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thesunisatangerine · 6 months

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against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part four

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 4.3k

It didn’t stop after the first and it sure didn’t stop after the third, either.

Depending on her schedule, you saw Alexia once or twice at most a week; most of the time it was on the night after a Barcelona match and by the next morning, she’d be gone before you even woke up. But you’d noticed her visits had been increasing in frequency lately, not to mention that sometimes she’d still be in bed when you awakened. The first time you found her still asleep beside you, you were dumbfounded, thinking it was a dream image of her in front of you. And what amazed you even further was that it kept happening.

It wasn’t an unpleasant development. In fact, it was something you gratefully welcomed. And it wasn’t just that, either. Sometimes when Alexia came over, you didn’t even have sex you just… talked: about her training and her health, her teammates’ shenanigans–and hers, of course–her family and bits of her personal life. Meanwhile you told her about places you explored and showed her photos of where you’d been. Then she’d tell you about places you could check out, food to try, and even went ahead and promised to take you to some of the places herself when she had the opportunity.

These times were rare, sure, but you found yourself enjoying her company more and more to the point you noticed yourself craving for it–found yourself missing her presence despite your constant back-and-forth messages. And still you didn’t ask where this was going for fear of ruining whatever the two of you had; you were content and you just simply wanted to watch this unfold as it was. And anyway, it wasn’t like you weren’t used to fleeting relationships, situationships–whatever you’d like to call it–because who was to say this wouldn’t end up like your previous dalliances–ending before it could ever truly begin? Despite you hoping otherwise, a large part of you already convinced yourself that this wouldn’t be anything different: just another highlight to your getaway vacation that you’d look fondly back on a few years down the line.

You had a month left in Barcelona, maybe an additional few weeks depending on the client. What could possibly go wrong?

———

A knock took your attention from your work to the door. You looked at the time–it was early evening on a Saturday and you weren’t expecting anyone. Perhaps you just imagined it? But then it came again not a minute later. You were reluctant to open it seeing as it was already dark but a ping from your phone that signalled a message from Alexia asking if you were home had you flying to the door.

Upon opening it, you found Alexia there with Nala resting in the crook of her arm, phone in hand, and a paper bag in the other.

“Took you long enough.” Alexia said playfully, all cool and confident but then her brows quirked upwards almost sheepishly as she said in a more tamed tone, “is this a bad time? I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

You smiled at her consideration before you ushered her in. “No, no! It’s fine, really! Come on in. Sorry, I just wasn’t comfortable opening the door when it’s dark without knowing who it was.”

“Ah, it’s my bad. I should’ve let you know before dropping by.” She bent down and let Nala loose before she untied her shoes and left them by the door. Nala bounded to the living charged with curiosity, nose to the ground, tail wagging as she carefully examined the new space.

Alexia regarded her dog with an amused expression before she looked back at you. “I meant to bring this over after the game tomorrow but I saw the lights as I drove past so… here I am, I guess.”

You reassured her again as you locked the door behind her and you watched as she made her way to the kitchen. As you passed through the archway to the kitchen room, Alexia already situated herself by the counter taking out glass canisters from the paper bag she brought. When she took the lids off, a delicious aroma instantly filled the air, enticing your senses.

“What do you have there?” You asked as you leaned on the opposite side of the counter.

Alexia smiled at the eagerness in your tone and pride shone in her eyes as she spoke, “only the best fideuà and esqueixada in the world. Made special by my mother, of course.”

You peered into the containers and the sight made your mouth water instantly. As if it remembered that you hadn’t had any food yet, your stomach grumbled obnoxiously. Alexia definitely heard it because she fixed you with an amused smile and at that, your cheeks warmed so you tried to divert her attention. “You know what would put this all together?”

“What?”

“Wine or champagne. Wait–are you allowed to drink?”

“I’m allowed since I’m still not qualified to play yet.” Her visage became somber for a moment–it fleeted so quickly you almost didn’t catch it–before the light in them returned again. “If you have it, white wine is the best complement for this.”

You hummed and tapped your chin, turning to make your way to the cellar. “I’ll have a look. I’m sure Derek has some wine stored in here somewhere.”

You’d mumbled the last part but it seemed Alexia’d caught it because she asked, “who’s Derek?”

Something odd in her tone stopped you and made you look back at her. Her face was unreadable, almost too neutral. She didn’t think Derek was your boyfriend, did she?

“Oh, Derek’s my brother. He hasn’t been here for a while but he owns this house.”

“Ah, I see,” Alexia cleared her throat, looking away and you could just see a hint of redness in her cheeks. “Well, I’ll lay out the plates. I suppose they’re just in...?”

“The bottom drawer to your right and the utensils are in the upper one.” You instructed as you continued towards the cellar.

“Oh, yeah, I see,” came Alexia’s muffled response.

When you returned with the bottle of white wine, you found that Alexia managed to locate the glasswares by herself and were drying them with a tea towel. There was only one set of plate and utensils laid out though so you fixed her with a confused look.

“You’re not going to eat?”

Alexia shook her head. “I already had my fill with my family earlier. I’ll take the drink, though.”

“That’s nice that you visited your family today. How are they?” You sat at one of the high chairs by the counter, popped the wine open and poured each of you a glass. You noticed that Alexia’d heated up the fideuà for you from the steam that rose from its container which strengthened its aroma and made it all the more enticing. Alexia remained opposite you but she was close enough with her leaning forward on her elbows, her glass of wine in hand.

She sipped her wine and told you they were well, described little snippets of what’s been happening in her family life. She even told you about a prank she recently played on her sister, one that nearly made you choke on your wine.

You listened as she talked, liking the way her brows quirked and her shoulders move as she spoke, how each gesture became more pronounced the more passionate or interested she was on a subject. You asked questions and engaged with the conversation every now and again as you savoured the rich taste of the pasta and the freshness of the salad. You’d never had anything like it and you told her as much. In response, she said she’d give the compliment to her mother when she saw her next which made your cheeks warm up again. Once you finished, you tidied up and though you insisted she didn’t have to, Alexia helped you wash up anyway.

Afterwards, the both of you ended up in the living room with your glasses of wine. She gestured at your laptop on the couch with her glass.

“Work?”

“Yeah. Just double checking if I missed anything important and preparing for the match tomorrow.” You sat on the couch and put the laptop on your lap. Alexia opted to sit on the carpet, legs stretched and crossed, back leaned back against the couch, her head just beside your legs as Nala settled by her side.

She turned her head, looking up at you. “Can I see?”

You turned your laptop so she could see better. You flicked through the photos you were sorting through, explaining to her every now and then the thought process behind each shot. On some photos, Alexia asked you to pause so she could soak them in.

“These are great. You have a great eye.” Alexia complimented with an appraising nod as you got to the end. You thanked her as you pulled back. Then a question came to mind.

“Do you ever get used to it? The cameras, I mean.”

A pause.

“I’m not and I don’t think I ever will. I’m more comfortable with it now but if it’s possible to avoid, I’d do it. I know it’s a part of football and god knows how much more exposure women’s football needs,” Alexia released a heavy sigh, “but sometimes it just gets too much, you know? I mean, I really should be grateful, right? To have gotten to this point? But the media side of it is… not without its own set of miseries.”

There was an inflection in her tone upon her admittance–guilt. You gently carded your fingers through her hair, Alexia leaned into your touch in response, and you replied just as softly, “it must’ve been difficult. It still is and for you, especially. And I don’t know if anyone’s told you lately but you have to know: you’ve given so much of yourself already. It’s not a sin to want a little peace, Alexia, and it doesn’t make you ungrateful for wanting it, it just makes you human.”

Alexia took a deep breathe before she rested her temple against your knee. Then you heard her whisper, “thank you.”

A silence fell upon the both of you after that but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. She remained that way for the majority of the night, head against your knee as she watched a game of football on the TV.

By the time you finished up your work, it was already late evening and Alexia’d dozed off beside you. You felt bad as you gently woke her up and groggy hazel eyes found yours when you did. The sight made your heart ache from how much Alexia looked younger and more at peace this way, and you told her to wash up so she could stay the night.

And she did.

Now, your cheek felt warm against her chest despite the slight dampness of her borrowed shirt from her hair. Her skin smelt faintly of the soap you were using and with her arm around your waist, you fell asleep content, lulled to a deep slumber by the steady rhythm of her heart.

———

“Hey, please don’t wear that, it’s dirty,” came Alexia’s reprimand from behind you.

You glanced at her reflection in the mirror: Alexia was propped up on the pillows against the headboard, an arm behind her head, nude except for the bundle of sheets that covered one of her thighs, the marks you’d left on her neck and chest last night and this morning generously displayed for you to behold.

She was nothing short of glorious, you thought, looking relaxed and content like this.

You turned your attention back to your own reflection: Alexia’s Barcelona jersey draped over your smaller frame and fell just partway down your bare thighs. It felt comfortable against your skin and the fact that it smelt just like Alexia made it feel all the more special.

When you looked at her reflection again, you found her with an affectionate smile, eyes lidded and brows inflected slightly upwards, and suddenly the attention warmed your cheeks.

“But you only wore it for a shoot, right?”

“I mean, yeah, but you know what I mean.”

You hummed, “do you need it?”

“No, I have spares,” she replied before she raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“That means I have time to wash it before I give it back since you insists that it’s dirty.” You said drily as you turned away from the mirror and padded your way to the bed, crawling on the sheets on your knees once you got there.

As soon as you got close enough, Alexia’s hands were immediately on you, guiding you to straddle her lap before she embraced you fully, resting her chin between the valley of your breasts as she looked up at you. You carded your fingers through her hair to see those fair, hazel eyes that never failed to make you shiver.

“I didn’t say you have to hurry. Plus… I kinda like seeing my number on you.” And then she was kissing your neck and you felt one of her hand creeping its way down to cup your ass. You gasped when you felt the heat of her fingers brushing against your core and you buried your own in her hair as she traced a path from your throat to your ear with her tongue, nipping at your lobe when she got there.

“Fuck… Alexia…” You moaned, “you’re insatiable.”

She kissed your shoulder and then she whispered, “only for you.”

———

Something flashed from the corner of your eye followed immediately by a string of whispered curses and a familiar whirring sound. You put your thumb over the line you were just reading so you wouldn’t lose your place before you looked over your bare shoulder to the corner of the room you knew Alexia was who you found, as expected, holding one of your Polaroid cameras.

She was only wearing a pair of grey sweats which left her torso bare and–like all the time you saw her nude–you couldn’t help but appreciate the soft curves of her breasts and the carved muscles of her stomach. When she met your gaze, she smiled almost sheepishly at you not dissimilar to a child being caught stealing cookies from the jar.

You raised a playful eyebrow at her but instead of answering, she placed her eye over the viewfinder, aimed the camera at you, then pressed the shutter again.

The film came out with a whir and Alexia immediately tucked it into the pocket of her sweats. She then began to make her way towards you and at every other step, she’d stop to take a photo of you, carefully manoeuvring the camera to get the right angle as she did so. It was an endearing sight, really, and it was one that filled your chest full of warmth.

Eventually, she ended up on you, turning you over on your back as she straddled your waist, leaving you at the mercy of Alexia and her camera. From this position, you couldn’t help but feel extremely vulnerable and exposed not because of your bareness, but because you knew with the way your chest surged with warmth from how Alexia gazed down at you with a satisfied grin, the dimple on her cheek showing as her tongue peeked out between her teeth at the corner of her mouth, seemingly focused on getting the right shot, that this was a woman who had the power to completely and utterly unravel you.

As a photographer, you were well acquainted with how cameras had the capacity to capture the essence of a moment–to display in raw details the emotions of its subject and freeze them in time, readying them for the dissection and scrutiny of the viewer. You wondered then what Alexia would see written in the shadow, the light, and the colours in the photos she just took of you once she looked at them, and the thought both elated and frightened you.

Alexia brushed away hair from your temple but as she was about to pull away, you put yours atop of hers and turned your cheek into her palm, looking directly at her behind the camera. You heard her breath catch and then she stuttered out a breath, and the flash barely registered in your mind because you were too focused on the strength and the warmth of Alexia’s hand as you pressed butterfly kisses on the inside of her palm.

The next thing you knew, the camera was abandoned completely and you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out from your throat when you finally felt Alexia’s lips on yours.

———

Alexia sat on one of the high chairs in the kitchen room, hair damp, a game of football on the mounted TV that was left forgotten in place of… something that you couldn’t quite see from this distance. Alexia’s shoulders were hunched over in concentration and you didn’t have the heart to interrupt whatever she was doing so you leaned on the archway, content with just observing her do her work.

“Are you just gonna stand there or would you care to join me?” You rolled your eyes and you didn’t fight the smile that graced your lips. So much for being sneaky–the fact that Alexia was an accomplished footballer who had crazy spatial awareness occasionally slipped your mind.

“Okay, Gwen Stacy, calm down.” Alexia looked over her shoulder then and stuck her tongue out at you, grinning. “How did you even know I was here?”

“Your reflection on the microwave.” She gestured to it with her chin and sure enough from this angle you were instantly visible especially with the white shirt you had on. The dark glossy surface almost made you look like a ghost.

Standing on your toes, you draped yourself over her broad back, arms wrapping loosely around her neck as you peered down. “So, what are we working on?”

“This.”

A bracelet made of a dark-blue and red string that looped into itself with a singular, small gold diamond-shaped charm right in the middle, a vertical bar at the two corner points of the long edge of the diamond, dangled between Alexia’s fingers. She took your right hand and placed it in your palm so you could look at it: the bracelet was simple but it’s delicate nature made it all the more beautiful and elegant.

“Oh, wow, this is so pretty.”

“It’s for you.” At that you looked at her, half-afraid that she’d feel the way your heart raced at her words against her back.

You were so busy trying to find the right thing to say that you didn’t realise that she took the bracelet back until you felt the warmth of her fingers on your palm as she turned your hand over. You watched her as she wrapped it around your wrist, securing the tie. You turned your right wrist over and looked at the delicate bracelet, and something in your heart soared at the small gift. The fact that Alexia made it herself made it all the more special to you.

“Thank you, Alexia. I love it.”

“You’re welcome.”

That night while you were sufficiently warm nestled by Alexia’s side, naked except for the sheets, your head on her chest, a realisation hit you.

“It represents FC Barcelona, isn’t it?”

Alexia hummed in answer, the rumble from the sound a pleasant sensation on your cheek. Then she held your wrist in the space between her thumb and index finger, the width of her palm supporting your hand as she turned your hand just so so the gold of the diamond could catch the light.

“And what else?”

At that, you looked at the bracelet intently. The two bars: one and one–Alexia’s number. So she really was serious when she said she liked seeing her number on you.

You let out a small laugh, then you nuzzled her jaw as you spoke, “you little sneak.”

———

Minding her bad knee, you flipped the both of you over with a strength that even surprised yourself and with how Alexia’s brows raised high, you supposed it took her off guard, too. You settled your weight on her stomach and you bit your lip when you felt her abs tense against your core, and the desire in you blazed into a raging inferno that threatened to burn you inside out.

She grabbed your ass in both hands with a firm grip, making you gasp when her hold made you grind against her stomach, her eyes smouldering as she looked up at you.

That look was your last straw; you couldn’t stop fighting your desire anymore so you let it swallow you whole. You fell forward, bracing your weight against your elbows as you craned your neck to kiss Alexia, rough and desperate, her lower lip between your teeth. The action rewarded you with a low moan, a delicious sound that shot heat straight down to your core.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Alexia gasped out between your relentless kisses.

“I like being on top,” was your simple answer whispered hotly against her ear, nipping gently at the soft skin there–teasing.

Then it was your turn to gasp.

Her fingers dug delightfully into your flesh, kneading your ass roughly before easing them apart with equal force. The harsh treatment caught you by surprise and the effect of it even more unexpected as you immediately melted against her, moaning her name helplessly against the crook of her neck.

She knew just how to make a mess of you.

“Hmm, do you?” She asked coyly and then proceeded in a deliciously low voice that oozed seduction, smugness, and sex. “Too bad I’m still in control.”

“Fuck.” Your body answered for you in a full-body shiver. Her words turned you on to the brink of falling and you found no purchase as you slipped from the ledge.

It should be embarrassing how you could come without Alexia even fucking you, and it should scare you that she had this much power over your body but in this moment, when her hands were everywhere but your pussy and her filthy words were whispered hotly in your ear, you could care less. So you fell apart, shaking and weak, as you sank on top of Alexia’s firm and soft body, her name barely coherent from the sobs that came out of your lips. Euphoria lit every nerve in your body as you came, the fabric of your underwear latched deliciously on your pussy like a second skin and you were sure that you’d made a mess on Alexia’s bare stomach.

You only realised Alexia had stopped her teasing ministrations until you heard her thick voice through the haze of the afterglow which you barely caught.

“You came.”

It wasn’t a question, really, but you let out a small affirmative moan because what else could you do? You were mush–the intensity of your orgasm caught you off guard and left you floundering that no thoughts formed in your mind, just pure bliss and ecstacy. But as the veil of euphoria began to lift, embarrassment bled into the edges of your consciousness and with it the instinct to apologise. The words were poised at the tip of your tongue when Alexia moaned.

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” she breathed out and when you found the strength to lift your head to look at her, her eyes were lidded, pupils blown so wide they were almost all black.

And then she was pulling you in for a kiss, and then the wet heat of her tongue traced the edge of your ear, and she was nipping at your jaw while she dragged her palms from your ass to the side of your ribs. Your skin burnt at her touch and you could do nothing but surrender, to moan and whimper as your heat blazed anew despite having just been swept away.

“But this time, you’re going to come with my fingers in you.”

She didn’t even let the words sink in. Instead she wasted no time to slip her hand between your bodies and to push aside the fabric of your ruined underwear. Usually, Alexia liked to tease you and ease her fingers in you slowly as she sought as much reaction from you as she could, but the slick she found there must had been enough to satisfy her because she pushed two fingers in as soon as she found you. The thickness of her fingers slid in easily and you nearly screamed her name from the pleasure.

She was relentless in her endeavour to make her words true with the way she gripped your hip steady with her free hand so you didn’t stray too far from her touch when you moved to meet her thrusts, the pace at which she worked her fingers in you left you lightheaded the same way her teeth on your neck worked to drive you insane.

“Alexia, Alexia, Alexia–” You chanted her name like a holy litany, burying your face into her hair that was now slightly damp with sweat and breathed her in: her scent of sun and freshly cut grass, of faint wintergreen, and an essence that was uniquely hers. The moment left you full with something heavy and warm, something that spoke of and hoped for forever, and clarity washed over you: this wasn’t like one of your previous dalliances anymore because you wanted more with her.

The realisation hit you hard, the gravity of it left your mind in a momentary stasis that when you came back to yourself, the shock of your orgasm knocked the breath from your lungs and you felt yourself being pulled by the tide. So strong was it that you could do nothing but pray the flood wouldn’t take you–that Alexia wouldn’t let you drown.

#ap11 #not proofread #mine #my writing #a/n: i think this is the halfway point guys for this one #ik alexia mentioned somewhere that she has dinner with her family on fridays but for this fic's sake i made it to saturdays lol #also i have a backlog of ideas i wanna start writing but i really wanna finish this one first #just a side note this part is 4.3k #so on aggregate this is officially the longest fanfic id written so far.#hope you guys like this and would love to know what you think about the story so far #just a reminder: im tweaking minor details as i go so the most accurate copy of all the parts will be on my ao3 (@thesunisatangerine)#apologies for any grammar and spelling mistakes ill work on em later #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader

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honnelander · 7 months

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friends….i have some news….i think part 3 of go fish! will be the final chapter of that mini series 😶

it’s going to be so 🤌🏼✨ fluffy and intimate that it just makes sense that the confessions will just come out then….but maybe i’ll change my mind idk 😜 sometimes the characters have a mind of their own

so….be prepared 👀

#go fish! au #I’ll def make other fics with mutual pining but like for THIS particular storyline….i wouldn’t know where else to take it after part 3 #idk we’ll see #I haven’t started writing it yet but I have ideas of what I plan to write #you have been warned 👀🚨#I can also feel it being a BEAST of a chapter #probably the longest thing I’ve written for this to date tbh

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bethanydelleman · 1 year

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Gilbert Markham is A Flawed but Good Guy

This is gonna be long. Like really long.

I have re-read The Tenant of Wildfell Hall just to defend my man Gilbert from people who say he’s problematic. He represents a realistically flawed man who is able to grow and change, unlike Arthur Huntingdon.

Gilbert’s behaviour towards women is admirable on the whole. He spends a fair amount of time thinking about his mother and her rules/desires for his conduct:

However, that haven of bliss must not be entered till I had exchanged my miry boots for a clean pair of shoes, and my rough surtout for a respectable coat, and made myself generally presentable before decent society; for my mother, with all her kindness, was vastly particular on certain points.

It’s pretty clear he is respectful of his mother and he tries to do what she wants. He is constantly thinking he’d better get home because she dislikes him being late for meals, even though we know she will make new food/tea for him as the man of the house. He is also unfailingly kind to his sister, and even praises her good character.

His profession about how he will treat his wife also stands out, “when I marry, I shall expect to find more pleasure in making my wife happy and comfortable, than in being made so by her: I would rather give than receive.”

Even with Eliza Millward, with whom he takes a few encouraged liberties, when he loses interest in her, and even starts to dislike her for gossiping against Helen, he still thinks of her feelings:

Though my affections might now be said to be fairly weaned from Eliza Millward, I did not yet entirely relinquish my visits to the vicarage, because I wanted, as it were, to let her down easy; without raising much sorrow, or incurring much resentment,—or making myself the talk of the parish... which, I thought, could neither give offence nor serve to encourage false hopes.

As for Helen, Gilbert really doesn’t like Helen right away, probably because she disagrees with him:

She laughingly turned round and held out her hand. I gave it a spiteful squeeze, for I was annoyed at the continual injustice she had done me from the very dawn of our acquaintance. Without knowing anything about my real disposition and principles, she was evidently prejudiced against me, and seemed bent upon showing me that her opinions respecting me, on every particular, fell far below those I entertained of myself. I was naturally touchy, or it would not have vexed me so much. Perhaps, too, I was a little bit spoiled by my mother and sister, and some other ladies of my acquaintance;—and yet I was by no means a fop—of that I am fully convinced, whether you are or not.

But very soon in their acquaintance, he starts to realize that he actually likes talking to an intelligent woman who disagrees with him. He is attracted to her because she is intelligent and strong-willed. Which is really admirable for a man who is used to not being challenged.

Gilbert is respectful of Helen’s boundaries for the most part, especially when it comes to Arthur. He does things like he asking Helen’s permission to take Arthur for rides on his horse. “He wanted me to come in; but I told him I could not without his mother’s leave.”

Now yes, there are instances where she asks him to leave her and he doesn’t:

“I must beg you to leave me now, and let me alone hereafter: in fact, we must be strangers for the future.” [Helen]

“I will, then—be your friend, or brother, or anything you wish, if you will only let me continue to see you; but tell me why I cannot be anything more?”

But here is the thing, Gilbert is very confused by her behaviour. He can tell that she likes him, and we know she does, but he thinks she is a widow. He thinks she feels bad for falling in love again so soon after her husband died. He cannot understand, if both of them are single, why they can’t be together. He does for the most part listen to and respect what she says as well, this quotes shouldn’t be taken in isolation. In general, he leaves when he is asked to leave.

Also, Gilbert is sure of Helen’s character and is ready to defend her against all slander. He also defends her decision to leave her husband, once it is revealed to the town in general, despite Mr. Millward condemning her.

After Gilbert reads the diary, he is extremely respectful of Helen’s space. He avoids her while she remains at Wildfell, as he promised, and then he does not write to her almost a year because he does not know if she wants to hear from him or not, in addition to it being indelicate to write soon after the death of her husband.

He almost turns back from visiting her because he “feared to intrude” and “I thought an interview would only disturb your peace”. That is a man who is respectful of the woman he loves. He even listens to her silence: “but your silence naturally led me to conclude myself forgotten”. He learns of her fortune and thinks himself entirely unworthy of her:

“I’ll tell you at once,” said I. “I will confess that I came here for the purpose of seeing you (not without some monitory misgivings at my own presumption, and fears that I should be as little welcome as expected when I came), but I did not know that this estate was yours until enlightened on the subject of your inheritance by the conversation of two fellow-passengers in the last stage of my journey; and then I saw at once the folly of the hopes I had cherished, and the madness of retaining them a moment longer; and though I alighted at your gates, I determined not to enter within them; I lingered a few minutes to see the place, but was fully resolved to return to M—— without seeing its mistress.”

Gilbert does have an anger problem, but he deals with it in a healthy way: he leaves the situation. The only person he usually hits is his brother, who purposely antagonize him: by whom I was collared in the passage, on coming down, and well-nigh jerked off my equilibrium, and who, in correction for his impudence, received a resounding whack over the sconce, which, however, sustained no serious injury from the infliction. This is fairly standard sibling squabbles, his brother grabbed him by the collar to try and knock him over, Gilbert hit him in retaliation. Not really a big deal. They are both grown up as well.

Gilbert is usually able to leave when he gets angry and when he believes that he will say or do something untoward. When he first hears the rumours that Helen is mistress to Mr. Lawrence, he angrily sits through dinner and then leaves the house to cool off:

At length it was over; and I rose and left the table and the guests without a word of apology—I could endure their company no longer. I rushed out to cool my brain in the balmy evening air, and to compose my mind or indulge my passionate thoughts in the solitude of the garden.

When Mr. Millward accuses Helen of being sexually immoral and then tells Gilbert about the encounter:

“As for ME, sir,” I began, but checked by some impediment in my utterance, and finding that my whole frame trembled with fury, I said no more, but took the wiser part of snatching up my hat and bolting from the room, slamming the door behind me, with a bang that shook the house to its foundations, and made my mother scream, and gave a momentary relief to my excited feelings.

And when Eliza gossips to him about Helen:

I said nothing more on the subject, however, at the time, and but little on any other; for, finding I could not well recover my equanimity, I presently rose and took leave, excusing myself under the plea of business at the farm; and to the farm I went, not troubling my mind one whit about the possible truth of these mysterious reports, but only wondering what they were, by whom originated, and on what foundations raised, and how they could the most effectually be silenced or disproved.

Gilbert is able to control himself and he deals with his strong emotions by leaving. Now when he does hit Mr. Lawrence, it’s because Lawrence will not let him employ this strategy:

He accosted me by name, for it was no stranger—it was Mr. Lawrence! Instinctively the fingers of my whip-hand tingled, and grasped their charge with convulsive energy; but I restrained the impulse, and answering his salutation with a nod, attempted to push on; but he pushed on beside me, and began to talk about the weather and the crops. I gave the briefest possible answers to his queries and observations, and fell back. He fell back too, and asked if my horse was lame. I replied with a look, at which he placidly smiled.

I was as much astonished as exasperated at this singular pertinacity and imperturbable assurance on his part. I had thought the circumstances of our last meeting would have left such an impression on his mind as to render him cold and distant ever after: instead of that, he appeared not only to have forgotten all former offences, but to be impenetrable to all present incivilities. Formerly, the slightest hint, or mere fancied coldness in tone or glance, had sufficed to repulse him: now, positive rudeness could not drive him away. Had he heard of my disappointment; and was he come to witness the result, and triumph in my despair? I grasped my whip with more determined energy than before—but still forbore to raise it, and rode on in silence, waiting for some more tangible cause of offence, before I opened the floodgates of my soul and poured out the dammed-up fury that was foaming and swelling within.

“Markham,” said he, in his usual quiet tone, “why do you quarrel with your friends, because you have been disappointed in one quarter? You have found your hopes defeated; but how am I to blame for it? I warned you beforehand, you know, but you would not—”

He said no more; for, impelled by some fiend at my elbow, I had seized my whip by the small end

Gilbert tries, multiple times, to get away from Lawrence. Eventually he hits him with the butt of his whip. Now, assault is wrong, I am not here to deny that, but Gilbert was provoked into this attack and he did not mean to hurt Lawrence as much as he did. In the law, provoked attacks are treated differently than unprovoked ones. We know Gilbert is in pretty extreme mental distress at this point in the novel and it’s because of Lawrence, but Gilbert did not seek out this encounter and he tried multiple times to leave.

He also does go back to help even though he believes Lawrence deserved to be smacked, “it was, simply, the voice of conscience; and I took great credit to myself for attending so promptly to its dictates”. Lawrence will not accept his help. Gilbert is later ashamed of what he has done and he seeks forgiveness.

Now, for his best feature, when Gilbert meets little Arthur, he treats him well right away, saving him and then trying to comfort him: There was a silent struggle, and then a piercing shriek;—but, in an instant, I had dropped my gun on the grass, and caught the little fellow in my arms. I wiped his eyes with his frock, told him he was all right and called Sancho to pacify him.

Importantly, Gilbert does not befriend Arthur as a way to get Helen to like him (he kind of dislikes her at this point):

I decidedly liked to talk to her little companion, whom, when once the ice of his shyness was fairly broken, I found to be a very amiable, intelligent, and entertaining little fellow; and we soon became excellent friends—how much to the gratification of his mamma I cannot undertake to say. I suspected at first that she was desirous of throwing cold water on this growing intimacy—to quench, as it were, the kindling flame of our friendship—but discovering, at length, in spite of her prejudice against me, that I was perfectly harmless, and even well-intentioned, and that, between myself and my dog, her son derived a great deal of pleasure from the acquaintance that he would not otherwise have known, she ceased to object, and even welcomed my coming with a smile.

Now as for how Gilbert contrasts with the other men in Tenant:

He has a good reputation in his community, Arthur has a very negative one.

He is financially responsible. Gilbert is discussing the purchase of a field from a neighbour and his farm appears to be thriving. He also is providing well for his mother and sister. Arthur, on the other hand, has wasted his money and is deep in debt, despite starting out much richer.

Gilbert actually engages in work. When he receives the present for Helen, he is intending to spend the entire day working with his labourers to help bring in the hay. He appears to have healthy hobbies outside of the his work, like reading. Arthur is bored and idle. His hobbies are all self-destructive: Meanwhile, poor Arthur was sadly at a loss for something to amuse him or to occupy his time. He wanted to appear as busy and as unconcerned as I did. Had the weather at all permitted, he would doubtless have ordered his horse and set off to some distant region, no matter where, immediately after breakfast, and not returned till night: had there been a lady anywhere within reach, of any age between fifteen and forty-five, he would have sought revenge and found employment in getting up, or trying to get up, a desperate flirtation with her; but being, to my private satisfaction, entirely cut off from both these sources of diversion, his sufferings were truly deplorable.

In a bout of passion, Gilbert does suggest that Arthur isn’t Helen’s husband, but he immediately feels terrible and regrets ever having said it. He is no Hargrave. (“I won’t, I won’t!” said I, gently laying my hand on hers; almost as much alarmed at her vehemence as ashamed of my own misconduct.)

While he does drink, we never see Gilbert drunk. He has no problems with addiction. Unlike all the other men.

Hattersley also has an anger problem, which he takes out on his wife entirely unprovoked. We never see Gilbert angry at anyone without a logical cause and he never lashes out at a woman.

Gilbert’s dog Sancho loves him. Arthur is cruel to his dog when bored: But his favourite cocker, Dash, that had been lying at my feet, took the liberty of jumping upon him and beginning to lick his face. He struck it off with a smart blow, and the poor dog squeaked and ran cowering back to me. When he woke up, about half an hour after, he called it to him again, but Dash only looked sheepish and wagged the tip of his tail. He called again more sharply, but Dash only clung the closer to me, and licked my hand, as if imploring protection. Enraged at this, his master snatched up a heavy book and hurled it at his head. The poor dog set up a piteous outcry, and ran to the door. I let him out, and then quietly took up the book.

Gilbert genuinely enjoys that Helen makes him a better person (though he did not have very far to improve). Arthur brags at length about how he dragged Lord Lowborough back into addiction.

Gilbert is respectful of how Helen raises Arthur, even if he disagrees with her methods. Arthur is intentionally trying to turn Little Arthur against his mother and encourages him to drink in excess (at five!)

Gilbert genuinely enjoys Helen’s passions. The part of the novel from his side shows how much he appreciates nature and he loves Helen’s paintings. He is actually able to suggest sensible changes to her work. They are compatible in more ways than just passion.

Conclusion: Gilbert is not perfect, but I think that’s the point! No real man is perfect, but Gilbert is a man with a solid foundation of principles and good conduct who just needs to grow up a little. Arthur is a man with no foundation of good conduct who is basically a walking red flag. Helen and Gilbert marrying is a happy ending, because she has learned to judge men’s merits correctly and she knows that Gilbert will be a good husband and a good stepfather to Arthur. This line melts me: he was my own Helen’s son, and therefore mine; and as such I have ever since regarded him.

#gilbert my love #the tenant of wildfell hall #longest post ever that I have ever written #gilbert markham #helen graham #arthur huntingdon #A full defense of Gilbert for reference #I only read his part of the book btw #I read the whole book recently and I just couldn't do the diary again

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jojosgaylittleadventure · 6 months

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This is the first fic in my Jotakak series I wanted to post something fun and a little spooky in October so here~

Summary: Kakyoin convinces Jotaro to play Hyaku-Monogatori with him to pass the time in their hotel room in Singapore.

Tags: During Canon, Pre-Relationship, Friendship, Fluff, Canon Compliant, Kakyoin is an anxious boy, he has the mental illness and is low-key kinda ocd lol, whhhaaaatttt something that's not Josuyasu??????????

#Jojo Part 3 #jjba Part 3 #Stardust Crusaders #Noriaki Kakyoin #Jotaro Kujo #Jotakak #Sophia writes #it's just a little silly fun fic~#i know i've mostly written a lot of Josuyasu but this one has been in my drafts for a hot minute lol #it felt right to post it in October #i have another josuyasu fic in beta reading right now that will be posted soon and is my longest fic yet but in the mean time #*in all might voice* EAT THIS!#anyways...#Part 3 #Jotaro #Kakyoin #Fic

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elsyrel · 2 years

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Arcana headcanons: main 6 and friendship

Ok, some headcanons about how each LI manages friendship, how many friends do they have, if they make friends easily, etc etc :D!!

Asra

Asra has fewer friends than it seems. He is kind by nature, and deeply believes that everyone should do their part to make the world a better place...but all those nice interactions are fleeting. He enjoys the hospitality and kindness of others, but takes them as temporary. People come and go, he’s here today and there tomorrow, and he never stays long enough in one place to settle his relationships. He can easily feel disappointed with the cruelty of others, and therefore he is very careful when depositing his true affections.

Vesuvia is the only place he has stayed long enough to form some true friendships. When he finally finds someone with whom he feels a true connection, he can be overwhelmed with affection. Asra doesn't need many friends, but every single one of them is irreplaceable, and his absence can lead to a crisis. He is very protective of them, and values above all that they have a good heart.

Nadia

Regarding friendship, Nadia is somewhat insecure, even if she doesn't want to admit it. She has a hard time genuinely opening up to others. That added to the pressure to be perfect makes her seem haughty and aloof, which drives potential friends away from her. Since she was little, Nadia has convinced herself that she is enough by herself, and that she does not need anyone, but that is not true. She wants with all her might to have someone she can trust, someone with whom she can drop the facade and show herself as she is, a confidant. She's an introvert, so she can spend days and days alone without getting bored, but that doesn't mean she doesn't feel lonely.

She thinks it's better to have a few good friends than to have a lot of bad ones. She needs a lot of time alone to meditate and focus on her projects, so she wouldn't be able to carry on an inordinate number of friendships either. She prefers to have only a few friends that she takes good care of, with whom she is incredibly generous, almost spoiling them. Among the things she values most in a friend is honesty.

Julian

He NEEDS people. His energy gets drained if he can’t socialize in a long time, so he has lots and lots of friends... although not all of them are trustworthy. He thinks “if there are no friends around, it's time to make a new one”. He has no problem approaching a stranger and striking up a conversation, as long as he entertains himself with someone he can do anything, from buying you a drink, to clowning around. He has no shame, and he's good at making people laugh, so people like having him around... and he likes to be liked by others. He considers anyone he has chatted with for 10 minutes a friend.

He truly can’t be alone. If he's left alone with his thoughts, he spirals into self-destructive thoughts...so to avoid thinking he socializes. That's why he has two types of friends: his friends, and his enemies. He'd rather be in a bar fight, slapping twenty sailors, than to be alone. Julian appreciates even those people with whom he has a complicated relationship, as they not only distract him from his own mind, but they are a good relief for his need for drama and theatrics. So yes. he prefers to be with an enemy, than to be alone.

Muriel

Except for Asra, Muriel has basically no friends. He didn't have them when he was a child, and he doesn't have them as an adult either. It is very, very difficult for him to make new friends, so much so that he doesn't even try anymore. It gets to the point that even when others make the first move and try to befriend him, Muriel is overwhelmed and his first impulse is to run away. The fear of disappointing them prevents him from forming relationships, he prefers to reject before being rejected. He declines as a preventative measure.

In any case, Muriel is extremely introverted, and having more than two or three friends would drain his energy and make him feel extenuated. He can go days, weeks, or even months without any kind of social interaction, but if one of the few people who have managed to gain his trust needs him...he will literally do anything for them. Precisely because he has few connections, the ones he does have are like family to him.

Portia

Probably the one with the most friends of all the LIs. Portia is outgoing, friendly and fun, and enjoys the company of others. She strives to get along with everyone, and she knows how to sacrifice herself for others and put herself in their shoes. She tries to include everyone in social events, she doesn't want anyone to be left out. Wherever she goes, people smile and wave at her, and it's impossible to walk down the street with her without at least ten people stopping her for a chat. She has friends everywhere, both in the palace and on the streets of Vesuvia, and she knows how to keep them for years. She rarely has fights with any of her friends and, when she does, apologies and tearful reconciliation come sooner than later.

She loves to get along with the people around her, and it's lucky that she makes friends easily, because Portia needs to be with others in order to not get bored. However, Portia knows how to distinguish real friends from circumstantial ones. She knows that there is some people who take a lot and give very little, and just because she is kind and generous does not mean that she is naive.

Lucio

Lucio makes new friends very easily. He has an exuberant personality and a certain charisma, he is not shy about showing affection to someone he has met for two minutes, and, at first, people like him. However, there comes a point where that strong personality becomes too much. He talks too much, he never shuts up. He's too demanding, too clingy, too loud. After a while, he ends up overwhelming the people around him and scaring them away.

He reaches over and over again to old friends, trying to reconnect, only to discover that they are giving him the cold shoulder (and, very often, they have good reasons). He’ll try a desperate last resort and try showering them in gifts, but that solution rarely provides a lasting result. And, over and over, he finds out that those who once were his friends, are hateful towards him now.

In other words: Lucio has many friends, who are very short-lived. When push comes to shove, he probably has no one he can really trust, no one he can count on when things matter. He only has friends for "good times", not for bad times. Real friends, he has none. That's one of the reasons he likes parties so much: a place where there are lots of new people, in a good mood, and ready for some ruckus. No one has gotten tired of him yet. They still laugh with him, they still smile at him, and there's still a good vibe.

#the arcana #The Arcana Game #asra alnazar #nadia satrinava #julian devorak #portia devorak #muriel of the kokhuri #muriel #count lucio #lucio morgasson #headcanons #the arcana headcanons #i've had this in my drafts for two millennia #also lucio is the longest one once again oopsie ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#many times i write headcanons just cause i want to write LUCIO headcanons lol #but then i think: since i've just started this i could as well write all the LIs #i have drafts where i have written lucio's part and the other LIs are there... blank lol

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