#I’ve always loved the colors but the construction was SO stupid

[springweaver]

Peoples, it’s done, I’ve finally finished building my triangle loom! I am SO happy c:

#the wool is from one of my favourite scarves #I’ve always loved the colors but the construction was SO stupid #so i frogged it 🙃 #also I’m very happy that i finally got around to building this #I’ve had the wood and the nails laying around since june i think #weaving #triangle loom #selfmade #mine #no longer a wip! #SpringWeaver

[callme-adam-iguess]

Welcome home incorrect quotes! WARNING: A L O T

Barnaby: I bet you can’t make a sentence without the letter “A”!

Wally: You thought you just did something there, didn’t you? Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but numerous sentences could be constructed without employing the first letter of the English lexicon.

Howdy: Fuck you.

∆

Howdy: Eddie learned how to fold origami penguins from Barnaby the other day. I told them, “I feel a little bad for the penguins, it’s hot here”, and the next day they put them in the fridge.

∆

Barnaby: I’m not a doctor I’m a medic.

Eddie: What’s the difference then?

Barnaby: Well doctors actually save lives, medics just make you feel more comfortable as you die.

Howdy: Note to self; never get shot.

∆

Barnaby: What are you two arguing about this time?

Frank: They’re always using common phrases incorrectly!

Howdy: Cry me a table, Frank.

Or, alternatively:

Y/N: What are you two arguing about this time?

Barnaby: They’re always using common phrases incorrectly!

Wally: Cry me a table, Barnaby.

∆

Frank: I have a bad feeling about this...

Wally: What do you mean?

Frank: Don't you ever get that little voice in your head that tells you if you're going to get into trouble?

Wally: No?

Barnaby: That actually explains so much.

∆

Eddie: Where’s Frank?

Howdy: Around.

Eddie: Around?

Eddie: You don’t have any idea, do you?

Frank, dropping down from above: Did you know there’s a space above the ceiling?

∆

Howdy: *finds a note* Hmm, whats this?

Y/N: Hey, that's mine! *tries to grab it*

Howdy: Aww, it's a love note for Wally?

Y/N: No-

Howdy: *opens it*

Howdy:

Y/N:

Howdy: I can't read this.

∆

Wally: When I was a kid, Howdy told me that the paper strip that’s in the chocolate kisses were edible and I ate them with the chocolate for a year.

Frank: They are!

Wally: FOR REAL?

Frank: No! Why did you fall for it again?

∆

Barnaby: What time is it?

Wally: I don’t know, pass me that saxaphone and we’ll find out

Wally: *BLASTS the saxaphone*

Eddie: WHO THE FUCK IS PLAYING THE SAXAPHONE AT TWO IN THE FUCKING MORNING

Wally: It’s 2 am

∆

Y/N: The clock is ticking! We don't have time for this asinine tomfoolery!

Howdy: This unmitigated poppycock?

Frank: Extravagant hogwash!

Y/N: Okay, stop.

∆

Y/N: My father's name is just mine as well, so I'm technically Y/N Jr.

Howdy: But who comes up when you look up Y/N on Google?

Wally: That's what I thought!

Howdy: One Y/N to rule them all!

∆

Barnaby: Adults are the most insanely stupid people I have the displeasure of interacting with.

Howdy, referring to themself and Wally: Even us?

Barnaby: Especially you guys.

Wally:

Howdy:

Wally: Petition to kick Barnaby out so they stop insulting us.

Howdy: Seconded.

∆

Wally, whispering to Y/N, who's on the phone with Frank: Ask them something!

Y/N: How are you feeling?

Frank: Fine.

Wally: Something personal!

Y/N: At what age did you first get your period?

∆

Wally: *speaking Spanish*

Barnaby: I know, I know.

Y/N: You speak Spanish?

Barnaby: No. I just know the phrase, 'this is all your fault' in every language Wally speaks.

∆

Y/N: Can we go to a haunted house?

Frank: What’s wrong with the one we live in?

Y/N: Wh-what?

Frank: Goodnight, Y/N.

∆

Barnaby: Advice of the day kids, if you ever meet someone who calls Gatorade flavors the actual name of the flavor instead of just the color then they are a certified nerd.

Howdy: Yeah but you have to specify, frost glacier or cool blue? You can’t just say blue because there’s more than one blue.

Barnaby: Blue and light blue, nice try nerd.

∆

Eddie: That’s the longest worm I’ve ever seen.

Howdy: That’s a snake.

∆

Eddie: Why are you doing this?

Y/N: Same reason I do everything, Eddie. To get somebody to like me.

∆

Wally: I am a responsible adult!

Barnaby: *raises brow*

Wally: I am an adult.

∆

Howdy: *sharpens knife* We've got ways of making people talk.

Howdy: *cuts piece of cake*

Barnaby: ...Can I have some?

Howdy: Cake is for talkers.

∆

Eddie: Alright, so the vampire's gravestone is—

Frank: Cenotaph.

Eddie: What?

Eddie: It's only a gravestone if it marks the location of a body. A monument honouring someone whose body isn't present is a cenotaph.

Eddie: I'm... not sure that's how it works if the body gets up and walks away on its own.

Frank: There's a precedent for gravestones being reclassified as cenotaphs if the body is later removed and reinterred elsewhere. There's no rule that says the body itself can't do the removing.

Eddie: Okay, but the body is very much coming back. That's kind of what we're here to accomplish.

Frank: So it's a temporary cenotaph.

Eddie: And naturally our greatest concern here is avoiding semantic ambiguity.

Frank: Semantic ambiguity is how vampires get you.

∆

Y/N: Honestly, I am so evil. So full of darkness. I feed of the souls of the living I strike fear into-

Barnaby: You sleep with a teddybear.

Y/N: He’s my sECOND IN COMMAND IN MY ARMY OF DARKNESS!

∆

Eddie: If you got arrested what would be the charges?

Y/N: Theft.

Frank: Disturbing the peace.

Howdy: Aggravated assault.

Barnaby: Arson.

Wally: All of the above. In that order, probably.

∆

Y/N: From now on we will be using code names.

Y/N: You can address me as Eagle One.

Y/N: Frank is “been there done that”.

Y/N: Eddie is “currently doing that”.

Y/N: Barnaby is “it happened once in a dream”.

Y/N: Wally is “if I had to pick a dude/gal/enby”.

Y/N: And Howdy is..

Y/N: Eagle Two

Howdy: Oh thank god.

∆

Eddie: Christmas lights?

Howdy: Check.

Wally: Thermos of hot cocoa?

Howdy: Check.

Y/N: Santa suits?

Howdy: Check.

Frank: Shovel?

Howdy: Check.

Barnaby: Alibi and bail money?

Howdy: Check- wait, WHAT?!

∆

Howdy: What's worse than a heartbreak?

Y/N: Waking up in the morning and your phone wasn't charging.

Barnaby: Waking up in the morning.

Eddie: Waking up. (I'm concerned -Adam)

Wally: Waking up in the morning...

Wally: And seeing Frank.

Frank: Hey! Rude!!

∆

Frank: Imagine if someone handed you a box full of all the things you lost throughout your life.

Barnaby: It would be nice to have my sense of purpose back...

Eddie: Oh wow, my childhood innocence! Thank you for finding this.

Y/N: My will to live! I haven't seen this in years.

Howdy: I knew I lost that potential somewhere.

Wally: Mental stability, my old friend!

Frank: Jesus, could you guys lighten up a little?

∆

*The gang responding to being stabbed by a sword*

Frank: Rude.

Eddie: That's fair.

Barnaby: Not again.

Y/N: Are you gonna want this back or can I keep it?

∆

Frank: Y/N spat in Barnaby's ear today when they were sitting on the couch together.

Wally: ...What?! Why?!

Frank, shrugging: You tell me.

∆

Wally: Die.

Barnaby: Please don't die!

Wally: DIE!

Barnaby: PLEASE DON'T DIE!

Y/N, confused: Why are they yelling at a plant?

Frank, watching while eating popcorn: They bought it together and Barnaby wants Wally to accept it as their kid.

∆

Y/N: I give up. I am so tired.

Eddie: Get the emergency supply!

Frank: *carries Howdy and places them in front of Y/N*

Howdy: *smiles*

Y/N: AND I AM BACK BABY, LET’S GOOO

#HEHEHEHEHEHGEG #welcome home arg #eddie dear #frank frankly #barnaby beagle #wally darling #Y/N #howdy pillar

[wigglebox]

Are you aware the noses on your characters look like gaping mouths? You can barely see the real mouths underneath. The whole clown nose aesthetic is cheap and stupid looking. Your art would look so much better without it.

Okay sorry it took me so long to answer this nonny, I know you submitted it this morning.

The TLDR for you is: I don't care, move along.

However, I have a longer response. I wasn't going to answer this, however, I'm reminded that a younger me would have been very self-conscious over a comment like this. When I was younger, a comment like this would have prompted me to try and change my style to be 'liked' by people who were seeing it. Note, I would try to do this without realizing that I'm changing it for one person, despite many actually liking how I was already doing things.

You ask me if I'm aware my noses that I draw look like mouths, and that you could barely see the mouth? Yes, I was aware of that. There were two people two have made small jokes about that while also saying they liked the art overall.

Indeed, I'm okay with some constructive critique. I have been to art school, film school — schools where critique is needed to help you get better.

So, through this nasty little ask of yours, I did glean that yes maybe I should make the mouths more defined in some instances. I also need to work with color more to make certain things pop and blend. That's a perfectly valid critique, had I actually asked for it.

If you had a concern, worded it differently, "I like your art, it's cute — but I struggle sometimes to see the mouth" then that's not in my face, rude, and telling me that maybe I should adjust.

That's a good little critique.

But for the rest of your comments — you're asking me to care about your opinions, which I don't. Not when presented like this.

Do I have as many notes as other fan artists? No. But I also haven't drawn this much fanart in like, 5 years. And, I have seen other comments about my artwork that makes me smile. It makes me happy knowing that others find my artwork cute and soft. That's what I care about. I'm a fan artist, and the fandom's reaction is really all I care about, the notion if I'm making them happy or feeling emotional while looking at something I create (or write, in other cases). I'm not trying to get into the Louvre Museum.

Some artists want to be serious gallery artists. I do not. I like making art for characters I love, for a fandom I love, for a show I love. That's it.

"The whole clown nose aesthetic is cheap and stupid looking. Your art would look so much better without it."

I had comments like this when I used to draw like this [2015]:

“Why are the noses so red, why are they so skinny??????”

And when I was growing up, I had the same comments because I drew very long necks [2009]:

And then even recently, when I was doodling the last couple of years, I would see tags on reblogs of art like this, wondering why the bodies were so big:

Every style I wandered through throughout the course of my life has a story. Maybe one day I’ll tell you them if you ask nicely and not like you did in your ask right now. 

You’re asking me to change how I want to draw to fit your own silly little parameters in your own silly little head. That’s not fair to me or any artist you disapprove of.

Noses are weirdly important to me with art. You say my art would be better without the big honking clown noses I’ve been drawing, but I disagree. It’s the key feature of this style I’ve settled into and having fun with. I like drawing noses. I’ve also always colored them different than the skin tone. Noses sit at the center of the face and I often found it was sometimes the first thing I’d notice in a piece of art while growing up. Any style changes that I went through over the years always saw the noses change first [and always colored them red or pink! except that one example up there but that was a piece with limited color]. 

You want different options? 

I am the artist. It’s my style. It’s my choices. I’m not looking for feeback. 

If you have a personal problem seeing the face and not seeing the nose at first, then that’s your problem, not my problem. And the reason why I know it’s your problem is because only two people since I started drawing like this commented and thought they thought the noses were mouths at first, but then happily moved on. Everyone else has been supportive, and I’m grateful for their comments. But no one else has raised an issue. If they had, then I would re-evaluate how I went about things while trying to stick to a style that meant a lot to me. 

And, I would hope if there was a deeper problem with my art, people would approach me in a kinder way than you did. 

For any and all artists out there who have self doubt and receive comments like this: ignore them. 

I know I did not, lol, but I wanted to discuss this for others who may get comments like this and then get very self conscious about their art. 

If everyone drew in the same way, created in the same way, did everything in the same way, then the world would be a very very dull place. Draw how you want to draw. It will resonate with the audience it finds. And if some people don’t like it, then I’m hoping they just scoll past and don’t piss in your inbox like this anon did. 

I’m going to keep drawing my noses. I’m going to keep drawing the snuggle pictures and other little cute things because I can. It gives me joy. Others have smiled at it. 

I suffer from enough self esteeem issues when it come to my writing, but I’ve been drawing way too long to care about someone like you, Anon. 

#long post #sorry for the long people #I was going to ignore this #but Lordy #I’m sick of asks popping up every couple of years making fun of how I draw

[strangelysamantha]

pogues x female reader where she doesn’t know how to swim so they all tease her because she has to wear a life jacket

life jackets ❀

pogues x fem!reader.

warnings: reader can’t swim, mostly jokes but can be offensive, swearing, otherwise a cute fluff.

words: 1,090.

summary: since you don’t know how to swim, you have to wear a life jacket. the pogues think it’s the funniest thing ever.

request? yea!!!

a/n: i don’t know how to swim because i get too anxious and then i almost drown lol. thanks for the relatable request! like and comment if you enjoyed. :)

my masterlist

——————————————————————————

“wait, you actually don’t know how to swim?” jj asks you. your cheeks flush, and you stay quiet. “i swear, i thought that was just some weird inside joke.” he continues. you slap his arm. “it’s not funny, okay? i’ve tried on multiple different occasions to try and learn how to swim, and for some reason it’s never stuck.” the group in front of you laughs.

john b abruptly stops laughing, “holy shit you have to wear a life jacket!” he breaks out into a fit of hysteria, causing the others to copy him. you playfully frown, pouting. “no! you can’t make me!” you shake your head, crossing your arms. “you have to wear it! we love you, we wouldn’t want you to drown and die!” pope spoke up, staring at you. you roll your eyes, “i won’t drown if i don’t even go in the water.” kiara nods, “that’s true.”

you smile, “thank you kie.” she tilts her head, “too bad you are going in the water.” kiara shrugs. you throw your head back in defeat, “fine i’ll wear the life jacket but you guys better not laugh.” jj shrugs, “no promises.” john b smiles, “it just depends on how funny you look.” you can’t fight the grin on your face, “y’all, shut up and just hand me the stupid vest.” pope interrupts you, “it’s a LIFE jacket, hence, it will SAVE your LIFE. it’s not a vest. two vastly different things.” you glare at him, “i’m very aware, thank you pope.” he grins, “anytime.”

you exhale dramatically, kiara laughing. “you’ll be okay, jokes aside it’s not a big deal. your safety is more important.” you nod at her reassuring words. “okay.” john b comes back with a bright yellow life jacket. “are you kidding me?” your arms cross over your chest. john b and jj stifle a laugh. “what? we got you the life jacket like you asked.” john b spoke up, handing it to you. “i wanted a life jacket, not a construction worker's vest.” you stare at the brightly colored jacket.

“people will see me from eighty feet away.” you complain. kiara stares at you, “yay! that means you’ll be even safer!” you scoff at her words, “okay… fine.” you accept your fate. “i’ll meet you guys on the boat, i’m going to change and put this on.” kiara stays back with you, the three boys walking to the boat.

“i can try and teach you to swim, it’s worth a shot.” you softly smile, “sure, we can always try.” she giggles, “if you are really embarrassed to wear it, i’ll wear one with you.” you shake your head, “no it’s okay, seriously. i wouldn’t want to put you through that.” kiara looks away, “okay. well, i’ll leave you alone so you can get dressed. i’ll be on the boat.” you hum in response, grabbing your swimsuit and heading to the bathroom.

you put your swimsuit on, but struggle with the life jacket. you frown, already embarrassed, but even more so, now that you couldn’t even put it on correctly. after a few minutes, you finally figure it out. you sigh, leaving the bathroom.

you walk out the door, and onto the porch. you start to head in the direction of the HMS pogue. your eyes focusing on the ground. when you arrive at the boat, jj cheers. “you made it!” you roll your eyes, “yeah, hopefully people don’t mistake my yellow vest as a submarine.” you look up and a large smile finds your lips.

in front of you sat your dearest friends, all four of them wearing a bright yellow life jacket. “guys! you all are too sweet.” you hop onto the boat, pulling them into a hug. “we didn’t want you to feel left out.” john b was messing with one of his straps. “yeah, it’s just me, as usual, having the best ideas.” jj cockily mentioned. you glance over at pope who was rolling his eyes. “jj you only get good ideas twice a year, every other idea of yours is bad.” you laugh at popes words. “get him!”

jj scoffs, “so is everyone just against me?” you softly push his shoulder, “no one is against you, maybe john b, but not us.” your arms wrap around kiara and pope, you pull the two of them closer to you. john b interrupts you, “hey! i’m not against jj! don’t say that!” kiara adds, “we aren’t against you, we just love bullying you.” kiara glanced at jj, expecting a dramatic response to her words, but jj stayed calm. “well, glad to know none of you are after me.”

“are you guys ready to swim?” john b speaks up, parking the boat. “sure…” you hesitate. kiara rubs your shoulder, “you got this!” she grabs your hand, interlocking her hands in yours. “on the count of three, we’re gonna jump. okay?” she asks. you nod, “okay!” she starts counting, “one… two… three!” the two of you jump off the boat, the life jackets causing you to automatically float to the surface. the boys jump in after you.

“look at us, swimming and shit!” jj yells out. “yeah!” you respond, half preoccupied since kiara and pope had teamed up against you, splashing you with water. “jj! john b! join me, you’re on my team!” john b and jj swim to you, joining you in the splashing battle. your team overpowers kiara and pope. “haha, losers!” you jokingly splash them one last time. “fine, the three or you win, we were outnumbered though.” kiara stares at you. “true, kiara is right. we were outnumbered.” pope continued, “rematch?” you jokingly push him, “no way! you just need to be careful with who you go up against!”

jj floated beside you, defending you. “she’s right, you are the ones who picked the battle.” pope groaned, “whatever… i’ll be a sore loser somewhere else.” pope swam away, kiara following him. a second goes by before john b and jj tag team you, pushing you under the water. you spring back up, “WHAT?” you scream out, pointing at both john b and jj. “I THOUGHT WE WERE A TEAM!” they chuckle, “you thought wrong!” jj smirks menacingly at you, “watch your back!!” you swim away, pretending to escape john b and jj.

after an hour of swimming, the group was done for the day. you enjoyed swimming, despite the bulky life jacket. you now felt comfortable enough to wear the jacket, so many more days like this were sure to come.

<3

#obx pogues #the pogues #outer banks pogues #pogues x reader #pogues x you #pogues x y/n #jj maybank x reader #john b x reader #pope heyward x reader #kiara carerra x reader #outer banks rafe #outer banks fanfic #outer banks x reader #outer banks x you #outer banks x y/n

[witchlyboo]

Definitely, maybe.

Part five: The one who belongs to someone else.

Introduction. Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four.

Paring: Latina!reader x Logan Lerman x Tom Holland x Ben Hardy x Timothee Chalamet x Pedro Pascal x Michael B. Jordan

Warnings: Swearing, angst, misspellings, some Spanish, me learning how to write properly, and NY stuff that I've learned from movies that we all agree to pretend are real.

Word count: 6.4 k

a/n: You been asking for smut, I know, I know, I just wanted to introduce you to all the boys first, and we're getting there, just one more ahead. Also, I'm working on a masterlist because we are getting too many parts already.

All body types and skin tones friendly. You can also enjoy it as a no Hispanic reader. Constructive feedback and misspellings correction is always welcome.

Red and blue lights flash the driving mirror.

—No, no, no, por favor que no sea a mi—You beg to the sky looking at the patrol that is asking you to park, or someone else, there's a lot of cars in this part of the city, there's a big chance is the panic who's controlling your senses.—Dios, mi abuela fue a la iglesia cada domingo de su vida y nunca te pidió nada, please let me have some of her divina recompensa.—But that's not how it works, you end up parking with just a few seconds to think what to say. There's a perfect explication of why you are driving a car that is not yours in the middle of the night and smelling like a minibar.

Then this ridiculous thought comes to your mind, you look expensive, you've never seen the daughter of a senator but you must be close to it, it would make you less of a feminist if you just use your attributes? Ugh, you feel sick just to think about it but don't have enough money to pay a fine, and the constant paranoia of being chased all the time as an immigrant will only get stronger.

You pull down your dress a little so your neckline can do its job but you regret it immediately, and you're pretty sure you look more like an expensive prostitute who stole the car of his lover than some influential men's daughter.

—License and registration.—You hear him say when he approaches your window. You don't like this but you have to play the dumb tourist, the pretty foreign girl that is too stupid to be dangerous, with the look you have tonight it shouldn't be hard. But damn you hate cops, any uniformed man that works for the government is your eternal enemy, and you don't know how long you could keep the nice dumb Latina game before spit on his face.

—There's something wrong, officer? ...You?!—Your sexy and fake high voice is ruined when you see the face of the man who stopped you. This night couldn't get worse.

—Wait, what happened with the party?—Evan interrupts you while you finish some notes for work, little remainders for later when you don't have an eleven years old kid running around you, he's not usually this energic and you have to blame yourself for that, you're describing a life of excess and eccentric fun, something you let behind so many years ago that your own son doesn't know even a bit of it.

—Ugh, a nightmare doesn't worth telling.—You remember vaguely most of it but what keeps fresh in your mind is bad enough to don't want to bring it back.

—But if Timothée is my dad I have to know the important things, including the bad stuff.—Sounds perfectly reasonable and that's what makes you groan at him. Sometimes you feel blessed that your kid is better than you in any possible way, and sometimes you want to kill his brain with video games and reality shows like the rest of the parents.

—Ok, cool, but I'll keep all the +18 content for myself, so this part of the story might be blurry for you.—It kinda is for you anyway.

You should’ve known this night was cursed, you had a feeling because a) your earring fell off at the same time Timothée texted you to give you the party address and say he can't pick you up. And b) he won’t pick you up. Your mother would say that’s reason enough to not go, a real gentleman wouldn’t make you go to an unknown place in the middle of the night on your own in a city like this. But you decide to ignore it because you are a modern woman and because it’s worth it. It better be.

The outfit must be something special. You always take your time to choose what to wear, even if just another regular day, and since this isn't the case you thought about it for hours, that made your mind busy enough to not thinking about Tom and the whole love confession. He texted you saying he'll come for you to go to class together on Monday, which is completely impractical because he's way closer than you but is progress and you're going to take it.

You wanted to ask for Sheep's opinion but you thought she might not care, has been a few days since she started acting strange like she's bothered just to see you breathe. You want to blame his boyfriend to take all her time and attention from you but is probably just her new job, she got a small role in a Netflix show, and even when you're so happy for her, that's the event that has changed her into someone completely different. But you give her time, stress can do bad things to people.

The winner is the exact copy you made of the black and white striped dress Cameron Diaz wore in "The Mask" beautiful, classy, and sexy enough without being too scandalous, not that you have any problem with that, but this isn't the occasion, you don't want to feel like you're being too much or too little, just enough, it's supposed to be easy, right? you were born for this. Just adding some big shiny earrings you got on a thrift shop that look like real diamonds and you're ready, not that you own any to compare. Red lipstick, dark eyes, and a messy bun to get that disinterested pitch every look needs.

Getting there wasn't a problem, you were in the rich part of the city, everyone know who, where and what just to brag about it. The excitement is growing with every second, you check your makeup like thirty times in the elevator and send texts to your mom just to let her know where you are, and because you have to share that moment with someone and you are limited of friends these days.

Timothée opens the door with red eyes, drunk, high, or somewhere in between, you know then you were right about the bad feeling. He jumps on you to kiss you and no matter how much you try to explain the delicacy of your lipstick, he does it anyway, leaving a taste of alcohol and shrimps in your mouth. Taking you by the waist he walks you to a group of people you don't know while you're trying harder to fix the red color of your mouth without a mirror.

—Here is the companion I bought, look at her, that's how five grand per hour look like.—They laughed but you were too disoriented to process all the things he said, it was supposed to be a joke? if it is, why isn't he correcting? Instead, his hand goes straight to your ass and presses it to get you closer to him.

—I'm actually an intern in the costume designer department of the new version of "Sense and Sensibility".—You wanted to mention your recent promotion to hairstylist and makeup artist but that might be too pretentious. Anyway, they don't seem to care what you are or not, in fact, they don't even see you, all eyes are on Timothée

—Oh, well, is easy to forget when you're paying them—All laughs again. Who is this person? Who are all these people, actually? You recognize some influencers, a few cast members but there's no sign of the director, other main actors, not even his co-star. You feel like an extra in a movie where someone will be killed in a luxury party, hopefully not you. You take his hand from your body and clear your throat.—I'm just joking my love, she looks stunning, isn't she? I’ll get you a drink.

He leaves and the group of people surrounding you suddenly dissipated like boiling water, you were on your own again and despite some judgmental gazes is like you’re not there, you’re sure you could just take your dress off and throw it to someone’s face and unless Tim says something about it, no one would care. You’re there as his companion, an ornament, and that’s not enough to earn their attention because it’s too obvious you’re the one in turn.

You walk to the only window no one is smoking and check your phone, you know, the thing you do when you pretend you have important issues to attend, but no, you end reading some old messages, pictures, texting your mom of how much fun you’re having at the party, and somehow you check your filed Facebook messages to find Logan’s name. You cover the screen so fast you hurt your nail, his name is enough to make you tremble like a Chihuahua, you haven’t talked to him since that night, you know from his sister he lives in the house he bought for you two and he’s having the happiest life without you. You want to believe that because that means you took the right decision but deep inside… no, you can’t be that person, you want him to be happier than ever.

You find the guts to open the message, and you read as slowly as is humanly possible. “My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health…” Dios, just Logan could start a message like that, your smile is almost too big to fit in your face so you bit your nail to cover it a little. “I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you’ll be happy to know…”

—That’s a fucking long-ass message.—Tim appears behind you and takes your phone from your hand, spilling some of his drink on your dress in the process. Apparently, he's been there long enough to read part of the message.

—Give it back.—You command in the most severe voice you have, your magical moment got ruined and you remember the hole of hell you are.

—"My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health. I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you must know I still use them now and then"—Timothée starts reading the message, and even when no one is close enough to hear it and you don’t really care about this people’s opinion, that’s not for anyone to read, that’s one of the few parts of your life you treasure the most and you’re not ready to get over it.—You little slut, are you cheating on me with a med student?

—Give it to me.—You repeat trying to take the phone from his hand but he’s faster and walks away putting it out of your reach.

—"I meticulously preserve them, I certainly know any piece of art made by you will be priceless in the near future"—You don’t want to hear it coming from his drunk mocking voice, so you try to ignore what he’s saying and put more effort on chasing the phone.—Should I had kept the jeans where you left the wet spot on? I didn’t know you were an artist, my love.

—Timothée, por el amor de Dios.—Now you're trying to climb him, it wouldn't be that hard to take him down, he's skinny and you're fierce. That's what you thought but he's not moving even with you are on top of his shoulder and his opposite long arm keeps the phone away from you.

—Who is this guy and why is he talking to my girl like this?—You see the olive eyes getting darker and the tone of his voice went deeper than you thought he could do. You desist from taking the phone, you know the bullies love the attention, maybe that's exactly what he wants and give it to him just makes it worse.

—I'm not your girl.—You claim fixing up your dress having enough of games, and you have no reason to keep worrying about losing your job, the filming is done, and apparently your relationship with him too. You don't care about any of that anymore, just want to read Logan's text.

Even behind all the alcohol and the eyes injected in blood thanks for who knows what kind of drug, you can see the disappointment and anger, but it's not a broken heart, Is the hissy fit of a child that loses his balloon and now everyone will pay for it, especially you.

—Are you sure about that?—You can see him swallow hard, almost looking vulnerable, but his voice is defiant and threatening to prove you wrong. He just has to stretch out his arm to reach the open window with your phone in hand, his intentions are clear and the only thing you can do is raise your hands as a reflex.—You were mine the moment you put a foot on my trailer, and I don't fucking share my stuff.—Before you can say a word he drops the phone from the fourth floor.

You know is senseless but you find yourself running out of the party and going to search the device, using it also as an excuse to get away from that place. This is the first time someone makes you feel meaningless, you know the famous' world is cold and lacking in empathy but this is ridiculous, they're a bunch of parasites fed by attention and power. By Timothée.

The screen is crashed and the rest of it is probably beyond repair, not that you're surprised, its life is longer than you've been in the country and you admit you should have replaced it much earlier but you're not the kind to throw away things that still work. However, is not the phone you are worried about, not as much as what it contains.

—That was obsolete anyway, I'll get you a better one.—You didn't know he was following you, his voice interrupts your self-wailing. He sounds calmer and a little embarrassed, but not enough to say sorry, you don't think he's capable of saying it.

You shake your head and start to walk away without a word, you don't want anything from him, not materially, at least.

—Don't make a scandal out of it, it's just a phone!—He yells erasing any trace of regret in his voice. He doesn't see the reaction he expected and that's when he runs after you and with a hand on your upper arm pulls you back, you gasped for the sudden bluntness.—That annoying habit you have of leaving when I'm talking to you.

You push him away with all the strength you have, which resulted in him almost falling on the ground.

—I don't care about the stupid phone!—You finally break, but sadly is not as satisfactory as you thought it would be.—You are mean, vain, arrogant and the worst part is that you enjoy being this despicable human because you have absolutely no consequences to it. Everyone around you just accepts it and I feel so sorry for you because the only possible way for you to fill the void inside is to be surrounded by that crowd of mules licking your steps—To your surprise, he has nothing to say, he's just standing there with no facial expression, whatever he feels is easily covered by his years of experience acting, even drunk.—I can't give you that and it's obvious they don't want me either. What am I even doing here?—You ask yourself thinking where would be the best way of getting a cab, is a rich zone, must be easy.

—Everything is better when you're around—His voice is thin and fragile, you have to process what he said three times in your head to understand his words. You're not willing to look at him yet.—You're not like the others.

—Pure bullshit. You love to repeat that misogynist discourse of girls being in a certain way because is easier than be responsible for the people you choose to be—You were hugging yourself the whole time, is a cold night, but not enough to be bothersome, you enjoy Fall weather—You got me for a moment, I give you that, you fooled me but I'm too tired of guessing what version of you is real—When you return your gaze at him, he doesn't try to hide the guilt anymore, but there's still haughtiness in there.—Now, if you don't mind Mr. Chalamet, I need to get a cab.

—No, you came with me, you leave with me.—There's no trace of alcohol in his voice anymore, a good scolding is enough to put you sober, you know that thanks to your mom. Oh god, you're becoming her.

—You didn't bring me here, gigantic head—You look at him and put your hand in front of him with the palm up. He stares at it for several seconds before put his own on it—Not that!—You shake it and start looking inside his jeans pockets until you feel the metal of his key car.—You can't drive and I have to get home. You'll find it in the studio tomorrow.

That's how you ended with a car way more luxurious than you expected, driving so slowly and carefully that the police stopped you. What a night, but at this point, you couldn't care less about anything that is not that message, is been months and you can't get over it, over him. Not even Ben moans, Tom's comforting arms, or fight with a movie star at 3:00 am. is enough to get him out of your mind.

—So is true, you don't wear anything that hasn't appeared in a movie, huh?—Michael B. Jordan is leaning on the car window with a mocking smile and a sparkle of satisfaction that you would love to punch but his uniform keeps you in line, where you come from police is not equal to justice, most of the times is oppression.

—You know where it's from?—That was kind of comforting, no one at the party noticed. Not that you care.

—Is The Mask, not some Adam Hitchcock's blurb.—He smiles and even when you really don't like him, it's nice to be with a familiar face, you are really tired of running away, scaping for problems that are a result of your null capacity to deal with emotions. Ugh, what a word.

—Is Alfred Hitchcock, actually.—You didn't want to sound priggish, but you correct him with no time to stop yourself, an old habit.

—You got me, smarty, you know more than movies than me. Where did you get this car?—You feel really nervous even when you got this legally, you have your documents and license on time and he's being nice enough to not want to run away in a car that you technically borrowed for yourself.

—It's not mine.—No shit, Sherlock.

—No shit, Sherlock, I was asking where did you steal it.—You wanted to laugh but there's something with the uniform that just doesn't allow you to be yourself.—Are you drunk?

—No, no, fuck, no, it's just, I don't feel comfortable with cops—He raises his eyebrows but that is his only reaction.—Listen, is my boss' car, I'm doing the favor to take it to the studio, and I'm really nervous because is fucking expensive, he's an asshole, I haven't drive un almost a year because you people only use cars if you're rich or your work and lives depend on it. I'm starving.—The last part came out of nowhere, you haven't eaten anything in almost 13 hours, maybe that's the actual reason why you are that moody.

He doesn't answer right away, takes his time to look at you, what makes you blush, he's really close, closer than he's ever been. Does he smell like green apples? Not the actual apples, the artificial smell they had given to them.

—Get out of the car.—Oh no, is he arresting you? Is he finally taking revenge for every time you make fun of his Hawaiian-type shirts? You know you have too much karma accumulated and a cop making you pay for it when you don’t believe in their sense of justice is kinda poetic, and evil.

You don’t want to discuss with someone with a taser, gun, pepper spray, or who knows what else. So you take your bag, the key car, and get off defeated.

—My turn is almost over, I’ll take you to eat something, c’mon.—He walks back to his patrol and you stay still for a few seconds still processing his words, you must look totally devastated for him to offer that. How you see it you have two options, go with him and spend an awkward hour with a person you don’t like or risk getting a fine, Tim can pay it, it’s not a big deal but you don’t want to owe him even the minimal thing.

You get in the car holding on to your bag to feel calmer, this is the first time you’re fully alone with him since you found him half-naked in your kitchen. Those defined abs may never leave your brain.

—Are you cold?—He interrupts your thoughts with his question, you didn’t notice you were shaking. He looks for something under his seat and gives you an NYPD hoodie, you hold it doubting your next move, is not like you don’t appreciate the gesture but it’d be easier to take if it doesn’t get that words printed—Is clean.—He says chuckling when he sees the way you’re looking at it.

—Is not that, just, you know, fuck the police, defund the NYPD, demilitarize the pigs and that stuff.—You say putting on the hoodie anyway, is a cold night and you won't help the institution wearing their propaganda.

—Yeah, I get it, but you can't change the system just from within.—You decide is not the right moment to have a political conversation so you shrug your shoulders and discreetly smell the hoodie, a mix of cologne, green apples, and cheap soap, you know is cheap because you buy the exact same, do its job.

—I'm in the mood for pizza.—You say casually, making a deal to yourself to try to be his friend, he is a small part of your life anyway.—Domino's is open at this time of the night?

—Tell me you're not consuming that shit, dear Lord, you been here for how long, two years? I can't believe your idea of a good pizza is Domino's. Stella hasn't taught you anything?—You're surprised by the level of condescension with a pizza and you mirror his smile, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Your school program includes people from all around the world so you don't have that much experience with actual new yorkers. Logan is rich, so he doesn't really count.

—What's wrong with Domino's? I don't buy much street food, is cheaper to buy things on the food market. Besides, all pizza is good.—The mention of Sheep makes you a little tense, so you don't say anything about it, is not a conversation to have with him.

—Don't blaspheme in the patrol, I just washed it—You laugh, finally, after a terrible weekend. You can see why she likes him, there is something about his voice, smile, and his eyes that feel... calm, like watching Friends after a marathon of Lord of the Rings.—There are rules to survive this city, and I'm surprised you have made it this far without a proper guide.

—Chill out Mr. Miyagi, I'm not from the jungle, and I've learned a lot by myself.—He gives you a lopsided grin as a request, and you put your fingers up ready to enlist your acquired knowledge.—Walk fast, like you're about to be stabbed, something that actually happened to me, with an umbrella—He nods and laughs being related to it.—Number two, no small talk, no one cares, even if they ask. Number three, if you look a stranger in the eye, especially a homeless person, you have essentially invited them to approach you.

—Number four, we never eat from Domino's, Papa John's, Pizza hut, or any other chain restaurant, only trucks and local places are allowed.—You roll your eyes but you get the point, is just, again, you're not much into street food, it doesn't taste like home and the only way to eat food like that is preparing it yourself.

—Fine, fuck capitalism, let's support local places—You make an obvious fake enthusiastic tone but he nods proudly.—Number five, you don't need a car to live here, not even know how to drive. I would have successfully avoided this police brutality if I had followed that rule.

—For someone who is about to eat for free, you whine too much.—He parks the car and gives you a sign to go with him. You see him go to a pizza truck and order, you realize at the moment how ridiculous you look, so before chasing him you let your hair down, take your huge earrings off, and roll up the skirt of your dress until your mid-thighs letting the hoodie cover the rest, and clean the red lipstick with a Kleenex from your bag. Now you look more like a college person and not a rich girl who just got seized.

—Here you go.—He says giving you a slice as big as your head, looks oily and spreading cheese everywhere. Perfect.

—Is it vegan?—You ask receiving the food with an obnoxious face. His kind grind turned into a dread expression and you give him your second laugh of the day.—I'm kidding.

You are about to give it a bite when you see passing next to you a huge rat with the exact same slice as yours in its mouth, running into the dark of the night happy to have obtained the food for its family. They use to scare you when you just moved out but now they're like any other pigeon in the sky.

—Rule... whatever, a rat with a slice of pizza is a symbol for good luck, congratulations.—He pets your head awkwardly, not sure if you're ok with the physical contact, which, surprisingly, you are.

—I see rats with bagels all the time.—Pizza and bagels, that's the main culinary wonders of the city, you like it, not much to object but is hard not to compare it with your home's food.

—Is easy to confuse a rough diamond with a simple rock.—You both eat in silence, enjoying the mixed sounds of the city and all the different smells, the whole situation feels like one of those lofi music videos. You remember thinking about moments like this before getting the scholarship, what would it be like to feel normal in the city of your dreams.

—How do you know that much about movies?—He asks after a few minutes when you take a break to drink something, that pizza is not easy to take.

—When I was a kid a spent much time on my own, so my dad bought me a used DVD reproducer, and at the corner of my neighborhood was this movie store where you could buy 5 pirate movies for one dollar. They were blurred, with a terrible sound, and most of the time with the wrong movie inside but they helped me to not feel lonely. Eventually, the store closed but I've watched everything in it by then—He gives you a warm smile, you never told that story to anyone, not because is too intimate to share, but because no one asked, it doesn't sound like a question with a complex answer.—Anyway, I watched Marie Antoinette when I was like eight, and I decided at that moment that however is done I wanted to be part of that magic.

—You hear all kind of people chasing dreams in this city but is hard to find someone who actually deserves it.—You blush and you cover it with your hair but the smile on your voice is impossible to hide.

—Is that a compliment? You must really want me to like you to date Sheep.—You laugh but you can see his face tense, so you can guess your friend has been busy breaking everyone’s hearts.

—She hasn’t returned my calls in three days so I don’t think there’s much you can do—You nod, all this time you thought he was the reason she is ignoring you but apparently you are both in the same boat.—But yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking, what I should have said is, Marie Antoinette at eight? I can see where all the damage started.

You gasp and throw your napkin at his head, he easily catches it without even looking at it and laughs; that was unexpectedly attractive.

—Why a cop?—You ask, not sure where that question came from, maybe you authentically want to know more about him, he just bought you food, and honestly, that's the easiest way to win your trust.

—I wanted to be an actor when I was a child. This is the city of opportunities so you may think that if you want to chase the big wonder, this is the perfect place to do it. But I grow up surrounded by these people giving their entire lives to get something just given to one in a million so I decided is not worth it. For many years I wondered what I wanted to do with my life and the answer was really clear, my dad was a cop, a good one, or that’s what people say. I don’t remember much because he died when I was seven—Conversations about death are not your strength, everything can turn out uncomfortable if you choose the wrong words.—It might not be that glamorous but if my father died for it, it surely worth it.

—For the good ones.—You raise your almost empty can of Coke and he does the same with a grin that warms the cold weather of the night.

—For the good ones.

The next two hours passed like minutes talking about anything and everything. It just felt right to talk freely with him, you didn’t feel judged for your awkward family moments or your random thoughts, not even once because he told you his too. At some point of the night he borrowed you his gym sweatpants, any of you could just suggest going home but that was off the table, end that peace just for weather reasons would have been a tragedy.

—I read Timothée Chalamet is a dick. Is that true?—The mention of his name remains you of your life and everything that comes with it, including the middle semester project that you must dedicate your entire day, one that is about to start.—What, you can’t talk about it?

—He is a complete dick with no sense of privacy or human decency—And when he interrupts a deep kiss to look at your eyes, smile, and caress your chin, you feel like a character of his Victorian movies. But he didn’t ask that.—But the next week he’ll be no longer my problem.

—That’s why we have rule twenty-three, don’t ask for a picture of a celebrity unless they are local—You have heard about it before but you haven’t got the opportunity to decide if you like that rule because the only celebrities you have seen are from work and that club’s party opening.—That means you’ll be free to go to the Stephen Kings’ movie projection there will be for Halloween.

You don’t know if that was a proposition, a suggestion, or just a simple recommendation, and whatever it is, you noticed he was nervous to ask. Is it wrong? It feels wrong like you were betraying your friend accepting to hang out with his boyfriend without her consent. But he didn’t ask you to go with him so is safe to answer.

—Yeah, I guess—You get a moment, four seconds top, where you shared innocent, curious, and tenting gazes like three graders in the playground. And that’s the further you will allow yourself to go.—We better leave, if the sunlight touch me I’ll turn into dust.

You get off the car hood and go to the side door, but this time he opens it for you. You give him a “seriously?” Look, receiving a little push in your arm as a response.

↬☀︎︎

A distant voice asks you to wake up, softly whispers that turn into caresses on your cheek, your eyes feel so heavy, even when you are well aware of your environment your eyelids keep closed.

—Good morning, Princess—This is the first time Tom calls you that way, the change from silly nicknames to Princess is enough to get you out of hibernation. He is squatting beside your bed, his smile is the promise of a better day, and chasing that idea you give him one small back.—Your mom has been texting me desperately all day, she said you're not answering her calls and is worried.

—Fuck, my phone broke last night, can I call her from yours?—That’s an oversimplification but in the search for a better story, that's what you decide to believe and tell. Tom nods and gives it to you, he looks happy, beyond that, this is the first time you see that subtle blush on his cheeks and the eyes sparkling. You sit on the bed next to his body looking for your mom's number, slowly he moves between your legs, you have shorts and an oversized Back To The Future t-shirt, you got took the time to prepare yourself to bed last night and keep Michael’s clothes inside your closet to wash them, like The Tell-Tale Heart, a little innocent secret who feels dirty somehow

The conversations with your mom are always long, nostalgic and the tears are hard to hold for both parts; after a long life sharing almost every day with her, her absence never feels smaller. But this time is different, Tom is exploring the bare skin under your knee with his warm hands, asking for permission with curious eyes, and when you don’t object to the touch the British boy keeps his exploring mission cautiously, giving special attention to see your eyes in case something change. Is time to hang up when he gives a long and loving kiss to your knee, the less erotic kiss you could think of but so intimate to bristle your skin.

—Not nice to touch someone's daughter when is talking to her mom.—The protest of your voice loses strength at every word, he heard that and just straight his back to reach your face, the gap is almost extinct.

—We're okay, she likes me.—He assures holding your hips and pulling you a bit to him. Tom looks very comfortable with the new closeness authorization, you like it but are not very sure about it yet, most of you still think of him as your best friend.

—Did she tell you that? Are you talking with my mom behind my back?—You laugh when he does, almost like nothing changed.

—She adores me, I swear, I'm invited to Christmas, you know?—You're not surprised, she invites everyone, Logan was too but the first time he got family plans and didn't make it to the second.

—You should go, maybe we can do...—His lips touch yours in a peak at the middle phrase and makes you forget what you were about to say.—Man, the audacity to interrupt...—Then he kisses you again, deeply, using his tongue to taste your inner lip and his hands holding your shirt in fists. That's a twist of events.

—Is that ok?—You hear a weak whisper coming out of his voice but you got so mesmerized on his lips that decided to ignore it and kiss him back instead. He responds to your touch and starts to lean over you to make you lay on the bed.

Jesucristo bendito, is this happening? like, actually happening? you must look like trash, you barely took all the makeup from the night before and didn't take a shower, you start to get so worried about smells, feelings, and what that'll mean to your already too much-spoiled friendship.

However, the time of doubts is done when Sheep starts yelling in the living room, you both reacted running to the sound and looking for your blonde friend. Michael is there but doesn't look like the same as a few hours ago, is annoyed and tired for the lack of sleep, a look that doesn't match him at all.—What did you do?—You ask him fast assuming she's mad for something he did.

—Just in time, the star of the movie, I was wondering how much it will take you to be the protagonist of this.—That is Sheep's voice talking about you and what must be your heart breaking from her words.

—Excuse me?—You wish your tone would be less savage but you can't help respond the same way she did.

—Logan wasn't enough, then you got the drummer, fucking Timothée Chalamet, Tom and now my boyfriend. I'm so glad I didn't leave you alone with my dad or I'd be calling you mom now.—You have no words to that, Michael doesn't even dare to look at you, he must have told her something she misunderstood, but Sheep, or well, Stella is saying things she actually thinks and keep to herself. Tom walks in front of you whispering things to her to calm her down but she is not looking at him, you didn't tell her anything about Tom either so he's taking responsibility this time.—Go ahead and fuck the whole city, Michael if that please you but you're crossing the line with Tom and you know that, you're going to ruin him as you ruin every man that enters in your life.—She has a very you moment having the last word of the dispute and getting out of the apartment with Michael going after her but not putting much effort in it.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

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[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.”

#Sansa Stark #game of thrones #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #just over 15000 words #which is a new personal record #sansa meta

[zackcrazyvalentine]

chenya x male reader who loves cute things

Ah, my first male Reader! Hope I did well aaaaaa Been watching a little too much TabiEats and cute bento preparations lol -- -- --

SOLD OUT

Those were the words he wanted to see the least.

Special macarons shaped like hedgehogs, colorful little things that were so cute you would think they were porcelain miniatures. ...All sold out...

Sulking, [Name] made his way under the shade of a tree to eat his lunch, a bento box full of lively side dishes cut and arranged in flower-like patterns, toothpicks of red and black colors with card suits as their handle stuck out of some ingredients, that were all framing appetizing [rice balls/sandwiches] adorned with rabbit faces. This was the perfect lunch box themed after the magnificent county ruled by the Queen of Hearts, and freed by the cunning blond heroine.

Or it tried to be… The missing dessert ended the chances of it.

A sigh passed his lips as he picked up a toothpick with food, "Today was supposed to be the day my perfect Magicam-able lunch would be completed." He mused. "The effort put in preparing this, wasted!" He groaned while munching on the morsel.

Huh, what was that? A floating macaron!

His eyes remained glued on the adorable thing, confused and mesmerized as to what it was doing there and why it was floating. Someone’s humming answered his questions.

Sure enough, Che’nya appeared in front of him, waving around the small treat. “Looking furr this~?”

The boy smiled at his companion, “Che’nya! Always full of surprises, huh?” The macaron was delicately placed on his lap by the cat. “Are you… sure you want to give me that? It’s quite the sought after item, and very tasty from what I’ve heard.”

“I’d rather you have it. After all,” Che’nya booped his sweetheart’s nose, “Your smile is pawsitively cuter than that pastry~”

~°~  ~°~

Catboy adores when his partner sees anything cute because he gets a brightness in his face and eyes that is just...wow, breathtaking~

He’s part cat, WILL use this to his advantage to get extra cuddles, kisses, pets, hugs, everything!

Will send cute animal videos just to hear him “aww” at them

He will always play it cool ...like, he’s dying inside or has a full heart of appreciation at this boy that adores things cute, but Che’nya acts cool as a cucumber

Whether the boy outright shows his preference for cute things or keeps it on the downlow, Che’nya is someone he can freely express himself with

Cat perhaps has a different opinion on what cute is, but takes note on which aesthetics, features and colors his partner likes so he can buy the perfect presents

Whenever he tries to tone down the fanboying at adorable stuff, Che’nya cracks a smile and reminds him to not subdue his emotions

The RSA student already has a mess of patches and prints on his uniform, go ahead and stick many more on him! In that note, Alchemi absolutely sticks any patch his love gifts him on his pants and/or jackets

Wanna dress in couples’ outfits of soft colors or that accentuate the softer features in one another’s body? HE IS ABSOLUTELY UP FOR IT! “Ne ne~ We look like the mischievous twins, don’t nya think?” *referring to Tweedledi & Tweedledum*

Like to sew? Cross stitch? Knit stuff? Adore miniatures and dollhouses? Maybe cooking and decorating dishes in the most lovable ways? What about petsitting, or maybe even babysitting? Whatever thing he likes to do, Che’nya will gift him useful things for their hobby/part-time job

Che’nya is a very free soul, accepts every aspect of his lover But don’t test him. Anyone dares to insult his beloved and his preferences or question any aspect of him? They better get ready to have the most intellectual battle of riddles that will leave them on the ground, wondering if this catboy just called them stupid (he absolutely did and it’s so funny to him that their own stupidity isn’t allowing them to understand it)

-- -- --

Hey, if you're a guy that likes cute things, or a girl that likes more "boy-ish" stuff, a person that likes many different "clashing" hobbies and aesthetics… BE PROUD AND ENJOY THAT WITH YOUR HEART!! GENDER IS A SOCIAL CONSTRUCT! HOBBIES, LIKES, CAREERS AND JOBS AREN'T GENDERED! FUCK WHATEVER PEOPLE SAY!

What matters is that you're happy enjoying what you adore ❤️ Let them be bitter while you enjoy life's sweetness uvu 💕

Thank you for the request!

#march 2021 special #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #che'nya #alchemi alchemivich pinka #che'nya x reader #male reader #soul cuddle #headcanons #zack writes #request pavilion

[openheartthot]

Be Mine

Pairing: Open Heart [Ethan x f!MC (Camille Prescott)]

Word Count: 1,764

Rating: T

Warinings: Brief mentions of sex/sexual content 

Category: Fluff :)

Summary: Ethan and Camille make it official on Valentine’s Day.

***

I know it’s been like 2 months since I last posted a fic but I’ve been feeling a tiny bit more positive about OH3, plus it’s Valentine’s Day and these two idiots are in love. Don’t mind me making Ethan the insecure one as payback for what PB does to us haha

Ethan has been so buried in work that, lately, all the days seem to blend into one another. He can’t remember the last time he took a day off-- he’s been living, eating, and breathing Edenbrook.

And then there’s Camille.  

On the rare occasion that he manages to tear himself away from the hospital… he’s been living, breathing, and eating her, too. 

Ethan tugs slightly at his collar, a sudden flush working up his neck at the reminder of her soft blonde hair and even softer curves. 

The airy sound of her laugh has his head instinctually jerking up and in the direction of the residents’ lounge. 

As Ethan turns on his heel to follow the familiar noise, he can’t help but take note of the pink decorations adorning the walls and hanging from the ceilings. No matter how lost he’s been in his work lately, the universe just won’t let him forget about Valentine’s Day. 

It’s a stupid holiday, really. He’s always thought so. The boxed chocolates are a sad, chalky, affair, and the brightly colored gifts are gimmicky at best. The whole thing is little more than a capitalist cash-grab, and there is nothing Ethan hates more than capitalism. 

He forces himself not to roll his eyes as he spots two nurses exchanging cards in his periphery. 

It’s not that he dislikes love, but he does dislike the showmanship and theatricality that seem to surround February 14th. 

It’s just another day to him. In his thirty-seven years, he hasn’t once deigned to involve himself in such a tacky display of affection, and he sure isn’t going to start now. 

Except…

As he opens the door to the residents’ lounge, Camille is elbow deep in a pile of pink tissue paper. The excitement in her wide smile is nothing short of arresting, and of course, he should’ve known that she’d live for something like this. 

“Aww, look at it!” Camille squeals, her eyes shining as she lifts a stuffed bear from the mountain of gift wrapping. Her eyes dart over to Ethan, noticing him in the doorway, and her smile grows. She wiggles one of its fuzzy arms in an imitation of a wave. “It’s so cute, isn’t it?” 

“It’s something,” Ethan says tactfully, crossing the room to slip an arm around her waist. He catches a whiff of her light floral perfume, and can’t resist leaning down to peck her on the cheek. “Did Sienna buy that for you?” 

He may not be a fan of Valentine’s Day, but neither does he wish to offend Sienna Trinh, especially not after the basket of homemade scones she delivered to his office that morning. 

“Nope, one of Camille’s patients has a crush on her.” Lahela teases from the couch, where he is sorting through a thick stack of cards from his own extensive list of admirers. 

A strange itch works its way up the back of Ethan’s spine at Bryce’s words, and his arm tenses instinctively around Camille’s waist. 

Just because he loathes Valentine’s Day does not mean that he wants another man buying her tacky trinkets and writing sappy notes. 

Camille doesn’t seem to notice his displeasure, her lips pitching into a smile as she holds up the card to show him. 

“Medically speaking, you make my pulse race. Isn’t that adorable?” She laughs, and Ethan narrows his eyes at the obnoxiously pink card. The card that someone else gave to Camille. 

Her green eyes dart over the surface of the card once more, and Ethan feels something tight and uncomfortable building in his chest. 

“I think that’s the most brainless thing I’ve ever heard.” Ethan says sharply. “Which patient sent this?” He needs to know, so he can reassign them to another resident. 

“Relax, Ethan, it’s Jake from the pediatric ward.” Camille says with a breezy laugh. “He’s twelve.” 

“Oh,” Ethan shifts his weight, embarrassed. The sound of his pager is a welcome reprieve, and he glances at it gratefully. “Are you coming over tonight? I can meet you in the atrium.” 

It’s become almost routine for them, on the rare occasion they both have a night off. After the stress of the past few weeks, Ethan can’t wait to get her alone. Even if it’s only to watch a movie and drink that horrible cheap wine she likes, he just wants to spend time with her. Even the thought of a proper Valentine’s Day date, oddly, holds a new appeal when he considers Camille across the table, her smile lighting up the room...

“I think we’re gonna do a Galentine’s Day thing tonight.” Camille says with an apologetic shrug.

“Galentine’s Day?” Ethan asks, unable to keep the disgruntled edge out of his voice. It seems a new term is invented every time he turns his back. It’s deeply perturbing. 

“Yeah!” Sienna chimes in. “Me, Camille, Aurora, and Jackie, since we all managed to get the night off and none of us have significant others-- except Camille, I mean, you and her…” Sienna trails off, looking unsure. 

“It’s okay, he hates Valentine’s Day, anyway.” Camille interjects quickly. “And we’re not official or anything like that.” 

The look she shoots him is equal parts hopeful and nervous, as if she’s waiting for Ethan to correct her. He wants to, God, how he wants to correct her. To say that they are very much a official and serious relationship.

Instead, he freezes on the spot. 

“My pager…” he says pathetically, before turning and abruptly striding out of the room. 

***

All day, Ethan is a black storm cloud drifting sullenly through the rose-colored halls of Edenbrook. 

It’s clear to the rest of the staff that something is wrong, but no one is quite sure what. He hasn’t been in such a bad mood in months, not since he started seeing Camille. The rumor mill churns out a steady stream of speculation, doing nothing to improve Ethan’s mood. 

Finally, Naveen corners him in front of a bulletin board covered in construction paper hearts.

“Do you think I’m enough for her?” Ethan asks, staring pointedly at the board rather than making eye contact with his former mentor. 

“I’m not sure I follow.” Naveen says mildly. 

“She’s so...vibrant. Loving.” Ethan reaches out and touches one of the paper hearts. Camille organized the project, helping every pediatric patient decorate a heart and hanging them up with painstaking care. “I’m the opposite.” 

“Are you?” Naveen asks, “I’ve seen you with her, and you seem happy. You two are good together.” 

“She doesn’t want to spend Valentine’s Day with me,” Ethan admits, feeling foolish even as the words leave his mouth. “Because she thinks I hate it, which I do, of course…” 

“But you wouldn’t hate it with her?” Naveen prompts.

Ethan nods with a rueful smile. He shouldn’t be surprised, the man was considered the best diagnostician in the country for a reason. 

“It’s okay to seek happiness, Ethan. You can let go of the cynicism if you want to.” With that, Naveen turns to leave, but not before pressing a small cardboard box into Ethan’s hand with a wink. 

***

Camille lingers as Baz finishes gathering the last of his papers and shuffles out the door of the diagnostics office. 

Ethan doesn’t look up as he fumbles with the tiny cardboard box in his lap, but he can feel her warmth hovering in front of his desk. He thinks he would know the feel of her even if he was blind, deaf, and dumb. 

Finally, finally, Ethan manages to tear open the little cardboard flap and maneuver his fingers into the narrow opening.

“I’d like to speak with you--” he begins. 

“--Can we talk?” Camille says at the exact same time. 

“I’d like to go first.” Ethan says, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. For my behavior this morning. I have never liked Valentine’s Day, that’s true, but I do like you.” 

He pauses, and glances up at Camille’s face to gauge her reaction. Her expression is soft, and the fond look in her green eyes makes Ethan’s heart stutter in his chest. 

Emboldened, he reaches into the box and sets a piece of candy on the desk with a decisive nod. 

Camille leans over, a curtain of blonde hair falling over her shoulder as she tries to get a better look at the candy heart. 

“Sweet talk?” Her laugh is bright and clear. “Ethan you actually have to try and sweet talk me, this is a cop out!” 

Ethan can feel a hot blush pricking at his cheeks and he shakes his head. 

“No, dammit, that’s the wrong one.” He stands and pours a few more hearts into his hand, ignoring the dusty residue that is surely being shaken all over his desk. It takes a few moments of searching until he finally finds the correct saying on a yellow heart.

“Here,” he says, brusquely handing her the candy.

“Be mine.” She looks back up at him with glittering eyes, her teeth sinking into the soft pink of her lower lip. 

“I know we haven’t defined our relationship yet, but I want to be with you. Officially.” He clears his throat when Camille doesn’t immediately respond. “I understand if you need some time to--”

“Shut up,” Camille breathes, stepping forward until she can loop her arms around his neck. Her command is unnecessary, considering how Ethan has already been rendered speechless by her proximity.

He can feel her smile against his mouth as she meets his lips with her own. He groans as her fingers anchor in the hair at the base of his neck, tugging softly. 

The kiss deepens as Camille’s lips part beneath his, and Ethan’s hands work underneath her blouse, sliding against the bare skin of her back. 

“Is that a yes?” Ethan asks, his voice gravelly as she plants a trail of kisses along his jaw. 

He is thirty-seven years old, and for the first time he has reduced himself to a lovesick adolescent. It’s strange how willing he is to embarrass himself in front of her, how willing he is to do anything for her. 

“Of course it’s a yes! I’ve been waiting forever for you to commit to me.” Camille says with a radiant smile. Ethan cups her face gently.  

“So, what now? I have a standing reservation at a restaurant downtown. I’d like to take you out on a real date.” 

“That sounds nice,” Camille says, toying with one of the scattered candy hearts. “But first, I found this…” 

Cheekily, she holds out the blue candy. 

Kiss me. 

***

Tagging separately!

#open heart #oph #oh #open heart fanfiction #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #playchoices

[broadstflyers]

A/N: Alright, here it is! Chapter two. Thanks for the support on the first chapter! As always, you can add yourself to the tag list for this series or give constructive feedback here. This chapter is still in the past tense. This one is a longer chapter, sorry! Although I have a feeling most chapters will be this long. If you like this series and want to read more, give it a like or reblog or pop into my asks, it encourages me to continue. any feedback is appreciated :)

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: None

Summary: They say at fourteen you’re too young to know you’re in love. But what if you aren’t?

Navigation: chapter one

October

Grade: 9

Age: 14

---------------------------------

Ever since that class, you and Joel became inseparable whenever you were within talking distance. You just seemed to gravitate towards him, and he seemed to do just the same. When you needed a pep-talk before a big test, he was there. Whenever you needed a laugh, he was there. He seemed to just always be there. He even noticed when your hands started to slightly shake before a quiz or test. How would he respond? He’d do what any nice, respectful, and caring teenage boy would do: goof off. The way he did so was completely up to how rambunctious he was feeling that day.

Would he throw crumpled up paper at his friends and just smile as the teacher yelled at him?

Or try and balance the close by meter-stick on his head (that was soon taken away after)?

Or would he possibly take a different turn and re-explain a topic you were still shaky on?

He was just unpredictable in that sense.

Now how were you feeling about this newly kind Joel?

“Your face is the reddest I think I’ve ever seen it,” Luna teased while you both walked out of the classroom after the bell rang, “and if I held up my bright red backpack to it, I don’t know which one would be redder.” She was on a roll that day.

You scratched your eyebrow in a lame attempt to hide your glowing cheeks. See, on that day, Joel decided to calm your nerves by drawing a star on your hand. Yes, your hand. It went sort of like this:

Your right hand was resting on the table so the back of your hand was facing Joel, who was also on your right. He was messing around with an orange marker, threatening to draw it on his friend just a table over.

“Draw one on y/n,” the friend slyly suggested with a devilish smirk. Joel’s eyes widened to the size of hockey pucks and he whipped his head around to look at you. He glanced down at the marker and then regained his cool facial expression.

Meanwhile your blood ran cold and your head started to pound uncontrollably. You glance at Luna and she nods vigorously. You ball your hand into a fist and shakily stick it out, the adrenaline causing your hearing to slightly go. He offers a light smile, and you swear you can see him slightly exhale from relief. He positions the marker in his hand to get a good grip on it, because if he was going to draw on your hand, it had to be perfect.

He rested his hand under yours to hold it steady. Yes, his hand. He cleanly knocked the breath out of your lungs. You could feel the warmth radiate from his hand. He carefully and neatly (well as neat as a fourteen year old boy can) draws an orange star on the center of your balled up fist.

When his hand finally let go of yours, the touch felt too brief but also like forever.

You literally wanted to jump out of your skin. A mix of different colors felt as though they were swirling around your head in an intense blur. You wanted to throw up color and those sickeningly sweet feelings.

At this point, unlike the first time you guys were civil to each other, you surpassed the point of being screwed.

No. As soon as he touched your hand, you knew one thing for certain: you were in love with Joel Farabee.

“Now that’s one perfect good luck charm,” he says with a smirk.

Man, you just wanted to kiss that stupid smirk. That stupid yet adorable smirk….

And that’s how you ended up almost falling over in the hallway with Luna. In the hallway, she takes your hand and looks at the perfectly messy star.

“You’ve got that boy head over heels for you,” she sassed and laughed.

You playfully shoved her, but your heart skipped a beat.

You couldn’t help but wonder, did you really?

---------------------------------

“LOVE?” Luna practically yelled in your room. Your parents let you guys hang out after school that very same day because it was yet another Friday. Which is how you ended up with Luna screaming at you on your bedroom floor.

“SHHHHH,” you aggressively said as you tried to calm her down. You pointed downstairs to your parents. You had told them earlier that Luna drew the star on, not Joel. They didn’t even know Joel existed.

“Sorry,” she whispered, “but LOVE? You’re in love with him? Are you sure? Aren’t we too young for that? At least, that’s what my mom says.”

You sigh deeply. “Look, I know, Luna. But there’s just something so different about him. Something I can’t explain.”

“Okay, but you also haven’t liked more than two people,” Luna counters, “and we’re fourteen.”

“But have you looked into someone’s eyes before and felt safe? Have you wanted to cling onto them and never let go? You’ve got to listen to me, these feelings are so intense that I want to throw them up in a glittery mess. He runs in circles around my mind 24/7. I wonder how his hugs feel, I wonder how I would act if I met his parents.” You pause for a moment and stare her in the eyes.

“I barely understand how I feel, myself,” you whisper. “I am so screwed, Luna, but I don’t care.”

Her face relaxes and she slowly nods her head. She breaks out into a smile.

“I hear you,” she calmly states as she takes one of your hands. “I will be here with you while we figure this out, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod in a soft whisper tone.

Maybe it was the cumulation of him constantly caring for you in his own way. Maybe it was the way he never made dumb jokes at the expense of your feelings. Maybe it was the way talking to him came so easily and naturally to you, like you’ve known him for lifetimes. Or maybe it was just the fact that you were young, like Luna said.

But you knew deep down you couldn’t wholeheartedly buy into that logic.

Because in the end, you knew you were right.

---------------------------------

You turned fifteen on November 25, so you’re always exactly three months older than Joel, which he definitely did not appreciate. He found out when the teacher wished you a premature Happy Birthday the day before Thanksgiving Break.

“I cannot believe you,” he said in a mockingly defensive manner.

“Joel, I can’t exactly control when I was born you know,” you jokingly shot back. The playful banter was your favorite part of the day. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t look forward to it now.

“Well, how am I supposed to wish you a happy birthday when we won’t be in class?” He dramatically pouted.

I could give you my number, you thought. You’d never actually say that, though.

Suddenly, he turned and snatched a random piece of paper from one of his friends, and judging by the sharp “Hey!” that came out of the friend’s mouth, it probably was of some sort of importance. He grabbed your pencil and borderline slammed them down in front of you.

“Here, write down your number and all of our problems will be solved.”

Did he just? Did what you think just...happen? Fourteen year old you was absolutely dumbfounded.

“Sure,” you said as nonchalantly as possible, when in reality you were about to black out.

You scribbled down your number and handed it to him.

He opened his mouth to say something, but the bell rang, and you both scrambled for your things in the midst of chaos.

“I will be looking forward to that birthday wish,” you called out as he headed for the door. At first, you didn’t think he heard you, but at the last moment, he turned around and winked before stepping out the door.

You would have melted onto the floor if it wasn’t for Luna squealing in your ear like it was a holiday morning.

November 25 couldn’t come soon enough. Yes, you were excited to turn fifteen, but now you had another reason.

The question was, was that a good thing?

---------------------------------

November 25

Age: 15

Grade: 9

You woke up on your birthday morning with adrenaline coursing through your veins. After a fun Thanksgiving with family the day before, you were excited to finally celebrate your birthday with just your mom and dad, like you always did.

You’d be lying if you said the first thing you checked was not your phone. But, It was the first thing you reached for on your nightstand. Not your glasses, like normal.

You quickly scrolled through your notifications looking for an unknown number. There’s a text from your aunt, uncle, grandma, grandpa, cousins. Your heart sank when you reached the end. Nothing from him.

You placed your phone down and shook your head to clear out the negative energy that engulfed your body.

It was your birthday, you weren’t going to let anyone ruin this day for you. Even him.

---------------------------------

It was after dinner, which was your absolute favorite meal. You had gone to the mall with your mom and dad for some birthday shopping, a tradition you were very grateful for.

On the way home, you were happily thinking about the new outfits you were gifted, until your phone buzzed. Your heart quickened.

Luna!!: did he text you yet?

You exhaled sharply.

You: no, he hasnt :(

Thanks for the reminder, Luna.

Luna!!: bummer. i’m sure he will soon.

Luna!!: he’d be an idiot not to, don’t worry, love!

You mindlessly stared out the window of the back seat, hoping the blur of the trees would take your mind off of him.

You could sense your dad glancing at you using the rearview mirror.

You turned to look at him. “What?”

“Everything okay?” He asked.

You plaster a huge smile on your face and say yes, of course, because your parents have done so much for you that day that you should have been fluttering from happiness. You mean, you were happy. You couldn’t have been more thankful. Your heart just yearned for him to fulfill his promise.

Because you didn’t know what school was going to be like if he didn’t, and you weren’t ready to face that reality.

---------------------------------

That night, you brushed your teeth and got ready for bed. Your heart felt heavier each time you checked your phone and “No Older Notifications” was displayed instead of seeing the one you longed for. You glanced at your clock on your nightstand. The bright red numbers glared at you. It was close to 11:00.

You sighed and spun your phone around in your hands as you thought. Call it delusion, but you refused to put your phone down. You knew he was going to follow through.

Did you know why you knew? Not a clue.

Without warning, your phone vibrated in your hands. You couldn’t have flipped it upright faster if you tried.

Maybe: Joel

Maybe WHO?

Maybe: Joel: Happy birthday math partner 🥳

Maybe: Joel: This is Joel by the way, that’s probably important to add

Maybe: Joel: Although you do only have one amazing math partner

You really thought you died there for a second. They were, like, a handful of words (excluding the Joel part) but they were enough to make you hug your pillow from overload.

You spastically texted Luna.

You: JESFEUN You: HE IFHUHF You: HE TEXTED ME LUNA

She must have been waiting for this text all day, just like you. She responded right away.

Luna!!: YAYAYA WHAT DID HE SAY?

You: Happy birthday math partner with the 🥳 emoji and he forgot to say his name until the second text lmaooo

Luna!!: aww thats so cute! he sounds like he has an empty head but you go hon!!

Luna!!: now text him back idiot before you forget or he goes to bed

You: yep one sec

Your thumbs circled aimlessly around the keyboard. You wanted to say so many things. You settled on this:

You: thanks, math partner :)

You hit send on that, hesitated for a moment, then typed:

You: and yes you’re a pretty great one

You took a deep breath and pressed send. You changed his contact to “Math Partner”

You wanted to throw up, but in a good way? You sighed into your pillow. Almost as quick as you sent it, you felt another buzz.

Your hand shot out to grab your phone.

Math Partner: Hey, anytime you need a star, I’m here

You glanced down at your hand, where the orange star was just a few short days ago. It was gone. You wished it didn’t fade.

You: the orange one has already faded :(

Math Partner: Well, to make up for the late birthday wish, I can give you another one once we go back to school since we have another big test

You nodded vigorously, as if he could see that through the screen.

You: maybe in red this time? it’s my favorite color

Math Partner: Whatever you want, birthday girl

What a simp, you thought. Also, you were surprised you still had a pulse at that point. Birthday girl?

Math Partner: I have to go now, I have hockey super early tomorrow. Goodnight 😁

“Hockey?” you whispered to yourself.

You: yay, thanks :) and goodnight!!

He plays hockey? you thought. Shouldn’t you have known that?

You frantically Facetimed Luna and whisper-yelled every word you two exchanged. Luna beamed with so much happiness that you could have sworn she was getting the guy.

“This is literally the best thing EVER,” she quietly exclaimed.

You just laughed a giddy yet nervous laugh. You still had no clue what was happening, but you were ready to embrace it.

---------------------------------

January 25

Age: 15

Grade: 9

When the teacher switched around the seating charts during the year, she mostly kept you and Joel within talking distance each time. If that thing about teachers sensing when kids like each other was thought to be true, she definitely proved it to be so.

Thankfully, she kept this trend going when she switched the seats around on Joel’s birthday. She moved you guys back next to each other for the next quarter. Before, she briefly separated you guys for about two weeks (when Joel wouldn’t stop yelling to his other friend who was near him). During that time apart, you both were noticeably droopier and mopier than normal. He still joked with his friends, but you only heard his loud laugh a handful of times instead of….too many.

As for you, some kid you’ve never even talked to asked you if you were okay. The answer was of course no, but you couldn’t say that.

So when the brown haired boy sat down next to you for the first time in two weeks, it felt like the day he drew the star on your hand all over again. You wanted to reach out and hug him so he’d never leave you, much less say something, anything, but you just couldn’t still. Thankfully, he did the talking for you.

“Miss me?” he joked with his trademark smile.

“Very much so,” you said with a balance of sarcasm and lightheartedness. “Happy birthday, by the way.” You lightly shoved him, not entirely knowing where the guts to do that came from.

“Thank you, thank you. Did you get me anything?” he teased. He lightly shoved you back.

Your heart beated frantically. Your impulsivity urged you to do something you never would have a few months ago.

“Actually…” you paused for a moment. He raised his eyebrows. You reached for an orange marker and uncapped it with a pop.

“May I?”

He could hardly believe it.

“Do what?”

You playfully rolled your eyes. “Draw a star, dummy.”

“Ohhhhh,” he said as he connected the dots. He stuck out his clenched fist as he fought back a huge grin.

You couldn’t believe you were actually doing that.

You tucked your hand under his to keep it steady, just like he did with your hand a few months back. You took your time making sure each corner was connected precisely. You also didn’t want to let go of his hand, like, ever.

You finished way too soon for both your likings. You pulled away and closed the cap.

“Happy birthday, Math Partner.”

“Thanks,” he said. He had his eyes glued on the star you just drew. He didn’t even try to fight the grin that was creeping on his face.

Now you were the cause of his smile. Warmth flowed through your body. You just wanted to keep him that happy forever.

---------------------------------

That night, Luna called you on Facetime because apparently talking about those events in the hallway afterschool wasn’t enough.

“What’s up?” you calmly asked, as if you didn’t know why she was calling.

“What’s up? What do you mean what’s up? I mean, first you lightly shoved him. Yes, I saw that. But then you draw a star on him? I don’t know where this confident you came from, but I am living for it. I am so proud of you,” she sincerely said through a smile.

“Aw thank you, I appreciate it. Yeah, I don’t know either, honestly. He just brings out this good side of me now.”

“I can see that, and I love it. So...” She dragged out the “so,” and that was never a good sign.

“So?” you asked.

“What are you going to do about it?”

“About what?” You played dumb as best you could.

She didn’t buy it. “Oh come on, y/n. You know you love him, why don’t you tell him?”

You shuttered at that idea. By doing that, you risked losing what you’ve created so far. You were texting him roughly once or twice a week at that point about random stuff and talking to him in class every chance you got. Losing that was just something you were not prepared to face. And you told Luna that.

She (mostly) understood.

“I respect that,” she said. “But if you guys don’t hang out in the summer and keep this going, I will kill him.”

You snorted. “Me too, honestly.”

Could you guys keep this going for that long?

Only time would tell, you told yourself.

---------------------------------

April

Grade: 9

Age: 15

Every time you saw Joel, you came home with a pep in your step. It was like clockwork. You would bounce into the house with a grandiose “Hello Mother” and hum a song stuck in your head. Today it was “Love Story” by Taylor Swift.

“How was your day?” your mom asked with a hint of suspicion. After months of letting your intriguing happiness spell go, it was too obvious for her to ignore.

“Good,” you said. You didn’t really want to tell her much about Joel because you knew she wouldn’t believe you if you told her how you really felt about him. Those strong feelings didn’t waiver once over the last few months. Okay, maybe once on the day that he accidentally spilled water on your homework. But you couldn’t stay mad at him after he willingly placed his own homework in the same water.

“You’re very happy today. Anything happen in particular?” She prodded.

“Nope,” you pop the letter “p”.

“Who’s the boy?”

You froze. “Boy?”

“There has to be, you haven’t been this happy to go to school pretty much ever.”

You sighed. It was your mom after all. Maybe she would believe you if you told her.

“His name’s Joel, he’s in my Algebra class,” you mumbled.

“Is he nice? Is he smart? Does he play hockey?” The questions flew from left and right.

“Yes, he’s nice. He’s really sweet to me. He is way better at math than me. Yes he does,” you rattled off the answers to her bombardment.

“Excellent,” she smiled. “You like this boy?”

“Yeah, I really do. A lot actually.”

She raised an eyebrow. “A lot?”

“Yeah, honestly, I might love him.”

That confession froze the kitchen over. She paused.

“Honey, you’re too young to know that,” she tried to reason.

Your chest stung. “What if I’m not?” You questioned.

“You’re fifteen.”

“I know Mom, I know.” She opened her mouth to talk, but you said, “I have to go start homework.” You charged up the stairs and crashed on your bed.

So what if you were fifteen? You didn’t care how old you were. Call it being naive, but you were sure you knew everything when you were young.

You just had to wait for timing to fall into place to prove everyone wrong.

tagging: @teamcanadasimp :)

#joel farabee #joel farabee x reader #joel farabee imagine #joel farabee fic #okay i caved and posted it because i miss them all very much #read chapter one if you haven't already!

[ilikekidsshows]

Could you talk more about Adrien and Lila being foils?

Okey dokey.

So, I haven't seen the original dark mirror meta about these two, so I might end up treading some of the same ground, but hopefully I'll be able to bring some manner of new material to the table.

Lila and Adrien are constructs of similarity and opposition. I talked before about how similar they both are in their social goals and methods for reaching them. Adrien and Lila are both "beautiful people", not only attractive in looks, but compelling, interesting and charismatic in persona. They're the two characters most likely to be seen surrounded by others.

However, the people who surround them aren't really their friends-friends, and only get to see the parts of them that they deem socially acceptable. Lila constructs fanciful tales about her wild adventures and talks about how she's oh-so-helpful without ever actually helping anyone in any way. Meanwhile Adrien is the picture perfect gentleman, soft-spoken and kind, always willing to give someone his time. They both want to be liked, but Lila wants to be the center of attention while Adrien wants to fit in. Adrien also does genuinely do nice things for others even if not always for selfless reasons, while Lila never helps anyone out in the show ever. In fact, when she was trying to win Adrien over in ‘Volpina’, she stole and dumped the Grimoire. Lila actively harms people.

Their behavior also leads to them forming parasocial relationships. Adrien gets hounded by crazed fans when he wants to do nothing more than see the rare movie his mother starred in, because they're under the impression he's everyone's friend so of course they're entitled to his time and attention at any given moment. Everyone believes Lila's stories without a speck of scepticism even as they get increasingly wild, because they have the impression Lila is such a nice, helpful girl, she could never be a liar. Lila is very much like an online influencer, who also often exaggerate or even lie about their money or social situation to appear more interesting on camera but their audience never even thinks to question it because they have this cool online "friend" who always has such interestesting stories to tell.

The most important difference between these characters, as it is the reason they come into conflict, is in their relationships with Marinette and Ladybug. While the two would eventually come into conflict over Lila being a wannabe supervillain while Adrien is a superhero, the reason they have come into conflict in the show so far is over Marinette. Adrien adores Marinette, while Lila despises her. Adrien is the one who voiced exactly how much Marinette means to their entire class in the season two finale, while Lila makes it her mission to tear Marinette and her position down in 'Chameleon'. Similarly, Ladybug is the love of Adrien's life, while she's also the single person Lila hates more than Marinette.

This show does a lot of good vs bad contrasts, and Adrien and Lila are no exception with Adrien being a chosen protector or Paris while Lila is an aspiring supervillain. However, they are similar in this too. The similarity comes in how willing they are to take on these roles. Cat Noir is a lot more hyped about being a superhero than Ladybug, from the very beginning in 'Origins', and Lila is also a more willing villain than Hawk Moth. Gabriel became a villain to get his wife back, Lila wants to become one to get back at Ladybug.

Adrien also puts other people ahead of himself at all times even outside of his role as a superhero. This is because of his abuse background, so he's basically been trained to be selfless to a fault. He has to really want something and/or have Plagg egging him on to act selfishly. This trait is what gets him chosen as a hero, since Fu sees him put helping a random stranger over his own happiness (getting to go to school). Meanwhile, Lila's first priority is herself and she thinks kindness doesn't exists, labeling kind people as either "gullible" or "stupid" in 'Chameleon'.

Also, their rooms. Adrien's is wide and most often shown fully bright or with a half-bright-half-shadows dichotomy, while Lila's is almost claustrophobic in how it’s always shown in darkness, despite being a pretty regular size. There’s also other symbolism in how light is used to depict their rooms. Lila’s room has a single window with the blinds down but not closed: she’s shutting people out but always observing them for weaknesses. Meanwhile Adrien’s large windows create shadows that make the room resemble a prison, which it has the potential to turn into, so the threat of being locked up against his will constantly looms over Adrien like a shadow.

However, there are still similarities. Adrien and Lila are both collectors. Adrien's collection is one of video games while Lila has a collection of masks. These collections showcase important aspects of their characters: Adrien values having a good time and Lila values always keeping her true self hidden. Adrien just wants to have fun with other people and loves having other people in his room to play with ('Party Crasher' and 'Félix' showcase this). Lila places value on the different masks she wears themselves. Does she even remember why she wears them anymore?

This one is going fully into wild theories territory, but Lila's bracelet looks like a friendship bracelet. I've made a bunch of these at various camps as a kid by weaving different colored strings together. They're commonly traded between friends.

Did Lila have a friend and the bracelet is either a token from one of her more memorable victims, or was this hypothetical friend the one using Lila and served as Lila’s Cynicism Catalyst?

I'll also briefly cover why exactly the story would want to use these characters as foils. That's because, ultimately, Lila is Adrien's opponent.

An important aspect of Lila and Adrien's relationship is the power games they play with each other. Each step of the way, they have been trying to figure each other out, and every time Lila is a step behind Adrien. Adrien figured out Lila was a liar way back in 'Volpina', but Lila didn't figure out that Adrien was onto her before 'Chameleon', when Adrien also started to realize the potential danger that Lila poses, which was further enforced by what he saw in 'Oni-Chan'. Then, Adrien realizes she's an actual threat to Marinette specifically in 'Ladybug', while Lila realizes that Adrien is completely capable of playing the same games she does.

Lila lets her guard down much more easily than Adrien, we see this in how she repeatedly lets her mask slip to show just how nasty she really is for Marinette and Adrien in 'Chameleon', while Adrien has never slipped with anyone to show just how damaged he is (the number one thing he is hiding). Everything he's told others is pretty innocuous stuff (e.g. "my only friend was Chloé"). Because Lila is more sloppy, she also allows herself to be smug with Marinette, thinking she has the real Adrien figured out already. However, she doesn't realize that she still hasn't figured Adrien out completely. Adrien might be wily, but he's also kind, and Lila messed with the people he wants to protect.

As we've seen from their interactions so far, ever since Adrien knew what she was like, he's been a step ahead of her. He's the one who sabotaged her original plan to get rid of Marinette (which was just waiting for Marinette to attack her publically and turn everyone against her) and he also stepped in to make her give up her second plan (framing Marinette for misdemeanours). So, while they're now focused on each other, Marinette is still right in the middle of the battle. The fight is between Lila and Adrien, but it’s about Marinette, so Marinette is still technically the main consideration in this sub plot, so it doesn’t sideline our main character entirely.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #lila rossi #adrien agreste #ml meta #ml theory #long post

[getofy]

as you are loved by another

genre: angst; tsukishima x gn!reader | wc: 1.2k

—a/n: hello! this is long overdue but tysm for 100 followers aaa. it means a lot that people enjoy my stupid headcanons/word-vomits. as a gift i offer you: this angsty kei fic that i wrote in the wee hours of the morning. is it good? questionable. am i happy with it? not necessarily. however, posting this seemed better than scrapping so here we are </3. enjoy!

cw: brief mentions of death/funerals; self pity/deprecation; no spoilers; one-sided pining; hurt/no comfort

—synopsis: in which tsukishima’s not sure who he hates more: your new boyfriend or himself.

edit: i made it so when tsukki refers to ur boyfriend, it’s in italics. im so sorry i forgot to do that before.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈«

—Tsukishima had never considered himself to be a hateful person, and yet, here he was: laying in bed on a Friday night, thinking about you with him, and allowing levels of unprecedented envy to bubble up in his chest.

This was not how he had expected his night to turn out.

One moment, he had been doing homework at his desk, and the next, his mind was wandering to today at lunch when you giggled after receiving a text message from your insufferable boyfriend. The memory lasted for only a short moment, but it was all it took to make his head spiral. He had tried to control it, but once his brain got going, it was hard to get it to stop; eventually, he had to retire from being productive to rotting on his mattress.

Generally, Tsukishima was good at keeping sentiments such as these at bay. But it’s been getting harder to do that now, especially since you and him have been so affectionate together recently.

The cruelty of it all leaves him feeling burned by the fire of his jealousy, and a natural disaster of his own making plays out in the depths of his heart as he studies the intricacies of his bare, white ceiling. A song by some band he couldn’t bother to remember the name of emits itself loudly from his phone speakers while the middle blocker desperately tries to stop his train of toxic thinking. He rolls from his back to his side and lowers the annoying music’s volume; not even the most incredible lyrical masterpiece could pull him from the devastation the conflagration of his emotions had been causing him as of late.

And, besides, the sound was giving him a headache. He preferred to brood in silence.

The intensity of his feelings irritates him. Despite his outwardly antagonistic exterior, Tsukishima had always believed his tendency for total apathy would take precedent over any other negative emotion—including jealously.

Tonight, however, was proving this preconceived notion of his character completely wrong.

This wasn’t the first time he’d wasted his night thinking about you and him. Ever since the day you had giddily announced your new relationship, Tsukishima had been allowing himself to become more acquainted with the green-eyed monster, and this evening, he relishes in its company more than usual.

Pity parties like this—which was shaping up to be the worst one to date—had been happening to him more frequently. Feelings of contempt had become his newfound obsession in the sense that they consumed his very being. Hating him was easier than hating himself, and he enjoyed it. The only downside towards living so sullenly was that it made him realize that, more often than not, guilt was a close companion of unwarranted negativity.

Tsukishima knew better than anyone else how outrageous his feelings were. And feeling this way did trouble him, but then again, how could he not be envious?

Seeing the way his hand wrapped around your waist. Recalling the way his fingers traced little shapes into your hands. Remembering the way his eyes followed you as you walked out of the room—as if Kei’s hadn’t been the ones that did that first. It was all just too much for him to bear. Knowing that he made you happy in a way that he could not.

The overwhelming knowledge of his inadequacy makes the middle blocker want to double over in anguish, but he won’t, not yet. He is much too proud to allow himself to display such sorrow, so he’ll settle for feeling hatred tonight instead.

Of course, he knows that he’s in no position to be feeling this way. You were never his, and he had never shown interest in changing that. It was only a matter of time before someone swept you off your feet and gave you the affection he had neglected to provide you with. This whole situation was very obviously his fault. If he had been brave enough to confess before he had, maybe he’d be the one you loved instead. Or maybe not. Your new boyfriend was absolutely perfect for you, and Kei was anything but.

This was so tirelessly aggravating. Why did you have to be stupid and date somebody he could never compete with?

White-hot resentment flows through his veins, and he’s not sure if it’s directed at you, himself, or the man you love. Regardless, one more second of this suffocation, and he thinks it’s likely he’ll die by the morning time. The thought of it makes him laugh, and it temporarily lifts the burden on his heart.

Maybe his funeral would be green-themed. That wouldn’t be so bad—he quite likes the color. Or maybe his tombstone would say something like: ‘Tsukishima Kei: A son, a friend, and someone left gasping for air after being smothered to death by the tight grip of unjustifiable envy.’

Wouldn’t that be something?

Tsukishimas mind betrays the light-heartedness of the moment ruined when, bitterly, it wonders how much you’d care if his death—albeit a metaphorical one—actually did happen.

You probably wouldn’t be too concerned, especially now that you’ve got...someone who isn’t himself who would happily help to console you as you grieve. You were always gushing about how your new boyfriend was such a good listener. One kiss from that guy would probably make any pain you felt about his own fictional death go away in an instant.

Not that he would blame you. Tsukishima thought himself to be pretty forgettable. And he was anything but.

Why reminisce on the underwhelming memory of his own life when you had someone who shone so much brighter than he ever could to focus on instead?

He hates this—the way he let it get this bad. What was wrong with him? He was acting like an entitled child watching other kids play with a toy he wanted to play with. And he hated himself for it. You were a person, not a possession. And even if you were, you were still not his to have.

No, you belonged to someone infinitely better.

Someone who made you smile bigger than he ever could. Someone who made you laugh harder than he ever would. Someone who he despised—second only to himself—more than anyone else in the world.

As he rests in the still of his room, evaluating how intelligent he could possibly be after doing something as stupid as falling for one of his best friends, Tsukishima Kei decides that while he may hate your lover, he hates himself more.

A strange melancholy replaces his previous feelings of jealousy, and his typical level of self-loathing cranks it’s way up to 100. There’s a growing ache in place of where his heart should be, and Kei shakily brings his hand to clench at it. When the pain does not subside, he deduces that his current level of grief was inconsolable. Wearily, the middle blocker shuts his eyes close and allows himself to escape to the bliss of sleep.

Maybe, he’d be able to outrun the misery of loving you as you are loved by someone else in the world of dreams.

He hopes he can.

*do not repost my work without proper credit and my explicit permission.

a/n: again, i apologize for not being super active (mental illness goes hard), but i’ve been feeling better so hopefully that changes! likes + reblogs are always appreciated and feel free to give me constructive criticism (i know i need it lol). i hope you enjoyed.

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[insufferablelust]

Hi, I hope you're having a great day! I was wondering if you could write something for Hotch where the reader is one of the younger members and he always wants to protect her. She messes up on a case and Strauss yells at her and she ends up crying and Hotch takes care of her. Thank you so much, and it is okay if you don't want to write it!

Hi! i’m so sorry it took me awhile to write your piece but i hope this is worth it! and i also changed it a bit so i hope you don’t mind, but if you have any specific ideas just let me know! anyways thank you so much for requesting and waiting! much love!

This is an Aaron Hotchner x SA!Reader Blurb.

Warnings : Fluffs, angst, Mean!Strauss, Hotch is like your caregiver in a professional way like he guides you through the cases and help you etc because you’re new and young, Mention of Guns, Blood, Supportive!BAU, Mental disorder, and Abductions.

this blurb also have a special meaning to me since i’m diagnosed with the same Disorder the unsub has in this so i’m sorry if the descriptions are a bit too detailed. i still hope you like it and give me feedbacks or constructive criticisms thank you for reading❤️

———————

Being the youngest in every field has its own disadvantages, when you were at school, being the youngest would get you picked at, but you shut them up quickly with your bravery. When you were in college, most people doubted you even your professors, but you also managed to make them stare in awe when you became the top student of your criminal psychology class. When you were training in the academy, many underestimate you, but again— you came out on top, trainee with the highest score amongst others. So you never thought about being the youngest much,

No, not until you actually work— by work i mean becoming a part of BAU, Special Agent Y/n Y/l/n. It was easy at first, you received such a warm welcome from your new teammates that you already thought that this is going to be easy enough. The first time you met them were at the bullpen, they were all lounging and talking about a recent case as you stepped in nervously yet you put a stern smile. The first person who approached you was the wonderful Miss Penelope Garcia, who happens to be your friend, and then you shook hands with David Rossi, Jennifer Jareau, Aaron Hotchner, Dr. Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss, and got a flirty remark from none other than Derek Morgan— who you scoffed at and said “not going to work on me pal, Garcia has told me aaaall about it” which drew laughter.

Your assignments were quite easy at first, you were always the one to be confident, top of your class and all— so on your first day you got your first assignment with the team, a case in Virginia. You were told to follow Agent Hotchner, and you have to be honest that it couldn’t be any more easier for you. He showed you the ropes, how to analyze certain behaviors, even let you interview the family alone. He made you feel safe and comfortable to do this job, and you couldn’t be more grateful.

Now that you’ve gotten to several cases, you’ve felt like you earned your place here, not just as the new girl, but a profiler, an agent, and you couldn’t be more prouder— and you can’t help but to thank Aaron for it, he always guides you through all the horrible things that you just feel content to work on cases with him. Your teammates joked about it sometimes, saying how close you two have gotten, they noticed how Hotch never raised his voice with you, not once, it’s either you’re that good or as Prentiss likes to call it “He has a soft spot for you (Y/n)”

But not all paths are smooth paths, it was sunday afternoon, you were lounging with Emily, Garcia, and Sergio when you heard the call coming from Garcia’s phone. Upon seeing “HOTCHER” as the called id, you and Prentiss sigh deeply before preparing your go bag not even bothering for Garcia to finish the phone call.

Turns out it was a child abduction case, and the first thing to note about this is that time is of the essence and every second counts. The first abduction started in Virginia a month ago, where it was handled by the local police— but then the same type of M.O and Victimology appeared in some abduction cases all over the country, the most recent one is Los Angeles. So off to LA you goes with the team, only thing different this time is that JJ and Hotch was staying behind to talk to the police in Virginia—it’s your first ever case without his guidance and you haven’t decided if you like it or hate it.

———————————

12 hours into the abduction, and Y/n has messed up bad, bad enough that it put her own life in jeopardy. Y/n had gone to follow a lead, that she received from the hotline tip, she debated at first.. on telling the others about the call she received, all her training would told her to tell someone, you can’t go alone but the caller insist that you go alone. Something about this man is not right, you can feel it in your guts. But you know that if you were about to tell the others- they wouldn’t let you pursue, not because you’re incapable but because its not right to go alone, but you took the risk to save these children— the caller did mentioned you only have 10 minutes to drive to his address and if you don’t show up alone, the children will be killed— and you can’t let that happen. So you told the tip responder that you have told your team and that you’re under pursue before sprinting out of the LAPD.

When the team realized that Y/n was gone, it was an hour after she actually left. The second they found out about her whereabouts, they rushed to the location— already hoping that you and the kids are still alive. To their relief, you were found alive, but you were tied to a chair, face bloodied and its clear that you took some harsh beating. The unsub was holding one of the child, threatening to kill him.

He was a man who has Abandonment issues with severe borderline personality disorder, the reason why he abducts children is because he hated his childhood— he hated himself for being a fuck up, so he took the perfect children according to his judgment and kept them— it’s masochistic, he kept them as a reminder for himself of how worthless he is.

“Put the gun down, and let the boy go” Morgan’s voice rang through the abandoned building, causing the unsub to panic and move backwards “No! stay there! c-come any closer and i’ll blow his perfect fucking face off” He snarled, before you gained all the energy you have left and speak up,

“Adam, let him go please. I know how you feel, and let me show you that you are none of those things your mind is telling you. You’re not worthless and you deserve to be loved, a- a mother’s love.. don’t you missed it? Come here, i- i can give it to you” You coughed up blood as your vision gets blurry, The team gasped as the unsub let the boy go.. all of them and kneeled next to you, gun still in hand as he untied you, then lay his head on your thighs. Your fingers shakily move, to ran through his hair, and inching to get the gun from here.

“Shh, shh Mama’s here, give me the toy.. I’ll let you play w-with it later” You said holding back the tears as he slowly handed you the loaded gun before you tossed it and the team cuffed him.

You cried hard as you fell to your knees on the floor, the last thing you heard was Prentiss’s voice calling for medic and then you black out.

——————-

Its been a few days after the incident, you’re on your way back to Quantico. Some of the bruisings are gone but there are some scars that will be there forever, and honestly you don’t worry about it all— the only thing you worry about is what your superior is going to do with you. You knew you messed up bad and it doesn’t matter that you are the reason that those kids are free, you should’ve told your team. When Emily asked you why, you said it’s just gut feeling em. And when Spencer asked you how’d you know?

you told him, that The unsub told you about his young mother, the same exact age as your age, your hair color, and around your height. Thats why he wanted you to come, and the pieces clicked, All of the hesitancy to kill, He liked the pain, not inflicting it to others if not necessary but to himself. That’s how you know. Your answer seemed to please the young doctor as he smiled and whispered a small “Great job, Agent.”

All of them were understanding on why you did it, except Morgan because he’s like your big brother but he did said something along the lines of “You’re a damn good profiler but you’re still stupid” but the worst had to come from your superior; Erin Strauss.

As soon as you landed in Quantico, Hotch was there waiting for you, then escort you to his room, where Strauss was there also. You were nervous not because you’re wrong but because you knew you could’ve done better and it’s against the regulations.

Hotch had said to you during a phone call that he “understands why you did what you did but it certainly doesnt justify it.” The way he spoke those words calmed you down up until now.. standing in front of Strauss herself.

“Agent Y/n, sit down.” You sat down in front of her with Hotch leaning against his desk, you put on a smile as you keep eye contact with her, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling fine, Ma’am. Thank you for asking—i’ve completed the psych evals too and-“

“What you did was reckless and stupid, Agent. You put your own life in danger as well as your teammates. You let your own ambition to lead you into this mess—“

Taken aback at her words, you quickly replied, “Excuse me Ma’am, with all due respect i never have any intention other than saving the boys from the unsub. So i don’t understand how my ‘ambition’ led me.”

“Agent, you will not interrupt me. Must i remind you that you’re an intelligent, bright, and exceptionally young with a lot of great potentials but let me ask you this, Are you too immature that your ambition on becoming the one who caught the unsub is your top priority? The Director agreed that maybe you should take another year of training to successfully complete mature so you dont make mistakes like this.” and at that your eyes brimmed with tears, How could she? how could she compared your age to how you do your job? You were trying to save the kids and you did. Your age has no connection to any of this and certainly not to your abilities. You were about to say something when Hotch stand and put a finger up signaling you to hold it.

“Ma’am I know what Y/n did is incredibly reckless but she only did that because the unsub specifically asked for her— she reminded him of his young mother, their features are the same. Agent Y/n, does know the regulations and protocols, and she knows that if she tells anyone the risk of those boys dying is greater than any other. So with all due respect Ma’am, As her direct superior in this case, i’m asking you to back up and let me handle her penalty according to my professional judgment as someone who has seen her incredible work and sacrifices.” His voice is loud, ringing on your ears like you’re the only thing that mattered. It left you speechless as he give you the tissue box and then waiting for Erin’s reply.

To your surprise she didn’t say anything before leaving his office. You broke down once again, gasping for air as you feel the pain now, the ache on your shoulder and wrists, the dull pain on your face, the cuts and bruises on your stomach. You are exhausted, and It seemed that Hotch knows it too.

He sit besides you as he gently placed your head on his shoulder, so you can cry with a shoulder to support you. You were so exhausted, that you dont even care if this is breaking any rules or protocols. You just want to save people, you just want to be with your team.

“She won’t do anything, I promise you that ill protect and guides you, so hang onto my words.” He said, rubbing the back of your neck and shoulders as you let out tiny gasps, trying to form a sentence.

“T-thank- y-you, Aaron.” is the only thing you managed to speak before the exhaustion wipes you out, the last thing you heard was his voice, “Anytime Y/n, Sleep well.”

——————

Feel free to send me blurb ideas! give this a like and reblog, thank you!

#aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds fluff #insufferableblurb

[trashmancer]

Again, been reading a lot recently, and here's some recent reads and my thoughts. (All very spoiler-free)

Johannes Cabal: The Necromancer by Jonathan L. Howard

I'd heard about this series for a while, but had always kept putting off reading it, and finally I was in the mood for some comedic (yet dark) shenanigans--and a villain protagonist as charming as Johannes Cabal really hit me just right. I really enjoyed the first of this series and the introduction to this 1920's-ish universe similar-yet-different to our own that Howard's created. His writing is crisp and clever--and Johannes is a villain protagonist worth cheering for. He's duplicitous, arrogant, and cold, yet sharp-witted and competent enough to be engaging, and even though he's amoral (driven predominately with an "ends do justify the means" mentality) there are glimmers of a conscious buried in there.

The basic gist of the first book is that Johannes Cabal is a necromancer dead-set (ba-dum-sh) on thwarting the biggest plague affecting mankind: Death. As such, he's willing to go to extreme lengths to hone and perfect his necromantic abilities. In the pursuit of this knowledge, Cabal sold his soul to Satan, but he comes to realize he actually needs his soul for his necromancy to work more properly (apparently without a soul it gets very unpredictable). In order to win his soul back, he strikes a wager with Satan: he will accumulate 100 souls for Satan in return for his own. Satan, ever the fair player (not), gifts Cabal with an infernal carnival to help Cabal reach his goal within the year. Shenanigans ensue.

While I read some books in-between this one and the next in the series, I'll write about the other here--

Johannes Cabal: The Detective by Jonathan L. Howard

So clearly I enjoyed the first installment enough to keep going, and I am glad, because I enjoyed the second one even more than the first. It feels like Howard got more comfortable with the characters and world than before, and in this one he expands his universe with some made-up countries that are similar-to-yet-different than countries on our Earth. In this one, Cabal does less fantastic tricks, as he dons the role of investigator (there's been a murder--on an airship!), but the plot was very fun. I will say this is one of the first books in a long while to genuinely make my world-weary ass laugh out loud in public. Howard truly does know how to turn a phrase and comes off with some great witticisms.

Guns of the Dawn by Adrian Tchaikovsky

Tchaikovsky has been on my radar for a while because I have had Children of Time on my reading list for what feels like an age (and I still haven't gotten around to reading it, but I will soon). To prime myself, I looked up other works by Tchaikovsky. This was around the time I was look for good "stand-alone" Adult Fantasy novels as well, so the two linked up and I had this on my TBR for a while and got around to finally cracking it open.

I really loved this book. If I could describe it in any way, it would be sort of like Pride & Prejudice if Elizabeth Bennet got drafted into a war. Seriously. That's how it reads--and Tchaikovsky made the allusions to Austen's work very clear. The setting is very English-inspired, and the time period mimics Napoleonic times. Definitely the first "Flintlock Fantasy" I've had the pleasure of reading.

The themes of the book are about the caustic nature of nationalism, the blurring of truth during war, and what is true patriotism in the face of falsehood and horror. Definitely my kind of questions--and I love watching characters thrown into completely unfamiliar environments. A genteel woman (Emily Marshwic) being tossed headfirst into grisly, mosquito-infested swamps armed with a musket? It's a fascinating journey she undergoes.

Plus the novel featured a romantic subplot that hits my enemies-to-lovers buttons hard. (It's not at all like one of those tired YA enemies-to-lovers stories, but something more grown-up and messy, which I approve of, because I love drama.) But this is more of a personal note. It's definitely not going to be for everyone.

Retribution Falls (Tales of the Ketty Jay #1) by Chris Wooding

After Johannes Cabal, I got into the mood for some steampunk, and I hadn't actually read much in the way of steampunk, so I looked up some recs and the Tales of the Ketty Jay series seemed to appear on a lot of lists for this kinda thing. The basic gist of this one is... imagine steampunk Firefly. That kinda gives you the whole vibe and feel. It's about a crew of disparate and colorful characters all running from something who meet on the ship the Ketty Jay and have to learn to work together to survive.

Overall, it was a fast-paced read (I read this 400 page sucker in a single day--while doing other stuff) and Wooding knows how to write action and interesting character interactions. The world had some glimmers of brilliance (the wizard analogs in their world--daemonist--were the most intriguing part), but otherwise it was very typical steampunk. I had no real quibbles with any of that (aside from the fact some of it read as very cliche and Wooding's inspirations seemed a little obvious--Fullmetal Alchemist and Firefly being the two big ones that kept hammering me over the head), but my main complaint was with the writing and treatment of female characters. First, there is only one main female character in the Ketty Jay's crew--Jez. I had no real issues with Jez's character or writing (in fact she's refreshing in some ways), but she's completely isolated from any other female characters (and is also the only crew member who isn't really allowed to be a complete screw up--she's somewhat sanitized, which, I guess the heroic women characters aren't allowed to be fuck ups like the men?). Second, the other predominate female characters, of whom there are only three, are mute/dehumanized (Bess), characterized as stupid and unhinged (Amalicia), and have rape-as-a-backstory-written-TERRIBLY (Trinica). All that said, as much as it was cringe, this was written in 2009, and I am sure Wooding has had some growth as a writer since then.

I liked this one enough to decide to check out the next in the series (even knowing the writing for the female characters leaves much to be desired).

Black Sun by Rebecca Roanhorse

A Fantasy taking place in an Americas-inspired world? Absolutely refreshing (and more please). The main gist of this one is that a cult sets out to resurrect a dead god (seriously that's the main plot crux) while political machinations are going on in the central city of this country where the resurrection is going to take place. As the novel progresses, it's like a countdown clock to game time. There's four POV characters we follow: Xiala (a Teek sea captain who is kind of an outcast from her native people and has a love for beautiful people), Serapio (the man who has been groomed since birth to be the vessel for the resurrected god, part of this process has included blinding him), Naranpa (the Sun Priest of the capital city who is trying to garner back control the priesthood has lost), and Okoa (who really doesn't even appear until way later into the book; he's been separated from his family to train to be a warrior). For the most part, I was primarily engaged (re: 90% engaged) with Xiala and Serapio's story. They were the most interesting characters, and the journey of them on the sea trying to get to the city before the ceremony was exciting and emotional. The political dealings in Naranpa's segments kind of bogged down the action--and I didn't feel anything for that. Overall though, definitely a thrilling read with a beautifully constructed world. If I had one big criticism, it's that it ended incredibly abruptly without any resolution. I knew going in this was a part of a greater whole, but I still felt the ends could've been knotted a little tighter. I'm left dangling! But I'll be sure to pick up the next one (if anything just to find out what happens to Xiala and Serapio).

Vicious by V.E. Schwab

As an unapologetic villainfucker, I had to read this one, right? It's about not just one, but two villains! How could I lose? And they're in an intense rivalry? Revenge? Betrayal? Superpowers? Gah! Be still my heart!

I'll say I enjoyed this book (fun characters, solid writing), but I didn't love it as much as I thought I would (I wish I could love yooouuuu!). Definitely worth a recommendation to anyone who loves villains and fast-paced narratives, but... there were a few things that tarnished what could've been sparkling. The biggest for me was the jumping around in the first half. For a length of time, the novel leaps between three different points of time, sometimes 2-3 pages at a time, and it was jarring (not confusing, mind you, but it was a jolt each time). I get it was done to create an air of mystique and intrigue, but it felt like I was getting dragged around by the ear. Along with this, the plot just seemed... very convenient? As various moments kept happening, it all felt too tidy and paint-by-numbers. The characters were certainly messy and fun (and I love messy and fun), but the action itself seemed to glide on well-oiled rails with no hiccups. This did lead to the magnetic pacing of the book (which I also read in a day), but it didn't do the drama any favors. Never once did it feel like the characters were caught with their pants down--and I think that's part of the point, but it kind of dampened the tension.

I liked it enough I am definitely going to check out the sequel Vengeful though. If anything I am reading for Sydney, Mitch, and Victor. I gotta know what happens to them!

--

Right now I am reading some fluffy fluff to cleanse my palette because I've been reading so much moodiness. I'm mid-way through the light and breezy Half a Soul by Olivia Atwater (and it's super cute so far) and then I am finally going to crack open Andy Weir's The Martian (because I have put off reading it for far too long).

#recent reads #book review #just jotting my thoughts down somewhere #seriously though i am itching to read the next johannes cabal but i gotta pace myself #i don't want to burn through those like i did murderbot lol

[geraltcirilla]

What did Jenny Nicholson do to John Boyega? Genuinely curious, it's the first time I'm hearing of this and would love to know so I can stop paying her any attention if she doesn't deserve it

Disclaimer before I get started: I’m a white woman and this topic is about racism perpetuated by white woman so please keep that in mind as you read. I’m gonna do my absolute best to echo what I’ve seen black people say about this situation and this type of covert racism but I am not black so they get final say on this topic.

This is not an easy thing to explain in it’s entirety because it happened about a year ago on Twitter and Jenny deleted a lot of Tweets after the fact because she’s a spineless coward. I’m going to do my best to remember and I’ll include any receipts I can find, which unfortunately will be limited to what people saved at the time. :(

This all started because John made a joke about Rey and Finn having sex on Twitter.

It was a harmless silly joke. And it was not about Reylo. But Reylos took it upon themselves to be personally offended and absolutely LOST it at him, calling him a misogynist, saying his statement was sexist, and sending him a slew of harassment, hate, and racism.

Now there’s a lot of hypocrisy going into this controversy because Reylos are notorious for sexualizing Rey often to disgusting degrees, like demanding the actual Star Wars movies be more explicit, saying light sabers are phallic symbols, accusing JJ Abrams of wanting Rey to stay his pure virginal Mary Sue, etc. (I’m not gonna bother providing receipts on this, just search the Reylo hashtags on Tumblr or Twitter, or check out the Twitter @ShitReylosSay). Let me make it clear that sexually explicit =/= sexist, and John’s statement was not sexist. Period. At the end of the day I think they were just looking for an excuse to attack John. Because he cannot breath without people attacking him.

Well John noticed right away it was Reylos going at him so he took the opportunity to drag Reylo.

Was he being a petty? Of course he was, but he had EVERY RIGHT TO after the endless racism he has endured from the Star Wars fandom. People are always applauding white actors like Robert Pattinson and Jacob Elordi for shitting on shows, movies, or fandoms related to their work. But when John does it suddenly he’s “unprofessional”?

John eventually started replying to some of the Tweets being sent at him.

They were all along this vein where a person was being outright hostile and vile, so yeah, he had every right to respond.

This all culminated in him picking out a bunch of hateful Tweets being thrown his way and posting this video to Instagram.

Well this triggered Reylos even more so they shifted tactics and took the whole white feminist approach that he was “attacking SHIPPING CULTURE which is majorly made up of WOMEN so he’s a MISOGYNIST”. They wrote these long essays and Twitter threads about how John was spreading harmful messages etc. But he wasn’t attacking shipping culture, he was attacking Reylo. Because it’s vile and abusive and he was no longer contractually obligated to endure it. And honestly? His tweet was mild at best. 

But please remember all this started because John made a joke that Rey and Finn ended up together. HE DID NOT START ON REYLO. THEY STARTED ON HIM. Everything that happened was reactionary on his part. We as a society refuse to let black people defend themselves and it’s fucked up and racist.

One of these pseudo-intellectuals spreading the whole “John is a misogynist and Reylo shippers are his VICTIMS uwu” narrative was none other than Jenny Nicholson.

Just so you know the “inbreds” comment was photoshopped by a white fan, not that Jenny would tell her incredibly large audience this to prevent spreading further slander about John.

A lot of people started replying to Jenny telling her why SHE as a WHITE WOMAN framing herself and other Reylos as the VICTIM of John, a BLACK MAN who did absolutely nothing to her or anyone besides not like Reylo and defend himself against online harassment and bullying, was racist.

And you know what she did? She blocked them all.

And to this day she continues to block anyone who brings it up because she’s a spineless coward who can’t be bothered to own up to her racist slip-ups.

Some of these people were being mean, but most were not. Some were nicer than she deserved. She still blocked them. She didn’t want to see any form of criticism (constructive or not) sent her way.

She even had the nerve to go at John AGAIN during the BLM protests after George Floyd was murdered because she has no fucking clue how to read a room. This was her bringing back her distasteful dislike of John DURING THE BLM MOVEMENT when John made that emotional speech in London’s Hyde Park. This was not the time or place but she can’t seem to help herself.

As a white woman with respect, authority, and a large audience, who viewed as an “intellect” on online spaces so her opinion is taken more seriously thank others, the things she says matter and impact a large group of people. She used her whiteness and her woman-ness to frame herself and other white women as John’s victim when she was not, because she knew it would be easy and she would get away with it. And she did and she has. As one person in the screencaps above tweeted so gracefully, she “participated in the fandom dogpile of John” when he had done nothing wrong except exist and have opinions.

Jenny is your classic example of a performative ally and she accidently showed her true colors. I no longer trust any white female video essayist who ship Reylo and are friends with Jenny because you know they all silently agree with what she was stupid enough to say out loud. This means Lindsay Ellis as well.

I believe the reason she refuses to acknowledge this situation is because she would be forced to either apologize or confess she still stands by what she said. And based off her vague-tweeting the situation as recent as June of 2020 I feel safe saying she still believes she was in the right.

The receipts I offered are only a small part of a much larger jumbled mess. I didn’t include everything there was but even this small amount is pretty damning.

#john boyega #jenny nicholson #ask #anon #text #long post

[bisluthq]

I have missed the original convo of you admitting you're a rasict. But knowing you live in SA makes it even worse. And your family hasn't even lived there for generations, you came in the 90s, you are recent imigrants to an african country. Makes sense you'd be rasict. But wow just fucking speechless... Unbelievable.

I mean again this is TWISTING what I said and like twisting it badly and in extremely bad faith which isn’t surprising since you “missed the original conversation” and now made up a headcanon that fits your preconceptions, so I’m gonna explain this again specifically for white peoples/allies in general who don’t understand what I’m saying and who are - on this topic - exhibiting staggering amounts of white fragility. I think if a white person wholeheartedly tells you they’ve never had a racist thought IN THEIR LIFE they’re lying to themselves or to you or to both.

We… grow up in a fucked up world. EVEN AS A WOMAN I have thought misogynistic things. As a gay person I’ve thought homophobic things. As a Jewish person I’ve had antisemitic thoughts. So like HOW would I AS A WHITE PERSON never have had a racist thought? That would be… a lie. I gave examples last time - it’s never been anything “that bad” but that doesn’t make it okay? I had a lecturer in like first year with a heavy Zim accent and everyone - Black students in my social circle too - mocked him for sounding “stupid”. This never would’ve happened to like idk a Greek lecturer. Around that time I equated class to accent so assumed a friend of mine came from a middle class background because she spoke with a “white” South African accent - I only found out like MONTHS into the friendship she’d taught herself the accent to “sound smart” tbh and it’s fucked she had to do that and the reason she did was to… not get mocked right and I had equated accent to like idk shared life experience which was fucked of me. I’ve definitely white saviored like especially in high school because I liked doing like volunteering and I felt realllllly good about that shit in a way that’s fucked up actually. Like I volunteered for white run organizations and I don’t think we did anything super useful or meaningful - it was nice but not super constructive like giving a kid some sandwiches and reading to them is sweet but it’s not sustainable change and it’s pure white saviorism and that’s fucked. I can’t undo that stuff - I can acknowledge it and learn from it though and not repeat it.

Unlearning stuff first and foremost means… acknowledging it. It means acknowledging that I - like you btw - HAVE HAD FUCKED UP THOUGHTS. And I’d rather call a spade a spade than be like “oh no these were okay thoughts!!! Whatever!!!” because they fucking weren’t??? They were racist thoughts?

And I can’t guarantee I don’t have any thoughts RIGHT NOW that aren’t fucked up like I’m always going to be learning?? As is EVERYONE.

Step one to becoming an ally to ANY group is acknowledging ways YOU YOURSELF contributed harm within society. You can’t discuss it in OTHER PEOPLE or in society as a whole unless you admit you yourself have been and are and tbh always will be part of the problem. That yes as a white person your presence may be an act of violence in some spaces. It’s then up to you not to go into those spaces, or mitigate harm when you do.

You’re not an ally if you sing kumbaya and say “I don’t see color” or “I just don’t care because love is love” or “it doesn’t matter to me because gender is a social construct” like you’re legit just looking for brownie points that way. Allyship should be hard. It should be self-reflective. It should make you grapple with YOURSELF and think about why you believe whatever you land up believing and if it doesn’t make you uncomfortable and question yourself and doubt yourself then you’re not a fucking ally you’re just some person who likes getting claps and cheers and that’s not fucking good enough.

And I’m tired of spaces that make it seem like it shouldn’t be hard or that allyship is about some nice Tweets. That’s not real life. Tweeting shit doesn’t make you a good person. Doing the work on YOURSELF like GENUINELY DOING THAT WORK might still not make you a good person tbh but at least it’s a decent start.

Start by acknowledging that you’ll never unlearn all the shit society taught you tbh just as step one. Start by admitting it.

Also like talking about this type of thing tbh is gonna have backlash including this type of backlash (“why would you say that!???”) and it isn’t gonna mean I’m gonna pretend allyship is just about infographics and “mean bullies” and not about structural shit we all internalize and perpetuate. Like real life allyship isn’t gonna be sharing infographics dude or saying you don’t notice these things. Not noticing btw is a position of privilege it’s not the flex self acclaimed allies think - it’s not good enough to “not notice” - you SHOULD notice and you SHOULD care.

And the first person you should call out is yourself tbh and the first person you should do the work ON IS YOU. “I didn’t know” or “I don’t notice that” isn’t fucking good enough.

Finally: you’re never gonna please every member of the identity you’re an ally to, so eventually you’re gonna have to make choices. Some people might like a certain brand of allyship. They might praise it. Others won’t. You won’t please everyone. If you’re loudly anti racist, pro women, pro gay people, pro trans people, supportive of Jews and Muslims, you’ll piss people off. You just have to stay true to what YOU have figured out and keep learning tbh. Like that’s all you can ever fucking do, and if you ever think you’re done well then you’re right back to square one and you’re perpetuating harm again.

#nat talks social stuff

[trickster-tabby]

What's your favorite idea? Mine is being creative. How do you get the idea? I just try to think creatively. Now when you look at this orange, tell me please, what do you see? It's just a boring old orange. Maybe to you, but not to me. I see a silly face! Wow! Walking along and smiling at me. I don't see what you mean. Cause you're not thinking creatively! So take a look at my hair! Cool! I use my hair to express myself. That sounds really boring. I use my hair to express myself. Now, when you stare at the clouds in the sky, don't you find it exciting? No. Come on, take another look. Oh, wait! I can see a hat! I can see a cat! I can see a man with a baseball bat! I can see a dog! I can see a frog! I can see a ladder, leaning on a log! Think you're getting the hang of it now, using your minds to have a good time. I might paint a picture of a clown. Whoa there friend, you might need to slow down. Here's another good tip. Yeah? Of how to be a creative wiz kid. Go and collect some leaves and sticks and arrange them into your favorite color. Blue. Red! Green! Green is not a creative color. Oh... There's one more thing that you need to know, before you let your creativity flow. Listen to your heart, listen to the rain, listen to the voices in your brain. Come on guys, let's get creative! Now let's all agree to never be creative again.

Come on guys, stop mucking around. We only have five minutes until our show's on. That's not enough time. There's always time for a song. What? Who is that? Time is a tool you can put on the wall or wear it on your wrist. The past is far behind us, the future doesn't exist. Oh... What's the time? It's quarter to nine! Time to have a bath. What do you mean? We're already clean. Scrub scrub scrub, 'til the water's brown. Time is a ruler to measure the day. It doesn't go backwards, only one way. Watch it go round like a merry-go-round. Going so fast like a merry-go-round. Let's go on a journey, a journey through all time. The time that's changing all the time, it's time to go to time! But we don't really want to, we're going to miss our show. Don't be stupid, friends! Come on, it's time to go! Time is old, like Victorian times. Like cobbles, and playing, and speaking in rhymes. With cobbles, and chimneys, a simpler times. With cobbles, and sawdust, and batteries, and slime! This tree that is old has circles inside. This tree that is older has shriveled and died. The apple that's fresh is ripe to the core! And I rot over time and I'm not anymore. Time can be told by the moon or the sun, but time flies fast when you're having fun. There's a time and a place for mucking around! Like birthdays! And camping. I'm friends with my dad! And then what happened after the olden days? Time went new and got old like history. Stuff from the past went into a mystery. An old man died. But look, a computer. Everything's cool, it's the future! Time is now, the future anew! And look at all the wonderful things you can do! With gadgets and gizmos, and email addresses! My dad is a computer! Look at the time! It's quarter to eight, there's fish on my plate! It's twenty past day, there's fish on my tray! It's eleven to twelve, there's fish in the bath! It's nine thirty, there's fish everywhere. Fish everywhere. Now you can see the importance of time. It helps us make pizza, it keeps things in line. But when did it start? And when will it stop? Time is important, and I am a clock. If we run out of time, where does it go? Is time even real, does anyone know? Maybe time's just a construct of human perception, an illusion created by- meh meh meh meh MEH MEH MEH MEH MEH MEH MEH MEH MEH MEH- Sunrise, sunset, night and day. The changing seasons, the smell of hay. Look at your hair grow, isn't it strange how time makes your appearance change? Ugh! Make it stop! It's out of my hands, I'm only a clock. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be fine. But eventually, everyone runs out of time.

Isn't it nice to finally be outside on such a beautiful day? Yes, and I've packed us a delicious chicken picnic. Huh? Heh, hehehe! Ugh! Pesky bee! Hmm, he seems upset about something. I wonder what will happen. It makes you sad, doesn't it? That there's so much hatred in the world. I hope you don't mind if I ask you a question. A little baby pigeon! Have you ever wondered why we're here? What's it all about, you've no idea. And everywhere you look, all you see is hatred, and darkness, death, and fear. But, you know, it doesn't have to be that I hate you, and you hate me. Cause even though we're different, it doesn't make a difference, and we can live in harmony. I know you don't know who I am, but maybe I could hold your hand, and together we could understand about love. Huh? I feel tingly! Yes, that's love, my friend! And it's time for you to learn all about it. Hehehehe! Love is a place, love is a thing, love is a place, love is a thing, love is a place, love is a thing, love is a place, love is a thing. And do you ever feel like life's unfair? Cause everybody hates you, and no one cares! But if you follow me, maybe you will see that love is everywhere! But what is love? Is it in the sky? No, it's a feeling, deep inside! Because I'm hungry. No, you're lonely! I can see it in your eyes. I don't understand. Don't worry, you will soon! Come and meet some of my friends they know all about love! Come on, just over the rainbow! Oh look, there he goes, flying through the sky! Maybe we should follow him, or we'll get left behind. Yes, but there's lots of chicken left, and I'd like to eat the chicken. I'd also like to eat the chicken, let's do that instead. So here we are with all my friends, and they love you, all of them! Yes we do! It is true! We love you! And you love us too! Heh, I love you too, furry boy! Hehe, harder. Now we've eaten the chicken, I don't know what to do. Maybe we should look for our friend, isn't that what friends do? And we have finished the chicken picnic. To love each other is to care, to be kind. And to share! I love my friends so I get my hug! I made this for you, cause I love you so much. I love my pet, cause he's a crab. I love this tree, and I love this stick, and I love this mud. No no, that's not how it's done, you must save your love for your Special One. My Special One? Everyone has a Special One. Even me? But I am lonely. Yes, it's true! But do not worry. You're confused, but that's okay. Let me put it another way... This is the story of Michael, the loneliest boy in town. This is the story of Michael, the ugliest boy in town. Ugly and weak, they called him a freak, so he lived on his own underground. He lived on his own underground. He lived on his own underground. You see? Everyone has a Special One! Even Michael! Your heart beats hard like a big love drum, calling for your Special One. So be patient, cause just maybe, your Special One will come! He's made for her, and she's made for him. That's the way it's always been. And it's perfect, and it's pure. And it's protected with a ring. That's the way that all love goes. And like a flower, it grows and grows! And it's forever, and forever! And now we all worship our king, our king, our king, our king. His name is Malcolm. He is the king of love. We must feed him. We must feed him gravel. Or he becomes angry. Mmm, gravel. And this is your chance to start anew, and all we're asking you to do is change your name, clean your brain, and forget about anything you ever knew. And your heart will find its home. And our love will never go! Now wear this ring, and join the king! And you will never be alone. Aah! Oh, there you are. We've been looking for you all afternoon. We're sorry we upset you. But look, we've brought you the last boiled egg to cheer you up! For me? Father! Ugh! Pesky bee!

Oh, I guess it's my turn to choose a card. Let's see. Hmm! What is the biggest thing in the world? Hmm, that's a tricky one. A mountains? A sky. A windmill! No. If only there was a way to learn more about the world. Yes, if only there was some way to learn more information about this. Wow, look! I'm a computer. I'm a computery guy. Everything made out of buttons and wires. I'd like to show you inside my digital life. Inside my mind there is a digital mind. Oh, maybe you could help us answer this question. What is the bigg- Clever. I'm very clevery guy. Count to a fifty in the blink of my eye. And print a picture. And then I'll tell you the time. Time? Help you to find something you're wanting to find. Know it's easy to be a clever, smart boy like me if you just do it all digitally. Wow. I'd like to be as smart as a computer. Actually, we already have a computer. Great! Great news! Now, before we begin our journey, I just need to get some information from you. What's your name? Where do you live? What do you like to eat? I live in my house. Spaghetti! Well, my name is Dr- Great news! Now, just a few more questions, and we'll be on our way! Wait a second. What's your favorite color? Stop talking. Do you like cow's or goat's milk? Be quiet. Do you have brown hair? What is your blood type? Are you allergic to- Shut up! Don't touch me! What? Welcome to my digital home! Everything made out of numbers and code. Huh? Wow, we're all computery! Oh yeah, wow- wow- wow, this is a computer. I don't get it. How can it be? If I'm sitting at home, but I'm inside the screen? But you're not you. You're your digital you! Virtually real, but controlled by real you. But if he's not quite real, then I'm not real too! And you not real you, he's inside your real you. Oh wow, how amazing, and interesting too, but in this digital world, what can we do? What can we- Hey, good question! Well, it's up to you! In the digital world, there's over three things to do. Wow, look, a pie chart. Digital style! Do a digital dancing! Hey, this is fun! Wow, look, a bar graph. Digital style! Do a digital dancing! Hey, this is fun! Wow, look a line graph. Digital style! Do a digital dancing! Hey, this is fun! Wow, look, an oblong. Digital style! Do a digital dancing! Hey, this is fun! Wow, look, nothing. Digital style! Do a digital dancing! Hey, this is fun! Nothing. Digital style! Do a digital dancing! Hey, this is fun! Nothing. Digital style! Do a digital dancing! Hey, this is fun! Digital dancing! Hey, this is fun! I am a stupid one. I am going to paint a picture of a clown. My dad has a computer. You are not invited to the party. Wait, wha-

Hmm. Something's different. Hmm. Something's... Missing. Hmm. Is it this guy? Fish and chips. Steak and beef, chuckitachow. Grapes and eggs. Steak. Eggs. Are you hungry? You look to be a bit hungry. No. Doo doo doo doo, lots of people get hungry. That's your body. Hungry comes from your body. Get off me. But your body, it musta have to be healthy. What's that? A tasty snack. You don't wanna go and eat a snack like that. Greedy to eat all that. You'll end up with your teeth all grey. Doo doo, da doo doo. Doo doo, da doo doo, do it healthy. Haha. Food is talking. Let's get healthy now! Hello? You need to know. What's right from wrong. You see, the body is like a special house, with blood, hair, and organs in the different rooms. Oh look, there's Mr Bladder in the basement! Hahaha! What? Now, food comes in through the chimney, mouth, and goes from room to room greeting the different organs. Hello! Now, the good, healthy food is very nice and polite to the organs, and so is invited to stay for a party! Yay! But the bad, not healthy foods are very rude and must leave through the catflap. Rude! That doesn't make sense. Doo doo, da doo doo! A doo doo, da doo doo, do be healthy! Hello? What's that? A tasty snack. You don't wanna go and eat a snack like that. Greedy to eat all that. You'll end up with your gums all grey. Yeah, but... Something's... Wrong. Exactly! How do we know which ones are the healthy foods to eat? Well, that's easy! The food groups can easily be sorted using the simple health shape. Choosing normal, plain looking foods, such as bread, cream, white sauce, and aspic keep the body ticking over just nicely. Isn't that right? Eh, I need to go. But wait! What's this? Fancy, show-offy foods like cooked meat, fruit salad, soil foods, and yolk. Ugh! These foods will clog up the body with unnecessary details. Oh no, look, it's all broken and on the floor! Everything tastes great! But maybe we should wait before we put in on the plate! Enough! Or it could be too late! I don't wanna do this anymore! For my snack, I choose a pizza slice! Bread and cheese, and tastes of nice! What's that? A pizza slice? But you're better off with plain white sauce. What's that? Plain white sauce? Plain white sauce makes your teeth go grey! Does it matter? Just throw it away! Why not try something else on your tray? Oh, what's that? A lovely pie? But you're gonna end up sad inside. Ugh, sad inside, you're gonna make me sick! I choose some ice cream beef! I've cream beef makes your teeth go grey. What's that? A kidney bean? Kidney bean makes your teeth go grey. But everyone has their teeth go grey, just eat yeast and it'll go away! But how much have you had today? Too much yeast makes your teeth go grey. How bout some onion paste? Looks like fun, have a taste. Ugh! That wasn't onion paste! You shouldn't eat food from a stranger's plate! A stranger's plate! A stranger's plate!

Goodnight, guys. I miss you. Ooh, somebody's sleepy! Huh? Hehe hehehe, but that's silly! No! How can you be sleepy if you don't know how to have dreams? No, I don't want to know. I don't want to know how to have dreams! No! No! Dreams are movies that live in your head! Stop! Every night when you sleep in your bed! And you can have a dream about riding a horse! No! Or you can have a dream about drowning in oil! No! No! No! No more songs! Aah! Oh, looks like someone's having a bad dream! A bad dream! Can you file these files please? Uh, yeah. Sure. But hey, um. Wouldn't it be funny if one of these files came alive? Yeah. I am a file and you put documents in me. And, and... A doo doo doo, a file. Funny, silly file. Doo doo doo. You know, it did like a song. No. That sounds really boring. But I was like yeah, that's not even the same bucket. Hahaha. I am the cool guy, I guess. Laid back and sad. Nowadays, I hurt my leg today. Huh? Well, that's rude. No clothes. What's your favorite idea? Mine is being creative. How do you get the idea? I just try to think creatively. When you look at this orange, tell me please, what do you see? It's just a boring old orange. Maybe to you, but not to me. I see a silly face. Boo. Walking along and smiling at me. Boo. I don't see what you mean. Cause you're not thinking creatively. I don't like it. It's really not good. Now take a look at my hair. Boo. I use my hair to express myself. It's not very good at all. Not good. Boo. Not good. Rubbish. Boo. Boo. Boo. Not good. Go away. Don't stop now, friend. Your voice is music to my face. Huh? Geh? Or you can have a dream about eating a treat. Or you can have a dream about buying a hat. Or you can have a dream about losing your friends. No... Or you can have a dream about burning your friends. Time is a tool you can put on the wall or wear it on your wrist. Huh? The past is far behind us. You? The future doesn't exist. Time went new and got old like history, stuff from the past went into a mystery. You made me die! But look, a computer. I'm a computery guy. Aah! Everything made out of buttons and wires. I'd like to show you why we're here? What's it all about, you've no idea. And everywhere you look- Nooo!- all you see is hatred, and darkness, death, and ice cream beef? Ice cream beef makes your teeth go grey! Does it matter? Just throw it away! Why not try some fish on my tray! What? Where am I? We are in the universe, planets live inside the moon! A rocket ship can go to the moon! Sports ball! Let's play sports! Cricket ball! Red card! Magnet, and I'm friends with metal, I attract it! And it's my best friend! Let's dig a hole at the bottom of- Make it stop! Bee bop, ba doo bop, I teach you how to buy a canoe! I am a file and you put documents in me. Green is for go, but red is for not go. You can be crushed by a bus. Let's learn about gel! I know about gel! Stinky mouth! Music is your favorite thing. Uh... I wonder what will happen.

What's your favorite idea-

#Don't hug me I'm scared #Dhmis #long post #ask to tag