#weese plays

[itsleese]

thank you @titan-fodder for the tag!!!

game: show us the last line in your latest wip, and tag others to do the same!

He followed you to the train station once, watched you smile at your phone fondly as you tapped away at it, heard you answer when whoever it was called.

“Hey, babe,” you’d said, shy smile on your face, stars in your eyes. “Yeah, I’m at the station.”

He remembers how his stomach rolled, the feeling of dejection akin to touching something foreign with his bare hands.

Disgusting.

tagging!!! @hisoknen @bakatenshii @blahkugo @theygottheircages @fairyshuuu (omg did I tag the right blog pls) @seijorhi and anyoneeeee elseeeee

#i wonder if you can guess who this is #hehe probs not #weese writes #weese plays #tag games

[strafepanzer]

ooooooooo big dragon

#weese plays g*nshin

[ghostlyturncloaks]

i don't know if you still answer asks since you're in more of a art-over-meta after the deactivation debacle (i do miss all the meta though! i hope you'll feel comfortable enough to speak up more eventually.) , but what are your thoughts on theon durden? for lucidity that's a theory that theon is the ghost in Winterfell responsible for the deaths and is repressing it, or at least 'A' ghost (along with the spearwives and big walder). personally i think it's kind of ridiculous and was literally disproven but i've been doing a reread lately and some things aren't adding up, like the credibility of the lords, some throwaway lines, and the mummer's play idea where roose is in the role of theon in ACOK and theon now is reek ii, who was already up to some murders then. so, what are your thoughts on this? have a lovely day!

hi! i do still enjoy asoiaf talk and asks! (i've mostly been pretty busy),

as for the theory that a dissociated theon is the secret murderer in adwd winterfell...

the pros:

as you said, adwd winterfell calls back to theon's acok situation: an 'illegitimate' ruling winterfell, his hold slipping, an increasing number of his men mysteriously murdered. lest readers forgot over the span of four books, grrm even goes out of his way to remind us:

It all seemed so familiar, like a mummer show that he had seen before. Only the mummers had changed. Roose Bolton was playing the part that Theon had played the last time round, and the dead men were playing the parts of Aggar, Gynir Rednose, and Gelmarr the Grim. Reek was there too, he remembered, but he was a different Reek, a Reek with bloody hands and lies dripping from his lips, sweet as honey. Reek, Reek, it rhymes with sneak.

in acok, at least part of the murders are committed by ramsay, who is masquerading as reek. the fun parallel then would consist of reek, who is masquerading as theon, being a secret murderer, too.

adwd theon also calls back to acok arya: both are noble characters forced into a 'servant' position, made to serve roose bolton, both of them captives, torture survivors, eating vermin to survive starvation, moving as "ghosts" navigating sadistic abusers who constantly abuse them (and so on and so forth, i could go on).

again lest readers forgot over the span of several books, "the ghost of winterfell" will serve to remind us of "the ghost of harrenhal", and the threat in acok arya "he will cut off your feet" which plays such a plot-moving role (first terrorising arya and gendry into submission, then catalysing their escape) is recalled near verbatim by jeyne: "he doesn’t need to cut my feet off, I won’t try to run away, not ever".

the murders also call back to each other:

ryswell's man in adwd is "a drunk" who "pissed off the wall" then "slipped and fell" (they first assume) and broke his neck, whose face has been eaten off by grey jeyne* (*that specific dog, too! arya->jeyne, grey girl, etc). chiswyck, the rapist targeted by arya in acok, fell off a battlement, drunk, and broke his fool neck. mh! weese, (who parallels ramsay as local little sadist-bully), is eaten by his dog. hm! gelmarr, theon's man in acok, tumbled down some stairs and broke his back, rednose, a drunk, tries to drink less and takes a dog with him to protect him, yet dies. yellow dick in adwd is found with his dick cut off and stuffed into his mouth, while drennan is killed in acok with his breeches tangled around his feet. and squint was presumably eaten by direwolves.

well, there's only so many ways medieval people can get brutally murdered, i guess, but the sense of "hey, i read this one before" is certainly real and deliberate.

the thought then here essentially is: oh, in acok winterfell "reek" is causing murders and in acok harrenhall "the ghost of harrenhal" is causing murders, so wouldn't it be so poetic and beautiful and all of that if in adwd winterfell "reek" and "the ghost of winterfell" were in fact responsible for the murders?

which, sure, i can see the appeal, however:

the cons:

it is my opinion that parallels in asoiaf often serve to create an epic feel of cohesion across povs and subplots. multiple pov structures are not particularly unique in fantasy, but what makes asoiaf special is the extraordinarily high number of povs and the complexity of each, where even characters that aren't main characters, like catelyn or theon, or even third-tier characters like aeron, get complicated stories of their own. grrm once explained (i paraphrase from memory) that writing asoiaf is like writing multiple novels at once then finding a way to combine and balance them.

one way to bind these povs together, apart from the more challenging grind of wrangling the logistics and the plot of course, is using refrains, repetition, rhythm, little motifs played in variation across povs, callbacks, all of that. the sense created is that you are reading a mosaic of different tales that function near independently from each other and also form one coherent epic moving forward as one. very fun!

parallels can serve to tell us something about specific characters, yes, though not "character A is like character B", rather it's an invitation to pay attention to something: remember, you heard that one before! is this different now, if so, why? is this the same, what do you think? the aim here isn't always to connect two characters, it can serve to create a mood about the way or the state of the world.

it's also not foreshadowing: "if A parallels B, then to B will happen what happened to A". a lot of joy on the contrary comes from things being the same but different. same description, but used in a different context, but you remember it, so you enjoy it. same string of events, different outcome. same words, different meaning. same story different story, it's all connected, every individual counts-- the asoiaf mood.

well that was a lot of rambling only to make my point, which is that parallels do criss-cross adwd theon & acok arya & acok theon and none of this makes it appealing to imagine theon as secret assassin because "we already read this story twice so let's hear it again".

adwd theon is about theon's powerlessness and finding agency beyond this powerlessness, about theon as scapegoat for northern problems and desires which is tied to theon's lifelong role as hostage/sacrifice, about retribution as horror and questioning what theon 'deserves', (and so on).

if theon secretly had been able to act as avenger/warrior/killer all along that would imo break his adwd arc, undermine the whump of theon's bad state (barely able to hold his cup but he's doing all that), diminish the moving tale of finding his way back to action and the choices he makes: remembering his name, risking it all to help jeyne escape. it just wouldn't hit the same way had theon been crawling winterfell as avenger/brainwashed assassin for weeks beforehand. plus the need to explain how and why theon chose these particular victims. and i'm someone who is very excited in fic and daydream by an adwd/post-adwd theon that isn't all broken victim but also vengeful and causing problems. but this just doesn't appeal to me.

plus, grrm is quite decent at psychology, imo. characters make sense in how complicated they are. asoiaf plays with tropes including classic horror tropes, we have some dracula and some frankenstein and so on and so forth, so why not some jekyll and hyde, you might say. (that would be a pro i guess). but i want to believe that grrm wouldn't play it straight like that, and considering the way he writes extremely traumatised characters like tyrion or arya or dany or theon i want to trust him that he wouldn't then suddenly go: "ha! evil DID! bet you didn't see that coming, lol"

theon durden secret assassin theories pick up on the ways in which grrm writes theon's dissociated mind -- losing time, memory and perception and emotion being all jumbled, ambiguous encounters between psychosis and dissociation and reality, etc -- and instead of appreciating goes "oh this is a puzzle i must solve." no! just enjoy... this isn't to say that, should we ever get the next book, grrm won't use the pockets of time lost and fragmentation in theon's pov to fill them with additional knowledge that will shift our understanding of what happened (or tell us more about the hooded man). but it won't be a neat little personality split with a secretly skilled assassin hiding in theon's mind.

tldr; it's one of these theories so typical of asoiaf fandom in that they pick up on fun parallels and "cues" while dismissing character arcs and psychology. kind of like "wouldn't it be so poetic if arya killed jeyne" and all of these. playing with pattern recognition but uninterested in the characters themselves. not even enhancing the patterns... the theon-jeyne-arya & theon-roose-ramsay parallels are here anyway. this theory doesn't improve on them or add to them. it's just like, "ha! i noticed this!". not exciting, imo.

#theon greyjoy #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls

[the-king-andthe-lionheart]

Day 27 - Fairy Tale Parallels

The Ugly Duckling

Arya has a lot of swan symbolism in her story, but it truly begins with “The Ugly Duckling” motif, which is a coming-of-age story about a swan egg that accidentally rolls into the nest of a duck.  When the eggs hatch, one of the little birds is viewed by the other birds and animals on the farm as an ugly little creature and suffers from bullying and physical and mental abuse from them.  We find Arya in a similar situation in the books (minus the physical abuse aspects, at least at this point) where she is the only child of Ned who actually looks like a traditional Stark (dark coloring, grey eyes, and a long solemn face) while the rest of his children took after the Tully’s (fair coloring, auburn hair, blue eyes, and high cheekbones).  And because she does not look like her siblings – except for her half-brother Jon Snow – and doesn’t conform to “highborn femininity” while being considered “ugly” and “horsefaced”, she is teased and outcasted just like the ugly duckling in the story.  Arya’s story is also shown to narratively parallel the story of “The Ugly Duckling” in a symbolic manner especially in ACOK and ASOS, although the parallels are still ongoing, which we may likely see when we get TWOW and ADOS.  Some of these parallels are out of order and some of them are also repeating.  Some examples of these parallels throughout ASOIAF are:

Arya is bullied by her peers for taking after her father in looks and because she can’t conform and become a “proper lady”.  Arya is the outcast, the black sheep, the ugly duckling.

Just like the ugly duckling, Arya contemplates running away because she’s so miserable in King’s Landing.  Unfortunately, she gets her wish and is forced to flee the Red Keep and King’s Landing to avoid the Lannister’s from “pecking” at her like the ducks and hens in the story.

Arya is forced to travel with Yoren and the Night’s Watch recruits as they go to the Wall (like the wild ducks and the all male geese the ugly duckling travels with).  The recruits accept Arya but regard her as a boy, which plays into her ugly duckling narrative since she is repeatedly mistaken for a boy for the first 2 ½ books.

The wild ducks and geese (Yoren and the recruits) are killed by hunters (the Gold Cloaks) near the lake and reeds (they were staying in a holdfast where the King’s Road meets the God’s Eye lake.

Arya, like the Ugly Duckling, see’s swans at a body of water (God’s Eye Lake) and wants to join them.

A fearsome dog with cruel eyes that bares his teeth at the ugly duckling is the Mountain and his men with his sigil of three dogs on a yellow field.  Arya is captured by them and brought to Harrenhal, but not before the fearsome dog scares her so much she dare not move even long after he leaves as Arya stayed at Harrenhal as a “scared mouse” long after the Lannister’s were ousted from Harrenhal. 

Like the hen and the cat that resided at the farmstead that is half in ruins, Goodwife Amabel, Harra, and Weese act like they are lords and ladies of Harrenhal (which is also ruinous) themselves when Arya is held captive.  They speak as if they are better than Arya (Goodwife Amabel sniffs at her condescendingly) and they call her dumb and ugly, and Arya gets slapped by Goodwife Harra for expressing an opinion.  Amabel also “clucks” upon meeting Arya like a hen.  Weese is shown to “purr” and strut about and watch everything like a cat (this is also not the only fairy tale story he parallels as a cat either, he also parallels Lucifer the Cat from DIsney’s Cinderella, which you can find in my “A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes” meta in which I analyze Arya’s Cinderella motifs and parallels in her arc).  He is also known to “spark” when “rubbed the wrong way” which can be seen by his abusive and volatile nature.

Like the ugly duckling, Arya is taken again, this time by the Brotherhood (the farmer peasant family) where Arya and the ugly duckling are given time to heal and recover some from all they’ve experienced thus far (Arya - before she was taken by the Hound - is quite clearly shown to be processing the events that took place before being with the Brotherhood).  Later with the Brotherhood, Arya ends up tearing and soiling the dress she is given by Lady Smallwood, causing laughter, as if she “flew first into the butter-cask, then into the meal-tub, and out again.”  And later, when Beric and the Brotherhood argue over what to do with Arya, she runs outside in “misery”.

Another fearsome dog with cruel eyes that bares his teeth at the ugly duckling is the Hound with his Clegane sigil of three dogs on a yellow field.  Traveling across a body of water, as a captive of the Hound’s, Arya contemplates this: “I might drown, though.  Jon used to say that she swam like a fish, but even a fish might have trouble in this river.  Still, drowning might be better than King’s Landing.”  Which in turn reminds us of this: “better to be killed by them than pecked by the ducks, beaten by the hens, pushed about by the maiden who feeds the poultry, or starved with hunger in the winter.”

As winter sets upon them, they hide away (Arya with the Faceless Men), emotionally isolated (the FM are grooming and brainwashing Arya into becoming “no one”), which is very representative of this very early warning Jon gives Arya: “The longer you hide, the sterner the penance.  You’ll be sewing all through winter.”

Now I have my speculations about what may happen that might continue to parallel this fairy tale and/or subvert it.  I do think Arya will emerge from hiding before winter ends to help with the Long Night, as a subversion.  I do think Arya might briefly consider suicide upon hearing about Jon’s death, but won’t go through with it (I believe this due to a couple of quotes that have featured in her arc, as well as her existing parallels with Jon).  I also think that Arya will face two versions of these “swans”.  I believe the courtesans will be one group, and the Riverlands+the Northerners will be her other group of “swans”.  It’s all just speculation, but considering how many parallels are at play, even metaphorically, I can’t quite believe that GRRM isn’t fully intentioned on playing these parallels out, even in subversive ways.  However, despite any subversive ways he may go, I highly doubt he is going to subvert the real meaning of “The Ugly Duckling” fairy tale.  It’s about acceptance.  Self-acceptance and societal acceptance.  It’s a very prevalent theme in her arc and I think it would be utterly beautiful if the girl who was the “black sheep” and the “ugly duckling” of her family and other highborns, ends up as a fully realized, confident, and beautiful “swan” who is finally accepted for who she is at the end of her story.  And one aspect of “The Ugly Duckling” fairy tale to note, is that the “duckling” was ALWAYS a swan, just like Arya has always been beautiful, inside and out this whole time.  Arya has never been “the problem”, a society that constantly rejects the “other” is the problem.

Sidenote: I definitely can’t take the credit for a number of these parallels, so I’m going to salute the absolutely brilliant mind of sweetsunray who is truly a powerhouse when it comes to the symbolic and mythological aspects of ASOIAF.  I highly recommend her “The Bear and the Maiden Fair” series and her “Winterfell and the North as the Underworld” series. 

#arya stark #canonarya #aryastarkmonth2022 #asoiaf

[sunshinecoastqldnews]

Fortune MPW Summit: Tackling the problem of boardroom variety

Whereas it’s far more frequent to search out girls, folks of coloration, or these from different underrepresented teams on boards of administrators than it was once, there’s nonetheless lots of floor to be made up. However to be able to make the most of that rising curiosity in variety, there are steps you’ll must take to make your self stand out. Talking at Fortune’s Most Highly effective Ladies Summit in Laguna Niguel, Calif. on Tuesday, three high-profile board members mentioned the significance of variety and the way girls and folks of coloration can place themselves to be seen. “The one factor completely different between girls who’ve been on boards and those that haven’t is strictly having had the chance,” stated Peggy Alford, govt vice chairman of worldwide gross sales and buyer success at PayPal in addition to a board member at Macerich and Meta. “It has nothing to do with talent units. There are such a lot of girls which might be able to be any one in all quite a lot of boards, they usually simply haven’t gotten that decision but.” A method to do this is construct expertise that others lack. “Having variety of thought and experiences is basically essential,” stated Michelle Weese, govt vice chairman of company affairs at Bristol Myers Squibb and a board member at Krispy Kreme. ”Individuals need to belief you when you may have extra experience than different board members…That’s one thing you deliver to the desk. So it’s actually essential to recollect the position you play.” Jaimee Eddington, a accomplice at Heidrick & Struggles, stated it’s additionally good to actively have interaction with somebody you realize is on the board. Be current of their minds for when alternatives come up, and let your community know you’re all for becoming a member of a board. And, critically, discover ways to current to a board and be conversant in their operations, whether or not by way of asking to talk or have interaction with the board or by collaborating in a coaching program, reminiscent of those supplied by the Nationwide Affiliation of Company Administrators. That’s one thing too many individuals overlook. “That’s one the primary questions we ask,” Eddington stated. “Have you ever ever been on a board? Have you ever ever introduced to a board? Do you even know what goes on in a boardroom? And a few folks say, ‘No, however can I be on a board [anyway]?’” Range is more and more essential, no matter how folks get nominated to boards, the panel careworn. It opens doorways for girls and others which may in any other case stay closed. And it helps increase variety company-wide, as underrepresented teams have a voice on the desk. “Tradition is beginning to play such a giant position in how an organization performs,” stated Alford. “It’s actually essential so far as engagement in whether or not or not that complete firm can carry out to its truest potential.” Join the Fortune Options e mail record so that you don’t miss our largest options, unique interviews, and investigations. Originally published at Sunshine Coast QLD News

#Sunshine Coast QLD News

[bakatenshii]

Blitz

Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader (Haikyuu!!)

word count: 2.5k

TW: 18+, smut, exhibitionism, a spritz of omorashi

A/N: this is completely diff from what I’m used to and comfy with; it’s truly the softest thing I’ll ever write— for the real angel, Weese, who welcomed me into my first ever fandom with open arms. I wouldn’t be here without you, wouldn’t have met any of my best friends were it not for you. From the bottom of boku no kokoro, Happy Birthday <33

Weese’s Birthday Bash masterlist

blitz

/blits/

a sudden, energetic, and concerted effort, typically on a specific task.

(slang) heavily intoxicated

He gives credit where credit’s due, and in all fairness, you have been well-behaved, glued to his side til 2am that night. Might even be a new record; usually you’d have gone off and disappeared at the strike of midnight like you’ve got a pumpkin carriage awaiting, only it brings you to a different destination each time.

Whiskey mixers generally mean you end up at some twenty-four seven conbini chatting up the cashier to give you the karaage for a discounted price because you’ve ‘lost your wallet’. It’s never lost; Ushijima knows this because he’s chained it to your belt, lil lobster claw too rickety for your drunk fingers to maneuver.

Tequila shots are the killer; the ones that get his protective mode on overdrive, eyes scanning the streets littered with stumbling drunks until he finds his stumbling drunk. 

It’s currently quarter to three, which means it’s been a solid twenty minutes since you’ve wandered off. If he calculates the rate of distance in your drunken state, you couldn’t have traveled that far— two streets down, at most. He hopes, anyways.

Ushijima doesn’t like going out, doesn’t quite get the appeal of being shoved into crowds of people in a cramped room with perspiration mixing with other spilled fluids coating sticky skin. ‘It’s just ‘cause you’re too la-’ a hiccup, a giggle, ‘large, ushi.’ is your usual response. ‘Take up too much space.’

Ushijima goes out because you go out, and when you go out, your Find My Friends icon seems to like playing Pac-Man, navigating through the map like you’ve got dots to clear past every street and building. It worries him. So he goes out.

Tequila shots usually bring you to another club, whichever looks the most bustling, because you flock to crowds, like moth to flame. It’s your first character flaw.

“I’m not that drunk,” he whips his head to see your frame swaying outside the queue of a club entrance, bouncer leaning in close, too close.

Your second character flaw is that you’re too friendly. You tell him he’s too cold, too curt, but he thinks you’re just too outgoing. This is what happens when you’re so sociable.

It only takes him two long strides to cross over the street, extend out one long arm over to your shoulder, and pull you into his chest. The bouncer looks up at him, neck craning probably more than he’s used to, before spitting on the floor and turning back.

“Toooooshi,” he doesn’t think his name has that many vowels, but you’re pawing at his shirt, trying and failing to slither an arm around his waist. “‘m hungry.”

This is standard, this is the usual routine. He’s used to this now, “let’s go home, we have food at home.” After the third night out, he’s made a habit out of cooking before you leave. Because you’re always hungry, you always— “want Maccas,” you’re giggling.

“McDonald’s is going to be closed.” It’s a fact, there’s a slim chance you’ll make it before three, no point in wasting time. Besides, there’s food at home.

But you’re tugging at his arm and dragging him down the street, and he’s letting you, because the best way to appease you is to let you see for yourself. You’re bouncing with excited chirps, skipping down the road with grace that will always impress him given the stilts attached to your feet.

McDonald’s is closed.

It’s like he said, so he allows you to pout and sulk for a minute, run a hand down your back in comfort, before taking out his phone to call a cab. He can feel your shoulder bump into his chest, hands fidgeting with the hem of your short dress, “what’s wrong?”

You’re blushing, cheeks tinting over with a light shade of pink illuminated by the bright yellow lights, and it’d be cute if he wasn’t worried. “What’s wrong?”

Another tug at the black fabric, eyelashes fluttering to point towards the wall, the sign; anywhere except him. “I need to pee.”

It comes out so quietly, so docile, a contrast to your otherwise boisterous drunken state. He leans down, face brushing past your hair until it’s only a mere inch away.

“What’s that?”

He watches as your glossed lips push out into a pout, huffing out a, “I need to pee, Toshi, I need the toilet.” Your heels clack on the gravel a few times as if to prove a point.

“I’m calling a cab right now,” he reassures you, “we’ll be home soon.”

You don’t seem reassured. You seem more anxious, if anything. “No, Toshi, I need to pee now,” he can feel your fingers fidgeting with his shirt, yanking the fabric in nervous twitches.

He watches you chew on your lip, willing a solution out from the pink gloss staining your teeth, any solution—

“Alley.”

It’s barely left his mouth before your head’s whipping to glance at the dark narrow street hidden behind the fast food joint. It’s tight, or maybe you’re right, he’s just too broad, but he barely fits down the cramped road.

You’re not moving, though, just staring up at him expectantly as if sending him a message, a signal. He doesn’t really get it. “It’s fine, there’s no one on the streets right now.”

Your bottom lip snags under your teeth, doe eyes looking up through fluttering lashes as you shake your head. The tint on your cheeks grow darker, and he takes a few steps forward, shadowing your smaller frame in his large silhouette. “I’ll block you, you can go now.”

Ushijima’s not the best with people, he’s always been told this. He knows it himself, but he thinks he knows you pretty well, at least.

He’s lost.

He’s waiting for you to say something, anything, an explanation for your odd behaviour, but instead he feels dainty fingers tug on his shirt again before shoving him lightly.

“Turn around,” you won’t look at him, eyes fixed on the broken bottle on the dingy alleyway floor, “Don’t look.”

People are a mystery to Ushijima, but at this moment, you are an enigma.

All 200 pounds of pure muscle on him is stagnant. He’s confused; he’s seen you naked, seen you from all angles in all sorts of positions, he’s brushed his teeth while you were using the toilet before— he doesn’t get it. So he tells you.

Your fists meekly punch at his arm, at his chest, wherever they can reach, “It’s embarrassing,” you’re pouting now, and he thinks it’s cute. Under any other circumstances he’d lean over and kiss you, but not right now. Right now he wants understand what’s going on up in your mind.

“Why?”

It sets you into a frustrated huff, cheeks puffing out before a dejected sigh, “fine, whatever,” and then you’re squatting down, finally, to his relief. Your dress is hitched up only a fraction before he hears the trickling, but you don’t stand up when it stops.

His whole body freezes at the feeling of a warm hand pawing at his crotch. “What are you doing?” He snatches your hand off by the wrist, pulling it into him to stand you up; you don’t stand up— you fall, on your knees in front of him.

He’s used to you being a handful when you’re drunk, used to you falling all over the place, but the alleyway is soiled, filthy, not entirely appropriate for the thoughts he’s having with you on your knees. So he’s trying again, reaching down to grab hold of both your hands this time, and lugging you up.

You don’t budge, don’t even glance up at him, and he has half the heart to reach down and carry you out, but another hand lands on his crotch again and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the strain in his trousers.

“Toooooooshi,” you’re still not looking up at him, eyes fixated on the growing tent he’s presenting in front of your face. Another soft touch, another purr, and Ushijima knows he’s a lost cause.

He lets go of your wrists, bending down to wrap an arm around your knees and picks you up before standing you back up against the wall.

“Spread your legs.” It’s not really a suggestion.

He watches as you comply, thighs parting as far as the black lace still bound around them will allow, so he rips it down before pocketing it.

He can hear your whines of complaint, it’s your favourite pair, but it’s all drowned out with a gasp as he buries his face into your wet cunt. His hands wrap behind your thighs, large palms pushing them apart until they rest over his shoulders.

His tongue flicks up your drooling slit, lapping at the juices dribbling out your needy hole and down his chin. You’re whimpering now, hands shoving at his face, “stop, Toshi, I—” he looks up at you, gaze piercing through your flushed expression, “I just peed, ‘ts gross.”

“I know.”

“Toshi we’re—” a moan, nails digging into his scalp when he dips his tongue into your clenching hole, “in public, please,” your face whips to the side, anxiously scanning for passerby’s.

“I know,” he echos with a harsh squeeze of your thighs, fucking you down onto his tongue. He can feel a hand threading through his hair, gripping and pulling while the other is obediently clamped over your mouth in an attempt to muffle wanton moans.

“Toshi, stop,” you’re crying now, legs around his head trembling with every lap and lick into your dripping cunt, nose grazing that sensitive bud as he presses your body into the wall. The fingers meekly pushing at his face are chased by your hips bucking against it, and he can feel your hole clench around his muscle.

He doesn’t stop. 

He doesn’t stop because he can feel you coming undone, feel your tight cunny quiver with every thrust— and you do, with a loud sob of his name, before he removes his hand from under to clamp over your mouth.

“You’re gonna get us caught,” he doesn’t think you can hear him, your eyes rolling back and tongue pressing into the pads of his fingers.

He can still see your hole quivering when he stands back up and unbuckles his trousers. His aching erection springs free with a tug of his waistband, snapping up and wetting his shirt with pre.

Normally he would’ve prepared you better, laid you on your back and fucked you on his tongue and thick fingers until you’re wailing his name, legs shaking with the overstimulation. But he doesn’t have that luxury now, doesn’t have the soft mattress, the plush bedding to sink you into; he only has the brick wall digging into your back in a dingy alleyway.

So he sinks his cock into your drooling cunt, pushing his cockhead through the first ring of muscle. There’s nails clawing at his shoulders, back of his neck, anywhere they can reach, anywhere they can grasp.

It’s tight, so tight he doesn’t think he can fit, thinks he should’ve prepared you after all, but one look down at your tear-stricken face crumbles any inhibitions. His hips snap forward in the same breath his large palms find themselves back under your thighs, lifting you up against the wall.

The jagged wall is probably digging into your back, and normally he would’ve tried to appease the pain, shift the angle so you’re more comfortable, but right now all he can think about are your doughy walls sucking his cock in, one slow inch at a time.

It’s excruciating how tight you are; by the third inch you’re throwing your head into the crook of his neck, nails digging into his back trying to ease the stretch— Ushijima’s trying, too; trying to make sure he doesn’t drown in the feel of your fluttering walls and snap his hips forward until he can feel the kiss of your cervix on his cockhead.

It doesn’t work, not when you’re chanting his name like a mantra, crying about how full you feel, how much he’s stretching you out— you can feel him in your stomach.

He drops your body down into the thrust of his hips and buries his cock to hilt. Five seconds, then ten, then thirty; he lets you catch your breath, catch his breath, before you’re whimpering in his ear begging him to move.

There’s no time for modesty, an alleyway is hardly the setting for soft gentle sex. With a vice grip in the flesh of your ass, he hugs you into his chest and steadies a hand on the wall behind you.

He can feel your legs attempt to wrap around the width of his hips, his waist, can feel you cooing soft moans into his ears, can hear you sobbing his name like it’s the only word you know. Every piston of his hip echoes in the cramped alleyway, heavy balls papping against your mound.

He’s breathing in your moans, letting himself drown in you desperate whines of his name, “cum in me, Toshi, fill me up”— he’s shoving your pliant body into the harsh wall, arm moving down from the jagged surface to grip the soft flesh under your thigh.

In one swift movement he’s pinned your knees to your ears, limp calves bouncing off his sturdy shoulders as he pounds into you at an unrelenting pace.

Your moans turn to sobs, wails of Toshi, Toshi, Toshi; his breaths turn to grunts into promises to breed you so good, fill you up with his cum until it’s dripping out of your sweet lil cunny. There’s mini crescents marking up the back of his neck, dark purples and yellows running up along yours as he suctions onto new blank patches of skin.

Loud, unrhythmic squelching echos in the alleyway, his arms bouncing you onto his length until you twitch, spasm around his cock, and you’re coming undone for the second time that night with his name spilling out in broken sobs.

Ushijima doesn’t stop, fucks you through your squeals and shoves until he feels your greedy cunt milking his cock again, then he’s spilling into you with hot ropes of cum.

He doesn’t stop until your body’s gone pliant caged inside his, knees still pushed against the wall and saliva dribbling past your lolling tongue down to your messy pussy, mixing with creams of cum and slick and drool.

One limb at a time, he unfolds you and carries you in his arms, cradling your limp body into his chest. He looks down, admires your hazy gaze, pupils blown, and presses a gentle kiss onto your forehead.

A soft hum leaves your lips, or maybe a giggle, but you’re squirming in his arms, body leaning up until he can feel your soft lips grazing his ear.

“Toooshi,” you drawl, and he almost chokes at how fucked out you sound, the rasp in your voice sending dangerous jolts down to his no longer softening cock.

“Hm?” He’s debating on flagging a cab instead of calling one; can’t really reach into his pocket when you’re in his arms.

“Want Maccas.”

#ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushiwaka x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #tw: exhibitionism #tw: omorashi #weese's birthday bash #wow that's the most legitimately i've ever tagged anything #no dubcon? no incest? no somno??? #proper mental #a new milestone for me truly #this is genuinely the softest fluffiest thing you'll get outta me #i'm sorry please don't ask me to write anything like this #this was brewed from my undying love for weese and that's the only reason i could've concocted this #i promise u i couldn't write something this soft ever again if u asked me to #n e ways I LOVE U TIL DA END OF D EARTH WEESE #THANK U SO MUCH FOR BRINGING ALL OF US TOGETHER #YOU ARE THE RESON I'M ON HERE #YOU ARE THE REASON I'VE MET MY BEST FRIENDS #YOU'VE MADE THIS WEIRD TIME IN MY LIFE FUCKING INSANE AND UNFORGETTABLE #wow that sounds like i'm leaving #I'M NOT I'M JUST SAYING; THANK U FOR BEING U #THANK YOU FOR BEING HERE FOR US EVERYDAY; FOR BEING AN ABSOLUTE LIGHT IN OUR LIVES #I HAVE NO WORDS TO EXPRESS MY LOVE SO JUST TAKE THIS FIC #take this masterlist as a token of our appreciation and love for u bb #i hope i didn’t mischaracterize ur husband 2222 much <33 oopsies hhh

[mikkomacko]

Sweet As Honey 18

Hello everyone! Here she is! Thank you all so much for being so patient with me and this chapter. I hope it lives up to the hype and the wait lol. I'd also like to say that I will still be writing and finishing this series as well as my other in progress ones. However, I'm currently feeling like I'm not that interested in Harry right now and I feel like it's mostly all the drama and everything going on with him right now so updates will be slow. Also I've changed my theme to a Marvel x One Direction theme because I've decided to take one of my Bucky Barnes plot and actually publish it. I'll still post Harry because of course I love him but he won't be the main focus of this blog anymore.

Thanks for waiting and reading. Hope you enjoy the chapter! X

Harry's good under pressure. At least looking from the outside in, he is. It's a skills he's picked up from boxing. Always pretend you know what's going on. No surprises, no shocks. If he's in a fight and his opponent is stronger or faster than he originally thought, he doesn't show it. Acting like it was expected, like he planned it rattles others and helps him maintain his grace.

He keeps that same approach when it comes to interviews.

Liam meets him outside the gym, waving with a bright smile that Harry just smiles at, shocked to find his trainer in the parking garage rather than the ring.

"What's going on mate?" Harry greets, trying to step around him to get to the stairs but Liam halts him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Gotta reporter here who wants to chat with you about recovering from your concussion and reaching the finals."

His tone is laced with hesitance, lips pursed in suppressed grimace and Harry doesn't blame him. Liam knows how much Harry hates interviews. They're his least favorite part of the job. He's here to box and get paid, to provide for his family, not to tell the world every detail of his life.

"Oh," Harry mumbles, shrugging and stepping up to the door. "Alright. Only for a few minutes though, wanna get home a little early today."

If Liam is surprised by Harry's ease he doesn't show it. "Got something going on?"

Harry follows Liam inside, nodding to Mark at the front desk. "Y/n has just been exhausted lately and Arlo can't spend a second alone without screaming bloody murder. Just want to be there to make sure she's resting and Arlo's not being a pest."

"He's your son, of course he's being in a pest."

The comment leaves too much pride in Harry's chest for him to even care that Liam just insisted he himself is a pest. Besides, Harry knows he's clingy and a little too attached but that's just how his relationship with y/n is, and they love it.

In his private locker room,Harry finds the reporter, a young girl who can't be too far out of undergrad with dark hair and a bright red lips. She's sat on the bench, a notepad on her thigh and her phone resting next to it.

"Hello Mr. Styles." She greets, shaking his hand when he approaches her. "I'm Rebecca Weese."

Harry takes a seat next to her, nodding. "Nice to meet you. I don't have a lot of time today but I can answer a few of your questions if we can make it quick." He smiles guiltily, hoping to not come off as rude.

She nods, immediately glancing down at her notepad and crossing some things out. Harry assumes they're questions she's decided aren't important enough. "Is it ok if I record this? Just sound of course."

Again, he nods, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie as he waits for her to begin. Tapping at her phone, she places it between them to catch both voices and then scans her notes again.

"Correct me if I'm wrong but you've only been boxing for a few years, right?"

Harry shrugs. "I trained a lot when I was teenager, worked under Ted until he decided to bring me up to the pros. Was about 20 I think when that happened." He tries to stay vague, knowing he can't tell the public that his "training" was an illegal boxing ring.

"Five-Six years is a short amount of time to be included in a tournament like this one. Most contenders are well into their careers before being qualified to participate. What do you think has been the main factor in your success?"

Routine question, and he's got a routine answer. "I was fortunate enough to figure out early on that boxing is what I wanted to do and I think that helped out a lot. I also got a very good team behind me. My trainer, manager, my wife, they're all the main factors in my success. I'm very grateful to have them."

Rebecca smiles a bit, jotting down a few words. "Does your wife work in the industry?"

It's her casual tone, as if she were a friend just wanting to hear him brag about his lover that has him answering so honestly.

"No she works in design but I met her early in my career and she's always supported me. Takes care of me after bad matches and whatnot, always comes to my fights even if it means being on her feet for hours. Which isn't exactly her favorite thing at the moment with the baby-"

Harry stops, eyes widening a bit at what he's just revealed. Part of him wishes desperately that Rebecca didn't hear him but he knows that's impossible.

"I didn't know you're a father," she says kindly, sensing his panic. "Do you want to talk about it more or should I scratch that part?"

He doesn't know what makes him say it. A year ago he'd have fled the room if he were questioned about his family. Harry likes to keep them separate, to keep his kids away from his boxing. It's possibly a small part of him that's conditioned to keep his work a secret from his family even if he doesn't have to. But Rebecca's offer to drop the whole topic is what breaks him.

"S'ok," he says "I've got a son that's about a year old and another on the way."

Her eyes light up, beaming at him and he grins shyly but somehow proudly at the same time. "That's awesome. Congrats. I know your son's young but does he have any part in your career? Influence maybe?"

"He doesn't watch any of my fights or anything. Too young to be around violence like that but he does affect my fighting in a way. I used to go into boxing with just the mentality that I'm doing something I love, but now I've got the added success. A win means more support for my family and I want them to always have what they need so I've got sort of an edge there."

"Like having something to fight for?" She confirms, and Harry nods immediately.

"Yeah. I'd do anything for them and I think that makes me a bit dangerous in the ring."

No matter what, he'll always be fighting for them. Everything he does is for y/n and his boys.

~

The house smalls of tomato sauce and pasta when Harry walks in, mouth instantly watering and stomach rumbling. He had a light breakfast this morning before going to the gym and now that's he burnt off all that energy he reckons he could eat a horse. Dropping his keys on the table in the entryway, toeing off his sneakers, and dropping his gym bag to the floor, Harry makes a beeline for the kitchen. He's so caught up in wanting to eat he doesn't notice the TV playing a Disney movie or the two figures sprawled out on the couch until one of them is calling for him.

"Daddy!" Arlo's head pops up over the cushions, dimples sunk into his cheeks and eyes bright. Harry immediately changes course, coming up behind the couch and meeting Arlo's outstretched arms.

"'Ello bug," Harry greets, smacking a kiss to his cheek. Arlo coos happily, curling up against Harry's shoulder. Y/n is watching them with a small smile, a hand resting easily over the stretched fabric of his tee-shirt she's wearing. "And hello darling." He leans over the back of the couch to press a crooked kiss to her lips.

"Hi baby," she sits up, smiling dreamily at him. "How was the gym?"

Harry shrugs, adjusting Arlo on his hip. "Was good. I had an interview today about finals and....stuff." Her eyebrow quirks up at his hesitancy to continue.

"What stuff?"

Gnawing on his bottom lip, Harry drops his gaze to Arlo. "You, Arlo, the baby." She doesn't respond immediately and he knows it’s because she’s trying to analyze him. He's fairly private about his family, especially his children and the only reason he'd informed the world of Arlo was to get people off his back about leaving y/n, so he knows she's probably confused by his ease with talking about the new baby.

"How'd it go?" She asks, pushing herself up from the couch with a hand on her belly. Without hesitation Harry reaches out to place his free hand over hers, moving her with him towards the kitchen. "Where are we going?"

"M'starving darling," he says and his stomach grumbles in agreement, making Arlo gurgling back and nudge his foot into Harry's tummy. "But interview went well. Announced the pregnancy."

"You did?" She questions, perching herself on the counter stool with wide eyes. "Seems a bit early compared to Arlo's announcement."

Managing as best he can with one free hand, Harry retrieves a bowl from the cabinet and serves himself a heaping mountain of spaghetti. "Just came out if m'being honest," he shrugs, settling into the stool next to her with Arlo still glued to his lap. "'sides it's different this time. He was my first baby and I was scared."

He doesn't realize that she's fallen silent until he's slurping back noodles and she doesn't scold him. Curiously, Harry rotates just enough to look at her. Y/n is staring at him, eyes big and moony when he mumbles a suspicious "wha'?"

"You were scared?"

Swallowing down his food, he nods. Her intent gaze brings a blush to his cheeks and he has to drop his eyes to peer down at Arlo. "Y-yeah. Didn't know if he'd like me as his dad, ya know?"

Harry's never said those words out loud, now that he's come to think of it. Whenever something's pertained to Arlo, Harry was always the positive reinforcement, the one reassuring y/n about them stepping into parenthood. He never really told her how much it scared him because he didn't want to scare her.

"I-I didn't know that," she mumbles. "Why didn't you say anything?"

He shrugs, lifting his gaze from Arlo to y/n. "Because I wanted to be a good dad. Ya know, like the kind that can kill spiders and scare aware bad dreams.....Just wanted to be strong I guess."

He doesn't say it, but he knows she's picked up the fear he won't acknowledge. He doesn't want to be his dad. His father was great but the sad thing is, everything great about him was brought out by alcohol. Des needed that poison to combat his own fears and insecurities, and Harry doesn't want to be like that too. He doesn't want to leave his kids the same way he was left.

"Being scared doesn't make you weak Harry."

She leans over to press a tender kiss to his jaw, belly brushing against his side, and he thinks about those words for the remainder of the day.

~

Crouched down, Harry steers the shopping cart with one hand and guides Arlo along with the other one. By the way he's trudging along, Harry knows Arlo is getting tired of walking. It's good for him to practice though, so Harry leads him along for another few minutes before scooping him up in one arm.

"Did so well bug." Harry compliments, pecking Arlo's cheek. The toddler curls up into his chest, yawning. It's a bit difficult steering the cart with one hand but Harry manages, steadily making his way up and down each aisle. He gets baby cereal for Arlo, a couple bags of puffy hot Cheetos to stash in the cabinets, and he's stocking up on y/n's latest craving (spaghetti-o's and meatballs) when a familiar face rounds the corner.

Zayn is pushing a cart filled groceries, eyes scanning up and down the shelves and Harry curses under his breath. The last person he wants to see right now is Zayn. Last time they had a run in he said something that bothered y/n and Harry never wants anything to bother his girl.

In an attempt to hide, Harry pulls his hood up over his head, shrinking into his pullover and craning his neck to not make eye contact with his old friend. Grabbing a few cans of the fake pasta y/n is living off of, Harry sets them in the cart and quickly walks down the aisle. A man who looks a few years older than Harry moves towards him, stepping around Zayn and in front of Harry's cart.

"Excuse me," the man stops him, gaze dropping to the boy against his chest for half a second before regretfully meeting Harry's eyes. "m'so sorry to bother, didn't notice the little one-"

"It's fine." Harry cuts off, glancing at Zayn to make sure his back is still to them. It is and Harry relaxes a bit at that, but his curiosity grows. "How can I help you sir?"

The man smiles, grateful. "I just wanted to tell you that m'son and I are big fans and we're excited for your fight this weekend."

Harry knows he has fans, he's run into a few around the city but they're usually teens and kids that want an autograph. He's never had a grown man approach him about his career and it's odd. Flattering, but odd.

"Thanks man. I really appreciate your support." Harry says sincerely, smiling. The man nods in response, taking a step away from Harry. He moves to leave but stops last minute, turning back to Harry.

"Congrats on the baby news too." He says quickly, almost shy or embarrassed. Before Harry can even thank him, the man is rushing out a "have a good day" and then he's moving down the aisle.

Confused, Harry stands there for a moment trying to figure out what happened. He knew announcing the new baby would bring more attention to him in the media and he's not surprised that that man, who's clearly a fan, had already heard it. He is surprised that the man seemed almost scared to admit to Harry that he knows.

"Harry?"

Fuck.

He looks up, meeting the golden eyes that could only belong to Zayn. Harry doesn't even bother trying to smile at his old friend as he stands in front of Harry's cart. A lady maneuvers around them, murmuring a soft "excuse me sir." Harry scoots his cart over, smiling apologetically.

"How have you been man?"

Harry's gaze returns to it's impassive expression, glancing over Zayn's too-bright presence. "I've been good." Harry responds, moving Arlo to his other arm when he starts to lose feeling in his fingers. The movement draws Arlo out of his nap-like state, the toddler now noticing Zayn standing in front of them. Immediately his face scrunches into a look of annoyance.

If Zayn notices, he must not care because he smiles at Arlo, teeth dazzling. "That's good to hear. Congratulations on the baby, by the way! Saw the article up front. S'amazing!"

Article? Harry lips are just starting to form his question when his phone rings, the tune specific to y/n. "Sorry, gotta take this." Harry says in Zayn's direction, digging into his pocket and retrieving his phone. He hits answer before Zayn can even respond.

"Hi darling."

Harry wiggles Arlo into the basket. "Hi H. You still at the store?"

He pushes the cart down the aisle, not caring that he's left his old friend hanging. "Yeah I am. What's up"

The sound of a running faucet comes through the speaker. "Forgot to add yogurt bites to the list. Arlo ate the last of 'em last night and ya know how he is if he doesn't have any before bed."

Harry snorts, steering towards the baby food aisle. Arlo has fallen in love with yogurt bites and they've become his snack before bed. Harry thinks he shouldn't be having them every night and he'd tried to tell Arlo that two nights ago, but Arlo is a stubborn thing. He screamed his head off, ignored Harry's attempts at giving him fresh fruit instead, and then only calmed down after y/n nursed him.

"I'll grab 'em darling. No worries." He assures, tossing a couple bags of the bites into the cart. "Anything else?"

"Do we still have the old flower vases from our wedding in the garage?" She asks.

"Umm, I think so. You expecting flowers from a secret lover or something?" Harry jokes, eyes catching on a pack of bibs hanging in the aisle.

"Not unless you've got a trick up your sleeve Styles." She retorts.

He tosses a pack into the basket. "Buy you a whole flower shop if that's what ya want darling." Arlo grumbles from the baby seat of the cart, tiny fingers coming up to play with the rings on Harry's fingers that are locked around the steering bar.

"Don't worry about that, we've got enough flowers." Y/n laughs and he can hear her moving around the house. "Three bouquets just arrived with congratulations cards."

"What?"

"Guess the baby announcement was well accepted." She says. "We're getting lots of flowers for it."

Pushing towards the checkout, Harry frowns in confusion. "Got stopped by a fan today for the same thing. Can't believe it's such a big deal."

"Well you're more known now than when we were having Arlo." She reasons, and Harry hums his agreement. He passes the self checkouts, freezing when he spots numerous copies of his face on the ends of the aisle.

"Holy shit," he breathes, not even thinking about the innocent ears before him. Y/n gasps through the phone, scolding him for his language. "Sorry darling, s'just I'm bloody plastered all over the grocery store."

He reads over the cover of the sports magazine. It's got a big photo of him in the ring, gloves held up to his chin and jaw tight around his mouth guard. Next to it is a photo of him and y/n leaving a big fight awhile back. She's got her head down, hand snug in his as he leads her along. And written in bold yellows is "Harry Styles Expecting Baby #2 As He Prepares for Biggest Fight Yet!"

"They put me on the front page." He tells her, not bothering to flip open the article before he's quickly moving away from the display. "Why would they do that?"

When he did that interview, he thought it'd be a small, breezy section in the magazine. If he had known he'd be getting stopped in the grocery store and flowers sent to his house he wouldn't have said anything. As previously mentioned, he's a private guy, so having this detail projected in a way he wasn't warned about makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.

"It's alright Harry," y/n says reassuringly, knowing that he's become anxious at the publicity. "No harm done. It's just flowers bub and as long as we've got those vases in the garage, everyone will survive."

He chuckle weakly at her joke, picking an aisle so he can quickly checkout and go home. "Don't go digging around for them by yourself, don't need ya falling and getting hurt. I'll help ya when I get home."

"Aw my hero." She coos, and he knows she's teasing but it still makes him blush. God he loves her.

~

"Those bloody things are making my nose itch." Harry grumbles, aggressively rubbing the palm of his hand into his burning nostrils. He glares at the bouquet of peonies on the dresser, a gift from y/n's co-workers, and moves towards the bed.

Y/n is propped up against the headboard, a pair of his pajama bottoms on her legs but her shirt has been abandoned on the carpet by the bed. Arlo is attached to her hip, mouth latched to her nipple and she's stroking through his soft hair while he breastfeeds. Harry's heart throbs in his chest, warmed by the sight of his wife coddling their baby, and he's so fucking in love with her he's anxious to get Arlo into bed so he can have his way with her.

"I can't just throw them out, H." She sighs, pulling her gaze from the television to his pouty face. He huffs, running the damp towel in his hand through his hair one last time before haphazardly tossing it towards the closet. Kneeing his way up the bed, he curls into y/n's side and smiles when she tucks her arm around him.

"Stroke my hair too?" He mumbles, peering up with puppy eyes and she giggles before threading her fingers through his hair too. Arlo gurgles around a mouthful, bright green eyes opening to look at Harry. He worries for a moment that Arlo is going to get fussy and kick him away, but the toddler just blinks at him sleepily.

"Tha's ma boy." He coos fondly, squirming a hand over to pat Arlo's full tummy. Y/n giggles and continues to stroke his hair, Harry watching Arlo slowly be soothed to sleep. "Lemme get him to bed darling."

Grunting, he pushes himself up from the mattress and too his feet. Y/n transfers Arlo to his awaiting arms, swiping at the milk that dribbled out of his snoring lips and onto her skin. Harry leans down, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"Wanna have a shag when I get back?"

A shocked laugh bursts out of her, Harry's face lighting up at the sound as his heart swells. He was trying to be a bit silly, not enough to have her eyes crinkling like that, but he's happy she finds him funny.

"Sure baby." She breathes, still grinning. His stomach flutters, excitement bubbling in his belly and he nods quickly before moving across the room.

Arlo stays cuddled into Harry's neck as he flicks on the nightlight in the nursery and adjusts the blankets in the crib. Theo watched Harry from his bed in the corner, sleepy puppy eyes following his every move. He lays Arlo down, gently shushing him when he store and tucks Bunny into his side. With a peck to his head and a quiet "good night bug," Harry partially shuts the bedroom door and rushes back into the bedroom.

Y/n has already kicked off her bottoms, leaving her naked on their sheets and Harry groans as he works to catch up with her. His shirt is playfully tossed at y/n's grinning face, Harry laughing as he wiggles out of his sweats. Naked as the day he was born, Harry jumps onto his knees at the bottom of the bed.

A laugh bubbles out of y/n when the whole bed shakes under his weight, clearly amused at how excited he is. She must be just as excited though because she quickly leans forward to cup his face, attaching their lips and bringing him back down to the pillows with her.

"Wanna be on top," he mutters into her mouth, ghosting his hand down her tummy and tickling his thumb over her clit. "f'that's ok?"

"Mmm," she hums, happily "too tired to top anyway."

Harry seals their lips together again, using his knees to spread her thighs a bit further apart for him. Her palms smooth down his sides and around to his back, a breathy moan interrupting their kiss courtesy of his fingers. Harry utilizes the chance to break away and snag a pillow from his side of the bed, urging her hips up by tapping the fluffy thing against her side. She lifts, and he settles it under her lower back and bum to prop her up. Luckily for him, he's had a lot of practice getting around a baby bump for a shag.

Settling between her thighs, Harry giggles when she wraps her legs around his hips and tugs him closer. His body hovers over hers, love-sick smiles a breath away from meeting each other, and he drags his fingers through her folds, groaning at how slick she's become.

"Don't even have to try anymore do I?" He teases with a wolfish smile, capturing her lips just as she rolls her eyes. Giggling, he leaves soft kisses across her cheek, heading towards the base of her jaw.

"S'the baby's fault honestly." She argues, her fingers disappearing into the damp locks sticking to the back of his neck.

He hums, smirking against her skin. "Is it?"

With a small tug she's pulling him back up to her mouth. "Yeah. Gets me revved up all the bloody time. I don't know what you're putting in there mister but it's exhausting."

Harry laughs quietly, nipping at her bottom lip. "Don't worry baby, I'm gonna take care of ya. S'my problem after all, isn't it?"

Y/n nods, biting back a grin as Harry grips his cock with the fingers that had previously been fondling her. Chest to chest, Harry smiles at the feeling of their stomachs pressed together as he guides the head of him into her slit.

The sigh that puffs out of her chest sends a zip of pleasure up his spine, as if she'd been partial without him and the pure relief of just having him in her is all she could ever want. Harry hums appreciatively, eyes fluttering shut as he basks in how warm and gooey she is for him. He'd almost forgotten how it felt to have her this desperate for him and his touch.

"Oh it's so good darling," he mumbles to her, dropping his head into the crook of her neck. He pulls his hips back, breath stuttering when he easily slips forward again.

Y/n moans softly, dropping one hand to the small of his back as if guiding him. "So so good H." She confirms in a whisper, her voice tickling his ear and he squirms with a small laugh at the sensation.

Harry's soft with his movements, cautious of the baby between them and the one sleeping down the hall. Even the kisses he places on her jaw and lips are tender, small brushes between their confirmations that he "feels so good" inside her and she was "made for being wrapped me huh?" And Harry thinks nothing ever been truer. Her arms were made to hold him, her hands were made for pulling him closer and closer, and her heart was made to completely consume his.

Y/n reaches her high before him, rolling her hips up to try and quicken his but he maintains his sensual thrusts, stroking her temple as she trembles and gasps, clinging to him in every way possible. There's something about how quick she falls apart for him when she's pregnant and how utterly earth shattering it is for her, that it completely obliterates any sense of stamina Harry's ever had. He couldn't care less when he follows shortly after, grinding down into her heat as his cock twitches and buries deep in her walls. She's the one stroking his temple this time, and he knows she's watching his eyes scrunch shut and his gaping mouth curl into a breathy laugh as he comes.

Maybe it's the lingering anxiety that washed over him at the grocery store, but when y/n kisses him and gently nudges him off of her so she can go pee, Harry's desperate as he grips her hand and pouts, practically begging when he asks "can I get back in ya after? Just to fall asleep darling?"

Of course she nods, brushing sweaty curls from his forehead to soothe him and just like that he already feels lighter. He never has to sorry with her, because they were made for loving each other.

~

"Oh fuck!"

"Would you stop being so loud! It's 8 in the morning!"

"Can't help it, darling."

Harry tightens his hold around y/n's thighs, dipping his tongue back into her slit and groaning loudly despite the warning she's already given him this morning. She tugs on his hair scoldingly, drawing a pained hiss out of him. Harry brings his teeth up to her clit, nibbling in retaliation. A pained hiss of her own leaves her lips, cut off by a soft moan as he soothes his tongue over the spot.

Grinding her hips up into his mouth, Harry can't help but push his own into the mattress and a deep groan escapes him as he does so. Huffing, y/n scolds him again for being too loud when they've got a sleeping child one room over.

"Stop yelling at me so I can make you cum." He purrs, lips brushing over her clit. Their eyes meet over the curves and dips of her body, Harry smirking when she raises a prodding eyebrow at him. He kisses her thigh just once, lapping his tongue through her slit and he's just reaching her most sensitive spot when the beginning stirs of Arlo waking up break through the baby monitor.

Simultaneous groans leave both their mouths, this time of frustration. Harry pouts, knocking his forehead on y/n's hip bone and shaking his head.

"I told you Styles." Y/n teases, stroking through his hair for a second. He can't even think of a rebuttal before Arlo is calling out softly for her, and she's pushing up from the bed to get dressed.

"Take care of that while I take care of this." She calls as she disappears through the door, snickering softly and leaving him there desperate for her. But then again, when is he not desperate for her?

~

Hey man, hope I'm not being a bother. I was just wondering if you wanted to go out for a drink Friday or something?

-Z

Harry stares at the message, wondering why Zayn would sign it when the Instagram handle is clearly him. He also wonders why the hell Zayn is trying to hang out with him now.

It's a sunny day, the air outside relatively warm for March so Harry slipped a sweater on Arlo and brought him out to the backyard to play. They're sat in the grass, Arlo between his legs as they teach Theo to play fetch. Arlo's gotten good at tossing the chew toy himself, so Harry used the free time to start clearing out the congratulations messages he's received on Instagram.

"What's the matter H?"

Harry locks his phone, tilting his head up and squinting into the sun as y/n stands over them. She's got a bowl of puffy hot Cheetos in her hand, cradling them as if they were a precious gem as she settles into the grass with them.

"Nothing," he mumbles, pecking her temple when she leans into his side. "just got a weird text from Zayn. He wants to hang out."

Crunching through a chip, she hums. "Did you know he lives here?"

She lifts up a Cheeto, offering it to him. Harry gladly takes it between his teeth, pulling it from her fingertips and crunching down on the puffy chip. Swallowing, he shakes his head.

"Ran into him at the store once around Valentine's Day," she says, eyes watching Arlo dig his stubby fingers into the dry grass. "Was trying to talk to me about you I think but your son threw a fit and I was too busy to care honestly."

"Really?" Harry asks, perking up at the idea of Arlo throwing a tantrum to keep people away from y/n. That's the only time he'll agree with such actions. "Taught him well then haven't I?"

Rolling her eyes, she elbows him. "If you're son grows up to be rude I'm going to kick your ass Harry Styles."

Laughing, he steals a chip from her, locking his phone and dropping it to the grass. Arlo, interested in the device, crawls over to pick it up.

"Wouldn't expect anything less darling." He says, reaching over to swipe his phone to the camera so Arlo can snap random pictures.

"What are you going to do about Zayn then?"

"Suppose I should see what he wants, yeah?"

Y/n shrugs but Harry can read the look on her face easily. She's always silently encouraged him to face things that need mending or fixing, and his past with Zayn is one of those things.

"S'done then," he laughs, pinching her side affectionately. "I'll figure out why he's so obsessed with me."

She laughs, throwing her head back and scrunching her nose in the way makes him want to stare at her forever. "Think it's that one he's obsessed with. Look how cute he is."

Harry follows her line of sight, smile growing at the sight of Arlo making faces at himself in Harry's camera.

So bloody cute.

~

"Are we gonna be besties? I think we're gonna be besties." Niall states, swinging an arm around y/n's shoulders. He's on his third beer of the night already and Harry hasn't even made it to the ring yet. Y/n just laughs, continuing to maneuver tape around Harry's fingers but he's not as kind.

Casting a glare at the Irish man, Harry calls out to Gemma. "Get your leprechaun off of my girl before I use him to warm up."

Niall isn't really phased by the words, only pouting softly at Harry's steel gaze but Gemma is quick to rush over and pull Niall up from the couch by his hand.

"Come on babe, let's go find our seats." She coos to him, sending Harry an apologetic smile. He waits for her and Niall to turn their backs before chuckling softly. Y/n pinches at his wrist.

"Be nice to Niall. I really like him."

"Oh you really like him, huh?" Harry huffs, nudging his knee against hers. She rolls her eyes, giggling when he slips his free hand around her waist and pulls her into his lap. "Please tell me how much you really like Niall darling." He requests, shoving his face in her neck and playfully biting at her throat and shoulder. Just as he'd expected, she giggles and squirms, Harry having to wrap her up in a bear hug to keep her from sliding right off his thigh.

"Harry! Stop!"

He laughs with her, moving up to bite at the apples of her cheeks and her nose, growling as if he were a rabid beast. His freshly taped knuckles ache under the tightness of the wrap as he grips her flailing legs but he ignores it in favor of listening to her laugh.

"I like you more! I swear!" She shouts between laughs, wiggling a hand free and gripping the back of his neck. Pleased with her words, Harry pants out a laugh before sealing his mouth to hers.

"Tha's good because I like you more than Niall too." He mumbles into her lips.

"You like me more than you like everyone." She chuckles, stroking her thumb along his jawline. Harry's eyes shine with delight, proud that she knows her place in his heart, but he still teases.

"Mmm almost darling. Quite like my son, ya know that?"

She rolls her eyes but looks at him fondly, pinching the meat of his cheek. "Cute," she murmurs, "now go get ready for your fight baby. Want everyone to see my husband's gonna be the national champion."

Her words bring a rush of blood to his cheeks (and his cock if he's being honest), but he nudges her onto the couch next to him. "Just need two more wins." He whispers in her ear, pecking her temple.

Just two more wins.

~

There's good fights and there's bad fights. Everyone knows that. But not everyone knows that there's good wins and bad wins. Harry's experienced a few of those bad ones. Wins that he probably shouldn't have gotten because he certain his opponent had landed more punches and the judges miscounted. Or it was clear the other fighter wasn't into it and let him win.

Harry thinks tonight is his worst win ever.

The fight had been good. Trinsky, tonight's opponent from New Jersey, was short and stocky but strong. Harry was quicker than him though so they'd gone back and forth for a few rounds. Nothing two rough, just enough punches to have bright red welts on his torso and an ache in his jaw.

He fought through it though, fueled by the sounds of y/n and Niall cheering for him. Win this fight and he's onto the championship match. So he went at it with all he had left, charging Trinsky just as the man knocked his fist into Harry's temple.

It felt like a lightning bolt of pain zapped through his brain, shaking his core and causing his feet to stumble. Trinsky slid to the right as Harry crashed into the ropes, blinking furiously as the room around him spun. He was still in a daze as his body moved on its own, quick enough to uppercut his left fist into Trinsky's chin. The man crumbled to the mat, out cold, and Harry's dizzy head brought him down as well.

There's cheering and an announcement of his name, declaring Harry the winner but he can't seem to focus on it. Trinsky is being moved from the ring by his team, Harry falling to his bum on the mat as he rips at the velcro of his gloves with his teeth.

The room is coming back into focus, someone is calling him from the side of the ring but he doesn't recognize the voice so it goes ignored. He gets his hands free, rubbing his fingers into the tender spot on his head and wincing. He needs to take some Advil and ice it.

Harry climbs to his feet, a bit disoriented as he ducks under the ropes to leave. He knows he's got a team here somewhere but his mind can't seem to recognize what they look like or how to find them.

"Man, what are you doing?"

He turns, confused to find two men watching him like he's grown a second head. Harry feels like he knows the warm brown eyes of the taller man but he's not sure from where. Smiling uncomfortably, he motions behind him.

"I n-need ice or something." He says, excusing himself with a shrug and turning back to the locker room. He doesn't like the way his stomach twists or how his chest is telling him he knows those men when he couldn't even tell you there names right now. His heart thunders in his chest, panic seeping in and he's desperate to find something or someone that'll just help him out.

"Harry baby," she says calmly, a hand rubbing up his bare back comfortingly. "you okay?"

Y/n appears at his side, head tilted so she can meet his nervous gaze. Almost immediately he latches onto her hand, shaking his head. Her eyebrows crease, lips frowning as she reaches to cup his cheek.

"What's going on H? What's the matter?"

"M'head hurts," he answers immediately. "I-I think I forgot my team."

A trembling breath leaves his lips, tears stinging behind his eyes when he sees the concern on his wife's face. She brushes her thumb over his temple, the one she knows got hit the hardest, and then brushes a sweaty strand of hair off his forehead to place a tender kiss there.

"Let's get you to the locker room babe."

He follows like a lost puppy, trailing behind her through the back hallway and into his locker room. Y/n closes the door behind him before anyone else can enter, twisting the lock. Harry sits in the closest chair, fiddling with the tape on his fingers as he tries to calm down.

"Do you want to talk to me bub?" Y/n asks quietly, pulling up a seat directly in front of him. He nods, lifting his gaze from his hands to her face.

"I don't know what happened. It's like I got hit in the head and everything got shook up." He explains, frowning. He hates the way this feels. Hates that his body is screaming at him to just remember but his brain refuses to accept the message. "I know them, I know I do but s'like their names and stuff are just gone."

Y/n inhales sharply, biting nervously at her bottom lip. Harry's not even sure what to say and that makes him feel so much worse. He doesn't even feel like he has a concussion, not really. Everything else is still there, still in the forefront of his mind. His wife, his boys, Anne and Gemma. And he faintly remembers sitting at bars with one of the men from his team, remembers crashing on his couch late at night. But the soul of those memories are gone.

"I'm gonna get you some painkillers and water okay babe? Then we'll figure out what to do."

He nods, smiling wetly when she kisses his forehead. Watching her move around the room to gather water and whatnot, Harry wills himself to just think. He knows these men, he's just gotta focus on it. A memory stands out, one of the three of them in a car on a road trip. His trainer is driving, his manager in the passenger seat and he knows this is a trip for a match. A recent match too because he remembers saying goodbye to Arlo and y/n, kissing her swollen belly before he went.

Y/n returns to him with a bottle of water and a couple pills, watching him cautiously as he squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to just think. Recalling conversations from the car, remembering the screen in the front of the vehicle that reads Connected to Liam's iPhone. Liam. Almost instantly Nick's name floods his brain again and he feels his whole body tremble with relief.

Harry takes the medicine, gulping it down and slumping into his seat. "Nick and Liam," he finally murmurs, voice thick. "I couldn't remember darling. They were right in front of me and I couldn't remember their fucking names."

A silent tear trails down his cheek, Harry sniffling as y/n wipes it away with a tender touch he's only felt from her. "Its ok Harry. We'll figure out what happened. At least you remember now baby." She tried to comfort, but Harry's heart still aches.

"What if-" he peers up at her through wet eyelashes. "what if it had been you? Or Arlo? Or all three of you? What if I-"

He can't even finish the thought before he's shaking his head, more tears slipping down his cheeks and jaw. What would he have done if he'd looked at y/n and not remembered her name? Not remembered the beautiful son they created? Or the one she's growing now?

"It wasn't Harry," she stays sternly, cutting into his spiralling thoughts. "it wasn't and even if it did happen, it wouldn't change a thing. You're not getting rid of us."

Trying to smile, he nods and takes a deep breath. He trusts her, more than anyone, and he's never known someone that fights as much as she does. He knows, no matter what, that she'll always have his back.

#sweet as honey #harry styles #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #one direction #harry styles au #dad harry #boxer harry #cute #smut #daddy harry styles #sweet as honey talk

[thelittleboyfromloveactually]

Innocent hug

Dylan O’Brien x reader

Warnings: mentions of rape, sexual assault, cussing, mentions of smut, Dylan being sweet (this can be possibly triggering!!!!!!) angst

Promt: when Dylan finds you crying after an uncomfortable interview, the two of you find your selves admitting things you never thought you would say again (y’all i just, I don’t even know, I can’t write freaking descriptions hahaha)

Word count: 2712

Disclaimer: so basically the interview is for maze runner, just pretend that you play another character in the movie that was like Thomas’ best friend and newts love interest (also y’all pls send some requests)

Not my gif! Credits to @dyobrien! <3

“Hi I’m Dylan O’Brien!” Started Dylan trying to control himself from his laughter, before the cameras had begun rolling Dylan had cracked a joke that he was still trying to recover from.

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N” you said smiling

“I’m Thomas brodie sangster” Thomas said giving the camera a small wave

“And we’re the cast of maze runner” you said still smiling, also trying to control your laughter

“Or at least some of it” Dylan added on making everyone lose it again. Dylan practically fell out of his chair, Thomas giggled and you just kept laughing. Dylan had a habit of making you laugh, it was one of the many things you loved about him. You and Dylan had been best friends since you met on the set of teen wolf. You were a guest star who was quickly killed off. You and Dylan hit it off immediately, you two just got each other. You had the same sense of humor, same interests, and generally you two just felt normal around each other. The two of you stayed connected even after you left the show. Then you were lucky enough to land another part with Dylan in maze runner. Dylan played Thomas, and you played Y/C/N, Thomas’ best friend and Newts love interest. You had become extremely close with the cast, they were like your family. Since the release of the scorch trials you and Dylan had become quite the hit. Though you weren’t together in the movie, everyone shipped it. Two years after scorch trials, you and Dylan were in another movie together! American assassin, Dylan played Mitch Rapp and you of course played Y/C/N, Mitch’s love interest. Everyone wanted you two together, and it was not secret, the two of you were constantly teased on set for “flirting”.

You were doing this interview for the release of your latest movie, Maze Runner: The Death Cure. You were very sad that this series was coming to an end, you were definitely gonna miss it, everyone was.

“So my first question is for all of you actually, out of the three of you, who is the funniest?” The interview met asked

“Dylan and Y/N are both quite hilarious, especially when they are together, they are always cracking jokes and laughing” Thomas said looking at you and Dylan

“We do have fun” you agreed “honestly though I think we are all pretty funny, but Dylan I would say wins this one” you said looking to your right at Dylan

“What can I say? I’m a true born comedian” said Dylan

The questions continued, Dylan and Thomas were asked a lot about work and their new projects, whereas you seemed to be getting the clothes questions, the personal life questions. Things like, “where do you recommend buying clothes?” “How was your trip to Italy” “what are you wearing today”. Sadly that was fairly normal.

“Alright Y/N your up again, now the buzzing question everywhere right now is, are you single?” The interviewer asked

“Yes I am single” you smiled even though you were generally annoyed inside “Im that girl at the family reunions who gets introduced to the 3rd cousins, and who always gets told by the grandmas, “see honey this is why you are still single”” you said

Next to you Dylan weesed and began laughing hysterically. Thomas again just giggled his sweet laugh.

“Well do they know the men you work with? I mean your standards must be pretty high huh?” The interviewer pushed

“Yes yes I guess they are” you said, Dylan laughed next to you

“Why aren’t you with any of them Y/N?” He asked

Your eyebrows knitted together at this question, was he really asking this?

“Well blondie over here” you said gesturing to Thomas “is taken as you know, and taken by one of the nicest people I know, so”

“Well what about you Dylan, I mean the media definitely wants you two together, you two are like Tom hanks and Meg Ryan, and hey if I were you I would totally hit that” he said to Dylan

You froze at this, wtf was this guy doing? Dylan’s eyebrows shot up and his jaw clenched, and Thomas glared at the interviewer.

“Really man?” Dylan asked, you adjusted yourself in your seat, moving your arms to cover your body, you suddenly felt exposed and uncomfortable.

“I was just kidding with you guys” the interviewer said laughing it off

“Wasn't very funny” Dylan said

“Sorry man, didn’t mean any harm” he said putting his hands up in defense

You were shaking, you had a past. A past no one knew about, a past that would be easily triggered by a comment like that.

“Maybe think before you speak next time” Thomas added

“Ya, not cool man” Dylan said

The tension in the room was deadly. But still the interview continued on with only two questions left.

After the interview everyone was checking to make sure you were ok, Dylan kept saying that he’d beat his ass and Thomas just repeated that he is a dick. On the way back to the hotel you were all staying at, the consern eventually died down. Thomas and Dylan were planning on meeting up with ki Hong and kaya at a bar somewhere. They asked if you wanted to join but you kindly refused saying that you needed some me time. They were hesitant at first but then gave in and left you in your hotel room. Once the door closed you ran to the bathroom, looking at yourself in the gold rimmed mirror. Then suddenly you were crying.

“No!” You yelled at yourself “don’t cry, stop it Y/N!” You told yourself, but the tears just kept flowing and they wouldn’t stop.

Dylan’s POV

I swear I was gonna murder that man, who the fuck makes comments like that? I knew Y/N, I knew how this was going to go. I could talk she was shaken up and uncomfortable, but she would never admit that. She never let people in, she claimed she didn’t want to bother anyone with her personal problems. Leaving her alone in her hotel room felt wrong, I knew she wasn’t okay. I could see it in her face. As we walked away from her door, down to the lobby I felt the sudden urge to go back. To run back to her and take her in my arms, stroke her hair and tell her it was ok. Then I decided that that was exactly what I was going to do.

“Hey man I think imma go back, you know how she is, I don’t think she should be alone” I told Thomas, he looked back at me with understanding eyes

“Ofcourse mate” he said nodding, “I think that is a brilliant idea”

“Tell kaya and ki Hong I’m sorry I missed them” I said already waking back to Y/Ns room

“Will do!” He responded

Then I burst out into a run, running back down the hall and to the elevator. I clicked the 6th floor and the second the doors opened I was out, running to Y/Ns door.

Once I got there I took the liberty of unlocking it with the extra key she had given me. She said it was only for emergencies, but I thought I could make an exception. I walked quietly into the hotel room, I opened my mouth to yell for her but then shut it again. I heard muffled cry’s coming from the bedroom. Shit, I hope she’s watching some random soap opera, I hope that’s not her crying.

“Hey Y/N?” I said opening the door to the bedroom

Your POV

When you heard Dylan say your name you quickly sprang into action. Because you were still in the bathroom he wouldn’t be able to see u for at least a few more seconds. You wiped your eyes and tired to put yourself together before walking out to greet him.

“Hey Dylan” you said smiling, keeping up your act

Dylan studied you, he saw your smile, but he also saw your red rimmed eyes and your fidgeting hands, he heard the slight crack in your voice and the tiredness in it as well.

“Are you alright?” He asked stepping slowly toward you

“Ya ya I’m fine! What are you doing here?” You said, way to quickly

Dylan looked at you with sad eyes, it broke him to know that you were hiding from him. “I was worried, I wanted to make sure you were ok”

“We’ll hate to break it to ya, but um you came back for nothing, I am totally fine, faaaaaantastic!” you said smiling at him even more

“You can talk to me” he said stepping closer to you again

“There is nothing to talk about” you said

“Y/N, I know you, I know what you are doing, your not ok, and your hiding it, your shutting me out again”

“Dylan you need to calm down! I. Am. Fine!” You said, he was right though, and you both knew it “you should really go have fun!”

“Y/N-“ he started before being cut off again

“I insist Dylan, please, don’t worry about me, ok?” You said smiling sweetly

“That’s a lot easier said than done” he said looking down, then an idea came to him, it was horrible and he knew you would hate him, but he needed you to let him in “but if that’s what you want, then I’ll leave” he said

“Yes! Go have a good time!” You’d aid practically pushing him out of the bedroom

“See ya later!” You said closing the bedroom door behind him

Dylan walking over to the front door, opened it, and then closed it, still standing in your hotel room. Meanwhile you were listening to hear him leave, and when the door shut you began crying again. Then suddenly strong arms were tapped around your body, pulling you in close. You jumped.

“Hey hey, it’s just me” Dylan said stroking your hair

“But-but you left” you said looking up at him confused

“I didn’t, I’m sorry angel but I needed you to be honest with me” he said looking at you in your eyes. His heart breaking into a million pieces, he hated seeing you like this.

“I-I’m so sorry” you said beginning to cry even harder

“Don’t be sorry angel, it’s ok I’m here” he said hushing you and continuing to stroke you hair. He held you in his arms and never let you go. He held you as you cried, though he was also breaking inside.

After what seemed like forever, your tears ran out and you began to calm down. Dylan still holding you close.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asked sweetly

“Not really” you said sniffling

“You know I will go back and kill That guy if you want me too right?” He said pulling away from you so he could see your face

You didn’t look at him in the eyes, though his tried to find yours

“No it’s ok, really. That guy was a Douche bag, it’s not his fault I have shit” because you had just been crying and weren’t thinking strait, those words just slipped through your mouth. Dylan’s eyes widened and he moved your chin to that you had to face him.

“What kind of shit?” He asked

“Nothing” you said

He widened his eyes saying “really?”

You nodded in response to his action.

“Come on Y/N I’m here, please just talk to me” he pleaded

You stood up and out of Dylan’s grasp. “Listen Dylan, there is a lot you don’t know about me, and it’s all for good reason, ok? I recommend leaving it alone” you said

“I have left it alone for long enough Y/N!” He said standing up as well

“Whatever Dylan” you said waving away his statement

“No! Do not shut me out!” He said walking over to you again grabbing you hands, you could tell he was getting mad, but when he grabbed you it scared you

“No stop! Please! I’m sorry!” You pleaded, Dylan let go of your hands. His heart broke. He looked at you with concerned eyes.

“I’m sorry” he said, he noticed you were shaking, he was so confused, your reaction wasn’t normal. “Please just talk to me, please?”

You sighed and sat down on the bed, putting your face in your hands. Dylan sighed, giving up he began walking away when suddenly you began talking.

“I was 20, it was the first week of my sophomore year of college, my best friend at the time was bugging me about going to some frat party for back to school, the guys she liked had asked her to come and bring a friend. I told her I had to study but she didn’t believe me because it was the first week of school. I wasn’t a party person but I gave in. We got there, and she was drunkenly talking to the guy. I only had one drink, that the guy, his name was Brandon gave me. I started to feel sick and I went to go lie down. I was not thinking strait and when Brandon offered to help me I accepted, he carried me to the bedroom and put me down on the bed. By that time I was confused but barely conscious. He um…” you hesitated, Dylan stared at u in disbelief “he rapped me, he fucking rapped me. I tried to tell my friend but she just accused me of being jealous and not happy for her, saying Brandon would never do that. She never spoke to me again. Then a year later my boyfriend, who I had only been dating for a month or so wanted to ya know do it and I told him I wasn’t ready, I lied telling him I was a virgin. He was fine with it and he said he would wait. He asked again a month later and I still said no, this time he was more angry. We fought and I told him what happened and he called me a slut. We didn’t technically break up but we didn’t really speak. I felt bad so one time I decided to surprise him in his dorm. He was there with another girl. He cheated on me. I never told anyone else about what Brandon did to me. Not my parents, not my friends, not the police.” You finished in tears again

Dylan’s heart was in a million pieces, his best friend was raped and he didn’t know about it. Ofc it was a few years before you met him but he still kicked himself for not protecting you. He loved you! He loved you so damn much. He walked and he wrapped you up in his arms.

“It’s okay angel” he spoke softly so he would scare you. He let his emotions take hold of him, he no longer had control of what he said, “I love you so much and I will never ever leave you or hurt you, I will always protect you.” He told you

You looked up, he just said that he loved you, “what?” You asked

Dylan then realized what he had said “oh um ha” he said scratching the back of his head, screw it he thought. “Ya I love you Y/N, I have loved you for a long time, and and I feel bad telling you now, I don’t wanna take advantage of you but I do. I love you and-“ he was cut off by your lips on his. They were soft, moved as if they were meant for each other.

“I love you too” you said as you smiled

Dylan let out a breath of relief and kissed you again. When Dylan met you, you were nervous about your new job next to big actors, Dylan hugged you trying to comfort you. You never forgot that hug.

You layed in his arms, and for once in a long time you felt light, happy, and safe. And it was all because of one innocent hug.

#dylan obrien #the maze runner

[soulquirk]

a/n: this is my birthday fic for the lovely @lookslikeleese​! she is so incredibly lovely and i love her with my life. i know, I’M LATE, but it’s here, nonetheless. you can find the masterlist for Weese’s Birthday Bash here! 

synopsis: an ice cream date with Keigo turns into an ethereal experience.

pairing: takami keigo x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, implied nsfw at the end but this is some cute shit trust me

word count: 1.6k

taglist: @mindninjax​ @lostqueenambrose​ @yukiimanic​ @mstakami​

enjoy!

He showed up unannounced, the sound of flapping wings tearing your attention away from your work. He strode in that sliding glass door just like he always had, with a goofy smile on his face and a mischievous look in his eyes. 

"Hey, songbird, you busy?" 

"Not really, just finishing up." You answered, smiling back at him. 

His long feathers flapped in excitement. "Good, because if you're up to it, I'm taking you out."

You massaged your temples, trying to rub away the tension headache that had plagued your evening thus far. "On a date or with a sniper rifle?"

"You think I'd get rid of you that easily? No, we're gonna go get ice cream." Keigo proposed, kneeling beside your desk chair and stroking your forearm with gloved fingers. "I'm off patrol for the night, so I'm gonna go get changed. You probably should, too."

A laugh escaped as you noted your lack of both bra and pants. "You're right, I should put on my best for my Number Two." You booped his nose before standing up. 

He scrunched up his face playfully, rising with you. 

After you both got dressed into civilian clothes, Keigo dragged you out to the balcony. 

"Kei, my legs are perfectly capable of walking to the nearest ice cream place. Plus, aren't your wings tired?" You worried aloud. 

He whined, pulling you into his chest. "Yeah, but I like flying with you. Gives me an excuse to hold you."

"You do know you don't need an excuse for that, right?"

"Why are you so full of questions? We're flying, now c'mere." 

You relinquished, letting him pull you close, his hands dipping down to your thighs. Jumping on instinct, you wrapped your legs around his waist and arms around his neck. He took a moment to admire you, offering a loving smile that could melt steel. "God, you're so fucking pretty."

Blushing, you hid your face in his chest as he took off, not giving you a chance for a rebuttal. 

The wind whipped by your face. You looked up at Keigo, who was staring straight ahead. Bright lights and colors flashed by in a blur, illuminating his features in a kaleidoscope. His hair was swept back, giant wings framing the edges of your vision. He looked beautiful.

Keigo noticed your eyes on him, the playful glint in his eyes visible through his visor. "Take a picture, it lasts longer."

You slapped his back, dangerously close to the base of a wing. 

He swerved down a few different blocks, impressing you with his ability to swing around buildings and congested areas with relative ease. You had reached a quieter part of the city, one where Keigo's fans wouldn't be as much of a nuisance. 

While you loved his fans, they could be a bit cumbersome at times. You could barely go on dates in public nowadays because of his status. They would outwardly flirt with him, get in his personal space, and, at rare times, threaten you for being his significant other. 

Keigo was a very level-headed man, except when the latter situation came into play. If someone were to even give you a side-eye, he'd be right by your side, telling everyone to fuck off in kinder terms. He'd try not to be in a grumpy mood for the rest of the night, but you could tell it was still bothering him hours later.  

You felt him slow down, your bodies returning to an upright position as he landed. He let go of you slowly, one hand staying on your back while he pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

The tiny ice cream parlor looked like it had been pulled straight from 1950s America. Striped awning, checkered tile floor, red chrome barstools. Even the workers were wearing paper hats and white aprons. 

The hand on your back snaked around your waist and pulled you in. "So, what do you think?"

"It's adorable. How'd you find this place?" You inquired, taking in the vintage metal posters and matching chrome bar. 

"Fatgum. He told me to mention him for a discount. Not that we need it, really."

"Ah, yes, I forget that I'm engaged to Japan's second-richest hero," you remarked, slipping out of his grasp to enter the shop. 

He was immediately swarmed by a group of twenty-somethings, all asking for autographs and pictures. You knew the drill, so you both exchanged a nod, and you went inside to get seats. 

A few minutes later, the tiny bell above the door rang, and you witnessed something angelic. Your fiance, stepping through that doorway, having to squeeze together his wings to fit. When he was inside, he stretched them back out, rolling his shoulders a few times. Even though he was just in jeans and a t-shirt, the man looked like a god. A deity among men, one who favored both chicken nuggets and your company. 

"What'd I say about pictures?" He teased, moving to sit by you at the bar. You knew he'd be uncomfortable in a booth, so this was a better option. "Why would I need one when you're right here for me to stare at?" 

It was his turn to blush, hiding half his face in the heel of one hand. 

A young waitress took your orders, and you ate while discussing your day. "So, this client tells me they want low-viscosity rayon fabric, with a half-loop top stitch on the hem. Like, how? Does she even know how dressmaking works? That stitch would snag the fabric and ruin any dress." You ramble, knowing Keigo has absolutely no clue what you're talking about, but listens nonetheless. 

"Well, that can't be worse than a grown-ass man asking me to fly him up to his apartment today. What do I look like, an elevator?" 

"You certainly have buttons I like to push."

He laughed, a lovely sound that echoed off the brick walls. "If that isn't the damn truth, I don't know what is." 

You chuckled back at him, taking another bite of the frozen dessert. A drop slipped past your lips, but before you could grab a napkin, a hand gently grabbed your chin, and soft lips met yours. 

Keigo kissed you lovingly, but not going too far, seeing as you were still in public. "Got something there, songbird." He smirked as he pulled away. "And what made you think that was the best way to clean it up?"

"Ouch!" He feigned offense, "A guy can't just kiss his girl for the fuck of it?"

His girl. A fact that made your heart flutter every time you thought of it. "I guess you can. As a treat." 

His hand moved up to stroke your cheek, and you felt your skin heat up at his touch. "I love you. I hope you know that."

"Of course I do."

The rest of your time at the parlor was spent finishing your ice cream and bantering back and forth with Keigo. For you both, it was a love language; the ability to be witty towards each other was one of the things he loved most about your relationship. 

He paid swiftly and took your hand, getting up. "Come on, I wanna show you something."

Curious, you followed him out. 

He turned to you, welcoming you into his arms. "Hold on tight, dove."

You complied, letting him lift you into that all-too-familiar position as he took flight. However, he wasn't flying towards home. Instead, he kept soaring higher and higher, past the tops of the buildings and towards the clouds. Moisture tickled your face and arms as he flew through them. 

When the sky cleared again, you were met with an ethereal scene. The night sky that was usually hidden by light pollution was suddenly on full display. The fluffy clouds hid the city from view, almost as if you were in another world altogether. Every tiny star and nebulae cluster greeted your eyes, like the universe itself was welcoming you. The New Moon hid away in the darkness, letting the Milky Way have the night. 

Keigo, however, wasn't looking skyward. He was too focused on the galaxies reflected in your eyes. The unbridled joy that painted your face made him tear up; he still wasn't used to being this happy with someone. It filled him with pride. "Hey, songbird?"

You broke contact with the stars to look into his eyes. Avian pupils slightly distorted from tears stared right into your soul, his smile lighting your heart on fire. 

There wasn't any time to respond to his query before his lips latched onto yours again. You were already as close as you could be to him, but he was determined to get you even closer. His hands traveled down to your legs, cinched around his waist, caressing your sides on the way down. He gripped your thighs firmly, making you gasp. He took the chance then to slide his tongue against yours. 

Almost too soon, he pulled back. He looked as starstruck as you had earlier, but for an entirely different reason. "God, I love you. You are so amazing, in every sense of the word. Marry me?"

You laughed, burying your face in his neck. "I'll think about it," you mused, pressing a kiss to his trapezius and admiring the diamond ring on your left hand. 

Keigo hugged you tightly. "Don't think too long, okay? I've got one more thing I wanna do tonight."

"Oh, dear," you chuckled. "What could possibly be better than this?"

"Well, not to be cheesy, but I'd like to make you see stars in another way." He said suggestively, beginning the descent back home.

#keigo takami x reader #takami keigo x reader #hawks x reader #bnha #hawks #keigo takami #takami keigo #my posts #my writing #HAPPY BIRTHDAY WEESE #weese tag

[itsleese]

★ nickname ratings ★

@peachblossomjelly tagged me in this game here and im creating a new post as to not be perceived and judged for my choices ♡︎

also im going to preface this with SOMETIMES THE SQUICKY ONES ARE OKAY. SOMETIMES. only rarely.

mummy/daddy 4/10 — mmm im not gonna go looking for it, but sometimes it’s hot

darling 2/10 — only if there’s an age gap OR historical au

doll 0/10 — no.

slut/whore 7/10 — hell yeah, baby

baby/babe 10/10 — normal, sexy, not out of the ordinary. a solid nickname for a lover. more writers should use this lmao

love 2/10 — only if there’s an age gap OR historical au

bae 0/10 — no.

kitten 1/10 — no. only kuroo

puppy 0/10 — no.

cow 0/10 — what? no.

guppy 0/10 — no. only if ria writes it

dove 0/10 — no.

princess/prince 9/10 — yes, this is an ego stroker

brat 7/10 — hell yeah!

dumbass 10/10 — i am a dumbass and you should say it!

tagging: @yukiimanic @katsufictie @bakatenshii @blahkugo @pleasantanathema @spacelabrathor @jirou-s @fluoresence @sightoru @rat-suki @mindninjax @aoyokai @shoyokuns @undermattsun @pomsuki @some-kindofgnome @messwriting @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten & you!

#tag games #ask games #I added a couple of names lmao #weese plays #FUN FUN FUN

[strafepanzer]

maybe i train up an azumarill and take him on myself

#HMMMMMMM #i want him so bad #weese plays pokemon

[aic-african]

Man’s Hat (Ntamp), Bamileke, 1925, Art Institute of Chicago: Arts of Africa

In the Grassfields region of Cameroon, hats play an important role not only in ceremonial dress but in everyday fashion as well. A ntamp, as this informal hat is called, is worn on nonceremonial days by men of moderate status and means, and can be identified by its often bright cotton thread and a broad, flat top. This one was also embellished with a ruffled wool brim. The crown of the hat was designed with a central bright red circle, with black geometric elements radiating outward, producing a strong graphic effect. Gift of Donald Young and Shirley Weese Young Size: 11.4 × 20.3 cm (4 1/2 × 8 in.) Medium: Wool, fiber, and pigment

https://www.artic.edu/artworks/229897/

#museumarchive #bamileke #africanart #artinstituteofchicago

[the-king-andthe-lionheart]

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes - Arya Stark and her Cinderella Motifs

In A Song of Ice and Fire, GRRM often uses fairy tale motifs to help tell a character’s story.  Sometimes this motif spans all throughout the characters arc while other times it will only be used for one or two scenes, or anywhere in between.  And often one character can have several fairy tale motifs at different times in their arcs or even running concurrently.  For Arya, she has quite a few fairy tale motifs in her arc, but for now I’m going to focus on her Cinderella motifs that are mainly prevalent in A Clash of Kings but do show up at other times all throughout her arc as well. I’m going to focus primarily on Arya’s A Clash of Kings arc, but we will be stopping by A Storm of Swords and A Feast for Crows a few times too.  And I am going to use several versions of the retellings of Cinderella, including the Disney version, but only the 1950 original and none of its sequels.  I also want to note that not all the parallels are obvious due to things being more metaphorical or symbolic, while other times being whatever subversion that tickled GRRM’s fancy at the time.

There are many common aspects across the board when it comes to Cinderella retellings.  Often it entails the heroine losing one or both of her parents, being oppressed by her abusive stepmother and stepsisters and being forced into menial, backbreaking labor that leaves the heroine dirty and often covered in ashes.  It usually entails a magical guardian who helps the heroine, magical transformations, ballgowns and a ball where she falls in love with either a Prince or a King. An identifying item is also involved, usually a slipper made of gold or glass, where one of the pair is lost when the heroine is running from her beloved.  And the Prince/King almost always searches the realm for the woman that identifying item belongs to, and when he finds the heroine they usually marry.

Written out like that it’s hard to believe that this is a motif used for Arya.  After all she’s not in the position to be going to balls and she’s just a child so it seems unlikely at the time she’s at Harrenhal she’s going to fall in love.  However, this motif appears all throughout her arc in various and creative and subversive and repetitive ways, and motifs don’t have to be all or none and they don’t have to be in the order the original stories were laid out.  A lot of people also don’t like the idea that Arya has an actual Disney Princess motif in her story because she’s a “tomboy”, but the fact is that Arya is a Princess at the time she’s at Harrenhal, it’s even explicitly stated in Arya X ACOK, whether people acknowledge it or not, where a lot of these motifs take place.  I know some people will be dismissive of this and think I’m reaching, but I hope upon reading this I’ll have convinced you of this motif being present. :)

Step-Mother and Step-Sisters

Some of the two most common features in any variant of Cinderella is the “Persecuted Heroine” and the “Female Persecutor”.  Often this manifests as the wicked stepmother and the evil step-sisters, but in some versions a stepmother does not appear, and it’s the heroine’s older sisters who confine her to the kitchens instead.  In the opera, La Cenerentola, Gioachino Rossini inverted the gender roles where the heroine Cenerentola is oppressed by her stepfather.  And in some retellings at least one of the step siblings is somewhat kind to the heroine even.  We symbolically see these archetypes many times in Arya’s narrative with various types of inversions.

When we enter ACOK, we find a dirty and disguised Arya traveling with Yoren and the Night’s Watch recruits, having just lost her father (a subversion of the prevalent theme of Cinderella losing her mother very young).  She is also being bullied by two older boys, Lommy and Hot Pie:

At Winterfell they [Sansa and Jeyne] had called her “Arya Horseface” and she’d thought nothing could be worse, but that was before the orphan boy Lommy Greenhands had named her “Lumpyhead.” - Arya I ACOK

That wasn’t the hardest part at all; Lommy Greenhands and Hot Pie were the hardest part. - Arya I ACOK

“Look at that sword Lumpyhead’s got there,” Lommy said one morning […] “Where’s a gutter rat like Lumpyhead get him a sword?”

[. . .]

“Maybe he’s a little squire,” Hot Pie put in. […] “Some lordy lord’s little squire boy, that’s it.”

“He ain’t no squire, look at him.  I bet that’s not even a real sword.  I bet it’s just some play sword made of tin.”

Arya hated them making fun of Needle.  “It’s castle-forged steel, you stupid,” she snapped, turning in the saddle to glare at them, “and you better shut your mouth.”

The orphan boys hooted.  “Where’d you get a blade like that, Lumpyface?” Hot Pie wanted to know.

“Lumpyhead,” corrected Lommy.  He prob’ly stole it.”

“I did not!” she shouted.  Jon Snow had given her Needle.  Maybe she had to let them call her Lumpyhead, but she wasn’t going to let them call Jon a thief.

“If he stole it, we could take it off him,” said Hot Pie.  “It’s not his anyhow.  I could use me a sword like that.”

Lommy egged him on.  “Go on, take it off him, I dare you.”

Hot Pie kicked his donkey, riding closer.  “Hey, Lumpyface, you gimme that sword.” […] “You don’t know how to use it.”

[. . .]

“Look at him,” brayed Lommy Greenhands.  “I bet he’s going to cry now.  You want to cry, Lumpyhead?” – Arya I ACOK

In the first two quotes we have Arya likening the behavior of Hot Pie and Lommy to that of Jeyne Poole and Sansa. In AGOT, Sansa and Jeyne took on the “evil step-sister” archetype (and before anybody attacks me, I don’t think these two are actually “evil”, just children who think it’s okay to bully someone who is different from them), but now we are shown that this archetype has temporarily shifted onto Lommy and Hot Pie, with some subversions.  These two are now male and they aren’t related to Arya in any way.  Some variants of the Cinderella story do portray male siblings mistreating the younger “Cinderella” sibling though.  One of the stories in One Thousand and One Nights depict a story called “Judar and his Brethren”, in which the main character is poisoned by his biological brothers in the end, depicting a rare tragic ending for this retelling. However, these subversions are completely fine because either way, they took on the role of the “bully” to Arya’s Cinderella archetype currently in the narrative.  

Furthermore, while Septa Mordane was the obvious “wicked stepmother” archetype to Arya’s Cinderella archetype in AGOT, I think arguably this has fallen to Cersei now (and the Lannister’s as a whole).  Cersei may not be present, but she is the reason why Arya is in the situation she is in right now.  After all, Cersei takes on the role of “Evil Queen” for Sansa and Jon (they both share Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs motifs) so I do think she is the metaphorical “wicked stepmother” in this equation regardless of the fact that Cersei isn’t anything remotely close to a stepmother to Arya in the narrative, but she fits the general archetype of “female persecutor” the most in the current situation.  For the case about Septa Mordane being a “wicked stepmother” archetype, I want to point to Cenerentola by Basile, in which the “wicked stepmother” started out as being the heroine’s governess, and Septa’s are the closest substitute to a governess in the universe of ASOIAF.

This isn’t the end to these archetypes being in play.  As the early chapters of ACOK go on we see the animosity between Lommy, Hot Pie, and Arya disappear to the point where they become allies and then friends. With this shift in dynamic we see the archetypes disappearing with some of these same characters taking on entirely new Cinderella archetypes, while the “wicked stepmother” and “evil step-sibling” archetypes move onto other characters as well.

At Harrenhal we are introduced to two wicked women who next take on the “evil step-sibling” archetype, Goodwife Harra and Goodwife Amabel.  These two even comment on Arya’s feet:

When Arya's turn came round, Goodwife Amabel clucked in dismay at the sight of her feet, while Goodwife Harra felt the callus on her fingers that long hours of practice with Needle had earned her. "Got those churning butter, I'll wager," she said. "Some farmer's whelp, are you? Well, never you mind, girl, you have a chance to win a higher place in this world if you work hard. If you won't work hard, you'll be beaten. And what do they call you?"

Arya dared not say her true name, but Arry was no good either, it was a boy’s name and they could see she was no boy.  “Weasel,” she said, naming the first girl she could think of.  “Lommy called me Weasel.”

“I can see why,” sniffed Goodwife Amabel.  “That hair is a fright and a nest for lice as well. We’ll have it off, and then you’re for the kitchens.”

“I’d sooner tend the horses.”  Arya liked horses, and maybe if she was in the stables she’d be able to steal one and escape.

Goodwife Harra slapped her so hard that her swollen lip broke open all over again.  “And keep that tongue to yourself or you’ll get worse.  No one asked your views.”

The blood in her mouth had a salty metal tang to it. Arya dropped her gaze and said nothing. If I still had Needle, she wouldn’t dare hit me, she thought sullenly.

“Lord Tywin and his knights have grooms and squires to tend their horses, they don’t need the likes of you,” Goodwife Amabel said. “The kitchens are snug and clean, and there’s always a warm fire to sleep by and plenty to eat.  You might have done well there, but I can see you’re not a clever girl.  Harra, I believe we should give this one to Weese.”

“If you think so, Amabel.”  They gave her a shift of grey roughspun wool and a pair of ill-fitting shoes and sent her off. – Arya VI ACOK

Later Goodwife Amabel even threatens to rape Arya:

Three Frey men-at-arms were using them that morning as Arya went to the well. She tried not to look, but she could hear the men laughing. The pail was very heavy once full. She was turning to bring it back to Kingspyre when Goodwife Amabel seized her arm. The water went sloshing over the side onto Amabel's legs. "You did that on purpose," the woman screeched.

"What do you want?" Arya squirmed in her grasp. Amabel had been half-crazed since they'd cut Harra's head off.

"See there?" Amabel pointed across the yard at Pia. "When this northman falls you'll be where she is."

"Let me go." She tried to wrench free, but Amabel only tightened her fingers.

"He will fall too, Harrenhal pulls them all down in the end. Lord Tywin's won now, he'll be marching back with all his power, and then it will be his turn to punish the disloyal. And don't think he won't know what you did!" The old woman laughed. "I may have a turn at you myself. Harra had an old broom, I'll save it for you. The handle's cracked and splintery—" - Arya X ACOK

Menial, Backbreaking Labor

When Arya is enslaved and forced into the oppressive walls of Harrenhal, she is forced to scrub floors and do other menial, backbreaking work from sunrise to sunset, just like Cinderella:

Weese used Arya to run messages, draw water, and fetch food, and sometimes to serve at table in the Barracks Hall above the armory, where the men-at-arms took their meals. But most of her work was cleaning. The ground floor of the Wailing Tower was given over to storerooms and granaries, and two floors above housed part of the garrison, but the upper stories had not been occupied for eighty years. Now Lord Tywin had commanded that they be made fit for habitation again. There were floors to be scrubbed, grime to be washed off windows, broken chairs and rotted beds to be carried off. The topmost story was infested with nests of the huge black bats that House Whent had used for its sigil, and there were rats in the cellars as well . . . and ghosts, some said, the spirits of Harren the Black and his sons. – Arya VII ACOK

She spent the rest of that day scrubbing steps inside the Wailing Tower. By evenfall her hands were raw and bleeding and her arms so sore they trembled when she lugged the pail back to the cellar. Too tired even for food, Arya begged Weese's pardons and crawled into her straw to sleep. – Arya VII ACOK

Magical Transformations and Mice

In Disney’s Cinderella, the fairy godmother transforms mice into different creatures.  On the road to Harrenhal, Arya not only likens herself to a sheep, but a mouse and continues her time at Harrenhal referring to herself as a “mouse”.  This is also a subversion, while Cinderella in the Disney incarnation befriends mice, in our story Arya becomes the meek mouse:

On the road Arya had felt like a sheep, but Harrenhal turned her into a mouse.  She was grey as a mouse in her scratchy wool shift, and like a mouse she kept to the crannies and crevices and dark holes of the castle, scurrying out of the way of the mighty. – Arya VII ACOK

He does not know me, she thought.  Arry was a fierce little boy with a sword, and I’m just a grey mouse girl with a pail. – Arya VII ACOK

She was very small and Harrenhal was very large, full of places where a mouse could hide. – Arya VII ACOK

Even Jaqen calls Arya a mouse:

She crept up quiet as a shadow, but he opened his eyes all the same.  “She steals in on little mice feet, but a man hears,” he said.  How could he hear me? She wondered, and it seemed as if he heard that as well.  “The scuff of leather on stone sings loud as warhorns to a man with open ears.  Clever girls go barefoot.” – Arya VIII ACOK

However, through Jaqen, Arya begins to feel more in control of her situation, stronger and is transformed, if only for a short time.

“…Some are saying it was Harren’s ghost flung him down.” He snorted to show what he thought of such notions.

It wasn’t Harren, Arya wanted to say, it was me. She has killed Chiswyck with a whisper, and she would kill two more before she was through.  I’m the ghost in Harrenhal, she thought.  And that night, there was one less name to hate. – Arya VII ACOK

I was a sheep, and then I was a mouse, I couldn’t do anything but hide.  Arya chewed her lip and tried to think when her courage had come back.  Jaqen made me brave again.  He made me a ghost instead of a mouse. – Arya IX ACOK

Lucifer the Cat

In Disney’s Cinderella, Lucifer is Lady Tremaine’s cat who is described as being a sly, wicked, and manipulative mouse consumer.  He spends the whole film trying to torment and catch the mice.  I feel that Weese takes on aspects of this feline character, and I think this because of certain descriptors that are given to Weese to make him appear almost catlike:

“Weasel,” Weese purred, “next time I see that mouth droop open, I’ll pull out your tongue and feed it to my bitch.” – Arya VII ACOK

In his own small strutting way, Weese was nearly as scary as Ser Gregor.  The Mountain swatted men like flies, but most of the time he did not even seem to know the fly was there.  Weese always knew you were there, and what you were doing, and sometimes what you were thinking.  He would hit at the slightest provocation, and he had a dog who was near as bad as he was, an ugly spotted bitch that smelled worse than any dog Arya had ever known. Once she saw him set the dog on a latrine boy who’d annoyed him.  She tore a big chunk out of the boy’s calf while Weese laughed. – Arya VII ACOK

So here we have Weese purring, strutting, being compared to the Mountain who swats at peoples, and being watchful and observant, very much like a cat.  And like in the movie, a dog attacks him.  Now Weese didn’t fall from a tower window, but Chiswyck fell/was pushed. Considering these two are the two people Arya had Jaqen kill, I wouldn’t be surprised if they are meant to make up two halves of a whole in this regard.  After all, they are both wicked creatures who prey upon the weak, just like Lucifer and they both got their just desserts for it.

Jaq the Mouse

In Disney’s Cinderella, Cinderella rescues mice from traps, as well as from Lucifer, and dresses and feeds them.  They perform favors in return.  At the beginning of the film, a mouse named Gus is trapped in a cage, and the leader of the mice finds him and retrieves Cinderella to free him.  The leader of the mice is a mouse named Jaq, and he was also a mouse that was saved by Cinderella from a cage.  This sounds awfully familiar…

Rushing through the barn doors was like running into a furnace.  The air was swirling with smoke, the back wall a sheet of fire ground to roof. Their horses and donkeys were kicking and rearing and screaming.  The poor animals, Arya thought.  Then she saw the wagon, and the three men manacled to its bed.  Biter was flinging himself against the chains, blood running down his arms from where the iron clasped his wrists.  Rorge screamed curses, kicking at the wood.  “Boy!” called Jaqen H’ghar.  “Sweet boy!”

[. . .]

“Good boys, kind boys,” called Jaqen H’ghar, coughing.

“Get these fucking chains off!” Rorge screamed.

[. . .]

Going back into that barn was the hardest thing she ever did.  Smoke was pouring out the open door like a writhing black snake, and she could hear the screams of the poor animals inside, donkeys and horses and men.  She chewed her lip, and darted through the doors, crouched low where the smoke wasn’t quite so thick.

A donkey was caught in a ring of fire, shrieking in terror and pain.  She could smell the stench of burning hair.  The roof was gone up too, and things were falling down, pieces of flaming wood and bits of straw and hay.  Arya put a hand over her mouth and nose.  She couldn’t see the wagon for the smoke, but she could still hear Biter screaming.  She crawled toward the sound.

And then a wheel was looming over her.  The wagon jumped and moved a half foot when Biter threw himself against his chains again.  Jaqen saw her, but it was too hard to breathe, let alone talk.  She threw the axe into the wagon.  Rorge caught it and lifted it over his head, rivers of sooty sweat pouring down his noseless face.  Arya was running, coughing.  She heard the steel crash through the old wood, and again, again. An instant later came a crack as loud as thunder, and the bottom of the wagon came ripping loose in an explosion of splinters. – Arya IV ACOK

So here we have Jaq who is leader of the mice, who also helps Cinderella by doing her favors.  Then we have Jaqen H’ghar who is the leader of Rorge and Biter (this name seems even more fitting now) and who is performing favors for Arya, which leads me to Jaqen’s dual Cinderella archetype: Fairy Godmother.

Magical Helpers

Some versions of Magical Helpers come from fairy godmothers or talking animals or genies.  In other versions this help comes to the heroine through her dead mother, often manifesting through animal aid.  In One Thousand and One Nights, in the story of “Judar and his Brethren” Judar is our Cinderella figure, whose own brothers betray and poison him, but before that he was gifted a genie named Al-Ra’ad al-Kasif who granted Judar’s wishes.  In the passage below Jaqen grants Arya three “wishes” which is typical for genies to grant in our popular consciousness:

She remembered that she hated him.  “You scared me.  You’re one of them now, I should have let you burn.  What are you doing here?  Go away or I’ll yell for Weese.”

“A man pays his debts.  A man owes three.”

“Three?”

“The Red God has his due, sweet girl, and only death may pay for life.  This girl took three that were his.  This girl must give three in their places.  Speak the names, and a man will do the rest.”

He wants to help me, Arya realized with a rush of hope that made her dizzy.  “Take me to Riverrun, it’s not far, if we stole some horses we could—”

He laid a finger on her lips.  “Three lives you shall have of me.  No more, no less.  Three and we are done.  So a girl must ponder.”  He kissed her hair softly.  “But not too long.” – Arya VII ACOK

Later, we also see that “wishes” have consequences, which is also prevalent when genies are concerned.  GRRM himself is a big fan of consequences and unintended side effects.  

Jaqen is not Arya’s only form of Magical Help at Harrenhal however.  Jaqen may take on the role of Fairy Godmother/Genie, but we also see Arya experiencing the help of not only an animal aid, but from a dead parent.  For instance, the heroine in Aschenputtel, by the Brother’s Grimm, is given a hazel twig by her father that she plants over her mother’s grave.  She waters it with tears and over the years it grows into a glowing hazel tree.  The girl prays under it three times a day, chanting, and a bird emerges from it that grants her wishes.  There are two instances of something similar happening in the books:

In the godswood she found her broomstick sword where she had left it, and carried it to the heart tree.  There she knelt.  Red leaves rustled.  Red eyes peered inside her.  The eyes of the gods.  “Tell me what to do, you gods,” she prayed.

For a long moment there was no sound but the wind and the water and the creak of leaf and limb.  And then, far far off, beyond the godswood and the haunted towers and the immense stone walls of Harrenhal, from somewhere out in the world, came the long lonely howl of a wolf.  Gooseprickles rose on Arya’s skin, and for an instant she felt dizzy.  Then, so faintly, it seemed as if she heard her father’s voice.  “When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,” he said.

“But there is no pack,” she whispered to the weirwood.  Bran and Rickon were dead, the Lannisters had Sansa, Jon had gone to the Wall.  “I’m not even me now, I’m Nan.”

“You are Arya of Winterfell, daughter of the north. You told me you could be strong.  You have the wolf blood in you.”

“The wolf blood.”  Arya remembered now.  “I’ll be as strong as Robb.  I said I would.”  She took a deep breath, then lifted the broomstick in both hands and brought it down across her knee.  It broke with a loud crack, and she threw the pieces aside.  I am a direwolf, and done with wooden teeth. – Arya X ACOK

Here we see an inversion. Arya’s mother isn’t dead at this time, but her father, Ned is.  He is who we hear through the heart tree giving Arya this empowering “Mufasa” moment that gives way to Arya’s true transformation in this arc, she reclaims her identity.  And as soon as Arya asks the old gods for aid, a wolf howls in the distance as if in answer.  It’s not confirmed but I do truly believe that this howl came from Nymeria, by way of the Old Gods/Greenseers, who somehow helped strengthen their bond.  It is after this moment that Arya starts having full on wolf dreams in earnest and it’s through her first wolf dream that we see that Nymeria may have become Arya’s animal aid:

Her dreams were red and savage.  The Mummers were in them, four at least, a pale Lyseni and a dark brutal axeman from Ib, the scarred Dothraki horse lord called Iggo and a Dornishman whose name she never knew.  On and on they came, riding through the rain in rusting mail and wet leather, swords and axe clanking against their saddles.  They thought they were hunting her, she knew with all the strange sharp certainty of dreams, but they were wrong.  She was hunting them.

She was no little girl in the dream; she was a wolf, huge and powerful, and when she emerged from beneath the trees in front of them and bared her teeth in a low rumbling growl, she could small the rank stench of fear from horse and man alike.  The Lyseni’s mount reared and screamed in terror, and the others shouted at one another in mantalk, but before they could act the other wolves came hurtling from the darkness and the rain, a great pack of them, gaunt and wet and silent.

The fight was short but bloody.  The hairy man went down as he unslung his axe, the dark one died stringing an arrow, and the pale man from Lys tried to bolt.  Her brothers and sisters ran him down, turning him again and again, coming at him from all sides, snapping at the legs of his horse and tearing the throat from the rider when he came crashing to the earth. – Arya I ASOS

We see here that Nymeria and her pack protected Arya, Gendry, and Hot Pie against their pursuers after their escape from Harrenhal.

Here is another instance of Arya praying under the heart tree:

Arya went to her knees.  She wasn’t sure how she should begin.  She clasped her hands together.  Help me, you old gods, she prayed silently.  Help me get those men out of the dungeon so we can kill Ser Amory, and bring me home to Winterfell.  Make me a water dancer and a wolf and not afraid again, ever.

Was that enough?  Maybe she should pray aloud if she wanted the old gods to hear.  Maybe she should pray longer.  Sometimes her father had prayed a long time, she remembered. But the old gods had never helped him. Remembering that made her angry. “You should have saved him,” she scolded the tree.  “He prayed to you all the time.  I don’t care if you help me or not.  I don’t think you could even if you wanted to.”

“Gods are not mocked, girl.”

The voice startled her.  She leapt to her feet and drew her wooden sword.  Jaqen H’ghar stood so still in the darkness that he seemed one of the trees.  “A man comes to hear a name.  One and two and then comes three.  A man would have done.”

Arya lowered the splintery point toward the ground. “How did you know I was here?”

“A man sees.  A mean hears.  A man knows.”

She regarded him suspiciously.  Had the gods sent him?  “How’d you make the dog kill Weese?  Did you call Rorge and Biter up from hell?  Is Jaqen H’ghar your true name?

“Some men have many names.  Weasel.  Arry. Arya.”

She backed away from him, until she was pressed against the heart tree.  “Did Gendry tell?”

“A man knows,” he said again.  “My lady of Stark.”

Maybe the gods had sent him in answer to her prayers. – Arya IX ACOK

In Cenerentola, the heroine’s (Zezolla) father is given a date seedling by a fairy and he gives it to his daughter.  Zezolla cultivates the tree in which a fairy lives.  This fairy gives Zezolla magical aid.  When Arya prayed beneath the heart tree in the above quote it almost seems like Jaqen appeared from the trees, leaving Arya to question if the old gods sent him.

And like in Aschenputtel and Disney’s Cinderella, Arya spends time at Harrenhal singing/chanting to herself as well:

Barefoot surefoot lightfoot, she sang under her breath. I am the ghost in Harrenhal. – Arya IX ACOK

This is very strange for a couple of reasons.  When we first meet Arya she claims not to like songs and doesn’t sing.  She continues this up until she goes to Braavos. There she discovers that she likes the bawdy songs when she is using the name, Cat of the Canals.  The only exception to this is when Arya is at Harrenhal. Another reason this is odd is because of where Arya is at physically and mentally.  So either Arya was always lying about not liking songs, or Arya singing here is supposed to tell us something.

And while this might not mean anything, I found it interesting that Arya spends a lot of her time in ACOK barefoot.  Now Cinderella isn’t really said to be barefoot in the stories, but she did usually lose a shoe when running away from the Prince/King, hence making her barefoot. When Arya decides to escape Harrenhal, she does don a pair of shoes again and from then on out she mostly wears them.  This also leads to a fun bit of subversion.  In the originals tales it’s always the Prince/King saving Cinderella from further oppression.  But in Arya X ACOK, not only did she (a princess) plan the escape, but she saves Gendry, a lost (albeit bastard) prince, along with Hot Pie, from further oppression (and torture and death) by their slavers in their prison camp.  (Hot Pie definitely reminds me of Gus Gus as well by the way :D)

From Rags to Riches

In many versions of Cinderella, we also see the heroine become physically transformed.  The heroine is usually dirty, covered in ashes, and wearing “rags” before they are made over.  In the most popular version, Disney’s Cinderella, the Fairy Godmother magically turns her from dirty household servant to highborn lady, adorning her in a silver ballgown and glass slippers.  In Ye Xian, magical fish bones, help the heroine dress appropriately for a local Festival, including a light, golden shoe.  And in Aschenputtel, the doves that emerge from her hazel tree, that grant the heroine wishes, drop a gold and silver gown and silk shoes down to her to wear to the ball.  Also, noticeably, this is the time the Prince/King notices Cinderella and finally “sees” her.

While we didn’t get anything like that in ACOK, we don’t have to look much farther than ASOS, when Arya goes to Acorn Hall and meets Lady Smallwood, who puts her in two different dresses:

And afterward, they insisted she dress herself in girl’s things, brown woolen stockings and a light linen shift, and over that a light green gown with acorns embroidered all over the bodice in brown thread, and more acorns bordering the hem. – Arya IV ASOS

It was even worse than before; Lady Smallwood insisted that Arya take another bath, and cut and comb her hair besides; the dress she put her in this time was sort of lilac-colored, and decorated with little baby pearls.  The only good thing about it was that it was so delicate that no one could expect her to ride in it. – Arya IV ASOS

And while there is no ball, Arya and Gendry spend their time in the forge together.  This is the very first time Gendry has seen Arya look like a proper lady.  Cinderella and Arya are no longer dirty and in rags and they are now in gowns looking their place in society, despite Arya’s dress not being nearly as grand.  However, it’s enough of a change for Gendry to finally realize just who Arya truly is when it comes to her place in the world.  And judging by his behavior after this event, he also begins to acknowledge that if he continues to stay by her side he could potentially love her romantically in the future as well:  

Gendry reached out with the tongs as if to pinch her face, but Arya swatted them away.

[. . .]

Gendry put the hammer down and looked at her.  “You look different now.  Like a proper little girl.”

“I look like an oak tree, with all these stupid acorns.”

“Nice, though.  A nice oak tree.”  He stepped closer, and sniffed at her.  “You even smell nice for a change.” – Arya IV ASOS

Runaway Princess

Now we may not have had a ball, but while taking shelter in a stone stable with the Brotherhood Without Banners, Arya does run outside, trying to get away from everyone:

His words beat at her ears like the pounding of a drum, and suddenly it was more than Arya could stand.  She wanted Riverrun, not Acorn Hall; she wanted her mother and her brother Robb, not Lady Smallwood or some uncle she never knew.  Whirling, she broke for the door, and when Harwin tried to grab her arm she spun away from him quick as a snake.

Outside the stables the rain was still falling, and distant lightning flashed in the west.  Arya ran as fast as she could.  She did not know where she was going, only that she wanted to be alone, away from all the voices, away from their hollow words and broken promises.  All I wanted was to go to Riverrun.  It was her own fault, for taking Gendry and Hot Pie with her when she left Harrenhal.  She would have been better alone.  If she had been alone, the outlaws would never have caught her, and she’d be with Robb and her mother by now.  They were never my pack.  If they had been, they wouldn’t leave me.  She splashed through a puddle of muddy water.  Someone was shouting her name, Harwin probably, or Gendry, but the thunder drowned them out as it rolled across the hills half a heartbeat behind the lightning.  The lightning lord, she thought angrily.  Maybe he couldn’t die, but he could lie. – Arya VIII ASOS

Now it’s not explicitly clear that it was Gendry who ran after Arya, calling her name, but due to the possible symbolism in the scene, and also his behavior in AFFC, it makes me think it was him.  But whether he was or not I believe just Arya believing it might be him makes this applicable enough as a loose parallel for the Prince chasing after Cinderella, only for Cinderella to disappear like in many of the Cinderella retellings.  

Searching the Realm

At the end of ASOS in the epilogue we learn that Lady Stoneheart and the Brotherhood Without Banners, who Gendry is a part of is actively searching for Arya:

The outlaw gave him (Merrett Frey) an encouraging smile. “Well, as it happens, we’re looking for a dog that ran away.”

“A dog?” Merrett was lost.  “What kind of dog?”

“He answers to the name Sandor Clegane […] Did you see him at the wedding, perchance?”

[. . .]

“He would have had a child with him,” said the singer.  “A skinny girl, about ten.  Or perhaps a boy the same age.”

“I don’t think so,” said Merrett.  “Not that I knew.” – Epilogue ASOS

In many retellings of the Cinderella story, the Prince/King searches the realm looking for the heroine with an identifying item, and typically that item is a shoe of some sort.  Once the shoe is placed on the heroine’s foot it symbolically means the heroine is reclaiming her identity.  Arya, however, didn’t lose a shoe, and I’d argue that when Ned/the Old Gods/the Greenseers spoke to Arya through the heart tree, empowering Arya, that’s when Arya reclaimed her identity, at least for that time as Arya must reclaim her identity multiple times in her arc.  I’d argue that Arya’s connection to the North and her family is her overall identifying item. But I fully believe Gendry himself might be another “identifying item,” along with him still taking on the archetypal role of “prince”.

Why do I say this? Because in AFFC Gendry is stationed at one of the last known places Arya was sighted at with the Hound, the Crossroads Inn, where he is blacksmithing while also helping to look after orphans. He was likely stationed there by Lady Stoneheart and the Brotherhood Without Banners because he knew Arya the best out of everyone (remember LSH would probably have a hard time recognizing Arya after two plus years and a resurrection).  So if she returned, he would not only have a better chance at recognizing her, but also possibly a better chance at keeping her there compared to anyone else.  If people are doubting that this is Gendry’s role, just remember that the BWB is actively looking for Arya, and also note Gendry’s personality shift post-ASOS. Gendry has always been rude and moody, but in AFFC it has been taken to the extreme.  He is absolutely furious and instead of being just plain rude, he’s actually become mean and more violent.  He also seems to have something against the Hound now, someone who he previously had nothing against during the Hound’s trial by combat earlier in ASOS:

…The boy came and stood beside her, his hammer in his hand.

Lightning cracked to the south as the riders swung down off their horses.  For half a heartbeat darkness turned to day.  An axe gleamed silvery blue, light shimmered off mail and plate, and beneath the dark hood of the lead rider Brienne glimpsed an iron snout and rows of steel teeth, snarling.

Gendry saw it too.  “Him.”

“Not him.  His helm.” Brienne tried to keep the fear from her voice, but her mouth was dry as dust. – Brienne VII AFFC

That “him” was very pointed and because of the symbolism in the scene surrounding that “him” and the overall change in Gendry’s behavior I definitely take it to mean Gendry does have a problem with the Hound now.  So what changed?  The Hound kidnapped Arya.  I think it’s safe to say that Gendry is just as invested as the rest of the BWB, if not more so, to finding Arya again, hence making him the “prince” searching the realm for his lost Cinderella.

A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes

In Disney’s Cinderella, songs like “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo”, “So This Is Love”, “Cinderella”, “A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes”, “Oh, Sing Sweet Nightingale”, and “The Work Song” are included into the film.  This isn’t the first time we’ve seen something like this in the previous retellings however.  Like I mentioned earlier the Brother’s Grimm, Aschenputtel, features this as well to some extant.  In Aschenputtel, the heroine would “sing a chant” to call upon the white doves that came from her glowing hazel tree.  These birds would help her grant wishes and help her complete tasks, and it was most likely the inspiration for why birds were included in the Disney version, although birds have featured in more than just Aschenputtel.  I mention this because GRRM wrote Arya a song in the novels:

“My featherbed is deep and soft,

and there I'll lay you down,

I'll dress you all in yellow silk,

and on your head a crown.

For you shall be my lady love,

and I shall be your lord.

I'll always keep you warm and safe,

and guard you with my sword.

 “And how she smiled and how she laughed,

the maiden of the tree.

She spun away and said to him,

no featherbed for me.

I'll wear a gown of golden leaves,

and bind my hair with grass,

But you can be my forest love,

and me your forest lass.”

This is very clearly a love song also and we know it’s most likely about Arya and her foreshadowing a possible future relationship with Gendry.  And it’s very clearly about them as Gendry is a bastard Baratheon “prince”, hence the mentions of “yellow silk” and a “crown”, and also because Arya quite literally is dressed as an oak tree at this time and almost a maiden and will be a maiden when they reunite later in the series.  We also know the song is meant to foreshadow them because of the context.  Tom O’Seven’s specifically winked at Arya as he sang this song, and after the song was sung Lady Smallwood, when taking Arya to get changed into a different dress, said to Arya, “I have no gowns of leaves,” which further tells the readers that this song is Arya’s song, her future love song.

A Mother’s Legacy

In the Magical Helpers section above I mentioned that a dead parent may be the one to help the heroine instead of the typical fairy godmother, by either sending an animal to aid the heroine and/or granting wishes, or by the heroine’s mother transforming into an animal.  In some Greek versions, in “the Balkan-Slavonic tradition of the tale”, and in some Central Asian variants, the heroine’s mother comes back as a cow who is then killed by the heroine’s sisters.  The heroine eventually gathers the bones and from her mother’s grave the heroine is gifted wonderful dresses.  In other variants, the heroine’s dead mother comes back as a fish or a female dog. These animals represent the heroine’s mother’s legacy.

Jon chuckled. “Perhaps you should do the same thing, little sister.  Wed Tully to Stark in your arms.”

“A wolf with a fish in its mouth?” It made her laugh.  “That would look silly…” – Arya I AGOT

That night she went to sleep thinking of her mother, and wondering if she should kill the Hound in his sleep and rescue Lady Catelyn herself.  When she closed her eyes she saw her mother’s face against the back of her eyelids.  She’s so close I could almost smell her…

…and then she could smell her.  The scent was faint beneath the other smells, beneath moss and mud and water, and the stench of rotting reeds and rotting men.  She padded slowly through the soft ground to the river’s edge, lapped up a drink, then lifted her head to sniff.  The sky was grey and thick with cloud, the river green and full of floating things.  Dead men clogged the shallows, some still moving as the water pushed them, others washed up on the banks.  Her brothers and sisters swarmed around them, tearing at the rich ripe flesh.

[. . .]

The scent was stronger now [. . .] Only the scent mattered.  She sniffed the air again.  There it was, and now she saw it too, something pale and white drifting down the river, turning where it brushed against a snag.  The reeds bowed down before it.

She splashed noisily through the shallows and threw herself into the deeper water, her legs churning.  The current was strong but she was stronger.  She swam, following her nose.  The river smells were rich and wet, but those were not the smells that pulled her.  She paddled after the sharp red whisper of cold blood, the sweet cloying stench of death.  She chased them as she had often chased a red deer through the trees, and in the end she ran them down, and her jaw closed around a pale white arm.  She shook it to make it move, but there was only death and blood in her mouth.  By now she was tiring, and it was all she could do to pull the body back to shore. As she dragged it up the muddy bank, one of her little brothers came prowling, his tongue lolling from his mouth. She had to snarl to drive him off, or else he would have fed.  Only then did she stop to shake the water from her fur.  The white thing lay facedown in the mud, her dead flesh wrinkled and pale, cold blood trickling from her throat.  Rise, she thought.  Rise and eat and run with us. – Arya XII ASOS

“So you sewed his head on Robb Stark’s neck after both o’ them were dead,” said yellow cloak.

“My [Merrett Frey] father did that [. . .] I only drank some wine…you have no witness.”

“As it happens, you’re wrong there.”  The singer turned to the hooded woman.  “Milady?”

The outlaws parted as she came forward, saying no word.  When she lowered her hood, something tightened inside Merrett’s chest, and for a moment he could not breathe.  No.  No, I saw her die.  She was dead for a day and night before they stripped her naked and threw her body in the river.  Raymund opened her throat from ear to ear.  She was dead.

Her cloak and collar hid the gash his brother’s blade had made, but her face was even worse than he remembered.  The flesh had gone pudding soft in the water and turned the color of curdled milk. Half her hair was gone and the rest had turned as white and brittle as a crone’s.  Beneath her ravaged scalp, her face was shredded skin and black blood where she had raked herself with her nails.  But her eyes were the most terrible thing.  Her eyes saw him, and they hated.

“She don’t speak,” said the big man in the yellow cloak.  “You bloody bastards cut her throat too deep for that.  But she remembers.”  He turned to the dead woman and said, “What do you say, m’lady?  Was he part of it?”

Lady Catelyn’s eyes never left him.  She nodded. – Epilogue ASOS

In the Chinese retelling of Cinderella, Ye Xian, the heroine befriends a fish, which is the reincarnation of her deceased mother.  In The Story of Tam and Cam, a Vietnamese version, the heroine Tam also had a fish which was killed by the stepmother and the half-sister, and its bones also give her clothes.  And a typical scene in Kapmalaien tales is the mother becoming a fish, being eaten in fish form, the daughter burying her bones and a tree sprouting from her grave.

So not only is Lady Catelyn a symbolic fish, a daughter of House Tully, but she’s also been resurrected (reincarnated), and is looking specifically for our heroine, Arya, who I believe will be gifted several various things (both good and bad) by this incarnation of her mother, but we shall see if the parallel continues when TWOW and ADOS come out.

Conclusion

I really hope that after you read this monster you were as convinced as I am that Arya indeed has Cinderella motifs, and an extensive amount of them as well. Whatever it may mean I don’t rightly know, but what I do know is that at the end of the day, the many stories of Cinderella are an analogy.  An analogy about someone “who unexpectedly achieves recognition or success after a period of obscurity and neglect”.  Of someone whose attributes were unrecognized in their society, only for them to be recognized.  And I don’t know about you, but that sounds pretty hand in hand with one of her other biggest fairy tale motifs as well that runs concurrently with the Cinderella motif, and that is the story of “The Ugly Duckling”, who after years of neglect, finds acceptance within society, as well as self-acceptance within themselves. :)

#arya stark #gendrya #asoiaf

[blahkugo]

gm !! saw u weren't comfortable with jjk and aot characters yet so how bout hawks & kurō for the event?

(yes i chose the ones with the same VA how original 😞)

rn it’s between hawks & tendō for knife play!! i haven’t written bird x reader in toooo long, so i might have to do it to ‘em

i— i do not simp for kuroo (sorry weese if ur reading this), but i was thinking semi for hatefucking?? possibly??

#anon baby #hatefucking semi in his recording booth #:chadtsumu:

[gin-rummy]

Just like muggle games, please also give us the purebloods reactions to Bay showing them muggle movies. Genre of your choice

ohh another fun one

Molly- We watch rom-coms together the first one I got her to watch was 50 first dates, she thought it was very cute yet didn't understand why Lucy (the love interest) didn't just take a memory elixir to cure her amnesia she was also a little confused about the notion of actors...

Author- the first movie we watched was Shrek... I love him I do yet that was the only movie I ever watched with him, he just didn't understand why the "painting is behaving like that" I tried to explain how movies work, he just thought wed fucked up moving Portraits

Moony- I know he's not a pureblood, yet once a month the dads harry and I all get together to watch a movie, I was surprised to learn that he likes werewolf stories, side not, teen wolf is an odd watch with you Dads

Siri- Watching him yell at the tv about proper werewolf culture and how they would actually act in the muggle world is why I don't like watching teen wolf, ITS A FUCKING SHOW SIRI AS FAR AS MUGGLS KNOW WARWOLFS ARE MADE UP

Meth- Not a movie but watching sports with her is fun, the commentary 10/10

Fab- 0/10 don't watch sports with he gets mad that I know soccer and baseball yet have no clue how quidditch works like I grew up playing soccer and baseball, Gramps was a pro baseball player for a stretch, of course, I know baseball

Aster- cooking shows all the way, if you mention how something looks good she will try it out herself, Watching cooking shows is how she taught me to cook

Reg- comedy is the best with him, he laughs so hard at all the jokes, I just love the joy he has for movies

Bill- Documentaries are his favorite to watch, ok my favorite to watch with him, it's so cool to see how confused he is about everything muggle, like it's so so funny

Fleur- Project runway, her judgment on muggle fashion is s funny to me

Charley- How to train your dragon, he loves that shit, he literally cried when the last movie ended, I mean it's great, but like.... he was surprised how accurate the dragons were

Percy- surprisingly he likes watching romcoms with me and Mum, he's confused a lot but he's such a romantic

Oliver- he now wants to star in a documentary about quidditch

George- The best to get drunk/high with and watch a sad movie with, we watched the Bridge to Terabithia together when my Gran died, one of the first movies we saw together, we didn't talk about it, still don't yet its an unspoken rule with us that if one of us texts "Terabithia" it means to bring the Vodka and ice cream, we also watched Dead Poets Society the night before I had to defend my dissertation

Angelina- I will say I'm not really that close to her, yet watching star wars with her was amazing, I mean that could have to do with how much pot I had done, but still, great to watch with her

Ron- Hermione is obsessed with horror, he loves it too unless there is anything to do with bugs, which far, but criminal minds is so fucking fun to watch with him, except for when he thought he should become a wizard cop and leave Weasley Wizard Weeses

Harry- I mean we only watch with the dads so... well he is still confused on how the tv works, which is great cus that means Moony and I have a monopoly on the show choice

Draco- 10 things I hate about you is our movie, the number of times we've seen it, he can quote it and I love that for him

Gin- Loves anything I put on, she doesn't really get it yet she knows I like it so we watch a movie every Friday together and if we can once a month we will go to see a new release

-Bay

[turtle-paced]

Appreciation Post: Arya Stark

Arya’s stitches were crooked again.

Right away we see the problem: Arya Stark is not cut out for the life that her society, family included, tells her that she must live. Arya is eight and this is already apparent. Audience sympathy is quickly and firmly with this scrappy, curious, gregarious little girl who doesn’t want to abide by the sexist, classist rules of her society, which tell her what she should dress like, what she should be good at, and who she should be friends with.

The seriousness - and the potential consequences- of Arya’s disregard for these particular social mores is established at the infamous Incident at Darry. Arya made friends with the butcher’s boy Mycah, and sneaks off to play with him. These games are rougher than what is deemed acceptable for noble girls. When Joffrey discovers them and tries to bully Mycah with a drawn sword, Arya intervenes in  her friend’s defence.

Though Arya’s sense of social justice was already apparent -

"The woman is important too!" Arya protested.

- Arya I, AGoT

- her attempted defence of Mycah and humiliation of Joffrey starts a thread that continues throughout her storyline all series. Arya believes in justice. Her immediate short-term discovery that the people who she loves and trusts don’t share her beliefs with her urgency, to the cost of her friend, is a hard one for her to cope with. Getting some direction for this and a means to channel her energies is what helps her manage best.

"Let me tell you something about wolves, child. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths. So if you must hate, Arya, hate those who would truly do us harm.”

- Arya II, AGoT

"You," Ned said, kissing her lightly on the brow, "will marry a king and rule his castle, and your sons will be knights and princes and lords and, yes, perhaps even a High Septon."

Arya screwed up her face. 

"No," she said, "that's Sansa." She folded up her right leg and resumed her balancing.

- Eddard V, AGoT

As we can see here, Arya’s relationship with her father is positive and loving, but that does not negate the fact that he’s the source of some of the social pressure to adhere to a certain model of femininity that Arya struggles with.

Thanks to Syrio Forel and a well-learned lesson about seeing the things that are really there, Arya escapes the massacre of the Stark household, and promptly learns that things are a bit different when she’s not the daughter of one of Westeros’ most powerful lords. Despite this, and despite the trauma of witnessing her father’s murder and accidentally killing a stableboy in her escape, she continues on. The scattering of her family drives her to find her own, and to stick with her friends. Or even  just the people she’s with. Some of Arya’s best is on display when the Watch recruits are attacked, as Arya refuses to leave a child refugee behind or leave dangerous criminals to burn alive.

Going back into that barn was the hardest thing she ever did. 

- Arya IV, ACoK

But she does it anyway, her sense of justice and compassion applying even to people as lovely as the three in the cage.

This does, however, mark the start of a more intense exposure to violence. Brought to Harrenhal, she gets to see Harrenhal, witnessing horrors large and small, and suffering some herself too. She’s our on the ground viewpoint for the suffering of the common people in the Riverlands. As is to be expected, this affect her. One of the more obvious effects is how Arya develops a list of people she hates.

Every night Arya would say their names. "Ser Gregor," she'd whisper to her stone pillow. "Dunsen, Polliver, Chiswyck, Raff the Sweetling. The Tickler and the Hound. Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei." Back in Winterfell, Arya had prayed with her mother in the sept and with her father in the godswood, but there were no gods on the road to Harrenhal, and her names were the only prayer she cared to remember.

- Arya VI, ACoK

The assassin known as Jaqen H’ghar, in repayment for Arya saving his life, offers her three deaths. Even in this awful situation in Harrenhal, Arya retains a scrap of agency. What she does with those deaths is revealing - she orders the death of Chiswyck, who told a gruesome and graphic story of a gang rape he participated in as though it were a joke; she orders the death of her immediate supervisor Weese, a petty tyrant of the Harrenhal kitchens; and she orders the death of Jaqen H’ghar himself.

That last, Arya does to escape Harrenhal, still trying to get back to her family. Jaqen gives her a coin. Arya kills a guard herself to escape, deliberately and in cold blood.

Arya spends a good chunk of ASoS in the company of the Brotherhood Without Banners, who at the time are at trying to do their best for the smallfolk in the war, with good intentions and mixed, morally ambiguous results. When Sandor Clegane arrives, fleeing from the Blackwater, and Arya gets a chance to press the charge she never got to in AGoT:

Arya squirted past Greenbeard so fast he never saw her. "You are a murderer!" she screamed. "You killed Mycah, don't say you never did. You murdered him!"

The Hound stared at her with no flicker of recognition. "And who was this Mycah, boy?"

"I'm not a boy! But Mycah was. He was a butcher's boy and you killed him. Jory said you cut him near in half, and he never even had a sword."

- Arya VI, ASoS

The trial does not work out, and Arya refuses to accept the verdict. She’s promptly captured by Sandor himself.

Over the course of ASoS in particular, it’s clear that the narrative does not regard Arya’s ability to kill as ‘cool’ or ‘badass’. It is instead depicted as trauma. With Ned Dayne, for instance:

"I never learned the lance, but I could beat you with a sword," said Arya. "Have you killed anyone?"

That seemed to startle him. "I'm only twelve."

I killed a boy when I was eight, Arya almost said, but she thought she'd better not.

- Arya VIII, ASoS

It’s not a competition, but an observation that there’s something horribly wrong with this child asking whether other children have killed. Ned’s reply that he’s only twelve represents the norm.

And there was one girl who took to following her, the village elder's daughter. She was of an age with Arya, but just a child; she cried if she skinned a knee, and carried a stupid cloth doll with her everywhere she went. The doll was made up to look like a man-at-arms, sort of, so the girl called him Ser Soldier and bragged how he kept her safe. "Go away," Arya told her half a hundred times. "Just leave me be." She wouldn't, though, so finally Arya took the doll away from her, ripped it open, and pulled the rag stuffing out of its belly with a finger. "Now he really looks like a soldier!" she said, before she threw the doll in a brook. After that the girl stopped pestering her, and Arya spent her days grooming Craven and Stranger or walking in the woods.

- Arya XII, ASoS

That passage follows the Red Wedding, an even more traumatic event for Arya. After a book and a half of trying to get back to her mother and Robb, she’s present outside the event at which they’re murdered, never seeing them, unable to do anything to help them. This leaves Arya adrift.

Where would she go? Winterfell was gone. Her grandfather's brother was at Riverrun, but he didn't know her, no more than she knew him. Maybe Lady Smallwood would take her in at Acorn Hall, but maybe she wouldn't. Besides, Arya wasn't even sure she could find Acorn Hall again. Sometimes she thought she might go back to Sharna's inn, if the floods hadn't washed it away. She could stay with Hot Pie, or maybe Lord Beric would find her there. Anguy would teach her to use a bow, and she could ride with Gendry and be an outlaw, like Wenda the White Fawn in the songs.

But that was just stupid, like something Sansa might dream. Hot Pie and Gendry had left her just as soon as they could, and Lord Beric and the outlaws only wanted to ransom her, just like the Hound. None of them wanted her around. They were never my pack, not even Hot Pie and Gendry. I was stupid to think so, just a stupid little girl, and no wolf at all.

- Arya XII, ASoS

So we see the extent to which Arya needs family and community to help shore up her identity. This is exactly what makes her AFFC storyline with the Faceless Men possible. Not long after this passage, she leaves Sandor Clegane when he sickens from an infected wound. He might have killed Mycah, but he also helped  Arya, and on balance Arya finds herself unable to kill him.

Arya goes to the Faceless Men, per Jaqen’s recommendation, because she feels she has nowhere else to go. What they offer Arya has powerful appeal for her after all that she’s suffered, and costs a lot, too. The House of Black and White will take her in and give her a purpose, if Arya sacrifices her entire identity.

Arya cannot do it.

Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile. He used to mess my hair and call me "little sister," she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes.

Polliver had stolen the sword from her when the Mountain's men took her captive, but when she and the Hound walked into the inn at the crossroads, there it was. The gods wanted me to have it. Not the Seven, nor Him of Many Faces, but her father's gods, the old gods of the north. The Many-Faced God can have the rest, she thought, but he can't have this.

- Arya II, AFFC

She cannot even truly give up being Arya Stark when she’s enjoying being Cat of the Canals. The very name is a hint that Arya’s identity is not subsumed - Cat - but she cannot get rid of the wolf dreams. (As demonstrated in Bran and Jon’s PoVs, Arya’s a skinchanger. We have direct evidence that she’s a very powerful skinchanger, maintaining her bond with her wolf across an ocean and later skinchanging into a cat as well.) Eventually, it’s Arya’s sense of what is right that brings her back  - via murder, but it brings her back.

Arya killing the Night’s Watch deserter Dareon was the result of what Arya of House Stark  learned about right and wrong. Part of the identity that the Faceless Men want Arya to shed are those very beliefs.

Arya drew back from him. "He killed the slave?" That did not sound right. "He should have killed the masters!"

- Arya II, AFFC

When she is ordered to kill someone, she starts by trying to convince herself they deserve it:

"He is an evil man," she announced that evening when she returned to the House of Black and White. "His lips are cruel, his eyes are mean, and he has a villain's beard."

The kindly man chuckled. "He is a man like any other, with light in him and darkness. It is not for you to judge him."

- The Ugly Little Girl, ADWD

Arya can and has killed, but she doesn’t do it without remorse, and we see that she’s struggling to do so for amoral reasons. Arya is angry and traumatised, but we see that she wants justice more than simple survival. That, and the importance she places on family and community, seem likely to me to be the way back from the brink. The girl who makes friends wherever she goes is going to have a part to play in the narrative, reminding others that for all the greater goods out there and in the future, the people here and now deserve justice and protection too.

#ASoIaF #valyrianscrolls #cw: violence #cw: rape #arya stark #a game of thrones #a clash of kings #a storm of swords #a feast for crows #a dance with dragons #another post not doing characters justice