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祝日 / Permanent Vacation
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occasionally subtle
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let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

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@pasteis-de-belem
Billionaires lie. All the time.
I hate the videoification of everything. If I have to hear one more video of someone speaking closely into their shitty mic and I have to have all their yucky wet mouth noises and plosives and nose whistles and throat clearings and sniffles I am going to dig a vertical hole the exact dimensions of my body and I’m going to slither in head first
as someone with misophonia, the widespread popularization of asmr audio editing + people that are being pushed to make video content with no formal training and have no idea how to edit their audio (ex college professors, average joe tiktokers, etc) is literally my nightmare scenario. this is hell I am in hell
this is actually the last straw for me I need to start sending people emails
You play at being a servant, but in your heart you are a lord's daughter. You have taken other names, but you wore them as lightly as you might wear a gown. Under them was always Arya." - Arya II, AFfC
dunk and egg just hanging around at lyonel's tent is so funny lyonel really said hedge knight you are cool now. sit with the high borns . yes you and the bald random kid are allowed to eat and drink whatever you want.
Game of Thrones | Episode 2.05
She walked fast, to keep ahead of her fear, and it felt as though Syrio Forel walked beside her, and Yoren, and Jaqen H’ghar, and Jon Snow.
ASOIAF/GOT MEME : eight friendships/otps : 6/8 → Arya/Jaqen
“Then we must part,” he said, “for I have duties too.” He lifted her hand and pressed a small coin into her palm. “Here.”
"But what shall I call him? I'll take off his left shoe and I'll call him Jaqen--I'll take off his right shoe and I'll call him The Alchemist--I'll take off his belt and I'll call him MY DARLING." --ancient russian folk lyrics probably
#a man is regretting giving the power of life and death to a vengeful 11-year old #a man should have expected this to go badly
#a man did not think this through
#a man looks at his life #a man looks at his choices
“he’s beauty, he’s grace, he’s a man without a face”
—
like…you could spend the $$$ to bring back jaqen but then save money on costuming by just having him be naked????????????? just a thought????????? we sat through craster’s keep motherfuckers we deserve some extensive male nudity TBQH d&d let me plan your budget
never sent a prompt so if this sound weird i apologise for the prompt? Arya x Jaqen, paintballing.
One day she will hit him. She will. She’ll splatter his obnoxious red and white hair with blue paint and then he’ll stop telling her “a girl has much to learn.” Even if she’s kicked out of the range for aiming at someone’s head. That’s definitely not allowed.
He shouldn’t be allowed though. He shouldn’t. He just kind of lounges there, his paintball gun in one hand and usually some piece of fruit–today it’s a banana–in his hand and he doesn’t even look at her when he fires his paintballs at her. He has his eyes closed, or is staring at his papaya or whatever he’s eating and before she knows what’s hit her she’s covered in great globs of red paint that look almost like blood–if blood were less rust-colored and more Santa’s-bathrobe-colored.
One day, she’ll hit him. Not today, maybe, but one day.
Dammit, why not today? Why not? He’s just sitting there, eating his banana as though he’s got all the time in the world, as if he were sitting on a beach and not in a paintball yard.
She hears the sound of Gendry and Hot Pie firing at one another, quoting bad lines from stupid action movies at one another, and she…she stalks around the back of the yard, like a cat. She’s going to do it this time, she knows it. Today will be the day that she gets him and he’ll be blue all over by the time she’s through except–
thunk thunk thunk and there’s red all over her chest and she lets out an angry howl and fires a paintball at his banana. The paint splits the banana in half sending a part of it tumbling down to the ground, the other part covered in blue and completely inedible.
“A girl lacks honor,” says the man. He looks at her–not angrily. Almost…almost approvingly.
Arya lets out a huff and marches away from him, annoyed. One day–not today, but one day–she’ll cover him in blue.
She feels a thunk right between her shoulderblades and knows there’s a new red splotch on her back.
Time to Fall in Love Again
It is in the Black Cells that he decides that it is time to fall in love again. It is easiest to change faces when no one can see him. Worse comes to worst, they will bring him up for execution and be unable to find “him.” But he doubts it will come to that. More likely he will be able to sneak past with a new face.
Time to fall in love again, a new face, a new name, a new story. Time to know someone better than he knows himself. Time to forget everything he once was, everything he once thought he knew, because all of that doesn’t matter anymore. The only thing that matters is this new man, this new face, this new being.
Time to fall in love again–this time, with Jaqen H'ghar. He is now formerly of the free city of Lorath. He now no longer thinks of himself as “he”–so forward, so rude–but rather as “a man” though whether or not he ever was a man he cannot say. If ever he was a man, he gave that manhood to the many-faced god, such that a man could come into being, half-formed and unloved.
Time to fall in love again. What is there to love about a man named Jaqen H'ghar? A man likes the sound of the sea. A man likes to listen to music, though a man would never be so bold as to sing it. A man is bad at sums, but good with words. A man likes the way that cloth drapes over the bodies of those a man meets, the way it folds and dribbles, not quite liquid, not quite stone.
Time to fall in love again. A man had a sister once, a lovely girl with a long face and hair like wild sheep’s wool, a muddy brown for want of a washing. A lovely girl named…Arwen. Jaqen and Arwen, together from a young age. Arwen lost herself in the mazes. Jaqen does not speak of it. A man’s pain is too deep, for a man forgets a sister’s face, with only descriptions of a girl lost and wandering to fill a man’s most solitary moments. A sister’s loss opened a boy’s eyes, and never again could a boy believe in the Blind God. A boy turned a boy’s gaze and prayers to the Lord of Light, for fire illuminates the dark.
Time to fall in love again–Jaqen H'ghar has never been in love. A man thinks he might have been, once. But a man does not know what love should be. A man once saw a Tyroshi whose hair was as blue as a robin’s egg. A man found it beautiful. A man would not look so lovely with hair of blue. A man’s skin is too pale and a man’s money not enough to wash it frequently to keep the blue pure. Red like rust, white like sea foam instead. Colors for the Red God.
Time to fall in love again; time to forget who he once was. He was once nothing. He was once no one. There was nothing to love about him. He did not lose everything–he gave it all away, such that he could, one day, fall in love with Jaqen H'ghar. But Jaqen H'ghar does not love him. Jaqen H'ghar does not know what love is. And he…he will not love Jaqen H'ghar for forever. One day, he will give Jaqen H'ghar away again, and he will fall in love with someone new.
very specific au prompt: arya and jaqen fill the fountains in washington square park with laundry detergent, turning them into giant puffballs of foam.
Title: Bubbles
Author: myrishswamp
NSFW: nope!
Trigger warnings: none
A short summary: see the ask ;)
for aryaxjaqenweek
When the M pulls into the Myrtle Avenue station after 25 minutes of waiting, there’s something blue about the black sky. Arya points this out to Jaqen, and he takes her soft-gloved hand in his leather-gloved hand as they walk into the glaring lights of the empty train car.
“A girl notices much,” he says, giving her hand a squeeze. "It is as though she has the eyes of a wolf.“
"I’m gonna wish I never told you about my wolf dreams,” Arya yawns. She’s too tired to talk much, and the early morning chill and stillness feels like a drug in her veins. She and Jaqen spill into one of the two-person benches at the end of the car, tucking their bulky backpacks under the seat, and take out her phone to continue listening to the audiobook of Rilke’s poetry read in the German original that Jaqen’s put on there. He gets the headphone in his right ear, Arya gets hers in her left, and she pushes play and he snuggles against her.
“Eight stops,” he whispers. “A girl may rest. A man will watch her.”
Arya yawns again. ”You mean watch over me? Or watch me?”
“A man means both. Always.”
“Creep.” Arya loves the sound of the German poetry, and her German’s getting better, but it’s not good enough yet for the rocking of the train and the clunking of the wheels over the rails to not make it all sound like part of a strange, guttural lullaby. Her family would not be happy to know she was falling asleep on the subway in Bushwick before sunrise, but her family doesn’t know everything: Bushwick’s not like what they think, and with her and Jaqen combined, nothing bad can possibly happen to them.
She’s asleep before the next station.
Jaqen nudges her awake just before the train pulls into West 4th, and they gather their backpacks and walk the few blocks to Washington Square Park quietly. The sun’s not out yet, but the sky is getting bluer. It’s cool, but not cold, and some birds are singing.
They hop over the fence without checking to see if the gates are unlocked. Sometimes, Arya thinks, it’s more fun to hop over fences, and something she likes about Jaqen is that he agrees. His long, thin legs are made for it, anyway.
It’s weird to think that this is what a real, honest killer-for-hire who loves Rilke and glam rock (which is, in itself, weird to think about) is choosing to do with his time, with her, but Arya enjoys weird. She’s not afraid of weird, and it’s why she’s opening up the first of many boxes of detergent they’d bought at Family Dollar yesterday and pouring it into the fountain. She would have thought they’d turn off the water while the park was closed, but the fountain is running, and filling with bubbles as she and Jaqen empty out their boxes.
“A man wants to play in it,” Jaqen mumbles, and he’s pulling off his jacket and gloves and shirt and tossing aside and jumping into the foam.
“Watch out!” Arya cries, pulling off her shirt to join him. She jumps in, landing on top of Jaqen and knocking him onto his ass.
He sends a rush of soapy cold fountain water splashing toward her. ”If a girl intends to get a man soaked, a man must do the same to a girl.”
Arya splashes him back. There’s a dot of suds on his nose, and his nipples are as pink and hard as she’s ever seen them. They look like the scar tissue he’s got all over his body. He splashes her again.
“You can splash me all you want. I don’t get cold.”
“A man gets cold,” Jaqen says, in a voice so pitiful Arya decides not to ask why he went into the fountain in the first place. Instead, she gives him a hug, melding his slippery, shirtless body with her own. The red side of his hair is full of bubbles, and she is sure she looks the same. They’ll have to clear out before the sun is all the way up, but for now it’s just her and Jaqen, rocking back and forth to the sound of the fountain.