which Taissa attends Shauna’s wedding only to find herself set up with a charming redhead

this conversation's classic (can predict this shit line by line) - 4188 words; in which Van goes out dancing

the other side of someday - 49k words; in which Taissa finds herself sharing her body with a long-dead goalie

(stop the world and) melt with you - 2612 words; in which a lack of relationship boundaries escalates to inescapable degrees

i am all alone and far from home (and i don’t always know what’s good for me) - 42.5k words; in which the plane splits on the way down, and Taissa and Van find themselves alone in the wilderness

this is a gift (it comes with a price) -  2535 words; in which Van can’t die, which has its horrible advantages

tales from the wilderness - word count variable; a compilation of (mostly) unconnected filled prompts for Yellowjackets

THE HAUNTING ANTHOLOGY

silver mourning - 673 words; in which Jamie’s hair goes white overnight

postcards - 2388 words; in which Dani Clayton simply can’t sit still

(could be dreadfully) boring - 4028 words; in which boring is, in fact, ideal

(late night) bargains - 2079 words; in which Jamie wakes before Dani that night

heading into the dark (and we’ve got to hang on to each other) - 4908 words; in which Dani finds little lights to lead her through the dark

the thing about gravity - 2862 words; in which Jamie is called home

walking with the lady - 6417 words; in which Viola wakes and has an abundance of opinions to share, whether Dani wants them or not

wanting (more than any ghost could) - 7432 words; in which Jamie proposes an unorthodox method of exorcism

no fear (don’t you turn like orpheus, just stay here) - 3178 words; in which Jamie struggles to offer comfort after the events at the lake

souvenirs you never lose - 8497 words; in which Dani discovers five scars on Jamie (and leaves one behind)

(above) a boring little pub - 7200 words; in which that boring little pub date actually takes place

something to hang on to - 4181 words; in which Jamie, for reasons she can’t explain, buys a camera

unexpected - 12.5k words; in which Dani learns a number of things about herself in bed (and Jamie learns one thing about her heart)

learning a lot (about being alive) - 11.6k words; in which so much of the story is the same--but there is no gardener working at Bly Manor

the shape of it - 5419 words; in which the Lady’s method of taking Dani is nothing like they expected

been so good at wasting time (thank god for july) - 27.1k words; in which an unhappily-married Dani hires a landscaper who leaves her speechless

i’ll walk beside you, love (any way the wind blows) - 20.2k words; in which Jamie is the one to invite the Lady in

there’s an art (to life’s distractions) - 20.6k words; in which Jamie is looking for an excellent tattoo, and finds herself falling for her artist along the way

the key to any problem - 45k words; in which Dani is attending her mother’s wedding with her fake “girlfriend”--a perfectly normal thing to do, resulting in no complicated feelings at all (part I of wedding bells series)

an ocean away - 25.1k words; in which Jamie sets off for Owen’s stag party, and Dani finds methods of dealing with missing her (part II of wedding bells series)

having so much fun all alone (i wanna let somebody know) - 5703 words; in which Jamie’s efforts to stave off a headache are not accomplished in time for Dani to return home 

she tells me worship (in the bedroom) - 4387 words; in which Jamie’s never been one for religion--save for where Dani is concerned

who am i (that i should get to hold you) - 22.4k words; in which a person’s soulmate can be found in their dreams--and Dani has been trying so hard to make the pieces fit

fortunate - 9066 words; in which Dani and Jamie struggle in the pursuit of alone time

(how lovely i feel) not to have to pretend - 5579 words; in which Dani is exceedingly self-possessed, and only Jamie is allowed past the curtain

(your gift to me is just to be) bracing for the winds i always summon - 4060 words; in which Dani can feel a night like this coming on like a storm

to be perceived - 5918 words; in which the manor is too loud, Peter and Rebecca taking up too much space, and there is a pretty young woman at Jamie’s favorite table

with one eye open (all i see is you) - 4059 words; in which Dani goes on a gay speed run at her local club

on the hunt (for who I've not yet become) - 42.1k words; in which Jamie is taken in by the O’Mara family, and Dani grows up wedged between two confusing dark-haired best friends 

(you may be) my final match - 96.7k words; in which Dani engages in a friendship-with-benefits with the local florist, believing it’s all in good fun

go back one more time (and begin it) - 47.4k words; in which Jamie wakes the morning after Flora’s wedding--in 1987, with a second chance

(my love can be) the killing kind - 8553 words; in which Jamie is trying to complete a hit, and the associate from O’Mara keeps getting in her way

the beast you’ve made of me - 22.7k words; in which Dani has been carrying the splintered soul of an ancient vampire for half an ageless century, forgotten by all--until she meets by chance a woman in Bly who remembers

howlin’ outside your door - 6847 words; in which the women of Jamie’s family are born to run

eligible - in which Dani finds herself roped into a fundraising auction at the opening of Bly’s newest bakery

once in a blue goddamn moon - 6904 words; in which Jamie is the opposite of everything Dani has ever known, in the best way possible

consequences - 6334 words; in which Jamie was probably joking, and Dani can’t for her life stop obsessing about it

reciprocation - 20k words; in which Dani occasionally falls asleep before returning the favor

universal cue cards - 6188 words; in which the seamstress for her wedding dress jars loose what Dani has been trying to ignore for years

blink - 11.9k; in which Dani and Jamie make it to (and briefly sneak away from) Flora’s wedding

angels in the architecture (spinning in infinity) - 26.4k words; in which the afterlife looks an awful lot like Bly Manor, where all occupants are granted a second chance at happiness

at the end of fairytales (where do we go) - 212.7k words; in which magic and music blend together to propel the hottest new rock band to stardom

a call to motion (when you move, i move) - 4724 words; in which a holiday cabin comes with some particular bedroom modifications

(i’m not) the guy you’re taking home - 20.5 k words; in which, after a break-up in college, Jamie and Dani come face to face years later on the set of a lesbian romance film

masked author one-shots - word count variable; prompt fills for the Masked Author (2021) challenge under code name Hill Boy

(the rest is just) confetti - word count variable; a compilation of unconnected filled prompts for Bly Manor/Hill House

PAPER GIRLS

something (about her) - 5094 words; in which Mac notices five things about KJ (and KJ notices one thing about Mac)

nobody’s stopping you now - 11.3k words; in which KJ runs into an old friend in NYC

no time like the present - 2103 words; in which the kids discover makeup

embarrassing - 2538 words; in which the kids avoid their parents at a wedding

out of the rain - 2459 words; in which KJ stumbles upon a shelter in the park

drive thru - 1679 words; in which Erin’s friends support her first post-route job

funeral  - 1967 words; in which KJ thinks it’s a shit day for a funeral

[theusurpersdog]

A Bird in a Cage

Sansa’s arc in A Clash of Kings is all about boxing her in. Not only is she a hostage in King’s Landing, she’s also expected to pretend she’s not; she has to attend Court with a smile on her face, playing the role of Joffrey’s betrothed every day. Showing any honest emotion is punished by verbal and physical beatings. Her entire life becomes a performance she must put on to keep the monsters at bay. Everything about her world is meant to be stifling; from the physical restrictions to the emotional ones, it all makes her retreat deeper and deeper within herself.

But the real magic of this book is the moments where she finds a way to push back or escape her bounds . . . 

Captive

In more ways than one, Sansa is a captive in King’s Landing.

The first kind of abuse she’s subjected to is physical. Beatings are a part of her everyday life. Because Robb was crowned king, or because she was happy Janos Slynt was sent to the Wall, or because Joffrey decided to be especially cruel one day. Sometimes for no reason at all.

She has to take care to dress carefully to hide the bruises:

The gown had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. Those were Joffrey’s gifts as well.

This should go without saying, but domestic abuse is not rational; nothing Sansa does could stop Joffrey from abusing her – no clever words or tricks she could do to keep him happy. Half the time he has her beaten, it’s because of something Robb did.

Because she could be beaten at any moment, Sansa always keeps one eye on Joffrey, terrified that his mood could turn:

So the king had decided to play the gallant today. Sansa was relieved.

. . .

The king was growing bored. It made Sansa anxious. She lowered her eyes and resolved to keep quiet, no matter what. When Joffrey Baratheon’s mood darkened, any chance word might set off one of his rages.

Not only is she afraid of being hit, she’s genuinely afraid he could kill her:

When she doubled over, the knight grabbed her hair and drew his sword, and for one hideous instant she was certain he meant to open her throat.

Sansa knows her life balances on an incredibly delicate string. Jaime being Robb’s prisoner gives the Lannisters a reason to keep her alive, but Joffrey had reasons to keep Ned alive, too. If anything were to set him off, he would kill Sansa without hesitation. That’s why Sansa feels safer with Cersei around to watch her son, because she’s the only thing that remains to keep Joffrey in check. And Sansa knows that if Robb were to do anything to Jaime, her life would be over:

Gods be good, don’t let it be the Kingslayer. If Robb had harmed Jaime Lannister, it would mean her life. She thought of Ser Ilyn, and how those terrible pale eyes staring pitilessly out of that gaunt pockmarked face.

The beating she endures after Robb wins the battle at Oxcross is so bad that she can barely walk afterward; and as I already mention above, she has to be careful to wear dresses to hide her bruises.

And not only does she have to endure the abuse, she also has to carry on the farce for the rest of the court. Everyone knows she’s a prisoner, and everyone knows that Joffrey is having the Kingsguard beat her, but she’s not allowed to show it; all of her pain has to be kept hidden, pushed deep down inside herself.

Which leads me to the other kind of abuse Sansa experiences in King’s Landing. Everything about her time there is meant to emotionally destroy her. Joffrey intentionally tries to taunt her with threats to murder her family:

“It’s almost as good as if some wolf killed your traitor brother. Maybe I’ll feed him to wolves after I’ve caught him.

. . .

“I’d sooner have Robb Stark’s head,” Joff said with a sly glance toward Sansa.

. . .

“I’ll deal with your brother after I’m done with my traitor uncle. I’ll gut him with Hearteater, you’ll see.”

He loves to play mind games with her, like when he promised to show Ned mercy and then cut off his head and said that was mercy. The constant way that he twists reality around messes with her head and leaves her understandably paranoid:

What if it was some cruel jape of Joffrey’s, like the day he had taken her up to the battlements to show her Father’s head? Or perhaps it was some subtle snare to prove she was not loyal. If she went to the godswood, would she find Ser Ilyn Payne waiting for her, sitting silent under the heart tree with Ice in his hand, his pale eyes watching to see if she’d come?

The constant cruelty she suffers, and Joffrey and Cersei’s profound betrayal at the end of A Game of Thrones, make it hard for her to trust anyone, even when they show kindness:

He speaks more gently than Joffrey, she thought, but the queen spoke to me gently too. He’s still a Lannister, her brother and Joff’s uncle, and no friend. Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father’s head. Sansa would never make that mistake again.

How is she supposed to trust anyone, when everything around her is false? When everything is a carefully constructed jape at her expense? Especially because she’s surrounded by enemies; anyone making their home in Joffrey’s court is sworn to kill Sansa’s family.

And Cersei intentionally makes her isolation worse, rotating her bedmaids:

Sansa did not know her. The queen had her servants changed every fortnight, to make certain none of them befriended her.

Sansa truly has no one to talk to, not even friendly servants to keep her company. Her loneliness is so profound that she enjoys being watched over by Arys Oakheart because he’s the only person who will actually talk to her.

She realizes that no one in King’s Landing cares if she lives or dies:

She [Cersei] spared Sansa not so much as a glance. She’s forgotten me. Ser Ilyn will kill me and she won’t even think about it.

And before the Battle of the Blackwater started, Tyrion told her this:

“I ought to have sent you off with Tommen now that I think on it.”

Unlike Joffrey and Cersei, Tyrion doesn’t wish Sansa any harm; he orders Joffrey’s men to stop hitting her, tries to comfort her afterward, and doesn’t want her to be married to Joffrey. But she is not one of his priorities. It didn’t even occur to him to try and get her safely out of the city.

This is dehumanizing. Sansa has no friends or even anyone to talk to, and the people around her treat her life as an afterthought.

Sansa also suffers from the emotional fallout of Joffrey’s abuse. She blames herself when he has men hit her:

She must learn to hide her feelings better, so as not to anger Joffrey.

The fear of being hit by Joffrey is nearly all-consuming for Sansa. It affects everything down to the smallest details of her life, like how she dresses and does her hair:

I have to look pretty, Joff likes me to look pretty, he’s always liked me in this gown, this color.

Instead of getting to live as her own person, doing things to make herself happy, Sansa has to live for Joffrey’s satisfaction. Even when she’s being physically beaten, she thinks of him instead of herself:

Laugh, Joffrey, she prayed as the juice ran down her face and the front of her blue silk gown. Laugh and be satisfied.

Everything about her life is a performance for other people. She wears the gowns and jewels Joffrey likes, dressing to hide the bruises his men leave all over, and says the words they tell her to say:

“My father was a traitor,” Sansa said at once. “And my brother and lady mother are traitors as well.” That reflex she had learned quickly. “I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey.”

Sansa repeats that phrase over and over throughout the book, always at once. Almost like a reflex. An actor on stage repeating their lines, rehearsed and performed a thousand times.

The worst part of the act is that everyone knows it’s exactly that: an act. Sansa is required, every day, to declare that her family are traitors who deserve to die, and for no reason at all. The way Joffrey abuses her is an open secret:

“He’s never been able to forget that day on the Trident when you saw her shame him, so he shames you in turn. You’re stronger than you seem, though. I expect you’ll survive a bit of humiliation.”

There is no way anyone could ever believe Sansa actually loves the boy who killed her father and intentionally humiliates her in front of his court. No matter how well Sansa tells the lie, it will always be see-through; especially because everyone knows that she’s a prisoner, being held until Jaime is freed. Sansa has to repeat the lie of believing her family to be traitors to try and please the Lannisters – if she said anything different she would be beaten or killed – but there’s no way they will ever be happy, because even when Sansa says the lies as convincingly as humanly possible, they know they’re lies because there’s no way they could be anything else. Sansa cannot win.

That’s never clearer than during her conversation with Cersei inside Maegar’s Holdfast, while the Battle of the Blackwater rages on:

“I pray for Joffrey,” she insisted nervously.

“Why, because he treats you so sweetly?” The queen took a flagon of sweet plum wine from a passing serving girl and filled Sansa’s cup. “Drink,” she commanded coldly. “Perhaps it will give you the courage to deal with truth for a change.”

If Sansa told Cersei the truth in this moment, she would be severely punished. And Cersei knows that, because she would be the one doing the punishing. Yet she verbally berates Sansa anyway.

The same dynamic plays out between Sansa and the Hound. At the end of A Game of Thrones, he gives her this bit of advice:

“Save yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants.”

And as one of Joffrey’s Kingsguard, he knows first hand of the abuse Sansa suffers if she says anything that could even be construed as out of line. Yet when Sansa tries to follow the advice he gave her, he throws it back in her face:

“ah, you're still a stupid little bird, aren't you? Singing all the songs they taught you”

Everyone in King’s Landing is always threatening to kill Sansa if she tells them the truth, and then calling her stupid when she repeats back the lies they want to hear. They’re forcefully dehumanizing her, demanding she remove all of her own thoughts and emotions and replace them with hollow lines they’ve given her, and then getting mad when her words are empty.

This plays on one of Sansa’s greatest insecurities about herself, which is her intelligence. Because of her low self-esteem, she already thinks of herself as being less-than. That’s very clear whenever she does an act of kindness – she steadfastly refuses to give herself credit for anything:

Sansa could not believe she had spoken. Was she mad? To tell him no in front of half the court?

. . .

Lancel was one of them, yet somehow she still could not bring herself to wish him dead. I am soft and weak and stupid, just as Joffrey says. I should be killing him, not helping him.

She never thinks to herself You are doing this because you are a good person. She always punishes herself internally, calling herself stupid and childish for believing in good things. Joffrey and Cersei have destroyed her so much that she can only see herself through their eyes, cruel and mocking.

The fear that she’s stupid is one of her greatest anxieties:

“My Jonquil’s a clever girl, isn’t she?”

“Joffrey and his mother say I’m stupid.”

And she doesn’t like to be watched by Ser Preston Greenfield because he treated her like a lackwit child.

Everyone around her is comfortable calling her stupid and emotionally abusing her, and it’s easy for Sansa to start internalizing those messages. Joffrey and Cersei’s betrayal at the end of A Game of Thrones forever changed Sansa; the fear that she could ever be so wrong again, and the fear that she was stupid to believe in them, haunts her. Throughout her time in King’s Landing, her self-worth plummets, and she really starts to believe all the things that Joffrey, Cersei, and everyone is always telling her about herself.

Because she has to endure so much abuse and cruelty every day, it starts to become normal to Sansa. Compared to the way Joffrey treats her, anything would be an improvement; she has a soft spot for Arys Oakheart because he hesitated to hit her once:

Arys Oakheart was courteous, and would talk to her cordially. Once he even objected when Joffrey commanded him to hit her. He did hit her in the end, but not hard as Ser Meryn or Ser Boros might have, and at least he had argued.

At least he had argued is one of the saddest lines in a series of books that has a lot of sad lines. Sansa expects so little of the people around her, and is subjected to so much cruelty, that the mere act of hesitating before hitting a defenseless child is enough to stand out in her memory as an act of kindness.

And Sansa thinks this when Tyrion asks her if she’s flowered yet:

Sansa blushed. It was a rude question, but the shame of being stripped before half the castle made it seem like nothing.

This is a perfect moment to show the small ways in which Joffrey is breaking her down emotionally. Tyrion’s question is embarrassing and impolite, but Sansa doesn’t even care because it is so much less embarrassing than the humiliations Joffrey makes her suffer. Joffrey has set the bar for cruelty so high that Sansa is willing to ignore others mistreating her because it isn’t as bad as Joffrey.

The secret friendship she has with Dontos makes this even worse:

“And if I should seem cruel or mocking or indifferent when men are watching, forgive me, child. I have a role to play, and you must do the same. One misstep and our heads will adorn the walls as did your father’s.”

Dontos is not wrong, but it doesn’t make it any less toxic a message for Sansa to hear: I’m cruel and hit you for your own protection. That’s on display when Joffrey is beating Sansa for Robb’s victory at Oxcross:

“Let me beat her!” Ser Dontos shoved forward, tin armor clattering. He was armed with a “Morningstar” whose head was a melon. My Florian. She could have kissed him, blotchy skin and broken veins and all.

Sansa is happy that Dontos is the one hitting her, because at least it’s better than Meryn Trant and Boros Blount. Dontos volunteering to hit her is an act of kindness for Sansa; which further reinforces the idea that someone hitting her is okay.

All of this works to lower Sansa’s standards and warp her perception of what is and isn’t okay; and in the case of Dontos, it is outright grooming on the part of Littlefinger. He intentionally paid an older man to win Sansa’s trust and get her used to the dynamic of secrecy and pushing boundaries, all so he can swoop in during A Storm of Swords. Sansa’s stuck in an endless cycle of her abuse conditioning her to accept more abuse.

All of the abuse and isolation Sansa suffers also leaves her incredibly depressed throughout A Clash of Kings. When she gets the note telling her to go to the Godswood, she thinks she will kill herself before she’s caught:

If it is some trap, better that I die than let them hurt me more, she told herself.

After the bread riot, Sansa has panic attacks; so much so that she feels suffocated in small rooms:

Sansa could go where she would so long as she did not try to leave the castle, but there was nowhere she wanted to go. She crossed over the dry moat with its cruel iron spikes and made her way up the narrow turnpike stair, but when she reached the door of her bedchamber she could not bear to enter. The very walls of the room made her feel trapped; even with the window opened wide it felt as though there was no air to breathe.

She likes to go up to the roof of the tower so she can see the entire city laid before her; it’s the only place where she doesn’t feel so claustrophobic and trapped.

That passage is also so fantastically written to show just how depressed Sansa is. Sansa could go where she would so long as she did not try to leave the castle, but there was nowhere she wanted to go. She's too depressed to go riding around the courtyard; she doesn’t see the point in going around in circles. We know from A Game of Thrones that Sansa has plenty of hobbies: playing the high harp, needlepoint, reading, and sharing gossip with her best friend. In A Clash of Kings, she’s too isolated to have anyone to talk to, but we never see her doing any of her other hobbies either. Nothing brings Sansa happiness in this book.

Especially because she’s constantly surrounded by reminders of her trauma. The way Sansa copes with her grief is by pushing it out of her mind and pretending like it doesn’t exist:

Sansa did not know what had happened to Jeyne, who had disappeared from her rooms afterward, never to be mentioned again. She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears.

Sansa actively tries to forget about the people who mean the most to her because it hurts too much to think of them.

But she can’t forget about Ned when she’s surrounded by reminders of his death. Joffrey and Cersei intentionally throw it in her face, and she has to walk through the same halls his men died in:

Sansa moved as if in a dream. She thought the Imp’s men would take her back to her bedchamber in Maegor’s Holdfast, but instead they conducted her to the Tower of the Hand. She had not set foot inside that place since the day her father fell from grace, and it made her feel faint to climb those steps again.

The reminder that hurts the most is the presence of Ilyn Payne, a recurring figure in all of Sansa’s nightmares. Just his presence makes Sansa’s skin crawl:

She was climbing the dais when she saw the man standing in the shadows by the back wall. He wore a long hauberk of oiled black mail, and held his sword before him: her father's greatsword, Ice, near as tall as he was. Its point rested on the floor, and his hard bony fingers curled around the crossguard on either side of the grip. Sansa's breath caught in her throat.

. . .

She looked for Ser Ilyn, but the King's Justice was not to be seen. I can feel him, though. He's close

When Sansa’s afraid she’s going to die, it’s always his blade she fears:

I'll not escape him, he'll have my head.

. . .

Ser Ilyn will kill me and she won't even think about it.

. . .

If she went to the godswood, would she find Ser Ilyn Payne waiting for her, sitting silent under the heart tree with Ice in his hand, his pale eyes watching to see if she'd come?

. . .

If Robb had harmed Jaime Lannister, it would mean her life. She thought of Ser Ilyn, and how those terrible pale eyes staring pitilessly out of that gaunt pockmarked face.

Watching Ilyn Payne kill her father is the worst thing that ever happened to Sansa, and she lives in constant fear that the same thing could happen to her.

The only thing that keeps her going is the thought of her family. Sansa is insecure in herself enough to start believing the abuse that Joffrey and Cersei inflict on her; but she loves her family too much to ever believe the lies about them. Even though she’s forced to declare them traitors every single day, her internal monologue is always fighting against it:

Rob will kill you all, she thought, exulting

. . .

I pray for Robb’s victory and Joffrey’s death . . . and for home. For Winterfell.

She even finds a way to make Joffrey’s words work in her favor:

“Did I tell you, I intend to challenge him to single combat?"

"I should like to see that, Your Grace." More than you know. Sansa kept her tone cool and polite, yet even so Joffrey's eyes narrowed as he tried to decide whether she was mocking him.

One of the only moments where Sansa is even remotely happy in this book comes when she’s talking to Tommen, because he reminds her of Bran:

Princess Myrcella nodded a shy greeting at the sound of Sansa’s name, but plump little Prince Tommen jumped up eagerly. “Sansa, did you hear? I’m to ride in the tourney today. Mother said I could.” Tommen was all of eight. He reminded her of her own little brother, Bran. They were of an age. Bran was back at Winterfell, a cripple, yet safe.

Sansa would have given anything to be with him. “I fear for the life of your foeman,” she told Tommen solemnly.

That’s a short passage, but it so beautifully captures a small piece of what Sansa is truly like, outside of the abuse and the fearing for her life and the never being able to express her emotions. She loves her family so much and wants nothing more than to be with Bran again. And while Joffrey mocks Tommen for his knightly dreams, Sansa is so nice to him, building up his confidence before he competes. She’s old enough to have grown passed the childishness of Tommen facing the quintain, but because she knows how important it is to Tommen, she gladly plays along with him. We never got to see any scenes in A Game of Thrones of Sansa interacting with Bran and getting to act like a big sister, but this scene does such a good job of showing us that Sansa was a great sister to him.

Sansa also feels a much stronger connection to the Godswood, the ancestral home of her father’s gods:

The air was rich with the smells of earth and leaf. Lady would have liked this place, she thought. There was something wild about a godswood, even here, in the heart of the castle at the heart of the city, you could feel the old gods watching with a thousand unseen eyes.

And even though Lady’s long dead, Sansa still has a strong connection to her wolf. When she believes she’s going to die during the Blackwater, Lady is the first thing she thinks of:

“Lady,” she whimpered softly, wondering if she would meet her wolf again when she was dead.

The more abuse Sansa suffers and the more pressure is put on her to denounce her family as traitors and give up on ever going home, the more Sansa falls back on her family. That’s the only form of comfort she has in King’s Landing; the memory of Winterfell, and the belief that Robb is coming to save her.

The Lannisters have Sansa held captive physically and emotionally in King’s Landing; she has to suffer through beatings and repeat their words to stay alive. But as long as Sansa has her family - has Winterfell - to hold onto, there is a part of her that the Lannisters can never have. Even if it’s only within the walls of her own mind, Sansa has fought herself a small piece of freedom.

Courtesy is a Lady’s Armor

Trapped within the political machinations of King’s Landing, Sansa starts to learn how to play the game in earnest.

Even before she consciously starts to do it, though, Sansa is already in many ways an adept political actor. There’s a reason that all highborn children are taught from a young age how to conduct themselves; Westeros is a society built on the cornerstone of tradition, and knowing how to perform courtly behavior is important. Because Sansa took all of Septa Mordane’s training seriously, she already knows how to walk the dangerous tightrope of courtly speak:

Sansa felt that she ought to say something. What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady’s armor is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said, “I’m sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord.”

This is the same skill we saw in her second chapter of A Game of Thrones, when she was proud of herself for telling the Hound that no one could withstand Gregor during the tourney – she managed to say something courteous without telling a lie. Just as she did then, Sansa manages to say an apology to Tyrion that’s true.

It also shows just how good Sansa is at keeping a level head, because just moments before she was thinking this:

Tyrion turned to Sansa. "My lady, I am sorry for your losses. Truly, the gods are cruel."

Sansa could not think of a word to say to him. How could he be sorry for her losses? Was he mocking her? It wasn’t the gods who’d been cruel, it was Joffrey.

Faced with the men responsible for killing her father, she manages to think on her feet and fulfill the role of a Lady.

She also learns how to use that same skill to benefit herself. Whereas at first she was just trying to perform the functions of a Lady, she starts to use her courtesy to talk the people around her into helping her in such a way that they don’t even realize it’s happening:

“I would sooner return to my own bed.” A lie came to her suddenly, but it seemed so right that she blurted it out at once. “This tower was where my father’s men were slain Their ghosts would give me terrible dreams, and I would see their blood wherever I looked.”

Tyrion Lannister studied her face. “I am no stranger to nightmares, Sansa. Perhaps you are wiser than I knew. Permit me at least to escort you safely back to your own chambers.”

Part of why Sansa’s so naturally gifted at this kind of political double speak is because she understands people so well; she’s an empathetic and emotional character, and is extremely aware of the emotions of everyone around her. To affectively influence others, you need to understand what they want and be able to give it to them. Because Sansa is so aware of the people around her, she intuitively knows what they want; and all she wants to do is give it to them, because she doesn’t want to be hurt again.

The whole conversation she has with Tyrion in the Tower of the Hand does an excellent job showing how intelligent she is:

“I . . .” Sansa did not know what to say. Is it a trick? Will he punish me if I tell the truth? She stared at the dwarf’s brutal bulging brow, the hard black eye and the shrewd green one, the crooked teeth and wiry beard. “I only want to be loyal.”

“Loyal,” the dwarf mused, “and far from any Lannisters. I can scarce blame you for that. When I was your age, I wanted the same thing.” He smiled. “They tell me you visit the godswood every day. What do you pray for, Sansa?”

I pray for Robb’s victory and Joffrey’s death . . . and for home. For Winterfell. “I pray for an end to the fighting.”

Again, she shows an unparalleled ability to lie without actually lying. And she’s clever enough to tell Tyrion what he wants to hear without saying anything that’s actually false, that way it can’t come back to bite her later. She learned her lesson in A Game of Thrones not to trust someone just because they’re kind, and is careful not to show her cards to Tyrion. But in case he’s being honest in trying to help her, Sansa does not reaffirm her love for Joffrey. That’s why her answer of I only want to be loyal is so smart; whether Tyrion is playing her false or no, Sansa has given him the answer he wants to hear. She’s kept all of her doors open without creating additional risk for herself.

Having to survive Joffrey every day also teaches Sansa how to get what she wants without actually having to say it. When she saves Dontos’ life, she plays to Joffrey’s ego:

Unhappy, Joffrey shifted in his seat and flicked his fingers at Ser Dontos. "Take him away. I'll have him killed on the morrow, the fool."

"He is," Sansa said. "A fool. You're so clever, to see it. He's better fitted to be a fool than a knight, isn't he? You ought to dress him in motley and make him clown for you. He doesn't deserve the mercy of a quick death."

All Sansa wants is to save Dontos’ life, and in the moment she comes up with a spectacular lie. Of course Joffrey would think it humiliating to make Dontos into a fool, so Sansa convinces him that would be an even greater punishment than death. She manipulates Joffrey into doing what she wants him to, and he doesn’t even know it’s happened.

Learning how to slyly insult Joffrey is one of the few ways Sansa can actually express herself as a prisoner, and she gets incredibly good at it. She starts by passive-aggressively getting one over on him:

“Did I tell you, I intend to challenge him to single combat?"

"I should like to see that, Your Grace." More than you know. Sansa kept her tone cool and polite, yet even so Joffrey's eyes narrowed as he tried to decide whether she was mocking him.

But as she gets better at politics she goes even further, actively tempting Joffrey into getting himself killed:

“They say my brother Robb always goes where the fighting is thickest,” she said recklessly. “Though he’s older than Your Grace, to be sure. A man grown.”

Joffrey’s biggest insecurity is that he can’t rule in his own right; Cersei won’t let him do certain things, and Tyrion is in charge of him as the Hand of the King because he hasn’t come of age yet. While Joffrey’s anger is normally aimed destructively at Sansa, here she figures out a way to make it work for her; using his own emotions against him to do something reckless.

As well as learning the art of political double-speak, Sansa starts to understand the broader political machinations at work. Because she was a diligent student of Catelyn and Septa Mordane, she has almost every sigil in Westeros memorized; at Joffrey’s name-day tourney, she recognizes every competitor by their House. This may seem unimportant at first glance, but it’s actually very important; twice in Arya’s chapters in A Clash of Kings she wishes she knew Houses and Sigils as well as Sansa, because than she would know who she was dealing with.

Since Sansa knows who everyone is, she has head start in understanding where everyone’s loyalties lie. On top of that, she’s also incredibly observant; she’s constantly taking in everything around her, stopping to pay attention to every little detail and interaction between people. Even though Cersei and Joffrey are trying to keep it hidden, Sansa notices that Joffrey’s tourney is held inside the Keep because he would be mobbed if they went out into the city. And she knows the Redwyne twins are hostages just as much as she is:

The Redwyne twins were the queen’s unwilling guests, even as Sansa was. She wondered whose notion it had been for them to ride in Joffrey’s tourney. Not their own, she thought.

That’s not something anyone would have told Sansa. For one, no one is even allowed to talk to her per Cersei’s orders. For two, Cersei doesn’t let anyone acknowledge that she has hostages – in the same way Sansa has to pretend she is a guest of Joffrey’s court, the Redwynes have to pretend they’re willing guests. That means that Sansa, with no help from anyone, has of her own accord put all the pieces together and realized the Redwynes are political pawns just like her. Very impressive for a twelve-year-old.

Sansa’s attention to detail is clear when she meets Shae, and immediately notices something is not right with her:

Lollys clutched at her maid, a slender, pretty girl with short dark hair who looked as though she wanted nothing so much as to show her mistress into the dry moat, onto those iron spikes.

And when she’s entering Maegar’s Holdfast at the start of the Blackwater, and notices the guards:

The two guards at the door wore the lin-crested helms and crimson cloaks of House Lannister, but Sansa knew they were only dressed-up sellswords. Another sat at the foot of the stair – a real guard would have been standing, not sitting on a step with his halberd across his knees – but he rose when he saw them and opened the door to usher them inside.

Her encyclopedic knowledge of Westerosi Houses and her attention to detail combine to give her a really good head for political machinations. She sees how the Lannisters use empty titles to flatter their lesser servants while saving the best prizes for their family:

Hallyne the Pyromancer and the masters of the Alchemists’ was raised to the style of lord, though Sansa noted that neither lands nor castle accompanied the title, which made the alchemist no more a true lord than Varys was. A more significant lordship by far was granted to Ser Lancel Lannister.

She manages to keep pace with Littlefinger and Tywin’s games:

She did not understand why that should make him so happy; the honors were as empty as the title granted to Hallyne the Pyromancer. Harrenhal was cursed, everyone knew that, and the Lannisters did not even hold it at present. Besides, the lords of the Trident were sworn to Riverrun and House Tully, and to the King in the North; they would never accept Littlefinger as their liege. Unless they are made to. Unless my brother and my uncle and my grandfather are all cast down and killed. The thought made Sansa anxious, but she told herself she was being silly. Robb has beaten them every time. He’ll beat Lord Baelish too, if he must.

I cannot emphasize enough that Sansa, following the tiny thread of Littlefinger looks happy to be Lord of Harrenhal, manages to predict the Red Wedding a whole book before it happens. That’s pretty incredible. Right now, Sansa has no power to start pulling meaningful strings of her own, but it’s clear that she fundamentally understands the complexity of geopolitics and would be well-prepared to make decisions of her own when the time comes.

Another way Sansa continues to learn about the realities of ruling is through people around her trying to teach her lessons. Because Sansa’s a hostage and isn’t allowed to say anything she feels, she basically becomes a blank slate for people to project whatever they want onto. Cersei, Dontos, and the Hound all try to “teach” her something as they project all of their own fears, insecurities, and trauma onto her.

Dontos tells her to play the fool:

“Joffrey and his mother say I’m stupid.”

“Let them. You’re safer that way, sweetling. Queen Cersei and the Imp and Lord Varys and their like, they all watch each other keen as hawks, and pay this one and that one to spy out what the others are doing, but no one ever troubles themselves about Lady Tanda’s daughter, do they?”

Of course, Sansa already knows this. All the way back in her second chapter of A Game of Thrones, Sansa thinks to herself that Moon Boy is smarter than he looks and is only pretending to be a fool so he can go wherever he likes; and Dontos confirms her suspicions when he reveals Moon Boy is a spy for Lord Varys.

It’s a consistent pattern that everyone around Sansa is constantly underestimating her; partly because of their own biases, and partly because Sansa is an almost entirely internal character, rarely letting people hear her honest thoughts. People assume she’s as hollow as the words they force her to say, but in reality she’s an introvert and a hostage.

The Hound also feels the need to impart some “lessons” onto Sansa:

Sandor Clegane snorted. “Pretty thing, and such a bad liar. A dog can smell a lie, you know. Look around you, and take a good whiff. They’re all liars here . . . and every one better than you.”

Again, he’s assuming Sansa’s much dumber than she actually is. Sansa already knows that everyone in King’s Landing is a liar, and has sworn to herself never to trust them again.

The most valuable lessons Sansa gets are from Cersei during the Battle of the Blackwater:

“Certain things are expected of a queen. They will be expected of you should you ever wed Joffrey. Best learn.” The queen studied the wives, daughters, and mothers who filled the benches. “Of themselves the hens are nothing, but their cocks are important for one reason or another, and some may survive this battle. So it behooves me to give their women my protection. If my wretched dwarf of a brother should somehow manage to prevail, they will return to their husbands and fathers full of tales about how brave I was, how my courage inspired them and lifted their spirits, how I never doubted our victory even for a moment.”

In this moment, even though she’s not doing a particularly good job actually doing it, Cersei articulates what’s really important about politics: optics. Her true motives for protecting the Ladies don’t matter as long as the Ladies believe that Cersei is doing it for the right reasons. That’s what monarchies are built upon. They’re a fragile house of cards constructed out of people’s belief.

That’s a lesson Sansa learns again when Joffrey sets her aside and takes Margaery as his bride. Sansa knows it’s going to happen, and is coached by Cersei how to react:

I must not smile, she reminded herself. The queen had warned her, no matter what she felt inside, the face she showed the world must look distraught. “I will not have my son humiliated,” Cersei said. “Do you hear me?”

But in front of the court, Joffrey carries on the charade, pretending Garlan’s offer of his sister’s hand is brand new information. Sansa watches from the sidelines and sees how people react; chanting and cheering to the theatre of it all. She gets to learn in real time how important it is to be performing your duties for the people. Other characters – most notably Jon Snow and Daenerys – can never quite figure that part of ruling out, and it has grave consequences.

I don’t mean performing in the negative sense. Of course, it can be used like that, like when the Tyrell’s intentionally starve King’s Landing so they can swoop in and make a big show of providing food. But it can also be used for good; it is an absolutely necessary aspect of ruling to let your people know what you’re doing for them. Jon in particular gets in trouble at the Wall because he doesn’t explain why he does things; he just does them and hopes people will trust him. Part of the courtly aspect of ruling is doing the work of showing your people how you’re helping them. That way you build trust with them, and they know you care for them. That’s what Sansa’s learning how to do.

Sansa’s also very good at the literal courtly aspect of politics; the time actually spent in court, sitting for hours and hours as the tedious day-to-day of ruling takes place. After the Battle of the Blackwater is over, Sansa has to sit in court for an entire day as soldiers are given their reward. She manages to stay focused the whole time, giving incredibly detailed accounts of each prize that’s awarded and each act of valor that caused it. She handles herself better than the grown men in the hall:

By the time all the new knights had been given their sers the hall was growing restive, and none more so than Joffrey. Some of those in the gallery had begun to slip quietly away, but the notables on the floor were trapped, unable to depart without the king’s leave.

Actual adults can’t even tolerate it, but Sansa manages just fine. This talent of hers is taken for granted by readers, but really stands out when you compare it to other characters. Sansa has the benefit of being raised to be a Lady, unlike a character like Daenerys who never had to sit through the training. Dany can’t make it through one day holding court in Meereen, and calls a lid early because she’s so bored – then stops holding court all together. Actually being a Queen is horribly bureaucratic, and that’s a skill that takes some practice to be able to perform.

Sansa’s ability to hold her own as a leader also really shines during the Battle of the Blackwater, when all hope seems lost and Cersei abandons the women in Maegar’s Holdfast:

“Oh, gods,” an old woman wailed. “We’re lost, the battle’s lost, she’s running.” Several children were crying. They can smell the fear. Sansa found herself alone on the dais. Should she stay here, or run after the queen and plead for her life?

She never knew why she got to her feet, but she did. “Don’t be afraid,” she told them loudly. “The queen has raised the drawbridge. This is the safest place in the city. There’s thick walls, the moat, the spikes . . .”

“What’s happened?” demanded a woman she knew slightly, the wife of a lesser lordling. “What did Osney tell her? Is the king hurt, has the city fallen?”

“Tell us,” someone else shouted. One woman asked about her father, another her son.

Sansa raised her hands for quiet. “Joffrey’s come back to the castle. He’s not hurt. They’re still fighting, that’s all I know, they’re fighting bravely. The queen will be back soon.” The last was a lie, but she had to soothe them. She noticed the fools standing under the galley. “Moon Boy, make us laugh.”

Sansa has no reason to do this. Cersei has given Ser Ilyn orders to kill her if the castle falls, and all the women in the holdfast are older than she is. She’s the last person who should be capable of standing up to take charge, considering her age and her impending death by execution.

She knows she’s faced with a choice: try and save her own life, or stay and comfort the women in the holdfast. And she decides to stay.

True Knights

This book sees Sansa’s worldview start to deepen. She’s only a child when the series starts, and like most kids has a very simple understanding of the world; there’s good and bad people, and good and bad things that happen. Songs were the way Sansa gave that worldview structure. They taught her that the good things happened to the good people, and the bad things happened to the bad people. Westeros is fair, and only the good people could be put in charge to do good things. Kings, queens, and knights were all avatars of the inherent goodness of the world; people put in place specifically to protect others.

This worldview became unsustainable for Sansa after Ned’s death. Every single rule the songs taught her was violated by her father’s execution. In her last chapter of A Game of Thrones, we see Sansa turn to nihilism as a result; her father is dead, her prince is a monster, and the knights sworn to protect her are the ones beating her. She doesn’t believe in anything anymore, so much so that she just wants to die.

In A Clash of Kings, Sansa starts to grapple with the overwhelming cognitive dissonance. Ned’s death and Joffrey’s cruelty taught her how evil people can be; but she also knows how good they can be, because she grew up in Winterfell. For all of their shortcomings, Ned and Catelyn were loving parents who tried their best to do good, and raised their kids the same.

Sansa still believes in goodness, but sees that everyone around her fails to live up to it:

Knights are sworn to defend the weak, protect women, and fight for the right, but none of them did a thing. Only Ser Dontos had tried to help, and he was no longer a knight, no more than the Imp was, nor the Hound . . . the Hound hated knights . . . I hate them too, Sansa thought. They are no true knights, not one of them.

Notice how she thinks They are no true knights. Sansa is surrounded by unimaginable cruelty, but she holds on to an undying sense of optimism. She knows that real knights don’t fight for the right, but that doesn’t stop her from continuing to believe in those ideals. Unlike in A Game of Thrones, when her belief in good was attached to specific people like Joffrey and Cersei, Sansa’s new worldview isn’t dependent on people to live up to. She believes in doing the right thing no matter what, even if the people around her let her down.

Sansa’s conception of beauty is the same way; in the first book, she assumed that beautiful people must also be good. But in A Clash of Kings, she reverses that order; people become either beautiful or ugly to her based on how good or bad they are. We view Joffrey through many POVs, and it is clear that by any standard that he is objectively attractive; yet Sansa now finds him ugly:

His plump pink lips always made him look pouty. Sansa had liked that once, but now it made her sick.

And she thinks this of the Hound:

The scars are not the worst part, not even the way his mouth twitches. It’s his eyes. She had never seen eyes so full of anger.

It’s not his physical appearance that scares her, it’s the anger in his eyes. That’s the part of him that’s ugly to her.

This evolution in Sansa’s understanding is never clearer than in her interactions with Dontos. The parts of his appearance that Sansa finds unattractive are his blotchy skin and broken veins, which are both symptoms of his constant drinking. It’s his drinking that bothers her:

“I prayed and prayed. Why would they send me a drunken old fool?”

. . .

This is madness, to trust myself to this drunkard

But Sansa manages to look beyond that as soon as Dontos invokes Florian the Fool. As much as Sansa understands that the songs aren’t true, the idea still appeal to her. When Dontos says he wants to make amends and become a true knight, in spirit if not name, Sansa treats him as if he actually were a knight:

“Rise, ser.”

. . .

Sansa took a step . . . then spun back, nervous, and softly laid a kiss on his cheek, her eyes closed. “My Florian,” she whispered. “The gods heard my prayer.”

Sansa’s growing understanding of the world around her also changes the way she thinks of class. To some extent in A Song of Ice and Fire, every single character is classist because they’re all rich people in an extremely hierarchical society. The entire structure of kings, lord paramounts, lords, knights, and peasants requires you to be classist; if you believe everyone in Westeros is equal, the entire structure of the society crumbles. While some of the POV characters like Jon and Davos make great strides in understanding how bankrupt the Westerosi class structure is, they’re still generally classist; it’s almost impossible not to be when you grow up in the culture they did. Davos grew up poor, but the indoctrination of classism has given him an almost religious fervor to follow Stannis as the “true” king.

Sansa especially had a very rigid understanding of class in A Game of Thrones; Arya making friends with the butcher’s boy was anathema to her. But the more that Sansa sees the people in power as the monsters they really are, the more sympathy she has for the people below her. In the sept praying before the Battle of the Blackwater, she holds hands with a washerwoman:

The old woman’s hand was bony and hard with callus, the boy’s small and soft, but it was good to have someone to hold on to

The more Cersei and Joffrey try to isolate Sansa, the more they try to snuff out any feeling of goodness or loyalty she had, the more Sansa reaches out to connect with people. Everything bad that happens to her makes her feel more connected to the people of King’s Landing. She’s too young and privileged (class-wise) to have a fully functioning understanding of the true evils of hierarchy, but she fundamentally understands something most of the aristocracy do not: that the common people are people and should be treated with respect.

She knows the common people will suffer the most if Stannis breaches the city walls, and prays for theme:

She sang along with grizzled old serving men and anxious young wives, with serving girls and soldiers, cooks and falconers, knights and knaves, squires and spit boys and nursing mothers. She sang with those inside the castle walls and those without, sang with all the city. She sang for mercy, for the living and the dead alike

Sansa gladly positions herself alongside the working people, not offended to be among them the way the Lannisters certainly are.

Sansa’s deepening worldview also gives her an incredibly complex relationship to the songs and stories she used to love. As I’ve already mentioned, she doesn’t disown them entirely; the high ideals of the songs are still very important to Sansa. The concept of a true knight, who would actually defend the defenseless, is the cornerstone of Sansa’s belief system, and she doesn’t need that person to actually be a knight – as long as they fulfill the moral obligation of being good. (Little does she know that very person is later tasked to find her.)

But now she knows that the stories lie. She understands their role as propaganda; when Arys Oakheart tries to say the peasants believe the comet heralds Joffrey’s reign, she doesn’t believe him:

“Glory to your betrothed,” Ser Arys answered at once. “See how it flames across the sky today on His Grace’s name day, as if the gods themselves had raised a banner in his honor. The smallfolk have named it King Joffrey’s Comet.”

Doubtless that was what they told Joffrey; Sansa was not so sure.

And she can’t even finish a sentence defending knights without realizing it isn’t true:

“Do you have any notion what happens when a city is sacked, Sansa? No, you wouldn’t, would you? All you know of life you learned from singers, and there’s such a dearth of good sacking songs.”

“True knights would never harm women and children.” The words rang hollow in her ears even as she said them.

The words ring hollow in her ears because Sansa does know what happens when a city is sacked; earlier in a previous chapter, she thinks this:

The whole city was afraid. Sansa could see it from the castle walls. The smallfolk were hiding themselves behind closed shutters and barred doors as if that would keep them safe. The last time King’s Landing had fallen, the Lannisters looted and raped as they pleased and put hundreds to the sword, even though the city had opened its gates. This time the Imp meant to fight, and a city that fought could expect no mercy at all.

Cersei underestimates Sansa, assuming everything she knows is from a song, but here we see that Sansa knows that the songs don’t tell the whole story. Unlike in A Game of Thrones, she no longer holds them in complete reverence. The Sept used to represent everything beautiful about the songs to her:

Sansa had favored her mother’s gods over her father’s. She loved the statues, the pictures in leaded glass, the fragrance of burning incense, the septons with their robes and crystals, the magical play of the rainbows over altars inlaid with mother-of-pearl and onyx and lapis lazuli.

It was the song’s come to life. But after Ned’s death, she hates it:

When Sansa had first beheld the Great Sept with its marble walls and seven crystal towers, she’d thought it was the most beautiful building in the world, but that had been before Joffrey beheaded her father on its steps. “I want it burned.”

She literally wants to set fire to the things that used to represent the songs.

But songs and stories are the foundation of Sansa’s world; even though she doesn’t believe in them the way she used to, they still shape her perception. She doesn’t want to let them go:

There are gods, she told herself, and there are true knights too. All the stories can’t be lies.

She still uses the template of songs and stories to interact with the world, but now with the understanding that the world is so much more complicated. Whereas before, the songs represented a sanitized version of war, Sansa begins to understand it in its entirety:

Away off, she could hear the sounds of battle. The singing almost drowned them out, but the sounds were there if you had the ears to hear: the deep moan of warhorns, the creak and thud of catapults flinging stones, the splashes and splinterings, the crackle of burning pitch and thrum of scorpions loosing their yard-long iron-headed shafts . . . and beneath it all, the cries of dying men.

It was another sort of song, a terrible song.

Thinking about something through the lens of a song no longer represents a childish fantasy for Sansa. Her conception of them is no longer permanent; her view of the songs has changed to fit with her new reality, but it’s still a comforting way for her to make sense of the world around her.

She even incorporates her love of the songs into her political manipulations:

"You're lying," Joffrey said. "I ought to drown you with him, if you care for him so much."

"I don't care for him, Your Grace." The words tumbled out desperately. "Drown him or have his head off, only . . . kill him on the morrow, if you like, but please . . . not today, not on your name day. I couldn't bear for you to have ill luck . . . terrible luck, even for kings, the singers all say so . . ."

Her use of the songs nearly saves her life here. Joffrey doesn’t know enough to be sure that she’s lying, so once the Hound corroborates her story, he has to believe it’s true.

Sansa’s attachment to the stories is integral to her character, and GRRM does a tremendous job of making it important to the arc she starts in this book, which is her continued journey from pawn to player in the Game of Thrones. Sansa’s perspective as a political actor is entirely unique from anyone else for many reasons, and one of those is her connection to the ideal version of Westeros that lives in the songs. Even as Sansa realizes the songs are lies and that the world is so much darker than she thought, she never gives up on the hope that it could be good. Her unwavering optimism for the world, in the face of so much trauma, means that she will never stop trying to make the world better.

Flowering

Throughout her time in King’s Landing, Sansa’s experiences with sexuality are inextricably linked to violence. The way Joffrey physically abuses her comes with a nasty undercurrent of sexual violence. The total control he exerts over her means she has to let him do what he wants:

The king settled back in his seat and took Sansa's hand. His touch filled her with revulsion now, but she knew better than to show it. She made herself sit very still.

The subtext of that scene is drawn to the forefront when Joffrey has Sansa beaten after Robb’s victory at Oxcross:

“Leave her face,” Joffrey commanded. “I like her pretty.”

. . .

“Boros, make her naked.”

Boros shoved a meaty hand down the front of Sansa’s bodice and gave a hard yank. The silk came tearing away, baring her to the waist. Sansa covered her breasts with her hands. She could hear sniggers, far off and cruel.

This is one of Sansa’s first experiences with sexuality, and it is nonconsensual and done specifically to humiliate her.

The relationship between sex and violence is never clearer than at the start of the Blackwater:

"Bless my steel with a kiss." He extended the blade down to her. "Go on, kiss it."

He had never sounded more like a stupid little boy. Sansa touched her lips to the metal, thinking that she would kiss any number of swords sooner than Joffrey

Joffrey is asking Sansa to kiss his sword; the metaphor here is not exactly subtle. To Joffrey, sex and violence are one in the same; having power over someone, hurting someone, turns him on as much as physical attraction. And as his betrothed, Sansa is on the receiving end of his sexually charged violence.

Unlike Joffrey, Sansa’s not turned on by violence, seeing it and sexuality as two separates things. And she would rather suffer through the violence, thinking to herself she would rather kiss the sword than kiss Joffrey. Her experiences with being found attractive to someone have all been so traumatic that actual violence scares her less.

Arguably the most traumatic experience she has is during the bread riot:

Sansa dug her nails into her hand. She could feel the fear in her tummy, twisting and pinching, worse every day. Nightmares of the day Princess Myrcella had sailed still troubled her sleep; dark suffocating dreams that woke her in the black of night, struggling for breath. She could hear the people screaming at her, screaming without words, like animals. They had hemmed her in and thrown filth at her and tried to pull her off her horse, and would have done worse if the Hound had not cut his way to her side. They had torn the High Septon to pieces and smashed in Ser Aron's head with a rock. Try not to be afraid! he said.

In the nightmares she has of that day, she dreams of being murdered; a knife cutting through her stomach until she’s left in bloody ribbons. It’s not hard to see the violent sexual imagery in that description. Sansa knows what those men planned on doing to her, and the memory haunts her. It’s no coincidence that she wakes from those nightmares to her first period:

“No, please,” Sansa whimpered, “please, no.” She didn’t want this happening to her, not now, not here, not now, not now, not now, not now.

The way GRRM writes her reaction is so visceral. As tears streams down her cheeks, she tries to wash herself, cuts apart her sheets, burns them, and tries to drag her entire bed into the flames as well. And the whole time she does this, she keeps thinking They’ll know or What will I tell them? or I have to burn them. She’s so completely and utterly terrified that anyone could ever know, she’s hardly even thinking. It’s just sheer, overwhelming panic.

This line in particular stands out:

The bedclothes were burnt, but by the time they carried her off her thighs were bloody again. It was as if her own body had betrayed her to Joffrey, unfurling a banner of Lannister crimson for all the world to see.

Down to jewelry she wears and the way she styles her hair, Sansa’s body belongs to Joffrey. Her job in King’s Landing is to look pretty for him in the hopes that it will save her from his wrath. Her body exists solely to please him. She’s literally stripped of her own agency and control.

Flowering is the last straw for Sansa because it means she can be tied forever to Joffrey through marriage, and he’ll be free to rape her and force her to have his children. And there’s nothing Sansa can do to stop it. Her own body has betrayed her by merely existing.

Sansa’s period is again equated to physical violence during the Battle of the Blackwater:

“You look pale, Sansa,” Cersei observed. “Is your red flower still blooming?”

“Yes.”

“How apt. The men will bleed out there, and you in here.”

Then a second time, Cersei compares sex to violence:

“You little fool. Tears are not a woman’s only weapon. You’ve got another one between your legs, and you’d best learn to use it.”

Through Cersei’s eyes, we get the clearest summary of the point GRRM is trying to make. Existing as a woman in Westeros is inherently oppressive to the point of smothering the life out of her. Where the men are given swords, women are given marriage and childbirth; but the latter is no less violent than the former. In Cersei’s words:

“We were so much alike, I could never understand why they treated us so differently. Jaime learned to fight with sword and lance and mace, while I was taught to smile and sing and please. He was heir to Casterly Rock, while I was to be sold to some stranger like a horse, to be ridden whenever my new owner liked, beaten whenever he liked, and cast aside in time for a younger filly. Jaime’s lot was to be glory and power, while mine was birth and moonblood.”

“But you were queen of all the Seven Kingdoms,” Sansa said.

“When it comes to swords, a queen is only a woman after all.”

In many ways, Sansa’s arc in A Clash of Kings is centered around this idea; the violence of femininity in Westeros. Being a child isn’t enough to spare Sansa the horrors. The whole reason she’s trapped in King’s Landing to begin with is because of her body; the Lannisters want to use her like property – a broodmare to sire them sons to inherit Winterfell.

It’s no surprise the climax of Sansa’s chapters in A Clash of Kings pushes this concept to its furthest bounds . . .

Ser Dontos and The Hound

Throughout Sansa’s chapters in King’s Landing, GRRM is deconstructing the trope of the Princess in the Tower. Sansa more than any other character is aware that her life takes place within a story, and she prays to the gods to send her a hero to save from the Red Keep. GRRM had already subverted the idea of a charming Prince with Joffrey in the first book, so A Clash of Kings subverts the trope of a knight coming to save her. That’s why her two protectors in King’s Landing are Dontos and Sandor Clegane – two men who aren’t quite knights.

For most of the book, the narrative treats Dontos and Sandor as foils. The story of why either one is not a knight puts them on two opposite ends of a spectrum. Dontos has his knighthood taken away from him because he’s too soft. He would rather drink and let people laugh at him than fight with a sword, which is why Joffrey makes him a fool. On the other hand, the Hound likes killing too much to be a knight:

“Let them have their lands and their gods and their gold. Let them have their sers.” Sandor Clegane spat at her feet to show what he thought of that. “So long as I have this,” he said, lifting the sword from her throat, “there’s no man on earth I need fear.”

This dichotomy between them is made clearer in the way Sansa has to escape their advances. Around Dontos, she’s dodging kisses:

"Give your Florian a little kiss now. A kiss for luck." He swayed toward her.

Sansa dodged the wet groping lips, kissed him lightly on an unshaven cheek, and bid him good night. It took all her strength not to weep.

But it’s a steel kiss she has to dodge from the Hound:

He laid the edge of his longsword against her neck, just under her ear. Sansa could feel the sharpness of the steel.

The idea of Dontos and Sandor as opposites is driven home further by their different approaches to Sansa’s love of stories; Dontos uses it to win Sansa’s trust:

“I think I may find it in me to be a knight again, sweet lady. And all because of you . . . your grace, your courage. You saved me, not only from Joffrey, but from myself." His voice dropped. "The singers say there was another fool once who was the greatest knight of all . . ."

"Florian," Sansa whispered. A shiver went through her.

"Sweet lady, I would be your Florian," Dontos said humbly, falling to his knees before her.

The Hound uses it to berate and belittle her:

“There are no true knights, no more than there are gods. If you can’t protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can. Sharp steel and strong arms rule this world, don’t ever believe any different.”

Sansa backed away from him. “You’re awful.”

“I’m honest. It’s the world that’s awful. Now fly away, little bird, I’m sick of you peeping at me.”

But underneath the superficial differences, Dontos and the Hound have the exact same relationship to Sansa. When Joffrey is having her beat after Robb’s victory at Oxcross, both make efforts to help her – Dontos volunteering to hit her with a melon instead of a sword, and the Hound telling Joffrey “enough” – but stop short of doing anything that would put themselves in danger. They both make advances on Sansa against her will – Dontos with kisses and the Hound with knives, but the overt sexual nature of both cannot be denied. They both position themselves to Sansa as a sort of mentor figure, telling her how to act and what to believe, with the implicit (and often explicit) message that she’s not smart enough to think for herself and it would really be in her best interest if she just trusted them instead. Both men position themselves as Sansa’s “protector”, but they never protect her from much of anything; in the few moments they’re actually given the opportunity, like during the Battle of the Blackwater, they both panic and leave her to fend for herself.

What really connects the two men is how they use Sansa. To them, she’s the paragon of youth and innocence; the way she believes in the stories reminds them both of what they used to be like before the world beat them down. Sandor was a boy who played with toy knights before Gregor burned his face, and Dontos was saved as a child by the knight of knights Barristan Selmy.  While they’ve both grown jaded, Sansa brings out the parts of them that still believe in the stories. That’s clear from the way Dontos reacts to the Lannisters winning the Battle of the Blackwater:

“Oh! the banners, darling Sansa! Oh! to be a knight!”

And even though the Hound claims to hate the stories, it’s a song he wants from Sansa:

“Go on. Sing to me. Some song about knights and fair maids.”

Sansa as the princess in a tower appeals to the fantasy of both men to be her hero.

But this is a subversion of that trope, not a straight retelling. Particularly in regards to Sandor, GRRM really deconstructs the destructive nature of this male fantasy. Before Sandor asks Sansa to sing him a song, he comments on her body:

“You look almost a woman . . . face, teats, and you’re taller too, almost . . .”

Sandor wanting to play the knight with Sansa is always tied to his sexual attraction to her; in every single instance, GRRM always ties them together. There is never one without the other. It should go without saying that this is not good; Sansa is barely twelve, and hasn’t even had her first period when Sandor’s sexual advances start. She is a child. In Maegar’s Holdfast, she’s shocked that men would view her sexually:

“Enough drink will make blind washerwomen and reeking pig girls seem as comely as you, sweetling.”

“Me?”

“Try not to sound so like a mouse, Sansa. You’re a woman now, remember?”

This passage also very clearly draws the connection between Sandor’s relationship to Sansa and violence. Cersei explains to Sansa the way battle makes men into monsters around women, and then the next chapter Sandor appears in Sansa’s bedroom with a knife. This is not meant to be a romantic scene, or else GRRM would not have framed it with threats of rape and violence.

This is further re-enforced by the song Sansa sings to Sandor. When he holds the knife to her neck, he demands she sing the song of Florian and Jonquil:

He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed. “I’ll have that song, Florian and Jonquil, you said.” His dagger was poised at her throat. “Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life.”

But Sansa can’t remember the words, and instead sings the Mother’s Mercy hymn:

Gentle Mother, font of mercy, save our sons from war, we pray, stay the swords and stay the arrows, let them know a better day.

Gentle Mother, strength of women, help our daughters through this fray, sooth the wrath and tame the fury, teach us all a kinder way.

It is incredibly symbolic that the Hound demands Sansa sing him a song of romance, but she physically can’t; the only song she can remember the words to is one of forgiveness.

So much of Sansa’s narrative in A Clash of Kings is people demanding things that she can’t give them. Joffrey wants her loyalty, Cersei wants her words, Tyrion wants her trust, and Dontos and Sandor want her love. Everyone is pulling her in different directions, and her entire personality starts to crumble under the pressure; there’s no way she can give all of these people everything they want. Something has to give.

And when Sansa can no longer play her role, when the fear of dying is too visceral for her to wear her courtesy like an armor, the one thing Sansa can still give Sandor is her mercy. . .

Radical Empathy

The running thread that connects all of the themes in Sansa’s chapters is her being trapped. Physically through Joffrey’s abuse, emotionally through Joffrey, Cersei, Dontos, and Sandor, and even by herself mentally as she begins to internalize the abuse. Everything about the Red Keep is meant to turn Sansa cruel and self-interested, just like everybody else; even if they aren’t intentionally cruel like Joffrey, they’re okay with Sansa being hurt because that’s just how life is, like Cersei. Or Dontos and the Hound, who don’t intend to hurt Sansa but do because they’re too caught up in their own narrative to acknowledge her humanity. Even Arys Oakheart, who really doesn’t want to hurt her, but is too afraid to say no and defy the class structure of Westeros.

That makes Sansa’s defiance through empathy stand out in such radical contrast. The kindness Sansa shows everyone, even those who hurt her, is how GRRM brings the songs to life. Sansa doesn’t love those stories because she’s silly and naïve; she loves them because they justify her belief in the inherent goodness of being kind.

Empathy and kindness are Sansa’s defining character traits, and that’s why her arc in A Clash of Kings opens with her saving Dontos’ life:

Sansa heard herself gasp. “No, you can’t.”

Joffrey turned his head. “What did you say?”

Sansa could not believe she had spoken. Was she mad? To tell him no in front of half the court? She hadn’t meant to say anything, only . . . Ser Dontos was drunk and silly and useless, but he meant no harm.

Even though just moments earlier she had noted Joffrey’s mood was turning dark:

The king was growing bored. It made Sansa anxious. She lowered her eyes and resolved to keep quiet, no matter what. When Joffrey Baratheon’s mood darkened, any chance word might set off one of his rages.

The way Sansa stands up for Dontos is particularly notable because he had the chance to do the same for her in A Game of Thrones, but chose not to:

Sickly Lord Gyles covered his face at her approach and feigned a fit of coughing, and when funny drunken Ser Dontos started to hail her, Ser Balon Swann whispered in his ear and he turned away.

- Sansa V

Dontos wouldn’t even risk treating Sansa with basic courtesy, yet she risked her live to save his.

And that’s not the only time Sansa stands up to Joffrey to save someone:

Halfway along the route, a wailing woman forced her way between two watchmen and ran out into the street in front of the king and his companions, holding the corpse of her dead baby above her head. It was blue and swollen, grotesque, but the real horror was the mother's eyes. Joffrey looked for a moment as if he meant to ride her down, but Sansa Stark leaned over and said something to him. The king fumbled in his purse, and flung the woman a silver stag.

- Tyrion IX

The only other character we ever see move to actually stand up to Joffrey is Tyrion, who is also the only person in court who doesn’t have to be afraid of Joffrey’s retaliation. Everyone else sits by day after day and watches as Joffrey abuses Sansa and says nothing; or worse, they actively participate. But whenever Sansa sees Joffrey hurting someone, she risks herself to make him stop.

Sansa also uses her kindness to give herself courage:

Sansa found herself possessed of a queer giddy courage. “You should go with her,” she told the king. “Your brother might be hurt.”

Joffrey shrugged. “What if he is?”

“You should help him up and tell him how well he rode.” Sansa could not seem to stop herself.

She’s too afraid to speak back at Joffrey when he’s abusing her, but as soon as she sees him mistreat Tommen, she finds the courage to stand up for others.

Kindness is almost an involuntary reflex for Sansa:

Lancel was one of them, yet somehow she still could not bring herself to wish him dead. I am soft and weak and stupid, just as Joffrey says. I should be killing him, not helping him.

Lancel Lannister, who stood by and egged the crowd on as Sansa was stripped and beaten after the Battle at Oxcross. She has every reason not to help him; she knows if she stays in that room, with the battle all but lost, Ser Ilyn is going to kill her solely because of the Lannisters’ spite. She has no reason to stay and help Lancel. But she can’t stop herself.

The moment where Sansa’s kindness stands out the most, though, is when the Hound comes to her room during Blackwater:

Some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood. “Little bird,” he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone. Then he rose from the bed. Sansa heard cloth ripping, followed by the softer sound of retreating footsteps.

I think reading this passage out of context is what allows certain fans to paint this scene in a romantic light. The softness of Sansa reaching out to touch Sandor is an indelible moment. But it does the moment a disservice to read it that way. This scene is so well written because of what comes before it:

“I could keep you safe,” he rasped. “They’re all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I’d kill them.” He yanked her closer, and for a moment she thought he meant to kiss her. He was too strong to fight. She closed her eyes, wanting it to be over, but nothing happened. “Still can’t bear to look, can you?” he heard him say. He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed. “I’ll have that song, Florian and Jonquil, you said.” His dagger was poised at her throat. “Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life.”

Afraid for her life, Sansa closes her eyes. But Sandor is too bitter, jaded, and wrapped up in his own self to realize that’s why she closes her eyes; he thinks it’s because she still can’t look at the burned ruin of his face. He came to her room with kindness the furthest thing from his mind; the flames dancing on the Blackwater Rush made him scared like a wild animal, and he’s come here to get something from Sansa – whether she wants to give it or no.

(And while certain people are interested in carrying a lot of water to redeem this character, GRRM has really left no ambiguity in Sandor’s intentions. The passage He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed, taken in tandem with his confession to Arya, 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, make it very clear that Sandor intended to rape Sansa. That is not up for debate.)

Sansa singing the Mother’s Mercy hymn is the last thing Sandor expected. The idea that in this moment, as Sandor becomes all of the worst things he’s ever believed about himself, about to do one of the most monstrous acts a person can do – that in that moment, Sansa could still show him mercy, is enough to stop him. He can no longer pretend that all the songs are lies and that everyone is only pretending to be good, because in this moment Sansa is still somehow capable of showing him kindness. 

Sansa’s ability to have empathy for seemingly irredeemable characters is not limited to Sandor (though certain shippers would like to pretend that’s some unique characteristic of their relationship, it most certainly is not). The dynamic between Sansa and Cersei is so rich because of Sansa’s inability to hate her, even though Cersei is responsible for pretty much every bad thing in Sansa’s life.

The Sansa and Cersei dynamic is one of the narrative’s most dynamic and complex, as Cersei represents a dark mirror of Sansa. Both were in love with the idea of becoming Queen as children, but arrived in King’s Landing to find their Prince is not who they thought he would be – Cersei both literally and figuratively, as she realizes she’s not to marry Rhaegar Targaryen but instead Robert Baratheon. They’re both subjected to emotional and physical abuse by the King for things that aren’t their fault – Robert hates Cersei because she isn’t Lyanna, and Joffrey hates Sansa because of his fight with Arya on the Trident.

But Cersei’s Lannister upbringing and life have made her cruel in all the ways Sansa is kind. She can see the parallels between herself and Sansa, but instead of reacting with empathy, she uses it to justify her cruelty:

“You’re stronger than you seem, though. I expect you’ll survive a bit of humiliation. I did.”

Being afraid of the men in her life has taught Cersei that’s the correct way to wield power:

“Another lesson you should learn, if you hope to sit beside my son. Be gentle on a night like this and you’ll have treasons popping up all about you like mushrooms after a hard rain. The only way to keep your people loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy.”

But Sansa reacts the opposite way:

“I will remember, Your Grace,” said Sansa, though she had always heard that love was a surer route to the people’s loyalty than fear. If I am ever a queen, I’ll make them love me.

This line has become the definitive statement of Sansa’s character because it so wholly embodies her ethos. Cruelty is not in her nature, and her instinct is always to show kindness. It also ties a direct connection to her own personal experiences shaping how she wants to be as Queen:

“Fear is better than love, Mother says.” Joffrey pointed at Sansa. “She fears me.”

Sansa knows what it feels like to be afraid, and she never wants anyone else to ever feel like that. Where the cruelty Cersei suffered taught her it was normal and good to rule that way, Sansa learns what it feels like to be at someone else’s mercy. If she ever has control over someone, which she will in books to come, she’s learned to always be kind because she knows what it feels like when someone isn’t.

All of her chapters in A Clash of Kings are full of moments that show how much Sansa values kindness. While I’ve already highlighted the life or death examples, she also shines in the small moments, like when she encourages Tommen before he faces the quintain at Joffrey’s name day tourney. And she comforts him when Myrcella leaves for Dorne:

Prince Tommen sobbed. "You mew like a suckling babe," his brother hissed at him. "Princes aren't supposed to cry."

"Prince Aemon the Dragonknight cried the day Princess Naerys wed his brother Aegon," Sansa Stark said, "and the twins Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk died with tears on their cheeks after each had given the other a mortal wound."

- Tyrion IX

She tries to comfort Lollys Stokeworth across the bridge to Maegar’s Holdfast:

She greeted them courteously. “May I be of help?”

Lady Tanda flushed with shame. “No, my lady, but we thank you kindly. You must forgive my daughter, she has not been well.”

“I don’t want to.” Lollys clutched at her maid, a slender, pretty girl with short dark hair who looked as though she wanted nothing so much as to shove her mistress into the dry moat, onto those iron spikes. “Please, please, I don’t want to.”

Sansa spoke to her gently. “We’ll all be thrice protected inside, and there’s to be food and drink and song as well.”

Her prayer in the Sept before the battle starts shows just how much she cares for everyone:

She sang for mercy, for the living and the dead alike, for Bran and Rickon and Robb, for her sister Arya and her bastard brother Jon Snow, away off on the Wall. She sang for her mother and her father, for her grandfather Lord Hoster and her uncle Edmure Tully, for her friend Jeyne Poole, for old drunken King Robert, for Septa Mordane and Ser Dontos and Jory Cassel and Maester Luwin, for all the brave knights and soldiers who would die today, and for the children and the wives who would mourn them, and finally, toward the end, she even sang for Tyrion the Imp and for the Hound. He is no true knight but he saved me all the same, she told the Mother. Save him if you can, and gentle the rage inside him.

There’s only one person in the whole of Westeros Sansa won’t extend her empathy to:

But when the septon climbed on high and called upon the gods to protect and defend their true and noble king, Sansa got to her feet. The aisles were jammed with people. She had to shoulder through while the septon called upon the Smith to lend strength to Joffrey’s sword and shield, the Warrior to give him courage, the Father to defend him in his need. Let his sword break and his shield shatter, Sansa thought coldly as she shoved out through the doors, let his courage fail him and every man desert him.

This line feels especially important. A lesson that’s drilled into Sansa time and time again by Cersei and Sandor is that her kindness makes her weak. It was used against her in A Game of Thrones, where her trust in Cersei and Joffrey left her completely vulnerable to Ned’s death. But this passage shows that it is not weakness that makes Sansa kind - it’s strength. For a character as kind as she is, and subjected to so much abuse, it would be easy to see her narrative as someone repeatedly letting herself be run over. By including this line, showing that Sansa’s empathy is a choice she makes – and making it clear that she chooses not to have it for Joffrey – it shows that Sansa still has control over herself, and will set boundaries. 

Instead of using her experiences in a negative way like Cersei, Sansa learns to carefully apply the lessons of her life; she won’t let abuse stop her from being kind, but she knows when to stop herself from trusting someone again.

Because Sansa’s kindness and optimism are the most important aspects of her character, her arc in A Clash of Kings ends there. Joffrey setting her aside in favor of Margaery is an emotional rollercoaster for Sansa:

Dontos waited in the leafy moonlight. “Why so sadface?” Sansa asked him gaily. “You were there, you heard. Joff put me aside, he’s done with me, he’s . . .”

He took her hand. “Oh, Jonquil, my poor Jonquil, you do not understand. Done with you? They’ve scarcely begun.”

Her heart sank. “What do you mean?”

“The queen will never let you go, never. You are too valuable a hostage. And Joffrey . . . sweetling, he is still king. If he wants you in his bed, he will have you, only now it will be bastards he plants in your womb instead of trueborn sons.”

Throughout A Song of Ice and Fire, the narrative is constantly testing Sansa’s commitment to her ideals. Everything she knows is constantly turned on its head, going from a dream to a nightmare. The momentary joy she feels knowing she doesn’t have to marry Joffrey is only allowed for a second, until it collides with Dontos’ harsh reality.

But instead of ending there, the narrative takes a page out of Sansa’s book and leaves on a vision of hope for the future:

It was a hair net of fine spun silver, the strands so thin and delicate the net seemed to weigh no more than a breath of air when Sansa took it in her fingers. Small gems were set wherever two strands crossed, so dark they drank the moonlight. “What stones are these?”

“Black amethysts from Asshai. The rarest kind, a deep true purple by daylight.”

“It’s very lovely,” Sansa said, thinking, It is a ship I need, not a net for my hair.

“Lovelier than you know, sweet child. It’s magic, you see. It’s justice you hold. It’s vengeance for your father.” Dontos leaned close and kissed her again. “It’s home.”