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paranoise.
the fool jingled miserably across the floor.
- Joined
- Mar 5, 2024
good evening! i'm searching for a longterm writing partner to portray the role of sansa stark — from game of thrones / a song of ice and fire. against myself writing as sandor clegane. ( i have reversal threads floating, but that’s okay. I’m versed in both roles. )
i'm 25, female, and have been writing off / on since my early teens. i primarily use discord and would prefer it be our platform for writing and chat. i'd be open to using a doc? but would rather not fool with it, tbh.
i write in a third person format — lazy lit / novella. length varies anywhere from 4-8+ paragraphs, it really depends on the situation at hand. not every interaction requires a novel but some will. i use heavy descriptors, can get a little prose-y, and am willing to play npcs / background characters in order to both add to and move the story along. i have plenty of samples i can share.
in regards to nsfw topics— i am 50/50-ish. i enjoy erotica so long as the main storyline is receiving a healthy amount of push— and the explicit scenes are organically worked in. i don't rush through erotic scenes, enjoy foreplay, and enjoy graphic description. additionally, i also like the lewdly awkward details— i.e. graphic noises, the discomfort of a virgin, flaccid play, etc. [ yes: noncon / dubcon, pseudo, stockholm, age gap, size difference, choking/hair pulling/rough-esc, ownership, pet play, bdsm-themes, dom/sub themes, anal, rimming, branding / marking, clothed sex, humiliation / degradation, cock + ball worship, dirty talk, exhibitionism, hot dogging, fingering, breeding, voyeurism, denial, masculine body / pubic hair, weapon-play. - - - no: scat, heavy bondage, futa, hyper-features. ]
what i expect of a writing partner: at least 4-5 posts a week, and communication. i can be friendly ooc, or we can not interact at all — i'm comfortable in either scenario. but never oppose chat! for writing activity— i am typically active daily, and can get multiple posts in, most of the time. i don't necessarily expect that activity of a partner but i expect enough that the interest doesn't fizzle.
possible plots-
-sandor clegane is alive when he shouldn't be. surviving the mountain, the lannisters, the brotherhood, the dead. hearing sansa stark is alive, he heads north to find what's left of his purpose. he finds a surprised, betrothed queen. * involves infidelity, scandal, etc.
-joffrey never releases sansa stark as his bride. years of marriage coincide with years of war. sansa grows close with one particular queensguard, sandor clegane — questions are raised when she bears no children of blond hair. * follows harwin / rhaenyra trope.
-sansa leaves with sandor clegane the night of the blackwater. * can route to the north, essos, dorne, dragonstone, etc. survivalist themes. npcs appreciated.
-joffrey the is not known for generosity. in a dual-edged pursuit to punish both a traitor and a once-faithful dog, he weds them. * arranged marriage. escapist. incredibly slow burn.
i'm 25, female, and have been writing off / on since my early teens. i primarily use discord and would prefer it be our platform for writing and chat. i'd be open to using a doc? but would rather not fool with it, tbh.
i write in a third person format — lazy lit / novella. length varies anywhere from 4-8+ paragraphs, it really depends on the situation at hand. not every interaction requires a novel but some will. i use heavy descriptors, can get a little prose-y, and am willing to play npcs / background characters in order to both add to and move the story along. i have plenty of samples i can share.
this is a dream; timeless rotation halts, it must-- he would strong arm it beneath her for disrespect. the birds cease their chirping: only one remains, battered ears are deaf til he hears it. the sun stills its shine; spotlight bestows on a waiting place. all that calls to him falls silent the moment her heel descends upon stone. each 'click, click, click' along the corridor pulls him further into trance. lower, lower, and lower each trill of tone, echoing- purgatory can be merciful. death claims him for a moment just to toy, paver beneath him falls six feet deep into the dirt and the brute is baffled the gods have granted his miserable soul such kindness. pathetically seeking not the last drop of wine, nor taste of tainted blood, but her stride.
a slowly drawn breath reminds him he is standing- the world creaks to a turn again, whiplashed the same as he. the incessant ring between his ears stops in anticipation and his eyes find her before she enters the room. ethereal blurred figure painted by concussed imagination is sharpened to features that couldn't be aged by tragedy, they're still too pristine. soft, and delicately chiseled- flippant to his gaze as all else, be damned the light that reflects alabaster shade.
chapped lips part to breathe her air and it is enough. with bones weary, and skin flush with the evidence of familial strife put to rest, he could give his last moment in one fell swoop. for his knee would bend in the motion, and it would have been enough- but his awakening did not wipe him of greed.
the ocean swallows him- he is reminded what blue is, and curses the false that mimic its grandeur. ocean, sky, dressage, and feather. there is no simple blue, there is only tully- there is only hers. it plagues him to soil rolling skies with a storm, but it was only her watching him as the mountain perished beneath his blade. each jagged perch knocked by swing and fist until nothing remained but pulp. he'd rather have had him still human- it felt a twisted mercy. if his gut still drowned in alcohol, he would feel unsatisfied. he can't think about that right now.
not when she speaks.
he wants to barter, he can't wait. at the same time- the words he'd rehearsed the entire way there fell apart. strings of phrase meticulously placed were gone to him. she didn't deserve show, he wouldn't give her one. the throb of his wounds circle back to the forefront of his senses at the mention, baritone grunt rolling from his chest.
again, his lips part but nothing comes out. his heart is loud beneath his chest, rage is tempted but he is determined. he nods before moving to exit, he's nearing her and her scent grows stronger with every stop. he stops, just past her, pivoting his frame her direction and for a moment- he's in king's landing. his hand moves up but it makes no reach, "i'll find you after." the words feel crass, and his expression twitches uncomfortably, "your grace." he leaves her without another word or a nod; left unsteady with the departure, as if a bad taste lingers on his tongue. he'll see to the gods-damned
maester, and he'll try again.
a slowly drawn breath reminds him he is standing- the world creaks to a turn again, whiplashed the same as he. the incessant ring between his ears stops in anticipation and his eyes find her before she enters the room. ethereal blurred figure painted by concussed imagination is sharpened to features that couldn't be aged by tragedy, they're still too pristine. soft, and delicately chiseled- flippant to his gaze as all else, be damned the light that reflects alabaster shade.
chapped lips part to breathe her air and it is enough. with bones weary, and skin flush with the evidence of familial strife put to rest, he could give his last moment in one fell swoop. for his knee would bend in the motion, and it would have been enough- but his awakening did not wipe him of greed.
the ocean swallows him- he is reminded what blue is, and curses the false that mimic its grandeur. ocean, sky, dressage, and feather. there is no simple blue, there is only tully- there is only hers. it plagues him to soil rolling skies with a storm, but it was only her watching him as the mountain perished beneath his blade. each jagged perch knocked by swing and fist until nothing remained but pulp. he'd rather have had him still human- it felt a twisted mercy. if his gut still drowned in alcohol, he would feel unsatisfied. he can't think about that right now.
not when she speaks.
he wants to barter, he can't wait. at the same time- the words he'd rehearsed the entire way there fell apart. strings of phrase meticulously placed were gone to him. she didn't deserve show, he wouldn't give her one. the throb of his wounds circle back to the forefront of his senses at the mention, baritone grunt rolling from his chest.
again, his lips part but nothing comes out. his heart is loud beneath his chest, rage is tempted but he is determined. he nods before moving to exit, he's nearing her and her scent grows stronger with every stop. he stops, just past her, pivoting his frame her direction and for a moment- he's in king's landing. his hand moves up but it makes no reach, "i'll find you after." the words feel crass, and his expression twitches uncomfortably, "your grace." he leaves her without another word or a nod; left unsteady with the departure, as if a bad taste lingers on his tongue. he'll see to the gods-damned
maester, and he'll try again.
the clashes of cups and hammering of fists was more than enough to rattle the oak table before her. she was seated next to the queen mother, typically- though the lioness was physically present, her mind was busied with the act of watching margery ripping maternal claw from her king son's back one by one. sansa, hues
glossed over in a haze of dread, wished nothing more than to retum to her chambers. away from the echoes and commotion of the feast, something that would've once excited her.
amidst her dead gaze, she noticed a tuft of cream sat upon a pastry. from the hue of filling seeing out the side- she could tell it some sort of lemon something those of which never served at their table for some reason. whether strategic or not. a petty prod regardless, her mouth subtly fell agape an inch, desire rumbling from the pit of her stomach. she's not been eating as she should, too picky, proud, and determined against the offerings delivered to her room on an irregular basis.
the red wolf had watched it- salivating from her spot at the end of the head table. she would wait until an opportune moment, free of whatever admonishment- either way, she'd swipe the damn thing from the table,
or she thought.
from across the walkway, came the hound- a pillar moving through a crowd with ease, not even a shove or a push, people knew better. callous hand interrupted a conversation, reaching through a couple of mumbling fucks for the flagon that rested before them. it didn't matter whose it was. but it was sandor's now. the brute scooped it up in a firm grasp and allowed no hesitation prior to emptying half its contents.
sandor caught sight of the mutual taste- the last one, resting upon a plate not too far from the little bird. a sweet to accompany the wine. he having not had one in a long time. with long, noisy strides given the clinking gauntlets and shifting armor, his shadow swallowed the sweet before another; a clear claim.
though in his reach. the hound caught a particular little bird staring in peripheral. he held the cake in hand, pausing in consumption, to return her gaze.
sansa wasn't so much looking at him as she was the pastry, almost making an emphasis of it- pleading for a sparing, or even delivery.
it was pointless, near every fucker in the red keep knew the little bird would only peck at her food. the hound saw it as no one's problem but her own. it was her choice to die quietly. her stare remained. however- despite his good eye meeting hers. consequently, he could tell she wanted it, and here he was- waving it about like a dog with a bone.
the hound began to approach, she still a table length's away- long, communal tables at that. he watched her expression just slightly animate some color return to her stricken gaze.
but as he met the end. he turned the corner— and in the cusp of his pivot, he popped the cake in his mouth. maw slapping shut on its sweetness, not breaking eye contact.
her lips tightened into a thin line, visage sharpening in a glare.
he only stifled a laugh, continuing on his way. leaving her in his wake a lesson in getting what she wanted, she wouldn’t always.
glossed over in a haze of dread, wished nothing more than to retum to her chambers. away from the echoes and commotion of the feast, something that would've once excited her.
amidst her dead gaze, she noticed a tuft of cream sat upon a pastry. from the hue of filling seeing out the side- she could tell it some sort of lemon something those of which never served at their table for some reason. whether strategic or not. a petty prod regardless, her mouth subtly fell agape an inch, desire rumbling from the pit of her stomach. she's not been eating as she should, too picky, proud, and determined against the offerings delivered to her room on an irregular basis.
the red wolf had watched it- salivating from her spot at the end of the head table. she would wait until an opportune moment, free of whatever admonishment- either way, she'd swipe the damn thing from the table,
or she thought.
from across the walkway, came the hound- a pillar moving through a crowd with ease, not even a shove or a push, people knew better. callous hand interrupted a conversation, reaching through a couple of mumbling fucks for the flagon that rested before them. it didn't matter whose it was. but it was sandor's now. the brute scooped it up in a firm grasp and allowed no hesitation prior to emptying half its contents.
sandor caught sight of the mutual taste- the last one, resting upon a plate not too far from the little bird. a sweet to accompany the wine. he having not had one in a long time. with long, noisy strides given the clinking gauntlets and shifting armor, his shadow swallowed the sweet before another; a clear claim.
though in his reach. the hound caught a particular little bird staring in peripheral. he held the cake in hand, pausing in consumption, to return her gaze.
sansa wasn't so much looking at him as she was the pastry, almost making an emphasis of it- pleading for a sparing, or even delivery.
it was pointless, near every fucker in the red keep knew the little bird would only peck at her food. the hound saw it as no one's problem but her own. it was her choice to die quietly. her stare remained. however- despite his good eye meeting hers. consequently, he could tell she wanted it, and here he was- waving it about like a dog with a bone.
the hound began to approach, she still a table length's away- long, communal tables at that. he watched her expression just slightly animate some color return to her stricken gaze.
but as he met the end. he turned the corner— and in the cusp of his pivot, he popped the cake in his mouth. maw slapping shut on its sweetness, not breaking eye contact.
her lips tightened into a thin line, visage sharpening in a glare.
he only stifled a laugh, continuing on his way. leaving her in his wake a lesson in getting what she wanted, she wouldn’t always.
in regards to nsfw topics— i am 50/50-ish. i enjoy erotica so long as the main storyline is receiving a healthy amount of push— and the explicit scenes are organically worked in. i don't rush through erotic scenes, enjoy foreplay, and enjoy graphic description. additionally, i also like the lewdly awkward details— i.e. graphic noises, the discomfort of a virgin, flaccid play, etc. [ yes: noncon / dubcon, pseudo, stockholm, age gap, size difference, choking/hair pulling/rough-esc, ownership, pet play, bdsm-themes, dom/sub themes, anal, rimming, branding / marking, clothed sex, humiliation / degradation, cock + ball worship, dirty talk, exhibitionism, hot dogging, fingering, breeding, voyeurism, denial, masculine body / pubic hair, weapon-play. - - - no: scat, heavy bondage, futa, hyper-features. ]
what i expect of a writing partner: at least 4-5 posts a week, and communication. i can be friendly ooc, or we can not interact at all — i'm comfortable in either scenario. but never oppose chat! for writing activity— i am typically active daily, and can get multiple posts in, most of the time. i don't necessarily expect that activity of a partner but i expect enough that the interest doesn't fizzle.
possible plots-
-sandor clegane is alive when he shouldn't be. surviving the mountain, the lannisters, the brotherhood, the dead. hearing sansa stark is alive, he heads north to find what's left of his purpose. he finds a surprised, betrothed queen. * involves infidelity, scandal, etc.
-joffrey never releases sansa stark as his bride. years of marriage coincide with years of war. sansa grows close with one particular queensguard, sandor clegane — questions are raised when she bears no children of blond hair. * follows harwin / rhaenyra trope.
-sansa leaves with sandor clegane the night of the blackwater. * can route to the north, essos, dorne, dragonstone, etc. survivalist themes. npcs appreciated.
-joffrey the is not known for generosity. in a dual-edged pursuit to punish both a traitor and a once-faithful dog, he weds them. * arranged marriage. escapist. incredibly slow burn.
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