#master manipulator

Imagine the outrage if Americans in US craft were sunk without warning in international waters.

Imagine the outrage if a democrat had done all this. The hypocrisy by the right is astounding.

It doesn't matter what you believe or not believe, but trump is a demon from the lowest depths of hell. Just like any demon, he comes to lie, steal, kill, and destroy. If he were allowed to have executions, he would, and he'd enjoy them.

she used to be my opp || mutuals? I follow back

I’d like to ask if you could share some of your favorite moments of Sansa outwitting Tyrion?

As always, thank you for your time!

I'm not sure we have too many moments of her outright outwitting him, but these two immediately came to mind.

After he rescues her from the kingsguard in the throne room:

 He hopped down off the window seat and said, "You may sleep here tonight. I'll give you some of my own men as a guard, some Stone Crows perhaps—" "No," Sansa blurted out, aghast. If she was locked in the Tower of the Hand, guarded by the dwarf's men, how would Ser Dontos ever spirit her away to freedom? "Would you prefer Black Ears? I'll give you Chella if a woman would make you more at ease." "Please, no, my lord, the wildlings frighten me." He grinned. "Me as well. But more to the point, they frighten Joffrey and that nest of sly vipers and lickspittle dogs he calls a Kingsguard. With Chella or Timett by your side, no one would dare offer you harm." "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." (ACOK, Sansa III)

He even studies her face and yet he ends up buying it completely and praising her for how smart she is. (She is, more than you know, Tyrion.)

Much in the same vein, after they are married:

He had become accustomed to his wife's nightly devotions. She prayed at the royal sept as well, and often lit candles to Mother, Maid, and Crone. Tyrion found all this piety excessive, if truth be told, but in her place he might want the help of the gods as well. "I confess, I know little of the old gods," he said, trying to be pleasant. "Perhaps someday you might enlighten me. I could even accompany you." "No," Sansa said at once. "You . . . you are kind to offer, but . . . there are no devotions, my lord. No priests or songs or candles. Only trees, and silent prayer. You would be bored." "No doubt you're right." She knows me better than I thought. "Though the sound of rustling leaves might be a pleasant change from some septon droning on about the seven aspects of grace." Tyrion waved her off. "I won't intrude. Dress warmly, my lady, the wind is brisk out there." He was tempted to ask what she prayed for, but Sansa was so dutiful she might actually tell him, and he didn't think he wanted to know. (ASOS, Tyrion VI)

He's so self-satisfied. Once again, he buys it completely and almost gets how smart she is. The dutiful little wife who would definitely NOT tell him what she hopes for in the godswood.

I love how much Sansa scrapes by on sudden impulses. She has so little trust in her own judgment, after she was so deceived by her image of what the world was supposed to be, that very often she is almost ambushed by her own instincts to take action, to intervene, to take charge, or to effectively lie.

Let's break down this scene as the masterpiece of psychological warfare that it is.

Shao You finds him in the hospital—the perfect stage for Hua Yong's final act. Here, the "weak Omega" persona is deployed with vicious precision. He doesn't just refuse to return; he annihilates Shao You with a performance of saintly self-sacrifice.

Watch him. Listen to the lines delivered with tears that are nothing but calculated props:

"I just want you to be happy." "You will definitely find someone better..." "Mr. Sheng, Don't blame yourself." "It doesn't matter who I'm with now, I'm just glad... I can still help you."

He even hugs him. He holds the man he is systematically destroying and offers empty comfort designed to inflict maximum pain. Every word, every manufactured tear, is a lie meticulously crafted to achieve one goal: to make Shao You believe that this suffering is a gift of love.

This is the pinnacle of his evil. It's not just the cold, psychopathic stare we discussed. It's the opposite. It's the willingness to put on the most convincing performance of empathy to ensure the hook of guilt and gratitude is set permanently.

He doesn't just watch Shao You break; he actively participates in the breaking while pretending to try and soothe it. He uses the language of love to commit an act of utter hatred. He offers a embrace that is a cage.

He doesn't flinch because he is the director, screenwriter, and lead actor in this tragedy. He is not feeling guilt; he is admiring the effectiveness of his own performance.