#internally I am hurling all the insults
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Turns out our president Emmanuel fucking Macron has spent SIXTEEN (16!) MILLIONS (!!!!!) euros in two years in polls to know what we think of him.
Talk about a wasteful narcissist!! It isn't hard to know what we think of him we aren't exactly silent about it.
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BakuSquad Drabbles: If They Had A Crush On You
BakuSquad x (Female) Reader
NSFW, 18+
Characters: Bakugo, Kirishima, Denki, Sero, Mina
Warnings: Mentions of smut (masturbation, electrostimulation, kissing, general horny thoughts.) Reader with female anatomy and pronouns. My terrible use of Spanish.
A/N: I am not Spanish, nor have I ever taken a day of it in my life so pls forgive me if I messed up the beautiful language😭
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Bakugo was NOT a pervert.
Hothead? Yes. Slowly-coming-out-of-the-closest? Yes. But he was not a pervert. So why did he find himself having so many restless nights thinking about your face?
The blond would frequently wake up to sheets soaked in sweat and slick palms that emitted his caramel essence.
The way you smiled at him for less than a second when he handed you a pencil, or the casual manner in which you wiped sweat from your brow while sparring with Uraraka was so enticing to him.
Perhaps it was because for only the third or fourth time in his life, someone wasn’t afraid of him, and that scared him. If he hurled insults at you, you would simply throw him back a grin, a toothy one that matched his own, as if you were telling him you knew he didn’t meant it. You were his equal and he respected you, maybe even worshipped you.
Walking down the halls, if you were to accidentally bump shoulders, Katsuki would internally die a little, and turn a deeper shade of red than Ejirou’s hair.
For some reason he would be overcome with the need to…apologise?!
You were his kryptonite, exposing all of his weak spots.
He was in deep. And he didn’t know if he wanted to get out.
Katsuki was fucked.
Maybe he wanted to be, if you were down ;)
The red-head had always prided himself on being manly, and it hadn’t taken long for him to figure out he was harbouring strong feelings for you.
Your loyalty to your friends and your willingness to drop everything’s for them at a minutes notice had initally peaked Eijirou’s interest. It was a very manly quality to have.
His longing had only grown from there.
Kirishima fondly remembers one day when he wasn’t in class, and during the lunch-break there was a pounding at his dorm room door. He was sick, it was really only a sniffle but Aizawa advised him against getting the rest of his classmates sick.
He opened his door to find you, out of breath, having apparently run all the way from the classroom. You somehow had managed to find tissues, soup and an assortment of medicines along your fast-paced journey, with help from Recovery Girl.
His heart was fluttering around you constantly from that day onwards, and he knew he couldn’t keep blaming lingering cold symptoms forever.
His friends had caught him staring lovingly at you from across the room on more than several occasions, and smacked him out of his trance, as good friends did. But not before Mina got a few photos of the “lover boy” to show you later.
If he wasn’t going to step up and ask you out himself, she would do it for him.
Denki WAS a pervert.
Lately the two of you had been partnering up for training exercises, and his filthy mind had wandered. It was inevitable, you had boobs and were breathing.
As you dodged his attacks, he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if you hadn’t.
If you submitted to them willingly…asked for them…begged for them…
He had a crystal clear image of you underneath him, any time you trained. Naked and begging him to run his volts through you. In his mind, it made your toes curl and your nipples impossibly hard, and that wasn’t the only hard thing around.
When the thoughts got too much for the horny teen, Kaminari reverted back to blaming an over-usage of his quirk. Often this backfired on him however as you came even closer to him to run your fingers through his hair, knowing that it had helped him feel more grounded on occasion.
It was common knowledge that recently, Denki, in his infinite wisdom, had developed intense stomach aches whenever he overused his quirk, which he obviously needed to see Recovery Girl for.
Alone.
Really, it was just an excuse to hide his boner from you and make a quick getaway, before either shamelessly rubbing one out in the bathroom or trying to coax it down enough to see the nurse.
Unfortunately Denki could be a little clueless. You had felt something poking you in the thigh the first time you trained together, you decided to start wearing shorter skirts from that point onwards.
Sero is a confident man. He knows he likes you and he suspects that you like him, but he needs to put that theory to the test.
In the beginning he starts out slow, with only a word or two whispered so low you’re not even sure he said anything.
Then the long-haired teen decided to use his powers for good.
He calls it experimentation, and the way you blush after he breathes so softly just below the shell of your ear, he calls that data.
“Data which must be collected again and again.”
The phrases too begin innocently enough, but Hanta knows how to get what you both so clearly what.
“Cariño,” he purrs to as you reach for a snack.
“What does that one mean?” You squeak back, meekly. He finds it completely intoxicating.
“It means ‘sweetheart’, but that’s nothing compared to what I’ll be calling you later, mi dulce princesa.”
You practically bend over for him right then and there, and the cocky, smiling fool knew it too.
The tension between you two was more electric than anything Denki could produce, and it was driving Sero just as crazy as it was driving you. His lips spent more time attached to your ears in those few short weeks than they did apart from them.
The taller boy was completely enamoured with the way you melted simply from his words.
Needles to say it didn’t take long for the two of you to start dating, and Sero kept up the Spanish.
Thoughts of you came to Mina often, but especially at night. When she was getting ready to slip her fingers below the waistband of her nightwear, inching them closer to where she so desperately wished it could be you touching her instead.
It felt like it should have been wrong, the two of you were friends, but you were close. Closer than she saw a lot of her other friends act. But the way it felt, the way she felt about you, overpowered all that negativity.
Ashido pictured your smile, your collarbones, your hands, and if she thought about it hard enough, she could almost feel the ghost of your lips against her skin.
Your plush body against her own. It edged her closer and closer to her release.
She was practiced at this, having had the same desires for many a night. She knows just what vision will get her over the edge.
Mina pretends it’s your voice in her ears instead of her own laboured breathing, coaxing her on, telling her you love her too.
A few more talented flicks of the wrist has your name on her lips like a symphony.
Later that night, as she does every other, the bubbly girl curls up to a teddy bear you gifted her, which still holds your scent.
You’ve never understood why she blushes the first time she sees you each day, but Mina knows that each night will be the same as the last until you’re hers. That’s the only secret she’s ever kept from you.
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#bnha bakugou#bnha#bnha smut#bnha ao3#bnha au#my hero acedamia#my hero x reader#my hero#bakugou x reader#bakugou fluff#bakugou x you#bnha bakugo katsuki#bakugo#bakugou#bakugo smut#kirishima headcanon#kirishima fluff#kirishima x y/n#bnha kirishima#mha kirishima#kirishima smut#denki imagine#bnha denki#denki x you#mha denki#kaminaridenki#mha kaminari#kaminari x y/n#kaminari x you#denki kaminari
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HYBE and Min Hee Jin Round 3...
Things are getting really messy between HYBE and ADOR CEO Min Hee Jin, who is getting sued by her employer. She did a press conference today, playing the victim and showing her bruised ego (which seems to be the main cause of this whole fiasco). It was embarrassing to the point of me feeling bad for her lawyer, who tried to stop her from talking nonsense and hurling insults at everyone.
Apparanetley her trying to go independent and backstabbing HYBE, while simultaneously accusing all the sub-labels of copying her ideas, wasn't bad enough, we now know she really is dumb trusting shamans to advise her on business deals. She was crying during the press-con saying: “I feel like they all want me to die. If I suddenly die, will everyone be happy? That’s honestly what I think. I don’t read all the articles and comments. If I do, I can’t live. I wonder if anyone can handle this much distress in a short period of time.” She added, “I am also human, and it’s not confirmed that I’m guilty. I think I’m innocent.” Mind you, she caused all this mess herself and is now getting sued by HYBE who will likely destroy her.
To this point, HYBE is not innocent in this debacle either, they gave her a label, gave her 20 % company shares, gave her Source Music trainees, gave her free control over NewJeans and are now also acting like victims. Those guys enabled her behavior and are now surprised she would try to go independent. Min Hee Jin also addressed some HYBE accusations, like her saying BTS copied her ideas. “Everything that HYBE is saying is a lie. I’ve never said BTS copied me. I want to ask HYBE why they made everything like this and try to ruin me”. Because you tried to go against the company?
I believe that part though, HYBE is playing dirty games here trying to get every fandom to attack her, but again, she caused this herself, when she publicly stated that ILLIT was a copy of NewJeans (which is true, but you don't say that ish out loud).
She also said, she had nothing to do with Source Music disbanding G-Friend, which I also believe. That was a money decision, they wanted a new group that could become a million seller, so LE SSERAFIM was born, and since BTS was going on army hiatus, they needed new groups quick to fill the void. However, pedo Min Hee Jin wouldn't be herself without also mentioning that NJ Minji was the only Source Music trainee she liked (the others were too old), and that she was even prettier when she was younger. She makes it so easy to hate her. MHJ was also majorly pissed that LE SSERAFIM debuted before NewJeans, which became a huge issue internally in the company.
In the press-con she also repeatedly called herself the mother of NewJeans, and that she gave birth to the group. “NewJeans and I have something more than what you would know. They always tell me that they thank me and love me. Hanni told me that she’d come over to me. Haerin is usually like a cat and doesn’t speak a lot, but she called me and told me that she couldn’t come up with the words to text me. She said that she just wanted to hear my voice. Haerin cried for 20 whole minutes” Min bursts into tears. “She told me that she thanks me so much because I helped her through hard times. She said that she wants to tell everyone what happened. The members’ mothers are so worried that I’m going to kill myself. But why would I? I’m going to say everything that I have in my heart. Do you know what Park Ji-won said to the mothers? He said that he’s not going to talk to them, just to ADOR. And they say that they care about NewJeans? I don’t care whether they sue me for libel.” - She's so fucking creepy, as if she didn't make the girls sing "Cookie".
She also went full egomaniac, saying: “It’s not me that turned my back on HYBE, it’s HYBE that betrayed me. It used me to the fullest and now wants to take me down because I don’t listen to them. No one has done what I have done during the 30 years in K-pop. But HYBE is trying to kill someone who’s done what I have as the head of a subsidiary. I’m the only one in the history of the entertainment industry to have reached such results in 2 years, my only crime is being good at my own job.”
At this point, I just feel bad for the idols and staff caught in between all this. HYBE is greedy and wanted their own NewJeans and MHJ tried to backstab her own bosses - now things are falling apart. NJ has a comeback in May too, no idea how this will end for them and whether they will stay at HYBE or go with "mom" MHJ.
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Alchemy of Souls Part 2: Evidence The Soul In Part 2 Was Not The Same Soul From Part 1
Hello Readers,
Thought I should post some more evidence to that what I said in my Theories and Analysis post for Eps 29-30. When I had initially shared a link to my blog post on Reddit, I thought things would have calmed down by now and people would not be so toxic. I also thought there would be more open minded people who would consider alternative arguments. However, I was wrong. Many there did not even choose to read what I wrote and immediately said things like "you are confused" or "you do not understand the show" or implied I was stupid for even proposing such things. If I did not understand the story in the first place then how would I have gotten some many things right during Part 1?
Things progressed to even more people jumping on the bandwagon and hurling more insults at me when all I did in the first place was provide a different prospective on things. It became apparent to me that it was futile to continue to discuss such things with these types of people. What I observed among these people is that they could not fully establish any logical counter argument other than saying Naksu=Cho Yeong. That was pretty much the gist of what they said.
They also accused me of not wanting to be wrong when in reality I do not care if I am right or wrong. I have stated as much repeatedly both here and my Twitter. If I could sit there for hours and debate about my own thinking, they should at least be willing to do the same. In my profession, all we do day in and out is internally debate with ourselves whether our logic is flawed or not. Therefore, I have no qualms about being wrong. At least in my field when we tell someone they are wrong, we provide reasons, examples, etc. You do not simply tell someone just because. If you do so, it just makes you seem like you are the ones who are afraid to be wrong.
What I sought to do here on my blog was to try and make sense of everything, connect things to see the bigger picture, and consider everything there is to possibly consider. When I formulate my theories, I at least explain my reasoning behind it by giving examples from the show. So, if there is anyone who disagrees with all that I will say below then please enlighten me. Provide me with a rational counter argument with examples from the show. Otherwise, if you are unable to, then maybe you should consider that what I say could be correct.
Thinking caps on! Time to do a mini analysis!
More Evidence Proving The Soul In Part 2 is Mu Deok/Cho Yeong
Before I start this section, I want to add that if you want to discover whose soul belongs to whatever face, alternative name, real name, and body, just turn to these three characters: Soi, Jin Mu, and Seo Yul. These characters had known either girls the longest in comparison to other characters (Soi-Mu Deok and Jin Mu and Seo Yul-Naksu).
Now in Ep 26, Soi tells Seo Yul Naksu's soul is in Jin Bu Yeon's body. She adds the current face of Jin Bu Yeon is Naksu's face (GYJ face). Soi's logic was that since the soul inside is Naksu's soul, Jin Bu Yeon's current face must also be that of Naksu's. Side note, this is where assigning souls to alternative names to faces to real identities will get you into trouble.
Flash forward to Ep 29, Seo Yul hears some information which causes fireworks to go off in his head. During the flashback, Soi talks about how the girl she knew from Sari (Mu Deok) had consumed the soul potion which caused her to go crazy and die. What did this mean? Eureka moment, anyone?
It meant Soi thought it was "Mu Deok's soul" who resided in Jin Bu Yeon's body in Part 1. However, we as viewers knew it was actually "Naksu's soul" who was in Jin Bu Yeon's body during Part 1. Since Soi thought it was Mu Deok's soul in Jin Bu Yeon's body in Part 1, she erroneously deduced it was Naksu's soul in Jin Bu Yeon body in Part 2 (Ep 26). Just read that statement again and let it digest before continuing on. It should be noted Soi never found out it was Naksu's soul who was living inside of Jin Bu Yeon's body in Part 1.
It was only after Seo Yul talked to Soi's worker in Ep 29 did he realize Soi had mixed things up and that the soul currently residing in Jin Bu Yeon's body was not the same soul from Part 1 (aka Naksu's soul). If it was not Naksu's soul in Jin Bu Yeon's body, whose soul was it? It was Mu Deok's soul. The question became "what is the real identity of Mu Deok's soul"? There are two choices Cho Yeong or Jin Bu Yeon. If you know the soul inside transforms the face to match its true appearance and the real name of the GYJ face is "Cho Yeong" then you can conclude Mu Deok was Cho Yeong. Therefore, if Mu Deok's soul=Cho Yeong's soul then Naksu's soul=Jin Bu Yeon's soul through the process of elimination. If you said Mu Deok's soul is Jin Bu Yeon's soul then her face would have transformed into the JSM face. However, since it did not, then you have to accept that Mu Deok's soul is Cho Yeong's soul.
The only reason why many did not catch this is because they were too distracted with everything else which is understandable. The Hong Sisters purposely presented this piece of information near the very end (vs beginning) because they wanted people to think Naksu=Cho Yeong. In turn, this caused many to either completely overlooked or disregard the statement made by Soi in Ep 29. If the Hong Sisters had presented the following scene from Ep 29 much earlier, more viewers would have caught on that the soul in Part 2 was not the same soul as in Part 1. And who knows how that might have affected the ratings. Anyways, the pattern among many viewers is when anything becomes confusing or does fit the narrative they have in their head, they will disregard it to soothe themselves into thinking what is easier to comprehend.
In the world of AOS where soul shifting happens, a soul's alternative name can sometimes be different from the real name of the body it is in. The real name of a face does not always mean it is the real name of a soul who had previously resided in that body (AOS has made it clear there is a fine distinction between body and face). I will admit it is convoluted, but this is why you should not immediately jump to conclusions and assign faces, bodies, alternative names, and real names to souls before thinking about everything. If you keep your beliefs flexible and consider the alternative then you will be more likely to find the truth. Instead of being face or body trackers, maybe all of us should strive to be better soul trackers. Anyways, I will gladly welcome anyone who can disprove all that I have stated above. And simply stating "Naksu is Cho Yeong" does not cut it. You should formulate a logical argument that is backed up by evidence from the show.
Final Thoughts
In my opinion, it made no logical sense for the Hong Sisters to introduce Naksu as a powerful soul only to have her be reduced down to a damsel in distress, soul food, relic detector, and Jang Uk's shadow. I saw Naksu's journey as being one of self discovery, personal growth, and enlightenment. If Naksu was really Cho Yeong, the Hong Sisters would have introduced more things about the Cho clan. Instead, they had completely wiped out the Cho clan from the start while placing a heavy focus on the Jin clan. Furthermore, they had associated Naksu with many bird related things to show her connection to the Jin clan. For me, it made more logical sense the show began with her being an assassin fighting on the wrong side of things and ended with her discovering her true authentic self (Jin Bu Yeon) so she could save all of Daeho. And sure, her journey may have ended rather sadly (or it may not since she is a divine soul now), but at least she managed to accomplish so much during that time. She was able to correct everything, find out the real truth about herself and the events that surrounding her multiple deaths, and take responsibility for her past actions.
Finally, to all of those who are not convinced by what I have said (Naksu=Jin Bu Yeon and Mu Deok=Cho Yeong), I will end this post with excepts from Lee Jae Wook's interview so you can decide for yourself of whether the soul in Part 1 was the same soul in Part 2. Note: the translations below were done using Google translate so there may be some inaccuracies.
Source:
Back to hibernation I go until the next great fantasy drama comes along!
P.S. If you have any questions, feel free to ask them!
#alchemy of souls#alchemy of souls light and shadow#jin bu yeon#naksu#cho yeong#jung so min#go yoon jung#jin mu#soi#seo yul#hwang minhyun#AOS#theories#analysis#there are probably many grammatical mistakes#quick post#mu deok#lee jae wook#hong sisters
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[“Over time, body positivity has made its constituency clear. It has widened the warm and fickle embrace of beauty standards ever so slightly. Now it showers its affections not only on beautiful, able-bodied, fair-skinned women under a size 4 but on beautiful, able-bodied, fair-skinned women under a size 12. Body positivity has widened the circle of acceptable bodies, yes, but it still leaves so many of us by the wayside. Its rallying cry, love your body, presumes that our greatest challenges are internal, a poisoned kind of thought about our own bodies. It cannot adapt to those of us who love our bodies, but whose bodies are rejected by those around us, used as grounds for ejecting us from employment, healthcare, and other areas of life.
Overwhelmingly, the popularization of body positivity has reinforced the exclusion that fat people experience everywhere else. It doesn’t make thin people less afraid of saying “fat” or being fat. While body positivity held the promise of advocating for all of us, it refused to name our bodies. It could not push for meaningful distinctions between thin bodies and fat bodies, nor the social realities that come with each. When we are not pushed to see our bodies as they are seen by those around us, we cannot have real conversations about the distinct challenges our bodies carry with them, much less how to remedy those challenges. When we are not pushed to see our bodies as they are, we are all left to our default perception—the deep, enduring belief that each of us is unforgivably fat. Diet culture hinges on all of us seeking to become thin, thinner, thinnest, engaged in an endless quest to shrink ourselves at all costs. When we are left to our own devices, we retreat to focusing on the problem of our own mindsets rather than the problem of our internalized biases, the harms we (often unintentionally) cause to those around us, and the ways in which others’ bodies invite different experiences than our own. We universalize our own experience, assuming that believing we are too fat is the same as being treated with the discrimination that too readily plagues undeniably fat people.
Thin people especially struggle to say “fat,” the hypothetical that has hurt them so deeply. But as an undeniably fat person, the word isn’t hurtful to me. It cannot be, because I do not have the luxury of escaping it. Instead, I am beholden to someone else’s discomfort with a word that has never accurately described them. Even as a very fat person, when I enter body positive spaces, I cannot be trusted to describe myself as fat, and I cannot expect support when the truth of my body is hurled at me as an insult. I cannot be responsible for naming my own skin. Body positivity quarantines the words used to describe bodies like mine and, in the process, shuts out those bodies themselves. We need the courage to say the word “fat” and the wherewithal to see all of our bodies accurately. Without it, we cannot name our bodies, nor can we truly embrace and understand all of us who have sought out this movement that felt so essential.”]
aubrey gordon, what we don’t talk about when we talk about fat
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Come on, bride - S.Strange
Stephen Strange x Reader
genre: angst
warning: mom spoiler
words: 1.2k
"We should move on."
You nod at the kid, America. Then look around tiredly, wiping the blood from your cheek, which the woman name Wanda caused this wound by directly attacking you. Even though she has no idea who you are, America looks at you with a soft smile.
You approach closer to Stephen, who is on one of his knees on the ground. Something had slipped your mind before you could reach his side. His memories play out in front of you; the beginning of your toxic relationship. The night you both graduated. He was an intern at Metro General, and you were a fresh software engineer at Stark Industries. It was the night when you were both buried in heavenly passion.
You were taken by your memories when you decided to walk away from him; downright atrocious, the worst memories.
Evening, rainfall.
"There is a new procedure in Tokyo. They culture donor stem cells… and then harvesting them and then 3D printing a scaffold." Stephen's trembling voice and hands as he spoke like a prayer have come to your eyes. You looked at the mess of paper on the floor. Knew that repairing his bone-broken hands was out of the question, and no one would take the risk of treating his hands. It would be best if you were by his side through this darkest hour. "If I could just secure a loan…"
That's when you were pushed to the rock bottom, "Stephen." You placed his meal, repeating his name in a serious tone. "Stephen-" And then you were cut off by him.
"A small loan, Y/N. Just $200,000."
"You've always spent money as fast as you could make it, but now you're spending money you don't even have." You took a few steps closer to Stephen after staring intently into his tear-streaked eyes, and your voice softens. He attempted to write his own name on the paper, but it did not work, and the pen was flung to the wall. "Maybe it's time to consider stopping."
The desk smacking caught you off guard. "No, now is exactly the time not to stop," he says as he rises up, his gaze fixated on yours and his hands swung to face you, "because, you see, I'm not getting any better!"
"But this isn't medicine anymore. This is mania!" You had always done your best to soothe Stephen, but not this time. He squandered too much time on his route. He left you talking with his back form as he stopped and looked out the window. "Stephen, something just can't be fixed."
His cracked voice is a hammer and your heart is like a fragile glass. "Life without my work…"
"Is still life! This isn't the end. There are other things that can give your life meaning."
You had no idea Stephen was heartless until he turned around and asked you a frigid question. "Like what? Like you?" In the lower and annoyed voice he made, there is no trace of regret after just hurling his foolish rage at yours.
"Now this is the part where you apologize." And his reply just nothing but only saddened you. "This is the part where you leave."
Your breath was hitched, certainly was firmly impacted, so you shied over the apartment door without hesitation. "Fine, I can't watch you do this to yourself anymore." Leaving all plans you had outlined that he couldn't handle on his own, even shaving.
Then Stephen spoke up behind you, "too difficult for you, is it?" Just when you were turning back your feet and nodding in response, prepared to fight back. "Yes. It is. It breaks my heart to see you this way."
"No, don't pity me."
"I'm not pitying you."
"Oh, yeah? Then what are you doing here… bringing cheese and wine like we're old friends going for a picnic?" He strolled like a drunk, moved near to where you were standing; where you remained mute and still as he began to insult your feelings. "We are not friends, Y/N. We were barely lovers. But you just love a sob story, don't you?"
His rough voice was like a metal hammer and your heart was shattered glass.
"Is that what I am to you now? 'Poor Stephen Strange, charity case.' He finally needs me. Another dreg of humanity for you to work on. Patch him up and send him back into the world… heart's just humming."
Your arms shivered as you held yourself, your jaw clenched. Tried to shake your head, forcefully inhaling, this is way too much to merely watch him shout at.
"You care so much, don't you?!"
The apartment has become thunderously quiet. All you could do was seek for his sorrow for what he'd done, even if it meant peering into his light blue orbs, which he didn't. You dared to hope he'd overcome his ego one day, but surely you weren't there to witness it.
"Goodbye, Stephen."
When the reality around you reappears, you strain to swallow, as if your ripped heart wound had added salt on. Your gaze is fixed on the ground.
Stephen places his hand on yours and says, "Y/N." America had opted to move ahead, leaving the two of you behind. "I'm so sorry for treating you like that."
"I'm so happy that you could say the word." A sorrowful grin appears on your face, as the tear falls, you begin to go faster, but Stephen is quicker and holds your waist to turn to face him. His both palms traveled up the length of your shoulder to your cheeks, tilting your chin and wiping away your tears with his thumbs. His eager blue eyes followed every breath you took, every second your gaze averted from him.
"I made a mistake and now I'm losing you, Y/N."
"It's okay," you gently brush your fingertips along his palms and attempt to ease his guilt. "You'll be alright."
Stephen has been saying what you wish to hear for over 10 years, but it comes too late. "I love you, Y/N… I never say it, but I love you." That has caused your tears to flow. "It's not that I don't want to care or that I don't want you to care for me," he whispers softly as he leans against your forehead. "I'm just…"
"Scared… It's okay to be scared sometimes, Stephen." When he stroked a stray strand of hair away from your eyes, you sighed. "I'm sorry for not waiting for you."
He gradually steps back, holding your hands, and lifts your left hand. A weak Stephen was gone in an instant, his gaze concentrated on your wedding ring. He cracks a joke with his trademark smile. "I'm sorry for ruining your wedding day and bringing you here with me."
"Well, you two were just showing off my guests on the balcony," you tease playfully, turning your head to narrow your eyes at his swing back and forth cloak. You cast a downward check at your dirty bridal gown. "We can't go back anyway."
"We can!" America and her star-shaped portal come unexpectedly, and the two of you are startled. Stephen's hand clutches yours once again. The girl yells at you both. "What are you guys waiting for?"
You were taken aback by his magic to transform your gown into something more appropriate for the chaos that surrounded you. "Thank me later," Stephen gives you a warm grin, attempting to conceal his pained voice, and you know he did his best. "Come on, bride, let's find the way to get back to your husband, I'll protect you."
You answered him with a smile and a shivering voice. "Copy that, Doctor Strange."
#doctor strange#dr strange x reader#stephen strange#stephen strange imagine#stephen strange x reader#doctor strange imagine#doctor strange x reader#mcu imagine#mcu x reader#stephen strange angst fic#multiverse of madness#doctor strange in the multiverse of madness
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Hate is such a strong word, no?
Summary: Childe feeling intense attraction to you and thinking it's just some sort of hate thing. You hate him because he's Fatui he hates you 'cause you won't look past his "Fatui-ness", Mans is so tired of this misunderstanding insults.
Gender: Female reader
Warnings: Mention of Blood, Violence, slight flirting, Mostly Childe's POV.
Autor's notes: WELL nothing romantic here. just y/n begin badass #girlboss
Your dinamic with him wasn't exactly something you're proud of. Sharp glares wanting to burn through each other, vulgar expletives being thrown out of anger and of course, the pintless battles you'd both recklessly drive into.
Blades pointing at each other throat as you internally warn him, telling him that this time. This time for sure, you'll drive the tip of your spear straight into his gut if he doesn't stop it with these stupid antics.
"As Expected" Chucking he moves the shaft end away, distancing himself from it. "You really are good with polearms"
" Thanks for stating the obvious. Now get the hell away from me, Fatui."
"Ouch. Another insult given by Madame [your name] ! Very harsh words from a Favonius Knight, don't you think?"
Swiftly dodging your attempt to aim for his arm, he circles around you creeping behind like a serpent lusting for blood, and in this case, he probably is.
"Oh, I'm sorry! I completely forgot!"
The naïve tone of his voice only made your blood boil, veins popping visibly along your worst line, as you have him another look warning. ' don't you dare...' silently scowling you gripped the weapon. Knuckles withe and sore.
"Former Favonian Knight." He 'corrects' himself, a sing-song tone lacing the poison of his words.
You've really had it with these Fatui-scums and their stupid mind games. Before the boy with that sort of strange Mexican straw hat, i think it's called sombrero, and now, this ginger.
Ending him right there, right now would've been easy if it wasn't for that oath you promised.
'No blood shall be shed again, no life shall be taken' Those were your rules back then
Despite not being one of the knights anymore, you still haven't stepped down from vow you guaranteed in the past.
Even if he was a Fatui, You mustn't.
"Leave me, Fatui." You lowered your spear, side glancing him as you watched his expression fade into a daze, quite bewildered by your forfeit.
"I don't want to waste any more time with the likes of you. So do yourself a favor and stop wasting your time with the likes of me, as well." With a breathless huff you made your way towards the uphill across from where you arem Still stunned he fails to follow after you.
But why should he? You were just someone he kills time by forcing you to spar. His methods of annoying you working like a spell as you comply to his desire for battle. If he wanted to spar, he could just find a random monster strong enough to keep him entertained for a while.
Calling after you would be a stupid thing to do, though his title as a Fatui Harbinger is associated with the word, so you could say he'd just make a fool out of himself in that situation.
Choosing to ignore your 'cowardly' admit of defeat he spent a second of his time by throwing rocks into a nearby lake. A habit he had never gotten rid of whenever he's frustrated.
Pebble after pebble left immense amount of splatter from it's fall as the eleventh Harbinger fumbles onto the stones left in his palm. A frustrated groan leaves his lips as he hurls the rest of it in the water.
"What am I sulking for...?" Plopping down in a boulder he sighs, exhausted with all the thoughts running through his head. And as much as he hates to admit it, those thoughts were about you.
How can he not? Meeting you was what started this, and learning more about you bit by bit was quite and amusing encounter.
The more you saw him, the more you hated him, you hated his voice's tone, his obsession with growing stronger and that stupid grin of his. But what you hated the most about him was that he's one of them.
He knew that, he assumes that being one of the Fatui higher ups was one of the quality's you hated the most. ( it is unknown to him whether you even liked any of his so-called charms)
It was quite understandable though, he hated those cynical bastards as well. The though of conquering them, defeating those heathens last would bring a joyous victory to him.
The sweet smell of blood being the only thing that filters the battlefield as he slaughter each and every one of them. He wouldn't call it an ambition, but if you were to have the same goal as him...
He wouldn't mind going ok a spree with you.
He wouldn't mind executing a bunch of lowly scums with you.
Sadly, you think of him as one. So he doubts you'd be on board with something like that.
"She's definitely-" Hosting himself up, he took a second to stretch " -The most vexatious person i've ever encountered. Not even Signora or that midget would be able to hold a candle to her when it comes to being this irksome."
His feet trudged in a patterned pace as he starts to head back to Liyue Harbor. Finding it silly to be wasting his time thinking about unimportant matters like this.
All he needed to get here was the Geo Archon's gnosis. He shouldn't even be involved with you.
You hated him and he hated you.
So... Why?
#childe x you#genshin impact x reader#genshin fanfic#genshin impact fanfic#genshin impact angst#genshin scenarios#genshin childe#tartaglia x reader#tartagalia x you
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✊🏽
✊-protecting
tw for the bus
Cady is always protecting Janis.
You’d think it’d be the other way around, with their size difference and Janis’ tough facade. But 99% of the time, Cady is Janis’ knight in shining armor or guardian angel.
When she almost gets into a fistfight with Regina in the hallway over a half-baked insult hurled at her girlfriend, Cady is the one to talk her down.
When she gets the brilliant idea to climb a streetlight to paint the skyline, Cady is the one who pins her to the ground so she can’t climb it.
When she almost gets shoved into a locker, Cady is the one who pushes Shane Oman away and sends him scurrying with a punch and a few-well placed threats.
When she almost gets hit by a bus, Cady is the one who pushes her out of the way.
-
She’s been unconscious for a week.
Janis has been very conscious for a week.
How can she sleep, when her girlfriend is barely held together by stitches and a spinal halo, kept alive by tubes down her throat and monitors stuck all over her body, beeping incessantly to remind Janis just why they’re here.
How can she sleep, when all she can see when she closes her eyes is Cady’s form crumpled on the asphalt, in a pool of her own blood, delicate skin flushed red with road rash and stained purple with horrific bruising and-
A faint groan startles Janis out of her thoughts. “Caddy?”
“Mm,” Cady moans. Janis gasps and bursts into tears, rushing to turn off the lights so she doesn’t get a headache. She ended up with a pretty bad concussion on top of all her other injuries.
Cady continues struggling to open her eyes, but they suddenly fly open in a panic. The doctors told her she wouldn’t be able to move for a while, and she’s obviously in a great deal of pain.
“Hey,” Janis whispers, ever so gently brushing her fingertips against Cady’s cheek. “It’s okay, you don’t have to be scared. You’re okay.”
“Jay,” Cady croaks, voice weak and raspy from the internal damages and not being used in more than a week.
“Yeah,” Janis sniffles. “I’m right here. You’re gonna be okay.”
“‘Happened?”
“You saved me,” Janis chuckles. “Again. Super Caddy saving her damsel in distress.”
Cady rolls her eyes lovingly. Janis is glad to see none of her personality died with her for those fifteen agonizing seconds. She shoots Janis a look that says, “Really.”
“You got hit by a bus,” Janis says. “You-you-you… died. For fifteen seconds. They resuscitated you, but you were in so much pain and had so much internal damage that they put you into a coma. After your surgeries.”
“Plural?” Cady asks in fright. Janis nods solemnly.
“It broke your spine in a few places,” she murmurs. “So they had to fix that, and that’s why you have the halo. And you had a lot of internal bleeding, so they had to stitch you up inside and stuff. But they got you stable, and you’ve been making tons of progress all week.”
“You look like hell,” Cady says sadly, the first full sentence she’s said since she woke up. Janis gently grabs her hand as she twitches her fingers, the closest she can get to reaching a hand out for her.
“I’m okay,” she says, entirely truthfully. Cady glares at her. “I am. Caddy, I thought… I thought I lost you. I thought you were gonna die thinking I hate at you. I thought your last memory was gonna be us fighting. It-it should’ve been me.”
Cady frowns as Janis dissolves into sobs, clinging to her hand like a lifeline. She wills her hand to move, fights through the pain to gently brush a hand over Janis’ cheek and cup her chin.
“It shouldn’t have been either of us,” she says. “But I could never hate you, my love. We’re a couple, we’re bound to have arguments from time to time. This one just happened in a really bad place at a really bad time.”
“But I put you here,” Janis sobs.
“No, you didn’t,” Cady continues lowly. “I put myself here. I chose to push you. I knew what would happen, and what might happen because of it. But I’m okay.”
“I thought I lost you,” Janis weeps, leaning into Cady’s hand. Cady feels her own tears fall as she repeats that, over and over.
“You didn’t,” she says, eventually stopping Janis’ downward spiral. “You won’t. I’m right here. Come here.”
“No, I-I’ll hurt you, you’re not supposed to move-“
“I’ll put you in one of these beds if you don’t, get your ass up here,” Cady demands. Janis watches as Cady shifts herself to the side of the bed, clearly in agony, but still making room to comfort her.
“Caddy, please, don’t-“
“Whatcha gonna do about it?” Cady taunts with one of her usual adorable smiles. Janis is glad to see it, after everything they’ve been through this week.
Begrudgingly, she climbs into bed next to her and lies on her side, lacing their fingers together and poking her head through a gap in Cady’s spinal halo to rest her head near her shoulder. She’s careful not to actually put any pressure on it, since that’s liable to injure her already very damaged girlfriend further.
“When was the last time you slept?” Cady asks knowingly. She tries to turn her head to look at her, but gasps as a burst of pain stops her. Janis winces, in pain by proxy.
“It doesn’t matter,” she whispers. “I’ll get some soon.”
“You’re impossible,” Cady sighs lovingly. Janis chuckles, inhaling the smell of antiseptic and the faint lingering scent of Cady’s strawberry shampoo.
“Maybe,” she agrees. “But you’re stuck with me.”
“I think you’re stuck with me, now,” Cady says. “Probably literally, how did you get in this thing?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Janis replies immediately, her usual response when she’s done something she’s not supposed to. “But now it’s my turn.”
“Your turn?”
“To protect you,” Janis says. “You’re always protecting me. Now it’s my turn to protect you.”
“I love you,” Cady says.
“I love you too,” Janis replies.
“Figure out your way out and kiss me.”
“Yes, your highness.”
#cadnis#paint by numbers#space safari#cady heron x janis sarkisian#cady x janis#cady heron#janis sarkisian#mean girls#mean girls musical#mean girls broadway#mean girls the musical#mean girls on broadway
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maybe if you watched more cocomelon you'd have more empathy for people who go on anon. you're learning and growing but also you're being really toxic rn and i can't let that slide tbh
Hey there.
It appears you are mistaken about my anon policy.
There's a reason I leave it on. Several reasons, actually. Because I do care and accommodate those who want to use it for whatever reason.
However, if all you're gonna do is use the anonymous feature to send hate my way, I believe I deserve the right to call whoever is doing so a coward. Anon hate is not a new thing to me, or to this site. It's a big reason a lot of blogs have turned anon asks off, or just turned asks off altogether.
I, however, believe in practicing what I preach. The ability to take what you dish out. If I can throw insults at people, they can do the same to me, and it's the same the other way around.
So, anon, you must understand that, when I kindly leave my door open so that people may enter, and they choose to use this chance to barge in and yell insults at me because I disagreed with someone that isnt them on a very minor issue with an overall correct argument, why am I in the wrong for hurling insults back?
Is it because you don't like insults about anons in general? Because I make it clear that it's just hate anons that get this kind of treatment, because you should at least have the gall to show your face when you try to shoot me.
Is it how deep I rip into people? Because I find it only fair if they shoot first to hit back, and harder. Most certainly when they hide themselves under anonymity.
Or is it because these anons are your friends? That you somehow know them, despite them being anonymous?
Maybe it's the same reason I replied to that post in the first place, to defend someone who may have came off as brash and harsh, but hopefully meant well.
However, I quickly run out of patience when all good faith arguments have been thrown out the window for a goo barrage of "fuck yous" from people "banned for being based", or people who throw my point in my face and expect me to be mad about it.
Because you're right. Maybe, somehow, if Cocomelon is children's programming meant to instill long-lasting lessons of morality and various other things a child needs to learn, while also not being too condescending towards the viewers (as older audiences who may have forgotten what lessons these shows have to teach may not sit happily throigh them, and also it's not cool to condescend to children unnecessarily), than yeah, I have no choice but to agree.
However, I think my empathy levels for anon users are just right. Fully empathetic, unless you use that tool to try and hurt someone, in which you have lost all sympathy from me, because of my own internal policies that dictate who I deem as good and who I deem as bad.
But even ignoring my moral compass, if you seriously advocate for people to use anon to try and hurt others, and think my ripping into people who do this is wrong? I don't really want you around anyway.
The only reason I haven't ripped into you, dear anon, is that I try to take the best approach I can with things like this. Maybe, you mean this genuinely. Maybe you're a mutal who I care deeply about seeing on my dash. Maybe you're just someone who enjoys my reblogs. I value all above myself, that's for sure. So I want you to know, anon.
I don't try to hurt people who I deem as innocent. I try my best to take a positive approach when I can. In fact, usually, I don't do more than scroll and quuck-reblog posts.
So I hope you trust me when I say things like; I don't harbor any malice towards the OP of that one post everyone has issue with for some reason. I even agree with his main point, I just feel like if you're gonna dig into a very popular show, expecting backlash is reasonable. I made a comment that I figured was repeated already (which it was), and would be ignored, and the fact that it wasn't sucks. But I also made something that can result in backlash. And I received alright. But that's alright, because that's how getting in a fight works. I'm just left wondering why a bystander, who hopefully has good intentions, is objecting to the guys that are fighting online trying to find every aspect to make fun of their opponent.
I gotta cut this rant off somewhere, so here's where I leave it: If you're really serious about my inherent toxicity towards those who use anon to hide their face to try and hurt me, please message me so we can work this out if we're mutals and/or if you're brave enough, or keep sending anons, because i do respect privacy in delicate matters. I'll call ya tbh anon if ya choose that route. However, if this is just another person throwing words I've used in my face to try and make me mad, you have failed. I'm just disappointed in myself that I put so much good faith in you. But hopefully you meant well.
Til next time, tbh anon. Be seeing you,
Snow of the Cat Cafe System, AKA The Great Canadian Kbitty
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DAILY DEVOTIONAL FOR APRIL 8, 2023
Trust in God
By Susan Kerrigan (Washington, USA)
READ MATTHEW 27:38-46
"He trusts in God. Let God rescue him now."
MATTHEW 27:43 (NIV)
"For years, I prayed for a baby. I longed to look into the eyes of my newborn and hear the little sounds that a newborn makes. Through all the waiting, fertility screenings, and treatments, I prayed and waited.
During my years of waiting, I was hesitant to declare my trust in God, especially to those who weren’t believers. I was afraid that they would think, If her God is so trustworthy, why haven’t her prayers been answered?
As we read in today’s quoted verse, Jesus was mocked for his faith as he hung on the cross. To onlookers, it appeared that God had abandoned Jesus, and Jesus even poured his heart out to God asking why he had been forsaken. God didn’t rescue Jesus from the cross as his followers had hoped because God had a much bigger plan that would make redemption possible.
We often cannot see God’s plan. We think, If only God would intervene and fix my problem. But if we continue to trust in God, we are in good company. Even if others mock our trust, God is trustworthy. We have every reason to declare boldly our trust in God." In stressful and somewhat disappointing circumstances we find that we still wait on a solution. We must fix our faith in God and allow His Will to be in control. We may be disappointed with things in that moment, but God will prevail in the long run. Be patient and stay with God. You will not regret it.
TODAY'S PRAYER
"Dear God, help us to trust you when our prayers seem unanswered. Give us courage to declare our trust in you." Amen.
Matthew 27:38-46
New International Version
"'38 Two rebels were crucified with him, one on his right and one on his left. 39 Those who passed by hurled insults at him, shaking their heads 40 and saying, “You who are going to destroy the temple and build it in three days, save yourself! Come down from the cross, if you are the Son of God!” 41 In the same way the chief priests, the teachers of the law and the elders mocked him. 42 “He saved others,” they said, “but he can’t save himself! He’s the king of Israel! Let him come down now from the cross, and we will believe in him. 43 He trusts in God. Let God rescue him now if he wants him, for he said, ‘I am the Son of God.’” 44 In the same way the rebels who were crucified with him also heaped insults on him.
The Death of Jesus
45 From noon until three in the afternoon darkness came over all the land. 46 About three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eli, Eli,[a] lema sabachthani?” (which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”).[b]"' In Jesus' final moments He felt that God had turned away. Even though He believed in His father and trusted Him; there was still a fleeting doubt. We get that way far too often. We aren't seeing results as we thought it should be and we give up for a bit. Truly stand the course and the right result will happen. Be blessed in God and love Jesus! Joe
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STATEMENT OF VP SARA ON WALDEN BELLO’S ACCUSATIONS When I was a child, my father gave me sound advice — never listen to attacks hurled against our family. And I took it to heart during my VP campaign. I never shared my spotlight with Walden Bello despite the offensives he launched against me. I was focused on drilling my education platform in all the rallies that I could muster. In fact, I have never filed a libel case in my life. Criticisms do not deserve even a backward glance because the accomplishments of Davao City under my leadership are already set in stone. Instead of deflecting blame, playing the victim of an imaginary case of political persecution, and dragging me into his legal woes, I suggest that Mr. Bello be reminded of the fact that a civilized and democratic society does not respect hubris. The right to freedom of speech and expression does not protect anyone from defiling the name and reputation of others. I expected him to know that Filipinos have a distaste for those who commit crimes and commit crimes with impunity. That he calls the charge against him “silly” speaks volumes of Mr. Bello’s character — it was clearly derision of and an insult to the Prosecutors and the time and effort they put in to uphold the rule of law. Mr. Bello — supposedly a respected international educator and a human rights activist — took it so low and displayed a disgraceful version of himself, making him the perfect poster boy of someone we hope our children will not become when they grow up. Mr. Bello should focus on salvaging what remains of his dignity and self-respect, I am asking him to stop obsessing over me — and stop blaming me for his fall from grace. Thank you. Sara Z. Duterte Vice President of the Philippines Secretary of the Department of Education August 9, 2022 (at AUB Gensan Nat’l Highway) https://www.instagram.com/p/ChBt36GgtKr/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
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Hate is such a strong word, no?
Inspired from this playlist
Contents ⇀ Fem reader, Mentions of Blood, Violence, Mostly Childe's POV, Probably gonna make a part 2, Childe feeling intense attraction to you and thinking it's just some sort of hate thing, You hate him because he's a Fatui he hates you because you won't look past his "Fatui-ness", Mans is so tired of this misunderstanding, Insults, Enemies to lovers.
Your dynamic with him wasn't exactly something you're proud of. Sharp glares wanting to burn through each other, Vulgar expletives being thrown out of anger and of course, the pointless battles you'd both recklessly dive into. Blades pointing at each other's throat as you internally warn him, telling him that this time. This time for sure, you'll drive the tip of your spear straight into his gut if he doesn't stop it with these stupid antics.
"As expected, " Chuckling he moves the shaft's end away, distancing himself from it "You really are good with Polearms. "
"Thanks for stating the obvious. Now get the hell away from me, Fatui. "
"Ouch. Another insult given by Madam Y/n! Very harsh words from a Favonius Knight, don't you think? " Swiftly dodging your attempt to aim for his arm, he circles around you creeping behind like a serpent lusting for blood, and in this case he probably is. "Oh I'm sorry, I completely forgot! " The naïve tone of his voice only made your blood boil, veins popping visibly along your wrists line as you gave him another look of warning. 'don't you dare.. ' silently scowling you gripped the weapon. Knuckles white and sore.
"Former Fovonian Knight. " He 'corrects' himself, a sing-song tone lacing the poison of his words.
You've really had it with these Fatui-scums and their stupid mind games. Ending him right here, right now would've been that easy if it weren't for that oath you promised. No blood shall be shed again, No life shall be taken. Those were your rules back then.
Despite not being one of the Knights anymore, you still haven't stepped down from the vow you guaranteed in the past. Even if he was a Fatui. You mustn't.
"Leave me, Fatui. " You lowered your spear, side glancing him as you watched his expression fade into a daze, quite bewildered by your sudden forfeit. "I don't want to waste any more time with the likes of you. So do yourself a favor and stop wasting your time with the likes of me, as well. " With a breathless huff you made your way towards the uphill across from where you are. Still stunned he fails to follow after you.
But why should he? You were just someone he kills time with by forcing you to spar. His methods of annoying you working like a spell as you comply to his desire for battle. If he wanted to spar he could just find a random monster strong enough to keep him entertained for a while. Calling after you would be a stupid thing to do, though his title as a Fatui harbinger is associated with the word, so you could say he'd just make a fool out of himself in that situation.
Choosing to ignore your 'cowardly' admit of defeat he spent a second of his time by throwing rocks into a nearby lake. A habit he had never gotten rid of whenever he's frustrated. Pebble after pebble left immense amount of splatters from it's fall as the eleventh harbinger fumbles onto the stones left in his palm. A frustrated groan leaves his lips as he hurls the rest of it in the water. "What am I sulking for..? " Plopping down on a boulder he sighs, exhausted with all the thoughts running through his head. And as much as he hates to admit, those thoughts were all about you.
How can he not? Meeting you was what started this, and learning more about you bit by bit was quite an amusing encounter. The more you saw him was the more you hated him, you hated his voice's tone, his obsession with growing stronger and that stupid grin of his. But what you hated the most about him was that he's one of them. He knew that, he assumes that being one of the Fatui higher ups was one of the quality's you hated most. (It is unknown to him whether you even liked any of his so-called charms.)
It was quite understandable though, he hated those cynical bastards as well. The thought of conquering them, defeating those heathens at last would bring a joyous victory to him. The sweet smell of blood being the only thing that filters the battlefield as he slaughters each and every one of them. He wouldn't call it an ambition, but if you were to have the same goal as him,
He wouldn't mind going on a spree with you. He wouldn't mind executing a bunch of lowly scums with you.
Sadly, you think of him as one. So he doubts you'd be on board with something like that.
"She's definitely- " Hoisting himself up, he took a second to stretch "- The most vexatious person I've ever encountered. Not even Signora or that midget would be able to hold a candle to her when it comes to being this irksome. "
His feet trudged in a patterned pace as he starts to head back to Liyue harbor. Finding it silly to be wasting his time thinking about unimportant matters like this. All he needed to get here was the Geo Archon's gnosis. He shouldn't even be involved with you.
You hated him and he hated you.
So why?
Thank you for reading this. And I just wanna say that I love this playlist sm<3 And that I'm also a sucker for Ginger water blade man and the enemies to lovers trope<3
-Lath
#Childe#Tartaglia#Genshin Impact#Genshin Impact Childe#Genshin Impact Tartaglia#x Reader#Fem reader#Childe x reader#Enemies to lovers#I'am obsessed with Ginger waterbender man#he's like the opposite of zuko but he still got that trauma arc
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So I'm rereading snippets of ACOTAR, and my heart just hurts for Feyre. Like she really makes me want to bundle her up in a blanket and just LOVE her.
Like look at this part when Tamlin is telling her he'll have to send her home, and her first reaction is:
My chest caved in. Leaving—free. "Did I do something wrong—"
The fact that she thought he was sending her back because she was somehow not good enough or had done something to upset him just speaks volumes about how she'd never had love in her life before.
And then:
"You have to go home, Feyre."
Home. It wadn't my home—it was Hell. "I want to stay with you," I whispered, my voice breaking.
Another:
"I suppose it'll be easier if I'm gone," I said, looking away from him. "Who wants someone around who's so covered in thorns?"
"Thorns?"
"Thorny. Prickly. Sour. Contrary."
Bestie 😭 You really decided to come into my ask box and break my heart huh. So much of Feyre's internal dialogue in the first book is heartbreaking. If it's not geared towards survival, then it's riddled with self doubt.
Like cringeing at her own reflection:
As I sat before a marble vanity letting Alis braid my wet hair, I cringed at my reflection. It wasn't pleasing--though not for its actual appearance. [...] I bore too much of the people we'd hated and loved for Nesta to stand it. For me to stand it, too.
And it feeling like such an accomplishment when she didn't:
I had looked pretty. Feminine. I wouldn't go so far to call myself a beauty, but... i hadn't cringed.
It really puts into perspective how far she'd come when she stood in front of the Ouroboros 🥺
And then all those internal insults she hurled towards herself:
"You can't write, can you." I didn't answer. I didn't know what to say. Ignorant, insiginifcant human.
I could almost feel the wound deep in my chest as it ripped open and all those awful, silent words came pouring out. Illiterate, ignorant, unremarkable, proud, cold--
Shortcoming--another one of my shortcomings. [...] for someone I had so stupidly thought would really care if he met someone who perhaps felt the same, perhaps understtod--in my ignorant, insignificant human way--what it was like to bear the weight of caring for others.
I couldn't read--I was an ignorant, human fool. My shortcomings had caught up with me, and this place would become my tomb.
It really puts into perspective how far she's come. I am in nothing but awe of our High Lady and the emotional journey she's been on. I'm glad that now she's surrounded by so many people who love her and have nothing but faith in her <3
#She's come such a long way and I'm so proud of her <33#pro Feyre#feyre supremacy#feyre archeron#also if we're going into each other's ask box with heartbreaking content I have a quote list of Rhys trauma with your name on it#arrowmusings really said 'we're crying today'#Arrow tag#Arrow tag <3
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To Weep For The Sun
Summary: Argella Baratheon never wanted to become a lady-in-waiting to her cousin's, Rhaegar, betrothed. But then Elia Martell smiled at her and the world tilted.
Pairing: Elia Martell/Baratheon!Female Original Character, Oberyn Martell/Baratheon!Original Female Character
WARNINGS: sneaking around with the love of your life behind your husband’s back, Elia and her babies have the canon ending, sorry, maximum angst
Word Count: 9.6k (is anyone surprised?)
(Banner by bb @thesadvampire who would always let me scream and cry about Elia)
A/N: This story bounces between the 'past' (pre-Robert's Rebellion) and the 'present' (post Rebellion.) Please let me know if you have any questions.
Or read on Ao3 here!
Robert’s face was red and wet—redder still from where her hand had connected with his cheek. The clattering of armor, of Kingsguard dogs rushing to their new king’s aid from the woman who had just smacked him, barely registered in her ears.
“You are a monster.”
**
Argella remembered meeting the princess before the royal wedding. She was a Baratheon—a far off cousin of the Targaryen family tree and the only girl born to Steffon and Cassana Baratheon and Queen Rhaella had requested she become a lady-in-waiting to the new princess of the Seven Kingdoms. It was supposed to be an honor, many others had been vying for the position she was unceremoniously saddled with, but she only saw it as an inconvenience. King’s Landing smelled. It had none of the charms of Storm’s End and she hated how warm every day was—where were the storms to lull her to sleep? Or the sea breeze to cool her heated skin?
And she was completely prepared to bribe her new slew of handmaidens to make sure her chalice was always filled with sweet wine but then…
“Hello,” a soft voice said.
And the world tilted.
Elia was a quiet sort of woman, who had a soft laugh and a wicked wit she only voiced in chosen few. And her poor heart was already firmly planted in Elia’s delicate hands when the princess called her into her chambers, late at night, only a few moons after her engagement to Prince Rhaegar had been announced.
King’s Landing, it seemed, had been very lonely for both of them.
“But it is good to have friends. True friends.”
Argella’s breath stuttered in her lungs when Elia reached out to touch her hand, pressing her gentle fingers around hers and squeezed. “Yes. Friends.” The word was strangled in her throat. “I would be blessed to call you friend, Princess.”
Elia chuckled and tightened her hold. “We are already friends.”
**
Even as the Kingsguard pushed her down to her knees at the base of the Iron Throne, Argella would not stop hurling insults at her brother—the usurper.
But she did not care about the stupid throne or whose ass sat on the stupid metal chair.
She cared about Elia and her babies.
“Did your hurt pride truly rob you of your last shred of humanity?”
“Silence!” Robert roared. He waved his hand and the armored grips on her shoulders were removed. “You are my sister. I will not fight you-”
“Fight me! You coward! You could not bear to have little Lyanna be anyone else’s wife! You are a spoiled boy with a toy—so you broke it so no one else could play with it.”
“I am your king! You will-”
“I will not! You will listen to me. You have robbed three innocents of their lives for your stupid pride. Elia and her children were not a threat to you. They would have renounced any claim to the throne if you had asked. But you left them bloody and nearly unrecognizable,” she spat. “They were children—babies. And Elia was gentle and kind. And you killed them!”
“I know!” Robert yelled, his voice cracking and echoing in the hall. “Do you truly believe that I do not care-”
“I know you don’t! Because you sit there with a crown on your head and wine in your gut like a glutton. You will ruin this kingdom—you will ruin yourself even more than you have already—you have ruined me!”
**
It was almost embarrassing how quickly Argella found herself half-in-love with the Dornish Princess. She was kind and beautiful and clever and she was fond of whispering vulgar jokes into her ear when they were surrounded by other highborn noblemen who were preparing for the royal wedding in just a few moons’ time.
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” Argella murmured as they both pulled the blankets on Elia’s bed up to their chins in the dark room. Argella’s room was always too warm and, since she was the princess’ companion, it was blessedly common for the women to share a bed. After all, the companion was to tend to the princess’ every need at every hour she may need. “I think I’ve been waiting for you my entire life.”
Even in the dark, with the smallest sliver of moonlight filtering into the room, Argella watched a smile spread across Elia’s face. It was the sun—she was the sun.
And then Elia kissed her.
**
She wished she could say it looked like Elia was sleeping when she saw her next. But no. She had fought like a tigress against the hands of the Stranger but she was still ever so delicate. She had lost that fight.
“I’m sorry, my love. I am so sorry,” she whispered, her fingers just touching the ends of Elia’s hair, remembering how she used to braid it when Elia would be up late with her babies, nursing them or tending to their cries. It was always so soft under her fingers and Elia would smile at her over her shoulder whenever Argella tied off the ends. “I wish it were me. I wish it were me on this wretched table and you were still holding your babes close.” Tears tracked down her cheeks and splashed against Elia’s cooled skin. “Oh, my love. I am so sorry.”
**
The wedding was lavish, as it was bound to be for the Crown Prince and his bride.
Argella would be lying if she said it did not hurt to see Elia pledge her love and loyalty to Rhaegar. He did not deserve her. Rhaegar had been obsessed with prophecy since he was a boy and Argella wondered what he would do to Elia in pursuit of a fulfilled divination that was centuries old.
But she smiled at her Princess when she turned, holding Rhaegar’s hand, and was pronounced the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
The Seven Kingdoms did not deserve her either.
“She shines brighter than any sun, does she not?”
Argella turned at the sound of the voice and smiled as she recognized who was speaking. Oberyn Martell. Elia’s younger brother. He was a dashing man, filled with charisma and charm—and a temper as bright as his smile.
“She does.” Argella wanted to say more. Wanted to say that the dragon prince would try to stifle her shine, that the cloying dirt of the capitol would try to warp her into another mindless drone, that the last night Elia had spent as an unmarried woman had been in her arms. But she didn’t. She only smiled at Oberyn and clapped along with the crowd as the newly married couple walked by, out into the sunlight.
**
“I wanted to name you Princess of Dragonstone—my heir.”
Argella turned at the sound of Robert’s voice, biting back a snarl. “I would refuse. Have you no shame?”
“I need you-”
“You’re marrying Cersei Lannister. She will provide you plenty of heirs, I’m sure. Just as many as your precious Lyanna would have, too. Or any other girl in the Seven Kingdoms.” Argella turned back to her trunk and placed the dress she had been folding on top of the others.
“It was not me who killed her.”
“No. But you might as well have. You started the rebellion. You marched on the capitol. Every little thing comes back to you and your hurt pride, brother. And for that, I will never forgive you.”
**
Argella watched Rhaegar dance with his new wife and tried not to scowl. Weddings were supposed to be happy occasions. Royal weddings even more so. But she wanted to rip her hair out when Rhaegar was cold with Elia time and time again during the festivities. It was his wedding—he had married the most beautiful woman in the world, the kindest, the most gentle. And he could barely muster a smile.
“May I steal you?”
Argella nearly startled at the question but laughed as she recognized Oberyn at her side. “As long as it is only for a dance, my prince. You know I must stay by your sister’s side.” She placed her hand in his and let him lead her out toward the other dancing couples. He held her close and she let his pleasurable scent of spice and citrus invade her senses as he led her through the steps of the familiar dance.
“Elia speaks highly of you, Lady Argella.”
“She is too kind. It is a joy to be at her side.”
They spoke easily for the next few songs and dances, and Argella knew she could have easily fallen to Oberyn’s teasing and magnetic charms. She could have chased his smiles and made herself stupid trying to earn his laughter and attention. He was a handsome man, a learned knight, with worldly aspirations. He was who any woman would aspire to marry.
But all she could think of was how soft Elia’s lips had been last night.
But Oberyn smiled at her, unaware of her internal conflict, and she had to smile back. She could never deny him that, it seemed.
**
“You were my favorite, you know.”
Argella bit back the sneer she felt growing as she finished packing away the small trunk she had taken. “Renly and Stannis both starved for a year holding our home against the Tyrells but I am your favorite? I must say that I hope your new crown grants you a bit more awareness.”
Robert reached out and wrapped his strong hand around her wrist, stopping her movements. “Please, Argella. Please.”
And despite wanting to simply run him through with any sharp object she could get her hands on, she let her older brother turn her to face him and almost scoffed at the tears in his eyes. “What?”
“What would it take for you to forgive me?”
“More than you could give, your grace.”
Robert’s warm hand dropped. “I am giving you one hundred thousand dragons, to help you make a home wherever you see fit.”
“I don’t want your coin! I want Elia alive and breathing! I want her babies to still call me ‘Aunt Argella’ and tug on my hair! I want my life as it was—before your hurt pride ripped it away from me. I was happy, Robert. I was so happy.”
“You used to be happy on my lap, listening to me tell you stories. You used to climb into my bed when you had nightmares because you trusted your brother to keep you safe.”
Argella felt her chin wobble with fresh tears. “Yes. I should have known better. Should have known that you were a selfish brute when you never returned a single one of my letters after you were taken in by Jon Arryn at the Eyrie as his ward. Should have known when you dismissed me out of hand when you came back to Storm’s End. I waited all night for you, to see you come back on your mare. I made sure the cooks had your favorite meal waiting for you, spent more than a few dragons getting that ale you liked from the market—and you waved me off as soon as the gates were opened. You have always been selfish, Robert. I should have known you would take what little happiness I had and squash that, too.”
Robert’s face turned a familiar, terrible shade of sweaty red and he turned away sharply before turning back to her, dragging a hand down his cheeks. “It was not me! I did not steal your Elia away from you!”
“Then tell me who! Tell me who gave the order!”
**
Elia happily sighed as Argella kissed the backs of each of her thighs, up her back, shoulders, before nipping just slightly at the pulse of her neck. They had been granted a few hours reprieve of Rhaegar’s presence and had indulged themselves in a little carnality, filled with soft touches and wet kisses that lingered and fingers that moved to touch places only the other knew about until they were biting at the other’s shoulders with a cry of release. Elia’s labored breathing slowed as she turned to face her lover, tugging at the ends of her dark hair, silently requesting a kiss which Argella happily gave. “Only the sun can rival the warmth you bring me.”
“You are my sun, Elia.” And then she kissed her again.
**
“Dorne is calling for war. Prince Oberyn is readying House Martell’s bannerman as we speak,” Jon Arryn, Robert’s new Hand of the King, and surrogate father was pacing around the Small Counsel chamber like a white haired pony.
“My sister wants to travel to Sunspear to deliver Elia and her children to her family,” Robert said.
Argella held her breath from her hiding place behind the door, waiting for Jon Arryn or some other stupid man to say it was not her place.
“That is acceptable. Perhaps Prince Oberyn would be willing to marry-”
“I will not force my sister into any arrangement she does not design herself. That will be the last I hear of it, Lord Arryn, am I understood?”
Jon let out a sigh. “Argella, must learn her place, Your Grace. And it is to serve you and the Realm.”
**
“Oberyn has sent another raven.” Elia held up the bit of parchment with a smile. “It seems you have made quite an impression on him. He has dreamt of your ‘beautiful eyes and sweet smile’ while he has been running around playing sellsword in Essos.”
Argella chuckled and shook her head. “I am sure he has plenty of people to distract himself with. I will be barely a memory to him in a few moons’ time.”
Elia reached out and tugged at the end of Argella’s braid. “You think so little of yourself, my love. No one would ever be able to forget you. Even when I am old and frail and I can barely remember my own name, I will remember you. I know it. The way you smile, the sound of your laugh,” she reached out to brush a finger down her cheek, “the curve of this, just here. I will remember you.”
Argella leaned forward and kissed her. “And I shall remember you, too, my love. Until the end of my days, which I promise will be at your side.”
**
Dorne was warm—even as the last vestiges of Winter had the other kingdoms still firmly in its grip. Argella had to pull the silly gable hood from atop her head only a few hours after sunrise as they crossed the Red Mountains. The traveling caravan was small. Much smaller than what was probably proper. But that was what she wanted. House Martell did not need more strangers showing up at their doorstep.
It irritated her enough that Jon Arryn insisted he accompany her, telling Robert that Argella wouldn’t be capable of easing Doran’s (and Oberyn’s) need for vengeance.
Their want for vengeance was justified. Argella wanted vengeance.
And she would have it. She was not satisfied just yet. She wasn’t sure if she ever would be, even if the world was left in ashes.
**
“Lala,” sang a familiar voice. “Lala!”
Argella opened her eyes at the sound of her secret nickname and had to catch Elia as she pounced onto her bed. “What is it, my love?” She asked in a tired whisper, eyes half closed again already. The sun had not yet risen but it was not as if she would send Elia from her bed.
“I am with child. The maester just confirmed it.”
Argella sat up in bed and her hand pressed against Elia’s stomach, all traces of sleep evaporating in a heartbeat. “Truly?”
Elia happily nodded and placed her hand over Argella’s, squeezing her fingers.
“Oh, my love. I know you have always wanted a babe of your own.” She just wished it was someone who truly loved her. Not Rhaegar—not the dragon prince who would use her babies for some delusion. “They will be the most loved. I know it.”
“Even by you?” Elia asked, her melodic voice very soft, almost frightened. “I know you do not care for Rhaegar-”
“This child comes from you, my love. I love them already.” And Argella meant every word. She would love this little prince or princess as if they were her own. She knew the moment Elia’s lips touched hers all those months ago that this relationship, this clandestine bond, would always be confined to the shadows and the dark of the night. But she truly wanted to scream it from the rooftops that Elia was the love of her life. She wanted to hold her hand in the sunlight, kiss her for all to see. Wanted everyone to know that the Sun of Dorne was worthy of every bit of love anyone and everyone could give her. But she was quiet. She remained the perfect lady in the eyes of court, living for these stolen moments.
Elia kissed her—and Argella could feel her smile pressing against her mouth. It was Argella’s favorite sensation—aside from the more carnal feelings only Elia could elicit from her beneath their silken blankets. “I love you,” Elia whispered against her mouth. “You know that, don’t you? I love you.”
“I love you too. More than words could ever truly express.” She kissed Elia and ignored how something churned in her chest.
“I have a list of names—if they are a boy or a girl.”
“As your ‘most trusted confidante,’ I must insist that you add Argella to your list,” she said with a wink, referencing how the court referred to Argella.
Elia smiled and moved down the bed just enough to lay her head in Argella’s lap, a silent invitation for her to play with her hair. “Tell me the story behind your name. It is one of your ancestor’s names, correct?”
Argella hummed as she started to weave a braid into Elia’s hair. “The Stormlands were once ruled over by the Durrandon family. But, during Aegon’s Conquest, the head of the house was King Argilac the Arrogant. Argilac and Aegon tried to find a common agreement but it quickly soured when Argilac chopped off the hands of Aegon’s envoy and sent them back to the Targaryens in a box. Orys Baratheon, Aegon’s Hand, then challenged Argilac to a duel and, of course, easily slew Argilac. The Storm Land armies fled. Argella was Argilac’s only daughter and heir. When she heard of her father’s death, she barred the gates at Storm’s End and crowned herself Storm Queen.”
“Now I see why you’ve been given such a name,” Elia teased, earning a pinch to her side.
“The Stormlanders heard of how Aegon and his sisters burned everyone in their way and turned on Argella as Orys approached with his army. They wrapped her in chains and presented her—naked, mind you—to Orys Baratheon. They told him that he could do whatever he wished to her as long as they did not suffer the same fate as Harrenhal.”
“I have not heard of this. How cruel!”
Argella sighed and nodded, finishing off one of the braids before starting another. “But Orys was kind. He wrapped his cloak around her and fed her warm foods, telling her of her father’s bravery on the battlefield.”
“And then they were married?”
“And then they were married. Orys took the Durrandon words as his own—Ours is the Fury—and House Baratheon was created.”
Elia was quiet as Argella finished the second braid. “That is cruel, to name you after a woman whose fate was less than fair. I only knew she was the wife of Orys Baratheon—but I might have dozed a little when learning the histories of the other kingdoms with my Septa.”
Argella laughed lightly and leaned down just enough to brush a kiss at Elia’s temple. “I do not blame you—but I did always wish I was Nymeria of Ny Sar instead of Argella Durrandon.” She then pressed a kiss to Elia’s lips. “But I am lucky to have you in my arms now.”
Elia reached up to tug at the loose strands of Argella’s dark hair. “There must be other names in your family that are kinder to women, no?”
“I’m sure there are—but women are rarely written about in our house’s history aside from how many sons she might have given her husband.”
“I remember learning of a mermaid…Elenei? Am I saying that right? Elenei?”
Argella chuckled and nodded. “Yes. Elenei the mermaid—daughter of a sea god and goddess of the winds. Fell in love with the First Storm King, Durran Godsgrief, it is said. Her parents forbid their love and used their might to tear down any castle he built for his bride. But he kept building. Building and building until their storms could not shake the stones free.”
“And Storm’s End was made,” Elia finished with a smile on her lips.
Argella hummed and glanced outside to the moon. What would her ancestors say of her now? Hiding her love in the dark.
“Elenei. I like that name,” Elia said, seemingly unaware of Argella’s bit of melancholy. “A much better story than poor Argella. She must be happy to know that someone as strong as you carries her name. I am sure of it.” She tugged again at Argella’s hair with a smile, drawing her gaze back to her. “Truly, I can only think of one person holding that name.” Elia turned in her lap to truly look up at her, bathed in moonlight. “It is you—only you.” She reached up and placed her warm hand against the curve of Argella’s cheek. “My Lala.”
**
The towers of Sunspear loomed overhead and she tried not to think of a young Elia running down those marble steps, a laugh on her lips and the sun on her skin.
This was the place Elia called home. This was the place that she had wanted to return to with her babies. This was the place that Argella never wanted to see without Elia at her side.
“My lady,” a knight said to her, draped in colors of House Martell, “Prince Doran is waiting for you in his Solar. I shall escort you. Your entourage will have to wait here.” His eyes cut to Jon Arryn in particular who was already opening his mouth to argue.
“I follow where you lead, Ser. Lord Arryn needs some sun anyway.” She only gave Jon Arryn a look in return, drying the words on his tongue before following the knight into the cooled shadows of the fortress.
The pair was quiet, only the sound of their footsteps echoing in their hall, before he slowed to a stop in front of a carved, white wood door and bowed his head just slightly before opening it for her.
“Lady Argella, I’ve been expecting you.”
**
Rhaenys was beautiful. Beautiful like her mother and liked to laugh when Argella would kiss her little tummy. Argella did not mind when Elia would ask her to hold the little princess when she grew tired. The birth had been hard and the healers and maesters said it would take time for her body to heal itself.
Rhaegar, the pompous silver-haired prince, did not seem to care that his wife was bedridden. He had already pressed Elia to agree to the name of Rhaenys and didn’t seem to spend much more time than necessary with his newborn daughter. He did dote on her, true. But Argella knew and wished that he could do more. More for Elia. More for Rhaenys. More for his family and less of that stupid prophecy he was known to obsess over when he was in trusted company.
“The dragon must have three heads.”
It all sounded so ridiculous. He had everything. A family who loved him. And he continued to not see that, willfully.
But she pushed that from her mind as Rhaenys happily slept in her arms while Elia was napping, too. Her sun tilted toward the slip of sunlight warming the side of her pillow as the sea washed up on the shore just a few feet below. The hum of Dragonstone was quiet.
This was peace. This was as perfect as her life could get, she knew it. Despite all the secrets, the hurt, the loneliness when Elia was called away, this right here? This was worth all of it.
Rhaenys’ dark eyes opened and she smiled as she recognized Argella—she was a smart little babe. “Hello, my little sundrop.”
**
Doran had given her a room in Sunspear for the night, telling her the arrangements had been made to have the funerals tomorrow. The Silent Sisters who had accompanied them down were making sure the bodies of Elia and her babies were prepared correctly for people of their station and rank.
Argella didn’t sleep that night. Doran seemed to know she wouldn’t and had a maid come in when the moon was at its highest with a bit of tea to help her. She took it with a soft ‘thank you’ but hardly sipped at it as the maid stood at the side of her bed.
“This was the princess’ room, you know, my lady. When she was a girl.”
And that just about destroyed her but she hid her face in her teacup and quickly drained its contents before handing it back to the maid who quietly excused herself, probably aware that the woman was about to burst into tears.
And Argella did, as the door shut in its frame. Through blurred vision, she could almost see Elia sitting at the edge of the bed with a smile and a book on her lap. She could almost see Elia wrapping herself in the golden silk of the blankets with a happy smile. She could almost see Elia.
And that was the worst part of it all. To know that Elia had been here, in this place, felt safe in this place, and now she was here—alone.
**
The Tourney at Harrenhal was a disaster. And that was putting it politely. There had been the unannounced and unexpected appearance of King Aerys—who had barely been seen outside Maegor’s Holdfast in the last two years. Then the appearance and subsequent disappearance of the mysterious Knight of the Laughing Tree. Little Lord Jaime Lannister had been inducted into the KIngsguard and then sent to King’s Landing to guard Queen Rhaella and little Prince Viserys, which in one move, stripped Tywin Lannister of his heir and refused Jaime the chance at more glory in the tourney.
But that was not even the worst of it. Elia had been feeling poorly the entire time and Argella was fretting constantly, like an old mother hen.
But she did remember how Elia was when she was pregnant with Rhaenys, and knew that Elia wanted to keep the second pregnancy a secret until she was sure she could carry this babe to term, too. She was so delicate. But she still sat in the box, beside her uncle Ser Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard, and Oberyn, who had finished his ‘adventures’ across the Narrow Sea, to cheer on her husband in the tourney.
On the night before the final day of the tourney, Argella was happy to see Elia with a bit of life back in her face as she danced with Oberyn and Ser Arthur after the night’s feast.
Oberyn then called Argella for a dance and whispered in her ear, making her laugh as one song turned into two then three. And if he snuck a kiss against her cheek, she would never tell.
Argella then pulled her princess away with a secretive smile, toward her tent. “We cannot be sure that Rhaegar will win tomorrow—so I wanted to be sure to crown you the Queen of Love and Beauty.”
Elia laughed and kissed her as Argella plopped a crown of braided blue roses on her shining black hair. “No matter if he does or not, I know that I am yours,” she whispered.
And, for a moment, Argella was happy.
The happiness would not last.
Rhaegar did indeed win the jousting tourney and he was given an ornate crown of blue roses to crown his Queen of Love and Beauty. Argella steeled herself to watching Rhaegar lathe half-hearted attentions on his wife—but what happened was much worse. Rhaegar rode his horse past his pregnant wife and placed the wreath of roses in the lap of Lyanna Stark.
**
The Septon’s words were a low hum in her ears. She could only stare blankly ahead as the funeral processions continued on. It felt like a rusted blade had wedged itself between her ribs and twisted with each breath she took. It ached.
Most of the Dornish in attendance did not look at her. She might as well have been just another pillar in the large hall. Unnecessary and unimportant. But some others… some other she could hear whisper if she put in enough effort.
“That one… the doe. The Usurper’s sister.”
“She must be mad to show herself here.”
“She should have died instead of Princess Elia.”
And they were right. She wanted to be dead instead of Elia.
But a few were kind, their eyes sad as they looked at her, as if they knew something she did not. One of them was Harmen Uller, Lord of Hellholt. His large, warm hand clasped her shoulder and squeezed gently, murmuring his condolences with kind eyes. Lady Mellario, Doran’s wife, also did not avoid her, giving her a small smile as they passed each other in the halls and offering her solar if Argella ever needed a reprieve from the court at Sunspear. But her young daughter, Princess Arianne, was always at her side, and it hurt to see the happy little girl who would always ask after her Aunt Elia.
It hurt.
So she sat in her rooms and cried.
**
Elia was quiet as she sat on the edge of her bed. She had managed to school her face into careful indifference during the tourney but had sunk into herself as soon as Elia had pulled her away into the tent. Oberyn was raging—vowing vengeance against the Crown Prince for the public display of shame he had just cast over his wife.
But Argella did not hear his words, only sitting at her princess’ side and holding her hand, trying to be there for her when she needed. She would do anything to make Elia smile again.
“He told me that he would do this,” Elia finally said, pulling a gasp from Argella and stopping Oberyn in his tracks.
“What?”
Elia lifted her chin from her chest and looked at her brother with tears in her eyes. “The maester told me that this babe would be the last I could bare.”
“What does that matter?” Oberyn hissed. “Two is plenty—two is perfect. Rhaenys is perfect,” Argella said, grip tightening on Elia’s hand.
“He has been obsessed with a prophecy—the dragon must have three heads—since he was a boy. He thinks the savior of the world will come from his bloodline.”
“I will split his head in three,” Oberyn said but Elia reached out and grabbed his arm as he moved toward the tent’s flap.
“Do not, Oberyn. I will remain his Queen, the true Queen. The babe I now carry will be king and any child the wolf-girl bares him will only be a spare. He has promised me this. But I had…I had only hoped that he would have waited until they were alone for him to start his courtship.” She shook her head. “And I am not sure if the girl told her betrothed of Rhaegar’s plan.”
Oh, that was right—Lyanna had been recently betrothed to Robert. He had been so excited to announce the news and then promptly brought two women to his chambers to ‘celebrate.’ Argella doubted marriage would tame his appetites. But his pride would be wounded. And a wounded stag was a dangerous one—Robert embodied the Baratheon’s words to his core. Ours is the Fury.
“Robert is an eligible lord. He can find another bride, I am sure of it.”
Elia nodded. “I do hope so. For his sake.”
**
The funeral had ended and Doran had asked her to wait for him in his solar. She awkwardly stood near the window, watching the sea lap at the shore until the door opened with a slam.
“How dare you show your face here, in Elia’s home!” Oberyn was already raging from across the room, his voice echoing. He was crossing the marble floor then, strides long. “You—the sister of the Usurper. You—who my sister trusted with her life. I should strike you down where you stand.” He stopped as he stepped to her side, his beautiful face twisted into a snarl most fowl.
“I would let you.”
And that seemed to strike at Oberyn as he took a single step back. “Have you no self-preservation? Did you come here to let us kill you like some lamb? To sate your brother’s guilt?”
“No…no I came here to…bring Elia home.”
Oberyn’s snarl faded. “Then you come here to sate your own guilt.”
“I came here to bring Elia home,” she repeated, standing just a fraction straighter despite the urge to curl into herself, as if that would shield her from Oberyn’s stare.
“You have done that. Leave.”
**
Dragonstone felt as if it were about to be consumed by the volcano on which it sat.
The paranoia of King Aerys had only grown, thinking everyone was his enemy. A raven the king had sent to his son was filled with unsubtle threats and demands for Rhaegar to stay at his side, to remain loyal to his father.
But Rhaegar only played his stupid harp and pored over his scrolls about prophecy as Elia languished in her pregnancy.
“He is preoccupied with saving the world, Lala. Try not to hate him too much.”
Argella sighed as she pulled the blankets a little higher around Elia. She had been so cold lately, constantly shivering as her hands cradled her growing belly. “If he truly wanted to save the world, he would have deposed his father long ago.” She shook her head. “He should be preoccupied with keeping you comfortable. You are carrying his child.”
“We both know you are more suited for it—and I prefer your company,” Elia said with a smile.
Argella had to smile at that and leaned down to kiss Elia’s forehead before sneaking a kiss against her lips, too. “Then I shall stay at your side until you tire of me.”
Elia chased her lips as best she could for another kiss before falling back against the silk-covered pillow with a smile. “You know I will never tire of you.”
**
The sun was beating down on her but the soft breeze off the water almost made it tolerable. The dark veil over her face fluttered and hid her tears from the other onlookers. The grand tomb of Elia and her children had been finished just that morning. The final brick laid. They would rest beside their ancestors in Sunspear’s ornate necropolis. They were home again. They could rest.
Argella walked forward and pressed her hand over the deep carving of Elia’s name. Princess Elia Nymeros Martell – The Sun of Dorne.
“Goodbye, my love.” She lifted the veil just enough to kiss the smooth stone of Elia’s name—the last kiss she would be able to give her. Her fingers traced Rhaenys and Aegon’s names, too. A quiet goodbye.
It was time for her to go. She had only a few more things to attend to and then…she would set sail. She would leave Westeros.
The royal stables still held her wheelhouse and she found the trunk she was needing and waved off the servants who offered her help. She dragged the trunk into her room and unlocked it before feeling fresh tears sting her eyes. Tucked inside, neatly tucked beside her dresses and chemises, was a portrait. It was of Elia and her babies. They were smiling and happy and…alive.
Some artist from Braavos had impressed Elia with his talents as he sold his wares at the market on Dragonstone and Argella had secretly commissioned him for the portrait only a handful of moons before the rebellion started. She had meant to gift it to Elia for her next nameday.
It was a true likeness—he had perfectly captured the gentle warmth in Elia’s eyes as she looked down at Aegon in her arms as he slept and Rhaenys dutifully peeked over her mother’s arm to look down at her brother. The gold dragons Robert had gifted her were left forgotten at the bottom of the trunk as she closed the lid, the portrait in her hands as she moved toward Doran’s solar.
A servant bowed to her as he announced her presence and Doran welcomed her, telling her to take a seat across from him at his finely carved desk as he finished a bit of correspondence. And she patiently waited, the portrait sitting on her lap, her arms wrapped around its frame as if she were trying to hug it—to hug the little family on its canvas.
Perhaps she was.
When she handed it over to Doran, her fingers lingers on the carved frame before dropping back down her lap.
Doran was quiet as he looked at the portrait but she could see the emotions running through his eyes before he tightly shut them and nodded once before calling for and handing it off to a servant and whispering where he wanted it hung. The servant nodded before walking away, the portrait in his hands held like a precious gem.
Argella told him of how Elia had loved the artist’s skill and Doran smiled at that. “She would have loved it. I know it.” He paused to clear his throat, the warble of tears in his voice. “It is a fine gift, my lady.”
“I have…one last gift for you. Much less palatable than the last.”
**
Rhaegar had left.
His wife had nearly died bringing his son into the world and he had set off with his band of guards to the Riverlands, quoting the prophecy again. Lyanna Stark waited for him.
The raven Argella had sent to Robert, telling him to break off the engagement to the wolf-girl had went unanswered.
“I am nervous, Lala. Everything is about to change.”
Argella stepped beside Elia at the window and kissed her temple as she watched Rhaegar and his retinue recede on the horizon. “And I shall be with you every step of the way.”
**
“I know that you were more than a companion to Elia.” Doran said it with such ease that it startled her. They had been quietly sipping tea in his solar as the sun rose when he spoke. “She loved you. I know you love her. You have lost your sun, too. And you have come here, to return her and her children home, despite knowing that your welcome would not be kind.” Doran took her hand in his and gently patted at her wrist. “The truth will come out, little doe. But we must let all of Dorne grieve, too.” He sighed and his eyes moved to the giant skull sitting on a tall-legged table. That had been the price Robert paid to try to buy Argella’s forgiveness. He had told her who had been the one to steal the sun from the world and demanded Tywin hand him over or he would not marry Cersei. Tywin had agreed. “I have been told that you are hoping to set sail for Braavos on the next ship that comes to port in a fortnight.”
She nodded.
“You will always be welcome here.”
“I cannot stay here—not without Elia.”
And Doran nodded at that. “If you ever care to return, there will be a place for you at my table.”
“That is kind of you, Prince Doran. Your wife has also suggested I visit her homeland of Norvos, if I am given the chance.”
Doran opened his mouth to respond when the door opened and Oberyn strode in. His dark eyes darted from his brother to Argella. “I thought you would have left by now.”
“Oberyn,” Doran scolded.
“I am surprised you would sup with a Baratheon, brother. First Jon Arryn comes and tries to offer peace and you take it without argument.”
Without a word, Doran opened a drawer on his desk and produced a bit of parchment from its depths. “Oberyn. I have a letter for you.”
“Now is not the time, brother.”
“It is from Elia.”
“I have already been given the last letter my sister wrote to me. Telling me of how scared she was in the Red Keep and how she loved me.” His dark eyes looked to Argella again. “How she wished that I could have been there.”
“There was another, brother,” Doran gently said, extending his arm out, lifting the letter a little higher.
Oberyn looked from Doran to Argella again before pulling his lips tight against his teeth and walking over to snatch the parchment from Doran’s outstretched hand. He opened it and Argella watched his dark eyes scan the words, his face crumpling as he finished. And then he looked to her again. “You? It was you?”
Argella looked to Doran who only looked back at her, eyes unreadable. “I…I don’t understand.”
Oberyn carefully tucked the paper into his tunic before marching forward to grasp Argella’s arm and nearly hauled her out of the room, through the halls, and toward his own chambers. When the door shut, he pushed her into the overstuffed chair at his desk. Dozens and dozens of letters were neatly stacked on top and Oberyn whispered that she should read them. He placed the letter he had just received beside the stack. “You deserve to know.” And then he left her there, alone in his solar.
It took Argella a moment to work up the nerve to reach out and grasp the first letter, recognizing Elia’s neat handwriting.
**
Argella dashed down the stairs toward Elia’s chambers with a smile on her face. She had woken in a good mood at Elia’s side that morning and had only slipped away to dress for the day. The sound of metal on stone seemed to echo in the halls and she briefly wondered if the royal guards were running drills.
But, as she turned the corner toward the hall that contained Elia’s chambers, two spears were thrust out toward her. “Lady Argella Baratheon, you are forbidden from seeing Princess Elia.”
“Move aside. I am her maid—it is my duty to-”
“Your brother has taken up arms against the Crown. House Baratheon are traitors. You are now a hostage until your brother is dead and your brothers swear fealty—or they are killed.”
“I demand you move aside this instant! I am no threat to Elia or her babies. I am loyal—you have-”
Two more guards suddenly grasped her arms and started hauling her back toward her chambers.
“Elia?! Elia?” She screamed.
But she was a prisoner here, too. She knew it.
**
My dear Oberyn,
I am in love. I know only you would truly understand when I say that it is not with my husband. I shall only call them Lala, to keep their identity secret—I would not have them persecuted at Court if these letters would be discovered. But I am happy, brother. Happier than I ever thought possible.
They have kept me sane, dried my tears. When their lips touch mine, I believe I have tasted heaven—if only for a moment. My Lala is my haven in this wretched world.
Rhaenys is fond of Lala, too. It is…almost as if the gods have blessed me with them, letting me have my true family at my side, letting me know what I should have had. …perhaps it is actually a curse.
Over and over again, Elia had written to Oberyn about ‘Lala,’ telling him of how they lived. How they loved. She read of how much Elia had loved her.
**
“Lala?” The voice was soft, but it still woke her from sleep.
Argella sat up in her bed in an instant, recognizing the dark shape at the edge of her bed. She reached out and drew Elia into her bed and quickly pressed her lips to hers, desperate and wanting.
“I do not have much time. The guards are changing shifts and they will notice I am not in my chambers if I do not time this correctly. But I had to see you.” She kissed Argella again. “I needed to see you.”
“You must know I would never, ever do anything to endanger you or Rhaenys and Aegon.”
“I know, my love. I know it as well as I know my name. But I have been summoned to King’s Landing. We leave at first light.”
“Will I be coming with you?”
Tears filled Elia’s eyes as she shook her head. “You cannot. You are to stay here as leverage against your brothers. And I do not know what Aerys would do to you if you were to come to Court again. I have learned he has been burning dozens of people a day.”
“You cannot go,” Argella said, grasping at Elia’s hands. “It is not safe.”
“You know I must. I would only make his ire worse if I prolong how long it takes me to arrive. I would rather arrive with my head held high than in shackles that I know these knights would slap on my wrists if given the order.”
“Elia, please,” the tears were choking her. “Please, do not-”
But she kissed her again. “I love you.” And in the next breath, she was gone.
**
One last letter remained and she dreaded what it held, what Elia had written to Oberyn to make him forgive her so easily, but she slid her thumb under the broken seal anyway and read it.
Oberyn. I know my time on this plane is coming to a close. I can only hope that my babies will survive this but I know in my heart of hearts, that they may not. The Seven Heavens await us all. I wish I could have seen Sunspear one more time, pushed you into the pools at the Water Gardens like I did when we were children. You used to pout so much after I would do that, and mother always fussed over you. I miss you brother. More than words can say. I wish I had more time. When this is over, please tell Argella, my Lala, I love her. Tell her I know she was innocent in all of this—it was not her doing. Tell her to smile. Tell her I will wait for her. She helped me understand what love should be like—she gave me her heart and I gave her mine. Tell her that I will be with her—every sunrise and every sunset. I am with you all.
The last letter slipped from her hand and Argella wept.
**
Her hands hurt. For hours on end, she would hit the locked door of her chambers, pleading to be let out.
But no one would answer. She only heard the terrible sound of metal on stone as knights moved through the halls and once a day, a plate of food was slid beneath her door.
How long had it been? If she was counting the moon’s cycles correctly—it had been three months.
She had nearly given up the last tendrils of hope she had before her door suddenly swung open and a familiar face stood in her doorway. Queen Rhaella Targaryen looked as bruised and beaten as ever, but the gentle swelling of her stomach was new—she was pregnant.
“Lady Argella,” her voice was as soft as it ever was. “I must apologize for your captivity. I have instructed a ship to have you brought to Greenstone—your mother’s home, was it not?”
“It…it was, your grace.”
Rhaella nodded and held out a hand to Argella, helping her stand from her place on the cold, stone floor. “I hope you do not hold me in any ill will. I had not heard of your imprisonment when we disembarked. I would have had you home sooner.”
Argella shook her head, her greasy hair falling in front of her face. “I know you are kindhearted, your grace. I am happy to see you safe.”
Rhaella’s answering smile was small and she nodded. “I will have a maid sent up to help you wash. Your ship will leave at first light.”
And Argella would have been lying if she did not feel a bit of relief as she saw the familiar island of Greenstone come into view as the ship neared its shores. Her aunt and uncle were quick to welcome her and made sure she was comfortable in their finest rooms. And it was only then, that Argella had the nerve to ask what had happened.
Her aunt smiled. “Our little Robert is King of the Seven Kingdoms. Is that not wonderful news?”
“And…and Princess Elia? Little Rhaenys and Aegon?” She hated the sound of hope in her voice. It was cruel to her own ears.
Her uncle sputtered and looked to his wife for a moment. “They were killed when the Lannister army sacked the city.”
And the scream Argella let out nearly shook the walls.
**
Oberyn sat at her side without a word. He did not speak. Neither did she.
But silence eventually turned to quiet, stilted conversation which evolved into seeking each other out at meals and then Oberyn was slipping into her rooms at night so they could continue their discussions, falling back into old habits of hidden smiles and secrets and trying to make each other laugh even if they wanted to cry.
On the last night, Oberyn slipped into her room and watched as she packed away her belongings and readied for bed. As she neared the bed, he stood and grasped her hands in a soft grip that had her sucking in a shuddering breath. She did not want to say goodbye just yet.
“I loved you once. I might love you again—I believe I do already.”
That was equal parts the best and worst thing he could have ever said. “And I love you still. But not in the way you deserve. You…” the words were hard in her throat. “You deserve to be someone’s sun. You deserve to be someone’s first choice. And you will be, I know it. You will find the true love of your life.” She paused. “And I know I would only be a reminder of those who you loved and lost.”
“Just as I would be to you.”
Argella nodded and dropped her head to her chest. “Yes. I am so sorry, Oberyn. Truly.”
But he shook his head and squeezed at her fingers. “Do not be sorry, little doe. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He stepped closer and rested his forehead against hers, both of them squeezing their eyes shut at the contact. “Let us not part on such sad terms. Let our last memory together be one of happiness.”
Argella nodded as best she could, trying to keep the warmth of his embrace as close as possible. “Whatever you wish. Whatever you want. It is yours.”
And the night they spent together was filled with hungry, searching kisses and warm hands and slick skin. Oberyn kissed her as his release rumbled through him and then quickly made sure she found hers, too, before making sure she was truly tired and finding euphoria with each other again before they both fell asleep in her rumpled blankets.
And she did sleep soundly—far better than she had in over a year. Before the Rebellion. But she still woke before the sun and took a moment to watch Oberyn sleep—peaceful amongst the silk. Carefully, she brushed the hair away from his face and kissed his brow in a silent goodbye before slipping away.
At the port, she caught sight of Harmen Uller and his retinue, preparing their boats to return to Hellholt.
“Ah, my lady. Prince Doran has told me you are departing as well.”
Argella only nodded before seeing a beautiful woman step to Harmen’s side.”
“This is my daughter, Ellaria Sand.”
“My lady,” Ellaria said with a small curtsey.
Argella mirrored the motion. “Lady Ellaria.”
But Ellaria chuckled. “I am no lady. But I do wish you fair travels.” Ellaria reached out and grasped Argella’s hands and squeezed, as if knowing that she was in desperate need for some sort of simple contact. “And whatever lies before you, I hope it is kinder than what lies behind.”
Lord Uller nodded at his daughter’s word.
“And I wish the same for you. Your kindness… it has been most welcome.” She smiled as best she could and bid them goodbye as they were boarded onto their fine ship. And then it was time for her to do the same.
She crossed the gangplank and was welcomed by the crew who had been expecting her—and her gold. Before she was shuffled away to her cabin below deck, Argella turned and looked back at Sunspear, trying to press it into her memory. She wanted to remember how the sun shimmered on the golden towers and how the sea salted the air and the sand glistened.
And on just the edge of the dock, just a few feet away from the bustle of the early morning crowd, was Oberyn. He raised a hand to her, a quiet goodbye. Argella did the same.
And then she turned and walked away.
**
Braavos was welcoming. Filled with song and people who would smile and the customs of the city demanded that the highborn and wealthy wear black—it was fitting. She could wear black the rest of her days, a mourning dress. But while they would treat her with the respect a woman of her station warranted, both high and lowborn would take an opportunity to coo over the babe on her hip.
It had only taken her a few moons to realize she was with child. And Elenei came screaming into the world just past midday, when the sun was at its highest. Fitting.
Elenei looked like a Baratheon—except for her eyes. Her viper eyes that would shine in the light and always seemed to know more than she said. Those were inherently Oberyn. She was a Martell.
And she was the delight of the maids who watched her when Argella was tending to her duties as a companion to the Merling Queen, one of the most revered courtesans Braavos had ever sheltered. Her duties mostly included letting Laena, as only Argella was allowed to call her when they were alone, speak of her troubles and help her remember when she was supposed to meet whichever rich lord had paid for her company that week.
Laena was kind and sweet and sometimes would simply cry when she felt that her public persona had robbed her of a true life, of happiness. In a way, Argella was reminded of Elia. A kind woman shackled to duties she did not truly agree to and confined within a gilded cage. So, she let Laena use her as a walking diary, let her express emotions she could not with anyone else. It was cathartic for both of them, in a way.
Argella did not need the coin the position provided—she could have lived very comfortably with the small mountain of gold Robert had given her. But she needed a distraction—and the connections she made at Laena’s side made sure Elenei would be as high-ranking as she ever could be in Westeros.
Elenei was her whole world. The light of her days. She need only look at her daughter’s face to feel herself smile.
She hoped that Oberyn would smile again, too. She hoped her would find happiness with someone kind and beautiful who would handle his wrath with gentleness. Her mind conjured a thought of Ellaria and she found herself smiling at the thought. They would be a handsome pair. Maybe the gods would allow them to be happy.
For a few years, as Elenei continued to grow and prosper into a lovely and well-learned little lady, Argella pondered telling Oberyn of his daughter across the Narrow Sea. But that would have been crueler, wouldn’t it? To drag him back to into the tumult and loss she knew she embodied for him and his family.
And Elenei seemed to know that her father was an important man—but that her mother’s heart also belonged to another. And would forever.
“The sun is shining today, mama. That always makes you smile,” Elenei would say whenever the almost ever-present clouds would clear for a few hours.
“Yes, my sweet one. The sun will always make me smile.”
Elenei smiled and held her mother’s hand, dragging her out of their manse as their servants chuckled at the familiar sight. “Then I must make you smile, mama!”
**
“Do you think you’ll love me forever?” Elia asked, eyes closed as sleep started to take her.
“I know I will.”
(And another banner by my darling @starlight-starwrites I love you)
A/N: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think!
#elia martell x ofc#oberyn martell x ofc#oberyn martell x oc#oberyn martell imagine#game of thrones imagine#asoiaf#game of thrones fanfiction#oberyn martell#elia martell
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i. will rules
— Dearest Daddy is a collaboration with many other writers about Haikyuu boys. At the bottom of the chapter, I will link the material list to Dearest Daddy and you can find other stories to read. Thank you!
TW: Character death
You gather with friends all the time and think about the future. You’ll guess who will get married first, who will be the one to have children, the one to stay single and travel the world. Have you ever gathered and thought about who might be the first to leave this world? Because you don’t want to think of what you know will be a reality. At one point, everyone will pass away.
“Thank you Takahashi. Any expenses on Wakumi, I will pay you.” Sakusa said. The collar from his suit pinched the skin on his neck. Emiko Takahashi, the babysitter, has stayed with Wakumi since Yoichi and Tadema arrived at the hospital. “For now, you can go rest. Wakumi’ll be under my care.”
“Ah, no worries Sakusa.” Takahashi said, “Yoichi and Tadame were your friends. Not mine. I will gladly take care of Wakumi until a family relative fixes up adoption papers.” Sakusa exhaled.
After the funeral, everyone went to (L/N)’s home for a repast. She sat in her living room, bags under her eyes shown noticeably. (L/N) seemed to not listen to what everyone said. What could she be hearing? The sound of Yoichi and Tadema’s flatline? Her piercing scream that awakened Sakusa from his slumber?
“My condolences (L/N).” Takahashi gripped her hand. “If you need anything, you’re allowed to call me.”
“Thank you Takahashi.” Her lips moved, the dry tears on her cheeks stretching. “Did Wakumi fall asleep upstairs? If she did, you can spend the night here.” Sakusa subtly rolls his eyes.
‘Just say you want someone by your side.’ Sakusa maneuvered through familiar faces, unknown friends, and family members to get to the kitchen. He feels more secure, still hating large crowds. Leaning on the countertop, the male checked his notifications. A bunch of missed calls in a thread from an unknown number was at the top.
Sakusa’s head cocked to the side. Whoever was the caller left a voicemail too. He clicked on his phone, heading to the back door in the kitchen. His foot was wedged between the door, keeping it from closing on him, the sound of a male voice entering his ear.
“Hello Mr. Sakusa. My name is Hansuke Fujioka. I’m leaving a voicemail hoping you can call me as soon as you can. An urgent matter needs to be spoken about. Thank you and have a nice day.”
Sakusa went to his missed calls and clicked the top notification. It began dialing.
“Hello?” Said the same voice.
“Hello, this is Sakusa Kiyoomi. You called me about an urgent matter?”
“First, I’d like to give you my condolences on your loss. Secondly, yes. I am Hansuke Fujioka, the Suzuki’s family attorney.” Sakusa leaned in closer to the phone, pulling down his mask to his chin. “My reason for calling is because I’d like to discuss their will with you. The information is much to process over the phone.”
“Understood. Would you like to make a meeting?” Sakusa mentally remembered his free days. “I’m available to meet up this upcoming Thursday. Maybe around ten in the morning?”
“Works well for me. Come to Fujioka Attorneys.”
“Thank you.” Sakusa said, hearing a ‘You’re welcome’ and Mr. Fujioka hung up. Sakusa entered the house through the way he came out. He quickly typed out a reminder in his calendar for Thursday. He heard the clicking of heels and a ringtone. Sakusa’s eyes darted up to see (L/N)’s figure exiting through the back door. He wondered what that could be about but he dismissed it as uninteresting.
“It’s good to meet you.” Fujioka shook Sakusa’s hand. “Please, take a seat.” The male sat on the left chair. Fujioka quickly aligned documents spread on his desk. He stacked them together and cleared his throat. Sakusa sneakily checked the time from his Black Jackals coat.
“We’ll start? I assume?” Sakusa sat up straight. Mr. Fujioka spared him a glance and held up a finger.
“Just a moment, Mr. Sakusa. I’ll be right back.” The attorney ushered out the room, leaving Sakusa alone. He craned his neck to see through the small crack the door had left. Sakusa’s foot anxiously bounced on the floor. What could it be? What could they have left?
“No worries! You arrived at a good time!” Sakusa heard the voice of Mr. Fujioka say, “Come right in and take a seat! We’ll start immediately.” The door opened, revealing her. Her fake smile she would throw on for photo shoots and movies. Her face he wished he could stop seeing everywhere.
(L/N) (Y/N).
“Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Fujioka!” You said, unaware of Sakusa’s presence. “We can—” You stopped mid sentence, making eye contact with Sakusa. He glared, clearly giving a look of annoyance from under the mask. You returned it, replacing it instantly with an even faker smile.
“Ms. (L/N), I’m not sure if you know Mr. Sakusa. The two of you were mentioned in the Suzuki’s will.” Mr. Fujioka went around his desk, scooting up in his chair. You slowly sat down in the other open seat beside the volleyball player. Fujioka grabbed the file nearest to his computer, “And with that being said, happen to be in the same sentence.” In cue, both you and Sakusa gave each other a confused look.
“What do you mean by that?” Sakusa asked. Fujioka opened the file, picking at the corner of a sheet and pulling it from the pack.
“Oddly enough, the Suzuki’s requested in their will that if they died,” Fujioka said, “You two would have custody of Wakumi.”
“What?” You and Sakusa both said at the same time. And here you were, planning on asking Fujioka where a family member could get custody on Wakumi. “That must be a mistake!” He glanced up from the sheet, eyebrows raised and shook his head.
“I’m sorry. There’s no mistake.” Fujioka said, “I have a copy of the transcript. You can read it.” Sakusa extended his hand, getting a small packet from Fujioka. He brought it back, seeing the words that were typed up. Sakusa flipped through the pages. It was only three stapled all together.
“Is that even possible?” You ask. “And wouldn’t it be better if a family member got custody?” Mr. Fujioka placed the sheet at the top, only holding the top right corner. You could feel the scowl from Sakusa burning holes on your temple. Maybe even hurling insults internally or planning on doing it once the meeting was over.
“Yes. It’s rare but possible to happen.” Fujioka stated, “What’s not possible is the law giving Wakumi over to a family member. Yoichi and Tadema’s will is signed by a judge. I’m to execute these requests. Along with that, all money left in the Suzuki’s accounts are to be saved for Wakumi until she is eighteen or unless the two requested guardians need to use it.” Sakusa hummed, flipping the small packet in your direction. “She also inherited their house.”
You read the first page, Yoichi asking for the money to be under Wakumi’s name. In the second, Tadema asked her husband if they were still going with what they agreed. Finally, near the end, Fujioka confirmed he’d written down ‘(L/N) (Y/N)’ and ‘Sakusa Kiyoomi’ to be Wakumi’s legal guardians. Your breath hitched, feeling conflicted. You felt your eyes begin to swell, placing the stapled papers back on the table.
“Mr. Fujioka, can we change this?” You said. Fujioka clicked his pen repeatedly.
“Look, from an outside perspective, would you really want to defy your friend’s last wishes?” Fujioka asked. “There’s a reason why you were picked. They trust you with Wakumi. I can’t deny this request nor can you. Make this process easier.”
“I just— I just can’t fit a child into my schedule.” You exclaimed. “I love her but my life is busy as it is. A child would only add more stress.”
“Give it time Ms. (L/N). When leaving, you’re allowed to discuss your next moves. Of course, a process for adopting Wakumi’ll happen. We will meet again to finalize more things. I’ll give you both a call.” He gave a nod. Sakusa agreed, his chest rising as he stood up.
“Thank you for your time.” Sakusa said, shaking his hand. “And for informing us. Ms. (L/N) and I are going to talk this out.” Fujioka seemed pleased, seeing the two of you out. Your heels clicked on the wooden flooring as you stormed out.
You fetched for your keys in your purse, muttering curse words under your breathe. Using your shoulder to push the door open, Sakusa trailed behind you with a growing headache.
“(L/N).” Your head whipped around, baring an angry look.
“Yes?” You harshly said, making Sakusa’s eye twitch. “Hurry up Sakusa, I don’t have all day!”
“Fujioka said we need to discuss.” You grunted, turning away and coming closer to your car. Sakusa’s eyebrows raised, a look reading ‘Are you serious right now?’ behind the mask formed.
“Just follow me to my place.” Your voice cracked, fumbling your keys to get inside of the car. “I’d rather talk there than burst out crying in a parking lot.”
❝A tragic accident brings two enemies together under one roof as sole guardians of their late best friend’s baby daughter. Will they survive together and find happiness through the bundle of joy in their lives? Or will their hatred for each other win over the worst?❞
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Duck Soup (1933); AFI #60
The next film on the AFI top 100 is a throwback to before the Golden Age of Hollywood when "talkies" were new, Duck Soup (1933). This film was the last attached to a 5 feature contract that the Marx Brothers had with Paramount pictures. It was moderately well received at the time but has since become the most critically acclaimed of the Marx Brothers films. The movie is only 68 minutes and is absolutely packed with gags. It is not, however, packed with a storyline or plot. I want to very briefly go over the summary because that is not what this movie is known for. Let's unnecessarily start with...
SPOILER ALERT? THIS MOVIE HAS NO PLOT. IT IS ALL ABOUT SITE GAGS AND SET PIECES. READ AWAY!!! IT WILL NOT DO ANYTHING TO HURT THE EXPERIENCE!!!
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The film starts off with the wealthy Mrs. Teasdale (Margaret Dumont) insisting that a man that she is sweet on, Rufus T. Firefly (Groucho), be appointed leader of the small, bankrupt country of Freedonia before she will continue to provide much-needed financial aid. Meanwhile, neighboring Sylvania is attempting to annex the country. Sylvanian ambassador Trentino (Louis Calhem) tries to foment a revolution and to woo Mrs. Teasdale, and he tries to dig up dirt on Firefly by sending in spies Chicolini (Chico) and Pinky (Harpo).
After failing to collect useful information against Firefly, Chicolini and Pinky are able to infiltrate the government when Chicolini is appointed Secretary of War after Firefly sees him selling peanuts outside his window. Meanwhile, Firefly's secretary, Bob Roland (Zeppo), suspects Trentino's motives, and he advises Firefly to get rid of Trentino by insulting him. Firefly agrees to the plan, but after a series of personal insults exchanged between Firefly and Trentino, the plan backfires when Firefly slaps Trentino instead of being slapped by him. As a result, the two countries come to the brink of war. Adding to the international friction is the fact that Firefly is also courting Mrs. Teasdale, and, like Trentino, hoping to get his hands on her late husband's wealth.
Trentino learns from his femme fatale spy, Vera Marcal (Raquel Torres), that Freedonia's plans of war are in Mrs. Teasdale's safe and tells her to assist Chicolini and Pinky in stealing them. Chicolini is caught by Firefly and put on trial, during which war is officially declared, and everyone is overcome by war frenzy, breaking into song and dance. Chicolini and Pinky join Firefly and Bob Roland in anarchic battle, resulting in general mayhem.
After a fierce battle, the end of the film finds Trentino caught in a makeshift pillory, with the Brothers pelting him with fruit. Trentino surrenders, but Firefly tells him to wait until they run out of fruit. Mrs. Teasdale begins singing the Freedonia national anthem in her operatic voice and the Brothers begin hurling fruit at her instead.
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There are many exceptionally good and bad aspects of this film. On the good side, there are a couple of amazing set pieces that the Marx Brothers did like no other. The mirror scene in which Groucho and Harpo stand in front of each other and Harpo perfectly mimics his brother's movements was outstanding. Specifically, there is a point where Groucho stands outside the reflection and moves in a ridiculous way past what he thinks is a reflection. The mirroring between the brothers is exceptional. Add in the same dressing gown and cap to the actual resemblance (they are full actual brothers) makes for quite an effect. This mirror gag was first done on film by Charlie Chaplin almost 15 years earlier, but this is likely the most well known and best done example of the bit by real people. It was repeated by Bugs Bunny, Mickey Mouse, The Pink Panther, Tom and Jerry, Scooby-Doo, and the Smurfs. That kind of mirror quality action was only repeatable through animation, apparently.
The constant wardrobe changes during the frenzied war scene have caused full speculative articles to be written. Groucho starts out in a Union officer suit, then appears in a Confederate officer suite, then a British palace guard uniform, and then in what looks to be a boy scout officer suit, and finally a Davy Crockett hat? The deep cynicism and anti-war sentiment of the brothers was blatant. It is summed up by the line "while you're out out there risking life and limb through shot and shell, we'll be in here thinking what a sucker you are." The United States had just gotten out of a war and many militaristic leads felt the need to show off. This lack of care after feeling so dominant following WW1 was the mindset that in part led to the Stock Market crash and the Great Depression. There was turmoil brewing in Europe and many Americans wanted nothing to do with it after seeing so many young boys getting ripped apart by trench warfare and machine gun fire. The brothers were satirizing all of those figures that we use to teach boys to want to fight for their country. They also went after what they believed were the causes of many wars: money and moral indignation between powerful men.
Although the film gives the audience insight into the mindset of much of the population during those extremely turbulent times between wars, it also boasts some of the most unsophisticated humor of a new visual medium. The silly songs do not translate well and sound like something created by a child. With truly clever artists like Frank Zappa, the Dead Kennedys, and national treasure Weird Al Yankovic, the Marx Brother's songs just sound lame to me. I think the same of Groucho's one liners. With comedians like Mitch Hedberg, Paula Poundstone, Steven Wright, and Jimmy Carr, the work of Groucho Marx feels seriously dated and quite cringy.
The real let down for me in this particular film was the fighting between Harpo and the Lemonade salesman. In fact, the character of Pinkie was "The Joker" levels of psychotic. I know he represented the constant undermining of communism. That is fine and makes a good point. Practically speaking, though, he reveled in causing problems for no reason and he was a constant nuisance. I have been around a lot of teachers and they sat that students who act like that are the bane of everyone's existence. It may be witty, but it is not funny. I have seen movies like Borat and Jackass, who are at least very creative in the way they cause problems and mostly harm themselves. I legitimately hate the character of Pinky and find him devoid of any real humor beyond the mirror scene. I also realize that Chicolini is a play on Mussolini, but I didn't really find him funny either. I want to emphasize that these are my opinions and I welcome comments on why Pinkie and Chicolini are hilarious.
There are some things that I do forgive and almost find charming. Directors from the silent film era had to emphasize that their actors over dramatize their lines so that the audience could get even a modicum of tone. This over-the-top dramatic speaking continued with many actors into the era of talking pictures. You can tell that this film was made near the change over because a lot of the actors talk like they are making one continual speech. Just about everyone is projecting for the cheap seats, and I totally appreciate it and smile. I also appreciate that the Marx Brothers absolutely jam pack the film with gags. I don't think many of the gags are funny, but I acknowledge that the movie is 68 minutes of constant jokes and the Marx Brothers made a concerted effort to give their audience the most bang for their buck. Good for them.
So does this movie belong on the AFI top 100? I am actually going to say no. I think that Horse Feathers is a funnier film and has the iconic football scene that got a screen cap on the cover of Time magazine. If the AFI was going to choose a Paramount produced Marx Brothers film, this one seems to me to only be second or third choice of the five. Would I recommend it? Sure. It is definitely dated and the jokes will not make a lot of sense any more, but some of the scenes have become iconic and it is fun to see what has been so heavily referenced in current media. It is a pretty fun movie to sit back and just experience for an hour, so I would give it a shot.
#marx brothers#duck soup#afi films#comedy#black and white#1930s#groucho#harpo#zeppo#chico#mirror scene#introvert#iontroverts#one liners
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